Title: Conundrum
Author: Chad Skywalker
Email: Chad_Skywalker@webtv.net
Feedback: Yes, please.
Archive: Yes, just leave my name on it.
Date: June 18th, 2001
Status: WIP
Rating: PG
Series/Sequel: This story is a sequel to "Dangerous Undercurrents".
Category: M/O
Fandom: The X-Files
Spoilers: This adventure takes place after the TV story "Existence".
Disclaimers: All familiar characters belong to CC and 1013; any others were conceived in my warped imagination. Azathoth and the Great Old Ones were created by HP Lovecraft and are now the property of Arkham House.
Dedication: To Bertina.
Summary: Eighteen years ago Fox Mulder fought the Azathoth cult. Jamie, his first love whose body was chosen to host the evil entity, fell prey to its power. Now in 2001 history seems to be repeating itself. A series of bizarre deaths reawaken Mulder's fears. Is there a link to a thriving genetic company with a secret agenda that may threaten the entire world? Mulder, haunted by a lost love he refuses to believe is dead, is slipping into despair and madness. But are the visions which plague him really hallucinations?

---

CONUNDRUM
n. riddle esp. with punning answer; hard question.
[16th century; origin unknown]

"Once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny."

Prologue: Breathless

***********
Oxford, England
October 1983
***********

I hold the knife in a shaking hand. My ears are drowned out by the sound of my own racing blood. I barely acknowledge the resounding crash, as a section of the roof caves in. The struggles and protests of those who dared to interrupt the ceremony are gone.

"Perfect sacrifice!" I intone, holding my hands high. Dazed at the achievement of my life's dream, I stare down at the inert body of the Chosen One that lies on the chamber's floor. High above, a thick inky mist swirls in the whirlpool of devastation. Like a hawk seeking out its prey, the life essence of Azathoth swoops down.

It envelops the blood stained body like a cloud, seeping into the sacrificial cut. Lifting it up, the body convulses above the ceremonial stone until the mist clears. Lightning flashes, as a sign of the deliverer and proclaiming the end of frustrating years of waiting. The surviving members of the Cult of Azathoth kneel close to the stone. I hear the roaring of the imploding catacombs and realize the chamber will not last much longer.

"Quickly, we must find the naga box!" I shout. A flurry of black cowled figures begin a frantic search. One of the brothers, Edward, remains by the deliverer's side watching for any sign of life. A stone crashes dangerously near Brother Jacob's feet, but he does not flinch. Faithfulness is unquestioning. The others sift through the growing rubble.

"Make haste!" I urge them on.

"High One, we cannot find it," Brother Andrew says.

Fury overtakes my reverent awe. As Vice-Chancellor of the university, I have dealt with many problems, but how dare anyone dash the hopes of a lifetime?

"What? What?!" I hear myself shriek above the crashing of rocks.

"It must be beyond here."

I stare at the rockfall entombing the tunnel entrance. "No, this cannot be!" I turn swiftly back to the altar. The body of the Chosen One lays completely still. Brother Edward has tended the cut, but not a single breath issues from the body. I feel fear.

"Brothers, our faith is being tested," I tell them. "We must will the Great One to life!"

The other brethren and I kneel close to the stone, chanting the ancient tongue. We reach a crescendo, drowning out the destruction all around us.

"My lord," Brother Edward, tears in his eyes, indicates that the body is beginning to stir. I hear the intake of a deep breath. Raising my hands over the body I cry, "Praise Azathoth!"

As if in the throes of a fitful sleep, the eyes of the Chosen One dance feverishly beneath closed lids. The mouth mumbles silently. I hear strange words, the last remnants of the host mind remembering its past life. Instantly his eyes flash open, staring all around. For the first time, I hear the Great One's voice. The sound emerging from between his lips is deep and sibilant.

"A heartbeat... feeling... warmth... strong... excellent!"

The body raises itself to a sitting position. He flexes his hands, watching each finger move. "So strong... Oh, I like this!"

The other faithful and I bow low, listening in growing awe as Azathoth experiences the sensations of his new body.

"My shapeless existence is ended. Now I am he... alive within this oh so wonderful, wonderful frame!"

A pair of intense green eyes glance sideways, staring imperiously at the attentive Brother Edward. I hold my breath. An ancient power emanates from those eyes, hurling Edward telekinetically across the room. He falls like a broken doll against the wall.

"You are indeed powerful," I say, unable to contain my fervent glee. "Welcome to your new body."

It was then that I knew something was wrong. The Great One's breathing became shallow, the skin becoming deathly pale. Without the full life force contained in the naga box, and the cult weakened, the time of the deliverer was failing!

"I am not complete," the Great One whispers, weakly. He looks up, and for a moment, his expression grows soft. "What's happening to me?" He shifts his gaze toward me, and the powerful voice returns. "Where is the naga box?" he demands.

Racing to his side, I gently lower him back down. "We will find it, my lord. I promise."

It is a promise I can not fulfill. With a shattering roar, I and the brethren feel the crushing weight of our catacombs bear down on us. I am swept away by an avalanche of crushing stone. I wait for the warmth and safety of my great god, but it never comes.

~oo0oo~

A black wave overtakes those assembled in the cavern. The body of Jamie Grayson lies in silent darkness; tucked beneath an overhanging ledge. Trapped and wedged within a tiny cave created by the falling roof. This would become the entity's resting place until strength returned. Alone in the darkness. Waiting.

~oo0oo~

Time passed and life moved on in Oxford. Seasons came and went. Those who had died in the cave in of Oxford Woods had been mourned long ago, and those with good sense avoided the mysterious forest and it's strange nightly sounds.

Far below ground, a hand slowly twitched into life. Rocks shifted and were swept away...

~oo0oo~

***********
Oxford, England
June 2000
***********

Pitch black. Kendrick chewed on his bottom lip nervously. How the hell had he let those guys dare him into coming out here? He couldn't even see his own hands in front of his face. Me and my big mouth, he thought. Slugging down a few beers had provoked a series of wild ghost stories. When he dismissed the tales of the legendary haunted woods, that had given the fraternity members all the incentive they needed. The young pledge would have to spend a night alone in the woods.

Kendrick sighed and watched his breath evaporate in the cool darkness. Here he was standing in the middle of the Oxford woods making a fool out of himself. He just knew the frat brothers would jump out from behind a tree at any moment to holler "Boo!" Well, they could just laugh themselves silly. He didn't believe in ghosts and he was determined to prove them wrong.

Tramping through the overgrown forest, he winced as a patch of nettles clawed through his pants leg. He stopped to catch his breath. Damn, why was he even doing this? To be a member of the best fraternity on campus, that's why, he reminded himself.

High above, the thick clouds obscuring a full moon drifted past. Beams of moonlight illuminated the area. Kendrick smiled, at least this wasn't so bad. Turning to get a better look round, he gasped in surprise. Just a few paces behind him the ground had been churned up, exposing a gaping hole. If he'd taken a step backwards he would've fallen through. Thanking his lucky stars, Kendrick wiped his brow then bent to examine the hole. It looked as if something had blown itself up through the earth. Did they have giant gophers in Oxford? Rubbing his wispy chin thoughtfully, Kendrick stood and walked around the exposed ground. No one ever came into the wood, so what could have caused this? It certainly wasn't a ghost!

A summer wind whistled through the branches overhead. Kendrick's ears pricked up. He could swear he'd heard a faint whispering... No, it's just your imagination! All of those crazy stories were getting to him. It was hard to believe that there were once secret caves beneath the woods, and that the spirits of those who died in them haunt the woods. Give me a break!

His eyes growing accustomed to the gloom, Kendrick cast about for somewhere to rest for the night. There, a clump of boulders. Settling down against the cool stones, he splayed out his legs and waited for the hours to pass.

Again, the wind carried a delicate whispering through the trees. The snap of a twig! Kendrick sat up, stilling the panic that threatened to form. Rising to his feet, he called out, "All right you guys! I know you're out there."

No response. Just the mournful hooting of owls.

Kendrick shook his hands frantically. "Oooo, I'm really scared," he laughed. "Come on out!"

Fingers of bone chilling mist flowed around him. He shivered, trying to control his instinct to run. The rustling of a bush. He spun back around, eyes wide with surprise at the figure who appeared.

"Hello?" he called. "Um, who are you?" Kendrick didn't recognize the boy at all. He looked to be about his age, although his skin was so pale that it was practically luminous in the moonlight.

"Did Roy and Brian send you out here?" he continued. Why wouldn't this guy answer him? "Are you from the frat house?"

Finally, the figure smiled. It sent a chill right through Kendrick's bones. The air filled with a screeching, keening. He fell to his knees and covered his ears.

"Stop it! Stop it!" he screamed, helplessly.

An irresistible, paralyzing force took hold and Kendrick cried out one last time. The mist parted and the owls took flight...

~oo0oo~

Inspector Trevor Winston, retired, listened with a growing sense of fear as the local TV news reported the death of a student found in Oxford woods. He listened carefully, unable to believe, not wanting to believe.

"Are the ghosts at work again? This is Corrine Lasky for ..."

Trevor switched the set off. Beside his nightstand, he quickly opened a bottle of pills and downed several in one gulp. "No, it can't be happening again," he told himself in a hushed voice.

Staring at the black cordless phone, he made a swift decision. Opening a drawer, he took out a well thumbed address book. Hands shaking with the effort, Trevor found the number he needed. Dialing, he waited for someone to answer. His eyes darted nervously to a bedroom window. What was that? A small tree limb brushed against the pain. Just the wind you silly old buffer.

"Hello, who is this?" a gravelly voice answered.

"Professor Wickham, this is Trevor Winston, do you remember me?"

"Winston... Winston... No, I'm afraid I've never heard of you."

"Listen you crazy old fool, you know exactly who I am!" Trevor lost every ounce of patience. "Listen to me, something happened in those woods. I think... I think..."

"Eh? What do you think? Well, spit it out man!" Wickham's voice crackled down the phone line.

Trevor froze in his bed, he simply could not move. Rivulets of sweat streamed down his face. His ears filled with a vast rushing sound. Eyes bulging in shock, he whispered, "No, it can't be. You're dead!"

"Dead? Dead, indeed. Contrary to popular belief I'm still very much alive," the professor sternly said. "Hello? Are you there?"

Inspector Trevor Winston, retired, let out a low, despairing moan. On the other side of Oxford, Professor Douglas Wickham's old heart filled with a sense of fear and dread he had not known in seventeen years.

A voice tinged with an alien presence demanded, "Where is the naga box?"

Then, the line went dead.

Wickham dropped the telephone from his numb hand. Casting his eyes feverishly about the rooms of his quarters, he took a deep breath and headed inside a curtained alcove. There, he took an ancient tome from its podium. Holding it under an arm, he knelt beside an old fashioned safe.

Under pressure, he could not remember the combination. It had been so long since he locked it. What was it? He had such little time. Think! Ah yes... 42-37-19-21... Click! The safe door swung open and Wickham carefully extracted a mahogany box. The sides and top of which were intricately carved in an image of a snake eating itself.

He groaned from the rheumatism in his knees. As swiftly as possible he hurried into the main room. With no living relatives, there was only one person who could take care of this dreadful business. Outside, the sound of whispering echoed on the wind. Time was running out!

~oo0oo~

The Great Plan. My every racing thought is filled with this one, driving purpose. There is an imperceptible chill hanging in the air. Morning mist has yet to dissipate around the spires of the shining building. I momentarily tear my eyes away from a flickering computer monitor; staring at my own reflection in the weather proof glass surrounding the office.

Why is it taking so long? But, I remind myself, it has been eighteen years -- eighteen years of fruitless searching. Would they be successful this time? Promises from a dark stranger had filled him with hope. So far, he had been very useful. Very useful, indeed.

I register the heavy double doors opening, but pay little attention to Gordon Stratton, vice president of my company. He stands, towering over me beside my desk. The glow of the computer screen illuminates my face. He recognizes the image reflected off my wire rims.

"Well?" I ask, my voice harsher and more impatient than I intended.

"I'm sorry, sir. I beg your forgiveness." Gordon, ever the crawler, bows low before me.

I sigh heavily, the Armani suit conforming to my every move. "You come here empty handed. I take it the mission was a complete failure?"

"Not completely," Gordon began. This statement catches my attention. "Go on," I urge him.

"We investigated the leads. The deaths were all connected with the Oxford incident."

Tell me something I don't know, you simpering fool! "And?"

"And, we discovered the bodies."

"Bodies?" The word catches in my throat. Could all of my plans and dreams have been for nothing?

Gordon nods, a glimmer in his eye. "All but one. The one we were sent to find was missing."

"This is excellent news!" I detect the excitement rising in my voice. "Our suspicions are confirmed." A sudden thought strikes me. "But why did you come back to San Francisco? Why are you not in Oxford looking?"

"Our agent is still there. He believes he has a lead. It won't be much longer, I can assure you."

Gordon's tone is a little condescending. Does he need reminding of my status? I stare him down, and he is easily quelled.

"My lord, what of your father's bones?" he asks, after a moment's hesitation.

I sweep a thick manila folder across my desk. "They are of no matter. It was with the money left in my father's will that secured our success; that built Avatar in the appointed place. His death will not be for nothing. I shall fulfill his dream."

Gordon's face fills with hope. "All of the tests have been successful?"

