***********

Original Sin

************


Chapter One


The man with the cigarette was lying to her, but in her line 
of work, Dottie pretty much took that for a given.  If liars 
had a Mecca, it'd be Vegas, where everyone was shining you on 
about something all of the time.  Hell, she was the only 
woman left on her block with real tits, that's how it was.

But Mr. Jameson was certainly admiring the view from across 
her desk, which was one reason she knew he couldn't possibly 
be telling the truth about his beloved missing wife.  She 
picked up the picture again - it showed an unsmiling but very 
pretty brunette.  "You say she came here with a female friend 
of hers?"

"That's what I understood, yes.  Cynthia Daniels, her friend 
from Cornell.  They were going to have a...girls' weekend 
away, just the two of them."

Damn if the old bastard didn't have a gleam in his eye, 
imagining it.  "But Cynthia didn't actually go."

"No, when my wife didn't come home and I couldn't reach her 
by phone, I immediately got in touch with Cynthia.  She had 
no idea what I was talking about and hadn't seen Stephanie in 
almost a week."

"So what makes you so sure your wife is here?"

"I checked with the airline.  She was on the plane."

"The airlines don't just give that information out to just 
anybody."

He gave her a thin smile and took a drag on his cigarette.  
"I'm not just anybody.  I'm a man who desperately wants to 
find his wife, and I'm hoping you can help me."

"You seem to be doing pretty well on your own so far."

"I need someone here in town who knows the ins and outs.  Can 
you find her?  If you say yes, I'm prepared to offer a 
handsome sum.  If you say no, I can find someone else to take 
my money."

"I can find her for you, sure."  Pretty rich lady like that 
was probably holed up with her pool boy in one of the 
Bellagio suites.  "You might not like what you find.  In my 
experience, people don't come here to be alone, if you know 
what I'm saying.  Your wife may have left her friend behind 
but it's likely she's got a new one."

"I don't care about that.  I just want to know she's safe.  I 
want her to come home.  Can you make that happen?"  He pulled 
out a clip full of hundred dollar bills and ticked off ten in 
a row without blinking an eye.

She hesitated just a moment.  Her gut said this guy wasn't 
just looking to kiss and make up, and she wasn't about to 
track down the sad woman in the picture just so he could use 
her as a punching bag.  

But Benji was on his third pair of sneakers this year and the 
car payment was already two days late.  Better she find this 
Stephanie Jameson before her husband caught up with her.  If 
it turned out to be a silly tryst, no harm, no foul, but if 
she was really on the run Dot could warn her to cover her 
tracks a damn sight better.  What Mr. Jameson didn't know 
wouldn't hurt him.

"I can take your case." 

"Excellent."  He handed her the money and a business card.  
"That number is my mobile phone, so you can reach me anytime.  
I expect you'll have a progress report for me within twenty-
four hours."

"You mind if I keep this?" She waved the picture at him, but 
he was distracted by Scotty walking in, clanging the cow bell 
over the door.

"Hey, did you see there's a town car parked outside?" Scotty 
said, stopping short at the sight of their latest client.  
"Whoa, sorry to interrupt."

"Keep it," Mr. Jameson, turning around with that creepy smile 
of his again.  "I have plenty."

He stubbed out his butt in the ashtray she used for clients 
and walked past Scotty without an acknowledgement.  As the 
bell clanged for Jameson's exit, Scotty went to the old table 
he used as a desk and set down his laptop.  "Was that 
business I smelled under all that tobacco smoke?" 

"Yep, we've got a case.  Wife off in Vegas for a little slap-
and-tickle and the husband wants her home."

He turned around from setting up and gave her a broad grin.  
You need a haircut, she thought.  "Slap and tickle?  Sounds 
like fun.  I call 'tickle' and you can be 'slap.'"

"Damn right I'm slap.  You want coffee?" She got up to get a 
second cup as he bent over to plug in his computer.

"No, I'm good," he answered as she paused to appreciate his 
low-slung jeans.  He stopped working and waggled his ass.  
"You like what you see there, woman?  There's more where that 
came from."

She snorted with laughter and went to the coffee pot.  "You'd 
better watch it 'cause one day I'm gonna take you up on that 
offer."

