In the Spirit by Spookykat and Scully3776

by Spookykat

Special Agent John Doggett goes home for the holidays and the ghosts of Christmases past help solve his brotherinlaw's murder

Title: In the Spirit

Authors: Scully3776 and Spookykat
Rating: R (Lang. content, explicit material)
Summary: Doggett goes home for the holidays.
'Tis the season to be…mourning?
Archive: Gossamer, xfc, XFMU, fanfiction.net, and
www.geocities.com/phantmoftheopera/index.html.
Anywhere else, please refrain from doing so
unless we send a hard copy to you, or you have
our expressed permission.
Don't forget to feed the authors:
Scully3776- Scully03776@aol.com
Spookykat- Suicidal_mickey_mouse@hotmail.com
Legal Crap: If you're on a site like this, you're
probably smart enough to know the difference
between the characters who belong to me, and the
characters through which I live vicariously,
wishing they didn't belong to the ever-tasteful
Fox-network, the never-consistent 1013
Productions, and all that jazz. Just in case I DO
have to spell it out for you. Here goes:
Mine: Melanie Eleanor Doggett Davis, Parker
Stewart Davis, Cy Lewis, Dexter Gillroy,
Christina Jolynn Doggett Strand, Laura Eleanor
Strand, Stephen Ray Doggett, and Eleanor 'Ma'
Doggett
Scully3776: Dr. Jerilyn Michelle Bailey
Starkweather, Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, Dr.
Delilah 'Loki' Lewis-Kollervo, Lindsay Buckle
Amos
Please do not use these characters without our
expressed permission, otherwise, Cave Caesarem-
Felinus! (Beware of Caesar the Cat!)
1013'S: FBI Special Agents Dana Scully, John
Doggett, Monica Reyes, Fox Mulder.
Authors' notes: I plan to be consistent with the
real plot, but all of this is speculation, and I
refuse to read spoilers. If s9 reveals new
developments within the life of Doggett, well,
then, *blows virtual raspberry*
We took creative license and stuck a 'year'
between season8 and 9. Only thing off time-wise
is Doggett's age. Since Starkweather only makes
a cameo, it is part of the series. This comes
right after the events of Starkweather: Meum Mel
III (Nothing Else Matters), and Starkweather:
Inheritance. It is not necessary for you to have
read the series to appreciate this, since it
began as a separate entity of the Starkweather
Universe, and the Starkweather characters only
make a cameo.
A biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig huge thank you
to Editing Goddess Bqueen09 for editing this!!!
*************************************************
J. Edgar Hoover Bldg.
Dec. 21, 2001, 3:01pm
********************
"John," Reyes said across her desk, tone trying
to disguise a certain note of pity. "I'm gonna
type this case report up and then head out,
unless you've got something else you want me to
do. I've got a flight scheduled out to Texas in
about 3 hours and airports are gonna be hell."
"You uh...go ahead and go, Mon." He mumbled over
his computer. "The airports are gonna be hell."
"John, if you need to talk--." she said softly
"The security's gonna be tougher to pass through
than The Cowboy's Defense. Get going."
"John...you know you're welcome in Texas if you
need a place to spend Christmas." She offered,
trying unsuccessfully to sound like she didn't
feel sorry for him.
"No...just got work to finish up..." He lied.
"I've got plans to spend Christmas Eve with my
brothers and sister back in Georgia."
"Make sure to bring the mistletoe. I'm sure your
sis misses some puppy-love." Reyes chided with an
evil grin spreading across her face. "Call if you
need anything." Unlike most people, she said it
like she really meant it. Deciding to abandon the
issue, she turned and left, wishing him a Merry
Christmas as she closed the door behind her.
Doggett was only half-aware that she was gone.
His attention was preoccupied with the email he
was reading. The only the shrill phone knocked
him back into the present.
"John," the woman on the other line hesitated,
emitting a shaky sigh.
"Mel," Doggett growled, messaging his eyelids, "I
don't have time for this crap."
"Park's dead, John." She said tearily. "He had
AIDS...but I don't think that's what killed him."
"What makes you say that?" He already knew the
answer, but he somehow needed verification.
"You know they hated him John. I
think...something happened."'
"I'm on my way." He finally said, hung up the
phone, grabbed his coat, sighed heavily, and
locked the Basement office for the weekend.

Two hours later.
O'Hare National Airport
*******************
Reyes' prediction had been right.
The airport was hell.
The last full business day of Christmas had
ushered in hoards upon hoards of people, leaving
haggard baggage attendants almost resembling a
paper bag that had been blowing against a cold,
wet, deserted street-gutter. Check-ins that
normally took fifteen-minutes tops took an hour
and a half.
And the shit that beat it all was that he
actually hadda take off his shoes because some
damn idiot decided to plant bombs in his
sneakers...
He hoped they would at least let him carry his
briefcase onto the plane. After she called, she
had forwarded a .Zip file to him with a fax of
the police report and newspaper clippings.
"Is nothing fucking sacred these days?" He sighed
as he slipped into his FBI-Approved loafers.
He hadn't wanted to go home for Christmas this
year. His friends and family back home were so
different from the life he had made for
himself...so normal...like life is supposed to
be.
They would probably resurrect the subjects that
thorned him the most...the complete families that
waited him there were only bitter, constant
reminders of a failed attempt at a normal, happy,
well-adjusted, American-dream-ish life...the
murder of his boy...the divorce...
But his sister's frantic plea on the other end of
the line had worried him. Melanie Doggett Davis
was a very trusting woman who, unlike his co-
workers, wasn't prone to paranoia. The e-mail she
had sent him and his resulting distraction had
probably confused the hell out of Monica, and he
admonished himself the whole way back to his
apartment for keeping personal business out of
the office.
He only hoped that as her brother, Melanie would
forgive him if he couldn't prove he was murdered.
And, he wished flippantly, a flight without a
terrorist attack wouldn't hurt, either.

American Airlines Flight 689
En Route from Newark
*****************************
Connector flights made absolutely no sense to
Doggett. A flight that started in Washington
landing in Newark to go to Atlanta...
nope...didn't seem any part of logical at all. It
was like getting around to somebody's ass by
their elbows.
So, Doggett resigned himself to the briefcase
that the grouchy stewardess had stingily allowed
him to keep, and tried to stop being Doggett and
prepare for being John again...to stop being
senior officer assigned to the X-Files in a job
that made absolutely no sense to him most of the
time and prepare for being Big Brother/Little
Brother John again in a family that barely made
sense to him all of the time.
Terminator2 showing on the in-flight movie seemed
like a friendlier option.
And it was a small comfort that logic or no, he
had a place there...a purpose...a fight.
Something that was somewhat absent from his
current employment. But since when was a job a
crusade?
They were all gone. He didn't know how he got off
the plane, but he must have, because they were
gone.
The strangers sitting on either side of him in
his Coach-class seat in closer proximity than he
personally preferred, the sour-faced, overweight
stewardesses acting more liked they belonged in a
rude greasy New York Diner out of Seinfeld as
opposed to plane-full of demanding, antsy
passengers were replaced by people who looked
vaguely familiar...slurping down beer
cans...driving a rebuilt Chevy.
"C'mon Dex! Let's go by that diner the cocksucker
works at and teach that queer a lesson!
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Doggett's mind was reeling through the
possibilities...Dexter Gillroy was killed in 'Nam
last he heard. How the fuck is a dead guy
driving a rebuilt Chevy that got hauled off to a
junk mill
"Cy, ain't that his pick-up passin' us?" Someone
else slurred.
"Boys, I think we got us a homohunt. Gotta rid
this God-fearin' country of all the sick-o's.
Raht J.D.?"
"I think you guys need to walk it off..." Doggett
said feebly.
"The HELL we gonna walk it off," Dex yelled, "Dat
Parker fucker's gonna go BURN tonight!"
"What is WITH you tonight, JD?" Cy demanded.
"You're his bitch aintchya?"
Doggett glowered at him and curled his lower lip
threateningly, and tightened his jaw. "Cy..." his
voice was all low and gravelly and was almost
reminiscent of thunder. "If you don't let me the
hell out of this car right now, you are gonna be
MY bitch in two seconds...GOT IT?"
The tires screeched, and the dark pavement burned
with engine sparks, glass busted, and the pick-up
truck in front of them careened off the
guardrail.
Time warp...that's the only answer I can think
of Doggett puzzled. Then he mumbled under his
breath, "It's just a jump to the left..." as he
saw Parker Davis climb out from underneath the
wreckage.
The young man's small frame turned to face
Doggett. "You think you can get Mel and get me to
a hospital?" He shouted from the bottom of the
hill. "I'm having a hard time keeping focus..."
John finally hitched a ride that night from a
bartender coming home from closing his bar on his
way home and woke up the whole house trying to
get home that night.
Parker Davis went from 17 to 37 that night. For
the first time in his life, John Doggett wanted
to be away from where he was. He would have
rather been anywhere but that Marietta hospital.
"You know, John," Parker had said while they were
waiting for Parker's older sister to come sign
the papers for treatment, "I didn't know that
being a pimple-faced virgin made you a target."
"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight." John had
said with a sigh. Parker gave him an imploring
look in reply. "They're scared outta their asses
that you're contagious."
"Mr. Parker," John and Parker had both exchanged
incredulous glances, and what annoyed Parker even
more, was that the intern speaking to them "you
sustained quite a lot of internal bleeding, we're
going to hafta give you a transfusion, and then
you'll be ready to go home." A tired intern said,
not even looking at his patient.
"Yay." Parker said, rolling his eyes. "Just how I
wanted to spend my weekend! Hooked up to an IV
with a big-ass needle at the end of it. I HATE
hospitals...I hate needles..." his voice trailed
off."
"John...What the HELL is going on here!" Parker's
depressed reverie was rudely, albeit gratefully,
slapped out of him.
"And the charming young lady is my sister,
Melanie." John introduced dryly.
"What the fuck did I tell ya 'bout rahdin' around
with Cy and all theyum idiots." The same way most
people say 'What'd the doctor say.' A frustrated
sigh emitted from the Melanie, and then when she
saw the situation, her voice softened. "Stevie
got me up to get you back home...come on John..."
Melanie had a natural talent for changing the
subject in mid-sentence. "I--I know you from
school, don't I?" She directed to Parker.
"Yeah, I'm the local pimple-faced-eternal-virgin-
turned-fag." Melanie hadn't even blinked at his
answer. "But don't worry, I'm not as advertised."
That night was the beginning and the end for
Melanie and Parker. If he had gotten there
moments before...maybe AIDS didn't have to be the
finishing line for them...
But enough of maybes and what-ifs. They didn't
help what happened.
And as Doggett's plane descended into the
Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta, the
desperation of needing to get out of Atlanta
suffocated him again--the same suffocation that
nearly made it impossible to breathe that night
in Hartsfield medical hospital wasn't going to go
away without a fight.

Dec. 23, 7:44
I-16 Hartsfield Int'l Airport
Atlanta Ga.
*************************************************
*********
John snaked his way through crowds of people and
didn't have to crane his head to see his sister
waiting at his gate.
"Sorry the flights late, Mel." John apologized
less than sincerely. "The weather stalled us in
Newark."
"Checked in anything?" She stated more than
asked, and tried not to make contact. "Come on,
wait here, and I'll go get the truck."
"Melanie, I'm sorry..."
"John, you have nothing to be sorry *for* you did
what you could for him...for us...Merry
Christmas, by the way. You gonna let us stand
here on the sidewalk forever or you wanna let me
get the truck? I hadda park out in the boonies."
It was a seasonable 40 degrees standing on the
sidewalk in front of the airport, which was
definitely something Doggett had missed in D.C.
It wasn't long before Melanie pulled her F350 to
the curb. There was enough room in the back for
his suitcase, so he dumped it unceremoniously
back behind him.
They headed out for I-75 toward Marietta in
uncomfortable silence. Melanie had the radio on,
and it was several minutes of Christmas Carols
and really loud car commercials before Melanie
finally spoke so she could stay awake.
"How's Barbara?" She asked politely enough.
"It's over...almost two years now..." Doggett
didn't even have to contain his bitterness. It
wasn't there. "She may have been the one to
actually cheat...but I had just as much to do
with the marriage going to shit as she was. After
Luke...we just felt apart. Caught her with a grad
student..." He trailed off.
"If you need to talk..." She began tenderly, but
the clinch of his jaw out of the corner of her
eye told her it was wiser to leave it alone.
"Leave the past buried, ok?" He defended. Then
softer, when he saw her glance over with a
worried eyebrow raised, he told her "I'm alright
with it."
"John, if you were alright with it you would've
moved on to another girl by now." She persisted.
"You're the grieving widow here, Mel..." John
insisted. Then as an excuse, he added "I've gotta
get my luggage."
"Right." There was an uncomfortable silence that
unsettled them until they had been on the highway
for an hour.
Melanie, unable to be hypnotized by the deserted
two-lane state highway, finally broke the
silence. "I've been doing research since it
happened...if we can't nail those dickheads for
murder, then we can sure as hell sue their asses
off for grievances, funeral costs, and medical
care. It's the new millennium, isn't it? People
understand now about that kinda thing."
"Don't they?" John grumbled. "Melanie...you're
forgetting. I was in the truck with them that
night. If you sue them...the defendants are gonna
call me up and put me at the scene...they could
just as easily call me on his injuries."
"How do you like D.C.?"
"Better'n New York, that's for damn sure." John
snorted. "You can see the sky there. Where I live
just outside in Virginia, feels almost like
home...but it's crazy as hell. What I'm doin' in
the FBI there...that's fucked up shit."
"You kiss mama with that mouth, John?" Melanie
teased.
"Melanie...if you knew half the stuff I've seen
this year...I think you'd understand that fucked
up shit is the ONLY way to describe my caseload.
Whatchya pullin' over for?"
"Gotta get gas..."
"John..." Melanie began as soon as they were
headed back on I-16 bound for Atlanta, "you may
be able to sidestep your Marine buddies, your cop
buddies, and your new partners at the FBI...but
if you think you can get off so easy as all that,
you need to tell me where the hell my baby
brother is. You've barely said a word the whole
way...I know you...you were the same way when
Daddy died. Now spill it, or I'm pulling the
truck over till you decide to tell me."
"That's extortion." John grumbled.
"No, it's not extortion. I believe the correct
term is blackmail. You're stalling..." now in a
gentler tone of voice, and her own ice-crystal
blue eyes met her brother's. "John...you can't
just keep it all bottled up."
He let out a sigh as if releasing some of the air
would make the words come out easier.
"After what happened with Luke...I kept seeing
him in her." He turned away, looking deliberately
out of his passenger window, realizing that
Luke's blue eyes were staring back at him again.
"I kept seeing his nose, his smile..." His
gravelly voice was now hoarse. "I just couldn't
face her...and I think she needed someone to lean
on then without her son's eyes."
"John...with or without Luke's eyes...ever think
she might have wanted YOUR help to pick her up
the pieces?" Melanie wondered aloud.
"That's the thing, Melanie...when Luke was
missing, I'd find her in his room after coming
home from work, and she wouldn't come out unless
she had appointments or had to make appearances.
I thought work would save me--save us." His voice
was shaky now. The words were labored and
emotionless. "Once I found the bastard who killed
him, it'd be over and we could go back to normal.
We went to those fucking church counselors and
the grieving parents classes...but really it was
just going through the motions. Pretty soon, we
barely said anything...'cept for the kinda things
you say to be polite. Then I spent more and more
time at work...and I think I barely noticed some
guy ravaging her on the couch. I think that was
just the breaking point."
"And the FBI chick who helped in the New York
investigation with Luke? She didn't have anything
to do with it?"
"No!" He fired back, too immediately for it to be
a lie. "I was married for Christ's sake."
"You're a MAN for Christ's sake! I'm not blind,
John. I was up there when she came by your house
that day."
"Oh come on! Just because the equipment's all
there doesn't mean I turn it on every time it
lights up." He said a little too defensively for
Melanie's liking. "I thought...that if I kept my
vows, I wouldn't hurt her." He raked his right
hand across his forehead. "Guess it wasn't
enough..."
"That's enough John..." she said softly, and then
with deliberation. "We're here. Get your suitcase
and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."
The house hadn't changed since he saw it the last
time. He brought Barbara there with his son. It
was a few seconds before he could muster the
cheer to go in.
"Last Christmas Luke had was here, Mel..." he
said thoughtfully.
"So was Daddy's...so was Grandmama's..." Melanie
pointed out.
"When's Parker's funeral?"
"Day after Christmas, John..." Melanie said
softly, glad he wasn't able to read her
expression. "You did right by him, ya know. He
never blamed you for what happened. We never
blamed you." Then she opened his mother's front
door. "Look who the cat dragged in!"
"John, glad you're home son." His mother greeted
him coolly. Now climbing the 80's, she had always
been Victorian in her emotions, but when she
*did* tell you what she felt, it was taken to
heart.
As soon as his feet hit the Brady Bunch green
linoleum, on the kitchen, he was bombarded by
outstretched arms "Johnny Angel! Merry Christmas,
big brother!"
"Merry Christmas to you, Chris." He tried his
best to at least pretend to be happy for their
sake.
Just then, a girl with long dark curls wrapped
herself around his knee. "How's my favorite
niece?" He said, hoisting her up.
"A lot better if mom would let me stay up later
tonight."
"Nothin' doin', Laura." Chris scolded.
"Tomorrow, you gotta stay up and wait for the
sound of bells and reindeer..." Laura gave him a
scrutinizing look. You know, I'm a federal
agent...I'm pretty good at negotiatin'...maybe
your mom 'n me can work somethin' out."
"Uncle John, you sound like those guys on NYPD
blue now." She whined.
"You're mom lets you watch that at your age?" She
giggled mischievously. "Yeah...that's what they
tell me in D.C. too. I think it'll clear up."
A younger man stood back and observed the warm
greetings. "Good to see ya home, Brother John."
"Hey Steve" He said, going up to him and giving a
firm handshake. "How's the store?" Steven, the
oldest son, had been the natural heir to Doggett
Motors, the auto parts and repair shop. "Chains
are givin' us a helluva lotta heat." They weren't
in dire straights, but they weren't out of debt.
"Not everybody can be a service man, John." He
answered, friendly enough.
"Not tonight, Steve..." Melanie mumbled just in
his earshot. "Let him be, and for Christ's sake,
don't cuss in front of a ten year old!"
"Mike says hello." Chris said, coming up to them.
She had dyed her hair Nicole-Kidman-red, but she
still looked about fifteen years older than she
actually was. "He wanted to be here, but you know
how mills can get." Then she turned to her
daughter. "Look at you, Laura. It's so past your
bed time...it's past MY bed time. Go to bed you!"
She said and gave her a kiss.
"I can't believe how big she's gotten." John said
with a note of bitterness. Melanie and Chris both
exchanged knowing glances. "It's great watchin'
her grow up, Chris. You're doin' a great job with
her."
"Nice one, Baby Brother." Steve scolded as soon
as Chris and Melanie both headed upstairs.
"Coming to Parker Davis' funeral and not Dad's.
You shouldda been there."
"Steve, I hated not bein' there...but it wouldn't
have done any damn good to Pop...funerals aren't
for the dead."
"No...they're for family." Steve growled,
storming out to the kitchen.
As if on cue, Chris came downstairs. "Mamma and
Mel are doing charity work in the morning at the
kiddie hospital downtown, so they're headin' to
sleep. You wanna go say g'night to Laura?"
"Yeah...I'd like that." He said with a labored
smile, grabbed his suitcase, and headed up the
stairs.
John walked upstairs, laying his suitcase down on
the floor next to the room he would be staying
in. "Laura, honey, ok if I come say goodnight?"
He knocked softly on the door.
"Yeah, sure."
"You think you made the A List this year?" John
teased. He missed being able to pretend to
believe in that capacity with little kids. "Coz
if you didn't, one phone call, and I can getcha
on there in a heartbeat, kiddo." He promised with
a sly grin.
"I think so." She paused thoughtfully. "You think
they get presents?" she was almost afraid to ask.
"You think who gets presents?"
"The angels. You think Santa makes it up to
Heaven?"
"You don't need toys up in Heaven, Laura." He
forgot about the hard questions kids ask.
"Angels...spirits...don't need'em."
"I hate sleeping in this room, Uncle John." she
said tremulously, "It smells of Grandpa...like
that pipe he used to smoke and something else
that smells icky...like Grandma's rum-balls. When
the lights are out, I keep my eyes closed as much
as I can so I don't see anything bad. I tried to
tell Grandma and mama, but they look at me like
I'm crazy."
"Seeing Grandpa's not bad, honey..." he sugar-
coated, "just means he's watching over ya. That's
what Angels do because they don't have any toys
or games to play with." After all, what harm did
a little lie do to help the kid fall asleep?
She was silent for a little while, and Doggett
thought she had finally gone to sleep. He got up
from the chair by her bed, and then she spoke
softly as he reached to open the door.
"Uncle Steve says bad people get what they
deserve. Did Uncle Parker?" she asked.
"Parker wasn't bad, honey. He got sick. Kinda
like how Grandpa got sick. Nobody's fault. Nobody
deserves that."
"Mommy said it was a bad man who made Luke go
away. Is the bad man watching us too?"
He turned to face her, the normally steel-stern
Special Agent John Doggett was finding it hard to
keep his composure in front of his niece. "That's
hard to say, honey." he said shakily. "He's gone
away too, now. He can't hurt anybody anymore. You
better go to sleep before your Mommy finds out I
let you stay up so late." He tried to smile, and
then gave her a soft peck on her forehead as she
cocooned herself under the covers and turned out
the lamp on the bed stand.
He left the door open just a crack and stood
outside her door carefully so she wouldn't notice
him watching her. He jumped when the door blew
shut.
"This house has always been drafty." Steve said
coming up the stairs, and placed a firm, friendly
hand on his shoulder. "See ya in the mornin'."
John nodded goodnight, then walked down the hall
to his room, which hadn't changed much since he
was 16.
A signed pictures of The Eagles, Ray Charles,
Reba McEntire, Charlie Daniels, James Brown, and
Ted Williams, high school football team awards,
framed boy scout commendations and high school
diploma, double bed covered in blue pin-striped
plaid, and even his old Playboy stash was still
where he hid it underneath the bed.
The memory of bringing his new bride from New
York City back to meet his parents for the first
time flooded to the forefront of his thoughts.
And the awkward, exciting challenge of making
love in your childhood bedroom. Making love to
her there was like some giant Oedipean complex--
he was completely grossed out by and completely
turned on to the idea at the same time.
The train of thought was stopped by the sudden,
irrepressible urge to check on his niece.
Suddenly, honeymoonish memories were pushed back
by a completely unrelated, protective impulse. He
grabbed an old baseball bat and stealthily crept
down the darkened hallway towards her room.
In front of her door, the sight of his own blue
eyes and Sarah's nose rendered him frozen.
John wanted to move. He wanted desperately some
sort of verification that what he was seeing was
real, but it was as though his feet were glued to
the ground.
"Luke?" He managed to gasp finally, but it was
too late, he was gone.
He looked in on his niece, apparently oblivious
to everything going on around her. He went to the
bathroom, needing to feel the cold tiles on his
feet, a splash of water. Some hard proof that he
wasn't in some sort of dream.
Deciding it was useless now to sleep, he made his
way down the stairs. Parker's wake was going to
be tomorrow. Then Christmas Eve Service. It would
be a very long day.
It had seemed like a century since he climbed
down those stairs. Nothing had changed. The smell
of wood-cleaners, his dad's pipe and cologne, his
mother's perfume still lingered toward the great
room.
He remembered walking in on his mother setting up
Christmas presents in the morning after hearing
some wrestling downstairs the Christmas before he
left for the USMC.
"Mom, I think we're all pretty well aware that
Santa Claus is just a fairy tale. Chris is old
enough to know how to drive a car next year,
she's old enough to know the truth."
"John, some free advice." she said frankly, "In
this world, most of what's worth believing in has
no hard proof to back it up with. People need the
pretty lies to wrap themselves around more than
they need the ugly truth starring them in the
face."
"Santa Claus is a story for retail stores, Mom."
"Yeah, and when she knows I don't care about
Santa Claus anymore... what's next? God? Our
family?"
"Sooner she knows the truth, the better, Mom."
"You mean the sooner she knows the truth, the
better for you."
He went past the old inherited secretary in the
family room to head to the kitchen. A
businesslike folded envelope was open in the
front to the bank with his Dad's shop heading on
it. He would wait till tomorrow to glance over
it, and stuffed into his pocket for the time
being.
Right then, though...he needed something to
straighten his nerves.
He searched through the kitchen, careful not to
make any clinks or creeks to stir anybody. He
knew Steve or Melanie had to have booze stashed
someplace. He really didn't wanna see anyone at
that moment, and he certainly didn't wanna be
caught getting lit.
He was a grown man, yes. And old enough to But at
1121 Palmetto Drive, he may as well have been
sixteen. His 80 year old mother half his height
still had more muscle over him than the Deputy
Director of the FBI. With the kitchen lights
turned off, he managed to find a bottle of Jack,
and the glasses were in easy reach.
Jack Daniels went flying up to his chin when the
kitchen lights turned on.
"What the hell are you still doing up?" His older
sister demanded from the doorway.
"Mel, don't sneak up on a detective like that!
We're trained to be jumpy."
"You ok? You look a little...thin..." she
observed, getting a glass for herself, and
pouring herself a double.
At a questioning eyebrow, she answered "What!?
I've got my husband's wake to go to in the
morning, I got an excuse."
"They're gonna question me tomorrow, aren't
they?" He said softly, taking a long gulp of his
JD.
"When I wrote you that letter before you got
wounded in Somalia that they still thought you
were a suspect, I thought you were an idiot to
come back with Barbara and Luke." She took
another long sip. "Don't ruin your career, John."
"Mel...I may be a fed, but as far as the bureau's
concerned, my career's already ruined. I'm pretty
much as good as a janitor with the cases I'm
workin' on. And you know...I think I *WAS* just
as guilty as Cy and those boys that night. They
wuddna cared if he died twenty years ago or two
days ago...just as long as he could keep quiet.
If I thought I was innocent, I wouldda stayed
here insteadda moved to New York after the
Marines."
"Then make it right, John. Make it right with
Parker by finding the truth."
"Truth ain't always what people wanna hear, Mel."
"Truth is NEVER what people wanna here. But we
need those lines drawn to make sense of things.
You know that better than anyone." She rinsed her
glass out and put it in the sink. "I got a long
day in the morning, John. See ya tomorrow."
Melanie paused at the door. She turned around and
walked back to her "little" brother, the "little"
brother who towered over her. "Hey," she said
softly. "what's wrong, Dumbo?" she affectionately
reached out and tugged on one of his prolific
ears. But her face was lined with worry. "This is
more than just Parker."
He shook his head, looking at his glass,
muttering "Nuthin'," his Southern accent becoming
more and more pronounced even in those few hours
he spent down in Georgia.
"Liar. Johnny... talk to me..."
"Tired of funerals s'all," he finally mumbled
out, draining his glass. "Been to too many of
them..."
Melanie pulled out a chair again and sat down
beside him. She reached for his hand and squeezed
it tightly. "I'm glad you're here," she said
simply. "I've missed you..." her eyes teared up.
"Aw, Mel," Doggett felt his face getting hot. He
looked at the floor, but he still clung to his
sister's hand. Remembering all the times as a
little boy he reached for Melanie's hand when
Daddy said he was too big to be hanging on Mama
all the time. It was Melanie that held his hand
when they went trick-or-treating. When they
crossed a busy intersection. When they went to
the recruiting office to sign him up for the
Marines. When they drove to the crematorium after
Luke's funeral. "I'm not much use to anyone right
now."
"Tell me you don't really believe that and you're
just wallowing in a pity party," the widow
admonished him. "John?"
"I'm going to bed," he said abruptly, getting up.
"Johnny, wait-"
"Mel, it ain't 'bout me! It's 'bout you and
Parker...and... oh, the hell with it. Good night,
Mel."
"John, got-dammit, wait," Mel snapped at him.
"Don't you dare walk off like that. What is with
you? What HAPPENED to you?"
Doggett's shoulders slumped. "Mel," he said,
resignation in his voice. "Let me find out what
happened to Parker. Maybe...maybe if I can do one
damn thing right... everything else will fall
into place... I've got a... um... friend, back in
DC. She's a doctor. Maybe she can give us some
insight as to what happened if I can fax her the
medical records."
"Is this your friend Dr. Scully?" Melanie asked.
"No," Doggett said bluntly, turning his back on
her and leaving her to stand alone in the kitchen
to wonder.

Meanwhile...
Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather's apartment
Washington DC
"OW! GOD DAMMIT!" she yelped as she stubbed her
toe again on another moving box. "Son-of-a-
bitch," Jerilyn Starkweather grumbled as she sat
down on her coffee table and began to massage her
foot.
Caesar, a very orange and very ornery feline
lifted his head up from off his paws to
disdainfully regard his clumsy owner.
"Fuck off," she snapped at him. Caesar gave her a
look that said "Whatever," and placed his head
back on his paws, falling back asleep.
Her phone rang. Starkweather looked at her watch,
then at the phone. "I don't think so," she
muttered to herself darkly as she reached for a
figurine that was sitting on her coffee table and
began to wrap it in newspaper.
Her machine clicked on. "Doc? Hey, it's me. Are
ya there screening calls or asleep... Look... I
know it's late and I'm sorry, but if you're
there, can you pick up? Or gimme a call tomorrow
first thing in the morning. I'd really apprecia-"
"I'm here," she said breathlessly after bolting
up from the coffee table and hurtling over moving
boxes to get to her phone. "I'm here, sorry. I
currently have my own obstacle course in my
living room. How's home treating you?
"Fine," Doggett tried to talk as quietly as he
could. He was on the phone in his father's study.
He remembered how thin the damn walls in this
house were. He didn't want to wake anyone else
up.
"Liar."
"Second time I've been called that tonight."
"Papa John, if everything was *fine*, you would
NOT be calling me at this ungodly hour begging me
to pick up or to call you first thing in the
morning."
"Did I wake you?"
Guiltily, Starkweather glanced over at the
unopened bottle of prescription sleeping pills on
her coffee table next to a collection of whatnots
and knickknacks. "No... I've been packing."
"HAVE you been sleeping?"
"God dammit, Doggett, did you call me to check up
on me?" she lashed back at him. "How many times
do I need to fucking tell you and Mulder to back
the hell off? I am FINE, dammit!"
Doggett squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his
forehead, feeling a headache sneaking up on him.
"No. I didn't call to check up on you, I was..."
he sighed. This was going to be extremely
awkward. "My sister... I need some information.
Medical information."
"That could not have waited until the morning?"
she bitched.
Great, she's fucking pissed off now. Probably
still thinks this is a half-assed excuse to check
up on her... which it is... "No, it really
couldn't. It's important Doc. I wouldn't have
called if it wasn't," he snapped back at her.
God damn it Jerilyn, I'm sorry your life is
fucked up right now, but don't you start taking
it out on me...
A pause. A dreadful awkward pause. Then a sigh
from her end. "Okay, okay... what do you need to
know about?" She still sounded bent out of shape.
Typical.
"AIDS."
"What?"
"I need to know beyond the public service
announcements. I everything under the sun about
AIDS and the HIV virus." Doggett told her
solemnly, sitting down at his father's desk.
"About AIDS?"
"Yeah..."
"Just wanted to make sure I heard you right...
you're awfully quiet, I can hardly hear you."
"Don't wanna wake up the house."
"Seriously, how is home treating you?" She
sounded contrite. She must have finally realized
what a bitch she had acted like a few minutes
ago.
"It could be better," he admitted gruffly.
"I'm sorry," she sounded sincere.
"I wish you were here," he blurted out and
instantly wished he could take those words and
stuff them back in his mouth.
"Yeah... well..." Starkweather looked at the one
picture still hanging on her wall. Her wedding
portrait. "I... " she stood up and took the
photograph down and put in the first available
open box. Closing the lid. "Maybe next year will
be better, right?"
"Yeah..." Doggett decided to try and quickly save
face. "Anyway... about the AIDS virus?"
"Gimme a second," she grumbled, pinching the
bridge of her nose together tightly. "It IS a
little after midnight. My brain starts to shut
down right about this time."
"Whatever," Doggett said dryly, envisioning his
partner pacing around in her shambles of her
apartment. He guessed she was probably bumming
around in a pair of jeans she salvaged from the
Goodwill and a sweatshirt she found on a
clearance rack in the mall. Shoes off, socks off,
glasses on. Long pretty blond hair tied back in a
sloppy ponytail or messy bun.
He was ninety-eight percent accurate with his
guess, for her hair was actually in a loose
French braid and she was not wearing her reading
glasses. She didn't need to. She wasn't
consulting her old medical textbooks or WebMD.
She was consulting her own powerful photographic
memory.
"'Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome aka AIDS
was first reported in the United States in 1981
and has since become a major worldwide epidemic.
AIDS is caused by the human immunodeficiency
virus (HIV). By killing or impairing cells of the
immune system, HIV progressively destroys the
body's ability to fight infections and certain
cancers. Individuals diagnosed with AIDS are
susceptible to life-threatening diseases called
opportunistic infections, which are caused by
microbes that usually do not cause illness in
healthy people.'"
She sounded like a god damned robot.
"'More than 600,000 cases of AIDS have been
reported in the United States since 1981, and as
many as 900,000 Americans may be infected with
HIV. The epidemic is growing most rapidly among
minority populations and is a leading killer of
African-American males. According to the U.S.
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC),
the prevalence of AIDS is six times higher in
African-Americans and three times higher among
Hispanics than among whites.'"
Atlanta... Doggett rubbed his stiff neck as
he listened to his partner drone on. Maybe I
can sneak into Atlanta for a day...
Starkweather continued, "'HIV is spread most
commonly by sexual contact with an infected
partner. The virus can enter the body through the
lining of the vagina, vulva, penis, rectum or
mouth during sex. HIV also is spread through
contact with infected blood. Prior to the
screening of blood for evidence of HIV infection
and before the introduction in 1985 of heat-
treating techniques to destroy HIV in blood
products, HIV was transmitted through
transfusions of contaminated blood or blood
components. Today, because of blood screening and
heat treatment, the risk of acquiring HIV from
such transfusions is extremely sma-'"
"What year was that again?" Doggett suddenly
interrupted.
She paused. "Year?? Before we started screening
blood? 1985."
Doggett's shoulders slumped. Parker's accident
had been long before 1985. They were still kids.
High schoolers. Before Melanie helped him run
away to join the Marines.
"Why?"
"Um... just makin' sure I heard ya right."
"You're drawling much more than usual. Am I going
to have to reintroduce you to 'Hooked on
Phonics?'"
"Thought that was s'ppose to help you read, not
talk."
"I'm tired," she said defensively. "The one-
liners don't coming that quickly after midnight."
She sighed. "Look... can I just email this to
you? Or don't you have Internet access?"
"Yeah, my brother's got a computer."
"Brother? I didn't know you had a brother."
"One brother, two sisters." Doggett loosen his
tie. Then looked down at himself. He was still in
the same suit he had put one before going to J.
Edgar today. And now it was all travel stained
and crumpled.
He looked up and saw the shadow of a man standing
in front of him.
"Steve, that you?"
"Doggett?" Starkweather pressed the phone closer
to her ear. "Who are you talking to?"
Doggett forgot about the phone in his hand as he
stared wordlessly at the shadow in front of him.
Realizing that there was no light and no solid
object in the room to create the shadow.
"My God..."
"Doggett... you're really starting to spook
me..." Starkweather shivered involuntarily.
"What's going on?"
Doggett blinked. The shadow was gone. "I'm losing
it..."
"Papa John?"
"Huh? Oh..." Doggett squeezed his eyes tightly
shut. "I'm overtired, I'm seein' things."
"SEEING things??? You??? Is there a piece of hell
freezing over?"
"Not like ghosts or shit, I'm... my mind's
playin' tricks on me. Seeing things..." he
trailed off, thinking of the image of the little
boy who inherited his eyes and Barbara's nose.
"Wanting to see something so bad, that I'm
actually seein' it when I know it's not real," he
finished. "Like I said... I'm losing it."
Starkweather lifted her left hand. Examined the
diamond solitaire set on a simple soldered golden
band. "Trust me... I can relate."
"What are you doin' for Christmas?" he went
fishing. Wanted to be sure she wasn't going to be
sitting by herself.
"Jenny," her stepmother, "invited me over to her
house for Christmas Eve and Scully and Mulder
pretty much ordered me to be at Scully's place
for Christmas Day. The Gunmen are going to be
over too... God help me..." she whimpered. "If
Langly tries to corral me by the mistletoe, I
swear to God, I'll shoot him. I really will."
Doggett chuckled. "I think Scully and Mul-duh
will protect you from Langly," he reassured her.
"And remember," she added. "We agreed. No
Christmas presents."
"I didn't buy you anything," he said innocently.
"Better not have," she grumbled. "Do you want me
to go on with the AIDS lecture or can I email or
fax something to you?"
"My brother's got a computer in his shop, I can
get my email from there." As long as Steve's
not there Doggett rolled his eyes. He pulled
his tie completely off now. He ached all over,
his body cried out for sleep.
"Okay, I'll send it to your AO-hell account," she
said. "When are you heading back to DC?"
"Don't know," he said truthfully. "Maybe after
the New Year."
"Okay."
"Get some sleep. Else I'll sick Langly on ya."
"Ugh. Are you TRYING to give me nightmares?"
"I'll see you when I get back home, Doc."
"Okay... I'll email you first thing in the
morning."
"Alright."
"Talk to you later."
"Bye Doc."
The dial tone took the place of her husky voice.
Doggett held the phone in his hand for a moment
and then hung it up carefully.
He looked up and jumped at the shadow looming in
front of him now.
But this shadow was created by a living breathing
entity.

