REPOST: Trace Evidence Coda: Penance and Lamentation (3/3) Saundra Mitchell (S/CRA
Vampyres Incorporeal
Title: Trace Evidence Coda: Penance
and Lamentation (3/3)
Author: Saundra Mitchell
E-Mail: v...@netdirect.net
Rating: PG-13
Afternoon
Homicide Unit
Tim greeted Munch at the door,
waving a few sheets of thin fax
paper. "Bachelorette party. They
signed up for the mailing list."
Taking the papers from Tim,
Munch scanned them. "Baltimore. How
convenient."
"I'm not so sure that's right
though," Tim hemmed. "I mean, she was
blowing out a candle- that's a
birthday, not a bachelorette party."
Munch shrugged. "One day you
will come to realize one very
important fact, Tim. The mysteries of
women are far and wide, explaining
them is not only impossible but
downright blasphemous. You still want
to help?"
"Yep."
4237 Edgar Allen Poe Drive
Walking up the steps, Bayliss
paused to consider his questions.
Once he was satisfied with his
planned path, he knocked. A few
moments later, an attractive woman in
her early thirties opened the door,
dressed in spandex exercise clothing.
An appreciative smile rose to her
lips when she saw Tim, and she tilted
her head to look up at him.
"May I help you?"
He showed her his badge. "I'm
Detective Bayliss. Are you Rachel
Keane?"
She nodded, examining the badge.
"Is something wrong?"
"Well, that depends," he said
softly, pulling a clean copy of the
party picture from his pocket. "Do
you know this woman?"
Sagging a little, Rachel stared
at the picture. "That's Kathie
Hartmann. Have you found her? Is she
okay?"
Tim tried to keep his face calm.
He hated this part the most. "I'm
sorry . . . "
Washington, D.C.
Homicide Unit
"Hey Don, you got a call from a
Detective Munch, says he identified
your Jane Doe!"
Later
Baltimore, Maryland
Homicide Unit
Munch had done his best to make
the box seem more like a quiet place
to chat than an interrogation room.
He'd pushed the table against the
wall, and arranged the chairs in a
small circle. Now he and Don Hedbor
from Washington homicide sat quietly,
listening to Tom Hartmann's story.
His wife, the woman with Scully's
face, had disappeared two weeks
before, taking nothing, leaving only
a note to explain she might be back.
He admitted to being a little
relieved- their marriage had not gone
at all as planned.
When they'd met the previous
year, she was waitressing at a little
coffee shop on the north side, and he
was absolutely smitten by her rolling
sense of humor and lovely face. He
asked her out, and they started
dating. She refused to talk about her
life before she met him, saying that
she believed in living in present
tense, and he found that freedom from
the past exciting. He asked her to
marry him, and she agreed.
After only two months of wedded
bliss, she'd started exhibiting what
he called signs of mental illness;
she locked herself in the bathroom
and sobbed for hours at a time, or
would call him late at night from a
pay phone because she'd forgotten her
way home. When he suggested therapy,
she'd close up, refusing to speak to
him.
Other times, it was blinding
migraine headaches and nosebleeds so
intense that they had to throw away
an entire set of badly stained
pillows. He didn't know what to do
with this strange woman, so different
from the lively, exciting one he'd
married. She said her parents were
dead, she had no family but him, so
the responsibility for her
deteriorating mental state was his
problem alone.
She constantly threatened to
leave, saying she had a purpose to
fulfill, but never saying what that
purpose was. Several times, he'd even
helped pack her bags. When she
finally did walk out on him, he
didn't think to file a missing
person's report. He figured he'd
eventually get divorce papers in the
mail, sign them, then move on with
his life. Now he felt guilty and
torn; he still loved her despite the
stranger she'd become, and now she
was dead, murdered.
"Do I have to identify her
body," Tom asked numbly at the end.
Munch shook his head. "She's
already been buried. Detective Hedbor
will get you the address of the
cemetery."
