INTO THE DARKNESS
by Laura Castellano

Wow.  I never thought I'd be posting another X-Files story.
What can I say?

I'd like to be able to thank Mary, my usual beta reader, for
her excellent commentary on this story, but instead I must offer
her my apologies.  Mary, I would have loved to have you beta, but
I know how you love a happy ending, and I just couldn't bring
myself to inflict this one on you.

RATING: If you can handle "hell," "damn" and angst, you should
be ok.

ARCHIVE: Yes

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, never were, never will be.

SUMMARY: Light or dark.  Life or death.  Good or evil.  All 
of life is made up of choices, and we have to live with 
every choice we make.  Mulder knew, when he picked up the 
gun that morning, he was facing his destiny.

KEYWORDS: Angst.  More angst.  Still more angst.  

TIMELINE: Now read this, because this is important.  This 
story begins with the events of Anasazi, and branches off 
into a totally different storyline.  There's a DAT tape, but 
there's no boxcar, no fire, no Blessing Way, no murder of Melissa, 
etc.  I hope you enjoy it.  

WARNING! THIS IS NOT A HAPPY, FLUFFY STORY!  Neither Mulder 
nor Scully dies, but this piece is not MSR.




"Fox?  I need you to come here.  Now.  Tonight."

Mulder fingered the sharp outline of the DAT tape inside the 
pocket of his leather jacket.  He'd barely returned to his 
apartment before the sound of the ringing phone had startled 
him.

"This really isn't a good time, Dad.  I'm in the middle--"

"*Now*, Fox."  The senior Mulder's voice was colored with 
urgency and something else--fear?  Mulder wasn't certain of 
that, but he was absolutely sure he'd never heard his father 
sound this way before.  The realization spurred him to 
action.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."  Mulder put down the phone 
without saying goodbye, and stared at it for a long moment.  
He knew he was followed on a regular basis, but he'd been so 
careful tonight.  Was it really possible that they already 
knew he had the tape?  If that was the case, then The 
Thinker was a dead man.  If not already, very soon now, and 
Mulder had no way of warning him.

Cursing under his breath, Mulder hurried to his car.  He 
wondered, briefly, if he should call Scully, but decided 
this wasn't the best time to bring her into it.  If his 
suspicions were correct, he just might be walking directly 
into a trap.  He didn't believe his father would willingly 
put him in danger, but they could be using him, as well.  
Anything was possible with these people.  The last thing 
Mulder wanted was to have Scully taken away again.  The 
thought of her so near death still made him break down 
inside, although so far he'd managed to keep that secret 
carefully to himself.  The gulf of emptiness he had 
experienced at almost losing her had shocked him. Up until 
that time, he knew he cared for her; he had not known he was 
in love with her.

The drive to West Tisbury should have taken him around seven 
hours, but Mulder made it in just over five.  He hopped the 
ferry to the Vinyard, then had to cool his heels for another 
interminable hour.  By the time he reached the Vinyard, dawn 
had already broken.  The air was chill, and Mulder inhaled 
the aromas of his childhood.  Fish, salt, excitement.  This 
was the Vinyard Mulder tried to remember. This was the way 
it had been, up until the time Sam had disappeared.  The 
times after that...well, he didn't care to reflect on them 
too deeply.

He didn't even have time to knock before his father opened 
the door and ushered him quickly into the house, glancing 
around the street before closing the door behind them.

"Do you still have it?" he demanded without preamble.

"Have what?"  

Bill Mulder sighed, and grasped his son by both arms.  "Fox, 
if you still have the tape, tell me now.  Everything depends 
upon it."

Mulder intended to lie, but the truth spilled out as soon as 
he opened his mouth, and his father seemed pleased to hear 
it.

"I have it."

His father's lips twisted into what could have been a wicked 
smile. "Good.  Hold onto it.  When you reach your 
destination, put it somewhere safe, somewhere it can never 
be discovered.  It could save your life one day, if they ever 
find you."

Mulder frowned, shaking his head slightly.  "Dad, what are 
you talking about?  I'm not going anywhere.  Don't you 
understand?  I finally have the proof I need to bring them 
down!  I'm not going to run away, like some--"

"Yes, you are!" 

The ferocity in his father's voice took Mulder aback.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"What you don't know is who you're dealing with.  What 
they're capable of. Oh, you think you know," he forestalled, 
seeing Mulder about to speak.  "You think you've seen the 
worst they can do.  Let me tell you, son, you haven't even 
scratched the surface of their capabilities!"

