Disclaimers: The X-Files is the sole property of 10-13
Productions, 20th Century Fox and Chris Carter. No copyright infringement is
intended.
Paring:
Scully/Reyes
Content: This story depicts loving f/f
relationships. If you are under 18, or this is illegal in your area, please
exit.
Rating: Rated R for adult themes and violence.
What She
Believes
Book One: Witch
Board
By Xan
Alley of Broken Dreams
David Wei switched from the E train
at Lexington, to the Number 6 and headed downtown. School was out, and normal
working hours were over, so the usual miscreants and crazies pushed their way
into tight spaces in the fully loaded car.
Fifteen minutes later, he got off
at Canal, holding his breath on the narrow, crowded platform. The subway ride
from
Air.
Finally, he could breathe without
gagging.
Elsie had thrown him out in one of
her rages, not letting him take so much as a toothbrush. “No more American
girls,” his father had warned, “or no more money for you!” He needed money for
school, or it was off to some sweatshop, as his sister Susie put it.
Susie, who now insisted on spelling
her name as Suzi, had dyed her hair again this month. David laughed as he took
the steps of the third story walkup, thinking about how she’d almost given
their father a heart attack with her pink-parfait locks.
David hesitated before he tapped on
3A: He heard loud music and a sickening, sweet smoke drifted under his nose. Is
she having another party with her dopey friends, he wondered.
He was about to turn away when one
of Elsie’s guests came crashing out the door. The guy threw up in the hall,
narrowly missing David’s new portfolio. “Hey! That’s my work, man, watch it!”
The guy bent over and heaved once
more, waving David off with a shaky hand.
“What took you so long?” Elsie stood in the doorway, hands on hips, a
slight frown on her pretty face.
“I brought some new stuff,” he
said, hoping to impress her-win back the bane of his father’s existence. David
grinned.
Elsie looked down at the portfolio.
“We don’t have time for that, and don’t go rooting around for your
things.” She jerked her thumb behind
her, giving David a view of the beer cans and candy wrappers littering the
table where he used to eat his dinner.
“What’s going on?” David already knew, but he pushed past her
anyway.
“A session, that’s what.”
“Oh, no,” he croaked. “Not that
freaky shit again!”
Elsie closed the door before he
could back out.
***
Elsie’s girlfriends, Myrtle Epstein
and Paula somebody or other-David couldn’t recall-sat on the floor with Bruce
from the diner. And there was a kid with peach fuzz on his face sulking in the
corner, watching them crowd around Myrtle’s ouija board. Witch board, David corrected himself, even though he didn’t see a
difference between the darn things.
“Look what I got.” The kid in the corner came forward and waved
something under the trio’s noses.
“Yeah, Stevie, we know you got your
license,” Elsie said. “Now pull out your pad-you’re the writer tonight.”
“Gimme that thing.” Bruce snatched it from his hands. “It ain’t
real.”
“Real as your mama; and she was real good last night.” He ground his
hips in a lewd motion.
“Quiet!” it was Myrtle.
The group settled down, and Myrtle
began to recite a passage from the Bible. David went to the room’s only air
conditioner-an opened window-and straddled the sill. Elsie leaned beside him on
the wall. Maybe we’ll get together again, he thought.
“Whom do we have the honor of
addressing tonight?” Myrtle said. The wooden disk moved under her fingers, and
Stevie crouched behind her, pen poised over his pad.
David rolled his eyes.
“K-U-R-T-Z.” The group spelled out.
“Will I see Reddy again, Mr., uh
Miss Kurtz?” Paula asked about her runaway dog. “He’s my heart.”
YES.
“This is bullshit,” Bruce said.
David couldn’t agree more. “I’m
with you on that.”
“Shut up!” Elsie poked David in the
ribs.
“I wanna know where my grandma hid
her savings bonds.” Bruce broke the
circle to get a quick slurp off his beer then unceremoniously burped in their
faces. “It’s driving my mother crazy; me, too.”
“S-O-O-N,” Stevie called out.
“Bruce, you’re a greedy
sucker.” David leaned from his perch and
spat down into the alley, his missile hitting a large dumpster. “Let me ask a
question.”
“No! You’re not in the circle.”
David ignored Myrtle. “Will my
paintings sell?”
YES.
Now it didn’t seem like such
bullshit. “Soon?”
NO.
“Cut it out, David!” Myrtle whipped her head around and glared at
him.
“Just one more,” he begged. “When? When will they sell?”
Stevie scratched out the message
fast as he could. “You will rise before...”
Puzzled, Stevie wrinkled his forehead. “That’s all it says, dude.”
“But what does that mean?” David stared at Stevie’s chicken scrawl.
“Before what?”
“Told ya it was bullshit.” Bruce removed his hands, breaking the circle
again.
“Cut it out, you guys! You’re being
rude to the spirit.” Myrtle
squealed.
“Jerks.” Elsie grabbed David’s wrist.
“Bullshit. Bullshit,” Bruce
intoned, and David joined the chant.
“S-E-D-A-N.”
“What the hell is that? Oops.” Myrtle covered her mouth. “Sorry, Spirit.”
“I’m getting a car!” Stevie yelped.
“Hey, I didn’t even ask out loud.”
They stared at Stevie until the
lights flickered off and on in the hot room.
Suddenly, David felt a weight on
his chest. He fell back, arms dangling in the air, ankles hooked around the
window sill. “Stop it!” he screamed. “Stop pushing me!”
Someone had grabbed his legs. Elsie.
David felt like he was soaring as
the blood rushed to his head. And Elsie’s hands, still fastened on his legs,
were the last thing he felt before the alley came up to crush them.
“Shit! Did you see that?” Bruce pulled Stevie to the window, shocked at
the sight on the ground below. He looked around the room, snatched up his
blunts and yelled at Stevie to grab David’s portfolio. Then they scrambled out
after the frightened girls.
***
Dream Interrupted
Scully turned over at the sound of
the phone and glanced at her clock:
“Hello?”
“Hi. Agent Scully, sorry to wake
you so early.”
“Who is this?” Scully rubbed the sleep from her eyes,
annoyed that one of her medical students would call her after she’d told them to
never do that again. Why couldn’t they just skip class and leave it at that?
“It’s me, Agent Reyes. I wanted to
catch you before you left for class today.”
“No chance of me being there this
early.” Dana listened to Monica’s soft
laugh. Why is she calling me this time of
morning or at all, for that matter?
“I have a case that calls for your
medical expertise,” Monica said as if divining Scully’s question over the line.
“Oh?” Dana was grouchy now, though
she didn’t mean to be. Something about Monica Reyes’ cheerfulness irked her.
Open as Mulder, but Monica was much too easygoing for her taste.
“It’s in
“Agent Reyes, I have a class.”
“I called Friedman to sub for you.”
“Fried-” Dana sighed. Why argue
with someone like Reyes? “All right, but you’re the one driving to the
airport.”
“Deal. I’ll pick you up at nine.”
Monica signed off, and Dana went
back to sleep.
***
“Explain to me again why this is an
X-File,” Dana asked Monica, as she examined Elsie Portman’s body.
“She fell from a three story
building and bounced off a dumpster before hitting the pavement, but there are
no broken bones or blood loss.”
“Just a bite mark on her shoulder,”
Scully leaned closer. “And there appears to be an imprint of a hand on her
back. You said she fell. Are you sure she wasn’t pushed?”
“I don’t know, but maybe we should
ask David Wei that question.”
“And he is?”
“The guy who fell with her.”
***
“Monica: in here.” Detective Tom Haloran waived her into his
office.
“Tom, I need David Wei’s address.”
“I have something I think you
should see first.”
Monica took the steno pad from
Haloran and flipped through the pages. One side contained questions, the other
answers. Though Monica could barely read the cramped handwriting, she
understood from the contents why Haloran-a normally boisterous man-was acting
so jumpy. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yeah,” Haloran said, lowering his
voice. “A proper séance conducted three years ago in the same apartment by a
former tenant.”
“Well, it wasn’t just a séance. Someone used a board.”
“Just like those kids.’’ Haloran
closed the door. Then he handed her another pad. “I found this near the window
where the girl jumped.”
“Shouldn’t that be in an evidence
bag?”
“Did you tell your partner about
our theory?” Haloran grunted when Monica
shook her head. “That’s the same reason I didn’t bag it. Who would believe us,
anyway?”
“I thought I’d wait until Agent Scully
gets the toxicology results.” Monica
couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes. “She’s not exactly a skeptic.”
Haloran laughed gently. “Where’s
Doggett, or is she your new partner?”
“He’s on vacation.”
“It about time he learned how to
enjoy himself.”
Monica agreed. She had not known
John Doggett before his son was murdered, but Haloran had assured her that he
used to be a fun loving guy. Somehow, she could barely imagine it.
“Are you and he…well you know,”
Haloran said, rousing Monica from her thoughts.
“No.”
“How about Agent Scully?”
“How about Agent Scully,
what?” Dana walked into Haloran’s office
with a load of reports under her arm.
Monica coughed, and Haloran asked,
“Find anything?”
“Nothing. Elsie Portman was a
healthy young woman, but our Mr. Wei did leave a sample of his DNA on her
shoulder.”
“His-no that can’t be true.” Haloran shook his head and his shaggy hair
flopped into his eyes. “There wasn’t a mark on her.”
“There were two marks,” Dana
corrected. “A bite mark made by human teeth, and a burn made by God only
knows.”
