From: "Katherine Adams" Date: Sun, 28 Apr 2002 05:34:09 +0000 Subject: Starkweather: Frequency Modulation Source: direct Rose Hill College 5:32 PM Central Standard Time Starkweather didn't have to be at the radio station until eleven-thirty that night, so with time to kill, she took a wall around campus, appreciating the beauty of the college on the hill, but not the humidity and certainly not the smell of the city below. She wandered the campus, idly inspecting the outside structures of the library, the co-ed dorms, the male dorms, the gym that was built into the side of the hill. Which, according to college legend, was actually sliding off of the hill inch by inch because of poor architectural planning. The cafeteria, the theatre, the chapel, the classroom building, the art studios and the open wound in the earth in front of the co-ed dorm where a new student center was being built. Starkweather wandered past it, sipping from her water bottle, looking past the building in progress to the hills of untouched prairie behind the school. Starkweather would later learn it was a wild life game preserve and off-limits to the encroaching city but at the time she thought it was insane to be trying to squish another building on the top of an already overcrowded hill when there was all the land for the taking behind the school. She walked through the back parking lot behind Tower Hall, the men's dorms where the male students and the commuter students parked their cars during the school years. In the sweltering heat, Starkweather meandered her way down the long winding back driveway with the gait of someone with all the time of the world but with the mindset of prisoner on death row. <> she fumed. <> Her soul was twisting with queasiness in the knowledge that she only had twelve days left undercover. She knew that the "old school" agents back in DC were working as hard and fast as they could trying to make sense of what was happening at that radio station, or at least a profile. She also knew that Scully's time and energy was handicapped by a sick kid, which couldn't be helped. She didn't know that Mulder too was ill, he had been wise to keep that tidbit away from the Hurricane. But he was spending fevered, sleepless nights, nitpicking at every tiny detail, hoping for a break. Chaffing at being put into the pasture, like an old Civil war horse, made old too young by constant trauma and pressure and battles. But still, when the trumpets cry out and the drums beat to the rhythms of carnage and destruction, tries to make a flying leap over the fence and back into the fight. And then the "new kids on the block" were trying to find the truth in their own ways. Reyes had turned out to be a blessing, Starkweather had to admit. No one would have noted the possible supernatural connection if Reyes hadn't followed her heightened sensibilities and dug up that old case from 1985. Meanwhile, Doggett was running himself ragged, he had gotten the names of the girls accused of the cattle mutilations and only one out of the four accused, an Alice Meecham, still lived in town. And she was "in absentia" for she just had a baby a few days ago, nearly bled out during a complication during the delivery of her baby girl. She was still poorly, but out of danger and steadily improving. The charge nurse at St. Luke's crisply told Doggett she would be released in three or four more days if she continued to improve. Starkweather and Doggett had fumed like conspirators over the phones. Sure, they felt sorry for the woman and the troubles she went through with her labor, but still... three, possibly four days! They barely had twelve days left and still on square one. Mrs. Meecham just very well unknowingly be able to give that one piece of information, that one clue that could wrap the deal up in gift wrap which in then Starkweather and Doggett would happily gift the case over to the Iowa court systems to deal with and they would GO HOME. Starkweather shivered despite the heat when she thought the word, "home." <> she asked herself but shoved that thought aside when she noticed something very interesting that Preston neglected to show her during her tour. Most people took the northwestern driveway up to the college. However, if one took the east driveway which divided the college from the baseball field the college shared with the Catholic high school, and looked to the east, up at the college, they would notice a winding concrete walking path curling up through pine trees and lilac bushes. The walking path eventually turned into dual stone staircases, which diverted, ran parallel to each other, then converged at a wall, a landing built into the hill. Then above the wall was another row of stairs leading to another landing with a wall jutting out. Then another row of stairs leading out of that landing, but these stairs again separated into two and led to the top of the hill, where the flagpole was, straight across the "street" from the library. The stairs looked decrepit and Celtic. Not cared for and out of place in the land where green corn stalks made waves like a lazy ocean. But it was not as so much the architectural oddity that caught Starkweather's eye, it was the girl climbing the stairs. Autumn Chamberlain. Starkweather was very glad she chose to leave her khakis slacks on, much cooler than denim plus she could still hide her trusty little Beretta in her ankle holster. There are times were Starkweather liked her gun very much. This was one of them. Confident that Autumn did not see her, Starkweather scooted across the street and hid in the dense foliage surrounding the stairs. Autumn was trudging up the hill at her own pace, sweat glistening off her heavily made up face. Hidden in the small thicket of trees and lilac bushes that lined the staircase all the way up the hill, Starkweather, remembering the hell of Basic Training, began to stealthily low-crawl up the hill, pausing to listen for Autumn's footsteps. Autumn stopped at the first landing and leaned over the wall, unaware of the FBI agent in the bushes just feet away from her. Behind Autumn, Starkweather could see a monument to Saint Francis of Assisi. Autumn veered off and with a purpose, veered into the glade that was virtually unnoticeable from the road for it was completely shaded by the trees and bushes. She looked around, then pulled a pack of Camel Lights from her back pocket, took one out with her teeth and lit it with a Zippo. She slung her backpack and crouched down to lift out the contents. First, she pulled out a giant violet silk handkerchief, kissed it and laid it out on the ground. Then she pulled out a small silver bell and placed it ritualistically on the handkerchief. Next out was a silver pentacle, then a small silver chalice. Next out was a pouch, which, as far as Starkweather could tell, contained various types of polished rocks and semi-precious stones. The next and final thing out of her backpack was a vicious looking knife with a black handle and a double edged blade. Autumn stood up, knife in hand, looking around again, like a deer trying to sniff for hunters on a winter's night. Starkweather, meanwhile, held her breath. <> she prayed, watching. Autumn began chanting something Starkweather didn't understand, but when she raised the knife to her wrists, the cop came out in Starkweather and she left her hiding place, knocking the knife out of her hands, knocking Autumn to the ground. Starkweather instantly pinned her, with her strong hands grasping Autumn's tiny wrists, her arms over her head. Autumn tried to buck Starkweather off of her. "Get the hell off of me!!!" she rasped in a rage. Starkweather, noting the scars on Autumn's wrists, in perfect vertical symmetry with major arteries, said "In your dreams, darlin'," she snapped. "What the hell are you doing?" Autumn hissed, "I could ask you the same thing... Agent Starkweather." Starkweather, startled, leapt off and pulled her gun. Autumn sighed. "You can put that down," she said, wearily. "I'm not going to tell anyone." When Starkweather stood up, still pointing the gun at her, Autumn rolled her eyes like any other twenty year old and said. "Oh, come on, look at me. Like anyone here is going to believe me anyway. Trust me." "Ha." Starkweather snapped. "In my line of work, trust gets you killed." "I know," Autumn replied. "I'm a criminal justice/psych major." "What?" "I'm studying criminal justice and psychology," Autumn said patiently. "I want to work for the FBI." "What?" "I want to be a profiler." "What?" "Is that all you can say?" "Only when I'm completely flustered." "Why are you flustered?" Autumn said serenely, setting herself in a more comfortable position, as if she and Starkweather were good friends and just chatting, completely ignoring the gun now. "Because I'm so young or because I'm a witch?" She stated that so nonchalantly, the same way one would say "Catholic" or "Jewish" or "Buddist" or "Christian Scientist" that Starkweather lowered her gun and sat down. She safetied it, but kept it out. "Well," Starkweather looked at all of her artifacts and tools of her religion. "Um... yeah. Sure. That." "It's not what you think," Autumn said. "I don't have green skin. I don't own a broomstick and I'm deathly allergic to cats. It's... it's very complicated." "I've got time," Starkweather said evenly. "I am extremely interested in finding out how you figured out who I really am." "I saw you coming," Autumn said simply. "In a dream. I dreamt of a woman who is in the world but not of this world along with a partner, a very strong man with blue eyes would come to solve Candi's murder. And then you came about four days later." She shook her head. "I haven't seen your partner yet, but I've felt his presence." "Obi-Wan has taught you well," Starkweather deadpanned. "Huh?" Autumn was not a sci-fi buff. "Okay, honey, you need to get out of the woods once in the while and go see a movie." Starkweather groaned. "How did you learn my name?" "In my dream. I heard a man calling it out." "Honey," Starkweather shook her head. "It's been a long time since a man's called out my name." "But you're married." Starkweather froze. Autumn smiled, a shy, fey grin. "Since I know most of your secrets, I'll tell you mine..." Starkweather tried to get herself together. After all, she could be talking to a potential suspect. Autumn Chamberlain began her tale. Starkweather leaned forward, completely mesmerized, although she never let go of her gun... "I was born into a completely normal All American family," she began, still sitting cross-legged, the only movement from her was her moving speaking lips and her blowing hair, being played with by the hot Iowa winds. "When I was small, right before kindergarten, my grandmother died. A traumatic event in any small child's life, but made worse when I dreamed of her death the