Mulder snorted.  "What can they do?  Kill me?"

"Not just you."

That gave Mulder pause.  "Scully?"

"They control her now, Fox."

"No!" Mulder denied angrily.  "No one controls her.  Scully 
would never betray me!"

"I don't mean of her own free will.  I mean," he said, 
leaning in closer for emphasis, "they can *control* her.  They 
can do to her anything they want. You've gone too far this 
time."

Mulder searched his father's eyes, still confused, and the 
elder man sighed. He released his son and slumped wearily to 
the sofa.  "I used to be a powerful man in this organization.  
There was a time when my word was law.  Then, someone else managed 
to edge me out.  He took control, and from that moment on, we were 
doomed."

"We?"

He was ignored.

"When they took your partner, they did things to her.  
Horrible things.  Things you can't begin to imagine.  I 
haven't time to go into detail.  The only thing you need to 
know is that they control her.  Whether she stays lucid or 
sane, healthy or ill, whether she lives or dies, is all in 
your hands now.  She'll be protected, but only if they think 
she can't possibly be a threat to them.  Even after you're 
gone, they'll be watching her.  You can never contact her.  
You can never come back, Fox.  Ever."

Leaving Scully forever.  Such a thought had never occurred 
to him, even in his worst moments.  He felt the tape inside 
his pocket once more, felt the promise its smooth plastic 
casing held, and knew he'd give it all up just to go back to 
yesterday.

"Here," he said, pulling it from his pocket and holding it 
out.  "They can have it.  Give it back to them.  Call it an 
even trade--Scully's safety for their damn tape."

His father suddenly looked sad, and very, very old.  "I'm 
afraid it doesn't work that way."

"Well why not?  They want their tape back, they can have it.  
I haven't had a chance to even find out what's on it yet.  
I'll just...have to find the truth another way."

"It's too late, Fox.  You can't just cry 'no harm, no foul' 
at this point." He fixed Mulder with a steady, pointed 
stare.  "They have to believe you're dead."

"Dead!"

"I've already taken care of the details."  He reached into a 
drawer in the table beside the sofa, and withdrew a small 
packet.  "This is your new identity.  It is imperative that 
you are not followed, so be more careful than you've ever 
been in your life.  We have about a fifty-fifty chance of 
pulling this off, but neither of us has anything to lose.  
If we don't try, you die. And so does Scully."

"So I'm a dead man either way, is that what you're telling 
me?"

"You begin to understand."

"Dad, I can't just--"

"Go, Fox.  Go now.  You haven't any time to lose.  I'll 
handle things here.  Leave your car.  Give me your wallet.  
The evidence will prove that you died here tonight, for 
anyone who doesn't look too closely."

"And if they do?"

"I'll see to it they don't."  Mulder was about to argue, but 
was finally convinced by the tears that filled his father's 
eyes, and the words choked out around them.  "Trust me, Fox.  
You're my son.  Trust me."

"All right, Dad.  I'm trusting you."  He reached out to 
shake his father's hand, but was pulled into an unexpected 
embrace.  For a single moment, the security and emotion of 
his childhood, and yes, even the comforting scent of his 
father's clothing, permeated with the smell of the 
cigarettes Bill Mulder loved, reached him.  In the next 
moment it was gone, and he was left with nothing but the 
memory of the void that had filled his life for years after 
Sam had disappeared.

Pulling away from his father's arms, Mulder slipped out the 
back door and disappeared into the night.

*****

"Did he agree?"

"He did.  Did you do your part?"

Krycek nodded.  "In the car."

"How did you accomplish it?"

The younger man smiled.  "Don't worry.  It isn't traceable."

"Bring him in.  You have work to do here before dawn."

Krycek was good, the elder Mulder had to give him that.  If 
any insomniac neighbors happened to be watching, they never 
would have guessed that the bundle brought into the house 
over Krycek's shoulder contained a dead body.  It could have 
been a rug, or a large amount of dry-cleaning, or any number 
of other things, but the last thing it resembled was a 
well-wrapped corpse.

"Over there," he said, pointing to a spot on the floor.  
Krycek positioned the body as directed.  When all was 
arranged to satisfaction, Bill nodded. He seated himself 
again on the sofa.  "You brought the things I requested?"

"Of course."

"Get them."

