(Headers and Disclaimers in Chapter One)
Chapter 18 of 20

Tired but euphoric, Scully stood outside her cell and waited for the
floor sergeant to signal for the door to open.  She could see Zelda's
feet on the top bunk.

"Step in, Scully," said Sgt. Anderson.  "We kept your old room."

She walked inside and said, "Feel free to close the door at any
time, sergeant."

Zelda laughed loud enough for the guard to hear.

"I'm not sure how you escaped isolation, but I intend to watch you
closely.  Every infraction, every miscue and - snap - you're outta
here.  Your privileges are all suspended; you're on laundry detail
permanently.  Dr. Otis says you're not to show up at the clinic
unless you're sick.  She says to give 'Dr. Scully' this." He held out
a wad of yellow gummy stic and when she didn't move to take it he
tossed it onto the cell floor.  "You are no longer the recognized pod
leader.  Ground zero, Scully.  Welcome back."

The door slammed and he stomped away.

Scully bent down, picked up the gummy stic and rolled it between her
fingers thoughtfully.  Zelda popped up from the bunk and her eyes
roved over her cell mate.  "Hmm.  I see a happy woman here.  Why is
that?"

"Nice vacation."

Zelda jumped down.  "Tell me all about it - or are you the kind
who doesn't kiss and tell?"

"Hmmm."

"Okay, never mind.  Let me imagine." Zelda leaned over and picked a
magazine. "New 'National Geographic' came while you were gone.  Will 
you read it to me?"

"Ah, not now," Scully said.

"Tonight, then," Zelda said.  "Or after rec?"

"Zelda.  I can't read it now."

Zelda's eyes flew open in understanding.

"I think I've discovered a way to end this," Scully said.

"So you didn't spend all your time - with Mulder," said Zelda.

Scully blushed.  "We've put Scott under surveillance - no one is
going to touch him.  And we found your mother's notebook."

"How is that going to help?" she cried.  "You didn't show him--teach
him!"

"No.  Your mother's book is safe."

Zelda narrowed her eyes.  "Dana, did you - fly?"

"Mulder."

Zelda collapsed against the bunk and sank to the ground. "The risk! 
You aren't strong - not that strong anyway! The next time you try that 
you will be lost!"

Scully shook her head.  "I don't believe that.  I don't
believe the path I'm on leads to nothingness -- in either the
physical or metaphysical sense.  I reject that notion completely."

"It's not for you to believe or reject! It's like rain or
sun.  The next time it will happen whatever your beliefs.  I AM --"

"Don't speak to me like God."

Zelda's breath puffed out of her in disdainful wheeze.  "I'm only the 
intercessor.  Surely a good Catholic shouldn't have problem with a
go-between!"

"And don't patronize me."

Zelda covered her head and groaned as if she'd been struck.  Scully
sat down beside her on the cold floor.  "I know you're afraid for me,
for yourself.  Don't be.  It may not come to that again.  We have to
end it." After a moment she said," How are the others?"

Hands came away from Zelda's face and she tried a half-hearted
chuckle.  "Laquintia's acting in loco parentis.  She doesn't say, 
but she misses you terribly.  I missed you."

They sat together for a moment, both looking for a chink
in the wall across the way.  "Zelda, while I was gone, did you
try to fly...to Henry Donaldson?"

"How did you know?"

"And?"

"I couldn't get in.  He resisted.  I was so exhausted the
next day I almost reported to the infirmary."

"That unusual?" Scully said.

"Oh yeah."

"Any thoughts on why that happened?"

Her hesitation gave her away.  Scully said, "I'm afraid of
that too."

"I hope we're wrong, Dana.  If Allah is truly merciful, we
are wrong."

After a moment Scully said, "When do we go?" 

"Tomorrow.  The pictures arrived yesterday.  Pictures of my
three cousins in California."

"Cousins? Do you have cousins in-"

"No.  Study your target.  Pick out the dumbest looking
one-maybe the middle-aged guy.  He looks agreeable enough.  We
have to go tomorrow.  Ten p.m.  Be prompt.  It's the last night,"
Zelda said.  "Bernice doesn't think you'll go through with it.
She's still hoping to take Angela."

