Angel listened silently, and then nodded to herself. “I can hear it in the tone of your voice. You’ve seen something like this before, haven’t you?” She set her cup to one side, and then leaned forward, with her arms on the table. “What kind of inscriptions?”
“Words,” Scully murmured. “In a dialect of Navaho, written on the outside surface of a UFO, recovered in Canada. These rubbings are similar to rubbings I took from the surface of a ship a little less than three years ago in east Africa. Rubbings that detailed a mapping of the human genome, the periodic table...passages from every holy book known to man. Chapter and verse regarding the creation of life and man.”
“I see.” Angel smiled slightly, but her expression was bitter. “Are you wondering what it might mean? Whether this could be what it seems to be?”
“I saw that ship with my own eyes,” Scully replied, as though Angel hadn’t spoken. “As hard as it might be to believe, science says that the ship in Africa was over a million years old. Perhaps several million years. And every religion is represented on its surface.” She looked from her cup into Angel’s eyes. “I look at these words, these symbols of power and creation, and I wonder why I was the one who found them. I wonder if they were meant for me to find.”
“Wonder?” Angel asked evenly. “Or fear?”
Scully smiled humorlessly. “As a scientist? Wonder. As a mother?” She shook her head, taking in a deep breath, then letting it out slowly. “Something inside of me, deep in the core of my being...it tells me that this has something to do with my son. Answers to his existence.”
Angel bit her lip as she considered her words. “And what part of you is listening to that voice? The scientist, or the mother?”
Scully sighed. “I don’t know.”
Angel nodded, as if expecting the answer. “You wouldn’t be the first person in the history of the world to feel as though something so extraordinary pertained directly to you. But perhaps, if what you say is true, there is more than a little reason to believe it.”
Scully’s eyes widened slightly. “I...I wasn’t expecting you to actually agree with me.” She let out a shuddering breath. “I think Monica was a little frightened at the thought. Though to be fair, she was still coping with the idea that something alien might have started everything we take for granted. Religion, science...our lives.”
“If that is what it means,” Angel pointed out. “Even if the ships in Africa and Canada had crashed millions of years ago, what tells you that the inscriptions originated before the ships crashed? The writing is in Navaho. And you said that you recognized passages from holy books. How many of those religions formed within the last thousand years, or during the recorded eras of history, for that matter? How would those holy books come from aliens, millions of years ago, when they are less than a couple thousand years old?”
“But the stories, the ideas and concepts, they’re much older than that,” Scully pointed out.
“And if you told me that these words described basic ideas and concepts, then I would grant you that,” Angel agreed. “But you didn’t say that. You said they were exact quotes from holy books. Which version, I wonder? You recognized passages from the Bible?” Scully nodded. “And which version of creation was written on the surface of this ship? One of the versions in the King James translation, or the one written and hidden in the Dead Sea Scrolls?”
“What are you saying?” Scully said finally, her expression defiant. “That this is some kind of hoax?”
“Only that things may not be as they appear,” Angel countered. “Like so much of what you’ve encountered, how much do you know about the context surrounding these events and objects and words?” She looked in the direction of the nursery. “On the other hand, you know exactly where William fits into your life and your world. Why worry about some words, powerful as they might be, written on a sheet of metal?”
“Because I know, just as much as I know that there’s some connection between these words and my son,” Scully replied evenly, “that there is something different about him. Whatever context might exist, that much I cannot deny.”
Angel shrugged. “Maybe there is. And maybe, whatever may be written about him or for him, it is simply a part of a greater whole. It may only be one side of the story. One version among many, like the stories of creation. Perhaps even a matter of metaphor.”
“Maybe,” Scully agreed. Even so, her expression remained hard and unyielding. “Maybe you’re right. But it doesn’t matter what I believe. Because there are people out there who still want to take him away. People with plans for him. And they believe. What choice do I have?”
+++
“I hope you’re right,” Angel added. She glanced at Scully. “I also heard what the attacker told you, this business about prophecy and your son. You believe it?”
Scully shook her head. “I’m not sure what to believe. I’ve read prophecies that I thought were referring to Mulder that were similar but opposite. Is it so hard to believe that there might have been more to it? Or that they were really talking about our son?” She looked back towards Angel. “But then you said it yourself, when all of this started. How do we know where any of this came from, or what it might refer to?”
