Fletcher2:Rollercoaster - Chap 29 Date: Wed, 6 Oct 1999 12:37:17 From: "starbuck22" Fletcher2: Rollercoaster By: Dana Starbuck Feedback: dks_starbuck@yahoo.com Disclaimers: See Chapter 1 WARNING: The next few chapters contain some violence and "ick". THANKS: Once again, big thanks to Athos, Selena & Rad. Your help, feedback, patience and friendship is greatly appreciated. I can't do it without you. And a special thanks to my cyberbro deejay. Words can't express my thanks and gratitude. <> New Jersey State Police, Troop D Headquarters Friday, 8:04 PM Fletcher stood looking through the two-way mirror. Her arms were folded across her chest as she stared intently at Charles Tolliver. He was sitting calmly, having refused to answer any questions that Corcoran and Witter threw at him. They'd become frustrated with his stonewalling and had left the room. Mulder and McHugh flanked her. McHugh's eyes darted back and forth from Fletcher to Tolliver. He wanted to know what she was thinking. Mulder was thinking the same thing, but for different reasons. He hoped that Fletcher was still in control of herself, wasn't planning anything stupid. She was oblivious to the arguments raging behind her. The District Attorney, the State Police and police officers from four towns were fighting over who was going to have credit for the arrest, who had jurisdiction. It had been going on for hours. Mulder had called Roy less than an hour after the arrest and urged him to come up. When the noise became too great, too much of a distraction, Fletcher turned and began to stare down each participant. Unable to meet her eyes for long, each man looked away, his voice trailing off. Everyone in the room knew what her stake in it was. "Has he asked for a lawyer yet?" she asked Corcoran. "He says he doesn't need one. He didn't do anything." Corcoran looked like he smelled something awful. "It's a good thing Tolliver _hasn't_ lawyered up. CSU hasn't found any weapons in the house, and that gun he was carrying is only a .25. Way too small to be the one we're looking for. The most we've got on him is Concealed Weapons, and any first-year P.D. could plead that down to zip." "Did you tell him about the sneakers?" "Says he found them in gutters while he was working," Witter answered. "Says he collects 'em." "That's a good one," McHugh hooted. "Yeah, well, just because the sneaks match up doesn't _add_ up to anything," Corcoran shot back. "His lawyer could say there's no way having the sneakers puts Tolliver in the house. _Any_ house. And he'd be right." "Do you want a confession?" Fletcher offered. "Got any other brilliant observations?" Witter cracked. "Hey," McHugh started. Roy gave him a hard stare, so he didn't continue. "And I suppose you can get one?" Corcoran said sarcastically. Fletcher didn't reply. She just returned to watching Algernon. "Hey, don't turn away from me," he snapped. "I asked you a question! Who the fuck are you that makes you think you can get a confession?" Mulder felt himself growing angrier by the second. He didn't know how Fletcher could remain so calm. He was about to serve Corcoran an extra large piece of his mind when Roy stepped in front of the snarling State Police investigator. "I'll tell you who she is, Sergeant," he said evenly. "Fletcher Buchanan has put more serial killers behind bars and on death row than anyone else has in the country. She's gotten more confessions from cold-blooded murderers, on her own, than your entire squad has gotten from all their cases put together. So when she asks you if you want a confession, she's not just doing it to push your buttons. She knows what she's doing." He dropped his voice so that only Corcoran could hear him. "And if you'd put your ego aside and get your head out of your ass, you'd find that out for yourself. You might even learn a thing or two." Corcoran looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel. "You can't talk to me like that!" "I believe I just did," Roy returned quietly. There was no menace in his voice, not much inflection of any kind. But something in Tupper's steady gaze made Corcoran think twice about going to war. "Fuck this noise," she said to Mulder. "I'm going." "I'll go with you." "Not this time, Mulder. I'm flying solo this time." She saw the look that crossed his face. "Relax. I won't hurt him." "I'll be right out here." "I know," she replied, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Fletcher opened the door and casually walked toward the plain wooden table where Algernon sat. The closer she got, the wider his eyes opened. For the first time since he'd been arrested, Charles Tolliver was nervous, even a little scared. Before she sat down, Fletcher offered her hand. "Mr. Tolliver, I'm Special Agent Fletcher Buchanan," she said, her voice soft, her tone courteous. