Title: Unforgettable
Author: XScout
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Sleepless,Grotesque, Demons, Closure, VS9
episode Devil’s Advocate
Classification: X,A
Summary: Mulder has the chance to find out the truth,
and learns some things are best left alone.
Disclaimer: All characters related to the television
show ‘The X-Files’ belong to Chris Carter, Fox
Studios, and 10-13 Production. All characters related
to the Virtual Seasons of ‘The X-Files’ belong to
their respective authors. The background story and a
few lines are from the movie ‘Unforgettable’,
copyright MGM. No money was made.
Author’s Notes: Only for distribution at the Virtual
Season Nine for two weeks before posting at other
sites. Please send feedback to: Xscout@hotmail.com
******************
Unforgettable
******************
Prologue
Virginia State Correctional Facility
Tuesday
5:20 am
The loud drumming in his head drew him out of his
foggy sleep. His eyes were crusted shut and his mouth
felt like it was full of cotton. Must have been one
hell of a night; too bad he couldn’t remember what
happened. The last thing he could recall was being
taken to the infirmary for some routine medical
checkup or some such nonsense. Wouldn’t want the
inmates of purgatory to get sick, would we?
Rolling over on his cot, Arnie Bunkwater pried his
eyes open to stare out past the cell bars. The lights
were dim and he saw a shadow pass by – the stiff form
of the night guard making his rounds. That meant it
was still before dawn. The guards rarely came down
death row but twice a night. No one liked to be spend
a lot of time here, guards and inmates alike.
Leaning back into his bunk, Arnie watched the shadows
play across the cinderblock ceiling, his early
morning ritual beginning even earlier now that he was
awake. He closed his eyes and replayed that fateful
night that was both the pinnacle of his life as well
as his downfall.
It had been approximately one in the morning when he
was crouched outside her window, surrounded by
flowers, their scent strong in his nostrils. He’d
quietly slid open her window, careful not to make
even the slightest noise. A cool breeze had swept
past him, billowing the lacy curtains out towards the
girl in the bed, reaching for her as though to warn
her of his coming. He had crept over the windowsill
and across the floor, moving stealthily by the
moonlight. Just as he had reached her bedside and
stared down at her angelic face, her eyes suddenly
popped open. He never discovered what it was that had
brought her out of her dreams, but then he hadn’t
given her time to tell him. He had clamped a rough
hand against her mouth and pushed his larger body
down onto hers. Her wide blue eyes had clouded over
with fear and tears streamed from them. He had
savored her fear like a connoisseur does a fine wine,
felt her trembling body through his muscles. Then
he’d killed her. Right there in her own bed, across
from her parents’ room.
The pure pleasure he had experienced that night still
rushed through him when he thought of it. Then anger
would follow, knowing that it was his overconfidence
in his abilities that led to his capture. He had
thought of everything, leaving no fingerprints, no
semen, and no evidence as to who had once again
stolen a life out from under the nose of the little
girl’s parents as well as the FBI agents on his case.
But he hadn’t counted on the flowers crushed beneath
his boots, smashing into the crevices in the soles.
Who really thought of those things? Apparently
someone had and they had come for him. They had come
for him and thrown him in this godforsaken cell where
he had spent the last fourteen years of his life.
Appeals kept him out of the gas chamber until now and
he sometimes wondered if it was worth it.
Snorting at his own musings he leaned over and pushed
himself to his feet, moving over to the center of the
floor. Kneeling down he began to do some push-ups,
felt his muscles strain with the effort. There was an
odd burning sensation in his left arm and he pushed
harder, hoping to let the exercise work whatever it
was out. As he counted under his breath he noticed an
odd smell permeating his cell. It was sweet and
tropical, cutting through the harsh odors of the
prison.
He knew that smell.
She felt a soft breeze blow across her face, bringing
with it the heady bouquet of night-blooming jasmine.
It grew outside her room on a huge bush that crawled
up past the roof, the thick scent filling the summer
nights. Her window must be open. But she didn’t open
it. What? Opening her eyes she saw a shape looming
above her, its eyes bright pinpoints in the dark. Her
mouth formed a silent scream just before a hand
clamped over it. Struggling against the restraint,
she felt a heavy weight place itself on top of her
and the dark shape coalesced into a man. He was lying
on her now, his face a mask of glee and a hellish
light dancing in his eyes. She knew that she was
going to die. Terrified out of her mind, she writhed
against his massive body but he barely noticed her
efforts. She saw something bright glint from the
corner of her eye and her gaze flicked over to it. A
knife. Oh God. Mommy! Daddy! Please, help!! The blade
arced in a swift graceful movement and she felt
warmth spread across her throat. It took a moment for
the pain to come and when it did she almost passed
out. But her mind knew that she only had a few
seconds of life left and fought to keep every one of
them. Her lungs burst as she struggled for air,
darkness creeping along the edges of her vision. The
last thing she saw was the man’s face, pleasure and
triumph etched across it. Then everything went black.
Dr. Sycaroe smiled as he placed the lid back on the
jar. Standing just outside Arnie Bunkwater’s cell he
stared down at the lifeless form on the floor, dark
bruises forming on the inmate’s thick neck, just
under the Adam’s apple. The serum had worked
perfectly, absolutely perfectly. Turning on his heel
he walked back towards the exit, dropping the jar in
his hand into the wastebasket at the end. He pushed
the buzzer on the wall next to the door, putting on a
face of distress as the door slid open.
“Something’s wrong with Bunkwater, I need you to let
me in,” he instructed the guard who had opened the
door, his voice breathless as though he had rushed
for help.
The two men ran back down the hall, their feet
clapping on the concrete floor in their haste.
Skidding to a halt in front of cell 16-A, the guard
pulled out a mess of keys, fumbling for the correct
one. Finding it, he opened the cell and allowed the
doctor to enter first. Sycaroe knelt next to the
downed inmate and felt for a pulse.
“He’s dead.”
The guard stared in shock, wondering what could have
possibly happened. There was no sign of injury except
a thin bruise across Bunkwater’s neck. The cell had
been locked. Suicide? Harry Gibson had been a guard
for eight years and he had never seen any suicide
like this. He left the doctor in the cell and hurried
back to his station to call the warden.
He never noticed the small jar in the trashcan
labeled ‘Scent of Jasmine’.
*****************
ACT 1
FBI Headquarters
X-Files Office
9:07
Scully quickened her pace, not wanting to be any more
late than she already was. As she neared the office
door she noticed that there was no light coming from
beneath it. Mulder was usually here before she was.
Even if they spent the night together they always
made sure to arrive in different cars at separate
times. It kept rumors to a minimum. Reaching the
door, she turned the handle and let it swing open,
the hinges squealing noisily.
Oh God.
The room was dark except for a bright light
illuminating a square patch on the wall. A shiver ran
down the female agent’s spine and settled in her
stomach. It was one of her worst fears come to life
once again.
A slideshow.
“Scully! About time you got here. I’ve got something
to show you that’s going to knock your socks off!”
With a groan Scully dropped her briefcase on her desk
and slumped down in her chair. She covered her eyes
with her hands and shook her head in denial. “I
haven’t even had a cup of coffee yet, Mulder, can’t
it wait?”
“Ah, how you underestimate me, Scully.”
Suddenly a delicious aroma wafted up to her nose, the
warm steam beckoning to her. Eyes popping open,
Scully saw a large mug of rich brown coffee sitting
in front of her. Glancing up and to the right where
her partner was standing, she noticed a smug grin on
his face. She couldn’t help but return the smile as
she picked up the hot cup and sipped gratefully,
waving with her free hand to continue.
