An Unchanged Soul Chapter Eighteen Disclaimer, etc. in Headers "And he just left? Just like that?" Scully asked Emma, trying very hard to keep a rein on her temper. "Just like that. He didn't even come back into the pub to get his things." Emma was dispassionate in her response, but Scully could see Sam's defection had hurt her cousin deeply. Mike had phoned Mulder immediately once they'd discovered Sam was gone; they were moments away from summoning the police when Sam had called and spoken to Tommy. Just a few words, saying the same thing he'd told Emma - he wanted out. "He didn't even speak to Da, Dana. Tommy couldn't get him to stay on the phone long enough. All he said was he was okay and he wasn't coming back." The calm facade suffered a bit under the knit of Emma's brow. "He didn't even say goodbye. How can he not say goodbye?" Damn him. Damn him for showing up again only to end up hurting Mulder, who'd been worrying about Sam for days now. Damn him for finally giving Emma someone to care for, only to take it away with a snap of his money-hungry fingers. Scully wanted to tell Emma it would be all right, that Sam was just going through a phase of sorts. Testing the waters after being gone so long was natural. But it was the way he'd gone about it that Scully could not excuse with any inkling of sympathy for Sam's plight. He didn't have to crush Emma, though she'd deny it if anyone even hinted she was hurt by Sam. Emma sat at the kitchen table, sipping her tea like she always did on the days she visited. She'd been stingy with the precise words she and Sam had exchanged, but Scully got the drift. Sam had basically told Emma she was nothing but a pretty diversion. Now that he was into money again, he was striking out for greener pastures. Scully remembered the pride in Mulder's face when he'd told her Sam was giving his money to Cannon's wife. It was as if he'd found the brother he needed all those years, the one who cared more for people than for the accolades of the sports world. She could cheerfully wring Sam's neck for disillusioning Mulder with this stunt. It was very difficult to keep her dislike for her errant brother-in-law under wraps in front of her husband - a few times in the past week she'd itcheed with the desire to personally kick Sam's butt. With Emma, the feelings persisted, to the point of frustration. How dare he make all their lives so miserable? "Is he drinking again?" No use beating around the bush. Emma would know if Sam had hit the bottle; Scully knew the possibility was there - and it would explain a lot, even if no one wanted to see him drown in liquor again. Emma's gaze lifted from its vacant stare at the delicate cup. "Drinking? No, I don't think so." Her eyes widened. "Though he did ask me to get him a shot of whiskey after his tussle with Davey. You think he could be in trouble, Dana?" In trouble? From what Scully knew of Sam, he lived to make trouble. This whole incident was just par for the course. She couldn't find it in her heart to feel worry for Mulder's brother, nor to summon an ounce of sympathy for the rat. She stood, stretching as she walked to the sink to empty the last of her tea down the drain. It wasn't her place to speculate about Sam's motives, nor to openly judge. Unless Sam's actions put Mulder or Emma in real danger, she'd keep her most vehement opinions to herself. Didn't mean she couldn't *think* them, however. Still, she wasn't a Scully for nothing, and she wasn't about to whitewash the truth. "I don't know what to think, Emma," she said softly. "All I know is, he's hurt my husband with this selfish behavior. He's hurt you and Uncle Mike. I would find it difficult to give him another chance." "Here's where I'm supposed to agree." Emma appeared at her side, with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You think that's what I want to hear?" "No. You've always told me the truth, Dana. And I always tried to give it back to you." Over the years, Scully had seen Emma brush off men, always with one excuse after another. He's too clinging. He's only after one thing. He'll make me give up my nursing career. Da simply *hates* him. All of them delivered in a haughty, superior tone, one designed to convince herself she didn't need anyone. Excuses were convenient and protective. Scully was dismayed to see the vulnerability lurking in Emma's gaze. This time, Emma had lost something with Sam's departure. A piece of her heart. "I