Do you see them?
By Humbuggie
(c) 2003
Feedback: san@sv-tales.com
based on an idea by Linda61 and Humbuggie
Written for the VS11 Thanksgiving Special
(after a little push from a certain
Vickie Moseley)
Rating: R
Type: MT, UST, SC
Mulder is the only one who can see them.
But is he willing to sacrifice anything
to help them?
Do you see them?
“Do you see them? You have to see them.”
“Mulder, you’re delirious. You’ll be fine.
Don’t push yourself.”
“I see them. It’s okay. They’re not bad.
They’re fine. They just want to spend
Thanksgiving with us.”
Twelve hours earlier
Approaching the house, you couldn’t tell
from the outside there could be
anything wrong with it. Well, not as much
haunted as challenged, Scully
shrugged. They’d been in haunted houses
before, and they all looked quite
innocent. Well, except for a few, of
course.
This one, however, was different. Not
because it was new and finished only six
months ago, but because it was built in
Idaho, of all places. Had anyone ever
heard of a haunted house in Idaho?
“There were Indians in Idaho, Scully,”
Mulder told her during the long drive
that brought them through corn fields and
farmer properties. Everything looked
so unspoiled here, so unlike the city they
both lived in. Scully had never been
much of a country girl, and frankly she
ached for more houses and apartment
buildings that would make her feel less
isolated. Yet she tried to get the
feel of the place. A farmer’s house sat in
the middle of nowhere, with his
cornfields wrapped around it like a
blanket.
“Yeah, you told me,” she replied absent-
mindedly. “The Nez Perce Indians.”
“Indeed. They lived here for thousands of
years before the Europeans came. After
decades of wars, they made peace with the
new American government and now live
in a reservation southeast of Lewiston.”
“So, if they were the friendly type, why
this house haunted?”
“The Gable’s were not very lucky when they
decided to make guesthouses out of
the old house and build a new one two
hundred feet away. Of all places they
picked, they chose an ancient Indian
burial ground.”
“Oh boy,” Scully shuddered. “Are we going
to see ‘Pet Sematary’ now?”
She knew Stephen King’s book and had seen
the horrifying movie. In it, a family
that found an ancient burial ground buried
their pet and then their deceased
child after it was killed. It was one of
the scariest movies she’d ever seen.
“Or how about Poltergeist? Their house was
built on a cemetery too.”
“You know I don’t believe in ghosts and
poltergeists. And now don’t go saying
that, after all we’ve seen, blah blah
blah. I know the stories, Mulder. I know
what we’ve seen, and I still don’t believe
it.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t going to say
anything. But now that you mention it -”
She whacked, or hit him hard in the side,
almost swerving the car off the road.
“Hey, get back in your seat! You know
you’re not supposed to disturb the
driver.”
“Whatever. Please don’t tell me we’re
going out there on the day before
Thanksgiving to investigate ghosts.”
“No, we’re not.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re investigating Indians.”
“Bite me.”
*
Lovely house, Scully thought. Let’s just
hope the car doesn’t break down or
we’re not trapped in some sort of winter
storm. She was not eager to have to
spend Thanksgiving here. The cornfields
that were now empty and ready for
spring planting seemed to stretch on
forever. An eerie silence. No horses, no
dogs.
“We’re spending one night here, Scully.
That’s all. I promised Mark that.”
“Mark?”
“Mark Gable. The owner of this house.”
“Mulder, you said we would go for a new
case. You never said you knew this man.”
“I don’t. He came to see me.”
“Who is he, then?”
“Believe it or not, he’s an FBI-agent.”
“An agent? Living here? That can’t be.”
“Oh yes, it is. His wife keeps the farm
and he works from home or in the field
office. He’s brilliant, by the way. Very
clever mind. He’s worked on Waco and a
couple of other hostage situations. He’s
been working on the 9-11
investigations, too.”
She shrugged. “If he’s so brilliant, then
why did he come to you?”
“Ouch. Touché. Because Indians are not his
forte. Neither are legends and
ghosts.”
“Thought we weren’t doing ghosts?”
“I lied.” Mulder grinned wryly and raised
his hand to knock on the door. It
swung open. The agent almost kicked the
tall man standing in the doorway in the
face. Mark Gable laughed, stepping
backwards.
