Gulliver Written by Glen Timian Disclaimer: not mine. Don't sue. Blah blah blah. Author's note: please send feedback! My e-mail is terhuneslad2x16@hotmail.com Summary: while investigating a series of kidnappings, Mulder and Scully are warned that their partnership is nearing it's end. Soon after that, Mulder disappears and must endure a fate worse than death. What can Scully do for her partner? And what must Mulder suffer in return? "I kept having this dream like all these doctors were playing around with me gulliver.you know, like the inside of me brain." -from the screenplay A Clockwork Orange, written by Stanley Kubrick May 20th Sunday The woman awoke with a heart-racing start and knew suddenly that there was something wrong. She sat up in her bed, which was covered with rumpled pale-green- and-white sheets, and tried to determine what was so terribly amiss. She could hear no one in her house and, as she turned on the bedside lamp, could see no one in her little tidy bedroom. The woman could have proceeded to search her apartment thoroughly but she did not feel the need to; the woman was confident that she was alone. Brushing the sleep away from her heavy eyes, the woman turned her attention to the alarm clock that sat on the same desk as did the bedside lamp. In large red letters, the alarm clock presented the time: 5:16 A.M. The woman groaned softly. Today was Sunday, and, in being such, it was her time away from the job she learned to loath. Ordinarily, the woman loved her job and the work she did with almost the same passion as her co-worker. But it was now her co-worker that caused her so much hatred towards a normally enjoyable job. The woman laid wearily back down in the jumbled pile of warm sheets and blankets but sleep did not return. She squirmed and twisted restlessly, like a snake with its back broken, for nearly forty minutes but it did her no good. It had been that strange feeling, the feeling that something dreadful was astray, that had caused her to be wakeful. The woman stretched her tired limbs and staggered out of the disorderly bed. The woman was starting to make her way into the minute kitchen of her apartment (to eat a meager breakfast and mope over lost sleep) when she looked out of her window and saw a man, about twenty feet away, looking in at her. Perhaps it was because the woman was half-asleep to begin with or because she had grown use to such unusual sites, but the woman paid no heed to the man and went about her business. A few minutes later, the woman was munching quietly on milk-soaked cereal and had forgotten completely about the man in her window. She was just deciding upon whether or not she would rather try to go back to sleep or stay up when a loud banging interrupted her thoughts. The woman swallowed her mouthful of cereal and went to her front door, which was were the banging sound originated. "Who's there?," the woman called out, importantly. "Scully, it's me!," came a man's voice from the other side of the door. "Please let me in!" The woman, leaning fixedly against the door, sighed. "Mulder," the woman responded, annoyingly, "go home." "Please! I've got to tell you something!," the man cried, desperately. The woman pushed herself away from the door and, as she walked back to her kitchen, called back, "Tell me on Monday." "Wait! I know how to cure it!" The woman paused and glanced back at the door, amazed. She was immobile for a long time before she finally went to the door and unlocked it. Behind the door stood a tall man with a thick bandage around his head and a dejected, lost look in his eyes. "I can cure it," the man whispered again, as if trying to assure his admittance in the woman's apartment. "How?," the woman replied with an excited tone to her voice. The man gave the woman a determined look and shot back, "Let me in. I'm cold." The woman, forgetting her manners, opened the door and allowed the man to enter. She shut the door quietly behind him and locked the brass latch. When she turned to inquire about the cure to the mysterious illness, she saw that a shining, black gun was being pointed at her head. The woman, with a small squeak of surprise, stepped back from the danger. Her heart started to pound painfully as the dreaded thought that death was close clouded her mind. She looked at the man fearfully. "Mulder-," she begged, not knowing why the man was doing this. "Don't worry," the man replied, a wild, insane, inhuman look in his eyes. "You won't feel anything." Very soon after that the world ended as the other inhabitants of the woman's apartment woke to the sound of gunfire and called the police in frightened voices, reporting murder. 20 days before May 1st Tuesday FBI Special Agent Fox Mulder tried not to yawn as he stared wearily at the long stretch of black road before him. It had been a long and tiresome flight from Washington D.C. Mulder's dark hair was ruffled and unkempt and his blazing green eyes were dull with sleeplessness. Mulder hated to look as unprofessional as he did but he would have plenty of time to enhance his appearance when he reaches his motel. Mulder kept his tired eyes on the road, trying to remember all of the points of the case that had sent him and his partner, Dana Scully, to the town of Chase. There had been a series of kidnappings; twenty-one people have disappeared from the town and were never found. There was obviously no suspect. Out of all of the missing people only one had ever escaped from his captor or captors. His name was Justin Hundley and had, after his escape, tried unsuccessfully to kill his wife. Justin had pleaded to the courts that a white dog had told him that he had to kill his wife or else he would be kidnapped again. The courts decided rightfully that Justin was insane and the man had been residing at the Mental Institution of Chase ever since. The local police department had done everything they could think of to find the kidnapper and now, out of ideas, begged for the help of the FBI. Mulder's interest in the seemingly ordinary case was that once Justin Hundley escaped from his kidnapper he had gained the unbelievable ability of precognition. Mulder had carefully kept this fact from his partner's knowledge but Scully was already suspecting that there was something more paranormal to this case than an insane man who attempted murder. The sun was barely visible, coating the town with a surreal red glow. It was too early in the morning for Mulder's liking, and the motel that was already reserved for them seemed like golden gates at the end of a miserable lifetime. Mulder took his eyes from the road and glanced at his partner in the passenger seat. She had burning bright red hair that looked like it was even redder in the crimson sunrise. Scully's blue eyes were locked on the window, glancing at the quickly brightening landscape in an uninterested and deeply tired way. Mulder looked back at the winding two-lane road in time to see a sign that declared that the two agents had entered the town of Chase. After arriving at their hotel rooms and getting the rest the two agents ever so needed, Mulder and Scully approached the house of Elisa Hundley, Justin Hundley's wife. Earlier, when Mulder had called the Chase Police Department to announce that he and his partner were coming, he had been given Elisa Hundley's address rather than the address to the Mental Institution. Not knowing where the Police Department had located itself, Mulder and Scully's only option was to go to Elisa Hundley's house and hope that she could help with any further directional needs. The one-story, white-and brick house was located in one of the numerous subdivisions in Chase's north side, a place where nearly every house looked exactly like each other. Mulder and Scully followed the simple pathway from the street where the agent's car was parked up to the front door of the house. Mulder knocked on the heavy door, his knuckles making a loud rap-rap-rap sound that would certainly be heard by the occupants of the house. As Mulder waited, he brought his hand towards the coat pocket of his gray suit, ready to present his FBI badge to whoever answered the door, but there was no response coming from within the house. Mulder took his hand away from his coat pocket to knock again and the door suddenly opened. A timid woman appeared in the small crack provided between the door and its frame. "Who are you?," the mouse-like woman whispered. Mulder was reaching for his FBI badge but Scully's reaction was faster. Taking out her own ID, Scully showed it to the timid woman and replied to her question: "Hello. I am agent Scully and this is agent Mulder. Can we talk to Mrs. Hundley?" "I'm her," the woman said, looking confused as to why the FBI wanted to talk to her. Scully waited patiently for the woman to ask the two of them into her house but Mrs. Hundley did not reply, only staring at them suspiciously. "Do you mind if we come in," Scully asked, as polite as she could. The woman seemed to consider the question but finally sighed and opened her door. Mulder and Scully entered the house and found out that the interior of the house was as boring as the exterior. "Well, what do you want?," Mrs. Hundley asked. "We're here to investigate the disappearance of your husband," came Mulder's response. The timid woman stared at Mulder with such a confused expression on her face that Mulder at first thought that she did not understand what he said. "He's not gone anymore." "We know," Scully sighed, trying her best not to sound annoyed or angry. "What we want is any information about your husband's disappearance that might help us find out who kidnapped him." "What do you mean?," the woman replied, just as confused and angry as before. "Chartwell took him." Scully exchanged a bewildered look with an equally bewildered and slightly embarrassed Mulder. How much did they know about the case? Had it already been solved, the kidnapper safely behind prison gates? "Have they already found the kidnapper?," Scully asked, knowing that the question probably sounded stupid. The woman stared at them hard, as if trying to decided if the two confused agents were really who they claimed they were. Ultimately, paranoia and distrust got the better of the timid woman. "Get out of my house," she whispered, afraid to issue such a command but firm in her declaration of it. Conquered, Mulder and Scully had no choice but to leave the boring house. The timid woman made sure to slam the door harder than it needed to be, as an extra assurance to the two agents that they were no longer wanted. Scully glared back at the house which harbored the timid and angry woman and then turned her attention to Mulder. "What are we doing here Mulder?," Scully asked, annoyed at her partner's choice for their next case. She had learned very little about the case from the pile of police reports that her partner eagerly showed her the day before and learned even less from Mulder himself. "Twenty-one people kidnapped and you aren't the slightest bit interested?," Mulder shot back playfully. Scully gave her partner a look that suggested that it was too early in the morning to test her patience. "You saw that woman in there. As far as we know, the local law enforcement might have already found their suspect." "I don't think we would have been asked to come here if they did." Scully sighed and shook her head. "Alright then," Scully started again, "what did she mean by Chartwell?" Mulder was about to answer the question asked but instead turned his attention to a squad car that was parking on the other side of the street. A tall, scrawny man hurried enthusiastically from the car and approached them at break-neck speed. He had a look to him that suggested that he had something important on his mind and could barely wait to let the secret out. "You the FBI agents?," the police officer asked. Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. "That's right," came Mulder's reply. He pointed first to himself and then to his partner and told the eager officer their names. Mulder was almost positive that the young man did not hear them. "And you are.?," Scully asked curiously. "Oh, Eric Knight. Deputy Knight. I was asked to see that you two got here alright." The deputy sighed and added, "Everyone down at the department will be glad to see you. I tell ya, we're pretty stuck on this one." Mulder nodded. "Does Chartwell mean anything to you?," he asked, determined to learn what the timid woman meant. Knight stared at Mulder, confused and almost startled. "Sure," the deputy replied, glancing from Mulder to Scully. "It's where we think the kidnapper lives. We got their police department looking for the guy too but so far no luck. I'll be glad to take you there if you want to ask them some questions." And with that the deputy smiled as if he had finally came to the subject that was on his mind ever since he parked his car. "So you want to meet him?" "Who?," Scully asked. "The Prophet." Scully glanced suspiciously at her partner, hoping against hope that the reason why they were here did not have something to do with a person who could see the future. The deputy smiled enormously, as if he had finally revealed his huge secret. "Do you mean Justin Hundley?," Scully replied. The deputy shrugged. "No one calls him that anymore. He's just the Prophet. Well, if you two don't have anything else planned we could go see him," Deputy Knight said excitedly. Mulder smiled. "Sound's good. How about you, Scully?" Scully could barely hide her sarcasm. "Wouldn't miss it for the world." I ask only that you listen with an open mind.forgetting for a moment what you believe and don't believe. -from the screenplay Fluke, written by Carlo Carlei Far from the welcoming houses and the friendly downtown there was the mental institution of Chase; a series of enormous white buildings with long stretches of cut grass and barbed-wire fencing. The atmosphere was terrifying for those who never seen people far into the abyss of insanity, screaming senselessly about what was to be discovered in its depths. Everything there was white, like a nightmarish hospital. Doctors, nurses and patients all wore the dreaded color. The walls, floors and ceilings were all white. Mulder's and Scully's dark attire contrasted deeply with the boring halls of the institution. The staff and patients alike stared at them with wonder and confusion, as if their eyes were not adjusted to seeing such blackness. None of the doctors paid any attention to Deputy Knight, who visited the institution frequently. He had gladly taken the two agents to the mental institution and was now babbling to them praise of the Prophet, almost sounding like the babbling of the many patients that the trio passed. Finally, after walking down an extremely long hallway, Deputy Knight stopped and knocked on a particularly boring door. "Yes, laddie?," came the answer from within. "There are some people here," the deputy responded, "who would like to talk to you." "Well, it doesn't do us much good yelling 'bout it. Come in." The deputy, smiling, opened the door and motioned for Mulder and Scully to enter with him. The Prophet was sitting up in his stiff hospital bed, as if he already knew that the three were coming.or he simply heard them. He was a short, muscular man, who was in his late twenty's. His eyes were of an electric blue that held onto the gaze of all who looked at him and his short blond hair was cropped close to his head. He smiled upon seeing the deputy and as a response simply whispered, "Knew you'd come." The deputy smiled warmly. "These are agents Fox Mulder and-," Knight begun. "I know them well, honorable Knight," the Prophet whispered again. He turned from Mulder to Scully, gazing at them both. "Broken asunder, yet made in the same mold, could it be that each completed what was dormant in the other? She might have been - all that; and he - But no. Between then lay the widest gulf that can separate one being from another." He looked at Scully and smiled. "Dear little Hachi-ko..here on a vacation? Far, far from home, little lass. You'll miss the train for sure." Scully was about to object and explain who she really was but a sharp glance from the deputy told her to do otherwise. The Prophet turned to Mulder. "Well, well honorable deputy.never brought a Sunnybank collie here before. Today must be special then. And Sunnybank Wolf at that! No Sandstorm's or Goldsmith's, eh? To whom shall I thank for bringing them?" "Well, we asked them to come." "Fancy that," the Prophet muttered knowingly. "They here to know the future?" Both Mulder and the deputy were about to respond eagerly in the affirmative but Scully called out, "Actually we are here to ask you some questions about your disappearance." Mulder seemed disappointed at the reminder that they were here for a professional reason. The Prophet looked at Scully sadly. "Would the dear lady be so kind as to not let me go back there? Its hard to forget what he did to me, its worse to be reminded." "We need your help," Scully tried again, "so we can find the kidnapper and prevent this from happening to other people." "What do I care about other people? It's their fault for going to Chartwell." "What did he do to you?," Mulder asked, importantly. "He changed me, Sunnybank Wolf." "Changed you so you could see the future?" The Prophet nodded. "How?" "I tried to ask him but he never told me. So now I don't ask him.I'm just different. That's all I know." "Do you know who he is? What he looks like?" The Prophet laughed. "Canny little Wolf I know nothing." Mulder sighed sadly and looked at Scully. "What about your wife," Scully asked. "I have no wife.I keep trying to tell people that." "Does the name 'Justin Hundley' mean anything to you?" "No, it doesn't." "It's your name." "No, it's not. Don't you think I would know my own name?" An uncomfortable silence filled the small, white room. "Hey, how about you tell them what's going to happen in the future," Knight called out enthusiastically. The Prophet smiled. "Well, fine laddie," the Prophet began, turning to Mulder, "the future is not etched in stone. There are terrible futures being planned but I tell you this: I know of three warnings that, if you follow, will not let you get struck down by the locomotive. First, there will be a delay." The Prophet paused here and gazed hard at Mulder. "Can't you be more specific than that?," Mulder replied. "A delay is a delay.how more specific can I get? Second, a field of blood." "Blood? Whose blood?," Mulder asked, feeling more downhearted at the Prophet's vagueness. "Well, the field's of course," the Prophet answered and, with a look that commanded silence, continued. "Lastly, a shaft of lightning. It will come in your time of need and it knows how this will end. You will see it, Sunnybank Wolf, and it will tell you what to do." The Prophet smiled and looked to Scully. His glowing eyes that studied her grew dark and troubled. "Oh.," the Prophet whispered, "honorable laddies, please leave me and the lass alone for a while. What I have to say is for her alone." The deputy got up casually as if this happened quite frequently, but Mulder was less inclined to leave. When Mulder and the deputy left and when the door was shut, the Prophet's once sad look disappeared under a furious gaze. "I know, dear Hachi-ko, that you don't believe me but I wouldn't tell you this if it wasn't important. I beg you to listen. No one could have foreseen what tragedy had befallen dear Sunnybank Wolf. Not even the Master could have predicted it. But with you it's different. There are those who have done what you will do and many others will be following your path in the future. People will read of you, fair Hachi-ko. You think it was terrible of me to harm my wife? Do not think ill of me, Hachi-ko, because you will take my place and your crime is far worse. "You will see the walls of his prison. He will infect you with the same stuff that plagues my mind. He will talk to you and like a good dog you