"I wish you would," he said.  "You know it's true."

"No," she replied firmly.  "I've got a policy."

"No dating co-workers?"

"No pedophila.  I've got a ten year-old and you ARE a ten-
year old."

"Dot, I'm twenty-seven.  You've seen my driver's license."

"I've also seen how good you fake an ID.  Not to mention that 
you haven't even got a car.  You ride around on a ratty old 
bicycle."

"Yeah, but you'd fit great on my handlebars."  Dammit if he 
didn't give her that grin again.

"Quit sassing me and get to work.  We need to find out if 
Stephanie Jameson checked into any hotels around here."  She 
showed him the picture and he let out a low whistle.

"So start with the nice places, eh?"

"Yeah, start there.  But I wouldn't be too surprised if that 
ain't where we end up.  In my experience, these types come 
out here to live two kinds of fantasies.  One is the satin 
sheets, overpriced shows, and swanky restaurants, but the 
other... let's just say if this lady has the same kind of money 
as her husband, she can buy anything -- or anyone --she 
wants."


***

Scully was already awake when the phone rang.  She didn't 
sleep much anymore, had convinced herself she didn't need it.  
She spent most nights half dozing in the living room chair 
with a novel in her lap and a bright light shining down, as 
if in an interrogation of her fractured dreams.

It was his phone, ringing at his bedside, and she still did 
not answer it, not even after a year of living together.  
That he knew not to answer hers was one of the reasons they 
fit so well.

She heard his muffled, sleepy answer and set her book aside, 
prepared to make him coffee and kiss him goodbye.   The 
machine was perking away in no time, filling their small 
kitchen with sound and smell of caffeine-in-waiting, but he 
had yet to emerge from the bedroom.

She found him sitting in his boxers, head in hands, with the 
white sheet still tangled about his waist.  "Ruben? Is 
everything okay?"

He looked up.  "That was the Las Vegas coroner's office on 
the phone.  They need me to come identify a body."

"What?"  She closed her robe and went to sit next to him on 
the bed.

"They think it's my sister.  They won't tell me anything else 
over the phone.  I asked if they'd been in touch with her 
husband but apparently she still has me listed as next of 
kin.  Maybe she changed it back after the divorce, I don't 
know."  He ran a hand through his thick, spiky hair.  "What 
the hell was she doing in Las Vegas?  I need to book a 
flight."

"I'll go with you."

He didn't seem to hear her; he got up and started rifling 
through the top drawer of his dresser. "They wanted me to 
bring a recent picture.  Why would they want that?"

She knew, of course, having seen too many bodies destroyed 
beyond recognition. "I'm so sorry," she murmured.

The muscles in his back rippled in the soft light as he 
emptied the contents of the drawer out onto the dresser top. 
"I don't have a picture anymore.  I threw them all away."

Later, she would look back and see the warning there in his 
words, but in the fuzzy night hours she failed to understand.  
He had told her there was a sister, that they were not close, 
both adopted by the same foster family years ago.  She knew 
they weren't close anymore but didn't press him for details.  

Maybe, she would think, she hadn't wanted to know.  It was a 
bit of a relief to have a man who didn't want to talk about 
his sister.

"What about your desk?" she asked, rising from the bed.  "I 
can look there."  

It was a somewhat ridiculous offer.  She had never met the 
sister and wouldn't know her photograph.  She imagined a 
female Ruben, with long limbs, caramel skin and a single 
dimple on the right cheek.

"No, I'll do it," he said.  "Can you check the flights?  
Maybe it would be better to drive.  God, what about her two 
kids?  Who's going to tell them their mother is dead?"

"I didn't know she had children."

"A boy and a girl.  I hope to hell they're with their dad 
right now.  He might've been a bastard to Annie, but I know 
he loves those kids."

Scully went to her office and powered up her computer to 
search for flights.  Outside, the black wall of night hid the 
Orquinnh Mountains. As a child of the sea, it had taken her 
some time to get used to their omnipresent bulk but now she 
felt safer in their shadow.  Only when the sun caught the 
stone at just the right angle, turning it to D.C. gleaming 
white, did she catch her breath anew.