"She's wrong," Scully said.  "I'm quite anxious, in fact."

The lights flickered and Scully helped Zelda off the
floor.  The cell doors slid open and women poured into the
corridor on their way to the rec area.  "They'll be glad to see
you."

"I'll be a minute," Scully said.  She went to the sink and
washed her face.  As she dried it off she glanced up on the shelf
for the postcards, then at the photos nearby.  Three serious
looking men.  A middle-aged fellow, a young, scholarly type, and
a burly, older man with a gray mustache.  Which looked dumber, she
couldn't tell.  She studied the middle-aged man.  He might have a
family to protect and his mind would be wandering.  She memorized
his face, his nose, his chin, his eyes - then stacked the photos
up again on the shelf.

Scully was smiling to herself and some of it had leaked
onto her face as she approached the open door of the rec area.
She walked around two paint buckets and peered inside the area.
Several of her pod mates glanced up and grinned.  Laquintia sat in
her usual place on the floor by the green chair only pretending
to read - Scully didn't see her lips moving.

The chair was empty.

Scully swung around the door only to find her way barred
by Sgt. Anderson.  "You're just in time, Scully," he said.  "This
mural is comin' down."

Moans and protests behind him brought a female guard
trotting up from the hallway to glare into the room.
Sgt. Anderson reached around the door and picked up a
bucket of white paint with a fat brush lying on top.  "You do
it."

Scully folded her arms.  "There's no real reason for the
mural to come down other than punishing these inmates for their
creativity.  And since all my privileges are suspended anyway,
there's no incentive for me to cooperate in this exercise in
degradation."

"The director says it violates regulation.  You do it
because you are assigned to do it," Anderson said and held out
the bucket.

Scully met his eye and refused to take it from him.

"Seven days in isolation for starters, Scully.  Lights out.
You'll be as screamin' crazy as you were before," Anderson said.
"Maybe this time Dr. Otis will shoot you fulla thorazine 
and ship you off to the loony bin for good."

Scully's glance bounced off the guard and found Zelda.  She had 
turned white.  She shook her head slightly.  Scully looked beyond her 
to Laquintia, Mary, the whining forger, the artist, and the others.  
And Bernice.  Smiling broadly in triumph.

She took the bucket.

"That's the spirit.  Show all these ladies how to paint a wall."	

She almost dumped the bucket of white paint over his head
to cover his smug expression.  In fact, Scully had taken hold of
the bottom to do just that when she caught Bernice's grin.
Nothing could have cooled her down faster.

She adjusted the bucket and brush in her hand and walked
slowly to the middle of the mural.  The women gave her a wide
berth.  Scully stood facing the wall a moment, looking at the
finely crafted leaves and twigs, then sat the bucket down,
took the brush, wiped off the drips.  The room became very 
quiet.  Even the music stopped.

With great care, Scully began painting in all the white places.
She used very tiny strokes.

"Not like that!"

"I'm obeying your orders, Sgt.  Anderson.  I am painting the
wall."

"Paint over the green, the brown, the yellows!" He was
yelling so loudly the veins on his neck strained against his
shirt collar.

The paintbrush in Scully's hand danced up and down in the
air.  She took a small step toward the wall and lifted the brush.
The brush remained poised in the air for a few seconds then
splashed into the paint bucket on the floor.  She swallowed hard and 
turned to face him, calm but defiant.

"Yes!" said Laquintia.  The women started to laugh and cheer. 

Anderson strode across the room, picked up the bucket and walked 
close to Scully. When she made no move to take it, he thrust the paint 
bucket into her stomach and in a reflex action she put her hand out 
to stop it. Paint sloshed out over both of them. Sgt. Anderson 
knocked the bucket aside, splashing streaks of white across the mural.

"Hit the wall," he yelled to Scully.

She turned in a slow, graceful move, hands high, and leaned on them against
the paint-splattered mural.

