Scraped Knees and Sunflower Seeds Part II
An X-Files fanfiction (kind of) by Taryn "Jnco" Wander'r
Legalities and author's notes in Part I.
SCRAPED KNEES AND SUNFLOWER SEEDS.
I wish that I'd noticed all the postponements you'd said
I never told you, you were the one I believed.
If I touched you would you push my hand away?
If I listened would I have heard the things that made me run away?
I miss you more than words could ever say.
I miss you every single empty day.-Econoline Crush 'Razorblades and BandAides'
CHAPTER 7
"I swear to God the government knows I'm trying to kick Pepsi," Madison complained as she and Kevin walked back into her hotel room, herself holding a bottle. "A machine everywhere I turn. I have to spend another dollar. It's killing me."
"Cheer up, sweetie," Kevin said as he plopped down onto the bed and flicked on the television. "At least they got you with Pepsi, and not clothes or music or some other godforsaken thing."
Madison smiled faintly as she took a swig from the bottle. "But this way they can drug me."
"Since when have you had any complaints about that?" Kevin asks mischievously as he settled onto a Kids in the Hall rerun.
Madison smiled and watched Kevin watching the television. "Kevin, I was wondering…"
"What, babe?"
Now Madison got all coy and shy, ducking her head. Usually she was loud and spiteful, full of anger and hate for everything and everyone. But when it came to someone she really liked, she could barely even talk.
"Um….when we get to New York, maybe, just you and me…we could go to a rave or something?"
"I thought you hated raves."
Madison flushed. Oh shit, this wasn't going well at all. "I do! That's not what I meant. Maybe we could go to a jazz club or something. I mean, unless there's a good DJ there, BT or Paul Van Dyk or something…I mean I love the music but-"
"But you hate the way popular culture has bastardized it in the form of a rave." Kevin smiled.
"You know me too well."
"I know you just the right amount of well." Kevin shot back. "I would love to go with you somewhere."
Madison was stunned for a minute, and then broke out in grin. "Great!" The first time her asking someone out had gone right. "I-"
Whatever she was about to say was broken off as Richard burst into their room unceremoniously. "Guys, troupe meeting."
--
Fox and Dana stared at each other from across the kitchen table. Dana, always pulling up her ill-fitting bathrobe while Fox gulped at the sight, had scrambled up some eggs and Fox had made some toast, and now they sat across from each other, in some semblance of a meal.
"So…this is a first," Fox eventually attempted a conversation.
Dana nodded in response. A few moments later: "Well I guess I have to apologize. I'm sorry I didn't believe you before about all this," She picked uncomfortable at a shirt sleeve.
"Yeah, well, I hate to be an ass, but I told you so," Fox unceremoniously shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
Dana hazarded a glance in his direction and stared at what she saw there- like she was seeing his boyish baby-faced looks in a new light. An unsullied light.
"So what are we going to do now?" Dana asked.
"Well, you know how Madison said she was sorry about all this?" He gestured at the two of them. "Well, I figure if we go back to the troupe before they leave, maybe they can figure out a way to sort this out. I mean, 'cause I know the gunmen can't, you know?" Dana found herself perfectly understanding his convoluted speech. "Besides, it's not like we can go back to work…Skinner barely believed I was me, and now...besides, what are the rules about those things?"
What were the rules, indeed, Dana caught herself thinking. Oh what the hell. You're only sixteen once.
"Well…" Dana began, bringing her dishes to the sink and leaving them there, typically uncharacteristic for her. "I suppose I'll find some clothes that sorta fit, and we'll drive over there. Just hope I don't get stopped."
--
"I think we should go home," Cameron deadpanned for about the millionth time.
"Oh come on, Cam," Jessica replied. "You can't possibly say that after how far we've come. We've just got…what? New York, Boston, Halifax, St. John's?"
"Then back through Montreal, and back to Calgary in time for the fringe festival," Michael spoke up from where he cradled his head in his arms.
"Right. Just ride it out," Jessica continued.
"That's horrible," Caspin exclaimed. "People are dying because of it. We have to stop,"
"Nobody's dying because of you guys," Michael sat up, addressing their residents Wiccans, Caspin, Jake and Lisseth. He ran his hands over the newspaper that he had picked up that morning, the one that spawned this meeting. "It just seems like a hate-crime." On the front of the newspaper was a picture of a smiling young girl, one that he recognized because she had asked for his autograph the night before, flirting and giggling when she met him. Now she was dead. With the word WITCH carved into her skin. "I know it's ironic that it's happened a lot to us recently, but the show must go on."
