LittleRed by LBELAINE@ skybest.com Started 8/12/96 Finished 9/06/96 SUMMARY: An online chat session throws Dana Scully in the midst of an apparent paranormal phenomenon and causes her to question her skepticism. DISCLAIMER: The following work is based upon characters and situations created by Chris Carter. Said characters and situations are the property of Chris Carter, Fox Network and 1013 Productions. Copyright infringement is not intended. This work is for the entertainment of EMXC members only, and may only be distributed outside the EMXC with the express consent of the author. Any other use or distribution constitutes a violation of international copyright law. AUTHORS COMMENTS: I FINALLY FINISHED ONE!! Isn't it amazing how something that begins as "just piddling around" takes on a life of its own? Blows my mind! Anyway, I had no specific time- line in mind when I wrote this, although some of the more significant "Scully-episodes" are mentioned briefly toward the end. Not relationshippy, except for the normal confiding among trusting partners. *This is dedicated to all the AOL EMXC folks who have been SO encouraging to me and to the XPA'ers on IRC who have become better friends than I could have imagined.* Criticism and/or other comments welcomed and coveted at LBELAINE@skybest.com. Thanx! ******************************** Dana savored the thick fluffiness of her favorite bathrobe as it enveloped her cooling skin. The bath had felt so-o-o good, she wished she could curl up in the tub as if it were her bed and the sudsy water her blankets. Some people chose alcohol...some chose television...Dana Scully chose a long, luxurious bath as her preferred relaxant. (Luxury being the key word here, she mused, with the schedule we've been keeping lately.) She plopped onto her sofa, bored, still not "wound down" enough to sleep. The 8:00 p.m. candy bar had sufficiently killed her appetite. Her gaze drifted to the laptop which rested insistently on her coffee table. Work...or online chat? She weighed the two options, wondering when and how the Internet had become her second preferred escape. ("And I told Frohike he needed a life!" she laughed to herself. "I'm sure one to talk...") Then, Dana remembered that at least two weeks had passed since she had caught LittleRed on the Chat. That decided it. She missed LittleRed's light-hearted banter. She settled into a comfortable position and placed the small computer in her lap, thinking of her "chat buddy" as she hooked up the phone line and signed on. Scully wondered why LittleRed never joined the chat- channels, and how he always knew when she signed on. She would barely type her "hello's" to the other chatters before LittleRed "paged" her to a private chat. It had never occurred to her to refuse his requests. He always chatted in a very non-threatening, innocent manner, which made Dana assume that he perhaps was very young, even pre-teen. He never even asked her any questions whose answers might, in sum, betray her identity or location, as if he somehow sensed how fiercely she protected that information. LittleRed simply chatted with her about "stuff"--weather, movies, music, books, and so on. She enjoyed the diversion. Dana smiled and sat back. No sooner had the system message "You have entered Room #CyberLife" appeared on her screen than her blank window filled instantly with greetings. Hey, K'Sanda!!!!!! K'S! Where have you BEEN!" Ye gads, m'lady K'Sanda has surely returned from the dead! Hi KS, even though I don't know you. She scanned the list of names in the room as the scrolling continued. She recognized about half of them, those who had given her the most enthusiastic welcomes. Many were names she had never seen. When the greetings finally slowed down, she began typing. Wow, what a welcome! I'll have to stay away more often! How is everyone? Various versions of "Great!", "Terrible", and "Just getting by" scrolled in reply. Lots of new names here. I'm still kind of new, so Hi there. Are you female? How old are you? Scully rolled her eyes...yet another hormone-wacky kid trying to pick up dates online. She quickly replied. Last time I checked...and probably too old for you, Chad. Besides, cyber-dates can't watch a movie with you...try a real person next time. :) "Laughing Out Loud's" and "Way to Go K'Sanda's" peppered the screen. (Dana hoped she had not embarrassed Chad. She hoped that the smiley-face at the end had eased the remark into a good- natured ribbing.) Her experienced fingers flew over the keyboard, typing her end of the simultaneous conversations which vied for her attention. An electronic chime interrupted her cyber-small-talk. She glanced at the lower-left corner of her screen where a question-mark blinked inside a cartoon- dialogue bubble. The caption queried, "Private Room - LittleRed?" Punctual kid, she chuckled as she fingered the mini-trackball and pressed the Enter key to accept the request. A smaller window opened on her screen, but remained blank. Dana wrinkled her brow, puzzled. LittleRed always beat her to the opening greeting. Long-time no-chat, LittleRedBuddy! Missed you! She clicked an icon to make both open windows the same size, then checked the main room. The conversation scrolled