Winding carefully out of Santa Cruz and up Highway 9, the other
highway connecting Santa Cruz with its environs, I could almost feel
Agent Mulder's mind racing. I wondered what black projects were. They
had sounded ominous even in Will's letter, and they certainly meant
something to my passenger.
My high beams picked out stands of redwoods on either side of
the narrow road. Agent Mulder appeared to be admiring them when he
asked, "Are you married or engaged?"
I cast a glance at my left hand myself, knowing that was what
he'd noticed. Jason's ring was a very small gleam in the darkness.
"Engaged," I replied.
"Congratulations," he said. The word had a languid upward
lilt.
"For four years now. He's in San Francisco." My driveway
appeared on the left, and I slowed down more than usual, hitting my
turn signal politely for my passenger's benefit. "Hold on."
The pavement is very rough in my driveway; in fact by day
you can see it's kind of a swiss cheese driveway. The way is closely
lined with trees. After a quarter mile my porch lights appeared, and
I stopped the car at the front door.
Agent Mulder climbed slowly out of the car as I opened the
trunk and got his luggage out. He stretched his arms up over his
head. "So, is this the middle of nowhere, or off to the side a
little?"
I handed him his briefcase with a dirty look. "Very funny."
"Where's the rest of Felton? The population sign said
more than just you." Only the slightest ironic swing in his voice,
and the atmosphere around him, let me know he was laughing inside.
I unlocked the front door and waved him in. "You should
know better than to insult your host in the middle of the woods.
Even if you _are_ armed."
As I closed the door behind us, Mulder turned around to
face me in one smooth motion. "Why are you assuming I'm armed?"
I met his gaze and found he had green eyes, like me.
Like Will. Like Jason, in fact. "You _are_ armed. I can sense
weapons." I was blushing. I waited for his discomfort to begin,
adding awkwardly, "It stands to reason besides, with your job and
all."
"Have I met yet another psychic?" He was starting to
smile, expressing no judgment. I felt calm returning to my face.
"Nothing grandiose," I answered. I hung his garment bag
on the wooden coat tree by the door.
"What's the make and model of my weapon?" His mouth set
itself in challenge.
I pretended great effort while hanging up my own coat,
pausing for just the right effect. He'd given me the answer without
realizing it. When I looked up, I looked directly into his eyes.
"Glock, nineteen."
He blinked, and I felt him going over the implications of
my answer in his head. Savoring the silence, I motioned toward
the couch and armchairs. "Please sit down, Agent Mulder. And don't
be so impressed."
He smiled on one side of his face as the light dawned.
"Will told you what they issue us."
"Yes. I wasn't even sure it was a gun until you told me."
He took off his overcoat and jacket and hung them on the
coat tree, revealing a shoulder holster. "Did you pull over
because of intuition?"
"Yes. I've never pulled over for anyone before." He'd
crossed the living room in a few strides and was seating himself
on the sofa. "Would you like something to drink? I could use
some coffee myself."
"Yeah, thanks."
In the kitchen, preparing the coffee to brew, I took a
few deep, quiet breaths. There was a strange man in my house.
He was harmless but it was still very odd to feel his presence
over my right shoulder in the living room.
One Jason and I had lived together in this house. It
had been just the right size, one bedroom, hardwood floor, wood
panelling everywhere, just the place one would hope to have in
the woods. The living room had been big enough for Jason to
teach the occasional martial arts lesson. The rent was reasonable
and the landlord lived out of town, way up in the Sierras somewhere.
He never visited, although he never got around to repaving the
driveway either.
Three months before, just before my fall teaching quarter
began, Jason had moved to San Francisco to set up his martial arts
academy and investigation business, two dreams he'd had for as long
as I'd known him. Since my job title is Lecturer, and I have no
tenure, my teaching from year to year can't be certain. I could not
be assured of a similar job in the City. I had decided to stay
behind and see what transpired.
For weeks it had been excruciating, seeing Jason only once
a week, with daily phone calls and emails. Now it was a dull ache.
Some of his stuff was still around for when he visited--clothes,
extra toothbrush, razors. His artwork still adorns the walls.
I heard my guest's voice, and looking out the kitchen
doorway, saw him talking on a cellular phone. "Hi, Scully, it's
me."