Nearly growling in fury Anderson kicked her legs apart, took her wrists 
one by one and she relaxed her arms to allow it. That was the only thing 
that spared her as Anderson twisted her arms back cruelly to handcuff her.  
One or two of the women in the rec room cried out in sympathy.  Anderson 
clapped his hands on Scully's shoulders and they turned together into the 
face of a crowd of silent, sullen prisoners who were now flanked by several 
uncertain guards.

"No way." One of the prisoners said into the deadly calm.

"The law is on his side in this," Scully said.  

"No way," said another prisoner.

"Don't," Scully said to the women. Her hair fell across her face and she tossed 
it aside.  The gesture made her appear regal instead of caught and caged.

"No!" Laquintia's face and fists twisted in ugly fury.  "Hell no!"  She had
taken two steps forward, but stopped when Scully narrowed her eyes in
warning.

"If he makes you angry, he controls you," Scully said to Laquintia in such a 
conversational manner the two of them might have been standing alone in a parlor.  

For a long minute prisoners and keepers faced each other, neither side willing 
to move.  More guards arrived outside the rec area; someone cocked a shotgun.

Scully knew that sound. Her heart lurched. "Don't behave as badly as they do," 
she said raising her voice for the first time. "When you think about this later 
- don't remember that you let them bring you down so easily."

Zelda said, "Dana..."

"Tomorrow," she said to Zelda as Anderson jerked her arm and forced 
her toward the door.  

"Scully!" Laquintia called.  "Sculleee!"   But it was Mulder's voice.

Scully matched her pace to Anderson's, walking with a lift to her chin and 
a proud set to her jaw.  

The sergeant and his prisoner walked by the female guard who was first on 
the scene.  She stood watching with her mouth opened slightly in astonishment. 
The officer normally patrolled the walkway in front of the panoramic window and 
instead of returning to it she hesitated, then trailed behind Anderson and Scully.  
Her eyes had narrowed and her mouth was a thin, taut line.
*********************
The floor guard opened the slit in the isolation cell door.  Scully squinted into the 
bright shaft of light.  "She's up," the guard said to her visitor.  "Up and alert."

The door bolt clacked open.  The light flashed on full and Clare Otis came in.  Scully 
stood, hands at her sides.  The doctor, she saw at once, was angry.

"I owe you an apology," Scully said. "There was a miscommunication.."

"Save it," Clare Otis said briskly.  "You used me.  I have believed long enough."

"If I caused that, then I'm truly damned."

"I can't trust my instincts anymore," she said.  "You accessed the 
computer, didn't you?"

Scully said nothing, then: "Is everyone all right upstairs?"

"Should they be?" Clare said.  "Guard!" 

The door opened and the female officer who had accompanied Sgt. 
Anderson and Scully from the rec room appeared outside. Behind her 
stood a male officer. "I'm going to administer an injection of thorazine 
to calm you down-"

Scully snorted.  "Render me unconscious, you mean."

"You attacked an officer."

"No." She forced herself to stay calm.

"You caused a near riot."

"Sgt. Anderson--" Scully said.  "That isn't accurate.  You
should ask someone who was there to corroborate my version of
events."

Tears pooled in Clare Otis' eyes.  Her chin quivered.  She pressed her 
lips together.

"No violence?" Scully asked the officer she recognized.

"Everyone is cool," the female guard muttered. Then she looked at
everything in the cell but Scully.

"The entire rec room is on strike," said Clare.  "Well, all
but  Zelda, Bernice and her cell mate Angela.  Four pods.  They 
refused orders to leave the area.  They're still sitting 
there.  The director said to let them sit until they starve."
Clare fumbled in her pocket for the needle and vial of thorazine.

Scully sucked in a breath and stared at the medication.  "If you do 
that I won't be able to think for several days. Given my 
reaction to mild sedation, it's very likely I will never think clearly 
again.  Regardless, in a few days it will be too late," she said. 
"Mulder and I will have missed our only opportunity to end what's going
on in here."

With a determined jerk, Dr. Otis took the cap off the needle with her teeth,
spit it onto the floor and plunged the needle into the bottle.  "Hold her -"

"No." Scully unbuttoned the top of her jeans.  "I assume you'll want to
inject into a hip muscle."

