Title - Kismet
Author - Jaimee Kidder
Email - invisibleshining@ivillage.com
Rating - PG-13 (for violence)
Classification - XRA
Spoilers - Herrenvolk/Talitha Cumi, Fight the Future,
Triangle, Two Fathers/One Son, Three of a Kind
Keywords - Mulder/Scully romance
Summary - Mulder and Scully investigate a seemingly
meaningless murder in a small farming town in Alabama and suddenly find
themselves caught in the middle of events that could lead to the end.
::whirrrrr:: "I made this!"
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this
story. I wish I was Scully and owned
Mulder, but such is not the case. If I
did, this would be an episode -- or two, or five -- of the show, not some story
that Chris Carter will prob'ly never read. :) The secondary characters are mine (so there!). But Mulder, Scully, and the rest are all CC's (hail to the man!),
1013's, and Fox's. Too bad for me. ;-)
Oh yeah...and I borrowed Celine
Dion's "Because You Loved Me"...so thank you, Celine, for singing
such a lovely (and shippery) song!
.kismet.
.in.the.beginning.
"Grow your tree of falsehood from a small grain of
truth.
Do not follow those who lie in contempt of reality.
Let your lie be even more logical than the truth itself,
So the weary travelers may find repose."
~Ceslaw Milosz
6:33 p.m.
Thursday, August 12, 1999
121 Three M Lane
Four Mile, Alabama
"Shelly?" Robert Harris
called from the porch in his Alabama drawl. "Where are ya, dear?"
"What d'ya want, Rob?"
Shelly Harris answered from inside the old white house. "I'm right in the middle of cookin'
dinner."
Rob stuck his head in the
doorway, his hair slightly tousled by the late summer breeze. "I'm gonna go over to Brett's 'n pick
up something I left there."
"Can't it wait? You just got home...'n dinner's almost
done," she asked as she walked slowly to the door where her husband was
standing, slightly curious at what he needed that could be so important.
He looked torn between staying
and going, but then finally made up his mind and leaned closer to his
wife. "This's pretty important,
dear. I left all my product research
information over there and I'd really like to get it done tonight. Won't be long."
"'Kay, hon.' Hurry back," she murmured and gave him
a loving kiss. He grinned and jogged
down the porch steps to the car.
Shelly smiled unconsciously as
she listened to their old station wagon roll down the dirt driveway. He's such a good husband, she
thought. And his hair's so cute when
it's messy... She smiled at the
memory and unconsciously listened for the honk of the car's horn, their little
tradition that Rob had faithfully carried out since the day they were
married. When she didn't hear it, she
wiped her hands on her apron and headed towards to the door to see if anything
was wrong.
"Rob?" she called. "You there?"
Just then, the horn sounded. Relieved and amused at her jumpiness, Shelly
turned around to go back to her soup, then froze as realization hit her -- the
horn was still blaring.
Shelly jolted the burning soup
off the burner and raced to the door. Peering out the screen, she spotted the car. It had swerved out of the driveway and was rapidly heading for
the big oak tree in their yard. She
could see Rob inside slumped over the wheel unconscious. Or dead... her mind taunted. He's
dead, and it's your fault.
Shelly was determined not to
think about what could have happened. "Rob!" she screamed, hoping he could hear her. She leaped out the door, off the porch and
took off running for the car. At that
moment, the car struck the tree and smoke began to rise from the hood. Torn between going to Rob or calling
paramedics, she finally decided to let professionals help her husband, charged
back into the house, and snatched up the portable, running outside again as she
dialed 911....
10:21 a.m.
Friday, August 13
Washington, D.C.
Dana Scully looked up from the
stack of papers she had been leafing through to see a smiling Fox Mulder throw
the door open. "And he's late
again, folks!" he announced with a flourish.
"You're in a good mood,
Mulder," Scully commented, not quite keeping the smile off her face.
"I am. I am in a good mood. Take a look at that," he said, tossing
the sports section of the newspaper on the desk in front of Scully.
"Yankees Pitch Shutout Game
Against Pirates ,'"
Scully read, mentally rolling her eyes. "Tell me that's not why you were late, Mulder."
"Why does it matter if I was
late, Scully?" Mulder said lazily, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it
on the desk. "It's not as though
we've got any real cases going...it's been as quiet as a --"
"Mulder, we do have a
case. Or at least, we will. Did you forget?" she asked, seeing her
partner's blank look. "We've got a
meeting with A.D. Kersh in 10 minutes."
