The Damascus Files - File 1(2/2)

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TITLE: The Damascus Files - File 1(2/2)
AUTHOR: Katvictory
DISCLAIMERS: They all belong to Chris Carter and Fox, I want nothing. Don't
sue. There really is a Rustic, Colorado but there are no extremist living
there. There really is a Sky Watch Bed & Breakfast but Mr. Wagner doesn't own
it. I have tinkered with the history, geography, even the weather in this long
story. No offense was meant, it was all done simply to advance the story.

We leave Cancun tomorrow for Merida. Even though we have enjoyed our stay
these last 10 days, both of us are ready to move on. I think Mulder was ready
after the second day, but he stayed for my benefit thinking it was the place,
not his company, that I enjoyed. We were together constantly those first few
days here. His and Kami's Mayan expedition was put on hold. Poor Kami, not
wanting to intrude, graciously declined joining us that first morning when we
went out to see the sights. Mulder and I got so caught up in each other, we
didn't return for four days. Kami was stranded by herself at the motel. With
these accommodations, it was hardly a "hard time", but still, I know from the
loneliness and boredom of this past week, even if the cage is gilded, it still
feels like prison.

I guess I'm just tired of being a woman of leisure. I need something to occupy
my time. I'm ready for the "vacation" to be over, and I'm thinking of asking my
companions for a job. I know it's my fault I'm not involved in their daily
chores out at the ruins. I'm still not on "speaking" terms with their employer,
Mr. Wagner. I made it clear from the start, when he set up this jaunt with
Mulder and Kami, I was only tagging along because Mulder might need me. I
wanted nothing to do with the gathering of information for his files, or with
him. After Mulder's breakdown this past spring, I don't trust the man and it's
a thorn in my side that we are in his debt.

I need to get off the subject of Wagner in order to be in the right frame of
mind to talk to Mulder and Kami. I don't really even know if there's room for
one more in their workplace because, to tell the truth, I don't exactly know
what their duties are. I know they are gathering facts on Mayan ruins, but I
don't know how they're going about the task. Even though both of them have
chatted with me a few times about the sites themselves, neither has said a word
about how they gather these facts that they put in their daily e-mails to their
boss.

I hate to admit it but ever since I started thinking about joining their
little work "crew", my biggest question has been, "How exactly does Mulder
search for clues at an archeological site when he is legally blind?" I hope
they hire me because I really am curious about the answer.

We are staying tonight at, where else with our expense account, The Ritz. It's
pretty impressive -- luxurious, but with a classic, old world charm. Our room
is huge, comfortable, tastefully decorated and, well, ritzy. I almost sounded
like a travel brochure there, until the end.

Mulder's downstairs making arrangements with the hotel on helping us find a
guide to drive us to Uxmal tomorrow. He already has our motel reservations near
the site and the next day will be my first day at my new job. I'm excited and
yesterday I grabbed a paperback guidebook on Yucatan ruins. It's not really a
textbook, more of a tourist manual. I hate to admit it, but I am totally
ignorant on the Mayan Civilization. I guess I shouldn't feel too badly because
Kami was too, a month ago.

Mulder had been listening to countless audio tapes on pre-Columbian Central
America during the time he was falling so ill. He had a fairly detailed
knowledge even before we arrived in Mexico and now he is almost an expert on
the cities, the history and even the daily life of these ancient people. I
found out last night how Mulder became so well versed on this subject when I
finally asked him to give me an idea of what we would be doing each day.

Unorthodox is a good way to describe the way we worked at the X-Files and
Mulder hasn't changed his methods in his new career. He confessed to me how he
unlocks the secrets of the ancient sites and gave me an impromptu
demonstration. I guess I have to believe his claims, but no one would fault me
my initial doubt. You see, Mulder is now psychic. There, I said it. That didn't
hurt too badly. Oh, God.

Through all these years, all the cases we've worked on, with all the strange,
frightening, miraculous mysteries we've uncovered, I played the role of the
skeptic. It has become second nature to me and it was a part that Mulder seemed
to want me to...no, NEEDED me to accept. I admit, with my background in the
sciences, I was the logical choice to be the devil's advocate. But I found it
ironic that Mulder never questioned why I had become such a "doubting Thomas."

I was the member of the partnership whose dossier listed a religious
affiliation. I remember checking Mulder's, that day so long ago, when I'd been
assigned to the FBI's most unwanted. Beside the query RELIGION, even though the
question was optional, Mulder had boldly scrawled - capital ATHEIST,
exclamation point. I interpreted this statement to be, not just the normal
definition of "one who doubts the existence of God" but a defiant proclamation
stating, "I refuse to believe in God." Hardly the credo on which his life's
work was based.

I have a theory as to why Mulder has always seemed so anti-religious. Now, it
is just my opinion and purely speculation. To this day, we've never really had
an in-depth discussion about the matter and it's not a subject easily broached,
so my idea will probably remain unproved. You see, I think he developed his
beliefs as a defense mechanism and his attitude evolved during his hellishly
traumatic childhood until he finally adopted the tenet, "Since God doesn't
believe in me..."

Mulder knows that I grew up in a family that was unshakably devout. Even
though I had seemingly abandoned the church as an adult, my childhood beliefs
still colored my perceptions. I might have been a scientist and a self-
proclaimed skeptic, but underneath I was...I am, the child who knows, that with
faith, cheap wine becomes the blood of Christ, a sliver of a cracker, His flesh.

Mulder has never understood that I cry "foul" so loudly because of fear. I was
born with a mind that works in a straight forward, logical manner. It's a nice
way of saying I lack imagination. I found little comfort, in my youth, from the
stories and teachings of my faith because I tended to take them all literally.
I never liked hearing about seas parting to kill people and people being struck
blind. I knew the lesson being offered was, the guilty will be punished, but I
could only focus on the supernatural manner in which this punishment was
carried out.

I never meant to sound sacrilegious or even flippant when I bared my soul to
Sister Placita that day. She'd simply made the mistake of asking if there were
any questions. Sister was a young nun, a rarity at my school. She seemed so
wise, so "with it," and I had always thought of her as one of the good guys,
because of the way she was able to communicate with her students. Without a
second thought, I raised my hand, and when she acknowledged me, I just started
in.

"I don't think it was fair the way God stepped in for Moses at the Red Sea and
killed all those men. Couldn't he have just given the Hebrews boats to get
away? After all, He's God. Or maybe, make them able to walk on water like
Jesus? I don't like it that in the Bible, it's like He's Santa Clause on a
"Dirty Harry" trip. It makes me feel like we'd better be good or it's, "Go
ahead, make My day." Well sure, the Pharaoh had it coming, but what about his
men? They were only carrying out orders. And that last lesson, couldn't Jesus
have found another way to stop Saul from persecuting His followers without
coming out of nowhere and striking him blind? What ever happened to that small
voice whispering to us?"

I took her silence as interest, so I continued, "Sister, I know God gave us
rules and He wants us not to break them, but how come He breaks the rules of
science, that He gave us, all the time? I mean, I believe in Him without all
the mystical stuff, like visions. Oh yeah, and what about things like vampires
and werewolves, not that I believe in them, but the stories had to come from
somewhere. Why does he let that kind of thing happen? How come..."

I was on my way to the office before my next question could be asked. Needless
to say, I never got my answers. I still don't have them, and I still don't like
the fact there are unexplained mysteries. Why ARE there things that can't be
explained? Things that can't be understood, can't be controlled? I like
control, and logic, and order. Mulder has never realized that I do believe, I
just don't really want to. I don't want to believe in Mulder's powers. It
frightens me.

I sat the entire day just holding this book, stoking the fire and thinking of
Scully. She's alive. I told Skinner I knew she was alive and even without being
able to see his expression, I know he's now my resident skeptic. Scully claimed
I feel I need one, so I guess the Marine will step up and do the job. God, did
he know what he was getting himself into when he found me last month? Probably
not, but he has assumed the role of my doctor, my nursemaid, my therapist, my
psychiatric counselor and my friend with diligence and no complaint.

Just awhile back, right after his drugstore raid, he told me he felt
responsible for what had happened to me. I didn't say anything to him, but
Scully and I both had thought the same thing at first. After all, he was the
one who had given me the assignment. Earlier this year we discovered that he'd
left
the bureau the day after Scully, after his demand for an investigation on what
had happened to me had been denied. I can't help but think Skinner's only sin
was that he sat too long on the fence. He just didn't realize that sometimes
duty and honor are on two very different paths.

God, it's getting cold. We only have half a ceiling here in the basement. It's
what used to be the floor of the kitchen. When Skinner helped me to the head
this morning he told me there was already frost on the ground. We might have an
early snow this year. Neither one of us noticed when summer left. Somehow it
just disappeared while I was sick and he was busy keeping us alive.

Talking to him this morning, before he left on a supply run, I found out that
it has been six weeks now since the end. I remember when the announcement came
over the news, it was August 9th. It was a worldwide press conference, and in
each country it was announced: "We have assumed control of your government,
after a bloodless takeover." Yeah, bullshit. Bloodless. What do THEY know about
blood, God damn morphing, green, acid leaking mother-fuckers! How much of
Kami's blood was on me when Skinner found me? How much of my blood soaked into
the dirt before THEY dragged me into the house, so THEY could burn the bodies?

(Continues after several minutes silence) I, ah, I made Skinner read a couple
of pages before he left to get our supplies. I close my eye and I can hear her.
It's like she's talking to me, going off on one topic or another. I had to
laugh at "the little heretic and the nun" story. Her mom probably almost died
of embarrassment. From what Maggie says, Scully had a way of getting under the
sisters' skin at times. She told me Scully was expelled for three days her
junior year because she wrote a report calling for a bill that makes condom use
education mandatory in all accredited schools, including parochial. The problem
hadn't just been that she had written it. The problem had come when she'd
gotten friends at the school paper to publish it. And she always accused me of
being a troublemaker!

We haven't left yet. Kami and Mulder and our new employee are out equipping
our expedition. When I last wrote, Mulder was making arrangements with the
hotel to procure the services of a guide for the forty mile jaunt to Uxmal. It
seems the man they recommended did not meet Mulder's high standards. He chose
instead to enlist the infinitely superior taxi driver/guide/ex-drug smuggler
we'd met when he'd ferried us about the city yesterday afternoon on a sight-
seeing jaunt. This great, white path-finder, who by the way, is known around
here simply as "Mohawken Jack," (the name stems from the product he once
illicitly moved) had apparently impressed Mulder with his knowledge of pre-
Columbian ruins, while he spirited us about, almost killing us with his
reckless driving and total disregard for traffic rules.

When asked WHY Mohawken Jack was hired over the other, seemingly more
qualified, better referenced driver, Mulder simply replied.

We are paying this criminal $3,000.00 per month, plus expenses, while we
furnish the vehicle, supplies and all travel expenses. Personally, I think
Mohawken Jack is the real psychic here, he sure saw Mulder coming.

"Do we speak something truthful here, Life Giver? We only dream, we only get
up from the dream. It is only like a dream... Nobody speaks the truth here..."

The quote above is from the University of Minnesota's Pre-Colombian Program.
It's from a legend that tells of the birth of the Mayan Civilization. It's the
story of a good but sadly twisted and misshapen god who throws himself into the
flames of truth, as a sacrifice, to create the fifth sun, the sun that gives
birth to the Mayans. The search for the truth is never ending.

I've found I love this work, if you can even call it work. Basically, what we
do is play the amateur archeologist tourist and wander the site. Our blind
companion must, of course, use his touch to "see" what he can of the ruins, so
no one takes notice. When Mulder stops at a place or an artifact he has found
"interesting" we join him and wait 'til the crowd clears, at which time he
gives us his "reading". It's fascinating what comes out of him - stories of
people and places, facts about what the object or building was used for. At
times, just lingering emotional "vibes" that speak for the long dead occupants
of this city. It's like he's our window to the past.

