Title: Curtain Up Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com) Rating: R (sex, language) Category: MSR, X Spoilers: set post-allthings Archive: Sure. Summary: The mysteries of life, love and a string of Hollywood suicides would be a lot easier to solve--if Mulder and Scully only had a script. Disclaimer: Fox. 1013. Chris Carter. They own them. I just have fun with them. Missing Parts: http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic Curtain Up January 27, 1953 Barrymore Theater New York City, 8 PM Hank once again had difficulty catching his breath. She was standing there, front and center, as they lifted the curtain separating reality from fantasy. The strong white lights accentuated a creamy complexion offset only by crimson hair and ruby lips. The living embodiment of the painting he had found years ago; the subject of many a teenaged wet dream. A nude redhead lying against a rock. Unblemished white skin; lips parted and waiting. . . Of course, he had never seen Charlotte nude. Not yet. But he still hoped she would fill the role his phantom lover had so very long ago. He had seen her in rehearsal dozens of times, although his presence was never required. She was good. But in actual performance--there was a difference. The audience. They set off a light in her. A light that made every single individual--male or female--adore her. Almost as much as he did. Later tonight, he would be her audience of one. He prayed she'd seduce him with the same enthusiasm she used on the crowd. Same evening 11 PM Hank pulled Charlotte into an alleyway and pushed her against the wall. She lifted one perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Can I help you?" she asked. She could feel his erection through all the layers between them. Tuxedo and overcoat for him; heavily beaded gown and full-length mink coat for her. He pushed his pelvis even closer. "Only you can help me, baby." She didn't have to push him away. She didn't have to lecture him. Her clear green eyes looked deeply into his and he knew. He moved back and gave her ample space. "I would die for you," he whined. "You do know that, don't you?" "Of course I do. All in due time. All I ask for now is that you treat me like a lady until I give you permission to do otherwise. Understood?" He swallowed hard. She was a difficult woman but unlike any other. He wanted her. The wait, no matter how tortuous, would be worth it. "Yes. Anything for you, Charlotte." She stepped up to him and put her hand on the crook of his elbow. "Let's go. My feet are beginning to get cold and I need more champagne." The elegant couple left the alley and headed toward the Plaza Hotel to celebrate her triumphant opening night performance. January 27, 2000 New York City Hank woke with a start. "Charlotte," he whispered in the darkness. He sat up in bed and brushed his pajama-clad arm across his face. His eyes felt gritty. He went into the bathroom and put in his teeth. Then he pulled out an eye-lining pencil and accented his lower lids. He stepped back and looked at his features. His tired eyes no longer saw wrinkles and a hairline that had lost the battle and retreated long ago. He saw a damned fine looking young man. "Like Montgomery Clift," he thought. He walked into the bedroom to gather the clothes he wanted to wear for this occasion. He looked toward the bed and could almost see her again. Her back leaning against the pillows; long red hair splayed out as if a set decorator had arranged every strand. He came to her in worship that night. Anything she would have wanted, he would have given. Even his life. He dressed in his tuxedo and left the overcoat in the closet. It was cold but he wouldn't notice. He was on a mission. He needed to prove his love. Once and for all. He needed to show Charlotte that his devotion was total and complete. The old man walked out of the residential hotel and down several dark city streets until he found the one he was looking for. The alley was still there--untouched by years of city improvements and the elevation of new buildings. He was not alone. A homeless man was huddled by the dumpster, sleeping as soundly as possible. Hank walked to the wall and pressed himself against the brick. He could almost feel the beaded dress against his chest. Smell her perfume. Sense her disdain. He stood back. She wanted respect. She wanted adoration. She wanted a level of devotion that was total and complete and, until he proved himself, she wanted nothing to do with him. Fine. He would give her a demonstration. It was time. He pulled out a container from the inside of his tuxedo jacket. He opened it and poured the lighter fluid all over himself. "I would die for you, Charlotte," he said, and struck a match. March 20, 2000 6:15 AM Mulder's Apartment He heard the alarm clock go off and let it ring for a moment. He didn't want to open his eyes, pretty much knowing what he would find. He mentally braced himself for the worst. Maybe he'd be surprised. Life doesn't always have to suck, does it? "Show time," he thought as he opened his eyes and turned directly to the nightstand to switch off the blaring alarm. He took a quick, deep breath before turning to his right, his mouth poised for a smile, in case he needed it. He didn't. "Fuck," he said out loud. To himself. To his empty apartment. He got out of bed and opened the shade to the outside world. A cold, rainy, gray day. Welcome to the real world. Hoover Building 8:45 AM Mulder's mood had not improved. Being summoned to Skinner's office five minutes after he entered the basement didn't help matters. Being told Scully was already with Skinner--before 9 AM--clinched it. After being waved through to the inner sanctum by Kimberly, Mulder opened the door to find Skinner and Scully in their usual places. "Hail, hail. . .the gang's all here," Mulder said briefly, taking his seat, lacing his fingers and cupping both hands over one knee. Scully looked up with a half smile and Skinner nodded a greeting. "Agent Mulder, let me bring you up to speed." Was that a dig? Because if it was, Mulder refused to show remorse for not arriving as early as Scully had. It was a normal, working day as far as he was concerned. No one ever threw him a party for all the times he started working before dawn. "You are leaving for Los Angeles this afternoon," Skinner informed him. "Oh? Are we doing another movie, sir?" Mulder asked, dryly. A small grimace passed over Skinner's face before he continued. "Four deaths over the last three and a half months. All--rather unusual." Skinner slowed down a bit--his attention momentarily diverted by Scully. She didn't notice. She seemed to be too busy staring at her hands. Why shouldn't she? She didn't have to pay attention. According to Skinner, she had been "brought up to speed" eons ago. When he saw that Mulder had taken note of his obvious distraction, Skinner dropped his eyes back to the paperwork before him. "The first one occurred in January. The apparent suicide of Hank Costas. Rather well known Broadway producer in the 50s and 60s. Doused himself with lighter fluid and set himself on fire in an alley on 53rd street in New York City. Second one--Jim Downey. Retired career military. Drank rat poison with his warm milk before bed. Third and fourth--well, you probably heard about this one. Two old time actors--getting together for a publicity shoot for an old friend--stabbed each other during a mock duel." "And the X-file is. . ." Mulder prompted, catching Skinner in a sneak peek again. Skinner looked down at his notes, seemingly searching for a bit of information held within. Mulder cast a sidelong glance at the object of Skinner's furtive glances. Scully had shifted position since he had first entered the office. Her leg was crossed--in the opposite direction from where he was sitting--and her rather tight white blouse had pulled down just enough to show a very clear bruise on the rise of her left breast. Great. "The two apparent suicides left notes," Skinner continued. "Mr. Costas left one saying, 'I would die for you, Charlotte.' Mr. Downey left a note reading, 'Charlotte--I always keep my promises.' And Gary Lawrence and Mark Burns were both caught on video tape before the dueling scene was supposed to be filmed, openly arguing about Charlotte." "Charlotte?" "Charlotte Colby." "The old movie star?" "The one and only," Skinner said with the air of a man who had a former crush on said actress. "So? It's odd but there are fans and there are fanatics. I still don't get the X-file." "The X-file is that these men were all involved with Miss Colby at one time or another but hadn't seen her in years. No contact whatsoever. They were all old men. All, in some ways, killing themselves or each other for her. They had gone on to lead normal lives after their breakups, Mulder. They weren't carrying torches for years." "So, let me get this straight. I have to turn somersaults to get you to approve travel on some very clearly defined, genuine X-files and now, we're traveling across the country on a potentially high profile case that more than likely has nothing whatsoever to do with them. On whose whim?" Skinner did not flinch. "Charlotte Colby was once involved--had connections--with someone here. A retired someone--rather high up in the ranks. A nervous retired someone who feels he might be possessed by whatever spirit is moving these men to do themselves in. convinced it's an X-file. He requested your assignment. Does that answer all your questions to your satisfaction, Agent?" Mulder smirked. "Absolutely. I don't suppose the Bureau is going to be putting us up at the Beverly Hills Hotel for our troubles?" "No." "Damn. Liked the bathtubs and the champagne there. Well, that's that, then." Mulder stood up and walked toward the door. He briefly looked back to see Scully rising from her seat. He realized she hadn't said one word during the entire meeting and barely glanced in his direction. He caught Skinner in one last, quick look at Scully's blouse. Busted. He looked at Mulder with a question in his eyes. Mulder simply scowled and Skinner gave up; his silent question unanswered or answered in whatever direction his own imagination decided to take him. "I expect to be given daily progress reports, Agents. That will be all." "Thank you, Sir," Scully said. Mulder thought. In the hallway, she surprised him. "Look, Mulder. I'm going home to pack. I'll meet you at the airport, okay?" "Sure. You might want to change your blouse." She looked at him, a question and a challenge in her eyes. "When you sit a certain way, you can see. . ." He wanted to run a finger over her cleavage to point out the exact spot but settled on training his eyes there. She looked down and buttoned another button. Other than that, her expression didn't change. "I'll wear a sweater. Thank you for telling me." "It's the least I could do." She looked up at him sharply. God. He wanted to wring her neck. Or pull her into a kiss. Instead, he fell back to a long-established pattern. Attack first; think later. "For having the gall to leave a mark that no water or silence can erase. The least I can do is have the decency to give you the opportunity to find other methods to cover up your mistake." He turned and quickly went into the elevator. He watched Scully sigh and head toward the door to the stairwell as the elevator doors closed. End of Chapter One Chapter Two March 20, 2000 Somewhere over Colorado 6 PM Scully leaned back against her seat and tried to relax her neck muscles. Reading the files in front of her several times over had brought on a definite kink. This was an unwelcome addition to the already existing tension of pretending to believe Mulder was sleeping when she knew he wasn't. She had to make things better and there really was no better place than in the plane. She ran her finger over the hand he had resting against his knee. He brought it back with a jerk. "I'm sorry," she said. "No. It's all right. You just startled me," he said, turning away from her slightly. "That's not what I meant. I'm sorry about this morning." He closed his eyes again. "I don't want to talk about it, Scully." "We have to, Mulder. Please." He looked at her, not bothering to conceal the pain and anger he felt. "We had this discussion. Yesterday evening you told me why you bolted from my bed yesterday morning. I was hurt but understood. This morning, you did it again. I'm beyond hurt and understand absolutely nothing. What can you say that's going to help make sense of this?" "I--just got scared." "Great. The woman who can face liver eating mutants takes one look at my puss in the morning and leaves before the sun can fully rise." She ignored his flippancy. "Mulder, I've been trying to put it all in perspective. These last few days have been so strange for me. I've not only felt more open to all the extreme possibilities presented to me but I've acted on those feelings. I don't fully understand why, myself. I have always tried to balance my instincts with my rational side but you and I both know that the rational side tends to dominate. I certainly don't normally make life-altering decisions on the spur of the moment." "I didn't ask you to come to my bed, Scully. That was your idea. You had your little epiphany and crawled in and if I had been thinking clearly, I might have stopped you to ask if you were sure of what you were doing. But forgive my stupidity--I was so fucking happy you made the decision to finally let yourself love me that I just went along with your un-Scullyish behavior. I should have known better." "No. I'm not making myself clear. I was ready. I was sure. About us." "Then why the hell did you leave? And, okay--you explained. Twice now. Yesterday, you were scared of us. Today, you are scared of your own actions. But the end result is the same. You ran out the same fucking way two mornings in a row. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me." "You're channeling my mom, Mulder," she smiled but her attempt at levity was met with a grimace. "I'm not trying to 'fool' anyone. Least of all you. I would never intentionally hurt you but, I--you were so intense, Mulder." "I don't want to talk about this here." "Mulder--this is the perfect place to talk about it. You can't run from me." "Oh, well, too bad we didn't make love up here. Maybe you would have stayed afterwards." Scully gave a brief, unamused smile. "You were so intense, Mulder. We usually deal in subtleties. The things you said and the things we did. . ." He turned to look directly in her face as he spoke. He kept his voice down to a controlled whisper but the emotion was there. "Fuck subtlety. I'm sick of talking in riddles, Scully. That's all we do. Say just enough to keep the other one guessing but never stating exactly what we mean. We do it all the time. Skinner--even he does it. Probably learned from us. He doesn't come out and tell us that he has some chicken-shit assignment to appease some paranoid old coot and we're the only crackpots suitable for the job. He doesn't come out and ask if I gave you that massive hickey on your chest or if you're seeing someone behind both our backs even though his eyes are fucking falling out of his head at the sight. I'm so sick of this. You were in my bed. You were soft and warm and finally--I thought--mine. Damned right I was going to tell you every thing in my heart and head. I had been storing it up for so long and thought, foolishly, that it was a pretty good occasion to lay my cards on the table. And as for the things we did--I didn't hear one word of complaint while we were doing them." "There was nothing to complain about, Mulder. That's not it at all. It's just--I'm used to living in a state of denial. Maybe if it had been less intense of an experience, I wouldn't have felt the enormity of my decision in such a way. I ready for it. In a more controlled, maybe less passionate, way. Real life is very different than the scenarios we run through our minds. I had no time to think and in the morning, with you asleep. . .it just hit me and I couldn't stop myself from leaving. Either time. I tried but I guess I'm just too used to the denial. It's so much easier." "You imagined our first time together as basically. . .what? Tame? Dull, even?" "No. I pictured it as being nice." Mulder gave a short bitter laugh. "Well, sorry to have over-exceeded your expectations. I can see your point of view. I do tend to order a full lunch and damn the consequences, while you stick to your yogurt and bee pollen and worry whether it will go straight to your ass. We're very different. No reason to believe we'd be any more compatible in bed than out." Scully didn't quite like the look on his face. She liked his next words even less. "Well, fine. We'll just go back to easy." "What?" "We'll go back to the way we were two days ago. No. We'll go back to the way we were last week. Before you met up with Daniel again and decided to take your 'hot for teacher' hormones and use them up on me. No harm, no foul." She knew he was striking out in any way that would hurt but she was determined to remain calm and reason with him. "I love you. Only you. I told you so, and God knows, I don't take those words lightly," she said softly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. His eyes suddenly closed tighter but not before Scully saw a trace of moisture try to escape from under his now closed lids. He gave up the snide remarks and the fight. "Two days ago, we had a partnership and I had hope for more. This morning, I woke up and felt like a fuck buddy who didn't even realize that was my role in life." "It's not. I just need time to get adjusted. I'm used to depriving myself, Mulder. I don't know--there's just part of me that's completely frightened to take what I want. Like it will all disappear because I'm finally being selfish. That's all it is. I know it sounds like some awful line--but it really is 'me, not you.' I'm sorry you are suffering the consequences but I just don't know how to make it any easier on either of us. It's something I have to work out. . ." She touched his shoulder and he did not flinch. He did not open his eyes, either. She'd have to settle for that. For now. Sunrise Hotel Los Angeles, California 9 PM Mulder hesitated before knocking on the door to her hotel room. He had a problem. As a trained psychologist, a woman approached him and basically gave him a pretty decent self-diagnosis. He wanted to forgive her completely. He was too tired to continue this. Too tired to fight. He believed her when she told him she loved him. And really, what else mattered? There really was nothing to forgive. No one could completely predict or dictate another's person's actions or reactions. She felt and did what she felt she needed to at the moment and he'd have to live with it. But damn it, there was another part of him that was not so willing to let it all go. They had discussed their problem in detail the night before and she turned around and did the same thing all over again knowing it would hurt him. What guarantee did he have that this wouldn't happen again and again, with him expected to understand--aga in and again. He almost wanted to check his shoulders. The good angel versus the bad angel. Were they sitting there, dictating his thoughts? He drew in a quick breath. He'd have time to psychoanalyze himself and/or Scully in more detail later. Now, he had to let her know that they were still on-duty. And it was time he put all the personal baggage aside and act accordingly. He rapped on the door and she let him in. "We have an audience with the Queen tonight," he said. "Tonight?" "She doesn't do mornings, apparently. She does, however, stay up all hours. Anyway, she wants to see us at 11 so I thought we might go over a few things. Plan a strategy so we can wrap up this case and get back home." "We just got here. Don't you like L.A.?" she asked, knowing the answer. "I like it when we are being pampered. This is not exactly pampering." He took in her room. Pretty much a mirror image of his own across the hall. "It's a standard room, Mulder. We've seen worse." "That we have," he sat down at the functional desk and pulled out a pad of stationary the hotel provided. He spoke as he wrote. "So--there are no leads to follow up on Hank Costas. He was a widower; two grown children with families of their own. They had moved out of New York long ago and didn't have more than annual holiday contact with their father. He was somewhat active in Broadway charities and was a regular at a senior center in town but had never mentioned Charlotte in a more than casual way to anyone. Autopsy report?" Scully stopped her unpacking and chimed in. "Damage was consistent with the method of suicide. Third degree burns all over his body--mostly on the head, face, chest and upper back. He was DOA upon arrival at St. Luke's. That was about all that was noted. Of course, no one was looking for anything specific or out of the ordinary because it seemed like a pretty cut and dried suicide. And his remains were cremated. . ." "So, dead end with him. Pun intended. Next case--Jim Downey. He lived here. In L.A. Adult daughter nearby. We can try to set up something with her tomorrow and with the producer of that promo commercial or whatever they were filming when the two golden oldies killed each other in such a grand fashion. We'll need to go to the County coroner to pick up the complete autopsy reports since the LA office decided to do our work for us and give a summary instead of the files themselves." Scully smiled. Trust Mulder to expect her to make connections that no one else did. At the very least, he still believed in her--profession ally. 11:25 PM Drawing room Charlotte Colby's estate Scully found herself blinking several times wondering whether she should schedule a second complete eye examination for the year. There was something--muted--about the room they were brought into. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. They were definitely in Hollywood now, she thought. From the huge mansion and massive property to the several members of Charlotte Colby's entourage they had already encountered. And still, even though it was past the time they had all agreed to meet, there was no sign of the star herself. Well, other than the massive portrait of a much younger Charlotte gracing the prime spot over the blazing fireplace. Excess. The fireplace lit and glowing while the central air conditioning was running on high. The rich brocade chairs that both she and Mulder had been escorted to. She felt oddly uncomfortable. While the room was lovely, it was a place for lounging clothes made of rich materials, necks draped with precious stones and mouths stuffed with bonbons. Not a well-tailored navy blue pantsuit, a small gold cross and a stomach that was nearly empty due to the fact that she really hadn't wanted to break the peace treaty she seemed to have struck with Mulder after their plane ride. She looked across at the man himself. He was already looking at her. Surprisingly, he gave her a small smile. A warmth instantly filled her. It didn't take much. "Well," he said, "how do I look airbrushed?" Shit, that was the answer. The lighting was that strange pink that, together with the deeper rose walls had an almost surreal effect. It looked like they were literally viewing things through rose-colored glasses. The double doors to the room suddenly burst open. "FBI!" A melodic but loud voice dramatically called out. They looked up and there she was. Framed by the large entranceway to this "drawing" room. The hallway behind her was no longer fully lit by the lights that had been on when they entered a half-hour before. They had been dimmed and two huge candelabras--containing about a dozen candles each--burned brightly behind her, making the silken material of her light mauve caftan shimmer in an other-wordly glow. Scully and Mulder rose to their feet as Charlotte entered with both arms extended. She came close enough to grab on to each of the agent's hands--not for a real handshake but for some sort of Hollywood "grasp of genuine warmth." "FBI--I am so sorry. You know, I just have so much to do lately. I really do have to learn how to slow down. I'm getting a bit advanced in the age department, you know," she said, almost scoffing at her own words. Scully thought. Even with the odd lighting, the freshly dyed red hair and the fairly recent face-lift, Charlotte somehow looked every one of her 76 years and then some, she thought. Everything was perfect but there was just--something--which revealed her advanced age. "Sit, sit--we will get to know each other and help my poor friends somehow. FBI--this is my first contact with the Bureau. I must admit, I am excited. I did a spy movie once, you know." "Um, Ms. Colby, I am Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Special Agent Fox Mulder." Charlotte let out what could only be described as a squeal of joy. "Special Agents! I love it. Please. You must call me Charlotte. We shall be friends." Scully chanced a look in Mulder's direction. He looked down at the pad he had in his hands but not before she caught a small blush rising to his cheeks. Was he that close to the warmth of the fire or did he actually fall for her bullshit? "Ms. Colby. . ." a sharp clearing of the throat was enough chastisement. Scully decided to play by the diva's rules. "Charlotte. We would like to ask you about the men who have died in the last few months. You seem to be the only connection between all of them and we were hoping you might tell us something that would somehow shed some light on these odd deaths." "Of course. Anything I can do for my poor, dear, lost friends," her emerald green eyes shone with tears. Right on cue. "The first death was Hank Costas," Mulder prompted. Charlotte took hold of the edge of her gown and swirled just the right amount of material to the front as she sat on the couch. "Hank. One of the true loves of my life. Are you familiar with my films?" she asked suddenly, focusing all her attention on Scully. "Um. . .I believe I saw the. . .Christmas-themed movie." "Ah, yes. 'Snowflakes in Savannah.' A personal favorite. I loved doing the accent. And you?" Now her attention was focused on Mulder. He looked down at his pad and the color in his face rose again. "I've seen quite a few of your films, Miss Colby." "Charlotte, Special Agent darling Fox." Good God. He was smitten. The only word that truly fit the situation. Who else would he let get away with calling him something like that? "Charlotte," he said softly. She gave him a smile before turning, once again, to Scully. "Well, my dear Agent Dana--I did a series of films. It was under the old studio system and I was working constantly. Constantly! Series were popular for as long as the movie industry was in existence. 