should wash my hands of him, Dana." Emma spoke so softly, so painfully quiet for a woman who didn't hesitate to argue. It cut Scully to the quick, and she once again sent Sam to perdition for taking away Emma's pride. "But I don't know if I can." "Emma." Scully breathed her cousin's name with sadness, wanting to make the hurt go away. But there was nothing she could do, and she wasn't about to tell Emma to go after her worthless brother-in-law. "Isn't that rich?" Emma's sarcasm didn't have the bite it needed; it suffered in the face of her suppressed tears. "I finally find someone I can... oh well. Wasn't meant to be, was it?" While Scully struggled for the words to ease Emma's pain, her cousin quickly moved away. In moments, she had her coat and purse. Her usual warmth was absent as she leaned in to give Scully a peck on the cheek, her lips cool and dry. "I've got to go, Dana. Thanks for the tea." "Emma -" But Emma was already halfway out the back door. "Tell Mulder I said hello, won't you?" Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "And don't worry about me, Dana. I'm fine. Really, I am." For all the times she herself had used those words, she knew a lie when she heard it. She watched Emma drive away, feeling the bite of the cold hit her face. Damn him once again. Maybe if she wished it enough, God would see fit to string him up by his toes over a vat of boiling oil. Hell was like that, wasn't it? Then again, doing without the love of that beautiful, sad girl for a lifetime should do. ********** Later, she wondered how she'd suddenly become the confidant of so many. She knew she wasn't exactly the easiest person in the world to talk to - especially when it came to family matters. Charlie was the voice of reason, not her. "Uncle Mike? What brings you here?" Scully waved him in, watching as he wiped his feet on the mat and removed his hat and coat. His thinning red hair, freed from the confines of his hat, stood up in all directions. "I can't come see my favorite niece?" She patted down the flyaway strands, giving him a knowing grin. "Last time you came over, it was because you were hiding from Emma, remember? Did she ever get you to the dentist, by the way?" Mike showed her his teeth. "Still can open a bottle with 'em, see? That girl's daft if she thinks she can haul me to the dentist like a child." "Hmm... but what about that molar in the back? The one giving you all the trouble?" "Oh, Chauncy took care o'that for me, love." He brought his knuckles to his chin with a wink. "That man's got a mean right hook. Did me own surgery, just like back home." "Uncle Mike!" He laughed at her gasping shock, moving past her into the living room. "Had ya going, didn't I?" He gestured for her to sit on the couch. "Don't worry, lass - I got meself to the dentist. On me own time. Emma's got a thing or two to learn about handlin' men." He paused, his mirth dimming. Scully sat gingerly, waving him over as she got comfortable. Whatever he'd come for, it wasn't just to pass the time in pleasant conversation. Would Mike dare to nose in on Emma's business? Of course he would. She'd have to watch her mouth; worry about Emma was one thing, but if Mike brought up that lazy bum.... "Coffee?" she asked as he settled into the spot beside her. "No thanks, darlin'. Don't have but a bit of time before I have to get back for the dinner crowd." Mike perched on the edge of the sofa as if he wanted to be ready to fly out the door at a moment's notice. His big hands, poking out from the sleeves of his Sunday suit, flopped between his knees. He cracked his knuckles, keeping his face averted. "I ever tell you and Mulder you got a right nice place here?" His Sunday suit? What was he doing wearing his best on a weekday? Oh, this wasn't a social call, that was certain. "Uncle Mike?" "Yeah?" "What's wrong?" Though she figured she knew what brought her uncle around. It had been the subject of many a heated discussion between her and Mulder for a few days now. "Is it Emma? You know, it's going to take some time for her to come around -" "It's not Emma, Dana. My girl's a hardy soul. She'll find her way in her own time." He looked her way. "It's Sam." "I'll thank you not to mention my brother-in-law to me, Uncle Mike." "But love -" "But nothing. He left you high and dry," she argued, repeating the same thing she'd told Mulder since they'd discovered Sam had quit the pub. "Without even a word or a thank you." "You don't