Here is the prologue of my novel-ish thing, it can't rightly be called 
fan-fiction, as it's not about Mulder, Scully, or anyone else to do with the 
X-Files. It was, however, inspired by the X-Files, and Cassie's father is 
rather like the Cancer Man in Musings, only he made much better choices than
CM did. (Alright, so I'm just trying to justify my posting this here, the 
fact is I've only put it here becaause I'd very much like other people's 
feedback-send any comments, or ideas for what could ahppen next, to 
lightkey@Geocities.com. Thanks so much!) There's no aliens, mutants, etc., 
in it, but there is going to be quite a lot of government conspiracy. 
Hopefully, there'll even be a romance, for all you romantics out there. I'll
be posting each chapter as I finish it, so keep your eyes peeled for more
installments. Here's the rather short prologue, and chapter one should be 
here soon. Enjoy! (BTW, I got the title from 'Max', from Scully's little 
speach about why Mulder gave her the keychain for her birthday)

			      "DARE TO DREAM"
 		        
				PROLOGUE					
				  1996

	I lay under the bed, my heart pounding so loud, I thought for sure 
that _he_ could hear it.  
	It appeared that he had heard it, for  he whispered, low enough that 
he thought I couldn't hear him, "There you are, you little devil," and 
started across the room to where I lay, panic-stricken under the bed. 
	 I had never been so scared in my life as I was at that moment, yet 
I wished for it to last forever, as I realized that, after this moment was 
over, that would be it, there would be no more Elizabeth Cassandra  Williams.
I think I stopped breathing, that even my tell-tale heart stopped beating.  
He reached down and grabbed me roughly by my hair, pulling me to my feet.  
	At that precise moment, the door suddenly burst open, and in ran a 
man in a flax jacket, with a gun pointed at my captor. "F.B.I. Drop the 
weapon and back away from the girl" he tersely commanded.  My captor wavered 
for a moment, undecided, before, much to my relief, doing just as the man 
commanded.  
	I watched, spellbound, as the knife fell to the floor in slow motion,
before, after an eternity of falling, finally clattered to the ground. This 
noise, signaling that my ordeal was over, released something in me, and I 
started to cry uncontrollably. The man from the F.B.I. tried to comfort me, 
but it was to no avail. I wanted to stop crying, but I just couldn't seem to.
The F.B.I. man-I realized know who it was, my dad's friend, Bob-didn't seem 
to know what to do. 
	Some paramedics came up after a few minutes, and  Bob gladly handed 
me over to them. They put me on a stretcher, and loaded me into an ambulance.
I thought I saw a sheet- covered body lying on a stretcher as they loaded me 
into the ambulance, but before I could be sure, one of the paramedics jumped 
into the ambulance and shut the door. I suppose the ride to the hospital was 
really quite exciting, they had the siren on and everything, but I was too 
worried and confused to enjoy it. The paramedics had apparently never seen 
someone with my condition before, they didn't quite know what to do. They 
actually seemed relieved when I started to hyperventilate, at least they knew
 what to do there.
	 After an eternity, we arrived at the hospital, and I was being 
pushed through doors and along corridors until we reached a room where I 
was put on an examining table, upon which the paramedics left. It seemed that
 even the doctors had never seen someone who couldn't stop crying before, 
after a lot of conferring, they finally came to the conclusion that I was in 
shock, and gave me a shot, which made me feel woozy,  finally my crying 
stopped, and I slept. 
	The one thing that I remember clearly from that scene is a nurse 
leaning over and asking me "Are you okay Elizabeth?" The only reason I 
remember this is because I wondered how on earth she knew my name. 
	As I slept, I dreamt of my dad. We were  standing together in a large
 field, reminiscing of happy times past. He looked different somehow-younger,
 happier, more peaceful. Suddenly he left, running away across the field. I 
yearned to follow him, yet something stopped me. As I watched, he took longer
 and longer steps, until his feet only touched the ground every eight feet or
 so. Then he wasn't touching the ground at all, but flying, flying through 
the air on opalescent white wings. I looked down at the ground, and saw a 
piece of paper lying there. I picked it up, and looked at it. It was in my 
father's writing, and simply said 2 is 2 many, expect the unexpected, we all 
have dreams, so be careful what you wish for, it might come true, but dare 
to dream. These words meant nothing to me, but I assumed that their meaning 
would become apparent at a later date. Suddenly I was very tired, so I lay 
down and slept. I awoke in a white room,  a woman looking down on me, an 
expression of tenderness and wonder on her face. When she saw me looking 
at her, she quickly turned away to get a thermometer, which she popped in 
my mouth. 
	"Good to see you're awake" she said. "Are you feeling better?" 
Without waiting for an answer, she continued, looking somewhat apprehensive.
"Last night, your father.." 
	"Died" I finished for her, matter-of-factly. She looked surprised, 
but didn't say anything about how I knew. 
	"A doctor's coming in to look at you, then some people are coming in 
to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it." she said.
	 A 'few' questions was a drastic understatement. Answering questions 
was how I spent the better part of the next two days. For the most part, they
 made no sense to me, they were all about my father, for the most part, who 
were his friends, and where did he go, what did he do. I naturally assumed 
that the questions would help to apprehend the killer, but I didn't quite see
what these questions had to do with anything. As time went on, I began to 
wonder just exactly  what my dad had done, and who he had been. . .