From xangst@frii.com Mon Oct 14 06:24:47 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 6) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com Fox tucked the collection of books under his arm and headed for the upper deck and his meeting with Scully. Getting there ahead of her, he plopped down in a lounge chair, opened the first book and attempted to read the first entry. He quickly discovered that he couldn't get past the first page because the words appeared to rise and fall in synch with the rolling of the ship. He felt the warm bile watering in the back of his throat and then seep into his mouth as he made a dash to the ship's railing. Dana appeared from around a corner just in time to witness Fox heave what was left of his stomach overboard. She sighed and shook her head as she grasped him from behind and led him back to the chair. "Sit there and don't move," she ordered. A sickly moan was her only reply. "I'll get you a glass of water and a Dramamine.....I believe the Doctor is on the level." "Why don't you give me the whole damn bottle?" he finally managed to squeeze out. "Because it doesn't work that way....and you know it," she lectured him. Mulder closed his eyes....maybe if he couldn't see the ship rolling about, it would help....Fat chance. Scully walked away and returned a short time later with a glass of water and two small white pills that he took greedily from her palm and dutifully swallowed. "So you think the doctor's clean, huh?" he inquired hoarsely while picking up the stack of log books he'd placed on the deck beside his chair. He put the worn looking books in his lap and thumped the top one gingerly with his index finger. "The key to all of this is somewhere in here," he stated with conviction, "I just *know* it!" "What exactly is it that you expect to find?" she asked curiously as she sat on the chair beside him. He replied uncertainly, "I not really sure....but I'll know it when I see it." He filled her in on the information he'd picked up from Kor. "The logs contain the first five years of this ship's run through the Bermuda Triangle before it was 'Starlight Cruises'. Five years that were plagued with what our friend Kor referred to as 'unfortunate mishaps'. This log here," he said, pulling out a newer book from beneath the stack, "contains the entries for the last three weeks. I'm hoping that by comparing the two, I'll find a relevant connection besides the obvious one----the course change that takes this ship through the center of the Triangle." "Do you *actually* believe any of this has to do with the Bermuda Triangle?" she commented with a bemused expression. With the memory of another time flashing in his head, he lifted one eyebrow and meekly uttered in a playful tone, "Scully....After all you've seen----you can still ask me that question???" One corner of her mouth turned up in an effort not to laugh. She replied succinctly in a matter of fact voice, "yes." Mulder chuckled lightly as some of the sparkle began to return to his eyes. He was starting to feel better -- she could tell. Dana really felt sorry for him because he'd been nothing but sick since he first stepped foot on this floating hotel. She also felt just a tinge of guilt at not foreseeing this problem....especially for a man who needed Dramamine just to operate the microfiche at work. She sighed..."Now to get back to your original question---do I think Dr. Johnson is clean? Yes, I think he's legit. His procedures might be a bit sloppy, but in my opinion, he's no killer." She picked up a patch and held it in the light for a closer inspection. "Due to sheer volume, it's common practice to dispense these little suckers from the same container to different individuals. It would be easy for someone who knew about that to contaminate the medication. Doctor Johnson said that your and Oneida's medication came from the same batch. However, when we tried to locate the container, it was----'missing'." "Why am I not surprised?" Mulder quipped ironically. A stiff mid-day breeze had struck up as they talked, flapping the pages of the log book. Mulder sighed. As beautiful and peaceful as it was on deck, it didn't look like he'd be able to get any work done here, and he knew he was on to something. He closed the log book he was trying to read, got up, grabbed the remaining logs, and headed for their cabin. Dana followed, trying to keep up as usual. Sometimes when he was concentrating on a case, he just forgot that *her* legs had to work twice as hard to match his seeming effortless stride. Jason Hubbard was just putting the finishing touches on his power workout when he noticed that old mystery lady...what's-her-name... standing by the door watching him. The reporter, Kopec, had nearly tripped over her on his way out of the weight room. Put money on the table, and suddenly the weirdest people show up in the strangest places, looking for clues that probably didn't exist anyway. But the old broad didn't look like she was searching for clues...she was just standing there watching all the hardbodies work out. Probably the only way the old bat was gonna get her jollies on this trip, he thought with a cruel laugh. He'd heard from some of the other crew that the old lady's cat had led Wilson and Kor on a merry chase all over the ship. The cat was now locked away in Wilson's room for the duration of the cruise, on the Captain's specific orders. Boy, he'd have given anything to see the look on that geeky steward's face while the Captain read him the riot act over the stupid cat. The stewards thought they got to see all the good action on this rust bucket, lurking around the passenger cabins and in the corridors. Action...man, they didn't know the meaning of the word. Here in the gym...here's where all the action was. And he...Jason Hubbard...was right in the middle of it all. Sure, as Activities Director he had to oversee the senior citizens with their stupid shuffleboard games, but he more than made up for it with all the leotard bunnies who showed up to work out in the gym. Those he gave his "personal" attention. And every once in a while he'd strike it rich with some babe who wanted old Jason to help "spot" her while she lifted weights. He was good at that, just like he was good at many other things. That was how he'd met Oneida Darkhorse. Too bad good ole' Oneida had to leave this world so prematurely....what a shame. She'd been one hell of a roll in the hay, and he'd been able to parlay that into a fifty percent increase in the balance of his retirement account. It was always a drag to lose a first rate meal ticket. Guess he'd have to find some other high-profile hubby to bribe into silence---Hey, that shouldn't be *too* difficult, he reasoned, as he flexed his muscles and admired himself in the mirrored wall, checking out the available ladies in the process. Hell, he was feeling good today... why not give the old hag a treat. He laid down on the weight bench and lifted the over-burdened barbells above his head, wondering just how much cash the old broad had stashed away and if she would be worth it. He didn't notice the two small screws that fell from the 'bar rest' onto the carpeted floor. Jason pumped a ten-set and strained with effort as he placed the barbell into the holder. Nobody spotted him because quite frankly, there was no one on board ship that could hold a candle to him when it came to power lifting. The holder quivered under the weight for an instant then snapped without warning, sending four hundred pounds of steel and iron crashing down on his unprotected neck. A sickening snap echoed throughout the room as his head snapped back and blood oozed from his protruding eyes. Mrs. O'Keefe hoped the young man had a beneficiary. She turned slowly and left the room unnoticed. Dana stepped through the cabin doorway, bottle of shampoo in hand. "Next time, remember the toiletries, will ya," she huffed. Typical...he'd bought his brand and hadn't thought that she might use something else. And God only knew that she didn't want to end up with "Mulder" hair. The humidity was making it hard enough to deal with. Fox sat cross-legged on the floor in typical Mulderesque fashion, clothed only in a pair of jogging shorts and a shadowy smile. He rolled his eyes upward to look at her and replied, "If you remember correctly, we *were* in just a little bit of a hurry---so *excuse* me if I didn't get *everything*." "And who's fault was that?" she asked accusingly. He dropped his eyes back down to study the log book that lay open in his lap and mumbled under his breath, "bitch." Then he quirked one corner of his mouth into a half smile. Scully narrowed her eyes ."What?" Mulder gazed up at her innocently. "I said, *which* shampoo do you get?'" "Since *when* are you interested in shampoo brands?" "Since *you* walked in and made it a major topic of discussion," he replied and waited expectantly for the 'Scully retort' that would signal the end of what had become a