"Aphasic" BY XFBandit drambo@sonic.net Edited by Scott Carr Classification: S, A, R Rating : PG-13 Summary : Not on yer life. Warnings : Yes, but to say anything would give it away. Suffice it to say if you like everything tied up in a neat little bow, don't read this story. Archive : Gossamer OK, all others please ask. Sequels : There is no sequel for this story. .1. The two observers stood behind the one-way mirror. The taller, older one had both hands in his pants pockets and was absently jingling his change. His companion nervously chewed his bottom lip, glancing in turn between the subject in the interview room and his mentor. "Do you think she'll change her story?" the younger man asked. "Hmmm? No," the older one replied. "I...don't think so." The younger man barely managed to suppress a sigh. His boss had the annoying habit of saying the first word in a sentence and then pausing, as though waiting for his thoughts to catch up with his mouth. "She...is dedicated to this. She...is proving to be a most difficult subject." "Yes," the younger man agreed, again turning his attention to the subject under discussion. "She is." .2. Special Agent Dana Scully tapped her fingers on the table in sequence, pinky, ring, middle, forefinger. For variety, she would add her thumb to the mix every other time. If I do it fast enough, she thought, it sounds like hoof beats. The door to the room opened to admit a tall, well-dressed man in his mid-fifties. He wore a blindingly white button-down shirt, a colorful tie, and beige Dockers. "Miss Scully," he said, smiling warmly. "Agent Scully," Scully said sharply. "That's right. I'm sorry. Special Agent Scully. Of the world- famous FBI." He paused. "How are you today?" "Annoyed," Scully said pointedly. "Really?" "I've told you everything you need to know, and you still keep me here. I want to know when I'm going to be released." "Soon, I'm sure," the man said, taking a seat across from Scully. The only things in the room were the table, the two chairs, and the two people. "You don't think I know we're being watched?" Scully asked, pointing one perfectly manicured nail at the mirror. "You don't think I know that two of your...associates are studying us? Me?" "The purpose of the mirror is so that the subject being interviewed is never aware whether they are being watched. We've found that it tends to make the interview more...productive." Scully nodded. "Unless the subject assumes that they're being watched the entire time, and adjusts their behavior accordingly." "Yes," the man said, nodding. "That is true." He paused. "You make it sound as though you have more than a casual understanding of criminal psychology." Scully fixed him with a withering glare. "I'm a Special Agent of the FBI. Of *course* I know about criminal psychology." She paused. "Can we get on with this? Please?" "Of course. We just need to talk about a few things, and then you can be on your way." Scully nodded, sitting back and crossing her arms. "Now, your...duties as a Special Agent....it *was* "Special" Agent, right?" "All sworn agents of the FBI are "Special" Agents. I don't know why you can't understand that. How many times have I told you?" "Several," the man acknowledged. "Now then...your duties as a Apecial Agent of the FBI entail exactly what?" "That's classified," Scully said. "I thought we'd agreed that I have...what is the term you used?" "The need to know," Scully said. She sighed. "Your investigation barely touches on the issues that I deal with daily. I know that I said I could *see* that you *might* have the need to know. I also distinctly remembering telling you that I'd need written or verbal permission from my superiors before going any further." "That's right," the man said, checking his notes. "An... Assistant Director...Skinner, I see here." "Walter S. Skinner, that's right." "We contacted the Bureau," the man said. "They have no record of a Walter S. Skinner there. Not as an Assistant Director, not as a "Special" Agent, not even as a clerk." He was speaking very carefully, choosing his words. The man sat back, studying Scully's reaction to this news. She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the man's statement. "I don't know who you talked to, but--" "Human Resources, Miss...excuse me, Agent Scully. We spoke to the Assistant Director for Administration....a Mr. Carlyle." Scully sat up, angry. "I don't know who you spoke to, but they were obviously part of the...." Scully closed her mouth and looked at the table. "Part of the what?" the man queried. "Nevermind," Scully said. After a pause she added, "I've already *discussed* that issue to you. I shouldn't have to repeat it. I shouldn't be treated this way." "Ah...yes, the conspiracy." "When you say it like that, it makes me sound..." Scully didn't finish her thought. "What were you going to say?" the man asked. "Crazy," Scully muttered. And then, stronger. "It makes me sound crazy." The man frowned slightly, his brows knitting together. He set the papers he'd been studying on the desk in front of him, interlaced his fingers on top of them and leaned forward. "Let's talk about that, Agent Scully." "About what?" "About things like that." .3. The observation room had several comfortable chairs. The older man had claimed one and was leaning back, one leg crossed over the other, one hand cupping the back of his head as he watched. "That's a breakthrough," his young