night before it happened. I told my mother what I had dreamed of the day we found out Grandma passed away and she yelled at me and sent me to my room, told me now was not the time to play make believe. I didn't understand. Mom and Grandma were not close, never had been. Dad told me it was because Mom was sad that Grandma died and wouldn't I be sad if my mommy died? So I should just be good and play quietly in my room until suppertime. "Little did I know that it was fear and not grief that made her act like that. I found later in Mom's journals that when I came to her with all the details of Grandma's death, right up to seeing her arms making one last ditch effort to reach the phone as the heart attack paralyzed her body, she was filled with fear for me. She wrote that it seems that I had inherited the "Family Madness." Grandma had it, my Aunt Lizzie had it. A couple of my cousins had it. She made it sound like a disease." Starkweather asked her first question. "How did you get ahold of your mother's journal? Did she pass away?" "No, I was going through her drawers, stealing money." Autumn said blandly. "I had a healthy drug habit going until I discovered the ways of Wicca. As I grew up and older, my visions grew stronger, coming to me even when I was awake. My parents both admonished me, told me to "stop that nonsense" so I would quash the visions, pretend that they meant nothing and moved through life under the guise of an ordinary girl. "Until two nights before it happened, I had a nightmare of a man coming for my best friend, raping her and killing her. I was twelve years old," Autumn continued quietly. "She was eleven. We were the best of friends, Shelby and me. When I had that dream, I did not suppress it, I did not hide it. I told everyone who listened to me. I told my parents. I told my teachers. I told random people on the street. I told Shelby's parents. I told Shelby. Shelby got mad at me and told me to stop telling people. See, her stepfather had been molesting Shelby for the past few months. She was filled with a deep fear and a deep shame because her mother was head over heels in love with that man and she..." Autumn shut her eyes tight for a moment. "In my innocence, telling Shelby's parents about that dream was the catalyst for Shelby's stepdad into madness. He is a very disturbed man. In the night, he came into Shelby's room, snatched her, got one last jolly from her and killed her, leaving her body on the side of the road. Then he tried to break into our house, coming for me. Only I was wide-awake and woke everyone up with my screaming. He confessed to everything, not just to Shelby's murder, but to the molesting of Shelby's nine-year-old sister and his own thirteen-year-old daughter. He tried to get off on insanity but..." she shrugged. "He's still rotting in Sing Sing as we speak. After the testimony of his daughter and stepdaughter, he'll never see the light of day again. "What does that have to do with you?" Starkweather asked. "In the wisdom of a twelve year old, I assumed that Shelby's death was my fault. That if I would have done what my mother asked me, keep quiet, stayed with the norm, Shelby wouldn't have been killed. So began my little spree of self-destruction. When my first suicide attempt didn't work," she looked at her wrists wryly. "I tried to kill myself slowly. Let school go to hell. Let all my old elementary school friends go to hell. Starting hanging out with "the bad kids." Was drinking and doing drugs on a regular basis by the time I was fourteen. By the time I was fifteen, I had already been with five or six different boys and we just didn't sit around holding hands if you catch my drift." Autumn said, a naughty twinkle in her eyes. "By the time I was sixteen, the count was up to twelve different guys, I was a heartbeat away from being expelled from school for low attendance and bad grades, I was stealing from my parents to fortify my drug needs. The only good thing about being stoned all the time was my mind was too clouded over to receive visions." "But I was still miserable and I didn't know why. So I made my second attempt. The first time I tried, I snarfed down a bottle of Tylenol. I didn't die though, obviously, it made me really really sick plus my dad found me trying to make myself throw up afterwards because my stomach hurt so bad. He brought me to the hospital and had my stomach pumped. The second time, I wanted it to be quick. I took one of Dad's razor blades and opened up my wrists." She shrugged as if to say "oh well." "Who found you?" Starkweather asked. "My dad again," Autumn said. "He heard me fall when I passed out from the blood loss. He called the ambulance and once again I was whisked away to a hospital. Once I got stitched up and was pronounced out of danger, my parents persuaded me to sign myself into detox. I fought them because the booze and drugs were the only things that kept the visions away. But they practically bullied me into it and so I signed myself in. Their nagging probably saved my ass." "So while I was drying out, unknown to my folks to this day, my Aunt Lizzie came and visited me. All the poisons I had put into my body was out of my system now, it was just the psychological addictions I was battling." "We talked for a long time and it was a good talk. She said she always wanted to sit down and talk at length with me about our mutual gifts but my mom always forbade it, as she did with Grandma. She didn't keep my aunt and Grandma away because she's a cruel person but because she was afraid for me. She didn't want me to be an outcast, a weirdo or whatever. She just wanted me to be a normal teenage girl. "'Well, I'm in rehab, what does that tell you?' I said. "Aunt Lizzie laughed and told me that women on their side of the family has had the gift of second sight for generations. Why it skipped my mom, who knows? Lizzie said that she and Grandma have seen horrible things in their time, but on the other side, have seen wonderful things before they've happened too, once they've learned to accept the gift, and not fight it. "'You've got to be strong. You've got to find a support system that you can lean on when things get bad, when you see things that are bad that you have no control over. You need to find something to rely on, to show when you have power over the situations that you see and when you don't." "So your Aunt Lizzie taught you about Wicca?" "Oh God no," Autumn said slowly moving her hands to her bag, "I'm just getting my smokes," she assured her, as Starkweather, feline quick, reached out and grabbed her wrist again. "Let me get them." Starkweather fished around the bag and pulled out the pack of Camels and a box of matches. "Aunt Lizzie's not a witch?" "Never. She's a devoted member of her hometown Lutheran church and one of the finest Christian women I've ever met. Doesn't just talk the talk, she walks the walk, you know what I mean." "You don't have anything against her for being Christian?" "Why would I?" Autumn looked confused. "Her Christianity is her personal business just as my Wiccan is mine... normally. Aunt Lizzie just knew I needed help and she came to me and told me to stop pretending being something that I'm not and don't be afraid to ask a higher power for help. "When I got out of detox, I started looking for religious instruction. My parents were delighted. But their church didn't suit me. Nor did the Catholic Church, the Episcopalian Church, the Methodist Church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day saints, the Buddhist Temple, the Jewish Synagogue, the Muslim Mosque... nothing seem to fit." "So how did you learn about witchcraft?" Starkweather asked.... "Actually, it was a paper I had to write for a class," Autumn continued. "I had cleaned myself up, started school here," she looked around at the trees. "I was in World Religions 101 with," here she crinkled her face in distaste "Sister Margaret Anne, the old bat. Anyway, she assigned the class to write about alternative religions, anything outside of the Judeo-Christian mindset. We were assigned all different types of religions. Mine was modern-day paganism. So, I started my research and the more I learned, the more it felt right... doubt that was what Sister Marge had in mind when she gave me that assignment," she grinned. "And that's how I decided to become Wiccan." "Hmmm," Starkweather scratched her chin, "so are their others in your group? A ring leader, a head witch....?" Autumn smiled again. "I'm not part of a cult, if that is what you're asking. Cults usually expect you to blindly follow their leader, no matter how insane or immoral he or she is. Wiccans don't have a leader. Wicca encourages freedom of thought and action. We believe that we are responsible for our own actions. Wiccans DO form groups, called "covens", more of a witch-support group than anything else. But I'm not part of a coven or anything. I practice alone. I prefer it that way." "Are you alone a lot?" Autumn smiled again. "Yes... but if you're looking for a suspect for Candi's murder, you're looking at the wrong person. I was in New York, visiting my parents when Candi was killed." Autumn stood up. So did Starkweather. "And, if you're still doubting me, which I can tell you are, you can call the NYPD and pull the case file on Shelby's murder... it was headed by a Detective John..." she searched for a name, "Doggett." Starkweather stared, jaw dropping. She collected herself and muttered, "I won't have to call New York." "I didn't want to help." Autumn said. "I had the vision of Candi being murdered in the station while I was in New York and I had the visions of you and your partner coming here to work on the case. I really didn't want to be involved. I've got work and summer school and other stuff going on..." she paused to brush the Morticia Addams black hair out of her face. "But, after today, I believe the gods have other things in mind and they lead you to me." "Gods?" Starkweather said, emphasize on the "s." "We believe in many gods, plus spirits..." she smiled. "But that might be too much for you today... anyway... what I'm saying is, that I can help you. I think I was meant to help you." "If we need a psychic for this case," Starkweather said in a serious tone, "then we'll call the Stupendous Yappi." "I've seen him on TV," Autumn said, "he sucks. May I go? I've got some reading I need to do before I go to work tonight." Starkweather gritted her teeth. "I think, you need to come with me to the police station," she said. "I can't have my cover compromised." "I'm not going to say anything." "How do I know?" "You know," Autumn said, bending down, collecting her things. "You've got a strong heart, Agent Starkweather. It could be stronger if you open yourself up more. You know that I'm not going to say anything, but you don't have any proof and that scares