The Psychic

By Xenith
xenitha@yahoo.com
 

Websites: http://xenith.freeservers.com;
http://xenith.batcave.net

Disclaimer: The X Files belong to Chris
Carter and 1013 Productions, not me. I'm
only borrowing the characters to keep the
flame alive until CC gets us a new X Files
Movie!
.
Rating: PG-13

Category: SA, X, MSR

Keywords: Muldertorture, Missing Episode

Spoilers:  Post Amor Fati but pre-dates
Within

Archive: Sure, but e-mail me first.

Feedback: Love it! Love it! E-mail me!! I
WRITE FASTER
for e-mail!

Summary: Mulder finds out that knowing the
truth can be devastating.

Author's Note:
This is a work in progress but don't be
afraid to read it. I NEVER abandon my work
and I ALWAYS finish. I usually have a
posting schedule and I'll move heaven and
earth to keep to it. Expect a new chapter
every Sunday until completion.
 
 

The Psychic, part 1

"All the years that have come to pass,
and all the years that shall be,
I see here, right before me."
The Psychic---Crash Test Dummies
(Crash Test Dummies--The Psychic)
 

Tuesday, 12:35 p.m.
Clinton, Colorado

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, I'm happy to
say that you're too late!" Agent Dickinson
strode forward, hand outstretched. "The
children have been found; we got to them
just an hour ago!"

Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. "I'm
glad you've found them," Mulder said,
allowing his hand to be vigorously shaken
by Dickinson. "But when you called asking
urgently for our assistance, you said that
you had evidence of alien abduction in
their disappearances. Did it turn out to
be a hoax?"

Dickinson looked embarrassed. "Witnesses
reported strange lights in the sky when
the kids went missing and, with the utter
lack of evidence of their whereabouts, we
considered...what is it Agent Mulder calls
it? Extreme possibilities." Dickinson
smiled. "I've been following your work on
the X Files for some time."

"It's nice to hear we have fans." Mulder
smiled. "You only put in the request for
us two days ago. What broke the case?"

"You might laugh at this," Dickinson
studied Mulder's face. "Or maybe you
wouldn't. A local psychic volunteered her
services. She insisted that the missing
children hadn't been abducted. Said she'd
somehow seen them in a deep pit or a hole.
When we gave her a jacket belonging one
little girl, she all but led us straight
to the kids. They had wandered away from
their girl scout group and had fallen into
an old mineshaft. Then they made the
mistake of wandering around inside the old
tunnels. Once Gladys found the minehead,
we sent searchers into the tunnels and
found them inside, lost in the dark."

Dickinson turned and motioned toward a
dumpy little woman in beige polyester
stretch pantsuit, talking with one of the
other agents. "That's her over there,
briefing Agent Wells. Gladys! Come on
over! I'd like you to meet some people!"

Gladys looked up and, after a nod to Agent
Wells, made her way over to Dickinson.
Mulder was surprised to find that Gladys
made even Scully look tall. The psychic
peered up myopically, first at Agent
Dickinson, then at Agent Mulder, then
sighed and reached into her pocket for a
pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses and put
them on. Her eyes narrowed as she took in
Mulder and Scully.

"Gladys, these are the agents I told you
about. They investigate paranormal
phenomena all the time. You all should
have a lot in common. May I introduce
Agents Scully and Mulder. This is Gladys
White," Dickinson gestured toward the
agents. Gladys dutifully shook Scully's
hand, then stopped sharply and eyed her
more closely. "I'm very pleased to meet
you, Doctor Scully. You're quite a
remarkable woman..." With difficulty, she
pulled her hand away and turned her
attention to Mulder.

When she shook Fox Mulder's hand, Gladys'
watery blue eyes widened in shock and she
took a step backward, dropping his hand
limply. Mulder jerked suddenly, then
laughed nervously. "What did I say? I'm
sorry Gladys, I've been told by psychics
before that I put off negative vibes, but
I don't want you to think that I'm an
unbeliever. Honest!" Mulder raised his
palms in surrender.

"No. That's not it at all," Gladys said,
backing away. "It's been nice meeting you,
but I really have to get going now." She
gave Mulder one more frightened glance
then all but ran to her car. She hauled
the door open, jumped in and pulled away
from the parking lot at full speed. The
agents caught a quick glimpse of her pale
face as she sped by.

"What did I do?" Mulder asked, bewildered.

"Can't take you anywhere," Scully murmured
under her breath. "C'mon, Mulder, let's
see if there's another flight back to D.C.
today."

-------------------

Gladys White carefully double-locked the
door of her trailer, then bent to scritch
her cat. "I'm sorry, Kitty, I'll feed you
right away. Momma's been busy these past
few days and she's been neglecting you,
hasn't she?" She bent at the waist and
picked the cat up, still stroking him. "I
found the kids. That's the good news. This
time, nobody died. How about that, huh,
Kitty?"

She moved over to the cupboard and
retrieved  a box of dry catfood, then
carefully poured a double portion into the
cat's dish. Kitty promptly flowed out of
Gladys' arms and onto the floor. "I guess
you have more important things to do than
sit with Momma, huh Kitty?" she sighed and
walked into the tiny living room, kicking
off her shoes.

She settled into the barcalounger and
picked up the television remote, flicking
the television on. The picture flashed
onto the parking lot she'd just left. The
reporter was interviewing Agent Dickinson
about the recovery of the missing Girl
Scouts. Gladys sighed and pushed the
'mute' button, then noted that Agents
Mulder and Scully stood in the background
behind Dickinson.

Focusing her eyes on Agent Mulder, Gladys
sighed. "Damn it. Why can't I ever see
anything good? Why?" She dropped the
remote and pressed shaking fingers over
her eyes.

----------------------------------
Dark.

Cold.

He opened his eyes and saw nothing. He
heard nothing. He smelled, faintly,
decaying flowers. His breath ran faint in
the stifling box as he ran his fingers
over the underside of the lid. It bulged
inward slightly from the weight of the
dirt piled on top of it. He could feel
some of it sifting down onto his face and
into his staring eyes.

He felt the quilted satin padding
surrounding him, slick against his cold
skin. They had buried him. Deep, deep, he
knew it. But he was alive! He wasn't dead!
If he could only make Scully hear him,
she'd come to him and save him. She always
saved him before. She wouldn't leave him
buried alive.

Mulder's lips stretched in a rictus of
fear as he screamed her name with all his
remaining strength. "Scully!"

Motel 6
Clinton Colorado
5:00 p.m.

"Mulder! Are you all right? Mulder wake
up, it's just a dream..."

Mulder looked up into Scully's brightly
lit face and drew in a grateful breath.
"Yeah....just a dream," he leaned back
against the pillow of the motel bed,
feeling the quilted satin of the bedspread
under his fingers. "God, that's the last
time I let you give me vicodin for a
migraine." He dry-washed his face and
noted that the pounding in his head had
returned. He opened his eyes and found
Scully offering him a glass of water and a
damp cloth. He licked dry lips and
gratefully sipped it down, then rested the
washcloth over his eyes. "Any luck in
getting us out of here?" he asked
hopefully.

"I've called all the airlines and
confirmed it. There aren't any seats
available on anything flying out tonight.
The first available booking doesn't leave
until tomorrow evening and that'll give us
two layovers before we hit Dulles, but
that's the best I can do.... Mulder? Are
you okay? Do you want to go to an
emergency room?" Scully sat down on his
bed and removed the washcloth from his
eyes. He moved his arm across to blot out
the light instead.

"Sorry, Scully. I think...it's just a
migraine.  Maybe something I ate on the
flight over? That noise is making my head
pound..Is there any way you can get the
neighbors to shut up?" Mulder muttered in
a barely audible tone.

"The neighbors? I don't hear anything,
Mulder you're probably more sensitive to
the noise from the highway. Why don't you
go back to sleep? I'll wake you later."

Mulder pondered going back to sleep. He
didn't think he wanted to rest if it meant
more nightmares like that last one. At
least if he were in the car, he might find
a little quiet. This was the noisiest
damned motel they'd stayed at yet. He
heard Scully mutter something in the other
room. "What? What did you say, Scully?" he
called.

"I didn't say anything, Mulder. That was
probably more highway noise." She went to
the switch on the wall. "Why don't you
rest? If it's still bad later, I'll get
you something stronger. Hey, where do you
think you're going?"

Mulder slowly creaked his way into a
sitting position, and reaching for his
jacket, began to put it on.

"What are you doing?" she repeated. "The
case is over and if you're coming down
with flu you should stay here and rest."
She eyed him. "You look terrible."

"There's an errand in town I want to run,"
Mulder pulled a business card from his
pocket. "That psychic, Gladys White.
Dickinson gave me her card. I want to talk
to her again. I'm curious about how she
does what she does." He cracked a tired
smile. "You want to come along and get
your fortune told?"

"If it's all the same to you, Mulder, I'm
about six reports behind from the cases we
dropped to come out here at the last
minute. I think I'll beg off. I'd like to
use the time to catch up." She looked up
at him and frowned slightly. "Are you sure
you don't want to wait till tomorrow? You
might be feeling better then."

Mulder started to shake his head, then
thought better of it.  "No, we'll be busy
packing. I feel...good...Scully. I'm okay,
just getting a bug or something. I'll be
back in a couple hours."

"Okay, I'll see you then, Mulder," she
said and watched him breeze through the
door. She shrugged and headed through the
connecting door to her own room and her
bulging briefcase.

Riverside Trailer Park
4:00 p.m.

Mulder studied the address on the business
card and concluded that this had to be the
place. A faded wooden sign pointed to a
row of dusty single-wide trailers lined up
neatly. Nobody was home from work yet and
the place was eerily quiet. Funny how
everywhere he and Scully had been lately
had seemed overcrowded and noisy. This
desolation was almost restful.

He checked the business card again and
spotted trailer number 5 tucked away in a
corner. As he approached it he saw a small
cardboard sign in the window that said
"Madame Cassandra, Psychic Advisor".

Grinning slightly, he rapped on the door.
After a moment or two, he heard a
shuffling sound, then the door swung open.
Gladys White, wearing rumpled gray sweats
and fuzzy slippers blinked nervously down
at him. "Who...?" she started, then
stopped abruptly. "You. I don't want to
see you. Go away." She slammed the door to
the trailer firmly.

Mulder blinked, then knocked again. "Ms.
White, I'm sorry to bother you, but I just
wanted to talk about the girl scout case.
I won't take much of your time. I'll pay
you for your time..."

There was a moment of silence, then the
door opened again and she gave Mulder a
long look. "You don't want to hear what I
have to tell you," she said finally. "Go
away now, while you can, and live your
life."

"But I want to know about your gift,"
Mulder replied. "You found those kids when
nobody else could. That makes what you
have pretty unusual."

She paused, considering, and then snorted.
"You may as well come in, I can see that
you won't go away otherwise. If you were
smart, you'd leave now and hop the next
plane out to Washington with that young
lady of yours."

Mulder gave her an uncomfortable smile.
"Agent Scully is my partner. She isn't my
young lady."

Gladys cocked her head to one side. "She
would be, by now, if you'd ever gotten off
your ass and said something to her.' She
sighed. "But that's the least of your
problems, Agent Mulder. Come on in and
watch the step."

Before Mulder could say anything, she had
disappeared down a dark, narrow hallway.
Breathlessly, he caught up with her in a
small study fitted with a table and two
chairs. She had already seated herself in
one of the chairs and had opened a box
that sat on the table. "Please have a
seat, Agent Mulder. Or should I call you
Mulder? That's what your friends call you,
isn't it? You hate your first name, Fox,
don't you?"

Mulder nodded. "Sometimes people assume
that just because Scully and I are
partners that we're romantically involved
and you could have found out about my
first name from any one of a dozen
sources.."

"I might have, but I didn't," she replied.
She lifted a deck of tarot cards from the
box and began to shuffle them. "I assume
that you're going to pay for a reading?"

"Did you charge the police anything for
the work you did for them?" Mulder asked,
reaching for his wallet.

"I have to earn a living," she said
absently. "But no, I didn't. It's so rare
that I see anything pleasant that I gave
them the help for free. It was nice to see
something besides disaster and pain." She
looked up and met Mulder's eyes. "My fee
is fifty dollars for a half hour reading.
Cash."

Mulder put some bills on the table. As she
reached forward to grasp them, her
fingertips brushed his hand. She drew back
as though she'd touched a live wire and
sat rubbing her hand, eyes wide.

"What's wrong?" Mulder asked. "The money's
good. It isn't counterfeit, you know."

"I know," she said, leaving the bills on
the table. Slowly, she picked up the tarot
deck and put it back into the box. "The
cards won't help this time." She stood up.
"I don't want your money, Mr. Mulder.
You'd better leave."

"Why? What is it that's spooking you?"
Mulder looked around the room but saw and
heard nothing, then turned back to the
psychic. "You saw something when you first
shook hands with me and again just now.
What is it? I want to know." He slid the
bills back across the table at her. "I'm
asking for your professional advice."

"About what? Do you want to know your past
and your future, Fox William Mulder?" she
asked in a warning tone. "You may not like
it." She slowly took her seat at the table
again.

"I'll chance it," Mulder replied solemnly.
"Give me your standard reading, or
whatever you think is appropriate." She
sighed in resignation and reached for the
cards again, then stopped.

"No, those definitely won't help. Not this
time."

"You aren't going to use the cards?"
Mulder asked curiously. "Why?"

"I use the cards to control the gift, to
moderate the visions.  Your life...the
visions crowd me. They won't be softened
and they won't go away until I tell them
to you. Or get the hell away from you..."
She laid both her hands on the table, flat
and looked up. "You have two fathers and a
hundred sisters who aren't your sister at
all."

Mulder gulped. "Excuse me? What do you
mean by that?"

"I have no idea, I just know that you lost
your sister at a very young age but that
some part of her survives. It's as if
she's twins or something...I don't
understand it myself. But I assume this
has meaning for you? What I say generally
does."

Mulder nodded slowly. "Is that what you
find so disturbing about me?"

"You...are surrounded by violence and
murder. Your life has been a series of
betrayals, yet still you give your trust
even when your common sense tells you not
to," she looked up at him quizzically.
"Once you give your trust, you never truly
withdraw it. You know that no one believes
you and that no one ever will. Except,
perhaps, the one person you trust the
most." She looked up and gave him an
unreadable look. "She does love you, you
know. You shouldn't wait to tell her."

