VIII

9:25 A.M., Alexandria

Scully turned the Lexus right at the corner of Fayette Street onto the 800 block
of Pendleton. Twitched a dim smile as memory's vista of broken glass and rotted
siding was confounded by a snug line of clabbered painted ladies. Hers was
second on the right--deep green with a salvaged
stained-glass transom window, cream cookie-cutter trim, and a gaslight lamp
standing sentry.
The gaslight was expensive, but Scully needed it. A sepia-toned carte de
visite at the Lyceum remembered her house's past: warm spring Sunday,
war-innocent children born after daddy folded up the butternut brown, the blur
of a Collie's tail wagging through a long exposure, and a gaslight lamp. Spider
Spencerian across the image's reverse--"Abby, Lilly, and Sean. May 11th '68."
Scully wanted that day.
And another, too. The day the yuppie consortium closed on the entire block. A
mid-July lunch hour and Mulder sweating in his shirt sleeves,
side-stepping used syringes on broken sidewalk to ponder the ruin. Said he hoped
she wasn't borrowing against her pension on his account.
"You're a good part of the reason." Sun glasses hid her eyes and it had
been safe to be honest. "I want to live closer to you. I have to live
closer. When you need me I can be there in five minutes instead of an
hour."
An bemused smile on Mulder's face. "But less than a mile? Hegel's only
eight blocks away. You are going to be so over me so quick, Mommy."
"I'm not going anywhere, Mulder."
"Everyone goes somewhere, Scully. It's the fundamental dynamic of
life--movement, change, translation of energy from one form to another. You
can't stop yourself from drif--"
"Mulder." Staid voice but a hand reached out impetuously. Watched him look at
her and nod, then let his fingers briefly mingle with hers. Released and walked
away....
Scully twisted the leather-wrapped wheel to swing the car down her private drive
to the concrete pad in the backyard. Wind blew, sent the furthermost limbs of
the neighbor's ancient oak fingering her upstairs bedroom window.
She pushed open the car door, stood and stretched, stared up at scratching
branches that'd scared her shitless on that first night--sent her scrambling for
the gun under her pillow. Almost shot up the wallpaper like a goddamned idiot.
Scully shoved the car door shut with her hip. She knew she had to ask her
neighbor--"Don the blond," Mulder called him--to cut the branches back. Had to
make up a convincing lie or a secret block meeting would follow with a rep from
Century 21 discussing "Neighborhood Lunatics vs. Equity Potential."
Scully yanked open the rear door and reached for her briefcase. Trudged the
brick path to the front of the house, lugging her Powerbook in its sleek black
case, wind pushing her sideways, yoked by the straps of her purse and square
rigger. She step, step, stepped up onto the stoop, leaned to slide the key in
the lock. Then "Sonofabitch" as her purse strap slipped from her shoulder and
jarred her hand.
The heavy key ring clattered off the soft toe of her shoe. Sighing, Scully bent
to grab the fob with fingertips smarting from December cold, tried again. There
were whines and barks and she grimaced at the slash of nails on the opposite
side of hardwood. When Scully pushed the brass knob away from her, a tiny orange
dog dashed outside between her legs to pee in the winter-dead grass.
"Make it fast, Queequeg," she ordered, stepping on envelopes buckshot
through the mail slot by the postman. With a groan and a hand pressed to
her lower back, Scully bent to set her baggage down on the vestibule settle and
to collect the electric bill, a Publisher's Clearing House notification that she
was a definite winner, and an offer for yet another pre-approved Gold
Mastercard. Behind her, the Pomeranian barked and growled. "Queequeg,get in
here. No walkies right now."
Scully tossed the mail onto the settle and turned, hair ruffled and
coattails flapped by an ice-breeze that coursed through the vestibule and into
the hallway beyond.
Solid cold slipping into her house.
The defiant stance of teeny legs and the righteous glisten of black button eyes
made Dana Scully shake her head and grunt a laugh. "Come on. Get back in here
and you can have a cookie." The little dog gave a back-talk yip and took off
down the street and around the corner. "Queequeg--come here right now!"
Scowling, Scully started after--jogged down the porch steps to cut across her
postage-stamp yard, jumped over a ankle-high, new hedgerow on the property line
between her house and Don's. Long strides with short legs and she yanked her
cell phone from her coat pocket, flipped it open, and dialed.
Ring. Ring. C'mon. C'mon...."Ops two. Hill here." The low alto was flat, bored.
