By Saundra Mitchell
slash_evidence@ameritech.net
Date: Tue, 05 May 1998
Feedback: Please!
Archive: Yes
Category: X/CRA (Mulder/Other)
11 Cents Category: NA
Rating: R (Adult situations, language)
Summary: A copycat is stalking Baltimore, and it's up to
Mulder, Scully, Pembleton and Bayliss to stop her.
Spoilers: Homicide: "Secrets," The X Files: "Christmas
Carol," "Emily"
Original Posting: alt.tv.x-files.creative, X-Files Fanfic List,
11 Cents
Do NOT post to alt.tv.x-files.creative
Archive: Yes
Keywords: Mulder, Scully, vampires, Bayliss, Pembleton,
Baltimore, X file, romance, slash, Homicide.
Disclaimer: Scully, Mulder and "The X-Files" are
copyrighted by 1013 Productions. The cast of
"Homicide: Life on the Street" including Bayliss, Pembleton,
et al, are copyrighted by Baltimore
Pictures. "Forward Slash" and "Worst Case Scenario" are
copyright 1998, Saundra Mitchell. All rights reserved by the
respective companies and author.
Warning: I have never been to Baltimore. I am unfamiliar
with its structure and demographics. Most of the details
about the cities of Baltimore and Fells Point in this story, I
made up based on a map of the cities. If I made any
egregious errors, please forgive me. (If I did it wrong, I'd
really appreciate it if someone would write and enlighten
me!)
Note: So I cheat. Kellerman did shoot Luther Mahoney, but
he's not turned into a little psycho like on the show. He and
Lewis are still partners. Howard still shows up from time to
time, though I have kept her in Fugitive Squad. Cox is still
the ME, Danvers is still the DA. . . pretty much everything
else is still the same. Forgive me, but I long for the oldish
days. :) Special thanks to John "deejay" Gilson for all of the
lovely ideas!
Baltimore
"Roll over, you're snoring."
Tim pushed his legs against the small of Mulder's
back, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the sun's
morning greeting.
"You're the one snoring," Mulder mumbled,
turning
to lay his head on Tim's shoulder.
"You also steal all the blankets," Tim grinned,
running his fingers through Mulder's hair.
"Not used to having a bed." Mulder kissed
Tim's
throat, wrapping an arm around the other man's bare chest.
Curling up, he ordered himself to go back to sleep.
"Why don't you get one?"
Mulder smiled to himself. "I have yours."
Tim brushed his lips across Mulder's. "And
most of
the covers."
Realizing he wasn't going back to sleep, Mulder
pulled himself up. He leaned over Tim and looked down at
him, taking in the soft lines of his face. With a half smile,
Mulder bent his head to kiss Tim again, sighing happily as
their lips met. He was still surprised at his unexpected
attraction to Bayliss, and their subsequent relationship.
Except for his friendship with Scully, it was the most normal
relationship he'd ever had.
Tim responded lazily, running his hand down
Mulder's shirtless back, luxuriating in the long, exploratory
embrace. He shifted, breathing in the spicy scent of their
mingled skins, tightening in excitement under Mulder's
weight. Opening his mouth to taste Mulder's tongue hot
against his own, he murmured quietly in pleasure.
Overtaken by a surge of emotion, Mulder pulled
up
to look at Bayliss. Staring into the depths of Tim's mercurial
eyes, he felt his heart pulsing madly. Their affair had been a
series of starting jumps. The jump into their first kiss. The
jump into their first night alone together. The jump into
weekend visits and nights out. The jump into believing what
they had was more than an experiment. Mulder caught his
breath, and made another.
"I think I love you."
Tim smiled softly, reaching up to trace the
line of
Mulder's cheek. "I know I love you."
A relieved sigh escaped Mulder's throat. With
another kiss to seal the occasion, they both broke away
scowling when the phone started to ring. Mulder rolled over
to lie on his side as Tim answered the call.
"The redball just keeps on bouncing," Frank's
voice
said over the line.
Bayliss mouthed the word, "Pembleton" to Mulder,
and sat up in bed. "What redball, Frank? Where are you? Our
shift doesn't start for another four hours."
"That's where you're wrong, Tim. Our shift
started at
two a.m. last night, we just didn't know it." Pembleton's
flippant tone changed, darkening. "Just meet me at Russell
and Ostend. Please."
Bayliss' eyebrows shot up. Frank did not say
please.
Frank did not say thank you. "I'll be there in a half hour."
Hanging up the phone, Tim looked back at Mulder
plaintively. "I have to go, I'm sorry."
Mulder shook his head, caressing Tim's leg.
"I
understand. I'll lock up when I leave."
He dropped a kiss on Mulder's cheek and stood
up,
dreading what awaited him.
Russell and Ostend Street
Tim stepped out of his car, slipping tinted
tags over
his glasses. He looked around quickly, noting the police line
perimeter and the usual crowd gathering at it. Scanning the
chaos at the crime scene, he picked out Gaffney and
Barnfather, talking in a tight huddle next to one of the squad
cars. Seeing them, his adrenaline jumped up several notches,
and a sense of fear settled in his chest. When Frank said
redball, he meant it.
"Tim," Frank called, pushing his way past
crime
scene investigators. He half jogged up to meet Bayliss. "I
wanted you to be able to see everything before anything got
moved."
They walked together, and a body covered in
a white
sheet lay on the ground. Bayliss stared over at Frank;
Pembleton hated covering a body on a street just to let it lie
there.
"Why are we here, Frank? What's going on?"
Bayliss'
eyes narrowed to slits, examining Frank's expression.
Frank knelt down next to the body, and gestured
for
Bayliss to do the same. "The case you were working on four
months ago, with the dead girls drained of their blood? We
apparently have a copycat."
"A copycat?" Bayliss stared at Pembleton,
baffled. "If
it's a copy cat, why didn't day shift catch it?"
Closing his eyes, Pembleton lifted the sheet
for Tim.
Tim's mouth dropped open, and he covered his
face
with his hands. "Oh god."
Baltimore Homicide Unit
"I'll call her parents," Frank said solemnly
as he hung
his coat on the rack. Bayliss nodded numbly, looking across
the room. Walking slowly to his desk, he picked up the black
phone and dialed nine for an outside line. Waiting for the
system to click over to a dial tone, he rehearsed what he was
going to say. With a heavy sigh, he hung up.
"I'm going over there," he said with finality.
"Do you want me to go?"
Tim shook his head. "No. No, I can do it."
Standing outside the apartment door, Bayliss
rehearsed what he was going to say over and over again in
his mind. The aroma of fried green peppers hovered in the
hallway, making it impossible to concentrate. He couldn't
think of the right words. Taking a breath to steel himself, he
knocked twice, his eyes caught on a bit of peeling paint.
The door swung open.
"Hey, Bayliss. What's up?"
Tim bowed his head. "Can I come in?"
"I know that face. I know that face. What's
going
on?"
"I. . . I hate to be the one to bring you
this news,"
Bayliss stuttered.
"What news? Fucking spit it out."
"Stu, I'm sorry. Patrol found Laura Ballard's
body in
a dumpster behind the Resurrection this morning."
Gharty's pale face turned grey. "What?"
"She's dead, Gharty, I'm sorry. I am so sorry."
Tim
twisted his hands, feeling sick to his stomach.
Tears started to fall down Gharty's cheeks,
and he
didn't bother to wipe them away. Putting a hand on the door
jamb for support, he tried to assimilate the news. Shaking his
head in disbelief, he looked up at Bayliss.
"Who's the primary?"
"I am."
"How'd she die," Gharty asked quietly. "Can
I see
her?"
"Of course you can see her. Of course you
can," Tim
said comfortingly, putting a hand on Gharty's shoulder. "Do
you want me to drive you down there?"
"What the fuck was she doing on the west side,"
Gharty moaned, his whole body trembling. He fell forward
against Tim's chest, sobs shaking through him like tidal
waves. Tim put his arms around the older man, trying to
think of something he could say that would make it better,
but there wasn't anything to say.
Gharty straightened up, suddenly embarrassed
and
uncomfortable. "I need to get my shoes."
(End Part One)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (2/13)
I-95
Mulder's phone bleeped in his pocket, and he
took his
eyes off the road momentarily to find it. Boxed in by lunch
rush traffic, he tried to retrieve the phone as quickly as
possible. Once he had, he opened it, then he swerved back
into his own lane.
"Mulder," he said, laying on the horn as a
semi tried
to cut him off.
"Hi, Mulder . . . where are you?" Scully's
voice was
broken over the bad connection. "I called over at Tim's, but I
got no answer."
"Right now, I'm about 10 minutes out of Baltimore
on my way back to Washington. Why? Is something wrong?"
"No, not here anyway, but is there an exit
you can
take?"
Mulder flipped on his turn signal, jerking
the Taurus
into the right lane, much to the dismay of the drivers beside
him. "Yes. What's going on?"
"You're going back to Baltimore. I'll be up
there in
about an hour, so I need you to meet me."
"Okay . . . " Mulder drawled. "I still
don't understand
the why."
"Laura Ballard was murdered last night, found
in a
state similar to Mary Jensen's. She's one of the detectives on
Giardello's squad, remember? Tim called and asked me to
come down to do a rush on the lab work."
A chill ran up Mulder's neck as he whipped
onto the
exit. "Okay . . . okay. Where should I meet you?"
"The Waterfront is fine. I remember how to
get there
on my own."
The Waterfront
Walking into The Waterfront, Mulder was relieved
to
see Lewis drying glasses behind the bar. Lewis thought he
was crazy, but they got along fairly well. It could have been
Munch; Munch stared at Mulder like a bug on a pin. Mulder
was given to understand that Munch looked at everyone that
way, but he was certain it was just him.
"Agent Mulder," Lewis said, raising both eyebrows
and pursing his lips. "To what does Baltimore owe the
pleasure of your company?"
A grin rose to Mulder's lips. "I was out of
paper
clips."
There was a moment of tense silence before
Lewis
melted into a grin, holding out a hand for Mulder to shake.
"How you doing? Want something?"
"Coffee would be great," he said. "I've been
better.
You?"
"Also been better," Lewis scowled, pouring
a cup of
coffee. "You know about Ballard, right?"
Mulder nodded his head, wrapping his hands
around
the warm mug. "Yep, and that's why I'm here. Profiling on
the Ballard case."
"I hate the sound of that," Lewis said morosely.
"The
Ballard case. Seems like the only way you get out of
homicide is dead. That don't bode well, if you know what I
mean."
Homicide Unit
"I want you to go home." Gee stood solidly
in front
of Gharty.
Gharty shook his head. "I don't want Bayliss
as the
primary on this."
"That's too bad. He is the primary, this is
his case."
Gee softened his voice a little. "I know you're upset. I know
I would be going out of my mind, but you can't do anything
here. Go home, have a drink, get angry. Whatever you can to
keep your mind off of it."
"You don't understand, Gee," Gharty protested,
his
face turning red. "I don't think Bayliss should be handling
this case. I think they had an affair."
Standing up, Gee put his hands on the desk.
"Is this
true, or is this just speculation on your part?"
Hemming, Gharty stared at his feet. "Call
it a hunch."
"Go home, Gharty. I'll look into this."
"No Gee, I absolutely did not have an affair
with
Ballard." Bayliss crossed his arms defensively over his chest.
Gee nodded his head sagely. "Well someone
in this
department is under the impression that you did. You
wouldn't be lying to me, would you Tim? Because you know
how I hate to be lied to."
"I assure you I am not lying to you, Gee.
As a matter
of fact, I've been in a relationship for several months. I don't
have time to have an affair."
A small smile peaked at the corner of Gee's
lips. "A
relationship? Really?"
"Yes, really."
"I'd love to ask more, but I really don't
care," Gee
grinned. "Now go find Ballard's killer. I want to see her
name in black."
The Waterfront
"If it isn't the lovely Dana Scully," Lewis
said brightly
as she stepped inside, shaking off her umbrella.
"If it isn't the charming Meldrick Lewis,"
she replied.
"Oh, and Mulder."
Mulder rolled his eyes. "My partner."
"Cox is almost finished with the autopsy,"
Scully
said, putting her hand on Mulder's shoulder. Leaning over,
she whispered in his ear. "I need to talk to you."
"Excuse us," Mulder said, nodding to Lewis.
"Oh sure," he called after them as they headed
for the
door. "Just drink my coffee and leave. I see how you are."
"What's up, Scully?"
She handed him her umbrella, and he unfurled
it to
cover both of them from the elements. Looking around, she
made sure no one was near enough to hear her speak.
"Skinner's been asking questions, Mulder."
Mulder furrowed his brows. "What kind of
questions?"
"Before I came up here this morning, he asked
me
about our expense account. Specifically, why we've only
been paying for only one hotel room on our business trips to
Baltimore."
Dread coiled in Mulder's mind. "What did you
tell
him?"
"I didn't tell him anything, Mulder. I said
I'd have to
look at my records. He thinks something is going on between
us."
She didn't have to explain to him what that
meant.
Consorting on company time was strictly forbidden. They
were free to have a relationship outside the office, but if it
came to the attention of their superiors, one or both of them
would have to be reassigned within the bureau. Spouses and
lovers did not make good partners, as far as the FBI was
concerned.
"I took the liberty of booking you a room
this time,"
she continued. "But I'm afraid it's too late now. I'm sorry,
Mulder. It never occurred to me to do it before."
Mulder closed his eyes, the cold rain splashing
on his
face. If Skinner chose to make a deal out of it, he would be
royally screwed. He'd have to explain the discrepancy, and a
simple excuse of having a girlfriend in Baltimore wouldn't
wash. They'd want names, verification. If they knew the
truth, there was a very real possibility his access to the X
files, and his career, would be over. Despite the times, the
FBI silently subscribed to the 'don't make us ask, or else'
policy.
