Things Which Must Be Hereafter
One Week Later
Frank stared blankly ahead. He'd been asked the same
questions over and over, and his answers hadn't changed. "I saw a
blond man holding a gun to my wife's head. A man in a leather
jacket was aiming a gun at the first man's head."
"And you say this man was..." A pause as the police
lieutenant checked his paper. "Alex Krycek?"
"I think so. I'm not completely sure, but that's who I
recognised him as. Look, my answers aren't going to change
according to how many times you ask me the questions."
"We just need to make sure of that, Mr Black." The
lieutenant stood up. "You may go now. We'll call you if we have
any further questions."
"Thank you," Frank said, also standing up. He walked out
the door and down the hall, until Giebelhouse motioned to him
from his office. Frank went inside.
"Frank, look, we got nothin' on Catherine's death. 'Cept the
weapon used. Nine-millimetre Sig Sauer. Very similar to the one
used to shoot her assassin."
"It's connected to the McLain killings, Giebelhouse. I know
it. Catherine and Jordan were threatened, and they killed her. So I
don't think it was Krycek with the original murders." Frank sighed.
"What about the prostitute?"
"We ain't doin' nothing. She was shot with a different
weapon, in a different place, with no apparent connection. There's
nothing to go on." Giebelhouse sighed. "We're letting it go."
"You can't," Frank stated. "There's something to go on. I
know she was shot by the same man as my wife."
"How do you know that?" The detective sighed. "You have
another one of those visions?"
"Something like that. I'm going to investigate it, and if you
don't want to help me... well, that's your decision." Frank turned,
and walked out the door.
"Frank," Giebelhouse called, stopping the other man.
Frank turned around. "I'll help investigate. If you think there's
something to it, I'll help ya."
"Thanks," Frank replied gratefully. Giebelhouse retrieved
his coat, and the two walked out the door.
Frank and Giebelhouse walked through the door, into the
brothel. No one was there... unsurprisingly, since the girl had been
killed, and it was the middle of the day. Giebelhouse handed
Frank the file on the murder. Frank flipped through it slowly,
committing facts to memory. Then, ignoring Giebelhouse, on a
hunch, Frank walked up the narrow stairs to the bedrooms.
The house had seen better days. The walls had stains on
them, and patches of light where pictures had apparently been
taken off the walls. The stairs lead up to a narrow hall, along which
were bedrooms on either side. Frank, not knowing why, went into
the bedroom opposite the murdered girl's. He was immediately
struck by a vivid vision.
//flash of dark hair// //beautiful if rare smile// //tall, lanky
body// //seductive movements// //deep green eyes//
Frank blinked. Those weren't images from the girl's murder.
She had been a blue-eyed, short-blonde-haired beauty. Those
were images from his past. Suddenly, he remembered the one
night he'd spent, in early 1970.
Just for one night, Frank had wanted to see what it was
like to go cruising, to have a one-night stand. He'd found his way
to this brothel, and been immediately seduced by a woman who
was just starting that night. She'd been nervous, almost an
amateur. Since he was also new to it, the connection had been
fine. Frank took the woman home to his apartment, and after
they'd had sexwhich she insisted was to be without protection,
she was clean and didn't care what happenedthey'd sat down
and talked.
The girl was intelligent, friendly, and a good
conversationalist. Her name was Natalia Arntzen, and she was
Russian. The two had talked long into the morning, winding up
with her convinced she could do better than just being a prostitute.
Natalia had wound up deciding to quit the profession the next
morning, and move back to Russia. Frank had supported this
decision whole-heartedly, and took her back to the brothel
convinced he wasn't cut out for the pimp scene.
Frowning, Frank looked around the room. It was plain, with
nothing on the walls. She'd only stayed in it a few hours, and
many girls had probably been since then, but he could still sense
her. Ignoring the feelings, he went into the opposite room to see
what he could get about the girl.
When Frank got home, he logged into the internet and
looked up the brothel's database. After printing some basic facts
about the murdered girl, he looked up 'Natalia Arntzen', curious
about what had happened to her. A grainy black-and-white photo
came up, and Frank recognised her instantly. The information was
short, but decent.
"Natalia was only with us for one night, unfortunately. After
this, she returned back to her homeland of Russia, and gave birth
to a boy in September, 1970. In '71 she met and married a man.
Sadly, in 1972 Natalia died, leaving behind her husband and child."
Furrowing his brow, slightly disturbed, Frank jotted down
names and dates, then connected into database for records. He
searched Natalia's name, which brought up records.
Related records:
Nastekov, Ivan (husband)
Krycek, Alexander (son)"
"Alex Krycek?" Frank repeated, surprised. The murderer
they'd been after recently had been the son of the one prostitute
he'd ever been with. Dates suddenly connecting in his mind, Frank
clicked Krycek's name, bringing up his record.
Related records:
Arntzen, Natalia (mother)"
Momentarily, Frank wondered why Ivan Nastekov wasn't
named as Alex Krycek's father. Then, curious, he clicked for the
birth certificate. Under 'father', where one would expect to find
Ivan's name, was (unknown).
Starting to worry a little, Frank did some quick date
calculations in his head. Nine months prior to the child's birth...
"I'm Krycek's father," he finished out loud, in disbelief.
Frank had no idea where to start. He had to distract
himself from his griefand this was something to throw himself
into. According to the records, there was little room for doubt that
the two of them were related. He'd managed to find blood records.
Krycek's blood was ABB negative, an unusual type. Frank's blood
was also AB negative.
It was eight at night, and Frank held out little hope of doing
anything before the morning.
Just when he was trying to think of what to do in the
morning, the phone rang. Frank leaned over and picked it up.
"Frank Black."
"Daddy?"
He smiled. "Hi, honey. How are you?"
"I miss Mommy. And I miss you. When are you coming to
get me?" Jordan sounded a little sad.
"Tell you what, I'll pick you up from school tomorrow. Is
that all right, sweetie?"
"Okay. Right after school?"
"Sure, Jordan. How are your grandparents?" Frank sat
back, wondering if he should say something about Alex. He was
her half-brother, and she probably should know. But then, if it
didn't work out...
"Okay. I want to come home." Jordan sighed. "Can you
come get me tonight?"
At the tone of his daughter's voice, Frank's heart
wrenched. "Sweetheart, I wish I could."
"Please, Daddy?"
He sighed. "Is something wrong?"
"I want to come home."
Face contorting, he looked at the receiver. "Look, Jordan, I
can take you home tomorrow. Until then, you can stay with your
grandparents."
"Why don't you want me with you?"
"I want you with me more than anything, Jordan. I wish you
were here right now. But I have to wait, and see you tomorrow. Is
that all right, honey?"
A sigh from Jordan. "Okay..."
"Listen, honey, I have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow,
okay?"
"Okay, Daddy. I love you."
"I love you, too, Jordan. Bye..."
"Bye."
The two hung up the phone, and Frank looked at his blank
computer screen. Tomorrow was to be a long day.
The alarm clock sounded, and Frank fumbled for it,
eventually hitting the snooze button. He kept his head on the
pillow, struggling to open his eyes. After a couple of minutes, the
alarm sounded again. Frank finally opened his eyes completely,
rolling out of bed. The alarm clock read 10:42, which was
surprising, considering how tired he was.
He'd known while talking to Jordan that he wasn't going to
be able to pick her up. There was too much to be done, and he'd
prefer not to deal with her until this whole thing with Alex Krycek
was sorted out.
Grabbing a pair of tennis shoes that were lying on the
ground, Frank got dressed, and went outside to the Jeep. Driving
to Jordan's school, he had a little time to think about what he was
going to do. Surely the first step was to get in touch with Agent
Mulder. Mulder might have some sort of an idea of how to find
Alex.
Frank inwardly noted that he'd changed from referring to
him as 'Krycek', to 'Alex'. Strange.
The parking lot had a few cars in it, and Frank parked
closest to the classrooms. Jumping out of the car, he locked the
doors and walked inside. Jordan's classroom was to the right, and
Frank knocked on the door. As he poked his head in, he noticed
how everyone turned to look. To the teacher, he called, "Can I
speak to Jordan, please?"
Jordan, beaming, immediately ran out to her father. Frank
gave the teacher a grateful smile, and shut the door behind Jordan.
He knelt down to the girl's level, and hugged her tight.
"Daddy, I can't breathe!" She giggled into his shoulder, and
he let her go, looking at her face.
He hadn't seen the girl for over a week. After Catherine had
been shot, he'd driven in a daze to Catherine's parents' house,
leaving Jordan there. He hadn't said a word to her, or to either of
her grandparents.
"Jordan, I'm sorry, but you can't come home today." The
girl's face fell, and he went on, "It's a definite for tomorrow, though."
"You said today! I want to come home with you today.
Please, Daddy?" Jordan looked pleadingly at her father.
"Honey, I really wish you could come with me. But I'm
going to be extremely busy, and there won't be anyone to look
after you. I'm sorry, okay?" Frank looked at her, and sighed.
Jordan looked away. "How come Mommy left me, and now
you're leaving me?"
Frank's heart wrenched, and he took the girl into his arms.
"Honey, I'm not leaving you. After tomorrow, we can be together all
the time, okay? And Mommy didn't want to leave you. She..." he
trailed off, not knowing what to say. "Jordan, I wish it didn't have to
be like this, sweetie."
She looked back into the classroom. "I'm missing
something. Please don't not come tomorrow."
"Hey, Jordan, I promise I'll be here tomorrow." He kissed
her forehead. "Love you, sweetheart."
She hugged him. "Bye."
Frank stayed crouched on the ground, watching as Jordan
walked back into the classroom. He sighed, stood up, and placed
both hands into his pockets. She'd know to take the correct bus
home. He walked outside, got into the Jeep, and drove off. There
was a lot of work to be done.
"I need to speak to Agent Mulder," Frank told someone he
met in the halls of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Inwardly, he noted
how familiar he felt in the halls, how right it was compared to the
Richmond PD.
The woman smiled. "You'll find him in the basement."
He thanked her, and took the elevator down to the
basement office. Agent Mulder was seated at the desk, wearing
glasses, working on a report. Frank stood in the doorway, and
rapped on the door. Mulder looked up.
"Oh, Mr Black." He took his glasses off, setting them
down on the desk. "Can I help you?"
"I hope so. Do you have any idea of how to contact Alex
Krycek?"
"Is this for the case?" Mulder opened a draw, rifling through
papers. "I do have the number for his apartment that he used when
he was in the Bureau. I don't know if he still uses it, the phone
was disconnected."
"Would you mind trying it? I need to meet with him."
Mulder punched in the number, leaving it on speaker
phone. He waved a hand, indicating for Frank to sit down. A
woman answered the phone. "Hello?"
A strange expression played over Mulder's face. "Is Alex
Krycek there?"
"I'm sorry, Alex moved out a couple of years ago. I do have
his new number, though."
"What is it?" Frank waited expectantly as the woman went
off to get it.
"Oh, here it is. 555 6739."
"Okay, thank you." Mulder hung up the phone, and then,
dialled the new number. It rang, and then there was silence on the
line. Mulder leaned forward. "Krycek?"
There was a pause. Then, "Mulder? What the... where the
fuck did you find this number?"
Frank frowned at the language. This wasn't going to be
easy.
"Krycek. I need to meet with you tonight."
A bitter laugh. "How fucking stupid do you think I am? Go
screw yourself."
"I'm not going to arrest you." Mulder shifted somewhat
uncomfortably. "Can we just meet somewhere?"
"If this is a trick, I'll shoot you."
"Look, Krycek, this isn't a trick. I want to see you, okay? I
can't explain it. I'm at work."
Frank gave Mulder a curious look, and the FBI agent
shook his head.
"Oh, it's going to be that sort of meeting? Hell. I didn't
know you were that way inclined." Krycek's grin could be heard in
his voice. "If this is a front..."
"Please, Krycek. Seven tonight. Outside the Seventy-Fifth
diner downtown."
There was a pause. "Yeah. Fine." Krycek hung up the
phone, and Mulder followed suit. He turned to Frank.
"I'll meet you here at six-thirty. Krycek won't come
anywhere if he doesn't see my car. Can I ask why you want to see
him?"
"Personal reasons," Frank replied simply, not willing to
elaborate.
"Personal reasons with that rat?" Mulder leaned back in
his seat. "The diner you're meeting him at... it's the only thing I
could think of to get him to agree. It's where we dined after the
conclusion of our first case. He was feeling... or acting, really bad
about shooting Cole. I shouted him dinner, at this diner." Mulder
shrugged. "He's very different now."
"Different?"
"He's a complete bastard. You have no idea. When we
were partners, I thought we could possibly be friends. But now..."
Mulder fingered the phone cord. "Everything's changed."
Frank watched the other man for a while, wondering what it
was about Alex Krycek that made Mulder so uncomfortable.
Deciding against pushing the matter, Frank stood up. "I'll meet
you back here at six-thirty."
Distracted, staring into space, Mulder nodded ever-so
-slightly. Frank left the basement.
At quarter to seven, Mulder and Frank were parked
opposite the diner, under a streetlamp. The patrons of the diner
were silhouetted as shadows against the bright lights. The
atmosphere in the car was completely different, neither speaking.