Irritation grows. I can feel the start of an ache behind my eyes. "Do you intend to talk me to death? I have kept a close watch on the tests, and I do not consider a percentage of 89 to be successful."

"Our backers have fully supported the project..." Gordon protests.

I return with a sly, cutting grin. "And abundantly filled your wallet?"

He bows once more. "Please forgive me. I think only of the great plan."

"We lie on the threshold of power undreamt of! All we have to do is grasp it!" My voice fills with a reverence I cannot control. I focus on the here and now. "Leave me, but report back to me as soon as our agent has made contact."

"Yes, my lord." Gordon kneels, then turns and leaves my penthouse office.

I pause before further musings. How much longer must I wait? I am so close to fulfilling an aeons old dream. Everything depends on the success of the mission. My faith is unwavering. I, Matthew Blair; CEO of Avatar, the world's leading genetic research facility; son of Vice-Chancellor William Blair III. Taking my rightful, inherited place as High Priest to the Cult of Azathoth. Closing my eyes, I can feel the excitement growing.

"The power to control life... and death," I whisper.

This time there will be no failure. My eyes open to peer at an image blazing from the computer screen. It burns itself into my cornea. The objective, the prize I desire. The photograph overlaid hundreds of times; of a young man with golden hair and bright, green eyes. The Deliverer.

[Next Episode: Nightmare]

 

---

 

Chapter One: Whispers of the Past

Huddled within his jacket, Fox William Mulder took a deep cleansing breath of icy mountain air. He shifted his weight on the hill side. How long had he been sitting here? He couldn't remember, but it was long enough for his behind to go numb despite the plus fours. Resting on his backpack, Mulder peered through his sunglasses at the magnificent scenery. Jutting from the earth on all sides were mountains leading down into a quiet valley. In the exact center sat a monastery.

His journey began about a month ago, soon after Dana Scully had given birth to her son William. They'd shared a kiss; an embrace of life moving on. Mulder knew that she and the baby would be well taken care of. He had come to a reluctant acceptance that his time with the FBI and his life's work with the X-Files was over. However, he still had a quest, and pressing questions that needed answers.

Long buried memories had reemmerged during his abduction a year ago. Every fiber of his body had been probbed, including his mind. The day he finally awoke in a hospital to find Scully's face smiling down at him, was the day the nightmares started all over again. Dreams he had repressed for eighteen years. He needed to resolve the whirlpool of feelings within his soul.

That first year at Oxford had begun with such hope; friendships, school, parties... and love. Fate had deemed to send a mystical, idealistic, smart mouthed hurricane crashing into his life. Jamie Grayson, having won a scholarship to study at the esteemed university, had been chosen... chosen? ...to be his flatmate.

With cold hearts, the fates had taken Jamie away just as swiftly as he arrived. There had been a rockfall in a series of catacombs near the school. To this day Mulder could not recall the events clearly. Why had he been in those tunnels? He'd suffered a concussion and awakened in a hospital; his memories vague.

The news had hit him like a ton of bricks. He barely remembered being anywhere near the caves, but the fearful sense that Jamie had been in some kind of danger persisted. Granted release, Mulder had spent night after night at the site. His friend Carolyn had even sat with him, encouraging him to hang onto hope until there was none left. He could not get a straight answer out of a single soul. Not even from the inspector or the reclusive professor who saved his life.

The day Jamie's belongings were collected was the day Mulder left the flat. He'd only kept a few things for himself, a photograph and an unfinished letter. A single minded purpose had replaced his grief. His studies had become a prime obsession. Graduating at the top of his class, Mulder left Oxford behind to return to the States where he found his niche in the FBI. He would never forget the day he discovered the X-Files, nor when he filed the mystery surrounding Jamie's death into one. Now he had nothing left of the first boy he ever loved. The files had all gone up in smoke, metaphorically mirroring so many events in his own life.

Eighteen years later, here he was-sitting on a mountain with a handful of smokey memories. And, he reminded himself, this is the reason why you're here.

When he told Scully where he was heading, she laughed and told him to have fun Yeti hunting. Any other time he would have adamantly brought back some kind of proof, be it an imprint, fur, or a suspicious piece of dung. Not this time. For this was something he had to do on his own. He'd researched spiritual cleansing, and discovered *The Tibetan Book of the Dead* with its secrets of the astral plane, and out of body experiences.

The embattled Tibetan monks' true belief in higher plains of existence might be the key to understanding the nightmares. If he could somehow break through the barrier, perhaps he would finally remember exactly what happened back in 1983. Hypnosis with his therapist had yielded success with the events surrounding Samantha's abduction, but had proved a complete waste of time concerning his lost memories of Jamie.

With so many things constantly keeping him on the run, Jamie's death had become a shadow in the back of his mind. Now it was as if someone was deliberately stirring up a hornet's nest. Ever since his own abduction, he could quite literally hear a voice faintly calling to him. He could be anywhere, doing anything, and the voice would sound; particularly at night in his dreams. The visions he saw in his sleeping mind were becoming more vivid and disturbing. That's what pushed him into this quest, a spiritual one to understand.

The frosty morning he arrived in Lhasa, Mulder's guide introduced him to an elderly monk named Saphan. Using a walking stick, the blind holy man lead Mulder inside a little lamasery beside a rushing river. Setting down his backpack, Mulder slowly took in the brightly colored paintings covering the walls. Saphan stood beside a prayer wheel, waiting. "What do you seek?" he simply asked.

The question seemed strangely familiar to Mulder. A chill ran across his skin, like someone had stepped on his grave -- which was highly probable with the way this year had gone.

"I'm looking for answers. About someone I lost a long time ago," he replied, not knowing quite what to say. "I'm... seeing things."

The monk tapped his stick three times. "I ask again, what do you seek?"

"The truth," Mulder said, licking his dry lips.

Satisifed, the Saphan began to turn the wheel. The multicolored ribbons flew around in a whirl. The small monk's voice became low, "The truth you seek is inside yourself. It has always been there. You must see the wall that bars the truth as glass. The wheel of life turns, we are all one, tormented by gods and demons. You have been tormented more than most."

Mulder began to feel very drowsy. The gompa spun and the chasing colors of the prayer wheel became one. Images of his life blurred and flashed past in rapid succession...

"Ready, Sam?" he called to his little sister.

"Higher, Fox!" Samantha begged as he gave her a hearty push on the swingset.

"Do you believe in the existence of extra terrestrials?" he heard himself ask. More voices and faces from the recent and distant past spun by.

"Scully!"

"They call me Spooky, Spooky Mulder."

"They've been here a very long time."

A young man with blonde hair and green eyes. "I'll always love you," he said.

Gasping, Mulder opened his eyes wide and tried to catch his breath. Just like the dreams, he felt as if he'd been floating above himself. Mulder found the little monk standing before him, placing a long silk scarf over his shoulders. "You will need this for good luck."

Fingering the material of the hada, he sat down heavily on the gompa's floor.

"The truth you seek is not here," Saphan adamantly told him.

Dazed, Mulder looked up at him with sad eyes. "Please, tell me where I can find it."

"You are too inquistive, my child." He smiled. "Life is a journey as the wheel showed you. What you seek lies buried in shadow. You must leave here soon. Your journey will continue."

And so it had. Leaving more puzzled than when he'd arrived, Mulder had decided to take in the charmingly mysterious Tibetan landscape. The monk seemed to know more than he was saying. Why was it so important for him to leave? He had not dreamed once since his arrival. Maybe it was the crystal air? The more he thought of it, the sleepier he became...

Mulder found himself in a field lush with grass and blooming summer flowers. He breathed in the intoxicating air and felt totally at peace. In his shirt sleeves and jeans, he enjoyed the grass tickling beneath his bare feet. In the distance, he could just make out a sign sticking out of the ground. He walked toward it. OXFORD UNIVERSITY, it read. Curious place to leave a sign.

He passed on and spotted a figure sitting crosslegged on a hillock. The closer he became he could see that it was a young man holding a boquet of roses. The boy smiled and tossed the flowers, where they froze in mid air. Taking him by the hands, Mulder began to swing him around. A playful laugh came from his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere."

"I've always been here. You just didn't know where to look."

Mulder continued to spin. "I forgot something important." Somewhere, he could hear a telephone ringing. The boy's face became distant and sad. A cold wind whipped through the field; dark clouds blotting out the sun.

Mulder glanced around. Dark figures in hooded cowls slipped between knarled, gray trees. He frowned. "I don't understand. Where have you been?"

"Alone in the darkness. Waiting."

Mulder stared uncomprehendingly at the curved dagger in his hand. "What's this?"

"Don't you remember?" An innocent question stepped in hidden meaning.

The blade was covered in blood. Fear took hold of his heart. The roses fell to the ground, wilted. He looked up, the boy slid to the ground; the front of his shirt soaked in dark crimson.

Mulder tried to help, but found his legs unwilling to respond. He stiffened, feeling a presence moving up from behind. The handsome Russian's elfin features frowned at the scene. Mulder could see right through the hole in the man's forehead.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

The man shrugged. "You shouldn't be surprised. Our paths were destined to cross again." He glanced down at the bleeding figure and pulled a frown. "You know they say he died because you abandoned him."

Mulder felt like knocking him to the ground. "No, that's not true!" he said through clenched teeth.

"How would you know? You can't even remember anything." The dark man appeared by his left shoulder, "The occult?" Then his right, "Undercurrents. Ring any bells?"

Shaking his head, Mulder stared back at the young boy's body... but it had vanished. A booming, alien voice called to him from all around. "Where is the naga box?"

Lightning flashed and the field washed over in dark shadows...

"NO!" Mulder awoke with a jolt. It took him several minutes to orientate himself. Gulping in deep breaths, he looked all around and found his apartment shrouded in darkness. His apartment! Sitting up, his sweat soaked body stuck to the sofa's upholstery.

"What the hell was I drinking?" he wondered aloud. The last thing he remembered was arriving home, severely jet lagged, from the trip to Tibet. Across the room, the television sizzled a fuzzy screen of static. He rubbed his eyes. Man, they felt so sore!

Standing, he groaned and stretched his muscles. Moving toward the crackling set, Mulder saw that the porn video he'd been watching had rewound and ejected. Taking it out, he tossed it onto a pile of tapes. He couldn't even remember watching it. Smacking his mouth, he headed toward the kitchen to make some coffee.

He noticed the message light on his answering machine blinking rapidly. Pressing a button, he let the messages play through while he started the coffee maker.

"Mulder, are you okay?" Dana's voice asked from the machine's tiny speaker. In the background he could hear little William gurgling. "I haven't heard from you since you got back from your trip."

Mulder looked up and left the kitchen. Was Scully trying to play a joke on him? He'd just returned from the airport.

"You said you were going to come by four days ago! I swear if you've come home with a real abominable snowman, I don't wanna know! Call me!"

Four days! What was Scully talking about? He turned at the sound of a thud. Opening the apartment door, he found a stack of newspapers waiting for him. Lifting one from the bottom his eyes widened with disbelief at the date. He'd actually been asleep for four whole days!

He leaned against the door frame. This had never happened before. What was going on? Then, the dream came rushing back. It had been so vivid. What was his subconscious trying to tell him? Maybe it was time he told Scully about it.

Mulder sighed and decided to take a hot shower to clear his senses. Halfway down the hall he froze in his tracks when a voice he had not heard in eighteen years clicked on the machine.

"Um... Foxy, hi this is Carolyn Prentice, well Carolyn Fredericks now, from university, remember? I've been trying to contact you for some time. Erm, something's happened in Oxford.. at the site where... you know, where Ryan and Jamie... I didn't want to tell you like this, but I thought you'd like to know."

Carolyn's voice hurriedly reeled off her telephone number. Heart racing, Mulder played back the message again and again. Something happened, but what? Is this why the monk suggested he come back? He had to get in touch with Carolyn immediately. Maybe this would be the answer. There was no way he'd let this chance pass him by. It looked as if he was going to get more use out of those frequest flyer miles after all...

~oo0oo~

"Oxford! You're going to Oxford?" Dana Scully tried to kept the explosive tone down. "Mulder, you just got back from Tibet."

She stared across at her friend sitting in her living room. His stoic expression told her that his mind was fixed.

"Scully, I have to go. It's so important to me to find the answers."

"Answers to what, Mulder? First you trek off to the Himalayas and now you're headed back to your alma mater. What's going on?" She didn't mean to give him the third degree, but didn't like the idea of him leaving again, nor the twinge of possessiveness she felt. Sitting beside him, she kept one hand on the baby's cradle. Inside, William slept like an angel.

Mulder clasped his hands together, long fingers interlacing. Dana could sense something serious in the air.

"My first year at university I fell in love with someone who died under mysterious circumstances," he told her.

"Oh, Mulder I had no idea." The pain radiating from his eyes spoke volumes.

He stood up and started to pace the well lit room. "I've never been able to remember exactly what happened. It was easier not to think about it." He paused before her and took a single, nervous breath. "Ever since my abduction I've been having recurring nightmares about him."

Dana blinked. "Him?"

Mulder nodded. "Yes, his name was Jamie."

"Mulder, all this time and you never told me," she said, slowly. The news really didn't come as a surprise. Sure, Mulder had been married to Diana, but maybe this explained why it had been a disaster.

"I'm sorry, Scully. It's just that my personal life has been... nonexistant. Did I shock you?" He couldn't help but smile.

