From: The Emu <emu@zip.com.au>
Subject: [XFF] Roy (1/4)   (formatted properly, this time, sorry...)
Date: Thu, 6 Mar 1997 23:49:19 +-1000

ROY 
by The Emu, emu@zip.com.au

SUMMARY: Our favourite agents investigate a series of murders where
the killer is not the common factor. It's PG, I guess - one socially
unacceptable word used twice. This is pretty much X-File/humour. No
spoilers.

Scully, Mulder & Skinner, of course, belong to Chris Carter, 1013,
Fox, and I have no idea who else. Jaws belongs to Universal Pictures,
Steven Spielberg and Peter Benchley. Yes, I know CC did a similar
story in Season 3, but I wrote a story along these lines before I saw
it, so Roy belongs to me, and my army of editors - Euphrosyne, Cheryl
De Luca, Hindy Bradley, Harri Nyman and darlin' Shannon (Thank you
muchly all).  The motel lamp belongs to Sunshine - when you're done
reading this, go and dig up her Vampire series (which is in progress).

I love constructive criticism. Send it all to fictalk or emu@zip.com.au. 
Rip it apart sentence by sentence, please! Half the reason I'm writing
this is to improve my writing.  Do not circulate without my name and
eddy intact, or I will hunt you down and beat you to death with a limp
carrot.

I know you shouldn't have your mobile phone on in a hospital. Mulder's
a bad boy. And I'll warn you now, this story contains fictional
places, brands etc. I can do that because this is _fiction_.

Is it my imagination, or are introductions getting longer than the
stories?  They'll be a category on their own soon...


ROY (1/4)
by The Emu
emu@zip.com.au


Roy picked up the remote and switched the channel. 

"Roy! I was watching that!"

"I just want to get the baseball scores."

The girl grabbed for the remote. "I'm watching the movie! They were
just up to the scary bit!"

"You're too young to be watching scary movies anyway. And you
shouldn't be drinking cola after dinner, either."

"You're not the boss of me."

"I'm just gonna get the scores, then I'll switch it back."

"No, now! I'm *missing* it!" The boy laughed as his sister jumped,
blonde plaits bouncing, trying to grab the remote. He was too tall,
simply holding it above his head, out of the reach of her stubby
fingers. She was already nearing tears.

"Give it back! I'll tell mom when she gets home."

Roy mimicked her childish whine. "I'll tell mom you drank three Kilroy
Colas."  Cassie tried to climb on the couch for extra height, but it
was too soft, and she had trouble keeping her balance. Roy gave her a
light push, yelling "Get off the couch." in her face. Cassie went
tumbling to the carpet and stayed there, her shoulders shaking as her
body was racked with sobs. Roy stepped back a moment, scared, but
decided to play it tough. "Oh get up.  You're not hurt. You're just
being a baby."

Satisfied with having her in tears, he flicked back to the movie. He
had missed the baseball scores in his taunting, but it had been worth
it. The credits were beginning to roll.

Cassie finally raised her head to look at the screen. She jumped to
her feet to scream "I hate you!", and stormed out of the room.

Roy sank into the couch, contented with the evening's fun. He began to
flick through the channels. Weather. Infomercial. Rerun. News. Aah,
sport.  Maybe they'd have the baseball scores here.

He cocked his head. Cassie was quiet. Usually she'd still be bawling. 
Roy smiled. By the time their mom got home, the incident would be
forgotten.

He heard a click from the doorway. He turned to see Cassie. With a
gun.  With their father's pistol, its cold grey barrel pointing at him
like an accusing finger. His limbs were suddenly cold and heavy,
unable to move. He knew his father kept it loaded. He wanted to tell
her to put it down. It's not a toy.  Not a toy. <Don't ever touch it,
son> echoed his father's voice. <It's not a toy> Roy couldn't speak. 
Couldn't think. Not a toy. He could only raise his eyes to his
sister's. Hers were strange. Dark. Old. Old eyes set in the red rims
of a child who had been crying because she missed the movie. His
throat caught as he realised she was pulling the trigger. Slowly. A
flash of light and a roar. <Not a toy>

