(Headers and Disclaimers in chapter one) Chapter 8 of 20 Margaret Scully knew Fox Mulder would be picking her up soon, but she never expected him to be early. She opened the front door with an apology for not being ready on her lips and found AD Skinner outside. "Mrs. Scully. May I come in?" "Dana!" Skinner's head moved side to side in a barely discernable motion. "She's fine as far as I know." He seemed ill at ease. "Come in then, Mr. Skinner." But her voice and demeanor held no welcome. Skinner walked inside and waited until Mrs. Scully closed the door. Margaret and her daughter were alike in many respects, he noted. Both unyielding, uncompromising. He didn't know how to begin because he didn't know what title to put with Dana Scully's name. Finally he said, "Your daughter doesn't know I'm here, Mrs. Scully. I came to ask you something." She waited and he continued, "I came to ask: if you could know that Dana is innocent or be able to visit her -- which would you choose?" Skinner studied her face for a moment and felt foolish. Stupid, really, for coming. He should have known what her answer would be. "I already know my daughter is innocent, Mr. Skinner." He nodded, more to himself than to her. "So do I," he whispered, ducked his head and left quickly. When she closed the door Margaret Scully began to weep silent tears of frustration. The anger she harbored for Skinner, the FBI, and those who pushed Dana into prison disappeared. Margaret recognized the nagging fear she had from the beginning of this nightmare was the reality. She knew now that her baby had somehow chosen the path she was on - and that it had taken an unexpected and deadly serious turn. She wanted to tell someone and realized the only one who would understand was Fox Mulder. Margaret had some inkling of why Dana was so attached to the man. He was the only person who understood so many things. Margaret Scully's backache returned. ***************************** "Scully. Wake up." Someone poked at her feet with a stick. A stick through the bars. "Scully. You got a visitor." Two guards stood outside her cell. Scully sat, immediately alert. Realizing it was still dark made the alarm sound in her head. The cell door opened. The alarm progressed from her head throughout her body when Scully realized the guards led her to a conference room. They handcuffed her before she could go inside. It must be an unsecured area. It had to be Mulder. This late it was either very good news or very bad. It was bad. She knew the minute she saw him. He didn't look at her until the guards left. "It's your mother." Scully's stomach leaped into her throat. "She had a heart attack. It's serious. I-I just came from Georgetown Memorial. I called your brother. He's coming and-" Scully's knees wouldn't support her anymore. She sat down heavily in the nearest chair. "I thought.." "I thought she was better too. I took her to the cardiologist you recommended --." "Fred Morton." "She had an episode in his office," Mulder said. "God!" "It saved her life," Mulder said. "I had no idea a backache in women.." "I must talk to him," Scully said. "It can be arranged," Mulder said. "I should be there." "She's in and out of consciousness," Mulder said. "She's not in pain now. I-I'll stay...until Bill arrives. Dr. Morton is with her. He's been great." Scully's hands slid from her mouth to her lap. "Her prognosis is guarded, but there are encouraging signs." Mulder came around the conference table. "The stress.." "Hmm, Scully, guilt is my thing, not yours." He touched her shoulder and she threw up her arms, jumped away. "Prisoners aren't allowed physical contact with visitors.." He pulled her stiff body up out of the chair into his embrace. For one delicious moment Scully allowed herself to rest there. His hand brushed her hair from her face. She closed her eyes to imprint the feel of his hands on her memory, the sound of his heartbeat. Then she pushed away, afraid he would see how much she wanted to cling to him, afraid of how quickly she could come to want what she couldn't have. She knocked for an escape, then muttered, "Thank you, Mulder. Thank you for coming." ********** For a moment she stood in the semi-darkness of her prison cell, tracing the black outlines of the objects in the room. A horrible helplessness pushed against her insides, making it painful to breath, difficult to stand. The ache from the void where her heart used to be hurt all the way down her arms and legs. She must have swayed. She became conscious of her hand against the rough cell wall, then the chill of it against her back as she slid down to the floor. Cotton threads in her clothes catching in the rough cement made a torturous pulling sound