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Cover Art by Deslea
Beneath The Surface
X Files: VCU 1x05
By Lara Means
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. Heck, I don't even own my name. It all belongs to 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVE: Yes to mailing list auto-archives. Anywhere else, please ask.
RATING: PG.
SPOILERS/TIMEFRAME: Set eighteen months after The Truth.
CATEGORY/KEYWORDS: SR, romance, post-series, casefile, XFVCU.
SUMMARY: Doggett and Reyes find themselves in New Orleans on a case with unsettling overtones.
VIRTUAL SERIES SITE: http://xfvcu.deslea.com
AUTHOR SITE: http://larameansxf.tripod.com
FEEDBACK: larameansxf@earthlink.net
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Extreme thanks to Deslea Judd for her hard work on this project, for her patience, and for coming up with such a kick-ass concept in the first place. This is my first casefile, so be gentle. *g*
He hated this city. Everything about it was loud, garish. Over
the top. Even on this most somber of occasions.
Jason Gibney had been a funeral director in Cincinnati for ten
years before his wife's father died and they moved to New
Orleans to take care of her mother. Both he and Anna were
relieved when he landed a job at one of the city's most
prestigious mortuaries -- until he oversaw his first Dixieland
funeral.
It wasn't so much the idea of celebrating the life of the
departed that offended him as it was the way it was done, with
bright music and brighter colors, with dancing and a parade. It
was unseemly.
Today's event was no exception. The family had asked to have
the casket lid removed -- removed! -- and the departed was to be
transported from the funeral home to the cemetery on a
horse-drawn bier, preceded by the de riguer Dixieland band and
followed by dancing loved ones.
But Jason did his job. He had the lady dressed in the
outlandish outfit he'd been given, made sure her hair was styled
just so and her makeup carefully applied. And he was properly
courteous and respectful of the family.
Arriving at the cemetery after the stroll through the
neighborhood caused him more agitation. He understood the
reasons for the way New Orleans' cemeteries were constructed --
the city's below sea level, so burying people really wasn't
practical -- but still, they just didn't look like cemeteries.
Not like the ones in Cincinnati, anyway.
Just inside the cemetery gates, Jason gladly turned the
festivities over to his associate. Laurel Atwood was a native
of the area, and as such was more suited to the celebratory
nature of the event. As he watched the procession move deeper
into the cemetery, weaving among the crypts, he thought about --
not for the first time -- how much he wished his mother-in-law
would hurry up and die so he and Anna could move back to
Cincinnati. Knowing her, though, the old witch would probably
insist on a Dixieland funeral, and he'd be forced to deal with
the whole three-ring circus as a family member.
He sighed and lit a cigarette, leaning against a nearby crypt.
That's when he heard it -- a low sound, almost like a person
crying. Then he realized it was coming from inside the crypt.
Fishing his keys from his pocket, Jason figured it was probably
some high school vandal who somehow got inside and couldn't get
out. "Serves you right," he said to the door as he unlocked it.
But what was inside was no vandal. It was a man -- who was
supposed to be dead.
The casket in the center of the crypt was open, the lid's latch
broken. Its former occupant, whose family name on the door was
Robillard, lay on his side near the door. He was naked from the
waist down, his shirt, jacket and tie dusty and gray.
His clothes were a match for his skin -- mottled, paper-thin.
Decaying.
Jason's cigarette fell from his fingers at the sight. He turned
and ran when the living corpse on the floor reached out to him.
~ X ~
Special Agent Jeffrey Spender moved resolutely from the parking
garage to the elevator, head held high despite the stares from
his fellow agents. As he walked, he heard Diana's voice in his
head, whispering the encouragement she'd given him time and time
again -- 'Let them stare. You have no reason to be ashamed or
embarrassed. You sacrificed so much, Jeffrey. As far as I'm
concerned, you're a hero.'
He didn't feel much like a hero, but he *was* getting less self-
conscious. He even nodded hello to Skinner's assistant when she
passed him in the hall the other day. But there were still days
when he felt like an outsider, even in his own unit.
That was something Monica Reyes seemed determined to combat.
"Again?" he said as he stepped into the basement office and
spotted the open box of Krispy Kremes on the table by the door.
"What is she trying to prove?"
"She wants to be friends, Jeff," Alex Krycek responded, a
teasing smirk on his face. "She brought the raspberry jelly
ones you like."
"And the chocolate iced with sprinkles that *you* like," Spender
pointed out. "What if I don't want to be friends? What if I
just want to do my job and be done with it at the end of the
day?"
"You don't have to eat them, Jeffrey," Brad Follmer said,
watching Spender pluck a raspberry jelly doughnut from the box.
"But I'll warn you, Monica can be relentless when she wants
something. And she wants this unit to work."
