This is an Early Edition/X-Files cross-over, though Mulder and Scully don't make an appearance for awhile.  The characters do not belong to me, I'm just borrowing Gary Hobson, Chuck Fishman, and Marrissa Clark from Tristar pictures, and CBS prod. (I think).  Mulder and Scully are the brainchild (Children?) of  Chris Carter, and Ten Thirteen productions .No  copyright infringement is intended.

Rated: PG

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Blown Away
by Maryilee
 

Chapter 1

"Good morning, listeners.  This is Diane Norris in the WMAQ traffic chopper with a look at today's traffic.  You might want to get an early start if heading in on the Kennedy today...."  An arm fumbled its way from under the covers to silence the offending alarm clock.
 
Gary Hobson blearily looked at the time. "Six-thirty." he mumbled to himself as he rolled onto his back.  "Any second now....one....two...."
 
Thunk!
 
"Meow."
 
Yup, just like clockwork, he thought to himself, before hauling his body out of bed.   He sleepily stumbled to the bathroom rubbing his eyes with his fists like a small child that has stayed up too late. Ten minutes later, he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in jeans and a tan sweater, still toweling off his hair. Opening the door to the hotel hallway, Gary had to hastily step aside as a scraggily orange cat bolted in, heading right for his bowl of food.
 
"My, aren't we hungry today."  Gary drawled as he bent to retrieve the Sun-Times newspaper lying at his feet.
 
Straightening, he quickly scanned the front page, closing the door as he did so. In huge bold letters read "Sears Tower Bombed!".  In smaller, but no less frightening letters the paper said, "Hundreds feared dead" Next to the headline was a gruesome picture of a hand projecting out of the rubble.
 
"Oh God!" Gary gagged, and staggered over to the table, he collapsed on the chair while reading the horrible story.
 
"At eleven fifty-eight am yesterday morning a huge explosion wracked the Sears Tower. A delivery truck parked in front of the building is believed to be the cause of the violent explosion.  The blast severely damaged the world's tallest building and was felt as far away as the John Hancock tower. The first four floors were reduced to rubble on the south side of the building, with many of the casualties reported coming from lines of tourists who were waiting in line to be transported to the observation deck.  Many office workers were out to lunch, and were fortunate to escape harm."
 
Gary continued reading the terrible details, hoping they would give him a clue as to how to prevent the tragedy.
 
Suddenly, the door opened, Chuck, Gary's best friend, strolled in whistling a little tune.
 
"Hey Gar! What's up?  How about a peek at the sports section?" he jokingly pleaded, his round face grinning, knowing that Gary never allowed him even the slightest glance.  The smile died on his lips as he took in the pale, shaken expression on his buddy's face.
 
"What's the matter, Gar?" he asked with concern.
 
Wordlessly, Gary handed it over to his friend, for once not even taking out the sports or financial news first.
 
Chuck silently read the story, his face becoming almost as drawn as Gary's.
"What are you gonna do?"  he asked as he handed back the paper.
 
"What else can I do?  I've got to stop it... somehow,"  Gary said wearily as he leaned forward, rubbing his face in his hands.
 
"There's not even a description of the truck, Gar.  Do you know how many delivery trucks there are in the Loop in the middle of the day?  Hundreds, Gary. How are you going to pick the right one, and even if you do, what are you going to do with it?  Throw it in the lake?" Chuck asked
 
"I don't know, Chuck, but what do you expect me to do, just forget I ever saw the article? "  Gary snapped. He jumped up and started pacing.  "I can't let all those people die.  Maybe I can alert security at the building and have them evacuate the tower," He added hopefully.
 
"Yeah, and they're gonna take you for a crackpot, and arrest you, that's what they're gonna do.  Your not exactly Chicago PD's favorite person you know."  Chuck added, as he tried to pet the cat, and was hissed at for his efforts.  Giving the cat a dirty look, he continued.
 
"When the bomb does go off, guess who will be the prime suspect?  I say it's too big to stop, about all you can do is try to minimize the fatalities, then get the hell out of there."  With a dramatic sigh, he said, "But knowing you, you're gonna try to stop it, and get yourself blown up in the process.  Any thing I can do to help?"
 
Gary looked at him, smiling slightly. "You want to help get me blown up?"  he asked trying to lighten the mood.  He knew the real Chuck, buried way down deep, was just as concerned about helping the people in the paper as Gary was, even though he tried to hide it.  Chuck crossed his arms and glared at Gary.
 
"Thanks Chuck, but I don't know what you can do, just make sure that neither you nor Marissa are anywhere near the Sears Tower at eleven fifty-eight this morning.  I wish there was more, but you know how the paper doesn't like it when someone else tries to change the future."  Gary said.
 
"Okay, well then, I guess I'll go to Marissa's and warn her. Call me if you need me, I've got my cell phone.  Here is the number."  He pulled one of his business cards out, and scrawled on the back of it, "847 555-1896,you better call if you need help with the bombing.  Don't be a hero!"
 
Gary hastily donned his black leather bomber jacket, then thought better of it, He didn't want anything more to do with bombers today, he thought ruefully, and put on his brown suede jacket instead.  He stuck Chucks business card in the pocket, tucked the paper inside his coat, and headed out the door.
 
 

Chapter 2
 

"You have to get these people out of here now!  There isn't much time left!"  Gary pleaded one more time. His puppy-dog eyes had no effect on the disinterested security guard. He had been at the Sears Tower for over two hours, trying to get people to leave.  He had tried calling Detective Crumb, an ally of sorts on the Chicago Police department, but was unable to reach him. He knew that with his reputation with the CPD, more time would be spent asking him how he knew about the bomb, rather than trying to stop the bombing.
 
So instead, he had gone to the tourists, posing as a Sears Tower employee, telling them that the Observation Deck was closed today for repairs, and had been successful in getting many people to leave.  Unfortunately, he was caught by security and asked to leave.  He did, but only to come back a few minutes later.  He sneaked into the building, and pulled the fire alarm.  It had somewhat of the desired effect.  Some people left, and the fire department came, blocking the front of the building with all their equipment.
 
Gary eagerly scanned the headline again, but his shoulders slumped when the headline barely changed.  There were a few less dead, but still far more fatalities than he had hoped.
 
He looked up; the fire department was leaving, the chief shaking his head in disgust at the false alarm.  Gary glanced at his watch, eleven forty-eight, and only ten minuets until the bomb exploded.  Peering up and down the street, he didn't see and suspicious looking delivery trucks, but the way most of them stopped and blocked traffic anyway, he knew that one stopped in front of the building wouldn't even raise an eyebrow. He was getting scared now, his heart was beating a mile a minute.  What if he was unable to prevent the bombing? He thought.  How could he live with himself knowing that he might have prevented it if only he had known how? He took a deep breath, and headed back into the tower knowing that time was running out for everyone...including himself.
 
