Hello creative group!!!  I'm having the *best* time -- you are all so
terrific with your feedback... *please please please* keep sending mail!
It makes writing even more fun...  Here's my latest offering -- hope you
enjoy it!  :-)  In case I don't post again until the New Year, HAPPY HAPPY
HOLIDAYS TO YOU ALL!

Author's note:  This is a dark story that I love.  It was wild -- the idea
literally leaped into my mind this morning and plagued me all day.  It was
all I could do to get home and write it down.  Thanks and some
acknowledgement go to Amy Schatz, whose great story "Run Away" put the
scenario into my mind, and to the woman who served me breakfast this
morning and served as the inspiration for Raeanne.  I'm not sure if this
is just a short story or the beginnings of a longer one... let me know if
you like it and maybe we'll keep going.   I would love to hear what you
think of this crazy scenario... comments, criticism and compliments can be
addressed to [email protected].
 

Disclaimer:  As usual, I owe the deepest gratitude to the incredible Chris
Carter and the generous Fox network for allowing me to go wild with the
wonderful characters they have created and own -- I'm only borrowing here,
same as everyone else.  And special thanks go to Chris Isaak for the title
and to Pete Droge for the music that helped me write this...
 
 

GOIN' NOWHERE
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 

Raeanne sighed and twisted her long blonde hair back up into a bun atop
her head.  She gazed at the cracked formica of the countertop and gave it
a casual swipe with the rag that she held in one hand, then moved over to
the coffee machine to start up a fresh pot.  As she poured the remainder
of the previous brew down the sink, she casually eyed the few patrons who
occupied tables in the small diner.  Jim McAllister sat alone in a booth
near the back, as was his usual;  reading the paper and eating a danish
before heading out to another day keeping the peace in this small town.
Other than McAllister, most of the customers were strangers to Raeanne --
nothing unusual about that.  Jake's Diner was the only real restaurant in
this remote part of Nebraska, and most people who stopped were only
passing through.

 Not for the first time, Raeanne wished she was one of those people.

 It wasn't as though her life was bad, exactly;  just routine, boring,
ordinary.  Her boyfriend, Luke, was in the army, finishing off the last
year of his four-year stint.  On the days when the tedium seemed too much,
Raeanne clung to the promise he had made her, of moving on and settling
somewhere else, somewhere new and different, somewhere where she hadn't
spent the whole of her nineteen years.

 A rattle came from the back area of the kitchen and Raeanne smiled to
herself, knowing that Lizzie was at it again.  "Pans mixed up again?" she
called, the barest chuckle escaping before she could stop herself.

 "Dammit, Rae," Lizzie answered, frustration evident in her voice.  "He
can't put a dish back properly to save his life."

 The he in question came in through the back door of the diner, the he who
was Lizzie's husband, the he who was the owner of the diner and the source
of its name.  "Lizzie, gimme a break," said Jake, moving towards the sink
to wash his hands.  "They're just dishes, is all."

 "Just dishes to *you*," Lizzie called.  "You're not the one doing the
cookin'."

 Raeanne's smile became a full-fledged grin.  Another morning, same as all
the rest.

 "Mornin', Jake," said Raeanne, swiftly dumping more coffee into the
filter and then replacing it before switching the machine back on.

 "Mornin' to you, Rae," Jake returned her smile with one of his own.  Jake
was the closest thing Raeanne had to a father, even though he was old
enough to be her granddad.  "Doin' well?"

 Always the same question, always the same answer.  "Well as can be
expected."

 Jake nodded.  "Think I'm goin' down to the grocery, get us some more
milk."

 Raeanne knew that the last thing they needed was more milk -- Jake
started every morning with a trip down to the grocery, just to see if
there was any new gossip that he'd missed the night before.  "Sounds
good," she replied.  "Think Lizzie and I can run things while you're
gone."

 Jake nodded again, drying his hands on his faded jeans and heading for
the door.  "See you in a while," he said as he left.

 A customer waved to Raeanne and she crossed to his table to refill his
coffee and hand him his check, then moved to the other tables, taking
orders, pouring coffee.  Same old thing.

 The bell above the door tinkled then, and Raeanne turned to catch sight
of the newcomers.

