Mulder laughed and resumed his seat on the desk, "Sorry,
Si...Walter. I tend to get a bit exuberant at times." He
folded his arms across his chest, "Sorry." He began to gnaw
on his thumbnail again, taking time to regain his train of
thought. "Seriously, it would be of great help to know your
family history. Which of your ancestors purchased the
bedroom furniture? Where and when?" He moved on without
waiting for an answer, "I'd like your permission to consult
a psychic, Walter. This man is a personal friend and
completely trustworthy, Sir." Standing he headed toward the
door, "Get some sleep and I'll talk with you later this
evening." He whipped back to face the desk, "May I have your
house keys, Walter?" Grinning again Mulder explained,
"Keiren always insists on an initial walkthrough without the
client present. He prefers to absorb the atmosphere of the
surroundings, devoid of the emotions and perceptions of the
person who requested his services."  Mulder glanced at his
watch, "We'll wait for you at the apartment. Say, eleven
o'clock?"

I fished in my pants pocket for my key ring, fixing Mulder
with a baleful stare, "You're sure about this Keiren? You, I
trust implicitly but Keiren I don't know from Adam. I have
never laid eyes on him. Hell, I don't even know his last
name."

Mulder laughed, easily catching the key I tossed at him.
"Keiren is true blue, Walter. I'll swear on my good name,
just like you did earlier. Okay?" He turned back toward the
door, "Eleven it is, Walter."

I stopped him, just as his fingers wrapped around the
doorknob, "So, uhm...Mulder? Is Keiren going to divine the
location of my apartment? Otherwise, maybe you'd like to
wait while I write out the directions?"

Mulder had the good grace to blush as he turned back toward
the desk a final time. "Uhm...directions? Yes, sir, it would
probably be a good idea to wait for directions." Mulder
blushed brighter and fidgeted as his thumbnail snaked
quickly back toward his teeth.

I idly wondered whether Mulder had a problem with thumb
sucking as a child and then immediately decided some serious
sleep time was in order. I jotted the directions and address
of my building on a scrap of paper, "There is an underground
parking garage and elevator to the lobby. I'm on the second
floor, Apartment 2C. You'll have to be buzzed in." Handing
the paper to Mulder, I concluded, "I'll call ahead and let
the concierge know to expect you and...Keiren."


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

Ambassador Hotel, Washington, D.C.

I checked into the Ambassador Hotel less than an hour after
Mulder left my office. A company expense account does have
its uses.  Luckily, I had managed to stay awake long enough
to ask the bellhop to have my suit pressed and shoes shined.

I took a long hot bath in the decadently enormous porcelain
tub before climbing naked between the clean crisp sheets of
the king-sized bed. I must have fallen asleep the very
instant my head hit the pillow.  When I regained
consciousness at approximately 9:30 that same evening, I had
fresh clothing as well as a fresh outlook on life. Dressing
quickly, I ignored my rumbling stomach. I would barely have
time to make Crystal City by eleven if I took the freeway.
Maybe if traffic cooperated, I could manage a drive-through
burger to eat while I watched Keiren and Mulder exorcise my
new apartment as the dinner show.

On the drive to Virginia, I became self-conscious about
Mulder and his friend wandering around my apartment. Had
they searched through my personal things? Were they making
long distance calls on my telephone, or renting pornographic
movies on my cable account? I reached to turn on the radio,
feeling stupid and vaguely disloyal by entertaining such
thoughts. Mulder was a professional, trained at Quantico and
fully capable of behaving himself without direct
supervision. He had been kind and supportive when I had
burdened him with my problem and leapt at the opportunity to
help. Even if I did not know this Keiren character, Mulder
vouched for him. He had sworn an oath and assumed my trust,
by bringing a stranger into my home. Unfortunately, all my
justifications and reasoning did nothing to alleviate my
fears. I still had visions of Mulder and his friend sitting
on my couch dialing those 1-900-SPANK-ME numbers that I
always see advertised on late night television.



A.D. Skinner's Apartment, Crystal City, VA

I entered my apartment with the aide of the concierge and a
passkey. Not knowing what to expect, I carried the sack of
burgers to the kitchen and placed them on the table, still
finding no signs of Mulder or the psychic's presence.
Opening the refrigerator, I snagged a bottle of Guinness
before making my way to the master bedroom. I knocked softly
on the open door announcing my presence, "Agent Mulder? Have
you managed to solve the mystery?"

