After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
This is the sequel to Before Manhattan. All those of you who passed that up
the first time around will need to read it before going on to this one.
(See how well I manipulate you all? <snerk>).
Anyway, Standard XA disclaimer applies--Chris would never sue me anyway,
right? I mean, what is there to take? ... Unless he's always wanted a
really whiny cat <smirk>...
***********
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Part One
NICAP Regional Headquarters
Baltimore, MD
September 21, 1996
3:21 PM
David Yul sat puzzled, patiently transcribing his interview tapes for the
day. The thing that was puzzling him was a timid young experiencer named
Hal Kildan.
Hal had come to David once, a few months ago, interested in finding out
about the usual signs that pointed to abduction. The young man had been
slightly stand-offish at first, worried that David would take him as a
crackpot, as many others so obviously had.
But he'd loosened up as David started talking to him, asking him whether
he'd had any recurrent health problems--nosebleeds, phantom pains in his
stomach or chest... little things like that. He also asked if Hal had been
experiencing particularly vivid dreams. Had he had problems with
relationships? Was he developing any intense reactions to previously
innocuous objects?
Hal's answers were resoundingly yes, and he seemed absolutely
incredulous that he had finally found someone who knew exactly the
questions to ask. Their interview had lasted several hours, and Hal had
gone away with David's hearty assurance that he was *not* insane, along
with the names of a couple of competent hypnoregression therapist that had
helped friends of David's in the past.
This morning, Hal had suddenly appeared again. He had heard from a
mutual friend about the cataloging David had been trying to get through for
the past three years. Given the number of experiencers Yul met on a daily
basis, he felt it would be useful to create a database of sorts, that could
be used by possible abductees who were searching for help.
Given the assistance that he'd recieved from Yul, Hal decided that he
wanted to be a part of this database, and offered to let David catalog the
experiences that the regression therapy had helped him uncover.
David wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't
what he got.
Hal recounted the hours leading up to his abduction with perfect
clarity. This wasn't too unusual, though many people tended to let the pain
and horror of the abduction itself wipe away hours of time, both before
they were taken, and after they were returned.
What struck David as strange--even slightly suspicious--was the clarity
with which Hal remembered the experience itself. He could describe the room
around him in vivid detail, could recall, almost word for word, what the
greys had said to him...
An hour into the interview, David finally looked at the young man before
him with candid eyes.
"Hal..." He was going to have to proceed cautiously. So many of the
experiencers that he met had been laughed at for so long that they would
fly off the handle at the mere suspicion that they might be lying. He
decided to start with the easy questions.
"Have you had a chance to read any books on abduction?"
Hal shrugged. "Not really. I read that one by Mack, but it didn't strike
me as being very accurate."
"How so?"
"Well," Hal replied, sitting back a little. "Some of the observations
were spot on, but I think he never tried to tell the whole story."
David nodded briefly at the deliberately vague answer. "You've been
seeing a therapist?"
At that, Hal broke into a huge grin. "Yeah, a Dr. Litting. He's
fantastic."
"Litting?" David asked quietly. "I don't think I'm familiar with him."
Hal shrugged. "He's a great therapist. He's really helped me find out
what's going on."
"Where did you hear about him?"
"I had a friend on the net," Hal replied easily. "He said Litting had
tried to help a friend of his." Hal's eyes darkened suddenly. "Guess I
should be glad I went to see the doctor when I did... I guess this other
guy was so torn up by what happened to him that he eventually commited
suicide."
David concluded the interview shortly thereafter, determining to find
out what he could about this Dr. Litting. Hal's recall was so complete that
it almost had to be planted. And if this doctor was trying to undermine the
UFO community's work by filling actual experiencers' heads with garbage...
It took a while to find out where this doctor was located. Hal had been
surprisingly vague on the point, saying that he'd contacted the man by
phone a few times, but that all the therapy sessions were actually
performed at Hal's own house. That in itself was strange enough for David
to want to investigate.
Among the many calls he made that night was a terse phone message to a
close friend in the FBI. Fox Mulder rarely worked openly with the UFO
community, preferring to protect his job and his tenuous anonymity by
associating with only a few select leaders of the local investigatory
groups.
David was one of those select few, and the occassional information that
he and Mulder had exchanged in the last few years had proven extremely
helpful for both of them. David was sure that if anyone could help him
track down this doctor, it was Mulder.
Unfortunately, Mulder wasn't home.
Luckily, one of David's contacts at MUFON had heard about the good
doctor, and was able to give him the man's office address.
With a determined look on his face, David headed for Alexandria...
*******
Dulles International Airport
Washington, D.C.
September 22, 1996
3:15 PM
Sal Menschner's homecoming had all the pomp and circumstance of the boys
coming home from the war. All that was missing was that big brass
band--but, then, there was enough brass to go around anyway.
As she stepped off the plane, hovering protectively at Sal's side, Dana
Scully was again amazed at the number of people Sal Menschner touched,
simply by being Sal. Skinner was there with his wife, worried smiles on
both of their faces as the girl they'd all but adopted as their own walked
shakily into the terminal. Her father, Mulder, a dozen men that Scully had
rarely seen, except to be dressed down by them in some hearing or other...
And standing quietly to the side, managing somehow to be nearly invisible
despite his six-and-a-half foot height, stood Brian Callahan.
Sal recieved each of them with a sheepish grin, a little astounded by
the turnout. When she reached Brian, however, all shyness fell away, and
she grabbed him desperately, wrapping fierce arms around him in greeting.
"I missed you," she whispered.
Her father watched the display with a mild look of displeasure. It was
no secret that he didn't think much of the rich, bluff, young giant who had
snagged his daughter. Scully almost smiled. Mike Menschner would never
think any man was good enough for Sal--just like a quiet old navy captain
Scully had once known...
The party broke up quickly, startling Sal as much in its swiftness as it
had in its affection. She was left alone with her father and her young
friends, Scully and Mulder standing off to one side while her father
hovered solicitously.
"Exactly what happened, young lady?" her father asked gruffly, managing
to seem angry, despite the joy in his eyes.
Sal looked over to him from where she stood, wrapped safely in Brian's
arms. "Can we talk about it at your house, Daddy?" she asked with a sigh.
"I could use a cup of hot tea right now."
"And a cigarette, I'll bet," her father added, his stern words holding
less and less power as his smile grew.
"Gave 'em up, Dad," she said, smiling at his shock. "Though I didn't
*really* have much choice."
As her eyes darkened at her own quip, her father shifted uneasily. "All
right, May," he finally said quietly. "Let's get your suitcases and get you
home." His invitation clearly did not include Brian Callahan, and the giant
tightened his hold on Sal defensively.
Surprisingly, Sal simply looked up at her lover with a sad, embarassed
grin, and slid carefully from his arms. "I'll call you later," she
whispered, as she dropped a loving kiss on his cheek. Brian was left to
ponder her uncharacteristic snubbing as she walked away.
*******
It was no surprise to Mulder that Scully was keen to find out what he had
learned while she'd been keeping an eye on Sal in Arizona. Scully hadn't
trusted that Sal would be all right on her own--more because of threats
from without than the obvious threats from within. Sal had shown no
inclination to finish the job she'd started on that fire escape in
Rattleby, but Scully wasn't sure that the people who'd sent the young
pathologist there in the first place wouldn't come to finish it for her.
She'd been happy to stay and keep an eye on her healing friend, but two
weeks was a long time to be so out of the loop.
Mulder had been calling her frequently, with updates on the case, so
there was really very little to catch her up on. Predictably, Goldman had
been found dead in his house in Baltimore the night Mulder and Scully had
departed for Arizona. If the people they suspected really *were* behind
this operation, they knew they didn't take well to betrayal.
The cassettes that Mulder had salvaged from the burning trashcan were
close to useless, the magnetic tape so damaged by the intense heat and
melted plastic as to be all but unuseable. The only thing that *could* be
gained from them was a brief snatch of one of Kauthen's chilling commands
to her: "all of the evidence would have to be destroyed, Sally. Do you
understand? *All* of it..."
Mulder hadn't been able to dig up much more on Kauthen. The psychiatrist
had been in the areas of some fifteen suicides across the country, but he
couldn't be tied to any of them. Between them, Brian and Mulder had
exhausted every contact that either of them had, and they had still come up
with nothing.
Scully looked over at Brian, as Mulder finished his catalog of their
defeats. The blond giant looked exhausted himself, his eyes red and puffy,
his face drawn. Sal had made Mulder promise to keep the older agent in D.C.
while she was in the hospital, and Scully could see that it had torn him
apart.
She'd talked to Sal about it, as her friend got stronger, but all the
younger woman would say was that she didn't think he really needed to see
her this way. So Mulder and Scully had respected her wishes dubiously, and
Mulder had convinced Brian that there was time enough to see her when she
got home.
"So they just get away with it again," Scully observed fatalistically.
She didn't like it--she *never* liked it--but it was as inevitable as the
sun coming up in the morning. The syndicate would *always* get away with
it.
********
In a darkened room in the Pentagon, a man smoked his cigarette thoughtfully
as he heard the news about Salome Menschner's joyous homecoming. He'd
figured out exactly what would be done about the young woman.
It was so perfect a plan that it could not possibly fail...
*******
Michael Menschner's Residence
Alexandria, VA
6:15 PM
Sal sat quietly in her father's kitchen, staring into her teacup as if it
held the answers she sought.
