Title: The X Files: The Truth Is Out There
Author: Spooky-Fox-Gurl
Author's Page: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/476167/
Category: X-Files
Genre: Drama/Sci-Fi
Written: 10/30/2005
Words: 3812
Rating: PG-13

Note: I don't own The X Files, but I do own characters that didn't appear in the TV series.


Summary: William Van De Kamp is your average college student, he owns a moped and lives in a stable family. But when strange things start to occur he turns to his new found friends only to discover there is a lot more to his so called simple life...


William Van De Kamp sat at his desk, tapping away nonchalantly as behind him a young blonde girl threw a soft yellow foam ball at his head. She caught the ball and frowned, something was up, usually William would swing around on his chair, grab the ball and pelt her with it.

"Let me guess, you've got a girlfriend?" Ginny Donagon asked.

"I do?" William replied, smiling as he turned in his seat to face Ginny. "Who is she, and when did we start going out?"

"Okay, Mr. Celibacy, spill. What is it that's keeping you up night after night tapping your fingers away down to the bone?" Ginny asked, grabbing William's fingers and looking down at them. They were indeed red and looking slightly sore, but William pulled them back to him forcefully, Ginny let his hand go easily and he hit himself in the face. Rubbing his cheek William turned back to the computer screen, apparently googling something.

"You're googling your name?" Ginny guessed, a large grin on her face, the soft foam ball clasped in his hand.

"We've all googled our own name before, Ginny," William told her, still tapping away quite contented.

"Billy, you really are setting new standards of weirdness for yourself. Are you going to be like this every day?" Ginny asked.

"I'm not googling my-" William began, but a large uproar of barking from outside made him jump in surprise before he rushed to the window. Flinging it open he stepped out onto the balcony that run along the front of the house, Ginny running out after him. A large SUV was parked outside, and someone was throwing something to Alsatian dogs that were locked up in the pen outside.

"Oi!" William said, before he turned around and ran out his room, his footsteps echoing as he ran down the wooden stairs. Ginny stood on the balcony, overlooking the scene as William rushed out into the front lawn, attempting to catch the man throwing meat at the five large hounds. The man took off suddenly, running to the stationary vehicle and opening the drivers door. William was banging on the window now, shouting at him.

"Get out the car! What did you do to my dogs? Get out the car!" William shouted, but he stepped away quickly as the man pulled away and drove off fast. William turned back to the dog pen but all the meat had been consumed, Ginny frowned from her position on the balcony as her friend's computer annouced he had mail.


"It could simply have been a passerby, completely innocent," Ginny suggested as they opened their locker at their workplace.

"Why would an innocent passerby be handing fresh meat out like candy, Ginny?" William asked, looking serious.

"When have you known a passerby to hand out candy? Have you been taking candy of off strangers again, Bill? What did your mom say to you about that?" Ginny asked.

"Ha, ha. Comedic genius, Ginny, brilliance, utter brilliance," William joked dryly. He walked to the reception desk as a rather blatantly bored looking man handed him a package.

"Deliver this to Apartment 1A, The Old Lockman's Building," the man said, feeling slightly sorry for the boy - The Old Lockman's Building was rumoured to be haunted, and strange deaths had happened there. He felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to take the package himself.

"That's on the other side of the city, and you know all I've got is a 'ped, John, can't you pick someone who has a car... Lyle has a car, ask Lyle," William suggested.

"Lyle doesn't value his job as much as you do, now take the parcel to the bleedin' place and do it now!" John said, half-heartedly. He wasn't in the mood for scolding - John was never in the mood for that.

"Fine, but this better mean a raise or something," William said stubbornly.

"Yeah, when the moon turns blue!" John laughed, "you get paid what the rest of us losers do, now get moving!"

William snatched the parcel from his supervisor rather angrily. It was alright for him, he got paid to order him around.

"It's daylight robbery," a gruff voice said, and William turned on his way out to see a tall man with greying hair washing a car outside,a cigarette in his mouth. "You get paid next to nothing for doing the hard work, and he get's paid double the money to watch you do it."

"I don't mean to be mean or offensive in any way, but do I know you?" William asked, lifting the seat of his moped up and putting the parcel into it.

"You should do," the man said simply, and headed inside one of the warehouses that were opposite the back alley of the Parcel Delivery Force.