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Assistant Director picked a photo from a manilla folder at the top
of the pile and pushed it across the desk. It was a typical school
portrait of a boy in his mid-teens, looking uncomfortably polished,
his hair slicked back, and his mouth twisted into a forced smile.
"Last night this fifteen year old boy was shot dead in his Georgetown
home with a single bullet through the centre of his forehead. By his
eight year old sister." The eyes of the two agents opposite widened.
Skinner predicted their thoughts. "It doesn't appear to have been an
accident. And from all accounts, it was a normal family. No abuse. The
parents had a happy marriage. Kids did well at school. Two cars, nice
house, swimming pool."

"And a chicken in the pot." recited Mulder.

Skinner pulled another photo from the pile. "This was possibly the
first victim in what seems to be a series, in Georgetown, on the Rhode
Island / Connecticut border. He was beaten to death in his butcher's
shop two days ago by convicted felon Tim Cantos. As far as we can
tell, they had never met. We have not yet apprehended Cantos."

Skinner pulled out another photo, and another to accompany each of the
victims. "Half an hour later, this man was stabbed nine times by his
wife, after a sixteen-year marriage, which friends describe as
deliriously happy.

"The third victim was pushed from a fourteenth floor balcony by a
colleague in front of nine witnesses who insist the attack was
unprovoked. Police investigations have revealed some shady business
dealings between the pair, but nothing which constitutes a motive for
murder.  He is still alive, but in critical condition.

"Victim number four was found in his apartment by his girlfriend of
three months with an axe in his head. We have not yet ascertained the
killer.

"Victim number five was two months old. He was drowned by his mother
while she was bathing him. The baby was the much-loved product of IVF.
There were no signs of post-natal depression.

"Victim number six was an inmate of Tarring County jail, serving one
year for petty crimes. He was strangled by a fellow inmate, whose rap
list previously featured nothing more serious than auto theft.

"The fifteen year-old was the seventh."

Scully scanned her eyes over the photos fanned out on the desk. "I
don't see a pattern. All violent, but that's not unusual. All
unexpected, nothing new there either..."

Mulder interrupted. "Most of these cases are already solved. Why are
we here?"

Skinner brought his eyes to meet Mulder's. It was enough of an caution
to quieten him. "Georgetown averages two to three murders a year. 
They've had seven in the past few days."

Scully continued in her calm voice, partly to place herself as a
barrier between the two egos. "Perhaps the incidents were drug
induced."

Skinner returned his attention to Scully after a final pointed look at
Mulder.  "Full toxologicals have been run on all the killers. They
were all clean."

"But how is this an X-File?" Scully internally winced at Mulder's
inability to hold a civilised conversation, but kept her silence. 
She wanted to know the same thing.

Skinner leaned forward, and tapped each photo in turn. "Roy Chambers.
Roy Jackson. Roy Timms. Roy Nguyen. Roy Taylor. Roy Smith." He paused
before the last photo.

"Bill?" supplied Mulder.

"Roy Walters."

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(end 1/4)



ROY (2/4)

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Scully leaned forward, and tried hard to put a soft note in her
voice. "Cassie, what happened last night?"

"I hate him."

"How come?"

"He's always bossing me around. I'm not allowed to do anything." She
sniffed.  "It's not fair. He can do anything he wants because he's
bigger than me.  Nobody listens to me."

"I'm listening to you." The girl sounded so normal. What could have
possibly led her to shoot another human being? To shoot her brother!
"I know how you feel. I have a big brother. He was mean to me when we
were kids, too."

Cassie stared at Scully, eyes wide. "Really?" Scully nodded. The girl
stared at her as though she was trying to decide whether to trust this
new friend. "Will you tell daddy to make him leave me alone?"

               ~

"Oh, but he never mistreated me Agent Mulder! There was never a cross
word between us in sixteen years. You couldn't find a better man."

"Then why stab him, Mrs Jackson?"

