(Headers and Disclaimer in Chapter One)
Chapter 17 of 20

"There it is.  Berkin's," Mulder said.

"I know this is a foolish question, but do you happen to
have a search warrant?"

"Don't need one.  I brought Zelda Deschamps with me,"

She opened the car door and got out.  "Lucky."

The middle-aged man at the climate controlled storage facility could 
not have cared less about the identity or intent of the two people in 
front of him.  He sized them up at once as reputable folk who didn't 
require his scrutiny.  He made Scully sign a receipt, gave them a key 
and went back to the televised baseball game.  As the left the office 
the television hawked a new beer and promised the latest news to those 
who stayed tuned after the game.

"Why is everyone fascinated with the Braves?" Mulder complained.  
"America's team, huh!  The Yankees are--"

"Here's the unit," she said.

They rolled up the storage unit door.

"Climate-controlled?" said Scully.  "What climate? Surface of Mars?" 
She took off her suit jacket and pushed up her sleeves.

Mulder, who had just flipped on the light, noted chafe marks around her 
wrists and the heat he felt had nothing to do with the temperature inside 
the storage. 

"Look," said Scully, her head already buried in the first cardboard box.  
"Pictures of Zelda - pregnant, with Scott, with-her grandmother I 
suppose."

Mulder took the photos and studied Zelda's face.  Open, honest, grinning.  
She resembled the elderly woman with her in another picture.  The photo 
of the elderly woman, Zelda and the young boy clearly showed they were 
related.  Mulder wondered about the woman who should be standing between 
Zelda and her grandmother.  He wondered how strongly Amelia Peterson 
looked like her mother and daughter.  Mulder slipped the photo into his
suit pocket and removed the jacket.

They didn't stumble upon the stack of 'National Geographic' magazines for 
almost an hour.  Scully dug through them at once and found a weathered 
green leather-bound notebook wedged between the July, 1973 and the August, 
1973 issues.  

The spine cracked and complained when she opened it and read the first 
page: "'To Zelda, my sweetie.  I ovelya ouyya.  Ebya arefulcya hatwha 
ouyya earnlya erehya.  Ebya eryvya arefulcya.' I love you.  Be careful what 
you learn here.  Be very careful.'"

Pig Latin? That's the code!" said Mulder.  He started to snicker. 

Scully slammed the book closed.  "We've been here too long already."

"Pig Latin, Scully?" He said as they pulled the storage door down  and 
climbed into the car.

"It's the special language of a mother and daughter.  Why would Amelia 
send this to a 12-year-old girl who missed her so desperately?" Scully 
said.

"She didn't," Mulder said as they turned out of the parking lot. 
"Donaldson dragged it out of the jungle with him and must have 
forgotten it was among Sgt. Peterson's possessions.  The Army sent it to 
Zelda with other personal items that belonged to her mother."

"You really believe Donaldson forgot about this book?" Scully began to 
scan it.

"It may not have been important to him at the time or he may not 
have realized it existed," Mulder said.  He turned the corner, noting
in his rearview mirror that a dozen police cars had just pulled 
into the storage company parking lot.

Mulder made several evasive turns, pulled across a busy intersection 
and headed for the interstate away from Washington.  Scully, her head 
in the book, did not notice.  It appeared a very absorbing read.  Her 
mouth dropped and opened wider and wider with each page.

"Any graphic sex?" he asked.

"Not so far." But she was fascinated.

"What's in there?"

"Rituals.  Religious rituals."

It was twilight.  He drove west so the sun was in Mulder's eyes.  As it 
grew dusk she looked up and said," Where are you going?"

"You didn't notice, but that storage parking lot became
very crowded when we left."

"Hmm," Scully said.  "So we're looking for a motel, right?"

"That accepts cash."

"No bugs, Mulder.  That's all I ask.  No bugs."

"What else does the book say?"

Scully ducked her head and watched her fingers rub over
the top of it.  "It appears to be a detailed description of the
mind-meld and how to achieve it."

Mulder whistled.

"Mulder, I have to ask you something."

He pulled into a motel office and threw the car into park.  "Okay."

"Don't read it."

Mulder started to make a wise remark but she looked so
Serious he swallowed it.  "Can you tell me why?"

"This mind meld as you call it - it's addictive.  It
changes people."

"And..?"

"The mind-meld is part of a religious rite," she said,
knowing she was not going to like the rest of this conversation
at all. 