“Maybe Wei wanted rough sex. She
refused, and he pushed her out the window,” Haloran ventured.
“At a séance?” Monica showed her the notepads. “Who was the
last tenant, Tom?”
“Serge Kurtz.”
“And this means what exactly?” Dana was irritated, mostly annoyed at the
lack of evidence from the tox screen. And there was something about being in
“Three years ago, Serge Kurtz died
the same way,” Monica answered.
“Well, let’s go see Mr. Wei.
Perhaps he can tell us about that,
too,” Dana said, but her sarcasm didn’t appear at all to embarrass Monica or
Tom.
***
“Hello. I’m Special Agent Reyes,
and this is Special Agent Scully.” Monica
flashed her badge at Mr. Wei.
He refused to grant them entrance.
“FBI?” Mr. Wei shook his head. “Why are
you here? My son told the police everything he knows.”
“Mr. Wei, we were called in by
local authorities,” Monica tried to keep her tone even.
The elder didn’t budge until Scully
put her hand on the door frame, intentionally brushing against his rather
expensive jacket. “I suggest you get your son down here right now, Mr. Wei.”
A string of curses came from the
background. Scully peered over Wei’s shoulder and spied a woman pulling at a
young girl’s pink hair. A sudden pain hit her, like a hand slamming into her
chest. What would her life as a parent be like, she thought, if she hadn’t been
forced to give up her son, William? Shaking off the thought, she turned her
attention back to Mr. Wei, who wasn’t in the least disturbed by the drama
playing out behind him.
“Mr. Wei-your son, please,” Scully
reminded him.
“He’s not coming down.” Mr. Wei
crossed his arms over his sunken chest and refused to budge from the door.
Scully ignored Mr. Wei when David
descended the stairs struggling into a black tee shirt. She almost gasped when
she caught sight of a red hand print just under his breastbone. “David Wei?”
she asked.
His father moved aside, and David
took Scully’s hand with a strong grip. “Let’s go around back, Agent Scully.”
“I’m-”
“I know who you are.” He cut Monica off, disarming her with his
slow smile and led them to the patio out back. “They wouldn’t let me see
her.” David’s black eyes glittered in
the
“Do you mean Elsie Portman,
David?” Scully took the lawn chair next
to him.
“She is my angel: ebullient, and
dear to me, Agent Scully.” He inclined
his head slightly, and regarded her as one would a rare gem.
Monica sat across from them,
studying how the young man carried himself: David crossed his legs, leaned back
slowly, and produced a gold cigarette case. Scully held up a hand, declining
his offer. Monica felt a twinge at the back of her throat, but out of courtesy
to Scully, she declined as well.
“How did you get the burn on your
chest, David?” Scully asked.
“Oh, that. You saw it?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t remember a
thing from that day.” David touched two
fingers to his temple. “It’s as if I were transported to another dimension.”
Scully almost rolled her eyes. “If
you can’t recall anything, then how do you know the burn was from that day?”
David did not answer, but suddenly
took Scully’s hand, turning it palm up. “What a shame for such a beautiful
woman to have so much pain. It runs deep.”
Scully’s eyes narrowed, and she
pulled her hand back.
Monica saw the color rise on her
partner’s face, and leaned forward, placing her own hand in David’s. “What do
you see in mine?” She humored him, and
he responded like a child obsessed with a favorite toy.
“Old…very old soul, though you’re
young.” He stared at her, perplexed at
the carefully guarded expression on her face. “You are unconvinced,
Monica.” David grasped her other hand.
“Then let me tell you this: you’ve searched years for a love most of us would
die for. You will.”
“I will what?” Monica asked, still amused by the young man.
Scully, however, was not so amused.
She got out her chair and glared down at the youth. “How do you know Agent
Reyes’ first name?”
“She must have mentioned it to my
father.”
“No, I didn’t,” Monica said,
stunned that she’d missed what the boy had called her. Her hand itched, and she
rubbed it along the leg of her brown leather pants.
David placed two cigarettes in his
mouth, lighting both. Despite her rising anxiety, Monica smiled at his
chivalrous offer and accepted the smoke. The gesture reminded her of an old
black and white film-one in which a young man like David normally would have no
interest.
“It doesn’t matter how I
know.” He repeated her name like a
cherished prayer; then turned his attention back to Scully. “She’s the Guardian, Dana-a way out of the pain.”
“Enough of this…” Scully had almost said bullshit, but somehow
it had seemed inappropriate, as if one were cursing a beloved parent. She
decided to end the nonsense, and went straight to the heart of the matter: “Did
you push Elsie Portman?” she asked, immensely pleased when he winced.
“I would never harm a lady.” David looked scandalized by the accusation.
“I actually broke her fall. Where is Elsie?”
“She’s dead, David,” Scully
replied.
Monica caught him as he pitched out
of his chair.
“He fainted?” Scully couldn’t believe it. She knelt beside
the boy and took his pulse.
David opened his eyes upon feeling
the light pressure of Scully’s fingers. “Who the hell are you?”
Both Reyes and Scully drew back.
Then David rose to his knees, coughed up blood, and passed out again.
“I’ll call for an ambulance.” Monica took out her cell phone.
“This case is getting stranger by the
minute,” Scully said, feeling a sudden chill on the hand David had held so
gently. “Very strange.”
***
Scully crawled into her hard bed at
the motor inn near
She reached down and rubbed her
feet, the soreness as palpable as the ache around her heart. The ache for
Mulder, her son and a life she would never share with them. Wearily, she
thought about taking off her clothes and going to sleep just as someone knocked
on the door.
“Who is it?” The annoyance in her voice was enough to
scare away the most determined frat boy, but when Scully opened up, Monica
stood there with a grin on her face and take out in her hands.
“Mushroom pizza. I heard it was
your favorite.” Monica slipped past
Scully and laid it on a small table that had seen better days.
Mulder, Scully thought. Who else would have told her that? “To what do I owe this thoughtful gesture?”
A slow smile spread across Monica’s
face, and Scully’s heart leapt into her throat. Scully sensed that this woman
saw with more than just her soulful eyes. She had a thoughtful, almost tender
way, of looking at a person as if to divine their character. It was spooky. It
was Mulder.
Scully climbed back onto the bed
watching as Monica tore off the top of the cardboard box, split it in half and
served up two slices each. Typical New Yorker, Scully thought, even though she
knew Monica had never lived here long.
“Pinot Noir?” Monica asked, holding the bottle aloft for
Scully’s inspection.
“Yes.” Scully noticed the slight tremble of Monica’s
hands as she poured the wine. What, she wondered did the agent have to be
nervous about? Their hands brushed as Scully took her drink.
Monica moved back, giving Scully a
sheepish look. She dropped into a chair rather than taking the spot Scully
offered her on the bed. “Tom is
attracted to you,” she said, not knowing where that came from or why.
Scully’s reply was a raised
eyebrow. Monica closed her eyes briefly and let her fingers rub the cold glass.
Of all the agents she’d worked with, Scully was one of the few she could not
connect with on a personal level.
“More.” Scully had drained her glass.
Three glasses more and an unexpected burp
later, Scully tried focusing her eyes on Monica, who seem not the least bit disturbed
by the silence in the room. “There are three of you.”
“The way you say that makes me
think one of me is hard to take.”
Scully dropped her head on a pillow
and coolly regarded Monica. “Agent Reyes, tell me the real reason Kirsch
assigned you to this case.”
“He didn’t. And are we back to that
again?”
“What? Oh, all right. Mon-i-ca, what the hell are we doing in
“Do you know what a witch board is?”
“Ouija board? You’re telling me
we’re here because of a game?”
“No, this board is different.”
“Why the semantics?” Scully didn’t
know if she was more annoyed by Monica’s sunny demeanor, or the word game they
were playing.
“The witch board in question is
authentic,” Monica went on, undaunted, “Tom traced it back to the late 1900’s,
to its maker named Herman Kurtz, and-”
“Serge’s ancestor.” Scully shook her head. “Where is the board
now?”
“Tom didn’t take it into evidence.”
“He stole it.”
“Well, in a manner of speaking,
yes. He gave it to a friend, Norman Portman-Elsie’s father. If we find the
board-”
Scully gave Monica a dismissive
laugh. “You believe the board is cursed.”
“Were you in the habit of always
interrupting Agent Mulder?”
“Mulder’s not a topic I care to discuss
with you, Agent Reyes,” Scully replied, ice lacing the slur of her voice.
“I touched a sore spot.”
“You touched something that’s none
of your business.”
“Okay, I’m going to say it’s the
wine.” Monica rose from her
uncomfortable chair. “Goodnight, Dana.”
***
Monica got up early the next
morning and went in search of a decent diner. She drove longer than expected,
finally settling on a place in
“Agent Reyes?” Suzi Wei parked her
motorcycle on the curb in front of Baley’s Diner.
Monica stared, fascinated by the
deep purple fuzz on the girl’s head. “Wasn’t your hair longer, and pink?”
Suzi nodded. “Got bored with it.
May I join you for breakfast?”
“Sure, but how did you know I’d be
here?”
“David told me.”
“David?”
“Yeah, just before they carted him
off to the psych ward.”
Monica took in Suzi’s rumpled
clothes and sleepy eyes. Probably up all
night with him. “Come. Let’s get some breakfast into you.”
“I have to warn you though: they don’t
serve anything organic here.”
