TITLE: One of the Damned 

AUTHOR: Rae 
RATING: R for language 
SPOILERS: No spoilers.  Sein und Zeit and   
Closure never happened. 
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. 
DISTRIBUTION: If you want it, please ask. 
SUMMARY:  I pretend just as much as they do 
that I'm not really here.  I'm an invisible, 
a no one.    
FEEDBACK: Please. I beg of you. There is no 
shame in begging... 
ultimateXFfan@aol.com 
THANKS: ga and Sallie for quick and 
wonderful beta. 

Fuck, it's cold.  The wind is whipping me as 
if it's a leather belt and my backside has 
been bared to its biting sting.  I can 
hardly see where I'm going because if I open 
my eyes too much, the wind pierces my 
eyeballs like millions of tiny needles 
stabbing all at once.  I tuck my head lower 
and pull my thin coat tighter, trying to 
block the March madness as it tears its way 
through the city block. 

I'm so hungry.  I try to remember the last 
time I had anything to eat.  Was it two days 
ago, or three?  I can't remember what 
happened yesterday, so it could have been 
then.  It doesn't really matter much, 
anyway.  If I get desperate enough, I can go 
to one of the shelters. 

I had it good for a while not too long ago.   
Alan was taking care of me.  He didn't have 
much, but he had a place with a space heater 
and a mattress on the floor and every couple 
of days, he would bring me something to 
eat.  He kept telling me that as soon as he 
could get a couple of bucks together, he was 
gonna open his own bike shop where guys 
would pay him big money to fix their Hogs.   
Then he'd be able to buy me new clothes and 
shoes that fit. 

I don't know how he planned on doing that 
since every penny he ever came across 
would end up in the hands of a heroin 
dealer.  He'd shoot up every chance he 
got.  He tried to talk me into partying with 
him a couple of times, but I'd just roll 
over on the mattress and pretend to fall 
asleep while he got high. 

One day, Alan gave me a couple of dollars to 
get a sandwich.  While I was gone, Big Jim 
came looking for the money from the heroin 
Alan was supposed to sell for him, but had 
ended up shooting up his own arm, so Big Jim 
put a bullet through his head.  Like I said, 
it wasn't paradise, but I wasn't on the 
streets, either.      

A week later, I stood on the corner and 
offered my body to anyone who would pay.   
Some guy pulled up in a car with more rust 
than paint and promised me twenty dollars to 
suck his dick.  He shoved me out of the car 
into the dirty slush and drove away when I 
asked for the money.  The people walking by 
called me a tramp and a whore as I sat in 
the frozen puddle crying and trying to spit 
the bitter taste of come out of my mouth. 

It wasn't the first time I'd had to beg for 
money in exchange for sex.  Men will pay you 
to do just about anything that their wives 
and girlfriends refuse to do.  I even had 
one guy set me up in a motel room for a 
week.  He would knock on the door at strange 
hours, fuck me fast and then leave again.  I 
never knew when he'd show up, or how long he 
intended for it to go on.  The last knock on 
the door had been from the guy that ran the 
place, telling me I had to pay if I wanted 
to stay another night, so I grabbed my coat 
and left.   

It's too damn cold to stay outside, so I 
duck into a McDonald's.  As soon as I 
step inside, I reconsider my choice.  Yes, 
it's warm, but the smell of the cooking food 
may be too much for me to handle.  I 
instantly remember how hungry I am.  I turn 
around to leave, but hear the wind whistling 
around the windows and decide to sit for a 
few minutes until someone notices me and 
asks me to leave.  The manager will most 
likely come up and slip me a burger and 
quietly threaten to call the cops if I don't 
scat.  Beggars scare away the paying 
customers.    

I drop into a chair at the table closest to 
the door.  I just need a minute.  I bring up 
my hands and blow on them, trying to warm 
them enough to get the blood flowing in them 
once again.  I make sure I don't make eye 
contact with any of the diners.  I pretend 
just as much as they do that I'm not really 
here.  I'm an invisible, a no one.  If you 
don't have money, you don't have a name. 

I'm sure I had a name at one point.  I mean, 
someone gave birth to me, which means that 
someone probably gave me a name, but I don't 
remember who that someone was, or what the 
name might have been.  That's what's most 
confusing of all.  I just woke up one day in 
a shelter.  I don't know how long I had been 
there, or how I had gotten there.  I try not 
to think about it too much because I am 
never able to answer any of my questions.   
So, I call myself Candie.  It wasn't too 
hard to come up with the name - it's what's 
scrawled across the sole of my one-size-too- 
small sneaker.  Not that it matters since no 
one ever asks me my name, anyway.   

