Appearances
By Bear and Laurie D. Haynes

Category: X, A, MSR, MT
Authors: Bear and Laurie D. Haynes
Email: hersh@i1.net; shannara@xemplary.com
Rating: PG-13
Archiving: Xemplary, Jeopardy, MTA, Ephemeral, Gossamer
and Tex-Files are fine. All others, just ask.
Summary: This is the second in the "Family Business"
series. The first story was "Looking Glass Wars."
While it may help to read that one first, it's not
essential. Mulder and Scully no longer work for the FBI,
which does not have an X-Files division, but run their
own paranormal investigations agency. Their son, Will,
is 7 years old at this time. A murder from long ago
cries out for justice.


*********************

Somewhere near Annapolis, Maryland
August 28, 1858


The only sounds he was fully aware of at that very moment
were the pounding of his own heart in his ears and the
panting of every breath. Despite his weariness, the only
emotion he knew was fear that each breath could possibly be
his last should he give in to his exhaustion and rest, even
for a brief second.

For he could hear them coming with their torches, the
barking of their dogs competing with their angry cries of
hatred. So he continued into the night, as deep into the
forest as his long legs could carry him. After what seemed
like an eternity, the parade of his pursuers seemed to
lessen as he desperately took advantage of his superior
knowledge of the forest and took a turn into some brush in
the forest that would no doubt hide him, at least for
*just* enough time. But then he made the fatal mistake of
looking behind him, as though his hearing wasn't enough of
a confirmation of his progress, thus missing the log in his
path that left him sprawling there, the pain in his ankle
informing him that he could no longer continue his life-
saving sprint.

He tried to crawl into the brush, but was resigned to his
fate, knowing he would never reach the stream that could
hide his scent from the dogs. He cursed the injustice. He
had willingly accepted his lack of freedom years ago, and
never questioned it, but now he knew that his life would
end because of lies. He longed to prove once and for all
that he was innocent of the murder of which he had been
accused. But it would never happen.

At least not in *this* lifetime, in *this* mortal body.
This body with the skin color that practically handed him a
verdict he couldn't seem to disprove, at least at this
point of time.

Even as the angry mob caught up to him, as he felt the
fists, the saliva running down his face, the whips on his
back, even as the very end came and he was weakly mounted
on the horse as they tightened the rope around his neck, he
vowed that he would somehow find a way to come back. And
somehow, even if it took a thousand years to figure out
exactly how to go about it, Samuel LeRoy would ultimately
clear his name. It would take more than a mere log and a
lynching mob to prove that he did not rape and kill Nancy
MacGregor.

****************************************

Mulder Residence
Annapolis, Maryland
September 5, 2008

Young Will Mulder dug through one packing box after
another in the attic trying to find his basketball. His dad
had set up the portable goal in the driveway and promised
to teach him some moves. His pets, the gray Persian cat
Reticula and the Border collie Ghostrider, hovered about,
idly investigating the area. The other cat, the calico
Fluky, had opted for a snooze downstairs on a sunny window
sill.

Reticula was the curious one and had to jump in each box
her 7-year-old human friend opened. Despite the heat of the
attic, Will felt a sudden chill in the air. Reticula stuck
her head up over the edge of the box, looked at a point
beyond Will and hissed. Ghostrider, too, was uneasy. The
hair on the back of his neck was on end and he growled
menacingly. Will looked around nervously, but saw nothing.

"What's with you two? There's nothing here but us."

Then he heard a man clearing his voice from over in the
corner of the attic.

"I'm afraid I've got them a bit upset," said the man,
stepping from the shadows. He was dark-skinned with ill-
fitting clothes. "I'm Sam -- Samuel, actually."

The dog began barking furiously.

"What are you doing in our attic? How did you get up
here?" Will stood and started backing away toward the
stairs. The cat yowled and hissed again, jumping out of the
box, then cautiously crept behind another one.

"I've been here a long time," replied Sam, sitting down in
the same spot he had been standing. "I mean you no harm."

But Will wasn't so sure. He'd read some of the old
newspaper clippings of cases his father worked on in his
days in the FBI's Violent Crimes Unit.

"Dad!" he yelled and headed for the attic door.

Mulder had just come inside to get a drink of water while
waiting for Will to find his basketball. He heard his son's
cry of alarm and bounded up the stairs. He was almost to
the top of the third flight leading to the attic when
Ghostrider came tearing down the stairs. Mulder managed to
avoid the dog, but the cat was right behind him and ran
smack into Mulder's legs. The cat leapt away agilely down
the stairs, but Mulder lost his balance and fell backwards,
head over heels. He landed in a groaning pile at the foot
of the stairs.

"Dad!" Will had lingered behind a bit, but had quickly
followed his pets out the attic door. He rushed down the
stairs to his father.

"Damned son of a..." Mulder sputtered, grasping his knee.

"Dad? You OK?"

"...gun," Mulder finished, hearing his son. "Oh, mother--
Get your mother, Will."

"It's OK, Dad, you can cuss, but I'll go get Mom. You lie
still."

Will pounded down the stairs, hollering for his mother as
his father hovered between pain and wondering just how many
times his son had unintentionally heard his cursings in the
past when he had convinced himself he had covered up
relatively well... at least for him, anyway. Scully emerged
from the den at Will's call.

"Come quick, Dad fell down the stairs!"

Scully took a moment to grab her medical bag, then she and
Will ran up the steps to Mulder.

Sam peeked around the edge of the attic door, grumbling to
himself, "I certainly handled THAT well." He sighed. He'd
watched this family ever since they moved in two months ago
and was sure they were receptive enough to his kind. And
especially considering the predicament the father was now
in after his unfortunate accident, he could certainly
sympathize. He felt a slight twinge of jealousy,
considering that not only was the man not in any mortal
danger as Samuel had been so long ago, but he also had the
luxury of people who obviously loved him very much and
could tend to him. As Scully and Will reached Mulder,
Samuel faded away among the boxes piled in the attic and
vanished.

"What hurts, Mulder?" Scully asked worriedly as her
husband writhed in pain, still holding his leg.

"It's my knee. Twisted it when I went down."

"I'll call 911," said Will.

"No, no, it's just a sprain. Give me a minute or two."

"Mulder, you should go to the ER and get it X-rayed. You
may have broken something."

"No, I know what that feels like. I just pulled some
muscles. Help me get to the bedroom and I'll put some ice
on it."

After a few minutes, with Scully and Will's help, Mulder
was able to stagger to his feet. He limped badly to the
master bedroom and sank gratefully onto the bed. Scully
propped some pillows behind his head.

"Will, grab the ice packs out of the freezer, wrap them in
a towel and bring them up here."

