Fox Mulder walked into the darkened room and sat down gently on the bed next to
his sleeping mother. He hated like
hell waking her. He knew it would frighten her but it was something that had to be
done and done now. Mulder needed
to talk to his mother to straighten out facts from lies. He had been told stories.
Stories about his father and his
connection to Samantha's disappearance. Stories that maybe his mother could
explain and help him to comprehend.
Ann Mulder woke with a start.
"Fox!" she said.
"Yeah." Mulder spoke in a quiet tone and turned on the bedside lamp. He looked at
his mother but said nothing.
"What time is it?" Ann's voice took on a concerned tone. Apprehension worked her
mind while ice cold fear dueled for
equal time in her stomach.
"It's after 2:00." Mulder replied.
"Did you drive up here? Why didn't you call?" Ann asked while her mind was
whirring with unspoken questions. What
would make her son drive all the way to Connecticut in the dead of night without so
much as a phone call? Why would
he come here? What had happened now? Ann felt a familiar dread work its way
slowly up from the pit of her stomach.
"I needed to see you in person. I need to ask you something. I need to ask you
about something that happened a long
time ago." Mulder's heart picked up speed but his voice didn't betray his emotions.
Ann Mulder sat up in bed and looked at her son.
"Oh Fox, I don't remember anything. I told you before."
"Mom listen to me!" Mulder's voice rose slightly in an effort to reach his mother.
"When Samantha...before she was gone...did dad ever ask you if you had a favorite?
Did he ever ask you that?" Mulder
knew he was frightening his mother but he had to know.
"Fox! Please!" Ann implored. That ice cold fear had finally reached her voice. Ann
was getting scared. She wished for all
the world that Fox and his questions would go away. She didn't want to remember
and she sure as hell didn't want to
tell him.
"Mom, did he ever ask you to make a choice?" Mulder's emotions had won the
battle and were eating away at the wall of
stone he had so carefully erected. He couldn't let this go now.
"Don't do this." Ann hissed as she moved to leave her bed, to get away from him
and his questions. Ann needed
physical space between her and her son. She didn't want to look at his face. She
didn't want to see the look of pain he had
endured for over 20 years reflected in his eyes.
"Mom listen to me. I need to know! Did he make you make a choice?" Mulder took
his mother's face in his hands and
forced her to look at him. He wanted, no, he needed to see her eyes, and Mulder
needed her to realize how important this
was to him.
"No. I couldn't choose. It was your father's choice and I hated him for it! In his grave
I hate him still!" Having said those
damning words, Ann Mulder broke down and wept softly on her son's shoulder.
There, thought Ann. It's finally out. She knew the questions were far from over but
at least now the truth was finally out
in the open. God, she hated the thought of what was going to happen next.
FuckmeFuckmeFuckmeFuckme! Mulder's mind went into a downward spiral. She
knew! She knew all along! She let him
take Sam! She let him...oh fuck, why didn't she stop him? Stop him from taking
Sam. Stop him from blaming me! Stop
him from...Fox Mulder's mind shut down to keep him from the rest of the
memories.
He let go of his weeping mother and stood stiffly without saying a word. He heard
his mother call his name but he
refused to answer. He needed to get out of the room and away from her before the
full ramifications of her words
threatened to pull him out of reality forever. He needed to run. Running would give
him the distance he craved and allow
him to compartmentalize his thoughts. He needed to do this before he forgot how
to breathe. Mulder left the bedroom,
took off down the stairs and headed for the front door.
He left his mother's house and began running south at a slow pace. Down the dimly
lit street, with only the occasional
streetlamp to guide him, he made his way to the park. There he began to run at a
steady pace. In the quiet darkness of
that cool autumn night Mulder began to relive his worst nightmare. It came easily to
him, almost like an old lover. He
smiled grimly and shook his head at the analogy.
It had been November... Chilmark, MA November 27, 1973
"What do you mean 'she's gone'?" Bill Mulder's face was just inches from his son's
and looming larger than life in the eyes
of the twelve-year-old.
"What happened Fox? Tell me what happened right now!" Bill was shaking with
rage as he looked at his son.
Fox Mulder closed his eyes to gather his thoughts and was rocked by a stinging slap
to his left cheek. His eyes flew open
and he quelled his immediate physical reaction of tears as he thought: oh no, please
not here, not now, please...
Bill Mulder stood and watched his son's reaction while waiting for him to speak.
Fox drew in a deep shaky breath and said "I don't know where she is Dad, I'm
sorry! I don't know what happened. I
don't remember. I'm trying, honest I am. I just don't remember."
He tried valiantly to regain some type of composure. He knew this situation would
only get worse if he broke down
now. As far as his father was concerned, crying was a show of weakness, no matter
what the circumstances.
Bill Mulder exploded into a full blown rage "You were supposed to be taking care of
her! How could you lose her? How?
She's an eight year old girl. Where do you think she's gone? Did you fight with her?
Weren't you paying any attention at
all? What the hell good is that memory and genius IQ of yours if you can't even take
care of your own sister? We were
depending on you Fox. I was depending on you! How the hell could she be missing?