He waited, his arm on the top of the steering wheel
until she added, "It's a religious rite instituted by an
offshoot or a-a perverted form of, well, the closest thing I
can think of is, Judaism mixed with a little Eastern philosophy.
It must have evolved over the centuries.  The ritual - and the
mild meld - is designed to empower women.  To expand and enhance
the natural mental gifts that have traditionally been ascribed
to women.  Instinct.  Intuition.  Manipulation of the power in
sex."

Mulder looked out the front window into the blinking neon
motel sign, then said, "I'll get the room key."

He let her go into the room first and closed the door
before he switched on the light. "Can't get much by the hour 
anymore," he said. "American hostelry standards are slipping."
 

It was as dismal -even the department store pictures on the wall 
drooped - as Scully had feared. She held the notebook in a grip so 
tightly one arm shook with the tension.  

Mulder took off his coat and tossed it in a chair.
When he glanced in the bathroom mirror he saw that Scully sat on the edge of
another chair, staring at the notebook now clasped in both
her hands. 

"I never thought it was real," she said.

"But you do now?"

She swallowed.  "Yeah."

It startled him to see her like this, in the role of believer while he 
stood outside as the skeptical observer.  He ripped off his tie and the 
noise of the silk around the neck of his shirt made her wince like it 
was a rope around her own neck.  "Scully, are you alright?"

Her eyes, wide, told him the truth.  Then her lips followed.  "I've 
never asked you to do something like this before.  I don't even know if 
I believe in what I'm saying entirely."

"Why are you so afraid of it?"

"I've seen - and heard - I've lived -- how it changes people.
Donaldson.  Bernice.  Ann Millard.  Those two inmates now
floundering in a mental institution.  I wouldn't have believed
it, but the chemical imbalances it produces are real.  I think
Donaldson's use of this technique over the years has transformed
him into two distinct personalities.  I've been trying to explain
why and can only assume it has to do with his being - initially,
at least - a man.  It has to do with male hormones versus female
ones in the brain stem." 

She caught a good breath.  "And I know that every time you use this 
mind meld your brain chemistry alters -perhaps it never quite returns 
to normal.  Myths and legends have grown up around this and that helps 
it work in those who understand how to use it."

"That book is evidence, Scully.  It can corroborate part of
your story," he said.  "Someone will have to read it."

"Not you."

"Okay, then.  Not me."  He watched her shoulders ease, her
feet unwind from the chair legs.

"Why didn't it change Zelda?"

"I don't know what she's like now, but she did kill her husband."

"H-how?" Scully didn't want to ask.

"Smothered him.  Don't ask me why the guy just laid there," Mulder
said.  "He was a bit ripe when they found him." 

Scully griped the back of the chair and stared out into
the room, seeing nothing.  Mulder came up beside her as if he
were reading the motel notices left by the television. 

"I tracked her. Even found her juvenile records - very
tough little girl," he said.  "Major discipline problem, 
psychological counseling until junior high.  Then she 
beat up a girl at school.  Serious attitude.  Definitely jail
material.  Then she hits puberty and we see someone completely 
different.  Grades shoot up.  She becomes tranquil, polite, her 
teachers love her."

"She reads her mother's journal, absorbs it, but can't use
it until the onset of menstruation."

"Late bloomer.  It changes her from wild child to flower girl," Mulder said.

"What does this have to do with Donaldson?"

"My theory?" Mulder played with the "No Smoking Room" card
propped up near the television.  "Donaldson and Zelda's mother
find this offshoot of evolved Judaism - or whatever you want to
call it in the Chinese province near the Mekong waters.  She
studies and becomes good at the mind meld and teaches it to
Donaldson.  Changes him from a second-class, low renter into
super lawyer.  He must have had more than his share of estrogen
to begin with because now-"

"That's it," Scully said, rising in excitement.  "She falls in love
with him and he persuades her to teach him the mind meld.  She does, 
even though she knows it is forbidden to men, because she loves him, 
trusts him."

"What happened to her - did he kill her?"

Scully's eyes grew wider, she looked at Mulder, paled and
for a moment he thought she was going to blurt out an answer.
"I-I'm--I think I'll shower."

She ripped off her jacket, tossed it on top of his, kicked
off her shoes and closed the bathroom door behind her in one
nearly continuous motion.

