"No Yellow Pencils"
Chapter One
Marriott Hotel, Indianapolis, Indiana
April 22nd, 2001, 2:38 p.m.
The dimly lit ballroom was in stark contrast to the bright LCD projector's throw to the screen. A figure with a low, non-imposing tone narrated the presentation whilst pausing every now and then to point with his laser pen. It was actually beginning to annoy Scully. First of all, the house lights were too low for her to take notes, and secondly, she couldn't see the speaker. This was the third time in fifteen minutes she had checked her watch, and the next break in the seminar did not occur until three thirty. She honestly did not know how long she could hold on before the comforting lull of slumber would overpower her.
The distracting sound of a pen clicking on and off suddenly broke Scully away from her sudden narcoleptic episode; it occurred right behind her. She spun around, eyed the offender, the pen, and by the twitch of her jaw and an irked eyebrow, it immediately stopped. Scully turned around and slumped back down in her chair as the lecturer was now approaching some pictures of the human organs. Finally, some hands on material, she marveled. I could use the stimulation.
"Note the tomography of this subject. Victim was thirty-two years of age and found to have no respiratory or cardiovascular difficulties whatsoever. The EKG charts were virtually flawless throughout her life, and had no genetic history of cardiogenic shock. How then, did the subject perish?" The question, unfortunately, was rhetorical, and the pathologist continued to pontificate. "The answer..."
He advanced to the next slide of a close-up of the heart, "whoops..." and then to the next, "sorry. Ahem, the answer, uh...was found through our toxicological team. It took them 16 hours to find this. High levels of lithium carbonate in the bloodstream with fluoxetine was the deadly combination. Subject suffered from depression and had been taking fluoxetine regularly for the last ten years. Lithium carbonate was introduced orally into the digestive tract...probably ground up into a powder and slipped into the victim's soup."
How much? It's not that severe of a drug unless...
"Subject was abusing the prescription fluoxetine. The prescription dosage was 300 mg; the accumulation found in the blood was over 900 mg. The lithium carbonate levels were just below eight hundred. Time of death upon discovery was about at twelve hours; just enough time passed for the lithium carbonate to interact with her accidental overdose with the fluoxetine." The next slide was black. "Could we have the lights, please?"
As the room's chandeliers and halogen overhead fixtures' glow became stronger, Scully could for the first time see who had been talking. A long lunch break and a brief conversation with her mother had been the cause for her tardiness to the second half of this weekend's pathologist seminar. In fact, she missed the first half an hour; no wonder she felt restless...she had no idea what the presentation's theme was.
The lecturer smiled and fixed his chestnut eyes upon the LED clock's digital face that was resting atop his podium. His gaze seemed to envelop her as it sailed across the room. For a moment, this man's eyes had the same effect Mulder's did; as she thought about it, she swallowed a gasp. His expression turned from boyish glee to morbidity.
"It seems to be more of a trend amongst younger murderers nowadays to utilize prescription drugs against one another. Not only does it show a complete awareness of the type of pharmaceuticals prescribed out there, but it draws up another issue. How do they get a hold of this? Do they hijack trucks? Do they bribe psychiatrists and other physicians? Since lithium carbonate is a legitimate depressant, a simple screening done after a post mortem exam will not raise any questions. I urge you, ladies and gentlemen, to be more thorough in your screening. I know how much the murder rate is soaring throughout our country, and I'll be even more candid with you. As we grow tired throughout the workday, judgment calls and focus can become lethargic. How can we solve that? We say no to that extra autopsy that's waiting in the refrigerator…until tomorrow. We owe it to the victims to be at our best at what we do. While we often work hand in hand with the law enforcement professionals who receive the glory for everyone's hard work, we are the posthumous voices of the murdered. The autopsy this afternoon will be at five and will be performed by myself. Thank you." As he stepped down from the podium, he withdrew his notepad, and the convention's host took his place.
"My fellow colleagues, please help me thank Dr. Jarod Verne, our chief medical examiner from Marion county," she announced excitedly, and a thunderous round of applause burst out as he bowed slightly. Verne's beam returned, and he sat back down in a chair with the rest of the previous lecturers at a pleated white clothed long table. "Wow…my goodness. Who says that pathologists only have a gift of talking with the dead?" The applause faded and a bit of laughter soared across the crowd at the MC's joke. "We only have room for perhaps five more people at this evening's autopsy, so if you'd like to take the shuttle over to the chief coroner's office, the sign-up sheet is over at the back of this room. Well...good timing, too, Jarod...seems that we'll get out of here early today and beat downtown traffic. Tomorrow morning's seminar will be brought to us by Dr. Karen Moss, Chief Medical Examiner of Cuyahoga county in Ohio and will start at 8:30 a.m. sharp. Good afternoon and please, help out the hotel staff by using the garbage cans located around the room for your waste. Thank you."
