TITLE:  Ersatz Promises (3/8)
AUTHORS:  Susanne Barringer and Suzanne Schramm
EMAIL:  sbarringer@usa.net; sister_suze@yahoo.com
Info and disclaimers in part 1.

Missing chapters available at 
http://www.geocities.com/s_barringer/ersatz.html


~~~~~~~~~~~~


CHAPTER 3


I've been lying on my couch for hours in a dreamless stupor.  I'm 
so exhausted I can't even fall asleep.  My mind has chased itself 
in ever shrinking circles until all I can do is wonder if 
thinking about not thinking is really thinking.  The phone rings, 
and I spring into action like one of Pavlov's dogs.

"Yeah?"  My voice sounds scratchy and far away, even to my own 
ears.

"Get down here."  Langly disconnects, leaving me with the dial 
tone.

I don't move, instead staring numbly at the phone until a 
recording comes on asking me to please hang up and try my call 
again.  If only it were that easy.

I hang up the phone, and my apartment returns to silence.  I 
close my eyes, wishing I had been able to sleep.  I wonder if 
Scully's asleep.  I hope that she is.

Heaving a sigh, I stand up and grab my jacket, along with the 
overnight bag I packed earlier.  For the briefest moment, my 
fingers linger on the door knob as I leave, knowing that the next 
person to come through this door will be Scully.  I've ditched 
her many times, for many reasons, but I never imagined leaving 
her for this one.

This time, I know she'll understand perfectly where I've gone and 
why.  There's no need to leave a note because there's no 
explanation I can offer her.

Yet.

***

People who think I'm an insomniac should hang out with the Lone 
Gunmen.  On any given night, at least one of them is awake, 
vigilantly watching out for the interests of an American public 
who could not care less what their Commander-in-Chief is up to, 
so long as he doesn't raise their taxes.  Apathy plays a large 
role in the Consortium's bid for power.  At least that's what 
Frohike says.

Tonight they're all awake, and an expectant hush falls over them 
after Byers ushers me in.

"We checked the send path on those files.  You were right, he 
didn't just forward them to the Lombard Clinic.  They also went 
to HealthQuest, a research firm in Missouri.  HealthQuest is a 
subsidiary of Transgen Pharmaceuticals."

I suck in a breath at that name, and Byers gives me an apologetic 
shake of his head.  "Dr. Calderon at Transgen, the man who 
treated Emily Sim, disappeared from the face of the earth in 
December 1997.  He was replaced by this man, Dr. Kevin Wilder."

A picture comes up on the computer's monitor.  I look at his face 
and shake my head.  He doesn't look familiar.  In fact, he 
doesn't even look sinister.

"You may not recognize him," Langly says.  "But Scully would.  
Mulder, that's Dr. Scanlon."

My blood runs cold as I stare at the face of the man who hastened 
the deaths of Penny Northern and the other Allentown abductees 
under the guise of helping them.  Rage flares up in me, and I 
grip the edge of the table hard.  "Is he still working there?"

"He is."  The glint off Frohike's glasses hides his eyes, but I 
hear my same anger in his voice.  "He isn't scheduled for any 
vacation either."

"Keep digging," I tell them as I leave.  "Get those other names 
to Scully and tell her I'll be in touch."


*****


The phone rings at 6:15 a.m., not that it matters since sleep has 
been a rare commodity recently.  There are too many things to 
think about, too many things I have to force myself not to think 
about.  Most of all, there are too many nightmares I don't want 
to face.

"Hello?" I try to sound alert, even though I know the raggedness 
of my voice reveals my exhaustion.

"Agent Scully?  I hope I didn't wake you but I figured you'd be 
getting an early start for Doylestown."

"No, I was awake.  What did you find?"  I know Frohike wouldn't 
call me so early if there wasn't something important.  I've quit 
hoping for good news, yet I don't seem to have the energy to 
brace myself for the bad.

"We've gone through most of the database we pulled from Lombard.  
Langly's working on the rest right now, but I figured I'd update 
you on what we found."

There's silence, so I suspect he's waiting to make sure I'm 
ready.  "What?" I ask.

"Well, we found eight other people in the Lombard records that 
have branched DNA similar to yours, all of them women.  We've 
started digging to see what we can find on them, but I wanted to 
let you know that at least three of them live in Doylestown, and 
their records were all forwarded from the same clinic as yours."

I pull a pen and notebook from the nightstand, a stash I started 
keeping shortly after Mulder and I became partners and I figured 
out that 2 a.m. calls were the norm, not the exception.

Frohike gives me the names, addresses, and phone numbers of the 
three women from Doylestown.  Now we'll have another direction to 
try while we're there.  I have a feeling Dr. Wright isn't likely 
to be waiting around to talk to us.

"There's something else you should know," Frohike adds when he's 
done with the list.  He clears his throat before continuing.  