 A man was holding the door open.  He was tall, and lanky, dressed in
jeans and a long-sleeved shirt.  His hair was slightly rumpled, and above
his beard she could see his tired eyes.  With his other arm, he guided a
woman up the two small steps and into the diner.  She was small, nearly a
foot shorter than he was, wearing jeans and a faded cardigan over a white
tee-shirt.  Her hair was dark, and looked almost black against her pale
skin.  Her eyes were wide and blue, but somewhat unfocused, and when she
stumbled through the doorframe Raeanne realized with a start that she was
blind.

  The man gracefully steered the woman over to a nearby table, eyeing the
patrons of the restaurant cautiously as he did so.  Raeanne thought she
detected a certain air of nervousness about him, but when none of the
other customers paid him much attention, he seemed to relax.  Once the
woman was seated, he pulled out a chair for himself, then reached across
the table to take her hands in his.

 Raeanne approached, full of curiosity she didn't know she had.  There was
something about this couple, something different,  something strange.  It
caught her attention and held it, though she didn't know why.

 "Mornin'," she said, pulling out her order pad.  "What can I get for
you?"

 The man looked at the woman, who said nothing, her eyes fixed on some
point in the middle distance.  "Coffee -- decaf," said the man.  "Some
eggs -- scrambled... and some toast."  The woman remained silent.  "Lisa?"
 he asked her.  "What do you want to eat?"

 Raeanne was just wondering if the woman was able to speak, when she
answered in a low voice.  "Same for me," she said.  "And some orange
juice, please."

 Raeanne nodded and tucked her pen behind her ear.  "Coming right up."
She turned towards the kitchen when she felt a gentle hand on her arm.

 "Could you --"  the woman's words were calm, measured, as though the
question was difficult for her.  "Could you show me the way to the
bathroom, please."

 "Sure."  Raeanne watched as the woman carefully stood up from the chair,
her hand still resting on Raeanne's arm.  Raeanne glanced at the man, who
nodded his assent, and then began leading the woman towards the door at
the far end of the diner.  The woman seemed tiny even next to Raeanne, who
had never before considered herself particularly tall.  Her touch was
light but steady, and Raeanne did her best to maneuver her between the
tables.  She looked down at the woman and noticed that she appeared to be
counting her steps, her forehead creased slightly in concentration.

 They reached the bathroom door and Raeanne pushed it open, then guided
the woman towards the nearest stall.  She hesitated a moment.  "Do you --
do you need me to wait?" she asked.

 "No," answered the woman.  "I'll be fine from here."

 Raeanne went back out into the restaurant and gave the order to Lizzie.
She then busied herself with several of the other tables, noticing as she
did so that the man's gaze never wavered from the bathroom door.  Time
passed, and Lizzie signaled to her that the order was ready, but still the
door didn't open.

 Carrying the plates like an expert, Raeanne brought the man his
breakfast.  She watched as he arranged his companion's meal, twisting the
plate in a certain direction, placing the coffee cup on one side and the
juice glass on the other.  At that moment, the door opened, and the woman
emerged.  Raeanne noticed how the man's entire body became tense, watching
as she slowly made her way across the diner, her lips moving slightly as
she counted her steps.  It was obvious that the man was coiled to spring
should she falter or lose her way, yet he didn't move, only watched.

 "Right here, Lisa," he said in a soft voice as she approached.  She found
the chair with her hands and sank down into it, with an audible sigh of
relief.

 Raeanne stood back, trying to appear busy, but fascinated by them, unable
to look away.

 "Eggs at nine o'clock," he instructed, "and toast at three.  Coffee to
the left, and juice to the right."  The woman nodded, and reached for her
silverware.  She took a small stab at her eggs with the fork, and warily
moved the utensil towards her mouth.  Succeeding at the small attempt, she
smiled.

 "Good," was all she said, but Raeanne could see the man relax at the
simple word.

 The diner was beginning to fill up, it now being nearly nine, and Raeanne
found herself caught up in the morning rush.  From time to time, she
glanced at their table.  The couple spoke very little, and it was obvious
that they were both very tired.

 "Better stop that," Lizzie scolded at one point, tucking a strand of
white hair back into her thick ponytail.

 "Stop what?"

 "Ogling that couple like that.  It ain't polite."  Lizzie frowned, but
Raeanne ignored her. There was something about them that captivated her.
Maybe it was the way the man watched the woman.  His expression was a
mixture of anxiety, and guilt, and frustration... but beneath those
emotions lurked a tenderness that made Raeanne's heart skip a beat.

