Title: Patchwork (conclusion of Circles)

Author: The VS10 Producers

Rating: PG-13

Category: Case file

Archive: Exclusively on the VS10 site for two weeks, then

with permission.

* * * *

Patchwork

Teaser

Undisclosed Location

Wednesday, 2:54 a.m.

It was cold. The air smelled damp and musty, and the surface she

was lying on was most definitely not her bed.

Slowly, Scully opened her eyes, her lashes sticky with too much

sleep.. or something worse… and discovered a ceiling made of

chain link fencing. Where the hell *was* she?

Looking around her, she saw that the walls were made of the same

wire fabric. She was sitting on a cot. Like a temporary detention

area. A military–

She sat bolt upright, wincing at the pain in her throat. Lights. A

strong arm choking off her air. Mulder rushing toward her and

being knocked to the ground. Mulder!

She quickly scanned her surroundings and found him almost

immediately on the other side of the wire wall. He lay on his back

on a cot like her own.

“Mulder,” she called out to him from where she sat. Under the

circumstances, she wasn’t sure who was watching. He stirred at her

voice, turning his head in her direction, but still asleep.

“Mulder!” she called a little louder. He opened his eyes, shivering

slightly as he came awake. She could see his breath misting in the

cold air.

“Mulder, thank God you’re all right,” she said, watching him rub

his eyes and the back of his head. The rifle had at least left a bump,

if not a gash where his fingers were exploring.

“Where are we, Scully?” he groaned, trying to prop himself up on

one elbow.

“I don’t know. But I have a feeling our little excursion into the

field last night wasn’t a welcome one.”

Mulder squinted down at his watch. “‘S three a.m.” he slurred.

“We can’t have been here long.”

“We must have been brought here after the field. It can’t be far

from Clayville. Damn that Krycek!”

Mulder shook his head in response. “Too many clues. He gave us

too many–”

The sound of a chair screeching across the concrete floor down the

hall cut him short. A soft, heavy thud. Footsteps– first walking,

then running.

The two agents’ eyes met in panic. “Get down,” Mulder hissed out

before lying back down on the cot. Scully followed suit and lay

motionless, every muscle tensed for whatever was coming.

The hurricane fencing rattled and tinkled as someone tried to open

Mulder’s gate. Through her lashes, Scully could see the flash of

hands working through a ring of keys. They found the right one,

flung the opened lock to the floor, and rushed into the cell.

“Stop playing possum, or you’ll both regret it.”

Scully opened her eyes wide at the order just in time to see the

speaker kick Mulder in the heel with a steel-toed boot.

It was Krycek.

Mulder hauled himself up as fast as he could manage while Krycek

ran to open Scully’s gate. Scully got up and clung to the woven

wire as Krycek fumbled with more keys. Mulder poked his fingers

through the barrier and wrapped them around hers possessively.

“Ah,” Krycek sighed out reminiscently as the latch clicked open,

“Such fond memories of dark basement cells. Too bad the both of

you won’t enjoy the pleasures I’ve had in places like this.”

“You’re a sick bastard, Krycek,” Mulder half chuckled, half

sneered out. They pulled the door to Scully’s cell open.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He flashed a gleaming smile at

Mulder, then nudged his head in the direction of the exit. Three

pairs of feet slapped furiously down the hall, the sound of them

drowned out by a whining siren that had begun to pierce the air

around them.

Krycek led them through a maze of equally dimly lit hallways,

service tunnels lined with water pipes that went on for a few

hundred yards at least, and up slippery metal ladders that wobbled

as they climbed. At last, they came through a door that opened up

into a corrugated metal shed filled with farming tools and smelling

of gasoline, motor oil and fertilizer. It was dark, but they could see

the silver lining of moonlight on the edges of a windowsill.

“Wait here,” Krycek huffed out, trying to catch his breath. They

could hear him swallow hard, taking a deep long gulp of air to

soften the sound of his breathing. In the next moment they saw a

slightly brighter shade of dark as Krycek slipped through a nearby

doorway, and into the night.

“Where do you think he’s going?” Scully whispered close to

Mulder’s ear.

“He brought us this far, Scully. I guess we just wait and see.”

It was about ten minutes of tense, back-aching crouching, the tiny

noises of the shed settling into the ground, and the scratching of

small field creatures and insects before they both realized Krycek

wasn’t coming back.

Mulder carefully opened the door he’d seen their savior use, and

grabbed Scully’s hand gently to follow him. They were in another

field, although this one had been harvested in the fall, and it was

wide open and muddy. Not far ahead, they could see the straight

man-made line of a road.

Their shoes sucking into the muddy ground, they walked with

knees high and backs crouched, fearful of being caught, but

wanting to move as quickly as possible.

Upon finally reaching the road, they homed in on one of the few

pools of light from a lamppost. The faint hint of dawn brightened

the horizon, and revealed that the road stretched to forever in both

directions with no sign of civilization.

“What do we do now?” Scully said hopelessly, flapping her arms

limply to her sides.

“I guess we walk,” Mulder answered, leering down at Scully’s

feet. “Unless…”

“Unless what?”

He grinned widely at her. “Unless you care to show a little leg.

*That’s* bound to attract some kind of attention.”

She shook her head in mixed humor and exasperation, and walked

toward the direction of the rising dawn, swaying her hips a little

more than she normally would. Mulder followed, still smiling at

the short dark silhouette ahead.

ACT I

Hoover Building

Wednesday, 8:04 am

“Skinner didn’t say anything, he just sounded pissed,” Mulder told

Scully as she straightened his tie and he fixed the collar to her

blouse in the elevator up to the Assistant Director’s office.

“He calls us on your cell phone at 6:00 in the morning, tells us to

get our ‘asses back here’ and doesn’t give any explanation. I don’t

know about you, but that’s not what I was hoping for when we got

back to the motel,” Scully said with a sigh.

“A little snuggle under the covers, perhaps?” Mulder inquired in a

low whisper.

“Try a nice hot shower and clean clothes,” she shot back.

“Hey, you’ve got on clean clothes,” Mulder pointed out. Scully was

busy using the metallic doors of the elevator as a mirror to help her

wipe a smudge from her jaw line. She turned for just a second to

glare at him before going back to her inspection. Changing into

clean clothes had been all they had time for when the newspaper

delivery person at dropped them off at their motel just before 6 am.

The nice woman hadn’t even accepted the money Mulder had

offered her for giving them a ride in to town.

“I’d love to get my hands around Krycek’s neck right now,” she

huffed as the car stopped, the doors opened and they stepped into

the hallway.

“You think he set us up?” Mulder asked, letting just the tips of his

fingers on his right hand come to rest on the small of her back as

they hurried toward Skinner’s door.

She glanced at him over her shoulder, confused. “You don’t?”

“When it comes to Krycek, I don’t know what I think. But one

thing is obvious: we did learn something.”

“Don’t go anywhere Krycek tells us to go,” she whispered as he

opened the door and waved her into the office in front of him.

Kim was at her desk and smiled wanly at them when they entered.

“He’ll be right–”

The inner office door opened abruptly and revealed a stern faced

Assistant Director. “In my office, now!” Skinner interrupted Kim

and jerked his head to indicate the two agents were to follow.

Mulder was almost certain that little blue vein on the Assistant

Director’s neck was about ready to pop any minute.

They didn’t even bother to take their usual seats, partly because

they hadn’t been offered. Skinner stood behind his desk, hands

clenched into fists and resting on the desk blotter. “I want a full

explanation of what happened in New Jersey and I want it now!”

he hissed.

Mulder licked his lips and looked over at Scully. “Sir, we

investigated the disappearance of Greta Wilson, as you requested.

We found the local authorities to be particularly uncooperative and

the other women who have experienced similar disappearances

were equally closemouthed. We were investigating the actual crop

circles themselves when we received word that Mrs. Wilson had

been returned. We went over to question her, but she was

extremely distraught. Scully offered to examine her and managed

to ask a few questions. We went back to the motel.” He stopped

just short of giving the AD a description of the events of the rest of

the evening, and he omitted any mention of the chip Scully found

at the base of Greta’s neck.

“When you interrogated Mrs. Wilson, Agent Scully, exactly what

did you ask her?” Skinner spit out.

Scully fought to hide her discomfort at the force of Skinner’s

anger. “I tried to get her to talk about what had happened. I asked

what was the last thing she remembered. She remembered the last

quilting circle meeting, but not the field or anything about it. Sir,

when Mulder and I were investigating the crop circle, the pattern

of the circle exactly matched the pattern the women were making

on the quilt they were finishing. It was too much of a coincidence,

so I asked Ms. Wilson if she knew who’d picked out the quilt

pattern. She didn’t know and she said she’d never seen the pattern

before. She was coughing and I asked Mulder and Mr. Wilson to

bring her some water. At that point, I decided it would be best to

let her rest. We were planning to come back today and continue

our questions.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Skinner said, finally dropping

to his seat with a frustrated look on his face.

Mulder was ready to take the bait. “May I ask why, Sir?”

Skinner took off his glasses, tossing them carelessly on his desk so

that he could properly rub his eyes. “Because Greta Wilson

committed suicide last night. She ingested the entire contents of a

bottle of sleeping pills. And her husband is blaming your

interrogation of his wife for pushing her over the edge.”

Mulder swallowed, opening his mouth to speak, but the words

wouldn’t come. Scully was shocked, too, but managed to find her

voice. “Sir, that’s not possible! When we saw how exhausted she

was, we left. Her husband, Mr. Wilson, even thanked us for

helping. Sir . . .”

Skinner shook his head sadly, then leaned forward and retrieved

his glasses, putting them back on his face with exaggerated

movements. “Regardless of his feelings yesterday, today he is

devastated and outraged. He’s looking for someone to blame and

you are the lucky recipients of his anger. Furthermore, the same

connections that brought this case to the attention of the FBI are

now working to see that you two take the full brunt of that anger.

There is a pending wrongful death suit, naming you both, and a

review by OPR to see if your actions were in any way

unprofessional or outside Bureau policy. If anything is found in

that review, you will be brought up on criminal charges.”

It was Scully’s turn to drop to the nearest seat, her face clearly

showing her incredulity. “Sir, I can’t believe this,” she muttered.

Mulder had managed to recover somewhat and put his hand on her

shoulder. “It’s OK, Scully. We’ll figure this out.”

“You weren’t in that room, Mulder,” she whispered. “It was just

Greta and me.”

He pursed his lips and shook his head, silently entreating her to

remain quiet on that piece of information. Finally, he looked back

over at Skinner. “Sir, how much time to we have before the

review?”

Taking in a deep breath, Skinner looked up at Mulder. “Two days.

You have exactly two days to get to the bottom of this.”

“There has to be an autopsy of the body,” Scully said suddenly.

“Scully, don’t bother. Even if Wilson would agree, the OPR won’t

let you near that body with a scalpel,” Skinner told her gruffly.

“But will he allow the FBI to conduct the autopsy?” she asked.

Skinner turned thoughtful. “Very possibly. It is still an FBI

investigation. We could request it.”

“I think that would be wise, sir. We need to keep control of

whatever evidence that is gathered.”

Skinner nodded. “You need to do whatever you can to clear your

names before that OPR meeting. I suggest you get right on that.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mulder said. He reached down and took Scully’s

elbow, helping her stand. “We’ll be in touch,” he promised.

“Please do,” Skinner retorted.

They were silent all the way to the basement. Mulder’s hand never

left Scully’s back. He could tell she was still extremely upset, but

was doing her best to hide it. He also knew she was going over

every detail of their time at the Wilson home the day before,

examining each action or comment she made for any possible

indication that she or he had pressed the woman too far. It was a

process he was putting off for the time being, knowing it wouldn’t

do for both of them to be introspective at the same time. Someone

had to keep their head above the rising waters.

“Want a cup of coffee?” he asked, when he had her seated at her

side of their shared desk. She shook her head numbly and refused

to even look at him as he took his place across from her. “You did

nothing wrong,” he said, wanting to get the words spoken before

another minute passed.