"OK, Mom," the boy agreed readily and dashed off down the
stairs.

"And DON'T RUN DOWN THE STAIRS!" she called after him.

"Yes, ma'am!" Will shouted back, already at the bottom.

"What the hell happened, Mulder?" she asked her husband
who was gritting his teeth and had his arm over his eyes.

"Beats me. Will called for me, sounded scared. I ran up
the stairs and the dog and cat were running down. I tripped
over Reticula and the next thing I knew I was taking a
dive."

"Not exactly a swan dive at that," Scully mused with a
smirk and a chuckle. "Sounds like it would only get a five
at the highest!"

"Shut up, Scully," hissed Mulder with a dirty look in his
eye, although he was fighting a bit of a chuckle. Of
course, the pain certainly helped in *that* area, no doubt
about that...

...to say nothing of the fact that Will had just bounded
anxiously back into the room with the ice packs wrapped in
a towel. As Scully applied them to the offending area,
Mulder couldn't help but see the all-too-familiar look in
his eyes: good old-fashioned Mulder-guilt. Somehow,
despite the fact that it was Mulder's luck that seemed to
bring about these situations, Will seemed to blame himself
for his father's latest predicament, since Mulder was
answering his call of distress at the time. To Mulder,
such a burden didn't really seem that fair for a 7-year-
old. After all, *he* certainly hadn't lost any little
sisters or anything of the like. All he had done was called
for him to come see...well, something. Mulder was just a
bit resentful that his damn...well, *darn* klutziness had
prevented him to see what had distressed Will -- and
obviously the "herd," as Mulder would call their pets from
time to time -- to such an extent.

But at least all involved were relatively fine, for the
duration. If the worst injury sustained was a...*darn*
sprained knee, and *he* was the unfortunate recipient, then
considering the alternatives, it could have been a
hel...well, *heck* of a lot worse, all things considered.

"Hey, buddy." Mulder mussed Will's light brown hair
affectionately, ignoring the pain in his own leg. "Just
another sign that the old man won't be getting into the
ballet any time soon, that's all! It would have happened
anyway!"

"Besides, can you see your dad in a tutu and pink tights?"
added his mother, picking up her husband's cue and flashing
a tiny grin that at least garnered a slight chuckle from
Will over the imagery. That grin, however, soon faded as
Will watched his mother wrap the Ace bandage around his
dad's knee and his thoughts drifted back to the strange
behavior of Reticula and Ghostrider in the attic. And that
poor man with the sad look in his eyes, and the name so
similar to that of the aunt that he would never meet.

His father had told him a lot about her, of course. How
she had such long, beautiful hair, and how one day, she'd
mysteriously been taken, right under his father's nose. And
how now, in the words of his father, she was in "another
place." Whatever that meant. He wondered if it was the
same as this mysterious man in the attic, in the same
sense, remembering the chill, the unnatural kind of cold
that seemed to surround him.

The signs of a ghost.

His thoughts were interrupted by his father, who had been
eyeing him curiously. "So, Will, what did you guys see up
there? Anything we need to be concerned about?"

Will wasn't sure why he blurted out what he did, knowing
what he did about his aunt, but in the natural tradition of
such moments he only thought about it after the fact. "He
said his name was Sam -- I think he was a ghost."

His father went quite pale, and for a moment it was
difficult to tell whether it was over the pain in his leg
or the ghost who bore the coincidental name. He quickly
managed to recover himself before saying, "The guy's got a
great knack for names, eh, Scully? Scully?"

Will turned in the direction of his mother and saw to his
surprise that she had blanched as well. Considering that
the subject matter was ghosts, he was a bit surprised that
his mother wasn't rolling her eyes the way she usually
seemed to do whenever such subjects came up. Little did he
know that she had her *own* history of experiences with
ghosts, beginning with his Grandpa Scully. Two months ago
when the realtor had informed them of previous owners
reporting strange occurrences in the household and rumors
that the house might be haunted, she had balked, only to
finally give in when Mulder talked her into it. Will had
been there, of course, but had paid them little mind,
instead eagerly searching the house for his room.

Finally recovering with a deep breath, she muttered to
herself in an almost-whisper, "So the house *is* haunted
after all. This is great, this is perfect." And then, her
face suddenly turning nearly purple, she whirled so that
she was facing Mulder the best she could as he lay on the
bed. Anticipating her wrath, however, Mulder quietly said,
"Scully, I'm sure it will be fine -- as long as the ghost
isn't threatening Will in any way, I don't see why there
should be any problems." He then turned to Will and
quietly added, "He *didn't* threaten you, did he, Will?"

"No," Will said slowly as his mind drifted back to the
conversation with the man. "He seemed so...sad, really. He
said he didn't mean anyone any harm. Maybe he was a
runaway slave -- maybe he was on the Underground Railroad!"
he added with a grin.

Mulder's and Scully's fear and tension was replaced by
parental pride as they beamed at one another. Will was
currently studying the Civil War era, and as a matter of
fact had just finished reading about Harriet Tubman and the
Underground Railroad.

"Well, if he's still hanging around here, there must be a
reason -- something that kept him tied to this place," said
Mulder. "But this house was built in 1920, so if it's
something that happened here, it must have taken place
since then, not around the time of the Civil War. Maybe he
worked for a family who lived here."

"I'll go ask him!" volunteered Will.

"Not so fast," replied his mother. Mulder nodded in
agreement. "You're not to go up to that attic without one
of us present. Ghosts can be unpredictable. Hopefully,
he'll stay in the attic and not start roaming the rest of
the house."

"I don't think he does," said Mulder. "The realtor said
the reports all centered around strange noises and lights
coming from the attic."

"OK, then when can we go?" asked Will eagerly.

"Tomorrow," Scully told him. "It's almost dinner time and
your father needs to rest his leg." She shook out a couple
of Napracin for Mulder, then sent Will for a glass of water
from the bathroom. She grabbed some more pillows from the
closet and propped them under her husband's sore knee.
"I'll bring your dinner up here. Just relax." Scully bent
over and kissed him softly.

"Mmmm. Just bring yourself back and we can forget about
food," Mulder quipped with a lecherous look in his eye that
caused Scully to blush.

"Are you two gonna get all mushy again?" asked Will,
standing there holding the glass of water for his father.

Scully chuckled and took the water from him. "You'll
understand one day. We're going to have to beat the girls
off with a stick as it is."

"Girls are OK, but I'm not gonna go around kissing them,"
Will insisted.

Mulder laughed. "If you're lucky, they'll LET you."