"Was it something I said?" Mulder called through the door.
His only answer was the sound of water spraying through a shower
nozzle.

What did he say, Mulder wondered.  What spooked her? This
was a Scully he did not recognize.  He stared at the notebook,
took a step toward it, then eased onto the bed.  What had Scully
said it was about?  Instinct.  Intuition.  Manipulation of the
power in sex.  Neither his eyes nor his thoughts left the
notebook.

She poked her head out of the bathroom a little
sheepishly.  "I need your tee-shirt." He stripped off his shirt
and pulled the tee shirt out of his pants and over his head.  She
accepted it without comment and closed the door.

"I-I just had to step away from it a moment," she said when she 
emerged.  She was drying her hair with a hand towel, a bath towel 
draped over her shoulder.  He made a mental note never to wear a
tee shirt again -- or at least not that one.

"While you were cooling off I've been developing a plan,"
Mulder said.  "I'm sorry to say it involves your return to prison.
Temporarily."

"We use the book as a bribe for Donaldson."

He grinned.  "Great minds think alike. The robbery proceeds and we
catch Donaldson on the scene, book in hand.  You see any flaws, 
great mind?"

She sat on the bed and almost smiled.  "One."

He cocked his head.  "Only one."

"What if there is a change of plans at the last minute?"

"Scully, you must have access to a telephone or - what about the
computer?"

She scoffed.  "I'll be marked as so incorrigible even Dr. Otis will
abandon hope.  I'll never get near a computer or phone."

"Then you have to come to me."

With horror she understood what he suggested. "You don't want that."

"Got a better idea?"

"One of my pod mates can use her phone time - or Waters!
Yes, send Waters back-"

"Scully."

"No, Mulder."

"You can do it."

"I-I don't know..."

Mulder circled her behind her and put his hands above the
top of her shoulders.  Slowly he moved them down her arms until
he encircled her.  He put his hand on her chest, mimicking the way 
she had come to him that night - when Zelda had carried her again.

"Did you think I didn't realize," he said into her ear.
"Did you think I couldn't tell you were behind me -kicking me off
my ass?"

She groaned softly, dropped her head and massaged the
bridge of her nose.  She never meant for him to know.  She closed
her eyes as he tightened his embrace to create a circle of
safety, a new comfort zone for her.

"Scully-"

"I can't control it, Mulder.  I don't know how yet.  If
something goes wrong you could be mentally damaged - or worse--"

"You couldn't escape," he said, releasing her.

In the silence which followed, the people in the room next
door turned on their television and an emergency siren shouted
through the walls, punctuating the quiet with urgency.

"I would be lost in you," she said.  "My body would die.  I
would live in you."

"You'd start watching football."

"You'd paint your nails."

Mulder rubbed his chin.  "Two people in the same body."

"You would have no thoughts that weren't mine and I
wouldn't have any ideas that weren't yours too," Scully said it
in such a soft voice he would have missed it if he hadn't been
listening so hard.  "I would disappear in you. Disappear."

Mulder's mouth dropped open and he stared as if seeing her
for the first time.  He backed away slowly, "That's it! That's
always been your greatest fear, isn't it?  Not being shot, not
imprisonment, not even the cancer- You're afraid you'll disappear?"

"It doesn't matter," she mumbled.

"Have I given you reason to fear that?"

She said nothing, merely watched her fingers entwine.

"I-I swear, Scully, I never meant-"

"You've had a taste of it - never knowing, following, worrying,
watching-"

"To protect you," he said.

"Doesn't make it less difficult," Scully said.  "Does it?"

"So this is payback or-r show and tell?"

She shook her head.  "I didn't plan it this way.  All of it
came to me."

"You embraced it," Mulder said.  It was a statement of fact, not an
accusation.

"What I knew of it, yes." In the stillness, two minds
worked in familiar rhythm toward a single goal: finding common
ground to stand on.  "Doesn't it concern you?"

"That I might think like you forever?" Mulder said.  "Might
not be too bad three-four weeks out of the month."

"I won't do it."

"Scully-"

"Even if I'm successful-" She rose to pace off her nervous
energy.  "You don't know what it does to you, how it leaves you,
how sullied you feel, invaded...I think the sickness comes when
your mind finally comprehends how you've been violated."

"It's all right."

"No, it isn't." She was angry now.  "You would resent me, perhaps be
a little afraid of me afterward."