you to death. To use Christian imagery, you're the doubting Thomas. You NEED to see the nail holes in Christ's hands and feet, to put your hands in the wound in his side, to feel His blood on your fingers." Once her things were in her bag, she stood up. "Besides, what would I have to gain by blabbing? Absolutely nothing, except for a possible charge of obstruction of justice. With that said, may I?" she gestured towards the hill. Starkweather relented. "If you breathe one word of this to ANYONE and I'll cut out your heart and microwave it for dinner." Autumn nodded. "I believe it," she said, equally serious. "Tori is still whining about how you punched out her boy- toy," she chuckled. "You certainly do know how to make an impression on people... sometimes quite literally." She smiled, turned her back and walked up the hill. Starkweather watched the girl disappear up the hill. She was grimly reminded of that stupid, faded poster of Mulder's that Scully insisted stayed up. "I WANT to believe," she muttered as she crouched down and put her gun back in her ankle-holster. Scully's Apartment Georgetown 5:01 Eastern Time With Scully dozing in the couch, Will sleeping feverishly on her stomach, Mulder stealthily crept into the kitchen. With his permanently mittened hands, he clumsily opened Scully's "junk drawer" and as quietly as possible, fumbled through the drawer until he found his prize. "Yes!" he crowed triumphant, holding a pair of scissors. Then he tried to hold the scissors properly so he could cut the potholders off his hand. "Damn," he pouted, despondent again. But, being Fox Mulder, he was used to finding solutions when none where apparent. Mulder pulled out a chair and sat down. Using both hands, he opened the blades of the scissors. Holding one handle of the scissors with his left hand, he gingerly placed the bottom blade on the kitchen table. Remembering to clench his right fingers in a fist <> he thought as he placed the top of the oven mitt between the blades. With his free hand, he began to push down on the handle of the scissors. "Awwww, c'mon....." he whined. "What are these damn mitts made of? Titanium??" Frustrated, he slapped the scissors down on the table and buried his head in his arms. "Mulder, what are you doing?" Scully's tired voice came from the living room. "Oh nothing," he said a little too innocently. "Just getting something to drink." "You're not trying to get those potholders off again, are you?" she asked. "No." "Liar." "She is the light of my life, I'm happy to have her," Mulder muttered through gritted teeth. "She is the light of my life, I'm happy to have her. She is the light of my life, I'm happy to have her," he kept repeating as he fumbled around the kitchen for a glass and went to the fridge for a drink. He took out the pitcher of cold water and preceded to poor himself a cool drink, and ended up spilling all over the kitchen counter and floor. Scully groaned when she heard the noise. "Don't get up!" Mulder called out to her. "I wasn't planning on it," came the retort. "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray," Mulder sang to himself sarcastically as he got a towel to mop up his mess. "I heard that!!!" "At this point in time, Scully, I don't really care," Mulder fired back as he finished up wiping up the spilled water. Throwing the towel in the kitchen sink, he stormed into the living room. "You're treating me like a child and I'm sick of it." "If you wake Will, I will kill you," she said in hushed tones. Mulder toned down the volume but not his temper tantrum. "The itching really isn't all that bad anymore and I totally resent being kept here like a muzzled pet." "Nobody's stopping you from going back to your apartment," Scully snapped. "I'm sure your fish miss you." "I WOULD go home, but" he held out his hands. "I can't pick up my damn car keys!" The complete insanity of the situation finally hit Scully. She started to snicker, but tried to not to laugh out loud, still not wanting to wake up Will. Mulder, completely infuriated by now, put his oven-mitted hands on his hips. "This ISN'T funny, Scully," he fumed, using his entire hand to push up the reading glasses that were sliding off his nose. Scully lost it, she started laughing until tears rolled down her face, the sight of Mulder, shirtless, in a pair of black sweatpants, oven-mitts duct-taped to his hands, hands on hips, barefoot, bare-chested, covered head to toe with chicken pox spots, with his glasses sliding off was too much. So in the end, it was Scully's laughter that ended up waking up the baby, who instantly began to fuss. But, still giggling, she stood up with the baby and crossed over to Mulder. Handing the crabby boy to Mulder, she asked. "Still want to go home? I can drive you." "No," he said with a pout. "Not really. But I think you need to get out of the house and away from us, isn't that right Boo?" "What do you mean?" "I mean, go out tonight, go away, go to a movie, call someone... Reyes or Skinner, go out to dinner, get drunk, something, anything. Just go be with adults for awhile. I think me and the slugger here are driving you insane." "What about Will? What about the case?" Mulder reasoned "As long as your cell is with you, I can call you if we need you, be it for the case or for Boo." Scully debated. She felt soooooooo disloyal for deserting her post but on the other hand.... "Are you sure Mulder?" "I wouldn't have suggested it if I wasn't sure," Mulder pecked her forehead. "Of course, there's a catch." "What?" Scully asked warily. Mulder open and shut the oven mitts like sock puppets again. "These bad boys have got to come off if I'm going to be one-on-one with the baby." Scully conceded defeat, she wanted to get out that desperately. "All right Mulder, but if you scratch, don't expect me to feel sorry for you when you're scarred for life," and she went to get the scissors to cut the duct tape away from the mitts. When Scully left, Mulder whispered to Will, "Score one for us, Boo." Mulder looked at the oven mitt. "I wonder how gross my fingernails are going to look after being trapped in these things for so long." He made a face. "Ew.".... Rose Hill College Jeri and Tori's dorm room 9:23 PM Central Time Starkweather was working on her computer notebook, surfing the Internet for information on Wicca, laying on her bed, sweating profusely. She checked the time, she had two hours before she was supposed to be at the radio station for her shift. Just then Tori, Mandi and Jennifer, the "Barbie Posse" breezed in. "Hey, Jeri, what's going on?" "Oh, just doing some research for a paper I have to write for my World Religions class," Starkweather lied. "Aw, man, all work and no play sucks," Jennifer whined. "Come with us, we're going to see the late showing of 'Evolution' at the buck-fifty theater tonight." "I don't want to see that movie though," Mandi whined. "It's some dumb sci-fi thing." "I know, but sexy bitch Duchovny's in it and I heard he moons the camera in this movie. I am so there!" Jennifer proclaimed. "Sexy bitch, who?" Starkweather asked. The three girls stared at her. "David Duchovny????" Jennifer's mouth hung open. "Who?" "Don't you watch TV????" Mandi asked. "He's on that really weird alien-monster show... Jen, what's it called?" "Oh, I don't know, I don't watch sci-fi." Jennifer said breezily. "I heard the show's pretty stupid. Really far- fetched and stuff. But David is hot..." The girls began to sing together "David Duchovny, why don't you love me???" Starkweather just stared open-mouthed. "Ooooo - kay..." she muttered, turning her attention back to her computer. "So, do you want to come with? We're going to hit the bar afterwards." Tori asked. "I thought ya'll weren't twenty-one yet?" Starkweather asked. All three girls flashed their fake IDs. "Bob got them for us, isn't he swwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet?" Tori gushed. "I'm sure you think he is," Starkweather purred. The insult flew right over her head. "Well, be careful... of course..." she turned to her friends. "If your roommate dies during the summer, do you still get straight As for the rest of next semester or does that only apply during the school year?" "Oh, I don't know..." Jennifer pondered the issue. "NOT that we WANT anything bad to happen to you," Tori assured Starkweather. "How nice of you," Starkweather deadpanned. "Well, too bad you gotta work tonight," Mandi said. "Maybe next time." "Sure," Starkweather said. "That would be peachy-keen." "Byyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeee," Tori sang out. "Don't work too hard." <> Starkweather thought while plastering a fake smile on her baby face. She could hear the Barbie posse singing down the hall "David Duchovny, why won't you love me???" Starkweather, an avid movie buff, said out loud to the walls. "Who the fuck is David Duchovny?????? Gawd... this is going to BUG me now...." Just then, her cell phone rang. "Hello?" "Doc, it's me. Can you talk?" "Sure," Starkweather got up and shut the door. "Actually, I'm glad you called, I've got a question for you." "Shoot." "Don't tempt me, there's a trio of Buffy's I'd use as target practice. Anyway... from your days with the NYPD... does the name Autumn Chamberlain ring any bells for you?" Doggett was silent. "No one named Autumn... but I remember a little girl who testified in a child-molestion-murder case named Imogene Chamberlain. After this sick twist raped and killed his step-daughter, he broke into this kid's house and tried to get at her." "Imogene????" Starkweather crinkled her nose. "God... her parents not like her or something?" "I don't know, why?" "I'll tell you later, I gotta call-" a big heavy sigh "- Mulder." Doggett snickered. "Lucky you." "Yeah... tell me about it...." Scully's apartment 10:35 PM Eastern Time "So you see Will..." Mulder said as he spooned chocolate ice cream into his mouth, "that's why the Yankees suck and you should root for my favorite team...the Mets. do you understand?" Will smiled uncomprehendingly and then flung ice cream all over himself, Mulder and the kitchen floor. "That's my boy..." Mulder wiped a glob of ice cream off his forehead. Just then, the doorbell rang. Mulder whisked Will out of his high chair and went to the front door. The Lone Gunman was standing there. Byers was burdened down with all their computer equipment. Frohike was carrying two six packs of Heineken and a twelve pack of Old Milwaukee. Langly was carrying two large pizza boxes while eating a slice at the same time. "Hey Muld-" Langly started to say, but stopped when he got a good look at Mulder and Will, covered with chicken pox and chocolate ice cream. "What?" Mulder asked innocently. "BUWAHAHAHAHA!!!!" The Lone Gunman doubled over in laughter. "Nice get-up, Mr. Mom," Frohike snickered. "Oh shut up and get in here." Mulder let them in. "Just