Uxmal is beautiful, surrounded by a rain forest canopy that filters light so
the ancient stones are bathed in a faint, greenish glow. The Pyramid of the
Magician, fabled to have been built by a magician dwarf with the help of his
witch mother, rises up out of the jungle, its height deceptive till you reach
the top. There you stand at a dizzying height, and view the miles upon miles of
dense wilderness that stretch out as far as your eyes can see. The Mayans must
have had tiny feet; the steps down are short and steep. My heart is in my
throat the entire time I watch Mulder ascend, even with Jack's hand to steady
him. Our driver doesn't know my partner's penchant for on the job injury.

We are staying at a wonderfully picturesque lodge that carries the ambiance of
the past but has all the modern amenities. I am afraid our next leg won't
afford such comfort. I haven't discussed with Mulder where that might be, but I
noticed our beat up, four-wheel drive Suburban is packed with camping supplies.
When I remember the view of the endless jungle surrounding this city, and how
much of what's here that is only now being reclaimed from the land's grip, my
throat tightens. A person could venture into this forest primeval and easily be
swallowed up, never to be heard from again.

When Skinner read this last entry, that part that tells about the God
Nanahuatzin, he stopped. I know he was looking at me, just smiling. See, Scully
paraphrased the legend, purposefully casting me in the role of the truth-
seeking God, but I'm kinda offended that I'm so easily recognizable in the
part. That part about ugly and misshapen, it kinda bothers me a bit. Not really
good for the old ego, ya know? (laughs).

Looking back, my memories are so clear of that period. God, Scully hated Jack.
Well, at first she did, 'til she got to know him. Scully told me once he looked
like he could have been Jerry Garcia's brother. (Kami asked, always the little
smart-ass. "Don't you mean -- Cherry Garcia? The guy who makes the ice cream?")
She was joking, of course. Her father, ever the collector, has all the Dead's
recordings, on vinyl yet. Scully finally saw Jack as the fine, brave man he
really is. We never would have made it out of Guatemala without Mohawken Jack
Hart. I hope he has gotten himself lost, somewhere down in the Yucatan, riding
this storm out. Maybe when Scully comes back and I'm well enough, that's where
we'll go. God, I could picture Skinner and Jack together. They're about the
same age. I'd love to hear them reminisce about the '60s and '70s (laughs).
Hard to believe they're from the same planet, much less the same generation.

In Uxmal, the rain forest and our journey, it was still light, the darkness
came later. There's a certain feeling about the place. Scully and Kami didn't
need me to sense that it was a good place, even with all the tales of
magicians, dwarfs and witches. I think the feeling reflected the Mayan's
culture at that point in their history; it was on the rise, it was their golden
age. You feel peace in Uxmal. Man at one with nature and his world. They
respected their Gods. All the houses were built to keep Venus, their God of
war, in sight through the doors and windows. They knew who the enemy was and
kept their eye on him, making sure he was held at bay.

We only worked half a day, finishing up at the site, then we leave tomorrow
for Palenque, a ruin far west of here. It's where the mountains first give way
to the lowlands and the hot, humid jungle that is the Yucatan peninsula.
Nothing but rain forests lie from Palenque to the Coast. I've adjusted to the
fact that it's a logical point to begin the in-depth search for ruins, and I do
feel a tingle of excitement just thinking about the adventure of it all. Uxmal
has gotten me hooked; I am a Mayanist. But, deep down, though, there's a touch
of fear when I dwell on how far from the modern world we will be traveling.
Funny, I used to tease Mulder that he would lapse into catatonia without his
cell phone. Now, I'm the one who frets about trekking into the wilds.

It wasn't until we went to dinner that I finally realized the date today is
the 13th. October 13, 2000, Mulder's 39th birthday. I quietly excused myself
and silently snuck into the kitchen where I confided my dilemma to our host,
Edwardo Martinez. He called his wife over, and she reassured me they would take
care of everything. Sure enough, at the end of the meal, the kitchen door burst
open and out strolled Maria and Edwardo with a beautiful cake. The top was
ablaze with candles and along with the bus boy/dishwasher, Jose, they offered
an off-key rendition of the Spanish birthday song.

I've seen Mulder blush before, but I have never seen his face quite the vivid
shade of red it was at that moment. Our fellow guest gave a nice round of
applause for the birthday boy, who, head bent and ears bright scarlet, bobbed a
quick, stiff bow in return. Embarrassed as he was, he still consumed two pieces
of cake, forgiving me before the evening ended.

La Hacienda de Quetzalcoatl sits right beside the ancient city. As Mulder and
I strolled back to our cabin, I was overwhelmed by the sight of the Pyramid of
the Magician, soaring up to tower over the tall, darkened trees, its rounded
stones kissed by the silvery light of the enormous, full moon.

"Mulder," I whispered, my tone a reverent hush, "Can you see it? The Magician,
above the forest. It almost looks like it's glowing."

I'd held his arm to stop him short and watched his face as he squinted in the
direction I'd faced him. With an apologetic grin he shook his head, " Sorry,
not enough light I guess. I can see it during the day. Sort of. Maybe if we
were closer."

With a sad sigh and a shrug he grabbed my arm again and we finished our walk
to our room. Wide moonbeams cut through the French doors that opened to the
back courtyard and I insisted we move our bedding to the floor, so we could
enjoy the fresh air and the view of the ruins. We made love, and talked
throughout the night.

Dawn was just tinting the sky when I made the suggestion, " Mulder, why don't
we start those lessons in Braille I have packed away. It'll give us something
to do in the evenings after work. I'd like to learn too, I think."

"Don't you want to learn? I know how much you used to love to read," I
replied, a bit disappointed he wasn't more receptive to my idea.

"Scully, I don't need to learn Braille," he replied, burying his face in my
hair. "All I have to do to read a book is to hold it, you know?"

I was stunned. That's right, his powers, "You can do that? Actually read the
pages? I didn't know. My God, that's fantastic..." I'd pushed myself up to sit,
excited over learning this new facet of amazing gifts.

Unable to hold it in any longer, he fell back, howling with laughter. He
rolled on the floor, cackling 'til he had to grip his sides from the pain.

"Asshole," I hissed, trying hard to be angry. It was no use. I just couldn't
bring myself to be mad at him. Not when he was finally able to laugh like this.
I began to giggle and soon I was roaring as loud, if not louder than Mulder .

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
October 14, 2000
On the road to Palenque, Mexico

It was a long but enjoyable road trip. I guess I'm getting used to Jack. He's
so funny, in an off beat, hippie nerd (nerdy hippie?) sort of way. The man does
know the Maya and the ruins, which is comforting. He really does have almost
twenty-five years experience trekking these back roads, learning about the
people and places, but Jack is totally insane. Well, maybe that is a little
extreme. Let's just say "Mohawken" Jack Hart sees the world with a unique
vision and marches to a decidedly different drummer. A journey with Jack is an
experience not soon forgotten.

First, there's the fact that if there is a lull in the conversation, he sings.
His voice is actually not too bad, but then again, maybe being tone deaf is a
blessing. At least, he sounds okay to me. Only...well, there is a problem with
his volume. We keep putting Mulder beside him in the passenger seat. Since my
partner's already deaf on that left side, no further damage can be inflicted by
Jack's eardrum bursting renditions of his favorite vintage rock classics.

Needless to say, keeping the conversation going is almost a must. Jack has an
encyclopedic knowledge of meso-america but his interpretation of the facts is
not what one would call mainstream. We were discussing our views on what might
have led to the decline of the Mayan Civilization which began in the tenth
century. The most common theory and certainly the most logical was that warring
factions split the great empire and it was fragmented, thus, the society
withered and died.

"It's just proof of the age old axiom, 'United we stand'," I stated, my voice
rising to be heard over the Suburban's engine. Our muffler had taken a beating
on the rough, pothole ridden road and there was not a Midas in sight.

"I'm not arguing with you, Scully," Mulder argued, keeping his voice low to
make sure we would have to strain to hear him. "I just said the root of the
problem lay with the corruption of the Mayans' old belief system. They fell
away from their Gods. They stopped following the rules, so they were punished.
It's that simple."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you," I yelled, aghast that
Mulder was taking the side, in this never ending philosophical debate, that
what brought about the ancient civilization's downfall was a breakdown in the
society's moral structure. Wow, Mulder, pro-religion. Who would have thought?
"We're not talking the Quakers here. Many of their ancient beliefs were, in
themselves, counter productive to the culture..."

"I can tell you the one true reason the Mayans died out," Jack called out,
finally tiring of the controversy. "It all started with vanity."

"What?" Mulder and I shouted our query in unison. We both found Jack's
statement puzzling. It was the first time we'd agreed on anything in hours.

"One of the Mayans' ideals of physical beauty was crossed eyes. So they'd hang
a bead on their babies' forehead, forcing the kid to stare at it, so that by
the time the kid was five or six, his eye muscles were trained to be
permanently crossed. Kinda hard to go into battle and defeat your enemy when
you're seeing double and don't know which one to kill."

I glanced at Mulder. He was pretending to sleep. Kami withdrew deeper into
the novel she'd been reading all morning. Was I the only person with guts
enough to point out the absurdity of his claim? Jack waited, grinning in
anticipation.

"Shut up, Jack," I said with a sigh. The driver's face fell. Well, I thought,
hunkering down in my seat to nap, at least he didn't start singing again.

We had wanted to press through, but by the time the light had almost
completely faded, Jack was tired. We'd all gotten up at the crack of dawn,
though delays had forced our time of departure to an extremely late 10:30 a.m.
The long hours of driving over the rough, treacherous jungle highways had taken
their toll on our driver.

"We can either stop for the night, or you can pull over and let Mulder or me
take the wheel, your call," I offered, leaning forward so he could hear me.

He braked, rather suddenly I thought, and turned around to face me. "I know he
has those powers, but he can use 'em to drive?"

The near darkness helped me to keep a straight face, so I was going to
continue my charade, but Mulder took pity on the guide.

At least it broke the ice. Jack's laugh is as loud as his singing and the mood
lightened as we broke to camp for the night. Jack helped me to ready the
hammocks while Kami and Mulder sifted through the back of the Suburban
gathering supplies we'd need tonight and in the morning.

Night comes quickly this close to the equator. In a blink the day was gone and
the sweltering darkness had swallowed up the last of the light. It caught me
unaware and alone. I glanced up, straining to catch some sight of the twinkling
stars through the tight filigree of branches overhead, but nothing penetrated
the thick foliage. Never in my life have I been surrounded by a night as black
as this, and a scream to light a fire rose in my throat.

Kami pressed something into my hand. It was a flashlight and I felt a moment
of mute embarrassment at my mind-numbing panic.

* Just grab a flashlight. Right. Jesus, Dana! The first night's just starting
and already you're losing it. *

"Since you guys got the hammocks up already, Mulder and I figured these'd do.
The lanterns are buried under too much stuff. Okay?"

"Sounds great," I choked, catching sight of Kami's puzzled glance as she heard
my tone. Thankfully, she just left me alone. I didn't really want to talk about
it.

"I saved that one for you," he smiled, nodding to the large, string woven bed
that hung one tree over.

It hit me, as I watched his hand play over the fabric while he made his bed by
touch, that he now lived in a world of utter darkness most of the time. I
reached out and clasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. His brow lifted and he
gave a puzzled grin before offering me a quick kiss.

Since we all were dragging and no one was hungry, we all retired to our
hanging, sleeping chambers. I hope our camp-outs are few. I know that hammocks
are one of the best types of bedding, for orthopedic purposes, but I don't
think I'm going to adapt to sleeping strung up in a tree. I think the sandman
will have a hard time finding me tonight.

