Chapter 6

2:15 pm

The South Dakota / Iowa Border

Scully and Marita crammed themselves into a small booth at the back of dining room. They had been on the road for hours and had driven until they were about to cave in from hunger. After a long while, Scully was able to persuade Mulder to stop at the first fast food place they came to.

"Okay, I'm back," Mulder called out as he approached the booth carrying a plastic tray with everyone's meals. "Who had the Big Mac, again?"

Marita raised a hand and the burger was passed to her. This was a humbling experience for her. In all her years, she had never set foot into a place like this. While working for the United Nations, she had dined at world famous 5-star restaurants, and sat next to world leaders and had her pick of the most expensive wines on the menu. A Big Mac with the works was not her idea of fine dining. But she was hungry and had been living on chips and pretzels for the last few days, so real food of any kind was a welcome relief.

They ate in silence. Mulder and Scully shared a medium order of fries while Marita sipped her Diet Pepsi. About halfway through their meal, they were approached by a man wearing overalls and a straw hat.

Nobody made any eye contact with the man, but he just stood there for the longest time – staring. Finally, he spoke up. "Mulder. Ms. Scully. Ms. Covarrubias. May I sit down?"

That got their attention. The three at the table exchanged worried looks with one another. They had been found out! After all this time, to be discovered in an old McDonald's in the middle of nowhere!

"I can assure you, I'm a friend." The man said. He slid into the booth next to Marita. "I was the one who contacted you," he said to her. "I know I don't look it, but it's me. Gibson Praise."

Marita shot Mulder a concerned look. Mulder didn't quite seem to know what to think either.

"I know it looks odd," the man explained. "But it's true. My powers have grown to mind control as well as reading. I'm possessing this man's body so that I can give you a message." He paused and observed faces. They weren't believing it. "Alright, I'll prove it. Mulder, Scully, you first met me after a failed assassination attempt on my life. You had me tested for my psychic ability and I passes with flaying colors." He went on from there, talking about his junk DNA that provided him his powers, and other things that only Gibson Praise would know.

"Where you the one that provided us with the location of the Montana facility?" Scully asked.

The man nodded. "I possessed the maid to tape the note on your door." He smiled. "I'm glad to help you, and that's what I've come to tell you. You should go to Washington. I'll meet up with you there and we can discuss future plans to bring the Neo Syndicate to its knees."

"Washington," Mulder repeated. "Got it."

The man Gibson was controlling got up and headed for the exit.

"Wait!" Mulder called out. "Be careful, okay? You're working alongside some dangerous people. There's no telling what they would do to you if they found you out."

Nodding, the man left the restaurant.

Scully, Mulder and Marita gathered up all their food and tossed it into the garbage. They now had a destination. A purpose. Get to Washington.

…

John was awaked by the pinch of a needle slipping into his skin. He opened his eyes to see two men dressed in military gear on either side of him and Dona Lola in front, with a smile on her face. "Maybe now you'll tell us the truth," She said. "You've just been injected with a little 'Truth Serum Cocktail'. If you have any secrets you want to share with us, now is the time to do it."

The two men grabbed John's arms and hauled him roughly to his feet. He wanted to tell them to get their stinking hands off him, but he couldn't talk. His mind was swirling. His throat was dry. The room was spinning.

"Let's start with an easy question," Dona Lola suggested. "When did you last see Mulder and Scully?"

John's mouth opened involuntarily. "After the. Mulder's trial. Desert."

"And have you kept in contact? You have, correct?"

"No. Haven't seen. Ten years." His voice was extremely soft and choppy. The serum had taken effect, but he didn't have the answer that was desired.

One of the military men punched John hard in the stomach.

His legs went out from under him and he hit the floor hard. Dona Lola looked down upon him with no sympathy. She asked him the question again and again he said he hadn't had any contact with either Mulder or Scully since the trial.

"What should we do with him?" the man holding onto the prisoner's arm asked. "I don't think he knows anything. Should we dispose of him?"

Dona Lola shook her head. "No, don't do that. Let's just go ahead with Plan B."

The guards nodded in agreement and picked John up off the ground. The one on the right snatched John's necktie and tore it from around his neck. The other grabbed the front of his button-down dress shirt, ripped it open and threw it to the ground.