"It's not your fault, Scully" he said finally,
sighing. "I
can't believe I didn't think of that. I can't believe it."
Squeezing his hand, she looked at him dolefully.
"Listen, I have to get over to the morgue. I'll let you know
when we have the results in, okay?"
Mulder nodded, handed her the umbrella, then
stood
alone in the rain, watching her hurry away.
Baltimore County Morgue
"Same as last time," Cox announced. "Her stomach's
full of blood."
Scully nodded, adjusting her spatter mask.
"If you
have the samples, I can get to work on the screens. Johns
Hopkins has agreed to share their lab with me for the time
being."
Snapping her gloves off, Cox nodded. "Not
a
problem. You want them all, or just blood and tissue?"
Scully zipped the body bag around Ballard's
head,
then pushed the slab back into the locker. "Blood and tissue
should be fine. I don't think I need the rest."
Homicide Unit
"Well, Eliza Barret's dead," Pembleton said.
"That
eliminates her as a suspect."
"We have to look into her circle of friends,
her
acquaintances," Mulder said wearily. "I'm sure she's
connected to this, one way or the other."
Bayliss sighed. "Maybe Frank's right. Maybe
it's just
a copycat. We should wait for Cox and Scully to verify the
facts before we jump to any conclusions."
Mulder raised his eyebrows. "We're losing
time. This
is the first killing, not a single incident. I realize it's painful,
she being a coworker, but we have to look at the bigger
picture."
"I think you're getting carried away," Frank
said,
staring at Mulder.
"I think you just don't like me," Mulder replied.
Pembleton smiled brilliantly. "Did you divine
that
using your amazing profiling abilities?"
Pushing his way between Frank and Mulder,
Bayliss
held up his hands. "Knock it off. Nobody has to like
anybody, we just have to put this case down. Let's just relax,
shall we?"
"Oh, I'm relaxed," Frank enunciated. "I am
absolutely
relaxed."
"That's good to hear," Gee said, sweeping
past
Bayliss' desk. "Now that you're so relaxed, what can you tell
me about the person who murdered Laura Ballard?"
"We're waiting for labs," Bayliss said placidly.
"And
getting ready to go over some of Eliza Barret's friends and
acquaintances."
"Getting ready? I believe I misheard you.
My
detectives don't ponder investigations, they complete them in
a timely manner."
"We're going over Eliza Barret's friends and
acquaintances," Bayliss amended.
"I want progress," Gee demanded. "When Barnfather
hovers over me in my office later, I want to be able to tell
him something of note. He will not be interested in plans or
relaxation."
"Yes sir."
"I have findings" Scully announced, dropping
the lab
report on Bayliss' desk.
"The same as last time," Pembleton asked,
looking up
at her. "And how are you, Dana?"
"Actually not the same. And I'm just fine,
Frank.
You?"
"Now that Mulder is across the squad room,
I'm just
peachy."
"You shouldn't say that."
"What?"
"Peachy. It doesn't fit you," she smirked.
"I find it
amusing that two men so alike in their passion for their jobs
get along so poorly."
"That's because one of us is sane."
"You shouldn't hold that against him," she
grinned,
tapping Frank on the shoulder with a file folder. "Where's
Bayliss? I think he'd be interested in seeing this."
"I'm sure he'll be along any moment."
(End Part Two)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (3/13)
"There is no methohexital in Ballard's system,"
Scully
began as soon as Mulder, Bayliss and Pembleton were in a
reasonable proximity of one another. Looking down at her
diagnosis uncomfortably, she pressed forward. "But both in
her stomach, tissues and blood, there are high levels of
psilocybin and psilocin."
Mulder blinked. "You're kidding?"
A confused expression settled on Bayliss'
features.
"That sounds familiar."
"'Shrooms," Frank filled in for him. "Hallucinogenic
mushrooms."
"How did our killer make . . . " Bayliss
began.
"She, or he, didn't." Scully's voice rang
with finality.
"A few pieces are still in her stomach, thoroughly chewed.
She ate them willingly. She also had a blood alcohol of .94,
and a trace of methyprylon, a hypnotic sedative. She did not
OD, and the presence of methyprylon brings into question
her actual time of death; it can lower body temperature
dramatically. It's also going to complicate things in that it's
extremely easy to get methyprylon; it's used to treat
insomnia."
"Kick us again, Dana." Frank sighed. "What
do we
have left?"
"She was probably suffocated," she said softly.
"We
don't have a clear cause of death. She was exsanguinated
peri- or postmortem, so we have no lividity, and in
combination with the methyprylon, we can't even get an
accurate time of death. She wasn't in rigor when you found
her, so she could have been in that dumpster as little as eight
hours or as many as thirty-six. I'm putting in my vote for
eight; much longer than that, and rats would have started
carrying off her soft tissues."
Bayliss had an overpowering sense of hopelessness.
"Please tell me Cox signed off on this, please tell me that,
Dana. I just need to hear that."
Nodding stiffly, Scully put the folder in
Tim's hands.
"She did. It's a murder."
"Wait, what about her stomach?" Mulder ignored
the
frigid stare Pembleton shot at him. "What was in her stomach
besides the mushrooms?"
Scully raised her eyebrows. "Blood, just like
last
time. Here's the part Frank's not going to like. Preliminary
lab work says it's Eliza Barret's."
Evidence Control
"I'm not asking for the holy grail," Frank
growled
angrily. "I want the effects from Eliza Barret's house."
The balding officer behind the gate stared
at Frank,
then opened his logbook. Running his fingers along the lines,
he scanned the entries slowly and deliberately. Finally he
stopped, opened another book, and compared the two.
Shaking his head, he looked up.
"They got pended out," he said apathetically.
"Pended out?" Frank shook his head in disbelief.
"Who ordered them to be pended out? They've only been
here six months!"
"Hey, we placed an ad for the requisite three
months.
No one claimed it, we got rid of it. Standard procedure when
the perp is dead and no family comes forward."
"God save me from suffering idiots," Pembleton
muttered under his breath, stalking down the hallway. "Are
you coming, Dana?"
"When did you pend them," she asked quietly.
"'Bout two weeks ago. We kept them a lot longer
than we have to, you know."
"Then where do they go?"
"If it's worth anything, auction. Everything
else goes
to the dump. Most of the Barrett stuff went to the dump."
Pembleton stared at Scully. "No way, uh uh.
This is a
new suit."
"Come on, Frank."
"Dana! Livvy bought me this suit for Father's
Day."
"Come on, Frank."
Stuart Gharty's Apartment
Mulder and Bayliss sat uncomfortably on a broken
down couch in Gharty's apartment, watching Stu pour
himself another glass of bourbon. He drank it down like
water, staring blearily into his cup.
"Hey Gharty, why don't you slow down a little,"
Bayliss said soothingly. "We won't be here long."
"Been here long enough already," he shot back.
"Why
aren't you out arresting someone?"
"We don't know who to arrest."
"Oh yeah, well that figures. What are you
doing
here?"
"Detective Gharty, we just want to know what
you
can tell us about how Detective Ballard spent her time off
duty."
"Her name was Laura."
"Laura then. Can you tell us how Laura spent
her
time away from the job?"
Gharty jerked his head, glaring at Bayliss.
"Why don't
you ask him?"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Stu."
Stumbling over, Gharty pointed his finger
in Tim's
face. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, you pervert.
Everything that moves, you nail."
"Just where do you get your information?"
"Your partner, Bayliss. Shop talk. It gets
around, you
know?"
Bayliss stood up, towering over Gharty. "I'll
tell you
exactly what I told Giardello. I did not have an affair with
Ballard. If you have a problem with me, fine. Have a problem
with me, but don't let being an asshole get in the way of my
investigation."
Pulling back, Gharty moved to throw a punch,
but
Tim caught his arm. Mulder jumped up, pulling the two men
apart.
"Tim, go wait in the car."
Stunned, Bayliss stared at Mulder. "What?"
"Just go wait in the car. I'll be out in a
minute."
Baltimore County Dump
"I feel like a fool," Pembleton groused, slogging
through piles of refuse. He stared up at the now cloudless
sky. He didn't know which he'd prefer, the burning sun
beating down and releasing the scent of rotting garbage, or
the rain making everything flow together into a river of filth.
"You said you didn't want to ruin your suit.
Now you
won't ruin your suit." Scully grinned and pulled the hem of
Frank's new sweat shirt, then let it snap back into place.
"I hate you, Dana. I hope you realize that."
She beamed at him. "Oh good. I wouldn't want
any
special treatment. Gloves?"
Stuart Gharty's Apartment
Bayliss paced the hallways outside Gharty's
apartment, growing angrier with every step. He had been
dismissed from the room on his own case! Kicking at the
frayed carpet, he waited for Mulder to emerge. He'd tried to
listen at the door, but that just made him more furious as the
minutes ticked away. When the door finally opened, Tim set
his jaw and glowered at Mulder.
"What?" Mulder closed the door behind him,
looking
innocently at Bayliss.
"What? You ask me what?" Bayliss narrowed
his
eyes, started to walk away, then whirled back on his heel.
"This is my case, Mulder; Gharty is one of my witnesses. I
may not understand the supernatural details, I may not even
be on the right track, but it is my case. My case! If you can't
respect that, then you can go back to Washington, 'kay?"
Mulder shrugged, staring past Bayliss. "Whatever
you say, Tim. Go on in and interview him."
Brushing past Bayliss, Mulder walked toward
the
parking lot. Tim stared at him in disbelief then half jogged to
catch up with him. Grabbing him by the shoulder, Tim pulled
Mulder to a stop.
"What is this attitude? I'm not the one who
dismissed
you from your own case. You're not allowed to be angry, I'm
being angry. I'm the hurt party, here!"
"You want to be Gharty's punching bag? Your
presence was distracting him; once you were gone, he was
fine. Sometimes you have to sacrifice your pride for the good
of an investigation."
Bayliss threw his hands up, walking away.
"My
pride? Huh. My pride. Now that's a good one, Mulder. That's
absolutely hysterical. See, I'm laughing all the way to the car.
Ha! My pride."
Baltimore County Dump
"Oh!"
Frank looked over at Scully. "Did you find
something?"
"A rat."
Laughing, Pembleton reached back into the
pile of
garbage. "Just remember, this was your idea."
She rolled her eyes. "It was worth it to see
you in
something besides a suit."
"You've been to my home, Dana. I don't wear
suits at
home."
"Oh yes, I forgot . . . it was worth
it to see you in
something besides a dress shirt."
Picking through a wet box, Frank's hand settled
on
something hard. Wiping away the damp papers, he pulled up
a plastic-bound date book. A flicker of hope passed through
him as he unfastened the latch on the book. Carefully
scanning the first few pages, a smile crossed his face. He
briefly considered letting Scully dig through more trash
before telling her, but his desire for a shower overpowered
his desire for revenge.
"Let's go," he said, holding up the planner.
"106.5 FM, The Mix! Home of the cash crab,"
intoned the announcer on the radio.
Mulder looked over at Bayliss, noting the
thin, tight
line of his lips and the hard set of his jaw. He still wasn't
quite sure what he'd done wrong. It was obvious to him that
Gharty wouldn't have told Bayliss anything relevant. All he
had done was step in and take control of a deteriorating
situation, and in response he was getting the silent treatment.
"Coming up by request, and I mean REQUEST,
lots
and lots of requests, meaning please stop calling, kids, Celine
Dion with her mega-hankie hit 'My Heart Will Go On'!"
Mulder reached over and turned off the radio.
Bayliss
glared at him, and turned it back on.
"I like this song."
Mulder rolled his eyes. "You do not."
In response, Tim twisted the volume up several
notches. To make his point, he warbled badly along with the
first few lines. He watched Mulder push his bangs from his
face, closing his eyes against the melodic assault.
"You didn't even like the movie, Tim," Mulder
reasoned.
"No, you didn't like the movie. I loved the
movie. I
went to see it again after you went back to DC."
"You saw it again?"
"Yes. Yes I did. Twice, as a matter of fact."
"I don't believe you."
Bayliss laughed, taking a hand off the wheel
to dig
into his pocket. "Here, here's my wallet. Right behind my
price club membership, look."
"I don't want to look."
"Do it, look. I can prove it. You don't believe
me,
look."
Mulder pushed the wallet away. "Okay, fine,
I believe
you, but why? You see dead people every day, why on earth
would you want to see 1500 of them in the theater? Three
times?"
Nodding along to the song, Bayliss paused
before
answering. "Because I don't see redemption and hope every
day. I don't see selflessness and giving at the office. No, I see
people displayed in a vast panorama of violence and hatred; I
see ego, neurosis, death and dismay . . . "
"We're not talking about 'Titanic' anymore,
are we?"
"Yes, we are."
"No, we're not."
"What did Gharty say?"
"I knew it."
"That's just fine," Bayliss sighed in disgust.
"He doesn't know much. He absolutely denies
that
she was into the club scene, and is positive that she's never
done recreational drugs. As far as Gharty's concerned,
Ballard sang in the Sunday choir and drank her milk, every
single day."
"So basically, nothing."
"That's pretty much it."
(End Part Three)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (4/13)
Home of Frank and Mary Pembleton
"So then Livvy said, 'Dana, I'm so glad you
came
back to my house.'," Scully laughed.
Mary Pembleton smiled serenely, wrapping her
hands
around a coffee mug. "She's grown so much, I can hardly
believe it. She'll be going to school soon. I just want to hold
her and to beg her never to grow up."
"Can't stop time," Scully said sympathetically,
feeling
the ache in her heart swell. With a smile, she looked down at
Frank Jr., happily gnawing a teething cookie.
"No, no you can't. Would you like some more
coffee?"
Scully shook her head. "No, no thanks. Hopefully
Frank will finish scrubbing the skin off his body and we can
get back to work."
"That man takes forever in the shower," Mary
said
with a grin. "He better hurry up, I have to get ready to go."
