This story. Is not. Mine!
November 18 – 21
It is only the day after we get back from Houston, while I'm reading the paper about Puerto Rico not wanting to be a state after all, that Deep Throat approaches me in the park where we met Michelle. I don't see him coming, and I'm startled when he begins speaking.
"Don't be a cat, Mister Mulder."
"What?" is the most intelligent thing I can say.
"A cat, Mister Mulder, is so wrapped up in it's own business it fails to see what's coming... unless, of course, it's looking in the right direction." He pulls out a Walkman and turns on the radio, and I listen as some woman talks about a toxic train wreck in Townsend, Wisconsin.
"Then what happened out there if it wasn't a train wreck? I ask him.
"Mulder the continental United States is surrounded by an electronic fence that reaches 15,000 miles into space. We use it to track and monitor the 7,087 man-made objects that orbit the earth. Last night at 23-17 that fence was breached. This morning at 0100 Operation Falcon went into effect Led by Colonel Calvin Henderson-The Air Force's premiere reclamations expert."
Uh... "Reclamations?"
"During the cold war his job was to prevent technologies from downed US aircrafts from getting into Soviet hands."
Ah. That just clears that right up, doesn't it?
Oh, wait. I get it now. "He's part of a craft retrieval unit." As in UFO retrieval unit.
"Mm Hmm. Quick response. I'd say you have...24 Hours before the entire area is sanitized. After that it will be like nothing ever happened."
So I'll have to go.
And he turns and walks away.
"Wait!" I call after him, but I don't know what I'd ask, and he just keeps walking anyway.
So I go home and I pack, and book a ticket to Rhinelander, which is the closest city with an airport. I hang up the phone and realize I only booked one ticket.
For just a second, I think I should call back, I really should, and get Scully a ticket and take her with me, and maybe, just maybe, she'll keep me sane while I'm being interrogated by aliens.
And then I remember Ellens.
There isn't much left of that in my head. But I don't think it was particularly pleasant.
If I'm headed for that I don't want her along.
And if I'm not, I don't want her debunking me.
Because that would suck.
And there's aliens in Wisconsin.
But I know I should call, and I should book a second ticket. I don't call, though.
XXXXX
The plane lands around eight, but between getting a car and driving and getting lost and finding a motel, it's midnight before I am unpacking. I turn on the TV. "Local authorities still have no comment until the government investigation now under way is completed. Government officials remain vague about the toxic cargo that has caused the immediate evacuation of Townsend Wisconsin's 12,000 residents. Speculation here has centered on a shipment of toxic waste from a nuclear facility." They keep showing footage of the evacuation while I walk over to the bed and begin unpacking my duffel.
They keep reporting.
I pull out my gun. Perfect working order. Back in the holster, then.
Flashlight, check. Black clothing goes on, and I'm good to go. The reporter keeps interviewing paranoid townspeople cooped up in a gym, swapping rumors. They all sound nuts.
I drive my rental car out of town to the area conveniently marked on the map they displayed on the news. The military has wasted no time setting up camp, and I skirt the edge of the laser fence, hoping not to be caught this early. It's not easy, the adrenaline is about to kill me. I can hear people calling out to each other, but I can't make out what they're saying. I even find the main gate, not that it'll do me any good. Plenty of trucks going in, but I'm not exactly in uniform, am I?
And then I see my ticket in. A bunch of military types changing the tire on a truck. I wait until they're done, then I sneak up on the other side, crawl underneath, and grab onto the frame. Surprisingly easy. They pull onto the road, and all I have to do is hang on tight. Not as easy as Indiana Jones made it look, but I manage. They pull into camp, and I hear someone who sounds like he's in charge reprimanding the other lesser in charge person for being late. And then he tells them to get live rounds, as if I had any doubt they're looking for something. Now I know.
The soldiers get out of the truck, and I can see trees and no boots from my vantage point, so I sneak by a few guys standing around and run into the woods, hoping no one saw me. I think there would be more yelling if they had.
God, this is too easy.
I can hear them moving around in the woods, and I try to stay quiet. The woods become dark, not dark like the city, but really dark. This is such a bad idea. And I see a light, so I head toward it, and I know I should be trying to stay down, but sue me. I suck, okay? There is noise, and yelling, and then I see the lights. And the ship. They're wearing some sort of space rescue blanket suits and using some kind of spray on the area. I start snapping photos. Try to stay hidden, but this is really cool so I'm probably failing. There is a sharp point of something sticking out from the tarp. A twig snaps behind me and I turn to look-
BAM!
Not hidden enough.
XXXXX
I should have brought Scully with me. I know this.
