Disclaimer in Part 1
susieqla@yahoo.com


Thrown Back - 10/18


Route 15
Outskirts of Scuffleburg, VA
2:32 P.M.


"Call 'em again."

"Patience.  They'll get here when they get here."

"That's what you said a half hour ago, John.
They've forgotten about us."

"No they haven't.  You know how their operation
works.  It's a systematic pecking order--"

"We must've gotten lost in the shuffle somewhere,"
Frohike crabbed, turning his attention to the
rearview mirror.  He adjusted its angle.  Perhaps
by sheer force of his will, a tow truck would
appear in it.  He'd settle for a farm boy with a
tractor at the rate things were going.

Byers heaved a sigh, tense with expectancy, and
shook his head.  What could be taking the service
so long?  This was taking longer than that time
when the radiator had burst on that cold, snowy
day in January when they'd gone to check out a
waste disposal plant in Delaware for Mulder.
The agent had had the hunch that the operation
was a front for an extra-terresterial satellite
relay station.

Byers wondered if there was any Tylenol left,
anything fast-acting, in the glove compartment.
The ache in his head was no longer dull.  "If no
one comes in another fifteen--"

"About time."  Frohike popped the snicky door
and hopped out.  He began flailing his arms
overhead, so he'd insure there would be no chance
that their assistance would miss them.  Although,
how many other folks were there stranded on this
road?  He craned his head at Byers who was
absorbed making a quick notation on his Pilot
which he'd extracted from his lapel pocket.
"Hooray, the calvary..."

Byers darted him a triumphant look then, nodded,
and looked at his watch.  Moments later, his brow
creased after Frohike and he were told by the
roadside technician that she'd have to tow them
a good chunk of miles out of their way because
that's where the nearest service facility, which
might *possibly* carry the required replacement
tire, was.  VW Microbus tires were not your
everyday call.

Scalding billingsgate gushed from Frohike.  "Wait
till I get my hands on that spaced-out blond," he
lambasted while they sat in the cab, waiting for
the technician to finish hooking up the van.
When he spoke again, his words cut sharper than
any patented razor wire yet known to man.  "He
thinks he's got problems *now*... Ha!  He ain't
seen nothing yet!  I'm gonna take him apart limp
strand by limp strand!"

Byers kept silent, garnering more private
thoughts, understanding why Frohike was being
such a sorehead.  He's stewing over the fact
that the girl went for Ringo instead of him, he
thought, and looked out the cab window, over to
the still meadow, and sighed.


||oo||

3:13 P.M.


'...YOU WHINE ONE MORE TIME AND I DITCH YOU...'

"I'm *not* whining--I'm speaking up, and getting
pissed!"  He whammed the steering wheel, hurting
his hand, and cut stormy eyes at the laptop
screen.  "I can't believe you lost 'em.  Damn."
He knew something was up when she'd stopped
talking with him for too long.

'...SOMETHING'S HINKY WITH THE GPS...IT'S FLAKED
OUT...I CAN'T LATCH ONTO A SIGNAL OF ANY KIND...
COULD BE A TEMPORARY PROBLEM...I'D BETTER CHECK
IT OUT...'

"Hey, wait--don't..."  Worried eyes flicked up
to the rearview mirror, and Langly contemplated
whether or not he should get out of the passing
lane he'd been doing 90 mph in.  He could feel
he was all alone.

The sky was a bold deep blue, a picture perfect
one that made a body feel good just to look up.
There wasn't a cloud in sight, but the climatic
expanse wasn't doing a thing to improve his mood,
overall.

Langly's vision drifted back to the road, and
then over to the left side view mirror.  Was that
the shimmering reflection of a state trooper's
patrol car?  He gulped, bobbled into the
traveling lane, and slowed down, thinking it was
better to be safe than having to grovel before
a cop.  Just as he thought things were 'cool,'
his eyes fell upon the gas gauge.  "Yo."
Talking to himself, "Next exit, better get some
gas."

While this decision was being made, 'Nairn' had
become one with the Mag57 NAV, pinpointing the
problem, and was in the process of ironing out
the kink.

The sign for Exit 10 was obscured by a thick oak
branch, so it read Exit 1.  Langly eased over onto
the exit lane, hugging the serpentine curve, as
the road separated from the highway, and he held
the speed at 40 mph.

