The rest was a blur, as the endings of things always are, a cursory and unsatisfactory conclusion to events that would have to be digested later, alone.

*****

They came out of the church together, Nathan slumped in his arms and Scully at his side propping Kevin up by sheer force of will. The red and blue lights of the police cars and the ambulances seemed impossibly far away. For a moment, Mulder closed his eyes.

In that instant, everything seemed clear.

The smell of blood drying on his clothes, the brush and whisper of the breeze on his face, Kevin's harsh breathing rattling at his side, it was all precise and illuminated, pure.

And then they were surrounded, swamped by police and paramedics and officials. He was faintly certain that they had taken Nathan from his grasp, that Scully was shouting something at the EMTs, but he really saw and heard nothing. Later, in the hotel room, he would think about telling Scully about that moment, about that wonderful and perfect second when he was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to be doing. Where he belonged. Where all of his questions and his pains and his doubts were erased in a single epiphany of destiny so great it left no room for anything else. He would consider thanking her for putting him in its path.

He ended up not saying anything at all, but he never forgot.

*****

May 12, 1998

Hey Mulder--

What's up man? Sorry I didn't write sooner, but I've been kind of busy. My dad said he would pay half on this '68 Mustang we saw in the paper but guess who has to pay the other half? I got a job at the auto parts store so that when we start fixing it up I can get a discount. It should be sweet. I'll send you a picture.

I don't know if you know this or not, but Peter Marlowe, that weird kid who used to hang around Mr. Chancey? Well, he went into the nuthouse last Monday. He started showing up to school with cuts in his hands and on his forehead and I guess they found him in the bathroom with a razor blade. The kid was whacked.

How is Dana? Fine, I hope. Kevin says that she might be coming to visit in a month or two. You can come too if you want--I could reserve your old rooms at the motel, or maybe this time you can share one. (wink, wink)

Later,
Nathan

*****

From the final report of X-file X759862KF
The Matter of the Kidnapping of Kevin Cryder
written by Special Agent Dana Scully
April 30, 1998

. . . at that time, Agent Mulder and I had no choice but to attempt to determine Simon Malachai's intentions in taking Nathan Cornell hostage. When asked about said intentions, Mr. Malachai responded with a rhyme, and appeared to cut Nathan Cornell's throat with the aforementioned knife (see Appendix B).

Upon initial examination, Nathan Cornell's wound appeared quite serious, involving a complete severing of the carotid artery and surrounding tissue on the left side of the throat along the vertical (see Appendix C). Upon later examination, however, no trace of a wound was discovered although large quantities of blood were found, both on Nathan Cornell's clothing and on the floor of the church basement. A full battery of tests reveal the blood to be that of both Nathan Cornell and Kevin Cryder (see Appendix D). As Nathan Cornell did not have any other wounds besides a small abrasion on his chin, there is no scientific explanation for this anomaly.

Local police did not see Simon Malachai on the premises at any time, nor did they see him leave. Agent Mulder and I also could not find any witnesses to Nathan Cornell's arrival at the church, although any such witness' hesitation to come forward can be understood in light of the events which followed.

At this time, federal agents have found no further trace of Simon Malachai. He has not re-appeared under any of his former aliases, not does it seem likely that he will.

The events surrounding the kidnapping and subsequent retrieval of Kevin Cryder remain a mystery. While Agent Mulder is convinced that Simon Malachai's expertise with slight of hand allowed him to deceive us regarding the seriousness of Nathan Cornell's injuries, it is my opinion as a medical doctor that Nathan Cornell did indeed suffer a severe if not fatal injury at the hands of Simon Malachai and then underwent some sort of regenerative healing process the nature of which cannot be explained by science at this time. Further research into this matter is required.

Signed by Dana Scully,
Special Agent,
Badge Number 2317-616

*****

They came out of the church and into the loveliness of a spring evening. The rain had stopped. As they crossed the manicured church lawn toward the cacophony of emergency vehicles, Scully tilted her face to the black sky. Kevin Cryder staggered, beaten but alive and whole, under her arm. Nathan Cornell drooped unconscious and bloody in her partner's shaking grasp. And Mulder . . . she glanced at his profile, lined red and blue in the lights from the cars, twisted into a grimace from the strain. Mulder was Mulder. Dana Scully lifted her countenance to the heavens and gave thanks.

*****

Akron-Canton Airport
Sunday, April 26
2:47 pm

They stood in the wide and brightly lit corridor of the airport terminal, dark storks against the sun splashed walls. Two teenaged boys stood with them.

"How do you feel?" Scully asked.

Kevin shrugged. "Good, I guess. Better." He smiled up at her.

He was fine: she knew that. As she had sat by chewing her lip until it bled, Kevin had suffered an examination done by one of the local doctors which revealed the boy as dehydrated, malnourished, and beaten severely and repeatedly, used in every way except sexually (Chancey had told the boy he was saving the best for last), but Kevin would be fine. Eventually. Even now some of the bruises were fading, ghosts of what they had been.

