TITLE:  Broken

AUTHOR:  Kelly Keil

EMAIL:  klkeil@ameritech.net

WEBSITE:  http://www.geocities.com/kellychenault73
 
ARCHIVE:  Anywhere, just keep my info attached.

FEEDBACK:  I would love to hear what you think of my 
story.

SPOILERS:  One very tiny one for Amazing Maleeni.  Blink 
and you'll miss it.

RATING:  R 

CLASSIFICATION:  V, A, implied MSR

DISCLAIMER:  Neither Mulder nor Scully belong to me.  If 
CC, 1013, or Fox knew what I was up to, I doubt they'd 
approve.

SUMMARY: The boundaries which divide Life from Death are 
at best shadowy and vague.  Who shall say where the one 
ends, and where the other begins?
                   E. A. Poe, "The Premature Burial"

ACKNOWLEGEMENTS:  Many thanks to Marasmus, Luperkal, 
CazQ, and Alicia K for beta.  I owe much appreciation to 
everyone at Yes, Virginia for your encouragement and 
support.  You are all good eggs.

NOTES:  This story contains disturbing images that may 
upset some readers.  There is no lifeguard on duty.  
Proceed at your own risk.
______________________________


Broken
by Kelly Keil


She wades into the ocean and swims until the beach is 
a distant memory.  Ahead there is an island that she 
calls her own.  Her arms ache

(it hurts o it hurts)

from the exertion of swimming but she doesn't mind.  
The reward for her efforts will be more than worth it.  
She dives under the waves and looks through the murky 
green depths for fish and sea turtles.  Only the need 
for air

(i can't breathe)

forces her to the surface.  The island looms before her 
and she gratefully pulls herself onto its sandy shore.  
She lies there, feeling the heat of the sun on her skin 
and warm, salty drops of water

(blood)

on her face.  It is peaceful.  So peaceful...so peaceful...

* * *

When they came for her, she ran.

First in her car, weaving in and out of traffic, 
provoking blaring horns and waved fists that she 
ignored.  Adrenaline pounded through her veins but 
she would not allow herself to panic.

Mulder had never panicked, she reminded herself.  Not 
even at the very end.  He had looked at her and smiled, 
his eyes grave.  Then he was gone and she was left 
alone, cradling his lifeless body.

He had always promised to die for her.  She'd never meant 
to hold him to it.

That night she stayed in a cheap hotel where she could 
pay cash and remain anonymous.  She took a pair of 
scissors and a bottle of black dye to her hair.  If she 
avoided looking in the mirror, she could pretend that 
Mulder lay in the next room, only a wall separating 
them.  It was comforting, and she was learning to take 
comfort where she could.

* * *

She lies in the warm sun until she becomes too hot

(burning my skin the smell of flesh cooking)

and the shade of the island's foliage calls to her.  
Rising, she sees a trail leading into a dense forest.  
She walks down the cool path, immersed in the heavy 
shade of the trees.  Branches reach out to brush her 
face

(hitting my face)

but she deftly moves to avoid them.  She has somewhere 
to go, she realizes.  There is something, or someone, 
waiting for her at the end of the path.  She begins to 
run, flying over dirt and leaves and barely registering 
the bite of stones

(slashing my feet how will i run now)

into the soles of her feet as she hurries.

I mustn't be late, she thinks, then wonders what she 
can't be late for.  The forest shimmers before her, 
its vibrant colors fading before her eyes

(eye just one now don't forget)

and she runs faster.   She doesn't want to remember -- 
just run, run, run.

She runs forever; she is used to running by now.  In the 
distance she sees a small clearing; a figure stands in 
the middle.  He's the reason she's been running all this 
time.  It seems an eternity before she arrives at his 
side.

"You," she says.  "How long have you been here?"

"I've been waiting for you," he replies.

* * *

After the car died on her (like Mulder, her mind 
insisted) she made her way to a bus station.  She 
joined the other midnight travelers -- men with cheap 
nylon bags, mothers with small children, teenagers 
with Walkmans and grape bubble gum.

On board the gray behemoth, she looked around at her 
fellow passengers and felt envy.  She would have traded 
places with any of them.  Ignorance truly was bliss.  
What she wanted more than anything was not to know, not 
to remember, not to feel a thing.

