APRIL 1, 2001
3:54 PM
“I know what you’re saying, sir,” Doggett said, holding the cell phone in one hand as he rummaged through his bag with the other. “But the fact is, the report ought to be fairly simple. Things turned out to be a little more straightforward than we had originally thought.”
“What about the local law enforcement issues?” Skinner asked, his voice more than a little strained.
“There was some talk about pressing charges against McShane and Craig Walden, but that seems to have been cleared up.” Doggett smirked at his bag, and started taking items out, rummaging a little more. “I doubt that either the families or the department really want to deal with an official investigation into the cult activity around here.”
“Sounds about right,” Skinner observed wryly. “Not too different from what we were looking at.”
Smiling to himself, he pulled the small black book out of his bag. “I think my report should cover everything we need,” he said with confidence. “I’ll be running it past Agent Reyes before the end of the day.”
“What are your plans for wrapping this up?”
“There are some last minute items that need to be attended to,” Doggett said as he flipped open the book to “D”. “Agent Reyes will be going back to New Orleans tonight. I’ll drive her to the airport, and head out from there.”
“Last minute items?” Skinner asked, his tone wary.
“Just making sure that we won’t be coming back to deal with any legal issues,” Doggett said evasively.
“Glad to hear it,” Skinner replied. “Just so you know, the Deputy Director was rather pleased to hear that things ended up going smoothly up there, despite the time it took to get some results. He wants to see you first thing in the morning.” His smile could be felt through the connection. “Be in my office about an hour before that, all right?”
“I hear you,” Doggett agreed. “See you then.”
He cleared the line, and then placed the phone on the table next to the two faxes he had received that morning. He stared at the page in his book for a moment. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to make the call, but something inside of him told him that he had to, for some sense of closure. He had spent a great deal of the morning dealing with the thoughts of his son, especially after he had gotten the faxes from Mulder and Scully. But there were still some lingering thoughts for someone else that he needed to work through.
He tapped the surface of the table for a few seconds, and then picked up the phone, dialing the number on the page. He felt slightly foolish as he waited for her to pick up, as though he were a schoolboy calling for his first date. He was amazed to discover that he was still able to feel that way.
“Hello?”
His mouth was suddenly dry, but he stammered out, “Hi…it’s John. John Doggett.”
The woman’s voice was warm with surprise and delight. “Well, hello there. This is an unexpected pleasure. I wasn’t sure when I would hear from you again.”
“I wasn’t either,” he said, as the memories of their last moments together passed through his mind. “I don’t have much time to talk. I just wanted…I needed to hear your voice, that’s all.”
There was a slight hesitation, and then she asked, “John, is everything all right? Did something happen?”
“No, no, everything’s fine,” he replied, forcing his tone to remain light. “Just something that reminded me of you, that’s all. And I wanted to make sure everything was still all right.”
“Are you sure?” Mo said, gently pressing him.
“I’m sure,” he repeated, glancing at the clock. Monica would be stopping by any minute now. “I have to go. It was good hearing your voice again, Mo. Take care of yourself.”
“You too, John,” she said. It was obvious that she had been more than a little confused, but thankfully, she had let it slide.
He tossed the book back into his bag, wishing that he could have spoken to her a bit longer, told her just a little more. But that would have led to questions that he was not prepared to answer. And he had the distinct feeling that he was going to have enough questions to answer in the next few days.
He was reading over the fax from Scully for perhaps the seventh time when there was a knock at his door, and Monica walked in with her own bag hanging from her shoulder. Most of the wounds from the night before had turned out to be little more than deep scratches in the light of day, but there were enough of them on her hands and arms to make easy explanations hard to believe. He thought about his own matching set, and sighed, thankful that it had not been worse. Even the glancing wound from the gunshot was little more than a slight burn.
“I’m just about ready,” Doggett said, gesturing at his bag. “I told Craig that we would meet him in the lobby, and then go over to see Thomas and Kirsten on the way to the airport.”
Monica raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I thought everything had been cleared up this morning.”
“Mostly,” he agreed. “But there are a couple of things I wanted to settle first.”
“I understand,” Monica said. She looked at the pages in his hand. “Is that the reply from Agent Scully?”
Doggett nodded. “She seems to have covered the subject rather thoroughly,” he said, passing it to Monica with a smirk. “Though it certainly couldn’t beat Mulder’s conclusion.” He pointed to the other fax, which was one page with rather large writing in capital letters.
