Role of a Lifetime (Part I) Another WIP that I Just Found
EDMONTON, ALBERTA
November 28, 2007
7:39pm
Panting from his run in the cold of yet another brisk, Canadian fall evening, he hurried to unlock the door to his apartment. The ringing sounded more and more urgent as he fought with the cheaply designed lock, pulling the door handle to him in an effort to maneuver it just right-and he was in.
“Hello?” he said breathlessly, amazed that the person hadn’t hung up before he got to it.
“We have a ‘code red.’”
He felt his knees give out, reaching behind him for the sturdiness of the wooden chair to fall upon. The sound of plastic cracking on hardwood cut through the stillness of his dark surroundings. A stinging sensation overtook his eyes, and he tried to blink it away, the salt of his tears mixing with that of the dried sweat from his recent physical exertion.
“Are you still there? Hello? HELLO?”
The desperate plea, from the forgotten device, broke through his sudden fog and he picked it up off the floor. “I-I’m…” But, the words weren’t coming. What does someone say when their dream finally comes true?
“Listen, I have some information I think you’ll need.”
He nodded, oblivious to the fact that the man on the other end of the conversation couldn’t see the action.
“Royal Jubilee Hospital. Victoria, British Columbia.” His hands sought out the lamp, which he switched on, reaching furiously for pen and paper.
“Got it. Okay?” he asked, urging his long-time confidant for more. But, all he got was silence.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
The sound of a throat being cleared sent chills down his back. “IS SHE ALIVE?”
“Y-yes, yes. She’s alive.”
His lungs felt like they would burst from the rush of air that filled them in his relief. Alive. She was alive. So then--? “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Well, she, uh…She’s a little out of it. Not exactly herself. But it’s been years. Maybe seeing you would…” The rest of the man’s explanation fell upon deaf ears as he put two and two together.
Amnesia. God, please, no.
“Will you be there when I arrive?”
“No, I don’t think that would be the smartest thing.”
“Yeah, okay. I will contact you after my visit.”
“Okay. I, uh, just want you to be ready…for when you see her. She’s in the trauma ward. Jane Doh.” The man paused, making sure he understood that last part. But, he knew all too well the implications. “I don’t want to say anything more than that.”
Were those tears in his friend’s voice? He couldn’t be sure.
“I understand. I will contact you after I’ve seen her.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. As he reached for the mouse to book the next available flight to Vancouver, he noticed his hands were trembling.
One thought kept repeating itself in his head. What kind of condition must she be in to bring an ex-Marine to tears?
TRAUMA CARE UNIT
ROYAL JUBILEE HOSPITAL
VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA
Twelve Hours Later
“I’m looking for a Jane Doh that was admitted here recently,” he said, trying to maintain composure while being so close to the end of a five year search. The first flight out wasn’t until after midnight. And, then there had been a layover. The rental car company apparently served customers slower in the early morning hours, so he broke nearly every land speed record to get to the hospital as fast as he had.
The short, heavyset nurse in flower-pattern scrubs looked through her charts for what seemed like an hour before raising her eyebrows. “Oh, yes, we did have a Jane Doh brought in!” she exclaimed, as if she hadn’t believed the man knew what he was asking about.
“Where is she?” he asked again, not caring about the curious stares he was getting from the other nurses and patrons in the open foyer.
“Sir, please-“
He lowered his voice and grabbed her hand, trying to convey the depth of his emotions at that moment through his deep, hazel eyes. “I need to see her. Please. I just want to find my wife.”
“Your wife?” she gasped. “I-I’m terribly sorry. Let me find her doctor and he can take you to see her. From looking at her chart, and your relationship with the patient, I don’t think it would be wise for you to see her alone.”
He nodded in acquiescence, hoping that playing nice would allow him extra privileges later. Nurse Odgers, as her nametag had read, disappeared down the corridor and behind the double doors.
Looking around at the bland, colorless surroundings, he plopped down in one the hard, beige leather chairs that were bound together in groups of 3. Had it really been 10 years since he had sat in a hospital like this waiting for another verdict on her life? His shoulders suddenly felt very heavy and he hunched forward, elbows propped on knees, head in hands.
“Sir?”