You lost your sister Fox, do you
understand that? Did you let someone into the house? Is that it? Did someone come
in? I told you to keep the doors
locked! Tell me the truth Fox!" Bill drew his right arm back to land another blow but
a voice from the stairway stopped
him.
"Bill! Don't you dare!" Ann Mulder stood on the fifth stair and glared at her husband.
Fox watched that brief interaction between his parents and thought: now what do I
do? Jesus, Dad is so mad. What if he
tries to hurt mom this time. What if I'm not enough? No...that can't happen.
"It's OK mom. I'm alright, go back upstairs." Having said those words he faced his
father with clear eyes and a
determined tilt to his head and thought: Let's get this over with.
"I know how this sounds Dad, but Sam and I were just sitting here watching TV and
playing a game. The only argument
we had was what we were going to watch. I don't know what happened but it's
almost as if the next time I looked she
was gone. Something had to have happened in the meantime but I don't know what
it was. I've looked everywhere Dad.
The attic, the basement, every room in the house. I've gone outside and looked in all
of her usual spots. She's not here
Dad, even if she were hiding she'd have come out by now."
Adding silently, because she would know what would happen to me. He hung his
head while trying to keep his fear and
emotions in check. "I'll find her Dad, I promise. Just give me a chance. I know I can
find her." While Fox pleaded with
his father he felt the tears well up in his eyes. I can't cry, I just can't cry.
He sucked in a deep breath and while waiting for his father to say or do something
he thought: why does he look like
that? Why doesn't he believe me? I love Sam. God, he has to know I would never
do anything to hurt her. Why hasn't
he called the cops?
He blinked back the tears again and said "Dad we need to call the cops. They can
help us find Sam. You have to call
someone. We need help. We can't do this on our own. Someone must have seen
something! Sam's out there
somewhere. I'll bet she's cold and hungry and scared. C'mom Dad call someone!"
Fox started towards the phone and was jerked back so suddenly that he nearly lost
his footing. He turned just in time to
see the anger in his father's eyes before they went blank. Bill Mulder was angrier
than Fox had seen him in a long while.
Fox knew the look and prayed silently that it wouldn't turn out like last time.
"Don't touch that phone Fox. I will take care of the phone calls." Bill Mulder's voice
was so quiet his son almost didn't
hear the words. The next few sentences, quiet as they were, Fox heard loud and
clear. He heard them and all of the
implications they held.
"I'm sure there will be some people who will want to speak with you Fox. Just let
me go upstairs to check on your
mother. After everyone has gone you and I will talk." Bill shot one last look at his
son before turning and walking up the
winding stairs.
During the next few hours Fox answered the same questions over and over. "What
did you see? What did you hear?
Where were you sitting? Where was your sister sitting? Did anyone come to the
door? Where there any strange phone
calls?" The men and their questions were relentless.
During the time he was answering the questions Fox kept wondering: Why aren't
they wearing uniforms? Why aren't
they more concerned? My sister's missing! They are just going through the motions
here, asking all of the right questions
but it seems so...mechanical. Don't these people realize I'm not stupid? Crap, I know
they think I'm only a kid but
something is not right here. I can see it and I can feel it! Why does mom keep
looking at me like that? Why won't she
look at dad? Doesn't she believe me? Doesn't she know I'm trying? What the hell is
wrong here?! Fine...I'll find her and
show them all! Show him. I don't screw up everything I touch. His silent reverie
was broken by the sound of his father
bidding the authorities good night and thanking them for their help.
Bill Mulder turned to his wife who was sitting on the couch and said "Ann, take the
sedative the doctor sent over and try
to get some sleep. Fox and I still have some things to discuss. I'll be up shortly."
Fox watched as his mother regarded her husband with a look of pure loathing. Her
eyes fell on Fox and the glare
softened. He watched as the tears filled her eyes and she said, "Fox, if you need me
for anything you come get me OK?"
"Yeah mom, sure, I'll be fine, don't worry. Go to sleep." Fox answered his mother.
"Fox, I want you to go and wait for me in the den. I just want to make sure your
mother is alright" his father said.
He nodded, turned and walked down the hallway towards the den. Fox Mulder
walked into his father's den and sat
down. He looked around at the well-stocked bookshelves. Most of the book titles he
recognized but had no desire to
ever read. Fox looked at the photographs that lined the den walls. Everyone looks
happy, he thought. Amazing what
pictures don't tell in those 1000 words. He shifted his gaze about the room at a
restless pace.
I hate this room. Fox wondered idly just how many times he and his father had
these 'discussions'. Way too many times,
way too many.
As far as Fox was concerned he didn't care if he and his father ever discussed
anything ever again. Not that there was a
great deal of interaction involved, thought Fox. Nope, more like Dad pointing out
everything I ever did wrong and
then...
Fox stopped thinking. His stomach started to turn. He knew nothing good ever
came out of this room. Nothing. At
least in school when you got called to the principal's office he didn't take a strap to
you. Fox's stomach lurched again at
those thoughts and tried in vain to think of something else.
