HOUSES (x-files casefic, rated PG written for xf_santa
Title: HOUSES
Author: pink_bagels
Subject: Building virtual houses of light with Scully and Mulder.
Rating: PG, casefic
Word count: 4,353
NOTES: First X-Files fic, ever. I know, I know--eleven years or so too late? Still, gotta luv the Scully/Mulder mutual badgering. Scully was never a characature, she had depth and a profound sense of right and wrong. Olivia from Fringe comes close, but nothing will beat the power of Scully.
Anyway...Enjoy!
HOUSES
"Mulder, are you sure this is the right address?"
Scully sighed as she made her way up the decrepit steps leading into the old brownstone. Her heels kicked away chunks of concrete, and they slid off the steps, rolling onto a small pile of broken needles in the weeds. "I don't know Mulder," she said, skepticism evident in her voice. "Something tells me we're way off the mark, here. I know you think this Stephanie Falcons told you the truth, but I don't believe this is the home of MIT's most eminent scientist."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Scully," Mulder said, giving her a wry smile. He opened the creaking door leading into the foyer of the brownstone complex. "Behold, a miracle has occured."
Scully was dumbstruck. The interior of the building was vastly different from what was presented outside, its walls lined with gold flecked wallpaper, the flooring one of slippery, high quality marble. "Mulder, this is impossible," Scully breathed. She turned her head, frowning at the open entrance. It framed a vision of a broken fence swaying against the night breeze, dead branches and torn weeds clawing up the chained links. "When we came here earlier, this place was just a shell. There were broken windows." She paused at the massive oak staircase leading up into what looked to be infinity. "There were only three floors."
Mulder, with his usual annoying positivity in the face of the unknown, bounded up the first flight of stairs with boyish glee. "Amazing, right? But that's not the half of it. Come on up to the fourth floor--You have got to see what he's done with the new indoor swimming pool!"
FBI HEADQUARTERS, X-FILES DIVISION. Twelve hours earlier...
Scully sipped at her coffee, feigning interest as Mulder clicked through several more slides. Colourful visions of pink and green fractals of light decorated the drab, cluttered office. She checked her watch, and let out an audible sigh. "I thought you had something amazing to show me."
"This is it," Mulder said, clicking through another kalaidascope series of slides.
"I'm two days behind in my paperwork, I have a meeting with Skinner at three, my brother is coming over at two to fix my sink, and you call me, telling me you have something urgent to show me, and all I'm seeing is the lowest grade laser show I have ever been forced to witness." She set down her coffee.
Mulder's enthusiasm was instantly deflated. "Why didn't you ask me to fix your sink? I'm a capable guy with a wrench." He turned back to his slide show, the image of a smiling man with a halo of frizzy grey hair staring back at them. "This is Albert Feinstein."
Dana choked on her coffee. "Seriously?"
"He's a quantum mechanics professor at MIT, well reknowned for his work on photon particles and the nature of light. Within the last four years, thanks in part to Professor Feinstein's research, there have been great strides made in the field of quantum particle manipulation, to the point that it is now believed possible to stack these photons in a stable way, thus creating a series of quantum building blocks."
"Fascinating," Scully said, getting up. "But the complex realm of physics is a valued science." She picked up an eraser off his desk, shaped in the form of a UFO. "In other words, this is hardly an X-File."
"Au contraire," Mulder said, that mischevious glean evident in his gaze. Scully had the sinking sensation she was about to scrap all of her plans for the remainder of the day. "Just two days ago, Professor Feinstein disappeared." He paused, amused by her bored shrug. "He was teaching a lecture at the time. According to his students, he turned off an overhead projector, and right before their eyes he vanished without a trace."
"Heck of a trick," Scully admitted.
"Better than that," Mulder said, grinning. "I'd say it defies the laws of physics."
"I didn't think the FBI had that kind of jurisdiction."
"I was sent an anonymous email, begging me to take a look into the case." His eager manner implored Scully to have patience. "Come on, Scully, hang out with some subatomic particles with me. It'll be fun."
Scully sighed, knowing she was going to follow him. She draped her coat over her arm, tossing her half finished coffee into the wastebasket. "Right now, I'm more concerned about the particles clogging my kitchen sink."
MIT: PHYSICS DEPARTMENT: 11:00am
"Feinstein has always been a bit of a loose cannon." The slight, well put together man behind the desk adjusted his tie, the glint of a gold ring catching the light streaming in from the large window behind him. "We respect his work here at the department, but his methods were becoming less about science and more about philosophy." He caught Scully's eye and she quickly averted them, unsure if this was a naked slight against her partner seated beside her. Mulder had, of course, immediately gone into a tirade that encompassed alien influence, scientific conspiracy and dharmic principles of life being an illusion--all arguments which had severely ruffled the man's sense of confidence in their investigation.
"So you're saying Professor Feinstein's methods upset your innate sense of logic?" Mulder took out his notebook and pretended to read a fact he had noted on it earlier. Scully knew he had merely doodled a sunflower. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the very nature of quantum theory is one that's based on thought experiments and highly abstract ways of reasoning. The physical properties of quantum fragments are too small to explain in any kind of linear fashion. Thus, their behaviours can only be explored in a parable-like methodology."
"Yes, but even those thought experiments have a significant amount of carefully calculated proof behind them." He fixed Mulder with a stern glare. "We deal in facts here, Agent Mulder. Detailed, documented facts."