"What exactly is it you want me to do, Mr. Mulder?"

Bill looked around the room for a moment, then sighed 
heavily.  "I want you to destroy this room and everything
in it."

"But--"

"Just do it.  Quickly."

Nodding his head, Krycek went to retrieve his supplies.

*****

Scully heard the telephone ringing as she emerged from the 
shower.  She raced for it, catching it just before the 
machine would have picked up.

"Scully."

"Agent Scully, it's Assistant Director Skinner."

She snapped to attention at once.  "Yes?"  There was 
something odd in Skinner's voice. "Sir, is everything all right?"

"Scully, I...don't know how to tell you this."

A tremor, that's what it was.  Skinner sounded shaken.

"Just tell me, Sir."

"Mulder...last night..."

Scully gripped the phone harder, her heartbeat quickening.  
"Is Mulder all right?"

Skinner cleared his throat, and she could picture him 
straightening, pulling himself into his usual, dignified 
persona.  "Agent Scully, I regret to inform you that late 
last night, there was an explosion at the home of Mulder's 
father. Two bodies were discovered this morning, both burned 
almost beyond recognition, but it's believed--"

"Sir, please don't tell me--"

"It's believed the bodies are those of Agent Mulder and his 
father."

Scully sat down on the bed slowly, her knees weakening, and 
let the phone slide from her hand.  She ignored the repeated 
inquiries of her boss, diminishing from her awareness as she 
took in what he had said.

Mulder.  Mulder was gone.

*****

There was money in the packet his father had given him.  Not 
a lot, but it would do for a while.  He'd have to find some 
sort of work, and a place to live.  Most importantly, he'd 
have to find a way to contact Scully and let her know he was 
alive.  There was no way he was going to leave her to grieve 
for him when it could be avoided.  His father had been 
rushed, he'd been forced to make plans quickly.  He hadn't 
had time to think the entire situation through. Mulder, on 
the other hand, had ridden a bus all night, with nothing to 
do *except* think.  He wasn't certain how it was to be 
accomplished yet, but there had to be a way to communicate 
with her safely.

By the time dawn broke, he'd reached a small, backwater town 
in Connecticut. It seemed as good a place as any to stop for 
a rest, and he was exhausted. He checked into a nondescript 
motel using his new identity, and breathed a sigh of relief 
when the clerk didn't bat an eye at his bogus driver's 
license. Mulder paid cash for two nights, went to his room, 
and fell onto the bed without even undressing.  After a 
while, he got up, showered, and crawled into bed naked.  
He'd have to buy some new clothes soon, and a toothbrush.  
Everything, in fact.  He'd left his father's house, ridden 
the ferry to the mainland, and boarded a bus almost 
immediately.  He had no possessions to his name except a 
little money and a fake ID.  And the DAT tape.  Insurance, 
his father had said.  In case they ever found him.  The 
finality of that idea overwhelmed him, and Mulder was 
surprised to find himself awash in pure despair.  

How had this happened?

He couldn't allow himself to wallow in self-pity for long, 
however.  He hadn't gone far enough.  He'd sleep all day, 
then board another bus, to make his way farther west.  
Farther away from Scully, and all that he loved.

Burying his face in the pillow, he tried to sleep.

*****

He awoke when the late afternoon sun crept through the crack 
where the curtains met and splashed across his eyes.  
Shielding them from the glare, Mulder looked over at the 
clock.  Just after five.  

He was starving.  He'd spotted a McDonald's a couple of 
blocks away early that morning, so after pulling on his 
clothes, Mulder eased out the door.  He examined the parking 
lot closely, then the surrounding businesses.  If someone 
had followed him, they were doing an excellent job of 
remaining hidden.  At last deciding that if they came for 
him, there wasn't a lot he could do, Mulder pulled the door 
closed and set off.  He wished he had a car, so he could at 
least visit the drive-through window.  There was more 
anonymity that way.  It couldn't be helped, he told himself, 
but he needn't have worried. A busload of hungry tourists 
had converged on the restaurant in search of sustenance, and 
the frazzled employees were too busy filling orders and 
making change to even look at their customers.  

Mulder took his food and hurried back to what he felt was 
the relative safety of his motel room.  He reached for the 
remote, flipping through the channels until he found an 
evening newscast, and dug into his burger.  A few minutes 
later, he stopped with a fry halfway to his mouth as his own 
name blared from the television.

