He sinks to his knees on the plush, brown carpeting. Both
hands let fingertips glide over the smooth fibers. She stands close,
watching him, giving him the moment of piece that he so generously
asked for the day before. His eyes raise, and catch her face. Smiles
for both, as he reaches out and takes her hand.
Soft skin meets with rough. Gentle, he runs calloused fingers
across the bumps of her knuckles and down to her lightly polished
fingertips. A deep chuckle grazes his throat. She is here now, and
everything is all right.
He had missed her during the night, missed her sweet voice and
soft touch. Missed her gliding hand over his damp hair as she hushed
him to sleep. Rock a bye, baby. . .she would sing, although her voice
could hardly carry a tune. He didn’t care. Jerimiah was a bullfrog. .
.he loved her dearly for letting him listen to the trails of her voice.
No matter what she said, it always comforted him. And he missed her
during the night. She had stopped coming to his bedside over two weeks
ago, but nothing could have stopped her from being with him during the
day. Nothing. Not wind, nor sleet, nor hail, nor rain could keep her
clear blue eyes from gazing at him daily. Even though they hardly
spoke, her smile said volumes, and he would always be ready to pipe
into the conversation what she lacked.
“I did a lot today, Scully. And I haven’t had a nightmare in
days. Okay, maybe I have, but what does it matter? You are here now,
and I realize that you care more about me than anybody else. I love
you, Dana Scully, always have. You are my best friend, and I love
you.”
She would smile and kneel beside him, take him in her arms and
hold him close to her chest. Sometimes he would cry, other times he
wouldn’t, holding her tightly against him. “You are loved,” she would
tell him. “I am here for you.” Strong arms would go around her dainty
waist, as he snuggled into her neck. Kiss her lightly and let her go.
She had a job to do, and he never tried to stop her.
She would leave for the day, and he would stare up at the
lights, basking in the warm, phospherecent glow of white. Red would be
the color of the day, and Dana would be on his lips until the night.
Warmth filled every pore, every cavity of his body, and he knew he was
not alone. His Scully, his beautiful Dana Scully would be with him
every step of the way.
At night, he quickly undressed, saying a silent prayer to
whomever was listening to take care of his best friend. He curled
tightly into the blanket of his bed and slipped beneath, succombing to
the warm darkness. Every thought was flowers and clouds and sunshine.
Every wish was happiness and joy. Every dream was floating and
flying. It was all because of her, because of her strength and her
love, and her will to make him go on. She was his rock and anchor and
every aching need. Sleep would come quickly to the insomniac. Off to
pleasent dreams and unwasted lives.
And the next morning, when he slid down to the carpet, she
would be there, to hold him and let him hold her back.
***
Allison DeMont looked around the room. Sure, she had been in a
place like this before, but never quite so, disturbing. The Institute
for the Challanged gave her little doubt of what to expect when she
arrived in the morning to the outpatient clinic. Men and women of all
ages sat at desks, or on the floor, taking nonsense or trying to eat a
deck of playing cards. She hugged her notebook to her sweatered chest
and let her eyes wander.
Ms. Oubliette told her that she could speak with any of the
patients that she wanted, save an elderly gentleman who sat in the
corner rocking, and telling himself that he was going to kill everyone.
That man, Ms. Oubliette informed, was very unstable.
But one man did pique her interest. He was young, very
good-looking, kneeling on the floor, trapping his chest in a tight bear
hug. She touched one of the assistants on the shoulder and pointed.
“Can I talk to that man?”
The assistant smiled, her red lips parting to reveal white
teeth. “Sure. His name is Fox. He is the most coherent patient that
we have here, smart too. Just wait until he gets up off the floor.”
Her voice lowered to almost a whisper. “If you disturb him now, he’ll
start to cry and throw a fit. We don’t want that to happen.”
Allison shuddered. “Okay.” Her nervousness was very
appharent.
The assistant touched her sleeve. “Don’t be nervous. There
really is nothing to it.” She walked away to help a young, female
patient finish putting together a puzzle.
Allison took a couple of deep, relaxing breaths, spinning her
pen between her fingers. She watched Fox, intrigued. He was actually
*very* good-looking, with a mop-full of chestnut brown hair and a warm,
inviting smile. Even the oversized nose looked good on him. His face
was round, his chin dimpled, and he wore the biggest smile out of all
of the patients. Another breath. Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard.
