Title: By Her Side
Author: Vickie Moseley
Summary: Bill Scully gets a call from his mother to go to his
sister's side. But not for a reason he approves of.
Rating: R for rough language (he's a sailor for Pete's sake!)
Category: V, MSR (implied) Scully (Bill and Dana) angst, Mulder
torture
Spoilers: Tons. Mostly up to the movie, so all of seasons 1 - 5.
Disclaimer: The characters depicted within belong wholy and
completely to somebody else (namely 10-13 Productions). This
falls somewhere under 'coveting thy neighbor's fictional persona'
but I lust after them with my mind, not my pocketbook. No
copyright infringement intended.
Author's note: I fully intend to hear from some 'differing opinions'
on this one, but I had to see if I could paint Bill Scully as something
other than the embodiment of evil. In short, I tried to walk in his
shoes for a day. This is the result. There may be another one or
two like it.
Comments to me: vmoseley@fgi.net 
By Her Side
by Vickie Moseley
vmoseley@fgi.net 
"Bill, it's Mom." 
I'm 38 years old and she still feels the need to identify herself to me
over the phone. She's been doing it since I left for college. Like I
could ever forget the sound of my mother's voice. But some things
never change. 
"Yeah, Mom, how are you? Isn't our turn to call?" Tara and Mom
worked out an arrangement not long after the wedding. We'd call
every two weeks, but Mom knew how much money comes into a
sailor's household, so she quickly insisted that we take turns.
Every two weeks, like clock work on Sunday night we'd call or
we'd be home to take her call. But then it hit me, it's Wednesday.
Something's wrong. "Mom, what's the matter?" 
"Oh, Billy." OK, now I'm getting worried. Mom only calls me
Billy when she's really upset and by the sound of her voice, she's
definitely upset. I think she might even be crying. 
"Mom, what's wrong? You're scaring me here. Is it Dana?
Charlie? You? What's going on?" I don't want to play the bully,
but there's this cold fist of dread in my stomach that I can't shake.
She's sounds almost like she did when she called me to tell me
about Missy. And before that when she told me about Dad. And
with Dana's line of work - 
"It's about Dana, yes, but not what you think. I just got off the
phone with her. She and Fox have been out in San Diego for a few
days on a case. Apparently there was shooting. Fox . . ." Mom is
crying. I can hear it in her voice. She's stopping to catch her
breath. My God, what the hell is going on? 
"Mom?" 
"Fox s-s-s-stepped in front of the gunman. He was going to shoot
D-D-Dana. Fox was hit. Oh, Billy, she was so upset. She was
crying so hard I could barely make out the words." 
Dana crying? Over the phone and crying? Impossible! Never! It
could not, would not ever happen! I can't remember the last time I
saw my sister cry. Not at Dad's funeral, not at Missy's. Oh sure,
damp eyes, a touch of the tissue. But crying so hard that she
couldn't be understood? No, it didn't happen like that, Mom is just
exaggerating. 
"Mom, what do you want me to do?" At that moment, I knew
what was coming. Mom was calling me to go over to sit with her.
But it hit me, suddenly. Dana has been in San Diego, possibly for a
'few days', and she's not called _once_? She was here, with that
son of a bitch . . . and she didn't think to call me? For that matter,
she calls Mom all the way across country instead of me here in the
same city when something bad happens. When the hell did I
become the pariah of the family? "Do you want me to go to her?
Where is she?" 
"Now, Billy. Listen to me. I know what you think of Fox. I know
you blame him for all sorts of things that he never had anything to
do with. But there is a reason Dana didn't call you and that is it.
She's scared, but she doesn't want to deal with your anger right
now, especially if it's directed at him. She's at Mission Hospital, I
know you can find her. But if you go over, I want you to keep
your opinions _to yourself_! If you can't respect Fox Mulder as
another human being, at least respect him for what he means to
your sister. I will not have you going over there -" 
"Mom," I finally cut into her tirade. "Mom, give me some credit,
please! I won't put my foot in my mouth. I'll be there for her, I
don't give a shit about this Mulder character. But I don't want my
baby sister sitting in some cold and impersonal hospital all by
herself." 
"I know you don't care about Fox, William, but do all of us a favor
and keep that to yourself. And keep your mouth shut, if you can't
think of anything else good to offer." I recognize that tone. It's
Mom's 'I'll kick your butt from here to next Wednesday if you
don't do as I'm telling you' tone of voice. It always sent shivers
down my spine and still does. 
