From: mrkeller829@gmail.com   
      
   =====o============================o=====   
   "Chermera" by Mary Ruth Keller Part 10  of 45   
   E-mail: mrkeller@eclipse.net, mrkeller829@gmail.com   
   PG-13   X-File: Myth-arc   Disclaimed in Part I   
   Already sent to Gossamer   
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   Office of the Lone Gunmen   
   Alexandria, VA   
   Sunday, June 7, 1998   
   11:47 am   
      
   "Mulder, I think I have something." She unfolded from the couch to walk over   
   to him.   
      
   He stopped scribbling at the worktable to look up at her. "Yeah?"   
      
   She opened the notebook in her hand to the first page as she laid it before   
   him. "This isn't about the Forty. This is a diary, supposedly of your Dad's."   
   She pointed to the aluminum crate on the floor, its lid flipped back. "I just   
   opened this one up."    
   She had hesitated to show him the page, but the contents were too important,   
   especially now, if they were real. He took the binder off the table to read   
   the entry she was tapping with her index finger.   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   June 14, 1974   
   The boy is back. I agreed to let them take him to put one final barrier up   
   between him and his sister. She must never return to this family, or the   
   agreement I made will kill us all.   
      
   Actually, the boy isn't back. When they took him, they said it was for one   
   session only, but they lied. He's not my boy anymore. They've handed me back a   
   morose, silent thing, more like the woman who bore him is now, than the   
   vivacious light she used to    
   be.   
      
   I needed to save my job. There are connections that have to stay open across   
   the waves, or we will have no hope. But, my family is gone. There will soon be   
   nothing left to save. I have given it all away to them.   
      
   --o-0-o--   
      
   Snap. The binder slammed shut as it tumbled to the floor. His hands were   
   trembling, suspended in the air, but he felt as if he were seeing them on a   
   projector, not that they were attached to his arms. He watched strong,   
   delicate fingers slide around each    
   palm, auburn curls tuck under his chin. He knew he should feel warmth, the   
   sorrowing comfort of breath on his neck, but his mind felt disconnected from   
   his body. The curls pulled away, then tiny palms were wrapped around his   
   cheeks, the thumbs on either    
   side of his hated, too-large nose. A quiet, low voice was speaking his name,   
   but it was far-off, like a lighthouse horn sounding in the fog. Finally, he   
   felt the hands smoothing his hair before resting again on his stubble.   
      
   "Scull-lee." The syllables emerged separately, as if held together with a long   
   chain. He was drifting along that line, beginning to hear her deep, even   
   breaths, then felt the warmth on his cheeks, until he was himself again, whole   
   and seated across from    
   the one person he trusted more than any other. "I'm okay. Thank you. I needed   
   to know."   
      
   But she was frowning. "Mulder, how do we know that's real?"   
      
   He straightened, reaching up to slide down her hands and press her two palms   
   between his long fingers. "I know it, Scully. Sometimes." He shook his head.   
   "Just sometimes, he wasn't yelling, or drinking, or, you know." He paused,   
   waiting for her affirming    
   nod. "That man would be there." His eyes flicked downward. "I couldn't hate   
   that man. Not then, not now. I feared the others. But not him."   
      
   She leaned away, taking the warmth out of his grasp. "Then, okay. Mulder. I'll   
   trust your instincts on this one."   
      
   After a sigh, the dark-haired agent lifted the binder from the floor, before   
   crossing the room to the aluminum container to sit on the cushions beside it.   
   Leaving this first notebook on his lap, he reached in to take another,   
   gratified she had joined him    
   so they could conclude their examination. After they had set out the other   
   bound documents to flip through them all, he looked over. "These are all   
   diaries of his, are yours?"   
      
   She closed the pages of the bottom notebook, then nodded. "So it would   
   appear." She would wait until the physical dating and analysis of the   
   parchment and inks was complete before she could accept their veracity,   
   despite his assurances.   
      
   He padded into the workshop, his fingers wrapped around the first notebook.   
   "Guys?" Three heads turned. "Have any of the other boxes held just diaries by   
   my Dad?"   
      
   Byers shook his head. "They've all been about this society, the Forty, as   
   Agent Scully calls them, and its rituals." He pointed to the workbench. "We're   
   almost done putting together this broadband scanner to read them all in."   
      
   Langly rolled away from the pockmarked butcher-block surface. "Yeah, we wanted   
   something that would activate any hidden or faded inks, just in case. If this   
   group really is as old as you think it is, then there's a chance - "   
      
   "That these will be palimpsests, where newer content has been written over   
   older." Scully finished from her partner's elbow.   
      
   Nodding, Frohike stepped over to them. "Or was purposely concealed." He waved   
   at two long glass tubes suspended over a light table, wires tie-wrapped down   
   one leg of the mount to a desk-top power supply. "We should be ready to go in   
   a few."   
      
   Mulder turned to his partner. "If this is the only box with simple diaries of   
   my Dad's, then we know which one doesn't fit the rest."   
      
   She nodded. "Given that your Father and the Smoker worked together, it's   
   possible he left this behind when he resigned, and the Smoker just had it   
   added to the cache to confuse us. The inks and paper all look like what we saw   
   in the D'Amato notebooks,    
   but those we can have dated and analyzed by the experts at the Bureau."   
      
   The dark-haired man canted his eyes toward the round-faced Gunman for a   
   moment. "Pendrell? Or does Phillips still have him laden down with selecting   
   tuxedos and limousines?" His red-haired agent had complained about the   
   elaborate nuptials Terry and her    
   Mother had been roping him into when he had met him at his apartment on the   
   day of their return.     
      
   A ripple of chuckles ran through the small group before the ginger curls   
   shook. "No, there are other techs we can use for documents and inks,   
   especially in the Field Offices." She stood on tip-toe as he cocked his head   
   to hear her quiet explanation. "   
   Terry can still get a little proprietary around Arthur if I'm not careful when   
   I speak with him, Mulder."   
      
   He tried not to snort at this new, yet entirely expected, information, but   
   failed.   
      
   Byers frowned at the two. "Agents, I think we're ready to try this out, if   
   you'd like to observe."   
      
   Still holding the bound notebook, Mulder crossed his arms to wait.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)