"The unit works fine," Spender replied, getting a snort from
Krycek. He glanced to the senior agents' desks. "Where are
they, anyway?"
"Skinner's office," Follmer said. "New case."
Spender nodded and took a bite of his doughnut, tongue darting
out to catch the raspberry filling running down his hand.
~ X ~
Assistant Director Walter Skinner sipped his coffee and studied
the two agents sitting across the desk from him. He couldn't
help but compare them to Mulder and Scully -- the similarities
demanded it. But however much John Doggett and Monica Reyes
resembled their predecessors on the outside -- a skeptic and a
believer falling in love in the basement office -- it was only
cosmetic. Reyes's beliefs weren't as personal or as deeply held
as Mulder's, and her leaps of logic weren't as soundly based.
And Doggett's brand of skepticism didn't have the benefit of a
scientific basis, as Scully's did, so he usually just came off
as stubborn. Still, these two had succeeded on the X-files
beyond his wildest expectations -- maybe it was *because* of
those differences.
"We had a call this morning from a police lieutenant you
apparently worked with in New Orleans," he told Reyes. "A Rene
Delacroix?" He pronounced it 'Delacroy.'
"Delacroix," Monica corrected him gently, using the French
pronunciation she knew Rene preferred. "He wasn't a lieutenant
then, but yes, I consulted on a few of his cases when I was with
the New Orleans field office. I always got the impression he
didn't care much for my ideas."
"Regardless, he's got a case for us, and he's requested your
involvement."
"An X-file?" she asked as Skinner handed her the notes from his
conversation with Delacroix.
"Possibly." Skinner turned to Doggett to explain while Reyes
read the file. "Three people presumed dead have turned up alive
in recent weeks. All three had been entombed in the family
crypt and were discovered to be alive within a few days, two by
grieving relatives and one by a funeral director."
"And he thinks what, this Lieutenant Delacroix?" Doggett used
Skinner's pronunciation.
"He's read the papers, Agent Doggett. He was very familiar with
press accounts of Mulder's...resurrection. And what happened
to Billy Miles."
"He thinks these people have become supersoldiers?" Reyes asked.
"Based on what?"
"On the fact that they were dead and now they're not. Look,
he's...he's scared. Like a lot of people. He's not sure the
supersoldier issue is behind us, and he wants some reassurance
from people who've dealt with them, who know what to look for."
The A.D. looked at Reyes, who glanced at Doggett then nodded.
"Kimberly has your travel arrangements. Your flight leaves in
three hours."
The agents rose as one and headed for the door.
"Agent Reyes?" They both turned around at their superior's
voice. "Thanks for the doughnuts."
Monica smiled as Skinner bit into a sweet Original Glazed.
~ X ~
"What's the deal with you and these doughnuts?" Doggett asked
his partner as they picked up their itineraries from Skinner's
assistant.
Reyes thanked Kim before preceding him into the hallway. "What
do you mean?"
"Come on, Monica, you've been bringing doughnuts to the office
for over a month. Now you're bringing 'em to Skinner. What's
up?"
"Nothing's up. I'm just trying to be nice." She pushed the
'down' button at the elevator, then turned to Doggett. "I'm
going home to pack. There are some files we should take -- "
"Mulder, Billy Miles," he nodded.
"And Teresa Hoese, and any other abductees or supersoldiers we
have files on." It remained unspoken between them -- Gene
Crane, Shannon McMahon, Knowle Rohrer. "And I think it'd be a
good idea to talk to Agent Spender."
"Spender? Not Mulder?"
"No, I'm going to stop by Mulder's on my way home." The
elevator arrived and they got in, pushing buttons for the garage
level and the basement. "But I think Agent Spender may be able
to help us on this too."
"His experiences were totally different from what Mulder and the
others went through. I don't see how he could help."
"John...just talk to him, please?"
He looked at her for a moment, then gave her an affectionate
grin. "Nobody said you have to be social director of the X-
files."
Monica opened her mouth to protest, but closed it again when he
pulled her close and kissed her. It wasn't a quick kiss; they
were still engaged when the elevator stopped at the garage level
and Monica heard a throat being cleared behind her. She stepped
back a little from John, then glanced over her shoulder.
"Hi, Diana."
Diana Fowley tried unsuccessfully to hide her smile as she
stepped into the elevator. "Monica. Agent Doggett."
"Agent Fowley," Doggett muttered, his face turning a little
pink.
Reyes put a hand on the elevator door and stepped out. "I'll be
back in about an hour." Her eyes flickered to Diana, then back
to John. "You'll talk to him?"
Doggett sighed, then nodded. "I'll talk to him."
He was rewarded with a big smile as the elevator doors slid
closed.
~ X ~
Monica could hear the baby crying from the hallway, and began to
wonder if she shouldn't have called first. Before she could
change her mind about talking to him altogether, Mulder opened
the door.
