Disclaimer: Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions own all the characters and concepts pertaining to the X-Files in this story. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Reviews:
Gothic Spook: I am so glad you're enjoying it! I hope this chapter is equally as interesting!
Samantha: I hope this was soon enough for the next chapter. Enjoy!
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"Don't try to fix me I'm not broken.
Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can't hide.
Don't cry."
~Evanescence, Hello from Origin
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Chapter 10: Favours, Phone Calls, Poison, and Case #195426
How can I be sure I haven't found something when I don't even know what I'm looking for? This was the only question that was on Morgan's mind as she peeked about the apartment, looking through the rooms at the pictures and items around the girl's apartment. She got a strange feeling she was in the right home, judging by the scent from inside. Her nose was extremely sensitive to these types of things, an ability that needed no enhancement from any 'breed'.
She poked through the bedroom, the photos in the closet, and the Wicca handbooks on the bedside tables, the scented candles and incense all around the room. Morgan was proud when she discovered the blonde girl picture on the bureau amongst several other empty pictures of strange lights and dancing streams of electricity. She was intrigued by the strange photography, if only for a moment. It caught her attention briefly but then faded from her interest, as she continued around the apartment.
There was an address book on the counter, filled with study group's phone numbers, notes made by several other friends, family members sorted into a section that looked underused. It was a classic home for a university student, and it made Morgan sick to her stomach. She hated the thought of the clichés of society.
She discovered Doggett and Mulder in the proper sections, marked off with blue highlighter. Morgan grabbed a piece of notepaper and jotted down the addresses with a pen that was lying on the counter and shoved the slip of paper in her pocket. That saved her additional phone call to her boss, and that was good enough for her.
Morgan was out of the apartment before the girl even got back in the building. She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed a number to division, this time not to Trent. He was probably at a Syndicate meeting, smoking cigars, lamenting over the oncoming invasion and the implantation of the 'breed' into a larger range of soldiers. His lover, an escort being paid millions of dollars to pose as a wife for him was at his house, enjoying his food and his space. Morgan had fought the urge to pull the trigger every time the brunette's face came into view. One of these days, she assured herself. One of these days…
This time she was calling up the other's handler. She had the operator hack her into Ridder's tight knit phone system and got on the line with Louis.
"Chavelle." He said, breathlessly.
"I need a favour." She said quickly. He sounded like he was having trouble breathing. Morgan tried to ignore it. "You scratch my back, I scratch yours, deal?"
"Morgan, I'm in the middle of something."
"No, I am. Because of your inability to bring her in without causing a stir I was sent into the field. I need you to get something from Ridder for me, and in return, I'll tell you where she is."
"You know?"
"Just get her records from
Ridder."
"They've gone missing." He said, still hyperventilating. "You know that."
"Not those
records. The other
records. If you give them to me,
I'll tell you where she is."
"You're lying."
The phone clicked. Morgan growled and put it back in her pocket. She would just have to check out her location without proof and give Trent a call later.
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Ridder had only made one phone call in the past twelve hours. He had called the phone company and shut down all cell phones pertaining to division. They were all working blind now. All six of his agents were without back up, something he didn't need at that point in time. Unfortunately, he had no other choice. The FBI was going to track the numbers on her cell phone, and those numbers would put every one of his agents in jeopardy. For the time being, there could be no loose ends.
"Sir." Louis had opened the door. David lowered his head and turned from the twilight streets of Washington to his annoying little employee. Louis looked visibly shaken. "I just received a call from Morgan Warren, sir. She's been released into the field."
Ridder could feel his anger rise.
"Get Trent on the phone right now." He ordered quickly. The Senator had no right to rain on his already destroyed parade.
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Scully had no idea what was so urgent that required she and Mulder at the house immediately. William was dragged along, silently as usual, only to be brought up the stairs by Meredith who was bragging about a 'crazy lady in the basement'. At that point they were expecting a rather good explanation from John and Monica.
"What seems to be the problem John?" Dana asked him. Meredith was smiling giddily from the top of the stairs, but she said nothing as promised and took William to play in her room.
He didn't answer. He led them down to the basement instead.
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She heard the footsteps but didn't move. What could she possibly do but stay still? Looking pathetic seemed to be her only defense in this case. Maybe she could snatch a gun off one of them. That was thinking to optimistically. They weren't as stupid as that, were they? She hoped they were. She was praying that they didn't disarm themselves.