in her ears until she hit the floor. For some time she sat on the floor staring vacantly, knees drawn to her chest, hands on her knees. After a few moments Zelda took a similar pose next to her. They sat that way for what seemed a long time. Presently Zelda said, "I understand about your mother. I've spent most of my life missing mine, trying to find out what happened to her." She sighed. "I was 12 when we got a package with her personal effects in it. I sat for hours on my bed with the just fingering things she had once held, reading her diary, all the papers she kept, her pictures-" Somewhere in the prison a woman began coughing and coughing. When she stopped Scully said, "My mother played a song at my father's funeral. It was special to them. It was a-a connection for me. I couldn't get it out of my mind for a long time." There was more silence. Someone below them laughed, then the prison quieted down to the normal clack, cling, clung of night. A guard made her rounds, paused when she saw them sitting there, then moved on. Zelda said, "I wanted to visit the Grand Canyon first, but I understand You need to see your mother. I'll take you to her." Scully grimaced at the callousness of the words. She bit her bottom lip and her head went side to side as though to dislodge the cruelty from her mind. The air, the ground, the wall, the thoughts in her head seemed so heavy she didn't think, she could bear the weight. "We can, Dana. I can take you. Now. If you will let me." "How?" It was a desperate whisper. "You are willing. I can carry you." "How?" Scully's lips quiver. She rubbed them together. "Tell me." "Do you really you need to know all that? You demand so much proof, but all the important things in life you know without it. I can teach you. Later. First, you have to let me have you," Zelda said. "You will have to trust me to take you where you want to go." Scully bit her lower lip to stop its trembling, but a tear escaped down one cheek. "Who's with her now?" "I-I don't know. Soon Mulder - my partner - will be. Maybe her doctor." "Hmmm-m," she studied Scully's open expression of wariness, doubt. "Let's try the doctor. You know him?" "Fred Morton. Cardiologist. She had a heart attack." "I will need to put my hands on you, to look into you and see what you don't want anyone to know," Zelda said. "Is it worth it to you?" Scully gave it a moment's thought, then nodded. Without waiting for more Zelda scooted in front of Scully. She put her hands on Scully's arm, on the tender skin under the elbow, and began a gentle massaging motion with her thumb. Scully closed her eyes and willed her muscles to let go. They were happy to cooperate. It felt good. She sighed in comfort. Zelda smiled to see her relax. One of Zelda's hands slid down to her abdomen and Scully tensed. Zelda found and began a gentle pressure over her left ovary. Presently the discomfort eased. Scully's toes began to tingle, her leg muscles quivered. Her senses went on high alert. "Don't fight me. When you fight something it is out of fear. You cannot be afraid of this. You have to be open to it. Open to things you never thought possible. Open your eyes, Dana. If you want to see-know anything-- you must first open your eyes. Think of that doctor's face. Think of being with him. See him." Scully obeyed. "Unlock your hands, your arms, your legs. Open to the infinity possibilities of human minds. Make yourself available to the spirit that lives in each of us. Dana.." Scully tried to visualize Fred Morton's face. Chubby cheeks, a Hitler mustache, dark, sad eyes. Then he flitted away from her. She tried again, catching the memory of a joke he told her, his off-key laugh. She didn't feel anything, sense anything different. She didn't think she could surrender. She listened to Zelda chant her name over and over and tried not to think at all. Then she couldn't think. Nor did she want to. She felt better, lighter. "Don't be afraid. Slowly give yourself to the light-" Zelda's voice came from somewhere very far away. Colors within the cell became brilliant, the room brighter and the room began to merge into one flash of light. A roar of a thousand voices, a burst of yellow, then a picture of her mother in her head grew larger, more defined, the outline of her face and the features in it grew sharper, clearer. She could see her mother lying in a hospital bed, could feel the soft skin of her mother's arms under her hand, hear the raspy in- take of breath as oxygen poured into her mother's lungs from the tubes in her nose. Scully realized she was cold, that it was cold in the room and the light above her mother's bed was nearly blinding. The sheets and blanket radiated white and blue. "Mom," Scully