I'm writing this by flashlight. Everyone else is down and the forest that had
seemed so eerily quiet, after the growl of the Suburban had stopped, is now
teaming with sound - it's loud, alive...

The piercing screech of what I think is a howler monkey just almost made me
drop my book. I believe my light is bothering him and since this is his jungle,
I'm obeying his rules and shutting off the light. Goodnight.

We made it into the town of Palenque a little after noon. None of us slept too
well our first night in the wilds so we all decided to rest here at the motel
today. We can make the eleven-mile journey to the site tomorrow, rested and
refreshed.

I know Mulder had a rough night. He stumbled over to my side about 3:00 a.m.
and asked if I minded sharing my bed. I hung on while he climbed in and
snuggled up close. (What else can you do in a hammock but snuggle?) His long
arms and legs wrapped tightly around me and we tried to get back to sleep.

"What made you decide to join me?" I asked, finally realizing that what little
sleep I'd gotten was probably all that was going to come this night. I knew
Mulder was just lying beside me waiting for dawn.

"I had a couple of nightmares," he sighed, idly brushing his beard over my
cheek, knowing I love the feel of its rough tickle against my skin.

"Bad?" I murmured softly, patting his hand to comfort him. He hadn't had a
disturbing dream, at least none that he'd shared, since we'd started sharing
our sleeping quarters. I'm sure of that.

"Bad enough," he replied and wanting to change the subject, he began to
lightly tease my neck with the tip of his tongue.

"Maybe we just better lose one of these hammocks then?" I whispered into the
warm comfort of his shoulder.

Suddenly, I was glad the rain forest is so dark. It allowed us not to disturb
our traveling companions and the monkeys didn't seem to mind, either.

Palenque, the modern city, could best be described as a tourist trap. While
not offensive by any means, it's bland. Its sole purpose is to collect the
travelers' money through its motel chains and souvenir shops. Except for the
fact every building is designed in pseudo-Mayan styling you could be anywhere.
It has no regional flavor like the other towns we've visited. I find it almost
depressing for some reason. It could be my need for sleep and I return to the
motel alone, hoping to catch up on some rest.

I had just closed the curtains and retired to the bed, after a quick shower,
when I heard a key in the lock, signaling Mulder's return. In the dim light I
could see that he also looked like fifty miles of bad road, and after hitting
the bath to clean off the day's dirt and dust, he fell in bed along side me.
Being shrouded in his long, strong, always warm arms has become second nature
to me now and it's only minutes before we're both sound asleep.

I awoke to him screaming in terror. It was 5:00 p.m. by the cheap clock/radio
time so fortunately the neighboring rooms weren't occupied yet. Mulder didn't
even stir when I sprang frightened from the bed and I switched on the light in
order to attempt to free him from whatever horrifying netherworld had trapped
him.

He came awake with a start, yelling something in another language. Spanish? It
might have been Mayan. We had heard it spoken by native guides at Uxmal.
Something like "Na...pita."

Has he immersed himself in the work, in his visions, so much that he is now
dreaming in Mayan? It worries me.

I brushed his long, sun streaked hair back from his forehead and watched as
reality slowly crept in, relaxing the hard lines of tension that had gripped
his face.

"Scully?" he murmured questioningly. Hearing my reply that I was there, his
arms wrapped about my waist and he buried his face in my lap. I stroked his
hair, whispering what I hoped were words of comfort.

I am worried. Well, okay, let's temper that and say, I'm concerned. I think
he's working too hard at the ruins. Oh, hell...with his handicaps, just having
to function day to day is work. Just because he manages to make it look easy
doesn't mean it isn't a struggle. Tonight's episode with the dreams reminds me
of last fall, right before he stopped taking his medication. It was so much
harder for him to express himself then, but I think I had more luck getting him
to talk about how troubled he felt. Now, since he has recovered so well, his
old habits of keeping things from me have returned.

I have to find a way to draw him out now that the nightmares have returned. I
have to find a way to get him to slow down, to rest. I have to do the
impossible. I could use a hand here, God, okay? Please.

I'm so very tired tonight. We all are. I think we were all worn out by the
long, cross-country journey, very little sleep and the unseasonably hot
weather. Jack says it should have cooled down a bit by now. It has been hot and
muggy our entire time in the Yucatan. But I hear they do have a "winter"
season. Or maybe that's just a myth.

I'm a bit crabby on top of tired. I should try to get out of my mood before
Mulder gets out here, because I do want to try to talk to him about the
nightmares and all. As weary as I feel, from the way he looked I'd say he felt
20 times worse. Yes, he's haggard, but there's a tightness about his face that
makes me wonder if it's time to consider a little tinkering with his
medications. We walk such a fine line with his body chemistry. I hate adjusting
anything without him being seen by his own doctor at home. Not much chance of
that.

Maybe I'll call Raposa tomorrow and see if there's some way we can do it here,
though I shudder at the thought of using the bandaid station/medical clinic
they have in Palenque. Knowing our travels are just supposed to take us deeper
into the wilds, this might be our last best chance for that in quite awhile.

Oh, Lord, I think I'll just wait 'til tomorrow to write more. I'll catch up on
our discoveries at work and tell what I've found out about Mulder then.

HANDWRITTEN REPORT BY KAMI W. WAGNER
ON EVENTS HAPPENING AT
PALENQUE, CHIAPAS, MEXICO --
OCTOBER 17, 2000

It was after lunch. We'd all eaten down by the "Bath of The Queen", a place
where Mulder confirmed the queens actually did bathe. It's so much cooler in
this part of the site, so many trees and a small water fall that empties into
the pool that is the "Bath". Jack wasn't with us at the moment, but he was
somewhere on the site. He'd decided to spend the day with a friend who operates
a charter flight service out of Merida. (Which turned out to be fortunate for
us).

Scully took off back to the main plaza, down the path and across this wooden
bridge. She told us she was going to check out the "Temple of the Cross".
Mulder and I continued down the path a ways until we came to another temple.
Checking it out, we discovered a low table in the center of the room. I led
Mulder over and he squatted next to it and began to do his "thing", where he
places both palms on something to read it. I noticed the little monkey sitting
at the back of the room and offered it some of my left-over sandwich. These
howler monkeys are all over Palenque. The ones around the site seem to live off
what they can scavenge from tourists. They're supposed to be harmless as long
as you don't get too close.

The little guy was just sitting there, hunched, gnawing on the bread I'd
tossed him, when suddenly he straightened like he'd heard something. He dropped
the food and stood upright, arms stretched over his head. It was a defensive
stance. I've heard they do that to make themselves appear larger and more
menacing when they feel threatened. But I couldn't figure out what was making
him feel nervous. Then he started the shrieking, moving toward me, his lips
pulled in a tight grin that showed his teeth. Taking a step back, I called for
Mulder. He didn't answer.

This is the part I'm not sure of. No, that's a lie, I know what I 'think' I
saw. At first I was angry that because you have to get express, written
permission to video tape at Palenque, I didn't have my camera to back me up. I
know the way things turned out, the tapes would have been destroyed in
Guatemala, but at least Scully and Jack could have seen some of what happened.
But, I didn't and this is why I never told the whole story to Scully, Dad, or
the doctors...no one.

I turned to Mulder to see why he hadn't answered me. He was hunched on top of
the table, his back to me, and I swear he was surrounded by a red light that
came up from the table. His white shirt reflected the warm glow. It looked like
his face was covered with blood. This is what I saw. I know it sounds crazy,
but I would swear to it if I knew they wouldn't take me off in a straight
jacket, thinking I was hallucinating

I guess the fact that I turned from it was a sign to the monkey that it was
safe to attack, because he did. He landed on my back, near my right shoulder. I
think I started screaming; I heard someone screaming and I knew it wasn't
Mulder so it had to have been me. Mulder stood up and whirled to face me.
Another thing I would swear to was he was looking at me when the monkey started
biting me. I'd swear he could see us.

I know I was probably in shock. I was wrestling with the thing. Its wiry
little fingers were holding fast onto my hair, my skin, scratching me. Mulder
was scowling. He lifted his left arm and the monkey went instantly limp. I
threw the animal off me, not caring about the hair I lost from where its
fingers were still tangled. It landed with a dull thud in the far corner. My
legs finally gave way and I crumpled to the ground, crying.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up. It was Mulder. The REAL Mulder. He
looked like he didn't know what had happened, like he'd just heard me crying
and had come over to see what was wrong. He moved to comfort me, but I scurried
away from him. I couldn't help it. I was afraid.

I didn't even realize, until now, that I'd tossed this journal in my bag. Kami
and I are back in Merida. On the second day at the site she was attacked by, of
all things, one of those little howler monkeys. Luckily, Jack had a friend that
flew us back to civilization to obtain medical treatment. I was afraid that the
animal had been rabid, but the autopsy proved it wasn't. So she just got a lot
of scratches, a few painful punctures on her right shoulder and one bad bite
that tore her jaw just below the ear. I've assured her when we get back to the
states, Dr. Carter, Mulder's plastic surgeon, will be able to take care of any
scar it might leave.

The poor kid is just now getting over the shock. She really won't talk about
it too much. I do wonder who killed the monkey, because some puzzles exist as a
result of the autopsy findings; specifically, the actual cause of death of the
creature. But to tell the truth, I have too much on my mind right now to really
give a damn how the monkey died!

Mulder and Jack haven't made it to Merida. We decided, when Kami and I left
Palenque, that Jack and Mulder would follow us here in the Suburban. It should
have taken two days, tops. It's now the start of the fourth day, and there's no
sign of them. I never got to talk to Mulder about adjusting his meds that night
before all this happened. I fell asleep before he came in. Now, I AM worried.
Did something happen to them on the trip? Did they wreck? Is Mulder ill?

Can a place itself be evil? Is it possible for a plot of earth to take on the
dark energy of the sins that were committed on its soil and then contaminate a
person who later walks there, unaware? How many died at the temple where Kami
was attacked? How many captives of war; innocent children, and Mayan faithful,
offering themselves to the gods, died on that table? All I remember is their
blood covering me, then Kami crying.

I'm sick again. A cold. How can I get a cold when the only person I see is
Skinner, and he's not sick? Leave it to me to find a way. Shit. Skinner has
moved us into this little out-building. Wagner used to call it his tinker shop.
It's enclosed and will be easier to keep warm. He found this huge, cast iron
wood stove in here, it keeps it pretty toasty. So between staying warm, and
Skinner's hovering, I should recover quickly. I'd better. A long recovery might
not be good for my old friend's health. He is driving me TOTALLY insane.

I won't be able to add too much to the narrative of the file from here, until
we make it back to Sky Watch, because of what happened to me. Some memories
have come back; most, I think, never will.

Mulder and Jack showed up early the morning of the 22nd. They were fine,
nothing wrong. The reason for their tardiness was simply taking a wrong turn.
This excuse was from a man who has traveled these roads for a quarter of a
century. I don't think Jack even expected me to buy it. But I did believe him
when he said he didn't know how they happened to get on the wrong road. It was
the 'simply' part that I didn't believe. But something HAS happened to Mulder.

We are now in western Belize. How did we get here? Well, I remember the trip,
I just can't remember why we all agreed to come.

The minute Mulder and Jack got in, I noticed something was wrong, but I was
angry. After seeing that they were okay, I lit into Jack, since he had been
driving. Why did they take so long? Didn't they know we'd be worried? Didn't
they know I do not need shit like this? Jack seemed dazed when I questioned
him. It was almost like a person coming out of a deep sleep. He had the
answers, but they were nothing more than rehearsed lines. They weren't HIS
responses. That's the only way I can describe it. I was stunned.

