Keywords: psychological suspense; east coast (specifically 
the Rhode Island area); five days? CSM's manipulation of 
Mulder, the mythology as it relates to Samantha's abduction 
and what happened in Closure; a mentally unbalanced 
psychiatrist; Scully and Mulder at odds in their 
relationship; Mulder is drugged, then injured in the woods. 
Brief appearance by Skinner.

Title: Little Girl Lost
Author: Agent L
Category: X-file, MT 
Rating: PG?
Spoilers: Closure, Little Green Men, minor references to 
Demons, Talitha Cumi, One Son
Summary: The cigarette-smoking man plays a new game with 
Mulder. What if Samantha isn't dead? 
Archive: IMTP for the first two weeks, then please contact 
the author. 
Disclaimer: Sadly, Mulder & Scully as well as all other 
recognizable character references belong to Chris Carter, 
Ten Thirteen Productions, and Twentieth Century Fox 
Television. They are used here without permission. No 
copyright infringement is intended. Dr. Peterson, Dr. 
Williams, and other unrecognized characters belong 
to the author. 
Author's Notes: Thanks to Vickie and Dawn for telling me I 
could, and to Marlen for the beta.
Feedback: Yes, please! LHoward388@aol.com


Little Girl Lost

Teaser

"Sir? You asked for me?" The man in a dark suit stood at 
attention in front of the desk, but his eyes were bored, 
disrespectful.

No one had passion anymore.

CGB Spender took a deep drag off his cigarette and picked 
up a photograph on the corner of his desk. The plain silver 
frame surrounded a picture of a young boy and girl. Then he 
stared at his minion for a few moments as he blew out a 
slow cloud of smoke, waiting until the man's eyes began to 
water and he choked back a cough. 

It was all about control. He had so little control these 
days. Even his own body was betraying him by succumbing 
to disease.

"Sit down. Let me tell you a story." 

The man recognized it as an order, not an invitation, and 
took a seat.

"Once upon a time, a Hero set off on a quest. Full of noble 
intentions and holding the flaming sword of justice, he 
swore to light the darkness, to expose the truth ... All those 
same deadly dull notions of heroes throughout the centuries. 
But our Hero had no dragons to slay, no villagers to save. 
His crusade was to convince the peasants of the existence 
of extra-terrestrial life.

"You see, our Hero had been blessed -- or cursed -- with a 
vision. No angelic visitation bathed in white light and 
soft voices, but a glimpse into hell. His little sister, 
snatched away by an anonymous presence, as he stood by, 
helpless.

"She became his quest, his holy grail, his consuming 
passion ... once upon a time.

"Now he's lost his way. He's become complacent. He seeks 
comfort, not truth; he seeks love, not answers. My son has 
lost his passion."

He leaned back in his chair, remembering the old days, the 
intricate chess matches between them, the heady joy of 
those competitions. Perhaps he could regain some of the 
power he'd once had, even as his physical body continued 
to weaken.

"Sir?" The man finally broke the silence, no doubt completely 
baffled at the story he'd just heard, but obediently awaiting 
his next order. This man was no hero, never would be. 
But he could still serve a useful function as one of the pawns 
in this new game.

"Bring in one of the lost girls."

Act 1

Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
Five days later

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Agent Scully hesitated at the 
door, and Assistant Director Skinner waved her in. She was 
a bit nervous, having been expressly requested to arrive 
without her partner. Generally any reprimands were directed 
at both of them, and the powers-that-be had long since 
given up on private meetings to encourage her to rein 
Mulder in, finally realizing that it was like trying to lasso 
a bull with dental floss.

She took a seat as he finished up some paperwork, noticing 
that no one else was in the room. That was a good sign. 
Then he looked up at her with a frown. That was a bad sign.

"Agent Scully, I've received some rather disturbing news 
and I wanted to talk to you before involving Agent Mulder. 
These hospital admission forms were faxed to me by an 
anonymous source." He slid the papers across the desk.

She squinted at the fuzzy fax copy, then her startled gaze 
flew to Skinner, who gave a brief nod. "I had the same 
reaction."

"But there are probably dozens, if not hundreds of Samantha 
Mulders," Scully said, trying to convince herself as much 
as him. She glanced down at the paper again to see who was 
marked as next of kin and looked back up at Skinner, the 
color draining from her face. "Teena Mulder? This is 
impossible."

"That's what I thought at first, but look at her medical history."

Scully skimmed through the form. "She claims to be an alien 
abductee."

"And they found her in Quana ... Quono ... in the area 
where the Mulder summer house is." He stood up and walked 
over to the window. "Look, Scully, I'm sure this is just 
some weird coincidence, but once the hospital starts 
investigating, it's only a matter of time before they 
contact Mulder. Do you want me to talk to him?"

Scully shook her head. "No. Let me do some checking 
first. As you say, it's probably nothing, and I don't want 
to open old wounds without cause."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "He doesn't need to know. Not yet."
________________

Mercy Hospital
Newport, Rhode Island

The young woman in the hospital bed submitted impatiently
to the nurse's routine check of her vital signs, twisting a 
strand of her shoulder-length, dark brown hair. She winced
as the nurse applied ointment to several cuts and scrapes
on her face and arms, but did not speak until the process
was finished. 

"When can I get out of here?" she asked, as the nurse made 
some notes on a chart. "I really feel fine."

The woman gave her a brief, professional smile. "You'll 
have to ask the doctor."

"Well, where is --" She found herself talking to the 
nurse's back as she hurried out the door. Deciding to take
matters into her own hands, she slid out of bed, hesitating
only briefly to allow a wave of dizziness to pass before
she opened the small closet. It was empty. They had taken
her clothes, probably her money. She had to call someone
to come get her. Her mother. Mom would come and
take her home. But for some reason she couldn't remember
the phone number, and trying to recall the information
just made her head start to ache. 

She sank back to the bed just as a blonde woman in 
wire-rimmed glasses and a blue lab coat came into the 
room, carrying a bundle of clothing. The woman sat 
down and laid a pair of artfully faded jeans and a gray 
sweatshirt that said Property of Yale Athletic Department 
at the foot of the bed. 

"I think we're about the same size." Seeing the question
in the patient's eyes, she added, "Your other clothes 
were in no shape to wear. I hope you don't mind."

"Who the hell are you?"

If the woman was offended, she didn't show it. Smiling as 
if they had been introduced at a tea party, she stood up 
and held out her hand. "I'm Dr. Peterson. You can call me 
Kate if you want."

"So when can I get out of here, doctor?" Ignoring the 
outstretched hand, she shrugged into the sweatshirt and 
pulled on the jeans. The clothes were a little baggy, but 
clean, and most importantly, didn't leave her ass hanging 
out for the world to see. 

Dr. Peterson frowned a little and sat down. "Physically,
you seem to be fine, Samantha, but we're concerned about
some things you told us when you were admitted. Do 
you remember what what you said? How you came to be 
here?"

"I fell." She hoped it sounded more like a statement than 
a question, but she could only recall fuzzy images of pain 
and voices shouting before she had awakened in the 
hospital room. 

"Do you remember how you fell?"

"What does that matter? I'm okay now, right? No broken 
bones, a few cuts and bruises, nothing I haven't had 
before." She perched on the edge of the bed, ready for 
fight or flight.

The doctor moved between her and the door, looking like 
a cat that had just discovered a fresh bowl of cream. "You've 
been injured before? Would you like to tell me about that?"

"Umm ... No, I don't think so. What kind of doctor are you, 
anyway? Shouldn't you be checking my pulse, taking my 
temperature?"

Dr. Peterson shook her head with an indulgent smile. "I'm 
not that kind of doctor. I'm more interested in your mental 
health, Samantha."

She tried a carefree laugh, but it came out as a harsh 
giggle. "What, because I don't remember some stupid fall?"

"No. Because you claimed to be an alien abductee when you 
were brought here, and because the last official record we 
have of you is that you disappeared from your home when you 
were eight years old. And I have some sad news for you, 
Samantha. Your mother passed away a few years ago. But 
we've located your current next of kin. Your brother, Fox, 
is on his way right now."
______________

Route 138
South of Providence, Rhode Island

For a few weeks after his sister had disappeared, Mulder had 
played a game, walking home from school. If he saw two red 
cars in a row, she would be home in two days. If he saw a 
license plate with his initials, she would be waiting for 
him when he walked through the door. And now, more than 20 
years later, driving along Route 138 into Newport, not so 
far from where he'd begun this journey, he found himself 
doing the same thing. 

It was ridiculous -- not only the game, but the whole 
notion that this person could be his sister. Samantha 
was dead. 

A few years ago, he'd stood in a starlit field and put his 
arms around her in both a welcome and a goodbye, convinced 
that he now knew what had happened to her and they could 
both be at peace. Even though he'd never found a body, had 
no solid evidence, and the theory of walk-ins was about as 
widely accepted as the idea of extraterrestrial life, he had
felt free of the guilt and sorrow that had haunted him since
unlocking the repressed memories of his sister's abduction. 
There were still occasional nightmares and regrets, but he
had believed his search was finally over. Now an anonymous 
voice on the phone had shaken that belief, raised some
disturbing questions. Had he simply abandoned the search 
because it had become too hard and he was too tired? 
Had that vision in the field been a product of his emotional
and physical exhaustion, summoned up by his longing
for some kind of peace of mind?

Could she ever forgive him if he had given up on her?
He knew he would never forgive himself.

He had considered calling Scully, but decided to 
investigate on his own first. She'd always had her doubts 
about his version of Samantha's disappearance, although to 
give her credit, she'd kept them to herself most of the 
time. He suspected she hadn't fully believed the theory of 
walk-ins, either, but had grasped -- as he had -- at an 
idea that would give them both some closure. He knew 
that part of the reason their relationship had grown so 
much over the past two years was that his sister's ghost no 
longer stood between them, and he saw no reason to raise 
the issue again unless it was absolutely necessary. 