After several minutes, there was a movement across the street.
Mulder pointed. "There. That's Krycek. Good luck."
Frank followed his line of gaze, and saw Alex, recognising
him from over a week beforehand. His hair was reasonably long,
falling just around his ears. Greased back. Alex was dressed in
black jeans, black leather jacket, black shirt and black leather
gloves. Thinking how ironic that was, Frank smiled a little wryly.
He got out of the car, leaning back in to thank Mulder.
Mulder smiled. "Nothing to it."
Frank shut the door quietly, and walked across the street,
trying to appear inconspicuous. Krycek eyed him warily, then
startled in recognition. Frank noticed that he looked somewhat like
a deer trapped in headlights: not knowing where to run. He
stepped towards the younger man.
"Alex Krycek, right?"
Alex laughed bitterly. "So this was a trap. Mulder got me
here so you could slam me in handcuffs and throw me away,
right?" He let his right hand push his jacket back, revealing a gun.
"No."
"I'm not here in relation to the case, Alex."
"Oh, it's Alex, now, is it? Fuck, I'm out of here." He
paused, then comprehending what Frank had said. His curiosity
got the better of him. "What are you here for?"
"I need to talk to you. Can we go inside?"
"Yeah, right. I'm not going anywhere with you."
Frank sighed. This wasn't going as well as he might have
hoped. "Look, this is important. Would you just come inside, eat
dinner, and we'll talk." At Alex's guarded expression, he
continued, "I'm buying."
"If you dare try to arrest me, I won't hesitate to kill you."
Alex looked him up and down. "To hell with it. You don't exactly
pose much of a threat."
"Thanks," Frank replied wryly.
Finally, Alex gave him something that could almost be
considered a tight smile, and the two walked inside the diner.
Alex and Frank sat in a darkened booth in the corner, and
the waiter took their orders. Inwardly, Frank wondered, due to the
size of Alex's coming meal, how long it had been since the
younger man had had a proper meal.
After a while, Alex leaned back in his seat, and shrugged.
"What's this about?"
Frank wondered what the best way to breach the subject
would be. He decided on subtlety. "Alex, do you remember your
mother at all?"
"Where'd that come from?" Alex shot back. Frank realised
that he'd had the connection worked out in his head, and had
forgotten that other people found it impossible to follow silent
trains of thought. He was about to ask a different question, when
Alex turned his face to study the wall. "Not much. She died when I
was really young. Most of what I know is from what I've been told,
and from photos."
"What about your father?"
"What is this? An interrogation?" Alex shrugged. "Yeah. I
don't think I'm going to be able to ever forget him. The bastard."
Thinking a little, Frank dug some papers out of his pocket.
Firstly, he handed Alex a basic timeline of his mother's, from when
she moved back to Russia to when she died. The 1971 information
of 'Met and Married' was heavily accented. Alex looked up,
quizzical expression on his face. "What does this mean?"
"You're not stupid, Alex. What do you think it means?"
Frank handed over another paper, Alex's birth certificate. The
younger man studied it, then raised his gaze.
"What the fuck is this?"
"Why do you think Ivan Nastekov isn't named as your birth
father?"
Alex obviously thought about that, then looked back at
Frank. "Why don't you tell me?"
Frank sighed a little. "There's no easy way around this,
Alex. I've been reliving a lot of memories in the past couple of
days, and have done a lot of research. Blood, records, all sorts. To
cut a long story short... I'm your father."
The words fell uncomfortably into silence, neither saying
anything, until Alex exclaimed, "Aw, fuck!"
Looking up, Frank replied, "What?"
"This has to be a goddamn joke. Just because you come
up out of the blue, claiming to be my father, I'm supposed to shut
up and accept it? Fuck you. I don't know what you're trying to
pull." Alex's face, his eyes, betrayed the fact his vehement denial
wasn't in fact completely true.
"Alex. Why would I be saying this as a joke?"
Stumped, Alex slammed his head violently down on the
table, and left it there. In due time, the waiter brought their meals
over, and Alex finally raised his head. In a dull, hollow,
monotonous voice, he stated, "I saw you. The other day, I don't
know, in my mind's eye. Walking into a brothel." Apparently
unwilling to say anything else, the younger man set into his meal.
Frank was lost in thought, ignoring the plate in front of him.
If Alex had just described what Frank suspected he had, then Alex
had inherited a part of Frank's gift. Curse. He sighed, causing the
younger man to look over at him. "What?"
"I'm just thinking, that's all." Frank set about eating his
meal, and neither spoke for a while.
When they were both finishedFrank wondering how Alex
could keep slender with his apparent appetitethe waiter came
over to collect their plates.
Soon, Alex asked, out of nowhere, "Your wife. Was that
her, the other day?"
Not wanting to talk about it, Frank nodded. Alex went on
oblivious.
"I thought it'd be the other investigator's. We were only told
it was the wife of one of the guys on the case. I didn't know..."
Alex looked over at Frank. "I think I'll shut up, now."
After a while, Alex sighed. "You're a profiler?"
Frank looked at him. "Why do you care?"
"I don't believe you," Alex replied quite unconvincingly.
"But I'm just wondering. Are you any good?"
Shrugging non-committedly, Frank asked, "Are you
married at all? Any serious relationships?"
"Not me. I'm trying to catch a Fox."
Frank raised an eyebrow, wondering if that was why Agent
MulderAgent Fox Mulderhad looked so uncomfortable when
discussing Alex.
After another uncomfortable bout of silence, Alex said,
almost conversationally, "I learnt about some of your cases at the
Academy."
"Yeah, they teach some of them there." Unable to resist,
Frank asked, "What did you think?"
"What did I think?" Alex grinned bitterly. "Spooky's
predecessor, huh?"
"Spooky?"
"Yeah, Mulder. They call him Spooky 'cause of the way he
could solve cases in the VCS."
Frank watched Alex's face, wondering what was running
through the younger man's head. Suddenly, Alex violently
slammed his hand down on the table, cursing. Frank startled,
looking at him. Alex stood up. "Yeah, nice chat, but I'm off."
"What? Why?" Alex didn't answer, stalking out of the
restaurant. Frank stood up also, tossing two twenty dollar bills on
the table. Ignoring the curious stares of the other patrons, Frank
walked out of the diner and looked down the street. He could see
Alex's leather-clad form, hunched over in the pale illumination of a
streetlight, and caught himself understanding why he was referred
to as a rat. However, Frank knew that Mulder was talking about
Alex's personality traits. He sighed, and broke into a run after the
younger man.
At the sound of footsteps, Alex looked around to see
Frank. Scowling, he quickened his pace. Despite this, Frank soon
caught him up, placing a hand on Alex's left arm and taking a grip.
Alex spun around to face him.
"Let me go," he growled. "I don't give a shit about you and I
don't want to have anything to do with this."
"Alex, I don't know why you think this is all weighing onto
you. You’re not the only one involved here. Whatever you may
think this is doing to you, it's having an effect on me as well.
Yesterday, I found out that I have a twenty-seven year old son by a
woman I knew for one night. Whatever you think of me, and
whatever you may be like, you're my son, and I want to get to
know you." Frank sighed, watching Alex's face.
"What the hell did you expect, huh? I'm not exactly fucking
angelic. Did you really expect me to listen to and accept all of
this? Fuck you."
"No, Alex, I didn't expect you to accept it. I expected you
to be more receptive. Look, I know you believe me. Maybe you
don't care, but I can tell you actually believe me."
Alex looked away. "Fuck you." Not looking at Frank, he
ripped the prosthetic out of the older man's grasp, and walked off.
Stunned, Frank watched him. "Alex. Wait." the younger
man paused, and Frank continued. "The only reason I haven't
arrested you tonight is because of who you are. If you walk away,
I'm not going to have a choice."
Back tensing, Alex didn't turn around. "So that's what this
was for."
"I'm not going to arrest you if I have a choice about it.
However, if you walk away, Mulder might."
Alex turned around then, avoiding Frank's eyes, and
shrugged. "What now?"
Alex sulkily stared out the window. He didn't know why
he'd allowed Frank to get him into the car. Admittedly, he believed
Frank. It would explain a hell of a lot of his life. The fact he looked
nothing like Ivan. Why the consortium had been so enthusiastic
about him joining their ranks, originally.
And here he was, in the car he'd stolen just over a week
ago, being driven back to Frank Black's house.
Alex sighed heavily, causing Frank to look over at him.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, just fine." Alex paused for a minute, then deciding
to elaborate. "Even though I didn't know about you, you've affected
my whole life. I've realised that I got hired by the people I work for
because you're my father."
"What?" Frank, momentarily ignoring the road, looked over
at his son. "How would the FBI have any idea about this?"
Alex snorted. "Yeah. The FBI. Nice one."
Shooting him a look, Frank replied, "What do you mean?"
"The FBI wasn't my job. Didn't Mulder tell you that?"
"Giebelhouse mentioned Mulder said you were working for
a hidden agenda." Slowly, Frank continued. "You want to tell me
about that?"
"Not particularly." Alex resumed studying the side of the
road. "It's too complicated. You wouldn't understand."
Neither said anything for a few minutes, until Alex slowly,
and apparently awkwardly, asked, "What was my mother like?"
Frank thought for a minute, then answered sincerely, "She
was sweet, and friendly, and intelligent. I wish you'd known her
properly."
"She hung herself with the clothesline."
"I'm sorry."
"Yeah." Alex, who didn't seem particularly bothered, went
back to staring out the window. After a few minutes of silence, he
looked over at Frank. Once they went through a light, Alex
immediately went back to staring out, uncomfortable. Frank was
crying.
It was close to ten when the two pulled into the driveway of
Frank's house. Alex got out of the car, waiting for Frank. The two
went inside the house, and stood awkwardly in the foyer. Frank
sighed. "I haven't slept much lately. I think I might just hit bed
now. There's a spare bed..."
Alex shook his head. "I haven't slept at all for a week. I'll
just crash on the couch."
"I've got a shirt and sweats you can borrow, if you want..."
"Nah. I'll just sleep in boxers. I just need sleep."
Frank nodded, then noticing the light on the answering
machine. He pressed play, listening to the message.
"Hi Daddy... I just want to talk to you. Don't forget
tomorrow, okay? Bye..."
Deleting the message, Frank was about to go off to bed,
when he caught Alex giving him a strange look. "What?"
"Who was that?"
Realising why Alex was asking, Frank smiled a little.
"Jordan. My daughter."
Alex frowned. "How old is she?"
"Six."
Alex shrugged, and turned around, indicating their
conversation was over. Frank walked into his room, going to bed.
Frank woke up, only vaguely aware that his alarm hadn't
gone off. His clock read 10:23, and he sighed, throwing the sheet
off the bed. More than twelve hours sleep... Frank wondered if it
was because a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, so to
speak.
When he went into the living room, Alex's presence on the
couch made him recall the events of the previous day. Alex was
sprawled on the couch, wearing only boxers and his black t-shirt,
watching television. When Frank walked in, Alex looked up. "Oh,
hi."
Frank had to smile at the way Alex's fairly long hair was
sticking out in all directions. Because there was gel still in it when
he went to sleep, the hair now had the look maniacs seemed to
prefer. "Morning. Sleep well"?"
"Pretty well." Alex was keeping an eye on the television
during the conversation.
Frank looked at the set, and smiled a little at the cartoon
that was on. "What are you watching?"
"South Park," Alex replied. "I didn't know it was on in the
mornings."
"Have you had breakfast?"
"Nah. Why?"
"You want scrambled eggs?"
A pause. "Yeah, okay." Alex was distracted, watching the
television. "Thanks."
"It's okay." Frank went through to the kitchen, listening to
Alex's occasional laughter. He smiled.
Ten minutes later, Frank took a loaded plate of food out to
his son. Alex sat up, and balanced it on his lap. He left the knife
on the couch beside him, and set about eating.
"Alex, I've got to do some work with the case today. You're
welcome to tag along."
"Frank, I'm the main suspect in the case. I don't think
anyone would appreciate me tagging along." Alex took another
mouthful, waiting for Frank's response.
Completely seriously, Frank began, "I'm going to do
something today, that I've never done before, and won't ever do
again. I'm going to lie about a case. To cover you." He stopped,
sighing. "It might not be the right thing to do, but I'm doing it. If I
present a theory to Giebelhouse and the rest of the police force
working with the case, saying that Paul was in fact the original
killer, you're going to get off.."
Alex had stopped eating. "Why are you doing that?"
"Because you're my son, Alex. But just answer me this:
who made you kill the first three?"
"What makes you think I didn't just do it because I'm an
evil son of a bitch?" At Frank's glare, Alex sighed. "The guys I
work for. The senator was dabbling in something he shouldn't have
been." He pushed his plate away. "I'm not hungry."
Gently, Frank took the plate away. He left it, along with his
own, in the kitchen. Then he went back to the lounge. "Do you
want to tell me about your employers?"
Alex didn't reply for a minute, then suddenly, started.