There was a short silence. "Felton, California. It
appears to be near Santa Cruz."
I withdrew to the kitchen and stared at the coffee maker,
which had started sputtering loudly as it brewed the coffee. Mulder's
dark languid voice continued. "I need to ask you something. Do you
remember a Will Stevenson from any of your classes?"
My hands began to grip themselves into fists as I listened.
Proper fists with the thumb on the outside, I noticed. Jason would
approve.
"Okay. There are some mysterious circumstances I've just
heard about. I'll get back to you, all right? Thanks."
He appeared in the kitchen doorway. "That was my partner.
She used to teach at the Academy, and she remembers your brother.
Says he was a healthy sort of guy, ambitious, hard-working. Had
a tendency to cut up a little bit."
"That's Will." I wanted to be sure of what I'd overheard,
so I asked, "What's your partner's name?"
"Dana Scully." Mulder unbuttoned the cuff on his left
sleeve and started to roll it up.
I smiled. "He's mentioned her a few times. He called
her Skullwoman."
My guest smiled wryly. "Can I look at his last letter?"
A distant growling of thunder filled the space after his
question. It appeared the storm was fast approaching. "Sure,
just a minute," I answered, and hurried to the bedroom to
retrieve a shoe box from the closet, full of Will's letters. It
was easy to find even in darkness, and I held it tightly for a
minute, realizing I was about to show its contents to a stranger.
I turned swiftly and emerged from the bedroom into the kitchen,
reminding myself I was showing Mulder the letters in a good cause.
Mulder was sitting at the kitchen table in the corner.
Setting the box down, I opened it and extricated the top letter
from the rubber band that held them all together. "This is the
latest one."
My guest narrowed his eyes at the envelope, reaching
for his left shirt pocket and producing a pair of eyeglasses.
After putting them on, he took the letter out of the envelope.
"He mailed this four days after he wrote it," he stated.
"Does that mean anything?"
"Maybe."
He set the envelope down on the table and started to
read. I noticed his hands had long fingers, and looked both
academic and strong. The musculature of his forearms was finely
drawn. I noticed too that he was generally more slightly built
than Jason; maybe that had soemthing to do with the impression of
innocence that I was getting.
To avoid tensing up the atmosphere I pulled out one of
Will's letters myself to read while I waited, but Agent Mulder
began to read aloud. " 'One in particular I've met is pretty
seriously connected. I can't even guess who he works for. He
says he can trust me to do right by the black project info he's
planning to give me. Said too he could help me after I'm
assigned. Guy must be everywhere.' "
I felt a slight tension from him. "Do you know this
person?" I asked.
His eyes snapped up to meet mine. "We all get contacted
by figures who claim they can help our careers."
"But this one sounds familiar to you." I wasn't going to
let this go. I was sure of what I sensed.
"It's possible. There just isn't anything concrete here."
He returned to reading. " 'I've got places for you, and Mom and
Dad, and Jason at the ceremony. Hope you can make it. Love, Hawk.' "
"My nickname for him," I explained.
"Is Jason your fiance' ?"
"Yes. Jason Demnos." I turned my attention to the counter.
"Coffee's ready. How do you take it?"
"Black's fine, thanks."
I got up, chose two mugs that matched, and poured Mulder's
black cupful first. When I set it down, he groped for it, still
reading to himself. "I'm going to read some more of these so I
know what I'm talking about when I call the Bureau," he said.
"Do you have a photo of Will?"
"Lots," I assured him, stirring sugar and milk into my
coffee. "I'll get you one."
"Thanks."
This time in the bedroom, I turned on the lights and realized
I was still dressed up from my meeting. Hurriedly I changed out
of the meeting clothes into black pants, black shirt, black vest.
I pulled my hair down and shook it around. Much better.
I regarded myself in the mirror. I looked tired but
presentable. Removing my glasses, I wiped them on my shirttail
and put them back on. Experimenting, I tried to infuse my face
with confidence. It worked, except my eyes remained dark and
tired.
