Mrs. Crane sobbed inconsolably stooped at the edge of Dr. Walsh' leather couch.
"He promised Tony would be fine. He assured him. He assured me. He seemed he knew what he was doing. I am suing for malpractice!"
"As is your right under the circumstances," agreed Mulder. Tall and well-built, he looked enormous standing next to the small Mrs. Crane, who appeared even smaller with her face buried in her tiny hands.
"Still," Mulder added cautiously, "Dr. Walsh followed protocol. My partner interviewed him and confirmed his side of the story."
"I don't care what he followed," snapped Mrs. Crane. "Tony's dead. Walsh must have done something wrong."
"I suggest we wait until my partner comes back with the conclusions of her investigation. She is finishing the autopsy as we speak. She is an expert."
"An expert in what?"
"We specialize in cases that deal with the paranormal," said Mulder.
"Paranormal?" Mrs. Crane was taken aback. "Mr. Mulder, I don't need a witch doctor. I need someone who can help me find out what happened to my son."
"My partner is an experienced physician as well as an FBI agent. I can assure you, the investigation will be scientifically rigorous."
"Your partner," there was pointed emphasis in Mrs. Crane's tone, "may be all you have been saying, but I care about results! I need to know what is being done to determine conclusively why my son is dead. So, apart from your partner's resume qualifications, is there anything more that you two have to offer?"
Mulder sighed, "Mrs. Crane..."
But she had already realized the inappropriateness of her tone.
"I am so sorry…" she said, shaking her head. And then she was crying again, new tears falling in large droplets on the floor. "Why did this have to happen? Why? First, my husband. And then Tony. He was our only child, the only family I had left..."
Mulder sat next to her on the couch careful no to interrupt.
"He was such a nice boy," she continued. "Quiet. Academic. And then, about a year ago, he bought these unfortunate sneakers."
She spoke more to herself than to Mulder, her hazel eyes staring forward into nothingness.
"At first, there was nothing unusual," she said, shrugging her shoulders as if she was convincing herself of that fact. "A teenage boy with new sneakers, no big deal. But as time went on, he wore them more than what anyone would consider normal."
It had been a year earlier, July. Tony had come home from school in the late afternoon, his blue basketball jersey and black shorts soaked in sweat. He'd headed for the fridge and spent a good minute peering inside it.
Whatcha looking for? Mrs. Crane had asked, looking up from the book she had been reading in the sunny glass room next to the kitchen.
Coke, Tony had replied.
I don't think we have Coke, she had said. But we have the chicken nuggets you like. Wanna tell Marta to warm up some for you before dinner's ready? Marta was the housekeeper. She had been preparing dinner in the larger kitchen in the western wing of their large Victorian house.
Not right now, Tony had said and run back out. He had come back half an hour later.
Where'd you go? Mrs. Crane had asked him.
Come on, Mom, since when do you keep track of me? he had joked. She had shrugged it off. Tony was a teenager. That's how teenagers behaved.
He had gone to his room and changed his sweat-soaked jersey and shorts, but had not taken off his sneakers.
Aren't you gonna take these off? Mrs. Crane had asked.
Tony had stared down at his sneakers as if in contemplation.
These are the best sneakers ever! he had said after a while. I played basketball today. Scored 60 points.
That's great, honey! Mrs. Crane had tried to be encouraging. All that jumping in the backyard is paying off!
It's not the practicing, Mom, Tony had said. It's these sneakers. They help me jump real high. Higher than ever. Higher than anyone else.
OK, get yourself one more pair then, she had said, but take them off at home, for God's sake! You are not going to wear them all the time, are you?
Maybe I will, he had said, giving her a wink and heading back to his room.
"He wanted to get another pair, but he couldn't" Mrs. Crane told Mulder. "They had discontinued this model. So, he clung to the only pair he had. He wore them even at home. At first, the whole thing was funny, an internal joke for both of us. 'Are you going to bed with your sneakers on?' 'Yeah, Mom, thanks for the idea!' There were still occasional times when he took them off. But, as time went by, he started to wear them all the time. When I pushed him to take them off, he would get angry and retreat to his room."
She remembered the day when it had dawned on her that Tony's infatuation with his sneakers had escalated to the level of an obsession. He had refused to take them off with firmness she did not expect, and she had reacted by lashing out at him.
Tony, this is getting ridiculous! Take these shoes off and let Marta wash them! And your socks – how long haven't you changed these? I can smell them from here.
Tony had looked visibly disturbed.
Mom...
What?
I can't, he had said gravely.
You can't what?
I can't take them off.
What do you mean? Why?
Tony had just shaken his head slowly. I need to keep them on all the time, he had said. All the time, Mom.
He had gotten up to go to his room. Mrs. Crane had blocked his way.
Tony, you are not making any sense. You have to take off your shoes at some point!
