DEVIL'S ADVOCATE(2/4)

Thu Oct 10 1996
DEVIL'S ADVOCATE (part 3)
The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel
by:
CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED
aka
ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com

The other subjects of Dana and Mulder's attention barely noticed
the commotion. The Boltons had finished their brunch and each had their
cellular phones out, completing last minute ship to shore calls before the
ship was too far out from the port for their cellulars to work. Todd was
busy berating his assistant for sending a document by runner instead of by
fax....he'd have to take care of his little 'assistant' problem when he got
back. She was a cutie, but she'd long since worn out her usefulness. He
wondered how much severance pay he'd have to give her to keep her quiet.
Kelly was checking the latest listing in her office, instructing her
assistant which clients to send the listing to. Neither saw Mulder fall to
the floor, and probably wouldn't have cared even if they had.

Karl Kopec folded the latest issue of The Star and put it on the
table next to the issue of his own tabloid paper. Have to see what the
competition's up to, he thought to himself. Nothing much was the answer.
Now this... this was a 'real' story. If he could crack this baby, he'd be
up there with the likes of Geraldo Rivera... just as famous and just as
rich. And nobody could ever again call him a tired old hack... he was an
investigative reporter, and he'd damn well prove it on this trip. He saw
the tall young man sway and fall to the floor. Another newbie, he chuckled
to himself. Won't they ever learn to get motion sickness medicine *before*
they leave port?

Jake Moorehouse sat surreptitiously scanning the room, looking for
the agents the FBI had sent in to investigate 'his' case. Usually they
were easy to spot, even without the dark sunglasses and the uptight,
buttoned-down dark suits. Most Fibbies he'd known during his career were
insufferably arrogant......God's gift to law enforcement....and he could
spot that arrogance a mile away. As far as he was concerned, the only
difference between a Fibbie and a beat cop was the technical equipment at
their disposal. His own precinct was facing budget cutbacks and he'd been
asked if he would take an early retirement. The federal guys, they didn't
have to worry about that. Hell, he figured his own taxes kept at least one
team fully supplied with all the manpower and technical support they could
ever possibly need. Beat cops.....that was a different story. Beat cops
had to
think on their feet...didn't have all that fancy, schmancy high tech stuff
to do their detecting for them. But that worked in his favor here.... Even
if there were a pair of agents on board this time out, he still figured he
could beat them at solving this little mystery...he had nearly twenty-five
years experience going for him, as well as an insatiable desire for the
fame and fortune he figured would go along with solving the case. He was
nobody's fool...he knew he could find a way to translate this little reward
money into a tidy nest egg...something to keep him warm and cozy for the
rest of his life. The idea made him smile.
Moorehouse frowned briefly when he saw the young man hit the floor,
his wife bending down protectively over him. He'd checked them out
already...newlyweds. Only she didn't act like a newlywed....all nervous
and uncertain at having her new husband suddenly pass out on her. Nope, not
this one....she just calmly called for the doctor and felt her husband's
pulse. Hmmm...maybe she was in the medical profession. He'd have to check
that out. One thing was certain, however, these weren't the agents he was
looking for. No Fibbie he knew would ever have come on board unprepared
for motion sickness. Moorehouse continued his scan of the room, mentally
cataloging all the passengers he saw.

In the background, unnoticed by anyone, a small man heaved a deep
sigh....from the looks of things, this was going to be a *very* long
cruise.

Mulder heard far away voices drifting in and out in waves through
his head. He tried desperately, without success, to pull them into focus
and decipher some kind of meaning from the sounds. However, the noises
always seemed just beyond his reach--just at the edge of his consciousness,
taunting him until he was just too exhausted to reach for them any more.
He began to sink back down into the cool darkness when a single
voice broke through and pulled him back again. Slowly, he felt reality
coalesce around him and he opened his eyes. He found himself prone on a
cot in the midst of various medical paraphernalia and antiseptic smells.
Great... he was in yet another doctor's office. This was turning out to be
one hell of a day, and it wasn't even half over.
Mulder awoke with a monstrous pain in his head. He tried to sit
up, but his stomach cramped unmercifully, and without warning, he was
forced to roll over and retch violently for several minutes. Oh God, he
felt like shit.....
A soft, cool hand felt his forehead and caressed his cheek. "Doc's
gonna give you something for the nausea and vomiting," Dana said helpfully.
Mulder nodded slowly as something 'stung' his arm....he then looked
at the doctor, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Bernie Kopel.
Naw....it couldn't be.... He closed his eyes, trying to fight off the
sinking feeling that he'd fallen down the rabbit hole and pretty soon the
Madd Hatter was gonna invite him to a tea party.
"Young man, you've got possibly the worst case of motion sickness
I've ever seen," the doctor said, smiling at him reassuringly. Mulder
opened his eyes again and was relieved to see just a normal looking doctor,
not a refugee from 'The Love Boat'. Must be all that late night television
his subconscious had absorbed from years of falling asleep on the couch, in
front of the TV. The idea that his subconscious was being influenced by
'The Love Boat' wasn't exactly reassuring.
"Combine that with an equally nasty case of vertigo," the doctor
continued, "and you're one sick puppy. I'm going to give you a patch to
wear that should alleviate the symptoms within an hour or so."
Dr. Johnson went back into the other room to retrieve the small
package of patches lying on the counter. He paused briefly in the doorway
as he momentarily caught a shadow of someone else in the room out of the
corner of his eye. Scanning the small lab/pharmacy turned up nothing out
of the ordinary, so he convinced himself that he'd been a ship's doctor too
long and his eyes were playing tricks on him again. He brought the patches
out and placed one on the back side of Mulder's right earlobe.
"The medication will gradually release throughout the day and you
should be able to function normally very soon," he explained. "Meanwhile,
I would like you to remain exactly where you are for at least an hour or
so." The doctor turned to Scully. "Make sure that he does..." She smiled
at the man and commented, "I'll sit on him if I have to."
Mulder managed a weak grin. "Guess I missed the 'meeting'. What
are their ground rules so I know which ones to break first?"
"It seems we have to 'earn' the right to solve the 'real' cases by
first solving a 'test' case they gave us at the meeting," Scully replied.
"Test case? What 'test case'?" Talk about shades of Sherlock
Holmes.....
"Every individual or couple was given the same 'mystery scenario',
at least that's what the idiot called it," Scully said with a 'why me,
lord' look. "The first 5 individuals and/ or couple to solve said mystery
earn the right to solve the real thing and collect the prize." Scully
looked at him, totally exasperated. "Mulder, I can't actually believe
we're going along with this...this lame charade."
Mulder's shrug said it all...you gotta do what you gotta do. After
all, they couldn't very well blow their cover. Scully knew that, but it
still didn't stop her from feeling totally frustrated. They should be out
chasing the *real* bad guys, not some make believe villain in a ridiculous
game of 'Clue'.
"Does the 'Mystery' that they gave us sound 'challenging' at all?"
he asked with growing curiosity. "And has that logical mind of yours
figured it out yet?"
Dana grinned....leave it to Mulder to get excited about any
mystery, even a make believe one. "Yes....it does sound....'challenging',"
she replied, "and no, I haven't quite figured it out yet."
"Well....are you gonna tell me or keep me in suspense? What's the
scenario?" he asked eagerly with the glint of an anticipated challenge,
sparkling in his eyes as he started to raise himself up off the cot.
She shook her head 'no' and gently pushed him back down..."45 Mulder."
"Huh??? 45? 45 what?" he inquired impatiently.
"Forty-five minutes....that's how long you've got left to warm that
cot and you're gonna stay there even if I have to hog tie ya and sit on ya.
Got that, Sherlock?"
He reluctantly settled back down onto the cot and grumbled, "I bet
Dr. Watson didn't threaten Sherlock Holmes with B&D. if he didn't
agree....Geez."
"Watson didn't have the same kind of 'investment' in Holmes that I
have in you either, so shut up, close your eyes, and do what you're told."
"But...."
"Shsssss," she hissed fiercely, her eyes just daring him to disobey her.
Seeing that he wasn't going to get anywhere until he appeased her
sense of duty, he reluctantly closed his eyes, fully intending to wait
*just* the minimum amount of time required to fulfill the time restraint
that she so enthusiastically enforced on him. However, weariness took its
toll and in the end, Mulder's forty-five minute nap lasted a little more
than six hours.

The steward rolled the cart to a stop in front of cabin 609 and
knocked respectfully on the door, waiting for a response. When none was
forthcoming, he knocked again, a little harder. This time the door opened,
but just barely.
"Mrs. O'Keefe?" the steward asked. Behind the crack in the door,
he could only make out one eye and part of her face. He knew the old lady
was a mystery writer, and he had always believed writers were a little
eccentric, if not downright weird. But a passenger taking brunch in their
cabin the first morning out of port was a first in his book. Maybe she was
afraid her cat would jump overboard or something.
"I have your brunch, ma'am," the steward said when she remained silent.
"Just leave it in the hallway, young man," Mrs. O'Keefe said.
"I'll bring it in..in a minute or two."
"Are you sure, ma'am?" Now the steward was thoroughly confused.
He wasn't supposed to do that....leaving his cart in the hallway was a sure
way to get in trouble with his supervisor. "I'm supposed to leave it in
your cabin, not the hallway," he insisted.
"My cat's not used to strangers....I'm sure you understand." Mrs.
O'Keefe's blue eye stared back at him unrelentingly.
Well, it didn't look like the old lady was going to open her door,
and he sure didn't want to stand here arguing with her all morning.
Shit....if he got in trouble, he'd just blame it on her. What were they
always telling him...the passenger is always right? "Okay, ma'am. But
don't leave it out here too long....someone might decide your brunch looks
better than what they had."
"Thank you. I'll keep that in mind," she said, firmly closing the door.
The steward shook his head as he walked away. Boy, you see all
sorts on these cruises, he thought.
A few minutes after the steward left, the door to cabin 609 opened
slowly. Mrs. O'Keefe stuck her head out the door and looked in both
directions down the hall. Convinced that no one was in the corridor, she
opened the door and quickly pulled the cart inside, her rubber soled shoes
making no sound on the carpeted hallway. Anyone seeing her would have
been amazed at how quickly the little old lady could move when she wanted
to.