"They're a bunch of old men who basically run this country, and
place a lot of stock in genetics. They know everything, and are
beyond any prosecution. They also tend to get underlings like me
to do their dirty work." He paused for a minute. "I was recruited
halfway through Quantico, lead by promises that we were doing
the right thing. I've betrayed them more times than I care to
remember, but can't get away."
"Let me investigate them," Frank said. "I can't promise
anything, but I need to know what you're involved in."
"No, Frank!" Alex exclaimed, standing up and turning
around to face him. "I don't need you doing the fatherly thing and
finding out what I'm into. You've never been around before to do
that. You weren't there to comfort me when I got beaten up for
being scrawny. You weren't there to fix my bike when it broke.
You weren't ever there, Frank, and I don't need you now to make
sure no one's doing something wrong to me. I don't need you."
"If they're a shadowy organisation preparing for
something..."
"An alien takeover."
"Whatever. Anyway, I know about that sort of thing."
Alex snorted. "Yeah, sure. How the fuck would you know?"
"Because I was involved in something similar, Alex."
Annoyed that he wasn't getting anywhere, Frank stood up and left,
going into the kitchen.
Soon enough, Alex followed him, standing in the doorway.
He watched Frank for a while, then asked, "What were you
involved in?"
Frank turned around and studied Alex for a minute, then
shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. I'm trying to leave
that part of my life behind."
After a minute, Alex shrugged. There was uncomfortable
silence for a while, until Frank turned to him. "Look, Alex, why
don't you borrow some pants and a shirt of mine, brush your hair
down, and grab some shoes."
"Just call me Eliza, at the same time," Alex offered.
Frank glared at him. "Giebelhouse won't recognise you
that way. You can borrow anything from my closet, okay?"
"Yeah. Can I take a shower?"
"Sure," Frank replied, surprised. "The bathroom's down the
hall."
Alex nodded, and sauntered off down the hallway, leaving
Frank trying not to think about the Millennium Group.
After about half an hour, Alex came back out into the living
room, and Frank's eyebrows flew up at the complete
transformation. Smiling, Alex twirled around, eliciting a grin from
Frank. Alex's dark brown hair was washed and brushed, curling in
and framing his face. He was wearing a plain white shirt, and blue
jeans, along with a pair of tennis shoes. All in all, Alex looked
completely different from the hardened rebel without a cause Frank
had met the night before.
"Shall we go, then?"
Alex grinned. "Sure. Can we get lunch first, though?"
Frank raised an eyebrow. "We had breakfast half an hour
ago."
"Oh. Yeah." He paused. "What's your point?"
Frank stopped the Jeep outside the brothel, and the two of
them got out, walking up the steps. Giebelhouse was already
inside, talking to someone. He turned when Frank and Alex
walked in.
"Hey, Frank." He looked at Alex, quizzical expression.
Alex plastered on his most charming smile, offering his
hand. "Val Arntzen."
The detective shook Alex's hand. "Detective Giebelhouse.
You helpin' Frank out?"
"I hope to be, Detective." He paused, then, unable to
resist, "What have you got on the person who murdered the girl?"
Giebelhouse turned to Frank. "You filled him in?" Then, to
Alex, "Not much. We don't know if she was killed by the guy who
killed Frank's wife, or the guy who killed that guy."
Alex indicated to the file Giebelhouse was holding. "Can I
take a look?"
Giebelhouse willingly handed it over, and Alex looked
around for a place to sit. Eventually, he decided on the stairs,
leaning his legs out in front of him. Frank motioned to the
detective, and the two of them went outside.
"What is it?"
"Look, Giebelhouse, the first three murders. They weren't
done by Krycek."
Giebelhouse looked sceptical. "What makes you think
that?"
"What evidence do we have that it was him? Just Agent
Mulder's word. And his was the weapon used." Frank looked
carefully at the other man.
"So you're saying that we should take Agent Mulder in?"
"No. I think that the original murders were done by the
same man who killed my wife."
Giebelhouse considered that. "Do we have a positive ID on
the guy?"
"Yes, per his dental records. Paul McDermott." Frank
stared into space for a minute. "But I think the real target of our
investigation should be the people who told him to murder these
people. Not the underlings who just carry out orders."
"Hey, he who pulls the trigger..."
"...Commits the crime. I know. But something larger is
going on, here, Giebelhouse." Frank paused. "I'm thinking of going
back to the Bureau."
"What made you decide that?"
"This whole case. Just the way we haven't had anything
like this for a long time. If I was with the Bureau..."
The two walked back inside, where Alex was standing up.
He handed the file back to Giebelhouse. "Did you think to do an
examination for semen on the girl?"
Giebelhouse shook his head wordlessly.
"Maybe you should. It could prove who the killer was."
Alex paused. "If he had his way with her first."
"She was a prostitute. She could have any number of
men's semen on or in her." Frank watched Alex carefully, knowing
that he knew something.
"Yeah, but you look at the records." Alex handed over a
thick black book to Frank. "She didn't have anyone for two weeks
before she was murdered."
"Paul McDermott was a non-secreter," Giebelhouse
pointed out.
Thoughtfully, Alex said, "She'll still have evidence on her
body. Can't you get a pathologist to check her out? I know a good
one at the FBI. If nothing else, it might rule out other suspects."
"He's right," Frank pointed out, glad of that fact. "Her
body's still in the morgue, I believe. We can get this sorted out."
Nodding, Giebelhouse turned to walk out. "Can you two
get a pathologist organised? I'll talk to you later."
Alex nodded, and waved goodbye to the detective. He
turned to Frank, who looked impressed.
Frank raised an eyebrow. "Val?"
Smiling, Alex replied, "Yeah. It's my middle name. I go by
Val Arntzen when I'm doing something I probably shouldn't be." He
shrugged.
"Do you really know a pathologist at the FBI?"
"Sort of. Dana Scully. I don't think she'd really appreciate
the recommendation." Alex started out the door. "She'd probably
comply if you asked, though."
Frank followed his son out the door. "I guess it's worth a
try, then."
The two men walked up the steps of the J. Edgar Hoover
building. Before them, the door swung open, and Alex suddenly
stopped. Frank turned to him. "What?"
He followed Alex's line of vision, to where Agent Mulder
was standing, glancing between them. Mulder obviously
recognised Krycek, because he glared at Frank. "You were
working with that murdering rat the whole time."
Frank shook his head.
Mulder stepped down, taking Frank by the lapels of his
jacket. "The detective and I were busting our asses to solve this
case, and you were in with Krycek?!"
About to really lose his cool, Mulder suddenly half-fell over,
but was yanked to his feet. Krycek, firmly grasping a handful of
Mulder's shirt and tie, pulled him up the final step and shoved him
against the wall. Frank watched, stunned, as Krycek held his ex
-partner against the wall with his hand. Mulder seemed equally
stunned.
"Don't you fucking touch him, Mulder. He hasn't done a
goddamn thing."
Krycek let his hand drop down, pressing his body against
Mulder's to keep him against the wall. Their faces were only an
inch apart, with their eyes locked.
"Like I'm going to believe a word that comes out of your
double-crossing mouth, you son of a bitch."
"Aw, shut up!" Frank noticed that Alex was pressing his
groin into Mulder's, and the other man wasn't drawing back. "Can
you just listen, for once? You have no idea."
Mulder tried to look away, and his left hand snuck down to
get the gun from his holster. Krycek saw that, and blinked.
Mulder's gaze was steady, his hand with the gun in it equally so.
Frank wondered if he should be doing something, if Alex was
possibly going to get shot in front of his eyes.
As Mulder drew the gun up, Alex leaned forward and
kissed him. Hard. On the lips.
As Mulder stared at the other man incredulously, letting
his gun drop, Alex stood back. He turned to Frank. "I think we can
go in, now."
"Listen, I really don't think I should go in to see Scully.
You'd better do it."
Frank watched Alex for a second, then sighed. "What are
you going to do?"
"Wander around, rekindle old friendships, kill some
people..." At Frank's glance, Alex shrugged. "I'll amuse myself."
"Okay," Frank said simply.
"After that, can we go get something to eat?"
Rolling his eyes at Alex's one-track mind, Frank went off to
get in the elevator.
"Agent Scully?" Frank called from the door.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Yes?" Then, in
recognition, "Frank Black?" She got up, and shook his hand. "It's
an honour, sir."
"The reason I came down here... I'm working on a case at
the moment, and was wondering if you could do an autopsy for us.
You came highly recommended."
Scully smiled. "I haven't got anything on at the moment, so
I could do it... what should I have a mind towards?"
"Rape," Frank said. Then, tentatively, "By a non-secretor."
"Can I ask who the subject will be?"
"Amber Jenkins. She was a prostitute, but we know for
sure she hadn't been working for two weeks."
"She may have had someone in her spare time, though,"
Scully stated. "Rape injuries and specific semen are near
impossible things to determine with a prostitute."
"Apart from her killer, she won't have traces of anyone's
semen in her." Frank paused. "After all, do you do autopsies in
your spare time?"
Scully snapped her gloves on, and picked up her scalpel.
Into a small recording device, she dictated, "Three-twenty-one
p.m, begin autopsy on subject JTTO111470, white female, Amber
Jenkins. Precursory examination indicates that probable cause of
death is..." Looking at the head injuries, and the fact a bullet
wound was clear, she continued, "Bullet through the forehead,
which pierced her cerebrum. I will begin with the Y-incision."
She sighed. It looked like a pretty straightforward autopsy.
If there was such a thing.
Frank, with Alex in the passenger seat, pulled up in front of
the school. Without saying anything, he got out of the Jeep,
leaving Alex.
"Daddy!"
Frank grinned as Jordan came bounding towards him, and
bent down. She flew into his arms, throwing both hands around his
neck.
"Hey, Jordan." He set the girl back at arm's length. "How
was school?"
"Fine, Daddy. Can I come home now?"
Frank smiled at her. "Sure thing." Jordan hugged him
again, and he sighed. Taking her hand, Frank turned around to
walk back to the car.
Jordan stopped. "Who's that?"
Alex shifted his weight uncomfortably, leaning on the Jeep,
gaze fixed on Jordan. He didn't say anything.
"A friend of mine, Jordan," Frank introduced him tentatively.
She beamed at Alex, apparently deciding to like him.
"What's your name?"
"Alex," he replied slowly. Struck for words, he didn't say
anything else. Jordan grinned, then ran past him to get in the front
seat. Frank shrugged at Alex, who just got in the back seat and
resumed his window-watching.
There was silence in the car for a while, until Jordan sighed
melodramatically.
Frank looked over at her. "What is it?"
"I'm hungry."
From the back, Alex laughed, and Frank had to roll his
eyes.
Frank inwardly groaned, handing over the money to the
cashier. He wasn't getting anything, but just for Alex and Jordanthe latter of whom had had lunchit was setting him back twenty
dollars.
Jordan took one of the trays, and Alex, following her
example, took the other. Frank followed them, and ended up
sitting opposite his daughter.
There was no conversation at the table for a while, until
Alex decided to strike one up with his half-sister. "So, Jordan,
you're six, right?"
She turned to him, looking up. "Yes... how old are you?"
"Twenty-seven." Alex drunk from his soda.
The little girl screwed up her nose. "You're almost as old
as Daddy!"
Alex laughed into his drink, eliciting a strange look from
Jordan. Frank looked at her. "He isn't even half my age, Jordan."
"Oh." She was silent for a minute, eating her fries. Then
she looked at him thoughtfully. "Are you from overseas?"
"Yeah, Russia," Alex replied, surprised. "Why'd you think
that?"
"I just thought that," Jordan replied, indicating that
conversation was over by going back to her fries. At alternating
times, her hand would sneak over to take some of Alex's. "What
happened to your arm?"
"Jordan," Frank said, warningly.
Alex, obviously uncomfortable, went back to his meal.
Jordan started into a story about something that had happened at
school that day. Frank, not listening, studied Alex as he ate the
food. The man obviously had a lot more layers to him than were
visible on the surface. Mulder hadn't mentioned how recent the
arm was, but from his reaction to being asked about it, Frank
hazarded that it was fairly new.
However, somehow he'd been hardened beyond belief.
Jordan's voice broke into his train of thought. "... Do they,
Daddy?"
He looked at the girl, realising he had no idea what she
was talking about. "I don't know, honey." Alex looked up at Frank,
and grinned at him, obviously amused.
Jordan sighed. "You do so know."
"No, really, I-"
Alex cut him off. "Yeah, they do, Jordan. Twice a night."
She looked up at him, admiring. "How do you know?"
"I know everything," he informed her jokingly. She giggled.
Frank watched the two of them silently, how they
interacted. A totally different side of Alex came out when he was
around Jordan, and Frank was surprised.
"Do you have a girlfriend, Alex?"
"Jordan," Frank warned again, "Lay off the personal
questions, okay?"
"But Daddy, I want to know!"
Alex didn't look at either of them, concentrating on his
meal. After a while, he looked up again. "Hey, Frank, what's
happening tonight?"
"Not much. I have to make some phone calls, but that's
about it. Why?"
"Just wondering."
There was awkward silence for a while, until Frank turned
to Jordan. "Have you got any homework?"
"A bit," she replied. "Not much."