He jumped slightly, eyes wide, at the feel of a gentle hand on his back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the tall, elderly man in the standard issue, white lab coat apologized. “The nurse informed me that you believe you can identify our Jane Doh?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “A friend of mine called me last night and said that my wife might have been found.”
The doctor took in his appearance warily. He was in sweats and tennis shoes that had definitely seen better days. His long, dark hair was unkempt and, though clean-shaven, it was obvious he was in need of a shower. “Do you have any identification?”
He nodded and pulled out his wallet, showing him the license: Fox William Mulder. “Please, Doctor, uh…?”
“Francis,” he answered, extending his hand.
“Dr. Francis,” he began, shaking it firmly. “Can you please tell me where I can find her?”
He could hear the desperation in the strange man’s voice, the earnest plea. This man was not a threat to the small woman who had been brought in under strange circumstances. That much he was sure of.
“Right this way, Mr. Mulder.”
They approached the door to her room, and the doctor put a warm, bony hand on Mulder’s arm to prevent him from going further. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her? Since she went missing?”
He looked into the man’s faded blue eyes and saw pity and something akin to fear there. “It’s been…five…” The word caught in his sand-paper throat and he had to swallow. “Five years.”
Doctor Francis’ eyes widened in shock. “That’s quite a long time, Mr. Mulder. You are aware that…well, how should I put this? The reason she is a Jane Doh is because we haven’t been able to identify her based on who she believes herself to be.”
Mulder flinched and nodded, already having come to that conclusion on his own, but not wanting to believe it was the truth. “Who…,” again he had to clear his throat. “Who does she think she is?”
“I could tell you, but I think she’ll have more answers for you.” He moved out of the way, as if to give Mulder better access to go inside, but grabbed his arm at the last second. “I’ve worked with many amnesia patients before, but...”
“Yes?”
“I have never had a patient who thought they were someone else. She’s not schizophrenic, I can assure you. We’ve run test after test since she showed up here yesterday morning.”
He nodded quickly, hoping that the man would get the hint that he couldn’t take this, but it didn’t work.
“If you can give a positive ID on her, we will be releasing her as fast as we can push the paperwork through.”
The doctor got the reaction he was looking for, and knew he had the man’s undivided attention. “She has absolutely no trauma to the head. Nor, any other injuries that we can find.”
He removed his hand from Mulder’s arm, and watched as the weary man turned the handle and walked through the door. Hearing a gasp, he lowered his head, moved back down the hallway, and sent up a silent prayer for the couple.
Looking at the small figure lying asleep under the thin hospital blankets, he tried to soak in every detail…but he couldn’t get past her hair. It was long, wavy…and blonde. He pulled up a chair to the side of her bed, staring down at the light, golden locks that were splayed across the pillow. For a second he thought maybe this was a trick. A sick, cruel joke. This couldn’t possibly be her. But, as his hands came out tentatively to stroke the hair back from her forehead, he caught sight of her nose. The angular nose that sloped exquisitely down her face to…those lips. Perfect, heart-shaped, and plump. Scully’s lips.
He found himself being drawn down to them and as he pressed his against hers, his hands caressing her cheeks, a warmth he hadn’t felt in over half a decade flooded through him. There was only one thing that could have pulled him back from her at that moment, a fluttering of eyelashes.
Peering into her big, aqua-colored eyes as they searched his face inquisitively, he couldn’t help but smile. This was definitely his-
“Jayson?”
And, suddenly, his world fell apart.
His stomach did a hundred flip-flops and he struggled to keep the morning snack, which he’d had on the plane ride, down.
“Jayson, are you alright?” she asked, concern etched across her painfully familiar features. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” She watched as beads of sweat built on his forehead and his skin went from olive to ghostly white.
“W-what did you call me?”
Her brow furrowed. “Jayson.”
“You think my name is Jayson?”
She laughed. He had dreamed of hearing that sound for years, but this was turning into a nightmare. Her laughter died down as she saw the pain in his eyes. “You are Jayson, aren’t you?”
He shook his head, staring at her, watching the confusion build, tears threatening at the surface. “Oh, God, not again,” she cried, her hands coming up to cover her face. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Scu-,” he started, her head shooting back up at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry. I guess I--.”
“Wait, what?”
Mulder just looked at her, unsure of the question.
“What were you going to call me?”
“Scully?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he felt like he had been melted down into a puddle on the chair. “Is this some kind of joke?” she asked between clenched teeth.
