REPOST: Trace Evidence 3: Say Goodnight (06/10), Saundra Mitchell
Vampyres Incorporeal
Title: Trace Evidence III: Say Goodnight (06/10)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Feedback: Please!
Rating:R
The Next Day
Utica, New York
Daylight Inn
"I wonder if we're just wasting our
time," Scully said, allowing Mulder to
adjust the straps on her black backpack.
"They destroyed the entire town; what's
going to be left of the base?"
"Probably not much," he admitted.
"But it's the first place I can think of
to start."
Picking up a gas mask from the bed,
she shook it by its nose. "Where did you
get all of this?"
"Frohike. Byers threatened to throw
it out when Langly brought in the second
case, so he passed some off to me."
She nodded, and hung the mask from
her neck. Pulling on a stocking cap, she
carefully tucked her hair under it as
Mulder dug through his last bag. "I
looked at the autopsy pictures."
"Why?"
"I just wanted to see. . . I guess
I wanted to see what you did, to notice
the differences. Except for the tattoo.
. "
"Don't dwell on it," he mumbled.
"It wasn't you."
"But it was supposed to be."
He fixed her in his gaze, nodding
stiffly. "But it wasn't. Here."
Staring at the small black patches
he held in his hand, she stepped back.
"What's that?"
"Magnetic tape," he said, turning
her around and pasting one over her
scar. "In theory, it should neutralize
what you called your liability."
She took the second strip, and
hesitantly laid it on the bridge of her
nose. "I'm. . . I don't like this."
"In or out," he asked. "I'm going
in there, with or without you, but if
you want to stay behind, I'll
understand."
Glancing away, as if the answer
might appear somewhere other than from
within herself, Scully sighed. "I'm in."
Later
Underground
"This smells worse than last time,"
Scully muttered, pushing her way through
the ankle-deep water. Catching sight of
the stairs ahead, she picked up the
pace, eager to be out of the sewers. It
hadn't been as easy to get in this time,
either. The bolts on the manholes had
been soldered shut, leaving them to work
at them with a mostly inefficient hack
saw. When they finally managed to pry it
loose, the fetid air from below did
nothing to encourage their progress.
Now, surrounded by walls weeping god
knew what, her clothes and her gear wet
with the foul condensation, she was
beginning to regret her decision to come
along.
"At least we know where we're
going." Mulder shined his flashlight at
Scully, swirling the beam in playful
circles around her. "So. . . how was
your vacation?"
Rolling her eyes, she slogged
toward her goal of the metal staircase.
"It was fine."
"And how was Maine," he asked
facetiously.
"I don't know. I never made it
there."
His eyes widened and he double
stepped to catch up with her. "You never
made it there? At all?"
She smiled to herself, not looking
back at her partner. She knew he was
dying to know what was going on, and she
wasn't about to give up her secrets just
yet. "Nope."
"You spent four weeks with Munch in
Baltimore?"
"Yep."
"Come on, throw me a bone here,"
Mulder panted, following her up the
stairs, their footsteps clanging wetly
against the pebbled steel. Leaning
against the door, they proceeded to pull
off their boots, doing their best to
ignore the thin skin of film that had
collected on them.
"What's to tell," she asked,
turning around so he could open her
backpack.
As he retrieved a pair of light
loops from her bag, he shrugged. "I
dunno. . . begin at the beginning,
continue through the middle, and end at
the end."
Slipping one of the loops over her
knit hat, she flipped the light on and
leaned forward. "You already know the
beginning and end."
Mulder chuckled to himself as he
dug through her backpack for a few more
of the Lone Gunmen's toys-on-loan. Micro
camera, automatic lock-picks, mini-
electromagnet. For a brief moment, he
felt like James Bond, immediately
followed by an overwhelming sense of
foolishness. "Well, the middle's the
interesting part, right?"
"Considering that video collection
of yours, I sincerely doubt I have
anything of relevance to add."
With a wince, he closed her
backpack, and turned around so she could
open his. "Well, if I had known all it
took was Bartlett's Quotations and a
badge to get you, I'd have bought the
book."