He nodded, and no one spoke for a bit longer. Jordan, who
had had enough to eat, started up staring at Alex. After a while, he
turned to her, unnerved. "What?"
"You're pretty."
He grinned. "Hey, thanks."
"Do you use mascara?"
Alex, surprised, looked up at Frank, then at Jordan. "Hell,
screw mascara, my lashes are natural."
"Alex," Frank warned, referring to his language. He wasn't
surprised, but didn't need it in front of Jordan.
Jordan giggled. "Yeah, Alex, you do so."
He rolled his eyes, and reached over to take some of the
girl's fries. Despite the fact Jordan was finished, she smacked
Alex's hand. "Hey!"
"What?"
Jordan reached past him, to take his drink. After taking a
mouthful, she replaced it.
"Hey!" Alex exclaimed, mock-hurt in his voice. "What was
that for?"
Frank closed his eyes. He didn't have the faintest idea of
how to deal with the two of them. After a minute, when he heard
Jordan's explosive giggling, he opened his eyes. "What?"
Both were grinning widely at Frank, and he began to get
suspicious. "What?"
Neither replied, and he looked down to find his wallet gone.
He looked up again to find Alex grinning and Jordan obviously
containing giggles with some difficulty.
"Which one of you took it?" Frank looked pointedly at Alex.
Alex shrugged innocently, cocking his head towards
Jordan. Frank's gaze changed focus. "Jordan," he began slowly,
"What do you have?"
"Nothing, Daddy," she replied, and then dissolved into
giggles.
Frank sighed.
Pausing before he rang Agent Scully, Frank looked
through to the lounge. Jordanand he couldn't be bothered making
her do otherwisewas doing her homework sprawled on the
couch. Alex was watching television, occasionally glancing over at
his sister.
Frank picked up the receiver and dialled Scully's number.
"Scully," came the answer.
"Agent Scully, this is Frank Black... I was just wondering
about the results of the autopsy."
There was a pause. "Well, firstly, she did have forced sex
with a non-secretor soon before her death. She has defence
injuries, indicating she fought back. But the most interesting thing,
was that the bullet through the head wasn't the only injury of
sorts.."
"What?" Frank looked at the receiver in surprise. "What
was?"
"Well, from remnants, dried, on her throat and stomach
lining, I can only guess that it was poison, ingested. He got that
into her system, possibly in alcohol. It could be that she was
drunk while forced into intercourse. That would have slowed her
defence, explaining why none of the defence injuries were what I
would have expected. The bullet through the head would simply
have helped to kill her after all that."
Frank was shocked. "Can you fax me through a copy of
your report?"
"Sure. What's your fax number?"
After giving it to her, and hanging up the phone, Frank
drew up a chair, waiting for the fax to come through.
When the fax started to squeal, Alex looked away from the
television. Apparently eager for a distraction, Jordan looked up at
her father, then back down. She sighed. "Alex, can you help me?"
Surprised at how comfortable she'd become with him, he
muted the television. "What is it?"
Jordan beckoned him over. "I don't know the answer.
Daddy usually helps me."
Kneeling down beside the couch, Alex looked at the map
she held. "What do you need?"
"Capital cities," she whined. "I don't know them."
"Is there an atlas?"
Jordan sighed. "No..." She pointed at the map. "What
state is this?"
"Nebraska," Alex said after thinking a little. "I think the
capital's Lincoln."
"And this?"
Alex looked at where the little girl was pointing, and froze,
memories washing over him. "North Dakota," he whispered.
Screaming, when is help coming? fear, terrible fear
unshakeable feeling of claustrophobia wanting to die no one
arriving
Jordan looked up at him. "Alex? Alex, what's wrong?"
He snapped out of it, looking at her. "N... nothing."
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." Shaken by the memory, Alex stood up and left
the room, going to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror, staring
as if expecting to see the black oil gazing back. He hated
bathrooms almost as much as he hated North Dakota. That
woman...
Alex looked truly shaken, hating the memory. It had been
the worst year in his lifebeing locked in a missile silo, then
getting out in time to get his arm lopped off. He frowned a little, not
willing to think about it, and went back out to the living room.
Frank looked at him. "Alex, I have to go over to
Giebelhouse's. Are you okay with Jordan? I mean, I can take her
with me..."
Stunned that anyone would trust him that far, Alex shook
his head. "That's fine..." He couldn't say anything else, too
shocked. Frank knew his pastat least a small part of itbut was
willing to put it all aside, to ignore it. To give Alex a second
chance.
Frank knocked on the door, In his hand, he held the
autopsy results. Fairly soon, the door was opened. Giebelhouse
was wearing his work pants, and a white shirt with the top buttons
undone. His tie was loosened, and his feet bare.
"Frank," he began. "What is it? Come in, I just opened the
scotch."
"Giebelhouse," Frank replied easily, stepping inside the
house. "Look at this." He thrust the fax paper into the detective's
hands.
Giebelhouse read it. "What the hell is this?"
"The poison. It was in the beer."
"It can't be..."
Frank shrugged angrily, pouring himself a scotch. "I don't
know. But I need you to pull out everything we had on the Three
Way killer."
The Three Way killer was Frank and Giebelhouse's biggest
success, and also their biggest failure. As the first case the two
had worked completely together, it had been the toughest thing
the police department had ever seen. The killer had been dubbed
Three Way in relation to the way he had killed his victims. Firstly,
he'd get them drunk. The alcoholalways the same unusual brand
of beercontained a poison that subdued the victim, slowing down
their vitals. Then he'd rape herhis victims were always woman,
usually prostitutes. Sometimes the girl would fight back,
sometimes not. He was never tracked down, because he was
lucky enough to be a non-secretor. The only hair/fibre thing they'd
ever picked up was blond hair. At last he'd kill her, a non-fatal
head wound that would add to the poison's effect, leaving her to
die painfully. The only connection between the victim was genderrace, age, occupation all varied. Frank and Giebelhouse had
worked all hours trying to determine where the next victim would
be found, and eventually Frank had hit pay dirt. The man went in a
three way spiral out from Seattle, escalating out. Then one day,
the murders all stopped. Frank had gone crazy trying to figure out
why.
"In DC?" Giebelhouse sounded incredulous. "Look, are we
certain he actually got killed when your wife did? Body bagged,
tagged and buried?"
Frank met his eyes. "No. Get in my car. We've got to go
find the body."
The degree of worry between them was obvious, neither of
them talking, both completely on edge. This new development had
so taken the footing out from beneath them, that neither knew
what to do.
Once Giebelhouse had clicked his seatbelt into place,
Frank started the car. There was a lot to do, all of a sudden.
The Jeep was the only car on the street outside the
morgue. Darkness had long since engulfed the street, the only
lights being the dim ones, the streetlamps. Frank had called on
the way over, so someone should be around to let them in soon.
Giebelhouse pointed out the front windscreen as another
car pulled into the park. "Is that him?"
"Yeah. Let's go." Frank got out of the car, locking it after
Giebelhouse closed his door. The two went over to the man who
was watching them carefully.
Frank shook his hand. "Frank Black. We talked on the
phone."
The other man smiled tersely. "Brian Campbell. You
understand this is an extremely unusual and irritating request. My
wife doesn't appreciate me leaving her for work."
At the man's words, Frank dropped his hand and avoided
eyes. "We apologise for that, but this is extremely urgent."
"I haven't looked at that body since it came in. I don't even
understand why you gentlemen requested it be kept on-hand."
"We're investigating some murders. The bodies might be
important. The little woman's was, that's for sure. Now can we go
see the stiff?" Giebelhouse's way with words was always
interesting, Frank mused. But it worked. Brian opened the door,
and the three men went inside. Once where the bodies were kept,
Brian went over to the correct wall, pulling out something that
looked like part of a file cabinet.
He looked up at Frank and Giebelhouse.
"The body's gone."
"Should I have a bath now?" Jordan stood up, turning to
Alex for confirmation. He gave her a blank look.
"I guess," Alex looked at her. He didn't know how to treat
her. He'd never been around a child before, and it was strange to
suddenly obtain a younger sister.
"Okay," she replied, walking past him, heading for the
bathroom. Alex watched her go. He sighed. He didn't belong here.
As Frank walked through the door, Alex looked up. Not
saying anything, he looked back down. Frank threw his jacket on
the chair, and collapsed into a chair.
Jordan was sitting at the opposite end of the couch to
Alex, both of them watching television. Frank smiled. The two
could connect so well, but Alex still had that awkward air about
him.
"Jordan, shouldn't you be in bed?" Alex shot him a guilty
glance, and Jordan heaved a sigh.
Frank opened his arms, indicating for Jordan to come
climb onto his lap. She did so, and he hugged her. Then, without
saying a word to Alex, Frank stood up with her, and walked down
the hall into her room.
The girl climbed into her bed, watching her father. He
leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.
"Daddy, what did happen to Alex's arm?"
Frank looked at his daughter for a minute, then stroked a
stray curl away from her face. "I don't know, sweetie. Go to sleep."
Jordan nodded, turning her face away. Frank smiled down
at her, then turned around and left the room.
Alex was still watching television, mindlessly, when Frank
came out to the living room. He sat down on the chair again, and
watched his son. "Alex," he started after a while, "What do you
know about Paul's history?"
There was no answer for a while, and Frank was about to
ask again, when Alex decided to speak. "Not a hell of a lot. They
said he'd killed before, but I don't really know shit about him. I
don't care, either."
Frank paused. "His MO, the way he killed the prostitute...
it's similar to a case Giebelhouse and I worked a year or so ago.
And we suspect he's still alive."
"I shot the fucker!" Alex exclaimed. "He was dead, damnit."
"His body has disappeared." Frank sighed, standing up.
"Is there a way you could safely find anything out about him that
might be of some help to us?"
Alex snorted. "Safely? I haven't done anything safe in my
whole life." Frank shook his head, looking out the window. He
didn't say anything, waiting for Alex to speak. Alex did. "Okay. I
will."
"Thanks."
After a while, Alex started, sounding strange, "Jordan was
asking about my arm."
It was more of a statement than a question, but Frank
went back through and sat on the chair. "Yes, she was. Jordan
gets curious when she picks up on something."
"Do you want to know about it?" Alex asked bluntly.
Frank thought about what to answer for a while. Then he
sighed. "What did happen?"
"I was forced to pay for my sins, that's what." Alex laughed
bitterly. "Sounds noble, but it isn't."
"Agent Mulder said something about Russia." Frank tried
to study the younger man's face, but Alex turned away.
"Yeah. Some fuckwit do-it-yourselfers thought they were
helping me out."
"I don't understand."
"You don't understand much, do you?" Alex meant it as a
rhetorical statement. Neither talked for a minute.
"Alex..."
"Shut up!" he exclaimed, suddenly slamming his right fist
into the back of the couch. "Look, a bunch of Russian bushmen
lopped my arm off to protect me from some tests I was involved in
running. Got an insight into my life yet, Dad?"
Shocked, all Frank could manage, was, "Alex..."
"Maybe you want to pull the understanding father thing
again."
"Alex, stop it."
"Look, Frank, you have absolutely no fucking idea what my
life is like. Last year I was locked in an underground goddamn
missile silo for six months."
"You... what?" Alex's life was so completely foreign to
Frank, but he wanted to try to understand.
"You heard me. My life is a totally fucked up mistake.
Nothing's ever gone right for me."
Frank didn't say anything.
"I really wish I'd blown everyone away when those Russian
shitheads came across me in the forest. I should have. I'd still
have a left arm if I hadn't decided to fucking trust someone for the
first time..." Alex trailed off. "Fuck them."
"Alex, everything happens for a reason..."
In sudden anger, Alex whirled around to face him. "Don't
start that philosophical shit with me, Frank."
Frank noticed Alex's eyes were watering ever so slightly.
"I'm not meaning it like that, Alex. It's just that you shouldn't think
about what might have been."
"Whatever." Alex turned back to the television. "It's my
own stupid fault. I'm too fucking stupid, and I paid for my stupidity."
"You're not stupid. You might have had a temporary bout of
stupidity, but overall you're not. It's unfortunate."
"Unfortunate?" Alex echoed in disbelief. "You mean this-"
He left off, pushing his shirt up and removing his prosthetic, then
indicating the truncated limb with his right hand, "Is unfortunate?"
Frank looked at him, at the pain usually hidden behind his
features coming to the surface. "Maybe not unfortunate..." He
noticed that Alex wasn't listening, his gaze fixated on the stump.
Slowly, a lone tear slipped down Alex's cheek. One part of Frank,
the fatherly part, wanted to reach out and embrace the other man,
to just hug him. Instead, he held back, observing and watching.
Whispering, voice shaking, Alex said, "It only happened
two and a half goddamn weeks ago."
Unable to resist, Frank reached his hand across the gap
between the furniture. "Hey," he said softly, resting his hand on
Alex's shoulder. He saw the younger man bring his right hand up
to hold his face, and sighed. Alex was crying.
The next morning, Frank came out to the living room to find
Alex sound asleep on the couch, television blaring. Jordan was
perched on the couch, atop Alex's feet. Frank simply smiled at the
picture it made, then quietly went through to the kitchen.
When the sounds of making breakfast made their way into
the living room, Jordan startled, craning her neck to see. "Daddy?"