“A joke?”
“Yes, a fucking horrible, lame joke! You and Stone orchestrated this didn’t you? Thought it’d be real fucking funny. And what the hell was that kiss about?”
Stone? What the hell was going on here? “Scully, I swear--.”
“Don’t you dare call me that again! It’s not funny, Jayson. I’m in a hospital for Christsake! Is that part of it, too?” She scrambled to get out of bed, but he was too fast for her, pinning her back to the mattress with two hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were locked on his and he could see the nervousness there.
“Please,” he whispered. “You have to calm down.” He felt her stop struggling against him, and he sat back down. “What is going on here?”
She searched his eyes, waiting for him to crack and tell her the truth. That this was all some prank. But, he never did. “Stone came to me last night,” she sighed.
He had a sudden urge to kill this person. “Stone?”
Nodding, she continued, “He asked me if I could remember where I’d been before arriving here.”
“And do you?”
“Of course!” she said, resentfully.
His jaw went slack, and he urged her on.
“I had been on my way from my vacation home to the store to pick up some things I’d forgotten to pack.”
“You have a vacation home here?”
“You know I do,” she answered conspiratorially, her blue eyes flashing. When his expression remained blank, she decided to keep going. “I was about three blocks from J&H when a black sedan T-boned me in the intersection. Then, I woke up here.”
He watched her; still unsure of what to say next, when she suddenly looked away, bewilderment crossing her face.
“What is it?”
“It’s just…well, it’s something that I should have thought of before this. I guess it was just too much for my mind to deal with at the time.”
She glanced up at him again. “If that wreck really happened the way I remember it, I should be seriously hurt…” Her eyes froze in terror. “Oh, my God!”
“What? What is it?” He said standing, watching as tears welled in her eyes. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m dead! Oh, God, I’m dead, aren’t I?” She had him by the shoulders now, shaking him in a vice-like grip.
“What? No. NO! You are definitely not dead.” Her hands relaxed enough that he could shake loose. He cupped her face gently, but she pulled back like his touch was fire.
“Don’t.”
“I-I’m sorry. I won’t touch you anymore.”
“Thank you.”
He tried to hide the hurt on his face, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t look him in the eye again for hours.
It had been rough. She kept claiming that her name was Kate Robertson. A famous television and movie actress. That in and of itself had been tough, but then she claimed she had a family. Children.
“You say you have two kids?” he remembered asking in his best detective voice, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him.
“Yes! You know this already! You know who I fucking am! Why aren’t they here?”
“They?” he said calmly, trying to reach back in his memory to find his detective mode. It had been years since he’d questioned anyone. But, this woman-his Scully-needed him now, and he wasn’t going to let his own personal drama screw this up.
“Yes, Jayson. They. Todd. My kids. My parents. W-why…” she began sobbing at this point. “Why are *you* here…and they’re not? Why haven’t they been looking for me? I have a one-year-old son! I just want to hold my son and see my daughter!” She was absolutely hysterical, and he empathized with her.
He knew exactly what it was like to wake up and find your whole world gone.
LETHBRIDGE, ALBERTA
June 28, 2002
11:07am
They walked out of the tiny courtroom, hand-in-hand, stupid grins plastered across their face. “So, I guess I can’t call you Scully anymore, huh?” he laughed, rubbing the diamond band on her left hand between his fingers.
She squinted up at him in the bright morning sun, her blue eyes sparkling. “You do realize we are married under fake names, Mister, uh…Diggler. God, those guys had an evil sense of humor.”
He looked down for a second, remembering the first time Frohike had shown him the fake ID’s he and the guys had made for him and Scully after they got back from Antarctica. After Mulder had switched with Byers, walking out of the hospital with a gunshot wound to the temple, they decided to make them ID’s for at least one country per continent. At first, he thought it was a gag gift or something, but apparently the guys knew more than they had let on.
Scully’s Canadian ID papers and license had read “Shelly Marie Tipton.” Simple enough, he thought. Until he pulled out his own: “Richard William Diggler.” Dick Diggler. He missed them every day.
They had a small house waiting for them in Calgary, just a couple of hours north. Skinner had sent pictures and instructions that everything had already been arranged using the money they had moved from Mulder’s old accounts. All they had to do was move in.