She raised her head from her intense inspection of her nails. “You

weren’t in that room, Mulder,” she reminded him sadly.

“You examined her for what . . . ten minutes? And I was in that

room when you found the chip.”

She closed her eyes, silently begging him to give her a reason to

believe that she truly was blameless in the woman’s death.

“Scully, something caused Greta Wilson to kill herself. But I’m

willing to bet my bottom dollar it had nothing to do with us and

everything to do with that quilting circle.”

“We’re betting more than our bottom dollar, Mulder,” she

whispered.

He sighed. “I know.”

“I have to view that autopsy,” she said firmly. “I need to find out

what else was done to her.”

“Scully, how are you going to do that? They’re treating us like

suspects,” he pointed out gently. “I truly doubt any pathologist

would allow you . . .”

“I’m hoping we don’t get just any pathologist,” she said with an

upturn of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll call Mel Harmon. Ask her to

snag this case.”

Her suggestion was the first ray of sunlight he’d seen and he

jumped on it. Mel was one of a handful of friends they had a

Quantico and by a happy coincidence, was a damn good

pathologist. She’d already helped them on one case in the recent

past. During the investigation of a man who could travel through

time, Mel had been injured, as had Mulder. Thanks to Scully’s

good work, the case had been resolved and both Mel and Mulder

had recovered.

“Remind her she owes us one,” he said, allowing himself a full-

blown smile.

He was irresistible, she couldn’t help smiling back. “I think she

remembers it differently, Mulder. She thinks we owe her one.”

He shrugged. “Then tell her we’ll owe her two. Just get her on this

case and make sure you can observe, in whatever capacity you can

manage.”

“Including illicit, I suppose,” she chuffed.

“Whatever works, Scully,” he said. “We’re already in hot water,

might as well wade out to the deep end.”

* * *

The Morgue at Quantico

Wednesday, 10:00 am

‘Snagging the case’ had proved to be a lot easier than getting

permission for Scully to observe the procedure. The fact that her

friendship with Mel wasn’t widely know had helped, but only up to

a point. Scully was under strict orders to keep a safe distance from

the body at all times and not to ‘interfere’ with Dr. Harmon.

Mel Harmon kept up a running commentary as she worked, as

much for Scully’s benefit as to record her findings. When her

words were meant for Scully alone, she turned carefully away from

the microphone that hung over the center of the autopsy table.

Scully held up her end of the bargain by standing off to the side

with both hands jammed in the pockets of her scrubs. Avoiding

temptation.

“I see nothing that would contradict the initial finding of suicide by

barbiturate overdose,” Mel concluded for the microphone’s benefit.

Then, to Scully, “What makes you think this isn’t what it appears to

be?”

“History, I suppose.” Scully pitched her voice low enough to avoid

activating the mike. “Mulder’s finally wearing off on me.”

Mel chuckled. “I saw that coming a long time ago.” Then she

sobered. “Now that I’m finished here, what was it you were hoping

I’d find?”

“I wish I knew.” She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip.

“What?”

“There’s a scar on the back of the victim’s neck.”

Mel’s eyebrows rose. She turned back to the table, turning the

body’s head away from her to look closely at the back of the

woman’s neck. “I don’t… wait. ” She lifted the left shoulder off the

table, fingers probing a spot at the base of the neck. Then she spun

on Scully. “A chip?”

Scully nodded. “You’ll want to excise it, though I don’t imagine it

will stay in the evidence locker for very long.” At Mel’s worried

frown, she added. “We’re being careful, Mel.”

Her friend snorted. “That would be a first.”

Scully walked over to her friend and squeezed her shoulder fondly.

“If you want to bow out, I’ll understand. But I need to ask another

favor.”

Mel’s smile was fierce. “Name it.”

“Dig. Test everything you can think of, then test again. I don’t

know what I’m looking for, but…”

“…but I’m your only hope of finding it,” Mel finished her thought.

Scully put every ounce of gratitude and affection in her smile.

“You’re *our* only hope.”

* * *

Clayville

10:20 am

Mulder slowed down the car as he approached the area’s perimeter.

The cornfield looked considerably less ominous now in daylight,

yet he knew he needed to remain cautious.

Never knew when a rat might get underfoot.

For that very reason, when he stepped out of the car, Mulder drew

his gun. Before he made it twenty yards into the field, he realized

there was nothing left to see.

“Damn it!” he bellowed into the open air not caring who might

have heard him at that moment. The field had been harvested– or

rather, run flat– with something that had cut the stalks to pieces.

Whatever pattern had been visible from the air was now in ruin.

“How the hell do they destroy everything so damned fast?” he

wondered aloud.

That’s when he noticed the zigzag pattern that was cut into the dirt;

creating several almost linear paths that led from one end of the

field to the other.

Mulder walked over to the nearest track and knelt down. It was a

tire track, but a very small one. It was either a very wide bicycle

tire… two of them riding side by side. Or…. “Golf carts?” He stood

up and scanned the area. There must have been a dozen or more of

them driving over the area. The tracks followed a pattern almost as

intricate as the original crop circle, but they all seemed to merge

into a single path that led to a wooded area just north of the corn

field.

He pulled out his cell, punched in the number one and hit send.

“Scully,” the voice on the other end responded.

“Feel like a walk in the woods?”

He could almost hear the eyebrow go up.

“Only if it starts raining sleeping bags,” she shot back. Pause.

“Mulder, where are you?”

“By the crop circle, Scully, or what’s left of it. I found some tracks

that look like a golf cart convention. They’re leading into the

woods.”

“Wait a minute, backtrack for a second. What do you mean ‘what’s

left of it’? The crop circle is gone?” she asked incredulously.

“Everything’s been chopped down. I’m following the tracks as we

spea– Shit!”

“Mulder, what’s wrong?”

“Gopher hole. I tripped.”

“Be careful.” Then, “Mel says ‘hi’.”

Mulder smiled in spite of himself. “Hi, back.” He huffed into the

phone as he stumbled over another rough spot.

“Try to stay out of trouble, okay?” Her teasing tone didn’t quite

hide the genuine concern.

“Walk in the park.”

Scully snorted and hung up.

Mulder clicked off the phone and kept walking. Several minutes

later and still following the golf tracks, he practically tripped over

himself. “Damn,” he muttered out loud as he looked down. When

he took note of the ground, he saw exactly why he’d nearly taken a

spill.

The tire tracks suddenly expanded. In fact, they became huge,

cutting deep and hard into the ground. Widely spaced. Too wide to

be anything but–

His cell phone trilled, and he snatched it to his ear, expecting

Scully.

“Agent Mulder? This is Chief Donaldson. You think maybe you

and your partner can get up to my office.”

“You want us to help you?” Mulder paused for effect. “Can I ask

what changed your mind?”

“The other members of the Quilting Bees – they’re gone.”

“What? You mean they’re missing now, too?”

“No, Agent, if only that was it. No, all of those women – they were

all found dead earlier today.”

* * *

ACT II

Clayville Hospital Morgue

4:08 pm

Mulder was biting sunflower seeds and spitting them into his hand

before returning the shells to his pocket. He knew he was going to

get hell from both Scully and his dry cleaner, but he couldn’t be

held responsible for his actions. He’d been standing outside the

double doors to the morgue for over five hours, he’d been chased

out twice already and he was just about to the point where he was

going to blow a gasket. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. He

pushed one of the doors open and stepped inside.

“Mulder,” Scully growled, low in her throat.

Mel Harmon glanced up, eyes dancing with amusement over the

plastic protective goggles. She seemed rather cheerful for someone

who’d driven two hours just to spend five more on her feet.

“Ah, Mom,” Mel teased, “he’s just bored. You really need to invest

in a Gameboy or something for his next birthday.”

Mulder shot her an evil look, then turned pleading eyes toward his

partner. “Scully, c’mon, I’ll be good. Just give me something,” he

whined. He caught himself doing it this time, and cleared his

throat, trying for a more professional tone. “You haven’t found

*any* commonalities?”

Scully stepped back and looked at him for a moment before raising

her goggles to the top of her head. Mel continued to work. “The

majority seem to have ingested sleeping pills or some other

narcotic. One apparently went out to the garage, plugged the doors

and left the car running. Only one went so far as to slice her wrists.

I got the feeling they didn’t want anything that would take a long

time or that might be discovered before it was finished.”

He winced and bit his lip.

“I can tell you that although it’s really hard to pinpoint, there are

indications that this was not done simultaneously. From the looks

of it, some of these women killed themselves early in the evening,

some in the middle of the night and a few in the early hours of the

morning.”

Mulder puzzled on that. “Like a chain reaction?”

Scully shrugged. “It wasn’t done at one time. But it all happened

within a few hours.”

Mulder grabbed another handful of seeds and popped a couple in

his mouth.

“Mulder, if you get any shells in one of these bodies,” Scully

warned.

He put his hands up in surrender and started backing toward the

door. “Are you about finished?” he asked, and this time made sure

it didn’t sound like a six year old begging to go out and play.

“We have to close on this one and we have one more after that.

Then we’ll be done,” she told him, giving him a smile before

dropping her goggles and joining Mel back at the body.

As he started his pace in the hallway again, his cell phone rang.

Quickly checking to see if any hospital personnel were around to

yell at him for having it turned on, he answered. “Mulder.”

“It’s Skinner,” the voice on the other end said shortly. “I thought

you’d want to know. In light of the other suicides, Wilson has

decided to drop the wrongful death suit. The OPR has cancelled

their review as well.”

Mulder took in as much air as his lungs could hold and let it out in

a rush. “That’s good news, sir.”

“I would think so,” Skinner replied dryly. “What has Scully come

up with in those bodies?”

“All suicides, sir. But the times of death are indicating that they

didn’t do it at one time. They were spread out during the night.”

“So you don’t think it was a suicide pact?” Skinner asked.

“Sir, at this point, I’m not entirely sure these are suicides,” Mulder

said slowly.

“But you just said . . .”

“Sir, these women died by their own hands, there is little doubt of

that. But whether it was of their own volition or they were forced

into these acts, that remains to be seen.”

Skinner was silent for a few seconds, then Mulder could hear his

boss sighed on the other end. “Just go where the evidence leads

you, Mulder.”

“As always, sir,” Mulder responded with a grin. Skinner had

already hung up. Mulder was sliding his phone back in his jacket

pocket when the exit doors at the end of the hall opened.

A man came rushing straight at Mulder and had the agent up

against a wall with an arm against his larynx in the blink of an eye.

“You son of a bitch! You killed her! You called her in the middle

of the night and started up with this crop circle shit and pushed her

over the edge! Well, maybe you ought to join her!” the man yelled

and pushed harder against the agent’s neck.

The double doors to the morgue flew open and both Scully and

Mel ran into the hall. Scully had her gun out trained on the man

just as Mulder brought his own weapon to bear.

“Release him immediately and put your hands up!” Scully shouted.

The man reacted instantly, dropping Mulder and spinning around.

Now, both agents had guns trained on him. He stood there, hands

in the air for several seconds and then he seemed to dissolve. He

crumbled to the ground, shaking with sobs.

“Lizzie! Oh, god, Lizzie why did you do this?” he gasped out and

curled into a fetal ball.

Mulder coughed a few times and was tugging on his shirt and tie,

wincing as he tried to swallow. Scully was at his side, a silent

glance ensuring that he was going to be all right. Slowly, she

stooped to the cowering man and placed her hand on his back, then

at his throat checking for a pulse. She looked up at Mel, who was

still trying to take it all in. “Mel, call for a gurney. I think he’s

going into shock.”

Scully turned her attention back to the man. “Sir, can you tell me

who you are?” she asked gently.

Mulder was getting his bearings back after the attack, but the name

the man had said struck a chord. “Lizzie? Lizzie Johnson. That’s

Lizzie Johnson’s husband, Scully,” he told her, holstering his gun.

The man was quite obviously no longer a threat.

