Chapter Two
It was nearly eight before they were able to sit down around the game table that doubled as the only place to dine. By spurting light from the dusty safety candles they’d found they dined on sandwiches of luncheon meat and potato chips. Giles had not been happy about being forced to prepare a meal without fire. However, they’d bought bottled water and Tina had insisted upon Hostess Cupcakes for desert. "They’re Zoey’s favorites," she’d announced as she grandly presented them on the brightly colored paper plates she’d also bought.
"I’m glad I thought to bring a bag of ice. These should keep until we find the generator," Giles said as he cleaned up the residue.
Skinner shook his head. "Any gas left in that generator will be fouled. The chances of us actually being able to stay here past tomorrow are slim. The ladies..."
"The ladies will do just fine." Tina daintily wiped her mouth with the paper towel. "We should have remembered napkins," she sniffed. She turned her full attention to Skinner. "Now. We might as well be comfortable. I’m so glad that it stopped raining long enough for you to bring in the suitcases without getting further soaked."
It was as if Mother Nature had given her approval to this insanity. Not only had it stopped raining for all of thirty minutes, but the full moon had peeked out from the clouds, lighting Skinner’s path back to the car. It had taken him a half a dozen trips to lug in the heavy grocery bags as well as the four suitcases.
"Giles?" Tina wandered into the kitchen. "Might we have coffee?"
"We have no fire." He pointed out.
"Oh pooh. Can’t we build a little on in the grate?"
"NO!" Skinner didn’t really roar. But he firmly pointed to the sofas that made up the bulk of the living room’s furnishings. "Sit." Once the latest crash of thunder subsided he added, "Sit!"
Maggie hissed but TW looked like he was pleased with the way Skinner was taking charge.
Zoey eyed the dog in amazement then looked quickly at Tina. She started to say something, but Skinner held up his hand and used his best supervisory voice — the one that even Mulder hated to hear. "Now I want the whole story. Start with where you were. And explained how you supposedly escaped?"
The three old people looked from one to the other. Finally, Giles, then Zoey, bowed to Tina. "You tell it, dear." Zoey settled back into the deep leather and patted her lap. Maggie jumped up and after several turns, curled up into a ball. TW looked longingly at the sofa, but waddled over to where Skinner was sitting in the other sofa and flopped down at his feet, resting his jowls on his slipper covered foot.
"Wonderful," Skinner sighed imagining how wet his foot would be before the tale was told.
Tina sat primly on the edge of one of the overlarge chairs. She didn’t want to sit back in it. She wanted to warn Zoey about sitting in the sofa. It was a sin against God and Nature what Jimmy had done up here. At least that’s what Billy had told her years ago. He’d been curiously quiet on the subject recently. "I’m afraid I need to start sooner than last night Walter, please bear with me though."
Skinner managed to not roll his eyes. After all, after Flukeman, Tooms and little gray men, how far out could it be — discounting the fact that one talked to her dead husband and the other communed with animals? "Tell your story," he said.
"Well, Zoey and I were best friends from the time we could crawl between the hedges that separated our houses. We did everything together. The one time they tried to separate us in grade school..."
"Oh Lands!" Zoey said. "You remember how Miss Hylton…"
"Not that far back!" Skinner said desperately.
"Hush," Tina said. "I’m telling the story." She spared one quick pleading glance at her best friend, who inhaled deeply and sat back into the soft leather.
Zoey imagined she could smell Jimmy’s cologne, though she knew it had been too long. "Sorry, Walter. It’s a very long story. I’ll be quiet."
"You have to understand, we we’re both only children. We went to Smith together. We even roomed in New York together."
"How long was your rap sheet?" Skinner asked dryly.
"Silly man." But Skinner could tell that Tina was pleased with the memories his remark had invoked. He did the math and figured that both ladies had been young in New York in the fifties. He found himself regretting not knowing them then. "We never once got arrested." She and Zoey exchanged a glance and both sniggered. But Tina regained her control. "We were at a party, very chic, not at all like today’s nonsense, when these two dreamy men came in. Billy and Jimmy Grayson. Oh lord, two more fun men you’ve never met." She sighed deeply. "Billy just swept me off my feet. We were married two weeks later."
Skinner cocked an eyebrow in surprise. He glanced quickly at Zoey and wondered if she’d fallen that crazy in love with Jimmy, or had just followed a pattern that she’d followed and would continue to follow her whole life. Zoey met his gaze firmly and he could see that whatever the real reason, she’d come to terms with her decision.
"Billy and Jimmy had taken over their daddy’s business when they returned from the war, though Billy served in Korea, leaving Jimmy to run the company on his own. Then when that little rat, John Boy, graduated from Harvard, they brought him on board too." Tina sniffed loudly. "Harvard or not, there was little to recommend about Mr. James Grayson the Third." She sighed deeply. "However, the three boys ran the company for their daddy and we all moved to Atlanta where the business was headquartered. Even back in the fifties they had holdings in the Far East. That’s when Billy met Giles."
"And that is a story that has little to do with the business at hand," Giles firmly interjected.
Tina rolled her eyes but settled a bit further back in the chair, resting her elbows on the well-worn wooden arms. "That was a time of such strife in the South, Civil Rights, Workers’ Rights, hell, even Women’s Rights. But, Billy and Jimmy made sure that Grayson was on the cutting edge of what was expected. Especially with the Federal Government! Lands! The contracts Grayson held in those days —holds now. Long before that Sam Walton hit it big with that whole ‘One Big Happy family’ nonsense, Billy and Jimmy made sure that their employees had more benefits than any other business in the country. And it wasn’t cheap. But Billy said it was the cost of doing business."
"And Jimmy agreed," Zoey interjected. "But not John Boy. No, he and that slut Nadine."
"Zoey!"
"Well she is. I bet those brats aren’t even his. Funny how Billy and Jimmy couldn’t have any kids but good old Nadine popped out four; not one of whom looks like each other or John Boy."