"We are not suggesting anything less, Professor Schoedsinger," Scully said, hoping to ease the tension erupting with ever increasing force within the office. "We are merely trying to understand the circumstances of how and why your colleague may have disappeared."
"Or who may have wanted that to happen," Mulder pointedly added. "There is a lot of competition among scientists, especially when new discoveries are involved. I'm sure the wild world of quantum theory is no exception."
Professor Schoedsinger was amused at this. "If you think I killed Feinstein because of some new discovery he'd made, you'd be wrong." He sat back in his chair, his fingertips steepled below his chin. "The man is an incompetent mess. There's been numerous complaints from students about his erratic behaviour, and he is increasinging behind on marking their exams and papers."
"Paperwork," Scully longingly sighed, giving a sidelong glance at Mulder.
"As for thinking me capable of murder, well, making him disappear is not a feat I think I could arrange. I'm a direct man, if you haven't noticed."
"So how would you have murdered him," Mulder asked, ignoring the red shade of the man's neck. "A gunshot?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Professor Schoedsinger replied. Then, after thinking on it a moment, "I'd give him a glass of poisoned water."
***
Scully stormed five steps ahead of Mulder, her heels clacking on the hot pavement as she made her way down the concrete steps. The brilliant afternoon sun covered the campus in a whitewashed glow, its bright intrusion eclipsing objects and people in its wake. She shaded her eyes with her palm, seeking out their car with increased annoyance. Mulder caught up with her, panting at her shoulder.
"Do you remember where we parked?" she asked.
"There's something very strange going on here, Scully, I can feel it."
"Same here. I'm getting the sinking feeling I've completely wasted my morning. Thanks to this little segue, I'm going to have to explain to Skinner why the paperwork he wanted still isn't finished." She squinted past the horizon of the parking lot, and found the dim outline of her car on the far right periphery of the lot. "Weird. I could have sworn we parked here out in front."
"I got a distinctly different impression of Professor Feinstein from the students who witnessed his disappearance. Many of them were of the opinion he was the most brilliant mind they had ever met, and they considered it a priviledge to be taking his class. A marked contrast to the picture Schoedsinger was presenting."
"So Schoedsinger is lying?"
"One or two disgruntled souls does not a student body make."
"Mulder, much as I want to help you, I can't help but think this is nothing more than some inner academia politics. There is no body, nothing to suggest that Feinstein has met with any foul play, and all signs point to a disgruntled, possibly mentally unhinged employee annoying his colleagues. This is not an X-File."
Mulder was about to argue the point when his cell phone rang. He held up a finger, bidding an impatient Scully to wait as he answered it. It continued to ring in his hand as he frowned, looking on the small screen.
"Mulder, what is it?"
"Not a what, but a who." He held up the screen so Scully could see. "It's Feinstein."
Scully dangled her car keys in front of Mulder's nose. "Case closed."
***
"I think there's something blocking your pipes in the trap." There was a loud clatter on the other end of the line, and a series of heartfelt curses. "Gah! My finger!" Scully listened to another set of curses, punctuated by loud claps of metal against metal. "I don't know, Sis. You might have to call a real plumber on this one."
"Do what you can," Scully sighed. "I'll be home later."
The sound of water suddenly breaking free of its prison and gushing into her kitchen gave her pause. "Uh..Yeah. Later." The cell phone surrendered an audible click.
Scully leaned her back against her car, her eyes squinting past the overly bright sunlight to Mulder, who stood on the decrepit steps of the brownstone. "Why are we here, Mulder?" she asked. "Feinstein is obviously not missing, so there's no case to solve."
"I don't know," Mulder admitted. He knocked on the worn door again, more forcefully this time. "It's just a hunch."
"I have a hunch too," Scully replied. "I have a hunch my kitchen is underwater, along with my current workload. Skinner sends his regards, by the way."
"Weren't you supposed to have a meeting with him at three o'clock?" Mulder asked.
Scully looked at her watch, which now read quarter to four. "Yes. Yes I was."
They were about to leave when the front door of the brownstone opened, revealing a slight young woman in its frame. She gave Mulder and Scully a warm, disarming smile. "Can I help you?"
"I was sent here," Mulder said. "By Professor Feinstein."
The young woman visibly paled, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."
"Are you sure?" Mulder asked, looking past her shoulder to get a better look inside the building. She moved to the right, blocking him. "He was pretty insistent that this was where he was staying. Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners?" He pulled out his FBI badge for her to inspect. "Agent Mulder and Scully, FBI. Do you mind if we come in for a moment?"
She hesitated slightly, and then moved to one side, allowing them access. They sidled past her, Scully earning a piercing stare as she entered the hallway. It was an ancient brownstone, even by inner city standards, a building long since abandoned into disrepair. A small staircase led upwards to the second and third floors, a good portion of its wooden rungs missing. Light shone through a broken window on the first landing, dust and cobwebs swirling in a filthy miasma in the air.
"Cozy," Mulder said. He turned to the young woman. "You're sure he doesn't live here, Miss..ah..what did you say your name was?"
"Stephanie Falcons," she said. She crossed her arms, watching the two agents warily. "Obviously, you have the wrong address. To be blunt the only people who live in this place are hookers and crackheads."
"Pardon my observation, but you don't seem to be either of those things," Scully said.
"I'm a student," Stephanie tersely replied. "I wasn't able to get cheap campus housing."