Jake Moorehouse sat in a deck chair, ostensibly getting a little
sun, but in reality closely watching his fellow passengers from behind the
safety of his shades. There had been quite a turn out at the orientation
meeting this morning. Even the newlywed wife had shown up to collect the
little test scenario and listen to the rules before leaving, probably to go
check up on her sick hubby. Moorehouse had already dealt with the fake
mystery, a bit surprised that it had taken him a couple of hours to solve
it. It was complicated, but he'd chewed up and spit out harder mysteries
in his time. He'd turned in his response on the way to the deck, confident
that he would be among the five lucky winners.
The day had turned out beautiful -- sunny and warm without a cloud
in the sky....a definite difference from the dingy gray of New York City.
Quite a few of the passengers were taking advantage of the sun by either
frolicking in the pool or laying around catching rays. There was even a
volleyball game going strong, although Jake figured the guys were in it
mostly to oggle the girls as they bounced around in their bikinis trying to
hit the ball. Had he not been working a case, he might have spent more
time eyeing the girls himself.
Jake noticed the Boltons sitting at a table near the pool, heads
together over the test scenario. Inwardly he smiled...solving a mystery was
a little harder than bullying some poor slob into selling his company, eh?
Amateurs.....
The reporter...what was his name, Kopek?....walked by Jake's chair
on the way to the bar. Probably on an expense account from that rag he
worked for...from the looks of it he'd probably spend the whole trip
sloshed. He'd exchanged the worn linen suit for a pair of garish Bermuda
shorts that clashed horribly with his Hawaiian shirt. Jake noticed the
test scenario tucked under the reporter's arm. Well, he hadn't figured it
out yet. Moorehouse wondered how he'd do with a couple of drinks under his
belt...maybe in Kopek's case the liquor actually helped him think.
Jake wondered how many of the passengers at the meeting this
morning had given up after reading the test case. Not a lot of them seemed
to be working on it....that was just as well. Less competition searching
for the real criminal. And a major suspect sat well within Jake's view,
sunning herself by the pool.
Oneida Darkhorse...he'd spent a lot of time researching her. She'd
been on all of the previous cruises where passengers had died. Her husband
was some rich, big shot politician....sending his wife on all these cruises
probably didn't even put a dent in his spare change. Not that she'd acted
much like a wife while she was on board. Oneida had an effect on men....a
very carnal effect...and by all reports, she enjoyed the hell out of it.
Moorehouse guessed that she used the men that she attracted the way other
people used alcohol or drugs...as an escape. Although what the heck she
had to escape from was beyond him. She had money, fame, and a bod that
wouldn't quit. Moorehouse considered himself somewhat of an amateur
psychologist...you got to be that way after years on the job.....but there
were some people he just couldn't figure out. One thing was certain,
though...this woman was a real looker. Moorehouse let his eyes pause on
her reclined form, letting his imagination run rampant.
As he sat there watching her, Oneida opened her eyes and stared
straight at him. Moorehouse felt like a goose had walked over his grave.
In spite of the hot weather, he shivered. A thought rang out in his head,
as clear as if someone had spoken it out loud....<not in your lifetime,
bud> Moorehouse got up from his chair with a start, deciding that he'd had
enough sun for one afternoon. Maybe a nap, in his cabin, so he'd be alert
for tonight's festivities.

Oneida turned over on her lounge chair so the sun could hit her
back...had to make sure the tan was even. Besides, she liked laying on her
stomach, her face buried in her soft beach towel. For some reason she was
very drowsy and felt like doing nothing more than lying out in the sun.
Maybe she'd stay here for the entire trip, although she'd have to get up
sooner or later and turn in her answer to the test mystery. She knew the
answer already, of course...she'd gotten it loud and clear from the
purser's mind when he'd looked at her. She just didn't want to turn in her
answer too soon....after all, some people might accuse her of cheating.
She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the deck fade into the
background....letting the creep's thoughts about her fade from her mind as
well. Oh, she appreciated male attention, all right. But it had to be
from the *right* male, and he definitely was *not* it. She let her
thoughts drift back to the man she'd seen on the Promenade Deck this
morning....now *he* was someone she was definitely interested in. He
wasn't on deck, she was sure of it....she would have known if he was
around. Oh, well... no doubt he would be at the party tonight to see
whether he and his new little wife had won a chance to compete on solving
the real mystery. Oneida hoped they had...it would give her a chance to be
around him, to try and sort out the barrage of feelings he had thrown back
at her this morning when she'd used her 'talents' on him. Picturing him in
her mind, Oneida drifted off to sleep.

Dana had pulled up a chair to sit with Mulder just to make sure
that he didn't renege and get up first chance he got. She'd used the time
to study the case she'd been given and was surprised to see that it was
quite a little mystery. When the forty-five minutes were up and Mulder was
still peacefully sleeping, she'd decided not to wake him. He'd be royally
pissed off at her but he'd just have to get over it. Sleep was a rare
commodity for him and she wasn't about to interrupt it. He obviously
'needed' it and by God, he was gonna get it whether he liked it or not.
The afternoon went by quickly. Dana dozed off a bit herself, the
early morning finally catching up with her. She awoke with a start, and
was pleased to see that her 'patient' was still fast asleep. Stretching her
arms and yawning, she prepared herself for the inevitable complaining and
whining she was sure would ensue when he finally woke up and discovered
he'd overslept. But she would stand by her decision and if he didn't like
it....it was just too damn bad.
Dana finished with her study of the case and looked up over the rim
of her reading glasses as Mulder turned restlessly on the cot, his eyelids
fluttering in the effort to awaken. <Why is it that men always seem to have
the most thick, gorgeous eyelashes???? It just wasn't fair.> He gradually
opened his eyes and momentarily stared at her with a blank expression.
She got up, put the 'test mystery case' in the chair, and knelt on
the floor beside the cot. With one hand she checked his pulse and with the
other, she brushed the ever stubborn lock of hair from his eyes again. The
medical part of her mind noted with some dissatisfaction that he remained
disoriented just a little longer than she thought he should have, but after
a few minutes, he seemed lucid and fairly normal.
Mulder sat up cautiously. The medication must have worked for the
headache, dizziness, and nausea had diminished to tolerable levels and he
actually even felt a little 'feisty'.....and though he shouldn't
be....hungry. Didn't he just eat? Oh well, maybe it was just that he'd
barfed up everything.
"How ya feelin', sleepy head?" Dana said cheerfully. "Ready to go
back to the cabin, take a shower, change your clothes, and go to dinner?"
"Dinner? What happened to lunch?"
"You slept through lunch," she replied hastily.
He narrowed his eyes. "Dana.....what time is it?"
"Oh...." She looked at her watch. "It's exactly 5:32 PM." <Brace
yourself Dana, cause here it comes>
"Five thirty-two PM? You mean that I've wasted a whole day, flat
on my back when we have to beat out all those people to solve their stupid
'test mystery'!" Mulder glared at her--- he couldn't believe she'd let him
sleep so long. They were on a case, for crissakes. "Why didn't you wake
me up?"
"Because I thought you'd have a better chance of solving this thing
with a well-rested, alert mind than an exhausted, groggy one," she replied
sweetly, "and I have the utmost 'faith' in your deductive abilities, so
don't get your 'knickers in a twist'.... I can almost guarantee nobody else
has solved the damn thing yet either."
One corner of his mouth crooked up in that infamous lopsided grin.
"Solving a case with a 'well-rested', alert, mind, huh? What a *novel*
concept," he commented sardonically as he stood carefully, getting his
bearings. "Why do I have to change clothes?"
"Because it's a formal dinner/dance."
"Lovely---it's monkey suit time already and it's only the first
night. What could I have possibly done to deserve all this good fortune?"
he lamented.
"Stop with the 'pity party' and I'll give you the file on our 'test
mystery'," she cajoled as they walked through the main deck to the
elevator. That should keep his worry circuits busy for a while, she thought
sneakily.
"Sounds like a fair trade," he replied, taking the file from her
hand. Mulder proceeded to peruse the documents during their elevator ride.
Luckily they had the elevator all to themselves so no one saw their
'un-newlywed' like behavior. He handed the file back to her when they got
out on their deck.
"Well?" she asked.
"I'm thinking," was all he'd say as they entered the cabin. He
hurried to the shower and closed the door. Dana heard him turn on the
water. Fifteen minutes later he emerged wearing a big smile and very
little else. "I know who did it, " he laughed, " I know the answer to the
'test'." He started to quote sections of the file out loud to her so she
could follow where he was going with it.
"Okay....so they call this scenario the 'Case of the Vanishing Man'
Here we go....
"#1. Mystery writer describes to a friend a scenario for his book
that involves the lead character phoning *his* friend and telling him that
he's screwing around with a 'magic disappearing spell' and says that he's
'disappearing' while talking on the phone. In the *story*, the friend
arrives to discover the guy is missing, the house boarded up and locked
from the inside with no means of escape, i.e. no fireplace, trap doors,
secret passages, etc.
"#2 Mystery writer finishes novel on the 1st of the month, goes to
town and mentions to several people that he was late because he had to
'meet' someone earlier that morning. Writer returns home. After two weeks
the *friend* that he told the story to goes to his cottage to find
everything there matches the scenario in the Writer's book, i.e. locked
from the *inside*, etc., except for one thing...the writer has been
murdered.
"#3. "The *greedy* landlord, who also happens to be the builder of
the cottage, says he's pissed cause the Writer died before he could pay
his rent. The landlord turns the place, which had become a mecca for
occult minded and mystery buffs, into an attraction and charges admission,
making more money than he ever did from collecting rent.
"#4. "Now the question is.....who killed the writer and how? Give
up Scully????? huh? huh???" he asked smugly.
Scully had an idea, but she wanted to hear it from him. Besides,
she just loved it when he showed off. "All right Mr. Holmes-----I
give...who dunnit?"
"Elementary, my dear Watson," he replied in an overdone British
accent. "The landlord did it, of course," he stated with conviction.
"Right.....how did you come to that 'leap' in logic?"
"Well, according to everyone who knew this guy, he was a greedy,
lazy, SOB who'd evict his own mother if she was late with a payment. The
Writer said he had to meet someone that morning...it was the first of the
month....and what do you pay on the 1st of the month, oh Scully one?????"
"The rent," she conceded. "The Landlord lied about not seeing the
Writer when he'd paid his rent that morning--why?"
Mulder rubbed his chin. "This part is just conjecture," he
admitted, "but I think the bastard gave the Writer the idea for his book
and when the writer refused to cut him in on the book deal, he got angry,
planned his revenge, and when the Writer returned from town he killed the
guy and found another way to make a profit off of it."
Dana had to admit that the *who* made sense, but the *how* was
beyond her. "Okay.....so how did he murder the guy and get out of a
building that was totally sealed from the *inside*? And Mulder, if you
mention Eugene Tooms, I'll .......I don't know what I'll do, but I
guarantee it won't be pleasant."
"Remember....the landlord also built the cottage....and he was
admittedly 'lazy'. It's true the place had a concrete floor and solid
stone walls....but it also had a beam ceiling with exposed rafters. I
learned a few things while being forced into child labor on my summer
vacations for my big shot cousin architect. He'd often run into trouble
with workers not properly securing...if they even secured it at all....that
kind of roof to the wall's corners. The weight of the roof kept it in
place and no one would be the wiser that it wasn't secured unless a huge
wind came in and lifted it. The landlord had a truck...and truck jacks are
usually hydraulic...all he would have to do is seal the place up, take the
damn truck jack, place it under a beam and lift the corner of the roof
about a foot which would be a piece of cake, crawl out, then remove the
jack from the outside. No mystery...only a devious mind. So whadda ya
think, Watson???"
"I'm *very* impressed," Dana said, and she was, too, but she
couldn't resist adding, "I think you'd make a great FBI agent someday when
you grow up." She skittered to one side as he snapped his towel at her.
"I'm really glad you figured all that out, too--maybe it'll bring us in
first place since all they really asked for was 'who dunnit', not
specifically how or why," she said wryly.
"Then why in the hell did you let me go through all those mental
contortions to figure all that shit out?" he asked slightly perturbed.
She grabbed an extra towel lying by the sink and before entering
the shower, looked back over her shoulder, pursed her lips and simply said,
"Gotcha--"
He crossed the small room and retrieved his tuxedo from the closet,
thinking about the smart remark he'd made earlier that morning about
leaving late so that 'she didn't have to wait anywhere'.....touchÈ',
Dana...<paybacks are hell>
Dana's voice filtered out above the noise of the running water.
"Hey....how long before his 'artwork' wears off my butt?"
He thought for a moment , <well you did use a laundry marker> then
yelled back, "Oh, I'd say you're good for at least a dozen more washes," he
chuckled mirthfully under his breath as he contemplated having to stuff
himself into this monkey suit.
"Hey, Sherlock," Dana called again from the shower. "Since I'm in
here and obviously not in any condition to be seen yet, how about you go
take our answer to the purser's office."
Any excuse to postpone putting on that damn suit was fine with him,
he thought as he pulled on his jeans and a t shirt. "Purser's
Office...gotcha," he said, heading out the door.

