TWO MONTHS EARLIER..

SEVERIN'S MALL PARKING LOT, WASHINGTON DC



It was a bright, cold day. The people who exited the mall smelled the 
freshness, warm breaths formed small white clouds in the air that 
seemed to give the atmosphere an even crispier intensity. They rubbed 
their hands, sniffed their noses and smiled at each other, for the 
sparkling cold and the bright sun made the spirit good and the people 
content. They tend to their business, paper bags filled with 
groceries and weekly shopping, just like thousands of other people do 
all over the world.

 

Special FBI-agent John Doggett put the last brown paper bag down, 
closed the boot of his car, unlocked the door and was about to sit 
down behind the wheel when he saw, a little further up ahead, a woman 
losing what looked like a wallet. It fell from her purse onto the 
tarmac of the parking lot, its owner totally unaware of it happening. 
She stepped into a grey Honda Civic and took off.

Doggett jumped out of his car, ran towards the wallet, picked it up 
and waved at the leaving car, hoping the person inside might catch a 
glimpse of him in the mirror, but the small Honda didn't stop and 
Doggett saw it exiting the parking lot and disappearing in the 
morning traffic.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to see the license plate but it was 
already too far away to distinct the letters and numbers. But Doggett 
wouldn't be Doggett if he wouldn't hand the object back to the 
rightful owner so he opened the brown leather wallet and searched for 
an ID.

There it was, a driver's license. A pleasantly looking woman with 
short, dark hair, brown eyes and an amused smile, looked at him from 
the photo. The ID told him her name was Esther Oldman, and to his 
satisfaction he saw she lived in the neighbourhood of the FBI office. 
He could easily drive by her place on his way to work and give the 
wallet to her.

He stashed it in his inner pocket, went back to his car and left the 
parking place and the mall behind him. He cast a quick glance at his 
watch - he decided not to drive home with the groceries first but go 
straight to the woman's place and from there on, on to work. The 
goods he had in the back of his car weren't of the perishable kind so 
there was no harm in leaving them there. The orange juice would get a 
bit warm, maybe, but that was about all, John Doggett thought.



Mahogany Mansions on Elmwood Drive was a complex of recently 
renovated flats. It didn't take Doggett long to spot the Honda Civic 
and find the correct apartment number. He went up the three stairs 
and pushed the doorbell. A few seconds later the door was opened by a 
woman who Doggett recognised as the woman from the photo in the 
driver's license. 

"Yes?" she asked softly with a friendly voice. 

"Mrs Oldman?"

"Miss Oldman. Yes, I am." She waited expectantly, her face was calm 
and open and a faint smile was visible.

"My name is John Doggett. I believe this is yours?"

He held out her wallet. Her eyes, behind the glass of thin framed 
spectacles, turned big.

"My wallet? But... how did you get this? Where..?"

"I saw it falling from your purse on the parking lot. I tried to warn 
you but you didn't hear me. I took the liberty of a peek inside and 
found your address on your driver's license."

She smiled broadly and took the wallet from his hand. 

"Thank you! Thank you very much!"

She opened the door for him. "Please, do come in. The least I can 
offer you is a cup of coffee and a piece of cake - it's still warm."

John Doggett felt a nice glow inside when he saw her bright and 
cheerful face. "You do have time, I hope?" she asked and stepped 
aside to let him in. A smell of warm pastry reached Doggett - much 
better than the greasy donuts at the FBI cantina. 

"In that case I can hardly say no, can I?" he replied friendly and 
she smiled with the enthusiasm of a young girl.



The kitchen reminded Doggett of his childhood in his parent's home. 
Cosy, warm and a smell of fresh food and pastry proved it was used 
often and gave it a homely touch. Against the wall stood a small 
table, covered with a red and yellow chequered cloth, and beside it 
were two chairs. On a breadboard on the worktop sat two cakes, still 
steaming off the warmth of the oven. 

"I was in a bit of a hurry because those cakes mustn't stay in the 
oven too long. Perhaps that's why I didn't notice losing my wallet. 
Cream or sugar?"

"Black, thank you." Miss Oldman took a large kitchen knife from the 
drawer, cut off two thick slices of the cake and put them on saucers. 
She sat down on the chair opposite of him, they drank coffee and ate 
cake and soon were caught up in a lively conversation. 

She was a very nice person, Doggett noticed. Intelligent, warm and 
genuinely interested in who he was and what he did. He found it 
refreshing to talk to someone who was not connected to the bureau and 
who was also able to listen to him and ask him things in an open way 
without any clear uneasiness about his work, as he had encountered 
more often than he could recall. 

People seemed to be weary where his profession was concerned for they 
feared the power of the bureau that so often was connected to crimes 
and misdemeanours - maybe they feared being dragged into that by 
becoming part of John Doggett's world. Especially since his 
assignment to the X-files he had noticed people keeping their 
distance, which was something he found surprising and a bit saddening 
too. But as Doggett was a man of clear conscience and got 
satisfaction from working with his partner Scully and trying to solve 
cases, he didn't ponder on it too much.

Miss Oldman asked and he talked about all kinds of things - his work, 
what music he liked, Washington, sports... it felt to John as if he 
had known this woman for years already. 

He completely forgot about the time until his cell phone disturbed 
him.

"Doggett."

"It's me, Scully. Where are you? Kersh is waiting for us!" He heard 
the crisp voice of Dana Scully entering his ear and with a bang he 
was back in the world again.

