RATED: PG
For all those used in here knowingly but strangely, I am so sorry. This story also has a few scenes that some may find upsetting.
(Based on a true story)
Willowing Pines Resting Home
Dartmouth, Nova Scotia
August 26, 1996
7:30 PM
They wheeled the patient into the holding cell. She was sedated sufficiently that she would fall asleep in twenty minutes. Her brown eyes stared straight ahead of her, unblinking and vapid. They lifted her onto the bed, strapped her down and latched the door behind them. VECCHIO, R. would sleep soundly this night. In the darkness, R. made her move. She knew the trick of not dissolving the Valium was controlling her saliva ducts. She was getting good at that. With a puff of air, she spit the paper clip she concealed under her tongue to her free fingers. They nimbly went to work at undoing the binds that strapped her down. She freed herself from the bed and went to the door. She pulled the hair clip from her restrained dark hair, bent it and unlocked the cell door. She slipped out of the cell and tiptoed down the hallway. She heard the soft-soled shoes of a guard on the marble floor. She hid in the utilities room. The guard looked around, swearing to himself that her heard something. When he turned around, his face felt the brutal impact of a broom-handle. He fell unconscious, his nose broken and bleeding. R. grabbed the keys from his belt and ran stealthily down the hallway to the lounge room exit. She unlocked the door, climbed the fence and fled into the cool night air.
Another guard walked down the hallway where he encountered the unconscious one. He ran to the holding cell. No one was there. He ran to the emergency phone and dialled a number.
"Call Dr. Muir," he panted, "she's gone."
Chicago Memorial Hospital
Chicago, Illinois
August 27, 1996
10:03 AM
Ray sat trembling on the hospital bed as though the powers of hell itself stood before him and there was no hope for redemption. His olive-coloured face turned pale, his green eyes stared ahead of him into nothingness. His fingers gripped the thin mattress tensely.
"Well," the brunette doctor said as she walked from the other room, "the tests have turned inconclusive."
"Tell it to me straight, Doc," Ray pleaded emotionlessly, "it's cancer, isn't it?'
The doctor frowned.
"That is defeatist, Detective Vecchio," she admonished him but lightly. "All I am saying is that your CAT scan hasn't turned up any reason for your migraines or your bad dreams. It may not be cancer."
"Yeah, and it might be!" he snapped back.
"Ray," she said softly and put her hand on his shoulder, "there is no reason to give up hope. I would like to prescribe some Epenephrol for the pain. I'll keep looking at the scan. I'll let you know as soon as anything turns up."
Ray gripped the steering wheel of his beloved Riviera obliviously driving to the station in automaton fashion. He pulled up to the curb in front of the Canadian consulate with the engine still running. Constable Benton Fraser and his trusty wolf, Diefenbaker, hopped into the Riv joyfully.
"Good morning, Ray," the studly Canadian chirped. "Good news. Elaine located the missing file we were looking for. All we need do is pick it up and we'll be on our way..."
"I'm dying," Ray said suddenly without a hint of emotion.
Fraser stared at him. He did not know what to say.
"Are you sure?" he asked the morose Italian.
"Went to the doctor's this morning for my headaches, you know," Ray explained, "said the CAT scan was "inconclusive". That's what they tell you when they don't want to admit you'll die, or when they want extra money from you."
Fraser raised his eyebrows.
"Well, it seems to me that you are overreacting. Until you are sure of what you have, I suggest that you maintain the status quo."
"The status quo is immaterial, Fraser. I'm dying. "
"Ray, you're not dying. I understand how worried you are but you are not going to die. What you have is probably no more than severe headaches. Now, we will retrieve that file, make our way to Halifax and enjoy ourselves."
Ray started the car up again. He didn't feel like pursuing the matter further.
"Why am I going to this conference, anyway?" Ray asked.
"Well, Ray, you've been singled out by Leftenent McClellan. He's really taken a shine to you. He thinks you howl at the moon."
Diefenbaker barked. I thought that was my job?
"I know that Diefenbaker," Fraser replied, "but I was referring to Gordan's excessive attentions to Ray."
"Oh, yay," Ray said to himself glumly.
Elaine brushed back a black curl from her face and sipped her coffee. Her face brightened to see the tall Mountie parade in with his trusty wolf and at his side, Ray, appeared glum, truly unhappy.
"Good morning," she chirped, "what's the matter, Ray? Somebody rearend the Riv?"
"Just give us the file, Elaine and we'll be on our way," he ordered.
Elaine handed the file to Ray. Ray paused, looking at the file intensely.
"Thank you, Elaine. I love you so much," he burst into sobs and embraced Elaine tightly. Elaine, more shocked than embarrassed, gaped at an equally bewildered Fraser mouthing the words Get him off of me.
Fraser pulled Ray back. Ray instantly embraced him tightly and sobbed.
"I love you, too man. I mean, I really, really love you."
Fraser froze, too embarrassed to do anything.
"Ray, get off of me now," he ordered trying to hold in his feeling of irritation. "Ray, let's try to maintain some dignity. Extricate yourself from me now or I may be forced to beat you to death with your own shoes."
"When I die, will you bury me in the Riv?" Ray asked in between spurts of sobs.
Fraser pushed him away.
"For God's sake, Ray, get off of me! If you don't, I'll - well, I'll bally well hit you is what I'll do! Now get away from me!"
Fraser straightened his Sam Browne belt and smoothed his hair in some sort of gesture signifying that he retained his cool. Ray stood aloof.
"You didn't have to yell," Ray said softly and took the file from Elaine.
Fraser picked up his Stetson and turned to Elaine.
"We'll be in Nova Scotia if anyone wants us," he said as he walked out. "Oh, and don't wait up," he winked.
"I won't," Elaine breathed back.
Thatcher tightened the seatbelt around her. Fraser looked out the airplane window.
"And you left Turnbull in charge?"
"Don't worry," she laughed, "nothing will happen. He is such a wet noodle."
Turnbull took off his Stetson and threw it with flair onto the coathook.
"I feel like dancing!" he proclaimed.
"Have you ever danced in the moonlight?" asked Norma Lee MacLeod, CBC anchorwoman and dancer extraordinaire, as she handed Turnbull a glass of champagne dressed in a becoming sparkly powder-blue evening gown.
"Actually, no," he admitted and sipped the champagne, "but I look forward to doing that now that the Hatchet' is gone!"
The two finished off their champagne and waltzed throughout the office.
The airport in Halifax was small and rather drab, Ray noticed. He looked around. Thatcher was the desk complaining about a parcel that went missing, Diefenbaker secured a crollier from a sympathetic blond-haired six-year-old and Fraser was in the washroom removing particles from the six peanuts he received on the airplane. Fraser came back from the washroom dragging a huge trunk with him.