"An explosion and fire rocked a quiet neighborhood in West 
Tisbury, Massachusetts last night as a house erupted into 
flames.  Firemen were able to contain the blaze, which was 
suspected to have been caused by a ruptured gas line.  Two 
badly burned bodies were discovered in the house.  Police 
have not yet made positive identification, but they are 
believed to be the bodies of the homeowner and his adult 
son.  Authorities say more information should soon be 
forthcoming.  And in other news..."

Food forgotten, Mulder simply sat staring at the television 
with his mouth open for a few seconds.  "Dad!" he whispered.  
"Oh, no..."

Had this been his father's plan all along?  To kill himself 
while faking his son's death?  Or had Bill Mulder faked his 
own death as well?  Was he still out there somewhere, riding 
a bus, sleeping in motels, much like his son?  

It was a nice idea, but somewhere inside himself, Mulder 
knew it wasn't true.  He'd seen the lines of weariness on 
his father's face the night before.  Bill Mulder may not have 
actively sought out suicide, but when the opportunity arose, 
he'd taken it willingly.  

Then the thought occurred that perhaps it hadn't been 
willing.  His father had insisted he would handle all the 
details, but he couldn't have done it alone. Could someone 
have been working with him?  Someone who had agreed to help 
his father eradicate Mulder's own life, and taken the 
opportunity to eliminate William Mulder as well?  If that 
was the case, then someone out there knew he was alive.  
Who?  

Mulder looked around the darkening room uneasily.  Suddenly, 
the feeling of relative safety he'd convinced himself was 
genuine seemed very, very tenuous.

It was time to move on.

*****

It was amusing, how much Mulder's friends thought they 
knew about the government, he mused as he listened.  They 
considered themselves paranoid in the extreme, wise to every 
trick, up to date on every new gadget.  On the other hand, 
he had to admit, they really couldn't be blamed for their 
magnified perception of their own worth.  After all, he had 
technology at his fingertips that they couldn't begin to 
visualize.  With it, he'd been able to watch and listen as 
they first grieved, then questioned, then began to search.  

They believed Mulder was out there, alive somewhere.  He 
agreed.  They believed it was only a matter of time before 
they found Mulder.  He agreed with that, too.  They believed 
that when they did locate their friend, they could somehow 
help him out of his predicament.  On this, he was forced to 
part company with them.  There was nothing they could do to 
help.  Fox Mulder was dead, and for his own safety, he must 
remain so.  If he should surface, he would find himself in a 
situation where death would become a blessing.

The explosion and fire that had taken the life of Bill 
Mulder and an unidentified man resembling Bill's son had 
satisfied his colleagues.  It had not satisfied him.  He 
knew William Mulder, perhaps better than any of them.  
Certainly he'd known how the man's mind worked better than 
the others.  Bill was disillusioned and disgusted with the 
turn their work had taken, and it was believable that he 
would sacrifice himself.  What was beyond acceptance was the 
idea that he would sacrifice his own son.  

Even Mulder's mother believed her son had died that night.  
He had seen her grief, and it had moved him, as much as he 
allowed anything to move him, but he kept his own counsel.  
The results of the tests he'd privately had run on the body 
had proven to him beyond a doubt that Fox Mulder had not 
died in that fire, but since for all intents and purposes he 
had, it was best to let Teena do her grieving alone.

After determining Mulder was, in fact, still very much 
alive--or at least that he hadn't died in Bill Mulder's 
house the night of the explosion--he had tapped into his 
best resource:  Mulder's friends. He'd been certain they 
would eventually lead him to Mulder, and they had done so.  

Now he had to move, before they actually contacted Mulder.

*****

The blond man with the slightly darker goatee looked up at 
his next customer and froze.  Hazel eyes, turned slightly 
greener by contact lenses, dilated.  He felt the adrenalin 
rushing through his system, and tried to decide whether to 
run or fight.  Bluffing was out of the question; there was 
no way this man's appearance could be a coincidence.

"Hello, ah...Frank," the man said, reading Mulder's name 
tag.  "I would like some assistance, if you please.  Over 
here."

He beckoned to the farthest corner of the men's clothing 
department and waited for Mulder to precede him there.  
Mulder did, finally, because the chance of being murdered 
was only slightly less onerous than the knowledge that he'd 
have to come to work here in this department store, day 
after day, for many years to come.  The boredom had sapped 
him of any enthusiasm he might have retained for life 
already, even after only a few months.