"I'll be good, Mom. I promise. Now, I better get over there." 
"Just give her all my love, please, Billy. And Fox, too, if you can
deliver the message. Oh, and a kiss for Tara and Matty." I have to
sit through the entire litany before she finally lets me go. 
"I will, Mom, I will. I'll call later, if there's any news." 
"I'm trusting you, Billy. I love you." 
Shit, now I'm going to start crying on the phone. "I love you, too,
Mom." I hang up and turn to find Tara giving me a perplexed look. 
"Was that Mom? Why didn't you let me say hello? And Matty
could have said a few words to her, or at least babbled in her ear."
Before she's through, Tara is staring at me. "Bill, what's the
matter?" 
I'm already looking for my keys and my jacket. "I have to get over
to Mission Hospital. Mulder got himself shot and Dana's over
there with him. Mom doesn't want her to be alone." 
"Oh, God, it's not bad, is it?" Tara's handing me the keys and my
jacket and my wallet, too. I'm heading for the door. 
"How good could it be if Mom's sending me over there?" I throw
over my shoulder and before she can answer, I'm in the car and
pulling out of the driveway. 
For the record, I'm not a bad guy. I'm a likable guy, as a matter of
fact. I have the respect of the men below me and the officers I
serve under. Tara was not the first woman to fall in love with me,
but she is by far the best. And I have plenty of guys I can call up on
a moment's notice for a game of golf or a Sunday afternoon of
football or for a quick poker game. So I'm not known for my
animosity. 
Then came Mulder. Hell, why can't the asshole just let people call
him by his first name? I mean, what's this 'Mulder' shit? I took a
little psych in college. I recognize an attempt to distance oneself
from others. He's pushing people away with that shit. Well, I
don't have time for that bullshit. 
I didn't set out to hate Fox Mulder. No, that came with time. Like
the time Dad died. I turned around at the luncheon after the
funeral, and Dana had disappeared. I looked for her among the
mourners, mostly brass and friends that Mom and Dad had picked
up over time, but I couldn't find my little sister. So, I found my
wife and asked her. "She had to go to work." I about flipped out!
Work! Her father had just died, for Christ's sakes, and she had to
go to work?! I'm in the service, I _know_ how much leave time
you're allowed for funerals, and it's longer than four fucking hours! 
I lost it. I found Charlie and we were going to fly down to North
Carolina or South Carolina or where ever the hell he'd dragged her
off to, and kick his sorry ass all the way back to DC! Mom didn't
need that shit. Mom needed us there, all of us. Missy had already
blown it off, couldn't get a flight, bunch of shit. Now, Dana, the
'reasonable one' takes a powder right after the services. 
Because of him. Because of Mulder. 
We were almost out the door when Tara knocked some sense into
us. Well, a couple of days later and the case was over, they caught
the guy, or rather, Dana caught the guy, and she _still_ didn't come
home. "Mulder got shot." Like that was supposed to explain why
she wasn't home, comforting her grieving mother. Like that was
some sort of absolution for leaving her father's graveside. 
I was still on leave when she finally got home. I went over to her
apartment, I was going to give her a piece of my mind. It was after
midnight, and I knew her flight had arrived much earlier. She'd
been at 'his' apartment, 'settling him in'. 
We had a fight. Our first over that sorry son of a bitch. I told her
what I thought about her running out at the funeral, she told me to
mind my own business. I told her she _was_ my business and she
let me have it with both barrels. Lit into me like Hell's Fury
Scorned. And then, in the middle of our fight, or so I thought, she
informed me that she was just there to 'pick up a few things'
because she was spending the night at her partner's. 
I've only 'seen red' a couple of times in my life, but that night was
one of them. I slammed the door, grabbed the 'few things' out of
her hand and refused to let her out of the apartment. 
My baby sister slapped me. 
I will never forget it. I was standing there, I outweighed her by 100
lbs, I _towered_ over her, and in a second, this tiny little woman
was a ball of self-righteous fury who whipped her right hand back
and slapped me for all I was worth. 
It hurt my pride more than it hurt my face, but I couldn't believe
she could pack that much whallop. And while I was rubbing my
cheek, she got her things and walked out the door. 