"So?" Melanie slid into the darkened study.
"Who's this 'Doc'?"
"Jesus, Mel," Doggett burst out, hand on chest.
"That's the second time tonight you scared the
piss outta me."
"I'll be sure to walk around the puddle," she
said dryly as she walked over to the desk,
reaching out to turn on the lamp. Doggett rubbed
his eyes when the room brightened up. "So,"
Melanie asked again, settling on the battered
love seat by the window. "Who's 'Doc'?" A wicked
little smile curled her lips.
Doggett looked at the floor. "A friend."
"A friend that you wish was here?"
"Goddamn, Melanie, how long have you been
eavesdroppin'?" Doggett jerked his head up to
glare at her. "She's having a rough time right
now. I invited her to come home with me so she
wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone. That's
all."
"How nice of you," Melanie demurred. "So, does
Doc have a real name?"
"Jerilyn."
"That's... different."
"She's a different kind of girl," Doggett
mumbled, looking at the floor again.
"Different how?"
"Mel, let it go."
"No way," Melanie smirked. "I haven't seen you
this riled up about a girl since that prissy
little bitch Lindsay Amos asked you to take her
to the prom."
"It's. Not. Like. That."
"Bullshit," Melanie taunted him. "Your ears are
bright pink." She hugged a pillow to herself. "So
that's why you got so defensive when I asked
about Reyes. You've got your sights set on
someone else." Instantly, Melanie began
bombarding him with questions. "What's she like?"
When Doggett refused to answer, she persisted.
"Oh, come on, Johnny. Sleep's pretty much a lost
cause for the both of us. And I'm so happy you've
found another girl-"
"Mel-" Doggett tried to butt in but his sister
was on a roll.
"So tell me, what she like? Is she nice?"
"Nice??!?!?!?!?!" He snorted. "She is the biggest
bitch to grace God's green earth."
"And yet you ran to her to help with Parker,"
Melanie challenged him.
"Well... she's smart as hell. I mean. Really
fucking smart. I feel stupid half the time she
opens her mouth. And I didn't RUN to her."
"How did you meet her?"
"She's my partner at the Bureau. We've been
workin' together since April."

Realization dawned on Melanie. "Then... she was
that woman that was with you on September 11.
Parker and I taped that interview of the both of
you on MSNBC."
"Yes," Doggett said softly. "That's her. She lost
her father in the Pentagon attack."
Melanie looked stricken. "And she's married..."
Doggett shook his head. "Not anymore... her..."
he closed his eyes, remembering how he found her
in the chapel, her pretty cream suit coated with
blood.
**Doggett, please, just go away...**
"Her older brother used to work in the FBI too.
But he was kicked out after workin' a case with
me last year. He's the Deputy Mayor of Washington
DC now. But he still ain't a real popular guy and
he pisses off the wrong people. There was an
assassination attempt on him... but... Ben... her
husband... was in the wrong place at the wrong
time and he... was killed in the crossfire. Three
weeks ago."
"Oh God..." Melanie whispered, turning white. "At
least I had time to prepare for Parker's..." she
looked down at her lap, holding the pillow closer
to herself.
Doggett got up and crossed over to Melanie,
sitting beside her. "That's why I really didn't
want to talk about Jerilyn," he whispered as he
embraced his sister. "I didn't want to rub salt
into fresh wounds, Mel."
Melanie snuffled into his dress blouse. "It
just... oh God, John, he was doing so well, he
was taking his drugs, he was healthy, then... all
of a sudden... we only knew that he had AIDS for
a few months, John. One day he was fine, the next
he had AIDS. He was still fine, and now... his
wake's tomorrow," she burst out into full blown
sobs.
Doggett held Melanie tighter to him, unsure of
what to say.
After a while, Melanie composed herself. "I'm
sorry."
"S'all right," Doggett told her. "I'm here, Sis."
She nodded. "I know," her voice cracked. "And
you'll get justice for Park. One way or another."
She wiped her tears off her face with the back of
her hand as she got up. "I'm going to try and go
to bed."
"'Kay." Doggett watched her leave.
Only to watch her pop her head back into the
room. "And don't you think that you're off the
hook about this Jerilyn-girl for one second,
mister. Because I don't buy that "there's nothing
between us" bullshit story at all."
Doggett shook his head. "Really. Mel. There's
nothing."
"Then why are your ears still red?" She smiled
affectionately at him and left him alone with all
the spirits that torment him. His invisible
ghosts and demons and longings for distant
angels.

December 22, 2001
5:35 AM Eastern Standard Time
Laura opened her eyes. With a big yawn, she sat
up, rubbing her eyes. She leaned over the side of
the bed to see if there were monsters underneath
of it. "Darn," she muttered in disappointment
when she didn't see any.
Slipping out of bed, she put on her gaudy pink
fuzzy slippers that Grandma bought her for her
birthday last year. Her mama had nearly gone into
hysterics but Laura loved them.
Silent as a cat, she crept around the house,
snooping until she found her Uncle John's room.
She scampered across the hardwood floor and stood
beside his bed.
Laura frowned. Uncle John was still dressed in
the same suit he was wearing last night. Why
wasn't he in pajamas?
"Whaddya want Laura?" he asked softly, not even
opening his eyes. Amazing how his "kid-radar" was
still fine-tuned as ever even though he had been
childless for nearly seven-going-on-eight years
now.
"Monster huntin'," Laura said solemnly. "Wan'ed
to see if you were up so you could come with me."
Doggett rolled his head over and opened his eyes.
"Huh?"
"Mama says you hunt monsters for a livin'. I was
hopin' you wan'ed to go with me to hunt monsters
this mornin'."
Thanks Chris Doggett thought with a groan.
Then he grinned. The child had been petrified by
the idea of her grandfather's ghost last night
but this morning, wanted to track down monsters.
Kids. "Why do you wanna hunt monsters, baby?"
"'Cause."
"'Cause why?" Doggett felt himself falling into
the dreaded 'Because-why-because' trap that kids
were so good about setting.
Laura scrunched her face up in thought. "'Cause
playin' with monsters is funner than playin' with
Barbies."
Good answer Doggett's grin grew. "Baby, all
the monsters are sleepin' right now," he told
her. "They only come out at night."
"Oh." Laura mulled this over and tucked that bit
of information away. "So... how come you're
sleepin' in your clothes? Didja forget your
pajamas?"
Oh damn "I was so tired last night, I forgot
completely to change my clothes," he told her. He
felt extremely uncomfortable having slept in his
clothes, but then again, it wasn't necessarily
the first time he had done so.
"Mama gets mad at me if I don't change into MY
pajamas. Is Grandma gonna get mad at you 'cause
you didn't change into your pajamas?"
"She won't if we don't tell her," Doggett gave
her a conspirator's wink. Then he yawned. "Now
scoot. It's early."
"Can I sleep in here?" she asked. "It still
stinks like Grandpa in that room." She turned her
little-girl charm on him full-force. "I'll be
good. I'll be quiet. I'll sleep on the floor."
Doggett shook his head. Kids. "You don't have to
sleep on the flo- OOF!" Doggett grunted as Laura
bounced into bed, clambering over his chest and
snuggling into the crook of his arm.
"Daddy says I'm too big to do this no more," she
mumbled sleepily as she dozed back off.
Doggett rested his head against the pillow. I
wonder what it would have been like to have a
daughter? he couldn't help but wonder. Then
felt a stab of disloyalty to the son he lost.
He closed he eyes and tried to relax enough to
catch at least an hour or two of sleep before the
day began in earnest.

Later that morning...
7:55 AM Eastern Time
"Mornin' Mama," Doggett said bending down to kiss
his mother's wrinkled cheek as she finished up
frying the bacon for breakfast.
"Don't they feed you up in DC?" she scolded him,
shooing him away. "You're skin and bones, son."
Doggett grinned as he walked over to the
coffeepot and poured himself a cup. "Ah, Mama,
you worry too much."
"I'm your mother," she informed him primly.
"That's my job."
Doggett looked at the table and knew that Scully
would have a nervous breakdown if she would have
seen what was on the table. Every bit of food
except for the toast was dripping with grease or
coated with sugar. Doggett wondered if he would
have any stomach lining left after his stay with
his mother but as the aroma teased his olfactory
nerves, he decided that he didn't care. Bring on
the fried food. Bring on the coronary.
"Sorry it's not very much," Mrs. Doggett
apologized, "but Mel and I have to get to the
children's hospital this morning and then we've
got the wake this evening so you'll have to fend
for yourself."
Doggett, who was used to a cold Pop Tart and
black coffee to start his day, told her "It's
fine, Mama, I'm used to fending for m'self."
Mrs. Doggett looked up at her son, opened her
mouth, then closed it firmly. She put her hand to
his cheek and told him sternly. "Behave
yourself," while lovingly caressing his cheek.
His mother was a woman of few words and an ornate
dignity. John may be the spitting image of his
deceased father, but he was his mother's son.
Both wrapped their hurts and secrets up in the
wrapping of silence and tucked those packages
away to be opened later on. Alone.
"Okay," he teased her. "No wild parties. No
girls."
"And stay out of the whiskey," she frowned at him
as she turned away to get her purse, calling out,
"Mel?? Melanie, are you ready?"
Doggett shook his head in wonder as his mother
left the kitchen and Chris, being dragged in by
Laura entered. "Hi Uncle John!" Laura chirped.
"What're we doin' today???"
Doggett looked up at Chris in panic.
"Could you baby sit Laura for me?" Chris pleaded.
"I have to go to town and get some last-minute
stuff done for the holidays."
Sh*t he thought. How'm I s'pposed to look
into Parker's death while keeping an eye on
Laura???
"I've got runnin' around to do too," he told
Chris. "D'ya mind if I bring her 'long then?"
Laura beamed. Chris did not. "What KIND of
things?"
Doggett sighed. "Just errands. Stuff I need to
pick up that I forgot when packing yesterday.
Gonna go down to the shop to borrow Steve's
computer to check email."
"Laura, baby," Chris asked, stroking her child's
pretty dark curls. "Before you eat your Corn
Pops, can you do me a favor?"
"Sure Mama."
"Go upstairs and get Mama's purse. I forgot it."
"'Kay."
The minute Laura disappeared from the kitchen,
Chris hissed at her brother. "Johnny, you are not
helping Melanie get over Parker by feedin' into
her delusions."
"I AIN'T feedin' into her delusions!" Doggett
snapped back at her.
"Johnny, you know and I know," her voice was
shaking now. "That it's just best to let things
go."
Doggett leaned back in his chair. Surveyed his
sister with her faux fiery hair. Chris fidgeted
nervously with her charm bracelet, an early
Christmas present from her husband. She didn't
like how piercing his eyes were. So blue. So
clear. So like their mother's.
"You really believe that Christen?" he asked her
lightly, but using her full name instead of the
familiar diminutive to ensure he had her full
attention.
She squirmed. "I want to believe," she whispered,
looking at the floor.
"Honey, I'm not gonna do anything that's gonna
hurt Mel," he said. "If there's even the
slightest chance that Park was murdered, then me
pokin' 'round will improve the odds of the killer
bein' found by that little bit. If it's proven
without a doubt that he died naturally... well...
then Mel will have the answers she needs to stop
puttin' off gettin' on with her life." I am
such a hypocrite he thought as he continued to
stare his little sister down.
"It's just that... John, this has been hellish
enough already. You haven't been here... you
don't live here. You were in New York when things
were really bad between Daddy and Mellie and Park
and..." she shook her end. "I just..."
"Mama!" Laura burst back in. "Found it!"
"Thank you baby." Chris took the battered purse
from her daughter.
"D'ya mind if Laura tags along with me today
then?" Doggett asked her smoothly as Laura
plunked down in her chair and started to add
fresh strawberries to her soggy cereal. "It's
nothing big, nothing earth shattering, I
promise." For today he thought darkly.
Laura beamed at him. "Can we go to the library?"
"Yeah..." Doggett became enthusiastic at the
idea. Because libraries have computers... I
won't have to deal with Steve at the shop.
"Yeah, actually, the library's one of the places
I gotta go."
"Mama? That okay?"
Relief relaxed Chris' normally tense face. "No.
That's fine."
She counted on her fantasy-prone daughter to keep
John so occupied that he wouldn't have time to
chase after his own imaginary monsters.
Later that morning...
Chatham-Effingham-Liberty Regional Library
Savannah Georgia
"I don't believe it," Doggett moaned under his
breath. "They charge for Internet service," he
griped.
Laura looked up from her book. She was successful
in her battle in snagging the library's last copy
of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.'
"Whatcha lookin' for?"
"I'm not looking for anything Laura," he told
her. "I need to get my email. I'm expecting an
important message from someone."
"Your girlfriend?"
"What????"
"Mama and Auntie Mel were talkin' before we left
for the library," Laura informed him solemnly.
"Auntie Mel said your ears turned really red
after she caught you on the phone with a lady and
Mama said she must've been your girlfriend if
your ears got red... hey... cool! They really do
turn red! How do you do that??"
Doggett wished his family lived in Alaska so he
could wear ear muffs.
"Your Mama and your Auntie Mel-" are gonna get
hurt "-made a mistake honey. I was talkin' on
the phone last night with a lady, but she's not
my girlfriend. She's my friend. We work
together."
"You guys catch monsters together?"
"We try to." He looked at her book. "Like Harry
Potter huh?"
"Oh yeah!" Laura grinned, losing interest in her
uncles' telltale ears. "It's really cool, but
it's gonna be hard to wait for the next book to
come out. It's not done bein' written yet."
"Well, while you're waiting for the next book to
come out, you could read another series... it's
kinda like Harry Potter... well, I mean, its got
magic and stuff." Doggett had never been much of
a reader, but he had always been enchanted by the
works of CS Lewis. He remembered reading "The
Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" to his son even
as Barbara admonished him that Luke was too
little to hear stories like that. He needed to be
protected from violence, not subjected to it.
**Ah, Barb, relax. It's just a story**
"C'mon," he told Laura, getting up. "We'll ask
the librarian where it is... and maybe we'll go
do something else today too..."
"Like what?"
"Whatever you want, sweetie. Movie, park, zoo..."
"Can we go to the zoo??"
"Sure."
Anything to postpone going to his brother's auto
repair shop and asking to use his computer.
Later on that afternoon...
Doggett's Auto Repair and Parts
"Why'd we hafta come here?" Laura's voice was
etched with disappointment as the family auto
repair and parts store loomed in the horizon. "We
were havin' fun."
Doggett was asking himself the very same
question. He had spent the day totally spoiling
Laura rotten. Mostly because his spirited little
niece charmed him utterly. But partially, also to
get back at Chris for asking him to baby sit.
He took her to her favorite restaurant and let
her order whatever she wanted, then they wandered
around the zoo for most of the afternoon. While
walking around, Doggett found his mind wandering
back to Melanie's request, to find out the true
nature of Parker's death. Several times, Laura
had to poke him to get his attention. But then an
attraction, the monkey house, the lions' den, the
sweets vendor, would catch her eye and she would
forget about her uncle's inattentiveness.
"Well, honey, I still have to check my email," he
told her. "And Grandma doesn't have a computer."
Doggett regretted not taking his own FBI issued
notebook computer with him. But he didn't want to
deal with the hassle of security inspecting the
bag he carried the computer and docking port in.
Hell, they made him take off his shoes, for
Christ's sake.
Now the security at the airport seemed like a
picnic compared to asking his dour older brother
to borrow the computer, even for five minutes.
Ten maybe, depending on how much shit Jerilyn
sent him.
The oldest of the family, Stephen Doggett had
been the popular one, the good looking one, the
one the girls flocked around in high school.
Three years younger than him and two years
younger than Mel, Doggett hadn't really cared...
much. In high school, he had been so shy around
girls anyways. Stevie had been so cool, so blasé
about it. It seemed like he had a different
girlfriend every week. Lindsay Amos, blond, blue-
eyed, a cheerleader and two years his senior had
to ask HIM to the prom. John barely had composure
enough to stammer out an "okay", half-afraid that
it was all a bad joke.
Now, fast forward, twenty-five years later.
Stevie was bald, pudgy and alone. Even more so
than John. He had never gone to college. He had
never traveled. He had never married. He had
never had children. He had dedicated his life to
continuing his father's business.
A business that was steadily declining.
And Steve still lived with his mother.
Doggett didn't care how shitty his life was,
didn't care that his chances for advancement in
the FBI had a snowball's chance on Mars. He had
served his nation and earned a college degree. He
had his own house, he had an interesting job, he
had good friends and he had a wonderful albeit
infuriating partner. And for seven years, he had
the honor of being the father to, in his biased
opinion, the best little boy in the entire world
and he wouldn't trade that for anything.
As he got out of the car, Doggett surveyed the
building. The paint was peeling badly. One of the
'G's on the sign had fallen off. The garbage in
the dumpster was overflowing and smelled
terrible. Doggett, as he waited for Laura to run
around the vehicle to join him, toyed with the
idea of offering Steve to tidy the place up a
little bit while he was in town. Then dismissed
the idea immediately. Steve would perceive the
offer as either charity or pity or both. And
refuse his help. Rudely.
As Doggett and Laura walked up the cracked
sidewalk to the garage, Stevie came out the door,
wiping grease off his hands with a dirty rag.
"What are you doin' here?" he asked his brother
coolly. Then glanced down at Laura, who looked up
at her other uncle warily. "And what'n the hell
did you bring her here for?"
Laura's eyes filled with tears.
"Because she's keepin' me company today and I
don't think Chris'll 'preciate you talkin' about
her daughter that way," Doggett said just as
calmly, feeling Laura reaching for his hand.
Stevie just snorted. "So, what'd you want?"
"I need to check my email. I'm expecting
correspondence from my partner about a case." Not
quite the truth. Not quite the lie.
Steve snorted slightly, his flaring nostrils
reminding Doggett of that ridiculous bull that
Bugs Bunny told to "stop steaming up my tail!"
But instead of lowing his head and running
towards him in a blind rage, he merely turned
around and mumbled, "Well, hurry up then. Don't
got all day."
Doggett looked down and grinned at Laura, who
still appeared distraught. "Think Uncle Stevie's
havin' a bad day," he whispered to her, squeezing
her small hand.
"Uncle Stevie ALWAYS has a bad day when I'm
'round," Laura said petulantly, head hanging
down.
Doggett felt a very adolescent urge to slap Steve
upside the head.
The urge became a compulsion when he stepped
inside the shop. It was filthy and unkempt.
Granted, auto mechanic shops weren't exactly
supposed to be Martha Stewart-neat. But there was
no excuse for the trash cans to be overflowing
with Coke cans and McDonald's bags. Or broken
tools and pieces of scrap metal laying on top of
the filing cabinet. Or to have spiders merrily
spinning their webs in the corners. Doggett,
always a clean-freak by nature, shuddered.
Plus, he remembered as a boy how neat his father
had kept the shop. You could almost eat off the
office floor.
Doggett wondered if Steve was subconsciously
sabotaging the business to get back at his father
postmortem for tying him down to the shop. But
decided it wasn't his place to hazard a guess.
Who knew what went through Stevie's mind anymore
and John did not study psychology. That was
Mulder and Starkweather's department. Profiling.
"Computer's on the desk," Steve said as if
Doggett was too dense to notice the ancient
machine on top of the filthy desk.
"Thanks," Doggett said while groaning to himself
Aw, Christ, it's a Mac. God damn it...
Doggett pulled out the chair and sat down. Laura
flopped down on the cracked vinyl couch and
crossed her arms, looking bored. Stevie
positioned himself right behind Doggett, looking
over his shoulder.
"D'ya mind?" Doggett asked irritably.
"Yeah, I mind," Stevie responded, equally
irritated. "I mind a lot."
"This is confidential," Doggett said through
gritted teeth.
"It's my computer," Steve replied sullenly.
"Aw for Christ's sake, I'm not gonna be
downloadin' porn or anything!"
"Yeah, but how do I know you're not adding a
virus to my computer if you open anything? All my
business' financial records are on the hard
drive."
"It's from the FBI! It's from my god-damned
partner!" Doggett said hotly, forgetting about
the little ears sitting on the couch across the
room. "She's not gonna send an infected file to
me!"
"Not on purpose."
"Steve, if you didn't want me to use this, why
don'cha just say so and quit wastin' my time."
"Hey, this is my livelihood you wanna dink 'round
with, boy. And I'll be damned if I lose all my
records 'cause you were playin' Cops and Robbers
over the holidays."
"My job is not a game."
"Bullsh-"
"Boys," a quietly forceful, feminine voice cut
through the air.
John and Steve looked up from their argument and
saw their mother and their sister Melanie
standing there.
"He started it!" Steve burst out childishly.
Doggett retorted, "Did not!" The minute the words
were out of his mouth, he felt like a horse's
ass.
Mrs. Doggett skewered the two great big grown men
with her piercing eyes. "It doesn't matter who
started it," she snapped at them as if they were
eight and six again and bickering over a toy. "It
matters that you act your ages and end it like
gentlemen. Now." She crossed her arms and
waiting, still glaring at them.
Laura bolted up from the couch and ran to her
mother's side. Chris wrapped her arms around
Laura's shoulders.
"Fine," Steve muttered. "Fine." He stepped away
from his brother. "Go 'head," he gestured vaguely
towards the computer. "I gotta run some errands
'fore the wake anyway. Lock up the shop when you
get done"
"Stephen," Mrs. Doggett said threateningly.
"Mama, I gotta go," he mumbled, snatching his
ball cap and jacket off of the old coat tree and
stomped out of the shop.
Doggett looked up at his mother, shaking his
head. "It's never gonna be good 'tween us, Mama,"
he said quietly. "It's no use."
Mrs. Doggett said in a sniffy voice, "That's the
credo of the mediocre, son."
"But Mama-"
"Don't you 'but Mama' me," Mrs. Doggett said
loftily. "Y'all can try to get along for my sake.
And if not for me, then at least for Mellie. God
only knows how much she's hurtin' right now." She
shed her steely demeanor, let her small shoulders
slouch a little. "You gonna be long, son?"
"Shouldn't be. I'll try not to be. I don't wanna
be late for the wake," Doggett promised her.
"Alright then," Mrs. Doggett nodded. "Come on
Chris," she said solemnly. "Let's go." Then she
smiled down at her granddaughter. "And you young
lady, need to tell Grandma all about your day."
The women and the little girl left Doggett in
peace. First thing he did was raid Steve's desk
for anything that could combat a raging headache.
He found a dusty bottle of Bayer aspirin and dry-
swallowed three white pills. Then he logged onto
the Internet, cursing out Steve's slow slow
service.
Finally, after what felt like the passing of an
eon or two, he was able to access his email.
"TO: JJDoggett4460@AOL.COM
FROM: Jeribs@AOL.COM
RE: AIDS/HIV
Papa John-
B/c I am lazy as fuck, I've just c&ped a link to
WebMD for you. It'll tell you everything you need
to know about AIDS and then some. Need
clarification, call me. Will have cell on. Will
kill you if you call at midnight again though.
Hope home is treating you better today than last
night. Sorry I was bitchy last night, was really
tired when you called - Santa's probably going to
skip my house this year b/c of that, the fat old
bastard. Talk you when you're back in DC.
-Doc
PS: So, how many hours did you waste dreaming up
your screen name anyway? Just curious. hee hee"
He grinned after reading her snotty little
message.
The grin faded after he clicked on the hyperlink
and started reading about the disease that Parker
supposedly died from.

Doggett squinted at the screen as he began to
silently read. I hope this print just looks
blurry because I'm tired and not because I need
glasses he thought as he leaned in closer to
the monitor:
"Frequently Asked Questions on HIV/AIDS:
Transmission and Prevention
Myths and facts about how HIV is transmitted --
and how it can be prevented. Centers for Disease
Control and Prevention Reviewed By Dr. Tonja Wynn
Hampton
How is HIV passed from one person to another?:
HIV transmission can occur when blood, semen
(including pre-seminal fluid, or "pre-cum"),
vaginal fluid, or breast milk from an infected
person enters the body of an uninfected person.
HIV can enter the body through a vein (e.g.,
injection drug use), the anus or rectum, the
vagina, the penis, the mouth, other mucous
membranes (e.g., eyes or inside of the nose), or
cuts and sores. Intact, healthy skin is an
excellent barrier against HIV and other viruses
and bacteria. These are the most common ways that
HIV is transmitted from one person to another:
by having sexual intercourse (anal, vaginal, or
oral sex) with an HIV-infected person
by sharing needles or injection equipment with an
injection drug user who is infected with HIV
from HIV-infected women to babies before or
during birth, or through breast-feeding after
birth. HIV also can be transmitted through
transfusions of infected blood or blood clotting
factors. However, since 1985, all donated blood
in the United States has been tested for HIV.
Therefore, the risk of infection through
transfusion of blood or blood products is
extremely low. The U.S. blood supply is
considered to be among the safest in the world.
Some health-care workers have become infected
after being stuck with needles containing HIV-
infected blood or, less frequently, after
infected blood contact with the worker's open cut
or through splashes into the worker's eyes or
inside their nose. There has been only one
instance of patients being infected by an HIV-
infected health care worker. This involved HIV
transmission from an infected dentist to six
patients.
Can I get HIV from kissing on the cheek?: HIV is
not casually transmitted, so kissing on the cheek
is very safe. Even if the other person has the
virus, your unbroken skin is a good barrier. No
one has become infected from such ordinary social
contact as dry kisses, hugs, and handshakes.
Can I get HIV from open-mouth kissing?: Open-
mouth kissing is considered a very low-risk
activity for the transmission of HIV. However,
prolonged open-mouth kissing could damage the
mouth or lips and allow HIV to pass from an
infected person to a partner and then enter the
body through cuts or sores in the mouth. Because
of this possible risk, the CDC recommends against
open-mouth kissing with an infected partner. One
case suggests that a woman became infected with
HIV from her sex partner through exposure to
contaminated blood during open-mouth kissing. The
July 11, 1997, Morbidity and Mortality Weekly
Report contains an article on this case.
Can I get HIV from performing oral sex?: Yes, it
is possible for you to become infected with HIV
through performing oral sex. There have been a
few cases of HIV transmission from performing
oral sex on a person infected with HIV. While no
one knows exactly what the degree of risk is,
evidence suggests that the risk is less than that
of unprotected anal or vaginal sex. Blood, semen,
pre-seminal fluid, and vaginal fluid all may
contain the virus. Cells in the mucous lining of
the mouth may carry HIV into the lymph nodes or
the bloodstream. The risk increases if you have
cuts or sores around or in your mouth or throat;
if your partner ejaculates in your mouth; or
if your partner has another sexually transmitted
disease (STD).
If you choose to have oral sex, and your partner
is male, use a latex condom on the penis; or
if you or your partner is allergic to latex,
plastic (polyurethane) condoms can be used.
Research has shown the effectiveness of latex
condoms used on the penis to prevent the
transmission of HIV. Condoms are not risk-free,
but they greatly reduce your risk of becoming
HIV-infected if your partner has the virus. If
you choose to have oral sex, and your partner is
female, use a latex barrier (such as a dental dam
or a cut-open condom that makes a square) between
your mouth and the vagina. Plastic food wrap also
can be used as a barrier..."
"What?????" Doggett blurted out after reading
that part. "No fricking way..." A very
uncomfortable mental picture of Saran Wrap flew
through his mind. He shook his head to clear it.
"I remember when sex was easy," he muttered to
himself as he continued to read:
"... The barrier reduces the risk of blood or
vaginal fluids entering your mouth. If you have
additional questions or are concerned about
personal behaviors that may have put you at risk,
call the CDC National AIDS Hotline at 1-800-342-
2437 (English), 1-800-344-7432 (Spanish), or 1-
800-243-7889 (TTY).
Can I get HIV from someone performing oral sex on
me?: Yes, it is possible for you to become
infected with HIV through receiving oral sex. If
your partner has HIV, blood from their mouth may
enter the urethra (the opening at the tip of the
penis), the vagina, the anus, or directly into
the body through small cuts or open sores. While
no one knows exactly what the degree of risk is,
evidence suggests that the risk is less than that
of unprotected anal or vaginal sex. If you choose
to have oral sex, use a latex condom on the
penis; or
if you or your partner is allergic to latex, a
plastic (polyurethane) condom can be used.
Research has shown the effectiveness of latex
condoms used on the penis for preventing the
transmission of HIV. Condoms are not risk-free,
but they greatly reduce your risk of becoming
HIV-infected if your partner has the virus. If
you choose to have oral sex and you are female,
use a latex barrier (such as a cut-open condom
that makes a square or a dental dam) between
their mouth and the vagina. Plastic food wrap
(here Doggett winced again) can also be used as a
barrier. The barrier reduces the risk of blood
entering the body through the vagina..."

Can I get HIV from having vaginal sex?: Yes, it
is possible to become infected with HIV through
vaginal intercourse. In fact, it is the most
common way the virus is transmitted in much of
the world. HIV can be found in the blood, semen,
pre-seminal fluid, or vaginal fluid of a person
infected with the virus. The lining of the vagina
can tear and possibly allow HIV to enter the
body. Direct absorption of HIV through the mucous
membranes that line the vagina also is a
possibility. The male may be at less risk for HIV
transmission than the female through vaginal
intercourse. However, HIV can enter the body of
the male through his urethra (the opening at the
tip of the penis) or through small cuts or open
sores on the penis. Risk for HIV infection
increases if you or a partner has a sexually
transmitted disease (STD). If you choose to have
vaginal intercourse, use a latex condom to help
protect both you and your partner from the risk
of HIV and other STDs. Studies have shown that
latex condoms are very effective, though not
perfect, in preventing HIV transmission when used
correctly and consistently. If either partner is
allergic to latex, plastic (polyurethane) condoms
for either the male or female can be used.
Can I get HIV from anal sex? (Here Doggett, hard-
core Marine man all the way, cringed and wondered
"Why???????") Yes, it is possible for either sex
partner to become infected with HIV during anal
sex. HIV can be found in the blood, semen, pre-
seminal fluid, or vaginal fluid of a person
infected with the virus. In general, the person
receiving the semen is at greater risk of getting
HIV because the lining of the rectum is thin and
may allow the virus to enter the body during anal
sex. However, a person who inserts his penis into
an infected partner also is at risk because HIV
can enter through the urethra (the opening at the
tip of the penis) or through small cuts,
abrasions, or open sores on the penis. Having
unprotected (without a condom) anal sex is
considered to be a very risky behavior. If people
choose to have anal sex, they should use a latex
condom. Most of the time, condoms work well.
However, condoms are more likely to break during
anal sex than during vaginal sex. Thus, even with
a condom, anal sex can be risky. A person should
use a water-based lubricant in addition to the
condom to reduce the chances of the condom
breaking.
How effective are latex condoms in preventing
HIV?: Studies have shown that latex condoms are
highly effective in preventing HIV transmission
when used consistently and correctly. These
studies looked at uninfected people considered to
be at very high risk of infection because they
were involved in sexual relationships with HIV-
infected people. The studies found that even with
repeated sexual contact, 98-100 percent of those
people who used latex condoms correctly and
consistently did not become infected.
Is there a connection between HIV and other
sexually transmitted diseases?: Yes. Having a
sexually transmitted disease (STD) can increase a
person's risk of becoming infected with HIV,
whether the STD causes open sores or breaks in
the skin (e.g., syphilis, herpes, chancroid) or
does not cause breaks in the skin (e.g.,
chlamydia, gonorrhea). If the STD infection
causes irritation of the skin, breaks or sores
may make it easier for HIV to enter the body
during sexual contact. Even when the STD causes
no breaks or open sores, the infection can
stimulate an immune response in the genital area
that can make HIV transmission more likely. In
addition, if an HIV-infected person also is
infected with another STD, that person is three
to five times more likely than other HIV-infected
persons to transmit HIV through sexual contact.
Not having (abstaining from) sexual intercourse
is the most effective way to avoid STDs,
including HIV. For those who choose to be
sexually active, the following HIV prevention
activities are highly effective:
Engaging in sex that does not involve vaginal,
anal, or oral sex
Having intercourse with only one uninfected
partner
Using latex condoms every time you have sex
If you have additional questions about STDs, or
have personal concerns, call the CDC National STD
Hotline at 1-800-227-8922.
Why is injecting drugs a risk for HIV?: At the
start of every intravenous injection, blood is
introduced into needles and syringes. HIV can be
found in the blood of a person infected with the
virus. The reuse of a blood-contaminated needle
or syringe by another drug injector (sometimes
called "direct syringe sharing") carries a high
risk of HIV transmission because infected blood
can be injected directly into the bloodstream. In
addition, sharing drug equipment (or "works") can
be a risk for spreading HIV. Infected blood can
be introduced into drug solutions by using blood-
contaminated syringes to prepare drugs; reusing
water; reusing bottle caps, spoons, or other
containers ("spoons" and "cookers") used to
dissolve drugs in water and to heat drug
solutions; or reusing small pieces of cotton or
cigarette filters ("cottons") used to filter out
particles that could block the needle. "Street
sellers" of syringes may repackage used syringes
and sell them as sterile syringes. For this
reason, people who continue to inject drugs
should obtain syringes from reliable sources of
sterile syringes, such as pharmacies. It is
important to know that sharing a needle or
syringe for any use, including skin popping and
injecting steroids, can put one at risk for HIV
and other blood-borne infections.
How can people who use injection drugs reduce
their risk for HIV infection?: The CDC recommends
that people who inject drugs should be regularly
counseled to stop using and injecting drugs.
enter and complete substance abuse treatment,
including relapse prevention. For injection drug
users who cannot or will not stop injecting
drugs, the following steps may be taken to reduce
personal and public health risks: Never reuse or
"share" syringes, water, or drug preparation
equipment. Only use syringes obtained from a
reliable source (such as pharmacies or needle
exchange programs).
Use a new, sterile syringe to prepare and inject
drugs. If possible, use sterile water to prepare
drugs; otherwise, use clean water from a reliable
source (such as fresh tap water). Use a new or
disinfected container ("cooker") and a new filter
("cotton") to prepare drugs.
Clean the injection site prior to injection with
a new alcohol swab. Safely dispose of syringes
after one use. If new, sterile syringes and other
drug preparation and injection equipment are not
available, then previously used equipment should
be boiled in water or disinfected with bleach
before reuse. Injection drug users and their sex
partners also should take precautions, such as
using condoms consistently and correctly, to
reduce risks of sexual transmission of HIV.
Persons who continue to inject drugs should
periodically be tested for HIV..."
"Can I get HIV from getting a tattoo or through
body piercing?..."
Doggett frowned, he never thought of that. He
rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and touched the
"We Will Never Forget" tattoo on his upper arm.
He had been half-drunk when he got it done with
the rest of the survivors of his unit. The risks
never even crossed his mind.
"...A risk of HIV transmission does exist if
instruments contaminated with blood are either
not sterilized or disinfected or are used
inappropriately between clients. CDC recommends
that instruments that are intended to penetrate
the skin be used once, then disposed of or
thoroughly cleaned and sterilized. Personal
service workers who do tattooing or body piercing
should be educated about how HIV is transmitted
and take precautions to prevent transmission of
HIV and other blood-borne infections in their
settings. If you are considering getting a tattoo
or having your body pierced, ask staff at the
establishment what procedures they use to prevent
the spread of HIV and other blood-borne
infections, such as hepatitis B virus. You also
may call the local health department to find out
what sterilization procedures are in place in the
local area for these types of establishments.
Are health care workers at risk of getting HIV on
the job? :The risk of health care workers getting
HIV on the job is very low, especially if they
carefully follow universal precautions (i.e.,
using protective practices and personal
protective equipment to prevent HIV and other
blood-borne infections). It is important to
remember that casual, everyday contact with an
HIV-infected person does not expose health care
workers or anyone else to HIV. For health care
workers on the job, the main risk of HIV
transmission is through accidental injuries from
needles and other sharp instruments that may be
contaminated with the virus. Even this risk is
small, however. Scientists estimate that the risk
of infection from a needle jab is less than 1
percent, a figure based on the findings of
several studies of health care workers who
received punctures from HIV-contaminated needles
or were otherwise exposed to HIV-contaminated
blood. For more information on universal
precautions or occupational risks of HIV
exposure, call the CDC National Prevention
Information Network (operators of the National
AIDS Clearinghouse) at 1-800-458-5231..."
"Are patients in a dentist's or doctor's office
at risk of getting HIV?: Although HIV
transmission is possible in health care settings,
it is extremely rare. Medical experts emphasize
that the careful practice of infection control
procedures, including universal precautions,
protects patients as well as health care
providers from possible HIV infection in medical
and dental offices. In 1990, the CDC reported on
an HIV-infected dentist in Florida who apparently
infected some of his patients while doing dental
work. Studies of viral DNA sequences linked the
dentist to six of his patients who were also HIV-
infected. The CDC has as yet been unable to
establish how the transmission took place.
Further studies of more than 22,000 patients of
63 health care providers who were HIV-infected
have found no further evidence of transmission
from provider to patient in health care settings.
Should I be concerned about getting infected with
HIV while playing sports?: There are no
documented cases of HIV being transmitted during
participation in sports. The very low risk of
transmission during sports participation would
involve sports with direct body contact in which
bleeding might be expected to occur. If someone
is bleeding, their participation in the sport
should be interrupted until the wound stops
bleeding and is both antiseptically cleaned and
securely bandaged. There is no risk of HIV
transmission through sports activities where
bleeding does not occur.
Can I get HIV from casual contact (shaking hands,
hugging, using a toilet, drinking from the same
glass, or the sneezing and coughing of an
infected person)?: No. HIV is not transmitted by
day-to-day contact in the workplace, schools, or
social settings. HIV is not transmitted through
shaking hands, hugging, or a casual kiss. You
cannot become infected from a toilet seat, a
drinking fountain, a door knob, dishes, drinking
glasses, food, or pets. A small number of cases
of transmission have been reported in which a
person became infected with HIV as a result of
contact with blood or other body secretions from
an HIV-infected person in the household. Although
contact with blood and other body substances can
occur in households, transmission of HIV is rare
in this setting. However, persons infected with
HIV and persons providing home care for those who
are HIV-infected should be fully educated and
trained regarding appropriate infection-control
techniques. HIV is not an airborne or food-borne
virus, and it does not live long outside the
body. HIV can be found in the blood, semen, or
vaginal fluid of an infected person. The three
main ways HIV is transmitted are through having
sex (anal, vaginal, or oral) with someone
infected with HIV.
through sharing needles and syringes with someone
who has HIV.
through exposure (in the case of infants) to HIV
before or during birth, or through breast
feeding.
For more information about providing home care or
living with a person who is HIV-infected, call
the CDC National Prevention Information Network
(operators of the National AIDS Clearinghouse) at
1-800-458-5231 and ask for the publication
"Caring for Someone with AIDS: Information for
Friends, Relatives, Household Members, and Others
Who Care for a Person With AIDS at Home."
Can I get infected with HIV from mosquitoes?
No. From the start of the HIV epidemic there has
been concern about HIV transmission of the virus
by biting and bloodsucking insects, such as
mosquitoes. However, studies conducted by the CDC
and elsewhere have shown no evidence of HIV
transmission through mosquitoes or any other
insects -- even in areas where there are many
cases of AIDS and large populations of
mosquitoes. Lack of such outbreaks, despite
intense efforts to detect them, supports the
conclusion that HIV is not transmitted by
insects. The results of experiments and
observations of insect biting behavior indicate
that when an insect bites a person, it does not
inject its own or a previously bitten person's or
animal's blood into the next person bitten.
Rather, it injects saliva, which acts as a
lubricant so the insect can feed efficiently.
Diseases such as yellow fever and malaria are
transmitted through the saliva of specific
species of mosquitoes. However, HIV lives for
only a short time inside an insect and, unlike
organisms that are transmitted via insect bites,
HIV does not reproduce (and does not survive) in
insects. Thus, even if the virus enters a
mosquito or another insect, the insect does not
become infected and cannot transmit HIV to the
next human it bites. There also is no reason to
fear that a mosquito or other insect could
transmit HIV from one person to another through
HIV-infected blood left on its mouth parts.
Several reasons help explain why this is so.
First, infected people do not have constantly
high levels of HIV in their blood streams.
Second, insect mouth parts retain only very small
amounts of blood on their surfaces. Finally,
scientists who study insects have determined that
biting insects normally do not travel from one
person to the next immediately after ingesting
blood. Rather, they fly to a resting place to
digest the blood meal."
Doggett leaned back into the chair, his forehead
creased in thought.