"You brought this on yourself you know," Dona Lola said sadly as she watched the guards strip off John's undershirt. "You should have been more cooperative."

The shoes he was wearing were the next things to go. Then the socks were pulled off his feet. The floor of the interrogation room was cold.

"But we have plans for you, yes we do."

One of the guards clasped his hand around John's belt and gave it a sharp tug, pulling it free of the belt loops, while the other took hold of the waistband of his pants and jerked down, bringing them around his ankles. With a hearty laugh, they pushed John down to the floor and ripped off his pants and threw them across the room.

They brought him back up to a standing position, each guard on one side. John, clad only in a pair of white boxers, lifted his head to the ceiling. Gasping for air, he opened his mouth. "I do have … something to say."

Dona Lola leaned in.

"Go to Hell, lady."

Dona Lola heaved off and smacked him across the face. The guard on the left bent one of John's arms up tight against the small of his back and pressed hard. The other one grabbed a handful of John's boxers and yanked. The underwear ripped in two and John was thrown back to the floor, completely naked.

"You think you're awfully clever, don't you, Agent Doggett?" Dona Lola mocked from above. She bent down and slapped him once more. "But I have news for you. You aren't."

Dona Lola snapped her fingers and the door was opened. The two guards hauled John to his feet and led him through the doorway, into the hallway.

It was like some bizarre parade and he was the main attraction. As they walked down the dimly lit hallway, doors opened and people filled out, laughing and pointing at John's nude body. He supposed this was meant to humiliate him, but he was so incapacitated by the pain, he couldn't care less.

After an eternity of laughs and jeers, they arrived at a guarded door. Dona Lola opened it and shoved John outside.

It was night, and cold. That was odd for it being summertime. John didn't know if he was so chilled because of the fact he didn't have a stitch of clothing on, or maybe it was a side effect of the truth serum he had been injected with.

After a few moments of just standing outside, Dona Lola turned to John. "Don't look so glum. Things will turn out for the best. Well, for us at least." She stopped and looked up into the sky. "Ah! Look! Look! Isn't it beautiful?"

John turned up his head and what he saw made his mouth drop open. There was a brilliant blue light overhead, so bright it hurt his eyes to look at it. The pulsating blue radiance narrowed its beam until John was in dead in the center. Next to him, Dona Lola was laughing hysterically.

And then he began to rise up off the ground. Slowly. He should have been terrified, but he wasn't. He was simply too awestruck for any rational thought at all. As he was lifted up through the sky, coming closer and closer to the source of the burning light, John wished he could see Scully one more time. He wanted to apologize to her. He had been wrong. She had told him the truth, but he hadn't wanted to believe it. Aliens existed.

The truth was out there, and Agent Doggett was experiencing it firsthand.

…

June 22nd, 2012

11:17 am

FBI Headquarters

"Monica, please just take a seat and relax."

"Don't tell me to calm down, Brad," Monica exclaimed. Her clothes were dishelmed, her eyes had big dark circles underneath them, and he was standing about 3 inches away from AD Follmer, giving him the third degree. "John has been missing for four days! Why haven't you organized some kind of manhunt yet?"

Brad quickly crossed over to his office's door and shut it. Things were about it get loud. That was pretty much a guarantee these days whenever he and Monica were together for any length of time. "Look," he said, as he returned back to Monica's side. "You can't just barge into my office and start screaming at me. That isn't the way to get things done."

"Well, lately things haven't been getting done one way or the other!"

"We're doing all we can, okay? I'm in the process of assigning agents to this case. Which, by the way, is very generous of me considering there is no proof that Doggett was kidnapped in the first place."

"No proof? What are you talking about?! I know-"

Brad smiled condescendingly. "What? Are you having vibrations again? Are you picking up auras that told you he was kidnapped? Come on. You need hard evidence."

Monica bit her lip. She studied Brad carefully. He was so smug. So self-

absorbed. He really thought he was something. She found it hard to believe that once she had been attracted to him. Monica watched as Brad took a seat behind his desk and shuffled some papers loudly – giving her the signal to leave. "Your lack of enthusiasm for finding John doesn't have anything to do about any insecurities on your part, does it?"

The shuffling of the papers stopped. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. You and I had a fling once, and now it's over. And ever since John I and got married, you've been skulking around the FBI taking your jealousy out on anyone that crossed your path."