 They had nearly finished their breakfast when it happened.

 Raeanne was in the kitchen when she heard the crash of fallen glass and
the woman's sharp cry.  She raced back out into the dining area to see a
puddle of orange juice on the floor and the look on the woman's face.

 It was a look filled with embarrassment, and anger, and something else
that Raeanne decided must be disgust.  The woman's eyes were wet, and for
a moment Raeanne feared that she was about to cry.   But the man's hands
closed quickly over hers and his words were strong, soothing.

 "Don't worry, Lisa, it's okay, it's okay.   It's not a big deal, just a
little juice."

 The woman calmed a little at his touch, and after a minute, she
responded.  "I -- I know.  I'm sorry...it's just..."

 "I know," he answered, then hailed Raeanne with his eyes, never taking
his hands from the woman's.  "Can we have the check, please?"  he asked.

 Raeanne moved quickly to their table and handed him the ticket, taking
the rag from her waist and wiping up the juice without a word.  She went
to the back to get the broom and dustpan to clean up the glass, and when
she returned, the man had his wallet out and was slowly rifling through
it.    Raeanne saw him glance at the check and then finger the few bills
inside, and she spoke without thinking.

 "Don't worry about it," she said.  "It's on the house."

 The man looked up at her, surprised and wary.  "I have the money."

 "Oh, I'm sure," Raeanne fumbled.  "But really, it's my pleasure.  You...
you seem like you've been on the road awhile.  It's the least I could do."
 

 He didn't say anything for a moment, obviously reluctant to receive her
charity.  "At least let me pay for the glass."

 "No... I insist.  Really -- I run the place."  Raeanne caught Lizzie
looking at her and felt guilty for the white lie, but Lizzie allowed it to
stand.

 "Well, thanks," said the man.  "That's very kind of you."

 The woman sat where she was, her eyes still dangerously liquid.

 "Question for you," the man said to Raeanne.  "Anyplace we could stay
around here?  Catch a little sleep?"

 Raeanne nodded. "There's a bed and breakfast just up a ways... it's the
only real place in town, but it's clean, and nice."  She quickly wrote the
name of the boarding house on the back of a receipt and handed it to him.
"Tell 'em Raeanne sent you -- they'll give you a good room."

 "Thanks again, Raeanne," and she felt a little shiver at the sound of his
deep voice running over her name.

 "Anytime, " she answered, and watched as the man helped the woman up from
the table and escorted her out of the restaurant.
 

The boarding house was as the waitress had promised:  clean, neat, and
quiet.  Mulder signed them in, using the alias he had only recently become
accustomed to.  Rick and Lisa Wilder.  He had chosen the names, the last
name being that of one of his favorite film directors.  The first names he
had selected in an attempt to pay homage to one of his favorite movies,
but Scully had scoffed at the idea of being called "Ilsa", telling him
that was no kind of name to use as a disguise, so they had settled on Lisa
instead.  Thinking about this, Mulder's lips curved up in a brief
half-smile that felt strange on his face after so long.

 Of course both Mulder and Scully had other identities, complete with
licenses, credit cards, and passports, kept in a safe place for
emergencies.  It was a requirement of the Federal Bureau of Investigation
that their agents keep a secondary identity ready at all times, in case a
situation should merit slipping under deep cover, or in dire need, for
them to begin a new life.  But those identities were of course logged and
monitored by the F.B.I. itself, and were no good in a crisis such as this.

 When it was the government itself from whom one was trying to hide.

 Mulder banished this thought from his mind as he opened the door to their
room and helped Scully inside.  He felt the weight of her hand on his arm
as she followed him, listening to his description and explanation of the
layout and the arrangement of the furniture.  The room was small, and it
didn't take long.  He guided her to the bed where she sat with her back
against the headboard, staring at a point somewhere below his shoulder.

 "How much, Mulder?" she asked, using his name only in the privacy of
their room.

 "How much what?" he answered, feeling more tired than he could ever
remember being. He collapsed in a chair across from the bed and ran his
hand through his hair.

 "Money," she said.  "How much is left?"

 He pulled the wallet from the pocket of his jeans and quickly counted the
bills and change.  "One-eleven and fifty-three cents," he responded, the
reality of their situation crashing down on him.

