From ZZCF89A@prodigy.com Fri Sep 27 09:09:41 1996 Path: news.ro.com!www.nntp.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!howland.erols.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news-in2.uu.net!prodigy.com!usenet From: ZZCF89A@prodigy.com (Megan Reilly) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: If You Never Say Goodbye 1/3 Date: 27 Sep 1996 14:09:41 GMT Organization: Prodigy Services Company 1-800-PRODIGY Lines: 315 Distribution: world Message-ID: <52gn75$1geo@usenetw1.news.prodigy.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: innugap7-int.news.prodigy.com X-Newsreader: Version 1.2 Disclaimer: The X Files characters used in this are the property of Chris Carter, 10-13 and Fox. There is one character who is mine, but since this character was inspired by the others, it's probably not completely mine. Intro: This is a strange story, and dark. I couldn't really tell you what it's about, and I wrote it! I'm not too big on warnings that spoil the plot of the story but I feel I must mention that there is a rape that occurrs in the story, although it is not very graphic. Oh, and this story has nothing to do with the Songs in the Key of X song, much as I love it; I just appropriated the title. Comments: I'd love some. I have no standard by which to judge this story. If you like it, tell me. If you hate, it tell me. I really would appreciate it. _____________________ If You Never Say Goodbye by Megan Reilly zzcf89a@prodigy.com September 7, 1996 _____________________ "Boss wants to see you in his office," Mary told me as she slid back into her seat. She picked up the file she'd been working on, but her heart wasn't in the work and I watched as she let it slide back through her fingers onto the tabletop. "What's wrong?" I asked, leaning across the table, frowning. She shook her head, biting her lips. "You know how Candy got fired last week? And Bess the week before that?" I nodded. Then I understood what she was saying. "No!" I gasped. She nodded her head. "I don't mind so much, I've got my husband to take care of me. But you...don't let them fire you without a fight." She put the folder back down on the table and picked up her purse. "You're going now?" "Might as well." "You think they're shutting down the project entirely?" I asked, looking around me. There was still so much to do, so many files to set up and organize, so many labels to be typed. "You'll find out soon enough," Mary told me, rising from her chair. "You're the only one left now." She gave me a long, knowing look. "I don't think he'll fire you." "Why not?" I asked, feeling sad. Mary and I weren't really friends, but we got along well at work. I'd miss seeing her every day and hearing about her husband and her sons. More than I missed Candy and Bess and the others, who were girls my own age. "Call it a feeling," she said, and patted me on the shoulder. "Good luck. " "Thanks," I said with a wry smile, getting to my feet as well. Might as well get it over with, I thought. "Take care of yourself." Mary nodded again. "If he does fire you, get something better than this, OK?" she told me. "I know you're destined for greater things." I smiled, and then she was gone. I looked around the cavernous work area, suddenly feeling very small and very alone. Boxes were stacked everywhere, floor to ceiling, of papers that needed to be processed - birth certificates, standard medical forms, smallpox vaccination certificates. Information that had been gathered but could do no one any good until it was organized into some usable form. Sad, really, I thought, how much this simple job had come to be my life. I lived in the same small room I'd taken temporarily in the boarding house when I moved to town, fully intending to find a better place, but never quite getting around to it. So many hours a day of sorting and typing and hole punching could really take it out of a person, even if it was at a higher rate of pay than anyone else was offering. I had the feeling that there was something mysterious about the work I was doing. Not the filing, how could that be mysterious in itself, but the things I was filing. Because I did get more than anyone else was paying, and because we'd been instructed not to speak to anyone about our work. The men who came in and out, visiting the boss, looked like government men, but this didn't feel like a government set up to me. I shrugged. Thinking too much, as usual. It wasn't a hard job, it didn't take much brains, and it left me a lot of time to think and to dream. And to try to plan for the future. That was what I liked about it. I started for the boss's office. The door was partway open, and he looked like he'd been waiting for me. He said, "Come in," before I could even raise my hand to knock and that made me nervous. I slipped inside silently and he motioned for me to close the door behind me. My stomach flipflopped and my heart started to beat a little faster, a little stronger as I sat down in the chair across from his desk. It was the way he was looking at me. Not just this time, but every time, as though he knew me better than he really did. I'd thought perhaps he was this way with everyone, and made a point of watching him with the other girls - Candy, Bess, even Jasi a few months back when I'd first started work, with their bleached hair and red lips, they were all prettier than I was - but it was just me. Maybe I remind him of someone, I thought, not for the first time. And I had to admit to feeling the tiniest pull of attraction to him. He was tall and he was handsome in a boyish way; it was something about the way his brown hair fell down over his forehead. But it was his eyes that got me every time. Not really blue, but not brown either. Closer to grey, an odd, mysterious grey. He was my boss and he was probably ten years older than my twenty-one, but I sometimes found myself thinking about his eyes... Not that I fantasized about him. He was my boss, for crying out loud! Only when I saw