collegue noticed. "Well...yes," the man admitted. "But a small one." .4. "I am not crazy," Scully said. "I never said that you were," the man said reasonably. "But let's review, shall we?" Scully sighed and leaned back. "Fine. Whatever. If it will get me out of here any faster, go ahead." Ignoring her, the man picked up a single sheet of paper and and began reading. "The FBI has said that no one by the name Walter S. Skinner is currently employed by the Bureau. You said they are...disavowing any knowledge of your superior, Walter S. Skinner, because men at the highest levels of power in this country are involved in an international conspiracy to hide the existence of life from other worlds--" "I never *said* that!" Scully said. "You previously stated--" "I said my *partner* believes that the conspiracy is to hide--" "Ah, that would be...Mr--" "Special Agent!" Scully almost shouted, springing to her feet. "How hard is it for you to understand? SPECIAL AGENT FOX MULDER!" The man looked up at Scully, calm as a buddha. "Please sit down," he said. His eyes flicked to her chair and then back to Scully's face. Reluctantly, she sat. "Special Agent Mulder also is not an employee of the FBI." "As I said," Scully began, sighing. "Yes, I know...part of the same...conspiracy." "That's right," Scully said. The man opened his mouth as if to speak, and then closed it. Considering, he selected another sheet of paper from his files and withdrew it. "Do you know why you are here, Agent Scully?" "I was working a case in this jurisdiction. My partner and I discovered some evidence that we needed processed by the local crime lab. I called for assistance. When your detectives showed up, I was arrested." "Agent Scully, you have not been arrested," the man pointed out. "Fine," Scully said, her tone indicating that at this point, it was all semantics to her. "I was *taken into custody*. I'm not under under arrest, but I'm not free to go, either. Whatever term you want to use is fine with me." The man considered for a long moment. "Let's talk about the conspiracy for a moment. You said that your...partner believes that it's centered around the desire concel the existence of aliens. Is aliens. Is that correct? Do I have it right?" "Yes," Scully said, nodding. "But you...yourself don't believe this." Scully's eyebrows went up. "No," she said softly. "Of course I don't." "But...you agree there is a conspiracy." She sighed again. "I know that there is a group of men who are extremely powerful. As to what their ultimate *aim* is, I have no idea." "So, a nameless, faceless conspiracy has worked behind the scenes to erase any existence of you, your partner or your boss from one of the most respected law enforcement agencies in the world. The men that made this happen have done so without you knowing who they are, or what their ultimate goal is. Do I have it right?" "Precisely," Scully said. The man paused, waiting for Scully to realize the significance of her own words. "What?" Scully finally asked. "Doesn't it all seem just a little...convienent?" "In what sense?" "Agent Scully...you have presented yourself to us as an Agent of the FBI. You have no credentials--" "I told you--" "Yes. They were lost in the woods. I remember. Still, you have no credentials, and no one at the FBI can verify your story. You claim that you are, in fact, an FBI agent, and that you have a partner named Mulder and a boss named Skinner." He hesitated. "One would assume that someone...somewhere at the FBI could verify this. A clerk. A secretary. An assistant. Yet...every name you give me to verify your story ends up being a...dead end. You claim that this is not due to any dishonesty on *your* part, but because of a cabal of men, a shadow government, that can...disappear people on a whim." The man spread his arms wide. "You, as a trained investigator, can see why I find this story hard to believe." Scully nodded. "I can understand. But if I could just be allowed to make a phone call--" "Whom would you call?" the man asked. "We'd be glad to call them for you, to verify your story. To help you in this matter." He paused. "Every name that you've provided us has come up empty." Scully sighed. "You don't understand," she said. "I can *explain* all of this." .5. "Here we go again," the younger man said. "No...I don't think so," the elder man replied. "I can sense that she is beginning to sense the trap we have set for her. I think a real, true breakthrough in this interrogation is just around the corner." The younger man glanced at his watch. God, I hope so, he thought. We've been at this forever! .6. "You have explained it, Agent Scully," the man continued. "Just not to my satisfaction." "I don't *have* to explain it to your satisfaction!" Scully said, her voice just below a shout. "You...you're...confusing me! This is all very simple! I was investigating a case with my partner--" "What case?" the man interrupted. "That's classified," Scully snapped. "I see. Once again, another detail that cannot be verified. Another piece of your story that I must leave alone for national security reasons." Scully took a big breath, held it, and slowly let it out. "Fine. If it will get me the hell out of here, I'll tell you about the damn case." .7. In the observation room, the younger man reached down and touched a button mounted in a hidden panel. Both men could hear the mechanical noises as the reel-to-reel tape