WORK IN PROGRESS
        Rating – R
        Disclaimer – Not mine. Don’t sue (this applies to the quotes and book titles, too). Also, I completely made up the Navajo ceremony and beliefs in this story, it was necessary for the plot. I don’t mean to offend anyone. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Native American beliefs and traditions. Please, do not feel insulted by the liberties I have taken in creating what are most likely very different beliefs. They reflect only my own ignorance about the real practices. If I have insulted anyone, I sincerely apologize.
        Author's Notes - This is very nearly finished, but I can't seem to come up with a good ending. Any suggestions are encouraged and welcomed. Please note that the chapter titles are very important to the story. I'd really love feedback. This story has been a labor of love for several years now. In August of 1998 I began what started off as a sort of alternate take on what Mulder and Scully’s child would be like, if they ever had one. See, I just can’t envision them ever having a normal, stepford-like, life. So many stories write about their future as this almost sickeningly perfect life with perfect children. I wanted to write a different version of their future.
        Dedication - This one is totally and unequivocally for Alice Elder who has put up with my inane chatter about this piece for over a year now and has given constant feedback and plot twist ideas. Any happy parts are probably due to her influence. Thank you Alice!
 
 
 
 

Chapter 1 - Hope is the denial of reality

    As I walked into my office, the familiar smell of stale air and old sunflower seeds assaulted me. The sunflower seeds were an old habit I’d picked up from my father when I was a child. As well as the tendency to leave their salty shells all over the place. My Mother had hated that habit, but she’d put up with it, out of love. Memories like that, echoing strongly in my mind, were what kept me searching. Searching for them or for my lost childhood, my stolen childhood, I wondered sometimes, but still, the search was there.
    “Any luck?” a sympathetic, portly woman called out from the doorway.
    “No, Annette,” I replied, my long red ponytail swaying as I shook my head, “not this time.”
    Annette smiled sadly and said the same thing she said every time I came back empty handed, “Well, perhaps your next lead will be more fruitful.” She had made the mistake once of suggesting I abandon my search for my parents and try to establish something of a normal life. She’d only made the mistake once.
    “Perhaps,” I murmured as I sat behind my desk and stared at the thirteen-year old family portrait that lay upon it. It was the last one we’d had taken before my parents had disappeared without a trace. The picture haunted me. “Annette?” I called to my secretary in the waiting area; “I’m going to be out of the office for a few days. I’m going to visit my Grandmother.”
    Annette poked her head into the room, “Alright. I’ll call you on your cell phone when clients drop by with jobs for you.”
    I nodded, though I doubted I’d take a job right now no matter what it was. I was one of the most prominent private investigators in the country; I had the luxury of picking and choosing which cases I took. And right now, my own case took priority.
    “Of course, Annette,” I replied absently, mostly out of habit, I think, “please do.”

    It was late that evening before my Mercedes pulled into my grandmother’s driveway. The drive had been longer than I’d expected, not that I minded it. It had given me time to think, to plan. My life had been a strategy game right from the beginning. I’d accepted that long ago and learned to play along. I had been something of a celebrity ever since I was born. Being the daughter of the two people who championed the investigation of UFOs, MUFON, NICAP, and other organizations like them saw me as something akin to royalty. The heir who would undoubtedly champion their cause through the next generation. It was an assumption that I learned to exploit over the years for my own reasons, a convenient tool.
    Politically, I played the field and always had, ever since I was thirteen years old. I’d started by encouraging the UFO believers to revere me. Up until the point I started encouraging them to do so, my grandmother had kept me away from the public eye. I’d risen to the status of a major celebrity in their eyes very, very quickly. After that had been accomplished, I learned to back important politicians and curry their favor by influencing the growing population of ‘believers.’ It was a growing part of their constituencies and I was the key to their votes.
    I played the social circle, too. Having established myself as a young, rich, single, attractive, intelligent woman, even if I was cold, distant, and unattainable, did wonders for the accessibility of information. My visibility, socially, had made me a difficult and risky target. To act against me was to invite the fury of the ‘believers’ and turn me into an extremely influential martyr. Few people had taken that risk and those who had, didn’t live to talk about it. I’d made sure of that.
    The difficult part, for me, was staying one step ahead of my opponents. Preferably more than one if given a choice. Though honestly, I enjoyed the challenge. Now, with my latest lead exhausted, I ran to the place that I always ran to when I needed guidance or hope, Grandma Maggie’s.
    Sighing heavily and tiredly, I rang the doorbell. A moment later, Grandma answered the door.
    “Hello, sweetie,” she smiled at me as she opened the screen, not entirely surprised to see me standing before her. I think she’d half expected it, in fact.
    “Hi Grandma,” I choked out as I hugged the older woman.
    “It’s alright, dear,” Maggie smiled sadly as she ran her fingers through my long auburn hair.
    “I really thought I had something this time,” I whispered in an uncharacteristic show of emotion, “I really did. I thought… maybe, finally.”
    “Come on in, darling,” Maggie told me, “let’s sit down.”
    I obliged and sat on the sofa in the family room as I harshly wiped away the tears that betrayed my weakness. Weakness was never something I allowed most people to see. Grandma Maggie was one of the very few exceptions. Emotions were all part of the game, after all. They determined how one was most easily manipulated. I refused to be manipulated.
    “Jenna,” Grandma Maggie began as she sat down across from me and handed me a cup of peppermint tea, “maybe it’s time you let go.”
    “What?” I asked, disbelieving my own ears. “How can you say that? After everything that’s happened? They’re my parents! I can’t just forget they existed and move on with my life!”
    “Not forget,” She agreed, “just remember the good times you had with them, keep them alive in your heart and have the life they would have wanted you to have.”
    “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” I whispered, quivering in exasperation.
    “Jen, for their sakes, move on. Sell the old house. Find a boyfriend. Make some friends instead of contacts for once. You are an extremely bright, beautiful, young woman and you’re alive! Act like it,” She pleaded.
    It was an old plea, one I’d heard many times over the years and more frequently lately.
    “I can’t,” I told her fiercely, “they would never have stopped looking for me.”
    “They’re dead, Jenna,” she told me deadpanned.
    “You don’t know that!” I yelled in return, immediately regretting taking a harsh tone with her.
    “I know them,” Grandma Maggie said softly. “If they were still alive, they would have found their way back to you long ago.”
    “Not if they were abducted,” I replied determinedly, falling back on my old excuse.
    “Do you really believe that?” She asked staring sadly at me, already knowing the answer. Damn her for knowing me so well!
    “I don’t know. But I don’t believe they’re dead and I can’t believe you do!” I countered.
    “It’s been almost fourteen years, honey,” She said sadly.
    “I know that,” I replied, thinking back to the days before they’d left. I’d changed so much since they’d disappeared. “I promise you, I’m aware of every single day that’s passed without them.”
    She nodded and bit her lip, “I do hope you find them, Jen. I’m an old woman and I’d like to know what happened to my baby girl before… well, I guess I’ll just have to live forever, won’t I?”
    “Yes,” I nodded vigorously; “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Damn it. I’d always depended too much on her. She was a weakness, but one I couldn’t bring myself to do without.
    Grandma Maggie laughed, “You’d be fine. You’ve never needed me. You’ve never needed anyone.”
    “That’s not true, Grandma,” I told her as I hugged her, part of me regretting she wasn’t right. “And you know it.”
    She just smiled, “Well, it’s late, you might as well stay the night. I’ll see if I can think of anything the might be useful, ok?”
    I smiled, I knew as usual my grandmother wouldn’t come up with anything, but she did keep trying. “Alright,” I grinned, “thanks.”
    She waved it off, “Go get your things and I’ll make up your room.”
    “I mean it,” I said as I stood up, feeling like there was so much more I needed to tell her, “thank you. You’ve always been there for me. When… when Mom and Dad disappeared, you practically raised me yourself. That must have been so difficult and I don’t think I ever thanked you for everything you’ve done for me. So, thank you.”
    She looked to me with tears welling in her eyes and, I think, for an instant, through the haze of her tears, she saw my mother standing there and not me. “You’re welcome, Jenna,” She whispered.
    As I turned to get my stuff from the car, Grandma Maggie blurted out what she’d been holding back ever since I walked in the door, “Your parents would have been so very proud of you, Jenna.”
    I couldn’t bring myself to turn around or even respond beyond the slight nod of my head, but Grandma knew I was crying. It was a mixture of tears of sorrow and tears of joy. Tears for the frustration of my search, tears for all I’d missed, tears for all I’d become. They weren’t new to me. But, my parents would have been proud of me. She’d said so. I wasn’t sure I believed her; after all, she had no clue of all I’d done for my search. She had no clue all of the horrors I’d committed. But still, she believed they would be proud of me; that gave me something I think I’d lost long before. It gave me a reminder of why I was doing this. It gave me strength.

    Late that night, or perhaps it was early the next morning, I awoke screaming hysterically. It was something Grandma had become accustomed to over the years and she was in the room in record time, rocking me, holding me closely, protectively.
    “Shh, it’s alright, Jenna,” the older woman assured me, “it’s alright.”
    I quickly choked back my sobs and put my stoic mask in place as I assaulted the tears running down my face, “I’m alright, Grandma, thank you.”
    Maggie looked at me helplessly as she saw me withdraw, “Was it the same?” She asked.
    “It always is,” I murmured as I rolled over and went back to sleep, willing the dream to stay away.

