Title: Gutless (9/16) Author: Magdeleine See Prologue for full headers; all posted chapters can be found at http://shannono.simplenet.com/gutless GUTLESS Chapter 9 Taymor's Staffing Service 9:13 AM Almost all the buildings in Tehtonka's one-street "downtown" were boxy limestone affairs the color of dry coffee creamer. Most had faded signs and dated merchandise, but there had been some effort put into revamping several of the buildings; snappy canvas awnings and brightly colored plastic signs stood out strangely against the worn stone. It struck Scully as vaguely tacky and embarrassing, like a wrinkled grandmother appearing at a wedding with flaming red lipstick and a clown's-spot of rouge on each withered cheek. Taymor's Staffing Service occupied a building catty-corner from the only gas station in town and directly across Main Street from a mostly deserted parking lot. There were twelve diagonal parking slots along the street in front of the building; only one was occupied. Scully parked the rental car six slots away. "Protecting the paint job?" Mulder asked as she threw the Crown Vic into park. She rolled her eyes and got out of the car. The building had previously housed some sort of department store or clothing boutique; a name -- "Smitty's" -- had been etched into a large limestone block over the front door, centered in one leg of an 'L' of display windows lined with chipped, cracked green tiles. The display area inside was square and raised about half a foot, like a stage. Twenty years ago, it might have been populated with mannequins; today, the space was a receptionist's area, the only concession to privacy a waist-high set of faded red curtains strung along the windows. Inside, the unoccupied reception area was flooded with file folders of every conceivable color. A huge pile of unopened mail teetered perilously in the receptionist's in-box. So many drawers of the numerous file cabinets were open that Scully expected them to tip over at any moment. Not that she gave a damn. Scully was feeling restless. Her neck ached, her feet hurt, and she was slightly nauseous from all the coffee. There was a fuzziness in her mind, like white cotton or white noise. Maybe this was a second wind, but it didn't seem worth it. The exhaustion was still out there, merely suspended for the moment like an anvil over a cartoon character's head; she had the vague feeling that if she looked up and consciously noticed it, the whole thing would crash down on her and knock her flat. She stood still, instead, and suppressed the urge to shift from foot to foot. "Hello?" Mulder called, his voice pitched to carry. It echoed in the empty room. A sleek dark head popped up from behind the receptionist's desk, narrowed eyes glaring suspiciously at Mulder and Scully. A teenage girl. Smooth, stylish haircut, slightly too much makeup lining her green eyes. She unfolded from her crouched position like a cat, dark clothes clinging to a dangerous figure. The six-inch height difference between the regular floor and the reception area made her seem to loom like a giant as she leaned forward over the desk, balancing lightly on fingers spread like claws. "Yes?" the girl sneered in that impatient tone of voice that teenagers habitually use on doddering fools past the age of twenty-five. Scully felt a white flash of irritation well up like stomach acid. Scully snapped her ID up and open, Mulder following suit half a beat behind her. "We're from the FBI," she said, icy cool and mentally daring the kid to piss her off. "We're looking for Jim Taymor." "Why?" the girl asked belligerently, without hesitation. "He hasn't done anything." Scully's eyes narrowed, sizing this kid up and not bothering to conceal it. "We're not saying he has," she snapped. "We just need to ask him a few questions." The girl's expression hardened into a stubborn mask. The face was familiar, somehow, and the expression was familiar too, but the white noise in the back of Scully's head was too loud for her to pin down the reference. "He's busy," the girl informed Scully, her eyebrows lowering into a dark scowl. Scully mirrored the expression, and spoke with ice-chip enunciation. "Maybe you should check with him. This should only take a few minutes." The girl just glared, steady as a rock. "He's *busy*," she repeated as though to a particularly dense three-year-old. "He'll *be* busy until about nine-thirty. If you want to wait, that's your business. There are chairs over there." She jabbed a finger at the far wall. Scully was sick of craning her neck to look up at this little bitch. She deliberately stepped up onto the 'display' platform and put one hand on the reception desk, an obvious invasion of the teenager's space. "Well, then," she said acidly, "maybe *you* could answer a few questions for us." She gave the girl a thin smile. "While we're waiting." The girl held her ground and refused to be intimidated -- a sign of either a fearless natural leader or of a seasoned con. "You can ask whatever you want; that doesn't mean I'll answer." Scully felt her temper flare like a solar storm. "What's your name?" she asked, too loudly, the anger bleeding through into her tone. The girl took a long look at Scully, a