Part 02/06
Airplane
7:30 a.m.
Mulder's ears had plugged up the minute the plane had taken off,
and between that and his headache, he wasn't a very happy camper.
He managed to grab some sleep on the six hour flight, but his
headache had only worsened when they landed.
Squinted against the bright lights and neon signs of the city,
Mulder hailed a taxi, amazed at how easy it was in LA (if only it
was this simple in D.C....) and went directly to the
twenty-second street jail.
Unfortunately, it was only 8 a.m. California time, and stores
were _just_ opening on the Saturday. The jail opened at 8:30, so
Mulder sat outside on a bench, with his head tilted back and his
eyes closed, enjoying the sunlight. With his eyes closed, the sun
didnt hurt his head, it just made him feel nicely warm and
relaxed.
The guard led Mulder to Bryan Kennedy's cell. "Good
luck," the guard said.
Bryan was handcuffed, and sat on a narrow bed in one corner.
"Hello," he greeted Mulder coldly.
Mulder took a deep breath, wishing he felt more ready to face
Kennedy. His head was really hurting him, and his other injuries
seemed to want to make themselves known at that particular
moment: his ribs, shoulder, even the gash under his eye which was
just a scar now, seemed to hurt.
"Hey Bryan," he said. Mulder reached into his duffel
bag and pulled out the folder with the signatures on it.
"That's mine, asshole," Bryan told him, his voice low
and almost threatening.
"I know. And I'd like it if you could tell me a little more
about the papers in here. Like who these people are. And where
you found this piece of paper." Mulder kept his voice even
and held the paper bearing the date, November 27, 1973 in his
hand. When Kennedy made no attempt to respond, Mulder went over
and kicked him in the shin. "Now, shall we?"
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
7:30 a.m.
Scully nearly collided with Skinner on her way to the basement.
"Agent Scully. I was worried--"
"What's wrong, sir?" Scully asked. She had been having
a relaxing morning so far, and was alarmed by her boss's stress.
"I called you at home. Nobody answered. I was afraid
that..."
Scully smiled assuringly. "Mulder and I are fine, sir. Well,
actually, Mulder is in big trouble right now. Or, rather, will be
when I find him. I'm off to the basement, sir, I need to tell off
Mulder for working when I told him not to."
"Scully," Skinner said slowly. "I was just down
there. Mulder's not in the basement."
Airport
Washington, D.C
8:30 p.m.
Mulder's head hurt. His shoulder ached. The little bit of rest he
managed to get on the plane had done nothing for his throbbing
head. And when he thought back to what happened in that jail cell
his head hurt even more.
It was like talking to a brick wall. A very _angry_ brick wall.
Mulder had tried to get something out of him for 2 hours, but all
he got were many angry stares. Mulder remembered how he banged
(his now throbbing) wrist into the wall in frustration. But
something must have paid off, for as soon as he began to exit the
cell, Kennedy spoke.
"Marcus Berkowitz. Not him personally. His kid. Wanted a lot
of cash for the papers. Was very nervous. Seems his old man
doesnt know he stole the papers from him." Then
Kennedy was silent again.
That little piece of information was barely anything to go on,
but it was better than nothing. Marcus Berkowitzs kid.
Berkowitz was one of the names on the paper, Mulder noted. The
person who was not yet retired, too, his photographic memory told
him.
But now as he walked through a crowed airport, he was beginning
to think how he would be able to prove it. Hed have to
locate this Berkowitz kid, but then what? He raised a tired hand
to rub his head; it was pounding too fiercely now for him to
concentrate now anyway.
He glanced down at his rumpled clothes and decided a change at
his apartment was probably a good idea before he headed back to
Scullys. Then maybe he could stand her yelling. He sighed
as his head seemed to throb in protest.
Apartment 42
Alexandria, Virginia
9:13 p.m.