"No," she smiled back. "Somehow I think I've always known."

Mulder stared off into space for a moment. "I've tried everything to remember. And the dreams are becoming more real, more frightening."

Scully put on her doctor's cap. "Repressed trauma," she diagnosed.

He suddenly became very animated. "Then you understand why I have to go. If there's even the slightest chance..."

Dana held up her hands. "Whoa, slow down, Mulder. Yes, I understand but I'm afraid you might be setting yourself up for a fall."

"I have to try." He looked at her with pleading eyes. She could read them like a book; he clearly needed her support.

"Alright," she agreed. He practically beamed at her response. "Just let me know what happens."

"I promise." He looked in on William then made a beeline for the door.

"Good luck," Dana called after him. "I think you're gonna need it."

Mulder turned back and gave her a sly wink. "Funny you should say that. A monk told me the exact same thing."

After Mulder was gone, Dana pondered over her best friend's revelation. She decided that she'd really like to know more about Jamie and what happened to Mulder all those years ago...

~oo0oo~

Pressing down on the horn impatiently, Mulder willed the traffic to move on. It was bumper to bumper all the way through town. He'd be late for his flight. He felt as if a bit of the weight had been lifted from his shoulders since his talk with Scully. Something had always held him back from telling her about a part of his life he'd kept secret. The time had been right, and her theory about his dreams jived with those of his therapist. Perhaps what happened back in 1983 had induced post traumatic stress syndrome. But why? There was only one way to find out -- go back and confront his demons.

It had been wonderful to hear Carolyn's voice after all these years. She sounded just as excitable as ever. However, he was puzzled by their cryptic conversation. She thought it best if they could discuss recent events in person.

"Come on, come on," he said, as the cars ahead inched along. Frustrated, he turned on the radio.

"Call for your free psychic reading," a voice blasted through the speakers.

He was in no mood to hear a commercial. He needed something to perk him up. Going from station to station he finally stopped when the harmonious melodies of ABBA came through. He grinned to himself. It had been a long time since he'd last heard this song. In fact, it had been on the day he met...

Mulder stared wide eyed across the bustling street. Between the sea of motorists and scores of pedestrians he saw a figure standing on the pavement.

"Jamie!"

[Next Episode: The Return]

 

---

 

Chapter Two: Down And Out In Oxford

Frantically reaching for the door handle, Mulder kept his eyes focused on the incredible image. Wind blowing around him, Jamie stared directly at him. His green eyes blazed with a penetrating fierceness Mulder had never known before. Outside, the light changed color and a herd of pedestrians moved across the sidewalk. His vision obscured, Mulder silently cursed as Jamie disappeared behind the crowd. Wrestling with his seatbelt Mulder leapt from the car. Ignoring the irate horns he ran toward the cement.

Looking from left to right, his heart sank and he suddenly felt very foolish; not for the first time in his life, he noted. Taking deep breaths, he returned to his waiting vehicle. The motorist beside him stared open mouthed through her car window.

"Road rage makes ya do all sorts of things," he shrugged.

Closing the door behind him, Mulder fastened his seatbelt and took a sip of the coffee he'd picked up from Starbuck's. It's just those dreams, he reminded himself. He couldn't help but toy with the possibility.

"Am I losing my mind?" he muttered.

A voice from behind him said, "Could be. Someone shot a bullet through mine."

Mulder stared into the rearview mirror. Alex Krycek sat on the back seat. "Now I know I'm dreaming," he replied.

"Are you? Maybe he's looking for you instead of vice versa," Krycek suggested.

"What do you know about it?" Mulder shook his head in an attempt to wake himself up.

"Don't know," the Russian shrugged. "I'm just a figment of your subconscious."

"I've never thought twice about you."

Alex laughed impishly, "Yeah, sure. I'm in your mind, Fox. Don't play games with a pro."

In the driving seat, Mulder felt him searching into his thoughts. He had to put a stop to it.

"You've been alone for too long. Oh, what's this? I had no idea I rated so highly in your fantasies."

Mulder did not answer but stared straight ahead through the windshield. White hot anger surged through him, the old familiar anger Krycek always inspired. "Shut up!" he threatened, uselessly.

"Did you forget about him just as easily?" wondered the figment in the back seat.

"No," he replied, blood boiling. This was Mulder's dream and he didn't see why a rat bastard like Krycek should be talking down to him. Especially a dead rat bastard. "Look, why don't you just tell me what you want?"

Alex's face leaned in close. Even in his dreaming mind, Mulder could feel his hot breath against his cheek. His body blazed with a scarlet fire.

"It's out there. Waiting for you," he whispered.

Jamie's faint reflection stared directly through the window at him. But his face was different; angry and accusing.

Mulder jerked awake with a start. Looking up, he saw the vehicle ahead far in the distance. He was alone in his car; no Jamie, no Krycek -- the visions had vanished once more. He sighed and waved behind at the blaring horns. Glancing up again, his hands froze on the wheel. Mulder rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes. A phantasm, a peculiar dream that's all it had been. Things were getting out of control. Shifting gear and pressing his foot down, he sped toward the airport.

~oo0oo~

Relaxing his back against the plush seat, Mulder allowed the jazz music pouring from his portable CD player to calm his senses. He stared out of the window at the warm, pink evening clouds passing by. He'd boarded the flight just in the nick of time, and things had been uneventful ever since. Mainly due to the fact that he refused to let himself fall asleep again. For the life of him he could not understand why Alex Krycek had taken a starring role in his dreams. Was it guilt? He'd watched, frozen in time, as Walter Skinner gunned the man down after a series of constant threats. It had all been so surreal; as if made up in the mind of some deranged writer.

After all the years of fighting, Alex was dead and no longer a threat. Mulder had not been blind to the fact that those actions produced a profound effect on Skinner. A young steward, with features not disimilar to Krycek pushed a drinks trolley up the aisle. He gave Mulder a little wink, and Mulder smiled back nervously. It reminded him of the insinuations the Alex in his dreaming mind had made. He could never maintain an argument with Krycek. It always ended explosively; the Russian was always too strategic, too cunning, too ruthless... too sensuous. Mulder felt confusion rise up and become pure shock. What had Dream Alex meant by 'Out there. Waiting.'? What was he trying to do?

A rumble of turbulence shook through the plane. Mulder just ignored it and concentrated his thoughts on what lie ahead in Oxford. He felt a nervous anticipation in his heart. Maybe he would finally find the answers. Maybe he would finally find the truth.

~oo0oo~

Carolyn Prentice Fredericks stood among a line of family and friends impatiently waiting on the airplane's passengers to disembark. Brandon was off on an assignment, the twins were looking after the house, which gave her the free time to pick up her old college friend. Carolyn fidgeted a bit in the cold terminal. She didn't know how to explain everything to Foxy; she couldn't quite believe it herself. Her face brightened at the sight of a tall, lanky, criminally handsome man with short brown hair walking with a carryon toward her. His face broke into a patented Fox charm-the-pants-off-of-you Mulder grin.

"Foxy!" she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck.

He hugged her back warmly. "Carolyn, you look terrific!"

She stood back and observed him up and down. "Well, look at you! Just as good looking as ever. I'd hate to see the portrait hidden in your attic," she laughed. Her voice was a disarming mixture of Southern and British.

"How long have you been living here now?" he asked.

"Um... Gosh! Since the last time I saw you. I met Brandon and the rest was history."

"Carolyn, I have to know. What's going on?" Mulder gently took hold of her arm.

She looked up into his hazel eyes. "I think you might want to sit down first," she suggested.

He sighed. "I've come straight off a plane, Carrie. Just tell me."

Hooking her arm around his, Carolyn lead him through the swishing electronic doors toward the security area. "About a year ago, a student was found," she whispered the next word, "murdered... in Oxford woods."

"And you think there's a connection with what happened in 1983?" Mulder immediately sensed where this was heading.

She shook her head. "Not at first. You see my husband is a journalist and his contacts in the police department tipped him off."

"Tipped him to what?" Mulder, focused on Carolyn's story, didn't notice the heavy set security guard waiting with his hand out for Mulder's luggage. Carolyn nudged him in the ribs. "Oh! Yes, here you are."

A distracted Carolyn let her mind wander. "You're a very hard person to track down, Foxy. I tried to get in touch with you back when it all happened. Were you buried under a rock?"

"No, just buried," he muttered under his breath.

"You what?"

"Nothing. You know what they told me in the hospital after the accident?" Carolyn shook her long blonde head. "That my amnesia was a 'merciful blessing'."

"Maybe it was," she concurred. "You still don't remember what happened?"

"No," he admitted, dejectedly. "Whenever I try to focus on anything, it's like, like... wandering through a fog."

"I still get a chill from the memories." Carolyn shivered involuntarily, and huddled within her faux rabbit coat.

"Exactly what do you remember?" asked Mulder. Not once had she offered any information. When she winced, he decided to try a different tact. "We never got a chance to compare notes. You left school a month later."

She nodded, grateful for the change in subject. She didn't like the lady in the large blue hat eavesdropping from behind. Nor the weirdo in a fedora and trenchcoat staring at them.

"Like I said, I met Brandon and I was..." She tried to think of the proper word. "...in the family way."

Mulder's eyebrows shot up. "Carolyn! And I thought I was the wild one."

She stifled a giggle. "Silly! It was all very innocent. And besides he made me an honest woman. My hands were too full with the twins to be wild."

"Twins?"

"Mmm-hmm. Jessica and James."

"James?"

"After Jamie," she gave him a full smile. "You know how much I adored him."

Mulder looked away, a pang of sadness returning. A hand went to her mouth. "Oh, Foxy I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"No, I'm here to rediscover the past," he told her, adamantly. "Now, can we get back to what you remember and what you found out?"

"Oh, look here's your bags," she pointed. The guard handed over Mulder's luggage, and the pair walked on down a slanted corridor toward the nearest exit. Away from the crowd, Mulder gave her an expectant look. Carolyn continued, "Soon after the boy's body was found in the forest, there were two more deaths."

"Under the same circumstances?" he pressed.

"Yes," she began slowly. "All of them unexplained. Mulder, one of them was Professor Wickham and..."

Mulder's breath caught in his throat. For an instant, a vision flashed before his eyes of a small white-haired man flourishing a leather satchel. "The professor?"

"And Inspector Winston," she finished. Carolyn watched as the information sunk itself in. She bit her lip, worried.

Mulder blinked several times, and felt a sharp pain in his head. "Whoa!" exclaimed Carolyn, catching him when his legs wobbled. She helped her friend to an empty chair. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he said, holding his temples. "Ah... just the rush of stepping off the plane."

She narrowed her eyes. "Right. Look Foxy, I might not have finished university but I know a lie when I hear one."

"Carolyn, please go on." He squeezed her shoulder reasurringly.

"I don't think..."

"Please?"

Had it been a mistake to ask Mulder to come here? The feeling behind his eyes sucked her in. That Foxy magic she remembered so well. Against her better judgement, Carolyn resumed her tale.

"The cause of death was never found. One thing the police kept secret was another strange discovery in those woods. A hole blown clean up through the ground."

Mulder jumped on her words. "Blown up? A hole? What was found at the bottom of the hole?"

"You and your fascination with holes," she said, cheekily.

"Carolyn."

"Sorry, just trying to make you smile. They didn't find anything."

"What? They didn't investigate?"

"Mulder, don't you remember the legends of those woods?" She let out an exasperated sigh. "Nobody will even go near them."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," he said, quickly. "If this all happened a year ago, what's been going on since?"

"Good question! My husband became intrigued with the stories and decided to write an article. He found out that an American company made a huge donation to the university and were granted permission to excavate the woods."

"What did they find?" He was half afraid of her answer.

She inhaled deeply. "They completely uncovered a series of catacombs, and found skeletons..."

"Carolyn, was..." he began, slowly.

"No, no. That's why I wanted so desperately to find you, Foxy. Most of the bodies have been identified by dental records... I wasn't sure if..."

Mulder's heart filled with a hope and joy he had not known in a long time. He leapt up, startling Carolyn. "Do you know what this means?"

"Mulder, wait! Calm down. Yes, it's a possibility. It would be a miracle if Jamie survived."

"This explains everything!" he cried.

"Explains what?"

He gripped her shoulders, staring into her incredulous face. "I've been having dreams about him for some time now. I thought it was my memories trying to tell me what happened. But on my way to the airport, I thought I... No! I saw Jamie in D.C.!"

"Mulder!" The almost fanatical gleam in his eye caused an uneasiness in Carolyn. She patted his arms. "Let's find out for sure before you start thinking this is the second coming."

Mulder picked up his suitcase and carryon, turned and broke out into a jog toward the exit. "I want to go to the site - now!"

Carolyn shook her head in amazement. That man had not changed one bit!

As the pair left the airport terminal, the man in a fedora and trenchcoat spoke into a cell phone. A photograph of Fox Mulder clutched in his hand.

~oo0oo~

The drive from Gatwick to Oxford had been, for the most part, a silent one. Carolyn refused to let Mulder build his hopes up for nothing. Her first thought had been the slim chance that Jamie got out alive. Brandon insisted that she look at the situation realistically. The chances were slim to none, but she had to know not only for Mulder's sake, but her own. She had carried the guilt of not watching Jamie more carefully for eighteen years. She would never forget the nights spent with Mulder near the site, before the search was abandoned. He'd been heartbroken, and she herself couldn't grasp the deaths of Ryan and Jamie. The way Mulder had transferred his grief on his studies created a gap between them. She tried to keep in touch, but as with all things, they grew apart and she left school. She'd been quite surprised to hear that he and Phoebe had started dating again. Jamie would've had a fit!

