Title: Psi Time for Skeptics Author: Vickie Moseley Summary: Mulder and Scully, on vacation at Disney World, stumble onto a case of mind-blowing proportions. Spoiler: None, but a couple of old 'friends' pop up. Rating: PG 13 Category: Humor, MSR, MT/SA Archive: Two weeks, Virtual Season 9, then just let me know. This story is produced for the enjoyment of the viewers of Virtual Season 9, I Made This! Productions. No copyright infringement is intended and no animals were harmed in the production of the episode. Timeline: VS 8 and 9 diverge from the television series right after the 7th Season episode Je Souhite. Many thanks to my first run betas: Deb, Jan, Ten and Frances for such quick work! Thank you, thank you! Dedication: This story is dedicated to everyone involved in I Made This! Productions-VS9. I love you and thank you for keeping the dream alive. Teaser Monday, 3:15 pm Lydia Forby lived in a red brick, two- story house on a quiet street in Winnetka, Illinois. In the summer, her front porch came alive with red geraniums and the window boxes overflowed with white, red and purple petunias. In winter, a birdfeeder just outside the front picture window was a constant source of nourishment for cardinals, jays and the occasional squirrel. Even though the neighbors knew full well that Lydia dabbled in the occult, no one thought ill of her and her house was still a 'must stop' for all the children of the area at Halloween. On this windy afternoon, the sunlight was warm through the picture window, even though the trees on the boulevard beyond held the stark charcoal outlines of winter. A ghost of steam still wafted from her rapidly cooling teacup, placed absently on the table by the window, clouding the glass with frost. The scent of cinnamon and apples filled the room, as it would for another day or so, from the tea and the potpourri that filled the small bowls and vases scattered around on tables and bookshelves. Lydia sat at the table near the window. Tarot cards, old and yellowed with age, but edges sharp, in near perfect condition, lined across the starched cotton tablecloth with the blue and white crocheted edging. Her gray hair, held back from her face with a headband, was streaked with the raven black that had once been her trademark. Her eyes were closed, and if someone had walked into the room right then, they would have assumed her to be deep in thought, concentrating on what the cards before her foretold. But she wasn't concentrating. And she was not sleeping. She was stone, cold dead. No spark of life in her. The coroner's report would show that she died of natural causes, even though he would be hard pressed to point to which natural cause it was. She was 78 years old, her heart had given out, a stroke had ended her existence painlessly--take your pick. She had just died, sitting in the house she'd lived in for 53 years, doing what she'd always done on cold, sunny winter afternoons since she'd turned 34 and someone had told her she had 'the sight'. If anyone had bothered to look at the cards under her hands, they would have known she hadn't just died. Lydia had been murdered. What is more, she knew who her killer was and that they would not stop with her death, but continue on. And because Lydia took that knowledge with her to her grave, her killer would roam free, able to kill again. Act I Sheraton Hotel Kissimmee, Florida Tuesday, 8:53 am The room was colored by the soft light coming through the heavy drapes. Sunlight found a single opening and pushed through to dart a straight line across the floor, just barely touching the foot of the bed. The only sounds were the quiet breathing of two sleepy people. Fox Mulder ran his hand along the bare thigh of the woman lying next to him in the king sized bed. "Where are we again, Scully?" he asked languidly as he watched his hand dance lightly over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps and an arousing pink flush. "Kissimmee, Mulder," she sighed. Immediately, he leaned over and captured her lips in a passionate kiss. Almost devouring her for several heartbeats, he finally broke away, and lay back on his pillow with a satisfied smirk on his face. "Just gotta love the name of this town!" he exclaimed gleefully. Her put-upon sigh didn't completely cover the happiness twinkling in her eyes. She propped her head up on her hand and stared him straight in the eyes. "Mulder, if I'd known . . ." "What?" he laughed. "You aren't going to try and convince me that you would actually prefer to stay someplace as mundane as 'Or-land-o'," he drawled with exaggerated slowness, "when you could sleep each night and wake up each morning in . . . what is the name again, Scully?" She closed her eyes, trying with all her might to keep the smile off her face. This vacation was exactly what they needed. The images of trying to find him during his capture by their last suspect had not left her mind, but they were growing dimmer. Each sight of him as he was now, this playful Mulder who begged to go on Space Mountain one more time, was helping to fade those awful memories. "St. Cloud," she teased and was rewarded instantly with long fingers digging into the muscles just under her ribcage. The full throated shriek and peals of giggles that followed were punctuated by her partner's insistent questioning. "Say the name, Scully." "Fl-fl-Florida!" "You know better, G-Woman," he told her but his stern words lacked any conviction. "Now, what is the name of the town we are currently residing in?" "Alexandria. Oh, right, you live there. I'm in Georgetown." More vicious tickles and somehow a pillow got swept up in the act. "The name, Scully! I want the name of the town this hotel is in!" She was kneeling in front of him, eyes wide, hair that looked like it had been through a blender, her chest heaving from the exercise. She licked her lips and he knew he was in trouble. But maybe he didn't mind that kind of trouble. "Kiss. A. ME," she purred and just as suddenly as he had tickled her, she lunged forward and pinned him to the bed, this time taking her time to let her tongue become more than intimately acquainted with the roof of his mouth and the back of his teeth. Half an hour later, he crawled out of bed, heading for the bath. "Coffee," he mumbled. "Is that a pet name, or did you forget how to use the phone to get room service?" she grinned at his retreating bare bottom. "I'm about to keel over from dehydration, woman, and it's all your fault! The least you could do is phone down for some coffee." After finishing his morning ritual, he started the tap and rummaged through his shaving kit for his razor and shave cream. Concentrating on lathering his face, he jumped several inches when her bare arms snaked around his middle. "I have a better idea. I'm famished. I want food. There is an IHOP just two blocks from here." "All these years, Scully, and I never would have guessed you for a maple syrup junkie," he grinned through the lather. "OK," he caved, rather easily she decided. "You jump in the shower while I shave." "You could join me," she said coyly, again licking her lips. His smile lifted her spirits even more than they already were. "Scully, you said you were hungry," he reminded her playfully. "We're on vacation, G-man. We can do anything we want. We can play around the room all morning and eat all afternoon." He finished up the lather on his chin faster than she could remember seeing him in all their years together. He turned and pushed aside the shower door. "Good point. Move over. And hey, wash my back?" International House of Pancakes 1:45 pm "Are you going to finish that, Mulder?" All around them was the chatter of voices, the clanking of dinnerware and glasses. The room smelled of maple and the strong odor of French Roast coffee. He shook his head slowly, holding back a smirk. His diminutive partner had just shoveled a buttermilk pancake combo with two eggs over easy, two strips of bacon and two sausage patties into her mouth in rapid succession and was now eyeing the remains of his skillet omelet. "Aren't you hungry, Mulder?" she asked, after swallowing the mouthful of food. "I think I got filled up earlier," he said with a wry smile. She raised an eyebrow, but surprisingly, didn't blush. "That's why I want you to take it easy this week, Mulder. We need to fatten you up!" His eyes widened. She seldom got this playful in public. He fought his own blush and decided to give the double ententre a rest. "So I can spend the next two months running the track? Great game plan, Scully. So where are we going this afternoon? We've seen the Magic Kingdom. It's a little too late to do Epcot, isn't it?" At that moment, their table was invaded by three all-too-familiar individuals. "Geez, Mulder, make it hard to find ya," Langly announced without greeting. "Mulder, all your message said was IHOP. There has to be a dozen IHOPs in the greater Kissimmee-St. Cloud area," Byers noted, as if anyone really cared. "But only one two blocks away from the Kissimmee Sheraton," Frohike added as he pulled out the chair opposite Scully and sat down. "Mulder, you need to put on some weight, man. A strong wind would blow you away." "Mulder?" Scully's voice was both question and warning. "Uh, Scully. Did I mention the guys IM- ed me last night when I was online in the hotel room?" "No, I think you forgot to pass on that information," she said through gritted teeth. "Well, um, they did. And would you believe it? They were here in Florida! Is that incredible or what?" "What do I get if I say 'or what'?" she asked, gracing their new companions with an acid glare. "And I'm to guess you told them where we were having brunch?" "While you were putting on your makeup, yeah, but the really incredible part is-" "Agent Scully, this is a chance of a lifetime! Even you will be impressed," Byers cut Mulder off