"You know, Mary," Scully said suddenly, surprising
herself. "If you and Frank ever wanted a night out, alone I
mean, I could stay with Livvy and the baby. My schedule is
pretty flexible sometimes."
"Oh, Dana, I couldn't impose. It's a long
drive from
Washington to Baltimore. I know, I make it every day."
Scully made an alligator with her fingers,
and
chopped toward Frank Jr.'s nose, making him drop the biter
biscuit to smile up at her toothlessly. She looked back up at
Mary, smiling wistfully.
"It wouldn't be any trouble, really. It was
just a
thought, if you wanted to . . . "
Resurrection Dance Club
"Yeah, I saw her."
Bayliss and Mulder waited expectantly, watching
as
the bartender dried glasses and replaced them on a shelf.
"What? I saw her. She was in here last night,
until
about one. She left with some chick."
"Have you ever seen her here before?"
"Yeah, sometimes. She comes in, has a few
drinks,
dances, then leaves with her flavor of the week. What can I
tell you, I don't know her."
Bayliss leaned forward. "Her flavor of the
week?"
"Yeah, she always leaves with someone different."
"Did you get a good look at the woman she
left with
last night," Mulder asked, looking around the club. It was a
dark, yawning space when empty; he could only imagine
what it would be like with music blasting and bodies pressed
against one another on the dance floor.
The bartender shrugged. "I dunno, I never
saw her
before. Maybe five six? Maybe red hair? I don't know."
Homicide Unit
"Hey, Stivers!"
Teri Stivers looked up to see Scully and Pembleton
heading for her desk. She swivelled in her chair to face them.
"Yep?"
"You've met Agent Scully, haven't you?"
Stivers nodded. "Briefly. What's up?"
"I was wondering where someone might get
shrooms."
"Shrooms," Stivers repeated, raising her eyebrows.
Her small mouth formed into a moue. "Why would a stand
up guy like you want shrooms, Frank?"
"I don't want them," Frank scowled. "I want
to know
where I can buy them. Can you keep a secret?"
Stivers smiled ironically, glancing over at
Kellerman.
"Sure I can."
"The stomach contents in Detective Ballard's
autopsy
contained a small quantity of psilocybin mushrooms," Scully
said quietly, leaning over. "She, or the person who gave
them to her, had to get them somewhere."
"You're kidding me," Stivers said, standing
up.
Frank shook his head.
"Well in that case, let me think. Most of
the stuff we
did in narcotics was, well, narcotics. I don't think I ever had
a hallucinogen case. Oh wait . . . I know someone who did.
Can I get back to you?"
"Of course," Frank said, snapping air through
his
teeth. "We have some calls to make, so we'll be around."
Thames Street
"I think we should have parked in the garage,"
Bayliss said woefully as they stepped out of the car. As soon
as their doors shut, they were surrounded by the media,
pushing microphones in their faces screaming questions over
one another. Flashbulbs exploded in their faces as they tried
to make their way into the station house.
"We have no comment," Mulder said, pushing
his
way through the crowd. Bayliss followed him as quickly as
he could, trying to avoid being crushed in the mob of
reporters.
"Is it true that Detective Ballard's blood
alcohol level
was three times the legal limit?!"
"Do you have any suspects at this time?!"
"Will anyone from the department be making
a
statement to the press today?!"
"What progress have you made in the investigation?!"
"Did you know that Laura Ballard's murder
is related
to the death of Mary Jensen?!"
No comment.
No comment.
No comment.
No comment.
No comment.
As soon as they made it up the steps, Bayliss
looked
back suddenly. He searched the faces of the reporters, a
thought starting to click in his mind. Mulder stopped next to
him, trying to follow Tim's gaze.
"Something wrong?"
Tim shook his head. "Somebody asked a question
. .
."
"We got asked a lot of questions."
"This one didn't sound right to me," Bayliss
said,
taking another looks at the throng of reporters. Finally, he
just shrugged and started back up the stairs.
"What is this," Munch said, picking the black
day
book up from Pembleton's desk. "A little black book? Does
Mary know about this?"
Pembleton snatched the book away from him,
throwing it back on his desk. "Don't touch. Your foul
presence will taint it. It's evidence."
"But of what kind of crime?" Munch smirked,
baiting
Pembleton. He knew exactly what the book was, but riling
Frank into a spitting foam was one of his few pleasures.
"Don't you have something to do, Munch? I
see that
Olmert is still red, and Ives, Leganz, and . . . "
Rolling his head over to look at the board,
Munch
shrugged. "Fine, Frank, fine. Don't be sociable. I wasn't
interested in your sex life anyway."
"This has nothing to do with my sex life,"
Frank spat
furiously.
"Sure, that's what you say now . . .
"
"Get away from my desk."
Munch finger waved "bye bye" to Scully, and
worked
his way back toward his desk, his step a little lighter.
Scully inclined her head toward Frank. "You
know he
just does that to irritate you."
A sly smile rose to Frank's lips. "And how
disappointed he would be if I never rose to the occasion."
"We have Eliza Barret's date book," Frank called
to
Bayliss.
"We have a vague description of a possible
suspect,"
Tim answered cheerfully. He looked down at his notepad,
then glanced up at Scully. "Hey, where were you last night at
one a.m.?"
Mulder reached out for the date book, but
Pembleton
held it away from him. With a sigh, Mulder headed for the
break room, making sure to bump Frank's shoulder as he
went.
Raising his eyebrows at Frank, Tim leaned
over and
appealed to his partner's good side in a low, hissing whisper.
"The sooner we put this down, the sooner Mulder is out of
your . . . proverbial hair."
With a scowl, Frank rolled his eyes and leaned
away
from Bayliss. "Agent Mulder!"
After a few seconds, Mulder popped his head
around
the corner. "Yes?"
"Get out here," Frank ordered. "We have work
to
do."
The four of them systematically culled through
the
address book, making lists of names with addresses only, and
lists of names with phone numbers. When that was finished,
Mulder took A through F, scanning across the list. He
looked up at Bayliss and Pembleton arguing good-naturedly
over lunch, then over at Scully. She was engrossed in making
the phone calls on her list, asking the right questions,
speaking softly and calmly. He felt infinitely alone at that
moment, separated from everything going on around him.
Without a word, Mulder scanned his list again. Suddenly,
one named jumped out at him.
"I'll be back," Mulder said, already half
out of the
squad room.
Tim stood up. "Where are you going?"
"I'll be back," Mulder repeated, then disappeared
into
the hallway.
Facing Scully, Tim's face was a mask of incredulity.
"Where is he going?"
With a shrug, she marked another name off
of her
list. "I have no idea."
"Does he do this a lot?" Bayliss stared at
the hallway
as if Mulder would reappear any moment.
"You mean he hasn't done this to you yet,"
she asked
incredulously.
(End Part Four)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (5/13)
Home of Lineida Mirskinsky
Tapping on the door, Mulder watched either
side of
him. The last time he'd spoken to Lineida, he had left her a
very unhappy woman. It wasn't his fault she had been in
hiding. It also wasn't his fault that the BATF had followed
him to find her.
The door opened silently, and a dark-haired
woman
peered through the crack. When she recognized her
uninvited guest, she slammed the door.
"Lineida, please," Mulder shouted through
the wood.
"Oh no, you forget my help, Agent Fox Mulder.
You
get me sent to jail, federal jail, especially bad," she shouted
back.
He half smiled to himself. "I testified on
your behalf,
Lineida. You were very cooperative, and that cut years off
your sentence. I recommended probation; it's not my fault
they denied it."
Creaking the door open, she stared out at
him with
her sloe eyes. "You recommend probation?"
He nodded earnestly. "Bathtub gin is only
a venial sin
in my book."
"Well I do that no more," she said proudly,
opening
the door. "I have better business now, genuine Rumanian
horoscopes on Internet. Come in, I make tea."
"See, this is my web page," she said, handing
him a
delicate china tea cup. "I give people sneak preview, then for
only low price of $19.95, I give them whole horoscope. I
take Visa and MasterCard."
Grinning, Mulder raised his cup to her. "So
what do
you see in my horoscope, Lineida?"
"I see Fox Mulder asking Lineida for free
information."
"That's downright eerie," he teased.
She sighed, dropping another sugar cube into
her tea.
"What you want this time, Fox Mulder?"
"When did you move to Baltimore?"
Lineida raised her free hand, waving it. "Is
this social
call or business?"
"Business."
"Then ask business questions. Baltimore is
just new
home. Smells much better than Washington D.C.."
"Are you still the president of the Erzebet
Bathory
fan club?"
"See, now you ask stupid question. You know
that
does not change, of course I am."
"I was hoping," he said, giving her a winning
smile. "I
was hoping you could give me a list of new members in
Baltimore for the last six months."
"It is funny you ask for that," Lineida said,
nudging
him out of the chair in front of her computer. She closed
Netscape and opened her word processor. "I think, two
women in Baltimore die like Bathory girls, but no one come
to me first time."
Mulder smiled apologetically. "I didn't know
you
were here, Lineida. You know I value your opinion."
"I have best list of Bathory fans, yet no
one comes to
me. This is list of new fans, since Mary Jensen dies."
"Could you print that out for me?"
Lineida rolled her eyes. "For low price of
$19.95, I
give you genuine Rumanian horoscope."
They stared at one another for a moment, then
Mulder dug out his wallet. Pulling out a twenty-dollar bill, he
laid it in her open palm. She examined it for a moment, then
stuffed it into her sleeve.
"Horoscope say four new girls call themselves
EB
names, like last time. Two addresses just post office box,"
she said, printing the file for him. "You disappoint me, Fox
Mulder. Last time, you barter properly. This time you lay
down."
Taking the fresh sheets from the printer,
he folded
them and slid them into his coat pocket. "This time, the
information is worth more than $19.95."
She snorted in disgust, calling him a nasty
name in
Rumanian.
"I know what that means, Lineida" he said,
letting
himself out.
Mailboxes, Etc.
"Listen, I'm a federal agent. I just need the
names and
addresses for the owner of this post office box," Mulder
argued.
"My manager says we cannot give that information
to
anyone without a search warrant or proof of power of
attorney," the young man replied by rote. He held Mulder's
badge, examining it closely. "Hey, I've heard of you. You're
that guy in the Weekly World News. Are you looking for
another fluke man?"
Snatching his badge back from the teenager,
Mulder
scowled. "Where is your manager?"
"On lunch."
"Do you know when he'll be back?"
"She takes long lunches."
Home of "Elysse Baxter"
"I'm Agent Fox Mulder, I work with the FBI.
I was
wondering if I could speak to Elysse Baxter?"
A pudgy teenaged girl opened the door, inviting
him
inside. "Is something wrong? I mean, I only use that name
for the fan club. That's not illegal, is it?"
Mulder shook his head. "No, no it's legal.
What's
your real name?"
"Athena King," she said miserably, brushing
a strand
of oily hair from her eyes. "Stupid name, huh?"
"It's pretty noble, if you ask me." Mulder
nodded
positively. "The goddess of wisdom."
"Yeah," Athena said miserably. "I'm sorry,
why are
you here again?"
Mulder looked the girl over, shaking his head.
"I was
wondering if you had met any of the other women in the
Erzebet Bathory fan club?"
She shrugged. "A couple, not very many. My
mom
gets all freaked when I meet strangers. Why?"
"Have you ever met," Mulder said, then read
the
names off the list. "Elsa Bettis, Elizabeth Baddick, or Elissa
Bararamy?"
Athena nodded. "I met Elsa for coffee a couple
of
weeks ago, she was nice. She knew a lot, and I mean a lot,
about the Countess. It was incredible."
"Can you tell me what she looks like?"
"I don't know, old, greyish hair? She said
she used to
be a model, but now I guess she's a writer. She's written two
books on the Countess, but they haven't been published yet.
She says that's because publishing is a patriarchal enterprise."
"What's her real name?"
Shrugging, Athena smiled wanly. "I don't know.
I
called her Elsa."
Mulder raised his eyebrows. "I don't suppose
you
have a home phone number or address for her, do you?"
Looking slightly uncomfortable, Athena shifted
from
foot to foot. "You never told me why you wanted to know."
"I just want to ask her some questions, Athena."
"I don't have her home number or address,"
Athena
lied. "She calls me, I don't call her."
Homicide Unit
Stalking into the squad room, Mulder looked
around
for Scully or Bayliss. Both of them were curiously absent. He
caught sight of Frank, and sighed. Steeling himself, he
walked over to Pembleton's desk.
"I think I have a PO box and an alias for
our
suspect," he said almost submissively, holding out the
information. He knew Frank couldn't stand him, and he knew
that nothing he could do would change that. Despite the
hopelessness, he still tried.
"Tim was very angry when you left," Frank
said
sourly. "He took Dana, so I must work with you. I haven't
the slightest inkling what I might have done to deserve this . .
. "
Mulder frowned. "Listen, Detective Pembleton,
I
know what you think of me . . . "
"No, you have no idea what I think of you.
You may
mistake my casually cool demeanor for dislike, but you'd be
wrong. In all truth, I don't care about you at all. You mean
nothing in the grand scheme of my life, but . . . "
"But what," Mulder asked, taking the bait.
"But you are insane. More's the pity, you
don't even
realize the depths of your madness. I often sit and ponder
what Dana sees in your quest for your truth. She's an
intelligent woman, a good woman, so she must see
something worthwhile in you, but I do not. Consequently, I
will tolerate you for Dana's sake, even for Tim's misguided
sake, but I will not coddle your fragile ego."
"I didn't ask for any favors," Mulder said
weakly.
"That's good, Fox," Frank said deliberately,
watching
the tension ripple through Mulder's expression. "Because you
won't get any."
Sav-Rite Pharmacy
"We have almost sixty 'scripts a month for
methyprylon," Dr. Ozzella said, paging through the
pharmacy computer. "It would help if you could narrow it
down to a name."