*Click*
The first slide ratcheted into place, the bright
light on the wall replaced by a washed out picture of
a prison cell. There was a body lying in the center,
easily identified as the resident of the cell by the
bright orange jumper he was wearing.
“Two days ago Arnold Everett Bunkwater was found dead
in his cell from what can only be described as
asphyxiation and a heart attack. A bruised larynx is
offered as evidence.”
*Click*
A close-up of the victim’s head was displayed across
the wall. Black and blue marks ringed the neck and
his lips had a distinctly purple tinge.
“He was found by the prison doctor, who was the only
visitor Bunkwater had that night. The fingerprints
left on the body match those in Bunkwater’s file. To
all intents and purposes it appears that Arnie, as he
was more commonly known, choked himself until he
passed out. Whether the subsequent heart attack was a
direct consequence of the choking or not is still in
question.”
“And this is an X-File because….” Scully trailed
off, her eyebrows raised.
Mulder just smiled and pressed the button in his
hand, the next slide portraying a black and white
mugshot. The subject was a big man, at least six foot
four and weighing two hundred and fifty pounds. He
had a long scar on the right side of his face and
black stubble gracing both his head and his jaw. His
beady eyes stared out from overhanging brows and just
above a crooked nose that spoke of repeated breakage.
“This handsome devil you see before you is Joshua
Crane, better know as the Mississippi Mangler. He was
found dead last week of a heart attack. An autopsy
showed that his innards had been twisted up so badly
that it was a miracle he could function at all.”
“Uh-huh. So….”
“Mississippi Mangler, Scully. You remember what he
did to his victims?” Mulder waited until realization
dawned on her face. “Yup, he disemboweled them. Does
his death seem coincidentally similar?”
“But he wasn’t disemboweled, he had a heart attack.”
“True, but the fact that his intestines looked like
they had been pulled out and then stuffed back in by
a first year medical student with one hand tied
behind their back doesn’t strike you as odd? Besides,
I’m not done.”
*Click*
“This is Max Krokoff, who back in 1996 went up and
down the West Coast raping and murdering young girls.
What do you think killed him?”
Scully studied the grainy photograph. It showed a man
lying on a concrete floor, his wide open eyes
severely bloodshot and dried blood on his upper lip.
“I would have to say an aneurysm.”
“That’s the first conclusion the ME came up with.
There was swelling of the intracranial tissue and
bleeding around the brain that could have been caused
by an aneurysm or a heavy blow to the head. Odd thing
is though, it wasn’t what killed him.”
“Let me guess, a heart attack.”
“Bingo. Now try and guess how he killed his victims.”
This time Scully’s voice was tinged with interest.
“He crushed their skulls?”
“Two for two, Scully.” Mulder walked over to the
light switch and flipped it on, then returned and
powered off the slide projector. He moved around to
sit at his desk, rifling through a mess of papers
filed on top. “I was aware of the previous deaths
through the news but the latest victim of this
mysterious heart attack hasn’t been announced to the
press yet. Jackson Plover, an old colleague from VCS
brought it to my attention early this morning and I
knew it fit with the others.”
“Why did he call you? Do they suspect someone is
systematically killing off these criminals?” A spike
of fear shot through her gut as she considered the
implications. “Do they want you to profile the
UNSUB?” Over the past several months, the VCS had
been asking far too much of the ex-profiler and
Scully didn’t think she could handle another foray
into madness.
Mulder’s tone was soft with understanding. “No,
Scully, nothing so exciting. Jackson just thought I
would like to know because I was the primary profiler
on the original investigation that put Bunkwater
behind bars. He keeps me apprised of any news
regarding the scum I helped put away during my tenure
with the ISU.”
Scully relaxed slightly, relieved by the explanation.
“So, since you believe this is an X-File, does that
mean you don’t think there is someone behind these
deaths? That some*thing* is responsible?”
Mulder grinned. “Someone is definitely behind these
deaths, of that I am certain. But the how is far more
uncertain. Psychic projection perhaps or even
vengeful spirits; I haven’t exactly come up with a
particular theory yet.”
An eyebrow raised high and disappeared beneath some
wayward strands of red. “You? No theory? That is
definitely beyond the realm of believability.”
He just gave her a dirty look. “We’re heading to
Virginia State Correctional Facility to talk with the
doctor who discovered Bunkwater’s body.” He picked up
his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s go.”
Scully shrugged, having learned after so many years
together that she should always be prepared for
sudden departures. She stood and grabbed her jacket
as well, pulling it on as she headed towards the door
Mulder held open for her. She paused when she reached
his side. “Mulder, you still haven’t told me how
Arnold Bunkwater’s death fits into this equation
other than the heart attack.”
A dark look crossed Mulder’s face as his thoughts
slid into the past. “He strangled seven nine year old
girls in their own bedrooms while their parents
slept.”
*************
Virginia State Correctional Facility
11:56 a.m.
Their dress shoes slapped loudly on the hard floor of
the prison hallways as they were led to the warden’s
office. Though the warden hadn’t been thrilled with
the idea of the FBI coming into his world and shaking
it up to see if anything fell out, he was complacent
enough to allow them to conduct their investigation.
He had accepted their request to speak with him just
before his break for lunch.
The guard who had shown them to the warden’s door
stopped and did an about-face that would make any
military man proud. “The warden is expecting you.”
Mulder reached over and turned the doorknob, letting
the door open and dropping him arm. He let Scully
enter first, never taking his eyes off the guard,
waiting to see if the stiff man would snap a salute
or not. He stared a moment longer before giving up
and then followed his partner into the office.
Warden Harbrook was a slender man, easily considered
underweight and his frame appeared almost scarecrow-
like in the straight edges of his freshly pressed
suit. He was seated behind a large mahogany desk,
glasses reminiscent of the sixties perched on his
nose as he went over some paperwork. The other
furniture in the office was the same dark wood as the
desk, giving the room a somber feeling, the only
accent from a cold frame surrounding a certificate
that proclaimed his authority.
Without looking up, the warden waved at two large
leather chairs in front of his desks. “Please, sit
down. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
The agents moved into the room, automatically taking
positions that mirrored their customary places in
Skinner’s office. They sat in the oversized chairs
for several minutes until Mulder became restless and
started drumming his fingers on the arm. He heard a
quiet sigh of impatience from his partner and decided
that they had been kept waiting long enough. Opening
his mouth, he prepared to insist they get to
business.
He didn’t get the chance to utter a sound.
“Thank you for your patience, Agents, I’m afraid I
had to finish some pressing business.” Harbrook
closed a folder in front of him and set it on a
larger stack of similar files. “Now, I believe that
you have come to discuss the death of Arnold
Bunkwater?”
Mulder looked at Scully and her head inclined
infinitesimally as a signal that the floor was his.
“Thank you for seeing us on short notice, Warden.
We’ll try not to take up too much of your time and
our investigation shouldn’t hinder the operation of
the prison as long as we have your cooperation.”
Harbrook nodded sharply, his eyes glaring down his
beaky nose so that he resembled the crows Mulder had
imagined he should be scaring away. “I will allow you
access to anywhere you need to go as long as a guard
accompanies you. As a safety precaution of course.”
“Of course.” Mulder’s tone implied what he thought of
the warden’s ‘safety precaution’. “We’ll try to keep
you apprised of any developments in the case.”
“I doubt there will be any developments at all.
Bunkwater died from a heart attack, end of story. He
deserved worse and I imagine the only one upset by
his untimely death is his lawyer. But if you want to
investigate a death that should have happened years
ago, then be my guest.” Harbrook stood, signaling the
end of the meeting. He opened his office door to
reveal the marine stiff guard who had brought them
there earlier. “Guard Flores will take you where you
want to go.”
