Title:  In the Spirit 
Authors: Scully3776 and Spookykat
 Rating: R (Lang. content, explicit material) 
Summary: Doggett goes home for the holidays.  
'Tis the season to be…mourning?
Archive: Gossamer, xfc, XFMU, fanfiction.net, and 
www.stranger-than-fiction.net.  
Anywhere else, please refrain from doing so 
unless we send a hard copy to you or you have 
our expressed permission.

Don't forget to feed the authors: 

Scully3776- Scully03776@aol.com
Spookykat- Suicidal_mickey_mouse@hotmail.com

Legal Crap: If you're on a site like this, you're 
probably smart enough to know the difference 
between the characters who belong to me, and the 
characters through which I live vicariously, 
wishing they didn't belong to the ever-tasteful 
Fox-network, the never-consistent 1013 
Productions, and all that jazz. Just in case I DO 
have to spell it out for you.  Here goes:

Mine: Melanie Eleanor Doggett Davis, Parker 
Stewart Davis, Cy Lewis, Dexter Gillroy, 
Christina Jolynn Doggett Strand, Laura Eleanor 
Strand, Stephen Ray Doggett, and Eleanor 'Ma' 
Doggett

Scully3776: Dr. Jerilyn Michelle Bailey 
Starkweather, Benjamin Lucas Starkweather, Dr. 
Delilah 'Loki' Lewis-Kollervo, Lindsay Buckle 
Amos

Please do not use these characters without our 
expressed permission, otherwise, Cave Caesarem-
Felinus! (Beware of Caesar the Cat!)

1013'S: FBI Special Agents Dana Scully, John 
Doggett, Monica Reyes, Fox Mulder.

Authors' notes: I plan to be consistent with the 
real plot, but all of this is speculation, and I 
refuse to read spoilers. If s9 reveals new 
developments within the life of Doggett, well, 
then, *blows virtual raspberry*

We took creative license and stuck a 'year' 
between season8 and 9.  Only thing off time-wise 
is Doggett's age.  Since Starkweather only makes 
a cameo, it is part of the series.  This comes 
right after the events of Starkweather: Meum Mel 
III (Nothing Else Matters), and before Starkweather: 
Inheritance.  It is not necessary for you to have 
read the series to appreciate this, since it 
began as a separate entity of the Starkweather 
Universe, and the Starkweather characters only 
make a cameo.

A biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig huge thank you 
to Editing Goddess Bqueen09 for editing this!!! 
************************************************* 
J. Edgar Hoover Bldg.  
Dec. 21, 2001, 3:01pm  
********************  
"John," Reyes said across her desk, tone trying 
to disguise a certain note of pity. "I'm gonna 
type this case report up and then head out, 
unless you've got something else you want me to 
do. I've got a flight scheduled out to Texas in 
about 3 hours and airports are gonna be hell." 
"You uh...go ahead and go, Mon." He mumbled over 
his computer. "The airports are gonna be hell." 
"John, if you need to talk--." she said softly 
"The security's gonna be tougher to pass through 
than The Cowboy's Defense. Get going." 
"John...you know you're welcome in Texas if you 
need a place to spend Christmas." She offered, 
trying unsuccessfully to sound like she didn't 
feel sorry for him. 

"No...just got work to finish up..." He lied. 

"I've got plans to spend Christmas Eve with my 
brothers and sister back in Georgia." 

"Make sure to bring the mistletoe. I'm sure your 
sis misses some puppy-love." Reyes chided with an 
evil grin spreading across her face. "Call if you 
need anything." Unlike most people, she said it 
like she really meant it. Deciding to abandon the 
issue, she turned and left, wishing him a Merry 
Christmas as she closed the door behind her. 
Doggett was only half-aware that she was gone. 
His attention was preoccupied with the email he 
was reading. The only the shrill phone knocked 
him back into the present. 

"John," the woman on the other line hesitated, 
emitting a shaky sigh. 

"Mel," Doggett growled, messaging his eyelids, "I 
don't have time for this crap." 

"Park's dead, John." She said tearily. "He had 
AIDS...but I don't think that's what killed him." 

"What makes you say that?" He already knew the 
answer, but he somehow needed verification. 

"You know they hated him John. I 
think...something happened." 

"I'm on my way." He finally said, hung up the 
phone, grabbed his coat, sighed heavily, turned off
the lights, and locked the Basement office for the 
weekend. 

Two hours later.  
O'Hare National Airport  
*******************  
Reyes' prediction had been right. 
The airport was hell. 
The last full business day of Christmas had 
ushered in hoards upon hoards of people, leaving 
haggard baggage attendants almost resembling a 
paper bag that had been blowing against a cold, 
wet, deserted street-gutter. Check-ins that 
normally took fifteen-minutes tops took an hour 
and a half. 

And the shit that beat it all was that he 
actually hadda take off his shoes because some 
damn idiot decided to plant bombs in his 
sneakers... 

He hoped they would at least let him carry his 
briefcase onto the plane. After she called, she 
had forwarded a .Zip file to him with a fax of 
the police report and newspaper clippings. 
"Is nothing fucking sacred these days?" He sighed 
as he slipped into his FBI-Approved loafers. 
He hadn't wanted to go home for Christmas this 
year. His friends and family back home were so 
different from the life he had made for 
himself...so normal...like life is supposed to 
be. 

They would probably resurrect the subjects that 
thorned him the most...the complete families that 
waited him there were only bitter, constant 
reminders of a failed attempt at a normal, happy, 
well-adjusted, American-dream-ish life...the 
murder of his boy...the divorce... 
But his sister's frantic plea on the other end of 
the line had worried him. Melanie Doggett Davis 
was a very trusting woman who, unlike his co-
workers, wasn't prone to paranoia. The e-mail she 
had sent him and his resulting distraction had 
probably confused the hell out of Monica, and he 
admonished himself the whole way back to his 
apartment for keeping personal business out of 
the office. 

He only hoped that as her brother, Melanie would 
forgive him if he couldn't prove he was murdered. 
And, he wished flippantly, a flight without a 
terrorist attack wouldn't hurt, either.

American Airlines Flight 689  
En Route from Newark  
*****************************  
Connector flights made absolutely no sense to 
Doggett. A flight that started in Washington 
landing in Newark to go to Atlanta... 
nope...didn't seem any part of logical at all. It 
was like getting around to somebody's ass by 
their elbows. 

So, Doggett resigned himself to the briefcase 
that the grouchy stewardess had stingily allowed 
him to keep, and tried to stop being Doggett and 
prepare for being John again...to stop being 
senior officer assigned to the X-Files in a job 
that made absolutely no sense to him most of the 
time and prepare for being Big Brother/Little 
Brother John again in a family that barely made 
sense to him all of the time. 

Terminator2 showing on the in-flight movie seemed 
like a friendlier option. 

And it was a small comfort that logic or no, he 
had a place there...a purpose...a fight. 
Something that was somewhat absent from his 
current employment. But since when was a job a 
crusade? 

They were all gone. He didn't know how he got off 
the plane, but he must have, because they were 
gone. 

The strangers sitting on either side of him in 
his Coach-class seat in closer proximity than he 
personally preferred, the sour-faced, overweight 
stewardesses acting more liked they belonged in a 
rude greasy New York Diner out of Seinfeld as 
opposed to plane-full of demanding, antsy 
passengers were replaced by people who looked 
vaguely familiar...slurping down beer 
cans...driving a rebuilt Chevy. 

"C'mon Dex! Let's go by that diner the cocksucker 
works at and teach that queer a lesson! 
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! 

Doggett's mind was reeling through the 
possibilities...Dexter Gillroy was killed in 'Nam 
last he heard. <How the fuck is a dead guy 
driving a rebuilt Chevy that got hauled off to a 
junk mill> 

"Cy, ain't that his pick-up passin' us?" Someone 
else slurred. 

"Boys, I think we got us a homohunt. Gotta rid 
this God-fearin' country of all the sick-o's. 
Raht J.D.?" 

"I think you guys need to walk it off..." Doggett 
said feebly. 

"The HELL we gonna walk it off," Dex yelled, "Dat 
Parker fucker's gonna go BURN tonight!" 

"What is WITH you tonight, JD?" Cy demanded. 

"You're his bitch aintchya?" 

Doggett glowered at him and curled his lower lip 
threateningly, and tightened his jaw. "Cy..." his 
voice was all low and gravelly and was almost 
reminiscent of thunder. "If you don't let me the 
hell out of this car right now, you are gonna be 
MY bitch in two seconds...GOT IT?" 

The tires screeched, and the dark pavement burned 
with engine sparks, glass busted, and the pick-up 
truck in front of them careened off the 
guardrail. 

<Time warp...that's the only answer I can think 
of> Doggett puzzled. Then he mumbled under his 
breath, "It's just a jump to the left..." as he 
saw Parker Davis climb out from underneath the 
wreckage. 

The young man's small frame turned to face 
Doggett. "You think you can get Mel and get me to 
a hospital?" He shouted from the bottom of the 
hill. "I'm having a hard time keeping focus..."
John finally hitched a ride that night from a 
bartender coming home from closing his bar on his 
way home and woke up the whole house trying to 
get home that night. 

Parker Davis went from 17 to 37 that night. For 
the first time in his life, John Doggett wanted 
to be away from where he was. He would have 
rather been anywhere but that Marietta hospital. 

"You know, John," Parker had said while they were 
waiting for Parker's older sister to come sign 
the papers for treatment, "I didn't know that 
being a pimple-faced virgin made you a target." 

"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those 
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight." John had 
said with a sigh. Parker gave him an imploring 
look in reply. "They're scared outta their asses 
that you're contagious." 

"Mr. Parker," John and Parker had both exchanged 
incredulous glances, and what annoyed Parker even 
more, was that the intern speaking to them "you 
sustained quite a lot of internal bleeding, we're 
going to hafta give you a transfusion, and then 
you'll be ready to go home." A tired intern said, 
not even looking at his patient. 

"Yay." Parker said, rolling his eyes. "Just how I 
wanted to spend my weekend. Hooked up to an IV 
with a big-ass needle at the end of it. I HATE 
hospitals...I hate needles..." his voice trailed 
off." 

"John...What the HELL is going on here!" Parker's 
depressed reverie was rudely, albeit gratefully, 
slapped out of him. 

"And the charming young lady is my sister, 
Melanie." John introduced dryly. 

"What the fuck did I tell ya 'bout rahdin' around 
with Cy and all them idiots." The same way most 
people say 'What'd the doctor say.' A frustrated 
sigh emitted from the Melanie, and then when she 
saw the situation, her voice softened. "Stevie 
got me up to get you back home...come on John..." 
Melanie had a natural talent for changing the 
subject in mid-sentence. "I--I know you from 
school, don't I?" She directed to Parker. 

"Yeah, I'm the local pimple-faced-eternal-virgin-
turned-fag." Melanie hadn't even blinked at his 
answer. "But don't worry, I'm not as advertised." 

That night was the beginning and the end for 
Melanie and Parker. If he had gotten there 
moments before...maybe AIDS didn't have to be the 
finishing line for them... 

But enough of maybes and what-ifs. They didn't 
help what happened. 

And as Doggett's plane descended into the 
Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta, the 
desperation of needing to get out of Atlanta 
suffocated him again--the same suffocation that 
nearly made it impossible to breathe that night 
in Hartsfield medical hospital wasn't going to go 
away without a fight. 

Dec. 23, 7:44 
Savannah Int'l Airport 
*************************************************
John snaked his way through crowds of people and 
didn't have to crane his head to see his sister 
waiting at his gate. 

"Sorry the flights late, Mel." John apologized 
less than sincerely. "The weather stalled us in 
Newark." 

"Checked in anything?" She stated more than 
asked, and tried not to make contact. "Come on, 
wait here, and I'll go get the truck." 

"Melanie, I'm sorry..." 

"JD, you have nothing to be sorry *for.*" Melanie
insisted, "you did what you could for him...for us
...Merry Christmas, by the way. You gonna let us 
stand here on the sidewalk forever or you wanna let me 
get the truck? I hadda park out in the boonies."
 
It was a seasonable 40 degrees standing on the 
sidewalk in front of the airport, which was 
definitely something Doggett had missed in D.C. 

It wasn't long before Melanie pulled her F350 to 
the curb. There was enough room in the back for 
his suitcase, so he dumped it unceremoniously 
back behind him. 

They headed out for I-95 toward Brunswick in 
uncomfortable silence. Melanie had the radio on, 
and it was several minutes of Christmas Carols 
and blaring car commercials before Melanie 
finally spoke so she could stay awake. 

"How's Barbara?" She asked politely enough. 

"It's over...almost two years now..." Doggett 
didn't even have to contain his bitterness. It 
wasn't there. "She may have been the one to 
actually cheat...but I had just as much to do 
with the marriage going to shit as she was. After 
Luke...we just felt apart. Caught her with a grad 
student..." He trailed off. 

"If you need to talk..." She began tenderly, but 
the clinch of his jaw she cuaught out of the corner 
of her eye told her it was wiser to leave it alone.
 
"Leave the past buried, ok?" He defended. Then 
softer, when he saw her glance over with a 
worried eyebrow raised, he told her "I'm alright 
with it." 

"John, if you were alright with it you would've 
moved on to another girl by now." She persisted. 

"You're the grieving widow here, Mel..." John 
insisted. Then as an excuse, he added "I've gotta 
get my luggage." 

"Right." There was an uncomfortable silence that 
unsettled them until they had been on the highway 
for an hour. 

Melanie, unable to be hypnotized by the deserted 
two-lane state highway, finally broke the 
silence. "I've been doing research since it 
happened...if we can't nail those dickheads for 
murder, then we can sure as hell sue their asses 
off for grievances, funeral costs, and medical 
care. It's the new millennium, ain't it? People 
understand now about that kinda thing." 

"Don't they?" John grumbled. "Melanie...you're 
forgettin'. I was in the truck with them that 
night. If you sue'em...the defendants are gonna 
call me up and put me at the scene...they could 
just as easily call me on his injuries." 

"How do you like D.C.?" 

"Better'n New York, that's for damn sure." John 
snorted. "You can see the sky there. Where I live 
just outside in Virginia, feels almost like 
home...but it's crazy as hell. What I'm doin' in 
the FBI there...that's fucked up shit." 

"You kiss mama with that mouth, John?" Melanie 
teased. 

"Melanie...if you knew half the stuff I've seen 
this year...I think you'd understand that fucked 
up shit is the ONLY way to describe my caseload. 
Whatchya pullin' over for?" 

"Gotta get gas..." 

"John..." Melanie began as soon as they were 
headed back on I-16 bound for Atlanta, "you may 
be able to sidestep your Marine buddies, your cop 
buddies, and your new partners at the FBI...but 
if you think you can get off so easy as all that, 
you need to tell me where the hell my baby 
brother is. You've barely said a word the whole 
way...I know you...you were the same way when 
Daddy died. Now spill it, or I'm pulling the 
truck over till you decide to tell me." 

"That's extortion." John grumbled. 

"No, it's not extortion. I believe the correct 
term is blackmail. You're stalling..." now in a 
gentler tone of voice, and her own ice-crystal 
blue eyes met her brother's matching ones. "John...
you can't just keep it all bottled up."
 
He let out a sigh as if releasing some of the air 
would make the words come out easier. 

"After what happened with Luke...I kept seein' 
him in her." He turned away, looking deliberately 
out of his passenger window, realizing that 
Luke's blue eyes were staring back at him again. 
"I kept seeing his nose, his smile..." His 
gravelly voice was now hoarse. "I just couldn't 
face her...and I think she needed someone to lean 
on then without her son's eyes."
 
"John...with or without Luke's eyes...ever think 
she might have wanted YOUR help to pick up 
the pieces?" Melanie wondered aloud.
 
"That's the thing, Melanie...when Luke was 
missing, I'd find her in his room after coming 
home from work, and she wouldn't come out unless 
she had appointments or had to make appearances. 
I thought work would save me--save us." His voice 
was shaky now. The words were labored and 
emotionless. "Once I found the bastard who killed 
'im, it'd be over and we could go back to normal. 
We went to those fucking church counselors and 
the grieving parents classes...but really it was 
just going through the motions. Pretty soon, we 
barely said anything...'cept for the kinda things 
you say to be polite. Then I spent more and more 
time at work...and I think I barely noticed some 
guy ravaging her on the couch. I think that was 
just the breaking point." 

"And the FBI chick who helped in the New York 
investigation with Luke? She didn't have anything 
to do with it?" 

"No!" He fired back, too immediately for it to be 
a lie. "I was married for Chrissake." 

"You're a MAN for Chrissake! I'm not blind, and mamma 
didnt' raise anybody stupid, John. Well...except Stevie.
I was up there when she came by your house that day."
 
"Oh come on! Just because the equipment's all 
there doesn't mean I turn it on every time it 
lights up." He said a little too defensively for 
Melanie's liking. "I thought...that if I kept my 
vows, I wouldn't hurt her." He raked his right 
hand across his forehead. "Guess it wasn't 
enough..." 

"That's enough John..." she said softly, and then 
with deliberation. "We're here. Get your suitcase 
and I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."

The house hadn't changed since he saw it the last 
time. He brought Barbara there with his son. It 
was a few seconds before he could muster the 
cheer to go in. 

"Last Christmas Luke had was here, Mel..." he 
said thoughtfully. 

"So was Daddy's...so was Grandmama's..." Melanie 
pointed out. 

"When's Parker's funeral?" 

"Day after Christmas, John..." Melanie said 
softly, glad he wasn't able to read her 
expression. "You did right by him, ya know. He 
never blamed you for what happened. We never 
blamed you." Then she opened his mother's front 
door. "Look who the cat dragged in!" Melanie 
Doggett Davis crowed.

"John, glad you're home son." His mother greeted 
him coolly. Now climbing the 80's, she had always 
been Victorian in her emotions, but when she 
*did* tell you what she felt, it was taken to 
heart. 

As soon as his feet hit the Brady Bunch green 
linoleum, on the kitchen, he was bombarded by 
outstretched arms "Johnny Angel! Merry Christmas, 
big brother!" 

"Merry Christmas to you, Christy." He tried his 
best to at least pretend to be happy for their 
sake. 

Just then, a girl with long dark curls wrapped 
herself around his knee. "How's my favorite 
niece?" He said, hoisting her up. 

"A lot better if mom would let me stay up later 
tonight." 

"Nothin' doin', Laura." Chris scolded. 

"Tomorrow, you gotta stay up and wait for the 
sound of bells and reindeer..." Laura gave him a 
scrutinizing look. You know, I'm a federal 
agent...I'm pretty good at negotiatin'...maybe 
your mom 'n me can work somethin' out." 

"Uncle John, you sound like those guys on NYPD 
blue now." She whined. 

"You're mom lets you watch that at your age?" 

She giggled mischievously. 

"Yeah...that's what they tell me in D.C. too. 
I think it'll clear up." 

A younger man stood back and observed the warm 
greetings. "Good to see ya home, Brother John." 

"Hey Steve" He said, going up to him and giving a 
firm handshake. "How's the store?" Steven, the 
oldest son, had been the natural heir to Doggett 
Motors, the auto parts and repair shop. "Chains 
are givin' us a helluva lotta heat." They weren't 
in dire straights, but they weren't out of debt. 

"Not everybody can be a service man, John." He 
answered, friendly enough. 

"Not tonight, Steve..." Melanie mumbled just in 
his earshot. "Let him be, and for Chrissake, 
don't cuss in front of a ten year old!" 

"Mike says hello." Chris said, coming up to them. 
She had dyed her hair Nicole-Kidman-red, but she 
still looked about fifteen years older than she 
actually was. "He wanted to be here, but you know 
how mills can get." Then she turned to her 
daughter. "Look at you, Laura. It's so past your 
bed time...it's past MY bed time. Go to bed you
monster!" 

She said and gave her a peck on the forehead. 

"I can't believe how big she's gotten." John said 
with a note of bitterness. Melanie and Chris both 
exchanged knowing glances. "It's great watchin' 
her grow up, Chris. You're doin' a great job with 
her." 

"Nice one, Baby Brother." Steve scolded as soon 
as Chris and Melanie both headed upstairs. 
"Coming to Parker Davis' funeral and not Dad's. 
You shouldda been there."
 
"Steve, I hated not bein' there...but it wouldn't 
have done any damn good to Daddy...funerals aren't 
for the dead." 

"No...they're for family." Steve growled, 
storming out to the kitchen. 

As if on cue, Chris came downstairs. "Mamma and 
Mel are doing charity work in the morning at the 
kiddie hospital downtown, so they're headin' to 
sleep. You wanna go say g'night to Laura?" 

"Yeah...I'd like that." He said with a labored 
smile, grabbed his suitcase, and headed up the 
stairs.

John walked upstairs, laying his suitcase down on 
the floor next to the room he would be staying 
in. "Laura, honey, ok if I come say goodnight?" 
He knocked softly on the door. 

"Yeah, sure." 

"You think you made the A List this year?" John 
teased. He missed being able to pretend to 
believe in that capacity with little kids. "Coz 
if you didn't, one phone call, and I can getcha 
on there in a heartbeat, kiddo," he promised with 
a sly grin. 

"I think so." She paused thoughtfully. "You think 
they get presents?" she was almost afraid to ask. 

"You think who gets presents?" 

"The angels. You think Santa makes it up to 
Heaven?" 

"You don't need toys up in Heaven, Laura." He 
forgot about the hard questions kids ask. 

"Angels...spirits...don't need'em." 

"I hate sleeping in this room, Uncle John." she 
said tremulously, "It smells of Grandpa...like 
that pipe he used to smoke and something else 
that smells icky...like Grandma's rum-balls. When 
the lights are out, I keep my eyes closed as much 
as I can so I don't see anything bad. I tried to 
tell Grandma and mama, but they look at me like 
I'm crazy." 

"Seeing Grandpa's not bad, honey..." he sugar-
coated, "just means he's watching over ya. That's 
what Angels do because they don't have any toys 
or games to play with." After all, what harm did 
a little lie do to help the kid fall asleep? 

She was silent for a little while, and Doggett 
thought she had finally gone to sleep. He got up 
from the chair by her bed, and then she spoke 
softly as he reached to open the door. 

"Uncle Steve says bad people get what they 
deserve. Did Uncle Parker?" she asked. 

"Parker wasn't bad, honey. He got sick. Kinda 
like how Grandpa got sick. Nobody's fault. Nobody 
deserves that." 

"Mommy said it was a bad man who made Luke go 
away. Is the bad man watching us too?" 

He turned to face her, the normally steel-stern 
Special Agent John Doggett was finding it hard to 
keep his composure in front of his niece. 

"That's hard to say, honey." he said shakily. 
"We don't know for sure who took him away.
You better go to sleep before your Mommy 
finds out I let you stay up so late." He tried to 
smile, and then gave her a soft peck on her forehead 
as she cocooned herself under the covers and turned out 
the lamp on the bed stand. 

He left the door open just a crack and stood 
outside her door carefully so she wouldn't notice 
him watching her. He jumped when the door blew 
shut. 

"This house has always been drafty." Steve said 
coming up the stairs, and placed a firm, friendly 
hand on his shoulder. "See ya in the mornin'." 
John nodded goodnight, then walked down the hall 
to his room, which hadn't changed much since he 
was 16. 

A signed pictures of The Eagles, Ray Charles, 
Reba McEntire, Charlie Daniels, James Brown, and 
Ted Williams, high school football team awards, 
framed boy scout commendations and high school 
diploma, double bed covered in blue pin-striped 
plaid, and even his old Playboy stash was still 
where he hid it underneath the bed. 

The memory of bringing his new bride from New 
York City back to meet his parents for the first 
time flooded to the forefront of his thoughts. 
And the awkward, exciting challenge of making 
love in your childhood bedroom. Making love to 
her there was like some giant Oedipean complex--
he was completely grossed out by and completely 
turned on to the idea at the same time. 

The train of thought was stopped by the sudden, 
irrepressible urge to check on his niece. 
Suddenly, honeymoonish memories were pushed back 
by a completely unrelated, protective impulse. He 
grabbed an old baseball bat and stealthily crept 
down the darkened hallway towards her room. 

In front of her door, the sight of his own blue 
eyes and Sarah's nose rendered him frozen.
John wanted to move. He wanted desperately some 
sort of verification that what he was seeing was 
real, but it was as though his feet were glued to 
the ground. 

"Luke?" He managed to gasp finally, but it was 
too late, he was gone. 

He looked in on his niece, apparently oblivious 
to everything going on around her. He went to the 
bathroom, needing to feel the cold tiles on his 
feet, a splash of water. Some hard proof that he 
wasn't in some sort of dream. 

Deciding it was useless now to sleep, he made his 
way down the stairs. Parker's wake was going to 
be tomorrow. Then Christmas Eve Service. It would 
be a very long day. 

It had seemed like a century since he climbed 
down those stairs. Nothing had changed. The smell 
of wood-cleaners, his dad's pipe and cologne, his 
mother's perfume still lingered toward the great 
room. 

He remembered walking in on his mother setting up 
Christmas presents in the morning after hearing 
some wrestling downstairs the Christmas before he 
left for the USMC. 

"Mom, I think we're all pretty well aware that 
Santa Claus is just a fairy tale. Chris is old 
enough to know how to drive a car next year, 
she's old enough to know the truth." 

"John, some free advice." she said frankly, "In 
this world, most of what's worth believing in has 
no hard proof to back it up with. People need the 
pretty lies to wrap themselves around more than 
they need the ugly truth starring them in the 
face." 

"Santa Claus is a story for retail stores, Mom." 

"Yeah, and when she knows I don't care about 
Santa Claus anymore... what's next? God? Our 
family?" 

"Sooner she knows the truth, the better, Mom." 

"You mean the sooner she knows the truth, the 
better for you." 

He went past the old inherited secretary in the 
family room to head to the kitchen. A 
businesslike folded envelope was open in the 
front to the bank with his Dad's shop heading on 
it. He would wait till tomorrow to glance over 
it, and stuffed into his pocket for the time 
being. 

Right then, though...he needed something to 
straighten his nerves.

He searched through the kitchen, careful not to 
make any clinks or creeks to stir anybody. He 
knew Steve or Melanie had to have booze stashed 
someplace. He really didn't wanna see anyone at 
that moment, and he certainly didn't wanna be 
caught getting lit. 

He was a grown man, yes. And old enough to But at 
1121 Palmetto Drive, he may as well have been 
sixteen. His 80 year old mother half his height 
still had more muscle over him than the Deputy 
Director of the FBI. With the kitchen lights 
turned off, he managed to find a bottle of Jack, 
and the glasses were in easy reach. 

Jack Daniels went flying up to his chin when the 
kitchen lights turned on. 

"What the hell are you still doing up?" His older 
sister demanded from the doorway. 

"Mel, don't sneak up on a detective like that! 
We're trained to be jumpy." 

"You ok? You look a little...thin..." she 
observed, getting a glass for herself, and 
pouring herself a double. 

At a questioning eyebrow, she answered "What!? 
I've got my husband's wake to go to in the 
morning, I got an excuse." 

"They're gonna question me tomorrow, aren't 
they?" He said softly, taking a long gulp of his 
JD. 

"When I wrote you that letter before you got 
wounded in Somalia that they still thought you 
were a suspect, I thought you were an idiot to 
come back with Barbara and Luke." She took 
another long sip. "Don't ruin your career, John." 

"Mel...I may be a fed, but as far as the bureau's 
concerned, my career's already ruined. I'm pretty 
much as good as a janitor with the cases I'm 
workin' on. And you know...I think I *WAS* just 
as guilty as Cy and those boys that night. They 
wuddna cared if he died twenty years ago or two 
days ago...just as long as he could keep quiet. 
If I thought I was innocent, I wouldda stayed 
here insteadda moved to New York after the 
Marines." 

"Then make it right, John. Make it right with 
Parker by finding the truth." 

"Truth ain't always what people wanna hear, Mel." 

"Truth is NEVER what people wanna here. But we 
need those lines drawn to make sense of things. 
You know that better than anyone." She rinsed her 
glass out and put it in the sink. "I got a long 
day in the morning, John. See ya tomorrow."
Melanie paused at the door. She turned around and 
walked back to her "little" brother, the "little" 
brother who towered over her. "Hey," she said 
softly. "what's wrong, Dumbo?" she affectionately 
reached out and tugged on one of his prolific 
ears. But her face was lined with worry. "This is 
more than just Parker." 

He shook his head, looking at his glass, 
muttering "Nuthin'," his Southern accent becoming 
more and more pronounced even in those few hours 
he spent down in Georgia. 

"Liar. Johnny... talk to me..." 

"Tired of funerals s'all," he finally mumbled 
out, draining his glass. "Been to too many of 
them..." 

Melanie pulled out a chair again and sat down 
beside him. She reached for his hand and squeezed 
it tightly. "I'm glad you're here," she said 
simply. "I've missed you..." her eyes teared up. 
"Aw, Mel," Doggett felt his face getting hot. He 
looked at the floor, but he still clung to his 
sister's hand. Remembering all the times as a 
little boy he reached for Melanie's hand when 
Daddy said he was too big to be hanging on Mama 
all the time. It was Melanie that held his hand 
when they went trick-or-treating. When they 
crossed a busy intersection. When they went to 
the recruiting office to sign him up for the 
Marines. When they drove to the crematorium after 
Luke's funeral. "I'm not much use to anyone right 
now." 

"Tell me you don't really believe that and you're 
just wallowing in a pity party," the widow 
admonished him. "John?" 

"I'm going to bed," he said abruptly, getting up. 

"Johnny, wait-" 

"Mel, it ain't 'bout me! It's 'bout you and 
Parker...and... oh, the hell with it. Good night, 
Mel." 

"John, got-dammit, wait," Mel snapped at him. 

"Don't you dare walk off like that. What is with 
you? What HAPPENED to you?" 

Doggett's shoulders slumped. "Mel," he said, 
resignation in his voice. "Let me find out what 
happened to Parker. Maybe...maybe if I can do one 
damn thing right... everything else will fall 
into place... I've got a... um... friend, back in 
DC. She's a doctor. Maybe she can give us some 
insight as to what happened if I can fax her the 
medical records." 

"Is this your friend Dr. Scully?" Melanie asked. 

"No," Doggett said bluntly, turning his back on 
her and leaving her to stand alone in the kitchen 
to wonder. 

Meanwhile...  
Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather's apartment  
Washington DC 

"OW! GOD DAMMIT!" she yelped as she stubbed her 
toe again on another moving box. "Son-of-a-
bitch," Jerilyn Starkweather grumbled as she sat 
down on her coffee table and began to massage her 
foot. 

Caesar, a very orange and very ornery feline 
lifted his head up from off his paws to 
disdainfully regard his clumsy owner. 

"Fuck off," she snapped at him. Caesar gave her a 
look that said "Whatever," and placed his head 
back on his paws, falling back asleep. 

Her phone rang. Starkweather looked at her watch, 
then at the phone. "I don't think so," she 
muttered to herself darkly as she reached for a 
figurine that was sitting on her coffee table and 
began to wrap it in newspaper. 

Her machine clicked on. "Doc? Hey, it's me. Are 
ya there screening calls or asleep... Look... I 
know it's late and I'm sorry, but if you're 
there, can you pick up? Or gimme a call tomorrow 
first thing in the morning. I'd really apprecia-" 

"I'm here," she said breathlessly after bolting 
up from the coffee table and hurtling over moving 
boxes to get to her phone. "I'm here, sorry. I 
currently have my own obstacle course in my 
living room. How's home treating you?"

"Fine," Doggett tried to talk as quietly as he 
could. He was on the phone in his father's study. 
He remembered how thin the damn walls in this 
house were. He didn't want to wake anyone else 
up. 

"Liar." 

"Second time I've been called that tonight." 

"Papa John, if everything was *fine*, you would 
NOT be calling me at this ungodly hour begging me 
to pick up or to call you first thing in the 
morning." 

"Did I wake you?" 

Guiltily, Starkweather glanced over at the 
unopened bottle of prescription sleeping pills on 
her coffee table next to a collection of whatnots 
and knickknacks. "No... I've been packing." 

"HAVE you been sleeping?" 

"God dammit, Doggett, did you call me to check up 
on me?" she lashed back at him. "How many times 
do I need to fucking tell you and Mulder to back 
the hell off? I am FINE, dammit!" 

Doggett squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his 
forehead, feeling a headache sneaking up on him. 

"No. I didn't call to check up on you, I was..." 
he sighed. This was going to be extremely 
awkward. "My sister... I need some information. 
Medical information." 

"That could not have waited until the morning?" 
she bitched. 

<<Great, she's fucking pissed off now. Probably 
still thinks this is a half-assed excuse to check 
up on her... which it is...>> 

"No, it really couldn't. It's important Doc. 
I wouldn't have called if it wasn't," he snapped 
back at her. 

<<God damn it Jerilyn, I'm sorry your life is 
fucked up right now, but don't you start taking 
it out on me...>> 

A pause. A dreadful awkward pause. Then a sigh 
from her end. "Okay, okay... what do you need to 
know about?" She still sounded bent out of shape. 

Typical. 

"AIDS." 

"What?" 

"I need to know beyond the public service 
announcements. I want everything under the 
sun about AIDS and the HIV virus." Doggett 
told her solemnly, sitting down at his father's 
desk. 

"About AIDS?" 

"Yeah..." 

"Just wanted to make sure I heard you right... 
you're awfully quiet, I can hardly hear you." 

"Don't wanna wake up the house." 

"Seriously, how is home treating you?" She 
sounded contrite. She must have finally realized 
what a bitch she had acted like a few minutes 
ago. 

"It could be better," he admitted gruffly. 

"I'm sorry," she sounded sincere. 

"I wish you were here," he blurted out and 
instantly wished he could take those words and 
stuff them back in his mouth. 

"Yeah... well..." Starkweather looked at the one 
picture still hanging on her wall. Her wedding 
portrait. "I... " she stood up and took the 
photograph down and put in the first available 
open box. Closing the lid. "Maybe next year will 
be better, right?" 

"Yeah..." Doggett decided to try and quickly save 
face. "Anyway... about the AIDS virus?" 

"Gimme a second," she grumbled, pinching the 
bridge of her nose together tightly. "It IS a 
little after midnight. My brain starts to shut 
down right about this time." 

"Whatever," Doggett said dryly, envisioning his 
partner pacing around in the shambles of her 
apartment. He guessed she was probably bumming 
around in a pair of jeans she salvaged from the 
Goodwill and a sweatshirt she found on a 
clearance rack in the mall. Shoes off, socks off, 
glasses on. Long pretty blond hair tied back in a 
sloppy ponytail or messy bun. 

He was ninety-eight percent accurate with his 
guess, for her hair was actually in a loose 
French braid and she was not wearing her reading 
glasses. She didn't need to. She wasn't 
consulting her old medical textbooks or WebMD. 

She was consulting her own powerful photographic 
memory. 

"'Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome aka AIDS 
was first reported in the United States in 1981 
and has since become a major worldwide epidemic. 
AIDS is caused by the human immunodeficiency 
virus (HIV). By killing or impairing cells of the 
immune system, HIV progressively destroys the 
body's ability to fight infections and certain 
cancers. Individuals diagnosed with AIDS are 
susceptible to life-threatening diseases called 
opportunistic infections, which are caused by 
microbes that usually do not cause illness in 
healthy people.'" 

She sounded like a god damned robot. 

"'More than 600,000 cases of AIDS have been 
reported in the United States since 1981, and as 
many as 900,000 Americans may be infected with 
HIV. The epidemic is growing most rapidly among 
minority populations and is a leading killer of 
African-American males. According to the U.S. 
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), 
the prevalence of AIDS is six times higher in 
African-Americans and three times higher among 
Hispanics than among whites.'" 

<<Atlanta...>> Doggett rubbed his stiff neck as 
he listened to his partner drone on. <<Maybe I 
can sneak into Atlanta for a day...>> 

Starkweather continued, "'HIV is spread most 
commonly by sexual contact with an infected 
partner. The virus can enter the body through the 
lining of the vagina, vulva, penis, rectum or 
mouth during sex. HIV also is spread through 
contact with infected blood. Prior to the 
screening of blood for evidence of HIV infection 
and before the introduction in 1985 of heat-
treating techniques to destroy HIV in blood 
products, HIV was transmitted through 
transfusions of contaminated blood or blood 
components. Today, because of blood screening and 
heat treatment, the risk of acquiring HIV from 
such transfusions is extremely sma-'" 

"What year was that again?" Doggett suddenly 
interrupted. 

She paused. "Year?? Before we started screening 
blood? 1985." 

Doggett's shoulders slumped. Parker's accident 
had been long before 1985. They were still kids. 
High schoolers. Before Melanie helped him run 
away to join the Marines. 

"Why?" 

"Um... just makin' sure I heard ya right." 

"You're drawling much more than usual. Am I going 
to have to reintroduce you to 'Hooked on 
Phonics?'" 

"Thought that was s'ppose to help you read, not 
talk." 

"I'm tired," she said defensively. "The one-
liners don't coming that quickly after midnight." 

She sighed. "Look... can I just email this to 
you? Or don't you have Internet access?" 

"Yeah, my brother's got a computer." 

"Brother? I didn't know you had a brother." 

"One brother, two sisters." Doggett loosen his 
tie. Then looked down at himself. He was still in 
the same suit he had put one before going to J. 
Edgar today. And now it was all travel stained 
and crumpled. 

He looked up and saw the shadow of a man standing 
in front of him. 

"Steve, that you?" 

"Doggett?" Starkweather pressed the phone closer 
to her ear. "Who are you talking to?" 

Doggett forgot about the phone in his hand as he 
stared wordlessly at the shadow in front of him. 
Realizing that there was no light and no solid 
object in the room to create the shadow. 

"My God..." 

"Doggett... you're really starting to spook 
me..." Starkweather shivered involuntarily. 

"What's going on?" 

Doggett blinked. The shadow was gone. "I'm losing 
it..." 

"Papa John?" 

"Huh? Oh..." Doggett squeezed his eyes tightly 
shut. "I'm overtired, I'm seein' things." 

"SEEING things??? You??? Is there a piece of hell 
freezing over?" 

"Not like ghosts or shit, I'm... my mind's 
playin' tricks on me. Seeing things..." he 
trailed off, thinking of the image of the little 
boy who inherited his eyes and Barbara's nose. 

"Wanting to see something so bad, that I'm 
actually seein' it when I know it ain't real," he 
finished. "Like I said... I'm losing it." 

Starkweather lifted her left hand. Examined the 
diamond solitaire set on a simple soldered golden 
band. "Trust me... I can relate." 

"What are you doin' for Christmas?" he went 
fishing. Wanted to be sure she wasn't going to be 
sitting by herself. 

"Jenny," her stepmother, "invited me over to her 
house for Christmas Eve and Scully and Mulder 
pretty much ordered me to be at Scully's place 
for Christmas Day. The Gunmen are going to be 
over too... God help me..." she whimpered. "If 
Langly tries to corral me by the mistletoe, I 
swear to God, I'll shoot him. I really will." 
Doggett chuckled. "I think Scully and Mul-duh 
will protect you from Langly," he reassured her. 

"And remember," she added. "We agreed. No 
Christmas presents." 

"I didn't buy you anything," he said innocently. 

"Better not have," she grumbled. "Do you want me 
to go on with the AIDS lecture or can I email or 
fax something to you?" 

"My brother's got a computer in his shop, I can 
get my email from there." <<As long as Steve's 
not there>> Doggett rolled his eyes. He pulled 
his tie completely off now. He ached all over, 
his body cried out for sleep. 

"Okay, I'll send it to your AO-hell account," she 
said. "When are you heading back to DC?" 

"Don't know," he said truthfully. "Maybe after 
the New Year." 

"Okay." 

"Get some sleep. Else I'll sick Langly on ya." 

"Ugh. Are you TRYING to give me nightmares?" 

"I'll see you when I get back home, Doc." 

"Okay... I'll email you first thing in the 
morning." 

"Alright." 

"Talk to you later." 

"Bye Doc." 

The dial tone took the place of her husky voice. 
Doggett held the phone in his hand for a moment 
and then hung it up carefully. 

He looked up and jumped at the shadow looming in 
front of him now. 

But this shadow was created by a living breathing 
entity. 
 
