By Amanda Finch
[email protected]

Disclaimers, etc. w/ first part.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

April McGrath fell into step beside me, her pace tentative. "Agent Mulder - "

"Not Agent anymore," I said succinctly, quickening my step.

"Oh, come on..." She snorted a nervous laugh and caught up. "Even if you
couldn't have the meeting overridden for unprofessionalism, you could change
your mind."

"They've been praying for this day to come for years now."

She didn't try to conceal her disgust. "And you're just giving it to them."

"I thought I could accomplish things here. I thought I could uncover things,
make them right, and from the very beginning, they've tried to assure me
otherwise." I hit the down button on the elevator like my hand might go
through the wall. "And when I wouldn't listen, they took my partner. And I
still didn't listen. Well, I'm listening now. I'm all out of noble causes and
smug righteousness, so why don't you spare me the fucking lecture about
personal integrity?"

The end of the sentence was caught full-force by an elevator packed with
teenagers bearing tour tags around their necks, who quickly moved past us
with their guide.

"I'm not lecturing you," she replied softly, holding the doors open. I got in
and they closed behind me.

As if this might camouflage me, I closed my eyes.

"I thought you were scary enough at the church." I could feel her stare. "But
now you're legitimately frightening me. Is any of this because of what I said
at the funeral?"

So *that's* why she had been at the meeting: to discuss my unsound mind. The
pause for a reply lingered until the silence grew awkward and cold.

"Fine. If you aren't going to talk to me, I won't apologize for it."

My eyes opened, seemingly of their own volition. "Apologize for what?"

"Not for my words." She raised her dark stare implacably. "Just the way I
said them."

I shrugged, looking away. "I held myself responsible for what happened to Ray
the second I found him there. What you said didn't change that."

"You probably don't trust me any more than you did anyone else in that room."
Quietly, she waited for me to refute it. I didn't. "I'm not an outsider here,
Mulder. If there's something you need, I have connections, access... I could
help."

And watch 'em line up to die, I thought, scowling. What was taking the
elevator so damn long?

The strip hit the light for the first floor at the very moment she released
her temper. "If you keep pushing me away, I'm going to run my own
investigation. What do you think is more efficient? Two investigations being
run simultaneously at odds with each other? Or just one?"

"Alright, detective," I replied snidely. "Why do you think Section Chi -
excuse me, Senator McGrath wasn't at the meeting today?"

It was her turn to be silent now.

"He's withholding the most evidence of all. Has he let you see the security
footage?"

She frowned. "I wouldn't watch it if he did have it -"

"Oh, no need to question it. He told me he saw the footage. You and I both
know that Ray didn't kill Pam Wyeth, and that Jonson didn't kill Ray... but
for the sake of a pleasant public relations facade for the new Senator, he's
letting those suspicions flourish. You and I both know that there's nothing
more damning than time in matters like this."

She tried to walk away. I held firmly to her arm, walking alongside her.

"Listen, April. Listen. You wouldn't know by their sycophantic little dance
back there, but Essary and Griffin - they were sent to Nebraska by Ray's
father under the guise of investigating a case that he already knew wasn't
under Bureau jurisdiction. He sent them there, and he promised to cover this
up in exchange for a few reels of security footage." The front glass doors
opened again onto the federal courtyard. "Once they got that footage for him
- he wiped them from the database and stranded them there to die. This way,
he doesn't have to speak to the issue of his son being a killer, not being a
killer... Their hassle-free highly-classified investigation with an easy,
dead suspect in exchange for his hassle-free political career."

The umbrella in her other hand swung uselessly as the rain fell into her dark
hair. "Then why were Griffin and Essary sitting there this morning?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"Well, tell you what..." She yanked her arm away. "Give me a call when you
do."

I smiled in feigned surprise. "Amazing... like your father-in-law, you can
overlook the death of your husband in exchange for blissful ignorance. I'm
*impressed*. You should run for Senator, too."

I caught her wrist a moment before she would've punched me in the face. Not
the slap I was expecting, but an actual, formidable right to the jaw. It was
impossible to tell whether she was still or just spring loading. The tension
went out of her wrist, and I released it on a probationary note only, arm
still raised to defend myself. Her arm went slack at her side. "It's like
getting that call again."

"I know that," I murmured. "But until you can wrap your mind around the fact
that the people you've trusted to do what's right are the ones in control of
this bullshit, then you're no help to me."

"Is that your way of saying 'go outside and play, April'?" She asked irately,
pulling me out of the rain by the sleeve of my jacket. "Can't you see that
I've lost as much as you have, if not more? I want to help, Mulder! I'm not
trying to subvert this for you!"

"I didn't say you were," I argued listlessly. "But if Ray were here -"

Her eyes stopped me, wide and dry. I finally saw the woman standing there -
the woman who had suddenly found herself alone after ten years of marriage,
who had to explain death to two children who weren't even old enough to know
what *life* was. I bet she reached across in her sleep, too - casually, at
first. Then came the panic as she found no one there. I wanted to ask her
what she thought was more hopeless: awaiting the return of another who had
unquestionably died...

Or awaiting the return of one whose moments slid through my fingers with each
obstruction, with each dead end? My phone rang. I ignored it, just watching
her.

"If Ray were here," she said spitefully, eyes flashing. "I guess that's your
answer then, and that's fine. Maybe I'll call you if I find something. Maybe
I won't."

Her umbrella opened with a sharp snap. Without looking back, she walked out
into the endless beige, out into the wet world. She instantly blended in. The
pealing of the phone continued from inside my jacket. I dug it out of my
inside pocket.