called softly. "Mom." Margaret Scully stirred. Her eyes fluttered open. Her voice croaked. "Is it--?" "Hi," she said. "How are you feeling?" She realized she had a stereoscope around her neck and took it off. The familiar act of putting it in her ears and listening to her patient's struggling heartbeat provided her with a measure of comfort and control. Her mother blinked her eyes. Once, twice, several times as though to clear them. "Fox?" "Hmm, no. He's gone." "He was here --." She must have remembered something. "Dana? Are you free?" Scully smiled. "Fox..be so pleased," she said. She reached for Scully's face and Dana shut her eyes to receive her mother's touch. Instead, she found herself thrown against the cell wall, gasping, a searing pain in her abdomen, her hands flaying in air for purchase. They fell on Zelda's shoulders and she instinctively grabbed them as though her cell mate could save her from tumbling into an abyss. "Couldn't hold ..both..long," Zelda panted as though she'd run a long distance. She peeled Scully's hands away and laid back on the floor to rest. "Great Jehovah! That man-. And you --" she pointed at Scully and snickered, "Going into your doctor mode. What a tussle!" She laughed at the ceiling. "Can't put two doctors in the same head." Scully sprang away, scrambling to the other side of the cell like a bug. "What was that? What just happened?" Zelda sat up and arched her back to relieve an ache. "You have a real talent." Scully made a sound of alarm, a gasp of fear. She felt a bitter aftertaste in her mouth, her stomach rolled; sweat popped out all over her. Zelda didn't move, but held out her hand. "In a few minutes you won't remember. You'll feel peaceful. Just breathe in and out. Breathe with me. The sickness will go away. The fear will go. Focus on your own breath. In and out." And they breathed together until Scully couldn't hold her eyes open any longer. She slept curled up in the corner of the cell. Zelda watched Scully succumb. There remained a faint glow around her even after her consciousness dimmed. Zelda hugged herself with joy. She rocked back on her heels, then put her forehead on the cell floor and her lips moved in prayer. She blessed I AM, Allah, Vishnu, Jehovah, Abba - for sending someone who bore such favor to her aid at last. ************** Margaret Scully had something important to tell Fox Mulder, but she couldn't remember what it was. She opened her eyes and saw him sitting in a chair not three feet away. She watched him staring out the window for some time. Presently he seemed to shake himself awake and frown as though his stomach hurt or he felt dizzy. Margaret frowned. Fox looked as bad as she felt. "Hi." He got up and bent over her the way - now she knew what she had to tell Fox. "Dana was here," she whispered. "She was here last night." "I-I must have missed her," Mulder said. His throat hurt terribly just forcing the words out. His eyes burned from the stuffiness in the room. And he wanted to believe Scully was free just as her mother said. But he had seen otherwise last night while Margaret slept. He patted the woman's arm. Now Margaret remembered the rest. "She wanted this, Fox. She is in this trouble because she chose this." "Mom!" Mulder backed away as Bill Scully came into the room and kissed his mother. He didn't want to watch this reunion. He and his mother never shared the affection Margaret had with her children. Idly Mulder wondered what Margaret gave or possessed that kept them bound together as a family. "Agent Mulder-" Bill Scully held out his hand. "I want to ..thank you. I appreciate what you've done." "Fox?" "Mrs. Scully." "You believe me, don't you? She was here. Where Bill is now. Do you think it matters that she chose this?" Margaret's question was breathy, barely audible. She had used most of her strength calling his name. Mulder smiled. "I believe you. And I think it does matter." "Could I speak to you, Agent Mulder, ah-h-" Bill Scully jerked his head toward the door. In the hallway he seemed uncertain what to say next. Finally he said, "You seem to have a way with the women in my family. First Dana believing in everything from aliens to Santa Claus and now, mom..." Mulder shifted his feet. "So you know. The only people in her room last night were Dr. Fred Morton and a nurse - a male nurse." "Delusion." "That would be Scull-Dana's -- word for it," Mulder said, wondering what his word for it was. ****** Scully went through an impressive list before concluding "vacuum" was the word. And evenings are the worst for that panicky sensation of weightless emptiness that stretched out to eternity like the River Styx. Even on the outside trouble seemed to magnify at