I wake up in an interrogation room. Not good. There's a man there, and he is glaring, and God, does my head hurt. He has my camera, my beautiful camera, open and is holding my film up to the light.
"You just made the worst mistake of your life, Agent Mulder," he tells me. Damn, they know my name? I don't have my ID with me.
"I think you knocked out a filling."
"I'll see to it you that pay the price for putting my men at risk."
And how did I do that? He's exposing my film to light. Damn him. They need cameras that don't use film. Shouldn't computers be able to do that? "Since when does taking pictures put anyone's life at risk?"
"You violated a US government quarantine and thats a federal crime."
How is that an answer? And this isn't a quarantine, it's a manhunt. "That's a quarantine? Is that what you call this?"
"We're trying to contain an ecological disaster."
With live rounds? "Thats a lot of firepower just to protect mother nature." There is no point to being this defiant, except that it's kind of fun.
"I have my orders. And a license to execute them as a I see fit. I suggest you forget what you saw, what you think you saw for your own well being."
Right, talk and die. Got it. Thanks but no thanks. "You've got a downed craft in those woods, sir. And troops carrying live rounds ! We both know what's out there!" Why am I shouting? It hurts my head. And he's walking away.
He leaves the room without another word, and two seconds later some guards come in to escort me away.
I hope my memory isn't getting drained again.
XXXXX
They take me to the brig, which is kind of like a dog kennel, only my neighbor isn't a dog. "Are you MUFON or CUFOS?" he asks as soon as they're gone. He has long blond hair and a black baseball cap. Looks like a big nerd. Although I shouldn't throw stones, should I? "Do you mind if I sit down?" Do what, you want, buddy. It's your own cell. And I'll do what I want. "Let me guess you're with that new group-CSICOP, right?" I wonder what he'd say if I said FBI? Huh. "Say no more. You're a cautious man. Trust no one. Very wise. After what happened to JFK I understand completely." Oh dear, you're one of those. Again, I shouldn't throw stones. God, he's such a geek. Is this how Scully sees me? "Oh, let me introduce myself. My name is Max Fenig. I'm with the National Investigative Committee of Aerial Phenomenon...He turns his hat around, and it says NICAP. "NICAP" Cute. A cap that ends in CAP. "Pleased...pleased to make you're acquaintance. Wish we could shake on it, you know. Firm grip, look you right in the eye. You learn a lot about a guy that way." Wow can he talk. "Can I, uh, can I ask you a question?"
Finally. A word in edgewise. "Go ahead."
"Did you see anything? Did you get close? Me, I saw nothing." He raises his voice for the microphones. "I didn't see anything!" He lowers his voice again. "Nada, zip. Hundred yards past the road block they nailed me. I have no idea how they did it. I'm telling you its like the Roswell cover up all over again."
I have to admit, I'm curious. "What makes you so sure that something's out there?"
He laughs, and he stands up. "Same thing that makes you so sure?"
He is quiet after that, though. He sits down, and then he lies on his cot and is silent. For hours. I stretch out on mine too, and eventually I must have drifted off to sleep because – something squeaks and there's a bright light in my eyes. Something is moving, and it takes a minute to realize that it's just Scully coming in the door.
For about half a second she looks kinda sexy in that trench coat. And then she just looks pissed. "I didn't order room service," I tell her.
"This isn't funny, Mulder."
I sit up. "Did you meet Max?" I need a distraction. I knew I should have got another ticket.
"Who?"
"Max from NICAP." With the cap. I look over, surprised he's been silent. But he's gone. "Oh, they must have released him. Another intrepid soul in search of a close encounter."
"Is that what this is about?"
Why can't you understand, Scully? I have to know. How can I not? "What else?"
"Try explaining that to Section Chief McGrath. He stepped over Blevins ordering a full inquiry. With a recommendation...Mulder he wants to shut down the X-files. And he wants you out of the bureau."
Of course he does. I just got arrested by the military. He can't not want me out of the bureau. "So what else is new?"
"I don't understand you Mulder. Why you're always defying protocol? Ignoring jurisdiction..."
Oh for crying out loud! "Because I know what I saw Scully. There weren't train tracks anywhere near that site. So how could it have been a derailed container?" It's not even on the TV map. Sloppy.
"Because it wasn't. What you saw was not a toxic spill. But it wasn't a UFO either."
Oh, here we go. "OK. I'm all ears. What was it? "It was a downed Libyan jet with a nuclear warhead." Okay, that's stupid. Libya doesn't even have unofficial nuclear capability.
"Over US air space..," I point out, which is insane. Libya is in Africa. Africa!
"They'd been picking up low grade levels of radiation indicating that a plutonium casing may have cracked. So to avoid mass panic..."
