Part 4   
      
   XXXXX   
      
   FBI Field Office   
   Newark, NJ   
   April 8, 2000, 9:47 AM   
      
   Mulder was casually sipping a large cup of coffee in an interrogation   
   room. Nice touch, he thought. Put a paranoid woman in an interrogation   
   room like a common criminal. That should make her warm up to him all   
   right. He startled a bit as the door suddenly sprung open and the woman   
   in question was ushered in the room.   
      
   She was tiny. Barely five feet tall, with what they used to call "big"   
   hair and really high heels. He smiled. The Scully Syndrome.   
      
   Grace was not smiling at him. She looked him up and down, and sat   
   carefully on the edge of the chair he gestured to.   
      
   "It won't collapse, I promise." He said.   
      
   "What?"   
      
   "The chair. It's not a trick chair. You're sitting in it like you're   
   prepared to bolt."   
      
   "I am prepared to bolt. So, what is your story, Mr. Mulder?"   
      
   "I have a story?"   
      
   "You must. I mean, I can't figure out why in the world anyone suddenly   
   cares about something that happened a couple of months ago when they   
   didn't give a crap immediately after it happened."   
      
   "I'm sorry to hear that. Actually, there has been another abduction and   
   we feel there might be a possible connection to yours. It's as simple   
   as that. It would really help if you could go over the details of your   
   kidnapping."   
      
   She narrowed her eyes.   
      
   "Can I get you some coffee?" Mulder asked.   
      
   "No," she said and added half-heartedly, "thank you. Jeez. See, this is   
   what happens. I'm forgetting the manners my mama taught me. She must be   
   rolling in her grave. I'll help."   
      
   "Okay. Do you mind if I tape our conversation?"   
      
   "Sure. Knock yourself out," she waited as he turned the recorder on.   
   "Okay. The sad part is, there aren't that many details about the   
   kidnapping. And, if you ask me, that's why no one cared about it or   
   even gave it much thought. Maybe they felt I did it myself or had some   
   friends who were playing some hokey trick on me.   
      
   I left work on a Tuesday night. I work as a waitress at a local dinner.   
   My car was parked in the back lot. It's dark back there. Just a single   
   sensor light that went on as I passed behind the dumpster and went to   
   the cars. I felt a sharp pinch on my leg. I looked down and saw   
   nothing. Then, I must have passed out. I remember nothing until I felt   
   this incredibly cold jolt. I mean, I just woke up instantly and   
   realized I was under water. In my down jacket. You know how hard it is   
   to surface when you're wearing wet duck feathers? So, I'm struggling to   
   get up and the waves keep knocking me over. I don't think I was   
   actually in water over my head but the freaking waves were doing a   
   number on me worse than if I had been dropped in the middle of the   
   ocean. And it was so cold. Those idiots who dump themselves in the   
   freezing ocean on New Year's Day—I forget their names—they should all   
   be locked up as menaces to society. Freaking lunatics."   
      
   "But you were rescued?"   
      
   "Yeah. And this is what I wanted to talk about to the fucking Feds. No   
   offense," she nodded to him in deference. He smiled back. "I mean, I   
   was happy to see him at that second. Who wouldn't be? I'm floundering   
   around out there in my wet clothes that are bringing me down. I'm half   
   drugged—that much I know. I've swallowed half the freezing Atlantic   
   Ocean and here's this guy coming toward me. He immediately yells out   
   that I shouldn't worry, he's gonna save me, so I didn't think of the   
   guy who nabbed me. And, at that point, I wasn't even sure what had   
   happened to get me into that water. All I really knew was I was   
   drowning. Just like in my dreams. So, he barrels over the waves. He was   
   a big, tall guy. I get sucked down again, and I feel him grab my jacket   
   and pull me up. Then, he tosses me over his shoulder and walks to the   
   shore. He dumps me on the dry sand, asks me if I'm all right and then   
   says he's calling for help. I never saw him again. The cops and   
   ambulance showed up a few minutes later. I think I was half out of it   
   by the time they arrived."   
      
   "They received an anonymous phone call?"   
      
   "Yes."   
      
   "They couldn't trace it?"   
      
   "No. It was from a pay phone."   
      
   "And what bothers you about your rescuer?"   
      
   "Well, I can understand someone not wanting credit for doing something   
   good. I mean, 'no good deed goes unpunished' and all that.  What I   
   can't understand is how anyone could have been on that beach that   
   night, unless he was up to no good. It was cold. When I say cold, I   
   mean cold. It was about 7 degrees. And with the wind chill—it was   
   worse. And I woke up when I hit the water. If I hadn't, I would have   
   drowned. It's as simple as that. As it was, I was gonna drown in a few   
   minutes.  So, you're asking me to believe that the kidnapper dumps me   
   in the water, runs off, and a kind rescuing type of guy just happens to   
   be walking along the freezing cold beach at 1:30 in the morning, sees   
   me drowning and rescues me before I can drown? Nuh-uh. He was right   
   there. That freak was the kidnapper. He must have dumped me, saw that I   
   woke up instantly, walked a little distance from me and when I   
   surfaced, played the role of the hero."   
      
   Mulder nodded and waited for her to continue. She seemed to be thinking   
   out loud.   
      
   "Hell, can you even call it a kidnapping? My shift was over at 10. I   
   was abducted for three and a half hours. So, someone grabs me, drives   
   me to the shore, dumps me in the water and rescues me. Weird, huh?   
   Unbelievable, huh? The Feds must have thought so for all the time they   
   spent on my case. They didn't call me a liar to my face. I mean, after   
   all, they did have a call about coming to rescue me and I sure as shit   
   needed rescuing. I was in the hospital for a few days with hypothermia   
   and all that crap but they didn't quite buy my story. Kept asking about   
   friends or boyfriends with weird senses of humor. Hey, I have friends   
   who laugh at South Park and crap like that. But they aren't cruel   
   people who would try to drown me for a laugh."   
      
   Mulder put his hand to his mouth for a moment and leaned back.  She was   
   squinting at him again. Finally, he leaned forward. "Did you get a good   
   look at him at any time?"   
      
   "There was a full moon. I saw him as he hovered over me after he laid   
   me out on the sand."   
      
   "You think you could work with the police artists to make a sketch? It   
   would really help."   
      
   "Sure. I can try. I mean, I want to help this other person. I don't   
   want some other woman feeling this way. All creeped out and non-   
   trusting and stuff."   
      
   He nodded. "You don't know anyone named Todd, do you?"   
      
   "Todd? No. I never met a Todd in my life."   
      
   "Do you belong to a Yahoo group called Dreamedy?"   
      
   "Not anymore. Real life became a lot more scary than a bunch of   
   dreams."   
      
   "But when you did, what was your screen name?"   
      
   "Jersey Girl 71."   
      
   "That's what I thought. Did you have any personal connection to anyone   
   on the list?"   
      
   "You think one of them did it?" She asked, leaning forward.   
      
   "Not necessarily."   
      
   "I didn't write to anyone off-list," Grace said. Mulder stood.   
      
   "Well, I think I'll go in and ask for a sketch artist.  Want that   
   coffee now, while we wait?"   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)