He arrived at the hospital and stopped at the admitting 
desk, asking for Samantha Mulder's room.

"Mr. Mulder?" A tall, distinguished looking man with thick 
white hair and a stethoscope draped around his neck 
approached. "I'm Dr. Williams, head of the ER. I'd like to 
talk to you before you visit your sister."

"There's still some question as to whether or not she *is* 
my sister," Mulder replied as they began walking down the 
hall.

"That's what I want to talk to you about. I've asked Dr. 
Katherine Peterson, our visiting psychiatrist, to join us. 
She's replacing Dr. James, who's on sabbatical."

He opened the door to his office, a spartan room with a 
large, antique desk taking up most of the room. Bookshelves 
lined one wall, along with the requisite diplomas and 
awards professionals loved to display. A photo of the 
doctor with his wife and three children sat on the corner 
of the desk, overlooking piles of papers, journals, and 
folders. 

"Sorry about the mess," the doctor smiled as he sat down, 
gesturing for Mulder to do the same. He picked up a file 
off the top of one of the stacks. "Samantha was brought in 
two nights ago, suffering from mild exposure and some 
superficial cuts and bruises. She was found unconscious by 
the highway near Quonochontaug, where I'm told your family 
has a cabin ... ?"

Mulder nodded. "Did she have any ID?"

The doctor shook his head. "No. When she regained 
consciousness she told us she was Samantha and supplied the 
information for the admission forms. Although admittedly, 
the home address and phone number she gave us for herself 
are fake, she did give your mother's name as next of kin. 
That's how we located you."

"So basically, all you have is her word that she's Samantha 
Mulder? Look, Dr. Williams, I appreciate your contacting me, 
but I don't think this person is my sister." Mulder stood up 
and started toward the door, nearly running into the blonde 
woman who was just stepping in.

"Mr. Mulder? I'm Dr. Kate Peterson. Would you mind spending 
just a few more minutes with us?"

Mulder hesitated. He didn't want to waste any more of his 
time on what obviously seemed to be some kind of hoax, but 
despite his frustration, he was interested in what kind of game 
was going on and whether his "sister" was a willing player. 
He sat back down and Dr. Peterson took a seat next to him.

"I'm sure Dr. Williams has filled you in on Samantha's 
physical condition. We're concerned about her mental state 
as well, however. I understand you have some experience 
with alien abduction cases?"

"A little."

"When she was brought in, Samantha kept referring to 'they' 
and 'them,' that they had taken her, performed tests. She 
spoke of a bright light and being unable to move or speak. 
She's also exhibiting some signs of paranoia. The injuries do 
seem to be from some kind of accident -- we found no sign 
of recent physical or sexual abuse -- but she has no memory 
of what led to the injuries, and in fact is now denying what she 
originally told us."

Mulder nodded. "That's a fairly standard scenario. Many 
abductees will recant their stories later for fear of 
appearing delusional."

"Your sister originally disappeared in 1973?"

"Yes."

"There was never any contact with her after that, no clue 
to what had happened?"

A bridge. An impossible choice. Two bodies falling in the 
water.

A small diner. Tears streaming down her face as she pulled 
her hand away.

"No."

Dr. Peterson glanced at her notes. "What about your own
past claims that your sister was abducted, Mr. Mulder?" 
she asked quietly. Dr. Williams appeared startled.

Mulder stood up, his limited patience fading. "If you're 
asking me if I believe in extraterrestrial life and alien 
abductions, I do, Dr. Peterson. But I also believe that my 
sister is dead. This woman is either under some kind of 
delusion or part of an elaborate hoax. Now if we're through 
here, I'd like to see her so we can settle this."

The two doctors exchanged glances. "Very well," said Dr. 
Williams. They escorted Mulder down the hall to Samantha's 
room. When they opened the door, the room was empty.

"I guess she's been abducted again," Mulder commented. 
At that moment, two orderlies came toward them, a thin, 
dark-haired girl between them wearing a baggy t-shirt 
and jeans.

"I wasn't trying to escape," she argued. "I just wanted a 
cigarette. Come on, guys, have a heart."

Mulder stared at her. He'd been expecting a young woman 
with light brown curls and a fragile appearance -- the one who 
had been presented to him as Samantha over the years. They 
had apparently realized that he no longer believed she was 
his sister, and he gave them credit for bringing in a new face, 
even as he wondered if her participation was voluntary or 
coerced. Her injuries appeared to be real enough, and she 
had convinced the doctors. But he was sure the script hadn't 
been altered too much. Now she would look at him, there 
would be a moment of recognition, and then her eyes would fill 
with tears and she would say ... 

"Who are you? Another shrink?"

No tears, not even that much interest in him, just suspicion. 
Without waiting for a reply, she turned her attention to the two 
doctors, arguing her case for the benefits of just one tiny 
cigarette now and then. Mulder felt a tug of curiosity at this 
new twist in the old game. 

"Samantha," Dr. Peterson said gently. "Don't you recognize 
this man?"

When she looked at him again, he noticed that a little of the 
bravado slipped. She knew she was being tested, that her 
next move, her next words, were of great interest to the three 
people watching.

Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she slid to the 
floor.

The two orderlies were still nearby, so they lifted her 
into the bed. Dr. Williams checked her pulse and her 
reflexes and determined that she'd just over-exerted 
herself. Moments later her eyes fluttered open and she sat 
up. Dr. Peterson gave her a glass of water as Mulder looked 
on. 

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "It was just such a shock ... 
You're my brother, aren't you? Fox Mulder."

Mulder nodded, not moving from his position in one corner 
of the room, but looking over at Dr. Peterson. "Could we 
have a few moments alone?"

Dr. Peterson glanced at Dr. Williams, who nodded, and they 
left the room.

Mulder walked over to the bed. "Nice job. But next time 
don't put your hand out to break your fall at the last moment."

She pouted at him. "So what are you, a cop or something?"

"FBI."

"Shit."

"We've got a lot of catching up to do, Samantha." He sat 
down on the edge of the bed. "Beginning with who you really 
are."

To her credit, she met his gaze head-on. "I'm Samantha 
Mulder. My mother's name is Teena, my father's name is 
Bill. He works in the government. You're my older brother 
Fox. We lived in Chilmark, Massachusetts."

He applauded politely. "Very nice. But anyone with some 
persistence and a computer could have found that out. How
about the name of your grade school?" 

She hesitated.

"Your best friend?"

She closed her eyes for a moment and bit her lip, then smiled 
at him triumphantly. "Sheila. No, Shelly. Sheri?" She slumped
back against the pillow. "I'm not sure."

He was a little disappointed by her lack of information. Either
they were getting lazy or she hadn't done her homework. 
With a pointed glance at his watch, he stood. "Well, this has 
been interesting. "Give me a call if anything else comes back 
to you." He started toward the door.

"Buddy," came the shaky voice from behind him. "I had a 
teddy bear named Buddy. You used to hide him from me."

Mulder stopped abruptly. He hadn't thought about that stupid 
bear for years. No one would have known about Buddy 
except his own family.

"What else?" he asked, without turning around.

"Mom grew flowers, she loved tea roses. I could smell them 
from my bedroom. We had peanut butter sandwiches every 
day in the summer. You liked yours with tomato."

He turned around, shaken by the tearful revelations. 
"Who are you?" he whispered. 

Before she could answer, a new voice interrupted them. 
"Mulder? What are you doing here?"

Scully stood in the doorway.

Act 2

Mulder walked over to her. "The hospital called me. What 
are *you* doing here, Scully?"

She hesitated only a moment before confessing. 
"Skinner received an anonymous tip that a woman claiming to 
be Samantha Mulder had been brought to this hospital."

"So you took it upon yourself to investigate?" He folded 
his arms and leaned back against the wall in a deceptively 
casual stance. "When were you two planning to let me in on 
this little secret?"

Scully sighed. "Mulder, it's not a secret. I just didn't 
think you needed to be involved until we knew more."

"That decision wasn't yours to make, Scully. This is about 
me ... about my family."

Scully glanced past him at Samantha, who was watching them 
curiously, and lowered her voice. "Are you telling me that 
you think this woman is your sister?"

"I'm telling you to let me handle this."

"Fine. But at least let me talk to Skinner and have the 
investigation opened as an official case. Then you'll have 
access to the Bureau's resources." She turned and started 
to walk away.

"Scully, where are you going?"

She stopped. "Back to DC."

"There's a fax machine at the hotel." At her puzzled 
glance, he smiled. "I didn't say I wanted to handle this 
*alone*. Besides, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"It's about damn time." Samantha sat up in bed as Scully 
and Mulder approached, looking from one to the other. 
"Lovers' quarrel?" she grinned.

"Professional disagreement," Mulder grinned back. "This is 
my partner, Agent Dana Scully."

Scully extended her hand with a polite smile. "How are you 
feeling?"

Samantha shrugged. "Fine. I wish they'd just let me go 
home. But Dr. Peterson is worried that I'm some kind of 
psych case because I can't remember how I got hurt, so 
they're going to do some more tests."

"Where's home?" Scully asked casually, taking a seat next 
to the bed as Mulder hovered on the other side.

She opened her mouth, then hesitated, a panicked expression 
crossing her face. "I - I don't remember. There must be an 
address on my driver's license or something...." Her eyes 
went to Mulder, seeking help.

"You didn't have any ID when they found you." He gave her 
a smile and squeezed her shoulder. "It's okay, Sam. It'll 
come back to you."

"What *is* the last thing you remember?" Scully pressed, 
ignoring her partner's warning glance. 