“Mulder! Good to see you. This must be
your partner. Hi, I’m Mark Gable. Pleased
to meet you.”
“No relation to -?”
He laughed and shook his head. “Not at
all. Come in. Come in. Did you find it
okay?”
“Your directions were clear.”
“I’m used to guiding people through the
Idaho wastelands. Can I get you
anything? Coffee? Tea? Hot cocoa?”
“Coffee is fine,” Scully said, instantly
growing a liking to the man standing
before them. “Thank you.”
A few moments later Scully had taken in
the house’s décor and decided she loved
it. Large, bright rooms. A huge kitchen
with a cooking island. Open living room
with separate study, an enormous hallway
leading to upstairs rooms that were
probably just as large as the downstairs
area.
Everything had been decorated with
attention and the touch of a female hand.
It
was gorgeous. Now if she could only
transfer this house to D.C. she’d have her
dream place.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mulder
who moved closer to her and whispered,
“I know you’re not a country girl, but
wouldn’t you just kill for this place?”
“Indeed.”
They sat around the large table in the
kitchen area and drank their coffees
while Mark chattered away about a case
he’d done just recently and that Mulder
had obviously heard of. An old pal of him,
she should have known, she thought
with a smile.
“My wife will be home early tomorrow
morning. She’s staying at her parents
tonight with our daughter, Molly. We were
kind of hoping you might find a
solution to our problem.”
“What exactly is your problem, sir?”
Scully asked.
“Please, call me Mark. Colleagues and all
that. Well, believe it or not but I
never thought I’d say this but lately I’ve
come to believe that there might be
ghosts wandering about this place and I
don’t like it at all. I cannot explain
what is happening any other way.”
“Start at the beginning,” Mulder insisted.
“Take your time.”
“Well, okay. About a year and a half ago
we got the permits to build our dream
house on this exact spot. When they
started excavating for the house’s
foundations, the construction company
stumbled upon a couple of very, very old
skeletons. Museum officials came over and
removed the skeletons which came from
an old Indian tribe. We received
permission to keep on digging because
there
were just four skeletons and no other
signs of a burial site. They had been
buried separately from another gravesite
apparently.”
Mark poured another coffee and sat down
again. “Anyhow, we thought that would be
the end of it. There was nothing
extraordinary at first. Then last week,
things
started happening. Molly had fevers and
she kept on insisting there was someone
in the room talking to her. Then things
started moving around. My car keys, for
example, kept on disappearing. Doors
opening and closing. Noises in the
basement. Lila hasn’t been able to go down
there for an entire week. The
odd thing is that I don’t feel endangered.
Even if there is something in this
house, I don’t feel like it’s threatening
me. But I am certain that, whatever it
is, it must have come from that burial
site.”
“Mark asked us to spend the night here,
Scully,” Mulder said. “To see if we saw
anything out of the ordinary, too.”
“And what if we do?” Scully asked.
“I don’t know,” Mark shrugged. “Try to
communicate with them, see what they
want, and how we can get rid of them. I’m
not eager to have my daughter grow up
in a haunted house, god forbid. I just
want to make sure that there is nothing
wrong and that we are perfectly safe.”
“I see,” Scully said. “Well, I guess
there’s no harm in staying overnight and
do
some ghost hunting. But you do realize
that tomorrow night we can’t stay. It’s
Thanksgiving after all.”
“Of course. Of course.” Mark shrugged
again. “I’m certain it’s nothing, you
know. I just want to make sure. Now, if
you’ll come upstairs with me, I’ll show
you to your room.”
“Our room?” Scully hissed at her partner.
“Did you tell him – you know – ?”
“Relax, Scully. There’s just one spare
bedroom. He asked if we would mind
sharing it. I said, of course not.”
“I do mind,” she retorted with an evil
grin.
“The couch sleeps fine, too.”
“Nah.”
The spare bedroom was superb. When Mark
left the room and Mulder closed the
door, she hopped on the bed. “Oh, I like
this place.”
