Altered Fates/X-Files: The Scam free porn video

ALTERED FATES/X-FILES: THE SCAM By Bob H. (c) 2003 FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC. FBI agent Fox Mulder was starting to hate working alone. Hidden away as he was in the windowless room of a back basement accessible only via a corridor lined with dusty storage racks, he often felt both unappreciated and as forgotten as many in the bureau would like the X-files themselves to be. He sometimes went days without seeing another living soul between the time he entered the J. Edgar Hoover Building in the morning, and the time he left it in the evening. On days like these, Mulder wished he had never met Arthur Dale, that the ex-FBI agent who worked on the X-files back in the Fifties had never alerted him to their existence. Once he knew about them, however, and realized that here might be a way of getting a line on his sister's abduction all those years ago, he was lost. Diana Fowley had been with him at the beginning, but now even she was gone. As the best analyst in the violent crimes section he had had the respect of his peers. Now, his colleagues from those days called him 'Spooky' and avoided him. He knew what he was doing was important, that it was vital someone did this work, but sometimes it got awfully lonely. As if on cue, the phone rang. It was his boss, Section Chief Scott Blevins, and he wanted to see Mulder in his office. "I have a case for you," said Blevins, as Mulder entered his office, "a possible X-file. Have you heard of a man named Damon Kelly?" "Yes," said Mulder, "though I've never met him. If he's involved, this won't be an X-file." "Really?" said Blevins, surprised by Mulder's certainty. "How can you be so sure?" "Because Kelly is a conman. He's well-known to those communities associated with the types of things that warrant X-files. He should be, since they've formed the basis for many of his cons. He's also a risk-taker. The riskier a con, the more he gets off on it. What has he got himself involved with now?" "Rejuvenation," said Blevins. "He's set himself up in business just outside DC in Silver Spring and has been offering to turn the clock back for famous models, actresses, and the wives of the rich and powerful." "I'm sure this treatment doesn't come cheap," said Mulder, dryly. "No, it doesn't. That hasn't stopped those women flocking to his clinic, however. They swear his process works." "People believe what they want to believe," said Mulder, "but we've always had the gullible and those happy to take advantage of that gullibility. Snake-oil salesmen are as American as apple pie. What makes this particular grifter worthy of our time?" "One of his clients is Margaret Gorman, the wife of Senator Robert Gorman. Kelly claims to be able to turn the clock back up to five years, and that certainly appears to be what happened in the case of Mrs. Gorman." "If what you say is true, and he's somehow found a way of doing what he claims, why would that be a problem?" asked Mulder. "Isn't that what she wanted?" "Yes," said Blevins, "but she wasn't expecting the return of the tumour she had removed five years ago." "A tumour?" said Mulder, his interest suddenly piqued. "That *is* unusual. Have the FDA or the AMA had anything to say about this?" "Since Kelly uses no drugs on his clients, and his 'medical procedure' involves little more than old clothing and the laying on of hands, it's beyond the regulatory remit of both," said Blevins. "I want you to find out what's going on, and whether it warrants further action." He slid a thin folder across his desk to Mulder. It contained addresses, various contact details, and reports on Kelly's known associates and recent activities. There was a press photo, taken at a party two weeks earlier, showing Kelly in the company of various other people. These were identified on a sheet clipped to the photo: Peter Cochran (30) and Janice Cochran (26): Husband and wife. Owners of 'Tempest', a model agency formed two years ago. Female is a well- regarded photographer. Male is the business brain. Subject's sister is currently their 'top girl'. Nancy De Niro (22): A 'Tempest' model. Tom Hudson (19): Actor. Rising star among 'young Hollywood' set. Ben Ryan (56) and Marcie Ryan (53): Husband and wife. Actors, mainly on Broadway. Both winners of 'Tony' award. High-profile supporters of various liberal causes. Arrested several times as a result of anti-war activities during Vietnam War era. 'Coyote Dingo' (27), real name Jacob Horowitz: musician and front man of 'Deathsperm', a rock band. "Well, the bureau's researchers have obviously been busy, what with nailing down who everyone in that photo was, and how old," said Mulder, "but do we have any reason to think any of these people are in any way involved with any scam Kelly might be running? They appear to be a random collection of celebrities he just happened to be talking with when that particular photograph was taken. Fairly high-profile, admittedly, but then Kelly always did like glamour and associating with famous people. He's allegedly had affairs with celebrities of both sexes at various times. So I doubt this photo means anything." "You may be right, Agent Mulder. You probably are. But we have to look at every possibility." Blevins indicated the briefing was over, so Mulder gathered everything back into the folder, tucked it under his arm, and left. As the office door closed behind him, a figure with a deeply lined face emerged from a room off Blevins' office and lit a cigarette. "Do you think this investigation will provide Mulder with the required distraction?" he said. "It had better," said Blevins. "Lately, he's been getting too close to matters it would be best he steered clear of." "Indeed he has," said the Cigarette-Smoking Man, "Indeed