Rozhanitsy

Chapter 1
Rozhanitsy

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Chapter Description: Agent Scully embarks on a strange investigation alone.

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Rozhanitsy

by Alec Leamus

Six women. Six abductions. Each unique in their style and completely baffling. Danielle Simmons, Helen Croush, Beatrice Dorner, Rachel Bidman, Camille Douglas and Kelly Frank all taken for a period of several weeks and then returned. All unwilling or unable to speak of their abduction except to say that they had nothing to report. It was odd. None of the women knew each other and their only similarity seemed to be the fact that they were attractive and successful. Each worked in a key upper management position or owned their own company. Each was in good standing with the community and possessed an impressive financial portfolio.

Money was not a motive. None of the women were coerced or threatened for payment and no ransom notes were ever sent. The women were not abused sexually. A few, under the pressing of the local authorities, even consented to a medical exam. There were no drug traces or marks. It was as if each of the women took an unwanted, sudden vacation. The only key difference seem to materialize in their behavior. The six women now seemed calm and quiet in direct contrast to their normal aggressive persona. Threatened with harassment the police eventually dropped their investigation. One by one the women stopped talking. A few women quit their jobs and moved away.

However, local authorities feared the abductions were only the beginning. The perpetrator would escalate. This could manifest into a myriad of intense scenarios; all of which would translate into police failure. So the police continued their investigation and concentrated exclusively on the evidence. Personal invitations to the victims; the calling card of the abductor.

Helen Croush received a small unmarked envelope. Mysteriously it appeared on her desk. No one knew how it had been delivered. Inside the envelope was an invitation to a private spa complete with complimentary massage and facial. This was not unusual. Many of the women due to their charity donations often received unsolicited offers. There was a telephone number to book your time and schedule a limousine pickup. In bold letters printed across the top of the invitation the words "Baby yourself" appeared. Witnesses remember seeing Helen step into a black limousine parked in the circle driveway. That was all. The driver opened the door but no one remembered height, build or the slightest trait concerning his description. He had purposely parked adjacent to the stone columns to avoid the surveillance cameras. That was the last time anyone saw Helen until a patrol cruiser picked her up naked on the outskirts of town.

The number on the invitation was a dummy cell phone number piggy backed on another account. That account was now dead. The address of the spa was an abandoned warehouse owned by the city. Crime investigators concluded the warehouse was not the site of the abduction. The limousine had been stolen and returned to the lot from which it had been borrowed. Unfortunately due to the slow follow up any latent evidence was inconclusive. Still the crime lab poked and prodded through the limousine but found nothing. The invitation was printed on common stock and manufactured locally. The ink was from a Hewlett Packard desk-jet, probably a 9800. No hair, no fiber, no prints, nothing. He had been very careful.

Rachel Bidman received a two night getaway at a nearby Bed and Breakfast. Her invitation offered her to "Relax". Beatrice Dorner received a dinner cruise with complimentary limousine transportation. Her message read "Time to sail away". However, to the investigators Danielle Simmons’ invitation seemed to offer the most promise. She received six months free membership to a trendy new gym for her recent charity donations. She arrived, changed into her gym clothes and vanished. The police were grateful for the break and felt that the kidnapper was close to capture; but the lead yielded nothing. All of the employees were clean and it became apparent that they were dealing with someone from the outside. The only lead was the description of an unknown maintenance employee. Frustrated the police listened to the conflicting descriptions of the mystery man.

All of the women turned up nude. Some materialized at their offices and others on empty roads. Unfortunately, none of the women seemed to have any knowledge of their experience. The only clear recollection they shared was useless. They all insisted they had never seen their abductor nor heard his real voice. When he did speak it was always altered and modulated. Only one incident evoked a raised eyebrow from the detectives. Officer Sharon Hanson was present during the Kelly Frank’s session. At this time the police did not know the extent of the abductions and were leaning toward a more plausible scenario such as a jealous boyfriend or colleague.

Despite the insistent questions Kelly Frank remained calm. She continued to stonewall. It was obvious that she remembered something but was not telling. Frustrated the detective in charge suggested a break. Kelly Frank’s deadpan expression never wavered. Her beautiful features framed by her thick brown hair remained still. At twenty eight she held a corporate position of immense responsibility. Confrontation was no stranger. In an effort to bond with Kelly Officer Hanson went to her purse to find some gum. Normally her purse would had been stored in her locker but she was scheduled for court and did not want to trek all the way back downstairs to retrieve it. Procedure dictated otherwise but they were only taking a statement and not interrogating. Sharon moved a few items in her purse and lifted out her hairbrush. Kelly Frank’s eyes transfixed on the wooden item and began to cry. It was assumed that the tremendous strain of her ordeal had taken it’s toll. She was released to be questioned later. No one connected the two events.

When Camille Douglas was discovered on an access road nude and sobbing at three o’clock in the morning; the local authorities contacted the FBI. The escalation of violence theory persisted. The police were desperate. At the FBI the case was assigned, reassigned, reassessed then reassigned. It was the dictate of bureaucracy.

Special Agent Dana Scully brushed back the red strands of her hair and closed the case file. She reached for a travel requisition form. This was not a desk investigation. It required personal attention. It was exactly the kind of case that Agent Mulder would have relished. However, once again, in their combined efforts to conclude a case they had broken protocol and procedure. Now they were off of the X-files separated and forbidden contact. Frankly she was pleased as she clicked confidently down the halls of the Hoover building unaccompanied. Too long she had existed in Mulder’s shadow. She missed him but lately felt superfluous as she filled in the spare pieces of their investigations. Her assignment on the X-files was challenging but she longed to take the lead and follow her own instincts. Their investigations into the paranormal had garnered them a dubious reputation; which is why Assistant Director Skinner had assigned her this particular case.

"I know this seems like an X-file Agent Scully, but I think the locals are just seeking attention. The Chief of Police is a bit of a grandstander. I’d like our profile there to be low key. I don’t want another media blowout. Just go up there and poke around and point them in the right direction. You’ll be taking lead on this but I want you to stay in the background. You will be working with a Detective Tyler. I’ve been assured that they will give all the manpower needed. It’s your case." Skinner rattled.

Skinner leaned back and eased his large frame into the black leather chair. He adjusted the rolled sleeves of his crisp white shirt. Scully knew the signs. Skinner was busy and obviously bothered by the intrusion of this new case. Her reply was brief.

"Sir, I don’t think this is an X-file, but it does lean to the strange. I’ve reviewed the available evidence and worked up a profile. It’s all in there. I do think the local detectives are correct that the kidnapper will eventually escalate to violence."

"You ever seen anything like this?"

"No sir. Victims of kidnapping are resistant but not to this degree. There is Helsinki syndrome but I don’t think that applies here."

"Well, I don’t mean to sound sexist Agent Scully but a woman’s perspective may be useful on this."

"I agree sir."

Agent Scully unceremoniously entered the Portland Police Central Precinct on Second Avenue. Cleared by the Desk Officer she made her way upstairs to the detectives. Scully had been in dozens of police stations. They melded together in a stereotype of thrift store desks and antiquated metal chairs punctuated by flickering florescent lamps. Scully never anticipated the reception of local law enforcement. Their attitude was often fickle and she was well aware of first impressions. Scully wore her long coat, blue blouse, dark pants and high heels. A few officers paused to watch the womanly vision of understated sophistication.

The squad room resembled a precision dance recital as officers weaved past each other. The name plate near Scully read "Det. Tyler". She studied the family photo and replaced it. As she turned to scan the room a large uniformed officer knocked her elbow.

"Watch it red!" The woman officer spat. She shifted the stack of files in her meaty hands.

"Sorry." Agent Scully uttered softly with her eyebrows sarcastically raised.

"Excuse me?" Scully called.

"Yes?" the large woman replied sharply.

She wheeled and faced Agent Scully. The woman officer was very tall and blessed with a breast line that strained the seams of her uniform. Scully involuntarily inhaled.

