****



I would feel Mulder listening to me, checking that I was

alright.  It took him a while to locate me after I went to the

new colony, but after he found me, I felt him often.  When the

one man tried to rape me and I fought him off, I'm sure that it

was Mulder that cut off his hands and left him in the woods to

be found months later.  Others must have thought the same thing,

because that's when I heard the first rumors about him.



The ex-FBI agent that could read minds.  Fought with the rebels

during the initial alien attack, using his gift to beat the

aliens at their own game- or the other way around, depending on

who was telling the story.   He'd been all over the Earth After,

even crossing the oceans.  Now he roamed, searching for a

woman.  Others said he just roamed to kill for the highest

bidder or for revenge.  If there was a war between colonies,

Mulder was there, bringing death with him.  If you wanted

something transported across the country, through the badlands,

he was your man.  The legends said he was the cruelest person

alive.



I didn't know what to believe, so I just waited.  I couldn't

leave and I wondered of Mulder would ever come for me.  After a

few years, I decided the answer was "no."



Skinner came, though.  There was some sort of treaty negotiation

between 451 and Alpha, and Skinner was sitting on my steps when

I got back from a house call that night.



"I'm sorry, Scully."



That's it?  You tricked me into your bed and traded me like I

was livestock and you were just "sorry?"  I hit him as hard as I

could.   Skinner just rolled with my punch and then stood there

in case I wanted to hit him again.



You kept me safe, even killed for me when you knew I didn't love

you- that I'd never love you, held me when I was afraid and made

love to me so I wasn't, and you were just "sorry?"



You let me believe that Mulder was out there wanting me for

months- giving me some light to hide away inside me as I watched

my world crumble.   All you wanted for that was sex that you

always made sure was good for me and you were just "sorry?"



He was right- I did want to hit something again- I wasn't even

sure who or what I was most angry at.   I doubted it was

Skinner.



"I wanted you to know that Mulder is searching for you.  I'll

help him all that I can, but he's not at Alpha anymore.  And I

am sorry, Scully.  All I wanted was for you to be safe."

        

We looked at each other for a few seconds before he started to

turn away.  "Skinner?"   He hesitated.  "I wasn't unhappy.  And

you always made sure I was safe.  You kept your promise to

Mulder."



That's as close as I was going to come to "apology accepted."



I got a nod from Skinner before he pulled his hood up and walked

away into the lonely rainy night.  I had to go inside and lock

the door to keep from running after him- after the safety that

was walking out of my life again.



        ***



The universe would never have been suitably put together into

one form from such various and opposite parts unless there were

some One who joined such different parts together; and when

joined, the very variety of their natures, so discordant among

themselves, would break their harmony and tear asunder unless

the One held together what it wove into one whole.  Such a fixed

order of nature could not continue its course, could not develop

motions taking such various directions in place, time,

operation, space, and attributes, unless there were One who,

being immutable, had the disposal of these various changes.  And

this cause of their remaining fixed and their moving, I call

God, according to the name familiar to all.



-Ancius Manlius Severinus Boethius (480-575 A.D.)



        ***

        

"Are you my mother, now?" the boy asks as we cross from Utah

into Nevada, the "Welcome" sign still standing.  A few vehicles

had approached and dropped back quickly when they saw Mulder

behind the wheel as we crossed the desert.  They watched, but

didn't threaten as he drove flat-out, pushing the Humvee as fast

as possible.



His mother?  I suppose I am.  Always wanted a little boy- in

fact, I always wanted one with Mulder.  A little boy with his

hazel eyes.  Odd how things turn out.



"Good.  I've listened to Mulder think about you a lot."



"Please don't listen to me think without permission- it's

rude."  The boy looks confused, but I feel him leave my head.

Mulder was still there, though.



"OK- I was just wondering about you.  Mulder tried for so long

to buy you and I just wanted to know what you were like."



I see Mulder look back at the boy, warning him.  There is a

bruise on his cheekbone- I guess Gibson got at least one punch

in.



"No, Mulder- I want to know.  Is that what happened?"