will obey his call. They will tell you to kill your bonny Wolf and you will succeed when I have failed. You pursue the scared man into the haven forest armed with shinning silver. You kill your Wolf, dear Hachi-ko, and the red river spoils the ground." The Prophet sighed sadly and whispered, "You know they killed Sunnybank Sigurd not long before your bonny Wolf dies. He was a fine collie, that one. But no one now can ever prove that it was tourist hands that killed the dog. Even the Master believes his Treve died naturally. But I know." Scully was more confused at what the Prophet told her than shocked. Her skeptical way of thinking never held the words of prophets as truth; the more believable explanation was that the Prophet was simply making up stories or by saying things so vaguely that later it would seem as if the Prophet was right. Seeing that the Prophet had nothing more to tell her, Scully turned to leave, upset at the waste of time. ".Scully." Scully stopped. The Prophet did not know her name, he never heard Mulder or Knight speak her name.So how did he know? It could be that he had simply over-heard them talking as Mulder, Scully, and Knight marched down the boring halls. But there was something familiar in his voice.Something Scully could not place. ".Scully." Scully turned. The Prophet was staring intently at nothing, his eyes were blurry as if focusing on something far away. His expression was tired and scared, not the knowing and smiling face of the Prophet a few moments past. He was shaking, afraid of the walls and those people far beyond the institution's gates. He was wincing in pain, but what pain did he feel? ".Scully." The Prophet's eyes looked around the room as if searching for her, although he should have already known where she was. He swallowed hard and continued. "The train, Scully.There's no way to stop it." "What train?," Scully asked. "What are you talking about?" "I saved you once, but it doesn't stop the train.There's always another to take its place.Scully." The Prophet blinked and turned to Scully. "I thought I told you to leave," the Prophet replied. "No you didn't. You were talking about trains and-" "Trains, Hachi-ko? I think I would have remembered, don't you?" Scully, overwhelmed with confusion, turned to leave the room but the call of the Prophet once again prohibited her plans. "Oh, Hachi-ko, whatever happens to Eizaburo Ueno?" Scully shook her head. "He dies?," she tried, knowing that it would seem logical since everyone the Prophet talks about ends up dead. Upon hearing Scully's reply, the Prophet stared at Scully with wonder etched on his every detail. "He'll never break you, fair Hachi-ko! You are too smart, and you know his tricks already!" Mulder and Knight were waiting outside as promised. Mulder was about ready to ask Scully the mind-consuming question, but Knight beat him to it. "Well, what did he say?." Scully looked at Mulder. Should she tell him that the Prophet foreseen his death? No, Scully decided. That would propose that she believed him or that the Prophet was right in his assumptions. "Nothing," Scully answered slowly. "The Prophet had nothing to say." "Can I see Justin Hundley's medical files?" "Who?," the woman behind the white, oval counter asked. Scully rolled her eyes. "The Prophet." The woman turned and searched the orderly and organized files. Mulder turned to his partner. "Well, what do you think?" "I think that Justin Hundley is suffering from some sort of retrograde amnesia or dissociative fugue brought on by his experience that would make him forget his past life." Deputy Knight, who had finished a phone call, came up to where Mulder and Scully stood, two dark figures in a sea of white. "I just got off the phone with the Chartwell PD. They want Sheriff Wetzel to take you two to Chartwell." Scully nodded as she was given a yellow file. Deputy Knight stared at it questionably. "What's that?" "Justin Hundley's medical files," Scully said as she opened the folder. "What are you looking for?" Scully did not answer but instead looked at the file intensely. "Mulder, look at this.," Scully said, pointing at a black and white picture of the Prophet's brain. Mulder and Knight leaned over to scrutinize the meaningless picture. Scully's finger tapped at what appeared to be a hole on the top of his brain. "What's that?," the deputy asked again. "It appears that Justin had a hole drilled into his skull," Scully answered. Mulder winced at her reply but recovered quickly. "Scully, you once said that some people believed that when they drilled holes in their head that they would become smarter. Maybe this could explain the Prophet's ability of precognition," Mulder said. "Mulder, Justin is no prophet." Mulder sighed and continued. "Is there any significance for the hole to be on the top of his head?" "I'm not sure but I think that's the somatosensory cortex." "The part of the brain that controls pain?" Scully nodded. "It says here that this part of the brain was electrically stimulated by a wire." "Like a lab rat," Deputy Knight added. Scully and Mulder turned to the deputy, having forgotten for a moment that he was there. I stood before a dark cave, wanting to go in, and I shuddered at the thought that I might not be able to find my way back. -from the book Fortschritte und Technik der Tramdeutung, written by Wilhelm Stekel Sheriff Carl Wetzel was late. It had been fifteen minutes after Mulder, Scully and Knight left the white building but there was still no sign of the Sheriff. They were now standing impatiently in the small parking lot waiting for the lost man. "I don't understand," Knight muttered for the hundredth time as he paced nervously. "He's never late." Mulder watched the road, his green eyes scanning the horizon for the Sheriff's squad car. The smell of rain was heavy in the air and the clouds were building up in the sky; huge and black. He glanced down at his watch for lack of anything better to do. Although it was only 7:50, the golden sun was already starting its descent from the sky. Mulder leaned over to his partner and whispered, "Does this seem like a delay to you?" Scully only shot him an annoyed look but said nothing. Finally, after an eternity of waiting, the green and white squad car pulled into the parking lot. Sheriff Wetzel, a tall and portly man of forty, rolled down his window and said in a irritable voice, "Sorry about that. Had some paperwork to finish." Mulder and Scully climbed into the awaiting vehicle as Sheriff Wetzel turned to his deputy. "You might as well come to, Knight," Wetzel grumbled. The drive to Chartwell took longer than Mulder and Scully expected. Long, lonely roads with immense expansions of land on either side of the car replaced the crowded and busy town of Chase. After minutes of nothing but eyefuls of yellowing fields, the green and white squad car past a small, wooden sigh that simply read: CHARTWELL Scully's mind was still on her interview with the Prophet. Try as she might, Scully could not rid herself of his words. She continually went over what he told her, repeating in her mind the names of Hachi-ko and Sunnybank Wolf. Although she would not believe for a minute that there was any truth to the Prophet's foresight, Scully was positive that there might be some hidden, subliminal meaning in the names. Mulder once again glanced at his watch, fearing that when they finally arrived at the Chartwell Police Station they would not have enough time to question the police officers. He turned away from his watch and gazed at the setting sun and the fields beyond. Mulder gasped. Scully, surprised at hearing her partner, turned towards him. "What is it?" "The field.," Mulder whispered. "The field.its covered with blood!" Scully looked out of the window but only saw the landscape reddened by the setting sun. "Blood?," Sheriff Wetzel said, having heard Mulder's remark. He glanced out of his window and scanned the countryside. "What is he talking about?" "The Prophet," Knight chimed in. "He said that agent Mulder would see a field of blood." Wetzel looked into his rear-view mirror, his eyes meeting with Scully's. He gave her a do-you-buy-into-this-too look and, shaking his head sadly, turned his attention back to the road. It was not much longer until the small, black forms of houses outlined the horizon. The houses grew larger as they approached and became the old, run-down buildings of Chartwell. Scully looked out at the buildings, searching for one in particular. "Sheriff Wetzel, can you let me out here?," Scully called out when she spotted the building she was looking for. "What for?," Mulder asked, reading the words that where painted on the side of the building: CHARTWELL ANIMAL HOSPITAL. "I need to ask them something regarding the Prophet." Sheriff Wetzel rolled his eyes as he pulled over. "You might as well go with her," he said to Knight and added sarcastically, "Don't know what you can do at a police station." Scully and Knight got out of the car. The skies were almost black with the approach of night and the menacing storm. Winds wiping about them fiercely, Scully and Knight entered the sanctuary of the hospital. Whereas outside the building the advancing storm howled thunderously, inside the atmosphere was quiet and orderly. Blue and pink paw prints were stenciled on the walls and pictures of four-legged creatures crowded the desk in the middle of the waiting room. "Can I help you?," a woman with a colorful T-shirt asked. Scully flashed her FBI badge at the woman. "I'm Agent Dana Scully with the FBI. I need to ask you some questions." The woman looked so scared at her words that it aroused Scully's dormant suspiciousness. "What about?," the woman whispered. "What do you know about Hachi-ko or Sunnybank Wolf?" The woman let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, that's what you want. I'm sorry but we never had a FBI agent here. I guess I got a little freaked. I can go get Doctor Sackman. She can answer your questions if she's not busy." Scully thanked the woman as she hurried out of sight. Knight yawned as Scully scanned a bulletin board filled with advertisements giving away free puppies. Doctor Sackman, a skinny woman around the age of thirty, appeared in the doorway to her office. "Miss Scully?," she called out. "Would you like to come into my office?" Scully entered yet another room filled with pictures of dogs and cats, hearing the bored voice of Knight calling after her: "I'll just wait here for you, then." "Miss Scully," Dr. Sackman said with a smile, "please have a seat." Scully did as she was told, shifting uncomfortably in the stiff chair. "Would you like some coffee?," the doctor asked, already turning towards a small coffee maker. "Yes, thank you," Scully replied, planning to postpone sleep for as long as she could in order to learn what it was the Prophet was trying to tell her. The doctor turned, now armed with a white Styrofoam cup which she gladly handed over to Scully. "Now, you had some questions to ask me?," Doctor Sackman asked, still smiling. "Yes. What can you tell me about Hachi-ko?" The doctor's smile increased as if she had been always waiting for someone to ask her such a question. "What do you need to know?" Scully, relieved that she was getting closer to understanding the Prophet, simply replied, "Everything." "Very well. Hachi-ko was an Akita that lived in Japan. She was owned by Eizaburo Ueno, a Professor at the University in Tokyo. Every morning the Professor would take the train from the Shibuya Station to the University. He was always accompanied by Hachi-ko, who would escort the Professor to the station and then come back to wait for him to arrive on the evening train. One day the Professor died of a heart attack at the University. Of course, Hachi-ko had no way of knowing about this. But for the remainder of the dog's life, Hachi-ko continually waited at the station, with the hope that one day her master would return." Scully sighed. "You know a lot about her." "Well, her story is a very well-known one. Hachi-ko is the symbol of loyalty in Japan." "Is there anything you can tell me about Sunnybank Wolf." Doctor Sackman smiled. "Yes. It surprises me to hear you ask about him. His story is almost forgotten." The doctor took a deep breath and continued. "His story starts with his father, Sunnybank Lad, who was quite a famous collie in the 1920's. Today, like his son, Lad is nearly forgotten. Both of them were owned by the author Albert Payson Terhune, who had made a fortune writing about them. Lad was a celebrity, and Terhune thought the dog should have offspring to carry on the legacy. No matter how hard his owners tried, Lad was only able to produce one puppy, Sunnybank Wolf. Everyone had high hopes for the puppy, but he was a disappointment. His father and mother both were show dogs but Wolf didn't look at all like a collie. His temperament was far different from that of his parents; Wolf was mischievous, undisciplined and extremely aggressive towards strangers. But he was loyal and kind to his owners and they loved him back, despite his flaws. "One day, when Wolf was ten, he was found far from his home at a near-by railroad crossing. An express train was approaching and there was a mongrel on the tracks. People shouted at the dog but it didn't listen. But seconds before the train roared past, Wolf lunged in front of the speeding train and pushed the mongrel to safety. The mongrel lived, unharmed. Wolf was cut down and instantly killed. He threw his life away to save a dog he didn't even know." The doctor sighed and looked at her watch. "We are about ready to close. Did I answer all of your questions?" "I only have one more. Who was Sunnybank Sigurd?" "Another collie. Also known as Treve. Quite aggressive to everyone, even his owners. But he was loyal and loved. I'm sorry I can't tell you anymore, but we're going to close." Scully thanked the doctor and left her office. The waiting room lights were dimmed to signal to those driving by that the veterinary hospital was not going to stay open for long. The woman who was standing behind the desk was now furiously mopping the floor, having forced Knight outside. Scully opened the door and a cool, strong wind pulled her red hair into her face. The sky flashed as shafts of lightning brightened the sky. No thunder or rain accompanied the lightning, only silence and wind. Knight was waiting impatiently for Scully, watching the incoming lightning storm. Scully pulled out her cell phone and punched in the number that would automatically dial Mulder's cell. Almost immediately after the first ring, Mulder answered. "Not now." His voice seemed preoccupied and worried. He hung up at once after his brief message. Scully stood there confused, not wanting to turn off her cell phone in case Mulder would need her. She walked over to Knight and stood next to him without a word, her mind busy. "So you think tonight's the night?" Knight voice was barely heard over the roaring wind. "What?," Scully asked as lightning crashed noiselessly overhead. "The Prophet said something about lightning, right? Seems like tonight would be prefect." Scully was not in the mood to argue with him. "Have you talked to the Prophet?," she yelled. Knight nodded. "Everyone has." "What did he tell you?" Knight smiled sadly. "That when I die, I will die heroically." "Do you believe him?" Deputy Eric Knight simply smiled. The lengthy halls of the Chartwell Community Center seemed to go on forever, a maze of hallways and rooms that continued infinitely. All of the rooms had an strange nightmarish effect on the viewer, all of them seemingly out-of-proportion and largely different. Everything, the halls, the rooms, the ceiling, the floor, was rimmed with a wooden border and lit by an eerie yellow glow. Nothing here was similar to the Mental Institution of Chase, with it's white, predictable corridors. Mulder reluctantly followed Sheriff Wetzel down the winding halls. By the time they reached the Police Station, it had been closed to everyone other than those working for the Chartwell Police. Not even the presence of Mulder, an FBI agent, or the Sheriff, who visited Chartwell often, would convince the man behind the glass doors to allow them access. Wetzel had therefore called someone else he knew in the town, whose name was never said aloud and therefore escaping from Mulder's knowledge. All that Mulder heard from the secretive conversation was that they were suppose to met the unknown man at the Community Center. Wetzel turned down another wooden hallway, one with a large "D" painted on it. Mulder saw that one room on the right side of the corridor had all of the strange yellow lights on and the large, double-doors open. Inside of the room were a group of men, halfway hidden in the shadows. They all looked about themselves like ravens searching for their next meal to scavenge and eyed each other mistrustfully. Silently and almost supernaturally, they all turned to stare suspiciously at Mulder when he entered behind the Sheriff but paid Wetzel little heed. "Gentlemen," Wetzel said, in a voice that seemed to blend perfectly with the dreadful atmosphere, "this is agent Mulder with the FBI." The shadowy men gasped and whispered softly amongst themselves, all of them looking extremely guilty. Mulder shifted uncomfortably. Wetzel cleared his throat for silence and when the apprehensive din quieted, he continued. "He's here to investigate the disappearance of all those poor people." Wetzel's words sounded almost like mockery. The worried voices of the shadowy men did not proceed like before. Now all of the men stared hard at Mulder, their piercing eyes glowing from the shadows. They all had a haunted and tormented look about them, as if each and every one of them were trying to hide something. BBBBBrrrrrrrriiiiiiinnnnnnngggggg Mulder's cell phone cut into the oppressive silence. Mulder nearly jumped at the unexpected noise but, recovering, took out his phone and answered it before the shrill noise could bring any more of the unwanted attention to himself. "Not now," Mulder whispered and hung up. All of the shadowy men stared at Mulder hatefully. "The FBI?," calmly said one of the men, who had large, gray eyes. "This is getting quite serious." All of the shadowy men nodded in agreement, all of them seeming to gain more confidence now that one of them spoke without fear. Another man, tall and lanky, straightened himself up in his red chair and spoke. "Whatever should we do?," the tall man whispered, his voice knowing and unafraid, like the gray-eyed man. The other men, who did not know how to respond to such a question, looked about themselves, seeking one with the answer. One of them, small and almost hidden in the shadows, stood up. Immediately, all eyes trained on him, as if all of them knew what the hidden man would say would be important. "Seek the Voice of Chartwell," he said in an elderly accent. The shadowy men nodded, murmuring indistinguishable words of agreement. One man, emerging from the darkness, hurried from the room, following the advice of the hidden man. Lightning flashed outside, brightening the dark room and throwing silver color everywhere, making all of the shadowy men appear like ghosts. In the brief light, Mulder saw that there was at least twice as many people in the room than he originally thought. Mulder shifted again, uneasy. The door at the back of the room swung open, the hinges squeaking loudly. The man that had rapidly left the room entered again. "The Voice of Chartwell," the man proclaimed proudly. Lightning crashed noiselessly again. All eyes turned to the door, silent as the raging storm outside. The Voice walked inside the dark room. Mulder gasped and stepped back. Even if Knight was going to answer the question, Scully already knew how he would respond. Of course Knight believed what the Prophet said, no matter how unlikely or grim. But before Knight could say anything else, Scully's cell phone rang, bringing their attention to the sharp sound