as he slid a newspaper clipping across the table within reach of her hand. "We are on vacation," she told them all, making her intention crystal clear. "Yeah, that's the great part! This isn't really an X-File," Langly chimed it eagerly. Scully pursed her lips, glanced at the clipping and then switched her gaze over to her partner, who sat chewing the cuticle of his left index finger. "The guys are here to witness a psi experiment, Scully," he informed her sheepishly. "A 'what' experiment?" she asked, taking the clipping into her hands and squinting at it. "A psi experiment. Psi, P-S-I, for psychic. ESP. Telepathy. It's going to set the world of parapsychology on it's ear!" Langly exclaimed happily. "Mulder." The inflection was meant for him and him alone. "Scully, it's all set up. It's at the Hyatt down the road. The experiment is part of the convention sponsored by the Skeptical Inquirer. This afternoon at 2:30-" "Eastern Standard Time," Frohike cheerfully supplied. "Mulder, we were going to Epcot this afternoon," she said, hating the whining tone in her voice. "Scully, the rest of Walt's World will be there tomorrow," Mulder chided tenderly. He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "The experiment will only take about an hour. Then we can high tail it over to Disney and still see the Electric Light Parade. Now, whaddya say?" "Mulder," she sighed, tilting her head in that way he found totally irresistible. Finally, she heaved a deep sigh of resignation. "An hour." "From the minute we hit the hotel door until we are on the shuttle to Mickey and Minnieland," he said solemnly, holding his right hand high in the same way he did when he was on the witness stand. His little display earned him a quick glare. "And remember, Scully. We're here for the week. C'mon. I'll even go shopping with you one afternoon to make up for it." "Shoe shopping?" she counter offered with a gleam in her eye. He winced but finally nodded. "Yes, I'll even hoist, er, carry home the bags. You do this and I'll do anything you want for the next five days." "Be careful, Mulder. I have witnesses," she said, pushing the check across the table and giving him a wink. Much to Scully's chagrin, the boys had driven to Florida. The Vanagon created a homey eyesore in the parking lot filled with Ford Expeditions and Lincoln Navigators. On the way over to the Hyatt, Frohike attempted to fill Scully in on the experiment. "Basically, it's like a game of telephone, only without the tin can and string," he said, handing her an issue of the Skeptical Enquirer and pointing to the cover. She flipped pages to the story and skimmed it before looking up. "So they did this already?" "Well, they did one like it," he amended. "See, in the last experiment it was only pictures projected on a flat screen. This time the experiment will focus on the use of video, including sound and action." "Let me get this straight," Scully said with a frown of concentration. "There are 100 people sitting in an auditorium in Kissimmee, and another 100 people sitting in a separate auditorium in Tampa. And someone projects pictures on a screen in Tampa, then the 'receiving end' group in Kissimmee must 'visualize' the images in their minds and describe them on note cards which are then recorded?" "That was the first experiment, yes," Byers confirmed from the driver's seat. "But it was, well, not very successful." "Only about one quarter of the receivers got the right images," Langly said with a sigh. "But this time, they upped the ante," Frohike said with a devilish grin. "Upped the ante, how?" "This time, they invited only known psychics to be the receivers," Mulder interjected. "The article says they used psychics in the first experiment," Scully countered, flipping back to a different page in the magazine. "Well, all you had to do was say you were a psychic in the first experiment. Naturally, you got a lot of wanna-bes that way," Byers said with a sad shake of his head. "Naturally," Scully answered, and wondered if her sarcasm was always lost on these three. "This time, you have to give references," Frohike assured her. "Oh, I'm sure that's going to make a world of difference," Scully deadpanned. As they exited the Vanagon in the parking lot and made their way to the lobby doors, Mulder pulled on Scully's arm and they dropped back from the group. "One thing, Scully. We're playing this low profile," he said, his voice dropping to an almost whisper. "Low profile?" she asked, confused. He chewed briefly on his upper lip. "If it got out in the convention that you and I were here . . . Let's just say it would draw quite a bit of unwanted attention." "You're telling me you don't want to meet with your fan club, Mulder?" "Very funny. And for your information, I'm not the only one with a fan club in this hotel. The SI invited a number of known skeptics as well, to witness the experiment and ensure that it's on the up and up. You might find yourself being worshipped from afar here. Or much closer." "Look, Mulder! They have a shuttle to Disney World, too," she pointed out hopefully. "C'mon, Scully. You promised. You can't weasel out now. Just play it low key," he admonished. "How low is low key?" she asked, giving him the look he'd come to know all too well as her 'death stare'. "It's just for the afternoon . . .Laura." "Tonight, you're painting my toes . . . Rob," she shot back. Scully hung back while Mulder registered them as 'guests: Laura and Rob Petri'. The Gunmen were already listed as conferees. Each was given a packet of material including the names of the experiment's participants in both Kissimmee and Tampa as well as a corresponding list of witnesses. Witnesses were assigned places to one side of the room, while 'receivers' were seated in chairs in the center of the room. An area in the back was reserved for 'guests'. The room was not unlike any other hotel ballroom that Scully had ever been in, set up for a typical conference. Even the attendees seemed more normal than what she expected. "Looking for something, Laura?" Mulder asked as she craned her neck around to see all the people in the room. "Definitely looks more normal than the 'Def Con' I was tricked into attending back in '99," she whispered. "I should hope so," Mulder hissed. "You know, just because someone has psychic abilities doesn't make them a crackpot. Remember Clyde? Typical insurance agent. And the serial killer/psychic turned out to be a bellboy." She pursed her lips and glared up at him. "Thanks for reminding me, Rob. Let's just hope we don't have a repeat of that little escapade." With a quick glance to make sure the 'boys' weren't looking, he kissed the crown of her head. "Not to worry, Laura. This time we get to sit back, relax and enjoy the show, which looks about ready to start." A man walked up to stand in front of the white projector screen at the front of the room. Immediately, Scully recognized him. It was the Stupendous Yappi. "Oh God," she moaned. "He's just the MC, Scully. He's not even in the experiment." "But we're in the same time zone, Mulder. I never wanted to be in the same time zone with that man again . . ." "Shhhh, he's starting," Mulder shushed her. "Thank you, thank you all for coming," Yappi droned on in his hard to pin down European accent. "I am the Stupendous Yappi." He paused, waiting for the applause to die down. The frown on his face indicated the crowd's reaction was much less than he'd expected, but he continued. "My book Psychics Are Better Lovers is available for purchase in the Exhibitor's hall. There will be a book signing tomorrow afternoon . . ." A series of coughs from the direction of the skeptics table drew his attention and Yappi got back to business. "As you all know, this is an experiment of the highest historic order. We plan, without a doubt, to prove today the existence of remote telepathic connection between not just two individuals, but between two groups of individuals." His remarks garnered sporadic applause. "Our team of witnesses includes some of the most skeptical minds in the world," he waved absently over toward the table of a dozen people. "And our test subjects are all renowned psychics from all over the planet." More applause from the thirty or more gathered guests at the back of the room. "We will be projecting a 15-second clip on the screen in Tampa. It will include music and action. Although we will be receiving the images, it is our hope that our combined efforts can visualize and actually project some, if not all, of those images on to the screen here in Kissimmee. I have to ask for absolute silence for the next ten minutes. Test subjects, I will give you one minute to clear your minds and prepare to receive the transmission." He held up his hand and then brought it back down swiftly cutting through the air, like a starter at a NASCAR race. "Mulder, this is the biggest waste . . ." "Shhh," he hissed back again. She sighed and was quiet. The concentration in the room was electric. On small, closed circuit television sets over on the skeptic's table, the witnesses were shown the images being projected from Tampa. Since they alone had the benefit of earphones, none of the guests were privy to the information. The seconds seemed to drag by. Scully found her seat to be uncomfortable and couldn't resist a small squirm. Mulder shot her a fierce glare, which she grinned at, but kept silent. Just when she thought more than ten minutes had to have gone by, someone behind her gasped and drew her attention to the screen at the front of the room. Ever so faded, the images of two people, one on top of the other, appeared on the screen. It was so faded, it took her a moment to realize that she knew the footage. Knew it all too well. Gary Shandling and Tea Leoni in a coffin-- "Oh for Pete's sake!" she exclaimed loudly, drawing annoyed shushes from