He was broken out of his thoughts by the feel of lips pressing against his palm.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Where’d you go?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I was just thinking about the guys.”
She nodded, and then she got a mischievous look on her face. “You know, they would kick your ass for mourning them on your honeymoon.”
“True,” he chuckled, finding himself amazed at the woman in front of him. “Just wait until you see the hotel I picked out for us!”
“As long as it doesn’t have the words ‘motor court’ or ‘motor lodge’ in it, I can deal.”
“Then the Hotel S&M should work out just fine,” he deadpanned.
Her head fell back slightly as she laughed. “Keep that up, Mulder, and I’ll hurt you like that beast-woman.”
He leered down at her. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
The next morning, he woke up feeling around the bed for the warm body he had grown accustomed to sleeping beside. “Good morning, Mrs. Mulder.”
But, her side of the bed was ice cold, as if she hadn’t been there in hours. He shot out of bed, not caring that he didn’t have on a stitch of clothing. He grabbed the alarm clock. 11:45 Am. He never slept this late, and his head felt like a sledgehammer had been taken to it.
Searching frantically through the large hotel suite, he found nothing. All of her clothes, purse, phone, wallet…her ring. Vanished, like she had never been there. Someone had drugged them and taken Scully.
He threw the alarm clock against the wall as he screamed in rage. His body slumped to the floor in utter defeat, and all he could think of as the room began to spin was that she was gone. Scully was gone.
And he had no way to find her.
She was close to losing it. Her whole existence, as she knew it, seemed to have been a lie.
They had been searching, fruitlessly, for all the people she said she knew. None of their phone numbers worked, and all of the people at their workplaces had never heard of them. They could find no record of a wreck having happened where she said it had, nor was there a vacation home at the address she gave. The street didn’t even exist. Her homes in Arizona, California, Michigan, London, and Vancouver were not able to be found.
One of the first things he had wanted to know was why she thought that he and Skinner were two men named Jayson Lundberg and Stone Richards.
He could still see her sitting in the hospital bed, her blonde hair pulled back loosely in a ponytail as she stared out the window away from him. “Because,” she sighed. “I’ve known you guys for fifteen years.”
When he stayed silent, she turned to look at him. The dark shadow that had come when she called him Jayson for the first time was still present. It scared her. “We worked together for nine years. On ‘The X-Files’.”
“You know about the X-Files?” he gasped, reaching instinctively for her hand before pulling back, remembering that he had agreed not to touch her.
She searched his eyes suspiciously, some part of her still hoping that this was all a joke. “Yes, it was one of the most popular TV shows in history.”
“A television show?” he laughed, his eyes wet with an emotion she knew was anything but happiness.
“It made our careers, Jayson. You played Fox Mulder, and--.”
“You were Scully,” he finished, disgust lacing his words.
“And, what you are trying to tell me is that I really am Scully, right?”
“We have the fingerprints, medical records, birth certificates, marriage-.”
“What?” she interrupted, her eyes wide. “Marriage what? Scully was married?”
Mulder studied her for a second, trying to decide the best thing to say. Instead, he simply reached inside his wallet. He pulled out a piece of paper that was worn down from being looked at for hours every night since her disappearance.
She accepted it with trembling hands and read it softly to herself. He watched her brows furrow.
“Shelly and Richard were the aliases the guys chose for our Canadian ID’s. We had to use them after I broke out of prison.” He then handed her the license he had kept with him.
“I-I don’t believe this,” she stammered, as a picture of her younger self stared back at her. “Mulder and Scully…married?” That’s when the laughter started. At first, it was just giggling - something so out-of-character when he first heard it come out of her but that had now become normal - but then it became maniacal to the point where she was holding her sides in pain. It ended in tears.
“But….my kids. How could that have been fake? I miss them so much…” She shook her head and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. He wanted so badly just to hold her. “This is absolutely impossible. How…how can this be happening?”
“I wish I knew. Listen, the doctors want to release you, but I know you don’t-.”
“Have anywhere to go?” she finished for him, in a voice that sounded distant. “Yeah, I really don’t…I-I don’t even know where to start.”
“I think I might.” He gazed at her and, just as he’d prayed, she returned it. “But, you’ve got to trust me.”