Underneath her, Alex stirred, and eventually looked up at
her. "Jordan? What are you doing..."
She giggled, laying down flat on top of him. "You're so
sleepy."
"I don't sleep much usually," he replied, inwardly marvelling
at how comfortable she was. "And then I get woken up by you on
top of me."
"You like that!" she countered, beaming. "Daddy's making
breakfast."
"Mmmhmm..." Alex murmured, turning his face into the
pillow. When he felt little fingers playing through his hair, he
looked up. "Hey!"
"Your hair is so pretty," she said. "Can I brush it?"
Unable to see any hidden spikes in the innocent question,
Alex shrugged. "If you want."
Jordan clasped her hands together for an instant, then
jumped down from the couch, trotting off to her bedroom. Alex
smiled. He had to admit that he was fond of the kid. She soon
came back, armed with hair accessories.
"Hey!" he protested. "You just said brushing. Not clips and
stuff."
"Please?" she asked, looking at him with puppy-dog eyes.
Alex smiled, but shook his head. Jordan sighed, then
climbed on the couch behind him. Alex felt the gentle teeth of a
brush being pulled through his hair. After a minute, she stopped,
and stood up. "All done."
"Thanks," he said, smiling a little. Jordan grinned in reply,
and took all the other hair accessories back to the bedroom. Alex
stood up, pulling on Frank's sweatpants and heading into the
kitchen. Frank took one look at him, and smiled a little.
"I see Jordan did your hair."
Immediately suspicious, Alex brought his hand up to his
hair, stroking through it. His hand came back down holding a
bright pink fluffy clip. Frowning, he said, "She said just brushing."
"You live, you learn," Frank quipped, handing Alex a plate
of food. He sat down at the table, plate in front of him. After a
minute, Jordan came out.
"Hey, Jordan." Alex frowned mock-sternly at the girl. "I
said just brushing."
She giggled. "Oh well." Turning to her father, she asked,
"Can I have some breakfast, Daddy?"
"Sure, sweetheart," he said, handing her a plate. She sat
opposite Alex, and after a couple of minutes, Frank joined them.
"You got school today, Jordan?" Alex asked the little girl
between mouthfuls.
"Yes," she answered, eating her cereal.
Conversational dead end. Frank watched as Alex appeared
to have some sort of fascination with his plate, and Jordan with her
spoon. Finally he had to ask her. "Jordan, what's with the spoon?"
As if surprised to hear someone talk, Jordan looked up
from her spoon, towards her father. Keeping the utensil in the air
like a flaming torch, she grinned. "I look funny in it."
Frank exchanged a glance with Alex, then reached over to
touch her cheek. "You look funny all the time, sweetie."
"Hey!" she yelped in reply, then giggled. Alex smiled wanly
at the two of them.
"Jordan, go get your school gear, okay? We'll drop you off
on our way to DC." Frank smiled fondly at his daughter, who
jumped down from the table and obeyed.
A thick lock of hair was falling into Alex's eye, and he
absent-mindedly brushed it back, tucking it behind his ear.
"Guess I should get ready then."
"You can just wear that outfit, can't you?"
"Not if I'll be dealing with the Consortium, I can't. You want
me to find out about Paul? Give me a minute, your bedroom, and
some hair gel, and I'll be ready." Alex got up from the table, and
went through into the living room to get his clothing from the first
night.
Several minutes later, Jordan, all ready for school, was
standing beside the door waiting. Frank took his pale tan cargo
jacket, slipping it on. "Hey, Alex!"
"Yeah, coming..." After a minute, Alex came tripping into
the living room. He looked every bit the hardened assassin again.
His entire outfit was black, hair slicked back close to his head.
Jordan frowned up at him. "I did your hair nicer."
He smiled back at her, then looked at Frank. "So."
"Let's go." Frank opened the door for Jordan to tumble out
of. The two men followed at a more sedate pace.
"I'll meet you later, okay?" Alex leaned back into the Jeep
to talk to Frank. "Four o'clock."
"Make it a bit later," Frank replied. He handed over his
cellphone number, scribbled onto a piece of paper. The younger
man tucked it into his back pocket. "I'm going to have to pick
Jordan up and drive back here. Five okay?"
"Okay. See you then." He turned, and was about to walk
off, when Frank stopped him.
"Hey. Where are you going?"
Krycek grinned in reply. "New York, New York."
Krycek shifted uncomfortably. Lying wasn't exactly a
foreign concept to him, but it was different lying to Frank. The man
had a knack for getting the strangest reactions out of Krycek, and
he hated it. Showing emotionlike he had the night beforemade
you vulnerable. Vulnerability was a Bad Thing.
But there was no reason Frank needed to know where he
was really going today. Sure, his bosses usually hung about in
New York, but lately they'd been DCers. It made them easier to
contact, that was for damn sure.
When Frank had been away the previous night, Alex had
made arrangements for a meeting with the Smoking Man, in the
back of a shady nightclub they often used for such purposes. Alex
was at the back door of the nightclub five minutes prior to the
meeting time they'd arranged.
Opening the door with his back, Alex slipped inside the
club. He looked around for the cloud of smoke which usually
followed his sometime-employer around. Soon enough, he saw it,
and seated himself at the table, across from the sack of cancer.
"Hello Alex," the old man said cheerfully. "Enjoying family
life?"
"You knew," the younger man hissed.
"We know everything. Including everything about
prostitutes."
Alex raised both eyebrows in a silent question.
"Your mother was a prostitute, Alex."
"My mother was not a fucking whore," he spat, leaning
across the table.
The man exhaled smoke into Alex's face, causing him to
cough loudly. "Had you convinced yourself that Natalia and Frank
loved each other very much?" He paused, stubbing out the
cigarette and lighting another. "Well. I'm sorry, Alex. You were the
product of a one night stand."
For a minute, he didn't reply, looking around the bar. Then
he sighed. "That's not why we're here. Where the fuck is Paul?
Who is he?"
"Paul's dead. You ensured that, and I must thank you for
it."
"My ass he's dead. His body's disappeared. Now either
you tell me who and where he is, or-" Underneath the table,
Krycek took out his gun and pressed the barrel to the Smoking
Man's knee. "The nice decor of this bar is going to be ruined."
The smoking man attempted to keep panic down deep,
underneath everything, where it belonged. "I'm sure I don't know
where Mr. McDermott is at this present time."
"Yeah. Right." There was the unmistakeable sound of a
safety being clicked off a gun.
"I don't believe you'd shoot me, Alex, would you?" The
smoking man, seemingly confident in this prognosis, blew some
smoke at the other man. "You can't finish anything."
"Like hell I can't."
"Well, good. We need you to finish what you started last
week." There was a pause. "The senator."
"Aw, fuck you." Krycek frowned at him. "Get Paul to do it."
"Don't want to displease Daddy, hmm?"
Krycek narrowed his eyes. "I don't give a shit about Frank
Black."
"Then do this last thing we need from you."
The smoking man stared at Krycek as he stared at a spot
on the wall. Krycek turned back to him. "I'll do it. In exchange for
information about Paul McDermott."
"What do you want to know?"
"Where's he killed before?"
"Frank will know." The smoking man smiled a little. "He's
met him before."
"Where is he?" Krycek pressed the barrel harder into the
other man's knee. The Smoking man looked back at him.
"I'm sure you can find him. You're a smart young man." He
paused. "In his apartment."
"Fine," Krycek replied, standing up and sliding his gun into
its holster. "Thank you."
The man simply nodded, as Krycek left the bar. He was
learning.
The senator was to be his top priority. He knew the fucker
would be on his lunch break, and Krycek even knew the cafe he'd
be dining at. It was only a few blocks away from the club, and
Krycek walked briskly down a side street.
The cafe was brightly lit, and from across the street,
Krycek could see that the senator was not alone. A man was
sitting across the table from him, a young man dressed all in
black. His hair was reasonably long, and overall, the man was
quite good looking. Krycek noticed that neither man was talking.
After a minute, the younger man looked up as the senator
rose from the table, finished. Krycek took that as his cue, and
went over to the cafe.
Krycek had discarded care, sick of being so perfect with
every detail. He didn't give a damn any more if he got caught. He
was going to blow that man's head off in front of everyone, and
then run for his worthless life.
As he reached out to open the front door, it opened
inwardly, and the young man in black came out, looking at
Krycek. "Where are you going?"
Taken aback by the man's forwardness, Krycek glared at
him. "None of your fucking business."
"I believe it is," he replied, stepping up to Krycek.
Uncomfortably, Krycek stepped back. "You're going to kill him,
aren't you? It's not his time."
"My ass it's not." Krycek glared at the man. "Who the fuck
are you, huh?"
"You'll learn that when you need to," he replied. The door
opened behind him, and the senator came out.
Steven McLain hated being out on the streets. More so
now, when everyone was gone. Any one of the rats crawling the
streets could be the cold bastard who had killed the only people
he held dear. Through heavy-lidded eyes, Senator McLain looked
darkly at the young man outside the cafe. Those sorts of people
made him nervous. Much as his public appearances showed that
he cared about them, secretly he hated them. This one seemed
insane, talking to himself.
As the man looked over at him, Steven quickened his pace.
"I have a goddamn job to do," the man hissed, looking at
the senator. "I don't know what the fuck you want."
He wasn't talking to anyone, but apparently thought he
was. Unnerved, Steven hurried to his car, unlocked it, and got into
the driver's seat. As the strange man looked around at him, he
drove off.
"Now he's gone, How am I supposed to kill him with
surveillance around his house?" Krycek scowled at the other man.
The senator had been looking at him like he was crazy.
"You're not. It's not right." The dark-haired guy looked at
Krycek, strange expression on his face.
"I'm going to get killed if I don't kill the jerk."
"If that's what you think, then you will. It isn't the Senator's
time." The guy turned to walk away, and Krycek took his arm.
"Where the hell are you going?"
The man didn't answer, and took his arm away without
Krycek knowing how. He walked off without saying another word,
The policemen outside the senator's house looked
surprised to see him at home early. They bade him good
afternoon, and he went inside. The house held a lot of memories in
it, a lot of ghosts. He went through to the kitchen, getting a black
coffee. He felt distinctly uncomfortable, but couldn't explain why.
Behind him, a crash sounded, and instantly on edge,
Steven spun around. It was simply a clock, fallen to the floor and
smashed. He went over and picked it up. It was an old clock, the
face shattered, the hands frozen in their movement.
Steven stood up again, taking the pieces over to the sink
and leaving them on the stainless steel. One of the shards of
glass from the clock face had sliced his finger open, and blood
was pouring from it. He ran some cold water, putting his finger
under the stream. Blood diluted, mixing with the water and going
down the drain. He watched, transfixed.
Krycek stopped the car at the end of the street, getting
out. It was broad daylightunusual for himand he was sort of
nervous about being seen. There were cops all around the
senator's house, watching out for people. Krycek was more than
slightly surprised they still kept it up after more than a week, but
he supposed the senator had instructed it so.
He fingered his gun, wishing in some offhand corner of his
mind that he had his gloves. However, he didn't particularly care
about fingerprinting. Meticulously ensuring every detail was taken
care of was in his past.
Slipping into a neighbouring yard, Krycek looked through a
gap in a hedge to find that the guys around the back had
apparently given up. Too bad for them, he thought to himself, as
he slipped through the gap.
Silently, he jogged across the short expanse of lawn until
he came to the house. The best way to get in, or so he thought,
would be up the trellis, the way he'd exited after killing the wife.
But going up with one hand was a different story from going down,
completely and utterly.
Krycek stood back, looking over the back of the house. All
the windows were shut tightly on the lower floor, the door bolted
shut. He frowned. This wasn't going to be as easy as originally
anticipated.
An officer, whistling cheerfully, came around the back of
the house. He saw Krycek, and frowned, drawing his gun. "Hey,
buddy, who are you?"
Not answering, Krycek stepped towards him, smiling a
little. The guy stepped back. "Hey, I'll shoot. Stop there!"
Allowing himself to be amused at the stupid idiot's face,
Krycek scowled. He punched the guy hard in the head, grinning as
he fell to the soft grass with a low thud. He leaned down and
proceeded to remove the man's clothing.
Lieutenant Miller wasn't having the best of days. His wife,
Ellie, had been yelling at him that morning that his job was taking
over his life. Greg Miller disagreed, but then had to cut the
argument short in order to go to work. To add to his annoyance
over that, it was damned hot, and he was dressed in full uniform.
Nothing was happening at the senator's house. In fact,
they'd laid off the high-security, only bringing it back because Bob
Giebelhouse had instructed them to.
Todd had gone around the back of the house, as they did
at ten-minute intervals, to check all was fine. As Greg watched,
Todd came back around the front, giving him a thumbs up sign
with his right hand. Greg nodded, and turned around. Todd walked
inside.
As soon as Krycek got inside, he threw away the cap, and
also the jacket. Both were slightly too tight. The jeans, however,
were Krycek's.
Slowly, he moved through and stood beside a plant pot. In
the kitchen, he could see the senator, cradling his hand. Krycek
crouched down, watching. After a minute, his hand instinctively
slipped down to take his gun. The silencer was off the gun. Krycek
slid the revolver out, cocking it, holding it in front of his face.