The woman's face crumpled. There were no tears, but judging from the
redness of her eyes there were no tears left. There was nothing left
but hollow exhaustion. "I - I don't know. I remember... But... It was
like watching someone else. I wanted him to get me a cola, we didn't
have any - so stupid! But I was so angry. And then there was so much
blood... everywhere. My hands were so red. Red was running down the
walls, welling in pools on the floor. Trickling over flickering images
of some talk show host... Strange, I can't even remember who it was
now. I'd been totally absorbed earlier, but I can't remember who the
talk show host was, can't remember his face... I just keep seeing
Roy. His face... He was so shocked, those eyes, I can't get those eyes
out of my mind."

               ~

"We wanted Roy so badly. We spent three heart-breaking years on the
IVF program before we finally made it. Every moment we spent with him
was a gift.  I don't understand."

Mulder nodded softly, hating that he had to force this man to relive
his pain.  Hating himself for doing it. "I'm sorry to put you through
this again, Mr Taylor, but we need to know what happened, and since
following the incident... your wife..."

"...has flipped out." snarled Mr Taylor. He swallowed, and looked to
the floor, trying to regain his previous strained whisper. His hands
twisted in his lap, animating the battle inside. "This was not her,
Agent Mulder. She loved Roy as much as I did. But..." He paused to
wipe the tears form his ivory cheek with the back of his hand, using
the moment to steady his ragged breath.

"When I left the room she was peeling off his diaper. His face was all
screwed up. He always did that when he was happy. She was happy too. 
She was laughing at that pizza ad. The one with the two chickens, you
know it?" Mulder nodded. "She loved that ad. I could hear her laughing
even from the kitchen.  Five minutes later, screams. She was on her
knees, in the very place she had been laughing when I left, her face
in her hands, screaming." Taylor struggled to raise his eyes to meet
Mulder's, and his hands stilled for a moment. His voice softened to a
whisper, losing the battle with his tears.

"He was blue. Lying at the bottom of the bath."

               ~

Scully was nearing the end of her temper. Probing an eight-year-old to
find out why she had fired a gun at her big brother had been
emotionally draining.  Interviewing the businessman - or more
accurately, the businessman's *lawyer* had taken more than she had
left. Now this creep was playing games, blissfully unaware of what a
fine line he was walking with her. He was even smaller than she was,
she noted wryly. She could take him with both her hands tied behind
her back.

"Knock off the act, Mr Symons, you're wasting my time. I've been in
the Bureau for six years. I can smell the fear behind a tough act 
from a mile off."

Symons sneered. "He 'ad it comin'. Little bastard shoulda stayed outta
my way. Red Symons don' let nobody stuff him 'round. Not even a pretty
lady like you."

She felt as much as saw his narrowed eyes slide over her body, and her
stomach turned. "Mr Symons, you're a petty criminal. You steal video
recorders and cars. What made you suddenly decide to kill a man?"

The corners of the man's lips curled up, his mouth opening to reveal
nicotine- stained teeth. He spread his arms dramatically, and answered
in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe i' was a command from God
hisself."

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Well, maybe it was."

"Mulder, don't you even think about making this out to be some sort of
ordinance from God."

"He's ordered slayings of first borns, non-virginal brides, witches... 
Amalekites, Hittites, Amorites, Canaanites... Maybe now it's guys
called Roy."

Scully pushed away the mental image of thumping Mulder over the head
with the bedside lamp. It was pointless wishing. Like in all good two
star motels, the lamp would be bolted to the table. She was not in the
mood for anyone in a better mood than herself. And that didn't leave
room for Mulder's poor attempts at humour.

She shifted her position on the edge of the bed to face him directly,
and gave him the patented Scully look before continuing. She had
learned the look from her mother, and she knew how effective it could
be. When Mulder's mouth stopped twitching she continued. "Okay. So
what do you really think?"

Mulder gauged her mood carefully before answering. He didn't have any
theories she would like. "I don't know. Maybe there's some psychic
Jaws fan out there who's really pissed at Roy Schieder, getting his
wires crossed."

"Mulder!"

"No, really. I know it's not terribly concrete, but it's possible that
there is someone out there with strong telepathic vibes who is
influencing others unintentionally."