"Monica, hi," he said, surprised.
She took in his slightly disheveled appearance and the
squirming, balling child in his arms. "Looks like I've come at
a bad time. I'm sorry."
"No, no. Come on in." Mulder stepped back to let her inside,
closing the door behind her. "I'm just trying to convince Mr.
Crankypants here that he needs a nap."
William seemed to notice her just then, and launched himself
toward her. "Want Mon'ca!"
Neither adult had a choice in the matter -- William was
transferred from his father's arms to Monica's. His little arms
wound tightly around her neck, hanging on for dear life.
Mulder shrugged sheepishly. "You mind?"
"You kidding? Of course not," she responded, her hand stroking
up and down the little boy's back as she swayed with him.
"I'm gonna get him a glass of water. Can I get you something?"
Monica shook her head, and he went off toward the kitchen. She
made her way to the living room and sat down on the sofa.
William's arms tightened reflexively as she did, and she
murmured into his ear.
"I've got you, it's okay." Settling, she kept rubbing his back
and whispering to him. "Mr. Crankypants, huh? Well, you know
that just because I'm here doesn't mean you don't have to take a
nap." William just snuffled and burrowed deeper into her
shoulder. Monica just smiled and pressed a kiss into his sweaty
hair.
Mulder came back with a sippy cup and a damp washcloth, which
Monica took from him. She nudged William into a sitting
position as Mulder joined them on the sofa. He took hold of his
son's feet as Monica wiped the tears and sweat from the child's
face, his big hands encircling William's ankles, fingertips
making soothing patterns on the backs of his calves. Monica
continued to speak softly to him.
"Why don't you want to take a nap, William? I wish I could take
a nap. But I have to go to New Orleans." Mulder met her eyes
then, understanding.
"Why you hafta go to Norlins?" William asked, and Monica smiled
at his pronunciation. He'd fit right in there.
"For work. Some people there need my help." She finished with
the washcloth and picked up the sippy cup. "Hey, would you like
to go to New Orleans instead of me? Let me stay here and take a
nap?"
William shook his head and took the cup from her, his eyes
drooping already.
"You sure?"
William nodded and leaned against her chest.
"Okay then. Let Daddy put you to bed?"
The child nodded again and held out his arms to his father.
Mulder took him and smiled at Monica, then carried him to his
bedroom.
Alone in the room, Monica stood and wandered over to the mantel,
to the family photos displayed there. Dana and Mulder, Dana and
William, the three of them. None of just Mulder and his son.
"Sorry about that," Mulder said as he came back into the room.
"It's okay," Monica smiled. They returned to the sofa, and
there was a brief pause.
"So. What's in New Orleans?"
Monica took a deep breath. "Three people who were dead...and
who aren't now."
"Wow," he said, stunned. He struggled to find the questions he
needed to ask. "Are they..." he began, then swallowed hard.
"Are they like Billy Miles?"
"We don't know. It's possible that they went through something
similar to what you did. It's also possible they didn't, that
there's something else going on here. But I wanted to give you
a head's up, just in case..." She trailed off, looked away from
him.
"Just in case what?" Mulder asked, putting a hand on her arm.
"Despite the degree, Monica, I'm not a practicing psychologist.
I can't help these people."
"I think you can, simply through the shared experience. Not
many people can say they were dead and then came back."
"I don't like to talk about that time. I don't even like to
think about it." He stood and began to pace, agitated. "Those
first few days, weeks, after I was revived... they were hell.
For me, for Scully, for everybody. Doggett can tell you -- "
"Dana has told me," she said, and Mulder turned to face her.
She could see the pain literally etched on his face, in the form
of the tiny scars on his cheeks that were now standing out in
stark relief. Monica rose and went to him, keeping her
distance, giving him some space. "I can't begin to know what
that was like for you. But I want you to put yourself in the
position of someone going through that experience without your
training, your coping skills."
She held his eyes for a moment, then he looked away. "I can't,
Monica," he said softly. She nodded, gave him a gentle smile.
"Okay. I just wanted to tell you about the case." Changing the
subject, she asked, "Where's Dana this morning?"
"Quantico," he said. "Giving me and William some time alone.
And we saw how well *that* turned out." They shared a smile at
the image that greeted her when she'd arrived. "You were really
good with him. I can see why Scully trusts you so much."
Monica shrugged. "I was there at the beginning," she said --
then mentally kicked herself for reminding him that he missed
his son's birth. "Anyway, I'd better get going, got a plane to
catch. Tell Dana I said hello."
Mulder followed her to the door and opened it for her. She
searched his face for a moment, then left. She was halfway down
the hall when he called out to her.
"Monica?" She turned. "Call if you need me."
She smiled, nodded. "Thank you. I will." Mulder went back
inside, and Monica continued on her way.