"Yes?" She asked again. "As you can see we’re a little busy. What?"

"Do you know where I can find Detective Tyler?"

"There." She pointed to the corner office.

"Thank..." Scully answered to the woman’s back.

"Don’t worry about Herrick." Detective Tyler interjected.

"She just got passed over again. Trying to make Sergeant. She’s smart but she has... well, attitude."

Agent Scully smiled but it manifested more as a smirk than the friendly open smile she imagined.

"Don’t worry, she’s fine, just overworked. You’re Agent Scully right? So what do you need?" He asked.

"I want to start with the evidence."

"Okay. But there’s something you should know before you start. Kelly Frank committed suicide this morning. There wasn’t a note or anything, she just checked out. I’ll get back to you with the details."

"I know it’s difficult but let’s see if we can get the family to agree to an autopsy. It might help." Scully said.

Hours later Agent Scully’s vision began to blur. She pinched the bridge of her nose under her glasses. Detective Tyler popped his head into the interrogation room.

"Coffee?"

"No thank you."

"Anything?"

"No, not really. Little things. Look at this." Agent Scully slid the plastic evidence bags toward Tyler.

"The words on the invitations. "Baby", "Pamper", "Surrender", "Relax", "Time. They’re all in bold. There is an obvious theme here. I think he views these women a certain way. Think about what he’s doing. He’s offering these invitations to them. He doesn’t force them. He wants them to come to him of their own free will." Scully stated flatly.

"You think he knows these women?"

"No. I don’t think so but he’s obviously choosing them well in advance based on his careful planning. He knew where to park when he picked up Helen Croush. The maintenance uniform at the gym. He knew that the air conditioning was broken. I think it’s more likely that the victims represent a woman or several women from his past. And all of them share similar characteristics. They average in height and build. They are older but appear young and they are all very successful in their field."

"Something that’s bugged me from the beginning. Why paper? Why send hard evidence to the victims. Why not e-mail? It’s not untraceable but it’s not as obvious."

"I think he wants us to know how clever he is. He wants us to have these invitations." Scully added

"You think this guy wants to be caught?"

"Eventually yes. When he’s caught the scope of his work be exposed and recognized.

"What work? What is he doing?" Tyler asked.

"I don’t know exactly."

Detective Tyler arranged the bags on the table.

"You should get some rest." He suggested.

"I’d really like to interview a few of the women."

"Okay. I don’t know how much you’ll get out of them. Who do you want to start with?

"Danielle Simmons."

"Why her?" Tyler questioned.

"Because she’s the only one that drove to her own abduction. All the other women were picked up."

"That’s interesting. I’ll drive. I know where it is." Tyler said.

Rejuvenated by the new information he energetically rolled off the desk. Scully admired his new enthusiastic form.

The street lights rolled rhythmically over the glass as they glided across the glistening pavement of rain swept Portland. Scully rarely relaxed during a case but allowed herself a moment of fantasy. She glanced sideways at Detective Tyler. He was the kind of man to which she was attracted. He was serious about the work but exhibited a playful side. The Miles Davis music that originally filled the car was a clear indication that he was not uptight. He turned it off and apologized for the blast of jazz music and grinned. She pondered how he would fair on a real X-file case. Mulder crowded her mind and Scully was grateful when Detective Tyler broke the silence.

"So have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"A few times but it usually turns out to be a hoax. This is different. What can you tell me about Danielle Simmons?" Scully asked.

Detective Tyler did his best to recall the data. Danielle was a striking blonde woman in her early thirties. However, her youthful bone structure and slim physique cast her more in the range of her early twenties. An advantage she played to its full potential. She started a small software company with a partner five years ago. Their innovative advances in corporate data entry immediately expanded. A few years later Danielle Simmons exercised her option and bought out her partner. Ms. Simmons socialized very little except with share holders and clients. She frequently attended charity events and contributed generous amounts. She was single and there seemed to be no recent relationships or even brief affairs. She did not drink, smoke nor was there any indication of drug use. She worked out regularly at a semi private gym.

They slowly eased to a stop before an elegant two story home. A small porch light illuminated the brick walk way. The house was white with green shutters and the Victorian trim evoked a sense of nostalgia. It reminded Scully of summers in Maine with her father. The pair darted across the lawn anxious to avoid the sprinkle of rain that had returned.

"It’s open." Scully pointed.

"Hello? Federal Agent. Ms. Simmons? We just like to talk to you."

"Portland Police, Detective Tyler. Your door was open."

"I’ll check upstairs." Scully said.

Tyler nodded and moved into the kitchen. Upstairs Agent Scully noticed a light from the bedroom at the end of the hall. The boards creaked as she slowly entered. On the floor a young girl in braided pigtails hummed as she scrawled in a coloring book. Her thin legs splayed out from under her school uniform. She did not acknowledge the intruder. Scully adopted the soft tone she often reserved for children.

"Hi. What are you coloring?" She bent down next to the girl.

"Nothing. Just a horse." The young girl answered.

"Do you know where your mother is?"

"She’s gone. She went to get food. Do you like pizza?" She twisted on her side and faced Scully.

"Uh, yes. Do you?"

She resumed coloring. "I like cheese pizza."

A low cough emanated from the hall. Detective Tyler motioned with his head to Scully. In his hand she saw the framed photo he had taken from the hallway.

"Anything?"

"No, but check this out."

"Oh my God."

In the frame was an ordinary photo of a woman dressed in a pinstripe suit; but it was the face that took Agent Scully by surprise. The face was Danielle Simmons. The same face that belonged to the young girl in pigtails. A noise from downstairs startled them.

Several minutes later Mrs. Patricia Simmons was finally calm. She nodded to the law enforcement identifications and apologies. She paced and described the previous months and confirmed that the girl upstairs was indeed her thirty-two year old daughter, Danielle Simmons. She had gone next door to borrow more clothes. The neighbors had a teenage daughter and Danielle flew into a tantrum unless she wore age appropriate clothing.

After her disappearance Danielle returned to her office but seemed odd. Her colleagues were quick to express concern but cautious to suggest anything beyond mild exhaustion. Danielle’s demeanor had changed. She came to work early in the morning and never saw any clients. She worked in her office all day with her door closed. She ate very little and her regimen at the gym stopped. She lost several pounds. Three months ago her attorney arrived for a three hour meeting that lasted into the night. The next day she announced she would be stepping down and transferring control of the company to the Board of Directors. She signed a power of attorney over to her mother, sold her condo in the Pearl district and moved back home.

Outside under the yellow porch light Detective Tyler and Agent Scully spoke. The rain pounded the white steps of the suburban home.

"That girl looked like she was in her teens." Tyler commented.

"Obviously she’s suffered a great trauma. More than we originally realized. It is common for someone to retreat or even regress in order to escape their own mental anguish. I’ve just never witnessed it. I think it would be wise to check on the mother. She may be perpetuating her condition."

"Yeah. Okay, but..."

Scully reached behind him and tugged the belt of his trench coat.

"Keep talking but try to look across the street. We’re being watched. He was there when we pulled up."

Detective Tyler continued and cocked his head slightly. In the shadows of an oak tree a dark figure stood frozen, a cardboard cutout. Detective Tyler shifted again and the dark figure sprung to life.

"Federal Agent! Stop right there!"

Agent Scully drew her weapon and flew across the street. In seconds she was soaked. Detective Tyler cut right and angled through the neighbor’s yard. They dodged and weaved through back yards and connected alleys. At each turn the dark figure was just a few steps in front of Scully. She rounded into a side yard overgrown with Wisteria. It was dark. She immediately halted and listened. The rain pummeled the metal gutters. A wooden gate slammed shut and she leapt toward the sound. Ten paces forward she tripped into the mud. Under her Detective Tyler wheezed; his face contorted in a mask of pain. Another gate slammed. Detective Tyler was dead.