The man uncovered his face for a moment, and looked woefully up

to Mulder. “Why did you call her? Why couldn’t you just leave us

alone?”

Mulder cast a confused look to Scully. “Sir, Mr. Johnson, I didn’t

call your house last night. I can assure you I did not make any call

to your wife.”

Scully decided to intervene on her partner’s behalf. “Mr. Johnson,

we can check the phone records and prove it wasn’t Agent Mulder

who called last night.”

Johnson shook his head, whether not hearing or not believing was

anyone’s guess. “She wouldn’t kill herself. We were doing so good

again,” he continued to mumble as tears streaked down his cheeks.

“We’d put it all behind us.” He broke down into more sobs and

curled back into a ball again.

A gurney and an orderly appeared, followed by a resident and a

nurse. “I think he needs to be sedated, and I’d like him under police

guard. He attacked my partner,” Scully told the resident. The

young woman nodded and went about giving orders to the staff.

Scully finally had time to come over to where Mulder was standing

and give him her full attention. She reached up to loosen the top

few buttons on his shirt and with an exasperated sigh, he allowed

her to examine his neck. “I’m fine,” he told her, though he didn’t

expect it to have any effect on her actions. She didn’t disappoint

him, she continued to check him out.

“There might be some bruising. Tell me right away if you have any

trouble swallowing later tonight,” she told him and patted his

shoulder. “I think we can rule out an xray,” she told him, dropping

her eyes.

He smiled at her and raised her chin so she had to look at him. “I

know that took a lot to say, Scully, and I want you to know I

appreciate it,” he teased. He pulled her into a brief hug then held

her at arms length. “You finished already?”

“No, we heard the commotion and came running out to save you,”

she said with a dead eyed stare, but a twinkle in her eye. “We still

have the last body to go.”

He nodded, accepting her comments on her rescue attempts

gracefully. “I think I’m going to do a little digging of my own

while you work.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m curious about something,” he said cryptically.

Her gaze narrowed. “Mulder, you’re curious about everything,” she

said pointedly.

He gave her a wide grin and headed down the hallway toward the

exits.

Scully’s smile faded as she turned back to the double doors. Inside

the morgue, she found Mel standing motionless next to the table,

her expression thoughtful.

“Hey, no daydreaming until we’re done.” Scully snagged a pair of

gloves from the pop-up box next to the sink and pulled them on.

Mel didn’t seem to know she was even in the room. Scully walked

up to her friend and touched her shoulder. “You okay?”

Mel jumped, then looked down at Scully with a faint smile. “There

was something strange about the ribcage.” She leaned over the

body and pushed the incision open, pointing as she spoke. “Here,

where the rib spreader cracked this section?”

Scully peered at the area. “I don’t see what–” Suddenly, she

couldn’t breathe. The shock of recognition must have shown on her

face as she looked back at Mel, who nodded. “How did we miss

this?”

“I’ll have to confirm it with more tests, but I’d say there’s a very

good chance this woman had Paget’s carcinoma of the bone. If she

knew, it might have had something to do with her decision to end

her life.”

Scully’s mouth had gone dry. Deja vu– the chilling kind– had

rendered her speechless.

Mel put a hand steadying hand on Scully’s shoulder. “You look

like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Scully shook her head slightly. “You have no idea.”

“Dana, *tell* me.”

Even as she gave Mel the details of Teena Mulder’s illness, and

how she’d believed it to be the cause of the woman’s suicide,

Scully began to second guess herself. Yes, finding Paget’s again in

another unexplained suicide was disturbing, but it hadn’t yet been

confirmed. And even if it *did* turn out to be Paget’s , this was

just one victim out of many. The others had apparently showed no

sign of the disease.

“Dana, I can see the wheels turning. You’ve already decided not to

tell Mulder about this.”

Scully puffed out a long breath. “Not until we’re certain. We have

to finish the final autopsy, then retest the others.” She felt an

inordinate rush of relief at the small reprieve. She would tell him

when she knew something for sure. Not now. Scully straightened

and smiled up at her friend. “Now, let’s finish this up before

Mulder gets back.”

* * *

Scully was still bent over the body when Mulder poked his head

into the autopsy bay some time later. Mel saw him and said

something to Scully. She looked back at him over her shoulder.

“We’ll be awhile, yet.”

“Can you take a break for a minute? I’ve got something to show

you.”

“Go ahead, Dana. I’ll finish up.”

A look passed between the two women that Mulder couldn’t quite

read. Then Scully pulled off her gloves and tossed them at the bin

next to the table. “I’ll be right out.”

Mulder nodded and let the door close. A few minutes later, she

joined him in the hall, still dressed in scrubs. Mulder jerked his

chin toward the autopsy bay doors. “Anything turn up?”

She shook her head. “Nothing definitive.”

He shrugged and took out his notebook. “Scully, in every case,

those women received a phone call last night. Or at least the phone

rang and they were the ones to pick it up. I have some approximate

times here.” He handed her the notes and she read them intently.

“Mulder, judging by these times, if they’re correct, the phone calls

almost match the times of death or very near.”

He nodded and she gave him a look. “But you were expecting

that.”

He nodded again, smiling this time. “Scully, it was something

Johnson said. The call pushed Lizzie over the edge. I think he’s

right. I just wasn’t the one to make the call.”

“So the person who made the calls . . .”

“Has a lot of explaining to do,” Mulder finished. “I need to get my

hands on the phone records for each of these houses, see if I can

get any information on the source of those calls. I think that will

bring us one step closer to the responsible parties.”

She bit her lip and nodded.

* * *

Clayville Police Department

5:14 pm

Mulder held his cell phone next to his good ear. Johnson had really

done a number on him earlier, and his cheek still throbbed dully

from the punch. A rifle whack to the head and a decking by an

angry husband bent on bloody murder didn’t put him in the best of

moods.

Chief Donaldson had been slightly more accommodating today,

letting him use an empty cubicle for his research. Easy listening

‘hold music’ assaulted his eardrums. He was humming along with

an instrumental version of “Walkin’ in Memphis,” remembering

the Cher concert a few years ago, when the crackle of someone

picking up a receiver interrupted his musings.

“Welcome to Sprint Customer Service, this is Lisa. How may I

help you?” a much-too-perky female voice greeted him.

“Yes, Lisa this is Agent Mulder of the FBI. I’m calling about

account 555-4154. I’d like to request a phone record of calls made

and received between the hours of 5 p.m. last night and 8 a.m.

today. My badge number is–”

“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot disclose that information at this time. You

will have to mail or fax us a copy of a warrant for records of the

account.”

“May I speak to your manager, please? I’m sure we can clear this

up and get down to business.”

He heard the woman sigh on the other end, thinking about this

proposal. When she came back on the line, she sounded uneasy.

“Agent Mulder, these are standard procedures. I’m sorry, but

anyone you speak to will give you the same answer.”

“This is a critical situation. Doesn’t that qualify as an exception to

standard procedures?” he asked in the most authoritative voice he

could manage. He wondered if he were sounding at all like

Skinner. Scully had mentioned the similarity recently.

“If you’ll just hold–”

“No! No, wait don’t do that. I’ve been on hold for–”

“What would you like me to do, Agent Mulder?”

“Just,” he sighed in defeat, “give me your fax number, and I’ll see

what I can do.”

She rattled off a number to him, thanked him for calling Sprint in

that awful perky voice, and hung up. He beeped off the phone, and

pushed the antenna back into place with his forehead.

He’d been hitting road blocks at every turn. If the phone

companies weren’t accepting his badge number, they were telling

him such phone accounts didn’t exist. The recent area code

changes in this part of New Jersey weren’t helping matters either.

The red tape just hadn’t all been trimmed away yet. It seemed

nobody wanted to take responsibility for their own customers.

Wiping the tension out of his eyes, he prepared himself to make his

next call, but this one was on the speed dial.

The Assistant Director answered, grumbling into the receiver. He

had a bad habit of holding the mouthpiece too close when he was

distracted, and the sound of breathing against plastic sounded like

static to Mulder’s ears.

“What is it, Mulder?”

“Sir, I’m going to have to request a subpoena to access the phone

records of all the Quilting Bee members.”

“I thought I’d hear this request from you earlier.”

“Yeah, well, I tried it the old fashioned way first. You know,

follow protocol, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Humph,” Skinner laughed into the phone, the sharp spurt of static

slicing into Mulder’s ear again. “Since when do you follow

protocol, Agent?”

Mulder chuckled darkly to himself, “Since my way hasn’t gotten

me very far out here in the sticks. Ask a simple question, and I’m

wanted for murder.” He gently caressed the swollen part of his

face, wincing at even that exploratory touch.

“I’ll have Kim set up the form, and I’ll approve it–” a beeping

sound interrupted the AD’s sentence, “–right away.”

“That’s my other line. Thank you, sir. Would you have Kim fax it

over to the Clayville police department?” The beep insisted again.

“It’ll be there within the hour.”

“Thanks.” Mulder pressed the flash button on his phone and

answered, “Yeah.”

“Mulder, it’s me.”

“Scully, I think my ear is going to fall off.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Let’s just say I’ll never be interrupting your dinnertime with

surveys on how much television you watch weekly.”

“Well, take a break. I need you down here at the morgue as soon as

possible.”

His ears perked up. “You found something!”

Silence. “Just get down here as soon as you can.” She disconnected

before he could press for more information.

*****

Clayville Morgue

6:30 pm

He found Scully in a small room off the side of the morgue, seated

at a computer terminal. She looked up from her work and noticed

him before he reached the door. She’d been waiting for him, and

she wasn’t smiling.

“Made any headway?”

“Mulder, let’s go out into the hall,” she suggested, glancing

uneasily over to the wall of storage units. She led him back into the

office, where Mel had been sitting in the visitor chair while Scully

worked.

“Hey, Mel.”

“Mulder,” the pathologist greeted, burying her nose into a cup of

steaming coffee as they passed behind her. They exited through a

secondary door that led straight to the hallway.

It felt cold and empty and Scully was holding her elbows as if she

were warding off a chill as well. She was holding her breath,

clearly excited about something, but at the same time, acting as if

she were holding back.

“Come on, Scully, hit me with it.” He leaned against the wall,

composure relaxed, hoping to make her feel a little more at ease.

With dry, slightly bloodshot eyes, she gazed up at his warm

inviting expression, then joined him against the wall. She crossed

her arms tighter, in an attempt to simulate physical support,

preparing herself to continue.

“Greta Wilson was dying from something else before she

committed suicide.”

“What?” he asked, curiously.

“Paget’s Carcinoma. It was the early stages, but it was still there.”

This time Mulder held his breath. He knew the disease. It was the

same disease his mother had suffered from. He shifted his shoulder

blades, pushing them hard into the solid wall. Squinting down at

her, he now understood her reticence.

“And?”

“And,” she continued, “all the women in the Quilting Bees circle

suffered from the same disease.”

Mulder pushed himself away from the wall and faced her. “I wasn’t

aware the disease was so common.”

“It’s not. In fact, it’s highly improbable that such a high ratio of

women suffering from the disease in one community would even

exist. Statistics would suggest it impossible.”

Mulder looked to the ceiling and blew out a puff of air. There were

some obvious conclusions that were begging to be jumped to, but

he refused to take the bait. He could read his partner almost as well

as she could read him, and there was something else she wasn’t

ready to tell him. It was written all over her carefully blank face.

He also knew that pressing her would be futile. Time for a

diversion.

“Let’s get some dinner and you can tell me the rest.”

She let the surprise show in her eyes for just an instant before the

professional mask returned. “Okay. I’ll see if Mel wants to join us.”

She gave him an odd look, then headed back through the doors.

* * *

7:35 pm

They sat in the small diner several miles away from town so they

could talk without fear of being overheard by one of the

townspeople. Though Mulder was finally getting cooperation from

the Clayville Sheriff’s Department, he still wasn’t sure if they were

being completely forthcoming with every detail about the case.

Besides, there was nothing like a little diner comfort food to loosen

the lips. Or, so he hoped.