“Let’s see if you still like it tonight,”
Mulder grinned and coughed behind his
hand, trying to get rid of the itch that
had been struggling in his throat when
they arrived at the house. He hated aching
throats. Always a foreboding for a
nasty cold, flu or whatever else bug that
roamed the world.
Outside, the dark clouds finally turned
into the predicted storm that roamed the
Idaho lands.
*
Mark Gable was the perfect host, inviting
them for a great dinner he prepared
himself. He shrugged. “If you live this
far out in the middle of nowhere, you
have to cook decently. No takeouts
around.”
“It’s fabulous,” Scully muttered as her
tongue savored the taste of roasted
potatoes with the best mushroom cream
sauce she’d ever eaten in her life. And
the chicken! It melted in her mouth. Good
thing they were spending only one
evening here. She’d gain pounds just by
having dinner here.
The storm broke out in full , sending
lightning bolts through the skies. They
seemed to be everywhere: a stunning view
that pierced through the world and made
the agents think in awe of the forces of
nature that were too strong to control
by any man. When thick drops of rain
started clattering against the windows,
the
three agents finished their dinner.
Mulder had hardly touched anything, numb
by the thickness building up in his
throat. He had done his best to cover it
up though after being thrown curious
glances by Scully.
“Shouldn’t have had that big lunch,” he
retorted. She gave him a frowning look
but didn’t comment.
When they retreated for coffee in the
living room, Scully whispered, “No ghosts
yet.”
Mulder coughed. “Perhaps they know there’s
a sceptic in the house.”
“Funny, Mulder. Funny. Are you feeling
okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just -” He coughed a raw cough
starting in the back of his threat.
“I’ve got this itch. I’m coming down with
something.”
“Let me see.” She put her hand on his
forehead. “You feel warm. When did this
itch start?”
“A couple of hours ago. I’m fine, really.
I’ll be sniffling all day tomorrow,
that’s all.”
“Okay. You might want to take something,
just to be on the safe side.”
“I’ll be alright. It’s just a cold.”
But even then Mulder knew that it wasn’t.
He could feel the warmth of the
clothes he wore, and shivers of cold ran
through his body. He felt frozen to
the core, despite the fireplace.
He brushed off the itch and tried to
listen to Mark telling a hilarious story
about one of his colleagues who had poured
salt in A.D. Skinner’s coffee by
accident and almost got the sack for it.
Mark’s voice drawled in and out of his
head, and every word pounded on his skull
like a sledgehammer, despite his soft
voice.
He started feeling weary. Why was it so
warm in here? He couldn’t be sick during
Thanksgiving, now could he? He had a
marathon of classic movies set up while
eating a takeout turkey dinner with
Scully. He had a fabulous night planned
ahead, with all the romance they so lacked
during their working hours. This
throat ache could not ruin that.
He stood up and removed his sweater,
struggling with the sleeves and his long
arms that just would not get out of the
piece of fabric. He almost suffocated as
the collar got stuck around his head. He
struggled with it, trying to stay put.
Then hands helped him pull the sweater off
him and he looked directly into
Scully’s worrying eyes. He froze as his
eyes strayed away from her and onto the
man standing behind her.
It was not Mark Gable who looked at him
with weary eyes. It was a Native
American.
“Oh brother, I need to sit down,” Mulder
muttered.
Next thing Scully and Gable knew, the
agent lost his footing and slipped down,
not on the couch but on the ground. His
legs buckled from underneath him,
gliding his body onto the cold floor.
There, on his side, Mulder remained lying.
“Mulder!” Scully called out his name and
he could see her form it, but he didn’t
hear what she said. Her calls were deaf to
his ears, almost scaring him. Yet he
couldn’t care less. Gable knelt down too
and he said something but there was no
comprehending of that either.
Through the thick fog that controlled his
ears, the agent said with heavy voice,
“Do you see him?”
Then he closed his eyes.
*
Scully hardly ever felt despair rushing
over her when her partner was sick, but
this time she felt her body tremble as the
seriousness of the situation.
Outside, the storm was making a serious
effort to trap them inside the house.
Not a single man would dare to come out
with this weather. It was risking the
gods.
“What’s wrong with him?” Mark asked,
obviously startled at the sight of Mulder
lying on the floor.