Scully rolled her eyes. "Maybe it is intentional, Mulder. Maybe he
just doesn't like the name, and wants to discourage parents from
naming their kids 'Roy'. It was probably a toss up between a crusade
of destruction and a flyer campaign."

"It could be a she."

She didn't even pause. "Maybe he's named Roy, and really hates it."

"He should try being saddled with 'Fox'."

"You know, this isn't a bad time to be called Fox."

Tiring of the game, Mulder stretched. "We're not getting anywhere. I
don't know about you, but I'm ready for bed."

"No Knicks game tonight, Mulder?"

"Not tonight. Stayed up until 4am last night watching a game. I'm
exhausted."

Mulder pulled the connecting door shut behind him with a gentle click. 
Scully, not yet ready for sleep, switched on the news. Death. 
Destruction. Drama.  She smiled as she slid beneath the blanket. Just
like home. She eventually drifted off to a re-run of Grizzly Adams.

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(end 2/4)



ROY (3/4)

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Roy Carter hummed as he tipped chips into the only clean bowl in his
entire flat. He pulled a beer from the otherwise almost empty fridge-
cha-cha-cha, and bumped the door shut with his hip. Braves versus
Yankees. He had recorded the game last night, and Yankees-to-win-cha-
cha-cha. He headed for the loungeroom, quickstep-back-and-forward-two-
cha-cha-cha. He put everything in its place, beer at his right hand,
chips at his left, and shifted the cushions into their perfect
position. He swung his heels onto the coffee table, and paused to
stretch. He checked the clock. Perfect. He had two hours to watch the
game and clean up before he had to pick Cathy up from the airport.
Watching the Braves kick the Yankees' butts followed by a very special
dinner with his gorgeous woman. It amounted to the perfect evening. He
grinned, and switched on the television.

          ~

Half time. Yankees were winning but it was a close game. Somehow his
mood had sunk anyway. He headed to the fridge for another beer, but
stopped with the fridge door open. He wasn't in the mood for a beer. 
He reached for a soda instead. <a first for everything... what's next,
milk and cookies?> The poor attempt at humour didn't lighten his mood. 
As he cracked open the can, a coil of rope hanging inside the back
door caught his eye. Roy frowned. He wandered back to his armchair and
tried to absorb himself in the game but was distracted by the rope. An
image he could not shake from his mind frightened him.

A taut rope, gently creaking as it swayed from a crossbeam.... so
easy...  Why? Roy had never in all his life considered such a thing.
With a shaking hand he reached for the remote, and switched the
television off. He found himself standing, and heading back to the
kitchen. He stood and stared at the rope, unable to take his eyes from
it. A loose knot, which tightened with a jerk.  Only hours earlier he
had been in a great mood. There was no reason, but still... His own
form, dangling, lifeless... so right... so easy.

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Nice to see you're awake, Mr Timms." Roy Timms raised his eyes to see
a petite redhead standing behind the man who had spoken. Beautiful. 
Curves in all the right places. She raised a drink can to her full
lips. He silently wondered if she took shorthand.

The man who had addressed him flipped open a badge. "I'm Agent Fox
Mulder.  This is Agent Dana Scully. You've done yourself some damage,
sir."

Roy Timms smiled at the redhead, as much as he could. It hurt, but
some women were worth a little pain. "Falling fourteen floors has a
tendency to do some damage. They reckon thirteen is an unlucky
number. I'd certainly have preferred to fall from the next balcony
down." He chuckled at his own wit. "Take a seat."

The agent Mulder pulled up a chair, and looked questioningly at his
partner, who had not moved. She shook her head slightly. "I'll stand."
Her voice was tight.

Mulder looked at her for a few moments, then turned his attention to
Roy. "Sir, do you have any idea what happened?"

Roy shook his head. "I don't know. Roger's an asshole, he'd sell his
grandmother down the river for a buck, but he doesn't kill people. I
don't know what the hell got into him. It just topped off a totally
crap day."

"There were other problems? What else happened?"