Okay, great, just got the crash course on AIDS,
thankyouverymuch Jerilyn he rubbed his eyes in
frustration. Now what?
If Parker had been deliberately infected, the
problem was trying to figure out when. Parker had
always been healthy as a horse. The only time
Parker had been in the hospital, had been at risk
for catching the HIV virus was during the time
when AIDS didn't even exist. When they were high-
school kids. After those rednecked pieces of shit
used Parker as their quarry in their "homo hunt"
and therefore causing the accident. Doggett re-
read the information and tried to think of how
someone could have "slipped" Parker the virus. It
just didn't seem possible. Parker HAD to have
contracted the disease the normal way, but that
didn't seem possible either. Parker was not into
drugs. Was not a health care worker. Was not an
athlete. Was not into anything "weird" such as
tattoos. Doggett touched his arm again and
shivered. He knew he was clean because the FBI
screened all their agents regularly and
thoroughly (and how Mulder survived at the Bureau
as long as he did with the traces of the LSD in
his spinal fluid was beyond him). But still, he
had opened himself up to the risk without even
realizing it. A damn scary thought.
Another scary thought slammed into him. Parker
definitely was not a homosexual, he had been in
too much love with Melanie. In fact, Doggett knew
that Parker and Melanie were perfectly justified
in wearing white at their wedding. So did
Parker get a little something on the side? I
can't see him cheating on Mel, just like I can't
see Mel cheating on him...
"Oh Jesus," Doggett burst out, feeling his heart
dropping into his shoes.
Melanie.
What if Melanie was infected?
"Oh God, oh God no," Doggett whispered, squeezing
his eyes tightly shut. Forced himself to breathe.
Resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call
Jerilyn. Calmed himself down. Realized that he
would have to talk to Melanie some more. Get her
to draw a better picture of what happened before
he could put it into a frame.
Feeling better that he had a marginal game plan
mapped out, Doggett stood to leave when he spied
a re-writable CD in a blue jewel case half-hidden
by a mountain of old invoices. A boyishly naughty
grin popped on his face. Whistling innocently, he
slid the CD from out underneath the papers and
put the disk into the CD-R drive. Discovered that
the disk was empty.
Doggett opened the desk drawer where he found the
aspirin and saw several CDs with homemade labels
inside. Glanced up at the monitor and noticed the
Napster icon on the desktop.
"'All the billings are on the hard-drive' my
ass," Doggett muttered as he cheerfully began to
download music.

Later that night...
St. John's Baptist Church
522-528 Hartridge Street
Savannah Georgia 310401
7:45 PM Eastern
Doggett decided whoever said that funerals where
for the living rather than the dead was full of
shit.
Or maybe I've just been to too many of them
he thought miserably, sitting like a coward a few
pews away from the casket, watching Melanie
hovering by her husband's body, greeting the
straggling mourners. Even more cowardly, Doggett
averted his eyes from the coffin and stared at
the floor.
The wake was almost over, but for God's sake,
there was still the funeral and that was being
postponed until after the day after Christmas.
Because Melanie wanted a full autopsy performed
before burial. The wake tonight was so that the
body could be viewed. After the kind of autopsy
Melanie was demanding, it would have to be
closed-casket. Doggett sighed and wondered again
if he really was helping Melanie. Or if Chris was
right and he was just feeding into her delusions,
her denial.
"Speak of the devil," he said softly as his
little sister sat down beside him.
"Johnny Angel," Chris said softly, rubbing his
back. "You look awful."
"Aw gee, Chris, you always say the nicest
things."
"Thank you for watching Laura today."
"She's a nice kid."
"Thanks, we think we'll keep her," Chris quipped.
"Where is Laura?"
"At home with her father. I think the wake and
the funeral would be too much for a little girl.
She'll come to the funeral though. She needs
closure, just like every one else. But I don't
want to overdo it. She's only ten, you know." She
sighed, looking up at Melanie who was alone by
the casket now, praying over her husband's body.
"At first I thought it was a shame they never had
children," Chris said quietly. "But now..." she
shook her head, unable to continue.
"Chris..." Doggett started, stopped then forced
himself to start again. "Melanie... is she..
um... she's not..."
"We don't know," Chris still, suddenly digging
into her purse. "Nobody's asked her if she was
infected and she hasn't volunteered the
information." She pulled out a wad of Kleenex and
dabbed her eyes. "I gotta get going, Johnny. Mike
and Laura are waitin' for me."
"I'll see you day after tomorrow."
"You're not gonna be around tomorrow?"
Doggett shook his head. "I gotta go to Atlanta."
"Why?"
"Honey, don't ask me questions you don't want
answers to."
Doggett could see that his response infuriated
his baby sister to no end. "If I wasn't in church
right now," she hissed. "I would dog-cuss you out
so bad Johnny..."
"Our Father," Doggett said piously, "who art in
heaven..."
She scowled at him and stormed off just as
Melanie said goodnight to the last mourner. "What
bug crawled up her butt?" Melanie asked as she
sat down beside him. She opened her purse and
took out a compact. Examined her tear-streaked
face.
"You look fine, Mellie," Doggett felt a huge lump
in his throat. "You look... just... fine..." he
looked at the floor again.
Melanie closed the compact and slipped it back
into her purse. She reached for her brother's
hand and whispered, "Can you drive me to Mama's
house?"
"Okay," he whispered back, carefully cupping her
tiny fingers with his big hand. "Let's go."
Hand in hand, they slipped out a slide door and
into the church parking lot, towards Melanie's
car. Doggett could feel her entire body
trembling. "You okay, sis?" he asked her, scared
of what her answer might be. Please God, just
don't let her be sick, just don't let her be
sick. I've buried enough people already. My own
kid, I buried my own kid, don't make me bury my
sister too.
"I'm not feeling very well."
Doggett wanted to cry.
"What's the matter?" he asked her innocently.
"Oh... just under the weather," she said vaguely.
"Any luck with finding out who did this to
Parker?" she squeezed his hand as they stood
beside her car.
He gave her an FBI-approved bullshit response.
"I'm makin' progress," he said gravely. "I'm
goin' to Atlanta tomorrow to talk to someone at
the CDC... and then I'll talk to the mortician
who's handlin' the autopsy and maybe I'll get my
partner or my other colleague in the X-Files,
Dana Scully, to take a look at the results...
actually, it'd probably be better if Agent Scully
looked at 'em... Starkweather's a little
overloaded right now."
"Star- what?"
"Stawk-weddah... my partner... Jerilyn. Her last
name is Starkweather. We don't call each other by
our first names."
Melanie smiled and shook her head as she let go
of his hand. "You FBI types are odd ducks," she
proclaimed as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss
his cheek. "Thank you for believing me." She got
into the car.
Doggett shut the car door for her and walked
around the car, head hanging.
Problem was, he didn't believe her.
His gut told him that Parker died from natural
causes.
And now Melanie may succumb to the same fate.
He didn't want to imagine a world without his big
sister. Having to exist in a world without his
son was bad enough.
And later still that night...
After bringing Melanie back to their mother's
house, Doggett could barely keep his eyes open.
Ignoring Chris and Stevie's baleful glares, he
made his excuses to everyone and went to bed
early. Of course, the minute he laid down on his
childhood twin bed, his mind refused to shut down
for the night even though his body screamed for
it. He tossed and turned fitfully to the point of
exhaustion where he couldn't get to sleep.
Maybe he thought desperately maybe I can at
least get some rest if not sleep. Maybe if I just
lay here with my eyes closed...
A childish giggle interrupted his sleep
deprivation.
"Laura, honey, I'm really tired..."
"Daddy..."
Doggett's eyes popped wide open. He rolled his
head over. Saw his little boy, with his tousled
blond hair and big blue eyes, standing by the
side of the bed, grinning.
"I'm dreaming..." Doggett said out loud. "This is
a dream," he reached out his hand to touch Luke's
face. Knowing that his hand would pass through
the child as if he was made of mist. I'll touch
him and I'll wake up...
His big fingers brushed Luke's face, feeling his
puppy fat cheeks and small upturned nose.
"Luke..." Doggett bolted up, heart pounding as
Luke rushed the bed, grabbing his arm. Doggett
could feel those little hands grabbing at him.
"Dad, I got somethin' to show you, come see..."
What is it son? It's early... can it wait?
"Luke, no... son... wait... stay here..." Doggett
got out of bed and dropped to his knees,
clutching at the boy. His child.
"Come on!" Luke playfully squirmed out of his
grasp and ran towards the door. "Da-aa-- ad...
hurry up!"
"No, Luke, wait, Daddy wants to talk to you..."
"Come on!"
Luke had already darted out the door.
"Wait..." Doggett whispered as he rose to his
feet to follow.

He followed the sound of his son's laughter.
"Luke... wait," he said, groping for the wall in
the dark hallway. "I can't see..."
His hand brushed a light switch. He flicked it
on.
The bright light blinded him at first. Once his
eyes adjusted, he perceived he was home, but not
home. John Doggett had grown up in Savannah, but
he was born in a small town called Democratic Hot
Springs. A town that was driven to extinction due
to poor location and even poorer economy. His
mother had grown up there and his father had
grudgingly moved there after they were married.
However, after three children, and a fourth on
the way and tired of breaking his back as a hired
field hand with nothing to show for it at the end
of the day, Jay Stephen Doggett convinced a bank
to loan him enough money to start the auto repair
shop in Savannah. They had lived in a hovel for a
year and a half until the business took off and
his parents had been able to buy the house his
indomitable mother was still living in today.
But Doggett, although the shack they rented from
a Savannah slum lord was blurry in his mind,
could recall the small house he lived in as a
very small boy. He had actually sent Scully and
Reyes there to hide Scully and the unborn William
from the creatures hunting them. The combination
kitchen and living room. The one bedroom, his
parents' room, off to the side. The very cramped
upstairs, almost attic-like, where all three
children shared one room. How he had to wait for
Stevie to outgrow something before he could have
anything "new." How he was barefoot most of the
time. How hard his mother would work. Keeping up
the house and garden. And also feeding and
cleaning three energetic children while carrying
a fourth as she also did laundry for her
neighbors for a pittance. How he never saw his
father except at night, when he'd come home from
the cattle farm and collapse in the armchair and
Mama ordering the children to leave him alone
because Daddy was tired and not in the mood for
any foolishness right now. And how he would sit
there all night. Not read the newspaper or books
or talk to his family. Just sit and stare.
Just like how he was sitting there right now.
"Daddy..." the childish diminutive slipped from
Doggett's lips before he even realized it. He
hadn't called his father that in years, not since
he was Luke's age.
His father stared at him dispassionately. "Well?"
he rumbled. His voice sounded alien to Doggett's
ears. He hadn't spoken to his father in so long,
he had almost forgotten what he sounded like.
His father sounded just like him.
"Well... what?" Doggett said hesitantly.
His father raised his arm and pointed out the
door. "Aren't you going out there?"
"Out where?"
"Where the truth is. The truth is out there,
son."
"Now I know I'm dreaming," Doggett grumbled.
His father snorted. "Always hidin'," he scolded
him. "Never wanting to admit what was right in
front your face. If it wasn't your mama shieldin'
you, it was Mellie. Then it was the Marines, then
Barb and Luke. Who's your savior now, son? The
FBI? That little girl they teamed you up with?"
He snorted again in disgust.
Doggett folded his lips tightly together. "I
remember why I stopped talking to you," he said
coldly.
"And I never lost any sleep over it John," his
father responded just as frostily. "You might as
well go," he pointed out the door again. "You
belong out there, not here. You don't want to be
in here anyway, I can see it in your eyes, son.
You're dyin' to get out of here. You're dyin' to
run away again."
Doggett stalked past his father, but as he walked
out the front door, his father commented, "I just
wonder when you're gonna stop dyin' and start
livin' John."
"I started livin'," Doggett growled, "when I
stopped being your son."
He walked out the door.
Doggett blinked again he stepped into the bright
sunshine. And discovered he was in another
location. New York. Long Island to be exact. He
turned around, bewildered. The house he had just
walked out of was not his boyhood home in
Georgia. But the house he and Barb had bought and
produce a child in.
"Dad! Over here!"
Doggett whipped his head around. Saw Luke
standing in the doorway. "It's in here, c'mon,
hurry up!" the child insisted as he turned and
ran back inside the house.
Doggett ran back inside. Saw the familiar
furnishings of his former home he helped create
with his wife and son. The toys on the floor. The
mail on the kitchen table. The houseplants
everywhere. "Luke... where are you?" Doggett
called out desperately. I don't care if this is
a dream, please... just let me see him one more
time, let me touch his face again... "Luke?"
"In here!"
Doggett followed the child's voice into the
living room. But Luke was no where to be found.
Instead of his son, there was a stranger standing
in front of the fireplace, his back to Doggett.
All Doggett could see was that the man had neatly
cut brown hair and a long black dress coat,
appropriate for wintertime.
"Who'n the hell are you?" Doggett demanded.
"Where's my son?"
The stranger turned around. And upon seeing the
piercing green eyes and the blood soaked business
suit, Doggett could not suppress his cry of
surprise and horror. "Oh God! Oh my God..."
"Hello Doggett," Benjamin Starkweather said
pleasantly enough, putting his hands in the
pockets of the winter coat Jerilyn had gotten him
two years ago for Christmas. "It's been a
while..."
Doggett closed his eyes, trying to block out the
horrifying image of Ben Starkweather's bullet-
ridden body standing before him. "I want to wake
up now," Doggett said aloud. "I'd really like to
wake up now.."
Ben snorted. "You sure you're asleep?"
I'm not sure if I'm awake...
"I'm **not** awake," Doggett retorted.
Then he opened his eyes. Looked around,
completely disconcerted. He was back in his
mother's house in Savannah, in his boyhood
bedroom. Ben Starkweather, only a foot away from
him. Ben Starkweather, a Midwesterner uprooted
and transplanted to a harsh East Coast town. Ben
Starkweather, the brilliant legal mind, the Law
firm of Carter, Spangle and Adam's darling. Ben
Starkweather, Jerilyn's patently jealous husband.
Ben Starkweather, dead at age thirty, hit by
bullets meant for Mulder. "I can't be awake..."
"Look," Ben took a step closer. It took all of
Doggett's courage to keep himself from backing
away from the corpse. "I don't exactly have a
whole lot of time. We've been trying to get your
attention ever since Melanie called about
Parker's death. But as usual, you're not exactly
being very open to the extreme possibilities, as
my brother-in-law likes to put it."
"Since when have YOU of all people been open to
'the extreme possibilities'?"
"Since I bought the farm," Ben retorted.
"Oh yeah," Doggett mumbled, having forgotten for
a moment he was talking to a dead man.
"And your closed-mindedness is NOT going to help
find Parker's killer." When Doggett's mouth
dropped open in shock, Ben nodded. "Yes, that's
right, Agent Doggett. Your good brother-in-law
was murdered just as I was. Only it wasn't a
bullet that killed him. And Parker's death was
premeditated. Me..." he laughed bitterly. "I was
just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"But how?" Doggett asked. "That's what's gettin'
me, how could someone have injected Parker with
the virus? On purpose?"
"The answer," Ben said smoothly. "Is in your own
rednecked roots."
"Some help you are," Doggett grumbled.
"What do I look like? Clarence?" Ben rolled his
eyes impatiently. "This murder will be solved a
whole lot faster if you stop thinking in a linear
fashion and start thinking outside the box. Using
'X' as the variable."
Doggett frowned. "'X' as the... this ain't an X-
File..."
"What do all X-Files have in common?"
"That Mulder is damned lucky he's not dead."
"From May 19, 1999 to current date, of all
documented X-Files, Agent Mulder was not the
agent-of-record..."
"... because I was..." Doggett said faintly.
Thought of all the baffling cases he presided
over. Mulder's disappearance and resurrection.
The little boy that had been missing for years
and yet was returned, not aged a day. The man
that could see through walls. The man made of
metal. The creature that consumed disease and
death. The killer dreams. The butt-genie thing.
The whole "evil-is-a-disease" and Elvis in a
potato chip concept. The lizard man. The Jesus-
slug. The oil rig. Mulder and Scully's child. The
downed fighter jet in Scotland. Time travel. The
haunted radio station. La Luna Blanca. The Eden
Project.
"Nothing is as it seems," he finally said.
"Nothing is what you think it's gonna be..." he
looked up at Ben. "Parker never had AIDS, did he?
Something... or someone else killed him."
"And that someone is working very hard to cover
that up," Ben said.
"But why?" Doggett now eyed Ben suspiciously.
"And why'n the hell are YOU telling me this? I
saw my father and I saw my son. Why'm I seein'
you and not Parker?"
"Parker is kind of busy now trying to comfort
Melanie," Ben informed him piously. Then, in a
humbled voice, he added. "And this is what
Jerilyn would have wanted."
"So, if this bullshit dream is 'real', Park's
spirit is comfortin' Mellie, but you're here with
me instead of bein' with YOUR widow?"
"Helping YOU," Ben crossed his bloody arms. "Is
how I am comforting my widow. Believe it or not,
John Doggett," Ben made a move towards the door.
"I loved her. I love her still. I'll always love
her. But I couldn't keep her. I would have been
better off trying to lasso a hurricane. But I'm
with her. Always. Just as," Ben opened the door
to reveal Luke standing there, grinning ear to
ear. "He'll always be here. In the spirit,
anyway."
Ben glided out as Luke ran in. Luke wrapped his
arms around Doggett's legs. Trembling, Doggett
knelt again to the boy's level. "Hey there,"
Doggett whispered, reaching out to tousle his
child's blond hair.
"Dad," Luke said as petulantly as he did when he
used to call Doggett's old police station when he
was working late one some case or other. "When
are you comin' home?"
"Um... I don't know," Doggett admitted brokenly.
"I have work to do here first, son."
Luke crinkled his nose, the nose that was exactly
like Barbara's. "Can't you hurry up? Or do it
tomorrow? I wanna see you."
Doggett couldn't stop the tears now. "I wish I
could," he wiped the traitorous tears off his
face with the back of his hand. "But it's not up
to me."
Distraught, Luke whimpered. "Daddy, what's wrong?
Why're you cry in'? Did I do somethin' wrong?"
"No..." Doggett sobbed. "No... you didn't. I
just... I just miss you, son," he whispered as he
held the boy close to him. "That's all. I just
really miss you."
"But I'm right here..."
"I know... I know..."
*************************************************
**
A soft thump woke her. Melanie thought it was the
door being blown shut, but then heard John
muttering in his sleep so she pulled her robe on.
Slipping out of the giant pink, lavender and
white room she had to share with Chris through
her girlhood, she crossed over to John's room
across the hallway.
She never thought it was fair that the boys had
their own rooms when she had to share with Chris,
who was a slob and stole her clothes.
Quietly, she pushed open the door and found him
sprawled out on the bed, covers kicked off. He
looked to be trapped in a bad dream. Guided by
only the moonlight she tiptoed over to the bed.
Even in that weak light, she could see the tear
streaks on his cheeks. He was still talking in
his sleep.
"I just miss you, son.... that's all. I just
really miss you..."
"Oh Johnny," she sighed as she pulled the sheets
and quilts over him. She sat down beside his
unconscious form and wiped his tears away with
her thumb. "It's okay, I'm here," she whispered
as she smoothed his hair, trying to smooth away
the nightmares plaguing him. "I'm right here..."
Strange that how, moments like this, she felt
Parker's presence the most. As if he was standing
behind him.
If she hadn't been concentrating on her beloved
brother's distress, if she would have turned
around, she would have seen her husband's spirit,
beside her and behind her.


December 23, 2001
Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport
Savannah, Georgia
6:45 AM Eastern Standard Time
"Thank you ma'am," Doggett drawled as he handed a
ten to the nice little old lady working the
register at the Starbucks.
She handed him a five, three ones and fifteen
cents back. "Thank you, sir. Have a nice
Christmas, now."
"Thanks," Doggett said again, carrying his coffee
to the nearest little table so he could sip at
his coffee in peace while waiting for his flight.
With a sigh, he sat down, placing his briefcase,
newspaper and cell phone on top of the table.
He stared at the cell phone.
If you call her this early, she will kill you
he told himself sternly as he sipped the scalding
hot house blend.
Wait a minute, John, you dumb sonfabitch. She
carries a Nokia and has the same cell service
like the rest of the feds. Text message her.
So he typed into his phone: CALL WHEN HAVE
CHANCE. THX and sent the message. To his
surprise, by the time he had set the phone down
and leaned back into his chair to read the sports
page, his phone rang.
"John Doggett."
"Agent Doggett, it's me."
"Agent Scully," Doggett said formally, although
the addition of their professional titles was
more of a playful joke between the friends rather
than following protocol. "I wasn't expecting you
to call back until later."
"It's alright, I'm up," Scully huffed into the
cell, seeing her breath crystallize and then
vaporize in the crisp DC winter air. Next to her,
Starkweather, dressed similar to Scully,
turtleneck, sweatshirt, slicky pants, two pairs
of socks and sneakers, ran in place to keep warm.
The only clothing difference between Scully and
Starkweather was that Starkweather was wearing a
baseball cap and had a gray scarf wound around
her neck and Scully had earmuffs and a purple
fuzzy scarf knotted at her throat. "What's going
on?"
"Dana, I'm sorry, I hate to butt into your
Christmas like this."
"It's not a problem, what can I do?"
"If I had autopsy reports faxed over to you,
could you take a look and lemme know what you
think?"
"Mmmm. Christmas cookies, autopsy reports and
eggnog, sounds like the perfect holiday mix to
me," Scully said dryly. "What am I looking for,
Agent Doggett?"
"Well... it's hard to explain without goin' into
a lot of details... but... um... the deceased...
was... um..."
"John?" Scully looked at Starkweather, eyebrows
raised high. Starkweather only shrugged and
returned the "What-the-fuck?" look back to her.
"He was... well, he's family, Dana. And his wife,
my sister, doesn't think he died of natural
causes. She thinks he was murdered."
"Then why aren't the police opening an
investigation?
"Because as of right now, cause of death is
listed as complications related to AIDS."
Scully frowned. "I see."
"If it wasn't family, Dana, I wouldn't even
bother. I think the answer is pretty black and
white. But she asked me to look into it. And she
hardly ever asks anything of anybody."
A heavy sigh. "I'll take a look, John, but I
can't promise anything. And it's going to be hard
for me to determine anything without actually
viewing the body."
Doggett winced at Scully's clinically detached
manner of referring Parker as 'the body.' "I
really 'preciate this, Dana."
"Just remember this when Mulder and I need a
sitter for Will."
Doggett grinned. He had a soft spot for William,
or "Boo" as the Gunmen christened him after
Mulder and Scully threatened a triple castration
if they kept calling him "Spooky Jr." "Oh, gee,
anything but that," he said in mock-horror.
"If it's possible, have the coroner attach the
reports as a Word Document to an email and send
it to my home email address. If not, then have
them fax the report to Mulder's office at City
Hall. I'm sure he won't care." There was an
unspoken rule with the X-Files agents that
sensitive information was never to be faxed
directly to the basement office or emailed to
their FBI email accounts. Too many things had
mysteriously vanished.
"Thank you Dana."
"Enjoy your Christmas, John."
"You too."
Scully shook her head as she hung up her phone.
"Weird..."
"Damn weird," Starkweather agreed as the women
started to jog again. This time towards a cafe
where hot coffee waited. "What the hell WAS that
all about?"
"Have you spoken to John since he left for
Savannah?" Scully's teeth were chattering. She
was dying for a tall decaf vanilla latte with
skim milk. And a doughnut. A chocolate doughnut.
With sprinkles.
"He called late the other night but we didn't
talk long because I was half-pissed he called in
the first place. I got the vibe he was checking
up on me and tried to cover his tracks by asking
me some off-the-wall medical question. Why?"
"He wants me to verify the cause of death of his
brother-in-law. To see if he died from AIDS or
not."
"Brother-in-law???? Death??? Wh.. what?"
"I didn't know he had any other family."
"I didn't either... until the other night..."
Starkweather trailed off, pausing in front of
"Coffee Is My Friend" Cafe. A delightful little
coffeehouse close enough to Georgetown to attract
all the college students but far enough away to
give it a Washington DC address. "Oh shit."
"What is it, Jerilyn?" Scully's hand was on the
door handle. Shivering, she asked "What's wrong?"
Starkweather closed her eyes. "Oh nothing. I have
to go to the ER."
"The ER???? Why????"
"To see if they can do an emergency foot-from-
mouth removal surgery. While I'm gone, can you do
me a favor, Scully?"
"What?"
"When Doggett forwards those reports to you, send
them to me?"
"Sure... but Jerilyn, what is it?" Now Scully's
eyes narrowed suspiciously as Starkweather began
to backpedal from her. "What are you up to?"
"Me???? Up to anything??? That hurts my
feelings."
"You don't have feelings," Scully reminded her.
"Oh yeah," Starkweather grinned as she turned
around and trotted off. "See ya later, Scully!"
she hollered out, waving as she began to jog back
to Scully's apartment to retrieve her car.
Scully stared and shook her head.
She would have thought Starkweather's behavior as
strange, if she hadn't been her half-brother's
FBI partner for the last eight years of her life.
"Mulder-genes," she mumbled as she went instead
the nice warm coffee shop and ordered her coffee
and breakfast treat.


US Center for Disease Control and Prevention
Atlanta, Georgia
12:55 PM Eastern Standard Time
Doggett realized that he watched way too much
Nick-at-Nite on his downtime.
He came to that realization because he had just
decided that the irritating little man sitting at
the desk in front of him looked like Boss Hogg
from "The Dukes of Hazard" but sounded like Frank
Burns from "M*A*S*H". Two legendary and
incredibly unlikable characters.
"Well... uh... Mister Doug-it..."
"Dog-gett," Doggett automatically corrected him
for the umpteenth time during the interview.
"Um... yeah, sure, okay," mumbled Heathcliff
Routledge, assistant to the Director of the CDC.
"I... uh... dunno know what else to tell you...
Mister DOG-gett."
"Like I said sir," Doggett repeated himself with
a patience he didn't even realize he had. "I am
on a fact finding mission. I am researching AIDS.
And I am curious if there are any diseases out
there that are similar to AIDS that could be
contracted in any other way. OR if there had been
any documented cases of AIDS victims being
purposely infected. It would only take maybe ten,
fifteen minutes of the Director's time," he
finished pleasantly enough. Inside, he was
seething. Murder is wrong, murder is wrong,
murder is wrong... he gritted his teeth and
managed to produce a polite smile.
"Yeah... well..." Routledge scooted his chair
over towards his computer and clicked open some
application or another. Put his flabby face very
close to the screen. "The Director is gonna be
out from now until after the New Year. Wouldja
like to make an appointment for next year then?"
"I was under the impression," Doggett fought the
urge to jump over the desk and throttle the fat
man in front of him. "That I would be able to
speak to the Director **today**."
"Well... um..." Routledge shook his head. "Dunno
who would give you that impression, certainly
wasn't me. The Director's out for the holidays...
so... I dunno know what I can tell you Mr. Doug-
it."
"Doggett and never mind," Doggett sighed,
standing up. "Is there someone else who can maybe
help me instead of the Director?" Because Doggett
had also been under the impression that the
Director could help open files on AIDS patients,
therefore opening the door and maybe a murder
investigation into the death of Parker Davis.
"Most people are out for the holidays..."
"Great," Doggett mumbled.
He had flown from Savannah to Atlanta for a fat
lot of nothing.
So much for thinking outside of the box he
griped to himself as he left the CDC building.
About an hour later...
Atlanta Underground
50 Upper Alabama Street
Atlanta, Georgia
Still in a sulk, Doggett stormed around the mall.
He figured that even though he had wasted his
time at the CDC, he could at least get his last
minute Christmas shopping done. And that maybe
the theory of "'Tis better to give than receive"
would help improve his mood.
It was a good theory. Too bad he forgot that it
was two days before Christmas.
The mall was packed. And it seemed that everyone,
shoppers and retailers alike were in an even
fouler mood than Doggett was. People were
jostling and bumping into each other without so
much as an "Excuse me." The air was thick with
complaints. Complaints about how much this or
that was. Complaints about how busy the mall was.
Complaints about how rude everyone was.
Complaints about how they wished Christmas was
over and done with.
It was so bad that Doggett had even gotten into a
shouting match with a rotund woman over the last
giant plush 'Tigger' doll at the Disney Store. He
ended up letting the woman have the damn thing.
Mostly because he was afraid she was going to hit
him. Then he was going to have to arrest her for
assaulting a federal agent. And he just didn't
want to deal with the extra paperwork.
So as the fat cow pranced off with the 'Tigger,
without even looking, Doggett grabbed the first
plush toy he could lay his hands on and stalked
to the register. After he had paid for it, he
took a good look at the big blue furry thing he
had just purchased. "What'n the hell did I just
buy????" he had moaned outside of the store.
Granted he wasn't exactly up to speed on Disney
movies anymore, but this thing sure didn't look
like Eeyore or Pooh-bear. "Chris is gonna kill
me," he had sighed as he pushed his way through
the hordes of shoppers to find a special gift for
Melanie.
Doggett ducked into a shop that was a little too
cutesy for his taste, but it was right up
Melanie's alley. She liked figurines and jewelry.
The more feminine, the better. Chris had always
been the little tomboy, running with Stevie and
Johnny. Mellie was the lady, the surrogate mother
when Mama was too busy tending to the house or
tending to their father. Doggett frowned as he
looked up, staring at a collection of 'Wizard of
Oz' figurines. Melanie had loved that movie as a
kid. So had Luke. Barb had dressed him up one
year as the 'Cowardly Lion' for Halloween.
"Can I help you sir?" a sales associate asked him
politely, breaking into his reverie.
"No thanks," Doggett said, reaching for a 'Glenda
the Good Witch' figurine on the top shelf. "Found
what I was lookin' for."
"Would you like me to wrap that for you then, if
that's all you're needing today?"
"Yeah... that'd be great, thanks," Doggett
mumbled as he followed the girl to the register.
After Doggett handed the sales associate his
credit card, he felt something sharp prod him in
the back. "Ow!" he yelped out, turning around,
fully intending to say something nasty to whoever
poked him with their umbrella.
But words failed him when he saw who it was.
"Oh my God," Lindsay Buckle nee Amos nearly
dropped her purse, shopping bags and decorative
parasol she had just bought. "JD? Is that really
you?"
Meanwhile...
Mrs. Doggett's house
Savannah, Georgia
Mrs. Doggett was just pouring coffee for herself
and her daughters when the doorbell rang. "I'll
get it!" Laura announced, scooting off of the
kitchen chair and running towards the front door.
"Who in the world could THAT be?" Mrs. Doggett
frowned, looking at the clock. "I'm not expecting
company. Are either one of you girls?"
As Chris and Melanie shook their heads, Laura
came running back to the kitchen. "Mama, Grandma,
Auntie Mel, there's a strange lady at the door.
She talks funny. She askin' if Uncle John's
here."
The adult women stared at each other, confused.
"Did she say her name, honey?" Chris asked her
daughter.
"Yeah... it was... um... Sta... Sta... I dunno.
It was a funny last name."
"Starkweather?" Melanie asked.
"How'dja know?" Laura was awestruck at her aunt's
telepathic abilities.
Melanie smiled at Laura as Chris admonished her
to finish her homework. As Laura sat back down at
the kitchen table to write her book report,
Melanie said to Mrs. Doggett and Chris, "I'll go
talk to her."
"Who is this Starkweather-person?" Mrs. Doggett
demanded.
"The lady that makes Uncle John's ears turn
pink," Laura explained.
"Laura. Homework. Now," Chris said sternly as
Melanie left the room.
Before letting her in though, Melanie, feeling
like a chicken, peeped through the lacy curtains
to get a look at her. Oh John she sighed to
herself even as she smiled. How did I know she
was going to be a blond?
Besides masses of shiny blond hair, neatly pulled
back into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck,
Melanie thought that this mystery girl was fairly
unremarkable in appearance. Short but trim,
physically fit. She wore neatly pressed black
slacks and a matching lightweight black blazer
over a deep red blouse. Her winter coat,
necessary back home but useless here, was draped
over her right arm. Her left hand held a black
briefcase. Melanie saw the twinkle of a diamond
on her left ring finger.
Melanie pulled herself away from the window and
went to the front door. "May I help you?" Melanie
asked as she observed the heart-shaped face,
pouty lips, perfect eye-brows and hazel eyes that
radiated intelligence, arrogance and control. And
kindness. And an extreme sadness. Maybe she
isn't as homely as I thought Melanie thought.
Actually, she was quite pretty, on second look.
"I'm sorry to bother you ma'am," the woman said
politely enough as she reached into her blazer's
pocket, fished out an FBI ID and held it up for
Melanie to read. "My name is Dr. Jerilyn
Starkweather, I'm a federal agent with the FBI.
I'm looking for either John Doggett or Melanie
Doggett Davis."
"I'm Melanie," Melanie beckoned Starkweather
inside. "I'm sorry but John's not here... are you
here to help with Parker?"
"Yes I am, Mrs. Davis," one widow said to the
other. "Or I'm going to at least try to anyway."