Todd Bolton paced the small confines of their cabin, his mind
working in overdrive. The ship to shore phone had been out again, so he
couldn't call his office. Anytime he was out of touch with the office he
felt out of control, and Todd hated feeling out of control of anything. In
his business, deals were made, and broken, at all hours of the day and
night. Todd didn't trust anyone to handle business while he was gone, and
if solving this mystery wasn't so important to his overall career goals, he
damn well wouldn't be here.
The cabin wasn't helping matters any. You'd think what with all
the cruises he and Kelly had taken trying to solve this little mystery,
he'd be used to it by now. But small was definitely *not* what Todd Bolton
was used to. He was on the fast track, and that was exactly where he
wanted to be. He was already rich by most standards, but what Todd craved
most was power and all the trappings that went with it. The fancy, fast
cars...the estate in the country...and a beautiful, smart wife who looked
good at his side. He never traveled less than first class, and this cabin
was a definite come down. And to think this was the best "suite" the
cruise line had to offer.
Kelly emerged from the shower wrapped in one of the large towels
they had brought from home. God, she was gorgeous. She'd look good in
California, just as good as any of those beach blanket babes with the
Coppertone tans and the bleach blonde hair. He wondered briefly if she
knew about his extracurricular "activities" with the long string of girls
he'd hired as assistants. Probably not. And he refused to think about
whether she may have retaliated with "assistants" of her own. It was
enough that they were good together, and he had to admit that they made a
heck of a team. They'd actually figured out the stupid little test
scenario. Of course, Todd had hedged his bets with a little side
*investment* directly into the purser's pocket. That was one of the most
important things Todd had learned in his life...never go into a deal unless
you already know what the outcome will be. He had no intention of failing
this time out. There was too much riding on this deal. Yeah, they'd close
the book on this little mystery, and that would lead to another deal which
Todd would close and that would be the start of their new life in
California. Closure....that was his goal in all things, whether in the
boardroom or in the bedroom....closure and success.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror getting ready to dry her
hair, Kelly Bolton shivered briefly, and a frown creased her forehead.
"What's up, babe?" Todd asked, seeing her frown.
"Nothing," she replied. "Must have gotten a chill, I guess." But
she didn't sound convinced, and as she continued to look into the mirror,
Kelly felt more than just a slight chill run down her back...this cold was
buried deep in her bones. She started putting on her makeup automatically,
letting her mind roam free, and in the back of her thoughts echoed one word
she had heard her husband say at least a million times.....<closure>.

(continued part 4)

M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst

XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the
and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy."
Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher"

xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

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From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 11 11:16:34 1996
DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 4)
The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel
by:
CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED
aka
ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com

The trip to the purser's office just hadn't been long enough,
Mulder thought as he attempted for the tenth time to tie his stupid bow
tie. He didn't know why he was having such a problem with it. Actually,
he'd been having minor problems with his coordination in general ever since
he'd awakened this afternoon. He'd even bumped into the door jam on his
way into the cabin. He was beginning to feel more like an Inspector
Clueseau than a Fox Mulder.
This case was not turning out exactly the way he'd hoped....it was
almost as if he'd been under personal attack since he boarded the damn
ship. And in spite of all the sleep he'd gotten this afternoon, he still
felt tired. That same heavy feeling of dread began creeping up on him
again and as he gazed into the mirror, he thought he saw something move
behind him just outside his field of vision. Mulder spun around, ready for
a confrontation but the only thing that met his scrutiny was 'empty space'.
<Oh boy, first...you're paranoid...now, you're delusional on top of
everything else> He could have sworn there was something...or someone
there.
He temporarily gave up on the tie when Dana entered the room and
slipped into the floor length, blue velvet gown that she'd purchased before
they came on board. Mulder studied the dress in wonder---- It 'plunged' in
the back, it 'plunged' in the front, in fact it did so much 'plunging' that
it seemed to possess an ethereal quality that defied the law of gravity.
She was beautiful. If he'd have been a prince, he'd have taken her
away from all this. However, as it were, he was just a lowly FBI agent
who, at the moment, was trying to decide whether or not he was crazy and if
he should tell her about his doubts.
Dana interrupted his thoughts by reaching up and expertly fixing
the bow tie for him. Gazing into those clear, blue/grey eyes, he finally
decided that for now--- he'd just let it ride until he had more information
to go on.
"Thanks for fixing the tie," he said gratefully, "I just can't seem
to get it together tonight," he sighed as he walked into the bathroom to
brush his teeth and replace the stupid looking patch on his earlobe with a
new one. He rotely spat out the toothpaste, looked up at he mirror and
froze.....
"Dana," he whispered at first. "Dana, come here!!!" he raised his
voice.
The urgency in his tone brought her running.
Mulder pointed at the mirror and she stepped back to look. There
in the steam, a written message began to appear one letter at a time.
'Danger..... go..... back..... death.... awaits....'
"Scully," he murmured nervously, "if you've got a logical,
rational, explanation for 'this one', please believe me......I'm *more*
than willing to listen....and I *REALLY* wanna hear it."
Dana leaned in closer to the mirror to inspect the mysterious
writing. "Could be that someone wrote on the mirror with some sort of water
repellent material...say like a chapstick. When the steam collected, it
would collected everywhere except on the material. It's like silk
screening, Mulder."
"Okay Einstein....," Mulder said, considering her theory. "But if
that were true...wouldn't the 'writing' appear all at once--not one letter
at a time in a flowing motion? Wouldn't it have shown up after *my*
shower, too? And if this was someone's idea of a practical joke---why
single us out? Nobody's *supposed* to know who we are."
Mulder cautiously opened the medicine cabinet to look inside. No,
there were no panels, no holes in the wall, absolutely nothing to suggest
tampering or fraud.
"Did you hear anyone come in here while I was gone?" Dana shook
her head no. He didn't think that was a possibility...the bathroom in this
cabin was pretty darn small, and it was doubtful that Dana wouldn't have
seen someone come in. Stumped, Mulder shrugged his shoulders.
Mulder looked back at the mirror. The steam in the bathroom was
dissipating and the words were slowly fading from sight. "In any case,
whether it's ghosts, goblins, or a magician with a long distance calling
card, someone was concerned enough to send us a 'warning' and I don't
think we should totally disregard it, do you?"
"Mulder, I've learned not to 'disregard' anything where you're
concerned," she replied, shaking her head with a wry smile. "And what do
you mean...'warn us'. Seems to me, whatever this is, it's gone out of its
way to warn 'you'."
"Come on, Scully....I'm not predisposed to psychic impressions.
You're the one with *that* kind of background," he added with relish.
Reminding her of that fact always seemed to give him just a teeny tiny
spark of pleasure, since he knew it tended to irritate her skeptical
nature to be associated 'genetically' with what she considered, for the
most part....'flights of fancy'.
"Oh....so you don't have *any* psychic ability at all, huh? Then
what was that business in the cabin this morning all about....I didn't
feel anything--*you*, on the other hand, practically hyperventilated
yourself into oblivion." When she paused, Mulder thought he'd gotten off
lightly...he should have known better. "And one more thing. About that
psychic 'witch'....Oneida. She zeroed in on you like a hungry wolf
sniffing out a plate of raw meat. There were at least fifty other men in
that room, all with the same stupid grin on their faces. Why did she
concentrate such an icy glare at *you*? Exactly what kind of 'message'
did she send you? Mulder, do you think she's for real? And now...this! "
she pointed at the mirror and sighed.
Mulder favored her with a look of grudging resignation and
admitted, "I'll concede to insight, intuition, and maybe to a larger
degree, a certain amount of empathy, but I've never been telepathic or
prophetic. As to whether or not I believe our 'resident witch' is for
real?? Mulder shrugged. "Personally, I don't think that she's a true
psychic. However, she does seem to possess the ability to channel and
project raw emotions onto others....and does it with great skill to further
her own ends...whatever they may be. The icy 'glare' was probably thrown
my way because I sort of refused her suggestions.....I somehow got the
feeling that a negative response was 'unusual' and I guess she considered
it a 'slap in the face' so to speak."
"Fox....," she drew out his name deliberately, "what 'exactly' did
she 'project' to you?"
"Uh......" he stammered, "Let's just say.....I discovered that
there are 'positions' that even *I* haven't heard of......" Damn, he knew
he'd blushed again and betrayed his attempt to appear worldly. <You should
know better than to try and play Mr. Cool with Dana....she knows you too
well. She might tease you about adult videos and skin magazines but
underneath it all, she knows as well as you do that you're more old
fashioned than you'd like to admit.>
Realizing that this conversation was taking a decisively
'familiar' turn, he caught himself inadvertently looking down the front
of her dress, which led him to the conclusion that if they didn't leave
right now....they wouldn't leave at all. Never had he thought it would be
so difficult to keep his mind balanced between 'lover' and
'partner'.....but it had to be done. Mulder cleared his throat noisily and
announced, "I'm starved.....let's go eat." Then he thought with surprise,
after barfing his guts out all morning, that he really *was* hungry.
Mulder took another look at her as they left the cabin and
commented with a shy smile, "I submit that there is no need for concern on
your part as far as Mrs. Darkhorse is concerned....she projects a
fantasy....but *you*.....*you*, Dana......are reality and truth. And as
you know.....I prefer the truth. " He took her arm and gently wrapped it
around his own as they traveled down the hall. When they approached the
waiting elevator, however, Mulder stopped suddenly and refused to take
another step.
Dana glanced ahead and saw what *she* interpreted as the reason for
his failure to move. That obnoxious yuppie couple, Todd and Kelly Bolton,
had boarded the elevator just in front of them and were waiting inside for
Scully and Mulder to join them. The epitome of the me-first 80's
generation, they were the perfect "beemer" poster children. Scully was in
total agreement with Mulder on this one. She didn't want to share an
elevator with these people either. If she had to endure one more pointless
discussion on the destructive capabilities of 'lawn aphids', she'd
personally hunt them down after this was over and spray their whole
freaking yard with Round Up. Hell, that would give them something to talk
about for the *next* twenty years, at least.
Outwardly, Dana just smiled and motioned for them to go on ahead.
"I forgot something in the cabin," she offered in explanation, then
whispered to Mulder under her breath, "We can catch the next one." She
waited for a comment and when none came, she looked up to discover that her
partner was staring blankly into empty space, unaware that she had even
spoken to him.
This can't be, Mulder tried to reason logically... this is not
real. Yet he 'saw' the yawning cavern almost as if it were superimposed
over reality of the elevator, felt the cold darkness cling to his skin as
he stood at the edge of the abyss, unable to move. <Come on Mulder>, a
part of his brain kicked in <--it's a goddamn elevator, for Christ
sake.....not the pits of hell> Once more he got the impression of
something moving just beyond his range of vision----and then it was gone.
Dana tugged on his sleeve several times in alarm until he finally
blinked his eyes and gazed down at her, slightly disoriented.
"What's going on with you?" she asked worriedly.
"I wish I knew," he replied with a concern look evident in his
*own* eyes. "Dana.....I......I think I'm hallucinating....."
She heard the edge of panic that crept into his voice and attempted
to diffuse it with reason and a soothing tone. "If you are......there has
to be a logical explanation for it and eventually, we'll find out what it
is." She stroked his cheek...his skin was clammy and his forehead was damp
with sweat. What the hell was going on here? "Are you sure you're up to
this dinner party? You *could* go back to the room and lie down for a
while," she suggested.
"No, I'm fine now," he lied. "First of all, I certainly can't
conduct an investigation from my room and secondly," he eyed her
appreciatively, "I'd be a fool to let a beautiful woman attend a dinner
party unescorted amongst a room full of wolves. Just do me a favor and
take the stairs. okay?"