"So?" Melanie slid into the darkened study. 

"Who's this 'Doc'?" 

"Jesus, Mel," Doggett burst out, hand on chest. 

"That's the second time tonight you scared the 
piss outta me." 

"I'll be sure to walk around the puddle," she 
said dryly as she walked over to the desk, 
reaching out to turn on the lamp. Doggett rubbed 
his eyes when the room brightened up. "So," 
Melanie asked again, settling on the battered 
love seat by the window. "Who's 'Doc'?" A wicked 
little smile curled her lips. 

Doggett looked at the floor. "A friend." 

"A friend that you wish was here?" 

"Goddamn, Melanie, how long have you been 
eavesdroppin'?" Doggett jerked his head up to 
glare at her. "She's having a rough time right 
now. I invited her to come home with me so she 
wouldn't have to spend Christmas alone. That's 
all." 

"How nice of you," Melanie demurred. "So, does 
Doc have a real name?" 

"Jerilyn." 

"That's... different." 

"She's a different kind of girl," Doggett 
mumbled, looking at the floor again. 

"Different how?" 

"Mel, let it go." 

"No way," Melanie smirked. "I haven't seen you 
this riled up about a girl since that prissy 
little bitch Lindsay Amos asked you to take her 
to the prom." 

"It's. Not. Like. That." 

"Bull.  Shit," Melanie taunted him. "Your ears are 
bright pink." She hugged a pillow to herself. "So 
that's why you got so defensive when I asked 
about Reyes. You've got your sights set on 
someone else." Instantly, Melanie began 
bombarding him with questions. "What's she like?" 

When Doggett refused to answer, she persisted. 

"Oh, come on, Johnny. Sleep's pretty much a lost 
cause for the both of us. And I'm so happy you've 
found another girl-" 

"Mel-" Doggett tried to butt in but his sister 
was on a roll. 

"So tell me, what she like? Is she nice?" 

"Nice??!?!?!?!?!" He snorted. "She is the biggest 
bitch to grace God's green earth." 

"And yet you ran to her to help with Parker," 
Melanie challenged him. 

"Well... she's smart as hell. I mean. Really 
fucking smart. I feel stupid half the time she 
opens her mouth. And I didn't RUN to her." 

"How did you meet her?" 

"She's my partner at the Bureau. We've been 
workin' together since April."  
 
Realization dawned on Melanie. "Then... she was 
that woman that was with you on September 11. 
Parker and I taped that interview of the both of 
you on MSNBC." 

"Yes," Doggett said softly. "That's her. She lost 
her father in the Pentagon attack." 

Melanie looked stricken. "And she's married..." 

Doggett shook his head. "Not anymore... her..." 
he closed his eyes, remembering how he found her 
in the chapel, her pretty cream suit coated with 
blood. 

**Doggett, please, just go away...** 

"Her older brother used to work in the FBI too. 
But he was kicked out after workin' a case with 
me last year. He's the Deputy Mayor of Washington 
DC now. But he still ain't a BMOC and 
he pisses off the wrong people. There was an 
assassination attempt on him... but... Ben... her 
husband... was in the wrong place at the wrong 
time and he... was killed in the crossfire. Three 
weeks ago." 

"Oh God..." Melanie whispered, turning white. "At 
least I had time to prepare for Parker's..." she 
looked down at her lap, holding the pillow closer 
to herself. 

Doggett got up and crossed over to Melanie, 
sitting beside her. "That's why I really didn't 
want to talk about Jerilyn," he whispered as he 
embraced his sister. "I didn't want to rub salt 
into fresh wounds, Mel." 

Melanie snuffled into his dress blouse. "It 
just... oh God, John, he was doing so well, he 
was taking his drugs, he was healthy, then... all 
of a sudden... we only knew that he had AIDS for 
a few months, John. One day he was fine, the next 
he had AIDS. He was still fine, and now... his 
wake's tomorrow," she burst out into full blown 
sobs. 

Doggett held Melanie tighter to him, unsure of 
what to say. 

After a while, Melanie composed herself. "I'm 
sorry." 

"S'all right," Doggett told her. "I'm here, Sis." 

She nodded. "I know," her voice cracked. "And 
you'll get justice for Park. One way or another." 
She wiped her tears off her face with the back of 
her hand as she got up. "I'm going to try and go 
to bed." 

"'Kay." Doggett watched her leave. 

Only to watch her pop her head back into the 
room. "And don't you think that you're off the 
hook about this Jerilyn-girl for one second, 
mister. Because I don't buy that "there's nothing 
between us" bullshit story at all." 
Doggett shook his head. "Really. Mel. There's 
nothing." 

"Then why are your ears still red?" She smiled 
affectionately at him and left him alone with all 
the spirits that torment him. His invisible 
ghosts and demons and longings for distant 
angels. 

December 22, 2001  
5:35 AM Eastern Standard Time 

Laura opened her eyes. With a big yawn, she sat 
up, rubbing her eyes. She leaned over the side of 
the bed to see if there were monsters underneath 
it. "Crap," she muttered in disappointment 
when she didn't see any. 

Slipping out of bed, she put on her gaudy pink 
fuzzy slippers that Grandma bought her for her 
birthday last year. Her mama had nearly gone into 
hysterics but Laura loved them. 

Silent as a cat, she crept around the house, 
snooping until she found her Uncle John's room. 
She scampered across the hardwood floor and stood 
beside his bed. 

Laura frowned. Uncle John was still dressed in 
the same suit he was wearing last night. Why 
wasn't he in pajamas? 

"Whaddya want Laura?" he asked softly, not even 
opening his eyes. Amazing how his "kid-radar" was 
still fine-tuned as ever even though he had been 
childless for nearly seven-going-on-eight years 
now. 

"Monster huntin'," Laura said solemnly. "Wan'ed 
to see if you were up so you could come with me." 
Doggett rolled his head over and opened his eyes. 

"Huh?" 

"Mama says you hunt monsters for a livin'. I was 
hopin' you wan'ed to go with me to hunt monsters 
this mornin'." 

<<Thanks Chris>> Doggett thought with a groan. 
Then he grinned. The child had been petrified by 
the idea of her grandfather's ghost last night 
but this morning, wanted to track down monsters. 
Kids. "Why do you wanna hunt monsters, baby?" 

"'Cause." 

"'Cause why?" Doggett felt himself falling into 
the dreaded 'Because-why-because' trap that kids 
were so good about setting. 

Laura scrunched her face up in thought. "'Cause 
playin' with monsters is funner than playin' with 
Barbies." 

<<Good answer>> Doggett's grin grew. "Baby, all 
the monsters are sleepin' right now," he told 
her. "They only come out at night." 

"Oh." Laura mulled this over and tucked that bit 
of information away. "So... how come you're 
sleepin' in your clothes? Didja forget your 
pajamas?" 

<<Oh damn>> "I was so tired last night, I forgot 
completely to change my clothes," he told her. He 
felt extremely uncomfortable having slept in his 
clothes, but then again, it wasn't necessarily 
the first time he had done so. 

"Mama gets mad at me if I don't change into MY 
pajamas. Is Grandma gonna get mad at you 'cause 
you didn't change into your pajamas?" 

"She won't if we don't tell her," Doggett gave 
her a conspirator's wink. Then he yawned. "Now 
scoot. It's early." 

"Can I sleep in here?" she asked. "It still 
stinks like Grandpa in that room." She turned her 
little-girl charm on him full-force. "I'll be 
good. I'll be quiet. I'll sleep on the floor." 
Doggett shook his head. Kids. "You don't have to 
sleep on the flo- OOF!" Doggett grunted as Laura 
bounced into bed, clambering over his chest and 
snuggling into the crook of his arm. 

"Daddy says I'm too big to do this no more," she 
mumbled sleepily as she dozed back off. 
Doggett rested his head against the pillow. <<I 
wonder what it would have been like to have a 
daughter?>> he couldn't help but wonder. Then 
felt a stab of disloyalty to the son he lost. 

He closed he eyes and tried to relax enough to 
catch at least an hour or two of sleep before the 
day began in earnest. 

Later that morning...  
7:55 AM Eastern Time 

"Mornin' Mama," Doggett said bending down to kiss 
his mother's wrinkled cheek as she finished up 
frying the bacon for breakfast. 

"Don't they feed you up in DC?" she scolded him, 
shooing him away. "You're skin and bones, son." 

Doggett grinned as he walked over to the 
coffeepot and poured himself a cup. "Ah, Mama, 
you worry too much." 

"I'm your mother," she informed him primly. 
"That's my job." 

Doggett looked at the table and knew that Scully 
would have a nervous breakdown if she would have 
seen what was on the table. Every bit of food 
except for the toast was dripping with grease or 
coated with sugar. Doggett wondered if he would 
have any stomach lining left after his stay with 
his mother but as the aroma teased his olfactory 
nerves, he decided that he didn't care. Bring on 
the fried food. Bring on the coronary. 

"Sorry it's not very much," Mrs. Doggett 
apologized, "but Mel and I have to get to the 
children's hospital this morning and then we've 
got the wake this evening so you'll have to fend 
for yourself." 

Doggett, who was used to a cold Pop Tart and 
black coffee to start his day, told her "It's 
fine, Mama, I'm used to fending for m'self." 
Mrs. Doggett looked up at her son, opened her 
mouth, then closed it firmly. She put her hand to 
his cheek and told him sternly. "Behave 
yourself," while lovingly caressing his cheek. 

His mother was a woman of few words and an ornate 
dignity. John may be the spitting image of his 
deceased father, but he was his mother's son. 

Both wrapped their hurts and secrets up in the 
silence and tucked those packages away to be opened 
later on. 

Alone. 

"Okay," he teased her. "No wild parties. No 
girls.  And stay out of the whiskey," she frowned at him 
as she turned away to get her purse, calling out, 

"Mel?? Melanie, are you ready?" 

Doggett shook his head in wonder as his mother 
left the kitchen and Chris, being dragged in by 
Laura entered. "Hi Uncle John!" Laura chirped. 

"What're we doin' today???" 

Doggett looked up at Chris in panic. 

"Could you baby sit Laura for me?" Chris pleaded. 

"I have to go to town and get some last-minute 
stuff done for the holidays." 

<<Sh*t>> he thought. <<How'm I s'pposed to look 
into Parker's death while keeping an eye on 
Laura???>> 

"I've got runnin' around to do too," he told 
Chris. "D'ya mind if I bring her 'long then?" 
Laura beamed. Chris did not. "What KIND of 
things?" 

Doggett sighed. "Just errands. Stuff I need to 
pick up that I forgotta bring. 

Gonna go down to the shop to borrow Steve's 
computer to check email." 

"Laura, baby," Chris asked, stroking her child's 
pretty dark curls. "Before you eat your Corn 
Pops, can you do me a favor?" 

"Sure Mama." 

"Go upstairs and get Mama's purse. I forgot it." 

"'Kay." 

The minute Laura disappeared from the kitchen, 
Chris hissed at her brother. "Johnny, you are not 
helping Melanie get over Parker by feedin' into 
her delusions." 

"I AIN'T feedin' into her delusions!" Doggett 
snapped back at her. 

"Johnny, you know and I know," her voice was 
shaking now. "That it's just best to let things 
go." 

Doggett leaned back in his chair. Surveyed his 
sister with her faux fiery hair. Chris fidgeted 
nervously with her charm bracelet, an early 
Christmas present from her husband. She didn't 
like how piercing his eyes were. So blue. So 
clear. So like their mother's. 

"You really believe that Christen?" he asked her 
lightly, but using her full name instead of the 
familiar diminutive to ensure he had her full 
attention. 

She squirmed. "I want to believe," she whispered, 
looking at the floor. 

"Honey, I'm not gonna do anything that's gonna 
hurt Mel," he said. "If there's even the 
slightest chance that Park was murdered, then me 
pokin' 'round will improve the odds of the killer 
bein' found by that little bit. If it's proven 
without a doubt that he died naturally... well... 
then Mel will have the answers she needs to stop 
puttin' off gettin' on with her life." <<I am 
such a hypocrite>> he thought as he continued to 
stare his little sister down.
 
"It's just that... John, this has been hellish 
enough already. You haven't been here... you 
don't live here. You were in New York when things 
were really bad between Daddy and Mellie and Park 
and..." she shook her end. "I just..." 

"Mama!" Laura burst back in. "Found it!" 

"Thank you baby." Chris took the battered purse 
from her daughter. 

"D'ya mind if Laura tags along with me today 
then?" Doggett asked her smoothly as Laura 
plunked down in her chair and started to add 
fresh strawberries to her soggy cereal. "It's 
nothing big, nothing earth shattering, I 
promise." <<For today>> he thought darkly. 

Laura beamed at him. "Can we go to the library?" 

"Yeah..." Doggett became enthusiastic at the 
idea. <<Because libraries have computers... I 
won't have to deal with Steve at the shop.>> 

"Yeah, actually, the library's one of the places 
I gotta go." 

"Mama? That okay?" 

Relief relaxed Chris' normally tense face. "No. 
That's fine." 

She counted on her fantasy-prone daughter to keep 
John so occupied that he wouldn't have time to 
chase after his own imaginary monsters. 

Later that morning... 
Chatham-Effingham-Liberty Regional Library  
Savannah Georgia 

"I don't believe it," Doggett moaned under his 
breath. "They charge for Internet service," he 
griped. 

Laura looked up from her book. She was successful 
in her battle in snagging the library's last copy 
of 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.' 

"Whatcha lookin' for?" 

"I'm not looking for anything Laura," he told 
her. "I need to get my email. I'm expecting an 
important message from someone." 

"Your girlfriend?" 

"What????" 

"Mama and Aunt Mel were talkin' before we left 

for the library," Laura informed him solemnly. 

"Aunt Mel said your ears turned really red 
after she caught you on the phone with a lady and 
Mama said she must've been your girlfriend if 
your ears got red... hey... cool! They really do 
turn red! How do you do that??" 

Doggett wished his family lived in Alaska so he 
could wear ear muffs. 

"Your Mama and your Aunt Mel-" <<are gonna get 
hurt>> "-made a mistake honey. I was talkin' on 
the phone last night with a lady, but she's not 
my girlfriend. She's my friend. We work 
together."
 
"You guys catch monsters together?" 

"We try to." He looked at her book. "Like Harry 
Potter huh?" 

"Oh yeah!" Laura grinned, losing interest in her 
uncles' telltale ears. "It's really cool, but 
it's gonna be hard to wait for the next book to 
come out. It's not done bein' written yet." 

"Well, while you're waiting for the next book to 
come out, you could read another series... it's 
kinda like Harry Potter... well, I mean, its got 
magic and stuff." Doggett had never been much of 
a reader, but he had always been enchanted by the 
works of CS Lewis. He remembered reading "The 
Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" to his son even 
as Barbara admonished him that Luke was too 
little to hear stories like that. He needed to be 
protected from violence, not subjected to it. 

**Ah, Barb, relax. It's just a story** 

"C'mon," he told Laura, getting up. "We'll ask 
the librarian where it is... and maybe we'll go 
do something else today too..." 

"Like what?" 

"Whatever you want, sweetie. Movie, park, zoo..." 

"Can we go to the zoo??" 

"Sure." 

Anything to postpone going to his brother's auto 
repair shop and asking to use his computer. 

Later on that afternoon...  
Doggett Motors 

"Why'd we hafta come here?" Laura's voice was 
etched with disappointment as the family auto 
repair and parts store loomed in the horizon. "We 
were havin' fun." 

Doggett was asking himself the very same 
question. He had spent the day totally spoiling 
Laura rotten. Mostly because his spirited little 
niece charmed him utterly. But partially, also to 
get back at Chris for asking him to baby sit. 
He took her to her favorite restaurant and let 
her order whatever she wanted, then they wandered 
around the zoo for most of the afternoon. While 
walking around, Doggett found his mind wandering 
back to Melanie's request, to find out the true 
nature of Parker's death. Several times, Laura 
had to poke him to get his attention. But then an 
attraction, the monkey house, the lions' den, the 
sweets vendor, would catch her eye and she would 
forget about her uncle's inattentiveness. 

"Well, honey, I still have to check my email," he 
told her. "And Grandma doesn't have a computer." 
Doggett regretted not taking his own FBI issued 
notebook computer with him. But he didn't want to 
deal with the hassle of security inspecting the 
bag he carried the computer and docking port in. 
Hell, they made him take off his shoes, for 
Chrissake. 

Now the security at the airport seemed like a 
picnic compared to asking his dour older brother 
to borrow the computer, even for five minutes. 
Ten maybe, depending on how much shit Jerilyn 
sent him. 

The oldest of the family, Stephen Doggett had 
been the popular one, the good looking one, the 
one the girls flocked around in high school. 
Three years younger than him and two years 
younger than Mel, Doggett hadn't really cared... 
much. In high school, he had been so shy around 
girls anyways. Stevie had been so cool, so blasé 
about it. It seemed like he had a different 
girlfriend every week. Lindsay Amos, blond, blue-
eyed, a cheerleader and two years his senior had 
to ask HIM to the prom. John barely had composure 
enough to stammer out an "okay", half-afraid that 
it was all a bad joke. 
Now, fast forward, twenty-five years later. 
Stevie was bald, pudgy and alone. Even more so 
than John. He had never gone to college. He had 
never traveled. He had never married. He had 
never had children. He had dedicated his life to 
continuing his father's business. 
A business that was steadily declining. 
And Steve still lived with his mother. 
Doggett didn't care how shitty his life was, 
didn't care that his chances for advancement in 
the FBI had a snowball's chance on Mars. He had 
served his nation and earned a college degree. He 
had his own house, he had an interesting job, he 
had good friends and he had a wonderful albeit 
infuriating partner. And for seven years, he had 
the honor of being the father to, in his biased 
opinion, the best little boy in the entire world 
and he wouldn't trade that for anything. 
As he got out of the car, Doggett surveyed the 
building. The paint was peeling badly. One of the 
'G's on the sign had fallen off. The garbage in 
the dumpster was overflowing and smelled 
terrible. Doggett, as he waited for Laura to run 
around the vehicle to join him, toyed with the 
idea of offering Steve to tidy the place up a 
little bit while he was in town. Then dismissed 
the idea immediately. Steve would perceive the 
offer as either charity or pity or both. And 
refuse his help. Rudely. 
As Doggett and Laura walked up the cracked 
sidewalk to the garage, Stevie came out the door, 
wiping grease off his hands with a dirty rag. 
"What are you doin' here?" he asked his brother 
coolly. Then glanced down at Laura, who looked up 
at her other uncle warily. "And what'n the hell 
did you bring her here for?" 
Laura's eyes filled with tears. 
"Because she's keepin' me company today and I 
don't think Chris'll 'preciate you talkin' about 
her daughter that way," Doggett said just as 
calmly, feeling Laura reaching for his hand. 
Stevie just snorted. "So, what'd you want?" 
"I need to check my email. I'm expecting 
correspondence from my partner about a case." Not 
quite the truth. Not quite the lie. 
Steve snorted slightly, his flaring nostrils 
reminding Doggett of that ridiculous bull that 
Bugs Bunny told to "stop steaming up my tail!" 
But instead of lowing his head and running 
towards him in a blind rage, he merely turned 
around and mumbled, "Well, hurry up then. Don't 
got all day." 
Doggett looked down and grinned at Laura, who 
still appeared distraught. "Think Uncle Stevie's 
havin' a bad day," he whispered to her, squeezing 
her small hand. 
"Uncle Stevie ALWAYS has a bad day when I'm 
'round," Laura said petulantly, head hanging 
down. 
Doggett felt a very adolescent urge to slap Steve 
upside the head. 
The urge became a compulsion when he stepped 
inside the shop. It was filthy and unkempt. 
Granted, auto mechanic shops weren't exactly 
supposed to be Martha Stewart-neat. But there was 
no excuse for the trash cans to be overflowing 
with Coke cans and McDonald's bags. Or broken 
tools and pieces of scrap metal laying on top of 
the filing cabinet. Or to have spiders merrily 
spinning their webs in the corners. Doggett, 
always a clean-freak by nature, shuddered. 
Plus, he remembered as a boy how neat his father 
had kept the shop. You could almost eat off the 
office floor. 
Doggett wondered if Steve was subconsciously 
sabotaging the business to get back at his father 
postmortem for tying him down to the shop. But 
decided it wasn't his place to hazard a guess. 
Who knew what went through Stevie's mind anymore 
and John did not study psychology. That was 
Mulder and Starkweather's department. Profiling. 
"Computer's on the desk," Steve said as if 
Doggett was too dense to notice the ancient 
machine on top of the filthy desk. 
"Thanks," Doggett said while groaning to himself 
<<Aw, Christ, it's a Mac. God damn it...>> 
Doggett pulled out the chair and sat down. Laura 
flopped down on the cracked vinyl couch and 
crossed her arms, looking bored. Stevie 
positioned himself right behind Doggett, looking 
over his shoulder. 
"D'ya mind?" Doggett asked irritably. 
"Yeah, I mind," Stevie responded, equally 
irritated. "I mind a lot." 
"This is confidential," Doggett said through 
gritted teeth. 
"It's my computer," Steve replied sullenly. 
"Aw for Christ's sake, I'm not gonna be 
downloadin' porn or anything!" 
"Yeah, but how do I know you're not adding a 
virus to my computer if you open anything? All my 
business' financial records are on the hard 
drive." 
"It's from the FBI! It's from my god-damned 
partner!" Doggett said hotly, forgetting about 
the little ears sitting on the couch across the 
room. "She's not gonna send an infected file to 
me!" 
"Not on purpose." 
"Steve, if you didn't want me to use this, why 
don'cha just say so and quit wastin' my time." 
"Hey, this is my livelihood you wanna dink 'round 
with, boy. And I'll be damned if I lose all my 
records 'cause you were playin' Cops and Robbers 
over the holidays." 
"My job is not a game." 
"Bullsh-" 
"Boys," a quietly forceful, feminine voice cut 
through the air. 
John and Steve looked up from their argument and 
saw their mother and their sister Melanie 
standing there. 
"He started it!" Steve burst out childishly. 
Doggett retorted, "Did not!" The minute the words 
were out of his mouth, he felt like a horse's 
ass. 
Mrs. Doggett skewered the two great big grown men 
with her piercing eyes. "It doesn't matter who 
started it," she snapped at them as if they were 
eight and six again and bickering over a toy. "It 
matters that you act your ages and end it like 
gentlemen. Now." She crossed her arms and 
waiting, still glaring at them. 
Laura bolted up from the couch and ran to her 
mother's side. Chris wrapped her arms around 
Laura's shoulders. 
"Fine," Steve muttered. "Fine." He stepped away 
from his brother. "Go 'head," he gestured vaguely 
towards the computer. "I gotta run some errands 
'fore the wake anyway. Lock up the shop when you 
get done>" 
"Stephen," Mrs. Doggett said threateningly. 
"Mama, I gotta go," he mumbled, snatching his 
ball cap and jacket off of the old coat tree and 
stomped out of the shop. 
Doggett looked up at his mother, shaking his 
head. "It's never gonna be good 'tween us, Mama," 
he said quietly. "It's no use." 
Mrs. Doggett said in a sniffy voice, "That's the 
credo of the mediocre, son." 
"But Mama-" 
"Don't you 'but Mama' me," Mrs. Doggett said 
loftily. "Y'all can try to get along for my sake. 
And if not for me, then at least for Mellie. God 
only knows how much she's hurtin' right now." She 
shed her steely demeanor, let her small shoulders 
slouch a little. "You gonna be long, son?" 
"Shouldn't be. I'll try not to be. I don't wanna 
be late for the wake," Doggett promised her. 
"Alright then," Mrs. Doggett nodded. "Come on 
Chris," she said solemnly. "Let's go." Then she 
smiled down at her granddaughter. "And you young 
lady, need to tell Grandma all about your day." 
The women and the little girl left Doggett in 
peace. First thing he did was raid Steve's desk 
for anything that could combat a raging headache. 
He found a dusty bottle of Bayer aspirin and dry-
swallowed three white pills. Then he logged onto 
the Internet, cursing out Steve's slow slow 
service. 
Finally, after what felt like the passing of an 
eon or two, he was able to access his email. 
"TO: JJDoggett4460@AOL.COM  
FROM: Jeribs@AOL.COM  
RE: AIDS/HIV 
Papa John-  
B/c I am lazy as fuck, I've just c&ped a link to 
WebMD for you. It'll tell you everything you need 
to know about AIDS and then some. Need 
clarification, call me. Will have cell on. Will 
kill you if you call at midnight again though. 
Hope home is treating you better today than last 
night. Sorry I was bitchy last night, was really 
tired when you called - Santa's probably going to 
skip my house this year b/c of that, the fat old 
bastard. Talk you when you're back in DC.  
-Doc  
PS: So, how many hours did you waste dreaming up 
your screen name anyway? Just curious. hee hee" 
He grinned after reading her snotty little 
message. 
The grin faded after he clicked on the hyperlink 
and started reading about the disease that Parker 
supposedly died from.  
 
Doggett squinted at the screen as he began to 
silently read. <<I hope this print just looks 
blurry because I'm tired and not because I need 
glasses>> he thought as he leaned in closer to 
the monitor: 
"Frequently Asked Questions on HIV/AIDS: 
Transmission and Prevention 
Myths and facts about how HIV is transmitted -- 
and how it can be prevented. Centers for Disease 
Control and Prevention Reviewed By Dr. Tonja Wynn 
Hampton 
How is HIV passed from one person to another?: 
HIV transmission can occur when blood, semen 
(including pre-seminal fluid, or "pre-cum"), 
vaginal fluid, or breast milk from an infected 
person enters the body of an uninfected person. 
HIV can enter the body through a vein (e.g., 
injection drug use), the anus or rectum, the 
vagina, the penis, the mouth, other mucous 
membranes (e.g., eyes or inside of the nose), or 
cuts and sores. Intact, healthy skin is an 
excellent barrier against HIV and other viruses 
and bacteria. These are the most common ways that 
HIV is transmitted from one person to another:  
by having sexual intercourse (anal, vaginal, or 
oral sex) with an HIV-infected person  
by sharing needles or injection equipment with an 
injection drug user who is infected with HIV  
from HIV-infected women to babies before or 
during birth, or through breast-feeding after 
birth. HIV also can be transmitted through 
transfusions of infected blood or blood clotting 
factors. However, since 1985, all donated blood 
in the United States has been tested for HIV. 
Therefore, the risk of infection through 
transfusion of blood or blood products is 
extremely low. The U.S. blood supply is 
considered to be among the safest in the world. 
Some health-care workers have become infected 
after being stuck with needles containing HIV-
infected blood or, less frequently, after 
infected blood contact with the worker's open cut 
or through splashes into the worker's eyes or 
inside their nose. There has been only one 
instance of patients being infected by an HIV-
infected health care worker. This involved HIV 
transmission from an infected dentist to six 
patients. 
Can I get HIV from kissing on the cheek?: HIV is 
not casually transmitted, so kissing on the cheek 
is very safe. Even if the other person has the 
virus, your unbroken skin is a good barrier. No 
one has become infected from such ordinary social 
contact as dry kisses, hugs, and handshakes. 
Can I get HIV from open-mouth kissing?: Open-
mouth kissing is considered a very low-risk 
activity for the transmission of HIV. However, 
prolonged open-mouth kissing could damage the 
mouth or lips and allow HIV to pass from an 
infected person to a partner and then enter the 
body through cuts or sores in the mouth. Because 
of this possible risk, the CDC recommends against 
open-mouth kissing with an infected partner. One 
case suggests that a woman became infected with 
HIV from her sex partner through exposure to 
contaminated blood during open-mouth kissing. The 
July 11, 1997, Morbidity and Mortality Weekly 
Report contains an article on this case. 
Can I get HIV from performing oral sex?: Yes, it 
is possible for you to become infected with HIV 
through performing oral sex. There have been a 
few cases of HIV transmission from performing 
oral sex on a person infected with HIV. While no 
one knows exactly what the degree of risk is, 
evidence suggests that the risk is less than that 
of unprotected anal or vaginal sex. Blood, semen, 
pre-seminal fluid, and vaginal fluid all may 
contain the virus. Cells in the mucous lining of 
the mouth may carry HIV into the lymph nodes or 
the bloodstream. The risk increases if you have 
cuts or sores around or in your mouth or throat;  
if your partner ejaculates in your mouth; or  
if your partner has another sexually transmitted 
disease (STD).  
If you choose to have oral sex, and your partner 
is male, use a latex condom on the penis; or  
if you or your partner is allergic to latex, 
plastic (polyurethane) condoms can be used.  
Research has shown the effectiveness of latex 
condoms used on the penis to prevent the 
transmission of HIV. Condoms are not risk-free, 
but they greatly reduce your risk of becoming 
HIV-infected if your partner has the virus. If 
you choose to have oral sex, and your partner is 
female, use a latex barrier (such as a dental dam 
or a cut-open condom that makes a square) between 
your mouth and the vagina. Plastic food wrap also 
can be used as a barrier..." 
"What?????" Doggett blurted out after reading 
that part. "No fricking way..." A very 
uncomfortable mental picture of Saran Wrap flew 
through his mind. He shook his head to clear it. 
"I remember when sex was easy," he muttered to 
himself as he continued to read: 
"... The barrier reduces the risk of blood or 
vaginal fluids entering your mouth. If you have 
additional questions or are concerned about 
personal behaviors that may have put you at risk, 
call the CDC National AIDS Hotline at 1-800-342-
2437 (English), 1-800-344-7432 (Spanish), or 1-
800-243-7889 (TTY). 
Can I get HIV from someone performing oral sex on 
me?: Yes, it is possible for you to become 
infected with HIV through receiving oral sex. If 
your partner has HIV, blood from their mouth may 
enter the urethra (the opening at the tip of the 
penis), the vagina, the anus, or directly into 
the body through small cuts or open sores. While 
no one knows exactly what the degree of risk is, 
evidence suggests that the risk is less than that 
of unprotected anal or vaginal sex. If you choose 
to have oral sex, use a latex condom on the 
penis; or  
if you or your partner is allergic to latex, a 
plastic (polyurethane) condom can be used. 
Research has shown the effectiveness of latex 
condoms used on the penis for preventing the 
transmission of HIV. Condoms are not risk-free, 
but they greatly reduce your risk of becoming 
HIV-infected if your partner has the virus. If 
you choose to have oral sex and you are female, 
use a latex barrier (such as a cut-open condom 
that makes a square or a dental dam) between 
their mouth and the vagina. Plastic food wrap 
(here Doggett winced again) can also be used as a 
barrier. The barrier reduces the risk of blood 
entering the body through the vagina..." 
 
Can I get HIV from having vaginal sex?: Yes, it 
is possible to become infected with HIV through 
vaginal intercourse. In fact, it is the most 
common way the virus is transmitted in much of 
the world. HIV can be found in the blood, semen, 
pre-seminal fluid, or vaginal fluid of a person 
infected with the virus. The lining of the vagina 
can tear and possibly allow HIV to enter the 
body. Direct absorption of HIV through the mucous 
membranes that line the vagina also is a 
possibility. The male may be at less risk for HIV 
transmission than the female through vaginal 
intercourse. However, HIV can enter the body of 
the male through his urethra (the opening at the 
tip of the penis) or through small cuts or open 
sores on the penis. Risk for HIV infection 
increases if you or a partner has a sexually 
transmitted disease (STD). If you choose to have 
vaginal intercourse, use a latex condom to help 
protect both you and your partner from the risk 
of HIV and other STDs. Studies have shown that 
latex condoms are very effective, though not 
perfect, in preventing HIV transmission when used 
correctly and consistently. If either partner is 
allergic to latex, plastic (polyurethane) condoms 
for either the male or female can be used. 
Can I get HIV from anal sex? (Here Doggett, hard-
core Marine man all the way, cringed and wondered 
"Why???????") Yes, it is possible for either sex 
partner to become infected with HIV during anal 
sex. HIV can be found in the blood, semen, pre-
seminal fluid, or vaginal fluid of a person 
infected with the virus. In general, the person 
receiving the semen is at greater risk of getting 
HIV because the lining of the rectum is thin and 
may allow the virus to enter the body during anal 
sex. However, a person who inserts his penis into 
an infected partner also is at risk because HIV 
can enter through the urethra (the opening at the 
tip of the penis) or through small cuts, 
abrasions, or open sores on the penis. Having 
unprotected (without a condom) anal sex is 
considered to be a very risky behavior. If people 
choose to have anal sex, they should use a latex 
condom. Most of the time, condoms work well. 
However, condoms are more likely to break during 
anal sex than during vaginal sex. Thus, even with 
a condom, anal sex can be risky. A person should 
use a water-based lubricant in addition to the 
condom to reduce the chances of the condom 
breaking. 
How effective are latex condoms in preventing 
HIV?: Studies have shown that latex condoms are 
highly effective in preventing HIV transmission 
when used consistently and correctly. These 
studies looked at uninfected people considered to 
be at very high risk of infection because they 
were involved in sexual relationships with HIV-
infected people. The studies found that even with 
repeated sexual contact, 98-100 percent of those 
people who used latex condoms correctly and 
consistently did not become infected. 
Is there a connection between HIV and other 
sexually transmitted diseases?: Yes. Having a 
sexually transmitted disease (STD) can increase a 
person's risk of becoming infected with HIV, 
whether the STD causes open sores or breaks in 
the skin (e.g., syphilis, herpes, chancroid) or 
does not cause breaks in the skin (e.g., 
chlamydia, gonorrhea). If the STD infection 
causes irritation of the skin, breaks or sores 
may make it easier for HIV to enter the body 
during sexual contact. Even when the STD causes 
no breaks or open sores, the infection can 
stimulate an immune response in the genital area 
that can make HIV transmission more likely. In 
addition, if an HIV-infected person also is 
infected with another STD, that person is three 
to five times more likely than other HIV-infected 
persons to transmit HIV through sexual contact. 
Not having (abstaining from) sexual intercourse 
is the most effective way to avoid STDs, 
including HIV. For those who choose to be 
sexually active, the following HIV prevention 
activities are highly effective:  
Engaging in sex that does not involve vaginal, 
anal, or oral sex  
Having intercourse with only one uninfected 
partner  
Using latex condoms every time you have sex  
If you have additional questions about STDs, or 
have personal concerns, call the CDC National STD 
Hotline at 1-800-227-8922. 
Why is injecting drugs a risk for HIV?: At the 
start of every intravenous injection, blood is 
introduced into needles and syringes. HIV can be 
found in the blood of a person infected with the 
virus. The reuse of a blood-contaminated needle 
or syringe by another drug injector (sometimes 
called "direct syringe sharing") carries a high 
risk of HIV transmission because infected blood 
can be injected directly into the bloodstream. In 
addition, sharing drug equipment (or "works") can 
be a risk for spreading HIV. Infected blood can 
be introduced into drug solutions by using blood-
contaminated syringes to prepare drugs; reusing 
water; reusing bottle caps, spoons, or other 
containers ("spoons" and "cookers") used to 
dissolve drugs in water and to heat drug 
solutions; or reusing small pieces of cotton or 
cigarette filters ("cottons") used to filter out 
particles that could block the needle. "Street 
sellers" of syringes may repackage used syringes 
and sell them as sterile syringes. For this 
reason, people who continue to inject drugs 
should obtain syringes from reliable sources of 
sterile syringes, such as pharmacies. It is 
important to know that sharing a needle or 
syringe for any use, including skin popping and 
injecting steroids, can put one at risk for HIV 
and other blood-borne infections. 
How can people who use injection drugs reduce 
their risk for HIV infection?: The CDC recommends 
that people who inject drugs should be regularly 
counseled to stop using and injecting drugs.  
enter and complete substance abuse treatment, 
including relapse prevention. For injection drug 
users who cannot or will not stop injecting 
drugs, the following steps may be taken to reduce 
personal and public health risks: Never reuse or 
"share" syringes, water, or drug preparation 
equipment. Only use syringes obtained from a 
reliable source (such as pharmacies or needle 
exchange programs).  
Use a new, sterile syringe to prepare and inject 
drugs. If possible, use sterile water to prepare 
drugs; otherwise, use clean water from a reliable 
source (such as fresh tap water). Use a new or 
disinfected container ("cooker") and a new filter 
("cotton") to prepare drugs.  
Clean the injection site prior to injection with 
a new alcohol swab. Safely dispose of syringes 
after one use. If new, sterile syringes and other 
drug preparation and injection equipment are not 
available, then previously used equipment should 
be boiled in water or disinfected with bleach 
before reuse. Injection drug users and their sex 
partners also should take precautions, such as 
using condoms consistently and correctly, to 
reduce risks of sexual transmission of HIV. 
Persons who continue to inject drugs should 
periodically be tested for HIV..." 
"Can I get HIV from getting a tattoo or through 
body piercing?..." 
Doggett frowned, he never thought of that. He 
rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and touched the 
"We Will Never Forget" tattoo on his upper arm. 
He had been half-drunk when he got it done with 
the rest of the survivors of his unit. The risks 
never even crossed his mind. 
"...A risk of HIV transmission does exist if 
instruments contaminated with blood are either 
not sterilized or disinfected or are used 
inappropriately between clients. CDC recommends 
that instruments that are intended to penetrate 
the skin be used once, then disposed of or 
thoroughly cleaned and sterilized. Personal 
service workers who do tattooing or body piercing 
should be educated about how HIV is transmitted 
and take precautions to prevent transmission of 
HIV and other blood-borne infections in their 
settings. If you are considering getting a tattoo 
or having your body pierced, ask staff at the 
establishment what procedures they use to prevent 
the spread of HIV and other blood-borne 
infections, such as hepatitis B virus. You also 
may call the local health department to find out 
what sterilization procedures are in place in the 
local area for these types of establishments. 
Are health care workers at risk of getting HIV on 
the job? :The risk of health care workers getting 
HIV on the job is very low, especially if they 
carefully follow universal precautions (i.e., 
using protective practices and personal 
protective equipment to prevent HIV and other 
blood-borne infections). It is important to 
remember that casual, everyday contact with an 
HIV-infected person does not expose health care 
workers or anyone else to HIV. For health care 
workers on the job, the main risk of HIV 
transmission is through accidental injuries from 
needles and other sharp instruments that may be 
contaminated with the virus. Even this risk is 
small, however. Scientists estimate that the risk 
of infection from a needle jab is less than 1 
percent, a figure based on the findings of 
several studies of health care workers who 
received punctures from HIV-contaminated needles 
or were otherwise exposed to HIV-contaminated 
blood. For more information on universal 
precautions or occupational risks of HIV 
exposure, call the CDC National Prevention 
Information Network (operators of the National 
AIDS Clearinghouse) at 1-800-458-5231..." 
"Are patients in a dentist's or doctor's office 
at risk of getting HIV?: Although HIV 
transmission is possible in health care settings, 
it is extremely rare. Medical experts emphasize 
that the careful practice of infection control 
procedures, including universal precautions, 
protects patients as well as health care 
providers from possible HIV infection in medical 
and dental offices. In 1990, the CDC reported on 
an HIV-infected dentist in Florida who apparently 
infected some of his patients while doing dental 
work. Studies of viral DNA sequences linked the 
dentist to six of his patients who were also HIV-
infected. The CDC has as yet been unable to 
establish how the transmission took place. 
Further studies of more than 22,000 patients of 
63 health care providers who were HIV-infected 
have found no further evidence of transmission 
from provider to patient in health care settings. 
Should I be concerned about getting infected with 
HIV while playing sports?: There are no 
documented cases of HIV being transmitted during 
participation in sports. The very low risk of 
transmission during sports participation would 
involve sports with direct body contact in which 
bleeding might be expected to occur. If someone 
is bleeding, their participation in the sport 
should be interrupted until the wound stops 
bleeding and is both antiseptically cleaned and 
securely bandaged. There is no risk of HIV 
transmission through sports activities where 
bleeding does not occur. 
Can I get HIV from casual contact (shaking hands, 
hugging, using a toilet, drinking from the same 
glass, or the sneezing and coughing of an 
infected person)?: No. HIV is not transmitted by 
day-to-day contact in the workplace, schools, or 
social settings. HIV is not transmitted through 
shaking hands, hugging, or a casual kiss. You 
cannot become infected from a toilet seat, a 
drinking fountain, a door knob, dishes, drinking 
glasses, food, or pets. A small number of cases 
of transmission have been reported in which a 
person became infected with HIV as a result of 
contact with blood or other body secretions from 
an HIV-infected person in the household. Although 
contact with blood and other body substances can 
occur in households, transmission of HIV is rare 
in this setting. However, persons infected with 
HIV and persons providing home care for those who 
are HIV-infected should be fully educated and 
trained regarding appropriate infection-control 
techniques. HIV is not an airborne or food-borne 
virus, and it does not live long outside the 
body. HIV can be found in the blood, semen, or 
vaginal fluid of an infected person. The three 
main ways HIV is transmitted are through having 
sex (anal, vaginal, or oral) with someone 
infected with HIV.  
through sharing needles and syringes with someone 
who has HIV.  
through exposure (in the case of infants) to HIV 
before or during birth, or through breast 
feeding.  
For more information about providing home care or 
living with a person who is HIV-infected, call 
the CDC National Prevention Information Network 
(operators of the National AIDS Clearinghouse) at 
1-800-458-5231 and ask for the publication 
"Caring for Someone with AIDS: Information for 
Friends, Relatives, Household Members, and Others 
Who Care for a Person With AIDS at Home." 
Can I get infected with HIV from mosquitoes?  
No. From the start of the HIV epidemic there has 
been concern about HIV transmission of the virus 
by biting and bloodsucking insects, such as 
mosquitoes. However, studies conducted by the CDC 
and elsewhere have shown no evidence of HIV 
transmission through mosquitoes or any other 
insects -- even in areas where there are many 
cases of AIDS and large populations of 
mosquitoes. Lack of such outbreaks, despite 
intense efforts to detect them, supports the 
conclusion that HIV is not transmitted by 
insects. The results of experiments and 
observations of insect biting behavior indicate 
that when an insect bites a person, it does not 
inject its own or a previously bitten person's or 
animal's blood into the next person bitten. 
Rather, it injects saliva, which acts as a 
lubricant so the insect can feed efficiently. 
Diseases such as yellow fever and malaria are 
transmitted through the saliva of specific 
species of mosquitoes. However, HIV lives for 
only a short time inside an insect and, unlike 
organisms that are transmitted via insect bites, 
HIV does not reproduce (and does not survive) in 
insects. Thus, even if the virus enters a 
mosquito or another insect, the insect does not 
become infected and cannot transmit HIV to the 
next human it bites. There also is no reason to 
fear that a mosquito or other insect could 
transmit HIV from one person to another through 
HIV-infected blood left on its mouth parts. 
Several reasons help explain why this is so. 
First, infected people do not have constantly 
high levels of HIV in their blood streams. 
Second, insect mouth parts retain only very small 
amounts of blood on their surfaces. Finally, 
scientists who study insects have determined that 
biting insects normally do not travel from one 
person to the next immediately after ingesting 
blood. Rather, they fly to a resting place to 
digest the blood meal." 
Doggett leaned back into the chair, his forehead 
creased in thought. 
 