Tony had stared at her, his body shaking.
If I do, he had said, pronouncing the words slowly, deliberately, I will die...
"He was so fixated and unbending that I started to fear for his life if I were to push him more," said Mrs. Crane. "He told me that he would die if he took his sneakers off. I took that as a threat. I thought he was threatening to take his own life. Naturally, I backed off. But I was terrified! Terrified and desperate! I contacted the most prominent psychiatrist I could find. And I was so relieved when Tony actually agreed to see him. And today..." tears were dropping from her eyes. "Today, I lost him... Tony was right! Dr. Walsh took his sneakers off, and he died!"
Mulder put his hand on Mrs. Crane's shoulder just as Scully was walking in with a blue folder in her hand.
"Dr. Walsh' lawyers blocked further access to him," she said.
"It figures," said Mrs. Crane.
"Thankfully, I was able to talk to him earlier," said Scully.
"Mrs. Crane, this is my partner, Dana Scully," introduced her Mulder. Scully extended a hand and sat on a chair across the two of them. With her shoulder-length hair and black business suit, and being of shorter build herself, Scully resembled a slightly larger, copper-haired version of Mrs. Crane. For a second, Mulder mused at the juxtaposition. The Queen of Diamonds and Queen of Spades, he thought.
"So..." Mrs. Crane started hesitantly, "did you find out...?" Her voice shook slightly in an expression of both expectation and fear.
Scully nodded. "Yes, Mrs. Crane, I have the cause of death." She handed Mrs. Crane the blue folder she was holding. "Tony died of an overdose of cocaine."
There was a moment of silence. Then, Mrs. Crane exploded, her unexpectedly strong voice carrying across the empty corridors of the North Wing of the Seidel Memorial Hospital.
"The murderous son of a bitch!"
Scully shook her head, "If you are referring to Dr. Walsh, he was not the one who injected Tony with cocaine. His story checks out with the medical records and the test results. He only administered anesthesia."
"What are you saying?"
"The cocaine was in Tony's system hours before you and Tony came to Dr. Walsh' office," said Scully.
Mrs. Crane stared at Scully. "I don't understand. How did Tony get it then? Who gave it to him?"
Scully sighed. "There's no evidence to suggest that there was anyone else involved," she said. "Maybe there was someone who helped your son get the cocaine, but most likely Tony himself injected himself with it."
Mrs. Crane fixed her hazel eyes on Scully. "Are you implying Tony did drugs?"
"All indications point to that," said Scully.
Mrs. Crane was shaking her head in disbelief. "That's not possible. I knew my son. He was a good kid. Intelligent. He was great in sports. He had excellent grades. I would have known."
Scully didn't reply.
"We were close," argued Mrs. Crane, more to herself than to Scully. "He shared as much as any kid his age shares with his mother, especially after his father passed away."
"I know it must be hard to accept," said Scully softly. "But facts are facts." She pointed at the report. "Tony had a critically high concentration of cocaine in his blood when he walked into Dr. Walsh' office. It is surprising that he was even able to make it that far."
Mrs. Crane slumped on the couch. "I was with him," she said weakly. "He looked completely normal."
She sat there, helpless. "Drugs need money, don't they?" she asked.
Scully did not respond but exchanged glances with Mulder.
"I know what you are thinking," fired back Mrs. Crane. "Yes, we are not exactly middle class. Still, I wasn't raised rich, and I didn't raise my son that way either. I kept track of his spending. He didn't buy things he didn't need. He bought basketball jerseys, chewing gum and Coke."
"Coke!?" Mulder and Scully exclaimed together.
"Coke... as in Coca Cola!" Mrs. Crane clarified angrily.
"I am sorry," apologized Scully. "It just that it sounded like..."
Mrs. Crane took a deep breath and recomposed herself. "No, I am sorry. I am not myself. I can't believe he's gone. How does one take coke - cocaine anyway? Injections?"
Scully nodded. "It appears," she said, "that he injected the bottom of his feet."
She took the blue folder from Mrs. Crane and flipped through the pages pointing at some of the autopsy pictures. The bottoms of Tony's feet showed numerous bloody wounds. It was evident that they had been punctured with something sharp.
Mrs. Crane shook in horror. "Why...?"
"I don't know. Probably to avoid detection. Needles leave traces. The puncture holes would be visible on his arms or other parts of his body. I suppose not many people examine the bottom of someone feet."
"Doesn't this... hurt?"
Scully nodded quietly. She put her hand on Mrs. Crane's. "I am so very sorry Mrs. Crane."
"My poor baby..." cried Mrs. Crane. "It must have hurt even when he simply walked. At every step."
She buried her face in her hands again and shook in silent sobbing while Mulder watched on, his light brown eyes averted inward in rapt contemplation.