Midnight's Sorrow, Chapter 9.
Disclaimer in Chapter 1.
This story is rated NC-17


He padded quietly up the stairs, the muted
noise of a shoot out playing on the black and
white television behind him .  He ran a
hand through his ruffled hair as he climbed. 
He could never seem to get the cowlick to lie
flat there.  At least, not like his mother
could.  He tucked the ends of his red and
white stripped tee-shirt into his jeans as he
reached  the top and gave his hands a quick
inspection.  Not freshly scrubbed, but not
frog-catching dirty either, he determined.  

He walked, stocking footed,  along the side
of the hallway, careful to avoid the squeaky
floor boards in the center. The door to his
right sat ajar. Sunlight flooded into the
hallway and spilled across the olive green
and cream floral carpeting there.  He pushed
his ear to the crack, listening.  A drawer
opened and closed, along with small clinking
sounds of something being set down.  She was
awake.  Harold pushed the heavy wooden door
open enough to allow his head to peek in.

"Momma?"  he called in, scanning over the
lump of covers in the unmade bed.  Another
drawer closed from behind the master
bathroom door.  Harold walked into the room,
tracing his hand across the white chenille
coverlet as he approached the bathroom. He
hesitated beside the closed door, finally
deciding on waiting.  


Harold crossed his arms over his chest and
flopped down onto the messy bed with an
exaggerated sigh.  "C'mon mom..."  he
muttered under his breath.  Harold scanned
over the room as he waited; a silky brown
dress lay draped over the parlor chair beside
the bed.  The heavy brown curtains were
pulled back, allowing sunlight to spill
across the room in bright yellow patches. He
watched the dust particles dance in the air
above his mother's large walnut dresser
before settling on it's top.   

Harold jumped off the bed and walked over to
trace a finger through the dust on the
dresser.  He traced a squiggly line past the
glass perfume bottles, around the lipsticks,
and stopped at a small unmarked bottle of
pills.  Harold picked it up. The pills
clinked noisily as he twisted the top,
attempting to see what was inside.

"Harold Jonathon Voight!"  

Harold dropped the bottle back onto the
dresser at the sound of his mother's scolding
voice.

"What in the name of the world are you doing
in my room?"  she demanded, her hands on her
hips.  She stared down at him in her pink
bathrobe, her dark brown hair still up in
bristly white curlers.

"I just wanted to see if you were awake, mom.
It's lunch time, I thought maybe you could
make us some lunch,"   Harold explained,
backing towards the door.

"Is something wrong with the peanut butter in
the cabinet downstairs?"  she asked, fanning
her freshly painted, blood red fingernails.

"No, it's just that I'm tired of that is
all."  Harold kicked at the rug as he spoke,
avoiding his mother's eyes.

She crossed over to her dresser, picked up
the bottle that Harold had been messing with,
and slipped it into the pocket on her robe
before turning back to face him, her hands on
her hips again.  "Let me tell you something
about tired, young man.  I worked all last
night, didn't get in until almost daybreak,
and now I've got you standing here demanding
that I make you some lunch.  You don't know
what tired is!"

"I just never get to see you anymore!" 
Harold whined back at his mother.

"Do you think that's my choice, do you think
I like working long hours at night just to
make ends meet for us?  Besides, I got you
that tv that you wanted so badly, didn't I?"

Harold hung his head, refusing to respond.

"It's not like I don't wish that we had more
time together.  It's just not that simple." 
She opened the top drawer on her dresser,
pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and placed
one between her lips.

"Is that why I hear you crying in the
mornings?"  he asked quietly, leaning up
against the doorframe.

His mother pulled the cigarette back out of
her mouth.  "I thought I told you not to mind
that, Harold.  Now go mind your own damn
business!"  she shouted crossly at him, her
hand shaking as she held onto the unlit
cigarette, deep circles lining her glassy
brown eyes.

Harold turned and ran into the hallway, tears
stinging his eyes.  

"Go and watch that television that I spent so
much money on for you!"  he heard her call
out behind him before her door slammed shut.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mercy Memorial Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
July 12th
11:42 p.m.


Dr. Voight lifted his head from his desk,
pushing the sleep away as he rubbed his face
with tired hands.  He had worked a long
shift, but voluntarily.  The disturbing dream
remained fresh in his mind as he regarded his
ring, turning it so that the deep red
gemstone would catch the light.  Things would
soon be different, he reminded himself.  Fate
had played a hand in that.  Tonight would be
long, but tomorrow would be a new day for
him.  He rearranged the release papers beside
him that he had begun for Dana Scully.
Tomorrow would be a new day indeed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Mercy Memorial Hospital
Intensive Care Unit
Room 103
July 13th 
8:32 a.m.

"Good morning."  Mulder peeked his head
around the curtain to smile at Scully, who
sat in a semi-reclined position, propped up
with hospital pillows.

Scully smiled back at him, although dark
circles weighted both of her eyes.  "Morning,
Mulder," she replied, her voice hoarse with
fatigue, as he approached her bedside.

