Title: Curtain Call (1/6)
Author: Dana E. Vassy
Rating: PG 13, although some scenes are more harrowing
than others.
Category: Story, MSR, non-episodic.
Spoilers: Slight Detour, nothing much else.
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and Skinner are the property
of CC, 1013 and Fox. No profit being made. Sunset
Boulevard, the musical is copyright of the Really Useful
Group, based on an idea by Billy Wilder. I won't do any
damage, and although I never actually paid for my
tickets, please let me play... Mary, I now own you
family, just try to sue me..
Feedback: Send me it, or I'll hurt you like that beast
woman, Mulder. You get the point.
scullys_no_slut@viceprez.fsnet.co.uk
Distribution: Anywhere and everywhere, just drop me a
line at the above addy first...
Thanks to: Mary and her mad ideas on Yahoo. And
Nickerless the human air timetable.
* * * * * * * *
London, 4:30am
* * * * * * * *
"And after we see the Tower of London, I figured we
should go past Buckingham Palace. Then we need to have
lunch at.."
"Mulder. Shut up."
"Yeah, but lunch, we should.."
"I may not have my gun, but I will get one for the
sole purpose of killing you, should you continue. Yes, I
admit you know a lot more about London, but I want to
enjoy my trip. So just keep your mouth closed until I
get sleep that isn't wrecked by mid-Atlantic turbulence."
Making their way through Heathrow Airport, they could
have been just another couple bickering after a long
flight. But these were no ordinary people, and by
conventional definition, they weren't a couple. Fox
Mulder gave a good-hearted grin as he halted his barrage
of tourist information. His partner Dana Scully was
dishevelled from her flight, but still looked a force to
be reckoned with. In London representing the FBI at an
international crime conference, they knew they had really
pissed off the authorities above them. But hunting
aliens tended to be exhausting, so they took the chance
of a holiday while it presented itself.
Terminal four was brimming over with people, milling
about waiting for their loved ones. Mulder recognised
the boy who had kicked the back of his seat all the way
from DC, tormenting his family with airline trivia by the
look of it. The sister was giving the boy the same glare
Sam had reserved for Mulder babbling about Star Trek.
The pilot had arrived, doing the British Airways courtesy
number. Before anyone could thank him for the relatively
uneventful flight, the young boy had accosted him.
Mulder instinctively edged closer, this had potential.
"My name is Nick, well Nicholas. What's your
nickname?"
"Well, little guy, back home, they call me Top gun"
Mulder resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"That's stupid. So, boxers or briefs?"
'Score Nick', Mulder thought. Mr Perfect deflated by a
kid.
"That's personal information, sonny. Boxers," he
added at Nick's insistent glare.
Satisfied for the moment, Nick was dragged off by his
parents to mutters of "Next time, David, you can take
them yourself" and "He's your son too, Fiona" The girl
smirked contentedly, and followed the embarrassed menage
to baggage claim.
The pilot looked utterly mortified. Mulder was content
in his smugness, until he heard an all too familiar
voice.
"Well I don't think Top Gun is that bad, I loved the
film."
"Thanks, what they got a pretty lady like you in
London for?"
"Work, unfortunately. But I get some free time"
Scully was honest-to-God flirting in front of him.
Mulder was torn between the urge to pick her up caveman
style, punch Mr top flop, or hide in a corner. He hated
playing the spare part, especially when Scully went for
no-brainers. If only she'd flirt with him, at least so
he could assume she meant it.
"Don't suppose you're taking over from Jerry Hall in
that play? I'm not usually that lucky.."
Oh God, flirtatious laughter, this was unbearable. And
what sort of cheese ball line was that?
"No, I'm an FBI agent. But hey, I was reviewing my
career options.."
Beneath his obviously fake tan, top flop had paled
considerably. He looked more uncomfortable than someone
who'd just seen Diana Fowley naked.
"FBI? Well, I really have to go... tighten the wheels
on the plane. I'll see you around."
Mulder felt a pang of sympathy for his partner. But he
quickly disguised it as she spun on her heel to face him.
With an air of nonchalance, he looked with exaggerated
fervour for the baggage claim, even though he knew
exactly where to go.
Scully scanned the crowd looking for the consort who
would take them where they needed to go. Seeing no one,
she turned to Mulder who had a slightly fearful look on
his face.
"Mulder, it doesn't look like there's anyone here for
us"
"Yeah, um don't get mad, but, I told them not to
bother." He paused to see the anger clouding over her
tired expression. "I know my way to Kensington, and
we've got a rental car, and just don't worry, ok?"
His tone seemed reassuring enough, her rage succumbing to
an overworked body clock.
"Just don't get us lost, and remember it's the other
side of the road."
Their journey passed without incident, Scully only
awakening as Mulder drew up at the hotel. A nice old
building, Scully noticed as her eyes adjusted to the
greying light. Then she noticed the bellhop coming to
help her out of the car. Strange, that wasn't normal for
a hotel on their budget. Catching Mulder's sly grin, she
looked up to see the Hilton group logo. Then she really
looked at the building, the discreet 'Welcome to
Kensington Hilton' sign almost making her dizzy.
Mulder's gaze said "I'll explain later", so she let
herself be treated like a lady for a change. Their
luggage was taken straight to the rooms at Mulder's
request. It was still early, and breakfast seemed like
effort. So, Scully sensibly asked to be shown to her
room.
It was beautiful. The twelfth floor suite just oozed
luxury. How the Bureau had agreed to this was beyond
her, but those bed cushions looked too inviting for her
to argue. Only just managing to undress, Scully slipped
naked under the covers, unwilling to dredge pyjamas from
the depths of her suitcase. Besides, she could be a
little wild on holiday.
PART 2
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kensington Hilton, 12:30pm
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Scully started as she awoke in the unfamiliar room.
Sensing her lack of clothing, she was even more tense.
Then her memory came flooding back as the early afternoon
light penetrated the foggy recesses of her brain. She
was in London for a conference; she had been too
shattered to find pyjamas. And she'd had a knock back
from a semi-attractive criminal British Airways pilot.
What a start to the trip. Still, it could only get
better.
The warm steaming shower caressed away the last remnants
of the arduous flight. It annoyed Scully that she still
had problems with aeroplanes, but at least she could
disguise the paralysing fear. The bickering family on
the plane had been a welcome distraction, their
conversations ranging from football teams to muttered
threats about 'sporks', whatever they were. Some British
eccentricity perhaps? Resident expert Mulder would
probably know, not that she was likely to ask him. She
let her preoccupations melt that little bit further as
the coconut lather cleaned her rain-frizzed hair. A
shower had never felt so good.
Drying herself with the hotel towels, she noticed a more
lifelike expression staring back at her from the ornate
mirror. Time to get to work, Dr Scully. In the
beautiful white robe, she set about readying herself for
the afternoon's icebreaker.
Having combed her damp hair, she re-entered the bedroom
to find Mulder gazing out of her window. His bags were
dumped at the foot of the bed, and his leather jacket
occupied the space in the bed she had vacated.
"Nice to see you, Mulder. But why is all your stuff
in my room? I need to get dressed, pretty soon
remember."
"And why would you want to do that?" The glint in his
eye was encouraging to say the least. "There's a slight
problem, Scully.
"A buddy of mine set up the accommodation, I couldn't
handle another cheap motel deal. But the clown booked
one double room instead of two singles. He sort of
'misinterpreted' the term partner."
"They don't have another room free, Scully. But don't
worry, I'll take the couch."
If looks could kill, Scully would be charged with his
murder. He wasn't that bad a roommate, surely?