 It apparently had registered with her, as well;  Mulder's heart sank as
he noticed her shoulders slump in resignation.  The dark hair that framed
her face made her appear even smaller and more vulnerable;  Mulder
desperately missed the fiery red locks he had come to associate with her
power and strength.  "This has to stop, Mulder," she told him.  "We can't
keep this up much longer."

 Not for the first time, Mulder wished he'd had the opportunity to take
advantage of the plans he had made for a situation just such as this.  He
knew that both he and Scully had put money aside, had packed suitcases, in
case something like this should occur.  What they hadn't ever planned on
was the fact that they would be so immediately trapped, denied of all
access, forced to flee without ever looking back.

 Mulder cursed the bank regulations that prohibited more than $300 from
being taken from a bank machine at one time.  They had taken $300 from his
account, and $300 from hers, and $300 from a credit card he'd had in his
pocket by chance.  Nine hundred dollars seems like a lot of money, until
it is all that you have, he mused.

 "A few more days, Scully," he tried to infuse his voice with hope.
"They're bound to stop the surveillance sooner or later, and then we'll be
out of here.  Out of this country, away from this life."

 "Mulder."  Her voice was cold, dark, flat.  "We are almost out of money,
and we are out of time.  You have to go on, while you still can."

 Go on?  a voice in his mind asked.  And leave you?  Never... he vowed.

 "What are you talking about?"  he asked, thankful for the relatively
normal tone of his voice.  "We're in this together."

 "Mulder..." now she sounded tired, resigned.  "You can't devote the rest
of your life to taking care of me. It only makes it easier for them to
catch both of us."

 "Scully --"  he crossed the room and sat next to her, putting an arm
around her, trying to draw her close to him.  "This is only temporary --
the explosion --"

 She pulled away from him, leaving him with a cold ache at his side and in
his soul.  "It's been three weeks," she whispered.  "This isn't...
temporary.  This is reality.  And you have to accept it.  I -- I have,"
she finished, her voice weak.

 Accept it?  Accept the fact that Dana Scully, his quick-witted,
strong-willed, independent partner was now blind as a result of something
*they* had done?  Accept the fact that she wanted him to leave her, to
face this alone?   *Never*... his mind repeated.

 "Stop it ---" he was surprised at how harsh he sounded.  "Stop talking
like that.  We're in this together."  He attempted a calmer tone as he
took her face and cradled it between his palms.  "Listen to me, Scully.
We've made it through worse than this... and we can do it again.
*Together*."

 He stared at her, willing her eyes to meet his.  But they remained
distant and unfocused, their usual clear blue muddied by whatever veil had
passed over them and plunged her into this darkness.

 Mulder barely remembered what had happened after the explosion had rocked
the building.  There had been fire everywhere, and sirens, and the
crashing sound of footsteps around him.  Somehow, amidst the smoke and
panic, he had found her unconscious form and carried her out of the
building, running in a desperate attempt to elude unforseen enemies.   He
had managed to wire a car and had taken off without a second thought,
stopping only to hit a bank machine and drain it of all the cash he could,
knowing as he drove out of D.C. that he couldn't risk it again.

 Couldn't risk being tracked.

 Couldn't risk them finding her.

 "Now you listen to me," he ordered, his tone stern but loving.  "I want
you to lay down... get a little rest.  I'm going to find a phone, and then
catch some z's myself.  And then we'll figure this out.   Okay?"

 She nodded, and he was acutely aware of how frail she felt in his grasp.
He helped her pull back the covers, then tucked her in, stroking her hair
as she settled her head into the pillow.   "Okay?" he asked.

 "For now..." she answered, already slipping towards sleep.  "Don't be
long."

 "I won't."  He paused at the door before heading out into the morning
light in search of a pay phone, looking at her small form beneath the
bedclothes.  He felt emotions course through him -- pain, rage, anger --
how could this have happened?  he wondered with no small horror.  How
could everything they had, everything they had worked for, come down to
this?  He pushed the desire for vengeance from him, for the moment.  For
now, he had other responsibilities.  The rest could come later.
 