"Benny, you're going to break your back carrying that thing," Ray declared and walked over to him, "let me help you."
"Thank you, Ray. It seems that the sudden change in atmospheric pressure has relaxed my muscles to the extent where I cannot lift the trunk."
"I'll say," Ray agreed, "this was lighter when you first carried it on the plane. Why is it so heavy now?"
"Well, Ray, as I said, the atmospheric pressure tends to wreak havoc on one's body, not to mention the contents of the trunk. Files, Diefenbaker's toys..."
"What the hell does he play with? Car parts?"
"Precisely."
Fraser called Diefenbaker over. Diefenbaker growled lowly and would not come. Fraser called him again and this time he barked rather sharply.
"Atmospheric pressure?" Ray suggested drily.
"Perhaps," Fraser concurred.
Thatcher stormed her way over to the men. She appeared to be angry.
"Those fools lost my parcel!" she complained.
"Anything valuable in it?" Ray asked.
"Only a present for a friend of mine. Those fools," Thatcher muttered again. "Oh, perfect," Thatcher complained again.
Three men and a woman proudly strode towards the Fraser, Ray and Thatcher. When they met, the head of the group gladly extended his hand in welcome.
"Benton, Detective Vecchio! How wonderful it is to see you!" proclaimed Leftenent Gordan McClellan, a rather stout man with sunny brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses. He turned reluctantly to Thatcher. "Inspector Thatcher, I trust you are well?" he asked rather coldly.
"I'm fine, thank you,' she returned equally as cold.
"Well, it's good to know that you haven't come down with the Ebola virus or anything," he sneered.
"And I as well," she replied glaring at him.
A thin, brown-haired man shook hands with Ray and Thatcher.
"Good to see you, Ray. Inspector Thatcher."
"I'm afraid I don't have the pleasure," Thatcher said unsteadily.
"Constable Alexander O'Donnell, St. John's Division."
Alexander turned to Fraser.
"Benny!" he grabbed his hand as if to shake it, pulled Fraser to him and headbutted him.
Fraser recoiled in pain. "Ah, jeez! Why did you do that?"
"Oh, Ben-you're such a kidder!" Alexander laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.
The third man was a rather short, chubby man with a beard and moustache and stubbly hair. The woman with him was a slender brunette with glassy eyes.
"Ray!" he loudly proclaimed, "If I said I wasn't happy to meet you, I'd be a bald-faced liar. It is great to see you."
"It's great to see you, too, Stew," Ray said as he shook hands with Constable Stewart Muir.
"Constable Fraser, Inspector Thatcher, welcome to God's own harbour, Halifax, Nova Scotia, come for the Blue Nose, stay for the pie!"
Stewart led the woman by the hand.
"This is my wife, Dr. Jean Muir."
"How do you do?" the woman asked smiling.
"Enough of this bantering," Gordan broke in, "I trust you've had a pleasant journey?"
"It was fine.." Thatcher began to say.
"I wasn't talking to you," Gordan interrupted. "At any rate, your rooms are waiting. You must be tired. You'll need plenty of rest for the lectures tomorrow. We're discussing what to do if you are chased by a muskox you've foolishly tormented. It promises to be quite engaging." "Not only that," Stewart jolted, "but the one and only Rankin Family are having a benefit concert for the orphans. Isn't that exciting?"
"Oh, happy-happy, joy-joy!" Thatcher giggled.(?!)
Together, the group walked out of the airport and drove to the hotel where the conference was being held.
"What's the deal with McClellan?" Ray whispered to Alexander. "He's been nothing but snooty to her."
Alexander laughed a little.
"You know that cushy job at the Consulate. He was lined up for that. He and Thatcher go back a long way."
Ray nodded as if he knew the animosity that had been stored up for years between the ox and the cow.
"So, Dr. Muir," Ray quipped as he settled into the car, "I heard that you're a real brawler. You appear normal."
Jean laughed.
"Oh, Stewie's been telling stories about me again," she laughed. "Maybe he's told you of the time I had to wrestle a mountain goat in B.C. or when I had to swim naked in a slough to find my car keys. Only some of those stories are true."
Ray did not seem reassured.
"My Jean descends from the proudest clans of Scotland," Stewart explained.
"I'm French,' she bounced back.
"She's as tough as nails; she was once caught in the jaws of a drooling, bloodthirsty beast."
"A little poodle bit me on the finger."
"And she's something of a psychiatrist."
"I have my own practice."
"So you're a shrink?" Ray asked.
"In a matter of speaking, yes. Here is my card."
Jean handed Ray a card. It read DR. JEAN MUIR/ WILLOWING PINES RESTING HOME/ DARTMOUTH, NOVA SCOTIA/ COME FOR THE THERAPY, STAY FOR THE FOOD.
"Willowing Pines, huh?" Ray sighed.
"Yes."
Oh, yay, he thought.
"You don't look well," observed Jean.
"I just have a headache," Ray explained and laid his head back trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his cranium.
Hilton Hotel
Halifax, Nova Scotia
August 28, 1996
9:00 AM
A thirty-something man in a black trench coat and a red-headed woman stepped out of a navy Corolla into the sun of a warm August day.
"A Mountie convention, Mulder?" the woman asked.
"Not just any Mountie convention, Scully," he replied, "but a Mountie convention with enough paranormal and extraterrestrial activity to knock your socks off."
Scully shook her head.
"I thought we were investigating the disappearance of a mental patient?"
"Oh, come on, Scully!" Mulder scoffed. "That's what Skinner would have you believe. I mean this is Canada, a Mountie convention, no less. Anything could happen. Did you know that in 1974, a ten-year-old boy in Inuvik, a son of a Mountie I might add, blew up the head of an otter in a process called skinning'?"
"Don't you mean scanning'?" Scully asked.
"SSShhh!" Mulder hushed. "Do you want to get sued? Anyway, his librarian grandparents could make neither head nor tail of it, no pun intended. What I'd give to meet that kid now."
Fraser bumped into Mulder on his way out of the hotel.
"Oh, terribly sorry," Fraser muttered, tipped his Stetson and went on his way.
Mulder and Scully made their way into the hotel and stopped at the danish table where Thatcher waited to be served coffee.
"Excuse me," Mulder said, "I'm looking for Inspector Margaret Thatcher."
"I'm Inspector Thatcher. How may I help you?"
"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder and this is Special Agent Dana Scully. We're with the FBI and we are looking for this woman," Mulder produced a picture of a young woman, "have you seen her?"