I tried calling her, at his place, but no one picked up the phone. I
didn't bother to leave a message. I had to leave the next day. It
was the first time I ever left town without telling her goodbye. 
I started to hate Fox Mulder that day. 
And the hatred grew. I couldn't stand the sight of him at Missy's
funeral. He stood there, God help me, and actually held my mother
as she cried. Son of a _bitch_! Like he was a member of the
family. Like he wasn't the reason Missy was lying cold in that
grave! 
Like he belonged. And like I didn't. 
Dana sort of half-assed forgave me for the fight way back when.
But when I mentioned that I thought the time after the graveside
service should be 'just family', she got all huffy with me. "Mulder
needs to be there, otherwise he'll think we blame him." 
I was about to tell her that I _did_ blame him, but Mom stepped up,
dragging Mr. FBI behind her and told us that she was riding to the
house with Fox and Dana and would I stop by the caretaker's office
and tell them they could close the grave. 
Sure, that was what I was there for. Making sure my little sister
was covered with six feet of mud while the man who put her there
was sitting in our house and eating our food. 
I really hated him that day. 
I didn't get over it, I just got away from it. I went back to Great
Lakes and then to Newport News. I was really happy that I could
get home a little more often, but then I was sent out on a cruise and
I was gone for six months. When I got back, I found out what he'd
done to us lately. 
Dana had cancer. She was dying. 
I still can't talk about it. I can see her, standing in that hospital
room telling me how she could tell her partner about her illness, but
not her brother. I can see her lying in that bed, _dying_, and
holding that bastard's fucking hand like it was a teether to the
earth. I can see her announcing that she was going to put that
goddam chip in her neck, in so many words that she trusted _him_
over her doctor, our priest . . . even me. 
I hope the fucker dies tonight. I'll finally be done with him. 
But if that happens, I'll still have to deal with Dana. That's OK, I
know I can make her see that it's for the best. 
I'm never too sure how to handle these hospital things. When Dana
was out here last Christmas, and she found . . . that kid and she was
talking all crazy and then the kid got sick . . . I mean, how the hell
was I supposed to find her at the hospital. "Excuse me, have you
seen a seemingly intelligent woman who is acting totally nuts and
keeps saying she's the mother of a three year old she's never seen
before in her life?" I didn't even know the damn kid's name at the
time. Emily. Her name was Emily. 
At least this time, I know who I'm looking for. I walk up to the
first nurse I see and ask for directions to admissions. A nice, white
haired lady at a desk tells me that Fox Mulder has been taken up to
the surgical ward, and that family members can be found in the
waiting room up there. 
When did she become his 'family'? 
I get directions and find the elevators and get to the right floor and
then to the right wing and there she is. 
God, I've never seen her look this bad. 
Lost. And so damned tiny. Fragile. Covered in blood. God help
me, if a speck of that is hers . . . But I can tell she's not hurt. Not
physically, at least. 
At least the fucker did something right. He protected her. She's
safe. This time. 
I walk down the hallway toward her. She isn't looking my way, her
eyes are glued to a set of double doors with the words 'surgical
suite' stenciled on them. I call out her name as I get closer and she
still doesn't move, doesn't react at all. Finally, I'm right next to her
and I put my hand on her shoulder. 
"Dana?" 
She looks up at me and for a moment, there's no recognition. She
doesn't _know_ me! And then a light comes on in her head. 
"Billy?" 
She's up on her feet and she grabs me hangs on with everything in
her. She's not crying, not yet at least. She's taking in deep gulps
of air, and it scares me how much she's trembling in my arms. 
"Here, let's sit down." I lower us both to the couch she was sitting
on and pull her closer to me, so that her head is now resting on my
shoulder. "It's OK, Danie, it's OK." I haven't called her that
since, . . . gee, since we were kids. Since before I got all tough and
couldn't be bothered with my kid sister and her stupid tagging
along all the time. Not for a long time have I called her that. "It's
going to be OK, Danie, I promise." 
Finally, she sits back, and wipes her face on her sleeve. She leaves
a streak of dried blood mixed with tears across her cheek and I itch
to wipe it off, but I figure I'll just let her be for now. 
"How did you know?" 
That hurts. She's all but admitting that she wouldn't have told me.
"Mom called. She said . . . that you were here. And you were
upset." 
She snorts beside me. "Mom, the great understatesman." I want to
crack a smile at that, but it's not really that funny. 