him, and that was rarely enough. Occasionally I'd pass him in the hall on my way to the ladies' room, or he'd stop in the back room to see how the filing was going. What does it matter anyway? I asked myself suddenly, he's about to fire you. He took his eyes off me when I looked at him, turning them to the cigarette in his hand, which he lit and flicked casually into the ashtray. "Do you like your job here?" he asked me. I nodded. "Yes." I felt like I should state a case for myself, but what more could I tell him without sounding desperate? I had a little money in savings. And if all else failed, I could always go back home to Nebraska. Live with my parents for a little while and listen to them tell me I should marry when I knew I wanted more than that from my life. "Good," he said, smiling. I relaxed a little, but my stomach tightened when he looked at me again. "As you know, there have been some staff cuts. We've lost a significant amount of our funding recently, but I am determined - as are the men to whom I answer - to see this project through to its completion. Do you feel committed to this project?" he asked. "It would be a shame to see all of that information just sit in boxes where no one could find anything and have it never see the light of day," I said, and I meant it. "I'd hate to see all of that effort lost to let it sit and get dusty in a storage facility somewhere." "Good," he said again. "Would you be willing to take on more responsibility?" "More?" I asked, thinking, in addition to taking over all of the filing? "What kind of responsibility?" I didn't want to end up picking up his drycleaning and running his errands, buying roses for his wife when he was too preoccu- His wife. Damn. I hadn't thought of that possibility before. Why was I so upset? It wasn't as though anything were going to happen anyway. But now I had to wonder. "Secretarial. Answer the phones a bit, type the odd letter..." he swept his hand out in a broad gesture, and I watched the smoke trail against the light. He put his hand down on the desk. "I would need someone I could trust implicitly." "Of course, sir," I said. He chuckled and I realized I must have been giving him my earnest young hick look again, the one that I knew made me look innocent and gullible as a fourteen year old. I frowned at the thought of it. "So you'll do it?" he asked. "Sure." "Good." A slow grin broke across his face and I felt my heart warming toward him again as I smiled back. The look went on a moment too long, and I felt self conscious as I realized it. I looked away, at the door. "One more thing, before you go..." he said. "Yes?" "Are you -" he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray a little too harshly and I noticed he looked nervous. Was that possible? "Are you busy this weekend?" I tried really hard to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. "Why do you ask, sir?" My eyes had to have been wide as saucers. "I have some close friends who have a summer place out of the city. They've invited me up for the holiday and I thought you might like to escape the city, if you didn't have any other plans." He glanced at me only briefly, as though it didn't really matter to him. "They have lots of room." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I tried to be worldly about it, but my cool smile must have bordered on a grin. "I don't have any plans. " I said, thinking this was weird, but wonderful. That it was a supremely bad idea - this I knew because I was already imagining my mother's throes of horror should she ever find out - but it sounded like a welcome change from reading books and listening to the radio in my small room, alone with my thoughts, for three long days. And a summer place - how sophisticated! How could I resist? Especially when even I realized his 'lots of room' remark was intended to put my mind at ease about any sort of sleeping arrangement ideas I might be having. Not that I was having any. "We'll leave Friday afternoon, then," he said, dismissively picking up his appointment book and studying it. I stood and went out the door. He was still my boss, I told myself as I returned to my windowless, lightless dungeon. He's probably just ended a relationship and doesn't want to be alone. He doesn't want his friends to feel they have to fix him up. That has to be all, I told myself. After all, he'd never looked at Bess or Candy or Jasi, with their bleached hair and red lipstick and very very short skirts. And if he didn't even glance at them in all their glamour, why would I think he'd be interested in me, with my straight long auburn hair, and a figure that was by no means impressive. I was plainer than a stick in the dirt. But I couldn't help humming to myself as I filed for the rest of the afternoon. It would be a change and it would be exciting. That was all that mattered. I told myself not to expect too much, although a part of me already knew it was too late. ###### The drive had been long, and quiet for the most part. I looked out the window at the passing scenery and he drove. I felt ill at ease, as though I were entering into something beyond me, so far over my head that I couldn't begin to fathom it. He was uncomfortable like he could feel it too. I glanced at him, his strong hands still on the steering wheel of the large black sedan, and I thought of how I'd trapped myself. I was dependent on him not only for my job, my livelihood, but now for my way back to where I lived. "My friend works in Washington, too," he assured me, as though he could read my thoughts. I looked up, startled. He met my eyes and I relaxed a bit. Maybe it would be all right anyway. "As I said, this is his summer place. His...and his family's." I'd assumed his friend was married, but something about the way he said those words bothered me in ways I couldn't describe. He turned away quickly, aware of my eyes on him, and got out of the car. A moment later, I followed. He got my bag and his out of the trunk and carried them