Disclaimer: The characters and concepts pertaining to the X-Files in the story are the property of Chris Carter, Fox Network, and Ten Thirteen Productions. This is an amateur effort with no intention of infringement on copyright laws. There was no money made off the thinking, writing, and or posting processes of this story and it is for entertainment purposes only.
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Gothic Spook: This was my favourite chapter to write, because it has some real detective work going on and I loved reading mysteries (John Grisham is my favourite author!).
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"There's something cold and blank behind her smile.
She's standing on an overpass in her miracle mile.
You were from a perfect world.
A world that threw me away today…"
~Marilyn Manson, Coma White from Mechanical Animals
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Chapter 6: Babysitting and Personal Issues.
"Alright." Monica said, slumping at the desk and dropping a large, leather bound book onto the desktop. John lifted an eyebrow, looking at her opening the covers, eyes peering onto the pages covered in jagged writing. It was messy. Just from his glance he determined the owner was a male.
"This is Brad's schedule."
"How'd you get that?" He asked. Monica looked at him giving him that, How do you think I got the schedule?
"We're investigating an assassination, John. That's a box of personal effects and Brad's mail from the past week or so in that box over there." She pointed at the filing box on the chair in the corner. John folded the old file he was looking at and set it on top of the filing cabinet.
"Who brought that down?"
"Skinner sent it down." She said, flipping through the pages of Brad's day timer. Okay, Brad, let's see what you had lined up all week.
John lifted the box and put it on the smaller desk on the other side of the room. He went back to the filing cabinet, grabbing the file off the top. Monica glanced up from her work, looking at him as he slumped down about four feet from her, looking through the file with his interest peaked.
"What's that?" She asked, pushing away from the desk a little. John looked at her.
"An old case file." He said, shutting the folder. "Just the one from Antarctica."
"Did they ever figure out how Mulder and Scully got back?"
"No, never, although Leyla Harrison signed this file out for inspection about a month after our little escapade together." Monica rolled her eyes, looking back at the day timer, pouring through the days, the hours, the minutes, every second of his life marked down in an orderly fashion. May 7 was a lunch date with Rachel, whoever that was. This was a surprise since May 4 was dinner with Sheila, and according to May 5, she was still over for breakfast. Monica shook her head, flipping the page again to May 8, the day before his murder.
6:00 pm: Dinner with R. 195426 'X'.
"Found something." She said, pointing to the cell where the small note was written quickly, so quickly she could barely read it. "Dinner with 'R' at 6 pm followed by a number: 195426 and an X."
"Phone number?" John asked. Monica shook her head.
"It's only six numbers."
"An address, maybe, a postal code?"
"Postal code would have letters and an address wouldn't be that long unless it was in the country." Monica said, looking over the cell again.
John considered this, looking back at the desk. He eyed the numbers on the case file he had been looking at, and his brain slid into investigation mode.
"A case file?"
"What?" Monica asked him, unable to hear him in his soft tone.
"A case file." He said again, turning to face her. "A to B to C."
"John, I'm really tired right now…"
"Look, a six digit number." He said, grabbing the file from the desk and emphasizing the number on the top flap. "Followed by a letter." His finger moved across the top where the division affiliation was. Skinner, who had filled out the file, marked an 'X' in this slot. "And C…" He opened up the drawer at the top of the filing cabinet and searched through it. Monica stood and helped him.
But the file was missing.
"Enter the next piece of evidence. A missing case file." He said. Monica sat down at the desk again.
"This is going to take all day." She said, going through the rest of the day in the ledger. John shrugged, going to the door.
"I'm getting some coffee." He said. Monica smiled.
"Make mine black." She said after him, and continued.
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"Phoebe." Meredith said as she brought forth the velvet bag she had discovered in the babysitter's disheveled bedroom. Phoebe looked up from the counter where she was sitting cross legged and drinking tea. The seven year old climbed up on the chair, yawning sleepily and produced the bag. "What are these?"
Phoebe reached into the bag.
"Tarot cards." She said, placing them on the counter again.
"What do you do with them?"
"You read the future."
"Read mine!" Meredith said, holding the deck up to her. Phoebe folded the newspaper up and set it aside, dumping the deck of cards out on the counter and shuffled them. A piece of paper dropped out, a picture with charred edges. Meredith had it before Phoebe could take it from her.
"Who's that?" She asked, pointing to the small boy in the picture. Phoebe's brow furrowed.
"Who's who?" Phoebe took the picture and looked, the boy looking away from the camera. She looked from the picture to Meredith and back to the picture. Meredith was getting impatient.
"Meredith…" She began, holding the picture to Meredith. "You can see that?"