Scully ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a tuna sandwich,

while Mulder braved the house special of meat loaf and garlic

mashed potatoes.

“If you think you’re going to get lucky tonight, you’d better think

again, garlic breath,” Scully said with a light chuckle.

“I know that’s your way of letting me know you want to taste them,

Scully.”

“Damn straight it is,” she retorted. She smiled, but it faded quickly.

Then she grew quiet… suddenly fascinated with the napkin holder.

Her water glass. The cars in the parking lot. Everything but him.

Mulder watched her for a few minutes. Then he reached over to take

her hand. She sat up straight, eyes fixed on his.

“Mulder, I think there’s something more going on here than just

Paget’s Syndrome.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“I don’t think we’re dealing with ordinary malignant cells.”

“Malignant cells in and of themselves are rarely ordinary, are they,

Scully?”

“No, you’re right, they’re not. They’re usually highly irregular in

their shape, which is one of the reasons they’re identifiable as

cancerous.”

“So what makes these even more irregular?”

“Well, that’s just it. They’re not.”

“They’re not, what?”

“Irregular.”

“You’ve lost me, Scully.”

“The women were all definitely in one stage or another of Paget’s

Disease. We were able to identify the condition through the

molecular structure and the other symptoms that we overlooked at

first.

“But, Mulder, the very nature of cancer is that there is no real

pattern or structure to the cells themselves. There’s no rhyme or

reason to when they manifest themselves. But–”

“– but these cancer cells were too orderly, too predictable in their

appearance and indicators to be your run of the mill Paget cell,

right?”

“Right.”

“So, what are your Scully sensors telling you it means?”

“That as abnormal as cancer cells are, these particular cells are even

more of an anomaly. Mulder, we’ve both seen this before.”

“When?”

“Think. When have we seen a perfectly healthy person suddenly

become deathly ill with millions of parasitic cells attempting to take

over his entire body?”

Recognition came almost immediately and Mulder’s reaction was

just as swift and equally as angry. “That sonofabitch has his dirty

hands in this, too?”

“It would make sense that Krycek has something to do with this,

given his penchant for playing games with his remote control

nanocytes.”

“So these are nanocytes in the women’s bodies?”

“I think it’s possible that these cells were manufactured and

implanted. That these women were given this disease.”

“But why? Why this disease? Hell, why *any* disease?” Mulder

opened his hands in a questioning gesture.

“Well, it could be as simple as the reason Krycek gave Skinner the

nanocytes – control. But to be honest I’m not sure what exactly

whoever did this to these women expected to gain from controlling

them,” Scully answered carefully.

“It was more than just control, Scully. Krycek wanted control of

Skinner because he knew that Skinner had a power that he could tap.

These women had no power; there was no reason to want to control

them. No, Scully, it was more than just control. These bastards used

the disease as a cover for something else.”

“But what? And why? And who?”

“You do have a penchant for the sixty-four dollar questions, don’t

you?” He picked up his fork and waved it at her food. “Eat while

you have the chance. We’ve got a long night ahead of us if we’re

going to get those questions answered.”

“Where do you propose we start?” she asked as she pushed her soup

spoon into the mound of garlic mashed potatoes.

“With the ‘who’, of course.” He pushed the fork into a hunk of meat

loaf. “Krycek.”

* * *

ACT III

Clayville Inn

9:03 pm

Scully was dozing in the seat next to him as Mulder pulled the

rental car in to the parking lot of the motel. When he reached a full

stop, he leaned over and ran his finger down her cheek. She sighed,

yawned and opened her eyes. She stretched and he winced as he

heard her vertebrae cracking and popping.

“I think we’re due for some R and R,” he chided. “Maybe a nice

bubble bath.”

“Mulder, we have a hundred and one things to be doing . . .”

“And not a single one of them can be accomplished at this hour,”

he retorted. “Scully, I have to get a subpoena for those phone

records, and that will take a judge. It’s almost 11 pm, I doubt I

could get one now and there wouldn’t be anyone at the phone

company to release the records anyway. C’mon, we’ve worked

hard, we deserve a little ‘us’ time.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Scully smiled and opened her car

door. Mulder was halfway to the door when he stopped, staring off

into the distance. Suddenly, he took off at a dead run and tackled a

figure that had just stepped out from the shadows.

Scully gasped, grabbed her gun and had it trained on the two

combatants, but couldn’t get a clean shot. Mulder was tossing the

unknown against the wall, getting in a couple of good punches to

the face and stomach before the other man threw a right to the jaw

that sent Mulder back a few feet, landing sprawled against the

hood of a car.

In the dim light of the motel overhang, Scully could finally make

out a face. Alex Krycek.

Mulder didn’t stay out of it for long. He launched himself off the

car hood, taking Krycek down in a tackle that would have done

any defensive linebacker proud. Both men hit the cement sidewalk

and rolled, fists flying and groans marking each target hit.

Scully stood there a moment, considering her options. The last

time the three of them had been in similar circumstances, she’d

shot Mulder in the shoulder to keep him from killing Krycek. How

many times in the ensuing years had she wondered at the wisdom

of that course of action? She brought her gun up just as Mulder

gained the upper hand and had Krycek pinned to the ground.

Mulder reached around and grabbed his gun, sticking right under

Krycek’s chin.

“You killed 11 women, you bastard!” Mulder gasped, getting his

breath back. “I oughta send you back to hell where you came

from!”

“Mulder,” Scully cautioned, but made no further move to

intervene.

Mulder’s flicked off the safety with his thumb. The sweat started

popping on Krycek’s brow.

“Mulder, it wasn’t me, I swear,” he rasped. “It wasn’t me,” his

voice trailed off in fear or surrender, it was hard to tell.

“Like I could ever believe you, you son of a bitch,” Mulder spat

and his finger twitched on the trigger.

“Mulder, goddamn it, you have to believe me! Why would I come

here if I did it? I’d be miles away from here, you know that!”

Mulder seemed to be working that over in his mind. Scully shifted

nervously from one foot to the other. She didn’t really believe that

Mulder would ever pull the trigger, that he would kill someone in

cold blood regardless of how evil they were. But then again, there

was a tiny part of her who would never blame him if one day he

did.

Mulder made up his mind in the blink of an eye. He grabbed

Krycek by the shirt and pulled him up to his feet. The gun was still

quite firmly in Mulder’s hand, but he thumbed the safety back on.

Krycek never lowered his gaze from Mulder’s, but reached up to

wipe the blood from his mouth.

“You two have a funny way of saying ‘thank you’,” Alex muttered.

Mulder grabbed him by the back of his leather jacket collar and

propelled him toward the door to their room.

“I don’t know. You’re alive. I’d say that’s more than enough thanks

for what you’ve done,” he replied and after Scully had opened the

door, Mulder shoved Krycek into the nearest chair. Noting that

Scully had her gun trained on their suspect, he holstered his

weapon and leaned against the low dresser with his arms crossed.

“So who are you going to finger, Krycek? And make it snappy,

Scully hasn’t been to the range in a week and she might decide to

take out her frustrations on you.”

Krycek regarded Scully and then dropped his eyes. “I don’t know,”

he said. When Mulder started to lunge again, Krycek put up his

hands in defense. “Wait, I know how that sounds. I know of them,

I just don’t know the specifics!”

Mulder glowered at him, but went back to leaning. Scully tapped

her foot inpatiently. “Get on with it!”

“You might want to consider leaving ‘red’ behind,” Krycek said to

Mulder. At their joint snort, he turned to Mulder again. “I mean it

this time.”

“I’m sure you do,” Mulder said calmly. “But it’s not going to

happen. So do tell, what do you know.”

“There’s an airbase, abandoned in the first round of budget cuts

back 8 or 10 years ago. It’s been falling into disrepair, but

apparently someone has found a use for it.”

“Where?” Mulder demanded.

“I’ll show you,” Krycek replied, all teeth.

“Not in this lifetime,” Mulder shot back.

“Look, it’s not a set up! You want to find out who is responsible

for those women, who took them, who made them sick . . .”

“How do you know they were sick?” Scully demanded, taking a

step forward.

Alex chuckled softly, with a desperate air. “It’s not the first time

they’ve used that. Paget’s carcinoma. Pretty damned rare to find 11

women in a town that size, don’t you think?”

“You’re saying it was manufactured?” Mulder asked, a sense of

dread filling him.

“Yes, that is exactly what I’m saying,” Krycek said pointedly.

Scully was licking her lips. “I don’t suppose you have any proof,”

she interjected dryly.

“Proof,” Krycek laughed again. “What more proof do you two

need? You got so close they had no choice but to kill those

women! You said I killed them. I think you oughta go look in a

mirror. If anyone is at least partly to blame for those deaths, it’s the

two of you and this investigation!”

Mulder glanced over and noticed that Scully had paled at Krycek’s

words.

“Don’t listen to him, Scully! He’s a liar and he’ll do anything to get

out of this.”

“Just keep tellin’ yourself that, chief,” Krycek said. Mulder took a

step and backhanded him hard, bringing blood to the other corner

of the double agents mouth.

“Cut it out!” Scully shouted. There was a moment when the three

of them just stood there, staring at each other. It was Scully who

broke the spell. “Mulder, we have to go have a look at the airbase.”

* * *

9:50 pm

Mulder checked the odometer and let up on the gas. “It should be

right here.”

Scully lowered her window and peered into the empty darkness. “I

don’t see any– Wait!”

He spotted it at the same time and slowed to a crawl. Off to the

right, at the limit of the headlights’ reach, was a small structure. “It

looks like a gatehouse.” He pulled off the road and cut the engine.

Mulder clicked on his small maglite, adjusting the lens to produce

a narrow but intense beam. Then he shone it on his own face so she

could see him waggle his brows. “Stealth mode.” He popped the

door locks and got out.

Scully rolled her eyes, but adjusted her light before she followed

him.

It indeed was a gatehouse– what was left of it. As they drew

closer, they saw remnants of a chain link fence clinging to posts

where the gate had been. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness,

they could make out two large shapes in the distance.

“Hangars?” Scully whispered.

“Maybe. Whatever they are, we’re not their only recent visitors.”

He pointed his light at a group of overlapping tire tracks

paralleling their path.

Scully grabbed his arm and hauled him to a stop. “Mulder, do

those tracks look familiar?”

“Yeah.” He pulled his arm free and moved it around her shoulders.

“Let’s find out what made them.”

They headed for the building on the left. It was indeed a hangar, a

huge corrugated steel structure with a large overhead door in front.

The door was closed, but an entrance door on the side stood

invitingly ajar. Mulder and Scully exchanged a look in the

dimness.

Mulder leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Wait here.”

She gave him a look that was clear, even in the dark. Without a

word, she walked to the door and went inside. Mulder followed,

shaking his head.

Inside, the darkness was total. Scully’s light was sweeping the vast

space twenty yards ahead of him. As the it fell on a large vehicle,

they both froze in their tracks.

“It’s a Hummer,” Scully called back to him in a stage whisper.

Her light moved on, finding another truck. And another. One

whole side of the building was parked full of them. The floor was

tracked with mud, criss-crossed with treads just like those they’d

seen in the field and on the road coming in.

“Mulder, look.” She was pointing her light at the far wall, behind

one of the trucks.

Mulder came up behind her and added his beam to hers. Something

was back there, covered by a tarp. “Supplies, maybe.”

They squeezed between the two nearest trucks and found there was

quite a bit of space behind the row. Mulder reached down and

pulled the tarp back. “Golf cart.”

Scully had already moved to the next tarp and uncovered another

cart. She bent down, looking at something near the floor.

“What have you got?” He started toward her, but she stood up,

holding something in the beam of her light. “Cornstalks.”

Suddenly, she shifted her light to a point behind him, and he turned

to look. “Mulder, it looks like an office.”

The trucks had hidden it from their view. The door wasn’t locked,

and there was even an overhead light that worked, as they abruptly

discovered. Mulder had automatically reached for the wall switch

inside the door and nearly blinded them both with the sudden glare.

