MEDIOCRITY'S ALLURE 0/11 by Jill Selby (msselby@socketis.net) Archiving Note: Do not archive at Gossamer. The text of this story will be housed exclusively on the author's homepage. Permission to link will be cheerfully granted upon request. Author's Notes: Although I've been an X-Files fanfic reader for a couple of years now, lack of time, and more stifling, lack of courage, has kept me from writing anything myself. I really must thank Vanessa Len for helping me over that wall of gutlessness. She and I have built a wonderful, supportive relationship through our reciprocal editing. Vanessa, I truly could not and *would not* have done it without you. Thanks also to Jo-Ann (who reminded me that semicolons aren't just for winks) and Nancy (aka The Canadian Comma Queen) for their corrections, suggestions and positive reinforcement. The idea for this story actually came to me in the 3rd season of the show, during "The List." The episode itself didn't really move me, but one small event near the end of the episode raised a question. During that scene, rather than administering first aid to a shooting victim, Scully remained in her role as an agent. My question then was: How does she decide when to act as a physician and when to act as an agent, and if truly forced to choose one over the other, which would it be? This story is the result of my contemplation of that question. Can she make a choice? You'll have to read to find out. But regardless of the choice, I found it interesting to explore how such a choice could affect a person. As for the Mulder/Scully relationship, I've attempted to walk the same ambiguous line in this story that we see on the small screen. You relationshippers (and I'm one of you so I know who you are) should find something to enjoy here. For the unconverted, there is plenty of room for plausible deniability. Some of the locales in this story are fictional and some are real, but I have taken some extremely creative liberties, even with the real places. Don't plan any future vacations based on the information or misinformation you find herein. Feedback will be sincerely appreciated. But remember, I'm a virgin -- at least in the world of fanficcery ;-) -- so please be gentle with me. Although this was a labor of love, it was still labor. Let me know if it was worth the effort. Disclaimer: Characters from the X-Files are the property of Ten Thirteen Productions and the Fox Television Network. All others are the author's creation. Any similarity to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No infringement is intended. Summary: As Scully and Mulder investigate a series of child homicides, Scully is forced to make an agonizing decision. Classification: XA Relationship: UST Rating: PG-13 for violence and language Spoilers: "Memento Mori," small mentions of "Ghost in the Machine" and "Home" E-mail the author for missing parts. ____________ End Part 0/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ MEDIOCRITY'S ALLURE 1/11 by Jill Selby (msselby@socketis.net) Disclaimer & Summary: See Part 0 Classification/Rating: XA/PG-13 for violence and language Spoilers: "Memento Mori," small mentions of "Ghost in the Machine" and "Home" ____________ Mediocrity's Allure 1/11 A strange mixture of adrenalin and revulsion swept through the young man and the blade shook in his hand as he made yet another cut into the lifeless body of three-year-old Kimberly Barker. Why, he wondered as the blade pulled through unresisting flesh, should this be bothering him? It certainly wasn't the first time he had done something like this. Maybe it was because this child was so young, or so beautiful. Maybe it was because he knew that yesterday morning she had been alive and excited about her first trip to an amusement park. Perhaps it was because his mind's eye kept showing him a picture of this youngster delightedly running from one attraction to the next, blissfully unaware that a stranger was watching and waiting. He could practically feel her terror as she was scooped up and carried from the park, while her frantic parents began a fruitless search. "Do you want to take a break?" A gentle voice interrupted Dr. Mark Welch's mental slide into despair, and he belatedly realized that at some point he had set the scalpel down and was leaning against the table, staring at the small body he had been assigned to autopsy. He glanced up at the supervising agent and gave her a weak smile that was hidden until he pulled down his surgical mask. "Thanks, Dr. Scully. I think that might be a good idea." Dana Scully was no stranger to autopsy-induced nausea and had seen the symptoms overtake this young doctor when he began work on the latest victim of the "Bogeyman," as the press had dubbed this particular murderer. She motioned to a nearby chair. "Why don't you sit down for a minute. Would you like a drink of water?" Dr. Welch folded his over-tall body into the uncomfortable little chair and slumped forward, his eyes focused on the dingy tile floor. "No, thanks. But can I ask you a question?" Scully took the seat next to him and leaned forward a bit herself to catch his eye. He finally looked at her and she nodded for him to continue. "How long did it take you to get used to it? I mean, how can you do this job and not have it get to you after awhile?" Scully straightened in her chair and for a time remained silent. At last, and with an authority borne from experience, she warned him, "If you ever find yourself becoming complacent about the job of performing an autopsy on someone who died a violent, meaningless death, then find the nearest therapist and put in some major couch time." Mark smiled a little in relief, but Scully continued. "It does get easier, Dr. Welch, but --" "Mark," he interrupted. "Please." "It does get easier, Mark, at least easier to keep your lunch down and easier to sleep at night, but I think, especially in cases like this one, you keep a little of the experience with you. In a way it humbles you, makes you appreciate life." Scully's gaze wandered away from him, and her voice became soft, almost as if she were speaking only for herself. "People will think you're heartless or cold or something because you can look at these things without flinching, but you have to wear that facade or you won't be able to do your job." "I'm sorry, Dr. Scully, that I lost it over there. I know it was unprofessional, I just . . ." "No harm done. You should hear what happened to me the first time I tried to use a cranial saw," she chuckled. A broad smile appeared on the young doctor's face as he waited for her story, a little dirt on the heretofore immaculate Dr. Dana Scully. "I'm all ears." "Well, maybe another time. We have to finish up here." God, she was good, he thought. Every centimeter the professional. Back on track in an instant. Mark had been concerned when he heard she was assigned to oversee this procedure with him. He didn't know her well, but the scuttlebutt was that she was tough and didn't tolerate less than the best effort. And although he had no doubt that those things were true about her, he had discovered today that there was a depth to her, a compassion, that most people assumed didn't exist. With her words in mind and her example to follow, Mark completed the autopsy without further incident. ____________ Fox Mulder found his partner transcribing autopsy notes in the little office cubicle adjacent to the FBI morgue. He had driven out to Quantico in hopes of luring her away for a quick dinner and a sneak peak at the autopsy results. He watched from behind the camouflage of fluorescent glare on the glass partition wall as she stopped typing, picked up an x-ray film and held it up to the light, then returned it to its place on the desk before resuming her typing. She looked tired. To any casual observer she looked perfect and polished and beautiful, but Mulder knew her face as well as his own. He could see the darkness under her eyes, the tension in the set of her mouth, the deepened crease between her brows. He had promised himself that he wouldn't coddle her, even after learning of her cancer diagnosis. She would never tolerate it anyway. That did not assuage his urge to bundle her up and spirit her away to someplace quiet and safe. What kept him in check was fear of the damage she would do to his own physical well-being if he ever so much as suggested that she take it easy. Mulder had to admit that fatigue and the rare nosebleed notwithstanding, there was no tangible evidence of any physical decline. He *had* discovered only recently that she was suffering from occasional nightmares. She had reluctantly admitted it to him after he had awakened her from a terrifying dream during the flight back from an investigation two days ago. He knew the signs, of course -- the shallow, rapid breathing. The cold sweats. The sleep-restrained screams manifested as tiny whimpers and moans. But in truth, he had experienced a few nightmares along the way himself, so it was unlikely her tumor was the cause. The work they did exacted a toll after a while. He had been naive to believe she had escaped that particular torture. He continued to watch as Scully's hands moved off the keyboard and settled limply in her lap. She closed her eyes and let escape a weary sigh. Mulder decided it was time to make his rescue, to take her away from all of this, even if it was just for an hour, and only to the diner a few blocks away for a tuna melt with a side of fries. He tapped lightly on the glass and her eyes flew open, her posture straightened, and any trace of fatigue was erased so quickly that Mulder had to wonder if he had seen it at all. But when she turned and saw that it was Mulder, she let the mask of professionalism slip again just for an instant. Long enough to permit a tiny smile accompanied by an expression that seemed to be gratitude, although for the life of him, Mulder could not figure out what he had done to deserve it. "Hey, Scully. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd see if you'd like to buy me dinner." "Hmmm," she grunted noncommittally, then glanced conspicuously at her watch. "Well, it's late. I probably can't expect to get any better offers at this hour. You'll do until Mel Gibson shows up." "So, you'd choose Mel over me? I think I'm hurt." Scully saved her report and stood to retrieve the jacket she had draped over the back of her chair. "Mel could afford to foot the bill for dinner. A girl's gotta look out for her bottom line." Mulder made a great show of sliding his eyes down her body and opened his mouth to make the inevitable comeback. But his name spoken in her reproving "nun voice" brought his attention back to her face and squelched his comment about her healthy bottom line. Her raised eyebrow convinced him that she knew what he was going to say anyway. ____________ "You know, Scully, if we discuss the case while we're here you could claim this dinner as a business expense on your taxes." Mulder was leaning back in the booth, his long legs stretched out straight in front of him, his feet resting comfortably on the bench seat next to Scully. The only remains of his cheeseburger and fries meal were a wilted piece of lettuce and an anemic-looking slice of tomato. The only components of the meal, Scully had pointed out, that were even remotely healthy. Scully looked up from her study of the half-eaten sandwich on her plate. "So, what, you're my accountant now? Anyway, I'm not sure this is the kind of conversation we should be having in the presence of the other diners." "Okay," he conceded. "What if I carefully phrase my questions so that you can give simple yes or no answers? I promise, no eavesdropper risks offense to his delicate sensibilities. C'mon, it'll be like a game." "I don't know, Mulder --" If she was going to object, Mulder gave her no opportunity as he launched into his own little paranormal version of Twenty Questions. "Was there a penny?" "Yes" "1973?" "Yes, but that's probably just --" "Yes or no answers, Scully. We'll debate my outrageous theories later, okay?" "Okay," she relented. Then at Mulder's admonishing look she revised her answer to "Yes." "Was cause of death the same as the other two?" "No." "No?" "Yes, no." "Don't try to confuse me, Scully." "I wasn't trying all that hard, Mulder." Mulder gave her a sideways glance as he reached into his jacket pocket for his note pad. In it was information on the other two known victims of the "Bogeyman" and vital statistics on each. Both of the other victims had died of asphyxiation, and were most likely suffocated by a pillow. "This one wasn't suffocated?" "No." "Stab wound?" "Um, yes . . ." The way she drew out her answer told him that he was on the right track, but that some piece of information was missing." "Listen, Scully, let's head back to the lab and we can discuss this a little more in-depth on the way. Okay?" "Yes." Scully signaled the waitress for the check. The rather plain-looking blond started to hand the bill to Scully, but Scully simply shook her head. "No," she said, and nodded toward Mulder. She grabbed her coat and briefcase and was out the door, leaving a flabbergasted Mulder behind to pay for dinner. ____________ The information Mulder was able to glean from Scully during the drive back to the Quantico labs turned out to be more disturbing than helpful. The third victim, Kimberly Barker, was the only girl and the youngest of the three dead children. The other two, Travis Dougherty and Luke Miller, were five and nine respectively. Aside from the fact that they were all Caucasian, there were no other obvious commonalities in appearance, social status, or geography. Each had been kidnaped during a family trip to a well-known vacation spot -- Yellowstone Park, Aspen and Disneyland. So far, no witnesses had come forward. No one had been paying attention as the children were stolen away in the midst of crowds of tourists. Each body had been found the following day, dumped in a fairly conspicuous location. It had appeared, until Kimberly, that the killer suffocated his victims, then made deep random cuts in their bodies with some sort of surgical blade. According to Scully, Kimberly had died as a result of blood loss from multiple lacerations to her torso and limbs. There was no indication of asphyxiation. The murder of an innocent child seemed the most inhumane of all violent acts to Mulder and he now suspected that this particular killer was escalating. Evidently no longer content with just causing a death, the killer wanted the child to suffer. Somehow excited by the terrible cries of pain that accompanied each new cut. And then there was the calling card -- the penny. A 1973 penny had been carefully inserted below the skin on the back of the left hand of each of the victims, and this wound was sutured closed with surgical precision. That he was most likely a medical professional was the one and only clue they had to the killer's identity. Mulder's own suspicions carried him, as usual, a little to the left of standard operational opinion. He was convinced that the killer was an alien abductee. ____________ Dana Scully finally, wearily, entered her apartment. She was exhausted, true, but she was not going to attribute that fatigue to her illness. The tumor that plagued her thoughts constantly had not yet begun to adversely affect her body, aside from an occasional nosebleed. No, she was tired because she had spent the morning in a three-hour briefing on the details of the "Bogeyman" case, and the afternoon supervising a grueling autopsy of one of his victims. And then she spent her evening trying to tug Fox Mulder back to a more earthly explanation of homicide -- one less likely to get them laughed off the investigative team. She hadn't succeeded. She couldn't explain the presence of the pennies in the bodies but, damn it, that didn't mean they were terrestrial attempts to recreate an extraterrestrial implant. There were days Scully was sure she was partnered with the most infuriating man on the planet. Oh no, Dana, that's not right. Have to be more open to extreme possibilities. He was the most infuriating man on any planet. Stupid. That's what she was. She was an idiot to put up with this nonsense day in and day out. One of these days she would tell him just how insane he was and she would walk out of that basement office for good. She was an excellent agent, a talented doctor. There had to be a better place for someone with those kinds of credentials. She'd find it. Then Fox Mulder would be begging for her forgiveness. But she wouldn't give it. No way. Not a chance. ____________ A long bath and one glass of warm milk later, Fox Mulder was forgiven -- again. ____________ Scully wasn't sure why she was doing this alone -- searching this dilapidated old house on the trail of a killer. But she was here now, and without a gun or her phone to call for backup. It was dark here. So dark the flashlight beam seemed to be useless in illuminating her surroundings. And then she heard a cry. High pitched, like a child. She ran toward the sound, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere. As she descended some rickety basement stairs, the house took on a cave-like feel. It was damp and cold. And there was something evil here. She could feel it surrounding her as if it was a physical thing. Circling her. She was "it" in a demented game of ring-around-the-rosey. At the bottom of the stairs she found two long, narrow hallways branching off to the left and right. She listened and heard the cry again, from the right. She reached out her hand, as if to reassure the child she could not yet see. To take hold of his tiny hand and pull him to safety. But then she heard something else. Mulder's voice calling to her from the other direction. He sounded panicked, frightened. My God, what if something's happened to Mulder! What is he doing here? How could she decide? The child was in trouble, but so was Mulder. Duty told her to go to the child, but Mulder -- he was her partner, her friend. And he needed her, was pleading for her to come to him. But before she could force herself to move in either direction, she was made aware of a third presence. The evil was close to her now, breathing quietly right behind her. She could feel its breath on her neck. She was frozen in place. She willed her legs to propel her forward, but her body wouldn't cooperate. She couldn't move. Couldn't take even a step. Mulder's voice again. "Scully!" "Please! Please!" she begged silently of the unseen demon behind her. "Let me go to them! Let me help them!" "Scully, WAKE UP!" Scully jerked upright in bed, took in her surroundings and realized that it had been a nightmare -- just a dream. She was home. She was safe. But she could still hear Mulder's voice screaming at her. She looked down and saw that she held the telephone receiver in her shaking hand. She lifted it to her ear and could hear her partner's desperate entreaties. "Mulder?" Her voice sounded raw and breathy even to her own ears. "Scully. Jesus. Are you okay? What's wrong?" She cleared her throat to regain some power over her vocal chords. "Nothing, Mulder. I was dreaming. I guess I picked up the phone in my sleep. Sorry I scared you." "Yeah, well, do I need to review obscene phone call protocol with you, Scully? The caller is the one who's supposed to breathe heavily into the receiver, not the callee." Scully recognized his attempt to lighten the moment when in truth he was probably just on the verge of hysterics. She knew he'd been worried about her and she was absolutely certain this little episode did nothing to reassure him. "So, Scully, what were you dreaming about that had you panting into the phone? Or dare I ask?" "Just a nightmare -- you know, monsters, things that go bump in the night." "I have to admit some surprise that the disbelieving Dana Scully allows for such things, even in unconsciousness. Want me to come over to do an under-the-bed monster check?" "No, thanks anyway." Scully paused for a moment to allow her pounding heart to settle into a more normal rhythm. "So were you calling for any reason other than to save me from my nightmares?" "Afraid so. There's been another one. Six-year-old boy right here in DC. He was kidnaped this afternoon from the Air and Space Museum." So, Dana Scully thought, the monster is here after all. ____________ End Part 1/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ MEDIOCRITY'S ALLURE 2/11 by Jill Selby (msselby@socketis.net) Disclaimer & Summary: See Part 0 Classification/Rating: XA/PG-13 for violence and language Spoilers: "Memento Mori," small mentions of "Ghost in the Machine" and "Home" ____________ Mediocrity's Allure 2/11 In Dana Scully's opinion, the word "security" had no business being associated with Mr. Morris Hicks. He seemed more turtle than competent Director of Security for the Air and Space Museum, but the credentials pinned to his chest appeared to verify his claim to the title. Hicks was clearly rattled by the unfortunate events that had unfolded the previous evening at the museum. His attention was divided between trying to answer her questions and reigning in the over-eager FBI forensics team as they combed the fragile display areas for clues. Scully purposely moved around so that in order to speak to her he would have to keep his back to the activity. "Mr. Hicks, do you think your people have that video ready for us yet?" The magnified eyes blinking at her from behind round-framed glasses, the bulbous nose, slight overbite, and plump, balding head popping up out of a brown high-necked sweater only strengthened Scully's assessment of man as turtle. She was certain that had he possessed one, he would have retreated to his shell hours ago. Mr. Hicks seemed to pull himself out of a daze before focusing on Scully, and then was hesitant to answer her. "I suppose so, but I really shouldn't leave here. No, I really shouldn't. If anything were damaged . . ." "If it would make you feel better, Agent Mulder can stay behind to oversee the forensics team. He'll make sure nothing is disturbed unnecessarily." Hicks was obviously impressed with her partner, and Mulder had inexplicably been on his best G-man behavior this morning. So Scully decided to capitalize on turtle-man's hero worship by promising to leave Mulder in charge at the crime scene while she removed Hicks to a quieter area of the museum in hopes of gaining more information. In light of Mulder's predilection for leaving a trail of clutter and destruction in his wake, it was a little like leaving the bull in charge of the china shop, she mused, but what turtle-man didn't know