Weft -
Sunset
by Amirin
I had breakfast at the inn. It was ready for me the instant I showed up,
along with another set of instructions. Three hundred dollars in small bills.
And a leather jacket just like Alex's. It wasn't his. I checked. No hidden
zipper in the left sleeve to accommodate the prosthesis.
I spent the day on foot, breaking in the new Nikes that fit like someone had
made them from casts of my feet, they were so exactly the right size. Even
down to the fact that my left foot is half a size larger than my right. And he
knew that. I don't even want to think about how he knew that.
The day was wonderful. I hit the places Alex suggested I hit, ate at the
restaurants he recommended I eat at, and saw the sights he asked me to see for
him, so I could tell him about them later. Don't ask me why I just went along
with it all. I haven't got a fucking clue.
I even bought some clothes at the stores he preferred, since I hadn't packed
for this many days, originally. I trusted the clerks to make sure nothing
clashed. Paid cash for everything. Didn't touch my plastic, as per his
instructions. Again.
Anyway, the weather was cool, the sun warm, and it felt so damned good. I
spent some time jogging up and down the beach in the evening after dinner,
waiting for the sun to set. I was watching the red rim hit the horizon when my
cell rang and I found myself scanning the beach for him and marveling at his
timing.
"Mulder."
"You're smiling."
"Where are you?"
"Not there."
"How far is that from 'somewhere else'?"
His laughter accompanied my sitting down on cool sand and I sighed as I got
comfortable.
"It's a time zone or two from 'somewhere else', actually. Is the sun going
down?"
"Yeah. It looks incredible. Like someone set off a C-4 explosion in a
paint factory."
"Jesus, Mulder." More laughter. "I wish I was there."
"Why aren't you?"
"Don't ask."
"Umm, working?"
"That's one word for it."
"Can I ask why you're doing this?"
"Can I ask how you're feeling?"
"What are you, my assassin-confessor?"
"Funny, Mulder. Answer the question."
"I feel pretty good. Better than I should, anyway."
"And how should you feel?"
"Like shit and guilty."
"For how long?"
"I... dunno."
"If you ask me, you've felt like shit and guilty for too damned long,
already."
"I didn't ask you."
"I know. But if you're feeling pretty good, then that's why I'm doing
this."
"You are so full of shit."
"Did you have a good day?"
"Yeah. Actually, I had a great day. Wandered around Conner's Point, had
ice cream at Maggie's Soda Shoppe and Bookstore."
"Did you meet Buster?"
"Shit. You know this place, don't you? Hell, I damned near sat on
Buster."
"The burgundy winged back chair next to the grandfather clock."
"I'll be damned. Were you there?"
"No, that's Buster's favorite seat. Anyone else sits there, he stares at
them until they move."
"I was not about to move just because a sixteen pound Russian Blue was
staring at me."
More laughter. "What'd he do to you?"
"He hissed at me, Alex. And he untied my shoelaces."
"Poor Fox."
"Found a great book, though."
"Yeah?"
"An early edition of Peroskov's poetry."
"How early?"
"You've heard of Peroskov? Shit. 1952."
"Damn, I'm impressed."
"So am I. He's a little obscure."
"And depressing."
"Not too depressing."
"Mulder, for Christ's sake. Russia. Siberia. Winter. Starvation. A body
count that numbered in the dozens. Religious persecution. Depressing."
"He wrote a great poem about vodka. And one about blue lights in the sky
over Siberia."
"Figures that that poem followed the one about vodka."
"How'd you hear about him?"
"My father admired his work."
"Yeah? Mine, too."
"How's the lobster?"
"Huge. Wonderful. It's Maine."
"Good. Good."
"What's wrong?"
"I may not be able to reach you for a while. I've got...things to take care
of."
"I'm a big boy, Alex. I can take care of myself, you know."
"I know. Shit, I know."
"So what's the problem? You've got somewhere to send me and you think I
won't go if you can't check up on me?"
"Will you go?"
"Yeah, probably."
"Why?"
"Sorry, that's my question. And you still haven't answered it."
"Are you enjoying the ride?"
"Yeah. So far. It's been a hell of a lot of fun, actually. Very normal."
"Normal is fun? I'll have to remember that."
"For me, normal's not normal. And not normal usually involves unpleasant
things. So, yeah. Normal is fun."
"Things are going to get a little more normal, then."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"Get a good night's sleep; you're off bright and early tomorrow. Can you
drive a stick?"
"Yeah, why?"
"You'll see. It'll be at the bed and breakfast in the morning. Just trade
keys with the delivery man. Instructions in the glove box."
"Got it. Can I ask you something?"
"Always. I may opt not to answer, but you can always ask."
"When are you going to start letting me pay my own way?"
"Actually, you're sort of on your own for the next couple of days.I hope the
cash holds out. If not, I'll make it up to you."
"Alex, be serious. I mean, this can't have come cheap..."
"Shut up, Fox. Believe it or not, I'm enjoying it, too."
"Vicarious normal?"
"You got it."
"Okay."
"Sun down?"
"Yeah. Gorgeous. Sorry you missed it."
"No more than I am. I'll be in touch."
"Yeah. I'll miss you."
"Mulder. I'm hanging up."
Alex reserved a room for me under yet another name in a nice bed and
breakfast about three miles inland from the beach. Said it was perfect jogging
distance in the note I found on the nightstand. One step ahead of me. So what
else is new.