Mulder and Scully shared a glance, their minds on the
same frequency. They silently agreed to discuss their
observations later when there wasn’t an audience.
They pushed themselves out of the enormous chairs and
moved out into the hallway they had so recently
vacated. Mulder threw a contemptuous glare at the
warden before quickly striding down the hallway, not
caring whether the guard was with him or not. Scully
tossed a hasty “Thank you” at Harbrook and hurried
after her partner, the guard following at a more
dignified if not less hasty pace.
Mulder was waiting for them just around the corner
where his way down the next corridor was barred –
literally. Flores pulled a ring of keys out of his
pocket and unlocked the cell-like door. He allowed
the FBI agents to pass through and then came after,
locking the door behind him. “This way; Bunkwater was
kept in 16-A.” Flores pointed down the hallway on his
left then followed his own directions. He led the
agents to a heavy door just to the right of a guard
station. A small placard above the door identified it
as ‘Death Row’.
The guards nodded at each other and Flores and his
charges were buzzed through. Hoots and catcalls
followed them as they walked down the cellblock.
Mulder instinctively moved so that Scully was between
him and the guard, as though his body could protect
her from the leering inmates who would kill just to
touch a woman again.
“Here it is.”
Flores sure was a chatty fellow. Mulder stepped into
the open cell and looked around, trying to get a
sense of a man he had profiled more than a dozen
years ago. In his peripheral vision he saw Scully
step back to allow him to soak in the scene. She
began to question their chaperone about the night of
Arnie Bunkwater’s death.
The cell was nothing special, nothing marked it as
out of the ordinary. A bunk, a latrine, and a shelf
containing Arnie’s meager belongings. Turning in a
slow circle, he imagined the last few moments of the
convicted killer who had spent over a decade in this
room. Most likely Arnie spent his dying minutes
thinking about the girls he had taken away from their
parents forever. Mulder closed his eyes and was taken
back to the original case, pictures flashing across
his closed eyelids as his perfect memory played back
detailed scenes. Arnold Bunkwater was on the short
list of suspects, matching the profile to a tee, but
there was no evidence linking him to any of the
crimes. Until he killed Janice Lopez. That was when
Mulder noted that the flowers outside Janice’s room
had been crushed by large feet, the rich scent almost
masking the smell of death. It was then that Mulder
realized that such a powerful smell may have been
ground into the killer’s shoes. It was a long shot
but it was enough to obtain a warrant to search every
suspect’s house and examine their shoes. Mulder
wasn’t there but he’d heard that Arnie didn’t even
deny it when he was arrested, simply smiled and let
the FBI agents take him away.
Eyes popping open, Mulder turned to see Scully and
the guard watching him. “Can we speak with Dr.
Sycaroe?”
Flores nodded. “It’s his lunchtime, he’ll be in his
office.” Waiting until the agents had moved out of
the cell, Flores shut the barred door and led them
back down the row. They paused at the guard station
for a moment as they waited to be buzzed through.
“Scully, you smell that?”
Scully looked up at her partner, a question on her
face. “Smell what?”
Mulder’s head turned left and right, bobbing slightly
as he sniffed the air. “I don’t know, it smells like
flowers or potpourri or something.”
Bemusement replaced confusion. “In a prison? On death
row? Think they’re doing some arts and crafts in
their spare time?”
He gave her a reproachful look. “I know, it’s just
that… Never mind, must be my imagination, leftover
from memory.”
Scully’s eyes squinted as she tried to make sense of
his remark but was stopped from commenting on it when
the guard cleared his throat. The two agents had been
standing in the doorway for a while after it had been
buzzed open.
Mulder shook his head and slid between Scully and the
guard station, following Flores down the hallway with
a look of concentration on his face. As Scully turned
to go with them, a strange scent wafted up to her
nose, reminding her of candles that Melissa had
burned in their room when they were children.
Shrugging it off as Mulder’s influence, she proceeded
after the two men.
****************
Dr. Alan Sycaroe’s Office
12:53 p.m.
“Doctor Sycaroe, some FBI agents wish to speak with
you.”
Sycaroe’s eyes widened slightly before he ducked his
face to wipe his mouth on a cloth napkin. “Show them
in please.” He pushed back from his desk and stood as
the pair of agents walked into his office. Holding
out a hand he grasped the man’s hand first and then
the woman’s. “Please forgive the mess,” he indicated
the plate of half-eaten ham and beans before him.
“No need to apologize, Doctor, we should apologize
for interrupting your lunch. I’m Agent Scully and
this is my partner, Agent Mulder. We’d like to ask
you a few questions regarding the death of a
prisoner.”
“Yes, Arnie Bunkwater I assume. Please, have a seat.
What would you like to know?”
“I understand that you were the one to discover the
body. Can you tell us about that?”
Leaning back in his chair, Sycaroe rubbed at his chin
in thought. “Well, I had just begun my rounds-”
“It said in our report that you found him at five-
thirty in the morning, isn’t that a bit early?”
Mulder interjected.
Sycaroe shook his head. “Actually, no. This is a
large facility and the day starts early. I usually
get here at five to get things in order and then
begin my rounds. I had just performed a physical on
Bunkwater the night before and discovered an abnormal
heart condition, which I treated with conventional
methods. I wanted to see how he was doing after
treatment.”
“What kind of heart condition?” Scully sat forward in
her seat, her eyes bright with interest.
“Unusually slow heart rate. I thought it might be
indicative of deterioration of his cardiac tissues
and wanted to run some more tests. Apparently I was
too late. I found him in his cell, lying on the
ground with his hands wrapped around his throat. I
immediately contacted Harry, the guard on duty, and
he opened the cell so I could try to revive him.
After several minutes of CPR I deemed it impossible
to bring him back and called the time of death.”
“Did you notice anything odd when you went into his
cell?” Mulder asked.
Sycaroe’s eyebrows raised. “Odd? Like what?”
“A strange smell, something out of place here.”
Scully shot her partner a surprised look and so she
missed the fear that flashed across the doctor’s
face. Mulder hadn’t though.
Without waiting for an answer he stood and offered
his hand to Sycaroe. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ve taken
up enough of your time. One last thing – is
Bunkwater’s body available for an autopsy?”
The doctor stood as well, taking Mulder’s
outstretched hand and shaking it firmly. “Yes, it’s
downstairs in the morgue. I’m sorry I couldn’t give
you any more information.”
Mulder just gave him an enigmatic smile.
****************
Virginia State Correctional Facility Morgue
2:03 p.m.
It wasn’t until they were alone in the morgue that
Mulder felt it was safe to talk. Flores had fled to
the outer room when Scully made the first incision in
Bunkwater’s chest.
“Dr. Sycaroe is definitely involved.”
“Why do you say that? And what was with that question
about an odd smell?”
Mulder went on to describe to Scully how Bunkwater
had been caught all those years before and how the
smell he’d noticed earlier reminded him of the
crushed flowers on the killer’s shoes.
Now Mulder’s previous comment about ‘leftover from
memory’ made sense but it still didn’t explain his
logic. “What does that have to do with Dr. Sycaroe?”
“He is hiding something, I know it.”
“Mulder, these inmates died of heart attacks, that
much is obvious from the autopsy reports of the first
two inmates. There are ways to cause heart attacks
with the right drugs and I’m not saying that they
weren’t murdered, it’s just that there isn’t any
evidence of paranormal causes. Perhaps someone is
exacting revenge and everyone else is turning a blind
eye because the victims were convicted killers.”
“You mean Warden Harbrook?”
“You have to admit that he wasn’t exactly worried
about the idea that Bunkwater might have been
murdered. He was rather emphatic about the fact that
it should have happened a long time ago. All the
victims were on death row for years, their sentences
being prolonged by appeals. Maybe someone just
decided to cut through all the red tape.”
