The X-Files: Doubting Thomas

From: Pat Gonzales <gonza006@maroon.tc.umn.edu>
Date: Wed, 18 May 1994 14:19:51 GMT
Lines: 323

Here you go. Enjoy. :)
--------------------------------------------------------------
Okay.

Some people have requested another repost on stories that
have appeared, because they have just gotten this group.
So here is mine.

FYI: There have only been two stories on .creative: this
one and "Gemma" by Kellie Matthews-Simmons (I think I
spelled it right, didn't I, Kellie? :-) )

So where the heck are the rest of youse guys? :-) :-)

Pat Gonzales
Charter Member DDEB, MCEB, Gravediggers Union
     and the DT Is Dead Society
Keeper of X File 11291093 (aka the FAQ)
MORGAN AND WONG RULE!!!!

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Doubting Thomas
by Pat Gonzales

There were days that Fox Mulder was thankful for Dana
Scully's sharp vision.
And there were other days -- like today -- that he cursed
it.
Both of them decided, at a little after five, that it was
time to call it a day. And as Mulder closed the office
door,  Scully said, out of the blue, "It still bothers
you, doesn't it?"
"What?" Mulder glanced down at her as he turned away from
the door.
"Samuel. His death. What he said to you about your
sister."
"What makes you say that?" he returned as they started
down the hall.
"That look on your face. You've been thinking about it a
lot today, haven't you?"
Mulder didn't reply; he knew he didn't need to. He had
been thinking about what Samuel might have been able to
tell him about his sister, had they met under different,
more positive circumstances.
Scully kept quiet until they reached the stairwell. "Do
you think he's really alive? Or that his followers stole
the body?"
"His followers say he's been resurrected. Tennessee state
police can't find one crumb of evidence to refute it."
They started up the stairs, climbing in silence. "Maybe
he wasn't dead when they sent him to the morgue," she
replied as they exited to the front lobby of the FBI
building. "People have been mistakenly presumed dead
before."
"Maybe he healed himself."
"Mulder . . . . " Scully replied in that chastising tone
of voice she used when he said something outrageous. He
arched his eyebrows and shrugged.
They moved into the flow of exiting Bureau employees.
Once out on the sidewalk, Scully touched his arm. "Come
on. Let's go have a drink. I'll buy."
Mulder looked down at her and smiled faintly. He knew
what she was up to. "Can't. I've got to get home, I have
laundry to do."
"You look like you could use a drink right now," she
persisted.
"I could use some clean underwear more than a beer.
Thanks, Scully." He patted her shoulder. "See you
tomorrow."
He turned north and strolled up Tenth to G, then down two
blocks to the Metro Center station. He rode the Metro to
Dupont Circle where he picked up his car at the Park and
Ride and drove home.
He went for a run on the track at Ellington Arts High
School, blanking his mind to everything but the activity.
He had hoped it would drive the obsession over Samuel out
as well. But back at his apartment, he mechanically forked
leftover cold Chinese into his mouth as the washer went
through its cycles, while his mind agitated and spun his
thoughts.
Was Samuel alive? If so, could he be found? Jesus made a
number of appearances after His death, but to followers.
Mulder wondered if, somehow, he could make a connection
with Samuel's new disciples. He mulled the prospect off
and on for the rest of the evening, and finally set
thoughts of Samuel aside when he went to bed after the
eleven o'clock news.
As he had the previous two nights, he dreamt of Samantha.
He was at the revival tent again, and through the press of
bodies he saw her. But this time Samantha -- as the young
child she had been at the time of her abduction -- came up
to his seat and touched his arm, much as Scully had done
as they had left work. Wordlessly he rose and followed her
through the crowd of believers, out of the tent, and
through Kenwood to the town park, and a gazebo in its
center. A man was seated on the bench inside. As they
neared, Mulder recognized Samuel Hartley. His face was no
longer battered, and his eyes were clear, not radiating
pain.
Samantha walked up the steps to the gazebo and sat on the
bench across from the faith healer. Mulder sat down beside
her, taking her hand. Samuel spoke first. "Mr. Mulder."
"Samuel. You're alive."
"Your mind has known the truth, though like Peter and the
Lord, you would deny it."
Mulder felt ashamed, and turned away from the feeling.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Samuel smiled. "I want to help you. What do you want?
It's you that has called me here."
"I didn't!! "
"Your thoughts have been on me these last two days."
Samuel spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I
am a healer, Mr. Mulder, not a psychic. I can help your
pain. I have no answers to your questions."
