TITLE: World Without End:
Book Two (9/?)
AUTHOR: Rachel Anton
E-MAIL: RAnton1013@aol.com
Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm going to be forty-three years old. I almost made it through another year.
The first time I realized that I was dying of cancer it came as something of a shock. There had been hints, yes, subtle clues dropped throughout the years that such a thing might occur as the result of my abduction. But still, it wasn't something I seriously considered as a possibility. Until it became a reality.
When I came here, when I had my chip removed, I knew that it might return. It was a risk I took, knowing the potential outcome and fully prepared to face the illness again if need be. For the first two or three years, every month that went by without a sign of it seemed a blessing to me. A gift. But I still felt the threat looming. After four or five years the fear started to recede somewhat. I figured that if I were going to get sick again, it would have happened already. A few of the former slaves here had gotten it but not all of them. I thought I was one of the lucky ones.
For the past year or so my worries about the cancer returning have been relegated far to the back of my consciousness. I've continued to work for a cure, for the benefit of the unfortunate individuals who have gotten sick, but I'd generally grown to believe that I was immune. It had been so long. And Alex…being with Alex makes me feel invincible sometimes. But I'm not.
I got a nosebleed this morning.
I woke up with a headache. No, it was something beyond a headache. I felt like my skull was breaking into a million tiny pieces. I think I was actually crying in my sleep from the pain. When I opened my eyes I saw that Alex was still sleeping and quietly rolled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face and as I stood there, hunched over the sink, I watched as splotches of red began to stain the white porcelain. All I could think about was how I'd have to scrub those stains off and where I might be able to hide the towel I'd use so that Alex wouldn't see.
It went on for quite some time. Much longer than the ones I got the first time around. Much more blood. The headache was a warning I suppose. It didn't come out of the blue the way they used to. That might be a good thing. Might make it easier to cover it up when they do happen.
The thought of keeping such a massive secret from Alex is so upsetting but I don't know what else to do. His reaction to the news would be more difficult to deal with then the illness itself.
I remember Mulder's denial, his inability to conceive of the potentiality of my death. Sometimes I felt like shaking him, smacking him upside the head and screaming at him, "I'm DYING! Don't you get it?"
It was frustrating but it worked for us. Avoidance was the hallmark of our relationship.
Alex doesn't do denial. He'd accept it. He'd believe it and fully understand what it meant. And then he'd probably go insane.
I'm certain that he'd blame himself. He's the one who took the chip out, after all. Cause and effect. That's how his mind works. He wouldn't consider the fact that I chose this path for myself.
Then he'd try to formulate some sort of plan of attack. A way to kill the disease, force it from my body through sheer will alone. And when he realized he couldn't, he'd blame himself for that too.
And then he'd decide that I shouldn't be working in my condition. That I shouldn't be doing anything at all. He'd keep me in one of those life-support bubbles if he could. He'd drive me mad with his worry and overprotectiveness and feelings of helplessness. We'd both be miserable.
If I'm going to die, I want to spend my final days on Earth in relative peace. I want to enjoy what I have without mourning the inevitable eventual loss of it. I want Alex to enjoy me without that doom hanging over our heads.
And most of all, I want to find a cure. I will find a cure. He'll never have to know about this. I won't let him ever feel this pain.
After the bleeding stopped I came straight to the lab even though it was barely the crack of dawn. Now that I'm here, I'm not entirely sure what to do with myself. I feel so close to a breakthrough but I've felt that way for ages. I've been sitting at my desk since I got here, reading through the data Roseanne has been transcribing by hand for the past six months. We decided to stop relying on those old, rickety computers a long time ago. I know that the answer is in these pages somewhere. It's just a matter of putting two and two together.
I hear the door opening and closing and footsteps headed in my direction. Too heavy and loud to be Roseanne. I suppose it's Mulder.
Ret stirs out of his slumber in the corner and stands up when he hears the sound. I'm not sure why I decided to bring him to work with me today. I suppose I just wanted the company. I told him about the cancer when we were walking over here. He took it well.