~ X ~
Monica crumpled the now-empty pack of complimentary pretzels,
wishing for more complimentary water to counteract the salt.
She glanced at John sitting next to her -- he hadn't touched his
pretzels, or the coffee he'd asked for. He was staring off into
space, preoccupied with something.
"John?" No response. She brushed her hand down his arm and he
jumped slightly. He turned to look at her, questioning. "Hey,"
she said softly. "You were a million miles away." He just
shrugged and looked away again. "John? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said, then added, "I was just thinking." Monica
squeezed his arm and he met her eyes. "About the case. What
if..."
"What if, what?"
"What if it *is* what we've dealt with before? What if these
people are like Billy Miles? You know what that would mean."
She nodded. The plane was crowded; they were both careful to
pitch their voices low. "That it hasn't stopped. But John,
there are so many things that have to fall together for that to
even be a possibility -- "
"I know, but -- I'm just afraid we haven't seen the last of the
supersoldiers, or alien replacements, or whatever the fuck Billy
Miles was."
Monica slipped her hand into his and they laced their fingers
together. "Let's wait until we know more, okay? I don't want
to scare people unnecessarily."
"Including me?" he asked. She smiled at him, brought their
joined hands to her lips and kissed his, then settled her head
on his shoulder. Neither of them moved again until the plane
landed.
~ X ~
Reyes had been able to talk her partner into letting her drive
the rental car while they were in New Orleans, since she'd put
in a couple of years there and knew her way around. On the way
to the police station to meet with Rene, she occasionally
glanced over at him. John was tense, his jaw clenching along
with his fists. She allowed herself a small smile; he was so
obvious when he was jealous.
"So," he said, then cleared his throat. "How well do you know
this Lieutenant Delacroy?"
She shook her head, choosing not to correct him for now. "Just
what I said in Skinner's office. I consulted on a few of his
cases."
Doggett nodded, looked thoughtful. Then he said quietly, "What
kind of a name is Rene for a guy, anyway?" Again, he
mispronounced the name, placing the emphasis on the last
syllable.
Reyes had to suppress a laugh. She should have expected this
reaction from him. One of the main reasons John didn't work
well with Brad was his jealousy over their past relationship.
Using the proper pronunciations, she said, "It's Rene, and it's
Delacroix, and it's French. Since Louisiana was settled by the
French, you'll find lots of French names down here -- people,
places, food..."
"Just don't ask me to eat any escargot and we'll be fine," he
grumbled, and she did laugh then. He looked at her sharply.
"What?"
She just shook her head and signaled a left turn into the
precinct parking lot.
~ X ~
She watched him as they waited for Lieutenant Delacroix, a tiny
smile on her face. He still gave off a bit of a nervous,
'jealous boyfriend' vibe, but he was completely unaware of it.
If she were honest, she would have admitted to a touch of
nervousness herself. She wasn't kidding when she told Skinner
that Delacroix never had much use for her ideas. She still
wondered why he had specifically requested her involvement on
this case.
Monica caught John's eye and smiled, hoping to reassure him that
he had nothing to worry about where Rene Delacroix was
concerned. Just then, a booming baritone sounded out.
"Monnie!"
Cringing at the unwelcome endearment, Reyes turned to greet the
approaching man. If Delacroix had been larger than life before,
the past few years and the promotion to lieutenant had made him
even more so. Tall at six-two and fit, with jet black hair,
glittering blue eyes, with a slight Cajun/French accent, Monica
could certainly understand why most women in the N.O.P.D. -- and
many in the Bureau field office -- found Rene attractive. But,
then as now, there was something about him that set her teeth on
edge.
Reyes plastered a polite smile on her face and held out her hand
as Delacroix approached, but he brushed it aside and drew her
into a loose embrace. She could see Doggett's jaw tighten as
Delacroix kissed both her cheeks then stood back to look at her.
"Damn, you look good, Cher," he said, giving her arm a squeeze
before letting go.
"Thanks, Rene, so do you. Being a lieutenant certainly agrees
with you."
"Can't complain. How's Washington treating you?"
"Good. The work is exciting, challenging."
"Not like the boring old cases we used to throw you, eh? This
one, though -- I surely do appreciate you helping us out on this
one."
"Our pleasure," Doggett said, stepping forward and extending his
hand. "John Doggett. Agent Reyes's partner."
"How do," Delacroix replied, shaking hands. "Would y'all like
some coffee or something?"
"Why don't you just fill us in on the case."
"'Course. Let's go into my office." Delacroix led them through
the police station, and Reyes chanced a glance at her partner.
He didn't meet her gaze.
~ X ~
Delacroix settled himself behind a sizable desk and motioned the
agents to sit as well. He handed them the files and said, "I'm
afraid I do have some rather disturbing news. Since I spoke
with your Assistant Director Skinner this morning, one of these
unfortunate individuals has died." Doggett and Reyes both
looked up from the files. "For real this time."
