Trading Post

I glare a bit that you made me jump alittle as i roll my eyes and shook my head "no i don't want to video call him it's not like it would matter". I huff and shut the fridge door as i didn't want anything anymore as i go back up to my room.

Va Puget Sound has told a facilities Administrator and a congressional aide that they are not in the national Formulary, and they do not have a contract there for denying my registration. This has been going back and from for months  Any Advice once I have Senator Patty Murray's congressional aid and my CBOC Facilities Manager Involved Advocating with the Pharmacy head and riding my doctor's ass to get the Mega Max to get an email with a request to list diapers every time I have tried and what reason I didn't work, and Friday what pads I have tried in the pads, as in the Depend Male Guards, a boosters, and the Traquility booster that crumbles apart  

Interesting, I recall this one, it was an intriguing story of cat and mouse. I also was unaware there were notes, I'd be interested in seeing them if you're willing to dm me.

I saw the new design, I thought they where rather neet myself. Sadly not my size. *chuckles softly* Is how it goes. I am on the large side, On the plus side of that, I have been loosing waist, not waight weirdly enough, but I have lost like 10 inches around my waist, still waigh the same though.

"Anything?" "No but check this out." "Oh my God." In the frame was an ordinary photo of a woman dressed in a pinstripe suit; but it was the face that took Agent Scully by surprise. The face was Danielle Simmons. The same face that belonged to the young girl in pigtails. A noise from downstairs startled them. Several minutes later Mrs. Patricia Simmons was finally calm. She nodded to the law enforcement identifications and apologies. She paced and described the previous months and confirmed that the girl upstairs was indeed her thirty-two- year-old daughter, Danielle Simmons. She had gone next door to borrow more clothes. The neighbors had a teenage daughter and Danielle flew into a tantrum unless she wore age-appropriate clothing. After her disappearance Danielle returned to her office but seemed odd. Her colleagues were quick to express concern but cautious to suggest anything beyond mild exhaustion. Danielle's demeanor had changed. She came to work early in the morning and never saw any clients. She worked in her office all day with her door closed. She ate very little and her regimen at the gym stopped. She lost several pounds. Three months ago, her attorney arrived for a three-hour meeting that lasted into the night. The next day she announced she would be stepping down and transferring control of the company to the Board of Directors. She signed a power of attorney over to her mother, sold her condo in the Pearl district and moved back home. Outside under the yellow porch light Detective Tyler and Agent Scully spoke. The rain pounded the white steps of the suburban home. "That girl looked like she was in her teens," Tyler commented. "Obviously, she's suffered a great trauma. More than we originally realized. It is common for someone to retreat or even regress to escape their own mental anguish. I've just never witnessed it. I think it would be wise to check on the mother. She may be perpetuating her condition." "Yeah. Okay, but..." Scully reached behind him and tugged the belt of his trench coat. "Keep talking but try to look across the street. We're being watched. He was there when we pulled up." Detective Tyler continued and cocked his head slightly. In the shadows of an oak tree a dark figure stood frozen, a cardboard cutout. Detective Tyler shifted again, and the dark figure sprung to life. "Federal Agent! Stop right there!" Agent Scully drew her weapon and flew across the street. In seconds she was soaked. Detective Tyler cut right and angled through the neighbor's yard. They dodged and weaved through back yards and connected alleys. At each turn the dark figure was just a few steps in front of Scully. She rounded into a side yard overgrown with Wisteria. It was dark. She immediately halted and listened. The rain pummeled the metal gutters. A wooden gate slammed shut and she leapt toward the sound. Ten paces forward she tripped into the mud. Under her Detective Tyler wheezed; his face contorted in a mask of pain. Another gate slammed. Detective Tyler was dead. The soft hotel bed was inviting but Scully would not sleep. The death of an associate was always hard. She had just cradled the heavy white phone when it buzzed again. "Agent Scully, this is Detective Ronson. We found something. I think you should come down here. It concerns you." As she drove through the rain Scully tried to erase the twisted face of Detective Tyler from her mind. She replayed their pursuit over and over. In each scenario she chose an alternate route. She reminded herself that she had followed procedure. Even Skinner had reassured her, but the image lingered. Potassium chloride is an unpleasant death. She thought of Danielle, once a glamorous and sophisticated woman now an awkward skinny teen coloring on the floor. Her mind was gone. What an awful fate. Did the other women abducted share the same future? What event had caused Danielle to snap and retreat? She pictured her impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit standing in her office. Her beauty only accentuated by her tasteful delicate makeup. She watched as invisible hands scrubbed her face clean and pulled her blonde hair into braids. The hands moved quickly over her body and stripped her of the hard-pressed uniform of business. She was nude. Her thin pale body shook with anticipation as she accepted the straitjacket of childhood. Upstairs in a back-office Agent Scully found Detective Ronson at his desk. He poured another cup of thick coffee. "Special Agent Dana Scully. I'm sorry we had to meet under these circumstances." "Me too. Fred transferred here about three years ago. He didn't come up with us, but we all liked him. He didn't piss anybody off except for our captain. He