8:35 A.M.
"Agents Mulder, Scully, please sit down."
Veckman motioned to the two leather-cushioned chairs facing the back of the room, then took his own seat behind his large, oaken desk.
"With all due respect, Dr. Veckman," Mulder began, "I don't think I could bear the pain of sitting down right now. I'm afraid this place has given me a rather severe case of constipation."
Veckman leaned back in his recliner, crossed his legs, and folded his hands across his lap.
"Have you ever considered changing careers, Agent Mulder?" Veckman said dryly, "I think the soaps would suit you well. Your quiet charm, your overtly dramatic demeanor. I think you could really give Susan Lucci a run for the Emmys."
"It would not be a good idea to insult me right now, doctor," Mulder replied, slowly taking his seat, "especially since I have reason to believe that you have played a role in a larger conspiracy, not only to hide the existence of the Eve clones, but also to cover up the disappearance of Eves 9 and 10."
"Mulder," Scully cautioned.
"No, Scully," he continued, "I want to know the truth. What were you hoping to do, doctor, cover up their little secret for them?"
"And who are they, Agent Mulder?" Dr. Veckman asked, leaning forward in his seat, his hands now sitting atop of the desk, "And what is this agenda that I am accused of taking part in?"
"They, Dr. Veckman, are the men with no names, the men who operate at the highest levels of our government, contributors to the conspiracy of silence to hide the truth from the American public."
Veckman sighed deeply.
"Oh, great," he said, "A conspiracy theorist. This ought to be good. And what exactly is the truth, Agent Mulder?"
"Why don't we talk about the lie, instead, doctor, the lie that you're perpetuating? You know, it goes a little something like this. Government pays the head of a psych ward boku bucks to hide away their little secret, genetic clones engineered in an effort to create super-humans capable of surviving the incoming invasion. But then something goes wrong. Two Eves escape, and then another two. The government gets angry and threatens to expose the good doctor if he does not comply with their request - to risk the lives of innocent civilians by hiding the escape of the clones from the public simply so that their secret would remain a secret."
Dr. Veckman chuckled softly to himself.
"You know, we have a special name for people like you in here, Agent Mulder. We call them schizophrenic."
"And I have a special name for people like you, Dr. Veckman. Governmental puss-"
"Mulder," Scully admonished, spitting the words through clenched teeth, "enough!" Then, regaining her composure, she placed her hand pleadingly over his forearm and leaned over to him, whispering in his ear, "You've got to calm down, we'll never get the answers we're searching for if you keep antagonizing him."
Mulder shot the doctor a look of pure irritation, but he folded his hands and shut his mouth. Leaning back in his chair, he drew his right leg over his left, and allowed Scully to conduct the remainder of the interrogation.
"So, doctor," she began, turning to once again face the man behind the desk, "I'm sure you're aware that we have some questions regarding the disappearance of Eves 9 and 10."
"Yes, Agent Scully," Veckman replied, "I am quite aware, and I would be more than happy to provide you with any answers that I may have."
"Right," Mulder scoffed under his breath, but a warning in the form of Scully's arched eyebrow quickly silenced him.
"As I was saying," she continued, "we would be extremely grateful if you could tell us anything at all remotely regarding the disappearance of the girls, how long ago they escaped, where they were last seen, the treatment they were under."
"I'm afraid that I cannot divulge any particulars of their treatment," Dr. Veckman told her, "you know, doctor-patient confidentiality."
"Yes, we do know," Mulder stated in his matter- of-fact monotone, "we were given the same run- around bullshit once already this morning, and I have to tell you, from this view, it appears extremely convenient."
Veckman resisted the urge to ask if viewing anything at all was possible with such an abnormally large nose blocking the way.
"Dr. Veckman," Scully interjected, as if anticipating the retort, "in addition to being a federal agent, I am also a medical doctor, and I can assure that anything you tell us will be held in the strictest confidence."
"Well, that's very comforting Dr. Scully," he responded, "but I'm afraid that it would be unethical for me to get into any great detail regarding the mental treatment that the girls were under in my care."
Scully now shared the same irksome expression as Mulder.
"What I can tell you," he continued, "is that Eve 9 and Eve 10 were being treated by me since the time of their capture in 1993."
"Treated for what, exactly?" Scully asked.
"The onset of psychosis would be my guess," Mulder interrupted, "A symptom that appeared much more quickly in Eves 9 and 10 than that of any of the other Eves. The extra five chromosomes present in the Eves' genome generated superior intelligence and enhanced strength but left in its wake the emergence of increased psychosis, as well. Eve 7 attempted to alleviate this problem when she created the new clones, but all of her trials only had the effect of bringing about the unwanted symptom in a more timely manner."
Veckman shot Mulder a quizzical look, one tinged with something remotely resembling a sort of quasi-professional respect.
"Very good, Agent Mulder," Veckman answered, "taken a few psychology courses in your time, have you?"
"A few," he replied acidly.
Nodding his head, Veckman continued, "I'm afraid I'm not aware of this extra chromosome of which you speak, Agent Mulder, but you are correct in your assertion that both girls were suffering from severe psychosis, also associated with a pronounced paranoia of all persons. Approaching the girls was extremely difficult. The first time we attempted to hold sessions in my office, the Eves tried to strangle the orderlies with their own hair. They wouldn't stop screaming that the nurses were trying to kill them until they were heavily sedated. Needless to say, since that time, we've held all sessions at their cells."