"I'm on my way. I'll be there in ten minutes." He shrugged his 
shoulders apologetically to his hostess but she smiled regrettably 
and said, "I'm sorry, it's my fault. I'm babbling on and on and I 
didn't even consider you had other matters to tend to. Will this get 
you into trouble?"

He laughed reassuringly, touched by her obvious concern. "No, don't 
worry. But I must go."

She walked him to the front door and lightly put her hand on his arm 
for a moment.

"Thanks once again for bringing back my wallet, John. It was very 
nice talking to you." 

Doggett turned around and absorbed the look in her brown eyes. "And 
thank you for the coffee and the cake and the nice talk. Esther, I 
hope you don't think this is presumptuous but ... would you like to 
have diner with me some time?"

Her face lit up like a candle.

"That would be lovely."

"Good. How about tomorrow evening?"

"Excellent."

"I'll pick you up at seven? Is that alright with you?"

"Seven is fine by me. I'll be ready."

Her voice, music to his ears, guided him down the stairs.



In the weeks that followed their relationship had developed quickly, 
warm and tenderly. For the first time since the loss of his wife 
Andrea and his son Luke, nearly seven years ago, Doggett felt the joy 
of loving and being loved, sharing and caring. He had put aside his 
feelings of commitment and love, not expecting to be exposed to it 
again.

Until he met Esther. From the moment she opened the door to him and 
laughed at him, welcomed him in and talked and laughed with him, it 
was as if some magic trick was performed. He had tasted the sweetness 
of love and he was falling for it like a log.

One night, he had come home from a late night job and driven straight 
home. Esther was asleep on his couch, Beethoven played softly in the 
background and the book she'd been reading had slipped to the floor. 
Apparently she had waited for him but had been overtaken by sleep.

He had kissed her, she hadn't woken up, only moaned a pleasant 
whisper and he had taken off his clothes and laid down beside her. 
Her scent had been warm and feminine and he had cherished the warmth 
and calmness she had radiated. With a distinct feeling of happiness 
he had fallen asleep beside her, their bodes cradled together in the 
warm embrace of love.

His last thoughts, just before the quiet of sleep took over were that 
he was very fortunate to have met Esther and that he would do 
everything in his power to be with her for the rest of his life.



**


PRESENT DAY (Thursday)

Scully observed with -to put it mildly- as much interest as surprise 
how Doggett's state changed when his girlfriend had entered the room. 
It was remarkable to see how his physical unrest calmed down when she 
sat down and read to him from a book called The House of the Spirits. 
Scully recognised the passages for she had read Isabel Allende's book 
too and she was pleasantly surprised with the choice of literature.

Her voice was soft and calm and Scully noticed how people around her 
seemed to react to it the way that Doggett did. They got calmer, 
their movements got less hasty and they seemed to want to listen as 
well, even though they did their work as always.

The change in Doggett went so far that he woke up after a while. 
Scully didn't know how long he'd been awake before Esther noticed it 
herself but it was clear to see that agent Doggett was doing better. 
It was as if he'd overcome the hardest point and was now on the way 
back of crawling out of that dark pit.

Strangež Scully thought, and virtually impossible. Although the 
words 'full recovery' were somewhat premature considering the state 
he had been and was in right now, it looked as if this seizure was 
also over quite abruptly, like the previous one.

Esther stood on one side of the bed and held Doggett's hand. She said 
nothing but Scully saw tears glistening and how tenderly she moved 
her small fingers over his large hand. It was touching and Scully had 
the feeling she'd done her work and they didn't need her there 
anymore. She waited what Doctor Sheppard found and after listening to 
her examination and the positive sounds that she heard, she decided 
to go home.

The doctor's words kept coming back. Amazing, actually impossible. 
His body is regenerating faster than with any process or drug I've 
ever seen. If it goes on the same way, this will be nothing but a bad 
dream in a couple of days.

Scully was of course pleased with Doggett being awake again, his pain 
was obviously reducing and the clear visible change did her good, but 
a feeling that she couldn't put her finger on, kept nagging at her on 
the way home.

It had to do with Miss Oldman. There was not a single shred of doubt 
in Scully's mind that she loved John Doggett. And the same went for 
Doggett - it was clear that he cared a great deal for her and that 
her presence made him feel better.

Actually, Scully had to admit to herself, it hadn't been until Miss 
Oldman had physically entered the ward that Doggett finally reacted 
positively to the medication he was on and that he woke up. Is love a 
strong medicine? Can it enhance the working of a real drug? Scully 
thought when turning in the driveway of her home. She yawned, tired 
of being called out of bed so early in the morning after having had 
so little sleep on the night before.

That was only a eight hours ago - unbelievable. It felt like a life 
time.

She kicked off her shoes, took off her clothes and went to bed. 



*

(Thursday evening)

It was late in the evening when Walter Skinner asked the nurse behind 
the desk where he could find agent John Doggett to which the nurse 
typed a few commands on her computer, read the information and 
directed him to the correct ward. As he walked through the corridors 
he thought back to the conversation he had with agent Scully a few 
hours earlier. 

She said she'd been in the hospital, had seen the improvement in 
Doggett's condition and was about to catch up on the sleep she'd been 
missing.

Skinner knew how much time Scully had spent in the hospital, trying 
to figure out what was going on with Doggett and he asked is she had 
found out what had caused his condition.

"It's still inconclusive, sir, but it seems like an allergic reaction 
of some kind. I've taken more data home with me to study it further - 
if we can't determine what it is, then we won't be able to prevent it 
from happening again."

"Keep digging, agent Scully. I take it you have asked agent Doggett 
if he knew about this?"

