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Day 3
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6:19 a.m.
Today's different somehow. I am awoken by the sound of silence, no not the damn song. It's strange, peaceful almost, but my gut knows better. It's the calm before the storm.
Pushing the blinds away from my balcony I take a glimpse at the cityscape below. I'm not sure what to expect, I'm almost surprised that there isn't a herd of animals running away. Isn't that what they say. That the instinct of animals is far superior to that of humans? That they make an attempt to flee upon the prospect of an impending natural disaster.
Maybe that's what it is. This uneasiness squeezing at my insides. It's familiar, something I've felt before. Though not here, no, on the battlefield. In the sticky trenches of combat, with blood caked in my nostrils and sweat burning my eyes. It was there that I felt a push and heard a small voice, /Run Walter./ But I didn't run then, and I won't now. I need to find out just what the hell is going on here.
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6:34 a.m.
I'm shocked not only by the absence of sound, but smell as well. My neighbors have failed to impart their presence today, which while I am thankful I am also nothing short of suspicious.
But then I see him, the boy from yesterday. He's standing outside with his back leaning against his parent's apartment door. I begin my trek towards the elevator, his face becoming more clearer as I walk closer. His expression is muddled and near impossible to read, but his eyes follow my every move. I stop in front of him and turn, I honestly think he thought I'd just walk by without even noticing him.
"What's wrong? Shouldn't you be inside getting ready for school?"
His expression doesn't change, no fear, humiliation, or any other sign of being admonished by an adult. No, he just stares. I crouch down to his eye level, there's not much I can say, so I wait for him.
"My mom...and dad, they-they didn't argue today."
"Isn't that a good thing?"
"They always argue. Always."
"I see."
"My mom, she didn't ask me to go get leeks today."
I have to struggle to suggest that this is also a good thing.
"And...they were whispering."
"Whispering?"
"About me, about when I sleep. They, they're different."
I stand up, my jaw twitching with my teeth gently gliding against one another. Different? /My husband is not my husband. My son is not my son./ Different.
"Different how?"
The boy says nothing.
"Perhaps I should check on them-"
He gently pushes my hand off the door and shakes his head. It's strange, but I really shouldn't force the situation. On the exterior he seems to physically be all right, no signs of abuse or neglect. It's really not enough to warrant further suspicion. Plus he's young, full of imagination. But, it's the same damn thing, the same thing I keep hearing about. I can't just ignore it, can I?
I give him another once over, the only thing that I can think is that maybe he's just been having bad dreams. They say kids get them really bad, not that I'd know.
Placing my hands in my overcoat I take a step back to give him some space, which he doesn't seem to acknowledge.
"Have you been sleeping alright?"
He shakes his head.
"Maybe you should rest, a good nights sleep can really help."
"That's what my mom said."
"She may be right."
"Right..."
He walks backwards towards the door and opens it without ever turning around.
"Hey wait," I pull out my card, maybe I'm just overreacting, but I'd rather feel like and old fool than an old bastard who ignored a kid. "Take this. It's my card. Feel free to call if you think you need to."
A small hand reaches out and takes the card. I watch him nod and shut the door behind him.
That little voice inside is bothering me again. Telling me to pound on the door and grab the boy. But that'd be insane to take him away for no real reason, and sanity is apparently much harder to come by in the city of DC as of late, so I'd best hold onto what little I've got.
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7:12 a.m.
I come here to prepare myself for the busy day ahead, but I'll be damned if even this place isn't making me feel anxious as well.
Sara comes by and makes a novel attempt at pouring my coffee, though a large portion has spilled onto the saucer and spread across the table.
"Ah, I-I'm so sorry, sir! I'm sorry, I-I-I'll clean it up!"
"It's alright Sara."
My attention is focus more on her than the spilt coffee. Her hair is just barely held together in a loose bun, and her uniform is in poorer shape. Either in a rush, or in some other state, she's buttoned up her outfit out of sync. My eyes narrow at he appearance, which I'm sure she takes as a sign of irritation.
"Sara, is everything alright? Something you want to talk about? Maybe I can help?" Damn, I hope that didn't sound like I was coming on to her.
"What no!" Flinging the dirtied towel over her shoulder, she proceeds to pour me another cup. "I've just been having difficulty sleeping. Your order will be out soon."