Scully checked her watch again. And again. And again. She tore
her glance from his watch and stared around Mulders empty
apartment for the thousandth time. She had been sitting her for
over two hours, after she had scoured the FBI and every place she
could think of in D.C. Even Skinner helped her check the FBI. She
had been worried, and hoped that Mulder had just decided to take
another drive. But still
She got up from her place on Mulders couch and began
pacing. She could tell he hadnt been back to the apartment.
The piles of clothes he always left on his bed were still there.
She always thought he thought of his bed as another dresser,
instead of a place to sleep. "Thats what my couch is
for, Scully," he had once told her. She looked back at the
couch and saw the neatly folded (
Scully stopped pacing and sat back down on the couch. She checked
her watch again. 9:15 p.m. She was beginning to grow _very_
worried.
The sound of a key turning interrupted her thoughts. She watched
the door and was soon met by Mulder, smiling at her with a
sheepish grin.
Apartment 42
Alexandria, Virginia
9:13 p.m.
Mulder approached his door thinking of the excuses he could tell
Scully. I went for another drive, Scully, I
just needed some time to myself, or I was abducted by
aliens and they made me write that letter to you were some
of the excuses he had come up with thus far. He smiled at the
last one. The things he could think of when facing an angry
Scully and a migraine the size of Texas.
He reached into his pocket and clumsily retrieved his keys. He
found the right one and slipped it into the keyhole and turned it
quickly. He opened the door and was surprised, though he knew he
shouldnt be, to see Scully staring at him, her eyebrow
raised.
He grinned at her sheepishly. "Ah Scully
.," he
began, but had to stop when a large pain hit his head. He closed
his eyes, and swayed.
Scullys expression changed completely. She soon rushed to
his side.
"Mulder," she said, and reached out to steady him.
Mulder vaguely heard her calling his voice, but it sounded far
away. His headache decided then to hit him full force and tried
to steady himself, but found the task difficult. He felt
Scullys hands trying to do the same, but they were both
failing. Scully called his name again and he barely heard it. The
next thing he knew he didnt hear anything and everything
was black.
9:15 p.m.
Mulder's apartment
Scully tried to slapping Mulder lightly to get him to come
around, but he wasn't responding. She considered calling 911, but
wasn't sure that was the right thing. After all, she was a
doctor, she could handle it.
She finally decided to call Skinner.
"Yes, sir, I, um, need your advice on something."
"Concerning your partner?" Skinner asked.
"Yes," Scully said. She suddenly felt very stupid.
Scully heard his sigh. "What's the problem? Did you find
him?"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, where was he?"
"Actually, sir, I don't know. He's not really up to speaking
right now."
There was a pause. "Do you want to elaborate on that, Agent
Scully?"
"He came home, I was waiting for him in his apartment, and
just passed out cold on the floor."
Skinner's voice remained even. "Well, does he look beat up?
Do you think anyone hurt him?"
"No, that's just the thing. He doesn't look any worse than
the last time I saw him. Except that he's unconscious now."
"Maybe you should call 911," Skinner said.
"I don't know... I think I should too, but something tells
me they're not going to know what to do either..."
"Dana," Skinner said gently, and Scully jumped, hearing
her first name uttered from her boss's mouth. "With Mulder,
things aren't always as they appear. You know him best, what do
you think you should do?"
Scully sat on the floor, staring down at her unconscious partner,
her mouth slightly open in thought.
"Hold on, sir," Scully said. "I think he just came
to."
"Scully?"
"Yeah," she said. She put two fingers on Mulder's neck
and found his pulse fast, but strong. "Sir, I need to go.
Take care of him. I'll call you back when things are under
control."
"All right, bye."
Scully turned her full attention to Mulder who was groaning.
"Mulder," she said. "What's the matter?" He
didn't answer her. "What hurts? Who hurt you? You need to
tell me."
He struggled to sit up but Scully put a hand on his shoulder,
keeping him horizontal.
"Not yet. Who do this to you, Mulder?" she said.