"What was their demeanor during these sessions?" Scully asked, pulling a loose strand of her newly shortened red-orange hair behind her ear, "Were they complacent?"
"Once again, Agent," he replied, "I'm afraid I cannot say explicitly what was discussed. However, I can tell you that they responded well, and even seemed to be making progress. That is, until their escape." He waved his hand indifferently.
"Which brings me to my next question, doctor," Scully began, "We were told that it has been at least a year since Eve 9 and Eve 10 ran away."
"That is a statement, Agent Scully, not a question."
Scully turned her deadly eyebrow against the doctor, her usual warm and sparkling blue eyes now containing a steely resolve that Mulder had previously witnessed on many occasions.
"Dr. Veckman," she said slowly, attempting to resist the urge to jump over the desk knock the grin right off his face, "why were we not consulted when the girls escaped? With our knowledge of their history and our position at the Bureau, we could have possibly aided in their recapture."
The smile fell from his lips, just as effectively as if Scully had attacked him. The false pleasantries were now over.
"With all due respect, Agent Scully," Veckman said, "the escape of two young patients from a mental facility does not fall within the jurisdiction of the federal government. Whatever the hospital decides is the best course of action is the route that we follow."
With one grandiose motion, he stood up from his chair.
"Now if you'll excuse me," he continued, gesturing widely to door, "I have many patients, numerous appointments, and I'm already late for a meeting with the board of directors."
Mulder and Scully stood from their seats, as well.
"Thank you, doctor, for your extremely useful assistance," Mulder sneered, "With a professional like you guiding the therapy of our little mental patients, I'm sure they'll peaceful, law-abiding citizens in no time.that is, if we can ever catch them again."
"Good-day, Agent Mulder. It was a pleasure, Agent Scully."
Scully turned her back on his arrogant smile and interlocked her arm with Mulder's.
"Come on," she whispered to him, "let's go. There's nothing more to be learned from here."
As they tossed their visitors I.D.'s on the security table, Scully nudged her partner playfully in the ribs.
"You know," she said, "if you're not careful, you're going to end up in one of these places."
Mulder laughed as he held the front door for her.
"Only if you'll be my nurse, Scully," he answered, "You know, I always thought you'd look really cute in one of those white Ratchett get-ups, especially when it's time for the mandatory spongebath."
Their conversation thankfully dwindled from earshot as they exited the facility. Dr. Veckman watched their car drive into the blossoming daylight, then turned and re-entered his office. He had hardly seated himself before they appeared through the door to the adjoining room and took their seats where their captors had been sitting moments before.
"What did you tell them?" Eve 9 asked.
"Nothing, hunny," he answered, his eyes alighting with the pride present of a father for his children, "Absolutely nothing."
"What did they want?" Eve 10 questioned.
"They wanted to know about you," he told them, "about your escape. Of course, I denied all knowledge."
He rose once again from his chair, walked around to face them, and leaned lazily against his desk.
"I told you girls only to use that card key for emergencies," he berated them, wagging a finger in their direction, "It's dangerous coming to see me so often. What happens if you're spotted? The others will get suspicious. I might not be able to free you again."
"We're careful," Eve 9 said.
"We have advanced intelligence," Eve 10 added, "It is a statistical anomaly that we could be captured by the average man that guards these walls."
"You were captured once before," Veckman reminded them.
"It's not the same thing," Eve 9 answered, "Mulder has a greater than average intelligence."
"Besides," the teenaged Eve 10 continued, "we were young then, and that is not a mistake that we will make twice."
A smile appeared quickly on Veckman's face.
"I can never stay mad at you girls," he said, drawing them both into a large bear-hug. Then, he stepped back and gazed deeply into their eyes, remarkable brown eyes that he, too, bore.
"But promise me that you'll both be careful."
"We promise," Eve 9 told him.
"We promise," Eve 10 echoed.
"Thank you," he responded gratefully, and hugged them once more. Veckman could not see the girls' faces behind his back, eyes dancing with mischief and lips smiling with dangerous intent.
"Thank you," he whispered again, "Thank you."
North on Interstate 95 11:21 A.M.
"What now?"
"Hmm...what's that?" Mulder was stirred from his deep contemplation. He and Scully had been driving in silence since their departure from the Whiting Institute. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, the quiet that had accompanied their first outings when Scully had been assigned to the X-Files six years prior. It was the mutual silence that sprung forth from two seasoned agents examining every crevice, every angle in their minds to make sense, each in their own way, of an illogical situation.
"Where do we go now?" Scully repeated, "The good doctor was less than forthcoming. I'd venture to say that we know little more than when we first arrived."
Mulder turned his head slowly towards her.
"Well, that's a little cynical, Scully. I know that I know more than when I started."
"Mulder," said Scully, pointing towards the windshield, "the road."
"Oh, right." He faced the highway, narrowly avoiding careening with a silver Honda that had slammed on the brakes.
"The road," he replied sheepishly, gesturing with his head towards the crowded interstate in front of him.