Mulder nods "yes," staring straight ahead.  "They wouldn't let

you go, no matter what I offered.  I've tried for years.  You

were too well-guarded to take and I couldn't fight an entire

colony."



I wonder how many years he's tried.  Was it just Colony 451 that

wouldn't let me go, or did Skinner refuse too?  Continue sleeping

with me while he kept me trapped in the bunker clinic with no idea

Mulder was outside trying to get to me?  I think of the wooden

crate on the porch of the house I used to live in.  "What did

you finally trade, Mulder?"



"A man's head," a little voice in the backseat says, before

Mulder silences him with another look and the last apple.



Hours follow as Mulder turns south, following the coastline.

California.  Lunch is silent; an unspoken battle between Mulder

and the boy.  That boy needs a name.



"I want to be Barney.  I heard him in a book," he says with his

mouth full.



A nuclear war and an alien invasion and I can't escape Barney.

Is there a second choice?



"John Doe.  That's what Mulder's thinking."



I can live with John.  John it is.



Get out of my head, John.

        

        ***



As you do not know how the spirit comes to the bones in the womb

of a woman with child, so you do not know the work of God who

makes everything.



-Ecclesiastes 11:5

        ***



Mulder was looking for me.  Mulder was looking for me.



Those words gave me hope for weeks.  Then weeks stretched into

months and he still didn't come.



Occasionally, someone from outside the colony would be brought

to me for help if they had something valuable to trade with the

leader for my services.  I quizzed those men mercilessly- had

they seen a tall man with dark hair named "Mulder?"  One who was

looking for me?  Without fail, I got practiced blank looks and a

nod "no."  Part of the deal to get to see the doctor must have

included not answering any of her questions about outsiders.



I guess.



Maybe I was just paranoid.



Maybe Skinner was lying.



Again.



Someone brought in a young whore that wasn't from the colony- I

guess one of the guards took pity on her and let her in.  I

watched her pile jewelry into my assistant/ guard's hands-

payment for whatever she wanted.



She wanted an abortion.



No.  Not even a possibility.



I couldn't even ask her about Mulder with my guard there-

grinning because he was hoping I would have her undress to

examine her.



I felt so sorry for her, just standing there looking broken.  I

could have been her- a small, slim woman with delicate features;

way too soft to survive in this world.  She was pretty under all

that dirt, but she wouldn't stay that way for long.

                

Without Mulder and Skinner, I would have been her.



When my guard's back was turned, I grabbed half the jewelry

she'd given him off the table and thrust it at her.  By rights,

she should have gotten it all back, but that would never

happen.  This was the best I could do- that idiot guard couldn't

count, anyway.



"Come back and I've deliver that baby," I told her.



She just looked at me.  I doubted she would.



Then a few months later, she was back- in heavy labor and

starting to bleed.  After five hours, she had a healthy, breech-

birthed little girl with brown hair and beautiful hazel eyes

under that wrinkled red face, and I was feeling very good about

myself.

        

I barely had the baby cleaned up before she was trying to wipe

off and get dressed.  I told her to lay back down- she could at

least spend the night inside where it was warm.  No, she was

leaving.  Before she left, she pressed something into my hand

and told me it was for me- for helping her.  Then she walked

out.  Without the baby.



I tried to run after her and my guard stopped me.  If she didn't

nurse the baby, it would die.  No one was going to go to the

trouble of bottle-feeding goat's milk into a whore's baby and

there weren't any nursing mothers in the colony that could take

her.



Maybe I could keep her.



Yes, I could keep her.  A beautiful little girl with eyes like

Mulder's.



I looked into my hand to see what she'd given me- probably some

gaudy bracelet.  Actually, it was just a plain, battered man's

watch.  Like a thousand others sold all over the place Before.



Just like the one that Mulder had worn Before.



I flipped it over to see if it was engraved- with what, I didn't

know.  How would I have known what was engraved in Mulder's

watch?  Nothing- it was blank.  I tried to remember- was this

was the last one he had Before?  He smashed so many.  Was he

wearing it in the bunker?