Thatcher examined the picture.
"She looks a tad familiar...no, no, I haven't seen her before. Why?"
"We have reason to believe she would come here," Scully replied.
"Is there a place where we may talk in private?" Mulder asked.
"Yes. Ah, Constable Fraser..." Thatcher extended her hand to Fraser. "You have my cheese danish? Good. This Special Agent Mulder and Special Agent Scully of the FBI."
"How do you do?" Fraser introduced himself politely.
Scully helped herself to a delicious cherry-cheese danish and accepted a cup of coffee meant for Thatcher.
"The danishes here are delicious," remarked Scully.
"Americans have no tastebuds," Thatcher muttered to herself.
Taking offence to that, Scully sipped the coffee meant for Thatcher and spat it back into the mug before handing it to an unsuspecting Thatcher.
"Would you like some coffee, Agent Mulder?"
"I've recently given up coffee forever," he apologized.
"Fraser?"
"I'm a tea-drinker myself, ma'am."
"Very well," Thatcher agreed and led the two agents into a private room where they talked for a short time. When they walked out, Thatcher seemed a tad disconcerted.
"Well, I certainly hope that this woman is found before any damage can be done," Thatcher wished, "I will inform the people necessary." "Thank you, Inspector Thatcher," Scully said.
"Tell me, Agent Mulder. You are a behaviour specialist. What should we not do or say to this woman should we find her?"
"This woman has an abject fear of sock-puppets and a rejection of her family," Mulder replied.
Thatcher let out a laugh.
"That's rather odd."
"It is," Mulder concurred. "It's like having a fear of something harmless, like bunny rabbits or something."
Thatcher remained still, gaping. She turned pale and trembled slightly. The words Mulder uttered echoed like a death knell in her head, transporting her to another time and place. Bunny rabbits..bunny rabbits..bunny rabbits...
"Inspector Thatcher, are you alright?" Mulder placed his hand on her shoulder.
"Run, Daddy! Run!" she cried and ran out of the hotel screaming. Mulder tried to follow her but lost her as her screaming died down.
"What did I say?" Mulder asked in disbelief.
"Perhaps the mere mention of bunny rabbits' was enough to trigger a negative response," Fraser offered.
Gordan, Alexander and his brother, Simon, ran from a conference room where they were setting up for the morning's exercises.
"What was all that?" Gordan asked bewilderedly.
"Inspector Thatcher became upset and ran from the building," Fraser explained.
"Oh, did she?" Gordan huffed.
"Perhaps a search party should be sent out for her," Simon piped in.
"I suppose so," Gordan moaned. Gordan ordered two officers to look for Thatcher.
"Leftenent McClellan," Fraser led Gordan to the agents, "these are Agents Scully and Mulder, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation."
"How do you do?" Scully shook hands with Gordan.
"What is your purpose here?" Gordan asked.
"We are looking for a mental patient who escaped a couple of days ago," Mulder explained.
"And is that all you are doing?" Gordan hinted at something. "Aren't you the agent who constantly looks for UFO's and all sorts of oddities?"
"That is my field of expertise, yes," Mulder replied.
"You'll find that E.T. is not here," Gordan scoffed. The other officers laughed a little.
"Actually, I am investigating paranormal activity," Mulder admitted.
"Oh, really?"
"Yes. Have you ever heard of skinners?"
"Don't you mean scanners?" Gordan offered.
"Hey! Just because you're a Mountie doesn't mean you're immune from law suits!" Mulder cautioned. "I meant skinners-people who read and control the minds of others. The side effects are rather gruesome. Nosebleeds, often heads explode."
"Exploding heads!" Alexander exclaimed in morbid fascination. "Cool!"
"What's this about exploding heads?" Ray asked as he approached the group rubbing his aching temples.
Gordan introduced Ray to Mulder and Scully.
"From Chicago, huh?" Mulder quizzed. "I read of a 13-month-old infant from Chicago who blew up the head of his uncle in a process called skinning."
Ray went quiet and distant.
"Oh, really? You don't happen to have the name, do you?"
"I couldn't remember the name to save my life," Mulder apologized.
"Oh, good," Ray grinned.
"We are here to look for a woman who escaped from a resting home about an hour from here," Scully explained as she showed Ray the picture of the young woman. "Do you recognize her?"
Ray examined the picture. He was silent and restless.
"Can't help you," Ray handed back the picture. "I'm here just to get a danish. I hear they are really good. Then I'll go back to my room and watch cat-hockey."
"You have cat-hockey?!" Scully cried.
"Yeah."
Mulder grinned.
"Cat-hockey, huh? Mind if we watch?"
Ray shook his head.
"If I invite you, I have to invite everybody else."
Mulder and Scully bowed their heads in disappointment.
"Ah, come on," Ray offered, "you can watch the last half hour. It's Team Canada versus Team America."
Mulder and Scully eagerly followed Ray to his room. They sat down on the couch and watched as Team America belted Team Canada in the cult sport of cat-hockey. They chanted U.S.A. U.S.A. It clear that Team America was the winner in the World Cup of cat-hockey.
"We kick tail!" Scully cried in triumph.
"Canadians might have really talented hockey-players but when it comes to cat-hockey, we rule!" Mulder declared and scratched Diefenbaker on the head. "What kind of dog is this?"
"It's a wolf," Ray answered. "It's Fraser's. Dief's mad at him for some reason so Dief is staying with me."
"He reminds me of the legend of the Indian warrior who could change shapes," Mulder commented.
"Those are just legends, Mulder," Scully supplied.
In the other room, the wolf grew out of its form and into the form of the notorious Bounty- Hunter.
"That fool will never find his sister!" he laughed to himself and escaped from the room quietly.
Noon came and the morning lectures ended. Fraser walked from the main conference room but was called back by Gordan.
"Benton, old buddy, old pal, where are you off to?"
"I have some things to take care of," he answered disinterestedly and turned away.
"No, no," Gordan pulled him back, "let's dine together. We rarely see one another anyway. What could one hour hurt from shining up those boots? Come on."
Fraser followed Gordan to a restaurant not far from the hotel. They sat down and waited to order.
"So, what do you think of the conference thus far?"
"Interesting," Fraser said without emotion. "The talk about curbing jaywalking was most informative."
"Really," Gordan smiled, "I found the lecture on NERF gun safety extremely interesting."
A young waiter stood at the table with his notebook in hand.
"Would you like to order, sir?"
"I'll have a steak," Fraser answered. "Rare."
"How rare, sir?"
"As rare as they come."
The waiter looked puzzled, as did Gordan.
