"Opposite Poles"
RATING: PG-13
CONTENT: alternate universe, case file, nothing overtly paranormal
SPOILERS: anything goes at this point, takes place in the future
"Opposite Poles" by Rory D. Cottrell (CretKid@aol.com)
Disclaimer: This story thread was lovingly borrowed from Juliettt, and since she let me run with it, she deserves a lot of credit. This is not technically part of Juliettt's Marriage series, an excellent series if you ask me, I just borrowed her house, her departments, and the kid she gave our heroes. This is set sometime in early February, 2001. Reference is made to both the Marriage series stories and Stakeout series stories (thanks to Sheryl Martin, who initially started that wonderful thread), but this definitely stands on its own.
Now before I get flamed for writing a romance, this is just a one-time foray into insanity. The idea got stuck in my head after reading some of Juliettt's stuff, and things just sort of tumbled from there. I am still a firm believer in UST, and that the relationship on the show should stay platonic. And now that that is said, this story does focus mostly on Scully (I'm working on Mulder stories too; I'm an equal opportunity steam roller -- why should one character get to go through the emotional ringer in all of my stories?) Sorry, I have more in common with Scully; it's easier to write for her. (Who would have guessed my Irish Catholic upbringing, my undergrad degree in (geo)physics, and extremely skeptical nature would come in handy?)
Written off and on over the course of the last semester when I didn't feel like doing my Material Properties of Deformed Solids (let's stick play-dough in a vice and see what happens?) homework. And it never did get handed in. We must have our priorities, after all.
All characters are borrowed and used without malicious intent. FOX Broadcasting owns Mulder and Scully, though this alternate universe belongs to the fans, most specifically Juliettt in this instance. So there.
Songs and their respective artists (Kermit's "Rainbow Connection", Indigo Girls' "Mystery", and anyone else I've forgotten) appear without permission and with the utmost respect.
I recommend the following stories, if you have no idea what's going on: Juliettt's "Life Changes", "Success", and "Lullaby for a New Generation".
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"Opposite Poles" Part 1
Quantico, Virginia
Monday, 5:47 PM
Dana Scully Mulder sat down with every ounce of relief her tired bones could muster, leaning back into the old wooden desk chair that had been around longer than she could remember. The arms were well worn to a lighter shade of brown, sun bleached from years of sitting in her father's den. She had sort of appropriated it when her mother was cleaning house a few years back. It fit the love-it-or-lump-it decor of her lab: the gunmetal gray desk that was bigger than a battleship, the cement floor and the oh so attractive water drains underneath the autopsy table.
She pulled off the gloves and the glasses, closed her eyes to rub away the growing headache beating inside her skull. It had not been a good day. Hell, it had not been a good week, period. Two bodies in the freezer in as many weeks, a case the VCS had been hard pressed to crack. She had been called in to assist, on top of her already heavy caseload, in the hopes that she would find something the others had not.
In medical school, Dana Scully earned a reputation of a cast iron stomach. But this week, it was as if that hull had corroded through, leaving huge pits in her armor. She *did not* like doing autopsies of children.
<They're not exactly children, Dana,> her inner voice reminded her. It was the only thing that kept her lunch down.
"Agent Scully?"
Opening her eyes, she leaned forward in the chair, placing her forearms on the desktop. She smiled tiredly at the man in the doorway, taking a moment to glance at the clock on the wall behind him. In fact, she had expected him to show up earlier than this.
"Agent Jenkins, to what do I owe this pleasant visit?" she said, jovial. Not that she blamed him, even if he was the one to ask for assistance with the case. It wasn't his fault the victims were all young girls. It wasn't his fault that she was the only pathologist his ASAC trusted with the evidence.
Jenkins nodded towards the empty autopsy table. "Done already? I thought Cunningham was out of town?"
Scully shrugged. "He is. But there's nothing much to say. Cause of death was a bullet to the stomach. She bled to death."
"How long was she in the water?"
"Two, three months. The body was nearly frozen when she got here. Lack of decomposition makes it difficult to say exactly."
"Bullet recovered?"
Nodding, Scully stood and handed her report to him. "And sent to ballistics. I doubt you will find a match, if the pattern holds true. Even I could see that the twisting was different on this one compared to the reports you've shown me."
Jenkins leaned against the door jamb, thumbing through her report. "Anything to connect it to the Singer ring?"
The Singer ring. It sounded so innocuous, so safe. The first body found had been that of Hanna Singer. Barely out of highschool and living on the streets, she was found dead outside an abandoned warehouse. She had bled to death. There was evidence that she had just delivered a baby, but there was no baby to be found. Other bodies had been found over the past six months, all teenagers, all showed signs of recently giving birth, either strangled, shot or bled to death.
"Other than the fact she's a teenage runaway dead within hours of giving birth. I suppose whoever did this to her didn't feel she was bleeding to death fast enough and decided to quicken the pace."
Jenkins face paled slightly, eyes cringing at the thought. She had had the same reaction.
"There has to be something."
If she didn't know better, she would think Jenkins was desperate. She would be too if one of the largest cases to hit the Violent Crimes Section was unceremoniously dropped in her lap with no rhyme or reason.
"Maybe--"
Jenkins jumped at the bait. She hadn't meant to string him along, but after working with Fox Mulder for so many years, it was the only way to keep one step ahead of him whenever the occasion arose. Rising from her seat, she walked over to a filing cabinet, opened the top drawer to pull out a manila envelop. He followed like an eager puppy.
"Oh, please, say you have something I can use, please oh please."
She opened the flap on the envelop, pulled out a plastic evidence bag. "This was found caught in the victim's hair." She held the bag up to the light.
Inside was a small, simple gold chain. No ornamentation, no medallions. A simple, now broken, clasp. It was about fourteen inches long, oxidized and tarnished with exposure to the elements.
"Laura Kelly, the body found last week-- she was strangled with a thin leather strap. I found pieces of a chain similar to this inside the deeper lacerations left behind by the strap. The links are about the same size."
It was a long shot. There was no evidence of any jewelry, necklaces or otherwise, in the other cases. She had already checked the autopsy and police property reports. It could have been a coincidence. But in her line of work, coincidence was rarely the norm.
"Dana, you are a godsend."
She could feel a blush rise in her cheeks, the curse of her Irish heritage and an inborn modesty that rested on the shy side of embarrassment. Mulder found no end to his amusement in that little character trait.
"Good news, I take it?"
Scully's head whipped at the sound of the new voice. She wasn't used to so many visitors down in her lair that late in the afternoon.
Assistant Special Agent Thomas Chatterton leaned against the door jamb this time. He was older, graying, a field agent of superior talent in his day with the VCS, now regional head of the DC office. He was one of the few agents that still wore a three piece suit. There was a fatherly look about him; unkempt curly locks of hair tumbled off the top of his head in a way that reminded everyone of the lost uncle only seen at Christmas, the one that had the grand gifts for everyone and even grander stories to tell.
"Andy, run that report upstairs, will you?"
Jenkins puzzled look probably mimicked the one Scully was sure she was wearing at the time. He took the report in hand and headed out the door. Chatterton shut the door to an inch of closing.
Scully went back to her desk, offered him a cup of the stale coffee sitting in the coffee maker on the table behind her desk. Chatterton declined, taking a seat instead.
"Good work, finding that chain. Should help a lot with this case."
She raised an eyebrow in response, taking a sip of stale coffee, cringing at the bitter taste. She reached for the creamer next to the pot. "It may not be that much of a lead. No other necklaces were found at the other crime scenes, or on the bodies."
"But the local coroners may not have been as thorough as you are, Dana. That's why I insisted Andy ask you to assist us. I knew you would find the missing link, pardon the pun."
"You're forgiven. Now, cut to the chase. Why the visit?"
"How's the family, Dana? Well? How old is that boy of yours? Two?"
"Fifteen months," she replied, a little suspicious of his intentions. He was trying to butter her up for the big blow, and he knew she knew it.
"Walking and talking?"
"And tearing up the daycare looking for stuffed ET's."
Chatterton chuckled, sharing in the private joke. The VCS had sent William a stuffed ET doll just after he was born with the inscription, "Here's something Mini-Mulder can practice with". Chatterton delivered it himself, with a note of apology for the rather poor taste of his agents. He genuinely admired Mulder's work in the VCS, was sad to see him go when the X-files emerged as Mulder's, and eventually her, life's work.
"I need to ask you a favor, Dana--"
"Why do I get the feeling that I'm not going to like this?"
"It should only be for a few days."
Scully grimaced. It was the classic set up line for an out of town assignment. She was tempted to shake her head outright before hearing him out.
"Dana," Chatterton said, leaning in, looking very much like her father once did whenever he tried convince her that moving again to a new base wouldn't be that bad. "Dana, I really need your help on this case. And I realize that you're not exactly intrigued with active field status with us right now. But you I trust with this case, not some of these yahoos I've got under me. They're good men, but they all have more than enough to do with this case here in DC"
"Why me?" she asked. He hit the nail right on the head with the assumption she didn't quite like the idea of leaving for even just a few days. Not since William was born.
She didn't know exactly when her attitude or priorities changed. Field work had been her life after she first joined the FBI. The time when the X-files had been disbanded, and she was stuck behind an autopsy table teaching forensic science to up and coming agents who didn't care one way or another, was about the worst time in her life. <No, take that back. When you thought Mulder was dead, that was the worst time in your life.>
William Fox Mulder changed everything, though. Neither she nor Mulder wanted to leave home or each other for prolonged periods of time. Luckily, her mother lived less than an hour away and was a more than willing baby-sitter for her newest grandchild.
Always in the back of her mind there was that nagging feeling that THEY were still out there. THEY had tried before to separate them, numerous times in fact. THEY had her convinced that Mulder was dead, and she knew what lengths THEY would go to in order to make their schemes seem real. Granted, it had been a long time since they were involved with government cover-ups. Skinner had seen to that, warning them whenever possible. They had been lulled into a false sense of security once; she never wanted that to happen again.
<You're over-reacting. It's a simple assignment.>
"I have a feeling that this ring is picking up and moving north," Chatterton was saying. "Another girl was found in Baltimore two weeks ago. And we have reason to believe that it may have spread as far north as Philadelphia."
"There's another body?" It was more of a statement than a question. Chatterton's expression said it all.
Chatterton nodded mournfully, retrieving a folded envelope from an inner pocket. "Came over the wire from the Philadelphia office. Fresh body, found in an alley near what is locally known as Hooker's Row. The police won't release the body, they're fighting us tooth and nail for jurisdiction. The only reason I got wind of the case is because I have a contact in the coroner's office. They've agreed to let us do the autopsy, but they won't send us the body. I want you to go up there and take a look. If it's the same MO, then it's federal jurisdiction, and we can go to town with this."
Scully closed her eyes, hoping that would get her point across that she really did not want the assignment. But Chatterton was still staring at her when she opened her eyes again. She couldn't say no, despite how much her brain and stomach said to do so.
As if reading her mind, Chatterton added, "I know how much you hate these types of cases. I don't like them either. My youngest is that age. This is a tremendous break for us. We haven't been able to recover a body so soon after death. All I want you to do is run the autopsy, talk to the family, get some background information, and report your findings to me. Two days, three days tops. I promise."
She wanted to say no. She <really> wanted to say no.
"I'll leave tomorrow morning."
"Thank you, Dana. I really appreciate this."
<You should have said no.>
"Yeah, well, my standards in motel living have gone up. Be prepared to validate decent lodging in Philly, and phone calls home."
Chuckling, Chatterton lifted himself out of his chair, reaching into another pocket to extract another envelope. "Here's the name of the man in charge of the investigation, Andrew Boothby. He's an old friend, he'll treat you right, or I'll have his head. He'll be expecting you around 11 o'clock tomorrow. Go home, give that kid of yours a hug for me."
"William or Mulder?"
"Both."
* * * * *
Fox Mulder stood at the kitchen island, dishtowel across his shoulder, carving knife making quick work of the left-over roast beef. The gravy was simmering on the stove, the potatoes warming in the oven, William's peas sitting in the microwave, and the home made bread that Margaret had brought over the day before ready by the toaster oven. It was something he learned to prepare while at Oxford; quick, simple, and would be ready before Scully got home.
He had planned it as a surprise, after she had been called to work late at Quantico that day. Usually he would order out and have something ready and waiting before she got home, but today he thought a home-cooked meal would be better appreciated.
Still, he and their "little man" brought Mommy chicken soup to her desk for lunch today. William even offered to feed her, sitting in the center of her desk, holding out the spoon upside down, with the lop-sided grin Scully loved so much. Their son really knew how to turn on the charm at the drop of a hat.
He felt something brush up against his pant leg. It pushed incessantly at his knees. Mulder looked down to see his toddler son trying to climb his leg, with a plastic ring in one hand and a sippie cup in the other.
"Well, what do we have here?" Mulder wiped off his hands on the dishtowel, placed the knife across the far end of the carving board. He knelt down to see what treasures his son had for him today. William presented the sippie cup first. Mulder took it, figuring it was left over from the morning's breakfast dishes, though how it got in the living room was beyond him. Then William shifted the plastic ring to his right hand, then handed it to Mulder. Turning, William waddled back towards the living room.
"Hey, where are you going?" Mulder asked, taking a second to check the gravy on the stove before following his son down the hallway. For a fifteen month old, he was pretty quick on his feet.
Mulder rounded the corner in time to see William duck into the box-turned-playhouse. For some reason, the simple things amused their son more than the expensive toys his grandparents, aunts and uncles showered on him. Scully had him downstairs in the basement one afternoon as she folded laundry when he found one of the large boxes from their new computer. He spent hours opening and closing the flaps, putting his toys in it, then taking them out again.
"Now, if only we could get you to put your toys away with that much enthusiasm," Scully had said after he cut out a little door and a window for William to use as easy access.
William popped his head through the top of the box, turned around until he found his father's eye. He held a red plastic ring above the flap, then dropped it. The red ring slid down the flap and hit the hardwood floor with a resounding plop. William leaned on tip toes to see where his ring had gone, then ducked back into the box to retrieve another. Mulder knelt down next to the box, sending the red ring in through the little window. It was part of a little game they always played; `Mailbox` was what Scully called it. It could go on for hours if William got his way.
From the front hallway, Mulder heard the distinctive click of the front door opening and closing, his wife shedding her coat and briefcase. William popped his head up from the innards of his little fortress, all smiles at the familiar sound of his mother coming home.
Scully slowly walked into their living room, a tired smile on her face. Mulder gave her a quick peck on the cheek as she sat on the foot stool. Her boy held up his arms to be lifted from his cardboard play pen.
"Whoa, you are getting to be a big boy now, aren't you," she said, standing him on her knees.
"Bye!" William exclaimed, planting a wet, sloppy kiss on her cheek.
"We really need to expose him to a larger vocabulary," Mulder said, hoisting their son up over Scully's head as he carried him towards the kitchen. "We're fixing dinner. Isn't that right, kiddo. We're fixing dinner for Mommy."
"Bye!" William cried again.
"You're cooking?" Scully called from the living room. "I thought you were going to order out tonight."
Mulder turned just as he heard his wife walk into the kitchen, just so he could see her expression. Not only would everything be ready at the same time, but he also managed to keep the kitchen clean in the process. No strange odors coming from the stove, or the garbage disposal where wasted efforts would have found their way. Honest to goodness food, nutritious, all four food groups. She stood, open mouthed and awe struck. He loved surprising her. Setting William on the floor, he picked up the knife once more, replacing the dishtowel across his shoulder.
"I'm impressed. With left-overs no less." William toddled into her legs, begging to be picked up once again. Scully leaned over, and with an exaggerated groan lifted her son into her arms.
"I wasn't a completely helpless bachelor, you know," he quipped, resuming his carving of the roast beef. He watched as his wife checked each pot and pan on the stove top, the oven door and the microwave. "Shaved roast beef with gravy on your mother's home baked bread, baked potato for us and peas for the kid." He popped two pieces of bread into the toaster oven.
"Bye!" William squealed.
"No bye. No car. We're staying home tonight," Scully told her son, trying to maintain a firm hold on his squirming body. She finally resorted to putting him back on the ground, letting him roam to whatever had caught his attention. "I'm going to go change," she announced, tousling her son's hair as she passed.
William started to follow, then something near the floor cabinets caught his eye.
Mulder watched, amused at the absolute lack of attention span their son held. Margaret once said they should have named the child Curious George. Not surprising, considering the parentage. William waddled over to one of several low slung drawers near the pantry door. Soon after William learned to walk, they had spent an entire weekend baby-proofing everything in sight, since once he started walking, he started exploring. Everything. Every drawer. Every cabinet. Every corner and every crack. It wasn't soon after that first weekend when they found towels and Tupperware strung out on the floor.
This time he found a drawer that had not been completely closed. A slight patch of pink was peaking out of the side. William pulled on the material to open the drawer, and out came an oven glove drawn like a pig.
Oven glove. Dinner time. William brought his prize to Mulder's feet.
"Thank you," Mulder said, taking the glove. "Can you bring Daddy the frog? Bring Daddy the frog."
Sure enough, William went back to the drawer and picked out the green colored oven mitt drawn to look like a frog. Granted, it was the only other oven glove in the drawer, the rest potholders and table linens that didn't have the cool, satiny feel like the oven gloves did. He put his arm in the glove and walked over to the stove, tapping the oven door with his gloved arm.
"Not yet, kiddo," Mulder said, quickly sweeping up his son before his daredevil child went a little too far with his exploring. He kissed William's head and placed him on the floor far away from the stove. "Too many babas ruin the soup." He grabbed the oven glove, swatted his son's backside lightly with the frog's nose.
"Baba!" William crowed happily. "Baba baba baba."
Dingers went off simultaneously; the buzzer for the potatoes, the timer for the bread. Carving the rest of the roast beef in record time, Mulder grabbed three plates (one spill proof) and silverware just as Scully walked back into the kitchen. The attire only confirmed what he suspected, that she wasn't feeling well at all; the warm, woolly sweats, the thick socks, and the old gray flannel.
She offered to take the plates to set the table. As if on cue, William went for his high chair, ready to help pull it to his customary position between Mommy and Daddy's chair. She laughed as she put the plates down on the table, guiding the high chair as her son pushed it along the floor. Arms in position, William waited to be lifted into his chair.
"We really are in a rut if he knows what's coming next," Mulder commented, bringing over the plate of roast beef and dish of peas for William. Next came the gravy on a hot plate and potatoes. "You want anything with the spuds?" he asked, walking to the refrigerator for the butter dish and sour cream.
Scully shook her head, securing William's spill proof plate to his tray. Mulder knew that somehow, William would find a way to wriggle it off the tray before the end of the meal. Child proof had a whole other meaning where William Fox Mulder was concerned. Not that the food would stay in the dish anyway; before it made it to his mouth, the food made a pit stop on the tray. What didn't end up in his mouth could be found on the floor and chair.
"Are we going to use our spoon today?" Scully secured the rather useless bib around her son's neck, then Mulder handed her the small spoon. William reached for it, ready to eat, even with nothing in his bowl.
Mulder sat down in his chair, stretched behind him with a boarding house reach for the bread in the toaster oven. Cutting off the end of one piece, he handed it to Scully to cut up for their son. He then set to work on chopping up the roast beef into William-size pieces.
Foregoing the middle man, Scully spooned some peas on the tray in easy reach of William's hands. He pushed them around with his spoon, intent on playing rather than eating. Mulder reached around to put the meat in one of the food trays. For some ungodly reason, William liked his food plain. Mix anything together, and he refused to eat it. Picky eating certainly did not run on HIS side of the family.
Scully broke up the bread slice into manageable pieces, put it on the plate along side the meat. William continued to plow his peas from one end of this high chair tray to the other. By the time she managed to get him to eat the peas rather than chase them, Mulder had already prepared her plate, and was half-way through his first helping.
"How did this afternoon go?" he asked, getting up for the forgotten ice tea pitcher on the counter. He grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and a couple of ice cubes from the freezer. After their family lunch, she had gone over to Quantico to consult on a Violent Crimes case. Considering the rather transient nature of the crimes that their respective departments investigated, frequently they were called for consults. Nothing unusual about that. He placed her glass next to her right hand.
She smiled her thanks. Since she didn't readily answer his inquiry about the case, he knew she was a little reluctant to talk about it. Something about the case bothered her, years of experience taught him that. "Long day, huh?"
Nodding, Scully picked up her glass and took a long swallow before speaking, keeping her voice low. They had vowed early on that they wouldn't discuss cases around their children. If it was enough to give them nightmares from time to time, it certainly would do the same for the kids.
"Sixteen year old dredged from the river. VCS thinks she may be attached to the Singer ring."
The few words she spoke were enough to clue him in to what was bothering her. The Singer ring was the talk of the Bureau in recent months; black market baby brokerage where the natural mothers, usually runaways with no where else to turn, were dead within hours, sometimes days, of giving birth. Violent death. Of the five bodies recovered in the DC area alone, two were strangled, three with bullet wounds to the stomach. Out of sick curiosity, he wondered in what condition this girl was found.
"Not pretty?"
Scully shook her head, easily intercepting a handful of peas on their descent from William's hand to the floor. Even when not in her sorts, she still was too quick for their son's antics. She deposited the mashed peas on the side of her own plate.