"Two of the other women?  They live in, um," he hesitates and 
clears his throat again.  I know the answer a split second before 
he says it.  "Allentown."

The constantly hovering nausea makes a leap for my throat.  The 
name conjures up nightmares and panic, even after all this time.  
The pieces are falling into place, and every one of them shatters 
another little part of the promise I carry.

I swallow hard to regain my composure.  There isn't time for 
this.  "Find out everything you can about the women, anything.  
We'll be on the road."

"Wait, one more thing!"  I hear Frohike's voice as I'm about to 
hang up.

"What?"  Really, I'm not sure I can handle one more thing.

"It's about Mulder.  He, um, he left a few hours ago to follow 
another lead."

"Where did he go?"

"Um, I'm not sure exactly.  He found some information on a 
possible colleague of Dr. Wright."

Frohike sounds apologetic and I wonder if he thinks I'm going to 
be angry.  Normally, I probably would, but there are too many 
leads in too many different directions - Lombard, Doylestown, and 
now Allentown - and we're essentially on a deadline.

"He said to tell you to go on to Doylestown and he'll call you as 
soon as he can.  He didn't call because he wanted you to get some 
sleep."

I'm sure that last part was Frohike editorializing rather than 
something Mulder said.  He knew I would understand this time.

"Thanks, Frohike.  Call me the minute you find anything else."

"Will do.  Dana, is everything...?"  The question dies.  "We'll 
call you soon."  Then he hangs up before I can decide whether I 
would have answered honestly or not.

No, everything becomes less and less okay by the hour.

***

I lean against my car in the parking lot of the Bucks County 
Medical Center and look up at the thunderclouds racing in.  
Nothing.  Mulder and I are a week into this investigation and we 
haven't found a goddammed thing.  Jeffrey Wright wasn't here, 
hadn't been here in a couple of weeks, in fact.  The receptionist 
could only tell me he took a sudden leave of absence and they 
hadn't heard from him, but if I needed an appointment, one of his 
associates would be happy to see me.

I don't know what else I expected.  Did I really think they would 
leave a nice neat trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow?

I close my eyes and think back to when I was in the hospital, 
when this must have happened.  I try to remember something, but 
the whole thing is a blur.  I slept through most of it.  Mulder 
insisted I go to the emergency room when he saw how ill I was 
getting, and I knew he was right.  I was so sick I could barely 
function, not to mention totally terrified that the cancer was 
returning.  When I got the news that it wasn't the cancer after 
all, Mulder had looked at me with a broad grin of relief.  We 
thought everything was going to be okay.

Instead, we've ended up smack in the middle of the worst of all 
possible nightmares.  Did they make me sick in the first place, 
or did they simply take advantage of my hospital stay?  Has Dr. 
Wright been experimenting on his own patients without their 
knowledge, or is he just a pawn in another game?

I open my eyes and see a pregnant woman entering the clinic, her 
husband with her.  Both of them are smiling and laughing.  And 
then it dawns on me.  I wouldn't have known.

If I had a husband or a boyfriend, I wouldn't have known.  The 
news that I was pregnant would have been a shock, sure, and 
despite initial confusion about how my fertility had been 
suddenly restored, I wouldn't have thought to look into it very 
deeply.  My lover and I (and I naturally amend my hypothetical 
scenario to substitute Mulder into the equation) would have 
simply considered it a blessing, and the child would have been 
born with God only knows what kind of dangers
hanging over its head.

If I wasn't celibate, I wouldn't be standing here trying to 
figure out what the hell my baby is.  I bet that's what they 
intended.  They assumed I would never know, like that woman and 
her husband, like all the women to whom they may have done this.  
I'm not the only one.  I'm just the only one who knows.  That's 
why my chart and Wright and all the other leads have suddenly 
disappeared.  Somebody screwed up.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the list of names Frohike 
gave me.  I dial the first number on the list and punch the send 
key.

"Hello?"

"Hi.  May I speak with Elizabeth Oliver, please?"

There is an uncomfortable silence from the man at the other end.  
"Who's calling?"

I think for a moment about what to say and decide to be 
straightforward, sort of.  "My name is Dana Scully.  I'm calling 
to find out if she's a patient of Dr. Jeffrey Wright and wondered 
if I might ask her a few questions."

Another long silence, then a sigh.  "My wife is dead," says the 
voice bluntly.  "She died two months ago."

I suddenly feel unsteady on my feet.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't know.  
I'm sorry."  I hang up, too surprised to ask the questions I 
should.

Dazed, I dial the name of the next name on the list.  A woman 
answers. 

"Mrs. Kiernan?"

"Yes?"

I'm relieved that I finally have someone to talk to.  "My name is 
Dana Scully.  I was calling to find out if you've ever been a 
patient of Dr. Jeffrey Wright?"

