La Cocachina - An X-files Fan Fiction Story

Chapter 3: Cause of Death

Mrs. Crane sobbed inconsolably, stooped at the edge of Dr. Walsh' leather couch, her red, wet face buried in her tiny hands.

"He promised Tony would be fine. He assured him. He assured me. He seemed he knew what he was doing." She let out a deep sigh, "I am suing for malpractice."

"As is your right under the circumstances," agreed Mulder. Tall and well-built, he looked enormous standing next to the small Mrs. Crane.

"Still," he added cautiously, "Dr. Walsh followed protocol. My partner interviewed him and confirmed his side of the story."

"I don't care what he followed," snapped Mrs. Crane. "Tony's dead. Walsh must have done something wrong."

"I suggest we wait until my partner comes back with the conclusions of her investigation. She is finishing the autopsy as we speak. She is an expert."

"An expert in what?"

"We specialize in cases that deal with the paranormal," said Mulder.

"Paranormal?" Mrs. Crane was taken aback. "Mr. Mulder, I don't need a witch doctor. I need someone who can help me find out what happened to my healthy son in the controlled environment of this hospital."

"My partner is an experienced physician as well as an FBI agent. I can assure you, the investigation will be scientifically rigorous."

"Your partner," there was pointed emphasis in Mrs. Crane's tone, "may be all you have been saying, but I care about results! I need to know what is being done to determine conclusively why my son is dead. So, apart from his resume qualifications, is there anything more that you two have to offer?"

"Hers, " Mulder corrected her. "Mrs. Crane..."

But she had already realized the inappropriateness of her tone.

"I am so sorry..." she apologized, hiding her face in her hands again. And then she was crying again, new tears falling in large droplets on the floor. "Why did this have to happen? Why? First, my husband. And then Tony. He was our only child, the only family I had left..."

Mulder sat next to her on the couch careful not to interrupt.

"He was such a nice boy," she continued. "Quiet. Academic. And then, about a year ago, he bought these unfortunate sneakers."

She spoke more to herself than to Mulder, her hazel eyes staring forward into nothingness.

"At first, there was nothing unusual," she said, shrugging her shoulders as if she was convincing herself of that fact. "A teenage boy with new sneakers, no big deal. But as time went on, he wore them more than what anyone would consider normal."

It had been a year earlier, July. Tony had come home from school in the late afternoon, his blue basketball jersey and black shorts soaked in sweat. He'd headed for the fridge and spent a good minute peering inside it.

Whatcha looking for? Mrs. Crane had asked, looking up from the book she had been reading in the sunny glass room next to the kitchen.

Coke, Tony had replied.

I don't think we have Coke, she had said. But we have the chicken nuggets you like. Tell Marta to warm up some for you before dinner's ready.  Marta was the housekeeper.

Not right now, Tony had said and headed out instead. He had come back half an hour later.

Where'd you go? Mrs. Crane had asked him.