Monica nodded, wondering what else
David had told his sister about her.
***
“I warned him to stay away from
that bitch, but he wouldn’t listen to me.”
Suzi, who hated touching her food, cut a slice of bacon with her knife
before popping it into her mouth. “Nobody listens to me, Agent Reyes.”
“I’m listening.” Monica gave Suzi’s hand a light squeeze. “Do
you think Elsie could have pulled him out the window with her?”
“I don’t know what that crazy cow
did, but I do know one thing: she’d never kill herself. She’s as selfish as the rest of those jerks he knows.”
“And who would those jerks be?”
Monica’s smile dazzled Suzi, and
she rattled off a long list of names for the agent.
They ate in silence for a few
minutes, then Suzi said, “Don’t tell my parents about the board, okay?”
“Do you ascribe a supernatural
malevolence to this particular board, or all witch boards?”
Suzi fingered the infinity charm
handing from her neck. “Agent Reyes, I believe we’re prisoners of our own
minds. And if your mind is restless and open, you’re an excellent candidate for
the board.”
“How’s your mind, Suzi?”
“Definitely close. No problem with
me getting caught by it.”
Scully,
either, Monica thought.
***
Monica let Scully lead the way to
Stevie Wynham’s front door, all the while wondering how the woman could still
look so gorgeous after eating a bagel packed with cream cheese and chives. She must apply her lipstick with a
laser.
Scully raised a finger to the
doorbell then hesitated. “Listen, Monica,….last night…”
“Don’t sweat it.” Monica gave her a special Reyes grin. “But I
do think you need to open up more, Dana. It would help if you didn’t feel the
whole world is against you-”
“I wasn’t going to-”
Suddenly the door sprang open, and
Monica reached for Scully, pulling her away as a harried couple barreled down
the steps.
“Mr. and Mrs. Wynham?” Scully shrugged Monica off and flashed her
badge. “Federal Agents! Stop-both of you!”
Mr. Wynham threw up a hand. “We
don’t have time for any crap, lady.” He
virtually pushed his wife into their SUV, and backed out of the driveway like a
cat running from water.
“What the hell was that?” Scully
almost stalked off for the car, but Monica put a restraining hand on her
forearm.
“Mi hijo…mi pequeño…está muerto.
ίAye!”
Monica questioned the older woman
standing in the doorway; Spanish gently rolling off her tongue. “Mrs. Gomez
wants us to come in,” she said, turning to Scully.
“What happened?”
“Steven Wynham was in a car
accident this morning.”
***
“I told my daughter not to come to
this country, but she…Does she listen to me? No.”
Mrs. Gomez, like all parents placed
under enormous stress, looked for an answer to make sense of her grandson’s accident.
Blame a decision, blame a place. Any answer but “bad things happens”, would do
in a crisis.
“New car, she gives him.” Mrs. Gomes leaned over Monica and squeezed
her shoulder. “More coffee, señoritas?”
Monica nodded, and Scully said yes,
waiting her turn. A turn that took forever since Mrs. Gomez couldn’t seem to
stop touching Monica.
“It’s a terrible thing you’re going
through, Mrs. Gomez.” Monica couldn’t
imagine any sensible hospital staff telling someone over the phone that a
family member was dead. “Perhaps you’re mistaken.”
“A pile up like that?” Mrs. Gomez
waved her hand violently, nearly spilling coffee in Scully’s lap. “I can still
smell the smoke.”
“Where did it happen?” Scully
asked.
Mrs. Gomez jerked a thumb toward
the kitchen. “Out back-just around the corner.”
Scully surprised Monica by taking
the coffee from Mrs. Gomez, and pouring it herself. “Please sit. You’ve been
through a great deal today.”
The grandmother broke down at the
unexpected kindness. After having seen Scully flash her badge, Mrs. Gomez had
restrained her emotional leakage, speaking to both women in a monotone: Cops of
any kind didn’t sit well with her, but perhaps these two were not like the
brutes that came to her door earlier. Yet, she gave the agents a wary look.
“Why are you here?” she asked, self-preservation overriding what she considered
a momentary lapse in judgment.
Making her voice gentle, Monica
explained in Spanish why they had come. And that made Mrs. Gomez wrap her arms
around the nearest agent, who happened to be a stunned Scully.
“I told him to leave the bruja alone. That damned witch ruined my
family!”
“To whom are you referring, Mrs.
Gomez?” Scully gently touched the grandmother’s
shoulder, taking from the woman’s grief the lost of her own son, William.
“Myrtle Epstein!” Mrs. Gomez
hastily rubbed her face as if offended by her own tears, “la niña with the
ouija board.”
Monica almost jumped out of her
chair. “Do you know where she lives?”
Mrs. Gomez jerked her thumb to the
right. “Next door.”
Scully saw Monica hesitate, and
said, “Go. I’ll stay here.”
Monica’s relief and strained
expression, slapped at Scully’s ego. She didn’t know if Monica was embarrassed
to leave Mrs. Gomez or happy to be rid of a difficult partner. Both, Scully thought.
***
No one answered Monica’s knock. So,
she walked past the driveway into the backyard and found a young woman stuffing
a bag into a garbage can.
“Hey, I’m looking for that.” Monica held up her hands when the startled
girl turned on her with nothing but a carved piece of wood in one fist and a
cigarette in the other. “At least you have the planchette. Where’s the board?”
“What the-”
“Are you Myrtle Epstein?” The girl nodded, and Monica continued. “I’m
Agent Monica Reyes.” She withdrew a
tissue from her purse and gingerly opened the bag. “This is not the proper way
to dispose of a witch board.”
Myrtle’s eyes widened. “H-how did
you find me?”
“A friend told me.” Monica didn’t feel her response to be a lie:
Perhaps in another life, Mrs. Gomez had been a friend.
“You couldn’t have… talked to-”
tears threatened and Myrtle’s face closed like a fist.
“Who?” Monica asked.
“Stevie was with me last
night.” Myrtle turned as if to run. “He didn’t talk to you.”
“Maybe, but you need to talk to me.”
Monica held out her hand, palm up. “Mind if I have one of those?”
Myrtle pulled a crumpled pack of
smokes from her tight jeans. “Aren’t you on duty?”
“Yes, so hurry up before my partner
comes out.
***
“How long have you two been
together?”
“Excuse me?” Scully gulped down hot
coffee and felt her eyes tear up.
“The tall one.”
“We don’t normally work together.”
“I don’t ask about work.” Mrs. Gomez let the aroma of coffee drift
between them for a moment; then continued when she saw Scully’s face hardened.
“In my country, I was a counselor. But I didn’t tell the authorities who I
counseled or why. I specialized in couples. Pretty good at it too….”
Scully eyed the woman. “Exactly
what are you saying, Mrs. Gomez?”
“You are mad at her.”
“I am not. And we are not-”
“You pushed her away when she held
you earlier. I saw.” Mrs. Gomez shook her head. “I thought you had
more rights in this country. It’s sad to see people treated poorly because of
who they love….”
“Mrs. Gomez, she didn’t want your
son-in-law and daughter to knock me down. You are mis-” Scully stopped in mid
sentence when shrieks of laughter drifted through the opened living room
window. “Who is that?”
“La bruja. You should go out there
before she enchants your partner.”
“She’s not my-never mind,” Scully
said, heading for the back door.
***
Scully found Monica sitting on the
back stoop with Myrtle Epstein. The girl was incoherent with laughter, babbling
“ain’t that”, something or other, between drags on her cigarette.
“Jesus,” Scully said under her
breath. “Agent Reyes, a moment please.”
Monica dusted off the back of her
leather pants and walked over to Scully.
“Is that girl high?”
“Looks that way.” Monica pitched her cigarette on the ground.
“I have the witch board.”
“What are you smoking?” Scully
asked, her nose offended by the acrid smell.
“Marlboro. Want one?” Monica grinned when Myrtle let go with another
twisted cackle.
Scully suppressed the urge to
laugh; she didn’t know which of the two were more juvenile. “Did you manage to
get anything useful out of her?”
“Mmmm,” Monica lit another
cigarette. “There are two more kids involved, Dana. We need to find them fast.”
Scully realized from the flush on
Monica’s face, that she was the victim of a contact high. And she wasn’t about
to find anyone until she put the agent to bed. “Why don’t you put this…thing into
the back seat of the car, and wait for me. I’d like to question Myrtle…alone.”
Monica nodded and pulled out her
keys.
“And Monica? I’ll do the driving.”
***
Tom Haloran, humming a love song
under his breath, winked at Scully then finally asked, “Where’s your equally
lovely partner in crime?”
Scully stared across the autopsy
table at Haloran, blue mask partially hiding a scowl. “Agent Reyes should be
with us shortly.” But she hoped Monica
would decide to stay in bed and sleep it off.
Scully gazed down at Stevie’s
broken body. Blood seeped from his nose, marring the serene look on his face.
And his arms were crossed, both fists brought up as if to protect his chest.
The defensive move was oddly out of synch with the expression on his face.
“Shall we get started, Detective?”
“The boy looks like he crashed in
the Indy 500.”
Scully turned Stevie over. “There’s
a mark on his back in the shape of a handprint. I need someone from the lab in
here.”
“Uh, okay.” Haloran lingered,
giving Scully a wolfish grin.
“Now, Detective.”
***
To Scully’s chagrin, Monica had
arranged for her and Tom to meet up with the agent at Jerry’s Club down in the
Village. Tom had asked Scully to dance. She begged off, but Monica saved him by
saying yes.