“He’s burning up. Jesus, this is not just
a bug,” Scully replied. “We have to
get his fever down. Help me get him on the
couch. Can you go upstairs and grab
my weekend bag? I’ve got medication in
there.”
“I’ll call my doctor, too.”
Mark reached for the phone. “Dead.”
So will Mulder be if we can’t help him, a
thought rushed through Scully’s mind.
Then she shook her head. It couldn’t be
*that* serious, could it? Then she tried
to recall what could cause such high
fevers in such short notice: a massive
food
poisoning – impossible because they’d had
the same for lunch and dinner, a
serious bout of the flu, meningitis,
appendix, …
No, no appendix. He hadn’t complained
about his abdomen. In fact, he’d merely
complained about an itching throat. She
placed his head in a good position to be
able to look into his throat. There seemed
to be nothing wrong with it. No
swollen glands either. Damn it.
Frustration overwhelmed her.
Mulder murmured in his semi consciousness,
his head suddenly swaying to the left
and his eyes opening. He stared at her
without seeing her. She could actually
see the fever coming through his
expression. He was in pain, yet not. He
seemed
to have difficulty taking deep breaths,
sucking in the air.
“Do you see them?” he asked, grasping her
hand so tightly tears of pain sprung
in her eyes. “They’re right there.”
“Who, Mulder?”
“Them.”
“Mulder, there’s no one here but Mark and
I. Don’t try to talk and stay calm.
I’m going to give you a dose of analgesic
to bring down the fever, okay? Don’t
talk.”
She soothed the soaking wet hairs from his
face and tried to calm him down,
realizing he was in a state of despair and
she didn’t know why. His fever was
already causing hallucinations. She took
his temperature using the ear
thermometer she always had on her. 103.
She held her breath. This was not good.
Any higher and he could go into
convulsions. What the hell was happening
here?
With Mark’s help she gave him a dose of
extra strength liquid Tylenol. He didn’t
even wince and was out cold.
“What is wrong with him?” Mark asked
anxiously. “This is not normal, is it?”
“No, it’s not. I’m worried.” Her words
sounded calm but her voice spoke of a
despair she could no longer hide. “You
can’t get in touch with anyone?”
“No. My cell doesn’t work here and the
phones are dead. I hate to risk driving
him into town, but if he stays here, he
might -” Mark stopped, realizing his
words hit a sore spot.
“We have to,” she agreed. “He needs to be
properly examined. I don’t have the
means or facility to do that here.”
“What do you think it is?”
She sighed, rubbing her head. “I’m so
afraid it’s meningitis, even though that
takes longer to manifest itself.”
“So what else can it be?”
“I’m hoping it will be *just* the flu. At
least then the analgesics can do
their work. Who knows, he might be better
in a few hours, but I just don’t want
to risk that. I’d like to take him into
town and see a doctor as fast as we
can. Is there a hospital nearby?”
“Yeah, about twenty miles from here in
Lewiston. It’s a tricky drive but I know
the way.”
“Let’s go then.”
“I’ll go fetch the car.” Mark grasped his
rain coat from the hallway and pulled
it over his body.
“Be careful.”
Scully watched Mark open the door and rush
outside towards the garage box. She
was just about to close the door when a
loud crash of thunder shook the
house. To the right of Mark, a large oak
tree came crashing down, directly into
the garage. Mark could barely jump aside
as the tree branches dropped on the
vehicles and part of the building. The
agent turned around and rushed back to
the house, cursing as he did so.
“Are you okay?” Scully asked, checking him
for injuries.
“Yeah,” he sighed out of breath. “That was
a close one. What the hell was that?”
“It looks like we’re staying.” Scully’s
heavy heart fell as she looked into the
living room and found her partner still
lying there. “We’re isolated now, aren’t
we?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Scully groaned and let hopelessness
finally take over completely. For the
first
time since their evening ended up in hell,
she felt tears sprung freely into her
eyes. She returned to the living room to
take care of Mulder, only to find the
couch empty and her partner gone.
“Mulder?”
A loud bang coming from upstairs startled
the two of them. Mark rushed upstairs
first, finding the guest bedroom locked
and sealed.
“Mulder, open up!” he yelled.