At the bottom of the exit's grassy knoll which ran
parallel to a clearly marked bicycle path, he
stopped for the red light.  This wasn't the time
to quibble how much of a wimp he was for obeying
a fundamental traffic law.  When the light turned
green, he made a right onto Route 216, and kept
going until he spied an Amoco on his left.  Across
from the station was a Wendy's, and next door to
that was a Dunkin' Donuts.

Finally, after having to wait for what felt
like a legion of cars to pass, he pulled into
the busy filling station which was called 'Gas,
Snacks 'N' Go.'  He steered for the first
empty self-serve island of the three available,
pulling up until even with the 'Regular' pump.
He popped the fuel lock, and got out to pump.

Small town, he thought, as he watched the price
escalate in increments....they let ya pump first,
then pay....very trusting....suckers....

When he heard the cell phone in the backpack bid
for his attention, he ratcheted the jam in the
nozzle so the fill-up could continue without him.

Scrambling, he whipped the rear door open and
wrestled with the backpack.  Happily, he hadn't
buried the phone way down, unlike the inhaler
had been.  Her inhaler, Langly thought, hoping
she hadn't needed it since the last time.

What if she'd already had another attack?

"Stop it--stop thinkin' about her," he ordered
himself aloud.  Then, into the phone, "Yeah?"

"Hey, Langly, it's me...Frohike."

The harried blond raveled his lips into a
lopsided tangle.  "Yeah, Fro', what's up?"
Langly crossed his eyes.  "You, first, man."
He hoped his voice had sounded relaxed and
natural enough with nothing latent in his tone
that would broadcast all was not well.

"We've got technical difficulties--no thanks to
you," Frohike accused.

Langly, swallowing hard, went back to the hose,
squeezing out the last drops that would fill
the tank.  He was frowning, but no one busily
occupied around him paid him any attention.
"*Me*?  What the--what did I do *this* time?"

In the background, Langly could hear Byers
saying, "Let's not get into this now..."

"Listen, man," Frohike rasped at Byers, "this is
his damn fault!"  Byers could be heard appeasing
as a last ditch attempt.  "Save it, John.  No
spare--he's the reason."

"What?"  Langly's smirk caused a group of pre-
teens en route for the shop, who had spilled out
of a Caravan and were crossing his path, to point
at him.  "Don't tell me you got a flat," Langly
said sulkily.  His return of the nozzle back to
its appropriate place was done so with brisance,
as he hammered it into position.

"Were you, or were you not supposed to pick up
another spare, Mister?"

"Yeah--and I *did*!  Two Saturdays ago.  I told
you what happened."

"What happened?" Frohike slammed right back.

"It had to be used early this morning on account
of the flat we had on the way to the IHOP."  Then
he snapped, "What's up with your memory, Fro'?
You gettin' senile on us?"

"NO, punk-ass, I'm sleep deprived.  You woke me
up at three in the morning.  *Remember*?"

"Yeah, and that's when I told you we had a flat.
Her murderous ex-freak nearly x'd us since he
can track her with extra-t radar, and we booked
to Mulder's.  What part of that didn't you
understand at the time, huh?"  Langly's mind
shrank from the thought that going back to their
base, no matter how good the intentions, had been
a costly idea.

"So SUE ME for not remembering, okay?" Frohike
plugged sharply into Langly's ear.

"An apology would work's about now, 'Hike,"
Langly said as he ambled towards the snack shop.
He swung open the door to the place, surprised
that Byers, with that indelible memory of his,
hadn't remembered about their having a flat, and
Langly told Frhoike so.

"Whose big idea was it to go to the freakin'
IHOP in the first place?"

"Hunger called," the fair-haired hacker said,
succintly, "who knew what was gonna go down
when we got there?"

"I'm willin' to bet your girlfriend had a
fifty-fifty idea," Frohike insisted.

"I'm gonna make believe I didn't hear that,
Doohickey."

The cashier who Langly had kept waiting for
payment gave him an oblique look which
metamorphosed into a scowl, radiating distrust.
After this 'grifter' had replaced the hose, and
had just stood by his vehicle, looking shifty,
the astute young employee had begun to suspect
that he had a 'runner' on his hands.

As the serious kid continued to size Langly up,
he decided he'd keep an eye on 'this one,' just
in case he went through the shop, aisle by aisle,
sneakily helping himself to the goods.  This
nutjob looked like a refugee from a degenerate
grunge band.  Ripped jeans were so 'old;' so
tired, and what was with that T-shirt?  What was
Snoozonica about?