Scully heard him leave and felt the fear welling up inside her.  She tried
to fight the panic, clutching the pillow for reassurance.  God, it was
hard... she was afraid, deeply afraid, of this new dark world in which she
now lived.  The dark was deep and cold and frightening.  She had never
imagined how it could be, unable to see what lay before her, unable to
discern direction or location.  She had never imagined the horrible
helplessness, the feelings of inadequacy, of dependence.  She had never
imagined she could ever feel such terrifying loneliness.

 She couldn't even remember what had happened.  She had been close, so
close... she had thought that she was going to finally discover the truth,
that she had finally found the men who had ordered that the computer chip
be placed in the back of her neck, the men who had orchestrated the
kidnapping that had destroyed her life as she once knew it.  And then
everything had gone wrong... but then Mulder had appeared.  And she had
thought, for one dangerous moment, that everything would be okay, that
they would finally be in possession of the one thing they sought... the
truth.  But then the explosion had ripped through the air.  She remembered
a bright, blinding flash of light, and then nothing.  Nothing since then
but the darkness that plagued her, that threatened to overwhelm her... and
Mulder.

 He had been there, when she had regained consciousness.   He had been
driving an unfamiliar car with an urgency that she immediately sensed, and
then she knew that her deepest fear had at last come true.

 They were alone, on the run. With no one to turn to.  No one who could
help them.  No one but each other.

 Scully had long expected that it would come to this, but some part of her
had always believed that it would happen because of Mulder, because of the
intensity of his search, the desperation of his quest, his ceaseless
investigation to uncover the truth.

 She had never thought that they would be forced to flee because of
something she had done. And yet, they had.

 Part of her was deeply thankful that Mulder was with her.  Without him,
she knew she would have given up, paralyzed with terror.  With him by her
side, occasionally she still thought that they might make it, might escape
the clutches of those who sought to bring them down.

 But in her darker moments she cursed the fact that she had drawn him into
her web, forced him into such a horrible predicament.   Everything would
be different for them now, perhaps forever, and it was her fault that
Mulder had been forced to give up his own life in order to protect hers.

 She thought about that first night, when he had left her at a motel to go
in search of some clothes for them, spending too much of their precious
cash in order to provide them with the basic necessities.  He had brought
back a box of hair dye and at first she had resisted, before she realized
that he was right -- that they had to take whatever steps they could to
cover their tracks.  A brief smile crossed her face as she imagined what
they must look like now.  She couldn't even recognize Mulder anymore by
touch, his bearded face so strange beneath her fingertips.  And yet it
wasn't enough -- not enough to get them to where they needed to go.

 The influence of the Shadow People stretched farther than she could have
ever imagined, trapping them on an endless cycle of driving by night and
sleeping by day, hiding like fugitives.

 With a deep sigh of exhaustion and resignation, Scully reached out for
the blessed balm of sleep.
 

 Mulder found a pay phone at the end of the street.  Picking up the
receiver, he quickly dialed a number.  Three rings and then the line was
answered.  He spoke quickly, knowing the ability of the government to
track the call in mere seconds.  "Three-oh-eight, five-five-five,
four-eight-three-two," he said, and then slammed the receiver back into
its cradle.  Five long minutes passed, five long minutes in which he was
acutely aware of the few people that passed by the booth in which he
stood.  Then the phone rang.

 "Yes?" he picked it up before it could ring a second time.

 "Hello."  Mulder relaxed, briefly, at the sound of Byers' voice emanating
from the line. "You okay?"

 "For now," Mulder answered.  "How much time do we have?"

 "Five minutes," answered Byers.  "For now, they're not sure if I'm on the
line to a military base in Antarctica or a bar in downtown Chile."

 Mulder allowed himself a small smile.  "What's the word?"

 He heard Langley's voice chime in.  "Not good.  The dragnet's still out.
Your new id's are uncompromised, but we can't get you passports.  Besides,
the word is on the street.  They've compiled every possible physical
description of the two of you.  No disguise is going to get you on any
plane out of the states at this point."

 Mulder felt his heart sink at the words, but knowing the Lone Gunmen, he
was aware that their statements carried the ring of absolute truth.

 "You have to hang tough," said Byers.

 "Will do," Mulder replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

 "She okay?"  That was Frohike, worried as always, about Scully.

 "Yeah..." Mulder sighed. "She's okay."

 There was silence on the line for a moment, then Byers spoke up again.
"We're trying to find a way to get you some cash.  Check in with us
tomorrow?"