William frowned and shrugged to himself, the man was obviously a bit of a nutter, perhaps a junkie. He got onto his moped and started it up, wondering where John was sending Ginny off to before he sped off down the road, towards the main road which would lead him to the Lockman's Building.

Washington D.C was a big place, William had discovered that. His parents had moved there when he was five, having grown tired of living in the middle of nowhere. William could understand why, and he agreed moving had been a good idea. William understood a lot of things, he understood the laws of physics and chemistry, and he understood, to an extent, the human mind.

One thing he had never quite understood, nor come to terms with, was why his parents had given him up. He had been told simply he had been raised by a single mother, who had made a hard decision in giving him up. To William it sounded like his mother had been someone fairly young, who hadn't planned for a child, and hadn't wanted one either. His social worker had assured him that his mother had been of a decent age when she gave birth to him, and would be around the age of fifty-two now. William's adoptive parents were younger that, both in their mid-forties, and both very hard workers. William was responsible in his own eyes, an eighteen year old college student who had decided to take up a part-time job working delivering parcels. It wasn't a dream job, but it was the job he would live with before he made the big step into Quantico Training Academy.

Ginny thought her friend was mad, terrified almost that his decision to become an FBI agent would ruin him. His mother had been an FBI agent, a special agent, and William was set on being the same, following his mother in succeeding what she hadn't. When he asked to see his real mother his social worker, Julie, had merely told him she was on the run from the feds herself. William found this interesting, interesting to the point that it was exciting. His mother was a run-away, someone who had done something that resulted in her being wanted by the FBI - wanted for over eighteen years and yet she'd managed to avoid them.

William pulled up outside the old building, feeling a shiver come over him. He knew the rumours, and had heard the tales of so-called survivors, he put it down to people's imagination though. The people who lived in the buildings would be level-headed and down-to-earth, otherwise they wouldn't live in such a scary looking place. It's windows looked like eyes, eyes that were haunted with tales of murder and betrayal. Ignoring the twinge inside him that told him to run for it William put the buzzer for Apartment 1A, feeling an odd sensation of coolness. He felt at home in the old, spooky building as whoever lived up in Apartment 1A picked up the intercom.

"Whose's there?" A man's voice asked, and William looked away from the flower box of dead pansies and looked down at the package.

"I'm from the Parcel Delivery Force, I'm here to deliver a parcel to a Mr Skinner?" William asked, looking up from the label and waiting for a response. The only reply he got was a beep from the intercom, indicating the man had buzzed him in. Opening the door William stepped inside and was giving the immediate impression of somewhere that was desperate need of a dusting. He ran his hand subconsciously through his thick red hair and held the package close to him, as if it would offer a form of protection. He climbed the old stairs to the second floor, where a door with the letter A was on it. There was still a less faded area on the white door that indicated long ago the 1 had stood proudly there in new brass.

"I think it's time to employ a cleaner," William said to himself as he rang the doorbell of Apartment 1A and waited, after a while he rang it again and he heard an exasperated sound from behind the door.

"Jesus, I'm coming alright?" The man snapped bitterly. William rose an eyebrow and immediately formed a judgement on the man. A retired elderly man who lived alone in a building no one else wanted to live in, thus it was cheap and left him more money to spend on buying odd conviences off the television.

"Sorry, sir," William apologised, though his heart was quite plainly not in it. The sound of a latch being lifted worried William - he'd never known of a person who didn't keep their door unlocked. The door opened slowly and William saw no-one at first, before he looked down, shocked to see a man in a wheelchair.

"Ah, yes, I've been waiting for this one for ages," the man said, taking the package roughly and turning around in his wheelchair. William found this in invitation to come in, seeing as the man hadn't yet signed or paid for the package and had left his door open. "Do you know what this is, son?" The old man asked, and William shook his head as the man feebly attempted to open the package.

"Would you like some help?" William offered, always happy to be of service.

"No!" The man said, just as bitterly as when William had rang the doorbell. "I mean, no thankyou," he said, clearly ashamed. It occured to William that this man was so used to people delivering things, demanding money and a signature and leaving that he hadn't been around people for quite some time. His voice seemed worn though, and his eyes seemed haunted. He was dressed in a robe that struck William as quite cliched, a worn tartan robe that seemed as old as the man, and as dusty as the hallways.