just did his job," Detective Ronson noted somberly. Detective Ronson was an average man that could disappear in a crowd. He was five foot ten and sported a brown mustache. It fit him. "The preliminary lab came back. It was Potassium Chloride. How'd you know?" he asked. "I'm a medical doctor. I've had some experience with it. It's mainly used in the penal system for lethal injections in conjunction with sodium thiopental and pancuronium bromide which is a muscle relaxant. But to administer it unaccompanied is very painful. It induces cardiac arrest." Detective Ronson frowned. "I'm sorry. It's also difficult to trace because it can be synthesized from average fertilizer," Scully said. The moment hung and Ronson gulped another mouthful of coffee. "Well, this is why I called you." He presented her a black envelope. The scrolled red letters "Agent Scully" caught the overhead light. "We've already run it for prints. Nothing. I didn't open it, figured I'd wait for you." Scully reached into her pocket and withdrew her own set of thin surgical gloves. "May I? She inquired as she maneuvered around the desk. Scully placed a piece of white typing paper on the desk. She carefully applied pressure to the glue and peeled open the black envelope. A small orange ticket dropped onto the clean paper. "Turlington Manor, October 31st. Halloween!" Despite its grand name Turlington Manor was no more than a converted warehouse. It resided in a partially abandoned industrial district populated by faceless brick buildings. It was an ideal location for a haunted house attraction. The manager, Jeff Burke, was very cooperative and extended Agent Scully and Detective Ronson every courtesy. "Yeah, that's one of our tickets alright, but there's no way that any of my people could be involved. I know it's easy point fingers at guys like us, runnin' around making monsters and fake blood. But you gotta understand this is a business. We make a lot of money here. We love this stuff and there's nobody here that'd jeopardize that. We've put way too much into this," Jeff assured the detectives. Jeff Burke consented to personally escort Agent Scully and Detective Ronson through the entire attraction. Two additional officers followed and took notes. Structural questions dominated the inquiries as they tested the walls and checked the exits. Through a weather-beaten wooden door guests entered a series of dark hallways. Hooded figures, disembodied voices and camouflaged actors all conspired to send the patrons running through the exit. It was typical haunted house fare. Jeff nervously rambled as he led the team. "We moved into this space about six years ago. It's a little off the beaten track but hey, plenty of parking. You gotta have parking. The teens love us, so we try to beef it up each year. We just added a couple of new monsters, big ones. It's the special effects that gets 'em talking. You know, you gotta wow them. We get pretty good steady crowds but on Halloween we're mobbed. I hope you guys got it covered." "We do sir. Let's keep moving," Ronson replied flatly. The first large room was an Egyptian excavation gone awry. The star was a huge animatronic mummy that rose from an unearthed sarcophagus and swung his bandaged arm over the guests. A few rooms later they entered a zig zag concoction of colors and mirrors. The centerpiece was a massive menacing clown. He served as misdirection as he sat and clapped his hands while actors disguised as knife wielding clowns popped out from behind oversized building blocks. Jeff Burke beamed as he demonstrated the mechanical giants. At the end of the house guests faced six crimson doors. Only one door allowed them to exit. The first door opened to an actor dressed as a monster; the second to a dead-end hallway. The third door revealed a bloody murder scene; the fourth a brick wall. The fifth door allowed the guest to exit but after a sharp turn deposited them back into the room. The sixth door, positioned second from the left, was the true exit. The orders were passed, and the task force prepared. Heavy black metal cases of equipment were brought into the attraction and unpacked. The men worked steadily. In a back area they established a command center. They installed security cameras, but the low light conditions made visibility poor. Officers walked the layout and tested their memories. Navigation during operation through the labyrinth of foggy passages would be difficult. The long fall shadows crept over the raw brick buildings. The crisp air hinted of burning wood and somewhere regular people, unconcerned with murder and crime, snuggled together. Soon across the city costumed beggars would cavort from door to door in their ancient ritual. It was Halloween. However, the policemen outside stood detached. They did not seek the warmth and safety of home. The wind penetrated their exteriors but did not chill them. It passed through them and on. They were somber. This was not a holiday. One of their own had fallen and this was a night for redemption. "I'm not particularly happy with the idea of using you as bait," Ronson said. "I'm not, but it is the only lead we've got. He's here, somewhere. I think he's just overconfident enough to make a move," Scully replied. Scully noticed Ronson's grim expression. "Look I'm armed and there's a dozen undercover officers inside. I've got the two way. It'll be fine." A moment of silence passed between them. "I don't want lose another man," Ronson insisted. Jeff Burke was correct, and the crowds were enormous. The line stretched past the numerous rows of expansive buildings. Every man was alert. Scully did her best to blend in with the excited teenagers. She dressed in khaki pants, a jeans shirt, and her beige barn coat. She even pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Typically, within the groups she adopted a follow position. However, as the panicked girls reacted to the scares she was frequently jostled into the middle. On her fifth trip through the attraction her two-way radio crackled. Scully side stepped behind a fake stone wall splattered