people seated around them. "Laura," Mulder said in a warning tone. "But Rob--" she hissed back. Before she had a chance to point out the total humiliation they were facing, a loud pop reverberated from the skeptic's area. One of the women at the table screamed as a man slumped forward and smoke billowed from the television just in front of him. A tall man at the end of the table jumped up and put his hand to the fallen man's neck. "He's dead!" he called out and the room exploded into pandemonium. People were out of their chairs as Scully tried to move past a knot of bodies to get to the skeptic's table. In the rush, Mulder was slammed into a chair, fell and pinned his wrist underneath him. Scully finally got past the crowd, using her credentials as a battering ram. "I'm a medical doctor, please let me through," she shouted to anyone who would listen. Finally, she was at the table and moved around to the injured man. The television screen was intact, which confused Scully for a moment. She assumed the television had exploded and the resulting jolt of electricity from the earphone might have been enough to electrocute the man. She placed her hand on his neck, feeling for a pulse. None was to be found. Then she peeled back the man's eyelids. The whites of both eyes were filled with red. As she moved the head slightly, a trickle of blood ran out one ear. "Has someone called 911?" Scully shouted. "And everyone, get away from those sets! There could be another power surge." The witnesses scrambled away from the table, someone had the presence of mind to disconnect the power strips that the television sets were plugged in. There was a lot of milling around as people tried to determine exactly what had happened. From the crowd, Langly made his way over to Scully. "Uh, you better come quick. Mulder got hurt in the scuffle." "What?" she asked, annoyed and worried at the same time. "He's says he fell on his arm. Judging from the pain he's in, I think it's broken. Pretty bad, too." Langly was turning an interesting shade of pale green. "I'll be right there." Security from the hotel had arrived and Scully felt reasonably sure that they would control the crowd for the time being until the ambulance and coroner arrived. She noticed the hotel maintenance people were already checking out the televisions and the electrical cords. "Where is he?" she asked, but it didn't take long to spot him. Mulder was sitting on one of the chairs reserved for the test subjects, his right arm cradled to his chest. His face was pale gray and sweat was dripping down his temple. He looked up at her with pain filled eyes. "I think I did a number on it, Scully," he said, foregoing their aliases. Gently, she reached out to run her hand over the injured limb, but he flinched back and gritted his teeth at her slightest touch. "Christ, I've never had a break hurt this bad," he panted. "Easy, Mulder, just take it easy. OK, guys, here's the deal. This place is a mad house at the moment and it would be a lot easier if we just drove him to the hospital ourselves. Byers, get the van and pull it up under the lobby awning. Langly, see if we can clear a path through this crowd, I don't want him jostled in any way. Frohike, go get some ice, fast. I want to ice it down to reduce the swelling." She still hadn't had a really good look at the arm, but from his reaction to the pain, her thoughts were reeling with images of compound fractures and displaced bones. Sheraton Hotel 8:45 pm "Easy does it, Mulder. Just lie down and I'll prop your arm up on these pillows." Mulder complied, anger and pain still warring in his features. "I can't believe this, Scully. I just can't believe this shit!" She poked a pill out of a plastic blister pack and got a glass of water from the bathroom. She handed them to him and watched as he swallowed the pill before sitting down next to him. "A sprain! Can you believe I passed out from a sprain?!" "Mulder, sprains can be more painful than breaks," she said, but even she could tell she didn't sound too convincing. "It could be a side effect-" "That was days ago, Scully, and I haven't had a single symptom," he cried, lying back on the pillows and searching for a comfortable position. "At least you aren't in a cast," she pointed out hopefully. He glared at the Ace bandage wrapped around his wrist and the blue generic sling holding his arm in position. "Yeah. I can take a shower. If I can stand the pressure of the water on my skin," he growled back. "What is wrong with me?" he cried out, closing his eyes and shutting out the world. She patted his leg. She wondered the same thing, but didn't dare give voice to her concerns. Mulder had vomited during the ten minute ride to the hospital. In the ER, he had actually passed out from the pain. She had been certain the x rays would show a displaced bone, possibly even a Jones fracture or other equally painful break. Instead, the black and white photos showed absolutely no damage. The swelling was minimal and the doctor on call had been generous in giving the diagnosis of a sprain. In reality it was more of a bruise than anything else. Scully had hated the looks the nurses had given her partner as they prepared to leave. She heard one of the nurses at the desk grumble about 'hypochondriacs taking up all their time' and almost went back to give the woman a piece of her mind. She knew Mulder too well to think he was faking his pain in any way. She couldn't help but remember how he'd been incapacitated by the drug he'd been exposed to just a short week before. The drug had worn off, or so they thought. Now she was uncertain what they should be doing. She had asked for a blood workup at the hospital, which the doctor had thought fairly useless, but had agreed to reluctantly. They promised to call her with the results as soon as they were back from the lab. Two hours later, a knock at the door startled her. Mulder was sleeping, out for the night under the influence of the painkiller the ER doc had given him. Scully was online, searching through medical sites for any information on 'brain enhancing drugs' and their possible side effects. She went to the door, half expecting the Gunmen, but not entirely pleased to see them. "He's asleep, guys. Come back in the morning," she told them through the half- open door. "Agent Scully, we'd never intrude, but this is really important," Byers pleaded, his hand on the doorframe. "Please, we won't take up more than a few minutes of your time." Scully glanced over to the bed, where Mulder was still snoring softly. Shaking her head, she let the three conspiracy geeks into the room. "Out with it. You have 10 minutes and then you are gone," she said tersely, sitting down at the desk by the window. "After we dropped you off at the ER, we went back to the convention," Byers started. "And it was just as chaotic as when we left," Langly chimed in. "But all hell broke loose when someone heard that the hotel electrician told housekeeping that it wasn't a power surge that caused the TV to explode," Frohike added. "Well, it was a power surge," Byers corrected. "Just not in the direction we all figured it would be." Her neck was hurting from following the conversation bounce back and forth between the three men. She stood up with her hands on her hips. "What the hell are you trying to tell me," she blurted out a little louder than she'd wanted. Mulder moaned, rolled over onto his side, but didn't awaken. "Now, tell me- quietly-what the hell you are talking about," she hissed, dragging Byers over to the far side of the room. "According to the electrician, the television did not experience a surge of electricity from the outlet." Scully shook her head as if trying to clear cobwebs, or possibly improve her hearing. "So it wasn't a power surge that killed the witness?" "No, it was most definitely a surge of electricity," Byers corrected. "Just not from the outlet." "Then from where?" Scully asked impatiently. "The sky?" "No. From Victor's earphone," Byers explained excitedly. "Victor?" "Victor Anton, the witness. The man who died. You might have heard of him. He's known theatrically as the Amazing Victor. He did Leno about six months ago. Opens for Copperfield in Vegas occasionally." "The victim is a . . . what? Other than a skeptic?" "He's a magician. To be honest, quite a few magicians find themselves in the skeptical ranks. They know the tricks, or they figure they do. They consider self-proclaimed psychics to be hustlers and view them very unfavorably," Byers continued. "Wait. You said the surge came from the earphone. Then it came from the television," Scully reasoned. "No, Agent Scully. That's what I'm trying to say. The power surge went through the earphone into the television. The surge itself came from Victor." "You've got to be kidding," Scully said seriously. One look at the bearded man's face and she had her answer. "You aren't kidding. But how could the electrician know that?" "The way the wires were melted, apparently. And when we heard that, well, we figured maybe you could go over to the morgue, take a look at Victor's body. I mean, if Victor caused the power surge during the experiment, do you have any idea what this could mean?" "It could mean Victor Anton had psychic powers. Or it could mean we have a murder on our hands," said Mulder from the bed. Act II Kissimmee City Morgue 12:45 am "Mulder, are you sure-" "Scully, asking me that question yet again is not going to change the answer! I feel fine, and I mean that in the most literal sense of the word! Aside from a little light-headedness, which is probably from that Tylenol 3 I took, I feel great." Scully gave him a worried look and then returned her gaze to the body lying on the table in front of them. "So, were the boys right? Did Victor just . . . implode?" "Mulder, this makes no sense. I've never seen a brain look