Probably still moody from Top flop's rejection. Well,
she would just have to get on with it.
He left her to dress, and went for a much-needed shower.
Feeling refreshed, he quickly smarted up and put on one
of his trusty Armani suits. Not that he was arrogant,
but he looked damn fine when he made the effort. And if
that didn't get Scully's attention, nothing ever would.
Having left a sufficient interval, he made his return to
the main room. Finding Scully cursing at her make-up
bag, he went to read the courtesy newspapers in the
lounge. While his buddy Michael had a problem with
accuracy, his taste was pretty hot. If only he could get
used to the luxury. But before he did, whirlwind Scully
swept in to get him in motion. Heaven forbid they miss a
second of the boring speeches.
Sitting in their rather comfortable rental car, Mulder
let Scully fiddle with the radio as he warmed the engine.
October in London wasn't as pleasant as he remembered.
Fortunately, they only had a lightweight introduction to
the conference to suffer this afternoon.
* * * * * * * * *
5pm, same day
* * * * * * * * *
Hell didn't even begin to describe it. Mulder had always
loved Hyde Park, and the huge marquee had looked almost
promising. Instead, Scully had ditched him, leaving him
to be chatted up by some hyperactive blonde detective.
The suit had the desired effect on everyone, except the
one it was aimed at. Bored to distraction through the
multi-lingual speeches, his first thought was to get
straight to a bar.
He met Scully at the entrance, joking with people who
just looked like pathologists. Tearing herself away at
last, her mood seemed to have improved. She noted
Mulder's surly demeanour, but opted to pretend nothing
was wrong. Hitting the horrible rush hour traffic, she
casually enquired what Mulder's plans were for the
evening. His shrug grated on her nerves, but being the
consummate professional, she soldiered on.
"I thought we could see a show. Choice of two."
He simply glared, then returned to his absorption with
the frantic traffic.
"The King and I, or Sunset Boulevard. It would be
nice to have some culture for a change. Which do you
prefer?"
"Well, I'm not going to see the King and I. Does that
help?"
"Fine, sulky. Sunset it is. We've to pick up the
tickets at the box office at seven. Think you can manage
that? And before you ask, the Adelphi does have a bar."
That seemed to satisfy him. Putting the radio on, Scully
consciously searched for a soft rock station. After all,
they say music soothes the savage beast, so probably best
to pander to that beast's taste. Having averted the
impending row, Scully thought that the London trip was
shaping up a lot better through time. People had been
genuinely interested in her this afternoon; she wasn't
just a plebe from the basement to them. Although she
would never turn from the X-Files, it made a welcome
change to be a normal FBI agent again. And tonight, she
could go to the theatre like a tourist, forget about life
for a while. Acting had always held her interest – it
was so different from her career path. And when your
life was in danger every week, any job without that sort
of threat was appealing. It was also a chance to get
dressed up, show Mulder just how sassy she could be. He
obviously didn't pay any attention to her in office wear.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Charing Cross Tube Station, 6:55pm
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"It's not my fault I couldn't find my good shirt"
"Yes it is. You could unpack like someone who
finished grade school. Now, move it."
Mulder rested his arm on Scully's lower back as he guided
her onto the Strand. The Adelphi was a fair distance
along, and she had opted for killer heels with her
outfit. He focussed on the heels to detract his
attention from the very low neckline on her top. This
show had better keep his interest, he didn't want to
drool. Sunset Boulevard? Why had he agreed to this?
Maybe they could take in a soccer match to pay her back.
After a frantic rush for their tickets, they hurried to
their seats. Really good ones at that. When pressed
Scully just smiled and muttered something above having
her own contacts. As the overture started, conversation
ceased. Mulder had expected the darkness of the theatre
to solve his staring problem, but their proximity meant
the stage lighting would keep Scully a little too
illuminated for him to get away with it. Damn.
He settled down, smirking as the female lead came on.
She was hardly a Hollywood beauty. He tried his damndest
to concentrate, but a new distraction caught his eye.
The guy two rows in front, twitching every time the
actress moved towards the front of the stage. Not
wanting to pry, Mulder tried once more to absorb the
jangling Lloyd Webber melodies. He even tried counting
the stairs on the huge staircase. But the guy was
definitely causing him problems. He had a strange aura
about him, unsettling Mulder's detective instincts. This
carried on throughout the first act.
Even at the bar at the intermission, Mulder found his
eyes drawn to the dark-haired man. If his target was
aware of being surveilled, he made no indication, but
buried his head in the souvenir programme. Mulder went
to purchase one for his partner, as the vendor's position
gave him a better vantage point for the stranger.
Scully's beaming smile told him he had scored brownie
points on his return. Momentarily, he forgot about the
peculiar theatregoer, and chatted with the contented
Scully about how fantastic the music was. To him, it was
okay, but he had now seen what a closest musicals fan
Dana Scully was. Totally unlike her, but she did tend to
keep him guessing.
And she managed to get his undivided attention during the
second act, by resting her little hand on his thigh. It
was all he could do to breathe normally. He kept
sneaking sideways glances, but it didn't seem to be an
invitation to more. Besides, she'd probably kill him for
interrupting the play.
Scully even let him drape his arm over her shoulders as
they left the packed Adelphi. Standing on the street, he
offered her a meal to say thanks for the show. Without
hesitation, she accepted. Mulder felt like a finish line
was in sight; all they had needed was some relaxation to
let them get closer. Then they both heard the spine-
chilling scream from the stage door. Breaking into a
sprint, they rounded the corner in time to see a van
skidding off. A hysterical stagehand stood in the open
doorway.
"We're, um, we're police officers. Can you tell us
what just happened, please?"
"Marion, he took, her. He took Marion."
Mulder looked questioningly at his partner.
"Marion Bickerstaff? She was playing Norma tonight?"
The employee nodded her agreement. With tear-stained
cheeks, she asked what was going to happen.
"We'll have to go check some things. Have you called
911, I mean 999?" Mulder enquired.
"Bill was doing it. We couldn't stop the man, he
took.. Marion"
Scully led the girl back inside, closely flanked by
Mulder. As she did, she saw all notions of a relaxing
holiday float away.
PART 3
Marion regained consciousness to find herself in a rather
turbulent form of motion. Judging from her dim and dusty
surroundings, she was in the back of a filthy transit
van. The front was sectioned off, and she had no idea
who was driving. While she was no rocket scientist, the
coarse ropes around her aching joints indicated it was
not her own driver. And this was certainly not her
Jaguar.
The road was twisting, causing her to be tossed across
the floor like a discarded rag doll. It's potholed
nature brought on her familiar travel sickness. The only
journey she remembered being so rough was the road past
her old home in Barnet, out towards the industrial end of
town. But her coherent thoughts were scrambled by yet
another dip in the highway. She strained to recall what
had led to her being here, but it was in vain. So she
decided to panic about what the grime was doing to her
custom-made costume. How would she explain this to
wardrobe department? Then she felt something warm
trickle down her forehead, which felt suspiciously like
blood. Great. On top of everything else, she would have
a hideous scar on her forehead.
The van came to a sudden halt, lurching her forward and
over an upturned crate. Winded, Marion barely
registered the blast of night air as the van's rear door
opened. Nor did she notice the shadowy figure; too much
in pain to care as his strong hands gripped her
shoulders. It was only when he began to drag her towards
the open air that she began to mount a feeble protest.
Her sharp pain was replaced by blind panic. Who was
this? What did they have planned? Why was this
happening? In her desperation, she lashed out at her
captor, her blunt heels catching him square in the shin.