ritual....the verbal sparring match. He looked forward to the 'make up' sessions that usually followed these mundane, minor squabbles. He watched her nose wrinkle up and her eyes crinkle at the corners as she pondered a comeback. Mulder grinned in spite of himself. He waited---but instead of the usual 'slam', she simply crossed the tiny room and stood over him as he sat on the floor. Dana bent over, cupped his chin in her hand and tilted his head back to face her. She then teased his lips with light, feathery kisses as she whispered softly between breathes, "Mulder.....sometimes......you're a.....royal.......pain.....in....the ass." He reached up behind her neck to pull her down closer as he responded with a low growl into her mouth, "but I'm damn lovable, huh....." She always found a way to keep him off guard and he was never quite certain what she was going to do----funny, she'd often said the same thing about *him*. There was *one* thing, however, of which he was absolutely sure of though... If she didn't desist on her present 'course' right *now*, he was gonna toss the damn log book that rested in his lap onto the floor....and he *wouldn't* need his hands to do it. He gave a shuddering sigh. This may be the place, but it certainly was *not* the time for compromising positions---he had work to do... they both did. He pulled away from her regretfully and was surprised to see the same look of apology in her eyes that he knew was also reflected in his. "Later, Sherlock," she whispered. Dana tousled his hair unmercifully. "Later," he echoed hopefully with a promise written plainly in his eyes. He kissed her forehead and watched her straighten, walk into the bathroom and close the door. He returned his rapt attention to the book in his lap. He thought he was beginning to see a pattern -- a correlation, if you will, within the worn pages. Just a little more to read and maybe it would all fall into place. The answer was here...he knew it. Scully disrobed and turned on the shower, testing the temperature before she got in and closed the shower door. It was a little early for a shower, but after poking around a dead body all morning, she just wanted to feel clean again. The water, the soap, and the *shampoo* felt wonderful and she sighed as the warm water loosened muscles she hadn't realized were so tight. It was going to be difficult to leave the comforting warmth of the shower and venture back out into the real world. However, she hadn't been in for more than a couple minutes when she noticed that the water was a little hotter than it had been just a few seconds earlier. Dana reached up to turn the hot water down and found that the knob spun around uselessly in her hand. The same spinning motion greeted her hand with the other knob as well. Dana squirmed around in the small stall as the water got hotter. She pulled at the shower door and discovered to her dismay that somehow it had jammed and wouldn't budge. The water temperature was becoming unbearable and was beginning to burn her skin. Fear and pain gripped her heart and she screamed, "MULDER!!!! GOD!!! MULDER, GET IN HERE!!!!" She attempted to stay out of the stream of water ....the metal shower head was already too hot for her to try and swivel the spray against the wall. She huddled against the far wall, trying to avoid the water as much as possible, but the drain was clogged and the scaulding water began to rise, blistering her feet. She pounded on the shower door in desperation... Mulder looked up from his reading when he heard her call to him. What now, he thought.... she must have forgotten her towel. He stood up and tried to open the bathroom door but the handle wouldn't turn. He knew she wouldn't have locked it...those days were long past. But the door was stuck and refused to give, even when he applied his full weight into shoving it open. Then he heard her scream, 'sob,' and pound on the shower door. Something was terribly wrong. He shouldered the bathroom door...nothing. He moved back to the far side of the room, ran at the door to build up his momentum and slammed his shoulder into the barrier that kept her from him. The door gave reluctantly and he found himself in a room full of steam.....very *hot* steam. The shower door was just as stubborn as the bathroom door, so he tore the tank lid of the toilet and smashed it through the tempered glass. The water that had collected on the shower floor was ankle deep, and it splashed out over the broken glass into the bathroom, blistering Mulder's bare feet. He reached in to grab Scully from her huddled position in the corner of the shower. The spraying water burned his back as he pulled her to safety, but he ignored it, his only thought being to get her out of there. As soon as they were clear, the water slowed to a drizzle, then stopped completely. Dana shook with uncontrollable sobs as Mulder gently wrapped her in the terry robe that she had left draped over the towel rack. He picked her up easily and cradled her in his arms, murmuring softly to her, "it's alright....I'm here....you're okay now." As he turned to leave the bathroom, another message appeared on the mirror...."I can write too....," it taunted him menacingly. He shook with fury..."You deal with me, you goddamn son of a bitch...not her, not her! I know about you... I'm the one who believes!" he screamed into the empty room. He ran with her in his arm down the hallway and up two flights of stairs, ignoring the startled looks of the passengers and crew they passed. He'd be damned if he'd trust the elevator after what happened to the Boltons. Right now it looked like almost anything on this ship could prove to be lethal. Carrying her into the infirmary, Mulder was oblivious to his state of undress and the pain from his own wounds. The doctor took one look at the both of them and motioned for Mulder to put Dana down on the examination table. As the doctor started his examination, Mulder began to notice the blisters appearing on his own shoulders, feet, and various other parts of his anatomy but he chose to ignore the pain....he'd deal with it later. The exam had given Dana a chance to calm down. She stared at the worried, controlled panic that filled Fox's eyes. "I'm alright," she assured him. "It hurts like hell, but I *am* alright." She'd received a first degree burn over most of her body and a few areas of blistering, but the doctor said she was lucky. At the worst, she would only suffer skin damage equivalent to a really 'bad' sunburn. He sprayed her all over with an anesthetic spray and told her to drink lots of fluids, which was the same advice he gave to Mulder. Now that the initial adrenaline had worn off, Mulder was beginning to feel the consequences of his actions. His shoulder ached with a vengeance as it began to discolor to a bluish-purple hue. Well at least he was color coordinated....it kinda matched the color of his neck, he considered as an afterthought. Dr. Johnson taped an ice pack to his injured shoulder, declared it to be a bad sprain, and stuck a bottle of pain killers in his hand. He couldn't afford to take the pills...he'd been bombed enough on this trip already. But he took the bottle anyway and put it in his pocket. Mulder helped Dana off the exam table. She stood unsteadily at first but without assistance. "Come on, Scully, Let's go 'peel' together," he said, trying to ease the tension. "Love your new wardrobe, Mulder," she commented, looking down at the clinging, silky blue jogging shorts "....blue's your color. It matches your neck and shoulder and brings out the color of your eyes." He smiled and drew her close. "The official color of the walking wounded....I knew you'd be pleased---see there?? And you accused me of being color blind." They walked over to a deck chair and sat down. "Alright Mulder, I'll take it back....you're not color blind. You just have incredibly bad taste in ties," she snickered, wincing slightly as she shifted position on the chair, drawing the robe closer around herself. She fidgeted apprehensively....she didn't like sitting around in public in *just* a robe, but she didn't want to go get her clothes either. "If you don't mind, I think I'd like to stay up here for a while. I really don't want to go back to the cabin...just yet." He nodded with understanding. "I'll go back and get us something to wear...." He looked down at his jogging shorts, which were just drying out. They'd certainly seen better days. "I don't know about you but I feel a little silly walking around looking like a wounded, overdone lobster in jogging shorts." Dana laughed softly at the image he conjured up in her mind. Even in the worst circumstances, he always seemed to be able to make her laugh. But then she thought of the writing on the mirror, and of Fox rolling around on the cabin floor fighting an unseen assailant. "Are you sure it's safe to go back there?" she asked in an alarmed voice. "As safe as anywhere else aboard this ship," he replied, happy