<<Okay, great, just got the crash course on AIDS, 
thankyouverymuch Jerilyn>> he rubbed his eyes in 
frustration. <<Now what?>> 
If Parker had been deliberately infected, the 
problem was trying to figure out when. Parker had 
always been healthy as a horse. The only time 
Parker had been in the hospital, had been at risk 
for catching the HIV virus was during the time 
when AIDS didn't even exist. When they were high-
school kids. After those rednecked pieces of shit 
used Parker as their quarry in their "homo hunt" 
and therefore causing the accident. Doggett re-
read the information and tried to think of how 
someone could have "slipped" Parker the virus. It 
just didn't seem possible. Parker HAD to have 
contracted the disease the normal way, but that 
didn't seem possible either. Parker was not into 
drugs. Was not a health care worker. Was not an 
athlete. Was not into anything "weird" such as 
tattoos. Doggett touched his arm again and 
shivered. He knew he was clean because the FBI 
screened all their agents regularly and 
thoroughly (and how Mulder survived at the Bureau 
as long as he did with the traces of the LSD in 
his spinal fluid was beyond him).  But still, he 
had opened himself up to the risk without even 
realizing it. A damn scary thought. 
Another scary thought slammed into him. Parker 
definitely was not a homosexual, he had been in 
too much love with Melanie. In fact, Doggett knew 
that Parker and Melanie were perfectly justified 
in wearing white at their wedding. <<So did 
Parker get a little something on the side? I 
can't see him cheating on Mel, just like I can't 
see Mel cheating on him...>> 
"Oh Jesus," Doggett burst out, feeling his heart 
dropping into his shoes. 
Melanie. 
What if Melanie was infected? 
"Oh God, oh God no," Doggett whispered, squeezing 
his eyes tightly shut. Forced himself to breathe. 
Resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call 
Jerilyn. Calmed himself down. Realized that he 
would have to talk to Melanie some more. Get her 
to draw a better picture of what happened before 
he could put it into a frame. 
Feeling better that he had a marginal game plan 
mapped out, Doggett stood to leave when he spied 
a re-writable CD in a blue jewel case half-hidden 
by a mountain of old invoices. A boyishly naughty 
grin popped on his face. Whistling innocently, he 
slid the CD from out underneath the papers and 
put the disk into the CD-R drive. Discovered that 
the disk was empty. 
Doggett opened the desk drawer where he found the 
aspirin and saw several CDs with homemade labels 
inside. Glanced up at the monitor and noticed the 
Napster icon on the desktop. 
"'All the billings are on the hard-drive' my 
ass," Doggett muttered as he cheerfully began to 
download music. 

Later that night...  
St. John's Baptist Church  
522-528 Hartridge Street  
Savannah Georgia 310401  
7:45 PM Eastern 
Doggett decided whoever said that funerals where 
for the living rather than the dead was full of 
shit. 
<<Or maybe I've just been to too many of them>> 
he thought miserably, sitting like a coward a few 
pews away from the casket, watching Melanie 
hovering by her husband's body, greeting the 
straggling mourners. Even more cowardly, Doggett 
averted his eyes from the coffin and stared at 
the floor. 
The wake was almost over, but for God's sake, 
there was still the funeral and that was being 
postponed until after the day after Christmas. 
Because Melanie wanted a full autopsy performed 
before burial. The wake tonight was so that the 
body could be viewed. After the kind of autopsy 
Melanie was demanding, it would have to be 
closed-casket. Doggett sighed and wondered again 
if he really was helping Melanie. Or if Chris was 
right and he was just feeding into her delusions, 
her denial. 
"Speak of the devil," he said softly as his 
little sister sat down beside him. 
"Johnny Angel," Chris said softly, rubbing his 
back. "You look awful." 
"Aw gee, Chris, you always say the nicest 
things." 
"Thank you for watching Laura today." 
"She's a nice kid." 
"Thanks, we think we'll keep her," Chris quipped. 
"Where is Laura?" 
"At home with her father. I think the wake and 
the funeral would be too much for a little girl. 
She'll come to the funeral though. She needs 
closure, just like every one else. But I don't 
want to overdo it. She's only ten, you know." She 
sighed, looking up at Melanie who was alone by 
the casket now, praying over her husband's body. 
"At first I thought it was a shame they never had 
children," Chris said quietly. "But now..." she 
shook her head, unable to continue. 
"Chris..." Doggett started, stopped then forced 
himself to start again. "Melanie... is she.. 
um... she's not..." 
"We don't know," Chris still, suddenly digging 
into her purse. "Nobody's asked her if she was 
infected and she hasn't volunteered the 
information." She pulled out a wad of Kleenex and 
dabbed her eyes. "I gotta get going, Johnny. Mike 
and Laura are waitin' for me." 
"I'll see you day after tomorrow." 
"You're not gonna be around tomorrow?" 
Doggett shook his head. "I gotta go to Atlanta." 
"Why?" 
"Honey, don't ask me questions you don't want 
answers to." 
Doggett could see that his response infuriated 
his baby sister to no end. "If I wasn't in church 
right now," she hissed. "I would dog-cuss you out 
so bad Johnny..." 
"Our Father," Doggett said piously, "who art in 
heaven..." 
She scowled at him and stormed off just as 
Melanie said goodnight to the last mourner. "What 
bug crawled up her butt?" Melanie asked as she 
sat down beside him. She opened her purse and 
took out a compact. Examined her tear-streaked 
face. 
"You look fine, Mellie," Doggett felt a huge lump 
in his throat. "You look... just... fine..." he 
looked at the floor again. 
Melanie closed the compact and slipped it back 
into her purse. She reached for her brother's 
hand and whispered, "Can you drive me to Mama's 
house?" 
"Okay," he whispered back, carefully cupping her 
tiny fingers with his big hand. "Let's go." 
Hand in hand, they slipped out a slide door and 
into the church parking lot, towards Melanie's 
car. Doggett could feel her entire body 
trembling. "You okay, sis?" he asked her, scared 
of what her answer might be. <<Please God, just 
don't let her be sick, just don't let her be 
sick. I've buried enough people already. My own 
kid, I buried my own kid, don't make me bury my 
sister too.>> 
"I'm not feeling very well." 
Doggett wanted to cry. 
"What's the matter?" he asked her innocently. 
"Oh... just under the weather," she said vaguely. 
"Any luck with finding out who did this to 
Parker?" she squeezed his hand as they stood 
beside her car. 
He gave her an FBI-approved bullshit response. 
"I'm makin' progress," he said gravely. "I'm 
goin' to Atlanta tomorrow to talk to someone at 
the CDC... and then I'll talk to the mortician 
who's handlin' the autopsy and maybe I'll get my 
partner or my other colleague in the X-Files, 
Dana Scully, to take a look at the results... 
actually, it'd probably be better if Agent Scully 
looked at 'em... Starkweather's a little 
overloaded right now." 
"Star- what?" 
"Stawk-weddah... my partner... Jerilyn. Her last 
name is Starkweather. We don't call each other by 
our first names." 
Melanie smiled and shook her head as she let go 
of his hand. "You FBI types are odd ducks," she 
proclaimed as she stood on her tiptoes to kiss 
his cheek. "Thank you for believing me." She got 
into the car. 
Doggett shut the car door for her and walked 
around the car, head hanging. 
Problem was, he didn't believe her. 
His gut told him that Parker died from natural 
causes. 
And now Melanie may succumb to the same fate. 
He didn't want to imagine a world without his big 
sister. Having to exist in a world without his 
son was bad enough. 
And later still that night... 
After bringing Melanie back to their mother's 
house, Doggett could barely keep his eyes open. 
Ignoring Chris and Stevie's baleful glares, he 
made his excuses to everyone and went to bed 
early. Of course, the minute he laid down on his 
childhood twin bed, his mind refused to shut down 
for the night even though his body screamed for 
it. He tossed and turned fitfully to the point of 
exhaustion where he couldn't get to sleep. 
<<Maybe>> he thought desperately <<maybe I can at 
least get some rest if not sleep. Maybe if I just 
lay here with my eyes closed...>> 
A childish giggle interrupted his sleep 
deprivation. 
"Laura, honey, I'm really tired..." 
"Daddy..." 
Doggett's eyes popped wide open. He rolled his 
head over. Saw his little boy, with his tousled 
blond hair and big blue eyes, standing by the 
side of the bed, grinning. 
"I'm dreaming..." Doggett said out loud. "This is 
a dream," he reached out his hand to touch Luke's 
face. Knowing that his hand would pass through 
the child as if he was made of mist. <<I'll touch 
him and I'll wake up...>> 
His big fingers brushed Luke's face, feeling his 
puppy fat cheeks and small upturned nose. 
"Luke..." Doggett bolted up, heart pounding as 
Luke rushed the bed, grabbing his arm. Doggett 
could feel those little hands grabbing at him. 
"Dad, I got somethin' to show you, come see..." 
<<What is it son? It's early... can it wait?>> 
"Luke, no... son... wait... stay here..." Doggett 
got out of bed and dropped to his knees, 
clutching at the boy. His child. 
"Come on!" Luke playfully squirmed out of his 
grasp and ran towards the door. "Da-aa-- ad... 
hurry up!" 
"No, Luke, wait, Daddy wants to talk to you..." 
"Come on!" 
Luke had already darted out the door. 
"Wait..." Doggett whispered as he rose to his 
feet to follow. 

He followed the sound of his son's laughter. 
"Luke... wait," he said, groping for the wall in 
the dark hallway. "I can't see..." 
His hand brushed a light switch. He flicked it 
on. 
The bright light blinded him at first. Once his 
eyes adjusted, he perceived he was home, but not 
home. John Doggett had grown up in Savannah, but 
he was born in a small town called Democratic Hot 
Springs. A town that was driven to extinction due 
to poor location and even poorer economy. His 
mother had grown up there and his father had 
grudgingly moved there after they were married. 
However, after three children, and a fourth on 
the way and tired of breaking his back as a hired 
field hand with nothing to show for it at the end 
of the day, Jay Stephen Doggett convinced a bank 
to loan him enough money to start the auto repair 
shop in Savannah. They had lived in a hovel for a 
year and a half until the business took off and 
his parents had been able to buy the house his 
indomitable mother was still living in today. 
But Doggett, although the shack they rented from 
a Savannah slum lord was blurry in his mind, 
could recall the small house he lived in as a 
very small boy. He had actually sent Scully and 
Reyes there to hide Scully and the unborn William 
from the creatures hunting them. The combination 
kitchen and living room. The one bedroom, his 
parents' room, off to the side. The very cramped 
upstairs, almost attic-like, where all three 
children shared one room. How he had to wait for 
Stevie to outgrow something before he could have 
anything "new." How he was barefoot most of the 
time. How hard his mother would work. Keeping up 
the house and garden. And also feeding and 
cleaning three energetic children while carrying 
a fourth as she also did laundry for her 
neighbors for a pittance. How he never saw his 
father except at night, when he'd come home from 
the cattle farm and collapse in the armchair and 
Mama ordering the children to leave him alone 
because Daddy was tired and not in the mood for 
any foolishness right now. And how he would sit 
there all night. Not read the newspaper or books 
or talk to his family. Just sit and stare. 
Just like how he was sitting there right now. 
"Daddy..." the childish diminutive slipped from 
Doggett's lips before he even realized it. He 
hadn't called his father that in years, not since 
he was Luke's age. 
His father stared at him dispassionately. "Well?" 
he rumbled. His voice sounded alien to Doggett's 
ears. He hadn't spoken to his father in so long, 
he had almost forgotten what he sounded like. 
His father sounded just like him. 
"Well... what?" Doggett said hesitantly. 
His father raised his arm and pointed out the 
door. "Aren't you going out there?" 
"Out where?" 
"Where the truth is. The truth is out there, 
son." 
"Now I know I'm dreaming," Doggett grumbled. 
His father snorted. "Always hidin'," he scolded 
him. "Never wanting to admit what was right in 
front your face. If it wasn't your mama shieldin' 
you, it was Mellie. Then it was the Marines, then 
Barb and Luke. Who's your savior now, son? The 
FBI? That little girl they teamed you up with?" 
He snorted again in disgust. 
Doggett folded his lips tightly together. "I 
remember why I stopped talking to you," he said 
coldly. 
"And I never lost any sleep over it John," his 
father responded just as frostily. "You might as 
well go," he pointed out the door again. "You 
belong out there, not here. You don't want to be 
in here anyway, I can see it in your eyes, son. 
You're dyin' to get out of here. You're dyin' to 
run away again." 
Doggett stalked past his father, but as he walked 
out the front door, his father commented, "I just 
wonder when you're gonna stop dyin' and start 
livin' John." 
"I started livin'," Doggett growled, "when I 
stopped being your son." 
He walked out the door. 
Doggett blinked again he stepped into the bright 
sunshine. And discovered he was in another 
location. New York. Long Island to be exact. He 
turned around, bewildered. The house he had just 
walked out of was not his boyhood home in 
Georgia. But the house he and Barb had bought and 
produce a child in. 
"Dad! Over here!" 
Doggett whipped his head around. Saw Luke 
standing in the doorway. "It's in here, c'mon, 
hurry up!" the child insisted as he turned and 
ran back inside the house. 
Doggett ran back inside. Saw the familiar 
furnishings of his former home he helped create 
with his wife and son. The toys on the floor. The 
mail on the kitchen table. The houseplants 
everywhere. "Luke... where are you?" Doggett 
called out desperately. <<I don't care if this is 
a dream, please... just let me see him one more 
time, let me touch his face again...>> "Luke?" 
"In here!" 
Doggett followed the child's voice into the 
living room. But Luke was no where to be found. 
Instead of his son, there was a stranger standing 
in front of the fireplace, his back to Doggett. 
All Doggett could see was that the man had neatly 
cut brown hair and a long black dress coat, 
appropriate for wintertime. 
"Who'n the hell are you?" Doggett demanded. 
"Where's my son?" 
The stranger turned around. And upon seeing the 
piercing green eyes and the blood soaked business 
suit, Doggett could not suppress his cry of 
surprise and horror. "Oh God! Oh my God..." 
"Hello Doggett," Benjamin Starkweather said 
pleasantly enough, putting his hands in the 
pockets of the winter coat Jerilyn had gotten him 
two years ago for Christmas. "It's been a 
while..." 
Doggett closed his eyes, trying to block out the 
horrifying image of Ben Starkweather's bullet-
ridden body standing before him. "I want to wake 
up now," Doggett said aloud. "I'd really like to 
wake up now.." 
Ben snorted. "You sure you're asleep?" 
<<I'm not sure if I'm awake...>> 
"I'm **not** awake," Doggett retorted. 
Then he opened his eyes. Looked around, 
completely disconcerted. He was back in his 
mother's house in Savannah, in his boyhood 
bedroom. Ben Starkweather, only a foot away from 
him. Ben Starkweather, a Midwesterner uprooted 
and transplanted to a harsh East Coast town. Ben 
Starkweather, the brilliant legal mind, the Law 
firm of Carter, Spangle and Adam's darling. Ben 
Starkweather, Jerilyn's patently jealous husband. 
Ben Starkweather, dead at age thirty, hit by 
bullets meant for Mulder. "I can't be awake..." 
"Look," Ben took a step closer. It took all of 
Doggett's courage to keep himself from backing 
away from the corpse. "I don't exactly have a 
whole lot of time. We've been trying to get your 
attention ever since Melanie called about 
Parker's death. But as usual, you're not exactly 
being very open to the extreme possibilities, as 
my brother-in-law likes to put it." 
"Since when have YOU of all people been open to 
'the extreme possibilities'?" 
"Since I bought the farm," Ben retorted. 
"Oh yeah," Doggett mumbled, having forgotten for 
a moment he was talking to a dead man. 
"And your closed-mindedness is NOT going to help 
find Parker's killer." When Doggett's mouth 
dropped open in shock, Ben nodded. "Yes, that's 
right, Agent Doggett. Your good brother-in-law 
was murdered just as I was. Only it wasn't a 
bullet that killed him. And Parker's death was 
premeditated. Me..." he laughed bitterly. "I was 
just in the wrong place at the wrong time." 
"But how?" Doggett asked. "That's what's gettin' 
me, how could someone have injected Parker with 
the virus? On purpose?" 
"The answer," Ben said smoothly. "Is in your own 
rednecked roots." 
"Some help you are," Doggett grumbled. 
"What do I look like? Clarence?" Ben rolled his 
eyes impatiently. "This murder will be solved a 
whole lot faster if you stop thinking in a linear 
fashion and start thinking outside the box. Using 
'X' as the variable." 
Doggett frowned. "'X' as the... this ain't an X-
File..." 
"What do all X-Files have in common?" 
"That Mulder is damned lucky he's not dead." 
"From May 19, 1999 to current date, of all 
documented X-Files, Agent Mulder was not the 
agent-of-record..." 
"... because I was..." Doggett said faintly. 
Thought of all the baffling cases he presided 
over. Mulder's disappearance and resurrection. 
The little boy that had been missing for years 
and yet was returned, not aged a day. The man 
that could see through walls. The man made of 
metal. The creature that consumed disease and 
death. The killer dreams. The butt-genie thing. 
The whole "evil-is-a-disease" and Elvis in a 
potato chip concept. The lizard man. The Jesus-
slug. The oil rig. Mulder and Scully's child. The 
downed fighter jet in Scotland. Time travel. The 
haunted radio station. La Luna Blanca. The Eden 
Project. 
"Nothing is as it seems," he finally said. 
"Nothing is what you think it's gonna be..." he 
looked up at Ben. "Parker never had AIDS, did he? 
Something... or someone else killed him." 
"And that someone is working very hard to cover 
that up," Ben said. 
"But why?" Doggett now eyed Ben suspiciously. 
"And why'n the hell are YOU telling me this? I 
saw my father and I saw my son. Why'm I seein' 
you and not Parker?" 
"Parker is kind of busy now trying to comfort 
Melanie," Ben informed him piously. Then, in a 
humbled voice, he added. "And this is what 
Jerilyn would have wanted." 
"So, if this bullshit dream is 'real', Park's 
spirit is comfortin' Mellie, but you're here with 
me instead of bein' with YOUR widow?" 
"Helping YOU," Ben crossed his bloody arms. "Is 
how I am comforting my widow. Believe it or not, 
John Doggett," Ben made a move towards the door. 
"I loved her. I love her still. I'll always love 
her. But I couldn't keep her. I would have been 
better off trying to lasso a hurricane. But I'm 
with her. Always. Just as," Ben opened the door 
to reveal Luke standing there, grinning ear to 
ear. "He'll always be here. In the spirit, 
anyway." 
Ben glided out as Luke ran in. Luke wrapped his 
arms around Doggett's legs. Trembling, Doggett 
knelt again to the boy's level. "Hey there," 
Doggett whispered, reaching out to tousle his 
child's blond hair. 
"Dad," Luke said as petulantly as he did when he 
used to call Doggett's old police station when he 
was working late one some case or other. "When 
are you comin' home?" 
"Um... I don't know," Doggett admitted brokenly. 
"I have work to do here first, son." 
Luke crinkled his nose, the nose that was exactly 
like Barbara's. "Can't you hurry up? Or do it 
tomorrow? I wanna see you." 
Doggett couldn't stop the tears now. "I wish I 
could," he wiped the traitorous tears off his 
face with the back of his hand. "But it's not up 
to me." 
Distraught, Luke whimpered. "Daddy, what's wrong? 
Why're you cry in'? Did I do somethin' wrong?" 
"No..." Doggett sobbed. "No... you didn't. I 
just... I just miss you, son," he whispered as he 
held the boy close to him. "That's all. I just 
really miss you." 
"But I'm right here..." 
"I know... I know..." 
*************************************************
** 
A soft thump woke her. Melanie thought it was the 
door being blown shut, but then heard John 
muttering in his sleep so she pulled her robe on. 
Slipping out of the giant pink, lavender and 
white room she had to share with Chris through 
her girlhood, she crossed over to John's room 
across the hallway. 
She never thought it was fair that the boys had 
their own rooms when she had to share with Chris, 
who was a slob and stole her clothes. 
Quietly, she pushed open the door and found him 
sprawled out on the bed, covers kicked off. He 
looked to be trapped in a bad dream. Guided by 
only the moonlight she tiptoed over to the bed. 
Even in that weak light, she could see the tear 
streaks on his cheeks. He was still talking in 
his sleep. 
"I just miss you, son.... that's all. I just 
really miss you..." 
"Oh Johnny," she sighed as she pulled the sheets 
and quilts over him. She sat down beside his 
unconscious form and wiped his tears away with 
her thumb. "It's okay, I'm here," she whispered 
as she smoothed his hair, trying to smooth away 
the nightmares plaguing him. "I'm right here..." 
Strange that how, moments like this, she felt 
Parker's presence the most. As if he was standing 
behind him. 
If she hadn't been concentrating on her beloved 
brother's distress, if she would have turned 
around, she would have seen her husband's spirit, 
beside her and behind her.  


December 23, 2001  
Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport  
Savannah, Georgia  
6:45 AM Eastern Standard Time 
"Thank you ma'am," Doggett drawled as he handed a 
ten to the nice little old lady working the 
register at the Starbucks. 
She handed him a five, three ones and fifteen 
cents back. "Thank you, sir. Have a nice 
Christmas, now." 
"Thanks," Doggett said again, carrying his coffee 
to the nearest little table so he could sip at 
his coffee in peace while waiting for his flight. 
With a sigh, he sat down, placing his briefcase, 
newspaper and cell phone on top of the table. 
He stared at the cell phone. 
<<If you call her this early, she will kill you>> 
he told himself sternly as he sipped the scalding 
hot house blend. 
<<Wait a minute, John, you dumb sonfabitch. She 
carries a Nokia and has the same cell service 
like the rest of the feds. Text message her.>> 
So he typed into his phone: CALL WHEN HAVE 
CHANCE. THX and sent the message. To his 
surprise, by the time he had set the phone down 
and leaned back into his chair to read the sports 
page, his phone rang. 
"John Doggett." 
"Agent Doggett, it's me." 
"Agent Scully," Doggett said formally, although 
the addition of their professional titles was 
more of a playful joke between the friends rather 
than following protocol. "I wasn't expecting you 
to call back until later." 
"It's alright, I'm up," Scully huffed into the 
cell, seeing her breath crystallize and then 
vaporize in the crisp DC winter air. Next to her, 
Starkweather, dressed similar to Scully, 
turtleneck, sweatshirt, slicky pants, two pairs 
of socks and sneakers, ran in place to keep warm. 
The only clothing difference between Scully and 
Starkweather was that Starkweather was wearing a 
baseball cap and had a gray scarf wound around 
her neck and Scully had earmuffs and a purple 
fuzzy scarf knotted at her throat. "What's going 
on?" 
"Dana, I'm sorry, I hate to butt into your 
Christmas like this." 
"It's not a problem, what can I do?" 
"If I had autopsy reports faxed over to you, 
could you take a look and lemme know what you 
think?" 
"Mmmm. Christmas cookies, autopsy reports and 
eggnog, sounds like the perfect holiday mix to 
me," Scully said dryly. "What am I looking for, 
Agent Doggett?" 
"Well... it's hard to explain without goin' into 
a lot of details... but... um... the deceased... 
was... um..." 
"John?" Scully looked at Starkweather, eyebrows 
raised high. Starkweather only shrugged and 
returned the "What-the-fuck?" look back to her. 
"He was... well, he's family, Dana. And his wife, 
my sister, doesn't think he died of natural 
causes. She thinks he was murdered." 
"Then why aren't the police opening an 
investigation? 
"Because as of right now, cause of death is 
listed as complications related to AIDS." 
Scully frowned. "I see." 
"If it wasn't family, Dana, I wouldn't even 
bother. I think the answer is pretty black and 
white. But she asked me to look into it. And she 
hardly ever asks anything of anybody." 
A heavy sigh. "I'll take a look, John, but I 
can't promise anything. And it's going to be hard 
for me to determine anything without actually 
viewing the body." 
Doggett winced at Scully's clinically detached 
manner of referring Parker as 'the body.' "I 
really 'preciate this, Dana." 
"Just remember this when Mulder and I need a 
sitter for Will." 
Doggett grinned. He had a soft spot for William, 
or "Boo" as the Gunmen christened him after 
Mulder and Scully threatened a triple castration 
if they kept calling him "Spooky Jr." "Oh, gee, 
anything but that," he said in mock-horror. 
"If it's possible, have the coroner attach the 
reports as a Word Document to an email and send 
it to my home email address. If not, then have 
them fax the report to Mulder's office at City 
Hall. I'm sure he won't care." There was an 
unspoken rule with the X-Files agents that 
sensitive information was never to be faxed 
directly to the basement office or emailed to 
their FBI email accounts. Too many things had 
mysteriously vanished. 
"Thank you Dana." 
"Enjoy your Christmas, John." 
"You too." 
Scully shook her head as she hung up her phone. 
"Weird..." 
"Damn weird," Starkweather agreed as the women 
started to jog again. This time towards a cafe 
where hot coffee waited. "What the hell WAS that 
all about?"
"Have you spoken to John since he left for 
Savannah?" Scully's teeth were chattering. She 
was dying for a tall decaf vanilla latte with 
skim milk. And a doughnut. A chocolate doughnut. 
With sprinkles. 
"He called late the other night but we didn't 
talk long because I was half-pissed he called in 
the first place. I got the vibe he was checking 
up on me and tried to cover his tracks by asking 
me some off-the-wall medical question. Why?" 
"He wants me to verify the cause of death of his 
brother-in-law. To see if he died from AIDS or 
not." 
"Brother-in-law???? Death??? Wh.. what?" 
"I didn't know he had any other family." 
"I didn't either... until the other night..." 
Starkweather trailed off, pausing in front of 
"Coffee Is My Friend" Cafe. A delightful little 
coffeehouse close enough to Georgetown to attract 
all the college students but far enough away to 
give it a Washington DC address. "Oh shit." 
"What is it, Jerilyn?" Scully's hand was on the 
door handle. Shivering, she asked "What's wrong?" 
Starkweather closed her eyes. "Oh nothing. I have 
to go to the ER." 
"The ER???? Why????" 
"To see if they can do an emergency foot-from-
mouth removal surgery. While I'm gone, can you do 
me a favor, Scully?" 
"What?" 
"When Doggett forwards those reports to you, send 
them to me?" 
"Sure... but Jerilyn, what is it?" Now Scully's 
eyes narrowed suspiciously as Starkweather began 
to backpedal from her. "What are you up to?" 
"Me???? Up to anything??? That hurts my 
feelings." 
"You don't have feelings," Scully reminded her. 
"Oh yeah," Starkweather grinned as she turned 
around and trotted off. "See ya later, Scully!" 
she hollered out, waving as she began to jog back 
to Scully's apartment to retrieve her car. 
Scully stared and shook her head. 
She would have thought Starkweather's behavior as 
strange, if she hadn't been her half-brother's 
FBI partner for the last eight years of her life. 
"Mulder-genes," she mumbled as she went instead 
the nice warm coffee shop and ordered her coffee 
and breakfast treat.  


US Center for Disease Control and Prevention  
Atlanta, Georgia  
12:55 PM Eastern Standard Time 
Doggett realized that he watched way too much 
Nick-at-Nite on his downtime. 
He came to that realization because he had just 
decided that the irritating little man sitting at 
the desk in front of him looked like Boss Hogg 
from "The Dukes of Hazard" but sounded like Frank 
Burns from "M*A*S*H". Two legendary and 
incredibly unlikable characters. 
"Well... uh... Mister Doug-it..." 
"Dog-gett," Doggett automatically corrected him 
for the umpteenth time during the interview. 
"Um... yeah, sure, okay," mumbled Heathcliff 
Routledge, assistant to the Director of the CDC. 
"I... uh... dunno know what else to tell you... 
Mister DOG-gett." 
"Like I said sir," Doggett repeated himself with 
a patience he didn't even realize he had. "I am 
on a fact finding mission. I am researching AIDS. 
And I am curious if there are any diseases out 
there that are similar to AIDS that could be 
contracted in any other way. OR if there had been 
any documented cases of AIDS victims being 
purposely infected. It would only take maybe ten, 
fifteen minutes of the Director's time," he 
finished pleasantly enough. Inside, he was 
seething. <<Murder is wrong, murder is wrong, 
murder is wrong...>> he gritted his teeth and 
managed to produce a polite smile. 
"Yeah... well..." Routledge scooted his chair 
over towards his computer and clicked open some 
application or another. Put his flabby face very 
close to the screen. "The Director is gonna be 
out from now until after the New Year. Wouldja 
like to make an appointment for next year then?" 
"I was under the impression," Doggett fought the 
urge to jump over the desk and throttle the fat 
man in front of him. "That I would be able to 
speak to the Director **today**." 
"Well... um..." Routledge shook his head. "Dunno 
who would give you that impression, certainly 
wasn't me. The Director's out for the holidays... 
so... I dunno know what I can tell you Mr. Doug-
it." 
"Doggett and never mind," Doggett sighed, 
standing up. "Is there someone else who can maybe 
help me instead of the Director?" Because Doggett 
had also been under the impression that the 
Director could help open files on AIDS patients, 
therefore opening the door and maybe a murder 
investigation into the death of Parker Davis. 
"Most people are out for the holidays..." 
"Great," Doggett mumbled. 
He had flown from Savannah to Atlanta for a fat 
lot of nothing. 
<<So much for thinking outside of the box>> he 
griped to himself as he left the CDC building. 
About an hour later...  
Atlanta Underground  
50 Upper Alabama Street  
Atlanta, Georgia 
Still in a sulk, Doggett stormed around the mall. 
He figured that even though he had wasted his 
time at the CDC, he could at least get his last 
minute Christmas shopping done. And that maybe 
the theory of "'Tis better to give than receive" 
would help improve his mood. 
It was a good theory. Too bad he forgot that it 
was two days before Christmas. 
The mall was packed. And it seemed that everyone, 
shoppers and retailers alike were in an even 
fouler mood than Doggett was. People were 
jostling and bumping into each other without so 
much as an "Excuse me." The air was thick with 
complaints. Complaints about how much this or 
that was. Complaints about how busy the mall was. 
Complaints about how rude everyone was. 
Complaints about how they wished Christmas was 
over and done with. 
It was so bad that Doggett had even gotten into a 
shouting match with a rotund woman over the last 
giant plush 'Tigger' doll at the Disney Store. He 
ended up letting the woman have the damn thing. 
Mostly because he was afraid she was going to hit 
him. Then he was going to have to arrest her for 
assaulting a federal agent. And he just didn't 
want to deal with the extra paperwork. 
So as the fat cow pranced off with the 'Tigger, 
without even looking, Doggett grabbed the first 
plush toy he could lay his hands on and stalked 
to the register. After he had paid for it, he 
took a good look at the big blue furry thing he 
had just purchased. "What'n the hell did I just 
buy????" he had moaned outside of the store. 
Granted he wasn't exactly up to speed on Disney 
movies anymore, but this thing sure didn't look 
like Eeyore or Pooh-bear. "Chris is gonna kill 
me," he had sighed as he pushed his way through 
the hordes of shoppers to find a special gift for 
Melanie. 
Doggett ducked into a shop that was a little too 
cutesy for his taste, but it was right up 
Melanie's alley. She liked figurines and jewelry. 
The more feminine, the better. Chris had always 
been the little tomboy, running with Stevie and 
Johnny. Mellie was the lady, the surrogate mother 
when Mama was too busy tending to the house or 
tending to their father. Doggett frowned as he 
looked up, staring at a collection of 'Wizard of 
Oz' figurines. Melanie had loved that movie as a 
kid. So had Luke. Barb had dressed him up one 
year as the 'Cowardly Lion' for Halloween. 
"Can I help you sir?" a sales associate asked him 
politely, breaking into his reverie. 
"No thanks," Doggett said, reaching for a 'Glenda 
the Good Witch' figurine on the top shelf. "Found 
what I was lookin' for." 
"Would you like me to wrap that for you then, if 
that's all you're needing today?" 
"Yeah... that'd be great, thanks," Doggett 
mumbled as he followed the girl to the register. 
After Doggett handed the sales associate his 
credit card, he felt something sharp prod him in 
the back. "Ow!" he yelped out, turning around, 
fully intending to say something nasty to whoever 
poked him with their umbrella. 
But words failed him when he saw who it was. 
"Oh my God," Lindsay Buckle nee Amos nearly 
dropped her purse, shopping bags and decorative 
parasol she had just bought. "JD? Is that really 
you?"
Meanwhile...  
Mrs. Doggett's house  
Savannah, Georgia 
Mrs. Doggett was just pouring coffee for herself 
and her daughters when the doorbell rang. "I'll 
get it!" Laura announced, scooting off of the 
kitchen chair and running towards the front door. 
"Who in the world could THAT be?" Mrs. Doggett 
frowned, looking at the clock. "I'm not expecting 
company. Are either one of you girls?" 
As Chris and Melanie shook their heads, Laura 
came running back to the kitchen. "Mama, Grandma, 
Auntie Mel, there's a strange lady at the door. 
She talks funny. She askin' if Uncle John's 
here." 
The adult women stared at each other, confused. 
"Did she say her name, honey?" Chris asked her 
daughter. 
"Yeah... it was... um... Sta... Sta... I dunno. 
It was a funny last name." 
"Starkweather?" Melanie asked. 
"How'dja know?" Laura was awestruck at her aunt's 
telepathic abilities.
Melanie smiled at Laura as Chris admonished her 
to finish her homework. As Laura sat back down at 
the kitchen table to write her book report, 
Melanie said to Mrs. Doggett and Chris, "I'll go 
talk to her." 
"Who is this Starkweather-person?" Mrs. Doggett 
demanded. 
"The lady that makes Uncle John's ears turn 
pink," Laura explained. 
"Laura. Homework. Now," Chris said sternly as 
Melanie left the room. 
Before letting her in though, Melanie, feeling 
like a chicken, peeped through the lacy curtains 
to get a look at her. <<Oh John>> she sighed to 
herself even as she smiled. <<How did I know she 
was going to be a blond?>> 
Besides masses of shiny blond hair, neatly pulled 
back into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck, 
Melanie thought that this mystery girl was fairly 
unremarkable in appearance. Short but trim, 
physically fit. She wore neatly pressed black 
slacks and a matching lightweight black blazer 
over a deep red blouse. Her winter coat, 
necessary back home but useless here, was draped 
over her right arm. Her left hand held a black 
briefcase. Melanie saw the twinkle of a diamond 
on her left ring finger. 
Melanie pulled herself away from the window and 
went to the front door. "May I help you?" Melanie 
asked as she observed the heart-shaped face, 
pouty lips, perfect eye-brows and hazel eyes that 
radiated intelligence, arrogance and control. And 
kindness. And an extreme sadness. <<Maybe she 
isn't as homely as I thought>> Melanie thought. 
Actually, she was quite pretty, on second look. 
"I'm sorry to bother you ma'am," the woman said 
politely enough as she reached into her blazer's 
pocket, fished out an FBI ID and held it up for 
Melanie to read. "My name is Dr. Jerilyn 
Starkweather, I'm a federal agent with the FBI. 
I'm looking for either John Doggett or Melanie 
Doggett Davis." 
"I'm Melanie," Melanie beckoned Starkweather 
inside. "I'm sorry but John's not here... are you 
here to help with Parker?" 
"Yes I am, Mrs. Davis," one widow said to the 
other. "Or I'm going to at least try to anyway."  