Mulder licked his lips, his mind processing this
idea. “Perhaps. But there is something more to this.
Those men didn’t just die of heart attacks, there was
also secondary trauma to each one that can’t be
explained.”
Scully put down her scalpel. “Do you have a theory
now?”
“I’ve got one forming but I’m going to need to do
some snooping around first. I’m going to have the
boys do a background check on the good doctor, see
what turns up. I don’t think we’re gonna need to
visit the other two prisons where the previous deaths
occurred; talking to the prison doctors should be
enough.” Flipping open his cell phone, Mulder punched
in some numbers.
Scully just nodded and turned back to her work,
letting her partner’s voice drift into the
background.
****************
ACT 2
Virginia State Correctional Facility Infirmary
4:17 p.m.
“You know who that was, Doc?”
“Hmm?”
“The FBI guy. You know who that was?”
Sycaroe shined the light into Darryl’s left eye and
the prisoner blinked.
“That was Fox Mulder. You know, Doc, the profiler who
put half of us in here. C’mon, you musta heard about
him.”
Looking up from his instruments, Dr. Sycaroe frowned
at the inmate before him. “You mean to tell me that
the agent who was just here is the one that you all
curse constantly?”
Darryl looked smug, as though his knowledge somehow
made him important. “Yup. Pretty little partner he’s
got. Wonder if they hump like bunnies?”
Ignoring the prisoner’s crude comment, Sycaroe
proceeded with his examination. “I seem to remember
someone saying that the reason he caught so many
killers was because he could think like one. Why’s
that?”
“Johnny Dunlap said that the guy killed his own
sister back when they were kids. Hid the body where
it couldn’t be found.”
“Johnny Dunlap is insane.”
“Yeah, but he didn’t make this up. He spent a couple
of years in Lorton a while back and there was this
guy there who used to work with Mulder. Bob Patterson
or something. Anyhow, the guy said that Mulder was so
good at what he did ’cause he thought like a killer,
had the experience if you know what I mean. Wouldn’t
surprise me; most cops are crooked.”
The conversation ended with the exam and when Darryl
Covington left the room he immediately forgot about
it. But Dr. Sycaroe didn’t.
*************
Mulder’s Apartment
7:25 p.m.
“Mmm-hmm, yeah, I got it,” Mulder mumbled into the
phone as he scribbled something on a piece of paper
he had scrounged off his cluttered desk.
Scully moved over from examining the lone survivor in
the fish tank to see what he had written. ‘Institute
of Neurological Studies – Dr. Hanson’ was scrawled
almost illegibly on the notepaper. It was a good
thing she had plenty of practice reading doctors’
writing or she may never have been able to make sense
of her partner’s notes through the years.
Mulder was nodding now, not the agreeing type of nod
but the one that indicates you just want the other
person to shut up so you can get on with your life.
“Yeah, Frohike I’ll tell her. No, I don’t think…
Frohike!!” Throwing a look over his shoulder at
Scully he growled something harsh into the receiver,
too low for her to hear. Finally he hung up and
flopped down on the couch with a sigh. “Sometimes I
wonder about that little mole.”
Scully raised an eyebrow, afraid to ask.
“Oh, nothing, he just sends his undying love.” The
frown that crossed Mulder’s face implied that more
was said but, knowing Frohike, was too inappropriate
to be repeated.
Dana couldn’t help the smile that emerged. “He’s got
a good heart, I hope you weren’t too hard on him.”
His own eyebrows raised in reply so she moved on.
“Well, how is the INS involved?”
For a second, confusion clouded Mulder’s eyes at the
use of an acronym that seemed out of context but soon
recognition dawned. “Dr. Sycaroe used to work for the
Institute. Spent several years there trying to
develop a drug that would improve neurological
functions in impaired patients. His partner, a Doctor
Hanson, is still there.”
“Why would Sycaroe leave such a highly regarded
position at the forefront of neurological research to
be a prison doctor?”
“Better pay?”
Scully snorted. “Not likely. Perhaps he just got too
burned out on the high level of stress to produce
results. It wouldn’t be the first time a physician
took a sabbatical in a different field.”
Pursing his lips, Mulder considered her suggestion.
“Or maybe he reached a point in his research where he
needed human subjects and was too impatient to wait
for approval. Are you sure you didn’t find anything
unusual in Bunkwater’s autopsy?”
“Nothing, just an elevated level of adrenaline and
traces of norepenephrine, which Sycaroe said he’d
given Bunkwater for his heart.” Her brows furrowed
slightly as she thought back through her findings.
Knowing that look, Mulder nudged her. “There’s
something else.”
“Well, there is one thing. As far as I can tell,
there was absolutely nothing wrong with his heart.
It’s like he suddenly had a heart attack for no
reason at all.”
“Maybe he was scared to death.”
Scully’s head drew back and she cast her partner a
puzzled look. “Why would you say that?”
“If you thought you were being choked to death, you’d
be pretty scared too,” Mulder reasoned.
Silence reigned for a moment. “Are you saying that
you think this is related to Augustus Cole, who you
claim could create vision in other people’s heads?
He’s dead and so are all the other men in his unit
whose sleep patterns were altered.”
“No, I don’t think it has anything to do with sleep
deprived soldiers but that case does prove that a
person can die from fright if he truly believes he is
dying. Psychosomatic death isn’t that far-fetched
anymore.” Pushing himself up off the couch and moving
into the kitchen, Mulder continued his line of
reasoning. “Arnie killed his victims by
strangulation. Wouldn’t it be the ultimate revenge to
have him die the same way he killed?”
Having followed her partner to the kitchen, Scully
lounged against the doorframe and watched him rummage
through the refrigerator. “It still begs the question
of who is behind this, if anyone.”
Pulling his head out of the fridge with two beers in
one hand, he flashed her a grin. “That’s why we’re
going to pay Dr. Sycaroe’s ex-partner a visit
tomorrow.” Reaching up to a cupboard above the sink,
Mulder selected a large bowl and held it out to
Scully. “Now, you make the popcorn, it’s my turn to
pick the movie.”
With a theatrical groan, Scully accepted the
proffered bowl and proceeded to make the popcorn,
shouting over her shoulder to Mulder, “Don’t you dare
pick anything with aliens in it, I’d had enough of
them to last me a lifetime!”
Laughter drifted back from the living room.
****************
Wednesday
6:11 a.m.
Feeling the blood pumping through his body and the
crisp morning air burn in his lungs was a joyous
reminder of how good it was to be healthy. After so
many trips to the hospital this past year, it had
taken Mulder a long time to gain his stamina back. He
still wasn’t back to one hundred percent but he was
determined to get there in record time. Pushing
himself a little harder, he increased his pace and
rounded the last corner that led to his apartment
building. Slowing his jog as he made it up to the
front door, he came to a stop and put his hands on
his knees, breathing deeply.
Putting out a hand to open the door, he felt a heavy
blow to the back of his head. The next thing he knew
he was on the ground, his cheek scraping against the
concrete. A deep voice growled in his ear, “Where’s
yer wallet??” The stench of alcohol wafted from his
attacker’s mouth and Mulder squirmed beneath the iron
grip pinning him to the ground. Rough hands patted
him down, presumably searching for anything of value.
A sharp pain suddenly shot up his arm from just below
his shoulder and he had to swallow a groan. Then the
pressure holding him down was gone and he could hear
feet running off into the distance.
Rolling over to lay on his back, Mulder took a moment
to regain his senses. Slowly drawing himself into a
sitting position, he used the wall to support himself
as he stood. He stared out across the lawn, looking
in all directions but there wasn’t a soul in sight,
no sign of the mugger or even a witness. Turning back
to enter his building, he muttered, “Figures. Why
me?”
