TITLE: X-Hospital
AUTHOR: Kelso
CLASSIFICATION: crossover, humor (X-Files/General Hospital crossover)
RATING: PG (for language)
SPOILERS: small, for XF episodes Sleepless, Detour, Bad Blood,
and Arcadia. (In other words, nothing recent.)
TIMELINE: set late May, 2000. Ignore the events of XF 7th-season
finale Requiem. Takes place *before* Larkin kidnapped Hannah on
GH.
DATE COMPLETED: June 12, 2000
DISTRIBUTE: anywhere. Private e-mail, mailing lists, websites,
etc. Just keep these headers attached.
FEEDBACK: Love it! Send to kelso28@excite.com
DISCLAIMER: XF/characters owned by CC, Ten Thirteen, Fox.
GH/characters owned by ABC/Disney.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully look into events in Port Charles, New
York (home of "General Hospital"). Consider it my dream ending
to the Hannah/Larkin FBI storyline on GH.
NOTES: Think this sounds like a strange crossover idea? Maybe so,
but I don't see it as being any stranger than one with Xena,
Seinfeld, or ER, which other people have written. Anyway, if
you're at all interested, give it a try. You can always quit
reading if you don't like it.
X-Hospital (part 1 of 2)
by Kelso
They were being punished. And without doubt, the punishment
exceeded the crime and constituted a far from efficient deploy-
ment of their talents. Because after all, anyone could perform
glorified surveillance work. And not just anyone could investi-
gate shapeshifters, evil dolls, little gray men, and invisible,
fat-sucking, or genderbending killers. Or rather, pretty much
anyone *could* do so, but unless their names were Mulder and
Scully, they were more than likely to do a piss-poor job of it.
So what, precisely, had the agents done to land on Assistant
Director Skinner's shit list yet again? Well, they were trying to
catch a serial killer who was targeting local politicians, and
Skinner decided to check out the latest crime scene with them.
During the drive over, Mulder was unexpectedly struck with a
bizarre theory that Scully thought held some promise. Both agents
believed they should immediately follow up on the idea. However,
Skinner disagreed.
So they'd ditched him.
Their behavior wasn't quite as malicious as it sounded. It wasn't
like they'd stranded their boss in the Gobi Desert with no hope
of rescue for days. No, Skinner had wanted to make a pit stop at
Dunkin' Donuts. As he disappeared inside, Mulder tapped his
fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at Scully. She hesi-
tated, then nodded slightly. That was all it took. When Skinner
emerged from the building seven minutes later, clutching a sack
of chocolate donuts and three plastic cups of coffee, he found a
white Toyota parked where the gray Dodge should have been.
The fact that Mulder's hunch turned out to be right on the money
and they arrested the killer that very afternoon did little to
assuage Skinner's fury at being ditched. Such disobedience could
not be tolerated.
Scully could somewhat sympathize with the AD, considering that
Mulder had ditched *her* often enough. (Her only consolation
was that he didn't single her out for that treatment. He had also
ditched Krycek on their first day as partners.) Still, though she
hated to admit it, the feeling of ditching someone--especially
their superior--was pretty liberating. Until they were summoned
to Skinner's office for their third reprimand in as many weeks.
They knew it was going to be bad when the secretary gave them a
pitying look.
***********
Monday
10:07 a.m.
Skinner's office
They survived the obligatory ass-chewing. Then came the painful
part.
Rubbing his hands together, Skinner began, "First, agents, some
background on your new assignment: On and off over the past
several years, the town of Port Charles, New York, has been the
territory of a mobster named Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos, Jr., who
specializes in money laundering and union control. Last summer,
the Bureau assigned Special Agent Hannah Scott to go undercover
and infiltrate Corinthos' organization in the hopes of finally
bringing him down.
"Unfortunately, serious rumors of misconduct on the part of Agent
Scott have been circulating throughout the Bureau. Soon after
they began living together, Corinthos learned of Agent Scott's
true identity, but kept that knowledge to himself. He reportedly
was able to test her loyalty by feeding her false information
about his illegal activities, which she did not pass on to her
superiors. Also, Agent Scott may have sabotaged a raid on one of
Corinthos' warehouses by warning him of it. Most disturbingly, she
failed to provide any incriminating evidence whatsoever against
this notorious mobster.
"Eventually, Corinthos apparently tired of Agent Scott's presence
and rejected her. Since her double life quickly became common
knowledge, it is considered a minor miracle that she has not yet
been murdered. She remains in Port Charles, working as a liasion
between the Bureau and the local police department.
"This case would be troublesome enough if the possible misconduct
ended with Agent Scott. However,there is a strong possibility
that her contact, Agent John Larkin, has also behaved inappropri-
ately. He may have committed various illegal activities so as to
improve his standing within the Bureau. Most of these acts are
connected to Agent Scott's father: Roy DiLucca. DiLucca had been
working as an FBI informant for the past 20 years, in lieu of
serving a prison sentence for attempted murder. After Agent Scott
failed to bring down Corinthos, DiLucca was assigned to that task.
But within a few weeks, he was sent to prison to serve the
remaining five years of his sentence under the premise that he had
violated the terms of his arrangement with the Bureau.
Supposedly, DiLucca befriended Corinthos rather than fulfill his
duties. On May 1, DiLucca escaped from prison. His whereabouts
remain unknown. That brings us up to the present. When I heard of
this case, I immediately thought of you two."
Scully took the ensuing silence as a cue to speak. "Sir, do you
want us to join the search for this missing man?"
Skinner smiled. "No, Agent Scully, you misunderstood me."
"Then you must want us to bring down Sonny Corinthos," Mulder
guessed. "To succeed where all others have failed."
Slowly, almost hypnotically, Skinner shook his head. "No, agents,
I have something extra-special in mind. You are being sent under-
cover to Port Charles to investigate the alleged improprieties on
the parts of Agents Scott and Larkin." Taking full advantage of
their shocked paralysis, he continued, "I must stress that this
case has not yet progressed to a formal stage, so you may not use
listening devices of any type, including bugs and wires. And your
identities must remain secret. To facilitate your investigation,
you will pose as a married couple just moving to Port Charles. I
advise you to obtain a room at Kelly's, the diner/boarding house
where Agent Scott lives."
"Sir, you can't be serious!" Mulder blurted.
Skinner glared at him. "I assure you, Agent Mulder, I am
perfectly serious. Now, as I was saying..."
***********
10:38 a.m.
Skinner's office
As Mulder and Scully exited, Skinner let out a contented sigh.
They were possibly the most difficult agents in the history of
the FBI, and he had reached the conclusion that he desperately
needed a vacation from them, no matter how slim the pretext.
Therefore, he had set forth to find a case--any case--that would
remove them from his immediate vicinity until at least the end of
the week. Ultimately, he had done better than that. The dismal
assignment he had unearthed was probably worse than any they had
suffered under Kersh's regime, and that was saying a lot. Those
two would think twice before they ditched their AD again.
***********
Tuesday
4:45 p.m.
on the flight to Port Charles
Mulder shifted in his seat and extended his legs an inch further
into the aisle. If he tripped the stewardess, at least the flight
would be enlivened. Only she was nowhere to be seen. He shifted
again, brushing Scully with his elbow. Nose buried in the case
file, she continued to ignore him. He twisted the wedding ring
around his finger and gave in. "Hey, Scully."
She didn't look up. "What, Mulder?"
Undaunted, he proceeded. "I've finally found proof of one of the
things I've been looking for for years."
She looked sideways at him, her interest piqued. "And what would
that be?"
"Skinner hates us. There is no other explanation. It was bad
enough that he ate our donuts. But this...this is the case from
hell."
Scully glanced around to ensure that no one else was within
hearing range. "How would *you* know how hellish this case is?
You've barely glanced at the file." She shook it for emphasis; a
photo of a dark-haired young woman fell onto her lap.
"Okay, who's that?" Mulder asked perfunctorily.
Shoving the photo in front of him, Scully replied, "Oh, just one
of our primary targets: Hannah Scott. You might want to know that
face."
Silence fell. Thick, suffocating silence. Scully replaced the
photo. Mulder twisted his ring again. Scully's eyes fell on it.
"You know, there *is* one bright side to this assignment," she
decided. "I got to pick our aliases this time. And *anything* is
better than Rob and Laura Petrie."
'Oliver and Lisa Douglas. Who knew Scully was a "Green Acres"
fan?' Mulder stifled a groan at the thought of having to answer
to "Oliver" for the foreseeable future. He should have known that
his facetious choice of Rob and Laura Petrie as pseudonyms during
the housing-community case last year would return to haunt him
when it came Scully's turn to choose names. Admittedly, "Oliver"
was better than "Fox," though not by much. Which was probably why
Scully had selected it. But fair was fair. It *was* her turn.
Unable to argue that point, Mulder silently conceded it and
changed the subject.
"Yeah, well, this case still sucks," he grumbled. "Skinner
obviously doesn't believe those rumors are true, and neither does
anyone else. Because if they did, we wouldn't be sent in on some
fact-gathering mission. Instead, Scott and Larkin would have been
questioned straight out, and you know it. We're just stuck with
this garbage because Skinner got fed up, plain and simple. There's
nothing even remotely resembling an X-File in this entire
situation."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I see a bit of a mystery," Scully
replied, consulting her notes.
"Mystery?" Mulder sat up a little straighter.
"Sure. Assuming that these rumors are true--and the way our
luck is running, I am fairly confident they are--how did Hannah
Scott get hired, and why hasn't she been fired? In other words,
who's she been sleeping with? Besides the mobster, that is."
"This case keeps getting better and better," Mulder muttered,
slumping back down.
"I've got an idea," Scully snapped. "Let's wrap up this business
quickly, all right? And try not to piss off Skinner this badly
again for a long, *long* time."
Apparently, his attitude had pissed her off, as well. They again
lapsed into silence, which lasted the remainder of the flight.
***********
6:13 p.m.
Kelly's Diner
"Thanks, Tammy," Scully said to the blonde diner manager who had
escorted Mulder and her to their room.
"No problem," Tammy smiled. "You need anything, let me know." She
retreated down the hall as Mulder closed the door.
"The room is nice," Scully decided, looking around. It was neat,
clean, a little on the small side for someone used to living in
an apartment, but overall, quite acceptable. Muted, tasteful
furnishings dominated, including a double bed, a beige easy
chair, and a small table that was quickly occupied by Scully's
laptop.
Mulder flopped spread-eagled on his back on the bed as Scully
shot him a disapproving look. "So. What now?" He propped his head
on a thick pillow and watched a spider scurry across the ceiling
as he waited for an answer.
"Now?" Scully considered carefully. Mulder's immediate deference
to her was a glaring sign of his disinterest in the case, but she
didn't mind taking the lead. "Now, we should examine these photos
of the major parties so we can be sure to recognize them on
sight. As for tomorrow, I think we can get a good start by
splitting up. I'll befriend Agent Scott and get what I can out of
her, and you can go after Agent Larkin."
"And how do you propose that I do that?"
"For some unknown reason, during Agent Scott's undercover days,
she and Larkin insisted on meeting in plain sight, in broad
daylight, on the docks--the same docks that are the frequent
hangout of the local mob bosses. Naturally, they were spotted
together more than once. In an attempt to protect their secret,
Agent Scott claimed that Larkin was an ex-boyfriend who was
obsessed with her. But when a suspicious party checked into this
story, she easily learned that Scott had lied about Larkin's
identity. Incredibly enough, those two both still seem to favor
the docks as a 'private' meeting place. So you can hang around
there and see if Larkin shows up, who he meets with, and what he
says."
"Sounds thrilling," he yawned.
"Yes, doesn't it?" Scully replied sweetly. "Just keep in mind, we
have to come away with a confession of impropriety on the part of
at least one of them to warrant further investigation. Eavesdrop,
lie about your identity. I don't care, just get what we need so
we can leave here fast."
