From xangst@frii.com Thu Oct 10 03:09:10 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 3) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com The other subjects of Dana and Mulder's attention barely noticed the commotion. The Boltons had finished their brunch and each had their cellular phones out, completing last minute ship to shore calls before the ship was too far out from the port for their cellulars to work. Todd was busy berating his assistant for sending a document by runner instead of by fax....he'd have to take care of his little 'assistant' problem when he got back. She was a cutie, but she'd long since worn out her usefulness. He wondered how much severance pay he'd have to give her to keep her quiet. Kelly was checking the latest listing in her office, instructing her assistant which clients to send the listing to. Neither saw Mulder fall to the floor, and probably wouldn't have cared even if they had. Karl Kopec folded the latest issue of The Star and put it on the table next to the issue of his own tabloid paper. Have to see what the competition's up to, he thought to himself. Nothing much was the answer. Now this... this was a 'real' story. If he could crack this baby, he'd be up there with the likes of Geraldo Rivera... just as famous and just as rich. And nobody could ever again call him a tired old hack... he was an investigative reporter, and he'd damn well prove it on this trip. He saw the tall young man sway and fall to the floor. Another newbie, he chuckled to himself. Won't they ever learn to get motion sickness medicine *before* they leave port? Jake Moorehouse sat surreptitiously scanning the room, looking for the agents the FBI had sent in to investigate 'his' case. Usually they were easy to spot, even without the dark sunglasses and the uptight, buttoned-down dark suits. Most Fibbies he'd known during his career were insufferably arrogant......God's gift to law enforcement....and he could spot that arrogance a mile away. As far as he was concerned, the only difference between a Fibbie and a beat cop was the technical equipment at their disposal. His own precinct was facing budget cutbacks and he'd been asked if he would take an early retirement. The federal guys, they didn't have to worry about that. Hell, he figured his own taxes kept at least one team fully supplied with all the manpower and technical support they could ever possibly need. Beat cops.....that was a different story. Beat cops had to think on their feet...didn't have all that fancy, schmancy high tech stuff to do their detecting for them. But that worked in his favor here.... Even if there were a pair of agents on board this time out, he still figured he could beat them at solving this little mystery...he had nearly twenty-five years experience going for him, as well as an insatiable desire for the fame and fortune he figured would go along with solving the case. He was nobody's fool...he knew he could find a way to translate this little reward money into a tidy nest egg...something to keep him warm and cozy for the rest of his life. The idea made him smile. Moorehouse frowned briefly when he saw the young man hit the floor, his wife bending down protectively over him. He'd checked them out already...newlyweds. Only she didn't act like a newlywed....all nervous and uncertain at having her new husband suddenly pass out on her. Nope, not this one....she just calmly called for the doctor and felt her husband's pulse. Hmmm...maybe she was in the medical profession. He'd have to check that out. One thing was certain, however, these weren't the agents he was looking for. No Fibbie he knew would ever have come on board unprepared for motion sickness. Moorehouse continued his scan of the room, mentally cataloging all the passengers he saw. In the background, unnoticed by anyone, a small man heaved a deep sigh....from the looks of things, this was going to be a *very* long cruise. Mulder heard far away voices drifting in and out in waves through his head. He tried desperately, without success, to pull them into focus and decipher some kind of meaning from the sounds. However, the noises always seemed just beyond his reach--just at the edge of his consciousness, taunting him until he was just too exhausted to reach for them any more. He began to sink back down into the cool darkness when a single voice broke through and pulled him back again. Slowly, he felt reality coalesce around him and he opened his eyes. He found himself prone on a cot in the midst of various medical paraphernalia and antiseptic smells. Great... he was in yet another doctor's office. This was turning out to be one hell of a day, and it wasn't even half over. Mulder awoke with a monstrous pain in his head. He tried to sit up, but his stomach cramped unmercifully, and without warning, he was forced to roll over and retch violently for several minutes. Oh God, he felt like shit..... A soft, cool hand felt his forehead and caressed his cheek. "Doc's gonna give you something for the nausea and vomiting," Dana said helpfully. Mulder nodded slowly as something 'stung' his arm....he then looked at the doctor, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Bernie Kopel. Naw....it couldn't be.... He closed his eyes, trying to fight off the sinking feeling that he'd fallen down the rabbit hole and pretty soon the Madd Hatter was gonna invite him to a tea party. "Young man, you've got possibly the worst case of motion sickness I've ever seen," the doctor said, smiling at him reassuringly. Mulder opened his eyes again and was relieved to see just a normal looking doctor, not a refugee from 'The Love Boat'. Must be all that late night television his subconscious had absorbed from years of falling asleep on the couch, in front of the TV. The idea that his subconscious was being influenced by 'The Love Boat' wasn't exactly reassuring. "Combine that with an equally nasty case of vertigo," the doctor continued, "and you're one sick puppy. I'm going to give you a patch to wear that should alleviate the symptoms within an hour or so." Dr. Johnson went back into the other room to retrieve the small package of patches lying on the counter. He paused briefly in the doorway as he momentarily caught a shadow of someone else in the room out of the corner of his eye. Scanning the small lab/pharmacy turned up nothing out of the ordinary, so he convinced himself that he'd been a ship's doctor too long and his eyes were playing tricks on him again. He brought the patches out and placed one on the back side of Mulder's right earlobe. "The medication will gradually release throughout the day and you should be able to function normally very soon," he explained. "Meanwhile, I would like you to remain exactly where you are for at least an hour or so." The doctor turned to Scully. "Make sure that he does..." She smiled at the man and commented, "I'll sit on him if I have to." Mulder managed a weak grin. "Guess I missed the 'meeting'. What are their ground rules so I know which ones to break first?" "It seems we have to 'earn' the right to solve the 'real' cases by first solving a 'test' case they gave us at the meeting," Scully replied. "Test case? What 'test case'?" Talk about shades of Sherlock Holmes..... "Every individual or couple was given the same 'mystery scenario', at least that's what the idiot called it," Scully said with a 'why me, lord' look. "The first 5 individuals and/ or couple to solve said mystery earn the right to solve the real thing and collect the prize." Scully looked at him, totally exasperated. "Mulder, I can't actually believe we're going along with this...this lame charade." Mulder's shrug said it all...you gotta do what you gotta do. After all, they couldn't very well blow their cover. Scully knew that, but it still didn't stop her from feeling totally frustrated. They should be out chasing the *real* bad guys, not some make believe villain in a ridiculous game of 'Clue'. "Does the 'Mystery' that they gave us sound 'challenging' at all?" he asked with growing curiosity. "And has that logical mind of yours figured it out yet?" Dana grinned....leave it to Mulder to get excited about any mystery, even a make believe one. "Yes....it does sound....'challenging'," she replied, "and no, I haven't quite figured it out yet." "Well....are you gonna tell me or keep me in suspense? What's the scenario?" he asked eagerly with the glint of an anticipated challenge, sparkling in his eyes as he started to raise himself up off the cot. She shook her head 'no' and gently pushed him back down..."45 Mulder." "Huh??? 45? 45 what?" he inquired impatiently. "Forty-five minutes....that's how long you've got left to warm that cot and you're gonna stay there even if I have to hog tie ya and sit on ya. Got that, Sherlock?" He reluctantly settled back down onto the cot and grumbled, "I bet Dr. Watson didn't threaten Sherlock Holmes with B&D. if he didn't agree....Geez." "Watson didn't have the same kind of 'investment' in Holmes that I have in you either, so shut up, close your eyes, and do what you're told." "But...." "Shsssss," she hissed fiercely, her eyes just daring him to disobey her. Seeing that he wasn't going to get anywhere until he appeased her sense of duty, he reluctantly closed his eyes, fully intending to wait *just* the minimum amount of time required to fulfill the time restraint that she so enthusiastically enforced on him. However, weariness took its toll and in the end, Mulder's forty-five minute nap lasted a little more than six hours. The steward rolled the cart to a stop in front of cabin 609 and knocked respectfully on the door, waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, he knocked again, a little harder. This time the door opened, but just barely. "Mrs. O'Keefe?" the steward asked. Behind the crack in the door, he could only make out one eye and part of her face. He knew the old lady was a mystery writer, and he had always believed writers were a little eccentric, if not downright weird. But a passenger taking brunch in their cabin the first morning out of port was a first in his book. Maybe she was afraid her cat would jump overboard or something. "I have your brunch, ma'am," the steward said when she remained silent. "Just leave it in the hallway, young man," Mrs. O'Keefe said. "I'll bring it in..in a minute or two." "Are you sure, ma'am?" Now the steward was thoroughly confused. He wasn't supposed to do that....leaving his cart in the hallway was a sure way to get in trouble with his supervisor. "I'm supposed to leave it in your cabin, not the hallway," he insisted. "My cat's not used to strangers....I'm sure you understand." Mrs. O'Keefe's blue eye stared back at him unrelentingly. Well, it didn't look like the old lady was going to open her door, and he sure didn't want to stand here arguing with her all morning. Shit....if he got in trouble, he'd just blame it on her. What were they always telling him...the passenger is always right? "Okay, ma'am. But don't leave it out here too long....someone might decide your brunch looks better than what they had." "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind," she said, firmly closing the door. The steward shook his head as he walked away. Boy, you see all sorts on these cruises, he thought. A few minutes after the steward left, the door to cabin 609 opened slowly. Mrs. O'Keefe stuck her head out the door and looked in both directions down the hall. Convinced that no one was in the corridor, she opened the door and quickly pulled the cart inside, her rubber soled shoes making no sound on the carpeted hallway. Anyone seeing her would have been amazed at how quickly the little old lady could move when she wanted to. Jake Moorehouse sat in a deck chair, ostensibly getting a little sun, but in reality closely watching his fellow passengers from behind the safety of his shades. There had been quite a turn out at the orientation meeting this morning. Even the newlywed wife had