"Nothing terribly out of the ordinary. There must have been something
going on behind the scenes, though. A lot of people were treating me
like crap. Still are.  Plenty of crabby nurses in here, you gotta buzz
and buzz to get any attention at all. Half the doctors don't seem to
give a crap whether I live or die. Would you believe I haven't got a
single get-well card?"

He stopped to stare at Scully, who had given what sounded suspiciously
like a soft snort to the affirmative. She hid her expression with
another sip from her drink.

Mulder was staring at her too. He turned back to Roy. "Do you often
get this kind of animosity?"

"You think I'm some kind of asshole or something?" Roy had
surprisingly quickly gone a deep red, edging toward purple, and a
machine which had been beeping away unnoticed in the background began
playing show tunes. "I'm no Mother-bloody-Theresa, but no, I do not
get pushed off fourteenth-floor balconies on a regular basis."

Scully suddenly turned on her heel and walked out, leaving the two men
behind her gaping. Mulder excused himself and followed her. He found
her down the hall by the elevators, thumping a vending machine for a
cola.

"Soda, Scully? You're acting *very* strange. You could at least buy
the real thing. Can't stand those new-fangled Coca-cola imitators."

Scully turned to Mulder, her eyes flashing. "I'm not surprised that
guy pushed him off the balcony. If I'd been there I'd have done it
myself."

Mulder stared at her in shock. "Why?"

"Mulder he..." Scully stumbled over her words. "I - I don't know. 
Didn't you find him just... I don't know." her shoulders slumped. She
studied the floor for a moment, then looked to Mulder. "I just wanted
to kill him."

Mulder smiled. "Well, he was kind of obnoxious, but..."

"No Mulder. I mean it. I really wanted to kill him."

Their shocked silence was broken by Mulder's phone. Without moving his
gaze from Scully's, he slipped the phone from his pocket. "Mulder...
Where? ...  Scully'll be down in two minutes." He closed the phone. 
"There's been another one. I think it might be a good idea if I finish
the interview with Mr Timms on my own. An officer will meet you in the
lobby to drive you to the scene." He pressed the elevator button. As
the doors opened he put a restraining hand on his partner's
shoulder. "And Scully? Leave your gun in its holster, okay?"

Scully attempted a smile, but it froze on her face as she realised
where her hand had been hovering all through the interview with Mr
Timms.

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rest of Mulder's interview with Mr Timms revealed little other
than the possibility that Scully's instincts about the man may have
been well-founded. He was grateful to escape to the car park.

He rested his weight against the car, momentarily relaxing in the mild
sunlight before he had to join Scully at yet another murder scene. His
peace was broken by the shrill of his phone.

"Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me. Did you get anything?"

He shook his head. "Not a thing, Scully."

"Well this one's a little different."

Mulder's ears pricked up. "Go on."

"This was a suicide." 

"A suicide? So it isn't a part of the series?"

"I don't know, Mulder. It could be a coincidence. But according to his
girlfriend, it was totally out of character. He has no history of
depression. She says when they spoke on the phone last night, he was
in a great mood. He couldn't wait to see her today - she's been in
Canada for two weeks, working."

"Maybe he wasn't as excited to see her as he made out."

"I don't think so. He even had reservations for dinner. A very classy
restaurant.  And we found a small red box lying beside his suit in the
bedroom - containing an engagement ring with the girlfriend's name
engraved on it. This guy had plans." Scully was quiet for a moment,
thinking. "We spoke to a few neighbours and friends. No one reported
any strange behaviour. Apparently he has been his normal, jolly
self. It looks like he was just kicking back with a few beers, and
some chips, watching a tape of the other night's baseball game, when
he decided to hang himself from a rafter in the garage."

"Must've been a Braves fan."

Scully allowed herself a small smile. "He was even half way through a
cola.  People tend to finish what they're doing before they commit
suicide. They like to keep it neat."

Mulder's brow creased. "Cola?"

"Yeah... What are you thinking, Mulder?"

"That stuff seems to be popping up everywhere...

"You think there's some kind of connection?"

"Maybe... slip a few hallucinogenic drugs into someone's drink, and
you've got a paranoid delusional on your hands..."

Scully shook her head. "Something would have been found in the blood
studies done on the killers."