INTERESTING THEORIES, AGENT DOGGETT.
PS: IT’S A VIRUS!!!
Monica broke into a laugh, and then started reading the response from Scully. It did not take her long to figure out where the response was going, as the look on her face became somewhat troubled. When she was finished, she handed it back to Doggett, shaking her head.
“Well, it was thorough,” she murmured.
“I’d say that as much as I needed to hear that, and as much as it may have put some of my personal fears to rest, there is someone else who deserves to see that.” Doggett folded it in half, sliding it into his jacket pocket.
“Let me guess,” Monica said as he grabbed his own bag. “Is this your way of getting the last word?”
“Just a small repayment,” Doggett replied.
***
Agent Doggett:
I was able to review the information that you sent regarding the theories connecting quantum theory, elements of cosmology, and various references to Native and Celtic folklore into a theory of intelligence as a function apart from the physical human body. Mulder did not explain the source of this theory, or the context in which it was offered, but I suspect that might be for the best.
While Mulder was largely enthusiastic about the theory, despite taking a somewhat predictable point of view regarding mechanism, I regret that I cannot share the same level of confidence in the theory you have described.
Setting aside the references to Native and Celtic folklore, which were indeed accurate, if a bit selective, the various pieces of these particular and peculiar puzzle can only fit together if certain uncertainties and assumptions are ignored or dismissed.
***
They found Craig sitting near one of the large windows in the lobby, watching the rain as it continued to fall outside. The storm had struck its greatest blow during the night, but some showers lingered in the region. It was a constant reminder of the ordeal they had shared the night before.
Monica had been concerned about John’s mental well-being all morning, when they had been dealing with the remnants of the local officials in the wake of Fell’s demise. He had been slightly unsure, distracted. While he had dealt with the issues calmly, speaking effectively in Craig’s defense when the time had come to decide whether or not charges would be made, he had been strangely quiet when the issue of McShane’s accidental killing of Davis had been discussed. In the end, no charges had been filed, but they had noted the lack of support for McShane.
Things had changed dramatically in the hours that had passed since that meeting. John was far more confident, acting with the authority and assurance that she had come to expect over the years. If nothing else, Scully’s response to the science that Craig had offered had given John enough solid ground to restore his well-worn skepticism. There was a calm quality to his actions now, and while that was a welcome change from what she had seen in him the day before, she could not help but think that it was a step in the wrong direction.
On the other hand, much of John’s crisis of faith seemed to have fallen onto Craig’s shoulders. The young man’s usual grin was nowhere to be seen, replaced by an expression of deep worry and contemplation. He had spent a good part of his life dealing with the dark and decadent practices of his beloved sister, then following in the footsteps of a man who had seemed to be working to end the twisted plans of a mad spirit. But in the space of a few hours, he had discovered that his sole friend and mentor was capable of acts and decisions that he could not reconcile with the ideal he had carried in his heart. Even worse, he had been forced to kill a man without reservation.
Setting all of that aside, he was also dealing with the fact that his driving purpose in life had come to an end. Unlike McShane, he had no compulsion to remain in the area to watch over the gate. He had been the dutiful soldier, the willing servant, only to find that he did not know what he was supposed to do now that the battle was won. Adding so much revelation and guilt to the equation had to be overwhelming.
And now John was planning to deliver the final blow.
“Craig,” she called out, getting the young man’s attention. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m all right,” he said, though his voice was less certain than his words. “I’m still trying to figure it all out.”
“I think you know that I sympathize,” John said, setting his bag down and sitting in a chair across from Craig. “I was right where you are this time yesterday...questioning the decisions I had made, rethinking my assumptions, taking responsibility for things...things I could not change.”
“Because of the things I told you,” Craig reminded him. “Maybe the only thing that Thomas told me that wasn’t a calculated lie.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Monica said, sitting in a chair to Doggett’s right. “I think he truly felt that he was acting in your best interests, being the best friend he could. I think his reasons for teaching you how to use the gifts you have been given were genuine.”
“He needed me to fight that thing,” Craig said, shaking his head. “If I hadn’t shown the same level of potential that my sister had, I doubt he would have bothered to give my welfare a second thought.”
