"They say the neon lights are bright on Broadway, Scully.."
"Yeah, and whoever said there was always magic in the air, Mulder, didn't have to land in Newark."
It was Mulder's turn to keep up with Scully as they raced through Terminal "C" at Newark airport. Scully was a woman with a mission, and Mulder could tell by the edge in her voice she had an axe to grind as well.
"I'm sensing you're still a little angry, Scully," Mulder said cautiously. Scully looked straight ahead as she walked. "Oh, I've worked my way down to just 'pissed' Mulder. You should consider yourself lucky."
"I always have, Scully."
"I mean, would it have killed you. Mulder, to give me more than ten minutes notice to let me know we were coming to New York?"
"I thought I did, Scully..."
"Telling me, 'I don't know yet, but we might be going somewhere sometime soon' isn't notice, Mulder..."
"But I wasn't sure if Skinner would approve the travel voucher..."
Scully reached the rental car counter three steps ahead of Mulder. "Like that's ever stopped you before." Scully responded to the rental agent before he had a chance to speak.
"Reservation number 1013," she barked.
"And yes, there was a 'please' in there," Mulder replied.
Scully turned to Mulder as the rental agent left. "But do you see why I'm so exasperated, Mulder?" Scully asked. "I have spent two and a half hours in a cramped economy seat, the joy of which was only augmented by spending an hour and a half sitting on the runway. Sitting, Mulder - not taxiing, not moving, just sitting. Definitely not the way I planned to spend my day." "I'm sorry, Scully," Mulder replied. "I know we both didn't plan on coming to New York today, but when have we ever planned any of our cases? The only thing we can predict is their unpredictability, that's all."
Mulder looked at his partner, duly chastised. When Scully stopped to take a breath, she realized that she may have been a little hard on her partner, and softened her tone.
"So, what made Skinner change his mind?"
"I'll show you in the car, Scully..."
"You might as well show me now; it looks like the rental agent's not coming back any time soon..."
"Maybe now's not a good time, Scully..."
"...It's as good a time as any," Scully curtly replied. "Come on, Mulder...."
Mulder reached into the front pocket of his carry-on, pulled out the file, and handed it to his partner. Scully opened it, and stared at the crime scene photos. It was when she reached the close-up shot of the victim's disembodied tongue that she heard a loud thud. When Scully looked up from the file, Mulder pointed a finger over the counter. Both agents peered over the edge at the passed-out car rental agent on the floor.
"I'm only saying this once, Mulder," Scully replied. "You were right."
************************************************************************
"What are you?" the detective yelled, "some kind of nut job or somethin'?!"
Detective Nick Baglione's face was within spitting distance of Mulder and Scully's faces, and the two agents could smell the remnants of the detective's last meal - pastrami on rye with onions, complemented by an Altoid chaser. Even the curiously strong breath mint could do little to disguise the pungent aroma of a hearty lunch. Above the neck, the agents neither flinched nor blinked, but under the table Mulder could feel Scully's foot as it shifted against his. Mulder had the same reaction, shifting his left leg in response to the detective's odiferous breath. Although their faces didn't register it, they were thankful when Detective Baglione sat back in his chair.
"You wouldn't believe the kind of comments I've been getting, agents," the detective replied, his tone noticeably softer. "That last one was the tamest of the bunch. I could turn the air fifty shades of blue with some of the stuff people have said; you don't know the half of it. But I'm sure you don't want to hear it... " Mulder looked across the table at the detective. "Why not?" he asked. Mulder felt the toe of Scully's size seven pump as it made sharp contact with his ankle. "What we'd like to know more about is the case," Scully replied. The detective got up to stretch his legs, walking around the precinct's interrogation room as though he were conducting a lecture.
"We found the victim in midtown at around three a.m. in a stairwell on West Forty-Fourth between Ninth and Tenth; looks as though she was coming from the theater. We found ticket stubs in her evening bag."
"Any signs of robbery or sexual assault?" Scully asked. "None," the detective replied. "That's what's so strange; this woman had to have had at least a couple of thou in jewelry, but none of it was touched. Credit cards, everything was left alone."
"Well, I'd heard Times Square had changed, but I can't imagine thieves have given up stealing," Mulder replied. "Anybody who would have gotten close enough to look at this woman would have run screaming like I don't know what," the detective replied. "Maybe got too grossed out to think about stealing anything."
"But I thought you New Yorkers were a pretty tough lot," Mulder said. The detective stopped by the door to the interrogation room, and opened it. "Maybe you two should see what I'm talking about before we go on."
The detective drove the three of them the short distance to the morgue, and the agents counted five near accidents in the span of nine blocks. After one near-miss, Mulder looked and noticed Scully white-knuckling the seat. Mulder placed his hand on top of Scully's to comfort her. "Rich, Corinthian leather," Mulder whispered under his breath. It was the first smile he saw on Scully's lips all day.
The detective and the agents managed to make it to the morgue in one piece. The three investigators walked down the corridor to the other end, went through the swinging doors, and presented their I.D.s to the clerk. They made a left past the desk, and went in. Detective Baglione walked to the third row of drawers, and opened the third drawer from the top. The detective held a corner of the sheet and paused before he pulled it back.
"You seen the crime scene photos, right?" he asked.
"Yes, we looked at them before we came," Scully replied. "Well, a picture may be worth a thousand words," the detective replied, "But I don't think there's a word in the English dictionary or any other dictionary to describe what you're going to see."
The detective looked at the two agents, and they nodded to signal that they were ready. The hardened New York investigator hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and pulled back the sheet.
Scully stood unflinching as she looked at the body in front of her; Mulder, on the other hand, had to turn away momentarily from the gruesome sight. When he looked back at the victim, he understood what the detective meant.
The victim was a petite brunette; from what anyone could determine, she was in her late twenties or early thirties. Her nails were buffed and perfectly groomed, and it was obvious she made more than the occasional gym visit. There wasn't a scratch on her body from the neck down; from the neck up, however, it was an entirely different story.
If the woman had been beautiful, you couldn't tell it from her face. There wasn't a face to examine; instead there were ribbons of skin, muscle, and sinew. One eyeball trailed from its socket down her cheek, and there was a deep, gaping hole where her other eye should have been. Her mouth was open wide in a scream, but intelligible sound would never had come from her mouth. Her mouth was a gaping, black hole, and her tongue was noticeably absent.
The detective gave his guests a moment to take it all in. "See what I mean?" he asked. "Pictures don't do it justice," Mulder quietly replied. "Yeah, you got that right," the detective answered. "And you know what I said the first thing I saw her? Said it looked like Fluffy the cat went medieval on her face. Hence the responses I got from my fellow law enforcement officers."
"A cat couldn't inflict this kind of damage," Scully replied. "Not your average domestic short-hair."
"Not unless your average domestic short hair's a Bengal tiger," Mulder replied. "How could you make a positive I.D.?"
"We're going on the I.D. she had in her evening bag; employee badge. Name's Jessica Vaneer. Some big shot at Peterman Advertising..."
The two agents looked at each other. "You heard the name before?" asked the Detective. "Yes," Mulder replied. "Shouldn't wonder," answered the detective. "People've been dropping their like flies. A friend of mine's daughter works in advertising? She says they're calling it 'the Peterman Curse.'"
"Most curses don't turn out to be curses at all," Scully replied. "There's usually a logical explanation."
Mulder turned to leave. "Then why don't you look for that explanation?" Mulder replied. "If you do the autopsy, Scully, I'll go investigate the Peterman Curse right at the source."
"OK, Mulder;" Scully replied, "but only if you do the next one."