The security guard just laughed at him, and picked up the phone.  "No one in this building is going anywhere but you,"  he snarled.  "The police will be happy to come in and question you about that false fire alarm we just had."
 
"I'm telling you that I feel that something bad is going to happen here, you have to get as many people out of the building as you can.  There is only a few minutes left."   Gary was shouting now with frustration, he reached over and grabbed the security guard by the lapels and tried to shake some sense into him.
 
"If it is so dangerous, why are you sticking around?" the guard said mockingly, as shook off Gary's hands.
 
Before he could answer, Gary noticed the big clock on the wall above the guard; the time was eleven fifty seven.
 
He knew that there was no way he could run fast enough to get far enough away in so short a time.  He frantically looked around for an elevator.  Maybe he could get up beyond the worst of the damage.
 
He spotted a bank of elevators, and sprinted for them.
 
"Hey! Come back here!" roared the guard.
 
Gary never heard the blast.  One second he was running for the elevators, the next he was catapulting through the air as the building disintegrated around him.  He felt a white hot pain in his chest as he landed.  Then the ceiling caved in, and everything went black.
 
********************************************************

Screaming.  Gary heard screaming.  The noise hurt his head. He tried to move, but couldn't. Something across his chest was pinning him down.  It was so dark. He couldn't tell if his eyes were open or closed. Breathing was difficult. The air was thick with smoke and dust, he wanted to cough, but all that came out was a weak gag.

Time had lost meaning, he didn't know if he had been unconscious for seconds, minutes or hours.  His head was pounding.  He was thirsty.  He heard a groan, and was surprised to realize that it was coming from him. He heard people calling out nearby, and tried to call back to them.
 
"Hey! I'm here!"  It came out as hardly more than a whisper.  Every breath was a struggle and he didn't know how long he could continue.  He was so tired.
 

           ****************************************************
 

Chuck pushed frantically through the crowd, trying to hang on to Marissa at the same time.
 
"Go Chuck! I'll be all right.  Find Gary." the blind woman commanded.
 
Chuck hesitated, but realized that Marissa was safe with her guide dog to help her.  He took off with renewed haste.
 
When he got to the front of the building, he stopped and gasped.  Even the picture in the paper hadn't prepared him for the horror that met his eyes.  People were staggering around bleeding and in shock.  One man was holding his arm, which at the end where there should have been a hand, was only a bloody stump.
 
Police and fireman were there, but there was so much chaos, that nobody tried to stop Chuck from entering the wreckage.
 
Before he had gone a few feet into it, he heard a small cry, and spotted a child, a boy about two years old, trapped under a beam.  Chuck turned and called to some other men who were combing the wreckage for survivors.
 
"Hey!  I've got a trapped child here!" he called, and stooped down to comfort the little boy.  The child's head was bleeding, but he was conscious and calling for his mother. Almost instantly, several men appeared, and together, they were able to lift the beam high enough to pull the boy free.  One of the men gently carried him over to a make shift triage area that was being set up.
 
Chuck continued combing the rubble, helping where ever it was needed, but trying desperately to find Gary.  After an hour and a half, he called Marissa on his cell phone.
 
"Have you heard from him?" he asked her anxiously.  Maybe Gary had left the area in time, and was sitting at the bar drinking a cold brew.  Knowing Gary though, that seemed unlikely.  If he had escaped the blast, he would have been one of the first searching for survivors.
 
"No, I haven't heard anything.  He must be there somewhere.  Keep looking, Chuck.  Please find him."  Marissa sounded close to tears.  That scared him. Chuck had never heard her cry before.  She was probably the strongest, most optimistic woman he knew.
 
"Don't worry, Marissa, I'll find him if I have dig through this whole pile of wreckage single-handedly,"  he tried to assure her.
 
Chuck put away his phone and went to an area, he hadn't covered yet.
 
"Gary!  Where are you, man?" he called.  He carefully made his way through the tangled wires and glass.  "Come on buddy, I know your in here somewhere!"  he stopped talking, praying for a reply.  Suddenly, he heard a very faint sound.  It was coming from his left.  Somebody was calling for help.

 
 
Gary was barely conscious, but as though from a great distance, he heard someone calling his name.
 
"What?" he answered irritably.  He was so tired, he wished that people would just let him sleep.  There was a movement in the wreckage above him, causing some of the rubble to shift.  Pain raced up his leg, and, groaning, he tried to shift his position.  He could hear Chuck calling him.  What was he doing here  Gary wondered, his mind all muddled.
 
"Chuck?"  Gary said weakly.
 
"Gary?  Is that you, man?  Hang on, we'll get you out." Chuck shouted
 
Gary drifted in and out, sometimes hearing Chuck talking to him, sometimes not. Breathing was becoming even more difficult, and didn't try to talk anymore.  The weight of the people above him, trying to save him, was forcing whatever it was crushing his chest, to pin him even tighter.
 
Suddenly, the pressure lifted, and bright sunlight poured in.  Hands were reaching in. He tried not to groan as he was pulled to freedom and wasn't sure if he was successful.  He saw Chuck's concerned eyes swimming in his vision, just before he blacked out.

Chapter 3
 

Fox Mulder casually leaned back in his chair, arms folded comfortably behind his head, as Dana Scully entered their shared office.  It was dim in the room, and she had to carefully pick her way around the wastebasket, chairs, and assorted crumpled papers and Styrofoam cups that had missed their intended target, on the way to her desk.
 
"Jeez, Mulder, did you ever think about cleaning up after yourself?" she said with mild disgust, as she bent to deposit an empty fast food carton in the garbage.
 
"Yes, but when ever the thought enters my mind, I find that if I wait long enough, it will usually go away."  He replied with a smirk, as he sat forward.
 
Scully shot him an exasperated look, as she sat at her desk.  She started leafing through files piled neatly in front of her.  "I heard that they brought in some of our guys on the Chicago bombing.  Have you heard if they have come up with anything yet?"  she asked Mulder.
 
"As a matter of fact, I did hear something about the investigation.  It seems that there is a possible suspect in the case."
 
"Really?  That's great.  Who is it?  A terrorist or a militia group?"
 
"Neither, an out of work stockbroker." Mulder answered dryly.
 
"Are you serious? Why would a stockbroker bomb the Sears Tower? I mean I could understand the Chicago Board of Trade, with him being a stockbroker, but why the Sears Tower? What would be his motive?"  Scully questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
 
"I have no idea, I thought that they generally jumped out of tall buildings when they had problems, not blow them up. However, I imagine we can ask him his reasons when we meet him in Chicago."
 
"We're going to Chicago?  Why?  The case doesn't exactly fall under our category."
 
"Well it seems our suspect has a very interesting history.  In the last year, he has been involved in several unexplained...uh... incidents in Chicago.  You can read his file on the plane.  I've booked us on a flight to O'Hare that leaves in two hours."
 