“I don’t know if we’ll ever know that,” John interjected. “And to be honest, I don’t really know what I could suggest for your future. But I do think you should see what another agent in the Bureau, someone educated in the subjects you were telling me about, had to say about the information Thomas chose to give you.”
He pulled the fax from Agent Scully out of his pocket, handing it to Craig without further explanation. Craig looked it over, then began reading it more carefully. Moments later, when he was finished, he seemed to re-read some parts again. If there was any reaction at all, it was a deepening of the sadness behind his eyes.
“I guess that says it all,” Craig said finally. He handed it back towards John. “Thanks.”
John returned it to his pocket. “Again, I’m sorry that it turned out this way.”
“We were both used, Agent Doggett,” Craig reminded him. “The only difference was how long. I have nine years of my life to make up for. Can you say the same?”
Monica saw the pain behind John’s eyes as he answered. “Maybe I can, Craig. There are times I think that I’ve wasted the past three years, when I find myself dealing with the same pain and memories that have been haunting me every day. But maybe that’s not the way to look at it.” He smiled gently. “Maybe it’s about living up to the ideals and promise that Luke represented for just as long a time.”
John stood, pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “No matter what else you might be thinking, Craig, remember the principles you were fighting for all those years. Don’t think about how it ended.” He turned to leave as Monica stood.
“Agent Doggett,” Craig called, standing as well. “Have you been able to do that? Stop thinking about how it ended?”
Monica could see how John forced himself to maintain composure, as he turned to answer.
“No,” he said, his voice filled with renewed regret. “No, I haven’t.”
***
Several versions of quantum theory discuss the idea of nonlocality, the concept of physical states being affected by a distant and seemingly unconnected cause. This idea was more or less proven by Bell’s Theorem. There have been several papers and books written in recent years attempting to show that this property of fundamental particles is proof that there is some pervasive connection between all particles.
However, Bell’s Theorem only proves that nonlocality exists. It does not attribute a cause for this phenomenon, nor does it attempt to interpret this property or apply it to the physical world. Many of the papers attempting to do just that over the years have been proven in error or deemed inconclusive.
Specifically, while the notion of an infinite number of quantum states has been a basic assumption of quantum theory, there is no conclusive evidence to show that these infinite quantum states are “entangled”, connecting two particles at a distance through the nonlocality of Bell’s Theorem. Current experiments have been unable to provide a solid case for proving or disproving the theory of infinite “entanglement”.
***
The apartment on Centennial Avenue had been badly damaged when the police had come to abduct Kirsten, but the weather that had followed had dealt an even greater blow. At the very least, thousands of dollars worth of repairs would be needed before it might be restored to its original condition. Many of the items in the home had been destroyed, and others would need a great deal of care to be reclaimed. In the meantime, McShane, Kirsten Walden, and their daughter Rhiannon were staying in another apartment on the other side of town. They found McShane sitting on the back porch, watching the rain fall as he waiting for them to arrive.
“I had hoped you would leave without making more out of this than is necessary,” McShane said as they walked up to him. “But I should have known that you would need to confront me.”
“You didn’t know for certain?” Doggett asked sarcastically. He adjusted his belt, his fingers lingering by his cell phone before sliding into his pocket.
“Of course I did,” McShane replied, smiling up at them. “That has nothing to do with what I might have wished for.” He gestured towards the back door. “Kirsten and Rhiannon are inside, Agent Reyes. I suspect you would like to see them for yourself. And John and I must talk.”
Monica hesitated, not at all pleased, but relented when Doggett nodded that she should go inside and see to the others. Doggett waited to say anything until after the door closed, and then he turned to McShane, his eyes full of anger.
“You used me,” Doggett hissed, taking the nearest empty chair and pulling it directly in front of McShane. “You had this planned from the very beginning, didn’t you? When did I become a part of your little scheme?”
McShane stared into Doggett’s eyes for a long moment, and then looked back at the rain, sighing. “You may not have heard of Fox Mulder before taking on his case, Agent Doggett, but among certain circles, he is quite well known. And the X-Files are a part of public record. Many of the reports and findings have been released through the Freedom of Information Act.
“I will admit that I had planned to contact Mulder, when I first put this plan in motion. Mulder would have been the one with the proper background in the ritualistic crimes, while Agent Scully’s personality would have been perfect for the role of the begrudging skeptic. The combination, you see, was the key. One to believe, understand, and interpret...and the other to provide the perfect trap for the enemy when its host was mortally wounded.”