In frustration, I turned to Mulder to hear what he had to say about the
matter. That was my first realization that something HAD happened. Somehow,
Mulder was different. My angry words, the tirade I was going to hit him with
for worrying me, froze in my throat when he seemed to gaze at me with his half-
sighted eye.

"We stopped by the ruins at Bonampek. There was something I needed to find
out. Sorry we didn't let you know but we didn't find any pay phones around."
Mulder's tone was calm, his lips played into a half smile as he spoke.

I nodded I understood. It all seemed so reasonable now that he was standing
there explaining it to me. I think somewhere, deep down inside, a part of me
still wanted to rebel, because I hastily told him, "Mulder, you don't look
good. You're not sleeping. The dreams are back. We need to get your medication
adjusted."

He nodded and the breath I didn't even know I'd been holding came out in a
sigh of relief.

"Okay, Scully. We'll all get checked out because we have a long trip ahead. I
think I've found out where the Mayans built their original temple. Remember the
legend ? 'Where the Gods Sleep and the Fires of Truth Burn?' I know where it is
now." He spoke calmly, evenly, most of all, convincingly and I found all I
could do was nod.

We all got physicals, Jack included, which we all passed. The doctor in
Merida, after conferring with Raposa by phone, simply upped Mulder's Xanax. I
said nothing to the fatherly, round-faced physician about how strangely my
partner was acting. I couldn't. Mulder was there and he didn't want me to. We
all had passports. We didn't need visas, being US citizens, so after paying the
tax for our vehicle, we left for Belize.

The fresh-faced border guards looked younger than Kami as they stood, with
their rifles slung over their shoulders, checking our papers. There was a
moment of discussion about our return plans, and bringing the Suburban into the
country; but after Mulder explained our purpose, we were waved through without
a second glance.

We stopped for the night at a hotel in Orange Walk City to rest and replenish
our supplies, then pressed on, rising early to beat the sun. We were going west
to the border Belize shares with Guatemala. The place where it's said the Mayan
Civilization was born.

He didn't speak of 'Adam' until we left Orange Walk City, but my stomach sank
at hearing the old delusions from his last breakdown resurfacing. He talked
throughout the day, telling us of our purpose, of our plans. We all listened
silently as he rambled on. No questions were asked. Mulder was in complete
control.

He told us this evening that this is not our final destination. Tomorrow we
press on to Tikal, in eastern Guatemala. He sleeps now, suspended in his cloth
cocoon, alone. We haven't shared a bed since he returned from Bonampek. He
seems so changed, I'm not sure if I know this man.

I can write this now. Kami, Jack and I can talk in quiet whispers, because
when he sleeps, we are almost free. He no longer wakes from his dreams
screaming in terror. He says that's when the gods speak to him, telling him
where to go. Telling him our future plans. I watch him thrash a bit as I write
this. His face creases into harsh lines as he grimaces. Apparently, what he
hears from the gods is not all good, but he doesn't awaken. And he's no longer
scared by what he dreams. The dreams are no longer nightmares to him. I think
that in itself is frightening.

Jack, Kami and I are scared. When the tight strings of control loosen while he
sleeps, we talk among ourselves. We try to understand what has happened.
Theories are bandied back and forth during these rushed, hushed conversations,
but no answers. No answers. And we never speak of leaving.

He stirred just as I wrote that. I stop --heart pounding, breath held, my pen
suspended above the paper, but with a mumbled groan he returns to his
conference with the gods and I slowly relax. Kami and Jack know they're trapped
by Mulder until he doesn't want them or need them any longer. I know I'm with
Mulder forever.

We have set up a camp not far from the ruins at Tikal. Mulder had Jack build
me a sleeping platform as I fell ill right after our arrival and I just can't
get any rest in the hammocks. I'm better now, but just so tired and weak.
Mulder and Jack go out daily to find the temple, but no luck yet. I see I
haven't written in here since we were at Palenque. When I feel a little better,
I'm going to have to sit down and catch it all up to date. This is an adventure
of a lifetime.

FROM THE PEN OF -
Dana K. Scully
November 3, 2000 ???
Near Chunchucil, Guatemala

We have to leave here. I have to leave. Mulder is worse. He is unraveling. I
don't know why. I make sure he takes his medication but, mentally, he slips
further away each day. We're all tired. It's so hot. That might be part of it.
He might be sick. I don't know. I don't know why we are staying here. Mulder is
the only one who wants to stay. It seems we all do what Mulder wants now. Why?
Are we afraid of him? I am afraid. There is a reason, one I am even too
frightened to say aloud.

There. It's out. I said it. Lord, I am so frightened. He is changing. I know
he is. Or am I going crazy, too? Oh, God. I never thought I'd say something
like that. He's not crazy, he's ill.

No, I lie. I think he has gone insane and has taken me with him. I have
trouble sleeping. I can't take the heat. I've been so sick. Did I write this
all before? I try to read what I've written but it is all a blur. I'm sick. I
can't sleep.

In the dream I was lying on my sleeping platform. The mosquito netting was
stopping what little air there was. It all seemed so real, so vivid. The heat
made even my thin gown cling to my skin. I heard a sound below my bed. A voice
calling to me in the darkness. I climbed down and HE was there. He was tall and
bronze, his skin glistened in the moonlight. He reached out a hand and I took
it, following him without question.

We walked deep into the forest, further than we'd ever gone. There was a
clearing. It was the ruins we'd searched for. It was the temple. There in the
center of the circle was the golden altar. It was where the ancients sacrificed
their chosen; where they were offered to their god.

I removed my shift and let it drop to the ground. I took my place on the
altar, feeling the rough, carved etching beneath my bare skin. Overhead, I
could see the dark canopy of the night sky; millions of stars dusting the
heavens in a milky spray of light. The god was here, standing over me now. He'd
come for me. I reached out my arms to him and he came to me.

His tongue caught the salty droplets that covered my neck. He tasted the moist
flesh of my breast, slowly caressing each nipple with the lush warmth of his
lips. His teeth pulled them erect and I softly moaned a psalm of pleasure.

He slid over me. I felt the heat of his sweat-moistened flesh. He was so
smooth. So strong. I wrapped my legs around his waist, hungrily seeking
penetration. When he slid into me I gasped in exaltation. I grabbed hold from
deep inside, grasping his stiff organ, relishing the sensation. My body began
to tingle with his firm, slow thrust. My hands sought the hard muscles of his
flanks and I pulled him closer, deeper.

He leaned back and I followed, riding him when he moved to sit upright with me
on his lap. We rocked together, the rhythm growing ever faster as our bodies
steamed from the heat. I felt a hand gripping my buttocks, the long, slender
fingers playing my flesh as an instrument; my body sang in worship.

Sweat ran down my ribs, dripped off my breast and he bent to collect this
offering to him, tenderly, with his mouth. I clutched him to me closer, wanting
him to initiate that final tingle, to quell the itch that lay deep inside. At
last, all feeling, every nerve, came to center on that one tiny, throbbing
button. It burst with a fire so hot my back arched with the electric heat of
the explosion. I stiffened, lids fluttering, eyes rolling up in ecstasy. I held
on to the moment, embracing it, calling out his praises. My inner muscles gave
one last twitch, then relaxed allowing the warm, wetness of my orgasm to flow.
A benediction, my final offering of thanks. I collapsed against him and
darkness claimed me.

It was all so real, so vivid -- unlike any dream I've ever had. The angry sun
was overhead when I awoke. No one had bothered me. They knew I had needed
sleep. I sat up. My thin gown was sodden with sweat.

Then, suddenly came a chill. I saw my feet. My feet which I had cleaned before
I went to bed. My feet were covered with the leaves and mud of the rain forest
floor.

Yes, I'm here in the city of fun in the sun, where I said I'd never set foot
again. It's also the city of la tourista dinero, so you got me. Old Jack's sold
out. I've opened a company with Morrie Victor. Remember the guy with the plane?
I'm now Mad Jack of the Victorious Heart Travel Service. I used the money you
guys left me.

I'm not much of a letter writer so I'll try to get the whole story to you now.
My own mother hasn't heard from me since '89 and I don't think you want to wait
that long for this report...

...That next morning I found Dana. She looked like she was in shock. Mulder
was nowhere in sight. I mixed up a little cocktail for her. She'll probably
want to kill me when she reads this but, well, the locals sell a little
extract. It's a watered down version of what Mulder took for his vision quest.
No snake venom or Jimsom weed, of course. I didn't want her tripping, just
sleeping. Then Kami and I waited. Scully was lucid enough to tell me Mulder had
found the temple. We knew he'd come back to tell us about it. We were right.

When he wandered into camp that night, it was like he could see perfectly. I'd
never seen him move like he did that night. I wouldn't say he moved like a cat,
he still favored the bad leg and all, but Mulder walked right up to us, knowing
we were sitting by the fire. I swear, his eye still had that blind, half-
focused look, just like it always has; but from now on he didn't need that eye
to see. He saw with his mind.

No one said a thing. Kami and I just sat there, staring up at him and he just
listened to us -- 'looked' at us expectantly, I guess you could say. Since
Kami was too scared, I figured it was up to me to break the ice.

He grinned that crooked grin, the one I always remember. It kinda made me
shiver, seeing that Mulder smile coming out of someone who didn't seem like he
was really Mulder anymore. He nodded and it got quiet again. I fought it, but I
couldn't help it, I had to ask.

"Well, are the gods still there? Sitting around the fire? Did they talk with
you any about another sun being born? We know just the god that can make it
happen, don't we?"

Mulder cocked his head, he had his face turned to me, 'studying' me and my
skin crawled. This is really horrible to say but there's nothing quite as weird
as being stared down by a blind man, and I've seen some pretty strange things
in my time.

"They're still there, Jack. No birthing baby suns in their plans. Lucky me,
huh? They taught me how to 'see'. They're teaching me to use my mind the way
we're supposed to use it."

Mulder sounded a little smug when he said that and you know me, I just can't
keep my mouth shut sometimes, so I just cut loose.

I hadn't really seen what he could do at that point, ya know? If I knew then,
what I know now...well, my mama didn't raise no fool. I was lucky, because
nothing bad happened. It did get quiet for a minute, and I felt the old pump
skip a few. I knew I'd pissed him off royally.

Finally, he started to laugh. I'd never heard Mulder laugh like that. I kinda
chuckled along with him in relief and turned to Kami, wanting to share the fact
I'd gotten away with mouthing off to him. That's when it hit me, the kid was
scared to death. She knew what he could do. I didn't know it at the time but
she'd seen a look that could kill. Seeing her face, all white and her eyes so
wide, brought me to my senses. I realized it wasn't too smart to fuck with a
god, even if he did have a good sense of humor.

"Is it everything you hoped for, Mulder? Did you find all the answers you
wanted? Did you find what you've been looking for?"

His laughter died away while he thought about what I'd asked. After another
long, silent minute, Mulder smiled again.

"I think so, Jack. Why don't you come with me and see? Kami can stay with
Scully, can't you Kami?"

Mulder and I walked into the jungle and were swallowed up, not ten feet from
the camp. I grabbed Mulder's arm, he was leading the way. The growth was thick
around us and there wasn't any light at all. I stumbled on. I couldn't see, so
I let myself be led by a blind man. I knew one thing for certain. This was not
the rain forest Mulder and I had been searching for days. We were somewhere
else. Valhalla? Mount Olympus? Heaven? Or were we just in the twilight zone of
Mulder's mind?

We walked forever until we finally saw a light. There was a clearing and it
was like the sky had opened up. Overhead was the moon, huge and silver blue.
The stars were like I remember as a kid. A milky white sheet, glittering in the
dark, blue-black heaven. We just don't get stars like that anymore, ya know?
Too damn many cities have turned off God's lights.