"I did but he told me he wasn't aware of an allergy. It is however 
always possible to develop an allergy to something while that 
specific item has never caused any problems before."

"So what you're saying is that Doggett is reacting this way to 
something that he wasn't allergic to last week?"

"More or less, yes. I'm going to study the histamine records and 
cross-check them with blood work from previous physical examinations. 
Maybe that can shed some light on this."

"Keep at it, agent Scully. Agent Doggett is an excellent asset to the 
team but if he's to come back I want him to be fit and well again."

With those words they had broken off the connection and before going 
home, Skinner had decided to pay a visit to Doggett. But the moment 
he turned the corner, he knew something was wrong.

Something was going on in Doggett's room. Nurses ran through the 
corridor and entered his room holding IV bags with transparent 
fluids, blood and plasma. From the other side a doctor came running 
to the room, shoved Skinner unceremoniously aside and instantly 
performed heart massage on the tall, chalk white man in the bed. 
Skinner took a step to the side and watched in silence at the horror 
scene that unfolded before his eyes.

The calm, controlled but serious tone in which the doctor gave his 
instructions to his personnel and the hurried but professional way in 
which he performed the steps that were to save his patient's life, 
told Skinner more than a hundred words could do.

What had agent Scully seen when she told him Doggett was doing a 
miraculous recovery? The man in the bed, comatose and unresponsive, 
was absolutely not heading towards a prosperous recovery.

On the contrary.

Special FBI agent John Doggett was slipping away towards the 
inevitable - the Grim Reaper was waiting on his front porch.



*



FRIDAY

Scully woke up after a long sleep and felt refreshed. The comforting 
thought that John Doggett was on the mend, had done wonders for her 
peace of mind and she was satisfied that she'd been able to sleep a 
full nine hours without being disturbed or woken up by nightmares.

She just stepped out from under the shower when the doorbell rang. 
Huddled in a thick white robe she opened the door to find, to her 
surprise, AD Skinner there. He looked as though he'd been awake all 
night - and not in the best of circumstances. His tie had been 
loosened, his suit-jacket was crumpled and the folds in his trousers 
bore the signs of uncomfortable seated positions.

"Sir?"

"Agent Scully. I've been in hospital all night."

"Doggett?" a chilling hand grabbed her heart and began to squeeze. 
Scully tried not to show how his worried face affected her.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." Scully opened the door to him and led hem in to the 
kitchen where she poured him a cup of coffee.

"I visited agent Doggett after we spoke on the phone yesterday 
evening. When I came in, they were just bringing in a crash car and 
performed the whole medical circus on him."

Scully's mouth was dry. She daren't ask him what the final outcome 
was. Doggett was dead, she knew it with stunning certainty - why else 
would AD Skinner come over if it wasn't to tell it to her personally?

"He was stable when I left. But I spoke to the doctor who's treating 
him and she told me agent Doggett wouldn't survive another seizure."

She let out the air she'd been holding. He was alive - still.

"When was this, sir? When I left him yesterday afternoon he was doing 
fairly well."

"I came in about at nine thirty."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"They've been working on him all night, there was not much you could 
do there - you need to rest as well. But I'm here to ask you to do 
whatever you can to find out what's going on, agent Scully. I'm not a 
medical doctor but if I were to make a bald assumption, I'd say it 
almost looks like some kind of poisoning. I've seen a man nearly 
suffocate of a toxin once and that was what Doggett reminded me of 
last night."

"Sir, if there would be a toxin, we would be able to spot that in the 
readings. And we would have. But there were no signs whatsoever of a 
toxic, a bacteria, a virus... nothing. Besides, even if it was 
administered the first time, how could it have come in his body when 
he was on the Intensive Care unit?"

Esther Oldman's face appeared before Scully's mind's eye. No, not 
her. Not the woman Doggett loves.

"I don't know, Scully, but I'm telling you, my feeling tells me this 
is not just an illness that he's caught in an unexpected moment."

"Sir, when you entered Doggett's room, was he alone?"

Skinner's eyes narrowed. "No, there were two or three nurses, Doctor 
Sheppard and a doctor named Banning."

"Did you see Miss Oldman?"

"Excuse me?"

"Esther Oldman. Short, slim, short cut dark wavy hair, brown eyes, 
attractive face, occasionally wears spectacles."

Skinner shook his head in denial to the description Scully gave 
him. "Who is she?"

"She's agent Doggett's girlfriend." Suddenly it dawned on Scully. Of 
course! She'd been there and when she was gone, Doggett took a 
downturn - each and every time. She was poisoning him, acting the 
role of her life as the worried partner. How blind could she have 
been? Why hadn't she seen it before?

Scully jumped up.

"I'll get dressed. Issue an APB for Esther Oldman, she owns an 
orthopaedic shoe shop on 56th street. She's causing his condition, 
she's behind it. I don't know how or with what, but I'm going to find 
out."

Five minutes later the two agents were outside and headed for the 
studio of Esther Oldman, but to Scully's frustration they were too 
late. A quick drive to Mahogany Mansions left them empty handed 
again. The apartment had probably been rented with furniture and that 
was all still there but the closets were emptied, the racks with 
clothes minimised and papers that could provide the agents with some 
information on her whereabouts, were nowhere to be found.

While Skinner called the bureau, Scully checked the Registration 
Department and found out about the type of car and the license plate. 
Skinner added to his description the small Honda Civic and the number 
of the car to the search criteria that was going nation-wide right 
now. He knew that within a couple of hours every airport, every toll 
booth and every police station would check out every woman fitting 
the description of Miss Esther Oldman, age 36, presently living in 
Washington DC, 1314 Mahogany Mansions and considered to be guilty to 
the life endangering situation of John Doggett, special agent with 
the FBI.