"I'm afraid of you now," he said with a grin that vanished
almost as soon as it came.

"No."

"What do you think you'd see that you don't already know,"
he said.  He perched on the edge of the bed again, aware that she
might unconsciously feel his height threatening.

"That's not the point."

"Isn't it?"

Scully studied him.  "I have to make you understand - so
you won't ask me to do this, or-or ask me to teach you to fly,
or read that notebook."  

"You think I could badger you into doing or saying things you don't
agree with," he said in an astonished tone.

She gave him an evil look. "Don't act like it hasn't happened."  But
then she stepped close to him, so close she could see herself in his 
eyes.  "This is different, Mulder.  You think you're safe in your 
head, to think what you want - to explore feelings - test unacceptable
ideas - be the person you're afraid to be elsewhere.  Until
you've had that taken away, you don't know what vulnerable
means." 

She backed away and nearly bumped into the television
across from the bed.  The near collision seemed to stiffen her.
"If I have to serve a full sentence, I won't do that to you."

"That's a decision that's yours to make.  But what about
Andy Paige, those two bank clerks in California, and all the
others unjustly imprisoned."

She shook her head.  "We know enough now to-"

"Who would believe us? A crackpot investigator and a convicted felon?"

Speaking carefully Scully said," You are not a crackpot.  I will not
invade your-"

"You do that anyway," he said.  He stood so she could feel his
breath blow across her skin.  "I mean, don't we all invade the
personal thoughts and feelings of people every day? The people we
care about invite us in."

"This is different." She said it distinctly and sat down
on the bed.  The springs poked her.

Mulder squatted down beside her.  Reluctantly she turned to
him.  "You'll look away when you see something you don't like or
find a way to excuse it.  As you do now," he said.  He waited and
watched her struggle.  "We're not the only ones at risk here.  All
those innocent people - Zelda, Andy Paige, Zelda's son."

"We'll find another way," Scully said.  "We'll talk to
Skinner-"

"Do you believe I wouldn't let you go? Or are you more
afraid that you wouldn't want to leave."

"Honestly?" she said, "I don't know."

He eased himself onto the edge of the bed beside her
knowing how galling the admission was for her.  Patiently he
waited for her to accept what he had known to be true for some
time.

"Ultimately we would each act in the other's best
interest," she said at last.  "I have to believe at least that
much -- or the last few years have been a lie." She swallowed
hard.  "And last night was a lie too."

He took her hand, turned it over and kissed the vein in
her wrist.  He scrapped his teeth across it as though he wished
to taste her very lifeblood.

She grabbed his face fiercely and put her forehead to his.
"You don't know how badly this will hurt you."

"I will never believe you would hurt me."

She drew in a shallow breath.  "You'll have to help me. 
When you feel me around you, you'll know as before and 
you have to let me in.  Be open.  You have to be ready to do that." 
She brushed down his hair with the palms of her hand and 
ran her thumbs along the sides of his face.  "You have to
give yourself to me completely." 

"I already have, Scully," he said. "I thought you knew that."

He scooted back on the bed, taking her with him, propped his head up
against a pillow and slacked his muscles.  She felt him relax with
a sigh and his eyes grew larger while the pupils dilated.  She
ran her hands down his arms until she reached his hands,
unclenched his fists and dragged her fingers across his palms.
He shivered and her hands slid back up his arms until she felt
the throbbing vein in the bend of his right elbow. 

She didn't need to do this with most men.  Zelda had told her that. 
But Mulder was strong; his resistance would be fierce - even with
her.  Or especially with her.

Applying increasing pressure to constrict the blood flow,
she began to chant his name and reach for him as Zelda taught
her.

At first there was nothing.  She reached further, called to
him, implored him, begged him to open to her.  A flash of color,
a distortion of noise like a century of voices stirred and
projected out, and she fell through a vortex of motion -- she
was in.

She knew herself to be on a clean checkerboard in shades
of gray that seemed to stretch to infinity.  Mulder's mind was
amazingly orderly and as limitless as the sky.  Haze rolling
toward the horizon and clouds popping up like cotton puffs
billowed in and out like breathing when she moved across the
checkered spaces.  

On all sides she heard sighs, cries, sobs from
the dark places, ghostly moans and shrieks from the nearly black
spaces, and distinctly erotic pants and groans from lighter
areas.  From the gray of the landscape she heard mechanical
sounds, like people working or gears shifting.  Scully passed his
fears and doubts, his loneliness and despair, regrets, memories
of unspeakable pain and suffering - and the spaces of life that
he could not categorize himself.