"Maybe they don't like minority religions on stage," Lisseth muttered.
"Then why wouldn't they have killed all our Wiccans by now?" Madison said from where she sat apart by the window, stabbing at a stress ball with her pen.
"They'd kill you to, then," Lisseth replied.
"Hey, come on, Druidry and Wicca are quite different," Madison said.
"If that were the case, they'd have to kill the Buddhists, too." Socrates spoke up. "Michael, I'm looking your way,"
"Why would they kill Buddhists?" Hannah asked no one in particular. "They're so peaceful,"
"Thank you," Michael replied.
"So are Druids," Madison defended herself.
"So are Wiccans," Caspin cut in. There was silence. "Well, to an extend. Oh come on, Druids sacrifice people."
"Not anymore!" Madison cried. "Just like the Catholics no longer, you know, kill and rape Jews as they rampage through the Holy Land. I'm not even officially Druid…"
"Oh my god, it's the curse of the Scottish play!" Jessica squealed. "Has anybody been uttering that title around here?" She shot a burning glare at everyone.
Madison, Michael, and Hannah all shook their heads solemnly. Richard flushed. "Um, I might've…once or twice." He flinched as Jessica started beating on him 'Saskatchewan style' "But I didn't think anything of it! And superstitions have no worth if you don't believe them, right?"
"I don't think it's the curse of the Scottish play," Kevin spoke up. "The curse of the Scottish play brings death upon performers and their families. Not crewmen or audience members."
If anything, that just made Richard's fear worse.
"Then it's the curse of Indestructible!" Jessica cried. "Wow, guys, we're a part of history now!"
"Then we'd better stop saying Indestructible right now," Socrates joined in. "We'll call it the curse of the Martian play."
"It doesn't even take place on Mars, you idiot," Madison was still stabbing at the stress ball.
"Didn't we do one that took place on Mars?" Hannah asked.
"Twelve Miles to Dunsinane," It was the first thing Jake had said all that time.
"We haven't done that since Vancouver," Kevin smirked whistfully.
"Alright, so it's agreed." Jessica took over. "From now on, we'll only refer to Indestructible as the Martian play or, if need be, Twelve Miles to Dunsinane. And God-willing, prevent any further bloodshed."
"Then what are we going to call Twelve Miles to Dunsinane?"
"The Lunar play."
"But it doesn't take place on the moon. Indestructible does,"
"Exactly!"
"…what?" Hannah was as confused as anybody.
"Alright then, meeting adjourned," Socrates stood up.
"No, no, hold on," Michael called her back. "Come on. People have been dying in every city we go to,"
"Not every city," Cameron explained. "Nobody died in San Francisco,"
"Yeah, but we were only in San Francisco for, like, three days." Caspin said.
"How long are we in New York?" Someone asked.
"Two days…we only have one show," Michael said.
"How long are we in Boston?"
"Like, a week," Socrates spoke up.
"We're doing the fringe festival. And then the comedy fest in Halifax, and Cirque du Fringe in Montreal, and then the Fringe in Calgary again. The only cities we're not doing festivals are New York and St. John's," Michael elaborated.
"Wait, wait, wait," Madison turned to face the rest, her stress ball forgotten, pen still in hand. "So we did the festival in Vancouver, the Seattle fringe, then we only had a few days in San Francisco, right?" She paused. "And then we just did the young playwrights festival here and we're going to do the fringe in Boston…do you think if someone actually is following us they're looking for a place where, you know, the population actually grows a bit and there's a lot of people?"
Most of them looked at her blankly.
"I mean, in San Francisco we just slapped a few signs on the occasional street car and mostly sent out notices to other theatres…I think most of our audience were actors and crewmen and stuff. I think whoever's responsible, if in fact we are connected to this, is looking for something a little bigger than just the local theatre community."
"Forget it. This is all crazy." Michael sighed.
"No, I think it makes sense," Jessica said. "So, if in fact nobody dies in New York, we should be even more worried about Boston,"
"So what, you want us to hope that somebody dies in New York?" Kevin asked.
"Well, people die in New York everyday. Maybe only then can we escape the curse of the Martian play," There was a beat. "Oh my god, that rhymes!"
While the rest of the troupe tried to argue over Jessica's gloats, Madison escaped and went to answer the incessant knocking at the door.