measuring look. Scully brought her ID back out of her pocket and tapped the edge twice on the desktop. The girl's eyes shifted to the ID; she scowled. "Amber." The white noise in Scully's head cleared for a moment. Amber, Lois's cousin. And, wait, hold on, there was something else ... The face and expression she'd recognized a moment ago suddenly focused into the distinct mental pictures of a black-and-white yearbook photograph and a sheriff's furrowed brow. "Amber *Volney*?" Amber's expression turned wary. "Do I know you?" "We've been working with your father," Mulder said helpfully. He was still on the main floor, managing to look non-threatening and friendly, picking up the 'good cop' act as though it had been designed for him. For just a second, Scully hated him. "He mentioned you," Mulder added. Amber eyed him, suspicious. "Small world," she said tightly. Mulder smiled his most charming smile. "So, Amber. I take it you work here." The teenager looked at him as though he'd just walked in from Mars. Mulder's smile slipped a little; Scully caught a glimpse of something dangerous in his eye before the grin went back into place. He waited. "I don't have to talk to you," Amber announced suddenly, folding her arms across her chest like a barrier. "You're right," Mulder agreed pleasantly. And grinned. And waited. Scully made a subtle show of tucking her ID back into her pocket. The girl mulled it over, her eyes banked like hot coals. Her mouth worked in an angry chewing motion before she spoke again, loud and defensive. "I'm here on a work program. Sixth and seventh periods, three days a week." Her eyebrows arched. "Happy?" Mulder just smiled. "You're early today," Scully said, more snidely than she'd intended. Like a challenge. Amber glared at her. "I'm not skipping school." "Oh, you're not?" Scully asked mockingly. The white noise in the back of her head was back, roiling in sync with the acid in her stomach. Somewhere under all of it she knew she was pushing too hard, but that was okay. She wanted to push. She was frustrated; she had to push *something*. "How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?" The kid's face went dark with pure hatred. "I'm *eighteen*." Scully snorted. "*I*," Amber snarled, "am putting this place back together since the person who took it apart is dead and dead people don't come in to finish reorganizing shit. I got the whole day off of school because I'm *needed* here. Is there a *problem* with that?" Scully opened her mouth to tell this punk-mouthed kid just who and what was the problem around here, the blood speeding up in her veins and singing with adrenaline and a kind of joy in the release -- And Mulder's hand closed gently on her shoulder. "Well, Amber," Mulder said charmingly, too loud and too close to Scully, "I know you have lots of work to do so we'll try to keep this short." Too close. Her blood was already up; his touch and his warm proximity made the air whistle in her ears as though she were falling. Her pulse pounded in her neck and her breath wheezed shallowly, like an old woman's. Scully yanked away from him and stepped off the platform, her back rigid. One step away, then another. She told herself that she was just turning the line of questioning over to Mulder. She wasn't running away. She *never* ran away. She rubbed angrily at her neck and took another step. The muscles under her hand tensed even more, like a seam puckering and bunching as the thread caught on a nail. It just made her even angrier. Dammit. Another step would be too much tension to bear. She swiveled neatly and caught the tail end of a puzzled look from Mulder that made her want to scream and tear her hair in fury. Her inability to put a name to her own frustration made her furious. It was just like him to spend years reading her emotions like some kind of damn psychic empath and then abruptly turn and stare at her without comprehension. Some profiler *he* was. To make matters worse, he turned his back on her and went on questioning that little snot-nosed bitch as though nothing was wrong. Bastard. Scully's heart squeezed painfully and she folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself a little to ease the ache. Amber had started shuffling files again, a method of taking control of her surroundings and dismissing Mulder in a single move. It was very clear that, in her mind at least, the conversation was over. Nonetheless, Mulder persisted. "How long have you worked here?" The girl kept at her busywork, practically ignoring him. "All semester." "Did you work a lot with Marjorie Bailey?" Amber snorted. "Not if I could help it." Mulder doled out the charming smile again. "I take it you didn't like her." "She was a *freak*," Amber said flatly. "I see. Did you notice anything strange in her behavior last Friday?" "You mean stranger than she usually acted?" Mulder smiled faintly. "I mean, did she seem nervous or distracted?" The girl's eyes flickered at 'distracted,' but she shook her head. "No." "Did she get to work late, or leave early?" Mulder pressed. "No." "Do you know of anybody who had a grudge against her?" Amber's eyes flickered again, but she shook her head. "No." Scully smelled a lie in progress. She