 
The flight to Chicago was uneventful.  Mulder used the time to nap, while Scully examined the file.  The suspect's name was Gary Hobson.  He was divorced, had no job, and according to records, wasn't even getting unemployment compensation.  Prior to the past year, he had led an exemplary life.  He had graduated from college, and had worked for several years as a stockbroker.  Apparently, he had been fired or had quit shortly after his divorce.  Records of the divorce only stated that they had had "irreconcilable differences".  There was no record of violence in his history anywhere.
 
There was a note in file that he had been a suspect in a string of bombings at Christmas time that had been dubbed "The Teddy Bear bombings" by the Chicago press.  Skimming through more of the file, Scully noted that Mr. Hobson had been pretty busy man in the last year or so. He had been a suspect in a variety of different cases but there had never been enough evidence in any of the crimes to make an arrest.
 
One case he was questioned in, involved the notorious Pirelli mob family.  According to the organized crime division of the FBI, Mr. Hobson had been questioned, but was released shortly thereafter for lack of any evidence.
 
Scully was still puzzled as to why the case had been regarded as a possible X-File, there were no claims of aliens or UFO's anywhere in the file.  She was about to turn and wake her partner to question him, when a small piece of paper fluttered out of the file. Scully bent to retrieve it, noting that it looked like a copy of a piece of E-mail addressed to Mr. Mulder.  Not wanting to pry, but curious as to what it was doing in the file, Scully started reading.
 

Dear Mr. Mulder,
 
 
I would like to unofficially request your help on the Hobson case.  A friend in the FBI recommended you.  As you know, or will hear shortly, there will be an arrest made in the Sears Tower Bombing.  The suspect is still in critical condition at County Hospital.  Some of the preliminary evidence points to Mr. Hobson, specifically, that he had been at the Tower for several hours before the blast, and according to a security guard who survived the explosion, that Hobson had been warning him that something was going to happen.  However, there have been many peculiarities involving Hobson in the past year.  In several instances, predictions that he has made have come true.  I don't know if he engineered it that way, or if there is something else going on.   Some help from the "experts" would be appreciated.

 
                                        Signed, Detective Crumb, CPD
 

 
Scully pursed her lips, and barley controlled herself from turning and throttling Mulder.  She couldn't believe that they were flying all the way to Chicago on such flimsy evidence, if you wanted to call it that, she thought, fuming.
 
A stirring on her right focused her attention on the object of her wrath. Mulder was stretching and yawning as he awoke from his nap.  He stopped mid yawn, as he caught the look in her eye, and knew that she was definitely not a happy camper.
 
"What did I do?  I hope I didn't drool on you,"  he joked weakly.
 
"What is the meaning of dragging me out here under such flimsy pretenses."  She quietly demanded.  "Just because you got a note from some cop you don't even know, that he suspects something weird is going on.  He doesn't even mention any specific incidents; there is no proof.  Nothing, Mulder.  I don't even know why we are wasting our time.  If Mr. Hobson did it, I'm sure the other agents will find the proof, if not, he goes free.  End of story."
 
"Are you done now?"  Mulder asked innocently.
 
Scully opened her mouth to retort back, but knew the futility of it, and just nodded firmly instead.
 
"I called Detective Crumb this morning, and he told me enough to convince me that there is more going on than meets the eye.  Enough to warrant an investigation in my opinion," Mulder countered.
 
"So...what did he tell you?"  Scully asked as she impatiently drummed her fingers on the armrest.
 
"Well, for starters, he actually saved Det. Crumb's life in that Teddy Bear Bombing case.  Hobson warned him several times about where and when the bombs were going to go off, and he was usually right."
 
"Maybe he knew, because he was the one who planted the bombs,"  Scully retorted.
 
"No," Mulder replied calmly. "Chicago Police department arrested someone else in that case.  The guy was caught red handed."
 
Before any further discussion could take place, the "Please Fasten Your Seatbelts" sign lit up.  Scully looked out her window at the skyline of Chicago. The Sears Tower dominated it, appearing the same as it always had, the damage hidden from the air by other surrounding buildings.
 
Scully put away the file, and fastened her seat belt.  She was always a little anxious during the landing, and clenched her hands in her lap, momentarily forgetting about the case.
 
 

Chapter 4

 
Whoosh,  paaaah.  Beep, beep.  Dr. Parakh 4229.  Gary dimly heard these, but couldn't quite figure out where he was. His throat felt so dry, and there was something stuck in it.  He tried to swallow, and gagged instead.  Panic set in, when he discovered that he couldn't move his arms, something tight around his wrists was holding them down.  He struggled to get them loose.  He had to get whatever it was in his throat out, before he choked.  He felt a sharp pain in his left forearm, but didn't pay it any mind, in his frenzy to get free.
 
Suddenly, hands were grabbing his wrists, and he heard a muttered curse.
 
"Damn, he ripped out his IV." Came an exasperated feminine voice.  "Hold still, Gary!" the same voice commanded him. "You have a tube down your throat helping you to breathe.  If you pull it out, we're just going to have to put it back in, so don't touch it."
 
It required quite an effort; put Gary managed to open his eyes, and saw a dark haired middle aged nurse standing over him.  He tried to talk, but that started him  gagging again, which must have set off some alarms, because there was a loud beep, with every gag.
 
"Take it easy, Gary.  You won't be able to talk as long as the tube is in your throat. We had to put you into restraints to keep you from harming yourself.  They'll come off as soon as we are sure that you won't try pulling anymore tubes out, okay?"
 
Gary nodded.  He was a bit intimidated by her brusque manner.  He jumped when she pulled some tape off his arm.
 
"Sorry." She said.
 
Gary didn't think she sounded very sorry.  He looked around the room.  It was fairly small, with some shelves on his left that had a heart monitor. There were IV pumps on both sides of the bed.   To his right, was a sink and windows that looked out into the nurses' station.  A television tuned to the Channel 7 news was hanging in the corner. The nurse left the room.
 
Gary had felt pain just about everywhere since he first woke up, but in his earlier panic, hadn't really thought about it. Now it was getting stronger, and was much more difficult to ignore.  He tried to shift in the bed to get more comfortable, but found to his horror, that moving was made even more difficult due to the catheter emptying his bladder.  Now he knew why he had been put in restraints.  He must have been trying to pull the thing out.  He closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep.  He had just about drifted off, when he felt a sharp pain in his arm.
 
He jerked, and pulled his arm as much as the restraint would allow.
 
"Hold still, I'm trying to re-start your IV,"  The nurse said irritably.
 
Gary wished he could talk.  He'd tell her that if she had only warned him, he would have stayed perfectly motionless.  He couldn't understand her bedside manner.  He had been in the hospital a few times before, and had always been treated with care and kindness. Maybe he did something while he was unconscious to make her mad at him.
 
The nurse made a second attempt to re-start the IV, and this time, Gary didn't move a muscle, even though it hurt like hell.  The nurse didn't seem to notice his bravery, but at least she was successful at getting the IV in this time.
 