'Perils of Pauline,' 'Ma and Pa Kettle,' the 'Zorro' films. Well, they wanted me to be associated with this type of thing so I starred in a series of romances. Different actors in each but all were very dramatic with the men practically falling over their feet for me. They became known as the 'I would die for you' series because, at one point in the movie, each man would say it to my character and would later follow through with that promise, leaving me a poor bereaved wife or lover. It was very meaty." "But Hank wasn't an actor. . .Mi. . .Charlotte," Mulder interrupted. "No, Special Fox, he wasn't. I had done about eight of those films in a row and I was tired of it. Well, maybe not tired, exactly, but I didn't want to be typecast. At that point, Kate Hepburn was appearing on Broadway. Gave her career a kick in the behind, if you will excuse my expression. Everyone was talking about how genuinely talented an actress she was. No--actually, they called her an actor--a step above, apparently--all because she did stage work between films. I wanted to do that as well. Hank was a producer and he loved me. He wanted me to be happy. . .so, I came to New York and starred in a show he produced just for me. It was lovely, really." "And did you love him?" Scully asked. "Didn't I say so, dear Dana? He was one of the great loves of my life." "Yet your relationship didn't last?" Mulder asked. "It lasted for as long as it was meant to last. One year. I spent time on stage and went back to do another movie and--I guess we had what you'd now call a bi-coastal relationship. He wanted more. And when push came to shove--he wasn't giving up his career for mine. Men generally didn't in those days." "Did you resent that?" Scully asked. "Young lady--of course I did. Not that I would have stayed with him, or he with me. It was a sensible choice but I expected him to make that sacrifice anyway. It was natural." "Natural in what way?" "It's love. Love is sacrifice. It's adoration." "But you weren't willing to do that for him." "Of course not. He would never bother asking." "Well, forgive me for saying this but from what you've told us it sounds a bit one-sided. To expect from him what you weren't willing to give of yourself." Mulder gave her a sharp look. She pressed on. Let him be the fan. She was being the investigator she needed to be. "One-sided? No. He gave me what I needed and I gave him affection. That's a fair and equal exchange. As I said before, it lasted for as long as it was meant to last. In the end, we both knew neither one of us was willing to make any permanent sacrifices. So, it wasn't really as one-sided as you might think, Agent Dana." Scully could see she would get nowhere with this line of questioning. "When did you last see Hank, Charlotte?" "Hmmm. . .years and years ago." "Did you speak with him on the telephone?" "No. Never." "No contact at all? Letters? Messages from other people?" "Well. I heard about him from people we had both known in New York but no--no contact. He was one person I remembered completely so I didn't even have to consult him for my book." "Your book?" Mulder was suddenly at the edge of his seat. Scully could imagine him being first in line at Barnes and Noble. "My memoirs, FBI Fox. Almost complete. Just have one last chapter and some polishing to do here and there." He smiled softly. "I would love to read it." She stood up. "Well, then you shall! I will have my assistant get you a copy of the latest manuscript tomorrow. Now, I hate to cut this meeting short but I do have some more meetings this evening." Scully stood up as well, "Charlotte--we still haven't discussed the other three men." "We will, my dear. They aren't going anywhere, are they? Oh, I guess I shouldn't say that. That was very naughty of me but it is true. Sadly." She pouted a bit. "Tomorrow evening. I promise we will discuss them all. Ta, my friends. Until tomorrow," and with that, the whirlwind known as Charlotte Colby left the room. Scully looked up at Mulder, who was staring at Charlotte's retreating figure as she climbed up the stairs leading from the main entrance. One minute later, the hall lights came back on and a servant was quickly dousing the flames of each of the candles. Mulder led Scully out of the drawing room in silence. March 21, 2000 1:30 AM On the road from Charlotte's estate Scully barely waited until they were on the highway before turning to Mulder in the darkness of the car. "You saw her films, Mulder? 'Quite a few?'" "Yes." "I didn't know she had a blue movie series as well." "She doesn't. She was a big favorite of my mom's and they used to play on the late show and the late-late show. We'd stay up sometimes to watch. Nice little bonding moments, I guess." "Really? I wouldn't think those movies would appeal to you." "They were pretty melodramatic. She was--really mesmerizing, Scully. She had these huge eyes that focused on some poor schmuck and he would go off and die a usually violent or dramatic death while she pined away for him forever. It was a refreshing change from my life where, after their divorce, my parents didn't seem to give a crap whether the other lived or died." Scully looked down at her hands. She should have known there would be deeper meaning to this small fascination. "Hey," Mulder said, breaking her out of her reverie. "Don't do that." "Don't do what?" "Don't feel sorry for me every time I tell you something about my childhood. I'm not bemoaning the fact. I'm just stating life as it was. No big deal." "I give a crap about you, Mulder," she said quietly. "Be still my foolish heart. My beloved doth speak words of deep passion." "You know what I mean." He took a deep breath and released it. Something eased inside him. Something had been gradually easing inside him since their conversation on the plane. She did give a crap about him. She did love him. Nothing else mattered. Life, and love, no longer seemed quite as dramatic as it had for the last few days. A bit convoluted, yes. But the level of drama was really up to him, in this case. He could milk his hurt feelings for all they were worth, or accept the underlying situation and work with Scully to get where they both wanted to go. "Yes, I do know what you mean," he finally answered. "I sometimes think you believe that I don't. Give a shit. Care." "I know you care. I know you love me but--Scully--I gotta tell you that leaving my bed after something so earth shattering. . .was not an ego booster." She could hear just the smallest bit of ironic amusement in his voice but decided to take it seriously. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what else I can say. " "Nothing. Say nothing. That was the last time I'm mentioning it. And only to spell out the fact that it is my ego speaking louder than anything else. Listen--I don't know. I've been thinking about it all day. I guess maybe, odd as it sounds--we need more time. So--take it." "Really?" She quietly asked. "Really." He received a smile in exchange. "You promise you won't run off with Charlotte in the meantime, will you, Special darling Fox?" Mulder let out a genuine huff of laughter. "I'll try to resist, dear Dana." She reached out and ran her hand gently up and down his arm. He looked down at her fingers and she cupped as much of his flesh as she could and squeezed gently. Soon. Everything would be fine. Soon. End of Part 2 Part 3 March 21, 2000 8 AM Mulder woke up alone in his hotel room. Feeling good. Surprisingly. She hadn't been in his bed the night before so there was no aching disappointment at the empty space beside him. They had made a bit of progre ss by talking about it yesterday. Airing out some emotions; some difficulties with the recent change in their relationship. He had been somewhat na=EFve to believe that making love automatically came with a fully realized "relationship." And it had been a knee-jerk reaction to think he could just crawl into a small fetal ball and lick his own wounds. He couldn't go back to the relationship they had two weeks ago any more tha n Scully could. So what if things weren't as full of hearts and flowers as he originally expected? He loved Scully. He knew she loved him. They may not have a conventional relationship but then again, they never had. It was foolish to believe that convention would have taken over in their romantic life. She needed her space. He did, as well. If those individual needs were on a different schedule at the moment, so be it. They had put way too much in their relationship before being lovers to suddenly stop being open to understanding each other after. He smirked to himself. All those years at Oxford finally paid off. He could talk some sense into himself once every decade or so and knock the old bad angel straight back to hell. He stretched as he pulled himself out of bed, when he heard the knock on hi s door. He walked over and opened the door for Scully. "You're up early," he said, as he watched her walk in, fully dressed with a small stack of files in her arms. "The coroner dropped these off on his way to work this morning. Saved us a trip." "And interrupted your beauty sleep," he said, taking note of the dark splotches beneath her eyes. "I'll use more concealer later. I wasn't sleeping anyway." "How come?" he asked, pretty much knowing the answer. She just looked directly into his eyes. He shrugged. "I have to take a shower, Scully. Order up some room service and start reading." She walked over to the room service menu and gasped aloud as Mulder dropped a quick, open-mouthed kiss on the side of her neck. She shivered in response. "Good morning, by the way," he said before turning around and walking into the bathroom. He could feel her eyes on him until he quietly closed the door between them . One hour later, Scully finally put down the files and lifted the remnants o f a cold English muffin to her mouth. "Anything?" Mulder asked. "No. Jim Downey was in the early stages of Alzheimer's disease but from the evidence presented by the brain tissue, it should not have played a significant role in his suicide. Lawrence and Burns had nothing but the usu al afflictions of the elderly. Some arthritis, diabetes. . . all conditions seemed to be under control and nothing presents as contributing to sudden violent behavior." "Drugs?" "Medications, Mulder. And all prescription for the conditions I've already mentioned." "Funky tea? Small pin pricks?" She smiled. "No. And from the look of this entire report--they did a very thorough examination." "So," he said, resting against the back of his chair, "We could very well have an X-file after all." "Not necessarily," she said automatically. "Well," he quickly stood up, "it's now almost 9:30. I think it's safe to go visit Jim Downey's daughter. Unless everyone in this state is on diva-time.= " 2 hours later Veronica Meadows' home Veronica Meadows, Jim Downey's daughter, was in her early 50's. She sat on a veranda overlooking a huge yard. Mulder looked around, enjoying the view. Perfectly landscaped, perfectly manicured lawn on a perfect California day.= A far cry from the still cold and gray east coast. "My father knew about the Alzheimer's. He had been diagnosed a few months before." "Do you think he was upset enough to kill himself over it?" "That is probably the assumption most people make. But, no. I don't think s o. He was a man of great faith. And at the time of his death, really it was ju st the more subtle symptoms of Alzheimer's that were manifesting themselves. Occasional forgetfulness. Nothing major." "Why do you think he killed himself?" "I have no idea." The woman shook her head sadly and lifted a plate of cookies to offer to Mulder and Scully once again. They both shook their hea ds in refusal. "Do you think he killed himself?" Mulder asked as gently as he could. "Why? Why do you ask? Is there evidence that someone. . ." "No," Scully jumped in. "Absolutely not. All evidence points to suicide. We just wanted to investigate all possibilities--no matter how remote. Did he have any enemies?" "Agent Scully--if you asked me that thirty years ago, I would probably have said yes. He was career military. He was in charge of quite a few people in his day so I'm sure he made enemies. But now--he was an old retired gentlem an surrounded by other old retired gentlemen. They played golf. Went to each other's funerals. No. No enemies. I'm sure of it." "Not even from the distant past?" Mulder continued to press. "I suppose anything is possible but I really doubt it." Scully decided to examine another angle. "He chose rat poison in his milk as the method of suicide. When you heard this--was there any connection--to anything at all--no matter how trivial i t may have seemed?" "He didn't live in a tenement, if that's what you're going for. He lived in a retirement community. Nice, clean, well cared for apartments. There was no need for rat poison. Which meant he had to go out and buy it. Which meant h e planned it and yet. . ." "Yes?" Mulder prompted. "Yet he didn't leave me a note saying goodbye. Only left one for that actress." "What do you know about his relationship with her?" "Relationship? I don't know. It seemed more like a fling from the stories I heard. During the Korean War, she went to visit the troops. They took these starlets and paraded them in skimpy dresses so the troops could feel--I don 't know--alive for a moment. Forget their troubles in a rush of horniness. She took a liking to my dad and he did to her. Apparently, they had a pretty short affair. That was the end of it. I mean, fathers don't--in general--talk about their love lives to their daughters but my mom used to bring it up. She found it kind of funny that he went from Charlotte Colby t o her. I think she found it somewhat flattering in a bizarre sort of way." "And he never had contact with her again." "No. Never. He knew about this book she was writing but no direct contact." "And how did he know?" "Agents. . .legal representatives from the publishing company, I think." "Well, thank you very much for your help. May we call you if we need any further information?" Scully asked, standing up. "Of course. I really would like the closure that a little more knowledge would supply. It's terrible living with a complete mystery." Mulder smiled at her. "We'll do everything we can." The woman felt somewhat reassured. He didn't sound like the type of person who made hollow promises. 