My fingers begin to tingle as they thaw and 
I start to work up the courage to go back 
out in search of a place to spend the 
night.  It really is too cold to stay 
outside, but I'm not sure it's safer than 
one of the shelters.  One of the men always 
finds his way to my cot and starts groping 
his way through my clothes.  If I stand on 
one of the corners and try not to look too 
pathetic, there's a slightly better chance 
that I'll at least get some cash for lying 
on my back for ten minutes. 

As I pull myself out of my seat, a man 
approaches me.  I hold up my hands in 
defense as I start to stutter my apologies 
and drop my eyes to the floor. 

"I don't mean to cause trouble, Mister.  I'm 
on my way out." 

"I'm not here to ask you leave.  I thought 
that I could buy you dinner." 

I raise my head and really look at him in 
surprise.  He's not the manager of the place 
because he's not wearing one of those silly 
ties or a nametag. He's just a regular guy 
in a suit. 

"Ummmm, okay.  But that's not why I came in 
here, ya know.  I just wanted to get warm 
for a second." 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls a 
couple of bills out.  "Here, why don't 
you take this and go get whatever you want.   
You really look like you could eat." 

"Thank you."  I take the bills and head to 
the front of the dining room.  As I reach 
the counter, I look down and see that he's 
handed me three twenty-dollar bills.  There 
has to be a mistake.  He must have only 
meant to give me a five and couple of ones.    

I order a hamburger, some fries, and a cup 
of hot tea.  As I make my way back, I pass 
the man.  He's sitting at a table with a 
red-headed woman in a pretty suit and high- 
heeled shoes.  I put my tray down on the 
table behind theirs and take a step closer 
to the couple.  The man notices me and looks 
up with a smile on his face, as the woman 
continues the conversation unaware of my 
presence.   

"I know that Mulder, but I..." 

It sounds as if they were arguing, and I 
instantly know it's because of the money he 
gave me.  I jerk my head up when I register 
what she said.  She called the man Mulder.   
I don't know why, but I feel as if I should 
know that name. 

"How did you make out?" he asks me. 

"You gave me too much money, Mister.  Here's 
your change."  I hold out my hand with the 
money towards him, silently asking him not 
to take it from me, calculating how many 
meals I can get out of it. 

He looks confused for a moment and I think 
he's going to accuse me of lifting his 
wallet.  Then he just smiles again.  He 
folds his hand over mine and pushes it 
closer to my body. 

"I know how much I gave you.  There wasn't 
any mistake.  I would have given you more, 
but that's all I have on me."    

I give him a tiny smile and turn back to sit 
at my own table.  The woman has started up 
her side of the conversation again, but has 
dropped her voice to just above a whisper.   
Sitting right behind her, I can hear every 
word she says.    

"I'm just saying it was too much.  For all 
you know, she's going to go blow fifty-five 
dollars on drugs, so you aren't actually 
helping her at all.  There are shelters all 
over the city that can and should help her." 

"Sixty bucks, Scully.  It's not like I'm 
taking her in off the streets.  She needed 
something to eat.  She doesn't look like a 
junkie.  Besides, you never actually know 
who these people are.  She kind of reminds 
me of Samantha." 

I hear their chairs scrape across the tiled 
floor as they stand to leave.  I can hear 
the clickety-click of the woman's shoes as 
she heads for the door. The man walks past 
me and dumps their garbage into the bin, and 
on his way back to the door, he stops beside 
my table.  I look up from my nearly empty 
tray to see him studying my face. 

"Hey, what's your name, anyway?" 

"People like me don't have names, Mister.   
I'm just one of the damned." 

He nods and walks out of the restaurant, 
leading the woman with a hand at her 
lower back.  I turn back to my food and 
decide that from now on, I'll call 
myself Samantha. 

end 

NOTES 

This was an idea that came to me back in March while I was serving Jury Duty and stopped in at McDonald's for lunch. While there, a young man (barely, if even, out of his teens) came in to escape the harsh March winds. He was obviously hungry, and I was touched when one of the other patrons called him over to her table and gave him money to get some food. 

I instantly thought of fanfic and what would happen if Samantha wandered in from the cold, homeless and hungry. Would Mulder recognize her? Would she recognize him? 

Anyway, this is the end result. :) 

As always, thanks for reading. 

all of my stories can be found at: 
http://www.geocities.com/rachellee7/fanfic.html