The man finally managed to open the package, pulling out a box that was padded with styrofoam peanuts and bubble wrapped. Whatever was inside, William decided, must be either very valiable, very delicate or both. William looked closer as the man pulled a telescope from the padding and set it down on the kitchen table.

"Wow, that looks really expensive," William commented. "It must be top of it's range... may I take a look?" The man struggled with his dislike of the boy and his obvious clumsy nature and trying to appear a kind and warm man. Eventually, however, he let out a sigh and a quick flick of his hand with indicated if William really wanted to then he could. William drew the telescope to him and pushed aside the kitchen curtains, resisting the need to cough from the thick layers of dust on it. He placed the telescope to his eye and looked across the road, immediately able to see a television that seemed as if it could have been as close as within touching reach from his fingers. William took the telescope away and gasped, the building he'd looked into was down the end of the street, and old run down detatched house with it's window-shutters hanging on by just about on hinge each.

"It's incredible, isn't it, son?" The old man asked, as William looked down at the telescope in awe. "You can replace the lens to make it stronger or weaker as well... I suppose you'll be wanting your money and signature now, let me go get my wallet..." William placed the telescope on the kitchen table and headed into the living room, walking along beside a wooden unit. His eyes rested on a picture of the man, who looked significantly younger in the photo.

"You were in the FBI?" William asked, shocked. He looked at the FBI badge pinned proudly to the man's chest in the photo, shining out of the picture as if it was the biggest object in it.

"I was Assistant Director Walter Skinner," the man explained, William had obviously released some pride in the man, for his bitter voice was replaced with something that seemed much more familiar and welcoming. "I was shot down in action though, we lost a good agent that day as well," the man looked at the picture, a sad look in his eye.

"I want to be an agent, like my mom was," William said, looking longingly at the badge on the man's chest. "She was a special agent, well, that's what my social worker said."

"A special agent, huh?" Walter asked, picking some money out of his wallet carefully. "That takes a lot more than just charisma and determination, my son. It takes skill and commitment. The people I worked with were so commited to their work some gave their lives for it."

"I'm Willing to do that, I'm Willing to give my life to complete what my mom started, whatever that is," William said, stubbornly.

"I should hope so," Walter said, then after a brief pause continued on. "Don't believe everything the government tell you though, don't like them play with your mind. Remember to be your own person, son, don't let them make you believe some cock and bull story they come up with." Highly surprised that the man was talking of the FBI this way William merely nodded and took the money graciously. He handed the man the form to sign and Walter caught sight of the boy's name on the top of the sheet, printed badly and misspelt. "William Ver De Kamp?" he asked.

"It's William Van De Kamp actually, the Parcel Force can't spell for toffee," William smiled.

"William Van De Kamp..." Walter repeated, his mouth producing each synabal being utterly precise with the pronoucation. The name was so familiar, and the boy looked just like... No, it couldn't be, it was impossible... But wasn't his adoptive family's last name Van De Kamp? Walter scribbled his signature down on the page and shoved it back at William, seeming as bitter as he was before.

It was him, he knew it was.

"Thank you ever so much," Walter said, looking almost like he'd been cheated. "Good bye now."

"Good bye, Mr Skinner, have a good day," William smiled. Walter knew that smile, that boyish, lopsided grin... It was Fox Mulder's grin. The grin that meant William was only too glad to leave the dusty flat, yet not incredibly so he'd pass up the opportunity of tales of what the FBI was like from Walter.

"Come... come visit anytime, William, I'd love to hear about your wants to be an FBI agent," Walter said, although painfully so. He found it almost wrong that he knew William and yet Dana and Fox would never get to see him. He had enjoyed William's company before he knew who he was, and it was clear to see although William had indeed been raised by his adoptive parents, his true parents personality shone through. "Oh, and there's a tip for you," he said, handing a few more notes over.

"Thanks but it's alright," William said, holding the money back over to Walter. "I'm not allowed to keep my tips anyway... Daylight robbery..." William joked, echoing what he had heard the stranger who had talked to him earlier that day say. "Could I possibly have a drink though? I've come straight from college to work and I'm famished."

"There's some pure orange juice in the fridge and a packet of crisps in the cupboard if you would like them. I won't eat them, I hate ready salted, too much sunflower oil," Walter told the boy, not quite sure what he was doing. William seemed content with the orange juice he'd poured out though, and turned to Walter now as he sipped it.