Brad shot Monica a look that could kill. "I think maybe you're flattering yourself." He turned on his computer. It started up with a pleasant chime. "And this conversation is over."

But Monica wouldn't let up. "Tell me something. How are you still Assistant Director anyway? Remember that business back in 2002? You taking bribes. And how you murdered the man who was going to blackmail you by threatening

to reveal that? Who did you bribe to keep your job, Brad?"

Rage was clearly evident on the Assistant Director's face. He shot up from his seat and pointed to the door. "Do I have to call security?! GET OUT, AGENT REYES!"

Monica shrugged and walked to the exit with her head held high. Just as she was about to step through it, she turned back. "By the way, I'm Agent Doggett." And she slammed the door before any other comments could be made.

For the next few minutes, Monica wondered aimlessly around the building. She didn't know where she was going. There was no destination. It was just good to walk. Being trapped behind a desk was a bad idea. She vaguely remembered getting on the elevator and pressing the down button. She must have gotten off at some point, but it was a blur. The only thing Monica was sure of was where she had led herself.

The old X-Files office.

Of course, it wasn't the X-Files office anymore. It was now just a room that held the copier. And by the looks of the dust present, it appeared as if it hadn't been cleaned in months. It was all so sad. Once, this office had held the most important things on Earth: The X-Files. At one time, this office had been a second home to great Agents like Mulder, Scully, and John Doggett. Now … it was so empty and forgotten.

Monica stood in the exact spot that John's desk had been in. A trickle of sunlight made its way in through the small rectangular windows near the ceiling. It was so sad. Once a command center for those that would uncover the truth, the room was now just a dusty old room that held a copier nobody used.

Monica turned and ran. She had to get out of there. The memories that office held were mostly good ones, but those times had passed and she was all alone now. Mulder and Scully had run off in hiding and John had been kidnapped. The good memories now just served to remind her of the mess her life was in right now.

The elevator ride went by too quickly. Monica wasn't ready to get back to work just yet. She needed some time to herself. Making her way to the Main Entrance of the building, she dug around in her pockets for some nicotine gum. She found some and popped it into her mouth. After taking five steps, she reached into her mouth and withdrew the ugly tan-colored gum and stuck it to the wall as she passed by. What she wanted was a cigarette. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

She had no cigs on her, so she had to go out and buy a pack. Monica sprinted across the lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, working her way through the mob of tourists. She finally made her way outside and was about to walk to the nearest tobacco shop when she stopped. She felt eyes on her. She looked around quickly. Nothing unusual. People were walking down the street talking amongst themselves, cars motored this way and that, carrying people taking an early lunch break. In other words, nobody looked as though they had the slightest interest in Monica Doggett.

But there… On the other side of the street, standing by himself was a boy of about 10 years old. He was leaning up against one of those sightseeing buses that ushered tourists around the city. He was the one who was staring at her. He never blinked, never moved. It was creepy the way the kid was just standing there, still as a statue.

Poor kid, thought Monica. Must be autistic. She continued on her way a few steps and looked back again. He had moved his head a little to keep her in his field of vision and was still staring. It was odd and a little unnerving, to be sure, but Monica had more important things to worry about than spooky mute kids. She had to find John. Somehow. Nobody else was going to.

And off she went, turning her back on the boy as she took off down the street.

…

"William? What's the matter?"

William turned around to face his father, who had a concerned expression on his face. "Nothing. I just zoned out for a second." He peeked back behind him in the direction of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. The woman he had been looking at was gone. That was too bad. There had been something about that woman that had caused William to halt in his tracks. Could he have seen her before? That wasn't likely. In his all his 11 years, he had never set foot out of Wyoming. This trip to Washington D.C. was, as his mother put it, "a once in a lifetime opportunity". But he was certain he had seen that woman before…

Jim Van de Kamp placed his hands on his son's shoulders and led him back to the bus. The doors slid shut behind them with a faint hiss and William took his seat next to his mother.

"Isn't this exciting?" Gushed Debbie as she stretched her neck every which way to look out the bus' windows. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Will. Mommy and Daddy can't afford trips like this often."