    It was nearly ten o’clock when I was rudely awakened by my cell phone.
    “Jenna?” An all too perky voice asked.
    “What is it Annette?” I mumbled.
    “There’s someone here that says he has information on your parents,” Annette told me, “you might want to get down here.”
    I sat up instantly, completely awake, “Damn it! Alright, keep him there. I’ll be there in an hour.”
    “An hour?” Annette asked surprised.
    “I just woke up and it’s a forty minute drive from here. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Get him whatever he wants, ok? Drinks, lunch, Hell, you can even let him smoke for all I care.”
    “Like I could stop him?” Annette muttered.
    Something clicked all of the sudden in my mind, a piece of information I’d filed away long ago; “He’s smoking?” I asked in a curious mixture of stun, anger and excitement.
    “Yeah.”
    “What brand is he smoking? Can you see? Is it Morleys?” I demanded.
    “Yes,” Annette answered.
    “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
 
 

Chapter 2 - Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored

    His drags on his cigarette were continual, save for the occasional break to cough up a lung or two. The old man would most likely die from the damned things, Annette realized, and probably not that long from now.
    “Would you like a drink, sir, or something to eat?” Annette asked him, figuring he might as well condemn his liver along with his lungs.
    He took a slow, long drag and paused to look at her before he exhaled the noxious smoke, “No, thank you.”
    Annette smiled at him fakely, “Well, if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”
    “I will,” he confirmed with a slight, but intimidating, smile.
    No less than ten minutes later, I rushed into the room. I’d somehow managed to make myself presentable in the ten minutes I’d taken to drive to the office. My flaming auburn hair was tied tightly back into an imposing knot at the nape of my neck; my aqua eyes turned cold and unfeeling. I was prepared for battle.
    If the cigarette smoking man was surprised either at my early arrival or my appearance, he hid it well. He slowly put his cigarette out in the ashtray that sat on Annette’s desk and twitched an eyebrow in thought. “Shall we?” He asked, gesturing towards my office.
    I nodded and led him in, without saying a word. As I sat down behind my desk, I gestured to the chair across from me, “Please, sit down.”
    “No, thank you,” he replied as he lit another cigarette, “I’d prefer to stand.”
    I smirked lightly at his attempt to assert some sort of control over the situation. If that was how he wanted to play this, that was fine with me. “Suit yourself. What can I do for you? Or, perhaps I should ask what you can do for me.”
    He smiled; I knew how to play the game and he realized it. I wasn’t sure if he was impressed or surprised by this, but I think it pleased him. “Very astute, Ms. Mulder. Yes, there is something I can do for you, many things actually, and one I want to. You see, I know a great deal about your parents.”
    I remained stone-faced, “And?”
    He paused and took a drag on his cigarette, which I realized was also a control tactic, a way to make the other person wait and hang on your every word, “They’re alive,” he told me.
    “I know that,” I told him as I took a sip of water, a much healthier variation of his own control technique, which I was sure he realized.
    “How, if I may ask,” he responded.
    “I would know if they were dead,” I assured him.
    He raised an eyebrow, “This is more than just intuition, Ms. Mulder. I can promise you that, at least as of last night, they were alive. I saw them.”
    “Where?” I demanded, leaning over my desk.
    He half laughed and half coughed, “If I told you that, it would ruin the game, wouldn’t it?”
    “I’ve played the game long enough,” I countered.
    “You’re quite good at it,” he acknowledged with something akin to a mixture of pride and admiration written across his face, “You look like them, you know.”
    I didn’t respond. I just continued to stare at him, study him, look for his weaknesses.
    “You have her hair, complexion, and, I think, her sense of professionalism. You have something of him that echoes in your eyes. But, you know how to play the game, they never did figure that out. You learned to set your own rules; I admire that. That’s why I’m helping you.” Liar! He did admire that, but that wasn’t enough for him to help me. What was he trying to do here? Why was he helping me? “ There are three people you need to get in touch with, to help you. Their names are Langley, Frohike, and Byers, but you might have heard of them already as the ‘Lone Gunmen.’”
    I looked surprised. Damn it! I didn’t mean to show him that. “I’ve been trying to find them for over a year. Do you know where they are?”
    He handed me an address written on the back of a Morleys package. Damn him. It was a message, a loud and clear message, that I had him to thank for this and I owed him. I hated owing people.
    I nodded, “And what do you want for this information?” Wanting very badly to settle this debt right away.
    He smiled, “I’ll be in touch.”
    Shit.

    It was nearly four in the afternoon by the time I pulled up to the address the cigarette smoking man had given to me. The out of the way shack-like cabin seemed far more likely to house one of the less fortunate of the three little pigs rather than three of my father’s best friends. But, as I’d done many times before, I plunged forward into even the strangest looking of leads.
    After a few moments of rapping on the broken-down wooden door, a tall, older, longhaired man answered.
    “Excuse me, Sir,” I smiled as politely as possible, playing the sweet innocent girl, for the moment at least, “I’m looking for the ‘Lone Gunmen.’ Have I come to the right place?”
    The older man stared at me with suspicion and surprise, “I’m sorry; I can’t help you,” he told me and attempted to close the door.
    “No, wait, please,” I pleaded, dropping my prior image. I’d miscalculated. “My name is Jenna Mulder. I was told you could help me.”
    The door swung open quickly, “Jenna? Little Jenna?” The man asked her incredulously. I nodded in reply. I guess honestly was the best policy with them. “Byers, Frohike, get in here!” He yelled.
    “My, God,” Langley pronounced, for the first time really looking at me. “You look so much like your mother, you know that?”
    “So I’ve been told,” I murmured.
    “This had better be damned good, Langley,” Frohike’s annoyed voice called as he came down the hallway, “Byers and I were hacking through the coded Project Bluebook files…” his voice trailed off as he entered the room, “but none of that matters as of right now,” he announce taking in the sight of me. The gawking leer that took over his face was something I was used to and frankly hated, except when it suited my needs. In this case I didn’t think it would and it was pissing me off. Having a sixty-something year old man gawk over me was in no way flattering or appreciated. Maybe I had found the three little pigs after all.
    “Frohike, Byers,” Langley said, gesturing towards me, “this, is Jenna Mulder.”
    The other two ‘Lone Gunmen’s’ jaws dropped in surprise. Good, the leer stopped. “Oh, good gracious!” Byers muttered.
    “I should have known a creature as lovely as that was the offspring of my beloved Dana,” Frohike declared. Beloved? In his dreams!
    “Where are our manners!” Byers declared, “do come in.”
    “Thank you,” I smiled warmly.
    “Not to insult you or anything,” Langley said, rather embarassedly, “but how do we know you are who you say you are?”
    “A fair question,” I answered. Though it really was a futile exercise. If I’d wanted to, I could have already gotten all of their darkest secrets and be listening to them beg to be killed. Luckily for them, that wasn’t part of my plan. “Would you like a blood sample or a fingerprint? Somehow I’m assuming that my driver’s license won’t cut it.”
    Byers smiled, “Not quite, but we don’t have the means to check your blood or fingerprints. So, tell us, Jenna, do you remember what you said to your father on your fourth birthday?”
    “Of course!” I laughed, “I said, ‘I love you Daddy, but then, I love everybody!’ Mom laughed hysterically, but Daddy’s face just rose and fell completely! Mom told me I knew how to bring ‘em up and crash ‘em right back down again.” Smart woman, my mother. I wondered briefly if she would have been surprised to know just how right she’d been.
    Frohike smiled incessantly, “That’s our Jenna!”
    “How did you ever find us?” Langley asked.
    “Not in a way you’ll like. Someone told me. Someone who I suspect is not on the same side as we are,” I told them.
    “Who?” Byers asked worriedly.
    “I didn’t ask his name because I knew there was no chance he’d give it. He was a much older man, smoking a pack of Morleys,” I let the implications speak for themselves.
    “Damn it!” Frohike yelled, “Pardon me, dear, I didn’t mean to curse in front of a lady; it’s been quite some time since I’ve been in the presence of one and my manners seem to have left me. But, we thought we’d finally evaded them!”
    “You can never evade them,” I said, glancing up at the three men. Really, after this many years, they should know that by now. “You can only beat them at their own game. That’s the only way to win.”
    “It’s no game, Jenna,” Byers cautioned me, “There are lives at stake.”
    “But it is a game,” I told them, “that’s how they play it and so that’s the way it is. But it doesn’t mean we have to play by their rules.”
    “That’s a dangerous way of looking at it, Jenna,” Langley warned.
    “Yes,” I agreed, “but it’s also the only way to win.”
    “Why is it that you three never got in touch with me?” I asked, quickly changing the subject.
    Byers was the first to explain, “We’ve been hiding from the consortium for years, since they disappeared. We didn’t think it would be safe to contact you. It would have put all of us and you in danger as well.”
    “I promise, I can handle the danger,” I assured them. God, they still thought of me as a little seven-year-old, didn’t they?
    “Jenna, you have no idea what these men are capable of,” Frohike told me gently. Like Hell I didn’t!
    “I have every idea!” I scoffed. “They took my parents and my aunt, killed my other aunt and my grandfather. They’ve kept tabs on me and on you all for years and from what I understand they have access to deadly information that not even the President has!”
    Langley studied me, “But you haven’t lived it yet. You haven’t lived in fear every day that they might destroy you or kill your friends. You know that at this point it’s too big a risk for them to go after you, so you don’t have to worry about it.” Yeah, right, sure I haven’t.
    “I really don’t care if they kill me or not, which they know, I suspect, and it takes away their power to control me in that sense. I have no friends, only allies, and so I don’t have to worry about that. At this point, yes, I am too obvious a target, too dangerous for them to knock-off. I plan to stay that way.”
    The shock and skepticism that reined evidently on the three ‘Lone Gunmen’s’ faces was of no surprise to me. I had the tendency to be blunt, even when it wasn’t in my best interests. It was a failing I’d picked up from both sides of my family.
    “How can you say you don’t care if you die or not?” Byers asked gently and concernedly.
    I shrugged, “If you give me the option, I’d say live every time. But, my life is my quest in the most literal sense. One day, I’ll die, most likely in pursuit of my goals. I had to accept that years ago or I could never have taken all of the risks necessary in order to do what I’m doing. It’s as simple as that.”
    Frohike stared at me seeing the beautiful, emotionless, ambivalent shell of a woman who sat before him. I think he almost wanted to cry. He was, I’m sure, acutely aware in that moment that I was nothing like he had assumed I would be. I was not my mother. “They wanted you to live, Jenna. That’s why they did everything they did.”
    “I know,” I told him, “and that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing now. Besides my own selfish interests in their recovery and my concern for their well being, I have other motivations. I know bits and pieces about their work. I’ve read all of the surviving information on them and their quest that is anywhere near remotely available. I know about my father’s theories of a global conspiracy between the world governments and aliens to re-colonize our planet through the use of a virus. I also happen to believe it and I know you do, too. I believe it’s why they were taken. I think they knew something or that they finally had proof of this plot. Now, I need your help to find them and learn what they know. I need you to help me save the world, boys. You game?”
 
 
 

Chapter 3 - No one is entitled to the truth

    In a seemly deserted warehouse, somewhere in the bad part of an unnamed town, Cancerman stood in front of a row of tubes filled with green liquids and bodies. He studied one intently as he puffed away on one of his trademark Morleys.
    Out of nowhere, an equally older man grabbed his shoulder and stared seethingly into his eyes. “What did you do?” He demanded fiercely, leaning on his cane heavily.
    “I put a player back in the game,” he said.
    “What did you tell her?” He yelled, shaking his cane in frustration.
    “I told her they were alive,” He responded haughtily as he blew smoke in the other man’s face.
    “You gave her hope! Just when it might have been beginning to wane, you fool!”
    The Cancerman smiled, “It could never wane, you know that. She’s too much like her father, too much like him,” he said, gesturing to the tube he stood in front of. “She’ll never give up; she’s a persistent player.”
    “She’s our last great threat, you idiot! Not some player in a game!”
    “But it is a game, and what fun is a game if there’s no one to play against?” He asked, smirking lightly at the look of disgust on Caneman’s face.
    “What good is a game if you aren’t playing to win?” Caneman shot at him.
    “I beg your pardon?” He asked, grinding the stub of his cigarette out with his heel.
    “You already won when you beat Mulder and Scully; why do you persist in this suicidal game? I don’t think you want to win,” He argued, a look of disdain glowering in his eyes.
    “I’m quite sure you’re mad,” Cancerman countered calmly.
    “I’m quite sure you feel guilty!” Caneman hissed.
    “Guilty?” Cancerman scoffed, reaching blindly through his pocket in search for another cigarette he suddenly and desperately needed.
    “Yes, for robbing your son of everything he ever wanted, for turning your granddaughter into an unfeeling, cold, emotionless person. You, my friend, after all these years, have finally learned to feel!” Caneman yelled harshly, his voice echoing off of the cement-block walls like a tomb.
    Cancerman glanced from the tube in front of him to Caneman, “I’m afraid you’ve… miscalculated my motivations in this matter. I suggest you keep your irrational beliefs to yourself,” the tone of his voice left no room to doubt what the consequences would be if he didn’t. “Is that understood?”
    Caneman was taken aback at Cancerman’s apparent display of superiority, “We shall see who has miscalculated. All in good time, my friend, all in good time.”
 