"I'm afraid that would be rather bloody, sir."
"Oh, I like it bloody," Fraser replied.
"But it's really bloody..." the waiter answered.
"I don't care how freaking bloody it is, fetch it with all speed!" Fraser hissed.
Gordan was shocked. Fraser was normally not like this.
"I'll just have the soup," Gordan said and put the menu down.
"How are we feeling, Benton? Good?"
"Wonderful," Fraser replied. "Actually, I'm worried about Ray. His headaches seem to get worse by the minute. He hallucinates, I'm sure of it. He claims he hears voices. I believe these headaches are heightening his senses but dulling his discernment."
Gordan nodded. Perhaps this was the explanation to Fraser's irrational behaviour just then.
"Is he taking something for his headaches?"
"Epenephrol, I believe."
Gordan thought for a moment.
"Epenephrol? That sounds familiar."
Gordan's cellular phone went off. He answered it.
"I must leave," Gordan apologized, "They've found Thatcher. Oh joy. Terribly sorry about lunch. Some other time, perhaps. See ya."
Gordan left and Fraser stayed behind.
"Constable Fraser!" Mulder called. "Mind if I join you?"
"Please."
Mulder sat across from Fraser.
"Didn't I just see Lieutenant McClellan leave?" Mulder asked.
"Yes," Fraser replied, "Inspector Thatcher has just been found."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes."
"Strange how a word or phrase could throw someone into a loop," Mulder remarked. "They used to ask us all kinds of questions in the Academy, weird questions, that you would use to crack open a suspect."
"Oh, really?" Fraser chuckled. "Like what?"
"Like-what would you do if your child was stung by a bee?" Mulder began.
"Extract the stinger carefully and place a crushed aspirin tablet on it," Fraser answered.
Mulder seemed fascinated by Fraser's willingness to answer so casually. He began a gamut of questions.
"A turtle walks through a desert, flips over and lands on his back. His stomach is frying in the heat. Do you turn him over?"
Fraser looked at Mulder.
"Constable?"
"I don't know what you mean," Fraser responded.
"Do you see the bear?"
"What bear?"
"What do you think of the new BareNaked Ladies album?"
"They need to recapture the spirit of Gordon. They were grasping at straws. They need Andy. They are nothing without Andy."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because Andy is the god of music."
"What is your favourite song by the Tragically Hip?"
Fraser crossed his hands and smiled slightly.
"Highway Girl," he answered after a pause.
Mulder did not seem shocked; he did not seem anything. He simply rose from the table.
"I have some business to attend to. Enjoy your lunch," Mulder said and left the restaurant.
The waiter wordlessly placed the bloody steak on the table. Fraser ate it with relish.
Evening descended upon the harbour town of Halifax. The air cooled. Lovers strolled down the docks arm in arm. Jean and Stewart stood on the port of their boat-house gazing at the moon as it rested against the velvet navy sky. Their three children were nestled comfortably in their beds. Simon pushed away the long red locks from his face and cast a glance at his sleeping wife, Ann, her belly burgeoning with their first new arrival. Yes, it was a romantic night for some. For others, a night of serious contemplation.
Gordan stood on the balcony on the twentieth floor puffing away on a cigarette. He thought for a moment of his wife and two children in Calgary but then his thoughts turned to something more serious. Ray casually strolled towards Gordan.
"Nice night," Ray remarked, "hey, I thought Mounties weren't allowed to smoke?"
"I suppose not," Gordan admitted, "but I had something on my mind. A shadowy man had a pack with him so I troubled him for one."
"So what's on your mind?" Ray asked.
Gordan looked at Ray.
"Do you notice anything strange about Benton?"
Ray was thrown for a loop.
"I've noticed Benny to always be strange."
"No seriously," Gordan continued intensely.
"That trunk he carried from the airport was heavier than it was when we left Chicago," Ray answered. "He has it in special storage downstairs. Dief won't even go near him."
"He seems distant," Gordan continued. "At the airport, he never asked how my wife was doing. He always asks that. When Alex headbutted him..."
"Why did Alex headbutt him?" Ray asked.
Gordan laughed.
"Long time ago in a province far, far away, a young constable in the Greater Calgary area met a naive but promising young man from Inuvik at a local 7-11. The constable went undercover to catch a chain store robber when he encountered a man checking out the volume of a Little Debbie's Swiss rolls pack and desperately trying to buy a six-pack of LaBatts with I.D. that was obviously forged. As the night wore on, another young man, an angry young man, stormed into the 7-11 with a gun and tried to rob the store. The naive man talked him out of it but soon after the constable shot the angry man thinking that he still wanted to rob the store. I was that young constable who shot the angry young man that fateful May eve, Alexander O'Donnell was the victim of my regretted shot, and the naive young man was none other than Guy Incognito!"
"What does this have to do with Ben?' Ray asked.
"You see, that was the name on the fake I.D.," Gordan explained. "Even though Alex made amends, he still blames Ben for what happened that night. If weren't for his damned Scot sensibilities, Alex may never have been shot. Alex swore that whenever he met him he would headbutt him in remembrance of that night. When Ben asked why Alex headbutted him, I asked why myself. Why did he forget?"
Gordan stamped out his cigarette.
"At the restaurant he ordered a steak. He never eats steak, especially rare."
"Why is that?"
"Let's just say that one should be wary where you get your moose," Gordan said with an element of sadness.
Gordan turned to leave.
"You know," Gordan said over his shoulder, " A mail bag is very dark place and Moscow is a very long way away."
Ray wanted to ponder what that meant but his head hurt enough as it did and there was no point in letting it hurt any more. He simply stared at the night sky in awe of its dark beauty. Ray felt a trickle of warm blood down his nose.
"Aw, damn," he swore as he wiped it away. "Not again."
Ray walked back to his room and went to the bathroom to retrieve a Kleenex. The trickle soon grew into a torrent and flooded out of his nose and mouth. Spasms of pain raced through his skull. He grabbed his head in pain and collapsed under the weight of his unbearable agony.
Jimmy Rankin sat with his three sisters, Raylene, Cookie and Heather, as they watched the amusing adventures of Boffo the Bear (in this episode, Boffo and his friend, Squirry the Squirrel, must get to the picnic in Springwell Park before it is too late) while waiting for the CBC gabber extraordinaire, Pamela Wallin, to arrive for their interview. John Morris helped himself to a Sprite cooled by the abundant ice one normally finds in a posh hotel such as the Hilton and sat down to watch the cartoon with his siblings. A knock on the door prompted Jimmy to get up and answer it. A thin man in blue work overalls stood at the door, his toolbox in hand.