Scully sat alone in the booth with
a beer, watching Tom fumble on the floor with a woman much too graceful to be
his dance partner. The fluidity of Monica’s body reminded her of a cobra:
dangerous, beautiful. She sat back, wishing she’d shared a bit of the stuff
Monica had smoked earlier. Contact high;
yeah right.
Where do some men get their nerve?
Scully wondered. Haloran was no beast, but he wasn’t a beauty either. He
twisted and jumped like a frightened rabbit.
Scully looked up, startled, when a
young woman placed a hand on her shoulder. “Dance?” the woman asked.
Scully shrugged. Why the hell not? She got up and took the woman’s hand. And
after a slow turn or two on the floor, she suddenly found herself in front of a
very amused Reyes.
Monica sang the
sensuous word, her voice brushing Scully’s ear like a kiss. And she slid her
arms around Scully’s waist in a smooth move, drawing a genuine laugh from the
redhead.
Scully peered over Monica’s
shoulder at Tom. She thought his head would pop from the way he was holding his
breath. He finally exhaled, expelling a loud whoosh of air when Monica’s leg
slid between her thighs.
“Don’t you know how beautiful life can be?” Monica continued in a
voice soft as silk.
“I think we’re giving Haloran a
heart attack,” Scully whispered.
“Or a hard-on.”
Scully laughed in Monica’s ear, as
she moved slowly in her arms. She listened to Monica’s voice, the music…her own
stray thoughts….
The song ended, and Monica escorted
Scully back to their booth.
“Damn.” Haloran stood,
allowing the women to slide into the booth before he plopped down in front of
them. He grabbed a Bud and rolled the cold bottle against his brow. “That
was…that was…damn.”
“Thank you, Tom,” Monica said. Then
she turned to Scully, all business. “What did the autopsy reveal?”
“He got hit by a car,” Scully
responded, playful sarcasm lacing her voice. “Let’s leave the job alone
tonight.” She took a healthy swig of her
beer.
“Who are you?” Monica nudged Scully’s
shoulder, “and what have you done with my partner?”
Haloran laughed out loud, and
ordered another round of drinks. “I hope the next song is another slow one,” he
said.
***
“Hello?” Scully pushed up her sleep mask. She blinked
hard from the garish neon sign glowing outside her window.
“Did I wake you?” Monica asked, the
sound of her voice like a whisper coming in long distance.
“No,” Scully lied, pressing the
phone closer to her ear.
“You’re not telling me the
truth.” Monica laughed, softly. “I’d say
let’s go down to the sauna, but we don’t have one.”
“Don’t have a pool either.”
“Or a dining room.”
“So,” Scully stifled a yawn, “what
can we do to alleviate our insomnia?”
“My insomnia.”
“Okay, Agent Reyes.”
“Dana Katherine…”
“Monica…What’s your middle name?”
“Hungry.” Monica laughed again, warming Scully’s skin
like the press of a leg on the dance floor.
“Pizza?” Scully ventured.
“With mushrooms if you come to my room in
five.”
“Ten minutes.”
“Five, Dana Katherine.”
***
Five minutes turned into twenty,
and when Scully arrived, she found Monica on the bed Indian style with case
files spread on the blanket.
Scully flushed, feeling foolish for
considering the night a date. Monica, peering at one of the crime scene photos,
clearly wasn’t interested. Scully suspected the dance had been solely for Tom’s
benefit.
Pure concentration edged the sinews
of Monica’s taut body as she sat hunched over with a magnifying glass. “Hey, you,” she said, finally looking up.
Scully braced her shoulders and
ventured further into the room, sorry that she’d changed into a silk blouse and
leather skirt. “Do you always leave your door open?”
“I do for good friends.”
Friends; Monica’s words were clear and crystal. Scully sat beside her, propping
a folder on her lap.
“None of that tonight-I told them
to bring paper plates.”
“What more can a girl ask for?”
“Straws,” Monica’s eyes twinkled.
“Keep your fingers crossed.”
And Scully did, though not for
straws.
***
“What’s not to like about
Scully slapped her on the back,
hard. “Think you’ll live long enough for me to give you a list?”
“Culture,” Monica said between
coughs. “Wine…”
“I can get wine anywhere.”
“No!” She gasped and crawled across
the bed, half landing on Scully’s lap. “I need…wine.” Scully retrieved the bottle and turned Monica
over. “Say when.”
“Gimme.”
“That’s not when.” She poured the red
liquid into Monica’s mouth further exacerbating the cheese problem. For Scully,
this was a fun trip back to sorority days: A beautiful woman in her lap, wine,
cuddling. But Monica hopped off the bed before the cuddling part. Scully
watched entranced, as the tall brunette pulled her tee shirt over her head, and
took off her bra. Then she waited expectantly for Monica’s next move.
“See what you did?” Monica teased. “Now I need a shower.”
But Scully saw something else:
Monica’s smirk, the casual toss of her head, said see you later, pal; gotta
wash. Monica moved the way straight
women do in gyms and communal showers; eyes unfocused, desirous of nothing in
the room. And there was nothing seductive in Monica’s distracted gaze.
Sensing the night was not only
over, but dead, Scully made her way to the door then said goodnight.
***
“Well, it looks like we’ve found
Paula Morris, or what’s left of her,” Scully said, standing near a young woman
impaled on an iron fence.
Monica hung back in a narrow
driveway between the two houses, watching Scully behind a pair of dark shades.
She was sure their tint matched the purple rings beneath her eyes. When they
had met in the morning, Scully had asked her to take them off, but Monica had
refused. Hours of insomnia had made her look and feel a wreck. So the less
Scully saw, the less she would ask. This, Monica prayed for, especially after
last night’s failed seduction.
I’m losing it, Monica thought. How
could she be so mistaken about someone; especially someone like the divine
enigma that was Scully?
“Reddy over there gave her quite a
push,” Scully intoned, pointing to the big dog sitting on his haunches.
“He-he was so happy to see
her.” Mrs. Morris crouched over the dog,
holding onto his collar. “A little boy brought him back and…”
Scully snapped on latex gloves.
Deep in thought, she was too distracted to ask the paramedics to lead Mrs.
Morris away.
Monica helped the woman stand. “Mrs. Morris, maybe we should take Reddy
inside.”
Scully caught the edge in Monica’s
voice, and turned to speak, but thought better of it and said nothing.
A neighbor from the adjoining
property, leaned over the fence and said in what he thought was a whisper,
“She’s already dead, so they won’t have to cut down my fence will they?”
Scully glared at the man. “Please
go inside, sir.” She gave a nod to two
men holding chainsaws. If anything could give her pleasure today, it would be
the destruction of the wickedly low fence staking Paula Morris’s body to the
ground.
***
That night, Monica and Scully sat
in a
“What am I eating?”
Monica leaned over, brought
Scully’s hand to her mouth, and took the fat dumpling from her fingers. “Good.”
“Well?”
“I have no idea.”
Scully shook her head. “At least
it’s better than sunflower seeds in an unheated car. That’s what a …dinner
amounted to with Mulder.” She bit her
tongue, cursing under her breath for almost saying, date. “Anyway, I thank you.
I needed this after Paula’s autopsy.”
By ‘this”, Scully meant the
companionship more than the food.
“What’s the official word? And if
you tell me she was impaled on a fence, I’ll challenge you to a duel with this
skewer.”
“One of the spikes pierced the
heart’s left ventricle.”
“The left ventricle pushes blood
through the aortic valve, right?”
Monica’s mind traveled back to all the anatomy classes she’d slept
through. And she was relieved when Scully merely nodded, instead rolling her
eyes and laughing like most forensic scientists she knew. “That settles it,”
Monica announced.
“Settles what exactly?”
“We’re going over to the apartment
tonight. It’s only two blocks from here.”
“I know where it is.”
“Well,” Monica shrugged, “
You’re confusing, Scully thought.
“Do you recall Stevie’s steno pad?”
Monica asked, pulling Scully from her thoughts. “Paula said that Reddy was her heart.”
This time, Scully rolled her eyes,
but suppressed the laughter she felt rising to the surface.
“Don’t laugh, but I have a way
of…sensing things.”
What did you sense last night?
Scully’s eyes met hers with the unspoken question.
“That apartment is evil, and the
witch board was misused-”
“Please don’t tell me you left it
in your room.” The thought of doubling
back to
“I wouldn’t sleep with that board
anywhere near me.” Monica shivered. “It’s got bad mojo working.”
“But you think it’s safe in the
trunk of the car while you’re doing sixty on the Grand Central?”
“I don’t speed.”
Scully gave up on puzzling how
Monica’s brain was wired. After all, this was the same agent who had
demonstrated the nuances of a whale song the first time they’d met. “You must
think I’m a goof”, Monica had told her after finishing the impromptu concert to
dead silence. Scully, who’d heartily agreed back then, came up with the same
verdict now. “Do you believe that a mere board is responsible for these kids’
deaths?”
“Do you have a better theory?”
Monica challenged.
“Theory? No.” Scully sipped from
her cup of unsweetened ginger tea. “It’s called a coincidence, Monica.”
Unperturbed, Monica pulled out her
cell phone and leaned back in her chair. “I propose we visit the source of the coincidence, and solve this case once
and for all, Dr. Watson.”
“Lead and I will follow, Sherlock.”