McShane turned back to Doggett, a knowing smile on his face. “But then Mulder was abducted, and you were brought into the X-Files. That presented me with a slight problem. I understood their dynamic, but you were far more skeptical than Agent Scully ever was. And Agent Scully made a very unconvincing Mulder, you must admit.”
McShane leaned forward. “You, John Doggett, turned out to be even more perfect than Agent Scully ever would have been.”
“Perfect?” Doggett snapped back. “Your perfect trap?”
“That’s right,” McShane confirmed.
“You planned this from the beginning, long before now,” Doggett repeated. “You let them all die, let them be part of the rituals, because you were unwilling to make your move when it was strong enough to fight back.”
“Of course,” McShane said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “What sort of fool do you take me for, John? You don’t win if you fail to develop the best strategy and commit to it long before the battle is waged. And you also need to be able to adjust to the little surprises that come along, plan for the worst possible contingency.”
He pointed at Doggett. “You came alone. That was a surprise. I had not heard that Agent Scully was on leave. But your mind was wide open, John, from the minute you walked in that door. I knew how to make you believe in my innocence, saw the recent memory of your work with Agent Reyes. I knew that she would be the one to lead you where I needed you to go. And so I made sure you considered getting her involved from the very beginning.”
“Pointing me to the Clark murders,” Doggett muttered. “And the strange behavior of those ravens.”
“It worked beautifully,” McShane said with a grin. “She walked in, and her believer’s mind was just as easy to work with. The rest was simple. You did exactly what I wanted, and when I sent you to Kirsten and Craig, you were both ready to believe what they had to say.”
McShane stopped Doggett before he could interject. “You were never meant to believe, Agent Doggett. Not completely. You were always meant to have those lingering doubts. I saw the conflict in your heart, plainly there in your mind, and I made sure that whatever Craig told you, he would end up taking you to that house at the very moment Theresa McMillan was being led to her death. To make sure you would end up hearing all those reasons to believe, but still be reminded of the exact reason why you cannot allow yourself to believe.”
“Those damn ravens again,” Doggett said, remembering how they had been “watching” that night. “Craig never knew?”
“Of course not,” McShane said with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve been training him, but a part of that training is a kind of selective conditioning. He had no idea that I was suggesting certain actions.”
Doggett sat back, shaking his head. “So all of that was part of the plan? Forcing me to what...face my demons?”
“Not face them to win,” McShane replied. “Face them to bring that conflict between your rational mind and your emotions to the forefront, and then continue to plant the seeds of doubt until you didn’t know what to believe. By the time we arrived at the gate, you were willing to believe what was happening around you, faced with all of the science and spiritual elements that your fellow agent validated with her own decisions and interpretations.”
McShane hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I needed to stay strong enough to protect Kirsten. Craig needed to be the one to kill Fell, to release the enemy and force it to find another host. Craig would have been just strong enough to keep it out. I made sure of that as well. And Monica was enough of a believer to understand what was coming, and keep it out.”
He pointed a finger at Doggett’s chest. “Your conflict was like a beacon for it. Enough of a believer to accept its existence and its strength, conflicted enough to be victimized. But it couldn’t understand the depth of your denial. In the end, it was so weak after driving the ritual forward, being forced from Fell, and then fighting and losing to you...well, it was very easy for me to finish it then.”
Doggett was still for a moment, and then cursed under his breath. “And that was your plan? To use the woman you say you love, to risk the mother of your child...and that child...all so you could have things your way?” He looked in McShane’s eyes. “You forced me to consider the kind of pain and suffering that someone I care for would experience if I failed. Knowing that, you still planned to let that happen to Kirsten?”
McShane sighed, looking back towards the rain. “It is my duty to protect the gate and those within its influence. That is what I was made for, John.” He looked back to Doggett. “As part of your duty as a federal agent, would you hesitate to make those same sacrifices? Didn’t you make that same choice when you working the streets of New York, working in the FBI?”
“Of course,” Doggett acknowledged. “The difference was, and is, that I never believed that my choice gave me the right to use people as pawns to fulfill that duty.”