he has." THE GORMAN RESIDENCE GEORGETOWN, WASHINGTON DC. The townhouses in this part of Georgetown were old by local standards and worth more than Mulder could hope to make in his lifetime. Standing in the entrance hall of the Gorman residence while the maid went to find Senator and Mrs Gorman, he took in the classic, understated elegance of the fixtures and fittings and let out a low whistle. This was the way to live. "Agent Mulder," said a man's voice, "how good to see you." Mulder turned to face the newcomer, a silver-haired, fiftyish man in an expensive suit with his hand out, an equally expensively attired woman at his side. He shook the man's hand. "I'm Senator Gorman," he said, "and this is Margaret, my wife. Let's move into the study, shall we?" "I'd like to start at the beginning, if that's okay with you," said Mulder, seating himself in one of the deep leather armchairs in the study, while the Gorman's took the sofa. "What can you tell me about Damon Kelly and this operation of his?" "Perhaps this will help," said the Senator, picking up a remote and turning on the TV. He slid a tape into the VCR. "This is a reception we held here for Damon last month," said Margaret Gorman, as the picture showed a room full of elegantly dressed men and woman, talking, drinking, and mingling. The person with the camera homed in on a particular man who was holding court and was surrounded by a crowd, mostly of women, who were hanging on his ever word. He had medium-length dark hair, a neatly-trimmed van dyke beard, and wore a white suit over a black turtle-neck, a gold-hued medallion around his neck. He was of medium height and build and appeared to be in his mid-thirties. The senator freeze-framed the image. "Damon Kelly," he said. "The woman at his left shoulder is his sister, Sabrina. She's a fashion model." Sabrina was taller than her brother, younger and with long, dark hair, straight and parted in the middle. "She's very beautiful," said Mulder. "Yes, very," agreed Margaret Gorman. "How old would you say she was?" "Twenty-one or two," said Mulder. "She turns thirty next month. This time last year, she looked her age and her modelling career was winding down. Now she looks good for another decade at the top. His sister was the first woman Damon Kelly treated with his process. You can see why we're all so eager to experience it for ourselves." "Can you describe the process to me?" asked Mulder. "There's not a lot to it, actually. He asks that you supply an item of clothing you last wore around five years ago, along with a contemporary photograph. The first part of the process involves a visit to the clinic's hairstylist." "'Hairstylist'?" said Mulder. "Yes. If your hair was longer back then, he won't treat you. If it was shorter, then the hairdresser restores it to how it looked then." Mulder was puzzled. He could think of no sensible reason why Kelly would have made this an aspect of his scam. It was something to file away for future contemplation. "Go on," he said. "Well, after the hairstylist is done, you then lie face down on a massage table, naked save for a towel over your backside. I didn't actually see what Damon did next, but I felt him place something cool and metallic on my back, and then drape the item of five year-old clothing I'd brought with me over this. I remember feeling an odd tingling, then Damon started giving me a massage. He has wonderful hands. This lasted about half an hour, and all the time I could feel myself getting firmer. When he handed me a mirror, I could see instantly that I looked younger. I was delighted." "When did you realize there was a problem?" asked Mulder. "The very next day. I had a scheduled medical check-up. When I had my tumour removed five years ago, it left a small scar. The scar had gone. My doctor was puzzled by this when he examined me, so he looked deeper, only to discover the tumour was back." "Cancers can recur," said Mulder. "Yes, I know," said Margaret Gorman, "but this was just too big a coincidence. I'd last worn the clothing I gave Damon just before my operation, now here I was with the tumour back." "I trust you had it removed?" "Yes. Fortunately, it had not been terribly large either time. But that's beside the point. I'm convinced Damon was responsible for the cancer returning." "So am I, Agent Mulder," said Senator Gorman. "Whatever his process is, it's clearly dangerous and it needs to be investigated." "It will be, Senator," said Mulder. "I give you my word." THE KELLY CLINIC SILVER SPRING, MARYLAND. Though it was not the most direct route to Silver Spring, Mulder drove up through Rock Creek Park, that gash of wooded green slopes raising his spirits as it always did. The Kelly Clinic was a modern glass and steel building, with Damon Kelly's private apartments in the penthouse. Mulder asked for Kelly at reception. "I'm afraid Mr Kelly is out of town at the moment," said the pretty receptionist, "and we're not expecting him back for a couple of days." "Can I help?" asked an attractively husky female voice. Mulder turned, and there she was. As tall as him, with long dark hair, straight and parted in the middle, a smile on that famous face and looking drop-dead gorgeous. It was Sabrina, Damon's sister. "I certainly hope so," said Mulder. "My name's Fox Mulder, and I'm with the FBI. I was hoping to talk to your brother." "As you've heard, he's unavailable at the moment. Can I be of any help?" "Perhaps," said Mulder, appraising the woman before him with more than just professional interest. "Is there somewhere we can discuss it?" "Of course. We'll go up to my apartment where we can talk in comfort. Please follow me." The penthouse apartments were reached via a private elevator from the lobby, one with a fingerprint scanner Sabrina Kelly had