night, but in prison evenings were god-awful. The paint detail had been at work today and the cell block corridors smelled of paint, disinfectant and despair. The despair and disinfectant always hung in the air. The paint underlined everything. She couldn't do this for five years, Scully thought. And she damn sure wouldn't. She couldn't direct her thoughts to ridiculous nursery rhymes in hopes she wouldn't vomit, or count the number of tiles in the walk from the cell to the bathroom then multiply them by the number of tiles on the ceiling of the rec room in hopes she wouldn't go insane. Over three weeks of her life had disappeared, vanished in a routine not of her making. Her mother lay in a hospital room and she couldn't go to her except in dreams. She was so restless. She must have paced the floor all night after Mulder's visit -- she fell asleep in the corner of her cell. She understood why Zelda's former cell mate had leapt from the top floor of the cell block railing, but Scully felt homicidal, not suicidal. The women prepared for their showers. They stripped, put on bathrobes, draped a towel over their arm or shoulder and lined up outside their cells on command. Scully clutched her thin cotton robe with its huge plastic buttons in one hand, fingered the rough towel, and followed Bernice's broad back down the halls. Doors clacked and clanged. Metal on metal changed to metal in plastic. Scully knew where she was by the sounds around her. If she looked to her right Scully could have seen the sunset through the only panoramic view of the outside world the women had. Most of them took the opportunity to gaze over the balcony and beyond the prison. It was a silent solemn passage. Never one to long for what she couldn't have, Scully rarely glanced outside. The women waited in a narrow corridor for their turn to enter the shower area. A guard handed each woman a plastic tray with her washcloth, toothbrush and toothpastes as she filed into the shower room. They moved in groups of six and eight into the room of sinks and shower stalls to wash up in privacy - one of the few times the women gained any time with minimal supervision or observation. Only a lone camera in the shower room monitored the women in the large shower room. At the end of 45 minutes to an hour, a guard knocked, the women lined up, walked out the opposite door, handed their trays to the guards there and marched back to their cells. The clean up crew hosed down the room with disinfectant and next group then entered the shower. Scully left off counting hallway tiles. Instead she listed the things she hated: silence from the guards, silence from her fellow inmates, constant talking, continual noise, hot water steaming up from the sheets and towels in the laundry to burn her face and hands, reading about diseases and treatments she'd never have reason to see then forgetting what she read, lining up for showers, lining up for meals at 5 a.m., noon and 5 p.m. exactly. Lights out at 9 p.m. Having someone dole out the elementary essentials of life like soap. Getting permission to leave a room, come in a room, buy a candy bar, watch television, sit down on someone's bunk. God, she hated it all. She put her plastic tray on one of the sinks and started to unbutton her robe to get into the shower. Ahead of her, water splashed as a dozen shower nozzles opened up. Steam rose and billowed throughout the room. She had to change something or she'd certainly lose her mind or kill someone. She looked up and noticed shower water was running, but no one stood under the sprays. They had her before Scully could react. They grabbed her arms, stuffed a wet washcloth in her mouth and slammed her down on the long wooden bench bolted to the shower room floor before she even realized the women in her pod surrounded her. The back of her head cracked on the wood and a flash of light streaked across her eyes. She grunted in shock more than pain and began to struggle. Plastic trays balanced on the bench scattered across the tile floor. Someone twirled a towel around her face and tied it behind her head to keep the washcloth secure in her mouth. Scully thrashed and kicked until Bernice grabbed her chin. "Stop fighting, girlfriend. You're caught. Things go easier if you don't fight." Scully fell still, her nostrils flaring with the effort of getting enough air and her eyes narrowed in fury. "That's good." She patted Scully's cheek. "Let's check her out first. Get that robe off." The women pulled the robe away while Scully kicked, elbowed and tried to gain some purchase with her feet. She landed a glancing blow off Angela's cheek. Angela would have struck her but Bernice grabbed her arm. "No marks," she