-x-
Day 2
-x-
06:21 a.m.
*But you lived through all this. Do you know why?*
*Perhaps I was chosen.*
The panicked voices and overzealous orchestral number begins to die down and I slowly rise to another morning.
CLICK.
I've never considered it to be a good sign when I adopt Mulder's poor sleeping habits, consisting of B-rate horror films and a poorly upholstered couch. However, I suppose I should be considerate sleep came to me at all.
As I make my way towards the shower I can't help but notice a distinct odor. Dead bodies and freshly cut roses, burning flesh and early evening rain, all with their own unique fragrance, though I wouldn't consider this one to be anything short of unpleasant.
-x-
The smell still lingers while straightening my tie, only now it's accompanied with a chorus of growls and screams, neither of which were the pleasant kind either.
But I know what it is. It's my neighbor's interesting take on 'healing wholesome cooking,' and her husband's not-so wholesome attempt to recount her failures.
At least that's what I gather. I don't see much of her or her husband, it's mostly her little boy stomping down the main hallway I take notice of. Fortunately they don't live close. If one were playing chess, their apartment would be a Knight's move away from me, two doors down and one across. Far enough that we are not on a regular talking basis, aside from the occasional 'hello,' but not far enough to where I don't occasionally hear their arguments and smell their food.
She's cooking a little early today, must be a good day, but the volume does indicate to me that it could change.
Walking down the hall towards the elevator I can't help but notice the smell getting stronger, and my stomach muscles becoming weaker.
The elevator door opens, and the woman's son greets me.
"Little early to be out don't you think?"
The boy, maybe six or seven, but definitely no older than ten, plasters on a strange shark-toothed smile. He looks at me, but not really, with the attention span of a fly I can't really blame him since he's already lost interest talking to the strange old man who stopped him in the elevator.
"Nah, momma needs leeks for the soup."
"Leeks?"
He looks away smacking his jaw on imaginary gum, guess he's nervous.
"Yah, want some?" He raises the bag as high as he can, apparently he must think wearing glasses is equivalent to being blind.
"No, but thanks."
I creep into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close and for my stomach and sense of smell to return.
"MOMMA! I GOT THE LEEKS!" BANG BANG BANG "LEMME IN!" BANG BANG BANG
While I've never considered myself to be a grouchy middle-aged man, this moment does make me glad that children were not something that ever blossomed out of any of my relationships.
-x-
7:12 A.M.
The walk isn't so bad, the weather's nice and the smog doesn't seem to be affecting me. It's amazing what a half-decent night's sleep will do, all those thoughts...ridiculous! For a moment I was starting to get as paranoid as Mulder.
I slowly gaze upon the periodicals lined in no particular fashion in front of the kiosk. Gouchland Guardian, no. Georgetown Voice, nope. Ah, Washington Post. I hand the money to the vendor and continue my trek to my next routine stop.
Time for some delicious steak and eggs.
"Oh God no! Help me!"
Damnit.
I hear and feel her long before I am actually able to see the woman's face, and I'm barely able to catch myself though not without injury. My wrist slams into the pavement and my glasses fly off into the distance.
She grabs the lapels of my over-coat and the smell of rancid breath and skin in desperate need of cleaning overpowers me.
"Please, please! You've got to help me!"
Her bloodshot eyes are boring into mine, begging me for any reprieve. She whips her face to the left and fight, curly dirty blonde hair smacks me in the face, further preventing me from getting a clearer look at her.
"Pardon me, sir. Ma'am come with us now."
Two pairs of hands come out of the blurred haze and pull the woman off of me. I begin to straighten my over-coat and pull myself off the ground. A burning sensation climbs up my left arm. Hopefully nothing's broken.
I refocus my eyes as I watch two police offices escort the woman into her squad car.
"No please, please-"
SLAM.
One officer climbs into the car, while the other bends down and then hands me back my glasses.
"Apologies, sir."
I rub my arm and re-examine my surroundings. The woman, looking about as insane as my blurred state had imagined-if not more so, is pounding on the glass or the rear squad car.
"Is she going to be alright?"
The office stared at me, longer than I found to be pleasant. "Yes, sir. Just another junkie. We'll have her processed and make sure she stays off the streets. We apologize for the inconvenience." He tipped his hat and got into the passenger side of the squad car.
Just before they speed off I notice the woman's pounding is becoming more frantic and her muffled cries more persistent.
"They're coming! They're coming! they're coming ... they're ..."