“Maybe it’s like you said,” Angel replied. “That’s it’s enough that they believe in it, and that it refers to William, because the danger is the same either way.”
“Perhaps,” Scully murmured, and then she sighed, glancing towards the bedroom.
*****
A BRINGER OF NEW THINGS IX: MEDITATIONS ON FAITH AND REASON
*****
GEORGETOWN
WASHINGTON, DC
APRIL 7, 2002
7:10 PM
At the knock on her apartment door, Scully sighed and turned towards the sound, her expression pained. She hadn’t wanted anything like this to happen. The past month had been difficult enough, from William’s kidnapping, Mulder’s apparent death, and John and Monica each being in a coma. And then there was that incident with Morgan Dannah, which had left John reeling and moody as ever. His resulting stubborn streak had forced all of them into that mess in Brooklyn, followed almost instantly by that odd business with the serial killer, numerology, and a man who looked remarkably like an insane Burt Reynolds.
All of which had required her to call on her mother’s services again and again, sometimes for days at a time. They had already had too many discussions over the past few months, enough that Scully had considered finding someone else to watch William when she needed to help with the X-Files. But in the end, there was simply no one else she could trust.
Standing as the polite knocking resumed, Scully forced her expression to reflect something other than her sour mood. She didn’t want to do this. It had been four years, and so much had happened since then, more than she could ever hope to explain. And this was the one person that she had to answer to. That’s why her mother had called him and arranged this little meeting. Scully could see the damnable logic behind the decision quite clearly.
Plastering a polite smile on her face, Scully opened the door, welcoming the older gentleman into her home with a wave of her hand. “Father McCue. It’s good to see you again.”
“Yes, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he said as he stepped inside. It was incredibly warm for this time of year, practically a heat wave, so he was only wearing the usual black shirt and white collar. The instant sight of it sent a rush of guilt through her, and she forced herself not to let him see that.
“Yes, Father. A long time.” When he reached out to embrace her, she dutifully let him. He was, after all, an old friend of the family. That was also a part of her mother’s plan.
“When your mother called me and told me that you were having troubles with your son, I feared the worst,” he said, as he stepped into the living room. “I remember what happened with your…other child.”
Scully shook her head. “No, it’s nothing like that. Emily was a completely different situation.” She realized that she had snapped at the priest, and smiled slightly in apology. “I’m sorry…would you like something to drink? Some coffee, tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” McCue replied, taking a seat at the dining room table. “Something cool, though.”
Scully nodded absently as she walked into the kitchen. “Well, I have some iced tea, water…not much else.” She grabbed the orange juice container and found that it was empty. Typical. Even she had stopped remembering to pick it up. She searched the rest of the refrigerator. “Unless you’d like some baby apple juice?”
“Ah…iced tea will be fine,” McCue replied with a laugh. Once Scully was finished pouring the iced tea, he looked up at her face as she took a seat across from him at the table. “Are you sure that you haven’t let your experience with Emily color your feelings for your son?”
Scully scowled, feeling a flush of heat rush to her face. “I’m not sure I know what you’re implying.”
“Nothing in particular,” McCue said with a wave of his hand. “But Emily was one of the last things we spoke of. You thought you were having visitations from Emily. That she was guiding you to help those other girls. I would be surprised if you weren’t thinking of Emily often during these troubled times, though I admit, I haven’t had the opportunity to counsel you.” He regarded her with worry. “When was the last time you sought comfort through confession, Dana?”
“It’s been quite a long time,” Scully admitted, looking away slightly.
“I thought as much,” Father McCue said with regret. “As I said…these are troubled times. For all of us, though I think parents bear the burden the most. But you have already lost a child to illness, and so the fear of a second loss is expected. You’ve always sought solace in your faith, Dana. So it troubled me when I heard from your mother that you had not been attending services regularly.”
“I don’t-.” She stopped herself, and then sighed, looking down at her glass. “I haven’t lost my faith, Father. It’s just been a difficult time.”
“It’s more than that, Dana,” McCue continued. His expression was grim. “Your mother tells me that you have been keeping things to yourself. Even keeping things from her. Your pregnancy, for instance.”