The overpowering reek of his cheap aftershave and sweat
lessened slightly as he retreated, howling in agony. His
stream of invectives was welcome in comparison. Still,
Marion knew this man's personal hygiene routine was the
least of her worries. He recovered soon enough, dragging
her cowering form onto the muddy ground. The Armani
dress was done for now. Her scream was met by a harsh
slap, so she decided to preserve her voice for when she
was out of hitting distance. Her frustration was
magnified by her inability to check whether her phone was
still in her dress, thanks to her excruciatingly tied
wrists.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Backstage at the Adelphi
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mulder and Scully stepped aside as the Scotland Yard
detectives questioned the backstage crew. The security
tapes revealed the kidnapper to be the same peculiar man
that had caught Mulder's attention in the audience.
Already, the police had this down as a stalking case.
Mulder still felt there was something more to this.
Something they were all missing. Why had the tight-knit
backstage crew not noticed a stranger in their midst?
Granted, post-performance would be a sort of organised
chaos, but it was a secure area where the staff had not
changed in over a month. And for this man to be dressed
so differently – all in black with a long coat. Mulder
fought to keep images from Phantom of the Opera out of
his mind. He was drawn to thoughts of mind control and
illusionment. Was this another Robert Modell?
Scully watched her partner's investigative brain slowly
tick into overload. His desire to eat dinner with her
replaced by the thrill of yet another chase. Maybe she
should just be grateful their suspect was human. At
least, Mulder was buying that theory at present. Then
she noticed the girl trying to avoid attention, hovering
at the door. She looked like she was about to make a
break for it. Cautiously, so as not to startle the girl,
Scully sidled up to her. With a firm grip on the
terrified employee's arm, she leaned in to whisper,
"If you don't want to tell those officers, you're
going to tell me. Now walk quietly outside with me,
don't cause a scene."
Scully felt ridiculous with the cloak-and-dagger
approach, but she had learned through the years that
playing it by the book didn't always get results. With a
flick of her head, she motioned Mulder to follow, leaving
the throng of excitable thespians behind.
In the muggy London air, Scully drew herself up to her
full height. It was hardly intimidating, but it might
just be enough. Mulder masked his confusion well,
letting her take the reins for once.
"You obviously know more than you want to tell. We
can pass it on without involving you. But we need you to
tell us whatever you're hiding. It could save Marion's
life. You don't want to feel guilty if anything goes
wrong."
The girl let out a shaky sigh, and aged about ten years
as her features relaxed. Rubbing her temples lightly, a
tear rolled down her face. As though fighting some inner
battle, she chose her words carefully.
"I'm not certain about all of this. All I know for
sure is who that man is. Joel Brightman – we used to
call him 'The Hamster' at stage school."
"That's a start. Thank you. What's your name? And
is there anything else you can tell us, no matter how
silly it might seem?"
"I'm Myra. Myra Courteney. Marion, Joel and I all
were in the same classes at Aida Foster. Oh, that's our
stage school. You don't exactly sound 'local'. Anyway,
I'm getting off track. You see, Joel was never all that
talented. He was average, but everyone knew he got into
the school because of his mother's money. And he knew
what we all thought of him."
"He had a bit of a crush on Marion, you see. She was
never interested – always going after established men,
people to help her career. And it always wound him up.
Then, they both went up for parts in the same show. We
had just graduated, so everyone was being pretty
cutthroat, it was important to succeed then. In short,
Marion got the female lead, and Joel wasn't given the
time of day. She went on to pretty big things, and he
never really made it."
"We didn't think much of it. Marion was made to be a
star, I'm sure you've read about her in the papers often
enough. She's as famous for being off the stage and
acting up as she is on it. But she's the 'big cheese';
it's an accepted fact. I'm an assistant director, I'm
happy with that. But Joel, he had a jealousy problem.
He used to send cards to her every opening night, Good
Luck cards with 'bad' written over it. Lots of childish
things. But that stopped two years ago, round about when
Marion was working in America. That's why we all let our
guard down."
Exhausted from her outburst, Myra burst into tears.
Tears for her friend, but Mulder suspected they were also
for her own failing. She wasn't to blame, but there
would be no telling her that. Scully looked to him for
guidance. He stepped in gratefully, the questions
seating into his brain.
"Can you let us see Marion's personal effects? Is
there anything that might help us?"
Myra paused for a moment, apparently lost in thought.
"Well, if you've seen her dressing room, I can take
you to her house – it's only a few streets away. Su...
there'll be someone there to let us in. Just let me get
my car keys."
Mulder smiled his encouragement to the young woman, her
sparky determination was endearing. He wondered what she
had tripped up on saying, but figured it wasn't much to
worry about. He heard Scully's light sigh, and shot her
a sympathetic glance. It wasn't his intention to ruin
her holiday, but maybe it would earn them some brownie
points at the conference.
As Myra reappeared, flustered by the urgency, her weak
smile was gone. But the determination was slowly edging
out her fear. He just had to hope they didn't get in
trouble for skipping official channels yet again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Uncertain location, half an hour later
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Marion felt the temporary blindfold lifted, her eyes
squinting to adjust to the light. Maybe screaming hadn't
been wise, since the idiot had gagged her and tied a
dirty handkerchief round her eyes. When she got out of
this mess, he would be getting more than an ear bashing.
And then she saw his face.
So familiar, she couldn't quite place it. She obviously
knew him. Was it another obsessed fan who hadn't gotten
his signed photo quickly enough? Well, as long as this
strange dark-haired man gave up the game soon enough, she
didn't honestly care if he was the head of the Olivier
committee.
"Forgotten me already Marion? I'd have thought you'd
be better at remembering men by now. Still, with the
amount of men you've slept with, a little memory lapse is
to be expected. But they won't save you now, not even
Tom. Because I'm going to pay you back for a few things.
And I won't be using mummy's money to do it."
The sickening realisation sent her head spinning, as his
hands closed in towards her throat.
PART 4
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Undisclosed warehouse, near Barnet
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Hamster. Joel something was his real name. She
remembered stage school, with her precocious friends. He
had been the one they all disliked, the guy who bought
his way in. Brightman, that was his surname. Why the
hell does that matter, her mind was screaming. He's
going to strangle you. Keep calm, Marion; just think of
a way out. Talk. If she got his interest, his hands
would move away.
"I remember you Joel. I don't think I ever forgot.
Whatever this is about, can't we talk over drinks?
Instead of well...this place. Why don't you tell me what
this is about?"
She breathed a sigh of relief as his hands moved back.
The strange look on his face was replaced by that of
concentration. But God, he still looked like a hamster.
Focus, Marion, he's unstable remember?
"You honestly don't know. That might be cute if it
wasn't so damn irritating. You can't imagine what I want
with you. That's the bloody problem, Marion, you only
ever think of yourself. You've spent so many years with
people fawning over you, that you think you're above us
all. The signs were always there. You had to be the
lead in every production; if you weren't, you found a way
to steal the show anyway."
"Joel, I just wanted what we all did - to make it.
Don't think I haven't worked for this..."
"Worked? Maybe as a hooker, but never as an actress.
You got where you are by sleeping with any available guy.
Like you did with Tom. You were average, going nowhere
until he dragged you into the limelight. Stupid
bastard."
Marion felt the familiar wave of anger sweeping over her
as Joel's contemptuous gaze met hers. How dare he? The
man who'd done nothing since he left drama school. Last
she heard he was working in Our Price, having been thrown
out of one of his rare shows. And he dared to discredit
everything she'd done - the awards, the reviews, the
magazines and albums? It was utter cheek, coming from
him.
But he sensed her anger.