I watch the car push off into the sea of cars and out of my field of view. Looking down at my probably bruised arm I begin to replay in my mind what just happened. Any other time, any other day I would've just pushed this off as the ranting's of a madwoman. But in light of San Diego this woman sounds similar to the hysteria experienced there. Could it be spreading? I begin to gently rub my arm trying desperately to remove myself from such insanity.
That woman, she said: They're coming.
-x-
"Morning, sir."
I nod an acknowledgment towards her and sit quietly down in my usual seat. Sara walks closer to me still writing down a previous order. "Blue plate?"
I nod and she fills my empty cup with coffee.
My thoughts are far from the thought of food, but despite my luck with this place the atmosphere has already begun to calm me down. Calm down Walter, it was nothing. Nothing but the raving of a woman who just needed a good nights sleep. Just read your paper and move on.
I look through the classifieds and begin to read. Nothing new in the FOR SALE. Moving on to WORK WANTED.
Time to be entertained.
SUSPICIOUS WIFE – HUSBAND CONCERNED. CALL 555-0402.
Huh. I cock my head to the side, fighting back an amused grin. Sounds similar to the one from yesterday. Deep down, way down however, I sense a storm brewing.
CONCERNED ABOUT SON AND BEHAVIOR CHANGES. HELP NEEDED – NO REFERENCES NECESSARY. CALL 555-0914.
Another one? But it's most likely a boy with anger issues. A good counselor will work. This is getting less and less interesting and a little more depressing. Maybe I should stop reading.
PLEASE HELP! HUSBAND IS NOT HUSBAND. CALL 555-1127. ASK FOR JEAN.
What the-? I knew I should've stopped reading. A thought bubbles to the surface causing my mind to race. /They're here. They're here./
I lean back and my jaw takes on a mind of its own. Rotating back and forth I start to ruminate about everything. Suspicions, behavior changes, imposters, paranoia? Could there be something to this?
I remember now, these were some of the initial allegations that led me to assign the Santa Barbara case to Agents Mulder and Scully. Of course, I knew then that it was probably just nothing. But enough missing persons reports had been filed and enough suspicions had been declared by enough law enforcement and public officials to warrant an investigation.
Since I had anticipated nothing, why am I so upset that nothing is exactly what was found there?
Then there's that woman. She didn't seem hopped up on anything. If I didn't know any better I'd think she was running away from something. She sounded scared, no more than that. She was terrified.
/They're coming! They're coming!/
The hysteria...could it be spreading? All the way across the country, to D.C.?
The long ceramic white plate almost crashed onto the table.
"Oh! Sorry, sir."
Sara laughed nervously and slowly placed down an additional plate with my bacon.
I look at her, for what I have no idea. But, just out of sheer curiosity, I began to wonder if she has sensed any anxiety or fear of anyone. She seemed fine yesterday, and she seems to be all in one piece today.
Maybe they're just losing it. Hell, maybe I am too.
-x-
9:25 A.M.
The ride up to the elevator seems to be exceptionally long today. Maybe it's broken, maybe I'll get stuck. I can almost feel the pounding on my head as we pass each floor.
4F.
Almost there.
5F. DING.
Damn.
Almost instantly they begin to shuffle in. Like drones in an assembly line, minds focused, eyes straight ahead staring at the now closed metal doors. Despite the fact that I work in a setting where I am constantly surrounded by individuals, I am at truth very intimidated by groups of them.
And then it begins, my damn jaw starts to rotate and I can almost taste bits of my teeth on my tongue. Damn.
6F.
Thank you God.
-x-
"Sir."
"Kimberley, good morning."
I continue, passing her desk anticipating nothing.
"Sir, a Mr. Baumann from the D.C. Health Department is here to see you."
Glancing over in the row of burgundy upholstered chair I see a large, balding man in a mustard suit sitting in one of the chairs closest to Kim's desk. How could I have missed him, my mind must be a blur.
He quickly jumps up straightened his tie and extends a sweaty hand.
"Mr. Skinner, Jeffery Baumann, chief director of epidemiology at the local health department here."
"Yes, you have to excuse me I hadn't realized I had an appointment." Slowly my gaze lowers onto Kim. My scowl apparently looks much worse than I imagine it to be, I think I've scared the poor thing.
"Well that's my fault. I apologize for the short notice, but I had to speak with you right away."
I nod and lead him into my office.
"Very well, Mr. Baumann, what's this about?"
He quickly sits down, but then pushes his whole body close to my desk. His short chubby fingers begin twitch as if they were holding an invisible ball or stress toy. I give him a nervous look and a quick once-over. Given all the cases that I've assigned and been a part of, I should really be more careful. Who the hell is this guy anyway? He could be a damned insurance salesman for all I know, or worse...