"Praise God for that." Tina smiled indulgently at Walter. "John Boy always thought that the Grayson family should come first. Guess he had grandiose dreams of some kind of dynasty or something. Billy and Jimmy always accepted that the business would have to go on without them or their kin, so they’d always made sure to hire the best and pay them the highest salary. They had one of the best management teams in the nation. Poured money into the business and each one of them took a salary commiserate with what was fair." Tina closed her eyes and Skinner could barely hear her muttered oath. "What anyone needs with three million dollars a year in salary and bonuses is beyond me.
"I can understand a man wanting to do right by his family," Skinner said, playing devil’s advocate. "After all, your husbands inherited it from their father."
"True and if John Boy didn’t have less morals than Billy Carter and Darnel and Clifford had more sense than those Hilton girls, then I could accept it. However, Billy and Jimmy made promises. We knew it for twenty years before they were murdered."
"Now wait a minute," Skinner sighed. "I know Grayson Industries. I remember when your husbands died. It was almost ten years ago to the day wasn’t it?"
"That’s right. Ten years ago, ten men died on a fishing trip that John Boy set up. Billy, Jimmy and eight of the company’s board of directors."
Skinner racked his brains trying to remember the old case. He did remember a FBI investigation because of the government contracts involved. However, he didn’t think that any blame had been laid. "It was declared an accident."
"Course it was!" Zoey snapped angrily. "John Boy owned the governor then."
"Now Miss Zoey," Giles said soothingly. "That’s not fair."
"Don’t care."
Skinner wanting to get the story back on track hastily asked, "What promises did everyone know about?"
"Why that Benton Reilly would one day take over the company. You see, it was always an even split between the three bothers: twenty percent to each brother, five percent to Benton, five percent to Todd Stevens, and the rest to the stockholders. That way, the three brothers controlled Grayson. However, if they could get the votes, the brothers could push through individual ideas without the other two. It kept them on their toes. Well, Todd Stevens died on the boat trip. Thank goodness Benton wasn’t there that day."
"So you’re saying that your brother-in-law murdered your husbands and took control of the company."
"No. He tried. But, with the investigation, Benton doing such a good job, and with Zoey and I always backing him up, we had enough to keep Benton in control.
"Zoey and I inherited our husband’s stock and control. Benton had his five. That was forty-five percent right there. Mavis Stevens used to always side with us — she hated John Boy as much as the rest of us-- blamed him for Todd’s death. So all we needed was just one other stockholder to side with us." She snapped her fingers.
"So what changed the status quo?" Skinner asked softly.
Tina sighed and looked away. Zoey whispered mournfully. "We just got old."
"Perhaps!" Tina snapped with vigor. "But we plan on making this right. We have to get to the board meeting in Atlanta next Monday. That…that…that…Coonass and his no-count offspring aren’t going to destroy the good name of Grayson Industries."
As Skinner rose and nudged TW away from his foot Zoey gazed at Maggie and nodded. "That’s right! They don’t understand about responsibilities. All they care about is their own money."
"The way Nadine goes through money is a sin, you ask me."
Skinner entered the kitchen and opened several cabinets until he found the glasses. He searched every drawer until he found a stack of dish clothes. The dust had only settled into the top two layers. Taking one from the middle, he carefully cleaned the accumulated dust from the glass. He then poured some of the bottled water into it swishing it around before finally tossing it down the drain. Only then did he pour three fingers of Jack into the glass. What the hell did they expect him to do? He doubted seriously that they could fight John Boy Grayson. He remembered snippets of data from several reports that had crossed his desk. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if John Boy and Spender were on a first name basis.
Returning to the living room, he stood there. Three old, hopeful faces looked to him. Taking a long sip of the liquor, he sighed. "Did you try and leave the nursing home through proper channels?"
"Oh, Walter!" Zoey cried. "You have no idea. Why they didn’t even want me to bother with rehab. I had to force myself."
"You!" Tina snapped angrily. "I was the one who made you..."
"Stop it!" Skinner drank some more. "Did you try?"
"Just once." Tina looked like she was going to cry. "I called for a cab. Only that bitch of an administrator sent it away. The next day, Darnel — that’s John Boy’s oldest and a meaner young man you’ll never meet — came to the hospital. He said if we ever tried something like that again, he would break both our legs."
"Why didn’t you call friends on the phone? Didn’t any of your friends come to see you?"
"It took us a while to understand what was going on." Tina sighed and then with a proud glare for Zoey, lifted her chin high. "Billy finally told me what they were doing. One of the rules of the home was that visitors had to make appointments. Well, every time someone wanted to come and see us, they drugged our food."
Giles finally made a noise in his throat. "That’s right," he said. "Only, of course, at the time I didn’t know it." The blush on his face was vivid. "Miss Jane Reynolds, a friend of the ladies, was the first to suggest it. But then Miss Jane…"
"Jane Reynolds insists that there’s a shadow government in cahoots with aliens too." Tina re-assured him. "Lands! Even a blind squirrel will occasionally find a nut."
Skinner finished his drink and firmly tamped down his urge to pour another. "What are the chances that John Boy will find a doctor to declare you both mentally incompetent?"
The hush in the room was complete. Even TW seemed to be holding his breath. "But we’re not," Zoey finally whispered. Bright tears sparkled in the candlelight. "Just because...
"Hush, Zoey." Tina struggled out of her chair to go and sit next to her friend. The two old women hugged each other, forcing Maggie to hop down. Stalking to the dead fireplace, she sat on her haunches, her tail wrapped tight around her. Glaring regally she settled her bright blue eyes on Skinner. The image of Dana Scully instantly sprang to mind. Equally fast, he shoved it away. He needed help, but he was damned if he was going to withstand her amused distain.
"Okay. We’re all tired. You’re going to have to get some sleep."
"We’ll sleep out here," Tina began.
"But the bed..."
"I won’t sleep on that..."
"Tina!" Zoey broke their embrace and stood before her friend. "Just get over it. Lands sake, there’s plastic on the damn mattress. What do you think? You’re going to catch homosexuality at this late stage in your life?"
Tina gasped. "How long did... What did you see when you snuck out here? You knew!"
"Lord have mercy, child! I knew long before that. Truth was, Jimmy didn’t care if it was a man or a woman. He’d bed them if they pleased him. He was that full of life." She stalked into the bedroom and they heard drawers being pulled out and slammed shut. "Praise God. I found sheets and pillows. They’re sealed in plastic bags."