said. The women forced Scully back onto the bench. Bernice looked over her naked body carefully. "Looks clean." She poked some bumps on Scully's shoulders, punched a finger in her ears, nose, between her toes, knees and under her breasts. She ran her hands through Scully's hair. "Feels clean. No devices I can see or feel here." "We gonna-." Angela grimaced and pumped her finger through her fist. Scully's eyes widened, then narrowed in fury. Bernice gaped at Angela. "You think the feds would put a bug---? You're crazy." She grinned down at Scully, then at Angela. "But you can have a go at her first, if you want." Excited, Angela moved forward and Scully began fighting again. "I'll do it." Everything stopped. The women holding Scully seemed surprised to see Zelda shoulder her way closer- they relaxed their grips slightly. Seizing the momentary advantage, Scully used her legs to jackknife up and throw one of the women against a shower stall. It took several minutes to force her back on the bench. Bernice adjusted the gag, pushing the washcloth so far back in her mouth Scully thought she'd have to swallow it. "You pack wallop for a little thing." "Bernice-let me," Zelda said. Bernice shook her head. "Na, Zelda. We definitely saving you for an emergency. I want to see what kindda reading we get here first." "You don't trust me." Zelda pouted. "Angela needs the practice." "Angela can't do it. She will never--" Zelda picked Scully's robe off the tiles. She squeezed the water out. "Dana's too strong for Angela. Even with Angela's hands on her, Dana won't --you're just gonna wear her out." "Weell, she got five years to rest up," Bernice said. Furiously Scully struggled against the women who held her pinioned. "I went visiting last night, to see what that handsome FBI partner of yours was thinking. Whiskey and naked women. He ain't giving you a thought. All night he sucked on a bottle and the face of the woman on the bar stool next to 'em. A blonde, I think she was." Mulder doesn't drink. Scully's words garbled in the washcloth, but there was no mistaking her tenor or the growl in her throat. "You're making this hard," Zelda said. She squatted beside Scully's head and folded her hands together on her knees. "Look, they're not going to hurt you. They can't hurt you unless they shake you and you fight. Understand." Scully stopped moving and lay back on the bench. "Good. Try to relax, to open yourself. I know you can do that. It'll be over soon." She stood calmly, fighting to manage her own fears. She had no idea Bernice planned to test Dana tonight. Zelda had inadvertently weakened her cell mate by taking her out last night. Angela settled over Scully and took her face in her rough ones, forcing her to look at her. Her dark brown eyes glinted; the overhead shower room lights wreathed her head. "Dana Scully," she said and began repeating the name over and over in a monotone as if it were a magic charm. Scully felt a pressure on her arm and a hand moved over her stomach to press into her abdomen. There was already a bruise and Angela's thumb felt as though she were boring through skin and tissue into Scully's uterus. The pain gradually receded, taken over by the sound of her name and her reflection in Angela's eyes. Scully grew less frightened, less angry, and more embarrassed by her willingness to surrender to the hypnotic chants and pressures. She felt herself pulled into Angela's eyes, into Angela against her will. It felt like her dream, her dream with her mother, but this was terrible. Hurtful. Terrifying. Scully struggled. She wasn't sure, but she thought the last sound she heard was her own grunts of fury. And then she could resist no longer. There was no point. No reason. She became warm, comfortable, and even content. She sighed, her eyes closed, the strength went out of her muscles. She drifted in a gentle breeze watching the world beneath her rotate slowly in pale colors of rose, green, yellow... How beautiful, she thought. How wonderful. Her essence, her inner eyes, her soul floated effortlessly above the world -- so light, open, airy, free. She was home, secure, relaxed. She stretched herself in contentment. Safe at last in her own mind. Scully wandered aimlessly down bright corridors of mirrored doors, each beckoning her to open it first. Mulder, she laughed, where are you? "What's so funny?" Scully turned, surprised to see Angela soaring beside her. The older woman's darkness pierced Scully's light. In that horrible instant Scully knew Angela was in her head, a living presence in her mind. On the bench Scully began screaming through the gag and thrashing against the women who held her. Angela fell back. She lay on the tiles stunned and