"That's not all it takes," she
said, stuffing their hand lights into
his backpack. She pulled out the small
ring box holding remote transceivers,
and handed one to him. "He also owns a
bar."
"Curses, foiled again."
Sliding the transceiver into her
ear, she took a deep breath. "Ready?"
None of the equipment they brought
was necessary. The entire base was
without electricity, leaving cameras,
alarms and electronic locks useless and
sedentary. Passing through the sprawling
complex, they fingered through leftover
files and trash cans with impunity,
their headlamps bobbing like will o' the
wisps in the darkness.
Scully dumped another waste basket
over, picking through torn candy
wrappers and post-it notes covered in
doodles. "There's nothing here, Mulder."
"Looks that way, doesn't it?"
She sighed, sweeping the garbage
onto the floor without a thought.
"Anything we could have used is long
gone."
Mulder turned in a slow circle,
taking a good look at his surroundings.
There were chairs and desks with clean
spots where monitors used to be. Coax
cable curled along the floor, cut at
either end, suggesting a very hasty
retreat. The walls had long, rectangular
pale patches where file cabinets or
supercomputers once sat, and the floors
bore the scuff marks from their removal.
"Hey, where do you think these go,"
he asked, following the marks. Both
times they'd walked in through the
sewers; they still had no idea where the
front door to the base was.
Walking alongside her partner,
Scully kept an eye out behind them. She
still didn't quite remember what had
happened in the tunnels last time, and
her nerves were on edge. Just in case
Mulder's magnetic tape theory failed,
she kept her hand on her holster instead
of carrying her gun.
They shadowed the trail of the
scuffs through a labyrinth of twists and
turns before finally reaching a dead end
in front of a service elevator. Mulder
considered the closed doors for a
moment, then asked Scully to pull the
crow bar out of his backpack. Forcing
its forked end between the doors, they
pushed the doors apart inch by inch.
Tapping on the floor of the elevator
with his foot, Mulder deemed it safe to
step inside.
"With no electricity. . ." she
started.
"We climb," he finished for her,
pushing the maintenance hatch above them
open. With a soft jump, he grabbed the
edges of the aperture. Swinging to build
momentum, he pulled himself up and on
top of the elevator, then reached back
down to help Scully. A dangerously
rusted ladder ran along the shaft to the
doors above. Mulder pulled on the rungs
to assure himself that it was still
safe, but it wobbled at his touch,
sending down a shower of fine concrete
dust.
"We're going to climb that," she
asked incredulously.
With a game smile, Mulder nodded
and put his foot on the lowest rung.
Hoisting himself up, he climbed
carefully, taking care not to catch his
gloves in the rusting metal. Scully
watched with baited breath as he drew
closer to the top. Stopping, he reached
out and pulled the manual release on the
doors, and they slid open with a
metallic whimper. He disappeared through
them, then peeked his head over the
side.
"Come on," he urged.
Reluctantly, she scrambled up the
ladder and allowed Mulder to pull her
into the corridor. Looking around, she
raised an eyebrow. They walked forward,
up a steep incline toward a pair of
locked doors. Finally able to use some
of Langly's toys, Mulder flipped the
automatic lock picks out of his pocket
and went to work on the deadbolt. When
it unlatched, he opened the doors
slowly. They covered their eyes as
bright, blinding sunlight streamed into
the hall. Using their hands as temporary
shades, they stepped out and found
themselves staring at the remains of New
Berlin. Kicking aside charred wood and
other debris, Mulder tried to place
where they were in the now-extinct town.
The hallway had opened into a building,
they knew that much from the broken
concrete foundation on which they stood.
"I think this was the sheriff's
office," Scully said, picking up a piece
of half-melted metal. Holding it up for
him to see, he recognized the vague
shape of a star.
"We're back to where we started,"
Mulder sighed.
Baltimore, Maryland
Homicide Unit
True to his word, Bayliss had
stopped at the bakery each day on his
way to work and bought a tiramisu.
Swinging the pastry box by its strings,
he wandered into Gee's office. On the
phone, his superior half-smiled when Tim
put the confection on the corner of the
desk. He nodded to Gee, then started to
walk out, but the older man motioned for
him to take a seat.