"Here to fix the bathroom pipes," he said plainly.
"It's about time,"Jimmy let the man in with a bit of an impatient scowl, "the sink's been just like a sprinkler all day."
The man went into the bathroom and fiddled with the pipes.
"I'll have to get another wrench," he explained and left the room. As he left the door open, a poodle with an exceptionally fluffy tail trotted in. Raylene, enamoured with the pooch, picked it up and scratched it behind the ears.
"It's you again, Puff," Raylene cooed hinting at an earlier meeting.
Another knock on the door prompted Cookie to answer it. It was Pamela Wallin.
"Hello," Cookie welcomed Pamela in.
"This is really exciting," Pamela chirped. "The camera crew will be here in a minute. I just wanted to set a few things up..."
Pamela was interrupted by the barking of the poodle. This clearly perturbed her.
"Surely the dog doesn't have to be present for the interview?" Pamela wondered.
"Oh, Puff wouldn't hurt a soul," Raylene said as she scratched the barking dog behind the ears and put it at her feet.
Still irritated, Pamela took out some sort of a stun gun from her shoulder bag and stunned the poor animal unconscious. John Morris ran to investigate how seriously the animal was injured. He could not believe that Pamela Wallin would ever do such a thing. He argued with Pamela over the futility of such an action. Raylene, on the other hand, seethed with rage. Foam poured from her clenched teeth.
"Oh, no!" Cookie cried to Jimmy. "Raylene's mad! We can't let Pamela see her like this. Remember what happened when Mr.Cole ran over Mrs. Smithers' schnauzer?"
The two siblings bowed their heads for a moment in shame over what took place that cold November morn and wondered what could possess one human being to do that to another.
"I know!" piped Heather. "Hit her."
Without thinking, Jimmy picked up a wrench that the workman left behind and hit Pamela in the back of the head. She crumpled to the ground unconscious.
"Oh my God!" John Morris cried. "You've killed her!"
"No I didn't," Jimmy countered and looked at Cookie as she took Pamela's pulse. Cookie shook her head.
"I said hit her, not rub her out!" Heather admonished Jimmy.
A pounding at the door sent spasms of fear throughout the siblings.
"Oh, no! It's the camera crew or maybe the workman!" Raylene proffered.
"Open up. Police!" the voice cried.
"Oh, wow, they work fast!" Heather trembled. "Oh, heavy! Heavy!"
"Hey! Is there a dead body in there? What's the hold-up?" asked the voice behind the door.
Scrambling, they shoved the body in the closet and opened the door. Fraser walked in.
"Hello, officer," Raylene smiled, "How may we help you?"
"Yes, I was wondering if you've seen Pamela Wallin? She left her purse in the lobby and I heard that she was supposed to be here but appears that she is not."
"Leave it with us," Heather offered, "We'll give it to her when she arrives."
"I'll put it in the closet, then" Fraser opened the closet door. The body slumped down.
"My, my," Fraser clucked. "What have we here?"
"I can explain, officer," Jimmy panicked but Fraser cut him off.
"No explanations are needed. You'll get life for this."
"Isn't there anything we can do?" Heather asked wringing her hands in guilt.
"Well," Fraser put his hands in his pockets and smiled, "I'll tell you what. I'll forget all about this if you do me this one favour. I have this trunk I no longer want and I would like very much for someone to dispose of it for me. Just toss it into the harbour and I will not only forget the crime but make sure that the body is never recovered."
"All we have to do is get rid of the trunk?" Raylene quizzed. "Just dump it in the bay and you'll forget all about this?"
"That's right," Fraser replied.
Raylene huffed.
"I'll have you know that not only is that highly illegal but it is also immoral and unethical. We' ll do it."
"Right then," Fraser picked up Pamela's body and slung it over his shoulder, "quid pro quo, Rankins. Throw the trunk into the ocean and I will make sure no one ever finds Pamela Wallin again."
The Rankins hung their heads lowly, but complacent in their crime.
Fraser rapped on Ray's door. He received no answer.
"Constable Fraser!"
Fraser turned around. Scully approached him.
"Is Detective Vecchio in?" she asked. "His life is in danger. A fax with a threat to kill him just came in. He has to move to a safe location."
"His life is in danger? Who would try to kill him?"
"An escaped mental patient."
Fraser knocked again. No answer. He turned the doorknob. It was not locked. He let himself in.
"Ray!"
Fraser ran to Ray who was crumpled on the floor. Scully turned Ray over. He was lying in a pool of his own blood.
"Call ambulance!" Scully ordered.
Scully examined him. His face was marred with blood that still seeped steadily from his nose. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat slow and eyes were ringed with blood.
"I am amazed he is still alive," Scully remarked as she wiped the blood from his face.
"The ambulance will be here in five minutes," Fraser said he placed Ray's hand in his. "You'll pull through, Ray. Don't die on me yet."
The ambulance drove away with haste.
"Make sure he is under 24-hour surveillance," Mulder cautioned.
"I've put O'Donnell and Cray on him," Gordan replied. "He'll be fine."
"What caused him to bleed like that?" Mulder wondered.
"I don't know," Scully answered. "I've never seen anything like it."
Fraser bowed his head.
"I told him not to worry about his headaches," Fraser uttered glumly. "I thought they would go away."
Gordan put his hand on Fraser's shoulder.
"Don't blame yourself. There was nothing you could have done. Come on. I'll buy you a coffee."
Fraser went with Gordan to the donut shop a block away still solemn over what he felt was his friend's imminent death.
Cookie cast her blue eyes over the dull haze that covered Halifax at three in the morning.
"Okay," she turned to her siblings, " John, Jimmy, do you have the key? Good. You take the trunk to the parking lot. Raylene, you be on look-out and Heather, create a diversion. Let's roll."
Cookie went to the parking lot and started up the truck. John Morris and Jimmy stealthily carried the trunk from the storage area to the truck. Raylene and Heather were the last to join them. They drove to the harbour with the trunk. They arrived at the dock and carried the trunk out.
"Dammit," Jimmy swore, "what the hell is in here? Car parts?"
When at the edge, John Morris and Jimmy dropped it down with a huff.
"Quite a heavy box," John Morris wiped the sweat from his brow.
"Reinforced iron sides," Cookie remarked as she rubbed her hands along the sides. "What do you think is in here?"
"Open it!" Heather requested.
"No," Raylene raised her hand in protest, "let's just drop it off and forget it."
"Oh, come on, Raylene," Cookie admonished her, "he wanted it gone. What would it hurt if we just opened it up a little?"
Jimmy cracked the latch open with a crowbar and pulled the lid up. The breath escaped from the siblings. Heather peered in.