2 PM Hollywood soundstage "So, what could be more perfect? We find out about the book. So, if it's a hit--we'll do a little retrospective of Charlotte's work. She's sort of semi-underappreciated but, man, does she have a lot of movies. And since sh e is 'underappreciated' at the moment--we can get 'um cheap. So we went ahead and bought them. The whole damned lot. We decided to air them next month fo r the first time. Build up a bit of Charlotte mystique. Then, hopefully, the book will come out in another three to six months and boom--we can show the m again when we have the double whammy of the book and the films to build her into a true legend. And publicity, at this point, is cheap--if not downrigh t free. So--I go with it. Get the past to help build up interest for the future. Two old codgers like Lawrence and Burns get all dressed up and recreate a scene from one of Charlotte's movies. Still pining away after al l these years." "And you came up with this idea out of the blue?" Mulder asked Blaine Walke r: producer, director and general jack of all trades working exclusively with a cable movie channel. Fairly small time job in the entertainment industry; fairly big time ego. They were all in director's chairs on a nearly empty soundstage. Everyone was "taking ten." "Well, yeah. Me and Jeff. That's Charlotte's agent. Jeff Stevens. He did th e initial pushing to the network." "And the men--Lawrence and Burns--were receptive?" "Sure. They were flattered. Ate it all up with a spoon, I tell ya. Wives muttering about their bad bathroom habits and how they don't get it up anymore and someone offering them the chance to go out there and relive the glory days. . .what's not to love? Oh, excuse me, Miss." He said, looking a t Scully's somewhat off-put expression. Mulder unsuccessfully suppressed a smile. "Okay. Then what happened--in your words?" "Got the codgers here. Made things look like they did 45 years ago--but bigger--better. Even got their old makeup guy here. Well, he was the only o ne from that crew alive, actually. I checked around. It's somewhat of an old home-buddy-buddy atmosphere, right? Okay. So, they're ready. Action! They s ay their lines--a bit melodramatic--but that's in keeping with the old style a nd the natural ham in all of us. Then, all of a sudden--someone changes the name of the female they are supposed to be dueling over and uses Charlotte's real name instead. I don't remember which one it was. That wasn't in the script. They are supposed to be dueling over the character Charlotte played in Sayonara Sunrise. Her name w as Betty in that flick. So, one of the coots mentions Charlotte's name and the y are off and arguing. So, I'm sitting back thinking--damn. These old farts a re having a little fun at my expense and I kind of lean back to enjoy the show . Hell, it's early. We can waste a little time. And they are going at it--verbally--back and forth. They aim their 'pistols' at each other--bang,= bang. Nothing, of course, happens because the guns are fake. So, they both run off set--one goes up to the catering table and pulls a bread knife--the other takes a scissor that someone left sitting around and before I know it--they go at each other and there is freaking blood all ove r the goddamned place. The one that got stabbed in the neck died almost instantly. And the other--died at the hospital." "Charlotte--was on the scene?" Scully asked. "No. We weren't going to do her at all. I don't know how much publicity she will eventually do for the book--but we thought it would be better to do th e spots without her. Leave her young and fresh in the minds of the audience. If two old guys battle over an old woman--well, it just makes things pathetic,= doesn't it?" Scully swallowed the retort that came to her lips. Mulder leaned forward on the director's chair. "In the movie--the Sayonara Sunrise one--they killed each other with guns?" "No. It was a sword fight. We thought we'd modern it up a bit by using guns ." "I see. And in the movie--how did both of them end up dying? I mean--if the y were dueling--one would die and one would live." "You should see the movie. That was the beauty of it, my man. They cheated.= Both of the lovers cheated by coming at each other full blast. No rules of duelsmanship. They both ran each other through with swords." "So, in effect--these older versions were also--dying in the same way as their characters--just using different weapons because there weren't any swords around." "Yeah. I guess. Finally let that old senile dementia get to them." Scully considered giving the director a brief lecture on the ailments of th e elderly--fact versus fiction--but thought better of it. She was sure he didn't care one way or the other. They left the movie set shortly after the now ritual exchange of business cards and cell phone numbers. Golden Dove Diner 3:55 PM "That's interesting," Mulder said, adjusting his napkin over his slacks. Th ey had decided to go out and have a late-lunch/early dinner even though they knew it would be a long evening and they would probably have to fit yet another meal into their schedule at some point during the night. "What?" "The connection between method of death in the film and method of death of these two actors." "It's coincidence, Mulder. Nothing more. Mr. Costas and Mr. Downey weren't actors." "No. But it's a place to start." "Not really. We asked Downey's daughter about the rat poison and she couldn 't explain it." "But maybe Charlotte can." She leaned back and wiped her fingers on the napkin in front of her. "Maybe," she said doubtfully. He stared straight in her eyes. He knew this Scully so well. The working Scully. The skeptical Scully. He wanted more o f the Scully he didn't know as well. "What kind of movies did you like as a kid, Scully? Doctor movies? Adventur es on the high seas?" "I liked old romantic comedies." "Really?" "Yes, really. What's so odd about that?" "I don't know. I guess we haven't always had the opportunity to laugh that much." "We've had our moments." "I guess we have. So, you like all that happily ever after stuff, huh?" "In an idealized--two hour format. Yes." He smiled softly. "Favorite actor?" "I don't know, Mulder. I liked them all really." "Liar." It was her turn to smile. "Well, I didn't have anyone I drooled over as you do with Charlotte Colby, if that's what you want to know." "If Cary Grant came and sat down next to you right now--you wouldn't drool?= " "I would absolutely salivate. The articles I could write over the medical a nd mystical miracle of a long-dead actor coming back to life would be an incredible opportunity." "Ah. Romance is alive and well in Scullyland." She sighed and looked him in the eye. His eyes and voice softened in respon se. "Bet you never thought you'd be in the middle of living one of those screwball comedies, did you, Scully?" "Comedy, Mulder?" "You said we had our moments." "Moments. But more moments of high drama." "So, that rules out a happy ending?" "I hope not. Although, we very different." "That's always managed to work for us, though." "You didn't seem to think so yesterday." "That was my penis talking. Its sensibilities were offended. You came to my bed aiming for 'nice,' for heaven's sake." "I'm not sure I even know what I was aiming for. I just wanted to be with you. Life without a script. You take the action but aren't sure of the next step." "I could always act out the tried and true, 'I would die for you" scenario.= That would prove my intentions and give us a direction." "No. That's been done already. Many times." She looked off through the somewhat foggy diner window at the parking lot. "You've been willing to die for me many, many times. . ." "As you have for me," he pointed out, softly. "I guess I have." He leaned over and quickly squeezed her hand, bringing her attention back t o the present time. "The movies aint got nothing on us, Scully. But it is time to go for the happily ever after soon. " She reached over and took a sip of his coffee, smiling with her eyes over t he rim of the cup. 5PM Greg Amanti's home Charlotte's eyes. It had been so long since he looked into them. A gasp of surprise came from his lips as he realized he was actually looking into the deep, clear green depths once again. He had almost forgotten what it felt like. To be taken to another place where nothing else mattered; nothing els e existed. "You're tired, Greg. You've told me so much today and now you should rest. Should I come back later?" "No. Tomorrow. I need to know I can see you tomorrow." "Fine. I will be back. Tomorrow. Today, you told me; tomorrow you can show me." End of Part 3 Part 4 March 21, 2000 8:15 PM The second trip to Charlotte's house was very different than the first. They came a few minutes before the scheduled appointment while things were still being set up for the meetings of the evening. They were led into the drawing room but could hear quite a bit of motion in the hallway beyond. After a few moments, the door opened and an elderly man walked straight through the room and over to a small table and chair on the opposite side of the room from where Mulder and Scully were sitting. After pouring himself a very generous amount of whatever brownish liquor was in the bottle, he sat down in the chair with a groan. Mulder was half-standing up, wondering if he should introduce himself when the man waved him back down. "I know who you are. FBI agents. Donna and whatever the hell name Charlotte decided to mutilate in order to come up with 'Foxy.'" "Actually, I'm Fox Mulder and this is my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully." He gave another half-mast wave. He looked absolutely worn out as he lifted the liquid to his lips and took a hefty swallow. "George. George Jenkins. Charlotte's makeup artist." Scully glanced at Mulder, surprise quickly passing over her face. George noticed it. "Yes, young lady. It strange. It's even strange to me. But I was one of the first makeup artists hired by the studios. I was trained by Max Factor himself. Charlotte had enough pull to have me as her 'personal' makeup man and strangely enough, she's not let me go yet. I think she does it because she loves toying with old gay guys. Payback for us not kissing her ass like the rest of the American males." "So you come in now and do her makeup for her in everyday life?" "You don't expect her to do it herself, do you, young lady? The woman was pampered beyond belief and got used to it. But, you got to hand it to her, she was also one very, very smart cookie. She hooked herself up with some very smart men who invested her money well, so she can afford to keep up this hedonistic life until the day the earth swallows her whole." "Um--you don't sound as if you like her that much. . ." Mulder gently suggested. George smiled. A genuine smile. "I love the old bat. She's my best friend. She really is. Every pampered cell in her body. I just wish--I wish we could both drop the act. The fact is--she's completely capable of putting on makeup herself. She just wants me around and doesn't really believe I'd come to see her every day if I weren't paid to do so. Well, hell--maybe she does need me. It takes quite a while to get a 76 year old woman looking 50 again--even with all her nips and tucks." Mulder leaned forward as a sudden connection was made. "George? Did you do the makeup for the commercial Gary Lawrence and Mark Burns were involved in?" "Yes. How did you know?" "Something the director said. Anyway--can you tell me if anything seemed odd? Did you know them from the old days?" "I knew them but didn't work on them then. As I said, I was exclusively Charlotte's. I did the makeup for them now because it was part of the publicity. They wanted to gather enough of the old crew together to make it seem as if they were sparing no expense to recreate the magic of Charlotte's films. In actuality, they were just hoping we were all so old we wouldn't even know the going-rate for people currently in our professions. Anyway--these guys aged. I mean, badly. Neither of them had any cosmetic work done and that's not something I'm used to seeing in this town. Virgin faces." "And you did your movie makeup magic?" "Sonny--there is no amount of makeup or Plaster of Paris, for that matter, that could fill those wrinkles. It was. . . undignified. Just like this whole shit-ass campaign to sell her book." "You don't approve?" Scully asked. "I don't. I don't mind Charlotte writing her memoirs. I think there is a medium sized market for it, at best. We have to face it. She was never a great actress. She was a good actress in a popular series of movies. Those who remember her, remember her. We should publish the damned thing on a limited scale and go after these old fans. But, no. God forbid you should actually do something sensible in this town. So, they are taking these older people--and hey, I'm one of them. I'm not saying we should all be in homes somewhere, secluded from the rest of the world. But we shouldn't be out parading ourselves and recreating old moments as old people pretending to be young. And just you wait--that is what they will do with Charlotte. They will put her in some dress reminiscent of one she used to wear--pull down that thinning Lady Clairol hair so it drapes over her shoulders and have her do some idiotic scene she did 45 years ago. And the semi-legend will become the joke of Hollywood. Some of her loyal fans will not care; some of her casual fans will just shake their heads at the old lady gone slightly batty and the rest of the public will remember her--and by extension--all of us, as laughingstocks." George finished his drink and poured another. Mulder tried to steer the conversation back to the original subject that they touched upon before George's diatribe against Hollywood. "Did you notice anything strange about Mr. Burns or Mr. Lawrence?" "Not a thing. They asked me about Charlotte. If I still kept in touch. I told them I had. They just inquired, casually, if she was doing well. I did their makeup and they got on the set. And they started quoting lines from the movie but used her name instead of her character's name. Then, they went off to the food services table like maniacs and grabbed knives or something. We all just thought it was a joke. Until they were lying there bleeding to death. Unreal." "In the original movie, which character used the words, 'I would die for you?'" Scully asked. "Ah--this was double your pleasure, Agent Scully. Both men did." Mulder frowned. He had quite a few questions Charlotte needed to address. Charlotte kept them waiting another half hour, during which time George took his decidedly less grouchy leave with Charlotte's chauffeur helping him along the way. Charlotte appeared in a red kimono. Black chopsticks adorned her upswept hair. After air kissing both Mulder and Scully near their cheeks, she sat down as if ready for an inquisition. "Charlotte--I really would like to cover all three of the men who have died. Tonight," Scully started. "Well, I will do my best. You know, I do have a life. I still have to work on my book after you leave and there are various appearances that have to be discussed. Jonathan is bringing down a copy of the book for you, by the way, Fox darling." "Um. Thank you. Let's get started then. Jim Downey?" he prodded. "Ah, Jim. Such a sweet man. And how I loved him. Let's see. We met at a USO show. Bob Hope had invited me. Nice man but between the three of us, I never did understand his humor. Anyway. . .we put on a show and we were doing this sketch--and Bob had arranged for Jim to be a small part of it. He was the captain of a troop and they all found it very amusing