"No one," he gasped out. "Scully. Exedrin."
"What the hell are you talking about? Exedrin?" Scully
took his arm and slowly
pulled him upright. He kept his eyes shut but even so continued
to wince occasionally.
"Do you think you could turn those lights off?" Mulder
said. His voice sounded weird to his own ears, pounding in his
head.
"Uh, sure," Scully said. She got up and turned the
lights off. "Better?"
Mulder groaned. "Yeah." He pushed himself to his feet
and went over to the couch, stumbling a little. Kicking off his
shoes, he collapsed onto the couch.
"Uh uh uh, Mulder, you're not getting away that easy."
Scully sat down on the edge of the couch. She turned Mulder's
body so he was facing her. "Now c'mon, tell me what
hurts."
"My head. It's okay. Probably just the aftermath of the
concussion. I oughta know about that." He gave a
half-hearted laugh.
"You don't look so okay," Scully said. She studied his
face for a minute; it was tight with pain lines. "Do you
want what the hospital gave you, or the usual Tylenol?"
"Um... hospital's stuff."
Scully frowned. Mulder had never taken anything stronger than
extra-strength Tylenol unless it was dripping into him via IV. He
hated the way it fogged up his brain. But now he was asking for
it. Scully stood and got the medicine and a cup of water.
"Drink," she said and he opened his eyes and took the
glass. Downing the pills and half the water, he murmured thanks,
handed her the glass and let his eyes drift shut.
"Mulder," Scully said.
"Later. I need to sleep. Okay," Mulder said, and was
asleep.
Mulder's apartment
4:17 a.m.
His head still hurt, but he felt considerably better than he had
last night. He did want to sleep, but his brain wouldn't let him
rest. So here he was, up at the crack of dawn, logged on to the
FBI net on his laptop. On his screen was an in depth profile of
Marcus F. Berkowitz.
According to this, Marcus F. Berkowitz had two children, a girl
and a boy. Susan, age twenty-three, was a successful banker,
living in upstate New York, married to a Mr. Ralph Bryant. Caleb
Berkowitz, twenty-six, lived in D.C. with some government job,
the profile was unspecified.
The unspecificness caused Mulder suspicion.
Mulder took off his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his
nose. He glanced down at his watch. 4:24 and his head was already
throbbing. Some vacation.
Mulder's apartment
7:14 a.m.
Mulder grabbed the ringing phone.
"Mulder."
"Mulder? This is Skinner."
"Sir?"
"Yes," Skinner said. "I was just checking up on
you. You had Scully pretty worried last night. Are you all
right?"
Skinner felt awkward for a moment. "Can I speak to Agent
Scully?"
"Actually, I don't know where she is," Mulder said. He
hadn't even considered that Scully might have stayed the night.
"She didn't stay over? I would have thought..."
"I don't know," Mulder said. "Sorry to do this,
sir, but I have to go. Get ready for work."
"Mulder, you're on vacation. Do I need to remind you of
this?"
"No, Mulder, wait. I don't want to see you in work
today." Skinner sighed. "Agent Scully is very worried
about you and, frankly Mulder, so am I. You gave us both quite a
scare last night."
Mulder blinked, confused. "Sir?"
"Agent Scully called me when you passed out and she couldn't
wake you up. She was scared and so was I."
"I'm sorry. I really need to go now, sir."
"Mulder, don't come into the office. I swear, if I see you,
I will call up Agent Scully and we will drag you home together.
Do I make myself clear?"
Mulder dropped down on the couch. "Yessir."
Skinner said, "And Mulder. I don't know what you're getting
yourself into, but don't. I know I can't stop you from your
private investigations, as long as you don't make them FBI
business, but, be careful."
Mulder hung up the phone, still wondering why his boss was so
interested in his well being.
He got up and entered it; he hoped he had something in his
fridge.
Mulder,
Had to meet my mom for breakfast. Ill be back to check on
you. If you even _think_ of leaving your apartment, I will
personally shoot you.