"How is he, uh, how's he doing?" I really don't give two shits how
that little twerpy bastard is doing, but I promised Mom and I'll
keep that promise. 
She stares off at those shitty double doors again. Finally, she clears
her throat. "He was shot in the chest. Close range. _Very_ close
range. The exit wound . . ." She stops and swallows, hard and it
hurts me to watch her struggle with this. I start to tell her that I
don't need the play by play, but she's talking again and I realize
she's not talking to me, she's talking to him. 
"The exit wound was so big. He lost so much blood at the scene.
For a minute, I was afraid it hit the aorta, but I could still find a
pulse. It took forever for the ambulance to get there. He was just
pumping blood out, he was bleeding to death in my arms. . ." 
She takes a deep breath. "I threatened him. I told him that if he
died on me, I'd curse his name till the day I died. I told him I'd spit
on his grave, I'd never look for Samantha, I'd destroy his
apartment and poison his fish. I told him I'd find Ed Jerse again
and let him fuck my eyes out this time and the tattoo would read
'fuck you, Fox Mulder' and I told him I'd quit the Bureau and I'd
become a prostitute and die of AIDS or a drug overdose. I told
him I'd do all of that if he left me." 
God, I don't want to hear this. God in Heaven, I don't want to
hear this. But she won't stop talking. And now she's laughing, but
not in a happy way. She's laughing like a mad woman. Like some
who has lost their mind. Laughing and talking through it all, but
still staring at the door, still more to him than to me. "I think he
must have heard me. His pressure dropped and the EMS guys had
to defib in the van, but he hung on. I think the Jerse thing was what
turned the trick. Have to remember that one." 
"How long have you been here?" I have to get her to connect to
_me_, to quit looking at the damned doors and see that she's not
alone, that I'm here, too. 
"I don't know. Three, four hours? Who the fuck knows?" 
That took my breath away. I've never heard Dana curse like that
before and the way she's doing it now it seems like second nature. 
"It wasn't supposed to go bad. We were staking out the _least_
likely spot. Neely wasn't supposed to be there, it was just a
possiblity. A remote possiblity. But he was there, and we didn't
have proper back up. We never have proper back up, do we,
Mulder?" 
She's letting go of my hand and standing, pacing in front of those
doors. She won't quit staring at them and she's wringing her hands
and I wonder if it's hurting her to do that as much as it's hurting me
to watch. 
And I hate that fucker even more for putting her through this. God,
I hope, I really hope he dies on that table. 
But I have to take care of her, now. No time for wishful thinking.
"Have you had anything to eat?" I glance at my watch and it's
already almost ten o'clock. If she's been here four hours, she
probably didn't get dinner. I can find something, a vending
machine or something. 
"I'm not hungry." Her voice sounds hollow as she says it, like she
doesn't even know what the question was, much less what she
answered. 
"How about some coffee?" I try again. This time she doesn't even
bother to answer and I take that as a good sign. I go off to find
some coffee. 
Coffee is a lot easier to find when you know where the hell you're
going. I got lost, not bad lost, but turned around. When I figure
out where I am and where I'm supposed to be, there's some
woman in hospital scrubs talking to Dana on the couch. Dana is
nodding and her face is this . . . mask. She looks so impersonal, so
cold. She's holding it all back in front of this woman. I know how
much it took for her to let me see that earlier display. And I'm her
brother. 
I come up to them, quietly, not wanting to disturb them. 
" . . .damage was extensive. But he made it through the surgery.
He did flatline on us, but it wasn't for very long. The hypovolemia
is the greatest concern. The lung capacity will be diminished, but
with therapy, he should be able to recover. Right now, we just
have to wait. And pray." 
"May I see him?" Her face is strong, but her voice is betraying her.
I can hear the tremor in her voice all the way from where I'm
standing. 
The scrubs woman is shaking her head. "Let us get him settled in
ICU. I have you listed as next of kin, you'll have full priviledges to
visit. I think it would be best to notify any other family members at
this time." She reached out when she started talking and now she
squeezes Dana's shoulder. Like you would a wife you'd just given
bad news. 
And the look on Dana's face. She's losing her whole world. That
skinny, limp-wrist, pansy faced asshole is everything to my baby
sister. Everything. And nothing or no one will ever replace him in
her heart. 