Sleeping. Interesting.
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9:34 a.m.
"...as for Mr. Miller, we found that the evidence against him was inconclusive. We did find; however, that..."
Dull, they all seem so dull. Not that I relish in my agents' case reports and I'm not so disturbed as to expect some form of entertainment out of them, but I expect some life to them. But there's nothing. It's like they're reading me an expense report or citing some statistical crime analysis.
Then there's silence. They must have finished their report. Both pairs of eyes staring at me. Strange, I'm almost feeling a sense of déjà vu. That reminds me though.
"Good work agents. I've read your report and agree with your findings."
"Thank you, sir."
"Ah, Agent Brosch-"
"Sir."
"I couldn't help but notice you in the hallways yesterday, along with a group of agents including Agent Mulder."
A blank stare was his sole response.
"Anything you want to tell me?"
"Sir?"
Jesus, what the hell am I doing? Like it's any of my damn business what my agents do during their lunch hour. Why the hell did I ask that, where the hell am I going with this? It's just their damn expressions, or lack thereof, that have me so uneasy. But still, still...
"I just know Agent Mulder has a propensity for causing trouble and I just wanted to make sure that everything was under control."
It's a bad excuse, no a piss poor one, but it's the only thing I can think to cover up my stupid suspicions.
"Of course, sir. We were all just talking, Agent Mulder included."
"I see. Thank you agents."
What was I thinking? Why did I do that? What's wrong with me? Here I am accusing my agents of odd behavior when I seem to be the only one displaying such symptoms. This mass hysteria is probably all just a bunch of BS, and here I am feeding into it. That damn pod probably just had something that makes-. That pod, wasn't Mr. Baumann supposed to contact me regarding similar incidences? Not to mention the lab. Damn it.
CLICK.
"Kim, did I receive any calls during my meetings?"
'No, sir.'
"None?"
'No, sir.'
"I was expecting a call from Mr. Baumann, the epidemiologist that came by yesterday."
'I'm sorry sir, I haven't received anything.'
Fine.
CLICK.
I'll call him myself. I've had enough of this, I need to get to the bottom of this and get this crap settled, the sooner the better.
The dial tone continues for longer than I'd like until I'm met with his answering service. Damn it.
Wait, didn't he say that Senator Matheson had given him the information?
"Yes."
"Senator Matheson, this is Assistant Director Walter Skinner of the FBI."
"Yes, Mr. Skinner."
"I was contacted yesterday by a man who claimed to work for the public health department-"
"Yes, Mr. Baumann."
Then he wasn't some crackpot, well that's one less thing I have to worry about, I think.
"Then you are aware that he came to these offices?"
"Yes, though I don't think he was aware of why I sent him there?"
"What do you mean, senator?"
"I advised him to meet with you in regards to a certain case file when I was unable to contact one of the agents assigned to the case."
"Agent Mul-"
"Yes, Mr. Skinner. No doubt you're aware of my interests outside of the world of politics, just as I'm sure you're aware that I wish to discuss my interests as little as possible."
Great, just more BS I have to swim through.
"I respect that Senator Matheson; however, I'm contacting you because I can't reach Mr. Baumann. You should feel assured that I called you only because I had no one else to contact."
"Assured I am not, Mr. Skinner. This case troubles me, more than you'll ever know. Especially once I read the report filed by the party sent to investigate the matter, it was how should I say...less than satisfactory and far from what I had expected."
He had access to the case file. How?!
"Mr. Matheson, I'm sure that you're aware that these case files are property of the US-"
"I'm aware. As I'm sure that you're aware that my reach extends beyond simple politics. You are aware of my role in the intelligence committee, are you not?"
I am now, apparently. This conversation is about as difficult as I expected it to be and I am hesitant to continue and struggle to find the right words to give me any kind of leverage.
"...yes."
"Good. Now, Mr. Skinner I'd like to know if the report that I examined had been tampered with in any way."
So he thinks I botched their report.
"To my knowledge, no."
"To your knowledge..."
"The report I filed, was the report handed to be by Agent Mul- ...by the individuals assigned."
"I see. That is troubling indeed."
"Senator, if I may ask. What piqued your interest in this case specifically?"
"You were given the information from an outside source which led to you opening an investigation and assigning the case, correct?"