"Sorry to shoot a hole in your little theory," Mulder said, not
sounding even a bit sorry, "but what if they're both innocent?
Then there's no way we'll be able to get anything on them, and we
could be stuck for weeks, looking for evidence that doesn't
exist."
Scully frowned. "Thanks for pointing that out, Mulder. You just
bring sunshine into my life every day."
"Thanks. I try my best. Now, how about we forget the case for a
while and watch the Godzilla marathon on TV?"
***********
Wednesday
8:22 a.m.
Kelly's
Determined to get off to a good start on their first full day in
Port Charles, Scully went downstairs to the diner area
first and waited impatiently for Mulder to drag himself down. The
previous night had been a minor disaster as far as work was
concerned. Mulder had settled down to watch "Godzilla vs.
Megalon" and had ended up making paper airplanes out of the case
notes. She could only hope he put in more of an effort today.
Twenty minutes later, he made his appearance to find Scully
seated at a counter stool. The waitress, a teenage girl with
curly brown hair, gave Mulder an odd look as he took the seat
beside Scully. Meeting his eyes, she blushed and returned to
work. "What did you tell that girl about me?" he whispered to
his partner.
"Oh," she answered matter-of-factly, "we needed a good cover
story to explain why we seem able to run about at will with
nothing to do other than to take occasional notes. So I let it
slip that I'm a doctor who has a week off until I start work at
the hospital, and you're a lazy, good-for-nothing pig who can't
hold down a job."
"There goes my reputation," he complained.
"If all goes well, we won't be here long enough for it to matter.
But there's been a slight hitch in today's plan. Hannah must have
been up at the crack of dawn, because the waitress told me that
she ate and left more than an hour ago. So I get to wait here for
her to come back. And you'd better go to the docks to try to find
Larkin."
"Don't I even get to eat breakfast first?" he protested.
"Grab some toast," she retorted unfeelingly. "The sooner you get
out there, the better your chances of finding Larkin and
eavesdropping on an incriminating conversation, *Oliver*."
Muttering under his breath, Mulder headed out the door as Scully
resigned herself to a potentially long wait.
***********
9:32 a.m.
the docks
God, it was unpleasant on the docks: overcast and windy. 'Why the
*hell* do these people arrange illicit meetings in such a
place?' Mulder wondered rhetorically. He couldn't even sit on
one of those convenient--if hard and uncomfortable-looking--
benches. Because if he did, even the local idiot FBI agents would
be sure to spot him, and they wouldn't approach within hearing
distance. So he was forced to lean against a cold brick building,
stare into space, and wait. And wait. And wait some more.
***********
9:32 a.m.
Kelly's
Meanwhile, unaware that Mulder was amusing himself on the docks
by dreaming up ever more imaginative ways of getting revenge on
Skinner, Scully continued to loiter at Kelly's. Her self-imposed
assignment was simple, if unexciting. All she had to do was plant
herself at the counter, slowly plug away at a huge breakfast, and
make idle conversation with the waitress, Liz, who seemed to be
fixated on her boyfriend's mental state.
Considering that the boyfriend in question had recently returned
from a yearlong incarceration during which his friends and family
had believed him to be dead, Scully understood Liz's concern. But
she had other matters on her mind, and listened with less than
her full attention until 10:18 a.m., when her patience was
rewarded. A woman matching the photos of Agent Scott entered the
diner and conveniently selected a stool two spaces away from her.
Pasting a bright smile on her face, Scully caught the other
woman's eye. "Hello, you must be Hannah Scott. I'm Lisa Douglas,
and my husband Oliver and I are renting the room next to yours."
"Oh." Hannah smiled back. "It's nice to meet you."
"I hear you're in the FBI."
A shadow passed over Hannah's face. "Yes. Yes, I am." She looked
down at her hands, steepling her fingers.
"It must be fascinating work," Scully suggested. The vibes she
got from the other agent indicated that if she kept gently
pushing, she might make a breakthrough.
Hannah hesitated, then appeared to come to a decision. "Yes, the
FBI is wonderful. If you don't mind how it tears away your loved
ones and ruins your life!"
Scully didn't have to fake her surprised expression. She could
hardly believe that her target was opening up so quickly to a
stranger. "Tell me more," she pressed cautiously.
And Hannah proceeded to do so.
***********
10:55 a.m.
the docks
Emerging from a fantasy in which he blackmailed Skinner into
giving him a corner office with a sauna and a minibar, Mulder
decided to check out the bank of newspaper vending machines a few
blocks away. He sprinted over and eyed the selection: "The Port
Charles Herald," "USA Today," "The New York Times," and a tabloid
entitled "The Sun, Special Edition: Secrets of Port Charles!" The
latter looked like his kind of paper. Fumbling in his pocket for
the appropriate change, Mulder shoved the coins into the slot,
retrieved his copy, and returned to the deserted brick building.
He scanned the docks for signs of the still-absent Larkin, then
turned his attention to the newspaper. The lead headline screamed:
"Mysteries of the Undead!" "People who were believed to be dead,
but who were really alive," the subtitle helpfully explained. A
collage of photos displayed the faces of dozens of local resi-
dents, with the accompanying article expanding on the identities
of those pictured, and the circumstances behind their presumed
deaths.
Intrigued, Mulder flipped to the next page: a piece entitled
"Casey From Outer Space." The text read, "In 1990, Casey, an
alien fom the planet Lumina, arrived in Port Charles in search
of three mysterious crystals that would enable him to return
home. With the help of young Robin Scorpio, Casey began to
collect the crystals. The interference of master villain Cesar
Faison nearly ruined the mission, but Casey eventually succeeded
and beamed home. Shortly thereafter, a reporter named Shep Casey--
who bore a stunning resemblance to Casey the alien--began to air
on local television. He soon vanished with no explanation."
Moving on, Mulder found himself gazing at lists of local
residents who had recovered from ailments such as blindness,
deafness, and paralysis. The columns went on and on, with some
people's names appearing on more than one. Momentarily forgetting
why he was on the docks and how much he hated stakeouts, Mulder
continued to read.
***********
11:48 a.m.
Kelly's
"...and then they hauled my father off to prison," Hannah droned
on. "It's so unfair. I mean, sure, he did try to kill that man,
but that was 20 years ago. He's paid his dues. What more do they
want from him?"
Heroically quelling the urge to pointedly stare at her watch,
Scully instead inquired, "If you hate the FBI so much, why don't
you quit?"
"Ha!" Hannah scoffed. "I tried to, and Agent Larkin wouldn't
accept my resignation."
Which news, in Scully's mind, practically sealed the conviction
that Larkin was crooked. Thankfully, her cell phone rang before
she had to think of a polite reply. She turned away from Hannah
to answer it. "Scu--Lisa."
"It's me." Mulder, naturally. "All's quiet on the docks, but do me
a favor, buy a copy of 'The Sun' and read it before we meet up
again."
"'The Sun'?" she said. Beside her, Hannah burst into tears.
"Look, M--" She stopped herself and tried again. "Oliver, I'll
see you later, okay?" She hung up and turned back to Hannah,
bracing herself to listen to more whining.
***********
1:01 p.m.
the docks
In the middle of reading an article about a dragon bone that
served as key to an ancient civilization, Mulder heard his cell
phone ring. "Yeah," he answered, avoiding the use of both his
real name and his alias.
"You can drop the stakeout," Scully informed him. "According to
Agent Scott, Agent Larkin just left town unexpectedly and could
be gone for a while. Anyway, she told me enough about his
behavior to raise serious concerns. Crazy as it might sound, I
think we already have what we need to satisfy Skinner."
"I'm on my way." Mulder disconnected and headed toward Kelly's.
***********
1:25 p.m.
Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room
Mulder shoved open the door to find Scully sitting at the table,
typing notes into her laptop. He shrugged out of his damp trench-
coat, slung it over the back of a wooden chair, and demanded,
"Okay, how did you get the information from Agent Scott that
quickly? Did you pull out the thumbscrews right away?"
"Nothing that dire," Scully calmly replied, saving her work and
turning toward him. "The woman is a walking basket case. Judging
from her behavior toward me, she'll tell anyone who asks that
she's sorry for her betrayal of Sonny Corinthos. If she had
started crying one more time, I was ready to slap her."
"So, she's still in love with him?"
"Apparently, although she's now dating both a police detective
and the town drunk. But enough about her. The good news is that
we can head home on the next flight. Either Skinner will be
impressed that we did such quick work, or he'll wish it had taken
longer so we'd be out of his hair. But either way, we're done."
"Wait a minute, Scully. Didn't you read 'The Sun' like I asked?"
She looked at him expressionlessly. "Yes, I looked at it while I
was waiting for you to get back."
"And what did you think?" Mulder asked eagerly.
"I think you made me read a tabloid full of innuendo, rumors,
half-truths, and out-and-out lies," she stated flatly. "Come on,
Mulder, an alien from the planet Lumina? A woman who held
conversations with her husband's portrait while he was presumed
dead and living in the Bahamas as an amnesiac? A giant weather
machine capable of freezing the world? You didn't really expect
me to believe any of that nonsense, did you?"
Incredulous, Mulder waved his copy of the paper. "But what about
all of these other incidents? The interrupted weddings? The
multiple abductions? The evil twins and lookalikes? Look at the
'Psychopaths' page. Look at what some of these people have lived
through. It doesn't get any better than this. We can't just drop
it and leave."
Scully shook her head in annoyance. "Mulder, just because a few
odd things have happened here over the years, that's no reason
for you to jump to conclusions. We were assigned to investigate
Agents Scott and Larkin, not to go off on some wild-goose chase
that will get us in even more trouble than usual. How can you
take a tabloid so seriously? It's like believing the stories in
'The National Enquirer.' Someone's always suing that rag."
Mulder faced her down stubbornly. "Port Charles could hold the
keys to the answers I've been searching for for years. I can't
turn away and forget what I've read. I need to learn more."
Scully sighed. "When do you think you'll have time for this
supposed research? Our assignment is over. We've accumulated more
than enough information to close it. Mission accomplished."
"I thought that we could delay reporting to Skinner for another
day or so," Mulder proposed. "He'll never know the difference. We
can hang around, investigate a little, see what we can find out.
You know I'll never be satisfied until I can check out some of
this stuff."
"No," she declared. "We're done. We're out of here. I'm calling
right now for flight reservations." She reached for the phone.
Temporarily defeated, Mulder could only watch and listen as
Scully conducted her conversation. But he regained hope when she
slammed down the phone.
"The soonest flight home is early tomorrow evening," she reported
in frustration. "We could drive back, but I'd rather avoid a long
car ride. Tomorrow, it is."
"Look at all the spare time we have," Mulder hinted, watching Scully
closely for any signs of softening.
"What do you mean, 'we'?" she said. "I'll be writing the report for
Skinner, as usual. And I can guess what you'll be up to. Well, go
ahead. Check out this crazy tabloid's stories, if it will keep you
busy for a little while. Just don't involve me."
Barely registering Scully's words beyond the "go ahead" part,
Mulder was already dialing the Lone Gunmen's phone number. They
owed him a favor, and he intended to make them repay it by doing
some research for him. He'd secure Scully's participation as soon
as he had more evidence.
***********
5:50 p.m.
Kelly's
The remainder of the afternoon passed with Scully clicking away
on her keyboard and Mulder on the phone in a series of conversa-
tions with the Lone Gunmen. Scully had just finished the report
for Skinner when Mulder caught her attention. "The bad news is
that the guys couldn't confirm the Casey the alien story. There
are rumors about his existence, but nothing concrete. The world-
freezing weather machine, though, is another matter. There is
documentation on that one. As for the presumed deaths and
medical ailments, Langly hacked into the General Hospital
computer records and found plenty that backs up 'The Sun's'
stories. Ready to admit I'm right, Scully?"