The soft hotel bed was inviting but Scully would not sleep. The death of an associate was always hard. She had just cradled the heavy white phone when the it buzzed again.

"Agent Scully, this is Detective Ronson. We found something. I think you should come down here. It concerns you."

As she drove through the rain Scully tried to erase the twisted face of Detective Tyler from her mind. She replayed their pursuit over and over. In each scenario she chose an alternate route. She reminded herself that she had followed procedure. Even Skinner had reassured her, but the image lingered. Potassium chloride is an unpleasant death. She thought of Danielle; once a glamorous and sophisticated woman now an awkward skinny teen coloring on the floor. Her mind was gone. What an awful fate. Did the other women abducted share the same future? What event had caused Danielle to snap and retreat? She pictured her impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit standing in her office. Her beauty only accentuated by her tasteful delicate makeup. She watched as invisible hands scrubbed her face clean and pulled her blonde hair into braids. The hands moved quickly over her body and stripped her of the hard pressed uniform of business. She was nude. Her thin pale body shook with anticipation as she accepted the straightjacket of childhood.

Upstairs in a back office Agent Scully found Detective Ronson at his desk. He poured another cup of thick coffee.

"Special Agent Dana Scully. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances."

"Me too. Fred transferred here about three years ago. He didn’t come up with us but we all liked him. He didn’t piss anybody off except for our captain. He just did his job." Detective Ronson noted somberly.

Detective Ronson was a average man that could disappear in a crowd. He was five foot ten and sported a brown mustache. It fit him.

"The preliminary lab came back. It was Potassium Chloride. How’d you know?" he asked.

"I’m a medical doctor. I’ve had some experience with it. It’s mainly used in the penal system for lethal injections in conjunction with sodium thiopental and pancuronium bromide which is a muscle relaxant. But to administer it unaccompanied is very painful. It induces cardiac arrest."

Detective Ronson frowned.

"I’m sorry. It’s also difficult to trace because it can be synthesized from average fertilizer." Scully said.

The moment hung and Ronson gulped another mouthful of coffee.

"Well this is why I called you."

He presented her a black envelope. The scrolled red letters "Agent Scully" caught the overhead light.

"We’ve already run it for prints. Nothing. I didn’t open it, figured I’d wait for you."

Scully reached into her pocket and withdrew her own set of thin surgical gloves.

"May I? She inquired as she maneuvered around the desk. Scully placed a piece of white typing paper on the desk. She carefully applied pressure to the glue and peeled open the black envelope. A small orange ticket dropped onto the clean paper.

"Turlington Manor, October 31st. Halloween".

Despite it’s grand name Turlington Manor was no more than a converted warehouse. It resided in a partially abandoned industrial district populated by faceless brick buildings. It was an ideal location for a haunted house attraction. The manager, Jeff Burke, was very cooperative and extended Agent Scully and Detective Ronson every courtesy.

"Yeah, that’s one of our tickets alright, but there’s no way that any of my people could be involved. I know it’s easy point fingers at guys like us, runnin’ around making monsters and fake blood. But you gotta understand this is a business. We make a lot money here. We love this stuff and there’s nobody here that’d jeopardize that. We’ve put way too much into this." Jeff assured the detectives.

Jeff Burke consented to personally escort Agent Scully and Detective Ronson through the entire attraction. Two additional officers followed and took notes. Structural questions dominated the inquiries as they tested the walls and checked the exits. Through a weather beaten wooden door guests entered into a series of dark hallways. Hooded figures, disembodied voices and camouflaged actors all conspired to send the patrons running through the exit. It was typical haunted house fare. Jeff nervously rambled as he lead the team.

"We moved into this space about six years ago. It’s a little off the beaten track but hey, plenty of parking. You gotta have parking. The teens love us so we try to beef it up each year. We just added a couple of new monsters, big ones. It’s the special effects that gets ’em talking. You know, you gotta wow them. We get pretty good steady crowds but on Halloween we’re mobbed. I hope you guys got it covered."

"We do sir. Let’s keep moving." Ronson replied flatly.

The first large room was an Egyptian excavation gone awry. The star was a huge animatronic mummy that rose from an unearthed sarcophagus and swung his bandaged arm over the guests. A few rooms later they entered a zig zag concoction of colors and mirrors. The centerpiece was a massive menacing clown. He served as misdirection as he sat and clapped his hands while actors disguised as knife wielding clowns popped out from behind oversized building blocks. Jeff Burke beamed as he demonstrated the mechanical giants. At the end of the house guests faced six crimson doors. Only one door allowed them to exit. The first door opened to an actor dressed as a monster; the second to a dead end hallway. The third door revealed a bloody murder scene; the fourth a brick wall. The fifth door allowed the guest to exit but after a sharp turn deposited them back into the room. The sixth door, positioned second from the left, was the true exit.

The orders were passed and the task force prepared. Heavy black metal cases of equipment were brought into the attraction and unpacked. The men worked steadily. In a back area they established a command center. They installed security cameras but the low light conditions made visibility poor. Officers walked the layout and tested their memories. Navigation during operation through the labyrinth of foggy passages would be difficult.

The long fall shadows crept over the raw brick buildings. The crisp air hinted of burning wood and somewhere regular people, unconcerned with murder and crime, snuggled together. Soon across the city costumed beggars would cavort from door to door in their ancient ritual. It was Halloween. However the policemen outside stood detached. They did not seek the warmth and safety of home. The wind penetrated their exteriors but did not chill them. It passed through them and on. They were somber. This was not a holiday. One of their own had fallen and this was a night for redemption.

"I’m not particularly happy with the idea of using you as bait." Ronson said.

"I’m not, but it is the only lead we’ve got. He’s here, somewhere. I think he’s just over confident enough to make a move." Scully replied.

Scully noticed Ronson’s grim expression.

"Look I’m armed and there’s a dozen undercover officers inside. I’ve got the two way. It’ll be fine."

A moment of silence passed between them.

"I don’t want lose another man." Ronson insisted.

Jeff Burke was correct and the crowds were enormous. The line stretched past the numerous rows of expansive buildings. Every man was alert. Scully did her best to blend in with the excited teenagers. She dressed in khaki pants, a jeans shirt and her beige barn coat. She even pulled her hair back into a pony tail. Typically within the groups she adopted a follow position. However as the panicked girls reacted to the scares she was frequently jostled into the middle. On her fifth trip through the attraction her two way radio crackled. Scully side stepped behind a fake stone wall splattered with blood. It was difficult to hear beyond the music and sound effects. Scully pressed a free hand to her exposed ear.

"Scully." she said.

"We got him!"

"Really where? How?"

"About two miles from here at a gas station. He tried to use Beatrice Dorner’s credit card. We’re on the scene."

"Wait. That doesn’t mean..."

"No. It’s him. He had all the victim’s IDs."

"Where are you? I’m coming there."

"Agent Scully, he confessed. We got him."

Static buzzed.

"Don’t do anything. I’ll be right there."

Silence.

"Hello? Hello? Dammit."

She needed to get outside. She needed a clear channel. Her best route was a direct path through the attraction. Scully hurried past the teens oblivious to their screams. She stepped into the graveyard decorated with gray broken headstones. The room was cast in an erie blue light. On the opposite end of the yard the Grim Reaper waited. Behind a headstone one of the bodies groaned and Scully’s eyes darted left. Officer Kluft rolled over covered in brown leaves. Scully remained casual. She eased her eyes upward focused on the figure ahead. She knew.

"Federal Officer! Don’t move!" She shouted as she withdrew her weapon.

A flash of lightning bathed the cemetery in white light. The Grim Reaper rolled through the archway and disappeared. Scully leapt and fumbled for her radio. Static was the only reply. She kept her eyes riveted on the dark figure. Scenes blurred past as the he darted in front of her. Scully’s heart pounded. She was not going to lose him again. Her temples throbbed. He vanished through the second crimson door. Scully ripped it open and flew down the hallway. A bank of fog quickly enveloped her. Her flashlight was useless. As she proceeded into the blackness a disturbing thought gnawed at her. The hallway was longer than it appeared. The grinding sound of the concrete wall was barely audible as it returned to it’s original position. Agent Scully was separated from the rest of the house. Trapped the thick fog swirled around her.