to press her thumb to in order to enter. "That's an impressive level of security," commented Mulder, as the elevator door closed behind them. "Damon and I like our privacy," said Sabrina, matter-of- factly. The penthouse level was divided between two apartments - one for each of the Kelly siblings. Sabrina's was simply but expensively decorated, one wall given over to framed covers from every fashion magazine that had ever featured her on their covers. There were a lot of them. "Can I get you a drink?" she asked, opening the drinks cabinet as Mulder seated himself at one end of a white leather sofa. "Thanks, but no," said Mulder. "I'll have a soda, though." Sabrina poured herself a scotch, handed him a Pepsi, then seated herself at the other end of the sofa. "So, Agent Mulder," she said, smiling and sipping her scotch, "how can I help you?" "I've come about your brother's miracle rejuvenation business," said Mulder, gazing into her mesmerising green eyes. "There's been a complaint, and I've been sent to investigate." "Consumer complaint investigation isn't the sort of thing the FBI usually concerns itself with, surely?" she said, luscious lips curled into an amused smile as she slowly slid one black stockinged leg against the other. "Not usually, no," said Mulder, starting to feel uncomfortably hot, "but this complaint came from a Senator's wife." "Ah, Margaret Gorman!" said Sabrina, lighting a cigarette. "Damon said something about there being a problem there. What happened exactly?" "She claims his process caused the return of a tumour she'd had removed five years ago." "Really? How odd. It's never harmed anyone else that I know of." "I gather you were one of his first subjects." "My, someone has been talking, haven't they?" she laughed. "Can't a girl have any secrets anymore?" "Did you experience any problems with the process yourself?" Sabrina took a drag on her cigarette and regarded him levelly. "Ever the diligent FBI man, eh?" she chuckled. "No, I experienced no problems, Agent Mulder. Can I just call you 'Mulder', by the way, only I gather you don't like being called 'Fox'." "You've heard of me?" he said, a bit taken aback. "From Damon. He told me about you and the X-files. You've never met, but with the circles you both move in he could hardly avoid knowing about you. He follows your exploits in that rag the Lone Gunmen publish. You're someone he's always wanted to meet. I think in his own way he admires you." Mulder did not know whether he should be flattered or disturbed by this revelation. "So, do you know the secret of this process of his?" he asked. "It's called the Medallion of Zulo," she said. "I'm sure you have a file somewhere that will tell you everything you want to know about it." "It's been a while," said Mulder, rubbing his chin, "but yes, I remember reading something about it once. So you're claiming he's got his hands on a magic medallion and that's how he's doing this? Given his past record, you'll have to forgive me for being a little sceptical." "Think what you want," said Sabrina, "but I'm living proof that his process works." "You're very beautiful," said Mulder, causing her to smile and nod in acknowledgement of the compliment, "and you look years younger than your actual age, so it obviously worked for you as it did for those other women it appears to have helped. I just have a hard time believing in magic." He got to his feet, and so did she. "I have to be going now," he said, "and the answer is 'yes', you can call me Mulder." She reached out and gently laid a hand on his cheek, before moving in closer and kissing him softly on the lips. "That was nice," he said, and she moved in again. This time the kiss was longer, deeper. "Come to dinner tonight," she said, when she pulled away. "I'm a good cook, and I'd like to get to know you better." Fraternizing with someone who could be materially involved in a case you were working on went against everything his FBI training had instilled in Mulder. "I'll see you at eight," he said. FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC. Mulder scanned the rows of specialized and eclectic books on his office bookshelves, his eyes coming to rest on 'My Struggle', the autobiography/manifesto written in prison by would-be messiah Karl Stark. Next to this was a book on mystical artefacts by Loretta Stark, Karl's one-time wife, and this was the volume he was looking for. He paged through it until he found the entry he sought: THE MEDALLION OF ZULO According to legend, the Medallion of Zulo was created in West Africa by a small tribe who used it to transform every one of its members into doppelgangers of their strongest warrior when going into battle against larger and more powerful tribes. The medallion eventually found its way to the Americas, probably aboard a slave ship, and encounters with it have been reported from almost every part of the country in the years since then. Physically, the medallion is a bronze disk - sometimes mistaken for gold - with an image of some sort of angel or fairy on the face (it has been suggested this is a depiction of Zulo himself, who is assumed to be some sort of local deity of the tribe that forged the medallion), and marks that have often been taken for writing on the rear side (see drawings below). It hangs from a chain, one which may have been repaired or even replaced many times over the centuries. Two people touching the Medallion at the same time will cause them to switch bodies. Touching a garment worn by someone else to the medallion will cause the wearer to transform into a physical copy of that person. Transformations typically take in the order of thirty minutes to complete. Once transformed, the medallion will not work on that person again until twelve hours have elapsed. It will also