...That is if he... Carolyn concentrated on the road ahead. Beside her, Mulder was pouring over her husband's notes with a penlight. She hoped that this trip wouldn't be for nothing. In a way, she could almost understand why Foxy shut out all talk of Jamie; became obssessed with school; and dating Phoebe. It was easier to forget than face the pain. By coming back, he seemed more than willing to face the ghosts of the past. But could she?

Mulder looked up at the shrouded British countryside rushing by. He felt on the brink of something important. Carolyn's husband's notes were very thorough. It seemed that Jamie's family requested not to have any dealings with the original investigation. His grandmother had actually cursed a detective over the phone, refusing to believe that her grandson was dead! Mulder felt an incredible energy in his soul. Could it be possible?

Turning down the Corrs' latest, Carolyn glanced over at her friend. "Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"Yes, I suppose I do. What about you?"

He pondered this. "I'd just about given up on mysteries," he admitted. "But now I'm not so sure... There's a lot of things I'm not sure about anymore..." His voice trailed off. "Yes, I still believe," he stated firmly.

The little yellow convertible puttered on through the night.

~oo0oo~

The large, high beam flashlight sparked into life in Mulder's hand. He'd packed in a hurry, but this was one of the first things he grabbed. Any hope that Oxford woods could jog his memories failed to inspire. There was scarcely a tree left. The entire area had been bulldozed, particular areas marked out with abandoned wooden pegs, orange tape forming checkerboard like squares.

"Was this company archaeologists?" he wondered aloud.

Carolyn left the car's lights on, the double lines of light piercing the blackness. She hurried across to Mulder, keeping so close that she repeatedly bumped into him. "What? Oh, no, not at all. That's what Brandon found so funny."

"Well, what was the joke?"

"Why a genetic company would want to dig up a haunted wood."

Carolyn's words hung on the misty air. Why indeed, Mulder wondered. He stopped before a little, white sign planted in the ground. In red block letters it read,

EXCAVATION FUNDED BY AVATAR

"Avatar?" he rolled the word around in his mouth. Bfore he could mull it over further, Carolyn gasped and nearly stepped on his toe. "Did you hear that?" she hissed.

Mulder flashed the light around. "Hear what?"

"A twig snapping." Her fear filled eyes turned to him. "What if someone... or something's out there?"

Squinting, Mulder only recognized a soft wind whistling by. "And they call me paranoid," he smiled, trying to lift her spirits.

"Oh, you!" She smacked him in the arm. "I don't know why you couldn't wait to come here in the morning, Foxy. For pete's sake, I can't see a thing!"

"What's this?" He pointed the flashlight at a large burrow, supported by props. The entrance had been completely boarded up.

"I think that must be the way inside the catacombs," Carolyn guessed. "I guess they sealed it up after finding the bodies."

Mulder thrust the flashlight into her hands. "I want to get inside!" he exclaimed, reaching forward to pry the boards loose.

"Mulder! I am not going in there."

The boards were fixed firmly in place. Mulder stood back and hissed between his teeth. In a fit of anger, he kicked out at a board. He stalked back toward her, determination glaring from his eyes. "Carolyn, I want to know everything. No matter how painful it may be."

"Foxy," she began gently. "I know about as much as you do. I was never down there."

"Yes, but what happened before? It's all on the tip of my mind. I only need a push to jar the memories."

She shook her head vigorously. "No, no. I don't want to remember."

"You made the choice to remember when you called me, Carrie. Come on, it's just the two of us out here. You can tell me."

The softness of his voice had the desired effect. She let her mind flow back to the autumn of 1983. "It all began after we met Jamie. There were two... deaths."

"Deaths," he repeated. "Yes, I-I think I remember."

"Jamie started having bad dreams..."

"Dreams?" Mulder repeated, distantly.

"You were really worried, frightened even. Then, out of the blue you asked me to look after him."

"Look after Jamie. Why?" He shot his eyes back to her.

Saltwater welled in her clear blue eyes. "You thought that someone was after him."

"Who? Carolyn, think! Try to remember."

"It was a long time ago. I didn't know at first," her voice rose to an almost hysterical pitch.

"Know what?"

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. "It was Sebastian Beal, he kidnapped Jamie... and it was all my fault."

Carolyn buried her face in Mulder's shoulder, weeping openly. Something about this seemed familiar, but it was like a television drama... something he'd watched instead of experienced. "It's alright, Carolyn," he said, patting her back. "One thing I'm sure of, Jamie would never blame you for anything."

"He was always so kind, so gentle," she sniffed. "And he loved you so much."

"What happened next?" Mulder asked, hopeful. He had to focus on the events leading up to the cave in.

"Professor Wickham showed up and everything went bananas," she explained, as she wept. "There was a terrifying sound. I can still hear it some nights. We couldn't move... The professor did something and the sound stopped."

For an instant, Mulder could hear a whispering, dragging sound. But the images refused to come. Carolyn looked up into his faraway face. "Do you remember?" she sniffed.

"Unfortunately, no." An old familiar despair took hold. "Why can't I remember?" He slung his arms out at the plowed ground. "I was here when it all happened, but everytime I grasp onto a solid, real memory it slips through my fingers."

Carolyn gasped in surprise, and Mulder shielded his eyes against the glare of approaching headlights. Who could this be? Who would be coming out here, beside them? The lights dimmed and Mulder made out a couple of slim figures emerging from a car.

"Hello, Fox," Inspector Phoebe Green smiled.

"Phebes?" Carolyn breathed.

This had been a day full of surprises. The last time Mulder saw Phoebe was when he and Scully helped her on a case that was most definitely an X-File.

"Well, this is really turning into old home week," he smirked. "Phoebe, how did you know?"

She shrugged. "I've been expecting you to turn up. I have men posted at the airports."

"Lucky you," Mulder half joked.

"And when I heard you entered the country I figured you'd end up here. I just didn't expect to find you in Carolyn's arms."

"Oh," Carolyn bristled.

"Then why are you here?" Mulder inquired. "To keep us away from the site?"

Phoebe stared across at him. Why did he have to be so hostile, so distrusting? "Look, if this is about Jamie..."

Carolyn cut her off. "You never liked him."

"Look, I'm not here to talk about that. Fox, I brought someone you'd like to meet."

For the first time, Mulder and Carolyn took in the stunningly beautiful young woman with Phoebe. Her porcelain face was framed in long, dark hair which shined in the car's headlights.

"Hi," she smiled.

"This is Miss Brown," Phoebe introduced them. "A psychic investigator whose services have come in handy."

"Thank you." Miss Brown shook hands with a stunned Mulder and Carolyn. "Inspector Green filled me in on the details. I've always found the woods to be an interesting source of spectral activity."

She started walking around the deserted excavation. "This place smells of death," she said, dreamily.

Mulder stepped forward and took Phoebe aside. "Phoebe, you actually brought a psychic out here?"

"Nice to see you again, too, Fox."

"I'm sorry, I... just..."

"Look, I knew you'd investigate eventually. I knew you wouldn't be satisifed until you found the truth."

A low wailing grabbed their attention. Carolyn hurried over to Mulder's side, gripping his leather jacket tightly. Miss Brown stood with her hands outstretched, her eyes staring.

"Evil... evil was unleashed here," she whispered.

"What evil?" Mulder urgently asked, but Phoebe hushed him.

In her mind's eye, Miss Brown saw a circle of thirteen black cowled figures surrounding a stone. The image changed to a young man, with blonde hair and green eyes. She whirled around and pointed a finger at Mulder.

"You!" she proclaimed. "There is a presence all around you... One who was here... One you loved and lost... One who is lost... One who is lost..."

Goosebumps spread across Mulder's skin; a gutwrenching fear raced into his heart. No, no, Jamie couldn't be dead. Please don't let him be dead.

"What do you see?" Phoebe asked, neutrally.

"Tunnels... torches... dark figures..." As Miss Brown described her psychic vision, Mulder felt an aching pain building up behind his eyes. Shadowy images blinked in rapid succession before him...

Narrow tunnels, flickering torches set at intervals along the rock walls. Intersections leading deeper into the earth. Have to find him! Must find him! Men in long, black robes appearing on the edge of his vision...

"There's a boy... he's filled with fear... but not for himself... Someone he loves is in danger... No!" Miss Brown screamed the words, experiencing the raw emotions generated by her gift.

A stream of sweat rolled down Mulder's face. He saw a curved knife held in a gloved hand. It flew through the air...

"NO!"

"NO!"

Mulder and Miss Brown cried out in unison. Shocked back to reality, they both crumpled to the ground. Carolyn and Phoebe were at a loss as to who to help first.

~*~*~*~*~

Mulder walked along a vast beach of golden sand. High above, the sky was a kalediscope of vivid indigo and bright silver stars. The gentle breaking of waves filled his mind. Nearby he spotted an old sign beside the carved white cliffs.

UNDERCURRENTS
Bringing Things To The Surface

He cocked his head to the side. It seemed distantly familiar. A long forgotten slogan. A message from the past. He moved on, laying his naked body down on the surprisingly warm sand. He peered into the night sky. The stars twinkled down at him mischieviously. One particular star floated in space, waiting for something. The star moved closer to Mulder, changing from silver to a brilliant gold. It had green eyes and flowing blonde hair. Mulder reached out for a burning kiss of desire. His body was aflame with an intense need for that kiss. Their lips slowly began to touch...

"I think he's coming around," a voice said.

~*~*~*~*~

Mulder awoke with a jolt, strangely energized, beneath the comforter of a luxuriant hotel bed. Lost in shock, he pressed a hand to his tingling lips. The star... he knew in his heart it was Jamie.

"Good morning," Carolyn said.

He blinked around. "What? Where am I?"

Phoebe and Carolyn exchanged concerned glances after spending a vigilent night by his bedside. Miss Brown had recovered quickly; assuring them that Mulder would be fine, and after returning her home, Phoebe had followed Carolyn to the hotel she'd booked for Mulder. He slept through the night, giving the two women a chance to make an uneasy peace. The little whimperings and moans Fox made had caused some concern.

"That must have been some dream you had," Carolyn ventured, slyly.

"Um, I, ah yes, quite." He actually blushed.

"Are you feeling better?" Phoebe asked.

"What happened?" He winced from the bright sunlight streaming in.

"Miss Brown called it a psychic fusion," Carolyn explained. "Whatever that means."

Phoebe sighed, and stretched her back. "You both experienced the same vision."

Mulder nodded vaguely. "I know what it means. Did she say if..."

"No, Foxy. What was the last thing she said before passing out, Phoebe?" Carolyn said, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"She felt a great crashing," Phoebe replied, thinking back.

"I'm sorry you didn't get the answers you needed," Carolyn said.

"This might help," Phoebe offered, tossing a thick folder onto the bed near Mulder. He picked it up and started leafing through. "It's a report on the deaths in '83 along with those from last year."

Mulder smiled a stunning smile. "Thanks, Phoebe."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "It's the least I could do, but I wouldn't get my hopes up."

He slipped out of his T shirt and grabbed at his suitcase. "They're already in the stratosphere," he told them. "Jamie's alive!"

Carolyn looked at Phoebe, then at Mulder in wide eyed puzzlement.

"Just how did you come to that conclusion?" asked Phoebe.

He whirled around, talking hurriedly. "You've heard of precognitive dreams? I believe mine have been trying to point me toward him all this time. I thought I was just going mad, when I should have been paying attention to the clues."

"Mulder, calm down!" Carolyn exclaimed. "You're starting to scare me!"

"I'm starting to scare myself, actually," he said, shrugging into a fresh shirt.

Phoebe rushed to his side and gripped his arm. "Come on, do you honestly believe that Jamie Grayson could still be alive after all this time? I mean, why wouldn't he contact you?"

He paused, refusing to let doubt in. "I don't know, but I have every intention of learning exactly what happened." He looked at the sunrise colors through the window. "Jamie is out there, and I'm going to find him!"

[Next Episode: Midnight Madness]

 

---

 

Chapter Three: Off With His Head

"Where do you think you're going?" Phoebe questioned, sharing a very concerned look with Carolyn. Mulder's outburst had left them both rattled.

He turned, halfway out of the hotel room's door. "I told you, I'm going to find Jamie."

Phoebe's eyes danced feverishly. "You're assuming this because of a dream?"

"It's not my imagination!" he exclaimed.

"Fox, nobody could survive a cave-in like that." She had to make him see reason, instead of flying off.

Mulder eyes flashed dangerously. "He's not dead! If there is even the slightest chance, I have to hang onto that hope. I've let this go for eighteen years. I don't want to hear any more negative talk about what may or may not have happened. Can't you just accept that I believe in my heart that he's alive?"

Carolyn stepped forward, eager to intervene. "Um, Foxy, where are you planning to start?"

"I thought I'd visit the university and talk with the head of the archaeology department," he sighed.

"Why?" Phoebe scoffed. "Everything you could possibly need is here in the files." She gestured toward the unmade bed where a thick folder waited.