Skinner put the phone down and said to Scully, "She can't be far 
away. I'm confident we'll be able to apprehend her soon."

Scully bit her lip thoughtfully. "I hope so sir," she said after a 
while. "She is the key to this, I'm sure. Let's go back to the 
hospital, sir. I want to see how agent Doggett is doing and I want to 
go over every piece of his file again. There must be something I'm 
missing."



*



With a sadness that cast more gloom over her mood, Scully let her 
head rest against the cold glass that separated her from her partner 
and stared at the silent man in the bed. The room was lit by harsh 
light and Doggett looked even paler than during the previous 
seizures. What worried Scully more than before was his still posture 
and his total unresponsiveness, the blue eyes that were blankly 
staring into nothing, barely visible beneath half closed eyes. To 
Scully there was something eerie about it - as if Doggett was giving 
up, as if he no longer wanted to fight whatever personal war he was 
fighting inside. His lust for life seemed to be gone.

She startled from her reflections when a nurse told her the things 
she had asked for where ready for her in a nearby office and the 
agent followed her to a small room where she sat down at a table and 
began her research once again. Buried in papers, tests and results, 
outcomes of other tests, description of illnesses that bore 
resemblance to Doggett's state and thick medical books about 
allergies and physical reactions, Scully began to go over all the 
data again, but this time with a fine tooth comb.

Hours passed, she lost track of time while she skimmed through the 
hundreds of pages, read, wrote, accepted and dismissed many possible 
explanations and ideas. By the time she had reached the field of most 
improbable possibilities she stumbled onto an article that caught her 
attention - pheromones and the reaction of the human body. 
Pheromones, nearly impossible to register but proven to be existing 
because of the animal kingdom. Male animals reacted to the scent of 
females and procreated due to the urge that was fed by pheromones.

The testosterone build that was measured in animals was sometimes of 
an incredibly high ratio and, when translated to humans, would be 
astronomically high. The small article from the Lancet described that 
humans were also susceptible to pheromones and that there might be a 
correlation between so called crimes of passion and overdoses of 
pheromones in the persons involved.

An overdose of pheromones, too much testosterone... Scully let her 
mind go over the given statement. She threw aside the books and 
papers she'd laid out in front of her and searched until she found 
the last overview of medical records on John Doggett.

There... his hormone levels did look absurdly high but at first sight 
Scully had dismissed them as being part of the fact that Doggett was 
a man with an increased testosterone level due to his relationship 
with Esther Oldman. Scully leafed back to previous results and 
noticed the difference in Doggett's testosterone content - the 
readings were considerably lower at first and increased every time 
his blood was tested. Incomplete information, Scully thought, the 
report should say that 'the levels increased after Miss Oldman had 
paid a visit to Doggett'.

She compared the data again and again and the more she thought about 
it, the more certain she was it had to do with that. But... what 
was 'that'? Did Esther administer hormones to Doggett? Or did she 
give him something that provoked such an abnormal, hormonal reaction? 
If that were true, how did she do it? And why?

Her cell phone rang. She took it from her pocket, listened and shoved 
the books aside.

"I'm on my way," was all she said. 



*



Esther Oldman stood on the window sill of the high apartment complex, 
trying to keep her balance as the warm, strong wind pulled and pushed 
at her. 

Forgive me, Johnž she prayed while she looked down at the hustle and 
bustle in the streets far below her. This was never meant to happen.

The police officer on the floor next to her talked to her but his 
words were lost in the wind and Esther's own battling mind. 

Jump Esther, you'll save John's life if you jump now.

Don't be a fool, it's useless to take your own life. He'll recover 
too if you don't go near him again.

What about all the men who'd already died? This isn't coincidence, 
you know.

They took their own lifes and you know it. There's no reason why you 
should blame yourself for their death.

That's a lie - they would all be alive if they hadn't met me. I'm a 
danger to men, to all men.





"Esther?"

Scully carefully called out to the woman who stood on the ledge of 
the window sill.  

"Esther, it's me, agent Scully. Do you hear me?"

Scully saw she realised the voice was close, nearer than the police 
man had been. Slowly Esther turned her head and saw that Scully had 
entered the room behind her. A locksmith had forced the way in while 
the agent hurried to the apartment complex, alarmed by an attentive 
police agent who had recognised the face of Miss Oldman from the APB. 
Slowly and cautiously Scully took a step towards her. Esther shuffled 
further to the edge of the sill. 

"Stay away from me, Miss Scully. I'm going to jump and I'm not 
kidding."

"Why?" Scully's voice was calm and friendly, even a little 
curious. "Because of what's happening to John Doggett?"

"Yes. My death will be his salvation," Esther tried to suppress the 
trembling in her voice.

"Esther, what did you do to him?"

"I love him, Miss Scully, that's what I did. What I do. And he loves 
me. But he's punished for it. Just like the other men who dare to 
love me. They all die."

"Why don't you come over here and tell me about it? Tell me what 
you've done to him so I can save John's life? You don't want to jump, 
you don't want this."

"Don't talk to me like I'm a child, Miss Scully. Your bureau 
techniques don't work on me." Esther's voice was a mixture of sadness 
and fear but she seemed very decisive about her resolution.

"I can't encourage you to jump, can I?" Scully replied. "If you feel 
this bad about what's going with John, then please do him the 
courtesy of telling me what's going on. Sit down for a moment, this 
is not a nice way of talking. Please. What do you mean by loving him? 
What other men?"