"This easily?" She laughed. "I don't think so. All you've shown
me is that a few unusual events have occurred in this town."
Mulder gave her a long look and shook his head. "Port Charles is
obviously one huge X-File. And you need more proof?" Rising, he
continued, "Okay, fine, I'm going to the library to research back
issues of the local newspaper. Maybe if you read some of these
stories in a 'legitimate' source, you'll be more inclined to
believe."
He pulled on his still-damp coat and crossed to the door, looking
at her one last time as if expecting her to change her mind and
accompany him. But she steadfastly ignored him, reasoning that
one of them had to be sensible and give the tabloid the amount of
attention it deserved: none. Because Mulder's theory was way
off...wasn't it?
END 1/2
X-Hospital (2/2)
***********
Thursday
8:23 a.m.
streets of Port Charles
They'd breakfasted at Kelly's but failed to encounter Hannah,
which was fine with Scully and didn't bother Mulder too much.
Rather than confront his partner last night after his trip to the
library, he'd opted to wait until morning, when she'd presumably
be in a more receptive mood. But he wasn't sure he'd calculated
correctly. When he'd led her out the door, she'd looked like she
was on the verge of turning on her heel and stalking back inside.
But for whatever reason, she'd instead obediently trailed him
down the street, stopped when he stopped, and stood gazing
expectantly at him.
Apparently, she felt like she'd given him more than enough time
to speak, because she prompted, "What now, Mulder?" in a tone
that implied, 'Why did you drag me out here at 8:23 a.m. when I'd
much rather be sleeping in?'
He gestured around, grateful that unlike yesterday, today had
dawned clear and warm. "Examine the streets and sidewalks
carefully. What do you see?"
She surveyed the area. "Pavement. People. Cars, trucks, minivans.
Litter--bits of paper, candy wrappers, soda cans. Nothing else.
What am I supposed to notice?"
"Nothing," he repeated. "That's precisely it. There's not a
Morley butt in sight. Isn't that a thought-provoking, if welcome,
change?"
"I've also noticed that nearly everyone is thin," Scully pointed
out. "Maybe the townspeople are just extremely health-conscious."
"The answer to that is an emphatic *no*. Although rarely stricken
with the flu or the common cold, an abnormal number of Port
Charles residents become drug addicts or alcoholics, and there's
a pretty high incidence of mysterious ailments unknown to the
rest of the world." He thought back to their arrival in town.
"And correct me if I'm wrong, but Port Charles is a small city
neither of us had ever heard of before. Yet it has an incredibly
busy airport with numerous international flights to places such
as Venice, Cairo, and Barcelona. You have to admit it; you saw
the flight boards, too. And how do you explain some of these
other things, like the many, many, many people who have been
falsely presumed dead?"
"I'm thinking you fit right in around here. You've been presumed
dead a time or two yourself over the years." She shrugged.
"Okay, I give up. How do *you* explain it?"
"Maybe vampirism, like that one case in Texas where we met the
buck-toothed sheriff? Anyway, that's the best theory I've come
up with so far."
"Oh, give me a break," Scully groaned. "First, Sheriff Hartwell
did not have buck teeth. Second, I don't for a minute think there
are any vampires within flying distance of here."
"Fine, you come up with a better theory," Mulder challenged. "It
would really help if you pitched in and gave me your opinion, you
know."
"I can give you my opinion right now," she offered.
He shook his head. "No, thanks. You have to put in some effort
first."
"What sort of effort?" she asked suspiciously.
He held up a piece of paper with two long, neatly penciled lists,
and indicated the left-hand column. "See this tally of local
abductees?" Gesturing to the other, longer column, he continued,
"And this one of presumed deaths, in which the subjects turned
out to be alive? I suspect that these people were all victims of
alien abductions. After all, we know that an alien landed here at
one point."
"No, we do *not*--" she began.
"Just go with me here," he interrupted. "I want you to examine
some of these people's medical records. I believe you'll find
evidence even you can't refute."
"That would be a blatant invasion of privacy, almost certainly a
waste of time, and not quite how I want to spend my day," Scully
replied. "The only way I'll do it is if I'm able to access the
original hospital files without my authority being questioned by
medical personnel."
Mulder hesitated. Scully seemed secure in the knowledge that no
reputable medical facility would allow just anyone to saunter in
and view confidential papers. What were the odds that the local
hospital was any different? Still, he didn't have much choice
except to trust that it was.
"Go to General Hospital," he advised his partner with as much
confidence as he could muster. "There are other hospitals in
town, but according to Langly, anyone who's anyone goes to that
one for treatment."
"I won't be there long," she warned. "And I might well have to
show my badge if security is called in. But at this point, it
probably doesn't matter if our covers are blown. Not that I'm
about to begin advertising our true identities. For as long as
possible, I'm still Lisa and you're Oliver, at least in public."
"Whatever," Mulder agreed. "I think you'll be at the hospital a
lot longer than you expect. Call me when you're done."
"Great," Scully sighed. "While I'm there, what will you be up
to?"
"Oh, I'm sure I can find plenty to keep myself occupied,"
Mulder responded vaguely.
And on that note, they parted ways for what turned out to be
several hours.
***********
2:42 p.m.
General Hospital
Shaking her head in dismay, Scully refiled Bobbie Spencer Brock
Meyer Jones Cassadine's folder and exited the records room. It
had taken her three trips, arms loaded to overflowing, to collect
the material relating to all of the victims on Mulder's list and
cart it to a nearby waiting room for closer study, yet not one
person had given her a second look.
Even worse, the information in the folders, while not quite what
Mulder had anticipated, was still damning. Scully knew what she
had to do. She walked down the hall in search of the nearest
pay phone, but was distracted by the sight of a man conducting a
conversation on his cell phone right outside a patient's room.
"Excuse me," Scully broke in. "You aren't supposed to use cell
phones inside a hospital. They can interfere with medical equip-
ment."
The man looked down his nose at her. "I am Stefan Cassadine, I
own this business, and I always speak on my cell phone." He
turned his back to her and resumed his conversation.
Glancing around for security, Scully spotted three more people
also on their cell phones and dismissed the idea of reporting
them. Patient safety and privacy evidently were not high on the
priority list at General Hospital. But she wasn't about to
unnecessarily risk lives herself. She located a pay phone around
the corner, cancelled her and Mulder's flight reservations for
that evening, and headed for the elevators. She was twenty yards
away when she heard a moan nearby. Then another, and another. It
sounded like someone was in pain. Following the noises to their
source, Scully found a twenty-something blonde woman curled in
a waiting-room chair, tossing in her sleep. Before Scully could
decide whether to wake her or to move away, the woman jolted
awake and opened her eyes.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you," Scully apologized.
"No, it's for the best." The woman pushed herself into a sitting
position and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I was having
another psychic dream, and they're very intense."
"Psychic dream?" Scully repeated warily.
The woman nodded. "It's a complicated story. Probably boring to
anyone besides me."
"No, I'm a doctor," Scully said. "Maybe I can help."
"I doubt it, but it would be nice to talk about it. Oh, and my
name is Chloe." The blonde extended her hand.
Shaking it, Scully lied, "I'm Lisa. Now, about those dreams...?"
"Well, it all began earlier this year when I was blinded in a
hit-and-run accident. I regained my sight, but then my doctor
found out that I had a brain tumor, and I started having the
dreams. Like sometimes, I see my accident from the perspective of
the driver who hit me. Weird, huh?"
Not bothering to restrain herself, Scully nodded. Chloe's story
actually sounded worse than weird. "Did you say you were blind?"
she questioned.
"Temporarily," Chloe confirmed. "But my doctor was great. You
probably know him: Tony Jones."
"I'm new in town," Scully quickly covered.
"You'll like Tony," Chloe assured her. "He understands what I'm
going through, because *he* used to be blind and have a brain
tumor. He didn't have dreams like mine, of course, but I guess he
kind of made up for that when he went crazy a couple of years ago."
"Crazy?" Scully said. "You don't mean...?"
Chloe smiled. "Tony is very strong. He fought his way back from
the edge. Just like Dr. Quartermaine, the Chief of Staff. Many
remarkable people work at General Hospital."
***********
3:48 p.m.
Port Charles Grille
Mulder's cell phone rang at an opportune moment. Though he had
spent the morning and early afternoon roaming the streets and
soaking in the atmosphere of Port Charles, he'd ended up at the
bar of the popular local restaurant. He had proceeded to ask the
other patrons whether they had ever seen any aliens or strange
lights in the sky (reasoning that Casey from Lumina must have
made more than one appearance), but the answers were all nega-
tive. And for some time, he'd found himself on the receiving end
of suspicious looks from the bartender, despite the fact that he
had only been drinking mineral water.
"Hello," he answered the phone under the bartender's watchful
eye.
"Mulder, it's me," came Scully's voice, "and I'm warning you, at
all costs, avoid landing in the hospital. I don't trust the
doctors there to treat a hangnail. The chief of staff is a
recovering drug addict who tried to murder his wife on more than
one occasion. Another doctor went temporarily insane and kid-
napped a baby. And three years ago, a resident performed brain
surgery with a power drill while being held hostage by a serial
killer. More recently, he completed an unauthorized bone-marrow
transplant on a boy who was once thought to be his son, but who
was really his brother's child. And he's still on staff. So watch
your step. By the way, I cancelled our flight reservations."
"Okay," he replied slowly. "Can I assume that you found out
something about the alien abductions?"
"I'll meet you back at Kelly's to talk about it." Scully hung up,
and Mulder exited the Grille, no doubt to the bartender's relief.
***********
4:25 p.m.
Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room
"You didn't find any evidence of alien involvement in even one of
the abductions?" Mulder asked, disappointment clear in his voice.
"No evidence," Scully confirmed. "I compared pre- and post-
disappearance medical records, and found none of what you claim
are the classic indicators of alien abduction." Seeing Mulder's
crestfallen look, she hurried on. "But you'll be interested to
hear that I uncovered many, many other irregularities. For
instance, say someone's blinded. No problem. Before they get
around to learning Braille, they miraculously regain their sight.
Paralyzed? They're up and walking again within the year without
so much as a limp to remind them of their ordeal. It's happened
too many times to be pure coincidence. And before you ask, no,
no one in town purports to be a miracle healer."
"You *were* busy today," Mulder said in admiration.
"I'm not done," Scully replied. "I haven't filled you in on the
woman who's been experiencing strange nightmares that she
attributes to her brain tumor. She's the one who told me about
the doctors. She's being treated by one of them, and she claims
he's a wonderful person who just went a little around the bend
because his girlfriend, who was his ex-wife's daughter whom she
gave up for adoption at birth and reunited with as an adult,
cheated on him. Interestingly, the girlfriend is the only one of
the bunch who spent time in a psychiatric facility. I still
haven't quite figured out how she got out. And guess what? She's
also Sonny Corinthos' fiancee, and Roy DiLucca's girlfriend's
daughter. I can't begin to explain what's wrong with this town,
but something definitely is."
There was a moment of silence as Mulder digested that informa-
tion. "I have a few things to add," he eventually offered.
"Nothing quite as spectacular as your discoveries, but
intriguing nonetheless. For instance: These people do not own
normal pets. No cats, no parrots, no hamsters, no ferrets, no
goldfish."
"I've seen three dogs and a duck," Scully countered.
"I repeat, *normal* pets. That duck once took the witness stand
during a murder trial." Off of her skeptical look, he protested,
"Hey, I can show you the transcripts as proof. I found out a
*lot* at the library last night."
"Oh, I believe you," Scully relented. "I can't argue with the
material I uncovered. Port Charles is one big statistical
anomaly."