I can't breathe too well. My stomach is a knot and I think back to
how many times tonight that I've wished that sorry son of a bitch
dead. I didn't mean it, God. Really, I didn't. I just . . . _hate_ him
sometimes and it's so much easier to just wish he was gone . . . 
The woman leaves and Dana's just sitting there, staring into space.
I walk up to her and offer her the coffee. She takes it on autopilot,
swallows and frowns. "I don't take sugar," she says to me. 
I almost laugh. No, that's right. Tara takes sugar. Dana takes . . .
I realize I don't know how my baby sister takes her coffee. That
really bothers me right now. What really eats me is that the asshole
who's dying probably knows how she takes it. 
"I'll get you another cup," I offer. 
"No, that's OK, I'm not really thirsty, either. I just want . . ." 
I know what she wants. 
"I wish you'd try to get to know him, Billy," she says, her voice all
low and raspy as she continues to stare at the doors and the walls
and everywhere except my face. "He's not a bad guy, you know." 
"I know," I say, automatically. So what if I don't mean it, she
needs to hear it. 
She impales me with her eyes. "Liar." 
The way she says it, I feel cursed for all eternity. It makes me hurt.
I feel ripped apart by her accusation. I want to hurt back a little.
Damn me. 
"OK, if he's so great, why the hell did he let you get in a position
where you were getting shot at to begin with?" 
She turns on me, pale. Ghostly white. And for a minute I'm afraid
I've killed her with my words. But then I realize, she's just building
up a head of steam. 
"Fuck you," she seethes, quiet, through those perfect white teeth
that once sported big shiney braces. She's walking down the hall
almost before I can breath. 
I can't let her run off this time. Not this time. I take two steps and
reach out and grab her arm. "Dana, stop. Please." 
She pulls her arm out of my grasp. "Go home, Bill. You're not
wanted here. You're not needed here. Just go the hell home." She
stomps off toward the hallway again, leaving me there, staring open
mouthed after her. 
"Why? Why do you love him more than me?" When I hear the
words echoing off the white walls of the waiting room, I don't
recognize my own voice. I know those were my thoughts, but I
didn't think I had the guts . . . or the stupidity, to say them out
loud. 
She stops. She doesn't turn around right away. Her shoulders
heave with the effort just to keep standing. When she finally turns
toward me, there's a single tear sliding down her left cheek. I made
her cry. Mom, Mom, Billy made Dana cry. I can hear Charlie
chanting all the way from the park to our house. Billy made Dana
cry. 
"I don't . . . love him . . . more," she chokes out and I'm afraid to
listen, afraid of what she's going to do to me now that she knows
what is scaring me. I don't want to lose her to him. Not the last
sister I have. Not to him. Not to that loser. 
"I don't love him _more_ than you, Billy," she says, through
clenched teeth. She stops and draws in enough breath for both of
us. 
"I love him _different_ than I love you." 
I want to follow her. I want to go after her and catch up to her and
pull her in my arms and tell her that I'm sorry, that I'm a bigger ass
than Mulder could ever be, but all I can do is stand there. When I
can't see her because she's turned the corner, I walk over to the
couch, sit down, and cry like a baby. 
I can't believe I fell asleep. A nurse comes over and shakes me
awake and I don't remember where I am or what I'm doing here. I
blink a few times, and then remember. Dana. Mulder. ICU. 
It's not hard to find the Intensive Care Unit. It's marked on all the
elevators. ICU, 6th floor. I'm now on the sixth floor. It's a little
past one in the morning. 
I've never been in an Intensive Care Unit. I've heard about them,
but I've never seen one close up. It's odd. Quiet. Everyone looks
so intense. Life and death all in about eight rooms. I start looking
in the glass windows trying to find Dana. A nurse walks up to me
and taps me on the shoulder. 
"I'm sorry, sir, but only members of the immediate family are
allowed here." 
"I'm looking for Fox Mulder. Well, really, I'm looking for my
sister, Dana Scully. She's with him. She's his, uh, next of kin." 
"Mr. Mulder is in room 5. His wife is in there right now." 
I blink at that. Wife? Nah, Mom would have said something.
Wouldn't she? "Ah, that's probably my sister." 
"Wait here." The nurse gives me a look as she makes a note on a
pad of paper before going off to what I assume is room 5. She's in
there a minute and then back at the desk. "I'm sorry. Mr. Mulder
can only have one visitor at a time and your sister," she looks
doubtful as she says it, "says she's going to stay the night. She said
you're free to go home." 