"Oh-my-God! He-is-like-so-dead!"
Harbourfront
August 29, 1996
!0:00 AM
The good people of Halifax crowded around the interim set of the popular American gab-a-thon, "Reggie and Cathie-Lynn". Behind them, the stage was being set up for tonight's concert benefitting the orphans. Excitement was in the air. Gordan enjoyed a donut from the distance. Stewart and Simon peered behind a herd of curious on-lookers who peered at Cathie-Lynn's moulded form and the burr of brown hair that nestled around her cheery face. She looked perfectly plastic.
"Isn't this exciting?" Stewart shrilled.
"Yeah," Simon concurred as he looked at his watch. "Don't you think we should head back? The lectures will start soon."
"Oh, come on," Stewart moaned, "we have half an hour. Let's go to the other stage and watch them set up the footlights."
Simon followed Stewart to the other stage. Little did they know of the very stage that would be set up for them.
St. Mary's Hospital
Halifax, Nova Scotia
10:03 AM
Ray's olive complexion slowly regained its colour. He slept soundly, never stirring, even as the nurses changed his IV. Alexander poked his head into the door. Ray did not even sigh and the movement around the room was restricted to the nurses on their rounds. Alexander turned to Cray.
"I'm going to get some coffee? Do you want some?"
"Sure," Cray replied.
Alexander left down the hall to the cafeteria.
A young nurse with flowing brown hair and a short dress arrived with a tray. Determined brown eyes fixed a stare at Cray.
"I'm here to administer a shot to the patient," she said and Cray let her into the room.
She rested the tray on the bedside table and lifted the syringe and bottle from the tray. Without warning, she swung the tray at Cray and he fell back unconscious. The woman prepared the syringe.
"Now, Ray," Raylene Vecchio, Ray's twin sister and sociopath extraordinaire, laughed waving the syringe menacingly about, "I'm going to do what I should have done a long time ago..."
Before Raylene could kill Ray, Alexander grabbed her hand. She spun around and thrust her hand toward his face. Alexander grabbed it and threw her to the ground. He pulled his gun and pointed it at her.
"You know what they say," Alexander cocked the trigger, "If some jerk starts to think he's Charles Bronson..."
With adoration beyond anything she had ever felt before, Raylene finished Alexander's sentence.
"...Break his nose with the butt of a gun."
Just as she finished, they kissed each other passionately.
"Oh, I never thought this could happen," Raylene cried in ecstasy, "that I could find someone like me. Someone with no trace of conscience or respect for human life whatsoever."
"Me too!" Alexander agreed and kissed her once more. He, the Reservoir dog, had finally found his Reservoir b-
"Where is Ray?" Raylene cried as she looked at the empty hospital bed.
"Forget about him," Alexander demanded as he cupped her delicate face in his hands. "We have each other and that is all we need. Oh, Raylene, are we mad?"
"No," she stroked his face, "sociopathic."
Again, they kissed passionately and left the hospital in each other's arms.
Willowing Pines Resting Home
Dartmouth, Nova Scotia
!0:15 AM
Mulder and Scully greeted Jean.
"How is Thatcher doing?" Mulder asked.
"She's fine," Jean answered, "I've settled her down. She'll need time to get back in touch with reality, though."
Thatcher stared out the window of her room dressed in a light blue gown and fuzzy slippers.
"Have you found Raylene yet?" Jean asked.
"No, we're still looking," Mulder replied.
Scully put her cellular phone away.
"That was McClellan," she said, "One of the officers guarding Vecchio was attacked by a woman matching Raylene's description. Not only that, Vecchio, Raylene and the other guard are missing."
"We have to get there fast," said Jean.
"I know," Thatcher offered as she shuffled over to the three with a toy vehicle in her hand, "we'll take my little GO Bus. Won't that be fun?"
"Now, Meg," Jean smiled,"we can't fit into that little bus."
Thatcher pulled out a gun and pointed it at them.
"I said get in."
Ray stumbled around the harbourfront. His whole body ached, especially his head. His nose bled off and on. He had to get away from Raylene and then telephone his doctor. She had to have the answers he needed. Inconclusive' was not good enough. The blaring noise of the talkshow on the stage ahead hurt him even more.
Cathie-Lynn laughed at Reggie's smug jokes.
"You know, Reggie," Cathie-Lynn chuckled, "Canada is full of surprises. The people here are friendly and they speak a different language. And I never knew this country had roads."
"What I'd like to do is meet those Dudley-Do Rights I see all over the place. There must a convention of them here or something. Is there one around?"
Fraser, who just happened to be in the crowd, ducked down and tried to avoid being seen by that obnoxious host.
"There's one!" Cathie-Lynn pointed out and called him up to the stage.
Fraser muttered something that rhymed with schmit and went up to the stage reluctantly. He sat across from Cathie-Lynn and eyed the cameras warily.
Stewart and Simon edged toward the stage. They laughed to themselves as Fraser fidgeted on the stage. Gordan tapped the two on the shoulder and whispered something to them. Immediately, they became wary. Still, the show on the stage went on.
"Well, now, do you have a name or can we call you Officer Do-Right?" Reggie asked.
"Just Fraser," he replied and covered his face.
"Officer Fraser," Cathie-Lynn began, "can I call ya Frasey? What's with the uniform? I mean, you can flag down a plane with this thing," she laughed as she handled Fraser's tunic.
"It is the ceremonial uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and I wear it with pride," Fraser answered back with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
"They don't allow you to wear Hawaiian shirts or anything?" Reggie joked.
The crowd laughed politely at Reggie's witticism.
"To be serious, Frasey," Cathie-Lynn said as she straightened her face, "What do you think makes this country what it is? What is the prime motivator to keep going? What makes it tick?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Well, the U.N. said that this is the best country in the world...
"I don't care what a bunch of Freemasons say about my country," Fraser huffed and got comfortable in the chair he was sitting in, " What I am concerned about is..."
"WAIT!" a voice screamed from the crowd.
Fraser swivelled his head to the crowd. His face formed a scowl; his plans, for the mean time, had been foiled. Benton Fraser, a gash of dried blood on his head, pushed his way to the stage. Stewart, Simon and Gordan gaped at the man who came toward the stage.
"Ben!" Fraser on the stage said.
"Nevis!" Benton Fraser cried.
Stewart, Simon and Gordan stared in disbelief. Benton Fraser had an evil twin brother. The crowd became agitated, as did Reggie and Cathie-Lynn.
"Do you think maybe we can settle this off-camera?" Cathie-Lynn suggested.