The senator, as if sensing something, turned around.
"Hello?" he called out, shakily.
When he turned back around, Krycek stood up, holding
the gun down at his side. He walked into the kitchen, to the
senator's back. He simply stood there, waiting for the senator to
turn around.
After a minute of silence, he did. The expression in the
instant he saw Krycek was priceless, and Krycek almost had to
laugh out loud. The senator's bloodied hand shot down to take
Krycek's left, and he looked the younger man in the eyes. "It's
you. Why are you doing this?"
"It's how it must be," Krycek sneered, wishing the man
would drop his prosthetic. "You shouldn't dabble in things you
know nothing about."
"I... I haven't!" Steven looked pleadingly into Krycek's
unsympathetic face. "Please don't kill me..."
Shaking his head at the frailty and stupidity of the
pleading, Krycek brought his gun up to press into the senator's
belly. He was about to pull the trigger, when a noise from behind
stopped him. Krycek turned to find the doorways out of the kitchen
ablaze, a bright fire licking up the walls.
Ignoring it, Krycek turned back to the senator. He frowned
at him, wondering why the senator didn't seem to notice the
flames. In sudden panic, wondering if it was just his imagination it
was a little bit harder to breathe, Krycek pulled the trigger. The
senator dropped to the floor, and Krycek fired again.
Lung punctured, the senator lay on the floor, struggling to
breathe. Krycek ignored him, looking around in panic for an
escape route. The only option was the bolted window, and he
hurled his gun at it. The glass shattered, and Krycek climbed out
it, glass tugging at his clothing and ripping some skin from his
right hand.
Jordan stood up suddenly from her desk, holding her right
hand tightly. Her teacher looked at her.
"Jordan, are you okay?"
She shook her head wildly. "The fire! Please put the fire
out!"
The teacher went over to the little girl, taking her by the
shoulders. "There's no fire, Jordan. What's wrong with your hand?"
"It hurts!"
All the children had fallen silent, watching the scene
between the two. Jordan closed her eyes. "Please put the fire
out," she whimpered. "Please?"
Her teacher stood up. "Come on, Jordan, we'll go to the
office."
"There have been two shots fired," Miller shouted into the
radio unit he held in his hand. "Repeat, two shots fired." He
motioned to his men, who swarmed around the house, entering
slowly. He followed, going through the front door.
The house was silent, and Miller didn't know where to look,
until a quiet, strained groan came from the kitchen. He ran
through, finding the senator on the floor. Leaning down, Greg
cradled the senator's head, lifting his upper torso a little. "Sir?
Who did this?"
"Sunflowers. Twenty-eight, ninety-three, fifty-six."
The man obviously struggled to speak the words, then fell
back down. The policeman looked at the senator, then up at his
men. "Find the killer, damnit!"
Krycek clambered over the wall, and stopped in his tracks.
That man, from outside the cafe. Krycek looked at him for an
instant, then turned away. He didn't want to deal with that strange
man.
"Look back at the house," the man said. Krycek frowned
at him, then did as told, looking back at the senator's home.
With a strange look, Krycek turned back. "What the... the
house was on fire!"
"Was it?"
Krycek frowned at him, then, hearing shouts from behind,
sprinted off towards the street.
Frank's cellphone rang, and he answered it. "Hello?"
"Mr Black?" a woman's voice asked from the other end of
the phone.
"Yes... who is this?"
"Jennifer Smith from Greendale Elementary. It's about
Jordan."
Frank immediately pulled over to the side of the road, in
order to give the phone his full attention. "What about Jordan? Is
she okay?"
"Look, I think you should get down here." The woman
sounded uncomfortable.
"I'm just on my way back to Virginia. Tell her I'll be there
as soon as I can, okay?"
"I'll tell her," the woman replied, and Frank found himself
with a dialtone. He sighed, and pulled out on the road, worry
washing over him.
"Frank Black," Frank introduced himself. "I got a phone
call about my daughter, Jordan..."
"Right through there," the woman behind the desk replied,
coming around to talk to Frank. "She broke down in class,
claiming her hand hurt, just out of the blue, and asking everyone to
put out the fire. We didn't know what else to do."
He nodded, going through into the room Jordan was in.
She was in a bed, sitting on top of it. He walked over to her, and
knelt down. "What is it, honey?"
"There was a fire, Daddy."
He looked up at the receptionist, who shook her head. He
turned back to Jordan. "Sweetheart, there wasn't a fire. Are you
sure?"
"There was! And my hand hurt." She looked down at her
right hand. "Like it was bleeding."
"Your hand's fine, Jordan. What happened?"
"I saw fire. And a man."
"A man?"
She nodded sagely. "Samiel."
"Aw, shit," Krycek muttered, wiping the blood from his
hand onto his jeans. The glass had cut deeply, and shards were
probably still in the wound. He looked up, at the nondescript white
door. He was at Paul's apartment.
Using his prosthetic, he rapped lightly, underarm, on the
door. "Paul. You son-of-a-bitch, get your sorry ass out here."
It only took a minute more of curses and threats of
violence to get Paul to answer the door. He looked Krycek up and
down, then grinned. "Didn't expect this meeting any time soon."
Krycek shoved past him and entered the apartment. "You
were dead. Now you're not. What the hell's the story?"
"I'm a professional," was his simple answer. "You missed.
I faked it."
"You faked it."
"Alex Krycek, if you're a professional, as you are not, you
can slow your breathing and pulse down so that everyone believes
you're gone."
Krycek looked at him for a minute, then shook his head.
"You're such a fucking freak, Paul."
"Ah, yes, but I'm also brilliant at it." Paul looked at him.
"I'm never caught."
Angered, Krycek stepped up and caught him by the collar
of his shirt, shoving him against a wall. His cut throbbed in protest,
but Krycek ignored it purposely. "You were a serial killer, right?"
"In Seattle, a year ago," Paul supplied cheerfully. "How'd
you know?" He looked at Krycek's hand. "Oh, nasty cut. You get
sliced by your own cock ring?"
Krycek narrowed his eyes, then dropped the other man.
"Who the hell are you?"
"I go by many names," the man said. "Paul is just one of
them." He stepped up to Krycek, taking him by the shirt, and
throwing him across the room. Krycek hit the wall hard, and,
dizzy, looked up, as the man's face shifted and changed.
He blinked. Did he see that correctly?
"Lucy's another," Paul?said, in a woman's voice.
Krycek's eyes widened. "Lucy Butler."
"Shit," Krycek murmured. He was in for it, now.
The woman's face and body changed as he watched, and
it took him an instant to recognise the main guy from the Siberian
forest. He grinned, as Krycek shifted up against the wall
uncomfortably.
Jordan suddenly screamed, causing Frank to take her by
the shoulders. She continued screaming, until speaking, "It's
going to hurt me! No!"
"Jordan," he called softly. "Come on, honey."
A receptionist came in behind him, and looked at the two
of them. "Oh my God... she's having a seizure."
"Don't let him hurt me..." she whimpered, focusing on her
father's face. "Don't let him hurt Alex!"
Frank startled. "What?"
"Alex, he's going to hurt Alex."
Frank watched her for a minute, realising she had to have
some sort of telepathic connection with her half-brother. "Jordan,
what do you see?"
"A man... a woman. White..."
Watching the girl's face, contorted in pain, Frank stood up,
walking out of the room. As if on cue, his phone rang.
Krycek looked up again. The man had changed forms
again, now looking like Detective Giebelhouse, and talking on the
phone.
"Frank, this is Giebelhouse," the man who had been Paul
said into the phone. Krycek shifted uncomfortably, and the man
went on. "The senator's been killed. I have the killer here."
Krycek started edging towards the door.
"Get down here as soon as you can. See you soon." The
man, looking like Detective Giebelhouse, hung up. He smiled
down at Krycek. "We'll be taking a little trip."
As soon as the man turned his back on Krycek, he
whipped out his gun, and fired it at him. The wound began to bleed
green acidic liquid, and Krycek scrambled to his feet, sprinting out
the door.
"He's lying to you, Daddy," Jordan sobbed, throwing
herself into her father's arms. "He's lying! The man's bleeding."
Afraid for his daughter, Frank picked her up. Without
saying a word to anyone, he walked out the door. Jordan
continued sobbing, and Frank wondered about her. What was it?
Perhaps she was seeing... and feeling... what Alex was.
He wondered where Alex was.
Just as he placed Jordan in the car, Frank's phone rang.
He answered it. "Frank Black."
"Frank, this is Giebelhouse. We got another dead body."
"I haven't forgotten in the three minutes since you last
called me, Giebelhouse."
"I ain't called you," he replied, sounding surprised. "The
senator's been shot."
Stunned, Frank looked towards Jordan in the car. He's
lying to you, Daddy. "Giebelhouse, I don't know what's going on
right now. You're sure you didn't call me?"
"Frank, I don't think I'm gonna be mistaken about
somethin' like that. The interesting thing here, is that it ain't that
McDermott guy. We got blood, we got fingerprints, we got
everything you want. Fibres..."
"It's not?" Frank replied, in shock. "It's not him?"
"Look, I'm gonna run some tests on the blood and
fingerprints. I know who I think this is."
"Who?"
"That Krycek guy we thought originally. There ain't nothing
to say it wasn't him, and none of the killin's 'cept the whore's are
like Three Way."
"It's not him..." Frank said quietly. "It can't be."
"Sure looks like it from here, Frank."
"I'll be down there... where are you?"
"The station. I'll wait here for you."
Frank nodded. "I'll have Jordan with me, though."
"Yeah. Bye."
Hanging up the phone and shoving it into a pocket, Frank
got into the car, and sighed. It couldn't be Alex. He wouldn't be
that stupid. Surely.
Krycek didn't bother looking over his shoulder, simply
running for his life. He didn't know what to do... where to go. Paul
was one of those goddamn shape shifters. In many ways, it didn't
surprise Krycek. But he'd be targeted. And if Frank had believed
the guy, then Frank was in danger. Krycek burst into a shop on
the side of the street.
"Let me use the phone," he whispered desperately. No one
answered, and he took out his gun. "Let me use the goddamn
phone!"
A couple of screams, and a woman shakingly handed him
the phone. He slammed it down on the countertop, grabbing
Frank's phone number out from his pocket. He dialled it.
"Frank Black," Frank answered.
"Frank," Krycek practically yelled into the phone. "Where
are you?"
"Alex? Tell me you haven't done something idiotic."
Dismayed, he looked into the receiver. Unable to answer,
he let the receiver slip to the ground. He turned and ran out of the
store.
"Alex?" Frank frowned at the phone, as if it was
responsible. "Alex!"
There was no answer, and Frank slammed down his
cellphone in sudden anger. He glanced over at Jordan, who looked
delicate and vulnerable.
He stepped on the accelerator.
"Frank," Giebelhouse called as the older man pulled up in
the carpark. "Everything's away for testing. We'll know soon
enough if Krycek's the killer."
Keeping an eye on Jordan, in the Jeep, Frank went over to
the detective. "You really think he is?"
"Yeah, I do." Giebelhouse handed over a file, which, when
Frank opened it, contained some polaroid pictures of the crime
scene.
"These were done quickly."
"This case got top priority," Giebelhouse pointed out.
Frank nodded simply, and just stood there. He couldn't
believe it. If it was Alexand there was no doubt, even in his mind,
that it wasthen, he had gone against everything the two of them
had silently agreed to. Frank felt hurt... and betrayed. He'd never
been so close to a case before, even when Helen had been taken.
She wasn't the suspect then, and Bletch had told him to step
down. Inwardly, Frank wondered what Bletch would think of his
current situation. It was pretty much a no-brainer.
He turned to Giebelhouse. "I've got to go to DC. There's
some things I need to do."
"Yeah. Later, Frank. I'll call you with the results."
Frank nodded, and walked back to the Jeep.
Several hours later, after driving to and around Washington,
Frank hadn't found Alex. It was past the time they'd arranged to
meet, and still he hadn't turned up. Jordan was getting decidedly
fidgety, and Frank had stopped to get her dinner. Himself, he was
too nervous to eat.
"Daddy, are we looking for Alex?"
Frank turned to her, surprised at the observation. Since
they'd left the school, nothing had happened with her... he wasn't
sure what to think of them as. Visions? Seizures? "Yes,
sweetheart. We are."
She sighed. "Why do you think he's here? He's probably at
home."
"Why do you think so?" Frank asked gently. Jordan
shrugged.
"He's not here, is he?"
Good point, Frank thought. Still, they weren't getting
anything done in DC. May as well head back home.
"Alex?" Frank called as he opened the door. "Are you in
here?"
"Yeah..." came the quiet answer. Frank let out a breath
he'd absent-mindedly been holding in.
He turned to Jordan. "Sweetie, can you go have a bath?"
A sigh from the little girl. "It's too early."
Frank ruffled her hair. "I know, but I need to talk to Alex,
okay?"
"Okay." Jordan went off down the hall, and a minute later,
Frank heard the sounds of her bath running. When the water
stopped, and splashing started, he went through into the living
room. Alex was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall,
staring into space. Frank watched him for a minute.