Meanwhile  
Back at the Atlanta Underground... 
"Haven't been called that since high school," 
Doggett admitted as he signed the sales receipt 
and then accepting his credit card back. 
"Thanks," he told the sales associate as she 
handed him the shopping bag. Turning back to 
Lindsay, he asked "How're you doin'?" 
She looked like she was doing fabulous. Dressed 
to the nines in a Christian Dior suit and Gucci 
shoes. She looked older, granted. Just like he 
knew he did. She had a few crow's feet by her big 
cornflower eyes. Her complexion wasn't as peachy 
or creamy as it had been in high school. But she 
was still tall, blond and lovely, reminding him 
of a Hollywood actress. Heather Locklear maybe. 
"Oh you know. Busy. What about you JD? We missed 
you at the last class reunion." She beamed at 
him. 
"Well," he said mildly. "Ever since I got 
transferred to DC, I don't get down here much 
anymore." 
"What brings you to Atlanta? I thought most of 
your family was still in Savannah?" 
"They are," Doggett said, amazed how an 
intelligent, mature, borderline boring man like 
himself could feel like a blithering idiot when 
in the presence of an old flame. "I'm in town for 
a case," a polite white lie, "and I thought I'd 
finish up some Christmas shopping 'fore I flew 
back to Savannah." 
"For anyone special?" she interrogated lightly, 
eyeing the very feminine packages. 
He grinned. "My niece and my older sister." 
"Oh," she breathed, nodding as she tried to be 
inconspicuous while eyeing his left hand, 
searching for that telltale flash of gold on his 
ring finger. "When do you have to go back to 
Savannah?" 
"Tonight." 
"Do you have any other pressing appointments this 
afternoon?" 
"Lindsay," he grinned. "You were never good at 
bein' subtle." 
She turned a soft shade of pink. "That's why I 
was a cheerleader in high school and lawyer now," 
she smiled. "If you don't have any plans, I would 
love it if you spent the rest of the afternoon 
with me. I haven't seen you in so long..." her 
voice trailed off. 
"Okay," he said softly, taking her heavy shopping 
bags from her. "That would be... nice," he 
finished lamely with a sheepish grin. 
Which made Lindsay burst out in merry laughter. 
"Oh bless your heart, JD, I forgot how sweet you 
are when you get flustered," she chuckled as she 
companionably took his free arm and together they 
walked out of the store. "Your ears still turn 
red." 
Doggett could feel the rest of his face changing 
colors to match his ears. 
A little later  
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital  
5353 Reynolds Street  
Savannah Georgia 
"Thank you very much," Starkweather said as 
Parker Davis's specialist, Doctor Juliette Joel 
signed the release forms, authorizing the 
hospital to release all of Parker's medical files 
to Dr. Jerilyn Starkweather and Special Agent 
John Doggett. 
"Well, it's not a problem but... Dr. 
Starkweather, may I speak frankly?" Dr. Joel 
frowned, drumming her fingers on her fancy desk. 
"Absolutely," Starkweather said, taking the 
authorization forms from the doctor that Melanie 
had signed previously. "Please." 
"I honestly don't know what good this wild goose 
chase is going to do," Dr. Joel said. "I don't 
think it's healthy for Mrs. Davis to keep 
clinging to this fantasy of murder. Parker died 
of an AIDS-related complication." 
"I understand and appreciate your candor," 
Starkweather sighed. "However... I can also 
understand Mrs. Davis' insistence that we exhaust 
every possibility as to why and how Mr. Davis 
died." 
"Even to the point of extreme denial?" 
"Denial is a part of the grieving process. 
Perhaps if we show Mrs. Davis irrefutable proof 
that Mr. Davis did indeed contract the HIV virus 
through normal avenues and therefore died of the 
AIDS related complications, she may be able to 
move on." 
"I still fail to see how you as a medically 
trained professional and an FBI agent want to 
humor her," Dr. Joel said grumpily. 
"Because her brother is my partner and my 
friend," Starkweather said coolly. "And because I 
emphasize with her. My husband died three weeks 
ago. He was gunned down in front of me. I watched 
him bleed to death." She looked at her hands. 
Sometimes she could still feel blood clinging to 
them. She rubbed her palms together like Lady 
Macbeth and waited for the doctor to respond. 
Dr. Joel hung her head, mortified. "I'm sorry... 
I... didn't mean to be rude, I've been working 
over at the ER, they're short on help and I'm 
short on sleep..." 
"That's alright... that's also why I ran 
screaming from private practice and towards the 
Bureau." Now that the ice had been broken, 
Starkweather prodded the doctor. "Tell me more 
about Mr. Davis." 
"Parker was in bad shape when my colleague 
referred him to my care. He was spiraling down 
the drain. The pneumoycystis carinii was already 
well entrenched. Plus it didn't help that he had 
an allergy to antibiotics." 
"He did?????" Starkweather stared at the doctor 
in surprise. 
"Why, yes, it was well documented in the APS... 
why?" 
Starkweather pulled out a little notebook from 
her coat pocket. "What is the name of the 
colleague that was attending Mr. Davis? The one 
who referred him to your care?" 
"Dr. Loki Kullervo." Dr. Joel spelled out her 
first and last name for her very slowly and 
provided her work, home and cell phone number. 
"Why do you ask?" 
"Dr. Joel," Starkweather said abruptly, snapping 
her notebook shut. "I appreciate all of your 
assistance. But I'm afraid that I must cut this 
short." 
"The ladies in Medical Records Department will be 
able to help you find all of Parker's files," Dr. 
Joel said, standing up to shake the hand 
Starkweather offer. "Good luck to you Agent 
Starkweather." 
"Thanks," Starkweather said, dying to be away. 
"I'll need it."  

Melanie was reading a magazine in the waiting 
room when Agent Starkweather burst in. 
John Doggett wasn't the only one in the family 
who was good at reading people's facial 
expressions. In fact, it would almost be safe to 
say Melanie was the one who taught him how. 
"What is it?" she asked Starkweather 
breathlessly, hand to her thought. 
The blond agent was very pale except for two 
unattractive pink blotches on her cheeks. Her 
lips were folded tight. Her eyes were also 
narrowed and for one weird moment, Melanie 
thought her eye color was changing to match her 
mood <<But that's silly, Mellie. Eye color 
doesn't change. They're brown. They just look 
green in this lighting.>> An evil, angry, 
poisonous green. John's partner was definitely 
not happy. 
"Mrs. Davis," Starkweather said, sitting beside 
her on the ugly hospital waiting room furniture. 
"Back at your mother's house, when you were 
telling me about Parker's medical history, you 
said he had no allergies whatsoever." 
"Right." 
"You sure? You absolutely positively sure?" 
"Of course I'm sure. I'm the one with allergies. 
I can't have shellfish. Whenever we'd go out to 
eat, he'd always order seafood because it's the 
one thing I couldn't cook for him. I break out in 
hives if I even touch it. And if I eat it, my 
throat swells shut." 
"No known allergies to any medications? 
Antibiotics?" 
"No... the doctor would always give antibiotics. 
Parker didn't get sick often, but sometimes he'd 
come down with a bad sinus infection." 
"Always? Amoxicillin? Ampicillin? 
Clarithromycin?" 
"I... I dunno. I'd just get the prescription and 
have it filled. I never really paid attention. 
But I know it'd be an antibiotic. Why?" 
"Do you remember what medicines the doctors were 
giving him to treat his ARC pneumonia?" 
"Um..." Melanie tried to think. Starkweather 
chewed on her thumbnail. "I can't remember, Agent 
Starkweather." 
"Penicillin? TMP and SMX? Uh... Tetracyclines? 
Macrolides?" Starkweather then rattled off the 
brand names of the same drugs as opposed to the 
generic titles. "Amoxil? Bactrim? Minocin? 
Biaxin? Are any of these ringing any bells?" 
"No, I'm sorry." 
"Mrs. Davis... there's one thing that I'm 
confused about that we haven't talked about 
yet.... WHY was your husband tested for HIV?" 
"Because we were updatin' our life insurance 
policies," Melanie answered. "Our policies from 
our jobs weren't good enough, so we decided to 
buy individual policies. And the type of policy 
we wanted, required us to sign a consent to test 
for HIV form, a blood test and a urine test. And 
Parker's tests came back positive." She laughed 
hollowly. "And of course Parker's policy was 
denied. And the policy from work will barely 
cover funeral expenses." She looked drained. 
Starkweather felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry 
to keep pushing like this..." 
"That's alright. After John's description of you, 
I wouldn't expect any less." 
<<What the hell has he been saying about me?>> 
Starkweather wondered but did not ask. She asked 
instead: "But you came back negative?" 
"Yes." 
"What's the name of the insurance company you 
applied for?" 
"Stesson and Doyle Insurance Wholesalers Inc. 
SDIW." 
"Do you have a card for them?" 
Melanie dug into her big purse and pulled out her 
day runner. She opened the zipper on the front 
and pulled out the insurance company's business 
card. "Agent Starkweather... I'm not sure if I 
follow you line of thinking." 
"I'm thinking I want to get my hands on Parker's 
medical history," Starkweather said grimly, 
getting up to go to Medical Records. 
Melanie followed, heart pounding. 
A little later on...  
Phoenix Brewing Company  
5600 Roswell Road  
Atlanta Georgia 
"I thought this place might suit you better than 
anything else," Lindsay said as she gracefully 
slid into the booth. 
Doggett grinned. "Aw, c'mon, Lindsay, I ain't 
that much of a redneck that I can't go into the 
fancier restaurants with the cloth napkins." 
"Oh I know," she lightly quipped. "But I also 
know how much the Bureau pays their fine agents." 
"Hey, we did get a three percent raise this 
year... or was that a three cent raise??" Doggett 
pretended to ponder over that as Lindsay giggled 
and shook her head. 
"Still a smart ass." 
"Better'n than a dumb ass. Now, you were 
promisin' to show me some pictures once we sat 
down?" 
"Oh, yes, I didn't forget," Lindsay said just as 
a waitress came to take their order. When she 
left again, Lindsay pulled out a sleek leather 
wallet from her expensive purse and opened it up. 
Took out two photographs and handed them over to 
Doggett. 
"Now, that's my oldest daughter Kirsten. She'll 
be thirteen in March, God help us," She laughed 
lightly. "And the youngest is Brittany. She's 
nine. Just had a birthday." 
Doggett examined the school pictures. Kirsten had 
short curly blond hair while Brittany's golden 
hair was long and straight. They both had their 
mother's cerulean eyes. "They take after you," he 
told her politely as he handed the pictures back. 
"How's Warren?" 
"Busy," she said a little too brightly as she put 
the pictures back in her wallet. "When my father-
in-law died last spring, Warren took over the 
family business." She sighed. "I've been meanin' 
to tell you... I heard about Parker Davis... I 
keep in touch with a few of my girlfriends back 
home. I'm so sorry. I sent Mellie a card." 
"I'm sure she appreciated it," Doggett mumbled as 
the waitress returned with their drinks. 
"You know," she said thoughtful, swirling her 
drink around with the little cocktail straw. "I 
never believed the 'official' story that went 
'round high school, that Parker got hurt in a car 
wreck. I always figured those rednecked idiots 
Dexter Gillory and Cy Lewis had something to do 
with it. They picked on Parker horribly." She 
smiled gently at Doggett. "I always thought it 
was nice of you to stand up for Parker. You were 
like his shadow until you went away to the 
military. 'Course," she laughed again. "Some said 
you were only nice to 'im 'cause Mellie told you 
to be." 
Doggett felt extremely uncomfortable and 
extremely guilty. "Mellie had nothing to do with 
that," he said softly. "Parker was a decent guy. 
Just nobody at school would give him a chance. 
And those bast- um... those jerks Dex and Cy 
always went after the runts. I know Dex got 
killed in Lebanon a few years back-" the ultimate 
irony. Doggett, after being honorably discharged 
from the Marines after being wounded in Lebanon, 
had found out that Dex Gillroy had been stationed 
there too with the Army. And had died in the 
conflict. "- but what 'bout Cy? Whatever happened 
to him?" 
"That idiot," Lindsay spat out angrily. "He's in 
jail." 
"In jail? For what??" 
"Murder. Got drunk, shot off his mouth. Picked a 
fight and killed a man. He should have gotten 
life, but he plea-bargained and is doing thirty 
years instead, eligible for parole in ten... 
which I think is coming up soon." She shook her 
head. "Idiot. He was just a purebred idiot. I 
still remember those boys strutting 'round 
school, thinking they were God's gift 'cause they 
were football players. Cy and Dex and your 
brother Stevie. Carl Betton. Austin Taylor. And 
Dex's little sister Delilah was always taggin' 
'long... of course, we all thought she had a 
thing for Cy. Child never was quite right in the 
head. And then," she looked up at him. "There was 
you." 
"Yeah... there was me." 
"You were never like the others. I said that to 
that reporter who was doin' that story on you and 
your FBI partner bein' at the World Trade Center 
on September 11. You were never like the others. 
You were the peacemaker. You never paid attention 
to who's daddy made how much money or if they 
were white or black or whatever. You were 
different from the rest of the boys. That's what 
I remember most about you, JD." 
Doggett squirmed under her soft, gentle gaze. 
"Sounds like you're readin' my eulogy, Lindsay," 
he tried to quip. 
Lindsay looked up at him, her blue eyes devoid of 
guile. "When you left for the Marines, you might 
as well have died," she looked down at the table 
again. "When you left... You disappeared off the 
face of the earth." She sounded wounded. 
"I wrote when I could, Linz," he replied, softly. 
And a little defensively. 
"It was just too hard," she whispered. She took a 
sip of her vodka sweet-and-sour, felt the liquid 
courage enter her mouth, go down her throat and 
into her stomach. "I mean, after all," she 
laughed without a trace of humor. "I caught quite 
a bit of flack for datin' you. Me bein' a cradle-
robbin' senior, takin' a sophomore boy to the 
prom." 
"Funny," Doggett said dryly. "I remember thinkin' 
that you only asked me because Stevie pissed you 
off." 
"Well, he did piss me off!" she spouted off 
indignantly. "He asked me if he could take me to 
the prom, then that cheap little slut Aimee Clark 
up and asks him. So he dumps me to take HER??? 
Ooh that made me so mad!" Then, embarrassed, she 
admitted. "And I knew askin' you would send him 
through the roof." She sighed. "It was petty and 
it was cruel. And childish... Twenty-twenty 
hindsight." She took another drink. "But it 
turned out alright in the end, I think..." 
They were silent as the waitress brought them 
their entrees. When she went away, Doggett 
mumbled, "I wish it could have been different, 
Linz. I... I dunno know what else to say." 
Ironically, it was Parker and Melanie that helped 
him chose the road that would lead him away from 
Lindsay and Savannah and towards Barbara and New 
York. And Luke. 
Tybee Island aka Savannah Beach  
Savannah Georgia  
June 10, 1976 
The waves rolled in from the distant blue of the 
Atlantic and wiped away the trail of footprints 
two teenagers left behind they as they walked 
alone the shore line. 
The tall, skinny boy had thick, wavy hair, brown 
like the sand he walked on. The thick wavy hair 
camouflaged his prolific ears and the bump on the 
back of his head he earned when he was pushed 
down a flight of stairs. But it was still tender 
to the touch. His sky blue eyes were clouded by 
the black and purple bruises around them.  His 
lips, never before owning that pouty rock-star 
quality young girls swooned over as they gathered 
to listen to their latest LPs, were still puffy. 
He walked not like a carefree sixteen year old 
boy, but like an old man. Stiff. Sore. 
Uncomplaining about the bruises his t-shirt 
covered up. He carried his tennis shoes as well 
as her sandals. 
The girl next to him had a deep dark tan and eyes 
blue like the distant Atlantic. Her long hair, 
neatly parted down the middle, was the color of 
the sun and hung well below her dererrie. She 
wore white hip huggers and a pink halter top. An 
outfit her parents would rail at if they had 
known she was wearing it. Her baby face belied 
her age of eighteen although she had the body of 
a supple twenty-five year old. 
Strangers observing the couple from the distance 
thought that it was a pair of nice kids enjoying 
all the freedoms summer had to offer. If they 
would have ventured closer, they would have seen 
the tears running down the girl's cheeks. 
"Why can't you tell me who did this to you, JD?" 
Lindsay Amos whimpered as the waves crashed over 
her feet. "Was it Cy or Dex? You know my daddy's 
a lawyer. Even if Sheriff Gillroy's Dex's father, 
we could still get them. They've been nothin' but 
trouble but the first day that they drew breath." 
"Linz, it wasn't them," John told her again. 
"How long have you been stayin' with Park? Aren't 
your folks worried?" 
"I've been with them for almost a week." He did 
not tell her that most of that week, he had been 
as good as unconscious. 
"When are you goin' home? JD, you can't... your 
folks won't allow for it," Lindsay said, 
horrified that "a good boy" like Johnny Doggett 
could be so rebellious as to run away from home. 
It was unheard of. 
"Um... I'll be goin' home soon, but I won't be 
stayin' there for long..." 
"Why? Where are you goin'?" 
"Away..." 
Lindsay stopped him. It was getting dark but it 
was still very warm outside. Still, she shivered. 
"Where's away?" 
"I'm gonna join the Marines." 
"But that's when you graduate from high school... 
oh my God... you're leaving????? Now?!?!?!?! But 
I thought you had to be eighteen!" 
 
"There's ways 'round that," John mumbled. 
"How??" 
"Park's uncle's a recruiter... he helped sign me 
up. He's gonna help me get my GED..." John closed 
his eyes, hearing his friend and his sister's 
voices in his ears... 
**"We can take him up to Atlanta tomorrow... 
Tony's a good guy... he'll help out. He can bend 
the rules for us. Hell, if worse comes to worse, 
we can forge your mama or daddy's signature on a 
form that lets minors join the service. We'll get 
'im outta here, Mellie..."** 
**Park... I ain't gonna leave Mellie and Mama and 
Chris behind... not after all of this... I'm not 
doin' that to 'em..."** 
**"Johnny... what'n the hell are we gonna do if 
he kills you? We'll be fine... but you can't 
stay..."** 
"But why?" Lindsay wept. "Why are you leaving? I 
know I'm going to college this fall, but I'm 
staying here in Savannah for school. So I'm gonna 
still be here... I just don't understand...." 
**"Mellie, he ain't gonna kill me..."** 
**"Johnny, I've never seen Daddy this mad 
before..."** 
**"JD, you helped me out... you saved my ass from 
Dex and Cy... lemme do the same for you..."** 
"Because I can't stay," John blurted out, feeling 
dangerously close to tears himself. "I got into a 
fight with my father and I can't stay..." he hung 
his head, squeezing his eyes tight. 
He heard Lindsay gasp. "He did this??? Your 
father... oh God..." 
He felt her arms wrap around his neck. Felt her 
soft body pressed up against his, shaking as she 
sobbed. Felt her tears dampening her t-shirt. 
Heard her sobbing. "Don't go, oh don't go. Stay 
with us. My folks will understand. Or maybe you 
could stay with one of my uncles... or something, 
just don't go..." 
"I already signed the paperwork." He could barely 
get the words out. 
Lindsay clung to him tighter now. "When do you 
leave?" she choked out. 
"First of August," he reached up with his free 
hand to stroke her hair. "Linz, I'm sorry..." 
She broke away from him just enough so she could 
stand up and kiss him full on the mouth. John 
winced a little, just because his lips were still 
tender from where his father had hit him, but 
when he felt her tongue slip between his teeth, 
he disregarded the slight pain. 
"This isn't fair," she whispered when they broke 
apart again. She stroked his face and pushed his 
hair out of his eyes. "This isn't fair... We 
just... I just... and... and you're leavin'..." 
"I'll write you," he promised. 
"I'll write you too," she stood on her toes to 
kiss him again. When that kiss finally ended, she 
whispered brokenly. "I love you." 
"I love you too, Lindsay." 
And the boy learned what a broken heart really 
felt like, even as they slipped away from the 
beach, towards Lindsay's grandparents' house. 
Which both kids knew damn well was sitting empty 
as Lindsay's grandparents spent most of their 
summers in Florida. 
Back to the present... 
Doggett mumbled, "I wish it could have been 
different, Linz. I... I dunno know what else to 
say... I mean... we were kids and... I just don't 
know..." 
"It's alright. Lookin' back with twenty-twenty 
hindsight... it probably wouldn't have worked 
anyway." Lindsay said faintly, picking half-
heartedly at her meal. "I'm sorry," she said 
huskily. 
"Me too," Doggett said. 
"When do you have to be at the airport?" Lindsay 
asked. 
"I should go pretty soon." 
She nodded. 
She reached across the small table and ran her 
fingers down his face, slowly, gently, all the 
way to his throat, lingering for a moment. 
He closed his eyes and felt an involuntary shiver 
go down his spine. 
His voice was more graveled that usual when he 
told her as gently as possible. "I can't stay 
Lindsay." 
"I know," she lowered her head. 
"I have to go soon." 
"Would you like a ride to the airport?" 
"No... I'll take a cab, thanks." 
Her eyes misted over. "It was good seeing you 
again, John." 
She finally caught on. He wasn't the sixteen year 
old boy she had been infatuated with twenty-five 
years ago. 
"It was good seein' you too, Lindsay." And she 
definitely was no longer the sweet fresh-face 
girl he had carried a torch for all this time. 
"Thanks," she said as she slid out of the booth. 
She pulled her wallet out of her purse and pulled 
out two crisp twenties and a ten and laid them on 
the table. 
"Aw, Linz, you don't have to-" 
"I want to. It's okay, really." She smiled 
sardonically. "See I chose to marry for money. 
Surely you remember what they called me in high 
school. 'The Prissy Princess'?" She smiled. 
"Consider it my Christmas present to you." She 
placed her manicured hands on his shoulder. 
"Don't be stranger, okay?" 
"Alright," he said, smiling up at her. "Take care 
of yourself, Linz." 
"Give Mellie my condolences," she said, giving 
his shoulder a squeeze. Before walking away, she 
whispered "Park was lucky to have a friend like 
you." 
Doggett watched her leave. Then pulled out his 
cell phone to call a cab. 
And saw he had two missed calls. One from 
Melanie. 
One from Starkweather.  

Later...  
United Airlines Flight 42  
On the runway of Hartsfield International Airport  
Atlanta Georgia  
8:30 PM Eastern Standard Time 
Doggett had chosen to fly back and forth from 
Savannah to Atlanta to save time. It was a four 
hour drive in between the cities, could be five 
or six, depending on rush hour traffic. 
Ironically, his flight had been delayed for three 
and a half hours. Just as he was about to pitch 
in the towel and go find a car rental, the 
announcement came that the flight was ready for 
take off. 
So, feeling cramped by the laughably small 
airline seats, Doggett stared out of the window 
as the plane taxied itself out of the boarding 
area and moved down the runway, gaining speed for 
it's beginning ascent. 
He looked at his phone as the plane rose into the 
pitch black sky. He had been playing phone tag 
with Melanie and Starkweather all night. He 
looked out the window again, seeing the lights of 
Atlanta below, twinkling like little stars. 
He wondered what bug crawled up Starkweather's 
ass and died this time. 
He hoped Melanie got his message about his flight 
being delayed and that someone would be there to 
pick him up. 
He then thought about what Lindsay had said. 
<<"Park was lucky to have a friend like you.">> 
"Bullshit," he mumbled, putting the phone back in 
his coat pocket. 
Doggett felt it was the other way around. 
And he still hadn't done jack shit as to 
discovering how Parker was infected with HIV. 
Which turned into AIDS. Which left him 
defenseless to the cold which turned into 
pneumonia. Which killed him. 
Closing his eyes, feeling a bone-aching weariness 
come over him, Doggett leaned his head back 
against the seat. Thought about Park and Mellie. 
Remembered how happy they had been. How well-
suited they were for each other, even though they 
were polar opposites. Parker being somewhat shy 
and Melanie, anything but. Parker was sort of a 
slob, Melanie, organized to the point of anal-
retentive. Parker with his dark hair and eyes. 
Melanie, fair-haired and blue-eyed. Parker and 
his numerous cats he'd adopted over the years. 
Melanie and her faithful greyhounds she had 
rescued over the years when the racetracks tired 
of them when they were too old to run. 
Parker and Melanie had pets because they couldn't 
have children. 
Luke's death had devastated Park and Mellie as 
much as it had John and Barb. Now Doggett could 
feel Melanie's loss. 
He recalled the dream from the night before and 
shuddered. He didn't know what part of it was 
worse. Seeing his father or seeing Ben 
Starkweather. 
He pushed the ghosts out of his mind and tried to 
think about Park's death. But seeing Lindsay 
today unnerved him and he couldn't help thinking 
about that. Thinking about her. And others. 
Not that he had ever had much success with other 
women. In fact, he could count on one hand how 
many women had had been with in the Biblical 
sense. 
There was Lindsay, of course. Who relieved him of 
his virginity in the murky hours between the 
dance and the after-hours party on Prom Night. 
And of course, for so many teenagers, then and 
now, it had been anticlimactic. After all, he had 
been sixteen and had no idea what the hell he was 
doing. And she didn't have much of clue either, 
since most of her knowledge of sex at that time 
had come from her other pure-as-the-driven-snow 
girlfriends and cheesy Harlequin romance novels. 
Despite the supreme embarrassment of their mutual 
first time, or perhaps because of it, they stuck 
together. And by and by, managed to get the hang 
of it. And comprehend what all the fuss was 
about. Because Lindsay was the first one to catch 
on. She stopped posing and posturing and trying 
to do it how it was displayed on the movies and 
portrayed in novels. Once she let instinct guide 
her, guide her hands and lips and mouth, the sex 
improved tenfold. And he, the eager learner, 
followed her lead. 
Absently Doggett touched his throat as he 
continued to stare out the tiny airplane window. 
Remembering the crazy month and a half before he 
left for training, how he would sneak away to 
meet Lindsay in her grandparents' empty house. 
How on the day he told her he was leaving, she 
cried when he took off his shirt and she saw all 
the bruises up and down his chest and back. How 
she kissed each bruise until tears came to his 
eyes. 
But it wouldn't have worked. Like Doggett said, 
they were just kids. Hormone-ridden kids. And 
like Lindsay said, she chose to marry for money. 
She had never known what it was like to live 
without money. And Doggett, as much as he had 
cared for her when she was a girl, as much as he 
was still attracted to her now, knew she would 
not have been happy as a poor man's wife. She 
would have divorced him faster than what Barb 
did. 
Then there was Deeandra Johnson, the woman who 
almost became Mrs. John Doggett instead of 
Barbara. They met just when he moved to New York 
to be a cop. She was a waitress at a bar a lot of 
the police cadets like to congregate at whenever 
they had nonexistent free time. Doggett 
remembered that he liked talking to her because 
she wasn't as skanky as the other waitresses. 
That she had a pretty face and laughed easily. 
And was very down to earth. And shy. And sweet. 
She was working her way through college. She 
wanted to be a journalist, preferably a 
television anchor. Things were great the two 
years that they were together. She eventually 
moved in with him. They talked about the future 
while laying in bed together. Doggett remembered 
even canvassing the jewelry stores, starting to 
look at diamond rings in a whole new light. 
Then, a few short months later, he looked at her 
in a new light. He thought it was just the flu. 
She said it was just the flu. Then she said she 
was going to spend the weekend at a girlfriend's 
house in upstate New York. 
It was his friend and partner with the NYPD who 
told him about the abortion. Doggett could still 
clearly remember Officer Jason Mick's normally 
round happy face looking so morose. "Johnny... I 
hate to be the one who gotta tell ya... but I 
gotta tell ya..." 
It was the closest he had ever come to hitting a 
woman he loved. 
She had begged for him to understand. She said 
she wasn't ready for children. She said she would 
have to drop out of college to care for a baby, 
that she would lose any and all opportunities in 
the mass media field. She said she was afraid of 
his reaction. That he would leave her. That he 
would marry her and decide it was a mistake, then 
leave her. She said she thought she did the right 
thing. 
It wasn't the fact that she terminated the 
pregnancy that infuriated him. It was the fact 
that she lied to him about it. Their relationship 
couldn't stand a blow like that. It disintegrated 
completely after that. Doggett had no idea where 
Deeandra went after she moved out and truth be 
told, he didn't care. 
Because after Deeandra, was Barbara. 
But he didn't want to think about Barbara. 
Because thinking of Barbara meant he had to think 
about not only Luke but of his friends Jason and 
Minerva Mick. Minerva, Jason's spirited wife who 
lived for three things, her family, corporate law 
and matchmaking. She was the one who introduced 
Barb to him. Minerva, sweet Minni, who had been 
raising three girls by herself ever since 
September 11. 
So he thought about Reyes instead. 
To this day, he will never understand this 
"thing" with Reyes. She said they met the day his 
son was found in that field in South Carolina. 
That whole day was a blur to him. He was too 
consumed in trying to figure out why his little 
boy was laying dead in a field so far from home. 
He had been oblivious to everything, everyone 
else. 
He couldn't pinpoint when he and Reyes started to 
speak on a regular basis. She was definitely 
different. She would go for long stretches of 
time without talking to him, then she would 
randomly call out of the blue. To see how he was. 
How he was doing. And she always seemed to know 
exactly when to call. 
So they became friends. Met for drinks. Talked on 
the phone from time to time. Sometimes caught a 
ballgame together. It was so easy to talk to her. 
Granted, she was a little... weird at times. 
Spacey... flaky almost. And there. Always there. 
Naturally it had been Reyes he turned to when he 
discovered that Barb had started sleeping with 
someone else. After Luke's death, Doggett and 
Barb took separate roads of grieving. Doggett 
became very introverted. Barb on the other 
hand.... did not. 
He wasn't sure when he and Reyes crossed that 
line from platonic to not-so-platonic. Maybe it 
was the night he signed the final divorce papers 
and she had run into his drunk ass at the bar. He 
wasn't sure. But one day, he was sleeping on her 
couch. The next, next to her in her bed. It was 
disorientating. And intoxicating. Because he 
wasn't blind. She was a beautiful woman. With her 
velvet brown eyes, long legs, raven hair and 
golden heart. 
But she had that thing for that son-of-bitch 
Follmer. He didn't understand why. She was so 
depressed when he was transferred to Minneapolis 
even though she said it was better that he was 
gone. Then the bast*rd came back to New York, 
crooked his little finger and Reyes had gone to 
him like a shot. 
Doggett sighed. 
What the hell, love was blind. 
Still, what amazed him was that he and Reyes were 
still friends. Good friends. Granted, there were 
little moments of awkwardness here and there. He 
knew she still cared for him a little "in that 
way." He still found her very attractive. But 
usually the awkwardness were only little flare 
ups and dissipated quickly.  

Doggett leaned his head back in his seat. That 
was it. Lindsay. Deeandra. Barbara. And Monica. 
And guiltily he thought <<Oh yeah... and that one 
girl>> That one girl, that one stupid, stupid 
night when he was still in the service. When he 
and a bunch of his Marine buddies had been on R&R 
in Okinawa and gotten drunk as skunks. And he had 
met this girl who said she was in the Air 
National Guard and was doing her two-week tour of 
duty that the Guard required. And how they ended 
up going back to his room. And she left the 
following morning before he woke up. He had been 
so drunk, he couldn't even remember her name. And 
had been absolutely mortified. 
Now, with the wisdom accrued with age, he 
realized how damn lucky he was. That Lindsay 
didn't become pregnant because they sure as hell 
didn't do anything to prevent a baby. She just 
never conceived one. And that he didn't pick up 
some horrible disease from any of the other 
women, especially the one-night stand girl. He 
closed his eyes. 
It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fucking fair. He 
was the one that had been stupid. He had been 
incredibly stupid as a kid. He had a drunken 
fling and an unfaithful wife. He had a tattoo. 
Yet it was Parker, clean cut and straight and 
narrow Parker who contracted AIDS. It was Parker 
that had died. 
Doggett crossed his arms and bowed his head, 
remembering the remnants of that horrifying dream 
from the night before. 
The answer was in his past, his roots. 
He remembered Lindsay's words: <<I never believed 
that rumor that went around...>> 
Doggett's eyes popped open. If Lindsay believed 
that Dex and Cy caused the accident.... who else 
possibly did? 
And would that belief give someone motive enough 
to try to avenge Dex and Cy's pathetic lives? To 
get back at Parker for Dex and Cy's bad life 
choices? 
But who else would know? 
His cell phone rang. 
"John Doggett." 
"Pap-" Static. "-ohn. It's me. Wher-" Static, "-
re you?" 
"Doc???" Doggett put one finger into his ear. 
"That you?" 
"Naw, i-" Static. "-ood fairy." 
"Where are you? The connection is terrible." 
"I'm on m-" Static. "-tico. I ne-" Static. "-alk 
to-" Static. "-portant. I think I fo-" Static. 
Then dial tone. 
"Doc? Starkweather?? Aw great," he muttered. He 
hit the speed dial and got an annoying edit from 
US Cellular how there was no service to his 
phone. "Dammit." 
Speaking of women, there's another one that just 
baffled him. 

She definitely was not the easiest woman in the 
world to deal with. Or the easier human being to 
deal with for that matter. Realistically 
speaking, there were so many reasons to dislike 
her. Her superiority complex. Her foul mouth. Her 
even fouler temper. 
He really thought it was too bad that she had 
such a chip on her shoulder. That she presented 
to the world this harder-than-diamonds persona. 
That she acted like she was untouchable and that 
she didn't care. Granted, she really didn't give 
a damn what people thought of her. She was not 
devious, she did not play games or engage in 
duplicity... unless the field assignment called 
for it, of course. He grinned as he remembered 
her little stint in undercover as a college 
student. She was the only one in their division 
who looked youthful enough to pull it off. Still, 
she made it crystally clear how unhappy she was 
to be placed in that position <<"I will get each 
and everyone of you for this...">> and yet she 
did her job and did it remarkably well, despite 
the stress she was under at that time due to her 
tumultuous personal life. 
She was far from deceptive. Far from elusive and 
yet still managed to remain such a mystery. Get 
on her bad side and she will be more than happy 
to let you know. Get on her good side and you 
have a friend for life. Ask her a question and 
she will give you her honest-to-God opinion, but 
still, you walk away wondering what's really 
going on behind those feline eyes of her. She was 
such a bundle of contradictions, it was 
impossible to sum up what it felt like to be in 
the presence of her forceful personality in a 
word or two. Professional, yet a rebel. A 
daydreaming musician and a skeptical scientist. 
Did not want to be a mother, yet was tender to 
all who needed mothering. Especially her nephew 
William when Scully couldn't be there for him. 
And to her damn cat. 
She embraced the traditional role of a wife while 
driven to be the best in her position at the FBI. 
She possessed a wicked tongue and a good heart. 
Brilliantly intelligent and hopelessly naive. A 
fiercely hot temper and cold, lonely tears. She 
looked fragile but Doggett was beginning to 
believe she was unbreakable. 
<<Maybe...>> he mused as he felt himself nodding 
off. <<Maybe that's why she's different from all 
the others... Because despite all the shit she's 
been through... she's still *her*. She's still 
Starkweather. She's hurting and as prideful as 
she is, she's not going to admit to anyone but 
herself for a while how bad she feels. But she's 
healing. She's not letting everything get to her. 
Sure, she sad and angry and cranky and moody 
right now. Worse than usual. But Jesus, after all 
that, who wouldn't be? But she's able to release 
it and get it out of her system and still be 
Starkweather. She's doing what I couldn't... 
can't... 
... won't... 
... and I admire her for that...>> 
He fell asleep. 
No sooner had he fallen asleep, he felt someone 
tugging on his coat sleeve. "Sir? Sir, wake up." 
"Huh?" Doggett cracked his eyes open and looked 
up. One of the flight attendants, pretty face, 
soft, short blond hair, but a bit on the plump 
side smiled down at him. 
"You're going to miss the movie," she told him 
and walked away. 
His jaw dropped in disbelief. Movie?? On a short 
flight like this? Irritated, he snapped at her, 
"I don't want to watch the damn movie." 
Angelically, she replied "Yes you do," and 
pointed to the screen. 
Scowling, Doggett turned his attention towards 
the square screen. 
The film began to roll. It looked like an old 
home movie. 
But whoever created this movie had a sense for 
filming because the picture didn't shake or 
jiggle. The picture zoomed into a group of boys 
sitting on a porch in springtime. Azaleas, 
hydrangeas and jasmine were blooming everywhere. 
There was a big dogwood tree in the front year. 
An elderly woman was toiling her in garden, 
babying her day lilies and amaryllis while the 
boys lounged on the porch, drinking sweet tea. 
Doggett could feel the blood draining out of his 
face. He recognized that old Victorian style 
house, painted white with black trim. He 
recognized the gallant little lady with the 
battered straw hat. He recognized all four boys, 
especially the tall skinny one with the blue 
eyes. And the longish hair popular for boys to 
have in the late Seventies, covering up ears that 
stuck out. 
"Oh my God..." he whispered, sinking into his 
seat. "Turn it off," he demanded, turning towards 
the flight attendant. "Turn it off NOW." He 
didn't want the entire flight to see his life 
history. 
But that problem was solved when he realized that 
he was the only one on the plane now.  