that he'd lightened her mood, even for a little while. "Just stay here and wait for me....I'll be right back." He stood slowly and walked away as quickly as his blistered feet would let him. Mrs. O'Keefe walked away from the purser's office, Tiger held firmly in her arms. It had taken quite a bit of sweet talk, with a few alligator tears thrown in for good measure, for her to get her beloved Tiger back. The purser had relayed the Captain's displeasure at having a cat run loose throughout the ship. Mrs. O'Keefe had listened patiently while the purser explained that it was a special privilege to have a pet on board, and if she didn't want that privilege taken away, she needed to pay more attention to the cat so that it didn't annoy her neighbors and run loose on the ship. Mrs. O'Keefe had meekly agreed, and had told the purser she was sure that nothing like that would happen again during this cruise. Idiots, she thought to herself. Who the hell did they think they were talking to back there...a school child? The hand supporting the cat tightened around the animal's jeweled collar. Well, at least *that's* still there, she thought, smiling down at the flea ridden fur bag she'd been saddled with. She passed a group of her fellow passengers....back from fun in the sun, no doubt. With her free hand, she stroked the cat's head in a show of loving affection. The cat yowled and hissed at Mrs. O'Keefe. Jake Moorehouse walked briskly across the deck heading toward the passenger cabins. He was contemplating the scene that he'd just witnessed in the gym...it was most definitely not a pretty sight. It was ironic. All those muscles Hubbard had worked so hard at maintaining had done him in at the end. It reminded Moorehouse of a t-shirt he'd seen once...eat right, exercise, stop smoking....and still die. He stopped by the Mulder's cabin, intending to retrieve the little redhead....he was in need of some more medical 'expertise' again. When he arrived, however, he found the door wide open, the cabin empty and waterlogged. On the floor he discovered the remains of several copies of the ship's log. Jake picked them up for a quick look, but whatever information was written on these pages was long gone now. The water had caused the ink to run in such a way as to practically wipe the pages clean. No amount of wishing was going to make writing reappear. ***** continued in 6b M&S---EP---GLWG---Smoker for Scully--------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous ELVIS PRESLEY, DEAD AT 42 and Myth Patrol "Oh, no!" Construction Site -- Mulder, "Home" "Meanwhile, I've quit the FBI, and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller." -- Scully, "Home" 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 Mon Oct 14 06:26:03 1996 Devil's Advocate part 6 continued... Moorehouse stood in the middle of the Mulders' cabin holding one of the logs, quickly re-evaluating his opinion of the newlyweds. This Fox Mulder knew a hell of a lot more about this case than he let on... much more than just an amateur trying to make a few fast bucks. What bugged him more was the fact that if this guy was a Fibbie...and it was beginning to look that way.... he was going to have to revise his estimate of Feds in general. Maybe their success wasn't due to all their fancy schmancy equipment after all. He couldn't find *anything* of a technological nature anywhere in the room, not even a lap top computer....and even beat cops had those nowadays. He was beginning to really admire this kid and his little sidekick... and he was glad none of his pals were here to see his lapse in judgment. "What are you doing in here?" Jake spun around, startled by the voice behind him. The kid stood in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of silky jogging shorts and sporting probably the worst sunburn he'd seen in a decade. Jake found himself stifling a laugh. This kid had to be the quirkiest Fed he'd ever seen. "There was another 'accident' and I was just taking up your wife's offer of assistance," Jake explained, putting the log book down on the bed. "I came to your cabin to get her but the door was open and the place was a little 'damp.," Mulder limped slowly into the room. "Yeah, well, we sort of had a little 'accident' of our own," Mulder commented tiredly as he pulled open a dresser drawer and retrieved two sets of clothes. "I can see that," Moorehouse said as he got a better look at what he had previously thought was a 'sunburn'. The burn was uneven and in splotches--mainly on the kid's back and shoulders, as if he'd been splattered. And to top it off, he had an ice bag taped to one shoulder, and the shoulder underneath it was turning purple. Jake's practiced eye also took in the greenish-purple bruises around the kid's neck, although they didn't seem to be as recent as the ones on his shoulder. He studied Mulder and made a decision... "You're FBI, ain't ya?" Moorehouse said intensely. Mulder didn't respond, but Jake had seen just the slightest hesitation in the kid's movements as he sorted out the clothes he'd taken from the dresser. Anyone else would probably have missed it. "What the hell happened here? Is your 'partner' ok?" Jake knew the Bureau frowned on married couples working together, so he figured the hot little redhead was the kid's partner...and by the looks of things...a very 'close' partner. In his opinion a marriage certificate was probably the only thing 'missing' between these two and sometimes a piece of paper was just that.....a piece of paper. Fox slowly pulled on a pair of jeans and a light cotton denim shirt. Even the light cotton rubbed painfully against his burns, but then, anything he put there was gonna hurt. The motions of getting dressed gave him time to ponder the questions Moorehouse had asked. Procedure required that he maintain his cover no matter what, but then again, whoever it was he was trying to remain incognito from obviously already knew who he really was. For some strange unknown reason, he felt he could trust this big, blusterous loudmouth cop, and he was tired of tripping all over him at every turn, and lord knows he'd never stood on procedure before. Why start now? Mulder turned to look at Jake. "In answer to your first question.....yeah, I'm FBI," he said in a conspiring tone. "Something tried to kill my partner while she was in the shower, and she's a little shook up and burned but she'll be okay....she's tough." "You know, you're pretty good, kid," Moorehouse said with grudging praise. "I pride myself at picking out Fibbies a mile away, but you sure had me fooled." "Don't feel bad," Mulder deadpanned, "I'm not exactly a 'model' agent. In fact, I probably got sent on this case to begin with because they were hoping I'd get swallowed up by a black hole, thereby preventing them from further embarrassment. Following the 'book' is not exactly my forte'." Moorehouse caught the reference the kid made to a "black hole". And what was that he'd mentioned earlier.... that some*thing* had tried to kill his partner...not some*one*. Yeah, this was definitely one different Fibbie. Mulder looked down at the ruined log books on the floor, picked one up and slowly watched the water roll down the cover and drip onto his feet. "Looks like some of your evidence got screwed up....hope it wasn't too important," Jake commiserated. He knew what it was like to lose evidence that could possibly solve a case. "Oh...don't worry about it, Jake....Can I call you Jake?" Moorehouse nodded in reply. Mulder repeated, "really....it's no big deal." "No big deal? There could have been something important in there, else *you* wouldn't have been interested in it," Jake stated with frustration. Geez, this kid was *really* weird. "No, I mean it. It *is* no big deal....I already read them all. The books may have been destroyed but the information wasn't. I have photographic memory. The information is in here," he said, pointing to his temple. "..... word for word...including the ink spill on page 32 and the ketchup stain on the upper left hand corner of page 147." "I never met anyone with that before...how's it work, Fox? Uh...can I call you Fox?" Moorehouse had seen the kid flinch at the sound of his first name...probably had the pants teased off him in school over a name like that. "Call me Mulder, okay? The way my memory works is kind of complicated...can I explain it later? All you need to know right now is that it *does* work." Mulder picked up the remaining log books off the floor. "You said there was another 'accident'....did it involve strangulation is some way?" "Well, yeah, I guess you could call it that....how did you know?" "Because all this has happened before, more than once." Moorehouse's look made it clear that he didn't understand. This was gonna be kind of difficult to explain. Mulder decided to start with the tangible evidence he'd located in the ship's logs. "In comparing the entries in the log books, I discovered that the first ship that