When Fox stood, she slowly walked towards him. He sat down at
a table, she sat across.
Extending her hand, she said, “Hi. My name is Allison DeMont.
I am a student at Western College and I was wondering. . .”
“Western?” he asked, interupted. He began to bite his lower
lip, a trait that Allison found fascinating. “Never been there, but I
heard it was a great school. Psychology major?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“I majored in it too, at Oxford.”
She was dumbstruck. “You went to Oxford?”
“Yeah. Surprising, huh? That a man of my intellect could be
stuck in a place like this.”
“Um, no, uh. . .” She was floudering and she knew it.
He laughed, sweet, delicate, unlike so many other patients that
she had heard before. “It’s okay, I understand. Sometimes I do feel
out of place here, but then Scully comes and tells me that it’s okay.”
“Scully?”
He smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Scully, my partner. I used to
work for the FBI.”
Again without a thing to say. “FBI?”
“Yeah. Dana Scully was my partner, and my best friend. She
comes here every day to let me know that she still cares about me.
After I had my little breakdown, I thought everything would go
downhill. Without her, I don’t think I could’ve survived. Would have
killed myself a long time ago.” His expression changed to one of
concern. “Are you okay hearing about this?”
“Yeah. . .yes, I’m fine. Go on.” Allison felt her eyes
glistening with tears. Never had she met a man with such fire in his
eyes be reduced to institution living. “Do you live at home?”
“No, I live at a hospital. The doctors don’t think I am ready
to go back to my apartment, which I think is okay. I mean, I like
where I sleep. Mostly, it’s just a bed. I can handle that. And there
is no stress at the hospital. Just me and my dreams. It’s nice.”
Slowly, he tilted back, letting his eyes wander to the ceiling. “Used
to have nightmares, but since Scully has been visiting me, I’ve been
okay.”
“That’s good,” Allison said, almost unable to keep the tremor
from her voice. Whoever this Scully was, she was nowhere in sight.
“So when does Scully visit you?”
“She was just here. Didn’t you see her?” He laughed. “She’s
got the most beautiful red hair. You can’t miss it.”
Allison looked down at her notebook. Poor Fox. Delusional.
She wondered if anything he had told her was true. There was no
Scully, she knew that. Only his poor, frayed mind. But she couldn’t
risk hurting him, he was probably so fragile. Instead of saying what
she wanted to, she said, “Yeah. Red hair. I saw her. She is
beautiful.”
Fox laughed again. “Yeah. I love her so much.” His hands
went behind his head, as if trying to capture the memories that seemed
to swirl in front of his eyes. He stared into space for a while. “Do
you want to ask me more questions?”
Allison began to feel uneasy and upset. “No, thank you, um. .
.” She didn’t know quite how to address him.
"Fox,” he answered for her. “My name is Fox.”
“Okay. Thank you, Fox."
“Anytime, Allison.”
She stood as quickly as she could and hugged her notebook
tight. He was so handsome and yet so troubled. Couldn’t even
distinguish reality from fantasy. Sighing, and trying to get the tears
away from her eyes, she approached Ms. Oubliette.
“What’s wrong with Fox?” she asked.
“He had a nervous breakdown a few months ago when his partner
died. It was tragic. Such a brilliant mind going to waste.”
“So now he sees her every day?”
Ms. Oubliette sighed deeply, the lines in her face tightening
from a grimace. “Yes. Every day, at the same time. He thinks she
comes to him and holds him. Nobody has the heart to tell him that she
isn’t really there. If anyone does, he just burst into the worse
crying fit any man can fall into, curls into a little ball and
refuses to talk to any of us until we convince him that she is still
alive. Sometimes, it takes weeks and lots of sedetives.”
Allison nodded. She turned her eyes to Fox, who was speaking
with another patient. Something in the form of dread hit her stomach
when she read the other man’s lips. ‘She’s dead.’
Suddenly, Fox flew onto his feet, and threw a punch at the
man’s face. “No!” he screamed. “You lie!”
“I never lie!” the man shouted. The room became dead silent,
and the man continued from the ground. “She is dead, Mulder, and don’t
you forget it. Your precious little red-haired angel is up in Heaven
where she belongs. Not down in Hell with you!”