"Mother fucker!" She backed away in shock as she saw the newly transformed Scully. "Jesus, I'm sorry. I meant to do something about this, but then this whole other problem came up, and I was hoping yours would just sort of go away. Here, come in."
After the agents explained to the troupe what had happened, and ate most of their food, Michael sighed.
"Well, we start driving to New York this afternoon, and if you can pay your own way, you're welcome to come. I'm sure we'll figure something out."
"Yeah, and hey Dana, you're welcome to borrow any of our clothes if you get your own," Hannah spoke up.
The agents smiled and nodded graciously, and Fox grinned at Dana. "Road trip!" He waggled a hang-loose sign at her. She just rolled her eyes.
(MacBeth, The Scottish Play, is said to be cursed. Uttering the word MacBeth in or around a theatre will not only bring doom to the production, but possibly death and destruction to any of the cast or their loved ones.)
CHAPTER 8
Kevin was dead.
Jake was driving.
That's really all that could be said on the matter.
Dana and Fox had been following the others up the highway on the East Coast, Caspin and Socrates in the backseat as a favour. The troupe had stopped at a gas station just outside Newark because there was a sale on potato chips. Michael did it often on his drives between Calgary and Edmonton, and Jessica never let him live it down. She thought it was hilarious that a man who primarily shopped at Le Chateau and carried an attaché case would stop in a town called Pinoca, Alberta for a sale on potato chips.
Kevin, Jake and Madison didn't stop with the rest of them, said they would meet them in their motel.
Then driving up the highway in the darkness of night, they saw the line of cars backed up and the sirens down the way.
Around a mouthful of potato chips, Socrates suddenly said. "Oh my god, that's Jake."
"How…how can you tell?" Fox asked. They were still quite a ways from the actual accident. But as they neared up the road, they saw the van they were driving in, costumes spilled out all over the road, and blood everywhere.
Caspin started crying.
"Oh my god, Dana, Dana, quick, you have to follow the ambulance. You have to go to the hospital, Madison's hurt."
"What? How do you know?" Dana glanced back at Socrates, who was staring at her apprehensively. "I just…I just know. I just know things about Madison sometimes. Come on, please, go on the curb, we have to get there now,"
Scully would typically have had a problem with this, but Dana quickly drove up onto the side of the road and past the backed up cars.
Caspin was still crying and shaking in the back. "Oh my god, it's the curse, it's the curse," She muttered over and over.
"Shh, no," Socrates put her arms around her friend. "It's not the curse, there's no such thing,"
"What curse? What are you talking about?" Fox demanded as they turned into the hospital.
"It's the curse of the Scottish play!" Caspin cried. "It's happening. We have to go home! Madison's dead!"
"No, no, she'll be fine," Socrates assured her. "She's just hurt, that's all. She's hurt and she's worried but she'll be fine. She's strong."
Th emergency room was already bustling with the troupe when the agents got there. Jessica and Hannah ran up tearfully to hug their friends when they got there. Dana grabbed Fox's hand when they heard Michael's yell from a nearby trauma room.
"You have to let me in!" He was crying and sobbing and yelling the way only an experienced stage actor could. "She's my fucking sister, you asshole!" The door swung open as he forced himself in and they could hear Madison's crying within. Dana caught a distinct smell of blood and leaned back against Fox again. Instinctively, he put his arms around her.
It was happening to all the rest of them. Lisseth and Brett were hugging each other tightly, inhumanly tight, while Lisseth cried. The rest were huddled into groups of three or four, crying amongst themselves, praying to whatever gods each prescribed to.
Jake was no where to be seen.
Michael was pushed outside the trauma room and continued to yell at the wall, alternately cursing the doctors telling and Madison he loved her, and everything would be okay.
Fox lost track of how long they stood there, how long there was a confused white noise in the ER, and how long Dana had her head in the crook of his neck, sobbing softly.
Eventually the confusion quieted, except for Michael's yells, and the emergency room fell into a hushed melancholy. Fox sat in a chair, pulling Dana into his lap. She didn't resist and kept her head on his chest.
Socrates went over to watch with Michael, who was still cursing intermittently.
A family moved past Fox, most of them sniffling and teary-eyed, shuffling with the walk of those that have lost loved ones. Somebody else has died, he thought. Nobody I knew.
Now Fox had seen death before, but it was a long time since he had seen it through the eyes of a child. It was unreal to him now, like a sad fairy tale. It was for Dana too, that's why she was sobbing on his shoulder, and he had to be strong for her.