Oh come on! "You really believe that story?"
"That story happens to be highly classified." She is pacing around my dog kennel of a cage now.
Well, it sucks. "A highly classified lie." I can hear a helicopter. Why the hell would they need a helicopter? "They're searching for someone Scully."
"If they're searching for anyone, its probably the pilot."
"You think they'd roll out all of this material for one Libyan fighter jock?" She doesn't answer. Damn straight. And then there's the other thing, which I may be over dramatizing, but the crash certainly looked bad, and how the hell is she gonna prove me wrong? "Besides, no human pilot walked away from the wreckage I saw."
Close enough to true for government work.
"Well, maybe he ejected."
Sigh. "Maybe."
"I'm gonna get you out of here," she says, and then she leaves.
I can live with that.
XXXXX
They release me an hour later, and we get in the car. The town is small – it'll take less than five minutes to get to the motel from here, but she turns the other way. Risking a fight, I know, but I have to speak up.
"Scully, my motel is that way." I point.
She sighs, turns the car around, and we drive back the way we came. "Fine, you can pack and then we'll go home."
"I'm not going home," I tell her, mostly, apparently, in order to hear that nice squealing sound the brakes on her rental car make as she pulls into the parking lot.
"You can't be serious!"
"As long as we're here in beautiful downtown Townsend, why not?" I ask her, but I know I'm walking this teeny tiny filament of a fine line.
"Mulder, the hearing is tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."
And I can add. "That gives us 24 hours to investigate."
"My assignment is to bring you back, not to help you dig yourself in deeper."
Deeper shmeeper. I'm already in deeeeep. "'The Last Detail' starring Dana Scully."
We are at my door, and I open it and God, I am not that much of a pig. And I didn't leave the phone off the hook. I didn't even touch the phone.
"What's going on?" asks Scully, who is the most dense person on the planet as far as I can tell.
"Looks like housekeeping hasn't been here yet."
Scully starts talking exactly as I hear a squeaking noise. "Who would..." I cut her off. "Shh..." There's a noise in my bathroom that sounds like a window opening. Stealthy. We both draw our guns and walk over to the door. The door isn't latched and we ease it open to find someone's legs sticking out of the window. Or in the window. Whichever is grammatically correct is what the legs are doing.
Anyway, I can see a head flopping around outside, and that head is wearing a black baseball cap and has long blond hair. "Max?"
"Get your hands up!" yells Scully (at her scariest, and that is very intimidating).
"Whoa. Don't shoot. Don't shoot." Max says as he starts crawling back in the window.
"Max?" I ask him. Even though I know it's him.
He stands there, looking sheepish, and pulls off his hat and clears his throat. Scully does not lower her gun, at least at first, and then she drops it as I guide Max into the bedroom and sit him on the bed. "My apologies. Forgive me please. I'm a curious man. I had to know..."
Know what? I liked this room! "Know what?"
"If it was really you."
If it was really me? Who the hell am I? "But you don't know me. Last night is the first time we've laid eyes on each other."
"Not true. We at NICAP have been following your career really closely. Ever since you became involved with the X-files."
Little known fact: The X-Files are classified. Not highly classified, but still. It's not like they put our travel arrangements in the newspaper. "Following my career? How?"
"Through the Freedom of Information Act. Your travel expenses are a matter of public record."
Or maybe they are. I wonder if the Gunmen are in on this. That would take a long, long, long time to make it happen. Tons and tons of work. Max glances at Scully and puts his cap back on, possibly trying to make a better impression. "So, this must be the enigmatic Agent Scully." He tries to get up, reaching for her, and that's kind of creepy so I shove him back on the bed.
"How did you recognize me?" I ask him.
"I saw your picture in a trade publication once. And of course I read your article in Omni about the Gulf Breeze sightings."
How the hell did he know I did that? "I published that under a pseudonym." The FBI frowns on these sorts of things.
"M.F. Luder. I know. M.F. Luder is an anagram for F. Mulder. You really didn't think that would fool us did you?"
Us? "I didn't think anybody was paying attention," I tell him. I feel foolish. Of course these people would know – some of their I. Q.s have been enhanced, you know.
"Somebody's always paying attention, Mr. Mulder."
"A-mazing," I hear Scully whisper, but I ignore her.
"Amazing? Hardly. You want to see something amazing? Come with me," Max says, and he gets up and leaves the room so fast I can't stop him.
"Enigmatic* Dr. Scully," I mutter as I walk by her, following Max into the parking lot toward one of those trailers that looks like a metallic Twinkie, Scully's heels clacking behind me. We pause at the door while Max works the lock.
"This is my, uh...Right this way."