Mulder cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"Is that what bothered you so much that
you didn't want to give me a reading?"

"Please understand that what I see always
happens. I've tried to prevent disasters
before but it never worked. I just ended
up witnessing my vision coming to
fruition, so now I try very hard not to
get involved in my customers' lives. What
I see for you, Agent Mulder," her voice
lowered until it was barely audible, then
continued. "Is that you're dying. You just
don't know it yet."

-------------------

"She knows the future like the palm of
your hand,
She knows your past like the lay of the
land,
The first time she met me, She saw right
through me,
Some cards and a cape in her hands.

And she said, 'All the years that shall
come to pass,
And all the years that shall be
I see here right before me.'

She said her visions were a bane in her
life.
She could not control them; kept her up
nights.
I know what you're thinking,
I haven't been drinking
She knew things that cut like a knife.

Will there be earthquakes and great tidal
waves?
Can she see back to the dinosaur days?
How can she foresee just by squinting at
me and
Can she see me naked in her mind's eye?

What does she think when she foretells a
disease?
Would she keep it a secret if Death stood
before me?
What could some cards hold, where is her
foothold?
Can I escape what she sees?

And she said 'All the years that have come
to pass, And all the years that shall be
I see here right before me.
I see here...before me.'"

The Psychic by the Crash Test Dummies ----

-------------------

The Psychic, Part 2

Mulder was silent a moment, then took in a
shaky breath. "How do you know?" he asked,
slowly.

"You believe me, don't you?" Gladys
replied. "Most people would get angry and
tell me that I'm a fraud. But you..." She
peered deeply into his eyes. "Oh. I see.
I'm so sorry. Of course you believe me.
You know I'm not lying."

"You haven't answered my question," Mulder
prompted. "If you've just pronounced a
death sentence on me, I do want to know
why. You believe what you've just said to
me but you could be wrong."

She half-smiled sadly. "You were very ill
recently, weren't you? In the hospital?
They didn't think you'd survive, but you
did, barely."

"I'm listening," Mulder said neutrally,
consciously keeping his fingers from
moving to the surgical site on the back of
his head.

"You're hard to convince," she sat back in
her chair and eyed Mulder steadily. "Your
brain has a...a...not a defect...." She
blinked and leaned forward. "Although he
tried, the old man didn't steal it. He
couldn't because it's your heritage. The
same Gift that tells you when people are
lying to you is what's sapping the life
out of your body."

She paused, then quickly got up and pulled
a bottle of water from a cupboard, opening
it and splashing its contents into a
styrofoam cup. "Here, have some water.
You're awfully pale, don't pass out on me
now. Go ahead and put your head between
your knees...that's it."

She stood protectively next to Mulder
while he obediently leaned his head
forward, gulping in deep breaths.

He eventually sat upright and tried to
grin. "You really give good value for
fifty bucks. You realize that I'm going
straight to a doctor to try and prove you
wrong."

"I wouldn't expect anything less and I
sincerely hope I'm wrong," she said. "I
always hope that somehow I can prevent the
things I see. I keep hoping..."

"But you don't?" Mulder asked. "Isn't it
possible that with advance warning, the
future can be changed?"

She sighed. "Maybe. Some day. Maybe it'll
even work out that way in your case, Agent
Mulder. I hope so."

Mulder cleared his throat and said
hesitantly, "What else do you see for me?
When does it...When do I die? How?"

Gladys made her way back to her chair and
reached out for Mulder's hand. He put it
into hers and her eyes closed. She began
to breathe unsteadily, moaning softly
under her breath. "I see...pain. Torturous
pain. I hear you calling for someone
across the miles doesn't answer. Then I
see death.."

Her eyes opened and she studied Mulder in
puzzlement. "And notdeath. Death/not
death. I don't understand."

Mulder shook his head. "I don't know what
that means, either. How long do I have?"

"I can't tell...but I see your partner,
the red-headed woman who loves you,
standing in the snow by your grave. Next
to her I see a tall, balding man."

Mulder closed his eyes. "Skinner..." he
murmured. "And Scully? What happens to
her?"

The psychic paused, then smiled. "She's
quite a dynamic woman; nothing ever quite
defeats her, does it? I see her with an
infant. Hers...and...yours?" She tilted
her chin a bit, eyebrows raised and
grinned. "Why Agent Mulder!"

Mulder caught himself blushing
uncomfortably. "Um... We're really not...I
haven't..."

"Well, this illness of yours obviously
won't completely incapacitate you for a
while. Would you like the advice of a
woman who's seen entirely too much pain?"
She squeezed Mulder's hand and put it back
on the table. "Take your joy. Now. While
you can. No one can be sure of tomorrow.
Not you, not me. Don't wait."

Mulder found himself hustled out the front
door and standing on the porch of the
trailer before he had a chance to catch
his breath. He looked over his shoulder
and watched the curtains twitch closed.
Squaring his shoulders, he picked his way
back to the car. Gladys had clearly said
all she planned to say today.

He sat behind the steering wheel for a
moment, then leaned back against the
headrest. The headache was back, pounding
harder than before. He didn't want to
believe her prediction but his gut told
her she was right.

He turned the key and started the car then
slowly pulled away from the parking space.
While he drove, he pondered what the woman
had told him. What should he tell Scully?
He wasn't sure, after all. There was no
medical confirmation and if he said word
one to Scully, she'd have him checked into
the local medical center so fast it would
make his head swim. Swim more than it
already was, he added grimly to himself.

No more hospitals. He still had nightmares
about his stay in the Georgetown psych
ward, when Scully had disappeared and no
one would listen to him...

And if it really was true? That he'd go
out of this life wrapped in a straight
jacket? So much for a dignified death.

He gnawed at his lower lip. Scully. How
would she take watching him disintegrate?
It had been hard enough for Mulder to
watch Scully slowly dying of cancer, but
at least she'd been lucid and able to
communicate.

And when he'd been sick and in the psych
ward, he could still hear her through the
cacaphony of voices. He'd heard her
anguish, her fear for him and he'd been
powerless even to try and reassure her.
This time, if the telepathy came back in
full force, Mulder would be able to 'hear'
her emotions again. His lips tightened.
No, nothing to anyone until he was sure.
He couldn't do that to her.

-------------------------
"Mulder! How'd it go?" Scully asked
absently from a pile of paperwork.

"Okay, I guess. She was interesting,"
Mulder said cautiously, dropping his coat
onto the bed and stretching tight muscles.

"Hmmm...that's nice. So was she the real
deal?" Scully picked up a form, then began
vigorously erasing a sentence. "Or was she
as phony as the Stupendous Maleeni?" She
rummaged through a small pile of papers.
"Do you still have the food receipts from
Santa Monica?"

Mulder grinned crookedly. "Every receipt I
have is in the pile, Scully, and it was
the Amazing Maleeni and the Stupendous
Yappi."

"Yappi, Maleeni, they're all fakes,"
Scully muttered. "Or was this one any
different?" Irritably, she stapled
together a stack of receipts.

Mulder paused, then answered quietly. "No,
no different, Scully. I'm pretty tired. I
think I'll turn in."

She finally turned and looked at him,
frowning when she saw his face. "Are you
okay, Mulder? Is that headache still
bothering you?"

Mulder rubbed the bridge of his nose."I
just need to sleep, Scully. I'll see you
in the morning."

Two days later
Office of Dr. Harriman
Georgetown Memorial Hospital
 

Fox Mulder sat uncomfortably in his
neurosurgeon's office. The headache was
back, along with a low buzz in the back of
his head. It was almost like static on a
radio. It felt vaguely familiar. He folded
his arms against his chest and reflected
that one thing never changed. Doctors
always made you wait.

He rested his chin on his chest and tried
to still the pounding in his head. He
didn't have much faith that Dr. Harriman
could do anything more for him than he had
before.

The real solution lay with that smoking
bastard, the man he refused to call
'father', C.G.B. Spender. Unfortunately,
all Mulder's contacts had eventually
turned up dead: Deep Throat, X, even
Michael Kritschgau.

After the unsanctioned operation they'd
done on him before, Scully had tried to go
back to the DOD medical facility where
Mulder had been held. Nothing had
remained, not even a few loose papers on
the floors. The entire building had been
empty as if they'd never been there. The
Smoker hadn't put in an appearance lately
and Mulder had no faith that he would.
Hell, even if the smoker offered him a
cure on a silver platter, Mulder knew he'd
never take it. The price would inevitably
be something he'd rather die than pay.

Another reason not to tell Scully about
any of this, then. If she knew, she would
hunt the Smoker down and offer him
anything he asked for to find a cure. God,
or maybe Satan, knew the kind of price old
C.G.B. would demand. Mulder could never
allow Scully to pay it."No, not Scully.
She has to stay out of this."

"Did you say something, Agent Mulder?" Dr.
Harriman held the office door open, a
folder in one hand. "I'm sorry about the
wait. The radiology lab is backed up."

Mulder idly waved a hand. "That's okay.
What have you got?"

"Agent Mulder, I have the results of the
CT scans and EEGs. I'm surprised that Dr.
Scully isn't here with you today."
Dr.Harriman looked around as if expecting
Scully to suddenly appear.

"She doesn't know I'm here. I'd appreciate
it if you'd keep this visit confidential,"
Mulder said uncomfortably. "I don't want
to burden her with this."

Dr. Harriman's eyebrow lifted with that,
then he shrugged and turned his attention
back to the file he was holding. "I wish I
had more information to give you. The
unusual activity in your temporal lobe had
largely subsided after
your...ahem...surgery last October. But
unfortunately it looks like you're having
a flare up of those symptoms."

Mulder's eyes widened. "A flare up? What
do you mean by that?"

"The brain activity has increased but not
to the levels we were seeing before.
Currently, you're still quite functional,
albeit with some discomfort. Buzzing in
the ears and migraines, wasn't it?"

Mulder nodded. "What can I expect. When.."
his lips tightened. "When can I expect to
be back in the psych ward?"

"I don't know, Agent Mulder. I've had a
variety of specialists look over your
original files and we still don't know
what caused your original condition, much
less why you went into remission. Now if
you could put me in touch with the surgeon
who treated you..." Dr. Harriman asked
hopefully.

"No," Mulder said flatly. "He's...
unavailable.  Is there any chance that you
could replicate the...the treatment I was
given?"

Dr. Harriman slowly shook his head.
"Obviously some tissue was removed but
without knowing exactly what was done, I'd
be as likely to kill you or leave you with
severe deficits as help you."

"So, you're saying that you have nothing
for me. No suggestions." Mulder eyed his
hands, clasped lightly in his lap and
wondered why he wasn't on his feet
screaming with rage against the unfairness
of it all. Oh yeah, it had never been fair.
Not any of it. "What's my prognosis? How
long?"

"I don't normally like to quantify this
kind of situation and in your case it's
even more  difficult." Dr. Harriman closed
Mulder's file and set it on the desk. "For
now, why don't we just follow your
condition. You may stabilize and live with
this as merely a chronic condition. While
you were here last year, Dr. Scully showed
me EEG's for several people who were living
normal lives with abnormal brain activity.
That may very well hold true for you. I can
give you medication for the headaches for
the time being. Why don't I plan on seeing
you again in about four weeks?"

Mulder nodded dumbly and got up to go.

"And Agent Mulder?"

Mulder turned back to Dr. Harriman.

"Agent Mulder, please don't go and self-
treat with phenytoin like you did last
time.  You had an idiosyncratic reaction to
it last time. If you try it again you could
die."

Mulder gave him a half-smile. "Die faster,
you mean."

------------
Later

Scully looked up from the reports she was
refiling. "Hey. How did the dentist go?"

Mulder grimaced, taking off his topcoat and
slinging it onto the coatrack. "How does it
ever go? Might have to go back." He averted
his eyes, focusing on straightening the
coat on the hanger. "I might need a root
canal or two, so I may have to take some
afternoons off. I'll try to make the work
up later, so you won't be burdened by it."

"That's okay, Mulder. You work too hard
already. I can take up some of the slack."
Scully smiled sympathetically. "Well, at
least the Bureau dental plan is pretty
good."

"Yeah, there's that," Mulder said. "So,
what are you working on?..."

-----------------

Journal of Fox Mulder
January 28, 2000
McMinn County Hospital
Blessing, Tennessee

I've been here in a hospital bed since
Mackey set those snakes on me. As I write
this, Scully is out coordinating the
statewide manhunt for Reverend Mackey, aka
the Devil. Devil or not, I feel sorry for
him if Scully does manage to catch him.
Reverend O'Connor has also stopped by, to
drop off a Bible and offer some advice. He
told me that he'd been led to tell me that
it was vital that I see to the health of my
own soul, that time is running out.

Right. I've never had any doubt about the
existence of a devil. Having met various
diabolical people on the X Files, I can
hardly quibble about the existence of Evil.
I'd just never thought very hard about
Evil's opposite. Is it possible that God
has been thinking about me in the interim?

My underlying condition is slowly
worsening. Two weeks after our initial
consultation, Dr. Harriman called me with a
referral to a specialist. Then to another
specialist. Then another. None of them can
explain what's happening to me. My EEGs are
getting worse with each visit.

Scully is firmly convinced that in the past
months, I've had two root canals, an engine
rebuild on my car, spraying for cockroaches
in my apartment and an out of town UFO
conference. It's unfortunately easy to lie
to her these days, I can sense when she's
starting to doubt me and create a lie that
she'll believe. The flashes of chaos are
coming more and more often. I struggle to
hear her single voice over the cacaphony
and so far I am successful.

Lying here gives me an opportunity for
introspection that my life normally doesn't
allow me. O'Connor was right; I've failed
the test. What have I accomplished? I never
found Sam. Dad's murderers are still at
large. I can't even show concrete evidence
for the existence of the aliens that I am
certain will invade within the next ten
years.

The experts still can't give me a time
limit, but I will continue active as long
as I can. I can hear their thoughts while
they mouth meaningless platitudes about
"hope" and the possibility that some new
scientific breakthrough that might save me.
They're really thinking about what a poor,
unfortunate SOB I am, and that they thank
God they don't have my problems. Those are
the kinder ones; the researchers cherish a
hope that they might be able to dissect me
when I'm dead.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll die a hero's
death in the line of duty. It might save
Scully something, give it all meaning.
I can't help catching her thoughts when I'm
with her. What I 'hear' makes me more
determined to keep this from her. She loves
me, I know this. Not that I ever had any
doubt, but the strength of her emotion
staggers me. The closer I allow her to get,
the harder the inevitable separation will
be. I will live and die her friend,
although I have longed for so much more.
 