November 28, 2007
7:39pm
Panting from his run in the cold of yet another brisk, Canadian fall evening, he hurried to unlock the door to his apartment. The ringing sounded more and more urgent as he fought with the cheaply designed lock, pulling the door handle to him in an effort to maneuver it just right-and he was in.
“Hello?” he said breathlessly, amazed that the person hadn’t hung up before he got to it.
“We have a ‘code red.’”
He felt his knees give out, reaching behind him for the sturdiness of the wooden chair to fall upon. The sound of plastic cracking on hardwood cut through the stillness of his dark surroundings. A stinging sensation overtook his eyes, and he tried to blink it away, the salt of his tears mixing with that of the dried sweat from his recent physical exertion.
“Are you still there? Hello? HELLO?”
The desperate plea, from the forgotten device, broke through his sudden fog and he picked it up off the floor. “I-I’m…” But, the words weren’t coming. What does someone say when their dream finally comes true?
“Listen, I have some information I think you’ll need.”
He nodded, oblivious to the fact that the man on the other end of the conversation couldn’t see the action.
“Royal Jubilee Hospital. Victoria, British Columbia.” His hands sought out the lamp, which he switched on, reaching furiously for pen and paper.
“Got it. Okay?” he asked, urging his long-time confidant for more. But, all he got was silence.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
The sound of a throat being cleared sent chills down his back. “IS SHE ALIVE?”
“Y-yes, yes. She’s alive.”
His lungs felt like they would burst from the rush of air that filled them in his relief. Alive. She was alive. So then--? “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Well, she, uh…She’s a little out of it. Not exactly herself. But it’s been years. Maybe seeing you would…” The rest of the man’s explanation fell upon deaf ears as he put two and two together.
Amnesia. God, please, no.
“Will you be there when I arrive?”
“No, I don’t think that would be the smartest thing.”
“Yeah, okay. I will contact you after my visit.”
“Okay. I, uh, just want you to be ready…for when you see her. She’s in the trauma ward. Jane Doh.” The man paused, making sure he understood that last part. But, he knew all too well the implications. “I don’t want to say anything more than that.”
Were those tears in his friend’s voice? He couldn’t be sure.
“I understand. I will contact you after I’ve seen her.”
And just like that, the conversation was over. As he reached for the mouse to book the next available flight to Vancouver, he noticed his hands were trembling.
One thought kept repeating itself in his head. What kind of condition must she be in to bring an ex-Marine to tears?
TRAUMA CARE UNIT
ROYAL JUBILEE HOSPITAL
VICTORIA, BRITISH COLUMBIA
Twelve Hours Later
“I’m looking for a Jane Doh that was admitted here recently,” he said, trying to maintain composure while being so close to the end of a five year search. The first flight out wasn’t until after midnight. And, then there had been a layover. The rental car company apparently served customers slower in the early morning hours, so he broke nearly every land speed record to get to the hospital as fast as he had.
The short, heavyset nurse in flower-pattern scrubs looked through her charts for what seemed like an hour before raising her eyebrows. “Oh, yes, we did have a Jane Doh brought in!” she exclaimed, as if she hadn’t believed the man knew what he was asking about.
“Where is she?” he asked again, not caring about the curious stares he was getting from the other nurses and patrons in the open foyer.
“Sir, please-“
He lowered his voice and grabbed her hand, trying to convey the depth of his emotions at that moment through his deep, hazel eyes. “I need to see her. Please. I just want to find my wife.”
“Your wife?” she gasped. “I-I’m terribly sorry. Let me find her doctor and he can take you to see her. From looking at her chart, and your relationship with the patient, I don’t think it would be wise for you to see her alone.”
He nodded in acquiescence, hoping that playing nice would allow him extra privileges later. Nurse Odgers, as her nametag had read, disappeared down the corridor and behind the double doors.
Looking around at the bland, colorless surroundings, he plopped down in one the hard, beige leather chairs that were bound together in groups of 3. Had it really been 10 years since he had sat in a hospital like this waiting for another verdict on her life? His shoulders suddenly felt very heavy and he hunched forward, elbows propped on knees, head in hands.
“Sir?”
He jumped slightly, eyes wide, at the feel of a gentle hand on his back.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the tall, elderly man in the standard issue, white lab coat apologized. “The nurse informed me that you believe you can identify our Jane Doh?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “A friend of mine called me last night and said that my wife might have been found.”