Scully had to admit that she was surprised by this doctor's humanity. He did treat his patient like a typical scientist...detached but cool. Yet his tone at the end seemed to edify everyone in the room. She was glad that she had signed her name on the shuttle list as she arrived late; the table with the sign-up sheet was now swamped. A vibrating noise snapped her out of her reverie, and she fished the phone out of her suit jacket pocket. When she saw who the caller was, she shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Hello, Mulder."
"I've been trying to reach you for a while," came the response.
"You know how these seminars can be, Mulder. Don't the lecturers at the APA functions you attend drag on for hours upon end?"
"Scully, that's all psychiatrists and psychologists do in the office...listen, I mean. We study behavior and man's livelihood at the APA conventions, too. Pathologists like yourself, well...I guess you prefer a lot of dead silence." She bit her lip and her tongue nestled itself into her inner cheek. "C'mon, Scully, you know you want to laugh," he egged her on.
"I do not."
"Come on. I can see the corners of your mouth turning up."
"And that's all you're gonna get for now." He was starting to make her blush; how did he do that? He was hundreds of miles away, and yet within one minute of conversation, Mulder had her feeling nearly as pliable as play-dough. "So, what's up?"
"You know, I've been going through that box of X-Files you brought over and..." His pause on the line told her that he was mining for the golden answer and that alone gave her goose bumps. There was no way on God's green earth, however, that she'd give him the satisfaction of that knowledge.
"And..." she pressed him. Scully headed out of the hotel lobby and went for the revolving door.
"Uh...when do you get back?"
Finally. He asked the damn question.
"Tomorrow night...late."
"Oh." His tone reeked of disappointment. "So, what was the highlight of today's autopsy?"
"Dr. Verne hasn't performed it yet." Hmm...he seems nervous...I'd better keep away from revealing genders or else he'll go off the deep end. "But, I'm looking forward to it; Dr. Verne spoke about being devoutly thorough with tox screening. To prove the point, Verne showed us a case where the victim abused a prescription anti-depressant but was killed with a downer. Had Verne not double checked the chemist's findings and made the person run another exam, he might not have discovered it." Shit. Here it comes.
"Does this mean you're gonna make me stay for all your autopsies now?" He seemed to be interested but didn't notice her slip of the tongue.
Scully let her guard down a smidgen and began to stroll for a Wendy's about five blocks away. "No. I'd appreciate the company, though." After another few moments of difficult silence, she again broke the ice. "How's William?"
"Well, he just ate an enormous meal consisting of a NY strip steak, green beans, mashed potatoes, a Caesar salad, and baked Alaska." His jovial tone made her sigh gladly. Good; I don't have to walk on pins and needles. "After he ate, he went right to sleep. I bet he's gonna wake up in a few minutes. You know how short his afternoon naps can be."
"Mmm...actually, I think you're the one who knows better than I, Mulder. And I really appreciate your caring for him while I'm out."
"You're welcome. You know, Scully, I was kind of wondering..." She waited for him to finish as she crossed the street with the traffic signal. "Remember how you asked me a couple of years ago to donate for your…uh…in vitro fertilization?"
"Yes?"
"Did you...I mean...I wasn't quite sure of what to think of us when you asked me to do that. The thoughts running in my mind were something akin to 'Wow, Scully wants me to be a father' to 'Does this mean I have to give alimony?' to 'If this works, will I be the father or just, you know...a sire'. I'm actually happy that it didn't work, and I guess you could call it one of the miracles of your God or whatever, so now I don't have the exact same thoughts."
"You're beating around the bush, Mulder. Are you asking if I want you to be William's father?"
He breathed rather heavily into the phone, relieved at last that she had had the gumption to get to the point between the two of them for once. "Yeah," he answered vicariously.