to see him up there--acting. I'm sure he got ribbed over it later. Anyway, he was terribly sweet and, well--we managed to meet later at the Officer's Club for a few drinks--and we did have a terribly brief love affair. That night and a few others before I headed back for the United States." "And did you continue to see him after he left the Army?" "No. I never saw him again." "Can you think of a reason why he'd use rat poison as a way of killing himself?" She shuddered. "Not at all. Horribly disgusting way to die, I would imagine." Scully turned the conversation to the other victims. "Gary Lawrence? Mark Burns? What was your relationship with each of these men, Miss. . .Charlotte." Charlotte leaned back against the sofa. Scully noticed her eyes looked much more tired than they had the previous evening. At her age, she probably should be conducting her business at a more reasonable hour. "We all have our wild moments, I guess. I normally dated one man at a time. No. That's not true, either. Dear Dana, we can discuss this because it's a different age. I used to fall in love very quickly. I didn't date as much as have relationships. I fell in love very quickly. I could date dozens of men but they would never get a second date if I didn't feel something for them. However, when I did feel something for someone--I took it to the next level, if you understand what I'm saying." Scully nodded. "Well, we started Sayonara Sunrise and I couldn't decide between Gary and Mark. They were both so different. Gary was tall, dark and handsome. Very intense. Much like our Fox here. Mark was fair and just. . .lovely. Poetry in motion, really. So, I saw them both." "And they both knew about each other." "Oh, yes. They did." "They didn't get along." "I wouldn't say that. They managed to keep a respectable distance from each other and were both trying to outdo each other in wooing me. But there was nothing violent or even unpleasant about their personal relationship." "How did those relationships end, Charlotte?" Mulder asked. "Mark and I parted company after the movie was completed. Actually, he met someone. The woman he would marry eventually. I believe he was still married to her at the time of his death. And Gary and I were friends for quite some time--at least six months--before we just--got tired of each other. I think he was married several times." "No contact since?" "No." "You mentioned your book and not having to speak with the first victim for research. Did you have to contact any of these gentlemen?" "No. Jonathan does it." "Jonathan?" "My co-writer. He feels we will have more objective information if a neutral party approaches them. No emotional blocking, as he puts it." "And is he the one who suggested the publicity shoot?" "He's one of the ones," a male voice said upon entering the room. Both Mulder and Scully looked up to see a man in his early thirties--dark red hair and green eyes, entering the room with several boxes. He put the boxes on the coffee table and shook both agents' hands. "Jonathan Morton." "My co-writer and twin, born 40 years later, of course. It was an unusual birth." Charlotte smiled. "Well, you certainly both have the same coloring," Scully remarked. "Not really. Hair is real. Eyes are enhanced through the use of colored contacts. Mine are a muddy sort of brown," he smiled, shaking her hand firmly. "Ah," Scully said, slightly disappointed that the bright, green depths were not "natural." Charlotte started rummaging through one box. "Ah. Here it is. Thank you, Jonathan. You are a peach. Fox, Dana--take a look. I have pictures." Mulder and Scully took seats on either side of Charlotte as she showed them pictures of all four of the men. Each one extremely different in looks and seemingly in demeanor. Mulder pointed to one picture. "Jim Downey?" "Yes." "This was the sketch you were talking about?" "Yes. A take-off on the balcony scene of Romeo and Juliet. Doesn't he look handsome?" Mulder nodded in a distracted way. "Did he--use the words--the ones from the movies? 'I would die for you' during that sketch?" "No. I don't think so. He did do it later though. Actually, he led the troops in a group 'I would die for you,' as a way of thanking me. It was extremely flattering to hear all those men say that--especially knowing they were going in to battle." "What about Hank Costas? Did he ever use that expression? A frown crossed her face. "Several times actually." "May I ask when?" "Darling, Fox! Some things really shouldn't be spoken of in polite company. I will say that he only said it once when we were in a more public place. It was opening night of my play and he was taking me home. He said it," the frown deepened, "in an alley, of all places. Not romantic at all. And it didn't impress me. Frankly, by that time, I was thoroughly sick of the expression." Mulder turned to Scully with a small smile of triumph on his face. Scully turned to Jonathan Morton. "Mr. Morton. . .you mentioned setting up the publicity shot between the two older actors? Can you tell us anything? Were you at the shoot?" "No. I had talked to both men before in a conference call and had met with each for background for the book. But this was several weeks before the shoot. Actually, I said I set it up but it was the brainchild of both myself and Charlotte's agent, Jeff. He's out of the country for a few weeks but I'm sure he'll speak with you when he gets back. Anyway, both men were very willing to talk about Charlotte and we thought--it would be a hoot. To many, it would be nice seeing these men who virtually dropped out of the business coming out and doing something again. And to those who didn't know them, it would build Charlotte's mystique. How these older men were still carrying a torch for her and willing to die for her character. We, of course, had no idea they were so. . .mentally unstable." "Is that how you look at it?" Scully asked. He turned his green gaze upon her. "Well, it must be, Agent Scully. What else could have made two grown men kill each other over a woman they hadn't seen in years?" "Did you bring the book, Jonathan?" Charlotte interrupted. "Of course. It's in the other box. Sorry we don't really have it in any kind of professional binding. It's more or less just a manuscript but you'll get the idea. We both are very proud of what we've done so far." "I'm sure it will be a fascinating story," Mulder said, accepting the box. "You are a fan, Charlotte tells me." "Yes." "Well, that's who we're writing it for. All of Charlotte's many, many fans," he said. His speech was as flamboyant as hers, Scully thought. Charlotte nodded slowly in agreement. Her eyes were getting cloudy and Scully doubted that she would be doing any real work that night. 11:02 PM On the road back to the hotel Back in the car, Mulder was as excited as he normally got when he felt he made some sort of breakthrough. "You heard it." "Heard what, exactly?" "Connection #1-- we've always had--the two men killing each other as they had in the movie. Today, we got the other two. Hank Colby said 'I would die for you'--in an alley. He died--in an alley. And, finally-- connection #3--Mr. Rat Poison." "And how did you make that connection, Mulder? I didn't hear Charlotte mention rat poison at all." "Ah--but Jim Downey did Romeo and Juliet with her." "Romeo did not die of rat poisoning." "Well, I'm sure rat poison was easier to get than whatever crap Romeo used. Plus, Hank might have been slightly confused due to his illness." Scully frowned. "You seem to be reaching here." "Am I? This is the only lead we have." "Okay. Given that they seem to be killing themselves due to some association they had with something in their lives with Charlotte--what do we do next? We still don't know what's compelling them to act." "Mind control? Post-hypnotic suggestion?" "It does seem that way. Don't look so shocked. Once in a while, I agree with you. But the question is who is doing the controlling? Charlotte? I don't know about you, Mulder--but I see a very tired old lady who is trying to pretend she's about forty years younger and failing." Mulder looked at her in surprise. "Really? I don't see that at all. I think she's very vital for her age or any age, really." "So you think she's killing these men?" "No. I have no idea who is killing these men. And if she does have something to do with it, she might not be aware that she has this power. She did seem to be able to mesmerize them when she was younger; maybe some of this stood the test of time." Scully made a sound that clearly signified disbelief. "You don't think a woman has that type of hold over a man?" "No. Actually, I don't. These men were not monks, Mulder. No one was pining over her or apparently even thinking much about her in all these years. I think they were infatuated with her, as most men would be. She was a very lovely woman. Had a reputation for being both mysterious--and loose. A very attractive combination. Once the mystery was gone, however, I think they moved on with their lives. I see her as rather a tragic figure, really." "Well, I don't. I think she has power." "You would." Mulder smiled and moved the car into the drive-through lane of a Burger King. March 22, 2000 4:17 AM Mulder didn't panic when he heard the slight sliding sound of a keycard being passed through the slot of his door. He knew who it would be. Scully didn't look very surprised to find him sitting up against the headboard, bathed by the light of his television set. She was in a nightshirt and robe and quickly made her way over to his bed and slid in beside him. "I'm cold, I'm cold, I'm cold," she murmured as she rubbed her feet against his legs. "It's 4 AM, Scully. Time for all good agents to be asleep, not running around cold corridors." "You're not asleep." "Who said anything about me being good?" "I think you're very good. Why do you think I'm running down cold corridors? Come here for a minute," she grabbed his arms, drawing them around herself, as she rotated their bodies so she was on her back with him trying to rest as lightly as possible on top of her. "Are you coming on to me?" Mulder asked her with great amusement. "I need your warmth, that's all," she said, drawing his full weight on her. "You're going to be crushed," he said, trying to offset some of his weight by rising on his elbows, while she fought his move by pulling him closer. She opened her legs and his torso slipped down between them. "Put your weight on your pelvis, Mulder. I won't be crushed." "Uh. . .huh," he said, finally maneuvering himself into a half-sit up position. She looked up at him and wiped his hair away from his forehead. "Warming up?" He asked, feeling quite warm himself. She smiled and lightly drew her fingers over his face; concentrating on his nose and cheekbones. Her fingertips always surprised him. They should be rough from all the harsh antiseptic soaps she used, but they were soft and silky. She seemed to be concentrating on each place her fingers briefly traveled over. When she outlined his lips with her index finger, a tiny light seemed to burn in her eyes, and move within her until her smile softened and deepened. She licked her lips, almost unconsciously, but he was determined not to kiss her unless she initiated it. It was her game tonight. His erection poking her in all the right places would be enough of a clue that the flesh was willing. The spirit, however, would damned well wait forever if it had to. "Can I ask you something?" Her wandering gaze settled on his eyes so she was looking right into them. "Anything," he responded. "The other night--our second night together--were you. . .did it even cross you mind to mention. . ." "What?" He felt her take as deep a breath as she could with him leaning heavily on her. "Some sort of permanent relationship?" She finished. Ah, okay. "I wasn't going to mention it at all. But I have to admit, I did think about it. Putting a label on something I believe is already in progress. Is that what sent you packing?" "I don't know. Not really. It was just one of the many things that seemed to cross my mind." She moved her hand down across his neck and put her other hand on his shoulder and gave him a playful shove. "Off. You're crushing me," she said, as he rolled off her and onto his back. He braced himself. Crushing her physically and emotionally. She would probably make the door in about 2.5 seconds, tops. Instead, she laughed softly and leaned in his direction, lifting herself up on an elbow. She took her other hand and lightly ran it down the middle of his chest. "I've always wanted to do this. . .just touch you. . ." she said softly, as she decreased even the faint pressure she was applying and made her touch feather light as it continued its downward direction. She reached the waistband of his boxers. "May I?" she asked. "You may," Mulder said. . .hoping to get a bit of relief in his nearly overly excited state. She slipped her fingers inside and ran them in a horizontal direction across his waist before going back to his navel and, once again, turning into feathery mode as she gently lifted the waistband of his shorts with her left hand and touched his warm, silky flesh with her right. "I have a sudden urge to make amends with the part of you I offended the most," she explained as she increased the pressure of her fingers. "I believe he completely forgave you about five minutes ago." She looked into his eyes. "I'm really not making light of anything, Mulder. Really." "I know. I told you. It's all forgotten. We are moving on. We have no need to be serious or repentant." She pulled at his waistband. "Move up a little," she said as she tugged his boxers down and off. She had wrapped her fingers around his penis and slowly moved her hand up and down his velvety flesh. She seemed to be concentrating on the task--at hand--and paying secondary attention to the words they were speaking. It struck Mulder that he didn't care. They could both recite the Gettysburg address or say nothing at all. She was trying to reconnect and he would let her give him whatever she was ready and comfortable giving. Suddenly, she stopped. She sat up, pulled off her robe and threw it to the floor. Her panties were soon to follow. She quickly