not work on anyone who is either pregnant or menstruating. The Medallion of Zulo is a powerful instrument of fate, and as such it cannot be held by anyone indefinitely. Sooner or later, fate intervenes to make sure it gets back into circulation, altering fates and changing lives, often irrevocably. Mulder studied the drawings below the entry, and recognized the medallion depicted as the one Damon Kelly had been wearing in the video he had viewed at the Gorman residence. Could he actually have acquired the real medallion, Mulder wondered - always assuming it actually existed, of course - or had Kelly just come across a reference to it like this one, and had a replica made from the drawings? Sabrina had suggested there might be an X-file on the medallion, and a few minutes searching through one of the older filing cabinets in his office proved her correct. The file had been started by Arthur Dale back in the 1950s - Mulder recognized his handwriting in the scrawled notes in the margins of early, typed reports - and contained a mixture of case reports, victim statements, and old newspaper clippings, some of the latter going back to the Victorian era. Mulder picked up the earliest of Dale's reports, a carbon copy, and began to read: DOCUMENT INSERT: 7/7/51. Official FBI wire recording transcript: Recorded in secure interview room at Los Angeles Regional Office/"Classified Confidential 1-A": Director's eyes only/Case type: X-File. Speaking: Special Agent Arthur Dale, Mary 'Mimi' Lauper. AD: Before we start, should I call you 'Mimi', or do you prefer Mary? ML: Neither, but I suppose I'm going to have to get used to using one or the other for the rest of my life. (Sighs) Call me Mary. Mimi is my stage name, and I'd just as soon retire her as soon as I can afford to. AD: Okay. Please relate the story you told me earlier, and speak into the microphone as clearly as you can. ML: Okay. I know this will be difficult for most people to believe, but I wasn't always a woman, wasn't always the knockout I am now. Up until three weeks ago I was Floyd Kuttner. I was fat, balding, and bespectacled, and I worked at the local electric plant. AD: There are doctors in Denmark who claim they've figured out how to surgically transform a man into a woman. They say they may be ready to perform the world's first sex- change operation as early as next year. Are you claiming you've already had such an operation? ML: No, I'm not. And even if they have figured it out, I doubt they'll be able to make any guy look this good any time soon. It wasn't doctors made me a woman - it was magic. AD: Magic? ML: Yeah, I know. Until this happened to me, I didn't believe in it either. AD: So how did it happen? ML: I'd just been rolled by this prostitute who slipped me a mickey then stole my money and my car. When I eventually came to, I staggered out to the motel's parking lot and stood there, seeing my car had gone and feeling pretty stupid and pretty pissed. I noticed the sun glinting off something in among some garbage at the side of the lot. It was a medallion that must have fallen out of someone's pocket, or something. Ugly looking thing, but I figured I might be able to get a few bucks for it. So I stuffed it in my pocket then went off to report the robbery to the cops. Afterwards, to cheer myself up, I took some money out of the bank and went to the 'Black Kat Club', a strip joint I used to visit. Mimi - the real Mimi - was my favourite of the girls who worked there. She wasn't supposed to have customers in her dressing room, and didn't like them there, but I was a regular, and after what had happened I wanted a sympathetic female ear to listen to my troubles. So after her performance, I went backstage. I had the medallion in my hand when I knocked on her door, thinking maybe she'd like it. She wasn't too happy to see me there when she opened the door, and tried to send me away. She did it gently, of course - she didn't want to scare away a regular. Anyway, somehow the medallion brushed against her clothes while she was trying to persuade me to leave, and I started turning into a copy of her. She saw what was happening to me before I did. This look of total surprise crossed her face, and she suddenly dragged me into her dressing room and closed the door. She sat me down at her dressing table and as soon as I looked in the mirror, I could see what was happening. The change took about half an hour in all. It was Mimi who figured out what had happened, how it must be the medallion. She made me a cup of tea while we tried to figure out what I should do next. Guess what? AD: The tea was drugged? ML: Yep. Drugged and robbed by women twice in the same day! What are the chances? When I came to, Mimi was gone and so was the medallion. She'd left an envelope behind containing a set of keys and an address. On the front of the envelope she'd written: Here are the keys to your apartment and the address where you live. Your next performance is at 9.00pm. Have a good life. I intend to. I haven't seen her since, have no idea where she went. I could hardly go back to my old life looking like this, so I had no choice to do what she suggested. I'd seen her perform lots of times and, while I was a bit nervous the first time - having all those guys staring at me felt really weird - I soon got the hang of it. AD: So what happens now? ML: Unless I get my hands on the medallion again - which doesn't seem likely - I guess I'm stuck like this. So I'll just save my money and get out of this line of work as soon as I can. I'm not even sure why I decided to go to the FBI with this. I guess I thought someone should know that thing is out there, messing up people's lives. Even if you don't believe me, at least my story gets recorded and just maybe it will help a future