up to the front door of the small house. It seemed fairly isolated, surrounded by trees on all sides. I could smell the ocean and almost hear it, but I couldn't see it. A tall, handsome man with thick dark hair emerged from the house before we reached the door. "Hi," he said, with a friendly smile, "It's nice to have you here." "Hi," I smiled back, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His wife emerged a moment later, looking a little frazzled about the edges, but beautiful nonetheless. Her strawberry blonde hair was cut stylishly, and her blue eyes were piercing as they fastened on me. I found myself holding my breath under that intense gaze. I could sense that she was studying me. A moment later, she smiled. "Welcome," she said, threading her arm through her husband's lovingly. I guess I passed the test. His hand closed over my shoulder from behind and I almost jumped. For one second, I'd been lulled into security by the happy scene before me - husband and wife, perfect and obviously happy together, at this charming little house with the smell of the sea for the first weekend of the summer. "It's good to see you, Bill," he said. "Rebecca." I turned and looked at him before I could think to stop myself. His voice changed as he said her name. Turned cold and hard. Goosebumps rose on the back of my neck. His face was a mask of stone. I looked to her, to see that her eyes had changed as well. Now they shone like blue slivers of ice, and she was working not to look at him. I frowned slightly - what on earth was going on here? And where did I fit into it? Almost defiantly, she took a step toward me, her eyes meeting mine. She reached out and captured my hands in mine as though I were an old schoolfriend of hers. "You must come and meet my son," she said quietly and led me into the house, casting a backward glance over her shoulder at the two men, who were eyeing each other warily. My palms were clammy; I was a little unnerved by all this. "Perhaps you'd like to freshen up a bit?" she asked me suddenly. I smiled. "I'm all right, thanks." She nodded, and we continued into the house. "Bill really likes it here," she said. "We've only just bought the house, last February, came up one weekend and got snowed in. Then we thought it might be wiser to wait until summer." I nodded and smiled, not knowing what to say. "This is him, this is my son," she said, with that proud glow I'd noticed that mothers get. She grinned at me before she opened the door and I grinned back. "He's adorable," I breathed at my first sight of the small boy who sat on the carpet, almost dwarfed by the large family room. He looked at me immediately with eyes that seemed wise beyond their few years, and then he smiled bashfully. "Hi," I said. "Mama!" he said, dropping the blocks he'd been stacking, and pushing aside a pile of simple books to scramble to his feet and run to her, hugging her knees. He looked up at me again from that safety and I smiled again. "This is the love of my life," she told me with a gentle smile, reaching down to touch her son's hair. "This is Fox." End of part one. Comments? email me at zzcf89a@prodigy.com _________________________________________ Megan Reilly zzcf89a@prodigy.com Web page for my fanfic and other writing: http://members.aol.com/eponine119/ From ZZCF89A@prodigy.com Fri Sep 27 09:10:39 1996 Path: news.ro.com!www.nntp.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!howland.erols.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news-in2.uu.net!prodigy.com!usenet From: ZZCF89A@prodigy.com (Megan Reilly) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: If You Never Say Goodbye 2/3 Date: 27 Sep 1996 14:10:39 GMT Organization: Prodigy Services Company 1-800-PRODIGY Lines: 333 Distribution: world Message-ID: <52gn8v$25uc@usenetw1.news.prodigy.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: innugap7-int.news.prodigy.com X-Newsreader: Version 1.2 Please see disclaimer and Warnings in part one. ________________________ If You Never Say Goodbye by Megan Reilly zzcf89a@prodigy.com ________________________ I sank down to my knees, meeting his eyes on his own level. "Hi, Fox," I said encouragingly. His thumb went into his mouth and he turned his face away, but his eyes didn't leave my face. "How old is he?" I asked his mother, not looking away from him. "He'll be three in the fall." "He's amazing." "I need to finish dinner," she said, "Do you want to stay here and play with him or..." Her eyes slid to the door, and I could tell she was thinking perhaps I was one of those vapid young women who only wanted to be where the men were. "I'd love to," I told her sincerely. "Do you want to play with me?" I asked the child directly, and delicately moved his thumb away from his mouth. "You don't want to chew on this dirty old thing, do you?" I asked him. He just stared. I was very aware of his mother's watchful gaze on me. Then he rubbed his fingers on his shorts and said, "No," reaching over and grabbing my hand to invite me into his play space. I heard Rebecca leave the room and smiled to myself. She trusted me. Because he trusted me. It was wonderful. Children were wonderful. "Can you read these?" I asked him, sorting through the picture books. "Uh-huh," he said and concentrated on his blocks. I looked at him. A man of few words, I thought. After a second he caught me watching him. He watched me in return, and then hurled one of the blocks in my direction. It bounced into my lap and he laughed merrily. I liked this kid. "Tough guy, huh?" I asked, stretching out on my stomach and joining him in creating a bright new world with the blocks. We were still playing when Rebecca returned half an hour later. "Dinner's ready," she said, her cheeks rosy from the warmth of the oven. "And it's this guy's bedtime." "Mommy!" he squealed as she pulled him up off the floor. He looked over her shoulder and held his arms out to me, as though I could save him from having to go to bed. "Sorry, buddy," I told him, "We'll