"What questions?"
Samuel sighed, and gestured to Samantha. Mulder's hand
tightened on his sister's small one. "She is here. She is
always with you, and always will be."
"Is she dead? Is that what you're saying?" Mulder asked
in an urgent tone.
Samuel lowered his head, and shook it slightly. He looked
up at Samantha, then at Mulder. "Let me help you." He
reached out a hand. "Open your eyes, that you may see, and
believe."
"My eyes are open."
"Open your eyes."
Compelled by the softness of Samuel's command, Mulder
awoke. The street lights gave off a soft glow on the
ceiling. He looked around the room ! and bolted upright
with a gasp at the unexpected shadow at the foot of the
bed. It moved forward. "Stop right there !" he commanded,
reaching back for the pistol on his nightstand.
"I'm no threat, Mr. Mulder."
It was the voice from the dream, Samuel's soft Southern
drawl. Mulder's heart began to race as he pulled back his
hand, resting it on the mattress beside him. "Who are
you?" he asked shakily.
The shadow moved forward until, finally, the light from
outside illuminated Samuel Hartley's face. "We have met,
in this plane and another." He slowly took a seat near
Mulder's feet. The mattress moved slightly.
"You're...supposed to be dead."
"I am alive, in the Lord and by the Lord." Samuel held
out his hand. "Go ahead. I am real. 'Do not persist in
your unbelief, but believe.' "
Mulder looked at the hand, glowing softly in the night's
light. He slowly brought his own hand up, out, reaching,
reaching -- and contacting warm flesh. He drew back; but
Samuel grabbed his hand. "I am here."
Mulder's eyes locked with Samuel's. Their gazes held
until Samuel finally let go of Mulder's hand. "How did you
get in?" the agent asked.
Samuel smiled. "Through the door."
"It's locked."
Samuel merely smiled.
"Why did you come?"
Samuel took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I want to
help you. I couldn't, back in Kenwood. I will now, if
you'll let me."
"You've paid for your ... sins?"
"I have been washed in the blood of the Lamb. I am on a
new path to righteousness, to a better understanding of
the Lord. But I ... owe you a healing, Mr. Mulder. You
came to me with a need, even though you didn't see it.
Your heart asked for help, and I turned away. You sought
to help me, in the jail, and I rejected you. You believed
in me, and I turned my back on you."
Mulder leaned forward. "But you said you couldn't answer
my questions."
Samuel nodded. "I don't know where your sister is. Or if
she is alive or dead. I wish with all my heart that I
could tell you, that I had that power. But I do not, Mr.
Mulder. I do not."
"Then, how can you help me?"
Samuel held out his hand again. Mulder placed his own in
it without hesitation. "You must trust in the Lord," the
healer said solemnly.
"I've been told that line before," Mulder returned.
Samuel nodded. "And this is why. Everything happens for a
reason, Mr. Mulder. Your sister, she was very special to
you."
"Yes," Mulder whispered.
"It is because of her, because of what happened, that you
have made choices in your life. These choices have
resulted in you being what you are, doing what you do. In
your own way, I think, you try to heal, try to answer
questions put to you."
"I guess so."
"And perhaps, this is what the Lord had planned for you.
That you be here, in this time, in this job, in this city
-- to be there to resolve a situation that you have not
yet faced, to help a person you have not yet met. All
because your sister was taken from you."
Mulder looked away, off at a wall. He felt tears pricking
at his eyelids, and he tried to blink them away. He wanted
to believe Samuel's claim -- that this was all for some
greater purpose -- but he couldn't bear to think that
Samantha's life had possibly had to be forfeit for this to
happen.
"You must believe that the Lord will not forsake you. You
will see her again."
"In the next life?" Mulder asked roughly.
Through blurred vision, he watched as Samuel raised his
head to the ceiling. After a moment, he nodded, then
looked over at Mulder. "She will come back to you."
Samuel brought his other hand to enclose Mulder's
completely, and bowed his head. The agent felt a rush of
warmth and peace course through him. His tears stopped. "I
will pray for you at Gethsemani," Samuel said quietly. He
released Mulder's hand and got to his feet.
"Gethsemani? Where is that? Are you going to Israel?"
Samuel had turned and was leaving the bedroom. "Wait,
Samuel ! where are you going?" Mulder threw the bedcovers
back and got to his feet to follow. "Will your followers
know where you are? How do I get in touch with you ! "
Mulder froze in the doorway to his bedroom. No one was in
the darkened living room beyond. He crossed to the front
door and checked the doorknob. The door was locked, and
the deadbolt was in place. He flipped on the lights,