"Giles?" Tina’s lip quavered and Giles went to take her arm to help her out of the deep couch.
"Come along now. You and Miss Zoey need the rest. Mr. Skinner and I will each take a couch."
"That chaise lounge is as big as a bed." Truth was, the couches were inviting too. However, Skinner wanted privacy to think and he had phone calls to make. "If I’m going to help you, I need some information."
‘I’ll be happy to give you anything I can," Giles said.
"Good. Give me my cell phone."
"Now really," Giles began.
"Give it to him, Giles." Tina gave him a weary smile. "We’re in your hands, Walter."
Once the beds were made up, once Maggie had settled between the old women and the breathing in the bedroom had evened out, Skinner allowed himself another, smaller glass of whiskey. TW waddled up to him, lifted his massive head and glared into his eyes as if trying to communicate. "She’s in the other room, you stupid dog."
"Grrraaaaamph."
"Whatever." Skinner sighed and stared at the phone in his hand.
"Grrraaaaamph.
"What?" Skinner went to the door to peer outside. "You want out?" He opened the door to the green dripping passage that he’d hewn earlier. A wild thought occurred to him. If kudzu grew as fast as he remembered, they might have to fight their way outside tomorrow.
"Grrraaaaamph."
Skinner slammed the door and stalked over to the dog. "Should call you Mulder," he sighed. Setting down his glass, he hefted the dog up and placed him on the couch opposite of the one holding the thin pillow and sheets. Not that he planned on getting much sleep tonight. Checking his watch, he opened his cell phone and scrolled through the numbers. "Oh God, this is going to cost me big damn time."
It wasn’t like he had a relationship with the Lone Gunmen. They’d only met a couple of times. In fact, until Zoey had mentioned Miss Jane Reynold’s obsession, he hadn’t considered calling on them for help. However, he needed information and he was damned if he was going to alert the people at the Hoover to get it. "Damn place is worse than a small town." Unless he called Scully, any request for information would lead the Bureau right back to him. He’d expect a phone call from the Director wanting to know why the hell he wasn’t fishing. And, calling Scully wasn’t an option.
The phone rang three times before a very wary-sounding voice demanded, "Skinner?"
"Frohike?" Terrific. Why couldn’t Byers have answered the phone? At least Byers didn’t look like a freak.
"What’s up, Big Guy?"
Skinner sighed. "I... I need you to do something for me.
"Mulder in trouble again? How come Scully didn’t call?"
"No. This is...personal."
There was a long pause. He was surprised that there wasn’t a snigger or even a, ‘Hey you guys! Come and listen to this!’ Though, he supposed that Frohike could’ve waved franticly for the other two stooges to listen. Or even, just put him on a speakerphone.
"Sure! Always ready to help a friend of Mulder’s." It didn’t sound like a speakerphone.
"I need you to check out everything you can find on Grayson Industries, John Emerson Grayson, anything that..."
"This about the abduction of those two old ladies? Mulder’s with you, isn’t he?"
"Yes it is, and no he’s not!" Skinner was on his last nerve. However, he knew he had to keep his voice calm. "I...uhm…" How did he explain it? "Look... Melvin...it’s hard to explain, and I know you’ll keep it on the QT. But they weren’t abducted. I’m just looking into it for...for a friend." He was truly regretting this entire phone call. He must’ve been more tired than he thought.
"Sure, thing, Big Guy. Call you back on this number?" Of course Frohike would be able to read the number that he’d called from.
"Yeah, for now. I’m not sure what you’ll find, but call me and we can decide how we’re going to handle the transfer of information."
"You connected?"
"What?"
"Com-pu-ter." Frohike said slowly as if speaking to the village idiot. Of course, only the village idiot would be stuck in a cabin in the mountains with the three old people in the other room.
"No. I don’t have a computer. Just do what you can, and then call me. Tomorrow will be fine."
"Sure thing." There was a long pause then he said softly, "You okay?"
"Peachy keen." Skinner closed his phone, check the charge and sighed. He needed to charge it. He’d have to charge it off the car. Had he brought the charger? "Damn it!"
Dana Scully was in heaven. Pure unadulterated bliss. Had she’d known that all it took was to get her two men to go on vacation, leaving her to hold down the fort as it were, she would have suggested it years ago. My two men? She sniggered as she turned the page of the magazine resting in her lap. Her feet were propped up, in a most unladylike manner; her jacket hung neatly on the coat tree she’d found in one of the many storage rooms hidden away in the bowels of the Hoover.
It had taken four hours of resolute work, but the pencils were out of the ceiling and in a pencil cup, ready for Mulder’s next attack of boredom. The stacks of paper on Mulder’s desk were now neat and arranged in an orderly fashion; her own desk, always uncluttered, had been cleaned with something that smelled of lemon that she’d stolen from the housekeeping office; and, she’d filed nearly a year’s worth of not-quite closed cases that Mulder squirreled away in various places around the office. The office even smelled better, though she could still detect the faint odor from the fire, even after all these years.
Now all she had to do was plan the rest of her two weeks. She had plenty of vacation time, but it was the middle of summer. Any place she wanted to go would be crowded. She considered just taking the time off and lazing around her apartment, catch a movie or two, sightseeing in her hometown, and visit with her mother. Anything she wanted. She idly wondered if she could book a cruise on such short notice.
The phone on her desk betrayed her. "Damn!" She glared at it, considering letting her voice mail pick up. The number on the LCD readout showed ‘caller unknown.’ However, good Catholic guilt betrayed her. "Scully."
"Meet me at the Tidal Basin in twenty minutes." And the line went dead. Of course, she’d recognized the voice immediately. "Frohike!" She stared at the phone until the warning beeps began. "Damn it! Mulder’s away and you don’t have anyone to play with?" She glanced at the clock and sighed. It was nearly lunchtime anyway. She supposed she could ignore him, but that would be childish on her part. Plus, Mulder might be in trouble. Plus, there was that whole Catholic guilt thing. "Damn it."