The doctor took in his appearance warily. He was in sweats and tennis shoes that had definitely seen better days. His long, dark hair was unkempt and, though clean-shaven, it was obvious he was in need of a shower. “Do you have any identification?”
He nodded and pulled out his wallet, showing him the license: Fox William Mulder. “Please, Doctor, uh…?”
“Francis,” he answered, extending his hand.
“Dr. Francis,” he began, shaking it firmly. “Can you please tell me where I can find her?”
He could hear the desperation in the strange man’s voice, the earnest plea. This man was not a threat to the small woman who had been brought in under strange circumstances. That much he was sure of.
“Right this way, Mr. Mulder.”
They approached the door to her room, and the doctor put a warm, bony hand on Mulder’s arm to prevent him from going further. “How long has it been since you’ve seen her? Since she went missing?”
He looked into the man’s faded blue eyes and saw pity and something akin to fear there. “It’s been…five…” The word caught in his sand-paper throat and he had to swallow. “Five years.”
Doctor Francis’ eyes widened in shock. “That’s quite a long time, Mr. Mulder. You are aware that…well, how should I put this? The reason she is a Jane Doh is because we haven’t been able to identify her based on who she believes herself to be.”
Mulder flinched and nodded, already having come to that conclusion on his own, but not wanting to believe it was the truth. “Who…,” again he had to clear his throat. “Who does she think she is?”
“I could tell you, but I think she’ll have more answers for you.” He moved out of the way, as if to give Mulder better access to go inside, but grabbed his arm at the last second. “I’ve worked with many amnesia patients before, but...”
“Yes?”
“I have never had a patient who thought they were someone else. She’s not schizophrenic, I can assure you. We’ve run test after test since she showed up here yesterday morning.”
He nodded quickly, hoping that the man would get the hint that he couldn’t take this, but it didn’t work.
“If you can give a positive ID on her, we will be releasing her as fast as we can push the paperwork through.”
The doctor got the reaction he was looking for, and knew he had the man’s undivided attention. “She has absolutely no trauma to the head. Nor, any other injuries that we can find.”
He removed his hand from Mulder’s arm, and watched as the weary man turned the handle and walked through the door. Hearing a gasp, he lowered his head, moved back down the hallway, and sent up a silent prayer for the couple.
Looking at the small figure lying asleep under the thin hospital blankets, he tried to soak in every detail…but he couldn’t get past her hair. It was long, wavy…and blonde. He pulled up a chair to the side of her bed, staring down at the light, golden locks that were splayed across the pillow. For a second he thought maybe this was a trick. A sick, cruel joke. This couldn’t possibly be her. But, as his hands came out tentatively to stroke the hair back from her forehead, he caught sight of her nose. The angular nose that sloped exquisitely down her face to…those lips. Perfect, heart-shaped, and plump. Scully’s lips.
He found himself being drawn down to them and as he pressed his against hers, his hands caressing her cheeks, a warmth he hadn’t felt in over half a decade flooded through him. There was only one thing that could have pulled him back from her at that moment, a fluttering of eyelashes.
Peering into her big, aqua-colored eyes as they searched his face inquisitively, he couldn’t help but smile. This was definitely his-
“Jayson?”
And, suddenly, his world fell apart.
His stomach did a hundred flip-flops and he struggled to keep the morning snack, which he’d had on the plane ride, down.
“Jayson, are you alright?” she asked, concern etched across her painfully familiar features. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” She watched as beads of sweat built on his forehead and his skin went from olive to ghostly white.
“W-what did you call me?”
Her brow furrowed. “Jayson.”
“You think my name is Jayson?”
She laughed. He had dreamed of hearing that sound for years, but this was turning into a nightmare. Her laughter died down as she saw the pain in his eyes. “You are Jayson, aren’t you?”
He shook his head, staring at her, watching the confusion build, tears threatening at the surface. “Oh, God, not again,” she cried, her hands coming up to cover her face. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Scu-,” he started, her head shooting back up at the sound of his voice. “I’m sorry. I guess I--.”
“Wait, what?”
Mulder just looked at her, unsure of the question.
“What were you going to call me?”
“Scully?”
Her eyes narrowed, and he felt like he had been melted down into a puddle on the chair. “Is this some kind of joke?” she asked between clenched teeth.