evenly, not lagging like she might have expected from LittleRed's "silence." Hey, Red...I'm sorry I've been gone awhile. :( Work has been really crazy, and I have been traveling so much. Don't you want to talk to me anymore? Are you angry with me? She was surprised at the small pang of hurt feelings at the thought, as her logical side scoffed at her attachment to some faceless Internet nickname. Suddenly, scrolling lines blinked in LittleRed's window. Help Me! Help Me! Help Me! Help Me! Help Me! Help Me! Startled, Dana muttered her response as she typed. What's wrong, Red???? Please come here! Help me! Dana's heart pounded as if she could actually hear a high-pitched plea for help. Still, she fought back the panic borne of surprise (and perhaps some not-so-dormant maternal instinct). LittleRed, just calm down and tell me what's wrong. I need your help! You've got to come here! Maybe I can tell you what to do, if you'll just tell me what is wrong! NO! You can't! Please come here! Help me! If you are in danger, call 911!!!! If not, stop crying "wolf" and playing games here! Dana's frustrated words seemed to break a dam as the screen scrolled again. I can't! Please, I've been waiting to see if I could trust you...I can't wait anymore! I can't do anything! You've got to come here! You need to come to 407 West Oake Lane! Please come here! Help me! Please! *He surely doesn't expect me to believe this,* Scully thought in amazement, even as a sickening intuition nagged her to take him seriously. She noticed then that the chatters in the main room had typed various "wake-up calls" to get her attention. BEWARE OF THE LURK-NESS MONSTER, FAIR K'SANDA!! Yeah, K--it's been known to swallow people who fall asleep at their keyboards! What's "lurking?" WAKE UP, K'S!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Still wavering on the best course of action to take, Dana shook her head and clicked her mouse pointer onto the main room and began typing there. I'm private-chatting with LittleRed and he sounds like he's in some kind of trouble...does anyone know this kid? Is he a prankster? The responses that travelled up the screen disturbed her even further. K'S--that can't be LittleRed...you can't be talking to LittleRed! Are you sure that's how the screen name looks? Big "L," big "R," all the rest lowercase? Yes...why???? That screen name is not valid on this server, K'S...after what happened...the company that maintains it made that combination of letters invalid as a screen name. Before Dana could type a rebuttal to "Knightly," the private chat window blazed, the lines in bold red letters instead of black. I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I need you NOW!!!!! HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Her intuition won. She leapt from the sofa and bolted into the bedroom to change clothes, leaving the laptop sitting crookedly on a throw cushion. ************************************************* *Why am I doing this?* Scully asked herself repeatedly as she dialed Mulder's number on her cell-phone. She drove quickly, urgently, her heart still thudding with the adrenaline rush. "Mulder," came his standard phone greeting. "Mulder, it's me--I need you to meet me at 407 West Oake Lane, I'm on my way there right now." "Why, Scully, such urgency at this time of the evening," her partner teased in a mock-leering tone that exasperated her. "What do you have in mind?" "I am serious, I'll explain later, just meet me there! I may need your help!" she shot back. "Okay, Scully, I'll be there--" She flipped the phone off and continued to drive, wondering if she was going to end up making a fool of herself. ************************************************* When she saw Mulder's car approaching only moments after she parked hers, Scully jumped out with her gun ready and moved carefully toward the dark house. Tall, uncut grass tickled her bare ankles as she crossed the yard to more quickly reach the unlit front door. Mulder followed her in blind trust--this kind of unexplained fervor,so uncharacteristic of Scully, piqued his curiosity to the breaking point. When she paused just short of the doorway, he moved close enough behind her to whisper in her ear. "What's going on?" Dana glanced up at him. "I-I'm not sure, Mulder. Maybe nothing...." "You realize we could be in big trouble for breaking and entering here." "I know." Fox Mulder gazed into the shining blue eyes of his partner and saw a look in them he normally only saw in his own...the certainty that *something* was happening behind that door despite a lack of evidence to the contrary. He nodded in acknowledgement. "This is your baby, Scully--do what you've got to." Her partner's words gave Dana enough courage to reach for the doorknob. It did not turn, but the pressure of her grip pushed the door open with the too-late click of a deadbolt which had not slid fully into its place. She stepped forward, Mulder behind her, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light emanating from the bedroom just across from the cramped, musty living room. The pungent staleness of alcohol lingered in the stillness, but another faint odor kept trying to register itself in her mind. "FBI--" she called