February 27, 2000

My mom is dead. My mom...Scully insists
that she wasn't murdered, but that she
killed herself. Mom had an incurable
illness and decided to take things into her
own hands. I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so
much. The worst of it is that Mom was
trying to tell me something before she
died. I think it may be about the missing
children, Amberlyn-LaPierre, the walk-ins
and Sam. I may not know until I face her
myself on the other side. I am so very very
tired. I just want it all to be over. I
want to stop grieving for Sam, searching
every face I see in a crowd for her, stop
looking for leads, stop....

I can feel myself growing weaker. During
this case I have had to work doubly hard to
focus my thoughts, to not hear the minds of
others. The anguish of Amberlyn's parents
just about flooded me when I met them; I
knew they hadn't done anything to their
daughter. The problem was convincing the
local police and the FBI, but I managed.

My thought processes are becoming erratic.
Or maybe it's more accurate to say that I
think more with my intuition now than I
ever did before. Scully watches me make
impossible leaps of logic with disbelief.
She suspects that something isn't right,
but she doesn't know what. So instead she
follows me with her usual faith.

March 1, 2000

I've found Sam, or at least found out what
happened to her. I can't explain the
experience I had except to say that these
new abilities must have made it possible. A
dead child led me to her spirit and I know
now that Sam is in a better place. I must
be developing some new wrinkle to this
gift, the ability to see and speak to the
dead.

Sam showed me today that death isn't
frightening. How can it be when it's a
place where the starlight glows and the
children play? Not only have I reached the
end of the road in my search for my sister,
but she has given me comfort about my
inevitable fate.  Some day soon, I'll join
them in the starlight.

------------------------
End Journal Entries
------------------------

Gladys White lay in her bed, tossing and
turning. Every time she closed her eyes she
saw the face of that FBI agent with the
curse. What was his name? Fox Mulder, that
was it. She kept waking up with his face in
her mind, framed against a scene of
incredible disaster.

"I thought I was done with you months ago,"
she muttered as she turned on the bedside
light. "You should be about dead by now,
Agent Mulder. Why are you bothering me?"

She rubbed her eyes and, taking a deep
breath, put on her bathrobe and padded into
the office. "These cards didn't work the
last time for you, Agent Mulder, so I can't
think why I'm trying them now."

She opened the box holding the tarot cards
and, removing the silk wrapper, carefully
shuffled them. "Okay, the first card is for
you, Agent Mulder."

She drew out a single card and put it on
the table. "Death. Well, that's not
surprising. You are rapidly transforming
into something else as well as
transitioning into death." As she began to
lay the card down, she discovered that a
second card had stuck to the back of it.
"Hmmm, the Hanged Man, Agent Mulder?
Sacrifice for the sake of higher
knowledge." Carefully, she selected another
card from the deck. "And this card
represents the future," she said, then
slapped it down onto the table. "The
Lightening-Struck Tower. Disaster..." Her
eyes opened wide and she gazed into empty
space.

"A ship...she's full of people, happy
vacationers. But what's that? What's that?
Oh no...no...this can't be allowed to
happen!  All the
people...screaming...dying... Somehow, this
time I have got to try and prevent it!! We
have to warn them!" Her hand trembling, she
laid down the cards and rummaged for the
business card that Agent Mulder had left
her. The phone was picked up almost
immediately.

"Agent Mulder, you have to stop it! They're
going to die, a thousand people and you're
the only one who can stop it! Please, you
have to help!!" she cried into the phone.
 

~~~

The Psychic, Part 3

April 7, 2000
3 a.m. EST

Mulder stood on a broad plain covered with
dry grass that rustled softly in the cold
wind. Overhead, he saw dark thunderheads
piled up. Looking around, there was no
sign that humans had ever been here, no
roads, buildings, not even a telephone
pole. The rustling grew louder and louder
until all he heard was the voices, hissing
and murmuring just below the level of
understanding. Turning, first slowly, then
more frantically, he tried to find the
people but there was no one. He was alone.

The noise grew louder and louder until it
became a deafening ringing sound in his
head. Finally, he clapped his hands over
his ears, trying to shut it out, without
effect. He began to shout, trying to drown
it out somehow, but that didn't work
either.

When Mulder woke, he found himself
crouched next to his bed, shielding his
ears. He had been dreaming, but there was
still a ringing noise pounding at him. He
sighed with relief as he leaned over to
pick up the bedside phone.

"Yeah..." he said raggedly into the
receiver.

"Agent Mulder, you have to stop it!
They're going to die, a thousand people
and you're the only one who can stop it!
Please, you have to help!!"

"What?" Mulder knuckled his gritty eyes.
"Who is this?"

"This is Gladys White, we met three months
ago when you were here, in Clinton
Colorado. I'm the psychic who found those
lost girl scouts."

Mulder straightened abruptly. "And you
told me I was dying," he said flatly.

"Then you should know by now that I know
what I'm talking about," Gladys said
patiently. "You verified it, then?"

Mulder swallowed hard. "Yeah....I don't
want to kill the bearer, but what more do
you want with me?"

"Something I've just seen, a disaster you
have to prevent."

"Again, why me?" Mulder asked patiently.

"You already know that I can be believed
and you have the authority to
investigate," she said, pleading. "I want
to stop it from happening. Somehow, this
time, I think it could be prevented. Just
once, I want to keep what I've seen from
happening."

Mulder sank down onto his bed, receiver
gripped tightly in his hand. "What do you
want from me," he asked in a low tone.

"A cruise liner, the Ocean Queen, is
sailing from New York Harbor for London on
April 12th. She's going to sink and at
least a thousand people will die," her
voice took on a desperate tone. "You have
to believe me, Agent Mulder. If you don't
do something, people will die!"

Mulder snorted. "She'll sink, huh? So how
many times have you seen Titanic? You've
decided that this ship is going to sink on
the anniversary of the Titanic disaster?
What? Is this some kind of curse? Or maybe
ghosts?"

"Agent Mulder, I thought you wanted to
believe. You're known to keep an open mind
until all the facts are in, no matter how
extreme," she snapped, then sighed. "I
don't know how it's going to happen, just
that it will. I see the ship, listing to
one side, with a great big hole in her
side. I see people drowning and an oil
slick on the water that catches fire. And
then I see a second vision: of the ship
making it safely to port and you're there,
Agent Mulder. You must be central to this.
You can stop it, somehow."

"Uh huh, because something else is fated
to kill me?" Mulder asked dryly, rubbing
his newly aching forehead. "All right,
I'll look into it."

"I'll be arriving at Dulles Airport
tomorrow at 1 p.m. I assume you'll pick me
up," she said.

"I see, you're going to supervise?" Mulder
replied, feeling mildly exasperated.

"I know that I'm the last person you want
to see right now. But you'll need me
there. I'll see you tomorrow."
 

Hoover Building
8:00 a.m.

"Mulder, you aren't making sense!" Scully
paced back and forth across the office.
Mulder, seated behind the desk felt
vaguely dizzy watching her. "You said
yourself that she was as fake as Yappi and
Maleeni!"

"I may have said that, Scully, but I still
think it's worth following up. Think of
her as an anonymous tip," Mulder said,
firmly clamping down on the nausea. "Look,
you don't have to be involved. I'll do
this one, solo. You can stay here."

Scully stopped pacing and actually looked
at her partner. "Mulder, are you okay? You
look a little pale."
Mulder smiled grimly. "Just a little
indigestion. I had burritos with the
Gunmen last night. With Frohike's salsa."

Scully shuddered. "I can get you some
Pepto-Bismol or something if you want."

"No, it's getting better. I just have to
get it out of my system. But anyway, I'm
serious, Scully. You don't have to follow
me on yet another of my wild goose
chases."

She smiled a bit. "I don't know. Things
around here are getting a bit dull. I'll
come along for the ride. Would you like me
to pick Ms. White up at the airport?"

Mulder smiled back. "That would be great.
I need to confirm our appointment with
George Pieter at Imperial Dutch Cruise
lines."

"Are you sure you want to bring Gladys
along?" Scully asked doubtfully. "You
could always tell him you had a reliable
tip."

"Gladys insisted that she needs to be
there. Who am I to argue?" Mulder
shrugged.
 
 

Two Days Later
Offices of Imperial Dutch Cruise lines
Office of George Pieter

"Our ships are the safest in the business,
Agent Mulder. We have our share of
problems but our safety record speaks for
itself. After your call, I did order a
complete inspection of the ship from stem
to stern and I should be getting the
report shortly, but frankly, I don't
expect any trouble." George Pieter, a
stocky man in his fifties leaned forward
and regarded the two FBI agents and the
diminutive psychic. "Now I understand why
the FBI might take an interest in a
possible terrorist threat, but I still
don't understand what Ms....White's role
in all this is."

"Ms. White is the source for our
information. She's a well-respected police
psychic," Mulder replied smoothly,
ignoring Scully's cringe.

"Psychic. I ordered the Ocean Queen to
stay at dock, and cancelled a three day
cruise, because you told me that she was
in danger. And this? This is the basis for
the reliable tip you told me about?"
Pieter stood up. "This is ridiculous,
Agent Mulder. You've wasted my time and my
company's money, all to..." The buzzing of
the intercom cut off Pieter's rising
voice. Never taking his eyes off Mulder,
he punched a button on his phone. "Yes,
Tiffany. What is it?"

"I have the safety engineer for the Ocean
Queen on the phone for you, Mr. Pieter. He
says it's urgent. He's on line 2."

"I'll take it," Pieter said and picked up
the receiver. "Well, Agent Mulder, here's
where we find out just how hare-brained
your theory is. Hello, Jan? This is
Pieter..." Pieter was quiet for a moment
or two, then slowly sat down.

"I...understand. But you've repaired it
now? Can she sail on the 12th? Good.
Thanks, Jan." Pieter slowly put the phone
down and took a deep breath, then looked
up and met Mulder's curious look.

"I guess I owe you an apology, Agent
Mulder, Ms. White....Er...as it turns out,
there was a problem. On inspection, the
engineers found an electrical short near
the fuel storage tanks. It could have
caused an explosion that would potentially
cripple the ship." He ran a hand over his
face. "They've repaired it now, she's good
to go on the 12th."

Mulder and Scully smiled with relief and
exchanged a glance. Gladys White, however,
had a frown on her face. Mulder, catching
her expression from the corner of his eye,
turned toward her. "Gladys? What is it?
They found the problem. You saved the
ship."

Her frown grew deeper and she stared into
space for a moment or two. "No. I'd hoped
that we'd found the problem but it's still
there. I still see the ship with a hole in
her side. This electrical fault isn't the
cause for it; it's still going to happen.
Unless we do something, she won't make it
to London."

Pieter frowned again. "I take it that
you're still having visions of the ship
sinking?"

"Yes, I do. The same ones. And no, I can't
tell you anything more about the cause
than I could before," Gladys let out a
breath. "I'm sorry, Mr. Pieter. I never
ask for these visions. I haven't slept an
undisturbed night since I was twelve years
old and the visions started."

"Are you sure you aren't somehow...tuning
in...to some kind of memories of the
Titanic?" Scully asked slowly. "The
coincidence of the dates is..."

"Just that. Coincidence," Gladys replied
promptly. "I see what I see and I'm never
wrong," she cast a meaningful look at
Mulder, who straightened in his chair.

Scully caught the exchanged and eyed
Mulder briefly, then went on. "Since a
safety check has been completed and the
ship is safe to sail, the next line of
investigation would be the passenger
list."

"No. She sails in three days and there
isn't time to check the backgrounds of
2500 people. And I can't delay sailing or,
God forbid, cancel another cruise on the
basis of a psychic's word," Pieter nodded
toward Gladys. "No matter
how...uh...accurate and well-meaning. My
board of directors would skewer me. Unless
you can come up with something more
concrete, she sails on time."

"Then let us go on board and conduct an
undercover investigation," Mulder said.
"We can perform background checks while on
board and try to find the source of the
danger. It's possible that someone might
try to plant explosives aboard."

"We always have dogs sweep for that and
the guests go through metal detectors on
departure," Pieter said absently. "I
realize that you're just trying to help,
Agents. All right, we'll try it your way,
but I want you strictly undercover. I
don't want my passengers frightened or my
staff annoyed. I can spare you two
interior cabins." He smiled wryly. "Think
of it as 21st century steerage."

"Can't wait," Scully muttered as they were
ushered out of the office.

"I don't know why you're complaining,"
Mulder muttered back. "I'm the one who
gets seasick."

"This was a very good idea," Gladys said
with a look of satisfaction on her face.
"Maybe once, just once, it won't happen
the way I see it."

~~~

The Psychic, Part 4

April 10, 2000
Hoover Building
 

"C'mon, Scully! We can go as the Petries
again. We still have the fake IDs," Mulder
leaned back in his chair, fixing her with
a challenging grin.

"And share a cabin, huh?" Scully replied.
"Do you know how small those cabins are,
Mulder?"

"Hey, they've got twin beds in 'em. It
isn't like I'm asking you to *sleep* with
me," Mulder shot back. "Besides, I've seen
you in the morning before you've had your
coffee. You wouldn't want to force that on
Gladys, now would you? And as the Petries
we have an established cover."

Scully snorted. "In your dreams, Mulder,
in your dreams. You'll take one cabin and
I'll double up with my 'aunt' Gladys. If
we aren't perceived as a couple, we'll be
able to cover more ground on the ship."
She smiled challengingly at him. "Besides,
this time it's MY turn to pick the names."

"Can't blame a man for trying," Mulder
said affably. "So, Agent Scully, who are
we going to be?"

"I spoke with Skinner and here are our new
IDs," she took a folder off the desktop
and handed a booklet to her partner.

"Max Fenig, eh Scully? Good choice."
Grinning, Mulder closed the passport and
reached for Scully's. "And what's your
name? Tiffany, like the lamp? Brooke, like
the suits?" Mulder opened Scully's
passport and paused before reading the
name aloud "Emily...Emily Sim." He closed
the passport and handed it back to her.
"You never forget, do you Scully?"

She tucked it away into her purse. "No,
Mulder, you don't forget something like
that. Especially knowing that there will
never be another chance," she said, face
averted.

"There might be, you never know," Mulder
replied softly.

She turned a determinedly bright face back
toward him. "You and I both know how
likely that is, Mulder. Anyway, I thought
this would be a nice way to honor her."