"What are you studying?" Scully asked. The young woman remained strangely silent. "If you don't tell us, we will bring you in for questioning. And don't bother lying, we can found out your major in seconds."
"He's a great prof. A brilliant scientist..."
"I thought you didn't know him," Mulder said.
"Look, he's..." She glanced over her shoulder, as though afraid of what she might see. She stepped out of the shadow of the staircase, keeping herself bathed in light. "It's not easy, being the one who shines knowledge into the world. There's a lot of resistance, a lot of ignorance. Some people can't handle it."
"Can't handle what?" Scully asked.
"They say they want to know the truth about something, but most people when the evidence is placed in front of them, they really don't." She gave Mulder a sympathetic shrug. "He's not here and he is here. That's all I can tell you."
"He can't be both at the same time," Scully said.
Stephanie Falcons was sombre as she stood in the light drifting down on her, the debris of dust and ancient insects breathed softly in and out. "Yes," she stated, confident. "Yes, he can."
***
Her brother had tried his best, but sadly, she still needed to make an emergency call to a plumber. Four hours later, and no running water, she was finally able to pay the man an exoborent amount of money for the promise that her taps would no longer spew the city's entire water supply onto her red kitchen tiles. There was an angry message on her answering machine from Skinner, who felt the slipshod work of her reports was not only unprofessional, but odd. "I know you've been under a lot of pressure," his voice said, losing some of its characteristic gruffness. "If you need some time off, just say so." She erased his message quickly before she could hear more. The last thing she needed right now was Skinner showing her his soft side, especially when what she really wanted to do was punch a wall, or a certain specific someone, for putting her in such an awkward position of sympathy with their hard nosed supervisor. Inwardly groaning, she slipped out of her clothes and into her bathrobe, fully intent on taking a long, hot bath and slipping between the sheets afterwards for some much needed sleep.
She padded into the bathroom and ran the water, enjoying the way the steam rose up from it, cleaning the air. But her quiet happiness was soon dispelled by the sudden eruption of foul smelling, rust-coloured sludge that poured out into the tub. She turned the taps off quickly and stared in disgust at the dripping, iron tainted mess that stained her no-slip bathmat. Dammit. As if this day couldn't get any worse.
Figuring it was a good as time as any to give up, she went back to her bedroom and pulled on her most comfortable flannels. Her eyes closed in thankful bliss at the promise of sleep even before her head hit her pillow. Within minutes, she was softly snoring into oblivion, all memory of the day reduced to confused dreams.
So when she finally picked up her screaming phone at three in the morning, she couldn't be blamed for being a little snippy with the caller. "Mulder, this is grounds for murder."
"Oh, you were sleeping?" He said this as though it were a shock to him that a human being, such as Dana Scully, would have actual human physical needs. Like sleep. And murderous tendencies when rudely aroused from slumber. "Get dressed. I'll be there in five minutes--I found Professor Feinstein, and you aren't going to believe this when you see it!"
"Mulder..." Scully began, but he had hung up before she had a chance to argue the point. Putting the phone back on the receiver, she stared at it for a long moment, her head longing for the comfort of her pillow. Begrudgingly, she got out of bed and grabbed the trousers she'd been wearing not a few hours earlier. She nearly tripped in her exhaustion as she put them on.
Three in the a.m. He'd found the missing Professor, who they already knew wasn't really missing at all. Hallelujah.
"Dammit, Mulder," she muttered under her breath.
THE BROWNSTONE APARTMENTS, 314 Gamma Lane--3:25a.m.
It was eerie, the way the gate swung back and forth in the darkness, the weeds seeming to claw at it with shadowy fingers. A cold draft curled in through the front door, bringing dead leaves in with it. They slid across the rich, ornate marble tiles, reminding Scully of the decay she had witnessed here in the late afternoon. She checked the address once again, and yes, this was the same place where they had met the strangely vague Stephanie Falcons. On the first landing, moonlight streamed through a clear, clean window, a sharp contrast of white against an inky black sky. The air was free of dust and dirt. The top of the landing was a sterile plateau.
She followed Mulder, passing the fourth floor--which couldn't possibly exist--up to the fifth, where Professor Feinstein was waiting. The entire floor had been converted to his private penthouse, which was rich with various models of atoms and electrons. A single, large sculpture of a brass nucleus floated freely in the centre of what was presumably the living room. At first, Scully assumed it was a holograph of some sort, but when she touched it the cool solidity sent a shock of energy through her palm. It floated in that strange stasis free of any perceivable wires or magnetized platforms. Scully backed away from it, uncertain if what she was seeing was real.
"We don't have much time."
Professor Albert Feinstein sat behind a desk comprised of clear glass. At least, this is what Scully assumed. When he placed his elbows onto its surface and leaned forward tiny ripples, like water on a disturbed pond, eddied in wide circles away from his arms.
"I didn't mean to cause anyone any worry," he continued. He turned to Mulder. "Do you understand the nature of my work?"
"The manipulation of quantum particles," Scully interjected, earning a raised brow from Mulder. "Apparently, you have discovered a way to stack them in much the same manner as building blocks."
Professor Feinstein nodded. "Building blocks of quantum particles of light." He stood up and walked slowly to the large neutron sculpture spinning slowly in its invisible prison in his living room. "Everything you see here is a product of my research." He gave her an imploring look over his shoulder. "Of course, I can never go back. It is an impossibility."
"You disappeared in front of a room full of fifty-seven students," Mulder said. "You say you can't come back, but here you are, talking to us. I'd say you never left."