out. "Hello? LittleRed?" "Scully...blood...in the bedroom," Mulder's voice alarmed, his sensitive nose pinpointing the scent. They quickly crossed the living room, stopping short of the doorway, Dana praying that they would not find a dead child there. But a woman, not a child, dressed only in a nightshirt lay slumped on rumpled bedsheets. In the slack fingertips of one hand lay the broken neck of the vodka bottle whose shards littered the nightstand and floor. Blood and small slivers of skin painted the jagged edges of the bottleneck, the same blood that now oozed much too quickly from long slashes in both the woman's forearms to soak blackly into the percale. "Oh my God--call 911!" Scully exclaimed, not in hysterical panic but in the urgent tone of a physician. She found the faintest hint of a pulse in the woman's neck and proceeded to apply pressure to her wounds, tearing the sheet to use as binding. *This is LittleRed?* All the while, she tried imagining the voice of LittleRed as an adult. The sound-image just would not come. Mulder returned to the room. "They're on their way. Who is this woman, Scully?" "I don't know," she admitted, absorbed in her ministrations, "but she would have died in another few minutes...she may die anyway." "That's not what I meant," he prodded. "How did you know to come here?" "Someone I chat with on the Internet Online Service," she faltered, still trying to put the pieces together. When Mulder looked at her patiently, turning on his 'listening mode', she continued, finishing just as wailing sirens signalled the approach of ambulances and police cars. ************************************************* As the paramedics carried the IV'ed woman, mortally pale but still hanging on to life, to the ambulance, Mulder motioned a distracted Scully away from the bloody scene toward another room. "I want to show you something," he insisted. "Mulder, LittleRed said to come HERE to this address," she thought out loud, still churning the events of the evening over and over. "but there was no sign of anyone except this Gloria Shandell being here tonight." Scully stepped through the doorway behind Mulder. The primary colors of a boy's room greeted her cheerily. The twin bed sported a race-car comforter. Toy and model cars, planes, and spaceships filled any nook and cranny devoid of a book. Typical kid-posters of rock stars, more cars and spaceships, and cartoons lined the walls. She smiled, remembering her brothers' cluttered rooms. She then noticed the desk, empty except for a picture of Gloria Shandell holding a wildly grinning, wiry little red-haired boy, probably only eight years old, dressed in one of those cheesy-but-cute Star Trek Halloween costumes, pointy ears and all. Dana picked up the framed photo and stared into it. She could hear the voice again, and she knew it belonged to the impish face in the picture. "This is LittleRed," she almost whispered. She looked at Mulder for confirmation. "Where is he?" "Scully, this 'LittleRed' was named Timothy Shandell," her partner replied. "About six months ago, while we were in Nevada on that psychokinesis case, the kid was picked up and murdered by someone he'd been chatting with on the Internet Online Service." "What?!" Dana exclaimed in disbelief. "I remember hearing about that, it was national news!" Her heart sank at the remembrance. "The boy was found with multiple cuts along major blood vessels--wrists, neck..." "The guy who picked him up slashed his own wrists, too," Mulder completed the recount. "Gloria Shandell was a single mother. Apparently, the kid never knew his father, so he reached out to this man as kind of a father-figure." Dana realized that she had only known "her" LittleRed for about three months, long after Timothy Shandell's death. "So this person I've been chatting with must be an imposter," she reasoned, anger rising hotly inside her at the thought of being manipulated. "He or she must have hacked into the server, broken the restriction on the screen name." *You shouldn't have gotten so attached, I told you!* her conscience berated her. "That was a damn cruel joke," she muttered in disgust. "It would appear so, Scully, except," Mulder paused to get her attention, to drive home a point, "don't you find it strange that an imposter would convince you to rush here, to someone's house you don't even know, just in time to pull the real LittleRed's mother from the brink of suicide?" "But what if this imposter actually set it up," Scully suggested. Inside, her normal detachment warred with the need to "go after" someone. "What if the imposter actually intended to murder her, but decided after the fact that it wasn't such a good idea after all and then sounded an alarm?" "Feasible theory, but the physical evidence doesn't seem to bear it out. You said it yourself, there was no sign of another person here. Besides," he held up a book he had been holding with a tissue to prevent his prints from contaminating it, "this journal seems to record Mrs. Shandell's six-month transformation from grieving mother to suicidal alcoholic, in her handwriting. She detailed it all right here." Scully knew that Fox Mulder would bend over backwards to put a paranormal slant on this case. She expected it. The