wouldn't hurt and could only help get things moving. They had promised to wrap things up before the museum opened at 10:00. It was 9:00 now and even though they'd been on the job for three hours there was still work to be done before they could vacate the museum. Hicks reluctantly agreed and escorted Scully to the security offices of the museum -- "the nerve center" he had called it. It was a room with a bank of security monitors, a telephone and a coffee pot. In contrast to the unimpressive "nerve center," the two security officers who worked there, Tamara Wu and Mickey Hanson, had been a real asset to the investigation. They had taken her request and immediately gone to work, searching hours of security video for clues to the kidnapper's identity. Wu turned and motioned for Scully to join them at the monitor. "I was just coming to get you. We found something." The video showed the museum entrance nearest the space vehicle exhibit where the child was last seen. The time stamp on the video indicated 16:34:11, approximately 10 minutes before the child went missing. A man clad in jeans and a windbreaker jacket entered the building. He was wearing a plain baseball cap and dark glasses. A large equipment bag with indecipherable words stenciled on the side was slung over his shoulder. "This man here," Wu gestured toward the screen, "shows up again at 16:45." To illustrate her point she forwarded the tape to the 16:45:26 mark. The same man was exiting the building, but his stooped posture betrayed the increase in the duffle bag's weight. He had also shed his sunglasses, and Scully noticed that he glanced back over his shoulder for just an instant. An instant, but it was long enough. The photo labs at the Bureau would be able to get a clear image of his face from the video. She rewatched the tape several times, each viewing only reinforcing her opinion that these security officers had handed her the first real break in this case. "We checked the museum schedules," Hanson told her, "and there were no activities which would have required any sort of equipment delivery or retrieval. No media events or anything of that sort." Scully nodded, again impressed by the diligence and good investigative work of security officers Hanson and Wu. "You've been a tremendous help. Can I get a copy of this to take back to the lab?" "Already done," Hanson smiled, obviously pleased that he had anticipated her request. As the young officer was retrieving her tape, Scully turned around, intending to thank Mr. Hicks for the helpfulness of his staff. But Hicks was gone. She silently cursed herself for not keeping a closer eye on him because she was absolutely certain he had wandered back out to the crime scene. ____________ "Thanks for the save back there, Scully." Scully had returned to the exhibit area to see her partner being shadowed by the enthralled Mr. Hicks. Hicks was asking an endless string of questions on everything from the status of the investigation to the brand of Mulder's shoes. Although quite entertained by this little spectacle, Scully could see Mulder's patience waning and pulled him away from Hicks for a private conference, begging the turtle-man's pardon. Earlier in the morning she had wondered at Mulder's tolerance of the man's constant intrusions, but she had developed a theory. For all his brilliance and investigative success, Mulder was never given much in the way of respect. Certainly nothing like the adulation this envious little security director had bestowed. This was new to him. He would never admit it, but he was secretly reveling in the attention. So she just nodded in acknowledgment of his comment and saved a few, choice, ego-deflating barbs for later. Might as well let him bask in the glow for a few minutes more. "I'm going to get this video back to the photo lab, Mulder. I think we'll be able to ID a suspect with this." "Hang on a second and I'll go with you." Scully watched as Mulder headed toward Hicks to let him know they were leaving. The forensics team was still moving about the area, although it looked like they were about finished as well. Hicks made several pointing and head-shaking gestures, and in general looked reluctant for Mulder to leave. So once again, it was Agent Scully to the rescue. She strode over to the two men and extracted a business card from her coat pocket. "Mr. Hicks, this is Agent Mulder's card. If there's anything else you need, or if you come across anything that might help our investigation, don't hesitate to give him a call. This number here --" she pointed toward Mulder's cell phone number on the card "--will reach him any time, day or night. You and your staff have been most helpful." She turned and hooked Mulder's elbow in her hand, pulling him toward the door. "You running low on business cards Scully?" She checked her pocket, and pulled out a stack of at least ten of her own cards. "Nope. Got plenty." ____________ Even with his years of experience at the Bureau, Mulder was sometimes amazed by what its technology was capable of achieving. Within two hours of their return with the videotape, a clear image of the suspect had been captured from the film, enhanced, and run through the database of known offenders. Now the Bogeyman had a name. Dennis DePriest. He was an unlikely suspect whose only previous arrest had been for assaulting a fellow student at an animal-rights protest at the University of Arizona. The protest had erupted into violence when DePriest had taken a rather vocal position in favor of animal testing for medical purposes. That arrest was the only smudge on an otherwise spotless criminal background check. Obviously they were going to have to dig deeper, and dig fast. The latest victim's body had yet to be found, which gave them hope of finding him alive. Scully was in the records library looking for family history, marriage records, any piece of information that could help them in their search. Mulder had managed to get some preliminary information. There was an apartment rented in DePriest's name in Flagstaff, Arizona. A phone call to the landlord had revealed that DePriest had paid a year's worth of rent last August, but no one had seen much of him since then. His mail was being held at the post office and his utilities, like his rent, had been paid in advance. His second call was to the University of Arizona. Apparently DePriest had been an amazing student. He had finished his Bachelor's degree in Chemistry in two-and-a-half years, then gone on to medical school at the same institution. He had graduated with a surgery specialty -- once again in the top of his class. A former professor at Arizona had helped Dr. DePriest get a prestigious appointment at the Brookhaven Clinic, one of the leading surgical centers in the world. Over the past twenty years, their physicians and researchers had made numerous important advances in surgical technique. Evidently though, according to this professor, DePriest had given up the practice of medicine after only three years. He had been at a loss to explain why his most gifted student had abandoned such a promising career. Mulder was picking up the phone to dial the director of the Brookhaven Clinic when Scully burst into the room. She grabbed her coat and tossed his to him. She was breathing hard. Evidently she had run all the way from the library. "Let's go Mulder." He had been surprised to hear her speak, much less bark an order at him with all the huffing and puffing she was doing. Her next words surprised him even more. "I know where he is." ____________ Scully was right. She did know. But they were too late. They had arrived at the decaying old house on the outskirts of Devon, Maryland to find the abandoned body of six-year old Seth Ottman. Scully's initial assessment was that this child, like the last, had bled to death. There was no sign of any other injury or abuse. Beside the body was a 1973 penny. An incision had been made in the back of the child's hand, but evidently the killer had been alerted to their arrival and had left before he could complete the usual procedure. Upon seeing this, Scully had dispatched Mulder and the rest of the team to search the house and the surrounding area. He was close. The evidence said as much. But beyond that, she could *feel* it -- like a barely perceptible tickle in her brain. She glanced warily around the room, almost certain his eyes were on her. She half expected to see him standing in some poorly-lit corner. No one was there. She tried to focus again on the body, to content herself that DePriest wasn't lurking nearby. Still, she couldn't shake the eerie sense that there were secret hiding places in Dennis DePriest's boyhood home, and that he was using one of them right now. Watching the search as it continued. Watching her. "This place is full of ghosts," she murmured to herself, glad that Mulder couldn't hear her say such a ridiculous thing. It was true that DePriest's family had been killed here, but she hadn't taken the time to find out the details. No, she told herself firmly. Some bad things had happened here but that didn't make the place evil. And DePriest was long gone. He'd proven again and again that he's clever. Much too clever to hang around in an abandoned house until they stumbled upon his hiding place. "Scully!" Mulder's voice rang out from the upstairs of the old house, and Scully was ashamed for jumping slightly at the noise. She admonished herself for her jitters and called up to him. "Yeah, Mulder." "Can you come up? I need some help here." Great, she thought. He's probably found a tiny little hatch to the attic and needs me to squeeze up there for a look. Although Scully had never given much thought to her diminutive frame -- no sense in fretting over something you can't change -- others often found it a handy tool. <"Hey, Shrimp! Climb through there and get the ball."> <"Dana, sweetheart, reach your hand down there and pick up that bolt, will you?"> <"Scully, there's a killer computer taking over the building. I'll boost you up in the air vent and you crawl around until you find a way to bypass security. Oh, by the way, try not to get chopped into itty little Scully-bits by that giant exhaust fan."> She was feeling rather uncharitable toward her partner by the time she reached the upper floor, so sure she already knew what he wanted. So she was more than a little taken aback to find him crumpled to the floor, rocking back and forth in pain. ____________ End Part 2/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ MEDIOCRITY'S ALLURE 3/11 by Jill Selby (msselby@socketis.net) Disclaimer & Summary: See Part 0 Classification/Rating: XA/PG-13 for violence and language Spoilers: "Memento Mori," small mentions of "Ghost in the Machine" and "Home" ____________ Mediocrity's Allure 3/11 He should have run. He'd wanted to run, but something had stopped him. He might have called it an insane impulse but he disliked what the term implied. He was not insane. He was positive he wasn't. He recalled that as a boy he had awakened one day with a headache and debated whether or not to go to school. His guardian, Miss Della, had given him this advice: "If you have to think about whether you're sick enough to stay home, you're not sick enough." He figured the same logic applied to insanity. If you can ask yourself if you're insane, you're not. So Dennis DePriest calmly, sanely made the decision to stay and observe events as they unfolded. This house, like all his father's properties, had hidden passageways throughout the structure. He had once used them as playrooms, oblivious to the actual reason for their existence -- to protect the family from his father's ruthless associates. Six-year-old Dennis had learned their real purpose one terrible day when, in the safety of one of the tiny rooms, he had escaped detection by the two men who shot his parents. That day he had watched in terror from his hidden sanctuary. Today he watched in fascination. Two uniformed policemen entered the house first, guns drawn, ready to defend the life of the little boy he'd snatched from the museum. They were several hours too late for that. As the first two officers cleared the doorway, two other people entered. Dressed as they were in overcoats and well-tailored suits, they looked more like business executives than cops. The guns in their hands shattered the illusion. This couple, a tall dark-haired man and a short redheaded woman, joined the search through the house. The redhead found the body. DePriest expected her to turn away, maybe even scream at the sight of the bloodied little corpse and wasn't sure what to make of it when she didn't. In fact, she performed what looked like a by-the-book clinical examination of the child. Then she saw the penny he had carelessly left behind. She ordered the other three to continue searching, telling them the suspect was still nearby. He found her air of authority impressive. DePriest stayed put, viewing the room through undetectable little openings in the wall. He didn't risk making noise by moving about to check on the progress of the search. They weren't likely to find him and if they did, well there wasn't much he'd be able to do about it. He was still clutching a scalpel in his hand but it was no match for a gun should there be a contest. So he decided to occupy his mind by getting inside of hers. She and her colleagues had been able to collect enough clues to learn his identity and at least some of his secrets. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. He'd gather his own clues and perhaps find a way to impress her with what he knew of her. She'd be so very flattered. He ran a mental checklist on the information he had gathered so far. - She was some kind of cop. - She could give orders to men nearly twice her size and they unquestionably followed. - She had a strong stomach. She continued examining the body of his latest victim, then lifted her head and looked around. Her gaze moved slowly around the one-time dining room until her eyes locked with his. She couldn't see him of course, but it unnerved him. He could tell it unnerved her, too. Her eyes narrowed for a moment, as if she was trying to solve an impossible riddle. He overheard her comment about ghosts in the house and nearly laughed aloud. She could try to explain it away as a case of the creepy-crawlies, but he knew he had gotten to her. On some level, she knew he was there. Then a voice called out "Scully!" Scully -- that was her name. Her last name he hoped. She was pretty. She deserved a pretty name. The voice, she identified it as belonging to "Mulder," asked her to come upstairs. Well, DePriest thought, that was odd. He hadn't even been upstairs. What was there for this man to show her? Curiosity got the better of him and DePriest scaled the ladder to the top floor. He was upstairs even before she got there. DePriest found the situation almost comical, but the redhead, Scully, didn't seem amused. This Mulder guy had literally fallen over his own feet. Granted it wasn't the result of clumsiness, not really. His attention had been focused on the search and he hadn't noticed the warped floorboard that jutted upwards until he had stumbled over it. Scully maneuvered the injured man around so that his back was against a wall and his legs were straight out in front of him. She poked and prodded the wounded ankle, easing up when he started hissing expletives. She was absorbed in caring for her comrade, assessing his injuries, cheering him with her words. Unaware that Dennis DePriest, the man who had astounded his teachers with his talent for learning, had selected her as a study topic. ____________ "I think it's just sprained, Mulder, but we'll have to get some x-rays to be sure. I'll go get the EMTs to check you out. They're still outside." Scully started to rise from the dirty floor where she was kneeling next to her partner. He made a motion to stop her. "No, Scully, just help me downstairs, then you can drive me to the hospital, okay?" He held out his hand, obviously intending for her to pull him up. She wondered if it had occurred to her partner just how difficult it would be for them to get down the rickety set of stairs with him leaning his much taller, much heavier body on hers for support. "Mulder, let them look you over first, then we'll go." "C'mon, Scully, no one out in that ambulance has your qualifications. If you say it's sprained, I'll take your word for it." "I appreciate the confidence, but my typical patient rarely has the benefit of a second opinion. Dead men can't sue for malpractice. You really should be seen by a specialist." "Surely after all this time with me you qualify for some sort of Mulderology sub-specialty." He reached for her again. "Now help me up. I think I'm getting splinters in my butt." Scully stood and smiled down at her hapless partner. "In that case, I think I'll pass on that addendum to my medical license. I don't feel especially compelled to spend the night picking wood slivers out of your ass." He regarded her with a practiced leer. "Just imagine it, Scully. You. Me. A pair of tweezers. But have it your way. With or without your help, I'm getting out of here." His confidence rapidly dissolved when he began to lift himself off the ground and a sharp, burning pain ratcheted up his leg. He collapsed back down on the cold splintery wood. Scully crouched beside him and laid her hand on his cheek, smoothing out the grimace of pain on his face. "Oh, Mulder," she whispered, "the things you manage to do to yourself." Then she stood again and headed for the stairway. "Hang on and I'll get someone to help." Less than a minute later two EMTs carrying armloads of equipment raced up to attend to a very reluctant Agent Mulder. There was no end to his grievances as they tried to follow standard examination procedure. After yet another complaint, this one about why in God's name they needed to shine that damned light in his eyes when all he had was a sprained ankle, they surrendered and helped move him slowly down the stairs. Scully gave them a shrug and sympathetic smile as they passed her. She remained in the upstairs bedroom to finish Mulder's aborted exploration. There was some furniture shoved into one corner, the once exquisite pieces now dry, cracked, wearing a heavy coat of gray dust. Scully stepped around the floorboard menace that had sidelined her partner and gingerly pulled back one of the heavy cobweb-covered drapes that blocked the window's light. The illumination revealed her footprints on the dirty floor, along with those of Mulder and the EMTs. No one else had been up there for a very long time. So why did she feel like she wasn't alone? She released the curtain and eased carefully back across the room, her vision slow in adjusting to the restored darkness. She reached the stairs just as one of the police officers came pounding up the steps. "Agent Scully, what happened? I saw Agent Mulder being helped out of the building." "He's okay, just twisted an ankle. Did you find DePriest?" "No. He must have been gone before we got here." "Damn," she cursed softly. "Okay, then I'm going to call in a Bureau forensics team and . . ." Her voice caught in her throat. ". . . And the coroner to take the boy's body to the morgue so I can do a post mortem. Could you guys wait around here until they arrive? I want to get Agent Mulder to the hospital to have that ankle checked." "No problem, Agent Scully, but . . ." He looked past her into the dark room. "Yes?" "Would it be okay if we waited outside? This place gives me the creeps." "Yeah," she muttered, and then stronger, "That would be fine. Just keep an eye on the place on the remote chance he comes back." Scully descended to the main level of the house, stopping at the ruined little body of Seth Ottman. She looked around for something to cover him and, finding nothing, removed her trenchcoat and laid it over the boy. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. Not, unfortunately, before the officer who had followed her downstairs noticed and asked if she was all right. "I'm fine," she croaked. "All this dust, allergies, you know." He nodded but she had already turned away and headed out the door to check on her partner. ____________ Dennis DePriest had led a life filled with privilege, but little joy. Today he was feeling positively giddy with the emotion. He supposed it was ironic that he had achieved so easily the very things others struggled, often futilely, to accomplish. And yet in spite of, or perhaps because of that, those achievements held no meaning for him. He was brilliant, successful, attractive, respected. But all he had ever wanted were the things that had eluded him. To be ordinary, mundane, anonymous. Mediocrity beckoned and he had tried to discard the unwanted mantle of notoriety when he left his position at Brookhaven, yet renown had stalked him, revealing itself in a grocery store in Flagstaff, Arizona. It was on that day he embraced his superiority. He was an exceptional man. Whether it came from God or genetics or science he might never know, and for once he didn't care. The epiphany that came to Dennis DePriest while sitting in a pool of blood in the cereal aisle was that he could be exceptional in perversity. He could destroy when others would build. Take when others would give. And what others would fight to save, he would kill. And he had done those things. He had left a trail of misery beyond anything he could have imagined a few short months ago. He had found satisfaction in it, but not joy. Not until today. He crept from his hiding place, keeping low to avoid being seen through the windows. He needn't have worried. The officers on guard duty were leaning against their car with their backs toward the house, enjoying a smoke. DePriest moved over to the body of the boy he had killed this morning. He'd lost interest in the dead boy but was captivated by the trenchcoat that covered him. He ran his hands over the fabric, caressed it, lifted it to his nose to inhale the scent of the woman who had worn it. He slid his hand inside one of the front pockets and triumphantly pulled out a prize -- a stack of business cards. All bearing the name of Dana Scully, M.D. ____________ Dennis DePriest's escape had been almost embarrassingly easy. He made sure the two police officers were still occupied with their cigarettes and conversation, then slipped soundlessly out the back door. A short trip through the woods to the car he had parked by the back entrance to the acreage, and he was on his way to a cozy fishing lodge at a nearby lake where he registered under an assumed name. The view from the cabin's porch was exquisite: the gold and scarlet of the sunset reflecting off clouds and water. It was too early in the season for much in the way of boat traffic, so no whiny engine noise disturbed the serenity of the lake and forest. It was a peaceful place. A place for reflection. His fingers traced the embossing on the business card in his hand. It contained a few valuable bits of information about her, though he was proud that he had already deduced most of those facts just from watching and listening. Hell, he could practically write her resume at this point. - She was a medical doctor. He'd suspected as much when he saw her examine the body but her interaction with her injured colleague confirmed it. Pathology specialist. He tended to cast all pathologists in the image of his instructor during his own pathology rotation -- a pot-bellied, middle-aged man with bad teeth. He would have to drastically revise that stereotype after his encounter with Dr. Scully. - Mulder, the man with the sprained ankle, was her partner. A long-time partner, he suspected, not just because it was implied in their conversation, but also because of their obvious rapport. That kind of ease only comes over time. - She was an FBI agent. This again went against his preconceived ideas about pathologists. Guns and danger weren't in the job description. He'd always thought pathologists were happier lurking in hospital sub-basements. FBI training was undoubtedly a lot tougher than the two-week law enforcement course he had endured for his volunteer police work. And unlike his class, where one buxom, brainless blonde was allowed to pass, despite her lackluster test performance, he surmised that only the best made it through the FBI academy. Even though Agent Scully had the kind of looks that could open doors for her, he suspected she would reject any opportunity that was based solely on her attractiveness. - She was compassionate, felt things deeply, but she wasn't overly demonstrative about it. He'd seen her tenderly care for her partner, but stop well short of patronizing him -- not one "poor baby" passed her lips. He'd watched her cover the dead kid's body with her own coat and try to hide the tears his death provoked. She had justified the watery eyes and roughness in her voice as allergies. He didn't buy it. He doubted the officer who'd witnessed the tears bought it either, but wisely hadn't called her on it. DePriest looked again at the card he held. Dana. Nice name. Short. To-the-point. No nonsense. It suited her. It's said that everyone on the planet has a twin. Dennis DePriest had never given it much thought. But today it had been like looking in a mirror. Not in any physical sense of course. He was tall, dark, sturdily-built -- almost the antithesis of Dana Scully. But in other ways they were so very much alike. Siblings. Twins. For Dennis DePriest, the orphan, the elation at finding a kindred soul was beyond imagining. He'd seen commercials and sappy television shows depicting jubilant homecomings of long lost relatives. This, he thought, is how it must feel. And now it was his duty to help this sister he had yearned for and finally discovered. She was suffering now as he had suffered for so many years. Weighted down by the heavy cloak of righteousness. He'd been like her before Arizona. Cool and in control. Respected and admired by his associates. Confidently making one right decision after another. But when he had faced THE CHOICE, it had changed him. He was freed from the strictures of morality and conscience, finding pleasure in the absence of guilt. That choice, as devastating as it had seemed in the making, had made him what he was today. Would she find the same freedom if faced with the same choice? In his mind a plan began to take shape. Other children would have to die but that was just a side benefit to his ultimate goal. He had begun to tire of the old game anyway. It was entertaining but without challenge. Now he was imbued with a fresh sense of purpose: to bestow his new sister with a gift -- that same life-altering choice he himself had been given. In retrospect he couldn't understand why the choice had been so difficult for him to make in the first place. Live a life unburdened by conscience, or die an honorable death. Honor was meaningless if you were dead. Surely even Dana Scully would see that. ____________ End Part 3/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ MEDIOCRITY'S ALLURE 4/11 by Jill Selby (msselby@socketis.net) Disclaimer & Summary: See Part 0 Classification/Rating: XA/PG-13 for violence and language Spoilers: "Memento Mori," small mentions of "Ghost in the Machine" and "Home" ____________ Mediocrity's Allure 4/11 -Tap- -Tap- -Tap-Tap- -Tap- -Tap-Tap- Scully snatched the pen from Fox Mulder's hand and laid it down on the table in front of him. He mouthed the word "sorry" to her, and he meant it. He was impatient to get back to the pursuit of Dennis DePriest. Sitting in this briefing room was accomplishing nothing and though he thought he had shown admirable restraint as the other agents droned on about fingerprints and the like, evidently his pen-tapping gave him away. Scully might pretend annoyance, but he was positive his partner was every bit as antsy as he was. She was just better at sitting still. At least when this meeting was over, she'd be able to jump back into the chase with both feet. Hindered as he was by an air cast and crutches, he wouldn't be jumping into anything for a couple of weeks. Until his sprained ankle healed, the best he could hope for was limping, maybe lurching. Scully began to give her report on their findings at the latest crime scene and since he was already familiar with every detail, he used the time to study her. She looked better today, more rested. He hoped she had enjoyed a dreamless sleep last night. He certainly had, thanks to the mind-numbing pain medication he'd been given in the hospital. He still wasn't sure how he'd managed to get from Scully's car to his apartment, and then to bed. She must have helped him. Perhaps it was for the best that he didn't recall the embarrassing details. Mulder knew that deep down, Scully was glad they'd been put on this case. His abduction theory aside, the case fell completely outside the normal realm of the X-Files. They'd been pulled in for his profiling skills and her medical background -- not because anyone was giving credence to his paranormal take on things. Scully would never voice it, but he could tell that sometimes she liked playing with the other kids in the Bureau. Her life was so entangled with the X-Files that she might never be free of them, but every once in a while she got the chance to distinguish herself in the Bureau mainstream. And who was he to deprive her? Especially now when her future was so uncertain. She had the rapt attention of the other agents at the table as she described the scene at the decrepit old house. She reported that in her records search she had found four properties owned by DePriest, all of which had previously belonged to his father. Their locations, not coincidentally, were relatively near the sites of the kidnapings. She had postulated that he was taking the victims to those places, which is how they came to find the body of Seth Ottman. Her autopsy on the body was scheduled for later in the morning but she verbalized doubts that it would reveal any helpful information. Her recommendation was to contact the local Bureau in the other three states where DePriest owned houses and have those properties searched. Mulder was impressed. It was solid investigative work. It lacked the leaps in logic that were his personal forte, but it was getting the job done. For all the preening and posturing of the other agents around the table, it was Dana Scully who had found every important clue so far. He hoped the others would give her the credit that was due. _____________ The briefing ended just before Mulder slipped into boredom-induced catatonia and he retreated to the basement in hopes of making headway on the case. Scully had gone to do the autopsy with a promise to meet for a late lunch to compare notes. Mulder decided to follow up on his abduction theory in Scully's absence, since she was hardly likely to throw her support into the endeavor. After two hours of phone calls, Internet searches, and file probes, he made a shocking discovery. He had been wrong. Dennis DePriest had not been an alien abductee. Nevertheless, Mulder had found something interesting. Very interesting. At least as fascinating as the abduction theory had been, perhaps more so because Scully wouldn't be as inclined to dismiss the evidence as preposterous. He'd never been able to completely convince her of the existence of extraterrestrial interference in earthly goings-on, but she would accept that sinister human beings would use other humans as guinea pigs to advance their science. She'd accept it because she had experienced it firsthand, from the point of view of the guinea pig. Years ago Mulder had run across a reference to the Wichita Children's Institute. It was an orphanage essentially, but only the most cutting edge techniques in psychology, education, nutrition and discipline were practiced. As a result, the graduates of the institute were among the best and brightest in the nation. Or so the government's literature had said. Hence it seemed odd to Mulder that the institution that boasted such success had been dissolved in 1989. Odder still that the names of the institute's graduates were considered highly classified information. If not for a copy of DePriest's curriculum vitae that had been faxed to him from the Brookhaven Clinic, Mulder would never have been able to find the connection between DePriest and the Wichita Children's Institute. He'd hit dead ends using the traditional avenues of inquiry, either getting no information at all or a saccharine-sweet public relations treatise on the wonders of the Wichita Children's Institute. So in his own tradition, Mulder took a more subversive route to get what he wanted. His friends, the Lone Gunmen, loved this kind of thing. The Institute project smacked of government conspiracy and child exploitation. It didn't surprise Mulder in the least that, not only had they heard of the Institute, they had a file full of facts that would never appear in an advertising brochure for the place. After repeatedly assuring the paranoid trio that his fax line wasn't tapped, they agreed to forward the information. The project had been founded in 1964 by two apparently legitimate scientists who wanted to create the perfect environment for raising children. These two scientists, Ralph and Della Meisner, had combined their work with their unfulfilled desire for children into a first-rate project, benefitting not only the WCI orphans, but other children as well when the results of their studies were published. As with all scientists though, they were dependent upon outside funding sources for survival. An influx of funds came in 1967 through grants from an obscure and now defunct branch of the National Institutes of Health. All research generated by the Meisners from that date forward was deeply buried in classified files, wrapped in so much red tape that even the Gunmen were having trouble cutting through it. But they had managed to uncover the names of the children who attended the institute and in researching the names found a disturbing trend. Nearly one-third of the former WCI students were now institutionalized for serious sociological disorders. Many of the others had committed minor criminal offenses involving deviant behavior -- indecent exposure, disorderly conduct and the like. But a small percentage, a group that would have included Dennis DePriest up until a short time ago, were highly successful individuals holding distinguished positions in their chosen vocations. Veritable poster children for the institute. He knew his call to the Gunman had piqued their interest and that at this very moment they were working their way through that red tape to get the lowdown on the Meisners' research. He expected a phone call before evening. Probably one that would begin with "Mulder, you'll never guess what we found." He really needed to buy the guys a beer one of these days. But right now he was late for his lunch meeting with Scully. _____________ "Didn't I promise you Italian for lunch, Scully?" With a flourish, Mulder removed the lid from Scully's tray. "This isn't lunch, it's dinner." Scully crinkled her nose in distaste. "And this isn't Italian." "Sure it is. Chicken Parmesan. Yummy." Scully scraped at the red sauce covering the patty on her plate to reveal gray-brown meat. "Mulder, I can't even be sure this is chicken." She looked from her tray to his, vaguely disturbed at the uniform nature of their food. Real chicken didn't come in perfect little oval pieces. If this stuff was related to chicken, it was a distant cousin, several times removed. Mulder seemed unfazed and polished off the airplane meal with wolfish bites, then appropriated her leftovers, which was everything on the plate minus the fruit cup and brownie. Once the stewardess had collected their empty trays, Mulder and Scully pulled out files and a laptop to begin their information exchange. There had been little time for conversation before now. Mulder had received the call ordering them to Arizona as he was walking out the door to meet Scully. Lunch plans abandoned, they had both hurried to their apartments to pack and had met at the airport minutes before their flight's departure. It had taken another half hour of negotiation with other passengers to finagle adjacent seats. "Why did Skinner order us to Flagstaff? Do they have a lead on DePriest?" "Not exactly, Scully, but DePriest has an apartment there. I'd like to search it." "Surely the local Bureau could have . . ." "And," he interrupted, "an event occurred there last year that may have some bearing on the case. Skinner wanted us to talk to the local authorities in person. They evidently weren't terribly helpful on the phone." "Don't keep me in suspense, Mulder." "First, look at this." Mulder handed her the file on the Wichita Children's Institute, and watched her facial expression evolve from curiosity to bewilderment to comprehension. "What about your abduction theory?" "I'm fickle, Scully. What can I say? I like this new theory better. So, do you agree that DePriest's psychosis could have been the product of whatever he was subjected to at the Wichita Children's Institute?" "It's possible, but until we know what that was, it's premature to say with any certainty. Especially since his violent tendencies only recently manifested themselves in any significant way. Unless there was some sort of catalyst, which we haven't . . . " Scully glanced up and saw the self-satisfied grin on Mulder's face. The kind he always got when he knew something she didn't. The kind she always hated because it meant she had somehow lagged behind and he was waiting for her to catch up. She sighed impatiently. "Is there something else?" He retrieved a folded newspaper article from one of the files in his lap and waved it in front of her face. "The Flagstaff Monitor, April 25, 1996. It seems that a grocery store heist went wrong when two off-duty cops walked into the store and interrupted the robbery. The perpetrator shot a little girl while trying to make his escape. One of the officers administered first aid to the child, saved her life evidently, while his partner went after the gunman, only to be shot as well. He died before the ambulance arrived. The shooter was never found. But the cop who saved the little girl was a hero. Lots of local media coverage. There's a whole folder full of stuff here that Agent Chambers dug up." "And they think DePriest was the shooter?" "Nope. DePriest was the cop." ____________ Jim and Colleen O'Dell were arguing. Again. It was the same argument they had been having for two days now. Colleen thought the twins were too young to be out camping like this. Jim was convinced that children were never too young to learn to appreciate nature. The heated words and name-calling escalated, effectively masking the sound of the stranger's footsteps as he neared the children's tent. The girls had gone with him willingly. They had been told not to talk to strangers, but he said he was a park ranger so it must be okay. And besides, he had promised to show them a nest of baby squirrels. They were so mesmerized by their search for squirrels, they barely even felt the prick of the needle. Dennis DePriest scooped up the two unconscious toddlers, one under each arm, and headed back toward their bickering parents. Colleen O'Dell's angry shouts trailed off and her eyes widened in shock as she spotted the dark-haired man moving toward their camp with her babies in his arms. Her first instinct was to rush toward him, to grab her children and find out what had happened. Had they wandered off and been hurt? Where had this man found them? But she was stopped short, as was her husband, by the blade that rested at Molly's throat. As if he were chatting about the weather, Dennis DePriest nodded and smiled to the terrified couple. "Tell Agent Scully that I'll meet her in Hell." Then with amazing speed, DePriest dashed through the woods, still holding the limp children like footballs tucked under his arms. He reached his Jeep before the girls' parents could get past their shock and react. Jim O'Dell crashed through the thick brush at almost superhuman speed, led by the sound of the Jeep's revving engine. Despite the impossibility inherent in the attempt, he chased the Jeep until he physically collapsed from exhaustion. And by then DePriest was gone, vanished into the darkening shadows, along with Molly and Tara. ____________ End Part 4/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ MEDIOCRITY'S ALLURE 5/11 by Jill Selby (msselby@socketis.net) Disclaimer & Summary: See Part 0 Classification/Rating: XA/PG-13 for violence and language Spoilers: "Memento Mori," small mentions of "Ghost in the Machine" and "Home" ____________ Mediocrity's Allure 5/11 "You want to know my worst nightmare?" Mulder's expression betrayed his confusion at the question. "Well, I'll tell you. It's when some Ken and Barbie FBI agents come blowing in here trying to fuck with my department." "I assure you, Captain Amos, that --" "Your assurances don't mean nothin' to me, boy. If it'll advance your investigation, you won't think twice about muddying the good name of this department. I won't have it. You'll prance around, get your pretty pictures in the newspaper, and be on your way back to Washington, leaving me and my men here to clean up the shit that's hit the fan." Scully, typically the more diplomatic of the duo, had taken enough of the police captain's uncooperative attitude and open disdain for them. When she spoke it was quietly, distinctly, as if she was trying to get through to an obstinate child. "If, Captain, you do not cooperate with this investigation, I assure you that cleaning up shit will look like a promotion compared to where you'll end up working." "Don't you threaten me, sweet cheeks." Scully stood, and, bracing her arms on the captain's desk, leaned toward him. "No threat. A guarantee. Listen, no one is accusing your department of anything here. We want background information on Officer DePriest. That's it." Her voice began to increase in volume. "Surely you can understand our need to find this man before he kills another child. If you think your ego or your department's reputation are more important than the lives of the children he will kill if we don't find him, then you're as sick as he is." "Scully, come on, let's go." Mulder, balancing himself on his crutches, took her by the shoulders and quite literally pulled her out of the captain's face. "We're not getting anywhere here." The captain sat back in his chair, his smugness momentarily replaced by a kind of shocked stupor. He was a big man with a reputation for surliness. No one had ever had the gall to get in his face like that before. Especially not a woman, and such a tiny little thing at that. It was simply not acceptable. As Mulder and Scully made their way to the open office door, Amos rocketed from his chair with every intention of putting the little bitch in her proper place. But before he could open his mouth the receptionist sprinted into the room. "Captain Amos, we got a call from the Canyon. A man just kidnaped two little girls, right in front of their parents. From the description they got, they think it might be that Bogeyman guy." Amos expelled a breath of air and, as if deflating, settled back into his chair. Mulder and Scully, whose exit from the office had been blocked by the now-retreating receptionist, turned back toward the captain. Mulder moved himself forward. "Captain, we really need to know what you know. One way or another we'll get the information, but we don't have time to waste." The silence that followed seemed endless. The captain's head was bowed and his gaze didn't waver from his desk blotter. At last Mulder turned toward the door and motioned for Scully to follow. His frustration with the captain was almost a tangible thing at that moment. "He was a volunteer." It was spoken softly. It would have been inaudible, but the entire station had gone eerily quiet when Scully had raised her voice to Amos. Mulder again faced the captain and was astounded by the change. Gone was the pompous, angry man of moments ago. The man he faced now looked humble, contrite. Apologetic. "He was a volunteer. We have a volunteer force that helps with parades, ball games, that sort of thing. DePriest was a buddy of one of my regular officers, Doug Carver." Scully moved back to the chair in front of the captain's desk, no longer buffeted by waves of anger coming from the man. "The officer who was killed in the grocery store?" "Yes. There was a big street festival going on downtown that day. Dennis and Doug had worked it. They had stopped in at the store for a six-pack on the way home, and that's when the shooting occurred." Mulder was surprised. Nothing in the files he had read indicated that DePriest was a volunteer. Of course, the fact that he was a police officer should have shown up earlier in the background check, so his volunteer status made sense. "None of the publicity mentioned his being a volunteer." "No. Losing Doug was a terrible thing. Don't get me wrong there. It's always a sad day when a department loses one of its own boys." Scully let the sexist comment pass. "But?" "But, the publicity it generated, Dennis