Scully gave him a squinty frown. “I guess I can assume we’ve

discarded the stealth approach.”

He moved past her to a desk across the room. “I don’t hear any

weapons being cocked, so I guess we’re clear.” He began pulling

out drawers and rifling the contents. “The golf carts tie this place to

the crop circles. All we need is something to tie it to the women.”

“And something to tie the place to whoever is responsible.” Scully

started searching a filing cabinet next to the door. The first drawer

was full of office supplies: paper, ink cartridges, boxes of paper

clips. She closed it and pulled out the second. Mulder’s excited

voice turned her around.

“Scully! This is it!” He waved a sheet of paper in the air. “Names,

phone–”

“MULDER!”

The gunshot was so unexpected and so close that it stunned her.

Before she could recover, she was pulled back against someone by

an arm tight across her throat. She grabbed the arm with both

hands, trying desperately to pull away.

Mulder was down, on the other side of the desk. She couldn’t see

him, and suddenly breathing seemed less important than finding

out how badly he was hurt. “Let me GO!”

“If you’ll calm down, I will.”

Shock stilled her movements. The voice was…

“That’s better.”

No. It wasn’t possible.

The arm moved from her throat, and she drew a ragged breath,

suddenly afraid to turn around.

“Dana, look at me.”

She turned. And stared in total disbelief.

It took two tries to find her voice.

“Charlie?”

It couldn’t be. Her brother stood before her with a gun trained on

her chest. The same gun he’d just used to–

“Mulder!” She spun around, intent on finding her partner, too

numb to think beyond that goal. The rest… the rest was an illusion.

A nightmare… Anything but what her eyes were telling her.

The man grabbed her shoulder with steely fingers that held her

fast. “Wouldn’t you like to know why I’m here?”

No sound from the other side of the room. Mulder could be dead.

She spun on the man who looked like her brother. “I don’t know

who the hell you are, but you have to let me go to my partner.”

“Him?” The man snorted. “He’s not worth your time, Dana. I’m

here to offer you a way out.”

“Who are you?”

He tightened his grip on her shoulder until the pain made her eyes

water. “You know who I am.”

She shook her head. “I know who you look like.”

“You know who I *am*. I can see it in your eyes.” The face, as

familiar to her as her own, looked down at her kindly.

Her voice choked down to a whisper. “You are not my brother.”

“Haven’t you ever wondered how the two of you have managed to

stay alive all these years? It was me, Dana. I’ve risked my own

position, time and again, to keep you safe. But this is the end of the

line.”

“You’re lying.” Please God, don’t let this be true.

“Am I?” He seemed to search his memory. “Okay, tell me this:

how would I know about your bunny? The one Billy boy hid from

you. He killed it, Dana. He didn’t mean to, but he put it in a box,

and it died.”

“No.” It was barely a whisper.

“Yes. Ask me anything. Something only Charlie would know. I

need you to believe me, Dana.”

“My brother would never do what you’ve done.”

He chuckled. “Oh, Dana. For such an intelligent woman, you can

be so incredibly naive. You still think you’ve chosen your own

path, don’t you? With everything that’s happened, you still believe

in the future.”

“I want to go to my partner.”

Blue eyes pleaded with her. “I’ve seen the future, Dana. And there’s

nothing you can do to change it. Not with Fox Mulder. What I’m

offering you is not just survival. You’ll have everything you could

possibly want.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

His expression turned to stone. “They said you were a lost cause.

I’d hoped that wasn’t true.” The gun barrel came up, pointing at her

head. “This is your last chance. The most important choice of your

life, Dana. Come with me and live, or stay with him and share his

fate.”

Scully squared her shoulders and put everything she was feeling

into her eyes. “Go to hell.”

For just an instant, the man’s blue eyes softened with something

like sorrow. “Good bye, Dana.”

The gun moved so swiftly, she had no time to flinch. The barrel

came down hard as the floor rushed up toward her in a blaze of

pain and light.

What seemed only seconds later, someone was pulling her to her

feet. “Mulder?”

“Not quite,” came a familiar voice, inches from her ear.

Reflex jerked her away from him even before her spinning brain

put a name to the voice.

Alex Krycek grabbed her shoulders and turned her back to face

him. “We don’t have time for this. I’ve got Mulder in your car. Do

you want to come along, or would you prefer to walk back to

town?”

His face was swimming in and out of focus. Her knees refused to

lock, and she hated knowing he was holding her up. “You bastard.

You set us up.”

“I suggest you can the attitude. You need me, no matter how much

that turns your stomach.”

*I’ve got Mulder in your car.* She stopped struggling. “Is he all

right?”

“He’s bleeding all over your leather seats. You want to stand her

awhile longer and tell me what you think of me, or can we get him

to the hospital first?”

She wasn’t surprised to find that her car was now parked just

outside the door. Krycek, after all, had learned hot wiring the same

place she had. Quantico.

He kept her upright with an arm around her shoulders while he

opened the back door. Mulder was sprawled across the seat with

his back against the door, and Scully had to catch him when it

opened. He was out cold.

Krycek went around to the drivers side and got in, leaving her to

struggle with her partner’s dead weight. She got him situated on

her lap and closed the door just as Krycek peeled out toward the

main road. It was all she could do to keep Mulder from slipping

out of her arms as they bounced over the rutted surface.

When they reached the main road, she was able to locate the

source of the bleeding. The bullet seemed to have followed the

same path her own had done years ago, only in the reverse

direction. The exit wound, and the heaviest bleeding, was in the

front this time. His shirt was soaked all the way to his waist.

Krycek wasted no time getting them to the hospital. He screeched

to a halt in front of the ER entrance and laid on the horn for a

moment. Then, without a word, he got out of the car and

disappeared into the night.

* * *

Clayville Hospital

Post surgical wing

Three hours later

“The doctor left orders for pain medication for you, Miss Scully.”

Scully turned her head carefully. Mulder’s nurse was looking down

at her with concern. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” She straightened

slowly in her chair and turned back to Mulder. “It will make me

sleepy and I want to be here when he wakes up.” She reached over

and took his hand.

“I can see that you’re in pain. If you change your mind….”

Scully smiled. “I will. Thank you.”

The woman finished checking her patient, and left the room. Scully

sagged back in her chair, rubbing wearily at her burning eyes.

The nurse was right. She was in pain. A lot of it. But very little

came from the wound in her head.

Her concussion was mild, they said, but enough to dim her

memories of the events directly proceeding the blow to her head.

Not dimmed enough, though. Not nearly enough.

The man who shot Mulder. If he was indeed her brother– and she

was coming more and more to believe that he was– the

implications were almost incomprehensible.

Greta Wilson’s death. The disappearances, not just here, but…

Could it have been Charlie all along? Putting them in danger, but

somehow keeping them alive? Not because Mulder was important

to them, but because of *her*?

She replayed every memory she could grasp, searching for the

signs she must have missed. Anything that could have warned her

that the enemy was so close. So treacherous.

So loved…

“Scully, what’s wrong?”

She jerked her head up at the raspy whisper. Mulder was looking

directly at her, eyes dark with worry. She got up and sat carefully

on the side of his bed. “Nothing, Mulder. Nothing’s wrong.”

He reached up and touched her face, then brought his damp

fingertips out for her to see. “Then what’s this?”

She swiped quickly at her eyes. “How do you feel?”

“Better than I should, apparently. How long have I got, Doc?”

She chuckled in spite of herself. “You’re fine, Mulder. The round

went straight through.”

He gingerly moved his left shoulder. “Feels familiar.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, eyes downcast. Suddenly, the tears were

clogging her throat.

Mulder’s fingers lifted her chin. “Scully, tell me what’s wrong.”

She looked into his eyes, drawing strength from the love she found

there. “I know who shot you.”

His eyes widened, but he said nothing.

The words poured from her, bitter as bile on her tongue. All the

while, his gaze never wavered. Never once showed her anything

but complete trust. That, more than anything, destroyed the last of

her control.

He held her to his chest, rubbing his cheek against her hair, making

soothing sounds as she wept.

Finally, she sat up and looked at him. “I’m sorry, Mulder. I don’t

know what–”

He touched two fingers to her lips. “Don’t.”

She nodded. For now, there was nothing more to say.

“How’s your head?”

“I hope you’re referring to the bump on it and not what’s going on

inside.”

He gave her a stern look. “You’re in pain.”

She reached up to brush her fingers gently through his hair. “Not

so much, now.”

“Am I interrupting?”

They both looked toward the voice. Skinner was standing in the

doorway.

“Not at all, Sir. I didn’t know you were here.”

Scully stood up and tugged self-consciously at her rumpled

clothes.

“I’ve been out at the air base.” He looked at Mulder. “How are you

feeling?”

“I’m fine, Sir. What did you find?” Mulder asked the question in a

tone that said he already knew the answer.

“There’s no sign of the evidence you reported to the sheriff, Agent

Scully. I don’t imagine that comes as a surprise.”

“No, Sir. Not really.” Mulder was speaking to Skinner but his eyes

were on Scully.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then, Skinner walked to the

foot of Mulder’s bed. “I don’t like the feeling I’m getting here.”

“What feeling is that, sir?” She lifted her chin and held his steady

gaze.

“The one that says there’s more to this than I’m being told.”

She felt Mulder’s warm hand close over hers where it rested next to

him on the bed. Then he coughed– for effect, she thought, until

she looked at his face.

“Sir, Mulder needs to rest.” She pressed the call button.

He just looked at them for a long moment. “I’ll see you back in

DC.” He left without waiting for a response.

When he was gone, she turned back to Mulder. “Are you okay?”

She reached out to feel his forehead, but instead found herself

staring dumbly at her shaking hand.

“Scully, come here.” He pulled gently with his uninjured arm, and

she let herself lean into his embrace. After a moment, she pulled

her legs up onto the bed and burrowed her face against his neck.

“We have to tell him, Scully.”

She nodded against him. “I know.”

When the nurse came around with his meds a short time later, she

found the two of them cuddled together in the narrow bed, sound

asleep.

* * *

Epilogue

She’d managed to pull the box of old photographs from the back of

the closet without too much difficulty. She’d been meaning to get

to them for so long, but time had always found a way to escape

her.

Now time was running out.

She picked up one from the pile of haphazardly placed photos and

sighed. She pushed a silver wisp out of her eyes and found her eyes

tearing.

She’d wanted to cut the child’s hair so desperately – such a pain to

wash! She was always fussing when the soap got in her eyes or

how long it took to dry it, especially when the weather turned cold.

Winter on the vineyard was never very pleasant; the child was

always walking around with a runny nose.

But now, she fingered the picture, tenderly. She’d give anything to

be able to braid the long, dark hair again.

Anything.

She sorted through the pile of photos until one oversized document

caught her attention. It was the piece of paper that sent her world

into a final tailspin. The order to cease the investigation was in

faded black ink; why she chose to save that piece of hell, she’d

never been able to figure out.

Maybe as a reminder of what evil still lurks in the world, though

why she felt she needed a reminder was beyond her as well.

And now time was passing too quickly.

A splash of blue and red caught her eye. Her baby boy, in his

favorite striped shirt. Oh, Fox, can you ever find it in your heart to

understand? She’d never expected him to forgive her; she could not

even forgive herself. But understanding was a gift she could only

dare to hope for.

She picked up the phone and dialed a little used, but well

remembered number. The answering machine responded on the

other end.

“Fox? It’s your mother. I need to speak with you. I…, I have to talk

to you. Please, There’s been so much left unsaid, but I hope you

can understand.”

She hung up the phone and proceeded to look at the pictures again,

fingering them tenderly and then brought the one of the young boy

up to her lips to grace it with a small kiss.

“Please, understand, Fox.”

Teena picked up the trash can from under the secretary and

brought it closer to her by the couch. Next, she picked up the

lighter– one that *he* had given her– and held the flame to the

edge till it caught fire. She held it for as long as she could, until the

heat came too close and forced her to drop it into the bin.