Meanwhile
Back at the Atlanta Underground...
"Haven't been called that since high school,"
Doggett admitted as he signed the sales receipt
and then accepting his credit card back.
"Thanks," he told the sales associate as she
handed him the shopping bag. Turning back to
Lindsay, he asked "How're you doin'?"
She looked like she was doing fabulous. Dressed
to the nines in a Christian Dior suit and Gucci
shoes. She looked older, granted. Just like he
knew he did. She had a few crow's feet by her big
cornflower eyes. Her complexion wasn't as peachy
or creamy as it had been in high school. But she
was still tall, blond and lovely, reminding him
of a Hollywood actress. Heather Locklear maybe.
"Oh you know. Busy. What about you JD? We missed
you at the last class reunion." She beamed at
him.
"Well," he said mildly. "Ever since I got
transferred to DC, I don't get down here much
anymore."
"What brings you to Atlanta? I thought most of
your family was still in Savannah?"
"They are," Doggett said, amazed how an
intelligent, mature, borderline boring man like
himself could feel like a blithering idiot when
in the presence of an old flame. "I'm in town for
a case," a polite white lie, "and I thought I'd
finish up some Christmas shopping 'fore I flew
back to Savannah."
"For anyone special?" she interrogated lightly,
eyeing the very feminine packages.
He grinned. "My niece and my older sister."
"Oh," she breathed, nodding as she tried to be
inconspicuous while eyeing his left hand,
searching for that telltale flash of gold on his
ring finger. "When do you have to go back to
Savannah?"
"Tonight."
"Do you have any other pressing appointments this
afternoon?"
"Lindsay," he grinned. "You were never good at
bein' subtle."
She turned a soft shade of pink. "That's why I
was a cheerleader in high school and lawyer now,"
she smiled. "If you don't have any plans, I would
love it if you spent the rest of the afternoon
with me. I haven't seen you in so long..." her
voice trailed off.
"Okay," he said softly, taking her heavy shopping
bags from her. "That would be... nice," he
finished lamely with a sheepish grin.
Which made Lindsay burst out in merry laughter.
"Oh bless your heart, JD, I forgot how sweet you
are when you get flustered," she chuckled as she
companionably took his free arm and together they
walked out of the store. "Your ears still turn
red."
Doggett could feel the rest of his face changing
colors to match his ears.
A little later
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital
5353 Reynolds Street
Savannah Georgia
"Thank you very much," Starkweather said as
Parker Davis's specialist, Doctor Juliette Joel
signed the release forms, authorizing the
hospital to release all of Parker's medical files
to Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather and Special Agent
John Doggett.
"Well, it's not a problem but... Dr.
Starkweather, may I speak frankly?" Dr. Joel
frowned, drumming her fingers on her fancy desk.
"Absolutely," Starkweather said, taking the
authorization forms from the doctor that Melanie
had signed previously. "Please."
"I honestly don't know what good this wild goose
chase is going to do," Dr. Joel said. "I don't
think it's healthy for Mrs. Davis to keep
clinging to this fantasy of murder. Parker died
of an AIDS-related complication."
"I understand and appreciate your candor,"
Starkweather sighed. "However... I can also
understand Mrs. Davis' insistence that we exhaust
every possibility as to why and how Mr. Davis
died."
"Even to the point of extreme denial?"
"Denial is a part of the grieving process.
Perhaps if we show Mrs. Davis irrefutable proof
that Mr. Davis did indeed contract the HIV virus
through normal avenues and therefore died of the
AIDS related complications, she may be able to
move on."
"I still fail to see how you as a medically
trained professional and an FBI agent want to
humor her," Dr. Joel said grumpily.
"Because her brother is my partner and my
friend," Starkweather said coolly. "And because I
emphasize with her. My husband died three weeks
ago. He was gunned down in front of me. I watched
him bleed to death." She looked at her hands.
Sometimes she could still feel blood clinging to
them. She rubbed her palms together like Lady
Macbeth and waited for the doctor to respond.
Dr. Joel hung her head, mortified. "I'm sorry...
I... didn't mean to be rude, I've been working
over at the ER, they're short on help and I'm
short on sleep..."
"That's alright... that's also why I ran
screaming from private practice and towards the
Bureau." Now that the ice had been broken,
Starkweather prodded the doctor. "Tell me more
about Mr. Davis."
"Parker was in bad shape when my colleague
referred him to my care. He was spiraling down
the drain. The pneumoycystis carinii was already
well entrenched. Plus it didn't help that he had
an allergy to antibiotics."
"He did?????" Starkweather stared at the doctor
in surprise.
"Why, yes, it was well documented in the APS...
why?"
Starkweather pulled out a little notebook from
her coat pocket. "What is the name of the
colleague that was attending Mr. Davis? The one
who referred him to your care?"
"Dr. Loki Kullervo." Dr. Joel spelled out her
first and last name for her very slowly and
provided her work, home and cell phone number.
"Why do you ask?"
"Dr. Joel," Starkweather said abruptly, snapping
her notebook shut. "I appreciate all of your
assistance. But I'm afraid that I must cut this
short."
"The ladies in Medical Records Department will be
able to help you find all of Parker's files," Dr.
Joel said, standing up to shake the hand
Starkweather offer. "Good luck to you Agent
Starkweather."
"Thanks," Starkweather said, dying to be away.
"I'll need it."

Melanie was reading a magazine in the waiting
room when Agent Starkweather burst in.
John Doggett wasn't the only one in the family
who was good at reading people's facial
expressions. In fact, it would almost be safe to
say Melanie was the one who taught him how.
"What is it?" she asked Starkweather
breathlessly, hand to her thought.
The blond agent was very pale except for two
unattractive pink blotches on her cheeks. Her
lips were folded tight. Her eyes were also
narrowed and for one weird moment, Melanie
thought her eye color was changing to match her
mood But that's silly, Mellie. Eye color
doesn't change. They're brown. They just look
green in this lighting. An evil, angry,
poisonous green. John's partner was definitely
not happy.
"Mrs. Davis," Starkweather said, sitting beside
her on the ugly hospital waiting room furniture.
"Back at your mother's house, when you were
telling me about Parker's medical history, you
said he had no allergies whatsoever."
"Right."
"You sure? You absolutely positively sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. I'm the one with allergies.
I can't have shellfish. Whenever we'd go out to
eat, he'd always order seafood because it's the
one thing I couldn't cook for him. I break out in
hives if I even touch it. And if I eat it, my
throat swells shut."
"No known allergies to any medications?
Antibiotics?"
"No... the doctor would always give antibiotics.
Parker didn't get sick often, but sometimes he'd
come down with a bad sinus infection."
"Always? Amoxicillin? Ampicillin?
Clarithromycin?"
"I... I dunno. I'd just get the prescription and
have it filled. I never really paid attention.
But I know it'd be an antibiotic. Why?"
"Do you remember what medicines the doctors were
giving him to treat his ARC pneumonia?"
"Um..." Melanie tried to think. Starkweather
chewed on her thumbnail. "I can't remember, Agent
Starkweather."
"Penicillin? TMP and SMX? Uh... Tetracyclines?
Macrolides?" Starkweather then rattled off the
brand names of the same drugs as opposed to the
generic titles. "Amoxil? Bactrim? Minocin?
Biaxin? Are any of these ringing any bells?"
"No, I'm sorry."
"Mrs. Davis... there's one thing that I'm
confused about that we haven't talked about
yet.... WHY was your husband tested for HIV?"
"Because we were updatin' our life insurance
policies," Melanie answered. "Our policies from
our jobs weren't good enough, so we decided to
buy individual policies. And the type of policy
we wanted, required us to sign a consent to test
for HIV form, a blood test and a urine test. And
Parker's tests came back positive." She laughed
hollowly. "And of course Parker's policy was
denied. And the policy from work will barely
cover funeral expenses." She looked drained.
Starkweather felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry
to keep pushing like this..."
"That's alright. After John's description of you,
I wouldn't expect any less."
What the hell has he been saying about me?
Starkweather wondered but did not ask. She asked
instead: "But you came back negative?"
"Yes."
"What's the name of the insurance company you
applied for?"
"Stesson and Doyle Insurance Wholesalers Inc.
SDIW."
"Do you have a card for them?"
Melanie dug into her big purse and pulled out her
day runner. She opened the zipper on the front
and pulled out the insurance company's business
card. "Agent Starkweather... I'm not sure if I
follow you line of thinking."
"I'm thinking I want to get my hands on Parker's
medical history," Starkweather said grimly,
getting up to go to Medical Records.
Melanie followed, heart pounding.
A little later on...
Phoenix Brewing Company
5600 Roswell Road
Atlanta Georgia
"I thought this place might suit you better than
anything else," Lindsay said as she gracefully
slid into the booth.
Doggett grinned. "Aw, c'mon, Lindsay, I ain't
that much of a redneck that I can't go into the
fancier restaurants with the cloth napkins."
"Oh I know," she lightly quipped. "But I also
know how much the Bureau pays their fine agents."
"Hey, we did get a three percent raise this
year... or was that a three cent raise??" Doggett
pretended to ponder over that as Lindsay giggled
and shook her head.
"Still a smart ass."
"Better'n than a dumb ass. Now, you were
promisin' to show me some pictures once we sat
down?"
"Oh, yes, I didn't forget," Lindsay said just as
a waitress came to take their order. When she
left again, Lindsay pulled out a sleek leather
wallet from her expensive purse and opened it up.
Took out two photographs and handed them over to
Doggett.
"Now, that's my oldest daughter Kirsten. She'll
be thirteen in March, God help us," She laughed
lightly. "And the youngest is Brittany. She's
nine. Just had a birthday."
Doggett examined the school pictures. Kirsten had
short curly blond hair while Brittany's golden
hair was long and straight. They both had their
mother's cerulean eyes. "They take after you," he
told her politely as he handed the pictures back.
"How's Warren?"
"Busy," she said a little too brightly as she put
the pictures back in her wallet. "When my father-
in-law died last spring, Warren took over the
family business." She sighed. "I've been meanin'
to tell you... I heard about Parker Davis... I
keep in touch with a few of my girlfriends back
home. I'm so sorry. I sent Mellie a card."
"I'm sure she appreciated it," Doggett mumbled as
the waitress returned with their drinks.
"You know," she said thoughtful, swirling her
drink around with the little cocktail straw. "I
never believed the 'official' story that went
'round high school, that Parker got hurt in a car
wreck. I always figured those rednecked idiots
Dexter Gillory and Cy Lewis had something to do
with it. They picked on Parker horribly." She
smiled gently at Doggett. "I always thought it
was nice of you to stand up for Parker. You were
like his shadow until you went away to the
military. 'Course," she laughed again. "Some said
you were only nice to 'im 'cause Mellie told you
to be."
Doggett felt extremely uncomfortable and
extremely guilty. "Mellie had nothing to do with
that," he said softly. "Parker was a decent guy.
Just nobody at school would give him a chance.
And those bast- um... those jerks Dex and Cy
always went after the runts. I know Dex got
killed in Lebanon a few years back-" the ultimate
irony. Doggett, after being honorably discharged
from the Marines after being wounded in Lebanon,
had found out that Dex Gillroy had been stationed
there too with the Army. And had died in the
conflict. "- but what 'bout Cy? Whatever happened
to him?"
"That idiot," Lindsay spat out angrily. "He's in
jail."
"In jail? For what??"
"Murder. Got drunk, shot off his mouth. Picked a
fight and killed a man. He should have gotten
life, but he plea-bargained and is doing thirty
years instead, eligible for parole in ten...
which I think is coming up soon." She shook her
head. "Idiot. He was just a purebred idiot. I
still remember those boys strutting 'round
school, thinking they were God's gift 'cause they
were football players. Cy and Dex and your
brother Stevie. Carl Betton. Austin Taylor. And
Dex's little sister Delilah was always taggin'
'long... of course, we all thought she had a
thing for Cy. Child never was quite right in the
head. And then," she looked up at him. "There was
you."
"Yeah... there was me."
"You were never like the others. I said that to
that reporter who was doin' that story on you and
your FBI partner bein' at the World Trade Center
on September 11. You were never like the others.
You were the peacemaker. You never paid attention
to who's daddy made how much money or if they
were white or black or whatever. You were
different from the rest of the boys. That's what
I remember most about you, JD."
Doggett squirmed under her soft, gentle gaze.
"Sounds like you're readin' my eulogy, Lindsay,"
he tried to quip.
Lindsay looked up at him, her blue eyes devoid of
guile. "When you left for the Marines, you might
as well have died," she looked down at the table
again. "When you left... You disappeared off the
face of the earth." She sounded wounded.
"I wrote when I could, Linz," he replied, softly.
And a little defensively.
"It was just too hard," she whispered. She took a
sip of her vodka sweet-and-sour, felt the liquid
courage enter her mouth, go down her throat and
into her stomach. "I mean, after all," she
laughed without a trace of humor. "I caught quite
a bit of flack for datin' you. Me bein' a cradle-
robbin' senior, takin' a sophomore boy to the
prom."
"Funny," Doggett said dryly. "I remember thinkin'
that you only asked me because Stevie pissed you
off."
"Well, he did piss me off!" she spouted off
indignantly. "He asked me if he could take me to
the prom, then that cheap little slut Aimee Clark
up and asks him. So he dumps me to take HER???
Ooh that made me so mad!" Then, embarrassed, she
admitted. "And I knew askin' you would send him
through the roof." She sighed. "It was petty and
it was cruel. And childish... Twenty-twenty
hindsight." She took another drink. "But it
turned out alright in the end, I think..."
They were silent as the waitress brought them
their entrees. When she went away, Doggett
mumbled, "I wish it could have been different,
Linz. I... I dunno know what else to say."
Ironically, it was Parker and Melanie that helped
him chose the road that would lead him away from
Lindsay and Savannah and towards Barbara and New
York. And Luke.
Tybee Island aka Savannah Beach
Savannah Georgia
June 10, 1976
The waves rolled in from the distant blue of the
Atlantic and wiped away the trail of footprints
two teenagers left behind they as they walked
alone the shore line.
The tall, skinny boy had thick, wavy hair, brown
like the sand he walked on. The thick wavy hair
camouflaged his prolific ears and the bump on the
back of his head he earned when he was pushed
down a flight of stairs. But it was still tender
to the touch. His sky blue eyes were clouded by
the black and purple bruises around them. His
lips, never before owning that pouty rock-star
quality young girls swooned over as they gathered
to listen to their latest LPs, were still puffy.
He walked not like a carefree sixteen year old
boy, but like an old man. Stiff. Sore.
Uncomplaining about the bruises his t-shirt
covered up. He carried his tennis shoes as well
as her sandals.
The girl next to him had a deep dark tan and eyes
blue like the distant Atlantic. Her long hair,
neatly parted down the middle, was the color of
the sun and hung well below her dererrie. She
wore white hip huggers and a pink halter top. An
outfit her parents would rail at if they had
known she was wearing it. Her baby face belied
her age of eighteen although she had the body of
a supple twenty-five year old.
Strangers observing the couple from the distance
thought that it was a pair of nice kids enjoying
all the freedoms summer had to offer. If they
would have ventured closer, they would have seen
the tears running down the girl's cheeks.
"Why can't you tell me who did this to you, JD?"
Lindsay Amos whimpered as the waves crashed over
her feet. "Was it Cy or Dex? You know my daddy's
a lawyer. Even if Sheriff Gillroy's Dex's father,
we could still get them. They've been nothin' but
trouble but the first day that they drew breath."
"Linz, it wasn't them," John told her again.
"How long have you been stayin' with Park? Aren't
your folks worried?"
"I've been with them for almost a week." He did
not tell her that most of that week, he had been
as good as unconscious.
"When are you goin' home? JD, you can't... your
folks won't allow for it," Lindsay said,
horrified that "a good boy" like Johnny Doggett
could be so rebellious as to run away from home.
It was unheard of.
"Um... I'll be goin' home soon, but I won't be
stayin' there for long..."
"Why? Where are you goin'?"
"Away..."
Lindsay stopped him. It was getting dark but it
was still very warm outside. Still, she shivered.
"Where's away?"
"I'm gonna join the Marines."
"But that's when you graduate from high school...
oh my God... you're leaving????? Now?!?!?!?! But
I thought you had to be eighteen!"

"There's ways 'round that," John mumbled.
"How??"
"Park's uncle's a recruiter... he helped sign me
up. He's gonna help me get my GED..." John closed
his eyes, hearing his friend and his sister's
voices in his ears...
**"We can take him up to Atlanta tomorrow...
Tony's a good guy... he'll help out. He can bend
the rules for us. Hell, if worse comes to worse,
we can forge your mama or daddy's signature on a
form that lets minors join the service. We'll get
'im outta here, Mellie..."**
**Park... I ain't gonna leave Mellie and Mama and
Chris behind... not after all of this... I'm not
doin' that to 'em..."**
**"Johnny... what'n the hell are we gonna do if
he kills you? We'll be fine... but you can't
stay..."**
"But why?" Lindsay wept. "Why are you leaving? I
know I'm going to college this fall, but I'm
staying here in Savannah for school. So I'm gonna
still be here... I just don't understand...."
**"Mellie, he ain't gonna kill me..."**
**"Johnny, I've never seen Daddy this mad
before..."**
**"JD, you helped me out... you saved my ass from
Dex and Cy... lemme do the same for you..."**
"Because I can't stay," John blurted out, feeling
dangerously close to tears himself. "I got into a
fight with my father and I can't stay..." he hung
his head, squeezing his eyes tight.
He heard Lindsay gasp. "He did this??? Your
father... oh God..."
He felt her arms wrap around his neck. Felt her
soft body pressed up against his, shaking as she
sobbed. Felt her tears dampening her t-shirt.
Heard her sobbing. "Don't go, oh don't go. Stay
with us. My folks will understand. Or maybe you
could stay with one of my uncles... or something,
just don't go..."
"I already signed the paperwork." He could barely
get the words out.
Lindsay clung to him tighter now. "When do you
leave?" she choked out.
"First of August," he reached up with his free
hand to stroke her hair. "Linz, I'm sorry..."
She broke away from him just enough so she could
stand up and kiss him full on the mouth. John
winced a little, just because his lips were still
tender from where his father had hit him, but
when he felt her tongue slip between his teeth,
he disregarded the slight pain.
"This isn't fair," she whispered when they broke
apart again. She stroked his face and pushed his
hair out of his eyes. "This isn't fair... We
just... I just... and... and you're leavin'..."
"I'll write you," he promised.
"I'll write you too," she stood on her toes to
kiss him again. When that kiss finally ended, she
whispered brokenly. "I love you."
"I love you too, Lindsay."
And the boy learned what a broken heart really
felt like, even as they slipped away from the
beach, towards Lindsay's grandparents' house.
Which both kids knew damn well was sitting empty
as Lindsay's grandparents spent most of their
summers in Florida.
Back to the present...
Doggett mumbled, "I wish it could have been
different, Linz. I... I dunno know what else to
say... I mean... we were kids and... I just don't
know..."
"It's alright. Lookin' back with twenty-twenty
hindsight... it probably wouldn't have worked
anyway." Lindsay said faintly, picking half-
heartedly at her meal. "I'm sorry," she said
huskily.
"Me too," Doggett said.
"When do you have to be at the airport?" Lindsay
asked.
"I should go pretty soon."
She nodded.
She reached across the small table and ran her
fingers down his face, slowly, gently, all the
way to his throat, lingering for a moment.
He closed his eyes and felt an involuntary shiver
go down his spine.
His voice was more graveled that usual when he
told her as gently as possible. "I can't stay
Lindsay."
"I know," she lowered her head.
"I have to go soon."
"Would you like a ride to the airport?"
"No... I'll take a cab, thanks."
Her eyes misted over. "It was good seeing you
again, John."
She finally caught on. He wasn't the sixteen year
old boy she had been infatuated with twenty-five
years ago.
"It was good seein' you too, Lindsay." And she
definitely was no longer the sweet fresh-face
girl he had carried a torch for all this time.
"Thanks," she said as she slid out of the booth.
She pulled her wallet out of her purse and pulled
out two crisp twenties and a ten and laid them on
the table.
"Aw, Linz, you don't have to-"
"I want to. It's okay, really." She smiled
sardonically. "See I chose to marry for money.
Surely you remember what they called me in high
school. 'The Prissy Princess'?" She smiled.
"Consider it my Christmas present to you." She
placed her manicured hands on his shoulder.
"Don't be stranger, okay?"
"Alright," he said, smiling up at her. "Take care
of yourself, Linz."
"Give Mellie my condolences," she said, giving
his shoulder a squeeze. Before walking away, she
whispered "Park was lucky to have a friend like
you."
Doggett watched her leave. Then pulled out his
cell phone to call a cab.
And saw he had two missed calls. One from
Melanie.
One from Starkweather.

Later...
United Airlines Flight 42
On the runway of Hartsfield International Airport
Atlanta Georgia
8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time
Doggett had chosen to fly back and forth from
Savannah to Atlanta to save time. It was a four
hour drive in between the cities, could be five
or six, depending on rush hour traffic.
Ironically, his flight had been delayed for three
and a half hours. Just as he was about to pitch
in the towel and go find a car rental, the
announcement came that the flight was ready for
take off.
So, feeling cramped by the laughably small
airline seats, Doggett stared out of the window
as the plane taxied itself out of the boarding
area and moved down the runway, gaining speed for
it's beginning ascent.
He looked at his phone as the plane rose into the
pitch black sky. He had been playing phone tag
with Melanie and Starkweather all night. He
looked out the window again, seeing the lights of
Atlanta below, twinkling like little stars.
He wondered what bug crawled up Starkweather's
ass and died this time.
He hoped Melanie got his message about his flight
being delayed and that someone would be there to
pick him up.
He then thought about what Lindsay had said.
"Park was lucky to have a friend like you."
"Bullshit," he mumbled, putting the phone back in
his coat pocket.
Doggett felt it was the other way around.
And he still hadn't done jack shit as to
discovering how Parker was infected with HIV.
Which turned into AIDS. Which left him
defenseless to the cold which turned into
pneumonia. Which killed him.
Closing his eyes, feeling a bone-aching weariness
come over him, Doggett leaned his head back
against the seat. Thought about Park and Mellie.
Remembered how happy they had been. How well-
suited they were for each other, even though they
were polar opposites. Parker being somewhat shy
and Melanie, anything but. Parker was sort of a
slob, Melanie, organized to the point of anal-
retentive. Parker with his dark hair and eyes.
Melanie, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Parker and
his numerous cats he'd adopted over the years.
Melanie and her faithful greyhounds she had
rescued over the years when the racetracks tired
of them when they were too old to run.
Parker and Melanie had pets because they couldn't
have children.
Luke's death had devastated Park and Mellie as
much as it had John and Barb. Now Doggett could
feel Melanie's loss.
He recalled the dream from the night before and
shuddered. He didn't know what part of it was
worse. Seeing his father or seeing Ben
Starkweather.
He pushed the ghosts out of his mind and tried to
think about Park's death. But seeing Lindsay
today unnerved him and he couldn't help thinking
about that. Thinking about her. And others.
Not that he had ever had much success with other
women. In fact, he could count on one hand how
many women had had been with in the Biblical
sense.
There was Lindsay, of course. Who relieved him of
his virginity in the murky hours between the
dance and the after-hours party on Prom Night.
And of course, for so many teenagers, then and
now, it had been anticlimactic. After all, he had
been sixteen and had no idea what the hell he was
doing. And she didn't have much of clue either,
since most of her knowledge of sex at that time
had come from her other pure-as-the-driven-snow
girlfriends and cheesy Harlequin romance novels.
Despite the supreme embarrassment of their mutual
first time, or perhaps because of it, they stuck
together. And by and by, managed to get the hang
of it. And comprehend what all the fuss was
about. Because Lindsay was the first one to catch
on. She stopped posing and posturing and trying
to do it how it was displayed on the movies and
portrayed in novels. Once she let instinct guide
her, guide her hands and lips and mouth, the sex
improved tenfold. And he, the eager learner,
followed her lead.
Absently Doggett touched his throat as he
continued to stare out the tiny airplane window.
Remembering the crazy month and a half before he
left for training, how he would sneak away to
meet Lindsay in her grandparents' empty house.
How on the day he told her he was leaving, she
cried when he took off his shirt and she saw all
the bruises up and down his chest and back. How
she kissed each bruise until tears came to his
eyes.
But it wouldn't have worked. Like Doggett said,
they were just kids. Hormone-ridden kids. And
like Lindsay said, she chose to marry for money.
She had never known what it was like to live
without money. And Doggett, as much as he had
cared for her when she was a girl, as much as he
was still attracted to her now, knew she would
not have been happy as a poor man's wife. She
would have divorced him faster than what Barb
did.
Then there was Deeandra Johnson, the woman who
almost became Mrs. John Doggett instead of
Barbara. They met just when he moved to New York
to be a cop. She was a waitress at a bar a lot of
the police cadets like to congregate at whenever
they had nonexistent free time. Doggett
remembered that he liked talking to her because
she wasn't as skanky as the other waitresses.
That she had a pretty face and laughed easily.
And was very down to earth. And shy. And sweet.
She was working her way through college. She
wanted to be a journalist, preferably a
television anchor. Things were great the two
years that they were together. She eventually
moved in with him. They talked about the future
while laying in bed together. Doggett remembered
even canvassing the jewelry stores, starting to
look at diamond rings in a whole new light.
Then, a few short months later, he looked at her
in a new light. He thought it was just the flu.
She said it was just the flu. Then she said she
was going to spend the weekend at a girlfriend's
house in upstate New York.
It was his friend and partner with the NYPD who
told him about the abortion. Doggett could still
clearly remember Officer Jason Mick's normally
round happy face looking so morose. "Johnny... I
hate to be the one who gotta tell ya... but I
gotta tell ya..."
It was the closest he had ever come to hitting a
woman he loved.
She had begged for him to understand. She said
she wasn't ready for children. She said she would
have to drop out of college to care for a baby,
that she would lose any and all opportunities in
the mass media field. She said she was afraid of
his reaction. That he would leave her. That he
would marry her and decide it was a mistake, then
leave her. She said she thought she did the right
thing.
It wasn't the fact that she terminated the
pregnancy that infuriated him. It was the fact
that she lied to him about it. Their relationship
couldn't stand a blow like that. It disintegrated
completely after that. Doggett had no idea where
Deeandra went after she moved out and truth be
told, he didn't care.
Because after Deeandra, was Barbara.
But he didn't want to think about Barbara.
Because thinking of Barbara meant he had to think
about not only Luke but of his friends Jason and
Minerva Mick. Minerva, Jason's spirited wife who
lived for three things, her family, corporate law
and matchmaking. She was the one who introduced
Barb to him. Minerva, sweet Minni, who had been
raising three girls by herself ever since
September 11.
So he thought about Reyes instead.
To this day, he will never understand this
"thing" with Reyes. She said they met the day his
son was found in that field in South Carolina.
That whole day was a blur to him. He was too
consumed in trying to figure out why his little
boy was laying dead in a field so far from home.
He had been oblivious to everything, everyone
else.
He couldn't pinpoint when he and Reyes started to
speak on a regular basis. She was definitely
different. She would go for long stretches of
time without talking to him, then she would
randomly call out of the blue. To see how he was.
How he was doing. And she always seemed to know
exactly when to call.
So they became friends. Met for drinks. Talked on
the phone from time to time. Sometimes caught a
ballgame together. It was so easy to talk to her.
Granted, she was a little... weird at times.
Spacey... flaky almost. And there. Always there.
Naturally it had been Reyes he turned to when he
discovered that Barb had started sleeping with
someone else. After Luke's death, Doggett and
Barb took separate roads of grieving. Doggett
became very introverted. Barb on the other
hand.... did not.
He wasn't sure when he and Reyes crossed that
line from platonic to not-so-platonic. Maybe it
was the night he signed the final divorce papers
and she had run into his drunk ass at the bar. He
wasn't sure. But one day, he was sleeping on her
couch. The next, next to her in her bed. It was
disorientating. And intoxicating. Because he
wasn't blind. She was a beautiful woman. With her
velvet brown eyes, long legs, raven hair and
golden heart.
But she had that thing for that son-of-bitch
Follmer. He didn't understand why. She was so
depressed when he was transferred to Minneapolis
even though she said it was better that he was
gone. Then the bast*rd came back to New York,
crooked his little finger and Reyes had gone to
him like a shot.
Doggett sighed.
What the hell, love was blind.
Still, what amazed him was that he and Reyes were
still friends. Good friends. Granted, there were
little moments of awkwardness here and there. He
knew she still cared for him a little "in that
way." He still found her very attractive. But
usually the awkwardness were only little flare
ups and dissipated quickly.

Doggett leaned his head back in his seat. That
was it. Lindsay. Deeandra. Barbara. And Monica.
And guiltily he thought Oh yeah... and that one
girl That one girl, that one stupid, stupid
night when he was still in the service. When he
and a bunch of his Marine buddies had been on R&R
in Okinawa and gotten drunk as skunks. And he had
met this girl who said she was in the Air
National Guard and was doing her two-week tour of
duty that the Guard required. And how they ended
up going back to his room. And she left the
following morning before he woke up. He had been
so drunk, he couldn't even remember her name. And
had been absolutely mortified.
Now, with the wisdom accrued with age, he
realized how damn lucky he was. That Lindsay
didn't become pregnant because they sure as hell
didn't do anything to prevent a baby. She just
never conceived one. And that he didn't pick up
some horrible disease from any of the other
women, especially the one-night stand girl. He
closed his eyes.
It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fucking fair. He
was the one that had been stupid. He had been
incredibly stupid as a kid. He had a drunken
fling and an unfaithful wife. He had a tattoo.
Yet it was Parker, clean cut and straight and
narrow Parker who contracted AIDS. It was Parker
that had died.
Doggett crossed his arms and bowed his head,
remembering the remnants of that horrifying dream
from the night before.
The answer was in his past, his roots.
He remembered Lindsay's words: I never believed
that rumor that went around...
Doggett's eyes popped open. If Lindsay believed
that Dex and Cy caused the accident.... who else
possibly did?
And would that belief give someone motive enough
to try to avenge Dex and Cy's pathetic lives? To
get back at Parker for Dex and Cy's bad life
choices?
But who else would know?
His cell phone rang.
"John Doggett."
"Pap-" Static. "-ohn. It's me. Wher-" Static, "-
re you?"
"Doc???" Doggett put one finger into his ear.
"That you?"
"Naw, i-" Static. "-ood fairy."
"Where are you? The connection is terrible."
"I'm on m-" Static. "-tico. I ne-" Static. "-alk
to-" Static. "-portant. I think I fo-" Static.
Then dial tone.
"Doc? Starkweather?? Aw great," he muttered. He
hit the speed dial and got an annoying edit from
US Cellular how there was no service to his
phone. "Dammit."
Speaking of women, there's another one that just
baffled him.

She definitely was not the easiest woman in the
world to deal with. Or the easier human being to
deal with for that matter. Realistically
speaking, there were so many reasons to dislike
her. Her superiority complex. Her foul mouth. Her
even fouler temper.
He really thought it was too bad that she had
such a chip on her shoulder. That she presented
to the world this harder-than-diamonds persona.
That she acted like she was untouchable and that
she didn't care. Granted, she really didn't give
a damn what people thought of her. She was not
devious, she did not play games or engage in
duplicity... unless the field assignment called
for it, of course. He grinned as he remembered
her little stint in undercover as a college
student. She was the only one in their division
who looked youthful enough to pull it off. Still,
she made it crystally clear how unhappy she was
to be placed in that position "I will get each
and everyone of you for this..." and yet she
did her job and did it remarkably well, despite
the stress she was under at that time due to her
tumultuous personal life.
She was far from deceptive. Far from elusive and
yet still managed to remain such a mystery. Get
on her bad side and she will be more than happy
to let you know. Get on her good side and you
have a friend for life. Ask her a question and
she will give you her honest-to-God opinion, but
still, you walk away wondering what's really
going on behind those feline eyes of her. She was
such a bundle of contradictions, it was
impossible to sum up what it felt like to be in
the presence of her forceful personality in a
word or two. Professional, yet a rebel. A
daydreaming musician and a skeptical scientist.
Did not want to be a mother, yet was tender to
all who needed mothering. Especially her nephew
William when Scully couldn't be there for him.
And to her damn cat.
She embraced the traditional role of a wife while
driven to be the best in her position at the FBI.
She possessed a wicked tongue and a good heart.
Brilliantly intelligent and hopelessly naive. A
fiercely hot temper and cold, lonely tears. She
looked fragile but Doggett was beginning to
believe she was unbreakable.
Maybe... he mused as he felt himself nodding
off. Maybe that's why she's different from all
the others... Because despite all the shit she's
been through... she's still *her*. She's still
Starkweather. She's hurting and as prideful as
she is, she's not going to admit to anyone but
herself for a while how bad she feels. But she's
healing. She's not letting everything get to her.
Sure, she sad and angry and cranky and moody
right now. Worse than usual. But Jesus, after all
that, who wouldn't be? But she's able to release
it and get it out of her system and still be
Starkweather. She's doing what I couldn't...
can't...
... won't...
... and I admire her for that...
He fell asleep.
No sooner had he fallen asleep, he felt someone
tugging on his coat sleeve. "Sir? Sir, wake up."
"Huh?" Doggett cracked his eyes open and looked
up. One of the flight attendants, pretty face,
soft, short blond hair, but a bit on the plump
side smiled down at him.
"You're going to miss the movie," she told him
and walked away.
His jaw dropped in disbelief. Movie?? On a short
flight like this? Irritated, he snapped at her,
"I don't want to watch the damn movie."
Angelically, she replied "Yes you do," and
pointed to the screen.
Scowling, Doggett turned his attention towards
the square screen.
The film began to roll. It looked like an old
home movie.
But whoever created this movie had a sense for
filming because the picture didn't shake or
jiggle. The picture zoomed into a group of boys
sitting on a porch in springtime. Azaleas,
hydrangeas and jasmine were blooming everywhere.
There was a big dogwood tree in the front year.
An elderly woman was toiling her in garden,
babying her day lilies and amaryllis while the
boys lounged on the porch, drinking sweet tea.
Doggett could feel the blood draining out of his
face. He recognized that old Victorian style
house, painted white with black trim. He
recognized the gallant little lady with the
battered straw hat. He recognized all four boys,
especially the tall skinny one with the blue
eyes. And the longish hair popular for boys to
have in the late Seventies, covering up ears that
stuck out.
"Oh my God..." he whispered, sinking into his
seat. "Turn it off," he demanded, turning towards
the flight attendant. "Turn it off NOW." He
didn't want the entire flight to see his life
history.
But that problem was solved when he realized that
he was the only one on the plane now.