"There's not a single thing in there to tell me what I was doing in 1983. I'm going to learn exactly what they discovered down in those catacombs," he answered, his eyes pleading. "Look, I need something real, something concrete to hold on to."

Phoebe sighed and folded her arms. "If you insist on running off like a maniac, I'd better come with you."

"Me, too!" Carolyn chimed in.

Mulder slid into his jacket, keeping an eye on both his friends. He realized he must sound like an insane SOB, but he'd been branded with that distinction from day one. "Alright," he agreed. "I'd appreciate the help."

He hurried out of the room. As Phoebe made to follow, Carolyn held her back with a restraining hand. "What changed your mind?"

"Not wanting to see Fox locked up, mostly," she replied.

Carolyn fixed her with a steely gaze, one she reserved for getting her own way with her husband. "You don't believe that Jamie could still be alive, do you?"

"No."

"Then why did you give Foxy those files?"

"To make him come to terms with it."

"But if Jamie did survive..."

"That's a pretty big if," Phoebe observed.

"Did you see the hope shining in his face?" Carolyn asked. "I don't want to see that light go out. We can't take his hope away."

"What's worse, Carolyn -- knowing or not knowing?"

Carolyn chewed this over. It was a valid question. Before she could respond, Mulder reappeared in the open doorway. "Are you two coming?"

~oo0oo~

Mulder strode about five paces ahead of Carolyn and Phoebe as they made their way down a brightly lit corridor toward the archaeology department. The historic university looked exactly the same; the halls wafting a musty smell of books. Mulder could feel Carolyn and Phoebe's eyes on his back. He knew they were tagging along out of worry, and not out of the belief he felt. He couldn't help but think of all the times Scully had done the exact same thing. Well, everyone in the world could call him crazy. His dreams, his visions, were trying to tell him something. He was more certain about Jamie with every step.

Carolyn, who had been uncharacteristically silent on the drive over, peered through a passing window. If Mulder discovered what actually happened back in 1983, how would it effect him? She glanced across at Phoebe, the discerning voice of reason through it all. Carolyn could sense that she was still bitter about losing Foxy to Jamie all those years ago.

The trio paused outside a large door with the name DR. BRYCE LANGFORD emblazoned on the frosted glass. Mulder rapped loudly on the paneling and made to open the door. Phoebe slammed a palm against the glass. "You'd better let me handle this," she suggested, walking in ahead of him.

Dr. Langford looked up over his glasses as a woman entered his office, followed closely by a man and another lady. "Yes, how may I help you?" he inquired.

Phoebe flashed her badge in the man's face. "Inspector Phoebe Green, Scotland Yard." She nodded back at Mulder and Carolyn, who joined her in front of Langford's cluttered desk. "These are my associates, Mr. Fox Mulder and Mrs. Carolyn Fredericks."

"Hi!" Carolyn smiled. Her outburst elicited a withering glance from Phoebe.

"Scotland Yard?" Langford repeated. "You have the advantage of me Inspector Green."

Phoebe smiled faintly. She loved how her official status set people on edge. "We're here investigating your findings in the excavation of Oxford Woods."

"Oh, really?" Langford looked the three people over. "Everything was clearly documented and reported last year," he explained.

"We know about the bodily remains, doctor. What we're interested in was the catacombs purpose."

"Purpose?"

Mulder leaned forward. "I lost someone down there and I have to know..."

Phoebe cut in before he could continue. "Please, doctor? Your help would be greatly appreciated."

"Of course, inspector," he said after a moment's hesitation. Langford stood up and hooked his thumbs in the lapels of his jacket. He moved toward a framed map of the catacomb system hanging on a nearby wall. He adopted his best speech voice. "The cave system is a natural geological formation, carved out of rock by a long-dried up underground river."

Mulder peered at the map, with its honeycomb of tunnels marked out -- all leading to a huge chamber, like a spider at the center of a web.

"And what about this?" he asked, indicating the drawing of the chamber.

"Oh, that? The central chamber was the largest cavern found. Many of the most important archaeological finds..."

Mulder did not have the patience to hear a lecture. "Yes, I get the picture. It's big. What I'm interested in is what you found down there."

The doctor hesitated once more. "Dr. Langford, I must insist..." Phoebe cut in.

He shrugged. "Nothing of any significance. Nothing to pinpoint what those people were doing down there eighteen years ago."

"What about the hole blown up through the earth?" prompted Mulder.

"Oh," he sighed. "Just a build up of air trapped underground. It found a crack in the crust and released itself. Rather like a cork popping out of a bottle." He laughed.

"You can't be serious!" Mulder exploded.

"We've determined that the ghostly noises heard over the years came from the wind carried through the tunnels," he replied, smugly.

Phoebe nodded at Carolyn, who squeezed Mulder's arm. They wouldn't get anywhere if Mulder pissed the man off. "I've gone over the reports thoroughly, Dr. Langford. Besides a few vauge notions, no one seems willing to make a conclusion." Goddess, now she was beginning to sound like Mulder!

"What are you suggesting, young lady? That I've been supressing information? That the legends of witchcraft and ghosts are true?"

Mulder looked across at Phoebe, both taken aback by his hostile attitude. "What have legends got to do with an avalanche in 1983?" Mulder wondered aloud.

"Well, there were the ravings of that professor..." Langford stared off into space. "Oh, what was the man's name?"

"Wickham," Carolyn opined.

Langford snapped his fingers. "Wickham! Oh, yes that was it. Weird Wickham."

"What did he say?" pressed Mulder, he duly noted the shiftiness in the man's eyes.

The doctor sighed, as if it took every ounce of will to reply. "He went on and on about a cult using the catacombs. Have you ever heard of such an outrageous suggestion?"

"I've heard far worse," Phoebe replied, glancing knowingly at Fox. She was quite surprised by his faraway statement.

"A cult?" Mulder repeated, his voice faint.

Langford waved his hands in the air, dismissively. "Sheer nonsense."

Carolyn felt a chill. Something about this seemed familiar. Of course! The night Jamie disappeared... Professor Wickham and Foxy were arguing about a cult. "Oh my god," she whispered.

"What is it, Carolyn?" Phoebe asked.

"I-I remember the professor talking about a cult..." she began, slowly.

The words filled Mulder's mind. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Dr. Langford puffed out his cheeks in irritation. "If you want to discuss fantasy, kindly leave my office. I have a great deal of work to do."

"But..." Mulder began to protest.

"Yes, I guess that's about it then. Thank you for your valuable time," Phoebe said, cuttingly.

Mulder stalked out of the office, his face red from frustration and anger. Carolyn and Phoebe caught the door before it could slam back on its frame.

"Mulder, wait!" Carolyn called.

He whirled around, fuming. "Absolutely no help whatsoever."

"I'm sorry," she frowned.

"What are you thinking, Fox?" Phoebe wondered.

"I think that man was lying," he replied.

"So do I."

Carolyn looked from one to the other. "Well, what do we do now?"

"I think we should go back to the site and find a way down into the catacombs," Mulder told them, firmly.

Phoebe raised a skeptical eyebrow. "It may be another wild goose chase."

"This is one goose I'm ready to catch and cook!" he said, excitedly.

Carolyn bit her bottom lip. She did not like the idea of trudging underground in a place like that. "Um, I don't know. I've got a bad feeling about this," she groaned.

~oo0oo~

Dr. Langford peeked out of his door into the now empty hallway. Swiftly turning the lock, he hurried back to his desk. Taking a deep breath he picked up his phone and dialed the operator.

"Hello, operator? Yes, I'd like to place an international call to a Mr. Gordon Stratton at the Avatar research facility, San Francisco, California, United States."

~oo0oo~

The reassurance of daylight did nothing to allay Carolyn's fears. Oxford woods, churned up and excavated, was still the creepiest place on the planet. Foxy was all too eager to go down into the catacombs. She didn't like it. What if what he found dashed all of his hopes for good?

Phoebe's earlier question came back to haunt her: 'What's worse, knowing or not knowing?'

Parking Carolyn's car in concealment, Mulder found a tire iron, snatched up his flashlight, and briskly headed straight toward the boarded up entrance. Phoebe parked her car nearby, and quickly followed, carrying two flashlights bought in town.

"Are you all right?" Phoebe asked, taking in the nervous statement on Carolyn's face.

"Um, there's not going to be any... ah, skeletons or anything down there?" she wondered.

Phoebe snorted. "I don't think so. Everything was removed during the excavation."

"Good," she sighed, relieved.

When they eventually caught up with Mulder, he was already hard at work prying loose the boards. The burrow was shaped like a mine entrance. Phoebe felt better for being here. What they were doing was highly illegal, but she was very curious to know why Dr. Langford was being so uncooperative.

With an audible grunt, Mulder tore several planks away. The hole left was just large enough for them to squeeze through. Letting the crowbar drop, he gripped his torch and looked back at his friends.

"Ready?" he asked, expectantly.

"After you," Phoebe said.

Mulder ushered them down the steeply sloping tunnel that led into the caves. Descending a stone staircase, Mulder's flashlight swept across the cave system's rock walls. He noted that a lot of money had gone into opening up the catacombs. Sturdy pit props had been erected to support the exposed tunnels. At random intervals, metal hooks dripped with condensation. The archaeology team had taken their lamps after completing the excavation. He felt a chill piercing his skin. Everything seemed so familiar, like a half remembered dream.

"It's a wonder someone didn't buy this place and turn it into a theme park," Carolyn's voice echoed.

"And bill it as what, Oxford's Cave of Horrors?" Phoebe suggested.

Mulder moved further into the tunnel. Just on the edge of his vision, he saw figures moving stealthily along the darkened corridors. He blinked rapidly and the images chased themselves away.

"Foxy, are you ok?" Carolyn inquired, worriedly.

"Yeah, just deja vu," he replied.

A sharp wind blew through the tunnel opening, causing Carolyn to whirl around and point her slim flashlight into the darkness.

"It's just the wind," Phoebe chided.

"I hope so. I don't fancy meeting any ghosts," Carolyn breathed. "You know what, I think I'll wait outside. I'd like to call home while you two poke around."

"Cowardly custard!" Phoebe called after her.

With a quick turn, Carolyn stuck her tongue out before reemerging into the sunlight.

Further along the tunnel, Mulder paused before a huge area of cave wall divided into marble panels depicting cracked, faded figures and odd symbols. He took a small, black notebook from his back pocket and began to sketch.

"What are you doing?" asked Phoebe.

"I've got three friends back home who might find this interesting," he replied.

Phoebe inhaled deeply and took tentative steps toward him. "Fox, what are you going to do if you find out he's really dead?"

"Don't say that," he whispered, closing the notebook.

"I have to. I understand that you feel guilty about the past..."

"Of course I do! I have to find the missing pieces. I have to know what happened."

"For closure?"

"No! For my heart. I never stopped loving Jamie."

"I know," she said quietly. "I just wish things could've been different."

Silence hung like a shroud in the damp cave.

"I'm sorry, Phoebe," Mulder said, sincerely.

"The last time we met, you didn't mention anything," she said. "I thought that you'd put this all behind you."

He smiled a little. "To be honest, I thought I had."

"It's water under the bridge," she told him, moving to examine the wall. "I wonder why this was left behind?"

"I've seen this before," Mulder said, half to himself. He knelt to examine a particular fresco. Hundreds of years old, the carved stick figures surrounded a stone.

Phoebe ran a hand across the marble surface. "It appears to be a primitive ceremony," she observed.

Mulder pointed at the last panel. "What do you make of that?"

She joined him, and took in the stick men raising their hands above a stone. Mulder peered intently at the final slab. It also depicted a series of a lines radiating out toward... something.

"This one's been scratched out," he said.

Indeed, the image had been completely desecrated by a blunt object.

Phoebe stood up, brushing her hands off. "Well, obviously someone wanted to keep the end of the ceremony a secret."

"Dr. Langford?" he suggested.

"Who knows?" she shrugged.

Mulder turned on his heel, casting a light around the tunnel walls. His heart raced, causing a rushing sound in his ears. What he wouldn't give for a bag of sunflower seeds right about now to calm his nerves. He knew the answer was here staring him in the face.

"Phoebe, what do you know about the legends?" he asked.

She sniffed dismissively. "Just that the woods were meant to be haunted by lost souls. I do remember reading that occult ceremonies continued to take place even after the university was founded."

Balling up a fist, Mulder slapped himself in the forehead. "It's here! All the answers are in my head. From what Carolyn told me last night, something strange had been going on."

"Look Fox, I know what you're getting at." Phoebe sighed. "There was never any evidence to support Professor Wickham's claims of a cult."

"What about these?" He shined the light on the marble frescos, then pointed it in her direction. "How do you explain what we were doing down here?"

"I can't," she admitted. "But there's something you have to realize, all of the witnesses are dead. You're the only one left."

He nodded, grimly. "And I don't remember a damn thing."

"Fox, there could be more going on here than any of us know. I will grant you this, the murders from 1983 and those of last year are unexplained. There is no plausible explanation as to why the bodies decomposed so quickly."

Mulder gave her a Hanna-Barbera double take. "What? Are you trying to tell me that you think there's a conspiracy here?"

"I'm suggesting no such thing. I just think you should be careful."

From outside came the low rumbling of an approaching storm. Phoebe shuffled her feet, suddenly feeling a bit frightened. "Come on, Fox. I think we've seen enough."