 
 

Chapter 4 - Something missing becomes something lost only if you have given up looking for it

    “We’d love to help you find them, Jenna,” Byers told me sadly, “but we searched for years and came up with nothing. We’re not exactly in prime condition to be running around doing covert investigations, in case you hadn’t noticed, but if there’s anything we can do to help… just say the word.”
    I almost smiled as I surveyed the three sixty-something year-old hackers, “Thank you. Right now, I need to know if there’s anything you can think of that might help. Any old leads you gave up on or old contacts you may have.”
    “That’s a tall order, Jenna,” Frohike grinned, “but I’m sure we can swing it. It may take a while to get our resources together, but we’ll try.”
    “Thank you,” I smiled sadly. Time to play this up. “It means a lot to me.”
    “We know,” Langley smiled back, “that’s why we’re doing it. That and, well, I figure after all the things your parents did for us over the years, we more than owe them this one.”
    “How will you get in touch with me when you have information together?” I asked, certain I’d gotten all the information I was going to get this time around and wanting to move on to other leads.
    The Lone Gunmen looked to each other and shrugged. “They know we’re here, so, we have to relocate. Can’t say where or how right now, we could be being monitored. Suffice it to say, you will know when we have something for you,” Byers announced.
    “Alright,” I said warily, “When should I expect to hear from you?”
    “Within the week,” Langley replied.
    “Leave a message with Annette at my office,” I said, handing them my business card. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be in, but she can get in touch with me.”
    “Do you trust her?” Byers asked. Smart man.
    “I don’t trust anyone, but she’ll give me the message and she won’t tell anyone else. I pay her more than adequately. And no, the phone isn’t tapped. I have extremely high security measures that even the Consortium would probably envy. It’s amazing what being filthy rich can accomplish.”
    “No doubt,” Frohike answered admiringly. Pig.
    “Be careful, Jenna,” Langley called out as I headed for the door. I smiled in return. They really did mean well, but if I hadn’t known how to look out for myself by now, I’d have been dead long ago.
    “I will,” I answered assuringly.
    As I left their forest hide-away, I had to laugh to myself. Their famed paranoia faded into nothingness when it came to me. They trusted me, simply because I was my parents’ child. It was a weakness on their part, one that I planned on using fully to my advantage.

    It was late that evening by the time I returned home. I’d lost track of time at some point when I’d been talking with the Gunmen. Damn it… I had twenty minutes to get ready for the Governor’s birthday party. No matter, I was a master at getting ready for these things quickly. I’d have been fashionably late anyhow.
    I was really fairly impartial to social functions. They were a way to help me accomplish my goals and nothing more. But, I’d learned how to work them and how to become the center of attention at them. They were, in short, invaluable.
    I managed to arrive at the Governor’s party just over a half an hour late. I walked into the room; no, that’s not quite right. I never just walked. That would be too boring, too unnoticeable. I sauntered into the room, gracefully, elegantly. It was a look I’d perfected several years before.
    A curious mixture of hands-off regalness and inviting sexuality was my look of choice. The tight, complex knot of red hair that sat atop my head like a crown basically screamed I was unattainable, too good for anyone there. But, that was countered contrastingly by the lip-gloss that adorned the overly pouty lips I’d inherited from my father and my low-cut, forest green, velvet dress, which showcased a somewhat enhanced version of what I’d inherited from my mother. It made me something of an enigma. A curiosity which excited and stimulated the press, among others. It empowered me and I loved it.
    I headed directly over to the Governor when I entered the ballroom. There was no reason to waste any time. I saw a smile light up his face as soon as he spotted me. He was attracted to me; he made no secret of that. I’d done little to encourage his attentions, thus far, but I didn’t deter them either. It might be useful in the future.
    “Hello Mitch,” I smiled demurely. “Happy Birthday.”
    “Jenna, darling, it’s so wonderful to see you here. I’d been worried you might not make it,” he smiled, his eyes lingering on my dress a little too long.
    “Miss this? Good gracious, Mitch, it’s your birthday. I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” I told him, a hint of seductiveness in my voice.
    “Well, you know, I figured you might be out of town on a case or something,” he confided in me.
    “My cases can wait. It’s not every day you turn forty-five, my friend,” I smiled, parting my lips just slightly.
    He cleared his throat reflexively and I knew I was playing my cards just right. Apparently, however, I wasn't the only one who noticed this. Half a minute later, his wife showed up and possessively took hold of his arm. Perfect. Let him think she’s the one keeping us apart. No need for him to realize that I had no interest in him besides what he could do for me politically.
    “Beverly,” I smiled and kissed Mitch’s wife on the cheek, “how are you dear? It’s been ages.”
    “I’m just fine, thank you,” she smiled through gritted teeth. She knew better than to alienate me, but it was perfectly obvious she couldn’t stand me. That was just fine with me. I had never gotten along well with other women anyhow. Men were so much easier to manipulate.
    “That’s wonderful to hear. We really should have lunch some time. But, if you’ll excuse me, I really need to go say hello to someone. Mitch, darling, happy birthday. I’ll see you later,” I told him and kissed on the cheek, lingering just a bit longer than was appropriate.
    I chuckled to myself as I walked away from him. I could hear his breath rattle as he finally exhaled and an exasperated sigh that emanated from him wife. Things were working perfectly according to plan.
    I think I may have been the only person there without a date or an escort. But then, I never took a date to these things. It would inhibit my goals. And right now my goal stood across the room staring at a plate of hors d’oerves, trying to figure out what they were.
    “Walter?” I asked, approaching the man from behind. He turned around and I was faced with my parents’ old boss. From anyone else it would have been completely inappropriate to call the former director of the FBI by his first name. But, from me, it was expected. I even called President Joseph Patrick Kennedy by my own personal nickname for him, Pat.
    “Jenna,” he smiled warmly, “how are you? I haven’t seen you such a long time.”
    I smiled back. There were no falsehoods between us, at least not to he extent there were between me and everyone else. He could never see me the way most men did, thank goodness. I think he saw me as my parents’ child and little more. Oh, he was in no way blind to my political importance. The man wasn’t stupid after all. But, he didn’t see me like other people did either. There was no leering look of desire in his eyes and I can’t explain how grateful I was for that.
    “You haven’t been around much, Walter, otherwise you would have seen me,” I replied.
    “You are quite the social butterfly, aren’t you?” He asked skeptically.
    I smiled, “When it suits me.” I answered cryptically.
    “Are you still… looking?” He asked.
    My smile fell and, while I looked to my toes, I kept my head up high, “I’ll never stop,” I told him.
    “Have you had any luck?” He asked.
    “Some,” I replied, “I have a few leads which look quite promising. I hope you aren’t insulted if I don’t tell you more.”
    “Not at all,” he laughed, “I understand entirely. Drop by my office on Tuesday, will you Jenna? I came across some things you might find… interesting,” he told me.
    I had to remind myself to breathe. Walter hated these functions. He avoided them at all costs. Suddenly his being here made perfect sense; he had something to tell me, something important. Something he couldn’t risk going through channels to let me know about.
    “When should I be there?” I asked deadpanned.
    “Ten A.M.,” he told me, “and make sure you don’t bring anyone else along.”
    I nodded understandingly. “Thank you Walter, I’ll see you then.” I knew then that the entire evening has been worth it.
 
 
 

Chapter 5 - The truth shall make you free, but first it shall make you angry.

    I’d never been to his office before and he didn’t tell me where it was. That didn’t matter, though. He knew I’d find it without any trouble. That was my job, after all.
    By all rights, Walter should have been living off his pension in some remote Caribbean island by now with no cares beyond which beach he wanted to visit that day and what woman he wanted to escort him there, but he wasn’t. That just wasn’t Walter. He’d retired as Director of the FBI seven years ago. Now, he ran a private investigation service, just like I did.
It had been the logical choice for him. His health was not quite what it used to be and he couldn’t do extensive fieldwork anymore. But, he still was able to provide valuable insight to cases and run the business end of it all. I’d heard he was really enjoying it.
    I was exactly on time for our meeting. For most things I’d be fashionably late, but not for this. This, after all, had to do with my parents. I strode into the office like I belonged there, nodded to his secretary and sauntered in.
    He glanced up from some papers as soon as the door opened and a look of profound sadness poured over his face. I was wearing one of my mother’s old suits. It could never hurt to get an old friend of theirs nostalgic. It encouraged them to talk. I’d learned that long ago.
    “Have a seat, Jenna,” he smiled, though I couldn’t help but notice the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Nostalgia can be such a bitch sometimes, so painful.
    I smiled a Mona Lisa smile and sat. I’d decided before I’d even walked in the door how I’d play this one: sweet little innocent Jenna. My parents’ child. Hell, I could even probably call him ‘Uncle Walter’ if I really wanted to play it up. Nah, not necessary. Not this time.
    “I don’t know how much you’ve found over the years,” he told me thoughtfully, slowly. “And I certainly don’t know your contacts or who you trust. But, it’s come to my attention lately that you’ve been speaking with a certain adversary, both of mine and of your parents. A certain cigarette-smoking-man.”
    I raised an eyebrow slightly and licked my lips before articulating my thoughts, “Bluntly, sir, there’s no one that I trust. In the end, not even myself. As per our mutual… acquaintance, he came to me with information. I’ve never searched for him and I would never take what he gives at face value, though I do have reason to believe what he gave me this time is accurate.”
    I watched as Walter stared at me, surprised maybe? What, did he think I’d become who I am by trusting everyone I’ve ever met? Please!
    “I don’t know how much you know about him, Jenna. He’s been the key to many of your parents’ problems for many years. Long before you were born, even. He’s a member of the Consortium: the group which, while I’m not sure I’m convinced of it, your father believed was behind everything from cloning to alien abductions, to trying to spontaneously repopulate the world with aliens through the use of a virus.”
    “I figured as much,” I told him, analyzing his movements, his eyes, his tone.
    He leaned forward suddenly, across his desk, and stared me straight in the eye, “I don’t know what you believe, Jenna, but you’ll find many of the answers you seek with the Navajo. Tell them who you are and they’ll tell you truths you’ve only dreamed of so far. Truths not even your parents knew for certain.”
    I could feel my pulse start to race. This was for real! This was it! Real answers, but answers to what? What question would they solve?
    “Thank you, Sir,” I managed to squeeze out maintaining a shred of professionalism.
    He just smiled and looked back to his papers. I knew that was all he had to tell me and so I headed for the door, but I paused suddenly, unable to leave without asking him something.
    “Walter?”
    I didn’t turn around to face him as I said it, but I knew he’d looked up and I once again had his attention. I turned my head slightly, just enough to see him in my peripheral vision as I voiced my question.
    “These answers you’ve given me. They won’t lead me to them, will they?” I asked.
    “Jenna, if you find the truth, you will find them. You have to believe that,” he told me somewhat sympathetically.
    I moved to leave.
    “Give my regards to your parents when you find them, Jenna,” I heard him call out as I stepped out of the door.
    For the first time in a long time, I smiled.