Of the stigmata there was no sign.

There had been no sign the last time, either, when she had turned his hand over in hers. She remembered saying goodbye to him in the communal bedroom of the orphanage, running her thumb over his smooth palm. He was taller than he had been three years ago, of course, and his adult teeth had grown in, but he was still Kevin, still a sensitive show-off of a boy with a longing to be liked.

"You going to be okay?" she asked, although she knew the answer he would give. He nodded.

Without warning, he reached out and took her hand.

His fingers curved around hers, warm and slightly damp, larger than she recalled, stronger. Scully resisted the impulse to pull him close.

"So, maybe I'll see you again sometime," she said.

Kevin's smile transformed into a grin--he remembered. She hadn't known if he would.

"You will," he said, and this time she didn't resist, but folded her arms around him, pressing her cheek against his. Kevin's arms came up around her neck.

"Thanks," he whispered.

Scully released him and stood back, blinking rapidly.

"Next time, call sooner," she said. Kevin nodded again, doing some fast blinking of his own.

"Ready?" Mulder asked, coming up next to her.

"Sure."

As they walked down the corridor toward the gate, away from Ohio and the boys who watched them, Mulder leaned over.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine, Mulder." She paused and handed her boarding pass to the gate attendant, looking up at her partner, although he was looking away.

"We'll talk," he said finally, his eyes skimming over hers and coming to rest on his shoes.

She nodded. Leading the way down the boarding ramp, she mulled over his statement. They probably wouldn't talk, she knew, not about Kevin, not about what had happened. Things would come up, more important things, like cases, like possible answers for Mulder's endless questions, and this one possibility would be forgotten, repressed, like so many other moments between them, and Mulder would never bring up what had happened in a church basement in Ohio.

That was okay, Scully thought, sliding into her seat near the window and fastening the seat belt over her lap. They didn't have to talk about it. There was no proof anyway, no evidence for the miracle she was certain they had witnessed, nothing demonstrably out of the ordinary, except for the fact that Nathan Cornell had somehow survived a fatal wound without any medical treatment whatsoever, and three days after the event didn't even have a scar. No evidence at all.

Unbidden, the words of the priest came back to her, the priest from right here in Ohio, the confessor she had gone to the last time.

"Maybe it was only meant for you."

And she knew the truth.

More importantly, she knew Mulder knew. No matter what he said in his report, no matter what he didn't say when they didn't talk about what didn't happen in Ohio, he knew.

When he leaned over in his sleep about halfway through the flight and rested his cheek on the top of her head, she didn't pull away.

*****

Epilogue

Summer
Bethesda, North Dakota

He went in on a dare from the other kids, and because it was the first store to open in Bethesda since he could remember. Most of the stores in town were closing, not opening with big banners and an ad in the Bethesda Tribune. He wanted to be the first to see what was inside.

Inside were toys, rows and rows of them, some of them toys he had only seen on television because none of his friend's parents had money to waste on superheroes or Barbies. He was wandering around in the squirt gun aisle, fingering a Super Splasher 2000, when the man came up to him.

"Why hello, young sir! Who are you?"

"Josh. Josh Keller."

The man was short and fat and wore square glasses like his grandfather wore. Bifocus, Josh thought they were called.

"And how old are you, Josh Keller?"

"Eleven."

"Oh, to be eleven again!" The man sighed and laughed a little. Josh laughed too, although he didn't think what the man said was funny.

"Well, Josh, how do you like my store?"

"It's okay. Who are you?"

"Hmm, good question. I guess since my store is called The Daredevil's Playground, you could call me Mr. Dare. Mr. Simon Dare at your service!"

The man stuck his hand out, and Josh shook it gingerly. This guy was too weird, too happy. Most of the adults Josh knew spent most of their time frowning and talking about the money they owed the bank. Especially his dad.

"You like squirt guns, Josh?" Mr. Dare asked.

"They're okay." He shrugged.

"If you think these are okay, wait until you see what I have in the back. They're lovely!" Mr. Dare turned and hustled down the aisle toward the door in the back. He reminded Josh of what Santa Claus would look like on his days off, if Santa Claus were real. Mr. Dare paused only to glance over his shoulder.

"Well, come on if you want to see," Mr. Dare said, curling his finger toward himself. "Come on. I don't have all day, do you?" That was something Josh's dad said when he thought Josh was dragging his heels, but Mr. Dare didn't sound annoyed, and he smiled as he said it.

Josh wavered, hands in the pockets of the jeans. His mom had always told him not to go places with strangers, but the back room wasn't exactly a different place, and he already knew Mr. Dare. He owned the toy store. Josh turned and followed. After all, he wanted to see.

*****end 12/12*****

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