He lives in a metallic Twinkie. Great. That's gonna be easy to explain to Scully.
"Excuse the mess," he says as he starts digging around. "Gotta turn this off," he mutters at a speaker as he flips the switch. Scully starts poking around, doing her thing, which I doubt will end well for Max's credibility.
"Okay. Where's those, uh...They were right here. Oh, here they are." He picks up some photos. "The latest crop circle photos from Project Argus. Huh? Your opinion fact or fraud." For crying out loud man!
First of all, the project isn't even about photography, but radio astronomy. Second, Project Argus is run half by legitimate alien hunting scientists. That leaves half to be raving nuts.
"Fraud."
"How do you explain the anomalous blisters on the plants?"
Oh dear lord, it's like a one-man Star Trek convention. "Some unreported weathering effects common to wheat or a systematic reaction to the plant tissue to being lodged in one position."
"I see you've read the literature."
I have a photographic memory. I see it, I remember. "I try to keep up."
"What about the..."
Thank God he's not a skeptic, otherwise he'd be annoying. "Max!" he stops. "You said you had something to show us."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah." He walks up to a bank of equipment, and Scully joins us. "Wolf Ear 2000. Did you ever hear of this?"
"Yeah. Wolf Industries supplied the CIA with all of its surveillance equipment," Scully supplies.
"State of the art, search and intercept. Up to 100 channels per second. Currently I'm jacked into local fire and police departments, cellular pathways, and when the weather's right sometimes even air traffic control from Whitmarsh Air Force Base."
Ah. I see where this could be going. "What have you got Max?"
"Mobile Unit Broadcast. In Scan Mode. Townsend Sheriff's department. Two nights ago."
He was here before the crash. Why? What the hell is going on and who is this guy? Max switches on the device, and a recording comes on. "We got a fire of county road D7. Two miles west of the canyon ridge intersection. Suggest we dispatch fire crews, over? This is Deputy Wright. Do you copy?"
"And this. 35 minutes later. Presumably from the fire crew. Reception got wiggy for some reason."
"This is unit 53. Man down. Request medivac. I said request medivac! You're breaking up! Very. Bad. VERY bad. Wait a second. What the hell? Charlie, we've got a situation here!"
The only one of these people I'm going to be able to try to find is this Deputy Wright. Maybe he saw something?
"Thanks," I tell Max. "I'll be back later." Scully mutters something behind me but I'm already out the door and halfway across the lot before she catches up.
"Mulder-"
"I want to find Deputy Wright," I tell her, and she doesn't fight me.
XXXXX
There are two Wrights in the phone book, and a quick call to the Sheriff's office reveals that J. Wright is the correct one. He was reported dead two nights ago, but no one's seen the body. It's a bit of a mystery, but the police don't have time to solve it so thery're glad the FBI is taking an interest. We can contact the widow at one of the evacuation centers, no idea which one, and would I please get off the line?
Sometimes this is too easy. I didn't even have to use charm.
XXXXX
Scully is sitting in the car when I leave my room, behind the wheel. "Where are we going, Mulder?"
I love her. It's like we're always on the same page.
"Do you know where the evacuation centers are?"
"Not really. I know two of the local high schools have been converted. Why?"
"Deputy Wright's family is in one of them. Think we can find out?" I climb into the car next to her, even though I'd really rather drive.
"Sure, I guess we should just follow the cars. Which way?"
"Right" I tell her. Wright, right. Whatever.
"I think that's country. Maybe straight ahead?"
I really don't know. "Do you have a map?"
"Yeah. In the glove box." I reach down to try to open it, but I can't seem to get it. The catch is stuck.
"It won't open."
She sighs and leans across me and then there's a flash of metal and a clicking noise. What the hell? Next thing I know I'm handcuffed to the door. "You're coming back to Washington."
"No, I'm not." I jiggle the handcuffs. Firm.
"Yes."
"Where's the key?" I ask.
"Not in the car."
Great. "Why?" Even though I know the answer. Her stupid career.
She doesn't bother. Just puts the car in drive.
XXXXX
Two hours later, we are still silent. I'm seething inside, and a little confused. What the hell her plan is, I don't know. How is she gonna get me on a plane without me making a scene? I don't know and I don't want to.
XXXXX
Half an hour after that, I can't take it anymore. Plus I'm hungry. "Scully, I promise, if I can find a way to do this without hurting your career, I will. Just please, let me go back." I didn't even realize I was gonna say that. I must be bored.
"No."
She speaks! "Why not?"
Sigh. "It's not about me or my career, Mulder."
Then why do this? "So what else could it be about? You have everything riding on this."