"Chatterton asked me to go to Philadelphia tomorrow. The field office picked up a body the other day. Local police refuses to have it shipped down here for analysis. I don't know how long I'll be gone."
Now Mulder definitely knew why she was down in the dumps. She hated traveling, ever since the baby was born, especially when neither he or the baby could go with her. He didn't want her to go, but it was part of the job. And it was more than apparent that she didn't want to discuss it.
Scully picked up the abandoned spoon and tried to get William to eat a little bit of the roast beef.
William ducked away from the spoon, scrounging his face as he did so.
"Hey, you," Mulder admonished lightly. "You helped me pick out what we were having for dinner and now you're not going to eat it? I tell you, kids today."
"Maybe he's teething again," Scully suggested, placing the back of her hand against his temple. "He's kind of warm."
"We got anything soft that he might eat?" Mulder asked, headed for the fridge.
Scully cleared the plate from his tray; no need to leave him ammunition for the floor and his lap. "There should be some pears left over from yesterday. Check the yellow dish."
Mulder searched the top shelf of the fridge for the pears. Instead, he found the weekend's lunch special wrapped in cellophane. "How about this spinach quiche your Mom left?"
"Not unless you want diaper duty for the next few days."
"I have diaper duty for the next few days. Pears it is."
William played with the pear pieces as he had with the peas, but at least he ate them instead of dropping them on the floor.
He noticed that Scully's plate was just about as full as their son's had been. She had been pushing the food around the plate, in much the same way as their son had done. "You're not hungry either?" He put the back of his hand to her forehead.
"Mulder, what are you doing?" she said, ducking away from his hand playfully.
"I want to see if you're teething as well. Two of you, cutting teeth at the same time. This could get ugly. Should I get you some pears, too?" He put his hand against her forehead again. "Yup, you're warm. I suppose it is a little late to be cutting your wisdom teeth, but--"
Scully swatted him on the hind quarters as he passed by her chair.
"Why don't you go lie down for a while," Mulder suggested. Scully responded with one of her patented, `do not coddle me` looks. But he knew his wife, and before she could get a word in, he added, "Look, I know you're tired. You tossed and turned all last night, and the night before that. Go on, lie down. I can get Messy Marvin here bathed and ready for bed, then I'll come by and tuck you in." He waggled his eyebrows ala Groucho Marx for added effect.
Exasperated, Scully slowly smiled and shook her head as she stood. "I'm going in the living room. It's too early for bed."
"Suit yourself. Go watch a movie or something. Leave the kitchen work to us men folk."
"Bye!" William added, smiling lop-sidedly.
"Well," Scully said, managing to extract a few pieces of waylay pears from her son's lap as she settled a kiss on his forehead, "I guess I know when I'm not needed."
Mulder watched as she shuffled off into the living room, as did his son. As she turned the corner, he leaned over closer to his son and said just loud enough, "Now that Mommy's gone, we can eat with our fingers! Yea!"
"What was that, Mulder?" was the immediate, and not unexpected reply.
"Nothing, dear," he called back.
* * * * *
Once she sat down on the edge of the couch, legs tucked under her, Scully knew she wasn't going to be moving any time soon. The lights were dim in the living room, very conducive for sleep. A bulb must have burned out in the floor lamp, but she didn't want to waste the energy getting it replaced.
However, sleep had been elusive, as much as she hated to admit it. She couldn't put her finger on the reason, but it was getting a bit ridiculous. Even the attendants at the day care made note of the darkening circles under her eyes. Despite all the exhaustion, she couldn't seem to fall asleep, and when she did it was for maybe three hours at most. Lack of sleep did wonders for her disposition, and her attention span. Twice in the last week Mulder caught her gazing off into space and had sent paperclips sailing between their respective offices until she snapped out of it. It was amusing for a little while, the tables turned for once.
Too many things were running through her head. Her case load was picking up, she had been asked for more consults than usual, and then there was the Singer Ring. Her mind kept picking at the details, over and over, but her sleeping problems had started before the first body arrived on her table.
She didn't want to admit it, but today's autopsy had gotten to her. Not only was it evident that the girl had been viciously and maliciously murdered by whatever monster had sold her into virtual slavery, but it had not been the girl's first child, either. Babies having babies. What kind of childhood would that be for either, she thought to herself as she maintained professional demeanor and performed the autopsy.
Eyes closing involuntarily, she leaned back, let her muscles relax enough to get comfortable on the couch. The scent of the weekend's fire in the fireplace was still in the air. It was a welcome smell; remembrances of cold winter weekends spent in front of a fire with her brothers and sister after a day of outdoor play were conjured up with thoughts of hot cocoa and cookies before bed.
Mulder had wanted so much to take William sledding out in the snow. The front yard had a slope that was just big enough for sledding, he said. The past weekend, she had finally caved in and let Mulder take William outside to play. She had to admit, they did look awfully cute together; William in the snowsuit her Mom had given them for Christmas, with the matching scarf and mittens, and Mulder in his big parka and boots. He took William up and down that little hill nearly a dozen times, trying to fit his 6'1" body in a plastic sled meant for someone half his size. Her mother had become quite the expert at making home movies and had the camcorder out for the whole event.
Just thinking about her boys out in the snow, laughing, playing, made her relax even more.
The sounds of her boys in the kitchen made the smile on her face widen.
"Uh oh."
"Where?"
"Uh oh."
"How did you manage that? Look at this mess. You know, you're only a baby. How do you manage to make a mess this big every night."
"Uh oh."
"Uh oh is right. Don't let your mother see this. She just bought these overalls for you."
Scully could just imagine the scene as it played out in her ears. There was probably pears stuck in the cuffs of his pants. Food always ended up in the strangest of places.
"Hey, come back here. Let me wash your face at least."
Sneakered feet squeaked across the linoleum floor, followed by a whooping cry; caught again in the midst of his escape. Contagious giggles filled the kitchen, spilling all over the house. Mulder teased William incessantly, always tickling him, blowing big sloppy kisses on his tummy. She smiled as she heard dishes clanking together. Mulder must have let William sit near the sink, because the water was running, then not running, then running again.
She dozed off for a spell, because the next thing she heard was water running in the tub in their bathroom. William was babbling, Mulder was babbling back in a perfect imitation of his son's voice. She was tempted to check in on them. Usually bathing William was a team effort. Somebody needed to keep him distracted as the other snuck in with the shampoo. Though keeping William distracted long enough to get the job done was a feat in and of itself.
The sound of her little boy laughing was music to her ears. Hearing Mulder laugh had the same effect. There had been so many years when that sound came so infrequently. Curiosity won out over the warm fuzzy feeling of sitting in the familiar confines of the couch cushions; she had to see what they were up to in the bathroom. Besides, Mulder would need a bottle to settle William down to bed anyway. She padded into the kitchen to warm up a bottle, then quietly snuck into their bedroom to see what her boys were doing.
The bathroom door was slightly ajar. She stuck her head inside and peeked around the door.
Mulder was on his knees, shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows, tie hooked around the doorknob. There was a ball of suds on his nose. William was standing in the calf deep water, waving a pinwheel like a wand. His hair, still full of shampoo, was standing up in a spiked mohawk. He looked so adorable, waving the pinwheel in front of Mulder's face, waiting for him to blow on it so the colors would go round and round.
William spotted her first, stomping his legs up and down with excitement at seeing her. Mulder turned on his knee, smiled at her. "Care to join us in the fun?"
"Nice hair, Mulder. Were you a beautician in a previous life?"
"Like the doo? I think it's stylin'."
"Speaking of stylin', it looks like he could use another trim soon. It's starting to curl up around his ears again," Scully said. Mulder had been mildly upset when William was born without her red hair. William did, however, inherit the Scully family array of collicks. Her brothers waylaid the problem with short haircuts, she and Melissa always wore their hair long. But it was sort of endearing, the way his bangs went every which way like Mulder's, and whorled in weird waves along the back and sides.
Scully sat on the edge of the tub, grabbed the wash cloth from the bottom of the tub. The kid would be a prune before Mulder was done playing with him. She wiped the suds off of Mulder's nose, then set to work on her son. "Where's his watering can?"
Mulder leaned back behind the toilet to grab the said object. Her mother suggested using the toy in order to get the shampoo out of the baby's hair. It worked on all of her children, Margaret said with a gleam in her eye. William loved the hose in the kitchen sink, he liked to help her water the plants on the kitchen window sill with it.
"Can we trade?" Scully reached for the pinwheel and in exchange handed her son the watering can. He dunked it in the tub and started watering everything in sight, including his father's lap when he wasn't looking.
William immediately started giggling at his father's expression, and it took all of Scully's resolve not to laugh out loud. Mulder glowered, but said nothing. He took the watering can from his son.
"Give me that, you little scamp." Mulder filled the can once more, then held his son's forehead still as he poured the contents over William's hair. Surprisingly, there was little struggle tonight. William sat down in the water and let Mulder pour the stream of water over his head again without a peep.
"Must be tired," Mulder said, soaping up the washcloth to wash his son's body. "No fight at all tonight."
"No, I know that look," Scully said, gathering the stackable cups that were floating around in the water. "He's storing it all for later."
"No problem. I have a secret weapon," Mulder declared, using the watering can to rinse off William.
"Oh, really?"
"Yup. And I'm not telling anybody about it. It will ruin the surprise."
Mulder was beaming. Scully knew he was up to something, not just by the look in his eye, but his demeanor as well. First the dinner, then the offer to handle the bath by himself, and putting William to bed. Without trying, he could sweet and endearing in the blink of an eye, without any prompting or coaxing, without any sort of hidden agenda.
Scully handed him the baby towel, then reached for the plug.
Mummifying their son in the towel, Mulder lifted him out of the water, cradling him high on his shoulder. As they walked to the baby's room, he rubbed him dry, evoking more giggles and laughs the faster he rubbed him down. "Okay, for the secret weapon to work, you have to be in the living room," he told her, attacking William's hair with the towel.
"Put him in the green sleepers tonight. It's supposed to be cold," she said, putting the eight ounce bottle she had prepared in his shirt pocket. "Have fun."
"We will," Mulder replied in a sing-song voice. "Won't we, William?"
Mulder was still babbling in baby talk when she passed by the bedroom door again. It looked like William decided that he did not want a diaper on this evening, and was rolling away from his father's hands each time he tried to fasten the ends. Changing diapers had become a verifiable art form in their house, from the rolling diaper hold to changing him while he stood. She did not envy Mulder tonight.
She sank back into the couch, pulling the afghan that was folded over the back down around her legs. The TV remote sat on the coffee table, untouched for what seemed like weeks. Since William was born, TV just sort of disappeared from their schedule. There was the ever popular once-in-a-blue-moon movie night, and Mulder did on occasion watch his monster movie marathons on the Sci-fi channel. Otherwise, the TV was a glorified shelf.
The latest Grisham novel was lying next the remote. She knew it wasn't lying there the day before. Mulder must have picked it up at the bookstore, and had undoubtedly read it cover to cover the second he brought it home. For the briefest of moments, she tried to remember the last time she read a book that did not contain pictures or silly rhymes, and decided that it had been too long. She picked up the book, and wondered if this was the surprise to which he was referring.
After only reading for ten minutes, her eyes became tired, and she leaned back against the couch cushion. She closed her eyes for the briefest of moments...
She didn't hear Mulder enter, or the scuffle of little feet across the hardwood floors. Opening her eyes, she spied her little boy standing in front of her, holding a thin package wrapped in blue paper. He placed it in her lap, after a little prompting from Daddy.
She smiled as she read the card on top. It read, HAPPY UN-BIRTHDAY in Mulder's block lettering. She tore off the paper carefully, found herself staring at the back of a children's book. The corners were dog-eared, well worn with age and love. At the bottom of the cover was the Dr. Suess logo. She flipped it over and read the title.
_The Sleep Book_
Not just any Dr. Suess book. HER Dr. Suess book. The one her father had given her as a child. The one she had memorized chapter and verse and recited proudly to her parents one night in the firm pronouncement that she knew how to read like the big kids. Her father's inscription was still on the inside cover. This one was her book, not one passed down from Bill Jr. or Melissa. Hers and hers alone.
She looked at her little boy, then up to her big boy. Mulder was grinning from ear to ear. He remembered. The first time she had ever mentioned the book had been on that stakeout, in that horrible car with no radio. Even then she was aware of her feelings for Mulder, had tried to stick to rather neutral poetry when he challenged her to recite something from memory to pass the time.
He remembered.
William was hopping from foot to foot, shifting his weight, waiting to be picked up and placed in her lap. She shifted her legs so that he would have enough room to sit. William needed little prompting to climb in his mother's lap. He settled down quickly, leaning against the crook of her arm.
As she started to read, she spied Mulder lumbering into the kitchen to do the forgotten dishes. She'd have to remember to give him a special thank you later.
* * * * *
Mulder listened to his wife reading to their child from his post in the kitchen. Her voice carried a lyrical quality, making the silly rhymes sound like pure poetry as she read. He had found the book for her birthday, but after what happened today, he felt that she could use the pick-me-up. In the end, he knew he made the right choice.
The dishes didn't take long to do. He put some water on to boil as he finished drying the dishes. The water was ready by the time all the dishes were all put away. He grabbed two mugs and two packages of hot cocoa. By the time the marshmallows had melted to a sticky film on top, he could no longer hear Scully reading aloud.
When he rounded the corner, he found the lamp turned off and his wife and son cuddled on the couch. William was fast asleep, head leaning against her chest. She had her arms wrapped securely around him, head leaning back against the couch and eyes closed. The quilt his mother sent was covering them. The picture of serenity. He would have taken a photograph if he wasn't afraid the flash would wake them.
He placed the mugs of cocoa on the end table and silently moved to take William to his crib. As he lifted Scully's arm, he felt her resist.
"I'm not asleep," she said quietly.
"I was just going to take the kid to his room."
"Leave him for right now." Scully opened her eyes, strained her neck to look at William's angelic face. "I just want to hold him for a little while longer."
Mulder smiled, slightly amused by his wife's clingy behavior this evening. Not that it was unwarranted; usually it was she that had to pry the baby from his arms. He still frequently made visits to the daycare to see their son, if only for a few minutes. Scully often teased him about it, had joked that she would have to take on the role of disciplinarian for both of her "children".
But, she wanted, needed, that reassurance right now. He did not envy her role in the Singer case. Little things like a sloppy kiss, a small hug, a cock-eyed smile made her happy, especially when it was their little Casanova rendering the tender loving care.
"Mind if I join you?" he said, slipping down next to her on the couch slowly so as not to jostle her or the baby. He repositioned the blanket so that all three of them were covered, then placed his arm across his wife's shoulder. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the cheek.
Scully returned with a kiss of her own, then snuggled down close to that spot where his neck met his shoulders. William shifted in his sleep, but did not wake up.
Minutes passed in silent communion. Then, "Thanks for the book."
"Thank your mother. She found it for me. It looked like you needed an early birthday gift. All in a day's work." He held her tighter, wrapping his arms around both his wife and child. He could spend the rest of his days that way, and never think twice about it. He kissed the top of her head. "Bad day?"
Scully smiled up at him and replied, "It's getting better."
"Want to talk about it?" Scully's shoulders tensed, and he could feel her embrace tighten around their son. She shook her head, turning slightly so that she was sitting in his lap, her head on his chest.
"You sure?" he asked again. Now he wished that he had been asked to assist on the case. At least then he would have a better idea what was bothering her, though he had an inkling. Autopsies on teenagers and children always set her off on a rather depressive funk.
"Not right now," she said, closing her eyes and shifting William in her arms so he was better supported with her new seating position. "I don't want to think about it tonight."
"Okay. You don't have to think about anything at all." Mulder grabbed the blanket and drew it higher around their bodies. A cold chill permeated through the house through the large picture window in the breakfast nook. Centralized heating just did not cut it with the occasional winter storm that hit the city. He had loved the house on first sight, not only for the fireplace, but for all the windows. Open, airy, non-claustrophobic. Everything his childhood home was not. The trade off for the windows was the cold nip in the air, like tonight. But it meant more cuddling, and he was all for cuddling, especially with his wife and son in his arms.
He loved sitting in the living room, staring out that window to the backyard. The moonlight streaming in through the plate glass, the shadows playing on the trees of the back lot. Before he knew it, nearly an hour had passed. The house was so peaceful at night; the settling foundation when the wind blew, the hum of the furnace kicking in whenever the temperature dropped below 70 degrees, the sound of his son's soft breathing, punctuated with a sigh every now and then. He loved those sighs. Every little intake of breath, every whimper of comfort.
Scully's soft breath of sleep joined their son's, and he was content to just listen to them both. Her head lolled lower on his chest, a hair's breadth away from William's head. He held onto her for some time longer; the moments passed too quickly for him. But Scully would wake with an awful crick in the neck, and William would be better off in his crib and out of the chill of the living room.
"Scully," he said softly into her hair. She moaned softly, snuggled closer. "Scully, let's go to bed."
"'Kay." She didn't move, and fell back to sleep.
"Dana," Mulder implored, shoving her just a little bit, not wanted to lose the warmth of her body next to his, but also wanted her to be more comfortable. "You're sitting on my lap, I can't stand up."
Waking slightly, Scully slipped off his lap, and didn't protest when he took the baby. Mulder held William high on his shoulder with one arm, offering the other for Scully to use as leverage. But Scully had curled up on the couch, instinctively wrapping the edges of the blanket around her body.
"I'll come back for you later," he said, smiling. There were times when they had both been too tired, or too strung out from a case, to bother moving from the couch of their respective apartments before they were married. Old habits died hard.
William never woke as he carried him to his crib. Mulder drew the curtains to keep out the chill, piled on the blankets, knowing that William would kick them off during the night. William may have picked up the picky eating from Scully, but the cover-kicking, that was his legacy. For that reason, they had the heat higher in his room, just in case.
After turning on the baby monitor, he crept back down the hallway to turn out the lights and collect his wife. The clock in the hall chimed ten o'clock. Still early in the evening for him, but that didn't matter; he could use the extra sleep. He stepped into the kitchen, turned off the light above the sink. The entire house was dark, save for the moon light that streamed in from the picture window. He made the rounds of the house, checking all the doors and windows before settling in the living room. Sitting on the edge of the couch, he watched as his wife slept. She was curled tightly against the cushions, afghan wrapped every which way.
He gently shook her shoulder; not that he minded carrying her to bed. But she was so wound up, so tense lately, he knew she would be overly sensitive if he offered some good-natured pampering.
"Dana, come on now, let's go to bed."
"Fine where I am," she mumbled, burrowing further into the couch cushions.
"No no no. Let's go. Upsadaisy. A sore back will not get you out of driving to Philadelphia tomorrow." He slipped his arms under her legs and behind her back, lifting her easily into his arms. She draped her own around his neck, laughing softly into his neck.
"If only it could be that easy," she said sleepily.
Mulder gently placed her on the bed, pulled up the covers around her shoulders, and she was asleep instantly. Changing quickly, he checked on William, grabbed an extra blanket from the linen closet, and climbed into bed. Tossing extraneous pillows to the floor, he settled on his back while he waited for sleep to come. He didn't feel much like reading, nor did he want to wake Scully with the reading lamp.
He felt Scully nestling up next to him, laying her head in the crook of his arm. Instinctively, he started rubbing her back; the same slow, tracing circles that worked wonders on William when he couldn't sleep. The night William was born, he prowled the hospital halls, waiting for Scully to wake, wanting to show off his new son to anyone and everyone. Scully had been so tired, she fell right to sleep after the birth. She didn't see their son until the next morning for any real length of time.
Margaret was there the entire time too, keeping him in line more or less. He had been more than a little hyper during the birth, with good reason. William was early, they were late getting to the hospital. Margaret had found him, awe-struck and staring at the little bundle in the nursery. And he had so many questions. He asked them all rapid fire, and she patiently answered each and every one: how to change a diaper, how to fix formula, how to get him to sleep, what to do if he cried and wouldn't stop, and if the baby couldn't or wouldn't sleep.
He found a lot of the same remedies worked on his wife as well.
He felt Scully drift off to sleep, the tenseness still in her shoulders. Clingy behavior or not, he was just glad she was there, next to him. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, held her close. Tomorrow would be another day. Tomorrow would be better.
end pt 1
* * * * *
"Opposite Poles" Part 2
Mulder Residence
Tuesday morning, 2:30 AM
Scully woke up with a start, cringing slightly at the crick that had developed in her neck. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she checked the alarm clock. The glowing green numbers read `2:32`. She looked over at Mulder. He was fast asleep, one arm draped across his eyes and the other around her.
Since their marriage, Mulder rarely had the insomniac episodes he was so well known for when they were working on the X-files. Though, for a while, they had thought they were raising a junior insomniac just a few doors down. Like his father before him, William liked to stay up late, wake up early, sleep sporadically, and generally cause worry for no reason. He had already pulled a number of all-niters, and he was still in diapers.
She listened intently to the baby monitor, wondering if William was up as well. Sure enough, there was the gentle thud of some toy falling to the floor. He was awake, amusing himself. At least he had stopped demanding attention whenever he was awake, content to stay in his crib until someone came to fetch him.