-Scully
PS Ill bring some groceries as well. I noticed your
cupboards were bare.
His eyes strayed to his keys, which were sitting on the kitchen
table. He didnt know how they gotten there, but they were
sitting in the middle of the table along with his wallet and
badge.
Caleb Berkowitz. The name came back to him, like a bad dream. The
one who gave Kennedy his "information." Mulders
mind ran through the info he had from Kennedy and came up with,
at least in his mind, a situation.
A rich kid. Probably ignored as a child. Needed to fit in, so he
went for the heavy "stuff." Drugs maybe, booze more
likely. Addiction followed. He needed some serious cash to keep
up with his addiction and he probably didnt have a problem
getting the money, for a while. Through high school, he had to
hide his secret. Asked dear old Dad for cash, and made excuses.
New shoes. Have to take the girlfriend out to dinner. All was
well until Dad found out about his addiction. Cut him off.
Stealing followed, that Mulder knew from some light charges that
"Daddy" most likely used to his power to get cut in
half. And now Caleb probably resorted to selling his Daddys
secrets to keep feeding his addiction.
He tapped it lightly, thinking. Caleb. He wrote the name on the
paper and stared at it. Marcus Berkowitzs kid. Berkowitz.
He wrote that name down and stared at it. Had his father ever
known anyone by that name? He knew his father had many
"friends", but could this Berkowitz be one of them? He
father didnt leave a paper trail. At least not one he could
find.
But that didnt that one didnt exist. Maybe he
wasnt looking hard enough. He recalled his father did keep
books, but he always dismissed them as work, though when he asked
to see them, he was greeted with an angry word, and if no one was
around, perhaps a slap or two. He learned at a young age that his
fathers work was not his business, and to stop while he was
ahead. His mind remembered how much "work" his father
toted around Samanthas abduction. Some big folders, blue
mostly. They were off limits, Mulder had learned quickly. Not to
be touched. Even Bill Mulder would get angry if Samantha touched
them, though he was never as harsh with her as he was with
Mulder.
He remembered how his father had brought a lot of work to the
summer house, in
Quonochontaug, the summer before Samantha was taken. A summer he
had blocked out, though a few memories still peaked through. He
even remember one particular instance, when he touched his
fathers papers.
It was a rainy day, with no where but inside for young Fox and
Samantha to go. Board games were boring, videos had lost their
appeal, and rough housing was now the choice of activity.
Samanthas happy shrieks filled the hallways as they ran
about. Their mother was out, a lunch date or something, she never
told them much of where she went that summer.
He caught her, by the stairs and she screamed for him to let her
go.
"Fox! Let me go!" But there were giggles in her voice,
and he smiled. At that time, there was nothing like tackling your
little sister to pass a rainy day.
Bill Mulder sat in the dinning room, papers spread on the table,
instructions carefully given that they were not to disturb him.
Samantha twisted from his grip, laughing. She smiled, her brown
braids swinging as she turned to run from him again. He ran to
catch her, but paused as she ran toward the dining room.
"Fox? You give up?" Her blue eyes teased him, and he
resumed his chase.
It happened fast. He didnt even remember how. But somehow a
load of his fathers paperwork ended up on the floor. All he
could hear was his fathers voice booming and echoing off
the walls. The rain pounded on the roof and he and Samantha were
silent.
"IllIll pick it up," he had
stammered, and bent down to pick up the paper.
He will still remember the beating he got that day for years to
come, but as Mulder remembered the day now, he only remembered
one thing.
The paper.
The one he picked up and tried to hand back to his father, even
as he blew up at him.
The paper that held a signature at the bottom.
One he never thought was important until today.
One he never even thought he would remember. Until today.
He remembered the huge sloppy letters that read Marcus Berkowitz.
Airplane
11:16 a.m.
Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his head back. "I really
shouldn't be doing this," he muttered.
