From: sugarellie2000@yahoo.com   
      
   Chapter 9   
      
      
   11:49 am   
      
   A elaborate speech by Colton keeps us from getting to   
   work this morning. Familiar anger starts to settle   
   inside me as I think about all the time we’re losing   
   over his ego-tripping. Specific orders, directing us   
   to ask about their hobbies, their families and other   
   such normal facts, are meant to mask that Colton has   
   no idea whatsoever where to look. My anger subsides   
   somewhat however when I hear Jennifer and I can go   
   interview the live-in boyfriend of one of the victims.   
   That at least seems more promising then yesterday’s   
   sister.   
   The traffic is bad once we get in the car and too much   
   time is wasted before we get to the sign having 148 on   
   it, telling us we’re there.   
   	I knock on the door and a thirty-something guy opens.   
   We introduce ourselves and he invites us in.   
   	“Some colleagues of yours were here yesterday as   
   well. Didn’t you guys get all the information you   
   wanted?”   
   	“We still have a few questions left,” I nod and sit   
   down on the couch offered.   
   	“Mr. Palmer, isn’t it?”   
   	“You can call me Robin.”   
   	“I was wondering. What do you think happened to   
   Alison?”   
   	All the questions about her disappearance had been   
   asked yesterday. Maybe he could shine a light on it.   
   	“Well, at first I just thought she was late from   
   work. But after half an hour I began to worry. You   
   know, she walks back from work, insisting it’s too   
   short a distance to drive. I used to tell her she   
   could be hurt. Since you never know what kind of folks   
   are out there, but she just shrugged it of.”   
   	He sighs.   
   	“You know, this is the one time I hate to be right.”   
   	He looks very sad now.   
   	“When she wasn’t home after an hour and wasn’t   
   answering her work phone nor her cell, I called the   
   cops. They said she was probably just at a friend’s   
   place or something. But I knew that wasn’t the case.   
   When she wasn’t home the next day, they started the   
   investigation, but I don’t think they tried very hard.   
   They thought she’d just gone of...”   
   	“Why would they think that?”   
   	“Well, she has the odds against her.”   
   	He sighs again, looking hesitant to tell this.   
   	“She had done it before. Years back. She was having   
   some psychiatric difficulties then, bipolar, but with   
   the new medicine that was all under control. She   
   wasn’t experiencing any troubles with that anymore.   
   It’s just not fair. Why her? She’s already been   
   through so much.”   
   	“How do you know she didn’t stop taking her   
   medication?”   
   	“She did that in the beginning a couple of times, so   
   she made a habit out of always taking it when I was   
   with her. So I could kind of check on her. But also, I   
   know she didn’t walk away, because she didn’t take her   
   medication with her. She’s a diabetic you know. She   
   was diagnosed with it 5 years ago, so she has to take   
   insulin shots. But she left those here and didn’t take   
   the ones at work either. She didn’t take any with her,   
   except perhaps what was in her purse, but that is   
   usually only one shot. She wouldn’t run of without   
   them.”   
   	“Why not? If she was confused...”   
   	“In the beginning, when the medicine for her   
   bipolarity weren’t working that well, she didn’t take   
   the shots in time. So to make up for it she took two   
   at the same time. She got a hypo in her sleep and went   
   into a coma. She woke up after only three weeks.   
   That’s why I’m so worried as well. If she’s still...”   
   	He stops, not wanting to say what he’s going to, then   
   takes a deep breath and continues.   
   	“If she’s still alive, she’s probably in a bad shape.   
   She needs these medications. God, I hope you find   
   her.”   
   	He hides his face in his hands. I’m not sure what to   
   do, but then Stradford surprises me. She walks up to   
   him and puts an arm around his shoulder.   
   	“We’re going to do our best to bring her home to you,   
   safe and healthy. We will...”   
   	He looks up to her, tears in his eyes.   
   	“We have to,” she finishes and I see glistening   
   behind her eyes as well.   
      
   ~   
      
   14:52 pm   
      
   	We sit in the car. She looks distant, sunken into   
   wistful thoughts and I know it’s my place to say   
   something, comfort her in some way. I don’t know how.   
   Scully is better in these things, she knows the right   
   things to say, to do, but I’m afraid I will only make   
   it worse. I hesitate for another minute what I should   
   do.   
   “I can understand how you must feel,” I start   
   awkwardly.   
   She looks at me sideways, but doesn’t talk herself.   
   She seems to doubt my assessment.   
   “I…I don’t know if you know, but early on in my   
   career, when I was still in the VCS, we were chasing a   
   killer, John Barnett. I profiled him, we got on his   
   trail and set up a bust. Only things didn’t go as we   
   expected.”   
   She looking at me with mild interest now.   
   “Barnett took a hostage. I hesitated. Long enough for   
   Barnett to make his move. He shot the hostage and   
   another agent, Steve Wallenberg. He had a wife and two   
   kids. I still feel guilty about it.”   
   She’s still looking at me, not saying a word. Again I   
   doubt if I have done the right thing by telling her   
   this. She doesn’t need other people’s misery on top of   
   hers.   
   “I feel guilty,” she states softly after a minute or   
   so.   
   Glad I finally have some response, I answer.   
   “I’ve lived with guilt over this my entire life. It   
   wasn’t my fault. Technically speaking it wasn’t my   
   fault. With you… You couldn’t have done anything to   
   prevent him from dying, because I know you would have.   
   Guilt is the most immobilizing emotion of all. Maybe   
   you need to make the conscious move of leaving the   
   guilt behind you, while you still can. Even though   
   it’s so fucking hard. Especially when it’s as   
   misplaced as right now.”   
   “I don’t know if I can.”   
   “Try…” I say softly, feeling a bit hypocrite.   
   We arrive at her mother’s place, one of those places   
   that can’t be belong to anyone but a mother. When she   
   opens the door and we step into the living room I half   
   expect tea and cookies waiting for us. She is too   
   distraught to offer though.   
   	Mrs. Ryan herself is also the motherly type and I   
   immediately picture her in the kitchen making the   
   cookies for the tea herself. My mother wasn’t exactly   
   that type.   
   	Now she’s sitting opposite us and answering our   
   questions, but I find it hard to concentrate. The hour   
   is drawing nearer. Five and a half hours. So much can   
   happen in five and a half hours, but so little as   
   well.   
   	Mrs. Ryan doesn’t seem to be able to give us any   
   useful information. She answers the questions, but she   
   doesn’t tell us anything Robin didn’t tell us before.   
   She misses her dearly though, that’s obvious and for a   
   second I wonder if my mother would’ve missed me that   
   much, if she missed Samantha like that. I don’t even   
   miss her that much.   
   	Costly time is passing and we’re not getting   
   anywhere. Either we’re just asking the wrong   
   questions, and then we’re never going to find out, or   
   we’ve already found the link and just haven’t   
   recognized it as such. I don’t know why, but my gut   
   instinct is telling me it’s the latter and we need to   
   go back and find it.   
   	A short ‘thank you’ and a well-meant ‘we’re going to   
   do all we can’ is enough to end the conversation and I   
   suddenly can’t wait to get back to the station. I’m   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)