set up wherever. I've got to get the little guy washed up and into to bed so you better save me some pizza, guys." "Are you sure Scully's okay with this?" Byers fussed as Mulder disappeared with Will into the bathroom. "The last time we were over, she threatened to kill us." As he ran bath water for a sticky Will, Mulder said "I don't think Scully will be feeling any pain when she comes back.... Meanwhile Bennigan's... "AND THEN..." Scully said to Monica Reyes as she gestured to the bartender to refill her glass, "there was the time he told me 'Oh don't WORRY Scully, it'll be a nice trip to the forest.' Nice trip! Nice trip my ass! These little, icky glowing green BUGS just about ate us all. I hate bugs. And these bugs... you could only see them at night and they spun big cocoons and they suck you dry. Of course I didn't believe it at first... but... gee, I was wrong... as usual... surprise! And all of that stuff I told you about happened in the FIRST YEAR I worked with Fox! I've got seven more years of shit that he put me through to tell you about!" Reyes had been chain smoking the entire time Scully had been slurring out her life history. "You must be drunk, you called him 'Fox'" she pointed out. "I did?" Scully took another drink. "Huh. Guess I did. You know, I almost named Will Fox, but I thought that would be too sappy... but I might have anyway if Mulder had died for real... do you know how many times Mulder has almost gotten us killed??" "Dana, what are you drinking???" Reyes asked nervously, eyeing Scully's Smurf-blue drink. She had never seen Scully sh*t-faced drunk before. "Mmmm, I dunno, they're good though... excuse me! Bartender, what are these??" she asked coyly. "Electric Lemonades, ma'am. Triple sec, Absolut vodka and Blue Cuaraco." "I'm drinking Electric Lemonades," Scully slurred proudly. "I see..." Reyes used the butt of her old cigarette to light a new one. "Fox and Will must have been really driving you crazy the last few days." Scully, meanwhile, had descended into the weepy apologetic phase of a drunken stupor. "They ARE, but they mean so much to me, I feel so guilty for wanting to get out of the house because I'm sick of them! But I shouldn't be... that sounds so bad. Oh, Reyes, I'm sorry, I don't know what you must think of me. I usually don't get like this. In fact, the last time I got this drunk... I got a tattoo and then I went home with a good looking man who tried to kill me because his magical talking tattoo told him to. Wanna see? It's actually kinda cool, it's of a snake," Scully started to lift the back of her blouse. Reyes pushed her Amaretto Sour away from her, "I'll be having Cokes for the rest of the night," she whispered to the bartender. "They'll be on the house," he whispered back to her. With a dopey grin on her normally serious Madonna face, Scully said "You're drivin'" to Reyes. Reyes responded. "No shit." Meanwhile... Scully's apartment. The phone rang. With a mouthful of pizza, Mulder garbled out a hello. Back in her hellish dorm room in Sioux City, Starkweather wiped perspiration off of her forehead, "Deputy Mayor," she said formally as she sniffed her sweat-soaked T-shirt. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "It's me." "Me who?" "Starkweaather, you dick." Mulder, used to her constant abuse by now, merely replied, "How goes it?" very politely. <> He thought with a grin. "It goes crappy. And yourself?" Mulder surveyed the chaos. The Gunmen were worse than a hundred Wills when it came to the matter of cleanliness. Byers wasn't so bad, but Langly and Frohike were human tornadoes. Already, the kitchen table was littered with used napkins, empty beer cans and pizza crusts. "I believe I can safely say that I have had brighter days," he said mildly. "So, with the pleasantries out of the way and for once, Jerilyn, I have to say that it was almost pleasant talking to you, can I take a message? Scully isn't home." "Actually, Deputy Mayor... I need to talk to you." "To me? Now what did I do?" he asked in his maddening monotone. "Nothing yet," She sighed. "Can you get in touch with the Gunmen?" Mulder looked over his shoulder. Frohike was taking apart Scully's printer, muttering under his breath about "piece of shit Hewlitt-Packards" while Langly and Byers were arguing, thankfully in whispers so they wouldn't wake the baby, but Langly was throwing wads of paper at Byers, mouthing "Did not!!!" "Did too!" Byers snapped back, protecting his face from the flying missiles. "Stop that?" "It shouldn't be a problem," Mulder said calmly to Starkweather. "What do you need them to hunt down?" "One Imogene Chamberlain... or Imogene Autumn Chamberlain... only use the same address I gave when I asked them to find Autumn Chamberlain." "Where are you going with this?" Mulder asked her. Starkweather told him of her encounter with Autumn Chamberlain. "Wiccan," Mulder mused.... "Starkweather, I want you to call me tomorrow when you get a chance." "Why?" Instantly hostile. Mulder sighed. "Starkweather, if you didn't have a chip on your shoulder the size of the Rock of Gilbralter, you would be a completely charmingly young lady. I need to do a little research, brainstorm with Scully a bit..." "Now... where ARE you going with this?" "I'm thinking Autumn is connected but she doesn't realize it yet." "Aren't you even worried that my cover may have been compromised?" "No." Mulder said, at his most irritating and arrogant. "She gave you her word, didn't she?" "Yeah, but-" Mulder interrupted, "Well, there you go. Call me." "Fine." Starkweather rolled her eyes. "I'll call as soon as I'm conscious, Doggett and I will be pulling an all-nighter at the station." "Just be careful." "Actually I was thinking about going to the station wearing a white T-shirt with F-B-I in big red letters on the front and a bull's eye on the back." "I'll have the information on Autumn tomorrow." Mulder hung up on the Hurricane and turned to the Gunmen. "Boys, get out the No-Doz and start popping them like M&Ms." Mulder grinned, back in his element. "I think we may have break in the case and Frohike... I don't know what you did to Scully's printer, but you better have it fixed before-" Mulder heard the front door open. "Too late." "Nice knowin' ya, amigo," Langly pulled his long blond hair into a greasy ponytail. But Frohike wasn't paying attention to Langly. "Holy moo cow." "What?" Mulder asked. Frohike pointed. "Remember Vegas, boys?" Mulder, Byers and Langly turned around and saw Reyes standing in the doorway, with Scully piggy-backed on her. Reyes staggered over to Mulder, then turned around. "Take her, she's not as light as she looks," she groaned. "The party girl returns," Frohike grumbled. Mulder relieved Reyes of her burden. With her head lolling, Scully looked up at Mulder. "Hi baby!" she squealed. Mulder shook with surpressed laughter as he bore away the intoxicated agent. "Frohike," he said as he passed him, "I think you've been granted a stay of execution." Frohike took the hint and started working on the printer The radio station 11:35 PM Central Time Doggett, still wearing a FBI-approved dark suit, gray dress blouse and a black and gray and white and dark purple striped tie, was uncomfortably warm. The coat was off, the sleeves were rolled up and the tie was loosened, but it didn't help. Georgia born and Georgia bred, he had grown up with boiling hot days and sultry nights, but as a child, after moving away from Democratic Hot Springs, he had the luxury of living near the Atlantic Ocean. Here in Sioux City, Iowa, there was no ocean to jump into for relief from the humidity. It bordered the Missouri River, but the Doggett doubted anyone could survive its powerful current. He doubted that the Iowans even knew what a beach looked like. As he had staked out the radio station, he had consumed three bottles of Coke and two bottles of water. As he started on his third water bottle, he saw Starkweather drive up the laughably small driveway and park along side him. She looked just as miserably and sweaty as he was. Only she had the luxury of wearing a spaghetti-string tank top and sandals, but she was still imprisoned in jeans, always protecting her secret, her badge, her gun. She slid out of the crappy car, grabbed her backpack and water bottle, walked around Doggett's rental and tapped on his window. Annoyed, he rolled the window down and glowered at his partner. "Stawk-weadah," he hissed, "you shouldn't be talkin' to me." Amused by how he always managed to mangle her last name with his Southern accent, Starkweather leaned up against his car like an Hollywood call-girl and drawled, "Oh, don't worry, darlin'. If anyone from the station sees me talking to you, they'll just think I'm the dumb intern flirting with the FBI guy." She blew him a kiss. Irritated, he snapped, "Quit it." Still leaning seductively against the car, she asked in all seriousness, "Any luck?" her voice not matching her body language. "Not really. Still waiting on Mrs. Meecham to recover from the delivery of her child so I can ask her some questions. Other than that, I've got squat. You?" Starkweather shrugged. "Well, I've got that party tomorrow night-" "Poor you," Doggett interrupted with a drawl. Starkweather glared at him. "For the deceased's brother who's returning to school. It's a long shot, but, judging by the history of the X-Files existence, the long shots are usually the best shots. Anyway, speaking of long shots, I talked to the Deputy Mayor-" "Lucky you," Doggett quipped for the bickering and rivalry between Starkweather and Mulder were legion. "Tell me about it. Anyway, he's going to have the Lone Gunmen do a little digging." Starkweather hesitated, then said carefully, "Now, Doggett, I'm not one for awaking bad memories," she observed his face tensing up, "but I gotta ask..." "About...?" "Imogene Chamberlain." Doggett's face crinkled up in concern. "Yeah, you started to talk to me 'bout that but never finished. What about her?" "Well, she's all grown up and a student at Rose Hill and she figured out who I am." Doggett's jaw dropped. "She blew your cover? Starkweather, we need to get you out of here, ASAP." "No Doggett." Starkweather sighed, "She didn't blow my cover. I said she figured out who I am." "I don't care," Doggett snapped, pointing his finger at her. "You've been compromised and we need to get you off this case." "My position has NOT been compromised and I am NOT leaving this case." "The hell you aren't." "The hell I am, look," she said, exasperated. "I... I don't know, maybe I've been hanging with Mulder and Scully a little too much lately, but... I feel that this girl is not going to say anything." "You're partially right," he said. "You have been hanging around Mulder too much lately. Or should I say, the Mulder side of you is comin' out?" Starkweather bridled, "That hasn't been totally proven