being a big hero and all. Well, you can't buy that kind of thing. When he saved that girl's life, the whole department kind of got swept up in it. After a day or so, it was too late to come forward and say DePriest was just a volunteer. The city was feeling so damned good about the police force for the first time in a long time. So we just let it slide. Dennis never told no one anything different, far as I know." Scully understood how it had happened and why Amos was so reluctant to come forward with the truth now, but it still didn't excuse his earlier belligerence. It took a concerted effort on her part to keep her tone neutral as she finished questioning Amos. Fortunately the conversation was brief. He didn't have much to add. DePriest had dropped out of sight about a week after the incident. No, Amos didn't know where he had gone. And no, he would never have pegged DePriest as a killer. He had been a "real stand-up guy." Mulder thanked the captain for his assistance. Scully did not. She did ask for and receive polite directions to the security offices of the Grand Canyon National Park. ____________ No one spoke above a whisper in the conference room of the park office. There was absolutely no need for the silence, but no one was inclined to destroy the peaceful facade. Scully and Mulder moved through the crowd of park personnel, finally stopping at the man who seemed to be at the center of the most attention. Mulder was reminded of a beehive with the low hum of peripheral activity and a group of workers surrounding the queen. Only in this case, the "queen bee" was a sixty-year-old man named, ironically, Buzz. Mulder caught Buzz's eye and held up his badge. The security chief immediately excused himself from the group and motioned Mulder and Scully to an unoccupied corner where they exchanged introductions. "Thank God you folks are here. We're way out of our depth on this one." Mulder acknowledged the man with a nod. "We were at the Flagstaff police station when the call came through. All we heard was that two little girls had been kidnaped." "Yeah. Molly and Tara O'Dell. Three years old." He called back over his shoulder, startling several in the quiet room. "Callie, you still have that photo?" A young woman in a khaki shorts and shirt uniform handed a picture to Buzz, who in turn handed it to Scully. Two girls, identical twins, were beaming at the camera. Both blue-eyed redheads with freckles sprinkled liberally across their faces. Mulder, who had been peering over Scully's shoulder to catch a glimpse of the photo, sucked in a breath. He'd teased her once about bringing some "uber-Scullies" into the world. As painful as the memory of that conversation was to him now, it was nothing compared to this pain, because when he had pictured those "uber- Scullies," this was the image he'd seen. Somehow he managed to get his voice working. "Have you talked to the parents?" "We couldn't get much out of them. They're pretty much in shock. You're welcome to try if you want. I'll warn you though, Mrs. O'Dell hasn't responded well to any of my men. Callie's the only one she'd talk to at all. I think Agent Scully might have better luck." "Maybe if we --" Mulder was interrupted by the shrill ringing of his cell phone. Scully tried to figure out the identity of the caller but Mulder's monosyllabic responses weren't all that informative. If pressed to make a guess though, Flagstaff PD's Captain Amos would not even have made her top ten list. She figured he had burned their business cards in effigy before they reached the parking lot. Even more unexpected was the fact that he had just asked for their assistance. Well, Mulder's assistance anyway. She didn't actually receive an invitation. A local motel manager had recognized DePriest from a picture on the evening news and reported that he had rented a room this morning, just long enough to shower and change, then returned the key. Evidently some personal papers had been left behind that Amos thought Mulder should see. Still, Flagstaff was at least an hour and a half away, and Mulder couldn't drive. She expressed her reluctance to leave, since it was possible that DePriest was still in the area. Buzz solved their dilemma by suggesting that Callie drive Mulder back to Flagstaff, and Scully stay behind to question the O'Dells. The perky Ranger Callie seemed only too eager to oblige. Any other day Scully might have taken the time to harass Mulder about his enthusiastic escort, but today she was too preoccupied to be anything but grateful for the woman's assistance. ____________ It seemed apropos that they were having this meeting at the Grand Canyon, because the emotional distance between Jim and Colleen O'Dell was a schism at least as wide. "Mrs. O'Dell, Colleen, I realize this is very hard for you, but did he give you any clue as to where he was taking the girls?" Colleen O'Dell, as she had been doing for the last ten minutes, verbally responded, but didn't answer the question. "I said we shouldn't have come. I said the girls were too young. But Jim insisted, and now my babies are gone." Scully looked from Colleen to Jim, who was standing well away in the corner of the hotel room. He just looked at her sadly and shook his head. The suffering was so clear on his face he couldn't have stated if more plainly if he had screamed it at the top of his lungs. Dennis DePriest had stolen this man's children and maybe his marriage as well. It was late, well past midnight. Scully thought that perhaps it would be best to let the O'Dells get some rest and then try questioning them in morning. She was about to bid them goodnight when Buzz knocked on the door. He opened it slightly and called to her. "Ma'am? We got that map book for you like you asked. We put it in your room. We've got you set up just down the hall. Room 253." Scully rose from her chair and met Buzz at the door to take the key card he held out for her. "Thanks Buzz. I appreciate all your help. I'll see you in the morning." "You're welcome, and goodnight, Agent Scully." Right now a hotel bed sounded like a little piece of heaven. She had been very grateful when Buzz suggested she take a room in the lodge for the night. She'd still be close by if they needed her, but her ability to function would be vastly improved after a hot shower and a few hours of sleep. Scully turned her attention back to the O'Dells. "Well, Jim, Colleen, why don't we talk again tomorrow? Try to get some sleep if you can." For the first time that evening, the gloomy haze lifted from Colleen and she regarded Scully with an almost anxious expression. "Agent Scully?" "Yes?" "I mean, is that your name? Agent Scully?" "Yes. But you can call me Dana if you like." "No. I mean he said your name. Didn't he Jim? Isn't that the name he said?" "Yeah." Jim looked as if the recollection had struck him at the same moment as Colleen. "Right before he ran away with the girls he said to tell you that he'd see you in hell." Scully was nonplussed. "He mentioned me specifically?" Colleen closed her eyes and more tears slid down her cheeks. Scully could tell she was replaying that horrible moment in her mind. "He said 'Tell Agent Scully I'll meet her in Hell.' Do you know him?" "No. And I don't know how he would know me." Scully realized she shouldn't be trying to unravel the mystery in the presence of these people. They were troubled enough without her adding her own anxiety to the mix. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out. And we'll do everything we can to find your daughters. Let me know if there's anything you need; otherwise I'll see you tomorrow." Jim walked to the door and opened it for Scully. As she passed him he spoke to her through barely controlled sobs. "Find them, Agent Scully. Please bring our babies home safe." "I promise to try. I swear I'll try." ____________ Fox Mulder never thought he would look forward to spending time in the company of Captain Amos, but after nearly two hours trapped in a car with the ever-effervescent Callie, he could hardly wait for their meeting. He had never truly appreciated Scully as a travel companion before today. Now he knew how lucky he was. Dana Scully never talked if she didn't have something to say. Callie seemed compelled to fill every possible gap in conversation with some inane commentary. While he was grateful the transportation, he had hoped to use the travel time to gather his thoughts on the case. Now he was simply trying to gather his wits. Mulder had to swallow a chuckle when Callie pulled into the driveway of the Stall and Trough Motel and Restaurant. The motel was surrounded by a split rail fence which had been decorated with wagon wheels and cattle skulls. The room number on each door was framed in a horseshoe. And the finishing touch -- a giant steel and plastic cow stood atop the restaurant roof. Mulder dearly missed hearing what Scully would have had to say about this place. It couldn't have been more obvious where they needed to go. There were police cars with flashing lights parked near one end of the motel and half a dozen uniformed officers milling about outside. But Callie parked by the motel office at the opposite end of the building. Mulder chose to say nothing, if only to avoid being cooped up with Callie for another moment, and eased out of the car. He hobbled down the long sidewalk to where Amos was waiting. Callie trailed behind him, uninvited. "So, Agent Mulder, you trade in your redhead for a brunette? Don't blame you. I'd dump her too, especially after finding out the kind of company she keeps." Suddenly Amos had leaped ahead of Callie on Mulder's mental scale of people who aggravated him. "What are you talking about, Amos?" The captain feigned surprise at the question. "You don't know? Seems your partner has some sort of connection to Dennis DePriest. We found one of her business cards in his room." Mulder shoved his way past Amos into the hotel room. Any investigative work that had been done was long since finished. The officers standing around in the room were just taking up space at this point. The evidence bags were strewn across the bed. One did indeed contain a business card belonging to Dana Scully. A few of the others -- an airline receipt for an early morning flight from Washington National Airport to Flagstaff, a rental car agreement, and a convenience store receipt for a sandwich and some personal items -- were of little consequence in light of the fact that they already knew DePriest was here. The last piece of evidence was interesting. A receipt for equipment from a sporting goods store. Hiking boots, rock climbing gear, canteen, backpack, a few food items. He was planning a trip into the canyon. He wasn't sure how Scully figured into all this or how DePriest had come across her card. There were, in fact, very few things he was sure of. But one thing about which he had no doubt was Scully's integrity. Amos' insinuation that she was somehow involved in DePriest's activities turned Mulder's stomach. He had to find a private place from which to call Scully, preferably away from Amos and his legion of officers. Plus, his ankle was throbbing. It had been a long day and he certainly wasn't up to a return trip to the Canyon with Callie. As he walked out of the room and took a good look at his surroundings, he felt almost positive that there would be a vacant room available at the Stall and Trough Motel. ____________ End Part 5/11 of Mediocrity's Allure ____________ Mediocrity's Allure 6/11 ___________ The voice that answered Scully's cell phone was not the voice Mulder had been expecting to hear. "Uh, hello. Is Dana Scully there?" "Let me check. Hold on." Mulder heard the sound of the phone being set down on the table and would have liked to remind the brain trust who had answered that it was a *portable* phone. In the background he could hear scuffling sounds, the scrape of chairs across the hardwood floor, and snippets of conversation. Approaching footsteps signaled the return of the mystery man who had answered Scully's phone. "Buzz said she went up to her room. I guess she just left her phone and jacket down here. Do you want me to go get her?" Mulder bit down once again on his urge to inform boy-wonder here that Scully's cell phone could be carried to her, or that Mulder could call on the hotel phone. There was no need for her to get out of bed and traipse all the way over to the conference room. Actually, when he thought it over, there was no need to wake her at all. She desperately needed some sleep and telling her that a serial murderer had taken a fancy to her business card was probably not going to lull her into a peaceful slumber. "No. Listen, will you take a message for me . . . what's your name?" "Keith." "Are you part of the security staff, Keith?" "Kinda. They asked me to help out," Keith lied. He was, in actual fact, a waiter. The only help they had asked of him was to deliver soda and sandwiches to the security team. "Okay then. Ask Agent Scully to call Agent Mulder first thing in the morning, before she does anything else. She knows the number." "Got it. Agent Scully to call Agent Mulder in the morning." "Before she does anything else." "Okay." "Don't forget, Keith. It's important." "I won't. Bye." Mulder didn't feel at all confident in Keith's ability to deliver his message. He vowed to call her again in a few hours, as soon as he was sure she'd be up. Since there was nothing to do now but wait for morning, he dropped down on the hotel bed, intending to take a short nap. ____________ A loud crash in her room jolted Scully from her nightmare into wakefulness. She leaped out of bed and grabbed her gun on the night stand, her eyes straining against the darkness to find the source of the noise. With a trembling hand she reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on. She squinted through the suddenly too-bright light and was shocked to be faced with . . . nothing. She moved carefully around the room, peeking behind the drapes, into the bathroom, under the bed, and finally found her culprit. The heavy book of maps she had been perusing when she fell asleep was now laying between the bed and the wall. Evidently she had kicked it off the bed during her struggle with the demon in her dreams. She pulled the book back onto the bed and settled down to study the maps some more. It would be less than useless to try to go to sleep now. And plagued as she was by her recurring nightmare, sleep didn't hold that much appeal. She didn't know what she was looking for really. She'd never been as good as Mulder at getting into people's heads. But she hoped against all the odds that something would come to make sense to her, that she would be able to figure out DePriest's location. She had looked at every page, studied the topography, vegetation, rainfall -- every little fact, no matter how irrelevant it seemed to her ultimate goal. She was just about ready to give up and try the old trick of closing her eyes and pointing to the page with the blind faith that he'd be wherever she pointed. When she found it. ____________ "Hey Mulder, you'll never guess what we found!" It was the greeting he'd been expecting from the Lone Gunmen, although it was coming later than he'd predicted. "About the Wichita Children's Institute?" "You got it. We figured they were doing some sort of questionable testing on these kids. Turns out we were right. We still haven't been able to get everything on the Meisner's research, but we e-mailed one of the former students and she gave us an incredible story." "You're sure we can believe this woman? A lot of these people ended up a little . . ." "A taco short of a fiesta platter?" "Well, that's not the way I would have phrased it, Frohike, but yes." Mulder stretched and yawned, then rolled over to look at the bedside clock. 9:25. "Damn!" "What?" "Scully should have called a couple of hours ago. I hate to do this to you guys, but can we make this quick? I need to find my partner." There was a heavy sigh. Mulder didn't know if it was due to irritation at being rushed, or just an audible manifestation of Frohike's frustration over his unreciprocated affections for Scully. "Okay, don't want to keep the luscious Agent Scully waiting." Must have been the latter. "It seems the kids were subjected to just about every kind of psychological, drug, and nutritional test these people could think up. Sometimes in amazingly cruel combinations. Some of them were isolated for months. No one would touch them or speak to them for the duration of the isolation. Just to see what kind of damage it would do." "Jesus." "Yeah. Some of the kids, like this woman and your suspect, drew the long straw. They were part of the ideal environment test group and went on to lead mostly normal, even successful lives. At least until your suspect whacked out. She did say they were given drugs, she didn't know what, and there was some other weird stuff going on. Oh, and the implants." "Implants?" "An implant under the skin of the left hand of every WCI child. It was a tracking device. These kids were monitored constantly. No chance they could run away. There was nowhere they could go that they wouldn't be found. Unless they had them surgically removed, all the adults who were part of the program as children are still walking around with that implant." Mulder's mind was making connections, facts were moving into the spaces where only speculation had dwelt before. "He was giving us his life story," he mumbled. "What?" "Oh, nothing Frohike. Just thinking out loud. Is there anything else?" "Not right now, but we'll let you know if we dig up anything that stinks." "You know that's funny, because whenever I smell something rancid, I immediately think of you guys. Gotta go. Thanks." Mulder hung up on an incensed "Hey! --" He made a quick call to Callie's room, telling her he'd be ready to head back to the Canyon in half an hour. Then he dialed Scully's number. ____________ "I need to go here." Scully jabbed a finger at the place on the map she had discovered only minutes before. She had thrown on her clothes and lugged the map book to the conference room to enlist Buzz's help. "I wouldn't recommend it. It's a dangerous trip." "That's where he is." "And how do you know that? Because he told the O'Dell's he'd see you in Hell? That could mean anything." "No, Buzz. DePriest is nothing if not deliberate. This is the first time he's spoken to anyone during a kidnapping. He wouldn't have said that without a reason. It was a clue. He wants me to be the one to find him." "Isn't that a good reason for you not to go? I mean if this guy's got it out for you. . ." "I don't think that's it, but for some reason he wants me involved. This may be our only chance to save those kids. And I think," she amended herself, "I *know* that he's there." "In Hell's Basement?" "In Hell's Basement." "Okay, Agent Scully, but there's no way I'm sending you out alone. It's at least a day's hike down and another day, maybe day and a half back up. You'll need a guide." "Actually I was going to ask for one anyway. Can you spare one of your people." "None of them have ever been there. It's not real touristy, you know." "You mean to tell me that no one around here has ever made that trip?" "Well, there is one guy." "Who?" "Me." ____________ Dana Scully rarely operated on hunches but when she did, they were rarely wrong. She had agreed that Mulder should go back to Flagstaff to follow up on Amos's lead at the hotel, but her gut feeling was telling her that DePriest was still near the Canyon. It wasn't logical. It deviated from his typical modus operandi. There was no evidence to back up her conjecture. She just knew. And after her conversation with the O'Dells and her discovery of a place named Hell's Basement, she knew with certainty. She just hoped she never had to explain to Mulder why her consistently logical train of thought had suddenly jumped onto an intuitive track. Scully had to admit surprise when Buzz reemerged from changing into his hiking clothes. She'd been expecting scrawny limbs, withered from too many hours behind a desk. But he was muscled and toned. Attractive in a Sean Connery-esque sort of way. She felt reassured about her prospects for survival in the rugged terrain of Hell's Basement. After the loss of one too many pairs of expensive dress shoes, she had learned to pack hiking boots. But aside from those the remainder of her clothing -- the hiking shorts and cotton work shirt -- had been purchased from the park store this morning. The prices were exorbitant but she didn't exactly have time to bargain shop. Buzz had outfitted them with canteens, ropes, and backpacks stocked with basic survival gear. Scully had added a first aid kit to her backpack and her gun was tucked against her side in a shoulder holster. Radios and cell phones were left behind. Signals were unlikely to carry to and from the canyon, so the equipment would just be worthless and burdensome weight. As a final safety measure, Buzz had looped a tracking monitor around each of their necks. It was a small piece of round plastic, about the size of a stopwatch, that hung from a cord necklace. There was a red button on the side of the device -- the panic button according to Buzz. If they were injured or separated, the button could be activated to alert a rescue team back at headquarters. She joined Buzz for a filling breakfast of eggs and fruit before they set out by Jeep on the two hour drive to the rim of the gorge that was their destination. ____________ They had been gone for about an hour when Keith remembered the phone message he was supposed to deliver. ____________ Mulder had been concerned when he got a message on Scully's cellular number that the customer he was dialing was "currently unavailable." He was worried when she didn't answer the phone in her room. When he finally got through to the headquarters office and learned that she had gone out with Buzz to search for DePriest, he went into full-fledged panic mode. He managed to convince Callie that he needed at least an hour of silence for his morning meditation, and assumed a pose with eyes closed, head bowed, and hands resting on his legs with palms turned heavenward. Evidently she fell for his deception because she hadn't spoken for miles now and Mulder was able to concentrate on the problems at hand. Although the information he'd gleaned from the Gunmen didn't help pinpoint DePriest's location, it had given Mulder a better portrait of the man's psyche. If it had been a painting in a gallery it would have been considered modern art. Carefully defined blobs of color, never touching any other color