"You sure?" Doggett asked, barely concealing a smirk.
"This poor man had been in the hospital since being found, and
apparently never recovered from the ordeal. Yes, Agent Doggett,
we're sure. The doctors have checked him over thoroughly. And
since he died in a hospital, an autopsy is required by law."
"We'd like to have our pathologist do that," Reyes said, closing
the file. "Can you arrange to have the body sent to Quantico?"
Delacroix nodded. "And we'd like to talk to the man who found
the most recent victim. The funeral director."
"'Course," Delacroix replied, rising. "I'll drive you."
"That's not necessary," Doggett said, also standing. "Monnie
knows her way around the city."
~ X ~
Monica sat behind the wheel of the rental car, teeth clenched,
steering wheel in a death grip. The passenger door opened and
Doggett got in, putting his cell phone into his coat pocket. "I
told Scully to expect the body, she said she'd get on it first
thing."
She waited until he was buckled up, then started the car. She
gunned the engine, squealed the tires a little pulling out.
"Hey, easy there, Jeff Gordon," Doggett teased. Reyes said
nothing. "You all right?"
She waited until they came to a traffic light, then turned and
pinned him with a glare. "Don't call me Monnie."
Doggett's eyes narrowed. "Your buddy Rene did."
"He did it without permission, too." The light changed and
Reyes guided the car through the late afternoon traffic. "And
you didn't have to be rude."
"When was I rude?" he replied, indignant.
"Dismissing his offer to come with us," she pointed out. "I'm
sure we could use his help at the mortuary."
"You and I are capable of interviewing a witness on our own."
She didn't respond to that. In fact, neither of them said
anything else until they got to the funeral home. Turning off
the car, Reyes turned to him. "I was going to introduce you,
but he didn't give me a chance."
"It's okay, I handled it. Let's go talk to this guy," Doggett
said, getting out of the car without looking at her.
~ X ~
Their interview with Jason Gibney was an exercise in
frustration. The funeral director was polite but distant,
insisting that he knew nothing about the Robillard man or his
circumstances, that all he did was find him.
The agents were about to leave when something occurred to Reyes.
"Mr. Gibney, is it common practice to not embalm a body?"
"It's not *common* practice, no, but it happens."
"How often?"
"I really couldn't say," Gibney said with a shrug. "Often
enough, I suppose."
Reyes pressed him. "Is there a certain type of person who would
request a loved one not be embalmed?"
"I've never noticed a pattern, Agent Reyes. There's no law in
Louisiana that says you *have* to embalm a body, unless you
don't bury it within thirty-six hours. Most people do it
anyway, some choose not to. Is there anything else?"
Doggett caught on to his partner's line of questioning and
picked it up. "Have you conducted any funerals recently where
the body wasn't embalmed?"
A look of horror crossed Gibney's face. "Are you saying...this
could happen again? I could've entombed someone alive?"
"We'd like to take a look at your records, Mr. Gibney," Doggett
said calmly. He and Reyes exchanged a look as Gibney sprinted
back to his office.
~ X ~
After all that, Gibney's records led nowhere. He hadn't
conducted a funeral with an unembalmed body for months, and none
of the victims in this case had been "dead" for more than a week
or ten days.
By the time they were finished with him it was after seven, so
they went back to their motel. Since the Bureau's Work
And Family policy took effect, John and Monica,
like Mulder and Scully, had no more need for the pretext of
separate rooms.
Things were still a bit frosty between them, however. They
didn't say much on the drive back. Monica just said "I'm not
hungry" in response to John's suggestion of dinner. So he went
out in search of food while she did a short yoga routine and
began her nightly meditation. She was still seated on the
floor, eyes closed, her back to the wall, when she heard him
come back.
He fussed around the room for a bit -- hanging up his jacket,
taking food out of bags -- then he sat down at the little table
and waited. After a few moments she opened her eyes to find him
watching her.
"Sorry," he said quietly. Monica shrugged. "I know you said
you weren't hungry, but I brought you something anyway."
"Thanks." She stood and stretched, then joined him at the
table. "What'd you get?"
"In this city? What do you think?" He gave her a grin, which
she returned, and they unwrapped seafood po-boys and styrofoam
cups of red beans and rice. He reached into the bag and held
something else out to her. "Got you a praline." Again, he
mispronounced it, saying 'pray-leen.'
Taking the sweet candy from him, Monica smiled again. "It's
'praw-leen,' and thank you." John smiled back and took a big
bite of his sandwich.
This was how she liked things between them -- easy, comfortable,
affectionate. Caring. Loving. The tension of the last several
hours had begun to wear on her. She had missed this.
They ate in silence for a while, then John said, "You never
asked me if I talked to Agent Spender."
"You said you would. I assumed you did." He met her eyes at
that, and nodded. "What did he say?"