    The weather in DC that day was terrible. Bad enough, in fact, that not a single flight was leaving town for at least the next twelve hours. I was going stir-crazy, but I knew I had to wait before I got to the Navajo reservation, to New Mexico. I had to wait before I found my answers. I’d waited fourteen years; I could wait another twelve hours. Unfortunately, patience was not one of my virtues and sunflower seeds can only occupy someone for so long. That’s why I was even more elated than usual when Annette called and told me the ‘Lone Gunmen’ had called me with information.

    Knowing how to blend into just about any given place at any given time comes in handy. Rarely, however, had it been more useful than when I went to meet the Gunmen. They’d given my secretary the name of some run-down coffeehouse called ‘The Warehouse Café.’ It was right near a few of the local DC colleges. Being only twenty-one myself and knowing how to blend in made it easy for me to go unnoticed. The Gunmen, however, were not so lucky.
    I walked into the coffeehouse wearing an un-ironed, black, full-length skirt and a cranberry velvet vest. I blended in perfectly with the twenty-something and wanna-be twenty-something crowd that frequented the place. Across the room, however, I could make out the smoky outlines of three older men… the Gunmen.
    Why in the world they would pick this place to meet, I had no idea. Langley could have probably gotten away with it. People probably thought he was a washed up hippie and welcomed him with open arms. Everyone probably figured Frohike was a lecherous old man who got his kicks out of watching young women and trying to cop a feel every now and then. Ok, so they weren’t that far off. But the real problem here, I realized as I crossed the room, was Byers. The man looked like he just stepped off the voting ballot. He could probably have passed for a senator. I had to wonder how many people put away their pot when he walked in.
    I refused the offers of coffee and poetry readings as I made my way over to the conspicuous trio. I made a mental note that, next time, I should try to look a little less approachable. You can only tell so many guys politely where to shove their coffee and Tennyson before you lose it and just tell them to leave you alone in no uncertain terms.
    “Feeling nostalgic or something, Langley?” I asked gesturing to the place.
    He shrugged with a grin.
    “What do you have?” I asked them, nervous and excited all at once. Anyone listening probably thought, by this point, that I was meeting drug dealers or something. That was fine with me. They could think anything they wanted.
    Frohike grinned and slid a large manila envelope across the table. “There may be more later,” Byers informed me.
    “Thank you,” I smiled, “if there’s anything you need, let me know.”
    “Say hi to your Mom for me,” Frohike smiled.
    Damn, that leer was back again.

    I can’t pretend to have any idea where the Gunmen got all their information, though I wish I could. Inside the envelope were several items. There were case files I’d never seen; I filed those away to look at later. There was the name of a contact of some sort. That could come in handy eventually, too. But, the most exciting thing was a sealed letter, in my mother’s handwriting, with my father’s name on it.
    I ran my fingers over the lettering lightly, remembering. A chill ran through my spine, straight to my core, as I held the letter in my quivering hand. What would it reveal? I had such hopes and such fears about its contents. Sitting alone in my big empty mansion, I took a deep breath and opened the letter and read.

    Mulder,
        As I sit here writing this letter, I pray to the God I know you don’t believe exists that you’ll never be put into a position where you need to read it. After all that we’ve gone through this week, however, I feel the need to write this to you, in case something should happen to me. I’m giving it to the ‘Lone Gunmen’ secure in the knowledge that they will pass it on to you when the time is right.
        I hope you know by now that I love you completely and in ways that mundane words cannot come close to describing. You’ve given so much to me. You made me fall in love with you, you gave me your love in return and you gave me a daughter, which was something I was sure I’d never have again. You gave me direction and purpose in my life, a pure and perfect quest for the ultimate truth. I don’t regret a single moment of it.
        I know you, Mulder, maybe even better than I know myself and certainly better than you know yourself! If you’re reading this than either I’m dead or I’ve been missing for a long time. Whatever happened, please don’t blame yourself. I couldn’t bear it. Take good care of Jenna, she’ll need you more than ever, now. Tell her about me. Don’t let her forget. And please, take care of yourself. As long as you live, a piece of me lives on, in you.
        I hope that we found the truth we have been striving toward for the past fourteen years. I hope we’ve proven all we know to be true and exposed the Consortium and all they’ve done. But, if we haven’t, it is my hope that you will continue to search. In doing so, you will give my death meaning and will, inevitably, save all who I left behind. If not for me, than do this for Jenna, that she may live without the fear that has defined our existence.
        There’s so much I want to say but I just can’t seem to find the words. So, I’m hoping you’ll understand what I’m about to tell you. The key to everything you should know is that “fiction reveals truth that reality obscures.”
                                                                                                                    “Farewell”
                                                                                                                    Your Loving Wife,
                                                                                                                                            Dana

    I sat holding that letter for the longest time after I finished it. And, for the moment, I cried. The walls around my life and my heart crumbled for a brief instant and I cried. I sat like that for a long while, holding the banister for support. And, as I looked down to the marble floors, something clicked.
    “Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures.”
    It was a favorite saying of my mother’s. Fiction… a story… was that a clue? I realized, quite suddenly that the quote was something that her favorite author had said. Who was it?
    Without even really thinking about it, I hopped in my car and drove to my childhood home. I’d kept it up over the years in the vain hope they’d return there. Now, however, it seemed as though that house held one of the secrets I searched for for so many years.
    Working on automatic, I entered the study and scanned the bookshelf. Nestled somewhere in the middle of the fourth row of books laid what I was searching for. Jessamyn West. That was the author. Grabbing the book from the shelf, it was only then that I noticed the title, Farewell. I scoffed inwardly, there was a certain irony in that title.
    Time slowed, no, it stopped, as I opened the book. Inside, I found not the words of Jessamyn West, but those of my mother. I’d found her diary.
    I consciously reminded myself to breathe as I carefully fingered the yellowing pages. There was so much there and I couldn’t wait to delve into its secrets. Who knew what truths it could tell me?

    Time passed unnoticed as I read my mother’s diary, at least until there was no longer enough light to read it by. It was then, as I rose to turn on a light, that my cell-phone rang.
    “Mulder,” I answered.
    “Hey, Jen, I’m going to be a few minutes late for our lesson today, alright?” A man on the other end of the line responded.
    “Shit!” I yelled, “I’m sorry, Alex, I completely forgot it was a Thursday. I’ll meet you at my gym soon, alright?”
    “Sure, no problem,” he responded questioningly. “Where are you now? What’s going on, Jenna?”
    I smiled, Alex was one of the only people I came anywhere near to trusting. He’d been my karate instructor since my parents’ disappearances. “Let’s just say I’ve made something of a significant discovery. I’ll tell you about it at my dojo, ok?”
    “Sure, Jenna, good to hear you’re making progress,” I could hear the smile in his voice over the phone.
    “See you soon,” I smiled back, “Bye.”

    I reached my house before Alex got there. Not a surprise, really, as he lived on the other side of town and the weather was still unbearably miserable. But, I knew he’d probably be there soon.
    After my parents disappeared, Alex approached my grandmother and suggested I learn self-defense. Grandma Maggie mulled over the idea a bit and, as much as she abhorred violence, she decided that it would give me discipline, an outlet for my frustrations, and that I should know how to protect myself. Alex told her that he had worked with my parents years before, and indeed she remembered hearing his name at some point. He was a black belt in two types of self-defense, Coung Nhu and Kickboxing, and he volunteered to teach me, free of charge. A debt, he said, that he owed to my parents.
    Since then, nearly fourteen years ago, I’d met Alex twice a week to train and, more recently, challenge each other. He was one of the few people I’d come close to trusting over the years. Though I never told anyone the whole story about anything and I certainly didn’t hand out private information, there were times I’d confided in him to ease my own mind. Over the years, he’d become my mentor and my friend.
    As I waited for Alex to arrive, I sat in my gym and resumed reading my Mother’s diary. The strangest thing about reading that little gray book was that I didn’t feel as though I were intruding. Maybe it was because I knew she’d intended for my Father to read it after her death or maybe it was because it almost felt as though she were talking to me, but I felt so very comfortable sitting on that hardwood floor and devouring those pages as fast as my eyes could move.
    As I turned to the next page and read the next sentence, however, the world stopped. I found my breath was incapable of leaving my lungs and I was suddenly quite nauseous. I reread the words, slowly, to be sure I’d read them correctly. I read them five times.
    I’d reached the part about Alex Krycek.
    I must have sat there, on that hardwood floor, for some time. I have no clue how long. But, when I looked up, Alex entered the room. My mentor, my friend, my confidant, my enemy. As soon as he saw me, the fury burning in my icy blue eyes, he knew. He knew the game was up. Check and mate. It was over, but I wasn’t sure who’d won.
    He stared longingly at the book I held for several minutes, “I’ve been looking for that since before you were born, Jenna,” he smiled a sinister smile which somehow made everything my Mother had written seem entirely plausible, “I applaud you. You are a truly gifted investigator.”
    “You bastard,” I seethed in barely controlled hatred, “give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now!”
    Krycek winced, not looking very worried, “Jenna, murder is so messy. It tends to mess up people’s political influences. I don’t think it’s something you can afford.”
    I think something in me snapped as he said that, I cackled in hysterics for a moment. “What makes you think I’d get caught?” I asked between laughs. Suddenly, I sobered up and he found himself staring down the bad end of my glock. “It’s not like I haven’t gotten away with it before,” I said, barely above a whisper.
    “Jenna,” He said warily, holding his hands up in a non-threatening manner, “I’ve been your friend for fourteen years. Could you really kill me in cold blood, just like that?”
    The anger, I feared, was about to seep out in the form of a few frustrated tears, “You are not my friend! You never were!” I yelled in a barely controlled voice.
    “Yes, yes I was. I am,” He tried to reassure me gently.
    “No,” I yelled steadying the gun, “no, you weren’t, you aren’t. You were just here to mind-fuck me so you could get the diary and make sure I never got too close to actually finding them, you bastard! Who do you work for!” I demanded viscously.
    “Myself,” he answered quietly, his eyes never wavering from the glock.
    “I don’t believe you!” I yelled at him, my pale face reddening in anger.
    “Then don’t believe me!” He shot back, “that’s your choice. I used to work for them, for the smoking man and, by default, the Syndicate. I left that years ago.”
    “They’d never let you just leave,” I seethed.
    “They thought I was dead,” He countered, “except for the smoking man and he was protecting his own interests by letting them believe I was dead.”
    “Was that before or after you killed my Grandfather and my Aunt?” I asked snidely.
    “I didn’t kill your Aunts,” he answered hastily.
    I was silent for a long second, “Aunts?” I echoed softly, noting his use of the plural, “What the fuck are you trying to pull?” I screamed.
    “Nothing, nothing,” he answered, honestly scared for his life.
    “Do you know what happened to my Aunt Samantha?” I demanded. He remained silent. I grabbed his head and shoved the gun at his temple, “Do you?” I yelled so loud that my voice cracked.
    “She’s dead,” he answered, looking scared he might end up the same way very soon. “She died years ago, when I was just a kid. I didn’t know anything about her then. I didn’t know anything about any of this mess. She was a teenager when she died.”
    It was amazing how much a man’s mouth could run when he had the proper motivations.
    “Where are my parents?” I asked harshly, digging the gun even further into his temple.
    “I don’t know,” he said slowly, assuredly. “I swear, I don’t.”
    “You got ten seconds to figure it out,” I growled.
    “I… I might know someone who knows, though,” he said, shaking uncontrollably. Anyone else and he’d have tried to get the gun from me by now, but he knew me. We’d fought and trained together for years. I had surpassed him in my capabilities years ago and I was one hell of a shot. At point-blank range, there was no way I’d miss.
    “Talk,” I told him.
    “The governor, he knows the smoking man, he’s involved. The smoking man knows where they are, I don’t know if the governor does or not. That’s all I can tell you!” He insisted.
    I thought about it for a moment and pushed him harshly away from me, “You have five seconds to get out of my house or I start shooting.”
    He ran. I could have just as easily shot him as let him go, but, in the end, it would have been messier and I didn’t want to have to resurface the dojo. Besides, dead men can’t talk later and one never knew what else I might need to find out from him.