This is fucking creepy he thought in dread as
he turned his attention towards the movie again.
I hope just I'm dreaming again... Jesus, I need
to transfer out of the X-Files... shit's gettin'
to me... he thought, clutching the armrests of
his seat.
In the film, the four boys all turned their head
as a dumpy sixteen year old girl with long
tangled dishwater blond hair burst out the front
door. She was clutching an ugly purse, a school
bag and a brown paper sack. Head down, she walked
by the boys very quickly, avoiding their eyes.
She was dressed in the ugly pinstriped uniform of
a candy-striper. Her glasses were sliding down
her pimpled nose.
Dexter Gillroy, merciless to anyone he perceived
as "weak" sneered at his sister, "Hey!" Dex
called after her. She didn't turn. "Hey! Look
everybody, it's the incredible half-girl half-
dog. Save yourself the trouble next time, bitch,
and wear a paper sack over yer head next time you
come through here so's you can put us outta our
misery."
"Jesus, Dex," Doggett heard his sixteen year old
self say while watching Delilah Gilroy rush past
them. "Lay off already."
"Why? You hot for her?" Dex asked in a low voice
so not to attract the attention of his
overbearing grandmother. Who was now
interrogating Delilah.
"And you're goin' STRAIGHT home after you get
done with work?"
"Yes, Grandma Lo, I already told Mama and Daddy.
I gotta go.. I'm gonna be late..."
"Naw," Dex's best friend Cyprus Lewis drawled,
draining the rest of his sweet tea in one gulp.
"He's doin' that prissy princess Lindsay Amos,
the lucky sumbitch. Still haven't figured out how
a piss ant like you pulled THAT off. That girl's
a stone fox and she's with a scrawny shit like
you?"
Doggett watched as a younger version of his older
brother, snort in derision and suddenly get up.
This Stevie was tall and lean. Full head of wavy
brown hair. Flat belly and well-defined arms.
Next to him, sixteen year old John looked like
the quintessential ninety-nine pound weakling.
"Gotta go," Stevie muttered.
"Huh? Why?" Cy asked while Dex groaned at his
friend's stupidity.
"Promised Pop I'd help 'round the shop." Stevie
grumbled as he stalked off.
"Cy, you fucking idiot," Dex snapped at him when
Stevie was gone.
"What?" Then the dim little light bulb clicked on
above his head. "Shit. Sorry." Cy muttered
darkly. "Guess he's still pissed at you for that
whole Lindsay thing."
"Apparently," sixteen year old John already had
his dry sense of humor well entrenched in his
personality.
"Still... you and Lindsay... lucky bastard. Wish
I could get into her pants."
"I ain't in her pants," Doggett heard his sixteen
year old self lie.
"Anyway," Dex drawled, looking back over at Cy.
"Since Johnny's busy with Lindsay, that means
Delilah's free for ya."
"Aw shit," Cy grumbled. "No thanks."
"What's wrong with Delilah other'n the fact she's
fat, ugly and got the social skills of a snail?"
Dex chuckled at his own wit.
Doggett watched his teenaged self squirming,
trying to think of an escape route. He remembered
how he never thought of these two boys as
friends. They were just guys he hung out with.
Because Stevie thought of them as friends. And
before things got bad between the brothers, they
used to do stuff together a lot.
Well, it was more like Stevie would decide to go
do something and John would end up tagging along
because he had nothing better to do.
But he was never a pest like Delilah was. Delilah
had nothing better to do either, but she was so
moody. One minute, she'd be completely manic, all
giggly and coy and hyper. And annoying as hell.
The next, cranky and bitter, consumed with a
lassitude that was not natural to a teenager.
When she wasn't hanging around Dexter's gang,
trying to attract the attention of Cy, she was
locked in her room, reading some thick boring
book. Or working at the nursing home. No one
really liked Delilah.
Still, Doggett remembered how he hated to see Dex
pick on her.
Actually he hated to see Dex pick on anybody.
And he was the only one who got away with telling
Dex to quit it for the simple fact that he was
Johnny Doggett aka JD. The Doggett brother that
everyone liked. Not as popular as Stevie,
granted. But popularity was fickle. Respect was
forever. Even at that tender age, John Doggett
knew that instinctively. No one taught him that.
It felt like he was born with that knowledge.
"Maybe Delilah wouldna be so bad if you weren't
such an ass to her," JD told Dex.
Dex shrugged. "Well, shit man, we all can't have
sisters like you. Maybe if Delilah was as cool as
Mel or Chris..." he shrugged again.
"Yeah... Mel's... she's..." Cy fumbled for the
right words. "She's alright. Mel."
Doggett's eyes widened.
He had forgotten. He had totally, absolutely,
one-hundred percent forgotten all about that.
Cy Lewis had a massive crush on Melanie.
Doggett leaned forward to continue to watch the
movie.
"Yeah, like you gotta chance'n hell with Melanie
Doggett," Dex guffawed.
"Well, why not?" Cy pleaded while looking at JD
for help.
"'Cause," Dex said patiently, "if you touch
either Mel or Chrissy, if Stevie doesn't pound
you inta dust, JD will."
Doggett grinned as he watched his sixteen year
old self produce a beatific grin for Cy.
"I'm bored," Dex suddenly announced. "Let's go do
somethin'."
"I should get home," young John mumbled.
"Ah, Johnny, don't be a pissy like Stevie.
C'mon..." Dex beckoned him as he and Cy stood up.
"It's summer, man... I don't wanna sit around
here at Grandma Lo's all day."
"Okay, okay... who's drivin'?"
"Me," Cy's eyes twinkled as he held up the keys,
jingling them. "We can stop at my house for
beers. My daddy won't notice."
**Say no, say no!** Doggett silently screamed at
his teenaged self. **Dammit, you are smarter than
that, say no! Go home!**
"Okay," the teenaged John replied with a bored
sigh. "So what else we gonna do? Are we gonna go
to the beach then?"
"I got a better idea," Dex had an evil glint in
his eye.
Doggett wondered what kind of man Dexter would
have become if he had lived beyond Lebanon.
Doggett watched the boys leave the porch and stop
and say goodbye to the elderly lady tending her
flowers. "Bye, Grandma Lo," Dexter said, bending
down to kiss her crepe like cheek.
"Stay outta trouble," Grandma Lo frowned at them.
But no interrogation for them like there had been
for Delilah. They were boys. Boys couldn't get in
"trouble" like a girl could.
Doggett watched the boys pile into a 1971 Impala
which now ran impeccably but was in dire need of
the cosmetic touches. He watched the boys stop at
Cy's house and make off with a case of beer. He
watched in dread at three idiot boys, drinking
and driving. Three idiot boys, cruising the
streets of Savannah, bored out of their gourds
and begging for trouble...
"Know what? I outta go beat the shit outta that
fuck Davis tonight."
"Aw, for cripe's sake, Cy, you still can't be mad
at Davis for what he said 'bout your car?" young
JD protested.
"Piece of shit, my ass," Cy muttered, crushing a
beer can. "Fag. Wouldn't know a muscle car if it
came and bitchslapped him 'cross the face.
Fucking queer boy."
"If he's as queer as y'all say he is, he prolly
likes to get bitchslapped," Dex drawled lazily,
reaching for another beer. "Don't worry Cy...
'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord...'...
shit... a sheriff for a daddy, a preacher for a
grandpa... I can't do shit in this town without
somebody knowin' 'bout it..."
Doggett felt his mouth go dry as he watched his
young face on the movie screen become ashen.
"Dex... whattaya got planned?"
"Why..." Dex said innocently. "We're just goin'
to the diner. Gotta build our strength." In a bad
Elmer Fudd voice, he said "Shhh... be wevy wevy
qui-yet. We're huntin' faggots....
hahahahahhaha."
Cy crowed in triumph. "C'mon Dex! Let's go by
that diner the cocksucker works at and teach that
queer a lesson! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"
Dex looked in the rearview mirror and grinned.
"Cy, ain't that his pick-up passin' us?" he
slurred
He knew... Doggett realized. He knew when
Park's schedule was. He planned this... the whole
time... it wasn't a drunken impulse. Even if he
was sober, he was gonna be on the road same time
as Park
"Boys, I think we got us a homohunt. Gotta rid
this God-fearin' country of all the sick-o's.
Raht J.D.?"
"I think you guys need to walk it off..." young
John said feebly.
"The HELL we gonna walk it off," Dex yelled, "Dat
Parker fucker's gonna go to BURN tonight!"
"What is WITH you tonight, JD?" Cy demanded.
"You're his bitch aintchya?"
Young John Doggett glowered at him. Curled his
lower lip threateningly and tightened his jaw.
"Cy..." he softened his voice and yet still
managed to sound like thunder. It did not crack
or lapse into the childish cadences. It was a
premonition of his future graveled baritone. "If
you don't let me the hell out of this car right
now, you are gonna be MY bitch in two
seconds...GOT IT?"
"Sure..." Cy drawled out, drunker than the other
boys and driving. "We'll let you out... after
this..."
"Jesus, Cy, what the fuck you doin'!" Dex
screamed as Cy sped up.
Doggett closed his eyes. It was the part he
couldn't remember... or wouldn't let himself
remember. Until now.
The Impala gained speed on the pick-up. The front
end of the Impala smashed into the truck. The
tires screeched, and the dark pavement burned
with engine sparks, glass busted, and the pick-up
truck in front of them careened off the guard
rail. Doggett remembered now, he had hit his head
hard on the seat in front of him. "Lemme out,"
young John said thickly when Cy's car came to a
stop. "Lemme out, NOW."
"JD..."
"Fuck you both, lemme out NOW."
They let him out. They backed up and peeled away,
tires squealing again. His head was pounding.
Weaving, JD stumbled towards the flipped over
pickup. "Park??? Parker? It's me. John Doggett."
A slender body slide out of the passenger side
window of the turned over truck. A boy,
borderline pretty, pulled himself to his feet. He
was covered in blood and bruises. The young man's
small frame turned to face JD as he made his way
down the hill towards him. "You think you can get
Mel and get me to a hospital?" He shouted from
the bottom of the hill. "I'm having a hard time
keeping focus..."
"Yeah... yeah..." the young John panted as he
made his way down the hill. "I'll get Mel...
howdaya know Mel?"
"She's my sister," Parker looked at John like he
was nuts. "Melinda? She was in Stevie's class?
She's home from Tulane. She won't raise a fuss
like Mama and Daddy will."
"Sorry, misunderstood," John grunted as he went
to support Parker during their long walk to...
whatever was fated to bring them home. "I thought
you were talking about MY Mel. My sister
Melanie."
Feeling sadder and older by the minute, Doggett
watched the two boys hobble until they got to
that bar where the burly bartender gave them a
ride after shutting down the bar. He also gave
Parker a shot of straight Jack Daniels. Parker
almost threw up on the bar.
Doggett watched again, the confusion in the
emergency. Parker Davis, aging from 17 to 37 that
night as he clutched his stomach, claiming the
pain came from the whiskey the generous bartender
gave him and the doctors frowning. A police
officer, a friend of Dex Gillroy's daddy, showing
up and asking them how the accident happened and
how in the hell did Johnny Doggett wind up there,
car less and friendless. Doggett listened to the
boys mutter their lies. Out of fear of
repercussion. Out of weariness. Out of
immaturity.
He listened to their conversation as they waited
for Parker's older sister to come to sign the
papers for treatment. "You know, John, I didn't
know that being a pimple-faced virgin made you a
target."
"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight." John
sighed. Parker gave him an imploring look in
reply. "They're scared outta their asses that
you're contagious."
Doggett watched as his young self paced in the
waiting room while waiting for not just Parker's
older sister Melinda, but his own older sister.
Melanie. Come get me. I got into an accident...
only to Mel could he tell the truth. He saw Park,
paler than before, being wheeled out in a gurney,
from the examination room, towards a hospital
room. Doggett watched himself tail after him.
Listened to that arrogant intern talk down to
them, without even granting them the courtesy of
looking at them: "Mr. Parker, you sustained quite
a lot of internal bleeding, we're going to hafta
give you a transfusion, and then you'll be ready
to go home."
"Yay." Parker said, rolling his eyes. "Just how I
wanted to spend my weekend! Hooked up to an IV
with a big-ass needle at the end of it. I HATE
hospitals...I hate needles..." his voice trailed
off."
"John...What the HELL is going on here!"
"And the charming young lady is MY sister,
Melanie."
"What the fuck did I tell ya 'bout rahdin' around
with Cy and all theyum idiots." Melanie only
swore when she was extremely high-strung and
worried. "Stevie got me up to get you back
home...come on John..." Melanie had a natural
talent for changing the subject in mid-sentence.
"I--I know you from school, don't I?" She
directed to Parker.
"Yeah, I'm the local pimple-faced-eternal-virgin-
turned-fag." Melanie hadn't even blinked at his
answer. "But don't worry, I'm not as advertised."
A movement caught young John and Special Agent
Doggett's eye. The hospital door had opened, then
shut again. Neither Melanie nor Parker noticed,
they were too busy getting to know each other.
But young John saw and promptly forgot about it
until twenty-five years later.
A chunky candy-striper with glasses slipping down
her nose had poked her head into the room, then
left just as quickly.
Delilah.
The answers were in his roots...
Did she have something to do with this?
Doggett pondered as the screen faded to black.
Believe the lie...
Can't be... she wasn't there, she couldn't have
known about the accident, we told nobody...
The truth was out there...
Doggett felt someone tugging at his shirt sleeve.
Bleary eyed he looked up.
"Sir?" a flight attendant, this one tall and
slender with mocha brown skin, neatly plaited
hair and a generous smile. "Sir, we're landing,
you need to get your seat back in the upright
position and buckle up."
"Oh," Doggett mumbled stupidly, "thanks."
"Have a good holiday," she said sweetly as she
continued her rounds before the airplane started
it's landing sequence. "Enjoy your stay in
Savannah."
Doggett put the seat back up in it's correct
position and snapped on his seatbelt. His neck
and shoulders hurt. He rubbed his forehead,
feeling another sleep-deprivation induced
headache coming on.
**Have a good holiday**
God, tomorrow was Christmas Eve.
He pictured his colleagues, his friends. Monica
Reyes was in Texas. A big family reunion. Family
from all over coming. California. Mexico.
Chicago. A traditional Navidad Mexicana at her
uncle's massive home. Piñatas. Spanish guitars. O
noche Santa... las estrellas están brillando
brillantemente...
... AD Skinner. Doggett knew that he had been
invited along with the rest of the FBI's senior
staff to some exclusive gala party at Capitol
Hill on Christmas Eve. He knew just because he
overheard Skinner bitching to Kimberly about
having to get a tux for the event. He wondered
what the man was going to do on Christmas Day.
There was so little anyone knew about him.
Doggett guessed he'd probably spend the day
quietly at him with his dog...
... Mulder and Scully... Doggett smiled. This
would be their son's first Christmas. Scully,
raised Catholic, would probably take William to
meet her mother Margaret for Midnight Mass,
buying Mulder time to assemble the last few toys
that needed to be put together before Christmas
morning. When Scully got back, Mulder would take
the boy to bed, telling him about Santa Claus and
his magical flying reindeer. Then Scully would
get hacked off, telling Mulder not to fill the
boy's head with such fanciful fluff because there
is no such thing as Santa and Mulder would retort
that there was nothing wrong with believing in
Santa because a child's got to believe in
something... Doggett shook his head. He could
just see them bickering as Scully would be trying
to pick up the apartment for Starkweather and the
Lone Gunmen who were coming over on Christmas
Day. And Mulder trying to still put together an
intricate toy for William. He could almost hear
Mulder whining: "I'm an Oxford educated man, I
should be smart enough to put together this
damned thing for my kid!!"
No man is smart enough to put together those
damned things Doggett thought, recalling the
hours he spent trying to put Luke's bike together
before giving it to him. A lot of swearing went
on during that time.
Luke loved that bike. Luke vanished riding that
bike.
Doggett pushed the thought of out his head. Felt
the plane descending, heading towards the run
way.
What are you doin' John? he asked himself as
the plane's massive wheels touched the pavement
and locked as the plane came to a halt. What
good is it gonna do to chase this ghosts?
Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport
Baggage Claims
9:55 PM Eastern Standard Time
Doggett snagged his bag. He left with only carry-
on, but he bought a medium sized duffel bag to
hide the Christmas presents he bought for Melanie
and Laura.
As he walked out of baggage claims, he looked
around. Trying to find Melanie.
He saw Stevie instead.
"Where's Mel?"
Stevie folded up the newspaper. Looked up at his
younger brother, disgust in his eyes. "She
couldn't come. She was too upset."
"Upset? Why?"
"You damn well know why, FBI," Stevie snapped at
him. "This damn snipe hunt of yours. It's not
helpin' her."
"This is not my snipe hunt, Steve," Doggett said
calmly. "Melanie asked me to look into Park's
death."
"You shoulda said no."
"Since when have you cared what happens to Mel?"
Doggett finally yelled. Then, in a softer,
angrier voice, he added. "Or Chris?"
Stevie only glowered at him. Doggett didn't even
bat an eye. "You shouldn't have come," Stevie
muttered darkly. "You don't belong here anymore."
"What?" Doggett said dryly. "Savannah ain't big
enough for the both of us?"
"You shoulda stayed in DC," Stevie took no notice
of Doggett's jibe. "Or gone back to New York."
"And miss all this quality time?" Doggett
drawled.
Doggett's cell phone rang. He looked down at the
caller ID. "Steve, I gotta take this call."
"You wanna a ride, be out front in five minutes.
Else call a cab," Stevie said bitterly as he
stalked away.
Doggett answered the phone. "Agent Scully?"
"Agent Doggett, I wasn't expecting you. I was
expecting voice mail."
Doggett grinned. "I'm experiencing deja vu."
"John, I received the prelim autopsy reports."
"And?" he prodded her.
"Truth be told, I only skimmed them. I haven't
had time to read them thoroughly. I'm sorry."
"That's okay."
"So I forwarded them on to Jerilyn."
"Aw, Christ, Dana, I didn't want to bother her.
Not with all the BS she's goin' through right
now..."
"She insisted on it."
"Huh?"
"She insisted I send her the reports. She's been
trying to get a hold of you all night... John...
like I said... I skimmed through the reports...
something's not right."
"Whataya mean?"
"I think I was sent fakes."
"What?"
"I think this case file was falsified, John.
Someone is working very hard on a campaign of
misinformation."
"What tipped you off that it's fake?"
"Well, you see... platelet, white blood cell
count and red blood cell count and protime are
all related..."
"What's protime?"
"Prothrombinetime, which is the rate at which
your blood clots."
"Okay..." Doggett started walking towards the
exit Stevie gone through. "And?"
"And... Starkweather found something that made
her question the autopsy's blood profile."
"What??"
In the background, a baby's cry. Then a grown
man's cry. "Scu - lay!"
"Dammit, I have to go," Scully sighed. "William
has been a brat all evening."
"Sounds like Mul-duh hasn't been much better."
She snickered. "Call Starkweather, she's been
trying to get in touch with you."
"Thanks Dana."
"Merry Christmas."
Little later on...
Mrs. Doggett's house
Savannah, Georgia
10:55 PM Eastern Standard Time
The house was completely dark when they got home.
No one had waited up for them. For this small
mercy, Doggett was infinitely grateful.
As Stevie stormed upstairs to go to bed, Doggett
again slipped into the kitchen to pour himself a
shot of Jack Daniels. Feeling the burning whiskey
going down his throat, into his stomach and then
being dispersed throughout his body, he finally
felt his tense muscles relax. A little.
Shedding his suit and tie in the laughably small
upstairs bathroom, Doggett showered, toweled off
and put on a white t-shirt and a pair of black
cotton pajamas pants he only hauled out when
decorum called for it. Normally, he slept in just
his boxers. He doubted his mother or his sister
would appreciate him running around in his
skivvies.
Quietly, carrying his clothes in one hand, he
slipped out the bathroom. He peeked into
Melanie's room. Listened to her breath. Deep.
Regular. Drug-induced.
Maybe Steve's right Doggett did not fight the
wave of despair that crashed over him. Maybe I
should have told Mellie 'no'. Maybe that would
have helped her get on with her life... but
God... Mel never asks for anything... how could I
say no?
He shut the door and went into his room. Only
turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Flopped
down on the twin bed with a groan. Wanted, craved
sleep. Needed sleep.
But he had one more thing to do.
He reached for his cell phone. And dialed.
"Starkweather."
"Doc, it's me. Sorry 'bout callin' so late bu-"
"It doesn't matter," she cut him off. Doggett
frowned at the tone of her voice and sat up. "I
need to talk to you."
"What's wrong?"
"Your brother-in-law? Parker? The one that just
died?"
She could be so blunt sometimes. "Yeah..."
"Had AIDS?"
"Yeah?"
"You sure?"
"What?"
"You absolutely sure that Parker had AIDS."
"Melanie said he did..."
"Melanie was TOLD he was. Doggett, your sister
has a major malpractice lawsuit on her hands. Not
to mention there's a doctor on the loose who sure
as hell doesn't know what he's doing. Or
maybe..." she shuddered, walking towards the
chair she had draped her blazer over. But she was
not fool enough to attribute the shiver to the
chill of the laboratory. "Or maybe this doctor
knows EXACTLY what he's doing."
Spinning. The room, the world was spinning. "I
think you need to start at the beginnin',"
Doggett said, getting out of bed to go to his old
desk. Sitting down, he opened the top drawer and
found paper and pencils still there. "And use
small words."
Doggett took notes as she spoke. "This nightmare
begins back the beginning of June, this year.
After re-evaluating their assets, their house,
their cars, their stocks and bonds, 401ks and
Roth IRAs. Their possessions, their pets, her
jewelry, his DVD collection, they realized that
their current life insurance policies were
insufficient. So they decided to get seek
individual policies that carried a bigger
benefit. No big deal. People do that every day.
All life insurance is, is to prevent an economic
loss to the people that you leave behind when
your body gives up the ghost. The survivor is not
supposed to profit from the policy's benefit, but
continue their standard of living. For awhile
anyway.
"So Parker and Melanie sought out an insurance
agent and he sold them a policy that required
them to give a urine sample and a blood sample
for the company to evaluate before deciding to
cover them. Again, really, no big deal. Ben and I
had to do that when we decided we needed a better
life insurance policy when I entered the Bureau.
Plus, to be blunt, it protects the insurance
company. I mean, generally, you know and I know
that most people... um, let me rephrase... the
normal people who have absolutely nothing to do
with an X-File are relatively honest," Doggett
snickered for a moment at her smart-assed
comment. "Well, seriously. They are. But there's
still some snakes out there. Like, let's pretend
there's this guy who's smoked everyday of his
life and have developed interesting little polyps
on his lungs and at night hacks up gobs of lung
butter-"
"Yum," Doggett said dryly.
"- but still he smokes. With me so far?"
"Uh-huh..."
"Well, funny, now he's having trouble breathing,
but he's got a house, a wife and three kids. So
he gets scared for them because if he drops dead,
they're screwed. But he's not stupid, he knows if
he admits to smoking, he'll probably either get
denied or have to pay outrageous rates. Ben
smoked a pack a day, at least. We had to shell
out an ungodly amount for his policy alone."
"Holy shit."
"Not that my premium was by means small either.
Yeah, I'm a non-smoker but I have a hazardous
occupation. In other words, people like to try
and kill me so insurance companies don't exactly
leap to cover me either. Anyway, the point that
I'm driving at though, is that the big red flags
for insurance companies are Cancer, Cardiac
problems and Smoking. Those are the big three
that shorten lives and why in their right mind,
would they want to insure someone who's gonna
drop dead in less than a year? Yeah, it sounds
heartless, but they have to protect themselves
financially because it's still a business. Not a
charity.
"And they have to protect themselves from big fat
liars like Mr. Smoker here who takes out a
million dollar policy... I'm exaggerating for
effect so go with me..."
"Okay..."
"Okay, a million dollars is A LOT of money. NO
company. Not insurance, not soda pop, not
computer, not clothing, hell not even a Mafia
drug cartel is just going to go 'Okay' and hand
over a million dollars. So, to have the million
dollars, the guy's gotta consent some sort of
screening. A pee test or blood being drawn or a
doctor's exam.
"So, Mr. Smoker, thinking he can beat the system,
goes ahead and voids a urine sample. But, gee...
nicotine can linger for weeks in bodily fluids.
And if he has to go to a doctor for an exam and
the doctor hears the rattling around in his tar-
encrusted lungs, by law, he has to disclose that
to the insurance company. Following along?"
"I get the gist. Just hope there ain't a quiz
later."
"Make a big note of this. Imagine how many
insurance companies are out there. Imagine how
many of them ask for their clients for samples
and exams. Imagine how many files are floating
around."
"Okay..."
"When I was in Savannah today, I asked Melanie
when Parker was diagnosed and she told me-"
"Whoa, wait a minute, you were in Savannah?
Today??????"
"Oh, for a little bit," she said blithely. As if
she had just hopped into her car and drove from
downtown DC to Falls Church.
"Where are you now?"
"Quantico," she said, walking back to one of the
lab table where she had all her faxes, printed-
out emails, lab notes and specimens neatly spread
out. "Analyzing the shit I got."
"What shit?"
"That I had the labs sent me... but hold that
thought, I'm getting ahead of myself. See,
Melanie told me that Parker was denied because
his blood profile came back positive for the HIV
virus. So they wrote the insurance company, had
the lab results sent to their personal physician.
Who referred them to a specialist. And here's
when things start to get fucked up beyond all
recognition."
Doggett steeled himself for the worse. "Okay."
"First of all, the lab that processed Parker's
blood profile screwed up. Royally."
"How so?"
"They put the wrong results with the wrong Parker
Davis."
"What? How? Parker Davis is NOT that common of a
name."
"Neither is Jeri Starkweather, but I know for a
fact there are at least two other people in this
country floating around with the same name. Their
names popped up when the FBI was doing their
initial background check on me when I was
applying at Quantico."
"Melanie and I went to the hospital to get
Parker's records. First thing I checked was the
lab work from the labs that processed the blood
profile. Sure enough, wrong freakin' social
security number, wrong address, wrong phone
number."
"How did Melanie miss that? How did Park????"
"Because they never saw them, Doggett. Because
they instructed that paperwork be sent directly
to their personal physician. And with the volume
of patients most practicing doctors see on a
daily basis, chances of the doctor remembering a
patient's social is slim to none.
"Anyway... their personal doctor, um..." Doggett
heard the shuffling of paper. "Dr. Adam Kats,
ordered another HIV test to be performed, just in
case and gave them a name of an AIDS specialist.
A Doctor Loki Kullervo. Dr. Kullervo told the lab
to send Parker's results directly to her. And she
told them that they were definitely positive."
"But that was wrong."
"Yes."
"Then how... he was sick... he..." He exhaled
noisily. "It don't make sense, Doc. He **died**."
Gently, the doctor told him. "Any disease left
untreated is fatal. I... Jesus... I... I ... um,
God, Papa John, I really don't know how to tell
you this part."
"Subtlety is not one of your strengths, Doc. Just
tell me."
"Parker was sick, Doggett. But it could have been
treated and cured." When the silence got to be
too long, she asked softly. "Still there?"
Faintly he replied. "Yeah... I'm here. What'd he
have?"
"Hepatitis A."
"Hepa-what? How'n the hell did Park get that??"
"Unfortunately, I can't determine that. I mean, I
can make an educated guess. And I hope you
haven't eaten or were planning on it because
hepatitis A is generally transmitted fecal-
orally."
"Aw, that's just sick."
"Oh, I'm not talking about people taking a shit
in someone else's mouth! Usually what happens is
that someone goes to the bathroom and then
doesn't wash their hands after doing number two.
That's why in most fast food restaurants you see
all those signs reminding their employees to wash
their hands. Because that nasty little virus can
jump from a dirty hand to your food."
"Thanks. I never want to eat out again."
"You have no sense of adventure."
"Sorry, my adventurous streak dissolved when I
heard 'bout slobs with shit on there hands
preparin' my Big Mac."
"ANYWAY, that's one guess I have. My other guess
would actually be more plausible."
"And that is?"
"Seafood. Specifically shellfish. From polluted
waters. See... if Melanie and Parker would have
eaten at a place where, as you so elegantly put
it 'slobs with shit on their hands' making the
food, Melanie would have gotten sick too.
However, Melanie is allergic to shellfish. So if
she and Parker went out to dinner and Parker
ordered mussels or oyster or whatever... Parker
would get sick because he ate the tainted
shellfish and Melanie did not. And the bitch of
this is hepatitis A can linger in your system for
over six months with no symptoms present. But
once the symptoms show, they make you sick in a
hurry. Fever. Fatigue. Loss of appetite. Nausea.
Abdominal pain. Dark urine. Jaundice. Hepatitis A
is not as serious as her ugly stepsisters B and
C, but needs to be taken seriously because the
virus still attacks your liver, making it swell.
A swollen liver is an unhappy liver. And you need
a happy liver because a happy liver takes care of
all sorts of things. Like it removes toxins from
your blood. It helps stop bleeding. It stores
energy. And write this one down, Doggett...
... a healthy liver fights infection."
"It aids the immune system?"
"Ding ding ding."
"So..." Doggett murmured, tapping the tip of the
pencil against his pad of paper. "If he wasn't
able to fight off infection, no one would think
of the wiser because everyone thought he had
AIDS."
"Exactly."
"But he didn't die of liver problems. He died of
pneumonia related to AIDS complications."
"No. He died of pneumonia due to malpractice."
"How?"
"Dr. Loki Kullervo had to go out of town for
conferences last week. So while she was gone, she
referred her to Dr. Juliette Joel, another
specialist at the hospital Parker was at. While
speaking to her, I learned that Dr. Joel was
under the impression that Parker was allergic to
any and all antibiotics. I went back to Melanie
and asked her about it. She swore up and down
that Parker was not allergic to antibiotics. She
said the few times Parker would get sick with a
sinus infection or something, their doctor would
prescribe an antibiotic. So I called Dr. Kats
back. And he concurred that according to his
records, Parker had no allergies to antibiotics.
Doggett," she sounded strangled. "He could have
been saved. An antibiotic would have knocked not
only the pneumonia, but also the hepatitis A out
of his system. Whoever falsified his records knew
that they were going to kill him if he got any
type of a upper respiratory infection."
Thickly, he muttered "Do you have any other
physical proof... somethin' that would stand up
in court?"
"Yes," she said swiftly. "A blood sample."
"How did you get a blood sample?"
"One of my last stops before going back to DC was
at the morgue where the autopsy was being
performed."
A bell went off in Doggett's ear but it wasn't
because some damn angel was getting his wings.
"Doc... you didn't take Melanie with you to the
morgue, did you?"
"She insisted," Starkweather retorted. "I told
her I could find the damn place by myself but she
said she was coming along whether I liked it or
not. Stubbornness definitely runs in your family,
bud."
"Yeah, well... I think it was too much for her. I
was told she took some sleeping aid and is out
like a light."
"She took a sleeping aid because this doctor
wrote her a prescription for Librium to help her
get some rest. This doctor also recommended to
her that if she did not take the medication
tonight and get some sleep, the same doctor was
gonna jump on the first plane to Savannah and
personally put a boot up her ass because she's
going to make herself sick with worry and grief
if she doesn't."
"I'm sure Mel took that well."
"She told me she understood why I was a federal
agent. Something about having no social skills
and that my bedside manner was beyond appalling."
"What'd you say?"
"Asked her if she would prefer some sugarcoated
FDA-approved bullshit about how she needs to rest
instead of the truth."
"And what did she say?"
"Um..." Starkweather lost some of her fire. Then
it rekindled. "Did you by chance tell her about
Ben?"
"Uh, yeah..."
"Ah. That explains it... she asked me how much
Librium **I** was taking... then she said 'pot
meet kettle' when I didn't answer," she meekly
admitted. Anxiously, she hurried to ask, "But
she's asleep? She took the tranquilizer?"
"Yeah, she's out cold."
"Good." A sigh of relief.
Doggett cleared his throat. "So this blood
sample?"
"Turns out, the county coroner turned Parker's
autopsy over to one of his underlings. Which
worked to our advantage."
"How?"
"Oh, a peon isn't going to object to quickly if
an FBI agent asked for a blood sample. Especially
if the same FBI agent is a medical doctor. And
especially if the deceased's spouse authorizes
it." Starkweather reached up and examined the
vial of blood. "He had just finished the Y-
incision when I walked in. I sweet-talked him-"
"Uh-huh."
"I can be perfectly charming when necessary, you
asshole. And actually, I did the kid a favor
because he was doing his internship, poor thing,
at the hospital morgue. He asked me if I could
spot him while he drew the blood from the
pericardial sac, he had only done it a couple of
times and that under supervision. And, before you
freak out and envision your brother-in-law being
mutilated by some deranged Dr. Frankenstein Jr...
the kid did a nice job. He's a rookie, but he
knows what he's doing. He just needs more
practice. But that made me start thinking... WHY
this **kid** was by himself autopsying a man that
supposedly died of AIDS? That was another tip off
to me that all was not right with this scenario.
You don't pawn off an AIDS case to a novice. Even
if the patient is deceased.
"So after getting my blood samples, Mel and I
made a trip up to the coroner's office and we
couldn't talk to him for nothing. The man had a
receptionist from hell. She looked like a bulldog
and told me pointblank that if I didn't have an
appointment, he could not be disturbed. When I
explained the nature of the case, the bitch said
"I know about the Davis case. Dr. Tiffleton is
already faxing the case file to an FBI agent in
Washington. Although why such a damn fuss is
being made about this is beyond me..." I think
that's when Melanie started to buckle under the
strain... and where she figured out that I have
no social skills."
Doggett cringed. "What did you say?"
"Before or after calling her a fucking dumb bitch
from the lowest bowel of hell?"
"Never mind, I don't wanna know."
"Well, then after our little... um... heart-to-
heart, I guess, I brought Melanie to the nearest
pharmacy so she could get the trancs I prescribed
for her, drove back to the airport and grabbed
the first flight to DC that I could, then drove
to Quantico so I could analyze in peace. Before I
left, I had asked Scully to forward the case file
to me. I read that first before analyzing the
other stuff. Then I checked out the blood. Not
only was it HIV free, but it was B positive."
"So?"
"According to the case file, Parker is B
negative."
"A typo?"
"I thought so at first too. Then I started to
read the case history from when he was first
diagnosed as HIV positive from the lab when he
got tested for insurance to the last bit of lab
work done in his final days. All of it says B
negative."
"I'm confused."
"The other Parker Davis... the one who REALLY is
infected with HIV is B negative. This Parker,
your brother-in-law, is B positive. Basically,
this Tiffleton-dickhead went along with this
cover-up campaign. That Parker was misdiagnosed,
mistreated and died due to gross malpractice. And
I am MORE than happy to go on the stand and
testify to that."
"Testify against who??" Doggett asked. "WHO
fucking did this??"
"I... I don't know... I can't... I can make
guesses, but... I'm sorry," she finished lamely.
Mollified, he said "S'ok, you dug up lot more
than what I would have." He put the pencil down
to rub his tired face, then picked up the pencil
again, saying "Alright, gimme your guesses."
"Well," Starkweather put down the vial and walked
over to the desk where she had put her purse and
briefcase. Next to the feminine luggage was a mug
of coffee. It had been boiling hot when Doggett
first called. Starkweather sipped it. Lukewarm.
She made a face but drank it anyway. She craved
the caffeine. "The lab that processed the urine
and blood for the insurance policy is out. I feel
that was an honest mistake. There are too many
samples, too many files and not enough people. I
believe the root of the problem--"
**The answer is in your roots**
Doggett squeezed his eyes to block out the voice
of dreams and concentrated on the voice of the
doctor.
"--stems from the hospital. I believe someone
fucked up, fucked up royally and decided instead
of heeding to the Hippocratic Oath, to Pledge
Alliance to Saving Thine Ass." After another
silence, Starkweather said "You don't agree with
me."
"It makes sense, Doc. It really does. And it's
probably what happened... just a stupid, stupid
mistake and now the doctors are trying to hide
that they screwed up."
"But you don't believe that, do you?" She was
prodding him now and he resented it. When he
sullenly refused to answer, she said "I can't
help you if you don't tell me what's going on in
between those big ears of yours."
"I think... this was deliberate."
"Well, yeah, the cover up was deliberate. I mean,
if it got out that the doctor screwed up this bad
AND the coroner went along with it, the lawsuit
Melanie could launch, my God. It could be a
multimillion dollar lawsuit. It could very well
shut down the hospital."
"No. I think..."
No, I don't, it's impossible...
**The answer is in your roots**
Bullshit. It happened the way Doc said it
did...
**The answer is in your roots**
My mind doesn't work that way...
"... I think this information fell into someone's
hands... someone that was out to get Parker and
orchestrated this whole charade to kill him," he
said dully.
"Mulder?" Starkweather said. "Is that you? Where
did Doggett go?"
"That was low," he grumbled.
"Do you realize how paranoid you sounded just
now?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, the Lone Gunmen would welcome you as one
of their own if they had just heard you a second
ago."
"But is that possible?"
"The Lone Gunmen welcoming you? Well... three's
company, four's a crowd..."
"No, you brat! My theory."
"Oh. Well. Um. Well... yeah, I guess. But this
would have to be someone with access to the
hospital and records and... Jesus. This person
would have to have a pretty big ax to grind. And
dying from pneumonia's no little thing! You
suffocate. You can't breathe. It's a horrible
nasty painful way to die. I'm sorry, I'm being
blunt. But who could possibly have motive enough
to be THAT vindictive to watch someone DIE like
that, KNOWING that that he could be cured? That
person would have to be a real sick puppy." After
another silence, she asked. "What makes you think
someone was out to get your brother-in-law?"
"I just do," he said mulishly.
"Bullshit," she snapped. "You never **just**
think anything. Look," she said, exasperated now,
putting down the coffee cup to take off her
reading glasses to rub her eyes. "I know you're
not... I understand that... crap. Okay, look, you
don't like to talk about yourself and your
personal life very much and that's fine. Okay?
There's shit I don't tell you because quite
frankly, it's none of your business. But if
there's reason, if something happened that makes
you think this is a homicide case and not
negligence... you've got to tell me. Because I
can't help you if I don't know what's going on.
And you can't help Melanie figure out exactly
what happened to her husband."
Doggett rested his forehead on his palm,
unconsciously imitating Rodin's "Thinker." His
head pounded. He closed his eyes.
"When I was sixteen years old, I used hang out
with these two guys from the football team. Dex
Gillroy and Cy Lewis. They were more Stevie's
friends than mine, but I'd go do stuff with 'em
sometimes. I didn't have like, I don't know, a
best friend or anything. I got 'long with most
everyone at my high school and if someone asked
me to go do somethin' with 'im, I'd go. I didn't
give a shit...
But Dex was a dick. A bully and Cy was his
clichéd stupid sidekick. They were also the
reason why the South still looks bad. They hated
anyone and anything that wasn't white, Anglo-
Saxon and Protestant."
"Which, you know, makes a WHOLE lot of sense
since Savannah is predominately Catholic."
"Thank you Queen of Useless Information."
"Sorry, I'll shut up now."
"Cy would get in trouble from time to time, but
not Dex. Dex's grandpa was a popular hellfire and
brimstone preacher in town. The kind that would
have their own TV shows today. And his daddy was
the chief of police, although we all called 'im
'the sheriff'. And Dex was a football hero so
shit couldn't stick on him. He... he did shit and
because his family had not just religion and the
law, but money, most of the time, the adults
would just look the other way.
"Dex and Cy's favorite target was Parker. Back in
high school people though Park was 'funny' 'cause
he didn't go out and do the stuff 'real boys' do.
He didn't get stinking drunk. He didn't play
sports. He was tall and skinny and had a high
pitched voice. Some damn rumor started that he
was gay and Dex an' Cy took that and ran with it.
They used to corner him and beat the tar outta
'im. 'Course, didn't help that he had a mouth on
'im that wouldn't quit but that's not the point.
It wasn't even that they thought he was gay was
the reason why they'd pick on 'im. It was because
they could.
"Cy got this Impala and he thought he was just
King Shit. Cy was goin' on and on, boring me and
some others stupid 'bout this car and Park comes
'long and... Jesus, I can hardly remember... it
was so long ago, Doc. 'Bout twenty-five years...
anyway, Cy started yelling shit to Park and Park
fired off this insult 'bout Cy's car and Cy went
ballistic because he had spent hours restoring
this car. I remember I had to hold 'im back and
yell at Park to get the hell outta there 'cause
Cy was gonna kill 'im.
"A few weeks later, I was hanging out with my
brother and Dex and Cy at Dex's grandmother's
house. Stevie had to leave earlier, so it was
just me and Dex and Cy and Cy suggests we go for
a ride..."
"So we went to Cy's house and stole beer from his
father and then we just went ridin' 'round. Me,
bein' the dumb ass, didn't realize 'til too late
that Cy and Dex had plans to go to the little
diner where Park worked and wait for him so they
could... well... I don't know what...
**Dat Parker's gonna BURN**
"... exactly they had in mind for 'im, but they
were drunk. And I liked Park. Always did. Didn't
have nothin' 'gainst him. Always thought he was a
good guy... I just didn't..."
Starkweather felt her eyes well up when she heard
her friend's voice crack over the phone. She
swallowed the lump in her throat, closed her eyes
and waited for him to compose himself.
"... get why they had it in for 'im. I told Cy I
didn't wanna be part of this. That I wanted to
get outta the car. Park had just passed us in his
pickup truck, late for work. Cy gained speed...
and rammed Park's truck. The truck went outta
control, flipped over the guardrail and rolled
into the ditch."
"Oh my God..." Starkweather breathed. "Oh my God,
what a fucking bastard... what did the cops say?"
Doggett paused. "We never told the police. We
never told anybody."
"What?"
"The only people who knew what really happened is
Park and Mel. Me. Cy and Dex. And you."
"Why didn't you tell anyone before?????"
"'Cause at the time, we were just two scared
kids. Scared we were gonna get in trouble with
our folks. Park just totaled his father's truck.
I was only sixteen and I'd been drinkin' that
night. And we were scared what Dex and Cy would
do if we ratted on 'im. Me, I knew I could hold
my own, but I was scared they would really go
after Park the next time. Or Mel or Chris. They
didn't discriminate. They attacked anyone that
they thought were weaker."
"Did they? Ever try to threaten you two or your
sisters....?"
"There were a few skirmishes 'tween me and Dex,
but then, he up and joined the military and Cy
kinda just drifted away... but... Doc, I can't
explain okay? I finally know why Mulder feels so
Got-damned paranoid all the time... but my gut is
tellin' me that those two rednecked
motherfu...sorry."
"Oh no, my virgin ears," she droned. "You know
you don't have to sanitize your language around
me."
"I've been 'round my mother too long," he said
with a small grin. "Anyway... Stawk-weddah, I
know it doesn't make sense. But my gut instinct
is tellin' me that Dex and Cy had something to do
with Parker's death."
"Is this the same gut instinct that has saved our
collective X-File asses on several occasions?"
"Yeah..."
"Then go with your gut, Papa John. It hasn't led
us wrong yet."
"As crazy as it sounds?"
"Welcome to Mulder-Leap 101."
"I don't like leaps," he grumbled.
"No kidding," she said dryly. "So, where are
these two princes amongst men now? Would they
have access to Parker?"
"That's the problem Doc. That's why I think I'm
crazy for thinkin' the way I am. Cy's in prison.
Killed someone in a drunken brawl, doin' time for
manslaughter. And Dex is dead."
"Dead? Aw gee," she deadpanned. "That's too bad."
"Yeah, because that narrows my list of suspects
down to zilch."
"But you still believe that those two had
something, directly or indirectly had to do with
Parker's death?"
Doggett had to force himself to say "Yeah."
"Hm," he heard her say over the phone. "Well,
shit, Doggett I don't know what to tel-" her
sentence was abruptly punctuated by a startled
scream. Her scream. Doggett also heard the sound
of something shattering on the floor.
He bolted out of his chair. "Doc? Doc?
Starkweather... are you there?"
Starkweather, standing in a puddle of coffee and
ceramic shards, had her hands over her mouth,
staring at a cute little tow-headed blond boy
with big sparkly aquamarine eyes. He seemed to
glow, as if he was constructed from starlight
instead of flesh and bone.
She recognized the child from a framed photograph
on a desk. She thought she would only see this
child in photographs.
"Oh Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, shaking
head to toe.
"Jerilyn???"
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Opened them.
Nothing there except a broken coffee mug and
splattered java all over the linoleum floor.
Meanwhile, Doggett was about climbing the walls
in worry. "Jerilyn?? Are you there??"
"Sorry," he finally heard her mutter. "Thought I
saw something..." she rubbed her eyes. "You're
not the only one who's losing it." He heard her
take a deep cleansing breath. Then another. Then
muttered to herself, "Girl, get it together." She
looked at the floor, at the mess. And groaned. "I
saw something out of the corner of my eye and
though it was... I don't know. My eyes played a
nasty trick on me. I'm fine. Just... fucking
tired."
"Jerilyn, please go home. You've done enough. I
didn't wanna bother you with this in the first
place."
She grinned to herself as she knelt down to pick
up the remains of the mug. "Then why did you call
asking about AIDS information in the first place?
Come on Doggett, you know I'm at my best when
I've got a challenge ahead of me." Soberly she
added. "Not like the challenge in front of you
though."
Sitting back down, Doggett ran his big fingers
through his still damp hair. "Don't I know it,"
he muttered.
He then heard a *clunk* from the other end and a
distant "Damn." Not even three seconds later, her
voice was near his ear again instead of far away.
"Sorry, I dropped the phone. I was trying to mop
up a mess I made," she groused.
"What'd ya do?"
He heard her groan. "Knocked my mug over. Dumped
coffee everywhere. So I'm mopping it up. I feel
like I'm back in med school, doing all the shit
work," she bitched. "But if I know Bill Wilder,"
referring to one of the forensics instructors at
Quantico, "and he finds one speck of dirt in his
pretty, pretty lab, he'll go ballistic."
Doggett froze. "Say that again."
"Knocked my mug over???"
"No. The part 'bout doin' shit work at the
hospital."
"Okay. I feel like I'm back in med school, doing
all the shit work."
"There IS someone who knew about the accident."
"Who???"
"Delilah, Dex's little sister," he said grimly.
"I saw her. She looked in the room when Mel came
to take me home. She worked as a candy striper at
the hospital I took Park to."
"Okay... so... she might know... what's her
motive?"
He sighed. Another dead end. No pun intended.
"No clue. Dex was mean to her too."
"How did Dex die?"
"He was in Lebanon. I didn't even know he was
there until I found he was dead. He was in the
Army."
"Are you sure he wasn't killed by 'friendly
fire'? On purpose?"
"Pretty sure," he responded on auto-pilot but he
was miles away...
... back in Atlanta, drinking in Lindsay's
beautiful face, feeling intoxicated by her huge
blue eyes and her cultured lilting voice,
reminiscing about a time where a pimple or being
dateless for the prom were life-shattering
tragedies.
I still remember those boys strutting 'round
school, thinking they were God's gift 'cause they
were football players. Cy and Dex and your
brother Stevie. Carl Betton. Austin Taylor. And
Dex's little sister Delilah was always taggin'
'long... of course, we all thought she had a
thing for Cy. Child never was quite right in the
head. And then... There was you.
Child was never right in the head.
"Hey Doc?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I talk to you later 'bout this? I'm beat.
And," he added sternly, "you need to go home too,
Agent Starkweather."
"Actually, I'm going to go to Annapolis and just
get a hotel room. I'm too tired to drive back to
DC. Can I say one little thing before you go
though?"
"Sure."
"When you start questioning the medical staff at
the hospital, don't waste your time dealing with
the peons. Go straight to the top. Ask for that
specialist, Dr. Loki Kullervo."
"Okay," Doggett said, jotting down the name.
"Drive careful, Doc."
"Good night." Starkweather switched off her cell
phone and leaned against the table, staring into
the empty space where the spirit had lingered for
a moment before. She didn't want to admit that
the vision frightened her. Any more than she
wanted to admit how much her heart hurt her right
now as she fumbled around hopelessly, trying to
figure out the best way to grieve for her losses.
Alone in the lab, she put her hands to her face
and began to sob quietly but convulsively. The
clock ticked loudly, time slowly moving towards a
new day, a new beginning. The end of Advent.
Christmas Eve.
Meanwhile, her partner shut off the light in his
childhood bedroom and crawled into the twin bed
that was almost too small for him. Physical
fatigue made his eyelids droop almost
immediately. A mental breakthrough made them fly
back open.
"Oh my God..." he breathed aloud. He sat up and
reached for the cell phone. But decided against
calling her. He didn't want trouble her anymore
than he already had.
And he ended up laying awake all night.
December 24, 2002, Christmas Eve
Mrs. Doggett's house
Savannah, Georgia
8:30 AM Eastern Standard Time
A morning person even when she was a small girl
wearing knee socks and pigtails, Melanie woke up,
blinking her eyes in confusion. Not completely
understanding why her room was flooded with
sunlight. Normally she was awake before the dawn.
Then, groggily, she remembered the two little
tablets she had choked down with a big glass of
water. And then, oblivion. I must have needed
the sleep badly she thought as she rose out of
bed, still feeling the foggy after-effects of the
drug-induced sleep.
She reached for her robe and wrapped it around
her body. Knotting the terry cloth belt with a
jerk, she stepped out into the hallway. She could
hear her brother in his old bedroom, talking to
someone on the phone. Must have his cell
phone she thought, poising her hand to knock on
the door.
But she froze when she heard what he was saying.
"No I'm still here... that's alright, ma'am,
wasn't the first time I've been left on hold. My
name is Fox Mulder...uh-huh, Fox... just like the
animal... M- U- L- D- E- R. Anyway... I'm callin'
because I'm doin' some research... see... it's
kinda personal and would prefer to speak to Dr.
Kullervo in private... I understand... I know
it's Christmas Eve and I'm sorry to be a bother
ma'am but I'm only gonna be in Savannah for today
and tomorrow and I'd rather speak to her today
than tomorrow... no, it won't take long. Oh, I'd
appreciate it so much... that's fine, I can get
there by then. Thank you so much. Uh-huh....
yeah... okay, thanks. Bye."
The door swung open. Melanie backed up just in
time.
Except for the traitorous blue sacs beneath his
eyes, no one could have known that he had not
slept a wink last night. And those smudges
actually increased the solemn authoritive
expression on his face. As did the jet black suit
with the perfect creases, the crisp white dress
shirt, the shiny black shoes and the FBI-approved
boring tie.
Melanie realized she was not looking at her
little brother Johnny.
This was Special Agent John Doggett. And he was
on a mission.
"Does this have to do with Parker?" Melanie asked
breathlessly.
"I'll talk to you 'bout it later," Doggett
promised her brusquely. "I have to go now." He
quickly squeezed her shoulder affectionately as
he brushed past her.
"Who's Fox Mulder?" she called after him.
He turned his head, a devilish little grin
lightening his somber face. "A friend," he said
angelically as he went downstairs.
Later on that morning
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital
5353 Reynolds Street
Savannah Georgia
Outside of Dr. Kullervo's office
9:45 AM Eastern Standard Time
Doggett knocked on the door as he let himself.
The receptionist, a plump middle-aged woman with
a big, moon shaped face looked up at him. "May I
help you sir?" she drawled in a sing-song voice.
Her matronly goodness looked out of place seated
behind the expensive Art Deco desk. Matching
objects d'art were tastefully arranged in the
small reception area outside of the doctor's
office. Doggett strongly suspected that the
furniture and the artwork he looked upon was
worth more than his house, his truck and his life
combined.
"Yes'm," he said, smiling at her. "We spoke on
the phone earlier this morning. My name is Fox
Mulder. I'm here for Dr. Kullervo."
"Oh yes!" she twittered, consulting the massive
leather bound appointment book. "You're lucky I
was able to squeeze you in," she winked at him
while standing up. "Dr. Kullervo said to go ahead
and let you wait in her office, if you were
early."
"Thank you," he mustered all the charm he could
as he allowed the nice receptionist to lead him
into the doctor's inner sanctuary.
The office was more impressive than Kersh's
office at the Bureau. The furniture was all
upholstered in creamy white leather to match the
walls and the soft thick carpeting. The doctor's
desk was an exact duplicate of the one out in the
waiting room, only bigger. Expensive but small
pieces of modern art, elegantly framed in cedar
and gilt trim. All the pricey Tiffany lamps
matched the artwork perfectly. A as if the artist
had consulted the coloring of each piece of
stained glass before dipping his brush into the
paints. Fresh flowers filled the vases. Doggett
felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop.
"Make yourself at home," the cheerful secretary
chirped as she shut the door behind herself.
Doggett roamed around the office, examining the
artwork. "Hm," he murmured, staring intently at a
blank space of wall next to one of the paintings.
Observed that the paint didn't appear to be as
faded as the rest of the wall.
Putting his hands in his pockets, he meandered
around to the beautiful desk, his sharp blue eyes
taking careful inventory.
His eyes flicked over to the long glass shelf
behind the desk. Photographs, framed in silver,
overpowered the table. "Hm," he said, bending
over slightly to look at each one carefully.
Most of them were photographs of what appeared to
be friends and colleagues. Candid shots of
Christmas parties and lavish charity balls.
Several pictures of what he assumed was the same
cat. Photographs documenting one feline's
progress from cute fluffy little kitten to fat,
haughty Persian.
Doggett noticed a photograph that was almost, but
not quite, hidden behind two other pictures, one
being of cat and the other a group of women with
big wild poufy hairdos mugging the camera while
on vacation somewhere on a beach, sometime in the
late Eighties when bad hair was okay.
But Doggett didn't care about the fricking cat or
the bevy of drunken women. He cared deeply about
the small framed picture behind those
photographs.
"Gotcha," he breathed, a bitter smile on his
lips.
He burst out of the office minutes after that.
"I'm sorry," he apologized effusively.
"Something's come up, an emergency. A family
emergency, I have to go. Tell Dr. Kullervo I'm
sorry."
Without waiting for a reply, Doggett was out the
door.