"Excuse me?" the lady next to him said.
"Nothing," Mulder said.
It was a fairly short flight and they made it without hitting any
weather or technical difficulties. Mulder managed to get out of
the airport extremely quickly, seeing as how he had no baggage,
and hailed a taxi.
"Rudyard Street, Quonochontaug," he said.
The cabbie turned around to get a look at his passenger.
"Hey guy, that's pretty far. You sure you got the money on
you?"
Mulder laughed, realizing that without his suit and a badge in
his hand, he looked like any old guy off the streets. Especially
with the long scar across his cheekbone-- earned from their last
case-- which made him look a little tough.
"Yeah, I've got it."
"Okay!"
Mulder paid the driver and stepped out in the yard of his old
summer house. Pulling the key out from under the mat, he unlocked
the door and stepped inside. The house, though a bit mustier than
he remembered it, smelled and felt exactly the same. He dropped
down on the couch and thought that being here was a bit
comforting even, in a way.
What Mulder was afraid of, was if what he would _find_ here would
be comforting.
Scully's mother's home
12:16 p.m.
"Just a minute mom," Dana said. She pulled her cell out
of her pocket and pressed one. "Scully," she answered.
"Yeah, Agent Scully, it's me."
"Sir?"
"Uh, yeah," Skinner said. "Scully, do you know the
current whereabouts of Agent Mulder?" He sounded uncertain.
Scully took a sip of her tea and looked across the kitchen table
at her mom, who was eating her sandwich and looking at her
daughter questioningly.
"I believe he's at home, sir."
"His cell is turned off."
"Did you try his home number?" Scully said.
"Yeah, no one answered. Look, Scully, it's not my job to
keep track of where my agents are twenty-four/seven; especially
not when they're on vacation. But someone has got to keep an eye
on that partner of yours."
"Sir," Scully said slowly. "To the best of my
knowledge, Mulder is still at his apartment. He might just not be
picking up the phone, he does that a lot. I'm at my mother's
right now, but I'll be going back to Agent Mulder's house within
the hour. I'll be happy to call you when I find him, all
right?"
"Yes, Agent Scully. Thank you. Sorry to disturb you."
Scully was a bit taken aback by her boss' concern and his recent
dropping of his
well-I'm-higher-than-you-on-the-food-chain-so-there attitude.
"No trouble. Goodbye, sir."
"Bye," Skinner said.
"What was that all about?" Maggie Scully asked.
"Nothing much," Dana said. "Just my boss checking
up on Mulder."
"Oh, what's the matter with Fox, now?" Maggie asked.
Dana laughed. "Nothing's the matter with him _now_. Gosh
mom, you act like he's always causing trouble!"
"Well he is, isn't he, dear?"
Summer house at Quonochontaug
12:30 p.m.
Mulder was ripping out drawers, trying to find something....
something..... anything! Truth was, there wasn't much left to the
place but dust and some moth eaten furniture.
PALM, Mulder remembered. The clue his mother had given him. But
his father hadn't left him with any clues.
A crash from the other end of the house caused him to jump. His
hand reached down for his gun, but remembered that he was on
vacation, he didn't _have_ a gun. Moving slowly, pressed against
the wall, Mulder made his way into the front room where the crash
had come to. Standing in the front doorway was a man, about
Mulder's height, looking as startled as he. Mulder recognized the
man.
"Caleb Berkowitz," Mulder said, slowly. Caleb's eyes
widened, then his hand reached out, grabbed the poker from the
fireplace which was leaning against the wall next to him, and in
one swift motion, brought the poker up and whacked Mulder over
the head with it.
Mulder saw stars, and then black.
Mulder's apartment
1:01 p.m.
"Mulder?" Scully opened the door to his apartment with
the spare key that she possessed and stepped inside. "Hey
Mulder?"
No answer. Scully went into the back rooms but found the whole
apartment vacant.
"HE DITCHED ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
End Part 02/06