"Are you sure you're okay, honey?" her father asked, backing off in
surprise as her head snapped up so her eyes could glare at him. She'd heard
that word--"honey"--too many times in the last month and a half to be
comfortable with it now.
At the hurt look in her father's eyes, however, she immediately calmed
down, giving him an embarassed grin. "I'm sorry, Daddy... Yeah, I'm okay,"
she assured him with a sigh. "Just tired."
"Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep, then," he suggested
gently. "I'll get your bags from the car."
She shook her head, rising. "If you can just take me home, Dad, I'll be
out of your hair."
The sterness she'd been so afraid of as a child flashed in his eyes, and
Sal was amazed to find herself scared by it again. She'd changed since
she'd left D.C., she realised. And she didn't like it.
"Can't I just have you under my roof for a night or two, young lady?" he
asked briskly, the frightened look in her eyes worrying him. When he spoke
again, it was with the quiet, sad tone he'd used in the months after his
dear wife's death. "You've just had a... a hard time.... and..."
Sal smiled at him, more shyly than she had since she was a girl. "Okay,
Dad. But just a few days. I need to get back to the apartment. Psycho is
probably thinking he'll have to live with Dana forever. And *trust* me,
that's a fate worse than death for a cat..." Again, her face darkened
suddenly, as she damned herself for her own phrasing.
Death had been far too much on her mind of late....
*******
She woke at one-thirty, her body still on mountain time, her mind still
working off of her secret schedule in Arizona. She sighed, contemplating
rolling over and going back to sleep. Without her cigarettes to draw her
out into the night, she found that one-thirty was an obscene time to be
awake.
However, she thought suddenly, rising from her bed and slipping into a
pair of sweatpants, this would be the perfect time to catch up on some
long-neglected business...
Sneaking downstairs carefully, as she had done often when she lived with
her father, she slid the porch door open silently as she grabbed her
cellphone, stepping out and reaching back to close it, lest her voice on
the phone reach him in his room at the top of the stairs.
A deep, beautifully sleepy, voice greeted her after only one ring.
"Hello... Callahan."
"Hi, Brian," she said quietly.
"Sal?" She heard instant worry in his voice, and almost scowled at it.
Almost. Aside from the occassional calls to keep up her cover back in D.C.,
she hadn't spoken with him in six weeks. She'd take the overprotectiveness,
if only to hear his voice.
"What's wrong?" he asked into the silence that her thoughts had bred.
"Nothing," she replied quickly. "I just wanted to talk to you."
"At one-thirty in the morning?"
Sal smiled coyly, the smile stretching to her voice. "Well, you know how
my Dad *hates* you," she teased lightly. "I just thought I'd save myself a
lecture."
Brian relaxed. "Yeah," he agreed, subtly bringing up her snubbing
earlier that day. "He stole you right out from under my nose this
afternoon."
"I'm sorry, Bri," she sighed, sitting quietly on the patio, crossing her
legs and wincing slightly as the action pulled at her stitches. "I just...
God, all I needed was a fight with him today, you know?"
"So you're really okay?" Brian asked cautiously.
"You know what I'm going to do?" Sal asked briskly in answer. "I'm going
to get a t-shirt printed up: 'I'm doing fine, thanks.' Then I won't have to
go hoarse saying it."
"But I wouldn't be able to see it, Sal-o-mine," Brian remarked, laughter
in his voice. "I'm on the phone."
"Well, you won't have to be for long," she returned, rising suddenly.
"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be over."
"Sneaking out of your Dad's house, Miss Menschner?" Brian asked coyly.
"I could turn you in for that."
"Oh sure," she replied, sounding more her old self. "Or, you could just
shoot *yourself* in the head, and save my dad the trouble." She smiled at
his chuckle. "I'll be over in a few," she said, disconnecting the call as
she reached for the door.
She didn't have a chance to open it before the phone rang again...
**************
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Callahan Residence
Alexandria, VA
2:31 AM
Brian was pacing by the time Sal showed up at his apartment, almost an hour
later.
"What took you so long?" he asked immediately.
"I had to make sure Dad was asleep," she said quietly, walking up to him
in the half-light of his living room, a coy look of lust on her face.
Brian enfolded her carefully, wary of her stitches. He breathed deeply,
and suddenly frowned, though the action held no real irritation. "Have you
been smoking again?"
Sal gave him a look, as she pulled away slightly. "My clothes must still
smell of it," she said after a blank moment. "It'll probably take a year to
air them all out."
Brian shrugged at the answer. She wasn't reeking of the things, and he
remembered all too well how long it had taken before *his* wardrobe smelled
smoke-free when he'd cut down to nearly nothing five years ago. He looked
down at her again, smiling lightly as he lead her to the couch, sprawling
out on the soft cushions and setting her gently on top of his now-reclining
form.
"So how's Daddy?" he asked, still a spark of irritation for her earlier
rejection.
She ignored the question, preferring to curl up in his embrace, as she'd
been dreaming of doing for the last six weeks. She turned in his arms, her
stomach now lying on top of his own, and looked up at him, kissing him
lightly. "Did I tell you I missed you?"
He returned the display, still holding her gently... Still afraid she
might break. "I think you did, as I remember..."
"Well, I'm telling you again," she said, smothering him with all the
kisses she'd saved up while she'd been in Rattleby.
*******
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
September 23, 1996
9:15 AM
Mulder sat at his desk, feeling the comfortable presence of his partner in
her own chair across the room. He'd missed her while she'd been away, which
only served to bring to mind how much Brian must have missed Sal when she
was gone. Scully was just his partner, and two weeks seemed an eternity not
to be able to talk to her face to face. Brian had gone nearly two months
away from the woman he loved--without the assurance that she was all right.
He looked up from his files as Scully's phone rang, and she leaned over
to answer it. "Scully... Yes... Okay, we'll be right up, Kimberly."
Mulder looked at her questioningly as she rose.
"Skinner wants to see us," she said quietly, slipping her suit jacket
back on in preparation for the meeting.
********
9:30 AM
Skinner glanced up as they entered, a distracted look on his face. "Agent
Scully," he said in greeting. "Welcome back. I wanted to thank you for
everything you did for May."
Scully shrugged demurely, and, without a word, took a seat before the
man's desk, with Mulder following suit.
"A case just came across my desk," Skinner explained, passing the file
to Mulder. "I thought you'd be interested... There have been three strange
suicides in Baltimore in the last few days." He smiled grimly as Mulder
opened the case file and looked up at him in shock. "I thought they'd look
familiar."
The case file was topped by three crime scene photos, each showing a
dead man, each of them with a bullet in his brain and a blissful smile on
his face. One of them, Mulder recognised.
David Yul had been the head of NICAP's Baltimore division for fifteen
years, and Mulder had come to know him well as the agent had sifted through
numerous UFO sightings since he'd taken on the X-Files. Dave had been a
friend--and a good one.
He remembered, suddenly, that brief message on his answering machine the
day before yesterday--a simple "Hey, Mulder, it's Dave. Call me back." sort
of thing. He hadn't had a chance to return it yet.
He'd never have the chance at all now.
"Any signs of theft?" Mulder asked, as he passed the file to his
partner.
"Only in the case of a man named Yul," he nodded as Mulder gestured that
he had known the man. "He was found dead in his office, the wound obviously
self-inflicted. But all of his files have gone missing. An employee stated
that she had seen him earlier in the day, and that he hadn't seemed upset
or disturbed in any way."
"Had he been undergoing any form of psychotherapy?" Mulder was fairly
sure he hadn't. Dave would have told him something like that.
Skinner shook his head. "Not that we could determine." He leaned
forward, his eyes intense. "I want to be kept fully informed on this
investigation, Agent Mulder," he asked pointedly. "If we have a chance to
find out what's going on here..."
Mulder simply nodded as he and Scully quit the room.
*******
Yul Residence
3:43 PM
Jena Yul looked worn-out, a haunted glaze to her eyes telling the agents
that she probably hadn't slept since her husband had been found. She
greeted Mulder with a tired hug, showing the two of them into her living
room.
"Jena," Mulder said quietly. "I'm sorry about Dave."
A light came into the woman's eyes, and she turned on him. "David had no
reason to kill himself, Mulder. He wouldn't have done it."
Mulder nodded sadly. "I know, Jena," he replied. "That's why Agent
Scully and I are here." He explained, as well as confidentiality allowed,
the circumstances behind the case, and his feeling that Dave Yul was most
likely *driven* to kill himself. At that, Jena blanched.
"But who would want to..."
"Jena," Mulder broke in carefully. "Dave called me the night before
last and left a message. Do you know what he might have been calling
about?"
She nodded quietly. "He was trying to dig up some information on a
psychiatrist named... Litting, I think."
"What kind of information?"
"David been interviewing an experiencer. He was a little suspicious,
because the man had almost total recall."
Scully looked at her partner questioningly, and he explained. "Even
under hypnosis, an abductee rarely remembers *everything* that happened."
His voice turned quiet, remembering the wealth of unanswered questions that
his own hypnotherapy had left him with. "It's usually just vague
impressions..."
Jena nodded sadly in agreement. "Anyway, David was trying to track this
doctor down. He thought that maybe Litting was trying to undermine the
community's work... Trying to cloud the issue by planting false
memories..."
"So he found this doctor?" Mulder asked, a stern look to his partner,
warning her to keep her ideas about alien abductions to herself. He needn't
have bothered. Scully wasn't about to upset this poor woman any more by
voicing her suspicion that *all* alien abduction memories were false.