"No," he shook his head adamantly. "I'm not leaving yet."

He made for one of the tunnel openings that lead deeper into the catacombs.

"I don't like this," Phoebe said, warily.

"You're beginning to sound like Carolyn," he said.

"I'm beginning to understand how she feels." Phoebe stopped and rubbed the back of her neck. Her hair was standing on end. In the distance, she could hear a slight... whispering. "What's that?" she asked.

Ahead of her, Mulder stood rooted, unable to move.

~oo0oo~

Turning off her cell phone, Carolyn replaced it inside her jacket. The twins were fine, and hearing their voices made her feel more at ease. Just like his namesake, her son James could sense that something was wrong. She clumsily assured him that everything was fine, and that she would be home soon. Shortly afterwards, she'd jumped at the sound of an approaching storm. The setting sun was casting a series of creepy shadows over the area. Carolyn shivered. A thunderclap sent her scurrying back inside the darkness of the tunnel.

"Hey, you two!" she called. "It's starting to get dark out there and I really think we should be going."

Her eyes widened in surprise. Mulder was backing away, his face filled with terror. Carolyn rushed forward and tugged at Phoebe's sleeve.

"What's wrong with Mulder?"

She froze. A sound which haunted her nightmares echoed up one of the tunnels. A whispering growing in volume to a slithering scream. Mulder hunched forward, wrapping his arms around his knees. He started crying softly, rocking back and forth.

Phoebe stared down at him in shock. He'd slipped into an almost catatonic state. Carolyn knelt beside him, willing him to move. What in the hell could reduce a man like Fox Mulder into a frightened child?

"What are we going to do?" Carolyn wailed. "He won't move!"

The slithering sound drew closer. "Grab an arm!" Phoebe hollered.

Grasping him under an arm each, the two women hauled Mulder to his feet and made a dash for the entrance. They struggled through the opening and burst out into a sudden downpour.

"Look," Carolyn cried, pointing at her car standing in the rain.

"Come on!" Phoebe shouted.

They ran, carrying an unconscious Mulder between them, slipping through the mud. Something large passed overhead. The keening of birds in a raging storm.

Phoebe shook her head. "Birds! It was only birds! I feel like a bleedin' B-movie star!"

Carolyn felt a kind of nauseous relief. "I don't believe it!" she cried. "That...that sound came from within the tunnel."

"Remember what Dr. Langford said about sound traveling through the cave? I guess he was right." Hefting a limp, soaken Mulder between them, Phoebe nodded. "You'd better get him to a doctor, fast."

Carolyn reached her vehicle and grabbed at the door, pulling it open. She jumped inside, Phoebe helping her to set Mulder into the passenger seat. Then she started the engine.

"Just a moment, what are you going to do?" she asked.

Phoebe pointed back toward the tunnel entrance. "Put those boards back into place. We don't want someone getting lost down there. I'll call you later."

"Ok, if you're sure," Carolyn said, all to eager to leave. Gunning the engine, she pushed her foot down on the accelerator, and sped away with Mulder as fast as she could.

The wheels spun out, sending a spray of mud flying onto Phoebe's coat. "Great!" she hissed. "What next?"

Shaking her head, she headed back toward the tunnel. The rain was coming down in buckets now, and she was tempted to leave the opening uncovered till morning. Knowing her luck, someone would come along, get curious, then lose themselves in the tunnels. Picking up the discarded planks, Phoebe started to set them back into place.

Once more, a screeching sound filled the air. She looked up into the rain soaked sky, flicking her dripping auburn locks from her eyes. Boy, she'd love to have a pair of sights trained on those bloody birds!

Something large crashed through the tunnel opening, splintering the wood into tiny fragments. Phoebe screamed and staggered backwards, falling into the ever growing mud. Her eyes were large saucers of fear.

A creature, from the darkest nightmare imaginable, roared its fury. Its snake-like creature reared up, and slithered through the mud toward her.

Struggling to her feet, Phoebe slid frantically for her waiting car. Lightning flashed, and the creature lunged for its prey. Leathery wings propelled it forward, swooping down. A tentacled mouth clamped onto the back of Phoebe's neck, just as her hand reached the door handle.

Dark blood spread into the brown water. The lifeless husk that had once been Inspector Phoebe Green crumpled to the ground with a sickening squelch. A bolt of lightning pierced the sky, and the creature screeched its triumphant.

Phoebe's body began to disappear under the mud.

~oo0oo~

Some distance away, Mulder stirred and rubbed at the aching behind his temples. "Carolyn, what happened?"

She turned to him in surprise. He looked as if he'd just woken from a dream. "I should have never brought you here," she whispered.

"What? Why?" he questioned.

"Relax, Foxy. I'm taking you to see a doctor."

"I don't need a doctor!" he insisted, his tone that of a petulant little boy. "Ouch," he winced, shutting his eyes against the pain.

"Oh, no?"

"Please, just tell me what happened."

"You went into some kind of shock. You really had me scared."

"Carolyn, it's nothing. I've been having these... funny turns for about a year now."

"All the more reason to have a doctor check you out. Do I have to drag you by the ear?"

"Ok, ok," he relented.

~oo0oo~

Stepping off the escalator, Mulder walked through the D.C. airport terminal. After a good night's rest, due to medication supplied by Carolyn's doctor, he'd slept through the night. He insisted on heading home that morning. Carolyn made him promise to call as soon as he knew anything. Even though he was no closer to learning the truth about Jamie, the search brought back the same feelings of excitement he'd had working on the X-Files.

What puzzled him was his blackout in the tunnels. Carolyn had tried and tried to describe what happened, without success. Somehow a strange whispering sound had reduced him to a gibbering wreck. 'Am I just losing my mind?' he wondered.

Hopefully, with the journalist's and police information supplied by Phoebe and Carolyn, the Lone Gunmen could make something out of it. He knew that he couldn't do this alone. He needed help to get Jamie back.

Picking up his suitcase from the carousel, Mulder placed the thick folders under his arm. Digging in his pocket, he found his car keys and headed for the parking lot. No sooner had he left the main concourse when a familiar prickling spread across his skin. Someone was watching him. Slowly, he turned and swallowed hard.

No, it couldn't be! He shut his eyes tight. When he opened them again, the apparition was still there. Striding with purpose down a flight of stairs was a figure in a black jacket, T shirt and jeans. His presence dark and brooding even across the building. Recovering from his initial shock, Mulder sprinted after Alex Krycek.

Keeping him firmly within his sight, Mulder hurried as fast as his legs would carry him. Krycek was alive! This was no dream! The Russian turned at a kiosk, and Mulder leapt over a chair in his frenzy to catch him.

Krycek disappeared behind a wall. Almost there! He rounded the corner...

Breathing heavily, Mulder fell to his knees and onto the floor, mute with shock.

Ahead of him there was not a single soul. Only a long, empty corridor stretching infintely away.

All of his emotions: hope, trust, and love were viciously torn out. He'd actually chased after an apparition of a man he saw killed before his very eyes; believing him to be real and solid. Just like he'd searched in Tibet and Oxford, chasing after the truth. It was all a lie.

Jamie was gone.

Sick, reeling, he sat with his back against a colorless wall. Voices from the past called out to him.

"No one could survive that."

"Your lost memories are a merciful blessing."

A side door opened and a young desk attendant wearing a soft lavender uniform stopped and looked down at the pale man sitting still and cold.

"Sir, do you need help? Are you ill?"

But Mulder did not answer, having retreated somewhere private as hope and reality drifted away.

[Next Episode: If You Remember Me]

 

---

 

Chapter Four: Memory Lane

"Another death?" I asked, trying to conceal the glee in my voice.

"Yes, sir," Gordon Stratton confirms. "The Shoggoth left behind in the catacombs has been awakened. We paid Dr. Langford well to keep us informed of anyone prying into the Oxford incident."

I steeple my fingers and stare across at him. "Hmm. Very wise. Although it concerns me that our agent did not inform us of this."

Gordon nods. "Perhaps he had no knowledge of the inquries, or--"

"Yes," I prompt him.

"Forgive my impertinence, lord, but I do not trust him. It was not wise to bring a stranger into our midst."

I've known of Gordon's jealousy for some time. True, he had his own doubts but the proof first brought to them was more than enough.

"Do not question my decisions," I tell him. "If we do not hear from him soon, we will take matters into our own hands. Now, tell me just who was digging into the past?"

"Inspector Phoebe Green of Scotland Yard, Carolyn Fredericks nee Prentice, and Fox Mulder."

I sit up sharply in my high backed leather chair. "Fox Mulder? Interesting. Our agent assured us that he would not be causing any problems."

I notice the look in Gordon's eye. Further proof of disloyalty? "What did they find?" I ask, sharply.

"As far as we know, absolutely nothing. Mulder returned to the States and Inspector Green met an untimely fate."

Pushing back from my desk, I stand before Brother Stratton who duly kneels. I could care less about the inspector. My interests lie with the elusive Fox Mulder.

"So, Mulder is beginning to ask questions." I turn to Gordon. "To be on the safe side, send someone to keep an eye on him."

"Yes, my lord." After Gordon bows once more and leaves my office, I return to the image radiating from the monitor screen of my computer. Yes, if the promises of my agent fail, then there is another hope. Fox Mulder may lead me to the Deliverer after all...

~oo0oo~

Dana Scully was worried, seriously worried. It was over a week now since she received the call that Mulder had been hospitalized. After arriving back from his trip to Oxford he'd been found in the airport terminal completely unresponsive. Her number was the first found and, leaving William with her mother, she'd raced to the hospital.

He lay in a starched white bed, looking as if he'd been crying non stop. His eyes were haunted by hope drained away. She'd had to use her clout to keep Doctor Wright from admitting Mulder to the psychiatric ward.

"Mulder," she said, softly. "It's me, Dana." He didn't even blink. Scully felt her heart drop.

In his own time, he managed to relate bits of what happened. She caught herself gasping aloud. She should have taken his dreams more seriously. Mulder shut his eyes and began to cry softly, frightened by his own doubt.

Talking with Dr. Wright, she managed to have Mulder released into her care. Half heartedly she convinced him that Mulder was only suffering from depression; half heartedly because she failed to convince herself.

He was back home now, and Dana kept a constant watch over him: stopping in for impromptu visits, and calling regularly. Yes, her maternal instincts were in full force with William in her life, and yes, she might be overprotective of Mulder. Another blow occurred when she intercepted a frantic telephone call from the UK. Inspector Phoebe Green's body had been discovered, killed under circumstances that would end up in an X-File. Using her better judgement, Dana decided to keep this from him for the time being.

And so the week had passed. Mulder's usual dry humor had returned, but there will also hints of darkness and despair. He insisted that he was fine, over and over again. From everything she'd been told, everything she'd observed, Dana didn't think so. She was so concerned about him that she called Walter Skinner to ask for help.

"If you could try to talk to him," she told him over the phone, "I'd appreciate it."

Walter listened with growing concern while she gave him sketchy details behind Mulder's breakdown. Apparently, he had been experiencing nightmarish visions that nearly pushed him over the brink. He thanked Dana for letting him know about Mulder's 'collapse', although -- truth be told -- he was put out that she hadn't informed him the moment it happened.

He'd been thinking more and more of the former agent lately. He felt overly protective, something which went beyond the call of duty. Ironically, Walter had tried to contact Mulder several times to let him know of something he'd discovered. Now, it gave him the opportunity to check on him. Here he was standing in the hallway outside of apartment 42. Hefting a large package, Walter took a deep breath and rapped on the door.

"Hello, sir," Mulder said, surprised. He'd been expecting Scully for one of her "unexpected" drop ins. He was standing in the open doorway, wearing a white undershirt and blue sweatpants. His hair stood up, and it appeared as if he hadn't shaved in days.

"May I come in?" Walter asked, after the shock of Mulder's appearance wore off.

"Um, sure," he replied, holding the door open.

Walter walked in, and Mulder failed to notice the large brown parcel resting under a brawny arm.

"And what's with this 'sir' business?" asked Walter. "It's Walter."

Mulder plopped down on the sofa as if he didn't have an ounce of energy. He propped up a leg and Walter could tell the former agent was not wearing underwear beneath the sweats from the suspicious outline jutting to the side. Walter made a soft grunting sound, and swallowed, in an attempt to avert his eyes.

"I really don't feel like being cheered up," he said.

"Dana told me what happened," Skinner replied, grateful for the change in subject. "I'm sorry."

"Seems like everything's biting me in the ass these days."

Walter had been through and seen a lot knowing Fox Mulder. But he'd never seen him quite so withdrawn, as if he'd completely given up.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he offered.

Mulder snorted. "Talk about what? How I've completely lost my mind? How the hospital was on the verge of having me committed? How I've started seeing ghosts?"

Pressing his lips tight, Walter leaned forward. "Scully told me a little."

"Oh, yeah," Mulder harrumphed. "The late lamented rat bastard has been haunting me." Mulder's voice broke off. No matter how depressed he felt, he recognized the hurt in Skinner's eyes. The death of Alex Krycek still a very sore subject.

"Come on, Mulder. I'm not going to judge you or make assumptions. I just want to help."

At this Mulder smiled, then choked on a deep throated sob. In that instant, the words, the pent up emotions came pouring out. He couldn't stop himself, the dam bursting into a thousand pieces. "My first year at university I fell in love," Mulder began. "His name was Jamie."