DC in August was worse than working in a laundry. The wet sticky heat sapped the strength of anyone unused to it. People who’d lived here long enough came to envy Europeans who, in the dog days of summer, shut down and escaped the blistering cement and stone surrounding them. Once she was on the Mall, the trees afforded some shade until she crossed the vast expanse of brown grass that had been green just a few weeks ago. The heat seemed to shimmer off the sidewalks and monuments. She decided to treat herself to a glass of fresh lemonade for one of the vendors.
She had no trouble spotting Frohike. Lurking under a tree, he looked only slightly more prosperous than the bum sleeping on the grass ten feet away. "What’s up?" she panted.
"Skinner’s in trouble," he said without preamble, but his eyes never rested on anything too long. A true paranoid, he was always on the lookout for real as well as imagined enemies.
"Skinner?" she scoffed. "Are you nuts? Skinner’s fishing."
"In Fort Knox, Alabama.
Scully shrugged. "I’ve no idea. He just told us that he was taking two weeks vacation and that Mulder was to go to Hawaii to the IOPLE conference. That was more to keep Mulder out of trouble than anything else though."
"How come you didn’t go with Mulder?" he demanded, momentarily side-tracked.
Scully had no intention of discussing her sudden and violent disenchantment with her partner. Her feelings for Mulder had always been more tangled than a Mexican soap opera. She’d always love him like a brother, but right now he was a particularly annoying sibling, worse than Charlie or even Bill had ever been. At this point, two weeks away from him was exactly what their relationship needed. "Only funding for one," she lied. Skinner had offered, but she’d rather have gone fishing with her boss than listen to some wild discourse on ancient volcanic sacrifice rituals. The sudden thought, never considered before that moment, had her face hot and not from the heat. Fortunately, if Frohike noticed the blush, he chalked it up to the temperature. "Now, what’s happened?" she quickly said. "And how do you know? What were you doing? Random scans of police reports? Is he arrested?" If he were dead, surely Frohike would have just told her. "How do you know he’s in trouble?"
"The Big Guy called me." Frohike’s chest puffed out proudly.
Scully looked down her nose at one of the few men she could do that too. "Excuse me? Assistant Director Walter S. Skinner called YOU?"
Frohike didn’t know whether to be pleased at the fact that Skinner had called him, or pissed that Scully was so shocked. Finally, he gave in to pragmatism. He shrugged. "If he wasn’t in trouble, why didn’t he just call his buddies at the Hoover?"
That answer came easily enough. Walter Skinner had few friends at the Hoover. How she knew that was beyond her. But she knew that Skinner was a private man who took his responsibilities seriously. And, she couldn’t discount the fact that whatever professional relationships he’d built up over the years had probably been long since tested to the limit by his association with the Bad Boy of the Basement and the Ice Queen of the Hallways.
Giving into the heat, she opened the top three buttons on her blouse, glad that she’d left her jacket in the office. In Washington, with her shield pinned to her skirt, the gun at the small of her back probably hadn’t elicited more than mild speculation as to which Federal agency she worked for. Frohike wiggled his eyebrows more out of ritual than real lust anymore. In the beginning he’d had the hots big time for Dana Scully. But for all his blind egotism, he knew that the red-head was out of his league. For her part, Dana rolled her eyes just to let him know she noticed. After knowing the Lone Gunmen for all these years, she’d accepted them in to a family unit closer than biology had provided.
Taking a deep breath, knowing that she was going to regret it, she demanded, "Talk to me."
The formalities out of the way, Frohike settled down to business. "What do you know about Grayson Industries?"
Scully scrunched up her face trying to put details to a vague memory. Giving up, she shrugged.
"Big defense contractor. You might say the Wal-Mart of defense contractors - Number 112 on the Fortune 500. Started out as a rubber baby buggy bumper shop and got lucky in both wars by switching over to making little bitty parts for great big engines," Frohike explained.
"Typical war profiteer success story."
"Wait. It gets better. Three brothers took over from their father in the fifties. Then BAM! They were all over the place. Got in on the ground floor on transistors then into computers. They were multinational before IBM, setting up little plants in Korea, Japan and Viet Nam. Because they don’t make anything bearing their name, they aren’t a household name."
"What are they doing? Moving everything out of the country and that’s causing trouble?"
"No." Frohike crowed. "That’s just it. They’re not. They made sure that there was a good industry base in their home state. They’re one of the largest employers in five different towns in Alabama and Georgia, including Atlanta. Besides defense work, they’ve even diversified into other fields, including a plant that does nothing but make parts for the box industry — the second biggest employer in the South."
"So what’s the problem?" Scully demanded, thoroughly mystified. It sounded mundane and boring. Something that not even Mulder could turn into an X-file.
Frohike’s smile grew to beatific proportions. "Since the so called boating accident, ten years ago, that claimed the lives of the CEO and CFO and eight of the original ten board members, the company has been waging a internal battle between the lone surviving brother and the hand-picked successor, Benton Reilly. Hand-picked by the two dead brothers, not the survivor."
"What the hell does that have to do with Skinner?" Scully yelled.
Frohike instantly deflated. "I have no idea. Last night he called me and told me to find everything I could on Grayson Industries and to call him back on his cell."
"And?"
"And, what I told you was only the tip of the iceberg. There’s tons of information. I have no idea what he wants exactly."
"So? Call him!" Scully was disappointed. For a moment she thought it might be something interesting. But, industrial backbiting? It just made no sense.
"I can’t," Frohike set the hook expertly. Then he reeled her in. "His cell is dead."
Scully stood there ignoring everything around her, even the hint of a cool breeze teasing across the basin. Hands on her hips, she began to pace, replaying the information Frohike had shared. Spinning around she nailed Frohike with a glare and a pointed finger. "And? There’s something you’re not telling me."
Frohike whistled in admiration. "You’re good, Red. There’s a big proxy fight brewing in Atlanta. The brother, the only person to walk away from the accident by the way, is determined to wrestle control from Reilly. Says he want to bring the company into the 21st Century."
"Why are you grinning like that?" she demanded.
"Because. It seems that the two widows of the deceased brothers have gone missing from the nursing home forty miles north of Mobile." When all he got was a glare, he sighed. "Mulder’s a lot more fun."
"Spill !
"When I couldn’t reach Skinner I did a trace on his credit cards."
"You didn’t!"