"Why don't you shut up!" Nevis snapped and pulled out a gun. "I'm going to finish this for once and for all."
Raylene and Alexander walked arm in arm at the harbourfront too involved in their love to notice the precipitating anxiety in the crowd. Raylene cast her head away from Alexander. A tall, thin man stood in the phone box. It was Ray.
"It's Ray," she said and tried to walk over to him.
"No," Alexander pulled her back, "we have each other. Forget about the past."
"I'm sorry, Alex," she sighed, "but I have to finish this."
Raylene pulled away from him and walked to the phone box.
Ray dialled the numbers with his nimble fingers. He impatiently wiped the trickle of blood from his nose.
"Doctor Beaudoin, this is Ray. I'm in really bad shape. I need to know what is happening to me. I'm bleeding from the nose and my head is killing me."
"Ray, thank God you called," the doctor exclaimed, "I've studied the CAT scan. It isn't cancer, Ray. The growth at the back of your skull is calcifying and taking shape. That is what is causing the bleeding and the pain. Ray, what you have is an impacted twin, a twin that did not grow properly in the womb. A cerebral Siamese twin, if you will. It attached itself to your cranium and is trying to grow. We have to treat you, Ray. Ray?"
Raylene banged on the door of the phone box. Her score with Ray had not yet been finished.
"Ray! Ray!"
"Thank you, Doctor," Ray said softly and hung up the telephone.
"Ray, open up!" Raylene banged on the door.
Ray pushed the door open brusquely and smiled at Raylene.
"Ray isn't here anymore."
Raylene was really spooked.
"Ray?"
"No," he corrected smiling like a fiend from hell, "not Ray. Just call me George."
Nevis cocked the gun and pointed it at Benton.
"You'll never get away with this, Nevis," Benton rasped. "You'll be hunted down and captured..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Nevis smirked, "then the happy men will welcome me back to the Rubber Room. Well not this time, Chester. I'm going to Puerto Rico."
"It is a good thing then that Canada has an extradition agreement with that fair territory," Benton retorted.
"Then I will just go somewhere else," Nevis laughed. "But it doesn't matter. I just want to know how you were let out of that trunk before I kill you and possibly others."
The Siblings Rankin pushed their way defiantly through the crowd hoping to further foil the evil Nevis' plans.
"It was quite elementary when you think about it," Cookie clapped her hands together.
"Yes," Jimmy followed up. "You're an alien from Nodrog."
Cookie slapped her hand on he head.
"For the last time," she exclaimed as she faced her siblings-in-error, "he is not an alien, or a pawn in a police corruption scandal or Man A in a Man A/Man B/Woman love triangle or even an evil twin disguised as a police officer. He is an evil twin who assumed the identity of his Mountie brother. Period. My suspicions were first aroused when I noticed the blood on his coat was not consistent with the wound received. The blood should have splashed and settled on his coat but instead it simply soaked it. This led me to believe that whoever hit him was left-handed and switched clothes with the victim after attacking him. Secondly, the culprit is a smoker. There were minute traces of cigarette ash on the sleeves of the victim yet the victim did not have the yellow discolouration on his fingers consistent with smoking. The "Mountie" did. And why would the Mountie, the moral and legal bastion of our fair country, suggest we throw a trunk into Halifax Harbour? He would only ask that if he were a pathological liar and a psychopath."
"That was a highly articulate and well-thought out observation," commented Benton.
"I'm a psychopath?" Nevis gaped at Cookie. "You killed Pamela Wallin."
"Entirely accidental," Jimmy countered. "How are we for apologies, kid?" he asked Heather.
"We are so sorry," she intoned in mock penitence.
"Surrender, Nevis!" Benton ordered.
"Never!" he cried in defiance. "I'm going to kill you, upset the balance of the ecosystem, retrieve the plans for world domination from the vault in the Swiss Bank, kick puppies, run with scissors and marry Fox Mulder's sister. Why? Because I sunk the Titantic, I cut off Luke Skywalker's hand and Mummy didn't die, I killed her."
"No you didn't, Nevis," Benton countered.
"Yes, I did! Do this! Do that! Wake up! Six long years of that crap! No more. Say good-bye, Mr. Oh-what-a-nice-guy-I-am!"
Before Nevis could fire the gun, he was stabbed in the back by what appeared to be Ray. Raylene and Alexander, forced at gunpoint, slowly walked over to Gordan. Ray strode over to the rolling cameras proudly waving a gun in the air.
"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is George and I am running for the president of the United States!"
Everyone gaped at Ray'. The scene was becoming much more weird than what they could handle.
"What is going on?" Gordan asked.
"Am I the only one with a handle on the plot?" Mulder cried from behind.
Thatcher pointed the gun at Mulder, Scully and Jean.
"It's like this," Mulder explained, "Nevis Fraser escaped from The Allan Rock Institution for the Criminally Insane (no surprise there), attacked his brother and assumed his identity. He hoped to dispose of his brother's body and found the perfect way out when he chanced upon the Rankins who thought they killed Pamela Wallin, but I'll get to that later. Raylene Vecchio, the twin sister of Ray Vecchio and flaming sociopath, escaped from the Willowing Pines Resting Home where she was being held for the mass murder of Federal agents while on the SWAT team during what is called the Flag Day Massacre and hoped to kill her brother but it seems that her plans have been foiled. As for the murder' of Pamela Wallin, that wasn't Pamela Wallin but an alien cloned to be Pamela Wallin. The aliens' plan was to take over the world via Canada using the Rankin Family as pawns to their end. After all, no one would expect the Rankin Family. Maybe Sarah McLachlan, but never the Rankin Family."
Somewhere on the West Coast, the Bounty-Hunter made the diva Sarah McLachlan an offer she couldn't refuse.
"As for Thatcher," Mulder continued, "she believes that someone here is a bunny-rabbit, so I would cooperate if I were you, okay?"
"Excuse me!" George cried, "I'm the guy with the gun and I have an explosive device which I will detonate if nobody listens to me, okay?"
George turned to the cameras.
"Okay, America, I'm George. I live in the back of my brother Ray's skull. I've been living there for the past thirty-two years. I understand how you may feel, you know, why should we listen to a guy who lives in his brother's head?', but hear me out. If I am elected, I promise to free our brethren who have wrongly been imprisoned in their siblings' heads..."
"What kind of talk is that?" Nevis cried weakly as he sat up trying to suppress the bleeding in his back.
"Shut up!" George demanded as he pointed the gun at Nevis. "I want everybody to shut up. I haven't said anything since Ray was born and now I want to talk, so cool it."