Mulder makes his way through the tangle of microscopes, tables, tissue samples and other assorted paraphernalia and reaches my little thinking corner of the huge room. Ret starts growling and baring teeth immediately and it occurs to me that Mulder's never met my dog.
"Ret, no! Sit."
He does and Mulder looks back and forth between us, perplexed.
"Sorry, he's a little protective."
"You have a dog, Scully?"
"Apparently."
He gives me a little sardonic smirk.
"Ret, meet Mulder. Mulder good. Good Mulder."
He laughs and kneels down to pet him. Ret pants and bobs up and down happily, placated by my positive response to Mulder's presence.
"Hey Rhett. Where's Scarlet?"
"Not that Rhett, Mulder. R.E.T. Ret, short for Ret…iculan."
I suppose I'd almost forgotten the significance of that name, the significance Ret had in my life when I found him in the first place. Mulder seems to understand immediately. He smiles softly and actually looks a bit embarrassed.
"That's…that's a good name."
Ret rolls over onto his back and wiggles his legs in the air.
"He wants you to scratch his tummy," I tell him. I leave them to play together and go back to my reading. They seem very amused with one another.
After about twenty minutes or so I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around to a very sheepish looking Mulder.
"Scully, I…I wanted to give you something," he mutters, hands shoved into his pockets. Shit. My birthday. What could he have possibly gotten me? It's not like he could've popped off to the mall and grabbed a bottle of Chanel No. 5.
"When I woke up from…whatever happened to me, I found this in my pocket. I kept it this whole time because it reminded me of the way things were. The world, when it was sane. And…"
He clears his throat and meets my eyes. His gaze seems to go right through me. I see another life in there.
"And you. It reminded me of you. Gave me hope."
He pulls his right hand out of his pocket and holds it out in a fist. I open my palm underneath him and he drops the tiny piece of paper into my hand.
"Happy Birthday, Scully. I hope this gives you hope, too."
He kisses me on the cheek oh-so-briefly and then goes back to Ret, crouching down next to him.
I stare at the tattered object and try to decipher the writing on it. It's held together by several pieces of clear tape. In fact it's almost completely covered with the stuff, giving it a laminated appearance. But I can see the places where it was torn and worn out.
Commack Multiplex. That's what the words on the top spell out. A movie theater. It's a stub from a movie. The date is barely legible but I think the year is 1999. I remember. We were in New York, working on one of our last cases. It was winter. Only a month or so before it began. I don't remember the details of the case. All I remember is Mulder dragging me to the theater when we'd wrapped things up and were waiting for the next flight out of Laguardia airport. There was a light snow falling. We had five or six hours to spare and he said he'd been wanting to see this since the summertime. The movie, Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me. Discount show because it had been in the theaters for months.
It was the stupidest movie I'd ever seen. But I liked sitting in the artificial heat of the theater, next to Mulder and hearing him laugh at all the awful jokes, sharing the big bucket of popcorn, butter grease dripping down our fingers. It was fun. It was the last fun we ever had.
"Thank you, Mulder," I whisper, clutching the ticket in my hand. And then I begin reading again.
*************************
This is the most ridiculous display I've ever been witness to in my entire life. Even for Alex, this is absurd.
I woke up this morning to the sound of someone pounding on my door. I dragged myself out of bed even though it was a revolting hour to be awake and discovered three large, gun-toting men dressed in black standing in the hallway.
I was still in my pajamas but the rude bastards didn't seem to care or even notice. They barged into my room and told me to put on my shoes and a coat. I asked them what this was about but they refused to say another word. They marched me across the snow covered grounds in my nightgown, boots and a hideous secondhand parka with a gun digging into the small of my back all the while.
I suppose it shouldn't come as a real surprise to see where they've taken me. The man sitting behind the desk has his back turned to me but I know who it is. It could only be one person. If the goons hadn't given him away, his ridiculously neat office would have. Everything labeled and separated by name and color, placed carefully in little baggies with labels. God, he's gotten worse. Most anal-retentive thug I've ever known. He may think he's something better now, but he's not. Not to me. I remember now. I remember everything. Nothing but a thug.
He turns around like some pathetic villain out of a James Bond movie and nods at his personal MIB's.