"Okay...Emily," Mulder said. "So what are
our 'steerage' cabin assignments?"

Scully opened a pamphlet and pointed to a
ship's diagram. "It looks like Pieter put
us next to each other. They're interior
cabins but from the photos they look at
least as comfortable as our usual motel
rooms."

Mulder picked it up and studied the chart,
then nodded. "I've never been on a cruise
before, the case should be interesting if
only for that. At least, not since World
War II." He gave her a secret smile and
ran a hand over his cheek. "You?"

She shook her head. "Mulder, that was a
head injury, and you know it. No, I
haven't been on a cruise, either. Dad used
to take us sailing on smaller craft, but
he thought that ocean liners were more
like floating hotels than true ships." She
stopped and licked her lip nervously.
"Mulder, are you sure you give this
psychic any credence? I mean, the girl
scouts might have been a lucky fluke."

"And the electrical wiring on the ship?"
Mulder asked mildly.

"That could be a coincidence as well. It
would be unusual if something as large as
an ocean liner didn't have occasional
mechanical problems." Studying his face
carefully, she added, "Mulder, I know
you've gone through a lot lately. Your
mom, finding out about Samantha...I'm just
worried that you're reaching out for
something that isn't there."

"You think I'm trying to use Gladys as a
medium to contact my mother or my sister?"
Mulder shook his head adamantly. "First,
Gladys is a clairvoyant with precognitive
ability. That doesn't make her a medium.
Second..." He gave her a long look, then
said in a barely audible voice, "I have my
reasons for believing in her."

Scully's voice was equally soft but
inexorable. "Mulder, I just want to know
what those reasons are."

"Scully, I..." Mulder closed his eyes,
then opened them again. "When I went to
talk to her, she told me all about my
life. She knew about Sam, about the
cloning project. She knew about my parents
and about the...the problems I had last
October, with that alien artifact. She
knew about the Smoker and what he had done
to me."

Scully's eyes narrowed. "Has it occurred
to you that she may know all of that
because she's working for Them and
deceiving you?"

"Scully," he said, struggling to get the
words out. "She knew things about me that
nobody knows, not even you." Mulder drew
in a long breath, his eyes haunted. "It
was as though she could see me naked, down
to my soul. She knew things that cut like
a knife."

Dana Scully sat silent, waiting for Mulder
to continue, but he said nothing more. "I
respect your privacy, Mulder. You know
that if you have anything you want to
share with me, I'm here to listen."

He caught her gaze for a long moment, then
said, "Scully, there are some things I
can't share even with you. But I'm asking
you just to trust me. Have faith in my
faith. Please."

"Haven't I always?" she replied.

April 12, 2000
Port of New York
1:00 p.m.

"Hmmm...looks like they made a big bust
yesterday. DOJ arrested about twelve
members of the Pilgrim Clan." Mulder said,
partly hidden by the open newspaper he was
reading. Scully nodded and scanned the
crowd surrounding them at the port
building.

"That explains why Skinner's been so busy
this last week," she said absently. "I'm
surprised we weren't tasked for it."

Mulder shook his head. "No, too high
profile. Skinner's trying to keep us and
the X files out of the news. They didn't
get all of them, but they did get the
leaders." He folded up the newspaper and
tucked it under his arm. "See any sign of
Gladys yet?" He kept his smile fixed and
forced a calm tone to his voice. More than
half of the morning he had been
playacting. He and Scully had been in the
check-in line for over an hour, crowded by
at three quarters of the ship's two
thousand five hundred passengers.

It was getting harder to keep the voices
out of his head. It was harder still to
hide it all from Scully. He'd resorted to
keeping a kind of mental babble going in
the back of his mind to drown out the
stray thoughts. First he'd tried mentally
humming all the Beach Boys songs he knew.
That helped a bit, as did reading. The
written words tended to blur the buzzing.
He quietly hoped he wouldn't have to
resort to the only thing that had helped
when he was in the hospital.

The doctors had said that Mulder hurt
himself in the throes of psychosis. He
supposed they were right, but they didn't
understand that the pain drove out the
voices. The first time he'd bashed his
hand against a metal bed-railing, he'd
felt immediate relief. The greater the
pain, the greater the relief. But
hopefully the stopgap measures would be
enough for the time being; he didn't know
what Scully's reaction would be if she
caught him punching the metal bulkheads
with his fists. It didn't bear thinking
about.

"It's hard to tell in this crowd," Scully
replied. "There must be two thousand
people here, trying to get onto the
ship...wait, I think I see her. Mulder?
Can you see? You're taller than I am..."

Mulder focused his attention to the corner
of the hall Scully was pointing to. He saw
a small, mousey-haired woman, dressed in
beige. "That's her, all right. I'll go get
her. Wait here, Scully."

"In this line, what choice do I have?" she
responded.

Mulder all but swam through the crowd of
people lined up to check in for the
cruise. He moved fast, trying to avoid
touching any of the bodies. He'd found
that the noise in his head grew
progressively louder the more physical
contact he had with others. He was
breathless by the time he found Gladys,
herself scanning the crowd.

Her face brightened when she saw him.
"Agent Mulder, you're looking well."

"So far, so good," he said. "I'll prove
you wrong, yet. Is that your bag?" At her
nod, he picked it up. "Scully and I are in
the check-in line. C'mon, I'll take you
back."

Without waiting for her answer, he plowed
back through the mob, clearing a path for
her until they got back to Scully.

"Agent Scully, it's good to see you
again," Gladys said genially. Scully
reached out her hand to shake Gladys'.
After an infinitesimally brief pause,
Gladys took her hand, then shook hands
enthusiastically.

Mulder, watching the interchange tensely,
let out a breath he didn't know he was
holding. If Gladys had sensed something
bad for Scully, he would have sensed it.

Scully, unaware of the interchange,
reached into her bag for a folder of
papers. "Gladys, here is your ticket.
They'll need to see your passport to let
you on to the ship. Are you ready to go?"

"I'm ready," Gladys said cheerfully. "And
I want to thank you both for this
opportunity. I never had a chance to try
to prevent something I saw."

Lowering her voice, Scully asked Gladys,
"so you still see disaster for the ship?"

The smile evaporated from the psychic's
face. "Oh yes, it's still there. The
frustrating thing is that I don't have
more detail, but hopefully I'll be able to
tease that out over time. I'll tell you
when I know more."

"I'm glad we found you," Mulder said, as a
voice came over the intercom.

"Paging Emily Sim, please come to the
front desk. Emily Sim, please come to the
front desk..."

Scully lifted an eyebrow in Mulder's
direction. "At least they got our names
right."

"Yours, at least. We'll see if they spell
mine right. You go ahead. Gladys and I
will stay here and keep monitoring the
crowd."

"Okay, I'll be back," Scully said and
slipped into the crowd.

The instant her back was turned, Mulder
slumped and sat down on his suitcase.

"Agent..."Gladys began, then remembered
herself. "Max...are you all right?" She
stooped a little to catch sight of his
perspiring face. "Should I get you some
water?"

Eyes closed, Mulder shook his head. "No,"
he said in a flat voice. "It should pass,
soon. It comes in waves. If I
can...just...sit it out..." He took a deep
breath and slowly cracked open his eyes.

"You're getting worse," she said calmly.

Mulder nodded dumbly. Catching his breath,
he said, "Being in a crowd doesn't help.
It's a relief not to have to pretend for
Scully's sake."

"M..Max, you should have told her by now,"
Gladys chided. "She deserves to share the
burden and she'd want to."

"I know. Can't let her," Mulder said,
slowly levering himself to his feet.
"She'd try to find a cure for me and that
bastard would take advantage of it." He
ran a hand across his streaming forehead.
"She's let him use her before, trying to
find a cure for cancer that doesn't exist.
If...when...I die, I'll go and leave her
free of him. If she hadn't been my
partner, she would be living a normal life
by now with a husband and 2.3 children."
Trembling, he forced himself to stand
straight again. "See? I'm okay."

Gladys frowned. "How do you know what she
wants? Have you asked her lately? Hey! Are
you okay?" She asked and plucked at his
sleeve.

Mulder was swaying and looking around the
mob wildly.

"What's wrong? Do you want to sit down
again?" Gladys demanded.

"I heard...a scrap of thought," Mulder
replied. "Somewhere around here. In this
room. They're here. And they have
explosives."

~~~

Port of New York
April 12, 2000
1:20 p.m.

Gladys joined Mulder in looking around the
terminal. "Where? Who are they?" she
demanded, craning her neck.

"I don't know," Mulder said. "I caught a
wisp of a thought but it's gone now. Just
a sense of...of intention...and a
knowledge that the explosives are here.
They're going to blow up the ship if they
don't get what they want."

"And what's that?" Gladys asked as Mulder
continued to search the crowd.

"I don't know. I just don't know," Mulder
replied in frustration.

"Is it someone near us in the crowd?"
Gladys asked, her eyes narrowed. "I pick
up more when I'm touching someone. That's
why I held your hand when I read for you."

Mulder gave a rough snort. "We're in a
line with two thousand people in it that's
snaking back and forth across a warehouse
sized room. People are making their way
back and forth across the line constantly.
Who in this crowd *haven't* I touched? We
have to tell the captain and have this
place swept for explosives. Ah, there's
Scully," he brightened when he saw her
making her way through the crowd.

"Scully, we have to go to the captain,"
Mulder said as soon as she was by his
side."They're here and they've got
explosives."

Her eyes widened. "Who is it? Do you see
them?"

Mulder shifted unconfortably, then said.
"Gladys sensed it. She says they're
planning to blow up the ship unless they
get what they want."

Scully shot a look at Gladys who was
glowering up at Mulder. "Gladys? What did
you see?"

Obviously choosing her words carefully,
Gladys replied,"Just what he said. That
there are explosives here and they plan to
blow up the ship unless their demands are
met."

"What demands?" Scully asked.

"I can't tell. It was a very brief flash,
but this building should be searched,"
Gladys finished.

"It's just as well," Scully said. "That
was the captain paging us. He wants to see
us."

"We'll see him all right, but first they
have to stop loading this ship," Mulder
declared and began pushing his way toward
the front desk. Before he could reach the
front, Scully stopped him. "The captain
wants to see us, Mulder. I think we should
leave Gladys here."

Mulder looked momentarily uncertain, then
declared, "Scully, we need her. She's our
eyes and ears on this one."

Scully's eyebrow hit her hairline.
"Mulder, we're the professionals and we're
supposed to use OUR eyes and ears, not a
civilian's. Not to mention our logic and
investigative skills."

"It's all right," Gladys broke in, seeing
that Mulder was about to argue the point.
"I'll keep our place in line." Mulder
still looked rebellious, but finally
nodded his agreement and followed Scully
up to the front desk.

At the desk, Scully pulled the supervisor
aside and surreptitiously displayed her
badge. The supervisor's eyes widened as
Scully said something in a low voice, then
quickly went to the other clerks and said
a few quiet words to them.

A few minutes later, while Mulder and
Scully were being conducted to the
Captain's office on board ship, a voice
came over the intercom announcing that the
computers had gone down and that there
would be a brief delay in processing
passengers.

A man in a naval-style uniform met them at
the office door. "I'm Captain James Hausa.
You must be the FBI agents. What is this
all about? I was coming to meet you but
then I was just told that you've suspended
boarding. Something about explosives?"

Mulder gritted his teeth and shook the
man's hand, hoping that his freak gift
wouldn't kick in and tell him anything he
didn't want to know. He didn't. The
captain was a strong, stolid presence.
"Yes sir, we did. There are terrorists
present carrying explosives among the
boarding passengers. We need to get bomb
sniffing dogs out here and do a thorough
search before allowing anyone else on
board."

The captain frowned. "How do you know?"

"A tip," Scully put in quickly before
Mulder could answer. "From a source that
we believe to be reliable."

Captain Hausa shook his head. "This kind
of thing upsets the passengers. I assume
that you'll call in the port police and
any other appropriate resources? Whatever
you do, make it fast. It's hard enough
processing twenty five hundred people onto
the ship in three hours without adding
this."

"They're very efficient," Scully put in as
Mulder began dialing his cellphone. "We'll
try to make this fast, but you understand
the need?"

"Yes," Captain Hausa replied in
resignation. "All right", he sighed.
"Conduct your search."
 

Six Hours Later

Captain Hausa met the two FBI agents at
his office door, his face solemn and lips
tight. "I understand that the port police
found nothing. Nothing. I've had five
complaints so far from regular passengers
at the indignity of it all, as well as the
unwarranted delay in boarding."

"Sir, I understand that the dogs didn't
signal the presence of any explosive
substance," Mulder began when the Captain
broke in roughly.

"You're damned right they didn't find any
explosives. I'm sure you saw the whole
damned thing from the passenger line.
Nothing. We checked the passengers'
luggage while they were boarding and found
nothing there, either." Captain Hausa
stomped over to his desk and sat down,
waving the agents to chairs. "What I want
to know is, what was the basis of this
'tip' you had? How reliable was it?"

"Captain, the tip was from a very
reputable police psychic," said Mulder.
"Even though nothing was found among the
passengers, the ship should still be
searched for explosives. It might have
come aboard with a crew member or as
cargo."

The captain blinked at Mulder. "Do you
mean to tell me that I cancelled a three
day cruise, performed a thorough safety
examination on my ship and then made
twenty five hundred passengers wait six
hours before boarding based ON A PSYCHIC?"
On his feet and heading around the desk,
the captain was shouting now, ire focused
squarely at Mulder.

Mulder was wincing under the onslaught
when Scully jumped in to the fray.
"Captain Hausa, you must admit that the
safety inspection was fruitful. You did
discover a mechanical fault that could
have resulted in damage to the ship."

Turning to the other agent, Captain Hausa
was barely more civil. "We would have
caught it on a standard pre-cruise safety
inspection anyway. Is this psychic of
yours the reason that Pieter sent you
here?" At the agents' nod, Hausa broke
into a laugh. "It figures. Pieter has
always been a worrywart. He's terrified
that the Board will discover how
incompetent he is and demote him to cabin-
boy where he belongs!" Moving back to the
desk he picked up a paper. "So this Gladys
person is your psychic, isn't she? Give me
one good reason not to put the three of
you on shore."

"Captain, regardless of your feelings
about psychics, we're still here to
conduct an investigation into threats
against your ship. Whether or not you
believe in the source of our information,
we judge her to be reliable and plan on
following up on her allegations," Mulder
said calmly.

Scully took her cue from him and
continued. "Captain Hausa, whatever
sparked the concern, the investigation
itself will be conducted via proven
forensic methods. You won't find any mumbo-
jumbo or pop science. I would be happy to
tell you that your ship isn't in danger
but I feel it would be premature for us to
leave before we've had a chance to do a
thorough investigation."

The captain was silent for a moment, deep
in thought, then he sighed. "It's too late
to rebook your cabins, so you might as
well stay on board. But," he added in a
warning tone. "If you approach me or my
crew again with any allegations at all,
they'd better be based on something
concrete. If not, I'm just as inclined to
dump you into the Atlantic in a rowboat
and let you make your own way back to
shore!"

Captain Hausa stood and gestured toward
the door. "And remember, the passengers
aren't to know who you are or why you're
here! I don't want a panic on my hands."

"Understood, Captain," Scully answered for
both of them and pushed Mulder out the
door. Escorted quickly from the employees-
only section of the ship, they were silent
until they reached the foyer. Mulder
sighed and sagged down onto a bench.
Scully sat next to him.

"I don't know about you, but I'm not
looking forward to rowing home from Nova
Scotia, " he said.

"Me either," she replied. "But Mulder, he
has a point. We have no hard evidence
whatsoever of a plot against this ship.
Everything hangs on Gladys' psychic
abilities." Scully paused and said gently.
"She could be wrong occasionally."

Mulder smiled crookedly and looked away.
"Not often enough," he said. "No, this is
real, Scully. We just have to find the
concrete evidence needed to bring the
Captain around." He looked up and
brightened. "And here's Gladys."

Gladys approached them with a smile,
waving a handful of plastic room keys. "Hi
M..max and Emily, I've got the room keys."
She doled them out and nudged herself in
closer. "My visions haven't changed, so
the searching they did before boarding
must have been ineffective."

"We were certainly given that impression,"
Scully said dryly. "We might as well find
our accommodations." Looking down at the
room key, she read off the number. "Gladys
and I are in cabin 2027 and Mulder is in
Cabin 2029 on deck 2." She grinned. "There
are ten passenger decks on this ship and
we're on deck twelve. Deck two is above
the waterline, but only just. They weren't
kidding about steerage." She got up and
led them to the elevator, Mulder and
Gladys trailing behind.

During the long ride down to deck two,
Mulder caught Gladys casting him anxious
glances. He smiled and tried to smile
reassuringly to her while not tipping
Scully off. His six hours in the crowded
embarcation room had not been pleasant
ones. The noise, both mental and aural,
had been almost unbearable at times. With
gritted teeth, he'd mentally recited all
of Hamlet, his favorite parts of The
Taming of the Shrew and two acts of Dr.
Faustus to boot. Who'd have thought an
Oxford education could be so handy?

At last the elevator door dinged open. The
long hallway was crowded with baggage
carts, being hauled in by white-clad
workmen. The two rooms assigned them were
next to the elevators, Mulder's being
right off the foyer area. His suitcase was
already piled in front of the door to his
cabin. He swiped his card through the
doorlock and pushed the door open,
thrusting his suitcase before him.

The cabin was tiny and stuffy and truly an
interior cabin. The light came from the
flourescent lamps surrounding the vanity
mirror and table. The mirrors on the walls
made it look a little roomier, he
supposed, and it was a little kinky when
you thought about it. He grinned. Too bad
Scully hadn't taken him up on his offer to
reprise there roles as the Petries. The
queen-sized bed was made up of two twin
beds pushed together but it seemed
comfortable enough. If he had a complaint
it was that the room was stuffy and hot
and a bit claustrophobic but he supposed
that they wouldn't spend much time in the
cabins anyway. He went out to the hall and
tapped on the door to cabin 2027. Gladys
let him into a room that was identical to
Mulder's except that it had two twin beds.

"Hey, Scully," he said, looking around.
"Looks pretty much like mine. So, what do
we do first?"

Scully finished hanging her last pair of
pants in the tiny closet and said, "We
explore the ship."

Ship's Pantry

A man dressed in white dungarees and a t-
shirt wrestled the boxes into place,
carefully sliding them into the back of
the pantry. Labelled "canned peaches", he
didn't want anyone finding out the true
contents of the boxes until he was ready.
 
 