Samantha closed her eyes and took a deep breath. For a few 
moments the room was silent. Then she whispered, "It was 
dark ... Night. There's a bright light in my eyes -- 
someone's grabbing me --" She opened her eyes, reaching for 
Mulder's hand. "What happened to me, Fox?"

"We're going to find out," he murmured. The reassuring 
smile disappeared when he looked at Scully. "Agent Scully, 
may I speak with you in the hallway?"

They left the room and walked down to the small waiting 
area. 

"What the hell was that about?" Mulder demanded, startling 
an older man who'd been dozing over a magazine.

"I'm trying to find out who this woman is," Scully replied. 
"Isn't that what we're supposed to be doing here?"

"By treating her like a suspect?"

"Yes, until I know more about her. Mulder, you don't know 
who sent Skinner that fax or what kind of games this woman 
might be playing. We both know amnesia can be used as a 
convenient cover story."

"But she remembers things, Scully. Things only Samantha 
could know."

Scully sighed. "I just want more proof than a few scraps of 
memory that may be no more than lucky guesses or careful 
research. Don't you?"

He gnawed on his lower lip for a moment, unwilling to 
concede the point, then finally muttered, "Yes."

She hid her smile at his pout. "Why don't I go see if I can 
find Dr. Williams and have a look at the medical 
information? I can check for a broken collar bone ... or 
any other anomalies. I'd also like to get some samples from 
you and her for a DNA test, although the results will take 
a while, and they won't be conclusive without samples from 
your parents." 

He pulled her into his arms, giving her a quick kiss, much 
to the delight of the older man, who had long since 
discarded his ancient copy of People in favor of the drama 
playing out in front of him. 

When Mulder got back to the room, Dr. Peterson was talking 
to Samantha. Both women greeted him as he entered. 

"I've just been talking to Samantha about a treatment I'd 
like to try," Dr. Peterson said. "I understand you've gone 
through regression hypnosis therapy?"

Mulder sat down. "Yes. In fact, that's how I recovered my 
own memories of the night Samantha disappeared."

"I've had great success with several patients suffering from 
memory losses and blocks. Samantha has agreed to undergo 
a session -- hopefully to recall what caused her recent injury, 
but perhaps to shed some light on the more distant past as 
well. I assume you're still not entirely convinced she is who 
she claims to be?"

"In the past, I've met other women who have claimed to be 
my sister," Mulder said, avoiding Samantha's eyes. "I'd 
like to be sure. My partner is arranging for some tests, 
but this might help us get a few answers sooner. When will 
you be doing the session?"

Dr. Peterson and Samantha exchanged a glance, and now it 
was Samantha who avoided Mulder's gaze as Dr. Peterson 
spoke.

"Samantha and I have discussed it, and we think it might be 
best if you weren't involved in the actual session. Your 
presence might interfere with her clear recollection."

Mulder looked at Samantha, who nodded.

"But we'll be doing the session later this evening, so I 
should have some news for you tomorrow morning," the doctor 
continued. "Why don't you come by my office here at the 
hospital around 9:00?"

"I'll be there," Mulder said.

"And now, I think it might be best if Samantha got some 
rest before we get started."

He wanted to stay and talk to Samantha some more, but she 
looked pale and there were circles of fatigue under her 
eyes. This wasn't any easier on her than it was on him, he 
realized, with the gaps in her memory and people 
questioning and testing her. Whether or not she was his sister, 
she had put her trust in him and was relying on his support. 
He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and wished 
her luck with the regression, then reluctantly left the hospital.

*******

"Did you find anything?" Mulder asked that night as 
they dined on local seafood at a Newport restaurant. His 
plate was piled with discarded shells and he had just 
ordered something called the Chocolate Shipwreck for 
dessert. Scully was still making her way through her shrimp 
salad as she filled him in on her visit with Dr. Williams. 

"According to the X rays they took when she was admitted, 
she's had some broken bones, but most of the injuries 
appear to be several years old. It's possible they're the 
result of some kind of physical abuse, but without a formal 
medical history it's hard to draw any conclusions. 
Unfortunately, I couldn't tell from the existing films if there 
had been any fracture to the collar bone. Dr. Williams is 
going to set up another X ray tomorrow for that purpose, 
if Samantha will agree to it."

"No other anomalies?"

"I didn't --" She stopped in mid-sentence as the waitress 
brought a giant ice cream sundae with broken-up chocolate 
chip cookies scattered over it, drizzled with thick 
chocolate syrup. Mulder handed her the extra spoon he'd 
requested.

"You were saying ... ?" he grinned.

Scully took one more look at her healthy salad before 
shoving it ruthlessly to one side to dig into the ice cream. 
"I didn't see anything on the films, and I'd think 
Dr. Williams would have mentioned finding any kind of 
implants. So we don't know much more than we did 
earlier."

"Do we know anything more about the fax that Skinner got?"

Scully shook her head. "He said he'd call as soon as he had 
any information. Do you have any idea why someone would 
want to make you believe that your sister's alive?"

Mulder set down his spoon. "That's what I don't understand. 
The conspiracy's been destroyed, the cloning program 
terminated. They don't need my cooperation anymore. The 
only thing I can figure is that either this woman truly 
believes she *is* Samantha, or ... " he trailed off.

"Or what, Mulder?"

"Or that she really is my sister."

Scully set the spoon down, her appetite gone. "Mulder ... "

"What if Sam didn't get taken from the hospital that night? 
What if she escaped somehow and ended up living on the 
streets?"

"Then why didn't she try to contact you or your parents 
before now? She obviously remembered them. She gave your 
mother's name as next-of-kin."

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she was afraid or 
ashamed. Maybe she hasn't always remembered. Or maybe she 
thought that life on the streets was what she deserved."

"Did you ever stop to think that maybe someone told this 
woman those details, that she's being used or is 
intentionally leading you on for some reason?"

"Of course I have. But it doesn't matter, Scully. I can't turn 
my back on her, not without knowing for sure."

"I know," Scully said quietly, reaching over to put her hand 
on his. "Hopefully the DNA test will give us some kind of 
confirmation."

"Or the regression." 

She pursed her lips against an automatic protest, not wanting to 
ruin the dinner, and simply squeezed his hand in a silent show 
of support. They had both discussed and even undergone 
regression therapy in the past, and she had already voiced her 
concerns about its validity. Even Mulder had admitted that at 
times he doubted his own memories retrieved in that manner. 
But she knew that right now he needed to feel that they were 
moving forward while they waited for the physical test results. 

He set down his spoon and pushed the remaining dessert 
toward her. "Think I'll take a walk. Do you want to come?"

She shook her head, knowing he didn't really want company, 
but appreciating the effort to let her in. "No, I think 
I'll make some calls and try to find out if there have been 
any missing persons reports in the area that match her 
description."

"Okay. See you at the hotel."

After he left, she absently swirled the spoon in her ice 
cream, remembering how relieved she had been when 
they had finally closed this particular X-file. It had taken 
Mulder a while to get used to the idea, and he had gone 
through a period of mourning, but then his spirit had seemed 
to lighten. He was still obsessed with his work, but he also 
was able to relax more, to look toward the future instead 
of constantly glancing back to the past.

It had also been a turning point in their relationship. 
Scully's visits to comfort him had eventually become a 
ritual of movies, popcorn and beer. They had talked long 
into the night, opening up with each other as neither ever 
had before. And that emotional closeness had soon become 
physical closeness. Without the old ghosts of his past 
between them, they could both move on together.

But now ... This woman had raised the dead, regardless of 
who she turned out to be. Mulder already half-believed she 
was Samantha. Scully could tell by the way he looked at 
her, kept touching her. If she wasn't his sister, he would 
go through the grief and guilt all over again, now having 
to wonder if she was still out there somewhere on the 
streets. If this woman *was* his sister, things would never 
be the same between them.

"Is everything all right?" The waitress had approached and 
was watching Scully stirring her melted ice cream.

"No," Scully replied. "But there's nothing I can do."

**************

Mulder walked along the harbor. He'd roamed through the 
streets of Newport for a while before the pull of the ocean 
had drawn him here. The water always had a calming 
influence, helped him sort things out. As a child, he'd 
scared his mother more than once by wandering down the 
beach, lost in thought until she couldn't find him. That 
had changed when Samantha had begun to tag along. She 
always got tired or bored after only a few yards and 
dragged him back to the house. 

He smiled at the memory and pulled the small book out of 
the inside pocket of his jacket. Samantha's diary.

He had brought it with him, thinking if she really *was* 
Samantha, she would recognize it. He flipped through 
the worn pages, although he knew the words by heart.

*I remember faces. I think I had a brother ... *

*Some nights when I go to sleep, I pray that I'll wake up 
and this will all be some horrible dream. On the worst 
nights, I pray I won't wake up.*

*Do Mom and Dad even miss me anymore? Is anyone looking for 
me? Maybe they've forgotten. Maybe they're glad I'm gone.*

*Tonight I'm going to run far, far away. I can't let them 
catch me. They'll kill me if they do. Running for my life, 
for the rest of my life.*

The last entry. He closed the book. 

His baby sister. She had relied on him for safety, for 
protection, and he'd let her down that night. Then he'd let 
her down again by giving up the search when it got too 
hard. The vision in the field had seemed so real that night, 
but he'd had other visions that had seemed incredibly real. 
Had he only seen what he wanted to see? A pretty ending 
to ease his conscience, to give himself permission to 
stop looking?

He realized he hardly thought about her anymore, barely 
noticed the smiling girl in the picture on the corner of his 
desk. He was too busy watching movies with Scully, making 
love to Scully, planning his future with Scully ....

If this girl was Samantha, it changed everything. If she 
wasn't Samantha, he couldn't go back to pretending that she 
had simply disappeared into a heavenly realm somewhere, 
safe and protected. Now he had to face the possibility that 
she was still out there somewhere, still running for her 
life, perhaps not knowing her own identity, unable to 
contact him.