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palm on his pant leg before nervously shaking her hand. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may." He nodded. "Sure," he croaked. She started to sit down, then paused. "Can I get you anything?" "That other detective, he offered me cigarettes and coffee." "Pretty rude of him, wasn't it? You don't smoke, and you prefer tea." She turned her head slightly, just enough so that he could see the black line on her head. He'd already been staring at the purple and black discoloration above and below her eye. He had other things on his mind at the moment, though. "Why... why, yes. Yes, I do. But how...?" "You're a man of culture, Mr. Tolliver," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "Anyone can see that." She gestured towards the mirror. "Would you like a cup of hot tea?" "Please." Fletcher nodded and headed for the door. "No sugar, no milk, right?" He nodded, amazed that she knew even that much. "I'd offer you a lemon, but I don't think they have any around this place." She poked her head out of the door. "Dave, could I have two cups of tea in here? No milk, no sugar, and an empty cup, okay?" McHugh blinked twice before saying, "Umm, sure, Fletcher, coming right up." Mulder didn't say anything. He watched her with the same kind of concentration a baseball manager had watching a pitcher warm-up -- wondering if the pitcher has the stuff today, wondering if it was a good call to choose that particular pitcher for this situation. She waited by the door for Dave's return. - - - - - The empty cup sat between them as the tea steeped. Tolliver nodded approvingly when she took her tea bag out without squeezing it and deposited it into the empty cup. Fletcher took a sip and sighed. "Mmmmm, that's good. I don't drink near as much of this as I should." "It's a very relaxing drink," he agreed, feeling a little more at ease. "I always have a cup at the end of the day." She nodded, smiled. "Mr. Tolliver - may I call you Charles?" "Please do." "Charles, why did you shoot me?" "I wasn't shooting at _you_," he said, his face red with embarrassment. "I thought I explained that. I didn't mean to hurt you. It was an accident." Roy thought as he watched the interview. Mulder stood beside him, nodding, as if sharing Roy's thoughts. "Yes, you did explain it," Fletcher said, nodding sympathetically. She patted the table once. "Oh, before I forget, thank you for the flowers." Tolliver brightened a little. "I hope you liked the arrangement." "It took up most of my desk," Fletcher replied, trying to make that sound like a positive trait. Now he frowned. "A bouquet of carnations in a glass vase shouldn't have taken up that much room." Fletcher raised her eyebrows. "Actually, it was more like a large arrangement of orchids, irises, lilies. A few pussywillows for contrast..." Tolliver's frown deepened. He looked away. "They got it wrong. They got my order wrong." He sighed hard. "I was _very_ explicit about what arrangement I wanted." "Maybe they didn't take you seriously," Fletcher said, her head cocked as she looked at him. "They usually don't," he said shortly. "So it was a mistake?" "Of course it was a mistake! I specifically told that silly twit I wanted..." "I meant you shooting at me, Charles." He wasn't relaxed any more. He shifted in his chair, dropping his eyes to the table. "I was aiming for the door, just above your shoulder. I was just trying to get your attention. You just moved at the wrong time." Tolliver's voice bordered on a whine. "Now why would you want to get my attention? Didn't you think you already had it?" Charles looked at his cup of tea. He couldn't meet her gaze, didn't want to look at those unreal blue eyes. "Would you rather talk about something else?" she asked. He nodded, still looking down. "Charles, look at me." He did as ordered, staring at Fletcher's eyes once again. "What do _you_ want to talk about?" he asked, feeling as if he'd been hypnotized by her eyes. Her eyes seem to change color, looking darker and more lifeless than before. Her voice dropped so that only he could hear her voice. "Columbus Day," she whispered. His grip on the white styrofoam cup increased, bending, but not breaking it. His eyes locked on hers, he nodded, unable to speak. She shut her eyes for a moment, then opened them. They could have belonged to a doll, or a shark, they were so empty. "You came in through the basement window. It was dusty and you were afraid you'd sneeze. Up the stairs, two at a time." She stopped and looked at him. "Light on your feet, weren't you, Charles? All those dance lessons as a boy paid off." he thought, speechless. "Through the kitchen," Fletcher continued. "Don't touch anything. Don't leave a fingerprint. Down the hall. The carpet is soft under your feet, makes you want to walk barefoot on it. Another time, maybe. You've got work to do." She softly coughed once. "It was easy, wasn't it? The father never even knew you were there. Asleep one minute, dead with a bullet in his head the next minute. The mother, she was a little tougher to put down. Even after you slit her throat, she still ran to protect her children." "How do you know?