"Yeah, and what's he gonna
give us?" Mulder said sarcastically as he reluctantly picked up his jacket
and put it back on. "More scut
work? Following up big leads on a
fertilizer case? I can hardly
wait. Maybe I should have stayed in
bed."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah...let's
get moving, shall we?" Scully tugged playfully at Mulder's tie. "Ooh, nice tie...I hope Kersh likes
Oreos..."
"Hey, it's my Friday
tie...hey, Friday the thirteenth, Scully -- something big's gonna happen."
Mulder teased on their way out the door. "After you, Miss Scully." "You mean like we might be on time for this meeting? That's the biggest thing I'm up for right
now," Scully yawned as she ducked through the door.
10:29 a.m.
Office of Assistant Director Kersh
"Come in, agents,"
Kersh ordered as Mulder opened the door and stared warily into the office. "Have a seat."
"You wanted to see us,
sir?" Scully asked.
"Yes, there's a case I'd
like you two to take. But before I
brief you on it, I want you to understand something. I'm doing you two a favor by letting you have the X-files
back. But that doesn't mean every case I
give you will be an X-file. I want you
both to get used to the real cases again. And remember, Mulder -- I will not tolerate any more of your attempts to
make the case more interesting by dragging interstellar conspiracies into
it." Kersh's voice rolled
commandingly as he vindictively ground the butt of his cigarette into the
ashtray on the desk.
"Does that mean this case is
not an X-file?" Mulder asked, barely concealing his disappointment.
Kersh eyed him momentarily and
ignored the question. "It's a case
out in Four Mile, Alabama...a small farming community near Jacksonville. Looked simple enough at first -- a guy turns
suicidal and rams his car into a tree. But as it turns out, he may have been murdered. Police found..." Kersh paused in his
mechanical lecture to leaf through a few papers on his desk, then found what he
was looking for, and continued, "...a small puncture mark on the side of
his neck." Mulder cocked an eyebrow at Scully. She gave him a long look and then turned back to Kersh. "They think he was drugged and passed
out, making him ram his car into the tree. Anyway, that's about it. See
what you can find -- and don't blame it on aliens, Agent Mulder. That will not be a satisfactory explanation
this time. You hear me?" Mulder got up and bowed, then turned a
smirking face to Scully who gave him the Look and led him out.
"Someone wants to drug some
guy in a teeny town out in Alabama? Yeah right, and he says this isn't an X-file." Mulder
proclaimed. Scully stopped walking and
turned him to face her. "This time
I might agree with you," she said softly, looking into his eyes. Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Let's walk while we talk," he
muttered, aware of more than a few stares from the desks around them.
"When the Lone Gunmen...uh...asked
me to come out to Las Vegas...this looks exactly like what I saw there. People drugged -- with marks on the neck
like this man in Alabama -- with a formula that made them highly suggestible. One man was ordered to kill himself and
jumped in front of a bus."
Mulder nodded, familiar with the
case from Scully's report. "You
think this is the same thing you saw in Nevada?"
She looked doubtful. "It...looks like the same scenario, but
the question is, why this man? Why
Alabama? The drug worked fine in
Nevada, so why would they need more tests?"
Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Looks like we're going to
Alabama."
Saturday, August 14
Four Mile, Alabama
6:20 p.m.
The two arrived at the scene to find squad cars and yellow crime scene tape littering a huge yard and dirt driveway. An old brown station wagon was accordioned into a big oak tree a few yards from the driveway. Police wandered around the property with small spiral notepads and stubby pencils, taking notes and looking somewhat out of their league.
The agents were silent for a
moment, surveying the scene, and then Mulder spoke. "Scully, why don't you
go in and talk to...uh...Mrs. Harris. I'll see what I can find out from the police."
She nodded and they slid out of
the car. Mulder looked for the nearest
police officer as Scully ducked through a group of men in blue and rang the
doorbell at the old white house. He
could hear her calling through the screen door. "Mrs. Harris? Mrs.
Harris, I'm from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Can I please speak with you?"
"Yeah," a female voice
answered despondently from inside the house.
Turning his attention to the
officer a few yards away, Mulder walked over and tapped the man on the
shoulder, holding up his ID in the other hand. "Sir? Special Agent
Mulder. Can you tell me what happened?"
"Really couldn't tell
ya," the officer drawled. "First, looks like he passed out and smashed into this tree here,
then we find a mark on his neck that might've had somethin' to do with it...I
don't know what t' make of it all. We
don't have too many...uh...incidents like this out here. Just hard for me to get used to."