this scrambled! I don't understand what happened. It's not just an aneurysm, it's like the brain just . . ." "Popped?" he supplied. "That's probably the sound we heard just before he slumped over." Scully pulled the safety glasses off her face and stared down again at the body. "OK, I have to say he died of some sort of electric charge which seems to have originated in his own brain. But Mulder, how does that equate to him being murdered?" Mulder had hopped up on a nearby counter and was swinging his legs, bumping his sneakers against the metal drawers. "Scully, look at the circumstances. We were in the presence of over 100 psychics-" "Exactly 100, Mulder," she corrected. "Not if you include those members of the guests who might exhibit psychic ability but didn't make the cut, and don't forget the 100 in the hotel in Tampa," he reminded her. "OK, so there were a lot of psychics," she admitted. "So, this experiment has gotten a lot of play in the community, Scully." "What community, Mulder? The greater Orlando Metro area?" she snorted. "No, the paranormal community. For many of these people it was 'put up or shut up' time. When the last experiment only proved marginally successful-" Her snort caused him to roll his eyes, but didn't stop his monologue. "They knew this experiment had to prove the theory." "And what theory is that, Mulder?" "That psychic ability is real, and quantifiable." This time she rolled her eyes. "So why kill only Victor Anton? Why not kill all the skeptics?" Mulder shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe their powers have limits. But Scully, look at this. I found it in the packet we received when we registered as guests." He handed her a slip of light blue paper. She skimmed it quickly and looked back at him. "A memorial tribute to Lydia Forby?" "Lydia Forby was a very well known skeptic. For that matter, although it's always been rumored that Lydia herself had psychic ability, she was the person responsible for gathering the group of skeptics who acted as witnesses this afternoon. She's had several articles published in the SI stating unequivocally that psychic ability is nothing more than a circus act and basically hogwash. She did her doctoral dissertation on that very subject." "This says she died peacefully at her home," Scully read from the blue sheet. "Last . . . Mulder, this was just two days ago!" "Yeah. I thought it was odd that she wasn't at the skeptics table. I hadn't heard of her death." "You would have recognized her?" Scully asked with a raised eyebrow. Mulder found his shoelace incredibly interesting at that moment. When he looked back up, his eyes were shy. "Let's just say I find strongly skeptical women extremely attractive," he said, punctuating the comment with a randy wink. That got him a smile and a shake of her head. "But Mulder, this has her date of birth. The woman was almost 80 years old. She probably died in her sleep, of a stroke, a heart attack, any number of natural causes." "Makes it pretty easy to cover up her murder, huh?" Mulder winked again. "I think you're reaching," Scully said, her arms crossed firmly in front of her and one eye brow cocked and ready to fire. "Scully, I'm just saying this looks like it could get interesting--very soon." Kissimmee Hyatt 3:00 pm "I think this is an incredibly bad idea," Scully groused as she stood in front of the hotel desk, signing the registration form. "It's not like this is a flea bag, Scully. Sheez, you get to stay in three really nice hotels in a row and you're complaining! Next time, we stay in our usual budget fare," he warned, his eyes twinkling. "It's not changing hotels that has me worried, and you know it! I don't like the fact that we're now front and center at this convention. And the fact that no one else has died casts a bit of a shadow on your prediction of last night . . ." "The night is young, Scully. The last death was just 24 hours ago," Mulder pointed out defensively. "And there is only one more day left of the convention," Scully reminded him. "So, we stay here one night and then we go back to the Sheraton. What's the big deal? Scully, even if there are no more deaths, we still have one to look in to. Two, if you count Mrs. Forby," he said shaking his finger at her. "We are on va-ca-tion, Mulder. That means we are not working. Do I have to spell this out to you again?" "Right here? In the lobby?" he leaned in and whispered in her ear. "Let's spell, G-Woman!" Thankfully for Scully, the desk clerk looked up at that moment. "Mr. Petri, you have a message." Scully's eyebrow reached an all time high. She waited, not too patiently, as Mulder read the pink slip of paper. "It's from the guys. They've invited us to a hospitality suite tonight. Langly says it's better than going out to eat, they have tons of free food. It starts at seven." Scully's face was impassionate stone. "There will be a lot of people there, Scully. If this killer intends to strike again, that might be the logical place." Scully glanced down at her watch. "It's 3:15. Since we don't have to worry about dinner reservations," she said with more than a hint of sarcasm, "that gives us 3 hours and 45 minutes. Just enough time for two coats of nail polish to dry. Move your fanny, Rob. You have work to do!" Hyatt Suite 1156 8:15 pm "So, you read or do you just feel?" "Excuse me?" Scully asked, somewhat startled that the tall man with shocking white hair and a fake bone necklace had decided to strike up a conversation with her. Mulder had gone off to get drinks over 10 minutes ago and in the throng of bodies, she'd lost sight of him completely. To be honest, she couldn't even tell what direction the bar was in. "I asked if you read, you know, tarot, crystals, tea leaves. Or do you get your images by feel?" His accent sounded almost Jamaican, but she couldn't be sure. "Um, I don't," she said simply. His smile grew brighter. "Ah! You're one of 'them', are ya now? Fascinating. And your lover, is he also a non believer?" Scully's tongue found the hollow place in the middle of her front molar and smiled. "I think I need a drink," she announced and hastily got to her feet. A knot of people carrying wine glasses and coming toward her gave her somewhat of a guide. She headed past them and ran directly into Frohike. The little man dropped his eyes at first, then his head jerked up and he grinned at the agent. "Nice foot fashion, Agent Scully. Is that 'To Die For Red' by Revlon on those toes?" Scully just raised half an eyebrow. "Focus, Hickey. Where's Mulder?" Frohike had the good grace to swallow any retort and nodded over his left shoulder. "He was about four people behind me in the line. And I think the chickadee in front of him was ordering for a table. He might be a while. In the meantime, care for a Harvey Wallbanger?" He offered her the drink in his hand. She shook her head with a sigh. "The food table looked great, but I couldn't get within five feet of it," she huffed. "Too bad, the jalapeno poppers are fantastic!" Scully shook her head. "Those things always give me gas," she said with disgust. "I want something light-and not greasy." "Oh, well, they have cheese and crackers and those little pieces of chicken on sticks. You should be able to find something, eventually. I think the whole convention is packed in here. But wait till Langly gets back. He knows how to work a buffet table, he's bringing a plate. Hey, a couple of seats just opened up! Let's grab 'em." Scully was about to object and go off to find Mulder when there was a scream somewhere in one of the small alcoves to the left of her. Instinctively, she reached for her gun, which was not at her hip because she had left it at home. It was when a man's voice called for a doctor that she forced her way through the crowd. This time some of the attendees recognized her and helped her through the throng of people. When she reached the center of all the attention, she found a woman lying motionless on the blue plush carpet. Quickly, Scully dropped to her knees beside the woman and felt for a pulse while listening for any breath sounds. She found neither, so she immediately started CPR. "The ambulance is on the way, Dr. Petri," one of the conference staff members assured her. She ignored the use of the alias Mulder had picked out and continued her efforts for a moment. Sitting back, she did a cursory exam and found blood in the ears and in the whites of the eyes. "I'm afraid it's too late," she said with a heavy sigh. Another staff member, one she recognized from their check in, was suddenly at her elbow. "Dr. Petri, your husband has taken ill!" Just through the sea of faces, Scully saw someone familiar. "Byers! Come here and keep all these people back!" The bearded man looked first shocked and then slightly dismayed at his sudden responsibility. "I need to get to Mulder," Scully added through gritted teeth. "Of course, Agent, er, Doctor Petri," Byers agreed and started moving the crowd away from the body with his arms outstretched. "It's not like you haven't seen a dead person," he was saying to the others as Scully pushed her way through, trying to follow the young man who had told her Mulder was sick. She found her partner sitting on the floor, leaning against the bar, doubled over. He was panting heavily and his arms were holding his stomach as if he'd been gut shot and was trying to stop the bleeding. She knelt down beside him and touched his arm. "Mulder, what's wrong?" she asked gently. "Gut," came the one word response. He didn't even look up, his face still hidden from view as his chin was pressed into his chest. "Your stomach? Where? Where is the pain located?" "Sick!" was all the warning he gave her and she grabbed an ice bucket off the bar counter, tossed the melting contents onto the floor and got it in his hands just in time for him to begin retching. There