"Mr. Skinner, now I don't want to take up too much of your time. I've already talked to my fellow collegues, and a botanist – an old friend of mine – and-"
"Botanist? Mr. Baumann-"
"Now I know how that sounds, but Mr. Skinner you have to hear me out!"
Correction, he has the tenacity and enthusiasm of a televangelist.
"Are you familiar with any strange incidences occurring in Santa Barbara?"
"California?" I interlace my hands on my desk and begin to shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Yes, I recently had two of my agents out there?"
"Uh, concerning what?"
Surely he doesn't expect an answer. This must be some other whack job with just enough credentials to get him in.
"Never mind, never mind that know. I think I know anyway. Now I'll tell you, I happen to be close friends with Senator Matheson-"
So that explains how he got in here.
"-and we had recently been discussing a recent outbreak of hysteria along the western seaboard."
Wait a minute.
"You said an outbreak of hysteria?"
He leaned even closer, the smell of kolaches and bad coffee was beginning to invade my nostrils.
"Yes!" His hands push onto the top of my desk and he looks around and pulls in closer to me, like a child preparing to tell a friend a secret. "You see," his voice is so faint now I can hardly make him out. "I found something the other day. A plant, no- a pod."
"A pod?"
"Yes."
He looks around the office again, the reaches into his right coat pocket and pulls out a small green bud. Slowly, he places it on my desk and proceeds to sit back down into the chair. I pick it up and begin to examine it, with about as much grace and intellect as one man with no experience on the subject matter can have.
It's dark-green, almost brown.
It's covered in tendrils, similar to fine white hairs.
It's-
"What is it?"
"To be honest I don't know, but it's not a species local to Washington, to Santa Barbara, or to the United States. As far as me and my colleagues are concerned, this invasive species is not found anywhere on this planet. At least there is no documentation of it in any of the literature."
I bring it closer to my eyes, as if to see some hidden feature or unknown quality that would better help me understand it.
"You said invasive?"
"Yes, it's seems to act as a parasite around other vegetation, feeding and essentially digesting them until there is nothing left, but themselves. And what's most interesting," He leans forward again, almost falling out of the chair. "Is that this unknown plant has shown up in every area where these cases of mass hysteria have been reported."
Everywhere? According to the case files Mulder and Scully arrived back in D.C. late Friday evening. Could they have unwillingly brought back these pods? Even if they had, there's no direct proof that there is any correlation between these and the mass hysteria.
"Mr. Baumann, are you insinuating that these 'pods' are responsible for the psychological disturbances reported in Santa Barbara."
"Mr. Skinner, any serious epidemiologist will not make any associations without proper causation. There is no concrete scientific evidence that we have found directly linking these pods to these incidences."
"Then why come here?"
"We have our suspicions, and after discussing these events and carefully observing these pods with Senator Matheson, he recommended that I go through you."
I see, you don't want to make the health department look bad in the event that you've made a mistake, so you intend on dragging both me and whatever agents I send out on this case through the mud.
"Through me."
"Yes, he said...he said you were in charge of an office that dealt with these sorts of things. Mr. Skinner, I know you must think I'm crazy but I must tell you, I fear that something will happen if this matter is not handled properly."
"Why do you say that?"
I lean back slowly into my chair, cradling my head in my right hand waiting for an answer.
"Well, it seems that about a week or two after these cases of mass hysteria occur, they, the pods I mean, disappear."
"What's so odd about that?"
"Imagine it Mr. Skinner, hundreds of thousands of people all claiming that their husband isn't their husband. That their daughter, isn't really their little girl anymore. All these feelings and emotions, and you expect them all to go away, in the blink of an eye?"
"What do you suppose happens?"
"Maybe it isn't hysteria. Maybe it's something else, and whatever it is, it just keeps spreading."
"Spreading?"
"Yes! And those individuals who were suspicious, no longer are, because...because they are like the others."
"What? They aren't themselves either?"
The epidemiologist reclined back into the chair, tapping his fingers together.
"I know. God only knows how crazy this sounds, but I began to take notice of these peculiarities after the second case."
"Second case?"
Christ how many of these outbreaks are there?
"Yes, for a while they were traceable, they were spreading in a circular pattern. I have records, documented evidence of these events occurring in at least nine other cities."
"Nine cities?"
There was nothing in the report I gave to the agents last week that mentioned multiple cities. What the hell is going on here? A government cover-up? I suppose I shouldn't be completely surprised if that were indeed the case, it wouldn't be the first time.
"Yes, and I believe Washington, D.C. makes ten."
"Just a minute Mr. Baumann," I immediately lean forward, almost making him jump. "What evidence do you have to support this claim?"