<<This is fucking creepy>> he thought in dread as 
he turned his attention towards the movie again. 
<<I hope just I'm dreaming again... Jesus, I need 
to transfer out of the X-Files... shit's gettin' 
to me...>> he thought, clutching the armrests of 
his seat. 
In the film, the four boys all turned their head 
as a dumpy sixteen year old girl with long 
tangled dishwater blond hair burst out the front 
door. She was clutching an ugly purse, a school 
bag and a brown paper sack. Head down, she walked 
by the boys very quickly, avoiding their eyes. 
She was dressed in the ugly pinstriped uniform of 
a candy-striper. Her glasses were sliding down 
her pimpled nose. 
Dexter Gillroy, merciless to anyone he perceived 
as "weak" sneered at his sister, "Hey!" Dex 
called after her. She didn't turn. "Hey! Look 
everybody, it's the incredible half-girl half-
dog. Save yourself the trouble next time, bitch, 
and wear a paper sack over yer head next time you 
come through here so's you can put us outta our 
misery." 
"Jesus, Dex," Doggett heard his sixteen year old 
self say while watching Delilah Gilroy rush past 
them. "Lay off already." 
"Why? You hot for her?" Dex asked in a low voice 
so not to attract the attention of his 
overbearing grandmother. Who was now 
interrogating Delilah. 
"And you're goin' STRAIGHT home after you get 
done with work?" 
"Yes, Grandma Lo, I already told Mama and Daddy. 
I gotta go.. I'm gonna be late..." 
"Naw," Dex's best friend Cyprus Lewis drawled, 
draining the rest of his sweet tea in one gulp. 
"He's doin' that prissy princess Lindsay Amos, 
the lucky sumbitch. Still haven't figured out how 
a piss ant like you pulled THAT off. That girl's 
a stone fox and she's with a scrawny shit like 
you?" 
Doggett watched as a younger version of his older 
brother, snort in derision and suddenly get up. 
This Stevie was tall and lean. Full head of wavy 
brown hair. Flat belly and well-defined arms. 
Next to him, sixteen year old John looked like 
the quintessential ninety-nine pound weakling. 
"Gotta go," Stevie muttered. 
"Huh? Why?" Cy asked while Dex groaned at his 
friend's stupidity. 
"Promised Pop I'd help 'round the shop." Stevie 
grumbled as he stalked off. 
"Cy, you fucking idiot," Dex snapped at him when 
Stevie was gone. 
"What?" Then the dim little light bulb clicked on 
above his head. "Shit. Sorry." Cy muttered 
darkly. "Guess he's still pissed at you for that 
whole Lindsay thing." 
"Apparently," sixteen year old John already had 
his dry sense of humor well entrenched in his 
personality. 
"Still... you and Lindsay... lucky bastard. Wish 
I could get into her pants." 
"I ain't in her pants," Doggett heard his sixteen 
year old self lie. 
"Anyway," Dex drawled, looking back over at Cy. 
"Since Johnny's busy with Lindsay, that means 
Delilah's free for ya." 
"Aw shit," Cy grumbled. "No thanks." 
"What's wrong with Delilah other'n the fact she's 
fat, ugly and got the social skills of a snail?" 
Dex chuckled at his own wit. 
Doggett watched his teenaged self squirming, 
trying to think of an escape route. He remembered 
how he never thought of these two boys as 
friends. They were just guys he hung out with. 
Because Stevie thought of them as friends. And 
before things got bad between the brothers, they 
used to do stuff together a lot. 
Well, it was more like Stevie would decide to go 
do something and John would end up tagging along 
because he had nothing better to do. 
But he was never a pest like Delilah was. Delilah 
had nothing better to do either, but she was so 
moody. One minute, she'd be completely manic, all 
giggly and coy and hyper. And annoying as hell. 
The next, cranky and bitter, consumed with a 
lassitude that was not natural to a teenager. 
When she wasn't hanging around Dexter's gang, 
trying to attract the attention of Cy, she was 
locked in her room, reading some thick boring 
book. Or working at the nursing home. No one 
really liked Delilah. 
Still, Doggett remembered how he hated to see Dex 
pick on her. 
Actually he hated to see Dex pick on anybody. 
And he was the only one who got away with telling 
Dex to quit it for the simple fact that he was 
Johnny Doggett aka JD. The Doggett brother that 
everyone liked. Not as popular as Stevie, 
granted. But popularity was fickle. Respect was 
forever. Even at that tender age, John Doggett 
knew that instinctively. No one taught him that. 
It felt like he was born with that knowledge. 
"Maybe Delilah wouldna be so bad if you weren't 
such an ass to her," JD told Dex. 
Dex shrugged. "Well, shit man, we all can't have 
sisters like you. Maybe if Delilah was as cool as 
Mel or Chris..." he shrugged again. 
"Yeah... Mel's... she's..." Cy fumbled for the 
right words. "She's alright. Mel." 
Doggett's eyes widened. 
He had forgotten. He had totally, absolutely, 
one-hundred percent forgotten all about that. 
Cy Lewis had a massive crush on Melanie. 
Doggett leaned forward to continue to watch the 
movie. 
"Yeah, like you gotta chance'n hell with Melanie 
Doggett," Dex guffawed. 
"Well, why not?" Cy pleaded while looking at JD 
for help. 
"'Cause," Dex said patiently, "if you touch 
either Mel or Chrissy, if Stevie doesn't pound 
you inta dust, JD will." 
Doggett grinned as he watched his sixteen year 
old self produce a beatific grin for Cy. 
"I'm bored," Dex suddenly announced. "Let's go do 
somethin'." 
"I should get home," young John mumbled. 
"Ah, Johnny, don't be a pissy like Stevie. 
C'mon..." Dex beckoned him as he and Cy stood up. 
"It's summer, man... I don't wanna sit around 
here at Grandma Lo's all day." 
"Okay, okay... who's drivin'?" 
"Me," Cy's eyes twinkled as he held up the keys, 
jingling them. "We can stop at my house for 
beers. My daddy won't notice." 
**Say no, say no!** Doggett silently screamed at 
his teenaged self. **Dammit, you are smarter than 
that, say no! Go home!** 
"Okay," the teenaged John replied with a bored 
sigh. "So what else we gonna do? Are we gonna go 
to the beach then?" 
"I got a better idea," Dex had an evil glint in 
his eye. 
Doggett wondered what kind of man Dexter would 
have become if he had lived beyond Lebanon.
Doggett watched the boys leave the porch and stop 
and say goodbye to the elderly lady tending her 
flowers. "Bye, Grandma Lo," Dexter said, bending 
down to kiss her crepe like cheek. 
"Stay outta trouble," Grandma Lo frowned at them. 
But no interrogation for them like there had been 
for Delilah. They were boys. Boys couldn't get in 
"trouble" like a girl could. 
Doggett watched the boys pile into a 1971 Impala 
which now ran impeccably but was in dire need of 
the cosmetic touches. He watched the boys stop at 
Cy's house and make off with a case of beer. He 
watched in dread at three idiot boys, drinking 
and driving. Three idiot boys, cruising the 
streets of Savannah, bored out of their gourds 
and begging for trouble... 
"Know what? I outta go beat the shit outta that 
fuck Davis tonight." 
"Aw, for cripe's sake, Cy, you still can't be mad 
at Davis for what he said 'bout your car?" young 
JD protested. 
"Piece of shit, my ass," Cy muttered, crushing a 
beer can. "Fag. Wouldn't know a muscle car if it 
came and bitchslapped him 'cross the face. 
Fucking queer boy." 
"If he's as queer as y'all say he is, he prolly 
likes to get bitchslapped," Dex drawled lazily, 
reaching for another beer. "Don't worry Cy... 
'Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord...'... 
shit... a sheriff for a daddy, a preacher for a 
grandpa... I can't do shit in this town without 
somebody knowin' 'bout it..." 
Doggett felt his mouth go dry as he watched his 
young face on the movie screen become ashen. 
"Dex... whattaya got planned?" 
"Why..." Dex said innocently. "We're just goin' 
to the diner. Gotta build our strength." In a bad 
Elmer Fudd voice, he said "Shhh... be wevy wevy 
qui-yet. We're huntin' faggots.... 
hahahahahhaha." 
Cy crowed in triumph. "C'mon Dex! Let's go by 
that diner the cocksucker works at and teach that 
queer a lesson! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" 
Dex looked in the rearview mirror and grinned. 
"Cy, ain't that his pick-up passin' us?" he 
slurred 
<<He knew...>> Doggett realized. <<He knew when 
Park's schedule was. He planned this... the whole 
time... it wasn't a drunken impulse. Even if he 
was sober, he was gonna be on the road same time 
as Park>> 
"Boys, I think we got us a homohunt. Gotta rid 
this God-fearin' country of all the sick-o's. 
Raht J.D.?" 
"I think you guys need to walk it off..." young 
John said feebly. 
"The HELL we gonna walk it off," Dex yelled, "Dat 
Parker fucker's gonna go to BURN tonight!" 
"What is WITH you tonight, JD?" Cy demanded. 
"You're his bitch aintchya?" 
Young John Doggett glowered at him. Curled his 
lower lip threateningly and tightened his jaw. 
"Cy..." he softened his voice and yet still 
managed to sound like thunder. It did not crack 
or lapse into the childish cadences. It was a 
premonition of his future graveled baritone. "If 
you don't let me the hell out of this car right 
now, you are gonna be MY bitch in two 
seconds...GOT IT?" 
"Sure..." Cy drawled out, drunker than the other 
boys and driving. "We'll let you out... after 
this..." 
"Jesus, Cy, what the fuck you doin'!" Dex 
screamed as Cy sped up. 
Doggett closed his eyes. It was the part he 
couldn't remember... or wouldn't let himself 
remember. Until now. 
The Impala gained speed on the pick-up. The front 
end of the Impala smashed into the truck. The 
tires screeched, and the dark pavement burned 
with engine sparks, glass busted, and the pick-up 
truck in front of them careened off the guard 
rail. Doggett remembered now, he had hit his head 
hard on the seat in front of him. "Lemme out," 
young John said thickly when Cy's car came to a 
stop. "Lemme out, NOW." 
"JD..." 
"Fuck you both, lemme out NOW." 
They let him out. They backed up and peeled away, 
tires squealing again. His head was pounding. 
Weaving, JD stumbled towards the flipped over 
pickup. "Park??? Parker? It's me. John Doggett." 
A slender body slide out of the passenger side 
window of the turned over truck. A boy, 
borderline pretty, pulled himself to his feet. He 
was covered in blood and bruises. The young man's 
small frame turned to face JD as he made his way 
down the hill towards him. "You think you can get 
Mel and get me to a hospital?" He shouted from 
the bottom of the hill. "I'm having a hard time 
keeping focus..." 
"Yeah... yeah..." the young John panted as he 
made his way down the hill. "I'll get Mel... 
howdaya know Mel?" 
"She's my sister," Parker looked at John like he 
was nuts. "Melinda? She was in Stevie's class? 
She's home from Tulane. She won't raise a fuss 
like Mama and Daddy will." 
"Sorry, misunderstood," John grunted as he went 
to support Parker during their long walk to... 
whatever was fated to bring them home. "I thought 
you were talking about MY Mel. My sister 
Melanie." 
Feeling sadder and older by the minute, Doggett 
watched the two boys hobble until they got to 
that bar where the burly bartender gave them a 
ride after shutting down the bar. He also gave 
Parker a shot of straight Jack Daniels. Parker 
almost threw up on the bar. 
Doggett watched again, the confusion in the 
emergency. Parker Davis, aging from 17 to 37 that 
night as he clutched his stomach, claiming the 
pain came from the whiskey the generous bartender 
gave him and the doctors frowning. A police 
officer, a friend of Dex Gillroy's daddy, showing 
up and asking them how the accident happened and 
how in the hell did Johnny Doggett wind up there, 
car less and friendless. Doggett listened to the 
boys mutter their lies. Out of fear of 
repercussion. Out of weariness. Out of 
immaturity. 
He listened to their conversation as they waited 
for Parker's older sister to come to sign the 
papers for treatment. "You know, John, I didn't 
know that being a pimple-faced virgin made you a 
target." 
"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those 
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight." John 
sighed. Parker gave him an imploring look in 
reply. "They're scared outta their asses that 
you're contagious." 
Doggett watched as his young self paced in the 
waiting room while waiting for not just Parker's 
older sister Melinda, but his own older sister. 
Melanie. Come get me. I got into an accident... 
only to Mel could he tell the truth. He saw Park, 
paler than before, being wheeled out in a gurney, 
from the examination room, towards a hospital 
room. Doggett watched himself tail after him. 
Listened to that arrogant intern talk down to 
them, without even granting them the courtesy of 
looking at them: "Mr. Parker, you sustained quite 
a lot of internal bleeding, we're going to hafta 
give you a transfusion, and then you'll be ready 
to go home." 
"Yay." Parker said, rolling his eyes. "Just how I 
wanted to spend my weekend! Hooked up to an IV 
with a big-ass needle at the end of it. I HATE 
hospitals...I hate needles..." his voice trailed 
off." 
"John...What the HELL is going on here!" 
"And the charming young lady is MY sister, 
Melanie." 
"What the fuck did I tell ya 'bout rahdin' around 
with Cy and all theyum idiots." Melanie only 
swore when she was extremely high-strung and 
worried. "Stevie got me up to get you back 
home...come on John..." Melanie had a natural 
talent for changing the subject in mid-sentence. 
"I--I know you from school, don't I?" She 
directed to Parker. 
"Yeah, I'm the local pimple-faced-eternal-virgin-
turned-fag." Melanie hadn't even blinked at his 
answer. "But don't worry, I'm not as advertised." 
A movement caught young John and Special Agent 
Doggett's eye. The hospital door had opened, then 
shut again. Neither Melanie nor Parker noticed, 
they were too busy getting to know each other. 
But young John saw and promptly forgot about it 
until twenty-five years later. 
A chunky candy-striper with glasses slipping down 
her nose had poked her head into the room, then 
left just as quickly. 
Delilah. 
The answers were in his roots... 
<<Did she have something to do with this?>> 
Doggett pondered as the screen faded to black. 
Believe the lie... 
<<Can't be... she wasn't there, she couldn't have 
known about the accident, we told nobody...>> 
The truth was out there... 
Doggett felt someone tugging at his shirt sleeve. 
Bleary eyed he looked up. 
"Sir?" a flight attendant, this one tall and 
slender with mocha brown skin, neatly plaited 
hair and a generous smile. "Sir, we're landing, 
you need to get your seat back in the upright 
position and buckle up." 
"Oh," Doggett mumbled stupidly, "thanks." 
"Have a good holiday," she said sweetly as she 
continued her rounds before the airplane started 
it's landing sequence. "Enjoy your stay in 
Savannah." 
Doggett put the seat back up in it's correct 
position and snapped on his seatbelt. His neck 
and shoulders hurt. He rubbed his forehead, 
feeling another sleep-deprivation induced 
headache coming on. 
**Have a good holiday** 
God, tomorrow was Christmas Eve. 
He pictured his colleagues, his friends. Monica 
Reyes was in Texas. A big family reunion. Family 
from all over coming. California. Mexico. 
Chicago. A traditional Navidad Mexicana at her 
uncle's massive home. Piñatas. Spanish guitars. O 
noche Santa... las estrellas están brillando 
brillantemente... 
... AD Skinner. Doggett knew that he had been 
invited along with the rest of the FBI's senior 
staff to some exclusive gala party at Capitol 
Hill on Christmas Eve. He knew just because he 
overheard Skinner bitching to Kimberly about 
having to get a tux for the event. He wondered 
what the man was going to do on Christmas Day. 
There was so little anyone knew about him. 
Doggett guessed he'd probably spend the day 
quietly at him with his dog... 
... Mulder and Scully... Doggett smiled. This 
would be their son's first Christmas. Scully, 
raised Catholic, would probably take William to 
meet her mother Margaret for Midnight Mass, 
buying Mulder time to assemble the last few toys 
that needed to be put together before Christmas 
morning. When Scully got back, Mulder would take 
the boy to bed, telling him about Santa Claus and 
his magical flying reindeer. Then Scully would 
get hacked off, telling Mulder not to fill the 
boy's head with such fanciful fluff because there 
is no such thing as Santa and Mulder would retort 
that there was nothing wrong with believing in 
Santa because a child's got to believe in 
something... Doggett shook his head. He could 
just see them bickering as Scully would be trying 
to pick up the apartment for Starkweather and the 
Lone Gunmen who were coming over on Christmas 
Day. And Mulder trying to still put together an 
intricate toy for William. He could almost hear 
Mulder whining: "I'm an Oxford educated man, I 
should be smart enough to put together this 
damned thing for my kid!!" 
<<No man is smart enough to put together those 
damned things>> Doggett thought, recalling the 
hours he spent trying to put Luke's bike together 
before giving it to him. A lot of swearing went 
on during that time. 
Luke loved that bike. Luke vanished riding that 
bike. 
Doggett pushed the thought of out his head. Felt 
the plane descending, heading towards the run 
way. 
<<What are you doin' John?>> he asked himself as 
the plane's massive wheels touched the pavement 
and locked as the plane came to a halt. <<What 
good is it gonna do to chase this ghosts?>>
Savannah/Hilton Head International Airport  
Baggage Claims  
9:55 PM Eastern Standard Time 
Doggett snagged his bag. He left with only carry-
on, but he bought a medium sized duffel bag to 
hide the Christmas presents he bought for Melanie 
and Laura. 
As he walked out of baggage claims, he looked 
around. Trying to find Melanie. 
He saw Stevie instead. 
"Where's Mel?" 
Stevie folded up the newspaper. Looked up at his 
younger brother, disgust in his eyes. "She 
couldn't come. She was too upset." 
"Upset? Why?" 
"You damn well know why, FBI," Stevie snapped at 
him. "This damn snipe hunt of yours. It's not 
helpin' her." 
"This is not my snipe hunt, Steve," Doggett said 
calmly. "Melanie asked me to look into Park's 
death." 
"You shoulda said no." 
"Since when have you cared what happens to Mel?" 
Doggett finally yelled. Then, in a softer, 
angrier voice, he added. "Or Chris?" 
Stevie only glowered at him. Doggett didn't even 
bat an eye. "You shouldn't have come," Stevie 
muttered darkly. "You don't belong here anymore." 
"What?" Doggett said dryly. "Savannah ain't big 
enough for the both of us?" 
"You shoulda stayed in DC," Stevie took no notice 
of Doggett's jibe. "Or gone back to New York." 
"And miss all this quality time?" Doggett 
drawled. 
Doggett's cell phone rang. He looked down at the 
caller ID. "Steve, I gotta take this call." 
"You wanna a ride, be out front in five minutes. 
Else call a cab," Stevie said bitterly as he 
stalked away. 
Doggett answered the phone. "Agent Scully?" 
"Agent Doggett, I wasn't expecting you. I was 
expecting voice mail." 
Doggett grinned. "I'm experiencing deja vu." 
"John, I received the prelim autopsy reports." 
"And?" he prodded her. 
"Truth be told, I only skimmed them. I haven't 
had time to read them thoroughly. I'm sorry." 
"That's okay." 
"So I forwarded them on to Jerilyn." 
"Aw, Christ, Dana, I didn't want to bother her. 
Not with all the BS she's goin' through right 
now..." 
"She insisted on it." 
"Huh?" 
"She insisted I send her the reports. She's been 
trying to get a hold of you all night... John... 
like I said... I skimmed through the reports... 
something's not right." 
"Whataya mean?" 
"I think I was sent fakes." 
"What?" 
"I think this case file was falsified, John. 
Someone is working very hard on a campaign of 
misinformation." 
"What tipped you off that it's fake?" 
"Well, you see... platelet, white blood cell 
count and red blood cell count and protime are 
all related..." 
"What's protime?" 
"Prothrombinetime, which is the rate at which 
your blood clots." 
"Okay..." Doggett started walking towards the 
exit Stevie gone through. "And?" 
"And... Starkweather found something that made 
her question the autopsy's blood profile." 
"What??" 
In the background, a baby's cry. Then a grown 
man's cry. "Scu - lay!" 
"Dammit, I have to go," Scully sighed. "William 
has been a brat all evening." 
"Sounds like Mul-duh hasn't been much better." 
She snickered. "Call Starkweather, she's been 
trying to get in touch with you." 
"Thanks Dana." 
"Merry Christmas."
Little later on...  
Mrs. Doggett's house  
Savannah, Georgia  
10:55 PM Eastern Standard Time 
The house was completely dark when they got home. 
No one had waited up for them. For this small 
mercy, Doggett was infinitely grateful. 
As Stevie stormed upstairs to go to bed, Doggett 
again slipped into the kitchen to pour himself a 
shot of Jack Daniels. Feeling the burning whiskey 
going down his throat, into his stomach and then 
being dispersed throughout his body, he finally 
felt his tense muscles relax. A little. 
Shedding his suit and tie in the laughably small 
upstairs bathroom, Doggett showered, toweled off 
and put on a white t-shirt and a pair of black 
cotton pajamas pants he only hauled out when 
decorum called for it. Normally, he slept in just 
his boxers. He doubted his mother or his sister 
would appreciate him running around in his 
skivvies. 
Quietly, carrying his clothes in one hand, he 
slipped out the bathroom. He peeked into 
Melanie's room. Listened to her breath. Deep. 
Regular. Drug-induced. 
<<Maybe Steve's right>> Doggett did not fight the 
wave of despair that crashed over him. <<Maybe I 
should have told Mellie 'no'. Maybe that would 
have helped her get on with her life... but 
God... Mel never asks for anything... how could I 
say no?>> 
He shut the door and went into his room. Only 
turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Flopped 
down on the twin bed with a groan. Wanted, craved 
sleep. Needed sleep. 
But he had one more thing to do. 
He reached for his cell phone. And dialed. 
"Starkweather." 
"Doc, it's me. Sorry 'bout callin' so late bu-" 
"It doesn't matter," she cut him off. Doggett 
frowned at the tone of her voice and sat up. "I 
need to talk to you." 
"What's wrong?" 
"Your brother-in-law? Parker? The one that just 
died?" 
She could be so blunt sometimes. "Yeah..." 
"Had AIDS?" 
"Yeah?" 
"You sure?" 
"What?" 
"You absolutely sure that Parker had AIDS." 
"Melanie said he did..." 
"Melanie was TOLD he was. Doggett, your sister 
has a major malpractice lawsuit on her hands. Not 
to mention there's a doctor on the loose who sure 
as hell doesn't know what he's doing. Or 
maybe..." she shuddered, walking towards the 
chair she had draped her blazer over. But she was 
not fool enough to attribute the shiver to the 
chill of the laboratory. "Or maybe this doctor 
knows EXACTLY what he's doing." 
Spinning. The room, the world was spinning. "I 
think you need to start at the beginnin'," 
Doggett said, getting out of bed to go to his old 
desk. Sitting down, he opened the top drawer and 
found paper and pencils still there. "And use 
small words." 
Doggett took notes as she spoke. "This nightmare 
begins back the beginning of June, this year. 
After re-evaluating their assets, their house, 
their cars, their stocks and bonds, 401ks and 
Roth IRAs. Their possessions, their pets, her 
jewelry, his DVD collection, they realized that 
their current life insurance policies were 
insufficient. So they decided to get seek 
individual policies that carried a bigger 
benefit. No big deal. People do that every day. 
All life insurance is, is to prevent an economic 
loss to the people that you leave behind when 
your body gives up the ghost. The survivor is not 
supposed to profit from the policy's benefit, but 
continue their standard of living. For awhile 
anyway. 
"So Parker and Melanie sought out an insurance 
agent and he sold them a policy that required 
them to give a urine sample and a blood sample 
for the company to evaluate before deciding to 
cover them. Again, really, no big deal. Ben and I 
had to do that when we decided we needed a better 
life insurance policy when I entered the Bureau. 
Plus, to be blunt, it protects the insurance 
company. I mean, generally, you know and I know 
that most people... um, let me rephrase... the 
normal people who have absolutely nothing to do 
with an X-File are relatively honest," Doggett 
snickered for a moment at her smart-assed 
comment. "Well, seriously. They are. But there's 
still some snakes out there. Like, let's pretend 
there's this guy who's smoked everyday of his 
life and have developed interesting little polyps 
on his lungs and at night hacks up gobs of lung 
butter-" 
"Yum," Doggett said dryly. 
"- but still he smokes. With me so far?" 
"Uh-huh..." 
"Well, funny, now he's having trouble breathing, 
but he's got a house, a wife and three kids. So 
he gets scared for them because if he drops dead, 
they're screwed. But he's not stupid, he knows if 
he admits to smoking, he'll probably either get 
denied or have to pay outrageous rates. Ben 
smoked a pack a day, at least. We had to shell 
out an ungodly amount for his policy alone." 
"Holy shit." 
"Not that my premium was by means small either. 
Yeah, I'm a non-smoker but I have a hazardous 
occupation. In other words, people like to try 
and kill me so insurance companies don't exactly 
leap to cover me either. Anyway, the point that 
I'm driving at though, is that the big red flags 
for insurance companies are Cancer, Cardiac 
problems and Smoking. Those are the big three 
that shorten lives and why in their right mind, 
would they want to insure someone who's gonna 
drop dead in less than a year? Yeah, it sounds 
heartless, but they have to protect themselves 
financially because it's still a business. Not a 
charity. 
"And they have to protect themselves from big fat 
liars like Mr. Smoker here who takes out a 
million dollar policy... I'm exaggerating for 
effect so go with me..." 
"Okay..." 
"Okay, a million dollars is A LOT of money. NO 
company. Not insurance, not soda pop, not 
computer, not clothing, hell not even a Mafia 
drug cartel is just going to go 'Okay' and hand 
over a million dollars. So, to have the million 
dollars, the guy's gotta consent some sort of 
screening. A pee test or blood being drawn or a 
doctor's exam. 
"So, Mr. Smoker, thinking he can beat the system, 
goes ahead and voids a urine sample. But, gee... 
nicotine can linger for weeks in bodily fluids. 
And if he has to go to a doctor for an exam and 
the doctor hears the rattling around in his tar-
encrusted lungs, by law, he has to disclose that 
to the insurance company. Following along?" 
"I get the gist. Just hope there ain't a quiz 
later." 
"Make a big note of this. Imagine how many 
insurance companies are out there. Imagine how 
many of them ask for their clients for samples 
and exams. Imagine how many files are floating 
around." 
"Okay..." 
"When I was in Savannah today, I asked Melanie 
when Parker was diagnosed and she told me-" 
"Whoa, wait a minute, you were in Savannah? 
Today??????" 
"Oh, for a little bit," she said blithely. As if 
she had just hopped into her car and drove from 
downtown DC to Falls Church. 
"Where are you now?" 
"Quantico," she said, walking back to one of the 
lab table where she had all her faxes, printed-
out emails, lab notes and specimens neatly spread 
out. "Analyzing the shit I got." 
"What shit?" 
"That I had the labs sent me... but hold that 
thought, I'm getting ahead of myself. See, 
Melanie told me that Parker was denied because 
his blood profile came back positive for the HIV 
virus. So they wrote the insurance company, had 
the lab results sent to their personal physician. 
Who referred them to a specialist. And here's 
when things start to get fucked up beyond all 
recognition." 
Doggett steeled himself for the worse. "Okay." 
"First of all, the lab that processed Parker's 
blood profile screwed up. Royally." 
"How so?" 
"They put the wrong results with the wrong Parker 
Davis." 
"What? How? Parker Davis is NOT that common of a 
name." 
"Neither is Jeri Starkweather, but I know for a 
fact there are at least two other people in this 
country floating around with the same name. Their 
names popped up when the FBI was doing their 
initial background check on me when I was 
applying at Quantico." 
"Melanie and I went to the hospital to get 
Parker's records. First thing I checked was the 
lab work from the labs that processed the blood 
profile. Sure enough, wrong freakin' social 
security number, wrong address, wrong phone 
number." 
"How did Melanie miss that? How did Park????" 
"Because they never saw them, Doggett. Because 
they instructed that paperwork be sent directly 
to their personal physician. And with the volume 
of patients most practicing doctors see on a 
daily basis, chances of the doctor remembering a 
patient's social is slim to none. 
"Anyway... their personal doctor, um..." Doggett 
heard the shuffling of paper. "Dr. Adam Kats, 
ordered another HIV test to be performed, just in 
case and gave them a name of an AIDS specialist. 
A Doctor Loki Kullervo. Dr. Kullervo told the lab 
to send Parker's results directly to her. And she 
told them that they were definitely positive." 
"But that was wrong." 
"Yes." 
"Then how... he was sick... he..." He exhaled 
noisily. "It don't make sense, Doc. He **died**." 
Gently, the doctor told him. "Any disease left 
untreated is fatal. I... Jesus... I... I ... um, 
God, Papa John, I really don't know how to tell 
you this part." 
"Subtlety is not one of your strengths, Doc. Just 
tell me." 
"Parker was sick, Doggett. But it could have been 
treated and cured." When the silence got to be 
too long, she asked softly. "Still there?" 
Faintly he replied. "Yeah... I'm here. What'd he 
have?"
"Hepatitis A." 
"Hepa-what? How'n the hell did Park get that??" 
"Unfortunately, I can't determine that. I mean, I 
can make an educated guess. And I hope you 
haven't eaten or were planning on it because 
hepatitis A is generally transmitted fecal-
orally." 
"Aw, that's just sick." 
"Oh, I'm not talking about people taking a shit 
in someone else's mouth! Usually what happens is 
that someone goes to the bathroom and then 
doesn't wash their hands after doing number two. 
That's why in most fast food restaurants you see 
all those signs reminding their employees to wash 
their hands. Because that nasty little virus can 
jump from a dirty hand to your food." 
"Thanks. I never want to eat out again." 
"You have no sense of adventure." 
"Sorry, my adventurous streak dissolved when I 
heard 'bout slobs with shit on there hands 
preparin' my Big Mac." 
"ANYWAY, that's one guess I have. My other guess 
would actually be more plausible." 
"And that is?" 
"Seafood. Specifically shellfish. From polluted 
waters. See... if Melanie and Parker would have 
eaten at a place where, as you so elegantly put 
it 'slobs with shit on their hands' making the 
food, Melanie would have gotten sick too. 
However, Melanie is allergic to shellfish. So if 
she and Parker went out to dinner and Parker 
ordered mussels or oyster or whatever... Parker 
would get sick because he ate the tainted 
shellfish and Melanie did not. And the bitch of 
this is hepatitis A can linger in your system for 
over six months with no symptoms present. But 
once the symptoms show, they make you sick in a 
hurry. Fever. Fatigue. Loss of appetite. Nausea. 
Abdominal pain. Dark urine. Jaundice. Hepatitis A 
is not as serious as her ugly stepsisters B and 
C, but needs to be taken seriously because the 
virus still attacks your liver, making it swell. 
A swollen liver is an unhappy liver. And you need 
a happy liver because a happy liver takes care of 
all sorts of things. Like it removes toxins from 
your blood. It helps stop bleeding. It stores 
energy. And write this one down, Doggett... 
... a healthy liver fights infection." 
"It aids the immune system?" 
"Ding ding ding." 
"So..." Doggett murmured, tapping the tip of the 
pencil against his pad of paper. "If he wasn't 
able to fight off infection, no one would think 
of the wiser because everyone thought he had 
AIDS." 
"Exactly." 
"But he didn't die of liver problems. He died of 
pneumonia related to AIDS complications." 
"No. He died of pneumonia due to malpractice." 
"How?" 
"Dr. Loki Kullervo had to go out of town for 
conferences last week. So while she was gone, she 
referred her to Dr. Juliette Joel, another 
specialist at the hospital Parker was at. While 
speaking to her, I learned that Dr. Joel was 
under the impression that Parker was allergic to 
any and all antibiotics. I went back to Melanie 
and asked her about it. She swore up and down 
that Parker was not allergic to antibiotics. She 
said the few times Parker would get sick with a 
sinus infection or something, their doctor would 
prescribe an antibiotic. So I called Dr. Kats 
back. And he concurred that according to his 
records, Parker had no allergies to antibiotics. 
Doggett," she sounded strangled. "He could have 
been saved. An antibiotic would have knocked not 
only the pneumonia, but also the hepatitis A out 
of his system. Whoever falsified his records knew 
that they were going to kill him if he got any 
type of a upper respiratory infection." 
Thickly, he muttered "Do you have any other 
physical proof... somethin' that would stand up 
in court?" 
"Yes," she said swiftly. "A blood sample." 
"How did you get a blood sample?" 
"One of my last stops before going back to DC was 
at the morgue where the autopsy was being 
performed." 
A bell went off in Doggett's ear but it wasn't 
because some damn angel was getting his wings. 
"Doc... you didn't take Melanie with you to the 
morgue, did you?" 
"She insisted," Starkweather retorted. "I told 
her I could find the damn place by myself but she 
said she was coming along whether I liked it or 
not. Stubbornness definitely runs in your family, 
bud." 
"Yeah, well... I think it was too much for her. I 
was told she took some sleeping aid and is out 
like a light." 
"She took a sleeping aid because this doctor 
wrote her a prescription for Librium to help her 
get some rest. This doctor also recommended to 
her that if she did not take the medication 
tonight and get some sleep, the same doctor was 
gonna jump on the first plane to Savannah and 
personally put a boot up her ass because she's 
going to make herself sick with worry and grief 
if she doesn't." 
"I'm sure Mel took that well." 
"She told me she understood why I was a federal 
agent. Something about having no social skills 
and that my bedside manner was beyond appalling." 
"What'd you say?" 
"Asked her if she would prefer some sugarcoated 
FDA-approved bullshit about how she needs to rest 
instead of the truth." 
"And what did she say?" 
"Um..." Starkweather lost some of her fire. Then 
it rekindled. "Did you by chance tell her about 
Ben?" 
"Uh, yeah..." 
"Ah. That explains it... she asked me how much 
Librium **I** was taking... then she said 'pot 
meet kettle' when I didn't answer," she meekly 
admitted. Anxiously, she hurried to ask, "But 
she's asleep? She took the tranquilizer?" 
"Yeah, she's out cold." 
"Good." A sigh of relief. 
Doggett cleared his throat. "So this blood 
sample?" 
"Turns out, the county coroner turned Parker's 
autopsy over to one of his underlings. Which 
worked to our advantage." 
"How?" 
"Oh, a peon isn't going to object to quickly if 
an FBI agent asked for a blood sample. Especially 
if the same FBI agent is a medical doctor. And 
especially if the deceased's spouse authorizes 
it." Starkweather reached up and examined the 
vial of blood. "He had just finished the Y-
incision when I walked in. I sweet-talked him-" 
"Uh-huh." 
"I can be perfectly charming when necessary, you 
asshole. And actually, I did the kid a favor 
because he was doing his internship, poor thing, 
at the hospital morgue. He asked me if I could 
spot him while he drew the blood from the 
pericardial sac, he had only done it a couple of 
times and that under supervision. And, before you 
freak out and envision your brother-in-law being 
mutilated by some deranged Dr. Frankenstein Jr... 
the kid did a nice job. He's a rookie, but he 
knows what he's doing. He just needs more 
practice. But that made me start thinking... WHY 
this **kid** was by himself autopsying a man that 
supposedly died of AIDS? That was another tip off 
to me that all was not right with this scenario. 
You don't pawn off an AIDS case to a novice. Even 
if the patient is deceased. 
"So after getting my blood samples, Mel and I 
made a trip up to the coroner's office and we 
couldn't talk to him for nothing. The man had a 
receptionist from hell. She looked like a bulldog 
and told me pointblank that if I didn't have an 
appointment, he could not be disturbed. When I 
explained the nature of the case, the bitch said 
"I know about the Davis case. Dr. Tiffleton is 
already faxing the case file to an FBI agent in 
Washington. Although why such a damn fuss is 
being made about this is beyond me..." I think 
that's when Melanie started to buckle under the 
strain... and where she figured out that I have 
no social skills." 
Doggett cringed. "What did you say?" 
"Before or after calling her a fucking dumb bitch 
from the lowest bowel of hell?" 
"Never mind, I don't wanna know." 
"Well, then after our little... um... heart-to-
heart, I guess, I brought Melanie to the nearest 
pharmacy so she could get the trancs I prescribed 
for her, drove back to the airport and grabbed 
the first flight to DC that I could, then drove 
to Quantico so I could analyze in peace. Before I 
left, I had asked Scully to forward the case file 
to me. I read that first before analyzing the 
other stuff. Then I checked out the blood. Not 
only was it HIV free, but it was B positive." 
"So?" 
"According to the case file, Parker is B 
negative." 
"A typo?" 
"I thought so at first too. Then I started to 
read the case history from when he was first 
diagnosed as HIV positive from the lab when he 
got tested for insurance to the last bit of lab 
work done in his final days. All of it says B 
negative." 
"I'm confused." 
"The other Parker Davis... the one who REALLY is 
infected with HIV is B negative. This Parker, 
your brother-in-law, is B positive. Basically, 
this Tiffleton-dickhead went along with this 
cover-up campaign. That Parker was misdiagnosed, 
mistreated and died due to gross malpractice. And 
I am MORE than happy to go on the stand and 
testify to that." 
"Testify against who??" Doggett asked. "WHO 
fucking did this??" 
"I... I don't know... I can't... I can make 
guesses, but... I'm sorry," she finished lamely. 
Mollified, he said "S'ok, you dug up lot more 
than what I would have." He put the pencil down 
to rub his tired face, then picked up the pencil 
again, saying "Alright, gimme your guesses." 
"Well," Starkweather put down the vial and walked 
over to the desk where she had put her purse and 
briefcase. Next to the feminine luggage was a mug 
of coffee. It had been boiling hot when Doggett 
first called. Starkweather sipped it. Lukewarm. 
She made a face but drank it anyway. She craved 
the caffeine. "The lab that processed the urine 
and blood for the insurance policy is out. I feel 
that was an honest mistake. There are too many 
samples, too many files and not enough people. I 
believe the root of the problem--" 
**The answer is in your roots** 
Doggett squeezed his eyes to block out the voice 
of dreams and concentrated on the voice of the 
doctor. 
"--stems from the hospital. I believe someone 
fucked up, fucked up royally and decided instead 
of heeding to the Hippocratic Oath, to Pledge 
Alliance to Saving Thine Ass." After another 
silence, Starkweather said "You don't agree with 
me." 
"It makes sense, Doc. It really does. And it's 
probably what happened... just a stupid, stupid 
mistake and now the doctors are trying to hide 
that they screwed up." 
"But you don't believe that, do you?" She was 
prodding him now and he resented it. When he 
sullenly refused to answer, she said "I can't 
help you if you don't tell me what's going on in 
between those big ears of yours." 
"I think... this was deliberate." 
"Well, yeah, the cover up was deliberate. I mean, 
if it got out that the doctor screwed up this bad 
AND the coroner went along with it, the lawsuit 
Melanie could launch, my God. It could be a 
multimillion dollar lawsuit. It could very well 
shut down the hospital." 
"No. I think..." 
<<No, I don't, it's impossible...>>  
**The answer is in your roots**  
<<Bullshit. It happened the way Doc said it 
did...>>  
**The answer is in your roots**  
<<My mind doesn't work that way...>> 
"... I think this information fell into someone's 
hands... someone that was out to get Parker and 
orchestrated this whole charade to kill him," he 
said dully. 
"Mulder?" Starkweather said. "Is that you? Where 
did Doggett go?" 
"That was low," he grumbled. 
"Do you realize how paranoid you sounded just 
now?" 
"Yeah." 
"I mean, the Lone Gunmen would welcome you as one 
of their own if they had just heard you a second 
ago." 
"But is that possible?" 
"The Lone Gunmen welcoming you? Well... three's 
company, four's a crowd..." 
"No, you brat! My theory." 
"Oh. Well. Um. Well... yeah, I guess. But this 
would have to be someone with access to the 
hospital and records and... Jesus. This person 
would have to have a pretty big ax to grind. And 
dying from pneumonia's no little thing! You 
suffocate. You can't breathe. It's a horrible 
nasty painful way to die. I'm sorry, I'm being 
blunt. But who could possibly have motive enough 
to be THAT vindictive to watch someone DIE like 
that, KNOWING that that he could be cured? That 
person would have to be a real sick puppy." After 
another silence, she asked. "What makes you think 
someone was out to get your brother-in-law?" 
"I just do," he said mulishly. 
"Bullshit," she snapped. "You never **just** 
think anything. Look," she said, exasperated now, 
putting down the coffee cup to take off her 
reading glasses to rub her eyes. "I know you're 
not... I understand that... crap. Okay, look, you 
don't like to talk about yourself and your 
personal life very much and that's fine. Okay? 
There's shit I don't tell you because quite 
frankly, it's none of your business. But if 
there's reason, if something happened that makes 
you think this is a homicide case and not 
negligence... you've got to tell me. Because I 
can't help you if I don't know what's going on. 
And you can't help Melanie figure out exactly 
what happened to her husband." 
Doggett rested his forehead on his palm, 
unconsciously imitating Rodin's "Thinker." His 
head pounded. He closed his eyes. 
"When I was sixteen years old, I used hang out 
with these two guys from the football team. Dex 
Gillroy and Cy Lewis. They were more Stevie's 
friends than mine, but I'd go do stuff with 'em 
sometimes. I didn't have like, I don't know, a 
best friend or anything. I got 'long with most 
everyone at my high school and if someone asked 
me to go do somethin' with 'im, I'd go. I didn't 
give a shit...  
But Dex was a dick. A bully and Cy was his 
clichéd stupid sidekick. They were also the 
reason why the South still looks bad. They hated 
anyone and anything that wasn't white, Anglo-
Saxon and Protestant." 
"Which, you know, makes a WHOLE lot of sense 
since Savannah is predominately Catholic." 
"Thank you Queen of Useless Information." 
"Sorry, I'll shut up now." 
"Cy would get in trouble from time to time, but 
not Dex. Dex's grandpa was a popular hellfire and 
brimstone preacher in town. The kind that would 
have their own TV shows today. And his daddy was 
the chief of police, although we all called 'im 
'the sheriff'. And Dex was a football hero so 
shit couldn't stick on him. He... he did shit and 
because his family had not just religion and the 
law, but money, most of the time, the adults 
would just look the other way. 
"Dex and Cy's favorite target was Parker. Back in 
high school people though Park was 'funny' 'cause 
he didn't go out and do the stuff 'real boys' do. 
He didn't get stinking drunk. He didn't play 
sports. He was tall and skinny and had a high 
pitched voice. Some damn rumor started that he 
was gay and Dex an' Cy took that and ran with it. 
They used to corner him and beat the tar outta 
'im. 'Course, didn't help that he had a mouth on 
'im that wouldn't quit but that's not the point. 
It wasn't even that they thought he was gay was 
the reason why they'd pick on 'im. It was because 
they could. 
"Cy got this Impala and he thought he was just 
King Shit. Cy was goin' on and on, boring me and 
some others stupid 'bout this car and Park comes 
'long and... Jesus, I can hardly remember... it 
was so long ago, Doc. 'Bout twenty-five years... 
anyway, Cy started yelling shit to Park and Park 
fired off this insult 'bout Cy's car and Cy went 
ballistic because he had spent hours restoring 
this car. I remember I had to hold 'im back and 
yell at Park to get the hell outta there 'cause 
Cy was gonna kill 'im. 
"A few weeks later, I was hanging out with my 
brother and Dex and Cy at Dex's grandmother's 
house. Stevie had to leave earlier, so it was 
just me and Dex and Cy and Cy suggests we go for 
a ride..."
"So we went to Cy's house and stole beer from his 
father and then we just went ridin' 'round. Me, 
bein' the dumb ass, didn't realize 'til too late 
that Cy and Dex had plans to go to the little 
diner where Park worked and wait for him so they 
could... well... I don't know what... 
**Dat Parker's gonna BURN** 
"... exactly they had in mind for 'im, but they 
were drunk. And I liked Park. Always did. Didn't 
have nothin' 'gainst him. Always thought he was a 
good guy... I just didn't..." 
Starkweather felt her eyes well up when she heard 
her friend's voice crack over the phone. She 
swallowed the lump in her throat, closed her eyes 
and waited for him to compose himself. 
"... get why they had it in for 'im. I told Cy I 
didn't wanna be part of this. That I wanted to 
get outta the car. Park had just passed us in his 
pickup truck, late for work. Cy gained speed... 
and rammed Park's truck. The truck went outta 
control, flipped over the guardrail and rolled 
into the ditch." 
"Oh my God..." Starkweather breathed. "Oh my God, 
what a fucking bastard... what did the cops say?" 
Doggett paused. "We never told the police. We 
never told anybody." 
"What?" 
"The only people who knew what really happened is 
Park and Mel. Me. Cy and Dex. And you." 
"Why didn't you tell anyone before?????" 
"'Cause at the time, we were just two scared 
kids. Scared we were gonna get in trouble with 
our folks. Park just totaled his father's truck. 
I was only sixteen and I'd been drinkin' that 
night. And we were scared what Dex and Cy would 
do if we ratted on 'im. Me, I knew I could hold 
my own, but I was scared they would really go 
after Park the next time. Or Mel or Chris. They 
didn't discriminate. They attacked anyone that 
they thought were weaker." 
"Did they? Ever try to threaten you two or your 
sisters....?" 
"There were a few skirmishes 'tween me and Dex, 
but then, he up and joined the military and Cy 
kinda just drifted away... but... Doc, I can't 
explain okay? I finally know why Mulder feels so 
Got-damned paranoid all the time... but my gut is 
tellin' me that those two rednecked 
motherfu...sorry." 
"Oh no, my virgin ears," she droned. "You know 
you don't have to sanitize your language around 
me." 
"I've been 'round my mother too long," he said 
with a small grin. "Anyway... Stawk-weddah, I 
know it doesn't make sense. But my gut instinct 
is tellin' me that Dex and Cy had something to do 
with Parker's death." 
"Is this the same gut instinct that has saved our 
collective X-File asses on several occasions?" 
"Yeah..." 
"Then go with your gut, Papa John. It hasn't led 
us wrong yet." 
"As crazy as it sounds?" 
"Welcome to Mulder-Leap 101." 
"I don't like leaps," he grumbled. 
"No kidding," she said dryly. "So, where are 
these two princes amongst men now? Would they 
have access to Parker?" 
"That's the problem Doc. That's why I think I'm 
crazy for thinkin' the way I am. Cy's in prison. 
Killed someone in a drunken brawl, doin' time for 
manslaughter. And Dex is dead." 
"Dead? Aw gee," she deadpanned. "That's too bad." 
"Yeah, because that narrows my list of suspects 
down to zilch." 
"But you still believe that those two had 
something, directly or indirectly had to do with 
Parker's death?" 
Doggett had to force himself to say "Yeah." 
"Hm," he heard her say over the phone. "Well, 
shit, Doggett I don't know what to tel-" her 
sentence was abruptly punctuated by a startled 
scream. Her scream. Doggett also heard the sound 
of something shattering on the floor. 
He bolted out of his chair. "Doc? Doc? 
Starkweather... are you there?" 
Starkweather, standing in a puddle of coffee and 
ceramic shards, had her hands over her mouth, 
staring at a cute little tow-headed blond boy 
with big sparkly aquamarine eyes. He seemed to 
glow, as if he was constructed from starlight 
instead of flesh and bone. 
She recognized the child from a framed photograph 
on a desk. She thought she would only see this 
child in photographs. 
"Oh Jesus fucking Christ," she whispered, shaking 
head to toe. 
"Jerilyn???" 
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Opened them. 
Nothing there except a broken coffee mug and 
splattered java all over the linoleum floor. 
Meanwhile, Doggett was about climbing the walls 
in worry. "Jerilyn?? Are you there??" 
"Sorry," he finally heard her mutter. "Thought I 
saw something..." she rubbed her eyes. "You're 
not the only one who's losing it." He heard her 
take a deep cleansing breath. Then another. Then 
muttered to herself, "Girl, get it together." She 
looked at the floor, at the mess. And groaned. "I 
saw something out of the corner of my eye and 
though it was... I don't know. My eyes played a 
nasty trick on me. I'm fine. Just... fucking 
tired." 
"Jerilyn, please go home. You've done enough. I 
didn't wanna bother you with this in the first 
place." 
She grinned to herself as she knelt down to pick 
up the remains of the mug. "Then why did you call 
asking about AIDS information in the first place? 
Come on Doggett, you know I'm at my best when 
I've got a challenge ahead of me." Soberly she 
added. "Not like the challenge in front of you 
though." 
Sitting back down, Doggett ran his big fingers 
through his still damp hair. "Don't I know it," 
he muttered. 
He then heard a *clunk* from the other end and a 
distant "Damn." Not even three seconds later, her 
voice was near his ear again instead of far away. 
"Sorry, I dropped the phone. I was trying to mop 
up a mess I made," she groused. 
"What'd ya do?" 
He heard her groan. "Knocked my mug over. Dumped 
coffee everywhere. So I'm mopping it up. I feel 
like I'm back in med school, doing all the shit 
work," she bitched. "But if I know Bill Wilder," 
referring to one of the forensics instructors at 
Quantico, "and he finds one speck of dirt in his 
pretty, pretty lab, he'll go ballistic." 
Doggett froze. "Say that again." 
"Knocked my mug over???" 
"No. The part 'bout doin' shit work at the 
hospital." 
"Okay. I feel like I'm back in med school, doing 
all the shit work." 
"There IS someone who knew about the accident." 
"Who???" 
"Delilah, Dex's little sister," he said grimly. 
"I saw her. She looked in the room when Mel came 
to take me home. She worked as a candy striper at 
the hospital I took Park to." 
"Okay... so... she might know... what's her 
motive?" 
He sighed. Another dead end. No pun intended. 
"No clue. Dex was mean to her too." 
"How did Dex die?" 
"He was in Lebanon. I didn't even know he was 
there until I found he was dead. He was in the 
Army." 
"Are you sure he wasn't killed by 'friendly 
fire'? On purpose?" 
"Pretty sure," he responded on auto-pilot but he 
was miles away... 
... back in Atlanta, drinking in Lindsay's 
beautiful face, feeling intoxicated by her huge 
blue eyes and her cultured lilting voice, 
reminiscing about a time where a pimple or being 
dateless for the prom were life-shattering 
tragedies. 
<<I still remember those boys strutting 'round 
school, thinking they were God's gift 'cause they 
were football players. Cy and Dex and your 
brother Stevie. Carl Betton. Austin Taylor. And 
Dex's little sister Delilah was always taggin' 
'long... of course, we all thought she had a 
thing for Cy. Child never was quite right in the 
head. And then... There was you.>> 
<<Child was never right in the head.>> 
"Hey Doc?" 
"Yeah?" 
"Can I talk to you later 'bout this? I'm beat. 
And," he added sternly, "you need to go home too, 
Agent Starkweather." 
"Actually, I'm going to go to Annapolis and just 
get a hotel room. I'm too tired to drive back to 
DC. Can I say one little thing before you go 
though?" 
"Sure." 
"When you start questioning the medical staff at 
the hospital, don't waste your time dealing with 
the peons. Go straight to the top. Ask for that 
specialist, Dr. Loki Kullervo." 
"Okay," Doggett said, jotting down the name. 
"Drive careful, Doc." 
"Good night." Starkweather switched off her cell 
phone and leaned against the table, staring into 
the empty space where the spirit had lingered for 
a moment before. She didn't want to admit that 
the vision frightened her. Any more than she 
wanted to admit how much her heart hurt her right 
now as she fumbled around hopelessly, trying to 
figure out the best way to grieve for her losses. 
Alone in the lab, she put her hands to her face 
and began to sob quietly but convulsively. The 
clock ticked loudly, time slowly moving towards a 
new day, a new beginning. The end of Advent. 
Christmas Eve. 
Meanwhile, her partner shut off the light in his 
childhood bedroom and crawled into the twin bed 
that was almost too small for him. Physical 
fatigue made his eyelids droop almost 
immediately. A mental breakthrough made them fly 
back open. 
"Oh my God..." he breathed aloud. He sat up and 
reached for the cell phone. But decided against 
calling her. He didn't want trouble her anymore 
than he already had. 
And he ended up laying awake all night. 
December 24, 2002, Christmas Eve  
Mrs. Doggett's house  
Savannah, Georgia  
8:30 AM Eastern Standard Time 
A morning person even when she was a small girl 
wearing knee socks and pigtails, Melanie woke up, 
blinking her eyes in confusion. Not completely 
understanding why her room was flooded with 
sunlight. Normally she was awake before the dawn. 
Then, groggily, she remembered the two little 
tablets she had choked down with a big glass of 
water. And then, oblivion. <<I must have needed 
the sleep badly>> she thought as she rose out of 
bed, still feeling the foggy after-effects of the 
drug-induced sleep. 
She reached for her robe and wrapped it around 
her body. Knotting the terry cloth belt with a 
jerk, she stepped out into the hallway. She could 
hear her brother in his old bedroom, talking to 
someone on the phone. <<Must have his cell 
phone>> she thought, poising her hand to knock on 
the door. 
But she froze when she heard what he was saying. 
"No I'm still here... that's alright, ma'am, 
wasn't the first time I've been left on hold. My 
name is Fox Mulder...uh-huh, Fox... just like the 
animal... M- U- L- D- E- R. Anyway... I'm callin' 
because I'm doin' some research... see... it's 
kinda personal and would prefer to speak to Dr. 
Kullervo in private... I understand... I know 
it's Christmas Eve and I'm sorry to be a bother 
ma'am but I'm only gonna be in Savannah for today 
and tomorrow and I'd rather speak to her today 
than tomorrow... no, it won't take long. Oh, I'd 
appreciate it so much... that's fine, I can get 
there by then. Thank you so much. Uh-huh.... 
yeah... okay, thanks. Bye." 
The door swung open. Melanie backed up just in 
time. 
Except for the traitorous blue sacs beneath his 
eyes, no one could have known that he had not 
slept a wink last night. And those smudges 
actually increased the solemn authoritive 
expression on his face. As did the jet black suit 
with the perfect creases, the crisp white dress 
shirt, the shiny black shoes and the FBI-approved 
boring tie. 
Melanie realized she was not looking at her 
little brother Johnny. 
This was Special Agent John Doggett. And he was 
on a mission. 
"Does this have to do with Parker?" Melanie asked 
breathlessly. 
"I'll talk to you 'bout it later," Doggett 
promised her brusquely. "I have to go now." He 
quickly squeezed her shoulder affectionately as 
he brushed past her. 
"Who's Fox Mulder?" she called after him. 
He turned his head, a devilish little grin 
lightening his somber face. "A friend," he said 
angelically as he went downstairs.
Later on that morning  
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital  
5353 Reynolds Street  
Savannah Georgia  
Outside of Dr. Kullervo's office  
9:45 AM Eastern Standard Time 
Doggett knocked on the door as he let himself. 
The receptionist, a plump middle-aged woman with 
a big, moon shaped face looked up at him. "May I 
help you sir?" she drawled in a sing-song voice. 
Her matronly goodness looked out of place seated 
behind the expensive Art Deco desk. Matching 
objects d'art were tastefully arranged in the 
small reception area outside of the doctor's 
office. Doggett strongly suspected that the 
furniture and the artwork he looked upon was 
worth more than his house, his truck and his life 
combined. 
"Yes'm," he said, smiling at her. "We spoke on 
the phone earlier this morning. My name is Fox 
Mulder. I'm here for Dr. Kullervo." 
"Oh yes!" she twittered, consulting the massive 
leather bound appointment book. "You're lucky I 
was able to squeeze you in," she winked at him 
while standing up. "Dr. Kullervo said to go ahead 
and let you wait in her office, if you were 
early." 
"Thank you," he mustered all the charm he could 
as he allowed the nice receptionist to lead him 
into the doctor's inner sanctuary. 
The office was more impressive than Kersh's 
office at the Bureau. The furniture was all 
upholstered in creamy white leather to match the 
walls and the soft thick carpeting. The doctor's 
desk was an exact duplicate of the one out in the 
waiting room, only bigger. Expensive but small 
pieces of modern art, elegantly framed in cedar 
and gilt trim. All the pricey Tiffany lamps 
matched the artwork perfectly. A as if the artist 
had consulted the coloring of each piece of 
stained glass before dipping his brush into the 
paints. Fresh flowers filled the vases. Doggett 
felt like the proverbial bull in the china shop. 
"Make yourself at home," the cheerful secretary 
chirped as she shut the door behind herself. 
Doggett roamed around the office, examining the 
artwork. "Hm," he murmured, staring intently at a 
blank space of wall next to one of the paintings. 
Observed that the paint didn't appear to be as 
faded as the rest of the wall. 
Putting his hands in his pockets, he meandered 
around to the beautiful desk, his sharp blue eyes 
taking careful inventory. 
His eyes flicked over to the long glass shelf 
behind the desk. Photographs, framed in silver, 
overpowered the table. "Hm," he said, bending 
over slightly to look at each one carefully. 
Most of them were photographs of what appeared to 
be friends and colleagues. Candid shots of 
Christmas parties and lavish charity balls. 
Several pictures of what he assumed was the same 
cat. Photographs documenting one feline's 
progress from cute fluffy little kitten to fat, 
haughty Persian. 
Doggett noticed a photograph that was almost, but 
not quite, hidden behind two other pictures, one 
being of cat and the other a group of women with 
big wild poufy hairdos mugging the camera while 
on vacation somewhere on a beach, sometime in the 
late Eighties when bad hair was okay. 
But Doggett didn't care about the fricking cat or 
the bevy of drunken women. He cared deeply about 
the small framed picture behind those 
photographs. 
"Gotcha," he breathed, a bitter smile on his 
lips. 
He burst out of the office minutes after that. 
"I'm sorry," he apologized effusively. 
"Something's come up, an emergency. A family 
emergency, I have to go. Tell Dr. Kullervo I'm 
sorry." 
Without waiting for a reply, Doggett was out the 
door.  