Sam, I need you! Get back here and get me out of this. Oh crap! Where are you
Sam? What happened to you? I'll find
you, I promise, I'll find you!
Fox broke away from his thoughts to replay the evenings events over in his mind.
There was something missing, he was
sure of that! The problem with that idea was the longer he tried to remember, the
harder it was for him to concentrate. I
have to try. This is for Sam's sake and mine, I have to remember. His head started
to hurt.
Fox never heard his father enter the den. He wasn't even aware of his presence until
he felt his father's hand on his
shoulder. He looked into his father's angry eyes and told himself not to cry because
it only made it worse.
"Now Fox, let's talk about what happened. Tell me where she is." Bill Mulder's voice
sounded like sandpaper to his son's
ears.
God what a stupid question! Doesn't he realize that if I knew we wouldn't be having
this conversation right now? Sam
would be home! Then she would be getting in trouble not me! Oh yeah right, that'll
be the day. It would be more like
me getting her out of trouble!
Fox wisely said nothing knowing full well that while his father's voice sounded calm
enough it was just the eye of the
storm.
"Why can't you remember Fox? Were you paying attention to your sister like I told
you?" Bill Mulder's voice started to
rise. Fox could hear the anger dripping off of every word and he silently braced
himself for what he knew would happen
next. He waited for the first blow to land and then allowed himself the luxury of
slipping into that quiet place in the back
of his mind. It was in that place where nothing could touch him. He knew what
was happening and he also knew how
he would feel later, but for a while he just let himself to go numb and didn't care
anymore. November 28, 1973
Ann Mulder slipped into her son's room shortly after she had heard him close his
bedroom door. She sat on his bed and
gently touched his left cheek.
Fox flinched at the contact and instantly regretted the move. "I'm OK mom," was all
he said.
"Your father's just scared Fox," Ann said by way of apology.
"I know Mom. I'm alright, really I am. You go back to sleep. I'm fine."
Fox spoke quietly to his mother. He knew if he spoke above a whisper his mother
would have certainly heard the catch in
his voice.
"Are you sure?" Ann asked hesitantly.
"Yeah mom, I'm sure. I'm fine." Fox replied quietly.
Ann Mulder rose from the edge of the bed and patted her sons shoulder. "Good
night Fox," she said.
"G'Nite Mom," he answered.
After he heard his mother's soft footsteps pad down the hall, Fox rolled onto his
stomach and cried the tears his father
had denied him. I'm scared too Mom, he thought. You have no idea how scared.
He's right. I deserved this. I lost her.
It's all my fault. I should be able to remember.
That was the night his nightmares started. Greenwich, CT April 24, 1995
Mulder's muscles ached and burned when he finally pulled his thoughts back to the
present day. He looked at his watch
and figured that he must have run 10 miles on the track in the park. He was tired,
chilled, his stomach begged for food
while his mouth and throat screamed for water. Mulder slowed his pace to allow his
muscles the opportunity to cool
down. It was time to return to his mother's house and get some answers.
Mulder started the northerly walk back to his mother's house. When the two story
colonial came into view, he stopped.
Hundreds of different thoughts vied for a place in the front of his mind. He shook
them off and walked to his car. He
unlocked the trunk of his car and pulled out the dufflebag he always kept there for
emergencies. This day would certainly
qualify as one, he mused.
OK now what? How do I approach this? Well I guess I could start out with 'why
didn't you tell me, Mom?' or 'how
could you let me think, all of those years, that it was my fault?' then 'why didn't you
just grab Sam and me and leave?'
Followed by 'how in God's name could you let Dad beat the shit out of me on a
regular basis?' Nope. Not that one. Not
there, not yet. Later. I have to find out about Sam first. This isn't about me. Mulder
tamped down the thoughts,
switched to his automatic pilot and walked up the driveway to his mother's front
door.
Once inside the house Mulder found his mother sitting in the kitchen. He knew he
had frightened her but he just
couldn't bring himself to care, at least not at the moment. Maybe later he would care
about how she felt. Mulder just
stood in the kitchen and stared hard at his mother.
Ann Mulder broke the oppressive silence and said "Where did you go Fox? I was
frantic with worry! Fox we need to talk
about this..."
"No mom." Mulder cut off her next sentence before she had even had a chance to
think of one.
"What I need is a hot shower and a strong cup of coffee. After which I might feel like
talking," Mulder hissed, silently
thinking: food is going to have to wait for a while, shit, the coffee alone will be
enough to kill me.
With that statement out of the way Mulder left the kitchen and headed upstairs for
the bathroom.
Mulder hit the bathroom light switch and closed the door. He stood in front of the
sink and stared hard into the mirror.
The effect the fluorescent lights had on his skin tone was ghostly.
Jesus Mulder, he thought, you look like shit. He noted the paleness of his skin; the
kind of pale he couldn't blame on
bad lighting. He was gaunt and the dark circles under his eyes were magnified in the
stark lighting. He continued to
silently berate his reflection. Well you wanted the truth didn't you? Now the
question is...just how much more of it can
you take?