The process was repeated with photo after photo. Each time before

lighting the photograph, she held it up to her lips and tenderly

kissed it.

“Please, understand, Fox.”

The phone rang. Teena picked it up, expectantly.

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Mytharc Continues…

Title: Circles

Author: The VS10 Producers

Category: Mytharc

Keywords: case file

Archive: Two weeks exclusively on the IMTP VS10 site.

After that, please ask.

* * * * *

Teaser

Scully Residence

December 27,1993

10:45PM

Maggie Scully slipped the key into the lock, opened

the door and went inside, deftly side-stepping the

neatly stacked boxes that lay just inside the foyer.

Pine and cinnamon scented the air, stirring up old

familiar memories of brightly wrapped Christmas gifts

and saucer-eyed children. She understood perfectly

her daughter’s propensity for trying to make

Christmas last a little bit longer. The best times

were always far too short.

In the moonlit shadows, Maggie could just make out

the Christmas tree standing in a corner of the living

room, stripped bare of all its finery. Tall and

green, its pine needles were still as fresh as the

day they’d hauled it through the front door.

Regardless, its stay in the Scully household was

over. Bill was never one to linger over silly

sentimentalities. He was never able to shed the

batten-down-the-hatches all-hands-on-deck attitude he

needed to captain a ship. Not even at home. And his

family knew, that come the day after Christmas, the

tree was history.

Maggie sighed audibly, her mood still troubled after

their abrupt departure from her daughter’s home. She

had expected to stay and talk awhile before hitting

the road. After all it was a rare occurrence these

days for the three of them to be together, and she

knew Dana had made a special effort with their meal

tonight. Maggie shook her head. Even as an adult,

Dana was still eager to impress her father, still

seeking his approval.

Tonight, Maggie had hoped that her husband would

finally give their daughter the encouragement she

craved. They’d discussed it on the way over, and she

thought that Bill would make the effort to tell Dana

he was proud of her, despite his wish that she pursue

a career in medicine.

When he’d failed to take the hint, she could have

shaken him. Her frustration flared to life again and

she turned to her husband, unable to hold her tongue

any longer, “Bill, we talked about this. Dana needs

to hear the words. She believes you disapprove of her

career choice–”

“And she’d be right…”

“Bill!”

“Now, hold your horses, Maggie. Disapproving of Dana

joining the FBI does not equate to lack of pride in

her successes. ”

“Then you should tell her…”

“Dana knows how I feel.” Captain Scully shrugged out

of his coat and peeled the scarf from around his

neck. He hung both items on the wooden coat tree

beside the door.

Maggie stood with hands on hips. “How?”

“She’s my daughter.” Bill Scully gave his wife an

affectionate wink. “Now, how about that cup of coffee

you promised me.”

“Bill…” Maggie’s argument was cut short by the

sharp trill of a telephone.

A brief look of surprise crossed the captain’s face;

he checked his watch and glanced at this wife, “I’ll

take it in the den.” He lifted his hand to his mouth,

mimicking the act of drinking from a cup and mouthed

the word, “Coffee?” Then, turning on his heel headed

towards the den, the sound of the telephone loud and

demanding at that late hour.

Bastard! “Pigheaded son-of-a…” Maggie cut herself off

before the fruits of being married to a naval officer

became all too apparent.

So, he was expecting a phone call from the base.

That’s why the big rush to get home. Asshole! She

stomped into the kitchen, more in the mood to prepare

a cyanide cocktail than a pot of coffee. Not only had

he hurried to get home for work reasons, but he’d

blown her off when she tried to talk about Dana.

She set about making the coffee, her movements jerky

with the suppressed desire to throttle her husband.

While the coffee was brewing, she leaned against the

countertop in silent fury. *Don’t think this is over,

Bill. I’m not done with this topic of conversation

yet.”

“Uh, huh.” Bill sat with one hip propped on the

corner of his desk, phone tucked tight into his ear.

Months of investigation were finally coming to

fruition and this was the phone call that would drop

the last piece of the puzzle into place. He hadn’t

told Maggie what had been going on at work; he hadn’t

wanted her worrying unnecessarily. One more vital

piece of information and it should all be over.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes.”

Bill shifted the receiver to his other hand and

grabbed a notebook and pencil from the desktop. He

listened intently as the officer on the other end of

the phone gave a brief summary of the day’s progress.

They finally had a name to go with the man they’d

been seeking.

Leaning the notepad on his thigh, he held the pencil

poised, ready to write. “Who?”

The answer hit him like a bullet, swift and painful.

“That’s…not possible…”

Maggie added two teaspoons of sugar to her husband’s

cup, and cream to her own. A few deep breaths and a

self-administered pep talk had calmed her slightly.

She knew how stubborn Bill could be at times and she

usually just let it ride. But on occasion… She

smiled to herself, suddenly amused at how the same

qualities that had first attracted her to him, the

ones she’d found so endearing—- his strength and

sense of order—- were the same things that could

drive her to distraction on a bad day. She sighed to

herself. Nothing like a good cup of coffee to begin

peace negotiations.

A quick stir with the teaspoon and Maggie headed back

to her husband.

Being careful not to spill the hot liquid, she pushed

the door open with her hip and entered, “Bill I…”

The crash of porcelain hitting the floor echoed

through her head as time seemed to slow down to a

frustrating crawl. “Bill! What’s wrong?”

Maggie stood frozen in place, her feet suddenly heavy

and uncooperative. She stared in horror as her

husband took a couple of staggering steps toward her,

both hands clutching at his chest. He opened his

mouth as if to speak, but his face crumbled into a

grimace of agony and Bill Scully sank to his knees.

Motor neurons suddenly kicked into life, sending

vital messages to Maggie’s numbed senses. She ran to

her husband, wrapped her arms around his shoulders

and lowered him onto his side. “Oh, my god! Bill!”

The handset lay on the floor beside him. She snatched

it up and held it to her ear. “H-hello. I need…”

But there was no one there. With trembling fingers

she hit 911 and waited to be connected.

***

Act I

Nine years later

FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC

Monday, 3:04 PM

The forecast had called for scattered showers so, of

course, it was pouring. The dampness seemed to seep

in everywhere, cling to one’s clothing, and make

squeaking sounds on linoleum as people carefully

navigated the hallways with wet shoes.

Mulder rarely saw his partner on a bad hair day, but

weather like this seemed to wreak particular havoc on

her. She’d clasped the unruly strands in a tight

ponytail at the nape of her neck in an attempt to

regain control, but the humidity seemed to be

winning.

As he tapped on the door to Skinner’s office, he

smiled down at her, receiving the expected smirk in

response. She was still fussing with the sleeves of

her blazer, which were probably still damp. Her

umbrella had snapped open on her in the office,

splattering both her clothes and all the papers on

his desk.

A grumbling “come in” sounded from the other side of

the door, and they entered. Skinner was at his desk,

paging through the contents of a file folder that

Mulder guessed was the case they were about to

receive.

“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said without

looking up.

They took their customary seats, and waited. The

water trickling down the window behind Skinner served

well as a distraction during several minutes of

silence. A gust of wind blew large, full droplets

against the pane. It made them thankful they were in

a warm, dry place, even if it was Skinner’s office.

Mulder studied him patiently, his superior tapping

short fingernails on clean white pages. He glanced at

his partner, receiving a shrug in response. Skinner

closed the folder and sat back in his seat. His mood

was unreadable.

“I have a missing person case for you.” He slid the

folder across the desk to Scully. “Greta Wilson

disappeared a few days ago in Clayville, New Jersey.

Certain aspects of the case would seem to fit your

particular area of expertise.”

Scully opened the folder, holding it so Mulder could

read over her shoulder. She looked up almost

immediately. “*Crop circles*?”

Mulder knew the look Skinner was getting. He’d been

on the receiving end of it a few times himself.

The A.D. shrugged. “It could be a hoax, one made to

look like an alien abduction, but the fact remains

that a woman is missing. And there have been similar

cases over the past several years that we’ve only

just now found out about. They were never reported or

investigated.”

“All in the same town?” Mulder jumped in.

“Yes. The previous women were all returned safely and

refused to press charges. Arthur Wilson is the first

to take any action, but he hasn’t received any help

from local law enforcement. I want to know why.”

Mulder could sense Scully tensing up. Her thumb

pressed a wrinkle into the manila folder. “Sir, it’s

not that I don’t want to help Mr. Wilson, but I still

fail to see why this is an X-file.”

Mulder gently took the folder away from his partner

before she folded it into an origami pattern. His own

interest was definitely piqued, but he knew that

Scully was far from convinced.

“Why would the other abductees have refused to report

the crime?” he wondered aloud.

Scully shot him a sharp glare for his terminology.

She addressed Skinner directly then. “They could have

become enamored of their kidnapper. Perhaps this guy

is very charming. Once they were returned, they may

have wanted to protect him. It’s a common reaction to

the experience. You should know that, Mulder.”

Skinner shared a silent acknowledgement with Scully

as Mulder rifled trough the report.

“But crop circles to cover it up, Scully? It’s seems

like overkill. Why would he create a distraction if

he’s already won them over enough to keep quiet?” He

noticed she was still staring at Skinner, not wanting

to listen to him.

“I know this has some sensitive subject matter for

you both,” Skinner remarked quietly. “But, I do think

you two are best suited for the job. And, I’m sorry

to say, I agree with Mulder. We need an investigation

here and somebody has to help Mr. Wilson and his

family. We can’t leave a citizen stranded like that.

Plus,” he leaned back in his chair, “it seems we need

to jump start the local PD into some action.”

Scully looked very much as if she had more to say,

but instead, she nodded and stood up. Mulder quickly

followed suit. She glanced back at him over her

shoulder as she headed for the door. “I’ll go home

and pack, Mulder. You see about a car.”

He traded looks with Skinner and started after her.

“One bureau-issue Taurus, coming right up.”

***

New Jersey Route 55

8:40 PM

Scully was MIA. Distracted, pensive, she’d spent the

majority of the trip gazing out the window at

nothing. Mulder’s attempts at any of the distractions

they normally enjoyed on long car rides had fallen

flat. Truth or Dare, Watercooler Trivia– even My

Favorite Mutant– were all met with polite

disinterest. She didn’t seem to be angry with him,

she was just… someplace else.

He shifted his grip on the steering wheel and glanced

over at her, trying to catch her eye. When, after

several minutes, it became clear she was completely

oblivious to the overture, he sighed.

“Talk to me, Scully.”

She jerked a bit, pulling her gaze reluctantly from

the window to focus on his face. The dim interior was

lit briefly as they passed under a streetlight, and

he saw the faint creases marring her pale brow.

“About the case?”

“About why the case is bothering you.”

Her forehead smoothed and she huffed a little laugh,

but not before he caught the guarded look in her

eyes. “Mulder, the only thing bothering me about this

case is that we’re investigating it in the first

place. It’s a waste of our time.” She shook her head.

“Crop circles.”

“Bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, clamping down on

his irritation. The days of accepting “I’m fine,

Mulder” were over. They were past that, damn it.

“This isn’t professional differences over a case,

Scully. Something’s been eating at you ever since

Skinner handed us that folder. Is it your own

abduction? Is this hitting a little too close to

home?”

Her lips compressed to a thin, bloodless line. “I was

kidnapped, Mulder. By Duane Barry, not aliens. Those

responsible for my disappearance, for the tests

performed on me, were very human.” She looked away,

jaw clenched. “Physiologically, anyway.”

His angry retort stalled as he caught a glimpse of

her trembling hands. Mulder took a long slow breath

and gentled his tone. “I know. I’m not discounting

the possibility that these women might have suffered

the same experience. Either way, it warrants further

investigation.”

He paused, realizing she’d somehow neatly steered the

conversation from its original purpose. “After all

you’ve been through… It’s understandable that this

case might push some buttons for you, Scully.”

“I’m all right.”

Something inside him snapped. His grip on the

steering wheel turned white-knuckled. “You aren’t all

right! Why is it so hard to admit that to me, Scully?