"Why'd you do it?"
A simple question, but Alex seemed to have to think
before he answered. Then, just as simply, "It had to be done."
"Why?"
Alex didn't stop staring blankly. "Information. It was an
exchange. My services for information about Paul."
"What?" Frank was taken aback. Because he needed...
wanted... some information about a man, Alex had killed
someone?
"Frank, would you kindly get a clue? I killed him because I
was told to. You don't disobey them."
"Alex, we had a deal..."
"My ass we did," Alex snapped. "If it isn't in writing, it isn't
valid for anything. I didn't agree to a thing."
Frustrated, Frank raised his voice. "Don't you even realise
what this means? Not only, because of your carelessness, that
you're going to jail, but my neck's on the line for lying. This just
doesn't impact on you, you know."
"No one else matters."
"How apathetic are you, Alex? Can't you care about
anyone?"
"No, I can't," Alex replied, voice hollow. "I only give a shit
about myself."
"That much is obvious."
"Hey," Alex said, standing up suddenly. "Where the fuck
do you get off making judgements about me like that?"
"Alex, whether you like it or not, I'm your father. And you
went out and killed someone this afternoon. I have every right to
make judgements about you right now." Frank looked the younger
man in the face, expression challenging.
"I don't need this. I don't need you. Hell, Frank, I survive. I
don't need this. So far in life I've been fine following my philosophy
of killing whoever needs to be killed, of not caring about anyone
except myself."
"You killed someone!" Frank exclaimed, wondering if Alex
even realised what that meant. "Does that even matter to you?"
"I didn't know him. He had to die. I don't have anything to
do with it. I simply punish those who deserve it."
"What about the families of the people you kill? What
about them, Alex?" The conversation was beginning to get too
close to home, and Frank was uncomfortable.
"I don't know them, and I don't quite frankly give a fuck."
"You go through there," Frank pointed down the hall. "And
talk to a girl. Your sister. Who lost her mother last week. And then
tell me honestly that you don't give a fuck."
"I don't care, okay? Look, Frank, I'm an assassin. This is
what I do. This is who I am."
Thoughts of the Millennium Group entered Frank's head,
and he swallowed reflexively. "It isn't right."
"I don't give a fuck what's right! It's what I have to do!"
"You ask Jordan what she thinks about the man who killed
her mother. That's how people are affected." Frank looked at the
younger man, wondering how anyone could be so incredibly
wrapped up in themselves.
"I..." Alex left off, looking down the hallway. Jordan was
standing there, wearing one of her father's shirts, dripping wet. She
was crying, one hand holding onto the side of the doorway.
Frank looked over at the girl, also. She must have heard
them yelling at each other.
Without saying anything, Jordan came through, and took
Alex's hand. She looked at her father. "Alex saw an angel."
Both Frank and Alex looked at her. Jordan simply stood
there, clutching her brother's hand, and defiantly staring at her
father. Eventually, Alex spoke, and his voice was a complete
change from before, gentle. "What do you mean, Jordan?"
She looked up at him, beaming through her tears. "You
saw him. They can do magic, Alex, they can."
Alex looked up at Frank, who was caught up in watching
the two of them. There was silence for a full two minutes, until
Jordan spoke. "Why did you kill a man, Alex?"
He looked down at her, but didn't answer. Jordan finally
spoke again. "He told you not to... right?"
"Oh, Jordan," was all Alex could manage to whisper.
Looking completely upset, Jordan dropped his hand and
walked down the hall, finally entering her own room. The two men
watched her go, then Frank looked at Alex. "I told you she picks
up on these things."
Simply staring blankly down the hallway, Alex nodded.
Mulder nervously paced up and down the length of his
apartment. He was trying to figure out what the obvious thing was,
that he simply couldn't see. Detective Giebelhouse had e-mailed
him through the information on the Senator's murder, including
pictures. However, the Senator's last words were bothering Mulder.
'Sunflowers, twenty-eight, ninety-three, fifty-six.'
There was something he was missing, along with every
other detective on the case. Giebelhouse had mentioned in his e
-mail that Frank was having some problems outside of work, and
therefore, they were hoping for Mulder's help.
He sat down on the leather couch, lounging out and
grabbing some sunflower seeds. Shelling them in his teeth, Mulder
went through several before stopping, and thinking. Sunflowers.
Sun, seeds, beautiful flowers.
When there were beautiful flowers, people made paintings
of them.
Sunflowers. By Vincent Van Gogh.
Mulder reached for the phone and dialled the Detective's
number, which he'd long since memorised.
"Yeah."
"Detective Giebelhouse, this is Agent Mulder. I need to
know something about the Senator's house."
"What? You got something?"
Mulder grinned into the phone. "Maybe. Did he have any
paintings around the house?"
A pause. "Yeah, some. I ain't got an idea of which ones
they were, though."
"Meet me down there in ten minutes." After stating that,
Mulder slammed down the phone, grabbed the printout of the
Detective's e-mail, and his trenchcoat. Without saying a further
word, he walked out the door.
The two agents pulled up outside the Senator's house at
the same time. Mulder was more than slightly surprised, having
been under the impression that Giebelhouse was from Richmond.
He asked the Detective.
Giebelhouse shrugged. "I had a hunch something would
come up tonight. So I stayed in DC."
Mulder nodded. "Look, I have a feeling I know what the
Senator's last words meant."
"You do? Better man than me."
The two walked inside, and Mulder started looking around.
Giebelhouse watched him, then, "What the hell am I meant to be
looking for?"
"A painting with sunflowers in it."
Giebelhouse looked at him strangely for a minute, then
nodded. He walked upstairs, apparently continuing the search.
Mulder stayed down.
"Yo, Agent Mulder," Giebelhouse called from upstairs. "I
think I got something."
Mulder ran up the stairs, and came across Giebelhouse
looking at a picture in the Senator's bedroom. Mulder followed his
gaze, to find, as he had expected, a painting of Van Gogh's
Sunflowers.
Immediately, he reached out and took the painting down
from the wall. Nothing was there. "Damnit," he hissed.
"What?"
Without answering, Mulder ran his hands over the wall,
knocking. Eventually, his knock sounded hollow, and he grinned at
Giebelhouse. "Does this seem as cliched to you as it does to
me?" He punctuated his sentence by punching the wall. The
wallpaper fell back easily, a strip covering the hole perfectly.
Mulder smiled sheepishly, then pulled out a small safe.
"Twenty-eight, ninety-three, fifty-six," Mulder mumbled,
clicking it into the safe. It opened with a satisfying click, He
grinned at the detective again, then reached into the box. His hand
came out grasping papers.
Giebelhouse looked at the special agent, how he seemed
suddenly excited. Mulder leafed through them, then looked up at
Giebelhouse, face lit up. "These are Department of Defence files."
"What?"
"Hard copies. The files. Everything our government is
hiding about the existence of extra-terrestrial life." Mulder talked
without thinking, leafing through the papers. "This is it!"
Giebelhouse was still somewhat confused. "What is it?"
Finally, Mulder put the papers down. He looked up at
Giebelhouse. "These files were stolen, and I got hold of them. We
managed to print out one hard copy, but the copy was taken by
government higher-ups. Krycek stole the digital tape containing
the encrypted files, and sold secrets from it. I haven't heard
anything further, but now... these are the documents!"
Not knowing what to say, Giebelhouse nodded.
The Smoking man surreptitiously glanced around the
shady alley. He was meeting 'Paul', but the shapeshifter was yet
to turn up. The man drew a cigarette, his face briefly illuminated by
the flame of the lighter.
After five minutes, a figure appeared at the street end of
the alley. His form was silhouetted against the headlights of cars
and streetlights. The old man smiled a little. "I've been expecting
you."
"He knows who I am."
"Alex Krycek knows?" The Smoking man paused, looking
almost uncomfortable, but then brought his cigarette to his mouth,
inhaling. Without speaking, he breathed the smoke out, and
looked at the other man. "How?"
"I showed him. It was time."
"You're not to be the judge of that."
The shapeshifter moved forward threateningly, and the
smoking man smiled a little, shaking his head. 'Paul' stopped,
looking around. "I should kill him."
"Alex isn't worth it. We wouldn't waste your talents."
"But he knows who I am."
"What's he going to do? Kill you?" The man smiled,
conveying his interpretation of that particular threat. "Leave him.
Alex has plenty to deal with right now."
The man smiled. "Just one last thing I must do."
The Smoking man watched as the man's face and stature
changed, eyes changing their colour to hazel, hair shortening and
changing colour, nose elongating. Looking into Agent Fox Mulder's
face, the man smiled, and nodded.
Alex woke up with the feeling of something on his face. His
next thought was that he couldn't breathe. Then, after opening his
eyes, he realised that both were due to a pillow on top of him. He
brought his right hand up to pull the pillow off, and it met with a
squirming Jordan, whose head had been laying there. He felt her
grab his hand, and jump onto the floor, tugging. Suddenly thrown
off balance, he ended up falling, winding up only stopping himself
from landing on her by hitting the floor with his hand.
Jordan looked up at Alex, and giggled.
He smiled back at her. "I guess I'm awake now, huh?"
"Yup!"
Alex pushed himself up, off the floor, and onto the couch.
He looked at the little girl, who was staring back at him, somewhat
adoringly. "You've got to stop waking me up, Jordan."
She clambered up on his lap, and looked him in the eyes.
"Are you going to stay here now?" She watched him carefully for
the answer.
"I don't know," he replied softly. "I'd like to, but I probably
can't."
She leaned into his chest, holding his hand with hers.
"How come you and Daddy didn't tell me you're my big brother?"
"How long did you listen to us last night, Jordan?"
"Since you started fighting." She sighed. "I didn't know I
had a brother."
"Well," Alex replied, shifting her on his lap, "I didn't know I
had a sister."
"You didn't?" Jordan beamed up at him. "How come?"
"I didn't even know Frank," he replied simply.
"He's your daddy?"
"Yeah, Jordan." Alex suddenly got the feeling someone
was watching them, and looked up to see Frank. "Hey."
Frank smiled in acknowledgment, then went through to the
kitchen. Alex wondered momentarily if Frank was still angry, and
went through to the kitchen. "Hey, Frank."
No answer.
"Frank."
Still nothing.
"Frank?"
Suddenly, Frank turned around. "Alex, I'm not going to
forgive you overnight. Don't expect that."
Alex frowned. He'd never regretted killing someone before.
Never. But Frank seemed to have a knack for getting unusual
reactions out of people. It was strange... Alex almost felt angry at
himself for hurting Frank, for pushing him over the edge.
Jordan came in, trotting past Alex, to her father. He picked
her up and hugged her. "Hey, honey. How are you?"
"Good," she replied. "I woke Alex up."
He smiled. "That doesn't surprise me, somehow."
"Can I have breakfast?"
"Sure," Frank replied, "Just hang on a minute."
Alex hung back, leaning against the doorframe. He didn't
belong in this family environment. The contrast between what his
life was really like, and how this life seemed, was too much. He
felt like an observer, just watching how they interacted.
After a minute, Frank handed a plate to Jordan, who
seated herself at the table. He also handed a plate to Alex, who
followed suit.
Breakfast was terse and mostly silent, only a few words
exchanged between Jordan and Frank. Alex simply sat there,
going through the motions. He hated feelings. Hated anything like
that.
Eventually, Jordan left the table to get ready for school.
Frank took away the empty dishes, glancing back at the table.
Alex appeared lost in thought.
"You coming to drop Jordan off?" Frank called to him.
Alex snapped out of whatever world he'd been in. After a
long pause, he answered, "Nope." Another pause. "I might not be
here when you come home."
Frank gave him a suspicious glance. "What time will you
be back?"
"Uh..." Alex avoided his father's eyes. "I won't be."
"Doesn't surprise me." Frank walked to the door, getting
his jacket.
"What?"
"Nothing."
Alex stood up, pushing back from the table, and went over
to Frank. "No. What the hell did you mean?"
"It doesn't surprise me that when something gets a bit
uncomfortable for you, you get out." Frank looked Alex in the
eyes. "I'd say it's what you've always done."
"Hey, where do you get off making a statement like that?"
"I'm right, aren't I?"
Alex shifted uncomfortably. "No. You're wrong."
"Then why are you leaving?"
They were interrupted by Jordan coming out into the
hallway, and standing beside her father.
Alex looked at him. "Fine."
Frank read the rest of the statement, and nodded. "Good."
He took Jordan's hand, and opened the door. The two left.
Wondering how, without saying much at all, Frank had
managed to talk him out of a decision he'd come to, Alex stared at
the back of the door. He didn't know what to do.
The door, the numbers upon which read 42, was shut, and
assumably locked. Mulderthe real Mulderwas at work, and
the man who could be anyone he wanted to, was outside the
apartment. He tried the knob... locked. Simply twisting it harder,
the knob became loose, and he could eventually open the door by
himself. The man walked inside, and headed immediately for the
computer desk. He rifled through all the papers there, looking for
something. After a few minutes, he dropped everything, leaving a
mess, and walked out the door.
Mulder's phone rang, and he reached for it. "Mulder."
