Dreaming Omega 
Spookey247 (spookey247@msn.com) 
 
2/7
Derange and Disengage: Two
NATIONAL SEASHORE, HATTERAS ISLAND 10:02 AM
I drop the empty bottle from my third beer into my backpack. I've got a good seat near 
the waterline, perfect for watching the waves as they begin to creep into shore. The 
steady wind erodes my soul. It's lonely here. I'm grateful for that.
For some reason, I'm remembering the way my mother's hands looked when I was a 
child. When I was little I thought all women's hands must be like hers: slender and 
smooth with creamy pastel pink nails... hands that are meant to look nice, hands that 
never get dirty, not the kind of hands that you hold. Once when I was about four she sat 
down with me and played a game with green army men. That's one of my lasting 
childhood memories, pink fingernails and little green men and my mother sitting with me 
on the floor, pregnant and smiling, just before Samantha was born.
I've done everything in my power to help my sister, but everything has failed. I feel her 
absence as keenly now as I did when I was twelve. The ache is familiar, the pain 
jealously hoarded, as much a part of me as my limbs or my face. It's driven me. It's made 
me what I am.
Grief is a relentless trickle that leaks through my arms and legs, seeping into my fingers 
and toes, solidifying my insides by increments. I know I will never lose this feeling. It 
gnaws at my heart like a rat in a trap.
I am watching myself, as if I was a bird circling in the sky above my body. I am 
watching myself take the safety off my gun.
Nothing matters now. This is easy, it's a piece of cake, one quick squeeze and I'll fly.
I raise my gun and place the barrel inside my mouth.
"You shouldn't put that in your mouth 'cause you don't know where it's been."
I drop the gun hastily into the backpack.
Looking at me with a toothy grin is a little girl, long eyelashes framing large brown eyes, 
wispy white blond hair framing a round golden face. I think she must be four or five. 
Her eyes are intensely bright. She stands near my shoulder, close enough to touch, 
smelling of sunscreen and fresh strawberries.
How the hell did this happen? Down the beach I see a blanket, chairs, and a red cooler. 
A man and two women are settling in, pulling off unnecessary clothing, putting on 
sunscreen. I must have walked far enough to travel from one beach access to the next.
If she hadn't come I would have shot myself in front of them. Some day at the beach.
The little girl puts her hand on my shoulder and regards me gravely. Her presence is so 
warm I can hardly bear it. "If you wanna learn to fly, I can show you, 'cause I know 
how." For a moment we say nothing, then she sticks out her tongue at me and runs off 
down the beach.
Jesus Christ, what am I doing here? Shit, was I going to shoot myself? Is that really 
what I want?
I open another beer and cradle my head. This is unbearable. It always has been.
"Excuse me, did a little girl come by here?"
The girl's mother looks panicked. She is about thirty, tall and lithe in a rose colored string 
bikini. For a few seconds I can't organize my thoughts enough to speak. "Uh, 
yeah...maybe five minutes ago. I didn't see which way she went."
"God, I can't turn my back on her for a minute. Every time I do I end up regretting it."
She is gone again, headed toward the water, calling her daughter's name into the wind. 
Her fear is well- justified...the beach is big and empty and as I look up and down I see 
no sign whatever of the child who was here such a short time ago.
"Gabriel! Gabriel!" The woman's shouts grow increasingly urgent and she wades 
helplessly into the water, clearly believing her child has been pulled under the waves.
I was the last to speak with the girl, though, and her parting words are still fresh in my 
mind. I rise from the sand and look around. Where would I go if I wanted to fly? I am 
watching myself walking trance- like toward the high dunes that separate the beach from 
the highway beyond. Effortlessly, I follow the path of least resistance until the dunes 
surround me on all sides like the walls of a maze. I loved sand dunes when I was a kid. 
They seemed like miniature mountains, made just for me.
"I will jump from a good high spot and fly up, up, up! I will be going too fast to look at 
things, so I will shut my eyes." She sounds close by. I move in the direction of her 
childish soprano, faint over the din of the ocean but getting louder by the moment.
"Little Bear climbed to the top of a little hill, and climbed to the top of a little tree, a 
very little tree on the little hill, and shut his eyes and jumped!" I round the bend in time 
to see her tumbling down a high dune. She lands near my feet and looks up at me with a 
smile so artless and full of life it takes my breath away. She is helpless with giggles, 
obviously very pleased with herself as she continues her recitation, "My, my, he said, 
here I am on the moon. The moon looks just like the earth."