Gary shifted uncomfortably again, closing his eyes and wincing, his head was pounding, and the bright lights in the room hurt his eyes.  Altogether, he felt as miserable as he could ever remember feeling in his life.
 
"Oh my god! The bomb!  He thought. Suddenly, his eyes flew open as he remembered the reason that he was in the hospital in the first place.
 
I wasn't able to save them, he mentally anguished. I knew about it, and couldn't stop it, now innocent people are dead because of me. He turned his head towards the wall, and closed his eyes as the tears silently fell.
 
 
Later that evening, Chuck and Marissa visited.  Gary didn't feel like seeing anyone, and turned his head away.  They must have realized how he was feeling because for once, Chuck didn't try to make any wisecracks.  He just put his hand on Gary's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze.
 
"You did your best, Gar.  Thanks to you, several hundred people are still alive and well.  Don't forget that, buddy.  Some things are meant to be."

Marissa felt for his hand on the bed, and held it. "I know that you are probably torturing yourself wondering what else could have been done to stop the bombing, but don't.  You did everything that one man could do.  The people that were killed in the bomb were killed by the maniacs that set it, not you.  They killed those people, and you almost died trying to save them.  Think about that," she pleaded.  There were tears in her eyes.
 
Gary knew that they meant well, but just couldn't summon up the energy to acknowledge them.  He turned to look at them once, but felt his eyes welling up again, and faced his head away. He swallowed convulsively, trying to get a grip on his emotions, but that just made the ventilator alarm.  He shook his head angrily, frustrated at his inability to talk, and the confinement of his arms.  He made a little shooing motion with his hand, and mouthed, "Please go".
 
Chuck gave his shoulder one last squeeze, and took Marissa's arm to help guide her out.  He looked back, but Gary was staring at the opposite wall.
 
Shortly after Chuck and Marissa left, Gary's doctor came by on his evening rounds.  He was professional, but cool while he did his assessment.  He shined a light in Gary's eyes, checked his chest and wiggled some tube stuck in his side that Gary hadn't even know was there until that moment.
 
When he was through he stood at the foot of the bed, and rattled off all of Gary's physical ailments.  Gary didn't catch it all, but he got something about broken ribs and a punctured lung and chest tubes. He prattled on about ruptured spleens, severe concussions, and blood transfusions, but Gary was only half listening.  He didn't really care what was wrong with him or if he would recover.  He just wanted to be able to bring back the people who had died in the explosion.

Chapter 5
 

Mulder impatiently weaved in and out of traffic as he made his way towards the hospital.  The suspect had regained consciousness yesterday afternoon, and Mulder was eager to talk to him before the other FBI agents investigating the bombing, got to him.  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, and glanced over at Scully, who was idly staring out the window.  He knew that she still believed that the case didn't concern them, but he had lined up interviews with the suspect's friends later that day anyway.
 
Yesterday, upon arrival, they had spoken to Detective Crumb.  He had told them some more hard to believe stories about Gary Hobson, and his penchant for showing up at the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the wrong time, depending on how you looked at it, Mulder guessed.  Mulder suspected maybe Mr.Hobson was psychic, but Scully just scoffed at the notion.
 
"Hey Scully," Mulder spoke, startling Scully out of her reverie. "What if the guy is a psychic, wouldn't it be terrible if he were blamed for the bombing?"
 
"I don't believe in psychics," Scully answered dryly, "But if I did, and he really was, what is he doing living in that rundown hotel.  Why isn't he winning the lottery every week, or at least hanging up a shingle for suckers...I mean customers, to come get their fortunes read?"
 
"Maybe it doesn't work that way, Scully.  Remember that guy who could see people getting killed in his mind, and even directed us to the bodies?  He couldn't do any other type of psychic phenomenon though."
 
Scully remembered him, and shuddered slightly, the man had seemed so haunted by what he had seen in his mind.  She had felt sorry for him, but it still hadn't quite convinced her that true psychics really existed.  Her scientific mind demanded irrefutable proof before it would believe.
 
"Well, here we are,"  Mulder said as they pulled into the parking garage of the hospital.
 
Scully gathered together the files, and gracefully exited the car.  Together they entered the hospital.
 
 
Mulder and Scully had Mr. Hobson's doctor paged from the information desk.  They needed his permission before they would be allowed to speak with the suspect.  It was only a few minutes before Mulder and Scully were approached by a tall, dark-skinned man wearing a white lab coat.
 
"Are you the FBI agents who called earlier?" he inquired somewhat impatiently.
 
"Yes."  Mulder reached into his suit coat and retrieved his ID badge.  "I'm Mulder, and this is Scully.  And you would be Dr. Harrison?"
 
"Ah, yes, sorry," the doctor said, as he belatedly offered his hand in greeting.
 
After shaking hands, Mulder asked, "Would it be okay for us to speak to Mr. Hobson?  We have a few questions we would like to ask him."
 
"Is it true that he is a suspect in the bombing?" Dr. Harrison inquired.  "The rumors have been flying all through the hospital.  I've had my hands full trying to keep the press out."
 
"You must be doing a pretty good job, as I haven't seen any mention of Mr. Hobson in the newspaper yet." Mulder said.  "But, I really can't say if he is a suspect or not. We're doing sort of a separate investigation, background work, you could say. Other agents are handling the actual bombing investigation.
 
"Oh, okay.  Well you can go in and speak to him, but keep it short.  He just was extubated a short while ago, and he's still in serious condition."

"Thank you, Dr. Harrison, we'll be sure not to tire him out," Scully replied.
 
The pair had to wait a few minutes in the ICU waiting room before they were allowed in, as the nurses were working on Hobson.  Scully used the time to quickly read through the file one more time.
 
Soon they were ushered into Gary's room.  Mulder made the introductions, while Scully mentally assessed the patient's condition.
 
Gary Hobson wasn't what she had expected.  There had been no photo of him in the file, because he had never actually been arrested for anything.  Scully had been expecting more of the belligerent skinhead look not the good-looking man lying in the bed.  He had dark hair, a strong jaw, and a slight cleft in his chin.  But what struck her most were his eyes. They had the same haunted look she had seen before, in the man who had been able to see people's deaths before they had happened.
 
"Mr. Hobson, we would like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind,"  Mulder said pulling a chair along side the bed and sitting.
 
Gary nodded and answered okay in a slightly hoarse voice, wincing as he did so.
 
"We have reports from a security guard that you were in the Sears Tower just before the bombing, and that you said that you knew something was going to happen.  Now, I would like to hear from you what you were doing there that day."
 
His shoulders slumped as he remembered his failure that day. He looked bleakly at the agents.  "I was trying to save people from being killed by the bomb." He answered quietly.
 
"How did you know about the bomb?" Scully asked.
 
Gary glanced at her. "I just know things sometimes, and this was one of them.  I know it sounds crazy, but it's true." His eyes had a defeated look that said it didn't matter anymore if they believed him.
 
"How long have you...known..things?" Mulder asked.
 
