Chapter 10: A Little Bit of Hell

Russell Building

Washington, D.C.

May 7th

10:02am

"The senator is out, ma'am," said the young woman at the desk.

Scully closed the door. "I know—" she looked at the nametag "—Elizabeth."

The woman squinted up at her. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"May I sit down?" Scully asked without answering.

"Sure."

Scully took a seat in the chair in front of the desk, folding her hands in her lap.

"Can I help you?" Elizabeth asked again.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI," Scully answered. She displayed her badge. "I have a few questions about the senator."

Elizabeth looked stricken. She could have been no more than twenty-five years old, with wispy brown hair and a round, innocent face. She played nervously with the memos on the desk. "Why? Has something, like, happened to him?"

Scully noted the reaction. "No, Elizabeth. Senator Roberts is fine. I'm investigating a case of my colleague's, and the senator's name came up. There is no need for concern."

Elizabeth nodded.

"I understand you're one of the senator's top aides," Scully said.

"Yeah."

"How long have you worked for him?"

"Since I was a Senate page. Like in high school. I ran errands for him. Then he told me, like, he couldn't manage without me."

Scully raised an eyebrow. "Right. I'm sure you're aware that the senator was involved in a serious accident a couple of years ago."

Elizabeth's face clouded with the memory. "Yeah. I remember. I was waiting for him at the airstrip, but he never made it. I saw him at the hospital. It was scary." She warmed at Scully's open face. "He's a very active man, right. So it was, like, awful, seeing him just lying there. I couldn't even see him breathe."

"You care about him."

"Yeah, I do. I mean, he's like a father to me, you know? My dad was a drunk, and he beat up my mom. The senator sort of, like, took me under his wing. I could talk to him, you know?"

"Yeah. And then he recovered."

"Oh, yeah. It was definitely a miracle. I prayed every night, and, like, somehow I knew he was going to be okay."

Scully shifted slightly. "Did anything change after he came back?"

"What do you mean?" the aide asked, puzzled.

"Well, did he act differently, talk differently, was there a change in habits…"

Elizabeth answered slowly. "Yeah, I guess. At least a little bit. He used to be, like, this, like, huge raisin-holic. He'd have me run to get boxes and boxes of them. And then one day, after he came back to work, I made him a raisin cake, and like, he just smiled politely and didn't even eat it. I saw it on Senator Daschle's fridge two days later."

"Uh huh. Maybe he was having a lousy day. Did anything else strike you as odd?"

"Well…" Elizabeth lowered her voice. "I'm not supposed to know about this, but I walked in on him and this other man one time. The other guy, like, smoked a lot, and the senator hates smokers. But they were talking like they'd known each other for a long time."

"What did they talk about?"

"I only heard a little. Something about them. Like 'Were they ready?' or 'Did they work?', and they, like, kept saying things about this guy named Mulder. Then they argued over this woman. I was kinda miffed. The senator usually tells me about them, well, you know, no one's supposed to know, but they all have mistresses. So yeah. They argued about Cassandra. I don't know who she is, but they were both pretty crazy about her."

Scully's mind reeled with the information. Cassandra? I thought she'd been taken…

"Do you remember anything they said about this woman, Cassandra?"

Elizabeth giggled. "Yep. They kept saying that her thighs were bred. And that, like, her body was the key to everything." She paused for a minute, smirking. "Then again, they said that about the Mulder guy, too."

That his thighs were bred and his body was the key? Scully laughed inwardly, humorless.

"Anything else?" Scully asked out loud.

"Well, like, you know, everybody has their quirks. I dunno. The senator's just like, a great man."

Scully stood up. "All right, Elizabeth, thank you for your cooperation."

"No problem," Elizabeth called cheerily.

In the elevator, Scully leaned against the wood panels and closed her eyes. It had taken so much effort to put on her professional mask. She wanted to scowl until the crease between her brows became permanent.

Like, like, like, she repeated in her head. I'd like to strangle the girl.

M Street

Washington, D.C.

May 7th

1:43pm

Scully walked tiredly up to the coffee stand, hands deep in her jacket pockets despite the warm weather. She had spent the rest of the morning going over all the files she could find on Samantha Mulder. And there had been nothing. Except the paper that called off the investigation—signed by C.G.B. Spender. That was the last document.

She nodded to the vendor. He handed her her usual order.

"Agent Scully," said a familiar voice.

Scully whirled around and met the amused expression of the Smoking Man, standing just behind her.

"What do you want?" she demanded with more calm than she felt.

The Cigarette-Smoking Man indicated to the coffee stand. "Just something to drink."

Scully stepped aside, eyes hard.

"I'd like to give you some advice," the Smoking Man said a moment later, coffee in hand. He began a leisurely stroll down the street. Scully followed, coming up abreast and matching his every stride.

"One should never interfere in another's decisions," he said.

"And you should talk?" Scully asked, scoffing.

"Sometimes you must sleep with the enemy to get what you want."

Scully stopped in her tracks and asked angrily, "What have you done to Mulder?"

The Smoking stopped, too, and turned slightly to look at her. "Nothing. Everything he does is of his own choosing."

"Really? What about the operation? To remove his brain cells?" Scully rounded on the man. "What about the lie he's living now, with his sister, with that bitch Diana—"

"He may not be living much longer," the Smoking Man interrupted sardonically.

Scully's eyes widened in surprise.

"He was shot this morning. Single bullet to the head."

Scully took a deep breath. "I suppose that's of his own choosing, too?"

"Good-bye, Agent Scully," said the Smoking Man, giving no indication that he had heard her question. He gave a small smile and walked away.

Scully was about to hurry after him when he turned once again. "Oh, by the way, Dana," he said. "He's at St. Mary's."

St. Mary's Hospice

Brenda, Maryland

May 7th

2:31pm

His face was turned toward the window. Sunlight filtered through the blinds and caught the gauze of the bandage around his head, giving her the impression that he had a glowing halo. Scully swallowed.

"Mulder," she said as she entered the room.

He didn't look at her. "What are you doing here?" he asked. It was a weak voice. But there was no ring of welcome.

"I came to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine."

"Mulder—can we talk?" Scully asked before the silence became uncomfortable.

"No."

"Why?" She held her breath, knowing the answer.

"Because you make everything worse."

"Mulder, look at me."

He didn't move.

"Look at me," Scully commanded.

He met her eyes slowly. There was no expression in the hazel eyes that she used to know so well.

"Mulder, I am not giving up. No matter how much you want me to go away, I will get to the bottom of this, and you will know the truth."

"Good for you," Diana said coolly from the doorway.

Scully ignored her and fixed Mulder with an icy gaze. "You will know the truth."

She brushed past Diana and into the hall, breathing deeply, sadly.

She watched them from the window. Watched them kiss. A muscle twitched in her neck. She walked away, determined.

She will make him see.