“I don’t think Mulder could have gone up
here on his own,” Scully answered
anxiously. “He was too sick.”
“Are you telling me there’s someone else
in the house?” Mark asked.
Scully startled. That couldn’t be, could
it? Surely they would have noticed it.
Yet, as Mark had stated earlier, strange
things had happened in the house. What
if someone was playing tricks on them,
hiding in the large rooms in one of the
many closets? No, it couldn’t be true.
“Mulder, open the door,” Scully said,
knocking on the door. “It’s me, Scully.
Please, if you can hear me, open up.”
“I’ll try to get in from the outside,”
Mark suggested. “There’s a large ladder
in the shed behind the house. Stay here
and try to get him to talk to you.”
“Okay.” She grasped the man’s sleeve. “Be
careful, Mark. We’re not having much
luck today.”
He nodded, understand what she was saying.
Scully continued knocking on the door,
hoping that whoever was in that room with
Mulder, would see some sense and help.
*
Mulder woke to pitch-black darkness. He
was in a room he didn’t know, a place he
didn’t remember. Odd, he was feeling fine.
Or was he?
He raised his head, only to sink it back
into the soft, thick pillows. Through
the darkness in his mind he recalled where
he was. This was the guest bedroom in
Gable’s house. He remembered the soft bed
and the beautiful décor. But why was
he alone? Where was Scully?
He couldn’t hear her, or her knocking.
His hand felt for a lamp or light switch.
He found a lamp and switched it on
while turning on his side. He had to be
careful: his head spun constantly. A
deep shock overtook him as he saw a woman
standing next to the bed. She was not
alone. Behind her were a man and two
children. They stared at him silently.
“Who are you?” he asked, taking in their
clothes and appearance. They were
Native Americans, but not the modern kind.
They wore clothing that would have
suited them centuries ago. The man had
tattoos on his arms. His face was
painted. The woman was beautiful. The
children were innocents standing barefoot
in the room.
They didn’t respond to him. “Who are you?”
he asked again.
As he watched, they didn’t move. They
didn’t touch him or try to harm him. They
just stood there. Mulder rose up
carefully, slipped off the bed and
stumbled to
the door, passing the Native Americans
within inches. They didn’t do anything to
stop him, but as he tried the door handle
it didn’t give in. Nothing happened.
Mulder turned. “I don’t know what you
want,” he groaned, “but I’m feeling sick.
Let me go.”
The man stepped forward. “We want to show
you something,” he spoke in a language
that was not English yet completely
understandable by the agent. “Do you trust
us enough to come with us, Fox?”
“My name is Mulder. Everyone calls me
that.”
“You have an Indian name, as has been said
to you in the past. And you have
Indian bonds. Have you not experienced the
Blessing Way Chant?”
Mulder froze to the core, staring at the
man. “How do you know that?”
“We all know it. We are the same people,
sharing the same blood even though our
tribes are different. I want you to come
with me, and I will show you what we
have. But I must warn you that you will
hurt your friends.”
“Why would I want to go with you? What
will I do to my friends?”
“They will think you have left this life
and moved onto the next. I promise you
that it is worth it. It has been shown to
you in the past and I want you to see
it again. Please, I beg of you. We mean no
harm.”
All the time the man had spoken with the
woman and two children standing behind
him. Only now Mulder saw the sadness in
their eyes. How long had they been here,
waiting for someone who would be willing
to listen to them? Had their souls
roamed the Earth for centuries? Was he, as
a result of the Blessing Way Chant
the only the one who could talk to them?
“Alright,” Mulder said. “I place my life
in your hands. It seems that you have
meddled with it anyhow.”
The man slowly nodded. “Only the open-
minded can see us. Only the ones who have
experienced what we have experienced. You
will not regret it.”
“So, what do I do?”
“Just let your mind go freely. And I will
be your Guide. Only on this level of
your illness will you be able to see us.
Or, if your mind is open enough for
it.”
Before he could even say or do another
thing, Mulder felt his body slip into a
certain oblivion where he no longer had
control over his mind or motions. He had
been there before, resting his fate in the
hands of Albert Hosteen. And he knew
somehow, that he would be safe.
*
Scully’s hard knocks on the door were to
no avail. And then, as she had the
doorknob in her hand for another firm push
against the wood, she heard a click.