"I'd still be a doctor, Mulder. My father would be thrilled to see me leave the FBI. I love my job, but I could do something else. And they won't fire me if you don't report, just give me a reprimand. This is about you."
Huh? Who the crap cares about me? "What about me?"
She pulls the car over and turns to face me. "Your career. Your work. Your mission. You need the resources of the Bureau if you ever hope to find your sister. I can't just stand by and watch you fail in all that just because you think aliens crashed in the Big Woods, Mulder! You'd never forgive yourself for failing and I'd never forgive myself for letting you."
She is crying, I realize, and that scares me more than anything. "Scully," I begin, but I don't know what to say other than that.
"Damn it, Mulder!" she shouts, "why won't you care? I care more about your future than you do!"
Now I'm pissed. "You think I don't care? Really? I know where my sister is, Scully, or at least where she probably is – she's dead. There have been no clues! None! Nothing to make anyone believe she's alive. I can't give up – not yet – but I know she's gone. I know the most I'll ever find is a body, Scully. If that." Now I'm crying. "I want her to be in a just world, Scully. A world that makes sense. I remember that night, she just floated right out the window – that doesn't happen on it's own. Something took her. Something that might be here, now, if only we have the courage to find it."
She is staring into my eyes now, and she's not blinking.
"This is my mission, Scully. Right now it's my mission at the FBI. But I could do something else too."
For a second I think she's dropped my gaze, but then she puts the car in drive and makes a u-turn. We are going back.
XXXXX
What's weird to me is that she was trying to protect me. And I'm worried, because I don't feel a lot of need to protect her career – what happens if I have to return the favor? Her career matters to her, I know it does, no matter what she says. Otherwise, she wouldn't be so hell-bent on protecting mine.
This is what I'm thinking when we finally make it to the school gym where the Wrights are staying.
We make it in without a problem and find the Wrights easily enough. Mother and son. The kid looks so sad. "Mrs. Wright? Hi. I'm Fox Mulder. This is Dana Scully. We're from the FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your husband."
She looks absolutely furious. "He's dead. What else is there to know?" She takes her son's hand and walks away toward an empty pair of cots in the corner.
"I'm sorry about your husband," Scully tries.
"Oh, please."
"Mrs. Wright, we want to help you," she tries again.
"Then leave me alone."
This is not normal. She's gotten no answers, so why isn't she screaming to the sky for help? "Why won't you let us help you?"
"I don't know anything!" She looks at us, really looks, for the first time, and sits down on her cot. "Don't you understand? They won't even release the body so I can give him a proper burial. OK?"
Well, that's not right. Unless there's contamination of some kind. "The government can't do that. I'm sure if you appealed to..." begins Scully.
"No!"
"You're entitled to the truth."
"I can't afford the truth. They said that if I spoke to anyone, they would withhold my husband's pension. And I have a child to take care of." She glances at her son then, fiddling with his baseball glove.
People say they can't be bought, but the truth is that everyone has a price.
That's when the lights go out in the gym.
"Let's try the hospital," mutters Scully.
I can't see her so I don't bother nodding. "Thank you, Mrs. Wright," I say before I grab Scully's sleeve and we grope our way to the door.
XXXXX
The traffic lights are all nonfunctional so it takes a while, but within two hours we have made it to the hospital, which, blessedly, has a generator.
"I'm sorry, but unless you have a subpoena I can't discuss patient information."
Of course, the ER doctor – Oppenheim, it says on his coat – is not very cooperative. "Does that mean Jason Wright was your patient?" asks Scully.
"It means I have nothing more to say about this."
Time to play the guilt card.
"What about his wife and child, Doctor? Would you have anything to say to them?" Wow, I'm a jerk.
"Because whoever got to you also got to her. They must have some pretty big threats. What did they hold over your head? Your medical licence, the IRS?"
And now I'm even more of a jerk.
"I hate fascists," he mutters.
Does he mean me? "Excuse me?"
"The men who came in here. The way they pushed us all around."
"Dr. Oppenheim. Tell us about the deputy. You saw him that night, didn't you?"
"Yes. And three others from the fire crew. They were all DOA with 5th and 6th degree burns over 90 percent of their bodies. Although they weren't like any burns I've ever seen. And they took the bodies away before we could perform any pathologies."
I am reasonably sure that in my health class in high school, they told us there were only three degrees of burns.
"Did you note any cadaver acute heat rigor or heat stiffening?" asks Scully.
"Yes, actually there was quite a bit of heat inflection in the limbs. How do you know so much about it?"
She shrugs.
"Doctor, in your opinion, could those burns have been caused by ionizing radiation?" I ask. A commonality of many close encounters.