"That we should call him if we need him."
She gave him a grin. "That's what Mulder said."
Another brief lull followed, which again John broke. "While I
was waiting for the food, I called Lieutenant Delacroix." He
made a valiant effort to pronounce the man's name correctly this
time. "He's arranged for us to talk to the two victims, and the
family of the guy who died."
"Good," she said, a little surprised.
"He's also gonna set aside an office in the precinct for us to
use tomorrow, in case we need it."
She was more than a little surprised now. "And *you* called
*him*."
"Yeah," he shrugged, then looked away. "That's not the only
reason I called, though." He paused. "I needed to ask
him...since you weren't speaking to me..."
When he didn't go on, she prodded. "What, John?
"What you were to him, back then. What he was to you." Only
then did he look up at her -- she saw doubt and fear in his
eyes, things she only saw in him when they dealt with personal
issues.
"John, I told you, I was just a consultant."
"He says he asked you out."
"Yes, he did. And I said no." He didn't respond to that.
Exasperated, she started, "John -- "
"He wants you, Monica."
"No."
"Yeah, he does. A man can tell when another man wants what's
his."
Coming from anyone else, that phrase and the emotion behind it
would've bothered her. But from John, it was different. It
meant that she was someone to be cherished, not someone to be
possessed.
"I'm sure by now he's aware that I'm taken."
John shook his head. "No, he isn't."
"Then I'll have to make it clear to him." She stood up and came
around the table, stopping in front of him. "Just like I've
tried to make it clear to you. I don't want Rene Delacroix."
She swung her leg over his and sat in his lap, straddling him.
"And I don't want Brad Follmer." She shifted, draping her arms
over his shoulders, trailing her fingers through his hair. His
hands came to rest on her lower back and he teased the strip of
bare skin he encountered there. She leaned close to him, her
lips millimeters from his. "I only want you." He closed the
gap between them and kissed her, gently at first but with
deepening passion.
When he released her mouth, she whispered, "I love you, John."
His arms tightened around her and he kissed her again.
~ X ~
Interviewing the victims in this case was an exercise in
futility.
The most recent, Michael Robillard, was withdrawn and
unresponsive. He sat in an easy chair and stared, vacant, out
the window. His wife Janine hovered, answering their questions
in an offhand way. It was as if she didn't really care to
discover the why behind her husband's return; she was satisfied
that he was alive, regardless of how or in what condition he
came back to her. When Doggett suggested that Michael might be
better off in a hospital, Janine spat back that that was how the
other man had *really* died. Then she asked them to leave.
The second victim, Gary Carlton, was entirely different. At 36,
he was older than either Robillard or the other man, Tom
Davenport, and apparently came out of his "death" with a renewed
appreciation for life. He was very active, bustling around his
apartment and eager to share his experience with the agents.
When he reluctantly let them go, he pressed some religious
pamphlets into their hands, proclaiming himself as a modern-day
Messiah.
Tom Davenport had been found first, two weeks ago, after being
"dead" for eight days. Like Robillard, he'd been listless and
detached. His parents had put him in the hospital, where he
continued to waste away. He seemed to rally a few days ago,
becoming more active and vocal but still lingering on the edge
of consciousness. His mother mentioned to Reyes that he said
something about someone named Carlotta, but she didn't know who
that was. Then he simply died.
Regrouping back at the precinct in the office Delacroix had
provided them, Doggett and Reyes studied the files with a
growing sense of frustration. A phone call from Scully only
added to it -- the autopsy showed that Tom Davenport had no
implants, no metals or metallic substances in his body. In
fact, she told them, she could find no cause of death other than
simple heart failure.
"That fits," Doggett said after Scully hung up. "His mother
said he hadn't been sick before he supposedly died the first
time."
"Same with the other two," Reyes agreed.
The agents shared a look. "This isn't like the others," Doggett
said.
Reyes shook her head. "None of them ever went missing, like
Mulder or Billy Miles. And there's no record of military
service, like Shannon McMahon or Knowle Rohrer."
"I wondered why I hadn't heard from Shannon on this one." He
pulled one file from the trio. "I think we can cross that Gary
Carlton off our list, though."
"Why's that, Agent Doggett?" Delacroix asked, bringing them
coffee. Doggett handed him one of Carlton's pamphlets. Reading
it over, Delacroix laughed and nodded. "Snake-oil salesman."
"Big time," Doggett agreed.
Both men looked at Reyes, who sat at the table with Robillard's
and Davenport's files open in front of her. She didn't stay
anything, didn't even reach for coffee. After a long moment,
Delacroix spoke up.
"What are you thinking, Monnie?"
At that, Reyes looked at him. "Rene, have I ever told you how
much I hate being called that?"