walked to the reception desk, angling so that she was closer to Amber but still nowhere near Mulder. One step up, and she was back on Amber's level. "Could you tell us about Marjorie's relationship with Jim Taymor?" she asked, watching for that flicker again. This time the flicker became a lightning bolt. Amber glared at Scully full- bore, her jaw set angrily. "They didn't *have* a relationship," she snapped. Bingo. Scully crossed her arms and leaned her hip against the edge of the desk. Raw adrenaline sawed at her stomach, and she welcomed it. "What I mean is, did they get along well at work?" "I guess." "Did you ever see them fight?" "They didn't *fight*," the girl growled. "Jim barely knew she was *there*." "Is it possible that the two of them could have been ... closer than you knew?" Scully leaned in, letting her tone of voice insinuate the more intimate question. Amber followed the train of thought quite nicely, like a kitten chasing a string. She turned beet-red. "You think they were having an *affair*?" she choked out in bitter chunks. "*Them*?" "I'm asking your opinion," Scully said calmly, noting the girl's reaction and getting an evil little thrill out of it. Oh, this was good. She had this kid's number now; she knew all her buttons and how to push them. "It's not even possible," Amber hissed. Her neck was bright pink; as Scully watched, the color flooded past the girl's collarbones and stained her neck down to the collar of her t-shirt. Scully tilted her head slightly to one side, slowly, deliberately, enjoying every moment like a bar of dark chocolate. "Are you sure?" "He never would have looked at her. Never." Scully lifted an eyebrow and ruthlessly pushed the final button -- she looked at Amber with pity. The disdainful, knowing pity of an older woman for a blundering kid. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. Amber exploded. "She was so *stupid* to think she'd get anywhere with him." "Really." Scully let her voice drip with scorn. "She'd *never*," the girl ranted. "It's like she thought he'd go for her 'cause there wasn't anybody else, but that was bullshit." Scully snorted delicately, as though she knew better. Right on cue, Amber powered up again, trying to prove some kind of point. "It's not just her, they're *all* after him. The substitute teacher. And what's-his-face, the fag. They all thought they were so subtle. Hanging around here all the time when we don't even have jobs for them, hello!" She glared at Scully in poisonous triumph, her chin up and her eyes slitted. Scully sniffed, purposefully looking a little irritated and disappointed. She let the expression drop as she turned away from the girl, flashing Mulder a victorious grin. Her head was still buzzing and her stomach still churning, but her ego, at least, had been soothed. There was a little guilt hovering somewhere around the edge of the white noise in her head, whining like a mosquito, but she ignored it. Manipulating that girl had been no worse than dragging the truth out of any other reticent witness. She ignored the niggling thought that she didn't usually feel so damned pleased with herself when she got the information she wanted. And that the information she'd manipulated out of this girl was scarcely more than office gossip. Mulder met her gaze, but his expression stopped her cold. He looked surprised -- surprised, and disappointed. She flinched and turned away from that look. "Your father told us that Joshua Schmidt was following you around," Mulder said, picking up the line of questioning as though nothing had happened. "Is that true?" "Don't you believe him?" Amber mocked. She seemed to be in a better mood now, secure in her belief that she'd come out on top of her argument with Scully. "Why was he following you?" Amber's eyes tracked back to Scully like a heat-seeking missile, and bored into her for a second before switching to Mulder again. There was some kind of nervousness under the aggression; Scully could practically sense it. Her investigator's instincts twitched, urging her to take another shot at deconstructing this kid, but the warning in Mulder's eyes held her back. She sighed, and stayed put. "He wanted to talk to me," Amber admitted at last, tossing her hair. "That doesn't sound very threatening," Mulder observed. "It wasn't *threatening*," the girl gritted out in a marvelous are-you- retarded? tone. "I just didn't want him talking to me. I didn't want him around me. I just wanted him to stay away." Mulder waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. "Why?" "*Because* --!" Amber exploded, and clamped her mouth shut. "Did he ask you out?" The girl sighed, the great exasperated sigh of a tragically misunderstood teen. "He didn't *ask*. He just -- he just kept trying to *talk* to me." "I see," Mulder deadpanned. "He tried to *talk* to you." "It was the *way* he did it." Amber gestured dramatically. "All sneaky, and quiet, and casual. He was just so -- UGH." She shuddered. Scully snorted gently, envisioning the scene. Tall, skinny, acne-covered Joshua shyly approaching poised, gorgeous Amber. Not having the guts to actually ask her out; terrified but desperate to have some kind of contact with her. Sure, the kid had practically stalked the girl, but considering their widely disparate social status -- and after observing Amber's personality up close and personal -- Scully was starting to really feel sorry for the dead boy. <*Not to speak ill ...