play again tomorrow." "Now," he said, sticking out his lip in a practiced pout. "Bed," his mother told him firmly. "Daddy gonna read me story?" he asked, looking into her face hopefully. "Daddy's got company, sweetie," she told him seriously. "She company?" Rebecca glanced at me. "Yes, Fox. She's company, too." "Comp'ny read to me?" I laughed softly. He was such a charmer, and not even three. "You have to go to sleep," she told him coaxingly. He frowned, his little eyebrows puckering. "Man come?" "That's right, honey. The man's come again." She brushed his hair off his forehead and I turned from the bedroom I'd followed them into, suddenly feeling as though I were interrupting a private moment between mother and son. The little boy didn't like his daddy's friend. Because he takes his father away from him, I tried to justify it to myself, but that didn't resolve the knots in my stomach. "He's wonderful, " I said to Rebecca, trying to start a conversation when she joined me again in the hall. "He is that," she agreed. "We're eating out on the terrace. Go on, the men are already out there. I'll join you in a moment." Their conversation stopped as soon as I slid back the glass door and stepped out onto the terrace. And it didn't resume, making me feel very awkward. "What a gorgeous view," I remarked, walking past the table out onto the lawn. This was where the smell of the sea came from. It was just down the hill. The sound of the crashing waves stirred something within me, a feeling I didn't understand. "We like it," said Bill. "I met your son. He's a lovely boy," I said, and meant it. "We're proud of him," Bill replied with a tight smile. I looked at the two men again, wondering what they'd been discussing. "We missed you," my boss said, meeting my eyes. "Good," I grinned flirtatiously, surprising myself. I turned around quickly, sending my skirt flouncing, and dropped into a seat at the table. I felt young and I felt free. And happy, in some strange way. After a moment, his hand slid over on the table and covered mine. I looked at him a little surprised, but didn't pull away. Rebecca came in then with the salad and a casserole, kissing her husband lightly on the cheek. "Fox is asleep," she said into his ear, and then she turned her gaze to us. His hand tightened over mine when she looked at us, and I had to wonder why. It didn't feel protective - and what would I need protection from? It felt possessive. As casually as possible, I pulled my hand away and picked up a glass, filling it with iced tea from the pitcher on the table. I let my hand remain on the glass even after I'd drunk from it. My cheeks felt strangely hot with embarrassment. What was going on here? We made small talk over dinner. I told them about Nebraska, exaggerating my stories in places to coax laughter from my hosts. But he didn't laugh, not once. Rebecca told us about her upbringing in Boston, and how she and Bill had met. The two men were largely silent, and I felt like they were eager to continue their earlier conversation in private. I refused the red wine, claiming it would go straight to my head, and yawned, trying to stifle it, unsuccessfully. "I'm sorry, I'm exhausted," I said apologetically. "That's all right, dear," Rebecca said, sounding as though she were my mother rather than my new friend. "I could use some rest myself. We'll leave the men here to smoke in the night air." There was a slight cutting edge to her voice and I watched the warning look that passed between her and Bill. He quickly lit a cigarette with a match, and Rebecca looked away. I glanced at my boss and he caught my hand before I went inside. "Good night," he said softly, his eyes caressing my face and making my breath catch. "Night," I said, sliding my hand from his and turning to follow Rebecca inside. She showed me to the small room that would be mine, a tiny room next to her son's. "You're not in love with him," she said finally, lingering in the doorway as I attempted to arrange my things. Her question took me by surprise. "No," I said plainly, then looked up. "He's my boss." "As though that precluded love," she said with a strained laugh. "It isn't like that," I said, turning away, disappointed that she didn't understand. For some reason, I had thought that she would. "He seems... alone," I said, searching for the word. "Solitary, like he needed the company, but not lonely. Not like me." "He is," she told me, her voice so soft I could barely hear her. "We're not sleeping together," I added, as though to defend myself. "Good." She had the grace to look embarrassed at how forcefully the word came out. "Get some rest; we'll go down to the beach tomorrow." "I'd like that," I smiled and she smiled back. The bond of friendship. It felt good. She left, and I heard her open the next door, to look in on her son. I looked in that direction for a moment, thinking, and then I put my bag on the floor and readied myself for sleep. ##### Without the noise and lights of the city to disturb my sleep, I stayed in bed late the next morning. I was well rested but still sleepy when I emerged from my room to find everyone gathered over the remains of brunch. "I overslept," I said, ridiculously embarrassed. "It's the weekend," he said to me. "It's so peaceful here," I said, breathing in the air. Then I noticed the stark silence, as though I'd said something wrong. The three people around me did not seem very peaceful, I realized, but I didn't know why. "Did you bring a bathing suit?" Rebecca asked me. I shook my head slowly. "That's all right, I can lend you one of mine." "No!" I said, and everyone looked at me sharply. "I mean, I - I-" I didn't know what to say. "I don't like the water much," I admitted, feeling strange with everyone staring at me. I didn't expect them to understand the terror that filled me when confronted with large bodies of water. But Rebecca simply nodded with understanding. "Like Fox," she said. "He's such a brave boy at heart, but about some