    The governor’s mansion loomed in front of me as if it were my nemesis. A large, imposing structure littered with columns in the grand tradition of patriotism. To anyone else, it may have seemed imposing, a force not to be trifled with. I noticed it only in passing as I stood on the doorstep and awaited an answer to my knock.
    A few long moments passed until the butler finally opened the ornate white doors.
    “Tell the governor that Jenna Mulder is here to see him,” I announced as I pushed past the little man into the waiting room, handing him my cloak as I went.
    I don’t know that the butler knew who I was, but the air about me left no room to question my importance. He left hurriedly, probably wondering what small country I was the ruler of.
    My impatience grew until the governor entered the room. To his credit, he rushed in, realizing I would never barge in were it not unbelievably important, especially at nine o’clock at night and in his private residence.
    He began to open his mouth, as if to say something, I halted him with a look, stern and certain.
    “Privately,” I told him, no hint of emotion in my voice.
    He nodded, a bit confused and perhaps intrigued. We made our way in silence to his office, a large room which was, it seemed, modeled after the oval office.
    “Where are they?” I asked with no preamble. I was never one to mince words.
    The governor paused, cleared his throat and moved to sit down.
    “I had a little talk with a mutual friend of ours. Now, tell me where they are,” I demanded.
    He smirked and studied me, his eyes lingering far too long on areas he should, as a married man, have paid little to no attention to. “I might have some information for you, Jenna,” he leered, “perhaps we can work something out.” He didn’t even bother looking me in the face as he said it, the bastard. The feral gleam in his eyes left no room to guess at exactly what he wanted in return.
    I sighed inwardly and weighed my options. I’d play dumb for now.
    “What exactly do you want?” I asked defiantly.
    “You’re a smart girl, Jenna,” he grinned as he got up and made his way around his desk to where I stood, “I’m sure you can figure it out.”
    I gave him my best sultry look and wetted my lips. “Why don’t you tell me anyhow,” I purred. It was a game, for now, like everything else. Cat and mouse. A dangerous game, to be sure, but a game none the less and, like any game, sooner or later one of us would lose.
    He grinned like a Cheshire cat at my statement, anticipating what I’m sure he thought would turn out to be one of the best nights of his pathetic existence. I, however, had no intention of making his night anywhere near pleasant. The idea of his kind of trade was nothing new to me. I’d gone through with a couple before, in fact, but he wasn’t enough of a key player for me to make that sort of a trade with. And, bluntly, I had better, faster, and more reliable ways of getting my information.
    “On the other hand,” I said suddenly, as he reached for the top button on my blouse, “why don’t I tell you what we’re going to trade?” His eyebrows raised in surprise, probably wondering what exactly I was doing. Shortly, however, he looked down and found my gun pointed at a part of his anatomy I thought he’d definitely like to keep.
    His face went paler than mine and I could almost hear his heartbeat. Fear was the most powerful motivator. Money, sex, information: informants always wanted more and would lie regularly to get it. Life, well, people have a tendency to tell the truth when a weapon is pointed at the part of their body where they make all their decisions. There’s a reason I didn’t have the gun pointed at his head.
    “What do you want?” He asked slowly, controlled, as his voice broke.
    “I want to know where they are, who the smoking man is, and what the timetable for the virus’ release is,” I demanded.
    “Your parents, they are somewhere in New Mexico, I don’t know where. The smoking man is higher than I am, but not the key to the conspiracies you seek to unveil. As for the virus, I have no idea,” he said. The fear and shaking in his voice convinced me immediately that was all he knew.
    “I believe you,” I whispered in his ear. He let out a relieved breath and his shoulders sagged in relaxation. That was when I shot him, one bullet, point-blank.
    I’d had no intention of killing him. He really wasn’t worth the effort. Not that it wasn’t an appealing idea. I’d probably have done all of his continuants a favor if I had killed him. But, instead of causing myself more problems than I already had, I’d shot him with a tranquilizer bullet. It was a nasty weapon, yes, on several occasions it had even triggered short-term amnesia, but it wouldn’t kill him. So, I mused silently over the best and worst possible outcomes of my actions as I drove to the airport. The weather had begun to clear and I had a plane to catch.
 
 
 
 

Chapter 6 - And miles to go before I sleep…

    It wasn’t until I’d boarded the plane that I allowed myself the luxury of relaxation, or at least as much as I ever relaxed. As I took a deep breath, leaned my head back and momentarily closed my eyes, I heard the flight attendant’s voice ringing in my ears.
    “I’m sorry, Sir, but this is a non-smoking flight.”
    A non-smoking flight. My eyes flew open and I turned to my right where an all too familiar man sat puffing on a Morley.
    “Of course,” he smiled his phony smile and put it out.
    The flight attendant smiled back her plastic grin and went on, content in the fact that he’d put out his cigarette. She had no idea that the man was one of the leaders in the world’s greatest conspiracies. I did.
    “Ms. Mulder,” he pronounced with a syrupy fakeness, “what a pleasant surprise.”
    “I’m surprised,” I answered cautiously, “surprised you’d risk showing your face around me.”
    “After your friendly discussions with Krycek and Governor Andros?” He asked non-chalantly.
    “Word travels quickly in your circles,” I countered.
    “Yes,” he answered decidedly, “but as I have found out, Jenna, you may be rash at times, but you aren’t stupid. Even you wouldn’t risk a confrontation with me here.”
    “You bet your life?” I asked sarcastically. “You’re right though,” I answered back, studying the old man, wondering as to his motivations, “I wouldn’t risk it. But, it is tempting, none the less.”
    He smiled and leaned back, “Temptation and control are truly the game, are they not?”
    “No, control, temptation, power, manipulation, influence, and information are the tools of the game. The game is one of world domination, a sort of Risk, played with information as the pieces.”
    He mulled over that for a moment and fell silent. We didn’t talk for the rest of the trip and, for the first time ever, I got no sleep on my flight.

    The fact that I lost track of the cigarette-smoking man annoys me more than I can say. He went to use the restroom towards the end of the flight. I know he went in there, I watched. He never came out and it was empty by the time I left the plane. I can’t pretend to know how he got out, but it insults my skills as a private investigator that I don’t know what happened. He meant it as a personal affront, a warning that he was a better game player than I. I’m sure of it. I’m also sure he’s overestimating his own skills.
    As I stepped out into the dry New Mexican heat, I wondered how he’d found out where I had been heading. Walter had pointed me towards New Mexico, but so had the Mitch, before I’d shot him. I doubted Walter would voluntarily tell the Smoking Bastard anything, but then again, Mitch certainly couldn’t, at least for not some time. Either one of their offices was bugged or the Consortium had been keeping tabs on me through some other means, the airport or my credit cards. Any of those options were possible and it was a serious inconvenience that I didn’t know which one was correct. After all, if they’d bugged Walter’s office, they’d know I was headed to the Navajo, otherwise, they’d have no idea. Being a step ahead was always a good, if rare, occurrence.
    As much as I wanted to rush headlong into the Navajo village and start shouting to the heavens or anyone else who may hear me that I wanted answers, I knew I had to make a plan. I had to be cool, in control of the situation. The problem with that is that control is an illusion, a fairytale we tell ourselves to help us sleep at night. The trick is to convince the other people that you are in control: to create a convincing illusion. And right then, I had no idea how to go about doing that.

    Truth was never one of my strong suits. I had learned, over the years, that facts usually needed to be manipulated to get what you wanted. Learning this, living by it, made it incredibly hard for me to be truthful about much of anything when I was looking for information. The hardest truths of all for me to reveal, were those about myself. But now, as I exited my rental car, I found that, for once, it was the truth, my personal truths, which would get me what I wanted. To say it made me uneasy was the understatement of the year. But, none the less, I was never one to back away from a challenge, and this seemed to be the greatest challenge of them all.
    After several moments of deliberation, I still had no idea how or with whom to proceed. I must have been quite a sight, leaning against my rental car in a far too formal suit and sunglasses. I stuck out like a sore thumb, which is, incidentally, probably what solved my problem. It wasn’t long before a young Navajo boy approached me. He was probably twelve or thirteen. I could see his friends standing on the edge of the street corner, staring at him. I was, in all likelihood, a dare.
    “Something you need, Miss? You lost?” The boy asked politely.
    I smiled back at him, “I don’t think I’m lost, but maybe you can help me. My name is Jenna Mulder. I’m looking for someone with information my parents gave them.”
    The boy’s eyes widened in something akin to a mixture excitement and reverence. “IT’S HER!” He yelled back to the group of adolescents who had been watching us intently. “She’s come!”
    I said nothing, but watched as their excitement grew.
    “Come with me, Ms. Mulder,” the boy said nodding with what was perhaps the largest grin I had ever seen plastered across his face. “I will take you to him.”
    “Take me to who?” I asked grabbing the boy’s outstretched hand.
    “To the one who will tell you the story,” He responded.

