TITLE: The Port Charles Files 6/8
by Kelso (kelso28@excite.com)
***********
At 9 a.m. on the dot, Scully tapped on Mulder's door. Following
their midnight adventure on the docks, she had been able to get a
reasonable amount of sleep, and it was time to plan their day.
She tapped twice, waited, and tapped again. Mulder might have gone
out for breakfast, but if so, he probably would have invited her
along. Then she heard a scuffling noise from inside the room, and
a moment later, Mulder opened the door.
"Hey, Scully. Come in. There's something I want you to see." He
inched the door open just enough so she could squeeze in. It
didn't take long to see why. Piles of paper and pictures covered
the floor on the other side of the door, and an entire wall was
to a mosaic of taped-up photos and notes detailing various events
such as interrupted weddings, natural disasters, and shootings.
Each section was dated by year; it was a timeline of Port
Charles.
"So, what do you think of my visual aid?" Mulder waited for
Scully's opinion.
"Very good. You obviously put a lot of work into it. Only..."
She studied the chart more closely. "It's incomplete, isn't it?
Are you going to finish it?"
"It *is* finished."
She looked at the wall again. "But you don't have anything for
the years prior to 1963."
He indicated the cut-off point with his pencil. "Yeah. Interest-
ingly, nothing of consequence appears to have happened before
then."
"Unless Port Charles was founded in 1963?" Scully suggested.
"No, it's been around for well over a century. This area was
ordinary enough until that year, then a syzygy or something
occurred that threw things out of whack. There's no denying that
this place is weird. For example, Garcia didn't ask us to go to
the police station today. If we never show up, they won't notice
the difference."
"But of course, we *will* stop by," Scully said. "The police will
need our formal statements as evidence in the Wilson case."
"I don't think they'll have a problem railroading those kids into
prison without our help. Anyway, I'm perfectly content to wait
until someone requests our stories, though I don't expect it to
happen. In the meantime, we have plenty to keep us busy. Remember
A.J. Quartermaine and the mystery of his true age? Just consider
the conflicting information. Lesley Webber said she delivered
A.J. in 1979. His driver's license, his medical records, and his
grandmother all say 1972, plus he looks that age. But according
to Amy Vining, Alan and Monica didn't meet until the late '70s.
On the surface, the evidence is weighted in favor of the earlier
date, which is exactly why I'm inclined to believe that 1979 is
actually correct. Scully, admit it: The lack of a straight answer
bothers your orderly mind."
She dropped down onto the one clear spot on the bed. "Yes, it
does. So where does A.J. fit into our schedule?"
Mulder shoved aside a file and sat next to her. "You mean, what's
on our to-do list? A better question might be, what *isn't* on
it? There's a heck of a lot more to look into than when we
arrived in town, that's for sure. Every time we investigate a
situation, we come away with three or four more unanswered
questions. The birth dates of A.J. and his brother are pretty
high up on my list."
Scully sighed. "That one's bothering me more and more now, too.
But I think we need to make the Stefan Cassadine case our top
priority."
Mulder shook his head. "I have a theory. No matter what puzzle we
work on solving, it will ultimately tie into everything else in
town, like this huge, tangled spider web. So if we scour Spoon
Island for signs of aliens or whatever else might happen to be
there, we're likely to find answers to another mystery."
"I don't think we'll find anything on the island. I'd rather
persuade Chloe Morgan to seek competent psychiatric help."
"It wouldn't hurt to see if Lucky Spencer's brainwashing has worn
off, and try to get something solid on Helena Cassadine, who has
a finger in every pie but is nowhere to be found."
"And what about figuring out the motives in the Ted Wilson
murder? I'd love to know why those kids had that body."
Mulder leaned down and snatched up the folder he had
unceremoniously pushed to the floor. "Why don't we split up
again? I'll see if I can talk the cops into getting a search
warrant for Spoon Island, and if you ask nicely, maybe they'll let
you perform the Wilson autopsy. At least then we'll be able to
trust the results."
"Sounds like a plan," Scully agreed.
Mulder displayed the folder. "And look at this: a gift from
Langly. He hacked into the General Hospital computer records and
came up with some noteworthy findings. These are medical reports
on some of the local residents who have been abducted over the
years. I'd like you to go over them and see if there are any
abnormalities. For instance, any evidence of alien involvement."
Stifling another sigh, Scully took the folder. "I'll take a look
when I have time. Are you ready to go?"
Mulder rose, but his cell phone rang before they could leave.
"Mulder," he answered. "Oh, hello, sir... No, we're both fine.
Scully's right here. Do you want to talk to her?... All right...
Yes, we can do that... Thank you, sir... Goodbye." He disconnected
and said, "That was Skinner. He wanted to see how we're doing. We
need to e-mail him an informal progress report sometime today."