"Perhaps it's broken down in the body before we have time to analyse
it."

"Local police in cases so far have been able to work that much out on
their own, Mulder. Tests have been done on all food the killers ate
prior to the incidents. Local water has been tested - at a number of
the sites even the ventilation was checked - all revealing nothing."

"But it's too much of a coincidence. You know how sceptical I am about
coincidences, Scully."

"It's nice to know you're sceptical about something, Mulder." Scully
could feel Mulder smiling at his end. "Besides which, why Roys?" The
conversation lapsed into silence. "Hang on, Mulder." Scully broke into
a brief conversation with someone which Mulder was unable to make out.

"Mulder? There's been another one. Look, I'll take what's left of
Roy's soda for retesting, just to be sure, and then join you at the
Georgetown shopping mall. A man's been shot in the appliance store."

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(end 3/4)



ROY (4/4)

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Police were still reeling out the crime scene tape when Mulder arrived
at the appliance store ten minutes later. He quickly took in the scene. 
Roy number nine was lying under the obligatory white sheet, between
the stereo cabinet and one of those incredibly annoying walls of
televisions, where every one showed the same picture. Thirty smiling
faces offered him a great deal on a "NEW CAR!". Not likely. If the
thirty faces could offer him a great deal on the answer to this case,
he'd be more impressed. Something clicked. At the very back of his
mind, Mulder felt a connection. He mentally reached back, searching to
bring it to consciousness, but it danced just beyond his reach.

Quick discussion with the police who were already there revealed
nothing new.  This Roy was a salesman at the appliance store. The
woman who had let loose with her pistol was a Mrs Anne Solly, a
customer who had never even been to the shop before. According to
witnesses, she had been grown quite agitated while waiting for
service, pacing, and checking her watch constantly. When Roy had asked
if she would like assistance, she stared at him strangely for a moment
- or more specifically, at his name badge - and then flew into a rage,
complaining about how long she had been waiting. Roy's profuse
apologies for being temporarily short-staffed and the lunch-hour rush
only seemed to inflame her temper further, until she suddenly pulled
the pistol from her bag and emptied the chamber. Even when she ran out
of bullets she continued to pull the trigger. Eventually someone
emerged from the crowd to pull the gun from her hands, and she
collapsed into their arms. She was now in an ambulance nearby, being
treated for hysteria.

A young police officer approached with a slim, white-faced woman on
his arm.  "Agent Mulder? This is Ms Amelia Collins, a friend of Mrs
Solly. They had an early lunch just before... the incident." The young
officer trailed off with a glance toward where the body still lay.
Mulder nodded, and dismissed the him.  He led the woman gently toward
a quiet corner of the store, away from the excited chattering of
onlookers and the harsh flashing of the police camera.

"Ms Collins, did your friend drink at lunch?"

The woman was slow to react. She took a deep breath and shook her
head.  "She doesn't drink. She wasn't drunk, Mr Mulder. She's hasn't
got drunk since way back in college." Her voice was slow, distant. 
The early stages of shock were setting in.

"No, not alcohol, we don't believe she was drunk. I'm interested in
whether she drank any cola."

"No, definitely not. She was drinking water at lunch."

"What about before or after lunch? Might she have had a cola then?"

"No." She took a deep breath. "Anne was diabetic. She couldn't touch
soda."  Mulder didn't reply. "Mr Mulder?" prompted the woman, placing
her hand on his. "She wasn't a violent person. She was... She hated
that gun. She only carried it because her husband pressed her to. She
hated it."

               ~

A little over an hour after Mulder, Scully arrived at the appliance
store.  She made her way to the familiar lanky form. He was staring at
the floor where a chalk outline marked the close of a man's life. He
grimaced by way of greeting.  "Dead end, Scully. This woman definitely
hadn't been drinking anything but H2O."

"I checked a few of the other incidents. Mrs Taylor wasn't drinking
before she drowned her baby, and Mr Symons had no access to cola in
his jail. And preliminary tests on that last Roy's soda have revealed
nothing."