straddled his lap and resumed her manual efforts--this time with both hands lightly playing across his skin. She leaned over him and whispered, "Nice?" He managed a low groan of agreement as the pressure of her hands increased. She moved her hands to his shoulders and bent down to kiss his cheek. "Your cheeks are a little scruffy, Mulder," she said, rubbing against the stubbly surface like a cat marking her territory with her scent. "Should I shave?" "Uh-uh." She lightly nipped his earlobe then sucked on it in relief. She whispered, "I love you more than anything, Mulder. Just so you know." Her 900-number operator voice was as earnest as a four year old's in it's simple declaration. "I know that Scully," he gasped as she moved back, grasping him firmly and welcoming him inside herself. In their limited encounters, she had never been the one on top. It was an incredible feeling. He breathed deeply and opened his eyes fully to watch her as she led their movements. She pinned his arms to his side as he reached out to hold onto some part of her. He wasn't even sure which part he was aiming for when he initially put his hands out but she held them down and began slowly circling her hips over his. She seemed to be concentrating on his facial expressions, determined to give him maximum pleasure. After a few moments, he realized it was more a scientific exploration than any kind of enjoyable experience for her. "Scully," he tried to interrupt but she ignored him, moving her body in small jerky motions that felt wonderful to him but probably did very little for her. Knowing that she was doing this as an act of penance, in some ways, made it very difficult for him to just let go and enjoy the moment. He watched her as she continued to move, a thin sheen of sweat breaking across her brow. She looked at him, frustration clearly written on her face. He quickly broke out of her grasp and grabbed hold of her hips. He lifted his knees and put the soles of his feet flat on the mattress. "Together, Scully, " he said and jerked himself up into her. She quickly gasped at the intensity and he felt her relaxing for a moment and then meeting him, stroke down for each of his upward thrusts. Together. He could tell by her moans that she was beginning to enjoy herself as much as he was and he increased the pressure of his fingertips on her hips, tilting her forward a bit. She opened her eyes as her hands came down on his chest for further leverage. She looked into his eyes and smiled. A warm, surprised smile. This was pretty simple. Pretty basic. And not terrifying at all. This is what they were good at. Give and take. Take and give. His hand slipped forward to stroke her and within seconds, the entire top half of her body was free-falling the rest of the way down to his chest. Not a long ride, but an exhilarating one, accented by his warmth gushing through her as his jerking subsided and his entire body relaxed beneath her own. She listened to the sounds of both of their respiration rates returning to normal. She felt his hands as they stroked the hair out of her eyes and away from her face. "Anytime you are uncomfortable, you can go," he whispered to her. "I don't have a problem with it anymore. Really." "Not right now, Mulder. I'm a ragdoll." He laughed in confusion. "A what?" She lifted herself off him, leaving a small mess on his upper legs but not seeming to care. She settled by his side, grabbing his right bicep and wrapping both arms around it as she rested her head against his shoulder. "I feel like a ragdoll. All loose and mushy. Can't move. 'Night." Mulder looked down at her red head resting against his flesh. . .felt her lips slowly open against his shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at one last kiss and through the warm, steady breath hitting his skin, realized she hadn't quite made it before slumber overtook her. He should worry about whether she was acting totally in character or if lack of sleep over the past few days caused her to come to him tonight. But he decided against it. He swiped at himself with the corner of the sheet, pulled up the comforter, and settled in to enjoy the warmth of her presence. For however long it lasted. End of Part 4 Part 5 March 22, 2000 8:30 AM Mulder hesitated, once again, before opening his eyes. He told her she didn't have to be there. He was prepared for her not to be there. He would not be angry. He wouldn't. The smell of coffee filtered through his troubled thoughts. He opened his eyes and slowly looked around the room. Coffee and a covered platter was on the table across from his side of the bed. And to his right, were Scully's feet. His eyes drifted downward and took in her jean and sweater clad-figure lying with her head resting on a pillow by his feet, and Charlotte's manuscript propped up on her elevated knees. Not naked, which would be his ideal; but physically present. That was enough for him. He groaned as he stretched. "Surprise," she said, softly. He reached out and grabbed her bare foot in his hand, shaking it slightly. "Morning. You didn't have to get all dressed up, you know." "I thought it would be enough of a shock for you to find me here. Finding me naked would have been overkill. Besides, we have to work," she responded. "I have coffee for you. And there are some bagels and rolls, too. I didn't want to wake you to ask if you'd like anything else. You looked pretty wiped out." "I thought you were in ragdoll mode yourself." She laughed softly. "Sleeping cured that. Now, I'm just blissfully relaxed." "I'm pretty full of bliss myself. How's the book?" he asked, sitting up on his elbows. "Very, very interesting, Mulder. You didn't read any of this last night?" "No. Actually, I was watching a few tapes of some of the movies Charlotte was in. Ran the list of actors through some internet searches to find out how many are still alive and who could be the next victim. And how they might do themselves in. I had just turned the tape off about a half-hour before you came in. Tried to unwind with some normal nighttime viewing." "How many possibilities do you have?" "Eight. From the actors who starred with her in those films only. I don't know about producers, retired military, set decorators or any of the other countless people she might have done it with who promised they'd die for her, too. Does she name names in the book?" "Does she ever." She leaned over the side of the bed and put the manuscript down on the floor. She took her right foot and rubbed it lightly against his sheet-covered crotch. Mulder looked at her, surprise and delight vying for space in the expression on his face. "Are you still trying to apologize to my body parts?" She smiled again and curled her toes into his flesh. "No. It's just another thing I've always wanted to do." "I am here to fulfill your every wish, ma'am." "I believe that constitutes a verbal agreement. Binding in most states." She raised up on her knees and put her hands on his shoulders. "Now, in spite of the fact that you are a complete mess right now, Mulder. . .I would like to kiss you good morning. . .just to prove that I do, indeed, give a crap about you." "The sacrifices you make. . ." "I know," she said before lowering her lips to his in a firm kiss. His hands reached out for her waist and she plunged her hands into his wayward hair and her tongue in his opening mouth. When she felt his hands grip her tighter, she let him go. "Good morning, Mulder." He was about to grab her again but shakily settled back against the headboard. "Yes," he smiled, "it's a pretty damned fine morning. Now, get off me, woman, so I can clean up." 12 PM Mulder's Hotel Room Scully was on chapter 10, while Mulder was finishing chapter 8. He looked up as he took a sip of ice water. "I should probably be throwing this down my pants." "You and me both, Mulder." "Oh, good. Perversion loves company. This is. . ." "Nearly pornographic in detail." "Yeah, I'd say so. And I have run across a bit of pornography in my time." "So you know whereof you speak. God, Mulder, This is-- not Charlotte's style at all. I mean, she talks about love and devotion. Even when she tried to tell me that she slept around a lot--she couched it in very vague terminology. This is blatant--carnal." "And that, folks, is where the co-writer fits in?" "Maybe. Or maybe she can write more than she can say in person. Lots of people allow themselves more freedom when using the written over the spoken word." "From what I'm reading here, she seems to have no problems with inhibition." "Well, we should finish this and go see her again. It just doesn't seem to jive with the image of the woman we've seen so far and--even though it probably has nothing to do with the case, I still want to find out why there is such a big discrepancy between what she says and what she writes." 12 PM Greg Amanti's home He looked into Charlotte's eyes for perhaps the last time. One final request. "Prove your love, Greg. The first opportunity you get. You will, won't you? When the time is right?" His mind reeled back in time. To when he was young and foolish; when life itself seemed a fair exchange for the love boiling within his blood. 6 PM Charlotte Colby's estate Mulder and Scully did not wait for the preferred time for Charlotte Colby audiences. They showed up unannounced at her estate. After a great deal of motion and commotion, the double doors to the drawing room once again opened and Charlotte walked in. "Darlings. You must really give a girl some warning. I'm a wreck." The wreck was wearing another in a long line of silken caftans--this one in a dark purple. A matching turban covered uncoiffed hair. George was probably on call, as her makeup was impeccable but there was still something about her eyes that looked very, very odd. Odder than during the two previous visits. Scully was having a hard time figuring out exactly what the problem was but she was determined to get a closer look at the first available moment. "We had a few questions about your manuscript," Scully began. "Did you read it all?" "Everything that is there so far." "And did you adore it?" Charlotte asked with a smile. "It was very. . ." "Enlightening," Mulder supplied. "Forgive me for asking this, Charlotte--but did you write all of this yourself? It doesn't really sound like your 'voice.'" "Oh, well, of course not. I supplied the basic facts and Jonathan spiced them up. No one wants to hear boring tales of love." "And you're fine with that?" "It's not 1954 anymore, my dear Dana. The reason I've been able to keep myself young--at heart, anyway, is that I've accepted the changes in the world. I may not always like them--and may not want to spell things out in conversation-- but I accept them and live by the rules of the world as it is today. I have a story to tell--of the magic of old Hollywood; of the men I've loved and if sex will entice readers to give my story a chance to be heard--so be it." "And the gentlemen in question--were they made aware of how they would be portrayed?" "I have no idea. I've never had contact with any of them but I'm sure Jonathan told them." "How do you and Jonathan write?" "I tell him stories. He asks questions--sometimes rather rude ones, I will admit--sometimes not. And he writes and I rewrite and then he writes some more and voila--a new chapter is born. It's a lovely collaboration." "Can we watch?" Scully whipped her head in Mulder's direction as he asked the question. An odd request sounding oddly funny, given the context. "If you'd like. We have a session in a few hours. Why don't I have our chef make you some dinner and you can stay till then." Scully was about to decline the dinner invitation but Mulder accepted without hesitation. Charlotte rose from her chair and headed toward the door. Scully recognized her chance and followed her, getting physically closer to the older woman. Up close, her eyes had a definite cloudy appearance. "I just wanted to freshen up before dinner," Scully said, in explanation for her proximity. "Oh, my dear, I will show you the way," she said, reaching for the doorknob. "Wait. Charlotte? Have you had your eyes checked recently? I'm sorry--but, I'm a medical doctor and your eyes look like they might be developing cataracts." Charlotte drew herself up to her full height. "I see all my doctors as needed, Dana. I can assure you, I am in perfect health," and she walked through the doorway, forgetting to show Scully the way to the ladies' room. Mulder was behind her. "What was that all about? Her eyes seemed normal to me." "No, Mulder. They aren't. There was something slightly off the day we met her. Yesterday, they looked tired and today, there is a definite film there. Even with this bizarre lighting--you can see it rather clearly when you get close enough." "So. She's a little in denial over age-related ailments. Who isn't?" "I'm not saying she isn't. What I am saying is that it's rather odd for these symptoms to be accelerating so rapidly." "Ooh. We can open an X-file within an X-file. I'm getting completely turned on." "What else is new?" she said, and decided to find the rest room on her own. 7 PM Main dining room Dinner, oddly enough, was a rather grand affair for Mulder, Scully and George, who appeared after giving Charlotte yet another "touch-up." Charlotte was "supping" in her room. "You threw the old biddie for a loop, that's for sure. You must announce yourselves. It takes her a while to muster up her people-seeing persona." They were dining in an overly large room, set with fine china and crystal and the ever-present candelabras. Dinner was quickly catered and exquisite. Scully was spearing tender baby asparagus with her fork when she turned to the old makeup artist. "George, have you noticed anything odd about Charlotte's eyes?" "They get that way when she's tired. You'll see. She'll look fine tomorrow. We were worried about it the first time it happened but she's had them examined before. It's nothing." "It's happened before?" "Yeah. A while ago. But then again, my eyes aren't that great anymore either. She set up an appointment but by the time she went, they were looking good again. Doctor said she's fine. So--who knows? Some weird thing she's got. Maybe a little infection