WHUMP! William must have dropped the bear over the side. Pretty soon, -- <not too soon, I hope> she thought to herself, -- he'd be climbing out of the crib himself. She wasn't looking forward to the first major fall.
"Uh oh." Another toy hit the floor.
She listened to him play in his crib. There were mostly soft toys in there, things that he could not accidentally strangle himself with. All the edges were snug enough so that he couldn't slip his head or a leg through. Mulder had found a mobile with little spaceships hanging from it. William was still too short to reach that one.
A rattling noise filled the quiet void. He was playing with the Busy Baby thingamajig, the one with the silver plastic mirror and the colored beads in the abacus and the squeak toy in the corner. TWEET-TWEET. TWEET-TWEET. Yup, he found the squeak toy.
Well, there was no sense being awake by herself. She slipped out from under Mulder's arm, and replaced the blankets that he had kicked off in the night. Grabbing a sweatshirt from the bureau, she quickly tugged it on and snuck into William's room.
William stood up in his crib, bouncing in that way he always did whenever she entered the room. She put a finger to her lips to hush him, and he was all smiles. It didn't take long for her eyes to adjust enough to see that he had made a very large mess on the floor. All of the toys, except for the ones attached to the side of the crib, were on the floor. One was even tossed all the way across the room.
"Mr. Right-field, how about we go get some cocoa, huh?" She lifted him out of the crib, rearranging his sleepers so that his feet were where they belonged. Then she grabbed the baby blanket that was draped across the rocker and carried William to the kitchen.
"Bye," he said.
"Shush. We don't want to wake up Daddy, do we?" She stepped into the kitchen, flipping on the light over the kitchen nook. The overhanging fixture provided more than enough illumination to get around without tripping.
She grabbed a mug from the cabinet, filled it with water from the tap. Popping it in the microwave, she keyed the timer for a minute and a half. William reached down to press the start button.
"Okay, buster, what do we have for you this morning. How about a teething cookie, huh?" She walked over to another cupboard as the water heated in the microwave. The cupboard above held all the dry goods in their kitchen, including William's treats and the hot cocoa. Standing on the counter, William was just a little bit taller than her, and he eagerly opened the cupboard door. William reached for his cookie box, handed it to her.
She pointed to the box of hot cocoa packets, and he pulled that down as well. "Thank you very much, sir." He closed the cabinet door for her, then waited impatiently for his cookie.
The microwave beeped. Taking a packet from the hot cocoa box, she carried him, the package and the cookie to the table, left the cocoa and cookie on the table, then went to retrieve the mug of water and a spoon.
William sat quietly on her lap after she settled down herself. He reached for his cookie, gnawed on it as she stirred her cocoa. He offered her part of his treat.
"Thank you," she said, taking the cookie and placing it on the table. Teething cookies did not exactly appeal to her tastebuds, but William seemed to like them. Strange thing was Mulder liked them too.
"So, why are you up at this early hour, William?" she asked, fussing over her cocoa. It was still too hot to take normal sips; marshmallows formed a sticky lake of goo on the top. William was more interested in his cookie.
Shifting him in her lap so that he leaned back against her chest, she had both hands free to wrap around the mug. "You know why I'm up? I bet you don't."
William turned around, offered more of his cookie. She shook her head, and he went back to gumming individual pieces.
"I had to tell some people the other day that their daughter wasn't coming home. That they may have a grandchild living somewhere in the country that they never knew about. And they couldn't stop crying. They hadn't seen their daughter for over a year. She left because she had a fight with her father."
She took a sip of cocoa, letting it burn her tastebuds and slip down the back of her throat. William picked up her spoon and started banging it against the table top. Scully stilled his hand, gently took the spoon away and placed it out of reach. He seemed unperturbed by her taking away his toy, and played with his cookie once again.
"You know, I used to fight with my dad. Oh, we had a doozy right before I went to work for the Bureau. And, you know, your Daddy didn't talk with his parents for a long time either."
It was strange, now that she thought about it. Mulder didn't want to be called 'Dad' or 'Papa'. From the first time he laid eyes on their son, holding the small bundle in his arms like something so precious, he smiled and said to her, "I'm a Daddy". It suited him, and it stuck. Maybe it was because he wanted to distance himself from the image of his own father. She didn't argue with that logic, understated as it was. Mulder was so afraid he wouldn't be a good father. All along he had nothing to worry about. Watching him hold their baby that first night brought it all into perspective.
"I never understood my father's point of view before. He was just so overprotective, I didn't understand what he was so afraid of, until today. Your father can be that way, I'm just warning you now. I wish you could have met my father. He'd just adore you."
William turned slightly, dropping the cookie in her lap. She picked it up and placed it back on the table in front of them.
"Your grandfather used to smuggle me downstairs for late night chats too. Somehow, he always knew when I was awake in my room. He'd carry me downstairs, and fix us both mugs of hot cocoa. And he'd just talk to me, about anything.
"Your grandfather never was much for spilling his guts. He was always the strong, silent type I guess. It wasn't until a few years ago that I figured out those late night sessions were more for him than for me. He'd come back from maneuvers, and I was just so glad he was home that I never noticed anything wrong with him. Missy told me years later that whenever his ship was involved in any sort of fighting, he would come home a different person.
"I don't know, maybe I'm doing the same thing. You don't mind, do you?" William shook his head; whether or not it was in answer to her question, she didn't know. "I'm beginning to see the appeal of this, you're a great little listener."
Scully wrapped her arms around him tighter, kissed the top of his head. "I have to go away for a few days. I'm going to miss you so much. You know what, I haven't even left and I'm already homesick. Can you believe that? Your Mommy is homesick." She hadn't been homesick since she was a child. But homesickness was better than the other option, and she didn't want to think about that one.
William started reaching for her mug. "You want some of this, huh? Well, just so long as I don't find sneaker prints on the ceiling." She tested the temperature with her pinkie, deemed it safe, then helped him hold the mug to his lips. Most spilled over his mouth, but the one sip was enough to keep him satisfied. He pushed the mug towards her mouth.
"Whatever your Daddy says, chocolate works wonders. Remember that," she said, taking a sip herself. "You come from a long, proud line of chocoholics."
Still playing with the remnants of the cookie, William pushed the leftovers across the table top in front of him. She watched, amused at the repetitiveness of the motion, how meticulous his motions were. Careful, exact, a stickler for detail, like his father.
"I can just imagine the arguments we'll have when you're older. Oh boy, can I imagine. Let's hope you inherited my mother's temper, or lack thereof I should say."
"Nana," William babbled, slapping his palms on the tabletop. He held his sticky hands up to show her, flexing his fingers with their new found gooeyness.
Scully nodded, smiling. "That's right, Grandma Scully. Nana."
"Baba," he said, pointing at her.
"No. Mama."
"Baba."
"Close enough."
William knew all of three words that actually meant something, then a host of others that changed meaning depending on the day. The ever-popular 'bye'. He loved the car, staring out the windows up at the sky. There was 'no', frequented often and loudly and in the most inappropriate of places. 'Nana' was his word for grandma. 'Baba' spanned anything from Daddy to blanket to bottle.
William started sucking on his fingers, one sign that he was getting tired. "Can you hold on a few more minutes for Mommy? I'm not quite finished yet." He turned in her lap, standing on her thighs and wrapping his little arms around her neck.
"Okay, just a few more minutes." She leaned back in the chair, still within reach of her mug. The cocoa had lost its heat in the cold kitchen. She rearranged the baby blanket around her son so that he was better covered.
She shifted in her chair so she could prop her feet up on another, rocking slightly back and forth. Instinctively she started rubbing his back, the tension in her own shoulders melting as she felt him relax in her arms.
From her new position, the backyard was clearly visible. She stared, hypnotized by the crystal clear night and the moonlight dance on the blanket of snow. Walking to the large picture window, she could just make out the snow angels they had made the weekend before, and Mulder's half-way decent attempt at a snow-alien in the back corner. The trees, barren, stood like sentries in the night, glistening with their protective covering of snow and icicles.
She looked up at the moon, whole and full of light. A bright halo surrounded it, like crystals in the light. Oh, she knew all the physics and science around the phenomena, but just now, it didn't seem right, so quiet and tranquil. The moon was so bright, she couldn't make out the winter constellations. It was magical.
Her father had stories for all the constellations. He had a story for everything: why is the sky blue, why does it thunder, how come rainbows only come out after the rain? None of them were based on fact, but it seemed sacrilegious not to pass on the stories. The truth may be out there, but innocence was bliss. She wouldn't take that away from him.
Sometime during her reverie, she didn't know when or how, but when her gaze fell back to the reflection on the glass window, there was another face there. Eyes puffy with sleep, hair all askew, Mulder lumbered closer, wrapped his arms around them both.
She leaned back into his embrace, placed the back of her head on his chest.
"You okay?" he asked, kissing the top of her head.
Nodding, she peered around her son's head to see his face. "He asleep yet?"
"Like a baby."
"Very funny."
"Come on, you have a long day tomorrow. We both do." He took her by the shoulders and steered her towards the bedroom, catching the light as he went.
--
Baby safely settled, Mulder took her hand and led her back to their bedroom. Climbing in after her, he pulled the covers up and over, made a show of tucking her in as she had William. Scully laughed, quietly enjoying the attention.
Mulder wrapped his arms around her, waited for her to settle down. But the tenseness returned, and he knew that she probably wouldn't sleep anytime soon. Minutes, half and hour passed with no change. He found her hand with his and squeezed gently.
"Chatterton would understand if you asked off the assignment."
"I know."
He couldn't help but think of old cases, whenever children were involved. He had his fair share of cases that were a little too personal, abduction cases especially, but children were Scully's Achilles heel. Even he had been taken in by Cindy Reardon and Tina Simmons, before they showed their true nature. The Kryder case had been tough on her as well, not only because a child was involved but because he had given her the cold shoulder about her belief in the possibilities of miracles. He had put himself in the dog house on that one.
"You don't have to do this. I know how hard this is for you."
"It would be hard on anyone, Mulder."
"You don't have to do this, you're not assigned to Violent Crimes."
"Chatterton asked me to do this. I said yes. Let's leave it at that, okay?"
"What are you afraid of?"
Scully turned in his arms, enough so that he could see her face. He propped his head up with his hand so that he hovered just above her face.
"Afraid of? What are you talking about?" she asked. Her voice wavered just the slightest bit, and he knew he hit the sore spot.
"This case has you on edge, you're tense. You only get that way when you're frightened, and don't tell me I'm wrong because I know you."
"It's not just this case." She turned away for a moment, rearranging the covers a bit to buy some time. He waited patiently for her to finish her nesting, knowing that she would spill what she was feeling eventually.
"I don't know. The girl today, sixteen years old. When I was sixteen my biggest worry was my next physics test."
"Physics? I was still taking biology. How did you manage that?"
Scully elbowed him in the chest. "You're changing the subject."
"Your's is depressing. Mine's more fun." She elbowed him again. "Sorry," he replied. Scully snuggled closer, and he thought he heard a muffled sigh. He wrapped his arm around her protectively. "It's okay," he whispered in her ear. She was holding back something, he knew. In her own time, she would tell him, and he knew this too. She hated being depressed.
"What kind of monster would do that to a child?" she asked, squeezing her pillow just a little bit tighter.
"I don't know. I don't know. Do you want me to do some finagling? I can find a good excuse to go to Philly for a few days. And your mother has been dying to show off her grandson to all her friends."
Scully shook her head; his show of humor wasn't going to work tonight. It was something she wanted to work out on her own. He hated to have her feel this way about any case. No matter how much he did not want to see her go, he knew she wanted this case to be solved, and true to her nature, she would cope with it any way she knew how.
"Take my car, okay, not some rental from the bureau car pool. I'll move all the baby's stuff into yours tomorrow. It's due for an oil change anyway." He knew she wouldn't argue with him on that point; she hated the dreaded car pool about as much as he did.
"Okay," she replied sleepily. The tension was leaving her shoulders; not totally, but enough to let her relax. He was grateful; insomnia was for days past. It had taken him years to learn what a decent night's sleep was like, and that hadn't happened until Dana entered his life. He was concerned about her, though. She hadn't slept well for well over a week, and with a wry smile, some of those sleepless nights were his doing. More than once he had awakened to find the other side of the bed empty, its occupant sitting in the living room or kitchen. None of his remedies were working.
He placed his hand on her stomach, gently tracing soft circles there with his fingers. She was falling asleep, finally, her breath slowing into a slow, rhythmic pace that he used to lull himself to sleep as well. With one final look at the clock, he decided he would let her sleep in if she didn't wake up on her own; he'd get the car ready, make sure William was set for day care. She needed the rest, and he wouldn't take any argument about it in the morning.
His last thought before dropping off was that it would be their last night together for a while. He snuggled closer, hoping she would stay asleep throughout the rest of the night.
* * * * *
The highway was no longer crawling with the first bout of rush hour traffic, for which Scully was truly grateful. Not that she minded driving, but Mulder usually did most of it when they were on field assignments together. And she missed his colorful terms of endearment for bad drivers, muttered under his breath now that the baby was born.
It was funny. Neither one of them had much use for foul language, even before the baby was born, but more often than not, 'baby-correct' terms had been adopted for the more colorful four letter words. Even tastes in music changed with William around. Audio tapes of Burl Ives, Raffi, Sesame Street and Mother Goose rhymes had more often than not replaced the assortment of rock and roll Mulder had stashed in every open space in the car. There was nothing wrong with The Allmon Brothers, The Grateful Dead, or even the Simon and Garfunkel tapes Mulder claimed were not his. In fact, she had found William rather liked Simon and Garfunkel.
Thinking of music, she realized that she was losing the radio station she was listening to as she cleared the DC area. Her own tastes tended toward anything non-grating to the ears and understandable lyrics, and choices for radio stations were limited to those that kept commercial breaks to a minimum. Still, being alone in the car, without Mulder along to play DJ, did have its good points: no channel surfing. He had the attention span of a flea when it came to switching channels.
She hit the preset channel buttons to see what he had programmed; NPR, a classic rock station, the contemporary/soft rock station, oldies, some alternative rock station. They were all fuzzy and static-filled.
"Tape time," she announced aloud, rummaging around the front seat for Mulder's stash of tapes. There had to be something that did not have sheep bah-ing in the background.
Pink Floyd, no. Rolling Stones, nah. Sting, more Jackie's style.
She found one, unlabeled. There was an empty case caught under the arm rest. All it said was 'MIX - June'. Last summer. Mulder had gone on a special recruiting assignment for Skinner last June. He must have made a tape for the car ride to Ohio, suspecting that he wouldn't find any decent radio stations while he was away.
Out of curiosity, she popped the tape in to the player. <This has to be interesting,> she thought to herself, adjusting the volume when a loud burst of static blasted from the speakers.
Twangs from a reedy banjo filtered through the car, and she had to smile, remembering the significance around the Muppet song. It had been just after William was born. She was so tired, had hardly slept a wink in nearly a week. They were at her mother's house, having missed Thanksgiving due to the early arrival of their little bundle. Turkey Day was postponed for the Scully clan, though dinner was nearly non-existent for her, too tired to make it through the taped parades, let alone dinner without a nap.
But William was a welcome addition to a house already bustling with grandmother and aunts and uncles and cousins and adopted family members. Despite all the constant attention, William was only truly happy in his parents or grandmother's arms. And he had started crying in the middle of the night. It wasn't feeding time, he didn't need to be changed. Mulder was so skittish about the whole thing, it pained him to see his son crying without a ready remedy. He got out of bed, leaned over the side of the bassinet to see what all the hub-bub was about.
"Sing something," she had said, too tired to do it herself. Mulder had a wonderful singing voice, one he rarely used.
Mulder stood dumbfounded. "My mind's gone blank. I can't think of any lullabies."
"Anything, Mulder. It doesn't matter. He likes to hear your voice." <So do I,> she added silently.
Then, after a few minutes, he started the only song that popped into his sleep-deprived brain. "The Rainbow Connection". It had worked, for a little while anyway. Muppet songs still worked in a pinch.
Kermit's voice trailed off, and was replaced by mixed guitar chords and strains of violins in the background. This was nothing like the music she expected on one of Mulder's mix tapes. His tastes usually went in the direction of the extremely strange, off the beaten path songs that no one had ever heard of. Though the voices sounded familiar, she couldn't place the song.
"each time you'd pull down the drive way,
I wasn't sure when I would see you again.
yours was a twisted, blind-sided highway,
no matter which road you took then.
oh, you set up your place in my heart,
moved in and made my thinking crowded.
now we're out in the back with the barking dog,
my heart the red sun,
your heart the moon clouded...
I could go crazy on a night like tonight
summer's beginning to give up her fight,
and every thought's a possibility
and voices are heard, but nothing is seen.
why do you spend this time with me?...
may be an equal mystery...
<Mulder listens to this?> she wondered. She listened carefully to the lyrics, intent on figuring out what made this song so special to deserve a place on one of Mulder's mix tapes. It was quiet, unimposing, and decidedly un-Mulder-ish. Mulder preferred loud, fast, foot-tapping, keep-you-awake-on-long-road-trips music, or at least that's what she always thought. Then again, she knew the Simon and Garfunkel tape wasn't hers.
Brow creased, she tried to find the hidden meaning in the words, read between the lines. Mulder never did anything without a purpose, sometimes only known to him, but she had figured out a few of his little secrets. The fact that he could cook when given the opportunity. That he had a soft spot for kids, not only William, but for all of her nieces and nephews. After all, he was just like them, a kid at heart.
so what is love then?
is it dictated, or chosen?
does it sing like the hymns of a thousand years,
or is it just pop emotion?
and if it was ever here and it left,
does it mean it was never true?
and to exist it must elude...
is that why I think these things of you?..
She remembered the night he proposed, and how if he hadn't spit out the words she was going to do it for him. Jackie often kidded that their engagement had started the day they met. In a sense it was true, they just didn't see it, and if they did, refused to believe it. They hadn't needed to say a word when they went to see Jackie and Marty about their engagement. Everyone else had seen it before they did. It took a separation order from Skinner for them to realize it. Maybe the lyrics were right.
...oh but you like the taste of danger,
it shines like sugar on your lips.
and you like to stand in the line of fire
just to show you can shoot straight from your hip.
there must be a thousand things you would die for,
I can hardly think of two.
but not everything is better spoken aloud,
not when I'm talking to you.
oh the pirate gets the ship
and the girl tonight brings a bottle to christen her,
basking in the exploits of her thief,
she's a very good listener.
and maybe that's all that we need
is to meet in the middle of impossibility
standing at opposite poles
equal partners in a mystery.
we're standing at opposite poles,
equal partners in a mystery."
There was a lull in the tape as the song ended, followed by a few notes of whatever was the next selection on the CD, or whatever he dubbed the song from. It was abruptly cut off with some Monty Python song. It was just like Mulder to go from a beautiful ballad to some asinine, puerile ditty about bodily fluids. Thankfully it wasn't very long, and a more traditional, Mulder-like song began: 'Time Warp'.
But she did wonder about the ballad. It was so unlike him, though she always suspected he was a closet romantic. She never expected overt signs of affection from him, like flowers or balloons. But things like cooking dinner, singing her father's lullaby to William when he was upset and unable to sleep, finding the Dr. Suess book -- the unexpected little surprises, those were so like him. Unpredictable. And as she thought about it, and his closet romantic tendencies, hiding the song on a tape that he had made for the first trip away from home without her or the baby, on a tape that probably only he would listen to, and might even deny having if ever confronted, with a smile on his lips and a blush of embarrassment for being sentimental... left for her first trip without the baby?
And for a brief moment, she wondered if he had truly left the tape on purpose. Mulder was cleaning out the car of needed baby things when she woke up that morning. William, not surprisingly, was waiting patiently in his crib to be changed when she went in to check on him. From the nursery window, she could see Mulder, still dressed in the sweats he wore to bed, hauling out the baby seat and hordes of toys from the back seat of his Taurus. There was a lot to carry, and she watched with great amusement as he tried to juggle all the toys, closing and opening the car doors without dropping anything. He must have gone through the front seat to get William's Mother Goose tape. They couldn't travel in the car without it. Some children had security blankets, William had his favorite tape.
Mulder must have left it for her, knowing she would listen to it on her way to Philadelphia. Other than the Monty Python bit, and 'Time Warp' , everything else on the tape was music she listened to, songs that had special meaning for the both of them. The songs that Jackie had them 'dedicate' to each other on those late night stake outs, hoping to prime the pump of their relationship a bit. So maybe six years was a bit extreme, but not unreasonable. They pulled off the wedding in a week, they bought the house they wanted their children to grow up in record time. There may not have been anything physical going on between them during those six years, but there had to be some deeper, subtle understanding between them, else the same-day proposal, the quick deposit on the house, and the gun-shot wedding would have been a disaster. Given the choice, she wouldn't want it any other way.
Before she knew it, she was in the city limits of Philadelphia. The tape had run its course twice now, and each time she found something new she loved about the choices they had made together.
She had made good time, too. Estimating that she would be at the field office for at least an hour talking with the ASAC and the agents assigned to the case, and figuring 3 hours for the autopsy itself, the hardest part of the case would be over by mid-afternoon. Normally, the autopsy part was the easiest for her, finding the subtle clues that normal investigators might overlook because they were not trained to see them. She had a feeling that would not be the case today.
end pt 2
* * * * *
"Opposite Poles" Part 3
Philadelphia - Morgue
Tuesday, 11:13 am
Scully tied her hair back as she entered the autopsy bay, already donned in the green scrubs. She slipped into the lab coat, more for its warmth than perfunctory means; autopsy bays were notorious for being quite chilly. Wonderful in the summer, lousy during the winter months.