"Sir? Federal Officer. There’s nowhere to go. Show yourself." She shouted.

Silence.

Scully blindly shuffled further into the passage. Concealed under a blanket of fog the black mound rose. Scully winced in pain. A needle pierced her ankle and the world faded.

Damp tile is a rude awakening. Scully felt as though she had fallen through two stories of steel branches. Her right arm cradled her head but the unforgiving tile offered little comfort to her aching body. The feeling was familiar. It harkened to her college days and lessons learned. A wild image her peers would find difficult to reconcile with her present persona. She groaned aloud and struggled to her knees. The weight of the drug lingered. She stood and her bare feet made contact with the cold tile. She reached for her missing weapon. The room was covered in white tile and the odor reinforced the clinical facade. It was empty save for a single bare bulb in the ceiling. The room measured five feet by five feet with a height of nine feet. Above the door a small metal vent circulated the stale air. Two pipes in the upper wall penetrated the tile and disappeared on the other side.

Scully tested every inch of her prison. The only access was a metal door. The humid atmosphere had wreaked havoc on the door but it’s distressed condition belied it’s strength. She tested it from various vantage points with no success. It resembled an industrial freezer door. It was smooth with no inside handle. Scully wedge her feet against the opposite wall and used her hands to work her way up toward the vent. Unfortunately the walls were too far apart. A few times she jumped but her five foot two frame fell short. Winded she sat to think.

"It’s hard, isn’t it?" A metal voice echoed through the ventilation system. It was modulated. Scully recognized the technological disguise.

"Yes." She answered.

"It doesn’t have to be."

"Then let me go. I’m a Federal Agent."

"I know who you are Dana."

Scully stood. She listened and analyzed.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know all about you Dana."

"I doubt that."

"Dana Katherine Scully. You reside at 3170 W. 53 Rd. #35, Annapolis, Maryland. Father deceased. Mother, Margaret. You have a degree in Physics from the University of Maryland along with a medical degree. You did your residency in forensic pathology. I even know your badge number, JTT0331613. Shall I continue?"

"You could have gathered that information from anywhere. I’m not impressed."

"True."

"Who are you?" What do you want?"

"Ah, That would be telling."

"Did you kill Detective Tyler?"

"Yes. Unfortunate but I needed to continue my work."

"What work is that?"

"I help people. Mainly women."

"Is that what you did for Kelly Frank?"

"Yes."

"She committed suicide. Is that how you helped her?"

Scully was pleased. She had him on the defensive.

"No. That was her choice. That is all I do. I provide a choice."

"No. You kidnapped her, drugged her, tortured her then she killed herself."

"Wrong!"

"What about Danielle Simmons and Helen Croush? Did you help them too?"

"Absolutely."

"You drugged them."

"It was necessary to help them choose."

"Choose what?"

"A better life. They were living a lie just like you."

"I’m not living a lie."

"Ah, how hard it is to step away from the mask we wear."

"I’m not a liar. How about you? You’re hiding. That makes you a liar too."

"I am here to help you."

"What if I I don’t want your help."

"Too late."

A valve in the over head pipe erupted. In moments Scully was waist high in water. Her flesh tingled but she was grateful that the water was not cold. She floated and spied the vent. The level rose and Scully stretched and dug her fingers behind the frame. It moved. Scully planted her feet against the door and pulled. She splashed backward and watched the small vent zig zag to the floor.

Soaked Scully ambled through the opening and peered down the shaft. It was large and could easily accommodate her. She crawled on her hands and knees braced for the eventual rush of rising water. It never came. She shivered and the tingling increased. The effect rapidly accelerated into an itchy irritation. She crawled faster.

Ahead a bright filtered light beckoned her. It was another vent. The shaft had lead in only one direction. She forced the grate forward and listened as it clattered to the hard floor. This room was similar in size illuminated by two bright lights. An open shower stall and a chair were the only new features. Familiar pipes intersected the walls. Her choice was clear and Scully dropped down. Her bare feet slapped against the concrete pavement. This room was not tiled. Immediately she tore off her jacket and shirt. It was obvious now. She wreaked of bleach and other odors. The chemically treated water seeped into her skin. Her clothes were contaminated. She hated the idea but knew she had to strip. She rotated the shower handle and hoped the water was pure. She unzipped her pants and kicked them off. She was careful not to pick up any chemicals from her clothing and used only her two index fingers. She twisted them into the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them over her pale round globes and past her thighs. She stepped away from them and delicately removed her bra.

The cascade of warmth soothed the irritation from the chemicals. The burning dissipated but the itching remained. At the bottom of the stall Scully noticed a white bar of soap. She picked it up and examined it closely. The words "Clean" were etched into it. She sniffed the bar and trusted it was true. It lathered generously. Scully massaged the soap across her breasts. She lifted them and they bounced back into place. She slid her hands down across her flat stomach. The slick moisturizing soap pleased her. She moved to her privates and gently scrubbed. Scully brought the soap up and rinsed away the suds. She stared at it. The soap was encrusted with curly hair. Small tufts and stray strands were embedded into the bar of soap.

Scully rocked her hips forward into the stream. She tilted her head down and confirmed her fear. She was bare, completely bare! Scully’s slick privates glistened up at her. She released the soap and explored her lower region. She caressed her bottom cheeks. They felt rubbery and odd. She had shaved in the past but this was different. The chemicals had even managed to remove the small wisps of hair along the inside of her ass.

Scully finally felt clean. The irritation had stopped. However, she had no clothes and the room was empty. Gingerly she separated her jacket from the heap of clothing on the floor. The fumes of the bleach penetrated her nostrils and she coughed. As she approached the shower the flow of water ceased. Disgusted she dropped her jacket into the stall. It angered her that he was watching.

Agent Scully was nude. She shook her arms then hugged her shiny wet body. She needed to think. She weighed hypothermia against the contaminates of her clothes. She vigorously rubbed her arms and legs to increase her circulation and grimaced at her smooth pussy. Another notion bombarded her under the bright lights. Her skin appeared pink. Normally her natural tones enhanced her look but now she appeared unusually pale. She stared at her hairless vagina. It seemed smaller and she noticed that somehow her labia had retracted. It was just a smooth slit.

Scully concentrated and scanned the concrete blocks for weakness. Stillness only hastened hypothermia so she busied herself with movement. She examined the shower stall, the chair, the vent and the door. Nothing provided a clue. Music interrupted her search and flowed into the room. It was classical in nature but the bass line underneath made her uneasy. She imagined she heard words in the music and strained to pinpoint the source. In the corner there was a small hidden speaker, faux painted to blend with the cement blocks. It was recessed and almost undetectable. She discovered three more hidden speakers and a small iron gate in the corner. The music increased.

Suddenly the room plunged into darkness. This lasted only a moment as a luminescent glow emanated from the walls. Assisted by ultra violet lights three dimensional words such as "baby", "mask", "relax", "choice", "salvation", and "rebirth" covered the cement. The word "Liar" was scrawled repeatedly. There were other words too but she could not decipher the foreign text. Scully whirled as she read the clues. The odd shaped words floated out from the walls, blurred then snapped back into place. Huddled on a tiny section of carpet in the corner she focused her mind. She stretched her neck and spied a soft glow from under the chair. The bent her head underneath and read the words "honest clothes". She tried to move the chair but it was bolted to the floor. She climbed onto the seat and pondered the game.

Her captor was manipulating her auditory and visual senses but there were clues. Only from her seated position did she observe the chair’s message. Vantage points and vision were valuable in this twisted fun house. His goal was to save the women he had abducted but he had broken them first. Kelly Frank’s suicide pressed on Scully’s resolve. She was going to hold on. She would not be broken. Scully shivered again as she turned carefully on the chair. At eye level and just within reach she spotted a red glowing package secreted in the duct.