Disillusioned he turned away from the sink, stripped off his clothes and leaned over
the tub to start the water for his
shower. He stepped into the tub and stood under the hot pulsing spray of the
shower head. He allowed himself the
luxury of feeling the hot water cascade over his sore muscles. His mind began to
wander and once again Mulder cursed his
perfect memory as it bought up picture after picture of his father.
This was the father who never forgave him for the disappearance of his sister. This
was the father who ridiculed and
questioned everything Fox did from his choice of schools to his sexual preference.
This was the father who for some of
his childhood and a fair share of adolescence placed him in a quiet world of pain and
helplessness.
He closed his eyes in an effort to block out the torturous memories. They returned
in more vivid detail. This was the
father who used his son as a scapegoat.
That particular memory didn't belong solely to his father. His mother was in it too.
Mulder put his face in his hands, leaned against the slick tiles of the shower and slid
down the wall.
God how could they? How could she? Mothers are supposed to protect their
children! His face contorted with the agony
he felt. He switched on his soul saving 'automatic pilot' and finished his shower in
mindless oblivion.
After drying and dressing, Mulder once again looked in the mirror and regarded his
reflection.
This is the face of a 34 year old man who, when he was a 12 year old boy, was
caught in a political crossfire, he thought.
Was it with my parents' blessing? Look at me. Have the answers been right under
my nose the whole time? I have
devoted my whole life to finding my sister. What did my father know? Why did he
choose Sam over me? Or did he?
That was my name under Sam's on that folder Scully and I found in the mining
shaft. Did Dad choose me first and then
change his mind? If so, did he change his mind because I was older, I would be able
to assume the responsibility of what
had happened? I would make the perfect whipping boy.
Mulder grimaced at the thought. Truer words were probably never spoken.
Dammit why can't I remember what
happened?! Fuck Krycek for killing my father. Fuck him for denying me the
pleasure! Miserable S.O.B. is dead. I finally
have part of the truth and I can't even go off on the person responsible!
Mulder tried to redirect his thoughts. I made a promise to Sam that night and I
intend to keep it. I won't let them win.
He thought about the silent oath he had just made and wondered which 'them' he
meant. April 24, 1995
Ann Mulder paced the kitchen floor. She knew this day might come. She also knew
that once it did the questions would
become difficult for her to hear and even more difficult to answer. She knew what
accusations would be made and by
whom.
How am I ever going to get Fox to understand? She thought. I had no choice but to
go along with Bill. She had never
gotten used to the idea that Bill could forfeit a child so easily. She hated Bill for what
he had done. She hated herself.
Now she feared she would lose her son when he was faced with the knowledge of
her involvement.
God, how had she gotten herself into this trap?
Ann stopped her pacing and stood in front of her kitchen window and allowed her
memories to creep in and consume
her.
There were many nights when she heard Bill yelling and then the sickening sound of
leather making harsh contact with
skin. Not so many before Samantha disappeared, yet enough to cause Ann concern.
'Discipline' was what her husband
called it. Bill made it clear that Ann had no reason to worry. After Samantha was
gone, the number of nights increased.
Ann closed her eyes at the impact of the memories.
God it was worse after Samantha disappeared. Much worse. I never heard a sound
from Fox. No matter how bad it got.
Bill laid the blame on Fox's shoulders even when he knew full well where the blame
belonged. He made the choice. He let
my little girl go.
What did I do to stop it? Nothing. When did my indifference start? When did I lose
my spine and my heart and allow
my family to be ripped open at the seams? Why did I allow myself to become a
silent pawn in this Godforsaken game?
I've lost both of my children because of my silence.
Fox Mulder walked into the kitchen unnoticed by his mother.
"How could you do it, Mom? How could you let him take Sam?" Mulder asked this
question in a quiet even voice, all the
while his heart was pounding and his pulse raced.
"Fox you don't understand."
"Enlighten me mother." He said, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
"Make me understand."
"Fox, I know how confusing this must be for you." Ann Mulder's voice took on a
quiet, almost placating tone.
Mulder snapped to attention, thinking, Jesus! How condescending can she get?
He stood so fast that the chair he was occupying tipped over and hit the floor. The
sound it made was the same as a
gunshot. It resounded through the quiet kitchen. Mulder made no move to right the
chair. He merely stepped away from
it and closer to his mother.
"No, mom. You have no idea how I'm feeling. Confused isn't exactly the word I
would use to describe how I feel right
now. Devastated. Angry. Hurt. Used. Betrayed. Those are words that are rolling
around in my head at this point. Would
you like me to explain these emotions categorically mother?" Mulder's fury was
barely suppressed as he ground out his
words.
"Or how about the other feelings? You know, the ones that I have had for the past
22 years or so? Guilty, afraid,
hopeless, and let's not forget suicidal, on more than one occasion! Those, mom, are
just the tip of the iceberg! They get
better..."
"Stop it this instant Fox!" Ann shouted cutting her son off mid sentence.
"I am not entirely to blame here!"
"OK mom, you're right, you're not entirely to blame. You get to share that
dubious honor with my father. However,
you are the one who holds the answers now. I am asking, no, I'm begging you to
tell me the truth and not hide
behind excuses. Don't use my father as a scapegoat the way you both used me. I
deserve answers, if not for the sake of
the truth alone, then for the pain and guilt I have suffered for the past 22 years.