yet!!!" "You're right," Doggett said, "the tests came back ONLY 98.5% positive." "A test taken by the Lone BallMen," she hissed. "Real reliable. And speaking of reliable, you KNOW I don't do SH*T unless I have either proof or good cause and the truth of the matter is that this girl will A- gain absolutely nothing if she says anything and B- she can help us." "How?" "She's Wiccan and we've already determined that there might be an element of the occult and/or alternative religions here. As a practicing witch, she could be an extremely valuable source of information." "I don't like this," Doggett growled. "Papa," Starkweather said patiently. "I'm not thrilled either, but it's better than nothing." Doggett was silent for a minute. "I should really pull you off this case." "What, and keep all this fun to yourself?" Starkweather held her arms out wide. "Sitting in a hot car, watching a deserted building all by yourself?" "Whee," Doggett deadpanned. "And it's not completely deserted, the evening guy's still there and the overnight guy's on his way," he said, referring to the disc jockeys. "Oh that's right," she muttered. "Well... I'll try to get rid of the overnight guy as soon as possible so you can come in and snoop. But if I can't... well, hell, Doggett, you should maybe come in anyway. It's hotter than hell out here." "Nah," Doggett said. "I'll be fine." "Phone taps in?" "They were good to go as of three PM today." "Rock on," Starkweather ruffled his hair. "I'm goin' in." "Arrrgghh," Doggett smoothed his hair. "QUIT IT." Seriously he added "And be careful! Don't piss around in there!" "I'm armed." Starkweather turned to go, but then turned back. "Are you sure about not coming in? It's a radio station, lots of electronics, it's GOT to have air." "I'll only come in if the deejays leave," Doggett said. Then, to tease, he added "Besides, I'll recover in the morning in my suite at the Hilton." That little remark completely deflated her. "I hate you," she whined. "Let's talk about Imogene tomorrow when we're conscious," Doggett said. "Tell your roommate you're going to visit your dad." "OK old man," she said with a naughty grin, poking fun at their twelve year age difference. As she walked away, Doggett could hear her singing, "Who's your daddy?" Doggett leaned his head against the headrest and groaned. Starkweather walked up to the front door of the station and discovered that it was locked. "Well, shit," she muttered as she walked around to the back door, which was also locked. Starkweather went back around and crouched down to tap on the window to FM control. The blinds flew open, the window slid open and a friendly face peered out. "Hey... are you our new intern?" Starkweather smiled. "Yes I am, my name is Jeri." "How ya doin' Jeri, my name is.. oh shit," he glanced down at the clock. "Hold on," the "evening guy" went on the air to do the weather break. Then he took his headsets off. "Sorry about that, my name is Elliott Michaels. How long are you going to be working with us?" "A while," Starkweather stepstepped the question. "Can you let me in?" "Oh sure, you bet," Starkweather watched Michaels disappear from FM control. A few moments later, the front door swung open. Starkweather stood up, brushing gravel off her jeans. "Come on in," Michaels said. "Did you get a run-through on the board and everything?" "Yeah, Taran showed me." "Well, good. Anyway, Ace will be here in a little bit, he's a nice guy." Michaels prattled on as Starkweather followed him down the short flight of stairs and through the very narrow hallway to FM control. "Oh, you might want to check the schedule," Michaels informed her. "Reece is famous for making last minute changes." "What?" Starkweather turned and looked at the schedule hanging on the closet door. She re-read it. "I'm working a remote tomorrow morning at ten?!?!?" she gasped. <> "And what's the dog suit??" Michaels looked at her, trying to fight a grin. "They didn't tell you about the dog suit?" "Nobody told me about the dog suit." "Well... it's our station mascot." "Station... mas...WHAT?!?!?!" Michaels laughed. He had a great laugh. "You poor kid," he sympathized with her. "I remember when I first started out, my PD made me dress up as a Boy Scout to interview the Mayor of Omaha." Michaels lifted one hairy leg up and examined it. "I still wished I would have shaved before I gone in." Starkweather looked at him in disbelief. "You're kidding me!! Why?" "Publicity. It's all about staying in the public eye." Starkweather had returned to re-examining the schedule. "Whoa, whoa... I'm working tonight... tomorrow morning... then on the air from seven to midnight???? And then I'm supposed to show up for my internship early the next morning??" She turned to Michaels, horror in her hazel eyes. "How'm I supposed to do this?" <> is what she was really thinking. Michaels smiled sadly and patted her on the back. "We're really short on part-timers." "Well, I know... but..." Starkweather shook her head. "What was Reece thinking? I mean... I left him a schedule telling him when I was available for on-air..." "It's okay, I understand," Michaels said. "Let's put it this way... most of our part-timers used Laura Light's murder as an excuse to quit." He sat down in the deejay's chair and pulled out the guest's microphone for her. "Ready for our first break?" Starkweather, used to succeeding at everything she put her hand on, felt an unfamiliar wave of stage-fright. "What?" "Don't worry, baby," Michaels said, "Everyone sucks the first time they go on the air." <> Starkweather quailed to herself. She had been so intent on searching the station for clues, she had forgotten that they actually expected her to go on air.... Doggett, finishing up his fourth bottle of water and reaching into cooler for the fifth, remembered that Starkweather was about to make her maiden voyage into the world of broadcast. He turned his car on, stuck it neutral and welcomed the puff of cold air that came out of the vents. He turned the radio on. "And in the KRRQ weather center, the forecast brought to you by Moser's Greenhouse... looks like it's going to be another beautiful night in the River City... if you don't mind a temp of 89 with 100% humidity. Slight chance of thunderstorms for the overnight. Sunday looks to be more of the same... hot and humid with a high of 90, with the heat index calling for 103 and a 20% chance for thunderstorms... and for the beginning of the work week, Monday, more heat, more humidity, with a 30% chance for thunderstorms and a high of 95... from Siouxland's weather authority... KRRQ, one-oh-one point three, River Country, the BIG Dawg... I'm Elliott Michaels, getting ready to get out of here and into the air conditioning," Elliott laughed, musical pealing of laughter, "but taking over is our brand new overnight part- timer, Jazzy Star, how're ya doin' Jazzy?" <> Doggett snickered. There was a considerable pause... "Um... fine... pretty good. Uh, Good... really good, I mean..." Starkweather blurted out uncomfortably. Doggett shook his head, hoping that this was being recorded somewhere. "Well... good good... so, Jazzy, what's going on for the overnight?" "Um..." Shufflings of paper were heard over the air waves, "um... well, as always... great country music all night, I mean, overnight long, plus I'm giving away tickets to the... races at Jefferson Speedway... sometime... tonight... this overnight... type of thing..." Doggett, still laughing about Starkweather's tongue-tied- ness, looked up in time to see a pickup truck rambling into the parking lot. He checked his list of license plate numbers. <> Doggett deduced as he watched him step out of his truck and let himself into the station. Meanwhile, Michaels was giggling, "Alright, so be sure to stick around. Like I said, Jazzy's brand new, so be sure to call in with your requests and bug her, make sure she stays awake." A little bit of Starkweather sarcasm slipped through the stage-fright. "Gee, thanks." "Thirty-five minutes of commercial free country is on the way from KRRQ, one-oh-one point three, River Country, the BIG Dawg..." Doggett smirked to himself, with thoughts of tormenting his partner dancing in his head... <> Michaels turned off the mike and fired up the first of the set of commercials in one graceful movements of his hands on the sliders. Starkweather covered her red face in abjet mortification with her hands. It really wasn't THAT bad," Michaels consoled her. Starkweather glared at him through the slits between her fingers but then instantly felt bad. He seemed like a nice guy. Plus, he wasn't a suspect, he was in Omaha with his wife visiting relatives the night of Candelauria Gallimore's murder. "If you say so," she muttered as Michaels relinquished his seat, gesturing grandly for her to sit down. "You have a pair of headsets?" Starkweather shook her head. "Well, let me go find you one of the spares." Michaels scootched past her. As he went down the hall, he heard him call out "Ace! Howya doin'?" Starkweather slumped into the deejay's seat, totally dejected. This X-File was NOT going well. They had wasted too much time. She stared up at the computer monitor. The final commercial had aired, the "Top of the Hour" liner had played and Tim McGraw came on: "If all our tears have reached the sea A part you will live in me Way down deep inside my heart The days keep coming without fail A new wind is going to find your sail That's were your journey starts You'll find better love Strong as it ever was Deep as the river runs Warm as the morning sun Please remember me Just like the waves Down by the shore I'm goin on coming back for more 'Cause we don't ever want to stop Out in this brave new world, you see Oh the valleys and the peaks And I can see you on the top You'll find better love Strong as it ever was Deep as the river runs Warm as the morning sun Please remember me Remember me when you're out walking When snow falls high outside your down Late at night when you're not sleeping And moonlight falls across your floor And I can't hurt you anymore You'll find better love Strong as it ever was Deep as the river runs Warm as the morning sun Please remember me Please remember me..." "Ick," Starkweather grumbled but the bridge of the song summoned forth unwelcome memories.... A month and a half ago Doggett's apartment Washington DC 1:35 AM Eastern Standard Time It was an oppressively warm summer night. Out on a patio of a ground level apartment, two friends were battling the heat with beer and good conversation. "But wow... when he's pissed and it's in the heat of the fucking moment," Starkweather said, sitting next to Doggett on the stairs leading up to Doggett's modest patio in back of his apartment. She shook her head, finished off the last sip of warm Bud Light, then reached behind her for another frosty bottle. She