"It's okay," he says with a wave of his hand and the trio exits. He looks me up and down with an eerily blank expression. I wonder if he's going to shoot me.
"Sit down," he tells me cordially, as if he'd invited me over for tea.
"Is there a special chair his holiness would like me to sit in?"
"Sit. Down."
I take the fold-out chair across from him and cross my arms over my chest. This better be damn good.
"Now, isn't that more comfortable?" he asks.
"More comfortable than what? Being dragged across campus in my pajamas at gunpoint?"
His lips quirk in a strange distortion of a smile. Must be so amusing for him to finally be able to wield this kind of power over me. Over anybody. King Alex, ruler of the biggest pile of manure left on planet Earth.
"What is this about, Alex? What's so important that you had to drag me out of bed at the crack of dawn before I've even showered? Not like there's ever any hot water anyway."
"Oh, I'm sorry, princess. Are the conditions not to your liking?"
"As a matter of fact, no, they're not. I've been meaning to discuss my accommodations with you. I'm certain there must be larger rooms on this campus. With private restrooms and kitchens…"
His fist slams down on the desktop in some sort of attempt to appear menacing. The little jar of pencils he's got on the corner tips over, spilling out a dozen or so neatly sharpened Number 2's.
"Listen to me. This is my place. And you are privileged to live here. Lucky. Lucky that I'm allowing you to stay."
Privileged? What a joke. Living here is my punishment. For what, I don't know.
"Alex, what do you want? Why did you summon me here?"
He leans back in his chair and gives me a creepy once-over. It's a good thing he's only got one good hand. I'm quite sure if he still had both he'd be rubbing them together wickedly.
"Let me ask you something, Marita. You're a free woman…"
Am I? That's an interesting take on the situation. I suppose freedom is relative.
"You're not a slave any longer, you seem to be readjusting well, you look healthy. Good actually, you look quite good. You're strong and you seem to have yourself together again. You also seem very unhappy with your surroundings. So…what are you still doing here?"
"What am I still doing here? Alex, I don't see as I have much of a choice. Where else am I supposed to go?"
That's why I'm really not free. Why I never have been and never really could be.
"You've been in contact with someone. Haven't you."
It's not a question. He knows. Of course. Was there ever any doubt that he would have me followed every second? What is it that I'm supposed to do in this situation again? Alex isn't supposed to know yet for some mysterious reason. But I obviously need to offer some sort of explanation here. Damn him for putting me in this situation. Damn the both of them. And Mulder, too. All of them. All the men. Things may appear to change but they never really do.
"Contact? Alex, I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, pointlessly. There's always the off chance that he's bluffing I suppose.
"Oh come on, Marita. You go wandering off into the woods and you think I'm not gonna have someone watching your every move? God, do you even realize how severely you're risking the safety and security of this place?"
"Alex, calm down. This isn't anything for you to worry about."
"Who is he? What does he want with you?"
Is there any reason to lie? I don't even know anymore. I don't even really care. I'm so tired of it all.
"I don't know his name. He works for a relative of mine who wanted to get a few messages to me. That's all."
"What relative?"
"Alex, do you insist on knowing the details of everyone's personal life or just mine?"
"Not everyone's personal life is putting the entire group at risk."
"So that's the way it works here? We all sacrifice our privacy and freedom for the sake of the group?"
"That's about the sum of it, yes."
"My word. What a good little Communist you are."
His eyebrows raise and his upper lip twitches just a bit. He's trying not to give it away but I've obviously managed to get under his skin. I can't believe he's still sensitive about that. It's not like the word has any meaning anymore.
"We do what we have to do. To survive," he growls through clenched teeth. "If you don't like it, leave. But if you plan on staying, you better damn well tell me who this man is or you'll have to make other arrangments."
Well, there it is. Tell Alex the whole story or get thrown out right now. Which would get me in more trouble? Giving away the secret too soon or getting myself booted? The latter could cause a lot more problems for me.
"I told you. He works for a relative of mine. Someone who wanted to contact me. Someone who wants to help you."
"Help me?"