and some pus creeping in there." Mulder visibly cringed and put his fork down for a moment. Scully chose to say nothing. "So, tell us, George. What is a typical day for Charlotte like? When does she get up, go to sleep? Things like that?" Mulder asked conversationally. "You don't think she had anything to do with. . ." he trailed off, uncertainty in his voice. "No. I just--background information." "She goes to bed probably around 4 AM, wakes up around 2 PM. Has a body massage some time during the day. She likes soap operas. Believe it or not, she enjoys a long walk on her estate. She has a few dogs outside that go with her. Dobermans. You'd never take her for a Doberman girl, would you? She looks like the type to have those yappy little shits-soos, doesn't she?" They both smiled. "She then relaxes; gets all gussied up for the evening and then--receives her guests or business associates. No one except us 'hired help' ever get to see her without her finery." "Not even Jonathan?" "Especially not Jonathan. She's convinced he's smitten with her so she has to play up to her image." "And is he?" "No, of course not. She has a certain regal air that most men admire--even now. But do they want to bed her? I sincerely doubt it." He pointedly looked at Mulder who managed a soft change of facial color at the prospect. Scully nearly choked on a buttery truffle. The door opened and Jonathan Morton came in. He sat himself at the table as a maid suddenly appeared, quickly setting his place. She left the room. "Great service around here, huh?" He smiled at Mulder and Scully. They gave a brief smile in return. "Mr. Morton. . .we were curious about the book. . ." Scully began. "Really? In what way?" He asked as he began to eat with decided enthusiasm. "The book is much more explicit than any of the recollections Miss Colby has shared." "Ah, well. That's natural. When I approached Charlotte and her agent, neither one of them had a thing going for them. Oh, Charlotte was living the life of a retired diva in this mansion but she did, basically, squat. Jeff is an agent for many old stars and does what he does. Makes sure she gets her residuals on time and makes sure he gets his share of them. This book was a godsend. More money for both of them, which pleased Jeff, and more importantly for Charlotte, a chance to bask in the spotlight once again. " "I didn't think she was that concerned with reliving old glories," Mulder stated. "Puh-lease. Every single one of them would sell their rum-soaked livers for another chance at glory. And you know, she's perfect for the role. She led a life that people want to read about. They don't want to read about someone who got married before the age of twenty five, had kids and remained faithful to one spouse until death--yada, yada. No, they want to hear about someone who lived. And she sure as hell did that." "So," Mulder tried to be diplomatic, but couldn't really find a way. "These deaths--aren't necessarily bad for the book." "So far, they aren't necessarily good for the book, either," Jonathan said between bites, "since someone seems to be doing their damnedest to hush everything up. Nothing. Not even the dual deaths were given much press. Surprising, really. Especially now that you guys are involved." Surprising, indeed. 9 PM They sat in the corner by the fire as Charlotte draped herself decoratively on her couch and Jonathan sat on a chair across from her. Mulder and Scully quietly watched them "write." "Tell me about the one that got away, Charlotte. There must have been someone," Jonathan asked. "What?" "Some man. Untouchable in some way?" " I have no idea what you are talking about. No man is untouchable if you make the attempt to understand him. Plus, we've had this discussion before." Scully looked across at Charlotte. She looked very, very tired now. Her eyes were so cloudy there was really no way of determining what their color was. Jonathan stood up and went to the other side of the room to pour himself a drink. "You want one?" he gestured with the bottle to the agents. His green contacts were a stark contrast to the dullness of Charlotte's gaze. The coloring in the room helped accent them. He really was very attractive. Perhaps George was mistaken. Perhaps Charlotte had a small crush on the much younger man, instead of the other way around. "I'll have to look over my notes, Charlotte. I just think it brings a little human interest to have one man be 'the one.' The one you wanted more than any other and for one reason or another, couldn't have," He saw a determined closed off look set in her face. "You look tired. You want to stop early tonight?" Charlotte looked around the room, acknowledging her guests and visibly sucking up enough drive to continue. "It's the shank of the evening. Of course not. Just ask me something else. Something we can actually include in the book." Jonathan gave her a name and she was off and running once more. In full-Charlotte mode. Scully looked across at Mulder and then turned to Charlotte when she suddenly stopped speaking in the middle of the conversation. Charlotte had stopped to take a sip of her drink and when she lifted her eyes. . .they were a clear, bright green. Scully instinctively got up and went to her. "What's wrong, Dana?" She even sounded more alive. "Your eyes. . ." "There's nothing wrong with them, Dana, I told you. . ." "Not now. . ." She bent over the woman and found her eyes to be completely clear. She shook herself briefly. She couldn't explain what had happened to Charlotte's eyes but she also fully acknowledged that she had very little sleep over the past few days and couldn't necessarily fully trust her own judgement. She turned to Jonathan to see if he had noticed, but the man was now busy taking notes. Hollywood. The land of illusions. The room of pink shadows. Time to go back to the hotel. They were getting nowhere and this background check was pointless. 11PM Mulder had barely stepped out of the shower when he heard his cell phone ringing. He took a few long strides into the bedroom and picked it up before the fourth ring. "Agent Mulder? Chief Carter. That list you gave me? Well, I got all the names, addresses, etc from those who still live in California but one of the names--well, it struck a chord. I mean, he's turned up. Looks like an attempted suicide. He's at the hospital. I'm still at the scene, if you'd like to meet me and speak with the son." "I'll be right there. Give me the address." He disconnected and dialed Scully's number. "We might have a lead," he said as he reached for his pants with his other hand. 11:45 PM Amanti's Meat Market Great, Mulder thought. Just got cleaned up for the evening and now will end up smelling like a bunch of cold, dead, frozen cow. Very attractive. Scully was searching the meat locker, looking at the latch that held the door closed. Lawrence Amanti, the son of the man who attempted suicide, was slumped forward in a chair, holding a rather ratty looking towel to his eyes. "I'm going off to the hospital to see if Greg Amanti regains consciousness. He may, or may not. From what I've been told, he was in rather feeble shape to begin with. Not much body fat to protect him and he was in there for several hours, they estimate. But if you get through before I do, could you please look up a couple of things?" She ran down the list of things she wanted as Mulder took mental dictation. He then walked over to Lawrence Amanti. "Tell me what happened?" He had the urge to add, 'son' to the end of his question even though the man was clearly at least two decades his senior. He had the air of someone used to being nurtured; someone who would miss it tremendously if Greg Amanti didn't pull through. "Dad came by the store this afternoon. My son's wife had gone into labor this morning. He told me he'd take care of the shop. It was his store, you know, for many years. He's actually helped out many times since his retirement. So--I went off to the hospital and he stayed behind. My granddaughter was born and I tried calling my dad to tell him the news and I didn't get an answer. Later, I came over to see if everything was okay and there was a sign on the door saying the place was closed. We almost never close. Plus, there were lights on. . .I went in and no one was around. I had been expecting a shipment this afternoon--so, I opened the freezer--and. . ." "Do you know of any reason why your dad might have done this?" "No. None at all. He was so happy over the prospect of becoming a great-grandfather. I--can't. . .it has to have been an accident of some sort." "There are no inner locks in the freezer, are there?" "No, but maybe the door got stuck." "Did it open easily?" He just nodded his head sadly. Mulder phrased his next question as carefully as possible. "Have you heard him refer to Charlotte Colby in the last few weeks?" He looked up in surprise. "Yes, as a matter of fact. How did you know? He's been doing some interviews for her book this past week. That was another thing that made him happy. You could actually see some of what he must have felt back then when they were both young. His eyes had that spark, you know. Like when you're in love." Mulder knew all too well. End of Part 5 Part 6 March 23 3:02 AM Mulder's hotel room "I still smell like meat, Mulder. Let me go wash up first," Scully said as he leaned forward to kiss her neck. "I'm not being romantic. I'm just getting hungry and you smell like US Grade A." "Just what a girl likes to hear at 3 AM." " I aim to please. Go take a shower. I have a lot of information for you." "What good does it do? What Greg Amanti told me shoots my theory straight out of the water." "Not necessarily. Go. I'll order some room service." She emerged freshly scrubbed and looked with disdain over the platter of appetizers of various and sundry levels of unhealthiness. She put up a very small argument over the potato skins before digging in. "Theory #1. As per your phone conversation with me earlier--Mr. Amanti woke up, not all that much worse for wear. He swears he spent the last two days looking into Charlotte's eyes and being instructed to finally make good on the promise he made her so many years before. He remembers waking up from an afternoon nap with the dire need to do so but completely snapped out of it when he awoke briefly after they found him. After you left, I got the son to let me into his father's apartment. There was no suicide note but a scrap book was open on the table. It had pictures of his final scene in the movie 'Sundown at the South Pole." In it, he throws his body over Charlotte's as they lay frozen in a vast wonderland of snow. She's rescued in time. He's not. Bring back some warm and toasty memories, Scully?" She shuddered at the recollection. "Now--on to the next possibly theory. The one I believe might be your personal favorite. I completed the little search you requested. I uncovered some very interesting information. Jonathan Morton first hit it big co-writing a biography on Roberta Fries. You know, the song siren of the 20's? Well, it's allegedly filled with spicy stories. He did three other biographies or corroborated on autobiographies. All of them "tell-alls." His success allowed for his next book--a novel. Very serious--some pretty deep themes. Fell flat. A complete bomb. Nasty, nasty reviews on the net, Scully. Only another writer could slice and dice his work like that. 'Metaphysical claptrap,' was the kindest comment I read. So, this thing with Charlotte is his comeback in the world of celebrity smut." "I thought there might be something there. Hearing an older lady talk about the loves of her life and having that translated to throbbing cocks and tunnels of love is quite a stretch." "Yes, it is. So. . .bring it on home, Scully." "Why? I mean, I'm wrong. All of this information may make him a bit ambitious or even smarmy, but doesn't make him a criminal." "And yet we aren't at Charlotte's home this very minute arresting her mind-controlling star self." "You know we need more evidence than we have." "Perhaps. But I would like to hear you spell out all of your theory. Do it for me. Make me happy." "Fine," she said with a sigh. "His future as a writer is dependent on this book. You're only as good as the last thing you do, and his last work was a failure. This one needs to succeed in a big way. But might not due to the fact that Charlotte is not exactly a household name. She needs more publicity--and the only real way to get it is through notoriety. That's a motive. It's warped but the deaths of these old men, under mysterious circumstances that lead back to Charlotte, is good for interest in and sales of the book. He has had the opportunity to meet with most of these men. The only one we don't know about it Hank Colby but we can have the Gunmen check into his credit card records. See if he took any flights to New York around that time. That's simple enough." "But these men appear to have killed themselves, Scully. . ." Mulder said, playing devil's advocate with a twinkle in his eye. "You're really getting off on this, aren't you?" "Getting off on it?" "Deriving an inordinate degree of pleasure considering the subject matter at hand." "Humor me." "While these men have all killed themselves, or each other, something--or someone must have compelled them to do so. Some degree of mind control or. . ." "Or?" He jumped in as she hesitated. "Some. . .transference of power. I don't know Mulder--it's not very scientific but I think--I thought--Jonathan was stealing a certain degree of Charlotte's life force and using it to make these men do what he wanted them to do--in her name. I saw the difference in both their eyes. Earlier this evening, hers were dull to the point of being gray and his were bright, bright green. Later, around the estimated time of Mr. Amanti's rescue, hers were back to green and his were a lot less brilliant. I saw it myself. I think their eyes are visible, physical proof of the phenomena." "I don't know, Scully. Once again, to give him the benefit of the doubt, colored contact lenses can make the eyes look pretty funky." "Maybe." "Still. I'm not raining on your parade. I like this theory. Much better than 'Charlotte did it.'" She smiled at