"That'll be twenty-five even, sir," the chamber
of commerce scholarship recipient reminded a
distracted Langly, who kept up the faraway look he
felt this yupster was owed.

Frohike made a horrible sour-puss face into Byers'
cell phone, but, after a pregnant pause, recanted,
"Okay, buddy, you're in the clear this time.  My
strike against.  I half-heard you tell me, so I
never got around to telling Byers about your flat
in the first place."

A self-satisfied smile coated Langly's lips.  He
removed a twenty and a five from his new peach
orange Velcro wallet, and handed it to the kid
who was feeling somewhat more appeased, having
Langly's money securely in his hand.

"That's a real lame apology, man, but accepted,"
the Slim-Jim addict said, then nixxed extracting
more money, and plucked up four of the obscenely
processed meat sticks.  The extra long kind.

"How's Margot doing?  No sightings of her larger
than life ex, I trust."

The smile that Langly had unfurled, a few moments
ago evaporated.  He shut his eyes, blocking out
the last time he'd seen her.  "Sh-she's fine..."

"You sound kind of iffy about that.  Is she, or
isn't she?"  Frohike switched the phone to his
other ear.

....Should I, or shouldn't I?....

*Shouldn't*, Langly decided, not feeling like
having Frohike do a repeat of going after
him tooth and nail.  He winced, thinking about
a sizeable portion of their once inviolate
investigative command center now in shambles.

"She's cool--we'll see ya la--"

"Wait, man--not so fast.  Don't end yet.  Just
to let you know...Byers and me are gonna be late.
Like a whole lot late.  We're in someplace
called...what's the name of this place, John?"

"Paris; near Scuffleburg, Virginnie."

"Yeah, right.  Get this:  it's called Paris,
and I don't mean the one of ooh-la-la fame.
We're seeing if we can snag a tire here, man.
They may haveta get one all the way from
Manassas.  There's a strong possibility you
might haveta run with this baby on your own,
if there's no joy.  Just remember, Byers keeps
his digicam where the spare is--and hold the
cam steady!  Shaky footage won't cut it."

"But why me minus you two?"

Frohike could see Langly in his mind's eye
looking baffled.  For a bright bulb he could
be real dim sometimes.  "'Cos, we could end up
spending the night here *oh, goody* in this
they-roll-up-the-sidewalks-at-dusk, sleepy
little hamlet, which might as well be on the
other side of the globe, that's why.  We'll be
in touch, man.  Peace, out--no wait, that's you,
buddy."

"Yeah, right..."  Langly sighed heavily and said,
"See ya, Fro'."  He stared into space, oblivious
to the impatient world around him.

"Are you gonna pay, for those or what?  Twenty-
five for the fill-up, and the Jims cost two
bucks apiece..."

Looking weirded out to a point of no return,
Langly nodded.  "Stupid inflation," he pushed out
the corner of his mouth.  His thumb pad rested on
the 'end call' until he pressed.

"Yeah, right.  It's tough all over."  The clerk
watched as Langly put two sticks back.

"Gimme a sec, dude.  I wanna get something to
drink."

"The sodas are the other way."

With quick, jerky steps, Langly was at the wall
of refrigeration lining the back of the shop.
'Jolt' was what he had in mind, but what he
really needed was a kick-ass rush.

Oh, God!

His beleagued eyes darted, then seized upon the
40-ounce malt liquor bottles.  Softly, he whined
his favorite graphic four-letter word a few
times, keeping his volume down, or so he thought.

People of legal drinking age, and one or two who
couldn't wait to be, were milling around him,
not paying any undue attention as temptation made
its play for him, the old familiar siren draw
nudged his hand towards the refrigerator door,
and he found himself awash in isolation.

A smartly-dressed, severly thin woman, somewhere
in her late forties, fixed him with a dirty look.
He used a wan smile on her, but she stalked
away muttering something about, 'shiftless
good-for-nothings imposing a huge drain on society.'
When she addressed the City Council this afternoon,
she was going to make a mention of that.

"I need somethin' stronger," Langly muttered.  "For
only a buck thirty-nine..."

"You say something to me, Mister?" a pixie of a
redheaded girl, a facial explosion of freckles,
who couldn't have been older than six, asked,
looking up at him pointedly.  She had strayed
from her older brother who was busy checking out
the latest anime mags.  Taking her in, Langly
wondered if Scully may have looked like that at
her age.