“Then you are as blind as you are in denial,” McShane said with a calm smile. Then he shook his head. “The fact is, I told you the truth when I told you I was not planning on letting the ritual come to pass. I knew they would try to kill me at the station, as the sixth victim. I had seen the list at Suicide. But as I said before, Agent Doggett, the wise strategist always has a contingency plan.” He pointed his finger at Doggett again. “You survived. Kirsten is healing well. And Craig and I are still here to help this community heal.”
“A community that suffered for years because you decided not to act,” Doggett pressed.
“What are a few years, when they will have all of eternity to heal?” McShane rebuffed.
Doggett waved that off. “They don’t know or believe that, Thomas. Maybe you’re too far gone to realize that, or remember what normal life is like. But there are hundreds of people out there who are going to be facing the reality of what they have done for almost twenty years. Some of them have been doing these things, those horrible and terrible things, for their entire lives! How are they going to forgive themselves, Thomas? When they don’t know why they did what they did? It’s not as though you can just explain it to them.”
McShane nodded. “I considered that. With the enemy gone, with the gate secure, I can help make things better. They will never know. But I can help them come to terms, even help them forget.”
“Craig was right,” Doggett said coldly. “He said you were changing. That you were just like them.” He stood, moving towards the door. “If you truly believe that messing with the lives of these people even more, guiding them towards your version of happiness, is the right thing...how is that any different, Thomas?”
McShane shook his head. “You don’t understand. But there are those who do.”
“Like Craig?” Doggett said sarcastically.
“Yes,” McShane said with conviction. “He knows what needs to be done. He knows he will never be a sentinel. But he is strong enough, aware enough, to do the work that needs to be done. He will do the right thing.”
“Yeah,” Doggett said, his smirk turning into a wry smile. “I think he will.” And then he reached to his belt, pulling the open cell phone off its clip and showing its display to McShane, making sure the man knew that their conversation had been monitored the entire time from inside the apartment, that Kirsten and Craig had heard it all.
McShane paled, and for the first time, Doggett saw genuine shock and anger in the man’s eyes. “What have you done? How dare you! How dare you interfere in our-”
“In your lives?” Doggett asked calmly, returning the cell phone to his belt, cutting the connection as he walked towards the door. “Consider this a lesson in your own limited awareness, Thomas. And maybe a little taste of that personal cost you dismissed.”
McShane stood, his hands clenched into tight fists, and for a moment Doggett wondered if there would be violence. But then McShane forced himself to a semblance of calm, walking towards the door. Without a word, he walked past Doggett and pushed his way into the apartment, knowing that his family was waiting for him. Doggett followed him, closing the door behind them.
When they walked into the living room, they saw Kirsten sitting on the floor with Rhiannon, absently playing with her daughter, Craig standing over both of them with a slight smile on his lips. For a moment, Doggett wondered if Monica had chosen not to go along with his plan, after having argued with him against it. But then he saw the stain of tears on Kirsten’s cheeks, and realized that Craig was looking at his sister and niece as though for the last time.
McShane apparently noticed it as well, and he looked away from his daughter to look into Craig’s accusing eyes. “So you’re leaving?”
“I am,” Craig said with conviction. He looked back down at Rhiannon. “I thought of staying. I considered staying for Kirsten, and for Rhiannon. To make sure that little girl had the chance to grow up normally. But that would still be reacting to you, doing things your way. And I need to go find a life for myself, away from what happened here.”
McShane did not even try to argue. Instead, he looked towards Kirsten “And you? What are you planning to do?”
“I’ve been thinking about that ever since you admitted what you had done,” Kirsten said, not taking her eyes off Rhiannon. “I thought about what you said, about how you could help the people here find a normal life. I thought about how much you’ve helped me, and I have to admit, it is something you could do. But if you did, then I’d have to wonder why you helped me, and why you stayed with me all this time.”
“I love you,” McShane said, his voice full of passion. “I love you, and I love Rhiannon. You know that.”
“I know the man who lived in that apartment and slept in my bed,” Kirsten replied. Finally she turned to look at him, and there was an unexpected steel behind her eyes. “I don’t know the man who risked my life and our daughter’s future.”
McShane visibly sagged. “Then you’re leaving?”
Kirsten shook her head. “No. At least, not today. I want to see if the man I knew still remains. But don’t think I won’t leave in a second if I have any reason to think our lives are in danger.”
McShane nodded, a relieved smile on his lips. Then he turned a cold stare towards Doggett. “Are you quite finished?”
