Chapter Two

George Washington Univ Hospital
Monday, Noon

The door opened for the third time in ten minutes, and they both looked up, hoping to see Dr. Lawry bearing the promised release forms.

"Anybody here looking for a shrink?" A young man in jeans and a well-worn NYU sweatshirt grinned from the doorway, then strode over to Mulder. "I'm David Klein, the psych resident." He extended his hand, and Mulder gave it a cautious shake. "I understand you're trying to avoid me, Mr. Mulder. Say it isn't so." He traded Mulder's hand for Scully's. "And you must be Dr. Scully. It's a real pleasure to meet you both." Back to Mulder with a sly wink. "Although you and I could be old college sweethearts, for all you'd know."

Scully's mouth dropped open. "Dr. Klein, I don't know what you think you're--"

"Just kidding, just kidding." His eyes were twinkling. "I use humor as an icebreaker." He leaned in and stage whispered, "This psych gig is just paying the bills 'til I break into show business."

Mulder's surprised chuckle was obviously what the doctor had been shooting for. "So, did that earn me a few minutes of your time? I promise, I won't drop a net over you, no matter how loony you sound."

"That's comforting." Mulder looked at Scully and shrugged. "Take your best shot." He sat down on the gurney, but Klein took him by the elbow and tugged him to his feet.

"Actually, I was thinking more along the lines of my office. I so rarely get to use it, what with most of my patients being in restraints." He winked at Scully. "You sit tight and I'll have him back in half an hour."

Scully followed them out into the busy hall, watching until they disappeared around a corner.

Dr. Lawry breezed past her at that moment, looking rather pleased with himself. She ignored him and headed off to find some very strong coffee.

Klein's office was not much more than a closet. A metal desk with two chairs facing it took up most of the space. Shelves along one wall were jammed with journals, hardcover books and manila folders sticking out at all angles.

"Sit, sit." He gestured at the chairs. "We'll make this quick and painless." Klein dropped into the desk chair, making the springs squeak in protest. He folded his hands on the desk and waited for Mulder to get settled. "No bullshit, now. How do you feel?"

Very direct blue eyes bored into his own. "I'm a little... confused." The words carried a sense of deja vu, and his mind clung to it.

"That has to be the understatement of the century." Klein's expression sobered. "How do you feel about being called Mulder? Is there another name you'd prefer?"

He allowed another chuckle to bubble up. It felt good. "Like what? John Doe? No thanks, Mulder is fine."

Klein leaned back and put his feet up on the desk. "Okay, Mulder it is. What do you remember about this morning when you woke up?"

"Like I told..." he searched for the name, "...Scully, it's as if didn't exist until I opened my eyes a few hours ago, except that I seem to know things. I know this is Washington, D.C. I know who's president and that today is July 5th, 2003. It's Monday. The problem is, I don't know that I know until someone asks me a question. Then, the answers just pop into my head."

"What's your name?"

He had to smile. "Sorry, that one doesn't seem to work."

"Too bad. It would have saved a lot of time." He flipped to a blank page in his notebook. "I'm going to ask you a series of questions. Just answer to the best of your ability."

It turned out to be just a longer version of the session he'd had earlier with Lawry: checking his orientation to time and place, having him add a series of numbers in his head, asking him to remember a series of words interspersed with more questions. Klein recorded his responses, nodding occasionally.

When the questioning ended, the doctor continued writing in his book until Mulder began to fidget. "So, what's the verdict?"

Klein set the notebook aside and picked up a thick file from the desk. He flipped it open and began to read, "Ph.D. in psychology from Oxford University. I.Q. off the charts. No obvious--"

"Trying to impress me with your credentials?"

Klein closed the file and looked at him. "I wish. This file is yours, Mr. Mulder, as are the credentials."

"Mine?" Questions toppled over one another in his head. "Scully said I was an FBI agent. I don't understand."

"You are. I just can't imagine why you'd choose to take this kind of abuse," he thumped the voluminous file with his knuckles, "over a $200 an hour private practice. I was just wondering how many times you have to be shot before you start to rethink your career choices?"

A kaleidoscope of images flashed through his mind, too quickly for him to see, but the sensations that accompanied them were overwhelming. The room took a spin to the right and the edges of his vision went a hazy gray. Klein was around the desk, squatting at his side before he could blink. Fingers pressed hard into his bicep. "Tell me your name."

The pressure on his arm increased to the point of pain, and the images receded. "Mulder. She said my name is Mulder."

"You're all right, just take it easy for a minute." Klein stood and walked out of his visual range, reappearing a moment later with a glass of water. "Drink this. Slowly."