On the edge, Esther sank through her knees and perched down on the 
sill, her legs dangling over the edge.

 "I love John, Miss Scully. I do. But every time I love a man, he 
dies. If I put an end to my life, then at least John will live to see 
tomorrow."

"Have you administered him with drugs? Given him something?"

She looked hurt. "I keep telling you, all I gave him was my love." 
Scully knew she didn't lie - she could feel it in her bones.

"He nearly died last night, Esther, from whatever it is you're doing 
to him and he's still not out of the woods. That's a strange way to 
treat a man you say you love."

"I don't want him killed!" she exclaimed and her voice pitched.

"Why don't you tell me what happened? I'm a doctor - I want to know 
what I can do to help him. And I can't if you take your own life and 
probably John's as well by doing so."

Her eyes filled with tears but she nodded and wiped away the 
glistening tears that left streaky marks on her face. Her voice was 
so soft that Scully had to take a step forward to hear her properly.

"I moved around the globe a lot - my father died when I was young and 
my mum had a job in the army so we've lived all over the world. My 
dad's death must have been the first in the row... When my mum died, 
I moved to England. I was eighteen at the time and finished a course 
on cookery, cum laude. I put my profession to good use, took a job at 
a restaurant and climbed the ladder in a few years. Things went so 
well for me until I met Philip.... Philip Bradshaw. He was a chief, 
accepted a position in the restaurant as well and became my direct 
boss. We... we fell in love."

She cleared her throat, took a quivering breath of air and continued.

"We were very happy for a couple of months. At least, that's what I 
thought. Until I came home after having been to friends in Brussels 
one weekend day and found he'd hung himself. There was a farewell 
note that said that he couldn't live without me."

"You had broken up?"

"No! That was the strange thing... We had serious plans for the 
future and my weekend away was nothing unusual. The police told me 
later that his family said he was severely depressed when he visited 
them but apparently he managed to hide it very well from me. I went 
to his mother during the funeral but some old graveyard attendant 
chased me away, said it was all my fault and that I had bad karma."

"Did you think so yourself?"

"I don't know, Miss Scully. I lost the man I was in love with and he 
blamed me for his death. I hadn't seen any signs of depression so it 
came as an utter surprise to me."

"What did you do next?"

"I moved to the States. I accepted a job in the soup kitchen of the 
Salvation Army of New York. For a long time I avoided contact with 
people, still mourning the loss of Philip and absolutely not up to a 
new relationship again. The soup kitchen was actually a good place to 
keep this attitude up. People were grateful but lived like shadows, 
they came and they went when driven by hunger or cold."

"Nameless faces in nameless places..." Scully understood, "The 
perfect place to go unnoticed."

"Exactly. After a couple of years - I moved to various places where 
the Salvation Army could use my help - I met a man named Ian McNeal, 
an emigrant from Ireland who tried to build up a life in the land of 
opportunities. Something bloomed between the two of us."

Esther fell silent. Scully took a careful step towards her but she 
noticed and shifted dangerously close to the edge. 

"Stay there, Miss Scully and let me finish. With Ian, it happened 
too, but in another way. He was diagnosed with manic depression - 
which started after he had met me. When he was with me, he was so 
energetic and bright and good spirited but the moment I left for my 
work, sports or a visit to friends, he'd turn suicidal."

"Did he kill himself too?" Scully couldn't help being mesmerised by 
her voice and the sad picture she was sketching. It was as if she was 
reading a book and wanted to read faster and faster to see what the 
outcome would be.

"His family tried to prevent it, they too thought I was the cause of 
his depression. They literally abducted him from his home and put him 
on a train to the airport, where he was supposed to check in for a 
flight back to Ireland. He never made it there - Ian threw himself in 
front of the train."

 "I'm beginning to understand why you think you're responsible for 
this. But I can assure you that manic depression is a chemical 
imbalance in the brain and can be treated with the right-"

"Not this type. Not the one that is brought on by me. I can't help 
it, I don't know when or how or why it happens but the men I've met 
in my life who were important to me, all died."

"There were more?"

"Yes, three years ago in Houston, where I've lived for a number of 
years. I rented a floor in an old house, met the owner, a guy named 
Eric Thorn, fell in love with him and he got killed in a car 
accident. Are you beginning to get the picture?"

"It's understandable but still highly unlikely that you're the reason 
this is happening." Scully tried to persuade her to regard these 
incidents for what they were - coincidental happenings, unfortunately 
coinciding in the life of one person.

"After that accident - I was in the car with him - I was hospitalised 
for months. I broke my pelvis and my leg and was in bed for a long, 
long time. During my recuperation I got interested in the 
manufacturing of orthopaedic accessories, which is what I do for a 
living today. The man who taught me the techniques died of a heart 
attack, only months after he'd first met me."

She abruptly turned her head to face Scully.

"Don't you see, Miss Scully? This is not some incident, a coincidence 
or an unlucky shot. Somehow my presence causes the worst physical 
scenario for a man and ... and..."

The FBI agent began to understand where she was heading. Softly she 
filled in, "And you're afraid that John Doggett will die as well. You 
want to take your own life and you think that that will prevent him 
from dying, right?"

Esther panted lightly. "When I met John, I had the feeling it would 
all be different. He's so sturdy, so integer, so unlikely to lose his 
senses, Miss Scully... I was naive enough to believe his strong 
physical condition would be able to withstand my ... my curse. If he 
would go unharmed by it, then it might be losing its effect on others 
too."

"When did you notice a change in him?"