made this voyage suffered the same 'misfortunes' as we're experiencing now." Mulder briefly explained to Moorehouse what he knew of the ship's ownership history. "Those first cruises used the exact same course we're now using, which cuts through the Bermuda Triangle instead of skirting around the outside edges." "Wait a minute..." Moorehouse interrupted. "Are you saying that the Triangle is causing all these deaths on this ship?" "Indirectly, maybe," Mulder conceded. "There's a lot of speculation concerning the events that have been reported to occur in the Triangle. This particular area of the ocean is a little bit peculiar in that there's....well....sort of a dimensional - timeline confusion here... I don't know quite how to explain this, but there are several theories which basically state that present time coexists with the past and the future, but on different dimensional planes. There is speculation that the Triangle contains a gateway or portal that could allow one or all of the dimension to interphase with one another. In other words, if all three dimensions must meet somewhere, especially with what's been happening around here, I've got a feeling that this is it." "You're not exactly a *normal* FBI agent, are you?" Moorehouse asked. The kid was bright, no doubt, but Jake guessed that he probably had a standing appointment with the Bureau's shrink. "I warned you," Mulder said with a smile. At least Moorehouse was still listening. That was more than he could say about ninety percent of the agents back at the Bureau. "It might make you feel better to know that I'm not the first one to make this connection," Mulder continued. "Someone else recognized what was happening and changed the ship's course twenty years ago......and for twenty years there were no further 'incidents'. Until now. When I checked on our course, I found out that three weeks ago this ship was routed back to it's original course through the Triangle. The log reflected that the orders came directly from corporate headquarters, no doubt neatly disguised as an efficiency measure." "Three weeks ago," Moorehouse muttered. That's when all the accidents had started. Damn...he would have liked to look at the records of the accidents of twenty years ago just to be sure, but it looked like the kid was on to something. "Yeah, quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" Mulder responded. "The question is why wouldn't the company notice the correlation between the course and the accidents on this ship? A simple solution would have been to change the ship's course, but they didn't. Instead they stage this elaborate 'game' and call in the 'Spooky Squad.'" "Spooky Squad?" Moorehouse asked. "Inside joke," Mulder muttered. Moorehouse had the feeling it was not a very funny joke. "So someone had to know about all this." Mulder continued, working out the logic as he spoke. "Someone in power at the corporate level decided to return this cruise to its original course, knowing full well what the consequences would be. I would suggest that it's probably the same individual who requested the investigation in the first place. Anyone actually requesting an investigation would, more than likely, be automatically precluded from suspicion. It's a good bet that they were counting on that fact, since a 'conventional' Federal Agent would never suspect or even consider the possibilities that I've mentioned. All the deaths that happened on this cruise would have been listed as accidental or unexplained.....just like they were the first time.... and the killer would be home free." "If that were true," Moorehouse reasoned, "why in the hell did the Bureau send you? From what I can see, your ideas are about as 'unconventional' as they come." Mulder pondered that question for a moment then grinned. "The 'Bureau' didn't exactly send me....my boss did. Let's just say that I have a feeling he's tired of burying their underhanded, bureaucratic bullshit for them." Skinner, you sly dog, he thought with a certain amount of glee. They told you to send somebody but never in a million years would they have *ever* guessed that you'd send me......way to go, Walter. He suddenly had a whole new respect for the Bureau's Assistant Director. "So we're looking for a murderer, not something connected with this 'timeline' theory you were talking about before?" Moorehouse had no problems admitting to being confused...it was probably written all over his ruddy face. "Probably both," Mulder replied. "Look at it this way. What better way to murder someone than to make it look like an accident and slip it in with all the other 'accidents' that have occurred on board? There is a real, human murderer on board...but he is using this phenomena to cover his tracks and in the process, many other innocent victims will die. I want this bastard, Moorehouse." "You're not the only one, kid," Moorehouse growled. "Not only him...I want the maniac that's bouncing around in this continuum...." Mulder could tell by Moorehouse's look that he'd probably lose his credibility with the good sergeant over this, but this other thing was real, whether anyone else believed in it or not. "I've felt it, Jake. It's real....it's evil..... and it's sadistic....worse than any serial killer I've ever encountered. It tried to kill me," Mulder said, pointing at the bruises on his neck. Moorehouse had to admit that they looked like extremely large fingerprints, now that he thought about it. "And it just tried to murder my partner. I can sense it...I don't know how or why, but I can. It murders for pleasure and thrives on our fear.....and it's getting stronger." "So if what you say is true...and I'm not saying that I believe in any of this mumbo gumbo you just spouted," Moorehouse was quick to add, "how do you plan on stopping this other 'thing'?" "I dunno," Mulder admitted. "I have a feeling, though, that when the time comes, I'll know what to do. As for reward money? You can keep it....the Bureau wouldn't let us accept it anyway. Besides, no one would believe or accept the second half of what I just told you anyway....so you work on the part of the case that you *can* prove and I'll wrestle with the 'spooky squad' stuff...okay?" "Nice of you to bring me my clothes, Mulder." Both men spun toward the icy voice that stabbed at them from the cabin door. "I got worried when you didn't get back within a 'reasonable' length of time....and here you are with Sergeant Moorehouse, having a nice little chat." Scully was more than just a little miffed. "You don't have to go over your little explanations again for me...I heard. And I wish you'd stop making major decisions without consulting me first," she glared at Moorehouse and narrowed her eyes at Mulder. Jake sensed that the kid was in the proverbial 'dog house' and he didn't want to stick around when the fur flew....yep, just a piece of paper, he thought , feeling sorry for the kid but laughing to himself when he saw the way she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, impatiently tapping one foot. He knew that pose...he'd seen it many times before. His mom used to get it before he got spanked when he was a kid....and the last time he'd seen it was when his ex-wife locked him out of the house for the last time. Jake had the impression that it was an ingrained female genetic trait. "Ma'am, when you're done here....I'd appreciate some help with the latest so called accident." There, he said what he'd come here to say in the first place. Moorehouse took one final look at the fire in Scully's eyes and decided it was way past time for him to leave. He made a quick exit out the door and down the hall, chuckling to himself the whole way.....he had the distinct impression that Agent Mulder was in for a serious ass chewing. Scully shut the door behind Moorehouse. As soon as she was sure he was out of earshot, Scully turned slowly toward Mulder, took a deep breath and blasted, "what the hell did you think you were doing?!? All this time we've bent over backwards to maintain a believable 'cover' and now you go and tell one of the 'suspects' who we are!!!!!! A few hours ago I could have blamed it on the drugs, but not now. I hate it when you do things like this. Mulder, it's just like that time in the forest..."she trailed off, trembling slightly as she flashed back to the time when millions of microscopic green insects had nearly killed her. "Sometimes you just don't stop to think about how what you do and say could affect those around you. Now, could you at least tell me why you blew our cover?" Mulder eased himself down onto the bottom bunk and sat silently for several minutes. Yes, he knew that he'd been wrong that time in the forest when he didn't consult her---but goddamn it, he'd been right about the guy. The man had come back for them...and had died as a result.... a fact that she always conveniently failed to mention. This time....this time he stood by his decision. She hadn't been there and he'd