“There were…there are…questions about my pregnancy that even I couldn’t answer, if I wanted to,” Scully said evenly. “I took a chance with the experimental treatments, chose Mulder to be the father, because I wanted to keep that between us. I didn’t want anyone to know.” She shook her head. “I didn’t want them to go through the hopes and fears like I was. Not until everything was settled.”
“But that was well over a year ago, Dana,” McCue insisted. “And William just celebrated his first birthday. Yet your mother seems to feel that you’re holding something back from your son.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Scully breathed, glancing towards the nursery. “I would never do that.”
McCue hesitated, drinking some of the iced tea as he considered his words. When he finally spoke, it was with an added tone of concern. “Your mother seems to think otherwise. You leave William in your mother’s care quite often?”
“When my work requires it,” Scully confirmed. “I teach at the academy, and I’m still technically attached to the X-Files. That occasionally requires field work outside of the area for extended periods of time.”
“If I recall correctly, you were considering leaving the FBI, if necessary, when Emily’s proper care was at risk.” McCue eyed her intently. “Did this never occur to you with William?”
Scully shook her head angrily. “Emily was a completely different situation. She had specific medical issues that would have needed more immediate care.” She took a calming breath. “William is a healthy baby. There’s...there’s nothing wrong with him.”
“No, nothing wrong,” McCue agreed. “But there are still issues, aren’t there, Dana? Issues that also pertain to my earlier questions about your faith. Your mother tells me that the circumstances of William’s conception are vague at best, and that there are those who consider him to be a miracle, a gift from God. Yourself included.”
Scully regarded him sternly. “I won’t have my son exposed to the kind of circus that ‘miracles’ tend to attract.”
“There’s little fear of that,” McCue assured her. “After all, we’re talking about scientific miracles in this instance, aren’t we? And the Church takes little interest in those.” He saw the uncertainty in Scully’s eyes and frowned. “Or were your mother’s fears more substantial that I thought?”
“Some believe that my son is the product of illegal research into genetic engineering by the military,” Scully admitted. “In that sense, I suppose there are some similarities to what happened with Emily. She could have been part of the same experiment. We simply don’t know.”
“But that’s not the only interpretation,” McCue replied, his tone making it clear that it wasn’t a question.
“No.” Scully cleared her throat, taking a sip of the iced tea. “The people who tried to abduct William at the end of the year, the ones trying to find Mulder…they believed William to be a product of those experiments. The ones who took him last month believed him to be the fulfillment of prophecy.” She hesitated, her expression becoming slightly apprehensive. “A prophecy that was supposedly written on the outer surface of a UFO.”
“Aliens?” McCue asked with a disbelieving smile.
Scully nodded, but then she continued. “The UFO was covered in an ancient dialect of the Navaho language. Along with these prophecies, there were also passages detailing scientific constants, the periodic table, that kind of technical information.” She swallowed, then continued. “As well as passages from the Bible. Genesis, mostly.”
“The Bible?” McCue replied, astounded. He seemed to think on that for a moment. “But not just the Bible?”
“No,” Scully admitted. “Other sacred texts from around the world were represented as well.”
“I see.” McCue shook his head. “And you believe these prophecies?”
Scully sighed, shaking her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know that it even matters.”
Father McCue frowned. “Why do you say that?”
“Because they believe it,” Scully replied with frustration. “So one way or another, I have to respond to it as though it were true.”
“Perhaps, but I would still think that it does matter, this question of whether or not you believe in these prophecies.” Father McCue glanced at the cross hanging from her neck. “Even if it doesn’t change the circumstances or the dangers in your life, and your son’s life, it is a matter of faith. As Catholics, we believe in certain principles and tenets that do not include prophecies of other faiths. We celebrate the mysteries of our faith every Sunday, but more than that, we adhere to the Nicean Creed, our declaration of faith.”
“I still hold to my beliefs,” Scully muttered. “But at the same time, I cannot deny that I have had…experiences that go well beyond what I was taught to accept by the Church. Just as I have come to understand that science, as we conceive of it, may not hold the answers to everything.”
“I would never ask you to deny what you have lived,” McCue replied with an understanding smile. “But at the same time, do you seek to understand what you have experienced through the eyes of faith, or in exception to it?” His smile became warmer. “I remember when you were younger, how you struggled with the concepts of science in contest with the teachings of the Church and the word of God. I should think this is much the same.”