"This mark on his neck --
can I see it?"
"Body's already been taken
to the morgue."
"What did it look
like?" Mulder's voice held a trace of frustration.
"Pretty tiny. The only reason the paramedics noticed it
was because his head was bent forward onto the steerin' wheel, exposin' his
neck...and there was a little bit of swelling around the area. Looked to me like it could've been made with
maybe a really small needle. Then
again, maybe it was suicide 'n this is just a bug bite...we really don't
know."
Mulder nodded. "Did the paramedics determine a cause
of death?"
"Well, Mrs. Harris told the
911 operator that she found him dead in the car when she ran out to him, and
our paramedics could confirm that he was dead. But they didn't know what caused it -- he looked perfectly fine...just
like he fell asleep in the car."
"You find any other
evidence?"
"We did find this..."
The officer held out an evidence bag containing a small rounded disc.
"Looks like a...a top that
you screw onto a container...where'd you find it?"
The officer pointed back down the
long dusty driveway. "Down there a
ways, sitting on the dirt. Couldn'ta
been there too long 'cause it hadn't gotten all dusty like the rest of this
place," he finished, looking fairly pleased with this revelation.
"Sure it didn't come from
the Harris's trash?"
"Mrs. Harris said she ain't
never seen nothin' like this before."
Mulder examined the disc
again. It was made of thick, glossy
white metal. The inside rim had spiral
grooves running around the inside, indicating that it was a lid to
something. He handed the bag back to
the officer.
"No fingerprints?"
"Nope."
Mulder sighed and shoved his
hands back into his pockets, appraising the scene again. "Thanks again, Officer...?"
"Kelley, Jake Kelley."
"Thanks, Officer
Kelley," Mulder said automatically, handing him his card. "Call me if you turn anything else
up."
He walked over to the crumpled
car and crouched down to inspect the tires and tire marks. Not seeing anything of interest, he glanced
up to see Scully walking from the house to where he was. He stood. "How is she?"
"She'll be okay,"
Scully said quietly. "Anything?"
"The body's already been
taken to the morgue, so I didn't get a look at the mark on his neck, but
Officer Kelley over there said it could've been made with a very small
needle. The only other thing the police
have found is this white metal cap to some container. No fingerprints, nothing. Mrs. Harris had never seen it before. What did she tell you?" Mulder asked, sounding disgusted by the
town's ineffectual police department.
"Robert Harris...white male,
age 31...no enemies, and no one besides her mentioned in his will. No suicidal tendencies, and he'd seemed
perfectly happy, yesterday and otherwise. As far as health goes, he was perfectly normal. He hadn't been complaining of any aches,
pains, or anything. He was at very low
risk for brain or nervous system problems -- normal cholesterol and blood pressure,
and he didn't smoke or have diabetes. No history of heart problems, either personally or in his family. This guy was the healthiest guy on the
planet. And no problems at home,
nothing apparently wrong at work, aside from the fact that Mr. Harris had
seemed slightly preoccupied with his work the day he died."
"Did you find out how he
died?"
"Evidently, he was just
going to a friend's house. They both
worked at Nature's Best...it's a company that produces corn products -- and he
was showing his friend the research information into a product they were
shipping. He'd left his files at his
friend's house and left to go get them. Mrs. Harris was inside the house making dinner and heard the car horn go
off. She ran to look and Mr. Harris was
either unconscious or dead inside his car and had fallen onto the horn. She was too late to stop the car from
hitting the tree, so she called paramedics and ran to her husband, but he was
dead by the time she reached him."
Mulder was silent for a minute as
he assessed the information, and then asked, "What do you think?"
"I think...I think I was
wrong about what I said earlier. I
mean, this guy was a farmer for some local corn oil company. It may be suicide, or it may be natural
causes, but I don't think there's an X-file here."
Mulder looked at her, deep in
thought. There was a long silence, and
then he started for the car.
"Mulder? What's your theory?"
"I think..." there was
a dramatic pause, "...we should go grab some dinner. We can talk about it then."
Four Mile Cafe
7:10 p.m.
Mulder returned with his fries
and hamburger, and Scully's soup and salad, and sat down across from his
partner. "Bon appetit."
"Thanks." Scully took a sip of her soda and leaned
closer to Mulder, speaking quietly. "Anyway, you promised to tell me your ideas."