"When he started taking aspirins. He told me he had a headache often 
and he said it was probably due to the basement office he has at the 
FBI that apparently leaves in little daylight. And the air-
conditioning. The sick building syndrome. Whatever. Plus the long 
hours and the broken nights were taking their toll - or so he said. 
He would come home, drop on the couch and be asleep in less than a 
minute."

"Why didn't you tell him?"

"What was there to tell? He would never believe, never accept that I 
was responsible for his condition. I love him so much, Miss Scully. I 
don't want to lose him ... it hurts not to be near him. I've not 
allowed men in my life for such a long time and one morning my prince 
in shining armour arrived... I just couldn't believe it. Because I 
hoped that - as it had been going so well up till the headaches 
started- all the men's deaths were coincidences after all."

She dropped her chin to her chest and shook her head slowly and 
continuously, her expression invisible for Scully to read. But the 
tension in her body, the defeated drooping of the shoulders and the 
way she ran her fingers through her hair, told Scully enough. She 
felt a deep sympathy for this hurting woman and understood her pain, 
which reminded her in a way of the way Mulder had sometimes fought 
his windmills. Always there, always beyond reach, always a sheer 
hopeless battle.

"People die of neglect, don't they, agent Scully? Out of sheer 
desperation they stop eating, stop enjoying life and stop living 
altogether. I know that's scientifically proven. Is it also possible 
that people die of the opposite? A surplus of love? That a physical 
reaction to their lover can be so strong that they're smothered by 
it? Killed by it?" The questions were rhetorical, it was as if she 
was talking to herself rather than to Scully, as if she was trying to 
explain to herself what was going on.

"People don't die of love, Esther. They die of the obsessive 
behaviour or jealousy of their lover maybe, but not because of love 
itself."

"Then I'm the exception to the rule," she smiled bitterly.

"But his condition improved noticeably when you came in - I've seen 
that with my own eyes."

"Like a heroin addict, don't you get it? Once the good is taken, 
everything is just fine and it's impossible to think that the same 
energetic man can be a pathetic person, begging for more stuff. It's 
the same, Miss Scully. He's addicted to me, to whatever it is that 
I'm ... I'm secreting. As soon as he gets it in his system he's fine 
for a while, but once I'm out of the same room, he starts losing it, 
starts getting withdrawal symptoms."

"Then come back with me to the hospital and give me time to find an 
anti-dote."

She shook her head. Her eyes were looking at a scene Scully was 
unable to share and the agent feared - no, she knew - Esther was 
going to jump any moment now.

"Please, Esther. Step down from there. John will be fine - he's being 
treated with extensive anti-allergen medication and his hormones are 
being brought back to normal levels. I'm sure he'll recover well in a 
couple of days."

"And then what?" Esther's voice was suddenly shrill and she raised to 
her feet. Scully had to hold herself in check not to step forward and 
grab her - which would only result in a certain fall, there was no 
doubt about that. "Wait to see that he gets another seizure when I'm 
away for longer than three days? Or two? Or one? How long he can 
manage without me?"

"You don't gain anything by taking your own life. John will be 
devastated. I've never seen him like this - he's really in love with 
you." she tried but she knew she was losing the battle. Esther lifted 
her chin. For a long few moments she stared at Scully, their eyes 
locking and unspoken words were transmitted between the two women.

"If I stay, I'll kill him. If I'm not dead he'll go after me to find 
me. That's what this curse does. It makes people lose perspective."

"There's only one person losing perspective and it's you, Esther. 
Don't do it. Give me your hand and step down."

"Tell him I went abroad definitely, that I'm not coming back. Don't 
tell him about this. Tell him I loved him."

Scully shook her head. No, no, no don't jump, Esther, please, don't 
jump!

"Don't, Esther!"

"Look after John, Miss Scully. He's fond of you, he trusts you. Take 
care of him for me."

In that moment Esther's face, a split second before she jumped, got 
etched onto Scully's retina - a picture of pure self-sacrifice she 
would never ever forget. As her scream guided John Doggett's lover 
into eternity, her words echoed through Scully's mind - Somehow my 
presence causes the worst physical scenario in a man.



*



MONDAY

This is the last person I'm going to talk to, Scully told herself as 
she stepped into the reception and asked for Mrs Crimson, who was in 
charge of the Salvation Army in New York, department Lower East side. 
It hadn't been difficult to find her, as she appeared to be working 
at the same place for the 22nd consecutive year. The agent was fairly 
sure that the 'major', as Mrs Crimson was referred to, would tell her 
more or less the same story as she'd been told the past few days 
during her investigation.

The receptionist behind the old faded counter made a telephone call 
and stood up, mumbled to Scully that she must follow him and brought 
her to the major's room.

"Mrs Crimson, my name is Dana Scully. We spoke on the phone," the 
agent introduced herself to the middle-aged woman in Salvation Army 
uniform who stood up and greeted her with an extended hand. Scully 
took it, felt the rough working hands and the firmness in the grip 
which was surprisingly solid.

"Ah, yes, Miss Scully. Please come in. You wanted to talk about one 
of our former employees?"

"Yes. A woman," she showed her a photo, "Does this face look 
familiar?"

The Salvationiste studied the photo and a smile appeared on her face 
when she answered, "Of course, that is Esther Oldman, a woman loved 
by everyone here."

"What did she do here? And when?"

"She worked her about...what was it... ten years ago, maybe a little 
shorter, I'm not sure. She volunteered for a job in the soup kitchen 
but she appeared to have such organising talents and she was such an 
excellent cook that I offered her a steady job. Although I can't pay 
my personnel top salaries, she gladly accepted."