things, he's a coward." She broke into a smile that made her look young and carefree. "That's good," she said, "Then you can watch him and I'll get to join those two waterskiing." Her smile was contagious. "Terrific," I said. She placed a heavy hand on Bill's arm, but her eyes weren't on his face. "You can go down and set things up. We'll get changed and meet you down there." She blinked and looked at her husband for a moment, then walked away. "See you down there," he said, but not to me, as hose strange grey eyes followed her all the way down the hall. Rebecca was in the bathroom rubbing suntan oil into her fair skin when I walked in to tie my hair back in a ponytail. She stopped a moment and looked me over, approving of my outfit. In my shorts and light, loose blouse, with my hair pulled up, I knew I looked even younger than I was. But it didn't matter, I thought, he wasn't looking at me. "How old are you?" she asked conversationally when she was through appraising me. "Twenty one," I replied, my chin rising a notch. I couldn't help being young. "Is that all?" she said. "What about you?" I returned, uncomfortable because I didn't know what she'd meant. "Twenty six," she said. "Five years younger than Bill." "But still young to have a son going on three," I commented. She looked at me again deliberately and then met my eyes in the mirror. "How far along are you?" she asked. My heart stopped and I gasped. "Five months," I said without thinking, before I recovered my shock. My eyes were wide as I turned and looked at her. "I didn't think anyone would be able to tell - soon, but not yet-" She raised a knowing eyebrow at me. "A woman with a son knows these things." My heart was still pounding like a scared rabbit's. "Does he know?" she asked. I shook my head. "You'll have to tell him." "He's not the father," I said flatly. "I know," she said frankly. "But the two of you do have some sort of relationship." "He's my boss," I said and she only looked at me. "What about the father?" she turned to ask me face to face. I could see the concern in her eyes,. I shook my head and shrugged. Her lips pursed and she nodded. Then her lips turned up slightly, a Mona Lisa smile, as she touched her own belly, flat beneath her swimsuit. "I'm due in November," she confided. I couldn't help smiling, but it was a sad sort of smile. I wondered why she didn't seem happier about it. And then I wondered if she'd told Bill yet. She had to have, I thought, she wouldn't tell me first. "Fox is thrilled," she said, and then she smiled. Thinking of her son's joy. "Thrilled he's getting a little sister." "How do you -" "I just know," she said. "Let's go outside. This beautiful day is wasting." We rounded up Fox and went to join the men down on the sand. They were both handsome, shirtless, playing with the ski equipment, but I couldn't help thinking that Bill didn't quite compare. Bill had the softening look of a man who spent too many evenings at home, drinking and eating with his wife and son. Unlike him, whose muscles were hard and firm. For a second I thought what they might feel like, under my fingers, but I wrenched my thoughts away. "Have a good time," I said as they started off. "You're staying here?" asked Fox. "Yeah." "Why? Mommy stays." "Your mom wanted to go waterskiing," I answered, watching them out there on the water. "Why didn't you wanna go?" "I don't like the water, Fox." I looked down into his small face. "It scares me." "That's OK," he said with a reassuring smile. "It scares me too. Mama says it's OK to be scared." I smiled back. "That's what my mama says too." "You have a mama.?" Why did he look so shocked? I laughed. "Course I do. Want to make some sandcastles?" "Yeah!" He laughed excitedly as he began digging through the cool sand. I sat next to him, combing the grains with my fingers as I watched the figures moving out on the water, wondering if I would ever be in their world. "So your mom tells me you're going to have a sister," I said, to open the conversation with my young companion. "Uh-huh," he said, but was too involved in playing. It was just as well, I thought, drifting back into my own thoughts. I felt contented, for the first time in months, sitting here lazily in the sun with this charming little boy sitting next to me. Everything would work out, I thought. I sighed happily as I felt all that built up tension leave my body. Everything would be fine. End of part two. Comments? Email me at zzcf89a@prodigy.com _________________________________________ Megan Reilly zzcf89a@prodigy.com Web page for my fanfic and other writing: http://members.aol.com/eponine119/ From ZZCF89A@prodigy.com Fri Sep 27 09:12:00 1996 Path: news.ro.com!www.nntp.primenet.com!nntp.primenet.com!howland.erols.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!news-in2.uu.net!prodigy.com!usenet From: ZZCF89A@prodigy.com (Megan Reilly) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: NEW: If You Never Say Goodbye 3/3 Date: 27 Sep 1996 14:12:00 GMT Organization: Prodigy Services Company 1-800-PRODIGY Lines: 402 Distribution: world Message-ID: <52gnbg$1to0@usenetw1.news.prodigy.