*> "He even came *here*. To the *office*," Amber added, as though this location was somehow of great importance. "He kept hanging out here, with his crazy uncle. He even filled out an application, like we were actually gonna find work for him." "I'm curious," Mulder said, "what you thought of Joshua's uncle." Amber made another vicious face. "Like I said. He's crazy." "He was employed here?" "If you want to call it that." The phone on the receptionist's desk emitted a loud beep. Amber reached out and hit the speaker button, her eyes daring the agents to stop her. "Yes?" The intercom crackled to life. "Could you come in here?" "Just a second," Amber said, and hit the button again. She lifted her chin and fixed Mulder with a forceful look. "May I?" she asked sarcastically. Mulder shrugged calmly. "Be my guest." Amber muscled past Scully; as they went eye-to-eye, the girl stared contemptuously at her in a kind of coup de grāce, her eyes the color of envy and new leaves. Scully stared back. Amber's lips pursed thoughtfully; she stepped off the platform and trotted down a short hallway and through a door. The door shut behind her, and the two agents were alone. "Nice kid," Mulder muttered. Scully snorted and took a careful step around the desk, examining the reception area. Too many windows. In the hands of a more skilled interior designer, it might have been a light, airy space; as it was, it made her jumpy. It felt like there were eyes peeking over the waist-high curtains, ducking back down just before she looked for them. So, this was where Marjorie Bailey had worked, here in plain sight of anyone walking down Main Street or filling up at the KwikMart, on display like the Dog-Lady in a circus sideshow. Just an extra incentive to the jobless population of the county: An exhibit on employment, featuring a Real, Live Worker. As she looked out the window, one hand resting lightly on an open file drawer, Scully had to fight off the sensation that she was some kind of bonus attraction ... Today Only! A Real Live FBI Agent! Come And See For Yourself! Her lips pulled back from her teeth in disgust and she shuddered, turning away from the empty street. Mulder had stepped up onto the platform along with her, prowling almost noiselessly, taking advantage of Amber's brief absence to snoop without shame. He looked absurdly big and awkward in the little space, like a puppy coerced into a dollhouse by a little girl ... and, like a puppy, he was nosing around *everywhere*, looking remarkably innocent all the while. As Scully watched, he peered into a metal trash can and, apparently less than enchanted with the contents, gave it a little kick. He seemed to sense her gaze on him, and looked up, a smile lighting his eyes. The expression was almost like a warm hand touching her face, gently smoothing at the tightness around her mouth. She swallowed and looked away from him, down at the desk. Marjorie Bailey's former desk was cheap and wobbly, a plywood do-it-yourself job that had probably come in a box with cryptic instructions and seven different kinds of screws. Her signature version of decor had taken its toll here, too, populating the desk with Beanie Babies, plastic Kewpie dolls, and a stuffed lavender rabbit. No photographs, though. Scully remembered that there hadn't been any pictures at Marjorie's house, either, except for the one of Jim Taymor. Sad. Mulder's meanderings brought him closer to where she was standing; she felt his nearness pulling at her like a magnetic field and moved away, deeper into the reception area. Looking down, she found her hand on one of those open file drawers that had bugged her earlier. She idly ran a thumb over the files inside, barely looking at the names -- Al Bishop, Judy Doerr, Rebecca Stephens, Rachel Walker ... "Hey," Mulder murmured suddenly. "Check it out, Scully." Scully turned to look. Mulder held up a two-pound plastic bag of sunflower seeds, apparently gleaned from the desk of the dead receptionist. "Jackpot," he grinned, hefting the bag experimentally. "Whaddaya think, Scully? Evidence?" "Put it back," she growled, feeling another sliver of patience grind into dust. He looped a crooked smile at her and dropped the bag back into the drawer. She glared at him and considered kicking his ass, considered cornering him and explaining things to him in a low, angry voice, things like propriety and constitutional rights and his role as an agent of the law. She considered it hard enough that she gritted her teeth, slammed the file drawer and took a step toward him. He looked up, startled. "Scully?" The expression on his face stopped her in her tracks. She looked at him for a long moment, thinking about puppies and the puzzled look they gave you when you tried to punish them for something they didn't understand. "Never mind," she said. "I don't remember what I was going to say." She rubbed fitfully at her temples, trying to ease some of the dry ache. It didn't help. God. She was too tired