Hanging up the phone, Giardello
opened the pastry box, inhaling the rich
scent of the dessert. "You said you'd
make them yourself."
"Trust me, Gee, you don't want one
I make myself," Bayliss smiled.
"That was Dr. Rubins. You passed
your physical. Congratulations." He
shook Tim's hand over the desk, then
leaned back in his chair. "I trust you
won't be taking anymore emergency
vacation time?"
"No sir," Tim said, nearly jumping
out of his chair. He'd never been so
eager to look at a corpse in his life.
"So I can take calls?"
"You realize Pembleton's off
today," Gee said subtly. "Munch and Kay
are already out. Lewis and Stivers are
still working the double shooting from
yesterday. Falsone is in court."
Wrinkling his brow, he didn't quite
follow. "Yes sir?"
Giardello stood up, straightening
to his full height. "That means if you
catch a call, you'll be required to work
the case with whomever might be
available when that call comes in."
Tim glanced into the squad room,
which was surprisingly quiet. "Yes sir."
"Even Kellerman," Gee intoned.
"Even Gharty."
Closing his eyes, Bayliss gritted
his teeth sheepishly. "I don't have a
problem with that, Gee."
Giardello smiled, walking Tim to
his door. "Good."
I-95
Leaning back in the passenger side,
Mulder pushed his sunglasses up and
tried to take a nap. Scully was on edge,
but not talking, and he was frustrated.
He knew going back to New Berlin would
be a long shot, but he had expected to
find _something_. Now he didn't know
where to start. Unable to satisfactorily
relax, he decided to bother his partner
instead. He reached over and pinched her
arm softly.
"What," she said, sounding only
mildly irritated.
"What are you thinking?"
She sighed, leaning forward against
the steering wheel to stretch her back.
"I wonder who she was. What kind of life
she had. Why she was in my home, wearing
my things."
"We'll find out," Mulder said
flippantly, as if it were a guarantee.
"Maybe you can have her clothes. We
already know they'd fit."
Glaring over at him, she shook her
head. "I don't find this even remotely
amusing."
He sank in his seat. "We can laugh
about it, or we can cry about it. I'm
sick and tired of crying, Scully."
"What do you have to cry over," she
snapped, tired. "They rarely try to kill
you."
He frowned. "No, but I'm the one
who has to identify the body. Why did
you make me your emergency contact?"
She looked over at him, her face
twisted in confusion. "My family's all
the way on the other side of the
country. You're here. . . it made
sense."
"I think you want me to be there so
I can never forget. If you die, you want
your body to be the last thing I ever
remember of you."
Laughing harshly, she shook her
head. "Your paranoia knows no bounds,
does it Mulder? I'll change my
paperwork, okay? As soon as we get
back."
"To whom," he asked. "Munch?"
Her eyes widened as she took the
exit toward Alexandria. "I don't believe
this. I don't even believe this."
"Believe what?"
"You're jealous."
Her statement broke the tense air
in the car, and it was Mulder's turn to
laugh. "I am not jealous."
"You're jealous." Smiling in spite
of herself, she nodded her head
earnestly. "So how did you and John
meet, huh?"
He turned to look out the window as
a faint blush crawled into his cheeks.
"Let's just say if I had a tattoo, he'd
know where to find it."
Baltimore, Maryland
Homicide Unit
"Yeah, I got it," Tim said, hanging
up the phone. Making sure the address
he'd written down was legible, he looked
up. Across the room, Kellerman sat at
the typewriter, carefully tapping out a
report one letter at a time. He could
see Stu Gharty pouring coffee into a
filter in the break room, cursing under
his breath as the grounds slid through
the soft paper cup and onto the floor.
What a choice, Tim commented to himself.
Setting his jaw, he took a deep breath
and stood.
"We're up, Kellerman," he said as
neutrally as possible.
Mike looked up from the typewriter
in time to see Giardello hovering
ominously in his office doorway.
Shifting his gum from one side of his
mouth to another, Kellerman pushed back
his seat and grabbed his jacket.
"You the primary or am I," he
asked, grabbing a ring of keys from the
board at the side of the room.
"I'll eat it," Bayliss answered,
following the younger man toward the
door.
(End Part Six)