It wasn't a good thing. Before she could think she found
herself hurtling to the floor with her cheek stinging.
Tears welled in her eyes - he was really going to hurt
her. Then she felt his bony fingers tangling in her
hair. The searing pain in her scalp eradicated the
sensation of rising from the ground. The bastard was
dragging her by the hair. A style that took 40 minutes
every night. But the anger faded, she was exhausted from
three hours of singing on stage. She couldn't fight him
- he was at least a foot taller and double her width.
And he knew it. He was completely in control, and she
was powerless. The nausea returned as she was half-
dragged, half-carried towards a raised platform in the
middle of the floor. She closed her eyes and tried not
to panic. Her reward was two metal cuffs being strapped
onto her wrists. Surely he didn't expect *that*.
Apparently not.
Marion opened her eyes to find herself on the platform.
Her head felt light, like a radio was playing inside it.
She couldn't quite form a thought, words were just
slipping away. Was she dying? Is this what it felt
like? She was snapped back to full consciousness by his
voice. But he wasn't speaking aloud. For Christ's sake,
he was talking inside her head.
"Now Marion, you claim to be a good actress. I'm
going to do a little test. Your favourite song from
tonight's show is 'With one Look' according to the
souvenir programme. That interests me greatly."
She tried to ward off the invasive thoughts, screaming
aloud in a bid to stop him. He just chuckled and carried
on regardless.
"So, this little experiment will prove one of us
correct. A field exists around you, very destructive to
anything or anyone that encounters it. So, here's the
challenge - I want you to warn the people coming towards
you away. And there's a catch, you won't be able to
speak, only use you eyes. That's where your "favourite
song" comes in. Don't think about cheating, you
literally won't be able to speak. Think of me as just
another critic, if you will."
What the hell was he playing at? She opened her mouth to
scream and no sound came out. What had he done? She
needed to sing, she was contracted for another month.
How was he doing this? Then she felt it - the humming
noise, like an overgrown bumblebee. Something was very
wrong.
PART 5
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Marion's House, London
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mulder waited patiently for Myra to let them into the
flat. She seemed to be expecting someone, and was most
disgruntled at having to use her keys. But before Scully
could get more aggravated, the slight woman reappeared in
the doorway. Ushering them in, she seemed wary of
someone else's presence. Unwilling to deal with any of
the usual doubletalk, Scully got straight to the point.
"Who are you looking for Myra? I think it would be
wise for you to tell us now."
"Marion's... well, her daughter. Except no one knows
she even has a daughter, apart from a few close friends.
Her name is Annabelle. She was supposed to come straight
here from the airport – she must be delayed."
"We don't have to tell anyone. Not yet, at least.
Does she have a cell phone you could ring her on?"
"Cell phone? Oh, right, I'll call her mobile."
The agents wandered round the immaculate sitting room.
Nothing seemed to be disturbed, and Scully doubted the
kidnapper had even been here. But a clue to his
whereabouts would help. Mulder was drawn to the elegant
sideboard, displaying a multitude of awards and picture
frames. Nothing too remarkable, just a reminder of
Marion's fame. But her partner was obviously about to
come to a point. Scully prepared to go on the defensive,
but for once realised Mulder would most likely be right.
Instead, she readied herself to consider his theory.
"Scully, look at this room. Do you notice anything
in particular?"
"It's tidy? I suppose you're not used to that."
He shot her a sarcastic glance, but plunged on with his
hypothesis.
"You see how everything is symmetrical? The sofas,
the pictures, even the awards?"
"Yeah, but it looks like the awards are slightly off
centre..."
Mulder's grin told her she had hit the mark. A trophy
was missing. Marion's theatrical rival had kidnapped
her, and this centrepiece was missing from her home.
Myra joined them, and then let out a startled gasp.
"The Olivier, it's gone."
Mulder pounced while she was being so open.
"Myra, I want you to look around, to tell us what's
missing."
"Okay, well, her wedding photo isn't on the fireplace.
But give me a minute; I can't get hold of Tom. Her ex-
husband."
That was it. If Mulder had an inkling before, he was off
and running now. If Scully didn't feel so damn
disoriented she might be able to keep up. His eyes had
that glow they always had when he saw a solution in
sight. But his jaw was set in concern – this was
obviously more urgent than they had first thought.
Scully paused for a moment, musing over how very well she
knew her partner. How she could almost predict the
situation by just looking at his expression. That she
could gauge his reaction to certain types of news, and
even tell what clothes he would wear on a case. Most
little details, including how he took his coffee and the
way he chewed his lip when he was trying to conceal
anger. Details most lovers would only know of each
other.
But her thoughtful reverie was interrupted by Mulder's
latest outburst.
"He wants to destroy her. He's been taking personal
effects, perhaps to taunt her. But he wants to make her
suffer, then dispose of her. Flash her life before her
eyes. And I think her ex-husband and her daughter could
be in danger too. Where would he have gone? Where's he
based?"
"I don't know. I can't think. What about Tom and
Annabelle? She's only a child for God's sake."
Tears were careering down Myra's drawn cheeks as she spat
out the words. It was too much for her to take. Mulder
turned away – in what? Disgust? Exasperation? It was
not easy to tell. He headed off into the bedroom, still
looking for his elusive answers. Was this why he was
such a good investigator? He never stood still on a
case, always opening up another route when one closed off
to him. Scully gave Myra what she hoped was a reassuring
pat on the arm, and set off in pursuit of her partner.
She was met by his triumphant smile.
"I've got it."
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Maru's Warehouse, Barnet
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Marion watched as the air around her seemed to stop and
shiver before her. An inexplicable chill shimmered in
her spine. A metallic taste filled her mouth, and she
felt she might faint at any moment. But she could still
hear him, taunting and teasing.
"Here's a example for you. I doubt you can ward off
inanimate objects."
Resisting the urge to let her eyes close, Marion watched
as the Hamster lunged some trophy towards her. She
flinched instinctively, but it did not hit her. Instead,
it disintegrated about two feet from her waist. She
began to cry, it was her Olivier award. The peak of her
career, that came at no small price – years of hard work.
And it was destroyed; merely dust on the revolting floor
of the warehouse. God, could this be much worse?
Then a picture frame came hurtling forward, and she
flinched again. It was her wedding photo, the happiest
day of her life. The other copies had been destroyed in
a fire at her old house. And now it was gone, just like
her husband. Practically the only man she had ever
loved. She felt a stretching pain in her chest.
Joel was laughing inside her head, making it feel like an
empty cathedral. She had survived the sixties and never
had her mind so badly altered. Marion made one last-
ditch effort to shut out the noise, the response to which
was an increase in frequency. It was pointless, being
chained up like a convict, and powerless to stop Joel
from destroying her possessions.
"Now, now Marion. The test has yet to begin. Here's
where you really get to use those pretty blue eyes. Show
me how you 'won' that Olivier."
To her horror Marion saw Tom walking towards her. He
seemed dazed, looking past her rather than at her.
Desperate to scream out, she tried to warn him off with
her eyes. But to no avail.
She winced, the rate of her tears increasing silently as
she watched him crumple to the ground. Like the previous
objects, he had been held for a few seconds, frozen in
time before the field repelled him. And now he was dead,
the man who understood her best. Lying there dead
because some madman held a grudge.
For the first time, Marion felt true grief. Worse than
divorce, or losing friends. Like someone had stolen the
air from her lungs. Her hatred for the moment
overwhelmed by sorrow. But before she could let the
event sink in, Joel was back, with perhaps his most
ominous taunt.
"There's a young lady here to see you, Marion..."