"Oh, nag, nag, nag," Nevis barked at him, "oh, I live in my brother's head. Boo-bloody-hoo. My brother is "Mr. Perfect". He never "stays up late" or "drinks too much" or "frightens the children" or "kills waitresses and buries their bodies where even the police helicopters will never find them". He's just bloody boring! He even watches that silly Boffo the Bear even though Boffo has a drinking problem."
"Had a drinking problem" John Morris angrily pointed out.
"I'm just not psychopathic, Nevis!" Benton countered.
George fired the gun in the air.
"You know what this family needs? A mute!"
Mulder whispered to Jean.
"You're the shrink. What should we do?"
"It looks like there is unresolved differences between the siblings," Jean observed, "let them disclose what they must and then we can get a better handle on the situation. As for George, he may just be an entity of a repressed personality. We have to reach Ray."
Jean, with hands raised, approached the stage. Raylene Rankin stared at Jean.
"Oh my God!" she exclaimed to herself, "that woman is my exact double!" Raylene turned away and saw the poodle she so liked. "Oh! It's Puff!" Raylene ran to the dog and began to shower affection on it as she did before.
"I think if we talk about what is bothering us, there would be no need for hostility," Jean suggested.
"I'd agree with you, lady," George said, "but, seeing as I haven't spoken my whole life, I would like to get the ball rolling."
"Yes," Jean agreed, "but would it hurt if a couple of other people went before you? Once they've finished getting their problems off their chests, the floor would be yours'."
"I have to find out who here is a bunny-rabbit," Thatcher said eyeing everyone suspiciously.
"Nevis," Jean addressed the wounded man, "why don't you start first?"
"My mother hated me," he started off tearfully, "she never wanted me. Why didn't you love me, Mummy?"
Benton ignored his sobs.
"Nevis, you don't know what you are talking about."
"Oh, shut up! When I was two, she threw me on someone's doorstep like I was garbage and ran away screaming. She left little Benton at home."
"Nevis, you had just set her dress on fire and in her throes of pain, I suppose she dropped you. As for me, you superglued me to the floor. She had gone two miles to the neighbour's house to get the solvent."
"That's no excuse!" Nevis rasped.
Jean turned to Raylene who hid behind Alexander.
"And what about you, Raylene? Why are you angry towards Ray?'
Raylene bit her lip and folded her hands.
"Well, Ray was born first. I was supposed to be born first. I should have strangled him with the umbilical cord when I had the chance!"
George laughed sardonically.
"News flash!" he screamed at Raylene, "I wasn't even born! I've been living in the back of some guy's head for thirty-two years! I've been the conscience, I've been the superior intellect and I've been the guy with the party tricks! You think you have it bad? Try living in somebody's skull!"
Scully jolted.
"Mulder, that's it!"
"What Scully?"
"What George is describing is what is called layman's terms an impacted twin. In cases of identical twins, one of them does not grow fully but instead attaches itself to another and enjoys a symbiotic relationship. George must have acquired the part of the brain's functions that deal with the conscience and complex learning patterns. The reason for Ray's bleeding must be that George is trying to take over the body of Ray himself. If he tries to do that, both he and Ray will die. We have to try to convince George that it is better to stay in Ray's head and be a passive entity emerging every so often."
Mulder ran to Jean and whispered in her ear.
"Scully thinks that George is actually an impacted twin that is trying to outgrow Ray's head. Apparently, he is in control of the conscience. We have to try to convince him that he should stay in the back of Ray's skull and have him emerge briefly and occasionally."
"Why does this sound like Andrew Lloyd Webber?" Jean quizzed. "George, put down the gun. I know you are upset but that is no reason to hold people at gunpoint. "
"No way!" George yelled wiping away a trickle of blood from his nose. "I don't trust any of you. You want me to die so that Ray can live!"
"No, that's not true!"
Benton stood in front of Jean.
"George," Benton said softly, "I want to speak to Ray. I know that he wouldn't do this to innocent people."
"What are you talking about?" George asked wiping the blood away, "I'm the conscience around here."
"If you're the conscience," Benton asked, "then why are you doing this? Why are pointing a gun at people and threatening to blow them up? I know Ray wouldn't do that."
George was defeated. He put the gun down and sat on the ground, holding his head between his hands.
"There is no explosive device," George said softly, "I just wanted to get your attention. I'm sorry."
Nevis' eyes popped open.
"You mean to tell us that you lied! You were going to blow us to smithereens. If I weren't so angry that my plan to kill Benton didn't work I would say that is pure bloody genius!"
"Excuse me!" Thatcher cried still pointing the gun aimlessly. "Someone here is a bunny-rabbit and I am going to prove it." She edged over to Jimmy. "You're a bunny-rabbit, aren't you?"
"Oh, yeah, she's gone," Jimmy noticed without the benefit of extreme perception.
A man in an Easter rabbit outfit pounced on to the scene.
"Hey! Look at me! I'm a bunny-rabbit!"
Before Thatcher could fire her gun, John Morris leapt on the man and Cookie seized the gun from her.
Mulder gave a sigh of relief.
"It looks like our work here is done, Scully."
Scully looked around.
"Where is Raylene?"
Simon produced a note from his tunic.
"Before they cold-cocked me, they gave me this."
Dear Fascists who don't understand that the world is a dark place,
Alexander and I are getting married at a ceremony being held at
Our Lady of
Perpetual Help Church. We will then journey out into
the Canadian countryside
to terrorize the gentry of this land. Have
a good day, but go to hell.
Raylene Vecchio (soon to be O'Donnell)
"We'll just say we shot her," Mulder said to Scully as they walked away unto the unknown.
Nevis writhed on the stage.
"I am a citizen of this country and I would like to reap the benefits of the universal healthcare I am entitled to."
Nevis glared at Benton.
"But keep in mind, Ben, this isn't over. One day I will you cause you great pain."
Benton kept his composure, calm, cool and stiff. He would await the day and be ready for it.
Harbourfront
Halifax, Nova Scotia
8:00 PM
The Rankin Family belted out the folk tunes they had become famous for on stage. The turnout was tremendous; the harbourfront was full of people ready to support the orphans. Ray sat at the edge of the snack bar, unawares of what happened in the afternoon. Benton sat next to him.
"Am I speaking to the real Benny or an insane twin brother?" Ray asked.
"I assure you, I am perfectly me," Benton answered.
"All this time, I thought I was all alone, just me, myself and I," Ray confided. "I thought only crazy people had voices in their heads. It seems that I am one of those crazy people."
"Ray, I wouldn't call you crazy. We all have a voice that directs us to the path we should be on. You just have a voice you call George."
The two laughed and Diefenbaker howled. The truth was still out there.