I remember that book. "Hi," I say. "Are you a bear from earth?"
She nods, delighted. I squat down next to her. "Is your name Gabriel?"
She nods again, face suddenly serious. "That's a boy name but I'm not a boy."
"I can see that. Listen, Gabriel, my name is Fox, and I came to look for you because your 
mom is very worried."
Gabriel laughs and scrambles back up the dune. "Me and Daddy play hide and seek at 
the beach."
"I don't know if your Mom knows that. She's looking for you and she's really sad. She 
thinks you got lost. Do you want to go with me, back to the beach?"
She perches at the top of her dune, digging her pink sandals into the sand. "I'm not 
apposta play with a stranger. I have to ask my mom first."
"That's good. I'm glad you have that rule. That's really smart."
"Gabriel! Answer me! Gabriel!" I can hear the mother near the edge of the dunes.
"Here!" I shout as loudly as I can. "She's here!"
In a few moments Gabriel's mother appears, struggling to run in the deep sand, 
completely out of breath.
"Mama, I was being Little Bear flying to the moon! Watch!" Gabriel shuts her eyes and 
jumps, rolling down to her mother's embrace.
"Gabriel Anne Cahill, running off is not okay." Wiping tears away with the back of her 
hand, Gabriel's mother hugs her daughter tighter. "I thought you went under the water."
Gabriel touches her mother's tears with fascination. "I'm okay, Mama. I'm not under the 
water."
"I know, and I'm really glad. But next time you want to play up here you have to come 
with me. You're not allowed to come by yourself. Okay?"
"Okay, Mama."
This reunion is almost more than I can take. There is nothing sinister in this situation, no 
hint of a threat, just a small child who wandered away for a few minutes and was 
quickly tracked down; nevertheless, its deeper significance is not lost on me.
Gabriel's mother stands up and her daughter heads straight up the dune to continue her 
game. "God, thank you so much," she tells me. "When I realized she was gone I jumped 
to the worst possible conclusion. You were smart to think of looking up here."
"When I saw her on the beach she said she wanted to fly."
I want to fly.
She offers a hand. "I'm Joy."
My heart is racing; I watch from the sky as I take it in my own. It is warm and alive. 
"Fox Mulder."
"Wow. Cool name." She is open and friendly; I can't escape the feeling I've met her 
somewhere before. There's a certain familiarity to the way she regards me, like she's 
waiting for me to guess a secret.
"Yeah. Uh, I've got to get back..."
"What, to the beach?"
"To my car. I've got to go." I need to get back to my gun. I need to finish it now.
"Well, thanks again for your help."
"No problem." I take a few steps backwards and turn to leave them but somehow my 
brain isn't talking to my legs anymore; I'm so fucking hot; I can feel the earth turning...all 
the energy drains out of my body and the ground comes up to meet me fast.
"Hey, are you okay?" She kneels beside me.
"Yeah, I think so...what happened?" I roll onto my side and try to sit up.
"You passed out, that's what. Hey, you better lie still for a minute."
"I'm fine..."
"Are you sick? God, your hand looks awful."
"It's fine...looks worse than it is."
Joy reaches out and lays her hand against my forehead. "So you say. It looks infected to 
me. What'd you do to split it open like that?"
"I don't really remember."
"Are you sure? Because you might need a tetanus shot. God, you don't want to fuck 
around with stuff like this. You could get blood poisoning or gangrene or that flesh 
eating bacteria..."
"You take this mother thing really seriously, don't you?"
"Very funny, Mister Tough Guy. I could pretend like I don't give a shit and let you lie in 
the sand if you want. But then the crabs might get you."
"I'm fine. It's just I haven't eaten." When was my last meal? A dry and tasteless turkey 
sandwich on the plane from Sacramento, I think. That was over 24 hours ago. Since then 
it's been nothing but alcohol.
I wanted it that way. I was supposed to be dead by now.
She puts her arm around me, helping me sit. Her skin is smooth against the flesh of my 
shoulders. "You haven't eaten? Damn, buddy, no wonder you passed out. You had a lot 
to drink last night. Let me guess; you didn't sleep, either."
"No...I think I was walking all night..." Wait a minute. How the hell does she know how 
much I drank last night? "Excuse me, have we met?"
"Ah, the light goes on. I was wondering if you would remember."
"Well, when I first saw you, you seemed familiar, but no, I don't remember."
Suddenly I get a flash. A dive in Nags Head. A friendly blonde behind the bar.
"Wait. Were you the bartender..."