Careful of the pounding in his head, he made his way
up to his apartment, unlocking the door to be greeted
by the warm rich scent of coffee. Scully’s cheerful
voice came from the kitchen. “Did you have a good
run?”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to describe it as good,” he
groused as he moved to sit gingerly at the dining
room table.
Scully appeared in the doorway with two cups of
steaming coffee in her hand, a look of worried
surprise on her face. “Mulder! What happened??”
Wiping at the blood running from the scrapes on his
cheek, he angrily answered, “Damn mugger knocked me
down and tried to steal my wallet. Good thing all I
carry with me when I jog is my ID.”
Judging from his temperament that he wasn’t seriously
injured, Scully set down the coffee in front of him
and then took his face in her hands, turning him so
she could look at the abrasion. “Did you get a good
look at him?”
“No, he got away before I had a chance. I should have
gone after him.” He flinched as she gently probed his
head for signs of trauma.
“Unarmed and with a lump the size of an egg on the
back of your head? That would have been foolhardy.
Track my finger.”
Following her commands they both went through the
well-rehearsed process of judging whether he had a
concussion or not. “Well, it looks like you came away
with nothing but a bruised face and damaged pride.”
“Don’t forget a king-sized headache.” Mulder didn’t
mention the burning in his right shoulder, assuming
it was just a bruised muscle.
“I can always take you to the hospital if you think
it’s worse,” Scully offered sweetly.
Panic flashed across Mulder’s face. “No, no, that’s
okay. I think I’ve had enough of hospitals. Let’s
just forget about it and get ready. We don’t want to
miss our appointment with Dr. Hanson.”
***************
Institute of Neurological Studies
Dr. Hanson’s Laboratory
8:57 a.m.
“Are you my nine o’clock appointment?”
Dr. Hanson was a tall reedy man with thick glasses
and shaggy hair that had to be constantly brushed out
of his eyes. His hands were constantly in motion,
reminding Scully of her partner when his mind was
racing far past that of the common man. She smiled
inwardly as she answered, “Yes. We’re Agents Scully
and Mulder with the FBI. We would like to ask you
some questions about your work and about your
previous partner.”
A pair of bushy eyebrows disappeared under the mop of
hair as he shook their hands. “Alan? Is he in some
sort of trouble?”
“Can you tell us what you two were working on while
he was here?” Mulder deflected quickly.
“We were working on enhancing the brain functions of
subjects by ‘borrowing’ neuroelectrical impulses from
others. Where you could teach something to one person
and then simply transfer it to another without having
to go through the same arduous steps. By copying the
impulses of one subject, I can put them in another
subject who was previously unable to perform the same
impulses. My original thesis of transferring
intelligence is quite simple actually, the
implications obvious for the mentally impaired or
those with learning disabilities. A child who cannot
feed or dress themselves due to neurological problems
might be ‘taught’ how to do so with a simple
injection of neuroelectrical impulses from a child
who can.”
Mulder looked at his partner for a translation. She
was staring at Dr. Hanson with a look of astonishment
on her face. “You mean you can take *memories* from
one person and put them in another?”
The doctor nodded excitedly. “To date I have made
successful transfers of neuroelectrical impulses in
lab rats. My finding shows that the rats respond more
to certain memories than to others. These would be
things like your first date, your first kiss, or your
first car accident; events or traumas in our lives
that are so powerful that they are unforgettable. In
the past 3 years I’ve…”
Mulder interrupted with something akin to suspicion,
“So you’ve really transferred memory.”
Hanson shrugged. “Well in lab rats at least. Not the
most advanced brains I admit but a good jumping off
point.”
“How?”
Hanson walked over to a small cage and pulled a gray
and black striped cat from the container. “It’s
easier if I just show you.” Next the doctor moved
over to a large table that took up a good percentage
of the room. A maze was built on top of the table,
its walls approximately a foot high and no ceiling to
allow spectators from above. Attached to one end of
the table was a small box with a sliding door that
opened into the maze. Next to this small box was a
larger one exactly like it. It was in this box that
Hanson placed the cat, petting it and making soothing
noises. In the smaller box he put a large white rat
that he had extricated from one of the many cages
along the wall of the laboratory. Then he opened the
door to the small box, allowing the rodent entrance
into the maze. After a moment he did the same for the
cat.
In an instant the cat sprang after the rat, who
squeaked in fear and bolted through the maze,
navigating the corridors at a frantic pace. Only
making one small mistake, the rat reached the end of
the maze in seconds, evading its pursuer. Hanson
scooped up the tiny animal, scratching its small
body. “Neuropeptides mediate memory storage and
retrieval in your brain. In theory a person’s
thoughts and memories are contained in the cerebral
spinal fluid but if you injected CSF you wouldn’t see
a thing because there’s no primer, no starter. I
started thinking about neuroactive drugs like
norepenephrine and adrenaline.”
Scully was nodding in understanding as the doctor
returned the rat to its cage. “Because they increase
the brain’s sensitivity during memory retrieval, so
hence, your starter.”
“Right.” He walked to a long counter and picked up a
vial from a tray containing countless others. “This
is it, my transfer formula; it’s a combination of
norepinephrine, a GABA inhibitor and a few other
things.” Drawing liquid from the vial with a large
needle, Hanson went to a different cage on the other
side of the room as the others and pulled out another
rat. With no further ado he plunged the needle into
this new rat. Mulder flinched in sympathy, rubbing
his sore arm absently.
“When injected, the brain experiences the new memory
impulses as if they were it’s own. But for these
impulses to be triggered they require outside
stimulants such as a sight or sound that’s familiar
to the other brain’s memory. This is a rat that has
never been in the maze you just saw.” Another vial
from the table was retrieved and injected with
similar efficiency as before. “This is the CSF of a
rat who is familiar with the maze. By injecting this
CSF into this rat he should be able to run this maze
perfectly. The cat is the outside stimulus, to make
the memory more vivid.” Hanson returned to the table
maze and put the rat in the small box, performing the
same demonstration as before. The FBI watched in
amazement as the rat ran the maze perfectly.
“It has an eighty percent success rate,” Hanson
beamed.
Mulder stared at the rat, safe in its enclosure at
the end of the maze. “When do you start human
trials?”
“That’s a long way off.” Hanson replaced both feline
and rodent in their respective cages.
“Why?”
“Well, there are a few complications, not to mention
about six years worth of paperwork.” The doctor
grimaced at this.
“What kind of complications?” Scully asked.
“The norepenephrine stimulates the heart. The heart
rate and blood pressure of all the rats increased and
unfortunately thirty percent of them…”
“Have heart attacks,” Mulder finished.
Hanson shrugged. ” I can’t reduce the dosage and
anything that would inhibit the side effect would
also inhibit the retrieval.”
Scully was staring at the maze as though she was
imagining the rat racing through its course once
again. She looked up, her eyes clouded with thought.
“What about nitroglycerin?”
Hanson nodded. “I’d thought of that but while it
might solve the short term problems, it would still
run the risk of long term damage to the heart.”
Mulder pinned the scientist with a sharp gaze. “And
Doctor Sycaroe was involved in all processes of the
development of this drug?”
“Yes, in fact Alan was instrumental in us reaching
this point in the experiment. It was a shame that he
left but he was so devastated by the loss of his
daughter that he was no longer interested in his
science.”
Scully could feel her partner tense from across the
room. “What happened to his daughter?”