had no time to wait for her to decide what to do. Fox raised his eyes to her and stated in a calm, quiet voice, "Dana....the man was in the cabin when I arrived. He saw the log books on the floor and put two and two together. He may be an oaf in some respects but he's not stupid. He came right out and asked me if I was FBI." Mulder looked down and studied the blisters on feet. "Dana...." he continued softly as he raised he eyes to gaze directly into hers, "Look at me." She held his gaze and asked questions with her own puzzled eyes. "What kind of liar am I?" he whispered in frustration. "Could I look that man in the eye and lie to his face....especially when my instincts tell me that I can trust him, in spite of his abrasive personality? Do you actually think that he'd believe me? This is an NYCPD detective we're talking about. He's probably been lied to for over twenty years by a lot of people who were a lot better at it than I am. " Dana had to agree with him there...Mulder was a terrible liar. But she wasn't ready to quit being angry, not just yet. They were partners, dammit...and he'd just made a major case decision without her.... again. "There's something else to consider and I'm sure it's crossed your mind, too," Mulder continued. "It seems pretty obvious that whoever or whatever we're trying to keep our identity from already seems to know who was forced to make a split second decision and unfortunately I had to do it without the luxury of your input on the matter." Mulder sighed heavily and buried his face in his hands. God, he was just so tired and he didn't want to fight with her. Dana's eyes softened as she walked over to where he sat. Perhaps this time he'd been correct, she thought evenly. She *had* blasted him before she'd had all the facts, but she also felt that she had a 'good' reason to 'jump to conclusions'. It was typically 'Mulder' to run off on his own without consulting her and this impulsive tendency really frightened her. She knew it grew from the years he'd worked alone without a partner. But she *was* here now. She was just afraid that one day he'd go off on his own and she wouldn't be there to pull his ass out of the fire. Mulder felt of her fingertips lightly ruffling through his hair as he felt the mattress sink down beside him. He turned his face to one side and discovered an impish Scully face giving him the once over. "You may have been right this time," she conceded. "But in the future...if at all possible....please let me know what you're up to, okay? It's scary when you go off on your own because I can't help you if I don't know what you're doing and I can't be there for you if I don't know where you are. I don't want you to get hurt, Fox." Fox Mulder smiled and cautiously embraced his partner in a gentle hug, being careful not to press too much on their mutual burns. He looked at their skin and remarked devilishly, "this could present a real challenge....don't you think??" She laughed. "I've never known you to 'flinch' from challenge, I'm sure you'll think of something," she pursed her lips, kissed him softly, and then gave him a gentle shove. Dana stood up, put on the soft cotton dress that Mulder had gotten out for her and slipped on a pair of sandals. He watched quietly as she went to the mirror to brush the tangles out of her still- damp hair and marveled at how lovely she looked---even with beet red skin and blisters. Silently, he thanked every deity he could think of for her continued presence in his life, and he was exceedingly glad that they had ended this last argument on a positive note. Mulder's mind played back to another scene from not too long ago... he'd become frustrated and left Scully's office at Quantico in a huff. He hadn't even said good-bye.....he'd just gotten up from her desk and walked out. Afterwards, she'd disappeared, and more than anything else the memory of his indifference tore at his heart and had haunted him throughout the whole ordeal. How could he have been so callous? If she had *not* been returned to him safe and whole, it would have remained like a lead weight upon his soul till he drew his last breath. Mulder vowed, then and there, that he would *never*......*ever* leave her in that manner again, and so far he'd been able to keep that promise. Dana felt his eyes follow her appreciatively across the room and she allowed his longing gaze without comment. The thought that he could still desire her even when she looked this 'bad' warmed her heart. Sure, he could make her angry with his obsessions and impulsive carelessness, but he was an inately 'good' person and his 'decent' qualities more than outweighed his flaws. She finished removing the last tangle from her hair and crossed back over to Mulder. He was trying, without success, to get his sneakers on over his swollen feet.....he hadn't bought sandals for his replacement wardrobe. Finally, giving up, he just slipped on a pair of socks, muttered "fuck it" under his breath, and stood up. Bad idea, Mulder, he thought belatedly as the weight of his body popped the blisters on the soles of his feet. "Shit," he grimaced when the dampness soaked through his socks. He wasn't certain if the wetness was from the blisters or the water-logged carpet....all he knew was that it stung like hell. He looked down at Dana's red but relatively unharmed feet. "How come yours didn't blister?" he complained. "Just lucky I guess," she replied warmly while taking out an extra pair of his socks from the dresser. "Come on," she soothed, "looks like I have another dead body to examine. We can drop by Dr. Johnson's on the way and get some antibiotics for those 'boats' you call feet." She paused momentarily, then quipped facetiously, "God, I just *love* our 'vacations'." (continued part 7) M&S---EP---GLWG---Smoker for Scully--------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous ELVIS PRESLEY, DEAD AT 42 and Myth Patrol "Oh, no!" Construction Site -- Mulder, "Home" "Meanwhile, I've quit the FBI, and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller." -- Scully, "Home" 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 Tue Oct 15 07:31:50 1996 DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 7) The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel by: CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED aka ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com Moorehouse had already made his investigation of the scene in the gym. He'd roped off the area from the other passengers...they'd just have to get their exercise some other way for the duration of this trip. He figured that the agents would be occupied for awhile with ironing out their 'differences' and he didn't want anything disturbed by any of the 'amateur' sleuths on board, although their number was rapidly dwindling. However, the Mulders had shown up more quickly than he had anticipated and the kid still seemed to be in one piece and in a decent mood at that. Jake observed with fascination as the hot little redhead....she'd introduced herself to him this time as Dana Scully, but reminded him that she was still Mrs. Mulder to everyone else.... painstakingly examined the body from gory head to toe without so much as a 'flinch'. Mulder, he noticed, was just as competent as he scanned the area with equal fervor and concentration. He knelt down by the victim's head and carefully removed the two screws that had fallen on the floor and placed them in a zip lock bag he'd picked up from the kitchen. Then he began to pick at something that had evidently stuck into the carpet and placed it in the bag with the screws. Jake thought it looked like metal shavings....How the hell could he have missed that? Dana completed her work and looked up to see two expectant faces staring at her for a report. She almost had to laugh....she hated to admit it but in many ways Jake and Fox were a lot alike. They were both incredibly stubborn, opinionated, and used to having their own way. Jake, however, was more boisterous and openly crude, while Mulder, even though he could make a crude remark now and then, was more subdued with a refined, softer edge. She could understand why Mulder might trust this guy. "Well," she finally commented, "The cause of death is fairly obvious....the man's throat was crushed, and the pressure from the sudden weight forced his brain into his cranium and out of his nasal cavities, mouth, ears, eyes, etc.....see...." she said pointing to the floor. "The cranial fluid has pooled on the floor and the eyeballs were forced from their sockets." This woman is amazing, Jake thought. He'd seen a lot of gruesome murder scenes but hearing her talk about it this way was starting to make even him.....queasy. Mulder, on the other hand, lifted one eyebrow and commented with a grin, "ya mean like the roadkill I saw the other day when I jogged by your place? I think it was a squirrel....kinda hard to tell sometimes when they're flat like that." Moorehouse looked