Don't hide behind a dead man because it
seems an easy escape. Don't do that to me."
Mulder knew his words seared his mother's heart.
Don't look at her and fold. You know she does that to you. She puts on that face,
and you collapse like a house of cards.
She knows it works too. Finish what you've started. Look past her if you have to;
but get through this now. You can call
Kevin, beg for more couch time, have a nice quiet psychotic breakdown in his
office...later.
With the mental pep talk over he looked in his mothers' eyes and continued. "You
knew, mom, you knew and you
allowed me to live with the guilt that it was my fault that Samantha had
disappeared. That somehow I wasn't doing my
job that night. That I wasn't taking care of her the way I should. Now after all of
these years I find out that not only is it
not my fault, but you and Dad were part of this greater plan for God knows what."
Mulder was quietly restrained on the
surface and exploding inside.
"I never blamed you for your sister's disappearance Fox, never." His mother was all
but choking on the words while the
tears stood out in her eyes. I didn't blame him. I couldn't have blamed him. I would
never have said that to him. Ann
tried to dig back into her memory for confirmation but her son's words brought her
back to the present.
"You never had to Mom."
Oh God no, she thought, as the tears laid fine tracks down her face, like threads of
silver glinting in the early morning
sun.
"Dad did all the blaming, in words and actions and what he said left no room for
argument did it? Did you ever try? Did
you ever come to my defense?
No! Ann screamed in her head. I was afraid.
She stood there silently, striving to maintain an impassive face while the tears
danced over the edges of her eyelids. She
looked up at her son's face and waited, knowing there would be more.
"When I drove up here, it was to find out answers about Samantha, it wasn't
supposed to be about me. Now it's about
me, mom. I have to get through the 'me' part in order to put this in perspective. I
can't help Samantha if I can't find my
way out of this."
"I never hurt you Fox. I..."
"You never helped me either Mom." Mulder's words were so quiet that his mother
almost didn't hear them. Instead she
felt them, a cold fear in the pit of her stomach, threatening upward.
I couldn't stop him, she reasoned to herself.
"You were as much to blame for what Dad did to me as if it were you in his place.
Just because you never raised your
hand to me doesn't mean you didn't hurt me. In so many ways you hurt me more. I
kept wondering why you didn't say
something, anything, to him. I thought you felt I deserved it all too."
Ann Mulder closed her eyes and flashed back to when Fox was a child. She saw the
marks on his skin again. She heard the
angry voice of her husband and tried to block it out, just as she had done time and
time before. She opened her eyes at
the long ago sound of her son's muffled sobs in his room at night. Her gaze came to
rest on the man in front of her.
"I was afraid Fox. Your father had started drinking heavily after your sister... after
she was gone..."
"You're making excuses, Mom. My father drank heavily before Samantha was gone.
I know. I could smell it on him every
time he came near me. It was classic, Mom. It was textbook perfect. The only time
he paid any appreciable attention to me
was when he was hitting me. Then, and for a few days after trying to make it all up
to me, to rid himself of the guilt. I
used to think it was just the alcohol that made him mean. Do you remember when I
hid the Scotch bottle?" Mulder
asked his mother quietly, pushing his anger to the back of his mind.
"Yes."
"Yeah, so do I. Not a real bright move for someone who was supposed to be so
damn smart. I honestly thought I was
helping. I thought I was helping us, Mom. All of us. Even him. I thought if I took
away the alcohol everything would
be okay and we could act like a family. God, I was so wrong."
Memories of that incident flooded Mulder's thoughts. The unbelievable anger. How
his father spat out the words. 'What
did you think you were doing you little bastard? Where is it? Find it. Now.' The
ensuing pain. The quiet release of tears in
his room. Samantha was little then. She tiptoed in, sat with him, patted him and
talked nonsense until he smiled. Then
she smiled back and hugged him ever so gently. She told him she loved him in that
quiet voice she had. He would have
done anything in the world to keep her safe. Yet, when he was inadvertently given
the opportunity, he failed. It may not
have been my fault, but I did nothing to help either, he mentally raked himself over
the coals once again.
"I want to find Samantha, Mom. I made that promise to her the night she went
missing. She may not have heard me,
but she knows I would never stop looking for her. I would never give up on her.
The bond is too strong. I have to give
something back to her for all of the times she kept me whole."
"I know Fox."
"Why didn't you just take us and run, Mom? How could you allow what was
happening? What he did to me was bad
enough, what he did to Sam should be unthinkable in the mind of a parent. Why
didn't you stop him?"
Mulder's anger was winning in the war of emotions. He started pacing the floor like
a trapped animal. Quick, long strides
across the checkered linoleum. Restless hands alternately clenching into fists, then
stretching the long fingers in release.
Stopping mid stride he turned, faced his mother and let the anger take him.
"Answer me! Why didn't you help us? Why?"
He screamed the angry accusations while shaking in his attempt to quiet the rage
that caused the outburst. The dam of
pent up emotions finally broke and all the years of anger and frustration bubbled up
to the surface with lightning speed.