PART 6
Author: Dana E. Vassy
Rating: PG 13, although some scenes are more harrowing
than others.
Category: Story, MSR, non-episodic.
Spoilers: Slight Detour, nothing much else.
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully and Skinner are the property
of CC, 1013 and Fox. No profit being made. Sunset
Boulevard, the musical is copyright of the Really Useful
Group, based on an idea by Billy Wilder. I won't do any
damage, and although I never actually paid for my
tickets, please let me play... Mary, I now own you
family, just try to sue me..
Feedback: Send me it, or I'll hurt you like that beast
woman, Mulder. You get the point.
scullys_no_slut@viceprez.fsnet.co.uk
Distribution: Anywhere and everywhere, just drop me a
line at the above addy first...
Thanks to: Mary and her mad ideas on Yahoo. And
Nickerless the human air timetable.
* * * * * * * *
London, 4:30am
* * * * * * * *
"And after we see the Tower of London, I figured we
should go past Buckingham Palace. Then we need to have
lunch at.."
"Mulder. Shut up."
"Yeah, but lunch, we should.."
"I may not have my gun, but I will get one for the
sole purpose of killing you, should you continue. Yes, I
admit you know a lot more about London, but I want to
enjoy my trip. So just keep your mouth closed until I
get sleep that isn't wrecked by mid-Atlantic turbulence."
Making their way through Heathrow Airport, they could
have been just another couple bickering after a long
flight. But these were no ordinary people, and by
conventional definition, they weren't a couple. Fox
Mulder gave a good-hearted grin as he halted his barrage
of tourist information. His partner Dana Scully was
dishevelled from her flight, but still looked a force to
be reckoned with. In London representing the FBI at an
international crime conference, they knew they had really
pissed off the authorities above them. But hunting
aliens tended to be exhausting, so they took the chance
of a holiday while it presented itself.
Terminal four was brimming over with people, milling
about waiting for their loved ones. Mulder recognised
the boy who had kicked the back of his seat all the way
from DC, tormenting his family with airline trivia by the
look of it. The sister was giving the boy the same glare
Sam had reserved for Mulder babbling about Star Trek.
The pilot had arrived, doing the British Airways courtesy
number. Before anyone could thank him for the relatively
uneventful flight, the young boy had accosted him.
Mulder instinctively edged closer, this had potential.
"My name is Nick, well Nicholas. What's your
nickname?"
"Well, little guy, back home, they call me Top gun"
Mulder resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"That's stupid. So, boxers or briefs?"
'Score Nick', Mulder thought. Mr Perfect deflated by a
kid.
"That's personal information, sonny. Boxers," he
added at Nick's insistent glare.
Satisfied for the moment, Nick was dragged off by his
parents to mutters of "Next time, David, you can take
them yourself" and "He's your son too, Fiona" The girl
smirked contentedly, and followed the embarrassed menage
to baggage claim.
The pilot looked utterly mortified. Mulder was content
in his smugness, until he heard an all too familiar
voice.
"Well I don't think Top Gun is that bad, I loved the
film."
"Thanks, what they got a pretty lady like you in
London for?"
"Work, unfortunately. But I get some free time"
Scully was honest-to-God flirting in front of him.
Mulder was torn between the urge to pick her up caveman
style, punch Mr top flop, or hide in a corner. He hated
playing the spare part, especially when Scully went for
no-brainers. If only she'd flirt with him, at least so
he could assume she meant it.
"Don't suppose you're taking over from Jerry Hall in
that play? I'm not usually that lucky.."
Oh God, flirtatious laughter, this was unbearable. And
what sort of cheese ball line was that?
"No, I'm an FBI agent. But hey, I was reviewing my
career options.."
Beneath his obviously fake tan, top flop had paled
considerably. He looked more uncomfortable than someone
who'd just seen Diana Fowley naked.
"FBI? Well, I really have to go... tighten the wheels
on the plane. I'll see you around."
Mulder felt a pang of sympathy for his partner. But he
quickly disguised it as she spun on her heel to face him.
With an air of nonchalance, he looked with exaggerated
fervour for the baggage claim, even though he knew
exactly where to go.
Scully scanned the crowd looking for the consort who
would take them where they needed to go. Seeing no one,
she turned to Mulder who had a slightly fearful look on
his face.
"Mulder, it doesn't look like there's anyone here for
us"
"Yeah, um don't get mad, but, I told them not to
bother." He paused to see the anger clouding over her
tired expression. "I know my way to Kensington, and
we've got a rental car, and just don't worry, ok?"
His tone seemed reassuring enough, her rage succumbing to
an overworked body clock.
"Just don't get us lost, and remember it's the other
side of the road."
Their journey passed without incident, Scully only
awakening as Mulder drew up at the hotel. A nice old
building, Scully noticed as her eyes adjusted to the
greying light. Then she noticed the bellhop coming to
help her out of the car. Strange, that wasn't normal for
a hotel on their budget. Catching Mulder's sly grin, she
looked up to see the Hilton group logo. Then she really
looked at the building, the discreet 'Welcome to
Kensington Hilton' sign almost making her dizzy.
Mulder's gaze said "I'll explain later", so she let
herself be treated like a lady for a change. Their
luggage was taken straight to the rooms at Mulder's
request. It was still early, and breakfast seemed like
effort. So, Scully sensibly asked to be shown to her
room.
It was beautiful. The twelfth floor suite just oozed
luxury. How the Bureau had agreed to this was beyond
her, but those bed cushions looked too inviting for her
to argue. Only just managing to undress, Scully slipped
naked under the covers, unwilling to dredge pyjamas from
the depths of her suitcase. Besides, she could be a
little wild on holiday.
PART 2
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kensington Hilton, 12:30pm
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Scully started as she awoke in the unfamiliar room.
Sensing her lack of clothing, she was even more tense.
Then her memory came flooding back as the early afternoon
light penetrated the foggy recesses of her brain. She
was in London for a conference; she had been too
shattered to find pyjamas. And she'd had a knock back
from a semi-attractive criminal British Airways pilot.
What a start to the trip. Still, it could only get
better.
The warm steaming shower caressed away the last remnants
of the arduous flight. It annoyed Scully that she still
had problems with aeroplanes, but at least she could
disguise the paralysing fear. The bickering family on
the plane had been a welcome distraction, their
conversations ranging from football teams to muttered
threats about 'sporks', whatever they were. Some British
eccentricity perhaps? Resident expert Mulder would
probably know, not that she was likely to ask him. She
let her preoccupations melt that little bit further as
the coconut lather cleaned her rain-frizzed hair. A
shower had never felt so good.
Drying herself with the hotel towels, she noticed a more
lifelike expression staring back at her from the ornate
mirror. Time to get to work, Dr Scully. In the
beautiful white robe, she set about readying herself for
the afternoon's icebreaker.
Having combed her damp hair, she re-entered the bedroom
to find Mulder gazing out of her window. His bags were
dumped at the foot of the bed, and his leather jacket
occupied the space in the bed she had vacated.
"Nice to see you, Mulder. But why is all your stuff
in my room? I need to get dressed, pretty soon
remember."
"And why would you want to do that?" The glint in his
eye was encouraging to say the least. "There's a slight
problem, Scully.
"A buddy of mine set up the accommodation, I couldn't
handle another cheap motel deal. But the clown booked
one double room instead of two singles. He sort of
'misinterpreted' the term partner."
"They don't have another room free, Scully. But don't
worry, I'll take the couch."
If looks could kill, Scully would be charged with his
murder. He wasn't that bad a roommate, surely?
