Sunday, September 25, 2011

Obscene Matters (4/...)



Startled, Scully stepped back and came up against the counter. Svensen stepped in to close the distance, bringing his painted face close to hers. "I didn't want to be like this," he told her, "I had a fiancé, you know. She was beautiful like you are."

"Bert, please." Scully put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back as he tried to come in even closer. "I know it's been lonely here."

"You have no idea," he said and pushed against her hand, his lips pursed.



Obscene Matter (4/5)
--by prChung
--Oct. 2005
--Cat: Sk/Sc, UST
--Contact: prChung18@gmail.com

--Note: This started out as my "summer" story, and now that I am finishing it up as Halloween approached, I realize it has taken on a decidedly eerie tone, as well as a bit of humor.



Obscene Matter (4/5)
--by prChung

At the far end of the tiny kitchenette, just beyond a wheeled utility cart was the access way to the delivery tunnel.

Svensen stood watch as Scully and Skinner moved the cart out of the way and ducked their heads into the space to examine the possible escape route.

There was no sound in the dark and narrow tunnel, which dead-ended here at Svensen's domain, only a faint whisper of a steady breeze that ruffled Scully's hair and carried the smell of electrical smoke and oil. The space was black beyond what light let in from the kitchenette area and Scully's penlight, but it definitely led somewhere.

"There's a third rail," Scully noted as she flashed the penlight downward to a set of tracks about eighteen inches below the level of the kitchenette's floor.

"That's electrified, you know." Svensen informed from behind them.

"When does the mail car come, is there a schedule?" Scully asked, coming back into the kitchenette.

"Oh, yes, it's here." Svensen brought a piece of paper for her to see.

Scully looked over the schedule, and then checked her watch. "If this correct," she paused to get confirmation from Svensen, who nodded. "Then there should be another one here in six hours."

"That's an evening car. As you see they come only three times a month." Svensen took the yellowed schedule from her to look at. "You're lucky you came on a day the delivery is scheduled."

"Imagine that," Skinner muttered as he pulled himself back into the kitchenette area.

"How much voltage could be running through that rail?" Scully wondered aloud.

"Probably less than it would be for a larger rail," Skinner surmised, and looked at her.

"But do we really want to find out the hard way?" Scully's question seemed more of a warning. She suspected Skinner would jump down there and try to walk out of here. Wing tips weren't the optimum shoe wear to be tap dancing across a miniature third rail line in the dark with.

Skinner nodded in agreement that seemed somewhat reluctant.

...

Six hours could slip by quickly, and then again it could drag on like an eternity depending on what one choose to do with their time. Svensen choose to do what he had been apparently doing for the last thirty odd years; he played records, sang songs and paged through his photo albums. Scully kept Svensen company while Skinner choose to venture back into the file tunnel to take inventory of what was kept back there.

"I've nearly put all the loose photos into the final album," Svensen explained with a trace of pride as he closed one album and reached for another.

Scully eyed the numerous stacks of albums around the base of the Victrola's stand. Inspite of what these album's contained, the history and visual evidence of a bizarre dark side of the FBI few if any knew existed, she found herself fighting back a groan. She'd seen far more than she ever wanted to; too many parties, too many strange pairings, too many images of young boys and old men consorting in decades long past.

"I think I'll make some more tea," she said and stood from the sofa.

"Oh, I'll make some," Svensen eagerly offered, and started to get up.

"No," Scully said and motioned for him not to get up, but he was already hauling himself up from the floor. "If you don't mind I'll make it."

"I don't mind at all," Svensen told her with a smile. "I'll put on some more music while you make the tea."

In the kitchenette Scully heard 'Moonglow' begin to play again, and after a moment Svensen glided into the room humming. "It's so odd to have guests," he said as he opened a cabinet and took out a round tin. He brought it over to Scully and opened it to expose an assortment of cookies. "I usually go through them pretty quick," he told her quietly. "Maybe I knew I shouldn't this time. Maybe I knew there'd be a special occasion to save them for."

"Maybe you did," Scully agreed.

Without warning something shifted and Svensen's expression intensified as he took a step even closer to her. "It's been so very long," he declared, his tone gone husky with a sudden desperation.

Startled, Scully stepped back and came up against the counter. Svensen stepped in to close the distance, bringing his painted face close to hers. "I didn't want to be like this," he told her, "I had a fiancé, you know. She was beautiful like you are."

"Bert, please." Scully put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him back as he tried to come in even closer. "I know it's been lonely here."

"You have no idea," he said and pushed against her hand, his lips pursed.

"Bert, don't," Scully said, but he plastered his mouth against her, lipstick smearing to her cheek before she managed to give him a shove that forced him back and caused him to drop the tin of cookies.

The round tin bounced and then rolled on its edge scattering cookies across the floor and under the dinette.

Svensen gasped at the sight of his prized treats lost and dropped to his knees in sobs as he tried to gather them.

"What happened?"

Scully turned to see Skinner standing in the doorway looking incredulously back at her. "I," she started, and then, "he..."

Skinner stared at her expectantly.

"Forget it," she exclaimed and knelt to try and help Svensen.

He shrugged off the hand she laid on his shoulder and spat, "I don't need your help. Just go away."

So Scully got up and started out of the kitchenette. Skinner followed her into the parlor and stopped her, his glaze darting back and forth between the smeared lipstick and her eyes. "What happened in there?"

Scully swiped at her face, where she felt the greasy lipstick. "It doesn't matter," she grumbled, now feeling shaky and upset.

"Are you all right?" Skinner pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and started to wipe the lipstick from her face.

Scully pulled away and took the handkerchief from him to do it herself. "Yes, I'm just..." she trailed off and gave Svensen a wary glance. "I'm fine."

"But he's not," Skinner said and drew her attention back to him. "We've only got a few hours until that delivery train arrives. Until then we stay together."

"If you'll excuse me," Svensen announced himself as he came out of the kitchenette. Holding his chin up as he walked past them swiftly and into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

"What if that delivery train isn't large enough for us to ride out of here?" Scully asked Skinner.

"That's when we take our chances on that third rail."

Scully nodded, and then her attention drifted to the handkerchief in her hands. Suddenly, her upset was belayed by an odd and charming realization; Walter Skinner carried a handkerchief. A linen one at that.

"I don't think this will come out easily," she said, holding up the lipstick stained cloth.

Skinner glanced down at it. Unaffected, he said, "I have others."

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End - Part 4 of (5?) again, having too much fun with this...
-------------Continued------------

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