The female officer gulped, and touched Dr. Otis' sleeve. "Doc, can I,
uh, I need a word. Uh--could we just-uh-step out here?" As the three 
prison officials backed out of the cell, the female officer 
whispered to Dr. Otis: "I saw it go down and..."

For several minutes Scully stood shaking inside and staring at the 
opposite wall but seeing nothing.  No air stirred; there was little to 
breathe and outside the auto pneumatic response very little reason to.  
Donaldson's plan would succeed beyond his wildest dreams: she would 
never leave prison a whole person, much less a credible one.  

She'd behaved foolishly; now both she and Mulder would suffer 
for it.  Thank God she had an opportunity to give him something -
leave him something.  Perhaps that was all her brief escape was 
meant to accomplish.

The lock on the cell door clanged; Scully snapped back to
reality, pasted an impassive look on her face and, at the last
minute, swiped tears off her cheeks before anyone could
see them.  She waited for the guards to lay hands on her, to
strip away her dignity with her clothes, and for Dr. Otis to
plunge the needle into her hip that would induce a
permanent vegetative state.
*****************
A single dark sedan pulled around the back into the parking lot
of Lipscomb.  As both occupants climbed out they took note of and
appreciated that there would be no moon tonight.  Dark clouds
hung overhead and rain was predicted.

Mulder and Skinner ran around to the side door, their coattails
flapping behind them. Mulder nodded in the direction of the mailbox
just outside the building.  Just as Scully described it. It was 
accessible to the main building through a covered walkway and covered 
with ivy.  The landscaping around the company was lavish and offered the 
agents good camouflage.

"That's the drop-off." Mulder's phone chirped. He heard piano music
in the background then, "Mulder, you sonvabitch.  You couldda told me 
this was a hazardous assignment. Our friend is having a glass of wine 
in some damn fern bar."

"Well, partner, I never promised you it would be as much
fun as last week.  He just sitting there?"

"Seems he's got all night.  I liked him better when he was
a cross-dressing weirdo.  This-this ain't normal," said the agent
from Dallas.  "Uh-spoke too soon.  He's up, paying for his drink
and on the move.  Denver will take over for a while so's I can
soak up all this Washington atmosphere."

"Come on my way.  We could use the back-up." Mulder said
and slammed the phone closed.  "He's coming.  Another 10
minutes."

As officers and agents, Mulder and Skinner were accustomed
to stake outs, to the long waits and sporadic action.  Yet
tonight, the wait seemed interminable. 

*****************
It was to be a dual celebration at Lipscomb Auction House.
A birthday and the end of 18 consecutive 12-hour days for the
security crews.  It would not be as lavish as the black tie
affair of the previous night and the participants would use the
employee's entrance instead of the colonnade into the grand
staircase.

But it would still be a celebration.

Jonathan P. Andrews, prospective attorney-at-law, reached
up and took a cup of coffee from the fresh pot made by his co-
worker, Thomas Barry.  He had an hour's worth of work to do to
finish his case study for contract law class after his security
shift ended.  He needed the caffeine rush.  Tom had been a
security guard for Lipscomb Auction House 15 years before Jon
came onboard.  But even he wasn't as experienced as the duty
sergeant, George Arthur.

Like Tom, George had been a police officer nearly three
decades before he joined Lipscomb Security.   Tom had retired.
George had been shot in the line of duty by some young would-be
burglars and discharged from the service with partial
disability.  Protecting the assets of Lipscomb Auction House was
his third job in all that time since his enforced retirement and
he didn't want another.  He liked young Jon, worked hard at
settling the boy down some, but George had a real affinity for
Tom.  They ate dinner together, exchanged hunting and fishing
stories - their wives even shopped together.

Tonight was Tom's birthday.  Jon had brought in some nuts
and coffee.  George's wife baked a cake.  They were going to
surprise Tom with it at 9 p.m.  when they all met briefly in the
video surveillance room before running down their assignments
for the exhibition transfer.

George couldn't wait to get rid of this exhibit and said
so for the tenth time that night.  For more 18 days he and his
team - and every other officer in the security force -- had
pulled double duty, fretted, paced the facility and jumped at
every shadow.  They had added officers, doubled shifts.