Buildings whizzed by as the tour bus made its way to the next destination. And with every building they passed, and every street they went down, William's sense of déjà vu grew stronger and stronger. It had started the moment their flight touched down at Ronald Reagan Washington national Airport and had continued while they were sightseeing. The sensation grew particularly strong when he visited Georgetown. It was like he had been here before. Not just visited, but actually lived in the city.

He felt a little guilty. His parents were so pumped up visiting the nation's capital and here he was, acting like a zombie. He could tell his parents were a little disappointed that the trip wasn't as fun for him as it was for them.

The bus rolled to a stop and the intercom buzzed on. "White House. White House. All those for the White House tour, please disembark here."

Debbie clutched William's arm and smiled. "Ooh! The White House! Imagine! The President lives here, Will!"

William smiled stiffly. Sometimes his mom could be so weird.

A handful of people filled out of the bus and made their way to the rear of the line for the White House Tour. "I hope we don't have to take off our shoes,' Debbie fretted. "They made us do that at the airport because of security, you know. Jim, do you think they'll make us take off our shoes."

Jim winked at William. They both liked to tease Debbie about her nervous behavior. It was a long-standing family joke. "No, honey. I don't think you'll need to worry about your shoes."

The White House guard at the head of the line asked for silence and proceeded to instruct everyone to ready themselves for the security check. Please leave any and all pocketknives, nail files and other sharp objects with the screening personnel. They would be returned after the tour. Yadda yadda yadda. William paid no attention to the guard's blabber. His parents could worry about that.

After the rules and procedure for visiting the White House had been gone over, the line began to inch forward as people passed through one of several metal detectors. Then, out of nowhere, a man at the back suddenly broke out of line and walked briskly toward the front, breaking ahead of several people. William was able to get a good look at the man as he passed by. He was middle-aged and wore a crisp dark suit. In his left hand, he carried a sleek metal briefcase.

As soon as William's eyes connected with the briefcase, a jolt went up his spine. He began to sweat and his eyes started to twitch. Something was in that briefcase. A bomb, maybe. A machinegun, perhaps. He knew it.

But he was only an 11 year old kid, and he trusted the guards to search the man's case and determine what, if anything, was inside that could be considered dangerous. But to William's surprise, the man was able to waltz right past security. All he had done was flash some kind of ID and that was it.

Hmm. Maybe there was nothing to worry about. He was probably just paranoid about being in a big city. In any case, the line continued to move forward and before long, he was next in line for the metal detectors.

One of the guards was about to lead him through when his radio went off. Psst! "The President's in danger! I repeat: The President is in danger!!! The Eagle is-" There was a loud bumping noise. "Oh, no. No! Stop!!! Somebody, help!!!" Any further words were cut off by a spit of a machine gun.

The guard who was about to help William through the metal detector seized his arm and pushed him to the side. "The President's in danger!" He cried at the top of his lungs. "Secure the White House and move the tourists out of the way!!!"

Several armed guards materialized out of thin air and roughly led the would-be visitors away. In the ensuing chaos, William was separated from his parents.

"Mom! Dad!"

The crowd of frightened tourists pushed the boy onward, nearly trampling him. "Mom!! Dad!! Where are you?"

"William!" Jim's voice could be faintly heard over the guard's cries and shouts. "William, I'm over here!"

William looked this way and that, but could not make out his father's whereabouts. "Dad, where are you? I can't see!!!"

The commotion was overwhelming. The guards were screaming out orders and the crowd was running all over the place like a bunch of sheep without a herding dog. Pushing and pulling through the crowd, William was able to make his way to the low stone wall that bordered the sidewalk that only moments before had been the line to go visit the White House.

He hoisted himself atop the wall and stood up above the throng of people. "Dad? I'm over here! Dad?"

A sudden burst of gunfire snapped his attention back to the White House. A man, dressed in a black security uniform was waving his semi-automatic in the air. His face was blank and expressionless. A round of gunfire caught one tourist in the leg and sent him crashing to the ground, where he was trampled by the crowd as they ran for their lives.

Screams. Chaos.

William bent down low and strained his eyes to get a better look at the gunman. It wasn't the man with the briefcase from before. This was a new guy. And… William couldn't be sure from his distance, but it looked as if the eyes of the gunman were black. Pure black, with a shimmering shine to them. Like oil.