Most autopsy bays she had been in had a similar layout. There was no need to actually look up while walking into the room, finding the table itself by seeing the drainage grate below it. The body would be on the table; she wanted to delay seeing it as long as possible.
What she didn't expect to see under the table was another pair of feet. Or that under the paper booties were a pair of sneakers that she recognized.
"Cunningham?"
Bruce Cunningham looked up from the police report he was reading, smiling widely. "Surprise."
Surprise did not describe what she was thinking. Downright astonishment was a more apt description. "What are you doing here?"
"Glad to know that I'm wanted," Cunningham said, feigning a pout. Amused, she smiled, and he continued. "I got back early, and Chatterton asked me to come up. He .. ah .. knew you didn't really want to do this, thought you might appreciate a friendly face and a helping hand."
<Will wonders never cease,> she thought idly to herself. Some of the anxiety and ambivalence she had been feeling seeped away. It was easier to do these sort of things at times when you had to put up a brave front. "Well, he thought right. Glad to have you here."
"Well, the county coroner has done the preliminaries," Cunningham said, flipping through the police report. "Blood work, toxicology, photographs, notification of next of kin. Wanna hear the police run down?"
Scully walked over to the wide counter along the far wall. Cupboards just above her head lined the length of the wall, glass sliding doors revealing the contents of each section. Rubber gloves, face masks, eyewear, scalpels, sutures, petri dishes, syringes and whatnot. A binocular microscope sat in the corner. She reached for the rubber gloves, snapping them on with practices ease. It was a delay tactic. The initialization of an autopsy was always the hardest. Just swallow and start, a professor once told her.
"Yeah, tell me what you know," she said, grabbing the goggles, pulling down a pair for Cunningham as well.
Cunningham accepted the goggles, dumped them in his lab coat pocket until they actually needed to pull back the sheet. "Jennifer Aslen, 17 years old. She has a police record; petty theft, prostitution. Found along Hooker's Row two nights ago by some of her previous associates."
"What did the ME say?"
"Strangulation. Otherwise, she might have bled to death. Umbilical cord was never tied off. Left behind a dumpster, ME is guessing within a few hours of when she was found."
"Not a pretty way to die," Scully commented, still avoiding the body on the table. "Tape recorder ready?"
- -
Throughout the entire procedure, she managed to avoid looking directly at the face of the subject. It was easier that way. When she looked at the face, no matter if it was mangled beyond recognition or the picture of serenity, she couldn't help but think of the person's last moments, what the victim's life might have been like before death came. Not exactly the most professional thing to do, since she tended to wax poetic whenever she was lecturing during an autopsy.
Cunningham had been in one of those classes, very early on. Then he had asked to assist whenever possible, permanently assigned to Quantico as an FBI pathologist. He was there when they all thought Mulder was dead.
When she was in school, she did not like to work with a lab partner. No matter what the experiment, she was always able to finish it faster without any assistance. Her teachers respected that. The same work ethic carried her through college and med school, and on into the Academy. At times, she even resented having Mulder standing over her shoulder during autopsies, until she found out he had a rather queasy stomach, and she used it to her advantage.
Bruce Cunningham was different, though. He played the perpetual student in the autopsy bay. Always sure handed, he asked intelligent questions, made leaps of intuition that not many would think about at all. He never questioned her authority in the autopsy bay, not that she exerted much authority. Bruce took care with the bodies, never a snide remark, never a display of unprofessionalism. She always made sure that her stitches were small, no matter the victim. He followed her example. When she asked him about it, he said it seemed right. Well, as the saying went, imitation was the best form of flattery.
Talk had been light during the procedure. Subjects ranged from his plans for Valentine's day to William's recent antics, punctuated with the occasional notes for the recorder. She would take the tapes to the hotel room, type up her notes, provide as much of a profile as she could on the murderer. When she and Mulder were on an out of town case, evenings were used to compare notes over a late dinner, maybe play a few hands of gin rummy, try to break each other's records on the Minesweeper game on her laptop. Cunningham offered to take her to dinner, under Chatterton's orders that she was not to lock herself in her room and work on the computer all night, and Cunningham was determined to enforce the order. She couldn't argue with that logic.
Nearing the finish, she pulled off the messy gloves and reached for a new pair, along with suture and needles. All that was left to do was the clean-up. It had taken less time to do the procedure with the extra help. There would be time to do a little digging before dinner.
"Dana? Can I ask you for some advice?"
"Sure." She handed him an extra set of gloves and the sutures.
"I've been offered a teaching position at Quantico."
Scully smiled. It would mean recognition, and it was about time Cunningham got some. "That's great! You'll do a great job."
"So I should take it?"
"Of course you should! This is an honor. You'd make a great instructor. You don't need me to tell you that."
"No, I guess not."
She gave him a congratulatory slap on the back. "Well, we should have the local office and Philly PD canvas all of the local hospitals and clinics with her description, and any newborns that may have been brought in. She was in generally good health before she died, well nourished, there may have been some prenatal care. Someone was taking care of her."
Scully looked at the body once more before proceeding, and this time did not ignore the face. Other than a nasty gash along the temple, the girl's complexion was not marred by any other disfigurement. Her heart went out to the mother, or whatever person this young girl called family. It was a shame that someone so young and so pretty had to die, and in such a vicious manner. Thin leather straps did enough damage on their own. Piano wire could cut clean through the throat if used with skill.
She brushed back the hair in a motherly fashion, studied the face. There was something about it that was familiar. The shape, the contours. She recognized something in the set of the jaw, in the eyes.
"Who identified the body?" she asked Cunningham as he started sewing the torso.
"Her mother, I think."
"Where's the report?"
"On the counter. Why?"
Scully, pensive, walked over to the counter and the open report. She looked for the medical examiner's report, the page that had the witness' signature on it for a positive identification.
Though she hadn't seen the penmanship in years, she knew who it belonged to, despite the addition of a married surname.
"What is it, Dana?"
"I knew her mother," she stated quietly. "I went to high school with her. We used to be good friends."
She felt like a heel. Kathy Thomas, now Kathy Thomas-Aslen, had been one of her best friends in high school. They had been in nearly every single class together, shared fears over going to college, fretted over advanced placement exams, skipped class together when they needed to comfort a friend who's father was in a car accident. While she had gone to University of Maryland, Kathy had gone to Cleveland University to study music. She hadn't seen her since graduation.
There were letters and the occasional phone call during semester breaks, promises to meet up for a few hours while they were in town, but nothing ever came of it. Scully knew that she had married, but it never entered her mind that the body on the table had been in any way related.
Cunningham dropped his head in respectful silence. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Scully finally said. "It's been awhile, almost twenty years since I've seen her."
She expected a smart remark about a twenty year high school reunion, and how she was getting old. Mulder liked to tease her that way, though it never bothered her before. As her mother used to say, McBride women age gracefully. Mulder never meant to cause harm, and she never took offense. It took a bit of getting used to, not hearing the ready remark whenever Mulder was around. Cunningham was too much of a gentleman to mention anything of it. He wasn't that much younger than her.
"I think I'll pay her a visit tomorrow. Pay my respects."
Cunningham resumed his suturing, with small, even stitches that would put a tailor to shame. "What's on tap for this afternoon?"
"Boothby's arranged to pick up a few of the people who knew her," Scully replied, indicating the body. Her eyes never left the face. "Maybe we can get a fix on who might have done this?"
"I can finish up here if you want to get a head start. I'll pick up at the field office at 6 for dinner."
Scully took one last look at the body, then turned away. She trusted Bruce to do right by the body. Nodding, she pulled off the gloves and eyewear. "Thanks. I'll see you at six."
* * * * *
Holiday Inn
8:15 PM
The phone was ringing as she entered her hotel room. Cunningham followed her in, sat at the table near the window. He put the carry out bag on the table. On their way home from dinner, they had passed a small coffee shop. Since they were going to work on the autopsy report that night anyway, they decided to get some decent coffee to go along with it.
Scully reached over for the phone, picking it up on the fourth ring since they had entered the room. "Hello?"
"Hi there." Mulder. She suspected Cunningham knew as well, probably from the silly grin that was pulling at her lips.
Cunningham pointed to the door, stage whispered, "I'm just going to change. Give me a call, and we'll go over the autopsy notes."
"Hi there yourself." She covered the phone with her hand and said, "All right. I'll see you later."
"Seeing someone on the side, Scully," Mulder teased.
She ignored the jibe. That too had become habit. Early on, the innuendoes, the one liners he used were intended to get a rise out of her. She had thrown a few his way as well. Her mother had pointed out the teasing to her once, said that it was a sign of true love long before Mulder proposed.
"Chatterton sent Bruce Cunningham to Philadelphia to assist."
"How'd it go today?"
"How's the baby?" she countered. She didn't want to talk about it just yet. Dinner had been a wonderful tension reliever. There had been a couple with a young baby sitting near their table. She watched with amusement as the new parents tried to keep the baby happy and still eat a hot meal at the same time. She and Mulder had yet to eat a hot meal.
"You're changing the subject."
She could hear William bellowing in the background. They were happy yelps. He was probably in the hallway. William loved the way his voice echoed in there.
"Your's is depressing. Mine's more fun."
"Touché. Okay, the little monster has decided that he doesn't want to go to sleep. I think he knows you're gone, and that he can get away with anything when Daddy is around because Daddy is a pushover."
"You said it, not me."
"Well, I'm letting Tarzan yell himself out before I even attempt to put him in his crib. So, I've answered your question."
Sighing, Scully leaned back against the headboard, drawing her knees close. "It's official, the Singer ring has moved north. Girl died two days ago, strangled. She's.. ah.. she was the daughter of someone I used to know."
"Oh, Dana... I'm so sorry."
He was genuinely concerned. No more joking now.
"No, it's okay. Small world, huh?" An anxious laugh crept up her throat. "I wanted an excuse to get off the case, and now I have one."
Closing her eyes, she leaned forward, forehead braced on her knees. The thought had been at the back of her head throughout the afternoon. She could technically claim a personal plea that she was too close, and Chatterton would accept that. But she had never willingly let her emotions get the best of her. She wouldn't start now.
"You're not going to take it, are you?"
"No," she whispered. "The sooner we find anything about who is operating this scheme, the quicker we can put a stop to it, and maybe there won't be anymore young mothers dying."
Mulder was quiet on the other end of the line. She couldn't hear William either. It was as if Mulder's subdued response had an effect on their child as well.
"Hold on, Scully."
She heard him drop the phone momentarily and step away. A few seconds later, he was back, but his voice sounded far away.
"Want to say hi to Mommy?"
She smiled, imagining Mulder holding William on his lap, steadying the phone near his ear so that he could hear. Previous attempts at this only led to baby drool on the mouth piece for the most part and very little talk from their chatterbox. She could hear soft breathing; no doubt William thought the phone was a new teething ring.
"Hi, sweetheart. How's Mommy's little boy?"
"Mama!"
"That's right, it's Mama."
"Bye!"
There was a juggling with the phone, and she heard the scuffle of feet again. William started yelling again; he must have gone back to the hallway to resume his Tarzan impersonation.
"Scully?"
"Yeah, I'm still here."
"So, want to tell me about the case? Anything I can do to help?"
"Not unless you have some latent psychic ability that you've hidden from me all these years."
"I sense you are frustrated."
A tired, pent-up and, yes, frustrated laugh erupted from her throat. Humor was Mulder's best defense, used to defuse a tense situation. When she was first assigned to assist him way back when, his questionable sense of humor annoyed her. Later she found that it helped her as well, when she was too caught up in a case to think straight and needed a new perspective. Usually, the distraction of a well placed, off-hand remark of poor taste did the trick, taking her mind off the frustration and opening a new path to clarity.
"I'm going to talk with Kathy tomorrow."
"Kathy's your friend?"
Scully nodded, leaned against the head board once more. "Yeah. Maybe she can shed some light on this." Legs extended, she absently picked at lint on the bed spread. "You know, she was my best friend in high school. I didn't even know she had a daughter until today."
"These things happen, Scully. I don't remember anyone I graduated with in high school, let alone who my best friend was."
"I should have kept in touch," she admitted guiltily. "This is no way to start a reunion."
"Tell me what you know," he prompted.
She knew the rapid change in subject was his attempt to get her out of the funk that had set itself solidly on her shoulders, and she appreciated it. By rote, she repeated the facts as they coursed through her brain. They had been running like trains since she did the first autopsy and Andy Jenkins asked for her help.
"Of the eight bodies found, three were shot, four were strangled, and the first simply bled to death. All were teenagers, between the ages of 16 and 19. No commonality in race, hair color, eye color, height, weight, income, family structure. All were runaways, and we've assumed that all were pregnant and had just given birth before they were killed, within hours after an autopsy of the victims' uterus. Families that could be found had no idea where their daughters had been for at least a year, if not more. Friends and boyfriends could only say that the victim had decided to give the baby up for adoption, and that they disappeared up to a month before the due date. Jenkins has been able to tie at least two of the girls to a health clinic in DC, but they were only seen for the first prenatal check-up and never seen again. Bodies were dumped where no one would find them for a while, except for the last body."
"Suggesting that maybe your perpetrator had to get rid of the body quickly. It sounds like there may be at least two people involved in the actual killing. Murderers rarely change their weapon of choice, unless of course you're dealing with a professional assassin."
Dryly, Scully replied, "No, I don't think we're dealing with a professional assassin."
"And if these people are trying to avoid detection, they are not just going to let the girls bleed to death. That would draw too much suspicion. Anything else different about this one?"
"On the two victims I examined earlier, I found a gold necklace or pieces of a gold necklace on the body. No necklace on this body."
"What about the other victims?"
"Andy Jenkins is looking into that. Police properties should still have a record of what was found at the crime scene, and Chatterton has pulled all of the autopsy reports for them to look over."
"Tell me about the birth. Was it any different than the others?"
"All natural births, as far as we can tell. Several of the bodies were found weeks after their death. We knew there was a recent child birth only after an examination of the victim's uterus. The most recent victim did have an episiotomy. Clean cut."
"Professional. Have you looked into clinics and hospitals?"
"As we speak. The warrants took some time to get this afternoon. Agent Boothby here is going to call me if they find anything. She was well cared for during pregnancy, no sign of malnutrition, health problems of any kind. A toxicology screen showed evidence of pre-natal vitamins. These things do not come cheap, Mulder."
"What about adoption agencies?"
"Checked and rechecked. We're getting a line on all of the private agencies, but if this is black market, we may never find them."
The line stayed quiet for a minute or two. Mulder made a conciliatory sigh. She felt the same way. There really wasn't more that they could do. None of the women they brought in from the streets that Jennifer Aslen frequented had seen her in nearly seven months. Three hours wasted.
"It sounds like you have all the bases covered," he said quietly.
"Now we just have to figure out who's on first."
She yawned into the phone. It had been a very long day, and she still had yet to go over the autopsy tapes and type up her notes. Tomorrow didn't look very promising.
"You should get some rest," Mulder suggested.
"I will, later. I have some things to take care of first."
"You be careful."
"I will. Give William a kiss and hug for me, 'kay."
"Will do, Mom."
She laughed, waited those few precious seconds when both would hang up. They never said good-bye on the phone. As she thought about all the times he had called her late at night, or when she had done the same, no matter what the consequence, neither had said the two little words. It was better that way, she often thought, she wasn't quite sure why. Mulder did not handle good-byes very well. It was funny that William's favorite word was 'bye'.
There was a knock at the door. She stood from the bed to answer. As expected, Cunningham leaned against the door frame, two large cups of coffee in his hands.
"I figured the other two might have gone cold by now," he said.
"Let's get started."
* * * * *
Just outside of Philadelphia
Home of John and Kathryn Aslen
Wednesday, 10:25 AM
<Kathy, you've done good for yourself,> Scully thought as she parked the car by the curb just outside the large Victorian style house. The car idled while she stared at the house. A wrap-around porch stretched from the right side around the front, large round pillars placed strategically for support and design. The paint was a muted yellow hue, offset by white trim and shutters. Windowsills were a deep forest green. Evergreen shrubs were planted in front of the porch, trimmed so that their tops matched the height of the porch railing. Not a branch was out of place.
The entire neighborhood had a very similar antique style about it. The street wound in and around curves. Front lawns were neatly manicured, some lined with perennial flower beds and rose bushes. Chalky white porcelain lightposts dotted the curbs, with large frosted bulbs sitting on their tops like lollipops. No broken seams in the cement sidewalks, no potholes in the street. Nearly every lot had a large garage set in the back, out of direct viewing from the street.
The street was actually plowed of snow. She and her neighbors were lucky to get out of their drive ways when the last major storm hit their area. Even the snow near the street looked immaculate; not a speck of dirt or grime marred the pristine white blanket of snow. Walk-ways were shoveled and sanded. Snowmen dotted a few of the front yards, including that of Kathy and John Aslen.
Turning the car off, she wondered if her decision not to call ahead had been a wise choice. Boothby had told her the day before that the Aslens were told to expect an FBI investigator to drop by within the next few days. Calling ahead was not mandatory. She never even considered the possible consequences to any great degree before this trip.
The front walk seemed longer than it looked from the car. The carpeting on the front stair still showed brush strokes from a recent sweeping with a broom. A small, compact car sat in the driveway, a day's accumulation of snow still sitting on the windshields. The brass knocker sounded loudly on the oak door.
A young boy, perhaps ten years old in age, answered her knock. He looked like a younger version of his sister; the same mousy brown hair, the same eyes. A smile crept across her face as she leaned down slightly to meet his eyes, slowly drawing her ID out of her front pocket.
"Hi there. I'm Agent Scully. I work with the FBI. Is your mother home?"
"Yeah, sure. Wait right here." He didn't close the door completely, but just enough so that the heat stayed inside, and she heard him bellow towards the back of the house. She couldn't help but think of an old Calvin and Hobbes strip that she had seen in the paper and immediately sent to her mother because it reminded her so much of their own household when she was a child. Calvin, yelling to his mother from the front door. His mother, complaining that he did not have to bellow across the house and to come to her if he had something to say. Calvin, announcing that he stepped in doggie doo, and wanted to know where was the garden hose.
She was looking off the side of the porch when the door opened once again. Scully turned around, carrying a sympathetic smile.
The woman stood there, silent for a second, almost as if she didn't recognize her. Scully wasn't offended at all; it had been nearly twenty years. Kathryn Thomas Aslen had not changed at all since high school.
"Dana? Dana Scully?"
Scully smiled widely, hands in her pockets. Unconsciously, her hand slipped to where her sidearm would normally be. While driving out from the field office, she debated wearing the gun at all, opting to hide it in the glove compartment. No need to wear it, it really only was an interview, and regulations be damned. And Kathy would have immediately noticed the bulge at her side when she swept down the short stair and enveloped her in a hug.
"Hi, Kathy," she said, returning the hug almost as fiercely.
"Oh my god, it's been such a long time." Kathy reluctantly released her, and steered her towards the front hall way.
"That it has," Scully complied, studying her friend after so many years of not seeing her.
Kathy hadn't changed physically. She was still tall, slender, with slightly longer than shoulder length brown hair swept up into a pony tail in the back. Understated earrings, a single clasp gold necklace around her throat, a simple gold band around her left ring finger. But her eyes-- they were tired, hollow, surrounded by worry lines that should not have been there.
"Let me take your coat," she heard Kathy say, and she shrugged out of her coat. "Matthew said you're with the FBI." Kathy had a boarding house reach around her son's torso. He squirmed in her grasp, finally able to dislodge himself and scamper upstairs.
"Yes, just over ten years now," Scully replied, relinquishing her coat to her friend's care.
"I suppose you're here about Jennifer."
There was a hint of sadness in her voice, held in check in that way Scully remembered from their days in school. Kathy could be depended on to be the most stable in a crisis, and they had gone through a few.
"We thought it would be best if I came to see you," she replied, not necessarily a lie. Family interviews were her strong suit with her partnership with Mulder. He had often remarked that she had the type of personality that could get a paranoid egomaniac to fall hopelessly head over heals at the drop of a hat. People just trusted her.
Kathy smiled, nodded, her eyes crinkled. Scully assumed all tears had been shed long ago, and all that was left was the unenviable task of going on with life.
"Let's hold on that for a while, okay? I want to hear all about the last twenty years."
Scully nodded her compliance. There was time to do all that; Boothby had said to take the day to do whatever she needed. "Of course."
"Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?"
"No, thank you, I'm fine." She looked around the living room. Like the house itself, everything was muted wooden tones, a low couch, matching wing chairs. A wide, glass-topped coffee table sat in the middle of the room. Copies of Newsweek, Architect Digest, Music World, and a few off-color magazines were stacked neatly in one corner. There was a standing piano near the hallway door, as well as a number of music stands and instrument cases. A large mantle filled one side of the room. Family pictures adorned the wooden panel. One jumped out immediately, set aside from the rest. It was of a young girl, perhaps 12 years of age. Typical school picture, standard blue swirly background, forced smile.