at him in utter disbelief for several seconds, then roared with laughter. He liked this kid.....he really did, weird ideas or not. Dana's only reaction was to give them both a pained look and state with patient resign, "Mulder, you have an acutely *sick* sense of humor. Now for our next problem....how are we gonna get this barbell off of him so we can put him in the deep freeze with the others? There must be at least four hundred pounds on that thing." Fox shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me..... if I try to lift that thing, we'll *both* be sorry." He favored Dana with a sideways glance and winked covertly. "What about you, Jake?" Moorehouse shook his head with a definite "no". Mulder snickered in spite of himself....this was such a ridiculous problem to have. Back on shore he never had to worry about getting the body away from the scene of a crime...the coroner's office took care of it. Yup, his *sick* sense of humor was definitely kicking in here....probably some kind of a mental pressure release valve. "What?" she asked. "Well......I don't know.....It's just that I keep getting flashbacks of that movie, 'Weekend at Bernies'. Maybe we could put a towel over his face and pass him off as a new kind of eclectic 'gym art'. If we play our cards right....everybody will want one." One look at Dana confirmed that she didn't think the idea was nearly as hilarious as he did. He tried to get serious, but it only resulted in a case of those snorting type giggles....the nasty ones you get when you're *really* trying not to laugh. The harder he tried to not to laugh, the worse they got...Shit, he might as well say it and get it over with. "Okay, then," he managed to slip in between gasps, "how about if we put out a ship-wide call for anyone who can lift Roseanne Barr....ya know....shades of 'The Sword in the Stone'? Whoever accomplishes the feat gets to rape and pillage the Tiki Bar, win a kiss from the princess and a free one-day, 'life-time' pass to this wonderfully 'safe' gymnasium." Even Jake snickered a little this time, but Dana just stood there looking at him with an 'I can't believe I'm hearing this, Mulder' look on her face. "Okay...okay....I'm losin' it," he admitted. "The pressure's finally got to me......I give.....Dana, I don't *know*! How do we get this guy out from under this *damn* thing.!?! Maybe a lever...Jake can push down and we can pull him out....by the feet. I'm not touching what's left of his head." Mulder stacked several round weights on the floor to make a fulcrum, then looked around and spotted a steel bar at another weight bench. He carried it over, placed it under the barbells and over the stacked weights for leverage. With Dana and Jake pushing down on the bar he managed to pull the body free. Soon thereafter, Jason Hubbard took up his new residence in the deep freeze next to his former lover, Oneida Darkhorse and, of course, the Boltons. As they slammed the freezer door shut, Mulder observed glumly, "I've got a feeling if we don't solve this thing soon....we're gonna run out of freezer space and be forced to hang up a 'No Vacancy' sign, or thaw someone out." He studied Scully and Moorehouse and theorized out loud. "In spite of my somewhat 'unconventional' theories about what's happening on this cruise, I believe that at least Hubbard's and possibly Darkhorse's murder was committed by an all too human criminal. Markings on the screws suggests that they were forced with a screwdriver of inappropriate size for the screw head and the shavings confirm that the screws were stripped when they were removed. We also have reason to believe that Oneida Darkhorse was drugged by the means of a Scopolomine patch, although we don't have the lab facilities on board to test the drug levels in the patches. Entities don't need screwdrivers and I don't believe they would push drugs. So if these two murders were committed by a human criminal, they have to be connected in some way. And if what Oneida projected to me yesterday is any indication of her 'inclinations', I can almost guarantee what that connection was. My first suspect would be her husband, but since he's not on board we should consider the possibility that he hired someone to take care of the problem." "What about the Boltons?" Dana asked. "They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Mulder replied. "I have a gut feeling that the entity is behind the Boltons' deaths. There was no physical evidence of human involvement in that 'accident.' Whoever the murderer is, he...or she....isn't quite as clever as they think. They've been leaving little clues behind." Jake nodded in agreement. "Mulder, since Hubbard was the Activities Director on board this ship, maybe we can get some of his fellow employees to rat on the bum about his suspected fling with Darkhorse. I saw him up on deck during the volleyball game, making a move on a couple of the girls. He sure looked like the 'bragging' type to me. If I could borrow your partner for a couple of hours, we could probably interview most of the staff and maybe come up with some leads." Jake shot Dana and inquiring glance and stated in a sincere tone of respect, "I could *really* use the help of an experienced interviewer....." Dana glanced briefly at Mulder for his opinion and he nodded a reluctant affirmation. "I have a few 'unusual' leads to follow, myself. I want to meet with the captain and see if we can't get this barge turned around....I'd even be happy with a change in course," he added as he turned to leave. Karl Kopec sat nursing a drink in the Tiki Lounge, listening to what had to be the worst rendition of "Tiny Bubbles" he had ever heard in his life. What was it with lounge singers on cruise ships...they all thought they were Don Ho. Normally he'd already be drunk by this time of the day and the singer wouldn't have bothered him. But he was too nervous to drink today. He was afraid that if he passed out drunk on this tub, he'd wake up dead. And after all the things he'd done in his life, he wasn't looking forward to where he'd be spending eternity. Something was different about this cruise... he felt it. The other cruises hadn't been a piece of cake, either, but then again he hadn't felt personally threatened then. Now he was in an elite class of passengers... one of the "finalists" in this little hunt and seek game. And the number of contestants was rapidly dwindling. Karl figured he now knew what the bald eagle felt like being on the endangered species list. Add to that the close call he'd had this morning while walking on deck. He'd been down in the gym earlier and had seen all the girls working out in their tight leotards. Of course, none of them had seen *him*... they'd all been too busy eyeing the Activities Director, drooling over his muscles, no doubt. Well, they say it's never too late to get in shape. So he decided to take a quick stroll around the deck. After all, wasn't walking supposed to be good for you? He'd been passing by the lifeboats when a cable must have broken loose. All he knew was that one minute he was walking along jauntily, and the next minute he was hugging the deck for dear life as a steel beam swung over him exactly where his head had been only a moment earlier. Karl had a vivid imagination... it came from years of working as a reporter and seeing all the gore he'd reported on. He had no trouble imagining himself lying lifeless on the deck, his head smashed to smithereens like some watermelon dropped off a high-rise. That had been the end of his experiment with aerobics. He'd come straight to the bar and ordered a double. Except now he was having trouble finishing it. He wasn't sure the money was worth all this....maybe nothing was. Screw up here and you're dead, he told himself. And what was that other saying... he should know. In his career he'd managed to squeeze into his stories all the hackneyed expressions he'd ever heard in his life. Oh, yeah.... something about lying down with dogs. Karl grimaced and finished his drink in one non-stop swallow. "Bartender," he said, "I believe I'll have another after all." If you gotta go, he thought, you might as well go in style. Mulder had no idea what argument he could possibly use to persuade the captain to change the ship's course, at least not any argument that the man would believe, anyway. All he had was an outrageous theory and no proof--as usual. They were in International Waters, so he couldn't force or demand compliance with his wishes. He didn't have the authority. While pondering this unlikely dilemma, Fox found himself walking purposefully toward what he 'thought' was the Captain's office only to discover with embarrassment that he'd somehow gotten on the wrong deck. Funny...he didn't remember descending to the Lido deck. He could hear her now---'Fox Mulder, not only do you screw up North, South, East, and West, but you can't tell 'up' from 'down' either. He wandered down the corridor aimlessly for several minutes, searching for the stairway that would take him back to the upper deck..... He saw the fluffy white of the clouds overhead and felt the soft, damp sea air on his face...but he also saw the dark corridor with the artificial lighting overhead, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he passed by. As he watched, the clouds disappeared and were solidly replaced once more with the artificial lighting....what the hell??? His mind reeled with the effort of trying to sort out two converging realities....his brain just was not set up for this kind of sensory incongruity.... A small tiny voice prodded his intellect---he knew the voice. It was his own. 