Part 6 March 23 3:02 AM Mulder's hotel room "I still smell like meat, Mulder. Let me go wash up first," Scully said as he leaned forward to kiss her neck. "I'm not being romantic. I'm just getting hungry and you smell like US Grade A." "Just what a girl likes to hear at 3 AM." " I aim to please. Go take a shower. I have a lot of information for you." "What good does it do? What Greg Amanti told me shoots my theory straight out of the water." "Not necessarily. Go. I'll order some room service." She emerged freshly scrubbed and looked with disdain over the platter of appetizers of various and sundry levels of unhealthiness. She put up a very small argument over the potato skins before digging in. "Theory #1. As per your phone conversation with me earlier--Mr. Amanti woke up, not all that much worse for wear. He swears he spent the last two days looking into Charlotte's eyes and being instructed to finally make good on the promise he made her so many years before. He remembers waking up from an afternoon nap with the dire need to do so but completely snapped out of it when he awoke briefly after they found him. After you left, I got the son to let me into his father's apartment. There was no suicide note but a scrap book was open on the table. It had pictures of his final scene in the movie 'Sundown at the South Pole." In it, he throws his body over Charlotte's as they lay frozen in a vast wonderland of snow. She's rescued in time. He's not. Bring back some warm and toasty memories, Scully?" She shuddered at the recollection. "Now--on to the next possibly theory. The one I believe might be your personal favorite. I completed the little search you requested. I uncovered some very interesting information. Jonathan Morton first hit it big co-writing a biography on Roberta Fries. You know, the song siren of the 20's? Well, it's allegedly filled with spicy stories. He did three other biographies or corroborated on autobiographies. All of them "tell-alls." His success allowed for his next book--a novel. Very serious--some pretty deep themes. Fell flat. A complete bomb. Nasty, nasty reviews on the net, Scully. Only another writer could slice and dice his work like that. 'Metaphysical claptrap,' was the kindest comment I read. So, this thing with Charlotte is his comeback in the world of celebrity smut." "I thought there might be something there. Hearing an older lady talk about the loves of her life and having that translated to throbbing cocks and tunnels of love is quite a stretch." "Yes, it is. So. . .bring it on home, Scully." "Why? I mean, I'm wrong. All of this information may make him a bit ambitious or even smarmy, but doesn't make him a criminal." "And yet we aren't at Charlotte's home this very minute arresting her mind-controlling star self." "You know we need more evidence than we have." "Perhaps. But I would like to hear you spell out all of your theory. Do it for me. Make me happy." "Fine," she said with a sigh. "His future as a writer is dependent on this book. You're only as good as the last thing you do, and his last work was a failure. This one needs to succeed in a big way. But might not due to the fact that Charlotte is not exactly a household name. She needs more publicity--and the only real way to get it is through notoriety. That's a motive. It’s warped but the deaths of these old men, under mysterious circumstances that lead back to Charlotte, is good for interest in and sales of the book. He has had the opportunity to meet with most of these men. The only one we don't know about it Hank Colby but we can have the Gunmen check into his credit card records. See if he took any flights to New York around that time. That's simple enough." "But these men appear to have killed themselves, Scully. . ." Mulder said, playing devil's advocate with a twinkle in his eye. "You're really getting off on this, aren't you?" "Getting off on it?" "Deriving an inordinate degree of pleasure considering the subject matter at hand." "Humor me." "While these men have all killed themselves, or each other, something-- or someone must have compelled them to do so. Some degree of mind control or. . ." "Or?" He jumped in as she hesitated. "Some. . .transference of power. I don't know Mulder--it's not very scientific but I think--I thought--Jonathan was stealing a certain degree of Charlotte's life force and using it to make these men do what he wanted them to do--in her name. I saw the difference in both their eyes. Earlier this evening, hers were dull to the point of being gray and his were bright, bright green. Later, around the estimated time of Mr. Amanti's rescue, hers were back to green and his were a lot less brilliant. I saw it myself. I think their eyes are visible, physical proof of the phenomena." "I don't know, Scully. Once again, to give him the benefit of the doubt, colored contact lenses can make the eyes look pretty funky." "Maybe." "Still. I'm not raining on your parade. I like this theory. Much better than 'Charlotte did it.'" She smiled at him. "Did we just experience a little moment of transference of our own?" He mock shivered. "I think I need a cigarette." "Well, I'll leave you to it then." She looked up at him, with an expression of uncertainty and just a tinge of fear. A test. A small one but a test to see if he was giving her the freedom he had promised. He leaned forward and put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't pout, Mulder." "I'm not." "That's a definite pout." "I have a well-defined lower lip. Some people find it sexy." "Do they?" She asked, reaching up and running her finger across it. He gave up his pout and smiled. "Good night, Scully. See you in the morning," he leaned down and kissed her lightly. She put her hands into his hair and pulled him closer. She moved her lips away from his and continued her soft puckering movements against the side of his face. He kept waiting for her to either let