    The hut the boy brought me to, and indeed most of the surrounding area, seemed somehow out of place. It was a throwback to an earlier time. Like the rest of the world, the town itself was a modernized, mechanized, hub for economic and social purposes. But, here, in the older part of the reservation, the distinctive culture and traditional way of life prevailed. There was something almost magical about that place, a serenity and ethereal quality that I found myself nearly in awe of.
    The hut itself was simple. The mostly empty room held only some dried herbs and corn, a few blankets, a small fire, and two very plain cups. Just beyond the glow of the tiny fire sat an elderly Navajo man. He was silent and as I sat across the fire from him, I could not bear to brake the trance he sat in. No words could be deemed important enough to shatter the silent peace that surrounded him.
    I have no idea how long it was before he stirred and opened his eyes. I’m guessing it was several hours. Though usually not a patient person, there are a few things for which I have enough respect for not to interrupt; religion is one of those things. In what is perhaps the most curious combination of my parents’ personalities, I find my religious beliefs. Religion was the exception to the rule as far as my parents were concerned. It was a role reversal in which my mother became the believer and my father the skeptic. I have found my own loyalties to fall between the two. I have a sort of faith in all religions. A belief that the worshipers beliefs frame their realities, but I have found no specific faith for myself. Perhaps it is because of this that religions entrance me so. I have found no faith to frame my existence, but in the search itself is a journey I beckon in the hope that I may one day find some sliver of truth.
    Even after the old man stirred, he said nothing for some time, nor did I. I studied him as he studied me. Neither of us moved. Slowly, the man reached for the cups, corn, and herbs that lay on the dirt floor.
    “I have your answers,” he told me, never questioning my reasons for coming. He didn’t have to; he knew.
    I simply nodded in response, no words were necessary or desired.
    “You have a very old soul,” he told me non-chalantly as he ground the herbs and corn in the cups.
    “Yes,” I told him, not sure why I agreed, but certain that I did.
    “This is good,” he told me, “it will help you to connect with them.”
    “The connection has never been broken,” I told him, in what was probably the longest sentence I had uttered in hours.
    “This is true. They are with you somewhere in your mind, you are simply not aware of what they are saying,” he told me as he finished grinding the herbs and added hot water to the cups.
    “This is where you healed my father, isn’t it?” I asked the man in more of a statement than a question.
    “He healed himself here, we simply took care of his body while he did so,” he answered as he handed me a cup and kept the other for himself.
    “You must drink this and repeat after me. You will say ‘My mind with theirs, my soul take flight.’ I will say the same in Navajo. We will make this journey together.”
    I nodded and downed the cupful in synchronization with him. Inside my mind, as I forced the searing liquid down my throat, I could hear my mother’s voice saying it was a hallucinogen and would do nothing besides make me high. At the same time, however, I could hear my father’s voice saying that it was an ancient tradition that had worked for years, yet another X-File. As usual, my father’s voice won out.
    I must have begun chanting automatically, but the strange thing was that I was not chanting in English. Though I spoke no Navajo, the words came out the same as those of the old man across from me, on the other side of the fire. Time suspended and I found myself floating outside of my body. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised at all by this, I simply took the hand of the old man’s spirit and traveled where he led me to. I traveled to my parents.
    It was, I think, the most spiritual and perhaps closest to religious experience of my life. I could not only see, hear, and feel where they were, but I could feel their minds. There wasn’t a distinct thought that invaded my mind; it was more of an empathic moment between us. I could sense their pain, worry, desires, and fears more intensely than my own. It was not an active pain, however, it was more of an imprint, a memory of their feelings from the moment they were frozen in time, which still lingered within them. I would have been lost in their minds, I think, had the old Navajo man not pulled me out and back to my own body. It was an intoxicating feeling that one could easily submit to. As fleeting as my time within their minds was, however, it told me what I needed to know; it told me where they were.
    As I felt myself pulled back into my body, a great weight and exhaustion overcame me.
    “You must rest now,” I heard him say from above me, “you are not accustomed to such experiences. Rest, we will care for you until you are well enough to go and find them.”
    He may have said more after that, I’m not sure, for a great peace overwhelmed for the first time in more years than I can remember, and I slept.
 
 
 

Chapter 7 - Sleep, perchance to dream…

    My recognition of the dream was instantaneous. It was, after all, the same dream I’d had my whole life. The details and complexities of it, however, I had never been able to grasp. The dream became clearer and clearer with time, though, and I was both anxiously awaiting and fearfully dreading the day it would become totally clear to me.
    This time I had the dream, I could see a face that had been obscured every other time. It was the face of the cigarette-smoking man. Whether it had always been the cigarette-smoking man and I just hadn’t known it or it had become him because of his involvement in my life now, I wasn’t sure. But, just the same, he stood, haughtily puffing away, in my parents’ kitchen, my mother was fuming and my father had something akin to a mixture of shock, pain, and anger written across his face. Words were being shouted, but they were slurred to my mind. The only words I could understand were a few that my father was yelling. I could hear the words ‘genetic’, ‘merchandise’, and ‘truth’, as well as a few words I wasn’t allowed to repeat at the young age that I had undoubtedly overheard that conversation.
    It wasn’t the heated conversation that had led me to wake up in a cold sweat countless times, however. That image was disturbing, yes, but nearly enough so to evoke that strong a reaction. It was the end of the dream that got to me and always had. Every single time I’d had that dream, I ran at the end. I ran down the hall, but stopped after something caught the corner of my eye. I turned back and walked slowly, fearfully, to the mirror I’d passed. As I slowly opened my eyes, I saw not my familiar seven-year-old face, but one of an alien. A grotesque and hideous creature. Though I did nothing more than scream, paralyzed in fear and horror, I could see my alien reflection turn and attack my parents. It was a gory scene, to say the least, and it had tormented me for the past fourteen years.
    Psychologists would have over-analyzed the dream saying that the reflection of myself as my parents’ killer was the manifestation of my guilt about their disappearance and my paralysis an indication of my inability to help. There were countless aspects of the dream that any counselor, psychologist, or psychiatrist I’d been sent to over the years would have had a field day analyzing. But I’d never revealed the dream to any of them. This was partly because, from the very beginning, I was an intensely private person, but, in the end, it was more because I didn’t remember the dream that well. It was something my mind blocked out upon awakening to prevent the immense and imminent pain its remembrance would cause.
 
 
 
 

Chapter 8 - All great truths begin as blasphemies
 
    The desert dust painted the sky as I emerged from the hut. I had awoken, unaware of the amount of time I’d spent there, alone, surrounded by herbs and candles. Squinting to see through the hues of red and gold which painted my sight, most likely a combination of the burning herbs and the setting sun, I saw the old Navajo man approaching the hut again. He looked surprised to see me awake and studied me curiously as he maintained his gait in my direction.
    “You look well,” he told me.
    “Most of my strength has returned,” I replied.
    “You were only gone for two days. I am surprised that your spirit chose to return now, but it is good that it did,” he said sadly. I noticed, for the first time, that he was sweating profusely and held his arm over his stomach as if to protect it.
    “Are you ill?” I asked him concernedly.
    “Yes, many of us have fallen. The men who came told us it was the Hanta virus, but we know better and so do you.”
    My eyes widened in shock, “What?” I breathed.
    “All who have eaten the corn have grown ill. We will die soon, I think. The men have surrounded the village. We are told we must stay here because it is contagious.”
    “It will be even more contagious if the virus wins,” I replied. “The aliens will break free of your bodies and attack the general populace.”
    “I know,” he told me, “those of us infected have decided we cannot let that happen. We will not let the aliens grow to be strong enough to kill.”
     I looked at him, seeing clearly for the first time what he intended to do. “You’re talking about a mass suicide.” It wasn’t a question. I knew.
     He looked me directly in the eye, “It is the only way. Those not infected must be kept safe.”
     My eyes drifted to the horizon in thought as I remembered the ceremonial drink I’d been served just two days prior, “I ate the corn,” I whispered.
    “You are not ill,” he told me definitively.
    “Why not?” I asked confused.
    He stared me in the eye before turning to leave, “I cannot answer that. You must leave. Now. Go find your parents and your answers. There is nothing more we can do for you.”
    I grabbed his shoulder as he started to walk away. “Thank you. You are, I think, the most noble man I have ever met and I will pray to whatever God it is you believe in that you will be kept safe in your journey from this world."
    I saw a smile in his eyes as I said that, though none rested on his lips. “A’nak Monahe,” he told me softly.
    “What does that mean?” I called out as he walked away.
    “It means ‘strength in faith,’” I heard him say as he was swallowed up by the darkened desert night.