Later on that morning...  
Dr. and Mrs. Tiffleton's residence  
Some fancy suburb of Savannah...  
11:22 AM Eastern Standard Time 
"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD
!!!" 
Dr. Niles Tiffleton winced and rubbed his 
temples. He hated it when the kids weren't in 
school. "What?" he snapped, extremely irritated. 
All he wanted to do one his day off was lay on 
the couch, drink his coffee and watch "The Price 
Is Right." Was that REALLY so much to ask for??? 
He didn't think so. 
"THERE'S SOMEBODY HERE FOR YA! SAYS HE WANTS TO 
TALK TO YA!" 
He almost wished he would have gone into work 
today. 
Dead people are quiet people. 
Dr. Tiffleton put his cup down on the ugly coffee 
table that his wife picked out. With a sigh he 
got off the sofa. And walked into the hallway 
where he almost ran into his daughter, talking a 
mile a minute on her cell phone. "Stephanie?" 
"Omigod, Babs, like hold on a second, my dad 
wants me," she put the phone down. "Like, yeah? 
What?" 
"Go see who's at the door." 
"Why? Don't we have a maid or some junk to do 
that?" 
"It's her day off," Dr. Tiffleton said between 
gritted teeth. "Go see who's at the door. Now. 
And tell him to go away." 
"Like, okay, okay. Gawd," she rolled her heavily 
made up eyes as she walked towards the front 
door. "Yeah, like Dad's losing it, okay? He's 
making ME answer the door..." her voice drifted 
away. 
Too soon, she came back. Her face, or what skin 
on her face that was visible underneath all the 
makeup, was ashen. "It's a FBI agent," she said 
without any sass or attitude. "He wants to talk 
to you." 
FBI? What the hell? Although this agent had to be 
some sort of character to be able to scare his 
mouthy little spoiled bitch daughter to death. 
He liked this guy already. 
He ambled towards the door. His son, a tub of a 
child, was still staring at the tall man in the 
perfectly pressed suit, sporting a pair of Ray-
Ban wannabe sunglasses. "Dr. Tiffleton?" the 
stranger drawled politely. 
For one weird moment, Dr. Tiffleton thought he 
was in that one movie "Terminator 2, Judgment 
Day", facing down the evil shape shifting cyborg. 
However, when the stranger took off his 
sunglasses and reached inside his jacket to pull 
out his FBI identification, he knew his was in a 
worse predicament. 
T-1000 actually looked a lot friendlier than this 
guy. 
"Sir," the agent said coolly, "My name is Special 
Agent John Doggett. Could I have a word with 
you?" His icy eyes flicked down to the chubby, 
insolent boy. "Alone?" 
"Derick, go play your Sega upstairs, okay?" 
"Daaaa-ad, it's NOT Sega, it's a PlayStatio-" 
"Whatever. Go." 
Derick waddled off. 
"Yes, Agent Doggett," the doctor said calmly. 
"How can I help you?" 
"You can help me," Doggett smiled, a thin, cruel 
little smile. "By explainin' to me why you helped 
Dr. Kullervo get away with murder..." Doggett 
took a step closer and whispered "I would 
recommend leniency..." 
Tiffleton pressed his lips tightly together. "I 
see," he said haughtily. "Dr. Kullervo? A 
respected member of our community and a leader in 
the AIDS research field, a murderer?" He scoffed, 
"Nonsense, Special Agent. You must have made a 
mistake. Now, if you'll excuse me, it IS 
Christmas Eve and I get to spend precious little 
time with my family..." 
But Doggett didn't back off, although he did take 
a step back. "Nice house," he told the doctor as 
he looked up at the Tudor style brick home. "Nice 
cars too," he nodded his head, acknowledging cars 
he had parked the rental Ford Taurus behind. A 
cherry red 2001 Honda Civic and a 1999 silvery 
Mercedes-Benz. 
"I always had a thing 'bout cars," Doggett said 
fondly, appreciating the vehicles that he 
couldn't afford in this lifetime or the next. "My 
father owned an auto repair shop. I loved 
spendin' Saturdays there as a kid... watchin' him 
fix up cars, then him teachin' me how to fix up 
cars... the flashier the better. But my father 
always told me to buy American. And I have a 
Dodge Ram..." 
Tiffleton began to lose some of his fear and 
regain his irritation. He was missing "The Price 
is Right" dammit. 
"... but I dunno... somethin' 'bout a foreign 
car... they last longer, they don't seem to break 
down as much..." here Doggett produced a grin, 
"and they go faster, don't they? Betcha you got 
quite a few speedin' tickets with that Civic, 
huh?" 
"The Civic's my daughter's car," he said, a 
little defensive. "The Mercedes belongs to my 
wife." 
"So, what d'ya have?" 
"A Porsche." 
"No kiddin'? Man..." Doggett sounded envious. 
"I'm in the wrong field. I'd love to have a 
Porsche... probably could afford the car, but the 
insurance... I dunno... I'd have to find a way to 
get some extra money comin' in..." 
Then out of nowhere, Doggett innocently asked, 
"Isn't Oglethorpe Speedway Park near here?" As 
the blood drained out of the coroner's face, 
Doggett asked him, "So is that how you started 
backin' NASCAR races? To pay for these fancy 
cars? Or 'cause you live so close to the race 
track?" Doggett took another step closer. 
"Doesn't matter how it started Tiffleton 'cause 
what matters it that you're in the hole. Big 
time." When Tiffleton started to complain about 
invasion of privacy, Doggett informed him sweetly 
"Income is public domain. You can't hide your 
finances from the IRS... well... guess you 
could... but they really don't like it when you 
do." 
He took another step closer to the doctor. "Truth 
is, Dr. Tiffleton, this nice house, those nice 
cars, your bratty kids' nice education could be 
gone in a second 'cause you're $75,000 in the 
hole. And that's just your gamblin' problem. The 
total comes up to well over a hundred thousand 
when you figure in all the money you lost when 
the stock markets went to shit after September 
11." 
He went for the jugular now, "Or you were. Until 
your good friend Dr. Kullervo lent you just 
enough to get the creditors off you back and 
maintain your façade of wealth. And she didn't 
want you to pay her off in cash. Oh no... 
"... she wanted a favor. A BIG favor. Like 
falsifyin' an autopsy case file. Your intern was 
so kind as to forward that file to my partner, 
who just happens to be a medical doctor." 
"I'll go to prison," the coroner squeaked. 
"Probably," Doggett agreed. "But there's a 
difference between a few months in a country club 
prison for white collar crime and 25 years to 
life in a federal pen. Would you like to call 
your lawyer and discuss this with him?" Doggett 
asked sweetly. 
"I do need to speak to my lawyer," Tiffleton 
whispered. "But I will cooperate..." he hung his 
head. "You're talking about the Parker Davis 
case, aren't you?" 
"Yeah," Doggett glared at the top of the little 
man's head. "I am. Let's get your lawyer, as you 
are entitled to have, then take a trip down to 
the police station." 
Later on that day...  
St. Joseph's/Candler Hospital  
5353 Reynolds Street  
Savannah Georgia  
Outside of Dr. Kullervo's office  
1:30 PM Eastern Standard Time 
Dr. Loki Kullervo liked to walk. She always 
purposefully parked her car two, sometimes three 
blocks away from her destination so she could 
have a nice stroll before entering. 
Also, it kept the pesky pounds from creeping up 
on her. 
The day was going well. When she came to the 
hospital early in the morning, she discovered 
with pleasure that one of the pediatric AIDS 
patients was responding favorably to the latest 
treatment available. She then had a guest lecture 
at an AIDS awareness fund-raiser at the local 
library, which went extremely well. She had an 
unexpected appointment and an unexpected 
cancellation. Much as that irritated her, she had 
learned that in her profession, those kinds of 
things were to be expected. She had her 
receptionist file the name away in case he ever 
reappeared. <<Fox Mulder... I know I've heard 
that name SOMEWHERE...>> She dismissed the 
cancellee, focusing her energies on the work that 
needed to be done for the rest of the afternoon. 
She was planning on spending most of the day in 
the lab. 
Dr. Kullervo, known for her precision and her 
diligence, ruthlessly monitored every aspect of 
her life. From her spotless apartment, to her 
svelte figure, to her impeccable makeup, 
hairstyling and wardrobe, to her care of her 
patients and her research into the AIDS research, 
everything was at her command. 
As she crossed the street, picking an imaginary 
piece of fluff off of her deep brown suit jacket, 
she recalled the conversation she had with one of 
the senior doctors during their lunch meeting 
today. He had commended her on her continuing 
dedication in fighting the disease. Since he had 
known her for a few years now, he asked her, why, 
a person like herself, so consumed with order, 
would want to engage in such a messy, order less 
disease such as AIDS. 
"Because," she had said thoughtfully. "I want to 
control it. It is a monster that is bent on 
destruction. And I wish to kill the monster. And 
if I can't kill it, at least tame it and bend it 
to my will." 
And the other doctors had nodded. It made sense. 
That mentality had sustained Dr. Kullervo most of 
her adult life. 
Which was why she felt a surge of irritation when 
her receptionist met her halfway down the hallway 
before she even got to her office. 
"Dr. Kullervo," she blubbered, "I'm sorry, I 
couldn't stop them. They have a search 
warrant..." 
"A search warrant!" Dr. Kullervo exploded. "For 
what????" She handed her purse and briefcase to 
the hapless secretary and stormed into her 
domain. There was a flurry of action in the 
reception area and men in police uniforms and 
windbreakers that said 'FBI' in bright yellow 
letters going in and out of her office. Pulling 
drawers out and tipping them over, spilling paper 
all over. Taking her precious books off the wall, 
thumbing through them and then dropping them on 
the floor. "I demand to know what in the hell is 
going on here," she cried out in a fury. 
"Step out into the hall, doctor," a graveled 
voice said unpleasantly. "And I'll explain it to 
you." 
Startled, she looked for the source of the voice. 
Scared because it sounded familiar. 
She realized the voice's source came from a man 
leaning against the wall. She stared at him in 
confusion. He was the only one there in a suit 
and tie. His arms were crossed. He was staring at 
her like he knew her. She felt flutterings of 
fear, she didn't know this man... didn't know any 
tall men with light brown, almost blond hair. 
With ears that stuck out just slightly. With cold 
blue eyes surrounded by crow's feet. Cold blue 
eyes chilling her... 
... and then she recognized him. "JD..." she 
hissed. 
"Special Agent Doggett to you," he said, pushing 
himself off the wall and stalking towards her. 
Grabbing her by the arm, he said "Let's go 
Delilah," and escorted her out of the room. 
Alone in the hallway, Dr. Kullervo struggled to 
yank her arm out of Doggett's grip. "Get your 
hands off me." 
"Gladly," and Doggett let her go as if she some 
repulsive creature. 
She tossed her mahogany hair over her shoulder 
and assessed him as if he was an insignificant 
specium on a glass slide. "On top of harassment 
and invasion of privacy, I should also sue you 
for police brutality." 
"I'm a federal agent, not a cop," he reminded 
her. "Besides, once we're done with you, your 
word isn't going to mean shit." 
"What are you implying?" 
"I ain't implyin'. I'm flat out saying that you, 
in pre-meditated, cold-blood, killed one of you 
patients. Parker Davis." 
"Of course... Melanie... I should have known..." 
she hissed. "JD, hate to tell you, but your 
sister is delusional with grief. I tried 
recommending her to a grief-counselor but she was 
too proud. She rather run to her baby brother to 
assume the role of the great white knight once 
more," she sneered at him. 
"Do you think," Doggett asked her sweetly, "that 
maybe Melanie would have taken your advise if you 
had disclosed to her that not only you're Dex's 
baby sister, but that you've also been in and out 
of mental hospitals for most of your adult life?" 
"You white-trash motherfucker," she lashed out at 
him. 
Doggett was unimpressed. "Such language from a 
lady." 
She ignored his sally. "I don't know what you're 
trying to prove but rest assured my lawyers are 
going to have a field day nailing your ass to the 
wall." 
"Before you do, let me tell you a little story, 
if you don't mind," Doggett requested politely. 
"Most of it you already know, so if you could 
fill in the blanks, I'd 'preciate it." 
"I don't have time for this," Dr. Kullervo tried 
to walk away, but Doggett grabbed her again. 
"You'll make time for this, Delilah," he growled 
at her.
Dr. Kullervo folded her lips tightly and crossed 
her arms as Doggett began to talk. 
"Besides your weight, your glasses and everything 
else, 'nother thing Dex liked to harass you 'bout 
was your first name. Because your mother, to 
placate her battle-ax of a mother-in-law, named 
you "Loki" after her. But that didn't work with 
Grandma Lo, did it? Fact is, she still didn't 
like your mother and she really didn't like you 
much either. Not that it's much of a loss, your 
Grandma Lo wasn't that nice of a person. How 
could she be? With a verbally abusive hypocrite 
of a husband? Preachin' 'bout Thou Shalt Love Thy 
Brother... as long as he was white and wealthy 
and took the writings of the Apostle Paul 
literally. Especially the parts 'bout women bein' 
submissive to their husbands. Since Grandma Lo 
couldn't fight against her husband, she attacked 
weaker targets to vent her rage. Maybe that's 
where Dex learned how to be a bully... 
"... but sorry... I'm ramblin'," Doggett 
apologized as Dr. Kullervo folded her lips 
tightly together and clenched her fists as 
Doggett went on. "Although, I could never figure 
out where'n the hell 'Loki' came from anyway. It 
sure as hell ain't a Southern name..." 
"It's the name of a Norse god," Dr. Kullervo said 
tensely. "Grandma Lo's ancestors had Viking blood 
in them." 
"That's nice," Doggett said blandly. "Anyway, I 
remember Dex teasing you something fierce about 
your name when we were kids... 
"But you were dyin' to get away from it all. 
That's why you went to college up North 'stead of 
'round here. That's why you started tellin' 
people your name was Loki Gillroy 'stead of 
Delilah Gillroy. You wanted to get away from that 
fat bullied girl in Savannah as fast as you 
could. You had never had any say in your life 
'til then. Your mama and daddy pushed you around. 
The Preacher and Grandma Lo bossed you around. 
Dex bullied you to tears. You wanted to have 
total say over your life. That's why, 'gainst the 
family's wishes, you did your pre-Med and medical 
school in New York. That's why you married a 
Yankee named Tobin Kullervo. That's why you've 
been treated several times for bulimia." He eyed 
her slender body. She frowned back at him. "It 
was all 'bout control..." 
"... course, it doesn't help when you have a 
chemical imbalance that's beyond your control, 
does it?" 
"Hypocrite," she spat at him. "You joined the 
Marines when you were sixteen to get away from 
your father. Instead of going back to Georgia, 
you moved up to New York after bein' discharged. 
You married a Yankee too." 
"Been keepin' tabs on me Delilah?" Doggett asked 
lightly. She shut up. 
She wished he wouldn't stare at her as he spoke. 
His pale blue eyes unnerved her. She didn't like 
feeling so out of control. 
"Yeah... maybe I ran away from home too... but I 
didn't deliberately plot someone's death..." 
"You'll have to prove that," she said smugly, 
regaining control. Or so she thought. "All I see 
is a bunch of men in my office. Running around 
like trained monkeys. I'm sure they're really 
pleased you're interrupting their Christmas Eve." 
Doggett ignored her. "Last summer, you received a 
call from one of your colleagues. A Dr. Adam 
Kats. Hey Loki, he says, can ya see this guy? 
He's one of my regular patients, but he just 
tested positive for HIV but he's not sure how he 
could have gotten it. He says he's straight and 
is faithful to his wife. Wife says she's faithful 
to him. Plus she tested negative. He don't do 
drugs. Don't work in a medical facility where he 
could be in contact with tainted blood. The only 
possibility is a transfusion he received back in 
Seventy-Six, after a car accident. But that was 
over twenty-five years ago and the virus usually 
rears its ugly head after ten, fifteen years of 
hibernation. 
"You're interested. Of course you're interested. 
You've always liked studyin' and researchin'. 
That's another thing Dex made fun of you about. 
Bein' such a bookworm. 
"So he gives you the name of the patient. Parker 
Davis. That name rang a bell. 'Course it did. 
Parker was one of Dex and Cy's favorite targets. 
But was it the same Parker Davis? You realized it 
was when you saw the name of the spouse, Melanie 
Doggett Davis. 
"Still intrigued, you called for the lab work 
from the second HIV test to be sent directly to 
you. You also called the lab that processed the 
first blood test for the insurance company. And 
compared notes. The second blood draw was 
negative for HIV, but positive for hepatitis A. 
Upon further research, you figured out the first 
lab screwed up and sent the wrong results to the 
insurance company. Yeah, Parker Davis is HIV 
positive, but not THIS Parker Davis. I think 
these things are called 'twists of fate'? 
"Maybe you were lookin' at your reflection in the 
mirror while you were contemplatin' this, 
Delilah. Maybe you were lookin' at your now 
pimple-free skin after puttin' your contact 
lenses in. Maybe you were at the beauty parlor, 
gettin' your hair dyed that pretty dark color 
'stead of sportin' your natural dishwater blond 
hair. Maybe you were even at the mall, buying 
that pretty suit you've got on. I dunno what you 
were doing when you got the idea. After getting 
sick of watching you bounce in and out of the 
nuthouse plus binging and purging, your less than 
sympathetic husband divorced you. Prompting you 
to move back home. But you didn't take back your 
maiden name. Hell no. You don't even talk to 
what's left of your family. 
"Point I'm makin' is that you took a big chance 
that Park and Mel wouldn't recognize you when 
they came in for their consultation. If they did, 
well, so much for that... but if they didn't... 
if they didn't... 
"And they didn't, did they? Hell, I didn't even 
recognize you at first either. Did you get some 
plastic surgery done too? Your nose? Your tummy? 
Chest?" 
"You pig," she seethed. 
Doggett leaned against the wall, crossing his 
arms again, appraising her coolly. "Even though 
you don't look a thing like you did in high 
school, you took a few other preparations to 
ensure that the Davises wouldn't recall you. You 
took your diploma off the wall." 
"I never hung my diploma on the wall." 
"Then why is there a part of your wall discolored 
in the exact shape of a framed diploma? A framed 
diploma was found in your bottom drawer? A framed 
diploma that says 'Loki Delilah Gillroy'?" When 
she failed to retort, he went on. "And you put 
that photograph of you and Dex and Cy hanging out 
at Tybee Island behind some other pictures on 
that fancy table behind your desk. Couldn't bear 
to put that away, it meant too much to you. But 
your clients wouldn't be able to see it from 
where they would be sitting. 
"You could have been a hero the day that Parker 
and Melanie came to see you. You could have told 
them that it was all a big mix-up and Parker was 
fine. You would have been their angel. 
"But you liked your idea better... let'm suffer, 
right? Suffer. Hell. Let him die. Let the 
hepatitis A take over. Let his liver get swollen. 
Let his immune system really get impaired. Let 
him be denied treatment for an upper respiratory 
infection he couldn't fight off. Let Melanie cry 
for him over Christmas..." 
He looked at her in disgust. "You bitch," he said 
softly. 
Now the doctor smiled. An ugly smile on a face 
shaped into beauty by cosmetics and cosmetic 
alterations. "A frightening story indeed, good 
agent. But a story is all it will remain until 
you provide some incriminating evidence." She 
tilted her head, still smiling. "Is that the 
blank you wanted me to fill in? Give you the 
smoking gun? That would be a lovely Christmas 
present for you, wouldn't it? 
"It would pull you out of that basement office, 
wouldn't it?" Laughing at him now, she nodded. 
"Oh yes, Special Agent John Doggett, I've been 
keeping tabs on you. Not rigorously. But I pay 
attention whenever your name crops up. 
"And my, my, who DID you piss off at the Bureau 
to get demoted... literally?" The ugliness of her 
smile increased. "Hate to tell you JD, but in 
this world, it's true. Nice guys finish last. 
You'll never get to be where you want to be by 
being nice. And that's all you're doing here. 
You're just trying to be nice to Melanie. Cushion 
the blow that somehow, someway, her beloved 
Parker contracted AIDS." She spread her hands out 
wide. "I did what I could." 
"By tellin' everyone that he was allergic to 
antibiotics when he really wasn't?" Doggett asked 
her dryly. "By changin' records to show that 
Parker had B positive blood instead of B 
negative?" 
"Again," she said, shaking her head at him. As if 
she was a kindergarten teacher catching one of 
her students telling a whopper of a story to 
impress his little friends. "You have no proof to 
back up those allegations. You haven't told me 
anything that scares me yet." 
"How 'bout a blood profile?" 
"Where would you get a blood sample to study??" 
"How 'bout from Parker Davis's heart? During the 
autopsy my sister ordered? Yeah," he said smugly 
as he watched the color disappear from Dr. 
Kullervo's cheeks. "That's right. The intern that 
was unknowingly doin' Tiffleton's dirty work for 
'im that day most graciously gave my FBI partner 
a sample which she took back to Quantico to study 
herself. And she's far from... how'd you put 
it... a trained monkey?" 
When Kullervo opened her mouth to protest his 
partner's credentials, Doggett added, "And when I 
say 'Doctor' Starkweather, I mean Doctor 
Starkweather **MD** not, **Ph.D.** And oh yeah, 
speakin' of Tiffleton? He's with his lawyer and 
the DA, trying to cut a deal so he don't have to 
spend a minute longer in jail than he has to. 
Although his medical license is good as gone." 
Now he was the one with the ugly smile. He took a 
step closer to her. 
"Scared yet?" 
"He's lying!" Dr. Kullervo said, a tinge of 
desperation coloring her normally clinically-
cool-and-calm voice. "He... he's a gambler! He's 
lost a lot of money at the race tracks! And in 
the stock market! He... he tried... he making up 
this wild tale because I wouldn't give him any 
more money. I lent him a great deal of money so 
he could squeak by until Christmas. Didn't want 
to ruin things for his kids." 
"Maybe Tiffleton is lying," Doggett nodded his 
head. "But does a blood sample lie?" Tired of the 
games, Doggett said "Look, I don't care how you 
did it. We know you did it. It's only a matter of 
time before the cops and the feds find something 
here. And the guys here don't find something, 
maybe the guys tossin' your house will. 
"What I wanna know is WHY, Delilah? What... 
possessed you to... to be so Got-damned 
heartless? To watch a man die... fucking 
suffocate on his own bodily fluids, knowing you 
could save him but didn't? What the hell Parker 
Davis did to you that made you hate him, that 
much, that you could be as vindictive... 
"Or maybe," he dropped his voice to a whisper, 
taking another step towards her as she took more 
steps away. Her back was against the wall. She 
really did look scared now. "Maybe it was never 
Parker you hated... Maybe it was Melanie." 
"Melanie?" she laughed, a nervous hiccup of a 
laugh. 
"Sure. Makes sense. Makes perfect sense. 'Cause I 
remember another thing your sonuvabitch brother 
used to tease you 'bout was your crush on Cy. Oh, 
you had puppy love for him BAD, Delilah. Real 
bad. And Dex wasn't the only one who teased you. 
The entire school knew. I remember one time 
someone wrote a Valentine for you and signed it 
"Love Cy" and put it on your locker. And how Cy 
laughed in your face when you went to thank him. 
"But see, it also wasn't a secret that Cy had the 
hots for my sister. He used to beg me and Stevie 
to set him up with her. Neither Stevie nor I 
would. Neither one of would mostly 'cause we 
liked breathin' too much. Melanie would have 
killed us if we would have tried to fix her up 
with that dumbass. 
"But maybe, you didn't know that. You didn't know 
that Melanie that Cy was an ignorant rednecked 
fool. You didn't know that Melanie didn't like 
him 'cause Melanie was nice to everybody. Even to 
the people she hated with a passion. Maybe you 
blamed Melanie for Cy not wanting you because he 
wanted Melanie... 
"'Course now, he'd probably take you over 
Melanie, seein' how fine you grew up. Seein' that 
he's in jail for murder right now may make the 
whole dating thing difficult but once we bust 
your ass for killin' Parker, maybe we can get you 
an adjoining cel-" 
"I didn't do it because of Melanie!" she burst 
out.
"Oh really," Doggett said innocently. "Then why?" 
"I want my lawyer," she whispered, looking at the 
floor. 
He shrugged. "Go ahead," he said, reaching into 
his suit's pocket and drawing out his cell phone, 
holding it out for her. "Call your lawyer." 
She didn't take the phone though. "Are you wired, 
Special Agent Doggett?" she asked in a breathy 
voice. When he did not answer, she chuckled. 
"No... 'course not. That would be entrapment, 
wouldn't it? And I'm not under arrest yet, am I? 
And it's just you and me here... no witnesses?" 
She laughed. 
But her laugh sounded wrong. Seemed out of tune 
to Doggett. After years of investigations and 
interrogations, Doggett had an ear for madness 
like a piano tuner for pitch. <<Careful John 
careful>> he told himself as he rearranged his 
face to be poker-straight. <<She's startin' to 
get unglued...>> His eyes darted around quickly 
to make sure there were no sharp or blunt objects 
around that could do him grievous harm. He didn't 
like the fact she had taken a ballpoint pen out 
of her pocket and was clicking it over and over 
rapidly. She laughed again, shaking her head. 
"I heard about your son," she said with another 
diabolical cackle. "Seven years old and dead. And 
not even just 'dead'. Kidnapped and murdered. His 
little life snuffed out as he cried for his 
daddy, wondering why he didn't come save him..." 
Doggett fought hard to control the murderous rage 
brewing inside his heart and seeping through his 
bloodstream. 
"... He was just a little boy. A baby." She 
fluttered her eyelashes at Doggett. "You didn't 
even get to know him. See him grow up... 
"But... what I wonder... if what if that had 
never happened. If your son hadn't died. And grew 
up. Grew up with a limp wrist and talking with a 
lisp. Liking make-up and dresses instead of 
football? Would you still love your son with the 
reverence you hold for him right now? Special 
Agent John Doggett? Would you? I'm asking you a 
question, JD. If you son was-" 
"Yes," he interrupted her softly. "I would 
continue to love him. I wouldn't like it. But 
that wouldn't stop him from being my son." 
"Or so you say," she said archly. "Easy to be 
pious when the subject matter is dead, isn't it?" 
she spat at him. She went on as Doggett clenched 
his fists. "And speaking of dead, do you know how 
many fucking fags continue spread AIDS on a 
yearly basis??" 
"AIDS has been continued to be spread by straight 
men and women as well," he said quietly, 
beginning to see which way the wind was blowing. 
"Through unprotected sex, through shared needles 
and through mother-to-child in utero. But you're 
the expert, you should know this," he said, 
trying to remain calm and not act like the 
vigilante he wanted to be. 
He would love to just bypass the whole habeas 
corpus thing and choke her right here and now. 
"You have no idea," she seethed. "No idea how 
insidious this disease is. You think the way you 
lost your kid was painful? You have no idea what 
pain is until you take care of a peds AIDS case. 
Trying to explain to a little girl why you can't 
take the pain away. Why she's not going to get 
better and go home. 
"And then, the bastards spreading this shit, 
march in parades, flaunting rainbows and dressing 
in drag, demanding to have 'rights' and to be 
treated like everyone else. While we're left 
behind to take care of the kids dying of the 
disease THEY started." 
<<She believes that>> Doggett thought in 
disbelief. <<She's a medically trained doctor 
and... shit, I'm not a doctor and even **I** know 
better'n that...>>> 
**Child never was right in the head** 
"I hate this Got-damned disease, JD, you have no 
idea. You have no idea how many kids I get to see 
on a yearly basis die. Too many. Too damn many. 
You... poor you, you lost one kid. Big fucking 
deal. Every child that dies in that ward feels 
like one of my own. So far, this year, I've lost 
fifteen children. And each one cuts like a 
fucking razor because they didn't have to die. 
And with every kid that dies, I swear to myself 
that I will stop this damned disease or at least 
control it, in any way possible." 
She looked up at Doggett, smiling her ugly little 
smile again. 
The whir of the air conditioning kicking on 
filled the hallway but that's not why Doggett 
suddenly felt cold. 
<<Parker wasn't the only one. Parker wasn't the 
only patient this crazy bitch killed...>> 
Who was it who had said just recently "Don't piss 
off doctors, we know 10,000 different ways to 
kill someone and 20,000 ways to get away with 
it,"? 
With an inward sigh, he remembered who. 
Starkweather, of course. 
"Bet seein' Parker brought up some bad memories," 
Doggett drawled, hoping to squeeze more specific 
information from her. "Like deja vu maybe? Like 
when you saw 'em in the hospital... hearin' 'bout 
me and Mellie talkin' 'bout the accident?" 
She snorted. "The one time in my life that I 
thought I could do something right. The one time 
I thought I could do good. Do right by someone. I 
didn't do it 'cause I like Park or y'all. I did 
it to get back at Dex, finally..." 
"I got off from work and went straight home. Told 
Daddy everything. Daddy was fit to be tied. He 
was even more pissed when one of his underlings 
came to him with a report about a car accident 
Park Davis was in and that Jay Doggett's youngest 
son had been there too, but he can't figure out 
how or why that boy'd be there. He told my daddy 
that he thought you and Park were lying about the 
accident. How it really happened... 
"Well, it was an election year and Daddy couldn't 
risk any scandal. He could lose his job if the 
wrong guy gets elected wherever and he didn't 
want to piss anyone off. Or give the impression 
that his family was trash. So the next morning he 
woke Dex up and read him the riot act. Told him 
he had two choices. To either get out of his 
house and try and make it on his own. Or join the 
Army. Kind of an 'out of sight, out of mind.' Dex 
picked the Army." She abruptly stopped. 
"And then he was killed?" Doggett prodded her 
along. 
Her eyes narrowed. "I always wondered how you 
survived, but no Dex. Why Dex? Why not you? When 
we got word that Dex had died, Mama looked at me 
and told me if I would have kept my mouth shut 
about Dex and Cy causing that car accident, Dex 
wouldn't have died. She asked me why'n the hell 
was I protecting Parker Davis in the first 
place?" 
"But you weren't protecting Parker, you were 
protecting yourself. Only now, you blamed 
yourself," Doggett said. 
"I didn't blame myself one bit," she said a bit 
too quickly. "Dex can burn in hell for all I 
care. He was a mean son of a bitch. Know why he 
was so mean?" Her eyes twinkled madly. "Know what 
secret he carried to his grave? Why he lashed out 
at Park so much?" 
Doggett's mouth dropped open. "No fricking 
way..." 
**"You know, John, I didn't know that being a 
pimple-faced virgin made you a target."** 
**"It's not the pimple-faced virgin shit those 
dumb-asses came after ya for tonight. They're 
scared outta their asses that you're 
contagious."** 
Dr. Kullervo still had that hideous smile on her 
face. "That's right, JD. Dex didn't like girls."
"Think 'bout it JD," she taunted him. "He sure 
talked big 'bout women, teased y'all about your 
girlfriends. But did you ever EVER see him with a 
girl?" She answered for him. "No, of course not. 
He was confused about his sexual orientation. And 
to be homosexual would be a sin in our house. 
Sin? Ha. With my father and grandfather, it would 
be more like suicide. And Daddy and the Preacher 
always hinted that they thought Dex wasn't quite 
the man they thought he was. So when Daddy made 
his ultimatum, Dex thought it was his last chance 
to prove to him and himself that he didn't 'swing 
that way' if you know what I mean," she winked at 
him and giggled maliciously. 
"I just can't believe that Delilah," Doggett 
said, shaking his head. "I think you're full of 
it." 
"Why? Because Dex was big and strong? And liked 
football and cars? Trust me," she said 
laconically. "Queers come in all shapes and 
sizes. They aren't all like Parker Davis," she 
snorted. 
"Parker married my sister, Delilah. He loved 
her." 
"Then why, after almost twenty-five years of 
marriage, were there no children?" she challenged 
him. "After all, the rumor in high school was 
that Parker dated Melanie to hide what he really 
was..." 
"You are basing Parker's sexual orientation on... 
on..." he spluttered, not believing his own ears. 
"There were no children, because Melanie can't 
have 'em." 
She rose her eyebrows high. "You believe that?" 
she said softly. 
Before Doggett could argue, a voice heralded him. 
"Agent Doggett? Agent Doggett!" 
"Over here," Doggett called over his shoulder. 
"Found somethin' interestin'," a young police 
officer named Hunter Ceehaycee handed Doggett a 
dusty manila folder. It did not escape either the 
cop or the agent that Dr. Kullervo turned a shade 
whiter and her hand fluttered up to her throat. 
"What is it?" Doggett looked at the file the 
gloved cop held up for him. "Well... well... 
well... hm. 'Inheritance Labs'... that's the lab 
that processed the blood and urine for Parker and 
Melanie's insurance applications... Hmm... Parker 
Davis... social security number 371017132, date 
of birth, October 13, 1959... blood work, B 
positive..." he skimmed the blood profile. Even 
to an unschooled eye, it was fairly easy to 
interpret. "Says this guy is HIV positive... 
huh... but my brother-in-law's birthday is 
January 21, 1960." Officer Ceehaycee took the 
file back and flipped a page. Held it up for 
Doggett to read again. "And what do we have 
here... hm. Another blood profile. Completed by 
this hospital. And the birth date for this Parker 
Davis is, well, look at that... January 21, 1960. 
And the blood type says B negative. HIV negative. 
Imagine that." 
"That was planted," she said weakly. "I didn't 
kill anyone." 
"Uh-huh," Doggett said, completely fed up with 
her now. "Arrest her. Give me details later," he 
said wearily to Officer Ceehaycee. "I need to go 
home." 
With bittersweet satisfaction, he turned away and 
heard the click of handcuffs and the young cop 
droning out the doctor's rights. 
It was over. 
Almost. 
Much much much much much much later...  
Mrs. Doggett's house  
Savannah, Georgia... 
"Chris," Mrs. Doggett finally said, looking up at 
the clock. "Let's not hold up supper anymore. 
It's getting late. Could you set the table 
please?" With a heavy sigh, she began to slice up 
the vegetables for the salad. 
"I gotta go call Laura first," Chris rose from 
the kitchen table just as Doggett opened the 
kitchen door. 
"Where've you been, son?" Mrs. Doggett asked him 
coolly, as if he was a teenager again, breaking 
curfew. 
"Where's Melanie, Mama?" Doggett asked, exhausted 
now. Instead of going home like he wanted, he had 
been held up at the police station. Giving his 
statement. Showing the Savannah PD and the 
Georgian agents how he pieced it together that 
Parker Davis did not die of AIDS complications 
but due to a complicated, premeditated plan to 
kill him. He ached all over from stress, fatigue 
and out-and-out burnout. He didn't even want to 
eat, he just wanted to collapse. 
But he had to talk to Melanie first. Had to. 
Before Mrs. Doggett could reply, Stevie invaded 
the kitchen. He had heard the tail end of the 
conversation. "Where were you today? We coulda 
used your help around here," Stevie accused him. 
"I had work to do," Doggett said, trying to rein 
in the temper that had threatened to run rampant 
all day. 
"Work," he snorted. "Work my... yeah. Work, 
whatever. Well, 'bout time you graced us with 
your presence," Stevie thundered. "What ghost.. 
'scuse me, WORK have you been chasin' this time?" 
"Stevie-" Chris said timidly, but Doggett 
overlapped her. 
"Where's Mel, Steve?" 
"Damn it John, haven't you done enough? Just 
leave her alone! Stop tryin' to make it easier 
for her, that's not gonna help her-" 
"She's in the living room, John," Mrs. Doggett 
said quietly. 
"Aw Mama, not you too!" Stevie groaned as Doggett 
started to move towards the living room. Stevie 
grabbed Doggett's coat sleeve. "I swear to God, 
John, if you keep feedin' into Mel's delusions so 
help me, little brother, I'm gonna-" 
"Stevie, let go," Doggett shook him off and 
continued to walk towards the living room. 
Stevie reached out and grabbed Doggett by the 
collar. As if they were boys again, scuffling. 
But they were not boys and Stevie had forgotten 
which one was the stronger and taller one. 
Doggett fought his way out of Stevie's choke hold 
easily enough and pushed him away. "Steve, fuck 
off," Doggett bellowed as he stormed away, 
through the door, towards his sister. 
Stevie balled his hand into a fist and set off to 
go after him again, but to his surprise, and his 
mother, it was his shy baby sister who stopped 
him. 
"Stevie," Chris said in a trembling voice. "He 
just cussed in front of Mama. Leave him alone." 
Stevie opened his mouth but his mother 
interjected before he could speak. "Stevie, if 
you and your brother cannot get along, at least 
do me a favor and pretend to during what's left 
of my lifetime." 
Stevie opened and shut his mouth like a fish. 
Turned on his heel and left the house, slamming 
the door. 
Meanwhile, Doggett had found his sister on the 
sofa, pretending to read a magazine. "Mel?" he 
said softly. "Melanie, it's me..." 
She looked up at him. Her eyes welled up. He 
looked so tired. And sad. And yet... and yet... 
triumphant? No. Not the right word. Victorious? 
No. Not right either. 
Heroic. That was it. 
He walked over to her. Knelt in front of her. 
Took the magazine she was flipping through and 
clutched her hands. He could barely get the words 
out. 
"It's over Mellie. You were right. Park was 
murdered." 
She stared at him, not comprehending at first. 
Then a convulsive sob rippled through her entire 
body and she leaned over, clinging to him as her 
little brother held her tight. 
"We got her Mel," he whispered to her. "We got 
the bitch who killed him and she's in jail now, 
Mellie. It's over, sweetheart, it's all over 
now..." 
Melanie just buried her head into John's shoulder 
and cried hard. From the doorway, Mrs. Doggett 
and Chris watched silently as tears poured down 
Chris' face. Mrs. Doggett eventually lowered her 
head and left the room.  