His eyes darted around the kitchen as his head tried to regain control of his body.
The anger refused to yield to him and
he was left frantic. He turned to the counter and grabbed the nearest object he could
find. He hurled the glass against the
kitchen wall with such force that hundreds of tiny shards found their way to the
farthest corners of the large kitchen. His
mind registered the fact that the motion and subsequent sound felt better than
anything he had ever experienced.
Through the thick haze of anger, he realized that the feeling frightened him more
than anything in his life.
He stood there looking but not seeing, listening but not hearing. The tide of rage he
felt began to ebb back to the dark
recesses of his mind.
He could breath again.
This is not the way to solve the problem Mulder. You know that! It doesn't get you
anywhere. It doesn't make you any
better than the memories you are fighting.
Mental reprimand done, he looked at his mother. Ann stood watching in horrid
fascination. To her it was like watching a
car accident in progress. You don't want to look but you can't tear your eyes away.
She moved to touch her son's arm.
"Don't mom, just don't." The hoarse whisper barely making its way out of the
tightened throat.
She stepped back, watched and waited.
She watched him lean against the counter for support in an effort to steady himself
against the quiet sobs that had begun
to rack his body. She marveled how his sobs were almost soundless. He exhibited
such a quiet control dealing with his
emotions; until the sobs were stilled and the only sign of tears were the tracks they
had left behind. Such a stark and vivid
contrast to the man she had seen not a minute before.
He looked at her and asked the question again with so much pain in his voice she
thought her heart would break.
"Why didn't you help us?"
"I couldn't." Her soft answer barely made it to his ears.
"What the hell were you afraid of mom? Did he beat you, too?"
"No." Yes, she thought, with words and accusations. His words tore at my heart the
same way his belt tore at your skin.
My own private hell. Yours was worse. Judged and sentenced by one, forsaken by
the other. A life no child should have
to live. I was a part of it and couldn't stop it.
"What then?"
"I just couldn't Fox."
"'I just couldn't'?!" He repeated shaking his head. "God, Mom. It's not my style to
complain about this. I don't even like
thinking about it, much less putting it into words. Do you know what it was like?
Do you even know the half of it? You
were there in the same house. You knew what was going on but did it register with
you? Did you ever think to stop
him? Would you like some of the gory details?"
No, please don't, I couldn't live through it again, she silently pleaded with him.
"I know it was horrible..." she began.
"No mom, it was worse than 'horrible'. It was horrible before Samantha went
missing. It became almost intolerable after.
I could handle the pain. I just found that quiet spot in my head and hid for a while. It
was safe there. Oh I felt it all right,
but after a while it didn't matter much. I would come out when it was all over, lick
my wounds and go on. As far as I was
concerned, Dad was right and I deserved everything I got. It was the head games
that got to me. I was so scared that
breathing around him demanded true effort. All he had to do was look at me and I
knew what kind of time I was going
to have with him. It got to a point where I almost welcomed the pain. At least then
he would leave me alone for a bit. A
few precious days when he didn't fuck with my head."
Dead, flat, emotionless voice. I sound like I'm delivering a field report in Skinner's
office. I suppose that's better than
breaking everything in the kitchen. I've worked far too hard and spent too much
time screaming in Kevin's office to give
in to rage now. Dad's dead and I'm not going to let him win.
"You knew, Mom. I just can't get that out of my head. I would have suffered the
worst beating over and over if I
thought it would have brought Samantha home. I loved her that much. I would
have killed and died for her. I still
would. I looked to you for comfort. You and Sam were my salvation. Then Sam was
gone. Everything changed between
you and me. You grew distant and I interpreted your distance as blame. Now I
know your distance was a result of your
own guilt. Tell me Š tell me what kind of hold he had over you. Why did you play
this game for so many years? I can
understand why you didn't grab us and run. They would have come after you. I can
think rationally about that now. I
should be thinking about Sam, but right now, I'm going to think about me. Tell me
why you didn't protect me from
him?"
"What did your father say to you before he died?"
"What earthly difference does that make now? Why do you want to know that? So
you can corroborate your story? He's
dead Mom! Just tell me the truth! He can't hurt either of us anymore! Why didn't
you help me?" His anger started to rise
like bile in his throat. Waves of white hot rage poured over his thoughts. It took
every ounce of control he had to stay
still. His heart and head pounded as one. His mother started talking. He missed the
first part of the thought but he
caught the rest.
"...the night Samantha disappeared your father told me it was all a mistake, he just
kept saying that over and over..."
"Wait...what? He told you what was a mistake?"
"That's it, that's what he said was that it was all a mistake. It was a terrible mistake
about Samantha, that is shouldn't have
happened." Ann studied her son and could almost see the wheels of his brilliant
mind spinning in his head. Somewhere
in the back of her mind she thought: this must be how he is at work.
Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle all fit. That one statement from his mother
changed the whole spin on all of the facts.