"Are you here to kill me?  Go ahead.  Do your worst," he 
invited softly.

The answering chuckle was equally soft.  "Indeed, no.  I 
don't believe for a moment that the tape was destroyed in 
the fire.  I believe you still have it, and I know you would 
have made some arrangement for it to come to light in the 
event of your death.  That cannot be allowed to happen."

"How did you find me?"

"Your friends are very enterprising."

Mulder's eyebrows rose, and the man smiled again.  "Don't be 
concerned. They know nothing of me, or of the fact that I've 
been listening to them for months.  If they should be so 
ill-advised as to contact you, I trust you have the good 
judgement to redirect them."

"Why are you here?"

"Have you translated the tape?"

"What tape?"

"Please, Fox.  The time for deflection is long past.  Have 
you?"

Mulder shrugged.  "A little.  It took me a while to figure 
out that it was written in ancient Navajo.  I've had to 
study up on it myself. It isn't an easy language to learn."

"There are secrets there that you might be happier not 
knowing."

"What difference can that make now?"

"I need reassurance, Fox.  You and I both know that you 
would care little for your own life, if you could expose the 
information contained on that tape. You're like your father in 
that manner."

"Did you have him killed?"

"I did not.  Bill Mulder arranged that explosion himself.  
He had an accomplice.  We believe we know who, but finding 
the man has proven difficult."

"Krycek?"

"I see you've figured things out on your own."

"I've been working in a mind-numbingly boring job for the 
past few months. I haven't had much to do except think.  It 
wasn't a great leap of logic to figure out.  You still 
haven't told me why you're here."

"Actually, I came to offer you a deal.  I had hoped you were 
still ignorant of the contents of the tape.  Since you 
aren't..." he shrugged, "the deal will have to be altered."

Mulder glanced around, spotted a couple of customers 
approaching, and called to a co-worker.  "Ryan, I'm going on 
break.  See to those guys, will you?"  He pulled the man 
through a door leading to a corridor and led him to the 
employee break-room, now mercifully empty.  "What are you 
talking about, old man?" he demanded.  "And make it quick, 
because I only have fifteen minutes."

"It's very simple, Fox.  Unfortunately, your curiosity has, 
so to speak, killed the cat.  If you had left the tape 
alone, I was prepared to offer you a chance to return to 
your old life in exchange for it.  However, things have 
changed.  It's far too dangerous for you to come back now.  
Still, there is a deal to be made, if you're interested."

"What kind of deal?  I've seen the tape.  I'm slowly 
translating it.  I can't go back to being ignorant."

"You give me the tape, and I give you Scully."

The words, bluntly spoken, hit Mulder in the gut like a 
well-placed punch.

"You--you have Scully?" he managed, white-faced, barely 
able to muster the breath to speak.

*****

It was all going his way.  This felt wonderful.

Ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign on the wall, the man reached 
into his pocket, withdrew a pack of cigarettes, shook one 
out, lit it, took a good long drag...all the while allowing 
Mulder to writhe inwardly.  When he felt he'd tortured the 
young man enough, he smiled again.

"No."

Mulder visibly relaxed, and the smoking man knew his prize 
was won.  Mulder still had feelings for Scully.  He would 
hardly be able to turn down the deal he was about to be 
offered.

"However, I can attempt to reunite you.  A trade.  You give me the 
tape, and I will arrange a "death" for Scully.  She can join 
you."  He paused a beat.  "You won't have to be alone any 
longer."

*****

Scully at his side again.  Her smile, the glint of her hair, 
the complexity of her personality that both challenged and 
fit with his all at the same time--her presence.  He had 
almost convinced himself he'd purged the desire for her, but 
now it came back in full force, and he was forced to admit 
it had never really gone.

And yet--

"Have you talked to Scully?"

"No."

"Then how do you know she'd come?"

The smoker took another long pull on his cigarette, then 
tamped it out in an empty coffee cup someone had left 
behind.  "It's up to you to convince her.  I'll arrange a 
time when it will be safe for you to meet with her.  Someone 
will contact you, receive the tape from you, and tell you 
when you may visit Scully without danger."

"How can I trust you?"

"You must make that decision on your own.  If something goes 
wrong, you're a dead man, and Scully...well, she proved 
quite useful to us in the past.  We have no current plans to 
revisit her, but I'm sure an exception could be made, if it 
was decided you should be punished.  This is a dangerous 
game you've chosen to play, Fox.  But you knew that from the 
beginning, and you willingly brought Scully along for the 
ride."