Hanson lowered his voice, whether to show respect for
the subject or whether he felt the need to act
conspiratorially, Mulder wasn’t sure, but he listened
with great interest. “You remember that serial killer
about a year ago that was killing children up and
down the eastern seaboard? Well, Alan’s poor little
girl Leanna was one of his last victims before he was
caught. The man nearly went mad with grief. What a
shame,” he repeated with a sigh.
Scully shuddered and looked up at her partner, whose
eyes were dark with emotion. Putting a hand on his
arm, she turned to the scientist. “Thank you, Dr.
Hanson, you’ve been very helpful. I wish you luck in
your valiant endeavor.”
Hanson smiled. “No problem. If there’s anything more
I can do, feel free to call me.”
Guiding Mulder out of the laboratory, Scully let go
of him and let him sag back against the hallway.
“Mulder. Earth to Mulder.”
Shaking his head as if to clear it, Mulder flinched
as his headache flared back to life. “Hmm? What?”
“What were you just thinking right then?”
“Oh, I was thinking about Arthur Stark.”
“Who?”
“The Midnight Killer. He was the one who killed
Leanna Sycaroe. You and I were working on the
religious killings case with Kenny when they caught
him. I remember hearing about it on the news when I
had the TV on for noise. I didn’t realize she was
related to our Dr. Sycaroe.” Looking down at his
hands he murmured, “Wish there was something I could
have done.”
Scully grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a
shake. “Mulder, don’t even think about blaming
yourself! You were a little preoccupied at the time
and another case certainly would not have gone over
well. Besides, they caught him and now he’s behind
bars where he belongs.”
“Actually, no. He was on death row with a whole slew
of appeals lined up to go but he died of a heart
attack a month and a half ago. I hadn’t included him
in my list of victims because he was a perfect
candidate for a heart attack,” he muttered, thinking
of the mug shots of an overweight man with teeth
yellowed by tobacco.
They began walking down the hallway, their dress
shoes loud on the slick floors. “I bet the parents of
those kids Stark killed were angry and hurt by the
seemingly blind justice system.”
Mulder looked pointedly down at his partner. “Angry
enough to take matters into their own hands.”
“I think we just found our motive.” Scully pushed
open the large entrance door and stepped out into the
bright sunlight, putting a hand up to her eyes.
“Now all we need is a weap- Aaaggh!!” Mulder’s
sentence was cut off by a strangled cry as he
suddenly fell to his knees, his hands flying up to
his head.
For a moment Scully was taken back several years to a
time when she and her partner had been in a similar
situation after he’d had a hole drilled in his head.
But that was too long ago to be the same thing.
Unless the recent blow to his head might have
triggered it.
“Mulder?? Mulder, can you hear me?” She knelt next to
him, putting one hand on his shoulder and the other
on the side of his face. His eyes were wide open as
though he was staring at something in utter terror.
All of a sudden he sprang to his feet. “Noooo!” he
cried out, taking a few stumbling steps before
falling back to the ground, his palms flat on the
pavement.
Scully ran to him, bending down to his level. His
breathing was ragged and perspiration spotted his
brow. Placing two fingers on his neck she felt the
thrumming of his pulse as it raced through his body.
His eyes no longer seemed to see something unearthly
but they hadn’t lost the fear that had so startled
her. “Mulder, what happened?”
Leaning back on his haunches as he took in huge gulps
of air, it took him long moments before he answered.
“I… I’m not sure, but I think I just witnessed
Samantha’s abduction.”
Scully’s brows knitted together. “You had a
flashback?”
This time Mulder’s answer was quicker in coming. “No.
Well, yes, maybe, oh I don’t know. I had a flashback,
but it wasn’t like any I’ve ever had.”
Concern was thick in her voice when Scully asked,
“What do you mean?”
“I saw Sam’s abduction as if it were through her own
eyes.”
**********
George Washington Memorial Hospital
11:21 a.m.
She lay flat against the table, her arms pinned to
her sides and her legs strapped down about a foot
apart. Above she could see a large cylindrical
machine, something sharp protruding from the end
facing her. As the machine began to move closer and
closer she struggled against her bonds, crying out
for help. Tossing her head side to side all she saw
was darkness as though the entire world had
disappeared except for the circle of light that
enveloped her.
Tears began to stream down her face as she realized
that no one was coming to help her, no one could hear
her cries.
The machine came closer and closer, the sharp drill-
like projection spinning faster and faster. Closing
her eyes as if that could somehow stop this
nightmare, she tried to think of good things, happy
thoughts that would put her in a safe place. When the
drill pierced her skin she screamed out the name of
someone she had always trusted to come to her.
“FOX!!”
“Get him out of there right now!” Scully ordered the
nurse. Spinning on her heel she ran out the door of
the control room and burst into the MRI lab where her
partner was slowly emerging from the scanner. His
body was trembling as though from fright and his
breathing was coming in harsh gasps. Occasionally a
hoarse whimper emerged from a throat raw from a
desperate cry for help.
Scully didn’t know what was going on but she was
beginning to suspect that Mulder’s devastating
flashbacks had something to do with Dr. Sycaroe and
his miracle memory drug. The how was going to have to
wait until she got a handle on Mulder’s condition.
They had arrived at the hospital about an hour ago
and met with Dr. Kurtz, who was familiar with
Mulder’s background from previous visits. Promptly
running about every test imaginable from tox screens
to x-rays, it wasn’t until the MRI scan that Mulder
had another episode. He had started to struggle
against the bonds that kept him in place during the
scan and then had suddenly called out his own name in
an anguished cry. Quickly surmising what was going
on, Scully had the operator shut down the scanner and
rushed to her partner’s side.
Pushing back damp hair from his sweaty forehead, she
murmured softly, “Mulder?” When it was apparent that
he was fairly lucid, she continued. “What happened?
What did you see?”
His Adam’s apple bobbed twice as he swallowed.
“Tests. They were performing tests on her and she
called out for me. I couldn’t save her, Scully.” This
last was uttered in despair.
“Mulder, you did everything you could to find her and
now she is in a better place. There is no need for
you to feel guilty about something you had no power
to fight against.”
“I know but before I could at least imagine that she
wasn’t so completely frightened, that the tests
weren’t too painful.” He turned bright eyes to stare
up at Scully. “But now I know she was absolutely
terrified.”
“Maybe not. If what you saw was real, then it was
simply a memory, not what she felt but what she saw.”
He was shaking his head as she spoke. “It wasn’t like
memory, it was like an experience. It makes the past
into the present as if you’re really there. I know
how scared she was.”
“But how?”
“Because *I* was terrified.”
**********
ACT 3
1:41 p.m.
“Stop fidgeting.”
“I can’t. This damn gown flaps in the back and it’s a
bit chilly in here.”
“Personally I don’t mind the flapping.”
“Scully!”
Scully chuckled at the sight of her partner clutching
at the back of his hospital gown. The sound of a door
opening interrupted their banter and they both
straightened to attention.
“I have good news,” Dr. Kurtz announced. The MRI came
back clean; there’s no sign of any kind of damage.
The blow to the head was superficial and there
appears to be only a slight swelling. The EKG came
back normal as did the tox screens.”
“What about his heart?” Scully asked, trying to find
a link to the effects Dr. Hanson had mentioned showed
up in his rats.
Kurtz checked the clipboard in his hand, leafing
through the test results. “No bruits, regular rate
and rhythm. No murmurs, rubs or extra heart sounds
and the lungs are clear. The only thing that might
point to an answer is a raised level of adrenaline.
Have you been under a lot of stress lately, Agent
Mulder?”
Mulder just grunted.
Scully pursed her lips, thinking back on the past
several months. Stress? What stress? She almost
laughed out loud at the thought. “Dr. Kurtz, Agent
Mulder has been in stressful situations before and
never had these…episodes. They seem completely
random as though it was an external stimulant that
caused them, not an internal one.”