Even if she could forgive him for giving up the search, he 
wasn't sure he could ever forgive himself.

Mulder tucked the book back in his jacket and wandered back 
to the hotel. He and Scully always got separate rooms to 
maintain bureau protocol, but usually ended up together. He 
did not go to her room that night.

**********

Scully was hurt by his absence, but she didn't mention it 
the next morning when they met for a quick breakfast in the 
hotel. She could tell he hadn't slept well. She herself 
hadn't drifted off until well after midnight, after she'd 
heard him come in next door. Pushing her personal feelings 
aside, she focused on the case at hand. She'd gotten some 
good information from her phone calls last night and decided 
to go to the local police department to speak with one of 
the detectives personally while Mulder met with Dr. 
Peterson. She would join him at the hospital later. 
He seemed distant and distracted, but thanked her for 
taking care of things. She ached to hold him, to smooth 
the worried lines from his forehead and tell him that 
everything would be all right. But first she had to 
convince herself. 

Mulder arrived at the hospital a few minutes early and took 
a seat in Dr. Peterson's office. He'd seen the questions in 
Scully's eyes this morning and was grateful that she'd kept 
everything on a professional level. He was exhausted and on 
edge and couldn't deal with any more emotional pressure 
right now -- although he wished he had gone to her room 
last night, if only for the physical comfort of being near 
her. He always slept better with Scully in the room, 
preferably in the same bed. 

"Mr. Mulder. Sorry I'm late." 

He stood as Dr. Peterson entered the room, and she motioned 
for him to sit down again, her usual smile nowhere in 
evidence. Mulder unconsciously gripped the chair arms a 
little more tightly as she got herself organized, pulling 
out a cassette tape and tape recorder. Then she sat down 
and gazed at him solemnly for a few moments.

"Some rather disturbing details came to light during my 
session with Samantha last night. Rather than discuss them 
with you, I'd prefer you listen to the tape and then we'll 
decide where to go from here."

She put the cassette in and they both heard her own voice 
giving the time, date, and details of the session, then 
explaining to Samantha what was going to happen. She then 
led Samantha into a deep trance, and began to question her 
quietly and gently.

"Are you Samantha Mulder?"

"Yes."

"Who are your parents?"

"William and Teena Mulder."

"Do you have brothers or sisters?"

"Yes. I have a brother. Fox."

Dr. Peterson then instructed Samantha to go back in time, 
to think back to before she woke up in the hospital, where 
she was and what she was doing.

"Do you remember falling?" she asked. 

"Didn' fall," Samantha said drowsily. "Men. They took me."

"What men? Do you know where they took you, Samantha?"

There was a faint rustling sound and Dr. Peterson murmured 
a few soothing words, then Samantha's voice came back, a 
little scared now.

"Men. I couldn't see ... faces. Took me to this bright 
place. Then it was dark. I was falling ... falling ... They 
pushed me."

"They were men? Humans, not aliens?"

There was a soft laugh. "Not aliens. Just men."

"Did you see anyone's face, Samantha? Anyone you recognized 
or could describe to me?"

There was silence. Dr. Peterson turned off the tape 
recorder. "She shook her head 'no' there. Unfortunately, she 
had no more recollections about what happened that night. 
Then I decided to regress her a little farther, to see if she 
had any memories of that first abduction, in 1973." 
She ejected the tape and turned it over, rewinding it to a 
certain spot. "She's eight years old here."

Mulder's heart jumped into his throat. Was this Samantha's 
memory of what had happened that night? Would it match his 
own recollection, or was her truth different than his?

" ... scared," came the soft, childlike voice. "I don't 
understand."

"Don't understand what, Samantha? What are you afraid of?"

"Him. He hurts me."

"What does he do?"

"He yells at me. He hits me." The voice broke with a sob. 
"He hits me ... but they don't see."

"Who hits you, Samantha?"

"My brother. Why does he hit me?"

"Turn it off," Mulder demanded, his voice harsh in his 
ears. He was on his feet but he didn't remember standing 
up, his hands clenched, shaking. "That's a lie."

Dr. Peterson looked at him. "Why would she be lying 
about this?"

"I - I don't know. But I never hurt her. I never hurt my 
sister."

"Mr. Mulder, please. Sit down."

He forced himself to relax and sat back down in the chair, 
taking a deep breath.

"I know this is difficult for you," Dr. Peterson said, 
using the same tone she'd used on the tape, quiet and 
gentle. "But if you were able to so completely block 
out that one night for so many years, isn't it possible 
that you may have repressed other memories of your 
childhood as well? After all, with the focus on your 
sister's abduction, no one would question your devotion to 
her."

He felt the eggs and bacon he'd had that morning rising up 
in his throat. "I -- Excuse me." 

"Mr. Mulder, I want to help you -- " she called after him 
as he ran out of the room.

***********

The only thing Scully had picked up at the police station 
was the detective's invitation to lunch. None of the 
missing persons descriptions matched the woman in the 
hospital, and no one had come forward with any information 
about her injuries. The jogger who had found her hadn't 
seen anyone else in the area. Scully was beginning to think 
the regression therapy might provide them their only lead, 
if not a solid one, by the time she arrived at the hospital.

Samantha was alone in her room, sitting up on the 
edge of the bed as if ready to take flight. She ignored 
Scully's greeting, looking past her toward the door. "Isn't 
Fox with you? He said he'd be here this morning. I need to 
talk to him."

"He must be with Dr. Peterson," Scully said, noting the way 
the other woman was clutching at the sheets, gnawing at her 
lower lip. "Samantha, are you all right?"

"Agent Scully, I remembered something. I need to -- "

"Samantha, you should be resting," Dr. Peterson smiled, 
entering the room. She gave Samantha a couple of pills. 
"Here. These will help you relax." As Samantha swallowed 
the medication, the doctor turned to Scully. "Good morning, 
Agent Scully. Have you heard from Agent Mulder?"

"No. I thought he'd be with you." Scully didn't need Mulder's 
intuition to know that something was wrong. Samantha's eyes 
pleaded with her to stay, but Dr. Peterson had her arm and 
was leading her out of the room. 

"He was here earlier." Dr. Peterson escorted Scully into 
her office and closed the door, gesturing for Scully to sit 
down. Scully remained standing. "During Samantha's session, 
she made a rather unsettling revelation. She said that her 
brother had hurt her. Has Agent Mulder ever shown any 
violent tendencies toward--"

"She's mistaken." Scully's icy tone covered the fear that 
shuddered through her as she realized what Samantha had 
been trying to tell her. 

The doctor smiled. "Your loyalty is admirable, but --"

"I know Agent Mulder. He's saved my life countless times 
with no thought to his own safety. He's risked his own life 
to find out what happened to his sister. That woman is 
either deceiving you or confusing him with someone else. 
Did you tell Mulder any of this?"

"I - I played the tape for him. I thought he should hear it 
for himself."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. He just ran out ..."

Scully left the office and went back to Samantha's room.

She was gone. 

She alerted security and Dr. Peterson, then headed toward 
the exit to use her cell phone to try to contact Mulder. 
Even if he hadn't believed the allegation, hearing the 
woman he thought was his sister make such a statement 
would have been devastating. She didn't like the idea of 
him being alone right now. 

"Agent Scully?" 

Dr. Williams approached. "I was afraid I'd missed you in 
all the excitement here this morning. I have the results 
back from the X rays you requested." 

Scully followed the doctor to his office, hoping that in a 
few minutes she'd be able to tell Mulder this woman wasn't 
his sister and what she'd said during her regression had 
been some horrible mistake. She didn't want to think about 
the alternative.

He already had the films up on the light board. "I don't 
know if you consider this good news or bad news, but I see 
no evidence of any fractures here."

Scully examined the X rays for herself. Finally she had her 
proof. This woman wasn't Samantha. The question of who she 
really was could wait. Right now, she needed to let Mulder 
know. She thanked the doctor and went outside to use her 
cell phone. As she was about to dial Mulder's number, the 
phone rang. 

"Mulder?" 

"Agent Scully, this is Assistant Director Skinner. I've 
been trying to reach Agent Mulder."

"Um ... I'm not sure where he is at the moment, sir."

"I got that impression," Skinner grumbled. "I have the 
background information he requested earlier this 
morning on a Dr. Katherine Peterson. I'll fax it to the 
hotel."

"Thank you, sir."

"Scully? Is everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, sir." She disconnected the phone 
before he could question her any further and went back into 
the hospital. There was no sign of Samantha yet, and she
couldn't locate Dr. Peterson either. Scully gave the head of 
security her card with the phone number of the hotel, 
asking him to call her if he heard anything. Then 
she decided to go back to the hotel, hoping that maybe 
Mulder had returned to his room and was waiting for her 
or had left a message. If nothing else, she could find out 
a little more about Dr. Peterson. 

***************

"What do you mean you lost her?" He lit a cigarette and 
debated simply killing the incompetent bastard right here 
in his office, except that blood stains were notoriously 
difficult to remove from Persian rugs.

The man went a shade whiter than his already pasty 
complexion. "The doctor gave her some pills. I thought she 
was asleep so I --"

"I don't pay you to think. I pay you to watch. And you 
failed even that simple task." He pressed a button on the 
intercom on his desk and the man flinched as if he'd 
expected the floor to drop from beneath him. 

Ah, the smell of fear. Like a shark, he thrived on it. The 
scent invigorated him, made him feel powerful again. 

"Yes sir," the voice floated from the box.

"Make arrangements for a trip to Rhode Island. Watson has 
failed his assignment."

"Yes sir."

He stared at Watson. "Get out. I have no further use for 
you."

"I'm sorry, sir. Please ... if you could --"

"No. I couldn't."

Watson slowly turned and walked out of the office, closing 
the door behind him. 

He was never seen again.

