De Novo Author: Kimberly Spoilers: Hellbound Category: Reyes POV, Very Subtle DRR, Post Ep-Hellbound Rating: PG Summary: Leave the past behind. Look towards the future. Begin again. Archive: XFMU, Any others please feel free to archive. Just drop me a note to tell me where. Disclaimer: I will forever be grateful to Chris Carter for creating these characters. However, I don't own them, nor am I making any profit off of them. Author's Note: I'm slowly working my way into writing DRR. Please bear with me. :) ______________________________________________________________________ He saved me on that night. Whether or not he knows it, he saved me. After Van Allen died, I felt that I had died as well, because I had failed - again. I left the hospital abruptly, paying no attention to those calling my name. I was focused on one mission - return to the abandoned mine and piece together my past. It may sound juvenile to any other person, but knowing my past was important to me. So important. My entire life has carried a disconnected feeling. I have never known my biological parents, only Mama and Papa who gave me the name Reyes. If I am to believe Van Allen's claim that I had a past shared with him, then maybe I could find some clue to put this new revelation to rest. I ached to search the mine. I arrive as the investigators and analysts are packing up. They would have removed the sheriff's skeleton and the trophy skins by now, but I believed instinct would lead me to what they had yet to find. And so, I ignore the incessant ringing of my cell to flash my badge at a deputy sheriff playing crime scene guard. "Monica Reyes, FBI." The deputy acknowledges me and tips his hat. "Ma'am, thought y'all had cleared outta here hours ago." "Just one more quick check before we completely relinquish control," I flash him a smile and he moves from the mine entrance to let me pass. It is pitch black as I slowly creep along the corridor and under rotting two-by-fours. The mold that has grown over the years seems to cling to me as I wrestle with my penlight. Once I succeed in forcing it to shine, I see I may be too late. The local police have already stripped the newspaper clippings from their rusted tacks. Something tells me to not give in to failure. It is pure instinct that has pulled me in the right direction so many times before. To deny it now would be insanity. So, I do not. Looking through the doorway of plastic that shielded the skins, I see the area has been worked over by the crime scene investigators. Even the dirt under my feet has been combed through. There is nothing for me to examine here, nothing waiting to be found. I did not really believe there would be. I give the now-bare newspaper clippings shrine a try. Maybe visualizing what I had seen previously will pull something significant to the forefront of my mind. My light flashes across the nails, where bits of paper still cling. The inexperience of the locals shows. A large section of one clipping has been ripped from the entire article. The date is of most significance to me, September 27, 1909. An overwhelming heaviness floods my soul, forcing me to stumble backwards and dig my heel into the ground. I have hit something. The bottom of the heel refuses to lodge further into the dirt. I need to be certain of where this anomaly is, so I step out of the shoe to ensure I do not miss the spot again. I am on all fours now. My hands work quickly to dig the dirt and coal dust away from this `special' area. I work faster and faster, intent upon claiming my prize. Suddenly, this thing is hard underneath my fingers. With my penlight in my mouth, I retrieve the object from the darkness and examine it. What appears to be a slim leather billfold crumbles at the corners when I clear away the dirt. I stand up rather shakily, my legs are stiff after crouching for some time. Perhaps the shakiness also comes from this discovery. An unseen link to the past that would never have been discovered had my heel not gotten stuck in that specific spot. I know what this billfold means. A link to a past failure, a link to... No. John Doggett is the most rational person I know and he would tell me to not even consider something for which I had no plausible proof. But still... Inside the billfold is a card. The words are faded but, with the little light I have, I can make out that I am looking at a business card for a `private investigator'. From the yellowing along the edges, the card appears to be pre-1940's. Yes, I will go so far as to say the card could be from the early 1900's. I remove it from the holder, knowing full well that I should not. Yet, the desire to physically touch it is too overwhelming to dismiss. Once in my hand, the card warms the skin underneath it. And, then it happens. A sudden flash, like lightning sends pain to my head. My grip on the card tightens, which increases the sensation. All the nerves in my body are on high alert for the revelation I had been seeking. I am no longer seeing anything that surrounds me. My vision is completely white as I try to focus. The card is burning my hand. "Monica?" The voice is muffled. "Monica!" Whoever it may be is coming closer. The whiteness is getting brighter, ever more intense by the second. It wants to consume me but I cannot let it. I must fight against it. "Monica! Listen to me!" My free hand is flailing towards the voice. It is my only link to reality. I need to hold onto that voice. The voice grabs my hand and forces it to my side. "Drop it, Monica. Let go of the card." "It's me." I hardly recognize the voice coming through my lips. "NOW! DROP IT NOW!" My wrist is being shaken, my fingers are being unclenched. The card disintegrates as it falls away from my hand. The white light gives way to the darkness of the mine. "Hey, you okay?" The voice speaks softly in my ear. I blink vigorously to focus my eyes on the person behind the voice. My sanity, my reality. John is the voice that saved me. "John..." I stutter and stumble into him. His arms are firm around my back as he holds me up. "What happened, Monica? One minute you were at the hospital, the next you were gone." "I...I... How did you know to come here?" I am finally standing up on my own and watching him look at me with questioning eyes. "I heard it over a deputy's radio. Someone called in that the FBI was still poking around at the mine." He stops and puts a hand on my shoulder. "What happened?" "I found this." My light shines on the billfold laying in the dirt. "It was buried here. Don't ask me to explain, John. I was led here to find this. But when I held the card that was inside, I had this feeling." His eyes are intensely watching me. "A burning sensation on my palm, followed by blinding white light..." He interrupts me, "And then a long dark tunnel? C'mon, Monica. I think you need to rest. It's been a long night for everyone." He pushes me towards the exit. "I know what I experienced," I turn to face him but see something unexpected. John is breaking apart the billfold. He is grinding it into the dirt. "This wasn't meant for you, Monica. No matter what kinda connection you think you have, you're alive now, today. This case isn't gonna start some new life's mission for you." John has come up beside me now. He takes hold of my arm to lead me to the car. "We both know the past can't be corrected. Don't start thinking differently." As John begins to pull the car away from the mine, I cannot help but stare at what will surely be bulldozed now that the crime scene has been picked apart. Van Allen died because of the mine. His secrets have gone with him. Maybe that haunts me the most. The not knowing. What did he see in me? He could have killed me earlier. But he did not. And, now, he is dead. The cycle begins again? So many questions still unanswered. Why did the card cause physical pain when I held it? "You wanna talk about anything? It's not good when you're quiet for too long." I turn my head to see John looking at me. "Means you're thinking too much." I smile. I am thinking too much, because I understand the sensations I felt in the mine. Van Allen's mission would have become a part of me in this lifetime had John not found me when he did. The billfold and card were conductors between our past and present. We each, Van Allen and I, had come in contact with the items. I had held the card where he held it. The pain he had suffered was being transferred to me. The white light was the knife cutting into the flesh. The confusion I had felt was his first death. But the release was all mine. "I'm glad you came when you did, John." I reach towards him, seeking out his hand. I need to hold it for reassurance. "Yeah." It is all he says as he continues to drive down the dark road. Slowly, his hand finds mine and we stay connected for the remaining journey. There comes very few chances to start life anew. In some small way, tonight is my rare chance. To stop examining the past and look towards the future. I can only hope that Detective Van Allen will someday find the release I have.