My guard saw that I had it and took it from me, explaining

patiently that payment was made directly to the colony as he

slipped it into his pocket.  No, this was a gift to me- the

colony already got paid.  He wouldn't give it to me.



I tried to take it from that big ox.



I almost had him, Mulder.  I was an FBI agent, you know.  I got

in several good jabs while the baby screamed miserably.  But I

didn't have a weapon and he did.  And he was a man and I was a

woman- his word against mine if I hurt him.



I did all I knew to do.  I dodged past him out the door and

found Granger.  I yelled and I begged as the leader promised me

he'd bring me any watch I wanted.  The entire colony stared as I

drug him back to the house I lived and worked in.



My house was too quiet when we got back- the baby wasn't crying

anymore.  My guard was tossing an empty hypodermic syringe into

the trash and the child was turning pale.  I checked her, but

she was already dead- one bubble of air to the brain was all it

took.



I tried to tell myself it was a fast death instead of a slow

one.  I tried not to look weak as I slid down the wall, holding

the body of a dead little girl with eyes like Mulder's.



"Give her the damn watch," Granger growled.



Idiot Ox threw the heavy wristwatch at me, cracking the glass on

the floor, and jerked the baby away by its little ankle.  I just

crushed the broken watch to my chest and cried until I ran out

of tears.



That couldn't be Mulder's child- he wouldn't do that to me.  The

whore had brown hair and hazel eyes, too.  But that had to be

his watch.  It had to be.



It had to be.



        ***



Why should we demand that the universe make itself clear to us?

Why should we care?... It is something about understanding the

totality of existence, the essential defining reality of things,

the entire universe and man's place in it.  It is groping among

stars for final answers, a wandering the infinitesimal for the

infinity general, a deeper and deeper pilgrimage into the

unknown.



-Julian Jaynes

        ***



Mulder stops again within an hour, surprising me.  It's a tiny,

no-name  town with an abandoned gas station, a few stores and

houses and not much else.  John Boy hops out and disappears

between the buildings- it must be safe.



"It is safe, Scully," Mulder assures me.



He's refilling the Humvee's tanks with diesel and loading more

fuel and water behind the back seat.  He finishes and takes me

by the hand, leading me behind the store where he had the fuel

tanks hidden and through the weeds.  There's an old stone

Spanish church and Mulder pushes the door open, then waits for

me in the foyer.



I cross myself and kneel.  It's been so long since I've been in

a church that I don't know where to start.  Words learned in

childhood form silently on my lips as I pray.  I pray for my

mother and Bill and Charles- whether they are alive or dead, I

pray they find peace.  I pray that Mulder and I find peace.  I

pray for the little boy I've just inherited and for the friends

I've left behind- Frohike, Langley.  I even pray for Skinner.

Ahab and Missy and Byers and so many others among the dead.



Mulder shifts behind me and I look back and silently ask him to

join me.  He shakes his head "no."



There are still candles, so I take Mulder's hand and lead him

this time.  I light it with his lighter and give it to him, the

small flame bravely glowing.  He sets it safely in the middle of

the table under the Virgin and asks me what we're praying for.



"Our survival," I tell him as we walk out, tugging the warped

door closed behind us.

                                

I start to call for John Boy when we reach the Humvee, but I'm

not sure what to yell.  Deserted town or not, I'd feel stupid

standing in the middle of main street yelling for "Boy."



I've barely thought it when John Boy appears at the end of the

street, peddling a two-wheeler with training wheels for all he's

worth.  I glance at Mulder quickly and see the smallest hint of

a smile.  I like his method of calling his son- if all fathers

were psychic, Wal-mart would have been a much quieter place

Before.



Boy arrives breathless and grins as Mulder puts the bike in the

back of the Humvee without a word and shoves the gearshift into

drive.



The sun is setting as Mulder turns off the main road through the

wine country and into the soft hills.  I'm surprised again when

he turns on the headlights- he must know the area where we are

very well.  Forty-five minutes later, where we are is parked in

front of a cabin in the middle of nowhere.  America is mostly

dark middle-of-nowhere now days, but this was several miles past

middle-of-nowhere.  We walk inside and Mulder flips a light

switch and, wonder of wonders, lights come on.  The cabin has

power.



