From: drsivana99@yahoo.com   
      
   This is a fragment of a story that ended up not going anywhere. But I    
   have always liked it, and hope to find something to graft it onto one    
   day. The Phantom Stranger is a copyright of  DC Comics.   
      
      
      
   J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING   
      
   FBI HEADQUARTERS   
      
   WASHINGTON D.C.   
      
   JANUARY 1, 2000   
      
   "I'll be right back," Scully said. She made her way, a little    
   unsteadily, out of Mulder's office and to the women's restroom, where    
   she stood in front of the aluminum sink, ran some cold water,    
   splashed it on her face, rubbed her eyes. They were sore from fatigue    
   and rubbing them felt good. When she opened them, she saw a dark    
   figure reflected in the mirror above the sink. It was a man. A man in    
   a dark suit and a cloak, with a black, wide-brimmed hat pulled down    
   over his eyes. He had some kind of strange-looking amulet hanging    
   around his neck from a heavy chain.    
      
      
   Terriffic.    
      
      
   "Sir," she said wearily, turning to confront the man. "I think you're    
   in the wrong room ..."    
   He cocked his head slightly, regarding her with eyes that were    
   invisible under the shadow of his hat brim. "Dana Scully," he    
   said. "I need to speak with you." Scully could feel the eyes on her.    
   This wasn't an ordinary man, she knew immediately. She wasn't afraid;    
   she felt more weary irritation than anything. She was a bit fed up    
   with mysterious strangers and their cryptic pronouncements. Ever    
   since she finally took the plunge, and began giving credence to ideas    
   that she would once have found out of the question, she had learned    
   that the paranormal is generally more annoying than scary.   
      
      
   "Okay," she said with a sigh. "Who are you and what cosmic secret do    
   you want to reveal to me or wipe from my mind?" She glanced at her    
   watch. "I really don't have all day, you know."    
      
      
   The man seemed momentarily taken aback. Then he smiled, just a    
   little. "I am ... a stranger."    
      
      
   "No S***." She looked him up and down. "Well, you're not the    
   strangest stranger I've ever seen, by a long shot. I hope you won't    
   be offended if I don't go all slack-jawed in your presence. I've    
   spent most of the past 24 hours shooting zombies in order to prevent    
   the Apocalypse, so you'll understand if my shock threshold is pretty    
   high this morning."    
   Now the man, if that's what he was, was definitely smiling.    
      
      
   "I've had many reactions from mortals through the centuries," he    
   remarked, "but nothing quite like this. I must admit, I find it ...    
   refreshing."    
      
      
   "I'm thrilled for you," Scully said dryly. "Now, can we please get to    
   the point?"    
      
      
   "Of course. Oh, may I say that the creatures you fought were not    
   proper zombies. A zombie is a creature animated by a very specific    
   Voodoo ritual process. What you fought would more properly be called    
   a ghoul, or perhaps a…"   
      
   He stopped short, having detected the look in Scully's eyes, a glare    
   that might very well have enough intensity behind it to kill even    
   him. He cleared his throat and began again.   
      
       
      
   While you and your partner made a valiant effort, I'm afraid you did    
   not `prevent the Apocalypse,' as you put it. Your necromancer was    
   nothing more than a distraction. The Millennium Group has other plans    
   afoot, as I think you knew in your heart they would."    
   Scully made a face. It was true, she hadn't been satisfied with their    
   latest bit of work. From what she had learned of the Millennium    
   Group, she found it hard to believe that the plan that she and Mulder    
   and Frank Black had interfered with was the only one the Group had in    
   place.    
      
      
   The Stranger's face and voice became grave. "There are awful times    
   ahead, Dana Scully. You will play a role in the drama that is to    
   unfold. You will survive, but the cost will be terrible. Not more    
   than you can bear, for you are strong, but terrible nonetheless."    
      
      
   Scully rolled her eyes. "I knew it. I knew you were gonna go cryptic    
   on me. I suppose you can't tell me any of the details because there    
   are some things that it is better for mere mortals not to know, or    
   something like that. Am I right?"    
      
      
   "Uh ... well, yes. Though I would not necessarily say `mere,'    
   although…"   
      
      
   "SO," Scully snapped, and the Stranger decided that if her eyes    
   didn't kill him, her tone would. "the point of this visitation would    
   be ...?"    
      
      
   The Stranger became even more solemn. "To tell you not to give up.    
   You will want to. A moment will come, very soon, when you will be    
   tempted to give in, to cease caring. You will doubt yourself and the    
   future. Please, Dana, do not. Much will depend upon the decision you    
   will make. You have great inner strength, more than you have ever    
   been aware of. When the time comes, use it. Look into your heart and    
   you will find what you need."    
      
      
   Scully nodded slowly. "Yes, okay. Very good. You used to work for    
   Hallmark, right?"    
      
   She rubbed her eyes again. "I'll tell you what I'm hoping right now,"    
   she said as she rubbed. "I'm really, really hoping you are an    
   hallucination brought on by fatigue, a bit of undigested beef    
   perhaps, and when I open my eyes again, you'll be gone." She stopped    
   rubbing but kept her eyes shut. "Okay, are you gone yet?"    
      
      
   "No," came the Stranger's voice.    
      
      
   "I didn't think so." Scully sighed and opened her eyes. Sure enough,    
   he was still there, very solid and real. She studied his face, tried    
   to get a glimpse of the eyes beneath the hat brim. "I'm not going to    
   ask you what you are," she said, "because I know you'll say something    
   weird and I'll be tempted to shoot you. If I find you have mirrors on    
   your shoes, I will not hesitate."    
      
      
   The Stranger smiled again. "It wouldn't have much of an effect, I'm    
   afraid."    
      
      
   " But it would sure make me feel a lot better."    
      
      
   The Stranger raised his hand in a gesture of farewell. "Remember what    
   I have told you, Dana Scully. Everything you will need is already    
   inside you. I have faith that you will make the right choices."    
      
      
   "Then why did you have to run me down in the ladies' room?"   
      
       
      
   "Before I answer," said the Stranger, gesturing toward the opposite    
   wall, "tell me why there are no urinals in this restroom."   
      
   Scully's head had turned in the direction the Stranger had indicated    
   and she stared blankly at the row of stalls. Her eyebrows went up.    
   She said, "Damn, you really ARE a Stranger." She turned back around    
   and started to speak. "Are you being serious…"   
      
   But the Stranger was gone. Just like that. No noise, no puff of    
   smoke, nothing.   
      
      
   Scully shook her head. She resolved that if she ever met this phantom    
   of the lavatory again, he would pay for his little joke. Not the    
   cryptic prophesy. That was par for the course. The thing about the    
   urinals, though, that was too much.   
      
   All that was left for her now was to shrug and sigh and jump back    
   into the meat grinder.   
      
      
   It was going to be one of THOSE days.    
      
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)