Scully crouched over the brown paper package with the vent triumphantly mangled next to her. The sharp corners of metal served perfectly to cut the heavy string of the package. In the darkness the package bathed her naked body in an erie red light. Despite the icy floor Scully did not move. She peeled back the paper and it blossomed to a disturbing image. Scully shifted backward on her feet. The clothing snickered at her.

It was a white dress more appropriate for a six year old going to a party twenty years ago. It was adorned with frills and pink bows and a long sash that tied in the back. Underneath the dress were shoes and socks. Without hesitation Scully slipped on the short ankle socks and black shoes. The temperature in the room had dropped dramatically and Scully needed protection. She heaved a heavy sigh and began to dress. The dress was a snug fit and was tight across her chest. The sleeves were short and puffy. The length was the worst part as it barely covered her bottom. Any movement sent a breeze up between her legs. She dug in the paper and came up empty. There were no bloomers or panties. Even in the dark she knew she looked ridiculous.

Time disappeared in the darkness. Hours ticked away. Huddled again in the corner Scully’s mind wandered past hazy images of her father, school and her beginnings at the academy. She shook them from her mind. Why was she thinking of school and her father? She chronologically documented and analyzed her actions. Had she been drugged? Was she being drugged now? Was the water and the soap she used pure? Rattled Scully stood and a crisp metallic sound echoed through the room. It had fallen out of the tiny pocket on the front of her new dress. It was a key and it could only fit one door.

The small iron gate creaked and Scully crawled into the tube of concrete. Her progress was arduous and the rough stone chewed at her knees. After several yards, frustrated, Scully tore a strip from her sash and tied her hair back. At least now she could see where she was going. The tunnel turned left, then right then ran straight then turned again. It resembled a maze and the irony of her profession was not lost on her. "I’m a lab rat." she thought. Fifteen minutes had elapsed and the tunnel seemed endless. Light was minimal with only a sporadic bulb to mark the path. Scully paused by one. She looked down and discovered an odd message crudely etched into the block of cement. It simply read "Don’t listen!".

Familiar rusted pipes ran near the top of the tube but they were joined by a newer conduit. It was encased in heavy plastic and she ascertained they carried the audio visual cables to a central control room. She continued her journey. Periodically she stopped to visually confirm the new conduit’s presence. In a long black stretch of the tunnel she counted the pipes and came up short. Scully moved forward to a lighted section and confirmed it absence. She crawled back and found the missing conduit where it penetrated the wall. Near the location a fan slowly circulated the dank air. She ran her hands around the metal and measured the opening. If she could stop the fan she could enter the shaft.

"Dana?" The modulated voice reverberated through the tunnel.

"You can’t stay in there forever. Just a little further. I am here to help. I just want to see your pretty new dress."

Scully remained silent.

Spurned by her new discovery she worked her fingers against the cement behind the frame of the fan’s housing.

"Dana. Don’t be a naughty girl. Naughty girls get punished."

A hissing sound arrived a moment before a noxious odor attacked her eyes, nose and throat. Scully coughed and sputtered. She awkwardly yanked up her dress to her face but the smoke surrounded her. It was beginning to burn. Scully scrambled through the remaining section of tunnel and rolled out onto a soft surface. On all fours she wheezed and wiped away her tears. Slowly her senses returned and through her misty vision she saw the tunnel had deposited her into a new nightmare.

It had dropped her directly into a large metal crib. The crib was flush to the wall and metal bars surrounded her. The only exit was the tunnel. Another hissing sound alerted her and she watched her options diminish as the railing slid back into place. She would be cut off from the tunnel and completely imprisoned in the crib. Unthinking she painfully blocked her hand between the railing and post of the crib. It stopped and Scully worked her shoe into the gap as she massaged her sore hand. The railing above prevented her from rising so she crawled around to assess her surroundings. She was in a nursery, painted blue and pink with cutouts of rabbits. On the far wall was a table with a stack of white cloth that sent a chill down her spine. Scully began to cry.

In reality she was pretending. She curled into a fetal position and covered her face. If her abductor’s motivation was to break her then she would deliver and hopefully gain an advantage. Her performance continued as she pretended to sleep. The lights dimmed as a sickly sweet lullaby played from the hidden speakers. Again the bass beat bothered her. Satisfied she stirred and quietly made her way back into the tunnel.

The fumes had gone but the smell had lingered. She found the fan and removed her shoe. In one swift movement she jammed it into the spinning blades. She squeezed through the tight passage as the motor whined aggressively. She freed her shoe and the blades regained their momentum. Scully rocked her shoulders and wormed through the shaft. At the end a light appeared through another vent. Silently she wriggled up and peered. A wonderful sight greeted her. She had found the control room. A laptop, electronic technical manuals, medical books and stacks of files were strewn across a wooden desk. On one side of the room a door beckoned. Her captor was absent. She had to act fast. Apprehensively she kicked out the vent and dropped into the control room.

Investigative instincts took over and squelched her survival impulse. She dove toward the files and ripped them open. They were filled with gruesome photos. Surgical procedures on unsuspecting women. She needed names. Scully tore into a new pile. The photos of Camille Douglas, Kelly Franks and Beatrice Dorner cried to her. She tucked the files under her arm along with a few more and turned to the laptop. The web-cam was focused on the nursery and in the dark it was obvious she was gone.

The sound of keys clicked outside the door. Panic shot through her. In a moment she would be trapped. The image of her angry father slammed into her brain. He stood and scolded her for being a naughty spy. She was in trouble. She thought about the diapers and imagined her humiliation as her legs were raised and the soft cotton prison encased her privates. They seemed very appropriate for diapers; smooth and hairless just like a baby!

Through her tears Scully tossed the files back on the desk and grabbed a pen. She wedged her body behind the door. The figure she had so confidently pursued earlier now seemed much larger. She plunged the pen into his upper shoulder with all of her force and shoved him hard. He screamed and fell forward onto the edge of the desk. Scully picked up the laptop and cracked it over his head. Sparks danced and the figure collapsed. Scully was dizzy and feared she may pass out. She had only wounded her abductor. Soon he would regain consciousness.

Scully fled. She raced along thin corridors of blocked cement crowded by more pipes. Finally she found a ladder. It lead to darkness and a faint low bass beat. She recognized the warehouse environment and maneuvered across the pitch black cavern. A few times she intersected with a crate and cursed but continued toward the music.

Scully’s fingers padded forward then stopped. The texture of glass was unmistakable. She restrained her instincts to kick the glass panels free from their frame. The pounding beat was louder and the music was familiar. Somehow she had reconnected with the house. Confused she temporarily dismissed the puzzle. She traced her fingers downward and worked her nails deep into the soft wet wood and found the small separation for which she hoped. In minutes she worked her fingers under the frame of the small window. She pulled but it would not move. She summoned all of her remaining strength and placed her body close to the floor and lifted. Her arm muscles ripped.

The deafening blast of pounding rock music was a mixed blessing. It confirmed her location but gave no frame of reference. The strong cool air felt good on her face but reminded her of her missing underwear. Scully peered into the void around the window. Careful to maintain a firm grip on the frame she stretched. She strained and waved her free arm for a connection. She pulled back inside and straddled the open window. Scully winced as she placed her bare bottom and privates onto the cold sill. A splinter would be unpleasant especially in that particular area. Scully cautiously reached with her foot in an effort to touch solid ground. Frustrated and close to exhaustion she resumed her position inside.

Scully squinted into the darkness and her eyes adjusted. The faint image of a tree branch materialized. Underneath she saw an even larger and heavier trunk. Her only course of action would be to leap. The larger branch would absorb her fall and from there she could climb or drop down. It was a gamble of an assumption but she needed to move forward. Her abductor would wake soon.