go or move it up another notch but she seemed content to hold him tightly and just caress his face with her mouth. Finally, she moved her head back an inch or two so she could look in his eyes. "Night, Mulder," she said, gave him another hearty squeeze and left the room. She was back again in a few hours. Fully dressed and yanking the covers off his legs. "Mulder. Come on. We have to go to Charlotte's." "God, Scully. It's. . .what time is it?" "It's 7 already." "7 AM? She will be dead to the world." "It doesn't matter. I have a few questions for her that can't wait." He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't fallen asleep until a couple of hours before and really hoped to take advantage of their later start times for once. "Why can't they wait?" "Because we have a few more things on Jonathan now. I got an e-mail from the Gunmen. Jonathan definitely did fly to New York a few days before Hank's death. He booked a room in a hotel right across the street from that senior club that Hank was known to frequent. There is also a receipt for drinks in the hotel bar that seems a bit much for one person." "That doesn't prove much." "It proves he could have met with him. And, I also had them run his DMV records. Jonathan has green eyes. Natural green eyes." "So?" "So? He wanted to account for that unnatural brightness by suggesting colored contacts. Everyone knows they don't always look natural. But those are his eyes and I think they get brighter when he is. . .exchanging energy with Charlotte. So. . ." "So. . .we should go to her, as opposed to him? Why?" "He's not liable to tell us anything, Mulder. And we can't convict him of anything, either. But she can lead us to his next victim. Perhaps we can either stop the crime or catch him doing. . .something substantial that we can use against him." 8 AM Charlotte Colby's estate "You can't see Miss Colby, sir, ma'am. She's feeling poorly," Charlotte's maid informed them. Mulder felt as if he stepped into an old drawing room drama. "I'm sorry but we have to. Only for a few moments. Dr. Scully can help her if she needs medical assistance." Cecilia frowned but went upstairs to deliver the message. "Think we'll need to get tough?" Mulder asked, a twinkle in his eyes. "I don't think you have it in you, FBI Fox." Cecilia came back down the stairs. "She will see Dr. Dana. Mr. Fox--I'm sorry but you have to stay here." Scully exchanged a quick, resigned look and went up the stairs. Charlotte was propped up against her pillows; red hair in two tight, thin braids; eyes dull and pale. "So, my dear Dana, no mystery between us. . ." she said, defeated. Scully sat on her bed and took the older woman's hand. "There doesn't have to be, Charlotte. It's just not necessary. With or without the trappings, I think you are very special." The cloudy green eyes welled up with tears. "Tell me what's bothering you, Charlotte," Scully said, holding on to her wrist and already beginning to take her pulse. "Just--I feel so tired." She checked the woman's eyes and palpated her throat. She seemed fine, no swollen glands or any apparent signs of illness other than the near lack of distinct eye color. "Is this how you usually feel when your eyes. . .change?" "No. Not really. Maybe a little tired but not this tired." "I need to ask you a few quick questions, Charlotte. I need to know who was the last gentleman you and Jonathan talked about." She frowned. "I talked about him before--a little--but I don't want him in my book. I kept telling Jonathan that." "The 'one that got away?'" "Not exactly. He was the one I loved the most. Tommy--Tommy Jahnson. I loved him--not like I loved the others. I would die for him. I told him as much and I meant it. Every single word. He didn't love me at all. He loved my body. We had an affair. He was married. I had this fantasy that he left his wife and children for me. It was very dramatic. . .as was everything in my life, Dana. I would be stepmother to these troubled children and eventually, when we were all old and gray, they would learn to love me after they realized what a cold fish their mother really was." "And he left you. . ." "No. We were still having an affair when his wife found out. She had a fight with him at the house, packed up the two children and was on her way to her mother's house. She had been drinking all afternoon and never saw the truck as she went into the wrong lane. They were all killed instantly. Tommy never forgave me. Never. That's why I don't want him in the book at all. He's suffered enough." Charlotte lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. Scully went into the adjoining bathroom to get her a drink of water when she heard Charlotte moan in pain. She came out and watched as Charlotte lay deathly still against her pillows. She approached quickly and jumped back a step as Charlotte's eyes suddenly flew open. They were a brighter green than any of the previous times Scully had seen them. Tommy Jahnson's home 9:07 AM Mulder and Scully had sped to the address the LAPD had provided. They knew they would find another victim. They would have to find a way to stop Jonathan somehow. They didn't have to. Tommy Jahnsson had beaten them to it. After bursting through the door they found Jonathan lying on the floor, a single bullet wound directly to the forehead. An old man, Mr. Jahnsson, was sitting on an ottoman, moaning to himself. "It's a man, it's a man. . .it's a man." Scully bent over him as Mulder carefully confiscated the old man's gun. Tommy looked at her. "I saw her eyes. I swear I did. Those eyes. That devil of a woman. She killed my family. She ruined my life. She was right in this room. I swear. Those eyes. And then. . .I killed her. I took her life as she took theirs. My family's. Only. . .it's a man lying there. I didn't mean to kill him. I wanted to kill Charlotte. She said she would die for me. . .I just wanted her to finally do it."