"As of yet, it's pure speculation, but I've been reading the papers."
He carefully pulls out a concealed folded newspaper from inside his coat and places it on my desk. The familiarity of it almost screams at me. Washington Post, today's paper.
"For the past two days there have been reports similar to that in Santa Barbara. I checked on the internet as well, many of these claims in the areas were posted as early as Saturday morning."
He stands up and places his hands on the desk again.
"Don't you see Mr. Skinner, it's here! Right in our own backyard, and if we don't stop it...God help us."
"What do you think it is, Mr. Baumann?"
"Best case scenario, the pods release spores that produce hallucinogens which alter the perceptions of those that inhale them. So far though, we've seen no evidence to indicate this."
"What is the worst case scenario?"
He simply shakes his head.
"Very well Mr. Baumann, I will discuss this case with two of my agents who were in Santa Barbara and see what we can do."
"Thank you Mr. Skinner, thank you."
"I'd also like to have this analyzed by our labs if that's alright with you?"
The pod in my hands seems a bit more menacing than I'd like to admit. As though I were holding a grenade instead.
"I doubt your men would reach any conclusions differing from what we have but you're more than welcome to. We have multiple samples on hand."
Dear God, if this is infectious, and his lab has multiple samples I sure hope they're taking the necessary precautions. Of course they are the health department, they know much more about this than I do. Still...
Almost immediately he begins to rush for the door, apparently this had taken a great amount of courage on his part to come over here.
"Mr. Baumann?"
He stopped and slowly turned to face me.
"You mentioned you had documentation of similar events?"
"Yes."
"Would it be possible to get a copy?"
"Yes, I, uh, left my card with your secretary. I'm afraid I'm going to be out of my office all day today. Errands." He laughs nervously. "But if you could give me a call tomorrow, I'd be happy to fax it to your office."
"Great, thank you Mr. Baumann."
He nodded and quickly left through the side entrance.
Strange.
-x-
12:05 P.M.
Signing the last document, I let out a heavy sigh. My aching head and rumbling stomach was all the indication I needed to leave for lunch.
Stepping out of my office I'm amazed at how dead the halls are. Sure it's not as though the agents are so dedicated to their work that they would miss lunch, but there are always stragglers. Trying to get their reports in, a few AD's working through so they can leave work early. But not today, no it's dead.
I slowly walk down the hallway towards the elevator when I see a group of encircled agents talking. There's only about six or seven of them, nobody I really know except for...Mulder?
While I wouldn't say that Mulder is so socially inept that he is unable to carry a conversation with another agent, I certainly wouldn't imagine him whispering with some fellow agents like a couple of teenagers.
They almost instantly notice my presence, and they all turn. All of them, are staring right at me. Mulder nods at me, a simple acknowledgment, and continues on the conversation with the others. Their voices are so hushed I can't imagine what they must be talking about.
I continue past them and stop at the elevator. As the doors open I move inside as another agent walks out.
"Agent Scully."
She slowly turns to me.
"Sir."
Oh yes, the epidemiologist.
"Would it be possible to make yourself available this afternoon. I need to ask you a few more questions so I can finalize the Santa Barbara case?"
"Yes, sir."
Then she walks past me towards the group of agents. I can just barely make out what they're saying.
"Sorry I'm late."
"Did you drop them off?" Mulder asks.
Scully nods. "I dropped off some at Quantico and the rest at Georgetown Memorial."
"Good, it's only a matter of time now."
What?
Slowly the metal doors begin to close, and I can't help but feel uneasy as I notice once again the group of agents turning to stare at me as the elevator doors close and I make my descent.
Very strange.
-x-
6:13 P.M.
Today has been nothing short of odd. So much so that I almost feel that I have a right to complain to some higher power about the insanities I have been forced to endure, like some disgruntled and dissatisfied customer.
Excuse me, but I'm going to have to send 'this' plate back, try to go a little easy on the absurdities, and I prefer my paranoia on the side not touching my remaining sliver of sanity, and if you could add a dash mediocrity just for me? Thank you.
Agent Scully had come by earlier, though she might as well not come at all. She had very little to say and maintained ignorance as to what might have gone on in California. Then I'd asked her something, something that now I think I regret. /Are you aware of Senator Matheson's interest in this case?/ Her eyes continued to stare. The man had been an ally of Mulder's once, no doubt she knew of this, something that could put his career at great risk.
/Senator Matheson?/
/Yes./
/I see. No, I didn't know that./ I recall an awkward silence, much like the meeting from yesterday. /Is that all, sir?/
/Yes agent, that will be all./
It's damn near impossible to shake the unease that I'm feeling. I need to get the hell outta here. Fortunately, the day is over and I grab my jack preparing for my venture home.