"How are you feeling?"  he asked, placing a
hand on her shoulder as he lowered himself
onto the green vinyl chair beside her bed.

"Tired," Scully started, pulling her blankets
up tighter to her chest, while being careful
to avoid snagging the i.v. needle that was
taped down to the top of the right hand. 
"But better," she continued.

Mulder nodded at her with a slight smile
before continuing.  "Scully, you seemed all
right yesterday morning, what happened?"  

Scully rubbed her forehead gently and sighed. 
"I don't know Mulder, most of yesterday seems
distant, like a dream."

Mulder shook his head as if to dismiss the
whole issue. "That's all right, the important
thing is that you're feeling better now." 
Mulder looked down at his shoes as he changed
gears.  "Scully, I've got to go back to the
veterinary clinic and speak with Dr. Dexter.
I spoke briefly with your doctor, and he
feels that you are pretty much out of the
woods right now, so he'll  probably be
releasing you sometime today or tomorrow. I
want  you to go ahead and give me a call when
he does, and I'll pick you up."

Scully gave a nod of agreement and curled
onto her side to face Mulder.  Her eyes began
to droop as her body sunk comfortably into
the pillows.

Mulder stood from the chair and bent in to
give Scully a kiss on the cheek.  "I'll see
you later,"  he whispered.  He allowed his
hand to softly brush across hers as he pulled
back to leave.

Scully smiled broadly as her eyes closed, the
sensation of Mulder's soft kiss still warm on
her cheek.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Mercy Memorial Hospital
9:45 a.m.

As Dr. Voight slowly pushed the door open to
room 103,  he noticed that the lights were
out, and that the shades were still pulled.
He closed the door behind him quietly as he
entered. Dr. Voight stopped walking as the
patient rolled over in bed, sighing softly in
her sleep, and set the file he carried gently
down onto her bedside tray. Carefully he
reached into the pocket of his white lab coat
and withdrew a small vial, a syringe, and a
pair of latex gloves.  He stretched the
gloves over his hand, removed the violet
colored protective cap from the syringe, and
put it back into his pocket.  Dr. Voight
looked behind at the closed door, listening
briefly, before plunging the needle into the
top of the vial.  

"Dr. Voight?"

Harold turned only his head, hoping to
conceal what he held with his body.  Nurse
Miller stood holding the door open as she
scanned the darkened room.

"What's going on? I thought Ms. Scully was
being discharged this morning?"  she
questioned in a hushed tone.

"Yes, yes, she is.  I'm giving her an extra
dose of antibiotics before she goes.   She'll
be all set then,"  Harold explained in a
whisper, pushing the syringe needle into the
input valve on the intravenous line.  "There,
all set," he added as he disposed of the
empty syringe in the sharps container on the
wall beside the bed.

Nurse Miller hesitated in the door as Harold
approached her.  "I didn't see you order any
meds for her, I just checked her chart."

Harold guided her out of the room gently,
closing the door behind them as Scully
stirred in her bed again. "I know, it was an
afterthought, really.  Just precautionary."  

She regarded him with a wary expression, her
dry and wrinkled hands placed on her hips as
she considered this.

"You were on break, Kathlee," he added,
further guiding her away from the room. "I
didn't see any reason to bother you for this
small matter."

Nurse Miller stared into his face
momentarily, and then nodded at him as she
allowed her hands to drop back down to her
sides.  "Well, are her papers all ready?" 
she asked, removing her red stethoscope from
her uniform's large front pocket.

"They are, I'll go over them with Ms. Scully
in just a minute."  He smiled warmly as he
guided her back to the nurses station with an
arm around her shoulder. "Man the station, I
can take care of this," he called back as he
left her there.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


Scully moaned, her brows arched to a peak
above her closed eyes as she turned in her
hospital bed.  Somewhere beyond the familiar
world of antiseptic and starched linens,
something lurked.  She felt it. With the same
certainty she held that just behind her
closed door, the hospital staff continued
their work, that patients, like herself, lie
in their beds; all apart from her view, but
there just the same.  Only this presence was
different and closer.  Scully turned over
again, her body sluggish. Her mind fought to
keep open a window of perception that seemed
only to occur in the altered state that
lingered somewhere between the beginnings of
sleep and dreaming.  If she opened her eyes,
she would see him standing there and
watching.  

She pulled her blanket, now twisted and
tangled, tighter against her. Scully's mind
tugged her relentlessly towards deep sleep,
allowing her thoughts to slip from her for a
moment or two before she jolted back into
reasoning.  She knew she should stay alert,
that something very close to her wasn't
right, but she was losing her ability to
fight.  

"Mommy, no!"  

Scully's tired eyes opened wide at the
unfamiliar sound.  It was the voice of a
child, close, but garbled, much of the
clarity lost as if it had traveled through
water or time to reach her.  Scully turned
her head towards the strange noise, jumping
in startled surprise at the small form beside
her.  

Scully stared at the brown-eyed boy in
wonder.  His voice seemed so strange and
surreal, and yet he stood beside her,
appearing as solid and real as any person she
had ever seen. She blinked slowly, testing
her eyes.

"No, don't leave me."  