gestured to Doggett, holding the beer with her good hand, holding up her useless broken wrist in the air. Doggett popped the top for her. "Thanks." "No problem." "You know, it doesn't help ME get over the miscarriage when it's constantly rubbed in my face that it's my fault," she said bitterly. "You know it's not your fault." "I know that intellectually, but in my heart... I don't know, Doggett. I mean... I wasn't ready for kids, I'm still not so I guess it's a blessing in disguise... I just didn't believe that this was happening to me. I was on the Pill. We were careful. I freaked. I was like, "I'm not ready for this." But then I listened to the heartbeat and I thought "Yes I am. I am so ready for this." But it wasn't meant to be, so I guess I'm really not. Wait, I KNOW I'm not. I can't handle the idea of putting my career on hold again to start a family and I REALLY can't handle losing another baby if Ben and I would start a family. Once is enough. You know?" Doggett had been silent throughout Starkweather's entire speech, nodded. "Yeah, I do," he thought. "My ex-wife wanted to try for another baby after we lost Luke... but..." he shook his head. "I couldn't. I didn't wanna have a kid just replace Luke, like he was the family dog who we put to sleep and we went and got a new puppy the very next day. But I didn't understand my wife's need to have more children. She didn't see it as replacing Luke. She saw it as mourning and honoring out son and getting on with our lives. Eventually, after a long, messy divorce, she found someone else and last time I talked to her, she has had two little girls with him." The agents sat in a comfortable silence sipping beer; listening to the sounds of a city alive in the summer night. "Was it really bad?" Starkweather asked after a bit, in a small voice. "What? The divorce?" Doggett asked, reaching for another beer. Starkweather nodded her head. "Yeah," he said in his typical honesty tempered by a soft Georgia drawl. "It was bad. The last time my wife and I talked, wasn't exactly civil." "Hm," Starkweather drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. "I wonder if Ben would contest." "You're talkin' as if it's a done deal, like you've got your mind made up." (From "Starkweather: Quanta") Starkweather folded her hands and looked at her naked left ring finger, thinking back to that miserably hot night before everything went crazy with the oil rig case. The outcome of that particular X-Files produced so much guilt, that Starkweather was having trouble now sleeping at night. "Hi," a soft voice broke into Starkweather's thoughts. She jumped and turned to see who was hovering in the doorway now. "Hi?" It was more of a question than a greeting. "Are you Ace?" "Yeah, sorry, didn't mean to scare you," Ace said shyly, coming around the console to shake her hand. He had sunshine-yellow hair and bright blue eyes like Doggett's, Starkweather noted. "And you must be Jazzy." Starkweather rolled her eyes. "**Please** call me Jeri." Ace smiled. "Don't worry about it. I know how you feel. I almost didn't get to pick out my own air name, but I stuck to my guns and Reece gave in." "Why did you pick Ace?" "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." His mouth was poker- straight, but his eyes were twinkling naughtily. "Really?" Starkweather drawled, arching an eyebrow, warming up to Ace just a hair. He, also, was not a suspect, he was in Des Moines at the Iowa State Fair with friends when Candelauria Gallimore died. He finally laughed. "So how are you doing?" he asked seriously. "On air, I mean. Are you okay with running the board and all that?" "Oh, the board is fine," Starkweather looked at the twinkling lights of the computer console and the soundboard. "*I* suck when I actually GO ON the air, but I'm fine with running the board." Again, she propped her chin on her hands and pouted. Starkweather was not used failure. "You suck??? Why??" Ace asked, leaning on a rack of CDs that were rarely played -- all the music was digitized -- looking at her seriously. "How could you suck? With your sexy voice?" Startled again, Starkweather turned to face him, jaw dropping just a little. She managed to shut her mouth in time before looking like a complete moron, but she felt the uncomfortable heat of a blush heating up her cheeks. "Oh... well.. I don't... I dunno about THAT..." she mumbled while frantically wondering <> and painfully aware that her partner was listening to every word through the wire taps. Doggett, now on his eighth bottle of water and still didn't have to go to the bathroom yet, had undone his sweaty dress blouse, sat in the car in his undershirt and slacks, listening in on the behind the scenes action when Starkweather wasn't on the air: "So how are you doing? On air, I mean. Are you okay with running the board and all that?" "Oh, the board is fine, *I* suck when I actually GO ON the air, but I'm fine with running the board." "You suck??? Why?? How could you suck? With your sexy voice?" Doggett snickered as he continued to listen in on an uncomfortable Starkweather. ""Oh... well.. I don't... I dunno about THAT..." she stammered. He wondered if she was turning red. "Everyone does bad the first time," Ace consoled her. "If you would hear my aircheck tapes from the first few times I went on air... it was bad. It was really bad..." "THEY TAPE THESE!?!?!" There was a tinge of panic in her voice.... "Well, sure they do," Doggett listened to Ace say. "Listening to yourself is the one of the best ways that you can improve your performance... other than actually going on the air and just doing it." <> Doggett thought, taking a deep swallow of water. He checked his cooler, he had only seven bottles of water left, plus two bottles of Coke, rapidly warming up. When he had left the Hilton and felt the humidity slap him in the face, he immediately went to the nearest convenience store and stocked up on fluids. As amusing as the repartee was between Starkweather and Ace, Doggett wished either Ace would do what he need to do and get the hell out so he could come in and snoop around or at least talk to Starkweather about the murder victim. At least get some more information about her. So far, she sounded like a normal college student, but then all the girls killed before her sounded like normal college students. There had to be something more. These girls were not dying just because they were white, female communications majors that all went to the same school. They were missing something. "Oh, I'll be fine..." Starkweather said. <> Doggett thought, <> "I mean... Taran showed me what to do and I'll get the hang of this on-air thing so... Well shoot, it's Friday night, Saturday morning... whatever, I'm sure you've got better things to do than hang out here." "Well actually no. I've got to get the van prepped for the remote in Ponca tomorrow, then I've got some commercials to cut and there's some other shit I need to do, I've got my own remote tomorrow afternoon... are you just going to sleep upstairs or downstairs?" "Pardon?" "Lot of the part-timers crashed in either the spare office down here or in the conference room up there if they were coming off an overnight and had to work the next morning. You have to be in Ponca by ten... so that means you'll probably have to be up by eight-thirty at the latest... do you want to me to wake you up? I have to be up by seven." "Um... sure... okay..." Doggett frowned. He didn't like this. Not the part about Starkweather sleeping at the radio station, Lord only knows he had slept in some damn weird spots while he was in the military, the police force and FBI. But he was concerned about the fact that she was only going to get maybe two, three hours of sleep max, then she had to go out to work with the station again. Plus she had that party where the dorm rats were welcoming back Candelauria's brother. When was she supposed to sleep? He needed his partner to be fully alert, not brain-dead from fatigue. "Plus... well... I kinda figured with what happened to Laura Light... you might not wanna be alone all night." "Oh, that," Doggett heard Starkweather scoff. "I'm not worried. There's an empty suit out there watching the place." "The empty... oh, the FBI guy. Yeah I knew that but still... how did you know about him?" "Oh, I tried to talk to him before coming in to work tonight. No personality whatsoever." "Thanks a lot," Doggett mumbled as he drained his water and reached for the next one like an alcoholic reaching for his beer. The next morning... Scully's apartment 9:32 PM Eastern Standard Time William, as always, work up with the sunrise. With a gurgle and a kick of his little legs, he was fully alert and ready to start the day. He still, granted, didn't feel very good, but he was a lot happier than he was a few days ago. He still a little itchy, but his fever had broken in the night, so he was back to his sweet cuddly self. After watching Marvin the Martian mobile (that Daddy had set up for him, much to Mommy's chagrin,) spin around for a little bit, he realized his shorts were wet and his tummy was empty. Time to alert the parents of his needs. So Will, as always, started to whimper and whine, like he always did every morning. Will's cries scared Scully out of her hungover sleep. She lifted her head and the room still spun. "Ohhhhhh..." she moaned, flopping back over on the bed. She then noticed she was not "in" bed, like a normal person, but lying on her stomach on the foot of her bed, head and arms lolling off the edge. She opened her eyes a little more and noticed a big red bucket underneath her head. She leaned down a little more and peered into it. The smell alone told her she had thrown up a couple of times last night. She recoiled from the bucket and tried to sit up but lay back down instantly for the room was still spinning. <> Scully suddenly realized where the term "the motherlode of guilt" may have stemmed from <> "Hang on Will..." Scully heaved herself up again, "your unfit mother is coming..." "Good morning!" Mulder boomed, bursting into the bedroom. Like Will, his fever had broken last night while working with the Lone Gunmen. He still itched, but even that wasn't bad. He hated to admit that Reyes was right and if he was busy and visualizing other things, he didn't even noticed the itching. "Hey, Slugger!" Mulder lifted Will out of his crib. Will instantly stopped crying, like he always did whenever someone picked him up for the first time in the morning. Mulder threw the shades open, blinding Scully. Scully covered her bloodshot eyes with her hands. "Mulder," she muttered. "What are you doing?" "Come on, Scully," Mulder teased as he went over to Will's little changing table to get him out of his wet diapers. "It's a beautiful day. I'm feeling better, Boo's feeling better." "I'm not feeling better," Scully said pathetically. "Do