"OK, enough," Scully said, and rose from her seat on the
edge of the bed. "If your leg doesn't start feeling better,
tell me and we'll go to the ER."

"It'll be fine. Look, the Redskins have a preseason game
tonight. Set me up with the TV and the remote and I'll be
fine."

Scully did as he requested, then she and Will headed
downstairs for dinner.

An hour or so later, Scully returned with a tray of food
and found Mulder sound asleep with the television blaring.
Reticula was curled up on his chest and Fluky had chosen to
share Mulder's pillow. Ghostrider, stretched out on the
floor at the foot of the bed, raised his head from his paws
as she entered.

Scully grinned at the sight and decided not to wake her
husband, but to bring him food later if he woke on his own.
It did occur to her, however, that it was a shame that her
hands were so full at the time -- the sight would have made
a classic picture, no question about it, and would have
made for a very effective blackmail tactic someday, if
nothing else.



*******************

Mulder home
September 6
2:35 a.m.

Unsure exactly what had awoken him, Will sat up and turned
on the lamp beside the bed. Ghostrider was standing beside
the bed, growling softly at something unseen.

The boy suspected what the dog saw. "Sam? Is that you?"

Although he was half expecting it, still, the sight of the
ghost materializing in front of him was very unnerving and
he couldn't help jumping. Ghostrider gave a little bark,
but calmed down when Will assured him, "It's OK, boy."

He addressed the somewhat solid figure. "What is it that
you want?"

"I need your help. You are the first ones who have lived
here that seemed like they could or would help me," replied
Sam.

"Did you used to live in this house? Did you die here?"

"I died in this place, but this house was not here, then.
But the wood from the tree where they hanged me was used in
the buildin' of this home."

Will rubbed the sleep from his blue eyes. "Wow!" Then he
stopped to think. "That must have been pretty awful."

"They hunted me down like an animal, then murdered me. I
was a slave. I really didn't have many rights, but I didn't
belong to them."

"My mom and dad taught me it's wrong to own human beings.
And it's against the law. He paused, and added, "I know
they did that a lot back then -- it sounds pretty bad. I'm
sorry you guys had to go through that."

Sam nodded in acknowledgment of the young man's kind
words. "Slavery was very widespread among the rich folks in
my day. They bought and sold my people like livestock."

"Why did they kill you?" asked Will.

"One of them claimed I attacked a white woman and killed
her. But that was a lie. She was my friend and I would
never have hurt her. She was teaching me to read and write."

Will yawned hugely at this point, and apologized. "Look,
I'll do what I can to help you and I'm sure my mom and dad
will, too, but could you please not wake us up in the
middle of the night? It's kinda... spooky. And Mom doesn't
like me to be up after 9 at night."

"Sorry... I don't think about those things. Day and night
are the same for me."

"Look, I'll talk to my parents and we'll get with you
tomorrow, OK?"

"OK...and tell your daddy I hope he feels better soon. I
know how bad his leg must be hurtin'." Samuel
dematerialized and drifted back to the attic. Will lay back
down, but left the light on. He was still a bit unnerved by
Sam, although he seemed friendly enough, and it surprised
him that Sam should care so much about people he didn't
know from Adam after what he had apparently been through.


***********

September 6
9:25 a.m.

Mulder opened his eyes to see a pair of slanted green ones
staring at him. Groggily worrying at first that he had
somehow once again been abducted by aliens, he blinked and
realized it was Reticula, who had apparently decided his
chest made a good bed. The cat stood up and stretched,
before nonchalantly hopping down.

Mulder sat up and carefully swung his legs over the edge
of the bed. Scully had apparently already gotten up,
because her side of the bed was empty. She'd also
apparently been out "gathering for the clan" while she was
at it, because he noticed a cane leaning against the
bedside table. Standing up gingerly, he avoided putting
weight on his bad leg, but grabbed the cane and slowly made
his way to the bathroom. The knee was stiff and sore, but
the pain was nothing like when he had first fallen. Big
nothing, just as he had insisted. He'd no doubt bounce back
in record time from this one, he mused to himself.


After performing his morning ablutions, Mulder headed
downstairs --slowly and favoring his sore leg. He limped
into the kitchen and found Will devouring a bowl of cereal
while the cats waited hopefully for leftover milk. Scully
was scrambling eggs and microwaving bacon.

"How's the knee this morning?" she asked without turning
around.

Once again, Mulder marveled how she knew he was there,
when to his mind, he hadn't made a sound.

"It's fine," he answered, taking a seat at the kitchen
table. He was clad in sweat pants and a T-shirt, not
feeling up to wrestling his swollen knee into a pair of
jeans. His wife's apparent telepathy worked much in the
manner of a two-way radio, as he knew she was mimicking his
choice of words without having to see her face.

"Cool!" said Will. "Then we can go up to the attic after
breakfast and talk to Sam. "He came in my room last night
and told me a little of his background. He was hanged for a
murder he didn't commit."

Scully turned to Mulder worriedly. "I thought you said
this ghost stayed in the attic. I don't like the idea of
him going in Will's room when he's asleep."

Mulder sighed, but Will reassured them. "I asked him not
to do that anymore, that we'd come up and talk to him. He
wants our help to clear his name, I think."

"OK, well, this is the sort of thing we do, Scully. If we
can't deal with a ghost in our own home, how can we expect
people to count on us for solving paranormal problems in
their homes and businesses?"

Scully sighed in acknowledgment that he had a point.



After they ate, the three of them trudged back up the
stairs, Mulder bringing up the rear, since he had to move
more slowly. They opened the attic door and turned on the
lights, looking around.

Will called out softly, "Sam? It's me. You can come out
now. Mom and Dad are here and they want to talk to you.
They can help you. They're the best detectives there are."

As they watched, fighting a blush over the excessive
praise of their offspring, Samuel gradually formed before
them. "Hello, sir, ma'am." Then he turned towards Mulder,
sympathy and regret visible in his deep brown eyes. "Is
the leg any better, sir?"

As Scully fought briefly for her composure over this
supernatural encounter, Mulder cleared his throat, only
slightly awed at the sight of the ghost, and clearly
touched by his obvious concern. "Just call me Mulder. This
is my wife, Dana and my son, Will. He tells me you were
unjustly hanged -- on this property, I assume. In this
house?"

"No, sir -- I mean, Mulder. This house wasn't here then. I
reckon the year was 1858 -- a few years before the North
and South went to war. There was a whole heckuva lot of
dyin' durin' that war. Lotta ghosts still around. I have
seen and talked to them out on the grounds."

Mulder recalled the ghostly couple years ago in Galveston
who had lost their lives in the Civil War. The two had been
separated at death, but reunited after they saved Mulder's
and Scully's lives.