"You don't understand," Professor Feinstein said to him, shaking his head in sadness. "It you who have come to me. When I manipulated these particles, they altered the quantum arrangement of what was my reality, and thus, I have completely obliterated for myself the universe I once occupied. I have pulled the trigger, and the scientist on that side of the equation is laying dead on the floor." He poured a glass of water and offered it to Scully, who reluctantly took it. "Things have altered for both of you, as well, but I have done my best to keep these changes minimal."
"I don't understand," Mulder said. "If this manipulation was so catastrophic for you, as you say, why did you decide to create it and present it to your students in such an obvious way?"
"Why did someone create an atom bomb? Why did someone find a cure for smallpox?" Professor Feinstein asked. His wild, grey hair was halo accented by the sun slowly rising behind him. "Why do we even ask 'why'? The truth is a religion to us, Agent Mulder, and I see that drive has infected you, too. You, of all people, should understand that the truth does not come without causality."
Behind him, the blood red of a rising dawn shone into the condominium. Professor Feinstein glanced over his shoulder at it, a sense of profound longing emanating from him. "I shall never see it rise," he said, his voice a near whisper. "I live like a shadow, trapped in that which needs darkness to be seen." He turned back to Scully, his hands held open to her in apology. "I've done my best to keep your variables limited. But I am only a human being, you must understand this. There will be errors. There will be changes."
"Professor Feinstein..." Mulder began, but the sun was creeping out of its hiding spot beneath a thin layer of clouds. It erupted through the condominium, bathing it in a brilliance that burned Scully eyes. She lowered her head, avoiding the whitewash of light that swept everything Professor Feinstein had created inside of itself.
When she raised her head, the light diminished into a normal, sunny morning, she was shocked to see that nothing of Professor Feinstein or his home remained. A decrepit, open space surrounded them, crumbling plaster gathered in piles in the corners of the large room. Mulder gave Scully a raised brow, and she in turn gave him a confused sigh in answer, unsure of how to broach the subject.
"He's gone," she said.
"Maybe it's like a vampire thing," Mulder said, hopeful. "We have to think of what he was working on, which was particles of quantum light. He used them to create his universe, but there's limits, like when and how and whether or not those particles can survive in his created environment. Daylight is itself a source of energy, maybe it cancelled his creation out. We could come back tonight and pay him another visit."
"No Mulder," Scully said, the conviction deep, inexplicable as it was. She frowned, unable to properly articulate what she knew to be true. "Can't you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"How it's changed?"
Mulder remained silent, his mood pensive as he made his way down the stairs before her. From the depressed stoop of his shoulders, she knew what she felt was correct. Perhaps she was just leaning on the last vestiges of wakefulness and this feeling was nothing more than a profound lack of sleep. But the nagging persistance that this wasn't the same world they walked into at three a.m. that morning continued to haunt her.
Her steps were heavy as she descended. The air around her felt wrong, her body an alien object moving within it. She felt uncomfortable. Strange.
"You're right, Scully," Mulder agreed, sadly. They walked to the car, the gate swinging smoothly behind them. It didn't groan in protest. The lock caught perfectly when she slammed it shut. "Professor Feinstein has officially disappeared." He opened the car door, pausing to lean on it as Scully slid into the passenger seat. He stared at the ancient, abandoned brownstone, the crumbling shell devoid of all signs of life. Dead bushes slid up the outside walls, husks of weeds crumbling beneath stones.
"Thank God for that," Mulder said, and got into the car.
X-FILE #3799: Agent Dana Scully
"It has come to my conclusion that Professor Albert Feinstein, while not officially a missing person due to our finding him, is now residing in a place far beyond the long arm of the FBI, or any other entity for that matter. The remaining vestiges of his very existance are also called into question, since we no longer have any knowledge of the whereabouts of his most loyal student, Stephanie Falcons. In fact, when investigating her student profile at MIT, Agent Fox Mulder and myself were surprised to discover that there was no such student of that name enrolled there. Further investigation into her whereabouts has proved fruitless. It seems, like Professor Albert Feinstein, that Ms. Falcons has also disappeared, leaving a profound abscence of prescence behind.
Feinstein's colleague, Professor Schoedsinger, has further downplayed the disappearance, and now claims that Feinstein's work was not revolutionary, but mediocre at best. Interviews with Feinstein's students seems to agree with this conviction, which is a marked contrast to the picture we gained prior to our interviews with them. The memory that exists now is one of a window smeared with ages old dust, the shadowy outline of genius forgotten beneath myriad layers of possibility.
We are often prejudiced to think large in our viewpoints, to see the vast horizon as an example of infinity. And yet, as Feinstein proved, it is the smallest of particles that defines our reality, its influence meted out in such complexity that we cannot even hope to measure it, only experience it. We each live in houses of our own making, our realities defined by the dancing points of light we dare to unconsciously stack, not noticing when some of those bricks begin to fall."
She pulled off her glasses and sighed, staring at her computer screen. Glass of wine in hand, she headed for the bathroom, and ran herself a hot bath. After a sleepless night and countless irritations that she couldn't quite bring into focus, this was one case she was glad to close.
The water streamed out, crystal clear. She frowned, slightly, and then shrugged the uncomfortable feeling off.
She grabbed a bottle off the sink counter and uncapped it, pouring a generous amount of the contents into the tub. The hot steam pulled the scent of jasmine bubble bath into the air.