****************

At first Mulder had driven aimlessly, with no particular 
direction. He felt like the survivor of an air raid, hit by 
the first missile -- that this dark-haired stranger 
was his sister -- and before he could recover, slammed 
by the second bomb, even more devastating. His only 
thought had been to escape the destruction, try to 
outrun the accusation that still rang in his head. 

He could never have hurt her. Yet the doubt had been 
planted now, taking root in the fertile ground of his 
existing guilt and he could not deny that it was an extreme 
possibility. 

He knew that running away was perhaps not the best way 
to handle the situation, but it was the only one he could 
think of at the moment. He couldn't face Sam, Scully, or 
any of them right now. He needed a safe place where he 
could be alone and decide what to do next. 

He hadn't realized that he was headed toward a specific 
destination until he found himself on Route 1, the 
weathered signs and landscape still familiar from his 
childhood. The air smelled of the ocean as he slowed the 
car to turn off onto the old narrow access road, barely visible 
from the highway. A few minutes later he pulled up and 
parked in the weed-choked gravel driveway of his own 
personal sanctuary. 

He had considered selling the summer house after his mother 
had died, but he hadn't had the time or energy to go clean 
the place out, so it sat empty now. The bushes and flowering 
plants, so carefully nurtured and trimmed by his mother so 
many years ago, had all reverted to the wild now, nearly 
obscuring his view of the house and the ocean beyond.

As he approached, he noticed a few tiles missing on the 
roof, the faded, peeling paint, and a cracked window, but 
the place had been sturdily built to weather the briny ocean 
breeze and the occasional rough weather. He could 
remember one particularly bad storm from his childhood 
where they had huddled inside with only gas lanterns for 
light. As the walls had shuddered from the strong wind, 
Samantha had cried, afraid the house would be blown 
away to Oz, but he'd known they would be safe.

He unlocked the door and walked in, stirring up a cloud of 
dust that made him sneeze. Plastic still protected all the 
furniture, but some of the lamps were gone now, victims of 
his search for an alien weapon a few years ago. He'd cleaned 
up the broken pieces, but never replaced them. Although 
he didn't expect to stay until nightfall, he was pleasantly 
surprised to find the electricity was on, as if the house 
was just waiting for someone to visit.

He knew he should probably call Scully, even though 
he'd left her a brief note at the hotel desk, but the old 
phone in the living room had been disconnected. When 
he pulled out his cell phone, he discovered that 
civilization hadn't quite taken over Quonochontaug yet. 
He was out of range. Not ready to get back in the car 
and drive around just to make a phone call, he decided 
to beg Scully's forgiveness later.

He found the photo album in the drawer where his 
mother had always kept it and carefully wiped off the thick 
layer of dust. The photos inside, preserved under the 
protective plastic, showed the Mulder family in happier times, 
his mother posing like a fashion model in her bathing suit, 
even his father with a rare smile for the camera. His 
sister, always grinning, laughing, and almost always 
right next to her older brother. The younger version of 
himself, a skinny kid in swimming trunks ready to dive off 
the pier.

They had been happy once, hadn't they? Or were those 
memories questionable as well? 

He sneezed again and decided to take the album outside 
where he could get some fresh air. The pier was still 
there, at the bottom of a short, steep hill, although no doubt 
badly in need of repair, and he thought he saw the old 
rope swing through the trees. He could almost hear Sam's 
squeal of terror and delight as she swung out over the water.

"I thought I might find you here."

The voice startled him from his memories and he nearly 
dropped the photo album as he turned to see Dr. Peterson.

Act 3

Scully arrived at the hotel and stopped at the front desk 
to pick up Skinner's fax. The clerk also gave her a note in 
Mulder's familiar scrawl, saying he just needed to clear 
his head and he'd be in touch with her soon.

"Oh, by the way," the clerk said as Scully started to 
leave, "Mr. Mulder's sister came by, said she wanted to 
wait for him, so I let her into his room. She didn't have any 
money, said it was okay if I just put the cab fare on the bill."

Scully ran to Mulder's room and pounded on the door until 
Samantha peeked out, using the chain lock. Seeing it was 
only Scully, she opened the door cautiously, just wide 
enough to let Scully in, then closed and locked the door 
again. She was still wearing the clothes that Dr. Peterson 
had given her.

"How did you get here?" Scully said, glancing around the 
room to see if there were any signs of Mulder's presence or 
some kind of struggle. She saw nothing except the usual 
package of sunflower seeds on the nightstand and his 
overnight bag near the foot of the bed.

Samantha paced near the window, where the drapes had been 
drawn closed. "It was easy to get out of the hospital," she 
said, "I could have gotten out of there lots of times, but 
it was a nice bed, free food....Anyway, Fox had told me 
where he was staying, so I got a cab and came here. I 
figured it would be safe."

"Safe from what? From whom?" Scully asked. "What were 
you trying to tell me at the hospital this morning?"

Samantha sank down on the bed, tugging at the too-long 
sleeves of her sweatshirt. "I - I remembered things. The 
regression. But it wasn't my life. I mean, it wasn't 
Samantha's life."

Scully sat down next to her. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I'm not Samantha Mulder. I don't know who 
I am, but I'm not her."

"I know," Scully said. "You remembered your real brother, 
didn't you? The one who hurt you."

Samantha nodded. "I remembered that my mother died when I 
was very young. And I remembered that some men abducted me, 
but not when I was a girl. It was recently. They told me I 
was Samantha, they must have given me those details about her 
life."

"Do you remember what any of the men looked like?" Scully 
asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

Samantha shook her head. 

"But I don't understand," Scully said. "Dr. Peterson told me 
she played the regression tape for Mulder. He would have 
heard all this."

"There's no tape," Samantha replied. "Dr. Peterson said her 
cassette recorder broke about halfway through the session."

***************

"What are you doing here?" Mulder asked.

"I'm afraid I didn't handle things very well this morning, 
Agent Mulder." Dr. Peterson smiled apologetically. 
"Samantha has told me about this place, of course, and 
how much you both loved it. I took a chance that you 
might come here." She held up a handled bag. "I brought 
some lunch as a peace offering. I'd like to talk to you 
some more, if you don't mind?"

His stomach reminded him that he had lost the small 
breakfast he'd eaten earlier that day and it was past noon. 
There were certainly no supplies in the house if he sent 
her away. As much as he wanted to be alone, perhaps 
Dr. Peterson could help clarify things.

"Sure," he shrugged, and she helped him clean off the old 
picnic table. He found a blanket in the house to use as a 
makeshift tablecloth and she spread out deli sandwiches, 
chips, cookies, and a jug of iced tea. "You were pretty 
sure of yourself, weren't you?" he commented as they took 
their seats.

"I try to be optimistic," she said, pouring the tea. "Agent 
Mulder, Samantha is very worried about you, as am I. My 
actions this morning were entirely too harsh, but in my work 
with abused women, my sympathies normally lie with the 
victims."

"So do mine," Mulder said. "I didn't hurt my sister. There 
has to be some other explanation for what she said on 
that tape."

"That may be so," she conceded. "But wouldn't you like 
to be certain?"

"What do you mean?" he asked as she refilled his empty 
glass. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was.

"I'd like to regress you, too, Agent Mulder. What you 
heard this morning may jog something in your subconscious, 
something that could help us find out the truth."

He shook his head, feeling a little lightheaded, probably 
from lack of food and sleep. "No," he replied. "I need 
some time. I need to talk to Scully."

She changed the subject, looking out over the ocean. "What 
a beautiful view. Did your family come here often?"

He followed her gaze, his eyes dazzled by the hypnotic 
movement of the sun-kissed waves, drifting back into his 
memories. "We came here every summer, usually for a 
week or so, depending on my dad's schedule. Sometimes 
for a long weekend."

"What did you do?"

He closed his eyes, relaxing in the gentle warmth of the sun, 
and let the past wash over him. "We swam ... did a little 
fishing....Sam named all the worms and then wouldn't let us 
put them on the hooks." He chuckled at the memory. "Dad 
taught me to water ski. Mom was either taking care of her 
flowers or reading the latest best seller."

"Sam loved this place," Dr. Peterson said softly. "She 
wanted to come back here someday."

"She wanted ... ?" He opened his eyes with an effort. 
Dr. Peterson's image wavered in and out of focus, and 
he felt a little seasick, as if the bench was swaying 
beneath him.

He'd wanted to ask her a question about something 
she'd said, but the thought had already slipped from his 
grasp. "I think ... I think I need to lie down," he said, the 
words thick and heavy on his tongue. He started to stretch 
out on the seat of the picnic table, but someone grabbed 
his arm and dragged him up.

"I think you'll be more comfortable inside," a female voice 
said. 

*Scully? Not Scully. Damn. Should have called her. 
She'll be worried.*

"I'll call her for you. Just relax, Fox. I'm going to help 
you remember."

********************

Samantha was pacing again. "Shouldn't we be doing 
something?" she asked. "Can't you call someone for a 
warrant?"

Scully glanced up from Skinner's fax. "To do what? No 
crime has been committed."

"Uh, hello, kidnapping. Me. Brainwashing, whatever they 
did."

"Samantha." They had decided to keep calling her that name 
since she couldn't recall her own. "You can't identify any 
of these men. You don't know where you were held. You only 
remembered the incident under hypnosis. I do believe that 
something was done to you, but we need a little more to go on."

"If Fox was here, he'd do something," she muttered.

Scully tried to ignore the comment, but she had to wonder 
what Mulder was doing at the moment. She had expected 
to hear from him by now, and hated to think of him beating 
himself up over all this when she had the answers -- or at 
least the one answer that he needed to hear right now. The 
last few times she'd tried to call his cell phone, he'd been 
out of range. 