"Yes, we've come across that before," he told Samuel.

"I had a friend, a white woman -- Nancy MacGregor. We was
just friends, though, wasn't nothin' between us otherwise.
She was a young widow and my master would send me over to
help her out, sometimes. I think he was sweet on her,
himself. She taught me some schoolin' -- though that wasn't
really allowed, then."

"I just don't understand why black people weren't allowed
to learn to read and write," said Will. "That doesn't make
any sense."

"With knowledge, comes power," Scully explained. "The
whites then could keep the blacks enslaved more easily if
they couldn't read and find out things themselves about the
world -- or communicate with each other through the written
word. It was a terrible time in the history of mankind."

"I gather your friend was killed and you were accused of
her murder? Where was your master during all this?" Mulder
asked.

"He was on a trip for his family. They were cotton
farmers. Anyways, there was another man, a bad seed, Peter
Meacham, who took a shine to Nancy. But she wouldn't have
anything to do with him. One evening, he went to her. She
tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. He raped her
and then he beat her almost to death. She was dyin' when I
found her the next mornin'. But she told me what he did. I
was gonna go get the sheriff, but Meacham showed up with a
bunch of his friends. I took off runnin' and later they
came after me. They hunted me down in the woods with dogs.
I woulda got away, but I tripped and busted my ankle. They
caught me, whipped me and then strung me up.

"They buried me at the foot of the hangin' tree and my
wife use to visit my grave and talk to me, tellin' me what
was goin' on with our family. My master knew I couldn't
have done anything like that, but he couldn't prove
anything. All he could do was make them pay $1,000 -- my
value as a slave. And he always made sure my wife and son
were provided for."

"Damn!" muttered Mulder under his breath. "Sam, how can we
clear you after all this time? Anyone from that time is
long dead."

"I had been teachin' my wife everything Miz MacGregor
taught me. I know that my wife kept a journal. I managed to
get to my home and see them one last time and I told her
the truth. I told her never to forget, but not to cross
Meacham. She promised she would write it down, word-for-
word and give it to our son. He married and had kids and
that journal has been handed down since my time, though I
doubt the ones now really know what's in it, if they even
know exactly where it is."

"Meacham... Scully, isn't that the name of one of the
Maryland state reps?"

"Actually, I think he's just a candidate for the
Legislature. As I recall, his father was in the
Legislature," she replied. No doubt he wouldn't exactly
take too kindly to word of *this* type of a scandal getting
out," she replied with a shake of her head. "And of course
the journal would be the key -- Sam, I'm assuming that you
were apparently pursued coming out of the house where your
family lived, meaning that it would be fairly close?"

"Yes, ma'am -- she lived on the plantation Maryland Oaks,
owned by Micah Jennings. The place was torn down a long
time ago, I'm afraid, as ya'll probably know," added Sam,
lowering his eyes to his hands.

Mulder sighed, musing "Well, looks like our first order of
business is to start tracking your descendants down through
the Historical Society, unless Meacham the younger has
somehow found a way to put a lid on..." before being
interrupted by a large "AHEM!" from his wife.

"And just *what* do you mean by 'we,' Mister?" she
admonished him. "*You're* not going *anywhere* with that
bum knee! I don't care if it *is* 'feeling fine' -- until
the swelling is down enough so that you're comfortable
wearing something other than those ugly sweats and no
longer hobbling around the house looking like a little old
man with that cane." Then she turned to Will. "William,
do you think you can keep your father out of trouble while
I pay a visit to the Historical Society?"

"Sure, Mom -- we can try starting a search on the Web.
Right, Dad?" he added in an attempt to appease his father,
who was now assuming the role that seemed to come naturally
at such moments: the role of the pouter.

Finally, after a long time, Mulder spoke up. "Okay,
buddy, I guess it's worth a shot. But Scully, if
*anything* happens..."

"Don't worry, Mulder, you're the first I'll call in a
pinch," Scully replied with a wink, adding with a point of
the finger, "But *only* if you promise not to overexert
that leg of yours!"

"Scout's honor," Mulder replied as he gave her the three-
finger salute.

The ghost of Sam, meanwhile, looked very tearfully at
them. "I am most 'preciative of this, really I am." Then
he drifted back among the boxes, fading from their sight.


********************

At the Annapolis library, Scully pored through the
journals of the Maryland Historical Society, looking for
information on the disposition of the furnishings of
Maryland Oaks. Because Maryland had been part of the Union
during the Civil War, there hadn't been the same degree of
problem with Union soldiers looting and burning the stately
mansions. The house had stood until 1946, when the termite-
infested building had finally had to be razed. An estate
sale was held in 1945 to sell off any furnishings that the
owners did not want.

Although Lincoln issued the Emancipation Proclamation on
January 1, 1863, the proclamation only applied to the
Southern states that were in rebellion and did not apply to
slaves in the Union. Lincoln needed the loyalty of slave
owners in the Union and at the same time hoped to incite
slaves in the South to rebel against their owners and deny
the Confederacy a source of manpower.

So in Maryland, a slave-owning state, slavery in name did
not end until the state itself outlawed the institution in
1864. However, the state adopted an apprenticeship system
which forced about 10,000 Negro youths into forced labor.
It was not until 1867 that the system was banned. Four
years after the Emancipation Proclamation, slavery in
America finally came to an end.

According to the old records, Samuel's wife and child were
still owned by the Jennings family in 1864, then became
employees. Samuel's son, John Moses Jennings (like many
freed slaves, he took the family name of his former
masters) worked his entire life as the family butler. He
married a former slave from another plantation and they had
seven children, three of which survived to adulthood and
had children of their own. After those entries, however,
there was no further information on Samuel's descendants in
the Historical Society records.

But there was plenty on the Meacham family. The attendant
on duty in the genealogical section was helpful.

"You'll find the Meacham records in with the other
Maryland political families," said the librarian. "They're
quite prominent in the state's history. May I ask why
you're researching them? Are you writing a book?"

"I'm just getting some information on something that
happened long ago -- before the Civil War -- and I was
interested in finding out about descendants of people
involved in this particular event," Scully answered.

"What event would that be?" asked the librarian.

Scully didn't answer, but excused herself and walked over
to the section the woman had indicated.

Once Scully was out of sight, the woman picked up the
phone. "Is this the Meacham campaign headquarters? Yes,
well, could I speak to Mr. Meacham please? This is Dorothy
Gilbert, an old friend of his mother. I have some
information he may be interested in."

After a minute or two, she heard another man pick up the
phone and speak. "This is Tom Meacham. Can I help you, Mrs.
Gilbert?"