The party was in full swing when they arrived. The passengers had
all donned their finery...a few couples were on the dance floor, but most
seemed to be still eating dinner. Dinner...gee, that sounded good. Once
again Mulder realized just how hungry he was. The dinner spread had to be
twice as large as the brunch buffet he'd seen earlier...had that only been
this morning? Already it seemed like he'd been on this cruise forever.
Mulder decided that if he was going to be 'seeing' things, he'd just as
soon 'see' them on a 'full' stomach rather than an 'empty' one and once
again indulged in a plate full of food. After all, he was fully medicated
now and didn't expect to be blowing chunks anytime soon.
A short time later, a soft, sensual bolero began to play and Mulder
allowed himself the rare pleasure of dancing with Dana.....in public.
After all, they were supposed to be newlyweds here and he was gonna play it
to the hilt. He pressed her body to his until they melded into one
graceful line, pulsing with steamy, rhythmic movements that lended a whole
new dimension to the term 'dirty dancing'. Dana felt as though they were
making love in the middle of a crowded dance floor and found the sensation
to be nearly overwhelming. How could a man with feet that big be so
graceful? Then she wondered with just a hint of jealousy who had taught
him to dance in the first place.
Neither of them saw Oneida Darkhorse watching them from her table,
her lovely face marred by a frown. She didn't like to be rejected, but she
knew there was no hope for her with this man. To dance like that...to move
as one person...there had to be a deep emotional connection. She didn't
need to be psychic to know that these two were bonded to each other...mind,
body, and soul. And she was surprised by her own reaction to this
revelation...it hurt, a deep, empty ache that was more painful than even
the sunburn on her back. She'd fallen asleep this afternoon, a sound,
dreamless sleep, and as a result her back was badly sunburned. And in
spite of her nap, she still felt drowsy. The music seemed to come from far
away, and her 'talents' were somewhat dulled this evening. Not that she
felt like using them right now, anyway.
When the song was over, Scully and Mulder sat down and he scanned
the room. He thought all of the suspects were present --- No,
wait.....someone was missing. But who? He should be able to remember
something that simple. Why couldn't he remember?
Mulder stared at Dana from across the table, confusion and
frustration plainly visible on his face and asked. "Dana, what suspect is
missing? I can't remember.....I've got photographic memory and I can't
recall something a two year old would know. What's wrong with me?????"
"I don't know, but we're gonna find out...just stay calm," she
said, squeezing his hand. She watched the captain get up from his table
and move over to the microphone set in the middle of the stage. They're
announcing the winners of the mystery solving 'test'." As she expected
they were first on the list, followed by Mr. Moorehouse, Mrs. Darkhorse,
Mr. Kopec, and finally, unbelievably, the Boltons <so they made a lucky
guess> she thought crossly.
Mulder sat up straight. "That's them...that's who's missing...the
Boltons." He took another look around the room and spied, not the Boltons,
but someone else he thought he knew. "Dr. Jay??" he whispered out loud.
"What??" Dana asked as he bolted across the room toward the bar.
Mulder reached the bar, but when he got to the stool where he'd
seen the little man perched earlier, he was gone. Fox massaged the area
between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and shook his head slowly.
Maybe he *did* need to rest....his eyes were sure playing tricks on him,
and even a full stomach didn't seem to have helped. What the hell was he
thinking?? What would a homeless man that he'd met in D.C. while
undercover be doing on an expensive cruise ship? Although Dr. Jay *had*
always seemed out of place in the street environment, he hadn't questioned
him about it since the little man had saved his ass more than once during
that escapade. He did remember that the odd man had a knack for popping in
and out of his life unannounced without leaving a clue as to where he came
from, where he was going, or when he would leave. Mulder had found it a
constant source of irritation when the guy was around.
He walked unsteadily back to the table and downed a drink.
Dana eyed him warily for several seconds and inquired, "what was
that all about?"
"I'm not sure....I thought I saw someone that I knew," he answered,
with a puzzled expression. "Let's go. Maybe I am just 'stressed out'."
She followed him out of the room and down the hall to the elevator
where a crowd of people waited. She pushed the button but nothing
happened.
"It's not working," one woman growled.
Mulder looked at the display over the elevator. "Well, it says it's
on this floor.....the door must be stuck," Mulder replied as he reached his
fingertips into the crevice between the doors and pulled, forcing them
open. He nearly threw up when what was left of a bloody arm fell across
his shoes. The inside of the elevator was a vision of hell....blood was
splattered everywhere and what was left of the bodies' features was
flattened and unrecognizable....but he knew who they were and so did Dana.
They had almost ridden in this same elevator with the Boltons not more than
an hour ago. From all the available evidence, it appeared that the cable
had broken and sent the elevator into a free fall that ended rather
abruptly.
Dana mumbled absently, "so much for social climbing."
"They should have used a ladder like everybody else," Mulder added
without thinking.
Looking at the carnage in front of him, he suddenly felt very weary
and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he could have sworn the
blood spatters on the back wall of the elevator formed a pattern...no, not
just a pattern, a word....<closure>. What the hell.....?? He looked away
and then risked a glance at the back wall again, but the word was
gone....Mulder turned to Dana. "I gotta lie down," he muttered.
They returned to their cabin after the ensuing investigation. It
had taken a lot of effort not to interfere, but Dana had managed to lurk in
the background while Jack Moorehouse, the only "cop" on board, had taken
over the crime scene. Karl Kopec had been in the crowd, notebook in hand.
Even Mrs. O'Keefe had put in a brief appearance, along with Oneida
Darkhorse. All the remaining suspects, Scully noted. She'd managed to
hear most of what Moorehouse said to the shipboard officer assigned to
handle the "incident", as they referred to it, without seeming too
intrusive. Mulder had watched the proceedings from the background, but
Dana had a feeling that he wasn't all there. In spite of her assurances to
him, she was really getting worried.