"I don't know," Jena replied quietly. "He called me at about four that
day, telling me a little about what was going on. He was going to call
around and see what he could find out, and didn't think he'd... be home for
a while." Her eyes turned red as the tears she'd been holding in finally
came loose. "That was the last I heard until they... called me..."
*******
Sal Menschner's Residence
Baltimore, MD
6:45 PM
Sal sat on her deck quietly, thinking things over. She itched for a
cigarette, but the stay in the hospital down in Arizona had finally gotten
her through the physical withdrawals she'd been feeling for the last week
that she'd lived in Rattleby, and she decided once and for all to kick the
habit.
She was still puzzled by what Brian had said about smelling smoke on her
clothes. Did she really *still* reek of cigarettes? Maybe she should get
her whole wardrobe cleaned if that was the case.
She sat back happily. God, it was good to be home. Her father had been
livid when she'd called him this morning, letting him know that Brian was
going to drop her off at her apartment, and that she'd be by later in the
day to pick up her things. She had left him a note when she'd gone out last
night, so he hadn't been exactly frantic about why she wasn't there when he
woke up in the morning. But he just plain did *not* approve of Brian, and
the thought of his daughter spending the night with the man set his ears to
burning.
Still, she kept firm to the knowledge that she wanted Brian in her life.
Her father would, eventually, simply have to live with that, whether he
liked it or not.
She sighed, smiling as she heard a scratching at the screen door, and a
deep tom's meow that demanded she answer him. "Hey, Psycho," she whispered,
as she slid the door open. The old black-and-white looked up at his
mistress, still managing to seem slightly annoyed at her for leaving him
for so long.
"I know," she said quietly, picking him up, careful of her still
splinted left hand, grunting at the way his sixteen-pound bulk punished her
still-healing stomach. "I know, I'm terrible, huh? I leave you all alone,
with no one but Aunt Dana to take care of you..."
She stroked him patiently until he began to purr, his vibrations running
through her chest where he lay. They sat like that for a number of minutes,
Sal just trying to get used to the idea that she was finally home to stay.
"Do you want some food, Psych?" She rose finally, letting him drop
languidly to the ground beside her. "Come on, baby... Let's go get some
food, huh?"
She walked into her kitchen, opening one of the higher cabinets and
taking out a can of catfood. Opening it one-handed was more difficult than
she'd imagined it would be, and it took her some time to figure out. She
knew that Psycho was terribly spoiled--could have survived quite well on
dry food--but she'd had him since she moved out of her father's home, and
the cat had become her constant companion.
The old tom sat at her feet and yowled, occassionally climbing his front
paws up the cabinet beside her, anxious for yet another form of affection
from his owner. He yowled again, almost angrily, as the phone rang.
"Hang on, Psych," she said irritably as she walked over him on her way
to the phone, leaving the task of opening his dinner only half-finished.
"Hello, Menschner," she announced, still a slight smile on her face as
she watched her cat contemplate his thwarted meal.
What she heard on the phone made her lose that grin quite quickly, and
her grip tightened as the man on the other end said his piece.
*******
End Part Two
[Sheeesh! Anyone for a crafty hanger? <g> - Char]
**************
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Part Three
J. Edgar Hoover Building
September 24, 1996
8:15 AM
Mulder's face was troubled as Scully walked into the office the next
morning. She assumed he was still brooding about his friend David's death.
He had apparently been quite close to the man, though Scully had never met
him.
"Hi," she said quietly, taking off her coat and draping it over one of
the extra chairs in the office.
She'd guessed wrong about the reason behind Mulder's mood.
"We have a meeting at two," he told her dully.
"What for?"
"We've been ordered to appear as witnesses at Sal's OPC review."
********
Meeting of the Office of Professional Conduct
2:05 PM
Sal Menschner sat, twisting her right hand over the bandages on her left in
nervousness, as the OPC board finally convened. She'd seen a number of her
friends sitting outside, waiting to be called in to testify, one by one.
Brian had looked slightly ill, and her godfather had given her a look that
said if he could have stopped this investigation, he would have.
But nothing Skinner would have said could have stopped the hearing, and
Sal had known it the moment he called her about it last night.
She'd gone off to Arizona on what she'd later found out was an
unauthorised investigation, and her own conduct toward the end had been
less-than-becoming for an FBI agent.
Unfortunately, she still had the splint on her hand and the cane at her
side, which would probably be all the evidence they needed to at least
suspend her--if not boot her out altogether.
The man who was running the hearing was short--just Sal's height--and
had unexceptional, loosely cropped, dark, curly hair. He sat on the
opposite end of the long "interrogation" table from her, flanked by a
number of other officials--all equally forgettable in appearance.
"This hearing is being convened to discuss the conduct of Agent Salome
Menschner in the unauthorised investigation of one Dr. Darrell J. Kauthen,
in Rattleby, Arizona." The man intoned. It sounded like a pronouncement of
death to Sal.
***
She defended herself as best she could, pointing out that she *had* only
been following the orders given her by a superior in the FBI. She tried to
explain the circumstances surrounding her apparent suicide attempt, but all
the excuses in the world sounded hollow--even to her--and she figured she
might as well give up and pack her bags now.
Walter Skinner was the first one they interviewed, and the questions
they asked him, as a superior who had overseen her conduct in at least a
few cases, were thoroughly predictable, the aspertions the board cast on
his claims, all but asked for.
"AD Skinner," the mop-headed man asked. "What is your assesment of Agent
Menschner's conduct in past investigations?"
"She's an exellent researcher, and has provided a wealth of important
information in a number of cases."
"So you're pleased with her work?"
"Very."
A tall man, looking young despite his salt-and-pepper hair, spoke up at
this point. "But how... unbiased... can we assume your assessments to be,
Mr. Skinner?"
Here it comes, Sal thought darkly.
"Excuse me?" Skinner asked, instantly combative.
"Well," the young man continued, calmly. "You *are* related to Agent
Menschner in a way, are you not? You're her godfather... Known her all her
life?"
Skinner's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he allowed quietly.
The man spread his hands. "Then how can we be sure that this is not her
godfather speaking, instead of the Assistant Director, Mr. Skinner?"
Skinner fought the urge to stand. "As an employee of, and Assistant
Director to, the FBI, I am sworn to tell the absolute truth in these
proceedings," he announced stiffly. Sal was thankful that he never once
turned to her. It would have weakened his position--which was already weak
enough, thank you. "Speaking as the Assistant Director, and as a man who
has supervised Agent Menschner, I can assure you that she is an exemplary
agent."
The man in charge of the hearing had obviously heard enough, and sent
Skinner from the room in short order. Only as he was leaving did Skinner
come close to even noticing Sal's attendance. The look in his eyes as he
passed her said it all: "I've done what they'd *let* me do for you."
***
Her direct supervisor came next, and the questions to him were less
combative: What was she like when she was working? Was she good at her job?
Was she ever shown to be defiant of authority? Quick to anger? Incapable of
working with others? Had she ever lost her temper? Had that ever interfered
with her ability to do her job?
Sal's stomach dropped suddenly, as she realised what they were trying to
do. It was ingenious, really. Forget the fact that she'd taken part in an
unlawful investigation, forget her assault on another agent...
There was an easier way to get to her.
When Dana Scully walked in, with a quick nod to her friend, Sal knew
they had all the nails they needed to close up her coffin. Of all the
people in the world to use against her...
"Agent Scully," the leader said calmly, as the petite redhead took the
hotseat beside him. "I understand you were part of the group that recruited
Agent Menschner out of Johns Hopkin's Medical School?"
"Yes, sir."
"And in your notes to the review board about her application to
Quantico, you said you found her to be, and I quote, 'acutely inquisitive,
and a naturally stable personality.' Is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."
Sal held her breath, certain of what would come next.
The leader of the hearing opened the file before him and held his
glasses up to his face. The file was red-tabbed--an X-File.
Could you tell me the events surrounding Agent Menschner's admittance to
Northeast Georgetown Medical Center on February 15th of 1995, Agent
Scully?"
Scully tensed.
The curly-haired man continued. "Salome Menschner was admitted for knife
wounds to her wrists, was she not?"
"Sir," Scully said quietly. "That case had a number of... unusual
aspects to it."
"Unusual..." the man mused, looking further through the file. "The
original assesment of her injuries was that she had attempted suicide,
wasn't it?"
"Sir, if you'll read further--"
"Yes," he replied coldly. "The wounds were subsequently ruled
'hysterical hemorrhagia'?"
Sal felt the dirt dropping on her grave.
"Sir..."
"Answer the question, please, Agent Scully."
Scully was silent for a moment, gazing down the table at her friend. Her
eyes dropped suddenly. "Yes, sir--But--"
"Thank you, Agent Scully," the man said briskly. "That will be all."
"But--" Scully broke in, almost desperately.
"That will be *all*, Agent Scully," he replied firmly.
***
The rest of the hearing was a mere formality. Sal sat quietly, knowing what
the final verdict would be, and suddenly not really caring. So she was out
of the FBI. Out on a pysch pension, no doubt, which meant that she'd never
get a job as a doctor again. Not even inner city hospitals would take a
psycho for so much as an ER nurse.
She smiled suddenly, though she kept it small, and the men at the other
end of the table certainly didn't see it. The hidden joke was just too
strong this time.