"Nah-ah, kewpie, not to you.  To nobody.  Sorry..."

"'Bye.  I'm gonna see my grandma.  She made me
cookies...gingerbread.  You like gingerbread
cookies?"

"Oh, yeah," Langly said, making a face she
wouldn't understand.  "Have a nice time, kid.
Eat two for me."  The little girl waved, and he
did too.  Once she'd deserted him, he directed
his attention back to the booze.  A war of wills
within erupted.  ....Just ta steady my nerves....
I'm goin' through hell....

But, at that same time he was ordering himself
to keep his head clear.

....I won't even drink the whole damn bottle....
like just half....Promise....

He opened the door, and settled his hand around
the neck of the chilled bottle of King Cobra,
then snatched the 'liquid crack' off the shelf.

....Just one stiff belt, I'm done....

Langly stalked back to the check-out, unwilling
to look another soul in the eyes.

The young cashier's stony look hardened further,
but he decided to shelve hassling this creep
for ID.  What would be the point?  The young
cashier had a feeling it'd be lost on him.
"So, your grand total comes to thirty thirty-
nine, sir."

Langly glared at the juvenile pain in the can.
He'd made 'sir' sound like an indictment.
"Yeah, I can add," he batted at the lippy kid.
He handed over ten dollars more, and he waited
for his change, then watched the kid bag his
purchases as his conscience took pot shots.

--Thought you were through crawlin' intoo a bottle
when it's hard to deal?--

"I'm *not* crawlin' inta this damn bottle--I just
need...I need--"

--Guts?  A backbone?--

"Shut the hell up!"

The kid glared at him, about to curse back.

--You sure won't get it knockin' back thhis high
octane rot-gut--

"Of *course*.  What do you think?"

"What do I think about what?"  Langly questioned,
ending the, what seemed, aimless muttering.
Instinctively he eyed the clerk charily,
narrowing his eyes into slits while he slid his
bagged goods across the counter, and felt as
though he were lost in dense fog.

"What do you think you tanked up with?  We only
sell high octane fuel.  We're Amoco, for goodness
sakes."

"I can *read* too," he spat, as surly as all
get out.

"Yeah, sure you can...have a nice day."  Then
way under his breath, the son of the franchise's
owner said, "Don't drink and drive.  Loser..."

Langly cut his eyes at him, and plowed out of
the store.  Pity the poor person who hadn't
pitched him or herself out of his way fast
enough for his full speed ahead to the door.
Once outside, the breezy, fresh air, which
portented to an early fall, made him feel somewhat
better after he breathed in deeply.

'--STUPID--STUPID--STUPID--' he mentally flogged
himself for having left the laptop on its own in
the unlocked car.  "What the hell are you usin'
for brains?" he inflicted on himself out loud.

He piled into the Cherokee, started up, and tore
over to the unfinished wood fence to park, where
he'd be out of the way, by a large rust-colored
metal drum being used for garbage.  The air over
here was stench.

"Nairn?  Hey--you here?"

No answer; the screen was the way the AI had left
it.  Dormant.

"Good, I can do this in private."  Langly noticed
'the punk' had given the KC its own separate bag;
a much smaller one.  Langly sighed, taking up the
robust elixir.  He remembered the promise he'd made
to himself and shrugged.  "It's been a long time
for me and Cobra.  A little won't hurt."  He
unscrewed the cap, thinking,....hell, back in the
day, I could polish off one of these, the equivalent
of having five shots of whiskey, in no seconds flat,
not battin' an eye....'

"Three decent swigs," he haggled, "and I 're-cap.'
Save a little for later..."

He finished bringing the mouth of the smoked
bottle to his lips, savoring the sharp bite of his
getting reacquainted with the potent liquor.
Nowhere near the same zing like when me and her
kissed, he thought sadly.  He took another swig,
shutting his eyes, trying to see her beautiful face
in the darkness behind his eyelids; the slippery
feel of her silky tongue coiling around his.  God,
she's so got it goin' on, he savored.  What it would
have felt like with her being underneath him, inside
of her...loving her, instead of being alone in bed
at night, satisfying baser urges when hard up for
relief.

The immensity of that thought took his breath away,
making his heart buck with want and the sharp sting
of loss.  Somehow he just knew that no matter how
bad he would have been for his first time, she'd
have overlooked the sum total of his inadequency,
making him whole.