Scully placed her knuckles against her temples, leaned against the passenger side door, and smiled out of the corner of her cheek. Gazing out the window, she watched as the familiar exit towards D.C. came closer, and closer.and then it was gone. Scully turned once more and faced Mulder.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To the scene of the crime," he answered, "to Elkton, Maryland."
917 Eden's Crossing Elkton, Maryland 12:46 P.M.
The gravel drive crunched softly as Mulder directed the car to a haphazard stop.
"That's right," he said into his cell phone, speaking loudly and clearly through the crackling interference, "I need everything you can get your little hands, anything at all relating to the Whiting Institute or Dr. Michael A. Veckman." He turned off the ignition and placed the keys in his pocket.
"You.ot.it.," came the excited response, "Of.ourse.it will.ut.into my D&D time... night was.ournament of.ampions round and I'm.efending my.itle. Maybe I'll get.ers to do it."
"Whatever," Mulder replied, "Just get it done." He turned his cell off, placed it in his coat, and looked over at Scully.
"We're here," he told her, "Let's go, G-woman."
Scully unfastened her seatbelt, unlocked the door, and stepped quickly from her seat, anxious to stretch her stiff legs after the arduous journey. As she closed the door, she felt something cold and wet envelope her feet. She glanced down, searching for the source of the sensation. She had stepped from the car directly into a puddle, and was now soaked up to her ankles in the residual rain water.
"Oh, great," she sighed to herself, placing her hands on her hips, "this is perfect, simply perfect." She turned towards Mulder, but he was already sloshing his way through the muddy clearing up to the front of the house. Scully pulled the neck of her long, black coat closer to her chilled body and followed in pursuit. The harsh, cold wind blew her hair in every direction and cut through her, straight to the marrow. By the time she rejoined Mulder on the front step, he had already broken down the faded, yellow police tape and had cracked the door.
Mulder pushed the door back wide, revealing for the first time the less than comforting conditions inside. Though it was day, no light could penetrate the house's interior. Darkness inexorably infiltrated every nook as transitory shadows danced to a demon's song that human ears could not perceive. The stacks of dust were rivaled only by the numerous cobwebs that clung to each corner. The yellowed walls were chipped and peeling and the furniture looked at least twenty years old.
"Homey, isn't it?" Mulder asked, grabbing his flashlight and proceeding down a corridor. Scully did not reply, but simply flicked on her flashlight and advanced towards the opposite hall. She scanned every section of the dilapidated kitchen, checking the trashcan and drawers for anything that might shed light on the events that had transpired. Upon finding nothing, she doubled back to look for Mulder. When she found him, he was crouched down on the floor in a bedroom at the end of the hall, sitting on his haunches. The beam from the flashlight was illuminating something he was inspecting in his hand.
"Did you find anything?" he preempted her.
"Nothing," she answered, "What's that?"
"Syringe," he responded, standing up to face her, "Just say no, Scully."
Scully pulled on a latex glove that she had stored in her pocket and took the needle from his hand. Holding it up to the flashlight, she examined the syringe.
"Looks like they didn't use all of it," she said, gently rocking the thin layer of translucent liquid back and forth "I'll take it to the lab and get it analyzed."
"Good," Mulder said, "I'll drop you off. There's something I need to take care of."
The Magic Bullet Takoma Falls, VA 5:14 P.M.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Keep your pants on." Frohike swore loudly at the person knocking at the steel-plated front door as he picked up his glasses from atop a computer monitor and placed them behind his ears. Glancing briefly at a nearby screen to see who had awakened him from his pre- dinner catnap, Frohike continued on toward the door and unlatched the eleven locks that guarded the entrance to the Lone Gunmen's Lair. Frohike pulled the door back a sliver, revealing the face of Mulder.
"Somebody order a callboy?" Frohike asked, glancing behind him as Byers and Langly entered the room.
"Not this week," Langly replied in his nasal falsetto. Then he turned towards Mulder. "We got the low down on that Veckman guy for you," he said, "I don't know what's all involved in the case you're cooking up, but the dude has a pretty interesting past."
Mulder took a seat at Frohike's desk. "Interesting how?" he asked.
"Interesting as in terms of his educational and vocational choices," Byers informed him.
"Yeah," Frohike interjected, casting Mulder a disapproving look for stealing his spot, and then taking Langly's instead, "the guy has certifications out the ying-yang."
"Two degrees, to be precise," Byers continued, "Veckman completed his undergraduate as Valedictorian of the class of 1944 at Princeton University before matriculating at Yale, where he earned his first Ph.D in the field of Psychology. He had a small, private practice for three years, before he decided to return to his studies and pursue a career in the biological sciences. After four years at Brown, Veckman had obtained his second Ph.D for Genetics."
"Mr. Wonderful, huh?" Mulder asked, "The record seems a little too spotless for me."
"Well, here's where it gets interesting," Byers said.
"His life story is an open book for a few more years," Langly continued, "He publishes some findings in a couple of major scientific journals and regularly attends conferences, not just as a visitor, but as the guest speaker of honor. Then one day, at a national conference in 1957, he
doesn't show up. Just disappears, like his entire history is erased. That is, until he shows up as a psychiatrist at the Whiting Institute for the Criminally Insane in 1978."