Psycho was owned by a psycho. She realised dimly that this bad joke was
only one more sign that she was *truly* losing it in this conference room.
She suddenly, desperately, needed a cigarette.
She sighed, waiting for them to finish covering their asses. Waiting for
them to decide that they had enough hard evidence to ensure that any appeal
of their decision would be soundly denied.
That done, they asked her to stand, like a marine corporal dressed down
before a courtmartial.
"It is the decision of this committee that Agent Salome Jennifer
Menschner be released from further duty with the FBI, and that she undergo
psychiatric treatment as mandated by code 657-1 of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation's retirement policies regarding termination due to
psychological difficulties."
Sal tuned out the rest of his pronouncement, which covered the boring
little details of how they would pay her a monthly check, since it was at
least *possible* that her problems had been a direct result of her
involvement in the FBI; she'd be given "thorough psychological
help"--mandatory, of course--and would retain her right to all the perks
entitled to a retiree of the federal government. Blah, blah, blah...
It struck her as slightly strange that, for now, she couldn't care less
about their decision. Before she'd gone to Arizona, she would have fought
them for all they were worth. Before Rattleby, she really would have cared.
Right now, she just wanted out.
"Would you like to make any statement, Miss Menschner?" The man who had
so grilled Skinner suddenly asked.
Sal smiled coldly. "Miss" Menschner. She guessed she didn't rate an
"Agent" anymore, did she?
"What do you want me to say?" she asked, calmly. "You've already made
your decision. Hell--you'd already made it before I even walked in the
door."
"Miss Menschner--" the man started to protest.
"Go ahead," she said coldly. "You can *try* to cover this up if you
want. But what happened in Rattleby was *not* my fault... It was *yours*."
She turned on her heel, halfway out the door as they tried to call her
back. "Oh, don't worry," she told them, looking out into the hallway,
seeing Brian's face fall at her words. "I'll make sure to give the guards
my gun and badge."
And with that, Sal Menschner left the FBI.
*******
An old man at the Pentagon smiled as he heard about ex-Agent Menschner's
little scene before the OPC. Things were progressing well.
He had all the information he needed to keep her off balance until he
could get to her.
All it ever took was a simple phone call...
**********
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Part Four
<beep> "Hey Sal... It's Brian... Listen, will you call me? Please?"
<beep> "Sal, it's Dana... Listen, can I... Do you want to come over? Give
me a call."
<beep> "May, it's me." The Terror, Sal thought with a smile. He was still
feeling guilty that he couldn't do anything to help her today. "Listen, I'm
appealing the review--"
Sal jumped for the phone. "Walt, don't."
Walter Skinner frowned at her over the phone. "May," he objected. "Their
claims don't have anything to back them up--"
"Have you seen Kosseff's report after what happened last winter?" Sal
asked, referring to the case of so-called "hysterical hemorrhagia". "She
*already* thought I was looney tunes. That incident just confirmed it for
her."
"Well, there has to be something we can do," he said quietly.
Sal snorted derisively. "Just make sure my checks get to me on time,"
she said coldly, hanging up before he had a chance to reply.
She looked around her apartment tiredly, taking in the fine furniture,
her own eclectic tastes reflected at every turn. Fuck them! She didn't
care! The Bureau was trying to cover up Goldman's actions, and that was
just fine with her. She didn't want to deal with it anymore.
Walking back out onto her deck with a loud sigh, she picked up her
scotch and took a sip. She sat in her lawn chair, pulling out her cigarette
case.
She'd replenished her stock after that farce they called an OPC hearing.
After all, if her life was already ruined, a little lung cancer couldn't
hurt. She looked at the cancer sticks blankly for a moment--imported
English cigarettes. Very strong, *very* expensive. Snorting again, she took
one out and lit it, inhaling deeply.
Much better.
She sat still for a moment, trying not to think of what she'd have to do
next. What she *wanted* to do was screw the FBI thoroughly. But she'd never
have the chance. So she guessed she'd just go on for a while, living off of
her psych pay, until something came along.
It was a shame, really. She'd always wanted to work for the government.
She didn't know why, exactly, but with a mother who had been a civil
servant, and a father who'd been in the military, it just seemed the thing
to do.
But now she knew that all of Mulder's gripes about the federal
government were true. They were out to get their own.
And she was their latest casualty...
She sighed as her phone rang once again, not bothering to rise to answer
it. The voice on the tape made her pause, however, her eyes glazing over
slightly at the phrase that was spoken by a smoke-ruined old voice...
"Before Manhattan..."
*******
September 25, 1996
9:15 AM
"Hey, Dana," Brian Callahan called as he ducked his head to enter the
basement office. "Have you heard from Sal?"
Dana Scully sighed as she looked up at him. "No, Bri," she replied. "And
I don't think I'm likely to anytime soon." Her eyes darkened. "My testimony
pretty much sealed her fate at the hearing."
Brian sat down before her desk. "Right, Dana," he replied. "Like you had
a choice?" He sighed. "They would have forced her out anyway. The whole
operation was an embarrassment that they couldn't admit to. And with Sal on
a--" he nearly gagged on the word--"psych pension, nobody'll take her
seriously if she *does* try to expose it."
"But they might take *us* seriously," Mulder said from the doorway.
Scully and Callahan both turned to look at him, questions in their eyes.
"I called a couple of friends, and came up with some information on that
doctor David had been looking for." He passed his partner the file without
further comment.
Scully looked at it, and her eyes widened at the photograph on top. He
was the spitting image of Darrell Kauthen. "Another clone?"
"Looks like it," Mulder agreed. "And I also got the name of the man that
Dave was interviewing before he died. His name was Hal Kildan."
"Another of our happy corpses," Brian chipped in. He stood, all but
radiating energy, making him seem to tower over Mulder all the more. "So
where is this shrink?"
Mulder grimaced at the almost murderous gleam in Brian's eyes. "He's
gone. Disappeared without a trace the day after they found David's body."
Scully just looked up, again accepting the inevitable.
Brian wasn't quite so accepting. "Damnit! So how do we get a line on
these guys?"
The first thing we do is talk to Sal," Mulder said calmly. "Maybe she
knows more about what's going on than she thinks."
*******
Menschner Resdience
11:45 AM
Sal answered the door sullenly, and Brian's heart nearly broke at the
sight.
She was falling apart.
Her eyes were bloodshot from what had clearly been a very long night of
drinking, and she smelled of strong cigarettes. When she saw him, standing
there with Mulder and Scully, saw the pain in his eyes, she very nearly
shut the door in his face.
"Sal, wait," Scully said quietly, moving to stand in front of Brian. "We
need to talk about this. We think there's a way we can clear this thing
up."
"Uh-huh," Sal said dully, inviting them in with an expansive gesture
that showed she hadn't *stopped* drinking the night before. "Why would you
bother?"
Mulder was amazed by his friend's transformation. He knew it hurt. He
knew that she felt she had no more options left to her. But Sal Menschner
had always been, first and foremost, a fighter. That she would simply sit
back and let this happen to her was astounding--and it made him wonder if
what had happened in Arizona would ever be over for her.
"Look, Sal," he said quietly, choosing the 'shock' route to try to get
her to come out of it. "If you don't care about what happened to *you*,
fine. But I've got one very close, very dead friend, and he's wrapped up in
this, too. Now I want to find out why he died. And you're *going* to help."
She looked up at him blearily, anger fighting its way into her eyes.
"Fine," she snapped back, dropping to her couch with a grunt for the pain
in her stomach and hand. "What the *hell* can I help you with?"
Mulder sat down before her, his intensity never waning. He couldn't give
her a chance to slip back into her despair. "We need to know everything you
know about the operation. Were you the only agent out in the field on this
one?"
"Only agent who isn't *dead*, yeah," she retorted meanly.
"Who else was in on it, Sal?" Brian asked, managing to keep his voice
even.
"Hildar, Pretkovsky, Miller, Wilson..."
Scully had written down the names, though she wasn't sure what good it
was going to do her. They had all been in the same position that Sal had
found herself in just two short weeks ago--and she had only survived
because Mulder had ruffled Goldman's feathers.
"Do you know the names of any of the men they were staking out?" Mulder
asked.
"Of course not," she replied coldly. "I never got told the *important*
things... Like the stuff that almost got me *killed*."
Sal didn't look as if she was going to say any more, and Brian looked
askance at Mulder and Scully. Scully nodded her head, shooting a stern look
at her partner, who seemed unwilling to just let this drop. But there
didn't seem to be anything he could do for the young woman, and Scully
didn't need this to become a shouting match. With an angry shrug of his
shoulders, Mulder rose to follow her.
Sal seemed barely to notice as the two made their way out of her
apartment, leaving her and Brian alone.
He sat down in front of her, taking her hands in his, a tender thumb
running over the splint that encased her left. "You've made quite a mess of
yourself, Sal-o-mine," he observed wryly.
"*They* made a mess of me, Bri," she said dully, standing up and walking
toward the deck.. "I didn't have a thing to do with it."
Brian followed her out, watching with troubled eyes while she pulled out
a cigarette. He walked up next to her, a small smile trying to come over
his face. "Can I have one?" he asked quietly.
Sal looked up at him for a moment, before dragging out her cigarette
case again and handing him one. "They'll kill you, you know," she quipped
as she held out her lighter.
"At least I'll die with a smile on my face," he replied, lighting up.
Sal snorted at that and kept smoking. "Well, as long as there's *that*,"
she said angrily.