think that riled me? It did, let me tell you. When I found out the lad had just up and left, I was ready to pound him to a pulp." Remnants of anger flashed in his blue eyes, but they faded quickly. "Where is he, anyway? You and Mulder - you've heard from him?" Scully shifted, reaching for her cup of tea on the side table. "The Governor Calvert House. He called Mulder Sunday with a story about trying to get back into baseball. You still want to kick his rear end? Be my guest. Far as we know, he's still there." She and Mulder had argued about Sam's sudden life changes for several days now; Mulder wanted to see for himself how Sam was doing, but Sam had pointedly told Mulder over the phone to mind his own business. Mulder's hurt fueled her anger. As far as she was concerned, Sam had shown his true colors. Once a wastrel, always a wastrel. She had no doubt he'd taken his inheritance and was blindly drinking it away. On one hand, she stood by her original assessment of her brother-in-law. He was no good, and Mulder was too involved to be objective. All this cozying up to Mike and Emma had been just a ploy until the money came in. Had Sam heard of his parents' deaths and finally decided to return home to collect? Was he hoping Mulder would give every penny to him if he garnered enough sympathy with the amnesia bit? On the other hand, there *was* a tiny voice in her mind that whispered for compassion. Mulder loved Sam, despite his faults. He was certain there was more to this abandonment than a love for baseball. Scully trusted his judgment, but love of family had a way of clouding the issues. Mulder denied what he didn't want to see. Now caught up in a possible Chang case once again, he was beginning to spend longer hours at the office. Every night, as he dragged himself to bed, he told her of his worry for Sam. She'd had a devil of a time convincing him that Sam was like a cat - he always landed on his feet, apparently. With every passing day, she saw Mulder's hope that Sam would come home fade away. "I phoned him again today," Mulder would say late at night, his body curled around hers. "He keeps putting me off, Scully. It's always, 'I'm meeting my agent', or 'I can't talk right now'. Why does he do that?" Because Sam's a bastard, she wanted to answer. He cares nothing for you. Even worse, he used my family and then discarded them all like yesterday's newspaper. "Has Mulder seen him?" Mike asked. "I mean, really spoken to him in person?" "Sam won't see Mulder. He keeps giving him excuses." Scully sighed, wondering where Mike was going with all this. "Look, Uncle Mike - it's no use. Sam has cut himself off from everyone, including his own brother. Why should you care, anyway? He ran out on you, remember?" "True." Mike lowered his chin. "But I'll tell you like I told Emma - there's something wrong with the lad." "Yeah, he's an ungrateful, selfish bast -" "Now, now, Dana. No need to swear." "I've heard worse from you. Besides, it's true. What he did to you and Mulder was bad enough. But what he did to Emma..." "Was wonderful." Scully looked up at him with surprise. "You can't mean that. He made the poor girl fall in love with him!" "Like I said... wonderful." His eyes twinkled and he took her hand. "Dana, I've never seen my Emmagirl so alive. Ever since her mother passed, she's been burying herself in taking care of me. Sam woke her up, made her remember she's a woman in her own right. What can be wrong with that?" "What's wrong with it is that the princess was kissed awake by the frog, not the prince." "I don't think so." Mike squeezed her hand, halting her surge of angry condemnation. "I could see the way the lad looked at Emma. He promised me he'd never hurt her, and I think he meant it." "But he *did* hurt her, Uncle Mike. I couldn't get much out of her, but I understood one thing - he told her he'd never been serious about her. He was only out for 'a few laughs'. His very words, according to Emma." "Mighty unusual for a man who gave me his word he'd not hurt my daughter, don't you think? A man who put himself in front of a knife to protect her. A man who couldn't take his eyes off her whenever she was in the room." "You can't deny he told her some pretty nasty things." "But were they the truth? The man changed in a week's time, Dana. Something happened to make him withdraw from all of us. From my girl, especially. He knew exactly what he was doing. Emma doesn't give up on anything once