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: innugap7-int.news.prodigy.com X-Newsreader: Version 1.2 Please see disclaimer and *Warnings* in part one. If parts are missing, let me know and I'll get them out to you somehow. _______________________ If You Never Say Goodbye by Megan Reilly zzcf89a@prodigy.com _______________________ ##### He'd had me called to his office and my heart skipped along with excitement. There was something thrillingly illicit about our infrequent, secret meetings at work. Six weeks or so had passed since that first weekend away, and our relationship had deepened. Those weekends we spent together, with Bill and Rebecca and Fox, were now what I lived for. What I dreamed about when life got me down. Everything about those summer days were just so...idyllic. I wondered what would happen when the fall came. Everything would change, I knew, and I didn't want it to. I wanted to freeze this moment in time. But it was moving forward, quickly. Summer had reached its midpoint already - this weekend was the Fourth of July. In another few short weeks, it would be September. It was amazing how fast time could pass. He wasn't in his office when I reached it. I frowned, wondering, and sat down in the chair across from his desk to wait, but I couldn't keep still. I got up and walked around the room, glancing out the window, looking at his immaculate desk. Nothing was ever out of place. The ashtray was full and I moved to empty it. The sleeve of my sweater - worn even in summer to ward off the chill of the building's powerful air conditioning - caught on a drawer that wasn't all the way closed. I opened it and freed the snagged threads. I looked down at the drawer to close it and stopped. Staring. The blood rushing so loud in my ears that I thought for a moment I might faint. There was a picture lying carefully on the top of the papers in the drawer. Where he could look at it whenever he wanted to. And something told me he did, often. Looking down at the casual snapshot of the beautiful redhaired woman smiling into the camera, everything clicked into place. The odd tension between him and Rebecca that sometimes eased, but never disappeared. Why he bothered with me. I reminded him of her. And they had been lovers. The smile on her face in the photograph told me that. I pried it up out of the drawer with shaking fingers, searching for a date, a clue, anything to tell me how long this had been going on. There was nothing written on the back of the photograph. I threw it back down as though it were burning my fingers, and slammed the drawer. He *loved* her, he still loved her. It all made sense now. But it didn't explain the pain in my chest or the sudden tears that streaked my face,. I heard footsteps in the hall and my heart seized up with panic. I rubbed my eyes quickly, crossing the room to be as far away from that drawer as possible. I looked down at the string hanging from my sleeve when he walked into the room so he wouldn't see my eyes,. "Are you ready to leave?" he asked me. I looked up at him sharply. "Did you forget? We talked about this, we're leaving this afternoon. Taking a longer weekend. Go on and get your things." I could only stare at him, seeing a very different man from the one I'd thought I'd known. "What're you waiting for?" he said. "Be right back," I mumbled, hanging my head as I went to go and retrieve my purse. I felt sick and shaky inside. Had he always spoken to me as though I were a child? Had I always meant so little to him? He hadn't even noticed I'd been crying, there was not a flicker of emotion on his face. I'd been deceiving myself all this time, thinking that he cared about me. Embarrassment caused my face to flush. What about Rebecca? She had to know, she had to have seen it the first weekend he brought me up there. Had she been laughing at me all this time? But she was my friend! Oh, God, I thought, realization setting in. I was supposed to make her jealous. Laughter bubbled from my lips then to think what a fool he was to have picked me. Bess, Candy...any one of the other girls, in all their beauty, would have been a better choice. But he'd picked me because superficially, I looked like her. In his obsessive blindness, had he even noticed I was pregnant? With another man's child? Rebecca wasn't jealous of me, how could she be? I felt a little better, knowing the joke was on him. Even though I had thought I was in love with him. I knew that now because it hurt to find he'd used me. I pulled my purse strap up on my shoulder, fully intending to walk out of that building and never look back. But then I thought of Fox. He was just a child, and he wasn't involved in any of this mess. I did mean something to him, and I couldn't not say goodbye to that captivating little boy. I knew how much he looked forward to seeing me. I couldn't do that to him, he wouldn't understand. Not that I could explain it to him. But I could at least say goodbye. I checked my wallet; I had money. I'd go, do that, and come back into the city on my own tomorrow. To start over. This would be the last night. ##### I felt powerful as I answered his inane questions on the drive up. I knew more than he thought I did. Knowledge was power; information was valuable. I knew something he didn't. I knew the truth. I looked over at him. Unsuspecting. He had no idea anything was wrong. I smiled, looking at his relaxed smile, one hand draped over the steering wheel while the other trailed a lit cigarette out the window. He noticed me looking at him and smiled back. Patronizing, I saw that now. What a surprise he was in for, I thought, feeling smug as I returned my gaze to the window. How could I have been so naive? I asked myself. But I knew the answer to that question. I'd wanted to be. I hadn't wanted to see things for what they were. Rebecca was waiting for us on the porch, sitting in the swing when we drove up. He looked at her warily when he got out of the car. "Where's Bill?" he asked. Her blue eyes were dark as she seemed to look right through him. "He was called away at the last moment. Out of the country, on State Department business. He won't be back for the weekend." He shifted uncomfortably beside me and I looked from him to her, their eyes locked and blazing tangible fire. "Why don't you go and say hello to Fox?" he suggested, not tearing his eyes away from her as he addressed me. Obediently, I went, grinding my teeth as I wondered if they'd fallen into each other's arms the moment the screen door slammed behind me. "Hiya, Fox," I said from his doorway. "Mind if I come in?" He nodded, glancing up at me from his coloring book. I saw the smile he tried to hide at the sight of me, and I wondered suddenly why a little boy would try to hide his feelings. I frowned as I joined him on the floor. "How's life?" I asked. He nodded, but his full concentration was