"Is it true this place is haunted?" he asked, leaning against the sink.

"Would you run a mile if I told you the truth?" Walter asked, watching the boy carefully as he turned and washed up his own cup, before drying it and setting it back into the cupboard neatly. William was a neat freak, and he hated when things were disorganized.

"That means yes, then," William replied, with a smile. "So you believe in ghosts?" He replied, looking at the man who was sitting almost helplessly in his wheelchair. It was hard to believe such a weak looking man was once an FBI agent, strong and fearless.

"I suppose so..." Walter said, he hadn't given the whole 'believing' issue much of a thought as of late, it seemed to slip his mind. He was lifted from his thoughts by the doorbell and William looked at Walter.

"Want me to get that?" he asked, and before Walter could answer William had walked to the door and opened it.

"Walter, I -" A brown haired woman stopped in mid-sentence upon seeing William, she closed her mouth and smiled. "You're not Walter," she observed.

"No, you're right, I'm not. I'm just here to drop off a Parcel actually," William explained.

"Have we met before? You look oddly familiar..." The woman said as Walter came up behind the boy.

"This is William Van De Kamp, Monica," Walter explained.

"And William is now leaving," William smiled, looking back at Walter. "Thank you for the hospitality, Mr Skinner, I may well take you up on your offer of coming around again," he said. He had enjoyed the man's company, even if he did sound slightly paraniod. Taking his clipboard and pen William smiled at Monica and left swiftly.

Opening the door of the building William took his time to marvel at the strength of the telescope, then the thought suddenly occured to him what would an elderly man like Walter possibly want with a highly technical piece of equipment such as that. Feeling rather like he'd just visited an old friend for the first time in several years William put the clipboard into the moped boot, slammed it shut and kicked the moped into gear. He looked back at the old building as he pulled out of the parking lot, and almost instantly he narrowly avoided an oncoming truck. He had no idea where the truck had appeared from, it had seemed to apparate out of nothing. The next thing William knew was his front tyre hitting the sidewalk and his body flying over his handlebars and into black...


"... Could have been the end of him, he was very, very lucky," a faraway voice said. William opened his eyes ever so slowly, it pained him to do so. His head felt like someone was hitting it with a hammer every time he moved, and the cast over his arm indicated it was more than likely to be broken. A nurse stood outside the door, her brown hair falling lightly on her shoulders. William heard a door open and the voice of his father, James Van De Kamp, and the unmistakable sound of his mother's sobs.

"Oh William!" A woman said, flinging her arms around him and sobbing into William's shoulder. "You have no idea how worried we were!"

"Shall I take a rough guess and say very?" William asked, feeling like if he didn't die from his collision with the road he'd die from being squeezed to death by his mother.

"We were! We still are!" Emma Van De Kamp replied, still crying.

"Congratulations, William, you win an easy-bake oven that should infact be renamed easy-break, because all you have to do is turn it on and bam, it's broken!" William said, trying to lighten the mood. His mother just looked sternly at him and continued to sob in her husband's arms. "Tough crowd," William said under his breath. "Hey, has Gin come to visit me yet?" he asked.

His father nodded and pointed to something on the side of the table. William, in extreme pain, picked it up and looked at it. It was a card, and on the front was a devious looking cartoon rabbit eyeing up several female nurse rabbits in the hospital. William smiled, that was exactly like his best friend, full of strange humour and wit.

"She said she'll be back after she's had her dinner, she was really worried about you Bill," James told him, still comforting Emma like she was a sobbing toddler.

"She had damn well better be," William joked half-heartedly. "I suppose I don't get this week's pay because I'm taking a 'holiday'," he said.

"John phoned up, demanding to know where you'd gone off too and what kind of skimpy bar you'd skived off work to be at," James replied. "He sounded truly concerned when he found out you'd been in an accident."

"Yeah, I'm sure he's crying his eyes out right now, wiping his tears on a stash of money," William said dryly. "Hows my 'ped?" he asked.

James looked fearfully down at his son, and William knew instantly his prize posession was ruined. He rolled painfully over, tucking Gin's 'get well soon' card under his pillow.

"I'm tired," he said, and without another word Emma and James Van De Kamp left their son to reminiscence over the loss of his only source of transport.


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