"Only about a year."
 
Gary saw Scully glance at Mulder with an expression that clearly spoke volumes about what she thought of the state of Gary's mind.
 
"Yes, I saw from your file that you were married and a stockbroker, and that you got divorced and quit your job at about the same time. The psychic power seems to have started around then.  Is that just a coincidence?"  Mulder questioned.
 
"I...I never said that I was a psychic," Gary stammered. He shrugged, then wished he hadn't as it sent a shooting pain through his ribs. "I know it sounds crazy, but, I just have a way of knowing certain things about the future.  It was around the same time as my personal problems were occurring, but wasn't related to them.  My wife left me for another man.  I didn't know it at the time, but it turned out to be my boss.  I moved out of our apartment, and moved into the Blackstone Hotel. It was only supposed to be temporary at first, until I found another apartment, but now...um...I guess I'm kind of used to it."
 
"How do you earn a living?  It says here that you haven't had another job since you quit the last one."
 
"I...uh...make bets on horses,"  Gary admitted.  "Just enough to live on though."
 
"How come a business card was found in your jacket that said if you needed help with the bombing to call Chuck?" Scully asked.
 
Gary was shocked.  They seemed to think that he had something to do with the bombing.
 
"Chuck is Chuck Fishman.  We've been best friends for years, and roomed together in college.  He...uh...didn't want me to go to the Sears Tower that morning.  He didn't think that I could stop it.  I didn't listen to him, but he was right, wasn't he?" Gary said softly.  He sighed, resting his head back against he pillows, closing his eyes in an attempt to forget about the outcome of his efforts.
 
"Anyway, I usually have to do these types of things myself, but Chuck just said that if I needed help, to call him anyway,"  Gary finished, opening his eyes, and looking at the agents.
 
"What are the 'types of things' that you usually do by yourself?" Mulder inquired.
 
Gary studied Mulder to see if he was being sarcastic, and found to his surprise, that the agent seemed genuinely curious.  "Um, well, I have been trying to prevent bad things from happening to people," he replied wearily. He was exhausted, his ribs were killing him, and his head ached. He shut his eyes trying to block out the pain.  A moment later, he felt a cool hand on his forehead.  His eyes flew open in surprise, and met the startlingly blue eyes of Agent Scully.
 
Scully had noted Gary's discomfort, and also that a glaze had come over his eyes.  A hand to his forehead had confirmed her suspicion that he was running a fever.  Mulder just sat back with a slightly amused look on his face.  He was used to being on the receiving end of Scully's medical concerns, and felt almost sympathetic towards Gary's nurse.  Mulder knew that any moment, Scully would go storming out of the room, demanding to know who was taking care of Mr. Hobson.

Mulder knew her well. The skeptical FBI agent was gone, in her place was the concerned medical professional.  After conferring with the nurse, Scully got the impression that maybe Mr. Hobson was not the most popular patient in the ICU.  The nurse had made a few references to how busy she was, and that other patients, perhaps, deserved her attention more.
 
Scully fumed, and demanded in a cool voice to speak to the charge nurse.  When the charge nurse arrived, Scully informed her about Hobson's condition. Scully explained that in addition to being an FBI agent, she was also a medical doctor.
 
"You can understand my concern, right?"  Scully said to the charge nurse.  "Mr.Hobson may hold the key to solving the bombing, and now we will have to postpone questioning him, due to his medical condition."
 
The charge nurse agreed, and assured Scully that Mr. Hobson would receive the best of care from now on.
 
Scully returned to Hobson's room in time to see his nurse rousing a dozing Gary to give him some Tylenol. Shaking her head in disgust, Scully motioned to Mulder that they should leave.
 
Mulder stood to leave, but leaned over to say good-bye to Gary first.
 
Gently shaking his shoulder to wake him, Mulder said, "I would like to speak with you again when you're feeling up to it, okay?"
 
Gary nodded his assent, and promptly fell back to sleep.
 
 
 
 

Chapter 6
 

"So what do you think of Hobson for a suspect?"  Mulder asked as he stuffed a french fry in his mouth.

Scully thought for a moment, taking a bite of her grilled chicken sandwich, then replied. "I don't buy all the psychic stuff, but somehow, I can't picture him as a cold blooded murder."

Mulder wiped his hands on a napkin, "I have the same feeling, but that note on the back of that business card is pretty incriminating.  I have quite a few questions for Mr. Fishman.   In fact, we better get going if we want to speak to him today."  Mulder said as he glanced at his watch, and gathered up the remnants of his lunch. "Some of our buddies in the Bureau are going to be questioning him later this afternoon, and I 'd like to get to him first. I set up our interview of him for one o'clock, and it's twelve forty now."
 
Scully nodded, taking one last bite. Eating lunch with Mulder was easier than dieting.  He ate so fast; she was never able to finish whenever they had lunch together.
 
They drove to Strauss and Associates, Mr. Fishman's place of employment, arriving promptly at one o'clock. A receptionist directed them to a conference room where Fishman was waiting for them.
 
"Thank you for speaking with us, Mr. Fishman."  Scully said as they entered the room. She placed her briefcase on the table, and took out Hobson's file.  Fishman was also not what Scully expected.  He was average height with thinning brown hair, and a round face. Not very menacing at all.
 
"No problem." Chuck answered nervously taking a seat across from the agents.
 
"I see that you have been friends with Gary Hobson since college, and that he also worked here prior to quitting last year,"  Scully said as she perused the files.
 
"Yes, that's correct."
 
Mulder impatiently glanced at Scully.  They could that information from the other Bureau guys later.  He wanted information on Hobson's special ability to predict the future.
 
"Mr. Fishman, we spoke with Gary this morning, and he says that he was at the Sears Tower trying to save people from the bombing.  Do you believe that?"  Mulder asked, ignoring Scully's glare.
 
Chuck sat up straighter in the chair, "You spoke to Gary today?  How is he?  They must have taken the tube out of then.  That's great."  Chuck said, grinning.  "I was up there yesterday, but he couldn't talk because of the tube sticking out of his mouth."          "As far as your question goes, I know with absolute certainty that that is exactly what he was doing at the Sears Tower."  Chuck said firmly.
 
"How do you know that?"  Scully asked skeptically.
 
"Because that's what Gary does.  He saves people.  You know, you guys, and all the police should be in there heaping medals on him, instead of accusing him of setting the bomb," Chuck said, looking with disgust at the two agents.
 
"How did he know about the bomb?"  Mulder questioned, ignoring Chuck's outburst.
 
Chuck fidgeted in his seat, looked towards the door of the conference room, and then at his hands clasped on the table in front of him.
 
"Gary's going to have my head for this, but I can't let him take the blame for something he didn't do," Chuck finally answered.  He took a big breath, and sighed. Looking from one agent to the other, he said, "Gary knows the future, and he tries to prevent bad things from happening to people."
 