Ruben appeared, still not dressed, reflected in the window 
glass.  "I can't find even one photograph," he said, his 
voice cracking.  "It's like she never existed."

She left the computer and went to encircle him.  His breath 
was hot with grief, his hands grabbing at the silky folds of 
her robe.  She rested her cheek against his warm skin and 
thought of Melissa's photograph in her wallet, slowly fading 
away.

* * * *

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and from his couch, 
Diana gave a wry smile.

This was his standard greeting for her, it seemed; no matter 
where she happened to be, he always questioned her right to 
be there.  He'd been running, another constant these days.  

"I brought dinner," she said, nodding towards the Chinese 
food containers sitting in his kitchen.  "I imagine you've 
worked up quite an appetite."

He ducked into the bathroom and she heard the tap running.   
When he emerged, he was toweling off his damp head and 
frowning at her.  "I'd love to, but I still have to get the 
paperwork done on the McEckerson background check.  If it's 
not done by tomorrow, Kersh is going to want to know what 
exactly I've been doing with my time." 

"Look, if it's a problem for you, I can stop bringing you in 
on our cases.  Spender would be grateful, I think, to have 
the X-Files office pared down to its official two-person 
staff.  You can spend here to eternity doing background 
checks."

She said it because she knew the words were hollow; he knew 
it too because he didn't bother to argue.  That he could be 
so cavalier now rankled her.  Fox Mulder liked to piss and 
moan about the things he had sacrificed for the X-files, but 
she had become a different person so that his search could 
continue.

"I thought the plan was to get Spender out."  He walked to 
the kitchen and took out two bottles of beer, wordlessly 
offering her one.

She accepted.  "It's still the plan, but these things take 
time."  

"It's been two years.  I'm beginning to think you like the 
little weasel."  He paused to take a long drink of beer.  "Or 
maybe, you just like being the boss of me.  You get to call 
all the shots in this arrangement."

"Not all of them."  She stepped closer and ran a hand over 
his chest, the T-shirt still warm and damp with sweat.

She'd swear he liked the sex as much as she did, but 
sometimes he said no anyway, probably just to prove he could.

He extracted himself from her embrace and drained the last of 
his bottle.  "You were handed the X-files as a punishment to 
me, not because you earned them."

"Oh, I earned them," she said in such a tone that he snapped 
to attention.  "I was there at the beginning.  I was there 
when things went to hell, and I damned sure helped put your 
Humpty Dumpty back together again."

His shoulders drooped, the fight leaving him.  He reached one 
long finger and touched her chest through her blouse, right 
where the bullet had left its mark.  "I'm going crazy," he 
murmured.  "I'll go out of my skin if something doesn't 
change soon.  I can't live like this forever."

"So you'll what...quit your job?  Move to Utah?  How would 
that help your cause, exactly?"

He pulled back his hand as if burned and she knew she'd gone 
too far.  Utah was a place they did not talk about, ever, 
though she sometimes caught him staring at his US map and 
wondered what he was thinking.

"I won't be your back alley consultant forever," he said.  
You need to find a way to fix it or I will.  If that means 
leaving the FBI for Utah or Kansas or outer Zimbabwe, then 
that's what I'll do."

***

It was still dark when they took to the sky, dawn just 
threatening to break the clouds.  Scully still traveled for 
work on occasion, but it had been a long time since she was 
on a flight like this, with dread waiting on the other end.

Ruben took her hand and leaned his head back against the 
seat.  Dry-eyed and world-weary, he looked much as he had the 
night they'd met, over a dead ten year-old boy.  Her job was 
to establish the manner and cause of death -- homicide by 
drowning -- and his was to prosecute the killer.  But the boy 
had no name and the cops could never find the guilty party.

So Scully's part was over while Ruben's remained unfinished, 
a sad file tucked in his desk drawer.

"I should have tried harder," he said, startling her from her 
memory.  "After the divorce, it must have been so hard for 
her, a single mom with two kids, but I know she must have 
been killing herself to make it up to them.  When we were 
little she used to take in stray animals -- half dead birds, 
the cat with one eye.  Our parents finally said enough but 
that just meant Annie had to sneak them food out in the back 
yard.  God, she was the sweetest little thing back then."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Four years ago."  He reached out to fiddle with the latch on 
the tray table.  "I drove out to see her, Jack, and the kids, 
and she was acting funny the whole time.  She'd started 
seeing some shrink who apparently thought she needed to cut 
ties with her past.  Jack said she'd been having nightmares, 
but she wouldn't talk to me about it.  I decided to give her 
some space and figured she'd come around again.  But she 
never did.  I guess I reminded her of a time in her life she 
just wanted to forget."