"Yes, you know my husband and I are big supporters of
yours. We voted for your father every time he ran for state
rep. He was a fine gentleman, God rest his soul."

"I appreciate that, Mrs. Gilbert. What did you need to
talk to me about?"

"There's a lady here who's looking up information about
your family around the time of the Civil War. Now, most
everyone knows those were horrible times, then, but you
never know how other people will spin things that happened
a long time ago. I just thought you should know."

"What's her name?"

"I don't know, but I'll ask her and get back with you."

"Yes, please do."

Meacham hung up the phone.

"Tom, what's wrong? You look upset," Meacham's campaign
manager noted.

"Someone is digging in my family's background, Bob. I'm
not quite sure what to think about that."

"You don't have some tar in the ol' family woodpile, do
you?" Bob asked jokingly.

"That's not funny, Bob. My blood is pure and you know it,"
Meacham retorted angrily.

"Just kidding. Hey, was your great-great-granddaddy in the
Klan? Is that what you're worried about? Hell, no one can
hold that against you."

"Yeah, they can. My opponent would love to find out
something like that to use against me."

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Bob.

"I've got to make sure all records of my family are in my
possession."

"Isn't it a little late if they've already researched the
Historical Society records? And genealogy records are
widespread," Bob pointed out.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out who these people
are and what they want."

********************

The records Scully found on Peter Meacham were indeed
rather thorough. He had served on the Union side in the 2nd
Maryland Infantry, after being promised by the federal
government that he would not have to give up his slaves. He
was wounded in the Second Manassas when the Confederate
Army flanked the Union forces. And though Meacham recovered
completely from that, there was no record of any
outstanding service. It seemed he mostly served as a
general's aide. After the war, he ran for the State
Legislature and thanks to his father's reputation in the
state, won easily and served eight terms. Peter Meacham
died at home Dec. 23, 1903. His son Paul ran for the vacant
seat and won on the first try. Except for a few periods
totaling 34 years, the Meachams had held the Legislative
seat from their district the rest of the time since the
Civil War ended. Thomas Meacham III now hoped to follow in
the grand tradition set by his forefathers.

Scully called Mulder and Will with what she had discovered
and they picked up the online trail of Samuel's family.
They researched the state and county probate records and
relayed to Scully what they found. Finally, Scully
discovered that there were 21 direct descendants of Samuel
that still lived in Maryland, and about 30 others scattered
around the U.S.


*****************

Mulder home
September 6
11:32 p.m.

Finally, long after she had put both Mulder and Will to
bed (the first sign of a problem is when the 47-year-old
man turns out to be a bigger baby about bedtime than the 7-
year-old boy, she mused tiredly), she flipped through the
printouts. The only way she'd managed to get Mulder into
bed at an "early" 9:30 was to promise him a massage and as
much cuddling as his leg would allow. Though he continued
to insist it was much better and the swelling had gone down
just a little, it hadn't improved nearly enough to satisfy
her. Scully had promised that she would only spend an hour
at most on the material before turning in and picking it up
in the morning. After all, as Mulder himself had insisted,
it was a good idea to set a good example for the child. She
rolled her eyes at the thought and cracked the kinks out of
her neck in the process.

It was now 11:30, a good hour *past* the time she was
*supposed* to be in bed, but to her credit he had been
sound asleep, so she decided he wouldn't be any the wiser
if she perused the printouts for one more clue. Just for a
little while longer. But her efforts as of yet had been in
vain. Suddenly, despite the fact that she had every single
door and window shut in the house, as she cast a thoughtful
glance upstairs, a great wind blew the stacks of paper in
every direction. The strange rustling noise brought her
attention back to the table, and she was astonished to find
only one single sheet of paper facing her. Then, almost by
itself, her pen rolled forwards and abruptly stopped at one
single name and address, second from the top:

Amanda Jennings Holden
1865 N. Fairfax Street
Alexandria, Virginia 22304

Scully stared at the name in utter shock and amazement at
the possibility that the very descendant of Samuel who
could possibly have the journal could live so close to the
location of her husband's former "bachelor pad," but could
not be in any way prepared for the utter shock that awaited
her the moment she finally dared to look up. For there,
materializing into her view, was an attractive young girl
in an old-fashioned nightgown with long, blonde hair
hanging loosely almost to her hips, splotches of dirt on
her nightgown and face, and piercing blue eyes that
overflowed in sadness and pain, not necessarily mortal.

As Scully opened her mouth to speak, the girl put her hand
to her lips, saying "Shhhhhh." As it turned out, the order
was rather unnecessary, as Scully's mouth hung open in
utter shock. At an earlier time, she would have sneered at
the possibility of a ghost were it not for the chill in the
air -- the very same chill she felt the first time she saw
her father in her living room that fateful night.

But it was just her now -- she couldn't rely on her ever
open-minded husband or innocent young child to do the thing
she was so afraid to do -- to actually address the very
spirits that haunted her as though they were living human
beings who could respond to her. So she took a deep breath
and asked, "Who are you?"

"Naaaancy MacGregor," the spirit replied. "Samuel called
me here."

Scully held the sheet out to her and pointed to the name.
"Do you know if this woman has the journal that proves that
Peter Meacham raped and murdered you?" It sounded all too
eerily familiar to her, as though she were in fact
interrogating a living suspect, except for the fact that
she had just used the phrase "murdered you." Like this was
actually a normal conversation.

Just as Scully was positive her lack of sleep was
beginning to get to her, the girl nodded again. Then she
spoke for the second time since her appearance, in a small,
soft Southern drawl. "You must go to her and get it. You
must help Sam."

The realization of what she was suggesting suddenly hit
Scully full force. "You realize that even with this
evidence, the descendants of that horrible man who did this
to you may stop at nothing to conceal the truth?"

For the first time since her arrival, the timidity of this
new ghost was gone, replaced by a flash of anger, rage and
determination. "It has been hidden long enough. It is
time for the truth to be known and for the lies to be
revealed once and for all. I have watched these bastards
rise to glory without paying for what they did to me, and I
had to watch a good friend die on my account, accused of
something he would never have done! I won't allow him to
suffer for my sake any more -- I cannot rest until this is
resolved. And I will do whatever I must to see to it that
the truth is known."

She then took a step towards Scully, reaching out, and
Scully suddenly found herself backing away in an irrational
moment of fear as her breathing began to quicken. Then
suddenly, Nancy reached for her shoulder and grasped it,
looking her straight in the eye. "Thank you for helping
us." Then she backed away and vanished, leaving Scully to
gape and gasp in horror.