*****
continued in 4b

M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst

XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the
and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy."
Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher"

xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

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From xangst@frii.com Fri Oct 11 11:17:11 1996
Devil's Advocate part 4 continued...

Mulder undressed and climbed clumsily into the upper bunk, curled
up and went to sleep. Dana noticed that he hadn't even bothered to cover
himself, so she did it for him. "Long day, Sherlock," she said, pressing
her hand again to his cheek, and then his forehead. His color looked a
little better, but he had deep circles under his eyes. If this kept up,
tomorrow she was taking him back to the doctor and would have a little
consultation with this guy, cover or no cover.
Exhausted, she crawled into the bottom bunk and lulled by the
movement of the ship, was soon asleep herself.

Jack Moorehouse oversaw the removal of what was left of the Boltons
from the elevator to the meat locker....the only cold storage on the ship
large enough to accommodate the bodies. You'd think with all the
'accidents' on board they'd put a morgue in here, he thought to himself.
The elevator had been cordoned off, the doors shut on the bloody mess
inside. When the ship got back to port the authorities would go over the
scene again, but Jake doubted they would find anything.
This looked like just another in a long string of accidents. That
was the hell of this
case...everything looked like an accident, and there was no evidence to
prove otherwise. He'd checked the cable himself. It had been old and worn
and had finally snapped. The crew chief argued that the cable had just
been serviced before they left port, and he'd produced the work order to
back up his claim. But Jake could find no evidence of foul play....just
damned bad luck for the Boltons. Less competition for me, he thought
cynically.
Speaking of competition...all the finalists had shown up at this
grim scene, even the newlyweds. In fact, one of the bystanders had told him
that the man, Mulder was his name, had forced the elevator doors open. The
kid must be stronger than he looks, and he didn't toss his cookies, either.
Passes out from motion sickness, but blood and gore doesn't phase him.
Weird kid. Not that Darkhorse dame...she'd taken one look at the mess and
turned white as a sheet, which was a difficult task considering the sunburn
she was sporting. She hadn't stayed long, but then neither had Mrs.
O'Keefe. Funny....for a murder mystery writer, you'd think she'd want to
stay and get some real 'background' for her next mystery. Come to think of
it, he hadn't seen the broad around much....maybe she was one of those
reclusive types. Probably wanted to get back to her cat....old ladies and
cats. Geez, you had to be pretty damn strange to bring a cat on board a
cruise ship in the middle of the ocean.
Kopec, he'd stayed around to the bitter end. When it had come time
to scoop out the bodies he'd had to tell Kopec to get the hell out of the
way. Reporters....he held them in even lower regard than Fibbies.....
And speaking of Fibbies, he still couldn't figure out who they
were. There'd been quite a crowd around the elevator, but none of them
seemed like the FBI type to him. They were there, he was sure of it. And
sooner or later he'd figure out which ones they were.
Moorehouse passed by the Mulders' cabin on the way back to his own.
He noticed that no light glowed from the crack under their door....well,
they were on their honeymoon, after all. Probably engaging in some marital
antics. Weird or not, the kid was lucky to have snatched up such a
gorgeous dame. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth as he
imagined the two of them together in the sack. The smile vanished as
Moorehouse stepped into a pocket of frigid air. Great...now the air
conditioning was probably on the fritz, too. He continued on down the
corridor, wondering if he'd packed any warm clothes.

Wheezing for breath, Mulder awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep to a
great pressure on his chest and strong hands about his neck, squeezing the
air from his body. He opened his eyes to find himself staring into the
face of... What?!? Looming not more than a few inches over his head was a
monstrous face with great, red-rimmed eyes. The thing snarled at him with
evil intent, threatening to tear him apart with its jagged teeth and claws.
To Mulder, it was the embodiment of pure evil, everything his worst
nightmares had ever conjured up and then some, and the stench that the
creature exuded made him sick. He tried to pry its 'hands' from his throat
and in the process rolled over, fell out of the bunk and landed on the
floor with a heavy thud.
The noise immediately awakened Dana who jumped from her bed and
turned on the light. What she saw momentarily made her think she was in
the middle of a bad dream. A very disheveled Fox Mulder lay in the middle
of the cabin floor, babbling about some creature and seemingly struggling
with some unseen assailant. That in itself wouldn't have been all that
unusual...she'd seen some of his worst nightmares before...but what
startled her was the appearance of the dark bruises that were beginning to
form around his neck. She ran to his side and gathered his head into her
lap as if her presence could protect him from whatever was doing this to
him. He relaxed and slowly opened his eyes. She noted with practiced
medical precision that they were dilated into great black pools. He was
totally stoned. Somehow he had been drugged and was on the verge of
overdosing.
How in the hell had the drugs gotten into his system? She mentally
reviewed everything that they ate, touched, smelled, breathed....she had
been in exactly the same environment yet only he was affected. Then she
noticed the stupid patch...it delivered its contents directly into the
bloodstream and she didn't have one. She gently removed it, placed it into
a glass on the dresser, and hoped to God that it was how the drug was being
administered. So much for them being here incognito....someone definitely
knew who they were and didn't want them snooping around.
Dana reached over and removed the sheet from her bed, twisting it
into a rope as she wrapped it around Mulder's body, effectively
immobilizing his arms and legs. He was calm now, but she had no idea what
drug he was given or whether there'd be any withdrawal symptoms as it wore
off. She was in no position to handle an 'out of control' Mulder, should he
become unmanageable, and if anything happened to her as a result of
something he did, she knew Mulder would never forgive himself.
For now, Dana realized that she was on her own. She'd thought of
going to Dr. Johnson earlier, but he'd been the one who'd given Mulder the
patches in the first place, and he was the last person she felt she could
trust now. Until she could conduct an investigation of the good doctor,
she would have to treat Mulder as best she could. Dana placed a pillow
under his head and covered him with a blanket as he whimpered incoherently
at her touch.
Dana sat cradling Mulder, her mind churning over what had happened
to them in just one short day. One thing was certain...something was going
on *here* that had nothing to do with the drugs. She shivered as the
bruises around Mulder's neck darkened into the unmistakable impressions of
fingerprints from very large hands. Looking at the irrefutable evidence
before her eyes, perennial skeptic Dana Scully was forced to accept the
extreme possibility that something or someone who she could not see had
attempted to strangle her partner.
The drugs, however, just didn't make sense....of all the cases
they'd encountered involving true 'entities', rarely did any of them rely
on exterior stimulation such as drugs to accomplish their desired effects.
People used drugs to control others....or to eliminate them. Whatever this
*thing* was, it certainly didn't appear to need any help to dispatch
someone. God, if Mulder hadn't fallen off the bed and awakened
her.......She refused to carry that train of thought any further. No...the
drugs had to mean that some real life, flesh and blood person was involved
in trying to kill them, or at the very least get them stoned enough to
interfere with their investigation. And that meant that they were possibly
dealing with two separate cases here, and one of them, at least, involved a
very 'real' and 'dangerous' criminal.

Oneida Darkhorse left the gruesome elevator scene, went back to her
stateroom and paced the floor for nearly half an hour. The carnage she'd
seen there had disturbed her deeply and she'd had to leave almost
immediately. The blood and gore was horrific, but what truly horrified her
was that it had all taken her by surprise. Why hadn't she foreseen this??
After all, she was 'psychic', wasn't she??? What was wrong with her?
Perhaps it was her shameless attraction and futile attempt to
seduce another woman's husband that clouded her vision. Not that it had
been the first time, and Oneida refused to believe that she was developing
a conscience at this stage of her life. But something had been different
about this one. She'd noticed him right away and found the tall, darkly
handsome man intriguingly attractive. Especially when he recognized her
attempts to influence his mind...not many people had that capability.
She'd inquired about the young couple and was told that they were
newlyweds, something that she found difficult to believe. They were much
too comfortable with one another. If they had said they'd been married for
many years, she might have believed that....but 'just' married???? She
didn't think so. These two belonged together... no doubt. They had
probably been together in all their previous lives and would continue to be
together when this life ended. They were connected, two halves of the same
soul. Some things were a constant.
Perhaps she was just feeling guilty for trying to change that,
maybe that's what was wrong. On a whim, still hoping to clear her mind,
she put on her swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and headed for the pool for a
midnight swim. Something about the warm, night air and star filled sky
always seemed to help her clear her head and give truth to her visions.
Oneida draped her towel over a pool chair, slid the sandals from
her feet and walked quietly across the deserted deck to the edge of the
pool. She sat down and dangled her feet in the cool refreshing water as
the warm, tropical breeze ruffled through her long, dark, hair. She lifted
her face to the sky, staring at the stars that twinkled back at her. They
seemed to be shining very brightly tonight.
Desperately she tried to clear the fog from her mind, but the image
of a man that she could not have continued to invade her thoughts. At
first she had been angry that he had rejected her suggestive impressions
until she had glimpsed more deeply into his thoughts. What she discovered
there was the fierce loyalty and love that he kept safely treasured for
'his' Dana, and it was then that she realized that her 'lust' could not
compete with his love for this one, petite woman who never seemed to be far
from his side. She remembered that the brief contact that she had required
to get that information for some unknown reason had caused him great
distress.....so much so that he'd passed out on the spot. *That* had
*never* happened before. She hadn't intended to hurt or cause him pain and
had no idea why contact with her had affected him so adversely.
Oneida suddenly felt a dark depression settle over her and once
again felt the aching hollow in the middle of her chest. Why couldn't
someone love *her* like that??? Her own husband had no love in his heart
for her. All the love in his heart was reserved for his money, and with
that she could not compete. All the men she'd ever seduced held nothing in
theirs for her either....save lust.....and only then because she had placed
that thought in their simple minds.
A tear welled threateningly in one eye but she refused to let it
go. Perhaps a short swim would invigorate her and set her mind straight
and into a more positive mood. She glided through the water with grace and
ease as her taut, brown body glistened in the glowing light of a full moon.
Her muscles relaxed as she floated on her back and wondered at the blanket
of stars that shone above her. She closed her eyes and let the warm water
of the pool buoy her body on the surface, small waves lapping at her face,
letting her tension flow out into the water around her.
A single bee landed on her arm. She brushed it off absently and
continued to float. Then another stung her chin. She opened her eyes to
see a cloud of bees descending upon her, stinging her body, her ears, her
nose, and eyes. <Oh my God!!!! Don't panic--you're in the
water---dive----they can't follow>
She dove to the bottom of the pool and stared upward to see that
once again, nothing but the moon and stars hung in the sky. Swimming
cautiously to the surface, she put out her hand to break the water but
instead contacted with something hard and unyielding. Oneida pounded on
the clear barrier with her fists but to no avail. <NO!!!!> Her mind
reeled in terror as she swam toward the shallow end of the pool,
continually striking at the transparent wall that separated her from the
life giving air above. <What is this??? This is impossible!!!!! Let me
out!!!>
The barrier at the shallow end was no different than it was at the
deep end and she floundered helplessly beneath the hard, clear surface,
beating her hands against its coldness until they bled. Her oxygen-starved
lungs ached unbearably and her mind screamed in agony at the knowledge of
her impending death. With a face contorted with rage and fear, her lungs,
unable to fight the reflex for which they had been designed, responded on
their on accord and drank in the surrounding water. As darkness descended
and claimed her soul, her intellect convulsed in one last scream of
terror....<I don't want to die......>