shown up to collect the little test scenario and listen to the rules before leaving, probably to go check up on her sick hubby. Moorehouse had already dealt with the fake mystery, a bit surprised that it had taken him a couple of hours to solve it. It was complicated, but he'd chewed up and spit out harder mysteries in his time. He'd turned in his response on the way to the deck, confident that he would be among the five lucky winners. The day had turned out beautiful -- sunny and warm without a cloud in the sky....a definite difference from the dingy gray of New York City. Quite a few of the passengers were taking advantage of the sun by either frolicking in the pool or laying around catching rays. There was even a volleyball game going strong, although Jake figured the guys were in it mostly to oggle the girls as they bounced around in their bikinis trying to hit the ball. Had he not been working a case, he might have spent more time eyeing the girls himself. Jake noticed the Boltons sitting at a table near the pool, heads together over the test scenario. Inwardly he smiled...solving a mystery was a little harder than bullying some poor slob into selling his company, eh? Amateurs..... The reporter...what was his name, Kopek?....walked by Jake's chair on the way to the bar. Probably on an expense account from that rag he worked for...from the looks of it he'd probably spend the whole trip sloshed. He'd exchanged the worn linen suit for a pair of garish Bermuda shorts that clashed horribly with his Hawaiian shirt. Jake noticed the test scenario tucked under the reporter's arm. Well, he hadn't figured it out yet. Moorehouse wondered how he'd do with a couple of drinks under his belt...maybe in Kopek's case the liquor actually helped him think. Jake wondered how many of the passengers at the meeting this morning had given up after reading the test case. Not a lot of them seemed to be working on it....that was just as well. Less competition searching for the real criminal. And a major suspect sat well within Jake's view, sunning herself by the pool. Oneida Darkhorse...he'd spent a lot of time researching her. She'd been on all of the previous cruises where passengers had died. Her husband was some rich, big shot politician....sending his wife on all these cruises probably didn't even put a dent in his spare change. Not that she'd acted much like a wife while she was on board. Oneida had an effect on men....a very carnal effect...and by all reports, she enjoyed the hell out of it. Moorehouse guessed that she used the men that she attracted the way other people used alcohol or drugs...as an escape. Although what the heck she had to escape from was beyond him. She had money, fame, and a bod that wouldn't quit. Moorehouse considered himself somewhat of an amateur psychologist...you got to be that way after years on the job.....but there were some people he just couldn't figure out. One thing was certain, though...this woman was a real looker. Moorehouse let his eyes pause on her reclined form, letting his imagination run rampant. As he sat there watching her, Oneida opened her eyes and stared straight at him. Moorehouse felt like a goose had walked over his grave. In spite of the hot weather, he shivered. A thought rang out in his head, as clear as if someone had spoken it out loud.... Moorehouse got up from his chair with a start, deciding that he'd had enough sun for one afternoon. Maybe a nap, in his cabin, so he'd be alert for tonight's festivities. Oneida turned over on her lounge chair so the sun could hit her back...had to make sure the tan was even. Besides, she liked laying on her stomach, her face buried in her soft beach towel. For some reason she was very drowsy and felt like doing nothing more than lying out in the sun. Maybe she'd stay here for the entire trip, although she'd have to get up sooner or later and turn in her answer to the test mystery. She knew the answer already, of course...she'd gotten it loud and clear from the purser's mind when he'd looked at her. She just didn't want to turn in her answer too soon....after all, some people might accuse her of cheating. She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the deck fade into the background....letting the creep's thoughts about her fade from her mind as well. Oh, she appreciated male attention, all right. But it had to be from the *right* male, and he definitely was *not* it. She let her thoughts drift back to the man she'd seen on the Promenade Deck this morning....now *he* was someone she was definitely interested in. He wasn't on deck, she was sure of it....she would have known if he was around. Oh, well... no doubt he would be at the party tonight to see whether he and his new little wife had won a chance to compete on solving the real mystery. Oneida hoped they had...it would give her a chance to be around him, to try and sort out the barrage of feelings he had thrown back at her this morning when she'd used her 'talents' on him. Picturing him in her mind, Oneida drifted off to sleep. Dana had pulled up a chair to sit with Mulder just to make sure that he didn't renege and get up first chance he got. She'd used the time to study the case she'd been given and was surprised to see that it was quite a little mystery. When the forty-five minutes were up and Mulder was still peacefully sleeping, she'd decided not to wake him. He'd be royally pissed off at her but he'd just have to get over it. Sleep was a rare commodity for him and she wasn't about to interrupt it. He obviously 'needed' it and by God, he was gonna get it whether he liked it or not. The afternoon went by quickly. Dana dozed off a bit herself, the early morning finally catching up with her. She awoke with a start, and was pleased to see that her 'patient' was still fast asleep. Stretching her arms and yawning, she prepared herself for the inevitable complaining and whining she was sure would ensue when he finally woke up and discovered he'd overslept. But she would stand by her decision and if he didn't like it....it was just too damn bad. Dana finished with her study of the case and looked up over the rim of her reading glasses as Mulder turned restlessly on the cot, his eyelids fluttering in the effort to awaken. He gradually opened his eyes and momentarily stared at her with a blank expression. She got up, put the 'test mystery case' in the chair, and knelt on the floor beside the cot. With one hand she checked his pulse and with the other, she brushed the ever stubborn lock of hair from his eyes again. The medical part of her mind noted with some dissatisfaction that he remained disoriented just a little longer than she thought he should have, but after a few minutes, he seemed lucid and fairly normal. Mulder sat up cautiously. The medication must have worked for the headache, dizziness, and nausea had diminished to tolerable levels and he actually even felt a little 'feisty'.....and though he shouldn't be....hungry. Didn't he just eat? Oh well, maybe it was just that he'd barfed up everything. "How ya feelin', sleepy head?" Dana said cheerfully. "Ready to go back to the cabin, take a shower, change your clothes, and go to dinner?" "Dinner? What happened to lunch?" "You slept through lunch," she replied hastily. He narrowed his eyes. "Dana.....what time is it?" "Oh...." She looked at her watch. "It's exactly 5:32 PM." "Five thirty-two PM? You mean that I've wasted a whole day, flat on my back when we have to beat out all those people to solve their stupid 'test mystery'!" Mulder glared at her--- he couldn't believe she'd let him sleep so long. They were on a case, for crissakes. "Why didn't you wake me up?" "Because I thought you'd have a better chance of solving this thing with a well-rested, alert mind than an exhausted, groggy one," she replied sweetly, "and I have the utmost 'faith' in your deductive abilities, so don't get your 'knickers in a twist'.... I can almost guarantee nobody else has solved the damn thing yet either." One corner of his mouth crooked up in that infamous lopsided grin. "Solving a case with a 'well-rested', alert, mind, huh? What a *novel* concept," he commented sardonically as he stood carefully, getting his bearings. "Why do I have to change clothes?" "Because it's a formal dinner/dance." "Lovely---it's monkey suit time already and it's only the first night. What could I have possibly done to deserve all this good fortune?" he lamented. "Stop with the 'pity party' and I'll give you the file on our 'test mystery'," she cajoled as they walked through the main deck to the elevator. That should keep his worry circuits busy for a while, she thought sneakily. "Sounds like a fair trade," he replied, taking the file from her hand. Mulder proceeded to peruse the documents during their elevator ride. Luckily they had the elevator all to themselves so no one saw their 'un-newlywed' like behavior. He handed the file back to her when they got out on their deck. "Well?" she asked. "I'm thinking," was all he'd say as they entered the cabin. He hurried to the shower and closed the door. Dana heard him turn on the water. Fifteen minutes later he emerged wearing a big smile and very little else. "I know who did it, " he laughed, " I know the answer to the 'test'." He started to quote sections of the file out loud to her so she could follow where he was going with it. "Okay....so they call this scenario the 'Case of the Vanishing Man' Here we go.... "#1. Mystery writer describes to a friend a scenario for his book that involves the lead character phoning *his* friend and telling him that he's screwing around with a 'magic disappearing spell' and says that he's 'disappearing' while talking on the phone. In the *story*, the friend arrives to discover the guy is missing, the house boarded up and locked from the inside with no means of escape, i.e. no fireplace, trap doors, secret passages, etc. "#2 Mystery writer finishes novel on the 1st of the month, goes to town and mentions to several people that he was late because he had to 'meet' someone earlier that morning. Writer returns home. After two weeks the *friend* that he told the story to goes to his cottage to find everything there matches the scenario in the Writer's book, i.e. locked from the *inside*, etc., except for one thing...the writer has been murdered. "#3. "The *greedy* landlord, who also happens to be the builder of the cottage, says he's pissed cause the Writer died before he could pay his rent. The landlord turns the place, which had become a mecca for occult minded and mystery buffs, into an attraction and charges admission, making more money than he ever did from collecting rent. "#4. "Now the question is.....who killed the writer and how? Give up Scully????? huh? huh???" he asked smugly. Scully had an idea, but she wanted to hear it from him. Besides, she just loved it when he showed off. "All right Mr. Holmes-----I give...who dunnit?" "Elementary, my dear Watson," he replied in an overdone British accent. "The landlord did it, of course," he stated with conviction. "Right.....how did you come to that 'leap' in logic?" "Well, according to everyone who knew this guy, he was a greedy, lazy, SOB who'd evict his own mother if she was late with a payment. The Writer said he had to meet someone that morning...it was the first of the month....and what do you pay on the 1st of the month, oh Scully one?????" "The rent," she conceded. "The Landlord lied about not seeing the Writer when he'd paid his rent that morning--why?" Mulder rubbed his chin. "This part is just conjecture," he admitted, "but I think the bastard gave the Writer the idea for his book and when the writer refused to cut him in on the book deal, he got angry, planned his revenge, and when the Writer returned from town he killed the guy and found another way to make a profit off of it." Dana had to admit that the *who* made sense, but the *how* was beyond her. "Okay.....so how did he murder the guy and get out of a building