was another crowd gathered, this time around the sick man and the gall of these people was past getting on her nerves. "Get everyone out of this room," she hissed to the staffer, who was still standing, wide-eyed, next to her. "Yes ma'am!" he answered, obviously relieved to have something to do. "Awright, clear out, everybody! Show's over. Sorry for the inconvenience. Hey, don't forget the tarot card readings at breakfast start at 9 sharp, so you want to get some shut eye. Everybody out!" By the time the room was empty, except for Scully, Mulder and the Gunmen, the paramedics arrived. The pain in his gut had moved up and Mulder tried, through clenched teeth, to explain the pain in his chest. "Crushing," he gasped out and his eyes rolled back in his head. The paramedics loaded him quickly on a stretcher, hooking up monitors and IV's as they moved and before Scully could insist on going with them, they were gone. She stood in the driveway to the hotel, holding back tears. "Do you think it was a heart attack?" Byers asked softly, a stricken look on his face. Scully swallowed hard. "I don't know. Let's get in the van, I need to get to that hospital. And Frohike-you drive." Doctor's Hospital Kissimmee, Florida 10:45 pm Scully was ready to start breaking down walls. Byers had gone for coffee, had gotten lost and had been escorted back by a security guard. Frohike had asked the admissions clerk out for drinks after her shift. Langly had crashed out in front of the television set in the 'children's lounge' during a Dexter's Laboratory marathon. And there was still no word on Mulder. "I'm going back there," the agent declared with fire in her eyes. Byers started to reach for her arm to pull her back, but her burning glare stopped him short. "Agent Scully, please. The nurse said they would notify us the minute the doctor has a diagnosis. We just have to be patient," he pleaded. "I've been patient," she hissed. "Now, I'm taking action." She headed for the double doors toward the Emergency Department and shoved the release bar with all her might. It held fast. A quick glance to the side wall revealed a keyboard and slide card lock. "To hell with this," she spun around, looking for anything to pry the door open. She'd picked up a small wire trash basket and was attempting to unravel the mesh when the doors opened and a disheveled young man in green scrubs entered the lounge. "Mrs. Mulder?" he asked, eyeing the wastebasket in her hands with obvious trepidation. "My name is _Doctor_ Scully," she said evenly as she shoved the wastebasket in Byer's direction and walked closer to the man. "Where's my partner? What's his condition?" The young man seemed a little perplexed by her attitude and her questions, but struggled to keep in control. "I'm Mark Lomb, I'm the head resident in the ER. I've examined your-did you call him your partner?" "Yes, he's my partner, and I'm his next of kin," she said impatiently without going into details. "What are his vitals?" "Well, his vitals, now, are quite good. He's breathing was never a question, his ox sat never dropped below 96 percent, BP shot up for a little bit, but dropped back to 118 over 80 and the pain in his chest and stomach seems to have dissipated with the administration of 80 mg of Simethicone and 750 mg of calcium carbonate." Scully blinked, but drew herself up to her full 5 foot 2 inches. "You administered antacid for a heart attack?" she growled. "Well, it would appear that your 'partner' was suffering from severe indigestion. When we got him in the treatment room and on a monitor, his heart rate was rapid, but not irregular. We did a EKG and a CT scan and found no abnormality. Then I tried the antacid. He, uh, expelled quite a bit of gas, and now he's resting comfortably. You can take him home as soon as we wake him up and get him dressed." Scully continued to glare at the young man to the point where he started searching out the pattern of the floor tiles. "It's an easy mistake to make, really. The gas was trapped in the stomach and large intestine, causing pressure to build up on the diaphragm. That, in turn, caused pressure on the heart and of course, the lungs-" "I know what happens when you have indigestion," Scully spat out. "But the pain was too intense. Besides, he vomited at the hotel!" "That's not uncommon, either. It's quite possible that the gas trapped in the large intestine wasn't affected by the vomiting," Lomb added helpfully. Scully was way past playing with her molar. She was well on her way to drilling a hole in her tooth with her tongue. "Thank you, Doctor," she replied icily. "If you'd be so kind as to take me back to see my partner, I'll take it from here." She was escorted back into the ER treatments rooms to find that Mulder, looking rather sheepish, was pulling on his sneakers and tying up the laces. "I'm really sorry about this," he said quietly, staring at his shoe. "Mulder, I don't know what happened back at the hotel, but that was not indigestion! You get gas from time to time, especially when you insist on getting green salsa on your nachos, but that pain was off the chart. It was something entirely different!" He looked up, fear in his eyes. "I really thought it was the big one, Scully," he admitted in a whisper. She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder. "So did I," she nodded and fought back the tears that were choking her throat. He pulled her into his arms, holding her close. "Shhh, it's all right. I'm fine," he assured her. "But it's not all right," she objected, her voice muffled by speaking directly into his shoulder. "Mulder, that's the second time in two days. This has to stop!" He closed his eyes and absently stroked her hair. "I know, Scully. Believe me, I know." Act III Kissimmee City Morgue 1:45 am "I want you to go back to the hotel and get some sleep!" "I'm fine, Mulder," she said, rolling her shoulders again. "I just want to see if the blood work-" "Scully, you know as well as I do that the lab won't rush this. Elizabeth Mason appears to have died of natural causes. No way are they gonna drag someone out in the middle of the night to test blood unless there's a gunshot or knife wound somewhere in the mix. Besides, you're dead on your feet," Mulder accused. "Are you just trying to get me in bed, Agent Mulder?" she asked with a coy raise of one eyebrow. "Always, Agent Scully, but this time I'm serious. Look, the Medical Examiner already thinks we're two tacos short of a combo plate and you'll be here all night looking for something you're not going to find." "And what, exactly, would that be, this elusive something?" she asked, arms crossed in a very defiant posture. "A scientific explanation," he said as he walked up behind her and massaged the area right between her shoulder blades. "Scully," he whispered as he leaned into her ear, his breath raising goose bumps across the back of her neck. "These people's deaths can not be explained by mere science." "You say it like it's hokum, Mulder. 'Mere science.' I've spent my life, my career, oooh, yeah, right there, no, no, to the left, yeah . . ." she said with a contented sigh as his long fingers continued to work their magic on her tired muscles. After a few minutes, though, she came back to herself and pulled away from his hands. "Thought you had me that time, didn't you, G-Man," she accused. "Who, me?" he replied, holding his hands up in surrender. "Scully, I know it's in your nature to search for the scientific explanation, but look at the facts. Poor Ms. Mason died in exactly the same manner as our buddy Victor Anton. You said yourself that you'd never seen a brain so completely scrambled. I'm willing to bet the contents of my bottom desk drawer that poor old Lydia was killed by the same person. Did some lost KGB agent, not knowing the Cold War is over, come in and hit each of them with a microwave ray gun? I mean, face it, that's a touch more outlandish than the obvious answer." "The obvious answer being that a psychic, or group of psychics, turned the evil eye on the opposition, is that what you're saying, Mulder?" "I never said it was a group, Scully. I believe the evil eye acted alone on this one." Scully closed her eyes in defeat. "You have absolutely no proof of that statement," she said with an exasperated huff. "Yeah, well, since we have no proof of any kind, save for dead bodies stacking up like cord wood, I would say mine is the most viable explanation because it doesn't require physical proof!" She stared at him a full minute before opening her mouth. "You know, as tired as I am right now, that almost made sense." "Let's go back to the motel and go to bed," he said tenderly, pulling on her hand. "Shouldn't we be calling someone? The Kissimmee Police Department, the Osceola County Sheriff's Department, . . . Skinner?" she asked, allowing him to pull off her safety glasses and tug off her lab coat. "Why? When did you start to like being laughed at by local law enforcement? Do we need to be seeking professional help for this condition?" "But if there have been three murders . . ." Her comment was punctuated with a long yawn. "When we can prove they were murders, and when we can hand over the UNSUB, then we'll call in the troops. For now, we might as well just keep a low profile and observe." "Low profile. Mulder, you've been carried out of the hotel twice already. Once on a gurney to a waiting ambulance. You don't think that's just a tad 'high' profile?" "It's a great cover, Scully. Who would ever think that such a hypochondriac would be a federal agent?" "They are psychics," she countered. "Humor me," he pleaded. She reached out to take his hand and clutched it to her cheek. "That scares me, too, Mulder. I don't know what's happening with you." He tried to look braver than he felt, for her sake. "So far it looks like there are no lingering ill effects