for this. "You know," Mulder said conversationally, "I could probably handle this interview on my own." He glanced at her carefully and alarm bells went off in her head. "You can go on back to the motel if you want." "And what would you do, walk back?" she asked, biting back a more suspicious response. "It's only a few blocks," Mulder shrugged. "It'll be nice. I can get some fresh air." "Mulder, it's going to rain," she exclaimed, incredulous. "Probably not for a while yet," he grinned. "What about the interview, Mulder?" "I'll take notes," he promised. "What, don't you think I can handle an interview by myself, just this once?" "I have my doubts," she said in a dry voice. "Scully, you wound me," he gasped melodramatically. "I can operate without you just fine. Watch." He stepped slightly to one side and raised the pitch of his voice to a falsetto imitation of her own. "Mulder, are you saying that this man has actually been melted, poured into some alien version of a Jell-O mold, and chilled until firm?" He shifted to his other side and went back to his normal voice. "Gee, Scully, when you say it that way it sounds kind of sexy." Back to the other side and the high voice. "Mulder, shut up." She smiled despite herself. "Seems like you have this under control. I might as well go back to DC." "Nah," he rumbled. "But going back to the motel wouldn't hurt." She examined his expression suspiciously. "Not to sound paranoid, but are you trying to get rid of me?" Mulder blinked, all innocence. "Why would I do that?" "Nice try," she told him, folding her arms across her chest. "What are you up to, Mulder?" He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, looking frustrated. "I'm not 'up to' anything, Scully. I was trying to be nice." She gave him the eyebrow. "In my experience, that sort of 'nice' generally leads to you running off on your own and hurling yourself into danger, which leads to me having to track you down and drag you back out." She let the sarcasm deepen. "You really know how to show a girl a good time." "That's not it this time," he insisted. "I just ... you ... you didn't sleep last night." She stiffened and stared up at him, her eyes wide. "What?" He just looked at her, waiting. The white noise in the back of her mind began to roar. How did he know? How did he *know*? "I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped. "Come on, Scully, give me a little credit," Mulder said angrily. "I may be a pretty self-absorbed bastard sometimes, but I'm not stupid." "If you're trying to prove your intelligence," Scully snarled, "I can tell you right now that this isn't the way to do it." Hot. God, it was hot in this room. And he was too close. She turned slightly away, unwilling to back up but desperate for breathing room. "If there's something wrong, I'd like to believe you'd tell me," Mulder growled. Still too close, and his voice had an edge on it like a Ginsu knife. "I'm not surprised," she told him harshly, turning her back on him. "You'd believe practically anything." Silence. Another cartoon image flashed through Scully's mind: time had stopped and she could reach out and pull the words back down out of the air before Mulder could see them or hear them. She could tuck them in her pocket with her ID, throw them at people like little poisoned darts, she'd never have to use her weapon again and God, what was the matter with her that she was thinking like this? Behind her, Mulder exhaled raggedly, a deeply wounded sound that pricked at her heart with white-hot needles. "I guess," he said thickly, "I should be more selective about some things." Regret bloomed in her stomach like blood from a gunshot wound. "Mulder --" She turned, tense muscles creaking, but he was moving away, his footsteps arrhythmic and his shoulders squared with pride and hurt. Oh God. What had she done now? Caught as she was in a gray whirlwind of shock, Scully didn't hear the door to the office open, didn't notice Amber Volney until she charged up into the reception area, full speed ahead, looking flushed and smoothing her hair. It was too late to move back to the 'public' side of the desk. Scully lifted her chin instead and met Amber's glare head-on. For a moment the universe trembled on the edge of war. Amber pointedly stood aside, waiting for this intruder to vacate Her Space, angry green eyes drilling holes through Scully. Scully listened for a split second to the fury churning up in her stomach, fueled by anger and guilt and things long suppressed, and she focused on the hinge of the girl's jaw, that spot where an elbow smash would hurt the most -- She bit the urge back, feeling it catch in her throat as though she'd swallowed Tinker Toys. She turned and walked to the edge of the platform, half-expecting Mulder to chivalrously offer his hand to help her down -- he didn't. The air between them hummed with tension, like the nauseating drone of a cicada. Scully stepped down on her own. Amber, smug and satisfied, ensconced herself behind the desk and pointed down the hall. "Go on back," she purred. "Mr. Taymor will see you now." End of Chapter 9 (9/16) Feedback to playwrtrx@aol.com All posted chapters can be found at http://shannono.simplenet.com/gutless