“A trigger.”
Scully turned to look at her partner, who was staring
at her with realization dawning in his eyes. “A
trigger, something that is reminiscent of the
memories I’m flashing back to. Like a bright light or
being strapped down while a big machine hovers over
me.”
“Is there something wrong with your arm?”
Kurtz’s question caught him off guard and Mulder
actually had to look down at his own shoulder. He
hadn’t even realized he’d been rubbing it. “Not
really. It just burns a little. I think I bruised it
when I got mugged this morning.”
“Let’s have a look.” Dr. Kurtz pulled up a chair and
sat down next to the agent. Pushing up the gown
sleeve to look at the spot Mulder indicated. “Oh, one
of the nurses must have pushed the needle a tad too
far, it appears they bruised the muscle. I’ll have a
word with them about it.”
Scully nodded absently, her mind focused on the
puzzle that was starting to fall into place.
************
En Route to Mulder’s Apartment
2:35 p.m.
“Mulder, we are not going to the prison. You need to
rest and stay in a place that is familiar so there
won’t be any stimuli to trigger another episode.”
“Scully, holing up in my apartment isn’t going to
help, and sleep certainly won’t either. We have to
see Dr. Sycaroe and find out how to stop this.”
“You have no conclusive proof that he did anything.”
“Yes I do. Scully, this morning when I was mugged I
felt a sharp pain in my shoulder, like something had
stabbed me. Don’t give me that look! I didn’t tell
you because I didn’t see any obvious damage and just
figured it was a bruise.”
“Dr. Kurtz says it was an injection site and that one
of the nurses was careless.”
“He was half right. It was an injection site all
right but not from one of the nurses. I pay close
attention when people are poking me with needles, and
I remember very clearly that they never came near my
right arm with a needle. They took everything from my
left arm.”
Scully licked her lips as she considered his words.
“I’m not saying I don’t think you’ve been injected
with the memory drug, since there is a lot of
evidence pointing towards it.”
“But…”
“But if you really had been injected with the same
drug as the prisoners, then why aren’t you dead?”
“I’d thought of that. The rats had heart problems,
right? Well, they had been injected repeatedly and
their hearts are much smaller than ours, so isn’t it
conceivable that what might cause a heart attack in
them may only cause a racing heart in a human?”
Scully nodded. “I suppose, but those prisoners *did*
die from heart attacks.”
“But not from the drug,” Mulder insisted. “Think
about it. Suddenly you have a flashback to someone
trying to kill you and there is nothing you can do to
stop it because you already know that you’re going to
die. That would certainly qualify as a frightening
experience and combined with a racing heartbeat could
lead to a heart attack.”
“That’s all fine and dandy, but it still doesn’t
explain why you haven’t had a heart attack,” Scully
pointed out.
“You seem awfully stuck on the fact that I should be
dead. Something you’re trying to tell me?” Mulder
smirked evilly.
Scully frowned. “Don’t even joke about that, Mulder.
You know what I’m getting at.”
“Unlike the others, I didn’t kill the person who I’m
flashing back to. She was abducted by aliens and
experimented on, but they didn’t kill her. Add to
that the fact that I’ve spent the last thirty years
looking for her and delving into what she may have
experienced, that I’ve become sort of immune to the
horrific aspects of it. In other words, I couldn’t be
scared to death because I knew that she lived through
it.”
“But you said yourself that you were terrified,”
Scully reminded him.
“Yes, but not because I thought I was going to die. I
was experiencing the fear she felt at the time but I
was able to counter it with the knowledge that it
wasn’t going to kill me. Her. Whatever.”
Scully’s lips tightened into a thin line. “So you
want to confront Sycaroe and ask why he’s doing
this.”
“Oh, I know why he’s doing it. A monster took his
daughter away from him, and the justice system that
was supposed to give him peace by destroying that
monster has failed him. He’s taking justice into his
own hands and giving the killers a taste of their own
medicine so to speak. I can’t say that I blame him.”
Scully shot him a surprised look.
“I’m not saying he’s right to do what he’s doing, but
it doesn’t mean I don’t agree with him.”
They drove on in silence for a while. When the exit
came up that would take them to the prison instead of
Mulder’s apartment, Scully took it. “Mulder, why
would Sycaroe think your sister’s memories would kill
you?”
“It’s not that I’m wondering about. What I want to
know is *where* he got Sam’s memories.”
**************
Virginia State Correctional Facility
3:24 p.m.
Without waiting for Harbrook’s permission, the two
FBI agents went straight to Sycaroe’s office,
ignoring the guards’ protests with a wave of their
badges. Not finding the doctor there, they moved on
to the infirmary.
In the middle of giving an inmate his yearly exam,
Dr. Sycaroe was unprepared for an interruption.
“Dr. Sycaroe?”
“Yes, what is it?” he asked impatiently, no even
looking up from the chart he was busily writing on.
“Dr. Sycaroe, might we have a word with you.” It
wasn’t a question.
Finally raising his head to see what impudent guard
was bothering him, Sycaroe was surprised to find two
federal agents staring back at him. Despite the fact
that one of them was supposed to be dead, he hadn’t
planned on seeing either of them ever again.
“Oh, um, yes, certainly. Let me just finish up with
Mr. Dumas here and I’ll be right with you.”
Mulder and Scully stood patiently, never letting the
doctor out of their sight. He finished examining the
inmate named Dumas, jotted down a few more notes and
sent the man on his way. It was then that he turned
to the pair of agents and cleared his throat. “All
right, now, what did you want to speak with me
about?”
“Perhaps we should discuss it in a more private
location?” Scully suggested.
“How about my office?” Sycaroe held out a hand and
gestured to the door.
“Lead the way.” There was no way that Mulder was
going to turn his back on this man.
Sycaroe nodded, his face expressionless. “Certainly.”
The trio filed down the hallways, eerily absent of
other people. If Mulder was a superstitious man, he
might have felt as though the prison itself was
conspiring against them. Which meant that Mulder did
indeed feel as though there were unseen eyes watching
them.
Reaching the doctor’s office, Sycaroe entered first,
moving to sit at his desk. Folding his hands on the
wooden surface, he waited expectantly.
Mulder decided to get straight to the point. “Dr.
Sycaroe, we know that you’re responsible for the
death of at least four inmates.”
Instead of surprise or remorse, the doctor simply
raised his eyebrows and cocked his head as though he
was confused. “And how do you believe that I killed
them?”
Scully spoke up. “With an experimental drug you and
your partner Dr. Hanson developed at INS. You
implanted the inmates with memories from their
victims and they died because of it.”
Sycaroe neither confirmed nor denied the accusation.
“Why should you care whether or not someone killed
them? Those men were monsters who deserved much worse
than they got. They were all on death row, why would
it matter *when* they die?”
Mulder spoke in a low and soothing tone. “I know what
it is like to lose a loved one, Dr. Sycaroe. The
anger at the person who took them away, the need to
bring swift justice with your own hand. But this
isn’t the way.”
“You?? You lost someone? Ha! I know all about your
sister, Agent Mulder. About how you killed her and
buried her somewhere she’d never be found. You think
that no one knows? Well, they do! Your own peers have
betrayed you to me! It takes a killer to catch a
killer, Agent Mulder.” Sycaroe’s voice had grown in
intensity as his rage increased. Suddenly he sprang
from his seat and started pacing back and forth
behind his desk.
Neither agent moved to stop him, knowing that the man
was lost in his own mind, words pouring out of his
mouth without conscious thought. It was a confession
they were waiting for. The only movement taken was by
Scully, who placed a hand on Mulder’s arm when
Sycaroe accused him of killing his sister. She knew
it was still a tear in her partner’s heart and she
offered what small comfort she could.