Author: pink_bagels
Subject: Building virtual houses of light with Scully and Mulder.
Rating: PG, casefic
Word count: 4,353
NOTES: First X-Files fic, ever. I know, I know--eleven years or so too late? Still, gotta luv the Scully/Mulder mutual badgering. Scully was never a characature, she had depth and a profound sense of right and wrong. Olivia from Fringe comes close, but nothing will beat the power of Scully.
Anyway...Enjoy!
HOUSES
"Mulder, are you sure this is the right address?"
Scully sighed as she made her way up the decrepit steps leading into the old brownstone. Her heels kicked away chunks of concrete, and they slid off the steps, rolling onto a small pile of broken needles in the weeds. "I don't know Mulder," she said, skepticism evident in her voice. "Something tells me we're way off the mark, here. I know you think this Stephanie Falcons told you the truth, but I don't believe this is the home of MIT's most eminent scientist."
"Appearances can be deceiving, Scully," Mulder said, giving her a wry smile. He opened the creaking door leading into the foyer of the brownstone complex. "Behold, a miracle has occured."
Scully was dumbstruck. The interior of the building was vastly different from what was presented outside, its walls lined with gold flecked wallpaper, the flooring one of slippery, high quality marble. "Mulder, this is impossible," Scully breathed. She turned her head, frowning at the open entrance. It framed a vision of a broken fence swaying against the night breeze, dead branches and torn weeds clawing up the chained links. "When we came here earlier, this place was just a shell. There were broken windows." She paused at the massive oak staircase leading up into what looked to be infinity. "There were only three floors."
Mulder, with his usual annoying positivity in the face of the unknown, bounded up the first flight of stairs with boyish glee. "Amazing, right? But that's not the half of it. Come on up to the fourth floor--You have got to see what he's done with the new indoor swimming pool!"
FBI HEADQUARTERS, X-FILES DIVISION. Twelve hours earlier...
Scully sipped at her coffee, feigning interest as Mulder clicked through several more slides. Colourful visions of pink and green fractals of light decorated the drab, cluttered office. She checked her watch, and let out an audible sigh. "I thought you had something amazing to show me."
"This is it," Mulder said, clicking through another kalaidascope series of slides.
"I'm two days behind in my paperwork, I have a meeting with Skinner at three, my brother is coming over at two to fix my sink, and you call me, telling me you have something urgent to show me, and all I'm seeing is the lowest grade laser show I have ever been forced to witness." She set down her coffee.
Mulder's enthusiasm was instantly deflated. "Why didn't you ask me to fix your sink? I'm a capable guy with a wrench." He turned back to his slide show, the image of a smiling man with a halo of frizzy grey hair staring back at them. "This is Albert Feinstein."
Dana choked on her coffee. "Seriously?"
"He's a quantum mechanics professor at MIT, well reknowned for his work on photon particles and the nature of light. Within the last four years, thanks in part to Professor Feinstein's research, there have been great strides made in the field of quantum particle manipulation, to the point that it is now believed possible to stack these photons in a stable way, thus creating a series of quantum building blocks."
"Fascinating," Scully said, getting up. "But the complex realm of physics is a valued science." She picked up an eraser off his desk, shaped in the form of a UFO. "In other words, this is hardly an X-File."
"Au contraire," Mulder said, that mischevious glean evident in his gaze. Scully had the sinking sensation she was about to scrap all of her plans for the remainder of the day. "Just two days ago, Professor Feinstein disappeared." He paused, amused by her bored shrug. "He was teaching a lecture at the time. According to his students, he turned off an overhead projector, and right before their eyes he vanished without a trace."
"Heck of a trick," Scully admitted.
"Better than that," Mulder said, grinning. "I'd say it defies the laws of physics."
"I didn't think the FBI had that kind of jurisdiction."
"I was sent an anonymous email, begging me to take a look into the case." His eager manner implored Scully to have patience. "Come on, Scully, hang out with some subatomic particles with me. It'll be fun."
Scully sighed, knowing she was going to follow him. She draped her coat over her arm, tossing her half finished coffee into the wastebasket. "Right now, I'm more concerned about the particles clogging my kitchen sink."
MIT: PHYSICS DEPARTMENT: 11:00am
"Feinstein has always been a bit of a loose cannon." The slight, well put together man behind the desk adjusted his tie, the glint of a gold ring catching the light streaming in from the large window behind him. "We respect his work here at the department, but his methods were becoming less about science and more about philosophy." He caught Scully's eye and she quickly averted them, unsure if this was a naked slight against her partner seated beside her. Mulder had, of course, immediately gone into a tirade that encompassed alien influence, scientific conspiracy and dharmic principles of life being an illusion--all arguments which had severely ruffled the man's sense of confidence in their investigation.
"So you're saying Professor Feinstein's methods upset your innate sense of logic?" Mulder took out his notebook and pretended to read a fact he had noted on it earlier. Scully knew he had merely doodled a sunflower. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but the very nature of quantum theory is one that's based on thought experiments and highly abstract ways of reasoning. The physical properties of quantum fragments are too small to explain in any kind of linear fashion. Thus, their behaviours can only be explored in a parable-like methodology."
"Yes, but even those thought experiments have a significant amount of carefully calculated proof behind them." He fixed Mulder with a stern glare. "We deal in facts here, Agent Mulder. Detailed, documented facts."