"He *must* be concerned about us," Scully realized. "We need to
have some solid information to report to him. Some explanation of
what is wrong with these people."
"Let's look at the facts," Mulder suggested. "The local divorce
rate tops off at about 96%, most adults over the age of 30 have
given birth to a child they either forgot about or kept secret,
and a mobster is regarded as public citizen number one. It seems
like the townspeople are suffering from a form of mass insanity.
What kind of medical explanation could possibly account for all
of this?"?"
"Excellent question." She settled back on the bed and reeled off
her observations. "We know that newcomers are not immediately
impacted, since we're still okay. If people move away, they
usually recover and go on to lead normal lives. The problems don't
extend to nearby Buffalo, or we would have heard about them long
ago. So I have to conclude that either the local water or air
supply is contaminated."
"Scully, keeping your mind open to all possibilities, you have to
admit that the air or the water might not be the source of the
problems."
She went on without acknowledging that comment. "I'll send some
air and water samples to be run through the labs. They'll
probably prove that some chemical substance is afflicting the
residents and causing their unnatural behavior. Then we'll have
a logical explanation. And who knows? Maybe by the time you're
finished at Spoon Island and I'm done with that autopsy, we'll
know what's really going on around here."
*********
Spoon Island: Mulder was finally there, as were Garcia, Taggert,
and several other officers, but going with them had turned out to
be the easiest method. They had taken his suggestion of
obtaining a search warrant very seriously, and had managed with
almost magical ease to get a judge to issue one immediately.
Scully, meanwhile, had remained in Port Charles with the
intention of performing the Wilson autopsy.
Garcia called for attention as they stepped out of the police
launch, and everyone gathered around him on the dock. "Now
remember, we're looking for any evidence relating to the murder.
In particular, we need to find a freezer that was used to store
Wilson's body for an unknown amount of time. The kids haven't
said much and the servants weren't any help, but there's still a
pretty good chance it's here. We need to split up and canvass
this island. Half of us will take the grounds, and the other
half will take the buildings."
Taggert singled out several of the officers. "You guys come with
me. We'll cover the grounds."
The remaining officers trailed Garcia and Mulder until they
reached Wyndemere, where Garcia assigned some to search the
stables and the exterior of the house, and the remainder to check
the catacombs beneath the buildings.
Garcia handed Mulder a flashlight and took one for himself. "That
leaves the rest of the place for you and me. Let's start from the
top down." As they climbed the stairs toward Wyndemere's highest
point, he said, "I guess I can play tour guide for you. There've
been enough crimes committed here for me to become familiar
with the history of Spoon Island. Have you heard any of the
stories?"
Mulder bypassed a cracked step as he tried to recall his
knowledge of the place. One association immediately sprang to
mind. "I know about Casey the alien from the planet Lumina, who
came here in search of some crystals he needed in order to return
home. If you can flesh out that story, I'd be happy to hear more
details."
Garcia laughed. "That's just a fairy tale, totally blown out of
proportion. You can't believe everything you hear, you know. I
meant the *real* history of Spoon Island. As far as I know, this
place was unremarkable until the late '80s, when Ned Ashton
bought it as an engagement present for Monica Quartermaine's
daughter, Dawn Winthrop. A while after they broke off the
engagement, Ashton rented the island to P.K. Sinclair, a
reclusive writer who was really the notorious criminal Cesar
Faison, and that turned out to be a bad thing. Then the
Cassadines ended up here, and let's just say that was not good,
either. But it's got to be better than having them live in the
middle of Port Charles."
They reached the top of the stairs and emerged onto a parapet.
From a generous distance, Garcia pointed to an innocuous-looking
stretch of railing. "See that spot? That's where Katherine Bell
went over the edge twice. The first time, we all thought she had
died, but she made a dramatic comeback in the courtroom where
Helena Cassadine was on trial for killing her. The second time,
Katherine wasn't so lucky. For a while we thought maybe Laura
Spencer pushed her off, since a blonde person was seen up here
with Katherine, but it turned out that it was Faison, wearing a
wig. We couldn't nail him on it, but he's dead now anyway. So I
guess in a way, it all worked out.
"Katherine wasn't too popular, but no one deserves to die that
way. And it's not like she didn't establish some connections in
town. Did you know that she was once engaged to Commissioner
Scorpio, and married to Ned Ashton?" Without taking another step
forward, Garcia scanned the area. "Well, nothing up here. Let's
try the rest of the place." He started back downstairs.
Mulder, however, lingered. He moved up to the railing Garcia had
indicated and examined it more closely. It looked deceptively
ordinary; he wouldn't have known it was *the* place if Garcia
hadn't shown him. It was also a good vantage point for surveying
much of the rest of the island. Through the glare of the midday
sun, he saw Taggert and his officers far below, exploring various
wooded areas and apparently coming up empty-handed. With some
luck, he would have better results. He exited the parapet and
moved quickly to catch up to Garcia.