my ears deceive me?" Mulder scooped a dry and dressed Will in his arms and went to stand over Scully who had just laid back down on her bed. "Is that the sound of the indomitable, knowledgeable Agent Dana Scully... whining? How out of character." Scully opened one eye and glared at him. Mulder held Will out in front of him. "Don't make me used this." Will giggled. "Mulder... I feel terrible. And not just the exhaustion and the throbbing headache and the nausea... I feel like I was being a bad person last night. More like a bad mother. Will needed me and I could barely get out of bed. And not because I was ill or hurt but because I went out drinking." "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you drunk, Scully," Mulder's eyes crinkled up in extreme amusement. "When you got that snake tattoo, I couldn't understand how someone could become so intoxicated that they would lose all of their senses. But seeing Reyes carry you in piggyback last night, made me realize some things about you." "Agent Reyes carried me in??" Scully gaped in disbelief. "Piggyback? Oh how humiliating." She covered her face with a pillow. "Mulder, just leave me here to die. I know you'll take good care of William..." Mulder plucked the pillow off of Scully's face. "Don'cha wanna know what I learned about you last night?" "What, Mulder, did you learn about me last night?" Mulder leaned close to Scully's face, brushing her hair off her forehead with his free hand. Their noses bumped together, their lips almost close enough for a kiss and Mulder breathed to her: "You... Agent Dana Scully... are... a lightweight." Grinning, he bounced off the bed with Will before Scully could react. He shut the drapes again. "I'll get you some water Scully, that will help with the cotton-mouth. Come on Will," Mulder crooned to the baby as they left Scully alone in the blessed darkness. "Mommy took care of us while we weren't feeling good and now it's our turn to take care of Mommy 'cause Mommy's a lush..." Scully groaned. Sometimes... she really almost hated him.... Outside of Monica Reyes' apartment 10:34 am Special Agent Monica Reyes, drenched in sweat, was jogging towards her apartment complex when she saw the mail truck. The post man was coming down the stairs, carrying a small package. "Miss Reyes!" He called out. Reyes came up towards him. "Good morning Lewis," she said warmly. "Have a good night last night?" The friendly mail man asked her. "Ummmmm..." Reyes gave him her mysterious smile. "I went out with a friend," she told him. "Is that for me?" "Yes it is, it was overnighted here. I need you to sign for it." He tucked the package under his arm and handed her a clipboard and pen. Reyes hastily scrawled her autograph and accepted the box. "Thanks Lewis." She waved him off with a broad smile and ran up the stairs. Lewis the mail man shook his head. <>, he thought, like he always did when he delivered mail to her. The nice yet a little odd federal agent let herself into her slightly cluttered apartment. She sat down at her desk, grimaced at the pile of bills she had yet to address, grabbed her letter opener and sliced the brown paper apart and lifted the lid of the box. She picked up the note that laid on top of the pen that Starkweather stole from Reese's office: "Reyes, Here's the pen you wanted. You are one weird hushpuppy. Love and sloppy kisses Starkweather" Reyes shook her head. "Okay..." she said, clenching and unclenching her fists. "Here goes..." She reached into the box and clasped the pen in her hands. Instantly she felt a shockwave surge up her arm and through her body. She gasped in pain. Guilt, violence, rage, insecurity, suffering, denial and addiction were braided together in a rope of agony that coiled around Reyes' throat. Light-headed, she closed her eyes... ... and saw a young boy bending over a body of a girl in a parking lot behind a split level business building where a radio tower loomed over them. The girl was convulsing and choking. The boy was sobbing. Reyes dropped the pen. She gulped for air and wiped her face, surprised to find it covered with a cold sweat. She took a napkin, grabbed the pen again and threw it in the trash. She went to take a cold shower. She dressed in her favorite soft khakis cargo pants and a blue t-shirt. Lacing up her running shoes, she pondered if she should call Fox, but decided she didn't want to deal with his unbearable arrogence unless she more to present to him than just a vision. Plus he probably had enough on his plate with taking care of Dana. Reyes smiled. Dana had been sick twice on the drive from the bar to her home and could barely walk. Served Fox right to have to wait on her hand and foot, after the appalling way he behaved while he was sick. She grabbed her car keys and cell phone and drove herself to J. Edgar Hoover Meanwhile 9:40 AM Central Time, 10:40 Eastern Standard Time Ponca, NE Starkweather stood outside the station vehicle, a sad excuse of a van, which desperately needed a tune-up, with bleary eyes and a pondering headache from lack of sleep. She was helping the mid-morning air personality "The Cowboy" set up the equipment for the parade they were in. And The Cowboy really was an old cowboy, with a nice summer gray Stetson hat, Wrangler jeans, cowboy boots and a sunbeaten face with deep wrinkles. Starkweather had been all set to make fun of him, but the kindness in her eyes stopped her. During their ride from Sioux City to Hickville USA, (in Starkweather's opinion anyway) they fell into friendly conversation. He was the last of his breed, he had been on the air ever since he was a young man, when radio, although out of it's infancy, was still new and exciting. When the music and the deejays mattered, not the commercials. "Tell you what," the Cowboy told her in his age-perfected country westernized radio voice, "if you're doin' this for love what you do, go into announcing. If you're doin' this for money, go into marketing, 'cause there's no money in announcing. Sales, advertising, that's where the money is now. But marketing isn't as much fun as announcing is. Not by a long shot." Starkweather smiled on the outside and felt guilty on the inside. He was advising her just as he would any young intern on the thresh of leaving the craziness of college behind and to take that bold step into the real world. He probably told Candelauria Gallimore the same thing, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Because he was a nice person looking out for the other guy. For the second time on the job, she felt bad about the necessary lie she was living. The first time was when Ace stayed with her longer than necessary, just to make sure "she was okay" and to bolster her sagging self-confidence in her on-air performance. <> she wondered as the Cowboy switched gears and started talking about his hobbies. He announced at the smaller rodeos in the Siouxland area. He owned a couple of horses and he was in the middle of a remodeling project in his little farmhouse in the country. His goal in life this year was to snag rock-star seating for the big Hawkeyes vs the Cornhuskers in Iowa City this year. He was a huge Hawkeye fan. (Starkweather grinned at that. Her medical alma mater was in fact, the University of Iowa and she had spent many a weekend at the Hawkeye home game tailgate parties.) Plus, when he didn't have a busy weekend, like he did this weekend, with two remotes today and an early morning remote tomorrow, he liked to take his "lady friend" out to dinner and movie. Nothing special. And what did she like to do when she wasn't being run ragged? "Well..." Starkweather said, thinking for a moment. <> "I play tennis. I like tennis a lot. Um..." She felt like the unprepared kid when asked on the first day of school: 'And what did you do during summer vacation?' 'Nuthin'.' "Let's see..." she stalled, trying to think of things to say that would be true to a single twenty-two year old girl and not a married twenty-eight soon to be twenty-nine woman. "I don't know... school kept me pretty busy" - which wasn't a total lie, since she graduated high school when she was sixteen, did two years of undergrad before she left for the Air Force, finished college and her pre-med studies while in the service for six years, went straight to med school after she leave active duty to go Guard, met Ben, went to Quantico, got married, graduated from Quantico, went to Minneapolis, transfer to DC. Starkweather realized she really didn't have much of a life outside of school and work. "It's pretty sad, really," she finished lamely. "I really don't do much, except work." "Well," the Cowboy said thoughtfully, "as long as you enjoy what you do..." he drove the van to the school where the other floats and classic cars were lining up for the parade. Which was how Starkweather ended up outside trying to hook up stereo equipment. As he easily lifted the speakers on to the roof of the van (his strength was hidden by his lanky frame) the Cowboy told her, "We won't be using the Marti-" <> Starkweather wondered. "-so I'll just be making drops with the cell phone. Can you get up onto the roof alright? I'll be sure to drive slow." "The roof?" Starkweather looked up at the van. <> "Oh, shouldn't be a problem." "Do you want to get in the dog-suit before or after you climb up?" Starkweather closed her eyes in real agony. She had forgotten about the station mascot suit that they required her to wear. It was twenty to ten and the day was already blistering hot. And she was still in the same outfit she had worn to the station last night, a clingy tank top with spaghetti straps, her sandals, her jeans and her gun, still carefully strapped to her ankle. "After." Even though she was dead tired and boiling hot, her analytical brain was going in two directions at once, as always. As she scurried up the van, she listened to the Cowboy's directions on how the mascot "The BIG DAWG" was expected to behave. Meanwhile, she thought desperately: Michaels had an alibi, Ace had an alibi, Reece, the Cowboy, Taran, the sales people, everyone at the station had an alibi and yet Candelauria's murder HAD to be an inside job. It HAD to be committed by some one who knew the station, knew it well enough to hide somewhere until the girl was alone. Also there was the pesky matter of Imogene Autumn Chamberlain to deal with, which only intestified the situation between her and Doggett right now. He had already said he thought she should step down, back off and go back to DC because he believed she hadn't emotionally recovered from the fiasco with Ben and that damn oil rig. How was this situation going to help anything? To show Doggett that her judgement was still trustworthy??? The Cowboy handed her the big brown fuzzy feet of the mascot uniform. Starkweather could have wept. She put on the giant dog feet and stared woefully