that was totally sealed from the *inside*? And Mulder, if you mention Eugene Tooms, I'll .......I don't know what I'll do, but I guarantee it won't be pleasant." "Remember....the landlord also built the cottage....and he was admittedly 'lazy'. It's true the place had a concrete floor and solid stone walls....but it also had a beam ceiling with exposed rafters. I learned a few things while being forced into child labor on my summer vacations for my big shot cousin architect. He'd often run into trouble with workers not properly securing...if they even secured it at all....that kind of roof to the wall's corners. The weight of the roof kept it in place and no one would be the wiser that it wasn't secured unless a huge wind came in and lifted it. The landlord had a truck...and truck jacks are usually hydraulic...all he would have to do is seal the place up, take the damn truck jack, place it under a beam and lift the corner of the roof about a foot which would be a piece of cake, crawl out, then remove the jack from the outside. No mystery...only a devious mind. So whadda ya think, Watson???" "I'm *very* impressed," Dana said, and she was, too, but she couldn't resist adding, "I think you'd make a great FBI agent someday when you grow up." She skittered to one side as he snapped his towel at her. "I'm really glad you figured all that out, too--maybe it'll bring us in first place since all they really asked for was 'who dunnit', not specifically how or why," she said wryly. "Then why in the hell did you let me go through all those mental contortions to figure all that shit out?" he asked slightly perturbed. She grabbed an extra towel lying by the sink and before entering the shower, looked back over her shoulder, pursed her lips and simply said, "Gotcha--" He crossed the small room and retrieved his tuxedo from the closet, thinking about the smart remark he'd made earlier that morning about leaving late so that 'she didn't have to wait anywhere'.....touchÈ', Dana... Dana's voice filtered out above the noise of the running water. "Hey....how long before his 'artwork' wears off my butt?" He thought for a moment , then yelled back, "Oh, I'd say you're good for at least a dozen more washes," he chuckled mirthfully under his breath as he contemplated having to stuff himself into this monkey suit. "Hey, Sherlock," Dana called again from the shower. "Since I'm in here and obviously not in any condition to be seen yet, how about you go take our answer to the purser's office." Any excuse to postpone putting on that damn suit was fine with him, he thought as he pulled on his jeans and a t shirt. "Purser's Office...gotcha," he said, heading out the door. Todd Bolton paced the small confines of their cabin, his mind working in overdrive. The ship to shore phone had been out again, so he couldn't call his office. Anytime he was out of touch with the office he felt out of control, and Todd hated feeling out of control of anything. In his business, deals were made, and broken, at all hours of the day and night. Todd didn't trust anyone to handle business while he was gone, and if solving this mystery wasn't so important to his overall career goals, he damn well wouldn't be here. The cabin wasn't helping matters any. You'd think what with all the cruises he and Kelly had taken trying to solve this little mystery, he'd be used to it by now. But small was definitely *not* what Todd Bolton was used to. He was on the fast track, and that was exactly where he wanted to be. He was already rich by most standards, but what Todd craved most was power and all the trappings that went with it. The fancy, fast cars...the estate in the country...and a beautiful, smart wife who looked good at his side. He never traveled less than first class, and this cabin was a definite come down. And to think this was the best "suite" the cruise line had to offer. Kelly emerged from the shower wrapped in one of the large towels they had brought from home. God, she was gorgeous. She'd look good in California, just as good as any of those beach blanket babes with the Coppertone tans and the bleach blonde hair. He wondered briefly if she knew about his extracurricular "activities" with the long string of girls he'd hired as assistants. Probably not. And he refused to think about whether she may have retaliated with "assistants" of her own. It was enough that they were good together, and he had to admit that they made a heck of a team. They'd actually figured out the stupid little test scenario. Of course, Todd had hedged his bets with a little side *investment* directly into the purser's pocket. That was one of the most important things Todd had learned in his life...never go into a deal unless you already know what the outcome will be. He had no intention of failing this time out. There was too much riding on this deal. Yeah, they'd close the book on this little mystery, and that would lead to another deal which Todd would close and that would be the start of their new life in California. Closure....that was his goal in all things, whether in the boardroom or in the bedroom....closure and success. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready to dry her hair, Kelly Bolton shivered briefly, and a frown creased her forehead. "What's up, babe?" Todd asked, seeing her frown. "Nothing," she replied. "Must have gotten a chill, I guess." But she didn't sound convinced, and as she continued to look into the mirror, Kelly felt more than just a slight chill run down her back...this cold was buried deep in her bones. She started putting on her makeup automatically, letting her mind roam free, and in the back of her thoughts echoed one word she had heard her husband say at least a million times...... (continued part 4) M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy." Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher" xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner ********************************************************************** _ _ \ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous \ / email fanfic list, please write: X A N G S T Anonymous / \ & xangst@frii.com / \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator - - ********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 11 11:16:34 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 4) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com The trip to the purser's office just hadn't been long enough, Mulder thought as he attempted for the tenth time to tie his stupid bow tie. He didn't know why he was having such a problem with it. Actually, he'd been having minor problems with his coordination in general ever since he'd awakened this afternoon. He'd even bumped into the door jam on his way into the cabin. He was beginning to feel more like an Inspector Clueseau than a Fox Mulder. This case was not turning out exactly the way he'd hoped....it was almost as if he'd been under personal attack since he boarded the damn ship. And in spite of all the sleep he'd gotten this afternoon, he still felt tired. That same heavy feeling of dread began creeping up on him again and as he gazed into the mirror, he thought he saw something move behind him just outside his field of vision. Mulder spun around, ready for a confrontation but the only thing that met his scrutiny was 'empty space'. He could have sworn there was something...or someone there. He temporarily gave up on the tie when Dana entered the room and slipped into the floor length, blue velvet gown that she'd purchased before they came on board. Mulder studied the dress in wonder---- It 'plunged' in the back, it 'plunged' in the front, in fact it did so much 'plunging' that it seemed to possess an ethereal quality that defied the law of gravity. She was beautiful. If he'd have been a prince, he'd have taken her away from all this. However, as it were, he was just a lowly FBI agent who, at the moment, was trying to decide whether or not he was crazy and if he should tell her about his doubts. Dana interrupted his thoughts by reaching up and expertly fixing the bow tie for him. Gazing into those clear, blue/grey eyes, he finally decided that for now--- he'd just let it ride until he had more information to go on. "Thanks for fixing the tie," he said gratefully, "I just can't seem to get it together tonight," he sighed as he walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth and replace the stupid looking patch on his earlobe with a new one. He rotely spat out the toothpaste, looked up at he mirror and froze..... "Dana," he whispered at first. "Dana, come here!!!" he raised his voice. The urgency in his tone brought her running. Mulder pointed at the mirror and she stepped back to look. There in the steam, a written message began to appear one letter at a time. 'Danger..... go..... back..... death.... awaits....' "Scully," he murmured nervously, "if you've got a logical, rational, explanation for 'this one', please believe me......I'm *more* than willing to listen....and I *REALLY* wanna hear it." Dana leaned in closer to the mirror to inspect the mysterious writing. "Could be that someone wrote on the mirror with some sort of water repellent material...say like a chapstick. When the steam collected, it would collected everywhere except on the material. It's like silk screening, Mulder." "Okay Einstein....," Mulder said, considering her theory. "But if that were true...wouldn't the 'writing' appear all at once--not one letter at a time in a flowing motion? Wouldn't it have shown up after *my* shower, too? And if this was someone's idea of a practical joke---why single us out? Nobody's *supposed* to know who we are." Mulder cautiously opened the medicine cabinet to look inside. No, there were no panels, no holes in the wall, absolutely nothing to suggest tampering or fraud. "Did you hear anyone come in here while I was gone?" Dana shook her head no. He didn't think that was a possibility...the bathroom in this cabin was pretty darn small, and it was doubtful that Dana wouldn't have seen someone come in. Stumped, Mulder shrugged his shoulders. Mulder looked back at the mirror. The steam in the bathroom was dissipating and the words were slowly fading from sight. "In any case, whether it's ghosts, goblins, or a magician with a long distance calling card, someone was concerned enough to send us a 'warning' and I don't think we should totally disregard it, do you?" "Mulder, I've learned not to 'disregard' anything where you're concerned," she replied, shaking her head with a wry smile. "And what do you mean...'warn us'. Seems to me, whatever this is, it's gone out of its way to warn 'you'." "Come on, Scully....I'm not predisposed to psychic impressions. You're the one with *that* kind of background," he added with relish. Reminding her of that fact always seemed to give him just a teeny tiny spark of pleasure, since he knew it tended to irritate her skeptical nature to be associated 'genetically' with what she considered, for the most part....'flights of fancy'. "Oh....so you don't have *any* psychic ability at all, huh? Then what was that business in the cabin this morning all about....I didn't feel anything--*you*, on the other hand, practically hyperventilated yourself into oblivion." When she paused, Mulder thought he'd gotten off lightly...he should have known better. "And one more thing. About that psychic 'witch'....Oneida. She zeroed in on you like a hungry wolf sniffing out a plate of raw meat. There were at least fifty other men in that room, all with the same stupid grin on their faces. Why did she concentrate such an icy glare at *you*? Exactly what kind of 'message' did she send you? Mulder, do you think she's for real? And now...this! " she pointed at the mirror and sighed. Mulder favored her with a look of grudging resignation and admitted, "I'll concede to insight, intuition, and maybe to a larger degree, a certain amount of empathy, but I've never been telepathic or prophetic. As to whether or not I believe our 'resident witch' is for real?? Mulder shrugged. "Personally, I don't think that she's a true psychic. However, she does seem to possess the ability to channel and project raw emotions onto others....and does it with great skill to further her own ends...whatever they may be. The icy 'glare' was probably thrown my way because I sort of refused her suggestions.....I somehow got the feeling that a negative response was 'unusual' and I guess she considered it a 'slap in the face' so to speak." "Fox....," she drew out his name deliberately, "what 'exactly' did she 'project' to you?" "Uh......" he stammered, "Let's just say.....I discovered that there are 'positions' that even *I* haven't heard of......" Damn, he knew he'd blushed again and betrayed his attempt to appear worldly. Realizing that this conversation was taking a decisively 'familiar' turn, he caught himself inadvertently looking down the front of her dress, which led him to the conclusion that if they didn't leave right now....they wouldn't leave at all. Never had he thought it would be so difficult to keep his mind balanced between 'lover' and 'partner'.....but it had to be done. Mulder cleared his throat noisily and announced, "I'm starved.....let's go eat." Then he thought with surprise, after barfing his guts out all morning, that he really *was* hungry. Mulder took another look at her as they left the cabin and commented with a shy smile, "I submit that there is no need for concern on your part as far as Mrs. Darkhorse is concerned....she projects a fantasy....but *you*.....