Perhaps if she ran long enough, she would outdistance 
her memories and emerge with the slate wiped clean.

She could still feel Mulder's weight in her arms and 
the stickiness of his blood on her hands.  She wondered 
if she could run far enough to be able to forget that.

* * *

"More voltage.  We haven't been able to get through to 
her so far."

"I thought we weren't supposed to kill her.  Any more 
voltage and we'll stop her heart.  Or just cook her like 
a hot dog."  The figure takes a bite of his sandwich as 
if to illustrate his point.

"You may be right."  The other figure walks over to a 
small tray.  He picks up an instrument and flips a 
switch to turn it on.  "Now Miss Scully," he says 
pleasantly, "I suggest you co-operate with us or I'll 
begin to cut off those pretty fingers of yours one by 
one."

"I think she's too far gone to understand you."

"We'll see about that, won't we?"

* * *

When she got off the bus, they were waiting for her.

She wasn't surprised, not really.  It had a sort of 
inevitability to it.  She ran; they chased.  When 
they came for her, she'd fight.

She managed to kill two of them before they subdued 
her.  She woke in the back of a van encased in a 
straitjacket.  That was their mistake.  Barely 
noticing the pain, she popped first one shoulder then 
the other out of its socket while wriggling her way 
out of the binding folds of cloth.

She killed two more of them before falling out of the 
van, her shoulders back in place and her clothes 
smattered with blood.  She began running again, the 
wind whipping through her cropped hair.

I'm free, she thought.  For now, I'm free.  She ran 
until exhaustion overtook her then crawled into a field 
of corn that rose above her head and slept.  She was 
too tired to dream.

* * *

"You left me," she accuses.

"No, no," he soothes, taking her hands in his.  "I've 
been with you all the time.  I just wasn't...as easy to 
see as I once was."

She allows her hands to be swallowed by his.  She grips 
his hands tighter and tighter, reassuring herself that 
he is real and standing before her in this little 
clearing, the vast forest surrounding them like the 
ocean surrounding her island.  Her fingers begin to ache

(my fingers my fingers my)

but she doesn't let go.  "Are you real?" she asks.

"Are you?" he replies.

She doesn't know what to say.

* * *

The next time they found her, they came prepared.  She 
managed to kill only one of them before she was captured.  
Once they had her pinned to the ground, one of them 
pushed a hypodermic needle into her arm as another 
snapped heavy handcuffs on her wrists, securing them 
with a cruel tightness.

When she woke, tied to a chair in a dim gray room, the 
questions began.  She thought of Mulder and would not 
speak.  The pain helped.  It made it hard to remember.

Mulder wouldn't have told them what they wanted to hear.  
It was the sort of foolish thing she had come to expect 
from him.  She now understood.

* * *

"Real doesn't matter, Scully," he says.  "Not now, not 
anymore."

"But --"

"Come with me.  I've been waiting for you so long."  
He cups her face and leans down to tenderly kiss her 
cheeks, her brow, her lips.  She winces at the contact.  
It is as if the flesh he touches has been battered and 
flayed.  She almost remembers something but her mind
skitters away from the thought

(don't think of the pain for god's sake don't)

and travels instead down safer paths.

"Where are we going?"

He smiles at her.  She would run a thousand leagues to 
see one of his smiles.  "I don't know yet, but I'm dying 
to find out."

She smiles back.  "Me too."  She feels a dull tug on 
her mind and struggles to escape it.

"Are you ready?" he asks.

The tugging on her mind breaks with a loud snap that 
she can hear as well as feel in her bones.  She is so 
light, so free, that she feels as if she could run 
forever.  "Now I am."

He takes her hand.  "I'll race you."

* * *

"Has she broken yet?"

"Yes.  Or rather she's been broken."

"Wonderful."

"No.  I think that might be the problem."

"She hasn't provided the information yet?"

"I don't think she's capable.  Look at her."

"Yes, I see they've been clumsy.  Pity."

"You should have a word with them."

"Hmm.  I should."  He checks his watch with impatience.  
"We should probably call it a day.  We can pick up where 
we left off tomorrow."

The two figures move down the hall surrounded by the 
echo of their footsteps.


End


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comments, and general complaints can be directed 
to kellylynn73@comcast.net.