"Well, I hadn't thought...I suppose its possible. If the exposure was significantly intense." His pager beeps. "Excuse me."
I'd say it was intense.
"Lets say those men died from radiation exposure," says Scully, "Couldn't it have been from the cracked core of a nuclear warhead?"
"I've read about these kinds of burns, Scully." Well, radiation burns, anyway. No idea they had their own degrees.
"Yeah, so have I. In Hiroshima at Ground Zero."
Ah.
"I'm talking about close encounter mortalities. I have a stack of X-files recording the same clinical results."
"Mulder I don't claim to know all the answers, but if we don't make the OPR inquest by tomorrow morning, there may not be any more X-files."
She's right, of course.
And then we're surrounded by military men on stretchers. And there's a lot of moaning. And my old buddy Colonel Henderson. Oh joy of joys.
Scully follows them in to the emergency room, and I follow Scully. Doctor Oppenheim is checking on some poor burned guy on a stretcher, calling for an IV.
I turn to Henderson, because I really have nothing to lose at this point. "Tell us what happened out there?"
"Whatever happened, Mulder, it has nothing to do with you."
Okay, not, but it could if he'd let it.
"Wrong colonel. We both want the same thing. Only you want it dead. Can't you see that chasing it down like an animal you leave it no choice but to defend itself? How many more people have to die before you rethink your approach?"
"Listen to me. Cause I'm not wasting another breath on this. If you and your partner aren't out of here in 30 seconds ..."
Doctor Oppenheim gets defiant then. "Agent Scully stays right here. We're undermanned. She's a medical doctor. She stays." He turns to Scully. "If thats OK with you."
I guess he figured it out from her questions. "Of course, I..."
Henderson flushes. "Doctor, if you don't mind, you just take care of my men, and let me do my work, OK?"
"Outside this emergency room, you can do whatever you want, But in here I call the shots. Assuming of course, you want me to take care of your men."
Henderson thinks about that for a second, which just convinces me that he's a complete jerk. "Get this man out of my sight!" he finally yells, nodding toward me. I let myself be led out, mostly because no one's gonna give me answers with burn victims around.
XXXXX
I spend the first few hours in the parking lot, waiting for Scully and swinging through McDonald's every couple of hours for more coffee before I realize that's silly and duck back inside to call a cab – my phone died hours ago. Even avoiding my good buddy Calvin it only takes an hour or so before I can get to a phone without any goons seeing me, and when I talk to the cab company they tell me it's no good, they're restricted to medical emergencies and it's a five-hour wait for non-emergency.
I suppose someone could give Scully a ride home.
Probably.
I call the cab for five hours from now to pick up Dana Scully. I'm not a complete jerk.
XXXXX
When I get back, Max's trailer is dark, which seems odd since so much has happened. And I want to listen to Wright's call again, I suppose, and compare notes in general, and oh, hell, I'm intrigued, okay?
So I knock on the door. "Max?" There is no movement inside, which makes no sense. It's one room. "Hey, Max. Max?"
Nothing. So I walk in, which I think was a good idea because he's lying on the ground in convulsions. I know I'm not supposed to hold him still, but it's hard not to. The whole thing just seems so unnatural. Eventually he stops shaking. "Hey... Max."
"Who...who are you?"
Uh oh.
"Max.. Its me. Fox Mulder.. Are you OK?"
He nods. "What are you doing here?"
"You were having some kind of seizure," I tell him.
"Seizure? That's impossible."
"You were lying on the floor. Unconscious. Convulsing." Sounds possible to me.
"Thats odd. I haven't had an episode in seven years. Not since I went on medication."
At least it's not something totally sinister. "Lets get you to the hospital," I say, even though I totally know I'm not welcome there.
"No! I mean, I mean its not necessary."
Really? "Are you sure?"
"Yeah. I've lived with epilepsy all my life. I'm not in any danger." Well then he's probably sure. I get him a glass of water. "Yeah. It started in South Dakota when I was ten. The doctor said I must have incurred a head injury. I don't remember hitting my head."
And immediately I think aliens. I'm pathetic. "And when you have a seizure, you have no memory of it?"
"As a kid I used to wake up in strange places with no idea where I was, or how I got there." He looks sleepy. "Sorry I... " he hands me the water glass - "I've got to get some sleep." I help him over to the bed and he curls up in a ball and that's when I see the pointed scar behind his ear.
XXXXX
I've seen the scar before, in X-Files, some of which I have with me. It's more about what I think Sam might have gone through than anything else, I suppose. Part of my unending plot to make myself insane. The files describe neurological disorders and misalignment of jaws due to brain surgery done through the jawbone for some reason. And oh dear God, Max really is an abductee. He has the symptoms, he fits the profile, and why the hell was he here to begin with?