and not of the conversation at hand. "Scully?," came Mulder's voice on the other line, worried and afraid. "Scully, where are you?" Scully frowned, not knowing what would cause Mulder's extreme distress. "I'm here with Deputy Knight. I'm at the Animal Hospital." Mulder sighed, but did not seem to remain relaxed for long. "Scully, I need for you and Knight to go to the field of blood-" "Mulder-" "-and wait for me." "Mulder, what is going on?" "We were wrong, Scully, there is no kidnapper. It's the whole town-" "Mulder, who told you this?," Scully asked, thinking of what the Prophet said about a shaft of lightning. "Just wait for me at the field of blood, okay? I'll be there as soon as I can." Then the line went dead; Mulder had hung up. "What was that about?," Knight yelled, trying to be heard over the storm. Scully tried to answer but found out that she could not speak. Her eyelids became extremely heavy and she struggled just to stay awake and conscious. Scully's knees buckled, no longer able to support her weight. Knight wrapped his arms around her, preventing Scully from falling. Scully tried to think of the cause of her condition, knowing that she must have been drugged. Drugged by what? The coffee. Doctor Sackman. it's the whole town. Scully looked up and realized she was on the ground. Deputy Knight was yelling at someone with his gun drawn. Lightning flashed menacingly and the whole world seemed to explode in a glory of light and color. Knight suddenly flew backwards, out of sight, like a terrible nightmare. The world returned to darkness. Scully was alone. Helpless and unprotected. Silent lightning glowing in the sky. Man standing over her, syringe in one hand. Helpless and unprotected. A conscious slumber seems to take, And would not, for the world, awake. -from poem "The Sleeper", written by Edgar Allen Poe Trapped. Trapped in a cage. No, it was not a cage; it was a fence. Can't climb it or jump over it. Too high. The ground is made of mud. Dig your way out. Then you can escape. Scully dug her fingers into the soft earth but pulled them out again in alarm. She no longer had hands. She had paws. Scully gasped, unable to believe it. But it was true. She was a dog. Had to be a dream, she thought. People can't turn into dogs. "Hachi-ko!" The voice was strange, not spoken aloud but instead heard inside her head. Scully turned. There, standing before her, was an unusual collie. He was very short, smaller than she was. His muzzle was broad and heavy, very unlike the thin snout of normal collies. His coat was thick and short whereas other collies coats were long. Scully recognized the dog immediately. Sunnybank Wolf. Mulder. The collie silently began to dig under the tall fence. He would stop occasionally and turn to a near-by house, all senses alert. Satisfied that there was no danger, the collie would return to digging. In no time, the collie successfully dug a hole underneath the fence. Scully was free! Running. Running away from the confining fence and the dangerous house. There was no joy like running. Speeding away with no effort at all, going faster than Scully ever had before. A whole throng of smells assaulted Scully's nose, bombarding her brain with a multitude of information. Running. Trees and grass whipping past her. Her paws beating the ground. Running free. No leash to confine her or master to call her back. The collie ran in front of her. Past iron railroad tracks. Scully followed. Steam hissing. Roar of a train engine. Scully turned to the appalling sound. An enormous wrought iron train was tearing up the distance between itself and her. The golden collie turned swiftly and lunged at her, knocking her out of the way. Alive and unharmed. The train sped away. Scully searched for her hero, Sunnybank Wolf. But there was no collie at all. Mulder lay dead a few feet from the iron tracks, blood pouring from a gash on his head. Scully blinked and she was at a train station. Uncountable Japanese men and women hurried out of the express train in front of her and more hurried inside it. She looked at their faces, trying to recognize one of them out of the horde of people. But the one she was looking for was not there. Scully feared that he might be lost forever but she could not leave. He might return one day and he would need for her to be there. Scully remembered what had happened earlier. Mulder was dead. Scully sighed and rested her head on her white paws. She feared that he might not come. She feared that he might be dead. Chartwell May 2nd Wednesday Scully awoke in darkness, her head pounding. Scully groaned from the dull pain that vibrated inside her brain. She hoisted herself up on her elbows and looked about herself. She was lying on the floor of a poorly lit room with no widows and bare walls. You will see the walls of his prison. Scully shook her head. So the Prophet got one right. But he had to be wrong about everything else. Scully took a deep breath and forced herself to sit up. Her skull seemed to quiver with pain but the nauseous and dizzy feelings quickly passed. Scully looked about herself again, waiting until she felt well enough to stand. She had to be ready for when they come. Scully reached for her gun, preparing to defend herself against the people of Chartwell, but realized that her weapon was missing. Someone must have taken it away to insure that Scully remained as defenseless as possible. She sighed and looked down at her hands; they were hands, not paws. It was only a dream. The time dragged on slowly. Scully leaned against the wall, passing the time by building worst-case scenarios in her mind. She tried to stop, knowing that she was wasting precious energy worrying, but she was plagued by it. Scully was suddenly struck with a strange feeling. They were coming. She could not explain it, but she knew for a fact that they were coming right now for her. Scully waited, anxiety building up to unendurable amounts. What were they going to do to her? The knob to the door turned. A man walked in, blinking at the darkness. Scully was ready to charge at him, push him out of the way, and run as fast as she could. "Get out of here," the man barked at her, sounding reluctant to tell her leave. Scully could only stare at the man, having not expected him to proclaim such a order. Confused, Scully wanted to ask why the man was allowing her to go but decided it would be best not to question why he made his decision. Scully pushed herself away from the wall and followed the man into the bright hall. The man shut the door after her and locked it, seeming not to care if Scully escaped. Scully looked up and down the hall. It was long and strait, with no curves or bends. On both sides of the hall were uncountable doors. The man, satisfied that the door was locked, escorted Scully through the glowing corridors. All of the doors were closed except for one at the very end of the hall. As Scully and the man walked nearer to the room, Scully could see that inside was an operating room. In the middle of the room was a white dentist chair surrounded by trays filled with silver scalpels and empty syringes. As Scully passed the room, she could see that in the far left-hand corner there was an operating table with an unconscious dog on it. A clear tube had been forced into its mouth and an IV was stuck into the dog's forefoot. The top of its head was shaved and was covered in stitches, appearing as if the dog had brain surgery. Next to the dog was a jar filled with a clear solution and what could only be described as a small piece of brain matter. What kind of place is this?, Scully thought in horror. The man opened the exit door and accompanied Scully out of the building. The world seemed enveloped in gray color, making everything seem sad and dead. To Scully's left was wide open fields under a drab, colorless sky. To her right was the ashen town of Chartwell, filled with conspiracies, secrets and lies. The man pointed at a gravel road that looked like it had been seldom used. "Take the road back to Chartwell," the man muttered. "I would advise you to leave the town as soon as you can." Scully shook her head, unable to believe that she was being set free. "Why? Why let me go?," she asked. The man did not respond to her question, only saying: "I'll be back in fifteen minutes. If you're still here or if you ever come back, I'll kill you." The man turned and walked back to the cold, dark building. Scully had no choice but to do what the man told her to do. She followed the unused gravel road into the heart of Chartwell. The few people that were out of their homes paid no attention to her and only went about their work and business sadly, as if some great misfortune had struck the dreary town. Scully was trying hard to figure out why the people of Chartwell let her go. Was it because they were afraid to do anything to her because she was a FBI agent? That was probably the most reasonable answer. About twenty minutes later, Scully was nearing the Animal Hospital, the sky getting darker and colder as time went by. Scully could see the brick building now, far away from all of the other buildings and households of Chartwell, and next to it on the ground was something that appeared to be a human body. Scully's heart dropped at the sickening realization. Blood was covering the ground and an ugly bullet hole was carved into the body's chest. The ghostly, unseeing eyes of the dead stared up at Scully. She approached the body and recognized the person immediately. Deputy Eric Knight. when I die, I will die heroically Scully remembered the following night when she was drugged and seeing Knight standing over her. He had died to protect her. "Don't move!," a familiar voice shouted out behind her, sounding extremely afraid. Scully turned slowly, seeing Sheriff Wetzel standing behind her with his gun aimed at her head. His eyes had an insane and wild look to them and his entire body trembled with fear. Even though she was facing him, Wetzel did not seem to be able to recognize her, his mind possessed with panic. "Sheriff Wetzel, it's me, agent Scully." The sheriff shook his head frantically. "No! It can't be! You're suppose to be in the Prison." "They let me out," Scully whispered, trying to sound as calm as possible to show the sheriff that there was nothing to be afraid of. Scully looked around. "Where's agent Mulder?" "Murderer!," Wetzel shrieked psychotically. "He's killed us all! First Knight, then you, and I'm next.I'm a dead man." Wetzel suddenly fell to his knees, whimpering in fear. Scully approached the man slowly and placed her hand comfortingly on his shoulder. Scully reached into her coat pocket and discovered that she still had her cell phone in her possession. Taking it out quickly, Scully dialed for an ambulance. Explaining the situation the best she could, Scully described the sheriff's condition to the operator that had answered the call. An ambulance was promised to arrive soon. Scully hung up and turned her attention back to the weeping sheriff. "Wetzel, what happened last night?" "Poor Knight. Poor, poor little Knight." Sheriff Wetzel turned deaf to Scully's questions, only murmuring softly to himself. As guaranteed, an ambulance arrived shortly to the scene, taking the tragic sheriff inside the vehicle. "You coming too, ma'am?," the driver asked, looking around suspiciously at the deaden town. Scully shook her head, dismissing the advice of the man that freed her from the Prison. "No. Not yet." The driver shrugged, not wanting to question Scully's decision. She still had to find Mulder. The ambulance speed away, bright blue, white and red lights blinking wildly and deafening siren screaming loudly. Scully retrieved her phone from her pocket and punched in Mulder's cell number, knowing that he was either looking for her or still waiting for her in the field of blood. On the second ring, Mulder answered. "What?," Mulder mumbled, sounding very tired. "Mulder, it's me," Scully responded, relieved to hear him and knowing that Mulder would probably be happy to hear her voice too. "Scully?" Mulder's voice dropped to a whisper. "Scully, please, listen to me.you have to help me." "What's wrong?," replied Scully, worried. "Scully, please, you've got to help me," Mulder repeated, sounding desperate. "Alright," Scully said, her heart beating ferociously. "Where are you?" "I don't know.everything is so dark. I think I'm at the field of blood." "Mulder, I'm going to be there in just one minute, okay?," Scully replied, already heading for the field. "Are you hurt?" "Yeah." The phone went silent. "Mulder?," Scully said quietly, her mind buzzing with dread. "They're coming," Mulder's voice came again. "Scully." The phone went dead. Scully ran towards the field as fast as she could run, subconsciously reaching for the gun that was no longer there. What had happened last night?, Scully wondered while she raced to her partner's rescue. What had happened that would make Sheriff Wetzel nearly insane with grief and fear? What had happened that would make the town of Chartwell liberate her? And, most importantly, what had happened to Mulder? As the Prophet predicted, Scully had seen the Chartwell prison but, if she was suppose to become the next Prophet, why did they let her go? And what did Chartwell want with Mulder? But if Mulder was still at the field of blood then there was still a chance that both of them could escape Chartwell, unchanged. The field of blood was as gray and lifeless as the rest of the town. Scully scanned the empty fields for a sign that her partner was here but saw neither Mulder nor anyone else. On the shoulder of the road was a green and white squad car that Scully immediately recognized as Wetzel's. What was it doing here? Obviously, Mulder must have drove it to the field of blood but then why was Wetzel not with him? Scully looked for Mulder inside the car but was too far away to determine if he was. A figure within the car moved. "Mulder?!," Scully called out but received no answer. She ran to the squad car and with a tremendous pull at the handle, she opened the door. Scully gasped and stepped back. Mulder was not inside. Instead there was a huge pure white Doberman Pinscher. As soon as Scully opened the door it turned its head and stared at her with deep electronic blue eyes. It stood up, noble and refined, and held onto Scully's gaze. Scully backed away from the car and, with her other hand, tried to slowly close the door. With one shove of it's head, the Doberman pushed the car door open and stepped into the sullen fields. The Doberman did not seem to be ferocious at all; in fact it seemed to be quite gentle. However, Scully still kept her eyes locked into those of the white dog, backing away from it slowly. She still had to find Mulder. When enough distance was put between the dog and herself to leave Scully satisfied, she turned to the barren fields. She must have been mistaken; the only ones in the fields were herself and the white Doberman. "Mulder!," Scully called out, hoping that her partner might be nearby, but the only response came from the white Doberman which barked loudly. Scully flinched at the echoing bark and turned to the dog. It was standing right next to her, glaring at her. The sun, it's rays shining through the darken clouds, illuminated the white coat of the Doberman so that it shone like lightning. Lightning. a shaft of lightning will come in your time of need and it knows how this will end. The Prophet had forewarned Mulder that the shaft of lightning would advise him. Was it this dog that warned Mulder - No, Scully told herself, dogs neither talk to people nor advise them. Scully sighed. She was letting the words of the Prophet influence her thinking. Did Mulder therefore dismiss the guidance of someone else? Scully backed away from the dog and turned her attention to the fields again. "Mulder!," she tried. The Doberman barked again. Scully turned to the dog, preparing to shoo it away, but was awe-struck at its sudden odd behavior. The dog was waving one of it's paws in the air, as if trying to get her attention. Scully shook her head. Dogs get attention by barking, not by waving paws in the air. It must be hurt. Or doing a trick. That's the only plausible explanation. Scully walked away from the dog, reminding herself that she was searching for her partner. As Scully walked away, she could hear the breaking and snapping of twigs and grass behind her. The white Doberman was following her. "He's not here," came a voice. Scully jumped at the sound. She turned, expecting someone to be standing next to her, but she was alone in the field. "Hello?," Scully called out, hoping someone would answer, but there only was silence. The Doberman barked again and waved his paw in the air again. Scully stared at the dog in front of her. What if the Prophet was right?, Scully thought. Was the dog trying to tell her something? The Doberman seemed to smile. "Hello Scully." Scully gasped. It came to her as a very vague feeling, simple to dismiss but impossible to deny. The dog had talked! Yet not by opening or closing it's mouth or pronouncing words with it's tongue, but instead speaking by way of telepathic communication. Scully could hardly believe it, but it was true; the dog had talked. "But how can you." "Talk?," the Doberman replied. "All dogs can talk, Miss Scully, only you humans have been led to believe that we cannot. You can hear me now because you have been injected with something that allows you to listen to us." Scully looked around at the field. "Where's Mulder?," she asked. "Oh, far from here," the Doberman replied. "Mulder called me. He said he needed my help," Scully said stupidly at the dog, still shocked at hearing the dog speak. "Your help? I doubt that." "Why?" "What can you do?" "I'm a doctor." "I don't believe that medical science has anything to do with this." "With what?" "Canine justice." "What the hell does that mean?" "A dog that bites a person or even growls at a person is killed but a person could get away with murder. That is canine justice." "What does that have to do with Mulder?" "You'll see." "Who are you?," Scully asked. "The Voice That Speaks." "Speaks for what?" "Chartwell," the Voice replied. "But may I add that I am merely the Voice of Chartwell. I do not hold all of the town's ideas as justice or truth." "And what ideas are those?" "That dogs are more intelligent, moralistic, and superior to human beings." "And dogs are not?" "Don't think of it as being better or worse. Consider dogs and humans as an equilibrium of intelligence, ethics and superiority. There are some things that dogs know that people never will and there are some things people can do that dogs never could. It has been scientifically determined that dogs are precognitive. Dogs can see the spirits of the deceased, something which has been documented many times but obviously can never be tested. Dogs love no matter what. We obey whatever our master commands unquestionably, whether it is to fetch a newspaper or murder another person. But then people can imagine abstract things and create them. Humans have created airplanes, automobiles, television. Humans have harnessed the power of electricity and fire." The Voice lower his head. "The people of Chartwell do not see that dogs and human are equal and instead believe that dogs are better. They have heard and seen of dogs that have been tortured in research laboratories. But unlike the other people that are outraged, who protest and rally against the senseless suffering, the people of Chartwell believe that it is perfectly justified to torment people in the same manner as the animals have been abused. Like I said before, dogs and humans are equal; dogs cannot be tortured to justify the dying human, humans cannot be tortured to justify the dying dogs." "Then if you don't believe in Chartwell's ideas why not stop speaking for it?," Scully replied. The Doberman sighed. "There were three of us in the beginning; the Law of the Council, the Rule of the