Probably still moody from Top flop's rejection. Well,
she would just have to get on with it.
He left her to dress, and went for a much-needed shower.
Feeling refreshed, he quickly smarted up and put on one
of his trusty Armani suits. Not that he was arrogant,
but he looked damn fine when he made the effort. And if
that didn't get Scully's attention, nothing ever would.
Having left a sufficient interval, he made his return to
the main room. Finding Scully cursing at her make-up
bag, he went to read the courtesy newspapers in the
lounge. While his buddy Michael had a problem with
accuracy, his taste was pretty hot. If only he could get
used to the luxury. But before he did, whirlwind Scully
swept in to get him in motion. Heaven forbid they miss a
second of the boring speeches.
Sitting in their rather comfortable rental car, Mulder
let Scully fiddle with the radio as he warmed the engine.
October in London wasn't as pleasant as he remembered.
Fortunately, they only had a lightweight introduction to
the conference to suffer this afternoon.
* * * * * * * * *
5pm, same day
* * * * * * * * *
Hell didn't even begin to describe it. Mulder had always
loved Hyde Park, and the huge marquee had looked almost
promising. Instead, Scully had ditched him, leaving him
to be chatted up by some hyperactive blonde detective.
The suit had the desired effect on everyone, except the
one it was aimed at. Bored to distraction through the
multi-lingual speeches, his first thought was to get
straight to a bar.
He met Scully at the entrance, joking with people who
just looked like pathologists. Tearing herself away at
last, her mood seemed to have improved. She noted
Mulder's surly demeanour, but opted to pretend nothing
was wrong. Hitting the horrible rush hour traffic, she
casually enquired what Mulder's plans were for the
evening. His shrug grated on her nerves, but being the
consummate professional, she soldiered on.
"I thought we could see a show. Choice of two."
He simply glared, then returned to his absorption with
the frantic traffic.
"The King and I, or Sunset Boulevard. It would be
nice to have some culture for a change. Which do you
prefer?"
"Well, I'm not going to see the King and I. Does that
help?"
"Fine, sulky. Sunset it is. We've to pick up the
tickets at the box office at seven. Think you can manage
that? And before you ask, the Adelphi does have a bar."
That seemed to satisfy him. Putting the radio on, Scully
consciously searched for a soft rock station. After all,
they say music soothes the savage beast, so probably best
to pander to that beast's taste. Having averted the
impending row, Scully thought that the London trip was
shaping up a lot better through time. People had been
genuinely interested in her this afternoon; she wasn't
just a plebe from the basement to them. Although she
would never turn from the X-Files, it made a welcome
change to be a normal FBI agent again. And tonight, she
could go to the theatre like a tourist, forget about life
for a while. Acting had always held her interest – it
was so different from her career path. And when your
life was in danger every week, any job without that sort
of threat was appealing. It was also a chance to get
dressed up, show Mulder just how sassy she could be. He
obviously didn't pay any attention to her in office wear.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Charing Cross Tube Station, 6:55pm
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"It's not my fault I couldn't find my good shirt"
"Yes it is. You could unpack like someone who
finished grade school. Now, move it."
Mulder rested his arm on Scully's lower back as he guided
her onto the Strand. The Adelphi was a fair distance
along, and she had opted for killer heels with her
outfit. He focussed on the heels to detract his
attention from the very low neckline on her top. This
show had better keep his interest, he didn't want to
drool. Sunset Boulevard? Why had he agreed to this?
Maybe they could take in a soccer match to pay her back.
After a frantic rush for their tickets, they hurried to
their seats. Really good ones at that. When pressed
Scully just smiled and muttered something above having
her own contacts. As the overture started, conversation
ceased. Mulder had expected the darkness of the theatre
to solve his staring problem, but their proximity meant
the stage lighting would keep Scully a little too
illuminated for him to get away with it. Damn.
He settled down, smirking as the female lead came on.
She was hardly a Hollywood beauty. He tried his damndest
to concentrate, but a new distraction caught his eye.
The guy two rows in front, twitching every time the
actress moved towards the front of the stage. Not
wanting to pry, Mulder tried once more to absorb the
jangling Lloyd Webber melodies. He even tried counting
the stairs on the huge staircase. But the guy was
definitely causing him problems. He had a strange aura
about him, unsettling Mulder's detective instincts. This
carried on throughout the first act.
Even at the bar at the intermission, Mulder found his
eyes drawn to the dark-haired man. If his target was
aware of being surveilled, he made no indication, but
buried his head in the souvenir programme. Mulder went
to purchase one for his partner, as the vendor's position
gave him a better vantage point for the stranger.
Scully's beaming smile told him he had scored brownie
points on his return. Momentarily, he forgot about the
peculiar theatregoer, and chatted with the contented
Scully about how fantastic the music was. To him, it was
okay, but he had now seen what a closest musicals fan
Dana Scully was. Totally unlike her, but she did tend to
keep him guessing.
And she managed to get his undivided attention during the
second act, by resting her little hand on his thigh. It
was all he could do to breathe normally. He kept
sneaking sideways glances, but it didn't seem to be an
invitation to more. Besides, she'd probably kill him for
interrupting the play.
Scully even let him drape his arm over her shoulders as
they left the packed Adelphi. Standing on the street, he
offered her a meal to say thanks for the show. Without
hesitation, she accepted. Mulder felt like a finish line
was in sight; all they had needed was some relaxation to
let them get closer. Then they both heard the spine-
chilling scream from the stage door. Breaking into a
sprint, they rounded the corner in time to see a van
skidding off. A hysterical stagehand stood in the open
doorway.
"We're, um, we're police officers. Can you tell us
what just happened, please?"
"Marion, he took, her. He took Marion."
Mulder looked questioningly at his partner.
"Marion Bickerstaff? She was playing Norma tonight?"
The employee nodded her agreement. With tear-stained
cheeks, she asked what was going to happen.
"We'll have to go check some things. Have you called
911, I mean 999?" Mulder enquired.
"Bill was doing it. We couldn't stop the man, he
took.. Marion"
Scully led the girl back inside, closely flanked by
Mulder. As she did, she saw all notions of a relaxing
holiday float away.
PART 3
Marion regained consciousness to find herself in a rather
turbulent form of motion. Judging from her dim and dusty
surroundings, she was in the back of a filthy transit
van. The front was sectioned off, and she had no idea
who was driving. While she was no rocket scientist, the
coarse ropes around her aching joints indicated it was
not her own driver. And this was certainly not her
Jaguar.
The road was twisting, causing her to be tossed across
the floor like a discarded rag doll. It's potholed
nature brought on her familiar travel sickness. The only
journey she remembered being so rough was the road past
her old home in Barnet, out towards the industrial end of
town. But her coherent thoughts were scrambled by yet
another dip in the highway. She strained to recall what
had led to her being here, but it was in vain. So she
decided to panic about what the grime was doing to her
custom-made costume. How would she explain this to
wardrobe department? Then she felt something warm
trickle down her forehead, which felt suspiciously like
blood. Great. On top of everything else, she would have
a hideous scar on her forehead.
The van came to a sudden halt, lurching her forward and
over an upturned crate. Winded, Marion barely
registered the blast of night air as the van's rear door
opened. Nor did she notice the shadowy figure; too much
in pain to care as his strong hands gripped her
shoulders. It was only when he began to drag her towards
the open air that she began to mount a feeble protest.
Her sharp pain was replaced by blind panic. Who was
this? What did they have planned? Why was this
happening? In her desperation, she lashed out at her
captor, her blunt heels catching him square in the shin.