Water comes out of the kitchen tap and there's enough freeze-

dried food for years in the pantry.  And a shower and an indoor

toilet.  When I open the closets, there are functional clothes

for me and the boy and extra linens.  A big bed downstairs and a

smaller one in the loft, both made up and ready.  A stove on the

center of the cabin for heat and cooking, a ham radio to

communicate.  Firewood stacked outside the back door and a rifle

over the front door.  Toys in a toy chest.  Books.



This is Mulder's home- this is where he was taking me.



Now I'm home.  We're home.  Mulder, me, and the John Boy.



I smile at Mulder and I see a faint light behind his

eyes.  "You'll be safe here, Scully," is all he says.



Mulder sleeps with me in the big bed and John Boy sleeps in the

loft.  There is a silk nightgown in the closet and I put it on-

it still smells of a Victoria's Secret store.  Mulder runs his

hands over it, the roughness snagging against the fabric as he

kisses me.  Our love-making is unhurried, the way I always

wanted it to be.  Slow and sweet- a homecoming.  I can see my

Mulder in this man.



When I wake, Mulder is gone- both physically and from my head-

and John Boy is asleep beside me.  The Humvee is still sitting

in the driveway, the tank refueled with diesel and Mulder's

supplies are on the table where he left them last night.

Initially I think he's just gone hunting, but John Boy says he

isn't coming back.  No note, no explanation, just gone.



I realize that there are no clothes for Mulder in the closets,

no books that he would read on the shelves.  He never intended

to stay here.  He probably didn't intend to stay with me last

night.  I realize that I've never told him I love him out loud

and now it's too late.  Mulder saved me from invading aliens and

insured my safety by trading his soul and that still couldn't

shake those three words out of me.  Once again, I lose my battle

against the lump in my throat and spend the morning sobbing.



I put a kettle on for coffee, still watching through the window

a days later.  John Boy wants to have coffee with me- sure, why

not?  A four-year-old- almost five, he informs me- that has seen

people murdered and listened to Mulder's thoughts could handle a

watered-down cup of coffee.



We sit in the swing on the front porch as the sun rises over the

hills, charging the solar panels on the roof.



"Is he not coming back right now, or is he still never coming

back, John?"



"He still doesn't know.  He doesn't think you can forgive him."



"What for?"  I could forgive Mulder anything.



"Oh- lotsa things.  Helpin' the spacemen catch people so they

wouldn't hurt the ones in the bunker.  Leaving you.  The man

havin' sex with you- he feels really bad about that.  Killin'

lotsa people, `specially the sex man."



The sex man?  Skinner?  Mulder killed Skinner?



"Uh huh.  That was the head in the box.  Oh- sorry.  I won't

listen anymore."



I sit in shock as my coffee cools.  He killed Skinner in

exchange for me- that was the trade he made- so the leader of

Colony 451 could take over the bunker and Alpha Colony.  Mulder

killed his friend and cut off his head and brought it to the

leader in a box like a birthday gift.



That was how bad he wanted me.



I can still see Skinner standing in the rain, telling me he was

sorry.  Just sorry- for everything.



Mulder is wrong- I can forgive even that.



I watch the road that runs up the isolated hill to my cabin,

linking me to this brave new world.  Maybe one day Mulder will

come driving up that dirt road in his Jeep, coming for me like

he promised.  John Boy goes out to play in the dewy grass as I

sit, remembering to sip my tepid coffee.  There is a tire swing

in the tree beside the Humvee and a tree house that Mulder must

have built for him.  A labor of love by a man who thinks he's

lost.

        

As I finish my coffee and the cup that John Boy forgot, I feel a

familiar pressure behind my forehead.



Mulder is listening.