victim of the medallion to be believed when they come to you with their story. TRANSCRIPT ENDS. Mulder slid the report back into the file thoughtfully. What most surprised him about it was that the original had been marked 'Director's eyes only', something he had never seen on a report in any X-file before. That meant that probably only J. Edgar Hoover, Arthur Dale, and now Mulder himself had ever seen this report and that Hoover had had a personal interest in the Medallion of Zulo dating from at least the early 1950s. What could it have been, he wondered? Unfortunately, Hoover had died over twenty years ago in 1972, so it seemed unlikely he would ever find out. Mulder leaned back in his chair, making a steeple of his fingers and pondering what he had just read. Clearly, Mimi Lauper believed in the existence of the medallion, as did all the others recorded in the X-file who believed themselves victims of its alleged powers, as apparently did FBI Founding Director J. Edgar Hoover, but did Mulder? On the face of it, it was absurd. Mulder believed in the existence of extra-terrestrials, that there were undoubtedly still creatures on our own planet who existed on the margins as more than just the myths they were thought to be, but magic medallions? No, that was a line he was not prepared to cross without more evidence. He needed more than just anecdotal reports. Ideally, he needed to see the medallion in action for himself. THE KELLY CLINIC SILVER SPRING, MARYLAND. "You're early," smiled Sabrina Kelly, as she opened her door to Mulder. She had buzzed him into the elevator from the penthouse when the clinic's receptionist announced his arrival. "FBI training," he said, entering her apartment. "They hate you being late for anything." "Are those for me?" she said, taking the flowers he had brought. "How sweet of you!" Mulder did not date often and so was a little ill at ease. If Sabrina noticed his discomfort, she did not comment on it. Instead, she led him through to the dining room where something that smelled delicious was simmering away in a covered pot on what looked like a large bamboo coaster in the middle of a glass dining table. Two places were set, each with a wine glass alongside, a bottle of what Mulder recognized as a very expensive red French wine uncorked and 'breathing' nearby, a large bowl of salad alongside. The meal was everything that initial smell had promised, and then some. "You really are a very good cook," said Mulder afterwards, sitting on the white leather sofa and sipping a glass of the champagne Sabrina had just opened. "Why thank you, Mulder," she replied, sipping her own champagne and smiling at him. She was sitting at the other end of the sofa and regarding him with a sort of amused indulgence, "but it's the company that makes a truly great meal." "Do I pass muster?" he said, grinning. "The jury's still out on that one," she said, sliding along the sofa towards him. "I don't think we'll know until after dessert." "What's for dessert?" asked Mulder. "Guess," she said, sliding an arm around his neck and kissing him full on the lips. He might not date often, but Mulder was no fool. Taking Sabrina in his arms, he picked her up and carried her through to the bedroom, thinking how fortunate it was he did not need to be in the office again until tomorrow afternoon. Several hours later as they lay in each other's arms, sated and basking the afterglow of their lovemaking, Mulder at last broached the question he had not been able to get off his mind: "Not that I'm complaining, you understand," he said, "but why are you being so friendly to the man who's investigating your brother for possible criminal activity?" "Because I know he hasn't done anything wrong so there's no criminal activity to uncover," she replied. "And as for getting friendly with you, what woman wouldn't want to? You're good looking, intelligent, a little bit mysterious..." "Only a little bit?" he grinned, interrupting her. "A little bit mysterious," she repeated, smiling, "pretty good in bed, and utterly charming - Prince Charming, in fact." "Prince Charming?" said Mulder. "Does that make you Cinderella?" "It was always my favourite story as a child, even though she only got to be with her prince 'til midnight came," said Sabrina. "I always wondered what would have happened if there had been no glass slipper. Still, midnight's almost here and I'm going nowhere. Also, Cinderella had two ugly sisters where I've only got one average-looking brother." "What will he think of you consorting with the enemy?" "'Consorting'. I like that," she said, "and what Damon doesn't know won't hurt him." "So you're keeping this to yourself?" "Oh, I think so. Anyway, enough talk. I fly out to Italy tomorrow for a week of shows in Milan, and I'll be unreachable even by phone, so I need you to make love to me some more tonight." Mulder was happy to oblige. FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC. Mulder spent most of the following day interviewing Damon Kelly's clients, and trying not to think of Sabrina in a 747, somewhere high over the Atlantic. She was someone he knew he could get seriously smitten with. Back in his office, he studied the results of his interviews thoughtfully. In each case, he had asked the women concerned to show him photographs of themselves five years earlier and immediately prior to treatment by Damon Kelly. He had then asked each to describe the process they had undergone, and whether they had ever heard of the Medallion of Zulo. The results were very interesting. Every woman described the process exactly as Margaret Gorman had, with none appreciating the role of the medallion in the process. None of them had ever heard of the Medallion of Zulo, and all of them assumed the medallion he sometimes wore