"Tina? It's Dana. Where's Vanderbilt?" She rounded the bend onto Fayette
Street, saw Queequeg trotting down the sidewalk. The dog glanced over his
shoulder at Scully, then pattered on faster.
"Hey, what do you know--you're not the America's Most Wanted hotline
center!"
"Where's Andy?"
"Skinner made him go home. He was about to drop. Where are you?"
Little dark shapes on the ground. "I'm--ah!" She twisted and misstepped.
Hissed into the mouthpiece.
"So? Quetzatcoatl got your tongue?"
"Sorry. Someone isn't following the block covenants. I almost stepped in
the evidence."
"Where are you?"
"I'm at home."
Heard Hill's tone flicker suspicious. "I hear traffic."
Scully sighed. "Yes, Tina. Yes, you do. I'm chasing my goddamned dog down
Fayette Street. Anything to tell me?"
"Yeah, but it ain't great shakes," the husky voice faded and crackled as
Scully passed beneath a power line. "We tracked the Parsons Family to
Disney. They've been there a week and don't have a clue what we're talking
about."
Scully eyed the pumpkin-colored fugitive as he trotted the route of his
regular constitutional. Then Queequeg made his break--deviated down the
alley between fenced backyards. Scully pursed her mouth and pumped her legs
faster.
"The techs dusted the car for prints and tested for Mulder's blood," Tina
continued. "Looked for hair and fiber--blah, blah, blah. Do I need to tell
you they didn't find anything?"
"It's not the car." She gritted her teeth as her open coat was caught by
another gust and blown back like a sail, slowing her stride. "Someone stole the
plates off it."
"Uh-huh. But it's the same make and model year. Danny says there are over
eighteen-thousand around here that might be the one we're looking for. Andy
sent out some of the juniors to hunt down owners with records--even parking
tickets. There's about fifty of them."
"That's going to be a bust. Bet he learned that trick to smokescreen
Hoover."
A laugh from Tina Hill. "No, we're even smarter than your average bears.
We'd be running stats on the Bureau's victim find rate since
Nineteen-twenty."
Queequeg paused to sniff a fence post. Tactical error. Scully
tip-toe-tip-toed up and seized the Pomeranian around the furry middle,
balancing the cell phone between her ear and shoulder and Hill was still
chuckling. Queequeg yipped, wriggled, and scratched, nearly regaining
freedom before Scully locked him under her arm in a football hold.
"Nabbed him?"
"Yeah, I caught him," Scully straightened up. "Go on, Tina. What else?"
"Well, Nobody's seen Kolchak in Key West....Mulder in Key West."
"I've heard him called worse, Jeff. Usually with the suffix SOB," she
huffed as Queequeg gnawed on her hands and wiggled wormlike. "So, what's my
nickname of the hour? Everybody tired of Disappearing Dana?"
"Oh yeah. It's the Bride of Mulder now." Knot-lipped silence as a dog mouth
nibbled Scully's chin, then growled into the mouthpiece. "Hey, you asked me,
Mutt."
"The mutt was Queequeg." She began her march back up the alley to the
Fayette Street sidewalk. "Go on."
"Not much more to say. The RAs checked out Gulf Breeze, too. Didn't find
Mulder or any other anomaly."
Tired eyes looked off above the roofline to steel-gray sky as Scully turned the
corner and walked toward her home. She hadn't really expected a
breakthrough--Ever-smiling Anderson would have called right away.
"Okay, Jeff." She climbed the three steps up, walked across the porch to
her door, shoved it open with her shoulder and pushed it shut with her ass.
Dumped Queequeg on the entrance hall's antique Turkish runner.
"Sorry, Dana."
"No. It's okay." Blue eyes closed. The dog's nails clicked the bare wood
floor of the dining room, then, more faintly, across the kitchen's
linoleum. "I'm going to get cleaned up and do some research online. I found a
few things at Mulder's apartment. I'm trying to string it together right now.
I'll brief you all later if it pans out."
"Kay-oh. I'll call if anything new comes up here."
"Bye." Heart thumping bitter, Scully lifted her lids to stalk to the living
room, pulled off her coat and threw it on the sofa. She flung the cell phone
down and watched it bounce on the striped cushion--stared at the damned thing,
willing Mulder to prove telepathy was real and call right now. Finally gave up
and mesmerized her legs to carry her upstairs to the shower.</P>
-Lisby
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"I've got twelve disciples and a Buddah smile
The Garden of Allah--Viking Valhalla
A miracle once in awhile..." --Rush, "Totem"
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