It unlocked.
“Mulder.” Relief surged through her as she
opened the door and found the room
pitch black.
Her fingers touched the switch and flicked
it on. Her body simply stopped
breathing when she noticed the man on the
floor, lying face down and crumbled
before her.
“Mark!” Her cry was loud enough to be
heard outside of the house, through the
storm that was finally dying down.
“Mulder, oh god, don’t do this to me.” She
turned him around and found him lying
motionless and very still. His eyes were
closed. His chest had stopped moving.
Her fingers frantically went for his
throat. No response. No heartbeat. Not a
single breath.
Frantically she tore at her partner’s T-
shirt, pulling it up so she could touch
his bare chest. She brought his face into
the right position to breathe into his
mouth. She started compressions on his
chest. One – two – three – breath. More.
One – two – three – breath!
Mulder, fuck you. Don’t you die on me now.
More. Mark! Mark, help.
Their newfound friend rushed into the room
as if he had heard her silent,
unspoken cries for help. He took over the
chest compressions, pushing life into
Mulder. She kept on breathing air into his
lungs, frantically searching for a
sign that there was still some life in
him.
Nothing worked. Ten minutes they worked
like fanatics, trying to bring Mulder
back to the living. Nothing.
After fifteen minutes, Mark grasped her
arm and stopped her from forcing more
air into her partner’s unwilling lungs.
She looked up in sheer anger, staring at
him as if he’d gone mad.
“Leave me alone,” she growled, still going
for it.
“He’s gone, Dana. It’s over.”
“It can’t be.” She shoved Mark out of the
way and continued her frantic
breathing. She took over the heart massage
too. Mark stared at her from a
distance, suddenly realizing there was
much more to her behavior than just the
simply colleague-to-colleague politeness
and care. They were a couple. He could
tell now, how serious her desperation was.
“Dana, please.” Mark, who had never even
met her until four hours ago, took her
in his arms and pulled her head against
his chest, holding her tight while she
hit him on the chest. He didn’t want to
let go of her and he heard her cries and
whimpers.
“I have to help him -” she muttered
angrily, forcing herself free again. “I
have
to!”
“He’s dead! Dana, he’s dead.”
The words shot through her heart like
knifes. He could not be dead. He could not
be. But he lay deadly still on the ground
and nothing proved that he would ever
return to her. His body was an empty shell
with a soul roaming around the
universe.
She felt a cry escape her throat coming
from so deep that it hurt her stomach.
She stared at Mark and then at the man on
the ground. She knelt by Mulder, and
touched his face. It was still very warm,
still hot.
And she nodded. “Yes,” she spoke with a
very hoarse voice. He’s dead.”
*
I have been here before.
It was the first thought that roamed
through Mulder’s mind as he opened his
eyes
and stared into the stars. He had seen his
father here, and the man they called
Deep Throat. Only this time he wasn’t
lying on a bed of pine boughs and there
was no one trying to save his life.
Or was there?
He kept on hearing Scully’s frantic voice.
Her cries. He felt sorry for her. He
regretted that he had agreed to this, not
knowing what would happen next. Why
had he gone here? He had hoped not to come
to this place again until his time
had come for good.
“You are afraid,” the man next to him
said. “But do not fear me. I am your
Guide.”
“What is your name?”
“They called me Wisdom Speaker. I was part
of the tribe that lived here a long
time ago. My people are still here but in
modern forms. They now live amongst
the white who have taken over the lands
and made peace. They are happy because
they have good lives.”
“But you didn’t?”
“I was here when they arrived with their
boats and started taking over the
lands. I fought for the preservation of
our lands for over twenty years. I was
the Tribe’s counselor and I wanted no
peace. I knew only after death and that
was wrong. The moments of peace are much
more important. My wife and children
were the victims of the warfare I have
caused. I cannot take that back now and I
roam the Earth forever, waiting for
someone to make peace with what I have
done. Someone who can show me how to give
my soul to eternity and make amends.”
“How long?”
“I have no recollection of time or place.
My mortal body has been gone forever.
My soul has been here forever too, with my
family. They need rest. I want you to
give them that.”