Why do you always have to be the strong one, so

perfectly in control? I love you, damn it! All of

you. God knows, I’m a basket case often enough. Do

you think less of me because of it?” He tore his eyes

from her and concentrated grimly on the road, voice

little more than a whisper. “Maybe you do.”

“Pull over.”

It wasn’t what he expected. A startled glance at her

face revealed little as he cautiously guided the car

onto the shoulder and flipped on the hazard lights.

He shifted into park with more force than necessary

and waited, glaring at the windshield.

“You know that’s not true.”

He blinked at the undercurrent of emotion in her

voice. Still unwilling to let go of his frustration,

he turned to study her face. The pure, undiluted love

there dried up the remainder of his anger.

“You’re right. But sometimes, Scully. Sometimes it

feels that way.”

“I’m sorry.” She tangled their fingers together but

turned to look out the window. “I was raised by an

officer in the United States Navy, Mulder. In a

household run with military precision. Logic,

self-control, discipline–those were qualities my

father prized above all others.” A tiny smile curved

her cheek. “A Scully doesn’t fall to pieces under

pressure, doesn’t give in to displays of emotion.

She holds her head high, rides it out.” A slight

pause and she squeezed his hand. “It’s not easy to

overcome twenty-one years of conditioning.”

Mulder lifted their joined hands, brushing his lips

across her knuckles. He tipped his head, one corner

of his mouth turning up. “You’ve been there for me

during some of the darkest days in my life. I’d like

to return the favor now and then.”

She swallowed; blinked. When she spoke her voice was

wispy. “I’d like that, too.” She licked her lips. “I

was being truthful when I said I was fine with this

case, Mulder. But I can’t say it hasn’t caused a

few unpleasant memories to resurface.”

“Is that where you were just now?” At her questioning

look, he added, “You’ve been quiet and distracted

since we left. You may be physically in this car, but

mentally you’re miles away.”

“I guess I was thinking about the women and what they

may have endured. You know, whether the kidnapper is

human or extraterrestrial doesn’t really change the

sense of powerlessness, of complete dependence on the

whim of your captor. The violation of your mind as

well as your body.” Her gaze turned distant,

contemplative. “Regaining some semblance of control,

even if only over the memories, means everything.”

“Are you saying you think that may be why the women

never involved the police?”

“It’s possible. Better to forget than dredge it up

over and over again. Reliving an experience may

eventually bring healing, but it’s a painful process.

Too painful, for some.” She seemed to shake herself

out of a daze. Her eyes dipped to the dashboard clock

and she squared her shoulders. “We’d better get

moving.”

He nodded and reached for the gearshift. “I have the

feeling Skinner’s going to be keeping tabs on this

case.”

“You might try to remember that when you’re dealing

with the local boys.” A hint of a smile curved

Scully’s lips, affection replacing preoccupation.

“And just for the record, Mulder? I love you, too.”

He grinned smugly and shifted into drive. “I know.”

Thirty minutes later they pulled into the parking lot

of The Ambassador, a motel that had little to warrant

the grandeur of its name. Mulder was whistling when

he returned from checking them in, a Cheshire cat

smile on his face. He slid behind the wheel,

jiggling two large plastic key rings in her

direction.

“Rooms 28 and 29, right around the corner. Two double

beds and a king, respectively.” He jockeyed the car

into a parking spot in front of the two doors and

waggled his eyebrows. “Wonder which room will be

seeing the most action?”

Scully rolled her eyes and got out of the car. “You

said it yourself, Mulder. Skinner will probably be

monitoring this investigation more closely than

usual.”

Mulder popped the trunk and handed over her suitcase.

“What’s your point? It’s not like we’re still in the

closet, after all. Skinner’s known for months that

we’ve been doing the horizontal mambo.” He leaned

into her space conspiratorially. “Scully, the man

gave us a gift voucher to a sleazy motel. I consider

that his blessing.”

She gave him the look–the one that left him feeling

like an errant toddler. “We’ve been over this,

Mulder. What we do on our own time, and what we do

while we’re on the clock are two very different

situations.” She plucked the key to 28 from his hand

and headed for the door. “You can have the king.”

“Sculleee! When we’re sleeping we are on our own

time.” Hearing the whine in his voice did little to

dispel the toddler image. He shut the trunk and gave

it one more try. “It’s conservation of resources,

Scully. Less water wasted washing sheets, less

manpower expended cleaning the room…”

She disappeared into 28 without a backward glance and

the door shut firmly behind her. Mulder hefted his

suitcase with a longsuffering sigh.

“God, I hope they have cable.”

Before he’d taken three steps the door opened and

Scully’s head popped out. This time she was the one

with the Cheshire cat grin.

“I had you, Mulder. Big time.”

* * *

Clayville Municipal Hall

Tuesday, 8:45 am

Mulder parked the car at a metered spot just a few

yards from the door of the Municipal Building. The

city fathers and mothers of Clayville had obviously

received some nice grant money or a fat real estate

tax increase, because the building before them was

very new, sporting a cornerstone dated 2001.

Mulder waited for Scully to join him on the

sidewalk, placing his hand at the small of her back.

“So, how do you want to play this? Good agent/bad

agent or ‘I’m from the Government, I’m here to

help you’?” he asked with boyish grin.

“Mulder, Skinner made it clear that the local police

weren’t interested in our being here. I say we play

it straight, ask as many questions as they’ll answer

without giving us any bull and continue on our

way.”

“Oh goody! I get to be bad agent this time,” he

responded gleefully.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Scully said with a

deep sigh as he opened the door for her.

Inside the building it was warm and bright and still

held the aroma of new carpeting and freshly brewed

coffee. A glass partition separated the visitors from

the woman sitting at the desk, immensely engrossed

in the latest Harlequin Romance. Mulder wiggled

his eyebrows down in Scully’s direction and

approached the glass, bending so he could speak

through the metal filter.

“Excuse me, I’m Special Agent Mulder with the

FBI and this is my partner, Agent Scully. We’re

here to see Chief Donaldson.” To prove his identity,

Mulder pulled out his wallet, gold badge catching the

overhead lights and reflecting back off the glass

divider.

The woman held up an index finger to either signal

a pause or check for wind direction, Mulder wasn’t

certain which, and proceeded to wait until she

reached the bottom of the page before turning her

attention to the two agents. With exaggerated

slowness, she put the book aside and smiled up at

them. “Sorry, Chief Donaldson’s out of the office

until Tuesday. I can leave a message,” she suggested,

pulling over a pad of scrap paper.

Mulder smiled tightly. “No, I’m afraid we need to

speak with someone sooner than next week. Is it

possible to speak with the second in command?”

A frown replaced the woman’s feigned helpful

smile. “Deputy Chief Ambrose is out sick. Sorry.”

Mulder bit his upper lip and felt his blood pressure

rise a few notches. Scully unobtrusively put a hand

on his arm and took a step closer to the glass. “Is

there anyone here we could speak with regarding a

missing person’s case?” she asked sweetly.

The woman’s blank stare lasted a full minute. Just

when Mulder was about ready to take out his weapon

and see if the glass was indeed bulletproof, the

woman reached over to the phone on her desk and

quickly dialed a number. “Jeff, there are two FBI

agents out here. Can I send ’em back to you? They

want to know about a missing persons case.”

A few seconds of silence filled the air, the woman

picked at a hangnail. “I know, but everybody else is

gone. Looks like you get the sticky end of the

lollipop, buddy,” she said with a sarcastic smirk.

She hung up the phone and looked up at Mulder with

undisguised distaste. “He’ll be right up.” She then

picked up her book and found her place again.

In short order a well dressed young man opened a

side door and waved Mulder and Scully in to the

inner office. He turned on his heel and led them

through a maze of standard office cubicles to the

last one. Grabbing a chair from the cubicle next

door, he set it down and motioned for the two agents

to take a seat. Finally he looked at his visitors.

“I’m Jeff Harrison. What did you want to ask about?”

he said. Mulder noted that the greeting did not

include the customary offer of a handshake and was

relieved. He wasn’t sure if he could shake the man’s

hand. His neck, maybe, but a hand might require too

much self-control.

“Detective Harrison,” Scully started, noting her

partner’s bright red flush of anger. “We’re here to

help with the investigation into Greta Wilson’s

disappearance. Her husband contacted our office…”

“Domestic dispute,” Harrison said shortly.

“Excuse me?” Scully asked, tilting her head.

“Domestic dispute. Happens all the time. A married

couple fights all the time in the city, gets this

idea that they need a change of scenery and move to

the sticks, but he keeps beatin’ on her or she keeps

cheatin’ on him. Sooner or later one of them has

their fill of it and runs off. It’s not a missing

persons case.”

“Is that what happened the other times?” Mulder asked

coolly. Scully noted the air in the room had dropped

twenty degrees just from the sound of his voice.

Harrison looked dumbfounded. “I don’t know what

you’re talking about,” he said, nervously shuffling

papers on his desk. “What other times?”

“You said ‘it happens all the time’. We’ve received

information that other women have gone missing, but

they returned. Are you saying those were ‘beatin’

and/or cheatin’ situations as well?” Mulder leaned

back in his chair and crossed his legs. Scully

instinctively sat forward, watching every move the

detective made.

“Miscommunication. Notes get mislaid, messages aren’t

written down. You can look at our records. We don’t

have any official reports of missing persons.”

“Except Greta Wilson, right? Her husband reported her

missing two days ago. As of late yesterday, he’d not

heard anything from your department,” Mulder said,

leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Look, if you’re accusing this department of . . .”

“I’ll take it from here, Jeff.” A tall man with dark

curly hair, receding just a touch at the temples,

filled the doorway of the cubicle. “I’m Chief

Donaldson. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Scully noted that the young man looked extremely

relieved to have slipped off the hook. She turned

her attention to Chief Donaldson. The agents stood

and Mulder again pulled out his badge, flashing it at

the Chief.

“Chief, we heard you were out until next Tuesday,”

Mulder remarked innocently. When his comment received

no reaction other than a stern glare from the Chief,

he continued. “I’m Agent Mulder with the FBI. My

partner, Agent Scully,” he said, turning slightly

toward her. “We’re attempting to get some information

on the disappearance of Greta Wilson.”

Donaldson nodded. “Let’s talk in my office,” he said.

“Thanks, Jeff. Go see if Gracie needs any help

filing.”

Scully scowled as the young man headed in the

opposite direction. “He’s not a detective?”

“Who said he was a detective? He’s a file clerk,”

Donaldson replied curtly. Scully’s blood pressure

reached the boiling point just as Mulder’s had.

Once in Donaldson’s office, Mulder noted there was

only one chair for visitors. When the Chief made

no effort to obtain another, both agents stood. “Has

there been any progress on the investigation?”

Mulder asked, frustration coloring his tone.

Donaldson seated himself at his desk, then made a

few keystrokes on his computer. “Let’s see,

Ambrose took the statement just yesterday,

contacted her former employer, they haven’t answered

back—looks like no progress at this time.” He looked

up at Mulder and smiled. “You know, it’s very

possible…”

“That this was a domestic dispute and she just ran

off with her boyfriend?” Mulder supplied

sarcastically. “At least that was the ‘official

opinion’ of your file clerk! Chief, I get the feeling

that your department really isn’t taking this

disappearance very seriously.”

Donaldson bristled, a flush coming to his cheeks

that matched the red in Mulder’s eyes. “Look, this

isn’t New York. When someone goes missing, a child or

someone like that, we take it seriously. But I’m not

going to waste manpower chasing after some Eva Gabor

wannabe who’s decided she doesn’t like the Green

Acres as much as her husband tried to convince her

she would. That’s their business and they’d do best

to leave law enforcement out of it, so we can

concentrate on some real crimes.”

“There have been other occurrences,” Mulder said

through gritted teeth. “Were those ignored as well?”

Donaldson narrowed his eyes to mere slits. “There

have been no official reports. Now, if you don’t

mind, I do have other business to attend to.”