Room by room, they fruitlessly searched the upper levels of
Wyndemere, then the lower floors, until there was only one place
left to look. Garcia entered the final room and shook his head.
"The conservatory. The odds that we'll find anything here are
practically nil. There's a good story connected to this room,
though. It's where Stefan Cassadine married Bobbie Spencer. The
marriage fell apart pretty quickly, but no one expected it to
last. It was a shock that those two even got together in the
first place. Now it makes for a nice bit of irony that Luke
killed his former brother-in-law."
They performed a perfunctory search, and then Garcia checked the
time. "I wonder if the others have turned up anything." They
made their way to the front of the house, where a young officer
spotted them and ran over.
"Detective," he announced breathlessly, "we found a freezer in
the catacombs."
"Well, lead us to it, Jones," Garcia urged.
Within a few moments, Jones had guided Garcia and Mulder to a
dimly lit tunnel, and they all shone their flashlights on the
object in question. It was almost certainly the freezer they were
looking for; the smell of rotting flesh hung in the air.
Garcia pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Taggert,
it's Garcia. We found the freezer. You pick up anything?...Okay,
come on over to the house. Jones will show you where it is...
Right." He ended the conversation and turned to the officer.
"Jones, go upstairs and get Taggert."
It looked like Garcia had the situation well in hand, Mulder
thought. It was his opportunity to set off on his own. He caught
Garcia's attention. "Detective, I'm going to take a look around
the grounds."
"Yeah, okay," Garcia said as he knelt beside the freezer and
trained his flashlight on the ground.
Mulder and Jones walked a twisting path that led to the front
door, where Mulder clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "Good
work finding that freezer, Jones. You'll go far in the Port
Charles Police Department."
Jones smiled. "Thank you, sir. That's quite a compliment."
"Take it as you like." Ignoring the officer's puzzled look,
Mulder cut across the lawn to start his search in the darkest,
most uninviting stretch of ground: the kind an alien might
prefer.
*********
The coroner's office wasn't quite the place in which Scully had
envisioned spending her morning and half of her afternoon. She'd
arrived expecting to perform the Wilson autopsy. The problem was
that she hadn't been able to. She was still waiting for the body
to turn up. In the meantime, she'd amused herself by examining
the medical records obtained by Langly. The results were more
than a little frightening, and made her wish instead for a nice,
dead body to cut up.
Enough was enough, she finally decided. She strode up to the
receptionist yet again -- but for the last time, she vowed --
and stated, "I think I've been patient for long enough. Either
someone tells me where that body is, or I leave."
"I'm sure it will be here soon--" the woman began.
Scully looked the receptionist in the eye and stated, "I want to
speak to someone in authority. Now."
The woman gulped and reached for the telephone. "I'll try one
more time to reach Commissioner Scorpio." She let the phone on
the other end ring a dozen times before hanging up. "I'm sorry,
he isn't answering. I don't know what else to tell you."
"That I'm wasting my time? Let me know when someone at this place
gets their act together, or if the commissioner ever reappears."
Scully spun away from the counter and bumped into a blonde woman
who was standing at her elbow.
"Oh! I'm sorry!" the woman exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.
"That's all right." Scully stepped around her.
"No, wait," the blonde squeaked. "You just said you're looking
for my husband. He's on his way over."
Scully looked at the woman in disbelief. "*You're* Felicia
Scorpio, the Aztec princess?"
"Technically, Felicia Scorpio Jones. When I married Mac, I didn't
want to confuse my little girls by having a different last name
than them. And yes, I am an Aztec princess." Felicia beamed. "Can
we wait outside? I thought Mac was already here, but I guess I
beat him. I'd rather not wait in a room with a bunch of dead
bodies if I can help it. I've done it before, and it isn't much
fun."
Scully nodded, and they made their way out of the building and
into the brilliant sunlight.
Felicia shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up and down the
block. "Darn it, I don't see Mac's car anywhere. What could be
taking him so long? He specifically said that he wanted to talk
to you."
"And I'd like to talk to him, too, but I have one question. How
do you know who I am?"
"When Mac checked in at the station a while ago, they said Agent
Scully was going to do the autopsy. So that must be you! And
look!" Felicia pointed down the block. "There's Mac!"
So the man walking toward them was the infamous Mac Scorpio. He
looked ordinary enough, but appearances had repeatedly been
deceiving over the last few days.
Felicia bounced over and threw her arms around her husband,
squeezing him tightly.
After about three seconds, he said, "Okay, Felicia, enough," in
a strangled tone.
She loosened her hold and smiled up at him. "I can't help it. I'm
just so glad to see you! Oh, Agent Scully's here. I got her for
you."
Mac reached over and briefly shook Scully's hand. "Good to meet
you. Is the autopsy over?"