Kathy noticed her interest in the photographs, walked over to the mantle to pick up a family portrait. "That's my husband, John. And you've met Matthew, he's ten now. And this was Jennifer."
Scully took the photo, studied it. "Handsome man you have there."
"And if I'm not mistaken, there's a ring on your finger as well, Ms. Most Likely Not To."
Scully blushed, feeling the blush rise in her cheeks. "Times change," she said lightly. "As I recall, you weren't too keen on marriage either in those days."
"Like you said, times change. So, do I get to see a picture of this guy who stole your heart, or do I have to wait until the next reunion?" Kathy jibed, taking a seat on the couch.
Patting her jacket pockets for her wallet, she wondered if she actually did have a picture of him around. They each had copies of the other's photo ID in their FBI badge folders in the case of an emergency. It was not the most flattering picture for either of them. There were the wedding pictures her mother insisted they have done. And they certainly had a lot of video tape of the baby, but even still there weren't many pictures that weren't holiday related.
There was a snapshot from Christmas her mother sent her in her wallet. Mulder was sitting on the floor of her mother's house, with William in his lap. Santa hats sat on both of their heads, Mulder's hopelessly too small, and William's much too large. She handed it to Kathy.
"Oh my god, and there's a little one too! Will wonders never cease. And he has your eyes! How old?"
"Fifteen months. The goof with the hat is Mulder."
"Last name I hope?"
"Force of habit. We were partners for six years before we were married."
"Ooh ooh, the plot thickens. So, he's a G-man too."
Scully nodded, accepting the returned picture. "What does John do?"
"He runs a construction company here in Philadelphia. Custom built homes. Inherited the business from his father a few years ago. Aslen and Sons. Matthew will probably follow right in his footsteps."
"It's too early to tell with William, though he does like his ET doll." At Kathy's quizzical stare, she shook her head and said, "Sorry, inside joke."
"William? After your father?"
Scully nodded, hoping the slight tug of a frown went unnoticed. "After Mulder's father as well. They both passed away within a year of each other."
"I'm so sorry," Kathy said, taking her hand for a moment. "I know how close you were to your father."
"Water under the bridge." She glanced around the room, taking careful note of the pages and pages of music paper lying about the piano. "I see you still have your music."
Kathy smiled, throwing her gaze at array of instruments in the corner. "It's not the Philharmonic, but it keeps me happy. I teach music at the high school." There was a wistfullness in her voice. Scully assumed by the high school she meant Jennifer's school.
"Are you okay, Kath?"
Ever the selfless martyr Scully remembered, Kathy put on a brave face, taking a bit of time to compose herself. She had a look about her, not quite serene, but there was that type of peace surrounding her. It was a peace that she often sought herself.
"I could ask you the same question," Kathy said in reply. "You haven't been sleeping well, I can tell."
Scully had to smile. Even after twenty years, she couldn't slip anything past Kathy. Kathy always had an uncanny ability to sense whenever one their group was out of sorts, even before exchanging a single word.
"I never understood how you did that."
"Drives Matthew nuts because I know when he's been up reading his Goosebump books. So is it mind in overdrive or --"
Scully left the sentence hanging there, not really knowing the answer, not really wanting to know the answer.
"Or." Shaking off the mournful mood, Kathy leaned back in her chair and tried to smile. "I always said you worked too hard, took on too many responsibilities. Has any one taught you how to say the word, 'No' yet?"
"Apparently not," Scully scoffed, wanting to believe that was all there was to her sleeplessness, fatigue, moroseness of late. It was as good an explanation as any. "No rest for the weary."
"God, our high-school mantra. So, what have you been up to these past few years? Last I heard you were at Johns Hopkins. What happened to physics? You were so gung-ho about physics when we were in high school."
"No thanks to you," Scully replied, memories flooding back easily. "Now, who was it that dumped the water from the wave reflection lab down my back?"
"Hey, I said I was sorry. It was an accident. Besides, Renee pushed me."
"Likely story." A quiet minute passed. They were both thinking the same thing. "Have you heard anything about Renee?"
"Not in a very long time. After the drug rehabilitation, she sort of dropped off the face of the earth. The Three Musketeers. I guess the accident affected her more than we thought, huh? Remember that day we skipped afternoon classes?"
"And Sister Anne found us in the cafeteria?"
"Attila the Nun."
Seconds later, they burst out laughing. Scully rubbed her chin, trying to stop giggling. "I forgot about that. I got a week's detention for that remark."
"No one told you to say it out loud."
"And no one told you to write 'All hail Sr. Anne' under her picture in the hall, which, by the way, I got in trouble for."
"Oh, come on, you have to admit, it was funny," Kathy replied.
"No, that was humiliating. My mother's reaction, now that was funny. She still has that picture of us standing in front of your handiwork. Did you know that my family threw me a party after that. It's a sad state when your family praises you for getting into trouble at school."
Kathy shrugged her shoulders. "That's what they get for sending us to an all girl's Catholic high school. We had to rebel somehow."
At that statement, Kathy's eyes clouded, her hands fidgeted. She stood abruptly, antsy as she decided what to do next. "I need something to drink." She headed for the kitchen.
"Kathy?" Scully called, following her through the house and into the kitchen.
Kathy stood in front of the sink, filling a tea kettle with water. Her motions were deliberate, intentional. She walked to a cupboard and retrieved two cups and saucers. Placing the kettle on the stove, she turned and gestured towards the table. "Would you like some tea?"
"Sure, Kath." Scully took a seat at the table, feet unconsciously propped on the top rung of the chair.
Kathy leaned against the countertop, watching the tea kettle on the stove. "So, tell me how you got involved with the FBI. How did you go from physics to G-man in ten years?"
"I took a biophysics course my junior year at Maryland. The prof was a bit on the morbid side, and used accidents as examples of biophysics at work. You name it, he found a way to weave it into his class. And despite the man's poor taste in humor, I got interested. So I did a little research, looked into medical schools. It seemed more fun than watching atoms split, so I took the MCATs and applied to Johns Hopkins medical program. After I graduated, I did my residency in the pathology labs, and I was recruited by the FBI to teach at Quantico."
"You always did like the dissection labs in biology," Kathy remarked sardonically. The tea kettle began to whistle, and she prepared to the two cups. "Did you, ah, do the, ah --"
"We don't have to talk about that, Kath," Scully said.
"No. I'm glad it was you who did the autopsy." Kathy's hand shook as she gave her tea cup and saucer. "Cream? Sugar?"
Scully shook her head. "No, thank you."
"So, you spend your day looking at dead bodies? Nice life there, Dana," Kathy joked.
"It's just a hobby," Scully quipped. "I taught for two years at the Academy, then was assigned to assist Mulder with the X-files."
"X-files?"
"Let's just say we investigate strange and unexplained cases. Paranormal phenomenon."
"You mean you chase UFO's?" Kathy sneered. Scully grimaced. She knew what was coming. "You actually believe that stuff now? Weren't you the one to say 'ET the Extraterrestrial' could never happen?"
"Mulder has enough belief for the two of us."
"Now that ET remark makes sense. Talk about opposite poles."
Scully sat up a little straighter. Kathy noticed the change. "What?"
Shaking her head, Scully replied, "Nothing, I was just reminded of a song I heard the other day."
"Must have been some song, you phased out there for a second."
They drank tea silently for a few minutes. Though to say that Kathy was actually drinking the tea would be an understatement; she held the cup to her lips but did not sip. Steam curled up and around her nose, a sad smile on her lips.
"What happened, Kath?"
Kathy didn't raise her eyes from her tea. Fingers curled protectively around the delicate china pattern. "We never got along, you know. John and I, we were never strict with our children. We never felt we had to be. But then Jennifer got mixed up with a bad bunch of kids when she started high school. It didn't help that I worked at the school, I suppose. God forbid she should see me in the halls.
"Not all of her friends were that bad. There were a few that were even a good influence on her. Her grades were getting better, she was getting involved in school. Then she came home drunk from a party. Fifteen years old. It was an unsupervised party, and the cops had to break it up. John and I felt we had to put our foot down. Jennifer wasn't too keen about the new rules.
"It went downhill from there. She would disappear for days at a time. We suspected she was staying with a boyfriend until the money she had ran out. She stopped going to school all together. Then she was arrested for shop lifting. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. John was furious. We arranged to have her sent to a boarding school outside of Allentown. She ran away within a week. I haven't seen her since."
"How long ago was this, Kath?"
"Almost two years. Jennifer would have turned eighteen on the 22nd."
Scully put her cup down and slid the saucer away from her. "Had you had any contact with her during those two years?"
"She did call once. Matthew talked with her. She called when she knew neither I or John would be home. She told Matthew that she was safe and living in the area. She did talk with her friend Melissa a lot. They went to school together, and Melissa has been in a few of my classes. Melissa kept me updated whenever she heard anything."
Reaching into her coat pocket for her notebook and pen, Scully flipped to a clean page and started to scribbled a few notes down. "I'm going to need Melissa's last name and a phone number if you have one."
"Of course." Kathy got up and searched through a cupboard closest to the telephone. Finding an address book, Kathy opened to a page near the back of the book and handed the book to her.
Scully scribbled down the name and phone number, deciding that she would be her next stop.
"She should be home," Kathy said, retaking her seat. "The high school has this week off for February break." Kathy collected the tea cups and walked them over to the sink. "Tell me, how did she die?"
Scully started, unsure if she would want to hear the whole truth. In school, they had been brutally honest with each other. But they never discussed anything nearly as serious as this.
"Be honest with me, Dana. I want to know. The man at the morgue said the FBI was conducting an investigation, and Jennifer may be a part of that. I need to know."
That answered that question. "She was strangled. And even if she hadn't been strangled, she might have bled to death anyway."
"Why?"
Scully chose her next words carefully. "We have been trying to track down a group that is involved in black market adoptions. Newborn babies. Jennifer may have been involved and killed for it in the end."
Kathy turned a very pale shade of gray. A trembling hand went to her mouth. Her other hand was braced against the sink. "Oh my god." Her voice was a barely above a whisper, wavering. "My baby... my daughter had a child before she died?"
All Scully could do was nod as silent tears fell down her friend's face. A tight ache formed in her own stomach. She couldn't bear to think about ever losing William. She couldn't imagine what Kathy was thinking or feeling right now. She didn't think she ever wanted to know what that was like, ever.
"Where's the baby now?" Kathy asked through her tears, sniffling to clear her voice of emotion.
"We don't know. That's what we are trying to find out. Did Melissa give you any indication that Jennifer was pregnant? Did she tell you anything about who she was seeing? Where she was staying?"
Kathy shook her head. "Melissa had a feeling Jennifer knew she was talking to me. I don't think Jennifer ever told her."
"But there is a possibility that Melissa knows?" Scully probed. Kathy only nodded.
"I'm so sorry, Kath," Scully said.
"I know. And I thank you for coming here to tell me all of this."
"What are friends for. I only wish it could have been under better circumstances."
Scully stood, walked up to her friend. "If there is anything I can do..."
Kathy wrapped her arms around Scully, the last sobs wracking through her body. "I know. I know."
"Are you going to be okay?" Scully said, walking out of the embrace.
Wiping away errant tears, Kathy leaned against the sink. "As cruel it sounds, I had a feeling this would happen. I always knew that one day when I opened that door, there would be a cop standing at the door, telling me Jennifer was in jail, was in an accident, and on the worse days, that she was dead." With a quiet bark of laughter and a sniffle, Kathy tried to keep the tears at bay. "Terrible of me, isn't it."
Scully couldn't think of anything to say. Words came so easily when they were younger. Now, years and experiences later, it was as if they were two different people, from different worlds. Condolences sounded trite in her mind, and the one thing she did remember from their friendship so long ago was that Kathy did not want pity.
"No, Kath, it's not."
"You keep an eye on that little one, Dana. Don't let him get away from you," Kathy advised, wiping away more tears. "Remember how we wanted to share everything when we were in highschool, do everything together, live the same life. I hope you never go through this, Dana. I don't want to share this."
"I'm so sorry, Kathy. I should have kept in contact with you over the years."
"What could you have done? It's in the past. We knew all those 'See you next break' and 'I'll keep in touches' were empty promises when we said them. Don't go on a guilt trip on me, Dana, I know how you get. I have enough guilt for the two of us right now."
"What happened to us, Kath?" Scully asked, her mind still determined to feel guilty.
Kathy started water running into the sink, and meticulously began to wash each dish again and again. "We grew up."
end pt 3
* * * * *
"Opposite Poles" Part 4
Philadelphia Field Office
Wednesday, 4:38 PM
Scully was seated at a table on the field office's version of the VCS's Bullpen, working on pieces of her profile, when Boothby sat down next to her. Politely folding his hands, he leaned over the table to read the pages she had placed aside. She didn't find this an obtrusion. In fact, she sort of liked the old man. He seemed like a mix of Colonel Potter and the judge from that show set in Rome, Wisconsin; a likable though gruff gentleman who saw to each of the agents under him to make sure they were happy and productive.
He nodded as he read, grunting his approval as he read each note.
Relinquishing a file folder from his blind side, he placed it in front of her, announcing, "This is the result of the requested search of hospitals and clinics in the area concerning births within the last week. No one fitting the description of the victim was seen in the past three months. No newborns were brought into the emergency rooms of any of the local hospitals that could not be identified through birth records."
Nodding, Scully reviewed the data presented. "I figured as much. These people wouldn't risk an identification of a nosy intern. No, it's something underground, but well equipped. Maybe a private clinic taking kick-backs or something. These girls were well cared for before they died."
"So, you believe it's a group of people involved, not just some individual," Boothby said.
"This is too big to be run by one person. We're assuming each pregnancy was brought to full or nearly full term. The girls must have had contact with whomever long before their due date, and several of the pregnancies overlap in different cities. We've determined that the manner in which the girls were killed is different, depending on the location. Three girls that were found in the DC area proper were shot in the stomach. In the outlying districts, they were strangled, or simply bled to death. The body in Baltimore was strangled, as was this victim. Each body was hidden so that it would take some time to find the bodies. No, these were professional hits, and professionals rarely stray from the beaten path."
"No other unsolved murders with this MO have been reported to the FBI along the east coast at least. That doesn't mean they didn't occur though."
"Hopefully, it doesn't go beyond the tri-state area. It will certainly make our lives easier."
"Well, we've put in a request for a warrant for attorney records concerning private adoptions. We should have the results by this evening. Hopefully, the baby hasn't been taken out of state yet."
"Someone has to be furnishing this group with documents, birth certificates and such. There has to be a paper trail."
Boothby eyed her coyly. "And do you have a plan to get this information?"
"I'm working on it." Scully wondered how much Boothby knew about Mulder and his, and by association, her, list of contacts. From the gleam in his eye, she figured he knew quite a bit about the so-called contacts.
"Agent Scully!"
Scully and Boothby snapped their heads around to find the caller. A young man stood near a corner desk with a phone in his hand. "There is a Melissa Ramsay in the reception area here to speak with you."
Scully nodded. Boothby called back, "Have her brought to the lounge. Agent Scully will be there in a moment." The young agent relayed the information over the phone, then went back to his daily grind.
Taking her elbow, Boothby walked Scully to the lounge, slowing his pace so that he had a bit more time to talk. "Up until now, I haven't been able to afford many man-hours to this investigation, and I apologize. I promised Thomas Chatterton that I would help. If you get anything out of this interview, I will put every available agent on this."
"There's no need to apologize to me," Scully said. "I'm used to working on my own."
"Well, that's a shame. No agent should be ostracized like you and Mulder were, and don't say that you weren't because I know better. Dangerous if you ask me.
"You are essentially in charge of this investigation. I want you to know you have my full support. Whatever you need, you'll get. There is pressure from upstairs to get this case solved and solved soon." He gave her elbow a paternal squeeze, then veered off towards his office.
Scully stared after him until he closed his office door, then headed towards the lounge.
- -
Melissa Ramsay sat with her arms wrapped around her bookbag, hugging it as if it were a life preserver. The large down coat she wore enveloped her twice over, as did the rest of her clothes. Scully had no doubt that some of the jeans Melissa wore would even be too big for Mulder in the waist. Even the height of the girl's hair seemed to defy the laws of physics. Scully watched her from the viewing glass in the door. Melissa huddled on the low, plastic couch, looking every bit as uncomfortable as Scully would be under similar circumstances.
She looked up when Scully entered the lounge, eager to get out of there. Scully smiled as she walked across the room and sat down in a chair across from Melissa. She didn't want Melissa to feel threatened at all. Interviews were harder when the subject was on edge, even if there was no need for her to be on edge.
Melissa's eyes were wide, frightened. They were off to a rolling start.
"Hi, Melissa. My name is Dana Scully. I was the one that called you earlier."
"Yeah, I remember. Mrs. Aslen said you would want to talk to me."
"You've talked with Mrs. Aslen today?"
Melissa nodded. "As soon as I heard about Jennifer, I called her to see if she was okay."
"Where is your mother?"
"We talked with one of the agents downstairs. He said that it was up to me whether or not she stayed with me. I didn't want her here. That's okay, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course it is. But you can always ask for her, just give me the word and I'll have someone get her for you."
"Okay."
"Melissa, I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to tell me the whole truth. No holding back anything, okay? We want to find out who did this, and it's important that you tell me everything you know. Okay?"
Nodding again, Melissa let go of her backpack and leaned back into the thin cushions. "Okay, what do you want to know?"
"How often did you talk with Jennifer?"
"I don't know, maybe two, three times a month. She'd borrow money from me sometimes."
"Telephone, letters, in person?"
"Yeah. We'd meet in the mall sometimes. She'd call when she knew my parents weren't home. But it was about six months ago when she stopped meeting me. That's when the letters started."
"Why do you think that, Melissa?"
Shrugging, Melissa reached for her bag. "I think Jennifer knew I was talking with her mom, and she didn't want me to see her 'cause she knew I'd tell her mom."
"So, you suspected she was pregnant?"
Melissa tensed, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. She didn't move or say anything, but Scully had the answer she needed.
"Why didn't you tell Mrs. Aslen about the pregnancy?" Scully asked gently. It was a sensitive subject, for more people than Melissa probably realized. "You're not betraying a confidence, Melissa. It's okay to tell me."
"I didn't know for sure. And if I told Mrs. Aslen, she would make me tell her where Jennifer was, and I promised Jennifer I wouldn't tell."
"Do you know who the father is?"
Melissa shook her head, visibly upset. "I didn't even know if she was pregnant! She didn't tell me everything, you know!"
Scully edged closer, hands hovering near Melissa's hands. "It's okay, Melissa. It's not your fault. It's okay." Close to tears, Melissa searched around for kleenex. Scully stood up, walked over to the small sink near the coffee maker, grabbed a paper napkin.
"Thanks," Melissa sniffled, wiping her face. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Do you want something to drink? Soda, water?"
"Coffee? Milk and sugar?"
Eyebrows arched, Scully walked over to the coffee maker and poured some of the rancid brew into a ergo-styrofoam cup, dumping in enough milk and sugar to kill the taste. Handing the cup over with an amused glance, Melissa shied away from Scully's eyes as she took the coffee.
"My mom would kill me if she knew," Melissa said, blushing. "She still thinks I dunk my oreos in my milk."
"My mother still cuts my sandwiches into little triangles," Scully said, empathizing. Gain the subject's trust. Let him or her know that they are not alone. And often, Scully found she didn't actually have to lie to gain a subject's trust.
Melissa laughed, sipped her coffee. "Thanks."
"Can I ask you a few more questions?" Nodding her answer, Scully continued. "Did Jennifer ever talk about where she was staying? Who she was staying with? What she was doing?"
"Not much. I mean, she hinted at where she was staying. Like I said, I think she knew I was talking with her mother. At one point she made me promise never to tell her mom where she was. I knew she was hooking when she was stuck for money. She never could keep a job for long. But she told me she was sitting pretty in her last letter."
"Do you have the letter with you?"
Melissa reached into her backpack and produced a letter sized envelope. She handed it to Scully.
"When did you get this?"
"About a month ago. I never heard from her again after that. I have the others with me too, if you need those." Scully nodded her head, and Melissa dug out the rest of the letters.
"Did she explain why she was doing well?"
Melissa shook her head. "No. She just said she met a guy that was going to fix everything for her."
"This guy have a name?"
"Not that I know of. Jennifer never told me."
"Did she say where she met this guy?"
"Not really. But I got the feeling that she saw him a lot."
"Can I borrow these letters?"
"Sure, but can I have them back later? It's one of the few things I have left, and I think Mrs. Aslen would like it. Jennifer sounded so happy in her letters."
Scully placed a hand on Melissa's knee. "I understand. I'll get them back to you as soon as possible. If you want to wait for a few minutes, I can walk you down to reception, or I can call someone to take you down now."
"That's okay. I remember the way." Melissa stood, grabbing her backpack with her left hand, reaching out to shake Scully's hand with her right.
"Thank you for talking with me today, Melissa."
Shrugging deeper into her oversized jacket, Melissa's backpack seemed to disappear inside the folds of the coat. "Well, if it helps to find whoever killed Jennifer..."
"I think it will," Scully assured her. She led Melissa to the door of the lounge and opened it for her. As soon as Melissa was out of eyesight, Scully made a bee-line for Boothby's office, reading the postmarks as she walked.