"Sal... What's going on?" Brian looked down at her, trying to meet her
eyes. "Tell me."
She blew out a cloud of smoke, sitting gingerly in the lawn chair. Her
stomach was hurting again--as much from the booze and the cigarettes as
from the stitches. "It's just no use, is it, Bri?" she asked suddenly,
turning to look up at him.
"What do you mean?"
"Fighting them... No matter how good your intentions, they're just
waiting for a chance to slam you down again."
"Sal," he asked carefully. "I know you've got to go to these therapy
sessions... Do you think--"
"Oh good," she broke in dryly. "Another person who thinks I'm nuts." She
stood suddenly, walking to the edge of the deck, looking down at the street
four floors below. "That just about makes it unanimous."
"I don't think you're crazy, Sal," Brian protested. "But what happened
in Arizona--"
"Was my own damn fault," she whispered. "I knew it when I bitched out
those faceless wonders at the hearing. I should have known I was getting in
over my head..." She ignored the tears that started rolling down her face.
"I should have known not to try to play in a league I'm too young for."
Brian came up behind her, wrapping loving arms around her stomach. "What
can I do?"
"I don't know, Bri," she whispered tearfully. "I don't even know what
*I* should do..."
******
Washington, D.C.
7:45 PM
Mulder grabbed his phone, dialling Scully's number quickly. "Scully, it's
me... Wilson's still alive."
Her voice held excitement. "Where?"
"Salt Lake City," Mulder replied. "I've got two tickets on the next
flight. I'll be at your place in fifteen minutes."
******
The old man lit another cigarette, reaching for his phone. Menschner was
alone in her apartment again, and the listening devices they'd planted
there had told them that the FBI had gotten no information from her.
With a relaxed hand, he dialed her number. The waiting was over now. His
operatives were certain that they knew how to get the information from her.
It was information she didn't even know she had, strangely enough.
Information that was so very, very important to him and to his colleagues.
It took her three rings, but she finally picked up the phone...
******
Brian had left when she'd sobered up, leaving her with stern instructions
to call him if she was in trouble. She wanted to. God, she wanted to tell
him everything, but none of the words would come.
She was sorry now that she'd been so mean to Fox and Dana. They hadn't
deserved that. She was just blowing off steam--and in entirely the wrong
direction.
But the people she really wanted to get to would never be found...
She sighed at the injustice of it all, and walked out to the deck,
lighting another cigarette....
******
Brian Callahan shifted in his seat, watching Sal walk to the edge of her
deck, yet another cigarette falling under her match.
He'd been afraid to leave. She was... different somehow... frightening.
If something were to happen to her because he hadn't been keeping an eye
out...
His thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of her phone. He could hear
it from his car, parked in the street below her window, and he saw her bend
over to pick up the cordless that she'd left on the deck table. He pulled
his binoculars out, trying to catch at least her side of the conversation.
Beyond a clearly annoyed greeting for the person on the other end, there
was none. She was simply listening to someone, her face growing strangely
slack--almost shocked--as she heard what they had to say.
After a minute, she hung up the phone, grinding out her cigarette and
walking back into the apartment.
He watched the entrance closely, unsurprised when she exited a few
minutes later, striding quickly to her car and jumping in.
He waited a moment, sure that she was a bit ahead of him, before he
pulled out into traffic to follow her.
*************
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Part Five
Salt Lake City Airport
9:45 PM
Mulder grabbed his carry-on, all but running from the plane. Scully
followed at a more leisurely pace. "Mulder," she said when she had finally
caught up with him. "We're not going to get there any faster with you
rushing around like this."
He saw the truth in her words, and his pace was a bit less harried as
they approached the rental car booth. Car keys in hand, they headed for the
parking lot.
Mulder puzzled out the map for a moment, trying to at least get familiar
with the main streets that they'd need to look for, while Scully drove them
quietly out onto the highway.
"The apartment they put him up in is on 15th," Mulder said. "We need to
get off at the sixteenth street exit, though."
Scully nodded, thinking as she drove. "Mulder," she said finally. "If
all Sal knew were a few of the names of the other agents, what makes you
think Wilson is going to know anymore?"
"He probably doesn't," Mulder agreed. "But at least we can let him know
what's happened back in Washington."
"You think he doesn't already know?" she asked incredulously.
"I doubt Cancerman has bothered to call him."
"Unless he's working for Cancerman directly," Scully said cautiously. It
was altogether possible. After all, aside from Sal, he was the only one of
the operation's agents who was still alive.
"I've thought about it," Mulder admitted. Still, he couldn't get the
idea out of his head that he had to, somehow, be able to save *someone* in
this screwed up little plan.
Scully knew what he was thinking, and knew that both Dave Yul and Sal
Menschner played significant roles in those thoughts. But she couldn't let
his guilt over them cloud him to the possibility that they might be walking
into a trap.
"I know, Scully," he said with a sudden smile, as if reading her
thoughts. "I'll watch myself."
"You'd better," she warned.
***
11:15 PM
The apartment building was small, but nice. The foyer decorated in that
ubiquitous Southwestern style, complete with wooden catii and howling
wolves, all in soothing pastel colours. Mulder grimaced slightly at the
decor as they headed for the elevator.
"Maybe I should redecorate my apartment like that," he murmured wryly.
"You'd have to *decorate* it first," Scully returned as they reached
their floor.
As one, they took out their weapons, walking slowly down the deserted
hallway, looking for Wilson's room. 659. Scully knocked quietly.
"Yeah?" came a gruff voice, very near the other side of the door.
Scully held up her badge to the peephole, sure that he was checking them
out from there. After a moment, the chain slipped off the inside of the
door, and it opened a crack.
The man who answered was young, his features clearly worried.
"What do you want?" he asked carefully.
"We're here to talk to you about Robert Goldman, Agent Wilson," Mulder
replied.
At that, Wilson hissed angrily, all but yanking them into the apartment.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Wilson asked when he'd shut the
door and replaced the chain. "Are you trying to get me *killed*?"
Mulder looked at the young man, surprised. "We weren't followed,
Wilson."
"Who says you had to be followed to get me killed?" Wilson asked wryly,
gesturing them into the main room of his tiny apartment. "They just *know*,
these guys... They just know."
"You're aware, then, that Robert Goldman's been murdered?" Scully asked,
getting down to business.
"Of course," Wilson snapped irritably. "And Minch, and Hildar--"
Scully shook her head at the name Minch. It was what the other lab rats
called Sal Menschner. "Sal's still alive," she told him.
Wilson stared at her for a moment. "You're serious?" When she nodded, he
collapsed onto the couch, sighing with relief. "We were sure they'd get to
her, once they got Kauthen."
"Who?" Mulder asked. "Who got to Kauthen?"
Wilson looked up at him warily, standing with a sudden nervousness that
set Mulder's teeth on edge. "Not here," the young man said, grabbing his
coat. "Come on. Come with me."
****
Memorial Park
Salt Lake City
12:32 AM
"I worked in the sci-crime lab, up until about six months ago," Wilson said
quietly, his eyes always roving, looking for anything suspicious. "Then, I
got reassigned to Goldman's unit."
Mulder nodded, and the young agent continued.
"He had me running tests on some weird kind of bacteria for the first
couple of months--a cloned bacteria, with--"
"With a virus inside," Scully finished for him, dread building in her
stomach.
Wilson simply nodded. "Yeah... That virus... Man, I'd never seen
anything like it." He met Mulder's eyes, all but begging the man to
disagree with him. "It couldn't have been from this planet, man... There's
just no way."
To his chagrin, Mulder simply nodded again, making the younger man all
the more upset. "I didn't know what they wanted me to look for, you know.
They just said, 'find out everything you can'... So I did."
"And what did you find?" Scully asked.
"Part of it... God, part of it looked like it was *human* DNA... And the
other part...." He trailed off, the memory still stirring him after all
this time.
"How did you get started on this part of the operation?" Mulder asked
after a moment.
"Oh... Goldman told me he had something he wanted me to do. After
spending three months in the lab with that... *thing*... I would have gone
*anywhere*." He sat nervously on a park bench and continued his story.
"Goldman had this guy come in. A psychiatrist, he said. They wanted to
see if I could... you know, if I could resist the hypnosis. Once they'd
decided I passed, they briefed me and sent me here."
"What did they tell you that you were looking for?" Scully asked,
sitting beside him, watching her partner as Mulder pulled back from them,
thinking.
"Some doctor," Wilson replied. "He was killing people with hypnosis...
People that thought--" he cut off, a smile appearing on his face before he
continued. "People that thought they were 'abducted by aliens'." He laughed
at the absurdity, but trailed off at the intense look in Mulder's eyes.
"What were you supposed to do when you found the doctor?" he asked.
Wilson watched the older agent as he spoke, a strange look on his face.
"I was given this whole story about what kind of abductions I was talking
about... You know, bright lights, little grey men, that sort of thing..."
He looked at his hands. "Then, slowly, I was supposed to start feeding him
this whole thing about the ships, and what they looked like, and what the
'aliens' were telling me..."
"And what were the aliens supposed to be telling you?" Mulder asked.
Wilson never had a chance to answer, for at that moment, a series of
shots rang out, dropping Mulder to the ground on instinct. As he dropped,
he saw the flash of a bullet as it struck the metal bench on which Scully
and Wilson were sitting.
He held his breath as he watched Wilson jerk and fall to the ground.
With a strange gasp, Scully was right behind him...