"Better than that," Mulder said assuredly. "For a small town,
it boasts an unnaturally high number of international movers and
shakers: the Quartermaine family, the Cassadines, and one Jasper
Jacks, whose attempt at getting married a few years back was
ruined by his not-so-dead first wife. Add to that the fact that
the local divorce rate tops off at approximately 96%, most adults
over age 30 have given birth to a child they either forgot about
or kept secret, and a mobster is regarded as public citizen
number one, and it seems like the townspeople are all suffering
from a form of mass insanity. Scully, I'd like your medical
opinion. What could possibly be afflicting them?"
"Excellent question." She settled back in her chair and started
reeling off her observations. "We know that newcomers are not
immediately impacted, since we're still okay. It's only after
people have lived here for an extended amount of time that they
are affected. If they move away, they usually recover and go on
to lead normal lives. The problems don't extend to nearby
Buffalo, or we would have heard about it long ago. So I have to
conclude that either the local water or air supply is contami-
nated."
"Scully, keeping your mind open to all possibilities, you have to
admit that the air or the water might not be the source of the
problems."
"True," she agreed. "So?"
"So... we need to look into other explanations. If we can find
someone who knows the town well, they might be able to help."
"Like the mayor, or the district attorney? How about the police
commissioner? Surely, he or she has noticed some of the abnor-
malities we've spotted. That sounds like a good place to start."
She headed for the door, but stopped when she didn't hear Mulder
following.
"Um, Scully?" he said.
"Yes?" She turned and looked at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes. A
sick feeling spread through her. "Not him, too," she pleaded.
Withdrawing a folded piece of paper from his pocket, Mulder
handed it to her. "Read it and weep."
Scully smoothed the photocopied sheet and read the opening lines
aloud: "'Commissioner Malcolm 'Mac' Scorpio, a former mercenary
who turned over a new leaf, has gone from blowing up bridges and
sabotaging ships to making Port Charles a safer place to live.
Along the way, he has overcome major misfortunes, including a
1997 kidnapping in which his life was taken over by an evil
lookalike.'" She folded the paper and returned it to Mulder.
"Somehow, I don't think the commissioner is going to be of much
help."
"His wife is a real piece of work, too," Mulder informed her.
"She's an Aztec princess who's had amnesia twice, had a husband
return from the dead, been falsely convicted of attempted murder
and sentenced to a psychiatric hospital, given birth to one
daughter while under a table in a nightclub, and been kidnapped,
temporarily paralyzed, and stalked by a psychopath and his
identical twin brother. I don't think I left anything out."
"If you did, I'd hate to imagine what." She thought briefly.
"All right, obviously the commissioner's appointment is somewhat
suspect. But there must be some competent detectives or officers
on the force, right?"
Mulder shook his head. "There is a trail stretching way back into
history of people who have gone up against the Port Charles
Police Department and come out the worse for it. Their top
detective--who, incidentally, has been dating Agent Scott--is
most noted for regularly overstepping his authority and nearly
being charged with harassment every few months. Actually, the
entire force seems pretty inept. They have an especially
bad track record when it comes to murder investigations. You can
just about bank on the fact that the first suspect they arrest
will be innocent. And in a shining moment not so long ago, they
attempted to prosecute a case in which the 'victim' was still
alive."
Scully groaned. "Mulder, I think we need to talk to that person
and get a statement. Because frankly, what you say is scaring me.
Badly."
"Unfortunately, we can't talk to her. Katherine Bell was murdered
last year."
Confused, Scully questioned, "But I thought you said she wasn't
really dead?"
"She wasn't, the first time," Mulder clarified. "She was pushed
off a parapet in both 1998 and 1999. In 1998, she didn't die. In
1999, she did."
Scully held up a hand. "Enough. Why don't we move on? Is there
anyone in town who experienced some of the crazier events?
Particularly the alien from Lumina, or the dragon bone."
"Not surprisingly, the principals involved are pretty much all
dead, or certifiably insane. Either that, or they've left town."
"Well, if I ever lived in a place where a substantial portion of
the residents had come back from the grave, I'd probably want to
move away, too," Scully admitted. "We keep running into dead
ends, don't we? But I think that despite the horror stories
you've uncovered about the police department, we should see if
the commissioner can shed any light on this matter."
***********
5:37 p.m.
police station
They made their way to the police station without incident and
approached the receptionist, who was chewing bubble gum and
reading the "Bedside Astrologer" column in "Cosmopolitan" while
the phone at her elbow rang unceasingly.
"Excuse me." Scully waited until the woman looked up. "We'd like
to see Commissioner Scorpio."
"Sorry, he's not in."
"Do you know when he will be?" Scully asked.
The receptionist blew a large bubble before responding. "It's
hard to say. He's in and out all the time. If he's not running
off to argue with his wife about the well-being of her children,
he's fighting with the FBI over who has jurisdiction in the
latest arrests. Just now, he went to tell off his wife's new
boyfriend."
"Who's in charge when he's not around? Does this place just
run itself?" Scully wondered.
The receptionist shrugged. "Yeah, more or less."
Mulder opened his mouth, but Scully jumped in before he could
say anything. "Thank you for your help," she told the reception-
ist, who promptly returned to her horoscope as Scully ushered
her partner out of the station.
"That's it," Mulder declared. "I get to choose our next stop.
Come on, Scully." He started down the street.
She hurried to catch up. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," he replied mysteriously.
***********
6:08 p.m.
Luke's Nightclub
They entered the dimly lit building, which was about three-
quarters full, as jazz music and chattering voices assaulted
their ears. Pausing inside the doorway, Scully asked, "Why are we
here?"
"We are conducting research," Mulder informed her. "This happens
to be a very important place. This is Luke's Nightclub."
He knew the exact moment the full impact of his statement struck
her, because her eyes widened slightly. "This is *the* nightclub,
isn't it?"
"The club where Felicia Jones gave birth under a table? Yes," he
confirmed. "There was also a nasty shootout here in December of
1997. All in all, this isn't the safest place to be. But then,
where in Port Charles *is*?" He spotted a vacant booth against the
far wall. "Why don't we sit down?"
Taking their seats, they checked out the scene. Almost immedi-
ately, Mulder spotted a familiar-looking group standing near a
stage: an older woman with red hair, a thin man with a goatee, a
blonde woman, a fair-haired teenage boy, and a dark-haired little
girl. "See there?" He pointed for Scully's benefit. "Those are
the Spencers. They had their own section in 'The Sun,' complete
with color photos. Every member of that family has at one time
or another been presumed dead, except for the daughter. But she's
only five; her time will come."
As they watched, the man mounted the stage, followed by several
musicians and a Hispanic boy of about 16. Spencer adjusted the
microphone and addressed the crowd, calling, "Hi, everyone!"
A chorus of "Hey, Luke!" and "Hi, yourself!" greeted him.
Spencer continued, "We have a special treat for you tonight. Now,
I know this is a blues club, but even though his music doesn't
fall under that umbrella, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to
promote one of Port Charles' own: Juan Santiago, accompanied by
The Idle Rich! Juan is performing his signature song, 'We Got The
Night.'"
Spencer exited the stage, the crowd quieted, the music began, the
singer warbled the opening lines, and Mulder and Scully winced in
unison.
They listened to several bars before more or less recovering. Then,
shuddering, Mulder glanced at his partner, whose jaw had dropped.
"I haven't heard singing this bad since you did 'Joy to the
World' in Florida," he shouted, straining to be heard above the
cacophony.
Seemingly not offended by his opinion of her vocal talents,
Scully yelled back, "It's a good thing the locals support him,
because I don't think anyone outside of this town would!"
The occupants of the neighboring booth then waved at them to be
quiet, and Mulder and Scully were forced to sit in miserable
noncommunication for the duration of the seemingly interminable
number. At the conclusion, the audience--with two notable excep-
tions--burst into frenzied applause. Juan and his back-up left
the stage, and the sounds of soft jazz and mingled conversation
quickly filled the room.
"Somebody better tell that kid to get a day job," Mulder mused.
Grimacing, Scully was about to reply when her cell phone rang.
"Hello," she answered. "Yes, sir... Of course not. That's just
the radio... Yes, we have... Tomorrow?... Yes. Goodbye, sir."
Ending the conversation, she addressed Mulder. "That was Skinner.
He heard the background noise and wanted to know if I was in a
nightclub."
"What did you tell him?"
"No, obviously. It's bad enough that we haven't reported in to
him yet. If he knew what we were really doing, he would have even
more reason to be pissed. Anyway, we need to be back in D.C. by
tomorrow afternoon. Skinner has a new X-File for us, and it must
be something good if he's willing to call after 6 p.m. to order
us home."
"Why don't you go alone?" Mulder suggested. "Our work here is far
from done, and one of us needs to keep at it. Besides, Skinner
doesn't really need to see me. You can tell him everything you
learned from Agent Scott."
Scully laid a hand on his arm and looked at him seriously. "You
have to go back, Mulder. You've been in so much trouble over the
years, disobeying another direct order could be the last straw.
You could finally be fired. And then what would you do?"
"No problem," he said dismissively. "I know where I can find a
high-ranking job with flexible part-time hours, no references
needed, no questions asked. How does 'Commissioner Mulder' sound
to you, Scully?"
"Not very good, unless I get to be 'Mayor Scully'," she objected.
"After everything we've been through, thre's no way I'm letting
our partnership split up. If you stay here, so do I, and I'm not
exactly looking forward to the prospect. Be honest: Aren't you at
all worried that you would be bored by small-town life?"
"Not really. This place has a higher murder rate per capita than
Washington, D.C. does, and it seems to be a magnet for the
paranormal. How can I resist?"
"Look, I'll take some air and water samples home so we can run
them through the labs," Scully bargained. "They'll probably prove
that some chemical substance is afflicting the residents and
causing their unnatural behavior. Then you'll have a logical
explanation. And aren't you curious to hear about the new case?"
After some consideration, Mulder reluctantly nodded. "Okay, I'll
go back. For now."
***********
Friday
3:15 p.m.
outside Skinner's office
Skinner's secretary was away from her desk, and he was making
them wait. All in all, the signs were inauspicious. Scully
glanced at her watch, sighed, and settled in for the delay.
Before she could get too comfortable, her cell phone trilled.
"Scully," she answered. "Yes, that's right... And?... Nothing?
Are you sure?... No... All right. Thank you." She ended the call
and turned to Mulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder. The lab did a rush on
the air and water samples, but didn't find anything out of the
ordinary."
"Then how do you account for everything we learned in Port
Charles?" he demanded. "Your logical, scientific explanation was
shot down. Where do we go from here?"
She shrugged helplessly. "We chalk it up as one more unsolved
X-File? I don't know. I really thought the labs would turn up
*something*."
"But--" Mulder said, just as Skinner's office door opened.
"Agents," he called.
They entered and sat facing their boss.
"Before I fill you in on your new assignment, I would like an
overview of your findings in Port Charles," Skinner stated.
"Agent Scully?"
Looking Skinner in the eye, Scully said forcefully, "There was a
time when one actually had to be qualified to join and remain in
the FBI. Has that day truly passed us by? Because Agents Scott
and Larkin appear to be sterling examples of all that is wrong.
The mystery is, why weren't they fired long ago? And when Agent
Scott tried to resign, why didn't they let her?"
Slightly stunned, Skinner turned to Mulder. "Is there anything
you would like to add to Agent Scully's account?"
"No, sir, that about summed it up."
"Well." Skinner exhaled a long breath. "I look forward to reading
your reports, then. As for your new assignment: A videotape has
fallen into my possession that features footage of a supposed
alien and a doll that came to life in a small New England town
called Harmony..."
END 2/2
MORE NOTES: The final line, about the new case, is a reference to
events taking place on another soap opera, "Passions."
I am working on a sequel to this story that should be ready in
August of 2000. It will feature substantial interaction between Mulder
and Scully and the GH characters.