I ran a comb through my hair briefly. (It's straight and
a little longer than shoulder length, so it doesn't take much.) I
considered. He was going to call the Bureau to see what he could
find out. That meant that he was intrigued by Will's letter. He'd
said that everyone got contacted by people claiming to help their
careers. I figured Mulder himself had been approached in this way.
I took Will's photo down off my mirror. He grinned
at me from the photograph. He had not inherited much of the
Stevenson red hair; he only had red highlights, while every part
of my hair was an outspoken auburn. We both had our mother's
green eyes. I felt an unpleasant chill between my shoulder blades.
I'd heard rumors that federal agencies liked to set up young
patriotic types to take falls for unethical goings on. I hoped
this was not the case with Will.
Entering the kitchen, I held the photo out to my guest.
"Here he is," I stated. "So, what can you tell me about black
projects without having to shoot me afterwards?"
"I don't work for _those_ people," he informed me with
an ironic smile. He had folded one leg completely in half, up onto
the chair, and was leaning his left arm on his knee, holding the
cup of coffee. "They're projects so secret that even the President
can't find out about them, administered by organizations that
officially don't exist. They've been rumored for a long time.
Every so often something substantial comes out." Something trilled
in his shirt pocket, and he pulled out the phone. "Mulder."
I took a sip of coffee and surreptitiously watched his
eyes as he listened. Now, I could not tell what color they were.
"Hi Scully. They have good coffee in Felton."
I raised my mug in acknowledgment.
"Well, my rentacar broke down, and a good Samaritan brought
me here." He blinked, and unfolded his leg slowly, setting his foot
on the floor. "You found a terminal? What did you find out?"
I gripped the mug handle tighter.
"Interesting. Thanks." He collapsed the phone and regarded
me abstractedly. "Will dropped out of the Academy about six weeks
ago. Scully says October twentieth."
"Dropped out?" I was lucky to be holding the coffee so tight;
I would have dropped it. "That's bizarre! He's known he wanted to
be in the FBI since he was--"
"He's dropped out," Mulder interrupted me emphatically.
"Scully got into the Academy records. It says he sent a letter of
resignation."
"What did the letter say?" I demanded. My voice cracked,
and I took a deep breath, blushing.
"I want to know that too, but it could take a while to find
out." He leaned forward and looked at me intently. "Are you all
right?"
"Yes," I lied.
"If he did drop out for ordinary reasons, he may not feel
he can face you."
"Or Mom and Dad?"
"Or Mom and Dad," he insisted, gently.
"I guess it's possible," I admitted. My head was starting
to hurt and I could barely feel anything from my shield. I took
a swallow of coffee, and tried to center down to clear the inter-
ference. "I'm thrilled with all your help, Agent Mulder. Really."
"You'll get more. Scully's downloading his transcript,
or trying to. She says it isn't showing up in any directories."
"Will shouldn't have called her Skullwoman," I realized,
smiling a little.
"Where did he say that? I'm wondering if it's a widespread
nickname I can use sometime." Mulder was grinning. "Makes sense
actually, for a forensics instructor."
"Well, it was about a year ago, I think..." I leafed through
the letters and postcards, glad for the distraction. "Oh, here's a
card. It says, 'Hey Mari, Skullwoman's leaving teaching. They've
assigned her to keep an eye on some guy who's wasting the Bureau's
money. She'll whip him into shape real fast.' "
Without looking up, I felt Mulder's presence grow as dark as
a hole in the landscape. When I looked, I saw him looking past me.
"Oh, Goddess..." If I could have sunk through the floor,
I would have. "Agent Mulder, I'm really sorry."
"I'm known across America as the guy wasting the Bureau's
money." His gaze, when it returned to me, was cold and brittle.
"Imagine that."
I didn't speak for a minute. I doubted I could put words
to my embarrassment. Finally I asked, carefully, "Where does this
rumor come from?"
"I work on certain kinds of cases." He looked at me
searchingly. "They're cases that are widely considered not to be
worth the trouble."
"You said you profile serial killers," I reminded him.
"I don't believe anyone would doubt the importance of that."
"These days I usually work on these other cases." He
looked past me again, and paused. His mouth remained open
slightly while he chose his next words. "Many of them contain
elements that cannot yet be explained."
I felt my eyebrows rising as I realized what he was saying.
