Title: Trace of Red
Author: Rachel Ehrentreu (FirePhile@aol.com)
Classification: VA
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A follow-up to Patterns of Faith, Mulder POV
Disclaimer: They aren't mine...belong to CC&CO, 1013, FOX, etc.  Any
movies or books mentioned aren't mine either.

Quick Author's Note:  This will be almost incomprehensible without
reading the first two parts of this trilogy: Meaningless Life by Rachel Ehrentreu
and Patterns of Faith by Anna Otto...all three parts can be found at
http://www.geocities.com/~annaotto.  I hope that you've enjoyed the 
ride.  Send any and all to FirePhile@aol.com.  Longer note at the end.


I saw you...her...my conscience today.  Older but still as beautiful as
ever...as ever.  If I could have ignored your eyes...the betrayal in 
your eyes....  Blue sparks of fury and love and all the other emotions I've
suppressed for twenty years.  I know that you must hate me...I saw my
past in your face.  The man I said goodbye to twenty years ago.  The
plan I let consume me.  

The hardest thing I've ever done was staying away from the hospital
when you were returned.  I wanted to run to your room, hold you, kiss
you, tell you that everything would be fine.  Live happily ever 
after.... I spent that night in my expensive apartment, surrounded by 
luxury, staring at the walls.  Torn between my heart and my head, my 
love and my new responsibilities, my soul and darkness.  I chose the 
latter, the latter won every time.  

For years I heard your voice in my head...after every murder, every
misdeed, every lie in the name of the project.   You berated me, yelled
at me, forced me to feel pain.  Eventually, your voice went away.  In
my desk drawer there is still the letter I never sent.  Sometimes I
re-read it.  I couldn't send it....  Maybe I knew if you found me...I
would never have been able to complete my duties.  It's only one more
regret in a lifetime of mistakes.

The only concession I made was when I requested Charles, you knew
him as Cancer Man, to inquire about your health.  Once I knew you
were safe...no cancer, no new by-products....  I wanted to be kept in 
the dark about anything pertaining to you.  When you returned to
teaching, when someone spotted you near my old apartment -- I didn't
want to know.  A few times I accidentally caught your image on a
security camera or surveillance pictures.  Black and white did little 
to diminish your beauty and the sharp tang of emotion I felt.

Then, there was today.  I've changed, but I guess not as much as I
thought.  You still recognized me and with your sweet, understanding
voice whispered my old name.  Angelic voice, perfect and filled with
regret and disbelief.  I was never able to become stone. I still felt 
the pain of each martyr.  Maybe this is what Charles felt: The absolute
torture of never acquiring what you want and need most.

Each year on March 6 and January 1st I drink myself unconscious. 
The day we met and the day you disappeared.  Two days I don't want
to recall, for numerous reasons.

I talked to you coldly, putting on a blasé mask.  While my body
hummed in your presence, my heart longed to be near you.  I had to
get out of there.  I knew that if I allowed myself to look at you one
moment longer I would drown in you.  Leave them, take you and run
away to some deserted island.  If turning away from you was the
ultimate test of my commitment to the project...then I have failed,
because nothing can compare to this heartache I feel now.

I bet you wonder why colonization hasn't started yet.  It will...at 
some point.  All of the tests, the bodies...it leads up to something.  
Even we're not sure what.  Just like twenty-two years ago, people with 
chips in their necks will be called to a central place and infected 
with the aliens.  The ends justify the means but we will have failed.  
Skinner's reopening of the...files could not have come at a worse 
time.  It's like sending lambs to the slaughter.

Charles died a few weeks ago...he was my mentor and over the years
we developed a close friendship.  He became a sort of father to me.  I
remember he would hold me and let me feel something as I raged and
cursed at the rest of the world.  I have taken over his place and I 
will do what I must to protect the project.  If it means having to kill two
innocents...no...no one is innocent...it must be done.  The tortured,
haunted, but good man you knew no longer exists -- he lives only in
your heart.  Keep him there.  Most likely the skeptical, understanding
and yet hard angel of my memory doesn't exist either.  

I've had lovers - beautiful, heartless women who served the project by
wrapping themselves around my body.  Power is a heady aphrodisiac. 
They had no idea that each one of them -- no matter what the skin,
hair, or eye color had ivory, almost pale skin, the slightest 
smattering of freckles, silky red hair and dazzling blue eyes.  The 
name I screamed out didn't matter all that much to them.  My name's 
Martin Jones now and they moan it...Martin, Martin...oblivious to the 
fact that each voice becomes yours.  I drive my pain into these 
women.  Each thrust a fallen body, each kiss a perpetuation of the 
lies.

I know now why my father drank, why Charles smoked, I also know
that you must hate me like my mother hated my father...even past his
death.  I know what must be done.  Just got a message, one of the two
young agents has been caught in a government facility.  Agent
Donelson -- Kelly Donelson...of course, the believer.  Perhaps I should
warn her to keep a safe emotional distance from her partner -- because
they'll use it against her.  Maybe I should tell her, from one 
believer to another, to step back from the abyss of truth before she 
gets sucked in by the pretty lies.  Tell her not to believe too much 
or they...we'll seize upon her weakness and exploit it.

I dreamt again last night.  I was up to my waist in blood and all
around me I could hear the screams of those I've wronged.  You stood
on a raft and pointed a gun at me. I heard myself say "Thank
you"...before you pulled the trigger.

Perhaps I'll let Donelson go...and then catch up with her later, 
walking out of the shadows like my past helpers.  I'll put down my 
cigarettes for a while and tell her, "Call me Ishmael"  

Whatever happens...something has to change, because I can't continue
this charade anymore...not after seeing the betrayal in your eyes.

END

Note: Thanks to everyone who sent feedback on the first story...I 
thought I'd try to end the trilogy with a bit more hope.  Did I 
succeed?  "Call me Ishmael" is of course from Moby Dick.  If you're 
wondering will Mulder and Scully ever find each other and does 
Donelson know who Mulder is...make your own conclusion.  Again, 
thanks to Anna for editing and beta-ing this story, providing the 
inspiration for the first part and writing an incredible middle story. 
Please send all feedback to FirePhile@aol.com...I'd love
to know what you think.