she's got it in her mind to pursue it, and he knew it. What better way to put her off than by making her angry?" Dread rendered Scully mute; Emma herself had said this morning she didn't know if she could give up on Sam. "She's not angry, she's..." "Silent. More closed up than I've ever seen her. I miss my girl's smile, Dana. I miss her temper. I'd give anything to get that back." "So would I," Scully agreed softly. "But I don't see that there's anything we can do." She could see Mike's purpose from a mile away. In his quiet, hopeful stare, his intentions spoke louder than any words could convey. "Uncle Mike, this isn't our business," she warned. But Mike wasn't daunted. His determination practically shone from his face, steeling his jaw. "The boy hurt her *deliberately*, Dana. He set out to keep her away from him the only way he knew how - by telling her things guaranteed to make her spit nails. You know it as well as I -" "No, I *don't* know it, and neither do you." Scully saw Mike deflate a bit as he turned away from her, releasing her hand. She narrowed her eyes, seeing the red flush of guilt creep up his cheeks. "Uncle Mike. You didn't eavesdrop, did you? I know you have a tendency to nose around, but this is an invasion of Emma's privacy." "I did not listen," he said with indignation, softening his voice to add, "though maybe Doris couldn't help but hear, bein' in the kitchen and all. That boy said things he didn't mean, according to Doris. She could tell by looking at his face." "She *watched*?" "The only window in the kitchen is above the sink." "Doris doesn't do dishes." "For God's sake, Dana! It doesn't matter how I know, I just *know*." Scully groaned, wishing Mike would keep his meddling to a minimum. Now he had the whole kitchen staff involved in his shenanigans. "All right, since you're in the *know* now, would you mind getting to the point?" "The point?" "Yes, the reason you saw fit to come here and tell me all this. Don't ask me to advise Emma to go after Sam, Uncle Mike. I won't give Sam leave to upset her again, I won't." "Maybe Mulder could...." "Think again." Scully shook her head, adamant in her refusal to subject her husband to the same treatment. "I'm not encouraging Mulder to get in the middle of this, either. Sam's done enough to the people I love. You want to see him so badly, you go." "I tried. He won't open the door to me. He's left orders at the desk to screen his visitors. I can't even get the damned room number out of Mr. Prissy Pants in the lobby." Mike looked at her expectantly; she felt the weight of the issue fall squarely on her shoulders. It was damned uncomfortable, and she didn't hesitate to nip Mike's ideas in the bud. "Oh, no." She slowly got to her feet, feeling Mike's hand at her elbow. "Now, Dana, it wouldn't take long." "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly in any shape to drive downtown." "I'll drive you. Wouldn't take but maybe an hour of your time, lass." She waved him off, ignoring his pleading gaze. "In the mood I'm in, I'm liable to punch him in the nose." "Maybe that's just what he needs." "Uncle Mike." He put himself firmly in front of her, leaning down to catch her eye. "This is your chance to find out truly what Sam's up to. If anyone can get to the bottom of this, it's you, Dana." "This won't help. He's broken away from his family, Uncle Mike. Severed all ties with Mulder. If anything, my showing up there will just make him more distant." "Could be. But wouldn't you love the chance to tell him off, lass? You're Scully through and through; I know you well enough to know you can't resist the opportunity to give him what for before he disappears totally." She hesitated long enough to make Mike prod a bit further. "C'mon. All you have to do is get him to open the door. If after you talk to him, you still insist on making him pay for what he's done, just let me at him. I'll be happy to oblige you." "Re-arrange his dental work, huh?" Mike smiled. "With pleasure. Did I ever tell you I took care of one of Chauncy's bum teeth back in '33? Me and him, we ought to open our own business." "I'm going to regret this, I know I will," she sighed. "Does that mean you'll talk to the bullheaded fool?" Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. "I thought you were on his side." "I'm on Emma's side, Dana, as well as his. Doesn't mean I can't still put the fear o'God in the boy. Teach him what it means to toy with my daughter's affections." He winked, and added, "If things don't go like I expect, I'll even give you first go at him, darlin'. I'll hold him down while you kick him. How's that?" "We could get into such trouble, you know. If Mulder found out -" Mike laid a palm over his heart. "He won't hear a word from me, I swear." Scully snorted, looking up at his solemn face with a grin. "Gossiping is a sin, according to Father McCue." "So is kicking the shit out of the lad, but I figure if I get to confession before Sunday, I can still take communion." Mike smiled, giving her a wink. "C'mon. I know you wanna." She couldn't deny her curiosity was at fever pitch. Nor could she refuse the opportunity to give Sam a piece of her mind on the subject. "All right. When do we go?" "That's my girl. Right now is as good a time as any." "Right now? I thought you had to be back at the pub for dinner." "Aidan and Joseph came back last night. I've got plenty of help. C'mon - before you change your mind. I'll have you back before Fox gets home." Of all the - he'd played her like a violin! "Lying is a sin, too, you know." "So I'll say two rosaries for penance instead of one." He breezed by her to pick up his hat and coat. Stuffing the well-word hat on his head, he turned with a slight frown. "Well? You'll never plow a field while turning it over in your mind, love." A rush of cooler air entered the house with his departure. Scully followed Mike, knowing she was going to regret this. How would she ever keep it from Mulder? Better yet - what would she do if Mike was right and Sam had bigger problems than they thought? ********** Well, she had good taste, Sam thought. The Governor Calvert House. Recommended by Emma and loaded with antiques. It was a nice hotel room, as far as hotel rooms went. A suite, actually, with a sitting room. He'd stayed in his share of dives in his minor league days, and he supposed he ought to be happy this one was a step or two up from those rat holes. But he was scared to sit in the chairs, for Christ's sake. All those spindly legs and curvy arms. Sheesh. All in all, he didn't much care one way or the other. The silence was practically suffocating him. It was worse in the bedroom, where he couldn't hear the shuffling of people in the hall. He'd decided the sitting room was more preferable after the first day was spent tossing and turning on the huge canopied bed. The couch was big and comfy, perfect for his large form. It sat on the corner of the building, and its two windows offered a good view of the intersecting streets below. It also came complete with a fully stocked bar. Sam paced, giving that bar a lingering glance. Every time he passed those beckoning bottles of scotch and vodka, he stared just a bit longer. He could taste it on his tongue still, after all these years. Could remember the way it burned on the way down, the way it numbed everything the moment it hit his stomach. This time - the thousandth time he walked the path from southwest sunlight to northwest cold - he stopped and stared at the bar. It had been nearly a week. A week of hell since he'd left his new life behind. Since he'd left his brother in the dark and his boss surely cursing him. Six days since he'd left Emma. She would be at work now, her last day of the week. If circumstances were different, she'd be looking forward to another weekend spent with him. Their third date. Would he have told her he loved her then? Would she have given it back to him, along with more kisses and a lifelong promise? It was no use thinking of what could have been. He had more to worry about than Emma, even if she seemed to dominate his thoughts. He was no closer to resolving his biggest problem. He'd sat alone in this suite - the best money could buy - and waited for his ghost man to appear. He'd had the best food delivered, the best clothes sent over from the best department store... all without daring to touch anyone. Would the guy even try that stunt again? Or would he simply wait until Sam went stir crazy and ran out into the street screaming like a madman? Sam knew he was very close to the latter. Another day or two of this claustrophobic existence and he'd find himself locked up for good. If he was of a mind to see the humor in it all, he'd have a good laugh at the image of himself trying to explain it to a judge. God, he needed a drink. He closed his eyes, swallowing against the pull of the booze. It didn't work. One jerky step