walked around the apartment turning on every light in the
apartment, checked every locked window. It was empty, save
for himself.
Trembling again, he turned off all the lights and went
back to bed to finish off the night sleeplessly.
He was out of bed at first light, taking a long shower,
eating breakfast at a cafe down the street. He was one of
the first people at the Bureau. In his office, he called
Research and left a request for a search for anything
connected to "Gethsemani." He picked up the latest group
of X folders and began to review them.
Scully arrived. She set down her briefcase on the desk.
"Mulder, did you get any sleep last night?" she accused.
Mulder looked up at her. "No."
She moved around the desk to sit in her chair, facing
him. "I think you and I need to have a little talk."
"I saw him."
"Him? Who?"
"Samuel."
Scully sat back abruptly in her chair. "He was here? At
the Bureau?"
"No. At my apartment. Last night."
Scully stared at him, deep into his eyes. Finally she
stood and grabbed the sleeve of his suit jacket. "Come on."
"Scully ! "
"We're going to the coffee shop and you're going to tell
me everything."
"I'm waiting for some information."
"It'll be here when you get back. Now, move."
He obeyed, getting to his feet and following her out of
the office, out of the Bureau, and to a nearby restaurant
they often favored for lunch. She maneuvered him to a
booth, pushed him gently down onto the plastic bench, and
took a seat across the Formica table from him. "Now.
Everything. Start in Kenwood. You said you saw your sister
there. Twice. What happened?"
After Scully ordered coffee for them, the words tumbled
out, as if he needed someone else to know. He talked about
seeing Samantha on the grounds, out the window at
Hartley's estate, again at the revival, and a third time,
in the rearview mirror of the car when they were leaving
town. He spoke of Samuel's words in the jail, when he told
the faith healer about seeing his sister, and Samuel's
reply about it being the work of the devil.
"I thought maybe it was that way, that I was just seeing
what I wanted to see ! those delusions you talked about,"
Mulder explained. "But what didn't make sense was why it
was happening right then. I mean, Samantha's been missing
for over 20 years. I should have been seeing her !
thinking about seeing her ! everywhere. But I hadn't, not
once, all these years."
He talked about his mental review of the events in
Kenwood, occupying his free moments since their return
from Tenessee. And he told her, in great detail, about
seeing Samuel in his apartment the previous night. "I
touched him, Scully," he whispered. "He was warm. He was
real. The mattress moved when he sat down. He's alive."
"But how did he get out of your apartment? How did he get
in in in the first place?"
Mulder had a very good idea how he did it. It had to do
with higher planes of existence, things that couldn't be
proven, things that were understood only if one
comprehended the framework of belief that surrounded it.
He knew that his face mirrored his reluctance to talk.
Scully rolled her eyes and drank her coffee.
"I think..." she began, "...that you need to talk to a
professional about this."
"Scully ! "
"Mulder, you need to get over this obsession with your
sister. Obviously you've transferred that obsession to the
late Samuel Hartley."
Mulder shook his head. "I'm not anymore. Samuel !!" He
stopped himself. Scully wasn't about to buy any
explanations. It would be better just to give in to her.
"I'll talk to Dr. Machlinek. Will that do?"
Scully nodded shortly, and turned her attention to her
coffee.
They returned to the office. Scully sorted through the
phone mail messages and handed Mulder his. One of them was
from Dennis in Research. He dialed the number. "Dennis,
please." It was a long wait for the researcher to come to
the phone. "Dennis, this is Fox Mulder. What do you have
for me?"
"There is a Gethsemani in the United States, Agent
Mulder," the young voice on the other end of the line
replied. "Sort of. There is a Trappist monastery,  Our
Lady of Gethsemani Abbey, in Trappist, Kentucky. Yeah,
that's really the name of the town."
"What can you tell me about them?"
"Hm. They're an order believing in prayer and
contemplation and arduous labor. The very monkish of
monks."
I will pray for you at Gethsemani, Samuel had said. Could
it be that Samuel was headed there, to be swallowed up by
the private rigors of the religious order? It was logical.
He could ask for more research, he could go there,
inquire....
But did he really want to? For some reason, deep in his
soul, he knew that this was one mystery he wanted to bury
in the X Files. "Thanks, Dennis," he said, and hung up the
phone.
"Your information?" Scully asked.
Mulder nodded. "It didn't pan out," he told her. He
picked up the X File from Kenwood, turned to the file
cabinet behind his desk, and put it in its proper slot.
The End