Scully looked over at Bayliss, then up at
the doctor.
"How about initials?"
"Okay," the doctor said, waiting.
"Last name B, first name E."
The pharmacist repeated that under his breath
as he
hunt-and-pecked his way across the keyboard. "Eugene
Bartholomew, Etta Baranowsky, Egbert Baum . . . that's all
I have."
"Etta Baranowsky, how old is she?"
"In her seventies," Dr. Ozzella said. "I really
can't tell
you any more than that, it's against state law."
"We understand that," Bayliss said soothingly.
"One
last thing, though; does she have any refills left?"
Dana shook her head as the doctor answered.
"Methyprylon is a controlled substance, very habit forming.
Physicians rarely prescribe it for more than two weeks, if that
long, and they never put a refill order on it."
Homicide Unit
"Hey Frank," Stivers called across the room,
waving
a folder. "I have a present for you."
"Dealer," he said hopefully.
She sat next to him, barely acknowledging
Mulder.
"Better than that, Baltimore's importer. Pretty much anyone
with any kind of hallucinogen trade goes through this guy."
"Great, great," Frank smiled, holding his
hand out for
the file. "What do I owe you?"
"Owe me?" She raised an eyebrow, refusing
to let go.
"Owe you, yes."
"A favor, Frank."
Pembleton smiled like a shark, rows and rows
of
teeth bared. "How about lunch?"
"How about a favor?"
"Come on, Teri."
She laughed, patting his hand as she stood
up. "A
favor, Frank. Just a favor."
"A very nice lunch?"
She leaned down, smiling just inches from
his face.
"You're not weaseling out of this again, Frank Pembleton. I
used a favor, you owe me a favor."
"Fine," Frank relented."A favor."
She grinned, giving him his prize. "Thank
you."
"What was that all about," Mulder ventured
as soon
as Teri had walked away.
Frank raised his chin defiantly, half shrugging.
"Get
your coat and let's go. Don't even think about driving."
(End Part Five)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (6/13)
Heberty's Lounge
Stepping into Heberty's Lounge was not the
usual
bright sun to dark room shock; it was dark, but it was also
illuminated completely by black lights. Mulder found himself
fascinated by the tiny squiggles of lint glowing on the back of
Frank's suit. When he wrenched his attention away from
them, he took a good look around the room, taking in the
glowing Grateful Dead posters, and the slow, quiet patrons.
The sting of cheap marijuana hung in the air, and Mulder
suddenly felt as if he'd invaded someone's dorm room.
Pembleton, seemingly unaffected by the strange tableau,
made his way to the bartender.
Frank spoke quietly to the woman behind the
bar, too
quietly for Mulder to hear what he said. A tickle of irritation
rose in him. They were (ostensibly) working together, and so
far, he didn't know why they were at Heberty's, who they
were looking for, or what questions to ask. He had his guess;
they were looking for the person who sold their murderer the
mushrooms, but beyond that, he was lost.
Turning around, Frank glared at Mulder with
annoyance. "Come on."
"Where to now?"
"Joshua Orlando's squat."
"Orlando. He's the importer?"
"Yep."
"Oh."
Scully looked over at Bayliss, admiring the
soft
planes of his face. She understood what Mulder saw in him;
he didn't have that hardness they saw in most cops' faces.
Even Frank, who could have a perfectly charming tea party
with Olivia, had a hard, honed edge to the set of his mouth,
the glint of his eyes.
"Why are you staring at me," Tim asked gently,
peering at her from the corner of his eyes.
Scully smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's okay. I was afraid I had something
on
my face."
"I would have told you."
"Yeah?"
The bleat of Scully's cell phone sounded from
her
jacket pocket. She smiled apologetically at Tim as she
answered it.
"Please save me."
"Mulder?" She knitted her brows, looking over
at
Bayliss.
"From Pembleton. Please save me, or I swear
I will
eat my gun."
"Really," she said, loud enough to catch Tim's
notice.
"You mean you're not getting along with Frank?"
"He hates me," Mulder hissed.
"Oh, Mulder, he doesn't hate you."
"That's right," Tim laughed, raising his voice
for
Mulder to hear over the phone. "He just thinks you're crazy."
Trying to stifle a giggle, Scully squeezed
her eyes
closed. "Tim says hi."
"What is going on, " Mulder demanded.
"Nothing," she said cheerfully. "We're on
our way
back to the unit. Do you have any new leads?"
"Yes, but Pembleton won't let me . . .
oh hell, here
he comes. I'll see you back at the unit."
Closing her phone, Scully burst into a fit
of giggles.
A slow smile spread across Bayliss' lips.
"What did he
say?"
"He and Frank are getting along just famously."
Corner of Fayette and Exeter
Pembleton and Mulder walked across a thin stretch
of dying lawn toward a skeletal man on a bus bench. The
man didn't look like much; he was an aging hippie in a Ben
and Jerry's T-shirt throwing bits of bread at pigeons. Frank
reached him first, driving the pigeons away in a flurry of
angry chittering and feathers.
"You Joshua Orlando?"
The man looked up hazily. "Who's asking?"
"I'm Detective Pembleton, I work for the homicide
. .
. "
Bouncing to his feet, the man tried to make
a break
for it. Mulder reached out and grabbed his shoulder, pushing
him back down on the bench.
"So are you Joshua Orlando or not," Frank
asked in
disgust.
"I didn't kill nobody!"
Mulder knelt down next to him. "No one said
you
did. Just answer the question."
"And if I am?"
"Where are my handcuffs," Pembleton asked
himself,
patting at his pockets.
"It ain't illegal to feed the birds, man."
"Now see," Mulder whispered conspiratorially,
"He
just wanted to ask you a few questions, but now he's going
to drag you downtown. Fingerprint you. Run your warrants.
Call your friends, your family, and business associates. He's a
bitter man, a bitter, bitter man, and all you had to do to make
him happy was tell the truth."
"I'm Orlando," the man admitted, running a
hand
through his disheveled hair.
"I'm still taking him downtown," Frank said
crossly.
"Ask him your questions, Pembleton," Mulder
replied.
"I want to know who you sell your drugs to,
specifically, in detail."
"Now come on," Orlando protested. "How do
I
know you're not setting me up? How do I know you're not
really narcs?"
Pembleton smiled coldly. "You don't."
"He wouldn't do that to you," Mulder said
simultaneously.
He glanced from Mulder to Frank's face, and
back,
trying to decide who to believe. "If I sold drugs, I'd probably
sell them to two distributors. I don't imagine there's a lot of
market in Baltimore for soft drugs these days."
Rolling his eyes, Frank pulled out a pen to
make
notes. "And if you were supplying distributors, who might
they be? Theoretically."
"Maybe Netty Cameron, down at the Resurrection,
maybe Father Alex at 16th Street. Maybe." He stared
distrustfully past Pembleton. "Theoretically."
Mulder raised an eyebrow. "Father Alex?"
"Hey, I dint name him., that's just what everybody
calls him."
"Netty Cameron at the Resurrection," Frank
said to
himself as they walked back to the car. "Well, well, well,
some things are easier to solve than others."
"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself," Mulder
asked.
"I'm not speaking to you," Frank replied blithely.
"And I'm not bitter."
Homicide Unit
"Ballard's name is still in red," Giardello
roared as he
stormed through the squad room. Detectives and secretaries
alike averted their eyes to avoid being caught in his
maelstrom of fury. He paused long enough to glare at Tim,
who was studiously shuffling papers on his desk. "Bayliss,
Scully, In my office, now!"
"Uh oh, Timothy," Mike taunted childishly.
"Don't you have work to do, Kellerman," Gee
snapped.
"I am responsible for a press conference in
a half an
hour," Gee scowled, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me what
I'm going to say."
"Well sir," Tim began, "Agent Scully and I
are still
trying to track down the methyprylon, but it looks like it's a
pretty dead horse. Agent Mulder and I re-interviewed Stu
this morning, but he really has no idea what Ballard does . . .
did in her private time. We do have a vague description of a
possible suspect . . . "
"We also have Eliza Barret's phone and date
book.
We're matching overlapping friends, acquaintances and
activities to see . . . "
"Why?"
Bayliss and Scully looked at one another,
stunned.
Tim recovered his voice first. "Well, Gee, Ballard had
Barret's blood in her stomach. There has to be a connection
somewhere . . . "
Giardello stood up, towering angrily behind
his desk.
"Where are Pembleton and Mulder? Do they have anything
besides speculation and dead ends to give me?"
"They're following up on the mushrooms," Scully
said. "Detective Stivers managed to produce the name of
Baltimore's main importer."
"Oh." Gee did not look impressed. "So two
of my
best detectives and two of the FBI's finest have spent all day
tracking down drugs. Well that's wonderful. I'll notify
Taggart in narcotics of the new additions to his team. In case
you haven't noticed, Bayliss, we're one detective short today.
I suggest you do something about it immediately, or I will
reassign this case. You're being blinded by one avenue of
thought. Consider other possibilities. Explore your options.
Bring me results."
Chastened, Bayliss nodded and left the office
with
Scully close behind. Resolutely, he walked directly to his
desk and picked up the case folder.
"We have to start over," he said.
Scully nodded. "I'll call Mulder and Pembleton."
(End Part Six)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (7/13)
Home of Netty Cameron
Pembleton pounded on the door again, his face
twisted into a scowl. "Does she actually think we can't hear
her in there?"
"She's probably flushing two months' worth
of
product." Mulder said, distracted by the ringing of his cell
phone. "This is Mulder."
"How is this case progressing," Skinner's
voice asked
through the static. Mulder blanched, instant heartburn boiling
in his stomach.
"Steadily, sir," Mulder answered, "We're about
to
interview a witness." There was a long pause, and Mulder
shrugged apologetically at his temporary partner. Frank
rolled his eyes, and went back to pounding on the door.
"How much longer do you expect to be in
Baltimore?"
"I'm not sure, sir. We have leads and possible
witnesses, but we're still a while away from an arrest."
"Agent Mulder," Skinner sighed. There was
a hint of
reluctance in his strong, clear voice. "I'm sure you've spoken
to Agent Scully; you're aware that there are questions
regarding your behavior on company time."
Mulder turned his back to Frank, shielding
him from
his conversation. "Yes sir, I'm aware of that."
"You will see me in my office immediately
on your
return to Washington," Skinner said, his tone implying that
the delay was a silent gift.
"Yes sir."
The line went dead, and Mulder closed the
phone
shut angrily. He whirled around to see Frank still banging
futilely on the door, and something snapped. Storming over,
he slammed his shoulder against the frame, popping the
flimsy wood out of its frame.
"What the hell are you . . . " Frank began.
"Shut up, Frank," Mulder bit out, then stuck
his head
inside the apartment. "Cameron, if you don't drag your sorry
ass out here right now, I will come in there and arrest you on
federal trafficking charges."
A gaunt young woman appeared in the foyer,
clutching her arms over her chest. "What the fuck is wrong
with you?"
Mulder grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled
her
out onto the porch. "I'm Agent Mulder with the FBI. I want
to know who you sold shrooms to in the last four days in or
near the club where you work."
Jerking away from him, she stared warily at
Mulder.
"You broke my goddamned door."
"Tough," he hissed. He looked past Netty to
Frank,
and was somewhat amused to see him absolutely speechless.
"I sell to a lot of people, you fuckhole,"
she said,
trying to step back inside her apartment.
Mulder fished a photo of Ballard out of his
pocket
and shoved it under Netty's nose. "How about her?"
She looked at the photo, then dropped it on
the
ground. "Not her, her girlfriend."
Frank finally stepped in. "Do you know the
girlfriend?"
"Nope, only seen her that once. Can I go in
now?"
"Sure, in just a minute. What did she look
like?"
"Red hair, about my height, dressed up like
one of
the clan vampires, nothing special. Said her name was Elsie
or something."
"Clan vampire?" Frank stared over at Mulder,
trying
to gauge his reaction.
"Yeah, the wannabes, goths with big teeth."
"Would you recognize her if you saw her again?"
Netty shrugged. "Maybe. Can I go?"
"Do you remember anything else?"
"It was busy. You know what I know."
Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out
one of
his cards. "If you remember anything else . . . "
"Yeah," she snorted. She stepped back into
her
apartment and paused. With a vindictive half smile, she
reared her head back and spat at Mulder, then slammed the
door in his face.
"Is there something wrong?"
"Gee, Frank, you sound almost concerned."
Pembleton hissed through his teeth, putting
the
Cavalier into gear. "You're crazier than I thought."
"Why don't you have it out with me," Mulder
scowled, holding on to the door handle. "I realize my
methods are unorthodox, but . . ."
"Your methods do not concern me," Frank said
lightly. "It's your mind. It's full of faerie stories and aliens and
vampires; you can't even operate in my world, the real world.
The fact that you still have a badge is a constant source of
amazement to me."
"My world is just as real as yours, Detective
Pembleton."
Frank nodded. "I'm sure you think it is, but
let me
explain something to you. I live in the real world, the real
world where husbands kill their wives over an undercooked
meatloaf. For every boogey man you think you see, I arrest a
real one. You open your eyes and see fantasy; I open my
eyes and see the truth. "
Laughing bitterly, Mulder slumped in his seat.
He
could argue with Frank; it might even have been
entertaining for a while, but in the end, Pembleton would be
right. They lived two vastly different existences, and Frank's
met the bar for 'normal'. For a brief moment, a lick of
jealousy flickered through his soul. Sure, Pembleton spent his
working hours staring at the underbelly of society, but when
his day was over he went home to a beautiful wife, two
perfect children and backyard barbeques.
"Oh, so now you shut up," Frank said, looking
at
Mulder through the corner of his eye. For a moment, he was
sorry. There was something about the way this man breezed
into Baltimore, into his homicide unit that made him
unreasonably irritable. Not irritable, he corrected himself. He
was always irritable.