"We are not suggesting anything less, Professor Schoedsinger," Scully said, hoping to ease the tension erupting with ever increasing force within the office. "We are merely trying to understand the circumstances of how and why your colleague may have disappeared."
"Or who may have wanted that to happen," Mulder pointedly added. "There is a lot of competition among scientists, especially when new discoveries are involved. I'm sure the wild world of quantum theory is no exception."
Professor Schoedsinger was amused at this. "If you think I killed Feinstein because of some new discovery he'd made, you'd be wrong." He sat back in his chair, his fingertips steepled below his chin. "The man is an incompetent mess. There's been numerous complaints from students about his erratic behaviour, and he is increasinging behind on marking their exams and papers."
"Paperwork," Scully longingly sighed, giving a sidelong glance at Mulder.
"As for thinking me capable of murder, well, making him disappear is not a feat I think I could arrange. I'm a direct man, if you haven't noticed."
"So how would you have murdered him," Mulder asked, ignoring the red shade of the man's neck. "A gunshot?"
"Don't be ridiculous," Professor Schoedsinger replied. Then, after thinking on it a moment, "I'd give him a glass of poisoned water."
***
Scully stormed five steps ahead of Mulder, her heels clacking on the hot pavement as she made her way down the concrete steps. The brilliant afternoon sun covered the campus in a whitewashed glow, its bright intrusion eclipsing objects and people in its wake. She shaded her eyes with her palm, seeking out their car with increased annoyance. Mulder caught up with her, panting at her shoulder.
"Do you remember where we parked?" she asked.
"There's something very strange going on here, Scully, I can feel it."
"Same here. I'm getting the sinking feeling I've completely wasted my morning. Thanks to this little segue, I'm going to have to explain to Skinner why the paperwork he wanted still isn't finished." She squinted past the horizon of the parking lot, and found the dim outline of her car on the far right periphery of the lot. "Weird. I could have sworn we parked here out in front."
"I got a distinctly different impression of Professor Feinstein from the students who witnessed his disappearance. Many of them were of the opinion he was the most brilliant mind they had ever met, and they considered it a priviledge to be taking his class. A marked contrast to the picture Schoedsinger was presenting."
"So Schoedsinger is lying?"
"One or two disgruntled souls does not a student body make."
"Mulder, much as I want to help you, I can't help but think this is nothing more than some inner academia politics. There is no body, nothing to suggest that Feinstein has met with any foul play, and all signs point to a disgruntled, possibly mentally unhinged employee annoying his colleagues. This is not an X-File."
Mulder was about to argue the point when his cell phone rang. He held up a finger, bidding an impatient Scully to wait as he answered it. It continued to ring in his hand as he frowned, looking on the small screen.
"Mulder, what is it?"
"Not a what, but a who." He held up the screen so Scully could see. "It's Feinstein."
Scully dangled her car keys in front of Mulder's nose. "Case closed."
***
"I think there's something blocking your pipes in the trap." There was a loud clatter on the other end of the line, and a series of heartfelt curses. "Gah! My finger!" Scully listened to another set of curses, punctuated by loud claps of metal against metal. "I don't know, Sis. You might have to call a real plumber on this one."
"Do what you can," Scully sighed. "I'll be home later."
The sound of water suddenly breaking free of its prison and gushing into her kitchen gave her pause. "Uh..Yeah. Later." The cell phone surrendered an audible click.
Scully leaned her back against her car, her eyes squinting past the overly bright sunlight to Mulder, who stood on the decrepit steps of the brownstone. "Why are we here, Mulder?" she asked. "Feinstein is obviously not missing, so there's no case to solve."
"I don't know," Mulder admitted. He knocked on the worn door again, more forcefully this time. "It's just a hunch."
"I have a hunch too," Scully replied. "I have a hunch my kitchen is underwater, along with my current workload. Skinner sends his regards, by the way."
"Weren't you supposed to have a meeting with him at three o'clock?" Mulder asked.
Scully looked at her watch, which now read quarter to four. "Yes. Yes I was."
They were about to leave when the front door of the brownstone opened, revealing a slight young woman in its frame. She gave Mulder and Scully a warm, disarming smile. "Can I help you?"
"I was sent here," Mulder said. "By Professor Feinstein."
The young woman visibly paled, and shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know anyone by that name."
"Are you sure?" Mulder asked, looking past her shoulder to get a better look inside the building. She moved to the right, blocking him. "He was pretty insistent that this was where he was staying. Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners?" He pulled out his FBI badge for her to inspect. "Agent Mulder and Scully, FBI. Do you mind if we come in for a moment?"
She hesitated slightly, and then moved to one side, allowing them access. They sidled past her, Scully earning a piercing stare as she entered the hallway. It was an ancient brownstone, even by inner city standards, a building long since abandoned into disrepair. A small staircase led upwards to the second and third floors, a good portion of its wooden rungs missing. Light shone through a broken window on the first landing, dust and cobwebs swirling in a filthy miasma in the air.
"Cozy," Mulder said. He turned to the young woman. "You're sure he doesn't live here, Miss..ah..what did you say your name was?"
"Stephanie Falcons," she said. She crossed her arms, watching the two agents warily. "Obviously, you have the wrong address. To be blunt the only people who live in this place are hookers and crackheads."
"Pardon my observation, but you don't seem to be either of those things," Scully said.
"I'm a student," Stephanie tersely replied. "I wasn't able to get cheap campus housing."
"What are you studying?" Scully asked. The young woman remained strangely silent. "If you don't tell us, we will bring you in for questioning. And don't bother lying, we can found out your major in seconds."