Her training was neglected as the first lock was opened. She sat in the corner of the room, head low and covered with a thin layer of red hair. Small streaks of black and crimson shot through her eyesight as the limp locks shook with her shivering body.
The second lock clicked. She reached a hand up to her ear and pushed at the scabbing skin, probing it with her fingers a little. She had precious little time. Her only hope for death was this, and it was a stupid plan anyways.
The third lock clicked open and she dug her fingers into the half healed flesh. She suppressed her scream and reached deeper, grabbing hold of the pulsing form of the breed.
The fourth lock was unheard. The poison started to crawl into her veins. She reached to her wrist and started the twelve hour timer.
They could come if they wanted. She wouldn't be alive enough to notice.
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There was something familiar to Dana Scully about the girl in the corner, chest hammering for every breath. They stood at the door and watched, seeing her in real, visible pain. She looked like a demon, a vampire perhaps, with blood moving from her throat to her lips and dribbling over her chin.
It didn't matter how sinister the whole scene looked. It didn't matter how disturbing it was, the dark fluid moving from her ears and down her long lengths of hair. Scully knew the woman.
She walked away from the door and back up the stairs. Mulder walked after her.
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Morgan found the doings of other people fascinating if she allowed herself that much lenience to do so. She hid inside an empty house across the street, the one two officers had occupied for the sake of watching the Doggett house. They were now dead in the foyer, throats slashed and blood growing into a large pool beneath them. All the surveillance equipment was set up and ready, giving her a perfect position.
She slid on a pair of latex gloves and pulled plastic over her feet. The hair and fabric would be hard to trace, since she had taken the liberty of putting on a wig before stepping inside. The fabric was tight-knit and woven to prevent shedding.
The red haired woman exited, the man watching her from the window. "Follow, or stay?" This was the obvious choice, and for one reason or another, she chose follow.
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Everyone hated each other. It was the way things were in FEMA and all corresponding divisions. Trent thereby hated Ridder, and all this associated with Ridder. This was not one way, though. Ridder hated Trent and all things associated with Trent. The two were terrible in meetings, worse than the other division leaders. Ridder had wanted the leadership position over FEMA for a while, and his persistence and ability to do everything within his power to get it triggered Trent's decision to enlist the help of Morgan. He knew that the other was equally as powerful, but losing one or two assassins was not unheard of, especially in a business where everyone hated everybody else.
"What the hell do you want, Ridder?" Trent had demanded. There was no hello or any greeting of any kind. He wanted to cut right to the chase. His brunette lover lay in the bed next to him, perched up on an arm and pulling the blanket slowly down her naked body.
"Why the hell did you send Morgan into the field? I have this situation under control."
"Do you have the breed back yet, Ridder?"
"Why did you…"
"DO YOU HAVE THE BREED, RIDDER?!" He demanded loudly. David snarled.
"No."
"Well when you do I'll call her back in. You have 24 hours, Ridder. And I'm not joking." The phone died. Ridder slammed it back on the receiver.
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Mulder watched Scully drive off and felt increasingly guilty. He didn't like this any more than she did, but what could he do about it? This was everything he had fought for, and it was sitting in the basement at that very moment waiting for him. He was once again faced with the choice of whether or not he could choose against the truth.
Right now the truth was winning, and he felt like shit.
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Scully got out at her apartment and took the stairs instead of the elevator. She never took the elevator. With the stairs, she could tell if she was being followed much easier. She wouldn't call herself paranoid. She just called herself cautious, and to her, that was much different.
They lived on the third floor in a small apartment with a nice view of a parking lot. The house was light coloured, painted in off white tones of yellow and blue. She entered and locked the door, going immediately to the bedroom and reaching into the closet.
It was here that she kept her private possessions and secret items that meant more to her than life itself. There were pictures William had drawn for her and pictures of Meredith, notes and letters from her father and mother, and things she couldn't live without.
It was buried under the carpet, and she yanked up the loose corner of rug and yanked out the manila folder. She ran her fingers along the edges, the frayed paper revealing the sacred case file within. She hadn't told anyone about her moment of weakness when she had snatched it from the office and dragged it home. It was her personal folder, the one that she would always keep with her.
She opened it up, holding it open on her lap. Case #195426: Emily Sims.
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Sorry, it's short. I'm sorry about my lack of updating! I'll try and get back on top of it!