It was that moment that Will picked to pound down the
steps on a mission. "Mom, Dad wants to know if you're
gonna come up to bed like you promised or if you found
something more interesting. Sounds like he's in one of his
mushy...Mom?"

Scully took one look at him and found herself drawing him
to her in a monstrous bear hug that took his breath away,
and in the tradition of his father, Will knew something had
happened to his mother, and returned the hug as best he
could. Then when she finally broke the hug and had calmed
a bit, Will quietly said, "What happened, Mom? Did Sam come
down here?"

"No, it wasn't him," Scully replied gently. "Just go back
and tell your father I'll be there in a minute, and that we
may be one step closer to helping Sam."

***************

Mulder's eyes shone as he watched Scully undress then slip
into her silk pajamas.

"You needn't get all dressed up on my account," he quipped.

Scully gave a little laugh and lay down beside him.

"I don't know if now is the time to mention it, Mulder,
but I had a visitor a little while ago -- Nancy MacGregor's
ghost."

Mulder propped his head up on his elbow.

"Really! Don't tell me we've got two ghosts haunting our
house."

"No, I don't get that impression," Scully replied. "She
said that Samuel asked her to come. She told me where the
journal is -- with one of Sam's descendants in Alexandria."

Mulder glanced at his watch. "Too late at night to be
calling her. Maybe we can reach her in the morning. Now,
c'mere," he said, opening his arms to his wife.

She readily snuggled into his embrace and eagerly returned
his kisses. Her hand snaked into his pajama bottoms and he
groaned in pleasure and pushed up her top to put his mouth
to work.

"What about your knee?" she murmured.

"What knee?" he replied with an evil flash in his eye and
redirected his attention to her breasts as she grinned in
delight.

*****************


Holden Residence
1865 N. Fairfax Street
Alexandria,Virginia 22304
September 7
3:10 p.m.

As Mrs. Amanda Holden emerged from the stairs, Will,
seated between either parent and idly fingering his
father's cane, couldn't help but marvel over the tidy
appearance of someone who was obviously home for the day --
well, of course there was his own mother, but she was
something of an exception to the rule. Amanda was a
slightly plump woman in her late forties, dressed in white
linen slacks and a light-blue silk blouse that flattered
her dark skin. Her short, dark, hair was perfectly in
place, and it was absolutely marvelous to Will how far
Samuel's family had obviously come since the tragedy. This
did not mean that this false legacy had not left its scars
on her, however, as Will found upon watching her clutch the
worn, brown volume against her chest like a valuable piece
of gold. Gazing at her large, brown eyes, the telltale
smudges of mascara betrayed the notion that their asking
for the journal had not been an unemotional experience for
her.

Finally, as the three of them eyed her sympathetically,
Scully cleared her throat, saying, "Thank you very much,
Mrs. Holden -- I know what an emotional request this must
be for you."

"No, no," Amanda replied in a slightly choked voice as she
attempted a smile, slowly handing over the brown journal
with the words "Sam's Story -- 1858" scrawled on the front.
"For some time now, this legacy has been passed on, and our
family has tried in vain to clear the name of Samuel McCoy,
but you can't *imagine* the series of legal walls we've run
up against! It seems that everywhere I've gone to prove
his innocence, there's been at least one officer or
politician who's informed me that there is no judge in the
state of Maryland who would believe such a story! Some of
the local residents would even think it would be fun to
redecorate my car, if you know what I mean!" she added with
a bitter edge to your voice.

"You mean they painted it with graffiti?" asked Will in a
cautious, sympathetic voice.

Amanda smiled, mostly for Will's benefit, though her
bitterness was all too apparent. "Well, 'paint' is
something of an understatement, I'm afraid -- if anything,
the paint was *scratched off* to form less than kind words,
the only one worth repeating in your company being
'killer.' It was certainly nice to feel welcome, and of
course the repairs weren't exactly cheap, needless to say!"

"I'm very sorry you had to go through all that, Mrs.
Holden," Mulder said gently. "Racism is a very ugly thing
no matter how you paint it, pun intended."

Actually chuckling a bit, Amanda swallowed a forming sob
as she asked, "May I ask how you found that I had the
journal, and what it spoke of, just out of curiosity?"

Scully and Mulder exchanged a slight grin as Scully, in
all seriousness, informed her, "Well, let's just say we
have our sources."

Much to their relief and surprise, rather than the usual
skeptical glare that normally met such cryptic responses,
Amanda actually beamed. "Well, it appears the Lord God
just answered our prayers -- that the truth would surface
eventually despite everything, and he's brought you right
here to carry out this purpose. I can't thank you enough
for this."

Will smiled to himself. While he wasn't exactly sure his
father would agree that it was "the Lord God" who answered
their prayers, it certainly did appear that there were
other deities beyond this earthly realm making sure the
truth would indeed surface, and would set at least one
deserving soul free.

As they were to learn hours later upon their return home,
however, there was at least *one* presence on *this* planet
who was determined that his own legacy and means would be
preserved by concealing of the truth. Will ran eagerly up
to the answering machine which blinked with the promise of
a message, only to be rewarded with blank static as he hit
the rewind button. Then his eyes flew to the caller ID his
parents had installed, flashing a number alongside the name
"T. Meacham."

He went quite still and heard the tell-tale thud of his
father's cane behind him, feeling his father's large hand
protectively curling around his slim shoulder as the name
also registered with him. "Scully, lock all the doors and
windows," he declared in an authoritative voice.

Scully was a bit sidetracked by an eager Ghostrider
licking her makeup off at the moment, but was instantly
alerted by the urgency in her husband's tone. "Mulder,
what's..."

"Just do it," Mulder said quietly but firmly, this time
pointing to the caller ID. Scully's eyes widened in
realization. "Oh, my God...the Historical Society...they
must have called Meacham..."

"...and Meacham must have done his *own* research to
preserve his *own* family legacy as well as save his own
sorry a...uh, scrawny little neck come election time,"
Mulder quickly amended, realizing that Will was standing
right next to them, eyeing them both with worry. "Somehow
the news that your ancestor was a rapist and murderer who
conveniently pinned the crime on a poor defenseless slave
doesn't make for a very persuasive campaign, you know."

"As though we'd planned to vote for him in the first
place," Scully added with a chuckle bordering on hysteria
kept barely in check for Will's benefit. Then quieting
herself with a deep breath, she added, "You don't suppose
he would limit it to *legal* action, do you? Sue us for the
property of the journal?"

"Well Amanda willingly handed it over -- he won't have a
case and he knows it," Mulder replied. "I think he'll try
to come personally to destroy the evidence."