after these attacks," he pointed out. "Still, I want you to take it easy. We seem to have no idea when an attack will take place. And when we get home, you're going to GUMC for another full battery of tests," she ordered. "You're the doctor," he said with a wink and placed a quick kiss on the crown of her head. "Don't you forget it," she said, pulling him down to kiss him on the lips. Kissimmee Hyatt 10:50 am Frohike spotted them from across the convention lobby. "Hey, there they are!" His two companions quickly followed him toward the two agents, who were attempting to turn back and get on an elevator, any elevator. "You missed the tarot card reading," Langly accused as Mulder tried to hide behind a potted palm. Scully tugged on his arm and pulled him out into the open. "We were tired after last night," she explained lamely. "The autopsy . . . and everything . . ." "Tired. Right. And I'm the Secretary of Def--" started Langly. "The debate is starting at 11," Byers interrupted before Langly could earn Mulder's wrath, and Scully's. "We need to get into the auditorium if we want good seats." "Debate?" Scully asked, looking over at Mulder, who was still carrying the convention folder with all the information sheets. Mulder shuffled some papers and found the schedule. "Let's see. Debate. A panel of two psychics and two skeptics are going to debate the use of psychic ability in law enforcement." He looked up and grinned. "Sounds like it's just up our alley, Scully, er, Laura." "After this vacation, Rob, you owe me a vacation," she growled. Byers led them to seats in the auditorium near the middle aisle. Scully looked around, seeing many of the same faces from the hospitality suite the day before. The mood of the crowd was somber. It certainly didn't mirror the carnival atmosphere of the Defense Contractor's convention she'd been lured to in Las Vegas two years before. A young woman took the podium to the left of the table with the panelists and tapped on the microphone. "If you could all please take your places. I believe there are still some good seats up front, if any one wants to come a little closer. I promise, we don't bite," she said with a good natured smile. "It's not biting we're worried about," said an unidentified voice from the crowd. The young woman smiled nervously and cleared her throat. "As we all know, law enforcement from time to time calls upon those of us with psychic ability to help them in solving crimes and finding missing persons. Some feel this is a waste of precious time and resources. Others think it is the only way some criminals will ever be brought to justice. Today, we are honored to have two individuals who have actually been called in by the police and have successfully led them to capture criminals. On my right, nearest to me, is The Stupendous Yappi." The audience applauded while Yappi stood up. "I think I'm getting sick again, Scully," Mulder whispered in her ear. She shot him a worried look, only to see that the cause of her partner's 'illness' was the man standing at the panelist table. "Me first, Mulder." "Shhhhh!" hissed Frohike as the young woman went on to introduce the remainder of the panel. One hour and forty-five minutes later, the debate was over. "Well, wasn't it surprising to find out that Yappi led the cops right to that murdering bellboy in Minneapolis?" Mulder asked sarcastically as they left the auditorium. "And the FBI's involvement wasn't even mentioned." "I'll make sure to amend that report the minute we get back home," Scully said dryly. "But more to the point, did you notice anything interesting in there?" "I think that was a botched dye job. I don't think it's possible for a person to have naturally purple hair," he replied with a grin. She faked a laugh. "No, think about it." "Nobody died. I did notice that. Every other time there's been a general session or gathering, there seems to be a death." "I think that lends just a little credence to my contention that these deaths were of natural causes and their grouping was just coinci-" Scully was interrupted by shouts coming from the convention area lobby. Before long, someone called out 'Fight' and everyone started running. Mulder was the first to arrive at the scene and stood wide-eyed at the boxing match before him. The Stupendous Yappi, his hair mussed and his ascot just barely looped around his neck, was in the process of strangling Martin the Marvelous, a two-bit carny magician and freelance contributor to the Skeptical Inquirer who had been one of the skeptics in the debate. Martin was busy getting his own kicks in, literally, making contact with Yappi's shins with each blow. The two men were obviously intent on beating the crap out of each other. "Mulder!" Scully yelled, to get his attention. "All right, let's break this up," she directed at the two combatants, who ignored her completely. "I said, break this UP!" she shouted and proceeded to wade into the fray. The two combatants seemed to not hear the shrill warning of the red- haired woman and continued to pummel each other. As a result, Mulder felt duty-bound to weigh in on Scully's side. Grabbing Yappi by the ascot, he yanked up, dragging the famous psychic away. As he did, something incredible happened. Martin, who was being held now by Langly with Scully helping to hold him back, tried one more lunge at Yappi. Just as he did, there was a enormous roar, like a sonic boom, and Martin was torn from Langly's grip, thrown through the air across the lobby, and landed in a crumpled heap near the doors of the elevators. Yappi seemed as shocked as everyone else, but didn't really have time to react. Mulder, who had him in a choke-hold, suddenly careened to the left, falling unconscious to the floor of the lobby. Yappi struggled to free himself from the agent's grasp, and was finally successful. His freedom was short-lived, as Scully immediately ordered a recently arrived hotel security guard to restrain him. "I want you to call 911, call for police and two ambulances," she barked. "Tell them two men are down, one a Federal Agent and we have the suspect in custody." The gathered crowd stared on in silence. Scully caught Byer's eye and jerked her head, indicating that she needed his help. The nervous editor nodded in compliance and hurried over to where Mulder was still slumped on the floor. That gave Scully an opportunity to check on Martin, who was, as she suspected, dead. Before she had a chance to check more than the man's eyes and ears, Byers was calling her. "Agent Scully, something's wrong!" Byers shouted and immediately started to administer CPR to the fallen agent. Scully was beside him in a flash, ripping Mulder's shirt open and then checking for a pulse. "Damn it, what is going on?" she demanded, but really never expected an answer. She moved Byers back, motioning for him to continue chest compressions while she did respirations. They worked as a team until the paramedics arrived less than ten minutes later. Doctor's Hospital Kissimmee, Florida 12:10 pm Dr. Lomb met her at the doors to the ER. "I got the call and recognized the name. What is it this time?" he asked with one eyebrow cocked. "Arrhythmic and not breathing at scene, 200 joules got a rhythm, still no resps, so we bagged him enroute," answered the paramedic before Scully had the chance. "BP's high, 150 over 110 and he's unresponsive to any stimulus." That seemed to convey the seriousness of the situation to the doctor. "Dr. Scully, I'll be out in a little while to talk to you," Lomb said in clipped tones as he swiped his cardkey and held the door open for the paramedics and the gurney. "Not this time," Scully growled and grabbed the door before it could close her out and away from her partner. "I'm coming, too." Two hours later, Scully walked beside Mulder's gurney as he was moved to a room in the hospital. Lomb was on the other side of the gurney, still shaking his head. "I don't understand it. He's exhibiting all the symptoms of severe electric shock. But you say he wasn't near any electric power source. And there are no contact burns." "I suspect, Dr. Lomb, that the shock was administered by an individual. Someone the police have in custody." "Dr. Scully, a stun-gun didn't do this," Lomb chided. "I would dare to say a high power line, but not a stun-gun." "I'm not saying it did, Doctor. But how he was attacked makes no difference in his treatment. What do you intend to do for him?" Lomb looked down at his patient and heaved a sigh. "For now, we treat the symptoms. I intend to replace lost fluids, keep him on the respirator and the heart monitor. We'll continue with the Mannitol to bring his pressure down. We'll watch him closely and hope he comes out of it on his own. I really don't know what else do to for him, Dr. Scully." When they were settled in the room, Scully pulled a padded chair over, sat down and reached through the bed rail to take her partner's hand. "I said this had to stop, Mulder," she whispered, a tear hanging valiantly to her eyelash before plunging to the metal railing with a silent splash. "I just don't understand it. I know you said this was probably the work of a psychic, someone who could mentally cook someone's brain from a distance, but Yappi, Mulder? The man is not a certified psychic. Just plain certifiable, yes, but psychic, I don't think so! So how could he have done this? And don't take this the wrong way, but why are you still alive? Not that I'm complaining, mind you." She gave him a teary smile. "I'm just trying to work this all out." She took a moment to check all the monitors. Everything was in order, at least for the moment. There was a soft rap on the door and she looked up, expecting to find a nurse. Instead, John Byers stood in the door and grimaced at his own intrusion. "Sorry. I hope I'm not disturbing you," he said hurriedly. Scully swiped