Walter fixed his gaze on Mulder, his suspicions confirmed. Mulder continued, not waiting for Skinner's reaction. "It was the first time I was genuinely happy. Our time together was cut short. He died. And I've never been able to remember what happened."

He couldn't believe he was confessing this to a man like Walter Skinner. Hot tears flowed freely, and Walter found his strong arms wrapped around the man he'd admired from afar for so long.

"Mulder, I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry that this happened to you." This was quite different from Scully's sanitized version.

Breaking contact, Mulder sat back and rubbed at his eyes. "Open your heart to someone and they leave you," he said in a hushed voice. "It's been easier not to let anyone in."

Walter felt helpless, wishing he could something to make him feel better.

Mulder stood and gazed out the window. "When I saw that featureless corridor stretching ahead of me it all hit me."

"What did?"

He turned and looked at him. "My search, my quest. Like looking for the end of the rainbow. I realized I'll never find it."

"Jamie must've been someone very special." Indeed, magical even to cast such a spell over Fox Mulder.

"He was," Mulder replied, his eyes glistening. "I've never known anyone quite like him." He smiled a little. "Ever heard of being swept off your feet?"

Walter nodded.

"Well, that's what it was like with Jamie," he said, crossing his arms over his chest. "The first time he was in my arms, the world fell away. I remember that better than anything."

A moment of understanding passed between them.

Walter coughed lightly and broke the awkward silence. "Well, the second reason for my visit is this..." he said, indicating the package resting on Mulder's coffee table.

"What is it?" Mulder wondered. He hadn't ordered anything.

"It was sent to the Hoover building about a year ago," Walter told him. "You were... missing... and it sat buried in the mail room for months. One of the clerks brought it to me a couple of weeks ago."

Half interested, Mulder read the hastily scribbled writing across the brown paper. He arched an eyebrow. "No return address?"

Walter pushed the parcel forward. "The postmark says 'Oxford'."

Mulder's eyes went wild. He started tearing at the packaging in a frenzy. Walter stood up, startled by the sudden animation. Throwing the discarded wrapping aside, Mulder found a cardboard box beneath and dug his fingers into the sides.

"Here, let me help," offered Walter. Sitting beside him, Walter took out a pocketknife and sliced the lid open. Mulder pulled back the sides and peered inside. He gasped in astonishment. With shaking hands, he extracted an intricately carved mahogany box.

"What the hell is that?" asked Walter. It looked like a witch's jewlery box. What was Mulder getting himself into now? "Look, there's something else in here." Reaching inside, he lifted out an ancient book inscribed with the same snake symbol that decorated the box.

"I-I... know this," Mulder whispered hoarsely. Suddenly, he cried out and the box fell onto the carpet. He clutched at his head, a blinding ache building up behind his eyes.

"Mulder? Mulder!" Walter yelled, desperately.

Mulder drew in his breath sharply, pulled deep down into an invisible vortex of undercurrents. His eyes stared wild as a series of visions flashed before him erratically...

He sat beneath a sea of stars with a handsome young man with blonde hair and green eyes at his side.

'You have to trust someone,' the boy said.

'Jamie!' He saw himself running across a lush, green campus.

'He is the Chosen One!' Professor Wickham pointed a finger, accusingly.

A tall, hooded figure plunging a curved knife into Jamie's stomach. Jamie's hands covered in blood.

He and Jamie, smiling coyishly at one another. 'Well, Just Mulder, I'm James Grayson. Jamie to my friends.'

'It's Jamie, then,' he replied.

Jamie's face slowly turned to him, warmth radiating from his sparkling emerald eyes. 'I'll always love you,' he whispered.

Mulder reached out to touch him, and the images dissolved into a flash of brilliant white light. He sat up, gulping in air. Walter was kneeling by his side.

"I remember... I remember everything!" Mulder proclaimed. A rush of emotions filled every fiber of his being. The memories were inside of him once more, restored. Memories he had repressed of his last days with Jamie were free at last. For the first time in years, he felt complete.

Walter helped Mulder up from the floor. He'd been on the brink of dialing 911. "Mulder, are you all right?"

But Mulder ignored his question. "Why on earth did they drag me out of that catacomb?! I was trying to save Jamie!"

"What?" Walter searched his face. "Mulder, I don't understand."

Mulder gripped his arms. "There was a cult. They'd chosen Jamie as their sacrifice. Jamie was stabbed..."

Walter visibly winced from the hurt in Mulder's voice. "A sacrifice?"

"A cave in! The caves were collapsing." His voice became more frantic as the memories returned. "Jamie wasn't dead... I was trying to get to him, but the professor and Inspector Winston pulled me away."

Mulder stood up and began pacing the length of his apartment, sweat glistening on his brow. Walter watched him, trying to work out what was going on.

"Mulder, I really think you should sit down and take it easy," Walter suggested, gently leading him by the shoulders back toward the couch.

Mulder started to sit, but jumped back to his feet. "Sit down? Sit down! Don't you understand what's going on?"

"No," he said. "I'm with you but you're going too fast for me, and I don't think you should be getting this worked up or you'll be back in the hospital."

Tapping his bottom lip, Mulder stared out of his window and started talking to himself in a hushed voice. "Wickham and Winston were both murdered by something that caused rapid decomposition. That night in Oxford, I went into shock after hearing... a whispering sound..." He snapped his fingers and shouted, "Of course!"

"I'm not following you," Walter confessed.

"Don't you see? Something remained alive even after the avalanche. Something that killed."

"What are you suggesting, Mulder? That Jamie's ghost has been trying to warn you?"

"No, no don't say that."

Walter sighed heavily. "Well, what you're telling me is pretty far fetched. You describe visions that began about a year ago--"

"Coinciding with the deaths," Mulder broke in.

"And then you start seeing Krycek as well?"

Mulder shook his head. "I know it's crazy, Walter, but I haven't felt this sure about anything in a very long time. I'm sorry there's just some answers that I need. And I need to find them for myself."

"Soul searching?"

"Definitely searching." His voice was distant.

Mulder retrieved the fallen box, then stared down at the accursed book sitting on the coffee table. The last time he'd seen it, the tome had been resting in Professor Wickham's flat. He touched it with slightly nervous fingers. An instinct told him exactly how important it was.

Feeling Walter's concerned eyes upon him, Mulder looked up. "Listen, I need to ask a big favor."

How could he refuse? "Name it."

"Can you find out all you can about a research facility called Avatar?"

"What's the connection?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," he confessed, "but I'd like to know what interested them so to fund an expensive excavation of the catacombs. It's funny..."

"What is?"

"In some ancient beliefs, an avatar is a godlike entity."

Walter sighed, and had to stop himself from chuckling. Mulder was definitely feeling better. "I'll see what I can find out... if you promise to take it easy."

The younger man nodded vaguely. He collected the book into his arms, and strode away. Walter stared after him. "Mulder, where are you going?"

He gave him a cocky grin. "To take a shower. It's time I rejoined the land of the living."

~oo0oo~

Mulder stood beneath the warm, pulsating water spraying down from the shower head. His face broke out into a huge grin. The memories of his time with Jamie were back. They were clear as pictures. He closed his eyes, basking in the glow of his first love.

'I'll always love you,' he heard Jamie's voice say.

Jamie's body had not been idenitifed. This thought resounded and spun round and round like a carousel in his mind. The persisting feelings returned. It was possible. Jamie could have escaped the avalanche. He wasn't afraid of the truth anymore. Mulder threw back his head and allowed the waters to wash over him. He felt good to be alive.

~oo0oo~

The flickering images of a boat sailing into a brilliant sunset filled the darkened room.

"No way, dude!" Langly protested. "Those two are definitely lovers."

"Come off it," Frohike argued. "Did you see that kiss? Sure it was hot, but what a cop out!"

"Yeah, well, I still say Xena and Gabrielle are more than just friends!"

With a little grunt, Melvin flicked off the television set.

John Byers waved his hand to catch their attention. "Shh, guys! Look, we've got a visitor."

"I don't believe it," Frohike said, peering at the black and white monitor. "It's Mulder!"

Standing outside the door, Mulder was literally hopping from foot to foot anxiously. He carried a large book under one arm. Admitting their friend, Mulder burst into their HQ. "Hi, hello, aloha," he said, quickly.

Byers, Langly and Frohike looked at one another, nervously. Their friend appeared to be the picture of health. "Yes, I escaped from the macadamia ranch," he smirked.

"Sure you shouldn't get your own parking place at the hospital?" joked Melvin.

"Might be easier than being dragged there all the time," he replied.

After his shower and a good shave, he'd found the discarded notes from the trip to Oxford. The three stooges were his best bet to uncovering this mystery. He'd hidden the naga box carefully. The life essence of Azathoth still resided within. He'd actually jumped when a slight whispering emanated from within. Enough trouble had been caused when the box had been accidentally opened. Thankfully, Professor Wickham managed to capture most of the essence -- although a small portion managed to escape.

Mulder held up the tome, the light reflecting off the faded, cracked cover. Six eyes widened, recognizing the circular snake symbol adorning the front. Mulder plopped the book down heavily onto a nearby, cluttered desk. The trio inadvertently knocked Mulder out of the way in their haste to have a look at the book he'd brought in. They looked like starving kids let loose in a candy store.

"Do you have any idea what this is?" Frohike asked. "Hot fucking damn!"

Mulder looked at him in mock surprise. "Melvin, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"It's, it's, it's..." Langly couldn't form the words.

"The Necronomicon," Byers finished for him, an ominous awe tinging his voice.

Mulder nodded. It was just as he feared. "After you guys wipe the drool from your chins, I need you to give me a translation. My latin's a little rusty. Anything to do with Azathoth, Chosen Ones, the works, got it?"

Langly looked up. "I can scan the pages and run them through one of the new translator programs."

"Good," Mulder nodded. "How long will it take?"

Byers guessed. "Two or three days, maybe."

"What's the rush, Mulder?" asked Frohike. "Looking to dig up a Great Old One?"

"What do you make of these?" Mulder produced a black notebook, flipping the pages to his hastily drawn symbols. He noticed the looks passing between his friends. "Look guys, this is very, very important to me. I lost someone to a cult many years ago," he explained. "Anything you can find out, please?"

"Sure thing," Frohike answered for them all. Byers and Langly nodded their assent.

"Thanks," smiled Mulder. At last he was getting somewhere.

~oo0oo~

By the time he reached Avatar reception, Walter Skinner was considerably irritated. Yesterday, he'd spent the best part of an hour on hold before connecting with an Avatar representative. When he finally got through, it was a press officer who gave him so many run around answers that Walter felt nauseous afterwards. He was one to never suffer fools gladly, and these guys were slick.

Using his official status, he'd managed to get a man on the line -- Vice President Gordon Stratton -- who offered to answer all of his questions. It made him wonder if they were avoiding any trouble with the bureau.

Taking it upon himself, Walter hastily decided to visit the facility based in San Francisco. He wanted, correction, he needed to do this for Mulder. Is this the same magnetic draw that caused Scully to drop everything for him? Yes, he cared about Mulder deeply. The hurt in Mulder's eyes as he related the story of his first year at Oxford had tugged at Walter's heart. Losing someone the way he had, no wonder he'd retreated into work. To be truthful, he'd done the same exact thing. If his findings helped Mulder to move on, so be it.

Now he knew the facts very well. Mulder's restored memory had produced a wealth of information. And it was enough to make anyone highly suspicious. Using bureau resources, Walter had learned that Avatar was originally ITAR -- the institute for technological advancement and research -- which went belly up soon after the millennium. Some bigwigs had appropriated the building, proclaiming it Avatar -- the world's leading genetic research facility. Mulder was right, what possible interest could a place like that have in funding an archaeological expedition?

His thoughts returned to the present, and the gleaming walls of Avatar reception. An oily voice, dripping with sincerity called out to him. "Mr. Skinner?"

Taken off guard, Walter saw a man appear from around a corner. "Welcome to Avatar." As he stood, the stranger took his hand firmly. "I'm Gordon Stratton, Vice President."

"Good morning." The man's hand was clammy to the touch.

"I hope that we haven't kept you waiting. The president of our company looks forward to meeting you."

Gordon ushered Walter into an elevator and pressed the button for the penthouse. Standing side by side, Walter studied the man in the reflective surface of the lift doors. He broke into a monologue describing the company's purpose. Walter noted that his words were like a rehearsed speech.

"We're willing to aid the FBI in any way that we can," Gordon concluded.

Walter took a deep breath. "This isn't an official visit."

"Oh no?"

"My interests are... personal."

The doors slid open. Without a word, Gordon led him along a hallway decorated with exspensive art pieces. Walter peered at the bizarre images as they passed by. Must be by some new age artist, he reckoned. At the end of the hall, his guide ushered him into a luxurious office.

A man, clearly in his mid-thirties, was sitting behind an enormous desk. Walter had expected the president of this company to be much older.

"Welcome to Avatar. I'm Matthew Blair. How may we help you, Mr. Skinner?"

"Thank you," he replied, taking a seat before the desk. "I'm here on behalf of a close friend."

"Oh?"

"Concerning the excavation of catacombs in Oxford."

The two men visibly blanched. Bullseye! Raw nerve, direct hit.

With confidence, he continued. "I just find it a little odd that a genetic research facility would be interested in a so-called haunted forest."