"I'm sorry," she said, covering her hand with his.

"I wish I could say that to her," he replied.  "Just one more 
time."  He sighed and squeezed her hand.  "Thanks for coming 
with me, Dana.  It means a lot.  You're the closest thing to 
family I've got around these parts."

She smiled but then looked away.  More and more, he'd been 
talking about family with her, about children and a future 
and she knew she had to find a way to tell him -- she wasn't 
sure they could have either.

By the time they arrived at the morgue, the sun was climbing 
the sky, on its way to a sizzling summer day.  Scully hid 
behind her dark glasses as they exited the rental car and 
prepared herself for the ugliness she knew was inside. 

A balding man in a gray suit was waiting to greet them.  He 
smelled like spearmint gum but he wasn't chewing it.  "Ruben 
Cetera?  I'm Sheriff Mike Holloway.  Thanks for coming down 
so quickly."

"Of course," Ruben said, turning to her.  "This is Dana 
Scully."

"Ma'am," Holloway replied.  "Can I get you folks anything to 
drink?  Coffee?  Water, soda?"

"No, thank you," said Ruben.  "I'd just like to get this over 
with if that's okay."

"Certainly.  Come this way.  The elevator is back here."

"Can you tell me what happened?" Ruben asked as they waited.

"Why don't we save that conversation for a little bit later?  
I promise I'll tell you all I can."

They stood in awkward silence in the stainless steel cage as 
it descended into the bowels of the building. "I'll just go 
let them know you're here," Holloway said.  "Be back in a 
moment, okay?"

Scully rubbed Ruben's arm as he took a deep breath.  "I can 
wait outside if you like.  Your call."

"I'd like you to come in, if that's okay.  You're more used 
to this than I am.  Maybe you can see something I won't."  He 
forced a grimace.  "And I'm not liable to hear anything past 
'is this your sister?'"

She spared a quick mental thank you that she had never had to 
endure this with Melissa.

"Mr. Cetera?  We're ready when you are."  Holloway held open 
the door at the end of the hall.

Ruben reached the threshold first and then slowly entered the 
room.  She felt him stiffen and heard his smothered gasp.  
"Oh, God," he breathed.  "Annie."

He froze, blocking her view, and she was forced to step out 
around him.  Across the room, perhaps 15 feet away, lay a 
woman with half her face swollen beyond recognition.  Scully 
saw long, dark hair and a single white arm sticking out from 
the sheet.

White? She took a step forward, and the movement seemed to 
awaken Ruben.  "That's her," he said, approaching the body.  
"That's Annie.  What the hell happened to you, baby?"

Scully walked around to see the woman from the other side, 
and yes, she was clearly Caucasian, with skin so pale it was 
almost translucent.

"We're so sorry for your loss," someone said. 

"No," Scully murmured.  It just couldn't be.  She crept a 
little closer and made herself look.  You're seeing things, 
she told herself.  It's not possible.

"Dana?"

The face from the bridge.  As cold and as scared as she'd 
been, Scully would never forget it.  Even half gone, one side 
purpled with bruises, the features were unmistakable.

Dimly, she was aware she was making a scene, but her heart 
was threatening to claw its way out of her throat.  She 
couldn't speak.  

"We should get her out of here."

Someone grabbed her by the arm and she felt herself moving 
but she couldn't tear her gaze from the body.  "No," she 
managed, fighting them off.

"Dana, it's okay."  Ruben tried to pull her against his 
chest.

"I know her."  She was shaking now, and her knees had locked 
to keep her upright.  "I know that woman."

"You know Annie?"

"Annie?" said the disembodied voice.  "I thought her name was 
Samantha."

***

Feedback welcome at syn_tax6@yahoo.com

Thanks as always to Amanda for proofing.  Any remaining 
mistakes are my own.