***
The superintendent dropped the key
in Monica’s hand, and then he fled down the hall to the staircase. Tom Haloran
came bounding up the stairs nearly colliding with the frightened man. “Sorry
I’m late, ladies-homicide down in the Bowery.”
“That’s no excuse to be late for
more important police work,” Scully
teased.
“Ah, I see we have a skeptic among
us.” Haloran grinned at her.
Monica, though, was somber. She
turned away from the opened door and faced Scully. “We must work on your negative energy before
we begin the session.”
“And what do we intend to do about it?”
“Let’s go dancing again,” Tom
offered.
Monica sighed and led them into the
apartment.
***
The Offering
While Monica went about setting up
the room for their session, Tom warmed to the subject of the Ouija Board,
explaining for Scully’s benefit. “Some
people ascribe to the Spiritualist Theory, while others believe in Automatism,
which is clinically known as ‘ideomotor response’. That means the planchette
moves by itself, and the board actually opens up the subconscious mind of the
participants.”
“Clinically?” Scully couldn’t believe her ears. If Haloran’s
expression wasn’t so grave, she’d swear he was pulling her leg.
“The scientist in you should
appreciate this, Agent Scully.” Tom gave
her a look Scully suspected he usually reserved for dimwitted criminals. “If
you’re a Spiritualist, you believe that spirits require the eyes and hands of a
human; a vessel so to speak, to make their presence known.” He paused for a moment to let it sink in. “Of
which theory are you a proponent, Agent?”
“Neither.”
Monica looked up, her hand poised
over a box of matches. “Agent Scully will take notes tonight.” She lit two candles, and then she offered
Scully a pencil and pad.
They took their seats at the table,
and Monica arranged several amulets around the edges of the board. Then she
placed a vase with three yellow roses on the table. Scully surmised from the
ritualistic display, that Monica was indeed of the Spiritualist ilk. She had no
idea how Haloran felt, but he seemed content to follow Monica’s
directions.
“Let’s begin.” Monica dropped her head forward and slowly
rolled her shoulders, releasing tension.
Haloran closed his eyes.
Scully smirked.
The smirk vanished when Monica-
placing two fingers of each hand on the planchette-closed her eyes and began to
sing what Scully guessed was a Mexican folk song. The melody was sweet, soft.
Pure tones carried on the wind by chimes. And Scully drifted, rocked to sleep
by Monica’s rich cadence….
“Is anyone there?” Monica
asked. The planchette moved, and she
felt a rush of adrenalin race down her spine, curling her toes into tight
knots.
D-A-V-I-D
Impossible, Monica thought. David
Wei is not dead. David who? She nearly gasped when she read the answer to
her unspoken question.
W-A-Y-H-O-ME
“Where are you, David?”
G-E-T-B-A-C-K
Pain shot through Monica’s left
foot, driving her knee up into the small table. Another wave of pain hit the
small of her back. “Stop that!” She pitched
forward, nearly upsetting the board. A quick glance around the darkened room,
told her Scully and Haloran had felt none of this. “I can’t help you,” she
said, wary of the spirit’s true identity. “Please leave.”
R-I-T-E
Monica felt the spirit’s presence:
a cold lingering touch on her arm. She
glanced at Scully again, watching the agent’s pencil move swiftly over the pad.
Then the planchette flew out of Monica’s hand, slamming against a spot on the
wall. It landed beneath a painting of what Monica recognized to be the corner
of Bayard and Baxter. An image of the
She watched, horrified as the board
slid near Scully’s end of the table. Monica flew out of her chair and grabbed
Scully, pulling her down to the floor.
“What the hell?” Scully’s head
struck the edge of the couch. Disoriented, she fought with her attacker before
realizing she was pinned by Monica’s arms.
“No one told me this was going to
be an orgy.” Haloran yawn and stretched,
seemingly unaware of what had transpired. He made his way around the table and
picked up the board. “Wild session.”
“We have to get out of here.”
Monica pulled Scully to her feet.
“Wait a minute,” said Scully. “I
see something.” She reached under the
couch and pulled out a half-smoked blunt. “Those kids had a drug-induced
séance.”
Haloran reached over and took it
gingerly with his handkerchief. “It probably upset the spirits.”
Scully’s lip curled. “Spirits, my-”
“This is no time for debates. Let’s
get out of here!” Monica tugged Scully’s arm.
Haloran was the first out the door,
leaving the two agents behind.
Scully turned, saw the sweat dripping off
Monica’s brow, the fear in her eyes. The agent moved away when Scully tried to
touch her. With nothing more to do but leave, Scully gathered her things, and
then she blew out the candles.
“Monica?”
Monica raised her hands as Scully
reached for her. “Don’t. Don’t touch me.”
“What the hell happened here?”
Monica caught Scully by the
shoulders, pulling her into an embrace. Then she cupped the back of Scully’s
neck, her tongue probing the agent’s mouth.
Someone screamed.
The agents broke apart.
They raced from the apartment and
found Haloran lying in the stairwell. The super stood over him with a baseball
bat, ready to hit another homer.
***
“What’d that guy hit me with?”
Haloran lay in his hospital bed, back aching where the super had popped him,
temple throbbing with a headache.
“A
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph…”
“A visitation by all three? Not
bad, my friend.”
“That’s right, wise guy. And they
said to tell you hello.”
“Maybe I should join the
“Ha. Ha.” Haloran sat up and
grabbed her hand and motion sent a sharp pain up his arm. “Damn!”
Lips still swollen with Monica’s
kiss, Scully watched them in silence and retreated further into a corner of the
room. Earlier, she’d driven with Monica to the hospital at lighting speed, both
too numb to speak of what had occurred between them. Now, after three hours, Monica seemed in no
mood to leave Haloran’s side. To Scully’s observant eye, the detective looked
like he desperately wanted to sleep, but hung on to keep company with the
beautiful agent for as long as possible.
Scully ached to get out of her
heels and into her bed; forget the upsetting day. Her savior came in the form
of a nurse announcing the end of visiting hours.
“You go, Dana. I’m staying here
tonight.”
The nurse tried to contradict
Monica, but backed down from the frosty glare she received.
‘Hey!” Haloran called out to
Scully. “You get the steno pad?”
“Well, Mon-”
“It got lost somewhere between the
apartment and the hospital,” Monica interrupted.
“Darn.” Haloran absently rubbed his head and winced.
“Agent Reyes, may I have a word
with you please?” Scully pulled her out
into the hall. “What do you mean the pad was lost? I saw you put it into your
purse.”
“He doesn’t need to see it.”
“There’s nothing to see.”
“What about the kiss, Dana?”
Scully nodded, wondering when they
were finally going to alleviate the tension hanging between them. “The question
I’d like answered is why did you do it?”
She held Monica’s gaze, the other’s eyes direct, unflinching.
“It’s what your heart asked for.”
Scully flinched. Of all the
bullshit excuses this woman could have come up with… “I hate to disappoint your
ego, Agent Reyes, but my heart did
not ask for anything.” She backed away
from Monica. “I fell asleep during the session.” Scully hated to admit to the brief reverie,
but she wanted to wipe the sympathetic look off Monica’s face.
Monica opened her purse and gave
the pad to Scully. “When you get back to our motel, read it,” she said, before
closing the door to Haloran’s room.
***
Scully’s face blazed. It was her
handwriting: I want you…
She compared her pad to Stevie’s.
The only people unaccounted for were Elsie and Myrtle. My God. Scully lay back on
the bed wondering if a kiss was what she’d asked for, what on earth had those two
kids wanted.
***
Myrtle turned over at the sound of
the lattice creaking outside her window. She opened her sleep-weary eyes and
saw a boot, then a leg emerge over the sill.
Shit!
A sallow hand gripped the painted
wood. A grunt, a heave, Myrtle thought, and the maniac will be in my room! It
would be her mother’s fault for not allowing air-conditioning in the house.
She cupped her hands to her cheeks,
gearing up to summon her parental protectors when David Wei tumbled onto the
carpet.
“Dammit, David, you scared the shit
out of me.”
“You called
“How did you get here?”
“Don’t know.” He took off his shirt and stumbled over to
her bed.
Myrtle grinned. Then she frowned, cursing the utilitarian
underpants on her bottom. She reached down and slid them off discreetly. Quickly calculating the number of months to a
June wedding, she pulled back the covers and invited David in.
He grunted while atop her, rearing
like a stoned bull. And his hands groped under her nightshirt, fumbling with her
breasts. Before Myrtle could get out a slow-the-hell-down-David, he came,
managing to launch a David Junior into her womb.
“What the hell-”
“Gotta go.” David struggled into his pants and boots, not
bothering with his tee shirt. “You called me out,” he accused, mourning his
infidelity to Elsie. “Don’t call me here again.”
Paula’s dream of marriage and
sunshine dissolved with David’s descent down the lattice.
***
Scully’s dream invigorated her
senses, and her wandering hands found places she’d long forgotten. She sighed
as spikes of energy soared through her body, carrying her to peaks of
unrestrained bliss. Yet in her beautiful dream, it was Monica’s hands that
touched her body and caressed her hair. Monica’s lips touched hers and left her
wanting for nothing.
Scully woke, gasping and calling
out Monica’s name.
I want you…
***
“Hey.” Monica leaned against the doorframe waiting
for Scully to invite her in. Her eyes
envied the silk pants hugging Scully’s hips, and her hands ached to touch the
nape of Scully’s neck, as the agent pulled back her hair.