 "You bet," Mulder answered, hanging up the phone.  He felt the anger and
frustration coursing through his veins again.  The powerlessness.    He
had always promised to protect her, and yet he had failed again.  He grit
his teeth and clenched his fists and tried to channel the vehemence he
felt into something positive, something that would allow him to continue.
After a moment, he left the booth and headed back to the boarding house.
 

It was late, now.  Day had given way to night and yet Scully couldn't tell
the difference. She struggled to put her hair up in a ponytail, knowing
that it was bound to be crooked and yet not really caring.  Mulder had
gone out to the car, loading it with their few belongings before heading
to the grocery to pick up some food for their on-the-road dinner.  Scully
knew she was coming dangerously close to the breaking point, and knew that
if she was almost there Mulder had certainly crossed the line.

 The knock on the door startled her, and she grabbed absently for the gun
Mulder had left primed on the nightstand.  Deep inside, Scully knew that
her chances of hitting any target were slim to none, but holding the
weapon in her hand helped calm the pounding of her heart.

 "Hello?"  she asked, her voice a harsh whisper in the silence of the
room. "Who's there?"

 "It's Raeanne," came the answer. "The waitress?  From the diner, this
morning?"

 Scully hesitated, but her newly acute hearing told her that it was indeed
the voice of the girl who had poured her coffee.  Putting the gun to one
side, she opened the door cautiously.
 

"Hello," said Raeanne, noticing how tense the woman appeared.  "I -- I
didn't mean to startle you," she said.  "I-- I just brought you...some
clothes.  I thought... maybe... you might need them."

 Raeanne held out the small bundle for the woman's examination.  She
reached out both hands and ran her fingers over the small pile of fabric.
It wasn't much -- a couple of Raeanne's old shirts, a pair of pants, and
some items that she had culled from the back of her older brother Tommy's
closet.  For a moment, Raeanne felt incredibly awkward, as though she had
made a horrible mistake.  Then the woman's delicate face had creased in a
small smile.

 "Thank you... " she said in a tiny voice.  "Thank you very much."

 "No problem," said Raeanne, relieved.  "If there's anything else... "

 "No," replied the woman, firmly.  "You've already done more than enough."

 "Okay..." Raeanne answered, awed by the strength she felt emanating from
this woman.  She was the kind of woman that Raeanne sometimes dreamed she
was -- self-assured, unafraid.  Part of her reached out to this woman,
ached for her, but she fought away the impulse and turned to leave.  As
she moved away, she thought of something else, and the words poured out of
her in a rush.

 "Be careful," she said.  "Stay safe."

 The woman nodded again, and began to shut the door.  "Thanks again."  The
tone in her voice was one of finality.

 Raeanne watched as the door shut in her face, then made her way back to
her car, thinking of Luke, wondering that if circumstances such as these
crossed her life would Luke stand beside her as the man did beside this
woman?  A nagging voice inside her told her no, that there were probably
few men who would.
 

Scully had packed the small pile of clothes in a paper bag she found
beneath the bed, and was sitting waiting for Mulder when he returned.
"All set?" he asked.

 "Yes," she answered simply.  "A guardian angel -- the waitress from this
morning -- brought us a little present."

 She heard Mulder open the bag and rifle through it before offering a
small sigh of acceptance.  She suddenly felt a rush of affection for him,
knowing how it must be for him, loving him for the fact that he was by her
side.

 "Can't argue with that," he said, taking her gently by the arm.  "Let's
hit the road."

 She heard him grab the bag with his other hand and allowed him to steer
her out of the room and towards the car.  Once inside, she reached for the
seatbelt, buckling it securely across her waist as she listened to him
start the engine.

 "Where to now?" she asked.

 "Oh... we're goin' nowhere," he answered.  "For now."

 As the car moved off down the road, Scully leaned back in her seat,
feeling reassured by the gentle hand Mulder kept on her arm.  For now...
she thought.  At least they were okay for now.  After that, she couldn't
even venture a guess.  But for now...

 The car picked up speed as it headed towards the highway, hurtling
towards a destination unknown.
 

  "...you think you've got the devil on retreat
  but he's back up on his feet
  and he's looking for you..."