"Yeah. And guess where he was booked for two weeks?" When she just shrugged, he continued.
"Bayshore Fishing Resort, Bayshore, Alabama."
"And the nursing home?"
"Is in Bayshore, Alabama."
She chewed her lip and then gave him a glare. "You said he was in Fort Knox, Alabama. Where’s that?"
"On the other side of the state!"
"You got all that off his credit card?" she demanded incredulously.
Now he made a huge show of checking to make sure that no one was listening in. Pulling her closer his voice dropped to an excited whisper. "It’s a good thing that Skinner travels in style. Ouch!" He rubbed his side. "Don’t hurt. Okay, okay. He flew into Mobile and rented a car — a Cadillac — A bright shiny new Cadillac from Hertz. All their luxury cars come with On-Star."
Scully stepped back and stare at him in utter wonderment. "And you hacked into the On-Star computer and tracked him?" she whispered. "Can you really do that without them knowing?"
His chest puffed out. "Who hacked the DO..." the rest was muffled by her hand over his mouth. It was her turn to look around frantically. "Okay. So you know where he is. Does that automatically mean he’s in trouble? Or that he has anything to do with the missing women?" Even to her, it sounded like she was grasping at straws.
"Well, I called the resort, said I was his boss. It seems that this morning he called and cancelled his reservation, forfeited the hefty deposit."
"So why did he turn his phone off?" Understanding struck. "We don’t know that it was actually Skinner who called the resort."
Frohike beamed, however, Scully saw the underlying relief on his face. "I knew you would get it."
"What should we do?" she demanded softly.
"Well, I know he doesn’t have a computer. I also know he’s not going anywhere for a while."
‘‘Why?’’
"Because he, or at least the car, is way up in the hills in the middle of a torrential rain. They’ve had more rain in the last twelve hours than they’ve had since the rains of ’89 when half the South was without power for ten weeks.
"So what’s the plan?"
He took her elbow and together they walked to Independence where he’d found a parking place for the van. "Road trip."
She climbed into the passenger seat and looked behind her. The back of the van was empty save for several boxes and an old duffle bag. "Where’s Byers and Langley?"
"Well," Frohike said settling behind the steering wheel. "Byers is in Atlantic City and Langley’s got a summer cold. It’s real ugly to he around him, if you get my meaning."
"Yuck. So what are we doing’? Driving to Alabama?"
"Why not? It’s a little over 700 miles. With both of us driving, we can make it in ten hours." He glared hard at her. "If you’re not one of those people that have to stop every 100 miles or so to go to the bathroom."
She glared right back. "Why don’t we just fly down there’?"
"Because I’ve got a computer and some files that the Big Guy is going to need."
"How do you know he’s going to..." But, she could see his determination. He bored to death with none of his little buddies to play with. "We’ll have to stop by my place and let me pack a bag."
"But, can’t we just get what we need on the road?" She thought for sure he was going to start hopping up and down in anticipation. Any earlier in their relationship and she would have suspected ulterior motives on his part.
"You know, if I want this kind of shit, I’ll call Mulder! I need to go home. You’re lucky I can just call off with a phone call."
Frohike sighed, but threw the car into gear. "Lets roll."
For three days he’d been stuck here high in the mountains. For three days tropical storm Beatrice had been hurling her fury along the Gulf Coast, dumping rain across the entire South. There was little to do once the cleaning was done. There were no books and the magazines that he’d found had definitely not been something that the ladies could read.
The morning of the first full day in the cabin, Tina had insisted that he remove the manacles from the bedposts. "Sick and perverted," she’d practically chanted. The look on Zoey’s face had been unfathomable. He’d found a drawer of tools and as he removed each fur-lined cuff, the image of a chained, naked Dana Scully writhing on the bed made him instantly hard. TW had walked into the bedroom and stood next to him. Looking down he found the dog studying him. "What? You’ve never seen her, you stupid dog." He said without thinking. "Dear God, I’ve joined the loons in the bin." He swore that TW smirked at him before turning around and shuffling back to the living room.
Tina and Zoey had dusted and swept every surface in the living room and bedroom. Giles had insisted that he could clean the kitchen, which left the bathroom to Skinner. Using rainwater, which they had in ample supply, none of the projects took long. Skinner had found the necessary poles and brushes in the barn so, after firmly relegating both ladies to the bedroom for a nap, he’d stripped down to his skivvies and cleaned the chimney. Afterwards, he grabbed the soap from his kit and stood in the pouring rain to clean off. The wood in the box was bug-riddled, but he had used one of the inside walls of the barn and that night they were able to have hot soup and coffee. The next day, from the large storage room off the back of the house, Giles uncovered a large cauldron. After rinsing it out several times in the rain, Skinner filled it and hung it from the cast iron swing in the fireplace. They all washed off in reasonably hot water that night.
Twice, he’d sat in the car to listen for any news on the radio. The newscaster had been more concerned with the storm than the two missing Grayson widows. However, Skinner noted that the hunt was still on for the three old people.
Yesterday, during a brief respite, he’d walked around the cabin, checking out the perimeter. Walking a few yards into the woods at the back of the cabin, he found a large lake stretched out below them. Even in the gray, overcast day, it looked inviting. He cursed his luck, though he knew that, had he stayed in Mobile, he would have been faced with worse weather still.
Getting down the lane in the rain just wasn’t an option. He’d walked down as far as he dared, checking the condition of the road. The ruts were awash with red clay.
He’d slipped and slid his way back up to the cabin, stood outside until it started raining again and considered the possibility of siphoning off the gas the tank of the car to run the generator so he could take a shower. The water pump was useless without power. He carried buckets of water and manually filled the tank of the toilet as needed. They’d caught a real break when Giles had found a completely sealed spare for the guts of the toilet, which had finally succumbed to ten years of non-use earlier that morning.
Now, late in the afternoon of what should have been his third day fishing, he stood in front of the fireplace and looked out on the room before him. Everything that could be done had been done. Besides the cleaning, all the bedding and towels that had been packed away in plastic bags had been thoroughly shaken and aired. He’d pulled the plastic off of the mattress and aired that too.