        ***             



There are many windows through which we can look out into the

world, searching for meaning...  Most of us, when we ponder on

the meaning of our existence, peer through but one of these

windows onto the world.  And even that one is often misted over

by the breathe of humanity.  We clear a tiny peephole and stare

through.  No wonder we are confused by the tiny fraction of a

whole that we see.  It is, after all, like trying to comprehend

the panorama of the desert or the sea through a rolled-up

newspaper.



-Jane Goodall



        ***



Negative Utopia: Part II

Mulder:



She's safe.



She's better off.



It's better this way.



This is what I planned.



Keep walking.



Don't listen, just keep walking.



I have to concentrate to keep my feet moving.  Scully's just on

the other side of that hill, soft and warm and asleep in my

bed.  Her bed- it's not mine.  It's Scully's now and I won't go

back.  I won't risk hurting her.



It's better this way.



Keep walking.

                        

She can't love me.  Not if she really knew what I've become.

She had sex with me because she didn't have a choice.



But she kissed me.  I didn't make her do that.  I didn't make

her put on that nightgown last night.



No!  She's just trying to survive.   She loves who I was, not

who I've become.  She'll be glad I'm gone.



Keep walking.  Sleep, eat, walk away from Scully.



Don't listen.



It's more of an effort not to listen than to do it.  It took me

about three days to figure out how once my brain got switched

back on, but it's second nature now.  Just like tuning onto a

radio station and turning up the volume if I want to hear

better.  It's also easier now that there are less people to

listen to.



I could hear Scully so easy.  I could listen and see of she is

relieved that I'm gone or if she wants me to come back.



I can actually hear everyone all the time- that was what drove

me half-crazy Before.  Now I know how to fine tune and turn down

the volume, so I'll have to find something else to blame my

insanity on.  It didn't make Gibson or the boy insane, and they

can hear as well as I can.



I heard three billion people die.  Almost five billion if you

count the ones that died instantly in nuclear fireballs.  Three

billion that I watched the Greys murder one drop of black oil at

a time, while I stood by and did nothing.               



That's not true.  I didn't do nothing.  I answered every

question the Greys asked me and I told them how the human mind

worked so they could capture and process as many "specimens" as

possible.  It was my voice on the intercom blasting again and

again "Remain calm.  You will not be harmed," as humans waited

to be infected with certain death.  I did whatever they wanted

as long as they left that bunker in West Virginia alone.



No, Scully can't love what I've become. 



She's safe now- keep walking.  Sleep, eat, walk away.



Don't listen.



Did I tell her there is extra diesel in the storage building?

That she has enough power on cloudy days for one hot bath and

the radio and lights, or a load of laundry, but not both?

There's a wire basket in the stream if she wants to keep

anything cold- did I tell her that?



I should go back and tell her that.



No!  I'm just looking for an excuse.  Keep walking.



I love her.  I told her that.  She thinks she loves me.



How can she love me?  She can't read my mind.  She doesn't know

the things I've done- not all of them.  I've killed people that

I had no quarrel with because I wanted something they had.  I've

killed for gain and I've tortured for revenge.  I've betrayed

Scully with other women and I've burdened her with my child.

                        

Scully knows that.  She still loves me.

        

I did it to survive.  Survive, no questions- that was what I

told her.  I did what I had to do.



I didn't have to make her have sex with Skinner.  I didn't have

to have sex with Marita or those other women.  Somehow I can

forgive myself for murder easier than I can forgive myself for

that.



I heard her question whether or not I was with Marita at the

same time she was with Skinner.  I should have told her "no."  I

should go back and tell her that.



No!  Keep walking.  Sleep, eat, walk away.



I did it because I thought I was going to die.  Because I was

laying in a ditch alone and bleeding in the middle of Kansas and

I thought it was my last chance to touch you.



I was trying to get back to you, Scully.  The Greys left me in

the middle of India.  Oh God- India right After.  That still gives

me nightmares.  You can't imagine how awful that was.



But I didn't have one nightmare while you slept with me.