   - pete droge
 

===========================================================================

From: [email protected] (NVRGRIM)
Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative
Subject: NEW:  GOIN' NOWHERE - EPILOGUE by Nicole Perry
Date: 17 Dec 1995 16:23:25 -0500
 

Oh my God!  :-)  All I have to say is *thank you* to everyone who wrote
with such an enthusiastic response to my little posting!  I'm actually
glad that so many people want to see more b/c this is a really fun one for
me...  The funny thing is I just posted this on Friday and then the idea
for this little epilogue showed up in my head and I had to write it down.
(Good thing people like Raeanne...)  Came into the office to send it off
and lo and behold, great mail was waiting in my in box!  :-) So I guess
there will be more to come....

Author's Note:  This is an epilogue to the story I posted the other day --
you probably should read that one first...let me know -- [email protected]
-- if for some reason you can't find it!   :-)

Disclaimer:  Same old story -- thanks to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox Inc.
for creating this wonderful world and allowing me to play in it...
 

GOIN' NOWHERE - EPILOGUE
by Nicole Perry
[email protected]
 

'...it's just not the same when I can't wake up and see you there beside
me.  The whole day starts off different, and sometimes it feels like this
isn't ever going to end.  But you should know that I think about you, all
the time, and I know we'll always be together --'

 "Raeanne!"  Lizzie's sharp voice startled her out of her reverie, and she
guiltily folded the letter back into a tiny square and shoved it into her
pocket.  It wasn't as though she still needed to read the creased piece of
paper -- by this point, she could hear the words clearly in her head --
but it made her feel closer to him, somehow, to hold it in her hands.
Luke's letters were rare enough, anyway -- she figured she probably wrote
ten for each one she received, but she knew that she had a lot more time
on her hands.

 "I need you to get the biscuits out of the oven before they burn," Lizzie
continued, and Raeanne moved quickly to respond to the request.

 "Sorry Lizzie," she said as she turned off the gas and donned cloth mitts
before pulling out the tray of sweet-smelling bread.

 "Letter still good?"  Lizzie smiled as she bustled around the kitchen.

 "Good as gold," Raeanne answered, feeling a warm rush of contentment as
she thought about Luke.  Only seven more months... she figured she could
hang out that long.  And besides, he'd be back just in time for her
birthday.  A great time for him to give her that ring she'd been dreaming
about.

 Raeanne moved through the diner, refilling coffee and collecting her
tips.  The bell above the door tinkled and a man entered.

 He was tall, and gaunt.  His hair was a greying-brown and his face was
creased with sharp lines.  He was dressed in an official-looking suit
beneath a light trench coat.  Not entirely unusual -- after all, business
travelers did pass through the diner from time to time -- but Raeanne
unconsciously sucked in a breath at the sight of his eyes.

 They were dark eyes, with a malevolent gleam.  They were eyes that had
seen things that Raeanne never wanted to see.  They were eyes that
contained knowledge she had no desire to know.

 Raeanne scooted behind the counter, seeking to put a physical barrier
between herself and the stranger.  But he sought her out, moving with an
intensity of purpose.  "I'm looking for the Sheriff... Jim McAllister.
They told me down at the station I could find him here."

 Suddenly unable to speak, Raeanne only nodded, and pointed at McAllister,
who was ensconced in his usual corner booth.

 The man turned and walked over to the Sheriff, who put down his paper and
his coffee, offering the opposite chair to the man.  The man sat down,
pulling his i.d. from inside his coat as he did so. A short conversation
ensued, but Raeanne was too far away to hear the words.   From behind the
safety of the counter, she watched as the man took an envelope from his
coat and gave it to the Sheriff.  McAllister examined the contents of the
envelope carefully, and then shook his head.  The man stood, retrieved the
envelope, then shook the Sheriff's hand.

 The relief that shot through Raeanne as she realized the man was about to
leave vanished suddenly as McAllister motioned towards her.

 "Hey, Raeanne -- c'mere a minute, would you?"

 Raeanne hesitated, her feet suddenly unwilling to move.

 "Rae?"  The Sheriff was insistent and she knew she couldn't ignore his
beckoning arm.  Slowly she moved towards the table, completely aware of
the stranger's eyes upon her.

 "You need something, Sheriff?" she asked quietly.

 "Yeah..."  McAllister's voice was relaxed, easy.  "This here fellow is
with the government.  On the lookout for two fugitives who might've passed
this way.   I don't remember seein' 'em, but I know you're in here all
day. 'Preciate it if you'd take a look at these photos."