Over dinner and in the evening before retiring to the surprising comfortable couch, Skinner had learned more than he ever wanted to about Grayson Industries as the ladies saw it. He needed facts and figures. He needed details about the FBI investigation into the deaths of the Grayson brothers and their associates. He NEEDED his goddamned cell phone! He couldn’t believe that one call had completely drained his phone. But then, he couldn’t believe that he’d left his spare battery sitting on his dresser, right next to the car charger. He needed to get down the hill to the tiny town of Fort Knox and call Frohike to see what he’d found. Was Frohike was even worried by the fact that he couldn’t reach Skinner or had he already moved on to a more interesting project?
As he washed up the dinner dishes, the evening seemed to loom before him. He wasn’t sure he could handle yet another ‘interesting’ occurrence from the ladies. Perhaps he could get Giles to talk about the way Viet Nam had been in the fifties. Thirty some odd years after nearly dying there, he thought he might be able to face a little history.
"Oh my goodness. Look what I found," Zoey said.
That was not something Skinner wanted to hear. He’d already cleaned out the stash of foil wrapped, long expired condoms and the various jars of lubes and creams from the bedroom nightstand. The stash of pornographic magazines had made decent enough kindling for the fire. Hurrying out of the kitchen, he saw the three of them huddled over the game table. As he approached them he saw that they had discovered a hidden drawer.
"What?" he demanded.
"Cards! And chips! Oh! We can play poker!" Tina exclaimed.
‘Well, that beats listening to another story about just missing Duke Ellington at the Stork Club,’ Skinner thought as he poured Jack Daniels for himself and Giles. The ladies preferred coffee in the evening and swore it didn’t affect they way they slept at night. There were several sealed packs of Bicycle Brand cards and as he sat down in one of the club chairs he smiled for the first time since arriving. "What’s your pleasures, folks," he said as he broke the seals and began to shuffle.
Three hours later, after all his chips rested in front of Zoey, Tina or Giles, he sat back and glared at no one in particular. "Why do I have the feeling that I was just taken by the descendants of Bret Maverick?"
"Now Walter," Tina tried to soothe him. "It’s not like there was really money involved."
"Which is good for you," Zoey smirked. "Lands, my daddy taught me how to play cards when I was two."
"So did mine, but evidently not as well as yours," Skinner snorted. "We better turn in. It’s not a good idea to waste the lantern light like this." Besides the box of safety candles they’d used the first night, Giles had also uncovered a Coleman lantern, its propane tank still full and still working. As the three bid him good night, Skinner admitted a growing sense of responsibility for them.
Changing into a pair of old gray sweat shorts that hung decorously long, he stretched out on the couch and watched the embers of the fire die out. They reminded him of Scully’s hair. More like her passion smoldering just below her cool exterior. ‘What would it be like to have that passion directed at me, not in anger like when she thought I was the mole or that I was on Spender’s team, but in bed?’ His cock stirred at the impossible notion. He sat up and leaned his head back. ‘Why the hell do you do this to yourself?’ He rose and walked to the door. Opening it, he peered out into the green-black gloom. The rain had stopped earlier in the evening. He prayed that it would stay stopped, that the lane would dry out long enough for him to get them down the hill. "Stupid dumb idea!"
"Garrumph." TW nudged his bare calve with his head; drool moistened his bare feet.
"What do you think, you stupid dog?"
In answer, TW shook his head, showering both of Skinner’s feet and lower legs with slobber. He was almost getting used to it, keeping a towel on the table next to the door. For some reason, the dog knew not to foul the rugs or the furniture. A streak of white flashed by as Maggie left to do her own necessaries. "You going out too?" he asked TW. "I hope I can hold it as long as you when I’m your age.
"Garrumph." TW waddled out into the green. Skinner slipped on his boat shoes and followed the dog through the ever-encroaching jungle of kudzu. Whenever he could, he pulled and chopped at the rubbery stems. He’d found a hone and cleaned much of the rust from the scythe. It was a daunting job and he knew, once they left, that the kudzu would win. He’d repaired the glass pane that he’d broken by using a piece from a window still intact in the barn. He’d had an insane fear that if he didn’t fix the hole, the kudzu would come in and kill them all like some monster out of Creature Feature Movies of his youth. "Definitely need to get Mulder to investigate this stuff," he said to TW as he walked out to the car. Looking up he saw the moon, still mostly full, was playing hide and seek in the thinning clouds. Opening the car door, he sat in the driver’s seat. Just this morning, Giles had quietly returned the distributor cap. He turned on the radio.
"...no word on the Misses Grayson, missing for three days. Mr. John Grayson is insisting that the old women are dead and that their butler, Clayton Giles, whom we have learned was an assassin in his youth, is wanted for questioning. Police officials will neither confirm, nor deny this latest allegation. Meanwhile, in Atlanta, plans for the annual stockholders’ meeting at Grayson Industries are being carried forward, though Mr. Benton Reilly has raised the specter of Mr. John Grayson being behind the disappearance. Earlier today, in a press conference, Mr. Reilly spoke to reporters officially for the first time.
"Miss Tina and Miss Zoey would never miss a shareholders meeting. They haven’t in the ten years since their husbands, my friends, died so mysteriously. Frankly, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to see that certain factions have taken them and hidden them away.
"Why would anyone do that?" cried a voice of one reporter.
"Are you accusing Mr. Grayson of kidnapping?" called out another.
"I’m accusing no body and everyone. Damn it. These are old women. I’m just worried sick about them and all John Grayson is worried about is this company that he wants to destroy."
Skinner sighed and turned off the radio. He’d start the car tomorrow and let it run to juice up the battery. He climbed out of the car and started back to the house.
"Damn it, Melvin! Why didn’t you just stay in the car?"
"What?’ And let you have all the fun? Shit!"
Skinner stood there convinced that he’d finally succumbed to the incipient insanity that had been lurking, ready to take him since he’d nearly run the two old ladies down on the road north of Mobile. "Scully!"
"Garrrumph," TW’s response for everything, was closer than the long drawn out yowl of the cat.
"What the hell!" Frohike screeched.
"Melvin!" Scully cried.