"Yep. So see, I've earned the right to mother you 'cause it's partially my fault." She 
smiles brightly and sits down next to me in the sand.
"Shit."
Gabriel piles into Joy's lap and puts a small hand on mine. "You fell down. Did you get 
hurt?"
"No, I'm fine. I just needed to rest."
Joy gives me a mockingly significant stare. "Any other details coming back?"
"What kind of details?"
She grins in response to my look of surprise.
This is getting weirder and weirder. "This isn't funny. What kind of details?"
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be mysterious. It was my ex. He was hanging around the bar 
at closing time being really drunk and obnoxious and you offered to shut him up."
"No way."
"You got a really big round of applause from the bar."
Another flash. A heavy male face, angry, Nordic, like a Viking on acid.
"Wait. Was he a big guy?"
"He's built like a rhinoceros. They were taking bets on how quick he was going to kick 
your ass."
"Anybody make any money?"
"Well, they probably would have, but we called the cops."
I do remember some sort of a scuffle. I could have dreamed it, though, for all the details 
my head will cough up.
"Was it...I remember...did I help the bouncer take him outside or something?"
"Actually, the bouncer is my brother. And 'take him outside' is a pretty polite way of 
putting it."
I touch a bruise on the side of my head. "I wondered where this came from."
"It's funny. I never laid eyes on you before last night and somehow you end up coming 
to my rescue two separate times in the same twelve hour period. Isn't that nuts? I mean, 
what are the odds of that happening? Anyhow, my hat is off to you. You must be, like, 
some kind of professional hero or something."
"Well, you're welcome, I think. Sorry I didn't remember what happened."
"Maybe it's better that way."
"At the rate I'm going, I may not remember meeting you *this* time, either."
"Beer for breakfast, huh? Well, listen, Fox, I think I've got a sandwich with your name 
on it."
"What?"
"Come eat lunch with us. My roommate packed way too much food and I'd love it if 
you'd help us out."
"And we've got chocolate cookies," Gabriel adds, "And you can help me build a princess 
castle."
It is impossible for me to figure out how, having set out to blow my head off, I could 
have ended up sitting here amidst the sand dunes with this beautiful woman and her 
child. But maybe Joy gave me the answer a few moments ago. Maybe this is meant to 
be, somehow.
One thing is certain. If I stay with them, I'll stay alive. If I don't I'm certainly dead.
 
FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, DC 10:56 AM
"I need to see A.D. Skinner. Is he in?"
Skinner's assistant, Kimberly, has never been very good at hiding her feelings. 
Sometimes I think she must be the most easily annoyed person in Washington. The most 
sour, as well. "Mr. Skinner is on a conference call and can't be disturbed."
"Well, when can he be disturbed?"
"They'll be breaking for lunch in an hour. I would be happy to give him a message."
Happy? I seriously doubt that. Aloud, I say, "Please have him call me in my office. It's 
extremely urgent."
Fighting the urge to commit violence, I watch as Kimberly's perfectly manicured fingers 
slowly pick up a pen, languidly locate a message pad, and carefully take down my 
message. "Your extension?"
"2680."
"Okay," she says primly, putting a neat check in the box marked "urgent" on the message 
pad. "I'll have him call."
"Thank you."
Freak. I spin on my heel and head for the door.
"Agent Scully..."
"Yes?" Turning back, I half-expect to be met with a put down or some kind of abuse.
"This wouldn't be about Agent Mulder, would it?"
"Why?" Something in Kimberly's tone gives me the creeping horrors. What does she 
know that I don't know?
"Well, it's just that there was a message from Agent Mulder in Mr. Skinner's voice mail 
this morning...Mr. Skinner came in late and I haven't met with him yet to give him his 
messages...um, is there something wrong that we should know about?"
Everything is wrong.
My mouth goes dry. "What did Agent Mulder say?"
"Well, not much, just that he was going to take a few days off. He said that he would be 
going out of town but didn't say where or leave a contact number. He sounded, well, 
funny."
"Funny how?"
"Well, just not normal, you know? I've still got the message. I always save them in case 
Mr. Skinner wants to hear them. Do you want to hear it?"
In the future, I must remember to be nicer to Kimberly. "Yes, I really would. Thanks."
She picks up the phone and punches in a series of numbers. Then she holds the receiver 
out to me.
Mulder sounds incredibly tired. It is easy to hear he's not telling the truth.
I hand the receiver back to Ellen. "Thanks. That was...helpful. The truth is, Kimberly, I'm 
not sure where Agent Mulder has gone but I need to find him. He's had a big shock in 
the last few days, a personal matter. I need Skinner's help. Please make sure he calls me."