~~~
 

The Psychic, Part 6

April 12, 2000
Queen of the Seas
8:30 p.m.

"It looks like everyone is out on the deck
for our departure," Mulder commented,
leaning on the rail.

Scully casually scanned the crowd and
nodded. "I don't see anything unusual."

"Except for that man in the Hawaiian shirt
over there," Mulder nodded in one
direction. "He shouldn't be wearing black
socks with those sandals."

Scully snorted. "Especially on a
transcontinental cruise. There's a map in
the foyer area that shows our course.
We're passing through the same seas that
the Titanic went down in."

"Let's hope it isn't an omen, then,"
Mulder answered. "Where's Gladys?" he
asked.

"She said she wanted to take a nap. I
think she's in the cabin. Mulder," Scully
paused, searching for words. "I know that
you like Gladys and that she's been right
about some things, but I don't think that
we should put too much credence in what
she says. You must admit that even a
genuine psychic usually offers, at best,
only vague feelings and descriptions."

Mulder's mouth took on a stubborn set.
"We've been over this before, Scully.
She's a viable part of our team on this
investigation and I'd like to see her
treated with the respect she deserves."

Scully recoiled, stung. "I'm sorry,
Mulder. I don't mean to criticize but,
well, you have to admit that you've been
different lately. Since you met Gladys.
I'm...wondering whether your judgment is
all that it could be."

Mulder fixed his eyes on the outbound
horizon and not at his partner. "Scared
that Spooky Mulder is finally going 'round
the bend, huh Scully?" he drawled.

"That isn't it at all, Mulder," she said,
exasperated. "I trust you, it's just that
you're going somewhere here that I can't
follow. This whole investigation makes no
sense. We have no evidence of foul play
except for some vague predictions that
Gladys has made. The searches of the ship
haven't shown any evidence of tampering or
terrorist activity, the background checks
we've been able to do in the past three
days have shown nothing and no terrorist
organization has made any threat against
this ship! How can you be so sure that
she's right?" Suddenly aware that she was
nearly shouting, Scully lowered her voice.
"Mulder, I just want to understand where
you're going with this."

Mulder finally met her gaze, his eyes
desperately sad. "I can't tell you any
more than I have, Scully. You just have to
trust me; beyond logic. I'm sorry." He
reached forward and folded her into a hug,
his lips in her hair. "Would it help if I
said that I understand completely how
frustrated you're feeling?"

Abruptly, she pulled back and searched his
face. "Mulder, I..." she started, then
stopped. "I think I'll go back to my
cabin. I have the second dinner seating,
with Gladys, so I'd better check on her.
After dinner, I'll take the Fantail Lounge
while you cover the Anchor Club." She
looked back at him once, wistfully, then
said. "I'd better go."

Mulder sighed. "Yeah. You should. I'll
check in with you later, Scully."

She nodded and filtered into the crowd.

Mulder leaned against the railing and
watched the land slowly draw away from the
ship. He'd already eaten, or, to be more
exact, he'd reported for dinner at the
first seating. He and Scully had agreed on
the need to split up to cover as much of
the ship as possible, but that hadn't made
it any easier sharing a table with twelve
strangers. He winced. Make that twelve
loud strangers.

He hadn't realized how restful Scully's
thoughts were until now. Her thought
processes were calmly ordered, never
touched with hysteria or disorder. He was
finding that he didn't mind reading her
mind; in fact, he rather liked it.

Still, since she'd come back from her
weekend with C.G.B. Spender, something
inside her had changed. She'd refused to
talk about anything Spender had discussed
with her, though Mulder'd caught a few
loose thoughts from Scully lately.
Something Spender had said to her about
not allowing herself to love Mulder.

He smiled. He and Scully had always danced
around the truth of their relationship.
They had long since gone beyond mere
friends or even devoted partners. He was
confident that Scully would lie for him,
risk her career and even her life for him.
The only thing she wouldn't do, had
refused to do so far, was let herself love
him.

That she loved him deeply, he knew. But
she'd never take the step that made it
official, that made them lovers. He hadn't
realized, until he'd started hearing her
thoughts, just how much that hurt. He'd
known for a long time that he needed
Scully's presence to make his life worth
living. Losing her just wasn't an option.
He'd never considered that it was she who
would lose him. Well, if she kept her
distance, it was probably for the best
 

Mulder stretched, listening to the muscles
in his neck pop, then leaned against the
railing again. Old Smokey was a bastard
and a murderer, but he was a distressingly
accurate judge of character.

Why should this bother him so much now? he
wondered. He'd known for years that he was
in love with his partner and had waited
patiently for her to come around. But it
was too late now. Unless he could find
some miracle that would extend his life,
any relationship with Scully could only
have one end.

He sighed and watched the stars overhead.
He had to hold on to his decision. It was
the only right thing to do.

Alabaster Dining Room
10:00 p.m.

Dressed in a formal gown, Dana Scully took
her place at the table assigned her.
Although places were set for eight, she
and Gladys were the only occupants. Scully
supposed that the other guests had decided
to dine in their cabins or at the snack-
bar. Next to her, remarkably well turned
out in black velvet, Gladys allowed the
waiter to slide in her chair.

Scully cast a feminine eye over Gladys'
dress. "Why Gladys, I didn't know you had
an evening gown."

Gladys delicately sipped from her water
goblet. "Just because I'm a psychic,
doesn't mean I have bad taste...Emily."

Scully nodded slowly. "Point taken. I've
been making some assumptions about you
ever since I met you, haven't I? I hope my
negative attitude isn't affecting your
ability to read."

Gladys snorted. "You think that your
skepticism has any effect? Hell no! The
only person likely to tell you bullshit
like that is a fake like the Stupendous
Yappi or some carnival psychic. If I
thought that 'negative energy' would shut
off what I have, I'd hang out with the
Amazing Randi all my waking hours!" She
lowered her voice and looked down at the
tablecloth. "It isn't that easy."

"Have you...um...seen anything since we
came on board?" Scully accepted her plate
from the waiter and began spearing baby
peas with her fork.

"Nothing of consequence; it's pretty
jumbled. But the visions will untangle
themselves shortly and I should be able to
tell you something," Gladys delicately
picked up a dab of mashed potato. "So, how
long have you been in love with Mulder?"

Scully choked and, grabbing at her glass,
began gulping the water down. Gladys
watched her sympathetically until Scully
finally put the glass down and began to
wipe her streaming eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you,"
Gladys said innocently. "The energy you're
transmitting would be glaringly obvious
even to a non-psychic."

Scully's eyes narrowed as she recalled
something Mulder had said. "He said you
knew things that cut like a knife," she
accused. "Now I know what he meant."

"Comes with the territory," Gladys said
blandly. "You didn't answer my question."

Scully frowned at her plate, suddenly
angry. "You're the psychic, you tell me,"
she challenged.

"That's fine, too," the psychic said
conversationally. "You've loved him for
years, even before you knew how much.
You've followed him on a dozen wild goose
chases, faced down your superiors and even
Congress for him. You've been everything
to him that a partner could be, except the
one thing you long for," Gladys said.

"Why are you saying these things?" Scully
looked around the dining room, wishing
desperately for a distraction, any
distraction.

"You didn't believe me, maybe you will
now. Would you pass the rolls?" Gladys
said placidly.

"You could have researched the both of
us," Scully said desperately, handing her
the plate. "You could be watching us both
and reading our body language."

Gladys smiled and buttered her roll.
"Funny. Your partner said pretty much the
same thing to me. I'll toss you a crumb or
two." Setting the roll down without
tasting it, Gladys' smile dropped away and
she leaned toward Scully."You've been a
mother but have never given birth," Gladys
eyed her with a puzzled expression.
"Reading you is as weird as reading
Mulder...Nothing about either of you is
straightforward..."

Scully's expression was frozen. "You could
have found that out by reading the court
files," she whispered, then cleared her
throat. "Tell me something I don't know,"
she challenged.

Gladys lifted one eyebrow. "All right.
You'll be a mother within two years. A
boy. And the father will be Fox Mulder."

Scully turned white with a mix of shock
and rage. "How can you say such a thing,"
she hissed. "You know perfectly well that
I can't have children. How dare you taunt
me with that!" She tossed her napkin down
onto the tablecloth and got up to leave.
Gladys followed her.

"Wait," Gladys called after her, almost
running to keep up with Scully's angry
stride. She found Scully waiting at the
elevator, impatiently punching at the
button.

"Dana," Gladys said urgently, her hand
around Scully's wrist. "Starbuck!"

Scully stopped and turned to face Gladys.

"Starbuck, everything I've said is true.
You have to believe me. I KNOW. I don't
want to walk through people's private
lives, but I can't help knowing these
things."

Scully slowly lowered her hand and Gladys
let her wrist go. "If you knew anything,
you'd know that I'm barren," Scully said
tiredly. "My eggs were stolen from me."

"But you got them back. Mulder gave them
to you," Gladys said. "But you never got
that second opinion about the eggs'
viability, did you? Try it, Dana. Never
give up on a miracle." Gladys smiled at
her gently. "You both deserve so much more
than life has given you."

Behind them, the elevator dinged open.
Scully shook her head and backed into it.
"I...I need to find Mulder...see if he's
made any contacts..."

"You go, then," Gladys said benignly.
"I'll see you in the cabin."

11:00
Bow of the Ocean Queen

"Scully, have you been here long?" Mulder
strode over to the railing where Scully
stood shivering in the wind. "Here, take
this." Mulder shrugged off his jacket and
draped it over her shoulders. What's
wrong?" he asked softly.

"I had a chat with Gladys," she said
shortly.

"Oh," Mulder said, biting the inside of
his cheek. "And what did she tell you," he
asked casually.

"Things that she shouldn't know," Scully
gave a half-hysterical laugh. "Mulder, she
says I'm going to have a child some day."

Mulder jerked. "She did? Did she tell you
anything more about it?"

Scully tried to meet Mulder's eyes and
failed. "Just that...that I should try
another specialist. Make sure that the
eggs aren't viable. When this case is
over, I think I will."

"Oh. Well, then...you know you'll have my
support, don't you?" Mulder said. "If
there's anything...um...that I can help
with, I hope you feel free to ask me."
Mulder, avoiding her eyes himself, didn't
catch the soft look she cast his way.

"I..I will, Mulder," Scully replied. "Any
luck so far?"