The best thing she could do right now was help Samantha 
figure out the mystery of her past and who was in charge of 
this bizarre game. She'd wondered at first if Dr. Peterson 
might be in on the hoax, but the background check certainly 
didn't paint her as a suspect. She'd overcome tremendous 
odds to get to where she was, having run away from home 
at an early age and surviving on the streets for a number of 
years. After an arrest when she was 14, she'd been placed 
with a foster family and had turned her life around, becoming 
a psychiatrist whose practice focused on female victims of 
physical and sexual abuse. Along the way, she'd also gained a 
reputation for her impressive results with regression therapy. 
The only dark marks on her record were the deaths of two 
of the suspected abusers. The doctor and her clients had 
been questioned in both cases, but no charges had ever been 
filed, one death being ruled a suicide, the other accidental.

Katherine Peterson appeared blameless, even admirable, 
from the background check. Yet she'd lied about the 
regression tape. Scully had to wonder what else she might 
have lied about.

"Samantha, what did you and Dr. Peterson talk about in 
your sessions in the hospital?"

Samantha nibbled on a sunflower seed, then made a face and 
tossed it in the wastebasket. "She seemed interested in my 
abduction experiences, at least what I could remember of 
them. And she helped me remember some of the details about 
my -- I mean, about Samantha's life."

Scully felt a chill. Two girls in the same general area, living on 
the streets at about the same time. She rarely had those flashes 
of intuition that Mulder did, but she had learned to trust them 
over the years. "Samantha. I want you to think carefully. Did 
Dr. Peterson help you remember any details that the men 
may have not told you?"

Samantha hesitated. "I'm not sure. No. Wait a minute. She 
asked me about the summer house."

"In Quonochontaug?" Mulder had probably gone there, she 
suddenly realized. She was surprised she hadn't thought of 
that before, but unlike her, he'd always considered the 
summer house a safe place. Her own memories of the cabin 
weren't so peaceful.

"Yes. I thought she was trying to trick me, that she had to 
be making up a name like that, and she seemed surprised. 
But later they said they'd found me near there, so I just 
assumed she knew that and was trying to jog my memory."

"But you don't remember ever being there?"

Samantha shook her head. "Then again, I don't even remember 
my own name, Agent Scully. Are you saying that Dr. Peterson 
might have been in on this?"

"I'm saying Dr. Peterson may have her own agenda." Scully 
reached for her cell phone and called the hospital, only to 
be informed that the doctor had left earlier that morning 
after canceling all her appointments for that day, saying 
she didn't feel well. She phoned Information, hoping to 
reach the summer house, but there were no listings for the 
name Mulder in the area.

As she hung up, someone knocked at the door. Hoping it 
might be Mulder, Scully opened it.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped at the tall man with 
the cigarette dangling from his lips.

"He's one of them," Samantha gasped. "One of the men who 
took me."

Scully grabbed her as she ran at Spender, more concerned 
that Samantha would injure herself than of any damage she 
might do to the older man. Her own palms itched with the 
desire to wipe that smirk off his face. 

"Samantha," he said in his smoke-roughened voice. "I'm glad 
you're all right."

"What did you do to me, you bastard?" Samantha fought 
against Scully.

"We need his help, as much as I hate to admit it," Scully 
whispered to her. "Let's see what he has to say before you 
beat him up." As Samantha subsided, Scully glared at 
Spender. "Talk to me."

"What would you like me to say?"

"For starters, are you behind all this?"

"Behind what, Agent Scully? I heard a rumor that Agent 
Mulder's long-lost sister had been found. Being a ... 
friend of the family, I of course came to see her." He 
looked around. "Where *is* Agent Mulder?"

"For your sake, I hope he's having a beer and enjoying the 
view at the summer house. Now we're going to go look around 
Dr. Peterson's office."

"I'm not going back to the hospital," Samantha said. 

"That's fine. You stay here and call me immediately if you 
hear from Mulder." She looked at Spender. "Let's go."

************

"I wanted to like you, Fox."

He blinked at the blurry image in front of him and it 
became Dr. Peterson. He was so tired he could barely sit 
upright in the chair except that something was supporting 
him, holding him in a sitting position. But every time he 
closed his eyes, she slapped him or shook him awake, 
insistent on having a conversation when he could barely 
string two thoughts together, much less form words.

"She was convinced that you were going to rescue her. But 
you never came."

"I ... tried."

"She protected you for some reason. She'd created a whole 
fantasy about these men who'd taken her, said they'd hurt 
her, but I knew. All I want you to do is face the past, 
Fox. Admit what you did."

He shook his head and immediately felt nauseous, dizzy. 
"Didn't ... do anything."

She hit him hard enough that he tasted blood in his mouth. 
He instinctively tried to raise his fingers to his lips to 
feel the injury, but he couldn't move his arms, couldn't 
raise them from the chair.

"How does it feel, Fox, to be helpless. Hurting. Like 
she was. Why did you do it? Did it make you feel 
strong, like a man?"

"Shut up!" he shouted, tugging at the ropes that held him, 
wanting to cover his ears, his eyes, to disappear into the 
darkness. "Stop it."

"It will stop, Fox," she said, her voice once again gentle and 
soothing. She seemed to float toward him, and then he felt 
a sharp prick in his arm. "It will stop when you finally remember."

********

"Agent Scully, I don't know what you're hoping to 
accomplish," Spender said, grabbing at the arm rest as 
Scully took a corner with only a thought about braking. 

She countered his question with her own. "Why did you do 
it? Were you bored? Did you miss the feeling of power over 
him? Or could you just not bear to see him happy."

"He had lost his passion, Miss Scully. I was trying to help 
him find his way again."

"You know nothing about passion. But you do know, as well 
as I do, that Samantha Mulder is dead. If Mulder as much as 
gets a splinter at the summer house because of this cruel, 
misbegotten game, I'll personally kick your ass."

"I see Mulder's violent impulses have rubbed off on you 
over the years, Miss Scully."

They went into the hospital where, between Scully's FBI 
credentials and Spender's forbidding countenance, they were 
able to get access to Dr. Peterson's office. 

"Tell me, was Dr. James' sabbatical just a lucky 
coincidence or was it arranged?" Scully asked, leafing 
through the files on the desk.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She arched an eyebrow at him and went back to her 
investigation. She hadn't expected to find the tape recorder, 
but apparently Dr. Peterson had thought her locked office 
was secure. A tape was still in it, the label blank. Holding 
her breath, Scully depressed the Rewind button for a few 
seconds, then pressed Play.

"He hits me ... but they don't see."

"Who hits you, Samantha?"

"My brother. Why does he hit me?"

"I don't know, Samantha. Let's try to find out. Tell me 
more about Fox."

"No ... Not Fox."

"It's all right. You're safe here. He can't hurt you."

"No. Troy. Troy hurt me. My brother's name is Troy."

"Samantha --"

"That's not my name." The voice sounded frightened, on the 
verge of tears. "I'm not Samantha. I - I don't remember who 
--"

The tape suddenly went silent. There was nothing else on 
the recording.

"I'm sure Mulder never heard the last few moments of that 
session," Scully said, then took a deep breath to calm herself 
down. She had rarely been more furious with her cigarette-
smoking adversary. But when she looked at Spender, for the 
first time since she had known him, the older man appeared 
shaken, still staring at the tape recorder as if it were a 
poisonous snake about to strike. Could it be that this 
hadn't been part of his plan?

Then she noticed the photograph that had been beneath the 
recorder in the drawer. An aged photograph of two girls, 
probably in their early teens, their arms around each 
other, mugging for the camera. She didn't recognize the 
thin brunette of the pair, the other one easily could have been 
a younger version of Katherine Peterson. On the back she 
could just make out the note "Sam and me, 1979." Samantha 
would have been 14. The age she'd been when she'd vanished 
from a hospital room.

"What about Dr. Peterson? Is she one of yours?" Scully 
thrust the photo at Spender. "Did she voluntarily give you 
the information about Samantha or did you just take it from 
her?"

He took the photo, his hand trembling slightly, the lines 
appearing more deeply grooved in his face under the harsh 
fluorescent lights. "No. I've never seen her."

"I think Katherine Peterson knew Samantha. They're about 
the same age, they were both runaways in the same area. 
That's why she's dedicated herself to helping victims of 
abuse -- and she's decided that Mulder is somehow at fault 
for what happened to her friend."

He looked up from the photo and gave her a shadow of one of 
his usual smirks. "That's ... That's quite a leap, Agent Scully."

"Well, apparently I learned more than just violent 
tendencies from Agent Mulder," she said. "We need to get to 
the summer house."

***************

"Fox. Can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Good. We're going to go back, Fox, back to the night 
Samantha disappeared. I want you to watch what happened, as 
if you're seeing it on television. You'll be in no danger, 
there's no need to fear. It's all in the past. Do you 
understand?"

He nodded. 

She led him back gradually, talking him through his college 
days, high school, rewinding his life as he followed her 
voice into his past. He felt peaceful, trusting, convinced 
that he could finally give up the strict control that usually 
guarded these memories. She had told him he was in no 
danger. 

"It's November 27, 1973. On that night, your parents went next 
door. You and Samantha are alone in the house."

"I was in charge," he murmured, smiling at the pride he'd 
felt at his parents' trust. The heady feeling of power. 
She'd have to take her bath when *he* told her to ... 

"What are the two of you doing, Fox?"

The red and blue pieces on the board between them. She was 
always convinced she could beat him at this game.

"Playing ... Stratego."

"What happened then, Fox? Tell me what you see."

He watched as he and Samantha began to argue about the 
television. "We're having a fight. She wants to watch some 
movie, I wanna watch something else ... "

"You sound upset, Fox. Are you angry?"

"We're yelling, calling each other names ... She can be 
such a brat sometimes --"

"Did you hit her?"