AUTHOR: Kelso
CLASSIFICATION: crossover, humor (X-Files/General Hospital crossover)
RATING: PG (for language)
SPOILERS: small, for XF episodes Sleepless, Detour, Bad Blood,
and Arcadia. (In other words, nothing recent.)
TIMELINE: set late May, 2000. Ignore the events of XF 7th-season
finale Requiem. Takes place *before* Larkin kidnapped Hannah on
GH.
DATE COMPLETED: June 12, 2000
DISTRIBUTE: anywhere. Private e-mail, mailing lists, websites,
etc. Just keep these headers attached.
FEEDBACK: Love it! Send to kelso28@excite.com
DISCLAIMER: XF/characters owned by CC, Ten Thirteen, Fox.
GH/characters owned by ABC/Disney.
SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully look into events in Port Charles, New
York (home of "General Hospital"). Consider it my dream ending
to the Hannah/Larkin FBI storyline on GH.
NOTES: Think this sounds like a strange crossover idea? Maybe so,
but I don't see it as being any stranger than one with Xena,
Seinfeld, or ER, which other people have written. Anyway, if
you're at all interested, give it a try. You can always quit
reading if you don't like it.
X-Hospital (part 1 of 2)
by Kelso
They were being punished. And without doubt, the punishment
exceeded the crime and constituted a far from efficient deploy-
ment of their talents. Because after all, anyone could perform
glorified surveillance work. And not just anyone could investi-
gate shapeshifters, evil dolls, little gray men, and invisible,
fat-sucking, or genderbending killers. Or rather, pretty much
anyone *could* do so, but unless their names were Mulder and
Scully, they were more than likely to do a piss-poor job of it.
So what, precisely, had the agents done to land on Assistant
Director Skinner's shit list yet again? Well, they were trying to
catch a serial killer who was targeting local politicians, and
Skinner decided to check out the latest crime scene with them.
During the drive over, Mulder was unexpectedly struck with a
bizarre theory that Scully thought held some promise. Both agents
believed they should immediately follow up on the idea. However,
Skinner disagreed.
So they'd ditched him.
Their behavior wasn't quite as malicious as it sounded. It wasn't
like they'd stranded their boss in the Gobi Desert with no hope
of rescue for days. No, Skinner had wanted to make a pit stop at
Dunkin' Donuts. As he disappeared inside, Mulder tapped his
fingers on the steering wheel and glanced at Scully. She hesi-
tated, then nodded slightly. That was all it took. When Skinner
emerged from the building seven minutes later, clutching a sack
of chocolate donuts and three plastic cups of coffee, he found a
white Toyota parked where the gray Dodge should have been.
The fact that Mulder's hunch turned out to be right on the money
and they arrested the killer that very afternoon did little to
assuage Skinner's fury at being ditched. Such disobedience could
not be tolerated.
Scully could somewhat sympathize with the AD, considering that
Mulder had ditched *her* often enough. (Her only consolation
was that he didn't single her out for that treatment. He had also
ditched Krycek on their first day as partners.) Still, though she
hated to admit it, the feeling of ditching someone--especially
their superior--was pretty liberating. Until they were summoned
to Skinner's office for their third reprimand in as many weeks.
They knew it was going to be bad when the secretary gave them a
pitying look.
***********
Monday
10:07 a.m.
Skinner's office
They survived the obligatory ass-chewing. Then came the painful
part.
Rubbing his hands together, Skinner began, "First, agents, some
background on your new assignment: On and off over the past
several years, the town of Port Charles, New York, has been the
territory of a mobster named Michael 'Sonny' Corinthos, Jr., who
specializes in money laundering and union control. Last summer,
the Bureau assigned Special Agent Hannah Scott to go undercover
and infiltrate Corinthos' organization in the hopes of finally
bringing him down.
"Unfortunately, serious rumors of misconduct on the part of Agent
Scott have been circulating throughout the Bureau. Soon after
they began living together, Corinthos learned of Agent Scott's
true identity, but kept that knowledge to himself. He reportedly
was able to test her loyalty by feeding her false information
about his illegal activities, which she did not pass on to her
superiors. Also, Agent Scott may have sabotaged a raid on one of
Corinthos' warehouses by warning him of it. Most disturbingly, she
failed to provide any incriminating evidence whatsoever against
this notorious mobster.
"Eventually, Corinthos apparently tired of Agent Scott's presence
and rejected her. Since her double life quickly became common
knowledge, it is considered a minor miracle that she has not yet
been murdered. She remains in Port Charles, working as a liasion
between the Bureau and the local police department.
"This case would be troublesome enough if the possible misconduct
ended with Agent Scott. However,there is a strong possibility
that her contact, Agent John Larkin, has also behaved inappropri-
ately. He may have committed various illegal activities so as to
improve his standing within the Bureau. Most of these acts are
connected to Agent Scott's father: Roy DiLucca. DiLucca had been
working as an FBI informant for the past 20 years, in lieu of
serving a prison sentence for attempted murder. After Agent Scott
failed to bring down Corinthos, DiLucca was assigned to that task.
But within a few weeks, he was sent to prison to serve the
remaining five years of his sentence under the premise that he had
violated the terms of his arrangement with the Bureau.
Supposedly, DiLucca befriended Corinthos rather than fulfill his
duties. On May 1, DiLucca escaped from prison. His whereabouts
remain unknown. That brings us up to the present. When I heard of
this case, I immediately thought of you two."
Scully took the ensuing silence as a cue to speak. "Sir, do you
want us to join the search for this missing man?"
Skinner smiled. "No, Agent Scully, you misunderstood me."
"Then you must want us to bring down Sonny Corinthos," Mulder
guessed. "To succeed where all others have failed."
Slowly, almost hypnotically, Skinner shook his head. "No, agents,
I have something extra-special in mind. You are being sent under-
cover to Port Charles to investigate the alleged improprieties on
the parts of Agents Scott and Larkin." Taking full advantage of
their shocked paralysis, he continued, "I must stress that this
case has not yet progressed to a formal stage, so you may not use
listening devices of any type, including bugs and wires. And your
identities must remain secret. To facilitate your investigation,
you will pose as a married couple just moving to Port Charles. I
advise you to obtain a room at Kelly's, the diner/boarding house
where Agent Scott lives."
"Sir, you can't be serious!" Mulder blurted.
Skinner glared at him. "I assure you, Agent Mulder, I am
perfectly serious. Now, as I was saying..."
***********
10:38 a.m.
Skinner's office
As Mulder and Scully exited, Skinner let out a contented sigh.
They were possibly the most difficult agents in the history of
the FBI, and he had reached the conclusion that he desperately
needed a vacation from them, no matter how slim the pretext.
Therefore, he had set forth to find a case--any case--that would
remove them from his immediate vicinity until at least the end of
the week. Ultimately, he had done better than that. The dismal
assignment he had unearthed was probably worse than any they had
suffered under Kersh's regime, and that was saying a lot. Those
two would think twice before they ditched their AD again.
***********
Tuesday
4:45 p.m.
on the flight to Port Charles
Mulder shifted in his seat and extended his legs an inch further
into the aisle. If he tripped the stewardess, at least the flight
would be enlivened. Only she was nowhere to be seen. He shifted
again, brushing Scully with his elbow. Nose buried in the case
file, she continued to ignore him. He twisted the wedding ring
around his finger and gave in. "Hey, Scully."
She didn't look up. "What, Mulder?"
Undaunted, he proceeded. "I've finally found proof of one of the
things I've been looking for for years."
She looked sideways at him, her interest piqued. "And what would
that be?"
"Skinner hates us. There is no other explanation. It was bad
enough that he ate our donuts. But this...this is the case from
hell."
Scully glanced around to ensure that no one else was within
hearing range. "How would *you* know how hellish this case is?
You've barely glanced at the file." She shook it for emphasis; a
photo of a dark-haired young woman fell onto her lap.
"Okay, who's that?" Mulder asked perfunctorily.
Shoving the photo in front of him, Scully replied, "Oh, just one
of our primary targets: Hannah Scott. You might want to know that
face."
Silence fell. Thick, suffocating silence. Scully replaced the
photo. Mulder twisted his ring again. Scully's eyes fell on it.
"You know, there *is* one bright side to this assignment," she
decided. "I got to pick our aliases this time. And *anything* is
better than Rob and Laura Petrie."
'Oliver and Lisa Douglas. Who knew Scully was a "Green Acres"
fan?' Mulder stifled a groan at the thought of having to answer
to "Oliver" for the foreseeable future. He should have known that
his facetious choice of Rob and Laura Petrie as pseudonyms during
the housing-community case last year would return to haunt him
when it came Scully's turn to choose names. Admittedly, "Oliver"
was better than "Fox," though not by much. Which was probably why
Scully had selected it. But fair was fair. It *was* her turn.
Unable to argue that point, Mulder silently conceded it and
changed the subject.
"Yeah, well, this case still sucks," he grumbled. "Skinner
obviously doesn't believe those rumors are true, and neither does
anyone else. Because if they did, we wouldn't be sent in on some
fact-gathering mission. Instead, Scott and Larkin would have been
questioned straight out, and you know it. We're just stuck with
this garbage because Skinner got fed up, plain and simple. There's
nothing even remotely resembling an X-File in this entire
situation."
"Oh, I don't know about that. I see a bit of a mystery," Scully
replied, consulting her notes.
"Mystery?" Mulder sat up a little straighter.
"Sure. Assuming that these rumors are true--and the way our
luck is running, I am fairly confident they are--how did Hannah
Scott get hired, and why hasn't she been fired? In other words,
who's she been sleeping with? Besides the mobster, that is."
"This case keeps getting better and better," Mulder muttered,
slumping back down.
"I've got an idea," Scully snapped. "Let's wrap up this business
quickly, all right? And try not to piss off Skinner this badly
again for a long, *long* time."
Apparently, his attitude had pissed her off, as well. They again
lapsed into silence, which lasted the remainder of the flight.
***********
6:13 p.m.
Kelly's Diner
"Thanks, Tammy," Scully said to the blonde diner manager who had
escorted Mulder and her to their room.
"No problem," Tammy smiled. "You need anything, let me know." She
retreated down the hall as Mulder closed the door.
"The room is nice," Scully decided, looking around. It was neat,
clean, a little on the small side for someone used to living in
an apartment, but overall, quite acceptable. Muted, tasteful
furnishings dominated, including a double bed, a beige easy
chair, and a small table that was quickly occupied by Scully's
laptop.
Mulder flopped spread-eagled on his back on the bed as Scully
shot him a disapproving look. "So. What now?" He propped his head
on a thick pillow and watched a spider scurry across the ceiling
as he waited for an answer.
"Now?" Scully considered carefully. Mulder's immediate deference
to her was a glaring sign of his disinterest in the case, but she
didn't mind taking the lead. "Now, we should examine these photos
of the major parties so we can be sure to recognize them on
sight. As for tomorrow, I think we can get a good start by
splitting up. I'll befriend Agent Scott and get what I can out of
her, and you can go after Agent Larkin."
"And how do you propose that I do that?"
"For some unknown reason, during Agent Scott's undercover days,
she and Larkin insisted on meeting in plain sight, in broad
daylight, on the docks--the same docks that are the frequent
hangout of the local mob bosses. Naturally, they were spotted
together more than once. In an attempt to protect their secret,
Agent Scott claimed that Larkin was an ex-boyfriend who was
obsessed with her. But when a suspicious party checked into this
story, she easily learned that Scott had lied about Larkin's
identity. Incredibly enough, those two both still seem to favor
the docks as a 'private' meeting place. So you can hang around
there and see if Larkin shows up, who he meets with, and what he
says."
"Sounds thrilling," he yawned.
"Yes, doesn't it?" Scully replied sweetly. "Just keep in mind, we
have to come away with a confession of impropriety on the part of
at least one of them to warrant further investigation. Eavesdrop,
lie about your identity. I don't care, just get what we need so
we can leave here fast."