Fox Mulder's eyes flew open wildly in unfocused fear as he cried
out with some as yet undefined horror. His body shook slightly in spasms
and strained helplessly against the makeshift bonds that Dana had devised
to prevent him from thrashing about and hurting himself...or her. He
swung uncontrollably from intensely lucid moments to bouts of incoherent
mutterings---from total 'enlightenment' to absolute confusion. Dana held
his shivering body tightly and with a gentle rocking motion, cooed softly
into his ear, trying to ease his obvious pain. Occasionally she would kiss
away the tears that would sometimes silently roll down his cheek. It would
be a long, rough night....morning now, she thought, looking at her watch.
<Why did these things always happen to *him*?? .....and you,
remember...you're the one who was kidnapped....You *know* why they
happen...They happen because you *dare* to question....to find the truth.
God, Mulder, I hope we *survive* to be old and gray...> She lightly kissed
the top of his head and closed her eyes.
The ship was his again, as it should be. He roamed free in its
halls, its staterooms, and the dark bowels beneath the decks where massive
machinery kept the ship on course to its destiny. This was his hunting
ground, and soon it would be his for all time. The puny, insignificant
beings on board would be his prey now, and again and again for all
eternity. The thought delighted him...of all the beings he had encountered
on his journeys, and there were many who had suffered at his hands, the
beings on this ship provided him with the most intense pleasure. Their
fear invigorated him, their deaths energized him. He could feel himself
growing stronger with each new death, and he flexed his massive arms as if
to prove the point. He laughed with the sheer joy of it all, and in a
cabin far above him, a man cried out again from the depths of his drug
induced visions and struggled against his bonds.
That particular being puzzled him....never in all his time on this
ship had one of these little creatures reacted to him in this way....prey
that could sense the predator. So much the better, he thought. What fear
he could induce in this one! He grinned in anticipation of such a
delicious prospect. Moving further into the darkness of the ship, he
passed beneath the cabins of his prey, content to wait for now....to wait
for their fear to build before he struck again.
A dark shadow followed him. It was not as strong as the hunter,
but it, too, was growing stronger with the passage of time and the passage
of miles underneath the bow of this vessel. For now it could do nothing
but wait and watch, and try to warn those it could. But soon it would have
its chance to capture the hunter, to return them both where they belonged.
It mourned the deaths of the beings inhabiting this ship, as it mourned the
deaths of all beings the hunter had killed since his escape. Anger towards
the hunter had built up in it over the eons it had spent in pursuit. The
hunter killed with such callous disregard for the lives of the beings he
took. To the follower, each being's life was precious, something to be
protected, and it raged against its inability to protect them from this
monster. But soon it would have that opportunity, but only once, and if it
failed, all aboard this vessel would be lost for the remainder of eternity.
That thought was inconceivable. So it rallied what strength it could as
it slipped unseen after its own prey.
The only person who noted the passage of the hunter and the
follower stood hidden in the shadows of a dimly lit corridor, himself
unseen by the passengers and crew. He was merely an observer here. He was
forbidden from interfering with the two beings and their eternal struggle.
More people would die....he was sure of it....and he was helpless to stop
it. Even he had to answer to a higher power and in this instance he had
been given strict ground rules....watch, and report back. It was the
hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his long...and very strange...life.

(continued part 5)

M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst

XAngst Anonymous "Please explain to me the
and Myth Patrol scientific nature of the Whammy."
Construction Site -- Scully, in "Pusher"

xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

**********************************************************************

From xangst@frii.com Sat Oct 12 10:18:50 1996

DEVIL s ADVOCATE (part 5)
The "Unofficial" X Philes Novel
by:
CHERYL COHEN and ANNIE REED
aka
ImAStinker and FancyKatz @ aol.com

Fox opened his eyes very slowly to yet another headache and another
returning bout with an upset stomach. As reality seeped in, he also
noticed that he was once again on the floor and this time, on top of
everything else, unable to move to boot. It seemed to him that he woke up
on the floor a 'lot' these days and it was 'usually' when Dana was
somewhere in the immediate vicinity. What was it with that woman and
floors? He remembered a time when if he fell asleep on the couch...he'd
wake up on the couch. Now-- now it seemed that no matter *where* he fell
asleep, chances were pretty good that he'd wake up on a 'floor' somewhere.
He was still groggily trying to figure out why he couldn't move
when Dana began to stir beside him. His first impression was that he'd
somehow gotten himself tangled up in the sheets. But that wasn't right....
he didn't feel a sheet covering him--just a blanket--and his whole body
felt 'numb'.
Dana finally rolled over and looked into his red-rimmed eyes for
several seconds.
He looked back, questioningly. "What??" he managed to sputter out
in confusion. Jesus, he felt like someone had stuffed his mouth full of
cotton balls and dribbled Elmer's glue into the corners of his eyes.
"Tell me your name," she demanded.
"Huh??" he muttered in surprise. God, he must have really tied one
on if Scully felt that she had to see if he knew his name.....Funny...he
could only remember having one drink.
"Your name, what is it?" she repeated.
"The Frog Prince....Care to kiss a toad?" he pursed his lips and
snickered. Okay, he didn't remember getting sloshed but if she wanted to
teach him a lesson by rubbing it in, he'd play along.
"Do you know where you are?" she asked nonplussed with obvious
concern in her eyes.
It suddenly occurred to him that she *wasn't* joking and he replied
in a somewhat tired voice, "the cruise from Hell."
She finally smiled, satisfied with the answer he'd given, pulled
the blanket off of him, and began to untie the sheets.
The fact that he was in his underwear didn't really bother him but
being in his underwear *and* being tied up with a bed sheet presented some
*interesting* possibilities that registered on his face in the form of one
curiously raised eyebrow.
She read his expression and immediately remarked smugly, "don't go
and get all excited, Sherlock. It's not what you think. If I were gonna
get kinky--I'd certainly want you awake to enjoy it---not stoned out of
your mind."
As she sat patiently untying the sheets, Dana filled him in on the
events of the night before. He found that he didn't remember a lot of it.
He recalled discovering the Boltons in the elevator and unfortunately he
also remembered something or someone trying to strangle him as he lay in
his bunk. He actually wished that he'd experienced a nightmare but the
nasty bruises on his neck suggested that it was something much more
sinister than merely another bad dream.
Dana helped him to his feet and he shakily made his way to the tiny
bathroom. Mulder took an extra long shower, letting the hot water soak
into his aching muscles. He then toweled off and planted himself before
the mirror to brush his teeth < God, my mouth tastes like a hundred
Scottish Highlanders have been jousting under my tongue...ack...> He
rinsed out his mouth and looked up, expecting to see circled, bloodshot
eyes. "Oh shit!.......not again," he exclaimed as he backed away from the
mirror.
Hearing the alarm in his voice, Dana raced into the bathroom and
watched as another message began to form in the steam. It read simply:

'Ding Dong the 'Witch' is Dead'