The question jarred him. "No. No, I wouldn't --"

"Of course you wouldn't *want* to hit her, but if she made 
you angry enough, just to get her to be quiet ... "

He didn't like the woman's voice anymore. He didn't want 
to see this argument, to hear the anger in those last words 
he had spoken to his sister.

"Fox. Fox, listen to me. It's over, it's past. Relax. Remember, 
you're only watching. Tell me what happened next."

"The lights went out."

"Do you know why?"

"I - I don't know. I guess a fuse blew."

"Are you afraid?"

"No."

"Is Samantha afraid?"

He could see her shadow in the darkness, hear the tremor 
in her voice as she called his name. "Yes."

"Then what happened?"

"I started to go check the fuse box, but then ... the house 
started to shake, like an earthquake." Samantha called to 
him again, her voice truly frightened now, even as his own 
heart began to pound in his chest. "She's calling for help, 
she needs my help, but I can't move."

"Is she hurt, Fox? Is that why she's crying for help?"

"I - I don't know -- the lights, there's a noise, a buzzing 
-- Dad's gun. Get Dad's gun."

"Why are you getting the gun, Fox?"

"To help her! I have to save her --"

"From whom? Are you pointing the gun at someone, Fox? Is 
someone hurting your sister?"

"I can't -- can't see them. But they're taking her. I can't 
move -- can't speak -- " He was paralyzed, no longer a 
spectator, trapped in the memory like a helpless fly in a 
spider's web.

"Fox, listen to me. I want you to take a deep breath. In 
and out, slowly....That's good. I want you to step back and 
observe. Tell me what you see. You are not *in* the 
situation, you are only watching."

He clung to the voice and felt himself drifting out of the 
terror, floating up and away from the boy huddled frozen 
in the corner.

"Where is Samantha now?"

He looked around the room. The bright lights had vanished, 
but he could still see clearly. "She's gone."

"What are you doing now?"

He peered at the boy, not much more than a ghost in the 
empty room -- motionless and pale. If he hadn't known 
better, he might have thought the boy was dead. "I'm just ... I 
don't know."

"You didn't search for her, try to find her?"

"I want to." He urged his shadow self to get up, to 
go after her, but the boy's eyes were blank, his body limp. 
He was gone, vanished as surely as his sister, although his 
physical body remained.

"But you loved your sister, didn't you, Fox? If you thought 
someone had taken her, wouldn't you have run after them? 
You had your father's gun, after all. Or did she run away 
from *you* that night, Fox?"

"No ... She....I couldn't ... " The vision was fading, as it 
always did at this point, swirling down, into the black hole 
of those hours after his sister had disappeared. Hours he had 
never been able to recall,never wanted to. He felt himself being 
sucked into the boy's blank yes, drowning in the cold waves of 
despair....

"Fox! Fox, stay with me. Come on." 

Someone was shaking him, dragging him back toward the 
surface. He gasped for air, clutched at something solid 
beneath his fingers, wood - the wood of the chair, the 
summer house --

He opened his eyes to find himself looking at Dr. Peterson, 
who leaned forward, staring at him intently.

"Fox, do you know where you are?" She reached up and placed 
her fingers along his throat, checking his pulse.

"Back in Kansas?" It was a weak joke, but he'd expected at 
least a smile. "Sorry. We're in the summer house. 
Quonochontaug, Rhode Island." He glanced at the ropes that 
still held him in the chair, flexed his stiff fingers. 
"Your methods are a bit ... unorthodox, Dr. Peterson."

She had the grace to lower her eyes and blush. "I'm sorry." 
He noticed she made no move to release him, however. 
Instead, she rose from her kneeling position and smiled 
down at him. "Why don't you call me Katherine? I think 
we're long past the formalities. We made great progress 
here, Fox. I think we're breaking down some of those 
walls."

"Great." He forced the enthusiasm into his voice. "Why 
don't you untie me then, Katherine?" A glance out the window 
gave him a shock. Daylight was fading rapidly. How long had 
he been unconscious? Scully as probably worried by now. 
Or pissed off. Most likely both. Maybe he could persuade 
Dr. Peterson to drive to a pay phone or at least back within 
cell phone range. "I should check in with my partner," he said. 
"Let her know where I am."

She shook her head and gestured toward the phone. 
"Fox, I called Agent Scully while you were sleeping. 
Everything's all right. Just relax."

She was lying. And even if the phone worked 
for some reason, Scully would have insisted on talking to 
Mulder herself. It was an unspoken agreement between them. 
Dr. Peterson was unstable, if not teetering on the edge of 
sanity, and he needed to get out of here before the next 
therapy session. "Look, it's a little hard to relax in 
this chair. Can't you loosen the ropes?" 

She hesitated, and he realized she didn't trust him, either. He 
wasn't going to get anywhere with the direct approach. But 
upon testing his bonds, he discovered they weren't knotted 
tightly. If he could distract her, maybe he could buy some 
time to free himself.

"You knew my sister. How did you meet her?"

"We were both runaways. We met at a shelter one winter and 
became friends. She claimed that men had taken her, done 
tests. I tried to help her admit the truth -- she had the 
obvious signs of physical abuse -- but she insisted on her 
story. Then a few months later she disappeared. I never saw 
her again. She was sweet, had a kind of innocence about her, 
despite living on the streets. She never gave up hoping that 
someday ... "

He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. She'd always 
hoped someone would find her. That *he* would find her.

"I knew this woman at the hospital wasn't Samantha after I 
interviewed her, but I wanted to find out who she really was, 
if she'd known Sam, too. Of course I also hoped that if you 
heard about her, you'd come to see for yourself, and I could 
help you."

"Katherine, I'm not the one who needs help here," he said 
quietly. "I *know* the truth about my sister. I'm sorry if 
you have some issue with -- "

"It's getting late," she interrupted, reverting to her 
professional persona as he got too close. "We have a lot of 
work ahead, Fox, but I think we should do this under more 
controlled conditions. It's a bit of a drive, but you can 
sleep the whole way."

He began to struggle again as she reached for a syringe. At 
least at the summer house, in familiar surroundings, he had 
a chance of escape. As she bent down to insert the needle, 
he launched himself forward and knocked her off balance. 
She stumbled back and fell across the coffee table as he 
threw himself against the wall, trying to break the old 
wooden chair. The wood cracked and splintered at the first 
impact, then fell apart as he hit the wall a second time, 
leaving wood and rope in a pile on the floor. Katherine was 
stunned by the fall, but still conscious as he ran past her 
into the kitchen where he'd left his car keys earlier.

They were gone. 

"Fox?" 

He doubled back and went out the French doors, running 
across the small back yard and into the woods. The sun was 
setting, but there was enough light left to guide him 
through the trees without too many stumbles. Although he 
had no expectation of finding any of the old trails, he knew 
if he headed away from the summer house that the highway 
wasn't that far through the woods. He only hoped he had 
enough of a head start to either hitchhike or walk to a nearby 
phone before Katherine could come after him. There had 
always been a few stores and fishing supply places along 
the highway, and as people had discovered this picturesque 
area, more had sprung up. Back then he'd hated how 
civilization was encroaching on his family's private paradise; 
now he was thankful.

A painful stitch in his side slowed him down after only a few 
yards, and he had to stop, leaning against a stout oak for 
support. Breathing heavily, at first he thought he was still 
weak from the drugs. Then a sudden wave of nausea 
gripped him and he fell to his hands and knees, dry heaving 
into the dirt as the pain in his side grew worse. He reached 
back in an attempt to massage the muscles, startled to find 
his shirt felt wet along the lower right side. When he looked 
at his fingers, they were stained dark in the fading light. Blood. 
He must have been injured on a piece of wood from the 
broken chair without realizing it. 

He hesitated, unable to gauge how badly he was hurt, but 
he knew enough about the early stages of shock to know 
that he was in no shape to keep running blindly through 
the woods. He had to risk going back to the summer house. 
Surely Katherine would get him to the hospital. He forced 
himself to unsteady feet, sweat stinging his eyes, and stumbled 
forward. 

**************

Scully hated the summer house. She was sure the Mulder 
family had many pleasant memories there, but she knew it as 
the place Teena Mulder had suffered a nearly fatal stroke, 
and the place her partner had tried to kill her and 
himself. 

She should have tried to find him sooner. She should have 
remembered how close the summer house was. She should 
have ... Scully shook her head. 'Should haves' weren't going to 
do her any good right now. She only hoped she could undo 
whatever damage Dr. Peterson's well-intentioned therapy 
might do to her partner. She hadn't realized the amount of 
guilt he still carried over his sister's disappearance. If the 
doctor persuaded him to be hypnotized, she could convince 
him he *had* hurt his sister in that highly suggestible state. It 
had always been easier for Mulder to believe the bad about 
himself than the good.

Spender pointed at the road ahead on their left. "That's a 
short cut, if you don't mind being jostled around a bit."

She arched an eyebrow at him, trying to decide what he 
might gain by having her drive down a dead end or a few 
miles out of the way.

He looked offended at her lack of trust. "I'm not lying, 
Miss Scully. I'm as concerned about Fox's welfare as you," 
he said. "Dr. Peterson was a wild card. We all 
underestimated her."

Scully did not take the turnoff, which appeared to amuse 
him. "A wild card," she mused. "That's all this is to you, 
some kind of game."

"Now you're beginning to understand." He smiled and settled 
back in the seat. "Not much farther now."

***************

"Help!" Mulder's voice was hoarse from calling. He had 
either gotten farther from the house than he'd thought, or 
he'd grown disoriented as darkness had fallen and was 
wandering even deeper into the woods. He stopped and 
peered through the trees, hoping to see the lights of the house 
or the headlights of cars on the highway, but the woods 
were nearly pitch black. The only sounds were the 
faint sigh of the wind through the trees and the distant 
murmur of the ocean. 

He was lost.