There was something about Mulder that made
him
completely unable to hold his tongue. It couldn't be his
lunatic theories alone (God knew Munch had come up with a
variety of conspiracy theories Agent Fox Mulder had never
even considered), and despite having called it pride, Frank
knew that wasn't it either. He pondered it for a few more
minutes, and decided that for now, 'you can't like everyone'
would have to be his reason.
Homicide Unit
"Gee has spoken," Bayliss said, shaking his
head. "So
let it be done."
The four of them stood silently at Frank's
desk,
staring past one another into space. Pembleton tapped idly
on the date book with his forefinger, considering their next
step.
"Then we start over," he said with finality.
"We know
she was seen leaving with a red-haired woman, we can work
from that."
Mulder pursed his lips. "It doesn't make sense
to start
over. We have a dead woman's blood in her stomach, an MO
that matches Barret's signature, an alias that falls within the
parameters . . . "
"Giardello can't tell the press corps that
a . . . a
vampire is killing cops."
"Not a vampire," Mulder muttered. "Never was."
"Then what exactly is it," Frank glowered.
"Just what
exactly are we looking for, Agent Mulder? You've been
curiously mute on this point since the beginning."
Surveying his surroundings, the greenish overlit
squad room seemed to mock him, and his theories. He felt as
if he were drowning in Frank's real world. He started to
explain, but felt himself drowning. He looked over at Scully,
centering himself on her presence.
"I need coffee," Mulder said. "Join me, Scully?"
Scully sat next to Mulder in the aquarium,
watching
him as he stared into a cup of coffee he wasn't going to
drink. She knew from experience that his maudlin, drawn
face was a sign of crisis. He could only go so far before his
highly-developed sense of angst overwhelmed him.
"Mulder, what's wrong?"
"Skinner wants to see me when we get back
to
Washington."
With a sigh, Scully put her arm around Mulder's
shoulder. "Tell him what he thinks he wants to hear."
Snapping his head up, he stared at Scully
incredulously. "I can't do that."
"Yes you can. I'll back you up. We'll tell
him we had
a brief affair, that it's over now."
"No. He'll reassign you, and we'll both get
flags in
our file. I need you, Scully."
Scully shook her head. "I think if he were
going to do
that, he would have already."
Setting the cup of coffee at his feet, Mulder
covered
his face with his hands. "I think he was just giving us a
chance to get our stories straight. I won't drag you into this."
"Then what are you going to do?"
"Tell him the truth," Mulder said, looking
up at her.
"Tell him it's none of his business."
Frank leaned against his desk, watching Scully
and
Mulder talk through the thick glass of the aquarium. He
nudged Bayliss, tilting his head to indicate the FBI agents.
"What do you think they're talking about?"
"Have you seen my pen," Bayliss asked, digging
through his pockets.
"Tell me something, Tim. What is it about
Mulder?
You've never struck me as a metaphysical kind of guy."
"That was my good pen," Bayliss complained.
"My
niece gave it to me for Christmas."
"Perhaps they're planning their return route
to
Washington. Traffic is hell this time of day."
Tim jerked open his desk drawer, rummaging
through the tangle of dried out pens, then slammed it shut.
He dug through his pockets, fingered through the blotter
cup. "Why do you care, Frank? Damn it, I had it this
morning."
"I realized something," Pembleton said, picking
up
Tim's trench coat and handing it to him. "Mulder makes me
lose control. I don't like that. I almost hope they stay. I want
to find out what it is about him . . . "
Tim fished around in his coat pocket, catching
his
finger in a loose thread. As he shook it loose, the contents
flipped out in a spray of remainder confetti. Frank rolled his
eyes, and started to pick up the objects nearest him.
Reaching down, he picked up a tag-backed pin, turning it
over. A pink triangle stared up at him, glinting in the harsh
light.
"What's this," he asked, not needing the answer.
He
recognized the symbol.
When Bayliss realized what he was holding,
the color
drained from his face. "It's nothing, Frank."
Pembleton raised his eyebrows. "Huh. Nothing.
I
suppose I should have been clearer. I know what it is. Why
do you have it?"
Tim took the pin from him, and shoved it back
in his
coat pocket. "I don't want to talk about it."
"I thought it was just dinner."
"I have work to do."
"I thought it was just an experiment."
Whipping his coat on, Tim stared at Frank
levelly.
"You don't want to know, Frank."
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"
For a moment, Bayliss paused. He could tell
Frank
everything, right now; get it off of his chest, out of his
throat. Despite his previous reaction, he might understand.
Then again, he probably wouldn't. Tim shook his head.
"Ballard's still dead," Tim said softly. "We
have work
to do."
"I'm going to follow your instincts," Tim said
under
his breath as he caught up with Mulder in the hallway. "I
think this murder is related to Eliza Barret. I think you're
right."
Mulder hummed his agreement, not looking up.
"We
need to get the real address for the post office box."
"Yeah, we do." Tim kept his pace with Mulder,
nodding with each step. "What's going on, Mulder? What's
wrong?"
"It's not important."
Thames Street
Falsone crossed the street in front of the
station
house, surprised to find himself running a gauntlet of media.
He tried to make sense of the questions being thrown at him
as he pushed his way through the crowd. When he was safely
inside the building, he stared at the reporters clamoring
outside.
"How was Cedar Point, Paul?"
Looking up the stairs, he met Bayliss and
Mulder
with a half smile. "Danny loved it. What the hell is going on
out there?"
Mulder looked blankly at Tim, allowing him
to share
the news with his co-worker.
"You don't listen to the news?"
Falsone shook his head, raising an eyebrow.
"No, not
usually."
"Laura Ballard is dead."
Taking a step back, Falsone stared incredulously
at
Tim. "You're kidding me."
"Nope. Found dead behind the Resurrection."
"Oh man, I told her that was a bad idea, I
told her.
What happened?"
Tim leaned forward. "What do you mean, you
told
her?"
"She'd been wanting to go there, but I told
her that
neighborhood was dangerous. Oh god. When did this
happen?"
"Did Ballard talk to you about her personal
life?"
Falsone considered the question for a moment.
"Well
yeah. I mean, oh shit. I was sort of part of her personal life. I
can't believe she's dead."
(End Part Seven)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (8/13)
Tim exchanged glances with Mulder. "I know
this is
a shock, but could you come up and answer some
questions?"
"Yeah, we just need that address," Tim said,
handing
a sheet of notes to Pembleton. "We're going to talk to
Falsone, and see what shakes loose."
Pembleton nodded, taking the notes and collecting
Scully from her place at his desk. Tim headed into the box
where Mulder and Falsone waited for him. Shutting the door,
he took the empty seat behind the table. It was an
uncomfortable position, asking another detective about a
murder in the box.
"So what do you have so far," Falsone asked,
breaking the silence. "What can I tell you?"
"Detective Falsone," Mulder began.
"Paul."
"Okay, Paul. There were some . . . surprises
during
the autopsy."
"No matter what you tell us, it'll stay here,
I promise
you that," Bayliss added.
Falsone crossed his arms over his chest. "What're
you
talking about?"
"Ballard was drunk and high when she was killed,"
Tim said gracelessly. He regretted blurting it out like that,
but it was the truth.
"More specifically, she had ingested hallucinogenic
mushrooms, and she was legally intoxicated."
"You said you had a personal relationship
with her,
was this . . . did she . . . "
"You're asking if we did drugs together,"
Falsone
said coldly. "No, we didn't. We drank, sure, sometimes too
much. Find me somebody in this department who doesn't,
but we did not do drugs together."
"Did she ever tell you about doing them on
her
own?"
"No, Mulder, she didn't. Ballard was straight
up. If
you found those things, someone made her do it."
"Nobody made Ballard do anything," Tim said
gently,
then changed the subject. "What about other women? Did
she ever date other women?"
"Not that I know of," Falsone answered
stubbornly.
"What the hell are you guys saying? Why are you trying to
smear her? Christ, she was a good cop, she was a good
person . . . "
"Do you see me taking notes," Bayliss asked.
"I don't
want that, I don't want to trash her, but we have to know
what she was doing, where she was going . . . "
"Why are you asking me all of this? Didn't
you go out
with her?"
The question hung heavily in the air. Tim
finally
nodded. "Once. It didn't go well. She didn't confide in me."
"She went to clubs on her days off. She was
lonely.
She barely knew anyone here. Maybe she drank too much,
maybe she trusted someone too much. I don't know anything
else, Tim."
Mailboxes Etc.
"I believe my employee spoke to you this morning.
We cannot give out personal information on our clients
without their permission or a search warrant. Tampering
with the mail is a federal crime." She eyeballed Frank in a
way only a racist can, with disgust and utter joy at denying
him.
"We're talking about a murderer here," he
insisted.
"She's a federal agent, she can assure you that there will be
no charges filed . . . "
The manager stepped back from the counter.
"Sir, I
don't care. That's our policy."
Homicide Unit
Bayliss scoured through the filthy date book,
trying
to find something, anything, when suddenly he realized what
had sounded so wrong to him earlier.
"That reporter," he said suddenly, getting
Mulder's
attention. "That reporter asked me if I knew this murder was
related to the Jensen case. She didn't ask me if it was."
"Are you sure?"
Bayliss nodded, bolting out of his seat. "Call
Scully,
send them over to channel 11, I have to talk to Gee."
WJZ Channel 13
Nadia Winston smiled brilliantly at Kellerman
and
Lewis as they explained what they needed from her. She led
them into a confusing room, full of electronic equipment and
television screens.
"We have the live footage from this morning,
of
course," she said, standing a little too close to Kellerman.
"We don't have the film from this afternoon yet, but you're
welcome to look at what we have. Can I get you anything?"
Kellerman smiled, leaning toward Nadia. "No,
thank
you."
"Hey, speak for yourself," Lewis muttered.
"How
does this thing work?"
"So what are you looking for," she asked as
she
pulled several tapes out of a drawer.
"Not sure," Lewis answered as she went through
the
steps of advancing the tapes.
"You can frame by frame here, and if you want
to
print a screen shot, it's this green button. Are you sure you
can't give us a little scoop?"
"We could, but then we'd have to kill you,"
Kellerman joked.
Lewis raised an eyebrow. "You wanna flirt
later?"
Nadia blushed, patting Kellerman on the shoulder.
"I'll be down the hall if you need anything."
Lewis watched as she walked out of the room,
making eyes at Kellerman the entire time. With a disgusted
snort, he dropped his hat on a nearby desk and leaned back
in his chair.
"You got no shame, Mikey."
WBAL Channel 11
"I can't let you do that," Derrick Moore said
stubbornly. "If I give you our tapes, I have nothing to show
Baltimore in two hours."
"Sir," Frank explained again. "We don't want
to take
your tapes. We just want to look at your tapes."
"What's in this for me?"
"Mr. Moore, we're looking for a killer, specifically
a
cop killer. Wouldn't your station like to say they helped bring
this criminal to justice?" Scully smiled winsomely at the old
newsman, hoping that ration of absolute bullshit would float.
"I can't let you take the tapes," Moore repeated
stupidly.
"We just want to look at them," Scully said
as if she
we talking to a very small child. "We won't take anything
when we leave, I promise you."
WMAR Channel 2
"See, hear the question?" Bayliss ran the tape
back
anxiously, leaning closer to the speaker. The video screen
flickered with a replay of their morning trek into the station
house, both of them avoiding microphones as they were
shoved into their faces. He stopped the tape and pushed play.
"Listen, listen right after here," Tim said.
"Did you know that Laura Ballard's murder
is related
to the death of Mary Jensen?!"
Mulder scanned the screen, searching for the
source
of the question. "I heard it, you're right, but I don't see who
asked it." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell
phone. He called Scully, waiting for her to answer.
"We have a time stamp," Mulder said when she
finally answered.
"Good, because we're getting nowhere," she
breathed.
"At 1.23 p.m., right after the WBAL reporter,
she's
the one in the black suit with yellow trim, asks what progress
we've made."
"Okay, we'll call you back if we come up with
something."
"We're going to head over to the Chronicle,
see if
they have any pictures from this morning. Could you give
Lewis a call and pass it along?"
WJZ Channel 13
"Detective Lewis," Nadia said softly, leaning
into the
control booth. "There's a phone call for you from an Agent
Scully?"
"Yeah, thanks." Meldrick leaned back in the
chair,
reaching over his shoulder to take the phone.
"Meldrick, can you scan up to 1.24 p.m. I
think your
tapes should have the picture we're looking for." Scully
didn't stop to say hello.
"You bet," he answered. "Mikey, scan up to
1.24,
will ya?"
Kellerman queued the tape, ticking slowly
through
the minutes until they reached the right moment.
"Okay, what are we looking for?"
"Right behind your reporter, can you
see a red-
haired woman in a green pantsuit?"
"Framing . . . framing," Lewis said
as he tapped the
key to advance. Slowly, the picture came into view. "Yeah,
got her."
"Is she the one asking that question?"
Lewis hit play.
"Did you know that Laura Ballard's murder
is related
to the death of Mary Jensen?!"
"Hot damn," Kellerman laughed, pausing the
screen.
The woman frozen on the screen didn't look any different
from the other reporters; she carried a notebook and asked
her question earnestly.
"Got it, got it, got it."
"Great, can you print it out?"
"For you, Dana, anything."
(End Part Eight)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (9/13)
Homicide Unit
Bayliss clapped his hands, wrapping up the
final
details of the tac session. The chalkboard behind him starkly
broadcasted where they had been in their investigation, and
where they needed to go. He looked at the faces in front of
him, then decided the division of tasks.
"Okay, Frank, you and Dana talk to Danvers
about
getting a warrant for that post office box. Kellerman and
Lewis need to go out to the Resurrection; talk to the
bartender, and that waitress, Netty Cameron. Falsone, I want
you and Stivers to take this picture to Stu, see if he
recognizes her, then move on to some of the nightspots
Ballard frequented. Munch, Mulder and I will talk to the
members of the Erzebet Bathory fan club. I want this woman
in the box, the sooner the better."