“I was going to pin it up,” Scully
said, watching Monica in the mirror, “but we’re running late.”
“Leave it. It’s… beautiful.” Monica felt like the goof singing a whale
song. “I brought you a bagel with cream cheese.” She held out the bag, too helpless with
anxiety to move closer to Scully. “Um…well, I guess I’ll wait for you in the
car.”
Scully turned around. “Can we not
get weird over what happened?” She grabbed
her jacket, destroying the line of her silk pants. Then she accepted Monica’s
peace offering. “Does it have chives?”
“Yes.” Monica moved to let her pass.
“Good. You drive.”
Monica followed Scully out of the
motel, her hands suddenly cold despite the morning heat.
***
“David Wei had a psychotic episode
last night,” Monica said, parking the
car near the side entrance of
“How did he get hold of a pair of
pants?” Scully thought a pair of pants
was as good as a noose to some mental patients, but instead, she added, “Those
jerks left him his clothes. He was able to escape right under their noses.”
“Why come back?”
“He’s not a well man, Monica.”
“Or a happy one.” She felt her stomach tightened when Scully
touched her arm.
“Want the last bite?” Scully
offered.
Monica pushed Scully’s hand away.
“I don’t like chives,” she lied, unhappy with the childish sound of her own
voice. “David’s the last cell,” she said, leading Scully down a corridor of
moaning and shrieking patients.
***
David Wei looked as if he’d aged
forty years in one night. His furled brow and the sunken shadows beneath his eyes,
told of a man in unbearable agony. “I must be cleansed.” He scratched at the skin beneath his
breastbone with a pencil, raking the handprint Scully had spotted during their
first meeting. “Cleansed…cleansed...”
Monica called his name softly, then
she held him, and they both sank to the floor.
“K-Kurtz made me go to her.”
Monica flinched, and Scully caught
the guarded look she flashed her way.
“Give this to me, David.” Scully eased the pencil from his hand. “Agent
Reyes, will you call an attendant in here to get him cleaned up?”
Monica nodded, leaving David in
Scully’s care.
“Who did you go to last
night?” Scully knelt beside him.
“I slept with her! I slept with Myrtle Epstein.” He leaned into Scully and laid his head on
her shoulder. “He forces you to do terrible things.”
“David,” Scully stroked his damp
hair, “what you’re feeling is not real. Kurtz is dead.”
“His body is dead.”
“Excuse me?”
He turned to her, face wet with
tears. For a moment, Scully thought she saw the ghost of the old German staring
back at her with steel-grey eyes.
“He gives you what you want, then
he t-takes it back, hu-humiliating you.”
David cupped Scully’s free hand in his. “I saw her kiss you last night,
Dana. If Monica’s not careful, s-she’ll be next.”
Scully stared opened-mouth at the
young man, and she felt his dark eyes bore into her, revealing her own
humiliation. She held David closer, absorbing his misery.
“Give him what he wants,” David
pleaded.
Scully watched his hand fall to the
floor. His fingers trailed along a drawing of a stone edifice, its flag waving
at half-mast. “What does he want?” she asked.
“Justice.”
****
“Here, take it.” Myrtle Epstein tossed Monica a full pack of
cigarettes. “What?” she asked, as Monica shook her head. “You think I’d give a
Fed laced smokes? You caught a buzz off my high, that’s all.”
“I think I’ll stick with water,”
Monica said, waving a frosty bottle at the young woman. “Why are you giving
them up, Myrtle?”
Myrtle rubbed her stomach. “He told
me I was pregnant before he left.”
“David actually said that?”
“Not in words,” she answered,
avoiding Monica’s eyes. “It was creepy, you know? He was different in bed with
Elsie.”
“How would you-”
“Threesome.”
Monica choked on her sip of water.
“At least then, he waited until he
drove me home before he freaked out. Actually threw up on my front stoop.” Myrtle’s face flushed red. “Guess some guys
can’t handle more than one woman at a time.”
Monica continued to cough.
Myrtle leaned over to help and her
slap on the back was a lot harder than Scully’s had been. “Where’s the other
one?”
“What?” Monica asked between gasps.
“The redhead.”
“Agent Scully is conducting
research.”
“Figures.”
“Why do you say that?”
“She looks like a corporate suit:
stiff. But you’re cool, though.”
“Um, thanks.” Monica rose from her seat on the back porch.
“I need your friend Bruce’s new address. He no longer lives with his mother.”
“Let me guess, the bitch wouldn’t
give it up. He’s at his uncle’s.” Myrtle
rattled off the address. “And he isn’t my friend.”
“Why is that?”
“He ripped off David’s paintings,
the creep.”
“Thanks for the info,” Monica said,
heading for the driveway.
“Hey, Agent Reyes?” Myrtle tapped her shoulder. “Bruce wants
money, I want David. What do you
want?”
Monica stopped dead in her tracks.
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Yeah, right.” Myrtle smirked. “We
all ask for something, Agent.”
***
“Ah, hija, welcome.” Mrs. Gomez ushered
Monica into the dining room. “You came all this way to see me?”
“I was in the neighborhood.”
“You saw the bruja.” Mrs. Gomez gazed knowingly at her guest. “Not
a nice girl: all the time smoking that stuff and bringing boys into her room.”
“You see a great deal.”
Monica’s amusement caused Mrs.
Gomez to wag a finger at her. “The other night, I see a boy climb up like a
squirrel right into her room.” Mrs.
Gomez lowered her voice, though they were the only people in the house. “It’s
that board they play with-makes them do crazy things.”
“What did the boy look like?”
Mrs. Gomez lowered her eyes and
made the sign of the cross. “He’s Stevie…was
Stevie’s friend-the Chinese boy.”
She sighed. “I know my eyes aren’t what they used to be, but at one point,
I saw a big man with light hair.”
“What?” Monica held her
breath.
“Yes, hija. The man pushed Stevie
through the opened window. Then he disappeared. I know it sounds strange but…”
“Are you sure, Mrs. Gomez?”
“As sure as I see that lovely stone
around your neck. Is it Mexican, sweetheart?”
“Yes.” Monica smiled warmly and accepted a cup of
coffee. “I grew up in
Mrs. Gomez peered closely at her.
“You are Mexican?”
“I am, by way of adoption.”
Mrs. Gomez patted Monica’s knee. “It
is good to be so loved.”
“It certainly is,” Monica answered,
wondering if Scully felt the same way.
***
After talking to D.A. Johnson,
Scully left the Criminal Courts Building with a plan to save the remaining two
kids from Kurtz’ wrath. The first leg of her journey took her to the home of
“The building wasn’t always an
apartment, Agent Scully.” Mina led
Scully out onto the terrace to a breathtaking view of
“Hence the long prison term,”
Scully said.
Mina waited for her maid to pour their tea and
leave. Then she continued, “He was also accused of killing a prison guard, but
they couldn’t prove anything. Before they could execute him, another prisoner,
or perhaps a guard, killed Herman.”
“Now he wants revenge?”
“No, Agent Scully, he wants
justice.”
“How do you know so much about this
case, Mina?”
“Herman Kurtz was my ancestor. My
grandfather changed his name and spilt off from the rest of the family after he
discovered who Kurtz was.” Mina’s eyes
darkened. She stared out to the park’s Bridal Path, and said in a flat voice,
“You’re dealing with two spirits, Agent: Herman had a brother, Marcus. Marcus
is your killer.”
Scully leaned back, taking the
measure of the woman. Mina was a sharp lady, and by no means insane. Satisfied
that Scully was not a journalist, she’d told her about her belief in benevolent
and malevolent spirits: Herman granted your greatest desires, and Marcus took
them away. It was then Scully realized what Mina meant: Herman did not want his
named cleared: His idea of justice meant destroying his brother’s evil spirit.
“We have to stop him, Agent Scully.”
Scully had another plan in mind.
She recalled the super’s ashen face in the dark stairwell while he stood over
Haloran’s prone body, and his wild tale of seeing someone resembling Serge
Kurtz flying down the stairs. “The madness has to stop, Ms. Peale, but I don’t
think the superintendent will let me and my partner back inside.”
“I own the building;
“Then why-”
“Rent an apartment to Serge Kurtz?”
Mina finished for her. “I don’t deal directly with tenants, Agent Scully. By
the time I found out, it was too late. I had no grounds to evict him.”
Scully nodded. This woman, with her
fifty dollar manicure and perfectly coiffed hair, was not the type to undertake
the mundane task of collecting rent. She most likely has never set foot in the
building, Scully surmised. “Is it okay with you if my partner and I go over
today?”
“This partner of yours-is she very
open-minded?”
“Yes.”
Scully almost smiled. If they gave metals for open-mindedness, Monica
would be a fully decorated soldier. “She certainly is.”
“Then she won’t be joining us.”
“Us?”
“I’m going with you, Agent Scully.”
Scully sipped her tea slowly before
responding to the
Mina Peale agreed, and Scully
resumed drinking her tea, praying Monica would forgive her for what she was about
to do.
***
“Bruce Summer?” Monica called to
the young man, who was slamming a ball against the side of a wall with his bare
hand. She watched the play of muscles beneath his soaked tee shirt, and the deep
concentration on his face before she entered the courtyard.
Bruce cursed when he missed the
rebound. Monica crouched and slammed it back against the bottom of the wall.
“Killer!” Bruce yelped. “Want a game?”