“A joke?”
“Yes, a fucking horrible, lame joke! You and Stone orchestrated this didn’t you? Thought it’d be real fucking funny. And what the hell was that kiss about?”
Stone? What the hell was going on here? “Scully, I swear--.”
“Don’t you dare call me that again! It’s not funny, Jayson. I’m in a hospital for Christsake! Is that part of it, too?” She scrambled to get out of bed, but he was too fast for her, pinning her back to the mattress with two hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were locked on his and he could see the nervousness there.
“Please,” he whispered. “You have to calm down.” He felt her stop struggling against him, and he sat back down. “What is going on here?”
She searched his eyes, waiting for him to crack and tell her the truth. That this was all some prank. But, he never did. “Stone came to me last night,” she sighed.
He had a sudden urge to kill this person. “Stone?”
Nodding, she continued, “He asked me if I could remember where I’d been before arriving here.”
“And do you?”
“Of course!” she said, resentfully.
His jaw went slack, and he urged her on.
“I had been on my way from my vacation home to the store to pick up some things I’d forgotten to pack.”
“You have a vacation home here?”
“You know I do,” she answered conspiratorially, her blue eyes flashing. When his expression remained blank, she decided to keep going. “I was about three blocks from J&H when a black sedan T-boned me in the intersection. Then, I woke up here.”
He watched her; still unsure of what to say next, when she suddenly looked away, bewilderment crossing her face.
“What is it?”
“It’s just…well, it’s something that I should have thought of before this. I guess it was just too much for my mind to deal with at the time.”
She glanced up at him again. “If that wreck really happened the way I remember it, I should be seriously hurt…” Her eyes froze in terror. “Oh, my God!”
“What? What is it?” He said standing, watching as tears welled in her eyes. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m dead! Oh, God, I’m dead, aren’t I?” She had him by the shoulders now, shaking him in a vice-like grip.
“What? No. NO! You are definitely not dead.” Her hands relaxed enough that he could shake loose. He cupped her face gently, but she pulled back like his touch was fire.
“Don’t.”
“I-I’m sorry. I won’t touch you anymore.”
“Thank you.”
He tried to hide the hurt on his face, but it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t look him in the eye again for hours.
It had been rough. She kept claiming that her name was Kate Robertson. A famous television and movie actress. That in and of itself had been tough, but then she claimed she had a family. Children.
“You say you have two kids?” he remembered asking in his best detective voice, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him.
“Yes! You know this already! You know who I fucking am! Why aren’t they here?”
“They?” he said calmly, trying to reach back in his memory to find his detective mode. It had been years since he’d questioned anyone. But, this woman-his Scully-needed him now, and he wasn’t going to let his own personal drama screw this up.
“Yes, Jayson. They. Todd. My kids. My parents. W-why…” she began sobbing at this point. “Why are *you* here…and they’re not? Why haven’t they been looking for me? I have a one-year-old son! I just want to hold my son and see my daughter!” She was absolutely hysterical, and he empathized with her.
He knew exactly what it was like to wake up and find your whole world gone.
LETHBRIDGE, ALBERTA
June 28, 2002
11:07am
They walked out of the tiny courtroom, hand-in-hand, stupid grins plastered across their face. “So, I guess I can’t call you Scully anymore, huh?” he laughed, rubbing the diamond band on her left hand between his fingers.
She squinted up at him in the bright morning sun, her blue eyes sparkling. “You do realize we are married under fake names, Mister, uh…Diggler. God, those guys had an evil sense of humor.”
He looked down for a second, remembering the first time Frohike had shown him the fake ID’s he and the guys had made for him and Scully after they got back from Antarctica. After Mulder had switched with Byers, walking out of the hospital with a gunshot wound to the temple, they decided to make them ID’s for at least one country per continent. At first, he thought it was a gag gift or something, but apparently the guys knew more than they had let on.
Scully’s Canadian ID papers and license had read “Shelly Marie Tipton.” Simple enough, he thought. Until he pulled out his own: “Richard William Diggler.” Dick Diggler. He missed them every day.
They had a small house waiting for them in Calgary, just a couple of hours north. Skinner had sent pictures and instructions that everything had already been arranged using the money they had moved from Mulder’s old accounts. All they had to do was move in.