down, holding out her hands for the rest of the suit. Feeling stupid, she took the doggie shoes off again, put the suit on and put the feet on again. The suit was wool and had a huge fake puppy belly. She didn't know HOW she was getting off so easy, all these humiliating moments and Mulder wasn't around to ridicule her. She wondered if Doggett would, as the saying goes, let the cat out of the bag about the dog suit and Jazzy Star and her stint as a Britney Spears wannabe. She had a sinking feeling the Puppy Man and Spooky were going to go out for beers and trade war stories when they came back to DC. The Cowboy handed her the head of the suit, a giant stupid looking dog head, complete with fuzzy black floppy ears and a big red tongue. "Just stand and wave, that's all you gotta do," the Cowboy said as he stared up at her. "Don'cha got shorts or something? It's gonna get real hot in there." Starkweather was already real hot, but what could she do? She had a FBI ID in her back pocket and a gun strapped to her ankle. It wasn't like she could strip or anything.... A brainstorm hit. Starkweather wriggled around in the suit. The Cowboy watched her, puzzled. Suddenly, a bare arm popped out of the neck of the suit and Starkweather's tank top went sailing. The Cowboy caught it on the fly and stared up again at Starkweather as she put her arms back through the dog suit and popped the head on. "You women do amazing things," he said in awe before he got into the van to join the parade already in progress. Starkweather had many a miserable moments in her past and would have many a miserable moments in the future, but this miserable moment would be the most memorable. If someone would had told her that, in the name of duty, she would be standing on top of a moving vehicle, waving to screaming kids in a dog suit, she would have pointed her finger at them and laughed her butt off. Now, in the miserable August heat that plagues the majority of the Midwest, Starkweather forced her arm to wave as the suit weighed down on her. It reeked something fierce inside the mascot suit as well and Starkweather clamped her lips together so she wouldn't throw up. Fortunately the parade was in a small town, therefore the parade route was short and the van careened merrily away at it's snail's pace off of Main Street and into Residentia. Some kids, playing with a garden hose and Super Soaker water guns, noticed the radio station vehicle putzing towards them. They looked up at the fuzzy brown figure on top of the van. "LOOK, IT'S THE BIG DAWG!!!!" one of the boys, the fat one with a mop top of brown curls, hollered, pointing his water gun at the mascot. The other boys followed suit and began to shoot water at the van and its passengers. Before Starkweather could take evasive action, the Cowboy swerved the van away from the horrendous little urchins so they where out of range of the water guns and hose. He went slow enough that Starkweather did not fall off the van, but he did drive underneath a row of trees... which meant all the branches hit Starkweather in the head as he drove past. Fortunately, she was still wearing the doghead-shaped halmet over her own head so she was not hurt, just scared to death as all of a sudden branches and leaves started coming at her. Doggett... meanwhile, had been following the van as a passenger in the float right behind them, which was a pick- up truck pulling a flatbed wagon filled with hay and Girl Scouts throwing candy to the crowds. He folded his arms across his chest and shook with suppressed laughter as he witnessed the antics ahead of him. The Cowboy backed up the van (causing Starkweather to fall on her gluteus maximus) to glare at the kids and to issue a warning. His normal drawl turned into the Voice of God: "YOU KIDS BETTER KNOCK THAT OFF." The boys quailed, still innocent enough because of their sheltered small town life to be intimidated by adults. "Yes sir," they quivered as the Cowboy took off. When they were away from the wretched boys, the Cowboy pulled over to the side, parked and got out. "You okay up there?" he asked. Starkweather was laying on her stomach, clinging to the luggage rack on top of the roof. "I'm fine," she said in a high unnatural voice, completely terrified. The odd thing was... Starkweather had never been afraid of heights before that incident. Doggett shook his head as he watched the Cowboy help her down. As funny as the entire situation was... and as much fun he planned on having when he shared this, along with her painfully awkward on-air work, with Mulder and Scully... he worried about the case's progress... they were still no closer to finding Candelauria's killer and time was running out.... He was pretty confident Starkweather had her pantyhose in a knot about the case as well. She was one of those people who if she didn't have something to bitch about... she wasn't completely happy.... 12:14 PM Central Time Bob's Bar Martinsville, NE The Cowboy, with much reservations about leaving her alone, dropped her off at Bob's Bar, a tiny hole in the wall pine knot affair. "It's okay, my dad's meeting me from Omaha here." Starkweather lied through her teeth. "We've got family here." "Alright," the Cowboy said, not kosher on the whole idea of leaving a diminutive lady at not such a fine establishment, but she was no child either, so he knew he couldn't force the issue. "Alright then, see you later." The minute the station vehicle disappeared, Doggett stepped out of the car he was crouching down in. "You look like hell," he told her bluntly. "Nice to see you too." She said sweetly, "You know, not all of us get to f art through silk sheets at the Hilton while on assignment." "Let's get somethin' to eat," Doggett let her smart-assed remark sally right over his head. "And talk about this case." "'Kay," Starkweather said and followed him into Bob's Bar. Two dirty looking rednecks were bellied up to the bar. They, along with portly woman tending bar, eyed them suspiciously as they sat down at a corner table as far back as they could get. The cigarette smoke was so heavy it was almost tangible. The floors were dirty, there were no pictures on the wall. There were two pool tables with torn felt in the back, but there wasn't much of a "back" to the bar. One walked into the door, looked to the immediate left and there was the bar and the barstools, to the right, a wall. In front, three or four tables with chairs (all with ripped vinyl) scattered hither and yon and then the two tables directly behind the tables. "Do you take all your partners to such elaborate dining establishments, or am I just lucky?" Starkweather plopped down in her chair. "Well, maybe next time we'll go somewhere nicer if some agents wouldn't max out our FBI credit cards," Doggett drawled back to her. "Cheap shot." The rotund maiden behind the bar squeezed herself out and waddled over to Doggett and Starkweather. She pulled out a grimy pocket notepad and a stub of a pencil. "Wha'cha want?" she asked. "Could we see menus please?" Doggett asked politely. "We got hamburgers, cheeseburgers, fish burgers, fries, cheeseballs and fried mushrooms." "Can I have a salad?" "Starkweather, shut up," Doggett snapped at her. He turned to the surly woman in overalls. "We'll have two cheeseburgers, a side of fries, a side of cheeseballs, two glasses of water and cuppa coffee for the ray of sunshine over there." The lady hesitated. "They're kinda big portions." "We'll take any leftovers with us." When the woman sloughed off, Doggett glared at his partner. "You need to get your act together." "Kiss my ass." Starkweather snapped. She dropped her voice to a whisper, "My act is fine. I'm just fucking tired, sick of this BS, I wanna get this case wrapped up 'cause I want out of this stinky hellhole of a city and I wanna go home." "So," Doggett said, "Let's compare notes and get rolling on this.... Starkweather ran her fingers through her sweaty hair. "Well, you know I've got a big ball of nothing... tell me what you've got?" Doggett crossed his arms. "An interview with Alice Meecham in three days." "About damn time," Starkweather said disgruntled, "but why three? Why not tomorrow? Or today? Or yesterday?" "The woman nearly died in labor." Doggett said. "I practically had to beg the doctor to let me talk to her. She's supposed to be on bed rest." "I dunno..." Starkweather muttered. "Unless Reyes and Mulder come up trumps with something... I'm having trouble connecting this to witchcraft, the occult or anything supernatural..." "Wha'cha got cooking in that big brain of yours?" Starkweather gestured to him to hand her his briefcase. When he put it on the table, she popped it open and took out the autopsy pictures and toxicology reports. "I don't know man... it doesn't make sense. Ever since Mulder told us cause of death was by choking on bodily fluids on not by strangulation... seriously... all of these pictures look like classic case of OD on heroin." "Heroin?" "Ever see the movie 'Pulp Fiction'?" "No." "Oh, I forgot, you live under a rock. Okay, we all know that you're supposed to snort coke and shoot up heroin, right?" "Right." "Okay, well, it's a shame that you never saw the movie because there's a pretty damn realistic scene where a chick snorts heroin and nearly dies. It's quite horrific. And, by just looking at these pictures and reading the reports... all of the victims... sound like they snorted heroin and died from that..." her voice trailed off in doubt. "But the tox came back clean." "That's what doesn't make sense. That and the slime. That's just weird... if it wasn't for the slimy shit, I'd theorize the possibility of a drug ring of a new narcotic that's not detectable in our standard tox exams." "You still think it's an inside job?" "Yes." Starkweather said without hesitation. "The profile I created from information gleaned from all the killings make that crystal clear. Whoever murdered these girls or gave them substances that killed them has exclusive inside knowledge of the station. Someone working there's guilty as sin." "Well," Doggett said. "we agree on that. Problem is... who? Everybody's got an alib- holy crap." Starkweather turned around and her jaw dropped. "Jiminy Christmas..." The waitress, on a giant serving tray had brought out their meals. The hamburgers were the size of the plate and at least a quarter-inch thick. The buns they used to sandwich the meat were ridiculously small, the size of normal hamburger buns. The sides were the same unbelievably large portions. Four people could have lunched off the side of fries and there would still be left overs. The same went for the cheeseballs. "Guess she wasn't kidding about the portions bein' big." Doggett said after the waitress had put the food on their table and scuttled off. "I feel my arteries hardening by just LOOKING at this..." Starkweather said.