“No.” Monica looked for a place to sit in the
derelict courtyard and found an overturned orange crate. She showed her badge
and grinned at his childish pout.
“I told the cops them blunts ain’t
mine. Play a house party and everybody thinks you’re the candy man,” he
muttered.
“Actually, I’m here about David
Wei: You have something that belongs to him.”
“Do not.” Bruce folded his arms
over his well-developed chest and his pout became a scowl.
Michelangelo’s David, Monica mused.
Good looking, tall like Mulder-Scully’s style. Then Monica scowled, too. “Go
get them, Bruce.”
“The paintings? Don’t have ’em.”
He’s a hunk with undeveloped gray
matter-not Scully’s style, she
amended. “Do you understand the word’s ‘you’re my bitch, now’? Because if you don’t,
you certainly will when you end up in Rikers.”
“Ah, come on,” Bruce whined. He
stuck his hand in the back pocket of his jeans.
“What are you reaching for,
Bruce?” Monica lifted her jacket and
touched the gun holstered at her waist.
“Pawn ticket,” he said, waving the
crumpled paper at her.
“Let’s hope the paintings are still
there.” Monica let out a long breath,
relieved she didn’t have to shoot the boy. Then she lit up a cigarette and
stared at Bruce through a haze of blue smoke.
“Can I have one?”
“You’re too young,” Monica
responded, hitting the top of his sneaker with the match. “But I will play a
round before we go.” She dearly missed
handball, and hoped the kid would go easy on her.
***
“She’s in the guest suite, Agent Reyes.” Mina Peale had answered the door herself
after having sent her entire staff home for the day. The session at the apartment building had
proved exhausting, and Mina could not deal with giving another order if her
life depended on it.
“By the way,” Monica said, taking
in the opulent penthouse, “How did you get my number?”
“Agent Scully’s cell phone.” Mina gestured toward the guest suite. “I
think she’s feeling better now, but I suggest you both stay for the night-it’s
much too late to go back to
“Thank you.” Monica headed toward the back, cursing the
fact that she didn’t bring a change of clothes.
“You’re tall like my daughter-she
left some things that should fit you nicely,” Mina said, seemingly reading her
mind.
Monica smiled. Then she opened the bedroom
door, and her smile vanished instantly: Scully lay on the bed, face drained of
color, eyes closed.
“Dana?” Monica lay beside her.
Scully turned over, grimacing.
“No…I don’t want to go to school today.”
“Okay, tiger, I won’t make you go.”
“Monica?” Scully wrapped her arms
around Monica’s neck. “Monica- the Reyes with no middle name. Ah, but you’re
hungry…”
“Not anymore.” Monica humored her and closed the top of the
loose robe Scully wore. “I’ve already eaten.”
“No, you haven’t, baby.”
“Dana?”
Scully was quick: She flipped
Monica over, tugging the shirt from her leather pants. “I’m glad to see you
don’t wear a belt.” Scully unzipped the pants and squirreled a hand inside.
“Whoa, slow down.” Monica caught
her wrist. “What happened at the apartment?” She’d never seen Scully like this;
eyes half-closed, lids sleepy with desire. Monica panicked and rolled away.
‘You conducted a séance without me. Why?”
“You’re too open-minded.”
“And you’re certainly not the skeptic
you think you are.”
“I guess I’m open, too,
Monica.” Scully held her arms out. “Come
here.”
“No. I’m going back to
“What are you doing?” Scully asked.
“You’re letting in all the hot air.”
“I’m letting some of it out.”
Monica lit up, took a puff, and
felt Scully arms snake around her waist. She sighed from the light pressure of
Scully’s head against her back and peeked over her shoulder at a crown of damp
red hair. “This is not you, Dana; it’s Kurtz’ influence.”
“He had a bad…bad little
brother.” Scully rubbed her hands across
Monica’s breasts. “He makes people do wicked things, but this…this feels so good.”
Monica pitched her cigarette over
the balcony; then she grabbed the rails when she felt a push from behind.
Scully was tugging at her pants, pressing her belly into the hot wrought iron.
“Quit it, Dana!”
“You don’t want to make love to me,
Monica?” She reached around and tugged
at Monica’s bra, then shoved her when the tall agent pushed back. “Liar!”
Monica used her elbow for leverage
and knocked Scully back onto the carpet. “I’m sorry, Dana. I’m sorry,” she said,
dragging Scully to the bed.
***
Scully woke with a foul taste in
her mouth. She looked around the room and tried to get up, but found her arms
tethered to the bed by silk scarves. The robe she wore was open, and the sheets
barely covered the top of her breasts. “Oh,
God!” Someone had dragged her here; assaulted her during the night…
She used her teeth to loosen one of
the ties. Then she froze at the sound of the door opening. Scully relaxed; then bristled when she saw
her captor. “Mina! Why you do this to me?”
“It was me,” Monica admitted,
entering behind Mina.
“You almost killed your partner
last night, Agent Scully.” Mina reached
over and untied the remaining scarf.
“What!”
“Dana, it’s okay. I’m all right.”
“Monica, what…how…?” Scully caught the furtive look that passed
between Monica and Mina Peale. They weren’t going to tell her a thing about
last night.
“Dana, I’m fine.” Monica sat beside Scully and held her. Then
she felt Scully flinch before pulling away. “It’s good to see things are back
to normal,” Monica kidded, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
***
Monica sat on the floor with Mina
and Scully in the den of Mina’s penthouse. Each woman held one of her hands.
She closed her eyes, waiting for Herman Kurtz to make his presence known.
He slipped inside her, bringing his
awful past and the frigid sting of his soul. Monica relaxed, as Herman Kurtz
settled within folds of her brain. “Guide me,” she said, and the walls melted
away.
Monica walked into the prison, guard
doors slamming behind her as she moved from one cellblock to another. The icy
grayness of the corridors chilled her; blood and sweat pierced her nose.
“Marcus won’t come here,” she said.
Grayness disappeared, and Monica
was in a bright garden filled with exotic birds, and flowers… so many flowers.
She wanted to stay here in this beautiful paradise with Scully at her
side.
The tender pressure of Scully’s
hand urged her forward. In the middle of the garden, there sat a delicately
carved marble table. Herman appeared before her and pulled out a chair. “Please
sit down, my dear.” His rich Germanic
lilt filled her ears. “Pour,” he handed Monica a gold and silver pitcher. “We
spirits love water, and flowers.”
His hair was dark, and his skin was
smooth like a lamb’s; a kind face. Monica knew this was not the spirit who had
pushed David Wei into Myrtle’s home.
“I did not live to be an old
man.” He took the chair next to her,
settling gracefully onto the plush velvet. “I worked, and worked. And when I was
ready for a family…” he held up his palms and shrugged. “Don’t wait for your
dreams, Monica. We never have enough time.”
She thought it odd that a spirit
would make so human and helpless a gesture. She’d come here to comfort him, to
give him the justice his soul craved. Yet, Herman Kurtz enfolded Monica in his
arms, and asked her deepest desire. She felt the pressure of Scully’s hand
again and looked into Kurtz’ gray eyes. She could not tell him what she wanted
for she would need all his strength for Marcus.
“It will not be easy,” he said,
“but we must give him peace, or he will continue to harm others.”
Monica accepted the goblet he
offered. The cool water tasted faintly of ginger and honey. It sustained her
soul.
Then the garden became dark, and she
watched him fade, his eyes the last to leave her.
“You know what you must do,” his
voice came as a soothing whisper. “Release her.”
‘Yes.” Monica dropped Scully’s hand. Her only mortal
link would be Mina.
Herman sighed. “It is the only
way.”
His gray eyes faded in the mist,
and the garden became light again.
***
The smiling face surprised Monica:
Ruddy, taut, crowned with black curls. But the spirit could not keep the wolf from
his keen eyes. He hung by the gate just inches from the garden, eyeing rabbit.
“Who are you?” Monica asked. This
creature could be Marcus, or some other devil come round to torment her.
“You beckoned, dear.” He leaned against the fence, casually crossing
his legs. “I thought you’d like this image better; my prime.”
Names have power, and Monica tried
to draw him out again, “Whom am I addressing?”
“Bastard, monster…I’m known by many
names.”
“What shall I call you?”
“I smell frightened blood.” He sniffed the air; then his eyes raked over
Monica’s body, settling on curled fingers. “Is that Mina with you?”
“Do you like the flowers?” Monica
asked, ignoring his question.
He nodded.
“Are you thirsty?”
“Yes.” His voice held the delight of a small child.
“Join me, Marcus.”
He was by her side instantly,
imbibing the sweet liquid. Then his handsome face changed. He clutched at his
throat, “Ginger!” In rasping breaths,
Marcus cursed his brother. “Damnable pig- he knows how I loath ginger!”
Monica stared at him; Marcus was an
old man again.
“You perform a nice trick, love.
Shall I call you Hecuba?” he asked, his voice wavering like a sinking ship.
“Marcus, look at me.” Monica lifted his chin.
His gaze held no recognition.
She offered her hand. “It’s time,
Marcus.”
***
Bruce Summer eased his uncle’s
delivery truck out of the driveway. Though he didn’t think the old man could
hear anything over the din of thunder, he was cautious of gunning the old
wreck. The rain poured heavily, as he drove past downed power lines and
uprooted trees. Hazy, purple light cut his vision, making him weave back and
forth.