"He's a great prof. A brilliant scientist..."
"I thought you didn't know him," Mulder said.
"Look, he's..." She glanced over her shoulder, as though afraid of what she might see. She stepped out of the shadow of the staircase, keeping herself bathed in light. "It's not easy, being the one who shines knowledge into the world. There's a lot of resistance, a lot of ignorance. Some people can't handle it."
"Can't handle what?" Scully asked.
"They say they want to know the truth about something, but most people when the evidence is placed in front of them, they really don't." She gave Mulder a sympathetic shrug. "He's not here and he is here. That's all I can tell you."
"He can't be both at the same time," Scully said.
Stephanie Falcons was sombre as she stood in the light drifting down on her, the debris of dust and ancient insects breathed softly in and out. "Yes," she stated, confident. "Yes, he can."
***
Her brother had tried his best, but sadly, she still needed to make an emergency call to a plumber. Four hours later, and no running water, she was finally able to pay the man an exoborent amount of money for the promise that her taps would no longer spew the city's entire water supply onto her red kitchen tiles. There was an angry message on her answering machine from Skinner, who felt the slipshod work of her reports was not only unprofessional, but odd. "I know you've been under a lot of pressure," his voice said, losing some of its characteristic gruffness. "If you need some time off, just say so." She erased his message quickly before she could hear more. The last thing she needed right now was Skinner showing her his soft side, especially when what she really wanted to do was punch a wall, or a certain specific someone, for putting her in such an awkward position of sympathy with their hard nosed supervisor. Inwardly groaning, she slipped out of her clothes and into her bathrobe, fully intent on taking a long, hot bath and slipping between the sheets afterwards for some much needed sleep.
She padded into the bathroom and ran the water, enjoying the way the steam rose up from it, cleaning the air. But her quiet happiness was soon dispelled by the sudden eruption of foul smelling, rust-coloured sludge that poured out into the tub. She turned the taps off quickly and stared in disgust at the dripping, iron tainted mess that stained her no-slip bathmat. Dammit. As if this day couldn't get any worse.
Figuring it was a good as time as any to give up, she went back to her bedroom and pulled on her most comfortable flannels. Her eyes closed in thankful bliss at the promise of sleep even before her head hit her pillow. Within minutes, she was softly snoring into oblivion, all memory of the day reduced to confused dreams.
So when she finally picked up her screaming phone at three in the morning, she couldn't be blamed for being a little snippy with the caller. "Mulder, this is grounds for murder."
"Oh, you were sleeping?" He said this as though it were a shock to him that a human being, such as Dana Scully, would have actual human physical needs. Like sleep. And murderous tendencies when rudely aroused from slumber. "Get dressed. I'll be there in five minutes--I found Professor Feinstein, and you aren't going to believe this when you see it!"
"Mulder..." Scully began, but he had hung up before she had a chance to argue the point. Putting the phone back on the receiver, she stared at it for a long moment, her head longing for the comfort of her pillow. Begrudgingly, she got out of bed and grabbed the trousers she'd been wearing not a few hours earlier. She nearly tripped in her exhaustion as she put them on.
Three in the a.m. He'd found the missing Professor, who they already knew wasn't really missing at all. Hallelujah.
"Dammit, Mulder," she muttered under her breath.
THE BROWNSTONE APARTMENTS, 314 Gamma Lane--3:25a.m.
It was eerie, the way the gate swung back and forth in the darkness, the weeds seeming to claw at it with shadowy fingers. A cold draft curled in through the front door, bringing dead leaves in with it. They slid across the rich, ornate marble tiles, reminding Scully of the decay she had witnessed here in the late afternoon. She checked the address once again, and yes, this was the same place where they had met the strangely vague Stephanie Falcons. On the first landing, moonlight streamed through a clear, clean window, a sharp contrast of white against an inky black sky. The air was free of dust and dirt. The top of the landing was a sterile plateau.
She followed Mulder, passing the fourth floor--which couldn't possibly exist--up to the fifth, where Professor Feinstein was waiting. The entire floor had been converted to his private penthouse, which was rich with various models of atoms and electrons. A single, large sculpture of a brass nucleus floated freely in the centre of what was presumably the living room. At first, Scully assumed it was a holograph of some sort, but when she touched it the cool solidity sent a shock of energy through her palm. It floated in that strange stasis free of any perceivable wires or magnetized platforms. Scully backed away from it, uncertain if what she was seeing was real.
"We don't have much time."
Professor Albert Feinstein sat behind a desk comprised of clear glass. At least, this is what Scully assumed. When he placed his elbows onto its surface and leaned forward tiny ripples, like water on a disturbed pond, eddied in wide circles away from his arms.
"I didn't mean to cause anyone any worry," he continued. He turned to Mulder. "Do you understand the nature of my work?"
"The manipulation of quantum particles," Scully interjected, earning a raised brow from Mulder. "Apparently, you have discovered a way to stack them in much the same manner as building blocks."
Professor Feinstein nodded. "Building blocks of quantum particles of light." He stood up and walked slowly to the large neutron sculpture spinning slowly in its invisible prison in his living room. "Everything you see here is a product of my research." He gave her an imploring look over his shoulder. "Of course, I can never go back. It is an impossibility."
"You disappeared in front of a room full of fifty-seven students," Mulder said. "You say you can't come back, but here you are, talking to us. I'd say you never left."