I looked around and my mouth dropped open. It was a Mayan city, but not like
I'd ever seen. It was new, like I pictured they looked in the golden days.
There were all kind of buildings facing the plaza and at the end was the
temple. It rose up, tier upon tier, higher than the trees. It was carved whole,
from alabaster, and reflected the moonlight with a soft muted glow. In the
center was a round, golden altar. It really was "Where the Gods Sleep". Then I
looked around and realized, other than me and Mulder, the place was empty.

I don't know why I was so angry. Maybe I felt cheated, maybe I felt lied to,
maybe I felt we'd been played with for too damn long to just let me see an
empty city. Mulder listened...looked...whatever it was he did, and he, too,
realized we were alone. The closest thing to a god I saw was standing right in
front of me, with a sad, puzzled frown on his face. Suddenly Mulder looked
tired and I noticed the lines of strain that were cut deep into his face. It's
hard work being a god and controlling your world. Especially when your friends,
the other gods, run out on you. I glanced over to the temple and noticed the
dark vines slithering up the steps. The jungle was moving in to reclaim its
place even while I watched. I knew if this god ever slept, if for one moment
Mulder wasn't vigilant, this all would be gone.

I felt sorry for Mulder. He was my friend and he was so very, very tired. I
wasn't sure that he'd asked for this. Sure, he'd taken the ball and run with
it, but who wouldn't given the chance? If we're truthful with ourselves, who
wouldn't want the power of the gods, if only for awhile?

"Let's go, Mulder." I grabbed his arm, ready to leave this silent, lonely
place. "Nobody's home."

He stood rooted to the spot so I tugged on his arm. I finally said the only
thing that I knew would move him. "Mulder, you need to see Scully. I think you
scared her last night. I think she needs you."

I woke up feeling that for the first time in a long time that my mind was my
own. I ponder this now that he's gone, wondering if he is weakening or if it's
because he has so much more now to control. It must be the latter, because even
though he was tired tonight, I could feel his strength. And I think his power
will just keep growing until...what? I truly don't know. Until he finds what he
is looking for? When will this end? How will this end?

Mulder was here when I got up. That might have been what woke me. I know when
he's around. I sense him. Why not? He's been in my head enough lately, messing
around, playing his god-like games. Did I ever mention in here, what drove me
away from the church when I was young? The idea that God could be petty enough
to play cruel games with us, His children. To give us rules, then not follow
them Himself. To torture us with pop quizzes, testing our faith. Hey,
Abraham...prove how much you love me and sacrifice your son. Oh, you will?
Then, never mind.

Now, that's not the God I discovered when I grew up. My God has a sense of
humor, but He doesn't cruelly tease us. He doesn't play so fast and loose with
the ones He loves. I climbed down the ladder, intent on letting Mulder know
that if he planned on being a god around me, he needed some quick lessons on
how to do it right. When I saw him, how pale and haggard he was, my resolve
crumbled a bit.

He was standing by the fire, talking with Jack, and I felt my stomach tighten
when he glanced up suddenly as I walked near. Again, he wasn't looking at me,
but he 'saw' me. I felt like pinching myself at the wonder of Mulder seeing
again, no matter how he did it. Now I had the chance, though. For whatever
reason, Mulder had set me free and I needed to let him know my feelings while I
could. I had to get him to start taking on the responsibility that came along
with his great powers.

"Mulder, why did you trick me like you did?" I asked, making my voice as firm
as possible. "You know I would have come with you if you'd asked. You didn't
have to play with my head. Stop messing with my head, Mulder."

A flash of pain flickered across his face and he sighed, "I didn't trick you,
Scully, the dream was yours. You'd already started it. I didn't put the dream
in your head. I only made it come true."

My cheeks burned. Mulder was right, he told the truth. He has been in my
dreams longer than I care to have him know. But he was missing my point. The
problem was, the issue was, the very fact that he did know my dreams. He was
privy to my thoughts and I wanted him out of my head. Now. And from now on,
unless I invited him.

He listened quietly, as I told him my demands, then he solemnly nodded that he
would do as I asked. My anger abated even more. I studied his face.

"Where's your beard?" I asked, stunned, just realizing his face was now
smooth. I reached up to touch that finely chiseled jaw line and I took a moment
to take him in. I saw that his hair now hung long down his back and surprised,
I turned to Kami and Jack. They both were astonished, too. Either none of us
had noticed, or this change in his appearance had just happened. Was this
another game? Was he making himself into the image of the Mayan gods, the
better to keep their company?

Mulder's hand went to his face and a shadow of his usual grin tugged at his
lips. He shrugged. My hand still lingered on his jaw and I jumped when he
suddenly grabbed my wrist; but I relaxed when he broke into a real smile as he
fingered the bracelet he'd given me so long ago.

I mutely nodded, that word now having a meaning that made my hands begin to
shake. What is forever to a god? My knees felt weak when I watched him touch
the jewelry. For a moment the silver flashed bright in the moonlight then it
muted to gleam warmly on my wrist when my gift turned to gold.

"Water into wine?" Mulder smiled down at me. His lips brushed my cheek, then
he was gone, disappearing into the shadowed forest.

I sank down to sit beside the fire with my friends. The camp was blanketed in
silence.

"Hey, Scully, next time he stops by let him know the Suburban needs gas,
okay?" Jack suggested, his eyes still wide.

I awoke this morning to find my guardian knot gone. Nothing was left but a
sprinkling of golden dust on my skin, and across my pillow. Nothing is left of
the miracle.

Mulder didn't come by at all today and we have no hope of finding him. Kami,
Jack and I believe he has set us free. The feeling that he is always there,
watching, listening, always in our heads, is completely gone. It seems strange,
like when I was young and lost a tooth. I remember my tongue constantly seeking
the empty spot. Now, I find myself searching for the imprint of his will there
in my head and it's gone. I hate to admit it, but I feel a certain longing,
almost akin to grief, for what's missing. I am alone now. I need to know Mulder
is all right.

The three of us, his reluctant disciples, woke up this morning, bleary eyed
and shell shocked. We ate breakfast in silence until Jack, as always, made a
statement that opened a floodgate of debate.

"Since this is all in his head, what if we drugged him, then kept him that way
'til we could get him out of here? Maybe to Guatemala City or back to Belize?"

"You make it sound so simple. 'All in his head.' I'm not so sure that's all
this is, and even if you're right, that it's all in his head, what he can do is
definitely not imaginary." Kami argued the point, showing more heated emotion
than I'd seen from her in weeks.

I watch the two of them go at it, back and forth. They've been through hell
these last few weeks, we all have, but they talk about Mulder as if he's a
problem to be solved. A puzzle to be worked out. Like he's not human. Oh, God.
He is human, isn't he? But no human can do what he can do. Can they?

I spent 7 years investigating mysterious phenomena like this. Why is my mind
blank right now? Over the years, we saw so many with special powers. Clyde
Bruckman was one. Bruckman was psychic. I never wanted to admit to Mulder that
I thought Bruckman was truly 'gifted', but Mulder knew I believed. I discovered
the man had the power to see the future, specifically, a person's death. How
horrible. It was a curse. Never to be able to see promise, love, hope, or
happiness. Only the end. Clyde saw his own death, then he made sure it happened.

Modell. Robert Patrick Modell. Mulder called his 'power' the whammy. Such a
sad, pathetic man. He helped us though, before he died. But still, he died.
Modell came to a tragic end. And Marty Glenn. She was blind. But she could see
things she didn't want to see. She's in prison. Darren Oswald is, too. Samuel
Hartley. Dead. Lucy Householder. Dead. All of them, their powers either
corrupted them or killed them. Or both. And Luther Lee Boggs. Oh, yes. Boggs
was given his 'gift' as penance. It was a punishment from God.

Still no Mulder. Kami and Jack have hashed and rehashed the situation. Is
Mulder a god or isn't he? Nobody knows for sure. I've listened to their
speculation until I could scream. We have become a house divided. None of us
agree on what is happening or what to do. Jack, of course, wants to take
action. He still believes we can drug Mulder and spirit him away from here.

This idea was put forth when he and Kami were going through the "brain injury,
miracles and messiah complex" conversation. That went on from right after lunch
until right before dinner. I listened for a while, especially when I heard
mention of brain tumors. But since my name didn't come into the long, heated
discussion, I lost interest. I think I deliberately stopped listening when
Jack started spouting off about autopsies and saints.

Kami's view is that there is some kind of unknown force involved and, while
she won't come out and say possession, I think that's the point she's trying to
make. She never really offered any opinions on who the possessor might be.
Perhaps she's not really even sure. She claims that she knows for a fact that
Mulder is not acting entirely on his own. She won't tell us how she knows, but
I can tell by her eyes, she believes Mulder has been touched by something that
changed him.

What is my opinion on all of this? What do I have to show for an entire day
spent thinking of nothing but Mulder? Nothing. Nothing but questions. Could
Mulder have always had these "gifts"? Is this proof that we all have amazing
powers waiting to be released? Has Mulder truly been touched by some spiritual
force, or were the messages he received nothing more than a chemical imbalance?
Has all this come from the misfiring synapses of a severely damaged brain, or
did his injury awaken a sleeping god?

"And God stepped out on Earth, and looked around and said, "I'm lonely, I'll
make me a world."

I think Mulder is lost now; between his two worlds. He strolled into camp to
visit this morning. Kami and Jack didn't even speak to him. Their conversation,
the debate that had raged since yesterday, died at his sudden appearance.
Mulder noticed. He knows they don't see him the way they once did. He knows why
their view of him has changed. It bothered him that the gulf between heaven and
earth is so wide and he turned to me for council. Advisor to the gods was NOT
in my job description, so I wasn't able to help him much.

We took a walk; this time our destination was mundane. We found a spot down by
the river where we could be alone. I found out Mulder is scared and confused
and, worst of all, he's now utterly alone. His visions, his gods, have not come
back and he's at a loss as to where to go from here. He wants to know why he
was given these powers. He wants to know what his purpose is. The voices of his
gods brought him this far, then deserted him. He tells me he needs my help.
Great. Wonderful. Like I know where this is going. I don't even know how we got
to this point.

I'm rambling, I know. But something has to be done. Somebody has to help him.
Mulder is too powerful to be left alone now and no one appears to be standing
in line to fill this position. So, even though I'm not qualified, I'm taking
the job.

Where do I start? I'm the type of person who likes to have the full background
on a situation. Mulder knew this and tried to help me. We didn't have our
projector, sitting beside the river tonight, but it reminded me of when he used
to brief me before a case...Me, sitting impatiently while he expounded on the
alleged facts. The Gospel according to Fox Mulder. I had to smile, watching him
pace back and forth. Waving a hand animatedly as he spoke. It was just like old
times.

Oh, God. How do I make sense of it all? Mulder admitted, after my gentle but
persistent prodding, that he hasn't been on any medication since the day Kami
was hurt. It was like a fist in my belly. My first thought was, "No wonder he's
hearing voices. He has had another breakdown." But does that really explain all
that has happened? All we've seen? Folie a quatre? I don't think so.

I decided we need to stop focusing on what has given Mulder these god-like
powers. What he needs to know now is how to control them. This is not something
I was taught in medical school or at the academy. Over the years I have learned
how to improvise and think on my feet. Because I want to make sure I'm the only
one advising him, I think we should get away from here. I told him, "Mulder,
stay at the camp tonight. You probably shouldn't try to go back to the temple.
Tomorrow we'll start getting ready to go back home. Once we're there maybe
we'll be able to find out what's happening to you."

To my surprise, Mulder took my advice. So now I sit atop my sleeping platform
writing in my journal, chronicling my latest adventure with Fox Mulder. As
always, it has been a journey into the uncharted waters of the unknown and
unexplained. And, as always, my part has been to be the voice of reason; what
he calls his touchstone to the truth. He says I'm here to keep him honest.