Matthew faintly smiled. "The excavation was personal to me. My father was one of those killed in the avalanche."

Swallowing to conceal his surprise, Walter felt embarrassment rising. "I had no idea," he admitted.

"My father was vice chancellor of the university," Matthew explained. "He discovered a group of students involved in," he paused for dramatic effect, "dangerous practices the night he died."

Walter stood up, furious with himself for getting tangled up in one of Mulder's wild ideas. "Gentlemen, thank you for taking the time to talk with me..." he began but Matthew quickly broke in.

"What happened in Oxford was a lost opportunity."

Gordon edged toward him, almost as if to console him. Were the two men lovers? Walter wondered. "There will be another chance."

They were like a double act! Walter read between the lines and sensed that this trip had not been in vain after all. Matthew's fingers danced across a computer keyboard, gazing intently at the screen. Walter stared across the desk and immediately noticed a reflection in Matthew's glasses of the computer screen. He knew it all too well: Mulder's FBI profile. How the hell could they access classified information?

"We've been trying to reach those involved in the Oxford incident," Matthew told him.

Sharply, Gordon added, "Some remain... out of reach."

"Not for much longer," said Matthew.

Military training helped Walter to remain calm. He felt guilty for doubting Mulder. He definitely sensed something dark about Avatar. He seemed to have been forgotten by the two men. It might have been a chance to leave, but then the image bouncing off the president's spectacles changed. He could just make out the photo reflected in the lenses. It was a young man with blonde hair, smiling beatifically.

There was a sudden look of obsession glaring from the president's eyes. He pulled up and said, "There are other ways of finding him."

A harsh electronic trilling filled the penthouse office. Gordon answered his cell phone, a look of concern passing over his face. "Our agent has been spotted back in the country," he muttered.

Matthew Blair stared off into the distance. "Without contacting us?"

"That devious little..." Gordon whispered.

"Enough!" Matthew snapped. The air in the room was suddenly cold.

Walter, determined not to let this moment pass, quickly jumped in. "Is there a problem?" he asked urgently.

The president turned slowly and regarded him curiously, as if remembering that the AD was still in the room. "Not at all, Mr. Skinner."

Moving forward, Walter stood directly before him. "It's nothing we can't handle," Gordon assured him.

Walter's eyes were drawn to the computer screen. Two images completely filled the pixels: Mulder's and the mysterious blonde man. Between the photographs, words spilled down in an endless stream:

*Find the Deliverer*

The screen flared into darkness, and Walter actually took a step back.

Matthew's voice became very hard and rasping. "Thank you for visiting Avatar, Mr. Skinner. If you'll excuse us, we have business to attend to."

The heads of the facility slowly turned to stare at each other. Startled by the creepiness of the situation, Walter edged away from the desk and left the office.

Matthew sat back into the cushion of his leather chair. "Keep a close eye on that man."

"What about your agent?" Gordon pressed, refusing to use the term 'our.'

"If he has betrayed us, we will deal with him."

~oo0oo~

Walter Skinner shook his phone angrily. He'd been trying to call Mulder ever since he left the Avatar building. Everytime, the blasted answering machine picked up. Where had he run off to? He rang Dana, but she hadn't seen him either, and now she was concerned. The meeting at Avatar had left him rattled. What was their interest in Mulder? And who was the young man in the photo?

The lights of D.C. filled him with relief. Thanks to a brief doze on the plane ride home, his batteries were recharged. A sense of anticipation filled him as the taxi pulled up outside of Mulder's apartment building. Walter peered at a darkened window. He'd have to leave Mulder a note. Paying the cabbie, he stepped out and hurried inside.

The elevator doors opened, and the corridor leading down to number 42 was distinctly quiet. 'Get a hold of yourself, Skinner!' he barked to himself. Fingering his collar, he felt a slight trickle of sweat.

He paused at apartment 42 and moved to knock. Then stopped when he noticed the door was slightly ajar, darkness beyond. With alarm, Walter gently pushed the door open with the toe of his shoe. Thankfully, the hinges didn't creak.

Casting his eyes into the gloom, he noticed a figure hunched over Mulder's desk. Dim illumination from the aquarium revealed the shape to be a man as he moved closer. Sensing another presence, the figure straightened and turned around.

For one of the few times in his life, Walter Skinner felt his legs turn to jelly.

"Well, look who's here," Alex Krycek smiled.

[Next Episode: How To Build A Better Rat Trap]

 

---

 

Chapter Five: An Infinity Of Surprises

"This isn't possible." Walter Skinner's statement lingered in the air. He swallowed hard to moisten his dry mouth. Alex Krycek, the man he shot down a few months ago, was standing alive and in the flesh before him.

Alex threw back his head and laughed heartily. "And I thought Scully was the eternal cynic."

Walter shook his head, ostensibly denying the reality of his vision. Mulder! Mulder claimed to have seen Krycek many times. Was the ghostly apparition haunting him as well?

Krycek frowned. "Man, you don't look well. Maybe you'd better sit down."

Something wasn't right. The former double agent no longer possessed his hard edged tone. No, his words were almost... caring.

"Why? How?" he stammered. "Why aren't you dead?"

"Too many questions make you sound a bit egotisical, Walter. That's much more Mulder's style." Alex casually flipped through an address book on the desk. "By the way, where is the errant Fox?"

A trillion questions flowed through Walter's mind. Absolutely no one, not even Alex Krycek, could survive a bullet through the brain. He'd seen his share of death in his time, but never had it made him more sick to gun down Krycek. As hard as he tried to rationalize the events, the more futile it became.

Alex's voice broke into his thoughts. "Still speechless? My my, I can assure you that I'm very much alive." He stretched out an arm. "Go ahead, feel."

A part of Walter was terrified to breathe in the same room with him. With a sudden burst of nervous energy, he reached and gripped Krycek's arm, hard.

"Ouch!" Alex cried, then grinned. "See, told you."

"How is this possible?" he demanded.

"I would've thought that even you would realize that nothing is impossible."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Krycek! I shot you! You were dead!"

Alex smiled, his green eyes sparkling like a cat's in the gloom. "Are you certain?"

"I don't know how you survived, Krycek, but I want you out of here -- now!"

Krycek sat down in a nearby chair, resting his legs up on Mulder's desk. "Not until I've seen Mulder."

Anger, confusion, and worry surged through Walter's mind. "Why? What are you going to do, try and kill him again?"

"On the contrary," he began with a snicker. Alex started to reach inside his black leather jacket. Daggers flashed in Walter's eyes, he didn't care if Krycek had a gun, he didn't care if Krycek was about to bring out the dreaded palm pilot and send the deadly nanobytes straight to his heart. He lunged for him.

"You're not going to get another chance!" he roared.

Taken by surprise, Alex toppled backwards as Walter steamed into him. The two men went rolling across the floor of Mulder's apartment. Alex groaned, his back contacting with a table. It rocked back and forth precariously, a lamp shattering.

"Would you listen to me for a minute?!" shouted Alex through clenched teeth. A part of him found the brawl exhilirating. How he'd missed the physical contact. Walter hammered down on him once more, and he realized that the AD just might kill him out of a sense of loyalty to Mulder.

Walter braced himself as Alex struggled for release beneath him. He held down the Russian's good arm, locking the strong flailing legs within his own. Staring down into a pair of bright green eyes, Walter felt himself being sucked in. Those eyes that had haunted his dreams for years. Oh yes, Alex Krycek was 100% alive.

Krycek was a bundle of unrestrained power, but Walter had the upper hand. Surprisingly, the younger man was not offering up much resistance. Krycek slid beneath him, and Skinner felt their groins connect inch by inch. Walter felt a shock of heat coursing through his blood. He forced himself to blink and keep focused on holding Alex. No, he wasn't going anywhere.

Then, Alex's left arm lashed forward sending Walter reeling. Struggling to his feet, Alex gripped his muscular shoulders and slammed Walter up against a wall.

"Your arm," gasped Walter in shock.

"You'll find I'm full of surprises," he replied, cryptically.

Walter inhaled deeply. "Just get it over with, Krycek!"

Alex laughed, but it was not dripping with its usual sarcasm, instead it was a laugh of mirth. The playfulness in his voice caused Walter to freeze.

"You never change, do you?" Alex asked, his grip becoming firmer against Skinner's throat. "Look at the two of us. We've been pining after a man who'll never love us back."

Walter found swallowing difficult, especially with Krycek's arm resting against his neck. "I-I don't know what you're talking about," he insisted, unconvincingly.

Alex's exotic features loomed in close. "I can sense the guilt in your heart. Let it go," he whispered. "You did me an enormous favor."

"What, I..." Walter didn't understand. What was he implying now? Before he could question further, he gasped as a pair of sensuous lips pressed against his own. The kiss was bold and searingly hot. Alex held him firmly, confident and in charge. Instinctively, Walter closed his eyes and parted his mouth slightly.

After that, Alex let go and leaned back. His eyes, unreadable and piercing.

Walter coughed a little, and straightened his very rumpled shirt. "If you're not here to kill anyone, exactly what in hell do you want?" he asked, sounding breathless.

Walking over to the fallen chair, Alex bent to pick it up and Walter was given a full, glorious view of his rounded buttocks held tightly in dark jeans. Walter's lips still tingled from the kiss, and he began to wonder if he'd lost his mind. This was Alex Krycek, a man who had tried to kill him and his friends numerous times. And now? There was definitely something different about him. Krycek sat down, and extended a hand to Mulder's sofa. Well, whatever has changed Alex, he still possessed the same 'I own the place' attitude, Walter noted.

"I have something that the little Fox has been looking for," he explained.

"Maybe you'd better start at the beginning," Walter said.

"It's a very long story."

~oo0oo~

Mulder stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway leading to his apartment. He finished a coca-cola to wash down the Chinese food he'd consumed on the way home. He hadn't eaten a full meal in days, and it had been like ambrosia. He'd spent most of his time at the Lone Gunmen's HQ, waiting rather impatiently for his friends to translate Professor Wickham's copy of the Necronomicon, and the scribbled symbols from the Oxford cave walls.

He remembered seeing the book in Professor Wickham's flat. It prophesised Jamie's sacrifice. He just had no idea at the time that it was the accursed Necronomicon. The professor must have known something had escaped from the caves before his death, and he'd entrusted Mulder with the book and the naga box. A year had passed since the old man's death. Was he too late?

Mulder had never been good with waiting. Frohike, Byers and Langly eventually shoved him out, saying that they couldn't concentrate with his constant hovering. Well, it was something he couldn't help. If there was any clue to learning what happened to Jamie after the avalanche, then he was going to find it. Come hell or high water. He would not believe that Jamie was dead; not until he saw a body, and even then...

His mind was clearer than it had been in some time. The visions had ceased their torments. A part of him had been tempted to get on a plane for Georgia. He'd reasoned that if Jamie was indeed alive, certainly he would head home. But then why hadn't he ever contacted him over the years? If Wickham knew to send the book and the naga box to the Hoover building, certainly Jamie would've found him the same way.

'Maybe I'm just clutching at straws,' thought Mulder. No, something had been unleashed to cause the deaths of both Wickham and Inspector Winston. The same something that killed anyone who came into contact with Jamie back in 1983.

Ditching the disposable cup into a nearby trash bin, Mulder focused on this last thought. Approaching his apartment, he figured he'd better call Scully. She was probably tearing her hair out wondering where he'd been. Then, there was Skinner... Walter, he corrected himself. Maybe he'd had better luck with finding out more about Avatar's mysterious involvement.

Pushing a key into the lock, Mulder was surprised to find the door opened. He clearly remembered locking it after Walter left two days ago. Scully must've used her spare key. Yes, she was probably inside, arms crossed, tapping her foot, with a disdainful look on her face.

Cautiously he opened the door, and peeked inside.

"Hello?" he called, venturing within. "Scully, I'm sorry I didn't call but I--"

Mulder stopped mid-sentence.

Seated on the living room sofa was Walter Skinner, looking a bit shell shocked and as if he'd been in a scuffle. What froze Mulder in his tracks was the person sitting across from him... Alex Krycek!

"He's back," Walter said, standing.

"And it's about time," Alex finished, with a smug grin.

"No," Mulder's voice was a terrified whisper. He couldn't believe he was seeing things again! "Get out of my head!" he shouted fiercely.

"Mulder, take it easy," Walter said, gently. He moved forward, and began to talk slowly. "I know it's hard to believe... I couldn't at first, but he's alive."

"What?"

"It's true. You're not dreaming."

Mulder stared across at the person who had been a taunting figure in his visions. There was a major difference here. This Alex Krycek did not sport a gaping hole through his forehead. Just for a moment, Mulder felt lightheaded.

Alex stood up and threw his arms wide open. "See for yourself," he smirked.

With a rough shove, Mulder pushed Alex back down into the chair. "Oh, Fox. You do play hardball, don't you?" He winked across at Skinner, who cleared his throat awkwardly.

"You're not going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this," Mulder told him, through gritted teeth.

Alex shrugged away from his grasp. "Well, then, maybe you'd better have a seat. You're not being a very gracious host."

Mulder's mouth dropped open. "I'm glad I don't have your nerve in my tooth! You come in here back from the dead as if nothing ever happened!"

"Takes one to know one," Alex pointed out.

"Why you little..." Mulder began. Nearby, Walter noticed that his friend