He had tried to keep pressure on the wound with his hand, 
but the injury was in an awkward place and his 
muscles grew fatigued very quickly. As the adrenaline 
of his escape wore off, the pain took a firmer grip, 
radiating from his lower back down through his legs, up 
into his chest. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he 
sank to the ground, shivering despite the warm temperature. 
He tried to call out for help again, but managed little more 
than a hoarse croak. 

Someone would come for him -- Dr. Peterson or Scully. 
Scully must have figured out where he was by now. He just 
had to keep calling, had to let them know where he was. 
But he was so tired, so cold. He needed to rest, just wanted 
to close his eyes for a minute or two ... 

"Fox! Wake up!"

The voice startled him out of his doze and he lifted his 
head, blinking through the darkness at the figure that 
stood in front of him. 

It wasn't the same vision he'd seen so often, of his 
unchanged, eight-year-old sister, pieced together from 
memories, but the girl he'd seen in a starlit field. His sister 
on the edge of adulthood. She knelt beside him now, 
wearing old jeans and a sweater.

"Samantha?" He reached out a shaky, blood-covered hand.

"Keep pressure on the wound," she ordered in Scully's 
voice. Obediently he pressed his hand against his back, 
gasping as the pain shot through him like a fiery spear. 

"It hurts, Sam ... " he gasped, struggling to see her through 
the red haze.

"I know."

He immediately felt ashamed. She'd been through so much 
more than he had, and he was whining about his injury.

"But you have to stay awake, Fox," she said solemnly, 
grasping his free hand and squeezing lightly, as Scully 
often did to comfort or encourage him. "Keep calling. 
She's coming for you."

"I - I'm sorry I never found you. I tried, Sam...I tried so 
hard..."

She smiled. "I know. But I'm not lost anymore, Fox."

Her figure began to shimmer around the edges, and he 
clutched at her hand more tightly. "Am I going to die here?"

She laughed, sounding remarkably like the eight-year-old 
girl he'd known. "No, Fox. She won't let you. "

***************

They pulled into the yard to see two cars already there. 
One was Mulder's rental. The house was dark. Scully pulled 
out her flashlight and her gun.

"Stay with me," she ordered Spender.

"Do I have a choice?" he murmured, lighting up a cigarette 
even as he exited the car. She had flatly refused to let him 
smoke on the drive down.

They walked in the front door and Scully tried the light 
switch, pleasantly surprised when it worked.

"Mulder?" she called. "Dr. Peterson?"

"He's gone."

Scully whirled around at the voice, her gun pointed at Dr. 
Peterson. The doctor was sitting on the couch, her shoulders 
slumped, hair tangled, eyes red-rimmed. A far cry from the 
polished professional Scully had met at the hospital.

"What happened?" she asked, her fear for Mulder making her 
tone harsher than she intended. "Where is he?"

Dr. Peterson flinched a little. "I couldn't help him. I 
tried." She shook her head. "So much pain." She looked up 
at Scully as if she'd suddenly realized the other woman was 
in the room. "He attacked me and left. He's dangerous, 
Agent Scully. To himself and to you."

"You're the only danger here," Scully snapped, catching 
sight of the ruins of the chair and the strands of rope. If 
Mulder had hurt this woman, it had been because he 
believed he had no other choice.

Then she saw the blood. Splashes, smears of it making a 
crooked trail into the kitchen, out the French doors.

"Oh my God," she breathed, pushing her fury at Dr. Peterson 
into the background. She needed cold, clearheaded focus 
right now. She turned to Spender, lounging in one corner of 
the room as if he were simply a casual observer.

"Stay here and don't let her out of your sight," she 
ordered, not wanting to trust him, but having no choice at 
the moment. She ran back out to the car and grabbed her 
medical bag out of the trunk, then went around to the back 
of the house. "Mulder!" she called.

Silence.

She shone the flashlight on the ground, picking up the 
trail he'd unconsciously left for her, a few flecks of red 
in the thick grass, and started moving slowly into the woods. 

Back inside the house, Spender sat down next to Katherine, 
gently stroking some stray strands of hair from her 
forehead. She looked at him with tearstained, hopeless 
eyes.

"You have a talent for deception," he said softly. "I 
admire that. I think you can be of use to me."

He held out his hand and she clasped the nicotine-stained 
fingers and smiled her acceptance.

"Mulder!" Scully glanced back to make sure she could 
still see the lights of the house. The last thing she needed 
was to get lost in the woods trying to help Mulder. She had 
lost track of the bloodstains and now strained to see 
any footprints or broken branches that might guide her to 
him, praying he would be able to respond if he could hear 
her voice.

"Mulder! Can you hear me?" This time she thought she heard 
a faint reply. She called his name again, and then stood silent.

"Scully -- " Weak, but unmistakably her name, although she 
couldn't pinpoint the location.

"Mulder, keep calling. I'm on my way."

Only a few moments later, she nearly stumbled over him. The 
flashlight revealed his face, too pale, glistening with 
sweat even as he shivered. The lower part of his shirt, the 
upper part of his jeans, were a bloody mess, as was 
his hand, pressed against his lower back. She quickly checked 
his vital signs and examined the jagged wound, biting her lip 
as he flinched at her touch. Fumbling in the wavering 
flashlight's gleam, she applied a pressure bandage to slow the 
bleeding. He cried out once, then lay still beneath her hands. 
After finishing the first aid, she grabbed instinctively for her cell 
phone to call 9-1-1. No service. 

She cursed under her breath, then shook him gently, 
surprised to see he was still conscious. But he seemed to be 
focused on something else, staring off into the darkness. 
She glanced in that direction but saw nothing, and returned 
her attention to him. "Mulder, I need to get you to the car. 
Do you think you can stand?"

He remained silent, although his lips moved slightly, as if he 
was trying to speak. She noticed his free hand was clenched 
in a tight fist and wondered if he'd put himself in some kind 
of trance state to escape the worst of the pain. 

"Mulder, can you hear me?" She moved into his line of 
vision and he seemed to become aware of her presence.

"Yeah ... I ... " He suddenly looked away from her again. 
"No. Don't go."

"Mulder, I'm not going anywhere." Scully put her hand on 
his shoulder, but he continued to stare at some point just 
beyond her. She wondered if the doctor had given him 
some kind of hallucinogen or if he was just delirious from 
the pain and shock. 

His free hand relaxed and he focused on her once more, 
struggling to stay conscious. "..s'okay ... " he murmured. 
"She ... She said ... you'd take care of me now."

"I will, Mulder. Always."

It took a few minutes to get him to his feet, but through sheer 
stubbornness on both their parts, they staggered back to the 
summer house. She loaded Mulder into the back seat of her 
car as carefully as possible, wincing at every stifled groan. 
She didn't want to give him any medication, not knowing if 
Dr. Peterson had used drugs to keep him relaxed and 
cooperative during his "therapy session."be in his system.

Remembering the doctor, she noticed that one of the 
vehicles was gone. Thinking that if either Dr. Peterson or 
Spender had fled, the other one might be in need of 
medical attention, Scully ran into the house.

Both of them had disappeared.


Epilogue

The following evening
Mercy Hospital

"How are you feeling?" Scully entered Mulder's hospital 
room and took a quick look at his chart.

He sat up a little straighter in bed with only a slight 
wince. "Just don't ask me to enter any limbo contests," he 
muttered. 

"Fortunately, that piece of wood didn't puncture any vital 
organs." Scully came around to sit down at the side of the 
bed. "You can probably go home tomorrow. I promised 
them you'd be under my care."

"My favorite place to be," he grinned. "I think I'll need 
round-the-clock assistance."

Before Scully could retort, there was a tap at the door. 
"May I come in?" The woman they knew as Samantha 
entered the room a bit shyly. "I was hoping to see you 
before you left. I wanted to thank you -- *both* of you -- 
for everything you've done."

"I wish we could do more," Mulder said. "You were the real 
victim in all this. But I think Dr. Werber can help get 
your memories back."

"I hope so," she said. "Although I didn't mind being 
your sister."

"Are you staying in the area?" Scully asked.

She nodded, with a shy smile for Mulder. "It's a little piece 
of oceanfront property not far from here. A fixer-upper, 
but it'll do until I can find my real place in the world." 
She blinked back tears, then straightened her shoulders. 
"Well ... I should go. Thanks again."

Then she was gone.

"The summer house?" Scully raised an eyebrow.

Mulder shrugged. "I'm certainly not going to be using it 
anytime soon."

"By the way, I checked Dr. Peterson's apartment. It looks 
like someone packed up in a hurry, and she hasn't been back 
to the hospital."

"One more lost girl," Mulder murmured. "I have a feeling we 
haven't seen the last of Dr. Peterson ... or that cigarette 
smoking SOB, unfortunately."

The conversation was interrupted by the nurse, who arrived 
with Mulder's pain medication. After she left, Scully took 
Mulder's hand, careful of the IV, and threaded her fingers 
through his. "Tell me something. Did you really think your 
sister was alive?"

"I suppose a part of me wanted to believe. But no, I didn't 
think this woman was Samantha. I just wanted to help her 
find her way home." He sighed and leaned back against the 
pillow as the painful knot in his back began to loosen. 
"I'd like to think if Sam was still out there, someone 
would do the same for her." 

Scully leaned over to drop a gentle kiss on his forehead. 
"Have I told you recently how wonderful you are?"

He grinned. "You ain't seen nothin' yet. Just wait 'til I get 
out of this bed." 

She blushed and smiled, waiting until his eyes drifted shut 
before she stood to leave, but even her careful movements 
roused him and he reached out to grab her hand. 

"Scully...Thank you."

"For what, Mulder?"

"For always finding me ... when *I* get lost."

She kissed him again, on the lips this time, trying not to 
be offended when he fell asleep in the middle.

The End