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Fletcher didn't even hear him. Her eyes were open, but not seeing anything. To Tolliver, they seemed to be looking right into his brain, reading his thoughts, revealing his memories. "You were on the boy so fast, I don't even think you really even saw him," Fletcher murmured. "A few quick thrusts with the knife and it was over." She shut her eyes again, leaving them closed for a minute. Tolliver didn't move from the edge of seat. He leaned forward, waiting to hear what she was going to say next. "The shoes, the Y-incisions, they didn't mean anything, did they?" she said, sounding like she was talking about the weather. "You did it just to throw us off track, just because you could." "Yes," he said as he nodded his head. "Just leading us deeper into your maze." That sentence fragment made him jump. "That's what gets you through it when you're down there, isn't it? Down in the sewer. You're not Charles Tolliver then. You're Algernon, running the maze, smarter than anyone, and no one is like you, no one understands..." "No," he whispered. "No one. No one except you." "And the little girl..." she said, as if reading his mind. She suddenly took his wrist and stared at him, her eyes dark. "Who's Ann Marie?" she asked sharply, squeezing hard. "No..." His voice became a moan. "Nohhhhh, you _can't_ know about her! There's no _way_ you could..." "She looked like Ann Marie, didn't she?" Fletcher pressed. - - - - - From behind the mirror, Mulder and Roy exchanged looks. "Who's Ann Marie?" Roy asked. "Is there anything in the files?" "I'm looking, I'm looking," Dave said, flipping through the three-inch-thick stack of paper in the folder. "I don't see anything. No relatives, no victims with that name." "What about neighbors, friends?" Mulder queried. "No." "Get somebody on it, now," Tupper ordered. - - - - - "I didn't want to kill her, but she saw me... I couldn't leave her alive... I couldn't leave her without any family left..." "She looked up at you, those big brown eyes... she was too frightened to run, too frightened to scream... and you killed her, even though she looked just like Ann Marie." Tolliver wrenched his wrist free from Fletcher's grip. He backed away, standing up and knocking his chair over. The handcuff on his right wrist kept him from getting away. "You were there," he said, panicked. "You _had_ to be! You must have _watched_ me do it! How else could you know? And why didn't you stop me?!" Fletcher remained seated, not saying a word. Tolliver look wildly around the room. "Get me out of here! She's not human! I'm telling you, she's not human! She's an alien! I _told_ you all! I told that writer to tell the world! She's a goddamn alien, and she's reading my mind!" "Tell them what you did, Charles," Fletcher said quietly, not looking at him anymore. "I did it!" he screamed. "Do you hear? I killed them! I killed them all, all of them! I stabbed them, I shot that man, I cut them all open! Every one of them!" Tears started streaming down his face. "Even the girl, even though she..." He dropped to his knees and started pounding on the table with his free hand. "Get me out of here! Please, please! Get me away from her before she says anything else!" Corcoran and Witter rushed into the room. With hardly a glance at Fletcher, they uncuffed him from the table and dragged him out of the room. Fletcher sighed heavily, her head bowed. Mulder waited until they carted Tolliver down the hall before he went into the room, closing the door behind him. He turned off the tape recorder that sat on the table. He picked up the chair that Tolliver had knocked to the floor, then sat down in it opposite of Fletcher. He waited patiently for her to realize he was there. He knew it could be a long wait, if past experiences were any guide. - - - - - "Yeah, Sondra, that's right," McHugh was saying into his cell phone. "Ann Marie... No, I _don't_ have a last name... Look, just have Records start a search of the Jersey newspapers. Disappearances, unexplained murders, anything really hinky. Start about twenty years ago and work back. Come to think of it, have 'em check the News and the Post, too... Yeah, I _know_ that complicates it... No, skip the Times. Their reporters