world might start spinning backwards if he took a logical stance for once. *That's not fair to him, Dana* she corrected herself, ignoring the certainty deep within her soul that there would be no status-quo answers tonight. Still, she pulled out the last in her arsenal of good, solid theories. "What if Mrs. Shandell impersonated her own son on the chat as a way of reaching out herself, even up to the end?" Mulder gave her an almost pitying look (*she's trying so hard*), but instead of shooting her down, he pondered her suggestion for a few moments. He decided to let her answer her own question. "Would she have had time to go somewhere to access a computer, type her message to you, then come back here, get drunk, break the empty bottle, and slash her wrists--and almost bleed to death in the fifteen minutes between the time you called me and the time we met here?" "Well, Mulder, she obviously has a computer here," Scully retorted indignantly, giving him a *why are we avoiding the obvious* glare as he flipped to the beginning of the journal he held and began to read. "...the only reason I don't bust the damn computer into bits is because Timmy loved it so much. He could make that thing dance. He tried to teach me how to run it, but he raced that rat-thingy around so fast I couldn't keep up, so I just told him how smart he was and left him to it. That is, until I had to practically pry his fingers off the keyboard to get him to do his homework..." Mulder paused, skipping lines, "...the day they found him I boxed the damn thing up. I won't sell it to anyone. I keep thinking, what if some other psycho gets to talking on it to some other kid I sell it to, and they die too? Maybe I'll just bury it somewhere...." Fox closed the journal and stepped away from the closet door he had been leaning against. He pulled open the door to reveal a large box, its open flaps allowing them to see the top of a monitor and the edge of a keyboard turned sideways inside. Even in the dimness of the closet, a slight layer of dust along the exposed edges of the monitor gave it a powdery appearance. "That's the only computer here, Scully." ************************************************* Dana Scully stopped typing and skimmed through her report. A sigh escaped her lips, not only from fatigue but from the still- overwhelming sensation that she had yet again been drawn into something that did not fit the acceptable paradigms. ...A technician at the company who maintained the server had retrieved logs of Dana's private chats from the first day she signed on. Both were befuddled to find that the logs recorded input from K'Sanda only. Nothing indicated that a private chat had even been initiated--the logs had just "appeared" on the server. The technician attempted to hack into the system under the name LittleRed using every means available to him, only to be barred each time. Finally, he only shrugged and assured the agent that her future activity on the Internet Online Service would be monitored for any further "unusual" occurrences. ...Gloria Shandell awoke after several days, requesting to see "the red-haired lady." Dana visited her, and asked her if anyone would have known that she was planning to commit suicide, anyone who might warn someone. The mother shook her head. Her co-workers at the factory, she said, believed that she had taken a vacation to help herself through the lingering grief. They were all so anxious for her to "get on with her life" that they took her at her word. She had planned it that way. Gloria did, however, relate to Dana that for three months, she had repeatedly dreamed of seeing her son calling out "Momma!" while holding the hand of a pretty, red-haired woman. "I thought I was dreaming that Timmy was lost, and she was helping him get back to me...I believe now it was me that Timmy was searching for me in my darkness," she concluded. With misty eyes, she reached for Dana with a heavily bandaged arm. Dana compassionately grasped the exposed part of the woman's hand. "Agent Scully, you look just like the woman with Timmy in my dreams. I believe he sent you...." ...*How did he know that I lived only minutes away from Gloria Shandell's home?* Dana asked herself repeatedly. *Why did he say he had been waiting to see if he could trust ME? Why ME?* "Earth to Scully...do you read me?" Mulder's teasing startled Dana out of her reverie. She snapped her head reflexively to look at him, then blinked, realizing how tired her eyes really were. "Oh...hi, Mulder," she greeted, her voice hesitant. "I was just finishing up the report for Skinner." "Maybe he won't be too hard on you since this was kind of an impromptu case." "Yeah, right." That was something else that would only happen after the world spun backwards. Mulder pulled his chair closer to hers and slid into it. He had caught the pause in her reply to him. He saw the clouds in her blue eyes, her brow furrowed as if the gears still turned incessantly in that encyclopedic brain of hers. "You okay, Scully?" he queried, searching her eyes. Dana shrugged. Mulder of all people should understand, so why did she fear telling him? *Maybe because you have trouble baring your soul about things you just can't explain away. Your abduction, Melissa's death, psychics who predict death, men who kill to collect body parts...