on the canvas. Disjointed images which would have been nonsense to the amateur viewer. But Mulder had an experienced eye. He knew where to look to find the hidden messages. DePriest's life had been made up of bold, defining images. Orphaned child of a powerful father. Wichita Children's Institute test subject. Doctor. Police officer. He had put each of these incarnations behind him before beginning the next. Never the twain to meet. Until the shooting in Flagstaff. Then Dr. DePriest stepped out of the past and Officer DePriest lost a friend. The killer had emerged as a result. And like an artist, the killer had put his distinctive signature on his work -- the pennies. All bore the date of 1973 -- the year DePriest's parents had been killed. All implanted under the skin of the left hand, just like the tracking implant from the Institute. All surgically stitched. A contribution from the doctor. And the cop was represented, Mulder suspected, by the choice of victims. A child's life as payback for the life of Doug Carver who died while Dr. DePriest saved the life of a little girl. Now DePriest had pulled Scully into the picture and Mulder wasn't sure why. He only knew, given DePriest's intelligence, that it was absolutely intentional. Scully was walking into a trap and Mulder didn't know how to stop her. ___________ Hell's Basement was a deep stab in the earth, the walls of the wound a bloody red-brown with a barely distinguishable sandy yellow at its core. It had a dizzying effect on Scully as she leaned over the edge to peer down into its depths. Buzz suggested they take the easy way in -- narrow trails about halfway, then a combination of rapelling and climbing down to the desert in the basin. Scully was afraid to ask about the hard way. She looked at the path they would take, bordered on one side by rock with nothing but a sheer drop of thousands of feet on the other. The trail was strewn with sharp rocks and scrubby plants. An occasional tree root pushed up to tangle around the feet of unwary hikers. They say the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. She wondered where a path like this would lead. ____________ End Part 6/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ ____________ Mediocrity's Allure 7/11 Buzz had to agree with Scully's assessment of the scenery. "You're right; it truly is spectacular. I tend to take it for granted sometimes." "I know what you mean. I work in Washington, so every day I drive past all these monuments and important centers of government. There are even tours going through the FBI building. But I've grown so accustomed that I don't think of those things as special anymore. When I first moved to DC I planned to visit all the museums, you know, do all the tourist stuff, but I never did." She paused, then added quietly, "Probably never will." She allowed a rare touch of fatalism to enter her thoughts. Maybe it was the grandeur of her surroundings that made her feel so small and insignificant. But this was hardly the time to allow fear and defeat to cloud her judgment. "You should. It's a beautiful city. There are so many wonderful things to see. I was there once . . . for the Vietnam Wall dedication." "Did you fight in the war?" No, but my baby sister did. She was a combat nurse, always stationed up close to the action. Too close." Even though he was behind her and she couldn't see his face, she could tell by his voice that the loss of his sister was still painful for Buzz. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. We were proud of her and she died serving her country. She wouldn't have regretted it. I'd be doing her a dishonor if I did." Although Buzz had no way of knowing, his words were like a tonic to Scully. The best anyone could hope for was to live and die honorably. If she was to die, how better to live the rest of her life than by doing her job to the best of her ability. She prayed that the safe return of these two little girls could be part of her legacy. "What's your sister's name? I'd like to look her up the next time I visit the Wall." "Marion. Marion Armstrong." "You know, up until this moment I didn't know your last name. I suppose you get a lot of astronaut jokes?" "I've heard my share. I'm just a walking amalgam of the Apollo 11 mission. But around here we don't use last names much. It's not as tourist-friendly." "In my work it's just the opposite. Mulder and I have worked together for four years but it would feel really awkward to use each other's first name, I think." "And your first name is?" "Dana." "Well since we're going through Hell together, do you think I could call you Dana?" "I think that would be fine, Buzz." ____________ They'd been hiking along the perilous little trails for nearly six hours, only stopping briefly to eat and rest. Scully had been surprised at how mild the temperature was. Maybe she'd watched too many cheesy westerns, but she had envisioned the sun beating down on her, heat rising in waves from the rocks. Buzz had laughed when she shared her observation and told her to wait until she got to the basin; even this early in May the temperature could get into the 90s and she'd get the opportunity to live out her Clint Eastwood movie fantasy. Scully chanced a look over the edge of the path. It still seemed like a long, long way down, and Buzz had warned her that they were just about out of trail. They'd have to push hard to get to the bottom before nightfall. An outcropping of rock loomed ahead in the path. They would be able to crawl under it, although Scully wasn't looking forward to edging along the narrow ledge while hunched over. Once again, her smallness was of benefit and she found the going easier than she had expected. As she neared the end of the almost-tunnel of rock she heard another reminder of those western films -- the unmistakable sound of a rattlesnake about to strike. She surged forward, barely able to keep her balance. Her arms pinwheeled for a terrifying moment before she was able to press her body back against the stone. "Buzz! There's a snake!" Her warning was unnecessary. He heard the sound too as he followed her under the rock overhang, but his only escape was over the side. It was certain suicide to roll off the path, but human instinct was to avoid the snake, so Buzz let his body fall. ____________ It was a talent borne, unfortunately, from repeated practice, but today Mulder was glad for his ability to move swiftly on crutches. He cut through the crowds of visitors in the lobby with purposeful speed. Callie had trouble keeping up. He hit the conference room like a tempest, throwing open the door and surging forward to the front of the room. He focused in on a mousy, intimidated clerk and demanded to know who was in charge. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no actual sound issued forth. She finally just pointed to a slender, middle-aged woman in a park uniform who was, at the moment, speaking on the phone. Mulder moved himself into a position in front of the woman and started talking in spite of the fact that she was still engaged in her phone conversation. "I'm Agent Mulder. Just what the hell is going on here?" The woman chose to ignore him and finish her conversation. Then, and only then, did she even bother to look at him. When she spoke it was with a deliberate, false politeness in her tone. "I'm sorry. I was on the phone. I'm Doris, the public safety director. Was there something you needed?" Mulder was accustomed to this kind of response from Scully anytime he disregarded common courtesy. He didn't mind it, even found it endearing coming from his partner. But his partner was in danger and he didn't have time for teasing little games from this shrew-faced woman. "I need to talk to Agent Scully. Either you get her on a radio or you get her back here, but . . ." "Sir . . ." ". . . I have to tell her . . ." "Sir . . ." ". . . that the guy she's looking for . . ." "SIR!" Mulder's mouth snapped shut when Doris, fed up with his impatience, lost her temper. "Agent Mulder, is it?" Mulder nodded. "Agent Mulder, first of all they aren't carrying radios. They wouldn't work in the canyon anyway. And there's no way a party could catch up to them. She and Buzz have hours of headstart. Now just what is so important that it can't wait until she gets back?" Mulder took a deep breath, willing his body to calm down and his mind to slow down. "The man she's after, Dennis DePriest, is baiting her. She needs to know that. I have to warn her." "She already knows." The soft female voice behind Mulder startled him. He turned his head to see a small, redheaded woman. Her eyes were swollen from hours of crying. Her hair and clothing were disheveled from lack of attention. It wasn't difficult to figure out who she was. "Mrs. O'Dell?" She nodded her affirmation. "What do you mean she already knows?" "When Agent Scully came to talk to Jim and me last night, we told her what DePriest had said." "Which was?" "That he'd meet her in Hell. She stopped by this morning and said that it had given her an idea of where to look and that she was going to go find Molly and Tara. It'll be okay, won't it? She'll find them won't she?" Mulder ran his hand back through his hair, then clenched his fist and brought it down to his side. A gesture of frustration. "I'm sure she'll try. My partner is an excellent agent. One of the best. If anyone can find your children, she can." "I hope you're right. But what if that bastard hurts my little girls? One of the guys here said that it was a long hike out of the canyon." "Agent Scully is a doctor. She'll be able to take care of your daughters if they're hurt." "Thank you. That makes me feel better." Mulder felt slightly guilty as he watched Colleen O'Dell moving slowly back across the room to visit with one of the other park officials. Despite his confidence in Scully's ability, Mulder thought he might have been dishonest with Colleen O'Dell. Odds were good that her children would never survive their encounter with Dennis DePriest. "That must be handy." "What?" Mulder turned back around to the Doris, not quite following her comment. She motioned toward his injured leg. "To have a partner who's also a doctor. That must be a useful combo sometimes. I doubt there are too many cops out there with medical degrees." And then the missing piece of the puzzle of Dennis DePriest, his interest in Scully, slid into place with sickening simplicity. Doctor cops. "Damn." ____________ "Oh my God! Buzz!" Scully saw Buzz drop from the edge of the rocky cliff and heard his cry as he fell. And she heard it end abruptly, accompanied by the sound of a body hitting rock. She warily glanced around for the snake, but it seemed to have retreated back into the craggy rocks. So she lowered herself until she was lying on her stomach to more easily look over the side. Relief poured through her as she saw him lying on a small rock shelf that jutted from the side of the cliff about 25 feet down. He was in obvious pain, but he was alive and moving slightly. Had his fall taken him two feet to the left or right, he would have missed the rock and fallen straight to the bottom of the canyon. "Buzz? Buzz, can you hear me?" His head moved and glazed eyes peered up at her. "Yeah." "I'm going to come down there. Just hold on, okay?" "Be careful. It's a hell of a trip." His ability to joke was an encouraging sign. Scully studied her options for getting to Buzz. He had most of the rapelling equipment with him, but she did have a good length of strong rope. That would have to do. She tied one end securely to a tree root that had pushed out of the rock just above her head and the other end around her waist as a security measure, just in case she lost her grip on the rope. Since dangling from the end of a rope and swinging headfirst into solid rock was not on her "things to do" list, she had no intention of losing her grip. She tightened the straps on her backpack, whispered a prayer, and began her descent. It was slow but steady going. The rope burned her hands as she inched her way down, but she did not risk relaxing her grip. The same thought ran through her mind in an endless loop -- just a few feet more -- a few feet more -- a few feet more. She was close now. She could hear Buzz's labored breathing just below. Horrendous squawking, talons, a flurry of wings startled her as she edged too close to a hawk's nest. Her muscles tensed but her grip loosened for a fraction of a second. Long enough for her to free fall down the rope, past Buzz. She let loose with a scream of her own. She fought the urge to reach out and steady herself on the rocks that rushed by her. Instead she closed her hands tightly around the rope and jerked to a halt. The muscles in her arms screamed in pain. Her hands, burning before, were surely bleeding now. But compared to being bashed into the rocks as she had feared, this was an acceptable alternative. She hung motionless for several long seconds trying to pull in breath and slow her racing heart. When she felt calm enough to continue she looked around. She was now about ten feet below the rock where Buzz lay. Climbing up, especially with her hands and arms in this condition, would not be quite as easy as climbing down. Whether it was adrenalin or courage or answered prayer, something helped her hurting arms pull her back up the rope to her waiting patient. ____________ Mulder had been staring at the two dots on the tracking monitor for hours, hoping for a reversal in direction. Wishing that he had some of that telepathic ability Scully didn't believe in with which to summon her back. He was rarely in a position to idly sit and observe as events unfolded around him, and he hated it. Loathed it with every fiber of his being. At the very least he should be out there with her, helping her search and watching her back. But he was sitting in a plush conference room surrounded by platters of fruit and sandwiches with his injured foot propped up on a chair. "More coffee sir?" A waiter had been flitting around the room all afternoon, refilling coffee cups with annoying frequency. Since no one had shooed the kid out of the room, Mulder feared he had been assigned to them for the duration. Putting his hand over his cup to forestall the addition of more coffee to the nearly-full cup, Mulder glanced up at the young man with the carafe, preparing to tell him, "No, thank you and leave me alone." For the first time he took in the name embroidered on the young man's shirt. Keith. "Keith?" "Yes?" "Did you by chance answer a phone call for Agent Scully last night?" "Uhhh . . ." "That was you wasn't it?" "Uhhh . . ." Mulder rose from his chair and gained a considerable height advantage over the young man, who actually appeared to be shrinking by the second. The agent's voice shook with quiet intensity. "Did you give her the message Keith? Because it's strange. Agent Scully always returns her calls. She's almost compulsive about it. Even if she doesn't want to talk to someone, she calls them back. And I can't think of a reason why she wouldn't have wanted to talk to me. I'm her partner. I had important information for her. Information that she needed to know before she crawled into some mile-deep hole looking for a killer!" Keith tried to step back but Mulder grabbed him by the collar and jerked him forward until their noses almost touched. "Did you give her the message Keith?" Mulder let him go and Keith stepped back out of reach. "I - I - I was going to, but, but . . ." "Get out. GET OUT!" Mulder shouted. The entire room went silent, all eyes pinned on Mulder and the frightened waiter. Doris wandered over to them from her temporary post at the front of the room. "Is there a problem Agent Mulder?" "No problem," he shrugged. "I was just telling him I didn't care for anymore coffee." ____________ "So, will I live Doc?" "For a good long time, I'm sure. But you won't be playing tennis for awhile. Your shoulder's in bad shape, and I'm not sure but I think that wrist is broken. I know you don't feel like it right now, but you were very lucky." "I am. I know." He motioned upwards with his head. "Luckier than the bush that broke my fall." Scully glanced up at the scrawny plant, its spindly limbs now torn and mangled. She was absurdly thankful to the pathetic little tree. "Are *you* okay?" "Huh?" Scully seemed surprised he would ask. Sore arms and hands hardly compared to his injuries. "Did you hit your face? Your nose is bleeding." Scully felt the trickle of blood from her nostril, and swiped it away with her fingers. She fumbled through her backpack for a handkerchief and pressed it against her nose to wait out the flow. "It's nothing. I get these, um, sometimes. With the dry air and the excitement. . ." "If you're sure." She wiped the last traces of blood away, then smiled with confidence she didn't feel. "Of course I'm sure. Now we have to get you out of here. You can't climb and I can't carry you, so I think it's time to find out if that panic button thing really works." Buzz pulled the cord out from under his shirt and dangled the device in front of her. "Be my guest." Scully pushed the button, then made as if she were expecting help to immediately swoop down from the sky. After a few seconds she sighed and settled down beside Buzz. "Well, I guess it takes a few minutes." "More like a few hours. This might be a nice spot for dinner, though. Watching the sunset with a beautiful woman and a can of pork and beans. What more could a man want?" Scully blushed at the compliment but didn't comment. She reached into Buzz's backpack and removed a can of beans and a spoon. She opened the can and held it out to Buzz. "Do you need me to help you?" "No. I've still got one good arm. Just set it my chest and I can manage from there. What about you? You're not just going to watch me eat are you?" "I have to go on, Buzz." "No, Dana." "You know I do. I have to find those kids. Every minute I delay is one minute of time they can't afford. I'm sorry. I wish I could stay with you. Will you be okay?" "I'll be fine. Don't you worry about me. I just wish I could change your mind." She started to respond but he continued. "But I know I can't. I'm glad for their sake that I can't. You're an amazing woman Dana Scully. If I were twenty years younger you'd have to beat me off with a stick." "If you were twenty years younger I'd never be able to keep up with you." Scully rummaged through her first aid kit and pulled out a bottle of prescription strength Tylenol. She shook six of them into Buzz's hand. "Take these if the pain gets too bad. They'll take the edge off. Okay?" "Okay." "I'll come see you when I get back, Buzz." "It's a date." Scully transferred some extra rope and a pair of gloves from Buzz's pack into hers and gave him a small, sad smile. She was reluctant to leave him alone, as injured as he was. But she truly had no alternative. So she crawled off the rock and continued her descent into Hell's Basement. ____________ End Part 7/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ Mediocrity's Allure 8/11 A shrill, piercing scream cut through the silence. Mulder, who had dozed off watching the hypnotic display on the monitor, nearly fell out of his chair. Doris and the rest of her staff immediately rushed to the machine. Mulder glanced from person to person, trying to make sense of what was happening. "What? What's going on?" "A distress signal from one of the tracking devices," Doris announced with her clipped, matter-of-fact tone. Mulder swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and asked, "Which one?" Doris and the others continued studying the display, scribbling notes, pulling out maps. He asked again, louder this time. "Which one?" Doris answered tersely. "There's no way to tell, Agent Mulder. They're not tagged like animals. Every device sends the same signal." "What are you going to do?" "We'll send a rescue party. Callie, you and Brad coordinate the team. I'll call Flagstaff and alert them for a possible air evac." "Can't you just send the helicopter down to get them?" Doris finally turned around to address the overwrought Mulder. "You ever try to land a helicopter in a narrow canyon, Agent Mulder? The cross wind currents would slam you right into the side of the cliff." "But . . ." "Callie and Brad are trained for this. They'll handle it." "I want to go." "And do what? You certainly can't get down those trails on crutches. You gonna sit on the side and dangle your legs off until they get back?" "Maybe." "You'd be in the way. They'll radio once they're out of the canyon and we know what we're dealing with." One of the other staffers tapped Doris on the shoulder. "Hey, Doris, look at this. The other signal's moving." "Going on into the canyon. Yeah, I see it." Mulder exhaled the breath he'd been holding. Buzz would have no reason to go on alone, so he must have been the one calling for help. Which meant Scully was fine. Mulder felt the lump move from his throat to the pit of his stomach. Scully was fine, except now she was searching the canyon for a killer, and she was all alone. ____________ It might have been faster to use the ropes for her descent, but her palms were raw and blistered from her earlier fall, so Scully climbed down the rock face at what seemed a snail's pace. There was no shortage of hand and footholds and it was not a particularly difficult descent -- she'd been through worse during her Academy training -- but her patience was wearing thin and daylight was growing scarce. At last her feet touched a ledge where she could sit and rest for a few minutes before beginning the last short leg of her journey to the bottom. She uncapped her canteen and took a drink of the water. It was warm and tasted like plastic and it was absolutely delicious. Her stomach rumbled, and she made herself a promise to eat just as soon as she was on the solid ground of the basin. Her body protested as she lifted herself up once more. For all the people who would be upset with her for making this little trip, Mulder and her oncologist topping that list, her chiropractor would surely be delighted. With the decreasing daylight came a corresponding increase in noise. Sounds filled the air -- insects, birds and animals all singing their respective greetings to the night. It was like being trapped in the soundtrack of one of those old western films she had been musing about earlier. Maybe those movies weren't so farfetched after all. A coyote yipped and howled in the distance, answered by the wail of another animal, this one much closer. The sound was vaguely familiar but Scully couldn't place it within the animal kingdom until