Council, and the Voice of the Council. We were all dogs, and being such, were able to see the fault in Chartwell. We began to tell the people the terrible injustices and hypocrisy of the town. The people of Chartwell killed the Law to keep the rest of us in order, but those who speak of moral and right beliefs cannot be quieted for long. And then the Rule." The Voice looked away from Scully sadly. "I am the Last Surviving Member of the Council. I do not stop speaking because I am afraid and, well.a town without a voice is a dead town. I am a dog and therefore I must serve my masters, no matter how wrong they are. I must speak for Chartwell." Scully nodded but her thoughts were elsewhere. "What happened to Mulder?" The Voice looked up at Scully with a melancholy look in his eyes. "Perhaps you can recall the story of Wolf's hero-death?" Scully nodded weakly. "Yeah.I had a dream about it." The Doberman cocked his head to one side, as if considering very hard what Scully said. "Dreams can represent something very real to the sleeper; desires, secret wishes, what you truly want -." "What I want is to know what happened to Mulder," Scully shouted at the dog, trying to bring his attention back to her main concern. The Voice seemed angry at the disruption of his speech but sighed, hanging his head in despair. "Such a precious gift is Life. To have such power in your hands to decide your own fate.the fate of those around you. Mulder, your Sunnybank Wolf, threw himself in front of the Chartwell train so that you may live. Your partner holds your life so much higher than his own." Scully felt her heart stop cold at the words spoken so casually by the Doberman. She was still for a long time; the only way to tell that Scully had not been struck dead by the stinging words was that she blinked mournfully, her only response. Finally, Scully turned to the Doberman, seeking his knowledge. "What will they do to him to him?," Scully whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder. The Voice looked up at Scully, sympathizing with her. He seemed as if he wanted to tell her something but had quickly decided against it. "That is for Chartwell to decide." Scully's eyes glowed with new hope. "You are Chartwell's Voice. Can't you tell them not to-" "No," the Voice said sadly. "I do not decide or suggest anything for Chartwell. I only speak of the decisions it has already made. If I try to advise anything to them, no matter how good or justified, they will kill me." The Doberman stood up, ending the grim conversation, and started towards Chartwell. Scully followed the Voice out of the field. "Where are you going?," she asked. The Doberman stopped and gazed at her as if he had never seen her before. "Miss Scully, you have developed a sort of immunity to Chartwell; you are free to come and go as you please without fear of being taken again. But I advice you to leave Chartwell as soon as you can." "I can't do that," Scully replied. "Not without Mulder." The Doberman started trotting down the road towards Chartwell; the only way Scully knew the dog had heard her at all was that he called over his back: "Then met me here tomorrow, before the sun comes up." The Field of Blood May 3rd Thursday Scully blinked and was amazed at what she saw. The next day had come, as bleak and downcast as the day before. Scully, without any break from the previous day, had returned to the field of blood yet the Voice had not appeared as he had promised to do. The weather was intolerably cold, a harsh biting wind that hails the end of the winter months as the snow-filled clouds tried unsuccessfully to fight the rival Spring. Scully gathered her long, black trench coat around her to keep the sharp wind at bay, but soon realized the impossibility of combating the severe cold. Scully's rental car remained where she had left it last; on the shoulder of the road next to Sheriff Wetzel's unclaimed and forgotten squad car. The preceding day Scully had returned to Chase to rescue the vehicle from the threat of being towed out of the Mental Institution's parking lot. She had wanted to see the Prophet again, out of curiosity to see what he would have to say about the resent events, but ultimately decided against it. Scully scanned the gloomy and gray fields, but saw nothing. Scully, finally giving up the battle with the imposing climate, took refuge inside the vehicle, still waiting for the Voice to appear. Scully sat in the glimmering rental car, automatically turning the car on and having the hot, manufactured heat pour from the air vents. Scully glanced at her watch and sighed; she had been waiting for over an hour. Finally, Scully could see the undeniable form of the Voice trotting slowly up the road towards her. She leaned over and opened the passenger side door for the dog, allowing the cold wind to freeze her vulnerable hand. The white Doberman jumped inside the car shivering and, without a word, laid down. Scully sat motionless, waiting for the Voice to speak, but he said nothing and only looked at the floor. Scully watched the minutes on the car's digital clock disappear as they elapsed into the past. Was the Voice ever going to speak? The white Doberman shifted in the seat that was much too small for his enormous body. The Voice seemed preoccupied by something that distressed him greatly. At last, the dog spoke. "Miss Scully, suppose a pit bulldog bit a person, what would happen to the dog?" Scully shrugged. "They get put to sleep." The Doberman lifted his head and gazed at Scully with sadden eyes. "You mean murder, Miss Scully?" "I wouldn't call it murder. The dog did bite someone." "But dogs and humans are equal, right? When humans bite or attack or even murder others of their own race, there are organizations to spare them punishment. Dogs are murdered, or 'put to sleep' as you call it, with no court or judge to defend them. Dogs have no justice at all, but humans do. Is that, in your opinon, equal?" "No, not really. But it's different with dogs." "How so?" "Well, some dogs are trained to kill other people. They can't be taught not to bite after they learn." "Incurably vicious?" "I guess so." "Mulder has also been taught to kill, has he not? He had used this knowledge to murder people. Do think he is incurably vicious?" Scully stared at the Doberman. How did he know that Mulder has killed people? Scully shook her head and answered. "No, but-" "Should he be murdered?" "No!" "But, under the same circumstances, a pit bulldog could?" Scully paused. "I guess not." The Voice smiled as if he finally was coming to the point of his argument. "Why?" "Because it would be like murdering another person." The Doberman sighed and rested his head on the dashboard. "Exactly." The rental car once again was consumed with silence. Scully glanced over to the Voice, waiting for him to resume talking. "Chartwell," the Voice began, "sees things differently, of course. A dog that murders is given freedom whereas a human that murders is killed. No judge, no jury, no justice given." Scully immediately made the connection. "But Mulder didn't kill anyone!," Scully blurted out. The Doberman turned to Scully as if he had expected her say such a thing but still did not understand why. "Do you recall the first night you came here?" Scully nodded. "What happened?" Scully was silent for a while, collecting her thoughts. "Mulder called me and told me to wait for him here." Scully turned to the Doberman, a new thought occurring to her. "It was you who warned him, wasn't it?" "It was." The Voice turned back to the field of blood, watching the long grass wave wildly in the strong wind. "At that time, Mulder was with Sheriff Wetzel at the Chartwell Community Center. The Rule and I was called upon to make a decision. I already knew you were going to be taken from what the people of Chartwell told me. I wanted to caution you that they were coming but you would have not been able to hear me, so I told Mulder instead. He left the room to warn and find you. The men were upset at the Rule and me because they knew one of us had informed Mulder. One of them, a tall man, told everyone to leave and, after Mulder called you, killed the Rule of the Council. The men entered the room the same time Mulder did. The tall man had hidden his gun by the time the men appeared; Mulder entered the room with his gun unsheathed. "He is a murderer in their eyes." The Voice was silent for a moment, the only sound made was the muffled howls of the wind outside. He continued, changing the subject. "To quote Marjorie Garber: 'It's one thing for Hachi-ko to meet his master's train for nine years; it's another for a bereaved human being to do the same. "Get on with your life," we say, and we mean it.' You have better things to do, Miss Scully, than to wait for what cannot return." "But Mulder isn't.dead.is he?," Scully whispered. "The man known as The Prophet is not dead, but you would not call him Justin Hundley anymore. He had become more canine than human. Besides, he was the first person out of twenty-one to escape Chartwell. The chances are slim that Mulder could do the same." Scully took her eyes from the Doberman and looked back at the empty road. "How did the Prophet escape?" "It is not important. They gave the Prophet a choice, that's all." "What choice was that?" The Voice said nothing for a long time. "To stay at Chartwell to help the Science or to return to his home. But if he had stayed at Chartwell, he would have been subjected to more tests; if he returned to his home he would have to kill his wife." "Why would he have to kill his wife?" "They really didn't want him to leave. He was their first real success - a man who was as precognitive as a dog. After he tried to murder his wife, he told the courts that me, a white Doberman, told him to do it and was thrown into the mental hospital. He would have been important in the field of Science but no one would believe him now. But things are different with Mulder. He will become too valuable to be allowed to leave." "Valuable? How?" The Voice exhaled, smiling proudly at some hidden thought. "How wonderful it would be to have a being with all the intelligence, ethical beliefs, and virtuosity of both man and dog; with all of their virtues but with none of their vices. Such a being could know everything, everything, about both the canine race and the human race. Do you have any idea how important Mulder is going to be? Living, undeniable proof of canine emotions, thoughts and intelligence. For you see, Miss Scully, 'all knowledge, the totality of all questions and all answers, is contained in the dog'." The Doberman shook his head, still smiling. "No, they will never let Mulder escape. There is nothing you can do about it." The Voice turned to Scully, his eyes glowing as if suddenly remembering something he had to tell her. "Miss Scully, you have been trying to do something about it, haven't you?" "What do you mean?" "I heard that last night you tried to call the FBI for back-up." "How did you know that?!," Scully asked, alarmed. "Did it work?," the Voice replied as if he had not heard her response. Scully shook her head slowly. "The call could not go through. How did you know I called?" "Mulder told me." "Why would he tell you?," Scully whispered, more to herself than to the Voice. The Voice suddenly stood up and gazed at the closed car door. "I must go, Scully," The Voice said urgently. Preparing herself for the weather outside, Scully opened her door and stood aside for the Doberman to pass. The Voice climbed awkwardly over the car seats and with a powerful leap he sprang out of the car and into the freezing road. Without a word the Voice bolted towards Chartwell. That night, Scully was haunted by strange and frightening dreams. Human beings presumably benefit from treating animals the way they do - hurting them, jailing them. Any human being who has a choice does not want to be treated like this. - from the book When Elephants Weep, written by Jeffery Moussaieff Masson Mulder awoke in darkness, his heart pounding. Instantly but not thoroughly alert, Mulder strained his dulled senses to detect the reason for his wakefulness. There was nothing to see in his unlit room; there was no windows and the only light provided was from the small crack at the bottom of the door. Mulder listened hard and could hear the faint click-click-click of rubber shoes slapping against the tile floor. Mulder sighed and rubbed his sleepless eyes. It had been the fourth time this night that Mulder's pitifully light sleep had been interrupted by the soft sound. Mulder gradually forced himself to sit up, wanting desperately to get off of the cold, hard, cement floor. The room that Mulder was confined in unfortunately had no bed, leaving Mulder with two choices; to stand all night or sleep on the floor. He had tried the former but failed miserably at it when the desire to sleep became to strong for him to ignore. The clicking sound of the shoes seem to have doubled, as if there was more than one person walking down the empty halls. Mulder took a deep breath to try to calm his frayed nerves and frantically beating heart. The sound got steadily louder as the walkers neared the room Mulder was confined in. Mulder slowly stood up and waited in the darkness. The sound abruptly stopped at the door to Mulder's room. Mulder swallowed hard and waited for them. The door was quickly unlocked and the door swung open loudly. Blinding light engulfed the once dark room, turning the walls instantly to white. Mulder blinked rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden light as soon as he could. Squinting, Mulder looked at the threshold of his room and saw three men standing in the doorway. "Come out," one of the men said coldly. Mulder paused slightly but, defeated, followed the man's orders. The three men were donned in white lab coats, looking more like children dressing up than real doctors. Two of them were holding clipboards, skimming through the pages with a dull and bored look in their eyes. Mulder turned his attention to the third man who, to Mulder's horror, held a cattle prod that glowed with electricity. The third man glared at Mulder aggressively as he tightened his grip on his deadly weapon. Mulder took a meager step backwards and gazed at the men with terror. Mulder tried to look calm, acting as if the three men had little effect on him. His eyes never wavered from the cattle prod, ready to dodge its agonizing electrical current at the slightest movement of the man's hand. "So," Mulder said, trying to sound calm, "what's going to-" One of the men holding a clipboard instantly raised his hand and slapped Mulder's face forcefully upon hearing him talk. Mulder cried out in pain and alarm, having not seen or expected the men to act so harshly at his unfinished remark. Mulder brought his hand to his cheek gingerly and winced at the severe burning in his face. "Never talk until you are told to," the man who had hit Mulder replied evenly. Mulder, still rubbing his face, stood in silence as the two men continued to browse through their papers. He glanced over to the man with the cattle prod who seemed eager to use his deadly weapon. Mulder wasn't going to give him the chance. The two men with clipboards finally looked as if they had finished glancing over their reports. "Come this way," the man who had hit Mulder said flatly, walking towards the other end of the long hall. Mulder obediently followed and saw that one of the room doors farther down the hall had been left open. Inside was a white dentist chair surrounded by syringes filled with orange liquid and scalpels neatly arranged in a row. Mulder had a horribly sickening feeling that the room had been prepared for him. He exhaled a sigh of relief when the men walked past the horrifying operating room but it did not rule out the possibility that he might be brought there again. The men finally approached their destination; a room similar to the one Mulder had been formerly restrained in. However, this room had a light inside which transformed the walls from bland white to an even blander yellow. The room had another slightly impressive feature; in the middle of the compressed room was a single chair. It was as if the men were going to interrogate him. Interrogate him about what; the crime that he was suppose to have committed? Mulder had earlier tried to explain that it was not he who had shot the dog that was found bleeding to death. No one would listen or even give Mulder a chance to defend his point. But what if the men wanted Mulder to confess that he was guilty of murdering the dog? Mulder glanced back to the man with the cattle prod and swallowed hard. What was he to do?; admit immediately to the murder or uphold his innocence until, electrocuted and beaten, surrendering to them as the only deliverance from his suffering? "Sit," the man who had hit Mulder commanded, his hand motioning towards the simple chair. Mulder, his mind buzzing with the appalling anticipation, followed the orders of the man and sat down on the chair. The men silently stood in front of Mulder, flipping through the papers on their clipboards again. Mulder turned to the man without a clipboard who was swinging his cattle prod back and forth, like a pendulum. Mulder shifted uncomfortably, silently considering the idea of escape. One of the men seemed to instantly read Mulder's thoughts. He turned to the man with the cattle prod, frowning at the way he was handling the dangerous weapon. "Would you please close the door," the man told the other. Mulder watched the man with the cattle prod close the door, his heart beating as if an enormous bird was flapping its wings frantically against Mulder's ribcage. Mulder took a deep breath again, trying in vain to remain calm. The man who had hit Mulder ceased to look at the papers, handing his clipboard over to the other man. The man stared hard at Mulder with eyes that burned hatefully as he reached slowly into his coat pocket. The man with the cattle prod pulled back his wrist, ready to use his weapon if Mulder showed any unwillingness to cooperate. The man who had hit Mulder put his hand on Mulder's forehead, forcing his head down, while taking something unseen from his pocket. As he brought the hidden and unknown thing closer and closer to Mulder's head, a horrible buzzing sound filled the silent room as a machine was brought to life. The sudden sound caused Mulder to jump in surprise, a reflex that caused the man with the cattle prod to raise his arm, ready to strike. "Not yet," the man who had hit Mulder said dully, sounding as if he was concentrating on something more important. The unseen thing was brought to Mulder's head slowly, finally making contact with his scalp. Mulder flinched but there was no pain. What are they doing to me?, Mulder thought in horror. Mulder wanted frantically to pull the man's arm away but his fear of the man with the cattle prod outweighed his want to stop the man who had hit him. Whatever they were doing to him could probably be done with him unconscious. With a flick of his wrist, the man brought the unknown thing into Mulder's view; it was an electronic hair clipper. Mulder turned his gaze towards the floor and saw that it was littered with his hair. They were shaving him to the skin. Mulder shuddered, his desire to stop these people returning. He turned to the man with the cattle prod who, having grown tired of raising his arm, was now inspecting his dangerous weapon. The man's readiness to strike at Mulder seemed to have been diminished. The minutes crept by as the man who had hit Mulder continued to shave Mulder's head. The buzzing sound finally stopped and the man took his hand from Mulder's forehead. "That wasn't too bad now was it?," the man whispered evilly, smiling down at his prisoner. Mulder knew better than to answer, responding only by staring at the man with a look of utter hate and disgust. He brought a quivering hand to the top of his head and rubbing his bare scalp, the remains