Hatred filled Allison’s veins as she stared at Fox and the
other man. She wished the other man dead, tortured, left with nothing
but broken bones in a desert to rot into a stinking grave. How could
he do that? How could he shatter one man so deeply? She wanted to
rush towards Fox and hold him tightly, telling him that his Scully
wasn’t dead, that she never would be.
Fox’s face contorted with horrible pain. He sank to the ground
and curled into a ball, just like Ms. Oubliette said he would.
Everyone ran towards him, some lifting the fallen man, others wrapping
their arms around Fox’s shoulders.
“Patrick, how could you?” Ms. Oubliette demanded, more fear and
concern in her voice than anger. She ordered Patrick to be taken into
another room.
“Fox?” Her voice was calm, soothing.
He answered her with a keen wail and a few broken sobs.
“Fox, honey? It’s all right, Fox. Shh. It’s all right.
Patrick was lying. He was lying, sweetheart. Your Scully is still
here. She will be back tomorrow.” Her hand went to stroke Fox’s head.
Fox lifted his head, so Allison could see the frequent tears
that coursed down his pain-filled features. “No. My Scully is dead.
Oh, God, why? Please, bring her back to me. I can’t go on without
her.” He sobbed again, grabbing the sleeves of Ms. Oubliette’s shirt.
“I’m sorry. What can I do? I’ll do anything, please.”
“Shh, Fox, shh. She will be here tomorrow. Don’t cry, Fox.
She will be here.”
“Sculleeeee!” His wail ripped into Allison’s heart. She
wished desperately for something that she could do. All she did do was
watch, as he turned away from Ms. Oubliette and cried openly to the
right wall.
Soon, he began to rock, his tears still falling and soft
high-pitched noises emmitting from the back of his throat. It tore
Allison’s heart. Just a few minutes ago he was lucid and talking to
her like there wasn’t a care in the world, and now he was a sobbing,
rocking, pathetic thing who only wanted his best friend back. She knew
how that felt. Remembered fights with her own best friend struck her
memory. She could only imagine how close they must have been for him
to be acting that way because of her death. He must have loved her
greatly.
Nobody dared approach Fox, not now, not for a while. Allison
watched in shame and facination, yelling inwardly at herself for
wanting to stare at this broken, heart-werenchingly beautiful man.
Slowly, as if her feet had a mind of their own, she walked towards Fox
and sat down beside him. Tense, she placed a hand on his back.
His eyes locked onto hers. A faint sign of recognition crossed
his features. “Scully?”
Confusion settled along her brow, but she said nothing. Why
would he think she was Scully? Then she remembered that he said Scully
had red hair. She had red hair as well. Maybe that was why. Well,
she told herself, if it will help Fox, I will pretend.
“I’m not dead,” she whispered.
“Scully.” His arms wrapped around her neck and pulled her
close. She could feel the tears staining her sweater. “I miss you,
Scully.”
Wrapping her arms around him, she said, “I miss you too. . .”
She paused, not sure what to call him. Her mind ran a million miles an
hour until she found what she was looking for. “Mulder.”
His crying hardened along with his grip. “Don’t leave me.
Don’t ever leave me. Promise me. Please, Scully.”
“I’ll never leave you, Mulder. I promise.” Allison held him
until his crying stopped, and he had falled asleep on her shoulder.
Ms. Oubliette was stunned. While her assistants pulled Fox
gently away, she said, “That was great, Allison. I have never seen
anyone calm him down as much as you had. Would you like a permenant
job? We need somebody here to take care of him. Maybe make him
understand about his partner’s death.”
Allison smiled. That had been a good thing. “Yes.” She
needed a small job along with college, and she was growing to like Fox.
“It was the hair,” she said as an afterthought.
“What?”
“My hair. He said that Scully was a redhead, and so am I. He
must have just seen the hair.”
“Um, Fox is red-green colorblind. He doesn’t know your hair
color from any other shade of red.”
Allison’s cheeks turned as bright as her hair.
“Don’t worry, Allison.” Ms. Oubliette touched her
shoulderblade. “I think Fox likes you. Maybe he thinks he has found a
friend. Be glad. And still come back.”
Allison was in shock. But she agreed to come back. This
episode would make for a great psychology paper. And, she thought
almost evilly, she would get to see Fox again. That, was reward in
itself.
FIN
11/16/98