THUMP.
The hairy miniature grenade rolls slowly toward my leather shoes. The damn 'pod,' or whatever the hell they want to call it.
So my day has now been extended, and my life once again put on hold. Against my better judgment I decided to take charge of the pod, instead of Kim. Not that I didn't trust her, far from it, I just didn't trust...it.
Walter, maybe you are losing it. You're chalking up your fear to a damn plant.
You, the man who braved the tropics. Blew away countless innocents along with enemies, because there were no distinguishing factors to differentiate the two. You who watched your wife, ex-wife, slip away while in the guise of an elderly woman. And so much more. Yet what now is driving your fears to the point of hysteria, a damned plant!
Better get this thing into more capable hands, I think I may already be suffering from it's effects.
FBI LABORATORIES
And not a moment to soon.
"Assistant Director?! What brings you here?"
There are hundreds of agents in this building, so unfortunately I either do not recall or have not had the distinct pleasure of meeting this one.
"Yes, I just wanted to personally bring down some evidence."
I slowly hand him the marked bag containing the seed, hoping that he doesn't think I'm crazy. Then again, it shouldn't really matter what he thinks, so long as he figures out what the hell the damn thing is.
"Oh, is this what Agent Scully was going to send us?"
"Agent Scully?"
"Yes, yes. We received a call about, oh I guess it was about seven days ago, saying that she was going to ship off some plant specimens for our office to look at. She seemed to stress extreme caution, wanted us to wear HAZMAT suits and everything. But,"
"But?"
"Well we waited, and they never showed up. But I guess you had it?"
So there had been some concerns about the pods. Why didn't they mention that at the meeting yesterday? Withholding evidence? For what purpose?
"No, this came from another source."
The agent looks at me just as surprised, apparently he's never been consulted on an X-File before.
"Oh, well would you recommend we take similar precautions?"
"That, and anything else you can think of? I'd agree that this may giving off something that could be contagious."
He tilts his head to the side, confirming my earlier concerns. Yes go ahead throw me, and Agent Mulder to boot, in a padded cell if you must, just run the damn tests. I need to get out of here; I'm getting far too testy.
"I'd best be off. Thank you, Agent..."
"Peters."
"Peters, yes, thank you."
"Thank you, sir."
The agent turned, shaking his head. Then lifted up the clear bag to his face, peering at the tiny pod.
"Strange."
-x-
7:21 P.M.
To some the prospect of coming home from work was one of warmth and joy, but those feelings are empty and completely nonexistent for me, like this home. There's no wife to greet me, and certainly no children. My home is cold and filled with nothing. So much so that it almost seems to choke off all the air from entering. Moving doesn't really fix the problem, but moving boxes is much easier than constantly facing old ghosts in an old house filled with nothing but old, decrepit memories.
I slowly ease into my well-placed black leather couch and begin to contemplate on a glass of scotch. No, tonight just doesn't feel like the right night to dull the pain. So, despite my effort, in my sobered state the thoughts that I tried to take care of at the office decide to come.
Mulder, the annoying yet brilliant bastard. Scully, the woman I find hard not to love. But I've always had my suspicions about the two of them. Their behavior had been strange the other morning and even stranger today, maybe something had gone on while in California. I hope for Mulder's sake it was pleasant.
Damn it, why does my mind always drift back to work?
Work. The X-Files, though it's not my only division it is without a doubt more...interesting and unpredictable than the others. And more time-consuming. Much more dangerous as well. But that goes without saying.
Stop it! Think of something else, anything. The coast and the crisp air with a spritz of sea water. Parents reclining in the sun, children digging in the sand. Couples walking through the sand, ignorant of their surroundings. New lovers, old lovers, husbands and wives. Wives...
Sharon.
Just when I feel like I'm going to drift into a mindless slumber my thoughts always led back to her. So many promises...
Exhausted doesn't even begin to describe how I feel, but then again I usually do lose more sleep when Mulder and Scully are out on a case. Maybe it's the idea of Mulder miles away from authoritative hold that is the most unsettling. But there are times that I'd like to think of him as a kind of son, a son who needs to be disciplined and taught to obey those in authority, but a son nonetheless. I pull my body further back and slowly recline back onto the dark black couch, and allow my thoughts of Mulder and Scully, the X-Files, and Sharon to overwhelm and devour me.
-x-
"The Last Man on Earth" (1964) is the movie playing in Skinner's house.
To Be Continued (Day 3)
-x-
