Do You See Them?

Do you see them?

By Humbuggie

(c) 2003

Feedback: san@sv-tales.com

http://www.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

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s