with blood. It was difficult to hear beyond the music and sound effects. Scully pressed a free hand to her exposed ear. "Scully," she said. "We got him!" "Really? Where? How?" "About two miles from here at a gas station. He tried to use Beatrice Dorner's credit card. We're on the scene." "Wait. That doesn't mean..." "No. It's him. He had all the victim's IDs." "Where are you? I'm coming there." "Agent Scully, he confessed. We got him." Static buzzed. "Don't do anything. I'll be right there." Silence. "Hello? Hello? Dammit!" She needed to get outside. She needed a clear channel. Her best route was a direct path through the attraction. Scully hurried past the teens oblivious to their screams. She stepped into the graveyard decorated with gray broken headstones. The room was cast in an eerie blue light. On the opposite end of the yard the Grim Reaper waited. Behind a headstone one of the bodies groaned and Scully's eyes darted left. Officer Kluft rolled over covered in brown leaves. Scully remained casual. She eased her eyes upward focused on the figure ahead. She knew. "Federal Officer! Don't move!" she shouted and withdrew her weapon. A flash of lightning bathed the cemetery in white light. The Grim Reaper rolled through the archway and disappeared. Scully leapt and fumbled for her radio. Static was the only reply. She kept her eyes riveted on the dark figure. Scenes blurred past as the he darted in front of her. Scully's heart pounded. She was not going to lose him again. Her temples throbbed. He vanished through the second crimson door. Scully ripped it open and flew down the hallway. A bank of fog quickly enveloped her. Her flashlight was useless. As she proceeded into the blackness a disturbing thought gnawed at her. The hallway was longer than it appeared. The grinding sound of the concrete wall was barely audible as it returned to its original position. Agent Scully was separated from the rest of the house. Trapped the thick fog swirled around her. "Sir? Federal Officer. There's nowhere to go. Show yourself," she shouted. Silence. Scully blindly shuffled further into the passage. Concealed under a blanket of fog the black mound rose. Scully winced in pain. A needle pierced her ankle and the world faded. Damp tile is a rude awakening. Scully felt as though she had fallen through two stories of steel branches. Her right arm cradled her head, but the unforgiving tile offered little comfort to her aching body. The feeling was familiar. It harkened to her college days and lessons learned. A wild image her peers would find difficult to reconcile with her present persona. She groaned aloud and struggled to her knees. The weight of the drug lingered. She stood and her bare feet contacted the cold tile. She reached for her missing weapon. The room was covered in white tile and the odor reinforced the clinical facade. It was empty save for a single bare bulb in the ceiling. The room measured five feet by five feet with a height of nine feet. Above the door a small metal vent circulated the stale air. Two pipes in the upper wall penetrated the tile and disappeared on the other side. Scully tested every inch of her prison. The only access was a metal door. The humid atmosphere had wreaked havoc on the door, but its distressed condition belied its strength. She tested it from various vantage points with no success. It resembled an industrial freezer door. It was smooth with no inside handle. Scully wedge her feet against the opposite wall and used her hands to work her way up toward the vent. Unfortunately, the walls were too far apart. A few times she jumped but her five-foot two frame fell short. Winded she sat to think. "It's hard, isn't it?" A metal voice echoed through the ventilation system. It was modulated. Scully recognized the technological disguise. "Yes," she answered. "It doesn't have to be." "Then let me go. I'm a Federal Agent." "I know who you are Dana." Scully stood. She listened and analyzed. "How do you know my name?" "I know all about you Dana." "I doubt that." "Dana Katherine Scully. You reside at 3170 W. 53 Rd. #35, Annapolis, Maryland. Father deceased. Mother, Margaret. You have a degree in Physics from the University of Maryland along with a medical degree. You did your residency in forensic pathology. I even know your badge number, JTT0331613. Shall I continue?" "You could have gathered that information from anywhere. I'm not impressed." "True." "Who are you?" What do you want?" "Ah, that would be telling." "Did you kill Detective Tyler?" "Yes. Unfortunate but I needed to continue my work." "What work is that?" "I help people. Mainly women." "Is that what you did for Kelly Frank?" "Yes." "She committed suicide. Is that how you helped her?" Scully was pleased. She had him on the defensive. "No. That was her choice. That is all I do. I provide a choice." "No. You kidnapped her, drugged her, tortured her then she killed herself." "Wrong!" "What about Danielle Simmons and Helen Croush? Did you help them too?" "Absolutely." "You drugged them." "It was necessary to help them choose." "Choose what?" "A better life. They were living a lie just like you." "I'm not living a lie." "Ah, how hard it is to step away from the mask we wear." "I'm not a liar. How about you? You're hiding. That makes you a liar too." "I am here to help you." "What if I don't want your help." "Too late." A valve in the overhead pipe erupted. In moments Scully was waist high in water. Her flesh tingled but she was grateful that the water was not cold. She floated and spied the vent. The level rose and Scully stretched and dug her fingers behind the frame. It moved. Scully planted her feet against the door and pulled. She splashed backward and watched the small vent zig zag to the floor. Soaked Scully ambled through the opening and peered down the shaft. It was large and could easily accommodate her. She crawled on her hands and knees braced for the eventual rush of rising water. It never came. She shivered and the tingling increased. The effect rapidly accelerated into an itchy irritation. She crawled faster.