Skinner raced to the sounds of escalating battle. He plowed through the trees to find a scene almost like a graphic rendition of one of Mulder’s more outlandish reports. Before him, in the clearing overlooking the lake, Scully stood staring at the whirling dervish that was screeching in pain. Skinner strode forward and reached out to pull the white fur puff that had attached itself to Frohike’s head.
"Bad cat!" He flung Maggie away. Landing in a bush, she joined her screech with the still screaming Frohike. Skinner reached out to stop Frohike’s frantic dance. "Stop it. She’s gone now."
"What the hell was that thing?" Frohike looked around wildly. "The devil?"
"No," Skinner sighed. "It’s Maggie the Cat."
"Excuse me?" Now that they’d discovered the source of their attacker, Scully was desperately trying hard not to laugh. Really, Melvin should have stayed in the car down in the small town. The hike up the hill had been steep, and very strenuous. "Sir?" In the wavering moonlight she found herself faced with an apparition almost more incomprehensible than a white attack cat named after her mother. Walter Skinner, in a tight tee-shirt and jogging shorts that accentuated his tight ass, was a sight to behold. She was glad that she had the excuse of the steep climb and the excitement to explain her increased breathing.
Skinner took a deep breath and turned to face his subordinate. It had only taken him the time between hearing them to the moment that he pulled the cat off of Frohike’s face, to realize what they’d done. Frohike had obviously tried to reach him and when he couldn’t, he’d called Scully for help. Scully had come looking for him. For him! Not Mulder. What the hell? "Agent," he said gruffly.
He looked so much younger without his wire rims. He looked naked. ‘Nope. DO NOT think along those lines.’
"Sir?" Now that they were here, she wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it.
The moon turned her skin to alabaster. He was glad that the running shorts were loose because he felt his cock stir at the sight.
"I’m bleeding!" Frohike cried.
Grateful to have something to focus on, Skinner took Frohike by the arm and pulled him toward the cabin. Scully shook away her inappropriate thoughts and bent to pick up a large case. What’s that?" Skinner asked.
"Computer," Frohike gasped out. Still clutching his face, he was trying hard to figure out why he’d not stayed in the car back at the town. "What the hell are you doing here? Why couldn’t you’ve gotten a suite at the Peabody or something? You’ve got those old ladies don’t you?"
"I’ll explain later," Skinner sighed as he led them out of the woods. Tina and Zoey, each gripping one of Giles’ arms, were waiting for them. Giles was clutching the gun he’d held on Skinner. "Put that away and get back inside. These are friends of mine."
"How did they find you?" Giles demanded.
Frohike, holding a particularly deep cut on his face, managed a snort. "Piece of cake."
"Oh dear," Tina said fearfully.
"Don’t worry," Skinner said. "A piece of cake for...uhm," He paused, obviously at a loss at how to introduce the two newcomers.
Scully took the bull by the horns and stepped forward. "Hello. I’m Agent Scully. I work for Mr. Skinner. This is Melvin Frohike." She too paused then sighed softly. "We’re here to help.
Once inside the cabin, it took Scully only a moment to get her bearings. "Hot water, clean cloths and some kind of antiseptic if you have it," she snapped briskly. Giles hurried to the kitchen. Scully pushed Frohike to one of the chairs at the game table. Once Giles returned, she quickly cleaned the scratches on Frohike’s face. "Just don’t touch them and they’ll scab over by morning."
"Itches," he whined. However, Scully was used to whining. Mulder was the Olympic champion of whining.
"How is he?" Skinner asked.
"He’ll live. She turned to face Skinner and the three old people standing just behind him. "Now, if you don’t mind, why are you up here? We assume you arrived before the lane turned into a river."
Skinner looked back at Tina and sighed. "It’s a long story. However, I’m surprised that you found a way up here."
"Why? According to Mr. Rogers at the Piggly Wiggly, this property is right on the edge of the Park. There are hiking trails all through these woods."
"Terrific." Skinner groaned at his stupidity. However, one look at the old people, and he knew that he wouldn’t have left them alone. "I don’t suppose any of them are wide enough to get a car down?"
She smiled and shook her head. "The proprietor of the market said it usually took a week for the road to dry out well enough to traverse after a hard rain."
"A week!" Zoey gasped and the two old women clutched at each other. "But we need to be in Atlanta by Monday."
"Well then, why are you here?" She looked at Skinner and added, "The State Police has called for FBI assistance investigating the disappearance of Tina and Zoey Grayson. There is some talk about postponing the proxy vote, but it seems that neither Mr. Grayson, nor Mr. Reilly want to go that far."
Skinner pointedly looked at his watch before facing the three people who had managed to not only kidnap him but also capture a part of his allegiance. However, he really needed to form his own opinion. The Grayson widows had painted John Boy as a conniving murderer. But, he’d only their word and John Boy would be a formidable enemy. "Its late. Tomorrow we’ll decide our game plan, but I need to talk to my people." He ignored Frohike’s startled snort. "Go back to bed."
Zoey looked at Tina who looked like she was going to argue, but finally they both turned and entered the bedroom. Giles stood his ground.
"You too," Skinner said.
"No, sir. I’ll stay up a bit."
Skinner sighed then carefully approached the former agent. Dropping his voice, he made his case. "I need to think about this. I owe you and them honesty and the only way I can do that is to study the details that my people brought me. Your first and, in fact, only allegiance is to those two in there."
"And I can best serve them by staying out here and answering any questions that might arise in the official report."
"No!"
Before Skinner could continue, Scully stepped up to the two. With just a glance, she let Skinner know that she would handle it. "Mr. Giles. I understand your need to protect them, but you have to let us do our job. Trust me. Just because it’s in the official report, neither Mr. Skinner nor I will automatically assume that it is the only avenue to investigate. Just let us check the reports. Tomorrow, Mr. Skinner will give you an honest assessment of your chances and our plan of attack."
Giles studied both of them for a very long time.
"Giles?" Tina’ s voice was tremulous and he instantly turned to her.
"Yes, Miss Tina?"
"Come away now. It’s in Walter’s hands and he’ll do what’s right."
"Yes, ma am," Scully said firmly, not looking up at Skinner. "He always does."
Giles didn’t like it one bit, but, after one long appraising glare, he spun on his heel and slammed the bedroom door behind him.
"There goes one dangerous old man," Frohike said.