Well, I honestly don't know if the man who lies beside me, sleeping so
peacefully, is ill or if he has truly been keeping the company of the gods. The
rest of us in camp watch him warily. I know he is afraid that without me he is
alone. He knows that I'll love him, always and forever.

You know, I can feel Scully coming home. She's still pretty far away, can't
tell exactly where. But she's trying to find a way to get a message to us that
she's coming and she's trying to hurry. She knows our connection runs both
ways. But I guess I'm not sending too well right now. I feel like shit. Shh,
Skinner's worried enough as it is.

He's turning into a damn fine thief, for a federal agent. He has ripped off so
many supplies that our little shack's starting to look like a clinic. The
problem right now is that I need antibiotics. They are impossible to come by. I
have a feeling my 'almost cremation' didn't do my lungs much good and even
though my friend has done everything he can to protect me, some bug just might
take me out. He came in tonight with oxygen and I do feel better. I mean, I'm
sitting up and making this tape. I haven't had the strength to make it to the
head the last couple of days, even with Skinner's help, so there is an
improvement here. The thing is, without some kind of a miracle, I don't believe
what's wrong is going to go away.

I never was that good at miracles, even when I was at my best. That part
Skinner read last night about what I did to Scully's bracelet was proof of that.

I'm just so tired. I hope Scully gets here soon, 'cause things have a way of
working out when she's around. If I can just hang on 'til she comes home, it'll
all be fine.

If. I think the world turns on that tiny word. Every moment of our lives, from
birth to death, can be changed by those two letters. If. If my mother had not
been so health conscious and had not gotten her annual mammogram in February of
1999 would I still have wound up spending this November night in Guatemala,
fearing for my life? If my mother had not known of the tiny cluster of cancer
cells and not had the surgery when she did? What if I had not taken emergency
leave to be with her during the surgery? If I had been there would Mulder have
been given the undercover assignment with the Barnabas Brotherhood that almost
killed him? If Mulder had not suffered that injury, would he have these powers?
If.

Chunchucil lies five miles northeast of our compound at the end of the small,
dirt path that is our road out of the jungle. The village was originally
settled over six centuries ago by the descendants of the Mayans who lived in
the great cities of Tikal and Bonampek that sits across the river. It was built
as a trade center. It lies on the slow moving waterway and grew into a good
sized town. That was a very long time ago. It still gets occasional tourists
because the settlers built the place around one of the oldest known Mayan
shrines.

The ruins are in a sad state of repair. A small altar is still there and the
gigantic carved statue that gave the town it's name --Chunchucil, means
literally, "to suckle." The massive, crudely chiseled idol represents the pre-
history Mayan fertility god/goddess. This twin sexed deity rises up in the
village square, twenty feet tall, proudly displaying an enormous penis AND two
colossal breasts. Unfortunately, the statue's head was knocked off during an
earthquake in the distant past. The huge face rests beside its body, staring up
at the heavens with blind eyes.

Nothing is left of the original town. Modern Chunchucil is only a few dirt
roads filled with potholes, about 40 mud brick homes and two business. The
first structure you come to when you enter the village from the cross-country
highway, is a medium sized Quonset hut. It serves as the local cantina,
restaurant and mercantile. Apparently, the owner of this establishment enjoys
the local cervesa a bit too much because I have never seen the place open.

The other business is an enormous cinder block garage and is the only spot in
a hundred mile radius that sells gasoline. That is why we were in Chunchucil
this morning, fueling up the Suburban for the first leg of our trip home. Jack
was settling up the bill when a young man walked up and introduced himself.
Since I couldn't understand his rapid mixture of Spanish and Mayan, I motioned
for him to stop and he patiently waited with me until Jack could translate for
us.

The young man introduced himself as Roberto Esteban. He owned a farm about
twenty miles west of Chunchucil and journeyed to town with his wife Felicia,
who was 8 months pregnant with their third child. It seems that Felicia was
feeling ill and because this pregnancy had been "bad" he'd decided to take her
to a doctor in Tikal. But his old truck had broken down here in the village. He
wanted to know if we could please take them the rest of the way to the clinic.

The young farmer seemed very calm. I never expected that Felicia might be in
labor or the severity of the problems she had been having during this "bad"
pregnancy. Roberto led us to his dilapidated pick-up and I strolled to the
rear, wanting to check out the mother-to-be. She lay on her side, in the bed of
the truck, curled up in a tight ball. I could hear her frantically panting and
smiled, knowing Roberto and Felicia would be parents soon. Leaning over her, I
brushed a strand of sweat dampened hair from her face.

The dark brown eyes that stared up at me were glazed and sunken. Her skin felt
clammy and a faint bluish tint colored her lips. She grasped my hand when I
reached to touch her taut belly and I gasped, seeing the blood. Warm, sticky
blood that covered her hands, dripping slowly from her fingertips. Scrambling
up over the side I gently pushed her over to move her onto her back. My heart
jumped when the change in position revealed a bright red river that flowed
heavily enough to soak the entire back of her smock in an instant.

I stepped over her leg, moving to examine her, and found that my shoes were
sticking in the thick, dark puddle that had pooled beneath her while she'd been
on her side.

"She's hemorrhaging," I announced. My cry of alarm seemed an idiotic
understatement. It heralded the lethal deluge that began gushing from Felicia
when nature forced her to push with the contractions she'd fought for so long.
I'd positioned myself between her sprawled legs and crimson droplets splattered
my face when she bore down with the pain.

The young mother's bent knees bracketed my head. I cursed silently under my
breath realizing just how "bad" this pregnancy must have been. How many times
had she bled? Had she ever sought treatment? She couldn't have or she would
have been told that the positioning of the placenta, totally covering the
cervix, was a ticking time bomb. She should have been under constant medical
supervision from her second trimester. There was no way she and the child would
survive a vaginal birth. My heart sank for I gathered she had been laboring for
a while and since this was her third child, the birth would be quick. I could
see the clock had almost run out. I watched the glistening, brick colored flesh
bulge out then smoothly retreat when her straining efforts suddenly stopped.
The groan that had been a harsh, guttural, rasping testimony to her struggles
died mid-breath. Her deeply exhaled sigh was followed by silence.

Frantically, I laid my head against her belly, urgently searching for the
sounds of life. I heard nothing. I felt no further movement from Felicia or the
child still inside. I straightened, pushing myself up, stunned that it was over
in an instant. I'd only blinked, and she was gone.

I could hear the sound of voices, mutterings in English, Spanish and Mayan,
but nothing came through the fog as I stared blankly at my patient.

"Roberto wants to know what's happening," Jack's words teased my ears but
didn't quite penetrate the murky haze that shrouded my brain. I watched the
ocean of blood, Felicia's life no longer flowing from her, but still spreading
out and away from her body.

"Scully, what's wrong?" Jack asked, tapping my shoulder, finally breaking
through to me.

"She's dead," I murmured numbly. He winced and I saw his soft brown eyes mist
over. "They're both dead."

With a choking sob, Kami ran to me, throwing her arms around my neck to pull
me close. Her face was wet against my cheek and with a shaking hand I patted
her back in a weak attempt at comfort. Roberto stood in front of me, slack
jawed and white faced. Had Jack told him yet? I knew he must have because
Roberto felt my stare and turned to give me a look that pleaded for an answer I
didn't have. Why? I couldn't meet his eye and leaned my face against Kami's
shoulder, too weary to even hold my head up.

Suddenly, Roberto let loose with an yell, angrily screaming at someone in his
staccato mixture of Mayan Spanish. We all turned to see what had so enraged the
grieving man. It was Mulder.

My partner had climbed in the truck and had gathered Felicia's body into his
arms. At first I thought his action was a sad, pitiful expression of grief over
the death of the young woman, but as I moved closer I realized the truth.

Mulder had both hands placed on the dead woman's chest, palms down, just like
he did when he used his powers to "read" an object. I knew that was not what he
was doing now. My mouth grew dry and I felt vaguely light headed as I hurried
to stop him.

He didn't stir. I saw his lips moving in a silent chant and I grabbed his arm
to stop the unholy act he was attempting.

Mulder finally turned to me and a slight smile played at his lips, "I can help
her, Scully."

The warm fall day turned suddenly cold at his words. I shivered and he pulled
his arm back. He closed his eye and continued with his mute entreaty to the
gods. I looked around, searching for someone to help me stop this horror. A
crowd had gathered. Where did all these people come from? A sea of faces
surrounded the truck, some angry, all silently watching Mulder bring the dead
back to life.

The quiet was broken when a loud gasp rose from the on-lookers. I whirled and
felt as if my sanity was leaving me when I saw Felicia's arm was up, her
trembling hand reached for the sky.

"MULDER STOP! Please!" The tears that couldn't come with the young woman's
tragic death fell at witnessing the sin of her rebirth.

Thankfully, Mulder turned. Felicia's arm dropped down with a dull thud and I
winced.

He gently moved the dead woman off his lap and eased over the side to hug me.
I flinched at his touch then guiltily looked away at seeing the pain my
reaction had caused him.

"Then, what else should I use the powers for, Scully?" He murmured softly, the
hurt making his tone raw.

I never got to answer him. The first stone hit him square in the chest and he
hissed a sharp curse from the pain. Glancing around I saw that the crowd of
people had moved closer. I cringed from the hate that came from a hundred pairs
of blazing eyes. I heard the heated mutterings of Spanish and Mayan and the one
word I could decipher chilled me -- diablo. Other assorted missiles; stones,
clods of dirt, bottles came flying from the crowd. None found their mark until
I turned to grab Mulder's hand knowing we needed to try to escape. Something
hit my forehead. I groaned and sagged against the side of the truck. I felt
blood run down my face and out the corner of my eye. I saw Mulder stand up, his
face creased in rage.

That's when it happened. A gust of wind from nowhere blew through the crowd
and the angry hum stopped instantly. A harsh, terrified scream rose from behind
us and all eyes turned to see the miracle happen. Or was it a curse fulfilled?

The idol's head was a good six feet in diameter, but it floated high in the
air. I saw some of the villagers run in fear, but most were frozen in awe,
like I was. Jack pushed through the crowd and jumping up beside Mulder, angrily
grabbed his arm. whirling him around. I was torn between watching the head or
my companions, but turned to see our driver shaking my partner.

Mulder's face was pure anguish and he shook his head. "I'm not doing this!" he
cried.

At that moment a rash of screams and moans shattered the morning and I turned
to see that the head was now back on the massive idol's shoulders. Jack grabbed
Mulder and half carried him over to the Suburban.

"Kami! Scully! COME ON!" he screamed, trying to shove my partner into the
vehicle.

I ran to join them and Kami and I jumped into the back seat just as Jack
revved the motor. "A bat out of hell" is an apt description of how Jack drove
out of the village. Not a word was said by any of us until we suddenly stopped
about half-way to the compound. Jack frantically twisted the key, trying to
restart the vehicle. Neither his actions nor the stream of mad, blue curses he
uttered were working.

"They shouldn't see me with you," he said blankly to Jack. He turned to move
away, but stopped and whirled to face our driver. "I didn't do that to the
statue," Mulder bluntly stated. He pushed away from the Suburban, then lurched
off into the forest. I moved to follow him, but Jack grabbed my wrist.

Before I could unleash my anger at him for being stopped, Jack shook his head
and held up a hand, quelling my tirade. "He's right. They'll kill us if they
think he's still with us. Scully, the Mayans have a legend about that statue."
He paused to make sure I was listening. I nodded to him I was and he continued.
"It's said that when the god's head returns to its body, the world will end.
Mulder swears he didn't do it, but because of what he did with the woman, I
don't think they'll believe him."