“Arthur Stark killed my little girl! He killed my
precious baby, the only person I had left who meant
anything to me! All I had left was my anger and my
work, my research and my vengeance. The longer I
waited for justice the more I realized it was futile;
there is no justice. I wanted that monster to know
exactly how my Leanna felt when he killed her and if
felt so good to see the fear in his eyes when he knew
that he was going to die. But why stop there? Why not
let all the other baby butchers die by their own
hands??”
“No matter how many of them you bring to your form of
justice the pain will not go away. I spent almost
thirty years searching for answers about my sister
and when I finally discovered the truth I felt as
empty as ever. Nothing will bring her back.” Mulder
held out his hands as if to appease the tortured soul
he saw before him.
Confusion warred with anger and a flash of doubt
crossed Sycaroe’s face. “NO!!” he screamed, his hand
lashing out at the closest thing to him, which
happened to be a tall lamp near the window. The lamp
crashed through the glass, sending shards out onto
the yards below and shafts of light streamed into the
room.
The loud noise and sudden burst of light may have
been simply the shattering of a prison window but for
one occupant of the room it was a window into the
past.
She couldn’t move as the light enveloped her, holding
her body aloft. The only part of her that still
seemed to obey her mind was her voice, crying out for
her brother. She could see Fox scrambling across the
room towards the large bookcase where Daddy kept the
old books they weren’t allowed to touch. He climbed
up on a chair and reached for a small lock box on top
of the bookcase. His fingers barely brushed it but it
was enough to send the box careening off onto the
floor, spilling its contents over the carpeting.
She watched her brother pick up the gun that had been
hidden in the box; her mind dimly wondering how he
knew it was there. He pointed the gun into the light
and the clicking of the trigger was heard over the
droning noise that permeated everything. He called
out to her with such desperation that she knew there
was no hope.
“Help me, Fox!”
Sycaroe watched as Mulder fell to his knees, and his
hands moved up to his face as a flashback overcame
him. He trembled and shook as though experiencing
some sort of seizure. Scully was next to him in
seconds, one hand on his arm, the other on his back.
“Mulder, can you hear me?”
There was no response, but he did lower his hands to
reveal wide eyes staring into nothingness. Suddenly
his arms stretched out as though reaching for someone
and he cried, “Help me, Fox!”
Mulder doubled over, one hand braced against the
floor, the other moving up to be placed on his chest
as he sucked in deep breaths. Harsh words were pushed
out between each gasp and Scully had to listen hard
to understand them.
“I tried, I tried so hard and I couldn’t save her.
There was nothing I could do.”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Scully’s hand moved in circular
motions on his back, trying to calm him. “Take it
easy, long and slow breaths.”
Sycaroe, seemingly forgotten in the corner of his
office brought back reality with a strangled sob.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I thought you… I almost
killed an innocent person. I would have been no
better than the monsters I loathe. I’ve become that
which I despise.”
Mulder and Scully looked up to see Sycaroe shaking
his head in disbelief. “No,” Mulder said hoarsely.
Coughing once to clear his throat he stood up with
Scully’s support. “No, you are not like them, because
you did what you thought was needed to uphold your
value of life. Those men cared not for whose life
they destroyed or what kind of grief their actions
brought.”
Sycaroe appeared to be slowly accepting Mulder’s
words, his gaze intense upon the agent’s face. “I
didn’t know what to do, I was so angry. I had the
means to bring to those men the same fear that they
had wrought upon others. Power without knowledge is
dangerous.”
“How did you get admittance into the prisons where
the other inmates were held?” Scully asked.
“With documentation provided by the Warden, I was
able to enter the other prisons and inject the
prisoners under the pretense of doing blood tests so
transfusions would be easily procured between
facilities.”
“Harbrook? You mean Warden Harbrook is involved?”
Sycaroe opened his mouth to reply but his answer was
drowned out by a gunshot. The doctor fell to the
floor with blood pouring from a hole in his chest,
his dead eyes wide with shock.
The agents turned to see the Warden standing in the
doorway, a smoking gun in his hand. At the moment the
weapon was currently pointed directly at them. “Damn
doctor never could quit his whining. Too bad, his was
a most promising intellect.”
“You’ll never get away with this,” Mulder protested.
Peals of laughter poured from Harbrook’s lips. “How
cliché, Agent Mulder, and how naïve. Imagine my
horror when I arrived moments after I heard several
gunshots to find that Dr. Sycaroe had killed two FBI
agents and then shot himself, because he could no
longer live with the death of his daughter.”
“And you, with Sycaroe’s drug, will be free to
administer your version of justice to anyone you
believe deserves it. How far will you go? How long
will it take before you decide that your neighbor
complains too much and needs to be taught a lesson?
Or a woman turns down your advances and you want to
punish her for dealing a blow to your manhood?”
“It doesn’t matter. No one will ever know, because
all the deaths will look like heart attacks. Too bad
yours won’t be as clean.” Harbrook raised the gun and
leveled it at Mulder’s head.
*Bang*
A shot echoed down the hallways and Harbrook fell
forward, a bullet in his shoulder. Scully lunged
forward and scooped up the gun that had fallen from
the warden’s grasp. Mulder moved just as quickly,
pulling the man’s hands behind him and cuffing them
securely. His phone was out moments later, calling
for an ambulance and the police. He nodded to the
figure in the doorway, who was holstering his own
weapon.
Scully stood, holding out Harbrook’s gun. “Thank
you.”
Guard Flores inclined his head in a solemn bow.
“Don’t mention it.”
*************
Epilogue
Federal Bureau of Investigation
X-Files Office
Thursday
10:27 a.m.
“Frohike, I swear, if you say one more word…” The
threatening tone in Mulder’s voice was enough to warn
Scully that the Lone Gunman was once again professing
his undying love for her. Ah, one of the few
constants in life.
“Well, what did he have to say?” she asked when
Mulder hung up the phone.
Pursing his lips, Mulder leaned back in his chair.
“You’ll never guess who funded Sycaroe’s work; our
favorite cover pharmaceutical company, Roush.”
Scully perched herself on the edge of Mulder’s desk
and handed him a steaming cup of coffee. “I suppose
that explains where he got your sister’s DNA.”
“I guess.”
“Had any more flashbacks since last night?”
“No. Hanson did say they would fade as the drug left
my system.”
After arresting Warden Harbrook for murder and
accomplice to four other counts of murder, the agents
had gone to see Dr. Hanson for answers regarding
Mulder’s condition. The doctor, while saddened by the
death of his ex-partner, was thrilled to know that
the drug was effective in humans. He’d explained to
them that the drug would be gone in a few more hours,
whether absorbed by his body or expelled through his
waste.
“Something good did come from this whole fiasco.”
Scully raised an eyebrow.
When I had that flashback in Sycaroe’s office
yesterday, I felt what Sam felt when she was being
abducted. She was so scared and she wanted me to help
her. I couldn’t.”
Lowering her hand to take his in her own, Scully
murmured, “Mulder…”
“I couldn’t help her, but she didn’t blame me for
that.”
Scully cocked her head in an unspoken request for an
explanation.
Mulder leaned forward in his chair and looked up into
his partner’s eyes. “All these years I’ve blamed
myself, so sure that she must have blamed me as well
for not being able to save her. But now I know that
she didn’t. She never once thought that I had given
up on her and let her go.”
Ducking her head, Scully placed a tender kiss on
Mulder’s forehead, moving to his lips. “She didn’t
blame you because she loved you. Never forget that
she loved you, Mulder.”
A soft smile played across Mulder’s lips. “That was
Sam for you. She was unforgettable.”
*********
End
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