The cell phone interrupted the reverie and his
having another KC installment.

....If I ignore it, maybe Frohike will go away....

The phone kept pinging.

"Okay, Doohikey, what is--"

"No, love--it's me--Margot."

Langly jacked himself bolt upright.  Some King
Cobra droplets escaped, staining the Cherokee's
immaculate doeskin colored interior with splotches.
"MARG!  How--where--"

"I can't talk at length.  It's heaven hearing your
voice.  I thank God.  Are you all right?"

"Five nines better now that I'm hearing you."  Her
voice solely had him adrenalized.  Where are you?"

Margot cast cautious eyes about the Women's
restroom, then settled them upon the kind, but
frazzled looking mother who had consented to her
using her cell phone, and finally upon her two
active little girls.  "At a rest stop.  Sorry I
couldn't contact you any sooner."

"Forget that."

"This is the first he's let me out of the car.
He's right outside the door waiting for me."

Langly rested the booze down on his left leg.
A little buzz fuzzed his mind.  "What's your
location?"

"Wish I knew.  He's had me blindfolded during
the journey.  He stopped here at this woody
roadside area only because I begged him to let
me use the loo." 

The 'loo.'  She'd told him what that was, but
he had forgotten.  "You're in range, so you
can't be that far from me.  Esther and me were
following you until she lost the fix via GPS."
Langly pressed the audio portion of the cellular
harder into his ear, wishing her into the seat
beside him.  Desperate to know where she was
exactly, but grateful she was on the line,
talking with him right now.  "Think you could
sneak away?"

"I wish.  No."

"Can't ya try at least?"

"There's no other way out of here except
through the one door, and what good would
sneaking away do?  He locks onto me quicker now."
Margot heard Langly sigh, and its hopelessness
flooded her heart with a sorrow she'd never known
before.  "I'll make this quick before he gets
suspicious.  He's quite mad.  There's something
obsessive about him now there wasn't before."

Langly said nothing for what felt like hours,
heartsick, but finally he said, "Speak to me."

"He's convinced that instead of the aliens
experimenting on me, he can get them to turn
me into what he is."

"Damn," Langly exclaimed, gulping deeply.
"And you wouldn't call that experimenting?"

"The CRS complex's the key, the focal.  I think
it's something other than just the organization's
headquarters."  Langly heard her voice wilt.
"Esther *is* right.  I really think it is where
he makes contact with them."

Langly's fingers gripped the little phone tighter.
Again, he found himself at a loss for what to say,
until inspiration took over.  "I'll get it as
footage, and we're gonna publish the findings,
and everybody'll know.  The whole clueless world.
Mulder will name his kids after the three of us,
if he ever has any."

She wiped away the several tears streaming down
her cheeks, loving him all the more, his plaintive
tone tearing at her heart, but she managed to sound
like herself.  "Thanks for trying...for trying to
help...I'll never forget you, Lambkins."  Her voice
faded, and Langly panicked, his having to say all
that he needed to, driving him over the edge.

"Don't sound like I'm never gonna see ya again.
I'm gettin' to CRS first--some way, some how,
I'm gonna stop him.  I'm not lettin' the E.B.E.s
get ya, so help me."  His eyes racked his liquor
bottle, and its splattered paper bag, and he
sneered at it in disgust, feeling sloppy.  He
smelled like booze now, but for nerve, he swigged
a bit more.  "Margot, I.  Th-there's somethin' you
gotta know...no matter what."

Sounding patient, she replied, "Tell me, love.
What is it?"

"I th-th-think I, I'm in--"

Before he could wobble through the last of his
fragile declaration, the mother of two was
hollering her lungs out at the lumbering offender
who had just stormed over the line.  "Sir, this
is the LADIES'!  Men aren't allow--  What do
you think you're *doing* in--"  Her face was
riddled with consternation, as she reeled her
pair of moppets in close to her, and repeated
the stern adviso, with the holes of her nostrils
blimped from pinprick size to wide O's.

"Oh, NO!" Margot cried.

"He busted in, right?"  Raising his voice in
agitation, Langly leveled into the phone again,
"Hello?  Hello?  Marg--are you still...?"
He scowled a scorching, white-hot glare at the
heedless communications device and the distant
shrieks coming over it.  "Margot, you there?"

She wasn't...


||oo||

End Part 10