A brilliant white sun that dominated the horizon drew her.
As she approached she heard a feminine voice murmuring, a soft
laugh that was distant yet somehow familiar.  She stopped.  Afraid
of what she would see - who she would see.  A shadowy outline of
Mulder waited for her just outside the light.  He moved to stop
her.

His lips didn't move, but she understood, "I knew you would come here."

She felt his fear, saw the gray becoming darker.

"I knew someday you would find out," he said.  "And you will go away 
forever. You'll leave me alone." The gray became black.

"Whatever it is, I will excuse it," she said.  She wondered how anything 
that could make such a glow would cause her to leave him.

"You will pity me and I couldn't stand it," he said.  Scully put out her 
hand to reassure him.  She thought she laced her fingers in his.  She 
knew she felt stronger as she led them both deeper toward the light.

At first she thought it was a hall of mirrors. 

Everywhere she looked she saw her own face, her own eyes,
her own mouth, her own hands.  She saw herself the way he saw her
in a thousand places, a million memories, a trillion words floating
unspoken around them.  She saw him watch her file, draw her
weapon in fear, laugh at his joke, hold his hand, kiss his
cheek.  She moved forward through the light in awe and saw nearly
indistinguishable shapes of the two of them playing with
faceless children in a park, carrying a child home on Mulder's
shoulders, eating with her mother.  Scully turned to her right
and the mirrors became clear, colorful and full of sound.  He
kissed her, undressed her slowly and reverently, made love to
her in ways even she did not dream of.

She gloried in it, bathed in the sensation of utter,
complete devotion.  She was buoyed, lifted up.  She turned to
Mulder in astonishment.  "Stay, Scully.  Even if you don't care. 
Don't go.  Don't leave me." She saw his hands reach out 
to her, felt a vise-like grip on her, Around her.  "Stay here, 
Scully! I need you!"

Her heart constricted, she gasped and pulled back. Scully fell off
the bed onto the floor, blinked and realized it was over.  She
reached for him.  "Mulder?"  She felt his pulse and discovered it 
was steady.  He looked peaceful, his breathing as even as though he 
were sleeping.  She brushed back his hair and he stirred.

He opened his eyes once, twice and tried to smile at her.  "Tired."

"Me too." She wanted to lie back against him, but knew she wouldn't be 
able to get up again.

"Must be OK- don't feel like buying a dress." He labored over the words.

"What do you remember?"

He thought for a moment.  "Nothing...  You asked to come in. A lot of 
light..feeling safe.. relieved."

"Relieved?"

He tried to smile, nodded slightly and closed his eyes.

"Not sick?"

"Nope."

"I need a drink of water," she said.  "I'll get you a glass too."

She turned on the bathroom light and rested against the door frame 
for several minutes.  Even now she felt the pull of him on her, the 
glory of Mulder surrounding and supporting her, the feeling of utter 
contentment that she had, for one brief moment, known in him.  It must 
surely be a preview of Paradise.  God, for a moment it had been so 
tempting.  An opiate for her soul.

Scully reached across the bathroom sink and took out the covered 
plastic cups.  She pulled off the protective cover, turned on the tap, 
watched the glasses fill and wondered what to do with what she learned.  
She drank deeply and filled the cup again.

"You know something," he said behind her.  It was an accusation.  He
reached over and turned the facet off with a cruel twist.  She nodded.  
Over the bathroom sink two fragile plastic cups overflowing with water 
shook in her hand. "You said you'd excuse anything," he said.

She was surprised her remembered. "Nothing to excuse," she said.  She 
handed him the glass.  "Drink.  It helps the dryness.  You'll have 
irritability, some weakness.  You should sleep."

"We can do this," he said.  She had no idea what he was talking about.  
"We can do whatever we put our minds to." She still wasn't sure.  He 
put his hand to his head and swayed.

"Let's get you down."

"What about you?" he said.

"The aggressor apparently doesn't suffer many after effects," she said.

"There's a lesson there someplace," he muttered.  She helped him to the
bed and he fell face down across its width.  She had to help him turn 
lengthwise on it.  "Scully?"

"Hmm-m?"

"Be here when I wake?" He was having more trouble forming words.
She sat beside him and stroked his hair.