on his coloring book. I looked at the picture. It was messy, of course, circles of color falling outside the thick black lines more often than not. But it looked like art to me, shades of black and grey contrasting sharply with the bright yellows and blues. I would have thought only bright ones would capture a child's imagination. But Fox was no ordinary child. His concentration on the picture was proof enough of that. "Can we talk a minute?" I asked him. His light eyes raised to my face and I wondered why he looked so serious. "What's wrong?" I asked him, touching his cheek, which was still baby soft. He was just a baby, still, I thought. "Fighting," he said, pouting as tears flooded his eyes and he threw his small body against mine. As my arms closed around him, I heard what he'd been trying to hard not to. The angry shouts coming from the man and the woman out on the porch. I didn't have any words to make things better for him. There were no words. "Ssh, sweet baby," I said softly to him as I rocked him, soothing his tears as he wailed. The fact that his mother didn't come to check on him chilled my heart. "She loves you, Fox, no matter what." Oh God, I thought, sometimes I wished he was mine. Times like this. Times like the ones I'd seen Bill smack him for doing something precocious. Not often, but enough. "Wuv you," he said in a baby voice against my chest. I brushed back his soft brown hair and looked into his red face. "I have to say goodbye, Fox," I whispered. "Where ya goin'?" he asked, as though I'd said I had to go out for a little while. Denying the seriousness of my words. "I'm going away. I don't think..." Why was this so hard? The first of the tears fell from my eyes and he smudged them away with his little fist. "I don't think I'm going to be able to come and play with you any more. Or read you bedtime stories." His lower lip jutted out even farther. "Why not?" I couldn't explain it to him. Even if I could have, I didn't think I wanted to. "I just can't anymore," I was crying hard now, angry. Why did he have to have done this in the first place? Why did he have to bring me here, so I would make friends with Rebecca and come to love her son? "Don' cry," Fox told me patiently, patting my face in an adult gesture that broke my heart coming from such a little boy. His hands pushed against my shoulders. "Go sleep." "You're sweet." My heart was breaking. "Give me a hug?" He hurled himself against me and I squeezed him tight. Letting him go reluctantly, I glanced at my watch. "What time is bed time?" I asked him. "Not for hours and hours!" he cried, running away from me, letting loose a laugh. "Liar," I said, catching him and swinging him up onto the bed. He was already in his pajamas. "It's bed time." "You go sleep!" he squealed at me, trying to get off the bed. "No, honey, you go to sleep." I said firmly. He squirmed on the bed, but stretched out, looking at me with clear eyes. "I won't be here when you get up." "No!" he screamed. "Just remember I love you, and..." I broke off. "Sweet dreams, Fox." I bent to kiss him goodnight and turned away, flicking the light off when I passed it. I could feel his eyes on me even in the dark as I walked out of the room. I didn't hear them shouting any more, I noticed as I went down the hall to the living room. I sighed. I should go now, I thought. Not even bother with the pretense for the night. Just end it now. I'd done all I'd wanted to. Making up my mind, I went into the living room to grab my bag and be on my way. I didn't see him sitting there at first, in the dark room. Somehow I had assumed he would be with her. Bill wasn't in their way, and I was watching the kid. That was all the opportunity they needed. So why was he sitting in the dark living room with his hands wrapped around a bottle of Scotch? "Come here," he said. I ignored the command, worry nagging at my stomach. "I put Fox to bed," I said easily. "Where's Rebecca?" "She had a headache. Went to bed." He took another long pull on the bottle and I saw that it was half empty. How much had he drunk, and how quickly? "Said to give you her apologies." The slight slur to his words answered my question. He was close to drunk, already. What had they fought about? I wondered. "That's too bad," I said, playing the role he'd cast me in. He shook his head. "We hafta leave in the morning. Rebe-" He couldn't say her name. "She wants the weekend to herself." He shook his head some more. I nodded. It suited me fine. I wouldn't be leaving with him anyway. What did I ever see in him? I asked myself, looking at him sitting there, holding the bottle like it was his lifeline. He's pathetic, I thought, controlling and using and completely pathetic. Where I'd once seem a endearing vulnerability, because that was what I wanted to see, I now saw a spineless slug. "Fine," I said, having a hard time controlling my hatred. I started to walk past him, to go to the small room that was mine when we came here. I'd wait, and leave once he passed out. He grabbed me as I tried to pass. I wrenched my arm painfully trying to get away from him, but his grip was strong. "Let me go," I ordered, moving away. My arm slipped through his fingers and I turned. He was faster, rising to his feet in front of me, blocking my path. "Stay," he said, touching my cheek with the back of his hand. "No," I said, trying to go around him. He wouldn't let me and the fury in his eyes at my attempt frightened me, "You're drunk." "Says who?" "Says me. Let me pass." "I want you," he said, leaning in close enough for me to smell the smoke and the alcohol on his breath. I pulled back, away from his kiss. "You can't have what you want." "Damn straight," he said, and that was when I realized he knew the game was over. And he didn't care if I knew. Fear burned in my stomach, its acid taste stinging in my mouth. "You'll have to do." "No!" I said forcefully, yanking away, starting for the door, my bag be damned, I had to get out of there. Because the cold rage in his