catch cold if they cross the GW Bridge..." Tupper hadn't moved from his spot. He watched Mulder watch Fletcher, wanting to go in, and knowing he shouldn't. he mused. He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his pocket-handkerchief. - - - - Several long minutes later, Fletcher lifted her head and was startled to see Mulder sitting in front of her. She looked dazed, as if she had just woken from a long nap. "Mulder?" "He confessed, Fletcher. I don't know what you said to him, and I don't know if I want to." She looked around the room. "Where is he now?" "Holding cell downstairs. Corcoran's setting up a suicide watch." He cleared his throat. "Fletcher, I was wondering – " "Not now, Mulder," she said flatly. "I want to go home. I'm tired." Friday, 11:58 PM Mulder followed Fletcher in his own car. She hadn't said anything on the flight back. She hadn't said one word since she said she wanted to go home. Mulder's mind was filled with dozens of questions, but he hadn't asked one. he thought as he parked his car beside hers. He saw Scully's car and was glad to see it. He smiled to himself. "Do you want a drink?" she asked, flipping on the kitchen light and setting her briefcase and coat on the table. "I'll just a have a beer, then I'm going to bed." "I'm just going to have a quick one," she said, taking out a beer for Mulder and the bottle of vodka for herself. "I've got Reserves tomorrow." "Don't you think that you should maybe call in sick?" he nodded at her scar. "They'll probably just take one look at you..." "I'd have to be bleeding from this scar before Admiral Vickers would give a weekend pass. 'sides, there's a major briefing on Kosovo tomorrow. Can't miss it." She poured herself a double, picked up her glass, then put it down hard, spilling vodka on the counter. "Damn. I almost forgot. I'm having dinner with Scully and her mother tomorrow night." "Really?" Mulder was surprised. "Yeah, I guess her mom wants to get to know me a little better." Her attempt at a wry smile ended up looking more like a grimace. "Don't worry," Mulder said lightly. "She gives all prospective son-in-laws the once-over." "How would you like us to have matching scars?" Fletcher asked, hefting the vodka bottle like she was going to throw it. "Oooooh, Fletcher," he purred. "Hit me, hurt me, make me write bad checks!" Fletcher laughed once, put the bottle down, and took a decent slug of vodka. Mulder reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "It won't be that bad." "I dunno, Mulder," Fletcher said quietly. "Scully says she's trying to understand, but... Well, I just remember the look on her mom's face when she realized whose boots she'd seen." "She's also had a week to get used to the idea," Mulder pointed out. "Some people _never_ get used to the idea, Mulder," Fletcher said into her glass. "No," Mulder reluctantly agreed. "They don't." He dismissed the thought. "But Maggie's always wanted Scully to be happy. And frankly, Fletcher, when the two of you are together, we've got to attach lead weights to Scully's ankles to stop her from jumping for joy." "Says you." Fletcher gave him the evil eye, though it came with a smile. "Yeah, says me." He smiled back. "I think Maggie will see what the two of you have for what it is. She may not understand it, but I think she'll respect it. And in the end, I think she'll be happy for Scully." Fletcher turned to look out at the night. "I hope you're right, Mulder." "I'm taking my beer and going to bed." "Will you be around this weekend?" "Nah, I think I'm going to stay at my apartment. The Gunmen got an extra ticket to the Caps game, and Byers has volunteered to play Designated Driver." "Okay. I'll see you Monday at work, then." "'night, Fletcher." He started out of the kitchen. "G'night. And Mulder?" He turned. "Hm?" She raised her glass to him. "Great job." He saluted her with his bottle. "You too." - - - - - Twenty minutes and another drink later, Fletcher dragged herself upstairs. She was tired and she couldn't wait to cuddle up next to Scully. She stumbled through the dark room, failing in her attempt to not wake up Scully. "Fletcher?" "It's me, Red." "What time is it?" "After midnight." "What happened? I heard that they caught Algernon." "It's over. He confessed." Fletcher went into the bathroom, stopping the conversation. It didn't take her long to get ready for bed. She needed a shower, but she was sure if she took one, she'd fall asleep and drown. "How are you?" Scully asked when Fletcher returned. "Okay. Tired," Fletcher said, slipping beneath the covers. "Come here," Scully said, her arms open, reaching for Fletcher. "I feel like I've been gone for days." "Scully, I..." "Ssh. Go to sleep." Fletcher thought contentedly as she drifted off.