“It’s not quite the same,” Scully said with a sigh. “Science…it’s not hard to see it as creation through the filters of our limited senses. A model, a construct, a tool. At the heart of science is a simple principle that there is some logic or reason, a definable cause, behind all things. Religion deals with belief. There is no conflict, because one is just a way of describing the world...a universe that is a consequence of that which you believe in.”
“Then how is this not the same?” McCue asked with a quizzical expression.
“Because it’s a matter of belief versus belief,” Scully replied with exasperation. “I’ve had visions, seen things that the Church says cannot exist. We’ve had that discussion before, remember?”
“Of course,” McCue acknowledged. “And I still think that it comes down to a personal interpretation. Have you faced these circumstances with your faith clearly in your heart, or have you accepted things regardless?”
Scully chuckled. “You sound a lot like someone I know.”
“Oh?” McCue asked pleasantly.
“A friend,” Scully explained. “Someone who was also telling me that I should be more skeptical of the validity of these claims of prophecy. That I should question the source.”
“Then I would say that your friend is wise,” McCue replied. “Is he or she a person of faith?”
Scully smiled enigmatically. “That’s…a hard question to answer. I’m not sure what she believes, although I know that she has certain notions about fate and destiny. But she does believe in the paranormal, and if I were to guess, I would say that she respects the faith. I don’t think she is a Catholic, or even necessarily Christian.”
“Yet she comes to the same conclusion,” McCue pointed out. “Which may offer you a better example than even I could provide. The fact that someone who doesn’t share in the Catholic belief also finds this prophecy to be questionable.”
“But she does believe that there’s something special about William,” Scully countered. “And he’s done things…moved things without touching them. Survived something that charred everyone around him to the bone. And I’ve always felt as though there was something different about him. Wrong.”
“Must it be wrong?” Father McCue turned towards the nursery. “What you’re saying, if I understand, is that you cannot be sure that William isn’t some kind of miracle. That even if he’s not the product of forbidden science, or some prophecy of unknown origin, then he still might be a miracle of God. Would I be right in saying that?”
Scully was about to shake her head, but she stopped short of the action. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just know that I’m afraid. Constantly afraid of what he might be, and what certain people might do if they found out.”
“Afraid,” McCue repeated. “And when the world offers us despair, He is there to bring us hope.” He regarded her with sympathy. “Did you forget, or think that your troubles and fears were too great for even God to lift them from you?”
“No,” Scully whispered. “No, I didn’t forget.” She looked up at the priest with terrified expression. “I think that part of my fear is that this is something that I was meant for. Something I was destined to endure, something that God has a reason for placing in my hands.”
McCue smiled ruefully. “And that would be a terrible burden. To have a child that could be something truly special, a gift from God to all of mankind…and to constantly worry over his protection.” He looked her in the eye. “How many of us, faced with such a burden, might desire to have that cup pass over them?”
Scully blinked in shock, her eyes wide. “You…you think that’s what I’m doing? That I am trying to give my responsibility for William to my mother?”
“I don’t believe that you would do something like that consciously,” McCue clarified, holding up his hands in apology. “But sometimes we act without being aware of why we are acting. We unconsciously avoid things that remind us of our unwanted duties and responsibilities.”
“I have duties,” Scully spat out. “Such as the duty to find out just what it is we’re up against. And someone has to make sure that Mulder’s work on the X-Files continues.”
“Both of which are being dealt with, are they not, by those currently assigned to the task?” McCue rebuffed calmly. “I can understand your need to have answers, but why do you have to find them? Wouldn’t your friends be just as willing to stand as your advocates?”
That much, Scully had to admit, was the truth. John had proven more than once that he was willing to lay down his life to protect William and discover the truth behind the forces aligned against them, and Monica was just as pledged to his side. Was there a reason that she had to do this herself? A sudden memory flit across her consciousness, and she smiled to herself.
“What is it, Dana?” Father McCue asked softly, tilting his head to one side.
“I was just remembering something,” she explained. “A sermon you once gave, when I was a little girl. It was Mother’s Day, but it was one of those years where Mother’s Day was only a few weeks after Easter. You gave a sermon about Mary, about what it must have been like for her. About stripping away all of the layers of legend and thinking about how it had been, knowing that her son was the Savior.”