Mulder digested this, wanted to deny it, and finally had to 
admit that what the smoking man said was true.  He had kept 
Scully at his side, out of selfishness and jealousy, it 
could be argued.  But not entirely, he amended--even when 
they were separated, she had wanted to be working with him.  
No, he hadn't kept her at his side.  She had remained, of 
her own volition.  Would she come with him now, using that 
same freedom of choice?  He could only ask.

"Fine," he agreed at last, feeling weary to his marrow.  
"When can I expect your messenger?"

"Soon.  Be prepared."

With that cryptic message, the smoking man left him.  Mulder
felt only dejection and fear.

What the hell was he getting them into now?

*****

It was accomplished quickly, the very next day, and Mulder 
was thankful he'd retrieved the DAT tape from its hiding 
place as soon as he'd left work after the smoker's visit.  A 
knock at the door of his small apartment, an unobtrusive 
messenger--("You have a tape for me, Sir?")--and a piece of 
paper thrust into his hand containing a date, time and 
location.  Two days hence, ten p.m.  Sunday night. At her 
apartment.

Now the appointed time had arrived, and he was nervous.  
Very nervous.  Mulder sat in the rental car he'd parked down 
the block from her building, watching the rain coat his 
windshield and trying to convince himself to go to her.  He 
couldn't imagine what her reaction would be.  He'd tried to 
picture it a thousand times over the past two days, and 
still hadn't been able to predict how Scully would react, 
not only to finding him alive, but to his invitation to 
leave her home, her work, her family and come away with him, 
to live a strange life undercover in another town with 
another name.

To never see her mother again.

All at once, his proposal seemed garish and obscene.  Could 
he possibly ask it of her?  He knew she cared for him--at 
least she had before he'd "died"--but how did she feel now?  
Had she managed to grieve and move on?  Would he be a 
welcome revelation, or an intrusion into a life she'd built 
for herself without him?

There was nothing to do but ask.  What he'd told his father 
all those months ago still held true: he knew Scully would 
never betray him.  If she said no...well, he'd just fade 
back into the woodwork from which he'd emerged.  

Then, he might consider putting a bullet in his brain, but 
that was a decision for another day.

He placed his feet purposefully on the sidewalk, one step 
after another, forcing himself to cover the distance between 
his car and her apartment.  He didn't have an umbrella, but 
he barely noticed the raindrops falling.  The familiar walk 
transported him to happier days, and by the time he reached 
her front door, he had begun to believe there was a chance 
she might agree.

He raised his hand to knock, but laughter drifting from an 
open window stopped him. Standing there alone, his arm still 
poised, Mulder listened.

"But really, Melissa, I'm all right."

"You're better now," the voice of Scully's sister answered.  
"I was worried about you for a while, Dana."

"I know."  Scully paused, and when she continued, he heard a 
definite wistfulness in her voice.  "I really liked working 
with Mulder, most of the time.  It was exciting."

"But...?"

"But I don't miss the danger involved.  And you know, Gary's 
nice, too.  He does tend to go by the book more than Mulder 
did, but that can be a relief sometimes.  I like my 
assignment with him."

"You still think of Mulder often, though, don't you?"

"Of course I do.  We went through a lot together.  I'll
never forget him.  But Melissa, he was such a--I don't know,
I guess what I'm trying to say is that Mulder was such a
tortured person, he's probably happier where he is."

"Well I'm glad to see you moving on."

"I have, Missy.  I really have."

Mulder didn't wait for more.

He would often wonder, in years to come, if he had done the 
right thing.  What if he'd knocked on her door that night?  
What if Scully had seen him, thrown her arms around him, and 
agreed to follow him anywhere?

What if she'd turned him down?

Rising to face another day as Frank Melman, of Rosstown, 
Arizona, Mulder shook away the thoughts.  Even the 
promise of suicide he'd made to himself, he hadn't been able 
to keep.  When it came right down to the wire, Mulder had 
decided he couldn't follow through.  

Light or dark.  Life or death.  Good or evil.  All of life 
is made up of choices, and we have to live with every choice 
we make.  Mulder knew, when he picked up the gun that 
morning, he was facing his destiny.

Light or darkness.  What hurt, what really made him want to 
hang his head and just cry sometimes, was the certainty that 
of the two, he had not chosen light.

END

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