His odd, buffered plea caused her to quickly
reopen her eyes.

He stood just beside her, the plastic bed
rail the only visible border between their
worlds.  He brushed a hand nervously over his
ruffled brown hair.

Scully studied the sullen faced child;
lasso-bearing cowboys decorated his tan
pajama shirt and pants, his feet were bare,
his expression as distant as Scully felt. 
Her initial shock turned slowly to concern. 
"Why do you come to me?"  She asked.

The boy turned slowly to the door, his right
index finger pointing as if the answer lay
posted to it.

Scully shook her head.  "I don't understand."

The boy stood fixed in his position, staring
back at her.

Light from the hallway flooded in as the door
was pushed open.  Scully watched as the boy
faded to a dark shadow and then finally
disappeared from view behind the opening
door.


XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


"I'm sorry, did I startle you?"  Dr. Voight
looked up at Scully as he entered the room,
shuffling through papers he held on a
clipboard .


"No." Scully shook her head, attempting to
recover, "No, I'm fine."  Her head seemed to
swim from the motion, so she choose to remain
in her reclined position.

"Good, that's good."  Dr.  Voight stood at
her bedside, his clipboard tucked beneath his
arm.  "I suppose you've been told that today
is your big day?"

Scully started to nod her head, but quickly
stopped the motion. "Yes, actually, I have."

"Alright then, I'll have you go over and sign
your release papers then."  He handed Scully
the clipboard.

Scully forced herself into a more upright
position to read over the routine paperwork
and added her signature.

"I realize that you are still very fatigued,
Ms. Scully, so I want you to take it easy for
awhile."

"Yes, I will agree to that."

" I have already called an escort service.  
I will have a hospital escort take you to the
doors, and you will be picked up by one of
our vans and taken back to your hotel room,"
he added, retrieving the paperwork from her
and turning to leave the room.

"Thank you, but I already have a ride
arranged,"  Scully asserted.

Dr. Voight turned back to her, his face
serious.  "Ms. Scully, the van is already
waiting, and the escort is on his way up. 
Please get yourself ready.  If you need help,
I'll send in a nurse."

Scully considered arguing further, but the
thought of waiting an extra forty-five
minutes or so for Mulder didn't seem
appealing. "That won't be necessary."  

Dr. Voight flashed her a warm smile. "Great.
You make sure to take it easy Ms. Scully," he
added as he left the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Mercy Memorial Hospital
Main Entrance
10:10 a.m.

"You sure seem sleepy."  

Scully's escort commented, and Scully's head
snapped back up off of her chest.  "Yes, I am
a little sleepy," she remarked back to him. 

Scully felt dwarfed standing below the
hulking man who held her wheelchair: he was
built like a linebacker.   Anthony, it seemed
like he had introduced himself as. Anthony. 
Somewhere up that tree trunk of a chest,
there was likely a name tag to prove that,
but Scully didn't feel up to the chore of
looking for it.

"Well, I'm no doctor, but I wouldn't send you
home yet,"  Anthony added, his large dark
hand completely masking Scully's shoulder as
he patted it.  "But that's just me, I don't
like to see folks go too soon.  Insurance
companies hold a lot of blame for that. 
Money shouldn't come before someone's well
being."

"No, it certainly should not,"  Scully
remarked tiredly.  She completely agreed with
him, but her head found the challenge of
conversation extremely difficult and rather
exhausting.

"Don't mind me, you just rest.  I'll keep a
look out for your ride," he volunteered,
hearing the strain in her fatigued voice.

Scully accepted the offer without further
comment.  Her heavy eyes quickly fluttered
closed, and her head lolled off to the side
before falling back to her chest. The sounds
of her surroundings blurred before fading,
replaced by a reverberating sound not unlike
wind or waves.  Scully stood in what was
becoming familiar territory, and walked
slowly towards the lone maple tree that
sprang from the ground like an outstretched
hand, and the small boy that stood below it,
summoning her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
  
Anthony shook his head and rechecked the
license plate number of the white van that
approached the curb.  RNV394 that was it
alright.  He wheeled the barely responsive
patient out onto the hospital sidewalk.

"If you could just help her into the seat
beside me, please," the driver called out
over the noise of the engine.

Anthony nodded again.  "I can do that."  He
opened the door to the van, then  scooped
Scully's limp body out of the wheelchair and
placed her carefully into the passenger side
seat.  Her eyes rolled  back in her head as
he fastened the seat belt around her.  "Is
she going to be all right?"  he questioned.

"Yes, just fine, she'll be resting
comfortably soon," the driver
assured him.  Anthony shut the door. and. 
Sunlight lit the bright red jewel that
adorned the ring on the driver's finger as he
waved to him in thanks.  

Anthony waved back weakly, his mind on the
small slumped form of the red-headed woman in
the passenger seat as the van pulled away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

End of Chapter 9.
Continued in Chapter 10.


Feedback is welcome at Semantics@writeme.com


Thank you to the usual team of people for
their help and support.  Brandi, Foxcat, and
Memento1. My family and friends.  Thank you
all.