forward, and he found himself at the bar. His shaking hands poured a healthy glass of whiskey; he had it halfway to his lips when a knock on the door made him jump. "Shit," he muttered, feeling the alcohol sting the skin of his hand. He mopped at the spill with a bar towel, lamenting the loss of oblivion. He paused, trying to recall if he'd ordered room service. Since the days were now blurring into an endless stream of imprisonment, he couldn't remember what he'd had for lunch, much less if he'd ordered dinner. It was going on four o'clock; he wouldn't have sent for food that early. Looked like the moment was at hand. Steeling his spine, he walked to the door. "Who is it?" "Sam, it's Dana. Let me in, please." Damn that moron at the desk; he was supposed to call ahead when Sam had visitors. Of course, he hadn't had but a couple. Fox and Mike. He didn't expect Emma to come knocking, and he certainly *never* thought Dana would waste her time on him. "Sam, I need to speak to you. Please let me in. My feet hurt." Could the ghost man impersonate a pregnant woman? Would he stoop that low? Sam had no chance to fight back, only to push forward and accept the inevitable. He cracked open the door, seeing a flash of red hair in the instant before his face met solid oak. He reeled, blinking. She'd practically knocked him down with the door! "You bastard." *Slap*. "You selfish, lying weasel." *Slap*. "You, you -" "Jesus," he muttered, feeling Dana's palm sear his face. "He won't help you, you piece of shit." Her hand swung in another arc, and the realization hit Sam before she could make contact. She'd touched him. He was still here. He stumbled back, his eyes wide. Dana faltered in her fury, and he smiled. "Go on. Do it again." "You've been drinking. You smell like a damned brewery." "I haven't... I mean... Dana!" He was almost speechless with happiness at being able to talk to a familiar face without fear. "Hit me again." A fist met his stomach and he let out his breath in a loud *whoosh*. "And that was for hurting Mulder." For a pregnant woman, she sure packed a helluva punch, he thought. Groaning, he stood hunched over, his hand massaging his turning stomach. "Care to give me one more for Emma?" "I would if I thought she really mattered to you." He was exhausted. He was giddy. Days spent alone had addled his mind, because he found himself mumbling like a fool. "She matters. All of you matter to me. That's why I left." "You left so you could drink and waste your money on whores. Admit it." It was amazing to him the ease with which Dana lashed out. Her language would make a sailor blush. Once again, he was profoundly happy Fox had found this woman. Slumping into one of those dainty chairs, he winced at the creak of its legs. "I'm not drinking." "Don't lie to me." He looked up into a stern face; if he wasn't so damned miserable, he'd be quaking in his shoes. "I was about to pour a drink when you knocked, yes. The first one in years, Dana. Do you know why I used to drink?" She crossed her arms. "I can't wait to hear this one." "I used to think I was so alone. God, was I wrong." He hung his head. "I wasn't alone back then. Not like this." "Forgive me if I point out you brought it on yourself." "I know I did. And I'm sorry. So sorry." "Mike was worried about you. He talked me into coming here. I'm glad I did, to see for myself what a pitiful wretch you really are." There was nothing he could say to pacify her. Really, he deserved every hate-filled word, every resounding slap. He'd thought Fox would eventually come around and give him a good dressing down - *that* he could have handled. Years of practice facing his father prepared him for the pissing contest that was a man's way of dealing with a sticky situation. But nothing could have prepared him for a woman's unbridled fury. Especially this woman, who looked at him like she could see through every lie. Not even Emma had learned him in such a short time. Dana, however, wasn't blinded by good looks and charm. She had the devil's own temper and the sharp attitude of someone who'd been around the block more than once. "Is that all you came for?" If she could see through the lies, then why couldn't she see what drove him to push everyone away? "If it is, then I think you've seen enough." "Yeah, I've seen enough. But for some reason, Mulder hasn't. I'm here to tell you to stay away from him, Sam. Stay away from my family." "No problem," he replied, still