'Why not?' it teased excitedly. He traveled down the dark hall and stood before a large heavy door marked 'Laundry'. For some reason he felt compelled to enter. He reached out to turn the door handle when a familiar stench assaulted his nose and a heavy dread once more draped itself over his shoulders. It's evil weight forced him to his knees but somehow he managed to open the door. Willing himself to look up, he beheld the hideous creature that he'd remembered from the previous night. It turned to face him, snarled tauntingly, and lifted the still, slight figure of his friend, Kor, into the air before shoving his head into the pants press and pulling the lever. "NO!!!!!!" Mulder screamed in shocked horror and rage as he rushed toward the thing with clenched fists. "You do not belong here, boy," its growl echoed mockingly in his head. "Ah....you think you can threaten me, human garbage?" It laughed demonically as he approached. "You will fear me, like all your kind fear me....you'd better." It swung one great clawed appendage at Fox, swatting him away like a gnat and sending him sprawling into the far wall. Dazed and bleeding from a ragged gash in his side, Mulder stubbornly tried to stand, but a voice he trusted forbade him and a gentle hand restrained his movement. He watched helplessly as the demon dropped Kor to the ground and moved swiftly into the lower reaches of the ship. A long, dark shadow pursued the fleeing apparition into the darkness. "*You* should not be able to do this...*you*, my dear boy, are an enigma," Dr. Jay's voice soothed gently. "Stay out of this my dear, dear Fox.....you are in over your head on this one. Now he will come for you, too." Dr. Jay carefully laid his hand atop Mulder's bowed head, patted it as he would an obedient child, and then affectionately stroked the silky strands of hair back from his forehead. "Oh...Fox, my boy...." Dr. Jay groaned quietly, "you are a never ending wellspring of unexpected surprises and a constant source of worry for those of us who care for you...do you know that? You have proven to be more dangerous to him than either of us had anticipated. Now that he knows you can sense his presence and track him down, he will try his utmost to make certain that you are unable to do either." Noticing the potential seriousness of the nasty looking slash, Dr. Jay gently massaged Mulder's temples and perceptively alleviated some of his confusion and pain. Then he reached up and pulled the fire alarm. "I can not stay with you at this time," he said, "but I am quite certain that someone will be here presently to assist you." Mulder raised his head painfully and in a semi-lucid state tried to thank Doc for his help only to find himself looking into a dim vacant hallway where Dr. Jay had stood only moments before. "Who are you???" he slurred into the shadows, absently clutching at his side with his right hand. The warm, rich liquid oozed stickily between his fingers and pooled into a crimson puddle on the cold floor beside him. Each individual cell in his body shrieked in protest against the duality it had been forced to endure. Being in neither one reality nor the other, Mulder felt as though he'd been ripped apart on a molecular level and thrust simultaneously into two entirely different modes of existence. This combined with the stress of trying to cope with a situation that he did not fully understand left him exhausted. Closing his eyes to the artificial light in the room, he finally succumbed and accepted the painless peace of the surrounding darkness that slowly enveloped his senses. Scully assisted Jake in what was now their tenth 'interview' of the various ship's personnel who'd worked with and for Jason Hubbard. Personally she was beginning to think that this whole endeavor was nothing but a waste of time and effort. After the first two interviews it was obvious that virtually 'everyone' knew of Oneida's little affair with Jason Hubbard. Hubbard was just the last entry in a long list of 'flings' that had paraded through Oneida's relatively short life. Her husband *had* to know about her many extra-marital activities....Dana was sure of it. One or two indiscretions could have possibly been hidden from him, but *not* the volume of lovers that this woman had collected. If her husband had known about *all* of those, why would he 'target' his wife now....and just one particular lover? Jason's on board karate instructor, Tieng Yan Soo, provided them with a probable answer to this question. During his interview, Moorehouse managed to get some pretty scandalous material from the man. Dana thought. It seems that Oneida had hopped into the sack one two many times and gotten herself pregnant. In addition to that startling bit of information, he also got Tieng to admit that Jason had been spending a lot of money that he shouldn't have had given his salary... spending it like a 'drunken sailor,' according to Tieng. After they finished questioning the last employee on their list, Moorehouse guided Scully by the elbow to a table by the pool side bar. "Well, what's your theory, Ms. FBI Agent?" Jake clipped in his gravel- gruff, sometimes annoying voice. Scully tilted her head slightly and squinted her eyes. "I think....I think that Jason was blackmailing Oneida about the baby. It's plausible that she told her husband that it was his. So shortly after she tells him about the baby, he notices large sums of money disappearing from their accounts. He puts two and two together and gets three. Faced with the good chance of another scandal involving his lovely wife, he decides it would be in his best interest just to get rid of them both and start over. And what better way to do it than on a cruise that's being plagued by so-called 'ghost' murders to begin with." She stopped and looked at Moorehouse. "So what do *you* think?" she asked pointedly, just daring him to punch holes in her theory. Jake gave a hearty laugh. Man, this one really *was* a little spitfire. He'd bet his last dollar that no one ever swatted *her* fanny in the bullpen and got away with it. "I agree whole heartedly with what you said....For a Fibbie, you're ok," he replied in his usual boisterous and crude manner. "So we know what the motive may have been and the identity of maybe one of the suspects. The only problem I see is that Oneida's big shot hubby, the good Senator Weston, ain't on board this tub...so who axed the stupid bitch and her boyfriend?" "I have this uneasy feeling that the answer is lying here right under our noses...." Dana muttered. A copy of the National Inquirer fluttered unnoticed on the table next to her iced tea. She picked up the glass to take a sip but nearly dropped it in her lap instead when the ship's fire alarm began to blare on all decks. "Relax, cupcake," Jake leered, "it's probably just one of those idiotic fire drills." Scully glared at him intensely. "First of all ....I am *not* a 'cupcake'." She paused for emphasis, making sure that Moorehouse got her point. "And second, this isn't a drill...." Dana pointed at two crew members who raced past them, struggling to get into fire gear. "I don't know about you, but I'm gonna go find out what the hell is going on *now*...." For once, Moorehouse agreed. They found the captain and Moorehouse expertly pried the information from him as the alarms were silenced. Crew members already suited up for a fire were taking off their gear. "See, I told ya it was a false alarm," Moorehouse grumbled. "The sailor boy, there, says that somebody must have pulled the fire alarm in the laundry room cause the electronic fire fighting stuff says that there ain't no fire." "I'm gonna to check it out anyway....somebody had to pull it!!!" Dana insisted...she had a 'feeling' that this wasn't just a false alarm, and if there was one thing she'd learned while working with Mulder, it was to follow her instincts as well as her mind. Moorehouse reluctantly agreed to go with her and the first mate to investigate the false alarm. The alarm box that had been pulled was in, of all places, the freaking laundry room. This broad was one of the pushiest dames he'd ever met. He wouldn't admit it to anybody else, but he found her stubbornness uniquely appealing. In her own way, she was just as intense as the kid. The trio traveled down the