*you*, Dana......are reality and truth. And as you know.....I prefer the truth. " He took her arm and gently wrapped it around his own as they traveled down the hall. When they approached the waiting elevator, however, Mulder stopped suddenly and refused to take another step. Dana glanced ahead and saw what *she* interpreted as the reason for his failure to move. That obnoxious yuppie couple, Todd and Kelly Bolton, had boarded the elevator just in front of them and were waiting inside for Scully and Mulder to join them. The epitome of the me-first 80's generation, they were the perfect "beemer" poster children. Scully was in total agreement with Mulder on this one. She didn't want to share an elevator with these people either. If she had to endure one more pointless discussion on the destructive capabilities of 'lawn aphids', she'd personally hunt them down after this was over and spray their whole freaking yard with Round Up. Hell, that would give them something to talk about for the *next* twenty years, at least. Outwardly, Dana just smiled and motioned for them to go on ahead. "I forgot something in the cabin," she offered in explanation, then whispered to Mulder under her breath, "We can catch the next one." She waited for a comment and when none came, she looked up to discover that her partner was staring blankly into empty space, unaware that she had even spoken to him. This can't be, Mulder tried to reason logically... this is not real. Yet he 'saw' the yawning cavern almost as if it were superimposed over reality of the elevator, felt the cold darkness cling to his skin as he stood at the edge of the abyss, unable to move. , a part of his brain kicked in <--it's a goddamn elevator, for Christ sake.....not the pits of hell> Once more he got the impression of something moving just beyond his range of vision----and then it was gone. Dana tugged on his sleeve several times in alarm until he finally blinked his eyes and gazed down at her, slightly disoriented. "What's going on with you?" she asked worriedly. "I wish I knew," he replied with a concern look evident in his *own* eyes. "Dana.....I......I think I'm hallucinating....." She heard the edge of panic that crept into his voice and attempted to diffuse it with reason and a soothing tone. "If you are......there has to be a logical explanation for it and eventually, we'll find out what it is." She stroked his cheek...his skin was clammy and his forehead was damp with sweat. What the hell was going on here? "Are you sure you're up to this dinner party? You *could* go back to the room and lie down for a while," she suggested. "No, I'm fine now," he lied. "First of all, I certainly can't conduct an investigation from my room and secondly," he eyed her appreciatively, "I'd be a fool to let a beautiful woman attend a dinner party unescorted amongst a room full of wolves. Just do me a favor and take the stairs. okay?" The party was in full swing when they arrived. The passengers had all donned their finery...a few couples were on the dance floor, but most seemed to be still eating dinner. Dinner...gee, that sounded good. Once again Mulder realized just how hungry he was. The dinner spread had to be twice as large as the brunch buffet he'd seen earlier...had that only been this morning? Already it seemed like he'd been on this cruise forever. Mulder decided that if he was going to be 'seeing' things, he'd just as soon 'see' them on a 'full' stomach rather than an 'empty' one and once again indulged in a plate full of food. After all, he was fully medicated now and didn't expect to be blowing chunks anytime soon. A short time later, a soft, sensual bolero began to play and Mulder allowed himself the rare pleasure of dancing with Dana.....in public. After all, they were supposed to be newlyweds here and he was gonna play it to the hilt. He pressed her body to his until they melded into one graceful line, pulsing with steamy, rhythmic movements that lended a whole new dimension to the term 'dirty dancing'. Dana felt as though they were making love in the middle of a crowded dance floor and found the sensation to be nearly overwhelming. How could a man with feet that big be so graceful? Then she wondered with just a hint of jealousy who had taught him to dance in the first place. Neither of them saw Oneida Darkhorse watching them from her table, her lovely face marred by a frown. She didn't like to be rejected, but she knew there was no hope for her with this man. To dance like that...to move as one person...there had to be a deep emotional connection. She didn't need to be psychic to know that these two were bonded to each other...mind, body, and soul. And she was surprised by her own reaction to this revelation...it hurt, a deep, empty ache that was more painful than even the sunburn on her back. She'd fallen asleep this afternoon, a sound, dreamless sleep, and as a result her back was badly sunburned. And in spite of her nap, she still felt drowsy. The music seemed to come from far away, and her 'talents' were somewhat dulled this evening. Not that she felt like using them right now, anyway. When the song was over, Scully and Mulder sat down and he scanned the room. He thought all of the suspects were present --- No, wait.....someone was missing. But who? He should be able to remember something that simple. Why couldn't he remember? Mulder stared at Dana from across the table, confusion and frustration plainly visible on his face and asked. "Dana, what suspect is missing? I can't remember.....I've got photographic memory and I can't recall something a two year old would know. What's wrong with me?????" "I don't know, but we're gonna find out...just stay calm," she said, squeezing his hand. She watched the captain get up from his table and move over to the microphone set in the middle of the stage. They're announcing the winners of the mystery solving 'test'." As she expected they were first on the list, followed by Mr. Moorehouse, Mrs. Darkhorse, Mr. Kopec, and finally, unbelievably, the Boltons she thought crossly. Mulder sat up straight. "That's them...that's who's missing...the Boltons." He took another look around the room and spied, not the Boltons, but someone else he thought he knew. "Dr. Jay??" he whispered out loud. "What??" Dana asked as he bolted across the room toward the bar. Mulder reached the bar, but when he got to the stool where he'd seen the little man perched earlier, he was gone. Fox massaged the area between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and shook his head slowly. Maybe he *did* need to rest....his eyes were sure playing tricks on him, and even a full stomach didn't seem to have helped. What the hell was he thinking?? What would a homeless man that he'd met in D.C. while undercover be doing on an expensive cruise ship? Although Dr. Jay *had* always seemed out of place in the street environment, he hadn't questioned him about it since the little man had saved his ass more than once during that escapade. He did remember that the odd man had a knack for popping in and out of his life unannounced without leaving a clue as to where he came from, where he was going, or when he would leave. Mulder had found it a constant source of irritation when the guy was around. He walked unsteadily back to the table and downed a drink. Dana eyed him warily for several seconds and inquired, "what was that all about?" "I'm not sure....I thought I saw someone that I knew," he answered, with a puzzled expression. "Let's go. Maybe I am just 'stressed out'." She followed him out of the room and down the hall to the elevator where a crowd of people waited. She pushed the button but nothing happened. "It's not working," one woman growled. Mulder looked at the display over the elevator. "Well, it says it's on this floor.....the door must be stuck," Mulder replied as he reached his fingertips into the crevice between the doors and pulled, forcing them open. He nearly threw up when what was left of a bloody arm fell across his shoes. The inside of the elevator was a vision of hell....blood was splattered everywhere and what was left of the bodies' features was flattened and unrecognizable....but he knew who they were and so did Dana. They had almost ridden in this same elevator with the Boltons not more than an hour ago. From all the available evidence, it appeared that the cable had broken and sent the elevator into a free fall that ended rather abruptly. Dana mumbled absently, "so much for social climbing." "They should have used a ladder like everybody else," Mulder added without thinking. Looking at the carnage in front of him, he suddenly felt very weary and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he could have sworn the blood spatters on the back wall of the elevator formed a pattern...no, not just a pattern, a word..... What the hell.....?? He looked away and then risked a glance at the back wall again, but the word was gone....Mulder turned to Dana. "I gotta lie down," he muttered. They returned to their cabin after the ensuing investigation. It had taken a lot of effort not to interfere, but Dana had managed to lurk in the background while Jack Moorehouse, the only "cop" on board, had taken over the crime scene. Karl Kopec had been in the crowd, notebook in hand. Even Mrs. O'Keefe had put in a brief appearance, along with Oneida Darkhorse. All the remaining suspects, Scully noted. She'd managed to hear most of what Moorehouse said to the shipboard officer assigned to handle the "incident", as they referred to it, without seeming too intrusive. Mulder had watched the proceedings from the background, but Dana had a feeling that he wasn't all there. In spite of her assurances to him, she was really getting worried. ***** continued in 4b M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy." Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher" xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner ********************************************************************** _ _ \ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous \ / email fanfic list, please write: X A N G S T Anonymous / \ & xangst@frii.com / \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator - - ********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 11 11:17:11 1996 Devil's Advocate part 4 continued... Mulder undressed and climbed clumsily into the upper bunk, curled up and went to sleep. Dana noticed that he hadn't even bothered to cover himself, so she did it for him. "Long day, Sherlock," she said, pressing her hand again to his cheek, and then his forehead. His color looked a little better, but he had deep circles under his eyes. If this kept up, tomorrow she was taking him back to the doctor and would have a little consultation with this guy, cover or no cover. Exhausted, she crawled into the bottom bunk and lulled by the movement of the ship, was soon asleep herself. Jack Moorehouse oversaw the removal of what was left of the Boltons from the elevator to the meat locker....the only cold storage on the ship large enough to accommodate the bodies. You'd think with all the 'accidents' on board they'd put a morgue in here, he thought to himself. The elevator had been cordoned off, the doors shut on the bloody mess inside. When the ship got back to port the authorities would go over the scene again, but Jake doubted they would find anything. This looked like just another in a long string of accidents. That was the hell of this case...everything looked like an accident, and there was no evidence to prove otherwise. He'd checked the cable himself. It had been old and worn and had finally snapped. The crew chief argued that the cable had just been serviced before they left port, and he'd produced the work order to back up his claim. But Jake could find no evidence of foul play....just damned bad luck for the Boltons. Less competition for me, he thought cynically. Speaking of competition...all the finalists had shown up at this grim scene, even the newlyweds. In fact, one of the bystanders had told him that the man, Mulder was his name, had forced the elevator doors open. The kid must be stronger than he looks, and he didn't toss his cookies, either. Passes out from motion sickness, but blood and gore doesn't phase him. Weird kid. Not that Darkhorse dame...she'd taken one look at the mess and turned white as a sheet, which was a difficult task considering the sunburn she was sporting. She hadn't stayed long, but then neither had Mrs. O'Keefe. Funny....for a murder mystery writer, you'd think she'd want to stay and get some real 'background' for her next mystery. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen the broad around much....maybe she was one of those reclusive types. Probably wanted to get back to her cat....old ladies and cats. Geez, you had to be pretty damn strange to bring a cat on board a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean. Kopec, he'd stayed around to the bitter end. When it had come time to scoop out the bodies he'd had to tell Kopec to get the hell out of the way. Reporters....he held them in even lower regard than Fibbies..... And speaking of Fibbies, he still couldn't figure out who they were. There'd been quite a crowd around the elevator, but none of them seemed like the FBI type to him. They were there, he was sure of it. And sooner or later he'd figure out which ones they were. Moorehouse passed by the Mulders' cabin on the way back to his own. He noticed that no light glowed from the crack under their door....well, they were on their honeymoon, after all. Probably engaging in some marital antics. Weird or not, the kid was lucky to have snatched up such a gorgeous dame. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he imagined the two of them together in the sack. The smile vanished as Moorehouse stepped into a pocket of frigid air. Great...now the air conditioning was probably on the fritz, too. He continued on down the corridor, wondering if he'd packed any warm clothes. Wheezing for breath, Mulder awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep to a great pressure on his chest and strong hands about his neck, squeezing the air from his body. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into the face of... What?!? Looming not more than a few inches over his head was a monstrous face with great, red-rimmed eyes. The thing snarled at him with evil intent, threatening to tear him apart with its jagged teeth and claws. To Mulder, it was the embodiment of pure evil, everything his worst nightmares had ever conjured up and then some, and the stench that the creature exuded made him sick. He tried to pry its 'hands' from his throat and in the process rolled over, fell out of the bunk and landed on the floor with a heavy thud. The noise immediately awakened Dana who jumped from her bed and turned on the light. What she saw momentarily made her think she was in the middle of a bad dream. A very disheveled Fox Mulder lay in the middle of the cabin floor, babbling about some creature and seemingly struggling with some unseen assailant. That in itself wouldn't have been all that unusual...she'd seen some of his worst nightmares before...but what startled her was the appearance of the dark bruises that were beginning to form around his neck. She ran to his side and gathered his head into her lap as if her presence could protect him from whatever was doing this to him. He relaxed and slowly opened his eyes. She noted with practiced medical precision that they were dilated into great black pools. He was totally stoned. Somehow he had been drugged and was on the verge of overdosing. How in the hell had the drugs gotten into his system? She mentally reviewed everything that they ate, touched, smelled, breathed....she had been in exactly the same environment yet only he was affected. Then she noticed the stupid patch...it delivered its contents directly into the bloodstream and she didn't have one. She gently removed it, placed it into a glass on the dresser, and hoped to God that it was how the drug was being administered. So much for them being here incognito....someone definitely knew who they were and didn't want them snooping around. Dana reached over and removed the sheet from her bed, twisting it into a rope as she wrapped it around Mulder's body, effectively immobilizing his arms and legs. He was calm now, but she had no idea what drug he was given or whether there'd be any withdrawal symptoms as it wore off. She was in no position to handle an 'out of control' Mulder, should he become unmanageable, and if anything happened to her as a result of something he did, she knew Mulder would never forgive himself. For now, Dana realized that she was on her own. She'd thought of going to Dr. Johnson earlier, but he'd been the one who'd given Mulder the patches in the first place, and he was the last person she felt she could trust now. Until she could conduct an investigation of the good doctor, she would have to treat Mulder as best she could. Dana placed a pillow under his head and covered him with a blanket as he whimpered incoherently at her touch. Dana sat cradling Mulder, her mind churning over what had happened to them in just one short day. One thing was certain...something was going on *here* that had nothing to do with the drugs. She shivered as the bruises around Mulder's neck darkened into the unmistakable impressions of fingerprints from very large hands. Looking at the irrefutable evidence before her eyes, perennial skeptic Dana Scully was forced to accept the extreme possibility that something or someone who she could not see had attempted to strangle her partner. The drugs, however, just didn't make sense....of all the cases they'd encountered involving true 'entities', rarely did any of them rely on exterior stimulation such as drugs to accomplish their desired effects. People used drugs to control others....or to eliminate them. Whatever this *thing* was, it certainly didn't appear to need any help to dispatch someone. God, if Mulder hadn't fallen off the bed and awakened her.......She refused to carry that train of thought any further. No...the drugs had to mean that some real life, flesh and blood person was involved in trying to kill them, or at the very least get them stoned enough to interfere with their investigation. And that meant that they were possibly dealing with two separate cases here, and one of them, at least, involved a very 'real' and 'dangerous' criminal. Oneida Darkhorse left the gruesome elevator scene, went back to her stateroom and paced the floor for nearly half an hour. The carnage she'd seen there had disturbed her deeply and she'd had to leave almost immediately. The blood and gore was horrific, but what truly horrified her was that it had all taken her by surprise. Why hadn't she foreseen this?? After all, she was 'psychic', wasn't she??? What was wrong with her? Perhaps it was her shameless attraction and futile attempt to seduce another woman's husband that clouded her vision. Not that it had been the first time, and Oneida refused to believe that she was developing a conscience at this stage of her life. But something had been different about this one. She'd noticed him right away and found the tall, darkly handsome man intriguingly attractive. Especially when he recognized her attempts to influence his mind...not many people had that capability. She'd inquired about the young couple and was told that they were newlyweds, something that she found difficult to believe. They were much too comfortable with one another. If they had said they'd been married for many years, she might have believed that....but 'just' married???? She didn't think so. These two belonged together... no doubt. They had probably been together in all their previous lives and would continue to be together when this life ended. They were connected, two halves of the same soul. Some things were a constant. Perhaps she was just feeling guilty for trying to change that, maybe that's what was wrong. On a whim, still hoping to clear her mind, she put on her swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and headed for the pool for a midnight swim. Something about the warm, night air and star filled sky always seemed to help her clear her head and give truth to her visions. Oneida draped her towel over a pool chair, slid the sandals from her feet and walked quietly across the deserted deck to the edge of the pool. She sat down and dangled her feet in the cool refreshing water as the warm, tropical breeze ruffled through her long, dark, hair. She lifted her face to the sky, staring at the stars that twinkled back at her. They seemed to be shining very brightly tonight. Desperately she tried to clear the fog from her mind, but the image of a man that she could not have continued to invade her thoughts. At first she had been angry that he had rejected her suggestive impressions until she had glimpsed more deeply into his thoughts. What she discovered there was the fierce loyalty and love that he kept safely treasured for 'his' Dana, and it was then that she realized that her 'lust' could not compete with his love for this one, petite woman who never seemed to be far from his side. She remembered that the brief contact that she had required to get that information for some unknown reason had caused him great distress.....so much so that he'd passed out on the spot. *That* had *never* happened before. She hadn't intended to hurt or cause him pain and had no idea why contact with her had affected him so adversely. Oneida suddenly felt a dark depression settle over her and once again felt the aching hollow in the middle of her chest. Why couldn't someone love *her* like that??? Her own husband had no love in his heart for her. All the love in his heart was reserved for his money, and with that she could not compete. All the men she'd ever seduced held nothing in theirs for her either....save lust.....and only then because she had placed that thought in their simple minds. A tear welled threateningly in one eye but she refused to let it go. Perhaps a short swim would invigorate her and set her mind straight and into a more positive mood. She glided through the water with grace and ease as her taut, brown body glistened in the glowing light of a full moon. Her muscles relaxed as she floated on her back