she heard it again. It was the distinctly human cry of a child. The sound was pained and urgent and Scully knew she'd need to find a faster route to the bottom of the canyon. It was nearly unbearable to listen to the child's frightened cries. She could not in good conscience prolong the little girl's suffering out of a need to protect her own abraded hands. She pulled the backpack off and removed the ropes from it. She guessed it was still another two hundred feet down although distance was difficult to judge in the waning light. She knotted each rope to the next, yanking hard to test the stability of the knots. If even one failed she could very well fall to her death. Once satisfied with the rope, she pulled on the gloves she had borrowed from Buzz. She had tried to wear them earlier but they were too large and she had feared they would interfere with her ability to grip the rocks with her fingers. The awkward size wouldn't matter if she were sliding down a rope. Scully donned her backpack and patted the gun that was still nestled in the shoulder holster. She was not unaware of her vulnerability. The crying child could be a lure into DePriest's trap. Her wariness wouldn't mitigate the danger, however, until her hands were free to reach for her gun if needed. That in itself was incentive to get down the rope quickly. She looped the end of the rope around a piece of rock that projected from the ledge where she stood, tying it off with another firm knot. Then she dropped the remainder of the rope over the side. Another loud sob summoned Scully to the desert below, and she gripped the rope and swung her legs off the safety of the rock. The trip was quick and mostly uneventful. She discovered the best and fastest way was to walk her way down the cliffs, letting the rope slide easily through her hands. Forget the old westerns; now she felt like Batman. The only problem came when she backed into a prickly bush that ripped a long scratch up her calf. She hissed with the momentary pain of it but the child's cries and moans curbed her self-pity and she continued the journey. Until she reached the end of her rope. Literally. ____________ Damn the darkness. It was getting difficult to see across the canyon when now, more than ever, unimpaired vision was important. She was tenacious, past the point of good sense apparently. Most anyone else would have given up when she lost her guide. But not her. She kept pushing and pushing until she was left dangling in the wind, a good ten feet from her goal. He very much wanted to see how she got herself out of this mess. The most prudent course of action would be to swing over against the rocks and grab on, then climb the rest of the way down, as she had done most of the afternoon. She had been moving cautiously up to this point. He didn't expect her to alter her behavior, but that's exactly what happened as soon as the little girl let out another of her irritating screams. Whether she accidentally fell or just let go he wasn't sure, but she dropped like a stone to the ground. The twilight haze made it impossible to tell, even with the magnification of binoculars, if she was moving at all. From his vantage point it didn't appear so. She was lying face down and inert on the dry ground. He grew concerned. If she was too injured to enjoy his challenge, then where would he be? He would have gone to all that effort of dragging those children into this God-forsaken hole in the earth just to watch Dana Scully take a nap in the sand. He had about decided to slip from the cave entrance to take a closer look when she stirred, finally lifting herself into a sitting position. She leaned toward the ground -- it looked like she was spitting. She'd probably taken a bite of dirt when she landed. She grabbed her canteen and took a sip, then spit again. Her hands wiped at her eyes and nose, then moved down to dust off the front of her shirt. She eventually got her feet underneath her and was able to stand on wobbly legs. He could see her swaying, even from this distance. His eyes never left her as she followed the trail of sound to the child. Her strides, limping at first, eventually smoothed out. She had not been badly hurt. Good. That was very good. By the time she reached the screeching child he'd almost completely lost her in the darkness. Then suddenly the area was bright with illumination. It was as if someone had shined a spotlight on Dr. Scully and her patient. He was inordinately pleased that she had been carrying a lantern. Now he could sit back and enjoy the show, waiting for the right moment to add some audience participation. ____________ "It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay. You'll be okay. Shhh. Don't be afraid. I'll take care of you." Dana Scully rocked the sobbing child in her arms, needing first to calm her before she could assess her for injuries. She wasn't sure if her soothing words were reaching the terrified child but she continued the litany. The little girl clung to her neck with astonishing strength, and tears ran from the child's face down into the collar of Scully's shirt. Chubby hands caught Scully's hair in a painful grip. After a long time the sobs diminished to little hiccups and whimpers and the vice-like hold relaxed. Scully tried to ease the child away so she could examine her but as she did the girl's little body began to twitch and convulse. The tears began again, but the cries were replaced by a steady chant of, "Hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts. . ." "What hurts? Where? Can you tell me?" "Bug hurt." "What bug?" "Bug hurt." Scully laid the child back on the blanket where she had found her moments earlier, still dressed in the nightshirt she'd been wearing when she was taken, wrists and ankles duct-taped to prevent escape. She checked the tiny flailing body as carefully as possible, but couldn't find any indication of a bite or sting. "Sweetheart, listen to me. Can you tell me where the bug hurt you?" "Leg. Bug hurt." Scully ran her hand over the length of the child's left leg and finding nothing, moved to the right. When she passed over an area just below the back of her knee the child writhed and let go with a heart-shattering scream. Scully turned her over to look at the area, expecting to find some indication of trauma. But still nothing. "Honey, can you tell me your name?" The child, still sobbing, was able to answer. "Tara." "Okay, Tara. Do you remember what kind of bug it was? Or can you describe it for me?" Tara just shook her head and continued to cry. "Please, Tara. I can help you but I need to know about the bug. Please, try to tell me." "The man, the man put a bug on me." "Where's the man, Tara?" "I don't know." Scully was getting nowhere. She pulled the child back into her lap and ran a comforting hand along her back. She took the opportunity to survey the canyon, but it was too dark now to make out anything distinct. DePriest could be right in front of them and she wouldn't see him. The child was trembling but it was impossible to tell at this point if fear or something else was the cause. "Okay, Tara. I have some medicine that will make you feel better, but before I can give it to you I have to know what kind of bug it was. I need help to figure it out." A very masculine, very loud voice came booming from the canyon, echoing all around Scully and her tiny ward. "Perhaps I could be of some assistance." ____________ She flinched. Up until that moment he had thought nothing could make her flinch. It was gratifying in the extreme. He had been watching her as she balanced concern for the toddler's mental state with a physician's need to treat a physical ailment. God! Such tenderness. What a joke. Didn't she know that caring was a waste of emotion? Well, maybe she didn't know yet, but it was a lesson he was prepared to teach. She'd know soon enough. "There are any number of things I need you to tell me, but let's start with what kind of insect we're dealing with here." Her voice cut through the darkness like a blade, sharp and clean. DePriest had to give her credit for a quick recovery. She obviously wasn't as badly thrown by his purposely dramatic ingress into the action as he had at first thought. "In your medical training, Dr. Scully, did you learn how to treat a scorpion sting?" "Depends on the species, but only non-lethal types leave swelling and redness." "And did you detect any such indications on the child, Dr. Scully?" "Why are you doing this, DePriest? What do you have to gain?" "Just satisfying my own depraved curiosity really. Surely you've conducted an experiment or two in your day, Doctor, just to see if the results would live up to your expectations. That's what science is all about, isn't it?" "And these kids are what? Test subjects?" "Oh no, not at all. They were just the catalyst, to set off the desired reaction. You, Agent Scully, are the subject of this little experiment." He could see in the harsh glare of the lantern that her eyes grew wide at the implication. Then anger chased away the surprise. "Then let them go. If they were the catalyst then their part in this is done. Let them go, and you and I can discuss your experiment once I know they're safe." DePriest laughed at her. "Well, since I know you are neither naive nor stupid, Agent Scully, you must think that I am. Let me assure you I am not. But, I don't want you to think me heartless, so I'll make you an offer. I'll give you a choice." "A choice." He could hear in her voice that anger was still simmering just below the surface. He was getting even more pleasure than he had anticipated out of riling her. "You have an injured patient, Dr. Scully. One who will most likely die from that scorpion sting within 24 hours without medical treatment. The kind of treatment, I'm afraid, that is only available in a hospital." "Thank you, Dr. DePriest, but I know that." "Patience. I'm getting to the good part. I'll let you take her. You have my word that I will do nothing to interfere with your getting her to safety." "Your word doesn't mean a hell of a lot to me, DePriest." "I'm not a liar." "Oh, just a kidnapper and murderer. Forgive me for impugning your integrity." She was a delight. DePriest could tell she was agitated at having to yell into the darkness while knowing he could see her. But he also knew she wouldn't turn off the light. She wanted to keep a close eye on the sick child. "What's my choice, DePriest?" "Leave the child and come after me. That little girl will likely die no matter what you do. It's a long trip out of this canyon Dr. Scully. Even longer with a child strapped to your back. I saw you fall before. You may not be hurt badly, but I'm willing to bet it's bad enough to slow you down. The child with me, on the other hand, is still perfectly healthy. At least for now." He knew she would understand the implied threat. "And you'd let me just come and take her?" "Well, no, I'm afraid I couldn't do that. You'd have to work for it, Agent Scully. But someone with your law enforcement training should be able to handle an unarmed suspect and retrieve his hostage safely, don't you think?" "You are one sick bastard, DePriest." "Think what you want, but how many other kidnappers would give you so generous an offer? So which will it be? The bird in the hand, or the one in the bush?" Scully didn't answer. She gazed down at the child still cuddled in her arms and eventually lifted her and walked back toward the place where she had first climbed, or rather fallen, into the basin. Her light clicked off and DePriest lost sight of her and the child. He called to her from across the canyon. "Interesting decision, Doctor. I hope you can live with a child's death on your conscience." Dennis DePriest crawled back into the cave and turned on a small battery-powered lantern. Molly O'Dell cringed in a corner, watching him with terrified eyes. What a blessing it was, he thought, to have no conscience to appease. ____________ Scully had two things in her favor at this point. First was the darkness. Earlier a curse, it now held her and Tara O'Dell tucked safely inside its cloak, out of sight of Dennis DePriest. She had found shelter behind a large boulder, but she had only the vaguest of ideas about where DePriest was hiding, so she couldn't be certain that they would still be out of view once the sun rose. DePriest had been right about one thing. There was no way she could get this child out of the canyon. Even if she were at her physical peak, it would be near impossible. And she was nowhere near her peak. She was exhausted, hungry, bruised and bleeding from various cuts and scrapes. But Depriest was wrong if he thought she would leave Molly to become his next victim. Little Tara slept soundly now, thanks to an injection of diazepam. Scully had administered it chiefly to put an end to the seizures brought about by the scorpion's sting. Of secondary benefit was the fact that Tara would stay asleep until help could arrive. She strung Tara's blanket up between the boulder and the wall of rock behind it to create a makeshift hammock where the child would be safe from the animals and insects on the ground. A hastily scribbled note, written in the dark on the back of a food can label, was tucked beside the child. It contained information about Tara's condition and the treatment Scully had administered. She wrapped the tiny girl in her camp shirt as protection from both the nighttime chill and the daytime's burning sun. Scully herself, now in only tank top and shorts, would be at risk for sunburn tomorrow. At the moment, though, tomorrow seemed too far away to be of concern. The second weapon in her admittedly limited arsenal against time and the madman across the canyon was a small plastic device that hung between her breasts. She retrieved it and placed it around Tara's neck. She brushed a few auburn curls away from the little sleeper's face and kissed a pudgy cheek. Then she pushed the panic button and slipped off in the darkness of the desert, on her way to introduce the variable of surprise into Dennis DePriest's experiment. ____________ End Part 8/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ Mediocrity's Allure 9/11 The term "God-forsaken" was almost a cliche for places like this, but that's exactly the way it felt. Like the absence of God. Dana Scully would never go so far as to say she was devout. She had far too many questions and far too little faith. But in times of despair she had prayed to a God she very much hoped existed, and during those moments she had believed. Yet why, if God was somewhere, wasn't he here? Surely he knew that he was required. She thought about Buzz, probably still waiting for help on that tiny ledge. Most likely too full of male stubbornness to take the pain pills she had left for him. A man whose decency and kindness shone like a beacon. What had he done to deserve his fate? Had God put that snake in the path? Could God have prevented it? And even if there was some well-hidden character flaw in Buzz that required such a reckoning, where was the explanation for Molly and Tara's torment? How could the benevolent God that young Dana Scully had heard about in church allow such a thing? Her journey to the other side of the canyon was achingly slow. Her steps weren't really steps at all -- more like tiny shuffles designed to prevent tripping over unseen obstacles. The darkness closed in around her, almost suffocating her in the grip of claustrophobia. The whole "Let there be light" thing was evidently another of God's little jokes. Stars blinked in the sky but provided no useful illumination, and she couldn't risk turning on her lantern for fear that DePriest was still keeping watch. He might relax his vigilance in the mistaken belief that she had left Molly behind, but she didn't dare underestimate his cunning. She only hoped he had underestimated hers. But unless she could make her way across the vastness with better speed, her stealth would be wasted. The sudden surplus of light at sunrise would tell her secret. Another thorny bush snagged her, this time just brushing against her arm as she passed. She offered up a silent curse to the God she now refused to believe in. Evidently that's what it took to get His attention because at that moment the moon rose over the edge of the canyon. It wasn't full by any means. Just a small sliver. But it provided dim light where before there had been none. Not bright enough to expose her, just enough to keep her from stumbling blindly. Perfect. As if God Himself had a hand in it. ____________ Buzz Armstrong had never been particularly lucky with women. He had a few failed relationships behind him. Had never attempted marriage. He wasn't a believer in bigamy and marrying a woman when he had already made a vow to his job would make him unfaithful to one or the other. Oh, who was he kidding? It wasn't that he couldn't expand his world to include a companion if the right woman came along. He just wasn't a very good salesman. There were always other models out there who were better looking, smarter, richer, wittier. He'd been told by female relatives that he was the kind of man women want to marry. Stable. Honest. Maybe. But stability and honesty and predictability don't excite a woman on the first date. How could he ever make a sale without the eye-catching packaging? At his shop-worn age he had decided that he'd probably never enjoy the touch of a woman again. So in that regard this had been a very good day. Okay, so his arm felt like it was being chewed off at the shoulder by razor-toothed rodents. What's that compared to the soothing touches he had received from Dana and Callie. It didn't matter that one was as married to her job as he was and didn't appear inclined to commit adultery with a man old enough to be her father, and the other, while a competent park ranger, had the social refinement of a twelve-year-old. They were both beautiful and for a brief moment they had been completely focused on him. He could live the rest of his life on the memory of this day. The trip out of the canyon had gone more smoothly than he had expected. Help had arrived just before midnight and they had managed to secure him in a harness and pull him back up on to the trail. From there he hiked slowly to the top, occasionally leaning back against Callie's supporting hand. Dawn was timidly nudging at the edges of the darkness as they emerged from the canyon. Buzz sat down in the back of the ambulance, allowing the medical personnel to make their assessment before they took the trip to the hospital. The rest of the rescue team took a breather against the bumper of the Park Service Jeep, reliving their adventure into Hell's Basement. They knew nothing of the real adventure. He'd tasted it, and Dana was still caught up in it. He regretted letting her go ahead without him, but arguing would have been a waste of breath. She was determined to save those kids or die trying. A shuddering chill ran through him at the thought. A concerned EMT wrapped him in a blanket. The sound of a vehicle's engine, followed shortly by a choking cloud of road dust, filtered into the ambulance. Sounds were muffled and Buzz couldn't make out actual words, but he could sense the urgency in the voices. Running footsteps pounded in the gravel. Doors opened and slammed shut as supplies were removed. Occasionally a figure would run through his line of sight in a blur. Oh, God. He knew this drill. Using his good arm, he pulled himself off the gurney where he was sitting for the exam. The EMT protested but Buzz waved him off and crawled outside. He had left Doris in charge. She was competent enough, but if anyone was going to coordinate this rescue, it would be him. Energized by a surge of adrenalin he moved into the group of rescue and medical workers surrounding Doris. He immediately garnered their attention, unconsciously booting Doris a few rungs down the authority ladder. "What have we got?" Doris seemed mildly perturbed at being displaced. "Buzz, go lie down. I have this under control." "I appreciate your filling in, Doris, but this is my job. Now what have we got?" She spoke through clenched teeth but gave no further argument. "The other signal went off a couple of hours ago. It's coming from the basin. I was getting a team ready to go." "Who's going?" "Joe and Frank." "Good, but send a couple more people." "We don't have a couple more here. I'm sure Joe and Frank can ..." Buzz wasn't listening anymore and looked through the crowd until he spotted his target. "Callie, you up for a return trip?" Callie gave a vigorous nod. "Yes, sir." Bless her heart, for all her deficits, she was a real trooper when she had to be. "Brad?" "I'm ready sir." Doris reentered the conversation. "Buzz, I still don't see why --" Jesus! He didn't have time for this. He whirled angrily back toward her. "If Agent Scully is right, there are four people in that canyon, all of whom may require some assistance to get out. Do the math, Doris." He turned away to address the rest of the group. "Get your asses down there as quickly as you can, but don't get lax on any of your safety precautions. Anybody got anything to add?" "Yeah." A man moved forward from the periphery. Buzz hadn't noticed him before and barely recognized him now. "Sure, Agent Mulder. Go ahead." "Listen, I know you people know what you're doing, but if, as Agent Scully believes, Dennis DePriest is in that canyon with the children, he is to be considered armed and dangerous. Do your jobs, get Agent Scully to safety if she's hurt, and the children, but don't try to be a hero. You should be aware that . . . " Mulder continued on with his warning and some advice on how to approach the situation if hostages were involved. Buzz half- listened but was more focused on the agent's appearance. A day ago he had been one of those men who made Buzz feel inadequate. A tall, handsome man with an air of self-confidence that bordered on arrogance. Gave off the image of good grooming without looking like he had tried too hard. Buzz thought Callie might have pulled a muscle in her jaw with all the toothy grins she had flashed at the agent. But now. Now he looked almost as bad as Buzz himself, and without the excuse of diving into a rock. His jacket and tie were missing. His starched white shirt had wilted and now hung limp and wrinkled from drooping shoulders. His beard was hours past five o'clock shadow. His confidence had ebbed away, replaced in excess by worry or fear or some combination of the two. Apparently his hair had been a casualty of that anxiety as tufts of it stood as if it had been pulled upward by a fist. As