"Yes, do you-"
Damn it. He was the one who sent all the Santa Barbara reports to my office. So, he was just using Mr. Baumann as a means of pulling out information from me when he couldn't get it from Mulder. Bastard."
"I see."
"I had hoped that this case would have turned out more fruitful. And I do believe you Mr. Skinner, that the case report had not been tampered with. At least not by any traditional means."
"What do you mean?"
"I have reason...to suspect that...whatever happened in Santa Barbara is spreading. And that it's here, in Washington."
"I suspect you have evidence of this?"
Please God, don't say it's just another one of those damn personal ad stories.
"What is so...remarkable about this case is that evidence is there. But once it's discovered, it's already too late. Much like the unique...vegetation that has begun to emerge."
Vegetation? The pods.
"Mr. Skinner, what I am going to ask you is very important and I would hope that a man of your position and integrity would respect that this conversation not extend beyond your office walls."
"Nothing will leave this office, senator."
"Good. Do you suspect, or rather, have you noticed a change in behavior in those assigned to the case?"
"Excuse me?"
"Have you noticed them behaving strangely?"
I was taken aback at the sharp rise in tone and volume, at the normally hushed voice of the senator. No doubt he was too and quickly lowered his voice.
"Have you?"
What could I say? Of course I had, but it wasn't something so drastic as what he seemed to be implying. In fact if any other person had met either of the agents they wouldn't suspect anything. The only reason I took notice was that I had known the two for several years. But maybe that was the point. A subtle change in behavior is less likely to garner any suspicion.
"Mr. Skinner?"
"There is a possibility."
"I see. That is very disheartening. I," A loud sign muffles everything for a second or two. "I had hoped, that whatever was causing this could be rectified by those assigned. It seems I had under-estimated the threat at hand."
"Threat? Senator, do you know what is causing this?"
"Not at the moment, no. But I presume I will know shortly, as will you. No doubt these cases of 'hysteria' will dissipate as well. For better or worse."
Worse?
"Senator-"
"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Skinner, there are some matters that I need to attend to."
"I see, should I contact you if I learn anything further?"
"Please do, Mr. Skinner."
CLICK.
The conversation has left me with more questions than answers. And the gnawing at my stomach has become more of a hindrance. /Run Walter, run./
Run, but from what?
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4:04 p.m.
In regards to anything related to the Bureau, it was a wasted day on my part. I felt like I was in a feverish haze throughout each one of my meetings and debriefing sessions. All I could think about was the conversation with Senator Matheson and that damn pod.
The pod, of course.
"FBI laboratories, Agent Peters."
"Yes, this is AD Skinner calling about a sample I had dropped off there yesterday afternoon."
"Oh, yes. We've been treating the investigation of the sample as potential Level 4 contagious element. However, I have to admit we've seen no evidence to indicate any form of virulence whatsoever."
I can almost hear the smugness slipping off each word. He must think I'm a joke.
"You found nothing?"
My voice booms into the phone, and I straighten my posture, allowing the ex-Marine in me to take charge.
"N-no, sir. But we'll continue looking."
Good, I spooked the little bastard.
"Thank you."
What the hell's wrong with me? Strange behavior, maybe I should just look in a mirror. There's your culprit. Maybe it's all just too much too soon. Getting shot, losing Sharon, moving, Scully's cancer. I mean what the hell else is there? Maybe I am just cracking up, maybe everyone else is trying to distance themselves from me. They're seeing the signs but I'm not.
Shit. Maybe I should consider taking a vacation, take some time to re-evaluate if this is what I want to keep doing. This job could very well kill me, am I prepared for that? It's already apparently driving me off the brink of sanity and onto the highway of madness.
Run. I wish I could run away. But men like me don't run, not when we have obligations to fulfill and alliances to maintain. Running now would only mean defeat, and I Walter Skinner refuse to accept that.
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11:53 p.m.
I wish I could say that sleep came easily to me, but in fact it hadn't come at all. From the moment I walked into my apartment, all that I could think about were pretty redheads, angry brunettes, fuzzy pods, and blank dolls. That's what they remind me of. Who? All of them. All of the people who are who they say they are but aren't. Like mannequins really, sure they're painted up nice and if you're stupid or drunk enough you may just think they're human. But they're not, they're just empty dolls.
Damn it.
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To Be Continued (Day 4)
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