around his neck was nothing more than a cheap and rather ugly piece of jewellery. When it came to the photographs, every woman had had hair five years ago that was either shorter or the same length as that they had had immediately prior to Kelly's process. He had apparently rejected as unsuitable any woman who had had longer hair five years earlier. At first, this had puzzled Mulder, but now he thought he had an explanation. According to how it allegedly operates, anyone holding the Medallion of Zulo when a garment worn by someone else is touched to it will turn into a copy of the person who last wore that garment. Having now read all the reports and clippings in the X-file, Mulder now appreciated that this meant turning into a copy of that person as they were when they last wore the garment in question. So, theoretically, a person could use the medallion to turn into a younger version of themselves using garments they had not worn for several years. Of course, this would also mean their hair being made as it was back then, too. That explained the hairdressing part of Kelly's process. Not wanting anyone to know he was using a magic medallion, he set five years as the limit of his process so that any rejuvenation could be plausibly explained away as a new cosmetic process. Ten years would be too much for this and people would start asking uncomfortable questions. Having someone's hair grow by several inches during the process would also be a giveaway, so he had to make sure before and after were the same, which is why he rejected anyone who had had longer hair five years earlier. There were some reports in the X-file that suggested hair and even individual body parts could be altered by the medallion, but accounts of how this could be done were vague and possibly even apocryphal. The medallion did not come with a manual, and it was not immediately obvious how you could do something like this or even how you would know it was possible at all. Mulder found himself thinking of Karl Stark and how he had been arrested trying to steal the Shroud of Turin. Had he somehow got hold of the medallion and been planning to use it in conjunction with the shroud, he wondered? He didn't know, but it was worth dropping a note in the X-file to alert his successors to the possibility. Given what he had discovered, only two conclusions seemed possible to Mulder: either Damon Kelly was running a scam whose elaborate attention to detail was designed to convince anyone aware of the operation of this mythical medallion that he now possessed it; or the Medallion of Zulo was actually real (a conclusion Mulder was reluctantly beginning to come to) and he did in fact possess it. It was a worrying thought. Mulder finished out the day checking for connections between Kelly and the celebrities that had been with him in that photo. As he suspected, there were none, though he did find a few oddities in Coyote Dingo's past of possible X- file interest that might be worth digging into one day. But not now. It had been a long day and he was beat. He had not got much sleep last night, after all. THE KELLY CLINIC SILVER SPRING, MARYLAND. "Really, Agent Mulder, I'm surprised at you," laughed Damon Kelly. "I never thought you of all people would fall for that line about the Medallion of Zulo I fed dear Sabrina." It was two days later, and Mulder had travelled out to Silver Spring to interview the newly- returned Kelly, who stood before him now in his apartment, wearing a grey Armani suit over a white, roll-neck sweater, the Medallion of Zulo hanging on a chain around his neck. "So you're saying it doesn't produce the miraculous transformations ascribed to it in the literature?" said Mulder. "Of course not," snorted Kelly. "I read about it in Loretta Stark's book on occult artefacts - probably the same reference you used - and decided I could use it to my advantage. You don't seriously believe in the existence of magic medallions, do you? I mean, there's a very real possibility there are intelligent aliens out there in the universe and that some of them may have visited us, but magic? Please." "And the apparently remarkable results you've achieved in some cases? How do you explain those?" "You should be able to figure out the answer to that one, Agent Mulder," said Kelly, shaking his head pityingly. "How does the saying go? 'Faith can move mountains'. We both know how true that is, that having faith in something can produce miraculous results. In the case of what science calls 'the Placebo Effect', it means having such a belief in the power of medicine that coloured water will produce the same results as a real medicine so long as you believe it is the real medicine. If your mind believes, your body will sometimes do the rest." "Up to and including bringing back a tumour?" said Mulder. "Yes, Agent Mulder," said Kelly, "even up to and including that. Quite why Margaret Gorman should have subconsciously wanted to bring back her tumour, I couldn't say. The mind is a wonderful but mysterious thing, and no one has yet fully plumbed its murky depths." "So you're denying causing any changes in these women?" "I am," said Kelly. "I'm merely a facilitator. The women bring about any changes through the power of their own minds." It was the perfect defence. In claiming to be little more than a faith-healer, Kelly could no more be made to face serious sanctions than they were. There was just one thing wrong with it. "If, as you claim, it's their own faith that's producing results, what is it faith in? None of the women have even heard of the Medallion of Zulo or know of its alleged powers." "Why, faith in me, of course," said Damon Kelly. "Then who are you trying to fool with the medallion?" asked Mulder. "What's that all about?" Kelly gave him a knowing