After tonight they would all heave a sigh of relief.  The
armored car came later tonight and George vowed he'd be the
first to wave good-bye to those $23 million in uncut diamonds.
He even thought about calling the local police who had also
tripled their rounds to Lipscomb and sending down some cake and
coffee.
****************
Skinner drew a deep breath and checked his weapon.  He and
Mulder stepped into a portico three or four feet from the brick box
and waited in the dark.  From their vantage point they could see
the mailbox and the side entrance to the Lipscomb building.

"Even if this works, Mulder, it's just my word and hers
against Donaldson," Skinner said.  "Both tainted."

"Once we get Donaldson in a compromising position here, we
can squeeze him for the tape.  It might be enough to taint him too."

"You seem sure he still has it," Skinner said.

"Right now I don't have a choice but to believe he has
it," Mulder said.  "Chuck isn't having any luck."

The two men fell silent.  Car headlights lit up the drop
off site outside for a minute or two then the driver turned them
out.  The car door opened and someone got out, closed the door so
it made no sound, then stood waiting.  In the dark Mulder
couldn't tell who it was.  The accomplice stood in the shadows.
Mulder reached in his pocket and turned off his phone.

At last the driver moved toward the mailbox, checking
around for any danger, opened it and found nothing.  Closing it
hastily, the accomplice made his way to a nearby tree and leaned
against it.  Mulder strained to see his face.  It looked like
Donaldson - Mulder smiled grimly.
***************************
In the video surveillance room on the second floor of the
Lipscomb building, George sliced the birthday cake with one
sudden, vicious and uneven stroke.

He looked up quickly and said, "Everybody okay?"

"Sure, George?" said Tom.  "You look kindda funny."

Jon overturned his coffee cup.  The coffee, still steaming,
ran over his book.  "Yeah, uh, I'm okay."

Tom picked up some napkins and began sopping up spilled coffee.  
"Aren't you gonna help, Jon?"

"Sure, I'll help." Jon got to his feet and moved behind Tom.  
He eased the nightstick out of his belt and started to lift it.  
George caught his eye and shook his head.

Tom stopped working on the spill, shook his head, then sat down heavily.

"Let's get those diamonds now," said George.

"Okay by me," said Bernice in Jon's body.  Jon put his nightstick back in the
belt down and gave Tom a playful punch.  Tom watched the coffee
drip off the desk but made no move to stop it or clean it up.  He
continued to shake his head.

"Damn, Scully.  Keep hold of him," said Bernice, who had
decided to fly into Jon.

"I'll turn off the alarm," Zelda said.  She wiped George's
hand.  He had smeared icing all over it when Zelda came into him.
Now he went to the master control panel.  "Bernice?  Which button?"

"It's right there to the left.  It's the red one on top," said Bernice.

"Can you both be quiet?" said Scully.  Tom had cake still
on his lips and when his tongue ran over it Scully tasted sweet
buttery icing.  Tom started to pull his weapon.

"Dana, concentrate," Zelda said.  "You have to direct him. Can't be 
the other way around."

"Why we be quiet?  Nobody to hear and if they did we's just
three guards going about our jobs," said Bernice.  She looked
over the young body she was in then added, "I'm impressed there,
Dana.  I didn't expect you to show."

Tom stared at Jon and Scully said, "I told you I'd be here." Tom 
walked in fits and jerks across the office.

Jon nodded but it was Bernice who said, "You must be a damn magician.  
In trouble and out of trouble like a jack-in-the-box."

Zelda said, "She's got Dr. Otis in her corner." Zelda
fingered George's mustache and giggled.  "I like this."

"Ever been kissed by a guy with a mustache? It's a whole
new experience." Bernice in Jon's body led the way down the 
pristine corridors to the main exhibition hall.  "So, Dana, you 
in so tight with the doc, maybe could you can talk her into giving 
you some happy pills.  Then we can party when we get back.  
You know, celebrate."

George gave Tom a push.  "This is a lot to ask for the
first time, Dana, but you gotta work him."