Anyway, being on the other side of the planet isn't a big deal

if you have a spaceship, but it's a problem when there aren't

any connecting Delta flights anymore.  One boat that I puked on

for days, a couple of motorcycles and a Dodge truck I really

liked and I was almost back to you, Scully- I was almost there

and these guys jumped me for my truck.  I would have just let

them have it; there were vehicles sitting all over the place for

the taking.  That wasn't all they wanted, Scully.  I can't tell

you about it- not ever- but it was bad and I was alone; bleeding

from so many places I couldn't even count them.  I laid there

for two days and I thought I was going to die.



I wanted to feel what you were feeling like before, but I was

afraid, Scully.  I was afraid Skinner was hurting you.  You're

so tiny and fragile, even though you hate people thinking that.

So I listened to Skinner- very carefully because I couldn't

stand to listen to his thoughts, only his sensations.  Did you

know he thinks he loves you, Scully?



Loved you.  Past tense.  He's very dead now.  He can't love

anymore.   He can't trick you into his bed, either.  That made

him easier for me to kill, at least if I didn't think too hard.



The next morning I was making my peace with Death when Marita's

face appeared over me.  Actually, at that moment, I would rather

have died.



She didn't let me die, though.  When I woke up again, I was in a

barn somewhere.  She'd taken my knife and gun to keep me from

killing myself and done the worst job of patching up my wounds

I'd ever seen.  She even had her own method for making sure I

stayed prone so my ankle would heal.



I could have told her "no," but the thought never crossed my

mind.  All I wanted was to be numb; to hide the way you hid that

night in the bunker.  In those first few months, I hid a lot.

        

I learned so much about you in that one night, Scully.  Every

man should feel that at least once.  Actually, once does it.

I'd been listening to you before, but not feeling what your body

was feeling.  When we made love, I learned what sex felt like

for a woman- for you.  It's invasive; pleasure involved allowing

your body to be penetrated.  Yea, I knew that, but I didn't

realize how personal it was.  How very vulnerable women can

feel.  I swore I wouldn't hurt you that night and I tried not

to, but you seemed all the more fragile to me after that;

something I had to protect at any cost.



I tried to protect your mom, Scully.  I never saw Bill or anyone

that might have been Charles on the ship I was on, but I tried

to save your mother.  She was one of the last specimens to be

processed and I thought they might let her go if I asked.

Actually, if I begged.  No.  No losing a specimen, even one that

was basically my mother-in-law.  It was like arguing with the

Borg from Star Trek- all cold reason and amazing technology.

Fixing a generator is nothing once you've seen Grey

engineering.



Anyway, Mrs. Scully wasn't part of my original deal to

cooperate, so she was going to die.  I held her hand after they

gave her Purity and swore to her that you were safe and that you

would stay that way.  The tube was already in her throat, but

her eyes told me she believed me.  I wanted to shoot her before

she realized what was happening, but my gun wouldn't work.  I

couldn't bring myself to choke her to death, so I just sat there

and held her hand.  It's exactly the same size as yours is,

Scully.



Finally, I listened to her thinking and I told her every answer

she wanted to hear: her children were fine, the Greys were going

to let her go.  Hell, I even told her you and I were going to

get married and give her lots of grandchildren.  Eventually, she

ran out of questions and I ran out of lies, so I just sat

there.  They put me off the ship and left with her before she

could give birth to another grey bastard.



Do you remember watching Star Trek together, Scully?  Eating

popcorn we bought at a 7-11, sitting on the floor against the

foot of a motel bed and watching an old TV together Before.

Before it all was gone?   Before I was gone?



I'm not gone.  I remember who I was.   I remember a man who

spent Saturday mornings shooting hoops while the laundry didn't

get done and dishes didn't get washed.  I remember the endless

quest to prove something existed that showed up for all the

world to see on Labor Day.  I remember an FBI agent who was

desperately in love with his partner and had no idea how to tell

her that.  No idea if she wanted him because he didn't want

himself.

        

I guess some things stay the same.



I still love her and I still don't know if she really loves me.



Keep walking.