Mulder turned to me and smiled. He was standing just outside
the open closet door, "No, not yet, Walter." He stuck his
head inside the closet, "Keiren? Come out and meet my boss."

A short, wiry man stepped out of the closet and blinked at
me with the most intensely blue eyes I had ever seen. He
appeared to be around thirty and stood no more than 5'6". He
was thin enough to box as a bantamweight, so I would guess
Keiren weighed maybe 130 pounds soaking wet. "Hullo, I'm
Keiren Duinne. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Skinner."

I extended my hand and smiled, "Nice to meet you too,
Keiren. Please call me Walter."

Stuffing his fists into his jeans pockets, Keiren vigorously
shook his sandy blonde head. "Sorry, Walter, I don't shake
hands. I'm a touch clairvoyant."

I withdrew my hand promptly and nodded as if I actually
understood what this whipcord thin Irishman was talking
about, "No problem." I took a drink of ale to cover the
awkward silence and glanced at Mulder. "Thanks for
suggesting a hotel, Mulder. I slept like a rock for the
first time in a week." I nodded my head toward the door, "I
brought some food. Nothing fancy, just burgers-but they are
hot. There is cold ale in the ice box, if either of you are
interested."

Both men nodded and headed toward the hallway. Mulder smiled
as he passed me, "Thanks, Walter. Keiren and I have been
busy. Neither of us thought ahead about dinner."

I led the way to the kitchen, "Grab a chair. Who wants
Guinness?" I pulled two more bottles of ale from the fridge
and placed them on the table. Mulder passed out the
sandwiches and we tore into our food.  We ate in silence,
nodding or pointing if we needed a napkin or condiment.
Finally, I leaned back in my chair and glanced back and
forth between the two men, "So, what have you been doing all
this time?"

Keiren wiped his lips primly with a paper napkin and placed
it back on the table, "I've been getting to know the essence
of your home, Walter." He smiled mysteriously and helped
himself to another bottle of ale. "For the most part, the
apartment is peaceful; the entire building in general, for
that matter." He sat down, resting his elbows on the table,
"But your bedroom is another place altogether." He stared at
me intently, his blue eyes gleaming with an inner light,
"That closet is the most chaotic and evil place I have ever
encountered."

"You're preaching to the choir, Keiren. Each night when I
wake up to see those red eyes staring back at me I feel like
running from the room screaming at the top of my lungs." I
blushed after making such a cowardly admission.

Mulder climbed from his chair and fetched the last two
bottles of Guinness, setting one in front of me. "I thought
Keiren was going to do just that when he opened the closet
door, Walter." He nodded at his friend, "He jumped back so
fast he bumped right into me." Mulder laughed gently to take
the sting from his words and rubbed the end of his nose,
pretending it still smarted.

I smiled at Keiren and reached to clink the neck of my
bottle against his, "A man after my own heart."

Keiren smiled back easily, nodding toward the bottle, "In
more ways than one, Walter. Tell me, how did you come to
acquire a taste for such a fine Irish brew?"

I sipped at my ale before replying, "Both my parents were
first generation Americans. My mother's people are from
England and my Dad's folks from Scotland. Since no red
blooded Brit would be caught dead drinking the piss America
passes off for beer, Guinness stout was the one and only
spirit allowed in my mother's home. Well, that and a single
bottle of Jameson's each Christmas Eve."

Keiren chuckled again, "Irish stout and Irish whiskey? You
said your old Da was a Scot?"

I laughed along with Keiren, "Yeah. Dad said that whisky
made in Scotland has too much of a smoky flavor. Has
something to do with the way they dry the malted barley. I
really don't know the details. He liked the Irish better, so
Jameson's is what I drank whenever I could sneak a sip here
and there. Once I got older, I just never bothered to try
any other brand."

Keiren laughed and tipped his bottle at me, "Well, your old
man raised you to have good taste in liquor, Walter. That's
good enough for me."

Mulder cleared his throat, indicating the dinner
conversation was about to come to an abrupt halt. He stared
at me, his eyes sparkling, "So, Walter. Tell us where the
bedroom furniture came from. We need some sort of a clue,
here."