Later on that morning...
Dr. and Mrs. Tiffleton's residence
Some fancy suburb of Savannah...
11:22 AM Eastern Standard Time
"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD
!!!"
Dr. Niles Tiffleton winced and rubbed his
temples. He hated it when the kids weren't in
school. "What?" he snapped, extremely irritated.
All he wanted to do one his day off was lay on
the couch, drink his coffee and watch "The Price
Is Right." Was that REALLY so much to ask for???
He didn't think so.
"THERE'S SOMEBODY HERE FOR YA! SAYS HE WANTS TO
TALK TO YA!"
He almost wished he would have gone into work
today.
Dead people are quiet people.
Dr. Tiffleton put his cup down on the ugly coffee
table that his wife picked out. With a sigh he
got off the sofa. And walked into the hallway
where he almost ran into his daughter, talking a
mile a minute on her cell phone. "Stephanie?"
"Omigod, Babs, like hold on a second, my dad
wants me," she put the phone down. "Like, yeah?
What?"
"Go see who's at the door."
"Why? Don't we have a maid or some junk to do
that?"
"It's her day off," Dr. Tiffleton said between
gritted teeth. "Go see who's at the door. Now.
And tell him to go away."
"Like, okay, okay. Gawd," she rolled her heavily
made up eyes as she walked towards the front
door. "Yeah, like Dad's losing it, okay? He's
making ME answer the door..." her voice drifted
away.
Too soon, she came back. Her face, or what skin
on her face that was visible underneath all the
makeup, was ashen. "It's a FBI agent," she said
without any sass or attitude. "He wants to talk
to you."
FBI? What the hell? Although this agent had to be
some sort of character to be able to scare his
mouthy little spoiled bitch daughter to death.
He liked this guy already.
He ambled towards the door. His son, a tub of a
child, was still staring at the tall man in the
perfectly pressed suit, sporting a pair of Ray-
Ban wannabe sunglasses. "Dr. Tiffleton?" the
stranger drawled politely.
For one weird moment, Dr. Tiffleton thought he
was in that one movie "Terminator 2, Judgment
Day", facing down the evil shape shifting cyborg.
However, when the stranger took off his
sunglasses and reached inside his jacket to pull
out his FBI identification, he knew his was in a
worse predicament.
T-1000 actually looked a lot friendlier than this
guy.
"Sir," the agent said coolly, "My name is Special
Agent John Doggett. Could I have a word with
you?" His icy eyes flicked down to the chubby,
insolent boy. "Alone?"
"Derick, go play your Sega upstairs, okay?"
"Daaaa-ad, it's NOT Sega, it's a PlayStatio-"
"Whatever. Go."
Derick waddled off.
"Yes, Agent Doggett," the doctor said calmly.
"How can I help you?"
"You can help me," Doggett smiled, a thin, cruel
little smile. "By explainin' to me why you helped
Dr. Kullervo get away with murder..." Doggett
took a step closer and whispered "I would
recommend leniency..."
Tiffleton pressed his lips tightly together. "I
see," he said haughtily. "Dr. Kullervo? A
respected member of our community and a leader in
the AIDS research field, a murderer?" He scoffed,
"Nonsense, Special Agent. You must have made a
mistake. Now, if you'll excuse me, it IS
Christmas Eve and I get to spend precious little
time with my family..."
But Doggett didn't back off, although he did take
a step back. "Nice house," he told the doctor as
he looked up at the Tudor style brick home. "Nice
cars too," he nodded his head, acknowledging cars
he had parked the rental Ford Taurus behind. A
cherry red 2001 Honda Civic and a 1999 silvery
Mercedes-Benz.
"I always had a thing 'bout cars," Doggett said
fondly, appreciating the vehicles that he
couldn't afford in this lifetime or the next. "My
father owned an auto repair shop. I loved
spendin' Saturdays there as a kid... watchin' him
fix up cars, then him teachin' me how to fix up
cars... the flashier the better. But my father
always told me to buy American. And I have a
Dodge Ram..."
Tiffleton began to lose some of his fear and
regain his irritation. He was missing "The Price
is Right" dammit.
"... but I dunno... somethin' 'bout a foreign
car... they last longer, they don't seem to break
down as much..." here Doggett produced a grin,
"and they go faster, don't they? Betcha you got
quite a few speedin' tickets with that Civic,
huh?"
"The Civic's my daughter's car," he said, a
little defensive. "The Mercedes belongs to my
wife."
"So, what d'ya have?"
"A Porsche."
"No kiddin'? Man..." Doggett sounded envious.
"I'm in the wrong field. I'd love to have a
Porsche... probably could afford the car, but the
insurance... I dunno... I'd have to find a way to
get some extra money comin' in..."
Then out of nowhere, Doggett innocently asked,
"Isn't Oglethorpe Speedway Park near here?" As
the blood drained out of the coroner's face,
Doggett asked him, "So is that how you started
backin' NASCAR races? To pay for these fancy
cars? Or 'cause you live so close to the race
track?" Doggett took another step closer.
"Doesn't matter how it started Tiffleton 'cause
what matters it that you're in the hole. Big
time." When Tiffleton started to complain about
invasion of privacy, Doggett informed him sweetly
"Income is public domain. You can't hide your
finances from the IRS... well... guess you
could... but they really don't like it when you
do."
He took another step closer to the doctor. "Truth
is, Dr. Tiffleton, this nice house, those nice
cars, your bratty kids' nice education could be
gone in a second 'cause you're $75,000 in the
hole. And that's just your gamblin' problem. The
total comes up to well over a hundred thousand
when you figure in all the money you lost when
the stock markets went to shit after September
11."
He went for the jugular now, "Or you were. Until
your good friend Dr. Kullervo lent you just
enough to get the creditors off you back and
maintain your façade of wealth. And she didn't
want you to pay her off in cash. Oh no...
"... she wanted a favor. A BIG favor. Like
falsifyin' an autopsy case file. Your intern was
so kind as to forward that file to my partner,
who just happens to be a medical doctor."
"I'll go to prison," the coroner squeaked.
"Probably," Doggett agreed. "But there's a
difference between a few months in a country club
prison for white collar crime and 25 years to
life in a federal pen. Would you like to call
your lawyer and discuss this with him?" Doggett
asked sweetly.
"I do need to speak to my lawyer," Tiffleton
whispered. "But I will cooperate..." he hung his
head. "You're talking about the Parker Davis
case, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Doggett glared at the top of the little
man's head. "I am. Let's get your lawyer, as you
are entitled to have, then take a trip down to
the police station."
Later on that day...
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital
5353 Reynolds Street
Savannah Georgia
Outside of Dr. Kullervo's office
1:30 PM Eastern Standard Time
Dr. Loki Kullervo liked to walk. She always
purposefully parked her car two, sometimes three
blocks away from her destination so she could
have a nice stroll before entering.
Also, it kept the pesky pounds from creeping up
on her.
The day was going well. When she came to the
hospital early in the morning, she discovered
with pleasure that one of the pediatric AIDS
patients was responding favorably to the latest
treatment available. She then had a guest lecture
at an AIDS awareness fund-raiser at the local
library, which went extremely well. She had an
unexpected appointment and an unexpected
cancellation. Much as that irritated her, she had
learned that in her profession, those kinds of
things were to be expected. She had her
receptionist file the name away in case he ever
reappeared. Fox Mulder... I know I've heard
that name SOMEWHERE... She dismissed the
cancellee, focusing her energies on the work that
needed to be done for the rest of the afternoon.
She was planning on spending most of the day in
the lab.
Dr. Kullervo, known for her precision and her
diligence, ruthlessly monitored every aspect of
her life. From her spotless apartment, to her
svelte figure, to her impeccable makeup,
hairstyling and wardrobe, to her care of her
patients and her research into the AIDS research,
everything was at her command.
As she crossed the street, picking an imaginary
piece of fluff off of her deep brown suit jacket,
she recalled the conversation she had with one of
the senior doctors during their lunch meeting
today. He had commended her on her continuing
dedication in fighting the disease. Since he had
known her for a few years now, he asked her, why,
a person like herself, so consumed with order,
would want to engage in such a messy, order less
disease such as AIDS.
"Because," she had said thoughtfully. "I want to
control it. It is a monster that is bent on
destruction. And I wish to kill the monster. And
if I can't kill it, at least tame it and bend it
to my will."
And the other doctors had nodded. It made sense.
That mentality had sustained Dr. Kullervo most of
her adult life.
Which was why she felt a surge of irritation when
her receptionist met her halfway down the hallway
before she even got to her office.
"Dr. Kullervo," she blubbered, "I'm sorry, I
couldn't stop them. They have a search
warrant..."
"A search warrant!" Dr. Kullervo exploded. "For
what????" She handed her purse and briefcase to
the hapless secretary and stormed into her
domain. There was a flurry of action in the
reception area and men in police uniforms and
windbreakers that said 'FBI' in bright yellow
letters going in and out of her office. Pulling
drawers out and tipping them over, spilling paper
all over. Taking her precious books off the wall,
thumbing through them and then dropping them on
the floor. "I demand to know what in the hell is
going on here," she cried out in a fury.
"Step out into the hall, doctor," a graveled
voice said unpleasantly. "And I'll explain it to
you."
Startled, she looked for the source of the voice.
Scared because it sounded familiar.
She realized the voice's source came from a man
leaning against the wall. She stared at him in
confusion. He was the only one there in a suit
and tie. His arms were crossed. He was staring at
her like he knew her. She felt flutterings of
fear, she didn't know this man... didn't know any
tall men with light brown, almost blond hair.
With ears that stuck out just slightly. With cold
blue eyes surrounded by crow's feet. Cold blue
eyes chilling her...
... and then she recognized him. "JD..." she
hissed.
"Special Agent Doggett to you," he said, pushing
himself off the wall and stalking towards her.
Grabbing her by the arm, he said "Let's go
Delilah," and escorted her out of the room.
Alone in the hallway, Dr. Kullervo struggled to
yank her arm out of Doggett's grip. "Get your
hands off me."
"Gladly," and Doggett let her go as if she some
repulsive creature.
She tossed her mahogany hair over her shoulder
and assessed him as if he was an insignificant
specium on a glass slide. "On top of harassment
and invasion of privacy, I should also sue you
for police brutality."
"I'm a federal agent, not a cop," he reminded
her. "Besides, once we're done with you, your
word isn't going to mean shit."
"What are you implying?"
"I ain't implyin'. I'm flat out saying that you,
in pre-meditated, cold-blood, killed one of you
patients. Parker Davis."
"Of course... Melanie... I should have known..."
she hissed. "JD, hate to tell you, but your
sister is delusional with grief. I tried
recommending her to a grief-counselor but she was
too proud. She rather run to her baby brother to
assume the role of the great white knight once
more," she sneered at him.
"Do you think," Doggett asked her sweetly, "that
maybe Melanie would have taken your advise if you
had disclosed to her that not only you're Dex's
baby sister, but that you've also been in and out
of mental hospitals for most of your adult life?"
"You white-trash motherfucker," she lashed out at
him.
Doggett was unimpressed. "Such language from a
lady."
She ignored his sally. "I don't know what you're
trying to prove but rest assured my lawyers are
going to have a field day nailing your ass to the
wall."
"Before you do, let me tell you a little story,
if you don't mind," Doggett requested politely.
"Most of it you already know, so if you could
fill in the blanks, I'd 'preciate it."
"I don't have time for this," Dr. Kullervo tried
to walk away, but Doggett grabbed her again.
"You'll make time for this, Delilah," he growled
at her.
Dr. Kullervo folded her lips tightly and crossed
her arms as Doggett began to talk.
"Besides your weight, your glasses and everything
else, 'nother thing Dex liked to harass you 'bout
was your first name. Because your mother, to
placate her battle-ax of a mother-in-law, named
you "Loki" after her. But that didn't work with
Grandma Lo, did it? Fact is, she still didn't
like your mother and she really didn't like you
much either. Not that it's much of a loss, your
Grandma Lo wasn't that nice of a person. How
could she be? With a verbally abusive hypocrite
of a husband? Preachin' 'bout Thou Shalt Love Thy
Brother... as long as he was white and wealthy
and took the writings of the Apostle Paul
literally. Especially the parts 'bout women bein'
submissive to their husbands. Since Grandma Lo
couldn't fight against her husband, she attacked
weaker targets to vent her rage. Maybe that's
where Dex learned how to be a bully...
"... but sorry... I'm ramblin'," Doggett
apologized as Dr. Kullervo folded her lips
tightly together and clenched her fists as
Doggett went on. "Although, I could never figure
out where'n the hell 'Loki' came from anyway. It
sure as hell ain't a Southern name..."
"It's the name of a Norse god," Dr. Kullervo said
tensely. "Grandma Lo's ancestors had Viking blood
in them."
"That's nice," Doggett said blandly. "Anyway, I
remember Dex teasing you something fierce about
your name when we were kids...
"But you were dyin' to get away from it all.
That's why you went to college up North 'stead of
'round here. That's why you started tellin'
people your name was Loki Gillroy 'stead of
Delilah Gillroy. You wanted to get away from that
fat bullied girl in Savannah as fast as you
could. You had never had any say in your life
'til then. Your mama and daddy pushed you around.
The Preacher and Grandma Lo bossed you around.
Dex bullied you to tears. You wanted to have
total say over your life. That's why, 'gainst the
family's wishes, you did your pre-Med and medical
school in New York. That's why you married a
Yankee named Tobin Kullervo. That's why you've
been treated several times for bulimia." He eyed
her slender body. She frowned back at him. "It
was all 'bout control..."
"... course, it doesn't help when you have a
chemical imbalance that's beyond your control,
does it?"
"Hypocrite," she spat at him. "You joined the
Marines when you were sixteen to get away from
your father. Instead of going back to Georgia,
you moved up to New York after bein' discharged.
You married a Yankee too."
"Been keepin' tabs on me Delilah?" Doggett asked
lightly. She shut up.
She wished he wouldn't stare at her as he spoke.
His pale blue eyes unnerved her. She didn't like
feeling so out of control.
"Yeah... maybe I ran away from home too... but I
didn't deliberately plot someone's death..."
"You'll have to prove that," she said smugly,
regaining control. Or so she thought. "All I see
is a bunch of men in my office. Running around
like trained monkeys. I'm sure they're really
pleased you're interrupting their Christmas Eve."
Doggett ignored her. "Last summer, you received a
call from one of your colleagues. A Dr. Adam
Kats. Hey Loki, he says, can ya see this guy?
He's one of my regular patients, but he just
tested positive for HIV but he's not sure how he
could have gotten it. He says he's straight and
is faithful to his wife. Wife says she's faithful
to him. Plus she tested negative. He don't do
drugs. Don't work in a medical facility where he
could be in contact with tainted blood. The only
possibility is a transfusion he received back in
Seventy-Six, after a car accident. But that was
over twenty-five years ago and the virus usually
rears its ugly head after ten, fifteen years of
hibernation.
"You're interested. Of course you're interested.
You've always liked studyin' and researchin'.
That's another thing Dex made fun of you about.
Bein' such a bookworm.
"So he gives you the name of the patient. Parker
Davis. That name rang a bell. 'Course it did.
Parker was one of Dex and Cy's favorite targets.
But was it the same Parker Davis? You realized it
was when you saw the name of the spouse, Melanie
Doggett Davis.
"Still intrigued, you called for the lab work
from the second HIV test to be sent directly to
you. You also called the lab that processed the
first blood test for the insurance company. And
compared notes. The second blood draw was
negative for HIV, but positive for hepatitis A.
Upon further research, you figured out the first
lab screwed up and sent the wrong results to the
insurance company. Yeah, Parker Davis is HIV
positive, but not THIS Parker Davis. I think
these things are called 'twists of fate'?
"Maybe you were lookin' at your reflection in the
mirror while you were contemplatin' this,
Delilah. Maybe you were lookin' at your now
pimple-free skin after puttin' your contact
lenses in. Maybe you were at the beauty parlor,
gettin' your hair dyed that pretty dark color
'stead of sportin' your natural dishwater blond
hair. Maybe you were even at the mall, buying
that pretty suit you've got on. I dunno what you
were doing when you got the idea. After getting
sick of watching you bounce in and out of the
nuthouse plus binging and purging, your less than
sympathetic husband divorced you. Prompting you
to move back home. But you didn't take back your
maiden name. Hell no. You don't even talk to
what's left of your family.
"Point I'm makin' is that you took a big chance
that Park and Mel wouldn't recognize you when
they came in for their consultation. If they did,
well, so much for that... but if they didn't...
if they didn't...
"And they didn't, did they? Hell, I didn't even
recognize you at first either. Did you get some
plastic surgery done too? Your nose? Your tummy?
Chest?"
"You pig," she seethed.
Doggett leaned against the wall, crossing his
arms again, appraising her coolly. "Even though
you don't look a thing like you did in high
school, you took a few other preparations to
ensure that the Davises wouldn't recall you. You
took your diploma off the wall."
"I never hung my diploma on the wall."
"Then why is there a part of your wall discolored
in the exact shape of a framed diploma? A framed
diploma was found in your bottom drawer? A framed
diploma that says 'Loki Delilah Gillroy'?" When
she failed to retort, he went on. "And you put
that photograph of you and Dex and Cy hanging out
at Tybee Island behind some other pictures on
that fancy table behind your desk. Couldn't bear
to put that away, it meant too much to you. But
your clients wouldn't be able to see it from
where they would be sitting.
"You could have been a hero the day that Parker
and Melanie came to see you. You could have told
them that it was all a big mix-up and Parker was
fine. You would have been their angel.
"But you liked your idea better... let'm suffer,
right? Suffer. Hell. Let him die. Let the
hepatitis A take over. Let his liver get swollen.
Let his immune system really get impaired. Let
him be denied treatment for an upper respiratory
infection he couldn't fight off. Let Melanie cry
for him over Christmas..."
He looked at her in disgust. "You bitch," he said
softly.
Now the doctor smiled. An ugly smile on a face
shaped into beauty by cosmetics and cosmetic
alterations. "A frightening story indeed, good
agent. But a story is all it will remain until
you provide some incriminating evidence." She
tilted her head, still smiling. "Is that the
blank you wanted me to fill in? Give you the
smoking gun? That would be a lovely Christmas
present for you, wouldn't it?
"It would pull you out of that basement office,
wouldn't it?" Laughing at him now, she nodded.
"Oh yes, Special Agent John Doggett, I've been
keeping tabs on you. Not rigorously. But I pay
attention whenever your name crops up.
"And my, my, who DID you piss off at the Bureau
to get demoted... literally?" The ugliness of her
smile increased. "Hate to tell you JD, but in
this world, it's true. Nice guys finish last.
You'll never get to be where you want to be by
being nice. And that's all you're doing here.
You're just trying to be nice to Melanie. Cushion
the blow that somehow, someway, her beloved
Parker contracted AIDS." She spread her hands out
wide. "I did what I could."
"By tellin' everyone that he was allergic to
antibiotics when he really wasn't?" Doggett asked
her dryly. "By changin' records to show that
Parker had B positive blood instead of B
negative?"
"Again," she said, shaking her head at him. As if
she was a kindergarten teacher catching one of
her students telling a whopper of a story to
impress his little friends. "You have no proof to
back up those allegations. You haven't told me
anything that scares me yet."
"How 'bout a blood profile?"
"Where would you get a blood sample to study??"
"How 'bout from Parker Davis's heart? During the
autopsy my sister ordered? Yeah," he said smugly
as he watched the color disappear from Dr.
Kullervo's cheeks. "That's right. The intern that
was unknowingly doin' Tiffleton's dirty work for
'im that day most graciously gave my FBI partner
a sample which she took back to Quantico to study
herself. And she's far from... how'd you put
it... a trained monkey?"
When Kullervo opened her mouth to protest his
partner's credentials, Doggett added, "And when I
say 'Doctor' Starkweather, I mean Doctor
Starkweather **MD** not, **Ph.D.** And oh yeah,
speakin' of Tiffleton? He's with his lawyer and
the DA, trying to cut a deal so he don't have to
spend a minute longer in jail than he has to.
Although his medical license is good as gone."
Now he was the one with the ugly smile. He took a
step closer to her.
"Scared yet?"
"He's lying!" Dr. Kullervo said, a tinge of
desperation coloring her normally clinically-
cool-and-calm voice. "He... he's a gambler! He's
lost a lot of money at the race tracks! And in
the stock market! He... he tried... he making up
this wild tale because I wouldn't give him any
more money. I lent him a great deal of money so
he could squeak by until Christmas. Didn't want
to ruin things for his kids."
"Maybe Tiffleton is lying," Doggett nodded his
head. "But does a blood sample lie?" Tired of the
games, Doggett said "Look, I don't care how you
did it. We know you did it. It's only a matter of
time before the cops and the feds find something
here. And the guys here don't find something,
maybe the guys tossin' your house will.
"What I wanna know is WHY, Delilah? What...
possessed you to... to be so Got-damned
heartless? To watch a man die... fucking
suffocate on his own bodily fluids, knowing you
could save him but didn't? What the hell Parker
Davis did to you that made you hate him, that
much, that you could be as vindictive...
"Or maybe," he dropped his voice to a whisper,
taking another step towards her as she took more
steps away. Her back was against the wall. She
really did look scared now. "Maybe it was never
Parker you hated... Maybe it was Melanie."
"Melanie?" she laughed, a nervous hiccup of a
laugh.
"Sure. Makes sense. Makes perfect sense. 'Cause I
remember another thing your sonuvabitch brother
used to tease you 'bout was your crush on Cy. Oh,
you had puppy love for him BAD, Delilah. Real
bad. And Dex wasn't the only one who teased you.
The entire school knew. I remember one time
someone wrote a Valentine for you and signed it
"Love Cy" and put it on your locker. And how Cy
laughed in your face when you went to thank him.
"But see, it also wasn't a secret that Cy had the
hots for my sister. He used to beg me and Stevie
to set him up with her. Neither Stevie nor I
would. Neither one of would mostly 'cause we
liked breathin' too much. Melanie would have
killed us if we would have tried to fix her up
with that dumbass.
"But maybe, you didn't know that. You didn't know
that Melanie that Cy was an ignorant rednecked
fool. You didn't know that Melanie didn't like
him 'cause Melanie was nice to everybody. Even to
the people she hated with a passion. Maybe you
blamed Melanie for Cy not wanting you because he
wanted Melanie...
"'Course now, he'd probably take you over
Melanie, seein' how fine you grew up. Seein' that
he's in jail for murder right now may make the
whole dating thing difficult but once we bust
your ass for killin' Parker, maybe we can get you
an adjoining cel-"
"I didn't do it because of Melanie!" she burst
out.
"Oh really," Doggett said innocently. "Then why?"
"I want my lawyer," she whispered, looking at the
floor.
He shrugged. "Go ahead," he said, reaching into
his suit's pocket and drawing out his cell phone,
holding it out for her. "Call your lawyer."
She didn't take the phone though. "Are you wired,
Special Agent Doggett?" she asked in a breathy
voice. When he did not answer, she chuckled.
"No... 'course not. That would be entrapment,
wouldn't it? And I'm not under arrest yet, am I?
And it's just you and me here... no witnesses?"
She laughed.
But her laugh sounded wrong. Seemed out of tune
to Doggett. After years of investigations and
interrogations, Doggett had an ear for madness
like a piano tuner for pitch. Careful John
careful he told himself as he rearranged his
face to be poker-straight. She's startin' to
get unglued... His eyes darted around quickly
to make sure there were no sharp or blunt objects
around that could do him grievous harm. He didn't
like the fact she had taken a ballpoint pen out
of her pocket and was clicking it over and over
rapidly. She laughed again, shaking her head.
"I heard about your son," she said with another
diabolical cackle. "Seven years old and dead. And
not even just 'dead'. Kidnapped and murdered. His
little life snuffed out as he cried for his
daddy, wondering why he didn't come save him..."
Doggett fought hard to control the murderous rage
brewing inside his heart and seeping through his
bloodstream.
"... He was just a little boy. A baby." She
fluttered her eyelashes at Doggett. "You didn't
even get to know him. See him grow up...
"But... what I wonder... if what if that had
never happened. If your son hadn't died. And grew
up. Grew up with a limp wrist and talking with a
lisp. Liking make-up and dresses instead of
football? Would you still love your son with the
reverence you hold for him right now? Special
Agent John Doggett? Would you? I'm asking you a
question, JD. If you son was-"
"Yes," he interrupted her softly. "I would
continue to love him. I wouldn't like it. But
that wouldn't stop him from being my son."
"Or so you say," she said archly. "Easy to be
pious when the subject matter is dead, isn't it?"
she spat at him. She went on as Doggett clenched
his fists. "And speaking of dead, do you know how
many fucking fags continue spread AIDS on a
yearly basis??"
"AIDS has been continued to be spread by straight
men and women as well," he said quietly,
beginning to see which way the wind was blowing.
"Through unprotected sex, through shared needles
and through mother-to-child in utero. But you're
the expert, you should know this," he said,
trying to remain calm and not act like the
vigilante he wanted to be.
He would love to just bypass the whole habeas
corpus thing and choke her right here and now.
"You have no idea," she seethed. "No idea how
insidious this disease is. You think the way you
lost your kid was painful? You have no idea what
pain is until you take care of a peds AIDS case.
Trying to explain to a little girl why you can't
take the pain away. Why she's not going to get
better and go home.
"And then, the bastards spreading this shit,
march in parades, flaunting rainbows and dressing
in drag, demanding to have 'rights' and to be
treated like everyone else. While we're left
behind to take care of the kids dying of the
disease THEY started."
She believes that Doggett thought in
disbelief. She's a medically trained doctor
and... shit, I'm not a doctor and even **I** know
better'n that...
**Child never was right in the head**
"I hate this Got-damned disease, JD, you have no
idea. You have no idea how many kids I get to see
on a yearly basis die. Too many. Too damn many.
You... poor you, you lost one kid. Big fucking
deal. Every child that dies in that ward feels
like one of my own. So far, this year, I've lost
fifteen children. And each one cuts like a
fucking razor because they didn't have to die.
And with every kid that dies, I swear to myself
that I will stop this damned disease or at least
control it, in any way possible."
She looked up at Doggett, smiling her ugly little
smile again.
The whir of the air conditioning kicking on
filled the hallway but that's not why Doggett
suddenly felt cold.
Parker wasn't the only one. Parker wasn't the
only patient this crazy bitch killed...
Who was it who had said just recently "Don't piss
off doctors, we know 10,000 different ways to
kill someone and 20,000 ways to get away with
it,"?
With an inward sigh, he remembered who.
Starkweather, of course.
"Bet seein' Parker brought up some bad memories,"
Doggett drawled, hoping to squeeze more specific
information from her. "Like deja vu maybe? Like
when you saw 'em in the hospital... hearin' 'bout
me and Mellie talkin' 'bout the accident?"
She snorted. "The one time in my life that I
thought I could do something right. The one time
I thought I could do good. Do right by someone. I
didn't do it 'cause I like Park or y'all. I did
it to get back at Dex, finally..."
"I got off from work and went straight home. Told
Daddy everything. Daddy was fit to be tied. He
was even more pissed when one of his underlings
came to him with a report about a car accident
Park Davis was in and that Jay Doggett's youngest
son had been there too, but he can't figure out
how or why that boy'd be there. He told my daddy
that he thought you and Park were lying about the
accident. How it really happened...
"Well, it was an election year and Daddy couldn't
risk any scandal. He could lose his job if the
wrong guy gets elected wherever and he didn't
want to piss anyone off. Or give the impression
that his family was trash. So the next morning he
woke Dex up and read him the riot act. Told him
he had two choices. To either get out of his
house and try and make it on his own. Or join the
Army. Kind of an 'out of sight, out of mind.' Dex
picked the Army." She abruptly stopped.
"And then he was killed?" Doggett prodded her
along.
Her eyes narrowed. "I always wondered how you
survived, but no Dex. Why Dex? Why not you? When
we got word that Dex had died, Mama looked at me
and told me if I would have kept my mouth shut
about Dex and Cy causing that car accident, Dex
wouldn't have died. She asked me why'n the hell
was I protecting Parker Davis in the first
place?"
"But you weren't protecting Parker, you were
protecting yourself. Only now, you blamed
yourself," Doggett said.
"I didn't blame myself one bit," she said a bit
too quickly. "Dex can burn in hell for all I
care. He was a mean son of a bitch. Know why he
was so mean?" Her eyes twinkled madly. "Know what
secret he carried to his grave? Why he lashed out
at Park so much?"
Doggett's mouth dropped open. "No fricking
way..."
**"You know, John, I didn't know that being a
pimple-faced virgin made you a target."**
**"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight. They're
scared outta their asses that you're
contagious."**
Dr. Kullervo still had that hideous smile on her
face. "That's right, JD. Dex didn't like girls."
"Think 'bout it JD," she taunted him. "He sure
talked big 'bout women, teased y'all about your
girlfriends. But did you ever EVER see him with a
girl?" She answered for him. "No, of course not.
He was confused about his sexual orientation. And
to be homosexual would be a sin in our house.
Sin? Ha. With my father and grandfather, it would
be more like suicide. And Daddy and the Preacher
always hinted that they thought Dex wasn't quite
the man they thought he was. So when Daddy made
his ultimatum, Dex thought it was his last chance
to prove to him and himself that he didn't 'swing
that way' if you know what I mean," she winked at
him and giggled maliciously.
"I just can't believe that Delilah," Doggett
said, shaking his head. "I think you're full of
it."
"Why? Because Dex was big and strong? And liked
football and cars? Trust me," she said
laconically. "Queers come in all shapes and
sizes. They aren't all like Parker Davis," she
snorted.
"Parker married my sister, Delilah. He loved
her."
"Then why, after almost twenty-five years of
marriage, were there no children?" she challenged
him. "After all, the rumor in high school was
that Parker dated Melanie to hide what he really
was..."
"You are basing Parker's sexual orientation on...
on..." he spluttered, not believing his own ears.
"There were no children, because Melanie can't
have 'em."
She rose her eyebrows high. "You believe that?"
she said softly.
Before Doggett could argue, a voice heralded him.
"Agent Doggett? Agent Doggett!"
"Over here," Doggett called over his shoulder.
"Found somethin' interestin'," a young police
officer named Hunter Ceehaycee handed Doggett a
dusty manila folder. It did not escape either the
cop or the agent that Dr. Kullervo turned a shade
whiter and her hand fluttered up to her throat.
"What is it?" Doggett looked at the file the
gloved cop held up for him. "Well... well...
well... hm. 'Inheritance Labs'... that's the lab
that processed the blood and urine for Parker and
Melanie's insurance applications... Hmm... Parker
Davis... social security number 371017132, date
of birth, October 13, 1959... blood work, B
positive..." he skimmed the blood profile. Even
to an unschooled eye, it was fairly easy to
interpret. "Says this guy is HIV positive...
huh... but my brother-in-law's birthday is
January 21, 1960." Officer Ceehaycee took the
file back and flipped a page. Held it up for
Doggett to read again. "And what do we have
here... hm. Another blood profile. Completed by
this hospital. And the birth date for this Parker
Davis is, well, look at that... January 21, 1960.
And the blood type says B negative. HIV negative.
Imagine that."
"That was planted," she said weakly. "I didn't
kill anyone."
"Uh-huh," Doggett said, completely fed up with
her now. "Arrest her. Give me details later," he
said wearily to Officer Ceehaycee. "I need to go
home."
With bittersweet satisfaction, he turned away and
heard the click of handcuffs and the young cop
droning out the doctor's rights.
It was over.
Almost.
Much much much much much much later...
Mrs. Doggett's house
Savannah, Georgia...
"Chris," Mrs. Doggett finally said, looking up at
the clock. "Let's not hold up supper anymore.
It's getting late. Could you set the table
please?" With a heavy sigh, she began to slice up
the vegetables for the salad.
"I gotta go call Laura first," Chris rose from
the kitchen table just as Doggett opened the
kitchen door.
"Where've you been, son?" Mrs. Doggett asked him
coolly, as if he was a teenager again, breaking
curfew.
"Where's Melanie, Mama?" Doggett asked, exhausted
now. Instead of going home like he wanted, he had
been held up at the police station. Giving his
statement. Showing the Savannah PD and the
Georgian agents how he pieced it together that
Parker Davis did not die of AIDS complications
but due to a complicated, premeditated plan to
kill him. He ached all over from stress, fatigue
and out-and-out burnout. He didn't even want to
eat, he just wanted to collapse.
But he had to talk to Melanie first. Had to.
Before Mrs. Doggett could reply, Stevie invaded
the kitchen. He had heard the tail end of the
conversation. "Where were you today? We coulda
used your help around here," Stevie accused him.
"I had work to do," Doggett said, trying to rein
in the temper that had threatened to run rampant
all day.
"Work," he snorted. "Work my... yeah. Work,
whatever. Well, 'bout time you graced us with
your presence," Stevie thundered. "What ghost..
'scuse me, WORK have you been chasin' this time?"
"Stevie-" Chris said timidly, but Doggett
overlapped her.
"Where's Mel, Steve?"
"Damn it John, haven't you done enough? Just
leave her alone! Stop tryin' to make it easier
for her, that's not gonna help her-"
"She's in the living room, John," Mrs. Doggett
said quietly.
"Aw Mama, not you too!" Stevie groaned as Doggett
started to move towards the living room. Stevie
grabbed Doggett's coat sleeve. "I swear to God,
John, if you keep feedin' into Mel's delusions so
help me, little brother, I'm gonna-"
"Stevie, let go," Doggett shook him off and
continued to walk towards the living room.
Stevie reached out and grabbed Doggett by the
collar. As if they were boys again, scuffling.
But they were not boys and Stevie had forgotten
which one was the stronger and taller one.
Doggett fought his way out of Stevie's choke hold
easily enough and pushed him away. "Steve, fuck
off," Doggett bellowed as he stormed away,
through the door, towards his sister.
Stevie balled his hand into a fist and set off to
go after him again, but to his surprise, and his
mother, it was his shy baby sister who stopped
him.
"Stevie," Chris said in a trembling voice. "He
just cussed in front of Mama. Leave him alone."
Stevie opened his mouth but his mother
interjected before he could speak. "Stevie, if
you and your brother cannot get along, at least
do me a favor and pretend to during what's left
of my lifetime."
Stevie opened and shut his mouth like a fish.
Turned on his heel and left the house, slamming
the door.
Meanwhile, Doggett had found his sister on the
sofa, pretending to read a magazine. "Mel?" he
said softly. "Melanie, it's me..."
She looked up at him. Her eyes welled up. He
looked so tired. And sad. And yet... and yet...
triumphant? No. Not the right word. Victorious?
No. Not right either.
Heroic. That was it.
He walked over to her. Knelt in front of her.
Took the magazine she was flipping through and
clutched her hands. He could barely get the words
out.
"It's over Mellie. You were right. Park was
murdered."
She stared at him, not comprehending at first.
Then a convulsive sob rippled through her entire
body and she leaned over, clinging to him as her
little brother held her tight.
"We got her Mel," he whispered to her. "We got
the bitch who killed him and she's in jail now,
Mellie. It's over, sweetheart, it's all over
now..."
Melanie just buried her head into John's shoulder
and cried hard. From the doorway, Mrs. Doggett
and Chris watched silently as tears poured down
Chris' face. Mrs. Doggett eventually lowered her
head and left the room.