"He knows the future?" Scully said dryly.  Obviously, Mr. Fishman was just as delusional as Gary Hobson.
 
Mulder leaned forward, and said.  "How does he know the future?"
 
"From the newspaper," Chuck said firmly.
 
Scully blinked.  Mulder leaned back in his chair in surprise.  That wasn't the answer they had anticipated.
 
"What do you mean, 'the newspaper'?"  Mulder asked.
 
Chuck looked him straight in the eye, and said, "A cat delivers tomorrow's Sun-Times a day early to Gary.  He reads it, and uses the information in it to prevent accidents from happening." Chuck sat back, and crossed his arms in front of him.
 
Scully rolled her eyes, and started gathering up the file.  "I can see that you think this is a joke, Mr. Fishman, so I don't think we will wasted anymore time here."
 
Mulder was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.  It was a pretty far-fetched answer, but he had heard stranger things in his line of work. "How long has this been going on?"

"About a year.  Ever since he moved into the hotel."

"Is that how he wins money at the track?" Mulder asked curiously.

"Yeah.   But he only makes enough to live on.  He could make a fortune, but he doesn't want to use the paper that way,"  Chuck said with at look of disgust.
 
"I take it, that you would use the paper that way if you had it?" Mulder was amused.
 
"In a minute," Chuck grinned, snapping his fingers.  "But Gary won't even let me glance at the business section, or the sports."
 
Scully was tapping her foot impatiently; Mulder ignored her, and studied Chuck, trying to detect any deceit in his demeanor.
 
"You know, Gary didn't ask for the paper to come to him.  In fact, he has even tried to ignore it or throw it away, but the paper won't let him.  It keeps turning up everywhere he goes,"  Chuck said, looking at Mulder.  The agent appeared to actually be seriously considering what Chuck was saying.

"Where's the newspaper now?"  Mulder asked.  If there were a paper with tomorrow's date on it, it would be pretty easy to confirm the story.  All they would have to do, would be to read it then wait for the events to take place.
 
"Um, I don't know.  It seems that the paper knows that Gary can't help right now, and isn't showing up," Chuck said, fidgeting.
 
"The paper 'knows'?"  Mulder said skeptically.
 
"Yeah.  I know this all sounds strange; I wouldn't believe it myself, if I hadn't seen it for the last year.  Every word of it is true though.  Gary is the most honest, self-sacrificing person I have ever known, and I'm just happy he didn't get killed in that bombing."  Chuck glanced at his watch.  "If you guys don't have anymore questions, I'd like to go now.  My boss can be a real pain in the neck, and I've already spent too much time off work this week."  He stood, and excused himself, leaving Scully and Mulder to think about what he had said.

They spent the rest of the day questioning Hobson's former wife, Detective Crumb, and investigative reporter, a judge, and even a couple of doctors; one of whom had treated Gary before.
 
The theme running through all the answers was that even though Gary Hobson had driven them all crazy with his predictions, to a person, they all believed that he was honest and incapable of hurting anyone. Most of them had also mentioned how Gary was obsessed with carrying a newspaper everywhere he went.
 

Chapter 7
 

Gary tossed restlessly in bed.  One minute, he was burning up, the next, his body was wracked by chills. His side was killing him, and he felt nauseated.  The doctor had come in and examined him, and ordered a whole slew of tests.  Blood was drawn, X-rays taken, and a CT of his abdomen was performed.
 
About an hour after the last test had been done, his doctor returned to give him the verdict.
 
"Well, Gary," Dr. Harrison intoned, "you might have an abscess where we took your spleen out. Your white blood count is way up, around forty thousand, so something is going on. The CT was questionable though.  What I want to do, is up your dose of anti-biotics, and then repeat the lab tests in the morning.  If it still looks like an abscess, we'll have to go back in, and drain it." Dr. Harrison stated.  He studied Gary for a moment, pondering the rumors he had heard.  He shook his head.  Somehow, he couldn't believe that Gary was the bomber.  Of course, he didn't know him well, but, since Gary had woken up, he had been quiet, and hadn't made any complaints. The nurses said he hadn't put on his call light even once to ask for anything.
 
He patted Gary's leg, and turned to leave.  Behind him he heard Gary call out a soft, "Thank you Doctor."
 
A short while later, Chuck stopped in to see him.  Gary's fever was quite high, and he looked at Chuck blankly.  Chuck stood by the bedside, alarmed at Gary's  appearance.
 
Gary's cheeks were flushed, his eyes over bright, and he was mumbling something about nobody listening to him.
 
"Chuck, I'm glad you're here," Gary said, struggling to sit up.  "We have to get them to evacuate the Sears Tower.  Something's gonna happen to it."  A confused look came over his face.  "I just can't remember where it is.  Everything is moving too fast."  Gary tried to get out of bed, and was gently pushed back by Chuck.
 
"Whoa, Gary, you're not going anywhere.  Jeez, you're burning up."  Poking his head out the door, Chuck hollered for help.  A nurse called back, that she would be right there.
 
Chuck was having a hard time controlling a thrashing Gary.  By this time Gary was raving almost incoherently about bombs and newspapers, and how he was tired of it all. The nurse appeared, managed to get him to swallow some Tylenol, soft restraints on him, for his own safety, she told Chuck, then left the room.  She returned shortly, and put a cooling mattress under the fevered patient.
 
Between the Tylenol and the cooling mattress, Gary was soon resting more comfortably, though he still had a fever, he was no longer delirious.
 
Chuck sat back in a chair, keeping a watchful eye on a dozing Gary, and flicked through the channels on the TV until he found Baywatch.  With a contented sigh, he settled in to enjoy.
 
Softly, so softly that Chuck almost didn't catch it, he heard Gary say

"I can't do it anymore, Chuck."
 
Chuck thought maybe Gary was delirious again, but though Gary's eyes were still glazed with fever, they were lucid.
 
"What do you mean, Gar?" Chuck asked worriedly.
 
"When I get out of here, I'm going to move as soon as I find somewhere else to live.  Then, I'm going to get a job, and forget all about the paper," Gary answered, deadly serious.
 
"What if the paper follows you?"
 
"I don't care, I'll just ignore it.  Can't you see?" Gary pleaded. "I'm tired of it! I can't do it anymore. I want a life back.  I want to be able to go on a date, or go to work, or even just sit back and watch TV, without worrying about who needs saving." He paused, closing his eyes and swallowing. In a scared voice,  he said "I...what if...I fail again?"
 
Chuck leaned over the bed, and looked Gary in the eye.
 
"You didn't fail, Gary.  Maybe you just needed to test your limits.  Realize that you can't save everyone, all the time."  He stood back,  "You know, Marrissa should be the one here to help you.  She would know the right thing to say. She's the psych major."
 
"It doesn't matter, I've made up my mind. The paper can find someone else to do its dirty work.  I quit."  Gary said, his voice cracking, his eyes full of pain.
 