"That's gonna be a little hard, Scully," Mulder said, his arms folded across the table.
"Why?"
"I'm not even sure what my
ideas are. I've just...okay, that
company? Nature's Best? I think that's where we should start."
Scully sighed. "Mulder, I think Kersh is right -- not
every case we get is an X-file. You
need to stop looking for what isn't there. This is a suicide case. We can
wrap it up and go home. The local PD
can straighten out all the loose ends."
"There are too many
loose ends to close this, Scully. We
can't go home now. And what about the
disk -- or whatever that was -- that they found at the crime scene? Do we just forget about that?"
"It probably fell out of the
neighbor's trash can."
Mulder shook his head. "Too far up the Harris's driveway. And the neighbor's driveway is on the other
side of their house, so the garbage barrels are no doubt over there too."
Scully looked up, frustrated once
again at her partner's stubbornness. "Well, if it wasn't a suicide, then
what? Murder? Of some farmer who probably never made an enemy in his life? That's the only other explanation. Like it or not, Mulder, that's the way it
is."
Mulder was silent. Scully could tell he was dissatisfied with
either explanation. She continued,
trying to help him make up his mind.
"The puncture wound on his
neck? That would have to be from some
sort of injection. We won't really know
until I can autopsy the body, but there wasn't enough time for someone to
inject Mr. Harris and get away. Besides, there were no footprints --other than his -- leading away in
the dirt. What ever the mark is from,
it was probably self-administered."
Mulder smiled wryly. "Do you know how hard it is to give
yourself a lethal injection, Scully?"
Scully sighed, exasperated, but finally gave in. "Okay, then where do we start? If this is a murder investigation, what leads do we have?"
"I think we should check
into the company where Mr. Harris worked. Maybe they'll have some ideas."
Sleepy Z Motel
2:02 a.m.
Mulder lay in the motel's bed,
staring at the ceiling, his thoughts flashing a mile a minute. Wondering how it all fit together; knowing
it did somehow...
It was a puzzle worth solving. A man was dead -- a healthy man who had
seemed perfectly happy in all respects and had had no prior suicidal
tendencies. From everything Mulder had
learned about him, Robert Harris didn't seem like the type to kill
himself. Death by natural causes seemed
equally unlikely; not even the paramedics had been able to determine what
killed the man, discounting heart attack or some other circulatory
problem. Since the car crash hadn't
been nearly strong enough to kill, it had been concluded that Harris's death
had occurred either before the collision -- when Mrs. Harris had seen him
collapsed over the wheel -- or very shortly after, because Mrs. Harris had
found him dead as she called 911. Since
he had been fine when he left the house, there was about a five-minute window
when death had occurred. That ruled out
practically everything, including a stroke. And paramedics had not seen anything apparently wrong with the man, so a
heart attack was also out.
The only alternative was murder.
But that seemed just as unlikely
as the other explanations, from everything Mulder had learned. The Harris's had a big yard -- the
neighbors' houses were too far away for anyone to have run to or from there
without Mr. or Mrs. Harris seeing them. When the police had gotten there, they had found no tracks in the
driveway -- other than Harris's -- and there would have been. The driveway was entirely covered with a
thick layer of dirt, which was also slightly wet from the previous day's rain
shower. Harris had just gotten home
from work, which meant he would've noticed someone hiding in the car -- and
again, there were no tracks leading away from the car, and Mrs. Harris had seen
no one other than her husband in the yard all of that day. The only real clues they had were the mark
on Harris's neck, and the little white disk. Despite everything, Mulder's gut feeling told him murder.
His instinct was rarely wrong.
The TV was on, playing dimly in
the background. Mulder got up and began
to pace around the room, flicking empty sunflower seed shells from his fingers
every few seconds. He went to the big
double window and stared blankly out, habitually taking in all the
details. A couple of guys were hanging
around on the corner smoking Morleys...the "y" and "z" were
burned out on the glowing motel sign...a big jeep and a tanker truck rumbled
down the road....
Mulder snapped himself out of the
hypnotic daze he had fallen into and forced himself back to bed. As he drifted off, he was vaguely aware of
an ad being played on the television for the Nature's Best company.
"We produce quality corn products easily and efficiently using the latest technology. Consider us the next time your business needs superior farming products. Various employment positions worldwide are open and waiting for you, from Dallas to Detroit. Stop by today."
Dallas, his blurring mind
repeated endlessly, mantra-like. But
Mulder was already asleep.
