"White Noise" by Caroline O'Connell 

Classification: General.
Category: V, A.
Spoilers: Biogenesis
Set: Post Biogenesis.
Synopsis: Mulder clings to what's left of his sanity 
in hospital. 

Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish he was because I'd be very, 
very nice to him. Thank you Chris Carter, you're a very 
nice man for allowing me to borrow him. 

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

White noise. That's what they call the blank channels on television. White 
noise, peaceful noise - if there is such a thing. A random snow of pictures, 
like cloud watching and a blissful hiss that drowns out the noise of the voices 
invading my mind. 

About a year ago, I would have given anything for Gibson Praise's ability to 
read minds. To know exactly what's going on in a person's head. To find out 
their deep, deep innermost secrets - their truth. I take it back. Instead of an 
all-knowing enlightenment, it's an all-devouring hell. The noise - the voices - 
like a constant screaming crowd and no matter how loudly I scream, they drown me 
out. And I've screamed, dear God how I have screamed. But it doesn't help. 

I wish Scully was here. She'd tell the doctors that there's nothing wrong with 
me. She's a doctor too. They'd have to believe her. That I'm actually perfectly 
healthy and not the raving lunatic they think I am. If they would all just leave 
me alone, I'd be fine. You don't need to be a mind reader to know what they 
think. You can see it in their eyes that they think I'm a first class fruitcake. 
If she was here, what would she think? Would I read her mind? Unfortunately, I 
can't be chivalrous and not listen in on her thoughts. I'm still looking for the 
volume control on this thing. Part of me wants to know - needs to know - if she 
believes me. Part of me is afraid to know. Afraid of what she really thinks. 

She's the most honest person I know and has no problem in conveying her 
sometimes brutally honest opinions when it comes to our work. Does she blame me 
for all that's happened to her? Does part of her hate me for it? I hate me for 
it. Maybe all this is all some kind of cosmic payback for what happened to 
Scully because of me. 

How does Gibson do it and not go insane? I've racked what's left of my mind to 
find an off switch and it came in the shape of a remote control. "Television - 
The drug of the nation". That's a song, or something. I don't know if it was on 
tv, or the radio, or if someone in the midst of the noise was quoting it... 
whatever. It's my drug, my sedative. The noise receeds as I concentrate on the 
pictures and the sounds coming from outside and not inside. And in this loony 
bin the voices in my head say some very strange and frightening things indeed. 
Having studied psychology, I thought I knew how twisted the human mind could be. 
As they say, "You know what thought did...!" See, how bad can I be if I can 
crack a joke? 

Bad. Very bad. I keep telling myself I'm okay and that I can get through this. 
But the minute I summon the strength to tell my doctor, their voices drown me 
out. I can't hear me no matter how hard I try. They're louder, all thinking the 
same thing. "Poorcrazynutsmultiplefbipsychopersonality 
agentmaddisorderslunaticmulder..." Their multiple personalities converging all 
at once on mine. I don't stand a chance against them. No peace. No respite. No 
rest. Sleep doesn't diminish it. I can't sleep with it, so I don't. I sit and 
stare like a moron at the untuned stations. I found concentrating on actual 
programmes and dialogue too much like th voices. There's no peace in silence 
anymore. Silence causes further voices to creep in and insinuate themselves. To 
take up residence in an already overcrowded corner of my mind. They'll all move 
in eventually and I'll have to leave and go somewhere else. 

At least for now, I have the white noise. All I hear is the hiss of nothing, 
like hearing the ocean in a seashell. Calming... centering... solitary. 
Sanctuary. 

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

Thanks for reading. 

Comments, flames, chocolates to: 

caroline_oconnell@ireland.com