With a great, last surge of effort he said, "You won't
take advantage of me in my sleep, will you? I wouldn't want to
miss anything." He slept almost before he finished, so he didn't
hear her laugh or feel her kiss on his lips.
*********
If Walter Skinner hadn't been driving through rush hour
traffic he would have thrust a hand on his hip in an effort to
control his fury.

As it was he honked at the motorist in front
of him, reached up to turn down the all-news radio station, and
growled into his cell phone: "Where the hell are you?"

"I've been doing some investigative work on that bank
robbery case you assigned me, sir," Mulder said.

"Well, the local Maryland police have been doing some
investigative work of their own.  You'd better have something for
me, Agent Mulder.  Soon."

"Yes sir.  I do.  Agent Scully would like to turn herself
in.  As soon as possible.  And return to prison.  As soon as
possible.  Can you help us out here?"

"I can help you both not to get shot - that's the best I
can offer right now," Skinner said.

"A generous offer, sir.  I'll call back later with a location."

"Agent Mulder! Unless you take evasive action or surrender now I won't 
need a location.  The last word I had from the agent in the field was 
that they expected a capture very soon," he said.  "I'll get word to 
the agent in charge on the scene that you're bringing Agent Scully in. 
Tell Agent Scully ---"  But he couldn't think of a concise way to say 
what he wanted.

"Yes sir.  I'll tell her."

"Tell me what," said Scully as she came out of the bathroom buckling 
the belt on her slacks.

"That they've located us," Mulder said.

Scully seemed undisturbed.  She paused to peer into the dresser mirror
and brush her hair with her fingers.  "I suppose I should have learned 
by now not to get into a car with you without making sure my overnight 
bag is in the back." He came up behind her and she glanced up at him 
in the glass.  "You don't have your shirt on yet?"

He tried to stifle a smile, but couldn't.  He couldn't stop himself from 
sliding a hand around her waist and burying his face in the curls just 
around her right ear.  At first she stiffened as though he'd taken 
liberties, then she sighed and leaned back against him.  "Mulder," she 
said with only a touch of impatience.

"Was it hard? Last night, I mean?"

She hesitated.  "Somewhat."

"You or me?"

She dropped her eyes from the mirror and caressed his hand.

"Me." He backed away.

"Nothing I couldn't handle -- obviously." She watched his reflection, 
the self-reproach on his face and hanging on his body. Finally she 
admitted, "It was tempting for me too. Very." 

She had more she wanted to tell him.  Anytime she groped for words 
Mulder knew it was personal. 

"In the book - Amelia's book - she talks about the power in sex.  I 
didn't understand," Scully said.

"I must not be doing it right," Mulder said.

"Ah, no.  You do it just fine."  Her grin came and went in a flash.
"Until last night I didn't understand that the power she refers to has to
do with the devotion and affection inherent in the physical act - and that
is what gives women a feeling of empowerment. Conversely, for women, 
there is no power to resist the pull of being-being swallowed up without 
mutual and honest respect, caring, and commitment. Without those 
things, a sense of safety, power, release is only truly possible for a 
woman while she stays in the man's mind.  Do you understand?"

Mulder turned her around to face him. His hands ran softly up and down 
her upper arms in a caress. "Just as long as I'm doing it right,"
he said. She raised her eyebrows.  "I know," he said.  "Shirt."

"And hurry," she said, glancing at the door.

Later he thought she must be psychic.  When he replayed the
scene in his head a few hours later Mulder realized he would
have dawdled longer or even used his powers of persuasion to test the 
power of sex.  Instead, they were both dressed and ready to leave.  She
even had the notebook tucked under her arm when they saw the
flash of a red light outside the motel window.

"Your handcuffs," she said. "Put them on me.  Now!" She grabbed them from 
him and locked one around her right wrist. "Mulder, I don't want to be shot." 
He snapped the other cuff into place and she gave him the book.  He started 
to open the door, his hand was on the knob.

"Scully..."

She reached up, took his face between her manacled hands and drew his 
mouth to hers.  "A promise," she whispered, "of better things."

Mulder threw open the door.  Three or four police cruisers had pulled 
up in front and a dozen officers were in the  process of training 
their weapons on the motel door. He came out first with one empty hand in 
the air, the other holding his badge.  "I'm a  federal agent with a 
prisoner in custody."