Boothby had watched her head for his office and waited by the door. "Find anything?"
"Letters from Jennifer Aslen, and a possible lead. Up until a month ago, Jennifer Aslen was living in a half-way house in Ursinus. All of these letters were sent from that location, no return address. Melissa Ramsay said that Jennifer had met someone who was going to take care of everything for her."
"Did Jennifer specifically mention the pregnancy or baby?"
"No, not to Melissa anyway, but Melissa suspected as much."
Boothby rubbed his forehead in contemplation. "Well, I may be able to get a warrant for search of the premises and residents' files, if we know which house."
"I'd like to start on that now, try to pin down which house so we can have the warrant by morning," Scully replied, drumming the letters against her palm.
"Get Henderson and Brady to help you out. Find me a house, and I'll get you a warrant just in case."
The same young man that had told them that Melissa Ramsay was in reception approached them once again, this time with a pink message note in his hand. "Agent Scully, an Agent Mulder called for you. He asked that you call him as soon as you are free."
Scully took the piece of paper, their home number scrawled across the middle of the message. "Thanks," she said, folding the paper and slipping it in her jacket pocket. She started to flip through the letters Melissa had given her, four in all.
Boothby waved two agents over to his office. "Henderson, Brady. Got a job for you." The requested agents waltzed over. "I want you to assist Agent Scully here."
At the mention of her name, Scully looked up at each of the agents. Henderson was tall, like Mulder, but built more like a football player. Brady was stouter, shorter, with a friendly face.
"We think we have a lead on the Aslen case," Scully said, indicating the letters in her hand. "She was living at a half-way house in Ursinus, only we don't know which one. I'd like to compile a list of these places and contact as many as possible tonight so we can arrange warrants for the morning if we need them."
"I'm from the area," Brady offered. "Shouldn't take much time at all."
Henderson asked for the letters. "Are you sure she lived in the same district as these letters were mailed from?"
"We're going to start with the assumption that she did," Scully replied. "And if we don't find her there, we'll expand our search."
"So noted," Henderson said, returning the letters. "We'll get started on it right now."
"I'm going to glean what I can from these letters. Maybe there's more to them than Melissa Ramsay remembers." Scully walked over to the table she had previously occupied.
- -
8:43 PM
An area map was sitting on an easel at the end of the table. Take-out bags slowly encroached farther along the table, getting closer and closer to the action near the easel. Phone lines snaked all over the floor and around chairs, creating a walking hazard if anyone unexpectedly walked into the mess.
Bruce Cunningham had only intended to stop by and make sure Scully had dinner. He knew she had a tendency to forget that eating was a necessity of life when she was working on a case. Her husband was just as forgetful. The two were made for each other. He had a bag of bagels and cream cheese in his hand when he walked in almost three hours ago. In the course of those three hours, he had gone out for Chinese and burgers as well. Not that he minded. Just seeing everyone in action, solving a case from so little to go on was exciting by itself. He worked in the labs, occasionally went to court to testify on the accuracy of the forensic evidence of an autopsy. He wasn't a field agent, but he was beginning to see the appeal.
Henderson and Brady were a good pair. They were still on the phone, just as they were when Cunningham first walked into the Bullpen. They had even recruited a couple of extra agents to handle the returned phone calls. A map with little colored tacks embedded in it was sitting on the easel, a small but noticeable pattern developing as each phone call provided information.
Red pins noted each half-way house and shelter within a five mile radius of the main postal branch in Ursinus, as well as a number of sub-offices just outside of town. According to the department of motor vehicles, Jennifer Aslen did not have a driver's license or permit. That did not mean she did not have access to a car, so a broader radius was used. Blue pins indicated adoption agencies, green, private clinics, yellow, hospitals and medical facilities.
White pins stood next to places of confirmed sightings of Jennifer Aslen, which were pitifully few. Still, those sightings were over a month old, based on information they were able to scavenge from the letters she had sent to Melissa Ramsay.
Those same letters were sitting on the table now, photocopies laid out page by page, passages high-lighted that helped piece together the mystery. Seated in front of the letters was Scully, and Cunningham had to wonder how much longer she could actually stare at the pages, what more she hoped to gleam from the scratches of hints left behind by a girl who did not want to be found.
Cunningham waved a large iced-tea in front of her face to break her hard stare. "I brought you this," he said, pulling out the chair next to her and taking a seat.
"Thanks," Scully said, taking a sip.
"So," Cunningham indicated the letters in front of her, "learn anything new while I was gone?"
Scully shook her head, and he knew that she was frustrated. Pulling a weary hand through her hair, she leaned back and stretched, a few vertebrae cracking in the process. "Just that her probation officer has gone AWOL. The local police are trying to find him. Henderson sent someone over to the guy's office to check out his records. He must have some record of where she was staying for the past six months."
"So, still having problems with the administrators of those shelters?" he asked. He'd been present for the first round of pleading and arguing with some paper-pushing bueaurocrat in social services.
Scully sighed, rubbed her temples slowly. He figured she had a monster headache; he would too if he had spent three hours painstakingly going over letters from an angst-ridden teenager.
"You can't exactly blame them," Cunningham placated. "Those shelters were established so that these kids could get away from abusive homes, boyfriends, girlfriends, pimps and drug dealers. If they wantonly gave away resident information without clear indication of who and what we represented, they would violate that trust they've established with those kids."
"I know, I know. Doesn't make me feel any better."
"Other than red tape, what else has you down? The Dana Scully I knew didn't let a little red tape get in her way."
"Well, the Dana Mulder I am now has had enough red tape to entomb the Statue of Liberty and still have enough to cover the Washington Monument." She stacked the papers in front of her and shoved the pile away from her with a disgruntled snarl.
"Have you talked to Mulder today?"
Scully's hand absently searched her jacket pocket for the forgotten phone message. "No. I've been busy." She pushed the pile of letters farther away.
Cunningham asked silently if he could see the letters, she looked away. Not knowing what that meant, he picked up the photocopies, ignoring the blaring highlighter bleeding across several passages. He scanned them quickly.
The letters spoke of ordinary teen-age things: friends, jobs, brief bits about the shelter. Other parts were more disturbing: mention of time spent in a drug rehab clinic, incarceration for prostitution, the idiot social worker. But what tore at his heart was Jennifer's wish for normality. A family life where she didn't fight with her father, argue with her mother, didn't drop out of school, played in the school band, had a regular boyfriend that respected her.
Scully had picked up the originals, was fondling the pages with such care that he thought she was afraid to disturb the letters themselves. He ventured a guess to her mood.
"Hits kind of close to home, huh?"
Scully shrugged. "In a way. By the time I drifted from my father, I was already living on my own. Didn't make it any easier, but I had some semblance of normalcy. I can't imagine living on my own at 16. I can't imagine having a child at 17. Kathy and I were best friends in high school. I hate to see this happening to her."
"That's the way life is these days."
"This isn't life. This is bad dream," Scully replied sourly.
"Agent Scully," Brady called, "we've got a line on the shelter. St. Angelos on Fifth. A missing persons report was filed by an Abigail Lorrah, director of the half-way house. Since she had a history of running away, the report was put on the back-burner."
Scully stood from her chair and started to pace the room like a tiger finally sprung from a restraining cage. "Okay, call Judge Wollanstein, see if we can get a warrant."
"Wollanstein won't sign until the morning, and we won't get any other judge this time of night who will authorize the search," Brady provided.
"Then we'll start first thing in the morning. Henderson, can you handle coordination with Philly Homicide, scout the neighborhood for any leads on the case. Brady, I want you to come with me to St. Angelos tomorrow morning. We're going to need a few more hands to question the residents as well."
The two men Henderson had recruited for phone duty volunteered to assist tomorrow as well.
"Scully, Chatterton called this afternoon," Cunningham said, pulling her aside when the others had scattered to the four winds of the office space. "That necklace, -- they've found the same type of chain with the effects of three other bodies. It looks like our organization has a calling card."
"Can they trace the manufacturer?" Scully asked.
"The lab guys found a serial number on one of the clasps. They're running the numbers now. It's a mass produced costume jewelry type of thing. It may not do us any good."
"Five of the bodies had the necklace. It's a good bet the others had this necklace too, and any other girls these people have in mind for their baby brokerage scheme will probably have this same necklace."
Cunningham packed up the letters without ceremony, despite her protests. When she tried to take them back, he lightly slapped the back of her hand. "No. Go back to the hotel, call your husband. Get some sleep."
Grabbing her coat, Scully folded it over her arm. "Who made you my keeper?"
"Chatterton. Take it up with him."
9:52 PM
Mulder had just pulverized along floating pink head when the telephone rang. He took his left hand away from the keyboard long enough to hit 'speakerphone' on the telephone next to him, risking another second to bring the phone closer so he wouldn't have to shout to be heard. William was finally asleep and he didn't want the little bugger to wake up until the morning.
"Yeah," he said in terms of greeting. 'Mulder' just didn't fit anymore, and he knew who it was anyway.
"Are you playing that stupid game again, Mulder?" Scully.
"Hiya sweetheart. And DOOM is not a stupid game, it's a classic, and just because you get nauseous whenever you try and play it doesn't mean it's not fun. And while we're on the subject, how could you tell? I have the sound muted."
"You're on speakerphone, therefore your hands are busy doing something else."
"I know what my hands would rather be doing right now," he replied with just enough of his Groucho effect to make her laugh. She sounded tired, and he said so.
"I've been reading over the case notes to find any clues to this ring, and nearly everything we find comes up empty."
"That bad? Listen, this case has been on the books for at least six months. You can't expect to solve it overnight."
He could just imagine her shaking her head at what was clearly a statement of truth, denying that there were some things in life that defied explanation. Some things were better left unsaid, though, so he didn't push the topic.
"How did it go with Kathy?" he asked. He had a feeling that the meeting may have been partly responsible for her depressive funk.
"It went okay," she answered slowly. "We talked about old times."
"War stories?" Mulder smiled, thinking of his conversation with her mother earlier that afternoon. "I talked with your Mom today, and I mentioned that you were going to see this Kathy person. What's with this picture of you and a leggy brunette pointing to a portrait of some douty old nun with 'All hail Sr. Anne' written under it?"
He could hear her smile over the phone, despite the physical impossibility of the act. He just knew. "What other things did you as a teenager that I should know about?"
"And give away my trade secrets? How was William today?"
"He pulled another all nighter last night. He was asleep by 2, woke up briefly around 6 and fell asleep in his spaghetti. This one's a definite winner for odd places to sleep, face first into his plate."
"You're cruel," Scully said through her laughter. "I hope you didn't leave him that way for long."
"Just long enough to get the obligatory black mail pictures. I think you were right, he must be teething again."
"Try the Orajel stuff if it starts up again."
"Will do, Mom. Listen, I talked with the Boys today too."
Though not officially assigned to the case, Mulder felt compelled to do a little snooping around on his own. He didn't have a huge caseload these days, and he had dropped by Chatterton's office to chew the fat for a while. He hadn't thought of anything that they had not discussed the night before. He could see why this whole project was so draining on everyone involved.
"What did they have to say?"
Not a lot, he didn't want to say, but that was the answer. Without anything more to go on, there wasn't much The Lone Gunmen could actually do.
"They're going to run a scan of stolen medical equipment and supplies for me."
It wasn't a lie. They had had similar suspicions about the nature of whatever health care these girls were receiving if no official facilities had any medical records for them. That stuff did not come cheap.
"Can they add lawyers who might have less than noble motives in terms of adoptions?"
"Under the table adoptions? Sounds more ominous than back-alley abortions."
She didn't have a ready reply, and he was wondering if he had said something wrong. Open mouth, insert foot.
"Scully?" He turned off the game; his man had died anyway, a gloriously hideous death at the hands of the huge pink dog looking things.
"Mulder, you know, you may have hit on something. These girls were runaways, most of them prostitutes. A few had steady boyfriends, otherwise little or nor contact with their families. And as much as I hate to think this, why did these girls decide to keep the child when they had no financial means to care for it?"
"Isn't that why they decided to put the baby up for adoption?"
"Mulder, you have to think like a scared sixteen year old girl with virtually no one to turn to. What would be the first thing on your mind?"
"How to get out of the mess I'm in," he replied.
"Adoption is not the first answer that pops into your head, either. Someone must have convinced them to give the child up for adoption. And we did not factor in counselors or physicians at women's health clinics, ones that may offer abortion as a solution, because they kept the child."
That was an aspect of the case he had not thought of, since the girls had obviously gone through with their pregnancies. Possibilities streamed through his head. Was it some corrupt social worker that offered the girls the choice of adoption for money, or maybe even some fanatical pro-life group that did not want to see the life of an innocent child taken. But what did that say of them, when the girls were found murdered just after birth? It opened a whole other can of worms with the case.
"Maybe you should add area women's health care clinics to your hit list, see if they had seen Jennifer Aslen within the first three months of her pregnancy."
"That means another court order. Not that it will do us any good, we have no evidence to conduct such a search. No judge in their right mind will issue a subpoena on a women's health clinic this soon after a major election."
Mulder sighed, combing his memory of his conversation with Chatterton for any little detail. "These girls were young, looking for someone to trust. They talk to a counselor or a doctor that offers a way out, maybe a promise of some money on the side."
"In at least two separate cases, we have circumstantial evidence of a man talking with the victims prior to death, most probably about the adoption. That still isn't enough. What we need is hard evidence, prescriptions, medicine bottle, a business card." He could hear the frustration in her voice seep through the phone lines.
"I'm going to go through the police reports again," she said after a few seconds of brooding. "Private or otherwise, these girls had medication. A doctor had to prescribe them."
"I'll call Andy Jenkins for you. He can run a check here in DC." He'd do a little checking around himself, give the Boys another call. Sometimes working through non-proper channels worked a hell of a lot faster than by the book.
Scully was yawning and trying to hide it. He had heard the sound so often it was almost ingrained in his mind. He wondered how much sleep she had gotten, if any at all, during this case. "Listen, get some sleep. The case will still be waiting for you when you wake up."
He could hear the baby crying in the other room, and from Scully's motherly sigh, he knew she did as well.
"He's awake," she said.
"I noticed. I'm going to go heat up a bottle for him, he's probably starving."
"Okay. Give him a kiss for me."
"I will."
He waited for her to hang-up first. He always did. He would sit indefinitely just listening to her breathe if given the choice, but the youngest member of his brood beckoned. Turning off the computer, he trudged to the kitchen to fetch the bottle, and went to feed his hungry son.
* * * *
Thursday, 3:45 AM
"Okay, brain, shut off."
Stubbornly, her brain refused to listen to her. Scully rolled over once more, repositioned the pillows around her again. Without Mulder, she had fallen back on old habits, propped up with pillows everywhere. It was sort of a throw back to when she was in school, studying until she was too tired to lift an eyelid, books strewn about the bed, and having to find space between back-pack and text books. After a while, she couldn't sleep without the irregular lumps, though pillows, and Mulder, were a lot more comfortable than books.
She rolled over again, absently knocking the police reports from the edge of the bed. Wanting at least four hours of sleep before heading out to the shelter, she put down the police reports and told herself to go to sleep. That was almost an hour ago.
Her mind fretted over the details, scoured the scant reports made at each of the crime scenes, the interview transcripts with families, friends, associates, anyone within arm's reach of the crime scene. She didn't have Mulder's photographic memory, but some of his attention to detail had rubbed off on her. And that attention was driving her sleeping rhythms into knots.
Thoughts floated aimlessly about in a never ending stream. Young girls, being manipulated and used. Little babies, defenseless children being sold like some precious commodity. Families, like Kathy's, torn apart by squabbling, only to learn that their daughter-sister had fallen prey to some sinister heartless scheme to get babies for people who probably didn't deserve them.
She had known people, friends that had everything good there was possible to offer a child, only the waiting lists for adoption were long and the children available few. Now someone was taking advantage of that inborn fear, the desperation, the need to take care of a child, to have something that needed you as mush as you needed it, and turn a profit on it.
Maudlin thoughts branched and weeded from others, and somewhere during that hour, lying awake and staring at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything. Who was behind it all? Why kill eight innocent girls? What happened to the children? Were they okay, were they loved, were they safe? And even if they caught the murderers, would they ever catch who was responsible? Was it really a crime to want a child so much that you would go to almost any extreme to get one?
"It is if people are dying because of it," she mumbled silently to herself, rolling over once again, punching the pillow to vent a little tension.
She thought about calling Mulder. He had called often enough, early in the morning, before they were married. He would certainly understand. But she still could not put a finger on what was bothering her. She didn't want to worry him for no reason.
Her brain was running overtime, that she knew. Too much to do, and not enough time to do it all in. A common ailment, she knew from experience. Her mother was often surprised that she had never worked herself into an ulcer before now, with all the responsibility she took on over the years. But she took it on because she knew she could handle it.
But stress never left her so exhausted she couldn't sleep. Maybe Mulder was right, maybe there was something so frightening about this case that it was keeping her up at night, something so unsettling that it awakened fears she long felt were quenched. An oppressive, unnamable weight pressed on her chest, constricting and eerie. A fear that one moment's hesitation, one second of lapsed attention would bring everything crashing down on her. She hated that feeling, and it plagued her now.
She sat up, leaned back to stretch her abdominal muscles to release the tightness that had set there. Breathing deeply, she got out of bed, paced the room for a bit to get the blood circulating again. She needed to relax, and turning on the light to do more work on the police reports was not the answer. That had put her in a horrible mood to begin with.
Music. She wanted music. That would set her at ease. The mix tape was sitting in her trenchcoat pocket. And her tape recorder was in the briefcase. Problem solved. Settling back on the bed, she arranged the pillows so she could at least pretend Mulder was lying next to her, the tape machine above her head on the pillow, low enough to lull her to sleep, but not loud enough to keep her awake.
Three hours. It wasn't a lot, but she had survived on less.
end pt 4
* * * * *
"Opposite Poles" Part 5
St. Angelos Shelter
Thursday, 9:12 AM
The shelter was located on the outskirts of town, in one of the older sections. In sharp contrast to the suburbia that she had seen yesterday when she visited Kathy, this place was a more used. It was not a hovel, yet no one could claim a lifestyle of the rich and famous. Humble was the word Scully muttered to herself as she turned down the Fifth street.
St. Angelos was a large, sturdy house, easily three stories high, with dormer windows that made Scully think fondly of her mother's house. There was a bike rack in the driveway rather than cars, a tool shed in the back with a beaten track of dirtied snow leading from the side door of the house. Warmed air from a dryer vent billowed from boarded window to the basement. There were a number of young people hanging around the front yard, playing a rough and tumble game of flag football. Two others were shoveling out the front sidewalk. Others were engaged in building anatomically correct snow people.
"Sex education in schools. Gotta love it," Brady commented. Scully turned a wry smile in reply, slowing to park.
Scully pulled over on the opposite side of the road, and as she and Agent Brady stepped out of the car, it was as if all eyes were on them. The football game stopped mid-play, the shovellers stopped, and the snow sculptors hesitated in finishing off the left breast of their female addition to the snow man orgy surrounding them.
One of the football players slowly approached. He was older than most of the rest, though he couldn't have been more than nineteen years old at most. His hair was sandy brown, spotted with flakes of dead leaves and snow from a recent tackle. A torn flannel shirt was wrapped around his waist, leaving only a thin sweatshirt as protection between his body and the elements.
"You should put a few more layers on there, son," Brady said, friendly. "You'll catch your death of pneumonia."
"Can I help you?" the boy said hostile, ignoring the advice.
Scully took the initiative and reached for her ID with her left hand. "I'm Agent Scully. This is Agent Brady. We work for the FBI," she said with a no-nonsense attitude. "We're looking for a Mrs. Abigail Lorrah."
Another one of the football players stood side by side with the leader of the pack, with all the attitude of a pit bull. "She ain't done nothing."
"We're only here to follow up an investigation," Scully replied, undaunted. She had faced down serial killers and irate assistant directors. These kids were nothing. She did notice that Brady nonchalantly opened his trench coat a little wider, exposing the grip of his pistol. Mild intimidation tactic, she had used it once or twice herself. Lack of height did not mean lack of accuracy; Mulder had yet to beat her record at the firing range.
"Did you know a Jennifer Aslen?" Brady asked, hands on hips now.
Some of the younger ones in the crowd backed off when they noticed the gun, but Leader and Pit Bull kept their ground. Leader folded his arms across his chest. "She ain't been around here for about a month. What do you want with her?"
"She's dead." Simply stated, it set the mood to a far less aggressive stance, and she wasn't in the mood to argue with a bunch of teenagers. She had not slept well the night before, or the one previous to that, something Mulder was going to give her hell over when she got back to DC. In retrospect, Scully thought she might have chosen her words a little more tactfully, irritability was no excuse to be rude, even if tact was not part of the young man's vocabulary anyway. Now that she looked at them
"Ms. Abby's in her office," Leader said, pointing to the front stair. "First door on the right as you go in."
"Thank you," Scully said, stepping around the flattened mounds of snow to get to the front walk. She was acutely aware of the looks both she and Brady were getting, though whether they were looks of distaste or awe or maybe a little of both, she couldn't tell.