"How long has she worked here?"

"About two years in this department, I think. After that she moved 
around to help set up systems for food distribution in various places 
along the East Coast. She left for good after the death of Ian 
McNeal, a man she'd taken a liking to and in who the feeling 
apparently was mutual. She was very upset by his death."

"Did he work here as well?"

"No, but he sometimes brought deliveries from the slaughterhouse. I 
think that's how they met. His death was tragic - he took his own 
life. I prayed God took mercy on his soul."

Scully nodded to the devout words - coming from a woman of such 
charitable intentions they sounded sincere.

"Have you kept contact with her?"

"No, in the first month after she left, she called me once or twice 
to tell me she was doing alright, but after that she didn't seek 
contact again."

"Can you describe the reaction of the people she worked with and the 
persons who came in here for food and lodgings?"

"She was well loved, Miss Scully. It was actually amazing to see how 
much she could make certain guests do. She would never force them 
into helping, for example, but she just said she could use a hand and 
instantly a number of guests would stand up to help. And yes there 
were men who were willing to help who would otherwise never come out 
of their shell. Quite a rare quality."

Her friendly face wrinkled in a nice smile and then changed to worry.

"Is something wrong with her? Why is the FBI investigating her, if I 
may ask?"

"She's fine, it's just routine check, part of a larger 
investigation," Scully lied with difficulty but apparently it was 
convincing enough, for the Salvationiste nodded approvingly. She 
stood up, straightened her jacket and shook hands with the Major.

"Thank you for your help, Mrs Crimson." The Major stood up as well 
and walked her to the door. "If there's anything else you can think 
of, you can call me any time."

"There's one thing, Miss Scully. It might sound strange but I've 
often wondered why she had so little friends. It was surprising to 
see that she was so friendly and warm towards everyone in general but 
she remained closed where more intimate relationships were concerned."

Scully thoughtfully waited with her hand on the doorknob. "Would you 
say that your guests' reaction of helping out only applied to men?"

"I'm sorry, did I give you the impression that she was flirting in a 
way?" The Salvationiste asked with surprise in her face. "That she 
used her femininity to get what she wanted? Because in that case I've 
absolutely sketched a wrong picture. She was the type of woman people 
felt comfortable with and were willing to help or assist. She never 
needed to ask, they just did it. Men stopped and turned to watch her 
as she walked by but Esther -and of that I'm very sure- had no idea 
of the magnetism she had over them. She didn't abuse that gift in any 
way. She was too much to herself to do so."

Scully nodded - this corroborated exactly with what she'd heard about 
Miss Oldman during the past few days.



In her car on the way to the FBI Scully thought back to the hospital 
security videos she'd been watching the previous day. It was as if 
the Salvation Army soldier had described exactly what she had seen on 
the video. Esther went through life, unaware of the fact that she 
drew the attention of literally every man she passed by, she had been 
stared at, admired and smiled at by all of them. No exceptions.

Even AD Skinner, who had been on one of the tapes as well, had 
reacted similarly. Just like the others he'd been mesmerised by her 
appearance. The magic seemed to dissolve once she was out of the room 
and the men just went on doing whatever it was they were doing.



When Scully had seen with her own eyes what happened she decided to 
dig deeper into the background of Esther Oldman and called the local 
police in Houston, where she checked into the death of Eric Thorn and 
after that the orthopaedist who died of a heart attack. All the 
people she spoke to described the same circumstances - a gentle, kind 
woman who was closed but somehow wrapped people around her finger, 
even without deliberately aiming for it. Most stunning was that women 
thought about Esther the same way but were not affected by the 
magnetism. There was no jealousy or envy, which was, considering the 
attention Esther could rejoice in, remarkable to say the least. But 
everyone agreed on the same thing - she was a woman people enjoyed 
being around with.

Scully stared at the traffic lights. She was a woman who was feared 
for the life of people who enjoyed being around her. 

Esther had been right. Something in her chemistry caused the 
pheromones and hormones to form a rare mixture that was dangerous to 
both the mental and the physical wellbeing of men. They died because 
they were literally addicted to Esther or they couldn't live without 
whatever substance it was that she involuntarily and unnoticeably 
spread around. It reduced their reaction speed -which was probably 
the reason for the car accident of Eric Thorn- or it worked as a 
catalyst on their initially minor physical disturbances - such as the 
slight heart condition of the orthopaedist in the hospital- and 
enlarged options such as suicide to escape from it.

It was unbelievable.

But it was true.

Her mind shifted to agent Doggett. His illness was officially 
diagnosed as an allergy, but both Scully and Doctor Sheppard knew it 
wasn't. Without being aware of it John Doggett was going cold turkey 
now, kicking the habit and suffering the severe stress of someone who 
was forced to drop an addiction. Without realising it, Doggett had 
eaten forbidden fruit and, not knowing the devastation and the 
consequences that were integrally part of the relationship, had 
absorbed as much of it as he could.

Poor Esther. Poor John.

 

*



Friday, FIVE DAYS LATER



John Doggett woke up, experiencing weakness and a continuous, 
stubborn discomfort of painful limbs and bones. But the headache was 
slightly less and his vision wasn't so blurred anymore.

"Hi," he heard a familiar voice next to him. It was Scully, good, 
loyal, trusted Scully who had been at his bedside a lot, undoubtedly 
to find a cure for his disease. He recalled through the mist she'd 
been around.

"Hey Scully." His voice didn't sound too steady yet but at least his 
body was responding to his brain.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I was in some kind of fight," Doggett answered truthfully which 
provoked a smile from Scully. "How did I get here? What happened?"