"Were you able to find any records of his time spent there?" Mulder asked.
"Well," Frohike answered, "Since you have the good fortune of knowing me, and since I am able to do the kung fu that I do so well."
".It was my kung fu you credit-stealing balding monkey," Langly interrupted angrily.
"Guys, please, we all did our share," Byers interjected, hoping to pacify matters.
"Whatever," Frohike continued, "Anyway, we were able to hack into the crazy house's database. Lucky for us, the good doctors wanted to put up the appearance of having entered the 20th century. All the files are computerized. Hold on to your cajones, Mulder. This is where the meatballs really hit the frying pan."
"Let me guess," Mulder said, "Veckman was part of a project, the Litchfield Experiments, initiated at the end of the Cold War with the purpose of generating a race of genetically enhanced superhumans."
The Gunmen's mouths dropped wide open as they looked uncertainly at one another.
"How did you know?" Byers finally managed to ask.
"Long story," Mulder answered simply.
"Well," Frohike huffed, angry at having his thunder stolen right out from under him, "I guess you won't be needing us after all." He folded his arms and turned to face the opposite wall.
"Aw, c'mon, Hickey," Mulder said playfully, putting his hand on Frohike's shoulder, "you know you're my big man, my go-to-guy. Why don't you tell me what you found?"
"Say it," Frohike said, still sulking.
Mulder leaned close to his ear so Byers and Langly couldn't hear, "Your kung fu's the best."
"And don't you forget it," Frohike said, turning back to face his partners, "Let's get back to it." He rubbed his hands together and as Mulder turned around, he muttered under his breath, "Punkass."
"As you may or may not know," he began, glancing over at Mulder, "I mean, who the hell knows what you know, since you seem to know it all anyway."
"Melvin," Mulder cautioned, halting the little man's foray into a disparaging harangue.
"Um, right. As I was saying, at the time when Dr. Veckman went underground in 1957, his records show that he was just beginning his involvement with the Litchfield Project."
"He was with the Project since '57?" Mulder asked.
"Oh, looks like we stumbled upon a fact the almighty Mulder wasn't aware of," Frohike replied, a wide grin erupting over his face. Mulder, usually quick with the comeback, let his middle finger do the talking.
The smile fell from his face and was quickly replaced by a frown. "Hey, man," Frohike said, "that hurts."
Mulder responded with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders and Byers continued in his stead.
"In 1957, Veckman replaced Dr. Gerhard Strauss as the leading genetic engineer on the Project. This was due, I might add, to Dr. Strauss' mysterious 'disappearance' following a certain dissatisfaction with the way the Project was being handled and his related threat to go to the press in a very, very public manner. Veckman analyzed the problems that were discovered in the first set of genetically- altered clones, a group of males known collectively as the Adams. It seems the Adams were prone to psychosis and had all committed suicide by the time they were twenty."
"It runs in the family," Mulder said, seating himself and placing his folded hands over his mouth.
"Yes," Byers continued, "well, at any rate, Veckman attempted to correct this problem in the second group of experiments, genetic clones of his dead wife, known as the Eves. Eight Eves were created in all. Five of them followed in the footsteps of their brethren. The sixth Eve would have done the same, if Veckman hadn't ordered her detainment at Whiting. Eves 7 and 8 fared better. According to Veckman's files, he treated them both with an experimental serum that seemed to work wonders. Both girls exhibited a superior intelligence but did not show the detrimental signs of homicide and insanity to which the others were prone. In 1978, he requested a transfer from the lab to the Institute so that he could monitor the Eves' outcome. In 1979, Eve 7 escaped, followed a decade later by Eve 8. There was a suspicion that someone on the inside facilitated their escape, since they disappeared with great ease, even for two geniuses, but Veckman was cleared of any wrong doing. In 1993, Eve 7 was killed and two new Eves, created by Eve 7, were captured and institutionalized for their murder by two agents from the FBI."
The Gunmen looked at each other as realization simultaneously hit them. They turned their gaze to Mulder, who merely nodded his head in response.
"Since that time," Byers continued, "the doctor reports that Eve 6's condition has deteriorated, but, with the same treatment given to Eves 7 and 8, he has improved the stability of Eves 9 and 10."
"Or, at least, that's what he claims," Langly interjected.
"I guess we'll soon find out," Mulder replied.
Frohike arched an eyebrow from behind his thick glasses. "What are you talking about, Mulder?" he asked.
"That report doesn't tell you everything, boys," he informed them, "It seems the doctor neglected to mention the fact that Eves 9 and 10 are currently AWOL as well. Pretty interesting coincidence, wouldn't you say? He shows up at Whiting and four of his patients are able to escape?" He stood up quickly form his chair. "I need you to scan unsolved cases for me. Look for anything you can. Weird murders. Traces of strange toxins. The sighting of a pair of teenaged twins around suspicious areas. I'll send you a picture of the girls from a file I salvaged from the fire a couple of years ago." He headed towards the door.
"What are you going to do?" Langly asked.
Mulder turned briefly to face them. "I'm going to put the I back in FBI," he said, and without another word, turned and walked out of the room.
"Punkass," Frohike whispered to himself, and took his seat in front of his console.