Jack turned back around and gave the key a quick twist. The engine immediately
growled to life.

It's now almost midnight. We've had no visitors, so maybe Jack was wrong about
how angry the townspeople were. He claims we should follow through with our
plans of leaving tomorrow. Kami hasn't said so, but I think she agrees. I've
told them both, I won't go without Mulder.

I told Kami that I needed something to take my mind off 'things', to keep me
from dwelling on all that has 'happened'. She brings me this book. Now, tell
me, what does one usually write in a journal but the 'things' that have
'happened' in their lives. Sometimes I wonder about that girl.

I have decided to just go ahead and finish the story I started. I don't know,
but maybe someday I'll want to have a record of this trip. There were lots of
good times, happy times. Probably though, I'll never read it. I've always hated
tear-jerkers. I walked out on Terms of Endearment and Steel Magnolias. I
figured I didn't have to see the end; I knew where they were going. I mean, we
all have to sit through the tear-jerking parts of our lives. I don't really
consider crying entertainment.

The last time I wrote was November 7th. I remember writing that entry. It was
late evening, long after we normally would have shut down the camp and retired.
Immediately after I finished jotting down all that had happened, Jack came over
to talk to me. I thought that the man knew me well enough by then to take me at
my word. He believed me when I told him I would not leave without Mulder. I
think Jack wouldn't have left him behind either, not unless he absolutely had
to.

"You doin' okay?" Jack asked, plopping down on the log next to me. We had a
huge fire going because it seemed fall had finally decided to put in an
appearance.

I nodded, throwing in a smile for added reassurance. "So, what's on your mind,
Jack?"

"I'm gonna take a walk tonight into Chunchucil to see what the weather's like
there. I think Manuel at the garage will talk to me. Think you can hold the
fort?"

I chuckled softly and nodded. Jack bent down and reached into the knapsack
that sat at his feet, removing a huge 357 magnum.

"Used to carry this back in my prior life," he grinned, a slight blush
darkening his cheeks. "I don't have to ask if you know how to use it, do I?"

"If he shows up while I'm gone, you wrestle him down and hold him, okay?" Jack
smiled, standing to leave.

"Don't worry, I'm armed now," I joked and reaching up I gave him a quick hug.
"You be careful."

My little demonstration of affection embarrassed the man and, with a quick
wave, he set off down the road. I watched Jack walk down the path until the
night swallowed him and he disappeared from sight.

Man with the burning soul
has but an hour of breath
To build a ship of truth
On which his soul may sail --
Sail on the sea of death
For death takes toll
Of beauty, courage and youth,
Of all but truth

The first doctor that examined Mulder here at the Orange Walk Medical Center
took one look at his injuries, turned to me and simply asked, "Why?" My first
instinct was to answer him thus: "Exactly." Mulder is here, in this place, in
this condition, because he felt he had to know 'why'.

We talked before he lost consciousness that morning. I have an idea about what
happened after he left us and disappeared into the jungle, but not the complete
story. That we'll never know.

Somehow, somewhere, Mulder found out about Na. In times of mental stress, the
Ancient Mayans would seek the truth by undergoing the ritual of bloodletting,
called Na. If one performed the rite dutifully the end result would be
enlightenment in the form of the appearance of the vision serpent, who holds
the spirits of our ancestors in its mouth. Mulder's wounds, and the results of
his blood work, led me to do some research and I discovered what the ritual of
Na entails.

Mulder first prepared and consumed a mixture of Balche, a fermented honey
drink, a Datura known as Jimson Weed and the venom of the Bathrops Asper. Now,
the ancients usually used the local viper venom for their hallucinogenic brew.
But, from the test done on Mulder to identify the toxin that still lingered in
what little blood he had left, it was discovered he had used the venom of
Barbamarilla, the most lethal of all poisonous snakes in the Americas. It seems
Mulder's need for truth was worth the risk, worth any price he'd have to pay.

Once the desired state of altered consciousness was obtained, the follower
would have proceeded with the ritual cuts. The text I read was specific to the
positioning of the seventeen points, and the wounds we found on Mulder matched
exactly. Each tiny incision had been made the prescribed quarter inch width and
the exact depth required to achieve a slow but steady blood loss. That,
together with the elixir, would bring about the visions.

Mulder would have knelt on the altar, allowing the initial spurt of blood from
each wound to flow into the recessed font, so it would create the pool from
which the serpent could emerge. I don't know what he used to make the cuts. The
Ancients used bone knives, ornately carved, made especially for the rite. The
first point, always on the temples, left, then right. Next was the soft tissue
on the underside of the tongue, then onto the curve of the jaw, the base of the
neck, the veins atop the shoulders, then on to the wrist. Always following the
left side to the right, moving down to the skin on the stomach, there beside
both hip bones then atop each foot.

Had Mulder been female, there would have been twin cuts high on the inner
thigh to bracket the pubis and the tongue would have been the last slit made.
Mulder's final offerings to the font were the two incisions he made on the
flesh of his penis, one on the shaft near the stomach and the other, the
underside, near the head. Once done, all that was left, was to wait for the
serpent to come.

Kami fell asleep by the fire. I found myself nodding, jerking awake each time
my head bobbed forward. Jack was long overdue, and I was worried. Waiting
through the long night had tired me. Staying awake was becoming a losing
battle. I must have dropped off, right at dawn, because I didn't hear Mulder
enter the camp.

His voice was a quiet whisper, barely audible, but I came awake instantly. I
thought it was a dream. No, this would have been a nightmare. Mulder stood
before me, bathed in blood from head to foot. He was nude; the dark wetness
that covered his skin shimmered in the flickering campfire. He seemed to sway
and, thinking it was part of the illusion, I didn't even move to help him until
he toppled to the ground. Jumping to my feet I scrambled to him, cradling his
head in my lap.

His eye was glazed as he looked up at me. I don't know if he saw me, but he
knew I was there. "Scully," he murmured, offering me a smile. With a sigh of
relief, my fear eased as Mulder drifted into an exhausted sleep.

Kami had stirred at the noise and stifled a scream at seeing Mulder's condition.

"You want to get me some water, rags and my bag?" I asked softly, checking my
patient's pulse. It was too rapid, too weak to suit me, but was slowing now
that he rested. He stirred now and then while I cleaned and treated his wounds,
even waking a few times with a start, only to drift off when he realized he was
safe.

I was appalled by what he'd done to himself; it was clear the cuts had not
been accidental. He slept until almost noon, awakening only when I tried to
move him from my lap. I helped him to sit up and watched with concern as he
fought the dizziness the change in position brought. We needed to get him to a
hospital. Jack had been gone for twelve hours, and I was now past worry. I was
rapidly approaching panic.

I looked up and noticed that Mulder was quietly watching me. I studied his
face, taking in the gray pallor of his skin. He'd covered himself modestly with
the thin blanket Kami had thrown over him after his bath. Forcing a weak grin
he finally spoke, "Think I could get some pants?"

Kami had been breaking camp, but hurried to comply at hearing his request. It
took both of us to help him dress, and the simple task of slipping on his jeans
exhausted him. I anxiously felt his forehead as he sank back down to lean
against the log. Even though he'd broken into a sweat from his exertions, his
skin was cold.

He'd lost his patch, and my hands shook when I noticed that somehow the scars
that once outlined his ruined eye socket had vanished. I couldn't help myself.
Gently I touched the smooth, flawless skin where his eye had once been. Mulder
couldn't replace his eye, but the damage that the exiting bullet had left was
gone.

"When the gods were more manlike; men were more godlike," he recited softly,
lightly brushing his lips to my hand. A tear had rolled down his cheek from his
lone eye and I felt my mouth begin to quiver.

"Mulder, what happened?" I asked, forcing myself to gain enough control to
speak.

"I found answers, Scully, but I don't think I asked the right questions. The
only truths she told me turned out to be ones I should have already known. You
already know them; I think you always have." He gave my hand a squeeze as a sob
escaped. I waited while he struggled against his pain. When he lifted his head,
his face mirrored his anguish. "Samantha was in the serpent's mouth. She's
dead, Scully."

I pulled him to me and felt his body shake as he cried. I didn't understand
what he had told me. It wasn't until I read the text describing the ritual of
Na that I realized the connection between the vision snake and his sister.

He gave a harsh, bitter laugh and pushed away from my embrace. "Yeah, don't
tell me I go through all this and all I wind up having is a fucking delusion?"
His laughter suddenly died. He grimaced, shoving me away before leaning off to
the side to vomit. I rubbed his back while his body convulsed, then helped him
to settle into my lap when the sickness finally passed. Kami pressed a wet rag
into his hand. I took it from him and wiped his sweat dampened face.

Nothing was said while Mulder recovered, arm slung over his face. I had so
many questions, but not wanting to upset him, I forced myself to wait. There's
always time later, isn't there? Kami brought some water to him and he gave her
a wan smile as he sipped it. He looked so very ill. His face had a drawn,
pinched look that I didn't like and my unease grew. I spotted broken
capillaries in his eye, but I related their sudden appearance to his violent
retching.

Kami went back to packing our gear and I sat silently, thinking, idly playing
with Mulder's long dark hair, while he dozed.

"There is a God within us and we glow when he stirs us," Mulder informed me,
grabbing my hand to still its motion.

"I'm reading Bartlett's, telepathically." His grin flickered on, then
disappeared as he sighed, "Scully, she's dead. She told me she died that first
year they took her; from what they did to her. All the others are her clones.
She has been dead for 25 years. I know it now. I can feel in my heart that it's
all true."

I didn't feel we needed to discuss this now, so I simply nodded and continued
to stroke his neck. Finally I felt his breathing slow and deepen and knew he'd
drifted to sleep.

Jack sprinted into camp at about three, wide-eyed and panicked. He woke us
with his yells.

"We have to go now!" he screamed, shoving Kami toward the Suburban. "But I'm
not..." she argued.

"Forget it! Let's Go! Scully!" Jack finally turned to me and spotting Mulder,
a smile started to spread across his face only to die when he noticed how sick
he was. The driver rushed over, grabbed my partners arm, and pulled him to his
feet. "We have to leave, NOW!" Jack ordered.

I scrambled up, taking Mulder's other arm, and helped him into the car. I made
him stretch out on the back seat, taking his head once more into my lap. Jack
took off, tires spinning. No one said a word until we reached Chunchucil where
we were to make the turn onto the highway that would take us back into Belize.

Over two hundred people were angrily striding toward us. It must have been the
entire village. Jack floored it, cranking the wheel to the left and we cut
across a field, avoiding the mass of people who blocked our way. The vehicle
bucked and bounced across the uneven ground and dried out corn stalks, tossing
us about. I held on to Mulder, who was just now fully awakening, and turned to
see the angry crowd start to give chase. They disappeared behind us in a cloud
of dust. Making another skidding left, Jack put us on the paved road. My heart
thudded in my chest. I watched out the back window until the village
disappeared in the distance.

Mulder's struggle to sit up pulled my attention from what lay behind us and I
turned to help him up.

"She's not dead?" Mulder gasped, leaning forward so Jack could hear him. I
pulled him back to lean against me, dismayed by the way his heart was pounding
and his breath rasped. I frowned, concerned about his rapidly deteriorating
condition. Then the horror of his question hit me. Jack answered it and I
listened to our drivers tale in amazement.

"Yeah, the woman's dead all right," Jack responded, his tone chillingly calm
considering his news. "It's just that the people in the village didn't like the
way she flung her arms up in the air and sat during the rosary."

Jack's reply seemed to sap the last of Mulder's energy and he sank back
exhausted. I rested against the door, holding him upright because I didn't like
the sodden sound of his lungs.