"Yes. Why? Are you blind or something? Who's the boy in the picture?"
Phoebe's mouth went dry.
The boy in the picture was Luke, after he had been dead for over a decade.
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Walter Skinner had become used to people barging into his office. It seemed to be a daily occurrence that someone would simply 'forget' to knock, march right to his desk and expect to talk to him.
But he hadn't expected David Ridder. Not in a million years would have expected David Ridder.
Ridder was an intimidating man, standing at about 6'3 with blonde hair and blue eyes that could pierce even the strongest man's soul. He was like the 'Smoking Man' with his frightening appearance, cigarette tightened in his fingers that day as he waltzed in like he owned the place. He closed the door so as not to be disturbed. Skinner had no hope of being disturbed. Ridder's first rat Louis was guarding the door.
"Hello, Walter." Ridder said, smoking his cigarette without care.
"What do you want David?" Skinner asked in a low voice, not even bothering to mention that there was no smoking in the building. David continued with a sadistic smile.
"I think you know. You do know the file's missing."
"I had nothing to do with that." He said. "Brad Follmer…"
"I know Follmer had the file damn it!" He shouted, pounding his hands on the table. The ash from the cigarette flew off to the side. "I know he did, because he was running that night. Where he put it is what I want to know."
"Why would I know something like that?"
"I don't know, maybe you helped him out."
"I didn't." Skinner put it sharply, making the conversation fall short for a moment. David was hardly going to keep quiet though. He knew Skinner knew more than he was saying. "I don't know where he put that file. Maybe you should check out his office."
Ridder was close to punching Skinner, turning to him and stopping his fist and inch from Skinner's cheek. Walter didn't flinch as David pulled his hand away.
"Don't you think I've tried something like that? Don't insult my intelligence, Walter. I had her in here the day before, don't you remember?"
Skinner stopped trying to figure out what David had said. He thought back to yesterday, the day going by backwards, like someone had hit rewind. And then he saw it, the brunette agent, the one claiming to be CIA.
No, that agent checked out. She had even showed up with her superior, a friend of Skinner's.
"She doesn't emote very well." David added. "And she had to poison Follmer's secretary. I sent her some flowers, how is she doing?"
"You bastard."
"Now, now, that language is uncalled for. Unfortunately as talented as my agent is she is now missing, along with the file that could incriminate everything I have been doing." David was scared now, that Skinner could note. He was a man of very little fear, but that file had something very important inside it. "File number 195426. Seen it anywhere?"
"What division is it for?"
"The only division that matters, Walter, the X-Files." He said dangerously, the cigarette burned to the butt now. Ridder thrust the tip into Skinner's desk making smoke curl from the orange embers and around his hand.
"Let me put this into a language you understand, Walter." He said, walking around the desk, the cigarette dropping to the floor. "You see this file is a danger to my way of life and my department. If it gets into the wrong hands like let's say…agent Mulder, than my life and yours is at stake. Do you understand?" He looked down at the old AD, blue eyes vivid with rage.
Walter did nothing but nod. Ridder smiled.
"There's a good Assistant Director." David said, leaving the room as quickly as he came. Walter took a deep breath, hurrying to the front of his desk and picking up the cigarette butt.
I should retire. I'm getting too old for this.
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John's cell phone rang a couple minutes into the indulgence in his second cup of coffee and the third page of the R section in the address book. He opened the cellular device and saw Nameth written on the LCD screen. A rush of panic moved through his body.
"Where's Meredith?" He asked quickly, alerting a caffeine-high Monica to look at him stunned. Phoebe rolled her eyes, trying to not say something sarcastic.
"She's asleep, John. Relax. I can see her from here." That wasn't the whole truth. Phoebe had taken refuge in the closet in her hall, and could only hear the TV but not see Meredith. Just to be sure she opened the door and looked, seeing her hand lazily dangling over the couch. "There's something else I called you about."
"What?" He asked, setting the file aside.
"You're not going to believe this." She said, pressing her back against the wall. "Meredith pulled out a picture I took of your…Luke, and she could see him in the picture."
John was breathless. He couldn't say anything. Phoebe continued.
"I didn't…"
"What did you tell her?"
"I…"
"What did you tell her about Luke?" He demanded. Monica closed her eyes, hanging her head a little.
"I didn't tell her anything, okay? Calm down…"
"Don't show her pictures of him again."
"It was an accident!"
"I don't care. I don't want it happening again!" He hung up quickly. Phoebe pressed end on her phone and threw it against the closet wall, the whole receiver breaking and shattering on the floor. She retreated from the closet, Meredith still asleep on the couch.
She slid down the wall, watching the television.