Mulder sighed in frustration, and then frowned the television wall.
"Damnit, would someone turn those TVs off? They're bugging the hell
out of me!" he growled, to whoever would listen.

Scully swung her gaze up to the wall of flashing screens. "Hold a
moment, Mulder." Mulder watched Scully's creased brow carefully. 
She had made the same connection he had felt earlier.

He returned his own gaze to the wall. Two chickens were trying to sell
him pizza. Two chickens - pizza - Mrs Taylor. This was the ad she had
been watching when... She had been watching television when she killed
Roy. That was the connection... Cassie had killed her brother after
watching television.  Mrs Jackson had been watching some talk show. 
And both of these deaths...  Scully had... "Scully - did you watch 
television last night?"

Scully nodded slowly, not certain of the connection, "Just news, and
some re- runs. Where are you going with this, Mulder?" Mulder glanced
at the televisions. It was enough to cue Scully. "TV? There was TV
present at most of the scenes..."

"The Jackson, Taylor, and Walters murders all invloved televsion. And
now these latest two."

"That's five out of nine."

Mulder pulled out his phone. "It won't take long to check the other
four." A quick call encouraged their theories. "The Timms and Smith
killers were also watching TV before the incidents. Chambers and
Nguyen - maybe - we can't be sure."

Scully raised her eyebrows. "I've heard of television induced
aggression, Mulder. but this is ridiculous."

Mulder frowned. "They weren't all watching the same show, though. The
only connection seemed to be the cable company." He looked up at the
TV wall, which was flashing an ad for the local cable company. "That's
the one.  Solanum Television."

"So where do we go from here? Call the anti-television violence
lobby?"

Mulder smiled. "You finish up here, see if anything clicks with you
that I missed. I'll grab the tape of Roy's baseball game and track
down a digital imaging analyst."

   ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Scully pushed through the digital imaging lab door to find Mulder
staring in fascination at a television screen. He looked up and
waggled his eyebrows at her. "Hey Scully - you're gonna love this."

The man seated at the monitor stood and extended his hand. "Agent
Scully, it's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Roy Webster."

Scully noticed Mulder trying to gauge her reactions. "I'm fine,
Mulder.  Whatever it was, it's worn off. What have you found?"

"The bleeding obvious, Scully. What do you know about subliminal
advertising?"

"Research has found it to be very powerful - so powerful it's been
banned in most countries. I seem to remember something about an
experiment with Coca- Cola advertising in a cinema that rose sales
around 400%." She frowned. So you're trying to tell me this was some
kind of subliminal hate campaign against everyone called Roy?"

"Check this out, Scully." Mulder smiled and cocked his head. "Roy, do
your stuff."

Roy slipped back into his chair and began to play with a frame from
the first half of the baseball game. "It's not in every picture, but
there seems to be a rhythm with which it appears - I wouldn't know,
you'd have to ask a neurological expert, but I'd guess that it's
somehow linked to human brain patterns. With a bit of fiddling, I was
able to lift this image from some of the frames." He hit return, and
sack back triumphantly. Scully gasped. A familiar logo was emerging. 
Kilroy.

She raised her eyes to Mulder's. "You've got to be kidding. Kilroy
Cola?"

"It seems that the human subconscious has a little trouble interpreting 
the letters. They're trying to sell cola, and inducing murder."

Almost from habit, Scully began searching for scientific holes. "Why
would it affect some people and not others? If local cable was
inducing everyone to kill there'd be no Roys left for miles."

Mulder shrugged. "People vary in susceptibility to hypnosis. That's
pretty much what we're talking here."

Scully nodded, searching still for problems with Mulder's theory, but
knowing she had nothing to offer. She focused her gaze on her partner
and gave a slight smile. "I think you might be right."

Mulder's eyebrows almost shot off his head. "I'm right? Can I have
that in writing?"

Her smile widened, almost to a light laugh. "Certainly not. But for
the first time in I-don't-know-how-long, we're going to be handing in
identical, scientifically- based reports. Skinners gonna fall out of
his chair." Mulder returned her smile.  She offered a hand to help him
out of the chair. "Come on. We've got a cable company to investigate."

END

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