"Sorry to shoot a hole in your little theory," Mulder said, not
sounding even a bit sorry, "but what if they're both innocent?
Then there's no way we'll be able to get anything on them, and we
could be stuck for weeks, looking for evidence that doesn't
exist."
Scully frowned. "Thanks for pointing that out, Mulder. You just
bring sunshine into my life every day."
"Thanks. I try my best. Now, how about we forget the case for a
while and watch the Godzilla marathon on TV?"
***********
Wednesday
8:22 a.m.
Kelly's
Determined to get off to a good start on their first full day in
Port Charles, Scully went downstairs to the diner area
first and waited impatiently for Mulder to drag himself down. The
previous night had been a minor disaster as far as work was
concerned. Mulder had settled down to watch "Godzilla vs.
Megalon" and had ended up making paper airplanes out of the case
notes. She could only hope he put in more of an effort today.
Twenty minutes later, he made his appearance to find Scully
seated at a counter stool. The waitress, a teenage girl with
curly brown hair, gave Mulder an odd look as he took the seat
beside Scully. Meeting his eyes, she blushed and returned to
work. "What did you tell that girl about me?" he whispered to
his partner.
"Oh," she answered matter-of-factly, "we needed a good cover
story to explain why we seem able to run about at will with
nothing to do other than to take occasional notes. So I let it
slip that I'm a doctor who has a week off until I start work at
the hospital, and you're a lazy, good-for-nothing pig who can't
hold down a job."
"There goes my reputation," he complained.
"If all goes well, we won't be here long enough for it to matter.
But there's been a slight hitch in today's plan. Hannah must have
been up at the crack of dawn, because the waitress told me that
she ate and left more than an hour ago. So I get to wait here for
her to come back. And you'd better go to the docks to try to find
Larkin."
"Don't I even get to eat breakfast first?" he protested.
"Grab some toast," she retorted unfeelingly. "The sooner you get
out there, the better your chances of finding Larkin and
eavesdropping on an incriminating conversation, *Oliver*."
Muttering under his breath, Mulder headed out the door as Scully
resigned herself to a potentially long wait.
***********
9:32 a.m.
the docks
God, it was unpleasant on the docks: overcast and windy. 'Why the
*hell* do these people arrange illicit meetings in such a
place?' Mulder wondered rhetorically. He couldn't even sit on
one of those convenient--if hard and uncomfortable-looking--
benches. Because if he did, even the local idiot FBI agents would
be sure to spot him, and they wouldn't approach within hearing
distance. So he was forced to lean against a cold brick building,
stare into space, and wait. And wait. And wait some more.
***********
9:32 a.m.
Kelly's
Meanwhile, unaware that Mulder was amusing himself on the docks
by dreaming up ever more imaginative ways of getting revenge on
Skinner, Scully continued to loiter at Kelly's. Her self-imposed
assignment was simple, if unexciting. All she had to do was plant
herself at the counter, slowly plug away at a huge breakfast, and
make idle conversation with the waitress, Liz, who seemed to be
fixated on her boyfriend's mental state.
Considering that the boyfriend in question had recently returned
from a yearlong incarceration during which his friends and family
had believed him to be dead, Scully understood Liz's concern. But
she had other matters on her mind, and listened with less than
her full attention until 10:18 a.m., when her patience was
rewarded. A woman matching the photos of Agent Scott entered the
diner and conveniently selected a stool two spaces away from her.
Pasting a bright smile on her face, Scully caught the other
woman's eye. "Hello, you must be Hannah Scott. I'm Lisa Douglas,
and my husband Oliver and I are renting the room next to yours."
"Oh." Hannah smiled back. "It's nice to meet you."
"I hear you're in the FBI."
A shadow passed over Hannah's face. "Yes. Yes, I am." She looked
down at her hands, steepling her fingers.
"It must be fascinating work," Scully suggested. The vibes she
got from the other agent indicated that if she kept gently
pushing, she might make a breakthrough.
Hannah hesitated, then appeared to come to a decision. "Yes, the
FBI is wonderful. If you don't mind how it tears away your loved
ones and ruins your life!"
Scully didn't have to fake her surprised expression. She could
hardly believe that her target was opening up so quickly to a
stranger. "Tell me more," she pressed cautiously.
And Hannah proceeded to do so.
***********
10:55 a.m.
the docks
Emerging from a fantasy in which he blackmailed Skinner into
giving him a corner office with a sauna and a minibar, Mulder
decided to check out the bank of newspaper vending machines a few
blocks away. He sprinted over and eyed the selection: "The Port
Charles Herald," "USA Today," "The New York Times," and a tabloid
entitled "The Sun, Special Edition: Secrets of Port Charles!" The
latter looked like his kind of paper. Fumbling in his pocket for
the appropriate change, Mulder shoved the coins into the slot,
retrieved his copy, and returned to the deserted brick building.
He scanned the docks for signs of the still-absent Larkin, then
turned his attention to the newspaper. The lead headline screamed:
"Mysteries of the Undead!" "People who were believed to be dead,
but who were really alive," the subtitle helpfully explained. A
collage of photos displayed the faces of dozens of local resi-
dents, with the accompanying article expanding on the identities
of those pictured, and the circumstances behind their presumed
deaths.
Intrigued, Mulder flipped to the next page: a piece entitled
"Casey From Outer Space." The text read, "In 1990, Casey, an
alien fom the planet Lumina, arrived in Port Charles in search
of three mysterious crystals that would enable him to return
home. With the help of young Robin Scorpio, Casey began to
collect the crystals. The interference of master villain Cesar
Faison nearly ruined the mission, but Casey eventually succeeded
and beamed home. Shortly thereafter, a reporter named Shep Casey--
who bore a stunning resemblance to Casey the alien--began to air
on local television. He soon vanished with no explanation."
Moving on, Mulder found himself gazing at lists of local
residents who had recovered from ailments such as blindness,
deafness, and paralysis. The columns went on and on, with some
people's names appearing on more than one. Momentarily forgetting
why he was on the docks and how much he hated stakeouts, Mulder
continued to read.
***********
11:48 a.m.
Kelly's
"...and then they hauled my father off to prison," Hannah droned
on. "It's so unfair. I mean, sure, he did try to kill that man,
but that was 20 years ago. He's paid his dues. What more do they
want from him?"
Heroically quelling the urge to pointedly stare at her watch,
Scully instead inquired, "If you hate the FBI so much, why don't
you quit?"
"Ha!" Hannah scoffed. "I tried to, and Agent Larkin wouldn't
accept my resignation."
Which news, in Scully's mind, practically sealed the conviction
that Larkin was crooked. Thankfully, her cell phone rang before
she had to think of a polite reply. She turned away from Hannah
to answer it. "Scu--Lisa."
"It's me." Mulder, naturally. "All's quiet on the docks, but do me
a favor, buy a copy of 'The Sun' and read it before we meet up
again."
"'The Sun'?" she said. Beside her, Hannah burst into tears.
"Look, M--" She stopped herself and tried again. "Oliver, I'll
see you later, okay?" She hung up and turned back to Hannah,
bracing herself to listen to more whining.
***********
1:01 p.m.
the docks
In the middle of reading an article about a dragon bone that
served as key to an ancient civilization, Mulder heard his cell
phone ring. "Yeah," he answered, avoiding the use of both his
real name and his alias.
"You can drop the stakeout," Scully informed him. "According to
Agent Scott, Agent Larkin just left town unexpectedly and could
be gone for a while. Anyway, she told me enough about his
behavior to raise serious concerns. Crazy as it might sound, I
think we already have what we need to satisfy Skinner."
"I'm on my way." Mulder disconnected and headed toward Kelly's.
***********
1:25 p.m.
Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room
Mulder shoved open the door to find Scully sitting at the table,
typing notes into her laptop. He shrugged out of his damp trench-
coat, slung it over the back of a wooden chair, and demanded,
"Okay, how did you get the information from Agent Scott that
quickly? Did you pull out the thumbscrews right away?"
"Nothing that dire," Scully calmly replied, saving her work and
turning toward him. "The woman is a walking basket case. Judging
from her behavior toward me, she'll tell anyone who asks that
she's sorry for her betrayal of Sonny Corinthos. If she had
started crying one more time, I was ready to slap her."
"So, she's still in love with him?"
"Apparently, although she's now dating both a police detective
and the town drunk. But enough about her. The good news is that
we can head home on the next flight. Either Skinner will be
impressed that we did such quick work, or he'll wish it had taken
longer so we'd be out of his hair. But either way, we're done."
"Wait a minute, Scully. Didn't you read 'The Sun' like I asked?"
She looked at him expressionlessly. "Yes, I looked at it while I
was waiting for you to get back."
"And what did you think?" Mulder asked eagerly.
"I think you made me read a tabloid full of innuendo, rumors,
half-truths, and out-and-out lies," she stated flatly. "Come on,
Mulder, an alien from the planet Lumina? A woman who held
conversations with her husband's portrait while he was presumed
dead and living in the Bahamas as an amnesiac? A giant weather
machine capable of freezing the world? You didn't really expect
me to believe any of that nonsense, did you?"
Incredulous, Mulder waved his copy of the paper. "But what about
all of these other incidents? The interrupted weddings? The
multiple abductions? The evil twins and lookalikes? Look at the
'Psychopaths' page. Look at what some of these people have lived
through. It doesn't get any better than this. We can't just drop
it and leave."
Scully shook her head in annoyance. "Mulder, just because a few
odd things have happened here over the years, that's no reason
for you to jump to conclusions. We were assigned to investigate
Agents Scott and Larkin, not to go off on some wild-goose chase
that will get us in even more trouble than usual. How can you
take a tabloid so seriously? It's like believing the stories in
'The National Enquirer.' Someone's always suing that rag."
Mulder faced her down stubbornly. "Port Charles could hold the
keys to the answers I've been searching for for years. I can't
turn away and forget what I've read. I need to learn more."
Scully sighed. "When do you think you'll have time for this
supposed research? Our assignment is over. We've accumulated more
than enough information to close it. Mission accomplished."
"I thought that we could delay reporting to Skinner for another
day or so," Mulder proposed. "He'll never know the difference. We
can hang around, investigate a little, see what we can find out.
You know I'll never be satisfied until I can check out some of
this stuff."
"No," she declared. "We're done. We're out of here. I'm calling
right now for flight reservations." She reached for the phone.
Temporarily defeated, Mulder could only watch and listen as
Scully conducted her conversation. But he regained hope when she
slammed down the phone.
"The soonest flight home is early tomorrow evening," she reported
in frustration. "We could drive back, but I'd rather avoid a long
car ride. Tomorrow, it is."
"Look at all the spare time we have," Mulder hinted, watching Scully
closely for any signs of softening.
"What do you mean, 'we'?" she said. "I'll be writing the report for
Skinner, as usual. And I can guess what you'll be up to. Well, go
ahead. Check out this crazy tabloid's stories, if it will keep you
busy for a little while. Just don't involve me."
Barely registering Scully's words beyond the "go ahead" part,
Mulder was already dialing the Lone Gunmen's phone number. They
owed him a favor, and he intended to make them repay it by doing
some research for him. He'd secure Scully's participation as soon
as he had more evidence.
***********
5:50 p.m.
Kelly's
The remainder of the afternoon passed with Scully clicking away
on her keyboard and Mulder on the phone in a series of conversa-
tions with the Lone Gunmen. Scully had just finished the report
for Skinner when Mulder caught her attention. "The bad news is
that the guys couldn't confirm the Casey the alien story. There
are rumors about his existence, but nothing concrete. The world-
freezing weather machine, though, is another matter. There is
documentation on that one. As for the presumed deaths and
medical ailments, Langly hacked into the General Hospital
computer records and found plenty that backs up 'The Sun's'
stories. Ready to admit I'm right, Scully?"