Truthfully, she'd wished that he'd gone back to his humor and lewd one-liners. They'd done plenty of skirting in the past; it was time for her to put all of the cards on the table. "He's ours, Mulder. No, I don't expect child support from you, and-"
"I'll pay it," he interrupted her. "I wasn't trying to complain about it before, it was just a thought that ran through my-"
"Stop babbling, Mulder. Right now, I don't think alimony is necessary. And I just can't accept it...not yet." Scully opened the door to Wendy's and leaned against the side of a garbage bin as a patron dumped her tray's contents into it. "I'm sorry to have to do this, Mulder, but I've got to go."
"Oh...going in under the knife with Dr. Verne?" I knew it; he's getting jealous.
"No. I can't order from a fast food restaurant and talk on the phone at the same time."
"Right, fine. What's his first name again?"
"Mulder, you are not going to manipulate the Lone Gunmen into performing a background check on this man. First of all, he's a respected member of the medical community, and secondly, this will not be a one on one experience. At least twenty other people will be in the room with me."
"Sounds like a very cozy gathering, and who said I was going to have them do it? I'm just as capable of doing background checks myself."
"I'm warning you, Mulder...Hell hath no fury..."
"Like an angry FBI woman, yeah, okay. Scout's honor, then." Before she could argue, he disconnected his side of the call first. She clenched her teeth together and slammed her phone shut.
"It's like reasoning with a six year old sometimes," she mumbled and stepped toward the line.
After she ordered her garden salad, Diet Coke, and baked potato, Scully sat down to eat in peace. Although there was not much noise in the restaurant, the cacophony raging on in her head was deafening. The sexual frustration was killing her, but yet, on the other hand, she did not want to rush into things. Ten years ago, she had rushed right into things at work. Her fiery relationship with Jack, although exciting within the first three months, had dwindled into the remnants of a bonfire. Two months later, Scully was the one who broke it off. She had been giving all of herself, and Jack did nothing but receive.
There were some good times: the trip to his parents' cabin, a daring but fast encounter in a closet at Quantico, and the only time that she forgot to turn off the stove in her apartment. They had just strewn all of their clothes on the floor when she smelled the gas and rushed naked back into the kitchen. He followed her, and they consummated their passion immediately thereafter.
Jack was so driven, so unpredictable, at first, but then his work consumed him. Scully tried to distract Jack and pull him away, but then it became clear to her that he wasn't in this relationship with her for them. It was an outlet for his emotions, and although she was pretty sure that Mulder was not the same, she had to be absolutely positive.
"Could I borrow your salt, please?" A man's voice made her look up instantly; and behind a pair of wire rimmed spectacles, she recognized Dr. Jarod Verne's cinnamon eyes.
"Sure." She nodded and passed the condiment to him.
"Thanks." He salted his "Biggie" fries, put it back on the table, and was about to return to his seat when he noticed someone had taken it. "Oh," he muttered.
"You can sit here if you want," Scully offered and cleared the seat across from her place.
"Thanks again. I guess...I'd better introduce myself. My name is Jarod." He set down his fries, wiped a greasy hand onto a napkin, and shook her hand.
"It's Dr. Verne, right?" When Jarod gave her a puzzled look, she beamed with the same kindness that she normally reserved for children. "I've been attending the conference...Dana Scully."
"That's right, it is. I'm more of a first name basis type of guy; would it be too presumptuous of me for Dana and Jarod?" Already her mind was racing towards shock; it was possible that he would be trying to pick her up. She saw no wedding ring on the proper finger, but Daniel didn't wear his either...at first. Scully decided to take a chance.
"No, not at all."
Jarod picked up his fries and continued to attack them voraciously. "So, will you be attending the demonstration this afternoon?"
She liked how Jarod was considerate enough to not mention such a taboo thing such as 'an autopsy' in the middle of a restaurant. Mulder never even thought twice before bringing it up. In fact, many of their conversations over dinner involved unmentionable things, but those discussions did eventually lead to breaks or new building ground in a case. "Yes, I definitely have it in my plans." Please don't let this be leading up to a date.
"Good. I actually have no information whatsoever about the subject, so it'll kind of be a surprise. Where're you from, Dana?"
"D.C. I'm a federal agent, actually."
"Really?" He stopped eating for a moment and blinked. "NSA or FBI?"
"The Bureau."
"That's interesting; I've consulted with quite a few FBI agents, and this is the first time I've ever met one that didn't use his or her title."
"Well, I didn't have to this time. It was nice." She smiled wistfully and ate a cherry tomato.
"Do you do your work over at Quantico?"
"I did once, but, I currently do field work at the Hoover." But I don't know for how much longer, she mused. "And what about you, Jarod? Have you lived in Indiana all of your life?"