"Agents Mulder, Scully, please sit down."
Veckman motioned to the two leather-cushioned chairs facing the back of the room, then took his own seat behind his large, oaken desk.
"With all due respect, Dr. Veckman," Mulder began, "I don't think I could bear the pain of sitting down right now. I'm afraid this place has given me a rather severe case of constipation."
Veckman leaned back in his recliner, crossed his legs, and folded his hands across his lap.
"Have you ever considered changing careers, Agent Mulder?" Veckman said dryly, "I think the soaps would suit you well. Your quiet charm, your overtly dramatic demeanor. I think you could really give Susan Lucci a run for the Emmys."
"It would not be a good idea to insult me right now, doctor," Mulder replied, slowly taking his seat, "especially since I have reason to believe that you have played a role in a larger conspiracy, not only to hide the existence of the Eve clones, but also to cover up the disappearance of Eves 9 and 10."
"Mulder," Scully cautioned.
"No, Scully," he continued, "I want to know the truth. What were you hoping to do, doctor, cover up their little secret for them?"
"And who are they, Agent Mulder?" Dr. Veckman asked, leaning forward in his seat, his hands now sitting atop of the desk, "And what is this agenda that I am accused of taking part in?"
"They, Dr. Veckman, are the men with no names, the men who operate at the highest levels of our government, contributors to the conspiracy of silence to hide the truth from the American public."
Veckman sighed deeply.
"Oh, great," he said, "A conspiracy theorist. This ought to be good. And what exactly is the truth, Agent Mulder?"
"Why don't we talk about the lie, instead, doctor, the lie that you're perpetuating? You know, it goes a little something like this. Government pays the head of a psych ward boku bucks to hide away their little secret, genetic clones engineered in an effort to create super-humans capable of surviving the incoming invasion. But then something goes wrong. Two Eves escape, and then another two. The government gets angry and threatens to expose the good doctor if he does not comply with their request - to risk the lives of innocent civilians by hiding the escape of the clones from the public simply so that their secret would remain a secret."
Dr. Veckman chuckled softly to himself.
"You know, we have a special name for people like you in here, Agent Mulder. We call them schizophrenic."
"And I have a special name for people like you, Dr. Veckman. Governmental puss-"
"Mulder," Scully admonished, spitting the words through clenched teeth, "enough!" Then, regaining her composure, she placed her hand pleadingly over his forearm and leaned over to him, whispering in his ear, "You've got to calm down, we'll never get the answers we're searching for if you keep antagonizing him."
Mulder shot the doctor a look of pure irritation, but he folded his hands and shut his mouth. Leaning back in his chair, he drew his right leg over his left, and allowed Scully to conduct the remainder of the interrogation.
"So, doctor," she began, turning to once again face the man behind the desk, "I'm sure you're aware that we have some questions regarding the disappearance of Eves 9 and 10."
"Yes, Agent Scully," Veckman replied, "I am quite aware, and I would be more than happy to provide you with any answers that I may have."
"Right," Mulder scoffed under his breath, but a warning in the form of Scully's arched eyebrow quickly silenced him.
"As I was saying," she continued, "we would be extremely grateful if you could tell us anything at all remotely regarding the disappearance of the girls, how long ago they escaped, where they were last seen, the treatment they were under."
"I'm afraid that I cannot divulge any particulars of their treatment," Dr. Veckman told her, "you know, doctor-patient confidentiality."
"Yes, we do know," Mulder stated in his matter- of-fact monotone, "we were given the same run- around bullshit once already this morning, and I have to tell you, from this view, it appears extremely convenient."
Veckman resisted the urge to ask if viewing anything at all was possible with such an abnormally large nose blocking the way.
"Dr. Veckman," Scully interjected, as if anticipating the retort, "in addition to being a federal agent, I am also a medical doctor, and I can assure that anything you tell us will be held in the strictest confidence."
"Well, that's very comforting Dr. Scully," he responded, "but I'm afraid that it would be unethical for me to get into any great detail regarding the mental treatment that the girls were under in my care."
Scully now shared the same irksome expression as Mulder.
"What I can tell you," he continued, "is that Eve 9 and Eve 10 were being treated by me since the time of their capture in 1993."
"Treated for what, exactly?" Scully asked.
"The onset of psychosis would be my guess," Mulder interrupted, "A symptom that appeared much more quickly in Eves 9 and 10 than that of any of the other Eves. The extra five chromosomes present in the Eves' genome generated superior intelligence and enhanced strength but left in its wake the emergence of increased psychosis, as well. Eve 7 attempted to alleviate this problem when she created the new clones, but all of her trials only had the effect of bringing about the unwanted symptom in a more timely manner."
Veckman shot Mulder a quizzical look, one tinged with something remotely resembling a sort of quasi-professional respect.
"Very good, Agent Mulder," Veckman answered, "taken a few psychology courses in your time, have you?"
"A few," he replied acidly.
Nodding his head, Veckman continued, "I'm afraid I'm not aware of this extra chromosome of which you speak, Agent Mulder, but you are correct in your assertion that both girls were suffering from severe psychosis, also associated with a pronounced paranoia of all persons. Approaching the girls was extremely difficult. The first time we attempted to hold sessions in my office, the Eves tried to strangle the orderlies with their own hair. They wouldn't stop screaming that the nurses were trying to kill them until they were heavily sedated. Needless to say, since that time, we've held all sessions at their cells."
