This chapter is rated PG


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Chapter Two
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"Here you go, ma'am."

The unmarked SUV came to an abrupt halt at a street corner in 
downtown Las Vegas, and the man in the dark suit climbed from the 
passenger seat and opened my door for me.  I stepped out onto the 
pavement, still a little wobbly from what had happened.

After the aircraft -- whatever it was -- passed over, I must have
lost consciousness, because my next memory was of this man and 
two others bending over me as I lay on my back in the middle of 
the desert.  Mulder was nowhere to be seen.

My first instinct was to cover up.  I didn't know what had 
happened or who these men were -- they certainly weren't the same 
ones who stopped Mulder and me earlier in the evening.  But it 
was obvious that they belonged there, even though none of them 
were in uniform.  It was equally obvious that I did =not= belong 
there.

Fortunately, they accepted my story about having been stranded by
some old college friends.  Supposedly, my "friends" had left me 
there to see how long it would take me to find my way back to
civilization.  The man in charge (presumably, from the way the 
other men had deferred to him) had rolled his eyes at that.

"Fucking idiots," he'd pronounced, shaking his head.  "You could 
die out here.  It's not that bad at night, but by midday ..."  He 
trailed off, but I got the point.  I was grateful when they 
offered me a ride into town -- my unease had tripled by this 
point.

I found myself standing alone, on a street corner in Las Vegas, 
in the middle of the night.  Not a situation I'd like to be in 
under the best of circumstances.  The first order of business, 
obviously, was to find Mulder and try to figure out what had 
happened.

I already knew my cell phone wasn't working.  I'd tried it on our 
way into town, but I couldn't even get a dial tone.  For a few 
seconds I'd thought maybe the battery was dead, but the date and 
time were still showing clearly and the battery indicator was on 
the "fully charged" setting.  Besides, I knew I'd charged it 
before we got on the plane.  But when I dialed a number and hit 
CONNECT, nothing happened.  I needed to find a pay phone.

Fortunately, I spotted one just across the street and down the
block.  I had to be careful of the traffic, despite the hour -- 
Las Vegas slows down a little around three in the morning, but it 
never really stops -- but soon I had the receiver in one hand and 
was dialing Mulder's cell phone number with the other...

Only to find a moment later that my calling card was invalid.  I
tried it twice and finally dug the actual card out of my pocket 
to make sure I was remembering the number correctly.  It was 
right.  I sighed.  Luckily, I had gotten some gum the last time 
Mulder and I made a pit stop, so I had a pocket full of change.  
At last, I got a connection.

"Mulder."

I breathed a sigh of relief.  Hearing his voice lifted a weight 
from my shoulders.  I'd been worried -- understatement -- since I 
woke up to find him gone. Not knowing what had happened and 
finding myself alone had made me dread the worst.  The last thing 
I remembered was the feel of his hand on mine.  I didn't believe 
for a second that if he'd been with me he would have walked off 
and left me in the desert alone and unconscious -- and of course, 
that just made me worry all the more.  Which brought up a good 
question...

"Mulder, it's me," I said.  "Where are you?"

There was a moment's pause at the other end ... and then he spoke 
the words I never expected to hear from my partner of six years.

"Who is this?"

"Mulder?"  I gripped the receiver a little tighter.  "Mulder, 
it's Scully.  I'm in Las Vegas.  Some men picked me up, I guess I 
must have ... have passed out, or something.  But they gave me a 
ride, and --"

"Wait, wait," he interrupted.  He sounded a little groggy, as if 
he'd been awakened by my phone call.  "Slow down.  What did you 
say your name was?"

"Mulder, this isn't funny," I said, starting to get annoyed.  
"It's me, Scully, and I'm in downtown Vegas.  Just down the block 
from the Golden Nugget.  Where the hell are you?"

"I'm at home, trying to get some sleep.  Just so you know, I'm a
Federal agent, and if this is someone's idea of a joke, please be
advised that it's not funny."  And he hung up.

I stood there for a minute or two, holding the receiver in my 
hand, my mouth hanging open.  What the hell just happened?  Had 
Mulder actually just claimed not to know me, then hung up on me?  
It had to be a mistake.  I fished in my pocket for more change 
and dialed again.  It was answered on the first ring.

"Mulder, it's me again.  Don't hang up."  I waited a few seconds, 
but he didn't say anything.  "Look, I don't know what's going on, 
but this is Scully.  I'm ... I don't remember anything after that 
plane flew over us." I realized I was babbling, but couldn't stop 
myself.  Something was wrong, and it was starting to get to me.  
"Mulder, I don't understand what's going on here.  One minute I 
was standing next to you, and the next... You.  Were.  Gone."