Father McCue nodded to himself, a smile forming on his lips. “Ahhh...yes. I still give that sermon, you know, from time to time.” He reached out and took her hand. “Dana, why were you thinking of that sermon just now?”
“The people who took William, who wanted to raise him up with their beliefs, they said that he was a savior,” Scully explained. She sighed, glancing towards the nursery. “And then there’s the way that my mother keeps reminding me that he’s supposed to be special, and I was just trying to remember if this is how Mary felt. If she ever asked for her son to just be like every other child, not something more...something alien.”
“I’ve always thought that she must have been terrified,” Father McCue replied. “Terrified to have been told by the angel of the Lord that she, of all her people, would be the one to bear the savior of all God’s children. Carrying that child, she must have felt proud that she was going to give birth to the savior. Doubt, that she could raise such a child correctly, with her upbringing. Worry, over what kind of future such a child might have under the Roman Occupation. And, yes, perhaps even envy.”
“I don’t want to think that he’ll always be hunted like this,” Scully whispered, almost to herself. “By people who want to use him to their own ends, or kill him and dissect him like some kind of-” She closed her eyes. “And I worry that I’m just not strong enough to protect him anymore. And when you say that I might already know that, in my heart, and that’s why I can’t let myself get too close to him...”
“Just as Mary could only love her son, as much as she might have wished to do more,” McCue mused.
“‘Can’t you see I must be about my father’s business?’” Scully murmured. “That’s what I worry over. That instead of being a child, he’ll be seeing to his father’s legacy. Falling into the same cycle that Mulder fell into, but at an even younger age. No choices, just his damned destiny.”
“Why damned?” McCue asked softly. “Was Christ damned, to follow his destiny?”
“I don’t want to lose him that quickly, not after waiting for the chance to have him like this!” Scully said forcefully. “I don’t want to be waiting for the day when I hear that my son is being hailed some kind of Messiah. I don’t want any of that.”
“But at the same time, a part of you knows that it might happen,” McCue said kindly. “And you want to shield yourself from another loss. It’s a natural reaction, Dana. But you have to ask yourself if it’s the right reaction for your son. You need to consider that by keeping him at a distance, by refusing to commit to him completely, you deny yourself what you’ve been searching for. We know that Mary cherished what time she had to be a mother, even knowing that it would only be for so long.”
Scully pulled her hand away, slowly so as not to make the motion a harsh one. She cradled her head between her hands, rubbing her temples to relieve the tension. “Maybe I’m undermining my own desires. If I really wanted to protect him, I wouldn’t stay here. I would have gone into hiding with Mulder, or found some other way to keep William away from these people. Staying here is an invitation. But every time I think about leaving...” She shook her head. “I just never seem to be able to do it.”
“It may not be the right thing to do,” McCue replied. “God has his reasons for our every action. It may be that your place, William’s place, is here. You simply have to trust that there is a larger plan. You must trust that in the end, you will be rewarded for the faith you have in Him.”
“Maybe once, I could have done that,” Scully admitted. She shook her head. “But I’m not the same person anymore. I haven’t been that person for a very long time.” She chuckled. “Sometimes I wonder if she even existed at all.”
“I know she did,” McCue said, leaning forward to look her in the eye. “And I’m sure that she’s still in there somewhere, behind all of the confusion and doubt. Waiting, perhaps, for the right moment to show you how to be strong in this new life you have chosen.”
“Or the life that was chosen for me,” Scully muttered. She sat back, turning away. “So I guess you’re going to tell me that part of the problem comes from not attending mass regularly.”
“We’ve been through that,” McCue said with a dismissive wave. “Yes, I think that a return to that kind of structure and community fellowship might benefit you. And I certainly believe that arranging for William’s christening and baptism ought to be a priority. But only you can decide to take those steps. And God willing, you will.” He sat back, taking a long drink from his glass.
“Well, I thank you for coming, even if it wasn’t my idea,” Scully said, reaching for her own glass. “My mother meant well.”
“She cares for you very much, Dana, and she loves your son.” The priest sighed, placing his now-empty glass on the table. “She only asked me to come and speak with you out of concern. She knows how deeply you were hurt by Emily’s loss, and she would hate to lose another grandchild because she failed to help you recognize your isolation.”