"Tim," Giardello's voice boomed. Bayliss turned
to
face his superior, his posture stiff and his face
uncompromising.
"You decided to continue your investigation
against
my suggestion."
Nodding, Tim half smiled. "Yes sir, I have."
There was a tense silence as they waited for
Giardello's reaction. Slowly, a smile rose to Gee's face, and a
quiet chuckle escaped his lips. Without another word, he
stepped lightly back into his office.
Resurrection Dance Club
"More cops," Netty spat, pushing a drink order
over
to the bartender. Shoving a pencil behind her ear, she stared
out onto the crowded dance floor, not making eye contact
with Kellerman or Lewis.
"We just want to know if this is the chick
you sold
your junk to," Lewis said, loud enough to make her nervous.
She jerked her head to make sure her employer hadn't heard.
"Hey, shut up, all right? I need this job."
She grabbed
the photograph from Meldrick, poring over the grainy image
from the videotape. "That might be her, it's hard to tell."
"How about thinking about it for a minute,"
Kellerman said, eyeing a mohawked and pierced patron as he
swung past them.
Netty reached over the bar and pulled out
a sheet of
tissue paper. Layering it over the picture, she took her pencil
and drew in heavy eyeliner and blackened the lips. She stared
at her handiwork for a minute, then nodded. "That's her."
"Ballard left with her?"
Netty shrugged. "I just saw them together,
I don't
know if they left together or not."
Office of the District Attorney
Ed Danvers sat quietly behind his desk, looking
over
the file folder. With a disconcerting sigh, he looked up at
Pembleton and Scully, shaking his head.
"The judge is not going to like this," he
said.
"But will he give us the warrant?"
Danvers shrugged, rubbing his hand over his
balding
head. "Maybe? It's a cop killing, and a mystery, it could go
either way. Depending on how the political breezes are
blowing, you'll either get it and a warrant for the house, or
you'll get nothing and slap on the wrist for even asking. I
wish I could help."
Frank stood up, shaking Danvers' hand. "Thanks
Ed."
Home of Athena King
"You've never seen this woman before," Munch
repeated, watching the teenager's face shift through a variety
of emotions. She was lying to him, and it was obvious to the
point of foolishness.
Athena smiled weakly at the dark, sepulchral
detective in front of her. "No, really, I've never seen her, not
ever."
"'When truth is painful, it is because the
greatest
admiration holds it'," Munch quoted, taking the photograph
back from the girl.
"Lord Byron," she guessed.
"John Munch," he replied. "Listen, I know
you're
lying to me, and that's understandable. Everyone lies to
protect someone close to them. I don't want to be the bad
guy here, so just tell me where I can find this woman, and I'll
leave you alone."
Athena furrowed her brow. "I'm not lying.
I don't
know her."
"What about your mother," Munch said inventively.
"Does she know your friends? I bet she does. Where did you
say she worked? I can just go ask her now, and leave you out
of this entirely."
"My mother doesn't know her . . . my
friends."
Athena paled at her slip.
Munch held out his hand gallantly. "Well in
that case,
let's go get your mother anyway."
Enoch Pratt Free Library
Mulder and Bayliss walked up to the front desk,
pulling their badges from their pockets. Stopping to ask for
directions at the information booth, they assured the woman
in the information booth that there was nothing wrong.
Setting out into the library, Mulder marveled at his
surroundings.
"All Poe and Mencken," he said quietly.
"You know, I've lived in Baltimore forever,
and I've
only been here once, on a field trip," Tim admitted. As they
turned a corner, a middle-aged woman looked up from her
desk in greeting.
"Are you Elizabeth Baddick?"
Nodding, the woman stood, smoothing out her
loud,
floral dress. "I am. And you are?"
Tim quickly explained who they were, then
pulled the
picture out of his jacket. "Do you know this woman?"
Elizabeth frowned, and gave the photo back.
"That's
Kendra Mills. What did she do?"
Mulder shook his head. "We just want to ask
her
some questions, and we can't seem to track her down. Do
you know Miss Mills by any other name?"
"Well if you figured out her tenuous connection
to
me, I suppose you know the answer to that," Elizabeth said.
"We're members of the Erzebet Bathory fan club. She goes
by Elsa Bettis. She had something to do with that police
officer's death, didn't she?"
A surge of hope rushed through Bayliss' veins.
"Why
would you ask that?"
"You guys are worse than my shrink," Elizabeth
snorted. "I only met her after we exchanged e mail for quite
some time. She seemed nice, if a little overbearing. She
considers herself an expert on Bathory, you know."
Mulder raised his eyebrows. "But why would
you
suspect she's involved in this murder."
Widening her eyes, Elizabeth curled her mouth
into
an 'o'. "You really have no idea what's going on, do you?
Kendra insists she's figured out the Bathory secret, a fountain
of youth, if you will. She wanted to share it with me, but I
told her she was a fool; no one can live forever. We had
words, and the last e mail she sent me told me to keep an eye
on the news, because that's where I'd see the proof. When a
young woman turned up dead with most of her blood
missing, I took that to be the proof."
Bayliss stared at her, stunned. "Why didn't
you call
the police?"
"What would I have said, Detective?"
Mailboxes, Etc.
"This," Pembleton said victoriously, "This
is a
warrant. I'd like that address now."
The manager stared at Frank coldly, then stepped
into the back room. Scully smiled over at Pembleton, leaning
against the counter.
"You don't seem to be enjoying this as much
as you
normally would," she said.
"Mary tells me you offered to babysit," Pembleton
answered, jutting his jaw and biting his upper lip.
Scully nodded, confused. "Yes I did. I'm sorry,
did I
overstep . . . "
"No, not at all. But . . . why?"
"I like your kids, Frank. I like you and Mary.
It was
just a spur of the moment offer."
"Well, I can't imagine Livvy and Frank Jr.
in better
hands," Pembleton said softly. "But you don't strike me as
the, ah . . . babysitting type."
"Here's the address," the manager interrupted,
slapping a three by five card down on the counter. Frank
picked up the card slowly, keeping eye contact with the
manger for as long as possible before turning on his heel and
walking away.
The Seven 23
"Laura came in here all the time. She liked
to dance,"
the DJ said, fiddling with his equipment. "I mean, I didn't get
to know her exactly, I'm pretty busy up here, but I saw her a
lot."
Stivers held out the photograph of Elsa. "Have
you
ever seen her here?"
"No, never, sorry. You don't think she killed
Laura
do you?"
Falsone wiped the end of his nose with his
index
finger. "We just know they talked the night she . . . ah,
died."
"Sorry, I wish I could help."
Homicide Unit
Mrs. King crossed her legs at the ankles and
stared at
Munch. If she looked over her shoulder, she could see her
daughter sitting alone in a small room, dragging her finger
along the grout of the tile as she waited.
"Doesn't she get a lawyer or something," Mrs.
King
blurted out, her grating voice setting Munch's teeth on edge.
"Mrs. King, I explained this to you," he said
wearily,
shoving his glasses against the bridge of his nose. "Athena is
not under arrest. Athena didn't do anything wrong. The only
reason she's down here is because she has information on a
murder suspect, and she won't tell us what she knows."
"She's a good girl," she insisted. "She wouldn't
hurt
someone, she couldn't."
At the end of his wits, John slapped a form
down
next to Mrs. King, and held out a pen. "We need to talk to
her, and we need your permission. As soon as she tells us
what she knows about Elsa Bettis, you're both free to leave."
The older woman eyed Munch, refusing to take
his
pen. "You need my permission."
"Yes," he sighed.
On that, Mrs. King rose to her full five foot
four
inches and picked up her handbag haughtily. "My daughter
and I are leaving now, detective."
Munch's eyes bulged as he took to his feet,
towering
over her. "Your daughter may be the only person who can
help us take a murderer off the streets and you're leaving?"
"I know how this works," she said. "I watch
tv. You
say she's not a suspect, you talk to her, incriminate her, and
before I know it, I'm visiting her in prison. You're not going
to frame my little girl."
He watched in stunned horror as Mrs. King
stalked
over to the door of the box and retrieved her daughter. He
followed them with his eyes as they walked out of the squad
room hand in hand, murmuring quietly to one another. When
the gravity of the situation finally struck him, he did the only
thing he could. He laughed.
Baltimore Police Press Room
"Colonel Barnfather, do you have a suspect
yet?"
Flashbulbs illuminated the press room, creating
a
strobe effect. Barnfather paused, looking over at Giardello.
"We are investigating the death of Laura Ballard to our
fullest extent. We are unwilling to focus our attentions on a
single suspect at this time."
"Then that means you have more than one suspect!
Who are they? What are you doing about finding them? Have
they been questioned?"
Raising his head imperiously, Barnfather clutched
the
edges of the lectern. "We will not release any names at this
time. Next question?"
"Colonel Barnfather, is Eliza Barret still
alive?"
Confusion washed over his face, and he stepped
back. "Lieutenant Giardello will answer your specific
questions, but keep in mind we will not be disclosing any
information which may endanger the investigation.
Lieutenant?"
Rage coursed through Gee as he took center
stage in
the media circus. For a brief moment, he played with the idea
of shooting Barnfather in front of every reporter in
Baltimore. He stared across the faces of the journalists,
girding himself for the onslaught of questions.
"Ah, to answer your question, no. Eliza Barret
is
dead, and has been for quite some time. She has no bearing
on this case at all. Any speculation to the contrary is both
foolish and misguided."
"Lieutenant, Laura Ballard was on your shift.
Can
you tell us how this murder is affecting the homicide unit?"
"Of course we're all saddened by the death
of a friend
and co-worker, but right now we're too busy working the
investigation to dwell on . . . "
(End Part Nine)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (10/13)
Home of "Elsa Bettis"
Frank knocked stiffly on the apartment door,
his hand
ready on his gun. He wasn't going to make the same mistake
Bayliss and Mulder had on the Barret case. Scully stood
along the outside wall of doorway, her gun already in her
hand. After a few moments, he knocked again, more
persistently this time. One of the doors down the hall swung
open in a shrieking creak of moldering wood. Scully turned
toward the sound as a striking older woman stepped out, and
looked down at them.
"She's gone," she said simply. "Left this
morning with
a suitcase and a garment bag."
Lowering her gun, Scully walked down the hall.
"What's your name, ma'am?"
"Geena Pastorelli," she said, extending a
hand.
"You?"
Scully holstered her gun. "I'm Agent Scully
with the
FBI. Did you know Kendra Mills well?"
Examining Pembleton with her eyes, she shrugged.
"She comes in all hours of the night, dead drunk, stumbling
up the stairs. Once she got home, she was quiet, though."
Scully nodded. "What time did you see her
leaving
this morning?"
"Around seven thirty. I take my dog out to
walk at
seven, and she was leaving as I was coming back in. Said she
was visiting relatives and would I collect her mail for her."
"Did she say how long she'd be gone?"
Geena thought about it for a moment. "As a
matter of
fact, she didn't. It didn't occur to me to ask. I just assumed
she'd be back soon."
Giardello's Office
"We have her picture, we have her real name,
we
have her address, hell, we even have her e-mail address, but
she's gone, Gee. We can't find her anywhere. She's not
registered to vote, she's not registered with the DMV, she's
never been in the military . . . if we didn't have witnesses,
I'd
say she didn't exist." Bayliss leaned against the wall in
Giardello's office, staring through the blinds.
"I say we get a warrant to arrest Athena King
for
obstruction," Munch piped in. "And one for her obnoxious
mother, too."
Giardello leaned back in his chair, pressing
his fingers
together in an anxious, prayer-like stance. "You're absolutely
certain this is not a snipe hunt."
Mulder shook his head. "We're not absolutely
anything, sir. We know she exists, and we know she was the
last person anyone saw with Ballard."
"Frank and Dana talked to her neighbor, who
said she
saw her leaving this morning with bags, but not the contents
of her apartment. She may not even be in Baltimore
anymore," Bayliss said miserably.
"She's still in Baltimore," Mulder said emphatically.
Gee leaned forward. "What makes you so sure?"
"Even if she had planned to stay, I'd wager
Ms. King
and her mother Kong made absolutely sure she knew we
were looking for her," Munch interjected. "She's probably
long gone by now."
"No," Mulder said, leaning forward. "She doesn't
have a driver's license, and she doesn't have a support
system. She's still here; we just have to find her. We need a
warrant to search her apartment, and we need to get Athena
King to talk."
"You don't have enough evidence for a warrant,"
Gee
barked, bolting out of his chair.
"But Gee, we know the King girl is lying,"
Munch
half-whined.
"Go back over everything. Every step, every
ounce of
evidence, every single interview. There is no such thing as a
perfect crime. Tim, you stay here."
Mulder and Munch walked out of the office,
leaving
Bayliss alone to face Giardello.
"Sir?"
"You lied to me," Gee said ominously.
Bayliss looked confused. "I did?"
"You told me you only had a working relationship
with Ballard."
Bowing his head, Tim stared at the stained
tile floor.
"With all due respect, I said I'd never had an affair with
Ballard, and that's the truth."
"Don't you play semantic games with me, Bayliss,
I
am not one of your cornerboys in the box. I don't care what
you do or with whom you do it, but don't you ever, ever lie
to me again. We have a policy for a reason, and it's not up to
you to interpret it!"
"It was one date, Gee. One. Dinner, which
should
have been followed by dancing if she hadn't walked out on
me during dessert, and it was months ago. It was not a
personal relationship."
Giardello considered Bayliss carefully, examining
his
posture and the tone of his voice. "Get out of my office, and
put this case down."
Tim fought with the coffee filters, trying
to pry them
apart. As he got more frustrated, his chances of successfully
isolating one dwindled. Scully watched him as he cursed
under his breath, a flush rising over his cheeks and neck.