"I see. This is why you meet a lot of psychics." I nodded. I
could feel him unwinding a little; he saw that I wasn't going to
dismiss his work, which I could sense counted for him as his main
work. "I apologize for my brother, Agent Mulder. He seems to be
a little misinformed."
"I should be used to it by now." He picked up the coffee
mug and took a swallow. "They did assign Scully to keep an eye
on me. That much is true."
My shield static was increasing. It took me a moment to
figure out that the storm was very close indeed. "I guess she
hasn't whipped you into shape, though." I got up and opened a
kitchen drawer containing candles and matches.
"We work real well together. Why are you getting those
out?" He frowned at the candles in my hands.
"Well, mostly because we might lose power."
At that moment lightning flashed. For an instant I saw the
outlines of all the trees outside, before the lights went off and
the house was completely dark. I struck a match hurriedly, and
thunder boomed almost immediately. I felt delighted chills
between my shoulder blades. "If you need more light for reading,
I've got plenty," I told my guest, setting a lit candle in a
holder on the kitchen table.
"You sensed that coming?" Mulder asked. He was unruffled
by the thunder. In fact, I could sense his undivided attention.
"Yeah." I went into the living room and began lighting
candles in the various sconces on the walls. I lit the candles on
the coffee table altar, which stands under a large window in the
living room's east wall. "It was like a buildup of static."
"I would say you have a sensitivity to electromagnetic
fields," my guest informed me. He was following behind me as I
lit the lights.
"I wouldn't be surprised."
He sat down on the sofa. "What do you feel is the basis
for your ability?" he asked.
I shrugged. "It's like playing a musical instrument. It's
a thing you have to practice regularly, otherwise you can't control
it." I shook out the last match and left it in the incense burner
on the altar. Taking in the altar's flickering totality, with the
statue of Aradia raising her right hand in blessing, I decided
Agent Mulder didn't need to know what my religion was. If he
asked, though, I would tell him.
I approached him and realized that in the candlelight, he
no longer looked anything like Will, or anyone else in my family.
Shadows fell differently from his cheekbones. One lock of his
hair was hanging over his forehead; something Will would not have
tolerated for long. I sank down on the sofa, and he twisted
around to face me. "Tell me more."
At close range I could feel his inner eagerness clearly.
He was a very strong radiator. His eyes met mine with a kind of
seriousness; it seemed impossible that, once he had begun such a
look, that he would ever be the one to look away. "When I was
little I would have flashes," I began. "But when grownups
asked me about things, I couldn't perform. I got too shy.
It wasn't until I was eighteen or so I decided to practice, a
little each day."
"So it's not a sense, continually providing input?"
"It is now," I replied. "It wasn't then." I felt
myself smiling. He believed me. He really wanted to know
what my shield was about. "It's different for each person,
but for me it was important to give it its own...sensory
location?" I bit my lip, hoping I was making myself clear.
"In the same way we see with our eyes and hear with our
ears, I sense with my shield. That's what I call it--it's
the immediate space around me."
There was silence except for the pounding of rain on
the house. Agent Mulder reached toward me with the fingers
of his left hand, and held them still about six inches away.
He blinked. "I'm not going to feel anything, am I?" He
was disappointed.
"You might, with practice."
"Does your shield protect you?" He returned his hand
to rest on his lap.
"Yes. When I'm driving I imagine it extending around the
car, and I can feel dangerous situations coming. Sometimes I
know soon enough to take another route."
"What about when you saw me by the side of the road?"
I took a breath and sighed. "I'm not sure. It wasn't
like what I usually feel. I get emotions, general danger or
safety, weapons." I wondered if words could adequately nail down
the web of impressions I'd felt. "This time I was actually drawn toward
you to help you. I also felt a lot of complex stuff, lots of connections
and comparisons."
"Comparisons with what?"
"Will." The feeling from my guest began to get turbid. I
continued, hoping to stop it. "There's a superficial physical
resemblance. You've seen the picture...the height, the haircut. You
both wear glasses to read, and you're both psychologists, and you're
both with the FBI. It was more than that though. I felt you were
completely trustworthy. And then I felt you could help me find out
about Will."
He regarded me steadily and I felt his eagerness retreating.