There is a long silence like the last one, and my stomach sinks.

"Oh, I'm afraid you have the wrong Mrs. Kiernan.  You must mean 
my daughter-in-law, Leslie Kiernan?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sorry.  I thought this was her number."

"It is.  Was."  The woman's voice breaks.  "I'm afraid she passed 
away a couple of weeks ago."

"Did she have any children?" I blurt out.  My head is pounding 
too loudly to think straight.

Mrs. Kiernan pauses before giving a strained "No."  Then, "Who 
did you say you were again?"

I manage to apologize before I hang up on the elder Mrs. Kiernan.  
In desperation, I dial the third number, the last one who lives 
in Doylestown.

There is no answer, and for some reason that makes me feel 
better.  Maybe there is hope.  Maybe there is someone left who 
can start answering at least a few of the million questions I 
have.

I realize a couple of people in the parking lot are looking at 
me.  I must appear insane, pacing back and forth while making one 
phone call after another.  I unlock the car and climb in, then 
dial the Gunmen.

"Frohike, what do you have on those women?"

"Scully?  Where are you?"

"I'm at Wright's clinic."

"Did you find him?"  His tone of voice suggests he wasn't 
expecting me to find him either.

"No.  He's on a leave of absence, apparently."

"How convenient."  I hear a bit of anger underlying Frohike's 
words.  As weird as the Gunmen can be sometimes, I know they care 
about me and are anxious to know what's going on.  I don't have 
the strength to tell them.  Somehow it seems easier to deal with 
all this if I don't have to put it into words.  So far, I've only 
told Mulder.  I doubt that will change, since it's looking more 
and more like a baby shower isn't in my future.

"So, have you found anything on the women?" I ask again, to get 
us back to the subject at hand.

"Yes, but I'm afraid it's bad news."

"They're all dead."  I say it, although deep down I'm hoping 
there's some other bad news that isn't so bad.  Maybe I should 
have suspected it.  What if these women are all abductees and 
went through the same things the MUFON women did, including 
Penny?  Anger begins building inside me.  I can't believe this is 
still going on, after all this time.  I thought the men behind 
the whole thing had stopped, not relocated.

"How did you know?" Frohike asks.

"I called a couple of the women on the list you gave me.  Have 
you found out what they died from?"

"Well, we've pulled most of the death certificates, still working 
on the rest, but so far it's mostly eclampsia and stroke."

"Eclampsia?"  Oh my God, I was right.  I'm not the only one.  
"They were pregnant?  All of them?"

"Yup, the ones we've found so far died before they carried to 
term, it looks like, because we haven't found any birth records.  
The most recent one, Marie Turner, died just last week.  She 
lived in Doylestown; it's one of the addresses I gave you if you 
want to check it out."

Last week?  That's the closest thing to a lead I've had yet.  
Last week means there's still time to find out what happened.  I 
look at the list of names and addresses; Turner was the last one 
I called where no one answered.

"I'll call you later."  I hang up before Frohike can add another 
devastating bit of information to the growing list.

***

I know there are professional implications in what I'm about to 
do, but I have to get some answers.  I've avoided using my Bureau 
credentials up until now because I don't want anyone to know 
what's going on, not that they would believe it anyway.  Skinner 
wasn't happy when I called him to request personal leave and then 
had to tell him Mulder would be out for a couple days as well.  
The last thing we need is word getting back to the Bureau that 
we're "investigating"
something not on the books.

I don't know how else to approach this, however, so I'm willing 
to put my career on the line to find out what the hell happened 
to me.  I sit on the hard motel bed, and my hands tremble as I 
dial the phone.  This time, a man answers on the first ring.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Turner?"

"Yes?"  His voice sounds concerned, almost as if he was waiting 
for someone to call.

"My name is Special Agent Dana Scully, I'm with the F.B.I.  I'm 
sorry to bother you, and I realize this is probably difficult, 
but I'd like to meet with you to talk about your wife's death."  
Nothing I say is technically a lie, only the sum of the parts.

"What's this about?" he asks after a long pause.

"I'm investigating some similarities between your wife's death 
and those of other patients of Dr. Jeffrey Wright.  I'd just like 
to ask you a few questions, today if possible."

I feel a twinge of guilt about pushing him, but I have to get as 
much information as I can.  I don't know what other opportunities 
I'll have.  Since Marie Turner is the most recent death, it's my 
best chance to get accurate information.

There is another long silence, then a sigh.  "Can you meet me at 
the hospital?  I'm on my way there now."

"That's fine.  Where can I find you?"

"Doylestown Hospital, sixth floor.  I'll be in the NICU visiting 
my daughter."

My stomach rolls over.  Neonatal Intensive Care?  The baby is 
alive?

"I'll see you there," I manage to get out before the nausea rises 
up from my womb and hits me with force.


*****

End 3/8