"What was their demeanor during these sessions?" Scully asked, pulling a loose strand of her newly shortened red-orange hair behind her ear, "Were they complacent?"
"Once again, Agent," he replied, "I'm afraid I cannot say explicitly what was discussed. However, I can tell you that they responded well, and even seemed to be making progress. That is, until their escape." He waved his hand indifferently.
"Which brings me to my next question, doctor," Scully began, "We were told that it has been at least a year since Eve 9 and Eve 10 ran away."
"That is a statement, Agent Scully, not a question."
Scully turned her deadly eyebrow against the doctor, her usual warm and sparkling blue eyes now containing a steely resolve that Mulder had previously witnessed on many occasions.
"Dr. Veckman," she said slowly, attempting to resist the urge to jump over the desk knock the grin right off his face, "why were we not consulted when the girls escaped? With our knowledge of their history and our position at the Bureau, we could have possibly aided in their recapture."
The smile fell from his lips, just as effectively as if Scully had attacked him. The false pleasantries were now over.
"With all due respect, Agent Scully," Veckman said, "the escape of two young patients from a mental facility does not fall within the jurisdiction of the federal government. Whatever the hospital decides is the best course of action is the route that we follow."
With one grandiose motion, he stood up from his chair.
"Now if you'll excuse me," he continued, gesturing widely to door, "I have many patients, numerous appointments, and I'm already late for a meeting with the board of directors."
Mulder and Scully stood from their seats, as well.
"Thank you, doctor, for your extremely useful assistance," Mulder sneered, "With a professional like you guiding the therapy of our little mental patients, I'm sure they'll peaceful, law-abiding citizens in no time.that is, if we can ever catch them again."
"Good-day, Agent Mulder. It was a pleasure, Agent Scully."
Scully turned her back on his arrogant smile and interlocked her arm with Mulder's.
"Come on," she whispered to him, "let's go. There's nothing more to be learned from here."
As they tossed their visitors I.D.'s on the security table, Scully nudged her partner playfully in the ribs.
"You know," she said, "if you're not careful, you're going to end up in one of these places."
Mulder laughed as he held the front door for her.
"Only if you'll be my nurse, Scully," he answered, "You know, I always thought you'd look really cute in one of those white Ratchett get-ups, especially when it's time for the mandatory spongebath."
Their conversation thankfully dwindled from earshot as they exited the facility. Dr. Veckman watched their car drive into the blossoming daylight, then turned and re-entered his office. He had hardly seated himself before they appeared through the door to the adjoining room and took their seats where their captors had been sitting moments before.
"What did you tell them?" Eve 9 asked.
"Nothing, hunny," he answered, his eyes alighting with the pride present of a father for his children, "Absolutely nothing."
"What did they want?" Eve 10 questioned.
"They wanted to know about you," he told them, "about your escape. Of course, I denied all knowledge."
He rose once again from his chair, walked around to face them, and leaned lazily against his desk.
"I told you girls only to use that card key for emergencies," he berated them, wagging a finger in their direction, "It's dangerous coming to see me so often. What happens if you're spotted? The others will get suspicious. I might not be able to free you again."
"We're careful," Eve 9 said.
"We have advanced intelligence," Eve 10 added, "It is a statistical anomaly that we could be captured by the average man that guards these walls."
"You were captured once before," Veckman reminded them.
"It's not the same thing," Eve 9 answered, "Mulder has a greater than average intelligence."
"Besides," the teenaged Eve 10 continued, "we were young then, and that is not a mistake that we will make twice."
A smile appeared quickly on Veckman's face.
"I can never stay mad at you girls," he said, drawing them both into a large bear-hug. Then, he stepped back and gazed deeply into their eyes, remarkable brown eyes that he, too, bore.
"But promise me that you'll both be careful."
"We promise," Eve 9 told him.
"We promise," Eve 10 echoed.
"Thank you," he responded gratefully, and hugged them once more. Veckman could not see the girls' faces behind his back, eyes dancing with mischief and lips smiling with dangerous intent.
"Thank you," he whispered again, "Thank you."
North on Interstate 95 11:21 A.M.
"What now?"
"Hmm...what's that?" Mulder was stirred from his deep contemplation. He and Scully had been driving in silence since their departure from the Whiting Institute. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, the quiet that had accompanied their first outings when Scully had been assigned to the X-Files six years prior. It was the mutual silence that sprung forth from two seasoned agents examining every crevice, every angle in their minds to make sense, each in their own way, of an illogical situation.
"Where do we go now?" Scully repeated, "The good doctor was less than forthcoming. I'd venture to say that we know little more than when we first arrived."
Mulder turned his head slowly towards her.
"Well, that's a little cynical, Scully. I know that I know more than when I started."
"Mulder," said Scully, pointing towards the windshield, "the road."
"Oh, right." He faced the highway, narrowly avoiding careening with a silver Honda that had slammed on the brakes.
"The road," he replied sheepishly, gesturing with his head towards the crowded interstate in front of him.