(Don't be the bad news.)

(It's always bad news.)

I answered it. "What?"

Drake was breathlessly up and running almost before I got the word out,
giving me the impression that he'd been talking well before I picked up.
"I've got good news and bad news."

"I seriously doubt you could tell me anything good right now."

"I got a chip for your friends to analyze. You said you needed one."

"Then what's the bad news?"

"I got it from another returned abductee."

I felt my pulse kickstart, blood rushing between my ears. "Where?"

"You're not going to believe this - I'll give you a hint. I've been at
Northeast Georgetown since last night. I haven't left."

"The *same* hospital?"

"And like before, this woman's a hell of a long way from home." Drake sighed
wearily. "Vancouver, Mulder. This woman's from Vancouver."

"Does her condition match Lori Maciver's?"

"No. *Hell* no. You have to see this."

x

Northeast Georgetown Medical Center
11:23 AM

Three weeks ago, slightly intoxicated, Cindi Baron, 32, had left a Canucks
versus Coyotes hockey game after the second period was called. She'd gone to
the game with casual acquaintances who, while slightly miffed that she'd left
without saying goodbye, weren't concerned as to her safety. Currently
estranged from a family in Maine and living on her own, precious days had
been lost before someone, her employer, called the police. Cindi was what
Drake referred to as a 'MUFON tag': a woman who had been abducted at least
five times or more. Like Scully and Lori before her, she had survived the
cancer, going into remission two years ago.

All of which *somehow, some way* lead to the discovery of her unconscious
body just on the outskirts of the Potomac's recreation areas in D.C. But if
there was an opposite pole from Lori Maciver's calm and cold disposition,
Cindi Baron was it.

From the moment she'd regained consciousness in the ambulance, she hadn't
stopped screaming. The raw, frayed cacophony of it filled the entire ward.
Strong sedatives, administered in ever-arching dosages, should've been more
than sufficient in quieting the incessant scream. Nothing worked. Doctors and
nurses dashed about in a maddening frenzy, children cried and Lori Maciver,
in the room beside her, vociferously complained of the noise.

Drake had found Lori Maciver's husband unwilling to have the chip removed
from his wife's neck, especially to turn over to a stranger who wouldn't or
couldn't answer all of his questions. He filched Cindi Baron's chip, corked
inside a little glass vial, from the pocket of her jeans after the nurses
removed her clothes. I would bet good money that she'd had another one
implanted where the previous chip had been. But for analysis purposes, I had
what I needed.

I paced the hallway in front of her room, pausing sometimes to look through
the one-way glass of the inset window, letting the assault of her terrified
howl wash over me. Then, I'd peer in to see Lori Maciver, regarding her
husband with amused contempt. Drake came down the hall, towards me. I shook
my head. "What's the difference here? There's got to be some connection."

"A pattern is really the last thing I'd be looking for," he argued in a low
whisper. "Each abductee has a different reaction to the experience. I've seen
them with my own eyes." He paled. "My mother came back in increasingly worse
states of... different each time."

"Was she more like Lori Maciver?" I asked. "Or Cindi Baron?"

"To be honest with you, I've seen neither of these reactions before. Never.
And I've watched this kind of scenario play out since I was a kid." Shrugging
helplessly, he crossed over to Cindi's door. "What happens if she *can't*
stop screaming?"

I opened my mouth to answer when the poorly transmitted voice on the hospital
intercom suddenly spewed forth my name in a flurry of static. "Fox Mulder,
telephone at the front desk... Fox Mulder, telephone at the front desk..."

Drake looked up at the speaker over our heads inquisitively. "Expecting a
call?"

"No," I answered, confused. "Not from anyone who doesn't know my cell phone
number." I pulled it out of my trenchcoat. No, it was on-line, the battery
was all charged up. It was in rare, working order. Mark down the day.

"Fox Mulder... telephone at the front desk..."

Drake walked with me to the phone. "Seriously, if she can't stop screaming,
what?"

"At some point she's going to run out of lung power." I paused to listen for
a moment. "Seems it would've happened by now, though." I pressed the line
that was flashing. "If this is someone trying to get me to change
long-distance services, I'm going to be - "

(God! Oh... shit!)

Like a long, seamless screech of feedback, spiraling through one ear like a
heated point. I fought to pull the phone away, but the sound - immobilizing.
Couldn't...move. My vision sharpened into blurry angles, and plunged into
blinding white. I raised my hand to my face, feeling a scream building from
the pain, a scream trapped inside. The mechanical voice drilled through. I
felt it searing across the back of my neck, felt it pushing from under my
face, rattling through my teeth.

(Make it stop.. make it... )
Over and over again, it said the words... in a cadence like metal scraping
metal, like a car wreck, multiplied upon millions...

"One can't remember - "

My knees buckled. I couldn't see, just scrambled for the edge of the nurse's
desk. Far away, voices raised in pitch - concerned... calling out... so far
away...

"One can't remember.
One can't forget - "

I couldn't pry my teeth apart to cry for help. I couldn't tell if I was
falling, rising, curling up... I opened my eyes to the blindness again, and
an explosion of noise seemed to seize control of my neck now, firing up into
the back of my head. The path of a bullet... I felt something warm fall onto
my clenched fingers. Blood.. from my ear, onto the phone receiver.

(Oh god, help me - )

"One can't remember.
One can't forget.
The third is at peace."

xxxxxxxxxx

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