the agent finished his instructions and the team dispersed, Buzz closed the distance between them. For a strange instant he felt compelled to draw the other man into a mutually-comforting hug. He quelled the urge. He wasn't in any shape to duck a punch if the young man misinterpreted his intentions. "Agent Mulder, I . . ." The agent looked up at him expectantly, as if waiting for magical words that would erase the events of the past two days. Buzz didn't have any of those. "If there had been any way, *any* way, I would have stayed with her. I tried to talk her out of going on but she's stubborn." Buzz read from Mulder's expression that the agent knew exactly how stubborn his partner was and didn't need the reminder. "I feel like I failed her. I promised to guide her through the canyon and I couldn't do the job. I hated leaving her without any protection. Please understand that, Agent Mulder. I didn't want to leave her." That Mulder understood was obvious, but only because he was neck- deep in his own pool of self-blame. "I know, Buzz. I shouldn't have left her here when I went back to Flagstaff. She's not supposed to be in this kind of situation without a partner." "Oh puh-leeze you guys." Callie, who had been listening to their guilt-laden conversation, wedged herself between the two men. She stood with hands on hips and an annoyed, very un-Callie-like look on her face. "Would you look at yourselves? You --" she stabbed a finger at Mulder -- "are hobbling around here on crutches because you tripped over, what did you tell me? A board? And you, Buzz! You should have known better than to crawl under that rock without doing a visual check first. Agent Scully is the only one of the bunch who hasn't done something stupid. I think she can probably take care of herself without any help from the two of you." She stomped off to gather the rest of her supplies, muttering something about neanderthals. "I think we've just been compared unfavorably to cavemen," Buzz observed. "Maybe so, but don't think for a minute that if I could reach her I wouldn't drag Scully out of that canyon by the hair." "You and me both, Agent Mulder." ____________ She'd dined in fine restaurants and greasy spoons across the country. Her mother was an outstanding cook. Her own culinary skills were above par. But she'd never had a meal that tasted this good. Cold pork and beans, a granola bar and lukewarm water. After nearly 24 hours with nothing else substantial, this seemed a feast. Even with the aid of moonlight, the trip across the canyon had been arduous. Looking back over the distance in the early daylight, it didn't seem so far. But considering the obstacles she had managed to avoid -- scrubby trees, jagged rocks, a treacherous washed out ravine -- she felt fortunate for making it across as quickly as she had. This particular gorge had been carved and then abandoned by the river when some act of nature changed its direction. This dry canyon didn't hold much tourist appeal, which was probably why DePriest chose it as a hideout. But at least Scully didn't have to contend with the rapids of the Colorado River as she made her crossing. It was a trip based on nothing more than an educated guess because she couldn't be absolutely certain that DePriest was on this side of the canyon. The sound of his voice seemed to come from this direction, but the way it had bounced around the canyon walls made it impossible to know for sure. Even if he was on this side, and assuming he remained here overnight rather than travel back up to the top in the dark, there was no way to know where he was hiding. He could pop up literally anywhere around her or above her. All she could do was wait. So that's what she did. It was frustrating to do nothing, but it at least allowed her the luxury of this decadent meal. She scanned the bluffs above her for any sign of DePriest or his captive, and listened for Molly's cries through the din of morning birdsong. The sun would be up soon, which meant DePriest would be on his way. She absolutely could not allow that to happen. Her anger at DePriest had been festering throughout the night. That he could torture these two children as some part of a sick game he wanted to play with her, tore at her heart. The big mystery was how and why he had chosen her as an opponent. There had been no face-to-face encounters, and none of the publicity surrounding the case had specifically mentioned her name or even Mulder's. Somewhere in her gut, though, she knew the connection had happened at the house in Maryland. She had felt his presence like an itch. It didn't track in any logical way. They'd conducted a thorough search. He wasn't there. And Dana Scully, scientist, skeptic, logical thinker to a fault, was sitting here refuting evidence in favor of a *feeling*. Maybe she'd been out in the sun too long yesterday. She'd been counting on her senses of sight and hearing to give away DePriest's location, but in the end it was her sense of smell that caught the first clue. Smoke. She was sure she smelled smoke. Her eyes skimmed over every inch of cliff to her right, then above her head, and finally she turned to her left. The sun had just risen above the canyon walls and she had to squint to see, but not far in the distance near the floor of the canyon was a thin trail of smoke drifting from the bluff wall. If the wind had been blowing in any other direction she would never have detected it. She rose noiselessly from the camouflage of rocks and bushes and moved toward the smoke. She pulled her gun from its holster, clicking off the safety while still several yards away. The last thing she wanted was for the tiny noise it made to reveal her presence. She kept her back against the wall of rock, her eyes on the opening from which the smoke came, only glancing down occasionally to make sure the path was clear ahead of her. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears. She needed it to hush so she could hear sounds coming from the cave, but she couldn't force her ears to hear anything beyond the rapid thumping. She moved forward slowly, so slowly, until at last she reached the very edge of the narrow cave opening. Her body pressed against the wall, her gun held upward beside her face, she took one quick step into the doorway and swung the gun down into firing position, sweeping the chamber of the cave with her eyes, pivoting her body from right to left to avoid a surprise attack from the side. DePriest wasn't there. There was the fire she had smelled, a small pot nestled into the hot coals. And there was Molly O'Dell. Alive and paralyzed by fear against the far wall of the little room. Her hands and feet were bound like her sister's had been, and she was gagged to muffle her cries. A few other items were strewn around the area. A backpack, a jacket, some maps. But DePriest wasn't there. Not in plain sight anyway. But just like in the house in Maryland, she could sense him. It was an indescribable feeling. The closest analogy she could think of was the premonition she sometimes got on a sunny day that it would storm before evening. A subtle change in wind and temperature that sent a shiver of awareness through her. She felt that shiver now. The storm was close. Nearly upon her. She spun on her heels back toward the cave entrance. Her intuition had been right about his presence but it had failed to warn her about the fist that slammed across her face and drove her into the wall of rock behind her. ____________ End Part 9/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ Mediocrity's Allure 10/11 "Coffee?" "Wh-what?" "You look like you could use some coffee. I have some extra if you want." Dennis DePriest offered his newly-conscious guest a gallant smile and lifted the coffeepot from the fire to show that his offer was sincere. She ignored him and instead assessed her predicament. Still sprawled up against the wall of the cave, she moved a hand up to the back of her head to feel for injury. She would find a good-sized lump, but the skin had not been broken. He knew. He'd already checked. Her hand moved around to her face and touched her lower lip. He'd cut it when he hit her. An unfortunate but necessary means of disarming her. He watched as she searched for her gun, trying not to be too obvious about it, of course, but her eyes were flicking around the room, and her palms were sliding across the ground beside her. "Oh, I borrowed this from you." He pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans. "You weren't using it and I needed it. That's okay, isn't it?" She didn't acknowledge his question. He was amused by her neutral, almost disinterested expression. That's it, baby. Don't let the man with the gun see your fear. "This silent treatment really disappoints me, Dana. I've been sitting in here all alone -- well except for the kid over there and she's not much in the way of company. I couldn't wait for you to get here. But I was just sure our conversation would be a little more lively." Now there was a hint of surprise on her face that she couldn't quite hide. "Oh, you didn't know that I was expecting you? Of course I was, Dana. When two people have as much in common as you and I, well, it's not too hard to make those kinds of predictions." "We have nothing in common, DePriest." Her voice was hoarse with fatigue and pain but laced with venom. He leaned forward until his face was inches from hers and the gun was pressed beneath her chin. He whispered to her softly, like a lover. "We have everything in common, Dana. Everything." He pulled back away from her and assumed a comfortable sitting position. "Starting with the fact that we're both doctors." "Did you skip over that 'first do no harm' clause in your Hippocratic Oath, *Doctor*?" "You know, sometimes there's just no perfect solution. For example, before a patient can receive a liver transplant, someone else has to die." "But the doctors don't kill the donor to get the liver. And no one benefits from the death of these children." "I do. You will." He watched her shift around a little, trying to find a more comfortable position for her battered body while calculating a contemptuous response to his statement. He'd have to make her understand that this whole scenario in the desert had been an act of incredible generosity. "You said you wanted conversation, DePriest. Well it's a little hard to talk to you when nothing you say makes any sense." "It makes perfect sense. Should I explain it to you?" "Do I have a choice?" "Not really, no." She had remarkable eyes. They could hold conversations all on their own and right now they were giving him grudging permission to tell his story -- with the caveat that he'd better start talking before her patience gave out. She was the one at a power disadvantage here yet she was issuing nonverbal threats as if she was still holding a gun. How wonderful to play one-on-one mind games with someone in the same league. "We moved a lot when I was a kid. My dad worked for the Ganza family. Among their other interests, they built and operated resorts and hotels all over the U.S." "Those other interests being organized crime, as I recall." "Nasty rumors, of course. My father's job was to scout potential development areas, secure the deals, and supervise the construction. He kept the wheels greased and was well rewarded. We had houses, as I guess you already know, near several of the sites. We were getting ready to move to Flagstaff next." "So you're the son of a mobster. I guess the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree." He couldn't help but laugh at her insult. "Well, he tried anyway, but I guess Dad wasn't as clever a criminal as he aspired to be. He was caught embezzling funds from the Ganzas, and that was pretty much it for dear old Dad. I saw it happen, you know." "Saw what?" "I saw them kill my parents. I was hiding in the house. Same place I was hiding when I saw you for the first time." He guessed by her lack of reaction that she had suspected as much. Or maybe she was just keeping up the pretense of nonchalance. "Are we going somewhere with this story?" "Oh there's a payoff. You have to be patient. There were no other family members to take care of me so I went to the Wichita Children's Institute. Ever heard of it?" "I've read about it. And then you went to the University of Arizona and then to Brookhaven. After that it's a little sketchy until the grocery store robbery in Flagstaff." "I'm touched that you know so much about me." "Just trying to find a way to stop you, you son of a bitch. Now get to the point, DePriest. How'd you go from model citizen to murderer?" "I might tell you if you ask nicely." She went silent, defiance written all over her face. He toyed with the gun's safety, just for effect since it was already off, and pointed the muzzle squarely at her head. She remained still and mute. So he swung the gun toward Molly who still cowered in the corner. That got a reaction. "Damn it, DePriest! Stop it! You wanted me involved, so now I'm involved. Let's just leave her out of it." The gun blast was deafening in the tiny space. The agent's eyes had squeezed shut at the sound, and he thought she might be reluctant to open them again, afraid of seeing another dead child. But he hadn't hurt the kid. Well, she was more terrified than ever, but no worse off physically. "The next time I won't be aiming for the wall, Agent Scully. Now do you want to hear what I have to say or not?" Scully nodded. "Then, ask nicely." "Please." There was a barely-civil tone in her voice but those expressive eyes were shiny with tears. She was bending, he could see. But she wasn't broken. Not yet. "Please what?" "Please tell me what happened." "Since you seem to know so much about me, Dana, why don't you tell me?" "Because I don't know." "Sure you do. Remember, I told you we have a lot in common. You're the only other person I've ever met who could possibly know." "I know you saved a child's life in that store. And I know that your friend died. Is that it? You think you should have saved your friend instead of the little girl?" "Well, that was the first choice I had to make -- treat the injured or go after the perp. Which would you have chosen, Dana? Doctor or cop? "I don't know, I . . . I guess it would depend on the circumstances." "That's not true. You do know because I gave you the same choice." "So you're saying that you made the wrong choice and that's why you started killing children? Are you blaming all children for the death of your friend? That doesn't make any sense." "That's not what I'm saying. Don't start drawing conclusions until you've heard the whole story. That was just the first choice. A minor one in the scheme of things. It was the next choice that changed my life. Just like it's going to change yours." ____________ "If I've learned anything from all this, it's that you should never drink coffee made over a campfire. This stuff is disgusting." Mulder set his coffee cup down on the ground beside his chair and kicked it over with his toe, letting the dark liquid seep into the dry earth where it could kill weeds instead of taste buds. "You don't like roughing it, Agent Mulder?" Mulder had begun to suspect that Buzz was rather enjoying his discomfiture. "Hey, I'm the first to admit it. I'm much more comfortable in the great indoors. I've never really done much camping." "Never a Boy Scout huh?" "I've helped a couple of old ladies across the street, but that's about as close as I ever got." Buzz evidently took pity on Mulder's citified ways because he reached into a cooler beside him and pulled out a bottle of water for the agent. Mulder accepted it and gave Buzz a salute with the bottle. "Evian. Now this is more like it." He took a healthy swig, choking on it when a familiar sound cracked through the air. Buzz pushed from his seat with his good arm. "What was that?" "A gunshot." "Are you sure?" "Absolutely." Mulder had also struggled to his feet and the two of them limped to the side of the canyon. They stared into the abyss for several long minutes but the enormity of the space and the blinding glare of the sun made it impossible to see anything clearly. Mulder was about ready to take off down the hiking trail, crutches be damned, when he heard footsteps running up the path toward them. It was Callie, clutching a child in her arms. She pushed past Mulder and Buzz without acknowledgment, heading straight to the ambulance and the waiting attendants. There was no mistaking her urgency. They maintained a respectful distance, allowing Callie to make her report to the EMTs. Once the medical crew took over she walked back to where they were standing. She was panting, and her clothes were soaked through with sweat. She must have been running the entire length of those perilous trails. Mulder hoped that Buzz saved the safety-first lecture for another time. She spoke in short sentences, gasping for breath every couple of seconds. "That's Tara. Scorpion sting. Agent Scully -- treated her. Left a note." Mulder took the lead on the questioning, and Buzz didn't try to get in his way. "What note?" "Just condition -- and treatment." "Where's Agent Scully?" "Don't know." "What about the signal?" "She left the device -- on Tara. Guess she went -- to look for DePriest." Callie bent over at the waist to try to draw in more air. "Damn it! God damn it!" Mulder regretted the absence of a wall or some other solid surface where he could pound his fists. He turned away for a moment to collect himself before swinging back around to continue his questions. "Where's the rest of the team?" "They stayed to search." "We heard a gunshot." "Yeah, -- I heard it too, but it's hard to tell -- where it's coming from when you're down there." Buzz stepped in and put his good arm across Callie's back. He guided her to the chair he had vacated and retrieved another bottle of water from the cooler. "You did a good job, Callie. A damn good job. Why don't you take it easy for a few. Catch your breath, okay?" "Thanks, Buzz." Mulder began moving toward Callie again, determined to get some useful information out of her, but Buzz intercepted him. "Give her a minute, Agent Mulder. She's exhausted and she's told us everything she can anyway." One of the EMTs shouted from the ambulance that they were on their way to the hospital, asking if one of them could call the parents. Mulder yelled back. "How is she?" "She'll be okay, thanks to Agent Scully. Doubt she would have survived without treatment on the scene. Tell your partner the first round's on us when she gets back up here. She's a hero." The attendant pulled the doors closed and the ambulance sped away. *When* she gets back. Mulder had to cling to that hope. Not *if*. *When*. The world had enough dead heroes. It didn't need another. ____________ Don't try to be a hero. Dana Scully had to keep repeating those words to herself because the overwhelming impulse was to tackle this maniac and wrestle the gun away. A Mulder maneuver. The kind of impulsiveness that could get her killed -- could get Molly killed. It wasn't her style. It wasn't worth the risk. She'd bide her time and wait for her opportunity. Still it was hard to listen to his rantings without lashing out. She had thought she was getting somewhere. He'd talked about the shooting in Flagstaff and his decision to help the injured girl rather than pursue the gunman. She was certain that he was forcing her into the same choice through this bizarre reenactment. Only she had refused to make the choice and had found a way to be both doctor and agent without sacrificing the life of either Tara or Molly O'Dell. And now he was telling her that she was wrong. That there was another test still ahead. How could any choice be worse than the one he'd already forced her to face? "Okay, DePriest, let's cut the crap. What exactly is this choice you're talking about?" "You know a lot about what happened in Flagstaff. Did you read the press clippings about the incident?" His continued evasion angered her, but she answered. "Yes." "How about a little quiz then? What did you learn?" "You and Officer Carver entered the store during a robbery in progress. A child was shot. You administered first aid while Carver went after the suspect. The suspect shot him and escaped. Officer Carver died. The community declared you a hero for your actions in saving the child. So, do I pass?" "No, Agent Scully. You've read the condensed version, but you're leaving out the best part of the story." She had to grit her teeth to keep from screaming at this bastard. "Then why don't you tell me?" "All right. You're correct up to the point when I saved that kid's life. I'll even concede to you that I think I made a mistake there. I should have gone with Doug and left the kid to bleed out. But this is where it gets interesting. Are you still with me?" His constant condescension grated on her but she'd already learned that failure to answer his petty requests could cause a violent reaction. She spit the word at him. "Yes." "I did exactly what you did. I tried to do both jobs." She drew back against the wall as he once again leaned into her face and whispered. "That's how I knew you'd come after me. Because we're alike." Instead of sitting back down, DePriest stood and starting pacing in the small room, keeping his eyes and gun on her. "I sent everyone out of the store -- proper procedure -- remove any potential hostages. Then I went after Doug and the suspect. I heard a shot and ran to investigate, and do you know what? I literally ran right into the suspect. I mean, we fucking collided in the middle of the meat department." This was a surprise, and she let it show. Nothing in the police or media reports had mentioned anything about this. DePriest looked pleased that he'd caught her off guard. "We both fell down and next thing I know I have a gun pressed to my forehead and this SOB's finger is pulling back on the trigger. So guess what I did?" "I don't know." "Guess!" "I don't know, damn it!" DePriest leaned over her and pressed the gun into her forehead in illustration. "I did what you're going to do. I begged." She went cold. Her body stiffened, her respiration ceased. For long seconds she felt completely dead. Finally she forced herself to breathe. And to speak. "What?" "I begged. I pleaded for my life. Told the guy that I'd forget I ever saw him, forget what he looked like. Got on my knees, Agent Scully, and cried like a baby." "And he let you go?" "Eventually. Just like I'll let you go if you beg me." "No way." "It'll be okay. Trust me. It's a very liberating experience. Once he was gone I went to check on Doug. I tried to