Yes, he was definitely clueless. "As a matter of fact, I haven't
even been able to start it yet."
Mac nodded. "That's good. I wanted to look at the body first."
"If you can find it, you're welcome to. It's missing."
"What?" Mac stared at her. "How can that be?"
Scully ticked the points off on her fingers. "Last night, Agent
Mulder and I caught Emily Quartermaine, Nikolas Cassadine, Lucky
Spencer, and Juan Santiago on the docks with the body. We
notified the police, and they made the arrests and presumably
collected the body. Since I regularly perform autopsies in my
line of work, I asked to do this one. Upon my arrival at the
morgue, I learned that the body wasn't here. No one has been able
to track it down yet. And Commissioner, I have to question why
you don't already know all of this information. Each of these
events has occurred in your jurisdiction."
Mac glanced at Felicia. "I've been busy lately. A close friend is
having personal problems, and my wife came back to town yesterday
after several weeks away. We've had a lot to discuss. I assure
you, I'll get to the bottom of this situation immediately."
"While you're doing that, I'm going to call Mulder. He's still on
Spoon Island with your officers." Scully dialed his number and
soon heard his usual answer.
"Mulder."
She gave her typical response. "Mulder, it's me."
"Hey, Scully. Finish the autopsy yet?"
"That's the question of the day. The answer is no. I'm still at
the morgue, though. Apparently, they managed to lose Ted
Wilson's body."
"Temporarily misplaced," Mac said over her shoulder.
"Who's with you?" Mulder asked.
Scully covered the mouthpiece. "Commissioner, please excuse me."
She moved several steps away and addressed Mulder again. "That
was Mac Scorpio. He finally woke up to what's been going on in
his own backyard. From the way he acts, though, I don't think his
presence will make much difference. He exudes incompetence. Even
his accent sounds fake. So, how are *you* doing?"
His frustrated voice crackled across the line. "There's not a
trace of an alien presence on this island. Nothing. On the bright
side, one of the officers found the freezer. And right at this
second, I might well be standing in the very clearing where
Katherine Bell was shot and temporarily paralyzed. This could be
the highlight of my day, next to standing on the parapet where
she fell twice. There was a murder trial, but it turned out she
wasn't dead."
Scully groaned. "Mulder, I think we need to get a statement from
Ms. Bell. Because frankly, what you say is scaring me. Badly."
"Unfortunately, we can't talk to her. Katherine Bell was murdered
last year."
Confused, Scully questioned, "But I thought you said she wasn't
really dead?"
"She wasn't, the first time," Mulder clarified. "She was pushed
off a parapet in both 1998 and 1999. In 1998, she didn't die. In
1999, she did."
"Enough. Why don't we move on? Are you about ready to come back?"
Mulder hesitated, then said, "Yeah, I think so. This place wasn't
exactly the gold mine I expected. And the police are probably
ready to leave, too. I wouldn't want to miss my ride."
"All right, I'll meet you at the docks."
"Why the hurry, Scully? We could just meet up at Kelly's, unless
you have a destination in mind."
"Yes," she said slowly. "Yes, I do. We haven't met Bobbie Spencer
or whatever her last name is, not to mention her boyfriend Roy
and daughter Carly and ex-husband Tony who happens to be Chloe's
doctor. And then there's Sonny Corinthos. According to our notes,
he's never been presumed dead, falsely charged with murder, or
blind, deaf, or paralyzed."
"Don't worry," Mulder reassured her, "we're safe. I think we
missed one or two kidnappings, and who knows what else. By the
way, did you get a chance to go over those medical records yet?"
"Yes, I compared pre- and post-disappearance records, and there's
no evidence of what you claim are the classic indicators of
alien abduction. But you'll be interested to hear that I uncovered
many other irregularities. For instance, say someone was blinded.
No problem. Before they got around to learning Braille, they
miraculously regained their sight. Paralyzed? Up and walking
within the year without so much as a limp to remind them of their
ordeal. It's happened too many times to be pure coincidence. And
before you ask, no, as far as I know, no one in town purports to
be a miracle healer."
Mulder was silent for a moment, apparently digesting that
information. "I have a few things to add," he eventually offered.
"Nothing as spectacular as your discoveries, but intriguing
nonetheless. For instance: These people do not own normal pets.
No cats, no parrots, no hamsters, no ferrets, no goldfish."
"I've seen three dogs and a duck," Scully countered.
"I repeat, *normal* pets. That duck once took the witness stand
at a murder trial. Didn't you see the transcript Byers sent
over?"
"I'm glad I didn't." Scully paused to regroup. "We were talking
about Sonny Corinthos, right?"
"Yeah. Do you want to see him first?"
"Do you think it makes any difference?" Scully replied. "No, we
can save him for later. A.J. mentioned a possible discrimination
case against Bobbie for refusing to rent or sell to him. She
should be next on our list."
end 6/8