Scully took a moment to steady her breath and her nerve. She placed both feet onto the sill and mused on the picture she presented. The pink and white dress smudged with patches of dirt had ridden up onto her thighs. The cool air caressed her exposed privates and she poised for her leap of faith. With both hands outside of the window she edged her feet forward. Scully was grateful for the traction of the schoolgirl shoes.

She took a deep breath and sprung. She dove hard. Her form resembled an Olympic swimmer as it reacted to the familiar pop of a starting pistol. Upward and outward she flew with her body straight. She slammed squarely onto the massive tree trunk. The force of her impact broke the branch above and it fell onto her back. Scully heaved. The wind knocked out of her.

She struggled to calm her erratic breathing. The pain from her jump manifested itself more prominently and her muscles screamed. Pain is a strong motivator. She had to move. Through her clouded mind Scully assessed her physical position. She had landed exactly where she aimed but only her torso and thighs were supported. Her arms and legs dangled lifelessly over the sides of the massive tree branch. Her legs were straight but her head was lower than her body. This caused her dress to slip down and expose her bare bottom. She had to get out of this position.

She arched her back upward and pushed against the heavy branch but it would not move. She was pinned. Scully shifted slightly forward and jerked her fingers back from the hard surface. Confused she reached out again and made contact. It was rough like the window frame. She traced her fingers back and reached under. She felt more wood. It crisscrossed in a familiar pattern. It was a chair! Scully grimaced as she painfully contorted her left arm behind her and along her body. On her left side approximately ten inches away she found a smooth fabric. She pushed against it. Underneath the fabric was hard and irregular. Numbed by her ordeal she arranged the pieces of the puzzle but they formed no picture. Again she pushed up. This time she used the small leverage from her hand braced on the floor. Scully tried to bring her left arm around but the throbbing pain prohibited the action. Now her left arm was pinned too. She attempted to wriggle forward again. She dug her fingers into the floor but they found no hold. The rock music pounded. Screaming for help was not an option. Scully rested. In a moment she would try again.

Stiffly she craned her neck left and right but there was only darkness. She concentrated to suppress her rising panic. She was trapped. She had been trapped before and always remained calm. "Why was this different?" she asked. The threat of her abductor’s return and the image of her current exposed position churned her emotions. She reminded herself the ruffled party dress was not hers, but his. She was weak and tired and felt small in the darkness. She was alone.

Suddenly the room sprung to life and danced to a strange medley of demented laughter, fog and colored lights. Scully gasped as a red gelled lamp pulsed to full strength directly in front of her. She quickly closed her eyes but it was too late. She was temporarily blinded. The room was modest in size but appeared larger due to the mirrors framed in pink and green spaced and hung at various angles around the room. The new lights illuminated the room but provided little information amidst the chaos. Scully squinted past the red spots that impaired her eyesight. She lifted her head toward a mirror. A pink light swept past and Scully caught a brief vision of herself. She was in the Clown Room. A skewed nightmare nursery in which the center piece was a huge maniacal clown. Scully had landed precisely over his exaggerated lap!

The clown was ten feet tall and seated in a gigantic chair a few feet from the high window through which she had jumped. Encouraged by the vibration beneath her she increased her efforts to escape. She glanced at the mirrors again for reference. The dancing colored lights revealed her tiny frame trapped over the clown’s lap. The arm she had originally perceived as a branch of life now held her firmly in place. The vibration increased and the intricate metal skeleton sheathed in colorful satin groaned. Scully heard the hiss of hydraulics and tried to turn sideways. Weak she slumped back into her original groove. The hissing increased. Scully pushed up as far as possible and tilted toward a different mirror.

The reflection cackled back with a horrifying image. The clowns’ right arm had moved upward. Scully peered past the fog and watched as the comical white glove descended toward her bare bottom!

Whap!

Scully’s cry was more a release than an expression of pain. The clown’s hand was heavy but the impact was mild. The action of the hydraulics in his arm did not generate a tremendous force. However the oversized gloved hand was made of padded leather and stung as it repeated it’s movement. The hydraulics hissed again.

Whap!

"Owwwww!" Scully cried. Unavoidably she looked into the mirror. The lights swept over the nightmarish scene. The giant grimacing clown laughed and hissed as it spanked Agent Dana Scully.

Whap!

The fact Scully was dressed as a little girl only enhanced the illusion when viewed in the reflections. The clown appeared quite normal in size while Dana seemed small and girlish. It was as if the clown knew she had been naughty. He had waited by the window and pulled her over his spacious lap for a well deserved spanking. His large white gloved hand almost completely covered Scully’s bare bottom. The leather padding crashed again and elicited a loud yelp from Special Agent Dana Scully.

WHAP!

"YOOOOOOWWWWWW!"

Scully wriggled forward to escape her spanking but this action only offered a fresh target for the clown’s glove.

WHAP!

The spankings were more frequent as the hydraulics geared up to their full speed. She searched the room for the absent actors.

WHAP!

In reality she knew the clown was merely clapping his hands. Her leap had broken his left arm and pinned her while the right arm had been bent downward.

WHAP!

The clown laughed and Dana felt herself shrink. The spankings stung.

WHAP!

On the far side of the room additional lights swirled to attention. Laughter traveled across to Scully and in the mirror she saw people. Fifteen feet from her was the path for the guests. There was a small railing that separated them as it guided them through the room. They would walk right by her. Relief washed over her but was interrupted by another blow.

WHAP!

Scully twisted and watched as they approached. Then an awful sight bombarded her. In the previously darkened mirror she could now see her own reflection quite clearly. She wasn’t wearing any panties! She was completely exposed! Her dress had ridden up even further. This gave anyone behind her a generous view of her reddening ass and smooth bare lips.

WHAP!

"Aaaaawww!" Scully cried. She could not help herself. The spanking hurt. Her humiliation compounded by the fully lit room. The dancing lights had stilled and the pounding rock beat had faded dramatically to give way to a lyrical minor key nursery song. It was a haunting melody. The change in lighting gave Dana an unobstructed view of herself over the clown’s lap. She looked like she was twelve. Her red locks pulled into a ponytail and fresh face devoid of any makeup only enhanced her new younger role. The dress even seemed smaller which in turn made Dana appear smaller. Normally, when bent over, her breasts would have been bountiful but under the prison of her dress she was flat chested. The dress had somehow contained and decreased her curves.

SMACK!

"Aaaaaoooowwww!" That one was hard and Dana stifled back a sob. In the mirror she could see her bottom had taken on a reddish hue that matched her hair color.

SMACK!

Dana cried out again and felt a tiny tear run down her cheek. Unable to turn away Dana witnessed the worse part of all. Her bare pussy shaved and smooth as it wiggled over the clown’s lap. Each spank on her taut backside caused her to writhe and kick. She was actually kicking her legs like a little girl! She could not shake the picture. The mirrors mocked her. They seemed to undo all that she had accomplished. Her steady rise through college, her choice to forego medical practice and join the FBI faded. Each spank from the laughing clown stripped away her identity. Through his laughter she heard him.

"You are not an adult. Look at yourself. Your hair is in a ponytail. You are dressed as a little girl."

Dana focused on the approaching crowd. Her emotions swirled. She was desperate to be saved yet mortified by her current state.

SMACK!

"Aaaauuuggghhh!" Scully was close to tears.

"Where are your panties little Dana? You must deserve this spanking. You have no panties."

SMACK!

Uncontrollably Dana Scully cried out. "I’m not a little girl! Let me go!"

"Yes you are."

SMACK!

"I’ll be good! Oooooowwwwww! No more! You can’t do this!"

The laughter from the group of teens was deafening but did little to console Dana as to a possible rescue.

She cried out to them but they only pointed and cheered.

"Hey Colin, check this out!"

"Man, look at her she’s got no underwear."

"I guess she’s been really bad." One girl cracked.

Oblivious they exited. The sensors clicked and the clown froze. Dana slumped, her body drained.