“I think we’re done here,” Doggett said with a satisfied smile.
“Then kindly leave my town,” McShane said with an identical, but much less sincere, smile. “Unless you intend to continue the investigation?”
“No, we’re leaving, as you know,” Monica interjected.
“And you’re not the only one who knows better than to push the issue,” Doggett reminded him. “Despite what you may think, I have learned a few lessons here and there. There will be no further investigation.”
“Then please leave,” McShane repeated, his smile gone from his face. “Now.”
Doggett and Monica stepped towards the back door, but Craig called to them. “Please, wait one moment. I wanted to give you something, Agent Doggett.”
Doggett turned, and Craig handed him a piece of folded paper. “What is it?” Doggett said, opening it and scanning the words.
“I thought about what you said, back at the hotel,” the younger man, a trace of his old smile returning. “I’m going to leave and go out there, somewhere, and find out what life brings me. Maybe I’ll find something worth fighting for. Maybe I won’t. Maybe the search will be enough.” He pointed to the paper. “I intend to live by those words. I thought you should see them. Maybe they’ll mean something to you.”
Doggett glanced at the words again, smiled to Craig, and then slipped the paper into his jacket. “Thanks. Good luck.”
“Maybe we’ll meet again sometime,” Craig said. “Take care.”
Doggett nodded his thanks again, and then walked out of the apartment with Monica in silence.
***
Besides the liberties taken with the interpretations of current quantum mechanics, the theory you mention relies on a concept known as superstring cosmology. In this conception of the universe, there are at least ten dimensions in the universe, and all but the familiar four of space and time are folded into each other in a way that makes them undetectable to our current science.
While this theory has been able to explain the disparities between Einstein’s general relativity and quantum mechanics, by its very nature it cannot be proven by conventional scientific tests, and by the same token, cannot make predictions based on a clear extension of current scientific knowledge. As with the theory of quantum “entanglement”, superstring cosmology cannot be proven or disproven. It lies within the realm of scientific conjecture.
Taking this into account, if neither quantum “entanglement” and superstring cosmology cannot be deemed conclusive, any theory based on taking those concepts as solid fact must also be considered questionable and unproven.
I hope that this is the answer you were looking for, but if not, then I hope that this does not complicate your case more than necessary.
Good luck, Agent Doggett.
D.S.
***
For much of the ride to the Newark airport, there was only the beat of the rain against the windshield. Finally, as Doggett veered onto the offramp from the Turnpike, Monica looked up from the copy of his report that she had been reviewing.
“I can’t believe you’re going to turn this in,” she muttered, tossing it onto the back seat with disgust. “How can you pretend that none of it happened?”
“None of what?” Doggett replied, followed by a long sigh. “When all is said and done, think about what we can actually prove happened. What we actually saw, what we actually can say we know we experienced. McShane said it himself. He was a master manipulator.”
“That doesn’t mean that you can say that none of it happened,” Monica objected.
Doggett checked one of the giant signs over the access road, and then took a sharp turn towards the terminal they needed. “Some of it I mentioned,” he pointed out. “But only the things we know we actually saw, the things we have some kind of proof for. Otherwise, we weren’t left with much.”
“What about those shadows that we saw moving like they were going to attack us? Or the way the trees seemed to thicken in certain places?”
“Some kind of suggestion, planted by McShane,” Doggett said evenly. “We didn’t see those things until after he mentioned them, and after he got Craig to say it too. As far as the trees go, well, it’s easy to notice odd things like that in the woods.”
“It was a park, not woods,” Monica said with a frustrated tone. “I just can’t believe you’re going to claim that this was some kind of conflict between two competing cults, with one trying to disrupt the rituals of another. It’s dishonest.”
“It’s a rational explanation based on the facts,” Doggett countered. “All of the murdered teens were killed under circumstances that suggest some form of mental manipulation, maybe some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion. Fell had his ritual symbols, McShane had his. We were manipulated to help McShane stop Fell’s ritual, in the same way that Fell manipulated members of the local law enforcement and prominent members of the community.”
“It’s glossing over the truth and you know it,” Monica replied. The car came to a stop in front of one of the large sliding doors at the terminal. When Doggett didn’t respond, Monica shook her head and opened the door, stepping into the rain. Doggett popped the trunk where her bag was, and got out of the car to help her. Moving his own bag and pulling out hers, he handed it to her, looking her in the eye.