hot, dimly lit hall toward the laundry room. The shadows seemed alive with their own malevolent energy, and Dana found herself wondering why the hell there wasn't more light down here. They became aware of a still, fairly large shadow apparently slumped up against the wall ahead of them. As they approached cautiously, Dana suddenly realized that the shadow was resolving itself into the the all too familiar profile of Fox Mulder. Her heart in her throat, she began to run the remainder of the distance to the limp figure. The others were hard pressed to keep up with her short, slender legs and they made it to the laundry room a few seconds after she did. The first mate took one look at the situation and headed back down the hall to get some help. Moorehouse just loomed overhead while she knelt by Mulder's side. Mulder was slumped in a semi-reclining position of the floor. Dana noticed the blood-soaked shirt and the thick puddle that had formed on the floor beside him. She immediately tore the shirt away from the wound to get a better look. What greeted her was an ugly gash of torn flesh and a section of exposed bone from a lower rib. He was conscious...but in a 'punch drunk' sort of way....probably from blood loss and mild shock. "Moorehouse," she ordered, pointing to the laundry room, "Get me a clean sheet or towel....anything....I've gotta stop the bleeding." Moorehouse dutifully ran off in search of what she needed. He returned a few seconds later with a white sheet that seemed to match his complexion. He handed the sheet to Scully. "Hope there's room in the deep freeze for one more. We got another corpse in there," he said in a subdued tone, pointing toward the laundry room door, "and it ain't pretty." Mulder stirred at the sound of their voices and managed a slurred whisper. "It murdered Kor, Dana....It just killed him...no reason....except it...it wanted to." His voice quivered weakly, catching in pain as he tried to draw a breath... "It enjoyed the fear... horror... when he died....." he trailed off and Dana had to lean in closer to hear what he was saying. "It's evil...evil...Scccuullyy...I can feel it.....Dr. Jay's right--I know how... find......it." She noted with concern that his words were becoming more and more incoherent and his irises were trying to roll back into his head. "Mulder!!!!" she shouted into his ear..."stay with me ....Come on, Sherlock. Just think...I've had to wrap you up in a sheet, twice in one day. Stay with me and we'll do it for fun some time. Mulder...don't pass out....you hear me....Fox!!! You pass out and the deal's off....Where did this thing go? Where's Dr. Jay? Mulder, answer me....." Mulder's head tilted back limply as his eyes rolled back in his head. "Shit!!!" she exclaimed. "What??" Moorehouse asked in alarm. "He passed out..... Damn it Mulder. Didn't I just tell you not to pass out? You never listen to me." She looked at Jake in exasperation. "He never listens to me...." "Damn," Moorehouse commiserated, "give the poor guy a break, will ya? I mean, so far on this tub he's barfed his guts out, been poisoned, strangled, par boiled, had to use his shoulder as a battering ram, and now some multiphasing demon troll thing just tried to rip his lungs out without even the benefit of a good stiff drink. Personally, I don't think this is one vacation he's gonna want to remember so I'd forget about the 'Kodak' moments if I were you." Jake looked down at the pale, young man on the floor and then back up at Scully. "Hey, is he gonna be all right?" he asked with what appeared to be genuine worry. Dana returned his gaze, trying not to show her surprise at his obvious concern for her partner's condition. . "It's a nasty wound, but it could've been much worse," she replied. "Luckily for him this 'thing' struck bone instead of a lung or he'd be in some major difficulties right now. As it is, he's not gonna be running any races anytime soon. It's gonna hurt like hell, though, and he should take it easy. But if I know my partner...and I do, give him a couple hours and he'll be up trying to track this thing down with a vengeance. That is, if we can get some help down here and get him to the infirmary." Dana looked down the hallway expectantly. "Where the hell is everybody?" she growled impatiently. Jake's eyes darted nervously as he continued to survey their surroundings, his search stopping momentarily at the laundry room entrance. He remembered all too vividly what was inside. "Listen, Ms. FBI, I ain't a doctor like you, but it doesn't take an expert to figure out that your other half, there....he ain't lookin' too 'good'. I know you don't wanna move him around, but whatever did this just might decide to come back for a return engagement and I for one don't wanna be here if it does....you catch my drift?" Dana was momentarily indecisive. Moving Mulder improperly could worsen his condition, but then again, waiting for help could prove fatal to them all. Moorehouse stared at her, waiting for her decision. Shit, he was a big, hulky guy and he didn't think that it would be all that difficult to carry the kid. Mulder was tall but with a slender strength that didn't lend itself to a tremendous amount of bulk. Jake shot Dana an impatient yet understanding stare. "I promise....I'll be gentle," he snorted with a grin. She nodded her head reluctantly and Jake knelt down beside Mulder and gently lifted him from the ground with a loud grunt and cradled him in both arms. "Jesus, he's a lot heavier than he looks," Jake complained as moved cautiously down the hall. The trip to the ship's infirmary seemed maddeningly slow. Every now and then a low moan would escape Fox's lips when Jake was forced to shift Mulder's weight in his arms. Dana had noticed that once more a slow, steady flow of blood began to leave a trail on the floor behind them. Dr. Johnson took one look at his returning patient, sighed deeply and pointed to the examination table. "Mrs. Mulder, just have Detective Moorehouse put him on the table....I've taken the liberty of reserving the cot in the corner just for him, since he seems determined to spend the balance of this trip occupying that space." The doctor walked over to his patient and studied him for several seconds. Dana became alarmed at the doctor's seeming inaction. Mulder needed attention, and he needed it *now*. She assumed that the ship's doctor was unused to seeing this type of violent injury and maybe he didn't know where to start. Exasperated, she finally decided she had to do something. "Dr. Johnson, I am also a medical doctor and although my specialty is pathology, perhaps I may still be of assistance," she suggested helpfully. Taking her comment as a condescending remark, Dr. Johnson turned around and glared at her. "Look," he replied with some irritation, "I may be a 'ship's doctor', but I *am* qualified. Excuse me for being a little surprised, but I don't usually see this kind of wound on a cruise ship. How in the *hell* did this happen?? I haven't seen anything like this since I worked the ER at Boston General." Dr. Johnson walked over to the sink and began methodically scrubbing for surgery. "I spent ten years repairing the results of man's inhumanity to his own kind and became weary of fighting a losing battle," he continued. "So I accepted a staff position at the Mayo Clinic thinking I could escaped the carnage, but it wasn't any different.... As a last resort, I came here and found a chance to think things out. It helped not having to treat anything more complicated than hang nails and motion sickness.....now.....now you bring me this..." he said pointing to the limp form covering the exam table. Dana stared at the floor in embarrassment. "I really didn't mean it the way it sounded," she apologized. "I...I'm just worried." Dr. Johnson looked up from scrubbing his hands. He was going to need assistance with this one....the cruise line didn't keep a nurse on board...and it looked like he'd just gotten a volunteer. "Well, if you're going to assist me," he stated with resign, "you'd better scrub too. I know it probably isn't a real priority in pathology....dead bodies don't complain about infection," he snickered in good humored retaliation, "but living ones most certainly do." Moorehouse decided then and there that he'd seen enough blood for one day. Besides, someone had to take care of the remains in the laundry room, and he guessed that someone was him, if only by default. It never gets any easier, he thought to himself as he walked off in search of someone in authority. (continued part 8) M&S---EP---GLWG---Smoker for Scully--------------------Queen of Angst XAngst Anonymous ELVIS PRESLEY, DEAD AT 42 and Myth Patrol "Oh, no!" Construction Site -- Mulder, "Home" "Meanwhile, I've quit the FBI, and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller." -- Scully, "Home" 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 - - **********************************************************************