"That's what I thought," she agreed. "But I can't understand what connection there is between any of the people taken here. The question is, do the townspeople know? The ones who weren't kidnapped? Is it really possible that there is a town-wide conspiracy, or is there someone orchestrating this that they trust--or who's paying them off--so they won't ask questions? Surely someone's noticed something."
"Hannah Montana?" Her eyebrows raised. Oh, Mulder. "Mulder, I think that's a television show." She'd been flipping through the TV and caught about five minutes of it. There was some perky girl who wore a blond wig and had a Southern accent, and she'd been relieved that at least one thing never changed--that is, how terrible children's TV shows were. She rounded a corner and actually stopped in her tracks when she saw Mulder, suddenly hit with the fact that he was there. It was really him.
"Mulder," she said quietly into the phone, "I'm here." She hung up, but couldn't bring herself to take the first step towards him, as though he'd dissolve into thin air like a mirage if she moved closer.