He shook his head. "Is it nice?
The cemetery, I mean? She wasn't just
dumped in some potter's field,
right?"
"No," Don answered. "She was
mistaken for someone else at the
beginning, and her family paid for
the funeral and plot. It's a very
nice cemetery."
"I'm . . . I want to go home
now. I don't need the address. I'd
rather just . . . remember her."
Night
The Admiral Fell Inn
John held Scully in his arms as
he told her Kathie Hartmann's story.
He glossed over the details of her
mental illness, telling only enough
that she'd understand that something
was terribly wrong. Scully nodded
along, filling in the pieces on her
own. Somehow, the government had
created a new version of herself, an
experiment, and that experiment had
gone awry. She suspected that Kathie
had lived in the present tense
because that was all she had. Born in
a laboratory, with methods unknown to
public science, the government had
managed to skip the Emily stage all
together.
"So she was happy . . . until
the end, she was happy," Scully said
softly, leaning her head back to look
at John with watery eyes. He nodded,
kissing her forehead. "How did you
find out so fast?"
Munch paused. Bayliss had asked
him not to share any of his
participation in their little
venture, but he hadn't given a
reason. Quickly covering for his
momentarily silence, he smiled
quirkily at her. "I am a master
detective, my dear. No clue escapes
my notice. No stone remains unturned.
Frankly, I'm disappointed that it
took me so long. I should have had
this all wrapped up last night."
"I have to go back to Washington
in the morning for a hearing but if
you want, you can stay the night."
She smiled softly. "Ugly bedspread
notwithstanding."
He looked up at the ceiling.
"Are you here with me because you
want to be here with me, or are you
here because you have nowhere else to
go?"
Stung, she pulled herself out of
his arms and turned to face him. "How
could you ask me that?"
"It's just a question, Dana. I
know you're hurt and confused, but I
don't want to be your default. I
don't want to be Mr. Right Now."
Cupping his face in her hands,
she leaned forward and kissed him
softly. Drawing back, she forced him
to look her in the eyes. "You're not
my default."
9.00 a.m.
J. Edgar Hoover Building
Conference Room Seven
When she opened the door, she
was surprised to see only Skinner
sitting at the long table. Walking
in, she looked at him expectantly.
"Am I early?"
Skinner shook his head. "Have a
seat."
Sitting across from him, she
leaned forward. "I don't understand .
. "
"I'd like to know why you
requested a transfer," he said
briskly, folding his hands on the
table. "You gave no explanation."
She frowned. "I feel that my
useful participation in the x files
has come to an end."
"That's all?" He regarded her
with a cool gaze.
"Yes sir."
He shook his head. "I know
something's going on, Agent Scully. I
don't know what it is, but if you
have a complaint with the x files or
Agent Mulder, I want to hear about it
now."
Pursing her lips, she sat up a
little straighter. "There's no
complaint, sir." She didn't care that
it was a lie- Mulder may have
betrayed her, but she wasn't going to
shut down the only thing he had left.
Skinner pulled off his glasses
and rubbed the bridge of his nose in
frustration. "I asked Agent Mulder to
be here today, but he declined.
Therefore, I can only assume that
this stems from a personality
conflict. I expect you to work it
out."
Scully tried to catch her
breath. "Sir . . . "
He stood up. "Your request for
transfer is denied."
(End Part Three)
(The End)
Sandra Fernandez
Saundra Mitchell,
This story series has turned out to be soooo good. I won't even bother
to comment on what I liked and what I liked more. I just had to let you
know that I am anxiously awaiting the next installment [assuming that
there will be a next installment].
your fan, sandra fernandez
Vampyres Incorporeal
In article <358E75AE...@bayou.uh.edu>, sfern...@uh.edu gasped with their last breath
Thank you, Sandra *blush* I'm sure at some point in the future, there
will be a follow up trilogy; I'm just too tired and burned out to
write it right now. :)
*aw shucking it all the way home*
Saundra
v...@netdirect.net