The overpowering reek of his cheap aftershave and sweat
lessened slightly as he retreated, howling in agony. His
stream of invectives was welcome in comparison. Still,
Marion knew this man's personal hygiene routine was the
least of her worries. He recovered soon enough, dragging
her cowering form onto the muddy ground. The Armani
dress was done for now. Her scream was met by a harsh
slap, so she decided to preserve her voice for when she
was out of hitting distance. Her frustration was
magnified by her inability to check whether her phone was
still in her dress, thanks to her excruciatingly tied
wrists.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Backstage at the Adelphi
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mulder and Scully stepped aside as the Scotland Yard
detectives questioned the backstage crew. The security
tapes revealed the kidnapper to be the same peculiar man
that had caught Mulder's attention in the audience.
Already, the police had this down as a stalking case.
Mulder still felt there was something more to this.
Something they were all missing. Why had the tight-knit
backstage crew not noticed a stranger in their midst?
Granted, post-performance would be a sort of organised
chaos, but it was a secure area where the staff had not
changed in over a month. And for this man to be dressed
so differently – all in black with a long coat. Mulder
fought to keep images from Phantom of the Opera out of
his mind. He was drawn to thoughts of mind control and
illusionment. Was this another Robert Modell?
Scully watched her partner's investigative brain slowly
tick into overload. His desire to eat dinner with her
replaced by the thrill of yet another chase. Maybe she
should just be grateful their suspect was human. At
least, Mulder was buying that theory at present. Then
she noticed the girl trying to avoid attention, hovering
at the door. She looked like she was about to make a
break for it. Cautiously, so as not to startle the girl,
Scully sidled up to her. With a firm grip on the
terrified employee's arm, she leaned in to whisper,
"If you don't want to tell those officers, you're
going to tell me. Now walk quietly outside with me,
don't cause a scene."
Scully felt ridiculous with the cloak-and-dagger
approach, but she had learned through the years that
playing it by the book didn't always get results. With a
flick of her head, she motioned Mulder to follow, leaving
the throng of excitable thespians behind.
In the muggy London air, Scully drew herself up to her
full height. It was hardly intimidating, but it might
just be enough. Mulder masked his confusion well,
letting her take the reins for once.
"You obviously know more than you want to tell. We
can pass it on without involving you. But we need you to
tell us whatever you're hiding. It could save Marion's
life. You don't want to feel guilty if anything goes
wrong."
The girl let out a shaky sigh, and aged about ten years
as her features relaxed. Rubbing her temples lightly, a
tear rolled down her face. As though fighting some inner
battle, she chose her words carefully.
"I'm not certain about all of this. All I know for
sure is who that man is. Joel Brightman – we used to
call him 'The Hamster' at stage school."
"That's a start. Thank you. What's your name? And
is there anything else you can tell us, no matter how
silly it might seem?"
"I'm Myra. Myra Courteney. Marion, Joel and I all
were in the same classes at Aida Foster. Oh, that's our
stage school. You don't exactly sound 'local'. Anyway,
I'm getting off track. You see, Joel was never all that
talented. He was average, but everyone knew he got into
the school because of his mother's money. And he knew
what we all thought of him."
"He had a bit of a crush on Marion, you see. She was
never interested – always going after established men,
people to help her career. And it always wound him up.
Then, they both went up for parts in the same show. We
had just graduated, so everyone was being pretty
cutthroat, it was important to succeed then. In short,
Marion got the female lead, and Joel wasn't given the
time of day. She went on to pretty big things, and he
never really made it."
"We didn't think much of it. Marion was made to be a
star, I'm sure you've read about her in the papers often
enough. She's as famous for being off the stage and
acting up as she is on it. But she's the 'big cheese';
it's an accepted fact. I'm an assistant director, I'm
happy with that. But Joel, he had a jealousy problem.
He used to send cards to her every opening night, Good
Luck cards with 'bad' written over it. Lots of childish
things. But that stopped two years ago, round about when
Marion was working in America. That's why we all let our
guard down."
Exhausted from her outburst, Myra burst into tears.
Tears for her friend, but Mulder suspected they were also
for her own failing. She wasn't to blame, but there
would be no telling her that. Scully looked to him for
guidance. He stepped in gratefully, the questions
seating into his brain.
"Can you let us see Marion's personal effects? Is
there anything that might help us?"
Myra paused for a moment, apparently lost in thought.
"Well, if you've seen her dressing room, I can take
you to her house – it's only a few streets away. Su...
there'll be someone there to let us in. Just let me get
my car keys."
Mulder smiled his encouragement to the young woman, her
sparky determination was endearing. He wondered what she
had tripped up on saying, but figured it wasn't much to
worry about. He heard Scully's light sigh, and shot her
a sympathetic glance. It wasn't his intention to ruin
her holiday, but maybe it would earn them some brownie
points at the conference.
As Myra reappeared, flustered by the urgency, her weak
smile was gone. But the determination was slowly edging
out her fear. He just had to hope they didn't get in
trouble for skipping official channels yet again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Uncertain location, half an hour later
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Marion felt the temporary blindfold lifted, her eyes
squinting to adjust to the light. Maybe screaming hadn't
been wise, since the idiot had gagged her and tied a
dirty handkerchief round her eyes. When she got out of
this mess, he would be getting more than an ear bashing.
And then she saw his face.
So familiar, she couldn't quite place it. She obviously
knew him. Was it another obsessed fan who hadn't gotten
his signed photo quickly enough? Well, as long as this
strange dark-haired man gave up the game soon enough, she
didn't honestly care if he was the head of the Olivier
committee.
"Forgotten me already Marion? I'd have thought you'd
be better at remembering men by now. Still, with the
amount of men you've slept with, a little memory lapse is
to be expected. But they won't save you now, not even
Tom. Because I'm going to pay you back for a few things.
And I won't be using mummy's money to do it."
The sickening realisation sent her head spinning, as his
hands closed in towards her throat.
PART 4
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Undisclosed warehouse, near Barnet
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Hamster. Joel something was his real name. She
remembered stage school, with her precocious friends. He
had been the one they all disliked, the guy who bought
his way in. Brightman, that was his surname. Why the
hell does that matter, her mind was screaming. He's
going to strangle you. Keep calm, Marion; just think of
a way out. Talk. If she got his interest, his hands
would move away.
"I remember you Joel. I don't think I ever forgot.
Whatever this is about, can't we talk over drinks?
Instead of well...this place. Why don't you tell me what
this is about?"
She breathed a sigh of relief as his hands moved back.
The strange look on his face was replaced by that of
concentration. But God, he still looked like a hamster.
Focus, Marion, he's unstable remember?
"You honestly don't know. That might be cute if it
wasn't so damn irritating. You can't imagine what I want
with you. That's the bloody problem, Marion, you only
ever think of yourself. You've spent so many years with
people fawning over you, that you think you're above us
all. The signs were always there. You had to be the
lead in every production; if you weren't, you found a way
to steal the show anyway."
"Joel, I just wanted what we all did - to make it.
Don't think I haven't worked for this..."
"Worked? Maybe as a hooker, but never as an actress.
You got where you are by sleeping with any available guy.
Like you did with Tom. You were average, going nowhere
until he dragged you into the limelight. Stupid
bastard."
Marion felt the familiar wave of anger sweeping over her
as Joel's contemptuous gaze met hers. How dare he? The
man who'd done nothing since he left drama school. Last
she heard he was working in Our Price, having been thrown
out of one of his rare shows. And he dared to discredit
everything she'd done - the awards, the reviews, the
magazines and albums? It was utter cheek, coming from
him.
But he sensed her anger.
