They hadn’t gone a dozen paces before he took it from her before she poked his eye out. “Where did you get this?”
“You’d be surprised what you’ll find in the ladies’ room on a rainy day.” She hugged his arm tightly, quickly. “I called Chief Hawks, he’s on his way to pick us up.”
“So why—”
“The major isn’t going to stay in that office, Mulder, not when he finds out his keys are gone. He’ll check that setup first, using Dr. Elkhart’s keys, then probably come after us. I would like to be long gone before that, if you don’t mind.”
“He’ll follow us.”
“No, I don’t think so. We can’t disappear, Mulder. The senator, remember?”
He almost stopped then, but her momentum pulled him along.
“Carl.”
“What about him?”
Mulder stared into the rain, willing Hawks to come in at speed. “According to his notes, he was asking around about the goblin.” His chest tightened, his stride quickened. “Cleaning up, Scully. I think someone’s scared, and the goblin’s cleaning up.”
The telephone rang only once before Rosemary snatched up the receiver. She listened and said, “What are you doing, calling here? Suppose he had answered?” Without thinking, she began to weave the cord between her fingers. “Well, you’re lucky he’s not. He’s downstairs now. Those FBI agents were here, and he thinks they lifted his damn keys.” She watched the door without seeing it. “I think, if they didn’t know before, they know now.”
Her gaze shifted to the window, to the trails of water almost invisible against the grey air, the grey sky.
She stiffened.
“You can’t do that. No. It’s bad enough, but you can’t touch them.”
The goblin cleared its throat painfully. “Yes, I can.”
Rosemary almost rose out of the chair. “Damnit, will you listen to me? Just… just what we agreed, all right? Don’t make it worse than it already is.”
“Doctor, I can do whatever I want.”
She couldn’t believe it. First Tymons, now this.
“In fact, I think all that stuff you’ve been telling me is plain bullshit.”
“Look—”
“You know, I don’t think I’m affected much at all.” It laughed softly, and wheezed. “And if I am, Doctor… whose fault is that?”
She did stand then, angrily shaking her hand until the cord fell off. “Goddamnit, listen to me, you idiot! If I have to—”
“Doctor.” The voice was calm. Very calm.
Rosemary closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What?”
“We have an agreement. I’ll do what you want.”
She leaned forward, bracing herself on the desk with one hand. “Thank you. It’ll be fine, just fine, as long as we don’t panic.”
“I’ll do what you want.”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Are you listening?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then don’t, Doctor. Don’t ever talk to me like that again.”
“Oh, really? And what if… hello? Damnit, hello?”
The line was dead.
She gaped at the receiver, then slammed it back onto its cradle. Calm again; she had to regain calm again, be the eye in the storm. It was not, yet, a disaster that those damn agents probably knew something. They could snoop around all they wanted, but they didn’t know it all. As long as she made sure she, and Joseph, didn’t panic, they never would.
At least not until it was too late.
But she was afraid for the goblin. Despite her assurances, she knew what little control she had was practically gone. Like all the others, those too deep in the woods to be found — here, and elsewhere — the strain and the treatment had proved too much.
This one had lasted the longest, however.
This one was the proof of her triumph.
She grabbed her purse and coat and hurried from the office. Joseph would have to come to her for a change, once he stopped blowing off pompous steam. She still had some last-minute packing to do.
Just a few more weeks, she prayed as she made for the elevators; just get me out of here in one piece, give me a couple more weeks, and if it’ll be over.
Really over.
The door slid open as the overhead bell chimed softly.
She took a step, and froze.
The car was empty. She could see that, but she still couldn’t bring herself to go in.
With a low groan of frustration she used the fire stairs instead, yanking on her coat, cursing her own weakness, but oddly grateful for the harsh sound of her heels on the steps.
TWENTY
Scully decided her vacation hadn’t been nearly long enough, not by half. A Marville patrol car had picked them up minutes after they left the hospital, just about the time the rain had stopped. The driver, though polite, refused to answer any of Mulder’s questions.
“Talk to the chief,” was all he would say. It sounded to her as if Hawks’ equanimity at having the FBI in town was being sorely tested.
Now they sped toward town, and she couldn’t help feeling that everything was moving too fast. She needed time to think, and she wasn’t getting it. She was reacting, rather than acting; otherwise, she never would have taken Mulder’s leap from experimental camouflage to full-blown, controlled human chameleon, with no stops along the way.
It wasn’t like her; not at all.
She braced herself when the car momentarily lost traction on its way around a bend, and wished she had tried to get a hold of Webber instead. And when the driver said, “Sorry, ma’am” once he regained control, she almost snapped his head off.
Not like her at all.
Then Mulder folded his arms on the back of the seat and rested his chin on them. He said nothing, but she could feel him at her shoulder. Her eyes closed briefly at a flurry of leaves across the windshield.
“Mulder, I’m sorry about Carl.”
He grunted.
She realized then that that was part of her problem. She hadn’t liked Barelli; he was crude, too slick, and too full of himself. But for reasons she would never understand, he had also been Mulder’s friend, and she hadn’t said a single word of sympathy, of commiseration. The moment she had seen the reporter’s body, she had clicked into professional mode.
She hadn’t let the murder touch her.
It had obviously touched her friend.
“We have to get to Elly,” he said at last.
She agreed, and asked the driver to take them there instead of the station.
“I don’t know,” he said doubtfully. “I was told—”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mulder said. “We’ll take the heat. You can tell him we pulled rank. FBI, pushy feds, stuff like that.”
For a second, Scully thought the man would flat out refuse. Then he grinned, shrugged, and: “Whatever you say, sir.”
“So punch it.”
“You got it.”
And it took all of Scully’s self-control not to grab the dashboard.
Traffic increased as Marville began, Saturday shoppers and wanderers taking their time to make the business district last as long as they could make it. The driver took a back-road, corner-cutting shortcut to avoid the main street, and pulled up smoothly in front of the apartment building.
“You want me to wait?” He sounded hopeful.
“Yes,” she told him as she opened the door.
He took the radio mike and called in: “Maddy, this is Spike. We’re at the Goblin Lady’s place. Maybe the chief should meet us here, huh?”
The radio hissed. “I’ll tell him. Watch your back.”
“You got it,” he said, and hooked the mike back on its cradle.
“That’s it?” Mulder asked, sounding disappointed.
“You mean, ten-four, that kind of stuff?” The driver shook his head. “The chief hates radio talk. He says it makes us sound too much like cop shows.” He laughed. “Besides, half the guys keep getting the numbers wrong anyway. Maddy knows what we’re saying, so…” He shrugged.