“I guess I have a lot to think about,” Scully replied. She found herself glancing fearfully towards the nursery yet again. “Maybe, like Mary, I need to love him as much as I can, while I can.”
“That might be the case,” McCue agreed. “But I’m not sure that Mary provides the best example for your situation. At least, not the only example to consider.”
Scully frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“A woman who was barren, and yet gave birth to a son,” McCue reminded her. “A son that would become the living testimony of God’s covenant with Abraham, and would go on to be the father of countless generations.”
“Sarah?” Scully asked. She considered what Father McCue was saying. “I see what you mean, but what do you think I should learn from her example?”
The priest shrugged. “Sarah was granted the ability to conceive Isaac after she had lost all hope of bearing a child with Abraham. It was her loyalty to Abraham that led to that gift from God. But even so, God demanded that Abraham be willing to sacrifice his own son at His command. It was a test of faith, Dana. And we must remember that, even if it wasn’t written, Sarah would have had to obey His will as well. She would have been expected to sacrifice her only son.”
“Only Isaac was saved,” Scully recalled. “And Abraham was promised that Isaac would be the father of so many descendents that they would number more than the stars in the sky.”
“Abraham and Sarah were offered a future that neither of them truly expected,” McCue added. “He thought he was too old to sire children, that his life was drawing towards its end. And Sarah had been barren. But they held to their faith. Isaac was born, and because they were willing to sacrifice that child, that symbol of the future of their people...”
“Their descendents would become the people of God,” Scully breathed. She had the sudden feeling that there was something more to that thought than she realized, but it was lost as her thoughts turned towards another aspect of the lesson. “But the sacrifice of Isaac...an actual sacrifice was still made.”
“Yes, the sacrifice of a ram, brought to Abraham by the angel of God,” McCue replied.
“So one way or another, a sacrifice was required,” Scully reasoned.
Father McCue shrugged. “It might be a mistake to attempt to draw too close an analogy. I think the true lesson is to have faith in God. Just as Mary and Sarah had faith in the Lord and His plan for them.”
“Faith,” Scully murmured.
“I’ve given you a great deal to think about,” Father McCue said, as he stood. “Which is the most I had hoped for. Though, of course, I still hope to see you at mass with your family sometime soon. I know your mother would be pleased.”
“I know,” Scully replied, standing as well. “I promise I’ll think about what you’ve said.”
“Then I think it’s time I let you get some rest.” He pulled her into another embrace. “The peace of the Lord be with you, Dana.”
“And with you, Father,” Scully replied dutifully.
She walked him to the door in silence. For several minutes after he had left, she stood leaning against the end of her couch, staring at the door. His and her words echoed in her thoughts. The angel of God. Mary loving her son until it was time to let him go. Seeing to his father’s business. Sarah and the sacrifice of Isaac. So many descendents that they cannot be counted. Faith and hope for the future.
She rubbed at the tension in the back of her neck as she walked towards her bedroom. If there was meaning in those ancient lessons, then those lessons had company. Even if the prophecies and myths of others stood in conflict against the lessons of her upbringing, there was too much evidence to discount them now.
She lingered at the nursery door, staring in on William as he lay sleeping. A year old. All that time had passed, but looking back on it now, she couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t worried about his safety or concerned over his future. Simply taking the time to love him for who he was had never been a luxury. She wondered if he had been able to sense that space between them, and it gripped her heart with agony at the thought of it.
She knew that something was coming. She could feel it in her bones. She didn’t believe that Mulder was really dead, but if they were willing to kill him, then they were all expendable. It was just a matter of time before their enemies tired of failing in their attempts to remove William from her care, and once that moment came, they would all be expendable. Maybe that was the lesson. Maybe it was all about accepting that the time would come, and making the most of what remained to them. Reaching for every possible chance that was offered. Finding whatever strength remained, as weakened as they might be.
“Happy birthday, William,” she whispered, gracing her sleeping son with a warm and loving smile. She took a moment as she walked into her bedroom to slip off her clothes and slide into her bed. And then, closing her eyes, she fell into a deep and restful sleep, dreaming of a night filled with infinite and countless stars.