"Gary, don't make any decisions yet, okay?  Give it some time.  You've been through a hell of a lot, and it's understandable that you feel overwhelmed right now.  Besides, Gar, what if the paper comes to me instead?  You know what I would do with it."  Chuck said, hoping to humor Gary out of his depression.
 
Gary just closed his eyes, and slowly shook his head.  After a few moments, Gary's even breathing had told Chuck that he had fallen asleep.

         **********************************************

 
Mulder paused in the hospital hallway. He heard voices coming from Hobson's room, and debated if he should go in.  He had thought of a few more questions that he wanted to ask him, and after dropping Scully off at the hotel had come back to the hospital.  The nurse wasn't going to let him in, but after flashing his badge, and some sweet-talking, she had finally relented, but cautioned him to stay only a few moments.
 
Damn, he swore softly, glancing at his watch.  If he didn't get in there to ask his questions soon, he wouldn't get a chance, as the nurse would kick him out.  He crept closer to the door, hoping to see if he could enter.  He heard a vaguely familiar voice say, "What if the paper follows you?" Mulder placed the voice as Hobson's friend.  Mulder strained to hear the answer to Fishman's question.  Mulder stood in the hall listening until the voices stopped, feeling slightly guilty for eavesdropping.
 
Without entering the room, Mulder turned to leave.  He didn't need to ask his questions anymore.  He already had the answers.

Chapter 8
 

The next morning, Gary's fever had subsided and he didn't require surgery.  Later that day, he was moved out of Intensive Care to a regular room.   His pneumothorax had also nearly resolved, so his chest tube was clamped, and if all went well, the doctor promised to pull it the next day.  Feeling better than he had since before the bomb, Gary asked, and received, permission to get out of bed and move around a bit.
 
With an aide positioned at one side, steadying him as he sat on the edge of the bed, Gary slowly straightened, gritting his teeth against the pain in his ribs and side, his knuckles white as they grasped the IV pole.
 
"Take a deep breath.  You can do it," The aide encouraged.
 
"Whew, okay. I'm okay now." Gary said, carefully shuffling his feet, pushing the IV ahead of him.  He gained confidence with each step.  The aide moved away, as Gary crossed the room under his own steam. He stopped in front of the window to gaze out.
 
It felt good to be out of bed, even if it did hurt, he thought ruefully.  His eyes swept the panorama of Chicago spread out before him.  His room was on the sixth floor, so he had a good view of the city.  Inevitably, his eyes came to rest on the Sears Tower as it stretched into the sky.  A lump came to his throat, and his momentary good spirits were dashed as the guilt came flooding back.  Would he ever be able to see the tower, and not feel like this, he wondered despondently.  He could hardly remember his life before the paper.  He was so tired.

It seemed as though the last year had been one long exhausting nightmare.  Oh, sure, there had been some good days, he thought.  When he was able to help someone, like the time he saved the boy from shooting his brother, the paper had been worth it.  Most of the time, though, his triumphs were smaller, and thankless.  The recipients of his assistance had been unaware of the tragedy about to befall them, and treated Gary with indifference, and in some cases, outright scorn.
 
Gary's melancholy thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his lunch tray.  Feeling ridiculously exhausted for so short a journey; Gary shuffled back to his bed.  Gingerly sitting down on the edge, he lifted the cover off the plate, and picked disinterestedly at the baked chicken and mashed potatoes underneath.  After a few bites, Gary pushed the tray away, and again made his way back to the window.  He pulled a chair as close to the window as he could, and sat down.  His gaze, as before, drawn to the Sears Tower.

Mulder, too, was gazing at the Sears Tower, only he was standing right next to it.  He and Scully were checking on the progress of the investigation with agents from other divisions of the FBI. Experts had been sifting through the rubble for evidence, even as survivors were still being pulled to safety.  They had learned through experience to get as many samples and evidence, before it was too badly damaged by the elements.  Much of the wreckage had been cleared away, and results of the analysis of pieces of evidence were already coming back from the crime labs.

Mulder was pleased to discover that so far, no evidence had been found that tied Hobson to the types of explosives used.   Exhaustive background searches hadn't turned up anything more sinister than an overdue library fine.  Hobson was beginning to become a non-suspect, especially, as more and more evidence pointed to a head of a militia group.  He hardly knew the guy, but had felt in his gut that Hobson was innocent.  The deal with the paper intrigued him.  Was there really a mysterious cat that delivered a paper with tomorrow's news?  Mulder believed so, or at least, he wanted to believe.
 
"Hey, Scully," Mulder called to Scully, as he carefully picked his way through the rubble.  "What would you do if you knew what was going to happen, a day before it actually happened?"

Scully was walking towards their car, with her back to Mulder.  She rolled her eyes, but decided to humor her partner. "Well, I guess I would play the lottery, and live out my life as a rich, indolent millionaire," she called over her shoulder, biting her lip to keep from smiling at the exaggerated hurt look on Mulder face.

"What, you'd give up all this," he gestured expansively with his arms, "to sip pina coladas on a beach somewhere?"
 
They had reached the car, and as Mulder opened the door, and folded him self behind the steering wheel, he continued speaking his thoughts.  "You know, I might be tempted to strike it rich too, but then I'd probably do what Hobson does, and use it to help people."
 
Scully looked at him incredulously; "You don't actually believe that story that Fishman told about the paper do you?"
 
Mulder looked at her, turned his head away, and bit his lip as he started the engine.  "Yeah, I do, Scully." He paused.  "Everyone we've interviewed mentioned his obsession with the newspaper.  The doctor who had treated Hobson for a previous head injury had even gone so far as to call it a fetish.  What about that other doctor, the transplant specialist?  She was warned about the mistake made in the lab. She said that if Hobson hadn't insisted that she double check the accuracy of the match, that that little girl would have died from massive rejection."  Mulder questioned.
 
Scully shrugged and said, "Maybe it was just a lucky guess."
 
"Oh, and I suppose it was a lucky guess that he knew that she was being considered for another job?  The doctor insisted that she hadn't told anyone about it."
 
Scully thought for a moment, she remembered the pain and vulnerability she had seen in Hobson's eyes the day before.  Something was deeply troubling the man.  If the paper *did* come a day early to Hobson, that would be a terrible responsibility. Perhaps it was the weight of the responsibility that would come with such a gift that caused the mental suffering she had seen in his eyes.  Or, she thought, was it the effort of propagating such a story?  She didn't know the answer.
 

Chapter 9
 

Alone at last.  Gary sighed in relief and sagged against he door.  He had been discharged earlier in the day.  His doctor hadn't been crazy about releasing him, but Gary insisted that he would walk out anyway.  The doctor had finally reluctantly agreed to release him, but only on the condition that someone stay with him for a night or two.  Gary agreed, then silently pleaded for forgiveness for lying, but there was no way Chuck was going to stay over.  He had already learned that lesson, Gary thought ruefully.
 
