Isolation, Chapter Thirteen
Scully paced back and forth. There was nothing she could do, but
until Mulder called and let her know he was safe -- that they were
safe -- she wouldn't be able to settle.
"You know that we might not hear from them tonight," Skinner said.
"Mulder will call," Scully said. "As soon as they're anywhere he
can do so safely, he'll call."
It was close to midnight when he finally did.
"Mulder, where are you?" Scully asked.
"I'm at the safe house."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, we're all just great. It's hotter than hell here. They say
it's a dry heat, though."
She breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "When will you be back?"
"That's up to Skinner. Is he there?"
Scully handed the phone over to Skinner.
"Hey, Skinman, how's it going? Did you send the stuff?"
"Don't call me that. Yes, you should have it by tomorrow afternoon."
"Great, 'cause I think the natives here are restless. I don't want
them to think too hard about this. They might do a bolt. I don't
suppose you've found our friend yet?"
"He's still at large."
"He'll crawl out of the woodwork eventually. We have something he
wants."
"Just make sure that we keep it," Skinner said.
x-x-x
"What do you make of all this?" Annie whispered to Brian. They
were alone in their room at a small motel outside of Redding. Mulder
had told them they would be continuing on to Sacramento the next day,
and from there back to Washington.
The ride from Perdita had been tense, and very long. They'd stopped
in some small town for gas and snacks and then they'd pushed on to
the "safe house" which turned out to be this fleabag motel.
"I don't know," Brian said. "It's all happening so fast."
"Do you believe these people? Do you trust them?"
"Well, I wouldn't have just left with them, except that Nate seemed
to think that they were on the level. He said he'd gotten a call
from the Deputy Director of the FBI. Once a Marine, always a
Marine." He smiled a crooked smile. "They seem trustworthy. We're
not being held at gunpoint. I guess we had a choice, somewhere back
there. I don't know what my instincts are worth, though: since I
don't even know who I am."
"What about this John Byers that they keep saying you are? Does he
sound familiar?"
"I don't recall ever hearing the name before," Brian said. "But
both Mr. Mulder and Mr. Frohike seem to know him. Me. If that's who
I really am."
Someone knocked quietly at their door. "It's me, Frohike," a voice
whispered loudly.
Brian opened the door.
"How's everybody doing?" Frohike asked. He was such a strange
little man, Annie thought. But he had a kind face.
"We're okay, considering," Brian said.
"Yeah, I know it's weird," Frohike said. "I've got a six-year gap
in my memory. I have a friend who's told me where I was and what I
was doing, but I don't remember any of it."
"Doesn't that bother you?" Brian asked.
"It pisses me off that I lost six years, yeah," Frohike said. "But
the life I was living, it wasn't my real life. I guess I was happy
enough in my ignorance, but I think on the whole I'm glad to have my
old life back."
"How can you say that if you don't remember it?" Annie asked.
"That's a fair point," Frohike said. "But before, I was doing
something worthwhile. I was fighting the good fight. For six years
I didn't know what I was missing."
"I don't know what I'm missing now," Brian said, "I do know what I'd
be leaving behind. I don't know if that's a fair trade-off."
"I'm not here to convince you of that, man. But take some time to
find out more about John Fitzgerald Byers before you decide." He
saluted them and left.
x-x-x
Connie sat glumly in front of the TV. Langly was nearby, as was
Monica Reyes. No one felt like talking. The news said the fire had
gutted the studio but no one knew what had caused the explosion yet.
Agent Doggett had come back with Monica, fetched Gibson, and left
for someplace unspecified. The three of them were left waiting for
something. Connie didn't know, and she told herself she didn't care,
either.
She hadn't been sure that she wanted to go back to Chicago. Now
that it wasn't an option, she wished she had. Maybe she could have
saved the studio, somehow.
Monica's phone rang. She stood up and left the lounge. Connie
could hear her murmuring into the phone. She hung up before coming
back in.
"Mulder has them," she said to Langly. "They're safe for now. They
should be here tomorrow."
Langly looked, if not pleased, a little less angry. This news did
nothing for Connie. She didn't know who they were talking about or
why she should care. It seems that rescuing them was more important
than her life, anyway.
Monica sat down next to her. "You have a place here, you know," she
said quietly. "For as long as you want. For always, if that's what
you want." She put her arm around Connie's shoulders. "I know this
is hard for you."
Connie put her face against Monica's shoulder, and allowed herself
to cry.
x-x-x
It was still dark outside when Mulder's phone rang on the bedside
table. "I don't remember leaving an early wake-up call," he mumbled.
"Mulder, it's me," said Scully.
"You do realize it's three hours earlier here?" he teased. He
looked out the front window; Frohike was sitting on a bench outside,
keeping watch on their traveling companions.
"Do you think you can get to the airport in time for a noon flight?"
she asked. "Skinner is having the tickets and other documents sent
directly there."
"I like that better than waiting here. I feel like our charges
might change their minds," he said.
"That's a good reason, but there's more to it," Scully said.
"Skinner authorized Agents Doggett and Reyes to check out the fire in
Chicago," Scully said, "and I think they found something there."
"Did he tell you what?" Mulder asked, now fully awake.
"No, but I have an idea, and I bet you do, too. It's not something
anyone wants to talk about over the phone. Just get back as soon as
you can."
They were on the road an hour later. After a long day cooped up in
the car the day before, no one felt much like talking. Mulder kept
one eye on the rearview mirror. No one seemed to be following. The
freeway was a long straight stretch, mainly through rice fields,
olive orchards, and the occasional town. The tallest buildings
around were grain silos.
His passengers dozed. No one had gotten much sleep, he was sure.
He'd taken first watch and the Jordans' light had been on very late.
It was hard enough to make life or death decisions when you knew it
was something you'd signed up for. How hard it must be for someone
like Annie -- or Byers, in his current persona -- to be pulled into
something like this out of the blue. It wasn't going to get any
easier for them, either.
They got to the airport in plenty of time. They left the SUV in the
long term lot. Mulder would tell Skinner, who would let Sheriff
Barrett know where to find it once they were safely home.
The four of them headed for the ticketing area. Even the normally
loquacious Frohike was subdued. Mulder scanned for anyone who looked
like they might be a contact. He could hardly believe his eyes when
he saw John Doggett and Gibson Praise approaching.
"Talk about calling out the Marines," Mulder said. "How'd you get
stuck with this detail?"
"What's your saying?" Doggett said as he shook hands with Mulder.
"Trust no one? I think Skinner is taking it to heart. We're here to
get you home. It was Scully's idea to send Gibson. She thought he'd
make a good 'early warning system'."
"Trust no one," Mulder agreed. "It's the phrase that's sweeping the
nation."
~*~