Skinner just nodded. Taking a moment to gather his nerves, something that he never allowed Scully to see. At her touch on his arm, he finally met her gaze. "Why the hell did you come up in the dark?"
She laughed ruefully. "It was one o’clock when we started and supposedly it’s only a three mile hike."
Frohike snorted. "Balls. Maybe it’s only three miles for some health nut. That was three miles straight up!"
Scully rolled her eyes and Skinner found that he had to look away from the deep blue pools. Settling on Frohike, who had already opened up the suitcase carrying a state of the art laptop, he demanded, "How good is the battery in the computer?"
"Six hours and I can charge it off the car’s battery if it comes to that."
"You have information for me?"
"Oh yeah."
"Grayson?"
Frohike’s grin grew to cover his face. "John Boy? Dirty as your buddy, Spender. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t in cahoots on some deals."
"Terrific."
"Ha! I told you!" Came a high-pitched hiss from behind the door.
"Get some sleep!" Skinner roared, working off some of his frustration.
"Yes, Walter."
He waited for the scurrying and rustling to die away before sighing deeply. "Show me."
Scully allowed Frohike to walk Skinner through what they had discussed, pacing behind the two men hunched over the table. She carefully checked out the cabin, raising an eyebrow at the dated video equipment and cameras in the closet. However, she kept her comments to herself. She made a pot of coffee, but contented herself with observing Skinner. She seldom got a chance to really watch him work on a case that wasn’t an X-File. Regardless of the comment that Frohike threw out, she doubted that Cancerman had much use for anyone with the nickname of John Boy. From what Frohike had told her, the last surviving brother of the Grayson family was a rather vicious good old boy who’s only concept of an alien invasion would entail Mexicans or second- generation Vietnamese boat people migrating north from Biloxi. However, she’d seen too much since joining the X-Files to summarily dismiss any possibility.
Near dawn, she gave into the stress of the last forty-eight hours and curled up on one of the leather couches. Skinner and Frohike were still wading through the reports that Frohike had downloaded.
Skinner sat back and stretched his muscles. "So you’re saying that there was definitely a cover-up concerning murder?"
"I’m not saying it," Frohike snapped irritably. He’d never been on the receiving end of one of Skinner’s detailed interrogations of details that Mulder would have just gratefully accepted. "Your own reports are saying it."
Skinner sighed and leaned back in to continue, however, Frohike stood. "That’s it. I’ve had it. The batteries are just about shot."
Skinner wanted to continue, but he knew that he couldn’t demand more. "Fine. Where’s the charger. I’ll go sit in the car. You take the couch."
Frohike looked at the comfortable leather and sighed happily. Without a word he quickly flopped down and before Skinner was finished setting the laptop up for charging, he was snoring.
Skinner sat in the front seat of the car. It wasn’t raining but the mist was heavy and he could barely make out the cabin only ten feet away. The car was running in neutral, the safety brake was set and Skinner’s foot was firmly on the brake. He eyed the gas tank, thankful that they’d filled up when they did.
He had a decent picture now of Grayson Industries. The company was deeply embedded with the government and Frohike’s contention was beginning to sound like it might have merit on some level. There were too many variables in play. Worse, he wasn’t completely sure that Reilly was the knight in shining armor that Tina and Zoey had painted him.
He had the seat back as far as it would go, as well as reclined a bit. Still, his foot was wedged against the brake and he allowed his eyes to close. He didn’t hear the car door open or notice her settle beside him. However, her scent was comforting and his subconscious took over. A slow smile kissed his lips as he dreamed that it was just the two of them here, high in the clouds, with nothing to worry them. The lake was crystal clear and she looked adorable in shorts and a tank top, posing for him on the bank as he sat nearby watching her more than the pole in his hand.
Scully had woke to the hideous sound of an animal in the throws of death. Jerking up, she looked around until she was forced to admit that the hideous sound was coming not from the massive bulldog sitting on the floor gazing at her in a most disconcerting manner, but from the man on the couch across from her. She’d never heard such a noise. "Dear God," she breathed.
"Garrumph!" TW readily agreed.
"I’m never getting back to sleep.
"Garrumph."
"You want to take a walk?"
"Garrumph."
She slipped on her tennis shoes and stretched. Considering for a moment, she decided she didn’t need to use the facilities, which would probably wake up the old people. She wrinkled her forehead in thought and looked back at the door leading to the bedroom. It was still firmly shut. She considered the dog again. "How’d you get out?" She swore the damn thing grinned at her. Standing, she went to the door of the cabin and opened it. She felt the soft streak before she saw the cat running outside. Without another thought, she stepped into the green-gray tunnel. She’d not noticed it last night but she finally recognized the plant that was covering the house. She remembered the last time they’d had a case in the South. Mulder was convinced that the plant, far from being the Japanese import that everyone insisted had just got out of hand, was some kind of Alien weapon destined to take over. Even though she was fairly sure Mulder had been jerking her chain at the time, she could never really be sure with him. Now, pulling at several strands that had grown across the opening in the night, she wasn’t at all convinced that he wasn’t right.
It was cold and clammy and the visibility was nil. However, she followed the sound of the running engine and peered in through the driver’s window. Skinner’s head was resting against the headrest, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. The windows were all down three inches, so she wasn’t afraid that carbon monoxide would overcome him. She looked down and found the dog sitting there, staring up at her. Frankly, the damn thing kind of creeped her out. Considering what she’d been faced with over the years, that was saying something. "What?" she hissed. And she swore she heard him tell her to stop wasting precious time. "Oh yeah?" she answered. "You don’t have a clue!" The massive chest heaved and TW turned and walked into the mist. "Weird!"
She considered walking around a bit, but she was getting cold. The prospect of returning to the symphony from hell was more than she could handle. Instead she went around to the passenger side and opened the door. Gently closing it, she watched him sleep. ‘I wonder what put that smile on his face?’ She saw his lips moving and mesmerized, she leaned closer, unabashedly eavesdropping. She couldn’t really make out the words, so, finding the lever behind her, she leaned the seat back until her face was level with his, her cheek against the soft leather upholstery. As her eyes fluttered shut she finally heard his whispered entreaty.
"Dana."