"So how do I avoid feeling manipulated at this point?"
I concentrated on breathing slowly, and holding his gaze.
Now was not the time to get shifty-eyed. "By having my assurance
that your help was not a condition of my helping you."
The rain continued as neither of us spoke. Finally I
lowered my eyes, wishing I hadn't told him so much. Nobody, not
even Jason, knew the full extent of my shield's capabilities for
this very reason. It was so easy for people to misunderstand.
Mulder spoke finally. "I believe you."
I looked up. "That's good." A lightning flash illuminated
his face, and I noticed for the first time the mole low on his
right cheek. "I've been completely straight with you."
Thunder boomed, with a few seconds between it and the
lightning. The storm was moving on over the mountains. "I know,"
Mulder said. He smiled again tight-lipped. "I have to find your
brother anyway. I gotta set him straight about me and the Bureau's
money."
I chuckled. The phone trilled in his pocket, and he pulled
it out. "Mulder."
I made my way back to the kitchen and dumped my cold coffee
in the sink.
"Yeah, I know. There was a pretty good-sized storm here."
Slowly I poured myself a fresh cup, and dug a spoonful of
brown sugar out of the canister.
"You did? Great. Just a second." He raised his voice a
little. "Dr. Stevenson, do you have a fax machine?"
"Yeah, I do," I called back. "But it won't help much until
the power comes back on."
"How much longer will you be there?" Mulder asked into the
phone. A pause. "It's only eight-thirty, Scully."
I sipped the coffee, thinking. If the power were on he could
also use the Mac.
"The student's last contact with the family was two months
ago," I heard my guest explaining. "His leaving the Academy came
shortly after he reported contact with a source with, shall we say,
deep background."
I shivered. That didn't sound good.
"She's not a medical doctor," he said after a short silence.
"Her doctorate's in music."
That was me, obviously. I smiled.
"I don't know why. I just do." He raised his voice toward
me again. "Can you give me your fax number?"
Finding a pencil, I began scribbling it on the back of one
of Will's envelopes. The silence was broken by the hum of appliances
restarting as the lights came back on. After a sigh of relief, I
walked out into the living room to hand the number to my guest, who
read it over the phone. "Thanks Scully," I heard him say before
ending the phone call.
I reached up to begin snuffing the wall candles, and he came
toward me, slump-shouldered. I felt like telling him to stand up
straight, just to see what he'd do, but I restrained myself. "Which
way is your fax machine?" he asked.
"This way." I led him back through the kitchen. On the way I
saw him retrieve a package of sunflower seeds from his overcoat pocket.
"Are you hungry? I was going to heat up some chili." I opened a door
at the back of the kitchen, and turned on the office light.
"Sounds great, thanks."
"Welcome to my office," I said, and motioned him in.
His eyes were dwelling on the washer and dryer across from the
desk holding phone, computer, printer and fax. "It's a laundry room."
"It's an office," I corrected him sternly.
He grinned at me. "Yes, Doctor."
"And please don't drop those shells all over."
"Okay." He pressed the on-switch on the power strip, and I
headed for the kitchen to begin chili.
*
Knowing how annoying it is to be hovered over, I stayed out
of the office while the chili heated up. I heard the fax connect a
few times, and heard the Mac boot up, before I called out, "Chili's
ready."
"Be right there."
I hoped he didn't mind the black bean vegetarian kind. I'd
made garlic bread, which I cut up and placed on a platter in the
middle of the kitchen table. With a ladle I dished up two bowls of
chili. Ice water was already poured.
When my guest appeared and headed for the food, with his
sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened (and still wearing the
shoulder holster), I had to shake my head behind his back at
how domestic and surreal it was. "So, what'd you find out?"
Sitting down, he looked at me with a one-sided smile. "I
should make you wait till I write the report."
I gave him a reproachful look as I sat down and picked up
my spoon.
"Will's evaluations were very good right up to his dropping
out," he began. I smiled a little, gratefully. "There was no
performance problem. He didn't see a doctor in four months prior
to leaving, so health can probably be ruled out." He paused to
take a bite of garlic bread, chewed it fully and swallowed before
going on. "Nobody filed a missing persons report on him, so I guess
he doesn't have a girlfriend."