panting. "See," said Zelda to Bernice as she watched Scully bucking and writhing on the bench. Bernice looked at the puzzled faces of the women around her. "What the hell?" "She threw me out," Angela said. She rubbed her eyes and slumped on one elbow. "Damn!" In spite of herself, Bernice smiled at Scully with admiration. "See anything while you were there?" "Buncha doors. A big black door." Angela said between pants. "Some man all over the place. Boyfriend, maybe." Scully blinked rapidly against the light, sucking in air as hard as she could, frantic eyes searching for escape or help. She found Zelda and her eyes narrowed in reproach. "I didn't lie to you. Don't fight!" Zelda said to Scully. She turned to Bernice. "Don't do this, Please. Not now. You know she needs a rest between--" "Shut up," Bernice said. "You can not risk it. You could lose her!" "Shut the hell up." Bernice shoved Zelda away. She approached Scully with caution, settling beside the prisoner before taking Scully's face in her hands. She twisted Scully's head around painfully. The cloth in her mouth muffled Scully's indignation. "Come to Mama. Let's see what you really got." Where were the guards? Why didn't they hear? Why didn't they check? Scully felt sick, weak. She shut her eyes. The episode with Angela taught her that much. Her head throbbed, eyes burned, and she could feel nausea pushing up in her throat. Someone in her mind, someone else in her thoughts. To Scully it was more invasive and damaging than anything she'd ever experienced. She shook her head ferociously against Bernice's hands. No, never again. She heard doors slamming. "Hurry up! This ain't the longest shower on record, but it's getting close," one of the women said. "Pinch her nose," Bernice said. Someone put her hands across Scully's face and cut off her air. Scully opened her eyes and as she did she felt Bernice grab them as if they were prizes. The chanting began. Something punched into her arm, her abdomen. She grunted against the painful touches but could not resist. Scully felt herself disappearing. She screamed one last time into the gag. The room grew deathly quiet. The sound of water spraying and the pipes hissing bounced around the room like echoes. Angela moved into the water and began to lather up. Finally the women released Scully and dashed into the showers. Zelda untied the gag and pulled the washcloth out of Scully's mouth. It had drops of blood on it. Zelda frowned and threw it into a corner of the shower room. Scully heard laughter, singing, water splashing, the slap of bare feet on wet tiles. She tried to moisten her lips and turn her head slightly. A headache threatened to split her in pieces. She started to move, but found her limps so heavy and sore she could barely lift them. When she tried to pull up, one arm fell onto Bernice's back. Bernice struggled to sit up. "Lord have mercy. You are strong. Get cleaned up. Can you make it?" Scully didn't move. "Here." She leaned down and drew Scully to an upright position. "Sick," Scully managed to say. "Yeah, baby, I know. We had to be sure. Had to be sure. Things gonna be different now. You sit this one out." Bernice rubbed Scully's shoulders gently. Then she laughed and tossed her robe off on her way to the showers. "Zelda, get Dana somethin' cold for her head." Bernice stepped into the nearest stall: "Now that's cold!" "Get your own shower!" Someone said in a good-natured challenge. Two women laughed, a bar of soap flew up in the air, and someone else squealed as water play erupted in the shower room in earnest. Zelda continued to bite her fingernails. Then she reached out to Scully: "Let's get your robe on. Lean on me, let me help you stand." It was a mistake to get up. Immediately a wave of nausea sent her to her knees and she began to vomit. "Concussion," she gasped to Zelda as a black curtain blew across her eyes. "Call the guard!" Zelda said to a woman who stood gaping from the first shower stall. "Hold it!" said Bernice. "Drag her into this stall." "Why?" said Angela. "How can she fall and hit her head in the shower if she ain't wet?" ****************************** The Lone Gunmen had broken the code that had stymied them and obtained Donaldson's sealed personnel files from the Pentagon. Next they pursued the records of his mission into Cambodia. They called Mulder at once and he could picture them frothing at the mouths. Frohike especially couldn't bear the thought of Scully in prison. He'd seen too many movies. "Donaldson was a spook," said Langly. "A very spooky spook," Frohike said. "He disappeared with his driver and his aide in Cambodian. They were missing for two years, assumed to be MIA. Then Donaldson comes back with the