At a single glance of the house, she couldn't possible see how every one she had seen outside could possibly live inside the house. She had read a brief profile on the place before heading out: it had been established in 1978 by Abigail Lorrah, now 52, widowed mother of two. It was rumored that any teenager that made it through Abigail Lorrah's program would make good in society. After briefly meeting some of the woman's charges, Scully could see Abigail Lorrah had her work cut out for her.
After stepping through the front door, she understood a little better about the living arrangements. The house looked more like a dormitory from the front hallway. There was a large, spacious activities room to her left, an even larger kitchen at the end of the house. A set of stairs wound up a narrow hallway to the second and third floors, and judging from the layout of the rooms on the first floor, there could have been as many as six, maybe eight, rooms per floor, not counting the basement.
A distinguished looking woman walked out of a side office. She had salt and pepper hair, pulled back in a severe, braided ponytail. Her clothes served both simple style and function, setting her apart from her teenage charges. Her face was kind, yet bore the semblance of a woman who would not be argued with. A set of reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose, a metallic chain around her neck dangled loosely from the ends of her glasses.
She wasn't looking where she was walking, and almost ran into Scully. A little startled, the woman stepped back, looked over the top of her glasses at them. "May I help you?"
Again, Scully showed her ID and introduced herself. "We'd like to ask you some questions about one of your residents, a Jennifer Aslen."
"I'm sorry," Lorrah said, stepping into what Scully assumed was her office. "But our records are strictly confidential. It's for the protection of our residents. Some are here to escape abusive homes, gangs, whatnot."
Brady produced an envelope from one of his suit pockets. "We do have a warrant, and we promise, everything will be kept in the strictest of confidences."
Still wary, Lorrah sat behind her desk, hand outstretched to accept the piece of paper. Brady handed it over, and they watched as she read over every bit of the document.
Wary, Lorrah set the warrant aside, leaned back in her chair. "All right. But I reserve the right not to answer your questions if I feel it will endanger the well-being of any of my kids here."
"Understood," Scully said, taking a seat with Brady when Lorrah suggested they should. "When was the last time you saw Jennifer Aslen?"
Lorrah's expression saddened. "She left here a little over a month ago. It's such a shame, though. She was making real progress. Had a steady job for once, she made a few friends here. Then she left, middle of the night, no rhyme or reason. I filed a missing persons report with the police, and I've told my kids to keep an eye out for her. May I ask why you're looking for her?"
"Did she have a boyfriend to your knowledge, Mrs. Lorrah?" Brady asked instead.
Brady's evasiveness was not lost on Lorrah, and she stared back with a steely glare. "Not that I know of. She was pregnant when she came here nearly seven months ago. Before that, she was in jail for prostitution, she didn't have adequate protection I suppose. When she decided to have the baby, I made sure she saw a doctor regularly while she was in my care. Now, I must ask again, why are you asking about her?"
"Mrs. Lorrah," Scully began, "Jennifer Aslen was found dead 4 days ago. She was strangled after giving birth. We believe her death is connected to an ongoing FBI investigation, and we would like to find out everything we can about Jennifer's whereabouts prior to her death."
"Oh my god," Lorrah said quietly to herself. "Oh my god. I didn't realize. Has someone contacted her family? I know she has family in the area. They will want to know."
Scully nodded. "You said you made sure Jennifer saw a doctor after she decided to have the baby. Was there a chance that she was not going to keep it?"
Lorrah frowned, whether it was a reflection of personal views or just the subject matter, Scully wasn't sure. "There's a women's health clinic, OB/GYN facility, in the city. They take care of a lot of cases like Jennifer's at minimal cost. I recommend it to a lot of my girls who don't know what they want to do, or are unsure of the consequences. There are counselors there that will give them the low down and help them make the decision that is right for them. I suppose Jennifer was on the fence for a while, trying to decide what she wanted to do. When she decided to go through with the pregnancy, I told her I would support her all the way."
"Can you give us the name of the clinic?" Scully asked. Brady pulled out a notebook and a pen to jot down the answer.
"The Stattler Clinic, on University and Park."
Brady closed his notebook, nodding. "I know the place. My wife's sister works there."
"Do you know if she went any place else for health care? Another clinic perhaps?" Scully added. She had to make sure. After talking with Mulder on the phone, she poured over the police reports for hours, only to find that the investigative officers could not pin down any one clinic in the DC area that each of the victims visited regularly.
Lorrah shook her head. "As far as I know, the only clinic she went to was Stattler."
"Do you have any idea why Jennifer might have left, where she might have gone?" Scully asked.
"I'm sorry, I don't," Lorrah replied.
"Mind if we talk to a few of her friends here? Maybe they know why she left."
"You can ask," Lorrah said, "but I won't guarantee that they will talk with you. A lot of these kids come from back grounds where the police just stood in the background and watched while fathers beat on mothers and kids. They will cop an attitude. You may not like it, but we have an understanding."
"Understood. One more question, Mrs. Lorrah. Are there any other pregnant girls under your charge that may have gone to the Stattler Clinic at any time in the last six months?"
A horrified expression descended on Lorrah's face. "Do you think that this murder is related to the clinic?"
"We don't know," Scully assured her. "We're just looking for clues to this mystery."
Nodding, Lorrah paused before she answered. "There was one girl. Stevie MacNichol. She lived here until four months ago. She's gone to live with her father in Allentown. I seem to recall that both she and Jennifer would ride the city bus downtown to the clinic."
Brady wrote down the girl's name in his notebook. As he finished he said, "You mentioned that Jennifer left in the middle of the night. Do you have any of her belongings in your possession? Clothes, letters, medication, personal effects, that sort of thing."
"Yes, yes I do. They would be in the storeroom. Let me find my mother, she handles that sort of thing for me. If you will follow me."
They left the office and headed towards the stairwell. As they descended, Lorrah continued, "My mother and I share the downstairs apartment. Best cook you will find in these parts. When my father died, she came here to help out. Now that my own children are grown, she's adopted all of my charges as her grandchildren, and thankfully, they tolerate her old ways."
"Kind of sounds like my own mother," Brady whispered to Scully. Scully had to agree with that analogy for her own mother. Not only had Margaret Scully adopted Mulder into their brood long before they were married, but she also saw fit to include both Jackie and Marty as well, and a whole host of others that she and Mulder were close to.
The downstairs apartment was fully furnished, and despite the lack of windows, the rooms looked airy, homey. Large plants stood in every corner, some draped from eye hooks on the ceiling. Light paneled walls and accompanying carpet made the room seem larger than it should.
An older woman, hair recently set, wearing a large Georgetown Hoyas sweatshirt, stepped out of an anteroom with a small bundle of clothes in her arms. Her face burst into a smile as she watched them enter the living room.
"Visitors! Abby, why didn't you tell me? I would have had tea ready for everyone," the older woman said, bustling into yet another small room off the main one.
Lorrah rolled her eyes, and then turned towards the agents. "Oblige her, and this will go faster, believe me."
Within a minute, she returned with a tea pot and four cups. "Lucky for you, I had just started a pot boiling before you came down. Take no time at all."
Lorrah patiently helped her mother prepare the tea, and made the introductions. "Ma, I want to introduce Agent Scully and Agent Brady. This is my mother, Geraldine Hart."
"Geri, please," the woman said. "Don't start calling me Mrs. Hart or any other such nonsense. And if it makes you feel uncomfortable, you can call me Ms. Geri like the kids do. What are your given names, dears? I just hate formalities, don't you?"
Geri extended her hand, her gaze intent, her eyes and smile warm. Brady was closer and fell victim first. "Art Brady," he replied, taking her hand.
Smiling, Geri handed him a cup of tea. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it? The world be a much nicer place if we weren't so concerned with formality." She turned her attentions toward Scully. "Now, what about you, dear?"
The overt friendliness was somewhat refreshing. "Dana, Dana Scully."
Geri cocked an eyebrow quizzically, an odd expression on her face. Lorrah simply rolled her eyes again, and Scully had the feeling that this was not the first time her mother had done this sort of strange examination. Scully had seen her fair share of supposed psychics and whimsical, odd characters to take everything in stride.
"He doesn't like his first name, does he? He didn't want to pass down his name, but you insisted."
Bemused, Scully stared first at Brady, who only shrugged his shoulders, and then back to Geri. Geri simply smiled knowingly, and turned her head once more.
"She's going to have your hair and his eyes," Geri added cryptically, just above a whisper so only she could hear.
"Who?" Scully asked, intensely curious. Geri only grinned coyly and went back to pouring tea.
"Don't mind her, Agent Scully," Lorrah said, accepting tea from her mother and passing it to Scully. "She likes to predict things. Birth dates, hair color, temperament."
Scully had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud, putting two and two together. An older woman from her mother's church told her that William would be born under a full moon. Mulder thought it was appropriate, though their due date was supposed to be no where near the full moon. When William arrived nearly three weeks early, the premonition came true.
"I'm not pregnant," Scully said, laughing, remembering her skepticism nearly two years previous and how strange it felt then to have the future so idly told like a prediction of the weather for the next day or two.
Geri only sipped her tea, not confirming or denying, almost reveling in the slight shift of decorum in the room. Lorrah shot a disparaging look at the mother, Scully avoided a blush as best as possible, and Brady politely ignored the topic of conversation, much to Scully's relief.
"But you did not come here to discuss such matters," Geri said, leaning forward in her chair.
Scully followed suit, forearms on knees in a subconscious imitation of the gentle woman. "Your daughter said you know where Jennifer Aslen's possessions are. We'd like to take a look at them, if it's possible."
Sorrow and concern flooded Geri's face, and Scully had a feeling that she would not need to tell her that Jennifer was dead. "She's passed on, hasn't she? I had a feeling this might happen. Reckless, I tell you. I told her not to trust that man."
"What man?" Scully asked without pause.
"Oh, Jennifer came to me for some advice. She said there was a doctor at some clinic that offered to help her with an adoption. But I didn't trust him, not one bit. Sounded like a two-bit hoodlum, he did."
"You've met this man?" Brady asked. "Can you describe him?"
Geri shook her head. "No, never met him myself. But he sounded evil. I did not trust him, and I told her so. She didn't listen to me, though. She said she trusted him."
"Sounds like our man," Brady said quietly to Scully. She only nodded.
"Can we have a look at her things, Ms. Geri? We think this man you've mentioned may have had something to do with her disappearance."
Standing, Geri shuffled away from the couch. Ten minutes later she returned with a box brimming mostly with clothes. She placed it on the table before agents.
"She took most of her clothes, I'm afraid. But she left these, and a few letters, books."
Brady rifled through the clothes, all pockets. Scully meticulously searched through the books and letters. "These were sent to a post office box," Scully noted, holding up the letters.
Lorrah looked over the address, and handed them back. "A lot of the kids have post office boxes. It's sort of a measure of security, I suppose. Many are trying to get their lives back on track, applying to colleges, trade schools. They can't very well have their mail sent here."
Brady produced a thin slip of paper from a shirt pocket. "Unfilled prescription for prenatal vitamins. Dated one month ago."
Scully took the paper and studied the signature. "We need to call this one in. I think I saw this name on one of the DC police reports."
"I'll do it. We'll want to send a couple of agents to see Stevie MacNichol as well." Brady took out a cellular phone.
Scully turned towards Lorrah. "Can I ask some of your kids a few questions? There may be a chance that one of them might know who this man is your mother spoke of."
"I'll go find her friends for you now. And I'll ask them to cooperate." Lorrah left the room.
Scully pulled out her own cell phone and hit the speed dial. It was answered on the second ring. "Mulder."
"Hi, it's me. Run a name for me, will you? He's a doctor, last name Hutchison. Don't have a first name, I can't read it. He issued pre-natal vitamins for Jennifer Aslen one month ago, just before she disappeared. I think the name Hutchison appeared on one of the police reports from the DC murders and I don't have them handy. And can you do a search on the Stattler Clinic for me as well?"
"I'll run a check for you right now. You've got your cell phone, right?"
"Yeah."
"I'll call you back. Listen, Jenkins has been combing every possible lead for the last two victims here in the DC area. He may have found a lead. One of the girls had a bus ticket stub for Philadelphia. As far as he can tell, she didn't have any family in Philly."
"Then maybe we're finally barking up the right tree. If I don't hear from you, I'll call you tonight from the hotel, okay?"
"Talk to you later."
Scully hit the END button and pocketed the phone. She studied the prescription slip again. There was probably no chance of lifting a fingerprint off it anyway, so she didn't bother digging out a pair of latex gloves.
It was a generic prescription pad note. She had one just like it in her medical bag, had made a regular practice of having it around after she started working with Mulder, since he often refused to see a doctor, even if she only prescribed ibuprofen. Some pads had the office or practice name on the top. That would have been handy, but too much to ask for.
Brady took her elbow, and steered her towards the first floor. "Boothby is sending a couple of agents to the Stattler Clinic, and a few phone calls to Allentown to track down Stevie MacNichol."
Generic prescription pad. Generic. Prescription. Pad. "We should check all local clinics for commonality of doctors, maybe a doctor/nurse pair. Compare that list against a similar list from Baltimore and DC. That's our link, someone who devotes a couple hours a week to a clinic, community service, that sort of thing. Jennifer may have thoughts of abortion, and this guy talked her out of it and into adoption."
- -
12:15 PM
"I want to thank you for helping us," Scully said, smiling at Pit Bull, otherwise known as Randy Jacobs. He displayed none of the hostility he had shown that morning.
Randy shrugged out of his chair at the community dining table, brushing unruly bangs out of his face with a dirtied hand. "So you think it was that doctor dude that did this to her? I only saw him for a minute or two when I went downtown with her that one day."
"We don't know. But we'll have a sketch artist over here this afternoon. Anything you can remember will help us a lot."
"Okay." He briefly looked about the room, his gaze falling on the other pairs in the room. Brady and another agent were conducting similar interviews with other residents. Most were home from school because of winter break, which made their job a lot easier. As far as she knew, only Randy knew of the man they were looking for, and even named him, Ed Hutchison.
Her cell phone started ringing, and Randy politely excused himself so he could shower. She activated her phone on the second ring. "Scully."
"Hi, it's me." Mulder. "I've got a name for you. Edward Hutchison."
"Yeah, we know. One of the kids mentioned the name to me just a few minutes ago. We're having a sketch artist come by later this afternoon."
"Well, he's an OB/GYN. He's had his medical license since 1975, practices mostly on the east coast. He's been in the private sector for most of his career, a little research into cervical and uterine cancer. He's done quite a bit of publishing of late on some of his studies. Nothing spectacular, if my contact is right about these things. There's some interesting newsprint on him. A local pro-life group put up a stink about this man about ten years ago for his work in an alleged abortion clinic in Bethesda. His record is a little on the shady side, restricted information. The Boys are looking in on it for me."
"What did you find out about the Stattler Clinic?"
"Founded in 1968 to provide for the health needs of women in the Philadelphia area. In the 1980's it was a nice hot spot for bomb scares. There was a rash of about 15 reports in a three month period in 1986 after word was leaked out that abortions were performed there. Since it is privately funded, no one could argue how the money was spent."
"Any civil suits against the clinic?"
"None where doctors were named."
"It was worth a shot, anyway." Scully looked around, spotting Lorrah walking from the kitchen with a plate of sandwiches in her hands. "Hold on a second, Mulder." She covered the mouthpiece and called to Lorrah. "Excuse me, do you have a fax machine?"
Lorrah placed the plate down for the agents and kids, wiping her hands as she walked towards Scully. "There's an internal fax/modem on my computer."
"Could I have a picture of our suspect sent here?"
"Of course, let me just set up the program. The number is 555-4815."
Scully turned back to the phone. "Mulder, do you have a picture of Edward Hutchison that you could fax here?"
"Yeah, sure, Scully. Just give me the number."
"555-4815. You know the area code?"
"Yeah, have it right here. Expect it in a few minutes." She could hear him moving around, probably winding his way around a stack of files piled three feet off the floor, in order to get to the fax machine. "And, oh, by the way, we found Hutchison's name on another prescription, this time a bottle of prenatal vitamins in Jeanette Talbert's belongings. Luckily the landlord in the slum she was living in never bothered to clean out her apartment. Forensics is looking for anything else that could tie her to Hutchison."
"The prescription bottle is enough to us a warrant of his patient records. Two dead girls under his care. We should be able to convince a judge with a positive ID and the prescriptions."
"Let me send this photo to you guys, and I'll talk to you if we find anything else down here."
Mulder hung up first. After checking on Brady, who was on his cell phone with the Philadelphia office, Scully walked over to Lorrah's office, collecting Randy on the way. Lorrah was seated in front of her computer, one hand propped under her chin, the other manipulating the mouse. The tell-tale sounds of a fax transmission were emanating from the computer's speakers.
"It's coming in now."
Scully and Randy stood behind Lorrah's desk chair as they waited for the transmission to finish. A picture slowly resolved itself on the screen. It was a grainy photograph, probably taken from a newspaper clipping.
"That's him," Randy said, pointing to the man on the screen. "That's the guy. I dropped Jennifer off at the clinic, and walked over to a deli for lunch, and as I walked back to the bus stop, I saw Jennifer getting into a car with that man, right there."
"Did she tell you where she went afterwards?" Scully asked.
Randy shook his head. "Nah. Just said it was business with the baby."
Brady had stepped in at that moment, and leaned against the door jamb. "Now, what would a doctor have to do with adoption business? He's not a lawyer, and I have a hard time believing that this guy would have the time to take the girl around to perspective parents, not with his busy schedule."
"What did you find?"
Brady stepped into the room and leaned against the edge of the desk. "Oh, that he is quite the humanitarian. He donates five hours a week to each of three different clinics in Philadelphia alone. A nurse that we've tied to him can be placed at a number of clinics in the DC area as of 4 months ago, as well as a number of clinics here as well. That hunch of yours paid off. Apparently, the IRS has been looking in on him for tax fraud, so there happens to be a file on him about three inches thick."
More to herself than anyone else, Scully muttered, "I wonder how Mulder missed that."
Brady must have heard her, because the next thing she heard him say did not register until Randy said aloud, "You mean the mob?!"
"What?" Scully said, needing to catch the end of the conversation again.
"I doubt Mulder would have seen anything on that part of the case unless he checked with organized crime section," Brady explained. "It occurred to me this morning when you mentioned the Stattler Clinic. I did a little work for the Organized Crime unit a few years back. We traced some of the funds belonging to a Jimmy Donatello, an up and coming in the Genovese mafia family branch down here, to a couple of private hospitals and clinics. The Stattler Clinic wasn't named specifically, but some of the major money rollers for the clinic were connected to Donatello."
"Black market medical equipment and technology, and now babies." Scully shook her head, a little disgusted at the prospect. "And they killed the only ones who could ever possibly turn them in."
"We can get a warrant as soon as we take Mr. Jacobs' statement," Brady said. "We've tracked down a possible base of operations. There's some stuff the OC unit can give us to back up the prescriptions, we get the warrant at 4:30, issued at 5:05 and avoid an injunction by Donatello's lawyers."
"All right." Scully turned to Randy. "Can I ask you to come into town with us to make a statement, Randy? We'll even buy you lunch."
"Yeah, sure. Let me get my coat." Randy jogged off towards the stairwell.
"We'll have an agent bring him back afterwards, Mrs. Lorrah," Brady assured her.
Lorrah nodded. "Thank you. If I had known that this might happen..."
"There's no way you could have known, Mrs. Lorrah," Scully placated. "There's no way any of us could have known."
* * * * *
Enroute to Allandale Center
4:54 PM
It was strange how what appeared to be a simple, cut and dried homicide investigation turned into one of the largest operations,-- well, legal, non-conspiracy related operations--, she had ever been involved with during her career with the FBI. Scully turned towards the passenger side mirror to see the trail of lights behind their car.
What was even more amazing about it was the speed at which everything was happening. The Organized Crime Unit got wind of the case as soon as Brady called in Hutchison's name, and had more than enough collaborative evidence to warrant a search of the premises. The prescription bottle found in the apartment of Jeanette Talbert was traced to an in-house pharmacy of a private clinic under observation by DC Organized Crime. The lot numbers on the prenatal vitamins were among those listed on a manifest of stolen medical supplies. The partial serial number found on the necklace was linked to a small shop in Brooklyn, also under surveillance for illegal mob activities.
On top of that was the positive identification of the alleged suspect, Edward Hutchison, by Stephanie MacNichol. The agents picked up their fax transmission of Edward Hutchison's picture from the Allentown field office before talking with the young woman. Her testimony alluded to conversations between herself, Jennifer Aslen and Hutchison pertaining to adoption possibilities and health care insurance if they opted for his plan of action.
An even stranger development was the affidavit of one Paul D'Atola, currently serving a twenty year term for money laundering and extortion, that stated that Jamie Giodello, right hand man to Jimmy Donatello, desperately wanted a baby. His wife was rumored to be infertile, and her OB/GYN was listed as one Edward Hutchison. The judge didn't argue with the coincidences, and handed them the warrant.
Now, there were twelve agents and twice as many Philly PD on their way to the Allandale Center to serve the warrant and question Edward Hutchison and Nurse Roxanne Austin about the disappearances and deaths of eight teenage girls in the last six months. It was rather surreal. Sure, the official Violent Crimes she and Mulder were called on to help with were often mobilized quickly, but they were called in late stage when most of the ground work had already been laid. Not that this was any different, but it was nice to be involved with a case that did not stretch the imagination.