Scully placed her knuckles against her temples, leaned against the passenger side door, and smiled out of the corner of her cheek. Gazing out the window, she watched as the familiar exit towards D.C. came closer, and closer.and then it was gone. Scully turned once more and faced Mulder.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To the scene of the crime," he answered, "to Elkton, Maryland."
917 Eden's Crossing Elkton, Maryland 12:46 P.M.
The gravel drive crunched softly as Mulder directed the car to a haphazard stop.
"That's right," he said into his cell phone, speaking loudly and clearly through the crackling interference, "I need everything you can get your little hands, anything at all relating to the Whiting Institute or Dr. Michael A. Veckman." He turned off the ignition and placed the keys in his pocket.
"You.ot.it.," came the excited response, "Of.ourse.it will.ut.into my D&D time... night was.ournament of.ampions round and I'm.efending my.itle. Maybe I'll get.ers to do it."
"Whatever," Mulder replied, "Just get it done." He turned his cell off, placed it in his coat, and looked over at Scully.
"We're here," he told her, "Let's go, G-woman."
Scully unfastened her seatbelt, unlocked the door, and stepped quickly from her seat, anxious to stretch her stiff legs after the arduous journey. As she closed the door, she felt something cold and wet envelope her feet. She glanced down, searching for the source of the sensation. She had stepped from the car directly into a puddle, and was now soaked up to her ankles in the residual rain water.
"Oh, great," she sighed to herself, placing her hands on her hips, "this is perfect, simply perfect." She turned towards Mulder, but he was already sloshing his way through the muddy clearing up to the front of the house. Scully pulled the neck of her long, black coat closer to her chilled body and followed in pursuit. The harsh, cold wind blew her hair in every direction and cut through her, straight to the marrow. By the time she rejoined Mulder on the front step, he had already broken down the faded, yellow police tape and had cracked the door.
Mulder pushed the door back wide, revealing for the first time the less than comforting conditions inside. Though it was day, no light could penetrate the house's interior. Darkness inexorably infiltrated every nook as transitory shadows danced to a demon's song that human ears could not perceive. The stacks of dust were rivaled only by the numerous cobwebs that clung to each corner. The yellowed walls were chipped and peeling and the furniture looked at least twenty years old.
"Homey, isn't it?" Mulder asked, grabbing his flashlight and proceeding down a corridor. Scully did not reply, but simply flicked on her flashlight and advanced towards the opposite hall. She scanned every section of the dilapidated kitchen, checking the trashcan and drawers for anything that might shed light on the events that had transpired. Upon finding nothing, she doubled back to look for Mulder. When she found him, he was crouched down on the floor in a bedroom at the end of the hall, sitting on his haunches. The beam from the flashlight was illuminating something he was inspecting in his hand.
"Did you find anything?" he preempted her.
"Nothing," she answered, "What's that?"
"Syringe," he responded, standing up to face her, "Just say no, Scully."
Scully pulled on a latex glove that she had stored in her pocket and took the needle from his hand. Holding it up to the flashlight, she examined the syringe.
"Looks like they didn't use all of it," she said, gently rocking the thin layer of translucent liquid back and forth "I'll take it to the lab and get it analyzed."
"Good," Mulder said, "I'll drop you off. There's something I need to take care of."
The Magic Bullet Takoma Falls, VA 5:14 P.M.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Keep your pants on." Frohike swore loudly at the person knocking at the steel-plated front door as he picked up his glasses from atop a computer monitor and placed them behind his ears. Glancing briefly at a nearby screen to see who had awakened him from his pre- dinner catnap, Frohike continued on toward the door and unlatched the eleven locks that guarded the entrance to the Lone Gunmen's Lair. Frohike pulled the door back a sliver, revealing the face of Mulder.
"Somebody order a callboy?" Frohike asked, glancing behind him as Byers and Langly entered the room.
"Not this week," Langly replied in his nasal falsetto. Then he turned towards Mulder. "We got the low down on that Veckman guy for you," he said, "I don't know what's all involved in the case you're cooking up, but the dude has a pretty interesting past."
Mulder took a seat at Frohike's desk. "Interesting how?" he asked.
"Interesting as in terms of his educational and vocational choices," Byers informed him.
"Yeah," Frohike interjected, casting Mulder a disapproving look for stealing his spot, and then taking Langly's instead, "the guy has certifications out the ying-yang."
"Two degrees, to be precise," Byers continued, "Veckman completed his undergraduate as Valedictorian of the class of 1944 at Princeton University before matriculating at Yale, where he earned his first Ph.D in the field of Psychology. He had a small, private practice for three years, before he decided to return to his studies and pursue a career in the biological sciences. After four years at Brown, Veckman had obtained his second Ph.D for Genetics."
"Mr. Wonderful, huh?" Mulder asked, "The record seems a little too spotless for me."
"Well, here's where it gets interesting," Byers said.
"His life story is an open book for a few more years," Langly continued, "He publishes some findings in a couple of major scientific journals and regularly attends conferences, not just as a visitor, but as the guest speaker of honor. Then one day, at a national conference in 1957, he
doesn't show up. Just disappears, like his entire history is erased. That is, until he shows up as a psychiatrist at the Whiting Institute for the Criminally Insane in 1978."