at her eyes quickly and sat up straighter. "We're just trying to discuss the case, but Mulder seems to want to withhold information," she said lightly, trying to conceal the deep worry she felt. Byers stepped into the room and stood at the foot of Mulder's bed. "After you left, the police took Yappi into custody. He was asking to talk to you while they were escorting him out to the squad car. Well, actually, he was screaming to talk to you. He kept saying he could help you find the real killer. I just thought, I mean since Mulder can't tell us anything right now . . ." She shook her head. "I can't leave right now, John," she said firmly. "Agent Scully, if Mulder's right, he's no safer here than he was at the hotel. Bars do not a prison make when the killer has the ability to toss a person across a room with his mind." Scully closed her eyes, hoping to think of any reasonable argument to that statement. None came to her. She opened her eyes slowly, but still looked only at Mulder. "You'll stay with him?" she asked in a cracked whisper. "Until you return, yes, of course," Byers quickly assured her. "And I'll call you if anything develops. Immediately. Agent Scully, the Police Department is only a few blocks from the hospital. In an emergency, you'd be back here in less than five minutes. Frohike and Langly will wait for you right outside the station, they'll even keep the van running, if you want." She sat there, not moving for several seconds. Finally, she stood up and leaned over, kissing Mulder on the forehead. "If you do anything while I'm gone, Mulder, it better be an improvement," she warned and then kissed him again before turning to Byers. "You'll call-" "At the first sign of any change, I promise." To the bearded man's surprise, she reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you, John. You're a good friend." She then kissed him lightly on the cheek. He sat down, stunned and smiling as she left the room. Act IV Kissimmee Police Department 3:06 pm Scully's posture was hard as steel when Yappi was brought in wearing an orange jumpsuit and looking terrified. "Thank you, I'll let you know when I'm finished interrogating the prisoner," Scully said tersely to the guard. The guard looked dubiously at the agent and then at the prisoner. "What about his lawyer?" "I waive my right to a lawyer if I can just talk to Agent Scully," Yappi said, in amazingly clear English completely devoid of an accent, except for a slight Midwestern twang. "Rudy Randolph Yapinski?" Scully asked, regarding the folder in front her on the table with a disdainful expression. "I took the name Yappi when I went into show business. Easier to spell," Yappi explained with a shrug. "Agent Scully, you know me. I didn't kill those people. I'm not capable of killing those people." "You mean you don't have the nerve to take someone's life?" Scully asked mockingly. "No. I just plain don't have the ability! Agent Scully, what you are proposing is someone with incredible psychic power. Why, someone like that could do anything they wished. I'm definitely not the killer. I am not that person!" Scully crossed her arms, unconvinced. Yappi shook his head at her and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "If I had that kind of power, do you honestly think they could keep me here without my consent?" "I don't know what powers you do or do not possess, Mr. Yapinski," Scully said with a sneer. "All I do know is that my partner was trying to subdue you in order to keep you from hurting another conferee. Suddenly, the person you were fighting was thrown across the room, died of a massive brain trauma, and my partner was taken to the hospital to be treated for severe electric shock. Now, the only person to touch either of those two men was you. Why should I believe it was anyone else, regardless of how incredible I think the nature of these attacks were?" "I know you think I have incredible powers, Agent Scully," Yappi said remorsefully. "But you have to believe me. I couldn't 'psi' my way out of a paper bag! There are others at the conference, though, who do have psychic ability, and would do anything to keep that ability a secret." Scully's head jerked up. "What are you talking about?" Yappi smiled sadly. "Not all skeptics are what they appear," he said cryptically. Before she could question him further, the guard appeared at the door. "Agent Scully, the Desk Sergeant says there's a call for you. A Mr. Byers, says you should come back to the hospital immediately." Scully stood and was halfway to the door before she remembered her suspect. "I'm not through with you, Yapinski," she warned him with a pointed finger. Yappi shook his head at her as she hurried out of the room. "Now that is negative energy," he told the guard. "Ya think?" the guard replied gruffly, pulling the prisoner to his feet and shoving him out the interrogation room door. Kissimmee Memorial Hospital Room 306 Scully wasn't too surprised to see Mulder sitting up in bed. She'd made a quick stop at the nurses station to confirm his improved condition before she'd gone on to his room. She was a little concerned by his other visitor. "Scully, this is Zelda of Armenia. Zelda, Special Agent Dana Scully. Yes, that one," Mulder said with a wry grin as both women sized each other up. He made no explanation for the fact that he looked much better, Scully would have to wait for that. Zelda was sporting all the accoutrements of a gypsy fortune teller, down to the flowing paisley floor length skirt, brightly covered scarf on her head and large gold hoop earrings. She smiled excitedly at Scully. "I've been wanting to meet you forever!" she exclaimed in a distinctly West Texas accent. "Ever since I heard you worked with Agent Mulder here, I've just been dyin' to meet you. Oh, and by the way, I think it's just wonderful that the two of you are finally, well, you know," Zelda hooped her index and ring finger and was fully prepared to insert her other index finger in the circle when Scully jumped in. "Mulder, what is all this about?" Scully demanded before Zelda had a chance to go any further. "Zelda, or Elaine Tripp of Odessa, Texas as her kith and kin know her, came to see me about half an hour ago with quite a story to tell. She's convinced we have the wrong man in custody, Scully. And after hearing her out, I'm beginning to think she might be right." Scully drew in a deep breath and pulled up a chair. With a quick look to her partner, confirming that he was much better after his latest attack, she folded her arms and sat back. "OK, hit me with it." "Yappi couldn't mind bend a spoon, much less toss people across the lobby or cook their brains up like chicken fried steak," Zelda said, pacing a short distance at the foot of Mulder's bed. "He's a charlatan. Couldn't guess the number of jelly beans in a jar at the local Wal-mart. But he's harmless, completely harmless." "You know him well, do you?" Scully asked, one eyebrow reaching for her hairline. "Sweetie, we've had a dance or two," Zelda answered with a wink. "But more importantly, it couldn't have been Yappi. Because I know who did this." Scully's tongue found that hollow spot. Was it her imagination, or had the spot grown slightly larger in the last few days? "And that person is . . ." "Jean Pierre LaFeete. He's one of the men who acted as a skeptic at the experiment. Tall fella, hair as white as Don King. Kinda scary, all the way around," Zelda said with a knowing nod of her head. "He's a skeptic?" Scully asked, remembering instantly the tall, strange man who asked her if she 'read or felt' at the hospitality suite. He'd given her the creeps, but not because she thought he was a killer. "He's from Jamaica, the son of a Voo Doo priestess and a powerful Voo Doo priest. Word is he was conceived in some long lost ritual that would ensure the resulting child had the key to the 'other side'. But by the time he was 16, he'd had enough of his parents and their religion. He denounced his heritage, got a fancy-schmancy degree from the University of South Florida and teaches Behavioral Psychology or some nonsense." Mulder shot Zelda a wounded look, but she didn't notice and carried on. "He's been a skeptic for years, but really turned rabid just recently. He's been publishing articles and giving speeches everywhere. I'm surprised you haven't crossed paths already," Zelda concluded with a shrug. "So, just because the man has an odd background and is now a confirmed skeptic of paranormal abilities, that makes him a killer," Scully stated derisively. She looked over at her partner and frowned. "Did the doctor have a chance to take a good look at your head before you and Zelda had your little chat?" Mulder looked sheepish and started to speak, but Zelda held up her hand and cut him off. "He's powerful, I tell you. And he's got the control of his abilities. He's got so much control, he can take out two people at once." She looked purposefully over at Mulder who had the good grace to look innocent. "You think he's been attacking Mulder at the same time he's killing these other people?" Scully demanded, rising to stand protectively near to her partner. "Why not just kill me, too?" he asked, and winced at the killer look Scully shot him. "Not to give anyone any ideas, mind you," he amended quickly. "I think you fascinate him," Zelda offered with a shrug. "Or maybe, you scare him. Hell, he might not even be after you. It could just be that you're sensitive to all that energy. I don't know. But he's killing people who know he's got the ability and, sad to say, that list includes me. I want him caught and done away with before he comes after me." "Done away with?" Scully asked incredulously "OK, drugged to the gills. If he can't think straight, he can't hurt anybody, right?" Zelda countered. "Well, as fun as this has been, I gotta run. I'm gonna cast