Chuck and Marrissa had brought him home, and had stayed all afternoon doting on him to the point of nearly driving him mad.  Marrissa had made enough chicken soup for a whole ward full of ailing children.  Chuck had put up such a stink about Gary staying alone, that Gary had almost relented, and let him stay.  Almost.
 
Moving over to the sofa, he collapsed on it gratefully, and flicked on the T.V.   It wasn't long before he was dozing.
 

                         ***************************

 
Mulder and Scully were scheduled for a flight that evening.  There was nothing more for them to do in Chicago.  Mulder glanced at his watch, if they hurried, they might be able to stop by Hobson's place.  Mulder had called the hospital earlier, and had learned about Gary's release.  Mulder grabbed his bags, and rushed out the room, stopping in front of Scully's door.
 
Knocking loudly, he called through the door,  "Scully!  It's me.  Let's get moving!  I want..." he stopped when the door was suddenly opened, and an irritated Scully stood before him.
 
"Uh....sorry...." he stammered.  "I just want to have time to stop by Hobson's before we head to the airport."  He smiled apologetically.
 
Scully shook her head in exasperation.  "Okay.  I guess I'm ready anyway."  She muttered.
 
Twenty minutes later, they were parked in front of the Blackstone Hotel.
 
"Scully, did you know that this is where presidents had historically stayed while in Chicago?  It is also where the phrase "a smoke filled room" originated." Mulder tried humoring her out of her bad mood.  He knew that she considered this trip a complete waste of time.
 
"No, Mulder, I didn't." she answered dryly.
 
Passing through the lobby, Scully could see that at one time, the hotel must have been grand, but it had definitely seen better days.
 
Upon exiting the elevator on Hobson's floor, they both were alarmed to see Hobson's door standing ajar.
 
They quickly and quietly moved up to flank the doorway, guns drawn.  Just as Mulder was about to call out to Gary, they heard movement, and a voice from inside.
 
It was Hobson. He sounded distraught.  Peeking around the doorframe, Mulder and Scully were presented with Hobson's back, as he clenched a newspaper in his right hand, and shook it towards the sky.
 
"I'm not doing it anymore!  Can't you hear me?! I'm...not...doing...it...anymore!" he shouted, sobbing.  He flung the paper against the opposite wall, and leaned over, breathing heavily.
 
Gary had been awakened from his nap by the familiar meow, and had lain with his heart pounding for over a half-hour, before the insistent mewling of the cat, had forced him to retrieve the paper.
 
Hands shaking, Gary had made his way towards the door.  He was afraid to pick it up.  He stood in the hall, leaning against the wall for what seemed like eternity, just staring at the offending paper.  Hoping that it would go away.  Praying that it would.  Finally, against his will, he bent to pick it up.  He refused to read it, and just turned and slowly walked back into his room.
 
Mulder and Scully looked at each other, concern and puzzlement on their faces.
 
"Gary?"  Mulder called, holstering his gun.  He didn't seem to hear them.  He had sunk to the floor, his back against he wall, with newspaper strewn about him.
 
Scully hurried over to him.  "Mr. Hobson, are you okay?"  Slowly, he turned to look at her, recognition gradually dawning on him.  Scully took his pulse, alarmed at his pale countenance.
 
"You should still be in bed resting." She gently scolded.
 
"Scully, take a look at this."  Mulder said, excitement evident in his voice.
 
"What is it?"  She asked, reluctantly turning her attention from Gary.
 
Mulder had his head cocked, scanning the pages of the paper.
 
"This is tomorrow's paper, Scully."  He said, grinning at her.
 
"What?  How do you know?  It could just be a mis-print."
 
"Yeah, it could be." Mulder acknowledged, "but wouldn't that be quite a coincidence?"
 
"Well, it's a lot more plausible an explanation than believing that it's tomorrow's paper."  Scully countered.
 
"Well, what about his reaction to it?  How do you explain that?"  Mulder asked, nodding towards a still silent Gary.
 
"I think that he's suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder caused from being trapped in the rubble for several hours."
 
Scully took a section of the paper; it was the national news.  Quickly perusing it, she determined that there was no way to tell if it was a misprint or not.  She handed it back to Mulder, and turned her attention back to Gary.
 
"Gary?" she said softly,  "Can you get up?"
 
Gary looked at her, and blinked.  He seemed to be coming out of his stunned state of mind.
 
"Ah, yeah...yes, ma'am," he said quietly, embarrassed that they had witnessed his loss of control.
 
Mulder took him gently under one arm, and helped him to stand.  They made their way to the sofa where Gary sat heavily, his head in his hands.
 
"Gary, is this tomorrow's paper?"  Mulder asked, trying to hand the paper back to him.
 
Running his hands through his hair and sighing, Gary nodded and leaned back eyeing the paper as if it were poisonous.
 
Finally, Gary took it.  Listlessly thumbing through it out of habit.
 
Looking up at the agents, he asked, "What are you doing here?"
 
"Well, we were on our way to the airport.  We have a flight back to D.C. this evening.  I really just wanted to ask you a few more questions before we left."  Mulder explained.
 
"Like what?" Gary asked warily.
 
"Well, like, why does the paper come only to you, and not to anyone else?"
 
"I have no idea.  I didn't ask for it. It just comes, whether I want it to or not,"  Gary explained wearily.
 
Suddenly, he sat up straighter.  "Did you say that you were flying back to D.C. tonight?"
 
Mulder looked at Scully. She shrugged. "Yes, why?"
 
Gary scanned the small article that had caught his eye.  The headline read "Three injured in severe turbulence."  The accompanying article said that a seven thirty PM United flight 421 out of O'Hare had experienced severe turbulence in the air.  Two passengers and a flight attendant had been injured.
 
"Um...what time is your flight...seven-thirty?  Is it on United?"  He asked, dread welling up inside him.  He didn't want to be doing this anymore, but what choice did he have?  He couldn't let them get on the plane with a clear conscience without telling them.  The paper didn't list the names of the injured; it could very well be the agents.
 
Scully's brow furrowed.  She dug the tickets out of her purse and looked at them. "Yes, our flight is United 421 at seven-thirty.  Why?"
 
"Cause you're gonna have some bad turbulence on it.  You might want to keep your seat belt buckled the whole flight."  Gary advised, reluctantly.
 
Mulder leaned over Gary, cocking his head to read the article.
 
Mulder read the story, and grinned at Scully.  Looking back to Gary, he said "Don't worry, we'll stay buckled.
 
Scully took the paper from Gary, and read the article out loud.  "Severe turbulence aboard United flight 421 resulted in slight injury to a flight attendant. No passengers were injured in the disturbance."
 
"What?!" Gary and Mulder exclaimed simultaneously.
 
Startled, Scully looked up, and handed them the paper.  Sure enough, the story had changed.
 
Mulder was speechless.  Gary grinned.  Welcome to my world he thought.
 

The End

Email the author: Maryilee
 
 

Back Home to McGinty's

Stories by Title

Stories by Author