"You don't understand," Professor Feinstein said to him, shaking his head in sadness. "It you who have come to me. When I manipulated these particles, they altered the quantum arrangement of what was my reality, and thus, I have completely obliterated for myself the universe I once occupied. I have pulled the trigger, and the scientist on that side of the equation is laying dead on the floor." He poured a glass of water and offered it to Scully, who reluctantly took it. "Things have altered for both of you, as well, but I have done my best to keep these changes minimal."
"I don't understand," Mulder said. "If this manipulation was so catastrophic for you, as you say, why did you decide to create it and present it to your students in such an obvious way?"
"Why did someone create an atom bomb? Why did someone find a cure for smallpox?" Professor Feinstein asked. His wild, grey hair was halo accented by the sun slowly rising behind him. "Why do we even ask 'why'? The truth is a religion to us, Agent Mulder, and I see that drive has infected you, too. You, of all people, should understand that the truth does not come without causality."
Behind him, the blood red of a rising dawn shone into the condominium. Professor Feinstein glanced over his shoulder at it, a sense of profound longing emanating from him. "I shall never see it rise," he said, his voice a near whisper. "I live like a shadow, trapped in that which needs darkness to be seen." He turned back to Scully, his hands held open to her in apology. "I've done my best to keep your variables limited. But I am only a human being, you must understand this. There will be errors. There will be changes."
"Professor Feinstein..." Mulder began, but the sun was creeping out of its hiding spot beneath a thin layer of clouds. It erupted through the condominium, bathing it in a brilliance that burned Scully eyes. She lowered her head, avoiding the whitewash of light that swept everything Professor Feinstein had created inside of itself.
When she raised her head, the light diminished into a normal, sunny morning, she was shocked to see that nothing of Professor Feinstein or his home remained. A decrepit, open space surrounded them, crumbling plaster gathered in piles in the corners of the large room. Mulder gave Scully a raised brow, and she in turn gave him a confused sigh in answer, unsure of how to broach the subject.
"He's gone," she said.
"Maybe it's like a vampire thing," Mulder said, hopeful. "We have to think of what he was working on, which was particles of quantum light. He used them to create his universe, but there's limits, like when and how and whether or not those particles can survive in his created environment. Daylight is itself a source of energy, maybe it cancelled his creation out. We could come back tonight and pay him another visit."
"No Mulder," Scully said, the conviction deep, inexplicable as it was. She frowned, unable to properly articulate what she knew to be true. "Can't you feel it?"
"Feel what?"
"How it's changed?"
Mulder remained silent, his mood pensive as he made his way down the stairs before her. From the depressed stoop of his shoulders, she knew what she felt was correct. Perhaps she was just leaning on the last vestiges of wakefulness and this feeling was nothing more than a profound lack of sleep. But the nagging persistance that this wasn't the same world they walked into at three a.m. that morning continued to haunt her.
Her steps were heavy as she descended. The air around her felt wrong, her body an alien object moving within it. She felt uncomfortable. Strange.
"You're right, Scully," Mulder agreed, sadly. They walked to the car, the gate swinging smoothly behind them. It didn't groan in protest. The lock caught perfectly when she slammed it shut. "Professor Feinstein has officially disappeared." He opened the car door, pausing to lean on it as Scully slid into the passenger seat. He stared at the ancient, abandoned brownstone, the crumbling shell devoid of all signs of life. Dead bushes slid up the outside walls, husks of weeds crumbling beneath stones.
"Thank God for that," Mulder said, and got into the car.
X-FILE #3799: Agent Dana Scully
"It has come to my conclusion that Professor Albert Feinstein, while not officially a missing person due to our finding him, is now residing in a place far beyond the long arm of the FBI, or any other entity for that matter. The remaining vestiges of his very existance are also called into question, since we no longer have any knowledge of the whereabouts of his most loyal student, Stephanie Falcons. In fact, when investigating her student profile at MIT, Agent Fox Mulder and myself were surprised to discover that there was no such student of that name enrolled there. Further investigation into her whereabouts has proved fruitless. It seems, like Professor Albert Feinstein, that Ms. Falcons has also disappeared, leaving a profound abscence of prescence behind.
Feinstein's colleague, Professor Schoedsinger, has further downplayed the disappearance, and now claims that Feinstein's work was not revolutionary, but mediocre at best. Interviews with Feinstein's students seems to agree with this conviction, which is a marked contrast to the picture we gained prior to our interviews with them. The memory that exists now is one of a window smeared with ages old dust, the shadowy outline of genius forgotten beneath myriad layers of possibility.
We are often prejudiced to think large in our viewpoints, to see the vast horizon as an example of infinity. And yet, as Feinstein proved, it is the smallest of particles that defines our reality, its influence meted out in such complexity that we cannot even hope to measure it, only experience it. We each live in houses of our own making, our realities defined by the dancing points of light we dare to unconsciously stack, not noticing when some of those bricks begin to fall."
She pulled off her glasses and sighed, staring at her computer screen. Glass of wine in hand, she headed for the bathroom, and ran herself a hot bath. After a sleepless night and countless irritations that she couldn't quite bring into focus, this was one case she was glad to close.
The water streamed out, crystal clear. She frowned, slightly, and then shrugged the uncomfortable feeling off.
She grabbed a bottle off the sink counter and uncapped it, pouring a generous amount of the contents into the tub. The hot steam pulled the scent of jasmine bubble bath into the air.