Finally, she stood up and took them away, peeling the first
filter out and handing it to him.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Tim, are you all right?"
He flicked his head over to look at her, and
was
suddenly struck by the earnest concern she showed.
"No, Dana, actually, I'm not. I still don't
understand
what Mulder thinks we're looking for. I'm afraid we're never
going to find Elsa Bettis, we're never going to catch Ballard's
killer, and to top it all off, I'm going to be lucky if Frank ever
speaks to me again. He found my pride pin; it was stupid, I
don't even know why I keep it. I don't wear it, I'm too
afraid." He laughed bitterly as he ran a pot of water into the
reservoir. "She knew about me, you know. Not the specifics,
of course, but I confided in her, and now she's dead."
Scully nodded slightly, putting a hand on
Bayliss'
arm. "Tim, why don't you go home for an hour or so. Take a
nap, calm down. I'll cover for you."
"No," he said, his voice rising and falling.
"No, I can't
do that. See, I'm the one responsible for letting this case fall
by the wayside. I have to stay. I have to put it down. I have
to retrace every step made today, and find something new. I
have to do that. No one else. Me."
"You're upset," she said firmly. "You're worrying
about too many things at once, which means nothing is
getting the attention it needs."
"Are we interrupting," Frank asked carelessly
as he
and Mulder walked into the break area. Tim shook his head,
stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"I have an idea," Mulder said under his breath,
looking around to make sure no one could overhear.
Frank rolled his eyes, and pulling out one
of the
chairs and leaning on its back. "Do share."
"We have Mill's e mail address. We could hack
into
her account, read her mail. See if she told anyone where she
was going."
Scully raised an eyebrow. "Mulder, that's
illegal."
"It'll never be evidence," he argued. "But
right now,
that's our last hope."
"Hey, look what I got," Lewis said strutting
into the
break room. "Why all the long faces? I have good news."
"What?" Bayliss poured himself a cup of coffee,
sighing.
"Phone records," Meldrick grinned. "Phone
records.
Munch was bitching about Athena King, so I made a
couple'a calls, and guess who's been burning up the lines to-
day?"
Tim reached for the sheaf of papers, looking
over the
numbers and lengths of calls. "I don't see Kendra Mill's name
on here," he said, disappointed.
Lewis shot him a disgusted look. "No, you
see Sarah
Brecker's name, but guess what address correlates to that
number."
Relief washed over Tim, and he smiled brilliantly.
"Thank you, Lewis. Thank you, thank you, thank you."
"Well imagine that," Pembleton said, smirking
pointedly at Mulder. "Something we can take to a judge."
Judge Blythe's Office
"I can't give you a warrant on this, Detective
Bayliss,
but I can give you a wiretap. I'm sorry, but that's the best I
can do."
Tim tried to swallow his dismay. "I'll take
it."
Homicide Unit
Mulder cradled his cell phone between his cheek
and
his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"No, Langley," he hissed. "I'm not interested
in her
netsex, I just want to know if she told anyone where she was
going."
He rolled his eyes as he listened to puerile
laughter
rolling over the phone. "It's really pretty good, as far as that
sort of thing goes."
"I'm so glad to hear it," Mulder frowned.
"Can you
hurry up?"
"Jeez," Langley sighed. "'Settled in, thanks.
Meet me
tonight. I want to give you the gift' It's time stamped 4.37
p.m. EST."
"Is that it?"
"Hey, it's not my fault that's all she said."
"Thanks."
"That's it, just thanks?"
"Langley . . . "
Mulder closed the phone, considering the message.
He could start calling every single hotel in Baltimore and
Fell's Point, but he didn't even know which name to start
with. Kendra Mills, Sarah Brecker, Elsa Bettis; this woman
had more aliases than a mobster.
Suddenly, the door to the squad room burst
open,
and a woman rushed in. A uniformed officer standing nearby
moved to grab her, when she started shouting.
"Where's Detective Munch," she shrieked. "I
have to
talk to him!"
"She's gone," Mrs. King said through a jag
of
sobbing. "She said she was going to the library, but when I
went into her room to put away laundry, all of her important
things were gone. She left me a note saying she was moving
on to glory. What in god's name does that mean? Please, you
have to help me."
Munch frowned at her, crossing his arms over
his
chest. There was a tap at the door, and Mulder stepped in,
nodding in acknowledgment to Mrs. King. He walked over,
and whispered softly into Munch's ear, then left again.
"So," Munch said, turning his attention back
to Mrs.
King. "Do you know where she might have gone?"
Sniffling, she shook her head. "I think she
left with
that woman, the one you were asking about, but I don't
know where they went. Do you think she's in danger?"
"I need to tell the primary you're here. Did
you see
Ms. Bettis?"
"No, I told you, Athena was just gone, she
left a
note."
"Then how do you know she left with her?"
"A mother knows."
Munch raised an eyebrow. "I've always been
fascinated with the many variations of female psychic
abilities. Enlighten me. Just how does a mother know?"
She scowled at him. "Because that's the only
friend
Athena has anymore. Ever since she got interested in
vampires and joined that fan club, it's Elsa this, Elsa that. She
dumped her best friend since 4th grade because Elsa told her
she was holding her back."
Munch felt a glimmer of sympathy for the woman
in
front of him, but he didn't let it show. "Why didn't you let us
talk to your daughter this morning, Mrs. King?"
"I told you why," she answered quietly. "When
a cop
turns up dead, and homicide police come wanting to ask a
teenager questions, it doesn't look good."
(End Part Ten)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (11/13)
Home of Athena King
Bayliss stood over Athena's computer, idly
moving
the mouse. He looked over at Munch, digging through a
chest of drawers. Mulder's muffled voice filtered out into the
room, mingling with Scully's as they searched through
approximately ten million shoe boxes filled with notes,
magazine clippings and trinkets. It seemed almost
sacrilegious to be pawing through the most private parts of a
teen-aged girl's life, but it wasn't going to stop them.
"Getting a lot done, Tim?" Pembleton walked
up,
hovering just behind Bayliss.
"Yeah."
He quit playing with the mouse and navigated
his
way into her e-mail program. Clicking through the contents
of the outbox, he scanned headers, looking for something,
anything.
"Ooooooh," Munch exclaimed, sitting on the
unmade
bed.
"What?"
"I always wanted to read one of these," Munch
said,
holding up a clasped diary. "But we don't have a key.
Whatever shall we do?"
"Just tear it open, I guess." Tim said reluctantly.
Scully popped her head out of the closet.
"Don't do
that. Here." She pulled out her badge wallet, and pulled back
her ID. Fishing her finger behind it, she extracted a tiny gold
key. She held her hand out, waiting for Munch to hand her
the diary.
"What other amazing things do you have behind
that
badge, Scully?"
She half smiled at Mulder. "None of your business.
Give it here, Munch. I'm not letting you read that girl's
diary."
Munch clutched the diary to his heart, trying
his best
to look pained. "I'm hurt that you wouldn't trust me with a
young woman's innermost thoughts and secrets."
Leaning over and plucking the book from him,
she
smiled wickedly. "John, I wouldn't trust you with a young
girl's piggy bank."
They all stopped and watched as Scully unlocked
the
diary, skipping through the pages toward the end. She
flipped back, and scanned the round sprawling cursive. She
stopped, turned the page, then turned it back over, reading it
again.
"Listen," Scully said, backing up to read
a particular
passage. "'Went and looked at the stained glass, it was
beautiful. E told me there was a female pope once, but now
they check for that kind of thing. I walked her back to her
suite, then took a taxi home. I'm going back tonight and then
she'll give me the gift. I'm saying goodbye now. Goodbye to
this melancholy mortal coil, and moving on to a place where
I will be beautiful and young forever. Goodbye, goodbye, do
not weep for me.'"
"Poe is rolling in his grave," Munch announced,
looking over the top of his glasses for effect.
"Stained glass, and popes, sounds like a Catholic
church," Mulder said.
Munch laughed. "Yeah, there's only one of
those in
Baltimore."
"But if you were there to look at stained
glass . . . "
Frank remarked.
Tim raised his eyebrows. "The basilica?"
"Or Saint Paul's."
Homicide Unit
Bayliss smoothed a map on the stained break
room
table. He picked up a high lighter, and circled a twelve-block
area beginning at Centre Street, traveling down Charles and
ending at Marion. He drew a small star on the Basilica of the
Assumption, and another on St. Paul's Church.
"Okay, working down from the basilica, we
have the
Comfort Inn, the American Youth Hotel, the Tremont Hotel,
and the Oakwood Apartments."
Frank nodded. "I don't think Comfort Inn has
suites."
"Munch, grab a phone book," Tim said.
"We have three teams, each with three detectives
and
three uniformed officers. Team one is in charge of canvassing
the Comfort Inn and the Basilica. Team two will cover the
American Youth and the Tremont. Team three will cover St.
Paul's and the Oakwood Apartments. If Elsa Bettis is
anything like her predecessor, consider her armed and
dangerous. Helmets and riot shields are an absolute must.
Athena King should be considered a hostage. We want to get
her out safely at all costs."
"So're we gonna line up on either side of
the squad
room and pick teams, or what?" Kellerman smirked.
Bayliss ignored the barb. "Team one is Lewis,
Kellerman and Stivers. Team two is Scully, Pembleton and
Falsone. Team three is Munch, Mulder and myself. Does
everyone have a copy of the photographs?"
"I'd like to say something," Giardello broke
in.
"Sure, Gee."
Taking a deep breath, Giardello rose to his
full
height, seeming to tower over them all. "Stay in radio
contact with the other teams at all time. Do not hesitate to
call for back up. If anyone goes off line, stop what you're
doing and investigate that immediately. I do not want a
repeat of the Barret standoff." He stopped, drawing his eyes
slowly over the faces of his detectives. "Good luck."
Between Centre and Marion Streets
White cavaliers and marked units pulled to
halting
stops in front of hotels and churches. Nine detectives and
nine uniforms filled the night on North Central Charles
Street, ignoring the steamy rankness of August air as they
went about their task. They filed quietly into hotel lobbies,
coffee houses, church foyers, restaurants and galleries,
flashing pictures and asking all the right questions. They
were garnering attention as they went from door to door,
their heavy blue Kevlar vests announcing to the average
citizen that "something important is happening."
Their suspect hadn't been seen at St. Paul's,
nor was
she checked into the Oakwood Apartments. A waitress at
David and Dad's coffeehouse had seen Athena briefly, but
that had been over five hours ago. One of the priests at the
Basilica had seen two young women admiring the stained
glass that morning, but hadn't spoken to them. Sotto Sopra's
long wait had sent Elsa away in the previous hours, and The
Women's Industrial Exchange only grudgingly admitted
having seen her.
From an aerial point of view, the noose seemed
to be
tightening, spiraling down into smaller and smaller circles.
From the ground, however, it seemed to the officers involved
that they were wandering aimlessly, no closer to finding
either woman; no closer to bringing Ballard to justice.
The Tremont Hotel
Scully stood at the check out counter, patiently
waiting for someone to appear. Falsone walked up to her,
standing too close, seeming too friendly. Pembleton watched
from a safe distance, both monitoring the street and the
young detectives advances.
"I bet this is pretty boring to you," he guessed.
She raised her eyebrows. "Why would you think
that?"
"Well, being a feeb and all, don't you have
grunts
who do the legwork?"
"No, Paul. We do most of our own legwork.
Mulder
and I are the only agents in our unit."
A half smile slid across Falsone's face. "You
must be
pretty specialized."
Scully stared at him. If this had been a bar,
she would
have just laughed. At him. Not with him. Since they were in
the middle of running down a suspect, she had to wonder if
there wasn't something wrong with his mind.
"That's why they call us special agents,"
she said
dismissively, tapping the bell on the desk.
Before Falsone could respond, a well dressed
young
woman appeared from the office. "I'm sorry, I was having a
late dinner. I didn't hear you come in."
"I'm Agent Scully," she said, laying her badge
on the
desk. "These are Detectives Falsone and Pembleton,
Baltimore homicide. We wanted to know if either of these
women have checked in today, and if so, are they in their
room?"
Java Joe's
Bayliss held the door open, allowing Munch
and
Mulder to walk out in front of him. He had a headache
crawling behind his eyes, and he tried to convince himself it
was going to go away. So far, they had absolutely nothing.
Munch and Mulder had kept up a steady stream of
philosophical conversation, arguing over the finer points of
government corruption and the psyche of the common man.
He hadn't bothered joining in; not because he didn't
understand what they were saying, but because it would have
seemed unnatural.
"Team one, team three, we have found the suspect.
Tremont Hotel," the radio sputtered, and Tim eagerly
grabbed the microphone.
"We're on our way," Bayliss answered, heading
for
their car.
A few moments later, Meldrick's voice crackled
over
the radio, acknowledging the call.
Tremont Hotel, Suite 342
Scully, Pembleton and Falsone flattened themselves
against the walls on either side of Suite 342. The uniformed
officers held their guns ready, pointed directly at the door.
Reaching out, Scully knocked on the door softly.
"Room service," she called, counting her breaths
and
calming herself against the rising flood of adrenaline.
There was no answer from inside the room,
and after
a moment, Pembleton nodded to the hotel manager. He
hurried and unlocked the door, then was dragged away by
one of the uniforms. Frank pushed the door open with his
gun hand, then rushed inside, followed by the rest of their
team. Elsa Bettis looked up at them from her bed, and
pushed a lock of hair from her face, seeming neither
surprised nor angry.
"Get down on the floor," Frank said evenly,
his gun
leveled at her forehead. She did as he told her, holding her
hands clear and rolling down onto the floor. The uniforms
rushed over to handcuff her.
"Where's Athena King," Scully demanded, lowering
her weapon.
"Bathroom," Elsa mumbled as she was jerked
to her
feet.