Mulder shook his head. "Nothing. Not a
word from anyone. I'm planning on going
back to warm my barstool until about two
a.m. You?"

"I'm doing the dawn fitness walk around
the deck," Scully answered. "Then I'll
spend some time in the casino, trying but
not trying to pick up men."

Mulder grinned. His Scully could pick 'em
up, then slam 'em down before they knew
what hit them. "Be gentle."

"I will, Mulder," Scully said. "Be careful
out here, huh?"

"I will," Mulder replied. "And the same to
you. Do you still have that ankle holster
I gave you?"

"I've got it," Scully said. "Don't worry,
Mulder, I can take care of myself."

"I'm counting on it," Mulder replied.

Midnight

Scully quietly let herself into the cabin.
Gladys was asleep on one twin bed, snoring
lightly.

Tiptoeing to the closet, Scully carefully
hung up her dress. The ankle gun, she
deposited under her pillow, wondering
vaguely whether all this security was
really necessary. Still, she knew that
Mulder would be very upset if he knew
she'd left her weapon beyond arm's reach
on this trip. Quietly, she slipped on her
pajamas and padded over to her bed.

She was drifting into sleep when she began
to hear a low moaning from the other bed.
She listened to the noise for a bit, then
sat up, watching Gladys in the dark.

Gladys writhed and twisted in her
blankets, crying out when she wasn't
moaning. Finally Scully couldn't take it
any more.

She knelt next to Gladys' bed and gently
shook her. "Gladys, wake up! Gladys,
you're dreaming...Gladys?"

Gladys' breathing steadied, then she shot
bolt upright in the bed, looking wildly
around her and gulping in great lungfuls
of air. Scully could see Gladys' cheeks
wet with tears.

Gladys turned her gaze on Scully and held
it there for a full minute, saying
nothing.

Scully drew back at the horror in Gladys'
eyes. "Gladys? What's wrong? What did you
see?"

In reply, Gladys wordlessly gathered up
her blankets and pulled them over her
face, huddling underneath them like a
child in the darkness.
 

~~~
 
 

The Psychic, Part 7
 

"What's wrong, Gladys?" Scully repeated
and gently tugged at the blanket covering
the psychic.

Gladys allowed herself to be uncovered and
sat up slowly, rubbing her arms to warm
them. The eyes she turned to Scully were
filled with horror. "The things I saw,"
she whispered. "And what I felt...I had no
idea that you went through all that...."
She halted and shook her head.

"What did you see?" Scully asked slowly.

"Your past, I think. I was taken away to a
dark room with bright lights trained on
me. A hard, cold table and terrible
things...they were robbing me, taking
something from me, I don't remember what.
But I think I can guess," Gladys said,
studying Scully's face. "I remember
screaming in pain and a woman next to
me...Betsy, she called herself. I was
you." She drew in a long trembling breath.
"How did you ever survive it?"

Scully pursed her lips and looked away.
"You already remember more than I do about
it. I've...I've come to terms with it over
time. It's in the past. I try not to think
about it."

"You've never told Mulder about what you
do remember, have you?" Gladys asked.

Scully shook her head. "I don't like to
talk about it. I've told him what he needs
to know. He can't change the past and I
don't want cause him any more pain. He's
had enough." She lowered her head. "The
men who did this...we keep trying to bring
the truth to light but we always fail;
they outmaneuver us somehow. Some days I
don't know whether I can keep going but I
know I have to. Mulder has no one else he
can trust to watch his back."

Gladys nodded. "I can see that there's a
bond between you. I saw it when I first
met Mulder. You shouldn't keep secrets
from each other."

Scully smiled. "Mulder doesn't keep any
secrets from me and as for my abduction,
that's in the past."

Gladys cocked an eyebrow and changed the
subject."I might as well get up. That's
probably the only sleep I'll get tonight.
The visions won't let me." She began to
climb out of her bed.

"But you've only slept a couple of hours,"
Scully protested. "Is this as much sleep
as you ever get?"

"I haven't had a full night's sleep in
thirty years," Gladys explained. "The
visions crowd so closely that I can't run
from them, but I can rarely do anything
about them either." Gladys rummaged
through the dresser and pulled out a
purple sweat suit.

"This case must be a godsend, then,"
Scully said. "To finally accomplish
something."

"This chance is what I've been hoping
for," Gladys replied, pulling her clothes
on. "I'm seeing differential futures, two
separate tracks. In one, the ship sinks
and thousands die. In another, the ship
sails into London harbor safely. I just
don't know what makes the difference.
Agent Scully," Gladys said. "I'm sorry I
was so hard on you before. I have to admit
that I was...well, a bit envious of you.
"She looked abashed.

"Envious? Why?" Scully asked.

"You have everything I never could. You're
young, educated and beautiful. You have a
partner who adores you and would lay down
his life for you without question." Gladys
said with a wry grin. "I'm fat, dumpy,
graying and fought my way through high
school. Every time I've ever been close to
anyone, THIS happens," she gestured at
Scully. "I start to learn their secrets. I
walk through their minds whether I want to
or not. I'm so tired of knowing other
people's lives and being powerless to
change them."

"I think we try to change as much as we
can, and then we have to leave the rest to
God," Scully said. "It doesn't serve any
purpose dwelling on our failures. We just
have to keep trying."

"I don't know," Gladys said with a sigh.
"Some times I just want to end it. Give
up. This gift is too terrible for anyone
to have."

"Well, if someone has to have it, I'm glad
it's somebody like you, Gladys. At least
you try to use it ethically."

Gladys snorted. "Didn't you know that the
white hats always get shot in real life?
Ethics and a buck will buy you a cup of
coffee." She caught a look at Scully's
face and forced a smile. "Yeah. I try. I
keep the secrets at least. To me, it's
like the seal of the confessional, y'know?
I just never feel like it does much good."

"We've got a chance to change the future
here and now," Scully replied, then after
a long moment of silence she went on. "Do
you know anything about what my future
holds?"

"Nothing more than I've already told you.
That and a general sense that you'll have
a great grief along with your greatest
joy," Gladys shrugged apologetically. "I'm
sorry, but I can't control this gift. If I
could, I'd shut it off!" She finished
fastening the velcro of her tennis shoes
and stood up. "I think I'll go up and take
a walk along the deck."

Scully nodded. "I'll stay here, then. Take
care."

1:00 p.m.
The Mariner Lounge

Mulder sat quietly at the bar, nursing his
drink. It didn't do to really indulge when
you were undercover, no matter how much
you wanted to get really really drunk, he
reflected.

The crowd was heavy but quiet, at least
aurally. Inside his head was another
matter. He'd caught the fragments of a
dozen thoughts in the past hour, none of
them very savory. He sipped his drink and
watched the couple in the corner. He had
already conned four women out of their
life savings and was in the process of
draining his current girlfriend's bank
accounts. She thought he was the man of
her dreams.

Mulder shrugged and glanced toward the
door. The small, rat-faced man was a low
level embezzler, busily spending the money
he'd taken from his business. The woman
sharing his table was a hooker, hoping
he'd opt to buy her for the night.

Mulder rubbed his eyes, feeling
inexpressively dirty. He hadn't set out to
use his new 'gift', it had just
interrupted the evening. But since he had
seemed to be in control of it, he'd
decided to use it. So far, nothing and
nobody who was a danger to the ship. But
that didn't keep him from feeling sullied
by the contact. He didn't know how Gibson
Praise managed. If he ever saw him again,
he'd ask the boy how he shut the voices
out, how he kept himself from hearing them
all. If he lived that long.

"You look lonely," a feminine voice said
at his elbow. Mulder opened his eyes as a
woman sat on the barstool to his right. In
the dimness he could see that she had red
hair. A shade of red not found in nature,
he reflected in mild amazement. She wasn't
a day under fifty, her lined face covered
with thick makeup. She put a bony hand
onto the bar and tapped talon-like nails
on the bar. "Want to buy me a drink?" she
asked.

Mulder gallantly ordered her a drink, then
eyed her with curiosity. "Traveling
alone?" he asked neutrally.

"Yes," she said, sipping her manhattan
delicately. "I go on a couple of cruises
every year. You get to meet such
interesting people," she leered at Mulder.

Mulder edged slightly back on his
barstool. "Yeah, well...I guess you're
right. Meet anybody unusual this trip?"

"Unusual?" Her painted eyebrow arched.

"You know, anyone who doesn't seem to be
having such a great vacation?
Preoccupied," Mulder finished cautiously.

"Why do you want to know?" she shot back.
"What are you? Some kind of cop?"

Mulder smiled. "Now, do you think a police
department put a cop on a cruise ship just
to look for crooks? The taxpayers would be
crying out for blood! No, I'm a writer. I
like to study personalities and you get a
good cross-section on a ship."

"A writer, huh?" She commented. "Well,
most of the people I've seen are just
partying. Except for my neighbor," she
added thoughtfully.

"What's unusual about your neighbor?"
Mulder asked.

"He has a lot of visitors but they don't,
you know, party. There's a connecting door
between their cabin and mine and it
carries sound. Now, I'm not a prude,
honey, but I could swear I heard a prayer
meeting going on inside that cabin of
theirs!" She sipped at her drink. "Not
that I'd turn down a visit from a nice
young man myself," she eyed Mulder
hungrily.

Mulder smiled back uncomfortably. "And
where is your cabin?" he asked.

"I don't think I'm going to tell you," she
said coquettishly. "I'll have to show
you."

Mulder shook his head in relief. He'd just
caught her thought: cabin 239, deck 7. She
was licking her lips, looking at him
voraciously. "I have to go," he said
hurriedly. "It's getting late." He tossed
a bill on the bar and gestured to the
waiter. "Another manhattan for the lady,"
he gestured toward her. "I'll see you
another time, ma 'am." he said genially.

She pouted but was reaching for the drink
as Mulder got to the door. He took a
relieved breath once he got into the
hallway. Her aura was fading, the farther
he got away from her. It was bad enough
hearing the thoughts of the crooks at the
neighboring tables, but this woman's lust
had been...distasteful.

He'd seen that look in women's eyes since
he turned eighteen and began to realize he
was good looking, but this! He shuddered.
The looks were bad enough but he didn't
want to hear the thoughts that went along
with them.

Before he visited his next bar, he thought
he'd wander around deck 7 and see if he
found anything unusual. He made his way
down the hallway until he got to the
central atrium. There were a few people
looking in the store windows and a couple
of janitors emptying wastebaskets next to
the theater door. Nothing unusual. He
started to pass the entrance of the
theater advertising a late-night show when
it opened and disgorged a crowd of
theatergoers.

There must have been at least a hundred of
them, Mulder thought, and began to push
his way through them. He found himself
carried along by the crowd, no matter how
he fought the current.

A man's sleeve brushed his and Mulder felt
another mind screaming at him. Someone
bumped into him, then another body and
another, followed by a crowd of voices in
his head.

Grimly, he pushed his way through the
crowd until the roar inside his mind grew
crushing.:DontthinkIcanstandthisanymoregod
thenoisethenoise leave me alone:

They blotted out his own thoughts, the
voices ripping into his mind, filling him
with the endless noise.

CantgetawayfromitI'mdrowninginitGod,Scully
helpmehelpme.Can'tthinkcan'tscreamGottaget
awayScullyScullyScully... He felt his
knees begin to buckle as he stumbled
unsteadily down the hallway until the last
body moved away from him.

But the crowd wasn't done with him. Even
though they weren't touching him any more,
the voices were still there in his head.
WhydoIstillhearthem?DearGod,whywon'ttheygo
away? Go away! Leave me alone! he cried
inside his mind. Go away...go away...go
away...

Almost blind with the noise, he crawled
into a service stairwell and huddled
against the wall, shivering and clutching
his ears with both his hands.
 

~~~

The Psychic, Part 8

1:30 a.m.

Dana Scully punched her pillow again and
tried to get comfortable. She'd never told
Mulder this, but she hated sleeping in a
strange bed. It hadn't been a problem
until after the abduction. Then, she'd
found herself unconsciously clinging to
home. It wasn't logical. After all, she'd
been taken from her own apartment, but
since then her first night in a new place
was usually sleepless and filled with
nameless anxiety. She sighed and stared up
at the dark ceiling. This little cabin was
incredibly stuffy, even though the ship
had air conditioning of a sort. Another
one of Mulder's crackpot cases, based on
nothing more than an inspired hunch. How
much longer could she follow where he led?

She rested her hand lightly on her
abdomen. All of her college friends were
married by now and had kids. She grimaced.
Even the lesbian couple had just adopted
an infant. And where was she? Another
case. Another sleepless night facing an
arid future. And for what? "Because I love
him," she whispered into the darkness. And
what earthly good did that do? She'd loved
him for years but it was painfully
apparent that Mulder wasn't the marrying
kind.

She rolled over onto her side and tried to
regulate her breathing, but thoughts of
Mulder kept invading her mind. It couldn't
possibly go anywhere; the thought was
tired with repetition. Fox Mulder with 2.4
kids, a dog and a picket fence? His
upbringing had been so screwed up that he
had to guess at what normal family life
was. In Arcadia, the best he could manage
was to imitate one of the old sit-coms he
admired so much.

She'd been dancing around the relationship
for almost as many years as she'd
partnered with him. And now they were both
trapped, unable to move forward or away
from each other. She remembered Emily and
lifted a hand to touch her gold cross.
Mulder had been there, supporting her,
every step of the way. But despite that,
she'd known that she was fundamentally
alone. Alone in making the decisions,
alone in demanding recognition of Emily as
her daughter. Scully closed her eyes.
She'd been alone when she made the funeral
arrangements.

Okay, maybe she hadn't let Mulder in.
She'd never accepted Mulder's emotional
support. That way lay danger. She couldn't
afford to let him into her life, into her
heart so thoroughly although she quietly
suspected that he'd already taken root
there.

She put up with psychics, fake and real,
aliens, spooks, monsters and God only knew
what else, just for the chance to be with
Fox Mulder. Okay, let's be fair here. He'd
been right about most of it, even though
she had no scientific explanation for it.

And then, there was the waltz that the two
of them had danced for the past seven
years: he made a move, she quietly
rebuffed him, she approached him and he
backed off. She truly couldn't imagine
herself with anyone else, but she'd never
tell Mulder that.