Brady was driving this time, one of the official Bureau cars. There was always the possibility of an arrest, and the Bureau provided cars where the back door could not be opened from the inside. The walkie talkies were alive with chatter between the cars. Though the ASAC from Organized Crime was nominally in charge of the investigation, with seniority and all, Scully was the agent of record, and would handle the questioning of the suspects with Jenkins when he arrived. The Violent Crimes end would examine patient records to connect the clinic to the murders. The agents of Organized Crime had a list of serial numbers, lot numbers and requisitions from medical facilities in the tri-state area that were missing said equipment and supplies. The attack would be on two fronts.
The car ahead of them was pulling off the main road, and Brady followed suit. Ahead along both sides of the road were large office complexes. To the right was the Allandale Center, looking all the more like a factory than a supposed sanctuary for cancer patients and other long term hospital care recipients. Five government issue cars and half a dozen cop cars pulled up in front of a set of large glass doors.
Jerry Gergen, the ASAC with Organized Crime, waited for Scully and Brady in front of the glass doors. Warrant in hand, he held the door open for Scully then led the charge past the reception area.
A rather irate administrative assistant at the main desk tried to intercept them at a connecting door. "I'm sorry, you can't go back there."
Gergen flipped the warrant in front of her eyes, not hesitating his stride. "This is my hall pass. Kindly get out of our way." He brushed past the secretary with a mumbled 'excuse me', then made a bee-line for the main offices. Scully had the feeling that Gergen had been there before.
Another man, this time wearing a lab coat and stethoscope and built like a line-backer, stood in the middle of the hallway. "Who are you? What's your business here? This is a private clinic. You can't just barge in here--"
"Yes, sir, we can," Scully said, taking the warrant from Gergen's hand. "Who is your supervisor? We are here to execute a search warrant."
She spotted another man, older, three-piece suit and executive looking, down the hall behind Linebacker. Pointing towards the man, she said, "Is that him?" and moved to bypass Linebacker.
Linebacker tried to block her path, and though he didn't physically touch her, the thought that he was trying to use his extra height, weight and bulk to intimidate her only made her more determined to get by him. "This is an obstruction of justice. Please step out of the way."
The little distraction left enough room for the other agents to slip by Linebacker. Scully soon followed, and walking up to the Suit, she said, "Sir, are you the administrator of this facility?"
Suit didn't answer, but it was obvious how he bristled at the question that he was the administrator. "Sir, we have a warrant to search the premises and question you and your associates in connection with a homicide investigation." She slapped the warrant in his hand .
"Very clever of you, waiting until after five o'clock to serve the warrant," the Administrator said, "or else our lawyers would have seen to it that you did not get past the front desk. What do you want here?"
"For starters, I want to speak with Dr. Edward Hutchison. Now, you can cooperate, and tell me where he is, or you can stand there, do nothing, and risk arrest for obstruction of justice," Scully threatened.
The Administrator crossed his arms across his chest. Scully took that as defiance, walked past and said aloud, "Search the offices. No one is allowed to leave the building."
She heard one of the police officers order his unit to block all entrances, and Gergen demanding to see all financial records and patient files for the last three years. Brady and two other agents followed her down a side hallway of office space. There had been a wall map in the front lobby that she had briefly glanced at while they walked in, she had a vague recollection of where Hutchison's office was on this floor.
An elevator door opened down the hall, another man in a lab coat walked through, carrying a clip board and several folders. His face was downcast, looking at whatever was in the folders rather than where he was walking.
Scully recognized his profile, though, from the fax transmission that Mulder had sent them earlier that day. "Edward Hutchison!"
Hutchison looked up casually, then after noticing who had called, dropped everything and bolted.
Scully wasted no time in following; if they hadn't suspected him before they had reason to now. Innocent men don't run. Brady followed her and the other two agents took off back where they came from to possibly head him off at the pass. Pulling the walkie talkie from her trenchcoat pocket, Scully reported, "Suspect on the run, northwest corridor, first floor. We need back-up now."
Brady passed her, gun at the ready. He waited at the end of the corridor, peeking around the corner. "He's headed for the stairwell!" he said, taking off again.
"Suspect is in the stairwell. Repeat, suspect is in the stairwell," Scully said, pocketing the walkie talkie and pulling her gun. She followed Brady into the stairwell, listening for which direction Hutchison went.
"Up." Brady raced up the stairs, Scully taking them by two to keep up.
Footsteps echoed loudly in the stairwell. Scully filtered out the pattern of her own and Brady's footfalls from her hearing in order to concentrate on where Hutchison was going. Doors were slamming, opening and closing several floors below, masking the noises she wanted to hear. They were less than two floors below Hutchison.
Scully stopped in the stair, straining to keep her attention on the suspect. There was a hallow slam of a door against a wall above them.
"Shit!" Brady stumbled up the stairs, galloping towards the closing door. "He's on 5!"
"Suspect is on 5!" Scully relayed through the walkie talkie.
A detached part of her brain heard and registered the voice emanating from the small speaker. "He's headed for the roof!"
Through the fifth floor door, they were faced with a choice of corridors to take. Scully pointed down the corridor to the right with her left hand, indicating that Brady should go that way. She went straight, avoiding the glares and stares and calls of outrage she heard as she ran, gun held in front of her like a shield.
Around a corner and through a set of doors, she saw a fire door just closing ahead of her. Running full tilt, she hit the door before the latch could catch, noticing that the only place to go was up. Feet pounded on cement stairs above her, she followed again, two steps at a time, feeling the burn of exertion starting to plant roots in her lungs.
A cold blast of air filled the stairwell as Hutchison fell out onto the roof top, and the final shafts of sunlight illuminated the top stairs. She wasn't sure if he was armed, though she wasn't going to take the chance that he was, and dove to the side the moment she cleared the doorway, keeping her eyes on his retreating back.
Pebbles and stones covered the roof top tar, crunching under their feet as the chase resumed across the top of the building. Faintly she heard Brady behind her. Hutchison made a mad dash for the fire escape, his hands gripping the steel bars in order to keep his balance.
Scully slid to a stop, gun held in a sturdy two handed grip, site leveled on his torso. "Freeze! FBI!"
Hutchison stared over the edge of the building, coat flapping in the wind like a taut flag. It flipped up high enough so that Scully could see that he wasn't wearing a gun, but her grip on her pistol did not waver in the least. She had seen too many unarmed men and women in her day fight their way to freedom, though 'man' or 'woman' was probably not the most apt description for some of the cases she had experience with. It never hurt to be cautious.
"Put your hands in the air where I can see them," she ordered.
Brady stopped short next to her, gun at his side. "The building's surrounded. He's not going anywhere."
Scully slowly approached, reaching for her handcuffs. She holstered her gun, knowing that Brady had her covered if Hutchison tried anything. "Hands where I can see them," she repeated. "Don't turn around. Face the wall."
Hutchison did as he was told, and did not fight her when she placed the metal links around his wrists and read him his rights. As she turned around, leading Hutchison towards the door, she noticed Gergen rounding the bend and holstering his weapon. There was a grizzled smile on his face.
"We apprehended the nurse downstairs. She'll be singing like a stool pigeon in no time. Not even a minute passed, and she was spouting names like you wouldn't believe. It's amazing how the threat of murder one will loosen a person's tongue."
A uniformed cop offered to take Hutchison off her hands. She used the few moments needed for the exchange to catch her breath, surprised she wasn't more winded. It was amazing how chasing after a toddler kept her in shape. "I need to call Andy Jenkins, tell him we have them in custody."
"First, we have to make sure the murder one sticks." Gergen led her back towards the doorway that led them all out onto the roof. "And for that, we need your expertise. We have no idea what we're looking for in the medical records. Most of my guys are glorified accountants who can spot a false debit line in a tax return in no time."
Scully nodded, descending the stairs, noting for the first time that there were a lot of them. "Where was the nurse found?"
"Roxanne Austin? Coming out of a nursery, I think."
"Nursery? The baby's still here?" Quickening her pace, she outdistanced everyone else in the stairwell.
Gergen stood dumbfounded. "Baby? What baby?"
- -
The only time she paused long enough to take a breath was when she was waiting for the elevator to deposit her on the third floor. Offices and emergency care facilities were on the first floor, primary care facilities on the second, private rooms and rehabilitation clinics on the third, fourth, and fifth floors. The maternity ward and nursery were tucked away on the third floor, birthing rooms far more fancy than anything that she had ever seen. The quiet halls were only disrupted by the muted keening of newborns.
There was a couple standing in front of the glass partition, the glaze of new parenthood alive in their expressions. Scully stood next to them for a few moments, wondering about the object of their attention. She didn't expect to find many babies there; it was a private clinic. Scully counted four babies in the front room, healthy enough to not need constant care like some of the other children she suspected were here.
The couple's attention was focused on a baby close to the window. A nurse had probably moved the bassinet closer to the window for them. He was a beautiful baby, just a day old, the surname of the family proudly displayed on the birth announcement card as well as birth weight, length, exact time.
Scully glanced over the other babies in the area, noting that all of them were too young to be Jennifer Aslen's child. It was a long shot. Just because Roxanne Austin was taken into custody outside the nursery didn't mean she was there because of Jennifer Aslen's child. Brady caught up to her, this time breathless.
"Is the kid here?" he asked, oblivious to the strange stares from the couple next to Scully.
Knocking lightly on the glass pane to catch the attention of the aide inside, she replied. "I don't know. The warrant didn't cover checking patients themselves, only records."
"These things have a way of working themselves out. Besides, charts are records. Birthdate, bloodwork and such will be included on the chart."
The aide opened the door to the nursery and stepped outside. Scully caught her nametag as she turned towards them. "How can I help you?"
"Angela," Scully started, brandishing her badge and identification, "I'm Agent Scully, this is Agent Brady."
"Is Annie in trouble? I saw the police take her away just a few minutes ago." Angela looked all of twenty years of age, though Scully suspected she was a little older than that. Scully hoped the air of naiveté would make this easier for them.
Avoiding the subject of Roxanne Austin, Scully pointed towards the interior of the nursery. "We're investigating the death of a young woman, and we have reason to believe that she had recently given birth here. What was Nurse Austin doing here before she was taken into custody?"
"Just making rounds."
"Are there any other newborns in this facility?"
"Just the ones born with addictions and complications. We keep them in a separate unit."
"Could you take us there, please?" Scully requested. "We need to check patient records, and that includes the newborns."
"You'll have to wear scrubs and masks," Angela said. "We can't risk infection."
Brady tugged at Scully's elbow. "You can handle this. I'm going to check on Henderson. He's going through the computer records. We still need to connect Aslen to this place."
Scully nodded and followed Angela into the infant intensive care unit.
There were five bassinets in the inner room. The temperature was warmer in the room, and Scully was glad she discarded her overcoat in the prep room. Donned in paper scrubs, mask and hands still wet and warm from the faucet, she looked over each of the bassinets and the charts hanging off the ends. She looked at the birthdates first, disregarding all but two children on that regard.
"Tell me about these two," she said, picking up the chart of the one closest to her.
Angela smiled, looking down at the sweet angelic face fallen in sleep, the tiny hands flailing slightly, small chest moving up and down with the aid of a respirator. "This is Dominic. He was five weeks premature, with respiratory complications. His mother has diabetes, and couldn't carry him to term. But he seems to be doing much better. In fact, his father was down here for the 4 o'clock feeding."
Everything Angela said seemed to concur with what Scully read on the chart. She replaced the chart, then moved to the next bassinet.
She didn't need Angela to tell her who this was; the resemblance was uncanny. Soft wisps of reddish brown hair crowned the top of the child's head, and when she opened her eyes, she had the same hazel green eyes that she remembered her long time friend sported.
The chart was suspiciously lacking in vital information, like the name of the mother and time of birth. Scully looked at the blood work, and it looked compatible with what she knew of Jennifer's medical history. Baby Jane Doe was all that was written in terms of identification.
"Baby Jane was brought in by ambulance Sunday evening. Dr. Hutchison signed the order admitting her. Her respiratory system was compromised, and her core temperature was down around 91 degrees. There's been no luck finding her mother."
"That's because her mother is dead," Scully replied. "I'd like to run a DNA analysis for confirmation."
"Are you sure about this?" Angela didn't seem convinced. The wall phone started ringing, and she stepped away to answer it.
"Yeah," Scully said softly, smiling at the little bundle in the bassinet. "Yeah, I'm sure."
"Agent Scully, the phone's for you," Angela said, carrying the receiver as far as it would go.
Scully pulled the paper mask down from her face as she stepped away from the babies. "Scully."
"Brady here. Austin just gave up the baby. A little girl, brought in by ambulance. Jennifer was staying at Hutchison's home, she went into labor Sunday morning. Two ambulances were called, one for the baby, one for Jennifer. Only, Jennifer's wasn't expected to arrive at the clinic, or any clinic for that matter. If the pediatrician on staff hadn't ordered a week long observation period, we might have missed her. Austin says she knew nothing of the murders."
"Likely story. I think I have the baby here. I'm going to have some tests run, as a reassurance."
"Check the chart on your kid. I have a patient number here. It seems all the girls that were taken here had identification numbers rather than names inserted on the patient forms. Those numbers are also on the prescriptions as well."
Scully reached for the chart, looking for any long string of numbers. At the top of the sheet on the corner, in small type-set was a sticker with a bar code on it, a list of numbers inscribed just below it. "Read off the number."
"One-three-one-six-zero-zero-zero-five-five-two."
"That's what I've got here."
"Well, we can contact the next of kin. I doubt that we're going to find the father this late in the game. The family has a right to decide what to do with the child."
Scully looked back at the baby, and thought of Kathy. "I'll do that. I know the grandmother." She hung up the phone before Brady had a chance to say anything more. She knew Kathy; she knew Kathy would not abandon the baby, the only legacy of her own child.
Walking over the bassinet, she was happy to see the baby was awake. Angela had stepped out to attend to the other infants in the hospital's care. Pulling the paper mask back over her mouth, Scully smiled at the child, watched as the little eyes blinked lazily in the soft light.
"I know someone who can't wait to meet you. Welcome to the world, little one. I hope your next week is a lot better than your first."
* * * * *
Washington, DC
Friday, 5:22 PM
Mulder knew she was home, the car was in the driveway, and from the light sprinkle of snow on the hood, he knew she had been home awhile. Grabbing the bag of take-out Chinese from the passenger seat and his overcoat from the back, he trotted up to the front door. He juggled the take-out and coat briefly while he fished for his keys. As a habit, they always kept the front door locked unless they were expecting company.
All the lights were out except for the one above the sink. Scully's briefcase was propped against the little table near the closet door, her coat strewn on the closet doorknob, very un-Scully like in his opinion. He dropped the take-out on the table, grabbed her coat and hung it up next to his in the closet.
As he passed the living room towards the kitchen, he heard music playing from the stereo speakers. The acoustics of the house were such that he could hear the stereo from nearly every room, even on the lowest volume settings. He instantly recognized the music; it was the mix tape he had left for her in the car.
Jackie had made it for him, after, when in a weak moment, he had confessed that he didn't want to leave Scully and the baby alone while he had to go to Ohio for Skinner. It didn't matter that Scully could protect herself, or even that her marksman scores at the rifle range were a hell of a lot better than his own. Jackie called him territorial, and he whole heartedly agreed and was damn proud of it, with a solid nod of his head and a look of stoicism on his face. Then they both burst out laughing at the silliness of the situation. He made her promise to check in on them from time to time, and she in turn made a mix tape to keep him company on the road.
Take-out stored safely in the microwave, he walked into the living room, pausing long enough in front of the stereo to notice that the tape deck was set for auto-reverse. The volume wasn't up very high, but loud enough in the near silent room. There was enough back-lighting from the hallway and kitchen to see. Scully was lying on the couch on her back, wrapped in the afghan again, arms crossed over the pillow lying on her stomach and chest, and head tilted away from him.
From their brief conversation on the phone earlier that day, he knew she was exhausted. He wasn't surprised to find her camped out on the couch. He sat on the edge, his weight shifting her ever so slightly. Her head turned towards him, eyes still closed and a smile on her lips. "Hi," she said softly.
"Hi yourself. When did you get back?"
Scully opened her eyes, rolled to her side so she could see him better. She yawned, drawing the blanket closer around her shoulders. "Three hours ago. Where's the baby?"
"Your mother kidnapped him for the day. She's trying out a few bread recipes and needed a guinea pig. The ladies at the daycare were devastated."
"I'll bet. Like father, like son."
Mulder grinned and sat on the floor so that his head leaned against the couch. "Mom said she would keep him the night, if we want." When she did not immediately answer, he rolled his head , and looked up at her. There was a sly smile on her face, eyes closed. An idea sprouted in his brain, and he got up from the floor. "Scoot over," he said, crawling in behind her on the couch.
Scully moved forward on the couch, leaning away so that he could move. "You're going to ruin your shirt."
After he was settled, he pulled her into his arms. "So I'll get a new one. No worse than baby pee."
"Oh, I'm so glad I rate above baby pee," Scully said, offering him some of her blanket.
"You always rate above baby pee. Slightly below mutant slime, but always above baby pee." He wrapped his arms around her tighter, intertwined his legs were hers. "So, it went well?"
This time when he asked about the case, her shoulders did not tense. There was no hesitancy in her voice. "Yeah," she replied, brushing bangs out of her eyes. "We questioned Roxanne Austin and Edward Hutchison last night. The prosecutors office took over this morning."
"Did you find the shooters?"
"There's a warrant out for their arrest now. Hutchison gave them up for a reduced sentence, if you want to consider serving eight life sentences at the same time instead of consecutively a reduced sentence. But we did find the ambulance that took Jennifer Aslen from Hutchison's home. It was stripped down and abandoned in an impound yard just outside of Philadelphia. Forensics found blood stains inside, blood type matches Jennifer Aslen. They were still dusting for prints when I left the city."
"How'd they find it so quickly?"
"Lot manager said that there had been no new arrivals since that last heavy snowfall we had a few weeks ago. Most of his cars had clear spots under them, except for a white van that he didn't remember logging in. Philly PD put out an APB on the ambulance, he called it in."
Scully yawned and breathed deeply, sighing contently. He shifted position so that she could lay more against his chest than on her side. She sounded exhausted; he imagined she hadn't had much sleep in the last four days. Dinner was farthest from his mind now, just holding her close was his main purpose in life for as long as he could manage.
"I noticed the bed was made," Scully mentioned. "Now, either my husband has been replaced with a pod person, or you slept on the couch all week."
He grinned against her cheek, his secret out. With her gone, he fell back on old habits, just as he imagined she had. He had spent most of his downtime that week on the couch, getting reacquainted with some old friends; ESPN, Sci-fi Channel, and Comedy Central. And he introduced his son to the Three Stooges. William wasn't too keen about the television, more enthralled with the slick pages of the TV Guide instead.
"My security blanket was missing. I couldn't sleep." Her response was a low chuckle deep in her throat, and she wrapped her own arms around his. "How much sleep did you get last night? Chatterton told me things got really busy after the initial bust."
Yawning again, Scully snuggled closer, her voice getting softer as she talked. "We traced all the girls to the clinic, and a few more that were never found. Then we found the records of three more girls under Hutchison's care, one in her first trimester, the others in second. We had to contact them. And I waited around until Kathy could come in."
"You found the baby?" Mulder hadn't heard about that little detail.
Scully nodded, yawning again. "She was still there at the clinic. I called Kathy as soon as we confirmed she was Jennifer's child. She couldn't get their fast enough."
"So, what's it feel like to have a high school friend who's a grandmother?" He couldn't help but rib her, he hadn't been able to for almost a week.
"Old. Kathy put in for custody. Social services said there shouldn't be any problems. As soon as the baby is healthy enough, she can go home with Kathy and her family. Oh, you should have seen her face! She was so happy when she heard the baby was safe. I don't think I've ever seen her that happy, she was practically glowing."
Mulder looked down at her face, the smile that he had not seen for god knows how long. He kissed that smile. "I think you're the one that's glowing." Her eyes were closed, the smile still there, the light touch of a grin marring her face with laugh lines. "Penny for your thoughts."
"I was just thinking about what Ms. Geri told me the other day."
"Ms. Geri?"
"Oh, she's an older woman I met at the St. Angelos Shelter."
"Care to share this bit of wisdom with me?" he asked, savoring the welcome, enigmatic smile that was her answer. Just feeling her relax in his arms felt like heaven. "Is this why you're glowing?"
"I think that has more to do with all the radioactive coffee I've been drinking."
"No more coffee for you this weekend. You're sleeping in."
He needn't have said more, she was fast asleep. Shifting her head so she wouldn't wake with a sore neck, he drew the blanket higher around them both, and closed his eyes. No worries, no cares. Everyone was safe. he felt full, alive. Margaret said she would be by around 7:30, and then the baby would be with them as well. He wondered if all three of them could fit on the couch together.
The grandfather clock chimed six times, the only sound in the house besides the gentle settling and his wife's breathing. Life was good. The house wasn't the same without her there. He felt sleep slowly take over his nerves, and breathed a sigh of relief.
Oh, yes, it was good to be home.