******
Washington, D.C.
2:15 AM
Brian had been following Sal since she'd left Baltimore hours ago. She'd
done nothing but drive aimlessly around the streets of the capital for most
of that time, and he was starting to wonder if he shouldn't just let her
know he was there and get her to explain what she was doing.
But something stopped him, some vague idea that she had an exact plan
here...
And an even more vague idea that she *knew* he was behind her.
He pulled off the side of the road as they neared the park again,
sliding his car into the shadows behind the Lincoln Memorial, and watching
her headlights as she continued on, back toward the Hill.
He'd just wait here, he thought. See if she came back this way. And if
she wasn't back in half an hour, *then* he'd call her and get her to
explain herself.
***
Forty minutes later, Brian fished his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing
Sal's number.
She answered on the third ring. "Menschner."
At least she *sounded* normal. "Hey, it's me," he said quietly. "What
are doing?"
Her voice held the same affection it always did when she was speaking to
him, but it was distant, as if she wasn't quite all there. "I couldn't
stand being cooped up in the apartment," she told him. "I just wanted to
drive around."
"That's cool," he replied. "So where are you?"
"Jefferson Memorial," she said with a distracted laugh.
He joined in the mirth warily. "You drove all the way out to
Washington?" he asked incredulously.
"I've been driving for hours," she replied. "Don't worry," she told him
suddenly. "I'm sober. I just needed to get out and clear my head."
Listening to her voice, Brian was sure he'd been over-reacting. She did
this often, actually, though he'd never been a direct observer of the
famous "Menschner Wanderlust." But he'd had her call him from the park a
few times, waking him from a sound sleep to tell him what the reflecting
pool looked like at four in the morning.
From the distraction in her voice that phone call had obviously
disturbed her, and she had simply felt the need to take off and ponder it.
He wanted to ask her what the phone call had been about, but that would
mean revealing the fact that he'd been spying on her. If this really was a
false alarm, she'd skin him alive for that.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Wary, but no longer actively
worried. "So how's ole Thomas?"
"Boring, as usual," she replied. "Listen, Bri... I wanted to say I'm
sorry for this afternoon. I was a royal bitch."
"No more than usual," Brian quipped lightly.
"Oh thanks!" she snapped back good-naturedly. Brian straightened
suddenly as he heard Sal pull the phone away from her mouth. "Yes, officer?
....No I'm sorry... Look I was just--" With that last phrase, her voice had
become instantly panicked, and Brian was out of his car, gun drawn, the
phone still at his ear, sprinting toward the Jefferson Memorial.
"God, Brian!" Sal called desperately, the fear in her voice enough to
break his heart. As he neared the memorial, he no longer needed the phone
to hear her screams. He turned a corner at a run, and slammed to a halt
suddenly, as he saw two figures fighting in the darkness.
"FBI!" he called loudly, dropping the phone and raising his gun with
both hands. "FREEZE!"
He never felt the bullet that took him down.
***********
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Part Six
Salt Lake City
Mulder didn't even have time to return fire. As quickly as the shots had
rung out, they were gone again, Leaving him in silence.
"Scully!" He called desperately, running toward the bench.
"I'm okay," she replied in a whisper, though she sounded far from it. He
reached her, dropping to the ground beside her and fishing in his pocket
for his flashlight.
Turning it on, he was surprised to see her holding her broken arm, the
cast split open, blood running out from between the broken pieces of
plaster.
"I'm okay," she repeated quickly, meeting his eyes to complete the lie.
"What about Wilson?"
Mulder leaned past her, rolling Wilson over onto his back, feeling for a
pulse that wasn't there. He turned back to her and shook his head.
Scully winced deeply as she stood, still trying to hold the cast
together. It wasn't much, but it would protect her arm while they got to a
hospital.
***
Mulder had been sitting in the waiting room for what felt like hours, as
the emergency room staff saw to Scully. It had been a busy night,
apparently, and Mulder felt lucky she'd been taken in immediately.
Of course, the badge had a lot to do with that, he thought with a
gallow's smile.
Not wanting to take the time to explain the situation, Mulder had called
the local bureau, asking them to take care of the investigation. He'd
recieved no word back yet, but he'd call them later--after he was sure
Scully was okay.
At that moment, she walked into the room, a splint on her arm now,
instead of a cast. "It's broken--again," she told him, a wry grin on her
face.
The bullet had hit the edge of the cast, she explained, ripping it open,
but it had barely pentrated her skin. She'd rebroken the already weakened
bone as she hit the ground. The splint would act as a cast, while making
sure the flesh wound didn't get infected.
"What happened with Wilson?" she asked, as Mulder helped her with her
coat.
He pulled out his cellphone as they headed for their rental car. "I'll
find out... Hello, can I speak with John Galbraith?" he asked the woman on
the other end of his phone.
"Agent Galbraith," he said after a moment. "This is Agent Mulder."
"Look, buddy," the other man said belligerently. "Posing as an FBI agent
is a federal offense."
"Excuse me?" Mulder said angrily.
"I'm having this call traced," Galbraith said coldly. "You are in big
trouble, my friend."
"Don't bother tracing it," Mulder told him, supplying the number. He
also supplied his badge number, thinking that *that* might clear things up.
It cleared them up just fine. "All right, Mulder," Galbraith said
angrily. "Then what the hell was that prank in the park?"
"Excuse me?" Mulder asked again. This guy had an awful time coming to
the point.
"Well you called me and told me check out the park, so I did--figuring
you were legitimate--which I guess you *are*--but there's nothing there!"
Mulder stopped halfway to the car. "What?"
"You heard me," Galbraith returned angrily. "There's nothing there. No
blood, no body, no bullets. What are you trying to pull?"
*******
Mossey Residence
Washington, D.C.
4:17 AM
Lynn Mossey jumped up from her bed, all but running for the bathroom. God,
wasn't this supposed to called *morning* sickness? Why did hers always have
to come in the middle of the night?
Her frantic movements woke her husband--as they always did. Oh well, it
was his turn to feed baby Jennifer anyway, and the little terror would be
up in half an hour, just like clockwork. He sighed. Maybe having another
kid so soon after Jenny wasn't the best idea...
Still, he thought with an almost randy smile, it wasn't like they'd
planned it.
He was startled by the phone. It had better be good, to be calling at
4:15 in the morning.
"Mossey," he announced, allowing a little of his irritation to show.
"Carl Mossey?" the woman on the other end asked professionally. "Your
partner is Brian Callahan, of the FBI?"
Carl sat up, instantly worried, as his wife returned from the bathroom.
"Yes?"
"This is Lieutenant Hutchison of the DCPD. Your partner's been found in
Memorial Park, shot in the chest. It appears he's been the victim of a
robbery attempt."
"Is he alive?" Carl asked quickly, recieving a worried look from his
wife. He pulled the phone from his mouth and whispered quietly: "Brian's
been shot."
"He's en route to DC General right now," the lieutnenant replied. "Do
you have any idea what he might have been doing in the park at this time of
night?"
"No," Carl answered briskly, rising to pull on a pair of jeans. "No, I
don't have any idea. Look, Lieutenant, I have to get over to the hospital.
My cellphone number is 555-9834. Please call me if you learn anything
more."
"Of course, Agent Mossey," the woman replied.
What the *hell* had Brian gotten himself into now?
*******
Salt Lake City, UT
Mulder had left Scully at the hotel to sleep off the pain pills she'd been
given. The park was still quiet at five-thirty, though runners were already
starting to appear. He made for the bench where he and Scully had
questioned Wilson.
It wasn't even the same bench, he realised with a grim smile. There was
no sign that there had been anything amiss--no blood stains on the grass,
no shell casings, not even bits of the plaster from Scully's broken cast...
And they'd even gone so far as to switch benches, to ensure that no
information might be gathered from the metal that the bullets had struck.
He sat on the new bench, a little dazed, and thought things through.
This thing was getting so complicated that it was frightening. As far as he
could see, the group of clones was trying to amass information about
abductees--and then eliminate the abductees, for fear that they'd pass on
what they knew.
But what did they know? Wilson had been killed--presumably by his own
superiors--before he could tell them what he had been told to leak to the
clones. None of it made any sense! He knew that these clones were part of
the vast conspiracy that he'd spent the past four years trying to uncover.
Maybe...
Maybe the government was trying to clean house. But that still didn't
explain why the *clones* were looking for abductees in the first place!
He was still pondering that when his cellphone rang, a jarring sound in
the early morning quiet. "Mulder."
"Mulder, it's me." Scully sounded worried. "Where are you?"
"Back at the park," he replied. "They took care of everything here,
Scully," he told her ruefully. "They damn near vacuumed the place when we
left."
"Mulder," Scully replied, seeming not to have heard a bit of what he
said. "You've got to get over here. We have to get back to DC."
"Why?" Mulder asked, rising. "What happened?"
"Brian's been shot. Carl called. He says it's bad... And Mulder," she
added, sounding defeated. "Sal's gone."
**********
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Part Seven
Washington D.C. General Hospital
12:15 PM
Scully walked into the hospital room quietly, wincing at what she saw.
Brian Callahan lay unconscious in a bed surrounded by what seemed like
hundreds of different monitors, each beeping away to itself as they
pronounced dubiously that he was still alive.
Carl Mossey sat next to him, staring off into space, his face unshaven,
his eyes cold and worried.
"Carl?" Scully called quietly.