smile. "You're the one who seems to believe I'm running a scam," he said, "and I can't be held responsible for anything my sister might have claimed." "So that's not the Medallion of Zulo around your neck?" "See for yourself." said Kelly, holding out the medallion. "If this thing operates as you believe it does, then you touching it while I'm wearing it should transform each of us into a copy of the other. Are you willing to test it?" Hesitantly, Mulder reached out and gripped the medallion. Nothing happened. "I believe we should both have felt a tingling sensation when you grasped the medallion. I felt nothing; did you?" "No," admitted Mulder, "I didn't." "Well, then," said Kelly, "that would appear to be that." "If that was the real medallion," said Mulder, "not if it was a fake." "Even if the medallion was real," said Kelly, "why would you expect it work as advertised? The myths about its powers are just that - myths." This was getting Mulder nowhere. He glanced around the apartment, which was a lot more austere than Sabrina's next door and as much workspace as dwelling. There was a small but sturdy looking free-standing safe on one wall, and next to it something he was surprised to see there. "You have a kiln," said Mulder. "I didn't know you were interested in pottery." "I'm not," said Kelly. "I work in metal. I like making metal copies of things, some of which are themselves metal to begin with and some not. I press them into wet clay then use the kiln to fire those moulds before I pour molten metal into them. A minor hobby, but it gives me pleasure." Having run out of questions, Mulder took his leave. He was sure Kelly was conning him in some way he could not quite fathom, and that was very unsettling. Mulder was back at the clinic three days later, this time in response to a phone call from Sabrina, who was back from her modelling assignment in Milan. Despite having other assignments he should be giving his attention to, Mulder had been able to think of little else but Sabrina while she was away. Whether it was just his loneliness or whether he was starting to fall for her Mulder did not know, but he was surprised by just how glad he was to see her when she opened her apartment door to him, looking radiant. "Mulder!" she squealed, throwing herself at him and smothering him with kisses. He responded in kind, each of them tearing the other's clothes off without breaking their lip-lock as they made their way across the apartment and into the bedroom. Their love-making was vigorous and urgent, each of them trying to satisfy a hunger for the other stronger than either would have, or could have acknowledged. Later, many hours later, they lay in each other's arms and they talked. "I would have phoned you, you know," said Mulder, "if you hadn't told me not to. I saw you on television a couple of times, in reports on the Milan fashion shows, but it wasn't the same." "It would have been nice hearing your voice," said Sabrina, "but it's even better feeling your arms around me now." They saw a lot of each other over the next few days. Mulder took some of the leave he was due that had been piling up unused, and they went to restaurants, art galleries, concerts, and even just walked in the park, hand-in-hand. One evening, as they picnicked on the grass in the shadow of the Washington Monument, Mulder looked into Sabrina's beautiful face and he knew that he was falling in love with her. She was flying out to Paris on another modelling assignment tomorrow. He resolved to tell her how he felt when she returned. To his surprise, Mulder got a call from his boss, Scott Blevins, as he was driving into work from his apartment the next morning, telling him to head directly to the Kelly Clinic. Apparently there had been a break-in. Damon Kelly had phoned it in to the Metro police and they had passed a message to the FBI when a computer check on Kelly had flagged the bureau's interest in him. According to Sabrina, her brother had been off at some spiritual retreat in the mountains and Mulder had not seen him since she got in from Milan. He had presumably just got back from his retreat and discovered the break-in. There was a surprise awaiting Mulder when he arrived at the clinic and made his way up to Kelly's apartment. The door was hanging off the safe he had seen several days earlier, and it had been emptied of whatever it had contained. This was not the surprise, however. No, that was seeing Damon Kelly in handcuffs and under arrest. "What happened here?" asked Mulder. "We came to arrest Mr. Kelly on tax evasion charges," said the arresting officer. "He let us in thinking we were there in response to a call he put in about his safe being broken into. I guess you're here in response to that call." "Yes," said Mulder, "I am. Name's Mulder. I'm with the FBI." He went over to Kelly, whose shoulders were slumped in defeat and who was regarding him with an expression that seemed to Mulder to be an unsettling mixture of wistfulness and longing. "What happened here?" said Mulder. "I got back in last night," said Kelly. "Woke up this morning to find the safe like this. Someone broke in during the night and cleaned me out. I slept through the whole thing. Given what they did to my safe, they must have been real professionals." "What did they take?" "Money. And some jewellery. Now these gentlemen have arrested me for tax fraud. This has not been a good day for me." "If you're going away," said Mulder, "I'd like that medallion of yours." "Sure, why not?" shrugged Kelly. As he lifted the medallion over Kelly's head, Kelly leaned in and whispered something in Mulder's ear. Shocked, Mulder stepped back from him. "What's going on here?" said a familiar female voice from behind him. "And why is my brother handcuffed?" Mulder turned