of what was his hair tickling his fingertips. The other man turned to the one who had hit Mulder. "Have you heard," the man said nonchalantly, "that the pit bulldog is dying?" "This is a highly sophisticated experiment. Don't expect it to work the first time," the man who had hit Mulder replied. "That's what I mean. After our first attempt fails, what next? We don't have any more human subjects. However, the other one, the woman.she's still here." Mulder's heart pounded furiously. They were going to kidnap Scully! "Wait!," Mulder yelled at them. "You can't-" But Mulder was unable to finish his statement. The man with the cattle prod, shaken by Mulder's simple rebelliousness, raised his menacing weapon and, without warning, brought it down upon his victim. Every nerve seemed to burst into flames as Mulder was blinded by pain and light. The world returned to darkness. Have we the right to tear this being away from its fellows and all that gives its life meaning and put it in a sterile, hostile, aseptic environment to be tortured, maimed and ultimately destroyed. - from the book When Elephants Weep, written by Jeffery Moussaieff Masson Mulder's entire body ached intensely, a terrible dull pain that did not cease or fade away. His head pounded agonizingly; the severe throbbing was almost unendurable. The place where Mulder once was had been changed dramatically. It was no longer cold or small or dark but was instead oppressive with heat, large enough to fit twenty people comfortably, and so brightly lit that Mulder's eyes hurt. Mulder tried to look around himself to learn where he was at but found out that it was impossible because his head had been secured down to the white dentist chair he was sitting in. Mulder looked down at his hands and feet and saw that they too were fastened to the chair. His clothes were gone; he now wore a white gown similar to the type that patients would wear in hospitals. Mulder shifted his gaze nervously and saw that next to the dentist chair was a tray filled with syringes and scalpels. Mulder swallowed hard. He was in the operating room. Mulder turned his eyes away from the tray and looked straight in front of him. Mulder gasped at what he saw before him. Was it a mirror or was it perhaps a glimpse into the future? There was a pit bulldog lying on an operating table like Mulder was lying on the reclined dentist chair. The dog's head had been shaved like Mulder's had been. But what Mulder saw was not a true mirror; the dog's head was covered with stitches, an IV was protruding from his foreleg and a tube was stuck in the dog's mouth, supplying tired lungs with oxygen. Next to the pit bulldog was a container that had what Mulder believed to be a piece of the dog's brain. The dog must have been brought here against his will. He must have been confined in a small cage and dragged out to have his head shaved. But would the similarities shared by Mulder and the pit bulldog end there? Or would Mulder end up like the dog ahead of him, a victim of a terrible experiment with a piece of his brain contained in a jar next to him? Mulder turned his attention to the restraints on his arms and legs and tried with all his remaining strength to loosen the bonds. It was a futile struggle; he was hopelessly a prisoner to the Velcro straps. Mulder gave up quickly and glanced about the operating room, searching for another method of escape. There obviously was none. What am I going to do?, Mulder thought, worrying about the unavoidable future. He could not leave the room and there was nothing Mulder could do to protect himself from the inevitable operation. Was there no hope at all? Mulder was beginning to think so until he remembered a conversation he had with Scully earlier in his imprisonment via a telephone. She had promised to find him and rescue him. How long ago was that? It could have been five hours or two days for all Mulder knew. All that mattered to him was that Scully would be here soon. Mulder smiled faintly at the returning confidence in his mind; he had faith that Scully would come. A door opened to Mulder's left and two men walked in. They paid Mulder little attention but instead turned towards the pit bulldog. The first man turned to the second, who looked like a student, and whispered, "Check him." The student rotated from the captive dog and faced the captive man. The first man that had entered the room put his hand on the dog's side, right at the elbow joint, as if checking on the dog's breathing. The student put his index finger to Mulder's throat, checking on the man's heart rate. The first man stood away from the dog, shaking his head grimly. The student eagerly wrote down his observations in a notebook he carried. The student, finished, turned to the first man who shook his head again. "Bury him," the first man said while yanking the IV needle from the lifeless dog's leg. The student was motionless for a long time. "You mean it's.he's." The man nodded as a response. The student seemed to bewildered to talk. "But we have never hurt dogs.we certainly never killed them before.I mean, I thought every one here was against animal experimentation." "We still are," the man whispered, "but things are different now." Both the man and the student turned to Mulder. "I see," the student whispered, as if suddenly aware of the point the man was making. Mulder shifted uncomfortably under the bonds that restrained him. The man turned away, looking at the dead pit bulldog. "Bury him," the man whispered again, no longer able to face the deceased animal. The student carefully took the tube from the dog's mouth and, picking up the limp body, carried it out of the room. The man remained, his eyes unmoving from the operation table the dog was once on. Mulder watched the man nervously. The man finally turned away and reached over to the dog's operating table. He took the jar that held the piece of dog brain and placed it menacingly on the tray next to Mulder. Smiling at hidden forethought, the man turned and left the room. Mulder watched the man leave, but his mind was concerned with importance of the jar. Why did the people of Chartwell kill a dog for a piece of it's brain if they felt so strongly against the murder of animals? The only conclusion that Mulder could make was that the dog's brain must have been important. But the piece of the brain was not removed for the sake of removing; it had something to do with Mulder, but what? The question remained: What were they going to do to him? Time passed on slowly as the minutes became hours. No one else had entered the lonely room after the student and the other man left. Mulder yawned as the overwhelming boredom chiseled away at his alertness. He began to worry that the people had forgotten about him or were going to abandon him in the desolate room until he died from starvation or thirst. Mulder shuddered at the very real possibility of the later happening. The door at Mulder's left opened again, the only sound that Mulder had heard during an uncountable amount of time. This time there was no student and teacher to check on his current condition but instead a whole team of doctors all donned in surgical apparel. They swarmed purposefully around Mulder like wasps, all of them taking their weapon of choice from the tray next to Mulder's dentist chair. One of them did not take a syringe or scalpel for he brought his own weapon; a medical saw. With a tremendous and deafening roar, the medical saw was brought to life. Mulder's heart seemed to stop instantly at the sickening sound. "What the hell are you going to do?!," Mulder yelled at the doctors. They all jumped back at his scream, having not expecting him to talk. Some of the doctors stared at Mulder with blank amazement, as if it had been a coffee pot that yelled at them and not a person. One of the doctors took the jar with the piece of the dog's brain and was slowly unscrewed the lid. Mulder swallowed hard and got a sudden, overwhelming feeling that he was going to die. "Stop!," Mulder, his heart pounding, yelled again, loud enough for a small amount of the doctors to flinch at the command. "I'm a FBI agent! Whatever you do to me will be a federal offense!" The doctors, not seeming to have heard Mulder's threat, continued to prepare for the approaching surgery. Mulder, feeling extremely faint and nauseated, struggled futilely to escape. Something was put firmly over Mulder's mouth and a hideous hissing noise, like an angered and dangerous snake, was dimly heard. The air that was forced into his lungs became intensely sharp and sweet and red dots instantly clouded Mulder's vision. Consciousness slowly begun slipping away along with any feelings of terror or dread. It no longer mattered to Mulder if they were going to kill him or even if they were going to kill Scully. The world disappeared around him as Mulder happily thought, It's great being dead. The doctors, their white coats stained with blood as if they had returned from some distant battle of a great and terrible war, stood silent and exhausted. "I don't believe it," one of them said. "He's not dead." Another, who was panting heavily because he had held his breath in excitement, was ripping off stained gloves. "He'll die anyway," the other replied, unconcerned. The last tie was broken. Man and the claims of man no longer bound him. -from the book, The Call of the Wild, written by Jack London To awaken.changed! The anesthesia was fading away and the pains of the knife obscured to a dull throb. The large room, with the blood-painted dentist chair, empty jar and abandoned syringes, slowly returned to view, but it was no longer necessary to see. Fox Mulder awoke and knew where he was. He knew what had happened to him, for that matter. He watched, from the doctor's eyes, as they cut him open, he heard the whine of the medical saw, he felt their anxiety as they watched the saw cut deeper and deeper and.He watched as blood gushed from that first incision and watched as the doctors hurried to stop the bleeding. He heard them shout to hurry up, hurry up we are going to lose him inject him with adrenaline his pulse is fading.He watched as they stabbed the syringe into his failing heart and saw the fingers that never wavered from the dwindling pulse on his wrist.they had the wet, glistening piece of dog brain, the one they took from the brindle-and-white pit bulldog (how does he know that the dark speckled color is called brindle?), and brought it closer and closer.the nervous doctor, his heart beating as fast as Mulder's was slow, wiped the sweat from his forehead and, with a clean knife raised, waited.the doctor with the dog brain waited.another doctor held needle and thread and waited.suddenly the nervous doctor begins to cut.blood everywhere.more adrenaline, god damn it, we are losing him!.they would worry if he died but could care less if he lived.the dog brain was shoved in and the doctor with needle and thread begun a rhythmic sewing.back and forth.back and forth.how is his pulse.he's fading fast doctor.inject him with more adrenaline.but doctor he's going to die.he's died five times already.he'll die anyway.and they stood back, panting with exhaustion. Fox Mulder stopped himself and was afraid, terribly and sickly afraid. How did he know that? How did he know what had happened to him, when he was unconscious and could not have possibly known? How did he know? Mulder quivered because he all at once knew this was only the calm before the storm and he was going to be utterly destroyed once he stopped fighting. oh god oh god oh god.it was inevitable. Panic instantly seized Mulder and he wanted desperately to run, to escape, to undo whatever had been done. Mulder was going to fight as long as his strength held out but whatever had gripped his mind was much stronger. Brief fragments of information flashed across his troubled mind; information that he had not formerly known and that had nothing to do with him. As soon as Mulder became aware of the new fact, it disappeared, already imprisoning itself to his rapidly expanding memory. Once one fraction of information departed, another took its place. The speed in which this was happening was going so fast that Mulder hardly had to concentrate at all. Mulder's only concern was to fight this but he slowly came to grasp that he was fighting in a losing battle. Mulder realized with gripping fear that he was slowly being pushed towards the edge.it would not be long before he plummeted into the yawning abyss. He sealed his eyes closed and tried to keep still.if only my head would be calm. Suddenly, all things, the psychological, physical, social, historical, cosmological, universal of each man and every man, became instantly and painfully clear. The world had opened itself up and was pouring it's hidden knowledge and secrets, mysterious and unknown, into the split on Mulder's head. In an instant it was gone. Everything had been explained in an flash. Now everything was known. It was too much for him, too much to take.Mulder screamed in horror and thrashed against the bonds that held him. Knowledge about everything, everyone, every time, every place, every person, every creature, every one of the million blades of grass, every one of the million speaks of dirt, every one of the million droplets of water.it was too much, too much. Mulder's body howled and writhed against the onslaught of Knowledge but Mulder's mind was distant and calm. He no longer felt the fear and panic that was taking it's toll on his body. He watched from afar and waited for his body to come with terms with this new Knowledge. Hours and hours later, Mulder blinked his eyes open. He was shivering uncontrollably and felt tremendously weak. He had awaken.changed! The Field of Blood May 5th Saturday Scully, however, knew nothing; at least nothing concerning what had happened to her partner. She was trying to get answers and the only way she knew how to was to seek the Voice in the safe haven of the field of blood. Scully was ready to demand from the Doberman the whereabouts of Mulder, but the Voice seemed to anticipate this. After their two initial meetings, the Voice never returned back to the field. Scully didn't know where to find the dog in Chartwell and didn't know of the possible consequences if she ventured forth in the strange town. She scanned the horizon unenthusiastically, searching the road that led out of Chartwell for the white dog. Instantly, the Doberman appeared out of no where, as if he had materialized out of thin air. "What happened to you?," Scully asked the dog as he approached. "Where have you been?" The Voice did not answer. Scully looked at the dog and saw dried flecks of blood on his chest and paws. However, there were no cuts on the Voice at all and Scully feared the blood belonged to Mulder. "Where's Mulder," Scully growled. The Doberman cocked his head, as if unsure at Scully's sudden angry mood. "Go to Riivendale. There's a hospital there," the Doberman whispered softly. "Wait. What do you mean?" "He did not die, Miss Scully." Scully's heart pounded. "Who? Mulder?" The Doberman smiled. "Sharikov." The Voice's meaning was lost upon Scully and, before she could inquire about the dog's intention, he ran towards Chartwell, a white blur in a world of darkness. "Wait!," Scully cried out. The Doberman paid her no heed and soon disappeared into the town. Riivendale Hospital One hour later With the straight and predictable halls, the dull white color everywhere, and the rushed actions of the staff, there was little difference between the Riivendale Hospital and the Mental Institution of Chase. The hospital, however, reminded Scully more of the chaotic atmosphere of the stock market than a place for treatment. Nurses and doctors ran from unknown origins, heading for unknown destinations. People disappeared into the confused din and returned somewhere completely different. Scully made her way through the sea of people to the front desk, which was crowded with frightened patients and hurried doctors. "What took ya so long," one of the nurses said, looking at some paperwork that had suddenly been thrown in front of her by an unseen person. Scully frowned. "I'm sorry.You must have mistaken me for someone else," she said. It was very true; you could be talking to someone at one moment and they would be gone in the next. Scully retrieved her badge from her coat pocket and presented it to the unimpressed nurse. "I'm Agent Scully and I-" "I know," the nurse said, annoyed. "What took ya so long? It's bad enough with the rush but to have to wait." The nurse trailed off. "But," Scully began, baffled, "how did you know I was coming?" Scully would not believe that the Doberman had told them. The idea was too ridiculous to fathom. An orderly appeared from the maddening throng of people. "He knew you were comin'," the orderly said, emphasizing the 'he', supposing that if he stressed the word well enough it would answer all of Scully's questions. The nurse at the front desk frowned annoyingly at the disorder all around her. "Frank," she said, addressing the orderly, "get her out of here. We got work to do." A few moments later Scully was following the short hospital orderly down the boring, white halls, getting farther and farther from the mayhem at the front desk. The halls now were quiet and the small amount of people in the hallways walked slowly. "Who told you that I was coming?," Scully questioned the orderly. "Tough case, you know," the orderly said, musing. "We were really worried about this one." "Who told you that I was coming?," Scully asked, her patience waning. The orderly glanced at Scully and simply shook his head, smiling. "Here we are," the orderly said, opening a door marked ROOM 216. Scully stepped inside the room slowly, as if afraid of what she might find inside. The room was white, like the halls and ceilings and floors outside, but this was a welcoming sort of shade and not the oppressive hue of the rest of the hospital. It was deathly quiet in the room; the small clip-clip of Scully's high-heel shoes became as loud as gunfire. In the far corner there was a bed with sheets that were thrown about as if the occupant had to writhe and thrash his way out of chronic nightmares and gave the sheets no mercy. Scully walked towards the nightmare-twisted bed as if drawn to it by forces unknown. She gazed down upon the sleeper who was neither awake nor dreaming but was instead staring attentively at the walls in a trance. Scully blinked and could not believe what she saw. It was Mulder but not at all like the Mulder she once knew - his head had been shaved to the skin and was covered with an infinite number of stitches that glowed red. Scully's heart quickened in anguish as she gaped at the deep gash that cut across her partner's head. Hundreds of medical terms raced across her thoughts, going too fast for her preoccupied mind to focus on. What has happened to him?, Scully thought in appalling horror. As Scully stood there, shaken, she was strongly reminded that she had been here before and she remembered the stressful and fearful incident with Dr. Goldstein. That was just a little pin-point hole that was drilled into Mulder's head, not an entire brain operation. At least then, with the seizures and black outs, she knew what she was dealing with; now Scully had no idea what to do or even what was wrong. She would have many questions to ask the staff but now her concern was for Mulder himself. Scully thought back to the convulsions and feared that they return again. Mulder, however, appeared untroubled. He seemed to be calm and confident, as if he had control and could control what ever ailments tormented him. Scully kneeled down next to the bed, as if humbling herself to some higher power. "Mulder?," she whispered, begging to be heard. The sleeper frowned, as if wondering why the walls had spoken to him. "Mulder, it's me, Scully." Mulder looked at the ceiling, searching in vain for his partner. "You are here too?," he asked in a voice plagued