and wondered at the blanket of stars that shone above her. She closed her eyes and let the warm water of the pool buoy her body on the surface, small waves lapping at her face, letting her tension flow out into the water around her. A single bee landed on her arm. She brushed it off absently and continued to float. Then another stung her chin. She opened her eyes to see a cloud of bees descending upon her, stinging her body, her ears, her nose, and eyes. She dove to the bottom of the pool and stared upward to see that once again, nothing but the moon and stars hung in the sky. Swimming cautiously to the surface, she put out her hand to break the water but instead contacted with something hard and unyielding. Oneida pounded on the clear barrier with her fists but to no avail. Her mind reeled in terror as she swam toward the shallow end of the pool, continually striking at the transparent wall that separated her from the life giving air above. The barrier at the shallow end was no different than it was at the deep end and she floundered helplessly beneath the hard, clear surface, beating her hands against its coldness until they bled. Her oxygen-starved lungs ached unbearably and her mind screamed in agony at the knowledge of her impending death. With a face contorted with rage and fear, her lungs, unable to fight the reflex for which they had been designed, responded on their on accord and drank in the surrounding water. As darkness descended and claimed her soul, her intellect convulsed in one last scream of terror.... Fox Mulder's eyes flew open wildly in unfocused fear as he cried out with some as yet undefined horror. His body shook slightly in spasms and strained helplessly against the makeshift bonds that Dana had devised to prevent him from thrashing about and hurting himself...or her. He swung uncontrollably from intensely lucid moments to bouts of incoherent mutterings---from total 'enlightenment' to absolute confusion. Dana held his shivering body tightly and with a gentle rocking motion, cooed softly into his ear, trying to ease his obvious pain. Occasionally she would kiss away the tears that would sometimes silently roll down his cheek. It would be a long, rough night....morning now, she thought, looking at her watch. She lightly kissed the top of his head and closed her eyes. The ship was his again, as it should be. He roamed free in its halls, its staterooms, and the dark bowels beneath the decks where massive machinery kept the ship on course to its destiny. This was his hunting ground, and soon it would be his for all time. The puny, insignificant beings on board would be his prey now, and again and again for all eternity. The thought delighted him...of all the beings he had encountered on his journeys, and there were many who had suffered at his hands, the beings on this ship provided him with the most intense pleasure. Their fear invigorated him, their deaths energized him. He could feel himself growing stronger with each new death, and he flexed his massive arms as if to prove the point. He laughed with the sheer joy of it all, and in a cabin far above him, a man cried out again from the depths of his drug induced visions and struggled against his bonds. That particular being puzzled him....never in all his time on this ship had one of these little creatures reacted to him in this way....prey that could sense the predator. So much the better, he thought. What fear he could induce in this one! He grinned in anticipation of such a delicious prospect. Moving further into the darkness of the ship, he passed beneath the cabins of his prey, content to wait for now....to wait for their fear to build before he struck again. A dark shadow followed him. It was not as strong as the hunter, but it, too, was growing stronger with the passage of time and the passage of miles underneath the bow of this vessel. For now it could do nothing but wait and watch, and try to warn those it could. But soon it would have its chance to capture the hunter, to return them both where they belonged. It mourned the deaths of the beings inhabiting this ship, as it mourned the deaths of all beings the hunter had killed since his escape. Anger towards the hunter had built up in it over the eons it had spent in pursuit. The hunter killed with such callous disregard for the lives of the beings he took. To the follower, each being's life was precious, something to be protected, and it raged against its inability to protect them from this monster. But soon it would have that opportunity, but only once, and if it failed, all aboard this vessel would be lost for the remainder of eternity. That thought was inconceivable. So it rallied what strength it could as it slipped unseen after its own prey. The only person who noted the passage of the hunter and the follower stood hidden in the shadows of a dimly lit corridor, himself unseen by the passengers and crew. He was merely an observer here. He was forbidden from interfering with the two beings and their eternal struggle. More people would die....he was sure of it....and he was helpless to stop it. Even he had to answer to a higher power and in this instance he had been given strict ground rules....watch, and report back. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his long...and very strange...life. (continued part 5) M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy." Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher" xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner ********************************************************************** _ _ \ / For information on the XAngst Anonymous \ / email fanfic list, please write: X A N G S T Anonymous / \ & xangst@frii.com / \ The Myth Patrol Dean Warner--Founder and moderator - - ********************************************************************** From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 12 10:18:50 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 5) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com Fox opened his eyes very slowly to yet another headache and another returning bout with an upset stomach. As reality seeped in, he also noticed that he was once again on the floor and this time, on top of everything else, unable to move to boot. It seemed to him that he woke up on the floor a 'lot' these days and it was 'usually' when Dana was somewhere in the immediate vicinity. What was it with that woman and floors? He remembered a time when if he fell asleep on the couch...he'd wake up on the couch. Now-- now it seemed that no matter *where* he fell asleep, chances were pretty good that he'd wake up on a 'floor' somewhere. He was still groggily trying to figure out why he couldn't move when Dana began to stir beside him. His first impression was that he'd somehow gotten himself tangled up in the sheets. But that wasn't right.... he didn't feel a sheet covering him--just a blanket--and his whole body felt 'numb'. Dana finally rolled over and looked into his red-rimmed eyes for several seconds. He looked back, questioningly. "What??" he managed to sputter out in confusion. Jesus, he felt like someone had stuffed his mouth full of cotton balls and dribbled Elmer's glue into the corners of his eyes. "Tell me your name," she demanded. "Huh??" he muttered in surprise. God, he must have really tied one on if Scully felt that she had to see if he knew his name.....Funny...he could only remember having one drink. "Your name, what is it?" she repeated. "The Frog Prince....Care to kiss a toad?" he pursed his lips and snickered. Okay, he didn't remember getting sloshed but if she wanted to teach him a lesson by rubbing it in, he'd play along. "Do you know where you are?" she asked nonplussed with obvious concern in her eyes. It suddenly occurred to him that she *wasn't* joking and he replied in a somewhat tired voice, "the cruise from Hell." She finally smiled, satisfied with the answer he'd given, pulled the blanket off of him, and began to untie the sheets. The fact that he was in his underwear didn't really bother him but being in his underwear *and* being tied up with a bed sheet presented some *interesting* possibilities that registered on his face in the form of one curiously raised eyebrow. She read his expression and immediately remarked smugly, "don't go and get all excited, Sherlock. It's not what you think. If I were gonna get kinky--I'd certainly want you awake to enjoy it---not stoned out of your mind." As she sat patiently untying the sheets, Dana filled him in on the events of the night before. He found that he didn't remember a lot of it. He recalled discovering the Boltons in the elevator and unfortunately he also remembered something or someone trying to strangle him as he lay in his bunk. He actually wished that he'd experienced a nightmare but the nasty bruises on his neck suggested that it was something much more sinister than merely another bad dream. Dana helped him to his feet and he shakily made his way to the tiny bathroom. Mulder took an extra long shower, letting the hot water soak into his aching muscles. He then toweled off and planted himself before the mirror to brush his teeth < God, my mouth tastes like a hundred Scottish Highlanders have been jousting under my tongue...ack...> He rinsed out his mouth and looked up, expecting to see circled, bloodshot eyes. "Oh shit!.......not again," he exclaimed as he backed away from the mirror. Hearing the alarm in his voice, Dana raced into the bathroom and watched as another message began to form in the steam. It read simply: 'Ding Dong the 'Witch' is Dead' "Obviously a great fan of classic children's literature," Mulder deadpanned. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and turned away from the mirror. "What the hell *is* this, Dana?" he asked with growing anxiety. "Did some revenging entity decide to call an open season on Fox Mulder?? I mean...did something attach a psychic sign to my back that says 'kick me'?" She could almost see his whole being just droop under the pressure of this continual physical and mental bombardment. He had a point.... It did appear as though he'd been singled out to be picked on, and not just by whoever....or whatever....was writing these messages on the mirror. But why pick on only Mulder? She'd witnessed the phenomena, seen the writing on the wall, so to speak. She was also a vital part of this investigation, yet if there were 'stones being thrown', they all seemed to be aimed at Mulder. On one end....warnings and visions designed to 'assist' him...and on the other....