"This easily?" She laughed. "I don't think so. All you've shown
me is that a few unusual events have occurred in this town."
Mulder gave her a long look and shook his head. "Port Charles is
obviously one huge X-File. And you need more proof?" Rising, he
continued, "Okay, fine, I'm going to the library to research back
issues of the local newspaper. Maybe if you read some of these
stories in a 'legitimate' source, you'll be more inclined to
believe."
He pulled on his still-damp coat and crossed to the door, looking
at her one last time as if expecting her to change her mind and
accompany him. But she steadfastly ignored him, reasoning that
one of them had to be sensible and give the tabloid the amount of
attention it deserved: none. Because Mulder's theory was way
off...wasn't it?
END 1/2
X-Hospital (2/2)
***********
Thursday
8:23 a.m.
streets of Port Charles
They'd breakfasted at Kelly's but failed to encounter Hannah,
which was fine with Scully and didn't bother Mulder too much.
Rather than confront his partner last night after his trip to the
library, he'd opted to wait until morning, when she'd presumably
be in a more receptive mood. But he wasn't sure he'd calculated
correctly. When he'd led her out the door, she'd looked like she
was on the verge of turning on her heel and stalking back inside.
But for whatever reason, she'd instead obediently trailed him
down the street, stopped when he stopped, and stood gazing
expectantly at him.
Apparently, she felt like she'd given him more than enough time
to speak, because she prompted, "What now, Mulder?" in a tone
that implied, 'Why did you drag me out here at 8:23 a.m. when I'd
much rather be sleeping in?'
He gestured around, grateful that unlike yesterday, today had
dawned clear and warm. "Examine the streets and sidewalks
carefully. What do you see?"
She surveyed the area. "Pavement. People. Cars, trucks, minivans.
Litter--bits of paper, candy wrappers, soda cans. Nothing else.
What am I supposed to notice?"
"Nothing," he repeated. "That's precisely it. There's not a
Morley butt in sight. Isn't that a thought-provoking, if welcome,
change?"
"I've also noticed that nearly everyone is thin," Scully pointed
out. "Maybe the townspeople are just extremely health-conscious."
"The answer to that is an emphatic *no*. Although rarely stricken
with the flu or the common cold, an abnormal number of Port
Charles residents become drug addicts or alcoholics, and there's
a pretty high incidence of mysterious ailments unknown to the
rest of the world." He thought back to their arrival in town.
"And correct me if I'm wrong, but Port Charles is a small city
neither of us had ever heard of before. Yet it has an incredibly
busy airport with numerous international flights to places such
as Venice, Cairo, and Barcelona. You have to admit it; you saw
the flight boards, too. And how do you explain some of these
other things, like the many, many, many people who have been
falsely presumed dead?"
"I'm thinking you fit right in around here. You've been presumed
dead a time or two yourself over the years." She shrugged.
"Okay, I give up. How do *you* explain it?"
"Maybe vampirism, like that one case in Texas where we met the
buck-toothed sheriff? Anyway, that's the best theory I've come
up with so far."
"Oh, give me a break," Scully groaned. "First, Sheriff Hartwell
did not have buck teeth. Second, I don't for a minute think there
are any vampires within flying distance of here."
"Fine, you come up with a better theory," Mulder challenged. "It
would really help if you pitched in and gave me your opinion, you
know."
"I can give you my opinion right now," she offered.
He shook his head. "No, thanks. You have to put in some effort
first."
"What sort of effort?" she asked suspiciously.
He held up a piece of paper with two long, neatly penciled lists,
and indicated the left-hand column. "See this tally of local
abductees?" Gesturing to the other, longer column, he continued,
"And this one of presumed deaths, in which the subjects turned
out to be alive? I suspect that these people were all victims of
alien abductions. After all, we know that an alien landed here at
one point."
"No, we do *not*--" she began.
"Just go with me here," he interrupted. "I want you to examine
some of these people's medical records. I believe you'll find
evidence even you can't refute."
"That would be a blatant invasion of privacy, almost certainly a
waste of time, and not quite how I want to spend my day," Scully
replied. "The only way I'll do it is if I'm able to access the
original hospital files without my authority being questioned by
medical personnel."
Mulder hesitated. Scully seemed secure in the knowledge that no
reputable medical facility would allow just anyone to saunter in
and view confidential papers. What were the odds that the local
hospital was any different? Still, he didn't have much choice
except to trust that it was.
"Go to General Hospital," he advised his partner with as much
confidence as he could muster. "There are other hospitals in
town, but according to Langly, anyone who's anyone goes to that
one for treatment."
"I won't be there long," she warned. "And I might well have to
show my badge if security is called in. But at this point, it
probably doesn't matter if our covers are blown. Not that I'm
about to begin advertising our true identities. For as long as
possible, I'm still Lisa and you're Oliver, at least in public."
"Whatever," Mulder agreed. "I think you'll be at the hospital a
lot longer than you expect. Call me when you're done."
"Great," Scully sighed. "While I'm there, what will you be up
to?"
"Oh, I'm sure I can find plenty to keep myself occupied,"
Mulder responded vaguely.
And on that note, they parted ways for what turned out to be
several hours.
***********
2:42 p.m.
General Hospital
Shaking her head in dismay, Scully refiled Bobbie Spencer Brock
Meyer Jones Cassadine's folder and exited the records room. It
had taken her three trips, arms loaded to overflowing, to collect
the material relating to all of the victims on Mulder's list and
cart it to a nearby waiting room for closer study, yet not one
person had given her a second look.
Even worse, the information in the folders, while not quite what
Mulder had anticipated, was still damning. Scully knew what she
had to do. She walked down the hall in search of the nearest
pay phone, but was distracted by the sight of a man conducting a
conversation on his cell phone right outside a patient's room.
"Excuse me," Scully broke in. "You aren't supposed to use cell
phones inside a hospital. They can interfere with medical equip-
ment."
The man looked down his nose at her. "I am Stefan Cassadine, I
own this business, and I always speak on my cell phone." He
turned his back to her and resumed his conversation.
Glancing around for security, Scully spotted three more people
also on their cell phones and dismissed the idea of reporting
them. Patient safety and privacy evidently were not high on the
priority list at General Hospital. But she wasn't about to
unnecessarily risk lives herself. She located a pay phone around
the corner, cancelled her and Mulder's flight reservations for
that evening, and headed for the elevators. She was twenty yards
away when she heard a moan nearby. Then another, and another. It
sounded like someone was in pain. Following the noises to their
source, Scully found a twenty-something blonde woman curled in
a waiting-room chair, tossing in her sleep. Before Scully could
decide whether to wake her or to move away, the woman jolted
awake and opened her eyes.
"I'm sorry for disturbing you," Scully apologized.
"No, it's for the best." The woman pushed herself into a sitting
position and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I was having
another psychic dream, and they're very intense."
"Psychic dream?" Scully repeated warily.
The woman nodded. "It's a complicated story. Probably boring to
anyone besides me."
"No, I'm a doctor," Scully said. "Maybe I can help."
"I doubt it, but it would be nice to talk about it. Oh, and my
name is Chloe." The blonde extended her hand.
Shaking it, Scully lied, "I'm Lisa. Now, about those dreams...?"
"Well, it all began earlier this year when I was blinded in a
hit-and-run accident. I regained my sight, but then my doctor
found out that I had a brain tumor, and I started having the
dreams. Like sometimes, I see my accident from the perspective of
the driver who hit me. Weird, huh?"
Not bothering to restrain herself, Scully nodded. Chloe's story
actually sounded worse than weird. "Did you say you were blind?"
she questioned.
"Temporarily," Chloe confirmed. "But my doctor was great. You
probably know him: Tony Jones."
"I'm new in town," Scully quickly covered.
"You'll like Tony," Chloe assured her. "He understands what I'm
going through, because *he* used to be blind and have a brain
tumor. He didn't have dreams like mine, of course, but I guess he
kind of made up for that when he went crazy a couple of years ago."
"Crazy?" Scully said. "You don't mean...?"
Chloe smiled. "Tony is very strong. He fought his way back from
the edge. Just like Dr. Quartermaine, the Chief of Staff. Many
remarkable people work at General Hospital."
***********
3:48 p.m.
Port Charles Grille
Mulder's cell phone rang at an opportune moment. Though he had
spent the morning and early afternoon roaming the streets and
soaking in the atmosphere of Port Charles, he'd ended up at the
bar of the popular local restaurant. He had proceeded to ask the
other patrons whether they had ever seen any aliens or strange
lights in the sky (reasoning that Casey from Lumina must have
made more than one appearance), but the answers were all nega-
tive. And for some time, he'd found himself on the receiving end
of suspicious looks from the bartender, despite the fact that he
had only been drinking mineral water.
"Hello," he answered the phone under the bartender's watchful
eye.
"Mulder, it's me," came Scully's voice, "and I'm warning you, at
all costs, avoid landing in the hospital. I don't trust the
doctors there to treat a hangnail. The chief of staff is a
recovering drug addict who tried to murder his wife on more than
one occasion. Another doctor went temporarily insane and kid-
napped a baby. And three years ago, a resident performed brain
surgery with a power drill while being held hostage by a serial
killer. More recently, he completed an unauthorized bone-marrow
transplant on a boy who was once thought to be his son, but who
was really his brother's child. And he's still on staff. So watch
your step. By the way, I cancelled our flight reservations."
"Okay," he replied slowly. "Can I assume that you found out
something about the alien abductions?"
"I'll meet you back at Kelly's to talk about it." Scully hung up,
and Mulder exited the Grille, no doubt to the bartender's relief.
***********
4:25 p.m.
Kelly's, Mulder and Scully's room
"You didn't find any evidence of alien involvement in even one of
the abductions?" Mulder asked, disappointment clear in his voice.
"No evidence," Scully confirmed. "I compared pre- and post-
disappearance medical records, and found none of what you claim
are the classic indicators of alien abduction." Seeing Mulder's
crestfallen look, she hurried on. "But you'll be interested to
hear that I uncovered many, many other irregularities. For
instance, say someone's blinded. No problem. Before they get
around to learning Braille, they miraculously regain their sight.
Paralyzed? They're up and walking again within the year without
so much as a limp to remind them of their ordeal. It's happened
too many times to be pure coincidence. And before you ask, no,
no one in town purports to be a miracle healer."
"You *were* busy today," Mulder said in admiration.
"I'm not done," Scully replied. "I haven't filled you in on the
woman who's been experiencing strange nightmares that she
attributes to her brain tumor. She's the one who told me about
the doctors. She's being treated by one of them, and she claims
he's a wonderful person who just went a little around the bend
because his girlfriend, who was his ex-wife's daughter whom she
gave up for adoption at birth and reunited with as an adult,
cheated on him. Interestingly, the girlfriend is the only one of
the bunch who spent time in a psychiatric facility. I still
haven't quite figured out how she got out. And guess what? She's
also Sonny Corinthos' fiancee, and Roy DiLucca's girlfriend's
daughter. I can't begin to explain what's wrong with this town,
but something definitely is."
There was a moment of silence as Mulder digested that informa-
tion. "I have a few things to add," he eventually offered.
"Nothing quite as spectacular as your discoveries, but
intriguing nonetheless. For instance: These people do not own
normal pets. No cats, no parrots, no hamsters, no ferrets, no
goldfish."
"I've seen three dogs and a duck," Scully countered.
"I repeat, *normal* pets. That duck once took the witness stand
during a murder trial." Off of her skeptical look, he protested,
"Hey, I can show you the transcripts as proof. I found out a
*lot* at the library last night."
"Oh, I believe you," Scully relented. "I can't argue with the
material I uncovered. Port Charles is one big statistical
anomaly."