"He usually doesn't mention it to me if he does," I said.
"He might tell Jason."
"Will and Jason are close?"
"Oh yeah. Like brothers." I swallowed a spoonful of chili.
"They hit it off the minute they first met, seven or eight years ago.
Jason's a private investigator, so they have the law enforcement thing
in common."
"How does Jason feel about all this?" This seemed to have
sparked Mulder's interest.
"He tells me not to worry." I stirred the chili around with
my spoon. "He says Will can take care of himself, and that he's
probably just busy with something." All things I had told myself
countless times. "Wait till he hears Will dropped out."
"You know, while I was in there," my guest added, "I saw
there was a message on your machine. It might be Jason."
"Oh, thanks." I tried to get up gracefully, rather than
leap up, from the table. "Excuse me." I hadn't looked at the
machine, in my hurry to make chili and stay out of Mulder's way.
I pushed the door to, behind me, and hesitated. For the
first time I thought of Jason, and what he would say, hearing I'd
picked up a stranger on the road. He'd think I'd lost my mind.
With a quiet sigh I rewound the tape and played it.
"Hi, it's me, are you there?" A pause. It was Jason, all
right. A voice both exuberant and yearning, and...worried? "I don't
know when you'll be back from your meeting. Please call me! Class
went really well today. And yesterday there were four more kids, two
girls. And I have more teenage hotshots wanting to _assist_ me, than
you'd ever believe existed." I smiled. Guys kissing up to the new
instructor in town. "Call me when you get home. I got lots to tell
you."
That was it. I rewound it and stood thinking. I couldn't lie
to him. I had to tell him about Mulder eventually, but I had no idea
what to say. I realized this would take some careful scriptwriting,
and decided to wait a while. Maybe after dinner.
Returning to the kitchen, I saw Agent Mulder finishing off his
bowl of chili. "Would you like some more?" I asked.
"No, this is great, thanks."
I looked at my own bowl, half eaten, and discovered I no longer
had any appetite. I picked it up and scooped the remainder back into
the pot. Breakfast, maybe.
When I turned around my guest was standing up, with his bowl
in his hands. "Do you need help with cleanup?" he asked.
"Thank you," I answered, smiling. "Do you feeling like
drying dishes?"
"Sure." He put the bowl in the sink. "Just give me a
towel."
I got a clean one out of the drawer, and tossed it for him
to catch. "You're a scholar and a gentleman, Agent Mulder."
"Santa Cruz hospitality demands Massachusetts gratitude,"
he replied, cocking his head and smiling vaguely for emphasis.
It seemed like an expression he'd just made up. I watched him
pluck the towel from the air with a practiced accuracy. He must
have played baseball or basketball at some point.
"That's where you're from originally?"
"Chilmarc, Mass," he declared. "Very small."
"I'm a native Californian," I admitted.
"Born with a driver's license?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
"Not me. I'm a mutant." I realized what I'd said, and
grinned. "I guess you meet those too."
He chuckled, and indicated the bowl in his hands. "Where
does it go?"
"They all go in that cupboard." I pointed my chin at it
since my hands were busy underwater.
"What kind of a job do you have, Doctor?" he asked next.
The bowl clinked ceramically in the cupboard as he let it down
gently with his right hand. "Are you a professor?"
"Maybe someday," I sighed. "Right now I'm a lecturer. I
direct a new music ensemble, and I lead a women's choir."
"Do you play anything?"
"Lots of instruments badly," I replied. He smiled a
little. "I play the flute well, and the baton. Guitar and bass."
He nodded, raising his eyebrows and looking impressed. "If
you come on tour to Washington, I want to hear." He reached with
both arms to put away the garlic bread platter. I glanced at him
for a moment before returning attention to dishwashing. He had
such a loose, absent-minded way of moving, very different from
Jason's self-assured streetwise saunter. I felt sure Mulder knew
some hand-to-hand, too. I thought of the two of them sparring
together, trying out different moves. I just knew they'd hit it
off, if only I could get Jason past the roadside assistance part.
I was used to having close friends who were men, so such
a thing was not without precedent. In the past those friends had
always become Jason's friends too.