"I'll see if I can hurry Mr. Skinner along."
"I'll be in my office."
I begin to feel lost as I step from Skinner's office into the hallway. Now what? Mulder 
has been missing twelve, maybe fourteen hours at the outside. My conviction that he is 
bent on harming himself, however deep-seated, will not be enough to garner the help of 
any law enforcement agency. It is remotely possible that Walter Skinner can help me 
through unofficial channels, but in a situation like this his hands may be tied.
In reality, my only option is to search for Mulder myself.
 
BUXTON, NORTH CAROLINA SURF MOTEL PARKING LOT 2:55 PM
When I asked for her phone number she gave it to me without hesitation. It's hard not to 
smile as I look down at the page she tore from Gabriel's coloring book. The name and 
number appear in red crayon, right above the purple Mickey Mouse Gabriel colored for 
me and just below a smear of peanut butter.
I stick my gun under the front seat of my car. I don't know if I'm going to use it or not.
I wonder if I have a toothbrush. I sort through the pile of crap in the trunk of my car. I 
have my wallet, of course; it contains a credit card, some cash and my Bureau ID. I have 
a toothbrush, but no razor, a spare pair of jeans, but no clean shirt. And thermal 
underwear. Well, that should be very useful.
I pay for a beachfront room. It sports all the usual beach-theme crap and is chilled to 
sub-zero by a musty smelling air conditioner. This I turn off, opening the sliding glass 
door to let in fresh air and the sound of the ocean. I am sunburned and dehydrated. My 
body is throbbing and I am covered in sand. I leave my clothes on the terrace railing to 
dry.
Rinsing the beach from my hair and my pores, I find myself wishing a lot of things. I 
wish I was still building castles with Gabriel, or lying on my back drinking beer in the 
sun. I wish I knew what I was doing here. I wish I could go home.
I wish I could think about Scully without feeling this knot in the pit of my stomach. I 
wish I could hear her voice; it has always been what keeps me grounded.
I have a decision to make. I wish she were here to help me figure it out.
I'm watching myself sitting in the middle of a seashell print bedspread with the phone on 
the bed before me. I'm trying to get to her cell phone...so many numbers to dial. My arms 
hurt, I'm so tired. Why is her phone ringing so many times?
When I was fifteen, I had a recurring nightmare of being pursued by a faceless enemy. 
In the dream, I find myself in front of a pay phone and stop running long enough to call 
my father, knowing this gives my pursuer time to catch up to me. I realize with terror 
that this is it, my only chance to get help. My father answers, "Hello?"
"Dad it's Fox. Help me."
"Hello? Who is this?"
"Dad, it's me. Help me."
"I can't hear you...who is this?"
The enemy is coming closer. "Dad, help me. Please Dad, please help me."
"Hello? Hello?"
Wrenching terror. Scully's voice on the line. "This is Scully."
I try to say it. "Scully, it's me."
Nothing is coming out. My voice has gone dry.
"Hello?"
Scully, it's me. Help me.
"Hello? Who is this?"
I cannot speak.
"Mulder, please don't hang up. Tell me where you are."
I need air. Why am I so hot?
I set the receiver back in the cradle.
After a few minutes the phone rings. I let it and let it and let it.
I unfold the picture that Gabriel Anne made for me and lie it flat on the bed. Gabriel 
saved my life this morning; she wasn't afraid to speak up. I admire her - so much courage 
for such a small person. I admire her mother, her generosity of spirit. Shit, as far as Joy 
knew I was nothing more than a random guy who came to the beach with no swimsuit 
and a six-pack of beer. But she took me in. She chose to trust me.
If I were half as brave as they are, I would pick up the phone right now.
I'm watching myself sitting. Sitting motionless on this bed while the wheel of the world 
turns afternoon to evening, turns me to stone, turns me cold as snow. I'm watching the 
rolling of icy tears down my cheeks, listening to the rolling of breakers that polish me 
until I'm smooth as marble.
There is nothing else. This cold is all that's left.
I'm watching myself getting dressed, going down the hall to the ice machine. I need ice. 
I don't remember why. I think it's a promise I made. I'm watching myself lie down on 
the bed with the ice bucket next to me. I plunge my hand into the ice.
Jesus, it hurts.
Why am I surprised?
 
FBI HEADQUARTERS, 3:49 PM
There is no one else it could have been.