“Damn Myrtle, and her rotten
board.” He tuned on his high beams,
blinding oncoming drivers. Ten more blocks, he thought, and he’d be at the
Wynham house. His mission would be over, and he could put his guilty conscious
away. If Stevie’s grandmother let him.
“Crazy old bat.” Bruce shivered, and turned up the heater in
the old truck.
***
Across the water in
“Work, work, work,” Mrs. Gomez
crossed herself. “They think it makes the pain go away.”
No one was at the door. Mrs. Gomez
stepped outside into total darkness though it was mid
ίDios mio!” Before she could close out the madness, a mournful
wail spit her ears. “Margarita Gomez, you will not lose your mind today.”
Mrs. Gomez rushed back inside, and
lit a candle, then she sat in a corner of her darkened room and prayed. “Aye,
mija, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
The screams would not stop.
***
Myrtle Epstein continued to scream
until her throat closed. She rocked in her mother’s arms as blood pour down her
thighs, releasing what would have been her child.
Her mother tried to calm her,
pressing a towel to her center, but she could not be heard over the hellish den
outside. “Alfred!” she yelled for her husband, “we have to get Myrtle to a
hospital.”
Alfred Epstein rushed into his
daughter’s room, hair plastered on his forehead, clothes soaked. “We can’t go
anywhere in this thing!” He stopped to wipe his brow. “I saw a telephone pole
flying down the street for Christ’s sake!”
He joined his wife and daughter,
huddling in the middle of the bed.
“Monica? Monica!” Myrtle began to screamed again.
“Who’s Monica?” her father asked.
Myrtle grew quiet, repeating the
agent’s name like a mantra in her fracture mind.
***
“She’s gone!” Mina screamed. “I don’t feel her!”
Scully held down Monica’s thrashing
body. “Get me a napkin. Now, Mina! She’s going into seizure.”
Scully placed the rolled up linen
between Monica’s teeth. “I don’t know how long I can hold her. Call 911.”
Mina scrambled to the phone.
Monica’s skin ran hot and cold. Her
body rose from the floor then slammed back down like a broken doll.
Scully could do nothing but press
her lips to Monica’s brow and ask God not to take this woman from her arms…
***
“You expect me to believe this
nonsense!” Assistant Director Kirsch yelled into the phone. “I want your
report-a rational report-on my desk
first thing Monday morning!”
Monica felt the slam of the phone
reverberate in her ear like a hammer. She slipped the cell phone into her
pocket and sat gingerly on the edge of Tom Haloran’s bed.
“Guess it didn’t go to well,” he
said.
“That’s an understatement.” Her head throbbed where Marcus had pressed
his unholy hands, dragging her into the depths of hell. His touch had almost
made her lose her soul…and Scully.
“How did you manage to trap
him?” Haloran sat up and offered Monica
a spoonful of his hospital lunch.
“That’s terrible,” she grimaced.
Then she turned her gaze from her old friend.
“He could not give me what I wanted.”
“Not within his power?”
“Not within mine.”
Monica shuddered from the memory of
pulling Marcus deeper into the garden:
Foliage slipped away:
Gray bars replaced paradise, as she led him down the path to his soul’s end. He
struggled, and light exploded behind her eyes. Tension snapped sinews. Veins
released blood.
Monica strapped him
in to the chair meant for his brother Herman. And he screamed, damning her soul
to hell.
She threw the switch
and her world went black.
“What couldn’t he give you,
Monica?”
She thought of Scully, the
impenetrable force, and slowly shook her head.
“But, everyone wants something,”
Haloran demanded.
Monica smiled at her old friend.
“Yes, but it’s knowing who to ask, and when. That’s what saved me.”
“Well, nobody in his right mind
would ask for this crap.” Haloran pushed
his lunch away. “Where’s our beautiful little Scully?”
“I don’t think she would appreciate
cracks about her height.” Monica reached
over and grabbed his unfinished Jell-O. “She…has a lot of things to do.”
“Like what?”
“I wish I knew. She’s taking an
earlier plane back, but I get to spend a few more days in town. Lucky for you,”
Monica said, polishing off the rest of the wiggly green stuff. “But right now,
I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later tonight.”
“Okay, but you owe me a dance…with
Scully.”
His grin warmed her, took a bite
out of loneliness she suddenly felt.
***
“You are allowed pastels,” Scully
handed David a beautiful wood case and a several pads of tinted paper. “No
oils-the brushes and palette knife-”
“I know: weapons.”
“Your therapist feels you may do
harm to yourself.” Scully sat on the
floor beside him. “David, I have every faith that you will be released soon. If
you can…” She wanted to say, come to
terms with your friends’ deaths, but she knew it was pointless: David truly
believed himself possessed. “What are you working on?” Scully watched the sharp
pencil fly over the pad, and she reminded herself to speak to the guards about
thoroughly searching David’s visitors.
David held up the unfinished
sketch: Reyes stood behind Scully, an arm draped casually around her shoulder.
“It’s what I see when you’re with her.”
Scully felt her throat close. “I’m
not smiling,” she teased, embarrassed by the affection shown in the portrait.
“Monica is.” David laid the drawing down and captured
Scully’s hands in his. “One day we’ll both look like that.”
She couldn’t help but hold the
beautiful young man, and wish him a fast recovery.
***
“It’s looks like I’m early for a
yard sale.” Monica’s boots squished
across Mrs. Gomez’ wet lawn as she came over to give her a hug.
“Hija, it’s as if the heavens
ripped apart and dropped down everything my Stevie ever owned. But I know
better: that little thief, Bruce, brought back all the things he stole from my
grandson.” Mrs. Gomez took Monica by the
arm like a car salesman showing off her latest wares. “See anything you want?”
“The bike is cool, but it’d be a
bear to get on the plane.”
“With the storm you caused
yesterday, you can’t get a bike on a plane?” Mrs. Gomez laughed. “Don’t look so
surprised, dear. I know why strange things like this happen, except for the strange
thing I saw this morning: La Bruja in church, sitting in the first pew!”
“Myrtle really isn’t all that bad.”
Monica laughed at Mrs. Gomez, who had allowed her mouth to hang open. “Let me
give you a hand with this stuff.”
“That would be a great help to a
tired woman. You see, I have family coming in for Stevie’s…” Mrs. Gomez stopped, overcome by bitter tears.
Monica took the woman in her arms.
“I wish I had known your grandson, Mrs. Gomez.”
“Call me Margarita-we’re too close
for formalities.” She cupped Monica’s
face. “You have the most amazing hazel eyes. Ah, your partner is a lucky
woman.”
“Mrs.-Margarita, Agent Scully and I
are not-”
“Say what you want, but Scullysita, she is tú corazón.”
***
Disparate Beliefs
“Hello?” Scully rolled over and
looked at the clock:
“Dana, it’s me,” Monica said, knots
in her belly twisting with each word. “I just needed to…talk to you.”
“You sound like you’re in a tunnel.
Where are you?”
“I’m calling you from the plane.” Monica flattened against the wall, as a
beautiful stewardess sought passage. “God, these flight attendants are getting
more gorgeous by the day,” she said, openly staring at the tall raven-haired
beauty. “Her name is Blue.”
“Sounds like a stripper, but I
guess the name has a certain appeal to drooling passengers.”
“It’s not as appealing as what Mrs.
Gomez called you.”
“And that was?”
“Scullysita. Sweet, isn’t it?”
“I feel a nightmare coming on. I’m
hanging up.”
“Does this mean you were having
pleasant dreams before I called?”
“Monica,” Scully said, rubbing
sleep from her eyes. “You… If I
didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were lying in bed with a bottle of wine
and a list of Ways to Needle Scully. It’s much too late to play with you, my
charming goof.”
“That’s too bad. You have no idea
how much fun it could be.” From the
quiet on Scully’s end, Monica sensed her charm was taking a dive, so she
changed the topic, “Dana, what happened that day at the apartment with you and
Mina?”
“Now there’s a dream stopper.” Scully pressed the phone closer. “We didn’t
have a séance, Monica. Mina and I went down to the basement and burned the
witch board.”
“Why? If used properly-”
“I know what you’re thinking, but I
don’t believe that it was evil, or good for that matter.” Scully sighed deeply. “It’s dangerous when
people believe in the power of inanimate objects. Monica, we don’t need another David on our
hands.”
“Dana, Kurtz had you in his power.
I-”
“Whatever caused my…reaction, it
wasn’t Kurtz. The fumes coming from the furnace were filled with toxic
chemicals- most likely from paint left behind by the superintendent. It was so
bad that Mina and her driver had to escort me from the building.” Scully paused for a moment. “Still, it
doesn’t absolve me of what I did to you. For that, I’m truly sorry.”
“Dana…”
“Exactly what did I do, Monica?”
“You didn’t hurt me,” Monica lied,
still feeling the press of the iron railing against her ribs. “Anyway, it
doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” Scully paused a moment. “I can’t deal with it
if I don’t know what happened.”
“Dana, I think you know how I feel
about you. So my telling you won’t benefit either of us.”
“You refuse?”
“Yes,” Monica said.
“Then there’s nothing more for us
to say to each other.”
“Dana, wait.”
“No. I can’t… do this,
Monica.” Scully laid the receiver in its
cradle and turned off the phone.
***
Later, in the darkness of a
stranger’s room, hazel eyes gazed mournfully at Monica Reyes. She raised her
glass of Pinot Noir and hurled it at the mirror.
~The End~