“How can I?” Mulder asked. “I don’t know
anything about your past or your
future. All I know is that you have
stirred the house that is now inhabited by
a
new family.”
“I wanted to make contact with them. I
made a connection to the girl. I do not
wish to hurt them. All I want, is to find
peace for my soul.”
“How?” Mulder repeated. “I don’t know how
I can help you.”
“You have been given a second mortal
chance through my brothers who have saved
your life. They have performed a ritual on
you that was always preserved for our
own. You have the connection that I need
between life and death. I tested you.
Once you became ill, you saw me.”
“So you made me sick?”
He slowly nodded.
“My greatest problem has been the
connection between my people and yours. I
want
one chance to make that connection.”
“Thanksgiving.”
The Guide nodded again.
“I will try to find you your peace,”
Mulder said. “But I cannot make you
promises. I don’t own the key to
anything.”
“Yes, you do. You just don’t know it.”
As the stars grew larger, Mulder looked at
what seemed to be a thousand people.
They were everywhere around them, forming
a circle that locked them in. Spirits
of the deceased in all colors, forms and
gender. Now he understood his
connection. They had locked on him once
before, giving him the choice between
life and death. How many times had they
been here for him?
“I will try.”
The stars grew larger to form one white
blanket brushing over him. Mulder knew
that his body and mind would return to one
again. And somehow, the belief that
he had a very strong guardian strengthened
him. It was a good feeling.
*
“The phone’s are up again. I’ve called for
help.”
Mark stepped into the dining room where
Scully sat bleakly on a chair. She had
ran out of tears or anything to say. Ten
minutes ago, she had lost Mulder and it
felt like it had already been forever. She
just couldn’t stop staring at her
hands that trembled and felt extremely
cold.
She didn’t reply. Mark shoved a chair
closer to her, so she wouldn’t be able to
see into the hallway where the staircase
lead to the room where her partner’s
body lay. Mark had moved him onto the bed
in a last token of appreciation and
care. He had then closed the door quietly,
switching off the lights. He had
practically forced Scully to go
downstairs, eager as she was to stay and
pray
for her partner’s well-being.
“Dana, can I get you anything?”
She looked up at him. “Do you know he
never called me Dana? Only when I was hurt
or very sick. Please, call me Scully. I
can’t bear it.”
“Scully. I wish I knew what to say. I wish
I could turn back the clock and live
in some goddamn crowded city where we
could find doctors and help easily. I -”
He stopped when she placed her hand on his
arm.
“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s
fault. It just happened.”
“I wish -”
He stopped when he saw her face grow
extremely white. She clutched her hand
before her mouth, uttering out a horrid
cry he would forever remember. Then she
moved past him, rushing towards the
hallway , despite Mark’s eagerness to
block
her view.
Mark rose and turned and then heard a
similar cry escape his throat.
On the staircase, grasping the wood hard,
stood Mulder. He tried to stand up but
couldn’t. He was weak as a puppy, sitting
down on the steps while still holding
on.
“Scully -” he just said, watching her
approach him with the awe of someone who
had just seen a miracle. “What’s going on?
I feel strange.”
She touched his arm first and then his
face. His cool face. She stared at him,
not believing what she was seeing. Neither
could Mark. Before the agent could
say something, Scully shot him a warning
glance and then returned to Mulder.
“It’s okay,” she soothed him. “You were
very sick. But it’s alright now. I’m
here. Let’s get you back upstairs.”
Mulder allowed her to wrap her arm around
him. Leaning on her for support, the
two of them made their way back to the
room, followed by Mark.
In the far distance, the sound of sirens
was clearly heard.
*
The Lewiston hospital never dealt with
miracles before. Not that they knew they
were facing one. All they knew was that a
man had been brought in who’d had a
high fever throughout the night and a
sudden recovery when he woke out of a deep
coma.
The only ones who knew the truth were Mark
and Scully.
Pacing in the hospital corridor, Scully
waited until news came from the test
results. They had taken Mulder upstairs
for scans, blood tests and the works.
She was still waiting for him to return.
When the ambulance arrived at the Gable
house, Mulder was doing relatively fine.