"No, I...uh..." He seemed uncomfortable with the question. "I lived in Delaware for about thirty years of my life, and I decided to move. So I did, and now I do temporary work. I guess it was because I was stuck in such a small place for such a long while that I don't like being anchored down anywhere for longer than two or three months."
"Why didn't you leave Delaware earlier?"
"I was obligated to stay; uh, I had to finish 10 years of residency at a state institution because of some loans for medical school."
"Hmm, I understand. It took me until '95 to get my bills paid. When did you leave?"
"Five years ago."
"And you've just been...hopping about the country doing pathology?"
"More or less." Jarod grinned and drew back his cuff to glance at his watch. "I'd better get to the morgue and scrubbed. It was nice to meet you, Dana. Maybe one of these days, I'll get around to D.C."
"See you soon, Jarod." Scully put down her fork and acknowledged him with a brief nod. As she finished her late lunch, her phone cried out for attention. Sighing with resignation, she dug the mobile unit out of her pocket and noticed the caller again was Mulder. Although a part of her wanted to finish their earlier discussion, another part told her to turn it off and focus on the conference here.
Why did you come to this weekend seminar, Dana? It certainly wasn't to get away from Mulder, or was it?
"Maybe he's not giving me enough room to breathe," she grumbled and threw out her waste.
You're on the FBI's dime, G-woman. Worry about personal problems later. Besides, you know you can't go into an autopsy bay without a clear mind.
She ignored the phone's incessant chirping and forwarded the call to her voice mail. Scully traveled outside and unlocked her rental car. It was time to get back to the hotel and get changed before the shuttle came to pick her up in an hour.
Eastern Marion County Morgue, Indianapolis, Indiana
April 22nd, 2001, 5:05 p.m.
"Good afternoon, everyone," Jarod addressed the group as they all donned themselves in aprons, disposable facial masks, and safety goggles. He kept his mask below his chin as he spoke. "I've been told that the body we are to examine is currently unidentified; so to avoid confusion, the subject will be known as Jane Doe until further notice. Carlos, could you please turn on the lights?" He raised his voice to the assistant in the next room.
The doctors followed Verne next door and crowded themselves around the operating table besides him. Verne carefully lifted the sheet off of the body and arranged it below the waist. "Decedent is a white female, age is approximately in her early twenties. This is for the record: victim was reported mugged and unidentified. It is the standard operating procedure of the state of Indiana to fingerprint and collect DNA from all unidentified bodies, and it will be done at the end of the external examination. Okay…at a first glance, I'm not seeing very much evidence of struggle here. There's evidence of blood loss, and that's what she died from. But these markings on the neck are precisely on the aorta; she's been exsanguinated."
"Exsanguinated?" a fellow pathologist repeated. "Are you kidding me? This woman's been mugged and stripped; I find it incredulous that some street crook would know how to blood let a woman to death."
"Precisely," Scully interjected. She had been observing Verne from the other side of the slab and now slid her mask below her chin to continue. "This is a farce…not done just by anyone. Her body was moved to the street after her clothes were gone. Notice the saturation of blue to the extremities and fingertips. If I may, Dr. Verne?" The others stood aside as she journeyed to the head and forced open one eye. As she suspected, a filmy yet familiar black substance covered the iris, and she pulled her gloved hand away expectantly. However, the oil did not ooze out of the eye; it was deathly still.
"What the hell is that stuff?" another doctor exclaimed.
"The stuff that nightmares are made of," Scully responded evasively. "Dr. Verne, would it be possible to continue this autopsy at a later date due to this discovery?"
Verne's head cocked to the side and wrinkled his forehead. "You've seen this before. And this discovery is precisely what?"
"Possibly a virus that needs to be contained."
"How is it transferred?"
"It appears to be dormant now, but it can be airborne within a few feet when active," Scully stated and doubled checked with a quick sidelong glance that indeed the oil was lifeless.
"All right. Sorry, everyone…it looks like we're going to have to quit for today. Um, I could arrange for an autopsy tomorrow morning if anyone feels cheated out of today's mishap," Jarod announced. The group of doctors turned; all left save Scully, who leaned on the gurney with one gloved hand. The other remained planted on her hip. "Did you expect that later date to be now, Dana?"
"I wanted to clear the bay from the general public. I only told half of the truth. This was a virus, and it's dead."
"What is the other half?"
"Its origin is not from our planet. And if the situation is what I think it is, then this city is in trouble."