December 25, 2001, Christmas Day  
Deputy Mayor Fox Mulder's apartment  
Arlington, Virginia  
7:25 AM Eastern Standard Time 
Starkweather pounded on Door Number 42 again. 
When that elicited no response, she muttered, 
"Dammit, we're going to be late," and pounded on 
the door again. "Mulder if you stayed over at 
Scully's and didn't tell me, I'm gonna fuckin-" 
The door opened wide. 
He had a bit of stubble and his hair was still 
damp to from his shower, but to Starkweather's 
relief, he was more or less correctly dressed, in 
a dark green V-necked sweater with a gray t-shirt 
underneath, dark blue jeans and brown hiking 
boots. 
Hell, the fact he was awake made her heart sing. 
"Joy to the world," Mulder droned. "All the boys 
and girls..." 
"Die." 
"Gee, wonder who got a lump of coal for Christmas 
this year?" Mulder moved aside so she could come 
inside. "I've got a couple of things I need to 
take care of before we can go," he told her, 
ushering her inside his unkempt apartment. He 
went to feed his fish as Starkweather peeled off 
her black leather gloves and unzipped her heavy 
winter coat, showing off the startling feminine 
sweater she wore. Angora. Turtle necked. Pearly 
pink. Mulder deduced that her stepmother, a 
wealthy Senator, must have given it to her. "Make 
yourself at home." he told her as he walked over 
to the coffee table. 
"I need a vat of Pine Sol and a stun gun to knock 
out the dust bunnies before I can do that," 
Starkweather said with a shudder of disgust at 
Mulder's filthy ways. She took off her ridiculous 
stocking cap. Smoothing her hair, she watched 
Mulder take the few brightly wrapped packages 
from underneath the sad little one foot tall 
Christmas tree on his coffee table and put them 
in a laundry basket. With a wicked little grin on 
her heart-shaped face, she mercilessly imitated 
her brother's monotone. "Which one's mine?" 
"None," he responded, looking up with a grin. 
"But I got your cat something." 
"You bought Caesar something?" she said 
skeptically. "What?" 
"Cat nip seasoned with rat poisoning," Mulder 
said, lifting the laundry basket. "Hope he likes 
it." 
"I'm sure he'll like it as much as William will 
like the talking Barney the Dinosaur doll I 
bought him," Starkweather retorted sweetly, 
opening the door for him. 
"You did not." 
"Joy to the world, the Lord is come, let earth 
receive her King," Starkweather said in her 
beautiful lilting voice as she held the door open 
for her brother. 

Starkweather kindly held open all the doors as 
Mulder maneuvered through the halls, into the 
elevator and out the front door of his apartment 
building towards Starkweather's car. 
Once the gifts were safely settled in the trunk 
and the passengers traveling down the slippery 
roads, Mulder a moment of manners. "Thanks for 
comin' to get me," he said to the driver. 
"Well, it's not like you live all that far from 
me." 
"And just think, in a few days, you'll be living 
even closer to me." 
Starkweather was moving out of the DC apartment 
she had shared a few short months with her 
husband to a small studio in a restored Victorian 
house in Arlington four blocks away from Mulder. 
"Good. I'll wake you up at oh-five-hundred hours 
to go for a run." 
"I'll break your legs if you do." He pulled out a 
bag of David's Sunflower Seeds from his coat 
pocket and opened it. 
"Oh come on tubby," she leaned over and poked him 
in his belly. "Like it would kill you to run." 
He slapped her hand away. "Maybe I'm not so fast 
anymore," Mulder grumbled, sensitive about the 
"office gut" he was developing due to too much 
politics and not enough X-Files. "But I can still 
kick your ass." 
"Probably, but you would have to catch me first. 
And I can still outrun you, pork chop." 
"Bitch," Mulder grumbled as he leaned over to 
fiddle with the radio. 
"What are you doing?" 
"Trying to find a station so I can turn it up 
really really loud and drown it out." 
"Radio's broken. You can only get AM stations." 
"Your point?" Mulder asked as he turned up the 
volume. 
"...says other lay-offs could be possible," the 
dull radioesed baritone droned out of 
Starkweather's radio speakers. "In Savannah, 
Georgia today... more evidence reveals that the 
new 'Doctor Death' may have killed others in her 
care... Prominent AIDS researcher... Dr. Loki 
Kullervo has been charged in the deaths of three 
more of her patients. Based on evidence 
discovered by Savannah police this morning... 
allegedly Dr. Kullervo purposely denied certain 
patients critical medical treatments due to their 
sexual orientation, says Officer Hunter Ceehaycee 
of the Savannah Police Department..." 
Mercifully, the announcer's boring voice went 
away as the sound bite of the arresting officer 
came on. 
"Apparently she has a deep prejudice against the 
homosexual community and was using her knowledge 
of HIV and AIDS to kill them instead of help 
them. But she was clever. If it hadn't been for 
Agent Doggett, we would have never caught o-" 
"WHAT??" Mulder nearly choked on a sunflower 
seed. 
"Shut up!" Starkweather yelped. "Turn it up!" 
"Is it OUR Doggett though?" Mulder asked. 
"How many Special Agent Doggetts in Savannah can 
there be??" 
"Well, with inbreeding and all..." 
"Mulder, shut the fuck up!"  
 
Mr. Boring was back announcing the rest of the 
story. "... Special Agent John Doggett declined 
to comment... 
"Figures," Starkweather and Mulder groused in 
unison. 
"... However Attorney Catherine Queens says that 
justice will be swift and severe while Dr. 
Kullervo's attorney, Lester Nelson says his 
client needs treatment, not punishment..." 
A sniveling weasel-y voice took the place of Mr. 
Boring. 
"Dr. Kullervo has been suffering undue strain 
because of the enormous responsibility she 
shoulders. Her mind is not where it should be-" 
"Most minds should not be up in asses," Mulder 
snarled. 
"-however I am confident that the court will give 
proper closure to this case by giving this 
brilliant yet sadly troubled woman the help she 
is desperately crying out for." 
"Barf," Starkweather blurted out. "Barf, gag, 
puke, vomit... ack." 
The lawyer's voice was replaced by the boring 
announcer again. "The Georgia Bureau of 
Investigation says that they anticipate more 
victims to be discovered... in local news-" 
Mulder switched off the radio. "I'll be damned." 
"Yeah..." Starkweather said thoughtfully. "I'll 
be damned." 
A moment of silence. 
"Poor guy," Mulder said simply. 
His sister echoed him faintly. "Yeah... poor 
guy." 
Mulder reached over and clumsily, affectionately 
patted her shoulder. Starkweather looked up at 
him briefly, grinned, then put her attention back 
to the road. 

Later on that day  
Mrs. Doggett's house  
Savannah, Georgia  
3:15 PM Eastern Standard Time 
His boyhood home always seemed so big to Doggett. 
Until all the relatives came over. 
Aunts, uncles, cousins, second-cousins, second-
cousins-once-removed, great aunts and great 
uncles all dominated the house, up and down 
stairs. Women gossiped in the kitchen, Men 
lounged around the living room, watching 
football. Kids were everywhere. 
The house was definitely over it's maximum 
occupancy limit. 
Doggett felt like he was on a see-saw all day. 
His emotions teeter-tottered up and down between 
depressed isolation and nervous claustrophobia. 
Some of his cousins had crowded him, pushing him 
for details of Parker's murder, clapping him on 
the back, calling him a hero. Some of the other 
cousins avoided him as if he was Parker's 
murderer. All of his uncles tried to coax him 
into the manly after-Christmas-dinner tradition 
of drinking beer, smoking cigars and playing 
cards. Some of the older aunts tried to fuss over 
him, mother him and smother him. Some of the 
other old aunts were shooing the children away 
from him, mistakenly thinking the sight of kids 
would arouse memories of his lost little boy. 
The last one made him almost want to laugh. The 
blue sky evoked memories of his son. Try and hide 
that. 
As far as his immediate family, they were 
cocooned by relatives as while. Which was a good 
thing for Stevie and Doggett. As if the relations 
could smell the animosity burning in the air, the 
brothers were kept separated. Coincidence or not, 
Doggett wasn't sure. But didn't care. Because of 
the swarm of family buzzing around the both of 
them, Doggett didn't have to deal with Stevie. 
And that was just fine with him. 
But the same swarm also separated him from his 
mother and sisters and that wasn't so fine with 
him. But his mother was busy in the kitchen, 
Melanie busy being freshly comforted by the 
awestruck aunts and cousins, leaving Chris to try 
and protect the house from the horde of children 
on a sugar-high and Christmas-toy-rush. 
He managed to escape his extended family long 
enough to go upstairs to the bathroom. After 
nature's called had been answered, he washed and 
dried his hands and just as he turned off the 
lights, he heard childish bickering in the room 
next door. 
"Is not!" 
"Is too!" 
"Ow! That's mine! Let go!" 
"I just wanna see!" 
"No!" Then the sound of a little girl sobbing. 
Doggett had opened the door just in time to see a 
boy enough to know better trying to beat feet 
down the hall, carrying a great big blue fuzzy... 
thing. Doggett stepped out in front of him. 
"Whose doll is that Theo?" he asked, knowing damn 
well who the stuffed... thing's rightful owner 
was. 
Theo looked down at his expensive Nikes shoes and 
muttered "Laura's." 
"Didja ask her nicely if you could see that?" 
"Yeah," Theo said defensively. 
"Theo..." 
"Okay, okay." 
"Go give it back." 
"Fine," Theo muttered. He stomped off and Doggett 
could hear the boy snap "Here's your damn monster 
back," and stomp back out of the room where Laura 
had been playing. 
Before Theo could storm downstairs, Doggett 
grabbed his shoulder. "Watch your mouth, else 
I'll be havin' words with your Mama," he used 
that infamous tone of voice to make sure the boy 
knew there was going to be no tolerance for his 
bratty behavior. 
"Okay, fine." 
"I mean it," Doggett let him go. But he called 
after him, "And you shouldn't hit little girls 
either, Theo." 
"I di-" Theo started to protest, then gave up. 
As Theo sulkily went back down stairs, Doggett 
went to check on Laura. 
Laura was sitting on the edge of Chris' old bed, 
smoothing down the fake blue fur of the creature 
Doggett gave her for Christmas. Politely ignoring 
the tear streaks down her pink cheeks, he sat 
down and said "I don't think he'll be bothering 
you anymore, baby." 
Laura looked up at him. "Didja yell at him?" 
"I always yell at bullies," Doggett said with a 
faint smile. 
Always had. Always will. 
"Someday, I'm gonna kick his butt by myself," 
Laura said hotly. "I'm gonna ask Mama if I can 
take karate lessons or-or-or boxing or wrestlin' 
or somethin' instead of dumb ballet lessons next 
year." She hugged her toy closer to her. "Or 
maybe I can do both... Uncle John?" 
"What sweetheart?" 
"Do I have to go to Uncle Parker's funeral?" 
Oh boy. From boxing and ballet lessons straight 
to life-and-death questions. No neat segues. 
"Well, I think that's something you need to ask 
your Mama and Daddy, Laura." 
"But maybe if you told them I didn't wanna go," 
she looked up at him hopefully. 
"Honey, why don't you wanna tell them yourself?" 
"'Cause," her eyes dropped guiltily down. 
"'Cause why baby?" 
"'Cause... I'm scared," she admitted. 
"About what?" 
"Ghosts," she whispered. "I'm scared of seein' 
Uncle Park's ghost." 
Doggett opened his mouth to tell her there was no 
such thing as ghosts. Then closed it. Thought for 
a minute. Then, slowly said, "Can I ask ya 
something honey?" 
"Okay..." 
"Did Uncle Parker ever do anything to hurt you or 
scare you when he was still with us?" 
"No..." 
"Then why would his ghost do anything to hurt you 
or scare you?" 
"I don't know... I just thought ghosts were bad." 
"But Uncle Park wasn't a bad person, baby, so I 
don't think his ghost would be bad either." <<I 
can't believe I'm havin' this conversation>> 
Doggett stifled a sigh. Reyes or Mulder have done 
a better job explaining the mysteries of the 
afterlife. 
"So... is a ghost kinda like a soul then?" 
That worked. "Kinda." While Laura pondered this, 
Doggett asked her, "Besides honey, if you're not 
scared of monsters, why would you be scared of 
ghosts?" 
Her round little face produced a big smile. "Oh 
Uncle John," she chided him. "I'm not scared of 
monsters 'cause there's no such thing as 
monsters." 
"Oh..." Doggett kept his face perfectly straight. 
"Speakin' of monsters do you like...uh... what I 
gave ya?" He reached out to pat the big blue 
cuddly plush toy from the Disney movie "Monsters 
Inc." 
"Oh yes!" Laura hugged Sulley closer to her. 
"It's my favoritest Christmas present." Then she 
whispered. "But don't tell Mama 'cause I don't 
wanna hurt her feelings." 
"It will be our secret," Doggett said solemnly. 
"Promise?" 
"Promise." 
She spit in her hand and held it out to him. "To 
make sure," she said as he grimaced. 
Reluctantly, he followed suit and they shook 
hands. As Doggett wiped his palm on his jeans, 
Laura wiped hers on the bedspread. "Can you set 
up the DVD player in Grandpa's office so we can 
watch a movie?" 
"Sure," he said, getting up. "Let's go, kiddo." 
Laura slid off the bed, clutching Sulley with one 
hand and her uncle's hand with her other. 
Later that night... 
As the dishwasher began to whir, the last guest 
finally left the house. "Chris, don't worry 'bout 
the clean-up," Mrs. Doggett said, swallowing a 
yawn. "We can do that in the morning before the 
funeral." 
"It's okay Mama," Chris said. "I don't mind." 
"Me neither," Doggett said softly as he entered 
the kitchen. "Go up to bed, Mama. Please." 
Mrs. Doggett looked at her two youngest children 
and shook her head with a half-smile. "Guess I'm 
outnumbered," she said, drying her soapy hands 
with a pink dishtowel. Relinquishing the dishes 
to her daughter, she said, "Good night." 
Brother and sister murmured good night as Mrs. 
Doggett went upstairs. 
As Chris scrubbed the pans that wouldn't fit in 
the dishwasher, Doggett said, "I'm gonna go 
straighten up the livin' room... unless there's 
something you need done in here?" 
She shook her head. "I've got the kitchen under 
control. It's the rest of the house that's 
scary." 
"I've seen scarier," Doggett said dryly. "Trust 
me." 
"Thank you for dealing with Theo today," Chris 
said softly before Doggett left. "And for talking 
to her about Park." 
"Been eavesdroppin' again?" 
She squirmed. When they were much younger, 
Stevie, John and Melanie had always ganged up on 
Chris for listening in on conversations that had 
nothing to do with her. "Well... kinda... but 
thank you." Then she grinned. "Even though I'm 
going to cry all night now because she likes your 
Christmas present better'n mine." 
Doggett grinned back at her and left to repair 
the wreckage left behind the Mistletoe Monsoon. 
As he picked up scraps of wrapping paper, golden 
bows and strands of tinsel off the floor, he 
discovered Melanie seated at the couch. 
"How can you see in here?" he asked her. 
"It's peaceful here," she said. "In the dark." 
She patted the couch cushion next to her. "Come 
sit with me." 
Doggett put the tattered remains of silver bows 
and red and white tissue paper and put them on a 
pile on an in-table next to an overstuffed chair. 
He walked over to the couch and as sat down by 
her, Melanie asked "Where's Mama?" 
"Told her to go to bed. Chris is pickin' up the 
kitchen... don't know where Stevie ran off 
too..." <<and I don't care>> Doggett added to 
himself bitterly. "What 'bout you? How come 
you're still up? I thought you would have crashed 
a long time ago." 
"I could say the same for you," she said lightly. 
"Ah, I'll be okay," Doggett lied. "Whatta 'bout 
you? How are you doin'?" His face was crinkled 
with concern. 
Melanie shifted a little, turned to look out the 
window. "I'm fine," she said softly. She frowned, 
thinking about her answer. "I'll be fine. It's 
still... I mean..." she shook her head. "I just 
KNEW I was right... but still, to hear the 
truth... but... at least... I know." 
Doggett felt a slight surge of unreasonable 
jealousy. Before the surge could cause a short 
circuit, Melanie added in an even softer voice, 
"And I can't imagine what you must feel what 
happened with your son. After what you did for me 
and Parker... I wish... I wish I knew... the 
right way to..." Melanie folded her lips, 
struggling for the right words. 
"You can't," Doggett said quietly. "I wouldn't 
let you." 
Melanie closed her eyes. Doggett was afraid she 
was going to burst into tears again. Although her 
voice cracked a little, she did not weep. "You 
are so Got-damned stubborn," she croaked out. 
"Runs in the family," he replied, taking her 
hand. "You know," he scolded her gently. "You 
scared the shit outta me. When we all still 
thought that Park had AIDS. We thought... I 
thought... that you coulda had been HIV positive 
too." 
"Oh," she reddened a bit. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I 
didn't even think. I was so wrapped up with 
Parker, I didn't even think to tell anyone that I 
was okay." She gripped his hand tighter. "And I'm 
going to be okay. I think tomorrow is going to be 
the worse part. When I actually have to say 
goodbye." 
"I hate funerals," Doggett said bluntly. 
That's why Luke's ashes were still on a shelf in 
his closet. 
Melanie stayed silent after his last remark. She 
waited for Doggett to break the silence. 
"Mellie, you've got to be prepared for the damn 
media tomorrow." 
"Why?" 
"There are gonna be photographers and TV crews. 
All whoring for a shot of the widow payin' her 
last respects to the first known victim of Doctor 
Death." He shuddered at the new nickname Delilah 
had earned for herself. "It's gonna be ugly 
Mellie. And there's not a damned thing I can do 
'bout it. They're gonna be on this like stink on 
shit." 
Melanie made a tut-tut-tutting noise with her 
tongue. "Now where did you learn how to cuss like 
that, John Jay Doggett?" 
"New York," he said oh-so-innocently. 
"Damn Yankees," she giggled a little. "And 
speakin' of Yankees..." She got up and crossed 
over to the Christmas, so forlorn now without the 
massive piles of Christmas presents surrounding 
it. She got on her hands and knees and reached 
behind the plastic tree trunk. Smoothing her long 
denim skirt out, she stood up, holding a small 
box, wrapped in cheap red and green wrapping 
paper. "I got your partner something. I wanted to 
get it to you to give to her before I forgot." 
She sat down on the couch again. "I hope she 
likes it. I kind of had to go off on a wing and a 
prayer for her. Wasn't exactly sure what kind of 
things she likes." 
She handed him the gift. Doggett smiled, holding 
the package carefully, as if it contained 
frankincense, gold and myrrh. "That was nice of 
you, Mel. And she'll like it." He added, "Else 
I'll kick her ass." 
"I would," Melanie drawled, "put my money on her 
rather you." 
"I'm bigger'n her though," Doggett whined in a 
wounded voice. 
"She'd play dirty though." 
"Yeah, she'd kick me below the belt and run." 
"No," Melanie said. "She'd tell you how much she 
cares 'bout you and you'd just melt away." 
Confident that her little brother's ears were 
bright pink, she stood up and said. "I need to 
get to bed. And don't worry so much 'bout me, 
Johnny," she smoothed his hair. "I'm going to be 
fine. And I'm not scared 'bout the media. Let 'em 
come. Let 'em show Savannah what Delilah did to 
me and my family," she said bravely. Her smile 
trembled. "Thank you for believing me, Johnny," 
she told him. "You were the only one. I was so 
afraid you wouldn't. That you would be like 
everyone else." 
"I was afraid I wouldn't believe you either, 
sis," Doggett admitted. "But... I just knew... no 
matter how much my common sense disputed it... I 
just knew..." 
"Knew what?" 
"That the truth was out there." 
Melanie leaned over and hugged him. "Merry 
Christmas, Johnny," she whispered fiercely. 
Doggett kissed her cheek and hugged her back just 
as tightly. "Merry Christmas sis." 
December 26, 2002  
Bonaventure Cemetery  
330 Bonaventure Road  
Savannah Georgia  
11:23 AM Eastern Standard Time 
Doggett never read the book, but he saw the movie 
and in his opinion, the only thing "Midnight in 
the Garden of Good and Evil" got right was the 
cemetery. Centennial oak trees, timeless Spanish 
moss and quirky headstones here and there. Johnny 
Mercer and Conrad Aiken. And the gracious 
Stranger's Tomb. The infamous "Bird Girl" statue, 
harassed by hordes of tourists, clutching their 
paperbacks with her image embossed on the cover, 
was now absent. Protected by glass walls, 
fluorescent lights and rent-a-cop security guards 
at a museum. 
Doggett sat perfectly still, as if the metal 
fold-out chairs were the most comfortable things 
in the world to be sitting on. He pretended to be 
listening to the minister reading Psalm 23 while 
staring straight ahead at the polished oak 
casket. The box carrying Parker Davis' remains 
were awash with the flowers of the South. 
Jasmine. Magnolia. Amaryllis. Hydrangeas and day 
lilies. 
Mr. and Mrs. Davis sat in the first two seats. 
Mrs. Davis, in a God-awful black straw hat, kept 
her face buried in a white handkerchief as her 
husband held his arm stiffly over her shoulders. 
His face, a mix of horror, grief and disbelief. 
Doggett emphasized with the man completely. 
A parent is never supposed to outlive the child, 
no matter how old the child may be.  
 
Next to Mrs. Davis, sat Melanie. Her short brown 
hair had been lightly ruffled by the morning's 
breeze. In one hand, she clutched the impromptu 
bouquet of flowers someone well-meaning plucked 
off the coffin and gave to her. In her other 
hand, she clutched her brother's hand. He gently 
squeezed it as the minister continued to read and 
she turned her head to smile at him. 
On the other side of Doggett was his mother. Who, 
as if they were still rotten children prone to 
misbehaving in church, sat between him and his 
brother. Stevie, in a cheap suit he bought back 
in the early Eighties, stared at the ground. Mrs. 
Doggett kept her head facing the minister, but 
her sharp aquamarine eyes kept flicking back and 
forth between her two sons. 
Doggett heard a sniffle behind him. Chris and 
Mike were sitting behind them. Laura was sitting 
in between her parents, in a grown-up dress, 
trying not to cry. Doggett heard his other sister 
whisper to her, "Baby, it's okay to feel sad. 
That's why we're here. We're all sad about what 
happened to Uncle Park." 
Then Doggett heard the sniffle turn into full-
force little-girl sobbing and the whisper of 
fabric moving as Chris put her arms around her 
daughter. 
With the exception of Park's sister Melinda, aka 
"His" Mel, Doggett really didn't know anyone else 
at the funeral. 
The media had indeed surrounded the church but by 
some tactic understanding, mercifully did not 
follow the family and friends into Bonaventure 
Cemetery. 
"Yay, though I walk in the valley of the Shadow 
of Death 
I fear no evil; for You are at my side..." 
Perhaps the spirits of the dearly departed from 
long ago kept them at bay. 
The minister closed his Bible and said the trite, 
useless remarks expected at funerals. The 
minister's words went in Doggett's ear and out 
the other. 
"... and before we lay our beloved Parker Davis 
to his final rest, as requested, one final 
song..." 
Doggett cringed. He didn't think he could handle 
one more badly sung hymn. Behind him, Laura 
continued to whimper. 
The minister nodded at one of Parker's relations. 
He turned on the little boom box he brought with 
him and turned the volume up. 
Melanie bowed her head when her wedding song 
began to play. Only then did she start to cry 
softly. Doggett put his arms around her and 
rocked her slightly. She dropped her makeshift 
bouquet to the ground, never to be picked up 
again. Later, it would be crushed under the feet 
of the men who would commit Parker to the earth. 
"The sun and moon every day  
Day and night mark my play  
See the future in the past  
Try to change or make it last  
Go for broke don't regret  
Get your hands dirty get you feet wet  
Take your place use me well  
I'm in your hands so make me tell  
A broken dream seems unkind  
But I can help for I am time 
I can heal you  
It's not a matter of slight  
Only of sound  
Let me... feel for you  
Feel for yourself  
The love all around  
I can... lead you  
Is you soul afraid  
Of what you've made  
Do you know the way  
the spirit goes 
All around on the wind  
Distant whispers of what I bring  
In the day in the night  
Locked in the words of lovers delight  
If I'm lost or mislaid  
Just keep looking don't be afraid  
In the eye on the mind  
I'm everything and yours to find  
I'm not far just discover  
I'm in you for I am love 
I can heal you  
It's not a matter of slight  
Only of sound  
Let me... feel for you  
Feel for yourself  
The love all around  
I can... lead you  
Is you soul afraid  
Of what you've made  
Do you know the way  
the spirit goes..." 
Later... 
Melanie stood at the coffin, arms crossed 
tightly. Doggett stayed seated in his chair, 
watching his sister. There almost no one left. 
"Melanie?" 
Doggett and Melanie turned their heads to look at 
their mother. Stevie stood by her side like an 
angry underpaid bodyguard. 
"Yes Mama?" Melanie replied, turning to look at 
the coffin again. 
"It's time," Mrs. Doggett said firmly yet gently. 
Melanie nodded. Inhaled. Closed her eyes. Reached 
out to touch the casket one last time. Feeling 
the polished wood and the prickly greenery 
surrounding the flowers. She bent over and 
whispered something that only Parker would be 
able to hear. Then she straightened herself up 
and walked over to her mother and other brother. 
"Are you gonna ride with us, Mama?" Melanie asked 
as she took another Kleenex out of her purse to 
dab her eyes. 
Doggett got off his chair and joined his family. 
"No," Mrs. Doggett told her. "I'm going to ride 
with John." When Stevie frowned, Mrs. Doggett, 
tiny, frail and gray-haired, glared at her oldest 
child and snapped "You take care of your sister 
now." 
"Yes'm," Stevie said sullenly as he took Melanie 
by the arm. Melanie politely shrugged him off, 
but walked with him to the waiting funeral limo. 
She knew damn well her mother wanted to have a 
private word with John and this was probably 
going to be the only opportunity for her to do 
so. 
Mother and son stood, surrounded by statues of 
beautiful marble women leaning on crosses, tall 
shady trees and uncomfortable silence. 
"Walk with me for a bit," Mrs. Doggett said. 
Doggett grinned. It wasn't a request. "Now what 
did I do?" he quipped, walking closer to her. He 
crooked his arm and felt his mother's hand 
gripping the crook of his elbow. He was surprised 
that she actually needed his support walking. He 
always thought of her as invincible. 
Well, her body may be weakening, but not her 
mind. 
"First of all, I should wash your mouth out with 
soap for using such filthy language in my house." 
"Knew that I wasn't going last long about that 
one," Doggett sighed. 
"And I'm proud of you," she added quietly. 
Doggett looked down at her, completely surprised 
at the sentiment. 
As Doggett wrestled within himself for the right 
response, his mother stumbled a little on a stone 
she did not see. "Careful, Mama," Doggett said as 
he steadied her. 
"I'm fine," she assured him. "It's you I worry 
about." 
<<Here we go>> Doggett thought dismally. "Don't. 
I'm fine." 
"I'm your mother," she reminded him primly. "It's 
in the job description." 
"Mama, please," he groaned. "Don't worry over me. 
Okay? It's Melanie who needs it. I'm okay." 
"Worryin' is like lovin'. It can multiply so that 
there is plenty to go around," Mrs. Doggett 
replied. "I'll have plenty of concern and care to 
give to Melanie and still have enough to give to 
you and Chris and Stevie." With an aggravated 
sigh, she added. "John, you're a grown man, I'm 
not telling you how to run your life. I just 
worry. I think the last few years have really 
taken a lot of the spirit out of you and I just 
hate to see that." 
"Work takes a lot outta me right now," Doggett 
admitted. "I'm... I'm just really tired, Mama." 
"You should go home," she said, nodding her head. 
"Yeah, we're almost to the car." 
"No," she said quietly. "I mean you should go 
home to Washington. Tonight." 
"You don't want me here anymore?" Doggett asked, 
subdued. 
Hearing the hurt in his voice, she rushed to 
placate him. "I would love it if you came back to 
Savannah... I would love if even if you came back 
to Atlanta or Macon or... but... **I** would love 
it. And Melanie and Chris would love it." She 
tactfully did not mention Stevie. She said 
instead: "You wouldn't. You would not be happy 
livin' here. Your life is in DC with your job and 
your friends... I met that lady you work with. 
Miss Starkweather?" 
"It's Mrs. Starkweather," Doggett flatly 
corrected her. 
"Mrs. Starkweather," Mrs. Doggett corrected 
herself. "Little thing like her? An FBI agent? 
Just like you?" 
"Uh-huh," Doggett nodded his head, "She may be 
little… but she kicks a— she's a fighter, Mama."
"I figured on that.  I count on that." She said 
softly, for once swallowing the urge to reprimand 
her son's foul mouth. 
"How does her husband feel about that?" 
"He didn't like it much." 
"Past tense, son?" 
"He's dead, Mama. He was killed in a drive-by 
shooting a few weeks ago." Recalling a fragment 
from his haunted dreams, he added. "He was in the 
wrong place at the wrong time." 
"I see," Mrs. Doggett said. "She seems to be 
holding up well." When Doggett snorted, she asked 
"You don't believe her?" 
"I dunno..." Doggett mumbled. "She really hasn't 
talked to me much about it. What happened." 
"I see," Mrs. Doggett repeated herself. "She is 
taking some time off of work though, isn't she?" 
"They've granted her a bereavement leave." 
"So that's how she was able to come from 
Washington to Savannah on a spur of moment 
notice." 
"I didn't ask her to come down..." 
"But she did." 
"Well... yeah..." 
"She must have been extremely concerned about you 
to come here." 
"She's my partner. We watch out for each other. 
We have too. Someday, my life may depend on her 
and vice versa." When Mrs. Doggett looked up at 
him, her eyebrows rising in question, he added. 
"And we're friends. We do stuff for each other... 
underneath all the... she's a nice girl and she 
was just checkin' up on me." 
"Then don't you think you should extend that same 
courtesy to her and go back to Washington to see 
how she is?" 
Doggett knew he lost this argument. Still, his 
loyalty dictated that he persist. "What about you 
and Melanie?" 
"There's still phone lines and mail service to 
and from Washington and Savannah, isn't there?" 
Mrs. Doggett pointed out to him. "Plus, Laura has 
asked me several times to let her teach me how to 
work this Internet-thing, so maybe once I get it 
figured out, I can start sending you B-mails." 
"E-mail, Mama," Doggett corrected, forcing 
himself to keep his face straight. 
"Whatever," Mrs. Doggett grumbled. "John, for 
some of us, Savannah is home and we'll never 
leave. For the rest, it's a wonderful place to 
visit. And you need to visit more," she scolded 
him. "Lots more. But you also need to go home." 
Another fragment of a dream wormed its way up 
from his subconscious to the front of his mind: 
**"And I never lost any sleep over it John... You 
might as well go... You belong out there, not 
here. You don't want to be in here anyway, I can 
see it in your eyes, son. You're dyin' to get out 
of here. You're dyin' to run away again."** 
"It just feels like I'm runnin' away again and 
leaving y'all when you need me," Doggett 
admitted, embarrassed at how arrogant and how 
weak he managed to sound all at the same time. 
Mrs. Doggett looked at him sternly. "What about 
that girl, your partner up in Washington? Are you 
just going to forget about her or are you going 
to master bein' in two places at once?" She 
softened her voice. "If we need you to come back, 
we will call. I want you to be happy John. That's 
all I ever wanted for my children. Son, do you 
know why I'm so proud of you? Especially today?" 
Doggett didn't trust himself to speak so he only 
shook his head. 
"Because you always do what's right, even when 
it's not easy. And it would be easy for you to 
stay in Savannah... but it wouldn't be right. You 
need to get home. You need to visit us more 
often, but you need to go home now. Back up to 
your friend." 
"Because she needs me," Doggett sighed, feeling 
another burden being added onto his shoulders. 
"No," Mrs. Doggett shook her head. "Because you 
need her."  