She pulled the pillow out from under her
head and, clutching it to her chest,
rolled back onto her back. She was so
tired. So very tired. She could relate to
Gladys' weariness with the eternal
sameness of life, all the unacceptable
things she was powerless to change. All
the things she longed for that she was
powerless to have. Maybe it was just as
well that Mulder hadn't done any more than
gaze at her longingly after all. She lay
back with a sigh and resolved to get some
sleep.

1:30 a.m. Deck 7 service stairwell

Mulder gathered his strength and crawled
down the steps, away from the voices until
he reached a turn and a landing. The noise
dimmed and began to fade away. He sat back
against the metal wall, breathing hard,
eyes closed. Damn! That had been close. It
was too frighteningly similar to his
experience last October in that hospital.
He'd been flooded, overloaded with the
thoughts around him. Oh yeah, no better
place for a raging telepath than the
mental ward of a big city hospital! No one
in the hospital had understood that Mulder
had been fully cognizant of what was going
on around him. He'd been unable to
communicate. This time wasn't much better.
Before he ducked into the stairwell,
Mulder could feel himself starting to
freeze up into the catatonia that had put
him into the hospital. Thank God the
voices had died down.

He wiped at the sweat streaming down his
face and lowered his head to his knees.
All the experts said he was declining but
no one would ever give him any kind of
time-line. He couldn't die yet. He still
had too much to do. He wasn't done yet,
damn it! He focused on breathing evenly
and began to hum under his breath, trying
to re-build the fragile barriers on his
mind. They didn't work against a crowd of
people but seemed effective enough with
one or two. He'd just have to avoid crowds
from now on.

He heard their thoughts before their
voices. The Deck 7 door opened and he
heard footsteps clumping down the stairs,
then the smell of matches being struck.

"They said they'd be finishing the job
tonight," said one. "I got a new pack of
Morleys. Want one?"

"Sure. Damn, I hate working on a goddamned
fucking non-smoking ship! Can't even get a
smoke on your break for Pete's sake!"
Mulder heard the sound of puffing, then an
exhale. "I'm glad things are coming along.
We started behind schedule after the cops
started searching the passengers. Scared
the shit outta me, I'll tell you. But it's
all died down and everything looks hunky-
dory.  And I can't wait for that cool five
mil we'll be retiring on after this voyage
is done!" said the other. "So, Marcus,
what are you going to spend your money
on?" Cigarette smoke began to curl down
the stairwell toward Mulder.

"Huh. I'm gonna find me an island
somewhere and sit on shore drinking
margaritas and they're going to be serving
ME drinks and calling ME 'sir'," Marcus
said. "The delay was just a scare. They
probably got a bomb threat or something.
Nobody, but nobody knows about our
arrangement. You and I wouldn't tell
anybody and those other guys?" Marcus
snorted. "Jacob has 'em all so fuckin'
brainwashed that they couldn't take a leak
without permission! From what I heard,
it's still on for tomorrow afternoon.
They'll be needing us. You'd better check
your ammo stores, Jerry."

"Hey, I'm not muscle here!" Jerry
protested, exhaling another cloud of
smoke. "I'm here to pilot the helicopter.
That's all and I'm done."

Mulder's eyes grew round as he 'heard' the
thoughts behind their statements and
carefully began to creep down the stairs.
Damn!  He had to get out of here, fast!
The voices faded as Mulder made his way to
the stairway's end and found the door
locked shut. Quietly, he manipulated the
handle, tugging and pushing, trying to get
it open. He pulled his lock pick kit from
a pocket and began working the lock. He
was too absorbed in trying to pick the
door lock to hear the footsteps behind
him.

"Crap, look what we have here," drawled a
voice behind him. "Looks like something a
dog dragged in..."

Mulder turned to see two hulking men,
dressed in janitorial white. "Hi," he
started and began a shaky climb to his
feet. "As a matter of fact, I think I made
a wrong turn," he said, smiling brightly
and hiding the lock pick behind his back.

"He heard us," said the second man, in a
voice Mulder identified as Jerry. "This
hallway isn't that long. We gotta do
something with him!"

The two men exchanged a glance and moved
slowly forward.

Mulder backed up against the door, looking
frantically for an escape but found
nothing. "I don't know what you mean," he
said, still smiling. "I'm a passenger here
and just lost my way. I didn't hear
anything. The truth is, " he said
confidingly. "I...ahem...had a little too
much to drink and I was sleeping it off
down here. I just woke up and was trying
to find my way out when you two showed
up."

Marcus smiled at Mulder menacingly. "Just
how stupid do you think I am? Do you think
I'd really fall for that line of bull?"

Jerry frowned and looked back over his
shoulder nervously up the stairs. "What do
we do with him?"

"Kill him and toss him overboard," Marcus
said grimly, advancing on Mulder.

Hearing that and seeing in his mind
exactly what Marcus planned, Mulder lunged
at the two men. Sensing that  Marcus about
to move right, Mulder dodged left, almost
making it past Marcus when he felt Jerry
haul him back by the belt and throw him
against the metal door.

Just before the back of his head hit the
metal door, Mulder heard "We gotta get rid
of him!"

Inside the stairwell, the two men had a
whispered conference over the slumped form
of Mulder.

"We can't drop him overboard, there's
people in the atrium from the show," Jerry
said urgently.

"Damn!" said Marcus. "Okay, we'll take him
down the stairs to the staff level and put
him in my cabin. Then we can figure out
what to do with him."
 

Upper Deck

Gladys leaned on the railing admiring the
stars. The moon was half full and sparkled
in a glorious night sky. You just didn't
see the stars like this in a town, even
one as small as Clinton, Colorado. She
shuffled her feet, uneasy.

She looked around but saw nothing. She was
the only person on deck at this time of
the night. Even the lovers had gone back
to their cabins. She sighed. Next year
she'd be fifty-five and what did she have
to show for it? A rusty trailer and a cat.
Oh yeah, and a bunch of anxious clients
who wanted to be reassured that their
lives weren't as pointless as they sensed.

She thought about Dana Scully, back at the
cabin. My my...if she'd had that girl's
chances she'd have lassoed and hogtied
that nice partner by now. Gladys smiled.
Dana still might. Gladys' smile faded. But
it wouldn't last long even if she did. It
didn't take a psychic to notice that
Mulder wasn't getting better. And there
was nothing like a headblind, willful
woman like Dana Scully to miss the change
entirely. Gladys shook her head. Scully
persisted in seeing Mulder in the same
light, never noticing that the man had
changed and grown over the years. He
wasn't the same cocky smart-ass Scully had
first met any more. Mulder had matured
over time.

"I hate being a psychic," Gladys murmured.
"I see it all and have the power to change
nothing."

She leaned forward and sighed, remembering
past predictions she'd watched fulfilled.
She was about to go downstairs to bed
again when she stopped and stiffened.
Something wasn't right. Not sure what it
was....she thought it might be somewhere
downstairs....

Like a bloodhound, Gladys made her way
down the main staircase, trying to sense
where the trouble was. On Deck 7 she
passed a theater and paused. The place was
closed and empty, a few casual window
shoppers eyed the store windows but
otherwise the atrium was quiet. The source
of her anxiety was here somewhere. She
backed up near a service door and paused
to think.

She heard a thumping sound behind her and
opened the door, peering down the long
stairwell. Cautiously, she followed it
down, only to see the door at the bottom
snapping shut. She carefully tried the
doorknob, but it wouldn't open. Then she
grew still, waiting. After a few moments
she drew back away from the door and
climbed the steps as fast as her feet
could carry her, letting the access door
slam shut behind her.
 

Below decks
Staff Level

Mulder wasn't quite unconscious during the
trip down, but it was close enough. He
could vaguely feel the men's arms around
his armpits and hear their voices
explaining that their friend was drunk and
going to his cabin. Every time Mulder
roused a bit, he felt a sharp prick in his
side. Oh yes, he suddenly heard, Marcus
had a knife and was looking forward to
using it.

They got into an elevator that took them
deep into the ship, farther than any
passenger was ever allowed and soon Mulder
found himself flung onto a single bunk bed
in a tiny cabin. Marcus picked up a gun
from the table top and aimed it at Mulder.

A man, already seated in the lone chair
the cabin afforded, got up at their
arrival. He was tall and very thin with
faded blue eyes and a prominent Adam's
apple. "Who is this?" he demanded.

"We're not sure," Marcus said defensively.
"He overheard us."

"No, I didn't," Mulder said. "I was passed
out." He eyed the three men glaring
suspiciously down at him. "But I don't
suppose you believe that."

Jacob towered over Mulder, studying him
thoughtfully. "What did he hear?" he
asked.

Jerry and Marcus exchanged glances, then
Jerry stuttered an answer. "H..he heard
th..th..that we're going to rob the ship
and it's planned for t..tomorrow and we've
got guns."

Jacob favored Marcus and Jerry with a hard
glare, then said softly, "You were warned
when you were hired that we'd punish you
if this got out."

"Yeah, well, accidents happen," Marcus
said flatly, his arms crossed over his
chest. "Jerry and I've got to plan if you
want this to come off the way you want.
This asshole just happened to be there
during one of our planning sessions," he
aimed a hard kick at the bed Mulder lay
in. "Let's see who he is." Marcus dug his
hand into Mulder's pockets until he found
a ship ID and cabin keycard.

"Max Fenig," Marcus read out.

"Find out who he is and if anybody would
miss him if he dropped overboard," Jacob
stated, heading for the door.

"How would we get him overboard? All the
decks are crowded with passengers. Even
the staff deck always has people out there
smoking!" Jerry pleaded.

"So you want to keep him alive?" Jacob
asked mildly, one hand on the doorknob.
"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.
Find out who he is and lock him in the
deep freeze with the garbage for all I
care! But get rid of him!"
Jacob opened the door and went out.

"Jerry, you got access to the ship's
computer system. See if you can find out
who Max is. I'll stay here and keep him
company," Marcus pulled over Jacob's chair
and sat down in it, gun pointed at Mulder.
Jerry nodded and slipped out of the cabin.

"I really don't know what any of this is
about," Mulder began. "If you're smuggling
something, I can just go and forget about
the whole thing."

"I don't think so," Marcus said. "You
heard enough. Now shut up while I do some
thinking."

Marcus leaned back in his chair, watching
Mulder intently. Mulder leaned back
against the bulkhead and watched Marcus
just as attentively.

Mulder closed his eyes and gathered all
the thoughts he'd picked up from the two
men during the nightmare trip down to the
cabin. They were involved with Jacob and
his group somehow, had been hired to help
Jacob take the ship and in return Marcus
and Jerry would loot the ship's casino.
Jerry had flown helicopters in the service
and anticipated flying one off the ship in
a getaway. The rest of it was hazy and
Mulder couldn't work out who Jacob was,
except that he seemed to be in charge.

After about twenty minutes the door banged
shut and Jerry sprinted in. "I found him,"
he panted, his gaze shifting back and
forth from Marcus to Jerry. "Captain has
him listed in the passenger manifest with
an extra code for Captain's eyes only.
When I hacked it I found out who this guy
is." Jerry turned his full attention to
Marcus. "He's a Fed and he's got a partner
on board. He must know about us!"

Marcus lunged forward and grabbed Mulder's
throat in one oversized fist. "Who are you
really?" he demanded, holding the gun to
Mulder's temple.

"The Captain's log has him listed as
Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI."
Jerry supplied. "His partner's in the
cabin next to his, Agent Dana Scully. A
woman."

Marcus loosely tossed Mulder back against
the mattress and grinned. "A woman, huh?
Why don't I just go and make sure she
doesn't know anything. She might want to
talk to me. I can be very persuasive with
the ladies."  He tossed the gun to Jerry.
"You watch him while I go find his
partner. Shoot him if he makes a noise.
I'll clean up the blood later." Marcus
cast a final look at Mulder, laughed and
went through the door.

Jerry backed up to the door and locked it,
gun held steady at Mulder. An impulsive
plan to rush him died as soon as Mulder
saw how confident Jerry was with a weapon.
Of course, he was ex-Navy. He'd know how
to handle a gun. Mulder bit his lip and
worried about Scully.

The Psychic, part 9

Gladys ran down from deck 7 to deck two,
barely avoiding collisions with other
passengers. By the time she reached the
cabin door, she was panting hard and
quickly swiped her card-key through the
lock.

The cabin was dark and she could see
Scully stretched out on one of the beds.
Gladys hit the light switch and the room
was flooded with a fluorescent glow. Dana
Scully sat up, grumbling and rubbing her
eyes. "Gladys? What on earth are you
doing?"

"Get up," Gladys said swiftly. "We have to
get out of here. Now!"

Scully instantly became alert. "Why?
What's happened?" She pulled her gun from
under the pillow and began to tug at her
pajama top.

"They're coming here, for you. I don't
know why, I just know that a violent man
is coming here, now, and he has a key. Get
up!" Gladys flapped her hands at Scully.
When Scully still didn't move swiftly
enough, Gladys grabbed the agent's shirt
and shoes and hustled her out the door,
slamming it shut behind them.

"Where are we go-" Scully started but
Gladys clapped a hand over her mouth and
pushed her into the hallway to a flight of
stairs, leading down.

"Crystal Dining Room," Gladys said under
her breath. "The ladies room. Come on."
Tugging on Scully's arm, They hurried down
the stairs and into a large, empty dining
room. She opened a side door marked
"ladies" and shoved Scully in, then closed
it quietly behind.

Scully just stood there watching,
incredulous, shirt dangling from one hand
and shoes from the other. Gladys collapsed
into a chair in the corner and was still
breathing hard.

"What happened?" Scully demanded, changing
quickly into her shirt and shoes. "Why are
we in a ladies room?"

Gladys smiled a bit. "The ancient taboo.
Men, even bad ones, are less likely to
trespass on a women's restroom. Just a
little extra insurance. I was on deck 7
and I saw...I saw them dragging Agent
Mulder away," Gladys said.

"You saw this or your psychic gift saw
this?" With difficulty, Scully forced her
voice into a neutral tone.

"I SAW it...with the gift. They took him
below, two crewmen, one had a knife. I
think they found out who you two are and
one man was about to come get you; kill
you or worse," Gladys said urgently. "If I
hadn't got you out of that cabin, you'd be
dead now," She paused. "Or wishing for
it."

"Okay..." Scully struggled to take all of
this in. "How did they find out about us?
Who are they? Can you tell?"

Gladys shook her head. "I don't know. I
just saw flashes and sensed their intent.
We have to go tell the captain."

Scully paused, "Do you have any concrete
evidence we can give him? After that
search we did yesterday..."