"Obviously a great fan of classic children's literature," Mulder
deadpanned. He ran a shaky hand through his hair and turned away from the
mirror.
"What the hell *is* this, Dana?" he asked with growing anxiety.
"Did some revenging entity decide to call an open season on Fox Mulder??
I mean...did something attach a psychic sign to my back that says 'kick
me'?"
She could almost see his whole being just droop under the pressure
of this continual physical and mental bombardment. He had a point.... It
did appear as though he'd been singled out to be picked on, and not just by
whoever....or whatever....was writing these messages on the mirror.
But why pick on only Mulder? She'd witnessed the phenomena, seen
the writing on the wall, so to speak. She was also a vital part of this
investigation, yet if there were 'stones being thrown', they all seemed to
be aimed at Mulder. On one end....warnings and visions designed to
'assist' him...and on the other....(she thought of the dark bruises
encircling his neck) some kind of evil that was bent on destroying him. It
almost appeared that he was becoming the battleground for some as yet
unidentified opposing psychic forces, if she could actually believe in such
things. Perhaps that was it. Mulder, in his innocence, *was* a
believer....it was easy for him. It was an innate part of his nature to be
open and receptive to possibilities that others ignored, rejected, or just
plain didn't recognize or understand. And once again that openness was
getting him into trouble, only this time, Dana was afraid of just how much
trouble he was in for.
Dana watched as he let go of a breath he'd been holding for several
seconds. He blew it out with weary resign in a light puff between his
softly pursed lips, then pulled the turtleneck shirt over his head and
tucked it into his jeans. It had been the one he'd worn when they'd left
D.C.. Granted, it looked a little out of place on a tropical cruise, but
it would be easier to explain than the bruises around his neck.
He looked down into Dana's eyes and said, "I suppose we should
conduct a search for Mrs. Darkhorse. However, I've got a sinking feeling,"
he looked back up at the mirror, "that she'll be a lot 'colder' than she
was the last time we saw her."
Mulder took her hand and led her through the door. The air on deck
was fresh and clean as the sun began to peak over the horizon in a fireball
blaze of glory. It was still very early and the majority of the
passengers had not even rolled out of bed yet. So they stood side by side
at the railing on the nearly empty deck and marveled at the quiet serenity.
Dana observed silently as Mulder relaxed, leaned onto the rail and
gazed out over the ocean. He turned to her suddenly and whispered, "can
you hear it?" he asked.
She tilted her head to listen. "Hear what?" she asked, gazing into
his eyes, a question in her own.
He reached his arm out and pointed toward the flaming horizon, "the
hissing sound the sun makes when it touches the water..." he smiled
wistfully, his face a study in wonder and awe.
A breeze ruffled through his hair and Dana's heart melted at the
sight of his playful eyes crinkling at her with the simple joy of being
alive. On impulse, she reached up, gently pulled his face to hers and
tenderly kissed his soft, full lips. He then encircled her possessively
and returned the gesture, whispering in her ear, "I don't know about fate,
or futures...but right here, right now...I can say, I am truly happy." He
rested his chin on top of her head and sighed contentedly.
"Well, I hope you two are finished with this mushy display of
emotion," a familiar voice commented from behind them.
Mulder spun around to find an equally familiar face staring up at
him with a look of infinite patience. Mulder remembered thinking he saw
the little man the night before...at least *that* hadn't been a
drug-induced hallucination.
Scully stood open mouthed for several seconds before uttering the
name, "Dr. Jay?"
Mulder, still smarting from the fact that Dr. Jay had managed to
sneak up on him once more, finally recovered enough to offer his hand.
"What brings you to this expensive little outing, Doc? Last time I saw you,
you were living in a cardboard box." Mulder gave him the once over and
added...."and you've changed tailors....my compliments on your improved
wardrobe."
Dr. Jay impishly lifted an eyebrow. "I might say the same to you,
my dear young man...and I see that at least you've retained some good
taste and have remained faithful to this exquisite, lovely young woman."
Doc expertly took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it in
a gallant manor. His face then took on a knowing look as he commented, "my
congratulations, dear lady."
"Oh...Doc," Dana faltered, " we're not really married...it's a
cover," she tried to explain.
"That's uh... not what I meant," he stammered, and for the first
time his glib manner seemed to falter slightly. He had forgotten that he
was aware of and sensitive to physical and mental changes that these beings
were not. He recovered quickly, however, and replied in a lively retort,
"yes, and I see you were 'covering' very well indeed. Do you 'cover'
often???" he laughed heartily.
He watched as both young people tried, unsuccessfully, to hide
furious blushes. It seemed neither had noticed his own discomfort, as he
intended. They would discover things in their own time, which was how it
should be. But now it was time to get down to business.
"I have come to tell you that lovely but deliciously unscrupulous
Mrs. Darkhorse has just been found in a most undesirable state. Perhaps
when you are finished 'covering' you would like to take a shot at
investigating how a healthy young woman could suffer bee stings where there
are no bees and drown in three feet of water with her hand gripping the
railing by the steps.....an interesting dilemma, don't you think?"
Mulder turned to Dana in amazement and then back to Doctor Jay,
only to find empty space where the little man had been standing.
"Did you see him leave?" he asked.
Dana shook her head 'no' and turned to search the deck in both
directions...no Doctor Jay.
"God, I hate it when he does that!!!" Mulder steamed as they made
their way toward the suddenly loud commotion taking place around the pool
area.
A dozen or so passengers were crowded around the shallow end of the
pool when they arrived. A quick scan of the crowd revealed that it
included most of the suspects on their list....well, those who were still
alive, anyway. In the forefront, of course, was the ever present Jake
Moorehouse. Since this was a 'real' incident that had just taken place,
just like the Bolton incident the night before, Moorehouse had
automatically taken charge as a 'duly sworn law enforcement officer' and
bullied everybody else out of the way to preserve the scene for himself.
He had begun to rope off the area and confiscated several cameras to take
pictures of the suspected 'crime scene'.
Dana had endured his arrogant, bullyish behavior the night before
without comment because to do anything else would have jeopardized their
cover. Her frustration, however, was getting the best of her this time,
and she was just about ready to tell this meathead to move aside and let
her do her job, when Mulder piped up helpfully. "Detective Moorehouse,
when you're done taking pictures, perhaps you would like my wife to take a
look at the body. She is a very skilled physician with extensive training
in pathology and undoubtedly could be of assistance to you in determining
the 'cause of death'."
Moorehouse silently congratulated himself on correctly deducing
this young woman's line of work from the previous episode in the conference
room. He did a another study of the attractive, petite woman before him.
If she was trained in pathology, he guessed that she'd probably come across
more dead bodies on the outside than the patch-pushing ship's doctor, so he
decided to let her examine Mrs. Darkhorse's remains. He realized he could
come up with a lot of theories, but he needed someone with a medical
background to help prove them. "You've got a point there....what was your
name again?"
"Fox," Mulder said uncomfortably. He knew Moorehouse knew his
name...why had he pretended to forget?
"Having an expert take a look at her would be a plus toward solving
the crime," he replied cautiously, "but remember... withholding any
information would be impeding an ongoing investigation, so I suggest that
anything you find out of the ordinary be reported to me immediately,
contest or no contest." He didn't completely trust these two...for that
matter he didn't completely trust anyone.
"Detective Moorehouse, it has not yet been determined that a
'crime' has been committed here," Mulder reminded him.
Moorehouse stared at Mulder suspiciously. "You caught that, did
you?" Not many untrained people would have picked up on that subtle
detail. He made a quick decision to reevaluate his opinion of these
two....she appeared just a little too young to be a medical expert and he
was just a bit too observant. Plus now that he thought about it....that
haircut....strictly Federal issue. He'd seen enough of them to know. Yet
on the other hand....this guy didn't possess the same arrogant airs that
usually accompanied a Fed...in fact he got the distinct feeling that he
really didn't care who solved the case...just so long as it was solved and
people stopped dying. And to cap it off, he'd watched this pair from a
distance.... if they weren't married or at least 'involved', they deserved
an Oscar. Somehow he just couldn't picture this kid as a Fibbie. Still
he'd keep an eye on him. He'd been wrong before....but not often.
Mulder knew he'd made a mistake as soon as the words were out of
his mouth, but it was out now and he couldn't very well take it back. So
he attempted to downplay his response. "Well, who knows? She did go to
the party last night...and liquor and swimming aren't always a responsible
combination. Maybe she just got drunk and drowned."
Dana made her way to the edge of the pool where the body had been
lain. She made a cursory examination and motioned for Mulder to take a
look.... Moorehouse followed as well. "These red marks appear to be 'bee
stings' but I'm almost positive that the cause of death was drowning.
Where was she found?" she asked Moorehouse...after all, they couldn't very
well tell Moorehouse that Dr. Jay had already filled them in on the facts
of this incident before he *disappeared*.
Moorehouse walked over to the ladder on the shallow end of the
pool. "She was lying face up on the steps, her hand wrapped around the
pole, here," he said, using his pencil to point to a spot just below the
waterline.
Dana frowned at the water....if the woman had made it all the way
to the ladder, why didn't she pull herself out of the water? There had to
be something more here. "Mu....Fox, I'll need a toxicology report before I
can determine without a doubt why this woman would drown in less than three
feet of water with her hand still gripping the step railing."
"No bees," Mulder commented with a puzzled look.
"What?" Dana and Moorehouse asked in unison.
"Couldn't have been bees. Look..." he pointed to the surrounding
area. "There aren't any dead bees. If she was stung, there'd be dead bees
everywhere. No stingers either," he noticed, pointing to several of the
red patches on the body. He tilted his head and quoted as if it were
verbatim, and of course it was..."The European Honey Bee as well as several
related species can travel from 7 to 10 miles per day when swarming.
Swarming honey bees are docile, preferring to cluster in a protective
fashion around the queen but are essentially non territorial at this time.
You see, Dana, we're too far from land for a swarm of bees to attack Mrs.
Darkhorse and if by some freak of nature, they did....there would be
evidence to support their presence." He scanned the deck again. "There
isn't."
He turned back and got down on one knee beside the body. "One
other thing that's out of place," he continued, pointing at the corpse's
hands. "Her palms are bruised and bloody, like she was pounding on
something with great force, yet there is no sign of blood anywhere else
around the pool....and there are no 'abrasions' on her hands. Whatever she
hit, it was 'smooth', not like the rough texture of the pool .
Moorehouse studied Mulder for several minutes. He had to admit to
himself that in spite of everything....he was impressed. He could learn to
like this kid even if he did turn out to be a Fed. There was just something
likable about him...smart, but unassuming, and maybe a bit gullible too,
although Moorehouse wasn't exactly sure where he got *that* impression.
What a weird combination.
He could also like the broad...but for a different reason. He
admired the no nonsense way she went over the body...all business. She was
tough. He thought that she was maybe even tougher than her new husband.
Somehow he got the feeling that in a crisis, she'd be a definite asset.
Taking Mulder's information on bees as gospel and being unable to
detect any odor of alcohol emanating from the body, Dana began to search
for some other reason for this woman's incapacitation. There were no
obvious bumps on the head, however, she did notice a 'patch' on her ear
that she removed and placed on a napkin that she slid into her pocket. If
someone could drug Mulder with these things....why not Oneida? Perhaps
someone had planned a similar fate for him. Had she not been around and
known what to do, he could have died. Dana shivered and tried to push that
thought from her mind.
She openly informed Mulder (mainly for Moorehouse's benefit) that
she believed Mrs. Darkhorse had drowned but due to the lack of proper lab
equipment, it would be impossible to conduct the toxicology tests necessary
to determine exactly what, if anything, had incapacitated her. She watched
as Moorehouse had the body moved into the galley's walk-in freezer and
placed next to the Boltons....or what was left of them. Geez, she thought,
if only the other passengers knew what was taking up space next to their
prime rib---maybe they wouldn't be such gluttons.