(she thought of the dark bruises encircling his neck) some kind of evil that was bent on destroying him. It almost appeared that he was becoming the battleground for some as yet unidentified opposing psychic forces, if she could actually believe in such things. Perhaps that was it. Mulder, in his innocence, *was* a believer....it was easy for him. It was an innate part of his nature to be open and receptive to possibilities that others ignored, rejected, or just plain didn't recognize or understand. And once again that openness was getting him into trouble, only this time, Dana was afraid of just how much trouble he was in for. Dana watched as he let go of a breath he'd been holding for several seconds. He blew it out with weary resign in a light puff between his softly pursed lips, then pulled the turtleneck shirt over his head and tucked it into his jeans. It had been the one he'd worn when they'd left D.C.. Granted, it looked a little out of place on a tropical cruise, but it would be easier to explain than the bruises around his neck. He looked down into Dana's eyes and said, "I suppose we should conduct a search for Mrs. Darkhorse. However, I've got a sinking feeling," he looked back up at the mirror, "that she'll be a lot 'colder' than she was the last time we saw her." Mulder took her hand and led her through the door. The air on deck was fresh and clean as the sun began to peak over the horizon in a fireball blaze of glory. It was still very early and the majority of the passengers had not even rolled out of bed yet. So they stood side by side at the railing on the nearly empty deck and marveled at the quiet serenity. Dana observed silently as Mulder relaxed, leaned onto the rail and gazed out over the ocean. He turned to her suddenly and whispered, "can you hear it?" he asked. She tilted her head to listen. "Hear what?" she asked, gazing into his eyes, a question in her own. He reached his arm out and pointed toward the flaming horizon, "the hissing sound the sun makes when it touches the water..." he smiled wistfully, his face a study in wonder and awe. A breeze ruffled through his hair and Dana's heart melted at the sight of his playful eyes crinkling at her with the simple joy of being alive. On impulse, she reached up, gently pulled his face to hers and tenderly kissed his soft, full lips. He then encircled her possessively and returned the gesture, whispering in her ear, "I don't know about fate, or futures...but right here, right now...I can say, I am truly happy." He rested his chin on top of her head and sighed contentedly. "Well, I hope you two are finished with this mushy display of emotion," a familiar voice commented from behind them. Mulder spun around to find an equally familiar face staring up at him with a look of infinite patience. Mulder remembered thinking he saw the little man the night before...at least *that* hadn't been a drug-induced hallucination. Scully stood open mouthed for several seconds before uttering the name, "Dr. Jay?" Mulder, still smarting from the fact that Dr. Jay had managed to sneak up on him once more, finally recovered enough to offer his hand. "What brings you to this expensive little outing, Doc? Last time I saw you, you were living in a cardboard box." Mulder gave him the once over and added...."and you've changed tailors....my compliments on your improved wardrobe." Dr. Jay impishly lifted an eyebrow. "I might say the same to you, my dear young man...and I see that at least you've retained some good taste and have remained faithful to this exquisite, lovely young woman." Doc expertly took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it in a gallant manor. His face then took on a knowing look as he commented, "my congratulations, dear lady." "Oh...Doc," Dana faltered, " we're not really married...it's a cover," she tried to explain. "That's uh... not what I meant," he stammered, and for the first time his glib manner seemed to falter slightly. He had forgotten that he was aware of and sensitive to physical and mental changes that these beings were not. He recovered quickly, however, and replied in a lively retort, "yes, and I see you were 'covering' very well indeed. Do you 'cover' often???" he laughed heartily. He watched as both young people tried, unsuccessfully, to hide furious blushes. It seemed neither had noticed his own discomfort, as he intended. They would discover things in their own time, which was how it should be. But now it was time to get down to business. "I have come to tell you that lovely but deliciously unscrupulous Mrs. Darkhorse has just been found in a most undesirable state. Perhaps when you are finished 'covering' you would like to take a shot at investigating how a healthy young woman could suffer bee stings where there are no bees and drown in three feet of water with her hand gripping the railing by the steps.....an interesting dilemma, don't you think?" Mulder turned to Dana in amazement and then back to Doctor Jay, only to find empty space where the little man had been standing. "Did you see him leave?" he asked. Dana shook her head 'no' and turned to search the deck in both directions...no Doctor Jay. "God, I hate it when he does that!!!" Mulder steamed as they made their way toward the suddenly loud commotion taking place around the pool area. A dozen or so passengers were crowded around the shallow end of the pool when they arrived. A quick scan of the crowd revealed that it included most of the suspects on their list....well, those who were still alive, anyway. In the forefront, of course, was the ever present Jake Moorehouse. Since this was a 'real' incident that had just taken place, just like the Bolton incident the night before, Moorehouse had automatically taken charge as a 'duly sworn law enforcement officer' and bullied everybody else out of the way to preserve the scene for himself. He had begun to rope off the area and confiscated several cameras to take pictures of the suspected 'crime scene'. Dana had endured his arrogant, bullyish behavior the night before without comment because to do anything else would have jeopardized their cover. Her frustration, however, was getting the best of her this time, and she was just about ready to tell this meathead to move aside and let her do her job, when Mulder piped up helpfully. "Detective Moorehouse, when you're done taking pictures, perhaps you would like my wife to take a look at the body. She is a very skilled physician with extensive training in pathology and undoubtedly could be of assistance to you in determining the 'cause of death'." Moorehouse silently congratulated himself on correctly deducing this young woman's line of work from the previous episode in the conference room. He did a another study of the attractive, petite woman before him. If she was trained in pathology, he guessed that she'd probably come across more dead bodies on the outside than the patch-pushing ship's doctor, so he decided to let her examine Mrs. Darkhorse's remains. He realized he could come up with a lot of theories, but he needed someone with a medical background to help prove them. "You've got a point there....what was your name again?" "Fox," Mulder said uncomfortably. He knew Moorehouse knew his name...why had he pretended to forget? "Having an expert take a look at her would be a plus toward solving the crime," he replied cautiously, "but remember... withholding any information would be impeding an ongoing investigation, so I suggest that anything you find out of the ordinary be reported to me immediately, contest or no contest." He didn't completely trust these two...for that matter he didn't completely trust anyone. "Detective Moorehouse, it has not yet been determined that a 'crime' has been committed here," Mulder reminded him. Moorehouse stared at Mulder suspiciously. "You caught that, did you?" Not many untrained people would have picked up on that subtle detail. He made a quick decision to reevaluate his opinion of these two....she appeared just a little too young to be a medical expert and he was just a bit too observant. Plus now that he thought about it....that haircut....strictly Federal issue. He'd seen enough of them to know. Yet on the other hand....this guy didn't possess the same arrogant airs that usually accompanied a Fed...in fact he got the distinct feeling that he really didn't care who solved the case...just so long as it was solved and people stopped dying. And to cap it off, he'd watched this pair from a distance.... if they weren't married or at least 'involved', they deserved an Oscar. Somehow he just couldn't picture this kid as a Fibbie. Still he'd keep an eye on him. He'd been wrong before....but not often. Mulder knew he'd made a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth, but it was out now and he couldn't very well take it back. So he attempted to downplay his response. "Well, who knows? She did go to the party last night...and liquor and swimming aren't always a responsible combination. Maybe she just got drunk and drowned." Dana made her way to the edge of the pool where the body had been lain. She made a cursory examination and motioned for Mulder to take a look.... Moorehouse followed as well. "These red marks appear to be 'bee stings' but I'm almost positive that the cause of death was drowning. Where was she found?" she asked Moorehouse...after all, they couldn't very well tell Moorehouse that Dr. Jay had already filled them in on the facts of this incident before he *disappeared*. Moorehouse walked over to the ladder on the shallow end of the pool. "She was lying face up on the steps, her hand wrapped around the pole, here," he said, using his pencil to point to a spot just below the waterline. Dana frowned at the water....if the woman had made it all the way to the ladder, why didn't she pull herself out of the water? There had to be something more here. "Mu....Fox, I'll need a toxicology report before I can determine without a doubt why this woman would drown in less than three feet of water with her hand still gripping the step railing." "No bees," Mulder commented with a puzzled look. "What?" Dana and Moorehouse asked in unison. "Couldn't have been bees. Look..." he pointed to the surrounding area. "There aren't any dead bees. If she was stung, there'd be dead bees everywhere. No stingers either," he noticed, pointing to several of the red patches on the body. He tilted his head and quoted as if it were verbatim, and of course it was..."The European Honey Bee as well as several related species can travel from 7 to 10 miles per day when swarming. Swarming honey bees are docile, preferring to cluster in a protective fashion around the queen but are essentially non territorial at this time. You see, Dana, we're too far from land for a swarm of bees to attack Mrs. Darkhorse and if by some freak of nature, they did....there would be evidence to support their presence." He scanned the deck again. "There isn't." He turned back and got down on one knee beside the body. "One other thing that's out of place," he continued, pointing at the corpse's hands. "Her palms are bruised and bloody, like she was pounding on something with great force, yet there is no sign of blood anywhere else around the pool....and there are no 'abrasions' on her hands. Whatever she hit, it was 'smooth', not like the rough texture of the pool . Moorehouse studied Mulder for several minutes. He had to admit to himself that in spite of everything....he was impressed. He could learn to like this kid even if he did turn out to be a Fed. There was just something likable about him...smart, but unassuming, and maybe a bit gullible too, although Moorehouse wasn't exactly sure where he got *that* impression. What a weird combination. He could also like the broad...but for a different reason. He admired the no nonsense way she went over the body...all business. She was tough. He thought that she was maybe even tougher than her new husband. Somehow he got the feeling that in a crisis, she'd be a definite asset. Taking Mulder's information on bees as gospel and being unable to detect any odor of alcohol emanating from the body, Dana began to search for some other reason for this woman's incapacitation. There were no obvious bumps on the head, however, she did notice a 'patch' on her ear that she removed and placed on a napkin that she slid into her pocket. If someone could drug Mulder with these things....why not Oneida? Perhaps someone had planned a similar fate for him. Had she not been around and known what to do, he could have died. Dana shivered and tried to push that thought from her mind. She openly informed Mulder (mainly for Moorehouse's benefit) that she believed Mrs. Darkhorse had drowned but due to the lack of proper lab equipment, it would be impossible to conduct the toxicology tests necessary to determine exactly what, if anything, had incapacitated her. She watched as Moorehouse had the body moved into the galley's walk-in freezer and placed next to the Boltons....or what was left of them. Geez, she thought, if only the other passengers knew what was taking up space next to their prime rib---maybe they wouldn't be such gluttons. With Oneida safely put on ice--literally--and Moorehouse temporarily appeased, Mulder and Scully seated themselves at a secluded table near the far end of the dining room and ordered breakfast....at least Scully ordered