"Mr Mulder, this is Susan Harrison from across the hall.
I'm sorry to bother you at work, but.."
"No, no, that's fine. What is it?" Mulder reached for a
pencil, twirling it in his fingers.
"I think your apartment's been broken into."
"What?"
Susan sighed. "I'm afraid so. The door's broken, and
everything's extremely messed up."
Mulder debated deadpanning that it was always extremely
messed up, but decided against it. "Did you see who it was?"
"I'm afraid not. I noticed that he was tall, and had dark
hair..."
Krycek, Mulder realised.
"Why would they have done this?" The woman wondered
aloud.
Mulder knew exactly why, and he was holding the reason
in his hands. The files. "Look, Miss Harrison, thanks for calling,
okay? Bye." He replaced the phone, and stood up, turning to
Scully. "Scully, someone's broken into my apartment. I've got to
go home and make sure nothing's been taken."
"Why did they break into your apartment?" Scully looked
up at Mulder, question evident in her voice.
"The files," Mulder replied, motioning towards the
documents in question, lying on the desk. "Look, Scully. Guard
them with your life. Don't let anyone touch them, okay? Especially
not Krycek." With that, he walked out the door.
"Why would I?" Scully asked, rhetorically, as her partner
walked out the door. After a minute, he walked back in. She
looked up, and smiled wryly. "That didn't take long."
Mulder grinned. "I decided to take the files myself, instead
of trusting you with them."
"Trust no one, Mulder?"
He ignored that statement, taking the papers. Without
saying a further word to her, he walked out the door again.
"Hey, did you change your tie?" Scully called after him. No
answer. "Guess not," she muttered.
Alex wandered aimlessly around the living room. His life
was getting beyond his own understanding. He didn't know what to
think about feeling regret, and what's more, he still didn't
understand what that dark-haired man had been about. Jordan had
said he was an angel, but Alex didn't know how she knew. The
man hadn't seemed particularly angelic to him. He didn't know
what to do. Frank was right... he wanted to leave, to get away and
just forget all this ever happened, over several bottles of vodka. But
at the same time, there was that need to have a family, to be
loved. Even though he sure didn't care about anyone, it would be
nice to be cared about for once.
For once, he repeated inwardly.
The sound of a car pulling up the driveway made Krycek
startle, and jump for the couch. Frank soon came through the
door. "I didn't expect you to be here when I returned."
"Yeah, well, I am."
Frank sat down on a chair. "Why?"
"Don't ask questions like that," Alex replied quickly. In his
thoughts, he finished, 'Because I might answer truthfully.'
Nothing was said for a minute, then Frank apparently
decided to start another subject. "Jordan... yesterday, she started
having... seizures, visions... at school. Were you in fire, or near it
at all?"
Frowning at what seemed to be a non-sequitur, Alex
replied, "Yeah. At the Senator's house. The house was on fire. But
when I was outside, a guy told me to look back, and there was no
fire." He offered his right hand. "I scrambled to get out so fast, that
I cut myself on the window."
Frank nodded. That 'guy' must have been the angeland
the man Samielthat Jordan had talked about. "Alex, when we
first met, you mentioned that you saw me in your mind's eye. Has
that happened before?"
"What do you mean?" Alex replied guardedly.
A sigh from the older man. "Sometimes, when
investigating cases, I get... visions. Snapshots, insights into what
the killer was thinking. It's my gift. My curse. Jordan has
something similar... but different. Do you know what I'm talking
about?"
Alex looked thoughtful. "I don't know how to explain it, but
sometimes I see things that aren't there. What does Jordan see?"
"Yesterday, at school, she was seeing through your eyes."
Frank watched Alex for a minute, gauging his reaction. "But it's
not always like that. I'm not sure what she sees."
"The curse of the Blacks?" Alex asked jokingly, then when
he saw that Frank was perfectly serious, he sighed. "Yeah."
Frank watched Alex for a minute longer, then looked away.
"You regret it, don't you?"
Knowing what the older man was talking about, Alex
nodded. "I've never regretted it before."
As he did on rare occasions, Frank smiled. "You're not all
that evil, Alex."
"Yeah. Right."
Frank simply stood up, and went to the door. "Giebelhouse
called me on my carphone. He's got the results of the DNA tests,
from yesterday. I've got to go down there and deny that they're
correct."
Alex searched his face for any sign of humour. He found
none, and sighed. "Okay."
"Yeah. Bye." Giebelhouse hung up the phone he was
using, and turned around to greet Frank. "Hey, Frank."
"Giebelhouse."
"We got some bad news."
"Just what I need," Frank replied, looking at the other man
carefully. "What is it?"
"The guys down at the labs lost the evidence. They ain't
got any idea how it happened, and there ain't nothing they can do
about it. My hands are tied, and we just have to complain about
it." Giebelhouse turned back to the phone. "I've been making calls
all mornin'."
Stunned, Frank wondered if this was entirely accidental.
"You're sure."
"It ain't April the first, Frank. I'm sure."
"So, all we have for evidence is..."
"Nothing. Nada. Zip. We got everythin' we need for the
report on the prostitute, and Catherine. But for the Senator's lot, nil
per evidence." Giebelhouse didn't look particularly happy. "Which
is gonna look great on a report."
"The only thing left is to find where Paul McDermott is,
then?" Frank studied the Detective, wondering when this case got
so complicated. "And mark everything with the Senator unsolved?"
"Yeah. We got nothing on the McDermott guy apart from a
physical description, though. Nothing since. He may as well be
dead, he's about as much use to us."
"Like he's disappeared," Frank mused. "Or faded into the
woodwork."
By three o'clock, Alex still hadn't done anything useful,
and still hadn't figured anything else out. He walked to the kitchen,
intending to get something to eat.
A knock sounded at the door, and Alex got up to answer
it. He flung it open, and did a double take at the person on the
doorstep. "Mulder?"
"Krycek, I thought you might be here." Mulder replied,
reaching in and grabbing the other man by his collar. He shoved
him on the car hood, and slammed handcuffs on him.
"Gee, Mulder, most of my dates at least buy me dinner
before this stage of the night..."
"Shut up," Mulder hissed, turning the other man over to
face him. "You broke into my apartment."
"I what?"
"Admit it, you bastard. This morning. You were after my
files."
Krycek snorted. "Like I've had time this morning."
"Come on, my neighbour saw you."
"Look, Mulder, I've been here all morning." Krycek used his
foot, delivering a sharp kick to Mulder's knee. He stood up, glaring
at the other man. "Your neighbour," Krycek accented the latter
word, indicating disbelief, "Must be mistaken."
Mulder glared at him, wanting to rub his knee. He was
about to make some sort of sarcastic response, when something
hit him in the back of the head. Mulder fell to the ground, and
Krycek's eyes widened. "Mulder? What the hell..."
His assailant appeared behind him, and Krycek frowned.
Mulder. Two Mulders. It didn't take long for him to figure out that
one of them was probably Paul.
The second Mulder stepped forward, taking Krycek by the
shoulders. "Krycek, are you okay?"
Krycek turned around, extending his wrists for Mulder to
take the handcuffs off. Mulder did so, and Krycek turned around
again, flexing his wrist. "Yeah, I think I am." With that, he reared
back and punched Mulder hard in the face.
The other man staggered back, and Krycek sprinted off
down the drive. After a minute, he heard the distinct sound of
running footsteps behind him.
A minute later, he found himself on the ground with Mulder
on top of him.
Mulder turned him over, and the two were face to face. As
Krycek watched, the man's face shifted and changed, into Paul's.
"You think you're so much more clever than you are, don't you?"
"Fuck you, Paul," Krycek replied, in a low growl.
"Oh, yes, you would have wanted to fuck me a minute ago,
wouldn't you?"
Krycek narrowed his eyes, glaring at the other man. They
were caught in a face-off, when there was a shout from above.
"Freeze! Federal agent, I'm armed. Stand up and keep your hands
where I can see them."
Giving Krycek one last glare, Paul stood up, and held his
hands above his head. It was stalemate... Mulder didn't dare pull
the trigger, and Krycek didn't know what to do at all. He had a
stiletto in his jeans pocket, but wasn't sure if he'd be fast enough
to get him in the back of the neck. Krycek was thoughtfully
fingering the stiletto, when Frank's Jeep pulled down the street.
All three men looked towards the car, and it pulled up
sharply. Frank jumped out of the driver's side. "Hey!"
The other door started to open, and Krycek was distracted
from the situation at hand. Seeing Jordan get out, he instinctively
yelled, "Jordan, get back in the car!"
She looked innocently at Alex, not doing anything. Then
her gaze obviously changed to Paul, in the middle. Alex looked as
well, to see that he had changed forms again, to look like
Catherine.
The woman leaned down, opening her arms to Jordan.
"Come here, sweetie."
"No, Jordan!" Alex yelled, looking frantically at Frank. He
ran over to his daughter, taking her in his arms. Mulder's gun was
still trained on its target, but he was looking doubtful.
"What are you doing, Frank?" 'Catherine' called, and
Krycek stepped back, unnerved. He slowly drew out the stiletto,
Frank looked helplessly at Alex, holding Jordan as she
struggled to go to her mother.
Krycek met Mulder's eyes, and the two just watched each
other for a minute. Then, slowly, Mulder raised his gun above his
head and fired. At the shot, Jordan startled, her gaze shifting away
from her mother. Frank also looked at Mulder, and Alex seized the
distraction, leaping forward and drawing the stiletto fully out.
Before 'Catherine' could react, he drove the sharp point into the
base of the woman's neck.
A small wound appeared when he drew the weapon out,
and green blood bubbled out. Krycek stood back, watching. He
didn't move, gaze fixed on the liquid.
Slowly, Mulder came around to Krycek's side. Firstly, he
leaned forward, kneeling down. He rolled the body gently over, and
a bundle of papers fell to the ground. Mulder took them, then stood
up again. He didn't say anything, just standing there. After a
minute, Frank, carrying Jordan, came over to join the other two.
Giebelhouse squinted at the computer screen. He was
almost finished both reports, on the twowhat he believed were
separatecases. Neither had any real conclusion, but apparently
that was quite normal or any case that Agent Mulder helped out
with.
It was only that afternoon that Frank had explained to him
about the insistence that Krycek wasn't the killer. Apparently, Val
Arntzen was Alex Krycek. There was apparently more to the
story, but Frank had been unwilling to elaborate.
Nothing really made sense, least of all the death of Paul
McDermott the day before.
Giebelhouse sighed.
Jordan was walking between her father and her brother,
holding Frank's left and Alex's right hands. They were at the
graveyard, heading for Catherine's grave.
Once they got there, Jordan dropped both hands, and took
a small angel statue out of her pocket. Her father had given it to
her for Christmas. She held it, then reached forward and placed it
on the stone. "Goodbye, Mommy."
The two men watched the little girl, then turned to each
other. Frank looked sad. "So, what are you doing now?"
"I can't stay. I can't."
Frank nodded.
"This may be my family," Alex said by way of explanation,
"But a family doesn't hold much of a place in my life. Yesterday
made me realise that. If Jordan had..." He looked down at the girl.
"I have to go."
Frank nodded again, then was stuck for words. "There's
not much to say, I guess." He paused. "Good luck, Alex."
Nodding, Alex looked down at Jordan for an instant. Then
he turned back to Frank, and impulsively leaned forward and
embraced him.
Alex then leaned down to Jordan's level. The little girl took
his hand in both of hers, and smiled at him. He sighed. "Jordan,
I'm leaving now."
"No!"
"I'm sorry, sweetie. I don't want to leave. But I have to."
"Will you come back?"
He smiled sadly at her. "I'll come back and visit, okay?"
He leaned forward and took the girl in his arms, hugging her. Then
he stood up.
Alex drew two flowers out of his pocket, white roses.
Gently, he placed them on the grave.
Without looking at either Frank or Jordan, Alex turned his
back, shoved his hand into the pocket of his jeans, and walked off.
Leaving the only people who would ever unconditionally care about
him.
The Smoking Man exhaled, taking the small box from the
other man. Holding it in his left hand, he flicked it open with his
right. Several vials, holding blood. A gun, some sheets of paper,
some test results. He looked back up at the other man, and
nodded.
The other man smiled a little, uncomfortably, his
moustache twisting up at both sides of his mouth. "This is what
you wanted?"
"It's exactly what I wanted," the man replied. He paused,
taking a drag from his cigarette. The other man shifted
uncomfortably. The Smoking man continued, "We'll be in touch,
Mr Watts."
He turned around, entering the warehouse. The click of the
Smoking Man's shoes echoed through the aisles, until he found
where he wanted to be. Reaching upwards, the man pulled down a
nondescript brown container. Inside, were several boxes, identical
to the one in his other hand. He placed the box the man had given
him inside with the others, and put the container back on the
stocking shelf.
Turning, the Cigarette man walked back down the aisle,
coming to the door. He opened it, and walked out the door. Then
he turned around and shut, then locked, the door.
The Smoking man brought his cigarette to his mouth,
inhaling. Then he blew it out, and walked along the hallway.
The man was content, once again, that all evidence had
been buried.
Deep within the Pentagon.
End
|
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