"Were you able to find any records of his time spent there?" Mulder asked.
"Well," Frohike answered, "Since you have the good fortune of knowing me, and since I am able to do the kung fu that I do so well."
".It was my kung fu you credit-stealing balding monkey," Langly interrupted angrily.
"Guys, please, we all did our share," Byers interjected, hoping to pacify matters.
"Whatever," Frohike continued, "Anyway, we were able to hack into the crazy house's database. Lucky for us, the good doctors wanted to put up the appearance of having entered the 20th century. All the files are computerized. Hold on to your cajones, Mulder. This is where the meatballs really hit the frying pan."
"Let me guess," Mulder said, "Veckman was part of a project, the Litchfield Experiments, initiated at the end of the Cold War with the purpose of generating a race of genetically enhanced superhumans."
The Gunmen's mouths dropped wide open as they looked uncertainly at one another.
"How did you know?" Byers finally managed to ask.
"Long story," Mulder answered simply.
"Well," Frohike huffed, angry at having his thunder stolen right out from under him, "I guess you won't be needing us after all." He folded his arms and turned to face the opposite wall.
"Aw, c'mon, Hickey," Mulder said playfully, putting his hand on Frohike's shoulder, "you know you're my big man, my go-to-guy. Why don't you tell me what you found?"
"Say it," Frohike said, still sulking.
Mulder leaned close to his ear so Byers and Langly couldn't hear, "Your kung fu's the best."
"And don't you forget it," Frohike said, turning back to face his partners, "Let's get back to it." He rubbed his hands together and as Mulder turned around, he muttered under his breath, "Punkass."
"As you may or may not know," he began, glancing over at Mulder, "I mean, who the hell knows what you know, since you seem to know it all anyway."
"Melvin," Mulder cautioned, halting the little man's foray into a disparaging harangue.
"Um, right. As I was saying, at the time when Dr. Veckman went underground in 1957, his records show that he was just beginning his involvement with the Litchfield Project."
"He was with the Project since '57?" Mulder asked.
"Oh, looks like we stumbled upon a fact the almighty Mulder wasn't aware of," Frohike replied, a wide grin erupting over his face. Mulder, usually quick with the comeback, let his middle finger do the talking.
The smile fell from his face and was quickly replaced by a frown. "Hey, man," Frohike said, "that hurts."
Mulder responded with an apologetic shrug of his shoulders and Byers continued in his stead.
"In 1957, Veckman replaced Dr. Gerhard Strauss as the leading genetic engineer on the Project. This was due, I might add, to Dr. Strauss' mysterious 'disappearance' following a certain dissatisfaction with the way the Project was being handled and his related threat to go to the press in a very, very public manner. Veckman analyzed the problems that were discovered in the first set of genetically- altered clones, a group of males known collectively as the Adams. It seems the Adams were prone to psychosis and had all committed suicide by the time they were twenty."
"It runs in the family," Mulder said, seating himself and placing his folded hands over his mouth.
"Yes," Byers continued, "well, at any rate, Veckman attempted to correct this problem in the second group of experiments, genetic clones of his dead wife, known as the Eves. Eight Eves were created in all. Five of them followed in the footsteps of their brethren. The sixth Eve would have done the same, if Veckman hadn't ordered her detainment at Whiting. Eves 7 and 8 fared better. According to Veckman's files, he treated them both with an experimental serum that seemed to work wonders. Both girls exhibited a superior intelligence but did not show the detrimental signs of homicide and insanity to which the others were prone. In 1978, he requested a transfer from the lab to the Institute so that he could monitor the Eves' outcome. In 1979, Eve 7 escaped, followed a decade later by Eve 8. There was a suspicion that someone on the inside facilitated their escape, since they disappeared with great ease, even for two geniuses, but Veckman was cleared of any wrong doing. In 1993, Eve 7 was killed and two new Eves, created by Eve 7, were captured and institutionalized for their murder by two agents from the FBI."
The Gunmen looked at each other as realization simultaneously hit them. They turned their gaze to Mulder, who merely nodded his head in response.
"Since that time," Byers continued, "the doctor reports that Eve 6's condition has deteriorated, but, with the same treatment given to Eves 7 and 8, he has improved the stability of Eves 9 and 10."
"Or, at least, that's what he claims," Langly interjected.
"I guess we'll soon find out," Mulder replied.
Frohike arched an eyebrow from behind his thick glasses. "What are you talking about, Mulder?" he asked.
"That report doesn't tell you everything, boys," he informed them, "It seems the doctor neglected to mention the fact that Eves 9 and 10 are currently AWOL as well. Pretty interesting coincidence, wouldn't you say? He shows up at Whiting and four of his patients are able to escape?" He stood up quickly form his chair. "I need you to scan unsolved cases for me. Look for anything you can. Weird murders. Traces of strange toxins. The sighting of a pair of teenaged twins around suspicious areas. I'll send you a picture of the girls from a file I salvaged from the fire a couple of years ago." He headed towards the door.
"What are you going to do?" Langly asked.
Mulder turned briefly to face them. "I'm going to put the I back in FBI," he said, and without another word, turned and walked out of the room.
"Punkass," Frohike whispered to himself, and took his seat in front of his console.