December 25, 2001, Christmas Day
Deputy Mayor Fox Mulder's apartment
Arlington, Virginia
7:25 AM Eastern Standard Time
Starkweather pounded on Door Number 42 again.
When that elicited no response, she muttered,
"Dammit, we're going to be late," and pounded on
the door again. "Mulder if you stayed over at
Scully's and didn't tell me, I'm gonna fuckin-"
The door opened wide.
He had a bit of stubble and his hair was still
damp to from his shower, but to Starkweather's
relief, he was more or less correctly dressed, in
a dark green V-necked sweater with a gray t-shirt
underneath, dark blue jeans and brown hiking
boots.
Hell, the fact he was awake made her heart sing.
"Joy to the world," Mulder droned. "All the boys
and girls..."
"Die."
"Gee, wonder who got a lump of coal for Christmas
this year?" Mulder moved aside so she could come
inside. "I've got a couple of things I need to
take care of before we can go," he told her,
ushering her inside his unkempt apartment. He
went to feed his fish as Starkweather peeled off
her black leather gloves and unzipped her heavy
winter coat, showing off the startling feminine
sweater she wore. Angora. Turtle necked. Pearly
pink. Mulder deduced that her stepmother, a
wealthy Senator, must have given it to her. "Make
yourself at home." he told her as he walked over
to the coffee table.
"I need a vat of Pine Sol and a stun gun to knock
out the dust bunnies before I can do that,"
Starkweather said with a shudder of disgust at
Mulder's filthy ways. She took off her ridiculous
stocking cap. Smoothing her hair, she watched
Mulder take the few brightly wrapped packages
from underneath the sad little one foot tall
Christmas tree on his coffee table and put them
in a laundry basket. With a wicked little grin on
her heart-shaped face, she mercilessly imitated
her brother's monotone. "Which one's mine?"
"None," he responded, looking up with a grin.
"But I got your cat something."
"You bought Caesar something?" she said
skeptically. "What?"
"Cat nip seasoned with rat poisoning," Mulder
said, lifting the laundry basket. "Hope he likes
it."
"I'm sure he'll like it as much as William will
like the talking Barney the Dinosaur doll I
bought him," Starkweather retorted sweetly,
opening the door for him.
"You did not."
"Joy to the world, the Lord is come, let earth
receive her King," Starkweather said in her
beautiful lilting voice as she held the door open
for her brother.

Starkweather kindly held open all the doors as
Mulder maneuvered through the halls, into the
elevator and out the front door of his apartment
building towards Starkweather's car.
Once the gifts were safely settled in the trunk
and the passengers traveling down the slippery
roads, Mulder a moment of manners. "Thanks for
comin' to get me," he said to the driver.
"Well, it's not like you live all that far from
me."
"And just think, in a few days, you'll be living
even closer to me."
Starkweather was moving out of the DC apartment
she had shared a few short months with her
husband to a small studio in a restored Victorian
house in Arlington four blocks away from Mulder.
"Good. I'll wake you up at oh-five-hundred hours
to go for a run."
"I'll break your legs if you do." He pulled out a
bag of David's Sunflower Seeds from his coat
pocket and opened it.
"Oh come on tubby," she leaned over and poked him
in his belly. "Like it would kill you to run."
He slapped her hand away. "Maybe I'm not so fast
anymore," Mulder grumbled, sensitive about the
"office gut" he was developing due to too much
politics and not enough X-Files. "But I can still
kick your ass."
"Probably, but you would have to catch me first.
And I can still outrun you, pork chop."
"Bitch," Mulder grumbled as he leaned over to
fiddle with the radio.
"What are you doing?"
"Trying to find a station so I can turn it up
really really loud and drown it out."
"Radio's broken. You can only get AM stations."
"Your point?" Mulder asked as he turned up the
volume.
"...says other lay-offs could be possible," the
dull radioesed baritone droned out of
Starkweather's radio speakers. "In Savannah,
Georgia today... more evidence reveals that the
new 'Doctor Death' may have killed others in her
care... Prominent AIDS researcher... Dr. Loki
Kullervo has been charged in the deaths of three
more of her patients. Based on evidence
discovered by Savannah police this morning...
allegedly Dr. Kullervo purposely denied certain
patients critical medical treatments due to their
sexual orientation, says Officer Hunter Ceehaycee
of the Savannah Police Department..."
Mercifully, the announcer's boring voice went
away as the sound bite of the arresting officer
came on.
"Apparently she has a deep prejudice against the
homosexual community and was using her knowledge
of HIV and AIDS to kill them instead of help
them. But she was clever. If it hadn't been for
Agent Doggett, we would have never caught o-"
"WHAT??" Mulder nearly choked on a sunflower
seed.
"Shut up!" Starkweather yelped. "Turn it up!"
"Is it OUR Doggett though?" Mulder asked.
"How many Special Agent Doggetts in Savannah can
there be??"
"Well, with inbreeding and all..."
"Mulder, shut the fuck up!"

Mr. Boring was back announcing the rest of the
story. "... Special Agent John Doggett declined
to comment...
"Figures," Starkweather and Mulder groused in
unison.
"... However Attorney Catherine Queens says that
justice will be swift and severe while Dr.
Kullervo's attorney, Lester Nelson says his
client needs treatment, not punishment..."
A sniveling weasel-y voice took the place of Mr.
Boring.
"Dr. Kullervo has been suffering undue strain
because of the enormous responsibility she
shoulders. Her mind is not where it should be-"
"Most minds should not be up in asses," Mulder
snarled.
"-however I am confident that the court will give
proper closure to this case by giving this
brilliant yet sadly troubled woman the help she
is desperately crying out for."
"Barf," Starkweather blurted out. "Barf, gag,
puke, vomit... ack."
The lawyer's voice was replaced by the boring
announcer again. "The Georgia Bureau of
Investigation says that they anticipate more
victims to be discovered... in local news-"
Mulder switched off the radio. "I'll be damned."
"Yeah..." Starkweather said thoughtfully. "I'll
be damned."
A moment of silence.
"Poor guy," Mulder said simply.
His sister echoed him faintly. "Yeah... poor
guy."
Mulder reached over and clumsily, affectionately
patted her shoulder. Starkweather looked up at
him briefly, grinned, then put her attention back
to the road.

Later on that day
Mrs. Doggett's house
Savannah, Georgia
3:15 PM Eastern Standard Time
His boyhood home always seemed so big to Doggett.
Until all the relatives came over.
Aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, second-
cousins-once-removed, great aunts and great
uncles all dominated the house, up and down
stairs. Women gossiped in the kitchen, Men
lounged around the living room, watching
football. Kids were everywhere.
The house was definitely over it's maximum
occupancy limit.
Doggett felt like he was on a see-saw all day.
His emotions teeter-tottered up and down between
depressed isolation and nervous claustrophobia.
Some of his cousins had crowded him, pushing him
for details of Parker's murder, clapping him on
the back, calling him a hero. Some of the other
cousins avoided him as if he was Parker's
murderer. All of his uncles tried to coax him
into the manly after-Christmas-dinner tradition
of drinking beer, smoking cigars and playing
cards. Some of the older aunts tried to fuss over
him, mother him and smother him. Some of the
other old aunts were shooing the children away
from him, mistakenly thinking the sight of kids
would arouse memories of his lost little boy.
The last one made him almost want to laugh. The
blue sky evoked memories of his son. Try and hide
that.
As far as his immediate family, they were
cocooned by relatives as while. Which was a good
thing for Stevie and Doggett. As if the relations
could smell the animosity burning in the air, the
brothers were kept separated. Coincidence or not,
Doggett wasn't sure. But didn't care. Because of
the swarm of family buzzing around the both of
them, Doggett didn't have to deal with Stevie.
And that was just fine with him.
But the same swarm also separated him from his
mother and sisters and that wasn't so fine with
him. But his mother was busy in the kitchen,
Melanie busy being freshly comforted by the
awestruck aunts and cousins, leaving Chris to try
and protect the house from the horde of children
on a sugar-high and Christmas-toy-rush.
He managed to escape his extended family long
enough to go upstairs to the bathroom. After
nature's called had been answered, he washed and
dried his hands and just as he turned off the
lights, he heard childish bickering in the room
next door.
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Ow! That's mine! Let go!"
"I just wanna see!"
"No!" Then the sound of a little girl sobbing.
Doggett had opened the door just in time to see a
boy enough to know better trying to beat feet
down the hall, carrying a great big blue fuzzy...
thing. Doggett stepped out in front of him.
"Whose doll is that Theo?" he asked, knowing damn
well who the stuffed... thing's rightful owner
was.
Theo looked down at his expensive Nikes shoes and
muttered "Laura's."
"Didja ask her nicely if you could see that?"
"Yeah," Theo said defensively.
"Theo..."
"Okay, okay."
"Go give it back."
"Fine," Theo muttered. He stomped off and Doggett
could hear the boy snap "Here's your damn monster
back," and stomp back out of the room where Laura
had been playing.
Before Theo could storm downstairs, Doggett
grabbed his shoulder. "Watch your mouth, else
I'll be havin' words with your Mama," he used
that infamous tone of voice to make sure the boy
knew there was going to be no tolerance for his
bratty behavior.
"Okay, fine."
"I mean it," Doggett let him go. But he called
after him, "And you shouldn't hit little girls
either, Theo."
"I di-" Theo started to protest, then gave up.
As Theo sulkily went back down stairs, Doggett
went to check on Laura.
Laura was sitting on the edge of Chris' old bed,
smoothing down the fake blue fur of the creature
Doggett gave her for Christmas. Politely ignoring
the tear streaks down her pink cheeks, he sat
down and said "I don't think he'll be bothering
you anymore, baby."
Laura looked up at him. "Didja yell at him?"
"I always yell at bullies," Doggett said with a
faint smile.
Always had. Always will.
"Someday, I'm gonna kick his butt by myself,"
Laura said hotly. "I'm gonna ask Mama if I can
take karate lessons or-or-or boxing or wrestlin'
or somethin' instead of dumb ballet lessons next
year." She hugged her toy closer to her. "Or
maybe I can do both... Uncle John?"
"What sweetheart?"
"Do I have to go to Uncle Parker's funeral?"
Oh boy. From boxing and ballet lessons straight
to life-and-death questions. No neat segues.
"Well, I think that's something you need to ask
your Mama and Daddy, Laura."
"But maybe if you told them I didn't wanna go,"
she looked up at him hopefully.
"Honey, why don't you wanna tell them yourself?"
"'Cause," her eyes dropped guiltily down.
"'Cause why baby?"
"'Cause... I'm scared," she admitted.
"About what?"
"Ghosts," she whispered. "I'm scared of seein'
Uncle Park's ghost."
Doggett opened his mouth to tell her there was no
such thing as ghosts. Then closed it. Thought for
a minute. Then, slowly said, "Can I ask ya
something honey?"
"Okay..."
"Did Uncle Parker ever do anything to hurt you or
scare you when he was still with us?"
"No..."
"Then why would his ghost do anything to hurt you
or scare you?"
"I don't know... I just thought ghosts were bad."
"But Uncle Park wasn't a bad person, baby, so I
don't think his ghost would be bad either." I
can't believe I'm havin' this conversation
Doggett stifled a sigh. Reyes or Mulder have done
a better job explaining the mysteries of the
afterlife.
"So... is a ghost kinda like a soul then?"
That worked. "Kinda." While Laura pondered this,
Doggett asked her, "Besides honey, if you're not
scared of monsters, why would you be scared of
ghosts?"
Her round little face produced a big smile. "Oh
Uncle John," she chided him. "I'm not scared of
monsters 'cause there's no such thing as
monsters."
"Oh..." Doggett kept his face perfectly straight.
"Speakin' of monsters do you like...uh... what I
gave ya?" He reached out to pat the big blue
cuddly plush toy from the Disney movie "Monsters
Inc."
"Oh yes!" Laura hugged Sulley closer to her.
"It's my favoritest Christmas present." Then she
whispered. "But don't tell Mama 'cause I don't
wanna hurt her feelings."
"It will be our secret," Doggett said solemnly.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She spit in her hand and held it out to him. "To
make sure," she said as he grimaced.
Reluctantly, he followed suit and they shook
hands. As Doggett wiped his palm on his jeans,
Laura wiped hers on the bedspread. "Can you set
up the DVD player in Grandpa's office so we can
watch a movie?"
"Sure," he said, getting up. "Let's go, kiddo."
Laura slid off the bed, clutching Sulley with one
hand and her uncle's hand with her other.
Later that night...
As the dishwasher began to whir, the last guest
finally left the house. "Chris, don't worry 'bout
the clean-up," Mrs. Doggett said, swallowing a
yawn. "We can do that in the morning before the
funeral."
"It's okay Mama," Chris said. "I don't mind."
"Me neither," Doggett said softly as he entered
the kitchen. "Go up to bed, Mama. Please."
Mrs. Doggett looked at her two youngest children
and shook her head with a half-smile. "Guess I'm
outnumbered," she said, drying her soapy hands
with a pink dishtowel. Relinquishing the dishes
to her daughter, she said, "Good night."
Brother and sister murmured good night as Mrs.
Doggett went upstairs.
As Chris scrubbed the pans that wouldn't fit in
the dishwasher, Doggett said, "I'm gonna go
straighten up the livin' room... unless there's
something you need done in here?"
She shook her head. "I've got the kitchen under
control. It's the rest of the house that's
scary."
"I've seen scarier," Doggett said dryly. "Trust
me."
"Thank you for dealing with Theo today," Chris
said softly before Doggett left. "And for talking
to her about Park."
"Been eavesdroppin' again?"
She squirmed. When they were much younger,
Stevie, John and Melanie had always ganged up on
Chris for listening in on conversations that had
nothing to do with her. "Well... kinda... but
thank you." Then she grinned. "Even though I'm
going to cry all night now because she likes your
Christmas present better'n mine."
Doggett grinned back at her and left to repair
the wreckage left behind the Mistletoe Monsoon.
As he picked up scraps of wrapping paper, golden
bows and strands of tinsel off the floor, he
discovered Melanie seated at the couch.
"How can you see in here?" he asked her.
"It's peaceful here," she said. "In the dark."
She patted the couch cushion next to her. "Come
sit with me."
Doggett put the tattered remains of silver bows
and red and white tissue paper and put them on a
pile on an in-table next to an overstuffed chair.
He walked over to the couch and as sat down by
her, Melanie asked "Where's Mama?"
"Told her to go to bed. Chris is pickin' up the
kitchen... don't know where Stevie ran off
too..." and I don't care Doggett added to
himself bitterly. "What 'bout you? How come
you're still up? I thought you would have crashed
a long time ago."
"I could say the same for you," she said lightly.
"Ah, I'll be okay," Doggett lied. "Whatta 'bout
you? How are you doin'?" His face was crinkled
with concern.
Melanie shifted a little, turned to look out the
window. "I'm fine," she said softly. She frowned,
thinking about her answer. "I'll be fine. It's
still... I mean..." she shook her head. "I just
KNEW I was right... but still, to hear the
truth... but... at least... I know."
Doggett felt a slight surge of unreasonable
jealousy. Before the surge could cause a short
circuit, Melanie added in an even softer voice,
"And I can't imagine what you must feel what
happened with your son. After what you did for me
and Parker... I wish... I wish I knew... the
right way to..." Melanie folded her lips,
struggling for the right words.
"You can't," Doggett said quietly. "I wouldn't
let you."
Melanie closed her eyes. Doggett was afraid she
was going to burst into tears again. Although her
voice cracked a little, she did not weep. "You
are so Got-damned stubborn," she croaked out.
"Runs in the family," he replied, taking her
hand. "You know," he scolded her gently. "You
scared the shit outta me. When we all still
thought that Park had AIDS. We thought... I
thought... that you coulda had been HIV positive
too."
"Oh," she reddened a bit. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I
didn't even think. I was so wrapped up with
Parker, I didn't even think to tell anyone that I
was okay." She gripped his hand tighter. "And I'm
going to be okay. I think tomorrow is going to be
the worse part. When I actually have to say
goodbye."
"I hate funerals," Doggett said bluntly.
That's why Luke's ashes were still on a shelf in
his closet.
Melanie stayed silent after his last remark. She
waited for Doggett to break the silence.
"Mellie, you've got to be prepared for the damn
media tomorrow."
"Why?"
"There are gonna be photographers and TV crews.
All whoring for a shot of the widow payin' her
last respects to the first known victim of Doctor
Death." He shuddered at the new nickname Delilah
had earned for herself. "It's gonna be ugly
Mellie. And there's not a damned thing I can do
'bout it. They're gonna be on this like stink on
shit."
Melanie made a tut-tut-tutting noise with her
tongue. "Now where did you learn how to cuss like
that, John Jay Doggett?"
"New York," he said oh-so-innocently.
"Damn Yankees," she giggled a little. "And
speakin' of Yankees..." She got up and crossed
over to the Christmas, so forlorn now without the
massive piles of Christmas presents surrounding
it. She got on her hands and knees and reached
behind the plastic tree trunk. Smoothing her long
denim skirt out, she stood up, holding a small
box, wrapped in cheap red and green wrapping
paper. "I got your partner something. I wanted to
get it to you to give to her before I forgot."
She sat down on the couch again. "I hope she
likes it. I kind of had to go off on a wing and a
prayer for her. Wasn't exactly sure what kind of
things she likes."
She handed him the gift. Doggett smiled, holding
the package carefully, as if it contained
frankincense, gold and myrrh. "That was nice of
you, Mel. And she'll like it." He added, "Else
I'll kick her ass."
"I would," Melanie drawled, "put my money on her
rather you."
"I'm bigger'n her though," Doggett whined in a
wounded voice.
"She'd play dirty though."
"Yeah, she'd kick me below the belt and run."
"No," Melanie said. "She'd tell you how much she
cares 'bout you and you'd just melt away."
Confident that her little brother's ears were
bright pink, she stood up and said. "I need to
get to bed. And don't worry so much 'bout me,
Johnny," she smoothed his hair. "I'm going to be
fine. And I'm not scared 'bout the media. Let 'em
come. Let 'em show Savannah what Delilah did to
me and my family," she said bravely. Her smile
trembled. "Thank you for believing me, Johnny,"
she told him. "You were the only one. I was so
afraid you wouldn't. That you would be like
everyone else."
"I was afraid I wouldn't believe you either,
sis," Doggett admitted. "But... I just knew... no
matter how much my common sense disputed it... I
just knew..."
"Knew what?"
"That the truth was out there."
Melanie leaned over and hugged him. "Merry
Christmas, Johnny," she whispered fiercely.
Doggett kissed her cheek and hugged her back just
as tightly. "Merry Christmas sis."
December 26, 2002
Bonaventure Cemetery
330 Bonaventure Road
Savannah Georgia
11:23 AM Eastern Standard Time
Doggett never read the book, but he saw the movie
and in his opinion, the only thing "Midnight in
the Garden of Good and Evil" got right was the
cemetery. Centennial oak trees, timeless Spanish
moss and quirky headstones here and there. Johnny
Mercer and Conrad Aiken. And the gracious
Stranger's Tomb. The infamous "Bird Girl" statue,
harassed by hordes of tourists, clutching their
paperbacks with her image embossed on the cover,
was now absent. Protected by glass walls,
fluorescent lights and rent-a-cop security guards
at a museum.
Doggett sat perfectly still, as if the metal
fold-out chairs were the most comfortable things
in the world to be sitting on. He pretended to be
listening to the minister reading Psalm 23 while
staring straight ahead at the polished oak
casket. The box carrying Parker Davis' remains
were awash with the flowers of the South.
Jasmine. Magnolia. Amaryllis. Hydrangeas and day
lilies.
Mr. and Mrs. Davis sat in the first two seats.
Mrs. Davis, in a God-awful black straw hat, kept
her face buried in a white handkerchief as her
husband held his arm stiffly over her shoulders.
His face, a mix of horror, grief and disbelief.
Doggett emphasized with the man completely.
A parent is never supposed to outlive the child,
no matter how old the child may be.

Next to Mrs. Davis, sat Melanie. Her short brown
hair had been lightly ruffled by the morning's
breeze. In one hand, she clutched the impromptu
bouquet of flowers someone well-meaning plucked
off the coffin and gave to her. In her other
hand, she clutched her brother's hand. He gently
squeezed it as the minister continued to read and
she turned her head to smile at him.
On the other side of Doggett was his mother. Who,
as if they were still rotten children prone to
misbehaving in church, sat between him and his
brother. Stevie, in a cheap suit he bought back
in the early Eighties, stared at the ground. Mrs.
Doggett kept her head facing the minister, but
her sharp aquamarine eyes kept flicking back and
forth between her two sons.
Doggett heard a sniffle behind him. Chris and
Mike were sitting behind them. Laura was sitting
in between her parents, in a grown-up dress,
trying not to cry. Doggett heard his other sister
whisper to her, "Baby, it's okay to feel sad.
That's why we're here. We're all sad about what
happened to Uncle Park."
Then Doggett heard the sniffle turn into full-
force little-girl sobbing and the whisper of
fabric moving as Chris put her arms around her
daughter.
With the exception of Park's sister Melinda, aka
"His" Mel, Doggett really didn't know anyone else
at the funeral.
The media had indeed surrounded the church but by
some tactic understanding, mercifully did not
follow the family and friends into Bonaventure
Cemetery.
"Yay, though I walk in the valley of the Shadow
of Death
I fear no evil; for You are at my side..."
Perhaps the spirits of the dearly departed from
long ago kept them at bay.
The minister closed his Bible and said the trite,
useless remarks expected at funerals. The
minister's words went in Doggett's ear and out
the other.
"... and before we lay our beloved Parker Davis
to his final rest, as requested, one final
song..."
Doggett cringed. He didn't think he could handle
one more badly sung hymn. Behind him, Laura
continued to whimper.
The minister nodded at one of Parker's relations.
He turned on the little boom box he brought with
him and turned the volume up.
Melanie bowed her head when her wedding song
began to play. Only then did she start to cry
softly. Doggett put his arms around her and
rocked her slightly. She dropped her makeshift
bouquet to the ground, never to be picked up
again. Later, it would be crushed under the feet
of the men who would commit Parker to the earth.
"The sun and moon every day
Day and night mark my play
See the future in the past
Try to change or make it last
Go for broke don't regret
Get your hands dirty get you feet wet
Take your place use me well
I'm in your hands so make me tell
A broken dream seems unkind
But I can help for I am time
I can heal you
It's not a matter of slight
Only of sound
Let me... feel for you
Feel for yourself
The love all around
I can... lead you
Is you soul afraid
Of what you've made
Do you know the way
the spirit goes
All around on the wind
Distant whispers of what I bring
In the day in the night
Locked in the words of lovers delight
If I'm lost or mislaid
Just keep looking don't be afraid
In the eye on the mind
I'm everything and yours to find
I'm not far just discover
I'm in you for I am love
I can heal you
It's not a matter of slight
Only of sound
Let me... feel for you
Feel for yourself
The love all around
I can... lead you
Is you soul afraid
Of what you've made
Do you know the way
the spirit goes..."
Later...
Melanie stood at the coffin, arms crossed
tightly. Doggett stayed seated in his chair,
watching his sister. There almost no one left.
"Melanie?"
Doggett and Melanie turned their heads to look at
their mother. Stevie stood by her side like an
angry underpaid bodyguard.
"Yes Mama?" Melanie replied, turning to look at
the coffin again.
"It's time," Mrs. Doggett said firmly yet gently.
Melanie nodded. Inhaled. Closed her eyes. Reached
out to touch the casket one last time. Feeling
the polished wood and the prickly greenery
surrounding the flowers. She bent over and
whispered something that only Parker would be
able to hear. Then she straightened herself up
and walked over to her mother and other brother.
"Are you gonna ride with us, Mama?" Melanie asked
as she took another Kleenex out of her purse to
dab her eyes.
Doggett got off his chair and joined his family.
"No," Mrs. Doggett told her. "I'm going to ride
with John." When Stevie frowned, Mrs. Doggett,
tiny, frail and gray-haired, glared at her oldest
child and snapped "You take care of your sister
now."
"Yes'm," Stevie said sullenly as he took Melanie
by the arm. Melanie politely shrugged him off,
but walked with him to the waiting funeral limo.
She knew damn well her mother wanted to have a
private word with John and this was probably
going to be the only opportunity for her to do
so.
Mother and son stood, surrounded by statues of
beautiful marble women leaning on crosses, tall
shady trees and uncomfortable silence.
"Walk with me for a bit," Mrs. Doggett said.
Doggett grinned. It wasn't a request. "Now what
did I do?" he quipped, walking closer to her. He
crooked his arm and felt his mother's hand
gripping the crook of his elbow. He was surprised
that she actually needed his support walking. He
always thought of her as invincible.
Well, her body may be weakening, but not her
mind.
"First of all, I should wash your mouth out with
soap for using such filthy language in my house."
"Knew that I wasn't going last long about that
one," Doggett sighed.
"And I'm proud of you," she added quietly.
Doggett looked down at her, completely surprised
at the sentiment.
As Doggett wrestled within himself for the right
response, his mother stumbled a little on a stone
she did not see. "Careful, Mama," Doggett said as
he steadied her.
"I'm fine," she assured him. "It's you I worry
about."
Here we go Doggett thought dismally. "Don't.
I'm fine."
"I'm your mother," she reminded him primly. "It's
in the job description."
"Mama, please," he groaned. "Don't worry over me.
Okay? It's Melanie who needs it. I'm okay."
"Worryin' is like lovin'. It can multiply so that
there is plenty to go around," Mrs. Doggett
replied. "I'll have plenty of concern and care to
give to Melanie and still have enough to give to
you and Chris and Stevie." With an aggravated
sigh, she added. "John, you're a grown man, I'm
not telling you how to run your life. I just
worry. I think the last few years have really
taken a lot of the spirit out of you and I just
hate to see that."
"Work takes a lot outta me right now," Doggett
admitted. "I'm... I'm just really tired, Mama."
"You should go home," she said, nodding her head.
"Yeah, we're almost to the car."
"No," she said quietly. "I mean you should go
home to Washington. Tonight."
"You don't want me here anymore?" Doggett asked,
subdued.
Hearing the hurt in his voice, she rushed to
placate him. "I would love it if you came back to
Savannah... I would love if even if you came back
to Atlanta or Macon or... but... **I** would love
it. And Melanie and Chris would love it." She
tactfully did not mention Stevie. She said
instead: "You wouldn't. You would not be happy
livin' here. Your life is in DC with your job and
your friends... I met that lady you work with.
Miss Starkweather?"
"It's Mrs. Starkweather," Doggett flatly
corrected her.
"Mrs. Starkweather," Mrs. Doggett corrected
herself. "Little thing like her? An FBI agent?
Just like you?"
"Uh-huh," Doggett nodded his head, "She may be
little… but she kicks a— she's a fighter, Mama."
"I figured on that. I count on that." She said
softly, for once swallowing the urge to reprimand
her son's foul mouth.
"How does her husband feel about that?"
"He didn't like it much."
"Past tense, son?"
"He's dead, Mama. He was killed in a drive-by
shooting a few weeks ago." Recalling a fragment
from his haunted dreams, he added. "He was in the
wrong place at the wrong time."
"I see," Mrs. Doggett said. "She seems to be
holding up well." When Doggett snorted, she asked
"You don't believe her?"
"I dunno..." Doggett mumbled. "She really hasn't
talked to me much about it. What happened."
"I see," Mrs. Doggett repeated herself. "She is
taking some time off of work though, isn't she?"
"They've granted her a bereavement leave."
"So that's how she was able to come from
Washington to Savannah on a spur of moment
notice."
"I didn't ask her to come down..."
"But she did."
"Well... yeah..."
"She must have been extremely concerned about you
to come here."
"She's my partner. We watch out for each other.
We have too. Someday, my life may depend on her
and vice versa." When Mrs. Doggett looked up at
him, her eyebrows rising in question, he added.
"And we're friends. We do stuff for each other...
underneath all the... she's a nice girl and she
was just checkin' up on me."
"Then don't you think you should extend that same
courtesy to her and go back to Washington to see
how she is?"
Doggett knew he lost this argument. Still, his
loyalty dictated that he persist. "What about you
and Melanie?"
"There's still phone lines and mail service to
and from Washington and Savannah, isn't there?"
Mrs. Doggett pointed out to him. "Plus, Laura has
asked me several times to let her teach me how to
work this Internet-thing, so maybe once I get it
figured out, I can start sending you B-mails."
"E-mail, Mama," Doggett corrected, forcing
himself to keep his face straight.
"Whatever," Mrs. Doggett grumbled. "John, for
some of us, Savannah is home and we'll never
leave. For the rest, it's a wonderful place to
visit. And you need to visit more," she scolded
him. "Lots more. But you also need to go home."
Another fragment of a dream wormed its way up
from his subconscious to the front of his mind:
**"And I never lost any sleep over it John... You
might as well go... You belong out there, not
here. You don't want to be in here anyway, I can
see it in your eyes, son. You're dyin' to get out
of here. You're dyin' to run away again."**
"It just feels like I'm runnin' away again and
leaving y'all when you need me," Doggett
admitted, embarrassed at how arrogant and how
weak he managed to sound all at the same time.
Mrs. Doggett looked at him sternly. "What about
that girl, your partner up in Washington? Are you
just going to forget about her or are you going
to master bein' in two places at once?" She
softened her voice. "If we need you to come back,
we will call. I want you to be happy John. That's
all I ever wanted for my children. Son, do you
know why I'm so proud of you? Especially today?"
Doggett didn't trust himself to speak so he only
shook his head.
"Because you always do what's right, even when
it's not easy. And it would be easy for you to
stay in Savannah... but it wouldn't be right. You
need to get home. You need to visit us more
often, but you need to go home now. Back up to
your friend."
"Because she needs me," Doggett sighed, feeling
another burden being added onto his shoulders.
"No," Mrs. Doggett shook her head. "Because you
need her."