Mossey rose, turning to her. "Hey, Scully," he greeted her tiredly.
"How's he doing?" she asked, walking to the foot of the bed and taking
hold of Brian's chart.
"A little better, they say," he replied carefully. "The bullet nicked an
artery and punctured a lung. Cracked a rib on its way out..." Carl sighed,
sitting again, exhausted by his vigil. "Do you know what he might have been
doing, Scully?" he asked. "I haven't talked to him for a couple of days...
I've been taking some time off to help Lynn out with Jenny."
"I'm not sure," Scully told him truthfully, putting the medical chart
away. Brian was better than he had been when they'd brought him in, but he
still wasn't doing well. It had apparently taken time to find him, and he'd
lost a lot of blood...
"Did they find any clues at the crime scene?" she asked.
"Not much," Carl replied with a sigh. "They found a couple of bums who
*swear* that they saw him running to help a lady who was being mugged,
but..." he trailed off, indicating the lack of strength of those witnesses.
"Still no word from Sal?"
Carl shook his head. "You think he could have been out there with her?"
"I don't know."
Scully's cellphone rang at that moment, and she turned away from Carl to
answer it. "Scully."
"Scully, it's me... Sal's car was found near the site of Brian's
shooting," he told her gravely. "I talked to a Lieutenant Hutchison at
DCPD, and she said that a couple of witnesses saw a man and a woman
fighting by the memorial when Brian was shot." Scully could vaguely hear
the sound of his car starting up. "I'm going to go over to Sal's
apartment--see if there's anything I can find."
"I've got a key," Scully said quickly. "I'll meet you there." She hung
up, turning to Carl. "I've got to go, Carl. Give me a call if anything
changes, okay?"
Mossey nodded sadly as she headed out, hoping to finally find some
answers.
*******
Menschner Residence
1:02 PM
Scully unlocked the door, greeted by a piteously crying Psycho, who headed
immediately to his food bowl, after glaring at her hungrily.
"I'd better feed him," she said, watching her partner nod as he walked
quietly around the apartment.
"Hey, Scully," Mulder called from Sal's bedroom after a few moments.
"Sal never unpacked her bags from Arizona."
Scully placed the bowl of cat food on the ground, petting Psycho briefly
before heading toward the bedroom where Mulder was investigating.
Sal had brought two huge bags back from her stay in Rattleby, and Mulder
had both of them open, taking up the entire surface of Sal's queen-size
bed.
There were the usual things; underthings, shorts, t-shirts. But Scully
called Mulder's attention to an object that had lain hidden under layers of
clothing in the second suitcase. "Here's her tape player," she told him,
opening the carriage. "And there's still a tape in it."
***
The tape started with the sound of Kauthen entering Sal's apartment, the
agent's voice unnaturally shy as she asked him if he wanted tea. They
talked quietly for a few minutes, before lapsing into a long period of
silence.
The first part of the following hypnosis session was unremarkable, full
of cryptic remarks from Sal about a bright light and what the aliens had
said. The second part was frightening.
"Sally," Kauthen said, his voice somehow *more* soothing that it had
been. "You know how dangerous this information is, don't you?"
"Yes," came Sal's voice, strangley calm and robotic.
"And you know that no one can ever know what has happened to you?"
"Yes."
"Sally, I want you to do something for me... It's very important..."
"All right."
"And I promise that it won't hurt you... You won't feel any pain... Do
you have a gun?"
Scully gasped slightly.
"No... Not here."
"Not here," they heard Kauthen whisper. "Do you have a knife?" he asked
more loudly, in that strange rolling voice.
"Yes."
Mulder met his partner's eyes, mirroring the sick feeling he saw there.
"If I were to call you, Sally, and use the words 'Before Manhattan', you
must be ready to use that knife... Do you understand?"
Sal seemed to hestitate.
"Sally," Kauthen said again after a moment, a slight edge to his
otherwise soothing voice. "This is very important... None of the evidence
must remain... Do you understand?"
It took a moment, and Sal's voice was tiny, as she said quietly, "Yes."
Kauthen paused a few moments, and when he spoke, there was a tinge of
suspicion to his voice. "Sally... What will you do when I leave today?"
Sal's voice was strong again. "Listen to the tapes."
"What tapes?" Kauthen asked worriedly.
"The tapes of the session..."
Mulder and Scully listened as Sal told Kauthen everything she knew about
the operation. About how it was her first field operation, about what
Goldman had told her about the crimes she was investigating. She hadn't
told them as much, and they hung carefully on every word.
"You'd been in Michigan... Killed all those people... I was supposed to
collect evidence on you... The tapes were to be given to my superiors when
I returned to Washington..."
"But you know you can never return to Washington now, don't you, Sal?"
he asked coldly.
"Yes."
That seemed to satisfy Kauthen. "Sal... Who else is working for your
superiors?"
"Fred Wilson... John Pretkovsky... Kendra Woodard..."
Mulder's head snapped up, as he grabbed for his phone. "Yeah, Danny?
It's Mulder... I need you to track down an agent named Kendra Woodard for
me... Make it quick... Bye."
By this time, Sal had given Kauthen all he wanted. "Salome," the
psychiatrist said quietly. "You will forget all we spoke about in this
session, do you understand? You can never remember it..." he paused.
"Unless given the code words 'Maiden voyage', you will never remember... Do
you understand?"
"Yes...."
Scully pressed stop on the machine, shaking off the strange feeling that
just listening to Kauthen's calming tones had engendered in her.
Mulder stood silently for a few minutes, trying to piece it all
together. "So where is she now?" he suddenly asked of no one.
"Mulder..." Scully paused a moment, trying to get her thoughts in order.
"You really think Cancerman's behind this?"
He nodded, turning to her, the sick certainty in her eyes telling him
all she wanted to say. She voiced it anyway, chilling him to the bone.
"Then that's who's got her."
"But *why*?"
"Maybe Kauthen let her know more than he should have during those
hypnosis sessions," Scully said with an exhausted shrug. "Maybe they at
least *think* he did."
Mulder nodded, jumping slightly as his phone rang. "Mulder... Yeah,
Danny..." His eyes darkened. "You're sure? ...Okay, thanks, Danny... Bye."
"Kendra Woodard?" Scully asked.
"She was found dead in an apartment in Santa Cruz two weeks ago." He
looked at his partner angrily. "She'd slit her own throat."
******
The old man smoked thoughtfully, watching through the one-way mirror as
Salome Menschner was interrogated. It wasn't going well. Apparently,
Kauthen had introduced some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion that made her
unable to recall what he had told her.
She was the first of the clones' hypnosis subjects that the syndicate
had been able to get its hands on. The abductees were easy. They didn't
have any information that wasn't locked in the very cells of their bodies.
The syndicate had been used to finding answers with these people, and they
hadn't expected something like this. They had no way to know what the
clones knew about their plans, and no way to figure out the opponent's
plans, either.
Nothing seemed to work. Drugs, hypnosis, very... mild... torture... She
was one very closed book, he thought angrily.
He was disturbed from his musings by the ringing of his phone. Picking
it up, he smoked away calmly as he listened to what his operative had to
say.
With a cold smile, he hung up, and called his lackey over to him.
The words he wrote down on the paper he gave the young man shouldn't
have meant anything to him...
Maiden Voyage
But he knew, as he sat back confidently, watching his lackey enter that
interrogation room, that those words meant the world...
**********
After Rattleby
by Dean Warner
xangst@frii.com
Part Eight
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
September 30, 1996
4:12 AM
Fox Mulder rubbed his eyes tiredly, refusing to acknowledge the time. He
sat poring over countless files of abduction cases, looking for *something*
to bring this case together. He'd called in every favour he still had
outstanding, and had amassed a collection of files that, combined with his
own X-Files, probably covered every single abduction case for the last
twenty years.
He was looking for patterns. Patterns that would tell him whether his
hunch back in Salt Lake had been true. Patterns that would prove that there
was not one group abducting these people, but two.
He came upon a case in Wyoming. 1989. A young woman, Sandra Casien, had
been walking home from a party in the suburbs of Cheyenne, when she
disappeared. She was returned eight days later, and showed signs of
experimentation, but could not remember what had happened to her.
Her father was a wealthy man--and a firm believer in UFO experiences. He
called on a well-known psychiatrist at the University in Laramie, and asked
him to try using hypnoregression therapy on his daughter. The results
were... puzzling.
She remembered the ship, remembered the tests... But she also remembered
an army base... And soldiers... And a long, shiny room...
Mulder shook his head. He knew the long, shiny room--he'd nearly been
blown up in one... And he also remembered the ship, its lights flashing
mockingly at him as they took his sister.
But he didn't remember them together.
His mind almost snapped as he saw the pattern. There *were* two groups
at work here. There had to be. And the clones were working for the side
that had the ships, that performed the tests.
And Cancerman had the railway cars.
It all made a kind of sick sense, all of a sudden. The aliens actually
knew what they were doing--they had the clones! As he recalled, the
human-made clones, like Dr. Berube's friend, hadn't been terribly viable.
But the Gregors...? They had to be from the other group.
And maybe the syndicate had been... reacquiring these abductees, trying
to figure out where they had gone wrong, and where their opposition had
gone *right*...
Maybe that was why they'd taken Sal--to find out if the clone had let
anything slip about the pieces of the puzzle that the syndicate had yet to
put together.
He wondered if Sal actually *did* know something.
He wondered when--or *if*--they'd give her back...