a nice protective spell around my room and hide out there until this thing all blows over. In the meantime, I suggest the same for you, Agent Mulder. I sure would hate for LeFeete to get carried away and fry your brains, too." She patted Scully's arm as she was leaving the room. "Next time you're feelin' frisky, try for the spot right behind his knee. It's his most sensitive tickle spot and sweetie, you will not be sorry," she winked and smiled and left the room. Scully turned to glare at Mulder, who was already in a defensive posture, holding up his hands to fend off the attack. "I have no idea how she knew that, Scully, honest to god!" "You believe her," Scully said disdainfully. His eyes twinkled as he answered. "Well, it does kinda fire my rockets, but you have to hit the spot just right. I mean, if you tickle too hard-" "Mulder," she warned. "Yes, I believe her. Scully, face it, Yappi is definitely a pain in the butt, but a killer? He probably calls an exterminator to get rid of the flies in his basement! And whoever did this has to be very powerful." "The son of two Voo Doo practitioners who wants to keep his parentage a secret," Scully provided. "Works for me," Mulder said with a shrug. "You know how hard it is to get published in JAMA." Scully stood up and walked to the window, spinning to confront him. "OK, let's assume for the sake of argument that Jean Pierre LaFeete is an extremely powerful psychic. So powerful, he can kill with his mind. How in the world do we catch him, Mulder?" "Ever hear the expression 'takes a thief to catch a thief'?" Scully merely rolled her eyes. Dr. Lomb was not as easily convinced an hour later when he stopped by to see his patient. "No! Unequivocally, unconditionally, no. I cannot in any way release you from this hospital, Agent Mulder. You've been seen in the ER three times in the last 36 hours with three separate illnesses, a new record for this hospital. I have no idea why you continue to have these attacks, but I can tell you they are increasing in severity. I want you here, under observation, for at least the next 48 hours. If you manage to stay conscious and breathing during that time, I'll reassess. But for now-" "I'd like to request to be released against medical advice," Mulder said coolly. He'd already changed into the clothes Scully had Langly bring up to the hospital. The clothes he'd put on in the morning were little more than rags after the ER department had finished cutting them off him earlier. "Absolutely not," Lomb said, crossing his arms. "What?" Mulder asked in shocked disbelief. "You heard me. I will not let you walk out that door. I will not be brought up on charges of endangering the life of a federal officer!" "I wouldn't-" "I'm sure you wouldn't, Agent Mulder, but I am pretty sure your partner would!" He glanced nervously around, looking for the partner in question. "She's bringing the car around," Mulder said evenly. "Well, she can park it back in visitor's parking, because you are not leaving here today. Now, I suggest you get back in the hospital gown, or I'll have to call an orderly." "You can't keep me here," Mulder said, shaking his head. "I won't stay." "Then I'll sedate you," Lomb said defiantly. Right that moment, Scully walked in the door. "Mulder, are you all set?" "Why don't you direct your question to the good doctor here," Mulder said, leveling his gaze at Lomb. Hyatt Hotel Kissimmee 5:30 pm "So, Mulder's pretty pissed, huh?" Frohike asked as Scully lead the way to the front doors of the hotel. "In a manner of speaking," she said. "He definitely wasn't happy when I told him I wanted him to stay at the hospital. But I think Dr. Lomb was correct. Besides, if this LeFeete is as powerful as everyone seems to think, I don't want them in the same building. Mulder is safer in a hospital room." "Yeah, but how safe is the hospital room from Mulder," Langly whispered to Byers before Scully shot him a dagger-like glare. "John, did you get a chance to 'rally the troops'?" Scully asked, finally deciding to let Langly live-for the moment. "They'll be in the Grand Ballroom A in one hour. But Agent Scully, don't you think this is, well, a little far fetched? I mean, what if this LeFeete person figures out what's going on?" "That's why we have to set out some bait," Scully said confidently. "Now, I'll make sure LeFeete is there at 6:30 sharp. Just make sure the room is ready." After she left, Byers looked sadly at Langly. "You know what Mulder's going to do. He's gonna kill us when he finds out what the plan is." "Which is why we create a diversion," Langly said with a nod. "Let's just hope Frohike doesn't let us down." 6:30 pm "So, that's the general idea behind my thesis, Ms. Petrie," the tall, dark skinned man said with a feral smile. "Fascinating," Scully sighed. "And please, call me Dana. 'Petrie' was just a ruse dreamed up by my friend. You have no idea how refreshing it is to find a like minded person in all this-" She waved her arm toward the hallway. "Rabble," LeFeete supplied. "Yes, it is, isn't it? But you seem to have been uncompromised, even though you have a relationship with a confirmed believer in psychic powers." Scully looked at LeFeete and smiled. "He's a recent acquisition, I assure you." She sipped her wine. "I'm famished. Would you consider having dinner with me?" "We could order room service," LeFeete offered with that same feral smile. Scully could feel the blush on her cheeks. "Maybe dessert," she crooned and rose quickly to the door. "Please, I hate the smell of room service in the morning," she tossed over her shoulder. "Of course, how silly of me," LeFeete chuckled. As they approached the first floor, LeFeete started sweating. "Are you all right?" Scully asked, hoping she sounded concerned. "Is it warm in here?" LeFeete asked, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "No, I'm fine. Well, here's our floor. Now, the restaurant is just over there, past the ballrooms." Scully led the way, but stopped outside Ballroom A. "I just heard something," she said, looking suspiciously at the double doors. LeFeete's eyes widened. "Surely, it's nothing," he concluded and grabbed her arm to propel her toward the restaurant. "No, I'm certain I heard something. I want to see what's going on in there," she said firmly, pulling away from her companion. "Let's see what it is." LeFeete held his ground, but his demeanor changed from nervous to angry. "I know exactly what you're doing, Agent Scully and I can assure you it won't work." "Oh, I think it will," Scully said with a faint smile. "Byers, Langly, now!" The doors flew open and over one hundred people stood before them, eyes closed, humming. LeFeete squared his shoulders, drew in a deep breath and slammed his eyes shut as if exerting extreme energy. Suddenly, he was lifted off the floor by an unseen force and tossed across the foyer to the ballroom. He fell to a crumpled heap on the floor. Byers ran over to LeFeete and gingerly placed a hand to his neck. "He's out cold," he reported. "But this doesn't exactly prove he's guilty," Langly pointed out to Scully as a rousing cheer grew up from the assembled psychics. "No, but a notebook with the names of the victims, each with a red line crossed through it, along with a few other names, including Mulder's, will go a long way to convincing a judge to at least hold him." Scully tossed them the book checking on LeFeete. "Won't he get away? I mean, he still has all that power," Langly continued, unconvinced. "Not anymore," Zelda said triumphantly, holding a loft a bloody, headless chicken, still sporting all it's feathers. "I did some research on the net this afternoon. I think we're safe now." Epilogue Kissimmee Sheraton Two days later Mulder tossed the white plastic bag inside the door to the room and stalked into the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower," he said as he slammed the door. Scully picked up the bag and peeked inside, noting the same wash basin and generic tissues that were standard hospital 'parting gifts'. She dropped the bag and it's contents into the small trash can near the door. When she heard water running, she went over and tried the doorknob. As she suspected, it was locked. "Are you planning on staying mad at me for the rest of our vacation? Because if that's the case, Frohike wants me to give him a call and we can do Epcot without-" The door opened suddenly and a dripping wet Mulder grabbed her and dragged her into the bathroom. "Mulder, you're wet!" she cried as he crushed her against the tiled wall. "OK, Scully, you win. I'm not mad anymore. Now, tell me exactly what happened while Frohike was beating me at Hearts." "Well, I went back and talked to a few of the psychics, at Zelda's urging. They convinced me that though they might not be able to overpower LeFeete, but they could possibly block his power and use it against him. He was knocked out cold by his own force, or so said the psychics, and when he came to, he was babbling about losing his ability." "Cool. Defensive posturing. But how did you lure him down to the room? Why didn't he sense there was a trap being set?" Scully wrapped her arms around Mulder and started to nibble on his neck. "Don't worry about that part, Mulder. It's all in the past and LeFeete is in custody." Mulder pulled back from her embrace to look at her. "You didn't." She looked up into his eyes, all innocence. "What are you trying to do, Mulder? Read my mind?" His eyes narrowed and grew dark. "If I find out that you coerced him down there with your womanly wiles, you're gonna wish you had the power to block me," he said gruffly. One small leg shifted and wrapped around his much longer one and before he knew what hit him, he was on the floor of the bathroom, Scully straddling him. "Consider yourself blocked, Mulder. Now, about that shoe shopping trip..." The end