The folder. His name was on the folder first. His father had chosen him to be the
one and someone else had changed
it. Presumably at the last minute. His mother had no idea that it was supposed to be
him. She thought that his father
chose Samantha. It all fit! His father's undeniable rage when he came home that
night so long ago. Actions speak much
louder than words. His father's actions were of a man who was thoroughly
confused and fully enraged. His father hadn't
treated him in the same manner as he had all the other times he had a bone to pick.
It was different. Something had
gone very wrong in the master plan.
"Oh my God," he said softly.
"What? What is it, Fox?"
"When I was in West Virginia, in the mining shaft, Scully and I found files. An
unbelievable amount of files. They all had
the same type of genetic information in them. We found Scully's file. I told her it had
to be connected with the time she
went missing. Then we found Samantha's file, that was my proof to Scully. There
was another label under Sam's. It had
my name on it. I was the one who was chosen, Mom! Dad made his choice,
someone stepped in and changed it without
his knowledge. It has to be that."
Mulder was on a roll and there was no stopping him. Ann watched and listened
while her son methodically reasoned
with the facts and strung them all together in one neat package. His words horrified
her so much that she wanted to shut
them out. She had unwittingly played into her husbands' plan. A choice was made
and someone had changed it.
Someone wanted to keep her son out of harm's way. She closed her eyes and
listened.
"When I found the folder I just thought that Dad changed his mind for his own
reasons. I thought maybe it was a case
of who could accept the responsibility. I was older therefore I could handle the guilt.
But that's not what happened,
Mom. He was so angry at me the night Samantha disappeared. It wasn't because it
was my fault, not the way I interpreted
'fault'. He was angry because someone had changed the game plan and didn't
inform him. I shouldn't have been there
when you two got home, it should have been Samantha. It explains the escalation of
abuse, the headgames, everything.
He was so ticked off that it didn't work out as he had planned. He wanted me gone
for a reason. He wanted me out of
his life. Why mom? What the hell did I do that was so wrong? I was a kid! I tried my
level best to live up to his
expectations but it was never good enough. He forced me to live in hell. I wanted to
die so often when I was a kid. Then
as I got older I changed tack, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of giving up.
Thank God, I didn't, it was what he
wanted all along. His dying words to me were 'forgive me'. I just don't think I can
do that. I don't think I can ever forgive
him for what he did to Samantha and you, or to me. I can't Mom. Is that so wrong?"
Mulder's voice began cracking on the last few sentences. Confusion had set in and
he didn't know how to handle the
overload of information. Another dam burst and he gave himself over to the
emotions he felt. Deep, painful, racking
sobs coursed through his body. He slipped down the front of the counter to the
floor, pulled his long legs tight to his
chest, encircled them with his arms, and put his head on his knees. He cried for the
memories and the pain and the deep
sense of loss. His world was shattering in pieces around him. All he thought was
truth was being shown to him in a
different light. His heart was breaking and he wasn't sure how to put it back
together yet again.
"Fox?" Ann tentatively put her hand on his head.
"Let me do this mom. Let me get it all out. I won't be good for anything if I can't
release this now." His words rasped
against his throat like chalk against a chalkboard.
After a few moments, the heaving sobs began to subside and Ann watched her son
unfold from his position on the
floor to stand and look at her. His face was wet from the tears. His eyes were dull
and flat. She saw no emotion at all.
There was an invisible wall between them.
"It all makes sense, Mom. The anger, the hatred. Finding the file with my name. It
was supposed to be me. It shouldn't
bother me but it does. I don't mean that the way it sounds. It doesn't bother me that
he chose me. It should have been
me, not Sam, not a little girl. What gets me is that he took it out on me when the
plan went awry. He blamed me for
something I had no control over. He lost his control of the situation, someone he
worked with took that decision out of
his hands. So he wanted my control. He wanted me to pay somehow. Someone
didn't want me out of the picture for
whatever reason. I need to find that reason."
"Do you hate him?" She asked quietly.
"Yes...yeah, I do. I'm sure it's wrong but I do and I can live with that. Before you ask:
no. I can't forgive him. Can you?"
"No, I told you before I never have and never will. What about me Fox? Do you
hate me? Can you forgive me? Where
do we stand now?" I've hurt you in so many ways. I accept responsibility for my
actions. I should have done more. I
should have fought against him. I should have fought for you, for my daughter.
Excuses. Nothing but excuses. More
words left unspoken.
"Hate's a pretty strong word. I'm angry, very angry. I'm hurt. I feel like my insides
have been ripped out. I feel as if I can
never trust you again. All of the rage I have inside scares me. I have striven for most
of my life to control my anger. I
would go out of my way to keep it inside because I didn't want to become my
father. He was an angry, bitter man. I
don't know why he was so angry, I don't know what forces drove him to become
so bitter. I think he would have told
me things the night he died. Not all of it, but maybe some, maybe enough to clear
his conscience. He asked for
forgiveness but never confessed his sins. Instead he took his secrets to the grave and
I'm left shadowboxing with people
I can't see, fighting for truths with their roots based in lies. You knew so much more
than you told. You could have
trusted me with the truth, at least your version of it. You could have spared me the
years of guilt. You chose to remain
quiet. I just don't think I can forgive you yet. I don't know if I ever will. Can we go
on from here? I don't know. I hope
so. I don't know what your reasons were for staying with him for so long. Fear I
guess would be number one. I know
there are others. I just don't know what they are."