    Getting out of the Navajo village was easier than I had expected, which worried me. The ‘men in suits’ had mostly blocked off the roadways in and out of the village and little else. Of course, not many people were stupid or foolhardy enough to take off on foot in the middle of the desert. As rash and foolish as I can sometimes be, I didn’t do that. Instead, I took off in my rental car and drove along a horse trail. It made the most sense. After all, civilizations were built around water, especially when there was a limited supply, and horses could only go so far without water. Not to mention the path was cleared and easier on the car.
    I felt terrible about leaving the Navajo behind. For the first time in my life, I felt guilty about something other than the loss of my parents. I felt as though I had brought this death upon these kind people. They had helped me, willingly, and asked for nothing in return. And what happened to them as a result? They suffered unbearable illnesses and died. Yes, I felt guilty for that, very guilty.
    By the time I made it to a town, I was nearly out of gas and had to stop at the closest gas station I could find. It wasn’t the brightest of ideas. If the consortium were looking for me, nearby gas stations were probably their best bet of finding me. However, I was left with little choice.
    I must have been quite a sight. My suit had been discarded in favor of a t-shirt and jeans one of the women in the village had offered me. After all, by day three I was getting pretty ripe. At any rate, the jeans were too big and the shirt too small. My hair, even pulled back, had reverted to its natural wavy state without the benefit of my hair-dryer. Not to mention, for once, I wore no make-up. And, of course, it was rare for anyone unusual to drop by in these small towns off the beaten road, much less in a rental Corvette. Damn, I couldn’t have gone with a Taurus?
    The man behind the counter looked like he’d been there since the gas station had first opened several decades earlier. His seemingly permanent 5 o’clock shadow was peppered with age and the few teeth he still had chomped away on what I could only assume was chewing tobacco.
    “Hey there Missy,” he grinned, “somthin’ I can do fer ye?”
    “Yeah, fill up on number 2 and directions to Albuquerque,” I replied.
    The old guy leaned over the counter to look at my car and spit into a nearby garbage can in one smooth motion. Yup, it was chewing tobacco. He whistled and hopped over the counter as he got a look at the car.
    “Is that there a corvette?” He asked excitedly as he exited the store, not waiting for the obvious answer. What? Did he think I put the word ‘corvette’ on it as a fashion statement?
    After salivating at the car for a moment, he turned to me looking somewhat curious and very suspicious. “What ‘r you doin’ out this way anyhow?”
    “Just passing through,” I answered cryptically.
    He laughed a throaty, hacking cough and spit again, “Ma’am, Dungton, New Mexico ain’t exactly on the way to anywhere!”
    “I got lost,” I replied testily, wondering exactly where he was going with this, “which is why I need gas and directions to Albuquerque.”
    “Alright, Alight, keep yer pants on, I’ll git ya yer gas and a map.”
    “Thank you,” I said sincerely, half smiling. I paused for a moment and looked at him in amusement, “Your town’s name is Dungton?”
    He just smiled and shrugged in response.
    I was so engrossed in trying to follow to old man’s directions that I didn’t even hear the dingy bells ring their hollow tone as someone came in the store. In fact, the first time I noticed the presence of anyone else was when he spoke.
    “Pack of Morley’s,” I heard the rough voice say.
    I didn’t even bother to turn around and confirm the man’s identity. His stench and order for Morley’s more than confirmed it for me. I stopped breathing for several seconds before deciding on my course of action. I could feel my blood rise to a boil as I thought about all that that bastard had done to the Navajo. He’d pay; I’d make sure of that.
    “How’d you like to take that Corvette for a spin?” I asked the gas station attendant. His eyes lit up like I’d just told him he’d won a million dollars.
    “You fer real?” He asked. I nodded in reply.
    “Hell yeah!” He cried happily. I handed him the keys.
    “Be back in twenty minutes, ok?” I asked. I think he nodded, but as he was already flying halfway out the door, I couldn’t be sure.
    I didn’t move for a minute or two after the attendant left. Step one was completed. Now, what was step two…
    “Ms. Mulder, such a pleasant surprise,” he smiled menacingly.
    “Shove it,” I replied indelicately. “What do you want?”
    “And what if I said I was merely passing through?” He asked, baiting.
    I snorted in a very unladylike fashion, “Right, so am I.”
    “You’re not?” He asked, not hiding his playing sarcasm well.
    “Get to the point before I kill you,” I snarled, staring him threateningly in the eyes. He nervously pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit up. I’d threatened him before, but this time there was a seriousness that was undeniable.
    “If you kill me, Ms. Mulder, how do you ever expect to find your answers?” He asked, half-wondering, half-fearing my answer.
     “I don’t,” I snarled, “but somehow I think your death would be more satisfying than the truth.”
     “Would you settle for the truth?” He asked tauntingly.
    My head snapped up at him; I hadn’t expected this. “Yes,” I answered more quickly than I had intended.
    “You’re wondering why your new-found friends all fell ill and you didn’t. You’re wondering why your parents disappeared and why you’ve been allowed to survive relatively untouched. They all have the same answer,” He told me, pausing for effect.
    “Well, what is it?” I asked with hostility.
    “So impatient,” he grinned, “we didn’t expect that when we designed you. Strength, beauty, yes, but we had such problems designing or predicting your personality.”
    I paled in horror and drew my gun on him, “What the hell do you mean you designed me!”
    He smiled at my terror and frustration, reveling in it, taking pride and joy in it. “Jenna, my dear, you are the truth you seek,” he smiled.
    “What are you talking about! Explain yourself!” I demanded feeling my eyes blur with tears.
    “Gladly,” he replied, stomping out his cigarette. “Your parents searched for years for proof of the existence of aliens and the human-alien hybrids we created to survive the colonization. Imagine their shock when they found out their only daughter was the very proof they’d sought for over a decade.”
    I could feel the bile rise in the back of my throat and the tears begin to threaten to overflow their boundaries. “You’re a God-damned liar!” I screamed hoarsely.
   He shrugged in reply, “What motive do I have to lie?”
    “You want to up the stakes, to mess with the rules of the game!” I yelled in denial.
    He smirked, “Not a bad idea, but not true. Your parents were taken because they discovered what you were. You survived while your Navajo friends fell ill because you are a hybrid. We have allowed you to survive because you serve our purpose. Ask yourself, is there any other plausible explanation.”
    I began to shake violently and collapsed to the ground, my gun never wavering from my intended target. “Why?” I demanded.
    “Why did we do it or why am I telling you now?” He asked.
    “Both,” I yelled harshly.
    “We did it to control your parents and divert their mission. I’m telling you now because, among other reasons, you’d find out sooner or later and I felt it would be better if you heard it from me.”
    “Why the fuck would you think that?” I asked incredulously.
    “Because,” he grinned, savoring the moment and making me dread his answer, “I’m family. I’m your Grandfather, Jenna.”
    My heart and breath stopped momentarily, but my stomach apparently didn’t. I could no longer take the emotional onslaught thrown at me. My stomach emptied its contents onto the floor along with tears raining from my eyes. By the time the heaves had ended and I looked upwards again, the smoking-man was gone.
 
 
 

Chapter 9 - Truth is the God of the free man
 
    They say that the truth will set you free. In what seems typical for me, the cliché doesn’t fit my life. My truth has chained me. Perhaps, in reality, I have been shackled by these truths my entire life; but, now, now I was aware of it. And that seemed to make all the difference.
    The truth has been my Holy Grail for my entire life. But, as I reached for that coveted and forbidden cup, I found a flawed reflection of what I had been searching for. A distorted image of the dream I had carried with me for so long.
    If the smoking-man told the truth, and I was the truth I had been seeking, then I was also responsible for my parents’ disappearances. I was the villain I’d been striving to find for so long. It was a truth I was unprepared for.
    The last time I saw the smoking-man, I knew. I knew I’d been to Hell and back. I also knew what I had to do. It was time to end this and if that meant I had to dance with the Devil to do so, so be it.
    Truth is a funny thing, though: subjective, a matter of perception. Before I did anything else, I needed to be sure that his truth, the one he told me, was my truth as well. So, before I left the run-down gas station, I grabbed a zip-lock bag from the attendant and carefully picked up the smoking-man’s discarded cigarette. I’d taken my father’s approach to the X-Files long enough; it was time for science to take over.

    I’m sure the consortium was surprised when I boarded the next plane back to DC. They were probably pleased with my apparent abandonment of the case. That was, however, not what I was doing. The truth may have been coursing through my veins, but it also lay in a few drops of saliva left on the smoking-man’s cigarette.
    I had very few friends in New Mexico and none that were in the scientific community. So, it was back to DC, to analyze and compare Cancer-man’s DNA with my own. I was on my way to either glorification or damnation. Unfortunately, the latter seemed far more likely.
    An electric feeling of fearful anticipation coursed through my body as I walked from the airport terminal to my car. I mentally checked off which favors I’d have to call in to pull off exactly what I had in mind. There were a lot. The first, however, was from Walter Skinner. Unfortunately, he didn’t owe me. That was a major inconvenience, but one I could deal with.
    I pulled out my cell phone as I made my way through DuPont Circle. “Walter? It’s Jenna. Can you meet me somewhere private, soon? It’s important… at the Vietnam Memorial? Sure. Twenty minutes? See you then. Thanks, Walter.” With that I hung up and inhaled deeply. Everything would be fine. It had to be.
    “You knew any of them?” I asked twenty minutes later, as I approached Walter who was softly tracing several names on the wall.
    “Yes,” he replied stone-faced, “Yes, I did. I knew a lot of them, too many.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely, “I’m sure they were good men.”
    Walter turned to me and smiled sadly, “Most of them were. But, we’re not here to talk about them, are we?”
    “No, we’re not,” I agreed, my eyes lingering on the wall a moment more.
    “So, what are we here to talk about?’ He asked.
    “I need a favor, Walter. I know where they are and I think I can get to them, but unless I get rid of the people behind this thing, it’ll never end. I need the smoking man out of the way. And, in order to do that, I need to know for certain who he is, what it is exactly that I’m dealing with. If you could run a comparative DNA analysis between two samples, it would be… invaluable.”
    Walter raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Do you have the samples?”
    I nodded as I pulled out the cigarette-butt, contained in a sterile bag, and a vile of blood.
    “Who’s the donor?” Walter nodded as he studied the vile.
    “A suspect,” I whispered as I turned to leave.
    “Where can I get in touch with you when I have the results?” He asked.
    “I’ll be at my Grandmother’s,” I smiled sadly, “following up a lead.”

    A soft rain was beating down upon me as I waited on my Grandmother’s doorstep. I hadn’t knocked, yet. I really didn’t want to. I didn’t want to ask her the questions running through my head. I didn’t want to know the answers, not really. I wanted to sink into another reality. One where my parents had never been taken. One where it wasn’t so hard. It’s not like this was the first time I’d ever wished that, but I knew that this time, what I had to do would likely alienate me from the one person I still trusted.
    “Jenna?” I heard her familiar voice question as my Grandmother opened her door.
    “Honey, what are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death in this rain! Good gracious, get in and get dry,” she ordered as she ushered me in. “Is the doorbell broken or did I just not hear it?”
    “I didn’t ring it,” I answered, lingering my stare into nothingness before I looked to her.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked slowly.
    I looked at her thoughtfully as I chewed my lip in silence before walking over to a row of family portraits and examining them. “Grandma, there are things I know, things that I’ve seen, that you’d never believe or want to. I know what happened to them. I know who’s partially to blame, but I need to ask you some things to be sure and they’re questions you won’t want to hear.”
    I watched out of the corner of my eye as she sat down on the sofa and thought for a moment. “Ask what you have to, Jen, but I can’t imagine what more I could tell you.”
    I turned around and looked at her, apologetic and accusing both at once, “Who is my mother’s father?”
    “What?” She asked indignantly.
    “Was he Ahab or someone else? I need to know. If I’m right, either my Mom’s Father or my Dad’s Father is responsible for this, all of this. You’re the only one who can tell me which and I need to know.”
    “Your Mother’s Father, my husband, died of a heart-attack before you were born. He was a kind and loving man who was honorable and cherished both our children and me. I can’t believe you have the nerve to ask me that!”
    I ignored her last comment, “You’re sure?”
    “Of course I’m sure! I loved William desperately. I still do! I’ve never loved anyone else. What kind of a person do you think I am?”
    “Funny thing is no one ever turns out to be who I think they are, not even myself. I’m sorry for insulting you. I’ll leave now, good night.”
    When I left her home, I did so with the knowledge that she would never understand and certainly never forget my questions. I knew it would be a long, long time before she could forgive me, but it had been necessary for me to ask. I knew then, I knew that the smoking-man was my father’s father. I didn’t need the proof the DNA tests soon gave me. Somehow, I just knew. And I also knew what I had to do.
 