Two more parades of visitors chuckled past her as the clown spanked and mocked her.

Unable to combat the visions in her mind she argued with the clown.

"I’m an adult!" She cried.

SMACK!

"Not any more! Look at yourself, why you’re getting younger."

Another pad landed squarely on her red bare bottom. Dana’s gaze remained transfixed on her reflection. Amazed she watched her form shrink on the clown’s lap.

"No! No! NO!" She kicked her legs.

SMACK!

The third group was a disinterested collection of college students. As they exited a girl tossed his cigarette onto the floor. It rolled in front of Dana. The click of the sensors sent the room back into darkness. The clown motionless continued to speak.

"Cigarettes are bad. If you touch that you will get another spanking."

She ignored him. The end of the cigarette still glowed. Dana blew and watched the burning tobacco brighten and roll toward the fog machine. It was a desperate choice. She huffed again. It made contact with the exposed heated wire of the fog machine and ignited. The flames increased and overtook the curtained passage.

Chaos erupted in minutes as security men rushed through the rooms with extinguishers. Crowds yelled and actors fled. Nervously Dana waited. She was still trapped and the flames were migrating toward her. Finally two men rescued her and in a flurry of activity she was escorted outside. The few police that remained at the attraction had ensured a quick response from the fire department. They were already on the scene battling the engulfed warehouse. The entire street was mayhem. Scully had to find Detective Ronson but in the frenzy of the departing crowds she was lost.

Police were ordered to immediately detain all suspects. The fire was arson. They had captured the killer miles away but perhaps an accomplice was among the throngs of guests. Scully was caught in a group of teenagers and herded into a paddy wagon. She tried to reason with the officer that pushed her into the van but was only met with a blank stare. Dressed as she was, minus her ID and badge, it was difficult to take her seriously. It was short ride to the station. There she would assert her authority, relate her story and reclaim her adult clothes. The killer was still alive and trapped in the burning building or he was nearby and could make his escape. Time was a factor.

Scully eased her hot bare bottom onto the smooth cool metal bench of the van. She tried not to react but let out a quiet sigh. A few of her fellow passengers squinted at her. As they whirled onto Franklin street the van pitched and Scully slipped from the bench and toppled face forward onto the floor. The van exploded in laughter. She had just given this group of teenagers a generous view of her paddled behind. Eyes down she regained her place on the bench.

"Someone’s been bad." a teenager at the end commented. The van exploded again.

The ordeal of night bubbled in her. "Shut up!" she replied childishly.

"Or what? Little girl." He challenged.

The words stung. Her emotions boiled over and in a blind rage she charged at the boy and struck him with her fists.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" She cried through tear stained eyes.

Two other boys and a girl pried her from her assault.

"Hey! Hold on. Stop it." They shouted as they pulled her back onto the bench.

"I’m fine. Get the hell off me!"

The emotion in Scully’s voice silenced the group. Scully held on the bench with both hands. It pitched a few times but she did not fall. Instead she slid into the blonde teenage girl that grabbed her earlier.

"Sorry." Scully muttered.

"It’s okay. Wow you’re a mess. Let me help you."

The girl reached deep into her oversized bag and produced two wet wipes. Scully took them and cleaned her face and hands.

"Thank you."

The girl held out a hairbrush. The blonde teen motioned for Scully to turn around.

"That’s not necessary." Scully insisted.

"Come on, you’ve like had a bad night, right?"

Embarrassed by her earlier outburst Scully dutifully spun on the bench while the blonde girl brushed her hair. The girl freed her matted hair from the ponytail and brushed Scully’s red locks. She pulled Scully’s red hair into two ponytails and winked at the boy Scully had attacked. Scully hardly noticed and frankly did not care. The van rolled to a stop and the back doors opened. A booming voice addressed the chattering occupants.

"Okay. Okay. Calm down! No one’s being arrested. Just follow the officer inside and he’ll take your statements and check your IDs."

The group shuffled out of the paddy wagon. The blonde girl pushed past the other teenagers and leaned over to the officer. She whispered to him. He glanced at Scully and nodded. When Scully stepped onto the pavement another uniformed officer took her arm.

"Hey! Officer, I’m Agent Scully of the FBI. I was heading up this operation. It is imperative that I speak to Detective Ronson immediately."

She was amazed in her diluted state she was able to muster a convincing command to her voice. However, the policeman’s expression did not change. His eyes moved over her then he pulled Scully inside past the chuckling blonde girl and her cohorts. His grip was tight. He dragged Scully to the elevators. The doors closed but he did not release her. She twisted.

"Let go. I’m fine." Scully demanded.

It was the the kind of hold used on a suspect. A grip of control. Scully had been handled like this in the past by men in black suits but this was different. Apart from his hold on her upper arm he did not seem to notice her. Normally a young officer would have paid close attention to her. She was a FBI agent and although she did not think of herself as glamorous she was an attractive woman. Now this man did not to regard her at all. He looked at her with disinterest, like she was a real child.

She sighed as the doors opened to the hallway which lead to the Detectives Squad room. The officer yanked her out of the elevator. In a moment she would be vindicated and "Officer Roberts" would apologize profusely. Unaware Scully nervously bit her lower lip. A long abandoned habit from childhood. Once again the pendulum of her emotions swung wide. She was about to be paraded in front of everyone dressed as a little girl. Days earlier she had confidently strode through this same squad room attired in her business suit armed with her badge and respect.

The officer approached the door and continued past it down the hallway.

"Wait! I have to see Detective Ronson. I have to see him now!" She cried.

Scully’s emotions ripped apart and she twisted against his fingers. She tried to increase her leverage and bent her knees. She dug her feet into the floor but her tiny shoes provided little traction on the cheap vinyl. Instead she skated down the hallway with her knees bent. Officer Roberts kept walking. Scully began to panic. She was being hauled to the Principal’s office for some unknown punishment. Tears welled up in her eyes. Officer Roberts gave her arm a yank and she stumbled forward. He continued and Scully quickened her pace to catch up. He opened a door and wheeled her into an interrogation room.

"Wait here." He commanded.

Officer Roberts stepped outside and lowered the blinds to the room. Scully froze. In the reflection of the window stood a stranger from her past. Her beautiful red hair was now in pigtails and the frilly pink and white dress obliterated her curves. Her chest was flat. Open mouthed she stepped back from the mirror. Aghast she lifted the hem of her dress and viewed her pale smooth privates. The only deep pigment she possessed radiated from her bare bottom. She craned her head over her shoulder and examined the clown’s handiwork. She stepped back further. Her eyes transfixed by the transformation. Agent Scully had been reduced to little Dana. In the mirror she even looked smaller, shorter and innocent.

Scully’s hormones exploded and tears formed again through her mental rambling. The low hushed tones of conversation outside the door fueled her panic.

"Without her ID, badge or gun who would believe that she was anything other than a young girl? Would her pubic hair ever grow back or was she doomed to forever be childlike and hairless? She wasn’t a woman now. She was flat and without curves. What boy would ever like her now? What about Mulder? What would happen to her? Who would listen to her? She couldn’t even convince a lowly beat cop. If they didn’t believe her story she could never get back to her old life. The FBI would assume that she died in the fire. She would be carted off to social services then adopted. Oh my God! She would be forced to go back to school. She had a medical degree! She would be back in her hated Catholic school uniform at the mercy of the nuns and their punishments. I have to be good. I’m an adult. I have to get some clothes so they will listen!" She charged the door. Officer Jayne Herrick blocked her path.

"Just stay in here, sweetie. Your older sister told us all about you. Let’s take a look at you and make sure you’re okay."