nursing his stomach. Dana gathered her coat close, her anger tamed into a slow simmer as her face became expressionless. But her eyes still flashed fire as she gave him one more command. "He's going to come see you soon, you know. I can't keep him away from you forever, much as I want to. All I ask is that you try to stay sober until then. He has enough to worry about without seeing you drunk." It was no use denying what she thought once again; besides, he *had* been pouring a drink. He was certain now he would hit the bottle as soon as the door closed behind her. Especially if she answered his next question like he figured she would. "Is Emma okay?" He had to know. Grasping after crumbs of information like a lovesick fool, he let his face reflect his need. If she was moved by his pleading gaze, she didn't show it. "Like Uncle Mike, she thinks you had a good reason for leaving. Swears there's something horribly *wrong* with you. Keeps telling everyone she's fine." Her chuckle was slicing and cold. "Damn you. She'll never be 'fine'. She'll get over you, but she'll never let another man get close again. Happy?" "No," he said miserably, hanging his head. He'd never be happy without Emma. He heard the door open and his head snapped up. "Dana?" Her back to him, her reply came in a frosty tone. "What?" He had nothing left to lose. If he didn't tell *someone*, he'd go crazy. The whiskey was calling his name, the walls were closing in, and he was so fucking alone he felt dead inside. "When you...," he began softly, searching for the right words, "when you came back..." "Came back from where?" Her head turned; even in profile, she remained haughty. But she'd lived through things none of them had ever even dreamed of in their worst nightmares, according to Fox. Surely she would understand, if he could just get the damn words out. "From the war. Did you... God damn it." He bit his lip over the inane babble coming from his mouth; he sounded like an idiot. "Did I what?" At least he had her full attention now; she closed the door to face him. "Dana," he said, looking up in desperation. "I see a man. He scares me." She was silent for a moment to let it sink in. He thought he saw a flicker of compassion in her gaze before it hardened once more. "It's the drink." "No! Damn it, that mess over there on the bar represents the first time I've tried to drink in years. I haven't been drinking, I swear it!" "And this man? Who is he?" "I don't know." He shook his head, trying to clear it so he could make some sense. "He knows my name, tells me weird things, *does* things nobody else does. He tries to make me go with him, like I'm supposed to be somewhere else. But I don't remember, and it scares me." "Sam, this is ridiculous." "I know!" He stood, rubbing his nape with a shaky hand as he began to pace. "He came to me the first night I was home, when I went for a walk. Then again this week, when I went to see Cannon in the hospital. I can't explain it. All I know is, he wants me to go with him, but I don't want to. I can't." "Can you describe him? We can tell the police -" Sam laughed derisively. "How do you describe a fucking ghost?" Dana went so still and pale, Sam thought she was ill. He rushed to her side, gently steering her to the sofa. "You okay?" "Did you say 'ghost'?" He took her hand, more in an effort to still his pounding heart than to offer her support. "Forget it. I must have inhaled too many whiskey fumes." She squeezed his fingers, her intensity wiping the half-hearted smile from his face. "Did you say *ghost*?" Sam knew he was well and truly screwed now. Bring on the men in white. "Yeah, I did. It's the only way to describe him." Dana let him go, getting awkwardly to her feet. He sighed when he saw her pick up the telephone. "Go on. I don't blame you. I think I'm crazy, too." "You're not crazy, Sam," she threw over her shoulder. "At least, I don't think you are." She dialed quickly, giving him a small smile. The transformation was miraculous - from raising hell to raising his hopes in less than a minute. "Then who are you calling?" "Mulder." As she waited for an answer, she faced him. "We're not going to put you away, Sam, so stop looking at me like that." He leaned back into the couch, feeling tired already with the confrontation to come. "He'll think I'm crazy. Or on the booze again. Either way, he won't believe me." "Oh, he'll believe, Sam. Trust me, he'll believe." End Chapter Eighteen