Later on...  
En route to Savannah/Hilton Head International 
Airport  
6:35 PM Eastern Standard Time 
Mrs. Doggett had prepared a light, early supper 
so Doggett could eat something before flying back 
to DC. 
"It's a miracle I got a flight from Savannah to 
DC last minute," Doggett commented as he watched 
the low country zip by as Melanie maneuvered her 
aged Blazer through traffic. "There were no 
flights to Savannah left from Dulles or Ronald 
Reagan when I was trying to come down here." 
"I was wonderin' why you flew into Atlanta," 
Melanie murmured as she merged into interstate 
traffic. 
"Yeah, but I get to fly to Chicago first, then 
Boston, then DC," he grumbled. "And I have to 
switch flights at O'Hare." 
"Hope you aren't attached to you luggage," 
Melanie quipped. 
"Shit, I just hope they don't make me take off my 
shoes again." 
"What?" 
"Never mind." Doggett looked at Melanie and 
blurted out. "Are you okay with me goin' home? I 
can stay, nobody is expectin' me back in DC until 
after the New Yea-" 
"John," Melanie cut him off kindly. "It's okay. 
Really. Chris and Mike hafta go back to work 
tomorrow. I'm gonna be busy with the lawyers with 
the lawsuits and all..." she sighed. 
Most of the afternoon had been spent discussing 
whether or not Melanie should launch a civil suit 
against Dr. Kullervo and the hospital. Melanie 
had no qualms about suing Dr. Kullervo but was 
unsure about suing the hospital as well. 
It was Chris' husband that had tipped the scales. 
"Look, Melanie," Mike had told her. "Kullervo, 
you're not gonna see a dime from that bitch. 
She'll claim insanity or keep appealing or 
something. The hospital... well, they'll probably 
settle outta court just to keep the scandal to a 
minimum. And face it Mel, you've got to be 
practical. You've got bills to pay and half of 
your income is gone. I don't mean to be 
disrespectful, but you have to be able to take 
care of yourself. I don't want to see you lose 
your house and your car and everything else. 
Losin' Park because of that bitch was enough." 
So Melanie agreed to file suit against the 
hospital as well. "After all, Mel," Doggett had 
told her, "the investigation is just startin'. If 
Tiffleton was in on it, who knows who else was 
helpin' her kill these people. Whether the Senior 
Staff and Administration likes it or not, they're 
responsible for Parker's death too. And the 
others." 
The death toll by Dr. Kullervo's hand was now up 
to nine people. 
Melanie was still talking, "... so that would 
leave just you and Stevie and Mama and I think 
Mama's tired of playin' referee 'tween you two." 
"Well, when Stevie grows the f*ck up, then Mama 
won't hafta be the ref anymore," Doggett snapped. 
"Johnny, you know he's just jealous because you 
left and he got stuck bein' Daddy's whippin' boy 
for the rest of his life." 
"That's his fuckin' decision. To stay in 
Savannah. Not my fault." 
Melanie shook her head. "It's never gonna be good 
between you two, is it?" 
Doggett folded his lips. There were still some 
secrets he kept. Even from Melanie. "No." 
Melanie sighed and gave up on that topic. But she 
had a sinking feeling that the bitterness between 
the brothers would not abate. That it would have 
to erupt and burn everything and everyone in it's 
path before either one of them could achieve 
resolution. 
And absolution. 
For now, she left the topic of Stephen and John 
severely alone. What will come will come. There 
was no point in begging for trouble. 
"Speakin' of movin'," she said, tactfully 
changing the subject. "Could I ask you something? 
And be honest." 
"Sure." 
"I am forty-three years old," she said quietly, 
concentrating on the road. "Parker and I got 
married when he was eighteen and I was nineteen. 
And, with the exception of the occasional 
vacation to Florida or up to New York to visit 
you when you were still livin' there, I have 
never left Georgia." 
She took a quivery breath. "Every thing 'bout 
Savannah reminds me Park. I love him, we had a 
happy life. But it hurts so bad. Bein' here 
without him. And now knowing that..." she gulped. 
"I know I'll forgive Delilah eventually. But not 
now. It's too hard, it's too new to forgive right 
now..." 
Only Melanie could talk about forgiveness. Her 
husband was killed and she had to be convinced to 
sue the hospital. Doggett's son was killed and 
Doggett wanted vindication. Almost a decade 
later, he still longed for that. An eye for an 
eye. A death for a death. 
"I just... I don't want to be in Savannah 
anymore. I don't want to stay here. I love this 
city. I don't wanna start hatin' it because I am 
alone in it. Chris and Mike may be moving back to 
Atlanta in a year or two, his boss is making 
noises about a promotion and transfer. And if 
that happens... well, Mama's gettin' 'long in 
years, she's been talkin' about sellin' the house 
and movin' in with her sister in Atlanta..." she 
snickered. "Which means Stevie would be out on 
his butt..." 
"Poor baby," Doggett said without a trace of 
sympathy. 
"So if Mike and Chris move, Mama probably will 
too..." Melanie concentrated on the road. They 
were nearing the airport. "So what I wanted to 
ask... do you... do you think I would like 
Washington DC?" she asked hopefully. 
"You would hate DC," Doggett told her truthfully. 
"But you would love Falls Church." 

Just outside of Savannah/Hilton Head 
International Airport  
7:15 PM Eastern Standard Time 
"Got everything?" Melanie asked him before she 
sat the car door. 
"If not, Mama'll send it to me," Doggett said, 
clutching his suitcase and briefcase. "I better 
hurry up so I can stand in line for two hours," 
he said as Melanie walked closer to him. He put 
his bags down so his arms could be free for the 
bear hug she was going to give him. 
"Take care of yourself, Mellie," Doggett told 
her. 
"You too," she replied. "Don't stay away from 
home so long next time, Johnny. Especially since 
there might not be any of left in Savannah for 
you to come home to." 
"I'll visit when I can," Doggett promised. "You 
know I'm at the mercy of the Bureau and the X-
Files, but when I can, I'll come. And if you're 
serious... 'bout movin' to DC..." 
"I'll let you know. It won't be tomorrow or 
anything. It probably wouldn't even be six 
months. I'd have to sell the house, find a job. 
Plus with startin' up the lawsuit... but I'll let 
you know. I'll need somebody to carry all the 
heavy shit." 
"Gee, thanks." 
"You're stallin'," Melanie admonished her 
brother. 
"You know how **cold** it is in DC??" 
"You didn't mention anything about cold..." 
"If you move to DC, you may wanna invest in 
mittens." 
"Mittens? What are those?" she teased him. 
"Call me if you need anything," he told her. "Or 
even if you don't." 
One last hug, then Doggett picked up his suitcase 
and briefcase. "'Bye sis," he told her, kissing 
her cheek, then making himself walk away. 
Melanie hugged herself as she watched her 
"little" brother disappear into the airport. She 
closed her eyes and felt fat tears slowly begin 
to trickle down her cheeks. "'Bye Johnny," she 
whispered. 
With his all of his careers, soldier, police 
officer and now federal agent, she was always 
scared that every time she saw him, was going to 
be the last. She sometimes had nightmares of 
getting that dreaded phone call: "Melanie... it's 
Mama... you need to come over... something's 
happened to John..." 
How bitterly ironic it was the man she had taken 
for granted, had assumed she was going to grow 
old with was the one taken away. 
And yet, he was with her still. 
In the spirit, anyway. 
Epilogue…
December 27, 2001  
Washington DC  
4:45 PM Eastern Standard Time 
Doggett maneuvered his truck through the slushy 
streets. Spoiled by Savannah's wonderful weather, 
he shivered as he turned the heat up another 
notch. No ocean breezes or jasmine here. Only icy 
winds, gray streets and national monuments. 
Testimonies to man's illusion of greatness. 
Drumming his fingers along with the radio on his 
steering wheel, he slowed his truck down as 
Pennsylvania Avenue melded into Washington DC 
Residential. Humming along to the song without 
even realizing it. 
"I go out walkin after midnight,  
Out in the moonlight, just like we used to do,  
I'm always walkin after midnight searchin for 
you..." 
<<I'm just gonna stop in quick, give 'er her 
present, make sure she's okay and go home>> he 
told himself. <<No big deal. I won't stay 
long...>> He peered through his windshield. 
"What'n the hel- oh, Christ, almighty..." he 
grumbled, slowing his truck down even more for 
the blond woman in a dorky stocking cap, a block 
ahead of him. 
"...I go out walkin after midnight,  
Out in the moonlight, just hopin you may be  
Somewhere a-walkin after midnight searchin for 
me!" 
She looked like a pack mule as she trudged 
through the snow toting her big black knapsack on 
her back. Doggett had recognized the knapsack 
before he recognized her. When the weather was 
nice enough to take the motorcycle to work, she 
carried the knapsack instead of her briefcase. 
"... Today's Best County, 98.7 WMZQ," the way too 
happy afternoon drive time personality chirped. 
"And by request, that was a classic from the 
great Patsy Cline, 'Walkin' After Midnight. More 
great country on the wa-" Doggett clicked off the 
radio as he rolled the truck to a stop. Hitting 
the down button on the power windows, he called 
out "What'n the hell are you doing?????" 
Starkweather jumped, her FBI trained hand 
instinctively moving to the inside of her coat. 
"Jesus God, Doggett! Don't sneak up on me like 
that!" 
"I'm in a big blue Dodge Ram, how can I sneak up 
on you? And that doesn't answer my question what 
the hell you're doin' walkin' in the snow at this 
time of day," he glared at her as she put her 
hands to her mouth, blowing on them. "And where 
are your gloves??" 
"I lost them," she said nonchalantly. "So are you 
gonna yell at me until I freeze or are you gonna 
give me a ride home?" 
"Get in," he leaned over to open the truck door 
for her. 
Starkweather slung off her backpack and tossed it 
inside the nice warm truck. As she struggled to 
pull herself up, she griped "This Monster Truck 
is not friendly to short people!" Doggett held 
out his hand and helped her inside. She rubbed 
her purpling hands together and held them to the 
heater vents. 
"Put your seatbelt on," Doggett told her as he 
put the truck into drive again. 
"Yes Dad," Starkweather said obediently as she 
buckled up. "So what are you doing back in DC? I 
thought you said you were stayin' until after the 
New Year?" 
"Change of plans," Doggett told her. "What about 
you? What possess you to walk out in weather like 
this?" 
"It's thirty degrees." 
"Below zero." 
"Wuss." She pulled off her stocking cap. Strands 
of her blond hair stood up erratically, frazzled 
by static electricity. Smoothing her hair she 
added, "Besides, it's not like I ran a marathon. 
I just walked to the Walgreen's that's like a 
block away. I was running out of some stuff like 
milk and cat food and I didn't want to do real 
grocery shopping since I'm moving in a day or 
two. Plus the car is making this interesting 
thumping noise under the hood so y'know, I 
thought I'd just take a brisk walk." 
"Are you nuts?" 
"No, I'm Jerilyn Starkweather." 
"Pain in the ass." 
"So what brings you to MY part of town, Special 
Agent Doggett?" Starkweather leaned back in her 
seat, her wicked eyes sparkling. 
"I just happened to be passin' through," Doggett 
said innocently. 
Starkweather lifted her feet. "It's getting deep 
in here." 
"And I wanted to tell you 'bout what happened 
with my brother-in-law Parker," he added on a 
somber note. 
She nodded and put her feet down. "Yeah. I heard 
part of it on the news. But considering the fact 
that my ass is probably going to get hauled in to 
testify, I'd like some more details." 

A little later  
Jerilyn Starkweather's apartment 
"Damn," Doggett said, looking at the neat stacks 
of boxes. "Looks like you're ready to go." 
"Yeah," Starkweather said, shrugging off her coat 
and laying it on another stack of boxes next to 
the armchair. "This is what I get to be doing on 
New Year's Eve. Lucky me." 
Doggett noticed a cardboard box filled with 
opened Christmas presents. "So was Santa good to 
you?" he said, being a snoop and poking around 
the box. 
"I told you the fat old bastard skipped my house 
this year. Those are all from Mulder and Scully 
and the Lone Gunmen." 
Doggett held up a t-shirt that said "UFOS Exist. 
The Air Force is Fake" and drawled "Ya don't 
say?" 
"Yeah, take a wild guess who THAT was from," she 
rolled her eyes. Then she grinned like a naughty 
little kid. "But... huh, funny. He didn't really 
like the shirt I gave him." 
"Which was?" 
"It had a picture of President Nixon and Elvis on 
the front with the caption 'We're Dead' 
underneath. On the back, it said 'Really really 
dead'." She disappeared into the kitchen. 
"Kittykittykittykittykitty!" she called out. 
Caesar Dictator, like the autocrat his namesake 
was, leapt off a tower of boxes onto the coffee 
table. He licked one paw, looked up, saw Doggett, 
hissed at him, tail twitching. 
"You even think of bitin' me..." Doggett growled. 
"Be nice to my cat." 
"I AM bein' nice to your cat," Doggett retorted, 
still glaring at the tabby cat as he took his 
coat off. 
Caesar lifted his tail and daintily leapt off the 
table and pranced to the kitchen. Doggett heard 
the whir of a can opened. Heard her being 
sickeningly sweet to the Spawn of Satan. "Hey, 
there's my kitten-critter! Hi baby! Worship me, I 
went out in the snow to get you canned cat food. 
Who's your mama?" 
He reached into his coat pocket and took out the 
gift Melanie got for Starkweather. He was holding 
it when Starkweather came out of the kitchen. "So 
anyway, what happened wit-" Her eyes widened and 
then narrowed when she saw the present. "I could 
choke you right now," she fumed. "We agreed we 
weren't going to buy pres-" 
"This isn't from me," Doggett told her, holding 
it out to her. "It's from my sister, Melanie." 
"Oh," Starkweather said sheepishly, accepting the 
gift. "I knew that." 
"Uh-huh." 
"She didn't have to get me anything," 
Starkweather said, tearing open the tissue paper 
and opening the box. As she pulled out Bushy, the 
yellow and orange too-cute-for-words Beanie Baby, 
Starkweather mumbled, "She REALLY didn't have to 
get me anything..." 
Doggett shook with suppressed laughter as he 
watched Starkweather struggling to be nice about 
Melanie's gift. "She said she wasn't sure what to 
get you," he managed to get out. "I had no idea 
she was getting you something." 
"It's... cute." 
"Doc, if you don't like it, it's okay. I'm not 
gonna tell her." 
"Well, he does kind of look like Caesar. With the 
orange and yellow and all..." She looked at the 
little toy again and then up at Doggett. "I just 
don't get Beanie Babies. They're bean bags with 
feet and faces." She looked at it again. "I'll 
have to find a good place to put this so Caesar 
doesn't tear it apart. I have a shadowbox. When I 
unpack it, I'll stick this guy in there. 
Hopefully, Mr. Destruction won't be able to get 
his paws on it." She looked up at Doggett again. 
"Tell her thank you. This was really nice of 
her." 
"Okay." 
"How is she doing?" 
"Best she can under the circumstances." 
"I like her," Starkweather said, looking down at 
the toy again. "She's a nice person." She looked 
up at Doggett with a fey grin. "And stubborn as a 
mule." 
"Hm. Pot, kettle, black...?" 
"Oh shut up," Starkweather shook her head and 
turned her back to open a box on the overstuffed 
chair to put the stuffed lion inside. As she was 
doing so, Doggett pulled out a slender CD jewel 
case, wrapped in garish holiday wrapping, from 
his back jean pocket and set it quickly on the 
coffee table. He assumed his innocent face as 
Starkweather turned around again. "So," she said, 
pushing her long untethered hair out of her face. 
"Tell me ab-" her hazel eyes flicked down to the 
red and green package sitting on her coffee 
table. "You son-of-a-bitch," she scowled. 
"Aren't you gonna open it?" 
"Tell me," she groaned as she leaned down to pick 
up the present. "Why I'm not killing you now?" 
When Doggett chuckled, she snarled. "I'm serious! 
I thought we said no presents." 
"A," Doggett pointed out to her. "YOU said no 
presents. B, you said no BUYING each other 
presents. And I didn't buy that," he said as 
Starkweather removed the wrapping paper and 
opened the CD jewel case. "I downloaded it from 
the Internet." 
"You bought the CD-R though," Starkweather said 
sweetly. 
"No I didn't," Doggett retorted just as sweet. 
"Where did you get it, then?" 
"Stole it from my brother." 
Starkweather's mouth dropped open. Then she 
covered it with her hand. "Oh my God," she said 
and started to laugh. 
It was the first real laugh he heard from her in 
a long time.
"Wow," Starkweather said, "I'm special. A two-CD 
set," She pulled on of the CDs out and read the 
label out loud. "'Loud and Angry Music'," then 
the label of the CD still inside the case. "'Not 
so Loud and Angry Music.' Nice... real nice." 
"Thought you'd like that," Doggett said. 
"Well, at least I didn't pack the stereo yet, 
that's tomorrow's job." She turned and maneuvered 
around the boxes to the entertainment center. 
Opening the glass door, she turned the CD player 
on. As she slipped the 'Not so Loud and Angry 
Music' CD in, she said, "You know, this really 
makes me look bad. 
"Why?" 
"Because I really didn't get you anything." 
"I wasn't expectin' anything." 
"Doing anything tonight?" 
"Um... no..." 
"Good. Because I'm buying dinner. So sit down and 
make yourself comfortable." 
"Aw, Doc, you don't have to-" 
"Sit." 
Doggett sat down on the sofa. 
Starkweather looked over her shoulder. "You are 
trainable," she purred as she hit play. 
"Kiss my ass." 
"Chinese, Mexican or pizza?" she asked, reaching 
for the cell phone that hung on her belt clip. 
"Can we get pizza with thick crust?" 
"I don't like thick crust," she whined. 
"Okay, fine. Chinese." 
Starkweather smiled as she hit one of her speed 
dial buttons. "Dominos? Yeah, hi, I'd like to 
order a large, THICK," she paused long enough to 
stick out her tongue at her partner, "crust pizza 
for delivery... toppings??? Oh shit, you had to 
complicate things didn't you..."

Later that night... 
"Caesar, no," Starkweather said, pushing the 
inquisitive cat away from the pizza box. "Shoo." 
As Starkweather closed the pizza box lid and put 
two empty beer bottles on top of it, Caesar 
flattened his ears and skulked off. Picking up 
her half-full, still cold beer bottle, she leaned 
back into the couch. Resting her cheek against 
the cushion, feet tucked underneath her, she 
asked her partner, "So now what happens?" 
"Well," Doggett took a swig of Bud Light before 
continuing. "Melanie's gonna sue. Kullervo and 
the hospital." 
"How much?" 
"Kullervo, as much as she's worth. The hospital, 
only seventy-thousand." 
"Why only that? She could get millions." 
"She could, but she doesn't wanna deal with all 
the bullshit to get it. And besides, Park, he 
loved his job and was good at it, but he didn't 
make that much. And you know she ain't gonna see 
a dime from Kullervo. And the hospital will 
probably agree to settle out of court for 
somewhere in between forty and fifty. Even if she 
gets forty, with the job she has now, forty will 
take care of her for at least two years or until 
she sells the house." 
"Still..." 
"Yeah, I know. It sucks. But... I think Mel 
thinks it wouldn't be right to profit from Park's 
death." 
Starkweather shook her head. "Goddammit," she 
said softly. "If we only knew earlier." She 
released a ragged breath. Looked up at Doggett. 
Frustrated, she said, "You know Kullervo's gonna 
walk. I've been reading her medical history. Bi-
polar. Manic depressive. Bulimic. Self-esteem 
issues. Emotionally abused. Plus she was self-
medicating herself for depression. She's gonna 
claim temporary insanity and walk. Maybe the 
judge will order her to an institution, but... 
God, this pisses me off." 
"I know... but at least her medical license is 
gone." 
"Crappy consolation prize. I'd rather see the 
bitch locked up. Or drawn and quartered. Or 
buried up to her neck in a pit of fire ants." 
"Well, we'll see how her trial goes. Who knows," 
Doggett settled into the couch more and stretched 
out his long legs. His eyelids felt heavy. He 
felt very warm, very comfortable and slightly 
drunk. <<I gotta be tired if the beer's hittin' 
me this hard>> he thought <<I've only had... 
three? I think...>> "Maybe hell'll freeze over 
and she'll get jail time." 
"That would be a nice change... I just... I 
mean... Jiminy fucking Christmas, Doggett... WHY 
didn't Melanie tell you Parker was sick sooner?" 
In a tight voice, he said. "Because Parker told 
her not to. Because he didn't wanna bother me." 
"Bother you????" 
"'Cause he started to get sick mid-September. 
Right after-" 
"Nine-eleven," Starkweather covered her face. 
"Awwwwwwww fuck," she groaned, kicking the coffee 
table leg in frustration. She dropped her hands. 
"I'm sorry, Papa John," she said sincerely. 
"S'ok, Doc. At least we know what happened. We've 
got the truth now. And Delilah can't do this 
bullshit to anyone else." 
"I guess," Starkweather muttered as she leaned 
down to scratch the returning Caesar's ears. 
"Yeah... you're right. It's a good thing. And 
it'll be best for Melanie in the long run. She's 
been through a hell. She deserves closure." 
"Speakin' of hell," Doggett said softly as 
Starkweather picked up the cat and placed him in 
her lap. "How are you doin'? And," he said, 
interrupting her before she could speak. "Yes I'm 
checkin' up on you. Deal with it."
"Like I have a choice," she said, absently 
petting her cat. After thinking for a moment, she 
asked quietly, "If I tell you I'm fine, you're 
going to think I'm full of shit, right?" 
"Right." 
She tickled underneath Caesar's chin. Caesar 
purred loudly as she spoke. "I miss him. For four 
years, he was big part of my life. Granted, the 
two years we were married sucked but... some 
days, it feels weird. Like he's just working late 
at the office. Or that he's visiting his parents 
in Minnesota. Other days... like yesterday, he 
was very very dead." Delicately, with her finger, 
she stroked the bridge of Caesar's nose. "He 
loved Christmas. That was his holiday. The first 
Christmas we were married, we drove all around 
Minneapolis and Saint Paul, looking at Christmas 
lights. And it was snowing and we stopped at this 
park and..." she smiled at the memory. 
"We were acting so stupid. It was a kid's park so 
we were running around the monkey bars and the 
swings and going down this slide and we got into 
a snowball fight and it was three in the God damn 
morning and we both had to get up early but we 
didn't care.... and it's that kind of stuff I 
miss. Just the dumb stuff we used to together." 
She smiled, remembering. "He wasn't always... he 
was fun. He was spontaneous. And we liked so much 
of the same stuff. Movies and music and books. 
And cats," she petted Caesar again. "He got me 
this monster instead of an engagement ring 
because he couldn't afford a diamond at that 
time. And he loved photography. One time, after 
we were both done with our obligation to the Air 
Guard for the weekend, he told me to get into the 
car and we drove out to see the Bridges of 
Madison County. And he took pictures and we had a 
picnic and... I don't know, he and I used always 
do shit like that before we got married. He was 
like my best friend. You only saw the bad shit. 
The shit that made me draw up those divorce 
papers. You never saw when it was good between 
us..." 
Starkweather looked up at Doggett. "But the part 
that gets me the most... is that... all the stuff 
I miss about Ben..." she blinked a few times and 
swallowed, pausing. Thinking. She started again 
in a hushed voice. "All the things I miss about 
Ben, I was missing while he was still alive." She 
dropped her head. "Does that make any sense?" 
"Yeah," he told her, scooting closer. "It does." 
"Sorry," she mumbled. "Don't mean to... dump this 
all on you." 
"I asked." 
"I should have said I was fine." 
"And I would have said bullshit." Doggett reached 
out to try and pet Caesar. Caesar swiped at him. 
"Ow! Fucking cat," he grumbled, putting his 
abused fingers in his mouth. 
"Need a bandage?" 
"No, but I need cat gut to string my violin." 
"You don't play violin." 
"I can learn..." he glared at the cat sitting 
smugly in Starkweather's lap. Serious again, he 
said. "And yeah... Ben was... um... Ben was... 
uh..." 
"A prick," Starkweather finished for him. "You 
can say it." 
"A prick," Doggett said. "But he had one 
redeemin' trait you get to keep with you 
forever." 
"What's that?" 
"He loved you," he said gently as she swiftly 
looked down at her cat again. "I dunno... maybe 
it's different with you and Ben... but that's 
what gets me through sometimes when I think about 
my son." Surprised, Starkweather looked up at 
him, her eyes warmed to a golden brown color by 
sympathy. He so rarely discussed his son with 
anyone. "I mean... I dunno, maybe I'm bein' 
stupid. Maybe I don't wanna let go. But... he 
loved me. And nothin' can take that from me." 
"I don't think that's stupid," she whispered, 
closing her eyes to trap the tears. Eyes still 
closed, she shook her head. "That's not stupid." 
She opened her eyes. "Do you want some coffee?" 
she asked hoarsely, swiftly changing the subject. 
"Yeah," he said faintly. "If you're gonna make 
some." 
"I'll be right back," she pushed Caesar off of 
her and bolted into the kitchen. 
Doggett leaned back onto the couch and closed his 
eyes. 
Starkweather leaned against the fridge for a 
minute, pressing the pads of her thumb and 
pointer finger to her eyes. <<Come on Jerilyn>> 
she told herself. <<Gotta get over this crying 
bullshit. It's not going to fix anything. It's 
not going to bring Ben or Mom or Dad or anyone 
else back. Get your shit together.>> She blinked 
her eyes a couple of times, then grabbed the 
coffee carafe and began filling it with water. 
As the aroma of Folgers filled the kitchen, she 
invented tasks for herself to complete to give 
herself time to stop feeling so emotional. Before 
getting the coffee cups, she peeked at her 
reflection in the toaster. Using her pinkies, she 
wiped away the smudged eyeliner. Then she poured 
coffee into two blue mugs, heaping loads of sugar 
into hers while leaving his black. 
"I left yours black like you like it," 
Starkweather started to say as she left the 
kitchen. Then she stopped stock still in the 
doorway. "Oh..." 
Doggett's head was tilted forward, his eyes 
closed, mouth slightly open. His arms lay limply 
at his sides. His chest rose and fell with every 
breath. Caesar was laying on his lap, tail curled 
up around his fluffy body. 
"Cat," Starkweather whispered as she retreated 
back into the kitchen. "Why can't you be nice to 
him when he's awake?" 
After dumping Doggett's coffee down the drain, 
she reached into the cardboard box that was 
holding the contents of the liquor cabinet. Felt 
around until she felt the squat bottle of 
Bailey's Irish Crème Liquor. She decanted it and 
poured a heavy dollop into her already sweetened 
coffee. Carrying only her coffee out, she 
returned to the living room. Doggett was still 
out for the count, now starting to snore 
slightly. "Damn," Starkweather murmured to 
herself as she sipped her spiked coffee. In a 
slightly louder voice, she said, "Doggett." She 
repeated herself. "Doggett." Then she tried what 
she thought would be guaranteed to get his 
attention. "John. John, wake up." 
Nothing. His lights were out. 
"Dammit," she muttered, standing there debating. 
<<I should go over there and shake him and send 
him home. He's had a bad couple of days. Okay, 
beyond bad. He needs to get real sleep.>> 
She stood there. 
<<Jerilyn, with all the bullshit going on right 
now in the X-Files, him staying here looks REALLY 
bad. REALLY REALLY bad.>> 
She stood there. 
She looked heavenwards. "Fuck you, Ben," she said 
softly, setting her mug on the coffee table. 
Creeping around the coffee table, she tried to 
coax her cat to get off of her friend. "Here 
kitty, kitty," she whispered. "Come here baby." 
Caesar lifted his head, stared at her. Bored, he 
dropped his head to his paws and began to nap 
again. 
"Fucking cat," she seethed as she reached for 
him. Caesar yowled a loud complaint, but Doggett 
didn't even move. "Go away," Starkweather hissed 
at her pet as she put him on the floor. Caesar 
promptly trotted off to Starkweather's bedroom 
where he coughed up a hairball in of her favorite 
high heels. 
Meanwhile, careful not to wake him, she wrapped 
her small hands around his ankles and lifted his 
leg onto the coffee table. After repeating the 
same action with the other leg, she unlaced his 
ugly brown hiking boots he had gotten in 
deferment to Washington's miserable winter 
weather. She watched him in apprehension as she 
slowly pulled the first boot off. His face 
relaxed and his shoulders slumped a little more. 
A soft sigh of contentment escaped from him as 
his head lolled to one side. 
Starkweather retreated to her bedroom to rummage 
through some more moving boxes and came back out 
bearing a hideous golden yellow and black afghan 
she had acquired while a med student at the 
University of Iowa. It smelled like mothballs. 
Despite this, she threw the blanket over her 
friend. She reached for a throw pillow and tucked 
it behind his head. Pausing, she stood there, 
regarding him. She smiled and cupped the side of 
his face with her hand. "Yeah...." she said 
affectionately as she traced his cheekbone with 
her thumb. "You're alright." She smoothed his 
hair, just as Melanie had done a few nights ago 
but she leaned over and kissed his brow. 
She backed away, letting him sleep. She sat down 
decorously at the other end of the couch and 
reached for a thick FBI casefile that she had 
borrowed from the X-Files and her mug. She 
balanced the mug on the arm of the couch and 
opened the file. Pulling her wire-rimmed reading 
glasses out of her shirt pocket, she looked over 
at Doggett again before putting them on. She 
smiled, shook her head again, slipped on her 
glasses and started reading as music continued to 
quietly filter out of the stereo speakers. 
Later still... 
"...Pieces of us die everyday  
As though our flesh were hell  
Such injustice, as children we are told  
That from God we fell..." 
He stirred. Heard music. Guitar. A woman singing 
passionately and sorrowfully and angrily all at 
the same time. Opened his eyes. Closed them again 
since the room was still fairly dark. 
"...Where are my angels?  
Where's my golden one?  
Where's my hope  
now that my heroes have gone?..." 
He had already downloaded three-quarters of the 
song before he remembered she hated Jewel. 
"...Some are being beaten  
Some are being born.  
And some can't tell the difference anymore..." 
He opened his eyes again. "Aw sh*t," he muttered 
under his breath, pulling his arm from underneath 
the blanket to rub his eyes. He blinked his eyes 
in hopes of forcing them to adjust to the dim 
lighting of the room. 
"... Amen  
Hallelujah  
Hallelujah." 
Doggett pushed the blankets off of himself. 
Turned his head and saw her sitting on the other 
end of the couch. She had bundled her hair up in 
its usual bun. But this bun was sloppy, held in 
place by a pen. Her glasses were sliding off her 
nose. So was the case file on her lap. Her arms 
were crossed tightly. Her head was bobbing like 
those obnoxious car ornaments with the oversized 
heads. 
Doggett looked at his watch. It was a quarter to 
eleven. 
He ran his hand over his face again, trying to 
wake up. It was so tempting to crawl back 
underneath the quilt and fall back asleep. 
It was so tempting to... 
<<You should wake her up and tell her to get her 
butt to bed and then get your own ass home>> 
Doggett thought as watched her sleep. 
His feet suddenly felt cold. He looked down and 
saw that she had taken off his boots. He looked 
at his black socks and grimaced when he saw a 
tiny hole in the one of the toes. 
As he pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and 
stood up, the next song came on. He frowned as he 
bent over her to take off her glasses. She must 
have put it on 'repeat'. 
"Spring sweet rhythm dance in my head  
Slip into my lover's hands  
Kiss me oh won't you kiss me now  
And sleep I would inside your mouth..." 
He folded them up and placed them on the coffee 
table. He took the case file from her and set 
them next to her glasses. 
"Don't be us too shy  
Knowing it's no big surprise  
That I will wait for you  
I will wait for no one but you..." 
He gently tugged at the pen until it was out of 
that knot of hair. He didn't notice the half-an-
inch of dark brown roots, as her blond tresses 
fell around her heart shaped face. She needed her 
bangs trimmed but didn't have time so she had 
pushed them to the side of her face. He skimmed 
his fingers over a small crescent moon shaped 
scar on her forehead. He had been with her, 
sitting right next to her when she got that cut. 
Their first case together. She had bled on him. 
"...Look please lover lay down  
Spend this time with me  
Together share this smile  
Lover lay down..." 
He didn't recognize the song or the artist. He 
had meant to download 'The Space Between' by the 
Dave Matthews Band. He wasn't a big DMB fan 
himself. Thought his voice was grating. But he 
had heard her singing it one day when she thought 
she was in the office by herself. And he had 
teased her to death about it the rest of the day 
after she admitted she would "do Dave in a 
heartbeat." 
It was rare when he got the verbal upper hand 
with her. 
"Walk with me, walk with you  
Hold my hand your hands  
So much we have dreamed  
And you were so much younger  
Hard to explain that we are stronger..." 
He cautiously slid his hands underneath her upper 
legs while wrapping his other arm around her 
back. Lifting her was not a problem, she only had 
to be one-ten, one-fifteen tops. Making sure she 
stayed asleep on the other hand, could be a 
problem. Or could have been, but for once, she 
was sound asleep. Normally, a light sleeper, the 
nightmare days and sleepless nights had finally 
caught up with her. 
As with him. 
"A million reasons life to deny  
Let's toss them away  
See you and me we  
Lay down look see  
She and he  
By my lover's side  
Together share this smile  
Each other's tears to cry  
Together share this smile  
Lover lay down..." 
He sat down again on the couch and stretched out 
his arm for the afghan. He jumped a little when 
he heard her mutter something in her sleep and 
curl around him more. Her face was pressed 
against his chest. Not an entirely unpleasant 
sensation. One of her arms loosely embraced his 
waist. He could feel her breathing. 
He wrapped the quilt around each other and 
reached over to the small table next to couch and 
switched off the light. 
The noise of the lamp switch woke her briefly. 
She bolted straight up, disoriented. Doggett said 
quickly, seeing that she wasn't one-hundred 
percent awake; scared and confused. "It's okay, 
Doc. Look, please. Lay down," he tried to calm 
her. She was shaking from whatever torment her 
subconscious had given her. "Just lay down and go 
back to sleep, okay? Please?" 
"Oh please  
Look please lover lay down  
Oh please lover lay down  
And you weep  
Lover lay down  
Cause it's over  
Lover lay down  
Say lover, say lover, say lover, say lover, say 
lover..." 
"Oh..." she said groggily, overtired and a more 
than just a little intoxicated from the beers 
earlier and her spiked coffee afterwards. Her 
hand was on his chest "Okay..." Sleepily, she 
brushed her lips across his before settling back 
into his arms. "Love you..." he thought he heard 
her say as she yawned. He thought. Maybe. Maybe 
she said "Olive juice." He wasn't sure.  
"G'night..." she mumbled before sinking back into 
deep sleep. 
"Could I love you  
Could you love me..." 
Doggett on the other hand, fought sleep but 
couldn't. For once in his life, he wasn't sure if 
dreams would be better than reality. 
And he wondered if her photographic memory had 
powered down for the night or would she have 
total recall in the morning. 
"Darling it's  
All the same...  
'Til we dance away..." 
And would she tell him if she remembered. 
"Chasing me all around  
Leading me all around  
Leading me all around in circles...  
Say..." 
He stroked her hair until he fell back asleep. 
"Love you too..." he slurred, also still drunk 
off of alcohol and insomnia. 
The agents thought they were alone in each 
other's arms. 
They should have known better even though both 
were technically rookies still in the basement 
that would always be Mulder's domain. 
As they slept, both had strange dreams. Dreams 
that they would brush off once the sun rose on 
their intertwined bodies. Dreams they would try 
and disregard as they muttered their excuses and 
apologies for something that did not feel wrong. 
Dreams about the dead, walking with them and 
talking with each other. 
Dreams about Benjamin Starkweather, materializing 
in his old living room, looking down at his 
wife's face, so calm, so peaceful in another 
man's arms. The man she swore up and down was 
just her 'friend'. 
But Ben did not show any rage as he did in life. 
Only a sad acceptance of the inevitable. 
A man's voice came from behind Ben. A high, 
slightly effeminate voice. Ben turned away from 
the painful image of Jerilyn looking so 
comfortable in her partner's embrace and saw the 
spirit of a tall slender man with mocha eyes and 
straight black hair. "You okay?" He had a lush, 
slurring Southern accent. 
"Yeah, you bet," Ben morosely lapsed into 
'Minnesotan', the dialect of his childhood. "I'll 
be okay. 'Bout you?" 
"I worry 'bout Mel... but, other'n that, I'm 
gonna fine." Parker Davis nodded. "Thank you for 
helpin'. You didn't have to..." 
"Yeah, I did," Ben said, turning back to Jerilyn. 
"I owed her at least that." 
"I gotta go," Parker said, almost apologetically. 
"Melanie..." 
"Go," Ben tried to smile. "It'll be okay." 
Ben thought he had been left alone again. Left 
alone to stare at her, stare at the moonlight 
glinting off the holy medal of Saint Christopher 
around her neck. Stare at him. Wishing he had the 
energy to hate him still, but couldn't. Wondered 
what was going to become of him, this limbo he 
had been thrust in when the bullets meant for 
Mulder ripped through his body. 
"Mister?" 
Ben looked down and saw a little boy with a 
button nose, aquamarine eyes and tousled blond 
hair looking up at him. "Yeah?" 
"Who's that lady with my daddy?" 
Ben knelt to the child's level. "Um... she's a 
very good friend of your daddy's." 
"Where's my mom?" 
"I... I don't know." Ben felt something he 
thought had been denied to him due to Jerilyn's 
stubbornness and ambition. "But I bet we can find 
her. And see her." 
"Is my daddy with that lady now and not my mom?" 
"Yeah," Ben said truthfully. "I'm sorry. But 
she's a really nice lady... What's your name?" 
"Luke John Doggett," the boy said politely. "Do 
you know when my dad's coming home?" 
"It's gonna be awhile." 
"I want him to come home now." 
"I know, but he's got work to do here, still." 
"Can you stay with me until he comes?" 
Ben took the child's hand. "Yes. I will," Ben 
said. 
Finally, he got to be a father. 
In the spirit, anyway. 
**THE END**
Keep an eye out for the next Starkweather fic, 
'Starkweather: Introitus'