Eventually Jake came in, accompanied by two police officers. None of the troupe looked up at him, they all made a point to look away. He went to the nurse, said his back hurt and he was bruising everywhere, and filled out the forms. Then he sat. Away from the rest of them, flanked by the cops.
Then another ambulance poured in, and a victim of a shooting was wheeled in, with a yelling, sobbing boyfriend.
And the ER was up in arms again.
In the new confusion, Michael turned and walked pointedly to Jake. He stared at the boy for a while. Jake stared back up at him, crying outright, pleading for forgiveness. Michael had him stand, and punched him square in the face.
The police officers had to hold Michael back as Jake struggled back up.
"You fucking asshole! You're a fucking murderer!" He kicked at the boy, who was crying even harder now. "If you even go near my sister again, I swear to God-"
"Michael!" Socrates yelled from across the room. "Madison says to stop it right now!"
"He nearly fucking killed my sister!" Michael yelled back.
"Her exact words are 'you're twice his fucking size you fucking asshole so fucking stop it right fucking now.'"
Michael raised a fist as if he was about to punch her, too, but Socrates held his gaze and he realized she was telling the truth. She just knew things about Madison sometimes.
He fell down into a seat sobbing.
--
Fox and Dana sat staring at Michael for a while after that. He sighed occasionally and rubbed his tear-stained face.
"I know what's it like," Fox said after a while. "'Cept I didn't know she died until, like, twenty years later. Searching for her."
"Jesus Christ," Michael sympathized.
"Yeah,"
"I don't know what I'd do if she died," Michael mumbled.
"Yeah," Fox said. "It just sort of happens,"
"There's a bond between siblings, you know?" Michael was sleepy. "A bond you don't get with friends, or lovers, you know? My mother always said it's that our souls made a pact before we came to earth, to be born into the same family and spend childhood together and never be separated."
Fox winced and wondered what other cosmic pacts he had broken with his sister.
Dana sighed and thought of her own disapproving brother.
"Madison…Madison always talked about how in her last life I was her younger brother instead of the other way around. That's why I always came to her with more problems than she came to me. And why we were so comfortable with each other." He sighed. "She said we lived in Nazi Germany. She was a lounge singer and forged documents for the resistance. She was nineteen and I was six when we went to Dachau, she says. She once asked me to forgive her for putting me in danger back then, for killing me." He grinned. "'Course I forgave her. Now I guess we're even."
"She'll be fine. And it's not your fault," Dana tried to console.
"Yes it is. I encouraged her to write. I formed the troupe, I planned the tour. I let her get in a van with Jake. And Kevin, oh my god…she loved Kevin. And I let Jake kill him."
Dana gasped. She hadn't registered that Kevin wasn't there.
"And for Maddie…" Michael sighed as he stood while the other troupe members came from Madison's room. "Some things are worse than death. I've killed her,"
--
After Michael was done his visit, Madison asked to see the agents. Dana and Fox stood apprehensively by her bed; Dana softly holding Madison's hand as she seemed to drift in and out of consciousness.
"Dana? Fox?"
"Yeah, honey? Dana's voice was soft. Fox looked up at her in wonder.
"Could you do me a favour?" Madison swallowed. "Keep an eye on Jake for me? I think…I think there's something…." She sighed, it hurt to breathe too deep and say what she wanted to. "I mean, they'll say it's the curse, but I know there's somehting…" Madison got confused, like she forgot what she was talking about, and a few more tears ran down her cheeks. "I hate New York already,"
"Shh," Dana said soothingly, none of her bedside manner forgotten. "Calm down. Take as much time as you need."
"I think…" Madison turned a little, uncomfortably, to look at the teenaged agents. "We're using the curse of the Scottish play as an excuse, I think, 'cause we're all scared. I think it's too easy to dismiss it as that." She sighed. "Way back when, one of the first cases of the curse, back in the days of Kings James or whatever…the actor portraying MacBeth didn't know he was holding real daggers and accidentally killed the actor portraying Duncan. When I first heard this, I thought it was scary as all hell, but then I realized that Duncan isn't killed onstage. So the actor portraying MacBeth didn't have any reason to stab him," She turned a little on her side and closed her eyes. "There's always a human factor," She mumbled.
Fox looked up at Dana, who shrugged back, as Madison drifted into sleep.
TBC
Feedback?