Falsone walked gingerly through the suite,
opening
the bathroom door with his left hand. He stepped inside, then
stepped back out, his face pale and drawn. "She needs a
doctor."
Pushing her gun into her holster, Scully walked
quickly across the room, and opened the door. Athena King
lay in the bathtub, her skin a waxy white, her lips barely
moving as her eyes rolled back in her head. She knelt down,
taking her pulse, gauging her temperature.
"How far is the nearest hospital," she called.
"Mercy's about two and a half blocks away,"
Falsone
answered.
"Pick her up." Scully stepped out into the
main room.
"Frank, I'm taking her to Mercy now, she needs a
transfusion."
(End Part Eleven)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (12/13)
Homicide Unit
Frank circled Elsa Bettis in the box, examining
her
from every side. He said nothing, silently sizing her up. Was
she the kind who would cry? Would she ask for a lawyer?
How far could he go before she asked for a lawyer. In a
matter of seconds, he knew the way he planned to go. He
looked up at the one way glass, knowing that his partner and
the rest of the unit was standing behind it, watching him.
With a tip of his head, he sat on the table, making eye
contact with his suspect.
"So, what should I call you?"
Elsa leaned back in the chair, staring at
the ochre
tiles. "Anything. Elsa is fine."
"So Kendra," he hissed softly. "What do you
have to
say for yourself?"
"Nothing at all," she smiled.
"You know, if Athena King dies, that's two
murders.
A special circumstance. A cap-i-tal case."
"Two murders? What are you talking about?"
"You killed Laura Ballard. If Athena King
dies, that's
two murders. One, two."
"Who is Laura Ballard?" Elsa looked up at
him
guilelessly.
"You killed a cop, Kendra. People who kill
cops die."
"That's fascinating," she answered. "I'm glad
I won't
be on trial for it."
Pembleton raised his eyebrows. "You know,
there's a
difference between confident and stupid."
"I suspect you've crossed that line yourself,
Detective
Pembleton."
Frank leaned close to her face, nearly touching
her
skin. His voice was slow, seductive. "What makes you think
you'll get away with it?"
Turning suddenly, she was a breath away from
his
lips as she spoke. "Because I didn't do anything."
"That's not going to work." Mulder stood shoulder
to
shoulder with Tim, watching Frank alone in the box with
their suspect.
"He knows what he's doing," Bayliss said,
defending
his partner. Lewis jostled into the small room, handing Tim a
cup of coffee.
"How's he doin?"
"He's going to alienate her, she's not going
to talk to
him."
"Just wait," Tim snapped.
"How is Athena," Elsa asked innocently. "She
said
she didn't feel well and went to take a bath."
"You think you're a vampire, don't you?"
Stiffening, Elsa stared down at her hands.
"I don't
think any such thing."
"Really? Not at all?"
She glared up at him. "No sir, I don't."
"You're not a clan vampire? Because the waitress
at
the bar said you were."
"I'm goth sometimes. I'm not a vampire."
"Do you believe in vampires?"
"Do you believe in God?"
"I'm asking the questions."
"I'm not answering any more."
Before she could ask for a lawyer, Mulder
slammed
into the room, the door echoing shut. Frank glowered at him,
enraged.
"Hi, Sarah is it," Mulder asked, ignoring
Frank's
anger.
"Who are you?"
Mulder smiled winningly. "I'm Fox Mulder,
I work
with the FBI."
"Really?" Elsa sat up in her seat, a smile
curling the
corners of her lips. "Sarah's actually my sister's name. I'm
Elsa. You're really an FBI agent?"
"Absolutely," he smiled, begging Pembleton
with his
eyes to stay with him. "I heard the detective here asking you
some pretty . . . odd questions."
Elsa brushed her hair from her eyes. "He thinks
I'm a
vampire."
Mulder looked over at Frank. "A vampire, Detective
Pembleton? Really?"
"Well," Frank said hesitantly, trying to follow
Mulder's thoughts. "What else would you call someone who
sucks blood and lives forever?"
Mulder laughed, patting Elsa on the shoulder.
"Vampires. I don't even believe in them myself. Do you
believe in vampires, Frank?"
Slowly, Frank picked up the rhythm of Mulder's
interrogation. He'd played this scenario a thousand times
with Bayliss; stupid cop, smart cop. "Well, I never said I
believed in them."
"See, Detective Pembleton can be a reasonable
man,"
Mulder announced.
"Are you his boss," Elsa asked. They could
see her
aligning herself with Mulder, choosing sides. Mulder was the
good guy who understood her, Frank was the bad guy who
didn't.
Mulder leaned down, lowering his voice. "Well,
technically, yes I am. I'm a federal agent, and he's just a city
detective."
"Did you kill Laura Ballard," Frank spat.
"Agent Mulder, I haven't killed anyone. I
don't even
understand why I'm here."
"It's okay. I think what he meant to ask,
correct me if
I'm wrong, is when did you last see Laura Ballard?" Mulder
leaned over her, his face a mask of sympathy. "We know you
were with her, several people identified you. We just want to
know when you parted company. You could really help me
out, here."
"I danced with her," Elsa admitted, "And we
went
outside. I wanted her to go home with me, but she turned me
down. The last time I saw her, she was walking back toward
the club."
"See, Frank, she was with her," Mulder grinned.
"She killed her," Frank answered stubbornly.
"I didn't kill her," Elsa protested.
Mulder put his hand over hers. "Of course
you didn't.
Laura was a beautiful woman, wasn't she?"
"Yes she was," she said softly, remembering
the
detective's dark hair and sloe eyes.
"Did you kiss her," Mulder asked conspiratorially.
"Oh, now why he got to ask a question like
that,"
Lewis complained, turning his back to the box.
Bayliss lowered his eyes. "I think I know
where he's
going with that."
"Hey, Timmy, if I ever get killed, don't go
asking the
suspect if he kissed me, because I will come back and haunt
you."
"What's that got to do with anything," Frank
grumbled, watching Elsa as she stared admiringly at Mulder.
Mulder looked surprised. "Well, she was a
beautiful
woman, Frank. I realize you're married and all, but you had
to have looked. Anyone would have wanted her, wanted to
touch her, possess her . . . "
"I looked."
"You did?"
"Absolutely. She was lovely."
"She was amazing."
"And that fire."
"I was going to ask her out."
"I bet she would have said yes."
"Do you think so?"
"Why not? You're both young, single, alone
. . . "
Elsa cut into their conversation, frustrated
that they
were ignoring her. "I kissed her."
"You did," Mulder asked, feigning surprise.
"Yes . . . that's why I wanted her to
come home with
me."
"Oh," Mulder exclaimed. "You kissed her! You
leaned in close and smelled her perfume, the soft scent of her
powder, and wrapped your arms around her waist and kissed
her!"
"It was beautiful."
"She was beautiful." Mulder knelt down,
rhapsodizing with Elsa.
"So you killed her," Frank said dryly.
"I didn't kill her," Elsa insisted.
Mulder looked up at her. "Of course you didn't
kill
her, you shared her beauty."
"That's right!"
"Which means you killed her."
"You touched her face, and you wanted that
face, so
you kissed her."
"Killed her."
"You kissed her lips and took that strength,
and
beauty."
"Killed her."
"Kissed her."
"Killed her."
"Just like Erzebet Bathory, you loved her
beauty and
you kissed. . . ."
"Killed."
"Her for it."
"Am I beautiful," Elsa asked, her eyes grown
wild
and fearful.
"Laura Ballard was beautiful," Mulder said.
"And I killed her . . . I kissed her
and that made me
beautiful, right?"
"No," Frank said shortly.
She stared at Mulder helplessly, her face
contorted in
horror. "He's lying, he's lying to me, isn't he?"
Mulder stood up, and shook his head. "Pretty
is as
pretty does."
When they stepped out of the box, Frank looked
around to see if anyone was watching them. He held out his
hand to shake Mulder's.
"I still don't like you," Frank said.
"Feeling's mutual."
Frank leaned over, speaking quietly. "If you
hurt
Tim, I'll kill you."
Stepping back, Mulder covered his shock inexpertly.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Good night, Mulder."
Mulder watched as Frank crossed the squad
room to
join his colleagues in a congratulatory huddle.
Tim stood in front of the board, holding the
eraser.
Now that Elsa Bettis was in custody, he was free to grieve
her. It seemed almost disrespectful to erase the name, but he
made himself do it. Very carefully, he picked up the black
marker, and rewrote the number and name.
(End Part Twelve)
Title: Forward Slash III: Worst Case Scenario (13/13)
Mercy Hospital
Scully finished off Athena's medical notes,
then went
into her room to check her IV s. The girl was sleeping
peacefully, the danger having passed. With a nod to herself,
she touched the girl's forehead, and moved to leave the
room.
"Are you my doctor," Athena whispered reedily.
Scully turned around. "One of them. How are
you
feeling?"
"She lied to me. She said she would make me
beautiful."
"Yes she did. You were already beautiful."
"She's going to jail, isn't she?"
"Yes she is."
"Thanks for helping me," she said softly,
drifting back
to sleep.
With a soft sigh, Scully walked out into the
hallway,
pulling her glasses off and rubbing her eyes. She crossed the
hall and walked into the waiting room. When he saw her,
Falsone stood up, brushing his pants straight.
"How is she?"
Scully shrugged. "For now, it looks as if
she'll be
okay. We pumped at least four pints of blood out of her
stomach."
"So let me get this straight. That Elsa chick
sucked
her blood out somehow, and spit it back in her throat?"
"Not exactly," Scully said, less than thrilled
at having
to explain Mulder's theory. "I'm not sure how it works
except that Elsa orally exsanguinates her victims, and
somehow stores that blood until its properties have been
leached out. When she finds a new victim, she exchanges the
old blood for new."
Falsone looked perturbed. "But why?"
"The blood is the life," she said lightly.
"She
processes it in such a way that she doesn't age."
"No way. That is fucked up."
"It's odd, yes."
"So, you want to get a drink or something?"
A half smirk teased across Scully's lips.
"No, I don't,
Paul."
Home of Tim Bayliss
Stepping inside the familiar apartment, Mulder
felt
uneasy. He looked around as Bayliss locked the door behind
them, trying to put his finger on what was different. A cold
weight settled in his chest when he realized he was smelling
old cigarette smoke.
"You want some wine," Tim asked wearily, throwing
his coat over the bannister.
Mulder shook his head, scanning the room with
dread. He started up the stairs, feeling for his gun. As he
entered the bedroom, a flash of red caught his eye. Just
underneath the bed, lying next to an empty condom wrapper
was a crushed pack of cigarettes. Leaning down, he picked it
up, knowing what the brand would be. He could hear Bayliss
downstairs, searching through drawers for his corkscrew,
and his stomach started to rebel. A flash of memory stunned
him, and he closed his eyes against it. When he opened them
again, he had steeled himself to the truth. He walked
downstairs slowly, throwing the pack of cigarettes into the
trash can.
"I have to go," he said firmly.
Tim looked a little dazed from his lack of
sleep.
"When will you be back?"
Mulder reached out, touching Bayliss' cheek
with the
back of his hand. He closed his eyes, trying not to let the
tears fall.
"I'm not coming back."
Pulling away from him, Tim shook his head
in
disbelief. "Where are you going?"
"Home."
Tim put his glass of wine down on the counter
heavily, spilling large purple spots of it. "What . . . what's
going on?"
"It's better this way," Mulder said starting
for the
door. "I'm sorry."
Bayliss watched in horror as Mulder took the
key to
his apartment out of his pocket and laid it on coffee table on
his way out. He crossed the room quickly, grabbing Mulder's
shoulder.
"You owe me an explanation," Tim demanded.
"I'm sorry, I can't give you one."
Tim exhaled sharply, shaking his head. He
stared at
Mulder with narrowed eyes. "You said you loved me."
Pulling himself free, Mulder entered the hallway,
refusing to look back. "I do."
Bayliss watched until Mulder disappeared,
trying to
understand, fighting back the terrible pain in his chest.
Numbly, he closed the door, leaning against it for support.
Slowly, he slid down it until he found himself sitting on the
floor, his knees against his chest, and only then did the tears
start to fall.
Office of Assistant Director Walter Skinner
"I didn't expect to see you this late," Skinner
said.
Mulder looked past his superior, his expression
stony. "You said as soon as I returned to Washington."
Skinner nodded, pulling out a file folder.
He adjusted
his glasses, pulling out several expense sheets. "I talked to
Agent Scully. She told me . . . well, she told me that you
two were . . . "
Mulder cut him off. "She lied, sir. She lied
to protect
me."
"From what, Agent Mulder?"
"I don't have hotel reimbursements from Baltimore
or
part of the Indianapolis trip because I didn't stay in a hotel.
That is the truth."
Skinner raised his eyebrows. "Then where were
you
staying?"
"I don't think that's any of the agency's
business."
Frustrated, Skinner put the sheets back into
the file.
"Listen, I understand that you're working very closely with
Agent Scully. If, theoretically, something had happened, I
would have to write a disciplinary action against both of you,
but I would not reassign either of you."
It was an out. Mulder suspected that Skinner
knew
exactly where he'd been spending his time, and was giving
him an opportunity to cover his ass. Scully was willing to
take the flag for him, it was a tempting offer. He paused for a
moment, then shook his head.
"I did not have an affair with Agent Scully,
sir."
"I don't want to do this," Skinner sighed.
"These
orders came down the ladder and fell in my lap. I have to
give them an explanation, Mulder."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll have to suspend you."
Mulder stood up. Silently, he unholstered
his gun,
and released the magazine. Pulling back the slide, he ejected
the round from the chamber, then set the weapon on
Skinner's desk. He slid his hand into his front pocket, and
pulled out his badge and ID. His hesitation gone, he laid it
down next to his gun.
"I'll need an escort out."
(End Part Thirteen)
(The End)