by pain and insomnia. Scully reached over and, putting her hand on his chin, directed his head towards her direction. Mulder stared at her for a long time, neither recognition nor surprise registering on his blank features. Finally he sighed and whispered something that was barely audible to Scully: "Oh.what have they done?" Scully looked at the bright crimson stitches again and took a deep breath. "I don't know," she replied honestly. Mulder gazed mournfully at his partner. "Why did they change it?," he asked, almost pleading to her. Scully shook her head, not understanding what Mulder meant. "Change what?" Mulder turned back to the walls. "They've changed the world," he whispered slowly. "I was asleep when it happened but it's different now; the walls, the colors. It's like when you see the moon and it's huge in the sky. You know the moon hasn't gotten any closer but who knows? They could have captured it without you even knowing about it. But why? Why change the world? Was the last one so scarred, so eaten away that there was no hope for it?" "Mulder," Scully whispered, a little shaken, "the world has not changed. It's the same as it always was." "Oh, no it's different.. I suppose it looks the same as the old one, but that's only because they want it that way. They got you fooled, Scully, but I know you're wrong." Mulder stared suspiciously at the walls. "I know that some things should be like they are but somehow it's not right. Oh.how can I explain it to you? I don't know what the truth is anymore, Scully." Mulder winced suddenly and brought his shaking hands to his head. "Oh.my head hurts. That's the damn gate again. They're always slamming it shut when I'm not paying attention. It's always worse when they put burning autumn leaves in the middle of the road. You try to walk around it but it still fries your insides no matter where you step. Oh.they carved me up like trees in November. I-I suppose that's to keep the frost out but I'm still cold. Scully, please, can you do something for me?" Scully nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak. "When they come back to find me, tell them that when they were inside my head, they left a gate open. It keeps on banging open and shut all the time and it hurts like hell. Let them know, though, that I'm not complaining. You complain about gates or being chopped up like firewood and it's the leaves for you. They burn you all up." Mulder paused and looked around him, as if he had heard someone speak and was trying to locate the speaker. "Haddaway, Scully! The train is coming back and they got such wonderful hearing for a steam engine. They'll follow my voice here and I'll be nothing more but broken glass by morning." Scully stepped out of the room at a loss for words. She stood in silence, trying to come to terms with what had just happened. The orderly closed the door behind them and looked at Scully. "Don't worry 'bout him, ma'am," the orderly said, absent-mindedly. "It was probably just the split on his head that was doing the talking." "What happened to him?," Scully asked immediately. "It's amazing really that he's even alive," the orderly said, not considering Scully's question. He sounded like a tour guide, as if he had said this countless times. "Should be dead or in a coma or something." "What happened to him," Scully repeated, losing her patience. "Well," the orderly begun, trying to sound important and scientific, "in the cerebral cortex, you know the part of the brain that deals with senses and theoretically with intellect, we found.there was.um.well, a piece of a dog's brain was surgically inserted into that man's brain." "What?!," Scully shouted. "I know, it's amazing that he's still alive." Scully chewed on her bottom lip, considering all that was told to her by the orderly. The cerebral cortex deals with intellect, Scully repeated to herself. What did the Voice tell her about the purpose of all this? To gain undeniable proof of canine emotions, thoughts and intelligence. Could that explain the use of the cerebral cortex? Scully shook her head. "Are you sure that it was a dogs-" "Yes, ma'am. Got the dog here in the morgue. Autopsy shows that a part of it's brain, right at the cerebral cortex, was cut out so it only makes sense..." Scully blinked, remembering the dog on the operating table that she had seen in Chartwell. The orderly laughed. "You know this isn't the first time this has happened." Scully turned to the orderly. "What?" "Well, never to people but they've done it to rats. Give 'em a part of human brain and they suddenly get more intelligent. Done quite a few times too, to make sure it worked. Rather amazing experiment. But I don't see how it would have been useful reversed. You shouldn't be able to get smarter by havin' parts of dog in your head. You see ma'am, that man in there should be dead but by some miracle he's not. He's.um.well, he's become intelligent." "What do you mean?," Scully asked, heart pounding with anticipation. Could it be true that the Chartwell experiment works? "I think," began the orderly, "smarter than people. You see, the instant he was brought in here, he knew who I was. Knew my name, my life, dreams, secrets. I don't know how but it's like.he could get inside my brain and know my every thought and memory. And I'm not the only one either. Everyone here, patients, staff, he knows them all." Scully shook her head in disbelief. "How?," she asked, not knowing what else to say. "That's the big mystery." Scully sat alone in the long, empty hall. What could she do? How could she help her partner? Her partner. She could not rid herself of what Mulder had become. Was he her partner still? He had seemed like a stranger to her.something, or someone, that have never touched her life. Scully could not help felling that her partner was lost; that he was dead and could not return. Her dream, the one she had the first night in Chartwell, came back to her. She had believed then that Mulder was struck dead from a train. He had saved her life at the loss of his own. Everything, life included, seemed to become an endless void to Scully, without meaning or purpose. What was she to do? ________________________________________________________________________ Three days later May 8th Tuesday The traffic went by at an annoyingly slow pace; the bright green car in front of April Stockton had barely moved in the past minute. However, unlike the other motorists on the heavily jammed interstate, April was in no hurry to arrive to her destination; in fact, she welcomed the crowded traffic. April was a small animal veterinarian who had been asked to come into work not to heal a sick cat or conduct surgery to a dog that was hit by a car but simply to talk to someone as if she was a therapist. She defended the fact that she was an animal doctor, not a psychologist, and could not possibly perform the task required of her. After April was told that this meeting would definitely be worth her while, she finally decided, simply out of curiosity, to meet with this person. She had been given several detailed and meticulous reports and, after reading through all of them, concluded that what she scanned over was impossible. As the traffic disappeared around her like a vanishing mist, April begun to fear that now she was wasting her time. April Stockton turned off the crowded interstate and onto Cedar Road, a boring stretch of paved asphalt with nothing but plain houses on either side of it. The sign for the Cedar Animal Hospital, and the gray building behind it, became visible more quickly than April would have expected or wished. With a sigh, April turned into the gravel parking lot and, with the rotation of her keys, turned the engine of her car off. She languidly approached the building but paused slightly before entering in order to regain her composure. No matter how pointless this visit may be, she still had to look professional. With a false smile, April entered the animal hospital. The familiar smell of disinfectants and bleach was heavy in the air and the constant booming barks of the imprisoned dogs vibrated the walls. Jamie, one of the numerous assistants working at Cedar Animal Hospital, was sitting behind the front desk looking through a patient's files. A dog owner waited patiently while his pet Border Collie mix watched him eagerly, hopeful for treats and toys. April looked into the waiting room, searching for the person she was suppose to interview, but found it empty except for a woman who had no animal with her. The fact that there was someone with no pet with them did not confuse April in the least; the woman was probably waiting for her pet to be retrieved from the boarding kennels. April turned to the assistant. "Jamie, where is that guy I was suppose to talk to?" The woman in the waiting room looked up suddenly but said nothing. "Waiting in your office, Dr. Stockton," the assistant replied cheerfully. April turned to leave but the assistant called out to her again. "Dr. Stockton?" April faced the assistant again. "What is it?" "Don't wear your coat." "What?!" "The whitecoat, ma'am. He doesn't like the whitecoats." April frowned but took off her white lab coat and began walking down the long wooden hallway to her office. She turned the silver knob of the door marked DR. APRIL STOCKTON and stepped inside. "Hello, I'm Doctor-" April stopped her introductions short when she first glanced upon the man she was suppose to interview. He had plenty of white bandages wrapped thickly around his head that gave the impression that the man was wearing a ridiculous hat. The fact that the man had gauze around his head was not the cause of April's interruption; April had read in the man's files that he had a brain surgery of some kind and was expecting something to be on the man's head. It was the man's eyes that made April cease talking. He was staring at April with such an intense gaze that it was almost like he could look straight into her, as if he could read her thoughts. April had only seen something like this once before and that was when she was treating a Shiba Inu. One of the breed traits of the diminutive, spitz- like dog was that it would often stare at it's owner in the same manner as the man was looking at her now. April shook her head and tried to forget the connection she made. "I'm Doctor April Stockton," she repeated, looking away from the man's eyes. "I- I'm sorry that I'm late." "No need to apologize," the man said, flatly. April swallowed hard. "And I suppose you're Agent Mulder?," she asked, even though it was clear who the man was. Agent Mulder nodded. April reached into her pocket and took out a small tape recorder. "I suppose someone later is going to want to hear this," she said nervously and, pressing the recording button, placed the tape recorder on her desk. April took a deep breath. "I really don't know what I'm suppose to talk to you about. I'm not a therapist. I'm just a vet. I'm suppose to work with animals, not people." "You think you are wasting your time?," the man asked. April frowned. "That's exactly what I think." Agent Mulder said nothing. "How did you know what I was thinking?," April asked. "It's rather obvious." April sighed. "I'm sorry.it's just that in your reports it says that.Well, I guess I should start with the basics. You were investigating a kidnapping in the town of.of." April paused, trying to remember the name of the town that was written in the reports. "Chartwell," the man answered. "Yes, Chartwell. You, yourself, was kidnapped and.well.something happened to you during that time. You were found a couple of days later in a ditch in the side of the road by a motorist who thought you got hit by a car. You were then taken to a hospital where you claimed to know everyone there." April laughed. "In your report it said that you could read people's minds! Well that's rather impossible, isn't it? To suddenly know everything about everyone just because you have.you have." The man was quiet for a brief second before speaking. "The mind of a dog." "Yes, the mind of a dog." April shook her head. "I'm telling you it's impossible.a man with the mind of a dog! People don't get smart because they have pieces of dog in them! It's pure fiction!" The man smiled. "I completely agree with you." April frowned. "What?" "I completely agree with you. I don't know who got the idea in the first place but I am not more intelligent, I don't know everything about anyone, and I certainly don't read people's thoughts. I'm just the same person as I always was. Only now-" "You have a piece of a dog's brain in your head." "I not denying that," the man said replied, earnestly. "I've had plenty of CAT- scans and PET-scans to prove it. But that does not mean that I have become more intelligent or anything like that. I'm just lucky that I'm not dead right now." "I was just wondering," April asked. "How did you escape from them? From Chartwell, I mean." Agent Mulder's smiling and knowing face rapidly changed to a tormented and haunted look. This was obviously a subject the man was touchy on and April all at once regretted asking the question. Agent Mulder sighed. "Honestly, I don't remember a thing that happened. I think someone helped me get out but I can't be sure." The man abruptly cried out in pain and brought his hands to his bandaged head. "Are you all right?," April asked. Agent Mulder only answered with a short nod. "It'll pass," he whispered slowly. "It always does." The time past slowly and yet the man neither spoke nor took his hands from his head. He appeared to be in intense pain but, other than his first cry, made no other noise. His eyes were sealed shut and he trembled slightly. Three minutes went by before the man finally opened his teary eyes and took his shaking hands from his head. "Sorry about that," Agent Mulder whispered, sounding as if there was nothing at all unusual about what had just happened to him. "Are you all right?," April repeated, unsure what else to say. The man smiled weakly. "I'm fine. That's just the price I have to pay." "Pay for what?," April asked, confused. The man laughed. "For being stupid. None of this would have happened if I had been doing a better investigation." April shook her head. So much for intelligence, April thought. "My sentiments exactly," Agent Mulder said suddenly. Alarmed, April's pulse raced and she was tremendously frightened. How did he know what she was thinking? "W-what do you mean?," April asked, her voice quivering. Agent Mulder looked up at her and seemed confused as to why she became abruptly afraid. "That picture," the man said, pointing. "The one that says ' Punish the deed; Not the breed'." April laughed with relief. "Oh, is that all? I thought." April balked. "Well, I." "You thought I was reading your mind?" April, too proud to admit what she believed, found that she could not answer. April said nothing and tried to limit her thoughts; even though she would not acknowledge it, she still feared that the man before her was in some way telepathic. She looked up at Agent Mulder and her eyes met his. There was that same look in his eyes, as if he could read her thoughts. He was gazing at her with such an intense and penetrating stare that she felt he could look straight through her. His stare bore past her skin and tissue directly into her mind, reading her thoughts like words on a page. Quietly, in the back of her mind, came a mocking voice, I know everything that you know. April gasped and, her heart in a frantic fit, tried to clear the words from her mind. She was ready to bolt from the room had it not have been for a knock at the door. Jamie, the assistant, stepped inside the office. "Dr. Stockton?," she asked. "Yes?," April responded without attempting to keep the panic from her voice. Jamie frowned at April's frightened appearance. April realized that she had been so ready to run from the room that she was now half-out of her chair. April presently sat down again. "Yes? What is it?," April repeated. "The woman with the Malinois is here." "Thank you, Jamie," April replied, relieved that she had an excuse to leave the room. "I'll be right out." The assistant, after one last glance at her superior, turned and left the room. April signed, thankful that the interview was over, and took the tape out of the tape recorder and gave it to Agent Mulder. "I guess that's it then," she said. Agent Mulder stood without a word and left the office. April, also leaving the office, picked up her white lab coat but decided not to put it on until the man left the building. The woman with the Malinois was waiting at the front desk as Jamie looked through an enormous white file cabinet for the dog's files. April turned to the waiting room and saw that the same woman still remained without a pet. Why was it taking so long for her to get her pet back?, April wondered, worrying about the reputation of her animal hospital. Once Agent Mulder entered the waiting room, the woman stood up, ready to leave, and April understood. The woman was not waiting for her pet, she was waiting for the man to come back from the interview. The woman said something which April could not hear and then the two of them finally started for the door. As they passed the front desk, the man looked down at the Malinois. The Malinois looked back at the man. Both froze, eyes locked onto each other. April blinked. She had never seen a dog look at anyone like that before. April had never seen a dog behave like that before either. The Malinois was neither acting aggressively nor affectionately. It was instead focusing all of its attention to the man. The man too was entirely focused on the dog, staring at it with that same gaze that caused April to believe he was reading her thoughts. "Come on, Mulder," the woman said gently. Agent Mulder lingered for a moment before following the woman outside. The Malinois watched the man go silently. "Well that was strange," the owner of the Malinois said, laughing. "The guy must have been good with animals. My dog doesn't even look at me that way!" May 10th Thursday Scully could not help but be worried about Mulder. It was not only the experiment and it's affects on her partner that troubled her, it was also Mulder's behavior. At first Mulder would not talk to her at all, and if that was not bad enough he then declared to boycott sleep and now he was refusing stubbornly to return to work, a first for him. Mulder's life was the x-files and now all Mulder wanted to do was brood silently at home. Scully feared that his traumatic experience at Chartwell was taking it's unrelenting toll but every time she tried to get Mulder to talk about it, she received nothing but silence. If Scully tried to call him, Mulder would not answer his phone. When she went to his apartment, he never answered his door. When Scully unlocked his door, letting herself in, she would always find him in the same place. He would be sitting on his black leather couch unmoved, with his eyes closed and his hands under his chin, appearing as if he was constantly lost in thought. Scully was beginning to doubt if he ever moved at all. But she had taken all she could stand. Today was going to be different, Scully mused as she pulled her car out of the FBI parking garage. Today she was going to force him to answer her. She did, after all, deserve some assurance that her partner was not slowly fading away into psychosis. By the time she got to Mulder's apartment, it was already late. The night was clear, calm and cold and Scully shivered slightly as she stepped out from her parked car. Scully glanced up at the building and it all at once seemed surreal; the moon-lit bricks under a star-lit backdrop. Scully paused, trying to figure out what made the familiar apartment appear so different, but she felt nothing more. Untroubled, she approached the apartment, entered the waiting elevator, and pressed the button that would bring her to the forth floor. The elevator lurched upward like some clumsy, lumbering beast and Scully was