I reminded myself I probably wouldn't get such a chance
with my guest. There were too many extraordinary circumstances.
Finished, I turned off the water. My shield was picking
up something odd over my right shoulder where Mulder was. I dried
my hands on a hand towel, trying to nail the feeling down. He
shut the cupboard, stepped over to me and handed me the dishtowel.
It was damp but still cottony and soft.
I noticed that he hadn't stepped back from me, but was still
there, only a few inches away. I could feel the warm edge of the
space where his shield would be, if he had one.
"What does it feel like when a person is inside your shield?"
he asked quietly.
My heart began accelerating and I wondered if I should hold
my breath, to avoid smelling his aftershave. I was about to step
away from him, but decided to remain, so I could answer his question.
"Usually I don't have it there, in those cases," I answered slowly.
"I get overloaded."
This was true. It had dissolved itself quickly out of
self-preservation. Tempting as it was to try to sense what he was
feeling, I didn't. Close proximity could amplify his emotions beyond
my ability to distinguish whose they were.
"You aren't reading me?" His eyes were about five inches
above mine, very green, and unlike Jason's green eyes they were a
little hooded. They met mine with exclusivity, as if nothing could
possibly distract him. I held the dishtowel tightly in my left hand.
"No." I paused. "It's as though I took my glasses off. I
know who you are, but I can't make out any details."
"This doesn't bother you?"
I kept my eyes steady, and resolved not to watch his mouth
move, despite the interesting way his lower lip reached forward,
ever so slightly, at the end of sentences. "No, because I believe
we understand one another."
I hadn't seen his arm move, and the feeling of his fingers
closing lightly around my right hand startled me. I almost jumped.
The feeling was both disturbing and exhilarating. The look in his
eyes was changing, subtly, and I didn't need my shield to identify
it. "Mari--" He spoke my name barely above a whisper, and hesitated
in a way that was unexpectedly endearing. I swallowed hard.
"Agent Mulder." Keep it formal, I decided. "We can't
think of this. Neither of us can."
He blinked, and withdrew his hand. I stood my ground. I
wouldn't insult him by skittering off. He nodded slowly, and
retreated from me one step. "I'll be letting you know what I
find out," he said.
"Thank you." I smiled at him. My shield had reestablished
itself and I was sensing a lot of embarrassment, along with a
gratifying amount of respect.
He returned to the office. I took a few deep breaths,
silently so he wouldn't hear them, and found that my right hand
had made itself into a fist, with the left hand closed around it.
I cast about for something grounding to do, and retrieved the
month's bills from the kitchen bulletin board. After digging my
checkbook out of my jacket pocket, I spread everything on the
living room floor and began writing checks.
*
I wasn't aware I had closed my eyes, but since I dreamed
of Jason, I must have. I dreamed he arrived in the night and
climbed into bed beside me. I felt his warmth all along my
back, and I was sighing appreciatively when the bed, and Jason,
disappeared. I was on the floor of the living room surrounded
by bills, some sealed up with checks in envelopes, and some not.
I shook my head to clear it, and discovered that a
blanket had been draped over me. A piece of paper crackled in
my hand, and it wasn't a bill. I struggled onto my elbows to
look at it--it was a note in unfamiliar block letters.
NO WILL STEVENSON ON ANY FLIGHTS OUT OF D.C., BUT ONE
ALEX HAWK BOUGHT 1-WAY TICKET TO SF. DEC 5. ALSO CAR RENTED.
WILL CHECK MORE. FM.
The evening returned to my memory. I looked around--
only the altar candles lit the room, and on the sofa someone was
lying very still under a blanket.
Sleepily I struggled to my feet, stepping over and around
the bills. With a taper, I brought flame to a large, fat candle
that would last the night, and snuffed the altar candles.
I stood for a moment looking at my guest's sleeping form,
pulling my shield together to take an inward look. He was
asleep, but only lightly. I imagined that was natural in a
strange place.
Pulling the blanket around me I headed for the bedroom.
Pushing the door to, I crawled into bed and was immediately
asleep.
--
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Polly Moller * ni...@netcom.com *...yadda yadda yadda...*
Flutist, Conductor, Teacher / Producer, Women's Alternative
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