"You don't recall what happened?" Scully asked but seemed hardly 
surprised by his lack of memory. He could read from her expression 
that this wasn't a simple case of the flu. "What do you remember?"

Doggett frowned and thought a moment before he answered, "I had a 
headache. I stood in our office. I wasn't feeling well. After that 
flashes of you, doctors, Esther, Skinner... I think... it's all 
rather vague."

He noticed Scully's intensive look and wondered how much he had 
missed. Speaking of which, Esther popped to mind and he longed to see 
her. He could vaguely remember having seen both Scully and Esther at 
his bedside so he figured they must know each other by now.

"Is Esther here?"

Scully shook her head.

"How long have I been in here? What happened to me? What's wrong with 
me?"

"As far as I'm able to tell you're recovering from a severe allergic 
reaction that resulted in a near fatal state. Intensive treatment 
with anti histamines and testosterone-reducing injections have caused 
the effects to evade." She sighed. "It was a close call, agent 
Doggett. You've been in critical condition for more than a week."

Slowly Doggett slightly shook his head in disbelief. "A week? I've 
been here for more than a week?"

Scully nodded. "Don't you remember you've spoken to me and to the 
doctors?"

"I recall Esther was here. Through the blur I remember seeing you 
hovering over me as well. But I can't recall any conversations, no."

Doggett knew Scully well enough by now to know she had something on 
her mind, clearly something she found hard to talk to him about.

"What is it, agent Scully? There's more, isn't there?"

"How did you meet Miss Oldman?"

"Coincidence. She lost her wallet, I found it and returned it to her. 
She was very grateful, invited me in for a cup of coffee and that was 
how it started."

"It being your relationship with her?"

"Our love affair, agent Scully," Doggett answered a little more 
sharply than he intended to. "What's going on? Is something wrong 
with Esther? Where is she?"

Scully took a deep breath and answered while avoiding Doggett's 
eyes. "She's gone, John. She felt she was responsible for the state 
you were in and decided to leave, expecting that you would get better 
once she would be away."

Doggett didn't miss the careful tone and the fact that she used his 
first name, which she wouldn't do if there wasn't something very 
serious going on. However he didn't understand what she 
meant. "Leave? Where to? What do you mean responsible? How?"

"I don't know. John, she loved you but she couldn't stay here. She 
had to go and she did."

Inside Doggett an anger rose that he hadn't felt in a long time. "You 
sent her away? Years after the death of my wife and my son I find a 
woman I love and you have the nerve to tell her to go away?"

"Agent Doggett, it's a little more complicated than that. She was 
dangerous to you."

"She would never harm me. She doesn't have it in her!"

"Not consciously, no. But she just couldn't stay," Scully pleaded 
with a hurt look in her eyes. "Believe me when I say she loved you 
but believe me too when I say she was a threat to your life."

Doggett turned his head away from his partner. Tiredly he closed his 
eyes. Two warm tears stung behind his eyelids but John Doggett didn't 
allow them to reach the outside. Although Scully hadn't used the 
specific words, the fact the she spoke in the past tense forced him 
to believe that Esther wasn't just gone, but that she was dead, 
killed with malignant intent.

He didn't want to hear anymore of this. Scully, taking his silence 
for what it was, quietly took her coat and left the room. He heard 
her hesitating for a few seconds in the door opening. 

"Scully..."

"John?"

"Is she dead?"

A silence that lasted longer than a lifetime preceded her answer.

"Yes," was the whisper that reached him before her footsteps moved 
away from him. 

After the loss of his wife Andrea and their son Luke, he had found in 
Esther a new love. And again, he lost it. Silently, deeply hurt by 
the loss he cried, with held-back gasps and jolting shoulders. 
Despite his hurt and sadness fatigue took over after a while and 
without a fight John Doggett embraced the temporary truce of sleep.

*



EPILOGUE



The cemetery was bathing in sunlight and birds sang their happy 
springtime tunes while a few scattered people paid their respects to 
their beloved ones.

In front of two, light grey marble headstones, John Doggett stood 
straight, saddened and depressed while reading the inscriptions but 
not taking in what was written.

Luke Doggett, beloved son of John Doggett and Andrea Stratham

Andrea Doggett-Stratham,, beloved wife of John, mother of Luke. 

How often he had seen these words, read them, recited them, quoted 
them, tasted them and cried for them, he couldn't recall. After 
years, the pain was still there. No matter how often people told him 
it would get less and he would eventually notice he could live 
through the day without thinking about them once, they were all wrong.

Death wasn't easy to live with. And every time he thought he'd put 
another brick in his wall of self-defence, a breech was made in 
another place and let the chilly air come back in.

He put the flowers down and watched them move in the pleasant wind 
that stirred the fragile leaves. 

Words that Esther had said once, bubbled to the surface. What was it 
again? The trick is not to remember how someone died, it's 
remembering how someone lived, she had said in what he had found, an 
unusual depressed, blue mood.

I'm sorry I have to put this bouquet here, Esther. Scully isn't 
permitted to tell me where you're buried or cremated and as much as 
I've tried, I can't find any records. Andrea wouldn't mind. You would 
have liked her. And she would have liked you.

A soft cough reached him and he shook up from his musings. Scully 
approached him slowly, the expression on her face almost making him 
feel obliged to say something. She touched the sleeve of his coat 
lightly and smiled a careful, encouraging smile

"You okay?"

Doggett cast a last glance on the graves and the flowers.

"Let's go, agent Scully," was all he said.



FINIS