presently on the floor she requested. Scully got off the elevator and it, with an annoying ding!, snapped its steal jaws closed. Scully approached the door marked 42 and knocked loudly. "Mulder?," Scully called out when she received no answer to her knocking. "Mulder, it's me." Scully was not surprised when all she heard was silence. She dug into her pocket, fished out her keys and unlocked the door herself. Mulder was where he had always been, still sitting motionless on his couch. Scully sat down next to him and watched her partner with concern. If he knew she was there, he did not show it. "Mulder, we need to talk." Scully expected Mulder to be surprised at hearing her speak but he did not flinch. "Talk," Mulder decreed, deadpan and unmoving. "I'm worried about you," Scully replied, passionately. Mulder said nothing. "Mulder, talk to me," Scully said, her patience ebbing. "Listen, I know you must be worried about the experiment, but the doctors say you are going to be fine." Mulder still was silent. "I want to help you," Scully urged. "But I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong." "I'm not sick, Scully," Mulder muttered, sounding bored. "But something's bothering you," Scully finished for him. Mulder groaned softly and rubbed his eyes. "Nothing's bothering me," he said, suddenly defensive. "It's just that-" Mulder stopped himself and returned to his silent state. "What?," Scully asked, desperate to know. "You'll think I'm crazy," Mulder whispered back. "What?," Scully pressed on. Mulder took his hands from his eyes and looked at Scully for the first time. "Promise," he whispered, a helpless tone in his voice. "no hospitals?" "Okay," Scully agreed. The last thing either of them needed was for Mulder to be institutionalized like the Prophet. Mulder swallowed hard and leaned close to Scully. "I hear everything twice." Scully unconsciously leaned away from her partner in alarm. "What?" Mulder seemed to have expected this response and did not appear to be troubled with Scully's behavior. "Remember Gibson Praise," Mulder said simply. Scully nodded, but was still confused. "Is that what's bothering you?," Scully asked, helpfully. Mulder said nothing and reverted back to rubbing his eyes. "Mulder," Scully said angrily when she realized that he was not going to talk to her anymore. "I don't understand." "No," Mulder replied in despair, "you don't." "What does this have to do with Gibson?," Scully impelled Mulder on. He was silent. "Talk to me, damn it!," Scully shouted at him, her anger flaring. Mulder did not seemed surprised in the least at Scully's rage. "Remember Gibson Praise?," Mulder asked, dully. Scully ground her teeth in annoyance. "Yes," Scully growled. And Mulder said nothing more. "I don't know what you mean." Mulder opened his eyes slowly. "Something is going to happen," Mulder stated simply, changing the subject. He did not appear to be frightened or alarmed at his prediction but remained neutral. "What?," Scully asked, playing along. "I don't know.Something important. Won't come soon, though. We'll have to wait." Scully could not help herself. "What is going to happen?" Mulder smiled and looked at her. "Nothing to worry about. Just something I need to check up on, that's all. It's hard.always moving. Like the sea." Scully shook her head, perplexed. "I don't understand what you're saying." Mulder laughed, sounding more as if on cue than if he was shocked at Scully's words. "And you'll probably never will," Mulder said. ________________________________________________________________________ Far Hills, New Jersey Route 202 May 16th Wednesday Scully had no idea were she was going or even why she was in the middle of New Jersey but still she drove onwards into the unknown. All Scully knew was why she was driving; Mulder had called her early in the morning stating that he needed to be in New Jersey but never said why. Too worried to have Mulder drive alone, Scully offered to take him where ever he needed to be. To Scully's relief, Mulder took Scully's offer with little protest. Mulder, leaning back into the passenger chair, kept his eyes closed during the entire ride. The only time he would speak was when he was telling Scully to turn down another road. Scully had no idea how Mulder knew where he was going since he refused to open his eyes. Scully could not believe that Mulder had memorized some directions and would not allow herself to think that he was being pulled towards their secret destination by forces unknown. Mulder broke the silence once again. "Turn here," he said in a tired voice. "But there's not a road," Scully disputed. "Turn whenever you get the chance. And then stop." Scully did as Mulder wished and turned off Route 202 as soon as she could. She pulled over to the side of the road and saw an enormous field stretched out before her. Mulder did not move until the car was completely stopped and then rushed out of it as if trying to make up for lost time. Mulder dashed into the field but stopped before he made any progress. He looked up into the sky and remained unmoved. Scully walked to her partner's side and looked at the field. There was nothing there except two FBI agents. "Well?," she asked. "Where is it?" "Not here," Mulder whispered, sounding disappointed. "I knew that.but I had hoped.well, she's not here anymore. We just started too late this time." Mulder walked back to the car. "Who?," Scully shouted after him. "Who were you looking for?" Mulder did not reply. "Not Samantha," Scully said, not wanting to believe that was why they had come out here. Mulder stopped and turned around. "Won't know until we find out, right? We'll just have to try again later." Scully sighed. "You mean we are out here on a whim?" "No, no," Mulder corrected. "She was here. Just not now." "Well where is she now?" Mulder looked up at the sky and squinted at the sun. "Don't know. I'll find out soon enough." And with that Mulder turned around and walked back to the car. Scully had no choice but to follow, get into the car and reroute their way back home; riding on roads already traveled. ________________________________________________________________________ You torment yourself because of.dogs, because of their silence on crucial questions; you assert that they know more than they admit, more than they will allow to be valid, and that this silence.makes it unendurable for you.that may be; but you are yourself a dog, you also have the dog knowledge; well, bring it out. If you utter it, who will think of opposing you? -from the short story, "Investigations of a Dog", written by Franz Kafka May 18th Friday Scully walked purposefully down the halls of the FBI headquarters; her mission was to locate the ever important coffee machine which, as the days went by, became more and more vital to her. Yesterday had been another long day, and, like the rest of the days in her week, had her up at six in the morning and in bed at midnight. It had been two weeks since Scully and Mulder fled from the Riivendale Hospital to escape the peril of Chartwell and so much has changed in that time that it was unbelievable, almost as unbelievable as the cases Mulder and Scully no longer perused. Scully could always notice those changes as she wove her way in and out of the maze of fellow FBI agents. People would stop what they were doing and stare at her. Others would stop talking whenever she would walk by and restart their conversations again with, "Have you heard about agent Mulder?.". Scully ground her teeth and pressed on. Scully found the coffee machine and hurried towards it, preparing to make this trip as fast as she can in order to avoid those around her. But she was not fast enough. Seconds after reaching her destination, a male agent with a name tag that declared that he was Andrew Stewards came up to her. Scully tried to ignore him and he pretended that he was getting coffee. "So," he began, sounding casual, "how is agent Mulder?" Scully knew it was coming; the question was inevitable. After their talk in Mulder's apartment, Mulder had agreed to return to work but still seemed unhappy at the idea. Except for the bandage that surrounded his head, Mulder was the same person as before and no longer talking in his bizarre language. Scully remembered that day well. Mulder had walked into his basement office and merely stood in the doorway, as if looking at his office for the first time. He slowly went to his desk and picked up the cases that had been left there. He held the files and took one in particular, flipping through the papers. He suddenly put the file down, turned to Scully and said, "I know where he is." The next moment the two of them were in Connecticut knocking on the door of an old and dilapidated house. A man of forty had answered the door but before Scully could introduce herself and her partner Mulder had forced his way into the house and shoved the confused man brutally into the wall. Not heeding the protests from the man or his partner, Mulder proceeded to tell the man every detail imaginable about the crimes he had committed and gotten away with. Nothing was left unsaid; Mulder had even told the man what he was thinking at the time. Half of an hour later, Mulder's narrative was finished. The man, terrified beyond words, admitted to the crimes and was ultimately arrested. Mulder's reputation at the FBI changed dramatically."Spooky" hardly seemed to fit him anymore. Agents no longer laughed at him behind his back but now, when they saw him walking down the halls, immediately got out of his way. They all were afraid of him and Scully knew exactly what they were thinking (partly because she was thinking the same thing herself) - how could a man take one look at a file that hardly contained any information at all and suddenly was able to find the murderer? Many of the agents had called it a fluke but Mulder soon showed them wrong by doing it again.and again.and again. Soon Mulder changed from "the FBI's most unwanted" into a new celebrity. Agents begun lining up at his office, showering him with their unsolved and difficult cases. The hushed whispers and laughs of "that guy believes in aliens" changed into the proud and respectful proclaims of "have you seen what he can do?". People spoke his name now with pride and admiration. Scully should have been happy for her partner but could not shake the feeling that everything was wrong. Mulder was not suppose to be a honorary agent, he was someone who the FBI wanted out of sight and out of mind. Agents should be laughing at his crazy theories not praising his amazing abilities. What had happened?, Scully thought. Was Mulder lost, his old self eaten away by Chartwell, or was there still hope? Scully had wanted to believe that the later was true. Almost every day she had driven Mulder to as many hospitals and clinics as she could find but received the same reply from all of them: that there was nothing she could do to reverse the effects of the experiment. "Consider it a miracle," one doctor had told her after witnessing Mulder's amazing and unexplainable ability of precognition. Scully shook her head at the memory. Was this gift really a miracle or was it a curse? "So," the agent said, "how is agent Mulder?" "Fine," Scully whispered annoyingly, "just fine." "You know," he began again, "I got this one case.really hard to solve-" "Why don't you ask him about it yourself?," Scully shot back, angered. "Well, you see, that's the thing. He's locked his doors." "Then leave him alone," Scully growled as she turned away, coffee in hand, and headed back to the basement. Scully learned long ago to avoid the elevators because, allowed with no escape inside the steel cage, she either had to answer the other agents bombardment of questions or act as if she had became suddenly deaf. Scully became an outcast in self-exile; she had withdrawn from any possible contact from her fellow agents. She repressed any desire to talk to them and averted away from their presence. Her pulse would automatically race when anyone she did not know would walk past her or stand by her. The only place where she felt safe from them was inside Mulder's office or in her apartment. Outside of either sanctuary Scully felt vulnerable and defenseless. Was it then selfishness that caused Scully to despise Mulder's new-found fame? Scully descended from the rarely-used stairwell and approached Mulder's office. Not bothering to knock on the door for admittance, Scully took out her key to the office and unlocked to door. She stepped inside without a word and locked the door behind her. Scully turned to her partner who was sitting at his desk, asleep. That did not surprise her in the least; she usually found Mulder sleeping. Mulder had, because of what happened to him in Chartwell, suffered from horrifying nightmares that affected him long after waking. Mulder was so afraid of his vivid and frightening nightmares that he set out to avoid them at any cost. Not following Scully's advice on seeking medical help, Mulder decided that the best way to escape his dreams would be to not sleep at all. Mulder had struggled for five days before the oppressive tiredness became too much for him to bear but even now, two weeks later, Mulder still tried to get as little sleep as humanly possible. The evidence that he was failing miserably was right before her; if Mulder kept still for even a minute, he would most probably fall asleep. Scully sipped her coffee and sat down quietly in the chair that faced her partner's desk. While she sat there waiting for Mulder to wake up, Scully recalled what the Voice had told her about the importance of Mulder's experiment. It was suppose to make him the most intelligent creature in the world and, since his intellect would have been acquired by the implantation of a piece of a dog's brain into his own, prove that animals have emotions and thoughts. Except for his impossible knowledge of the cases he received and his insight into the lives of the staff and patients at the Riivendale Hospital, Mulder showed little knowledge of anything else. If he knew the mystery of human and animal existence, Scully had yet to hear of it. But, as Scully recalled, Mulder always seemed to have a far-away look in his eye, a look Scully had seen dozens of times when her partner was fitting the pieces together of cases long since past. So what was he doing now? Putting together the pieces of the great puzzle of Knowledge? Or did he already know? Scully had always wanted to ask Mulder what it was that he knew or if the experiment had even worked at all. But Scully would never allow herself to ask the all- important question. If Mulder wanted to her to know what he supposedly knew, he would have told her already. But still the desire burned in Scully's heart to attain the secret Knowledge - Knowledge that was solely hidden within the dog - like the woman before her who ate apples from forbidden trees. Suddenly, Mulder awoke with a start. He glanced quickly and fearfully around his office, seeking the nightmarish threat that had terrified him. Slightly satisfied that he was merely frightened by bad dreams, Mulder turned to his partner. "You should have woke me up you came in, Scully," Mulder said accusingly. Mulder rubbed his face with his hands and murmured to himself, "When ever I close my eyes they come back." "It was only a dream, Mulder," Scully said, as comforting as she could. "It is only a dream," he repeated softly. "When I was asleep it all seemed so true.so real that I thought it was actually happening." Scully shifted uneasily in her chair and took another sip of her coffee. "Um.any new cases?," Scully asked, unsure what else to say. Mulder sighed miserably. "Unfortunately," he replied, giving a cheerless and loathsome look at the stack of files on his desk. He was silent for a long time before he tragically whispered, "I hate this job, Scully. It's.terrible. Ever since we left Chartwell I have only done the work of others because I have a Gift and they do not. There is no joy in that." Scully nodded with empathy. She understood exactly what Mulder was feeling; she despised the Gift, Mulder's Knowledge, almost as much as he did. Scully also understood why Mulder hated his Gift as much as he did; he was assigned to the x-files and should not be solving every case in the FBI. Scully had also become aware of her immense pointlessness in working with Mulder. Professionally, Mulder no longer needed her. Now, all it took for Mulder to solve a case was a simple glance at a piece of paper. Mulder did not even have to leave his office anymore since an entire host of agents was ready to make the arrests. All Scully could do now was keep Mulder company in the lonely, oversized office. She was positive that the FBI was not going to pay her to keep partnership with a fellow agent when she could not contribute to the case-solving. The threat of being sent to Quantico to teach students again was constantly on Scully's mind. Mulder took a deep breath and continued. "I'm sick of it. I hate coming here. I hate this office and I hate the x-files. I just want it all to end." Mulder paused, as if amazed at what he had said. He looked at Scully and there was a deep melancholy in his eyes. "I'm going to quit." Scully stared back at her partner, the shock of his words turning her mind completely blank. "You.you can't," she said, her reply filled with emotion, although she knew it to be in Mulder's best interest to leave. "Why?," Mulder asked, desperate to escape from the job he loathed without hurting his partner. "Why should I continue searching for the truth when I already know what it is?" Scully, her heart beginning to pound wildly, gasped in astonishment. It had been the first time she had ever heard Mulder speak of the Knowledge he was suppose to have or even acknowledge that it was there. She instantly forgot that Mulder was proposing to quit. "What truth?" Mulder gave a weak laugh and looked around his office. "You said it yourself, Scully." Scully gave Mulder a look that suggested that she had no idea what he was talking about. "It is only a dream. I must be asleep, Scully. How else can you explain why all this is happening? Or why the world has gone bad? The whole world has become a nightmare, Scully, can't you see it?" Scully had no time to hear any more of Mulder's nonsense. After recovering from the mild shock, she begun to seek for a reasonable answer as to why Mulder should not quit. "Where are you going to work?," she asked. Mulder shook his head slowly. "I'm not going to work. I can't." "Then how are you going to make money?" "I don't need any. There is nothing that I want." "You need money to keep your apartment. Where else are you going to live?" Mulder looked up at Scully, desperately. "I can live with you, can't I?" Scully, her heart stopping all at once upon hearing Mulder's plea, looked up at her partner. For an long time Scully was silent, her mind busily trying to keep up with the bombardment of thoughts that raced through it. "Why?," she finally asked. "Because it's not right to be alone. The others. well, they have always had someone to care for them. You know, they've all got masters-" Mulder stopped suddenly and seemed absolutely terrified at what he just said. "Wait! I-I mean that they.they never are alone. it's never happened to them." Scully stared at Mulder, utterly confused at what he had said. "What are you talking about?" "Please.I've got no where else to go." Scully swallowed hard and looked away from her partner's despairing eyes. In any ordinary circumstance, Scully would have done anything to help Mulder. Now, however, Scully was less inclined to offer aid and support. Scully had an overwhelming sensation that everything was wrong; that the world has gone mad. Nothing was the same as it has been and nothing seemed to make sense. Scully swallowed hard and met her partner's eyes. "No, Mulder," Scully responded with both compassion and extreme difficulty. Scully would have expected her partner