"You -- I'm sorry, Cher," Delacroix replied, flustered. "I
didn't mean anything by it, I just -- "
"It's Monica, or Agent Reyes. Please." She smiled a bit to
soften the blow, and he nodded. She turned back to the files.
"First of all, John and I agree that this is not what we've
encountered before."
"So it's not that supersoldier thing," Delacroix said, relieved.
"Not at all. But something's not right here. Why these two
people, in all of New Orleans? I think we need to do a complete
victimology on them. There's got to be some connection between
them. And I'm a little surprised that no one's mentioned voodoo
before now."
Delacroix laughed. "Cher, no one's mentioned voodoo in this
office since you left town."
"I think we ought to mention it now." This came from Doggett,
which was a surprise to his partner. He turned to her to
explain. "Mulder and Scully had a case, way back when,
involving voodoo and Haitian refugees at a detention center, and
some people supposedly being buried alive. Now, that was
Haitians and this is, I don't know, Cajuns or whatever. But
still -- "
"It's worth considering," Reyes said with a smile. She reached
out and took his hand. "That's good, John."
He gave her hand a squeeze before turning to a surprised
Delacroix. "You got some markers for this white board?"
~ X ~
Several hours later, the white board was filled with the details
of Michael Robillard's and Tom Davenport's lives. Where they
worked, where they shopped, where they socialized. Who their
friends were, who their enemies were. How much money they made,
how much they owed.
That's where they hit paydirt.
Both men were heavily in debt to a loan shark named Carlotta
Guillaume. Her Creole background included an interest in
mysticism and obscure religious practices -- voodoo wasn't much
of a stretch.
Carlotta Guillaume lived in the French Quarter, an expensive
neighborhood which confirmed to the agents that loan sharking
was a lucrative business. She didn't fit their preconceptions
of what a loan shark looked like -- a woman, to begin with, in
her thirties, tall and thin, with caramel-colored skin and
blonde-highlighted hair in long narrow braids. She admitted
them readily, and seemed to speak openly about the two men and
her relationship to them.
"Yes, I have done business with Monsieur Robillard, and with
Monsieur Davenport," Carlotta said. She spoke with a heavy
accent that Reyes had trouble identifying, finally concluding
that it was a combination of Creole, Cajun and some island
dialect. "They both owe me a great deal of money, in fact."
"Well, Mr. Davenport's dead, so I guess you'll have to write
that one off," Doggett pointed out.
Carlotta shrugged. "The debt survives, Agent, so the next-of-
kin are responsible."
"As an illegal loan shark, Ms. Guillaume, I doubt you can file a
legitimate claim with the probate court."
"You'd be surprised what I can do."
"No, I don't think we would," Reyes spoke up. She'd been
exploring the room, stopping in a dimly lit corner where a few
candles flickered. "Do you practice voodoo, Carlotta?"
The woman smiled. "You think because they owe me money I put
the gris-gris on them? Now, why would I do that?"
"To scare them, or their families. That's a loan shark's main
weapon, isn't it? Fear?" Doggett responded.
"Financial consultant," Carlotta said, miffed. "You keep
calling me a loan shark, Agent Doggett. I'm a financial
consultant."
"Right," Doggett replied. "Could we see your records -- your
financial consulting records -- pertaining to Mr. Robillard and
Mr. Davenport?"
Her eyes narrowed. "Technically, I believe you need a court
order or a subpoena."
"We could do that," Reyes said, joining Doggett on the sofa.
"But that could take hours, and we'd have to wait here until the
police could send someone over with the paperwork..."
"It'd be quicker if you'd just cooperate," Doggett added with a
small smile. Carlotta looked between the two agents, her mouth
tight, then got up and left the room.
"You see anything interesting?" Doggett asked his partner,
keeping his voice low.
Reyes shook her head. "Nothing. I mean," she indicated the
dark corner, "that looks like a shrine of some sort, but there's
nothing there to -- "
She broke off as Carlotta came back, carrying two file folders
which she handed to Reyes. The agent stood and moved away, back
toward the dark corner, as she looked through the papers.
Touching the papers inside, Monica instantly felt a tingling
sensation in her fingers. After a few seconds, the tingling
became a burning. Then the papers in her hand seemed to blur
before her eyes, and it became hard to breathe. Monica turned
to her partner. "John..." she said, or thought she said. She
couldn't be sure -- her tongue and throat had gone numb. She
closed the file folder and hung on to it tightly, took a step
forward.
Doggett leaped up as Reyes fell.
"What did you do to her?" he shouted at Carlotta. Kneeling next
to his partner, he picked up her hand. "Monica? Monica, talk
to me."
Monica's eyes rolled back as a seizure took hold of her.
Doggett pulled his weapon and his cell phone simultaneously.
"Don't you move," he said to Carlotta, who merely sat and
watched, a tiny smile on her lips.