"What situation? And this virus comes from aliens? The virus is a carbon-based organism; it cannot travel throughout space."
"Cultivate some of it from the victim; you'll find no traces of carbon in that oil whatsoever."
"Quite a paradox you've got there; you call it oil, yet it's not really oil."
"When you think of a better name, let me know." Scully began to get impatient and supported herself on both feet now with her arms crossed. Jarod shrugged, opened an ink pad, and began to print each finger onto his report.
"How many cases like this have you come across, Dr. Verne?" she questioned him.
"This is the first one that's been delivered to my morgue. What're you surmising?" He eyed her as he strolled over to the other side of the body and did the same procedure with the victim's left hand.
"Find out how many others have died just like this in the past forty-eight hours."
"And why would I want to do that? Are you suggesting that they've been abducted and killed by aliens?"
"No. Just humor me, please. This certainly can't be the only morgue in Indianapolis," Scully scoffed.
"It most certainly isn't," he sniped back. "Are you trying to muscle me with your federal credentials?"
"Not yet. Please don't make me waste my breath," she answered quietly. After a few tense moments that dragged on like minutes, his expression softened. "Just deaths? Should I look for this condition in any hospital?" Jarod paced over to the office phone mounted to a wall plate and picked up the receiver.
"Only the dead."
"And if I find more?"
"Then it looks like I'll be spending more time here in Indianapolis."
He dialed and was immediately put on hold after he specified the victim's posthumous condition. "I don't like this. What aren't you telling me?" Verne inquired and cupped his hand over the receiver's microphone.
"My department deals with cases that are somewhat...out of the ordinary. In fact, many of them seem very extraordinary; I have difficulties knowing what to believe at times being a scientist first..."
"I see. How long have you been an agent?"
"It'll be ten years in May. And you?"
Jarod lifted his attention to a calendar on the wall and then to the clock before responding. "Two days, nine hours, and fifteen minutes." Scully pursed her lips firmly together and lowered her head to one side. "Well, in this city anyhow," he finished with a charismatic grin. "Might I ask how long you have known about this virus?"
"Roughly five years, maybe six."
Her answer surprised him, and he shook his head in shock. "Did you even think to report this to the CDC or WHO?"
"Remember how I asked for the bay to be cleared before I told you about it? Officially, our government knows nothing, unofficially, however...you wouldn't even begin to believe some of the operations I've seen going on," Scully mused. "So what drew you to Indianapolis?"
"Hold on, Dr. Scully, I'm sorry." He held up an index finger and immediately started to listen to his phone informant. "Hello, this is Dr. Jarod Verne. Did your assistant tell you what I was looking for? Uh-huh. Yes, that's correct. You did? Yesterday? Why wasn't I told? Yes, I checked the morgue database, damnit, I'm the Chief Coroner! Well, what was this victim's name?"
Verne pointed to a pocket sized blue memo notebook on a counter that was lying on the bay near the woman's feet, and Scully handed it to him. "No identification? John or Jane Doe?" He continued to interrogate the other coroner. "Okay. Well, next time, no matter what looks 'weird' about the body, include it on your summation no matter what! No, don't panic, I'm not going to fire you. What should you do with it? Keep the body wrapped in your cold storage. I've got an associate here that has knowledge of this condition and possibly containment." He glanced upwards at his companion to reassure himself, and Scully nodded.
"Was the oil kinesthetic or inanimate?" she inquired and Jarod repeated the question.
"He says it was inanimate," he told Scully.
"It's all right, then. It's dead."
"Did you hear that? Good. Now could you write up the rest of those details and send them via email to me ASAP? What? No, you don't need to spend any more time disinfecting yourself after you leave tonight. I'm sorry to rush you on this, by the way, did I interrupt you from another autopsy? Oh. All right, then. Well, I'd actually appreciate it if you could put that one aside for now and work on this, please. Yes, it's important, but no, it's not an emergency. Thanks." He hung up the receiver, motioned for Scully to follow, and led her out of the morgue into his office. "He was afraid to tell the truth. I want to find out why."
"I should warn you, Dr. Verne, before you choose to venture down this way, that it's a very ominous path."
"What, you mean, the truth? I wonder how open he was with Dr. Ward. Now I'm curious to see how many details of other cases were left out because he felt threatened by him. Quite a fine time to be retiring." The slight bobbing of her head and her reticence immediately silenced him.
"Or maybe Dr. Ward didn't exactly...choose to retire," Scully replied.