"Agent Scully, I know you have trouble
believing in me, but I'm right. I know I'm
right. We have to go to the captain before
it's too late!" Gladys hissed. "We don't
have any time!"

Scully sighed and quickly smoothed her
hair. At least she wasn't going to wake
the captain up in the middle of the night
with bad case of bedhead.

Crew Cabin
Below decks

"Jerry, I can see that you really don't
want to hurt anybody," Mulder said
quietly, leaning back against the wall.
"You don't seem like the murderous type."
Mulder kept his voice low and gentle,
watching for any response. Focusing on
Jerry's reactions, he had an idea. If he
was stuck with terminal telepathy, why not
just use it? It might give him some kind
of advantage in psyching out Jerry and his
compatriots. Smiling, Mulder narrowed his
awareness to Jerry.

"You got that right, " Jerry said
miserably, still aiming the gun at Mulder.
"But I don't think that Marcus or Jacob
would like you to be talking to me just
now."

Jerry was afraid of Jacob and of Marcus,
but especially Jacob. Now there was an
enigma. Just who was this guy?

"So Marcus and Jacob are in charge of this
whole thing?" Mulder asked easily. "How
about you?  Seems to me that you've been
doing most of the heavy lifting, not them.
What do you get out of it?"  Mulder
smiled. "I understand you're a real good
helicopter pilot. What are you doing
aboard ship?"

"Service didn't want me. I busted my leg
and got a pin in it. I don't qualify any
more," Jerry's lip curled and he raised
the gun. "I'm not supposed to talk about
Jacob to anyone..."

Mulder got an impression of Jacob leading
some kind of meeting, of Marcus and Jerry
surrounded by at least a hundred men.
Jacob was obviously the leader here. But
of what? Mulder raised both hands. "Hey,
I'm just somebody who walked in on this by
accident. Like I said, I met up with you
two by accident. My partner and I, we're
just interested in illegal smuggling.
We're no harm to you. We'd be just as
happy to keep our mouths shut. For the
right price, I mean."

Jerry paused, silent for a moment, then
sighed. "Well, mistake or not, you're here
and I'm under orders to keep you here. You
want to cut a deal, you gotta do it with
Marcus or Jacob."

"But that's the problem," Mulder said,
creeping toward the edge of the bed. "My
partner is out there and doesn't know the
score. She might get hurt. Or worse, she
might hurt Marcus and we wouldn't want
that, would we?" At the final word, Mulder
lunged for Jerry's gun.

The two struggled with it, Mulder
clambering on top of Jerry, trying to
wrench the pistol from the man's hand.
Mulder almost had the gun in his grasp
when Jerry suddenly stopped struggling and
Mulder felt cold metal on the back of his
neck.

"Drop it," said Marcus' voice from above
him.

Mulder immediately let go of the gun and
Jerry rolled away from him. Looking up,
Mulder saw that both Marcus and Jacob
stood above him, each armed. He didn't see
Scully or any blood on either man and
dared to hope. "All this firepower and
just for me?" he asked with what he hoped
was a disarming smile.

Jacob kicked him in the side and Mulder,
wincing, climbed to his feet. "Okay, okay,
you just have to ask."

"She wasn't there," Marcus said. "Either
she was tipped or she's somewhere else."
Turning to Jerry, he said. "We have to
expedite the plan before anyone can get to
the captain. Here" Marcus tossed a pair of
handcuffs to Jerry. "Cuff his wrists
behind his back. He's coming along."

"What's happening?" Jerry asked
plaintively hauling Mulder off the bunk
and cuffing him.

"I talked to Jacob. The charges are laid,
so we can move forward right now and, from
the look of things we gotta. We're going
to pay a visit to Captain Hausa. Come on,"
Marcus said, brandishing the gun.

In the hallway, Mulder saw the man they
called Jacob and five other men he'd never
seen. All were dressed in blue jeans and t-
shirts. Probably not shipboard staff,
then. "Hey there, Jacob, good to see you
again," Mulder drawled as he was dragged
past them. "Who are your friends?"

"Can't you shut him up?" Jacob demanded.

"Sure can," Marcus grinned and backhanded
Mulder across the jaw. The rest of the
march to the captain's cabin was silent.
Halfway there, Jacob's men silently peeled
off and took more stairs up. Mulder
considered asking where they'd gone but
decided that staying conscious and alive
was a good idea too and kept his mouth
shut.

----------------

Gladys and Scully climbed the stairs
leading to the bridge; she knew that it
would be at the top of the ship's bow from
prior tours of other ships. Being a
sailor's daughter had it's advantages. She
didn't see anyone along the way and hoped
they could get ship's security armed and
patrolling before the hi-jackers or
whoever they were could take action.

At last, they were at the top and Scully
hauled open the door. She saw Captain
Hausa standing near a console, consulting
quietly with someone else. Everything
looked calm. "Captain, I'm glad you're
here," Scully said. "There's a problem on
board. I'm sorry to disturb you but I'm
afraid it's urgent."

Hausa stepped away from the console,
revealing four men with guns trained on
the bridge crew and Fox Mulder, handcuffed
on the floor.

A tall, thin man motioned at Scully with
his gun. "Drop your weapon, Agent, or your
partner dies."

Scully cast a helpless look around the
bridge, then slowly laid her weapon down
on the deck. "I'm afraid I don't
understand," she said slowly. "Who are you
and what do you want?"

"We just got what we want," said the tall
thin man. "I'm Jacob Pilgrim, deacon of
the Pilgrim Clan and you're now under Clan
jurisdiction."

"Who in the Hell is the pilgrim clan?"
Captain Hausa broke in before Scully moved
a hand to shush him.

"You're from the Pilgrim Clan? Jebediah
Pilgrim was arrested three days ago. What
interest could this ship have for you?"
Scully asked cautiously.

Jacob smiled triumphantly. "We have this
ship and we'll trade her for the return of
the Apostles of the Clan. You're
government has no authority over us, only
God does. He supports our move to retake
our own!"

"You plan to hold this ship for ransom?
Until your leaders are released?" Scully
asked incredulously. "With staff, there
are three thousand people aboard! You'll
be overwhelmed!"

"Not necessarily," Jacob replied, then
waved toward one of the armed men. "Cuff
her too and make sure she doesn't have any
other weapons. Put 'em both under guard.
Yeah, the corner's okay. They can't get
into anything there."

While Scully and Gladys were being
shuffled over to Mulder's corner, Jacob
stalked up to Captain Hausa and shoved the
gun into his chin. "Captain, I'd like you
to call an emergency lifeboat drill. Right
NOW."


~~~

The Psychic, Part 10

By Xenith
xenitha@yahoo.com
 

While the captain began announcing an
emergency lifeboat drill, Gladys realized
that Jacob hadn't seen her in the
doorway. Gladys stepped back slowly,
trying to slip away from the door to go
and warn the crew.

Jacob looked up from the captain and
caught a glimpse of Gladys, just sidling
out the door. "Hey, who is that? Grab
her!"

One of the men ran outside and tackled
Gladys on the landing, before she could
make it down the stairs. "Who on earth
are you?" The man muttered, taking in
Gladys, her glasses and her purple sweat
suit and sneakers. "You FBI?"

Gladys sniffed. "Do I look like an FBI
agent?"

The man grinned and pulled her back
toward the door. "You look like my aunt
Martha," he shot back and pushed her
through the door. "Look what I caught,
Jacob. I don't think she's a Fed."

Jacob's grin matched the other man's.
"Damn, you're right. She does look like
your aunt Martha. And just who are you,
ma 'am and why are you in this bad
company?" He gestured toward Mulder and
now Scully sitting cuffed in the corner.

"I," said Gladys archly. "Am Fox Mulder's
aunt. He promised me a free trip on an
ocean liner. Said he got his job to pay
for the trip and all I had to do was go
along and enjoy myself." She eyed Mulder
disdainfully and sniffed. "But he said it
wouldn't be dangerous."

"Aunt, huh? Sounds like some government
double-dipping," Jacob grinned
maliciously at Mulder. "I guess you
aren't her favorite nephew any more."

Mulder grinned back. "I guess not." Bravo
for Gladys! he thought. She was fast on
her feet. "She's not involved in any of
this. I just brought her along 'cause we
had the extra room in Scully's cabin and
she hasn't had a vacation in years."

"Uh huh," Jacob said doubtfully, then
took another look at Gladys and shook his
head. "She doesn't look dangerous. Okay,
Zeke, take her down to the ballroom. She
can wait there for the rest of the
passengers."

Zeke duly led Gladys out of the cabin,
looking forlornly at Agents Mulder and
Scully over her shoulder. Mulder tried to
look as encouraging as possible. At least
Gladys was classed with the other
passengers, which made her a non-
combatant to their kidnappers. He heard a
sigh next to him.

"Mulder? You okay?" Scully murmured.

"Yeah, I'm fine. A little battered. You?"
Mulder hissed back.

"Fine," she said glancing around the
cabin. "I count a total of eight men. How
many do you make it?"

"At least eight," Mulder murmured back.
"Could be more. Wait, what's he saying?"

Jacob was giving the captain new
instructions. "Now that they're all
gathered at their lifeboat stations, I
want you to instruct all of them except
station twelve, to load up and cast off.
The ship is taking on water and you
called it a drill to avoid panic. They
are to lower the boats at best speed and
get away from the ship. Station twelve is
to hold all boats for further
instructions."

"But, I don't understand," the captain
said. "We aren't sinking...why?"

"Go ahead and do it, Captain," Mulder
said urgently. "Do as he says." To hell
with telepathy, Mulder wished he could
project his thoughts to the captain. The
more people in lifeboats and out of
Jacob's hands, the fewer hostages needing
rescue! If, for some reason Jacob didn't
want the entire complement of passengers,
let him have his way!

Maybe it had worked after all. The
captain's face cleared as comprehension
dawned. He calmly gave the order, arguing
with several officers who demanded
confirmation. Finally he sighed. "They're
all loading and casting off. You should
see the first boats out the window by
now."

Keeping gun trained and one eye on the
captain, Jacob leaned back and glanced
out the window. Four fully loaded
lifeboats drifted by, followed by more.
Within minutes, more small boats loaded
with passengers and crew drifted past.
Jacob nodded to two of the men, who
slipped out of the room.

Jacob turned to the captain and bridge
crew. "All right, shut down the engines."

"But we're going to drift," Captain Hausa
started to protest, then fell silent as
Jacob brandished his gun.

"So we'll drift," Jacob replied smoothly.
"This ship isn't going anywhere. Now I
want you to get on the radio and raise
the local authorities."
 

Downstairs, Gladys watched glumly through
the ballroom windows as two men, armed
with machine guns ushered the passengers
and crew from life boat station 12 into
the ballroom.  She lost count of the
people at six hundred but guessed that
there must be a couple hundred more. When
the last passenger had filed in, the two
men stood with their backs to the big
double doors.

"Quiet!!" shouted one man, gesturing with
the gun. The milling crowd gradually grew
silent.

"You are all hostages of the Pilgrim
Clan," the man shouted. "You will be held
here in the ballroom for the foreseeable
future, so you'd better make yourselves
comfortable. You'll be here until we
trade you and the ship for the Apostles
of the Pilgrim Clan, held by the
illegitimate authority of the United
States Government."

"What'll we do about food?" came a man's
voice from the back.

"You'll be fed, although it won't be the
gourmet meals you're used to," replied
the man. "The bathrooms are off the
ballroom and there won't be no potty
breaks anywhere else, so keep 'em clean
and running! We don't care if you piss on
the furniture. We'll be here with these,"
the man patted the machine gun. "So don't
give us any trouble and you'll have a
story to tell your grandkids."

Gladys frowned and sank down into a chair
at a nearby table. The visions hadn't
changed a bit since she had boarded with
Mulder and Scully. If anything, they were
getting more vivid. The time, she
realized, was drawing close. If they were
going to do anything, they'd have to do
it soon.

Back on the bridge, Jacob was making
contact with the authorities.

"My name is Walter Skinner, and I'm
authorized to negotiate," a familiar
voice came through the radio. "I
understand that I'm speaking with Jacob
Pilgrim?"

Mulder and Scully exchanged glances. If
they'd dragged Skinner into this, their
investigation must be generally known.

"All right, Mr. Skinner," said Jacob
casually. "Here's what we want. Release
Jebediah Pilgrim and the Senior Apostles
and put them on a jet to South America;
we'll give you the coordinates later.
And send us out a helicopter. My group of
liberators will take the helicopter and
give your ship back and about 750
passengers alive and well. Do this in
twelve hours or the ship and the
passengers go up with the explosives
we've set all over the ship. "

"I don't know," Skinner said. "I'll need
time to arrange something like that."

Jacob frowned. "I don't think you realize
how serious we are." He strode over to
the agents' corner and grabbed Scully
roughly by the arm, dragging her toward
the radio. Mulder started up to follow
her but was pushed back at gunpoint.

"Maybe you don't realize, Mr. Skinner,
that we found your agents. Didn't we,
honey?" Jacob purred and held Scully
pressed against the front of his body,
her neck in the crook of his right elbow.
He held the microphone in his left hand
and jabbed it under her chin. "Say
something for the man, sweetie. Tell him
your name."

Scully winced and cleared her throat.
"This is Agent Dana Scully," she said
hesitantly.

"Scully? Is that you?" Skinner's voice
came back over the speaker. "Are you
okay? What's happening?"

She realized that Skinner didn't know
whether Mulder had been compromised and
didn't want to break his cover. Sadly,
she replied, "I'm fine and Agent Mulder
is here with me. The ship has mostly been
evacuated but one of the lifeboat
stations has remained behind. I have no
reason to disbelieve Jacob's estimate."

"Are you satisfied with our commitment?"
Jacob, still holding Scully, moved the
microphone to his lips. "As I said, you
have twelve hours to release our leaders
or we sink the ship."

"What you ask is difficult. Jebediah and
the rest are being held at a secure
facility in the midwest. It'll take time
to arrange their release..." Skinner's
voice sounded shaken.

"The Ocean Queen is mined with plastic
explosives at her most vulnerable spots.
In twelve hours the ship, passengers and
crew join the Titanic, who went down
around here." Jacob smirked. "In these
icy waters you won't find many survivors,
if any."

"I...I'll discuss this with my
superiors," Skinner replied.

"You do that," Jacob smirked and put the
microphone down. He lowered his lips to
Scully's right ear and whispered to her.

"You are good looking, for a fed.... Care
to jo