For a moment there was silence.  When Mulder finally spoke again, 
my heart sank at his words.

"Look, I don't know who you are.  I don't know anyone named 
'Scully' -- I've only ever heard that name listening to the 
Dodgers on the radio."

He's serious, I thought in shock.  He's not just playing a joke. 
What if he had hit his head during our ordeal and had some form 
of amnesia?  I tried not to panic.  "Mulder --"

"I'm going to hang up now."  And once again, the connection was
broken.

And once again, I was left staring at the telephone, open-
mouthed.  Slowly, I hung up the receiver and backed away, my mind 
working furiously.

Mulder claimed he'd never heard of me -- and that was impossible.
Even if ... oh, God.  Even if I'd been abducted again, even if 
I'd been missing for years, I knew there was no way he could have
forgotten about me so completely.

=Had= I been abducted again?  My thoughts were sidetracked as I
considered the possibility.  I didn't =feel= any different.  The
first time I'd been returned in a coma, and the second, only a 
few months ago, I'd been very ill for several days.  But right 
now, other than a little residual queasiness from the knock on 
the head -- or whatever it was that had made me lose 
consciousness -- I felt fine.

I realized that my fingers were exploring the back of my neck.  
The implant was still there, and as far as I could tell without a 
mirror, it was the same old scar.  Nor were there any new ones.  
I felt a sudden, almost irresistible urge to check my belly and 
the soles of my feet -- places where implants were sometimes 
found in abductees. But I didn't think I had been abducted again.

God.  Please don't let me have been abducted again.

Mulder could not have forgotten about me.  That was a basic 
truth.  Even if I'd been gone for years -- decades -- he couldn't 
have completely forgotten.  He might have thought someone was 
playing a cruel joke on him and hung up for that reason.  But he 
would not have flatly denied any knowledge of me.  I was sure of 
that much.

So he must have been trying to tell me something.  He must have
suspected that his phone was tapped, and didn't want ... didn't 
want what?  No one would believe that we didn't know each other.  
So there must have been something else.  He must have ... he must 
not have wanted whoever was listening to know where I was.

Which meant there had to be some other message buried in what 
he'd said.  Some clue as to what I was supposed to do.

I hurriedly reviewed his words in my mind.  He'd mentioned 
listening to Vin Scully's broadcasts of the Dodgers.  That could 
be a reference to Los Angeles -- or even Brooklyn.  Or it could 
be a more general reference to baseball.  Still, Mulder wouldn't 
expect me to know too much about baseball; he knew I didn't 
follow the sport.  The only reason I knew about Vin Scully was 
because people used to tease me about my name.  To the best of my 
recollection, Mulder and I had never discussed it.

So what else did that leave?  Nothing, really.  Mulder had acted 
like he didn't know me, and accused me of playing a practical 
joke.  He'd mentioned the radio announcer.  And that was it.  
Wasn't it?

No ... there was one more thing.  He'd also gone out of his way 
to tell me he was home.  Presumably, he meant he was in 
Alexandria.  But he couldn't be -- not when he'd been in Nevada 
only a few hours before.  So that couldn't be what he had meant.

But maybe he was trying to tell =me= to go back to D.C.  Why?  
The obvious answer was that he was in custody, and was warning me 
to get out before they came after me as well.  And that just 
wasn't going to happen.  If he was being held out at Nellis Air 
Force Base, I was going to stay close by and try to find a way to 
help him.  And he would know that.  He wouldn't expect me to 
leave town under these circumstances -- not on the basis of a 
single brief, cryptic comment on his part.

Wait.  Maybe Mulder was trying to tell me to =call= D.C.  That 
would be uncharacteristic, but I was rapidly running out of 
alternatives.  I knew with absolute certainty he wouldn't be 
telling me to call A.D. Kersh.  He =might= have been telling me 
to call Skinner.  We weren't supposed to be having any contact 
with him, but Mulder had never been very impressed by edicts from 
on high.  Or he might have wanted me to call the Lone Gunmen.

I thought about that for a minute.  The Gunmen had been very 
helpful when Mulder had taken his side trip to the Bermuda 
Triangle a couple of weeks earlier.  But this was different.  If 
Mulder was in custody, he was probably out at Nellis, and Skinner 
had a hell of a lot better chance of finding out what was going 
on than the three stooges did.  Skinner it was.