Here before Wright died.
And that's when Scully gets back with a sigh.
"Rough night, huh?" I ask, because saying nothing would be rude.
"It was terrible. We lost all but two. And they're still in critical condition on their way to the burn unit at John's Hopkins." She looks devastated, exhausted, and not in the mood.
"So what do you think, Scully? What's going on out there?"
"I don't know. And under other circumstances, I would like to find out, but we have a plane to catch in just over an hour..." she heads for the door. Can't we get some time out of her doing ER duty? We'll never make it in an hour anyway unless we violate traffic laws.
"I want you to take a look at something first," I tell her, in view of these very important facts.
"What?" she asks, whirling around.
"Max. There's an unusual incision behind his left ear. I've seen this incision twice before. Two women. A thousand miles apart. No way of knowing each other. No relation. Both claim to have been abducted by aliens." And now I get to wait for the ax to fall.
"Are you saying Max Fenig is an abductee? Mulder, the man is taking powerful anti-psychotic drugs. I saw them in his RV."
For the epilepsy? "They're for his epilepsy."
"Not all of them. Dilantin is an anti-convulsant, but Mellaril is used exclusively to treat schizophrenia. More than likely, Max is delusional."
Which could also have something to do with the aliens. He never said he was abducted anyway. "You don't seem to understand Scully. Max doesn't believe he was abducted by aliens, I believe he was. Now could you at least take a look at the scar, and give me you medical opinion?"
She sighs. "Okay. You pack. I'll take a look at Max...on the way to the airport."
Fair.
XXXXX
It takes a few minutes to pack, and for Scully change, and then when we finally get over to the trailer she's not in a good mood, but this will only take a minute. "Come on, Mulder. Lets get this over with."
Oh dear.
I knock on the door, but there's no answer, so I open it, again. No one home. "Max!"
The scanner is on, though.
"Max?"
Nothing.
"Mulder look at this." She's looking at the pillow.
"What is that," I ask, looking at the red spot, "blood?"
And through the confusion, I hear the police scanner. "Repeat...patrol reporting unidentified trespass at the waterfront. This is Henderson. Move on target."
Max is an abductee. He was drawn here. Which means they control him, which means they can take him if they want to. Anytime.
"Let's go," I tell Scully.
"Yeah, we have to catch our flight," she tells me.
"No," I tell her, and run out of the trailer and toward the car.
"Mulder!"
Busted. "Come on."
"Where do you think you are going? Look, if we go to the airport right now, we might make the plane. Which would at least give you half a chance of defending yourself." Who cares?
But she cares. That's what it all boils down to I guess. She cares more than I do.
"Think about is Scully. Max is a gypsy. A nomad, right?"
"Yeah, so what?"
"So he intercepted Deputy Wright's last call to his dispatcher." Nothing. "Which means he was here in Townsend Wisconsin the night of the crash." Still nothing on her face. "Of all the places he could of been, he was right here." She still shows no reaction. "Don't you think thats more than a coincidence?" Finally, a tiny nod. "If Max was abducted that would go a long way to explaining his obsession. And if we've figured it out, you can be sure Colonel Henderson has as well. Do you have the keys?"
And she hands them over, without another word.
XXXXXX
We find the two bodies as soon as we get to the waterfront. They're still smoking.
"They're dead," says Scully. Duh
And then I hear a scream and we both run after it.
There's a warehouse that the screams seem to be coming from, and the door is open so we run inside. I can hear Max, begging for something that hurts to stop hurting.
"Max?"
"It hurts. It hurts."
"Max. Its all right," although I know it is definitely not all right.
"It hurts. Stop it. No, no. It's me they..." Someone's helicopter flies over the building - "They're coming for me. Now I know...They're coming for me. That's why they're here."
Oh dear. I gesture toward the ceiling and Scully leaves the warehouse to find out who's coming and stop them. I grab Max. "Come on. Come on, Max."
"Why... Stop. Why?"
"I'm here to help you." But I don't really know how.
"I'm scared."
Me too. "I know."
"Don't let them take me." He's crying. God, this should bring back all sorts of flashbacks.
But it doesn't.
"I won't let them take you. Come on, Max. Come with me." I start to pull him toward the door.
"NO!"
I don't know what he sees, but whatever it is throws me across the room and when I stand up Max is gone and God does my leg hurt. Damn!
"Max! Max!" I feel like a fool, limping around in here. "MAX!" And there's those flashbacks.
I found him.
He's floating ten feet off the ground in a field of white light, and oh, hell, who's not thinking tractor beam? The noise is amazing and Max is shaking and part of me just sees Sam floating out the window.