eyes terrified me. I managed to throw the sliding door open before he grabbed me, lifting me bodily and throwing me down on the couch. The impact jarred my bones and dazed me, but I still tried to get up, tried to escape. That was when he punched me, a blow to the side of the head. "I take what I want," he snarled. I blinked, stunned, and tasted the blood from my nose on my lips. My eyelids were heavy and my body didn't seem to respond when I tried to move this time. I tried to fight as I felt his weight on the couch over my body, but I lost. Consciousness swirled away. It returned too quickly. I was aware of the physical pain of what he was doing even as my mind remained numb. There was no use in fighting now, I knew, it was too late. Fighting would only make the violation worse. Even so, he sensed my coming round and crushed his foul mouth to mine. "What's so special about you, you little whore?" he whispered against my mouth, "What's so special that you wouldn't let me have, so I had to take it?" I didn't react. I couldn't. That part of me had shut down. Inspired by his own words, a few moments later he finished and finally passed out on the couch, his mouth open and wet against my shoulder. I couldn't stay there, but I couldn't move. I was too numb to move. I stared blindly out through the window for a long time, not seeing anything through the pain. He shifted in his sleep and the pain of his moist skin tearing away from mine, combined with my terror that he would awaken brought my senses rushing back. I slid out from under him, trying to find my feet but ending up on my knees on the floor. I crawled out of the house, stopping just past the terrace as the sound and the smell of the waves assaulted me. I gagged and wretched on the sand as memory flooded back through me. It didn't really relieve my horror or my sickness, but I was able to hold my head up and stagger to my feet. I was facing the cliff and the sight of the vast ocean as far out as the eye could see almost drove me back to my knees, or back into that twisted house. A second before I turned away, I saw the shadow of a figure out there. My heart stopped. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. It was just as well, I didn't want to startle him, not when he stood so close to the edge. My legs shaking, I started toward the edge myself, trying to concentrate on the figure and block out the water. I understood why he was standing there, petrified and mesmerized and unable to move. The dark depths of water inspired the same feelings in me, but I knew I had to set them aside. He took a step. "Fox," I whispered, trying not to scare him. His head turned sharply and he saw me. His unsteady feet stumbled back. "I'll be there in a second, " I said, "Wait for me. I know you're scared." Oh, God, please don't let him fall, I prayed desperately, I don't care what happens to me, just don't let him fall, don't let him know, don't let him be hurt. He's just a little boy. I reached him, my hands clutching the fabric of his pajama shirt. Trembling, he clung to my bare legs and I noticed that my skirt was torn and stained. He's too young to understand that, I told myself, carefully turning around so that my back was to the water, placing myself as an obstacle between him and the long drop down. "You're safe," I told him, taking a few short steps, forcing him in the direction of the house. I wanted to pick him up and run with him but I didn't have the strength. Vaguely, I wondered how he'd come to be outside. "Don't go away," Fox pleaded with me. "Touching." The voice from behind us was cold and raw. I looked up and saw the glimmer from the lighter. I reacted before I could think, releasing Fox's shirt and stepping back, away from that monster, toward safety. I fell. It was an eternity and an instant, the roiling water crashing white over the rocks filling my field of vision. It was like flying, like floating, like being free from the earth and from pain. For that one second I soared. And then I crashed. Everything was dim, black, and I could feel the water lapping against my face even as I was blind. My fear of the water never left me, even as all I knew was the pain. The pain and the smell of the blood, my life escaping from me. Strange things made it through the filter of the pain, the sound of sea birds overhead. I was aware that they came after me, I could hear Rebecca's biting tone for a moment before it faded away. She had been my friend. But they couldn't reach me. Nothing could reach me any more. Except the sound of the child, far above me, standing on the edge of the cliff, screaming until his voice was gone. My name. "Samantha!!!" And then I was gone. #####the end##### Author's notes: I started this with the intention of writing a short little story about the hard work that must have been done by the people who worked to put those "lots and lots of files" into that mountain in West VA. I ended up with something very different, as you can see. I don't know where that came from, honestly. I was definitely holding classic gothic novels up in my mind as I wrote it, most notably Daphne duMaurier's Rebecca, and the Rebecca in the story is named after that character as well as the actress who portrays this character on The X Files. I definitely don't think this is the way things went down in Chris Carter's universe, but we do know *something* happened in that house. This story presented a couple of problems for me, one, it's not historically accurate as I know nothing about the 1960s; and two, I don't have any experience with small children, so I've just sort of crossed my fingers. Any advice on that front would be welcomed. Any advice on any front would be welcomed. I tried not to draw in all of the connections, hopefully they still made it through. :) Thanks for reading. Megan zzcf89a@prodigy.com _________________________________________ Megan Reilly zzcf89a@prodigy.com Web page for my fanfic and other writing: http://members.aol.com/eponine119/