When the cell phone rang I was sitting at Mulder's desk, fruitlessly searching hospitals, 
police departments, and highway patrols in every state between the District and 
Massachusetts. The unfamiliar area code on the caller ID was the real tip off, but even 
before I noticed that, something told me who was calling.
Please let it not be a payphone.
"Good afternoon, Surf Motel."
Surf Motel. My circulatory system resumes normal operations. "Hello, where are you 
located, please?"
"We're on Highway 12, ma'am, in Buxton."
"What state, please?"
There is a pause while the desk clerk processes my question. "Uh, Buxton, North 
Carolina, ma'am. We're located on the Outer Banks...Hatteras Island."
So Mulder has gone to the beach. Should I take that as a good sign or a bad one?
"Can you connect me with Fox Mulder's room, please?"
"One moment, please." There is a click, a pause, and then ringing. Mulder does not 
answer.
"Mulder, in a minute I'm going to start smashing things, too." I say this a little too 
loudly, slamming the phone down. Don't panic, Dana. Keep it together. At least you 
know where to start looking.
"Agent Scully."
Skinner. I whirl to face him.
"Sir."
How weird for Skinner to come down here. He knows something's up.
"Kimberly said you needed to see me. I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner."
How to tell him? How much to tell him?
"Sir, I need to take some time off. I need to go to North Carolina."
"Agent Mulder asked for time off himself, just this morning."
Skinner's eyebrows are lifted, silently questioning. As if Mulder and I had been plotting 
to ditch work together or something. If only it was that harmless.
"I'm aware of that. Sir, I'd like to keep this off the record."
"Go ahead."
"Without going into too much detail about Agent Mulder's personal affairs... I'm 
afraid.... Sir, I feel very strongly that Mulder has suffered some kind of nervous 
collapse...I think he may intend to hurt himself."
Skinner's jaw muscles work overtime as he turns the information over in his mind. After 
a long moment he says quietly, "Agent Scully, it goes without saying that I trust your 
judgment completely...if you believe that Mulder is a danger to himself that's enough for 
me. You can't tell me anything further, though, if you want me to keep this unofficial."
"I know, sir. It's a conflict of interest...you'll have to send him for evaluation." I feel like 
Judas, but I find myself saying, "That may not be a bad thing."
"Bad or good, his career could sit in the balance. I can't help you with this. But I can 
cover your ass while you deal with it."
"I'll keep in touch."
Skinner stalks out of my office, unable to hide his vexation. I watch him go with a 
sinking feeling.
I don't want to do this alone.
Nevertheless, I need to find Mulder now. I want to see his face so badly I think I could 
beam myself to North Carolina by the sheer force of my will. I take the 6:00 flight to 
Norfolk, my psyche teeming with doubts and uncertainties that pursue me like an angry 
mob as I rent a car and drive toward Nags Head.
In my work at the FBI, I have learned that sometimes, like it or not, you have to accept 
the indefinable. In personal matters, however, I've stuck my head in the sand, so to 
speak, and ignored that lesson whenever possible. In my relationships, I need a degree of 
control. I can't tolerate the kind of gray areas that have become the routine in my 
professional life.
Fox Mulder is one hell of a gray area.
What do you want from me, Mulder? Do you need me to say I'm in love with you? I 
wish it could be that simple between us. It's not simple, though, and we both know it.
I do have strong feelings for you, feelings I've expressed to you in the past. It is telling, 
though, that these revelations always seem to come spilling out at the worst possible 
times, always in situations where our words cannot lead to physical intimacy. That's my 
way of holding back from you, of avoiding what you have clearly wanted for so long. 
Last night you tried to force my hand. It's hard to admit, but I'm glad you did that. I 
couldn't handle it, though. I wish I knew why.
I have always wanted to believe that our relationship is one that transcends the quagmire 
of normal human relations. Being in love, making love, making a life, having a home and 
children...I have fantasized about doing all those things with you, but those fantasies 
don't make me happy. I can't escape the feeling that that reality is not meant for us. It's 
for people who live in the daylight, people who are not consumed by darkness.
So instead of exploring the possibilities, I nourish myself with unspoken feelings. It's far 
from a feast, but it keeps me going.
You think I don't know how much pain you're in. You may even think I don't care. But 
Mulder, you reached for me and even though I let my fear get the best of me, I wanted 
to reach back.
I should have stayed with you. I realize now that we can't run away. We've got to let 
this unfold.
I'm ready to accept what has never been definable. I'm ready to acknowledge the truth I 
have denied.
We'll figure out the rest when I know you are safe.
End of Part Two