"Better than that," Mulder said assuredly. "For a small town,
it boasts an unnaturally high number of international movers and
shakers: the Quartermaine family, the Cassadines, and one Jasper
Jacks, whose attempt at getting married a few years back was
ruined by his not-so-dead first wife. Add to that the fact that
the local divorce rate tops off at approximately 96%, most adults
over age 30 have given birth to a child they either forgot about
or kept secret, and a mobster is regarded as public citizen
number one, and it seems like the townspeople are all suffering
from a form of mass insanity. Scully, I'd like your medical
opinion. What could possibly be afflicting them?"
"Excellent question." She settled back in her chair and started
reeling off her observations. "We know that newcomers are not
immediately impacted, since we're still okay. It's only after
people have lived here for an extended amount of time that they
are affected. If they move away, they usually recover and go on
to lead normal lives. The problems don't extend to nearby
Buffalo, or we would have heard about it long ago. So I have to
conclude that either the local water or air supply is contami-
nated."
"Scully, keeping your mind open to all possibilities, you have to
admit that the air or the water might not be the source of the
problems."
"True," she agreed. "So?"
"So... we need to look into other explanations. If we can find
someone who knows the town well, they might be able to help."
"Like the mayor, or the district attorney? How about the police
commissioner? Surely, he or she has noticed some of the abnor-
malities we've spotted. That sounds like a good place to start."
She headed for the door, but stopped when she didn't hear Mulder
following.
"Um, Scully?" he said.
"Yes?" She turned and looked at him. He wouldn't meet her eyes. A
sick feeling spread through her. "Not him, too," she pleaded.
Withdrawing a folded piece of paper from his pocket, Mulder
handed it to her. "Read it and weep."
Scully smoothed the photocopied sheet and read the opening lines
aloud: "'Commissioner Malcolm 'Mac' Scorpio, a former mercenary
who turned over a new leaf, has gone from blowing up bridges and
sabotaging ships to making Port Charles a safer place to live.
Along the way, he has overcome major misfortunes, including a
1997 kidnapping in which his life was taken over by an evil
lookalike.'" She folded the paper and returned it to Mulder.
"Somehow, I don't think the commissioner is going to be of much
help."
"His wife is a real piece of work, too," Mulder informed her.
"She's an Aztec princess who's had amnesia twice, had a husband
return from the dead, been falsely convicted of attempted murder
and sentenced to a psychiatric hospital, given birth to one
daughter while under a table in a nightclub, and been kidnapped,
temporarily paralyzed, and stalked by a psychopath and his
identical twin brother. I don't think I left anything out."
"If you did, I'd hate to imagine what." She thought briefly.
"All right, obviously the commissioner's appointment is somewhat
suspect. But there must be some competent detectives or officers
on the force, right?"
Mulder shook his head. "There is a trail stretching way back into
history of people who have gone up against the Port Charles
Police Department and come out the worse for it. Their top
detective--who, incidentally, has been dating Agent Scott--is
most noted for regularly overstepping his authority and nearly
being charged with harassment every few months. Actually, the
entire force seems pretty inept. They have an especially
bad track record when it comes to murder investigations. You can
just about bank on the fact that the first suspect they arrest
will be innocent. And in a shining moment not so long ago, they
attempted to prosecute a case in which the 'victim' was still
alive."
Scully groaned. "Mulder, I think we need to talk to that person
and get a statement. Because frankly, what you say is scaring me.
Badly."
"Unfortunately, we can't talk to her. Katherine Bell was murdered
last year."
Confused, Scully questioned, "But I thought you said she wasn't
really dead?"
"She wasn't, the first time," Mulder clarified. "She was pushed
off a parapet in both 1998 and 1999. In 1998, she didn't die. In
1999, she did."
Scully held up a hand. "Enough. Why don't we move on? Is there
anyone in town who experienced some of the crazier events?
Particularly the alien from Lumina, or the dragon bone."
"Not surprisingly, the principals involved are pretty much all
dead, or certifiably insane. Either that, or they've left town."
"Well, if I ever lived in a place where a substantial portion of
the residents had come back from the grave, I'd probably want to
move away, too," Scully admitted. "We keep running into dead
ends, don't we? But I think that despite the horror stories
you've uncovered about the police department, we should see if
the commissioner can shed any light on this matter."
***********
5:37 p.m.
police station
They made their way to the police station without incident and
approached the receptionist, who was chewing bubble gum and
reading the "Bedside Astrologer" column in "Cosmopolitan" while
the phone at her elbow rang unceasingly.
"Excuse me." Scully waited until the woman looked up. "We'd like
to see Commissioner Scorpio."
"Sorry, he's not in."
"Do you know when he will be?" Scully asked.
The receptionist blew a large bubble before responding. "It's
hard to say. He's in and out all the time. If he's not running
off to argue with his wife about the well-being of her children,
he's fighting with the FBI over who has jurisdiction in the
latest arrests. Just now, he went to tell off his wife's new
boyfriend."
"Who's in charge when he's not around? Does this place just
run itself?" Scully wondered.
The receptionist shrugged. "Yeah, more or less."
Mulder opened his mouth, but Scully jumped in before he could
say anything. "Thank you for your help," she told the reception-
ist, who promptly returned to her horoscope as Scully ushered
her partner out of the station.
"That's it," Mulder declared. "I get to choose our next stop.
Come on, Scully." He started down the street.
She hurried to catch up. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see," he replied mysteriously.
***********
6:08 p.m.
Luke's Nightclub
They entered the dimly lit building, which was about three-
quarters full, as jazz music and chattering voices assaulted
their ears. Pausing inside the doorway, Scully asked, "Why are we
here?"
"We are conducting research," Mulder informed her. "This happens
to be a very important place. This is Luke's Nightclub."
He knew the exact moment the full impact of his statement struck
her, because her eyes widened slightly. "This is *the* nightclub,
isn't it?"
"The club where Felicia Jones gave birth under a table? Yes," he
confirmed. "There was also a nasty shootout here in December of
1997. All in all, this isn't the safest place to be. But then,
where in Port Charles *is*?" He spotted a vacant booth against the
far wall. "Why don't we sit down?"
Taking their seats, they checked out the scene. Almost immedi-
ately, Mulder spotted a familiar-looking group standing near a
stage: an older woman with red hair, a thin man with a goatee, a
blonde woman, a fair-haired teenage boy, and a dark-haired little
girl. "See there?" He pointed for Scully's benefit. "Those are
the Spencers. They had their own section in 'The Sun,' complete
with color photos. Every member of that family has at one time
or another been presumed dead, except for the daughter. But she's
only five; her time will come."
As they watched, the man mounted the stage, followed by several
musicians and a Hispanic boy of about 16. Spencer adjusted the
microphone and addressed the crowd, calling, "Hi, everyone!"
A chorus of "Hey, Luke!" and "Hi, yourself!" greeted him.
Spencer continued, "We have a special treat for you tonight. Now,
I know this is a blues club, but even though his music doesn't
fall under that umbrella, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to
promote one of Port Charles' own: Juan Santiago, accompanied by
The Idle Rich! Juan is performing his signature song, 'We Got The
Night.'"
Spencer exited the stage, the crowd quieted, the music began, the
singer warbled the opening lines, and Mulder and Scully winced in
unison.
They listened to several bars before more or less recovering. Then,
shuddering, Mulder glanced at his partner, whose jaw had dropped.
"I haven't heard singing this bad since you did 'Joy to the
World' in Florida," he shouted, straining to be heard above the
cacophony.
Seemingly not offended by his opinion of her vocal talents,
Scully yelled back, "It's a good thing the locals support him,
because I don't think anyone outside of this town would!"
The occupants of the neighboring booth then waved at them to be
quiet, and Mulder and Scully were forced to sit in miserable
noncommunication for the duration of the seemingly interminable
number. At the conclusion, the audience--with two notable excep-
tions--burst into frenzied applause. Juan and his back-up left
the stage, and the sounds of soft jazz and mingled conversation
quickly filled the room.
"Somebody better tell that kid to get a day job," Mulder mused.
Grimacing, Scully was about to reply when her cell phone rang.
"Hello," she answered. "Yes, sir... Of course not. That's just
the radio... Yes, we have... Tomorrow?... Yes. Goodbye, sir."
Ending the conversation, she addressed Mulder. "That was Skinner.
He heard the background noise and wanted to know if I was in a
nightclub."
"What did you tell him?"
"No, obviously. It's bad enough that we haven't reported in to
him yet. If he knew what we were really doing, he would have even
more reason to be pissed. Anyway, we need to be back in D.C. by
tomorrow afternoon. Skinner has a new X-File for us, and it must
be something good if he's willing to call after 6 p.m. to order
us home."
"Why don't you go alone?" Mulder suggested. "Our work here is far
from done, and one of us needs to keep at it. Besides, Skinner
doesn't really need to see me. You can tell him everything you
learned from Agent Scott."
Scully laid a hand on his arm and looked at him seriously. "You
have to go back, Mulder. You've been in so much trouble over the
years, disobeying another direct order could be the last straw.
You could finally be fired. And then what would you do?"
"No problem," he said dismissively. "I know where I can find a
high-ranking job with flexible part-time hours, no references
needed, no questions asked. How does 'Commissioner Mulder' sound
to you, Scully?"
"Not very good, unless I get to be 'Mayor Scully'," she objected.
"After everything we've been through, thre's no way I'm letting
our partnership split up. If you stay here, so do I, and I'm not
exactly looking forward to the prospect. Be honest: Aren't you at
all worried that you would be bored by small-town life?"
"Not really. This place has a higher murder rate per capita than
Washington, D.C. does, and it seems to be a magnet for the
paranormal. How can I resist?"
"Look, I'll take some air and water samples home so we can run
them through the labs," Scully bargained. "They'll probably prove
that some chemical substance is afflicting the residents and
causing their unnatural behavior. Then you'll have a logical
explanation. And aren't you curious to hear about the new case?"
After some consideration, Mulder reluctantly nodded. "Okay, I'll
go back. For now."
***********
Friday
3:15 p.m.
outside Skinner's office
Skinner's secretary was away from her desk, and he was making
them wait. All in all, the signs were inauspicious. Scully
glanced at her watch, sighed, and settled in for the delay.
Before she could get too comfortable, her cell phone trilled.
"Scully," she answered. "Yes, that's right... And?... Nothing?
Are you sure?... No... All right. Thank you." She ended the call
and turned to Mulder. "I'm sorry, Mulder. The lab did a rush on
the air and water samples, but didn't find anything out of the
ordinary."
"Then how do you account for everything we learned in Port
Charles?" he demanded. "Your logical, scientific explanation was
shot down. Where do we go from here?"
She shrugged helplessly. "We chalk it up as one more unsolved
X-File? I don't know. I really thought the labs would turn up
*something*."
"But--" Mulder said, just as Skinner's office door opened.
"Agents," he called.
They entered and sat facing their boss.
"Before I fill you in on your new assignment, I would like an
overview of your findings in Port Charles," Skinner stated.
"Agent Scully?"
Looking Skinner in the eye, Scully said forcefully, "There was a
time when one actually had to be qualified to join and remain in
the FBI. Has that day truly passed us by? Because Agents Scott
and Larkin appear to be sterling examples of all that is wrong.
The mystery is, why weren't they fired long ago? And when Agent
Scott tried to resign, why didn't they let her?"
Slightly stunned, Skinner turned to Mulder. "Is there anything
you would like to add to Agent Scully's account?"
"No, sir, that about summed it up."
"Well." Skinner exhaled a long breath. "I look forward to reading
your reports, then. As for your new assignment: A videotape has
fallen into my possession that features footage of a supposed
alien and a doll that came to life in a small New England town
called Harmony..."
END 2/2
MORE NOTES: The final line, about the new case, is a reference to
events taking place on another soap opera, "Passions."
I am working on a sequel to this story that should be ready in
August of 2000. It will feature substantial interaction between Mulder
and Scully and the GH characters.