He looks incredulous for a second and then bursts out laughing. He looks almost startlingly young suddenly even though his laughter is out of bitterness rather than mirth. He really hasn't aged all that much. Those crow's feet around his eyes have gotten deeper and more numerous and he's got a few tufts of gray in his hair but he's still got that same ageless quality.
"Look, believe me or don't. It doesn't make any difference to me."
"Why would any relative of yours want to help me, Marita?"
Why indeed. Perhaps because he's always thought of Alex as his own child. More so than either of his daughters. I suppose he always wanted a son.
"I don't know, Alex. You knew him better than I ever did."
He chews his lip and knits his brows, pondering that one for a minute or so. The curiosity is too much for him to last much longer.
"Well, who the hell is it?"
"Your old friend, Alex. The only person who's ever given a damn whether you lived or died."
He still looks completely confused, the idiot.
"I'll give you three hints. British, ancient, and insufferably pretentious."
His eyes widen in shock and then quickly narrow in suspicion.
"He wants to meet with you. He says it's not time yet, though."
He sighs then pushes his chair back and walks around to the front of his desk. He leans against it and runs his fingers through his hair.
"How is he related to you?" he asks me quietly. He's very close to me now. So close that I can smell him. No cologne around here for the dandy boy. Just him. Smell is the most nostalgic sensation. The scent of Alex brings me back to a very dark place.
"He's my father."
"Wha..what?" he chokes out around a nervous laugh. I'm actually a bit surprised he didn't already know that. I thought the old coot had told his little protege everything about everything.
"Okay…so…" he stammers, trying to get his wits together again. "So, have you actually seen him? Have you talked to him?"
"No. This man gave me a letter from him though. If you read it…well, it couldn't be from anyone else."
"So you're sure you can trust this man?"
"Relatively."
"Relatively…"
He sighs and looks up at the ceiling with a grimace.
"Well, where is your fa..father?"
"I don't know. The man won't tell me. He doesn't want me to know yet."
Another sigh and some fidgeting. Poor Alex. I've never seen him quite so frazzled.
"All right. Um…there's an executive committee meeting Thursday morning. I want you to be there. But I don't want you to tell anyone what you just told me. Not until we know more about this."
Perfect solution. A committee meeting. He's such a bureaucrat at heart.
"So what will I be doing at this meeting?"
"Just…just be there."
"Aren't your "executives" going to wonder what the hell I'm doing there?"
He shakes his head dismissively and walks back behind his desk.
"You're there because I asked you to be there. That's all," he tells me, sitting back down and waving his hand in front of his face. He looks down at the papers on his blotter and starts shuffling them around. I guess this is my cue to exit. But there's something important that we haven't discussed.
"Are you going to tell Scully about this?
He looks up and cocks his head to the side.
"Excuse me?"
"Are you going to tell Scully?"
"Scully's not your problem."
Not yet. That's not to say she won't ever be. I've seen them together. She's got her hooks in him so deep he'd need a back hoe to dig them out. It's a mystery to me what they could possibly see in each other. She's certainly not his usual type and God knows, he's not hers.
"She doesn't like me very much, Alex."
He laughs out of genuine amusement this time.
"What do I look like? The community guidance counselor? That's just the way she is. She's quiet, reserved with a lot of people."
"Not with you though I suppose."
"Marita…"
"Maybe she's jealous?"
"Marita, just do me a favor and don't even talk to her okay?"
My goodness. How utterly paranoid. I wonder how much of his former life he's shared with his new girlfriend.
"What haven't you told her, Alex?"
"It's none of your business what I do or don't tell her. I just don't want you saying anything about anything to her."
Well, she hasn't exactly made herself available for chatting. What is he so damned afraid of? Looks like I've discovered another weak spot in his arsenal.
"Why would I say anything?"
"Just…just don't! I don't want you or anyone else saying something that might hurt her."
He sounds close to panic now. Good. He needs to know he's not the only one with power around here.
"Aw, don't worry Alex. I won't hurt your widdle wuv muffin."
"All right, go take your shower, Princess. We're done here."
I suppose we are. For now. But I have a feeling the fun has only just begun.
End Chapter Nine
Continued in Chapter Ten
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