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John didn't want to talk about it, and Monica respected that. He was still hurt about his son, especially with Meredith at the same age Luke was. Luke would have been eighteen now. She didn't want to think about the details.
"John…" She said, acting as the voice of reason as usual.
He got up and walked out of the room without another word. She stood up and walked after him.
"John Doggett you stop walking away from me." She ordered, hands on her hips. "You demanded me to let go of my problems and you've had a long enough time to let go of this."
"I don't want Meredith knowing about Luke!" He said. "I don't want it to happen!"
"What happened?" Monica asked. John was silent. "Come on John, you can tell me."
"You don't tell me anything." He sounded like a child. Monica lowered her head. "You couldn't talk about this morning."
"This morning was personal."
"And so is this." He said, walking away.
"Where are you going?"
"It's personal." He said.
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There was something soothing about the wind that was blowing that night. When she awoke, the blood had coagulated around her ear and she was feeling a lot stronger than before. It would be easy to take care of the agents now, without the weakness of the ringing and the pain of the bullets and the stupor of the drugs.
She hopped down out of the tree, finding blood streaming down the sides. The investigators did not see this, something she found very advantageous. She couldn't smell them, but her sense of smell was not as good as it had been before the shooting. She debated on how to remove the evidence without leaving more of her flesh or saliva around for people to find. Finally, she ripped off a piece of her shirt and wiped the blood away.
~Okay, so you're feeling better. Can we please shoot the Agents now?~
*Not yet. I have to find Ridder.*
~What are we? A puppy going to find their master?~
*Shut up or I'll cut you out.*
The voices went silent for a moment and she faced the direction of the house.
*I need a change of clothes and a shower.*
Her fingers ran through the hair that had now grown back to its original length before she had slashed it off. With a final inspection of it she walked to the house, her leg completely healed from the car accident she had been involved in earlier.
She discovered the house empty, but found something she hadn't expected: a child's room. So they have a kid, she thought. But where is she?
~Babysitter. Friend's house. Find a address book.~
She looked through all the papers in the house, finding no phone number to a babysitter's house. She went back to the child's room and sniffed, following the scent of perfume down to the main floor and into the kitchen. The strongest portion of it came from the living room, where the woman had sat. Ralph Lauren, she thought, running her fingers along the seams of the couch. So she's fairly rich. Might be a person with money or worker. Or it was a gift…
The ideas were limitless. She needed another idea. She inspected the girl's room again and found her clue, the picture slid inside the frame of the vanity mirror.
The brunette with a grin, sitting out on the lawn in flip flops, hair flying in the wind. She extracted it from the mirror, flipping it over. Phoebe, September 2005, The fine cursive had written.
Phoebe…she thought, looking through the other pictures. There was only one of the female. She looked through the contents of the vanity, through the costume jewelry and make up, finding no other clues as to whom the girl was. She put the picture back and moved to the parent's room, searching their room for photo albums. She found an older one, a smaller one filled with small area of light in no correlation. This was sorted amongst things that the male probably never wanted found, along with pictures of a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes.
She came across one more photo of the girl, this time marked with a last name. Phoebe Nameth was written on the back of the graduation picture inside the photo album with the light pictures.
She knew she would have smiled at that moment, but couldn't bring herself to do so.
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John didn't even look at Phoebe when he picked up Meredith. Phoebe avoided him, hugging Meredith goodbye and waving to her specifically. John stood for a moment, pondering what to say, but he left angrily, not saying anything. She slammed the door behind him, biting her lip so hard red marks appeared under where her teeth had imprinted.
His daughter was staring out the window, curious about the world as always, unafraid of the people walking. She used to wave at them, no matter who they were. To Meredith there was no colour and no age. There was just this big world of people to discover.
"Where's mommy?" She asked.
"Mommy's at work." He said, watching the road, glancing at his daughter. She smiled at him and looked back out the window.
He was about to say something again, something forgettable, when his cell phone rang again. He groaned and grabbed it, not looking at the number.
"John Doggett." He said quickly.
"Agent Doggett?" The man's voice said. "This is Lieutenant Michael Bentley, one of the men watching your house."
"What can I do for you?"
"The woman left here quickly. We tried to stop her but she's on the run in one of our cruisers. She's heading somewhere in the city."
"Was she in the house?"
"Yes, that's why we're calling. Your room was broken into, we know that much. She left them all around the room. We were wondering if you might know where she was heading."
John stopped to think. The photo albums in his room had nothing important, family and friends…
And Phoebe's picture, hidden in the one she had given him.
"My babysitter." He said, alerting Meredith. "I'm just coming from there now."
"You're to head home, Agent."
"I can be there faster than you." He said, pulling a quick U-turn. "I'll meet your men there."
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