Marita and I basically spent about three months screwing each

other silly and I spent almost a year after that killing

anything that moved for sport.  Anything that kept me from

having to think.  When I was finally healed enough to get

around, we found the farm house I took you to- it was more

isolated- and lived there.  I could even sit on the front porch

and pick off anyone that came up the road with my rifle.  Very

convenient, but it didn't stop the nightmares.  Or the

flashbacks.



Saucers in the sky.  Feeling you flinch when I penetrated,

making love to you because it was what I needed, not what you

really wanted.  Your face when I left you in the bunker.

Skinner's face when I told him to do whatever he wanted to you,

just keep you safe.   The sound of that bunker blast door

closing behind me as I walked out to the spaceship.  My voice

over the intercom, lying to people waiting to die.  Black oil

crawling under your mother's skin and into her eyes.  Thousands

of starving toddlers.  That gang of men in Kansas.  Waking up to

find Marita on me.  The sound my finger makes as it pulls a trigger

and the wet sound a bullet or a knife makes when it penetrates

blood and bone.



Pick one.



I knew she was pregnant when I left, but I didn't really care.

I came back from foraging one day to find her in bed with some

guy in exchange for a deer he'd shot.  I had just brought her a

deer- we weren't starving.  She was just a whore.



I slapped her without thinking and walked out.  Then I sat in my

Jeep shaking and told myself that she deserved it.  That I'd

snapped and that I wasn't a monster.  I'd seen my father hit my

mother and I wasn't going to become him anymore than I already

had.  It was never going to happen again.  I was never going to

hit another woman.



I actually haven't, but I don't trust myself not to.

        

I came for you.  It took me a while to work up the nerve, but I

did, Scully.  I stood outside that chain-link fence and yelled

and cussed at Skinner to let me have you.  I shot one of the

guards before they started shooting back.  Anything- I offered

anything I could think of, but there was no deal.  They wouldn't

let me in and they wouldn't let you out.



Skinner wouldn't even come out to face me.



I waited and listened to everyone for months outside the fence,

but I couldn't make sense of what I heard.  I can only hear what

people are thinking- not scan their memories for a glimpse of

one small redhead.



This listening thing doesn't work the way you think it does,

Scully.  It's not like the Stupendous Yappi.  I think what I

hear is the midbrain directing mental traffic, because I get a

gibberish of sensations, thoughts, and lots and lots of crap

that people ignore.  Since my brain isn't used to tuning out

someone else's familiar sounds and feelings- a generator

humming, shoes pinching- I get a jumble until I get used to it.

And it takes a while every time I listen to someone new to learn

what to ignore.  And then I can't see what people see or hear

what they hear- I can perceive what they -think- they perceive.

It all boils down to not that  helpful after all



Finally, I caught Frohike in the woods one day on firewood

detail- someone must have screwed up and not realized I knew

him.  He told me you were gone, but he didn't know where- traded

to another colony like chattel.  He told me Skinner had shot

Byers and that no one in that colony, including Skinner, knew

exactly where you were.  All that time I'd spent at the fence

watching for her, she was never on the other side.              



I sacrificed several bottles of Jim Beam to Venus or whichever

God was most appropriate for post-apocalyptic angst and Frohike

and I got good and drunk.  We extolled your virtues and

discussed the many ways to mutilate Walter Skinner.  I favored

red hot razors, but that's a personal choice.  It took about

half the first bottle before Frohike was willing to tell me you

and Skinner had become lovers after that one time.  I asked him

if he was certain- I hadn't heard you think about that.  You

wouldn't do that to me, Scully.



Just like I would never pay for a blow job from a prostitute.

Just like I didn't have a baby with some slut in Kansas.



He was certain.  Byers had seen the two of you.



I gave one of the bottles of whiskey to Frohike- it was a

favorite of the little whore outside Alpha colony that I liked

occasionally- and downed the third bottle myself.  When I woke

up, Frohike was gone and it was the next day in never, never

land.



I have never felt so alone in my life.  It was like tracking the

mists; I could hear you all the time, but I couldn't find you- I

couldn't get to you.  I thought I'd lose my mind.



Maybe I did.