recorder kicked on. "Levels are good," the younger man said. "Clear as a bell." "Shhhh," the older man said, leaning forward. .8. "Six weeks ago, two young boys went missing from a farm at the southern end of the county. I'm sure you heard about it." The man interviewing Scully said nothing, only nodding at her to continue. "Anyway, my partner heard about the case from the Internet and decided that we should investigate. So we flew here. My partner thought that we should look at the places the boys were known to play in and around. In an abandoned farmhouse we found evidence of what I thought was foul play, and what my partner was convinced indicated alien abduction. I called the state police labratory to request a full forensics team, and when they arrived, your detectives placed me under....in custody, and here I am." The man sat back. "Agent Scully, you've told me nothing new about the case. I know all this already. What details can you add to this case?" "Like what?" Scully asked. "Like...what evidence did you discover?" Scully gaped at him. "You mean you haven't processed the scene yet?" The man shifted in his chair. "We don't...do that," he said carefully. "What the *hell* do you do here then?" Scully demanded. The man was obviously choosing his words carefully. "We attempt to answer questions, Agent Scully. Conduct investigations." "How can you conduct an investigation without forensics?" "We handle different types of investigations," the man replied. "Well, I'm handling *this* type of investigation," Scully insisted. "And I need a forensic team at the scene immediately." The man glanced at the window. .9. "Dammit," the older man said. "What should we do?" "She refuses to give us any details about what she thinks she saw there," the older man said. "Every attempt to guide her into giving us the information we need to...give her what she needs has failed." He threw his hands up. "I'm about at the end of my rope." The younger man shuddered. He knew what that term meant. "Is there anything else we can try?" "The truth," the older man said, shrugging. "Get him out of there." .10. Scully's interview was interrupted by two sharp knocks on the door. The man frowned and stood. "Excuse me," he said politely. "Take your time," Scully said sarcastically. He returned in less than five minutes. "We have some information for you," the man said slowly. "I must warn you, it's disturbing." .11. Back in the observation room, the two men studied Scully through the glass. "I find it astonishing that she hasn't asked for an attorney yet," the younger remarked. "I don't," the older said. "She is convinced that she's in the right here, the wronged party, the federal investigator whose case has been sidetracked by her so-called Consortium. In her mind, she's done nothing wrong." "But..." "Yes, I know. And she knows." The older man hesitated, looking at the beautiful woman on the other side of the glass. "She just doesn't know she knows," he whispered. .12. The man sat down across from Scully with a sealed envelope. "Do you know what is in here?" he asked. Scully shook her head. "Photographs," the man said gently. Scully straightened in her chair. "From...the barn," the man said. "So you *did* have a forensics team working the scene." The man considered lying. In the end, honor won out. "No. The state police and the FBI had a forensics team work the scene. They just sent us the photographs for our records." "May I?" Scully asked, eagerly reaching for the envelope. "Just one moment," the man said, pulling the envelope back. "These photographs are...disturbing. Are you sure you want to--?" "I am a forensic pathologist. I've seen more than my share of dead bodies, sir." The man frowned. "Bodies?" he asked. Scully frowned. "Excuse me?" "You said bodies." "Yes?" She paused. "So?" "As I remember it, you told us that you and your partner were investigating the disappearence of two young boys from a barn. The boys disappeared, correct?" "That's right," Scully said. "So, if the boys had vanished...whose body do you expect to see in these pictures?" Scully lowered her arm to the table. "I'm not sure I understand." "I'm quite certain you do," the man said. "I said the pictures were disturbing. You said that you'd seen bodies before, which leads me to believe that you *expect* to see a dead body in these pictures. My question to you is, whose body do you expect to see?" .13. "Now we're cooking with gas," the younger man muttered. "Shhhh," the older man said, lifting a cautioning finger to his lips. "Watch....and learn." .14. The interview took on a decidedly different tone. "Whose body do you expect to see?" "No one," Scully said. "Where are the two boys?" "I have no idea." "What are their names?" "I...don't remember." "Whose body do you expect to see?" "No one," Scully repeated. "But you said the pictures are disturbing. I assumed--" "A trained FBI investigator and a forensic pathologist would never, ever assume anything, Miss Scully." He paused. "I ask you again. Whose body do you expect to see?" Scully ignored the absence of her "proper" title. "May I please see the pictures?" "Before I show them to you, I have one final question." Scully withdrew her hand and waited. "You said just a few moments ago that you called for a forensics team, and that when my...detectives showed up, you were taken into custody. Is that correct?" "Yes." "I mean...is that what you said? Are