It wasn't a good thing. Before she could think she found
herself hurtling to the floor with her cheek stinging.
Tears welled in her eyes - he was really going to hurt
her. Then she felt his bony fingers tangling in her
hair. The searing pain in her scalp eradicated the
sensation of rising from the ground. The bastard was
dragging her by the hair. A style that took 40 minutes
every night. But the anger faded, she was exhausted from
three hours of singing on stage. She couldn't fight him
- he was at least a foot taller and double her width.
And he knew it. He was completely in control, and she
was powerless. The nausea returned as she was half-
dragged, half-carried towards a raised platform in the
middle of the floor. She closed her eyes and tried not
to panic. Her reward was two metal cuffs being strapped
onto her wrists. Surely he didn't expect *that*.
Apparently not.
Marion opened her eyes to find herself on the platform.
Her head felt light, like a radio was playing inside it.
She couldn't quite form a thought, words were just
slipping away. Was she dying? Is this what it felt
like? She was snapped back to full consciousness by his
voice. But he wasn't speaking aloud. For Christ's sake,
he was talking inside her head.
"Now Marion, you claim to be a good actress. I'm
going to do a little test. Your favourite song from
tonight's show is 'With one Look' according to the
souvenir programme. That interests me greatly."
She tried to ward off the invasive thoughts, screaming
aloud in a bid to stop him. He just chuckled and carried
on regardless.
"So, this little experiment will prove one of us
correct. A field exists around you, very destructive to
anything or anyone that encounters it. So, here's the
challenge - I want you to warn the people coming towards
you away. And there's a catch, you won't be able to
speak, only use you eyes. That's where your "favourite
song" comes in. Don't think about cheating, you
literally won't be able to speak. Think of me as just
another critic, if you will."
What the hell was he playing at? She opened her mouth to
scream and no sound came out. What had he done? She
needed to sing, she was contracted for another month.
How was he doing this? Then she felt it - the humming
noise, like an overgrown bumblebee. Something was very
wrong.
PART 5
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Marion's House, London
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Mulder waited patiently for Myra to let them into the
flat. She seemed to be expecting someone, and was most
disgruntled at having to use her keys. But before Scully
could get more aggravated, the slight woman reappeared in
the doorway. Ushering them in, she seemed wary of
someone else's presence. Unwilling to deal with any of
the usual doubletalk, Scully got straight to the point.
"Who are you looking for Myra? I think it would be
wise for you to tell us now."
"Marion's... well, her daughter. Except no one knows
she even has a daughter, apart from a few close friends.
Her name is Annabelle. She was supposed to come straight
here from the airport – she must be delayed."
"We don't have to tell anyone. Not yet, at least.
Does she have a cell phone you could ring her on?"
"Cell phone? Oh, right, I'll call her mobile."
The agents wandered round the immaculate sitting room.
Nothing seemed to be disturbed, and Scully doubted the
kidnapper had even been here. But a clue to his
whereabouts would help. Mulder was drawn to the elegant
sideboard, displaying a multitude of awards and picture
frames. Nothing too remarkable, just a reminder of
Marion's fame. But her partner was obviously about to
come to a point. Scully prepared to go on the defensive,
but for once realised Mulder would most likely be right.
Instead, she readied herself to consider his theory.
"Scully, look at this room. Do you notice anything
in particular?"
"It's tidy? I suppose you're not used to that."
He shot her a sarcastic glance, but plunged on with his
hypothesis.
"You see how everything is symmetrical? The sofas,
the pictures, even the awards?"
"Yeah, but it looks like the awards are slightly off
centre..."
Mulder's grin told her she had hit the mark. A trophy
was missing. Marion's theatrical rival had kidnapped
her, and this centrepiece was missing from her home.
Myra joined them, and then let out a startled gasp.
"The Olivier, it's gone."
Mulder pounced while she was being so open.
"Myra, I want you to look around, to tell us what's
missing."
"Okay, well, her wedding photo isn't on the fireplace.
But give me a minute; I can't get hold of Tom. Her ex-
husband."
That was it. If Mulder had an inkling before, he was off
and running now. If Scully didn't feel so damn
disoriented she might be able to keep up. His eyes had
that glow they always had when he saw a solution in
sight. But his jaw was set in concern – this was
obviously more urgent than they had first thought.
Scully paused for a moment, musing over how very well she
knew her partner. How she could almost predict the
situation by just looking at his expression. That she
could gauge his reaction to certain types of news, and
even tell what clothes he would wear on a case. Most
little details, including how he took his coffee and the
way he chewed his lip when he was trying to conceal
anger. Details most lovers would only know of each
other.
But her thoughtful reverie was interrupted by Mulder's
latest outburst.
"He wants to destroy her. He's been taking personal
effects, perhaps to taunt her. But he wants to make her
suffer, then dispose of her. Flash her life before her
eyes. And I think her ex-husband and her daughter could
be in danger too. Where would he have gone? Where's he
based?"
"I don't know. I can't think. What about Tom and
Annabelle? She's only a child for God's sake."
Tears were careering down Myra's drawn cheeks as she spat
out the words. It was too much for her to take. Mulder
turned away – in what? Disgust? Exasperation? It was
not easy to tell. He headed off into the bedroom, still
looking for his elusive answers. Was this why he was
such a good investigator? He never stood still on a
case, always opening up another route when one closed off
to him. Scully gave Myra what she hoped was a reassuring
pat on the arm, and set off in pursuit of her partner.
She was met by his triumphant smile.
"I've got it."
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Maru's Warehouse, Barnet
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Marion watched as the air around her seemed to stop and
shiver before her. An inexplicable chill shimmered in
her spine. A metallic taste filled her mouth, and she
felt she might faint at any moment. But she could still
hear him, taunting and teasing.
"Here's a example for you. I doubt you can ward off
inanimate objects."
Resisting the urge to let her eyes close, Marion watched
as the Hamster lunged some trophy towards her. She
flinched instinctively, but it did not hit her. Instead,
it disintegrated about two feet from her waist. She
began to cry, it was her Olivier award. The peak of her
career, that came at no small price – years of hard work.
And it was destroyed; merely dust on the revolting floor
of the warehouse. God, could this be much worse?
Then a picture frame came hurtling forward, and she
flinched again. It was her wedding photo, the happiest
day of her life. The other copies had been destroyed in
a fire at her old house. And now it was gone, just like
her husband. Practically the only man she had ever
loved. She felt a stretching pain in her chest.
Joel was laughing inside her head, making it feel like an
empty cathedral. She had survived the sixties and never
had her mind so badly altered. Marion made one last-
ditch effort to shut out the noise, the response to which
was an increase in frequency. It was pointless, being
chained up like a convict, and powerless to stop Joel
from destroying her possessions.
"Now, now Marion. The test has yet to begin. Here's
where you really get to use those pretty blue eyes. Show
me how you 'won' that Olivier."
To her horror Marion saw Tom walking towards her. He
seemed dazed, looking past her rather than at her.
Desperate to scream out, she tried to warn him off with
her eyes. But to no avail.
She winced, the rate of her tears increasing silently as
she watched him crumple to the ground. Like the previous
objects, he had been held for a few seconds, frozen in
time before the field repelled him. And now he was dead,
the man who understood her best. Lying there dead
because some madman held a grudge.
For the first time, Marion felt true grief. Worse than
divorce, or losing friends. Like someone had stolen the
air from her lungs. Her hatred for the moment
overwhelmed by sorrow. But before she could let the
event sink in, Joel was back, with perhaps his most
ominous taunt.
"There's a young lady here to see you, Marion..."
PART 6