story of how they had been captured. According to Donaldson's report - verified in part by indigenous personnel -- he and his aide Lt. Anthony Barker of Pittsburgh, and the driver Sgt. Amelia Peterson of Baltimore, escaped the Viet Cong and eventually made their way to Quinghai Providence in China -- the headwaters of the Mekong," said Byers. "They couldn't perform their original recon mission for some reason, so Donaldson pushed them further and further into the Mekong on another. Something he felt explained why the North Vietnamese were so fierce." "He was looking for patriotism?" said Mulder. "They were looking for a native tribe that produced superior warriors. It was a legend, a myth," said Byers. "Warriors of such prowess they killed with their minds." Mulder became extremely interested. "Donaldson had a rep for the weird. For believing anything his sources told him. He was real -- goober," said Langly. "But he must have hit the jackpot. What they discovered in the Mekong got classified top, top secret." "What were they originally supposed to do," Mulder said. Langly shrugged. "Ordinary recon. Nothing to worry about or they wouldn't have assigned a female driver. Donaldson claimed he had a source, a sure thing." "Probably more to it, but that's all we could find," said Frohike. "War's over, Frohike," Mulder said. "For most people," he said. "Anyway, Donaldson comes back skin and bones, clutching a torn knap- sack and a his hat for some odd reason. He was half-crazy. Told fantastic stories of temples, rituals, monks that helped him survive, native servant girls, and a kind of love that 'possesses a man completely to the detriment of his mission'." "Think he was braggin' about his sex life," said Mulder. "How do I get there?" said Frohike. "His initial report was pretty much dismissed as ravings. His aide was killed and his driver died of fever. He escaped. The Army put him to work, but in short order they gave him a commendation and trip home," Byers said. "There is nothing in the record again about monks or temples." "Monks held him prisoner?" "Well, you know what they say about what goes on behind closed cloisters." Frohike's eyebrows went up and down. Mulder scoffed. "What kind of monks holds prisoners? They have a quiet, meditative life. An-and they don't force people to join them. Just the opposite, in fact." "Whatever happened, it changed him. Until his disappearance he was an average officer - ambitious, but just average. Actually he was a little stupid. After his disappearance he became a superman - an erratic genius who could be gentle and reasonable one minute, homicidal and uncontrollable the next. They figured it was post- traumatic stress. His sources became golden. He became known as practically infallible kid." His work done, Byers turned to Langly. "He went into law school, graduated top drawer. Nice trick for a guy that just barely squeaked out of a second rate college," Langly said. "Too many fraternity parties?" Mulder said. "He made up for lost time. He married rather well .. a West Virginia coal heiress ...and begins a series of insightful investments. His portfolio's shrunk lately for some reason, but he still has money running out of all orifices," Langly said. "No political aspirations, keeps in the shadows. He's a mover and shaker at Justice." "And his sex life-" Frohike whistled. "All over the map." "Here's the other side of him. He's generous - Planned Parenthood, NOW, League of Women Voters. Rather unusual pattern of giving," Byers said. "We also went back to see who owned AtoZ like you asked," Langly said. "The employees. And some big holding company that we are still tryin' to peel the layers off." "But, get this, most of the corporations owned by the holding company are hospitals, schools in low income neighborhoods, hospice, day cares, nursing homes. All top of the line, good reps," Langly said. "This company ain't makin' money, but they're makin' a lot of people happy." "Except the prison," said Frohike. "It's understaffed. Lots of accidents. A real hellhole." There was an awkward silence. "What does all this have to do with Scully?" Mulder said. The three men looked at each other. Finally Byers said, "We don't think it has to do with Agent Scully in particular. We believe it has to do with someone at the prison." "I know that. Who?" "It will take some time to run down the histories of staff and prisoners there," Byers said. "See what connection - if any - they have to Donaldson." "Right now the only connection is the Big Guy," Langly said. "I can't talk to Skinner," Mulder said. Three pairs of eyes stared at him. "Maybe he's a victim too," Byers said finally. "That's what I'm afraid of," Mulder said.