those your exact words? Do they represent what happened accurately in your mind?" Scully nodded. "I'm not sure where you're taking this." "Allow me to continue. You said that you and your partner were investigating the case in the barn. Yet, when the...detectives arrived, you were the only one taken into custody." The man paused. The room was silent. "What," he asked, "happened to your partner?" Scully remained silent. "Why wasn't he arrested?" Scully glanced at the mirror and then back at the man across the table from her. "May I see the pictures?" "Whose body do you expect to see in these pictures?" he asked. "No one," she insisted. "I just want to see...what you have?" The man glanced at the mirror one last time and then handed Scully the envelope. .15. "Zoom in on this," the older man instructed. The younger man worked the video controls, and the hidden camera's lens slowly crawled in on Scully's face. .16. Opening the envelope, Scully slid the photos out. They were all 8x11, full color, glossy. "Can you identify that man?" he asked. Scully stared at the picture. The victim had been shot. Four times, by her professional judgement. Once in the lower-right quadrant, twice in the heart. And once in the face. "His face..." she said. "It's gone." "Can you identify him?" the man asked her. "No...he...has no face," she said again, moving on to the next picture. This had been taken from a wider angle. A piece of clothing, once white but drenched in blood, sat next to the body, about a foot away, as if it had been hastily dropped. It looks like my blouse, Scully thought. She moved onto the next picture. Taken from the opposite angle, this photo showed in minute detail the destruction the bullet had caused in the victim's head. The wound channel was ugly and raw. "His beautiful face," Scully whispered. .17. "Gotcha!" the younger man said. "Wait...she's not out of it yet," the older cautioned. .18. "You *do* know him," the man accused gently. "You just said `his beautiful face.'" Scully looked up from the pictures. "What happened?" she asked. She flipped back to the first picture. She saw the piece of white clothing. My blouse, she thought. She looked down at herself, expecting to see the blouse. She saw nothing but maroon cotton. She glanced at herself in the one-way mirror. Scrubs, she thought. I'm wearing scrubs. "What happened to my blouse?" she asked the room. She stood, taking the pictures with her. Walking to the mirror, she studied herself. She was wearing maroon scrubs, tops and bottoms. Paper slippers adorned her feet. She wore no jewlery. No makeup. She was pale. As if...as if she'd been inside for weeks without seeing the sun. "Who is in the pictures, Scully?" the man asked. "No one," Scully repeated. "No one." .19. The younger of the two observers sat at his desk and studied his computer screen. On the desk next to his keyboard was the Scully file. Clipped to the left inside cover was the primary forensics report from the barn, the chief reason Scully was here. He had read the report a dozen, a hundred times, and it still made no sense. Special Agent Dana Scully had been found crouched over her dead partner, her bloody blouse pressed over Mulder's chest wounds. She had been sobbing but aphasic, unable to speak to investigators. All four gunshots had been through-and-through. Investigators had been unable to recover the bullets from the crime scene, even though they had searched for close to two weeks, and in the end had resorted to handheld metal detectors and an almost inch-by-inch search of the barn and the surrounding land. Confusing the issue was the fact that no shell casings had been found at the scene. Casings could have been matched to ones on file at the FBI Firearms Center at Quantico Marine Barracks, fired from Scully's SIG before it had been issued to her. Confusing things still further was the fact that a parrafin and nitrates test on Scully's hands had proven that she had recently discharged a firearm, but no gun had been found at the scene. Someone had killed Special Agent Fox Mulder, and had managed to do it while removing almost every single trace of forensic evidence. The only things linking Scully to the murder were the nitrates on her hand and her proximity to Mulder when he died. She had opportunity, although the government had been unable to prove method and was still desperately searching for motive. Sighing, the man began typing: "The subject, Dana Katherine Scully, continues to deny knowledge of the events of the day in question, and in fact still believes that her partner is alive. She also believes that her superior, Walter Skinner, is alive, despite the fact that telephone records prove she recieved a call approximately thirty minutes before the estimated time of Mulder's death informing her of Assistant Director Skinner's apparant suicide. "In accordance with court order, our team will continue to evaluate Miss Scully in hopes of eventually unlocking the secrets that her mind holds regarding the facts surrounding the death of Special Agent Fox Mulder. "At this time we are unable to report any progress." --------- THE END Note: Yes, I know "aphasic" means unable to talk, not talking in circles, but I liked the title. The original title was "DSM IV," after the "Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders, Vol4," but I figured *that'd* give away the oh-so-subtle (cough,cough) twist a little early.