The long speech and lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll on him. He felt
weak, he knew he should rest but he
didn't want to stay there any longer.
He turned to make his way down the hall to grab his dufflebag.
"Fox don't leave yet, please." Ann tried to contain her tears but failed and they slid
down her face, dropping to her blouse.
"I have to Mom. There are some things I need to do before I head back home. I'll call
you in a few weeks, when I've had
a chance to sit and think."
And scream and cry and rant and rave, oh the list goes on and on. Kev old boy, it's
couch time again. You'd better have
lots of free time this week. I'm going to help you make the mortgage payment this
month and probably next month's
too.
He snagged his bag and walked out the front door to his car. Chilmark, MA April 25, 1995
Mulder found the place with no trouble at all. There weren't too many cemeteries in
the area so process of elimination
worked in his favor. He had grabbed a fairly decent night's sleep at the local motel
after his drive from his mother's house.
Then he took a short run to clear the cobwebs. After that he knew his next step.
He didn't want to do this. He hated cemeteries. He just knew that if he didn't, he
wouldn't be able to go forward with his
life. He needed to tell his father a few things. He knew, somehow, the man would
hear his words.
"Well I found you Dad. Nice spot, warm sunshine in the morning, and from the
angle of the tree, I'll bet it's pretty shady
in the afternoon." His voice barely hinting of sarcasm.
"I came here to rail against you. I wanted to tell you how I felt about you and what
you did to me, to us. I wanted to yell
and berate you as you berated me. I'm not going to do that Dad. If I did, I would be
no better than you. I'll channel my
anger somehow. I'll make it work for me, not against me. I'll create my own legacy,
somehow. I'll get out from under
your hateful grasp on my life. I'll pray to any god who will listen, to keep me sane
and whole so I can continue my work.
I'll bring Sam home and I'll do it in spite of you.
He dropped his head back against the marble and pulled in deep breaths of fresh air.
He fought hard to steady himself
and slowly picked himself up off the ground.
One more stop and I can go home. Chilmark, MA April 25, 1995
Mulder pulled his car up to the front of the house. He killed the engine and sat for a
minute, looking around, noting
changes and looking for familiar landmarks from his youth. Not much had changed,
even after all these years. He was
grateful for the familiarity of his old home.
He walked slowly up the stairs and paused to walk the wraparound porch. He took
in the early fall colors on the trees. It
was still warm but there would be a chill in the air by nightfall. Some things you
never forget. First day of summer, first
fall frost. All of those memories fought for their equal time in his mind.
He put the key in the lock and pushed open the front door. His heart started to race
and his hands began to feel clammy
and cold.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all, he reasoned with himself. No, nothing can hurt
me here. All the demons are out in
the open. Do this and go on. As he walked through the rooms of his childhood
home, he felt the same shivers he had
felt when he was young. He heard the same angry voices, but only in his head. He
knew he needed to do this for himself,
to confront his past and his fears.
He walked into his old room. Sheets covered the furniture. Dust covered the sheets.
Memories laid an invisible blanket
over everything. He stood for a minute, then moved on.
He made his way down the long hallway to Samantha's room. Same setting,
different room. Sheets and memories
melded into a haze in his mind. His breathing was slow and steady, his head clear.
Mulder walked down the winding staircase. He stood at the base and drew in a deep
shuddering breath, quietly exhaled
and, for the first time he could remember, walked unbidden into the quiet den that
was once his father's. He pulled the
sheet aside from the overstuffed chair in the corner and sat down. He looked
around the room. Through the blinds, the
sun cast stripes over the contents of the den. It was from that chair he confronted his
private hell. Not raging, as he had
originally intended in the scores of dreams where he and his father were the only
witnesses; but quietly, with the dignity
and inner strength he never knew he possessed. He closed his eyes and
remembered. Even through closed lids, his tears
escaped and ran their course down his pale, drawn cheeks.
He steadied his breathing, opened his eyes and they came to rest on one of the
family photographs on the wall. He stood
and reached for the photo, carefully removing it from its hook. He ran his fingertips
over each small face. First his
mother's, then his own followed by his sister's.
Finally he touched his father's likeness and stared.
I can never forgive you for what you did to her, to me...to all of us. I can only go on
and make the most of what I have
left, my career, a few close friends, my promise to my sister and to myself.
He replaced the photo on the wall. His eyes drank in the darkening shadows. It's
time, his heart told his head, walk away.
"I win." He spoke the words in a hushed whisper.
Slowly he turned to leave his father's den. He hoped he would leave some of his
memories too. Probably not, he
thought, but at least I can live with them now.
As he walked out he put his hand on the dull brass knob and pulled the door shut
behind him.
~end~
Lies My Mother Told Me
by Phyre
Greenwich, CT April 24, 1995
2:30 a.m.
9:45 p.m.
3:30 a.m.
5:30 a.m.
7:00 a.m.
11:30 a.m.
3:30 p.m.