 
 

Chapter 10 -
And with tears of blood [she] cleansed the hand,
The hand that held the steel:
For only blood can wipe out blood,
And only tears can heal.
 
 

    There was no keeping secrets from the Consortium. I knew that by this point. They’d kept tabs on my every move since before I was born. I had no reason to think that they’d stop now. So, I made no attempt to hide my actions.
    Two days after receiving confirmation of my lineage and of some strange anomalies in my blood sample, I knocked on the factory door that held my parents. To my surprise, no one answered. However, as I opened the door, I saw the Consortium, the entire Consortium, seated before me.
    “Have a seat, Ms. Mulder,” the stout one ordered, gesturing to the lone chair facing their group.
    I obeyed, for the time being, as a tactical move. If I were to have any luck in negotiating with these men, it was necessary that I make some concessions. “I have a proposition for you,” I said frankly, “a trade.”
    “For your parents’ release?” Cancerman scoffed.
    “Yes,” I replied deadpanned.
    “You ‘re amazingly brazen, you know that Jenna?” the one with the German accent told me appreciatively. “You are our greatest triumph. So perfect…”
    “I want them released, unharmed, with the guarantee that you’ll never abduct, harm, or kill another member of my family,” I demanded and paused for a moment. “Except for him,” I added, gesturing to Cancerman, “I don’t care what you do with him.”
    The German laughed heartily at that. “Such wit! I love it! Tell me, my dear, what exactly do you propose in exchange?”
    “Our silence,” I answered.
    “Ah, you see, there is a problem with that,” Caneman replied, “it would be far easier for us to kill you and just as effective.”
    It was my turn to laugh, “You wouldn’t,” I smiled.
    “Why is that?” The stout one asked.
    “First off, you wouldn’t have let me live, unharmed, for this long were I not worth something to you. Secondly, I’m your greatest achievement; you said so yourself. Third, it would be too conspicuous for you to kill me. And, perhaps the best reason, if you don’t agree, the explosives strapped to my chest will certainly ruin all of your plans.”
    The German shifted uneasily in his chair, “You’re bluffing.”
    “Am I?” I asked.
    “Yes,” the German answered hastily.
    “No,” Cancerman replied slowly, “she isn’t. Jenna doesn’t bluff. She’s never been one to do things half-way.”
    “Congrats, Gramps, you win the prize,” I smiled, lifting the edge of my blouse to expose the lower portion of the explosives. “They’re linked to my heartbeat. If I die, it goes off automatically, unless I disarm it first… I won’t, I promise, if that makes your decision any easier.”
    Cancerman took a slow drag off of his cigarette and blew the smoke in my direction before answering. “You can have them, but beyond that we make no promises.”
    I’m not stupid. I took what I could get. At his words, I rose and progressed past them to the door on the other side of the room.
    “Oh, Ms. Mulder?”
    “Yes?” I asked the smoker.
    “Be careful who you insult. There are those who are waiting to take their vengeance. Know that.”

    The tall green tubes were a monument to their control. Nothing else. Years ago they’d eliminated their need for these devices. They’d perfected their means of infection and preservation. Now, though, those tubes, reminders of their control, loomed before me. And, in these vessels, were my parents. Perhaps for the first time in my life, I wept for joy.
    Perfectly preserved, they looked the same as they had the last time I’d seen them, thirteen years prior. My mother’s mostly red hair was still the same length it had been when she’d dropped me off at a friend’s house, the last time I’d seen her. My father’s clean-shaven face showed no signs of aging since he’d promised to teach me to shoot a three-pointer, last time I’d seen him.
    I broke my father free first. No particular reason other than that his tube was closer and pulled the tube from his throat.
    “Don’t try to talk,” I told him, through hazy tears, as he coughed terribly.
    I dried him off and helped him into the warm clothes that were necessary for the cold atmosphere required for the tubes. As soon as he began to gain some awareness of his surroundings, his eyes settled fearfully on my mother, still encased in her tube.
    “Is she...” he began.
    “She should be fine. I told you not to talk. Are you alright?” I asked.
    He nodded, “Just get her out and I’ll be fine.”
    With that, I turned to save my mother. Soon, she too was freed and lay coughing on the floor. I repeated the same steps I’d taken with my father before collapsing next to them in physical and emotional exhaustion.
    Their embrace was one of relief and disbelief and love, all in one. After a moment, however, when the shock had begun to wane, their questions emerged.
    “Where are we?” My mother asked.
    “A factory in New Mexico,” I answered.
    “That makes sense,” my father mused, “it’s where the whole thing is centered.”
    I nodded, “Here and Tunisia, as far as I can tell.”
    “Who are you?” My father asked, skeptically.
    I smiled sadly, knowing after thirteen years, there had been little chance of them recognizing me. “There’ll be time enough for that later. For now, we have to get out of here. I can’t guarantee your safety, unfortunately, so we have to move.”
    That was when my mother grabbed my arm, “Is my daughter alright? Do you know?” She begged.
    I smiled widely, “She’s just fine,” I reassured her.
    “Well, well,” a raspy voice from the corner called, “isn’t this charming.”
    I turned to see Alex emerge from the shadows. His smugness lit by the yellowed lights that hung overhead.
    “Krycek?” My father asked confused.
    “Bingo, Mulder, brilliant as ever I see.”
    “Oh, my God, Mulder” My mother whispered as Krycek’s much older form came into full light. “How long have we been in there?”
    Before Krycek could all too happily answer her question, I had my gun carefully trained on him. “Have you forgotten the last time you pissed me off, Alex?” I hissed.
    “Have I forgotten?” He asked. “I’ll never forget, my dear, which is why I’ll hunt you until you die.”
    “Not if I get rid of you first,” I countered.
    “And you never will, if I have anything to say about it,” another voice called out as a woman crossed the room, her gun trained on me, to stand next to Krycek.
    “Beverly?” I asked confused, staring at the Governor’s wife.
    “Marita,” My father spat.
    “You’re Marita?” I asked in shock.
    “Surprise,” she countered.
    “I want you two to get out of here,” I told my parents, never taking my eyes off of Marita or her gun.
    “We’re not leaving you here,” my father replied.
    “Go,” I ordered.
    “Now, now, my dear, imagine what it would be like for them if they left here to realize they’d abandoned their only daughter to die,” Krycek smiled.
    “You bastard,” I yelled at him.
    “Jenna?” my father asked softly, more out of shock than anything else.
    “I’ve come so far to save you. You have to get out of here, for me, please.” I replied, trying not to let my emotions get the better of me.
    “We’re not going to leave you,” my mother choked out.
    “If you don’t, and we all die here, then my entire quest, my entire life will be for nothing,” I responded, my eyes fixed securely on Alex and Marita.
    “The quest your Mother and I have followed,” my Father started, “for all of our lives, would mean nothing now if we abandoned you. What point would there be in trying to save the world if we let those close to us die?”
    “Enough of this melodramatic shit,” Marita spat. “What makes you think we’d let them leave anyhow?”
    My face hardened in anger, “They know nothing of what’s going on now. Their sources are out of the loop or dead. Their information is nearly fifteen years out of date. Why would you bother?”
    “What makes you think we care about the syndicate’s agenda?” Krycek asked, slinking along the edge of shadows. “I told you before, I don’t work for them anymore.”
    “Then why?” I asked.
    “Vengeance,” Marita answered for him, “among other reasons. Alex’s ego tends to be bruised when he gets his ass kicked. Not to mention there are those of us who have stakes in the colonization plan besides those at the syndicate.”
    "What sort of stakes?” Scully asked.
    “Why would I ever tell you?” Krycek answered.
    “Because,” I smiled, “I’m the one with enough explosives strapped to me to send you straight to hell.” Even looking at Marita and Krycek it was difficult to miss the fearful concern on my mother’s face.
    Alex laughed, “That’s what I always liked about you, Jenna. Always willing to do whatever it takes to win. You surprise me, I love that!”
    “You always were easily amused,” I smirked haughtily.
    “I’ll be very easily amused watching you die, that’s for sure,” he smiled like a cheshire cat and stepped back into the shadows.
    “Why?” I demanded, “Other than vengeance, what’s the point?”
    “You, my dear pupil, just don’t get it, do you? This is bigger than me or you or your parents or even the syndicate. You’re the missing link here. You are what they need for their plans and we just can’t let that happen.”
    “By we you mean the rebels, don’t you?” Mulder asked.
    Krycek smiled, “I’m sorry, I forgot you were still here. Why don’t you explain it to the rest of the class, Jenna?”
    I could hear my own heartbeat as realization struck me full force. “This is because of what I am. You’re here to kill me so that I can’t be used as a template for other hybrids.”
    “Correct,” Krycek confirmed.
    “How did you find out?” My Mother asked softly.
     I held back my tears, “I’ve spent my whole life searching for who I am, for who I was. In the process someone held a mirror up to me and forced me to look at it. I didn’t really want to see who or what was or what I’d become. I wanted to find my childhood again. I wanted to be her again. I thought… if I found you that the rest of my life would fall into place. But it hasn’t. It won’t. I can’t be her again. I’ve learned too much, done too much, for that to ever happen. As I searched for who I was, I found out who I am. I am the truth I was searching for, for so long.”
    “That you are a… hybrid, says nothing about who you are. Only what you are,” My father said. “It’s not your fault. It’s the Syndicate’s. They made you this way and you’ve lived your own way in spite of it.”
    “That doesn’t matter,” the oft silent Marita said, swaggering towards me. “You still have to die. It will delay the release of the virus until they’ve rediscovered how to engineer more like you.”
    “On that you’re wrong,” a voice called from above us on the catwalk overhead. “You’re too late to stop the virus’ release,” Cancerman explained.
    “You released the virus?” My Father yelled, enraged.
    “They infected the Navajo,” I whispered, “but only the Navajo. Am I right in believing that the Navajo committed a mass suicide to prevent the aliens from surviving?”
    “You are,” Cancerman confirmed, “thankfully. The Syndicate doesn’t want the human race to be exterminated, Jenna. That’s why you were created in the first place.”
    “She and her kind were created as slave labor for the aliens,” Krycek spat.
    “Had we only engineered her to survive the virus, that might be true, but we didn’t. We created her to be incredibly strong-willed, dedicated, unrelenting. These traits not only allowed her to find her parents, but would also, en masse, create a population of hybrids determined to remain free,” Cancerman pronounced.
    “Billions would still die,” My Mother realized, “why not use the vaccine?”
    Cancerman scoffed, “The vaccine was destroyed ten years ago along with all of the documentation about it and everyone who had any idea how to recreate it. We’ve had little success recreating it. It’s not a viable option.”