 Raeanne nodded at McAllister as the man handed her the envelope.  A
queasy feeling came over her as she took it, something inside her willing
her not to open it.

 "What're they wanted for?" she asked, stalling.  "What'd they do?"

 The man answered her question, his voice like steel.  "Theft of
government property," he said.  "The murder of several federal agents."

 McAllister chimed in.  "They're armed and dangerous."   He shook his
head, repeating the words the man had just told him for Raeanne's benefit.
 "Orders are, shoot to kill if they're spotted."

 "Oh," said Raeanne, "I'm sure I can't help you.  No one like that's been
in here."

 "How do you know?" asked the man.  "Take a look."

 Unable to refuse his request, Raeanne opened the envelope and pulled out
two photographs.  One was of a young man in a dark suit and a rather loud
patterned tie.  He was clean-shaven and unsmiling, but his hazel eyes
radiated an intensity and intelligence that seemed to transcend the
photograph.   The other was of a young woman with ivory skin and rich
auburn hair.  She was smiling, and the grin reached her blue eyes.  It
looked as though she had a delicious secret buried within them that she
was trying to conceal from the photographer.

 "Hard to believe, huh?" McAllister commented.  "They don't look the type
to me."

 "Trust me," said the man.  "Things change."

 Raeanne knew that statement to be true, judging from the photos she held
in her hand.  Of course, it was nearly two weeks ago that they had been in
the diner, but she still couldn't get them out of her mind.  The way the
man had been so tender and supportive with the woman.  The way the woman
had seemed so strong and brave.  The way they had moved in unison, bound
by an unspoken, wordless connection that was deep and powerful enough for
Raeanne herself to sense.

 It was hard to reconcile the vibrant people in the photographs with the
drawn, tired couple she had waited on.  The man was right -- something had
changed for these two people, changed in a strange and awful way.  Maybe
they were armed, but Raeanne knew with a quiet certainty that they weren't
dangerous.

 Knew, instinctively, that it was they who were in danger.

 Taking a resolute breath, Raeanne put the photos back into the envelope.
"Haven't seen anyone like that 'round here."  She didn't look up at the
man, just handed him the envelope and kept her eyes on McAllister.

 The man didn't answer her.  He tucked the envelope back into his coat and
pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  They were a strange brand that Raeanne
didn't recognize.  The man lit a match and inhaled, igniting the
cigarette.  Then he took his other hand and put it swiftly under Raeanne's
chin, raising her eyes to his.

 "You're sure?"  his voice was so low as to be almost a hiss.  "Absolutely
sure?"

 Raeanne looked at him, caught in his piercing gaze like a deer in the
headlights of a car.   A cloud of smoke curled past his head, and in that
moment Raeanne was deeply, truly afraid.  Not for herself, but for the
unnamed couple that for some reason she could not forget.  Ignoring the
frantic beat of her heart, she forced herself to shake her head
emphatically and pulled away from the man's grasp.

 "I'm sure."

 The man stared at her a second longer, then took another drag from his
cigarette.

 "Sir?"  Raeanne turned to see Lizzie leaning over the counter.  Her face
was stern but her eyes were anxious.  "This is a non-smoking
establishment."

 The man glanced at the white-haired woman, but did not answer her.
"Thank you," he said to McAllister and Raeanne, as he turned to leave.
As he passed through the doorway, he took another hit of the cancer stick
and then dropped it, just inside the diner.  With a strange look at
Raeanne, he extinguished the cigarette under the heel of his shoe.  Then
he stepped outside and allowed the door to slam behind him.

 It took a moment before Raeanne could move, still shaken by his presence.
 She went to the door and picked up the offending butt with a paper towel
and tossed it in the trash, a little silent prayer running through her
head.

 Please, God... keep them safe.

 At that moment, a family of four walked through the door, and suddenly
Raeanne was a whirl of motion, handing out menus and pouring coffee.  But
it wasn't until much later that afternoon that she was able to forget that
sinister man and the malevolent look he had given her as he departed.

          '... pleased to meet you, won't you guess my name?
          What's puzzling you is the nature of my game...'

                                     - Rolling Stones
 

That's it -- the end -- whew!  Had to get that out of my system... as
always, thanks for reading!  :-)
 

Read the sequel... Goin' Nowhere II - Passing Through

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