breakfast. Mulder, now without the 'benefit' of the notorious patch, was once again beginning to feel somewhat queasy. He settled on just toast and a glass of water. Mulder looked up from what passed as *his* breakfast to gaze across the table at Dana with an expectant stare. "So?....what 'really' killed Oneida Darkhorse? That bit about her drowning wasn't for 'my' benefit--neither was the crap about the toxicology tests. I may not be a 'licensed' pathologist, but *you* know that *I* know enough to have already figured that information out for myself." "Oneida *did* drown," Scully hedged. "But...." Mulder interjected. "But....she shouldn't have--not in three feet of water with her hand still clinging to the rail--and *not* face up." "So what's your theory, Scully," he prodded. "This," she said as she pulled the confiscated patch from her pocket and placed it on the table. "A patch?" he asked in surprise. "There are at least fifty people on board wearing those things," he reminded her. "Yes, but only one drowned in the shallow end of a pool---and only *you* nearly ODed." Dana paused long enough to eat a bite of her bagel and cream cheese, and tried to ignore the green look on Mulder's face as he poked at his toast. "Mulder, haven't you noticed the 'declining' number of contestants participating in this so called 'game'? All of our 'suspects' are being eliminated. Perhaps someone is succinctly getting rid of the competition. If this patch contains the same drug that was used on you, I can almost guarantee Oneida probably became disoriented and couldn't tell which way was up!!" Mulder studied her for a moment and steepled his fingers in front of his bottom lip, then pressed on in a deliberate tone. "That's a good theory, Dana, but I have just a few problems with it. What about the bee stings where there were *no* bees? She was facing *up*, not down --and her hands were 'ruptured', not abraded as would occur from hitting the 'bottom' of the pool---and what about *this*?" he asked with determination as he pulled the shirt away from his neck to reveal the strange, ugly bruises that had formed there. "Dana----these were made by something that my brain tells me could *not* exist in this reality, yet *here* is the result of what every sense that I have screams is impossible." Mulder looked away from her and took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "Okay, here's what I think. Oneida was stung by bees because she believed it---she drowned because her mind believed she couldn't surface and that belief became reality. 'I think, therefore, I am' may have stranger connotations here than we know." "So is that how you explain the bruises on your neck?" Dana asked. "You believed in the assault from your nightmare so strongly that it resulted in a physical manifestation of the perceived reality of your 'dream'?" Mulder shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think that's all there is to it. Something is happening here. I know I'm not being scientific, but....I feel that sometimes....sometimes I'm trying to exist in two places at the same time and the farther away from land we travel....the worse it gets." Mulder dropped his gaze and stared at the table with downcast eyes as he absently pushed crumbs of toast around on his plate. He knew how ludicrous he must sound to her. Her reaction was not what he expected, however. She smiled and patted his hand, then replied with an impish grin, "You follow your theory, I'll follow mine and maybe, just maybe, between the two of us....we'll find the 'truth'." Dana squeezed his hand, then stood up. "I think I'll start by paying a little visit to our friendly ships' doctor. Somehow I really don't think that he's involved with *this,*" she said, picking up the patch and returning it to her pocket. "But perhaps he can shed some light on how it could have become contaminated." Mulder also stood up.....slowly....and leaned heavily on the back of his chair. With pleading eyes, he practically begged, "If in your opinion, the Doctor is on the level.....could you possibly...." "Get you something for the motion sickness?" she finished for him. "I'll find some Dramamine. It's not as effective as the Scopolomine in the patch but because of the pill form and the packaging, it's much more difficult to tamper with." "Thanks," he mumbled gratefully, then added, "I'm gonna go see our ever humble servant, Kor, to see if I can arrange a ship to shore call to Frohicke. I need to get some more information on the two passengers that *didn't* show up for this little pleasure cruise. Something else has been kinda bothering me too....Mrs. O'Keefe. I haven't seen much of her during this whole trip and it seems a little 'odd' that a woman who makes her *living* writing murder mysteries wouldn't even make the final cut ahead of the Boltons in that stupid mystery scenario competition. Something just doesn't sit right.... I know, another 'unscientific' conclusion, based on conjecture," he stated before she could respond. "Remember, I told you before.....I trust your instincts," she snickered lightly. As Dana turned to leave, she looked over her shoulder. "Meet you on the upper deck, where we were this morning, in about an hour." He nodded in agreement and left in the opposite direction. The damn cat was yowling again....the steward could hear it through the door. Last night the couple in cabin 611 had complained strenuously that the cat was keeping them awake. The steward shook his head as he knocked loudly on the door. Eccentric mystery writer or not, the old lady was gonna have to do something to keep the cat quiet. Otherwise, he was afraid he'd end up stuck with the damn thing in his quarters for the duration of the cruise. ' Take care of it' had been all his supervisor had said this morning. After the grisly discovery in the pool, everyone on the crew seemed to have a short temper and the steward didn't want to cross his boss, not on this particular morning. Definitely not a good idea. He had to knock again to make himself heard over the racket. The door opened a crack and once again the steward found himself talking to the old lady's one blue eye. "I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "but your neighbors have been complaining about your cat. Can you please try to keep him quiet?" "Yes, he is being quite a fussbudget this time out, isn't he?" Mrs. O'Keefe said. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do try my best to keep him quiet. It's very difficult for me to work when he's behaving so badly." "Is there anything I can do to help?" the steward offered, pushing on the door slightly...he was finding it difficult to have any kind of coherent conversation with a single eyeball. "No, no, that's quite alright," Mrs. O'Keefe replied, pulling her faded blue bathrobe tightly together in front of her. As she did, her hand slipped off the door and it opened wide enough that the steward finally got a good look at Mr. O'Keefe. Geez, she certainly wore enough makeup, he thought to himself. Mrs. O'Keefe's cat saw the opportunity it had been waiting for. With an ear piercing screech it flew between Mrs. O'Keefe's legs, clawed the heck out of the steward's ankles on its way by him, and shot down the corridor. "Tiger!!!" Mrs. O'Keefe shouted, running after the cat. "Bad kitty! Come back here!" The steward took off after both Mrs. O'Keefe and her cat, ignoring the stinging in his ankles. Boy, the old bat could really run....she'd already followed her cat to the stairs and was taking them two at a time trying to keep up with the flying ball of orange fur. Great...not only didn't he keep the cat quiet, now he was in a foot race with the damned feline...and probably the oldest passenger on the ship...and losing badly. This was definitely not the way he wanted to start his day. Koran Soote bounced around busily at his desk, attending to everything from extra cabin towels to lost keys, but he smiled warmly at Mulder as he approached. "Mr. Mulder...everything has been to satisfaction, I hope?" "Everything's just 'peachy', Kor...." If Kor heard the sarcasm in Mulder's voice, he gave no sign. "I'd like to arrange for a ship to shore phone call," Mulder continued, but Kor shook his head sadly. "I am most displeased to inform you that ship to shore communications are unavailable at this time." Kor's voice seemed to express genuine sorrow at being unable to comply with what should have been a simple request. "When will it be available?" Mulder asked. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but ever since the company changed their previously 'filed' course approximately three weeks past, communications on this journey's leg have been sporadic and unreliable." "Kor, you say the company *changed* their previously plotted course?" Mulder asked---just to confirm what he had heard. "Yes, after twenty-five years." "But the company is only twenty years old," Mulder argued. Kor smiled shyly. Ancestry was very important to Kor's family, so when he began working on the ship, he made it his business to learn everything he could about his ship's ancestry. Here at last was a passenger who seemed to know more about this vessel than just what time dinner was served. "Yes, this true. But the line was owned previously for five years before that by Triangle Lines. After several years of unfortunate mishaps, Triangle was forced to sell to Starlight. It was at that time the course was changed as well as the ship's luck. It has remained so until three weeks past when it was changed back to the original course." Mulder was intrigued. "Why was the course changed back?" he asked, now truly engrossed in the story. "As with all things these days," Kor sighed, "to save money. The previous course edged around the Triangle's center....it took more time and of course, more money. Now we must travel through the center." Mulder had no idea this cruise was headed for the center of the Bermuda Triangle. When he found out, Frohicke and the rest of the Lone Gunmen were gonna be green with envy. Mulder eyed him with curiosity. "What were the 'unfortunate' mishaps that occurred on the original course?" "Rest assured that I am not certain." That was one thing that Kor had never been able to find out for sure. Several 'tall tales' had grown up around the ship's previous adventures in the Triangle, but Kor was certain they were only more Triangle lore that grew stranger over the years as the stories had been told and retold. "Perhaps the Captain will allow you to read the ship's logs," he suggested. Mulder was about to ask for directions to the Captain's office when a ball of orange fur went barreling up and over Kor's desk, scattering papers everywhere. Mulder caught a brief impression of teeth, claws, and a bushy orange tail. Mrs. O'Keefe's cat, no doubt. It leapt off the desk and landed on the staircase leading up to the Promenade Deck. Mrs. O'Keefe came huffing along behind the cat, crying, "here, Tiger! Come to mommy, you bad boy," at the top of her lungs while a winded steward followed behind at a slower pace. "Kor!" the steward yelled. "Give me a hand, will ya?" Kor took off from behind his desk, joining the bizarre race. "Hey, Kor, thanks...you've been very helpful," Mulder called after the retreating figure. "Show me your appreciation with your tips," he shouted back at him. Mulder found a ship's map in the mess on Kor's desk and located the Captain's office. He made a beeline for the designated quarters and retrieved the ship's logs for the first five years and the last three weeks. The Captain, in fact, seemed overjoyed that someone was actually interested in the history of his ship. (continued part 6) M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous ELVIS, DEAD AT 42 and Myth Patrol "Oh, no!" Construction Site -- Mulder, "Home" "And I've quit the FBI, and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller." -- Scully, "Home" xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner