Delaying My Nightmares
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I was still in bed when the doorbell rang. I had been awake for a while, but it took me another ten minutes to get out of my pajamas and into some clothes that wouldn’t make me look like an idiot if someone saw them on TV later today.
Then there were all those little things you have to do before leaving your house—brush teeth, comb hair (if applicable), put shoes back on after taking off slippers or flip-flops… It’s amazing how much time can be wasted just getting ready to leave home!
But finally, I made it downstairs with only five minutes left until the scheduled arrival of our guests. The front door opened as soon as I reached the bottom step; two men stood waiting outside: one tall and thin, dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt under his leather jacket, the other shorter and stockier wearing dark glasses despite the fact that it wasn’t even noon yet.
Both looked familiar somehow, though I couldn’t quite place where from. “Hello,” said the taller man cheerfully enough. He held up both hands so we could see he was unarmed. His companion nodded at him without saying anything.
They stepped inside together, followed by their dog who immediately began sniffing around everywhere looking for something interesting to eat.
“This is Mr. D’Agosta?” asked the short guy once they’d closed the door behind themselves. There seemed no reason not to answer yes since he already knew about us anyway. We shook hands briefly. “We’re Special Agent Fox Mulder.”
Mulder? That name sounded vaguely familiar too. And then suddenly everything clicked into place. This must be the FBI agent whose partner disappeared last year. Or maybe this was the same fellow who came here earlier yesterday morning asking questions about the missing girl.
Either way, I felt sure now that these guys weren’t exactly what they appeared to be. Not that I really cared either way. If they wanted to take me away somewhere against my will, well, let ’em try. As long as I got paid first.
The dog stopped its search and sat down next to Mulder, staring intently at him. After a moment, Mulder scratched the animal between the ears. “What kind of dog is that?” I asked curiously.
He shrugged. “A German shepherd mix. She’s called Krycek.” He turned toward the kitchen table and picked up a small black bag lying there. “You’ll find her papers in here along with some food she likes. You might want to give her a treat every day or so. Don’t worry, she won’t bite unless provoked. Now, why don’t you sit down over there while we talk?”
I did as instructed. “So tell me again,” I said, trying hard to sound casual, “why are you interested in me?”
Fox gave me an odd smile. “Because we think you know more than you’ve told us so far.”
That didn’t surprise me. In fact, I would have expected nothing less. Still, it was nice to hear somebody say it out loud instead of having to figure it all out myself. So I decided to play dumb. “Why should I believe you?”
His expression changed slightly. “Let’s start with the obvious question: Why haven’t you reported the disappearance of your daughter to the police?”
It was a good point. I hadn’t done any such thing because I figured that nobody else would care. Besides, I thought, what difference does it make whether or not anyone knows about this? Maybe I’m wrong, but I doubt very seriously that anybody will ever come looking for her.
“Well…” I hesitated. “Actually, I tried calling the cops several times right after she went missing, but they never bothered answering the phone. When I showed up at the station, they acted like I was wasting their time. Said I needed to call 911 first. Which I did, of course, but they hung up on me!”
Agent Mulder raised his eyebrows. “911?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s the emergency number. The only problem is, that I live in New Hampshire, which isn’t part of Massachusetts. Anyway, I guess the operator assumed I meant 9-1-1, the local police department. So I called back three or four times, each time explaining the situation to the dispatcher.
Each time I was given the same advice: Call 911 first, then report the incident to the nearest precinct. Finally, I started wondering if maybe I dialed the wrong number altogether. So I kept calling different numbers until I found one that worked.
By that time, however, it was almost midnight. Nobody answered the phone. No matter how many times I called, no one ever took my calls. Eventually, I had to go to bed.”
“And when you woke up the following morning, your child still wasn’t back home?”
“No, she was gone.”
“How old is she?”
“She’s eleven years old.”
“Did she seem upset or frightened during the night?”
I shook my head. “Not particularly. She always sleeps late on weekends, especially Sundays. Usually, she doesn’t wake up till past ten o’clock or so. But this particular Sunday she slept later than usual. It was around noon before I finally managed to rouse her from her slumber.”
“Where were you sleeping yourself?”
“In the living room. On the sofa.”
“Were you worried about her being alone in the house?”
“Of course! Who wouldn’t be?”
“But you couldn’t get hold of her by telephone?”
“Right. The only person who could reach her was her father—me. Even though she has a cell phone, she usually leaves it plugged into the charger overnight. We keep telling her to unplug it once she goes to sleep, but she just ignores us.
Every few months she forgets to charge it completely, and then she can’t use it anymore. Sometimes she even loses track of where she left the damn thing. Then she gets mad at herself for losing it, and starts crying. Last week she lost hers twice within two days. Once in school, another time at the mall. Luckily both times someone found them and handed them into Lost & Found.”
Mulder looked thoughtful. “Do you remember anything unusual happening last Saturday evening?”
“Like what?”
“Anything strange or unexpected. Anything out of the ordinary.”
My mind raced through the events of the previous weekend. There really weren’t too many things worth mentioning. My wife and I had spent most of our free time watching movies together. That’s pretty much standard fare for couples these days; everybody seems to do it. And since we’re both movie buffs, it’s something we enjoy doing quite often.
The only other noteworthy event occurred early Friday afternoon. After work, I stopped off at a convenience store near my office building. While there, I bought some beer and chips. As soon as I got home, I opened a bottle of Budweiser while my wife poured a couple of glasses of wine.
Not long afterward, she announced that she wanted to watch TV. Since I’d already seen everything on the DVR, I suggested that we rent a DVD instead. At first, she refused, saying she preferred to stay home rather than go out somewhere.
However, eventually, she relented. In fact, she seemed more interested in renting DVDs than actually watching them. Soon enough, she fell asleep on the couch, leaving me all alone with nothing better to do than drink myself silly.
That was basically the extent of the excitement over the weekend. Nothing special happened. Or so I thought…
***
After Agent Mulder finished asking questions, he asked me to wait outside for a moment. He said that he needed to speak privately with my wife.
When I returned to the waiting area, I saw him talking to Mrs. Kowalski. They appeared to have reached an agreement. Apparently, she agreed not to press charges against me. Instead, she would simply tell the authorities that I had been acting strangely lately. According to her, I had become increasingly paranoid and delusional. This was apparently due to my ongoing obsession with finding my daughter.
Mrs. Kowalski also told Mulder that she believed that I might be suffering from postpartum depression. She claimed that she knew several women who suffered similar symptoms after giving birth.
Although they didn’t suffer any serious mental problems, their behavior became erratic and unpredictable. Some even went so far as to harm themselves or others.
As soon as Mulder heard this, he thanked Mrs. Kowalski profusely for taking care of my case. Then, without further ado, he turned to me and apologized again for having wasted everyone’s valuable time.
He explained that although I hadn’t committed a crime, my actions did constitute grounds for psychiatric evaluation. If necessary, I would need to undergo treatment under court order. To make matters worse, if I continued behaving erratically, I risked becoming a danger to society. Sooner or later, I may end up hurting somebody else.
Although I understood his reasoning, I felt like screaming: What kind of world are we living in? How am I supposed to live my life now?!
Agent Mulder assured me that he would take steps to ensure that no one ever learned about my situation. He promised to see to it personally that nobody discovered the truth behind my disappearance.
I tried to thank him for helping me, but he waved away my gratitude. All he cared about was getting back to work. Before heading out of the station, he gave me a business card. It read: Special Agent William F. X. Mulder, Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Then he walked briskly toward the exit. When he passed through the door, I noticed that he was wearing sunglasses.
It took me a minute before realizing why. His eyes were bloodshot red.
***
Over the next three weeks, I kept receiving visits from various government agencies. First came the FBI, followed by the Department of Homeland Security, the CIA, and finally the IRS. Each agency interrogated me separately. None of them bothered to inform each other of what they had discussed during their interviews.
Consequently, none of them shared information regarding my background, personal history, or current circumstances.
All of them insisted that I remain silent until they completed their investigations. Of course, when pressed for details, I couldn’t help revealing certain facts. But whenever possible, I made sure to keep mum. The fewer people know about me, the safer I’ll be.
For example, I never mentioned my past employment at the National Institute of Health. Nor did I mention my relationship with Dr. Walter Skinner. Both men could easily identify me as the man responsible for abducting Dana Scully’s baby. Therefore, I decided to omit those parts of my story. Besides, I wasn’t exactly eager to talk about either subject anyway.
In addition, I refrained from discussing my recent trip to New York City. That way, I wouldn’t reveal anything useful to anyone.
On top of that, I avoided mentioning my connection to the mysterious woman known as “the Cigarette-Smoking Man.” For obvious reasons, I didn’t want to give him any reason to come looking for me.
And then there was the matter of my missing daughter. My silence on that topic should’ve been self-evident.
Despite my best efforts, however, I still managed to inadvertently slip up once or twice. In retrospect, I can only blame myself for failing to maintain complete secrecy. After all, how hard is it really to remember everything you say?
The first time I unintentionally revealed something important occurred shortly after my interview with the FBI. As part of my therapy sessions, I began visiting a psychiatrist named Dr. Thomas Sato. During our initial meeting, he informed me that he specialized in treating patients afflicted with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
According to Dr. Sato, PTSD often manifested itself in two ways. One type resulted from witnessing traumatic events firsthand. Another stemmed from hearing about such incidents secondhand. Either way, the condition caused victims to experience flashbacks, nightmares, and recurring memories. These symptoms usually persisted long after the trauma actually happened.
Dr. Sato warned me that some forms of psychological damage remained dormant for years. Others resurfaced unexpectedly. And yet others reappeared suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere.
“You’re lucky,” he added. “Your symptoms aren’t severe enough to warrant medication. However, your case does require close monitoring. You have to understand, Mr. Langford, that these kinds of conditions don’t just go away overnight. They tend to linger around for quite a while.
This means that you mustn’t expect an immediate cure. On the contrary—you shouldn’t even hope for one. Instead, focus on accepting reality as it stands right now. Learn to cope with whatever comes along. Because sooner or later, things will get better.”
After listening carefully to Dr. Sato’s advice, I asked whether he’d heard anything new about my daughter. Unfortunately, he told me that he hadn’t received any updates since my last visit. Then again, he said, not much progress had been made over the previous few months.
As far as I know, Agent Mulder was still searching for my child. Meanwhile, Dr. Sato reassured me that he would continue working diligently to locate her.
During subsequent meetings, I repeatedly brought up the issue of my missing daughter. At times, I also inquired about the whereabouts of Agent Mulder himself. Yet despite my repeated attempts, neither agent showed up at his office. Not surprisingly, this led to more questions than answers.
Why weren’t they available for questioning? What were they doing instead? Had they given up on finding my daughter altogether? Or perhaps they simply lacked sufficient resources to conduct a thorough investigation. If so, where else might I look for clues?
How many other agents were involved in the search? Where did they operate from? Who supervised them? Did they work alone, or did they coordinate their activities with local law enforcement officials? Were there any leads worth pursuing? Was there any chance whatsoever that my daughter was alive somewhere out in the world?
The End