There's no way to even try to reach him.
And the light is brighter.
And then it is gone and something is blowing up behind me and Max is gone and his hat is on the floor. I limp over to it and pick it up.
"Where is he?" That was the dulcet tones of Calvin Henderson. I'm not in the mood.
"He's gone. They got to him first. They beat us Colonel."
"Arrest him...and keep looking."
Figures. Right back where I started.
XXXXX
Luckily, Scully manages to get me freed later that day, and we can fly home. Only about twelve hours late, which means that we have to wait until Monday for OPR, which is fine because Colonel Belt's funeral is Saturday.
I'm surprised when Scully shows up – she wasn't the guy's biggest fan – but we're both there early. It's the typical BS about Ashes to Ashes and whatnot, but I kind of feel like it's for Max too. They're both victims in this insanity. Michelle is there with her fiance and it's weird to see them, less than a week later, like they're already part of another, better, saner world that I don't belong to, not really.
XXXXX
That night all about the TV and trying not to worry. I do at least finish writing my report and dutifully drive it over, and then it's all Doctor Quinn, Medicine Woman. Other than that slight hiccup, in which Sully (whose name is obnoxiously close to Scully, I note with a large amount of annoyance) confesses his love to Doctor Quinn and the whole city of Boston learns a valuable lesson. Barf. And a really irritating episode of Walker, Texas Ranger in which Walker defends the honor of strippers by kicking bottles out of the hands of men who look like they're from another planet, which pretty much sums up my feelings about Texas.
My ankle is killing me. I've been limping around all weekend.
XXXXX
The next morning I drive over to the emergency room, because now my ankle's purple. Just a sprain, but they give me some crutches. Scully's gonna kill me for not taking better care of myself. Either that or she's gonna handcuff me and start dragging me to the hospital every week.
XXXXX
Scully goes first with OPR, in fact she's in when I get there, so I start reading the newspaper someone left and trying to wonder what she's saying. Bill Bixby died, I note in the back of my brain. He played The Magician. And they've cleaned up the toxic spill in Wisconsin. Good to know.
Scully comes out. Finally.
"Do you hear that sound Scully?" I ask her, before she can talk. I grab my crutches. "Hammer and nails. They're building a gallows in the town square." She's not smiling, and I think that was funny. Clearly she needs to work on her sense of humor. "Don't worry." She hands me the envelope I have, full of files that won't save me one bit. Good old Scully. "It was only a matter of time. I'm surprised I lasted this long."
I almost believe it myself.
"Good luck."
I wave a crutch at her. "I'll break a leg."
XXXXX
McGrath is there. He never leaves his office. I sit down, and he says (without even looking at me), "Agent Mulder, you have been charged with failiure to comply with a Military operation as well as insubordination and misconduct. How do you respond to these allegations, Agent Mulder?"
I want to tell him to go fuck himself, but I know what Scully just did. She just put her career on the line. And she wouldn't have tried so hard to save mine if she didn't care about hers. "Over a dozen men lost their lives and you want me to respond to issues of protocol?" Jackass.
"You failed to obtain proper authorization for your actions."
This is gonna be lame. "Because I knew it wouldn't be forthcoming."
"You also violated a federal quarantine..."
Now I'm being rude. "A cover up was underway!" I yell
"...exposing yourself and possibly others to toxic contamination."
How stupid do I look? "Oh, toxic contamination? Are we back in that? You read my report, explain the disappearance of Max Fenig."
"Your report is not the subject of this inquiry..." then why did I write it?
"I have further evidence to support my conclusions - X-rays taken while Mr. Fenig was institutionalized show an object lodged in his cerebellum -" I wave the envelope but I hope they don't open it because it's just my own notes based on phone conversations I had this morning with his doctor.
"That is irrelevant Agent Mulder."
I'm really annoyed now. "The man was abducted. We all know it. Everybody in this room knows it." Maybe.
"Colonel Henderson's written testimony states that Fenig's body was found two hours later in a cargo container."
Bullshit. Max is alive. Maybe. "Then what can I say?" I stand up. I'm done. At least now the blame's off Scully. "How can I disprove lies that are stamped with an official seal?"
"That will be all Mr. Mulder."
Oh, now it's time. I get to make a speech! Captain Picard does it, why shouldn't I? "You can deny all the things I've seen. All the things I've discovered. But not for much longer. Because too many others know what's happening out there. And no one. No government agency has jurisdiction over the truth." I hobble out of the room.
I am so going to get fired tomorrow.
XXXXX
When I report to work the next day, Scully is there, but there is no summons. No message. No pink slip. Nothing at all.
Just the job.