*******
Scully Residence
Alexandria, VA
6:43 AM
Scully looked around her apartment once more before leaving for the day. It
had been five days now, and there was still no word about Sal Menschner.
Brian was still in a coma, trying to come around, albeit slowly... He
didn't even know she was gone.
And she *was* gone, Scully thought sadly. Gone like Mulder's sister was
gone...
Gone, very probably, like Missy was gone.
Scully had a standing order at every area hospital to have her called if
a Jane Doe matching Sal's description turned up. The morgues were the only
places worth looking, she knew. The syndicate would never let her live,
whether she told them what they wanted to know or not.
And just what *did* they want to know? she thought angrily, as she
locked the door behind her, heading for her car. And how was it that they
thought Sal would know?
Her mind battled the unanswerable questions as she headed for Baltimore
in the chilly morning air. She had to feed Sal's cat. Wouldn't do to have
him dying before Sal came back--
Don't do this to yourself, she cautioned firmly. Agonising about it
isn't going to help.
But not thinking about it was impossible.
She needed to believe that, somehow, Sal would be returned. It had
happened to the syndicate's captives before--she herself was living proof
of that...
But the idea of seeing Sal as Mulder must have seen *her*, lying
lifeless in the ICU, tubes trailing from her body, made Scully even more
sick.
It might almost be better if...
***
She walked out of the elevator quietly, sunk in her thoughts, almost not
hearing Sal's cat as he yowled from the other side of the door. Closing her
eyes, Scully opened her friend's door, wishing that, just this once, she
could believe the unbelievable--Believe that Sal would be right there
before her, smiling at her, cigarette in hand.
When Scully opened her eyes, she had to blink twice before the
unbelievable registered.
Sal Menschner lay on the couch before her, her cat standing on the floor
beside her, yowling.
"Sal?" Scully asked, incredulous, as she approached her friend. When she
got no answer she knelt carefully beside the couch, reaching a tentative
hand out to touch Sal's wrist.
The pulse was faint, frighteningly so. But she was alive! With trembling
hands, Scully grabbed for her cellphone.
*******
Baltimore General Hosptial
9:13 AM
Mulder strode quickly into the waiting room, eyes roving among the many
people there, until they fell on his partner.
"How is she?" he asked, taking the seat beside her.
Scully shrugged tiredly. "They don't know yet. They can't even figure
out what's wrong with her."
"Is it like..." Mulder trailed off, unsure.
But Scully just shook her head. "No, she doesn't show any signs of
tampering. Whatever they did to her, it... wasn't what happened to me."
Mulder nodded, turning quickly when he heard Scully's name being called.
They rose as one to face the doctor.
"How is she?" Scully asked, worried by the puzzled look on the doctor's
face.
"She seems to be doing all right," he replied, sounding as if a miracle
had just occurred. "The wound in her stomach is pretty badly infected--that
damaged hand isn't much better. She's got a mild concussion, a couple of
minor bruises and abrasions."
"That doesn't sound like she's all right," Mulder said dubiously.
"Well, considering her pulse rate and breathing when she came in," the
doctor said quietly. "I'd say it's downright remarkable." He shook his
head. "We didn't really need to do anything for her. Once we hooked up the
EKG and started trying to give her oxygen, she just seemed to come back on
her own."
Scully had a theory that rivaled some of Mulder's that might account for
Sal's stunning recovery. But she'd wait to pursue it. Right now, she just
wanted to see her friend.
"Is she awake?"
The doctor shook his head. "No, but she's getting there. I've had her
admitted to a private room on the third floor. You can go sit with her if
you'd like?"
*******
12:09 PM
Sal woke with a start, wondering where the hell she was. She looked around
frantically until her gaze fell on Dana Scully.
"Hey, Sal," Dana said gently. "How are you feeling?"
"Where am I?" Sal asked, a bit of panic in her voice.
"You're at Baltimore General."
"Why?" Sal seemed to be getting more agitated by the second.
Dana's eyes narrowed. "What's the last thing you remember, Sal?"
Sal's eyes glazed slightly as she tried to recall. "Brian had just left
my apartment," she said quietly, turning to her friend with fear in her
eyes. "What happened?"
"You don't remember leaving your apartment?" Scully asked, frowning when
Sal shook her head. "You drove into D.C.," she prompted. "Brian said you
got a phone call?"
Sal just looked at her, feeling her pulse racing in her veins. Dana
still hadn't told her what had happened--and she had a feeling that it was
something terrible.
"I don't remember any of that, Dana," she cried angrily. "Now, are you
going to tell me what happened, or not?"
Scully leaned in, taking a firm hold of Sal's hand as she told her about
the shooting and her subsequent disappearance. Sal was shaking by the time
she was done.
"Where's Brian?" she asked tearfully.
"He's in D.C.," Scully replied quietly. "Carl's with him."
"Is he going to be okay?"
Scully nodded, trying to make Sal believe what she wasn't sure she
believed herself. "He'll be fine, Sal. When they let you out of here, we
can go to see him."
Sal just nodded, thinking silently for a few minutes.
When she finally spoke, her voice was tiny. "Dana... I should remember,
shouldn't I?" The look in her eyes was familiar. Scully had had it for
months after she'd been returned. She wished she had more answers for her
friend, but the only words she could think to say would have been no
comfort:
Maybe it's better that you don't know...
*******
DC General
October 2, 1996
9:45 AM
Sal Menschner walked quietly into the hospital room, holding her breath
until she saw Brian's gentle smile.
"Hi," she said quietly.
"Hi." Brian looked her up and down for a moment. She stood straighter
now, as her stomach wound healed, and her hand, still splinted, sported
fewer bandages. He'd missed some things, obviously.
With a sad grin, Sal sat beside him. "How are you feeling?"
He flashed his randiest leer. "Like I wish this bed was big enough for
both of us."
She smiled coyly at that, though it didn't last. "I didn't think you
were ever going to wake up," she told him tearfully.
"Oh, Sal," he whispered tenderly. "Come on, it's okay. I'm all right."
"You're not," she returned softly. "It's my fault."
Brian's eyes went suddenly hard. "And how do you figure that?" he asked
almost coldly. "Did you *ask* that guy to attack you?"
A shiver ran down Sal's spine. For all she knew, given the questionable
sanity of her actions lately, she might very well have.
But if she did, she sure as hell didn't remember it...
Brian reached out a hand, grasping her good one gently. "It's okay,
Sal."
She nodded smartly, shaking off the terrible feeling that seemed to
linger on and on. As she looked at him fondly, she remembered the news
she'd been waiting four days to tell him.
"There'll be someone from the OPC here to see you, now that you're
finally awake."
Brian looked at her strangely. "The OPC?" His shooting hadn't even
*technically* been FBI related. Why would the OPC need to see him?
"Yeah," she ducked her head shyly. "The Terror finally got them to
review my case. He's not sure, but he thinks there's chance that they'll
let me back in--though I don't know what good a one-handed pathologist is
going to do them." She flashed him a sardonic grin. "And it's all provided,
of course, that I develop a case of selective amnesia and forget that the
Rattleby thing ever happened." She shivered slightly. "I don't think *that*
should be any problem..."
*******
The old man at the Pentagon simply nodded when he got word of Sal
Menschner's miraculous recovery--well, not miraculous, really. It was
amazing what post-hypnotic suggestions could do. They could make a woman
keep herself nearly comatose for hours... And just as suddenly, when she
was sure she was in a place that could care for her injuries, make her snap
out of it.
He smiled slowly in the darkness of his basement office. The information
that the opposition had gotten from Menschner was insignificant. But the
pieces of the puzzle that *Kauthen* had let slip in those hypnosis sessions
had proven very, very interesting.
It seemed the good doctor couldn't help but try to lead his patient, and
the promptings he'd given "Sally" had been enough to tell the syndicate's
own doctors where they might have gone wrong in their experiments.
It was ironic that the opposition was providing them with so much
information. Between the subjects that the syndicate had managed to
reappropriate from some of the opposition's bases, and the information that
Kauthen's files and Meschner's "therapy sessions" had revealed, the old man
was confident that, someday soon, the syndicate's experiments would finally
begin to bear fruit.
Meanwhile, he'd also gained some valuable insight into the outside
players in this game. That Menschner had been quietly amassing a collection
of... interesting tidbits... about the overall picture, was unsurprising.
He'd been watching her sleep her way to information for a few years now.
What was surprising was the *lack* of information that she seemed to
think Agent Mulder possesed. If he was truly so far from the truth, then
the old man's promise to a dying friend might be safe.
"You wouldn't... hurt him, would you?" his friend had asked, fear for
his son shining through his coarse irritation.
"I've protected him this long, haven't I?"
The old man blew out smoke thoughtfully. Mulder might still have his
uses--as Menschner *surely* would, once the OPC gave in and put her back
where the old man could keep an eye on her. And if the syndicate could only
keep Mulder from finding *proof* of the truth... It might not be so wrong
to let him *think* he knew it.
For the truth in this silent war was more complex than an idealistic
young man like Fox Mulder could ever imagine. This war, which had raged
since that first ship came down some fifty years ago, was something only a
man who had lived through it could believe.
And the old man planned to live to see its end--and his own victory...
***********
The End
M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst
XAngst
Anonymous
"Please explain to me the
and Myth
Patrol
scientific nature of the Whammy."
Construction
Site
-- Scully, in "Pusher"
xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner
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