As Will's eyes widened in fear and horror, Scully quietly
marched up the stairs, displaying a brave front for her
family. Mulder followed at a considerably reasonable rate,
the cane serving as nothing more than an extra boost now.
Will trailed behind.

Moving aside several shoe boxes, Scully exposed the
normally-concealed safe, opened it and placed the journal
inside. She closed the door and spun the combination, then
carefully maneuvered the boxes in front of the safe. She
jumped a bit, startled by the presence of her husband and
son as she turned around.

"I'm sorry," she laughed when she realized her mistake. "I
thought you were Meacham or some of our 'spiritual
friends.'"

"You know, Scully," Mulder informed her with a twinkle in
his eye, "there's something a bit wrong when the only
people you can seem to trust are the ones who are dead and
haunting your house as ghosts."

Scully could only chuckle in agreement, and Will found a
bit of amusement and truth in that statement as well.

Determined to stay relaxed, yet as cautious as possible,
the three settled in for the evening to watch a pay per
view movie on TV. Mulder microwaved some popcorn while Will
retrieved sodas from the fridge. They laughed all the way
through the sci-fi comedy, Will slipping some of his
popcorn to Ghostrider from time to time.


Before retiring for the night, Mulder and Scully both took
their Sigs from the gun safe, loaded them and put them in
each bedside table.

An hour later, both of them sated from rolling around
amongst the covers, they were sound asleep.


*********************

Mulder Residence
September 8
4:15 a.m.

Mulder awoke to hear Ghostrider whining at his bedside.
"Whatsamatter, boy, need to go out?" He yawned and threw
back the covers. Grabbing his cane, he followed the dog
down the stairs and to the front door. Mulder unlocked the
door and Ghostrider ran out into the night, barking.

"Ghostrider, quiet! You're going to wake the neighbors!"
He stepped out the door to scold the dog and suddenly felt
cold metal pressed against his neck.

"That will be quite enough, Mr. Mulder. Now let's go
inside. Leave the dog outside."

Mulder cursed himself for letting his guard down.
Appraising the situation, he knew he couldn't be sure the
man wouldn't shoot him on the spot. But reaching out for
the doorknob, Mulder pushed the lock and slammed it behind
him, locking both himself and his attacker outside -- and
his family inside.

"You fool!" growled the man and slammed the barrel of his
gun across Mulder's head.

Mulder dropped to his knees, shaking his head groggily,
blood streaming from a deep cut on his temple.

"That was a very stupid thing to do, Mr. Mulder. I could
easily shoot you right now and be gone before the police
arrive."

"I take it you're... Thomas Meacham?" Mulder said,
gritting his teeth against both the pain in his head and in
his bad knee, which was now throbbing after having fallen
on it.

"Yes, and you have something I need. That black bitch
doesn't have it anymore."

When Mulder chanced a look at Meacham, there was a wild
look in his eyes he could hardly associate with the
pristine images of the politician's campaign posters. He
half-wondered which Meacham dwelled behind them at that
very moment.

"What did you do to her, you bastard?" Mulder growled.

"Nothing. She wasn't home. I broke in and turned that
place upside down. I know you talked to her. I saw your
number on her caller ID. She gave you the journal, didn't
she?" Meacham asked.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Mulder bluffed
badly.

Meacham kicked him hard in the ribs. "Stop lying and open
that door."

Mulder was curled up on the ground now, but managed to
gasp out an answer. "Can't. Don't have my key."

Meacham pulled out his cell phone, consulted a piece of
paper, then dialed Mulder's number.

Scully answered sleepily, noting that her husband was not
beside her in the bed.

"Mrs. Mulder, if you value your husband's life, open the
front door now. Don't even think about calling the police
or I'll shoot him at the first sign of the cops."

"Don't do it, Scully! I'm OK, call for help!"

That outburst earned Mulder another kick in the ribs. This
time, he was sure he felt something give. He tried not to
cry out, though, not wanting to influence Scully into
opening the door.

Surprisingly, however, the front door swung open, but
there was no one there.

Meacham hauled Mulder to his feet and forced him inside at
gunpoint. The lights suddenly came on and Mulder saw Scully
standing at the top of the stairs, training her gun sights
on Meacham. But Mulder was in front.

"Drop it, lady, or I'll kill him."

Will picked this time to poke his head out of his room.
"Mom?"

"Get back in your room, Will, and lock the door," his
mother ordered.

The boy did as he was told. He had no phone in his room,
but he did have his Palm Pilot. He could only hope that one
of his instant messaging contacts was online.

Out on the staircase, there was a standoff with Meacham
holding the gun on a bleeding Mulder, and Scully pointing
her gun at Meacham.

She heard a rustling noise beside her and then someone
whispered in her ear. "Let him come up, ma'am. I'll take
care of him."

"Mulder..." she reminded Samuel.

"I know," he breathed.

"What do you want, Meacham?"

"The journal. I know you have it. Give it to me and not
only will I let your husband live, I'll make it worth your
while. Name your price."

"What journal?"

He put the gun to Mulder's head. "The one that slave spawn
gave you. It's full of lies."

"Scully, if you give it to him, he'll kill us all anyway."

"Trust me," the invisible Sam murmured again to Scully.

"OK, it's up here. Let my husband go and I'll show you."

Meacham prodded Mulder with the gun and they moved up the
stairs. As soon as they were a few steps from the
staircase, Samuel materialized into Meacham's view.

Meacham gasped and immediately turned the gun on Sam.
Mulder took advantage of the distraction to grab Meacham's
gun arm. The two began wrestling for the weapon. Scully
stood by anxiously, unable to fire with the two of them in
each other's grasp. But Mulder was already hurt and when
Meacham slammed a fist into Mulder's now obviously broken
ribs, he cried out and fell away, breaking through the
balcony railing. He managed to grab hold of the stair
bannister, though and swung himself onto the stairs. But
his momentum sent him rolling down the steps. He lay
unmoving at the bottom.

In the meantime, Meacham had problems of his own, with
Samuel's icy hands closed around his throat.

"Samuel, no! Don't do it!" cried a female Southern voice.

*Nancy,* thought Scully.

Slowly Meacham was released and ruefully rubbed his sore
neck in an attempt to catch his breath, giving enough time
for an awed Scully to reach for his gun. But Meacham had
recovered and brought the gun up, pointing it at her.
Seeing this, Samuel picked him up and threw him over the
balcony to the floor below.

As Scully watched, Samuel then turned to Nancy, standing
just behind him. "I'm sorry, Nancy," Samuel whispered
sadly, "but there was no other way. Another crime would
have been committed otherwise; the chain would go on and
on, and we'd never be free."