"I guess I make a lousy god, huh?" Mulder sighed, settling into me. I remember
thinking how funny it was that he never felt too heavy when he laid against me.
It was so strange, because when he held me, he enveloped me completely. There
was such a difference in our size, yet we fit so perfectly it never mattered
which of us did the holding. I was relieved to feel his breathing smoothing out
a bit.

"We'll figure out how they work, Mulder. We'll find out what you should do
with the powers," I reassured him. He accepted my comfort but I knew he would
never let go of the guilt he felt over his mistake. Mulder didn't know how to
let things go.

"Samantha and I talked about the powers. She looked just like she used to, not
much older. I guess it was because she didn't get much older." His body shook
when he sighed and I knew he was crying. I rubbed his chest, trying to comfort
him. Once again his grief made him sick and we pulled off to the side, to let
him lose the little bit of water and bile that filled his stomach. We had to
stop twice more in that hour for Mulder and the second time I noticed that
blood was all he brought up. It wasn't much, but once more I lied to myself,
wanting to believe that it was from his violent retching.

This part is hard for me. I know there was nothing I could have done. There
was no help around for hours in any direction. We got Mulder medical attention
at the first available place. But it doesn't help the hurt. Nothing does. You
see, I have trouble letting go, too

I'm nothing if not prompt. A week to the day and I've returned to finish my
story. I AM going to finish it. I want to get it over. God, it has been a week
of trying to wrap things up. Nothing has changed in the here and now. Nothing
except that we turned off the respirator four days ago and Mulder still hasn't
died. I told you he doesn't know how to let go. He isn't alive, but he won't
die.

Those next few hours are embedded in my memory. It's actually like I recorded
them with a camera because I can play them back anytime I want, in an instant.
I wonder now if I knew this would be the last time we would talk. Did I have a
premonition? Did my subconscious somehow register those small, telltale signs
that I beat myself up with now, and make me grab hold of those last few hours?
I remember the sound of his voice. The touch of his hand. Even with the
horrible way it ended, I'm glad I remember. It's all I have left.

It was starting to get dark when Mulder began to talk. Maybe he knew there
wasn't much time. He told me that he had taken something to cause visions.
Never in my life would I have thought of the venom. But I did start a mental
list of his symptoms, comparing them to my knowledge of hallucinogens. His
descriptions were vague, probably deliberately. I knew he was trying to keep
from worrying me, trying to hide how sick he was feeling. That's another reason
why I watched and listened so closely to him.

"I asked her where the powers came from. It was funny, listening to this
little girl, telling me about the mysteries of the universe. An oracle in
pigtails. She said the Creator gave them to our people. We did fine with them
at first. We did just what it wanted, we stretched and grew, settling other
worlds. Like blowing on a puff-ball, she said. That's what Sam used to call
dandelions. My omnipotent vision called dandelions puff-balls, Scully. I don't
lack imagination do I?" He grinned up at me, his head once more in my lap. He
had the most beautiful smile. Even now I'll touch those lips and remember how
they looked teased into a smile.

"By the time they settled here, they were straying. They'd bio-engineered a
creature, that was part human, part beast. It could gestate in any carbon
based, life form. Part of its life cycle was the black oil. Easily
transportable. They used it to conquer worlds, Scully. Even the worlds they had
originally settled."

"But Mulder, what other worlds were settled? Were they made by the Creator,
too. I mean if they weren't, then who created them?"

"I can't tell you if we came from the first Creator or its mate, Scully. There
once was one; but it's lonely being the only one. So the Creator made itself
become two. It learned how lonely one was. It didn't make the same mistake
again. Always it would make two from the one."

I smiled down at him, "Mulder, I like that. We're separate but equal, because
we came from one."

I played my part and looked sufficiently put out to get another grin.
"Whatever, go on with the story."

"Tell me where I was?" he asked, brow furrowed. "I don't remember what I just
told you."

It scared me, Mulder admitting that. I told myself he was just tired. After
his injury, he didn't have the memory he once had. He was so sick right now.
With all that had happened lately, I'd been forgetful, too.

"They brought the black oil with them to conquer worlds," I murmured,
swallowing hard to make sure my voice was strong.

"They didn't plan on using it. It was put away and forgotten, 'til some of our
cousins came looking for us. The cousins have changed themselves so much over
the years, making improvements on the Creator's work. The Creator made us that
way; always searching, always wanting to improve. But somewhere our kin have
taken the wrong turn. They've come so far, Scully, but they've lost so much on
the way. They can't smile. They can't laugh. They don't play baseball."

"My God, the inhumanity," I laughed with him. I remember the sound of our
laughter as it blended together.

For the first time I noticed a flicker of pain cross his face. His hand moved
up to touch his head and the faint hitch in his breathing returned once again.

Jack and Kami were listening to our conversation so they heard Mulder's
distress. The car came to a stop immediately but it was too late. We'd traveled
far enough from Chunchucil and knew no one followed so we took our time
cleaning up. Mulder was so embarrassed. He must have apologized to each of us a
dozen times. I got some water down him, and it came up within minutes, mixed
with more blood. I convinced Jack and Kami the floorboard was washed down
enough and we continued. We had another delay at the border crossing. It was
slow without Mulder being able to do the "whammy." Then it was back on the road.

"There never was a missing link. We devolved, not evolved on this planet. But
maybe it's for the best. Every time we build to a certain point, we destroy
ourselves, over and over again. The Mayans. Atlantis." His speech was beginning
to slur. It was like a clock-work toy running down. Still he told me what he
"saw" in his vision. But the words came slower and lower with each passing mile.

He gave a real laugh. "Patrick Duffy...The Man from Atlantis? I guess you
never watched TV as a kid?"

"I had a crush on Donny Osmond," I confessed. "I used to watch their show for
my hour. Him and Marie. Bill used to throw a fit."

"For good reason. You're sick, Scully." He seemed to linger on my name a
moment, tasting it almost. Then his face twisted and he began to convulse. I
checked my watch, calling the time out to Kami -- 6:35..."

ASSOCIATED PRESS - An earthquake, reported to be 7.6 on the Richter scale, hit
Guatemala yesterday at 6:35 p.m. local time...

...then tried to get out of his way. He drove me hard into the door as the
rigidity made his long body stretch out. It was over quickly. It lasted a
little less than five minutes. We didn't stop. We all knew we had to hurry.

I have to laugh at the absurdity of life sometimes. Mulder and I have had some
deep conversations over the years; from Genesis to Revelations. But our last
conversation was about Donny and Marie Osmond. I think it's a inexplicable
world.

Mulder's next seizure came at 7:02, the next 7:49, and the final one was 8:18.
After the last seizure he went into respiratory distress. Right before starting
artificial respiration I remember noticing a sign that said Blue Ridge Creek,
12 miles. We were at the clinic in seven minutes.

...aftershocks ranging from 3.5 to 6.9, the last measurable one coming at
8:18pm. The epicenter for the quake was a sparsely populated area of rain
forest near the Mayan ruins of Tikal. There are reports that the village of
Chinchucil, site of one of the oldest Mayan shrines, was totally destroyed.
Forty fatalities have been reported as a result of the quake but local
estimates say the number could be as high as four-hundred for the northeastern
area.

And so I'm sitting at his beside, waiting once again. Waiting for him to die
this time. The last time it was different. I don't know how to explain it,
except to say there was always a chance that he would survive. I've said before
that what I feared, for the longest time, was that he would live and be left
with an existence that would be a nightmare to him. I knew then that some part
of Mulder was still trapped there.

This time there's nothing. I know he's gone. The tests show minimal brain
function at best. Mulder had a severe cerebral accident. Whether it was his
prior condition that weakened him, the loss of blood, the toxin, an act of God,
or what, several intracerebral arteries began to leak in Mulder's brain. He was
dying when he first stumbled into the camp. The pressure built as the blood
pooled into the brain parenchyma. They have the hematoma under control, but the
damage was done by the time we arrived at Blue Ridge Creek. By the time they
moved him here to the Medical Center, my Mulder was gone. I didn't need the EEG
to tell me that fact. My heart already felt his absence.

This time I'm the one trapped. Mulder is not really here; he has been
released. I'm angry. That sounds so horrible, but it's true. I'm not angry at
Mulder. He's a victim, too. I'm angry for him, because he had his life stolen
away. A life spent struggling to overcome a childhood that held pain I can't
even imagine. Struggling to bring the light of truth into the world and getting
nothing for his efforts but ridicule and more pain. Struggling to come back
from death and disabilities that would have crushed someone with less spirit.

All the faith I rediscovered is gone now. God has me angry! The God I thought
I found really doesn't exist. He is the uncaring, teasing, tyrant who
vengefully punishes his wayward children. He punished Mulder for daring to fly
to close to the light. Mulder didn't use his powers in a way that God saw fit
so he was punished. This God didn't care about intent. Again, he's Santa Claus
with a Dirty Harry complex. I'll give you these gifts but don't fuck up, for
goodness sake.

I'm being punished, too. I suppose for daring to question his will. He gave
me a gift, then stole it away. And maybe I angered him even more than Mulder,
because I've got a life sentence. How long does a god live? Forever is a long
time to spend with a corpse that breathes.

I finally got Skinner to read to me from Scully's journal again. He didn't
figure the last few parts were exactly the kind of reading a dying man would
find inspirational. He's probably right. Seems like every time I almost die I
get a little depressed. I think I'm developing a Job complex. I wonder why all
my psychoses have religious connotations, being an atheist and all?

Well, I didn't die. I made it through to another birthday. I think I'll just
ignore this one. I don't think Skinner knows and I'm sure as hell not going to
mention it. I'm not quite well enough to take a chance at having the man
serenade me with "Happy Birthday to You."

He saved my life again. He has to realize that the debt he thinks he owes me
has been paid back. He really should go on and try to find a life for himself.
There's no need for him to be stuck here with me while I play the waiting game.
I'd find a way to make it, I always do.

Except I don't want to be alone, and I'd miss him. He's my friend. Not an over
abundance of them around anymore. Yeah, who am I kidding? Skinner's all there
is. Well, Scully, but she's still not here. I know she's okay now, but while I
was sick I couldn't feel her at all, and as weak as I am I know she can't feel
me. So she's alone. This is not a good time to be alone in the world.

We're going home, Kami, Mulder and I. Mr. Wagner came down and chartered a jet
for us. We'll be flying home to Colorado tomorrow and should be back at Sky
Watch by dinner time. Mr. Wagner and I had a long talk and we reached an
understanding. I guess you can say I've forgiven him. I have. It's just that
I'm so beat right now the thought of trying to work up enough energy to forgive
someone is beyond me. All I can manage is acceptance.

I accept the fact that while he didn't have Mulder's best interest at heart,
he wasn't trying to do him harm. It was more an act of unthinking, self-
interest. Mr. Wagner admitted that sometimes he has tunnel vision when it comes
to his efforts at getting what he wants. It's not a vice limited to the very
rich. I see the same flaw in myself, so I accept his apology.

He has opened up his home to us again. He has informed me that Mulder's room
has been re-equipped to meet his needs. I'll be in charge of taking care of
Mulder there at Sky Watch, and Mr. Wagner has offered to pay for any help I
might need. He agrees with me, there's no need for hospitals anymore. I've sent
Dr. Raposa Mulder's records and she has offered to do the unthinkable -- make
house calls. Everything is all set. Mr. Wagner has even arranged for my mom to
be there when we get to the ranch. I'm grateful. I think I could use a bit of
mothering right now.

I feel almost like the last two years have disappeared and Mulder and I are
back where we started. He hangs between life and death, his brain almost
destroyed. I sit beside him, watching and waiting. We've traveled so very far
to go nowhere. They say life is a circle. That frightens me. It means that this
may never end.