He was very tired and kept on telling her
that he had been to another place and
talked to the people roaming the house and
that they were fine, and that they
just wanted peace of mind. She had to use
all of her calm to sooth him and get
him to calm down. He kept on touching her
face and telling her how sorry he was
that he had to do this to her.
It was as if he had indeed gone to the
dead and then returned. She didn’t want
to believe it. She knew he’d had the
Blessing Way ritual in the past. She knew
he believed in the after death. So did
she. She had seen her father when he
died. She knew what it was like to die and
come back. To dwell between the
living and the others. But Mulder had been
dead. Certifiably dead. There was
no doubt of that. It shook her up.
The gurney came back. Mulder was being
taken upstairs by two nurses and spoke to
them in a clear voice. Scully still could
not believe that her man was in that
bed talking and making jokes.
The fever was as good as gone. His vitals
were almost back to normal. No one
would have known that the man on the bed
had been legally dead less than an hour
and a half ago.
“So, what now?” Mulder asked, leaning back
tiredly on the bed in the ER. Mark
and Scully were both there, watching him
intently. Scully had begged her
colleague not to mention anything to
Mulder about their attempts to revive him.
“I don’t want him shook up more than he is
already,” she had said.
“Dana – Scully, he was dead. Please don’t
tell me I was dreaming that.”
“No, you weren’t. But what point has it to
dwell on that, Mark? I’d rather
forget this has ever happened.”
“But I still live in that house. I have a
very good idea to get rid of it all
together.”
“Don’t do anything rash just yet,” Scully
had replied. “We’ll stay in the area
for the time being. Let’s talk about this
later. Mulder is too weak to travel
anyhow. Even though he’ll probably be fine
in a day or two, I don’t want him
going through a plane ride and a trip home
right now.”
“You can stay at my place. I don’t want
you in some hotel.”
“It’s Thanksgiving.”
“So? After all we’ve been through tonight,
I consider you family. I want you to
come back to the house with me.”
“Thank you, Mark.”
Mark now looked at the man in the bed and
then realized he had just seen
something he’d never see again in his
life. A second chance. Or a third, as
Scully had explained while waiting for
Mulder.
“You are going to stay overnight,” Dr.
Miller said who walked into the room with
the test results. “You did run a high
fever earlier and seem okay now, but
you’ve obviously been through a lot.
You’ve lost a lot of fluids that we’ll be
bringing into you through an IV. You can
leave tomorrow morning, providing
everything’s normal then.”
Mulder nodded, to Scully’s surprise, not
eager to argue about it. “Thanks,
doctor.”
“I’ll stay, too,” Scully said
determinedly.
“No, you go with Mark,” Mulder replied. “I
want you have a good night’s rest.”
He turned to Mark then. “You shouldn’t
worry too much about your house. I’m
fairly certain all the oddities are gone
now.”
Mark opened his mouth.
“All they ever wanted was to make even
with their past but they couldn’t connect
to the living. Your daughter’s high fever
was caused by them, so was mine. But
they didn’t mean any harm. Spend
Thanksgiving as you have planned to do and
let
them be part of it.”
Mark didn’t know what to say, and then
simply shrugged. “I will. Hell, I’ve seen
enough tonight to make me believe in
anything.”
Mulder smiled. “That’s the way it goes.”
*
The family sat around the table with two
extra guests. Mulder, still weak but
getting better by the hour, took in the
fabulous scents of turkey and yams and
all the lovely foods that were cooked by
Mark’s wife Lila. The television set
played. Molly toyed with her new doll and
couldn’t stop staring at Mulder. It
was as if she felt they had a connection.
The discussions at the table went from fun
to serious to fun again. And as the
turkey was served on the best china and
Mark told his daughter the Thanksgiving
story, which he did every year, Mulder
couldn’t help but smile at the sight of
the four ghosts standing in between the
humans.
They looked at the table and at the family
enjoying themselves and the girl
playing with her new doll, and they nodded
in contentment.
The Guide took his wife by the hand, and
she grasped the two children with their
smiling faces and they embraced. And then
they were gone.
“Mulder? Are you okay?” Scully turned to
him, grabbing his fingers. He pulled
her towards him and kissed her long and
gently.
“I am now,” he said.
The End
Virtual Season X 