to react to her words with profound sorrow but Mulder instead glared at Scully hatefully, a savage light in his eyes. Scully leaned back in the chair that faced Mulder's desk. "Mulder-" she whispered, alarmed. "What?! It isn't enough that I saved you from this?," Mulder barked fiercely, pointing at his bandaged head. "Do you have any idea what it's like? To know everything? To read people's thoughts? Do you even know what I must suffer? I've done this all for you and you don't even have the decency to give me a place to live?" Before Scully could object or explain, Mulder cried out in pain. His hands rushed instantly to his head as he made a grimace of agony and annoyance. "Oh.damn these gates! Damn these gates!," Mulder sobbed, his eyes filling with tears, as he had to suffer once again for his partner's behalf. Scully, her doctoral and sympathetic attitude resurfacing, quickly got up from her chair and rushed to Mulder's side, ready to provide what comfort she could. She slowly and carefully helped her partner to the floor. As soon as Mulder laid down, he instantly twisted into a fetal position, pressing his fists into his temples, as if trying desperately to curb the intense pain. All the while Mulder was silent and did not express what tormenting anguish he must have felt. Scully, at a loss of what she could do to help Mulder, thought immediately of calling an ambulance. "No whitecoats!," Mulder cried out, his voice shaken. "Damn whitecoats!" Scully blinked at Mulder, amazed. She took her partner's statement to mean that he did not want her to call for an ambulance. But how did he know that when she was not even reaching for her cell phone? Mulder took his quivering hands from his bandaged head and Scully knew, with a sigh of relief, that the worst was over. Mulder sat up slowly and pressed his trembling body against his partner's - not in an affectionate way but instead as a way to reassure himself that she was real, that he was not alone in his nightmare world. Scully took Mulder's hand and placed her two forefingers on his wrist. Mulder's pulse was racing wildly. He was pale and was staring blankly into space. "Mulder," Scully said, concerned, "I need to get you to a doctor." Mulder closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out Scully's words, and faced his partner. "Please don't," he replied haggardly, too tired and worn to protest. "No one is going to hurt you." Mulder smiled weakly. "What are they going to do," Mulder whispered, languidly, "when they find out how important I am? All the men and women of science will have to talk to me. They will never leave me alone until they are able to find and keep all of my Knowledge. And when I die they'll have to do the same experiment to some one else so that they will always have my Knowledge. Please don't take me to the doctors, Scully." Mulder took a deep breath and said, "I can cure it, Scully." Scully, who was ready to explain to Mulder why he needed to go to the hospital, was taken aback by his words. "Cure what?," she asked, startled. "The experiment. What Chartwell did to me." "Well." Scully paused. "Well, what is the cure?" Mulder shook his head sadly. "I couldn't do it Scully. I can't." "Why not?," Scully asked tenderly. "Mulder, if you-" "It's not me I'm afraid for," Mulder replied, interrupting his partner, "it's you." Scully blinked, confused. "Me? What do I have to do with it?" Mulder smiled. "Everything. Believe me, I know." "Well, why don't you cure it?" "What if I'm wrong?," Mulder asked. "It could be possible, me being wrong. Just to think what will happen to you if I'm wrong.no, I couldn't cure it. Even if I wanted to." Mulder slowly forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall behind him for support. "I'm going home. I need to sleep," he said in a tired voice. "If anyone asks about me tell them.tell them I'll be back on Monday." With that Mulder walked to the door and left his office room. Scully followed instantly, not sure that Mulder should be walking so soon after one of his turns. She opened the door and looked down the hallway but Mulder was gone. How could that be?, Scully thought to herself. She had left the room nearly at the exactly same time as Mulder did but he was nowhere to be seen. It was almost as if he had vanished into the walls. To be or not to be - that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And, by opposing, end them. -from the play Hamlet, written by William Shakespeare, Act III, sc. 1, 64-68 May 20th Sunday Scully awoke suddenly from a dreamless sleep and had a strange feeling that her life was in danger. Scully looked about her moon-lit room, her eyes trying to adjust to the dim light in order to find the danger that threatened her. Scully quickly gave up looking in the darken room and turned on her bedside lamp. The room was immediately bathed in a surreal yellow glow that brightened up every corner and detail of her room. Scully sat up in her bed and searched the little bedroom but there was no one there to endanger her. Scully silently listened for light footfalls or other noises that would tell her that there was someone in her house but Scully could hear nothing save for her own breathing. Scully settled back down into her warm, pale-green-and-white sheets, satisfied that she was alone in her apartment. What was it then that had woken her? It must have been some unknown aspect of her dreamless sleep that had made her wake with such a start. Scully, pleased that she had solved the mystery to her wakefulness, glanced casually over to the alarm clock that sat on the wooden desk next to her bed. The red, digital readout proclaimed that the time was 5:16 A.M. Scully yawned, annoyed that she had be awake at such an early time on the weekend, and plunged graciously into her bed. With a smile of content bliss, Scully closed her eyes and waited for the return of sleep. Sleep had grown increasingly stubborn ever since Scully awoke and would not allow her access to the Dreamlands again. Scully slowly opened her eyes and decided she was much to alert to fall back to sleep. She sat up in her bed and stretched her weary arms. Stealing another glance at her alarm clock, Scully discovered that the time was 5:57. And only a minute ago it was 5:16! How did forty one minutes pass so quickly? Perhaps Scully had fallen asleep after all. Scully forced herself to crawl out of the pile of comforting blankets and into her less welcoming kitchen. She gazed at the black landscape outside of her window and saw the outline of a dark man. Scully blinked again and the figure was gone. Scully sighed softly and continued to make her way to the kitchen. She made a breakfast consisting of cereal with milk and begun to eat the insignificant meal. Suddenly there was a loud banging on her front door. Scully, puzzled, stood slowly from her chair and walked to the door. "Who's there?," Scully asked. "Scully, it's me!," came Mulder's voice from the other side of the door. "Please let me in!" Scully groaned with annoyance. The last thing Scully wanted to deal with today was her partner. "Mulder," Scully pleaded, angrily, "go home." "Please! I've got to tell you something!" Scully shook her head. She was not about to sacrifice the last of the her short weekend to worry over any more of Mulder's plans. Scully turned and walked back to her unfinished breakfast. "Tell me on Monday," she answered. "Wait!," came Mulder's voice again, as desperate as ever, "I know how to cure it!" Scully stopped and looked back at the door. Was Mulder going to finally tell her how to the cure the Chartwell experiment? Scully, determined to find out, went back to her front door and unlocked it. "I can cure it," Mulder repeated once the door had been opened. "How?," Scully asked, her brain buzzing with excitement. Mulder shivered slightly. "Let me in. I'm cold." Scully, without another word, stepped aside and allowed her partner to enter. As Mulder passed her, Scully could not help but notice that he had a haunted look in his eyes. Mulder had told her on Friday that he did not want to cure his sickness because he was afraid of what would happen to her. Scully, unsure what Mulder had meant and eager to find out, shut and locked the front door. Scully turned to face her partner, ready to inquire about the cure. There was a gun being pointed at her head. Scully jumped back in surprise as her heart began to race wildly. What was Mulder doing? This could not possibly be the cure. Scully gazed nervously up at her partner, silently begging him not to do what she feared he would. Mulder barely looked like the man she once knew; he had an inhuman, determined look to him. "Mulder-," she whispered, trying to make her partner see the madness of his reasoning. How can Mulder be cured if she was dead? Mulder smiled slightly, looking as if he was deeply sorrowful. "Don't worry," he said in a honest, thoughtful tone. "You won't feel anything." Mulder was very true; Scully did not feel a thing at all. Everything suddenly went black as the world returned to darkness. ________________________________________________________________________ You are not wrong, who deem That my days have been a dream; Yet if Hope has flown away In a night, or in day, In a vision, or in none, Is it therefore the less gone? -from the poem "A Dream Within a Dream", written by Edgar Allen Poe Scully welcomed the overwhelming darkness as eagerly as if it had been the promise of a new dawn. There was nothing left to worry about here, in the Dark. Scully did not have to be afraid for her life or worry about finding the cure or wonder about Mulder's Knowledge anymore. All of that - Chartwell, it's experiments, the Voice, and even Mulder himself - was beyond her now. All that was left of the world was herself and the Dark. Scully was at peace; a feeling she had not known for many weeks. "Scully?" Scully found it strange that a voice was calling her. She had thought that she was all alone in the Dark. Who else could have been here but her? Scully, forgetting her momentary embrace with the Dark, struggled futilely out of the black mist. Somehow it was important for her to locate the speaker. "Scully?" The voice sounded very close by but, as hard as she tried, Scully was still no closer to finding the speaker. Slowly, Scully became aware of herself. At first, when she was at the beginning of the Dark, Scully believed that she was in a dream; feeling weightless and unreal. But now she felt like a person again, although very weak and tired. Scully felt as though she was lying on bed and that there was someone close to her. Was that the speaker? But how could she find him if all she could see was darkness? "Scully!" The voice seemed closer now than ever and Scully, much to her amazement, opened her eyes. She was not in a world of blackness and nothingness after all. After the darkness of unconsciousness started to drift away, Scully saw that everything had gone white. Slowly, very slowly, the place she was at focused into view. She was in a room with bare white walls and a white, shiny door. Scully wondered dimly where she was at. "Scully!" Scully turned sluggishly towards the voice and saw that Mulder was kneeling next to the bed she was sleeping on. He was wearing very dark clothes that made him look apart and distant from the white room. Mulder smiled upon seeing that his partner was awake and well. "Hey!," he cried out, happily. "How are you feeling?" Scully looked at Mulder and was surprised at what she saw. He was no longer donned in bandages, he head was no longer shaved to the skin and there was no stitches. How could that be true?.how could Mulder be healed? Scully remembered what Mulder had told her; that shooting her would cure him. But that was impossible! Scully looked at Mulder again and shook her head in disbelief. "What happened to you?," she whispered, too desperate for answers to keep the fright from her voice. Mulder frowned and seemed slightly troubled at his partner's remark, as if he could not understand what made Scully so alarmed. Mulder quickly looked himself over, ignorant of the fact that it was his head that concerned Scully. "What do you mean?," Mulder asked, not knowing what was wrong. Mulder stood up and peered happily down at her, seemingly too happy at seeing Scully alive and well to be interested in his own physical welfare. "Your head," Scully explained, "what happened? Why are you better?" Mulder's smile vanished under a completely baffled expression. After a moment of shocked silence, Mulder laughed. "Nothing happened to me, Scully," Mulder replied. "You were asleep." "No.but-" Scully stopped herself. It could not be true, Scully thought. She could not have been asleep. But.Had everything she experienced just a dream? Her escape from the Chartwell prison, talking to the Voice, the journey to the Riivendale Hospital and the weeks that followed.all a dream? She had witnessed everything; she thought and felt and saw and heard. It was too real to be a dream. But Scully's skeptical feeling resurfaced quickly, and with a sigh Scully came to the conclusion that Mulder must have been right; she had been asleep and merely dreamt all of the events that she had thought was real. Now that she considered it, how could she have believed that the Chartwell incident was true. A talking dog? Intelligence gained by one gigantic sweeping stroke? How else could these things exist but in the dreamlands? Mulder silently watched his partner and sighed. "I found you unconscious outside of the animal hospital. I took you here as soon as I could." Scully glanced up at Mulder. So it was real when she had been drugged by Dr. Sackman. What had happened after that? Scully remembered having a very strange dream where she was a dog; the famous Akita Hachi-ko. She had thought she had awoken from her dreams in the Chartwell prison. In reality, she must have still been asleep. Scully looked around her. "Where am I?" "A hospital in the town Riivendale. I didn't know what they did to you." Mulder was silent for a minute before saying, "They killed Deputy Knight." Scully turned to her partner in surprise and could recall lying on the road outside of the animal hospital. She recollected seeing Knight flying backwards before passing out. when I die, I will die heroically "When I got there," Mulder continued, "they were lifting you into a truck. They ran when they saw me coming." "How did you know? How did you know that I was in trouble?," Scully asked, recalling what the Prophet said about the shaft of lightning. Now that Scully could think clearly, she doubted that a Doberman had told her partner what was going to happen. "Sheriff Wetzel took me to the Community Center in Chartwell. And.," Mulder paused. "They had this white Doberman there. And.well I can't explain it but I just had a strong feeling that something was wrong." Scully denied it instantly. A dog could not have possibly communicated to Mulder that she was in trouble. But as Scully could recall, Mulder had many hunches that proved well founded. It was much more easier to accept that than the idea of talking dogs. "Where is Sheriff Wetzel?," Scully asked. Mulder looked down at the floor and shrugged guiltily. "Honestly, I don't know. There was some shots fired in the Community Center and I told Sheriff Wetzel to check it out. I don't know where he is. No one has seen or heard from him since." Scully heart raced. If Sheriff Wetzel had been taken like she had been that would mean that he would be in the prison. "Look in the-" "Scully," Mulder replied, interrupting his partner's comment, "There's nothing left. All the people are gone." Scully gaped at Mulder. "Where are they?" "I don't know. I called for backup as soon as I got you here. So far no one has been able to find a trace of them. They just vanished." Scully blinked at her partner. Where could they have all gone to? And where was Sheriff Wetzel? Was he gone too? Was he now their prisoner, to be experimented on like the Mulder in her dreams had been? "We are being sent back to Washington," Mulder added. "There's not much we can do here anyway." Scully nodded but her thoughts were focused on her dream. After a long silence, Scully whispered, "It all seemed so real. You shot me." Mulder looked down at his partner. With a vengeful gleam in his eyes, Mulder smiled mischievously and replied, "Scully, I want you to close your eyes and I want you to think to yourself there's no place like home.there's no place like home." Mulder, still smiling, turned and walked out of the shiny door, leaving Scully alone in the white room. ________________________________________________________________________ May 2nd Wednesday In a matter of a few hours, Scully was discharged from the Riivendale Hospital with nothing more than a weak headache and a hospital bracelet that would stubbornly not come off her wrist. There was nothing left that her and Mulder could do except for return to Washington D.C and continue on with their next case. Sheriff Wetzel was reported as missing as was the townspeople of Chartwell. The case remained, for the moment, unsolved. As Mulder had said, the agents sent to investigate the disappearance of the people of Chartwell had so far had come up with nothing that would point to their current whereabouts. Mulder and Scully simply had to wait for the next clue, the next kidnapping to show up. Scully stepped outside of the boring white hospital of Riivendale and into a world of color. The grass seemed greener and the growing blossoms on the trees seemed more splendid than ever. Men and women walked into the hospital carrying flowers and other simple gifts to present to some patient known to them. Some more people were walking out; some hopeful, some happy, some in tears, others neutral. Scully watched them silently, as if looking for one in particular. Her and Mulder made their way through the maze of people and into the filled parking lot beyond. The farther the two agents got from the hospital, the less people that there were until there seemed to be no one at all. Mulder, leading the way to the parked rental car, stopped suddenly. He was staring fixedly at something to his right. Scully followed her partner's gaze and was amazed at what she saw before her. There was a pit bulldog but it was unlike any dog she had ever seen. It's head had been shaved and was covered with an illimitable number of stitches. With a small gasp of surprise, Scully realized that she had seen this dog before; it was the dog in her dreams, the one in the Chartwell prison. "Hey!," Scully called out to the dog's owner, "where did you get that dog?" The dog's owner, a young woman with frizzled glowing blond hair, turned towards Scully. "From the animal shelter. I guess he was a stray." "What happened to his head?," Mulder asked out of curiosity. "I don't know," the woman replied, smiling fondly at the dog at her heels. "He was like this when I found him. Maybe he escaped an animal research lab." She laughed, obviously not believing her own comment. Mulder kneeled down and petted the little pit bulldog. "Will he bite?," Mulder asked as the little dog squirmed happily. "No. He's really affectionate." Scully slowly knelt down next to her partner and petted the dog. What if it was possible? What if this dog came from Chartwell? What if the Chartwell experiments were real and people really could gain the abilities of animals? Could this dog really be - No, Scully told herself, it was impossible. That was all in her head; it was just a dream. Just to think.a dog with the mind of a man! Scully just imagined that it happened to Mulder; that people could become intelligent from having a piece of dog brain in them. But something like this could not happen in real life. The Chartwell experiment was just a fantasy, a dream. "He's smart," Mulder said suddenly, making comment to some behavior that had escaped Scully's attention. The woman smiled proudly. "Oh, yes. He's really smart. In fact, at times he seems almost human."