* "What is it?" her partner prodded. "Mulder...I..." she stammered, then shook her head in aggravation with herself, "...since I became involved with the X- files, I've seen so much...and I accept that there are things we as human beings have not found ways to explain. But I think I relegated everything in that category to this department only." "What do you mean?" "Well--I almost thought that if something 'unexplainable' didn't hit our desks in a manila file, then I'd never have to worry about it. I thought that once I closed the office door, all the strange things would stay here." "But they didn't." "No." Dana felt for the little gold cross that lay warmly in the hollow at the base of her throat. She fiddled with it absently. "Mulder, what happened the other night should have involved you, not me. I'm a skeptic, remember?" "You are," her partner agreed softly. These introspective moments were rare on her part, or at least he had rarely seen them. He wanted her to share them with him. God knew she'd listened to him pour out enough! "But you are a true skeptic, someone who will look at all the angles before you decide whether or not you believe. You just don't close off anything that doesn't fit your perception of the world. And you have compassion, which is a strength." "Maybe that's 'why me,'" she muttered, gazing into the middle-distance. "What?" Scully shook herself. "Nothing. At least this time there is a happy ending. Gloria seems to be doing much better." "Thanks to you." Scully considered Mulder's quiet accolade, then looked into his eyes again. "Maybe--maybe not." ************************************************* Blissfully lost among warm blankets and a soft pillow, Dana reluctantly oozed into the waking world to find sunlight warming her cheek. *Sunlight...* She squinted through her still-sleepy eyes at the clock by her bed. *9:45....OH DAMN I'M LATE* She flung the covers away and bolted upright, wondering why Mulder had not called to find out if she had overslept. Then she remembered. "Saturday..." she half-laughed, half-groaned, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face in her pillow. An actual weekend at home, with no traveling, no case, seemed so foreign to her these days. *What a rut I live in!* She pulled herself out of bed, having been slothful enough for one day, and padded to the kitchen to start the coffee brewing. She had no appointments, nowhere to go, so she decided to forego the shower, opting instead for a quick washing of the face and a barrette in the hair. The first sip of coffee sped warmly throughout her body. *Mmm, good stuff!* She carried the mug into the living room, grabbing the remote control on the way to the sofa, and sat carefully to avoid the usual spill. She took another sip, then reached to place the mug on the coffee table....beside the laptop. Dana sighed and stared at the computer. She had not signed onto the chat since the incident with Gloria Shandell. Knightly and DerbyGrl in particular would probably go crazy wondering what had happened that night, since they had seemed more familiar with LittleRed than the others. But more than answering questions, she feared the private chat request that might chime onto her screen. What would she do? Of course, she reminded herself, that the system was being monitored for any 'LittleRed'. The technician had promised to notify her immediately via urgent e-mail. "Okay, you win," she conceded to the insistent presence of the black rectangular box. She connected and signed on to the Internet Online Service's server. Before she could join Room #Cyberlife, the chime rang, and the question mark appeared. "Private Room - LittleRed?" Dana swallowed the nervous lump in her throat and accepted the request. The window opened. She waited. She did not have to wait long. Thank you, K'Sanda. Who are you? You already know. The little boy who used your name on here was killed six months ago. You saved her. I knew I could trust you, Dana K. S. *Shit...he knows...he figured out the anagram...he must know where I live...* Dana quickly activated her e-mail, hoping to find an urgent message from the IOS tech, or the Gunmen. *No mail...they can't see him...* She returned to the idle chat window. Maybe if she could keep him online long enough.... You don't trust me. Dana paused, feeling "baited." It's okay...you did that night. That's all that matters. An image of Timothy Shandell with his exuberant grin flashed in Dana's mind, gradually coaxing a sad smile from her lips despite herself. She SHOULD treat this person as a suspect and make every effort to capture him. *But to what end?* another inner voice urged her. *Let it go, Dana.* She shook her own head. Skinner would criticize her. Mulder would give her "that look." But, Dana decided, only if they knew. Hesitantly, she typed. You're welcome, LittleRedBuddy. How did you know? Blue "Action" letters popped onto the screen. Bye, K'Sanda. Tears spilled over Dana's cheeks for reasons she did not even want to try and explain. Goodbye, LittleRed. Dana simply sat, watching the still screen until the window disappeared. [Private Room Closed] end.