help him, but it was too late. He'd already bled to death. Maybe if I'd been there sooner. But I'd been busy, you know." "Oh, God." Pity for Dennis DePriest washed over her like a wave. In her mind she knew it was ludicrous to feel sorry for this man, but the feeling came suddenly and caught her unaware. "Oh, Dana, no. Don't feel bad. I didn't. I didn't feel anything. Not really. And you know the best part?" She gave a slight shake of her head, afraid to move too much with the gun still pressed against her skull. "I came out of it smelling like a rose. That's where you picked up the story again. I was a hero. The media was all over me. The mayor even held a special ceremony. You probably don't know this about me, but I left Brookhaven because I was tired of being cast as the next great hope for a Nobel Prize. All I wanted was to live a boring, prosaic life, and there I was getting publicity and medals anyway. One of life's cruel ironies, I guess. People like you and me, Dana -- we can't be ordinary. Not even if we want to be." Well, he was certainly ahead of the bell curve for psychosis, although she chose to keep that observation to herself. "So anyway, here I was -- Flagstaff's golden boy -- and no one knew the real truth except for me and the suspect. And he won't be telling anybody anything anytime soon." "You killed him." It wasn't a question. "He was the first. I had to tidy up the loose ends. After that, the killing just sort of became a hobby." "Maybe you should consider needlepoint." "I have to tell you, Agent Scully, you've got a lot of nerve. I mean that in a good way. But now I need you to make your choice." "You mean beg?" "I mean that if you beg for your life, I'll let you go." "What about the little girl?" "No. Just you. She stays with me." "And dies?" "Probably." "And the alternative?" "You die. And so does she." He pressed the gun harder against her forehead. "See? The choice is easy. And you'll still be a hero for saving the other child. So what do you have to lose?" "Dignity, self-respect." "Damn you, woman! Haven't you heard a word I've said? Those things are meaningless. You won't miss them. You won't need them." "No, I can't, I . . ." She tried to draw a breath but her nose was suddenly clogged with blood. This nosebleed was worse than the ones she'd had before. An alarming amount of blood was pouring from her nose, down her face, onto her shirt. DePriest was shocked. "What the hell . . . ?" He took a startled step back and lowered the gun for a fraction of a second. And Scully seized the moment. She drew her knees up and lashed out with both feet, connecting solidly with Dennis DePriest's chest and driving him back across the cave. He stumbled over the remains of the fire and in falling, lost his grip on the gun. Scully took a diving leap across the room and snagged the weapon. She pulled herself up on her knees and swung around to where DePriest was lying on the ground, still disoriented. In an instant she had the gun pressed against his forehead. His eyes widened in horror at the sudden turn of events, then filled with childlike tears. He was afraid. He was afraid of her. He damn well ought to be afraid. "Please. Please don't shoot. I'm sorry. Please." "Shut up. Just shut up. I want you to stand up and face the wall. Keep your hands where I can see them." He didn't move. His expression, his body all frozen at that moment when she had gained the upper hand in their battle. "Get up!" Her shout roused him from his paralysis, and with a quick movement he grabbed for her arm. The gun's thunderous report rang through the canyon. ____________ End Part 10/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _______________________________________________ Mediocrity's Allure 11/11 Grief seemed oddly out of place considering what had just transpired. But there was no other word for the feeling. A life had ended. It had been unavoidable given the situation. Still it was sad to witness the death of someone with such extraordinary potential. Such amazing promise cruelly twisted and corrupted by circumstance. It was grief for the man he'd been, not the monster he'd become. Her ears were still ringing from the gunshot, blood still ran from her nose, and she hurt. God, she hurt everywhere. All Dana Scully wanted was to lie down and sleep. Perhaps if she had been alone she would have succumbed to the temptation to rest, but movement in the corner of the cave reminded her of her primary obligation: the safe return of Molly O'Dell. She bent over the body of Dennis DePriest to check for a pulse. He was undoubtedly dead. No one could have survived that kind of bullet impact to the brain. But as someone who had been immersed in the paranormal for the past few years, she took nothing for granted. She touched the side of his neck. The flesh was still warm but there was no throbbing movement under her fingertips. Fully satisfied that the threat had been eliminated, Scully turned her attention to the shivering child a few yards away. It actually took her a couple of tries just to stand. She was dizzy, although she refused to contemplate the possibility that she was concussed from her collision with the cave wall. There would be time to nurse her own injuries later. She crouched down to remove the little girl's bindings and gag, but the child pulled back from her and whimpered. Scully realized in an instant what the problem was. Actually there were two problems. The first was that her gun was still clutched in her hand. Scully slid the weapon back into her holster. The second problem was more difficult to correct. Scully suspected that with her blood-covered face and clothes, she looked like a refugee from a horror movie. It wasn't any wonder the child was afraid. Not to mention the fact that this toddler had already undergone the kind of terrifying experience that was likely to linger in her psyche for years to come. Scully moved back across the cave to retrieve some gauze pads from her first aid kit. She wetted them with water from her canteen and did her best to wipe the blood from her face. There wasn't much she could do about her clothes. She returned to Molly, who while still trembling, seemed to have calmed a bit. She carefully removed the gag and pulled the tape away from the child's wrists and ankles. At first she was afraid Molly was having a seizure, just like Tara, but the twitching jerks of her body were soon accompanied by little hiccuping sobs, and finally full-fledged wails. The child flung herself toward Scully, nearly knocking her over with the force, and clung like a barnacle. It had been Scully's intention to carry the child on her back but Molly clearly was not going to move from her chest. She'd have to rethink her strategy. Although her balance was now even more precarious, she was able to use her arms to pull herself to a standing position. Molly was so firmly attached with arms around neck and legs around waist that Scully didn't need to hold on to her. She moved around the cave to find anything that might be useful in their trip out of the canyon. Her rope had been left dangling out of reach from the canyon wall, and aside from her first aid kit, there was nothing of any value left in her backpack. She bent forward, a little top-heavy from the Molly-appendage, to rummage through DePriest's supplies. She pulled out a few lengths of nylon rope and a small container of water. And in the bottom of the bag she found a scalpel and two 1973 pennies. Her knees gave way and she sank to the cold stone beneath her, returning Molly's embrace with equal fierceness. Tears clouded her eyes. She tried to blink them away but they multiplied faster than she could combat. She finally surrendered to their onslaught, crying out her anger and relief. It was a long time before she could move again. __________ Mulder wished more than anything that this smell would go away. The air was thick with it. The cloying sweetness was nauseating. It made him wish for the musty staleness of home. But he wouldn't consider leaving. Not until she was awake. It had been almost 24 hours since they'd found her, and she was still unconscious. The doctors had given him the usual platitudes -- they'd done all they could for her -- she was young and strong -- her body had been through a trauma but they were hopeful for a full recovery. All nice words with absolutely no meaning until she opened her eyes. So he stayed at her bedside, sometimes holding her hand, occasionally talking to her, giving in to a light sleep only when his body gave him no choice. But never leaving. When he had heard the first gunshot in the canyon he was panicked but hopeful that she had subdued their suspect and was on her way back. The second shot, ten minutes later, tore through him as if he'd been in the bullet's path. His imagination led him through any number of scenarios, none of them optimistic. Then there were the last two. Hours later. Squeezed off in quick succession. A signal? Yes. It had to be. He was the believer. He would believe that she was sending an SOS. He survived for the next six hours on that belief. Until he'd seen her limp body cradled in the arms of a rescue worker, her chest covered in blood, and then he had believed her dead. He wanted to yank her out of Brad's grasp and shake her until she woke up. He wanted to put his mouth over hers and breathe his own air into her lungs until she slapped him away for taking such liberties. He wanted to run away and never think about her again. Caught between these impulses he had been unable to do anything and was stuck to the spot as she was carried past him to the ambulance. He watched from a distance as Brad laid her on a gurney and the EMTs started to work on her -- taking vital signs, checking for trauma. It was only when they inserted an IV into her arm that it registered in Mulder's numbed brain that they wouldn't be doing that if she were dead. That revelation had propelled him forward and he hadn't left her side since. He'd received periodic updates from the nurses on the condition of Molly and Tara O'Dell. Both children were doing remarkably well and were expected to go home tomorrow afternoon. The rescue workers had reported having some difficulty prying Molly loose from his partner when they found them. And since arriving at the hospital the little girl had repeatedly asked to see Scully. Mulder looked forward to organizing a reunion. Just as soon as Scully was awake. He was so anxious for her to awaken. The largest part of him wanted her to open those eyes, take in his bedraggled appearance, and give him hell for not taking better care of himself. But a smaller part of him was whispering that it was better that she slept. Because if she was asleep he wouldn't have to tell her the truth. ___________ Good God, what was that smell? No, wait. She recognized it. It smelled like the florist's shop where she had worked one summer during high school. Flowers. It was flowers. Okay, that answered that question. Now, why was she smelling flowers? The last thing she remembered was walking through the scorching heat in the canyon. She'd been carrying Molly. They'd been trying to get back to the boulder where she'd left Tara in hopes that the rescue team would think to look for them there. She recalled the feel of the sun burning her shoulders, the strain on her muscles as Molly fell asleep and grew heavier in her arms. And the headache. Pounding between her eyes. Pounding at the base of her skull. And the pounding wasn't in sync. Two separate drummers playing two different rhythms competing for her brain's attention. Her energy had drained away slowly until even her deepest reserves were tapped dry. She had pushed herself to the brink of exhaustion and beyond, until she could go no further. She had found a shallow ravine where she laid the sleeping child. Then she'd pulled her gun from its holster, pointed it upwards, and fired twice. She couldn't remember if she'd reholstered the gun. She did vaguely recall collapsing next to the child and pulling her into a sheltering hug, partially covering Molly with her own body to protect her from the sun. And then . . . nothing. She'd heard of flowers blooming in the desert but felt certain she would have remembered seeing them had they been there. So it would stand to reason she wasn't in the desert anymore. Her other senses were beginning to provide some helpful clues. There was some humming, beeping equipment nearby. Soft sheets touching her body. And a warm adult-sized hand holding hers. Hospital. She dreaded the moment of truth when she would open her eyes and confirm her suspicion. She'd had enough of hospitals to last a lifetime. Still, better this than becoming a pile of bleached bones in the desert. It was worth the effort it took to force her eyelids apart just to see Mulder's smile. "Hi, Scully." She wanted to respond but the only sound that came from her throat was a sand-papery croak. Well, she thought, that could have gone better. Before she could make a second attempt, Mulder was propping her up and holding a straw to her lips so she could take a drink of water. After a long sip she was able to master functional speech once again. "I think I missed something." "Yeah. It was a hell of a way to pull off a three-day weekend, Scully. Next time just tell me you want a 24-hour nap and we can skip all the theatrics." His joke didn't quite come off as funny when accompanied by the pained expression on his face. "Sorry. I'll try to remember in the future." There was an awkward silence before she asked the inevitable next question. "So what are the damages?" "Dents and scratches bumper to bumper -- if you were a car you'd need a whole new paint job. Moderate concussion. Heat exhaustion. Sunburn. You'll be okay with a few days' rest." "When can I go home?" "Jesus, Scully, you just woke up. Give yourself a little time." "I'm okay." She maneuvered herself into a sitting position to prove her point, then she grabbed and squeezed his hand as a kind of physical exclamation mark to her statement. "I know. I'll check with your doctor." That pacified her for the moment. For the first time she took her eyes away from Mulder long enough to examine her surroundings. "Mulder? What's all this?" "Flowers." "From whom?" He released her hand and reached for a large gaudy arrangement, plucked the card, and held it in front of her face. "Captain Amos?" "And the *boys* over in Flagstaff," finished Mulder in a passable imitation of the sexist policeman. "Those," he pointed to a more tastefully arranged basket of flowers on a nearby table, "are from your mom. I told her not to fly down. That I'd call her if there were any complications." "Thanks, Mulder." "What about the tulips?" "Oh, those are from me. There was a cute girl selling them down in the lobby." "I'm sure." "The two roses are from the Molly and Tara." Scully smiled. Two perfect pink buds nestled in baby's breath: a sweet reflection of the givers. "And they drew you a picture." Mulder handed her a crude crayon drawing on notebook paper of a tall stick figure with red hair holding the hands of two smaller stick figures, also with red hair. There were mountains on both sides of the figures. A big yellow sun with a happy smile on its face was looking down on the scene. Scully finally had to set it aside just to keep from getting misty-eyed in front of Mulder. "Oh, and this . . ." Mulder bent over and picked up a heavy clay pot from the floor. It was a planter filled with a dozen cactus plants. "This is from Buzz." Oh my God. She'd completely forgotten to ask about Buzz. "Is he okay?" "He's fine. I had to promise to call him when you woke up. I think he's smitten, Scully." She shook her head. "I don't think so. And if he is he'd change his mind after seeing me like this." "Well, since he's been by three times already, I don't think your theory is sound, but . . ." She wasn't paying attention to him. Evidently he noticed because he stopped talking. Her eyes had landed on the enormous stack of cards and telegrams that littered her bedside table. "Mulder?" "Get-well wishes, Scully." "I don't know this many people. What's going on?" Mulder walked over to the window and stared out for a few moments, then came back and sat in the chair by her bed. His delay tactics only heightened her anxiety. If he was stalling it must be bad. "Mulder, please, tell me what's wrong." "The press," his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and began again. "The press got hold of the story about your solo rescue of the girls, and it's become a pretty big deal." "What, slow news day in Flagstaff?" "Not just Flagstaff. Um, it's a national story." "What do you mean?" He stood and began to pace. "I mean, Scully, that it's the headline in every paper in this country. I mean that Peter Jennings is talking about you on the evening news. I mean that there are reporters from Time and Newsweek waiting in the lobby. I mean that the story will be on the cover of People next week! Damn it, Scully, that's what I mean!" His anger had been building as he spoke, and she didn't know why. Wasn't she the wronged party here? She didn't want all this. What the hell did he have to be angry about? She didn't know where to even begin a conversation with Mulder now. This kind of thing was outside her realm of experience. Maybe it didn't matter anyway since he had turned away from her and was staring out the window again. "They know." She heard him mumble, but couldn't make out the words. "Huh?" He turned back to her. Instead of the anger she'd seen only seconds before, now there was profound sadness in the way he looked at her. "They know. About your cancer." Only once before had she felt the sensation that swept over her at this moment, and that had been when she received the news of her father's death. She must have gone pale because Mulder was immediately back at her side trying to ease her down against the pillows. She regained her composure enough to struggle against him and he let her go. "How?" "I don't know. Someone on staff either at the hospital here or in DC must have leaked the information to the media." "What about the Bureau?" "Everyone knows. Skinner's trying to do some damage control to keep you in the field. He thinks he can make the argument that if you were healthy enough to perform under the conditions in the canyon, that you can still handle anything that comes along. But he's kind of on the hook himself since he'd been withholding the information about your condition." She couldn't breathe. Something had stolen all her oxygen. She voluntarily lay back down to help her body regain the control her mind had temporarily seized. "Scully, I'm --" "Don't say it. There's nothing . . . I . . . Mulder, do you mind . . . I'd like a little time. I need to get my mind wrapped around all this." "Okay, Scully." He reached down and squeezed her fingers in a gesture meant to convey reassurance. How nice it would be if something as simple as a comforting touch from her partner would make this go away. ___________ The nurse had promised that this was a lovely spot. She'd been right. Scully had retreated here when she could no longer bear the constant intrusions in her room. She'd had the bedside phone disconnected and had redirected the endless deliveries of flowers and stuffed animals to the pediatrics unit. But even then she was forever being checked on by the hospital staff, many of whom she suspected weren't even assigned to her unit. They were just celebrity watchers. That's what she was now. A celebrity. Mulder had teased her about having her 15 minutes of fame and that she should be glad that she'd slept through the first ten. But the truth of the matter was that the damage had been done. No matter how briefly her blaze of glory burned. Her partner had been supportive but she could tell he was wary of her new status as media darling. He was concerned, and with good reason she supposed, that the attention it brought to their tiny little FBI division could damage their work. Not to mention that as her partner he was seen as a means to an end -- a source of information on Dana Scully. He had returned to the hospital a few hours after she'd initially sent him away and had hidden in her room for as long as she allowed. He'd crossed the line when he asked for her "autograph" on the case report and she ordered him to his hotel to get some much needed sleep. This private little alcove off the doctor's lounge provided some peace and a nice view of a small garden area where several of the more mobile patients and their families were enjoying the mild morning temperatures. Among them was the O'Dell family. Molly and Tara were playing happily near the bench where Jim and Colleen were resting. Jim's arm was around his wife, and her head rested on his shoulder. Apparently the rift between them had been healed with the return of their children. Scully was glad. Dennis DePriest had left enough devastation behind without adding a marriage to the scrap heap. Now she hoped her own career could be salvaged. No official word had come from the Bureau regarding her status. She had called Skinner to get a feel for the direction things were heading, but he'd been evasive. She chose to believe it was because he didn't want to make promises he might be unable to keep rather than because he already knew the answer and didn't want to tell her while she was in the hospital. How was it that as a result of her doing everything right, everything was going terribly wrong? It occurred to her that, in essence, this was what Dennis DePriest had tried to warn her about. His way of setting things right had been loathsome but the desire for resolution was legitimate and one she shared. For the moment, though, she was hopelessly tangled in a web of her own making, and fighting against it would only make things worse. Eventually she'd have to face the interview requests, send notes to her well-wishers, respond to the President's telegram. Not today. Today she'd enjoy watching two children playing in a garden. Today she would hide away on a balcony and pretend to be an ordinary woman -- maybe someone like Colleen O'Dell -- a secretary in love with a construction worker, a mother of two. Average. Mediocre. But happy. She could wish for that couldn't she? Just for today? And then tomorrow she could emerge into the world as the woman she was destined to be. ____________ End Part 11/11 of Mediocrity's Allure _________________________ Jill Selby http://members.aol.com/msselby1013/index.html "What is written without effort is in general read without pleasure." -- Samuel Johnson _________________________