~ X ~
The Quarter didn't usually see this kind of excitement except
during Mardi Gras -- three N.O.P.D. marked cars, plus
Delacroix's unmarked car, plus a fire truck and an ambulance.
Doggett stood with Carlotta Guillaume at one of the patrol cars,
the file folder Reyes had been holding now sealed in an evidence
bag and marked with a "hazardous material" sticker.
Finally getting what he needed, he handed her off to a uniform
and rushed to the ambulance, where Monica, strapped to a gurney
and wearing an oxygen mask, was being loaded in. He climbed
into the back with her.
"Suspect says it's some kind of toxic plant called monkshood.
Causes extreme paralysis," he told the paramedics, one of whom
relayed that information to the hospital. "It was on the paper
she was handling."
"Which hand?" a paramedic asked.
"Both, I think." The paramedic nodded, then put plastic bags
over both of Monica's hands.
John leaned forward, closer to her, and smoothed her hair off
her face. "Monica? You're gonna be okay, darlin'. We're on
our way to the hospital right now. You're gonna be okay."
Out of Doggett's line of sight, the paramedics exchanged a look
which said that her being okay was far from certain.
~ X ~
"John, I'm fine. The doctor released me from the hospital,
remember?"
"I just don't think you should be coming back to work so soon,"
Doggett told his partner as they walked through the parking
garage at the Hoover Building. "You were poisoned, Monica."
"But I got better," Reyes pointed out.
"Carlotta Guillaume was still charged with attempted murder of a
federal agent," Doggett reminded her.
"Okay, okay. I'll only stay till lunchtime. Satisfied?" she
asked as the elevator arrived.
He pushed the button for the basement. "Guess I'll have to be."
Monica tugged on his lapels, pulling him close. "You could come
home with me, in case I need anything."
John smiled and covered her hands with his own. "Last time we
were kissing in the elevator, we got caught." Just then the
elevator doors opened on the basement hallway, and he pulled
away. "After you."
"Party pooper," she tossed over her shoulder, preceding him down
the hall toward their office. Doggett just smiled, watching her
move.
Four pairs of eyes looked up as they entered the office. Monica
smiled. "Hi, everyone."
"Welcome back," Diana Fowley said, coming forward and giving
Reyes a brief hug.
"It's good to be back."
"We're glad you're all right," Brad Follmer said, staying at his
desk and glancing at Doggett. "We were, all of us, very
concerned when Agent Doggett told us what happened."
"That woman really used voodoo to control people who owed her
money?" Alex Krycek asked.
Reyes nodded. "Turning them into zombies was a relatively new
wrinkle, but apparently she'd been casting spells and curses for
years." Doggett cleared his throat, and she grinned at him.
"Of course, John doesn't believe a word of it."
"I believe she's responsible for what happened to those people,
and for the *real* death of one man," he responded, a little
defensive. He spotted a box on the table near the door. "Hey,
who brought doughnuts?"
"Um... I did," Jeffrey Spender said. Follmer shot him a look
and a raised eyebrow. "Well, *we* did. Brad and I. We figured
it wasn't fair for you to be the one to bring them all the time,
so we thought we'd take turns." Spender glanced at Krycek and
Diana.
"Alex and and I'll take next week," Diana said. Krycek grunted,
and Diana let her nails sink into his good shoulder. "You and
Agent Doggett can take the week after that." She smiled at
Reyes. "If that works for you."
Monica nodded as John handed her a doughnut. "Chocolate iced
creme-filled. Your favorite." He leaned in close and
whispered, "Ms. Social Director."
She smiled at him, at the team. That's what they were finally
starting to become. There were still problems -- Krycek, Brad,
John's attitude toward them both -- but they were trying.
She took a big bite of her doughnut, tongue lapping at the rich
cream filling squirting out onto her hand.
END
Pertinent links:
Krispy Kreme Doughnuts --
http://www.krispykreme.com
The Tiffany's of doughnuts. Three locations in the greater Washington area, and maybe one near you!
New Orleans cemeteries --
http://www.newlorleansvenue.com/cemeteries.html,
http://www.atneworleans.com/body/cemeteries.htm,
lots of other sites (just Google). Explore the Cities of the Dead.
Information on monkshood (aka wolfbane) taken from "Deadly Doses: A Writer's Guide to Poisons" by Serita Deborah Stevens with Anne Klarner. Part of The Howdunit Series, published by Writer's Digest Books.
Join the post-episode discussion here, or feedback the author here.
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EPISODES
1x01 Midnight In The Firing Line by Deslea R. Judd
1x02 Exposition by Maidenjedi
1x03 Salve Mea by Humbuggie
1x04 Catacomb by Deslea R. Judd
1x05 Beneath The Surface by Lara Means
1x06 Skyland by Eodrakken Quicksilver
1x07 Prism by the XFVCU team
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