Later on...
En route to Savannah/Hilton Head International
Airport
6:35 PM Eastern Standard Time
Mrs. Doggett had prepared a light, early supper
so Doggett could eat something before flying back
to DC.
"It's a miracle I got a flight from Savannah to
DC last minute," Doggett commented as he watched
the low country zip by as Melanie maneuvered her
aged Blazer through traffic. "There were no
flights to Savannah left from Dulles or Ronald
Reagan when I was trying to come down here."
"I was wonderin' why you flew into Atlanta,"
Melanie murmured as she merged into interstate
traffic.
"Yeah, but I get to fly to Chicago first, then
Boston, then DC," he grumbled. "And I have to
switch flights at O'Hare."
"Hope you aren't attached to you luggage,"
Melanie quipped.
"Shit, I just hope they don't make me take off my
shoes again."
"What?"
"Never mind." Doggett looked at Melanie and
blurted out. "Are you okay with me goin' home? I
can stay, nobody is expectin' me back in DC until
after the New Yea-"
"John," Melanie cut him off kindly. "It's okay.
Really. Chris and Mike hafta go back to work
tomorrow. I'm gonna be busy with the lawyers with
the lawsuits and all..." she sighed.
Most of the afternoon had been spent discussing
whether or not Melanie should launch a civil suit
against Dr. Kullervo and the hospital. Melanie
had no qualms about suing Dr. Kullervo but was
unsure about suing the hospital as well.
It was Chris' husband that had tipped the scales.
"Look, Melanie," Mike had told her. "Kullervo,
you're not gonna see a dime from that bitch.
She'll claim insanity or keep appealing or
something. The hospital... well, they'll probably
settle outta court just to keep the scandal to a
minimum. And face it Mel, you've got to be
practical. You've got bills to pay and half of
your income is gone. I don't mean to be
disrespectful, but you have to be able to take
care of yourself. I don't want to see you lose
your house and your car and everything else.
Losin' Park because of that bitch was enough."
So Melanie agreed to file suit against the
hospital as well. "After all, Mel," Doggett had
told her, "the investigation is just startin'. If
Tiffleton was in on it, who knows who else was
helpin' her kill these people. Whether the Senior
Staff and Administration likes it or not, they're
responsible for Parker's death too. And the
others."
The death toll by Dr. Kullervo's hand was now up
to nine people.
Melanie was still talking, "... so that would
leave just you and Stevie and Mama and I think
Mama's tired of playin' referee 'tween you two."
"Well, when Stevie grows the f*ck up, then Mama
won't hafta be the ref anymore," Doggett snapped.
"Johnny, you know he's just jealous because you
left and he got stuck bein' Daddy's whippin' boy
for the rest of his life."
"That's his fuckin' decision. To stay in
Savannah. Not my fault."
Melanie shook her head. "It's never gonna be good
between you two, is it?"
Doggett folded his lips. There were still some
secrets he kept. Even from Melanie. "No."
Melanie sighed and gave up on that topic. But she
had a sinking feeling that the bitterness between
the brothers would not abate. That it would have
to erupt and burn everything and everyone in it's
path before either one of them could achieve
resolution.
And absolution.
For now, she left the topic of Stephen and John
severely alone. What will come will come. There
was no point in begging for trouble.
"Speakin' of movin'," she said, tactfully
changing the subject. "Could I ask you something?
And be honest."
"Sure."
"I am forty-three years old," she said quietly,
concentrating on the road. "Parker and I got
married when he was eighteen and I was nineteen.
And, with the exception of the occasional
vacation to Florida or up to New York to visit
you when you were still livin' there, I have
never left Georgia."
She took a quivery breath. "Every thing 'bout
Savannah reminds me Park. I love him, we had a
happy life. But it hurts so bad. Bein' here
without him. And now knowing that..." she gulped.
"I know I'll forgive Delilah eventually. But not
now. It's too hard, it's too new to forgive right
now..."
Only Melanie could talk about forgiveness. Her
husband was killed and she had to be convinced to
sue the hospital. Doggett's son was killed and
Doggett wanted vindication. Almost a decade
later, he still longed for that. An eye for an
eye. A death for a death.
"I just... I don't want to be in Savannah
anymore. I don't want to stay here. I love this
city. I don't wanna start hatin' it because I am
alone in it. Chris and Mike may be moving back to
Atlanta in a year or two, his boss is making
noises about a promotion and transfer. And if
that happens... well, Mama's gettin' 'long in
years, she's been talkin' about sellin' the house
and movin' in with her sister in Atlanta..." she
snickered. "Which means Stevie would be out on
his butt..."
"Poor baby," Doggett said without a trace of
sympathy.
"So if Mike and Chris move, Mama probably will
too..." Melanie concentrated on the road. They
were nearing the airport. "So what I wanted to
ask... do you... do you think I would like
Washington DC?" she asked hopefully.
"You would hate DC," Doggett told her truthfully.
"But you would love Falls Church."

Just outside of Savannah/Hilton Head
International Airport
7:15 PM Eastern Standard Time
"Got everything?" Melanie asked him before she
sat the car door.
"If not, Mama'll send it to me," Doggett said,
clutching his suitcase and briefcase. "I better
hurry up so I can stand in line for two hours,"
he said as Melanie walked closer to him. He put
his bags down so his arms could be free for the
bear hug she was going to give him.
"Take care of yourself, Mellie," Doggett told
her.
"You too," she replied. "Don't stay away from
home so long next time, Johnny. Especially since
there might not be any of left in Savannah for
you to come home to."
"I'll visit when I can," Doggett promised. "You
know I'm at the mercy of the Bureau and the X-
Files, but when I can, I'll come. And if you're
serious... 'bout movin' to DC..."
"I'll let you know. It won't be tomorrow or
anything. It probably wouldn't even be six
months. I'd have to sell the house, find a job.
Plus with startin' up the lawsuit... but I'll let
you know. I'll need somebody to carry all the
heavy shit."
"Gee, thanks."
"You're stallin'," Melanie admonished her
brother.
"You know how **cold** it is in DC??"
"You didn't mention anything about cold..."
"If you move to DC, you may wanna invest in
mittens."
"Mittens? What are those?" she teased him.
"Call me if you need anything," he told her. "Or
even if you don't."
One last hug, then Doggett picked up his suitcase
and briefcase. "'Bye sis," he told her, kissing
her cheek, then making himself walk away.
Melanie hugged herself as she watched her
"little" brother disappear into the airport. She
closed her eyes and felt fat tears slowly begin
to trickle down her cheeks. "'Bye Johnny," she
whispered.
With his all of his careers, soldier, police
officer and now federal agent, she was always
scared that every time she saw him, was going to
be the last. She sometimes had nightmares of
getting that dreaded phone call: "Melanie... it's
Mama... you need to come over... something's
happened to John..."
How bitterly ironic it was the man she had taken
for granted, had assumed she was going to grow
old with was the one taken away.
And yet, he was with her still.
In the spirit, anyway.
Epilogue…
December 27, 2001
Washington DC
4:45 PM Eastern Standard Time
Doggett maneuvered his truck through the slushy
streets. Spoiled by Savannah's wonderful weather,
he shivered as he turned the heat up another
notch. No ocean breezes or jasmine here. Only icy
winds, gray streets and national monuments.
Testimonies to man's illusion of greatness.
Drumming his fingers along with the radio on his
steering wheel, he slowed his truck down as
Pennsylvania Avenue melded into Washington DC
Residential. Humming along to the song without
even realizing it.
"I go out walkin after midnight,
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do,
I'm always walkin after midnight searchin for
you..."
I'm just gonna stop in quick, give 'er her
present, make sure she's okay and go home he
told himself. No big deal. I won't stay
long... He peered through his windshield.
"What'n the hel- oh, Christ, almighty..." he
grumbled, slowing his truck down even more for
the blond woman in a dorky stocking cap, a block
ahead of him.
"...I go out walkin after midnight,
Out in the moonlight, just hopin you may be
Somewhere a-walkin after midnight searchin for
me!"
She looked like a pack mule as she trudged
through the snow toting her big black knapsack on
her back. Doggett had recognized the knapsack
before he recognized her. When the weather was
nice enough to take the motorcycle to work, she
carried the knapsack instead of her briefcase.
"... Today's Best County, 98.7 WMZQ," the way too
happy afternoon drive time personality chirped.
"And by request, that was a classic from the
great Patsy Cline, 'Walkin' After Midnight. More
great country on the wa-" Doggett clicked off the
radio as he rolled the truck to a stop. Hitting
the down button on the power windows, he called
out "What'n the hell are you doing?????"
Starkweather jumped, her FBI trained hand
instinctively moving to the inside of her coat.
"Jesus God, Doggett! Don't sneak up on me like
that!"
"I'm in a big blue Dodge Ram, how can I sneak up
on you? And that doesn't answer my question what
the hell you're doin' walkin' in the snow at this
time of day," he glared at her as she put her
hands to her mouth, blowing on them. "And where
are your gloves??"
"I lost them," she said nonchalantly. "So are you
gonna yell at me until I freeze or are you gonna
give me a ride home?"
"Get in," he leaned over to open the truck door
for her.
Starkweather slung off her backpack and tossed it
inside the nice warm truck. As she struggled to
pull herself up, she griped "This Monster Truck
is not friendly to short people!" Doggett held
out his hand and helped her inside. She rubbed
her purpling hands together and held them to the
heater vents.
"Put your seatbelt on," Doggett told her as he
put the truck into drive again.
"Yes Dad," Starkweather said obediently as she
buckled up. "So what are you doing back in DC? I
thought you said you were stayin' until after the
New Year?"
"Change of plans," Doggett told her. "What about
you? What possess you to walk out in weather like
this?"
"It's thirty degrees."
"Below zero."
"Wuss." She pulled off her stocking cap. Strands
of her blond hair stood up erratically, frazzled
by static electricity. Smoothing her hair she
added, "Besides, it's not like I ran a marathon.
I just walked to the Walgreen's that's like a
block away. I was running out of some stuff like
milk and cat food and I didn't want to do real
grocery shopping since I'm moving in a day or
two. Plus the car is making this interesting
thumping noise under the hood so y'know, I
thought I'd just take a brisk walk."
"Are you nuts?"
"No, I'm Jerilyn Starkweather."
"Pain in the ass."
"So what brings you to MY part of town, Special
Agent Doggett?" Starkweather leaned back in her
seat, her wicked eyes sparkling.
"I just happened to be passin' through," Doggett
said innocently.
Starkweather lifted her feet. "It's getting deep
in here."
"And I wanted to tell you 'bout what happened
with my brother-in-law Parker," he added on a
somber note.
She nodded and put her feet down. "Yeah. I heard
part of it on the news. But considering the fact
that my ass is probably going to get hauled in to
testify, I'd like some more details."

A little later
Jerilyn Starkweather's apartment
"Damn," Doggett said, looking at the neat stacks
of boxes. "Looks like you're ready to go."
"Yeah," Starkweather said, shrugging off her coat
and laying it on another stack of boxes next to
the armchair. "This is what I get to be doing on
New Year's Eve. Lucky me."
Doggett noticed a cardboard box filled with
opened Christmas presents. "So was Santa good to
you?" he said, being a snoop and poking around
the box.
"I told you the fat old bastard skipped my house
this year. Those are all from Mulder and Scully
and the Lone Gunmen."
Doggett held up a t-shirt that said "UFOS Exist.
The Air Force is Fake" and drawled "Ya don't
say?"
"Yeah, take a wild guess who THAT was from," she
rolled her eyes. Then she grinned like a naughty
little kid. "But... huh, funny. He didn't really
like the shirt I gave him."
"Which was?"
"It had a picture of President Nixon and Elvis on
the front with the caption 'We're Dead'
underneath. On the back, it said 'Really really
dead'." She disappeared into the kitchen.
"Kittykittykittykittykitty!" she called out.
Caesar Dictator, like the autocrat his namesake
was, leapt off a tower of boxes onto the coffee
table. He licked one paw, looked up, saw Doggett,
hissed at him, tail twitching.
"You even think of bitin' me..." Doggett growled.
"Be nice to my cat."
"I AM bein' nice to your cat," Doggett retorted,
still glaring at the tabby cat as he took his
coat off.
Caesar lifted his tail and daintily leapt off the
table and pranced to the kitchen. Doggett heard
the whir of a can opened. Heard her being
sickeningly sweet to the Spawn of Satan. "Hey,
there's my kitten-critter! Hi baby! Worship me, I
went out in the snow to get you canned cat food.
Who's your mama?"
He reached into his coat pocket and took out the
gift Melanie got for Starkweather. He was holding
it when Starkweather came out of the kitchen. "So
anyway, what happened wit-" Her eyes widened and
then narrowed when she saw the present. "I could
choke you right now," she fumed. "We agreed we
weren't going to buy pres-"
"This isn't from me," Doggett told her, holding
it out to her. "It's from my sister, Melanie."
"Oh," Starkweather said sheepishly, accepting the
gift. "I knew that."
"Uh-huh."
"She didn't have to get me anything,"
Starkweather said, tearing open the tissue paper
and opening the box. As she pulled out Bushy, the
yellow and orange too-cute-for-words Beanie Baby,
Starkweather mumbled, "She REALLY didn't have to
get me anything..."
Doggett shook with suppressed laughter as he
watched Starkweather struggling to be nice about
Melanie's gift. "She said she wasn't sure what to
get you," he managed to get out. "I had no idea
she was getting you something."
"It's... cute."
"Doc, if you don't like it, it's okay. I'm not
gonna tell her."
"Well, he does kind of look like Caesar. With the
orange and yellow and all..." She looked at the
little toy again and then up at Doggett. "I just
don't get Beanie Babies. They're bean bags with
feet and faces." She looked at it again. "I'll
have to find a good place to put this so Caesar
doesn't tear it apart. I have a shadowbox. When I
unpack it, I'll stick this guy in there.
Hopefully, Mr. Destruction won't be able to get
his paws on it." She looked up at Doggett again.
"Tell her thank you. This was really nice of
her."
"Okay."
"How is she doing?"
"Best she can under the circumstances."
"I like her," Starkweather said, looking down at
the toy again. "She's a nice person." She looked
up at Doggett with a fey grin. "And stubborn as a
mule."
"Hm. Pot, kettle, black...?"
"Oh shut up," Starkweather shook her head and
turned her back to open a box on the overstuffed
chair to put the stuffed lion inside. As she was
doing so, Doggett pulled out a slender CD jewel
case, wrapped in garish holiday wrapping, from
his back jean pocket and set it quickly on the
coffee table. He assumed his innocent face as
Starkweather turned around again. "So," she said,
pushing her long untethered hair out of her face.
"Tell me ab-" her hazel eyes flicked down to the
red and green package sitting on her coffee
table. "You son-of-a-bitch," she scowled.
"Aren't you gonna open it?"
"Tell me," she groaned as she leaned down to pick
up the present. "Why I'm not killing you now?"
When Doggett chuckled, she snarled. "I'm serious!
I thought we said no presents."
"A," Doggett pointed out to her. "YOU said no
presents. B, you said no BUYING each other
presents. And I didn't buy that," he said as
Starkweather removed the wrapping paper and
opened the CD jewel case. "I downloaded it from
the Internet."
"You bought the CD-R though," Starkweather said
sweetly.
"No I didn't," Doggett retorted just as sweet.
"Where did you get it, then?"
"Stole it from my brother."
Starkweather's mouth dropped open. Then she
covered it with her hand. "Oh my God," she said
and started to laugh.
It was the first real laugh he heard from her in
a long time.
"Wow," Starkweather said, "I'm special. A two-CD
set," She pulled on of the CDs out and read the
label out loud. "'Loud and Angry Music'," then
the label of the CD still inside the case. "'Not
so Loud and Angry Music.' Nice... real nice."
"Thought you'd like that," Doggett said.
"Well, at least I didn't pack the stereo yet,
that's tomorrow's job." She turned and maneuvered
around the boxes to the entertainment center.
Opening the glass door, she turned the CD player
on. As she slipped the 'Not so Loud and Angry
Music' CD in, she said, "You know, this really
makes me look bad.
"Why?"
"Because I really didn't get you anything."
"I wasn't expectin' anything."
"Doing anything tonight?"
"Um... no..."
"Good. Because I'm buying dinner. So sit down and
make yourself comfortable."
"Aw, Doc, you don't have to-"
"Sit."
Doggett sat down on the sofa.
Starkweather looked over her shoulder. "You are
trainable," she purred as she hit play.
"Kiss my ass."
"Chinese, Mexican or pizza?" she asked, reaching
for the cell phone that hung on her belt clip.
"Can we get pizza with thick crust?"
"I don't like thick crust," she whined.
"Okay, fine. Chinese."
Starkweather smiled as she hit one of her speed
dial buttons. "Dominos? Yeah, hi, I'd like to
order a large, THICK," she paused long enough to
stick out her tongue at her partner, "crust pizza
for delivery... toppings??? Oh shit, you had to
complicate things didn't you..."

Later that night...
"Caesar, no," Starkweather said, pushing the
inquisitive cat away from the pizza box. "Shoo."
As Starkweather closed the pizza box lid and put
two empty beer bottles on top of it, Caesar
flattened his ears and skulked off. Picking up
her half-full, still cold beer bottle, she leaned
back into the couch. Resting her cheek against
the cushion, feet tucked underneath her, she
asked her partner, "So now what happens?"
"Well," Doggett took a swig of Bud Light before
continuing. "Melanie's gonna sue. Kullervo and
the hospital."
"How much?"
"Kullervo, as much as she's worth. The hospital,
only seventy-thousand."
"Why only that? She could get millions."
"She could, but she doesn't wanna deal with all
the bullshit to get it. And besides, Park, he
loved his job and was good at it, but he didn't
make that much. And you know she ain't gonna see
a dime from Kullervo. And the hospital will
probably agree to settle out of court for
somewhere in between forty and fifty. Even if she
gets forty, with the job she has now, forty will
take care of her for at least two years or until
she sells the house."
"Still..."
"Yeah, I know. It sucks. But... I think Mel
thinks it wouldn't be right to profit from Park's
death."
Starkweather shook her head. "Goddammit," she
said softly. "If we only knew earlier." She
released a ragged breath. Looked up at Doggett.
Frustrated, she said, "You know Kullervo's gonna
walk. I've been reading her medical history. Bi-
polar. Manic depressive. Bulimic. Self-esteem
issues. Emotionally abused. Plus she was self-
medicating herself for depression. She's gonna
claim temporary insanity and walk. Maybe the
judge will order her to an institution, but...
God, this pisses me off."
"I know... but at least her medical license is
gone."
"Crappy consolation prize. I'd rather see the
bitch locked up. Or drawn and quartered. Or
buried up to her neck in a pit of fire ants."
"Well, we'll see how her trial goes. Who knows,"
Doggett settled into the couch more and stretched
out his long legs. His eyelids felt heavy. He
felt very warm, very comfortable and slightly
drunk. I gotta be tired if the beer's hittin'
me this hard he thought I've only had...
three? I think... "Maybe hell'll freeze over
and she'll get jail time."
"That would be a nice change... I just... I
mean... Jiminy fucking Christmas, Doggett... WHY
didn't Melanie tell you Parker was sick sooner?"
In a tight voice, he said. "Because Parker told
her not to. Because he didn't wanna bother me."
"Bother you????"
"'Cause he started to get sick mid-September.
Right after-"
"Nine-eleven," Starkweather covered her face.
"Awwwwwwww fuck," she groaned, kicking the coffee
table leg in frustration. She dropped her hands.
"I'm sorry, Papa John," she said sincerely.
"S'ok, Doc. At least we know what happened. We've
got the truth now. And Delilah can't do this
bullshit to anyone else."
"I guess," Starkweather muttered as she leaned
down to scratch the returning Caesar's ears.
"Yeah... you're right. It's a good thing. And
it'll be best for Melanie in the long run. She's
been through a hell. She deserves closure."
"Speakin' of hell," Doggett said softly as
Starkweather picked up the cat and placed him in
her lap. "How are you doin'? And," he said,
interrupting her before she could speak. "Yes I'm
checkin' up on you. Deal with it."
"Like I have a choice," she said, absently
petting her cat. After thinking for a moment, she
asked quietly, "If I tell you I'm fine, you're
going to think I'm full of shit, right?"
"Right."
She tickled underneath Caesar's chin. Caesar
purred loudly as she spoke. "I miss him. For four
years, he was big part of my life. Granted, the
two years we were married sucked but... some
days, it feels weird. Like he's just working late
at the office. Or that he's visiting his parents
in Minnesota. Other days... like yesterday, he
was very very dead." Delicately, with her finger,
she stroked the bridge of Caesar's nose. "He
loved Christmas. That was his holiday. The first
Christmas we were married, we drove all around
Minneapolis and Saint Paul, looking at Christmas
lights. And it was snowing and we stopped at this
park and..." she smiled at the memory.
"We were acting so stupid. It was a kid's park so
we were running around the monkey bars and the
swings and going down this slide and we got into
a snowball fight and it was three in the God damn
morning and we both had to get up early but we
didn't care.... and it's that kind of stuff I
miss. Just the dumb stuff we used to together."
She smiled, remembering. "He wasn't always... he
was fun. He was spontaneous. And we liked so much
of the same stuff. Movies and music and books.
And cats," she petted Caesar again. "He got me
this monster instead of an engagement ring
because he couldn't afford a diamond at that
time. And he loved photography. One time, after
we were both done with our obligation to the Air
Guard for the weekend, he told me to get into the
car and we drove out to see the Bridges of
Madison County. And he took pictures and we had a
picnic and... I don't know, he and I used always
do shit like that before we got married. He was
like my best friend. You only saw the bad shit.
The shit that made me draw up those divorce
papers. You never saw when it was good between
us..."
Starkweather looked up at Doggett. "But the part
that gets me the most... is that... all the stuff
I miss about Ben..." she blinked a few times and
swallowed, pausing. Thinking. She started again
in a hushed voice. "All the things I miss about
Ben, I was missing while he was still alive." She
dropped her head. "Does that make any sense?"
"Yeah," he told her, scooting closer. "It does."
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Don't mean to... dump this
all on you."
"I asked."
"I should have said I was fine."
"And I would have said bullshit." Doggett reached
out to try and pet Caesar. Caesar swiped at him.
"Ow! Fucking cat," he grumbled, putting his
abused fingers in his mouth.
"Need a bandage?"
"No, but I need cat gut to string my violin."
"You don't play violin."
"I can learn..." he glared at the cat sitting
smugly in Starkweather's lap. Serious again, he
said. "And yeah... Ben was... um... Ben was...
uh..."
"A prick," Starkweather finished for him. "You
can say it."
"A prick," Doggett said. "But he had one
redeemin' trait you get to keep with you
forever."
"What's that?"
"He loved you," he said gently as she swiftly
looked down at her cat again. "I dunno... maybe
it's different with you and Ben... but that's
what gets me through sometimes when I think about
my son." Surprised, Starkweather looked up at
him, her eyes warmed to a golden brown color by
sympathy. He so rarely discussed his son with
anyone. "I mean... I dunno, maybe I'm bein'
stupid. Maybe I don't wanna let go. But... he
loved me. And nothin' can take that from me."
"I don't think that's stupid," she whispered,
closing her eyes to trap the tears. Eyes still
closed, she shook her head. "That's not stupid."
She opened her eyes. "Do you want some coffee?"
she asked hoarsely, swiftly changing the subject.
"Yeah," he said faintly. "If you're gonna make
some."
"I'll be right back," she pushed Caesar off of
her and bolted into the kitchen.
Doggett leaned back onto the couch and closed his
eyes.
Starkweather leaned against the fridge for a
minute, pressing the pads of her thumb and
pointer finger to her eyes. Come on Jerilyn
she told herself. Gotta get over this crying
bullshit. It's not going to fix anything. It's
not going to bring Ben or Mom or Dad or anyone
else back. Get your shit together. She blinked
her eyes a couple of times, then grabbed the
coffee carafe and began filling it with water.
As the aroma of Folgers filled the kitchen, she
invented tasks for herself to complete to give
herself time to stop feeling so emotional. Before
getting the coffee cups, she peeked at her
reflection in the toaster. Using her pinkies, she
wiped away the smudged eyeliner. Then she poured
coffee into two blue mugs, heaping loads of sugar
into hers while leaving his black.
"I left yours black like you like it,"
Starkweather started to say as she left the
kitchen. Then she stopped stock still in the
doorway. "Oh..."
Doggett's head was tilted forward, his eyes
closed, mouth slightly open. His arms lay limply
at his sides. His chest rose and fell with every
breath. Caesar was laying on his lap, tail curled
up around his fluffy body.
"Cat," Starkweather whispered as she retreated
back into the kitchen. "Why can't you be nice to
him when he's awake?"
After dumping Doggett's coffee down the drain,
she reached into the cardboard box that was
holding the contents of the liquor cabinet. Felt
around until she felt the squat bottle of
Bailey's Irish Crème Liquor. She decanted it and
poured a heavy dollop into her already sweetened
coffee. Carrying only her coffee out, she
returned to the living room. Doggett was still
out for the count, now starting to snore
slightly. "Damn," Starkweather murmured to
herself as she sipped her spiked coffee. In a
slightly louder voice, she said, "Doggett." She
repeated herself. "Doggett." Then she tried what
she thought would be guaranteed to get his
attention. "John. John, wake up."
Nothing. His lights were out.
"Dammit," she muttered, standing there debating.
I should go over there and shake him and send
him home. He's had a bad couple of days. Okay,
beyond bad. He needs to get real sleep.
She stood there.
Jerilyn, with all the bullshit going on right
now in the X-Files, him staying here looks REALLY
bad. REALLY REALLY bad.
She stood there.
She looked heavenwards. "Fuck you, Ben," she said
softly, setting her mug on the coffee table.
Creeping around the coffee table, she tried to
coax her cat to get off of her friend. "Here
kitty, kitty," she whispered. "Come here baby."
Caesar lifted his head, stared at her. Bored, he
dropped his head to his paws and began to nap
again.
"Fucking cat," she seethed as she reached for
him. Caesar yowled a loud complaint, but Doggett
didn't even move. "Go away," Starkweather hissed
at her pet as she put him on the floor. Caesar
promptly trotted off to Starkweather's bedroom
where he coughed up a hairball in of her favorite
high heels.
Meanwhile, careful not to wake him, she wrapped
her small hands around his ankles and lifted his
leg onto the coffee table. After repeating the
same action with the other leg, she unlaced his
ugly brown hiking boots he had gotten in
deferment to Washington's miserable winter
weather. She watched him in apprehension as she
slowly pulled the first boot off. His face
relaxed and his shoulders slumped a little more.
A soft sigh of contentment escaped from him as
his head lolled to one side.
Starkweather retreated to her bedroom to rummage
through some more moving boxes and came back out
bearing a hideous golden yellow and black afghan
she had acquired while a med student at the
University of Iowa. It smelled like mothballs.
Despite this, she threw the blanket over her
friend. She reached for a throw pillow and tucked
it behind his head. Pausing, she stood there,
regarding him. She smiled and cupped the side of
his face with her hand. "Yeah...." she said
affectionately as she traced his cheekbone with
her thumb. "You're alright." She smoothed his
hair, just as Melanie had done a few nights ago
but she leaned over and kissed his brow.
She backed away, letting him sleep. She sat down
decorously at the other end of the couch and
reached for a thick FBI casefile that she had
borrowed from the X-Files and her mug. She
balanced the mug on the arm of the couch and
opened the file. Pulling her wire-rimmed reading
glasses out of her shirt pocket, she looked over
at Doggett again before putting them on. She
smiled, shook her head again, slipped on her
glasses and started reading as music continued to
quietly filter out of the stereo speakers.
Later still...
"...Pieces of us die everyday
As though our flesh were hell
Such injustice, as children we are told
That from God we fell..."
He stirred. Heard music. Guitar. A woman singing
passionately and sorrowfully and angrily all at
the same time. Opened his eyes. Closed them again
since the room was still fairly dark.
"...Where are my angels?
Where's my golden one?
Where's my hope
now that my heroes have gone?..."
He had already downloaded three-quarters of the
song before he remembered she hated Jewel.
"...Some are being beaten
Some are being born.
And some can't tell the difference anymore..."
He opened his eyes again. "Aw sh*t," he muttered
under his breath, pulling his arm from underneath
the blanket to rub his eyes. He blinked his eyes
in hopes of forcing them to adjust to the dim
lighting of the room.
"... Amen
Hallelujah
Hallelujah."
Doggett pushed the blankets off of himself.
Turned his head and saw her sitting on the other
end of the couch. She had bundled her hair up in
its usual bun. But this bun was sloppy, held in
place by a pen. Her glasses were sliding off her
nose. So was the case file on her lap. Her arms
were crossed tightly. Her head was bobbing like
those obnoxious car ornaments with the oversized
heads.
Doggett looked at his watch. It was a quarter to
eleven.
He ran his hand over his face again, trying to
wake up. It was so tempting to crawl back
underneath the quilt and fall back asleep.
It was so tempting to...
You should wake her up and tell her to get her
butt to bed and then get your own ass home
Doggett thought as watched her sleep.
His feet suddenly felt cold. He looked down and
saw that she had taken off his boots. He looked
at his black socks and grimaced when he saw a
tiny hole in the one of the toes.
As he pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and
stood up, the next song came on. He frowned as he
bent over her to take off her glasses. She must
have put it on 'repeat'.
"Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head
Slip into my lover's hands
Kiss me oh won't you kiss me now
And sleep I would inside your mouth..."
He folded them up and placed them on the coffee
table. He took the case file from her and set
them next to her glasses.
"Don't be us too shy
Knowing it's no big surprise
That I will wait for you
I will wait for no one but you..."
He gently tugged at the pen until it was out of
that knot of hair. He didn't notice the half-an-
inch of dark brown roots, as her blond tresses
fell around her heart shaped face. She needed her
bangs trimmed but didn't have time so she had
pushed them to the side of her face. He skimmed
his fingers over a small crescent moon shaped
scar on her forehead. He had been with her,
sitting right next to her when she got that cut.
Their first case together. She had bled on him.
"...Look please lover lay down
Spend this time with me
Together share this smile
Lover lay down..."
He didn't recognize the song or the artist. He
had meant to download 'The Space Between' by the
Dave Matthews Band. He wasn't a big DMB fan
himself. Thought his voice was grating. But he
had heard her singing it one day when she thought
she was in the office by herself. And he had
teased her to death about it the rest of the day
after she admitted she would "do Dave in a
heartbeat."
It was rare when he got the verbal upper hand
with her.
"Walk with me, walk with you
Hold my hand your hands
So much we have dreamed
And you were so much younger
Hard to explain that we are stronger..."
He cautiously slid his hands underneath her upper
legs while wrapping his other arm around her
back. Lifting her was not a problem, she only had
to be one-ten, one-fifteen tops. Making sure she
stayed asleep on the other hand, could be a
problem. Or could have been, but for once, she
was sound asleep. Normally, a light sleeper, the
nightmare days and sleepless nights had finally
caught up with her.
As with him.
"A million reasons life to deny
Let's toss them away
See you and me we
Lay down look see
She and he
By my lover's side
Together share this smile
Each other's tears to cry
Together share this smile
Lover lay down..."
He sat down again on the couch and stretched out
his arm for the afghan. He jumped a little when
he heard her mutter something in her sleep and
curl around him more. Her face was pressed
against his chest. Not an entirely unpleasant
sensation. One of her arms loosely embraced his
waist. He could feel her breathing.
He wrapped the quilt around each other and
reached over to the small table next to couch and
switched off the light.
The noise of the lamp switch woke her briefly.
She bolted straight up, disoriented. Doggett said
quickly, seeing that she wasn't one-hundred
percent awake; scared and confused. "It's okay,
Doc. Look, please. Lay down," he tried to calm
her. She was shaking from whatever torment her
subconscious had given her. "Just lay down and go
back to sleep, okay? Please?"
"Oh please
Look please lover lay down
Oh please lover lay down
And you weep
Lover lay down
Cause it's over
Lover lay down
Say lover, say lover, say lover, say lover, say
lover..."
"Oh..." she said groggily, overtired and a more
than just a little intoxicated from the beers
earlier and her spiked coffee afterwards. Her
hand was on his chest "Okay..." Sleepily, she
brushed her lips across his before settling back
into his arms. "Love you..." he thought he heard
her say as she yawned. He thought. Maybe. Maybe
she said "Olive juice." He wasn't sure.
"G'night..." she mumbled before sinking back into
deep sleep.
"Could I love you
Could you love me..."
Doggett on the other hand, fought sleep but
couldn't. For once in his life, he wasn't sure if
dreams would be better than reality.
And he wondered if her photographic memory had
powered down for the night or would she have
total recall in the morning.
"Darling it's
All the same...
'Til we dance away..."
And would she tell him if she remembered.
"Chasing me all around
Leading me all around
Leading me all around in circles...
Say..."
He stroked her hair until he fell back asleep.
"Love you too..." he slurred, also still drunk
off of alcohol and insomnia.
The agents thought they were alone in each
other's arms.
They should have known better even though both
were technically rookies still in the basement
that would always be Mulder's domain.
As they slept, both had strange dreams. Dreams
that they would brush off once the sun rose on
their intertwined bodies. Dreams they would try
and disregard as they muttered their excuses and
apologies for something that did not feel wrong.
Dreams about the dead, walking with them and
talking with each other.
Dreams about Benjamin Starkweather, materializing
in his old living room, looking down at his
wife's face, so calm, so peaceful in another
man's arms. The man she swore up and down was
just her 'friend'.
But Ben did not show any rage as he did in life.
Only a sad acceptance of the inevitable.
A man's voice came from behind Ben. A high,
slightly effeminate voice. Ben turned away from
the painful image of Jerilyn looking so
comfortable in her partner's embrace and saw the
spirit of a tall slender man with mocha eyes and
straight black hair. "You okay?" He had a lush,
slurring Southern accent.
"Yeah, you bet," Ben morosely lapsed into
'Minnesotan', the dialect of his childhood. "I'll
be okay. 'Bout you?"
"I worry 'bout Mel... but, other'n that, I'm
gonna fine." Parker Davis nodded. "Thank you for
helpin'. You didn't have to..."
"Yeah, I did," Ben said, turning back to Jerilyn.
"I owed her at least that."
"I gotta go," Parker said, almost apologetically.
"Melanie..."
"Go," Ben tried to smile. "It'll be okay."
Ben thought he had been left alone again. Left
alone to stare at her, stare at the moonlight
glinting off the holy medal of Saint Christopher
around her neck. Stare at him. Wishing he had the
energy to hate him still, but couldn't. Wondered
what was going to become of him, this limbo he
had been thrust in when the bullets meant for
Mulder ripped through his body.
"Mister?"
Ben looked down and saw a little boy with a
button nose, aquamarine eyes and tousled blond
hair looking up at him. "Yeah?"
"Who's that lady with my daddy?"
Ben knelt to the child's level. "Um... she's a
very good friend of your daddy's."
"Where's my mom?"
"I... I don't know." Ben felt something he
thought had been denied to him due to Jerilyn's
stubbornness and ambition. "But I bet we can find
her. And see her."
"Is my daddy with that lady now and not my mom?"
"Yeah," Ben said truthfully. "I'm sorry. But
she's a really nice lady... What's your name?"
"Luke John Doggett," the boy said politely. "Do
you know when my dad's coming home?"
"It's gonna be awhile."
"I want him to come home now."
"I know, but he's got work to do here, still."
"Can you stay with me until he comes?"
Ben took the child's hand. "Yes. I will," Ben
said.
Finally, he got to be a father.
In the spirit, anyway.
**THE END**
Keep an eye out for the next Starkweather fic,
'Starkweather: Introitus'