him. "Did we just experience a little moment of transference of our own?" He mock shivered. "I think I need a cigarette." "Well, I'll leave you to it then." She looked up at him, with an expression of uncertainty and just a tinge of fear. A test. A small one but a test to see if he was giving her the freedom he had promised. He leaned forward and put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't pout, Mulder." "I'm not." "That's a definite pout." "I have a well-defined lower lip. Some people find it sexy." "Do they?" She asked, reaching up and running her finger across it. He gave up his pout and smiled. "Good night, Scully. See you in the morning," he leaned down and kissed her lightly. She put her hands into his hair and pulled him closer. She moved her lips away from his and continued her soft puckering movements against the side of his face. He kept waiting for her to either let go or move it up another notch but she seemed content to hold him tightly and just caress his face with her mouth. Finally, she moved her head back an inch or two so she could look in his eyes. "Night, Mulder," she said, gave him another hearty squeeze and left the room. She was back again in a few hours. Fully dressed and yanking the covers off his legs. "Mulder. Come on. We have to go to Charlotte's." "God, Scully. It's. . .what time is it?" "It's 7 already." "7 AM? She will be dead to the world." "It doesn't matter. I have a few questions for her that can't wait." He sat up and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't fallen asleep until a couple of hours before and really hoped to take advantage of their later start times for once. "Why can't they wait?" "Because we have a few more things on Jonathan now. I got an e-mail from the Gunmen. Jonathan definitely did fly to New York a few days before Hank's death. He booked a room in a hotel right across the street from that senior club that Hank was known to frequent. There is also a receipt for drinks in the hotel bar that seems a bit much for one person." "That doesn't prove much." "It proves he could have met with him. And, I also had them run his DMV records. Jonathan has green eyes. Natural green eyes." "So?" "So? He wanted to account for that unnatural brightness by suggesting colored contacts. Everyone knows they don't always look natural. But those are his eyes and I think they get brighter when he is. . .exchanging energy with Charlotte. So. . ." "So. . .we should go to her, as opposed to him? Why?" "He's not liable to tell us anything, Mulder. And we can't convict him of anything, either. But she can lead us to his next victim. Perhaps we can either stop the crime or catch him doing. . .something substantial that we can use against him." 8 AM Charlotte Colby's estate "You can't see Miss Colby, sir, ma'am. She's feeling poorly," Charlotte's maid informed them. Mulder felt as if he stepped into an old drawing room drama. "I'm sorry but we have to. Only for a few moments. Dr. Scully can help her if she needs medical assistance." Cecilia frowned but went upstairs to deliver the message. "Think we'll need to get tough?" Mulder asked, a twinkle in his eyes. "I don't think you have it in you, FBI Fox." Cecilia came back down the stairs. "She will see Dr. Dana. Mr. Fox--I'm sorry but you have to stay here." Scully exchanged a quick, resigned look and went up the stairs. Charlotte was propped up against her pillows; red hair in two tight, thin braids; eyes dull and pale. "So, my dear Dana, no mystery between us. . ." she said, defeated. Scully sat on her bed and took the older woman's hand. "There doesn't have to be, Charlotte. It's just not necessary. With or without the trappings, I think you are very special." The cloudy green eyes welled up with tears. "Tell me what's bothering you, Charlotte," Scully said, holding on to her wrist and already beginning to take her pulse. "Just--I feel so tired." She checked the woman's eyes and palpated her throat. She seemed fine, no swollen glands or any apparent signs of illness other than the near lack of distinct eye color. "Is this how you usually feel when your eyes. . .change?" "No. Not really. Maybe a little tired but not this tired." "I need to ask you a few quick questions, Charlotte. I need to know who was the last gentleman you and Jonathan talked about." She frowned. "I talked about him before--a little--but I don't want him in my book. I kept telling Jonathan that." "The 'one that got away?'" "Not exactly. He was the one I loved the most. Tommy--Tommy Jahnson. I loved him--not like I loved the others. I would die for him. I told him as much and I meant it. Every single word. He didn't love me at all. He loved my body. We had an affair. He was married. I had this fantasy that he left his wife and children for me. It was very dramatic. . .as was everything in my life, Dana. I would be stepmother to these troubled children and eventually, when we were all old and gray, they would learn to love me after they realized what a cold fish their mother really was." "And he left you. . ." "No. We were still having an affair when his wife found out. She had a fight with him at the house, packed up the two children and was on her way to her mother's house. She had been drinking all afternoon and never saw the truck as she went into the wrong lane. They were all killed instantly. Tommy never forgave me. Never. That's why I don't want him in the book at all. He's suffered enough." Charlotte lay back on the pillows and closed her eyes. Scully went into the adjoining bathroom to get her a drink of water when she heard Charlotte moan in pain. She came out and watched as Charlotte lay deathly still against her pillows. She approached quickly and jumped back a step as Charlotte's eyes suddenly flew open. They were a brighter green than any of the previous times Scully had seen them. Tommy Jahnson's home 9:07 AM Mulder and Scully had sped to the address the LAPD had provided. They knew they would find another victim. They would have to find a way to stop Jonathan somehow. They didn't have to. Tommy Jahnsson had beaten them to it. After bursting through the door they found Jonathan lying on the floor, a single bullet wound directly to the forehead. An old man, Mr. Jahnsson, was sitting on an ottoman, moaning to himself. "It's a man, it's a man. . .it's a man." Scully bent over him as Mulder carefully confiscated the old man's gun. Tommy looked at her. "I saw her eyes. I swear I did. Those eyes. That devil of a woman. She killed my family. She ruined my life. She was right in this room. I swear. Those eyes. And then. . .I killed her. I took her life as she took theirs. My family's. Only. . .it's a man lying there. I didn't mean to kill him. I wanted to kill Charlotte. She said she would die for me. . .I just wanted her to finally do it." End of Part 6 Part 7 March 24 9:45 PM Charlotte Colby's estate Mulder and Scully were sitting in the drawing room of Charlotte's house, with George and Charlotte and Charlotte's agent, Jeff. He had flown in the night before, having heard of the untimely demise of Charlotte's writing partner. "We will. . .continue with the book but I think we may have a great deal of rewriting to do. Perhaps aim a little lower and try to write the book as Charlotte originally intended. A sort of tete a tete with her fans--letting them in on some of the dish, but slightly less of the dirt. Seems like the right thing to do given the. . .circumstances." Scully thought they could actually take full advantage of those circumstances. Ironically, they were now getting a lot of pre- publication press. It wasn't Jonathan's escalating murder schedule but his own death that caught the media's attention. Jonathan's third book- -the dud--was already scheduled for a massive reprinting. The "metaphysical claptrap"--a murder mystery involving transference of a person's soul through its windows--the eyes--wasn't seen as quite so preposterous, once it was publicly conjectured that this was the way Jonathan himself pulled off no less than four murders and two attempts. He had been a student of mind control for many years but appeared to have only put his knowledge to use in order to garner enough publicity to save his own dying career. Even if caught, he knew a conviction would be nearly impossible. Well, perhaps a chapter or two on working with the mind-controlling murderer would allow Charlotte to have her biography--the way she originally intended it--without sacrificing a guaranteed audience. From George's smug look, it seemed that he had every intention of using his influence to keep Charlotte's memoirs on the "high road." Charlotte was in all her mesmerizing glory and for once, Scully could see some of the old movie magic in the aging diva. She looked across the room at Mulder--eyes smiling, cheeks flushed. Facing a childhood idol. He caught her eye and his eyes and smile changed. Softened. Became so tender and open that she found herself flushing in response. That look was for Scully alone. No silken caftans, no precious jewels-- jus the woman he loved. "I will dedicate my book to you," Charlotte announced to the two agents. "No, please don't." Scully said. "Dedicate it to your fans or your friends. . .or anyone but us. We don't need any more attention." "My dear--one can always use a little more attention. But very well, I will dedicate it to George for always being so faithful." "You'll dedicate it to me because you're afraid I'll tell them what you really look like before I start my reconstruction every morning." "Pooh, George. You are the worst person in the world when it comes to taking compliments. . ." And Mulder and Scully left them a half-hour later, still bickering in a friendly manner. 11 PM Mulder's hotel room They were sitting face to face. Mulder had his back against the headboard and Scully was straddling his lap, her hands grasping the headboard on either side of him. Their joined bodies rocked gently back and forth "Um, this feels good, Mulder." "I read about it somewhere." "I'm sure. . .personal experience never entered the picture," she said, shifting her hips and driving him deeper within her. "Actually, no. This is a first. . . well, with you anyway. In real life, I mean. I did have this dream once. . ." "Won't be a last, Mulder. I like this a lot. God, you feel good." "You said that already," he said, panting in short puffs as he picked up the pace of his, until now, steady rocking motion. "I'll be saying it again in a moment. . .oh, Mulder." He burrowed his face into her shoulder and held tightly to her hips. She sunk her hands into his slightly damp hair. She could feel his teeth lightly nipping against her flesh. "You can say anything you want, Mulder. Don't hold back. I won't run away." he thought briefly. Their first two nights together, he had run a nearly non-stop, highly detailed soliloquy on the joys of loving her. The third night and tonight, he had said nothing of a personal nature. He thought she needed to remember that they were the same two people they always had been. That loving each other physically didn't change their essential personalities. Still. . . "Anything?" he grunted out. "Anything=E2=80=A6" He lifted his head from her shoulder and looked deeply in her eyes. "Some case, huh?" She giggled for a moment, then lost her train of thought as he steadily lifted her and dropped her back down against himself. The feelings were so intense she simply wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as he quickly pumped into her. They found release within moments of each other. She drew herself up enough to be able to kiss the top of his sweaty hair and he used the unusual height difference to latch on to a nipple and draw it slowly against his teeth. "Mulder?" "Hmmm?" "I know we didn't start off in a picture perfect manner but really-- we're not doing too badly, are we?" He let go of her breast and looked up at her. "We're doing just fine." She settled back down on his lap. He resumed his usual position with his chin lightly pressing against the top of her head. "A lot of it is your doing." "Not really, Scully. I just realized I was being every bit as dramatic as some of those smarmy movies I watched as a kid. Leaving in a huff, with my masculine pride dripping all over the place--knowing--really knowing that you would never intentionally hurt me unless there was something you were feeling that was pretty powerful to force you to do so." "No role playing has ever been necessary in our relationship, Mulder. I was just afraid that now--it might become a requirement of some sort." "No requirements. We'll get together when we both want to and stay the night, or not. I, for one, make absolutely no promises about not going off after making love and catching the end of the Knicks game in the living room. No promises whatsoever." She smiled. "I can live with that." "And, of course, I don't know how long this wave of maturity will keep biting me on the ass. It might abandon me tomorrow and I could turn Neanderthal again." "I can live with that, too." The moonlight coming through the slightly opened curtains gave her face a slightly muted appearance. "Are you in ragdoll mode or in fleeing mode, Scully?" "Neither. I'm in a let's take a shower before sleeping mode. I'll soap your back if you soap mine." He shivered at the thought. "A bit of an encore, Scully?" She smiled and disentangled herself from his embrace. She stood up, stretched and reached out her hand to him. "A standing ovation, Mulder." He laughed and took her hand. She wrapped her arms around his waist as they slowly made their way to the shower. Their soft laughter could still be heard as they entered the bath and dropped the shower curtain back in place. The End. Author's Notes: This one has been a long time in coming for some reason. It's a story I had utter faith in but still kept reading and re-reading--just to make sure. It's dedicated to my Grandma M.--a true redheaded diva on earth who, I am sure, is now holding court on a higher realm. For believing in me always, for loving me unconditionally and for just being one of the most interesting women I have ever known. Visit the Rain Room...fan fiction by Gina Rain http://www.geocities.com/ginarainfic