Her words did not register and Dana backed away. Officer Herrick gauged the young girl. The dress was an obvious costume but her age was undeterminable. The wall pushed against Dana’s back and she lowered her head submissively to the exaggerated woman. Unaware she turned one foot inward. Officer Herrick noted her dimensions and scribbled on her clipboard. Dana’s eyes grew wide. It had started. The priority to find adult clothes hammered relentlessly as her only salvation. Dana judged her position then lashed out. She landed a solid kick of her hard black shoes into Herrick’s right shin. She bolted wildly through the door and raced down the hall. Herrick followed. The imagined jeers of her fellow officers banged against her ego. She would never live it down. Officer Herrick cut through the office and Dana plowed directly into her. Herrick grabbed her wrist and Dana lashed out again. This time the kick was harder.

"I’m not a child! Let me go you brute! I work here!" Dana stomped her foot and rambled further but her words were ill chosen fragments.

If Officer Herrick had any doubts as to Dana’s maturity they were shattered by her current outburst. Dana flew into a rage and assaulted the woman. Herrick had had enough. She was tired and did not care if this child was related to the mayor. The third kick landed.

"Okay. If that’s the way you want to play it."

Officer Jayne Herrick pressed her lips together in disgust. She wheeled an office chair under her and sat down.

"No! No! No!" Dana yelled.

She pulled against the officer’s grip but Herrick’s strength was no match for Dana’s weak condition. Herrick effortlessly pushed Dana over her knee, flipped up the hem of her frilly dress and spanked her. The smacking sound reverberated through the squad room and a few uniformed and plain clothes officers stopped and smiled at the spectacle. Jayne Herrick did not recognized the petite red headed FBI agent as she landed swat after swat on her bare bottom. Despite her costume the girl seemed young. Herrick looked down at the pale underdeveloped girl as she squirmed and kicked her legs. She knew teens shaved but her unobstructed view of Dana’s smooth tiny lips substantiated her prepubescent theory. She was a hellion and this service was probably long overdue.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Herrick alternated her steady rhythm on each cheek and Dana’s pigtails flipped and bobbed. She struggled but Herrick had taken Dana’s wrist in her left hand and turned it upward onto Dana’s back. She used it to pin the little brat into place as her meaty right hand continued to heat Dana’s tiny globes.

"If you’re going to act like a brat then I’m going to treat you like one."

Whack! Whack ! Whack!

Dana twisted over Herrick’s lap and hurled expletives at Officer Herrick. Angered Herrick’s pace increased as her voluptuous breasts danced over the fire of Dana’s rear.

Whack! Whack! Whack!

Through her tears she saw the squad room. The officers were just staring at her. Why was no one helping her? She was being spanked in a room full of adults and no one cared. It seemed perfectly natural. How was that possible? She writhed over Herrick’s strong legs. She was pinned and her actions proved futile. Her mind cascaded into the swirling fog. She remembered being strong. Had she really shrunk? Had she really gotten younger? Had she really regressed? The collective momentum of the evening’s events descended full force on Dana.

"Oooooowwwwwww! Okay! Okay! I’ll be good! I’ll be good! I’m sorry. I’ll be a good little girl! She bawled.

The spanking ceased and Officer Herrick stood Dana on her feet. Dana’s hands immediately found her bottom and rubbed. Tears rolled down her puffy red face as she inhaled and exhaled sharply. No words were spoken. The magnitude of the moment demanded a silent reverence. Officer Herrick summoned the pigtailed girl back into the interrogation room. Her only reaction to the diaper in Herrick’s hand was a sniffle. Dana did not resist. Herrick gently pulled the diaper up between Dana’s legs and taped it shut. The ritual was complete.

"This will have to do until you get home."

The word "home" connected with Dana and she nodded.

"Now be good for a little while and I’ll see if I can’t find you some juice."

Officer Herrick locked the door and started toward her desk. Her reaction had been justified but hoped her fellow officers would corroborate. Her report would be creative. At the end of the hallway in the sparsely furnished room an unseen hand pressed Dana down into the corner. She hugged her knees and uncontrollably released a small stream into her diaper. She cried. Special Agent Dana Scully of the Federal Bureau of Investigation had vanished. In her place was simply Dana Katherine Scully, a frightened confused girl.

A week later Scully sat in her usual place opposite Mulder. Their ban from the X-files had been lifted.

"It’s not funny Mulder." She admonished.

"I’m not laughing. I’m just having a hard time imagining you in pigtails." He answered.

Scully turned her head and frowned. Mulder lifted his outstretched legs from the top of his desk. He rose and shuffled through the stacks of files that littered the room.

"No seriously. Have you ever heard of Igor Smirnov? He’s often referred to as the father of psychotropic weapons. At the age of twenty-eight he became the head of a laboratory in the Soviet Union’s first medical institute. He was attempting to create human geniuses, tapping into the hidden reserves of the human psyche."

"Mulder."

"No, hear me out. Smirnov died in 1990 but his first top secret experiment was in 1984. Guess what it was?

Scully silently dropped her chin down and starred at him.

"Mind control." He raised his eyebrows.

"Mulder, mind control is...psuedo science. It doesn’t exist. The idea of controlling someone to perform an act against their will. It can’t be done."

"Well how do you explain those women or your behavior?"

"I had them run a tox screen before I left Portland. It came back showing high traces of Ketamine."

"Ketamine? That’s a veterinary drug."

"Yes, it’s used as general anesthetic for animals but in higher doses it can produce an out of body effect or near death experience. It can also cause delirium, amnesia, depression and even hallucinations. It’s often referred to as the date-rape drug. We were only able to obtain one other sample from one of the other women."

"The one who committed suicide." He interjected.

"Yes, but the levels were so low it’s hard to imagine that their reaction was anything close to mine. Obviously these women were drugged and perhaps even subjected to some sort of mental torture. But I don’t see what a Russian scientist has to do with any of this."

"Then why did you see his signature in those files? Listen to this, this is from an interview with Smirnov in 1985.

"There exists an entire array of possible methods. Majority of them are psychochemical. Electroshock can also have the same effect on a person. However, nothing works better than the so-called semantic influence, when a person is given certain orders that he then executes without hesitation. Personally, I wouldn’t want to go into details on such matters. As a result of such "outside influence", a person’s "self" gets totally blocked. Instead, another "self" is being created. That second identity in turn can have a number of various programmed urges."

"Yes, Mulder, but why? Why kidnap seven women and murder a Detective? For what?"

"I don’t know, but I think the answer is in those files."

"Mulder, the files are gone."

"What?"

"They were burned and the ones that did survive have gone missing."

"What about the body? Have they identified it?"

"No, and judging from the coroner’s report I don’t think they will."

"What about the man they caught? Uh, Grogan, the one that confessed?"

"He was an escaped mental patient. He couldn’t have abducted the women because he was locked up."

"Well Scully..."

"It’s over Mulder. There’s no evidence. The case is closed."

"Well, there was one other thing."

"What." she said as she suppressed her irritation.

"That word, Rozhanitsy. You said it was written on the wall. I thought I recognized it but it didn’t make any sense to me until you mentioned Smirnov’s name. It’s from Russian folklore. It’s a pagan god. She’s the goddess of birth."

Mulder paused. "Scully, in your report you allude to certain events but I can’t help feeling that you left some things out."

"I’m going to lunch Mulder."

Mulder allowed his eyes to drift down as he watched Scully leave. He reached underneath his blotter and removed a secret photo. He grinned at the grainy video capture of Scully in her frilly dress. He transfered it to his top drawer and closed it.

Miles away in a smoke filled room eight well dressed men studied the photos before them. A rotund man spoke first. His face frozen. He spoke methodically as if he discovered each word a moment before he uttered it.

"I feel our project in Portland has gotten out of hand and that our man has taken things too far. Something must be done. We cannot risk Doctor Smirnov’s work being compromised."

A billow of smoke wafted and the culprit spoke.

"Don’t worry. It has already been handled. The man has been dealt with and the proper evidence has been planted. As far as the Portland police are concerned the case is closed."

"And the FBI agent?"

"Well that was unfortunate but as you said, an overzealous operator. All of this has been handled. Honestly I don’t think that Agent Scully will be relating her story so readily."

The End

 

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