Overweighted Chapter Seventeen By RocketMan ~~~~~ "Didn't I make it all right When everything was ruined." --Didn't I? Carly Simon ~~~~~ They melted into the shadows of Arlington, Virginia, letting the twilight mask them as a family on its way home from an all day excursion, doing nothing to show untoward haste. As the people out walking grew fewer and fewer, Mulder increased the pace subtly, sliding into the alleys and out from shadows as if he'd been born to such subterfuge. Scully simply walked. She heeded the sharp tug of his hand on her elbow, and let the numbness of shock glaze her. She was reacting. They stopped at the first motel they found, a seedy place with questionable patrons; had anyone known they were FBI agents, they would not have made it in alive. Signing them in under one of his false names, Mulder secured them a room with two beds for the night. It cost thirty dollars and Mulder realized that money would become a treasured thing. They could not afford to waste money on anything. They didn't have the money to even make it a week. Their room was dark, lit by the flickering neon sign and the dim parking lights filtering through the heavy drapes. Mulder laid Helen on the bed closest to the bathroom, farthest from the door, and tucked her already sleeping body into the covers. Thunder sounded loudly around them and he jumped as lightning lit the inside of their temporary sanctuary. Scully made no moves to sit or get comfortable. She showed no reaction to the August thunderstorm. Sighing, he grabbed her by the arms and pulled her to the bed, pushing her weak, stiff body into the sheets and covering her up. She closed her eyes and said nothing. With a sharp feeling, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. He'd never seen this happen to her before. Mulder shivered in the damp, moldy air that blew hard from the vents, and walked to the window. The rain slashed across the street, their motel room facing the city, making him feel insecure, unsafe. As he watched, the wind made patterns of rain splatters on the window, racing the drops to the bottom as the storm picked up in intensity. It had been secure, the plan beyond Them, out of Their loop. It meant that one of the three men was with Them, one was their enemy. He thought again of the names that swirled around in his mind. Only he and Skinner knew of the three men who knew the whole thing. The other three knew only the part they had to play in Mulder's situation. It was a lesson learned in VCS. Learned to perfection or the VCS would not waste time with people who could not perform, could not find the killers. Think through. Three men. John Cauklin Emerson Concho Wilson Price One of them was a traitor. One of them was one of Them. Mulder would find him. Find him in order to survive, find him to keep his family intact, find him because Scully was hurting. Find him. And then Mulder would kill him. ~~~~~ I wake up slowly, feeling dampness leaking into me like dye. The sheets are damp and the air carries the tears of heaven. I take in a long breath and smell Momma, her body resting but not asleep, the smell of long ago soap and fish. I crawl from the bed, slip to the floor, and feel the movements as Sam flops down beside me. His wet nose nudges my chin and his tongue licks my cheek. I smile at him and grab his collar. I push my hand forward, sliding it along the thick, shag carpet, horrified at the sudden thought of roaches that could be on the floor. I jerk my hand back and Sam pushes his body forward, letting me know there is space. I inch forward, wait for him to move again, then follow. It takes four slides along the floor to reach Momma on her bed. I lift myself over the side and scramble up next to her. Almost as a reflex, her hand snakes around my head, smoothing my hair. I let myself relax, my eyes are already closed. Her breath is soft; she shifts me closer, kissing my forehead. I can feel her chest rise in a sigh and then sink down, like her spirits. I cannot seem to place Daddy in this room, so he must have left. Momma's hand curls around my ear, her other arm encircles me. I feel her tears slip into my hair, the shaking of her body. I wish I could see her. ~~~~~ Mulder roamed the street, glancing over his shoulder nonchalantly as he made his way to the second pay phone for that night. He had placed his first call, muffling his voice and saying a variety of panicked words, sounding to a traitor like he had bungled the job he was sent to do -- murder the little family. The reaction had been confusion, bewilderment, all expected of one who did not know. Of course, a master, a traitor for so long, so high, would know how to sound surprised. He placed his second call. A grunt answered the phone, as if the man were waiting for such a call. "Skinner." Mulder breathed softly, licking his lips. "It's Mulder, sir." "Mulder? Are you all right? I got a call from Cauklin! He's in a frenzy! Someone called him saying you were dead! Do you know --" Mulder hung up. Cauklin was free. Or at least he was following the right procedure. Confirm, confirm, confirm. Mulder walked quickly from the pay phone to the underground subway system, depositing a token in the turnstile and moving on through. In a quick move, he dashed behind a pillar in the deep gloom of shadows, looking for a tail. It was a long moment, then a man dressed in a trenchcoat, carrying nothing on him, hopped over the turnstile. The man had not expected to take the subway, had no token. The man was following Mulder. The tail glanced around, letting his eyes casually stroll as if he were simply assessing the crowd, perhaps looking for a friend. There was no panicked look of escaped prey, simply professionalism. The man moved deeper into the crowd and Mulder eased over the turnstile and back out onto the street, moving as quickly as possible away from the underground. He had lost the man following him. On to place his third call. ~~~~~ "Mulder! Don't you dare hang up! Why the hell is everyone calling in and asking why you're dead?" Mulder slammed down the phone in frustration. All three had called in to report the news they'd heard. All three appeared to have his family's best interests at heart. All three had seemed surprised. Where had he gone wrong? Mulder darted out of the phone booth and checked the sidewalks behind him. Nothing appeared to follow him, no shadows shifted into the light. He still couldn't be sure. He couldn't very well go to the motel without confirming that no one still followed. Where had he gone wrong? Mulder walked normally along Duke Street, glancing to his left and right ever so slightly, always cautious for a trap. It was midnight and deserted; perfect timing for a quick kill. A Taco Bell shone fiercely in the night and Mulder diverted his steps toward it, not knowing what his plan was, only that he had to use all opportunities as they came up. Taco Bell would be his diversion, just as the subway had served his purposes. Mulder walked in, practically ran to the bathroom, and hid himself in the stall. He waited. Would anyone come? Could he take the chance of coming out -- only to be followed again? He heard the silent, soft sounds of the restroom door being eased open. It was his shadow! Mulder crouched on the toilet, holding his breath, making no noise as the man crept in. The lock was in place on the stall. Mulder's mind flashed and he suddenly lifted the lid and sat down, letting his feet show and relieving himself -- plainly showing that someone was indeed in there. The man jiggled the door and Mulder let out a string of dirty expletives designed to mask his voice and hide his identity. The man mumbled a quick apology and headed out. He would think there was no one in the bathroom but an angry old man, maybe even half drunk, certainly a redneck since the Taco Bell in Arlington was the redneck's hangout. Mulder waited for thirty more minutes in the stall, making absolutely sure they had given up. ~~~~~ It was silent when Mulder found his way back to the motel, silent as he entered the room at two that morning. A twisted series of turns and streets and detours had ensured that he was not being followed again, and since he was not trained enough to recognize professional tails, he had repeated his Taco Bell performance three times with minor differences. No one had followed. He glanced to his bed, found that Helen had crawled in beside Scully, both sleeping heavily. His own body ached. His mind was shutting down on him. It'd been a long time since he'd had to keep going for days on end. His body was slowly becoming used to it, but he still needed some decent sleep. He'd read somewhere that rest was a weapon. Rather than trying to make room with Scully, he collapsed on Helen's abandoned bed and closed his eyes. He would go over his phone calls tomorrow. Tomorrow he would find where he had gone wrong. Tomorrow he would find the traitor. ~~~~~ end chapter adios RM