He was broken out of his thoughts by the feel of lips pressing against his palm.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Where’d you go?”
He smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, I was just thinking about the guys.”
She nodded, and then she got a mischievous look on her face. “You know, they would kick your ass for mourning them on your honeymoon.”
“True,” he chuckled, finding himself amazed at the woman in front of him. “Just wait until you see the hotel I picked out for us!”
“As long as it doesn’t have the words ‘motor court’ or ‘motor lodge’ in it, I can deal.”
“Then the Hotel S&M should work out just fine,” he deadpanned.
Her head fell back slightly as she laughed. “Keep that up, Mulder, and I’ll hurt you like that beast-woman.”
He leered down at her. “That’s what I was hoping for.”
The next morning, he woke up feeling around the bed for the warm body he had grown accustomed to sleeping beside. “Good morning, Mrs. Mulder.”
But, her side of the bed was ice cold, as if she hadn’t been there in hours. He shot out of bed, not caring that he didn’t have on a stitch of clothing. He grabbed the alarm clock. 11:45 Am. He never slept this late, and his head felt like a sledgehammer had been taken to it.
Searching frantically through the large hotel suite, he found nothing. All of her clothes, purse, phone, wallet…her ring. Vanished, like she had never been there. Someone had drugged them and taken Scully.
He threw the alarm clock against the wall as he screamed in rage. His body slumped to the floor in utter defeat, and all he could think of as the room began to spin was that she was gone. Scully was gone.
And he had no way to find her.
She was close to losing it. Her whole existence, as she knew it, seemed to have been a lie.
They had been searching, fruitlessly, for all the people she said she knew. None of their phone numbers worked, and all of the people at their workplaces had never heard of them. They could find no record of a wreck having happened where she said it had, nor was there a vacation home at the address she gave. The street didn’t even exist. Her homes in Arizona, California, Michigan, London, and Vancouver were not able to be found.
One of the first things he had wanted to know was why she thought that he and Skinner were two men named Jayson Lundberg and Stone Richards.
He could still see her sitting in the hospital bed, her blonde hair pulled back loosely in a ponytail as she stared out the window away from him. “Because,” she sighed. “I’ve known you guys for fifteen years.”
When he stayed silent, she turned to look at him. The dark shadow that had come when she called him Jayson for the first time was still present. It scared her. “We worked together for nine years. On ‘The X-Files’.”
“You know about the X-Files?” he gasped, reaching instinctively for her hand before pulling back, remembering that he had agreed not to touch her.
She searched his eyes suspiciously, some part of her still hoping that this was all a joke. “Yes, it was one of the most popular TV shows in history.”
“A television show?” he laughed, his eyes wet with an emotion she knew was anything but happiness.
“It made our careers, Jayson. You played Fox Mulder, and--.”
“You were Scully,” he finished, disgust lacing his words.
“And, what you are trying to tell me is that I really am Scully, right?”
“We have the fingerprints, medical records, birth certificates, marriage-.”
“What?” she interrupted, her eyes wide. “Marriage what? Scully was married?”
Mulder studied her for a second, trying to decide the best thing to say. Instead, he simply reached inside his wallet. He pulled out a piece of paper that was worn down from being looked at for hours every night since her disappearance.
She accepted it with trembling hands and read it softly to herself. He watched her brows furrow.
“Shelly and Richard were the aliases the guys chose for our Canadian ID’s. We had to use them after I broke out of prison.” He then handed her the license he had kept with him.
“I-I don’t believe this,” she stammered, as a picture of her younger self stared back at her. “Mulder and Scully…married?” That’s when the laughter started. At first, it was just giggling - something so out-of-character when he first heard it come out of her but that had now become normal - but then it became maniacal to the point where she was holding her sides in pain. It ended in tears.
“But….my kids. How could that have been fake? I miss them so much…” She shook her head and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. He wanted so badly just to hold her. “This is absolutely impossible. How…how can this be happening?”
“I wish I knew. Listen, the doctors want to release you, but I know you don’t-.”
“Have anywhere to go?” she finished for him, in a voice that sounded distant. “Yeah, I really don’t…I-I don’t even know where to start.”
“I think I might.” He gazed at her and, just as he’d prayed, she returned it. “But, you’ve got to trust me.”