Mulder sipped the cool liquid, holding the glass with both hands. After a moment, he looked up to find the doctor seated behind his desk once again. Mulder set the glass on the edge of the desk and let out a long, shaky breath. "I want to see that file."

"How do you feel?"

He ignored the question, shock rapidly giving way to outrage. "What was that, another test? To see how I'd react? Is any of it even true?"

"It's true. And yes, I was trying to provoke a reaction."

"Well, it worked." Mulder clamped his shaking hands around the armrest to still them.

The doctor returned to his notebook. "Dr. Scully is listed as your physician, and I assume you'll want her to be here when I go over my diagnosis. If that's not the case, please say so."

The words seemed to leap from his mouth of their own volition. "I'd like her to be here."

When Scully took her seat next to him a few minutes later, he was embarrassed by how much better he felt. She gave him a reassuring smile before facing the doctor. "The nurse said you wanted to see me."

"Did Dr. Lawry give you the CT results?" She nodded. "Then you know we're not dealing with a physical injury, but that only rules out the more common causes of a condition such as this. My assessment confirms that there is no impairment whatever of Mr. Mulder's cognitive abilities or of his ability to retain information."

"I would beg to differ," Mulder interjected. Two pairs of eyes swung briefly in his direction, then turned back to face each other.

Klein continued, "All that's missing are the memories of his own life. That fact alone is significant."

"I see." Scully and the doctor exchanged meaningful looks.

Mulder felt his face heat up. "So, what does it mean? What are you saying?"

Scully turned to look at him finally. "He believes your amnesia is hysterical." She turned back to Klein, and he nodded his confirmation.

Out of nowhere, Mulder was seeing a page of text in his mind, complete with yellow highlighting and pencil notes in the margins. He read them aloud, seeing the words as clearly as if he were holding the book. "Hysterical amnesia is characterized by a sudden onset of memory impairment in the absence of organic pathology. The reaction can follow traumatic events, in particular head injury, and can be provoked by physical or psychological stress. Most commonly, important personal information is forgotten, and the recall of events during a circumscribed period fails. This often bears relation to a traumatic episode, i.e. a car accident. Less commonly a generalized amnesia is present and the patient is unable to recall anything about his or her past. During the period of memory loss cognitive skills are entirely intact."

Klein wordlessly handed Scully the textbook he'd had open on the desk in front of him. She read a few lines, then looked up at him. "Did you show this to him? All it would take is a glance. He has a photographic memory."

"I found the reference just before you joined us. It's been closed on my desk until now."

"Could I see that, please?" Mulder took the text that lay open in Scully's lap. He read the words again, this time from the page before him, then flipped the book shut to read the cover. "Abnormal Psychology." He looked up at Klein.

"Psychology 101. You probably read it your first year at Oxford, and you just recited it from memory. Verbatim. You are a textbook case, Mr. Mulder, of one of the rarest forms of amnesia." He held up his right hand, popping up a finger for each point. "One: abrupt onset of symptoms. Two: no physical trauma. Three: total absence of personal memories, and finally: cognitive ability completely intact. Everything you've learned is still there." He grinned. "When you're back to normal, I promise you'll find this case as fascinating as I do."

"You're telling me this is a temporary condition? That I could just wake up tomorrow and everything will be back to normal? Whatever that is?" He wasn't completely sure at this point that he wanted to know.

Until Scully touched his hand, Mulder didn't realize that he was halfway out of his chair. He sat back down, and she turned to the doctor. "On what do you base your conclusion?"

"Gut instinct, as much as anything. I know that isn't what you wanted to hear, but sometimes it's all we have to work with. Take him home and let him resume his normal activities. I promise you, there's no better treatment than exposure to familiar places and people." He opened a drawer and pulled out a business card. He wrote something on the back and handed it to Scully. "That's my home number. If you need to reach me during the day, just tell the desk who you are. They'll put you through."

Scully navigated the hospital paperwork maze on his behalf. All he had to do was sign 'Fox Mulder' where she pointed and listen to the nurse's 'patient release information' speech. After what seemed like days, he followed her out to the car.

She turned left out of the parking lot, but he remembered pulling in from the opposite direction. Either she was heading away from the way they'd come, or his sense of direction had disappeared along with his memory. A few minutes passed in silence, and then she turned onto the freeway, heading east.

"Where are we going?"

She accelerated to pass a string of slower vehicles. "Some friends of yours." She glanced at him, smiling. "Friends of ours. I don't feel comfortable using Bureau resources just yet."

He waited for her to elaborate, but she kept her focus on the traffic ahead.