“I know what you’re saying, Monica,” he said softly, some of the pain of the days before returning to his eyes. “But the fact is, when all is said and done, only so much can go into the official report.”
“Because you’re afraid to face it?” Monica challenged.
“Because that’s the way the X-Files work,” Doggett countered. He flashed her a smile. “Like I said, I have learned some things along the way.”
Monica looked as though she wanted to press her argument, but then she relented. “I hear you. Just don’t think this is the end of it.”
“It wouldn’t be you if it were,” Doggett said, his grin widening.
Monica laughed, despite herself, pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Look, call me if there’s any more trouble, OK? You need me, you call.”
“I will,” Doggett promised. “Take care.”
Monica turned and walked through the sliding doors, looking back to wave once before disappearing into the crowd. For a moment he wondered if he should check to see if her flight was delayed or canceled due to the weather, considering whether he should stay and keep her company if it had been, but then he remembered his promise to Skinner. There were several meetings with his name at the top of the guest list, and a long drive and a longer night before then.
Having had enough of the rain, Doggett got back into the car and drove off into the approaching night.
***
WASHINGTON, DC APRIL 2, 2001
9:53 AM
“So this was some kind of pissing contest between two hypnotists?” Deputy Director Kersh looked over the edge of the file folder, waiting for Doggett to reply.
“Basically, that’s correct,” Doggett said with an apologetic shrug. “It’s not uncommon, according to Agent Reyes, for a cult leader to possess abilities that appear to be some form of mind control or brainwashing. We saw something similar in the Tipit case last year. Under the right conditions, cult members would be willing to do some of the most disturbing things, even kill themselves or allow themselves to be killed.”
Kersh nodded absently. “Agent Reyes...she was the expert in ritualistic crime?”
“Yes, sir,” Doggett confirmed. “I’ve consulted her in the past.”
“Yes, I recall,” Kersh muttered. “And though I’m not entirely pleased about the fact that you called her in on this, given the sensitivity of the assignment, I can see why you made that call.” He tossed the file onto his desk with a smile, one Doggett had seen before with the same insincerity. “You know Mulder would have never had the presence of mind to actually call in an expert on the subject.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Doggett replied evenly. He glanced at the file. “Was there anything else, sir?”
Kersh regarded Doggett, and then shook his head. “No, nothing else, Agent Doggett. Good work. This is the kind of work I expect to come out of the department, now that less...discriminating minds are no longer influencing investigations.”
Doggett smiled, and rose to his feet. “If that’s all...”
“Yes, I’m sure you want to get some rest. Take the day off, John.”
Doggett let his smile linger for a moment, and then walked out of the door without another word. Skinner was waiting in the hall outside, and walked him towards the elevator.
“Things went well, I assume?” Skinner said in a concerned, low murmur.
“Well enough,” Doggett agreed. He looked over his shoulder, making sure Kersh was not somehow standing behind them. “Like I said when we talked it over this morning, there were some other things I might have mentioned, but as I told Agent Reyes, it was a better move to just stick to the facts, such as they were.”
They stepped into the elevator, and once it was obvious they were alone, Skinner turned towards Doggett with a frown. “You never said what you thought about what happened. You admitted that there were other things you could have said in that report. Should I take that as meaning that there were some things you couldn’t explain, but you couldn’t deny?”
Doggett shook his head. “To be honest, Walter, I’m still thinking a lot of it over. There’s a part of me that wants to take what’s in that report and believe it without question. But I think I’d always have my doubts.”
“So, what then?” Skinner asked, his voice low as the elevator doors opened. He stepped out, looking back at Doggett. “Where do you go from here?”
“Take it one day at a time, I suppose,” Doggett answered with a shrug. “Just like I have every day since.”
Skinner nodded, not having to ask what Doggett was referring to. “See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Doggett replied, letting his exhaustion finally show in the roughness of his voice. “See you tomorrow.”
The elevator doors closed, continuing its journey down to the parking garage. Alone with his thoughts, Doggett reached into his pocket and pulled out the paper Craig had given to him, reading the broken lines of the poem again:
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
Little remains; but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
Death closes all; but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends.
'T is not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are,--
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
“One day at a time,” he whispered to himself, sliding the paper into his pocket once more. The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out into the light, suddenly eager to find what the hour would bring.
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