I was running low on change, but I still had enough for another 
call or two.  Unfortunately, I didn't know Skinner's home number, 
so I had to settle for the Bureau's duty officer.

"This is Special Agent Dana Scully," I said, once I'd made the
connection.  I rattled off my badge number.

I waited in silence while the man at the other end typed my badge
number into the computer.  For some reason, I held my breath.  I
heard a soft beep, and finally he spoke.

"Agent Scully.  What can I do for you?"

"I'm trying to reach Assistant Director Skinner," I said, 
relieved that I was still in the Bureau's computers.  At least 
that was right -- the first thing that had been right in what 
seemed like a very long time.  "It's very important."

I could almost hear him frown.  "Assistant Director Skinner?  We
don't have an A.D. with that name, Agent Scully."

"What?"

"Sorry, just a sec."  I heard more keys tapping.  "Uh ... we have 
a Section Chief Walter Skinner, in the Civil Rights Section.  Is 
that who you're trying to reach?"

"Section Chief?"  I shook my head, trying to fight off the 
feeling that there were walls closing in on me.  "No, there must 
be some mistake.  Walter Skinner is the Assistant Director of 
Criminal Investigation."

"No ma'am," he replied.  "That position's vacant right now.  
Martin Dunbarton is acting.  Did you want to speak to him?"

"N-no.  Thank you.  I guess I must have been confused.  I ... 
I'll have to call you back."  I hung up the phone without waiting 
for a reply.

This was crazy.  It was impossible.  Skinner demoted to Section
Chief?  When had =that= happened?  And why?  The only thing that 
made sense was that I =had= been abducted, and that considerable 
time -- at least several months -- had passed.  That still didn't 
tell me why Mulder was acting the way he was, but at least it 
explained the rest of the known facts.

I had to know for sure, and there was only one way I could do 
that.  My heart was thumping so hard I thought it would jump 
right out of my chest.  With shaky fingers, I put money in the 
pay phone one more time and dialed Mulder's home number.

If I hadn't been abducted, if everything was okay, there was no 
way Mulder could possibly answer his phone in Alexandria.  It 
rang and rang.  I was relieved.  He would have picked up by now.

"Hello?"

Oh God.  It was Mulder, sounding irritated.  I panicked and hung 
up the phone.  I don't know what I would have said to him, 
anyway.  The chances were unlikely that he'd be any happier to 
hear from me this time around, and the conversation would 
probably deteriorate from there, his first question being how I 
had all of his contact information.

Was it possible that I had been abducted, and so many years had
passed that Mulder had actually forgotten about me?  I didn't 
want to believe that was possible, but I realized with a sudden
constriction in my throat that I had to face the possibility that 
it was.  But I couldn't jump to conclusions; there could still be 
other reasons.

In any case, I needed help.  Getting back to D.C. immediately was 
the logical first step.  After that, it was a toss up, but I had 
to focus on one thing at a time.  If I'd been gone as long as I 
thought I had, my credit cards had probably been canceled -- and 
the fact that my phone card had been rejected and my cell phone 
didn't work supported that theory.  That meant my only assets 
were whatever I had in my pockets.  Mulder was refusing to take 
my calls and that probably meant the Gunmen would as well.  That 
left only one person.  My mother.

I hesitated, not sure whether I should call her.  If Mulder was 
just pretending not to know me, he probably had good reason, and 
calling a member of my family might put whoever I contacted in 
danger.  But the only alternative was to try to hitchhike across 
country with no money.  I would have to take the chance.

Glancing at my watch, I saw that it was a little before four a.m.
That would make it almost seven on the East Coast.  Mom would
probably be up by now.  I plugged the last of my change into the
phone and dialed her number.  It rang once ... twice ... three
times.  I was beginning to worry that no one was home, when 
finally it was answered.

"Hello?"

That wasn't my mother.  But the voice wasn't unfamiliar, either.  
My brow furrowed.

"Hello?"

Suddenly I realized who it sounded like.  I opened my mouth to 
speak but found that I had no voice.  No, it wasn't possible.  I 
was hearing things.  My mouth flapped like a fish out of water, 
but try though I might, no words would come, my brain struggling 
to process what I knew to be impossible.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end repeated, the tone becoming
exasperated.  "Hello?  Is anyone there?"

I tried once more and was finally able to reply.  "Missy?"

==========END CHAPTER TWO==========