to see Sabrina standing in the doorway, looking angry. "What are you doing here?" he said, rushing over and grabbing her shoulders. "You're supposed to be on your way to Paris." "Hands off, mister!" she said, knocking his hands away. "Not that it's any of your business, but there was a security alert at the airport. My flight is delayed at least ten hours, so I decided to come back here. Who are you, anyway?" "Who am I?" said Mulder, feeling both astonishment and a lurching feeling in his stomach as if the ground was giving way beneath his feet. "Is this some kind of joke? It's me, Mulder; the man you got together with before Milan and the man you've been spending all your time with since you got back." "Are you crazy?" she said, edging away from him. "It's not public knowledge and I've been trying to keep it secret, but until last night I was in a clinic being treated for drug dependency. I was let out to attend the Milan shows because that was a commitment I couldn't get out of, but I went straight back to the clinic when I returned from Milan. I don't know what con you're trying to pull here, but I've never laid eyes on you before." "This is FBI Agent Mulder, ma'am," said the officer holding her brother. "I don't care who he is," she said, giving Mulder a withering look. "Just keep him away from me." With that she turned her back on him and went over to her brother. Mulder watched her helplessly for a moment then, with a heavy heart, turned and left the apartment. He did not look back. FBI HEADQUARTERS WASHINGTON, DC. "Looks like Mulder's affair with the woman is over," said Scott Blevins, poring over the surveillance photographs strewn across his desk." "So it would seem," said the Cigarette-Smoking Man. "A pity. Now we'll have to move ahead with the original plan. It's time to end Mulder's solo status." "Yes," said Blevins, "it is." He activated the intercom on his desk. "The agent waiting to see me," he told his secretary, "please send her in." In his basement office, surrounded by the familiar detritus of his professional life, Mulder surveyed the papers on the desk before him. The first was a primer he had put together collating all that was known about the Medallion of Zulo. Though he had not seen it in action for himself, the consistency of the reports and clippings he had read about it, some going back to Victorian times, had convinced him that it probably did exist. The second was a copy of the bureau's report on their investigation of Karl Stark from the 1960s, to which Mulder had added an appendix speculating on the medallion as the reason behind Stark's attempt on the Shroud of Turin. The third was Mulder's report on his investigation into Damon Kelly, and this was a simple recounting of events, entirely free of speculation because he was unsure of what had happened. Or perhaps just unwilling to face it. Mulder had been scammed in some way, of that he was sure, but the how and why of it eluded him. Sabrina had clearly been in it with her brother, but try as he might he could not figure out what they had been hoping to achieve. Maybe they were just playing with him for kicks. It hurt to think that might be true, hurt almost as much as Sabrina's rejection of him did. He had been a fool to get involved with someone who was part of a case he was working on. He vowed never let that happen again. Sabrina had to have been lying when she claimed she was away in a clinic being treated for drug dependency during the time he knew they had spent together. Except that when he had checked this out and found the clinic in question, they had confirmed her story. How the Kelly siblings had pulled that one off Mulder could not figure out. After all, the only way Sabrina could have been in two places at once was if... but no; he would not, could not go there, despite the words Damon Kelly had whispered in his ear: "Midnight came," he had said. The words, and their implication, were something Mulder would spend a long time trying to forget. Sighing, Mulder dropped the replica medallion and the papers into the X-file, slid it into the appropriate filing cabinet, and pushed the drawer shut. He had hit a dead end, but he was certain he would one day get on the trail of the real Medallion of Zulo. For now, though, there were plenty of other cases to keep him busy. He sat down at his desk, moved a box of slides to one side, and opened a file marked 'Ballefleur, Oregon' that was sitting there. He had been working on this before the business with the medallion intervened, and it was time he got back to it. Several hours later there was a knock on the door. Mulder was surprised. He never got visitors. "Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted," he said. The door opened and a red-haired young woman entered. She was, thought Mulder, extremely attractive. "Agent Mulder?" she said. "I'm Dana Scully. I've been assigned to work with you." It was the start of a beautiful friendship. THE END As I've mentioned elsewhere, my Altered Fates tales have been written so they can be read as individual stories and as pieces of a larger saga - I've put things in every one that link them into the larger whole. Exactly how they fit together, and why, will become clear in Altered Fates: Project Zulo, the blow-out finale to the saga. To make things more entertaining for myself, I haven't been writing them in chronological order. For those interested, the order in which they take place, including those yet to be written, is: 1) I Was a Stranger at My Own Wedding 2) A Quick Study 3) X-Files: The Scam 4) G.I. Blues 5) The X-File 6) Tempest (not yet written) 7) The Bitter Bridegroom 8) The X-File Reopened 9) Triptych 10) Return to Kennett Cove (not yet written) 11) The Cult (not yet written) 12) Project Zulo (not yet written)