Fifteen minutes later, they turned off the freeway onto a narrow street lined with dilapidated commercial buildings. Scully turned down an alley in the middle of the block, maneuvering around mounds of trash and skittering urban wildlife. She parked next to a flight of open metal stairs. "We're here." She got out, and he followed.

At the top of the steps was an oversize steel door, flanked by video cameras. Mulder counted eight separate deadbolt keyholes running above and below the doorknob. "These friends of ours seem a little paranoid."

Scully pressed a red button mounted next to the door. "You have no idea."

Static hissed from a speaker above the door. "What's the secret word?"

Mulder had to chuckle. "Are they serious?" He wasn't sure why, but he whispered the question.

Scully whispered back, "I'm afraid so." Then, louder and directed at the speaker, "If my math is right, it's 'D'."

Apparently, it was right. Bolts slid and chains rattled on the other side of the door. The knob turned, and a tall, skinny man with blond hair to his shoulders peered out. "What's up?"

"A lot," Scully told him, and he stepped back to let them in.

"You been on a stakeout all night, or what?" He sniffed the air in Mulder's direction. "You're ripe, buddy."

Mulder raised his eyebrows at Scully, and she shook her head.

She came directly to the point. "I need you to check Mulder's credit cards to see if he went somewhere over the weekend."

"Uh, can't you just ask him?"

"Agent Scully! To what do we owe the pleasure?" A short man with gray hair and glasses appeared from behind a bank of electronic equipment.

Scully turned to Mulder. "Wait here. I need to talk to the guys."

The three of them went into a huddle across the room, too far away for him to make out what was being said. Every so often, one of 'the guys' would give him an odd glance. He knew Scully was probably telling them about his 'condition', but that didn't explain the looks he was getting. It was frankly starting to tick him off. When they all turned to look at the same time, he couldn't contain himself. "Amnesia is a very short word. Somebody wanna let me in on what else is going on?"

Scully walked over to him. Her audience trailed behind, and she stood with Mulder waiting for them to catch up. "Mulder, this is Melvin Frohike," she gestured toward the short man, "and this is Langly. They're going to help us do some investigating." She smiled at the two men. "It's what they do best."

Langly mumbled a 'Hey, Mulder'. Melvin Frohike held out his hand, and Mulder shook it. "You're looking pretty good, buddy. Considering." He rubbed his hands briskly together, turning to Scully. "So, let's get moving."

The little man sat down at a counter that ran the length of the cavernous room's back wall. In front of him was a bank of computer monitors, and a single keyboard. He cracked his knuckles and went to work, with Scully hovering at his back.

Mulder watched for a while, thinking he should be more interested in what they were trying to accomplish. It crossed his mind that no one had needed to ask him which credit cards he carried, not that he could have told them. Apparently, his life was an open book to everyone but him. He felt very sorry himself all at once, horrified to find his eyes tearing up. "Shit." He'd practically whispered the word, but Scully was at his side in a heartbeat.

"Come on, Mulder. Let's take a break." She linked her arm through his and led him away, calling back over her shoulder. "I'm going to make some coffee. Yell if you find something."

He thought he had himself more or less under control by the time they reached the kitchen, but Scully sat him down at the large rectangular table and handed him a glass of water. She sat in the chair next to him and watched him drink the water in shaky gulps.

Don't touch me, please. I'll lose it if you do She looked very much as if she wanted to, but folded her hands in her lap instead. He drained the glass and set it carefully on the table.

"Better?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Sorry. I don't know what happened out there." He scrubbed at his face with both hands.

"No, Mulder. I'm the one who needs to apologize." She took his hand, tightening her grip when he shivered. "You need to rest. This can wait."

"Scully!" Langly skidded to a halt in the doorway. "We got it!" Then he took in their clasped hands and Mulder's face, and started to back out of the room. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Scully turned back to Mulder. He squeezed her hand and nodded. "It's okay. I think the hysterics are over for the moment." He made his lips turn up in a smile that probably didn't fool her, but she squeezed back.

"I'll be just a minute."

Langly was shifting from foot to foot in the doorway. Scully gave Mulder one more long look, then got up and followed him out of the room.

Mulder took a few more deep breaths and went after them.

He found Scully and Langly leaning over the little man at the computer. "What's up?"

Scully turned to look at him, worry plain on her face. He gave her another smile, a real one. "What did they find?"

The little man turned in his seat, grinning. "Delta flight 589 out of Dulles, 10:55 Friday night."

He scooted his chair out of the way so Mulder could see the screen.

"Buddy, you seem to have spent your weekend in New Mexico."

End of Chapter Two