With Oneida safely put on ice--literally--and Moorehouse
temporarily appeased, Mulder and Scully seated themselves at a secluded
table near the far end of the dining room and ordered breakfast....at least
Scully ordered breakfast. Mulder, now without the 'benefit' of the
notorious patch, was once again beginning to feel somewhat queasy. He
settled on just toast and a glass of water.
Mulder looked up from what passed as *his* breakfast to gaze across
the table at Dana with an expectant stare. "So?....what 'really' killed
Oneida Darkhorse? That bit about her drowning wasn't for 'my'
benefit--neither was the crap about the toxicology tests. I may not be a
'licensed' pathologist, but *you* know that *I* know enough to have already
figured that information out for myself."
"Oneida *did* drown," Scully hedged.
"But...." Mulder interjected.
"But....she shouldn't have--not in three feet of water with her
hand still clinging to the rail--and *not* face up."
"So what's your theory, Scully," he prodded.
"This," she said as she pulled the confiscated patch from her
pocket and placed it on the table.
"A patch?" he asked in surprise. "There are at least fifty people
on board wearing those things," he reminded her.
"Yes, but only one drowned in the shallow end of a pool---and only
*you* nearly ODed." Dana paused long enough to eat a bite of her bagel and
cream cheese, and tried to ignore the green look on Mulder's face as he
poked at his toast. "Mulder, haven't you noticed the 'declining' number of
contestants participating in this so called 'game'? All of our 'suspects'
are being eliminated. Perhaps someone is succinctly getting rid of the
competition. If this patch contains the same drug that was used on you, I
can almost guarantee Oneida probably became disoriented and couldn't tell
which way was up!!"
Mulder studied her for a moment and steepled his fingers in front
of his bottom lip, then pressed on in a deliberate tone. "That's a good
theory, Dana, but I have just a few problems with it. What about the bee
stings where there were *no* bees? She was facing *up*, not down --and her
hands were 'ruptured', not abraded as would occur from hitting the 'bottom'
of the pool---and what about *this*?" he asked with determination as he
pulled the shirt away from his neck to reveal the strange, ugly bruises
that had formed there. "Dana----these were made by something that my brain
tells me could *not* exist in this reality, yet *here* is the result of
what every sense that I have screams is impossible."
Mulder looked away from her and took a deep breath, gathering his
thoughts. "Okay, here's what I think. Oneida was stung by bees because
she believed it---she drowned because her mind believed she couldn't
surface and that belief became reality. 'I think, therefore, I am' may
have stranger connotations here than we know."
"So is that how you explain the bruises on your neck?" Dana asked.
"You believed in the assault from your nightmare so strongly that it
resulted in a physical manifestation of the perceived reality of your
'dream'?"
Mulder shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think that's all there is
to it. Something is happening here. I know I'm not being scientific,
but....I feel that sometimes....sometimes I'm trying to exist in two places
at the same time and the farther away from land we travel....the worse it
gets."
Mulder dropped his gaze and stared at the table with downcast eyes
as he absently pushed crumbs of toast around on his plate. He knew how
ludicrous he must sound to her.
Her reaction was not what he expected, however. She smiled and
patted his hand, then replied with an impish grin, "You follow your theory,
I'll follow mine and maybe, just maybe, between the two of us....we'll find
the 'truth'." Dana squeezed his hand, then stood up. "I think I'll start
by paying a little visit to our friendly ships' doctor. Somehow I really
don't think that he's involved with *this,*" she said, picking up the patch
and returning it to her pocket. "But perhaps he can shed some light on how
it could have become contaminated."
Mulder also stood up.....slowly....and leaned heavily on the back
of his chair. With pleading eyes, he practically begged, "If in your
opinion, the Doctor is on the level.....could you possibly...."
"Get you something for the motion sickness?" she finished for him.
"I'll find some Dramamine. It's not as effective as the Scopolomine in the
patch but because of the pill form and the packaging, it's much more
difficult to tamper with."
"Thanks," he mumbled gratefully, then added, "I'm gonna go see our
ever humble servant, Kor, to see if I can arrange a ship to shore call to
Frohicke. I need to get some more information on the two passengers that
*didn't* show up for this little pleasure cruise. Something else has been
kinda bothering me too....Mrs. O'Keefe. I haven't seen much of her during
this whole trip and it seems a little 'odd' that a woman who makes her
*living* writing murder mysteries wouldn't even make the final cut ahead of
the Boltons in that stupid mystery scenario competition. Something just
doesn't sit right.... I know, another 'unscientific' conclusion, based on
conjecture," he stated before she could respond.
"Remember, I told you before.....I trust your instincts," she
snickered lightly. As Dana turned to leave, she looked over her shoulder.
"Meet you on the upper deck, where we were this morning, in about an hour."
He nodded in agreement and left in the opposite direction.

The damn cat was yowling again....the steward could hear it through
the door. Last night the couple in cabin 611 had complained strenuously
that the cat was keeping them awake. The steward shook his head as he
knocked loudly on the door. Eccentric mystery writer or not, the old lady
was gonna have to do something to keep the cat quiet. Otherwise, he was
afraid he'd end up stuck with the damn thing in his quarters for the
duration of the cruise. ' Take care of it' had been all his supervisor had
said this morning. After the grisly discovery in the pool, everyone on the
crew seemed to have a short temper and the steward didn't want to cross his
boss, not on this particular morning. Definitely not a good idea.
He had to knock again to make himself heard over the racket. The
door opened a crack and once again the steward found himself talking to the
old lady's one blue eye.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he said, "but your neighbors have been
complaining about your cat. Can you please try to keep him quiet?"
"Yes, he is being quite a fussbudget this time out, isn't he?" Mrs.
O'Keefe said. "I don't know what's wrong with him, but I do try my best to
keep him quiet. It's very difficult for me to work when he's behaving so
badly."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" the steward offered, pushing
on the door slightly...he was finding it difficult to have any kind of
coherent conversation with a single eyeball.
"No, no, that's quite alright," Mrs. O'Keefe replied, pulling her
faded blue bathrobe tightly together in front of her. As she did, her hand
slipped off the door and it opened wide enough that the steward finally got
a good look at Mr. O'Keefe. Geez, she certainly wore enough makeup, he
thought to himself.
Mrs. O'Keefe's cat saw the opportunity it had been waiting for.
With an ear piercing screech it flew between Mrs. O'Keefe's legs, clawed
the heck out of the steward's ankles on its way by him, and shot down the
corridor. "Tiger!!!" Mrs. O'Keefe shouted, running after the cat. "Bad
kitty! Come back here!"
The steward took off after both Mrs. O'Keefe and her cat, ignoring
the stinging in his ankles. Boy, the old bat could really run....she'd
already followed her cat to the stairs and was taking them two at a time
trying to keep up with the flying ball of orange fur. Great...not only
didn't he keep the cat quiet, now he was in a foot race with the damned
feline...and probably the oldest passenger on the ship...and losing badly.
This was definitely not the way he wanted to start his day.

Koran Soote bounced around busily at his desk, attending to
everything from extra cabin towels to lost keys, but he smiled warmly at
Mulder as he approached. "Mr. Mulder...everything has been to
satisfaction, I hope?"
"Everything's just 'peachy', Kor...." If Kor heard the sarcasm in
Mulder's voice, he gave no sign. "I'd like to arrange for a ship to shore
phone call," Mulder continued, but Kor shook his head sadly.
"I am most displeased to inform you that ship to shore
communications are unavailable at this time." Kor's voice seemed to
express genuine sorrow at being unable to comply with what should have been
a simple request.
"When will it be available?" Mulder asked.
"I apologize for the inconvenience, but ever since the company
changed their previously 'filed' course approximately three weeks past,
communications on this journey's leg have been sporadic and unreliable."
"Kor, you say the company *changed* their previously plotted
course?" Mulder asked---just to confirm what he had heard.
"Yes, after twenty-five years."
"But the company is only twenty years old," Mulder argued.
Kor smiled shyly. Ancestry was very important to Kor's family, so
when he began working on the ship, he made it his business to learn
everything he could about his ship's ancestry. Here at last was a
passenger who seemed to know more about this vessel than just what time
dinner was served. "Yes, this true. But the line was owned previously for
five years before that by Triangle Lines. After several years of
unfortunate mishaps, Triangle was forced to sell to Starlight. It was at
that time the course was changed as well as the ship's luck. It has
remained so until three weeks past when it was changed back to the original
course."
Mulder was intrigued. "Why was the course changed back?" he
asked, now truly engrossed in the story.
"As with all things these days," Kor sighed, "to save money. The
previous course edged around the Triangle's center....it took more time and
of course, more money. Now we must travel through the center."
Mulder had no idea this cruise was headed for the center of the
Bermuda Triangle. When he found out, Frohicke and the rest of the Lone
Gunmen were gonna be green with envy.
Mulder eyed him with curiosity. "What were the 'unfortunate'
mishaps that occurred on the original course?"
"Rest assured that I am not certain." That was one thing that Kor
had never been able to find out for sure. Several 'tall tales' had grown
up around the ship's previous adventures in the Triangle, but Kor was
certain they were only more Triangle lore that grew stranger over the years
as the stories had been told and retold. "Perhaps the Captain will allow
you to read the ship's logs," he suggested.
Mulder was about to ask for directions to the Captain's office when
a ball of orange fur went barreling up and over Kor's desk, scattering
papers everywhere. Mulder caught a brief impression of teeth, claws, and a
bushy orange tail. Mrs. O'Keefe's cat, no doubt. It leapt off the desk
and landed on the staircase leading up to the Promenade Deck. Mrs. O'Keefe
came huffing along behind the cat, crying, "here, Tiger! Come to mommy, you
bad boy," at the top of her lungs while a winded steward followed behind at
a slower pace.
"Kor!" the steward yelled. "Give me a hand, will ya?"
Kor took off from behind his desk, joining the bizarre race.
"Hey, Kor, thanks...you've been very helpful," Mulder called after the
retreating figure.
"Show me your appreciation with your tips," he shouted back at him.
Mulder found a ship's map in the mess on Kor's desk and located the
Captain's office. He made a beeline for the designated quarters and
retrieved the ship's logs for the first five years and the last three
weeks. The Captain, in fact, seemed overjoyed that someone was actually
interested in the history of his ship.

(continued part 6)

M&S---EP---Smoker for Scully---------------------------Queen of Angst

XAngst Anonymous ELVIS, DEAD AT 42
and Myth Patrol "Oh, no!"
Construction Site -- Mulder, "Home"

"And I've quit the FBI, and become a spokesperson for the Ab-Roller."
-- Scully, "Home"

xangst@frii.com------------Die-Hard Skinner Chick---------Dean Warner

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