Nancy caressed his jaw, wiping away a tear that had
formed. "It's all right, Samuel, I understand. But we're
both free now, and I have all of you to thank for it." She
nodded towards Mulder. "He should be fine in no time --much
better than that Meacham. It's over now." With that, Nancy
took Samuel's hand and they faded away into the night.

After recovering from her ghostly experience, Scully ran
first to Mulder, calling for Will as she ran down the
stairs.

As she reached Mulder and confirmed he was alive, someone
pounded on the door.

"Scully! Mulder! Open the door!" The voice belonged to
Skinner but she had no idea what he was doing here or how
he had received word to come.

Will scrambled out of his room and down the stairs to open
the door. When he saw Skinner, the boy threw himself into
the man's arms.

Two police officers followed Skinner, holding Will, into
the house.

Seeing the two injured men, they radioed for two ambulances.

Meacham was still alive, but unconscious, with blood
running from his mouth and ears.

Skinner set Will down and knelt beside Scully. Mulder was
starting to come around.

She held two fingers up in front of Mulder's eyes. "How
many, Mulder?"

"Uhhh, give me a hint," he groaned.

Mulder tried to sit up, but Scully wouldn't let him. "You
just be still." She turned to Skinner. "How did you know?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I was up surfing the Net. Will got
online and told me what was going on. I called the police
and arrived at the same time they did," Skinner replied,
ruffling Will's hair.

"I guess it was just a matter of...*cough*...spooky
timing," Mulder gasped, debating whether to grab his ribs
or leg first. "Which...reminds me..."

"They left, Mulder," Scully replied gently. "They left
shortly after Meacham's accident. I'm afraid we won't be
seeing much more of them, but they were extremely grateful
for all that we've done."

"Hey, anytime," wheezed Mulder as the paramedics strapped
him to the gurney, carefully as they could, minding the
broken ribs.

"So that means Sam's free now?" Will asked with a look of
delight and relief in his eyes.

"Yes, honey, he's free now," Scully smiled at Will, a tear
trickling down her cheek. "They both are."

As Mulder was loaded into the ambulance and Scully and
Will crawled in the back for the ride to the hospital,
Skinner stole a quick moment by his side. "I don't suppose
you'd have a clue what the hell they're talking about,
would you, Mulder?" His voice dipped a bit deliberately on
the word "hell."

"Long...story..." Mulder whispered before his eyes slipped
shut, sending him into blissful unconsciousness.

*********************

Anne Arundel Medical Center
Annapolis, Maryland
September 13
5:15 p.m.

"Are you sure you got absolutely *everything* in there,
pal?" Mulder called to Will in the bathroom from his perch
atop the bed as he managed to pull the now one-legged pair
of pants over the stiff metal and elastic brace on his leg.

At *long* last, Scully was in the process of springing him
from this cell of a hospital room, as he now thought of it.
He had recovered from the concussion, but still had to wear
an elastic rib brace to support his healing ribs.
Unfortunately, that *darn* leg of his had needed rather
extensive surgery. The fall while it was already injured
certainly hadn't helped matters, as there was some rather
extensive tendon and ligament damage to mend. All things
considered, the doctors and Scully had agreed it would be a
good idea to keep him for a good four to five days, just to
be on the safe side.

As if the bit with the leg wasn't humiliating enough, a
rather mischievous Scully had informed him that Will
apparently had a tape recorder on during his few moments of
wakefulness in the recovery room, recording whatever
the...heck he had said under the influence of the
anesthesia. Mulder had his suspicions, of course, that it
was Scully's idea as something of a blackmail scheme to
remind him of the next time he tried to cover up an injury.
She was conveniently allowing Will to take the fall, but in
his grand tradition, Mulder couldn't prove it, of course.

Besides, if he tried, she just *might* carry out her
threat to leave him there forever and raise Will as a
single mother.

Will, meanwhile, to give his father a chance to rest his
leg, had been in the bathroom, packing up the essentials
for Mulder's latest hospital stay. Fortunately, there
wasn't much, just pretty much his toothpaste, toothbrush
and shaving kit. Just to be safe, however, he would look
around to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Satisfied,
he bounded out to his father with the duffle bag. "Yup --
don't see a straggler among the bunch in there!" he beamed
to his father!

"That's my boy," Mulder beamed in return, giving as much
of a hug around the shoulders as he could manage without
hurting his sore ribs. With her unique sense of timing,
Scully picked that time to appear at his door to happily
announce that he'd been given the "all-clear." Mulder
grinned in relief and gratitude and hoisted himself onto
his crutches to follow Will out the door.


"By the way," Scully said to them in the car, "I told
Skinner about your earlier incident, and he volunteered to -
- and I quote -- nail you to the bed if you ever try that
macho stunt of avoiding medical treatment the next time
that happens!" Her response, naturally, was an eye-roll
from her husband accompanied by a "Yes, dear," in his most
browbeaten voice, to which Will chuckled.

"Hey," Will suddenly cried out thoughtfully. "Do you
think Sam will come back to say goodbye?"

"Oh, I don't think so, honey," Scully replied. "I think
they pretty much said their goodbyes that night. Now that
Thomas Meacham has paid his dues, he doesn't have a reason
to stay any more."

"That was really sad about him, though," Will mused,
thinking back about what Skinner had informed them the day
Mulder was moved to his private room. He had pulled his
mother out into the hall, and Will knew he hadn't been
meant to hear, but he had still overheard Skinner telling
her that Thomas Meacham had been paralyzed from the neck
down, most likely for the rest of his life. He was
currently still in the hospital, under guard, until he
could stand trial on the charges of attempted murder and
home invasion. Even if he managed to win parole from
prison, he would always be a prisoner of his own body and
the wheelchair. After 140 years, at long last, Thomas
Meacham was paying for the sins of his forefathers and had
lost his freedom, to say nothing of his reputation.

"Yes, it is sad," Mulder piped up. "But somebody had to
pay for that crime, and no one had. And worse yet, Mr.
Meacham was about to commit more crimes in order to cover
up the crime his forefather had committed, rather than
coming out and admitting the truth."

"Look!" Will suddenly cried, pointing out the window.
Mulder and Scully suddenly looked out the window (poor
Scully had to park the car before she had to swerve and
miss oncoming traffic in the process) and saw the most
beautiful, brilliant rainbow they had ever seen in their
lives.

Which was truly remarkable and scientifically
unexplainable to Scully, seeing as there wasn't a cloud in
the sky.

As they looked deeper into the rainbow, they made out the
faint images of Nancy MacGregor and Samuel holding hands,
waving at them. Waving back, they watched as they smiled
brightly and faded away, out of sight.

Into the ultimate freedom.

THE END