I don't want to go home. No, that's not true. I do want to go
home, I want to run to Tara and have her make it all better. I want
to rock Matty to sleep and fall asleep with him and have Tara kiss
me awake and take me to bed with her. But I've hurt my baby
sister and I can't go home. Not till I make it right. 
I start to head off to the elevators, but I'm watching the nurse as
she goes back to her charts. When I'm sure she's not looking, I
make a dash for room number 5. 
I feel like an idiot as I burst into the room. I shut the door behind
me and wish it had a lock or something. Instead, I just lean against
it. 
I look at Mulder. He _is_ the center of attention here, after all.
But God, I wish I hadn't looked. He's almost transparent. So pale
that the sheets have more color than his face. His eyes are sunken
in his cheeks and there's a tube coiling out of his mouth. I see a
little black balloon and it fills and collapses in time to the rise and
the fall of his chest. From what I can see under the covers, his
entire left side is covered in gauze. 
There are wires. So many wires. All over his chest, some around
his head, too. More tubes than I could ever count. A bag of red
stuff and two bags of clear stuff and tubes poked into his chest. A
bag of yellow stuff hanging off the bed rail. I don't want to know
where that tube leads. A bunch of machines encircle him, surround
him. Beepings and bleepings and infinity signs on digital displays. I
didn't know I'd been holding my breath until I start to feel dizzy. 
"Go home, Bill. You're not -" 
"Dana, shut up. I'm not leaving until I have my say." She stops,
now it's her turn to open her mouth and gap at me. 
I wish I had some idea of what the hell I'm going to say to her. 
I look down and see her tiny hand, the hand that used to clutch
mine so tightly, the hand that used to bring me cookies when I was
sick, the hand that used to slap me high fives when she made a
basket. It's entwined in the hand of the man in the bed, lying so
still and so very, very quiet. In the depth of my soul, I see her for
the first time in a very long time. See her sitting beside this man. I
see their clasped hands, and I know this is where she belongs. 
My heart breaks a little. I don't want to let go. I don't want to
admit that any man could have a place in her heart, might even
deserve to be there. But I know the truth now. I didn't stand a
chance. If I don't change my ways fast, I'll never have a chance
with her again. 
"I promised Mom I would be here for you," I say, slowly, trying to
find the words. "And on the way over, I'll admit, I didn't really
give a shit if he . . . lived or died." 
She purses her lips and I know I better speak fast because my
chances are getting awful slim. 
"But Dana, I know that was my own selfish pride. I hated Mulder,
I used to hate Mulder, because I thought he was taking you from
me. I thought he would only get you killed. And that scared me.
God, Dana, I was so scared that my baby sister would die." 
I'm having a hard time standing up and so I lean on the bed rail a
minute. 
"I know this is the path you've chosen. You choose it every day, I
guess. Just like with Tara and me. Every day, I wake up, and I just
want to be with her. I can understand that. I can see that. I can
see how you'd feel that way." 
Her eyes are softening up a bit. She's not looking at me as if she's
looking at a monster anymore. 
"He saved your life. I guess that really just sunk in to me. Back
when you had the cancer, back when you lost . . . Emily, today, all
those times in between . . . he's saved your life. He hasn't taken
you away from me. He's kept you safe for me. As safe as you'd
let him, anyway." 
I get a smile for that one. 
"Look, I'm going to go down to the chapel. I'm going to light a
candle for him, say a few prayers. Then I'll be right in the waiting
room. If you get tired, or need a break, I'll . . . sit with him for
you. I'll make sure he's safe for you." 
I'm not sure what I expect her to do, but as always, my baby sister
does the unexpected. She gets up, not letting go of Mulder's hand
and reaches out to me. She pulls me toward her, one handed, and
wraps her free arm around my waist. 
"I love you, Billy," she sighs into my shirt. "I always have and I
always will." 
"I love you, too, Danie," I tell her. I look over at the man who
means more than the world to my sister. Maybe there is something
there that's more than I've seen before. 
"Who knows? With time, I might even love him," I say, and in
some strange way, I really mean that. 
"I've begun to believe in some extreme possibilities," she says and
smiles at me. 
I'm beginning to know what she means. 
the end.


Vickie