“Chief, if I need to subpoena you and drag you before

a Grand Jury for obstruction of justice, I’ll do

that. Have there been other occurrences where people

have gone missing?”

It looked like a Mexican standoff, but Donaldson

was the first to blink. “Over the years, there have

been a few knee jerk reports. But the women turned

up safe and sound and every last one of them refused

to discuss it. Their husbands took them back,

probably to save their marriages and we just dropped

the investigations for lack of evidence. That is all

I have to say on the matter. Now, I’ll ask you

nicely, remove yourselves from this office or I

will.”

Without a word, the two agents left the office and

the building. Out on the sidewalk, Mulder stopped

and looked back toward the door, pulling a few

seeds out of his trench coat pocket and popping

them in his mouth. “Bet he’s never been invited to

the National Organization of Women’s fundraising

luncheon,” he grinned over at Scully. Scully shook

her head, but couldn’t keep the grin off her face. It

faded as soon as they were settled in the car.

“So why would every one of those women refuse to

make a statement? Are they willing to buy into the

‘cheatin’ heart explanation?” Mulder asked as he

started the engine and backed out of the parking

space.

“Most of them probably don’t remember what happened

to them, Mulder,” Scully said quietly, staring out

the passenger side window. “And the ones who do

probably don’t want to.”

He reached over and found her hand on her lap,

squeezing it gently. “Scully, I know this is really

tough—”

“Mulder, I’m not ready to assume alien abduction,

or even military abduction,” Scully said, pulling her

hand away and crossing her arms. “Maybe there’s

something else here. Maybe it could be as simple

as a domestic dispute.” At his disapproving glance,

she dropped her eyes. “I just don’t want to jump on

the alien bandwagon until we find more evidence of

their involvement.”

Mulder stopped at the red light at the corner and

turned to look at her. “But you aren’t dismissing it

out of hand,” he offered, an affectionate smile on

his face.

She let a grin steal across her lips. “Mulder, after

all these years, I know better than to dismiss

anything out of hand. Now, let’s go over and talk to

Mr. Wilson. Maybe he can give us some insight

into this.”

“Yes ma’am!”

* * *

Act II

Wilson residence

Clayville, N.J.

9:30 AM

“Arthur Wilson?” Mulder asked as he pulled out his

ID. Upon seeing Wilson’s nod, Mulder introduced

himself and Scully. “May we come in, sir?” When the

man failed to respond in either word or deed, Mulder

added, “Please? Or we’re going to need life jackets

soon, Mr. Wilson.”

Mulder’s words shook Wilson out of his trance, and he

stepped aside quickly. “Sorry,” he muttered, closed

the door, and then led them into the living room.

“Will you help me? Please,” he pleaded, “I don’t

understand why she’s still missing. This makes no

sense.”

“Mr. Wilson, what doesn’t make sense?” asked Scully.

“That she’s still missing. I mean, first of all

there’s been no one looking for her. Can you imagine

that? The cops keep telling me there’s nothing they

can do about it. Of course that was after they’d

asked me about my marriage and whether me and the

little missus were having any problems,” the

distraught man’s voice began to escalate. “If Greta

ever heard herself referred to as the ‘little missus’

you can be sure there’d be hell to pay. The woman has

a brown belt in karate. Who the hell do they think

they’re dealing with here, Ma and Pa Kettle?” ranted

Wilson, the anger in his voice becoming more evident

with each passing syllable.

“Have you spoken to your neighbors?” asked Scully.

“I tried, but every time I’ve gone over to try and

talk with them, the housekeeper or the nanny answers

and they refuse to speak with me.”

“Well, what about the police? Have they tried to -”

began Scully.

“- Agent Scully, do you have any idea of what I’ve

been dealing with here?” Arthur Wilson asked angrily.

“They keep trying to convince me that she ran away

with her lover from New York. They haven’t lifted a

finger to try and find her. Not one damn thing!”

“Mr. Wilson,” Mulder said softly, “is there any

possibility that the police department’s assumptions

might have some validity to them?”

“No.” Wilson answered quickly, and though the agents

gave some consideration to the swiftness of the

response, both concluded it was due not to

bitterness, but rather to confidence in his beliefs.

“None whatsoever, ” he continued. “The thing that’s

getting me so pissed off is that they won’t lift a

finger to try and find her. God knows who the hell

has her!”

“You think she’s being held against her will?”

interjected Scully. “On what evidence do you make

that assumption?”

“Well, if she weren’t being held against her will,

she’d be back by now! I’m telling you – someone’s got

her!”

“Okay, sir, I think it would be best to start from

the beginning,” suggested Mulder in a quiet, non-

threatening manner.

“I’ve already told the police everything I know.”

“Yes, but given the amount of support the local PD

has been giving you of late, it might be best to

start over with us,” Mulder said.

“Yeah, of course.” He drew a deep breath, blew it

out, and then took a moment to take a good look at

the two strangers who stood before him. “Christ,

almighty, you’re sopping wet. You want something hot

to drink? Tea or coffee, or something?” he asked,

suddenly contrite.

“Actually, a cup of coffee sounds pretty good at the

moment,” Mulder admitted. Scully couldn’t help but

nod.

“C’mon, let’s go into the kitchen. I’ve got a pot

going round the clock.”

Wilson led the partners down the long center corridor

of the colonial home. They entered the large kitchen

where Wilson pointed to the oversized island for the

agents to plant themselves. He grabbed the coffee pot

and three mugs and clanked them softly down onto the

faux marble counter top.

“Nice place,” remarked Mulder. “How long have you

been here?”

“Not all that long. We moved here from New York two,

no I guess now it’s almost three months ago. I’d just

gotten a promotion with my company, so my sales

territory grew by a few hundred miles. We figured

with the additional traveling, it was better for us

to be more centrally located to my clients. So, here

we are in good old Clayville, New Jersey,” he said

with a sigh.

“You don’t seem to be very enthusiastic, Mr. Wilson,”

observed Scully.

“Forgive me, Agent Scully, for not exactly being

enamored with a place that’s all but told me that the

fact my wife has been missing for over 72 hours is

not their concern.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson; of course that’s

understandable.” Scully paused for a moment,

wondering if she should push. She decided the need

for information was paramount. “You mentioned your

wife has a brown belt in karate. What other interests

does she have?”

“My wife loves reading – damn, she’s voracious, you

know? She can read two and three books at one time. I

know I never could do that – too damned confusing for

me.”

Scully smiled and looked over at her partner briefly.

Greta Wilson certainly reminded her of someone she

both knew and loved. “I know what you mean, sir. I’m

a one-book-woman myself.” She smiled, and then gently

asked the question that was upper-most on her mind.

“Mr. Wilson, was your wife happy about your moving to

Clayville?”

“Yeah, Agent Scully, as a matter of fact she was. It

was a mutual decision that we figured would benefit

both of us. Greta is this A-type personality, you

know? She was a bank officer at one of the largest

banks in Manhattan and working these ridiculous

hours. Everything you heard about so-called banker’s

hours is bull; she put in ten and twelve hour days

easily.

“Well, when I got the promotion and the extra money

that went with it, we decided now was the time to try

and start a family. We decided that Greta would be a

stay-at-home mom. And yes, Agent Scully, that was a

mutual decision, too. Greta didn’t want to watch our

child grow up via the video camera. So, she’s taken a

leave of absence from a job that she doesn’t plan on

returning to, and we’ve been trying to conceive.”

Mulder gave Scully a quick glance. She returned it

with a small smile to let him know she was okay with

the subject matter. One of these days she was going

to have to have a serious talk with her partner about

his protectiveness.

“So, you moved here and while you traveled, Greta set

up house?” asked Mulder.

“Yeah. Well, she tried.” Arthur smiled, but fatigue

cramped its full effect. “Greta was a helluva loan

officer, but she was not exactly June Cleaver. We

finally called in a decorator to help put the place

together. We’d been living in a pretty small

apartment in Queens, New York, so we had a lot of

empty rooms to fill in this house. It was driving

Greta crazy, so we hired someone to decorate and get

everything ordered and arranged. Fortunately, we had

a nice little nest egg from living in that small

Queens apartment, so we could afford that luxury.”

“The house looks lovely,” said Scully.

“Thanks. Now if Greta could only come home to enjoy

it.”

“What did she do all day? I mean if she was leaving

the decorating of the house to someone else, how did

she occupy her time?”

“It was hard at first, especially since I was out of

town for days at a time. It got better when the

Quilting Bees sent her an invitation.”

“The Quilting Bees?” echoed Mulder.

“Yeah, it’s some kind of women’s club. They get

together and make quilts. I think they do other

things, you know, like for charity, but they

primarily make these giant quilts,” explained

Wilson.

“Not exactly like getting a workout in a dojo, is

it?” remarked Mulder.

Wilson let out a small chuckle. “That’s true. Greta

didn’t know what the hell to make out of it at

first.” Wilson’s curled up into the first true smile

since the Mulder and Scully had arrived. “When she’d

first learned of the Quilting Bees, Greta told me of

how she’d flunked Home Economics in high school. Of

course, when her own teacher, in an attempt to help

poor, helpless Greta, sewed the zipper into her skirt

project backwards, Greta figured that it was a sign

from above that everything she wore was best left to

the professionals – you know, Lauren, Armani, Wang.”

The smile quickly faded.

“What I wouldn’t give to have her be on a damn

shopping spree right now,” he said softly. Both

agents nodded in understanding.

“But she joined anyway?” prodded Mulder.

Wilson nodded. “Yeah, she figured it was a good way

to get to know the other women in the community.

Greta wasn’t exactly sure if she was going to fit in;

she’s a professional, white collar working woman, you

know? She brought home the bacon, but she

was never one to really take the time to fry it up in

the pan. So, she joined, but not without a lot of

trepidation.”

“How did it go?” Mulder asked.

“Okay, I guess. She didn’t say much about the women

or the meetings. In fact, she’d always be real quiet

for a couple of hours after she’d come home. It was a

little strange, but I figured it was just because she

was marking out new territory for her.”

“Quiet how?” probed Mulder.

“I don’t know; she was just quiet. She didn’t talk.”

“If you asked her a question, did she answer you?”

asked Scully, picking up the line of questioning.

“Well, as a matter of fact no. She’d just go into the

bedroom and lie down to go to sleep. I just figured

she was tired.”

“And when she woke up? How was she then?” asked

Mulder.

“Fine. Like she always is. Why? Do you think this has

anything to do with her being missing?” asked Wilson

anxiously.

“It’s probably nothing, Mr. Wilson, but we’re going

to look into every possibility. Do you have the names

of the Quilting Bee members?”

“No, I’m sorry, I don’t. I just know that most of the

women from this development are members.”

“That’s fine. Here’s my card. If there’s anything

else that you can think of that might help us to find

Greta, call that number.”

“Okay, I will,” he said as he accepted the card.

“Please find my wife, so that we can get the hell out

of here and go back to New York where we belong.”

Both agents nodded their assurances that they would

and let themselves out. Scully turned to Mulder and

said, “Never knew quilting could be so damned taxing

that you’d need to take a nap afterwards.”

“Just what I was thinking, Scully. Think maybe we

need to pay a visit to the Quilting Bees?”

* * *

Clayville Community Center

11:10 AM

Obviously, the nice fat grant money hadn’t extended

to the Clayville Community Center. There was no doubt

in Mulder’s mind that this building was the product

of a rural township. But that wasn’t to say it was

unattractive. It was small, and well maintained, and

it looked as sturdy as any modern-day structure.

Maybe more so. Its fine architecture almost resembled

that of a church. White cement rendered exterior

walls, long rectangular windows, and a tower that

could easily pass for a belfry.

They found a parking space in front of the building

and pulled over.

“Quilting Bees.” Mulder muttered to himself as he

climbed out of the car. “Bees, Scully. You know you

gotta wonder…”

“Don’t even go there, Mulder. This has nothing to do

with bees. It’s just a name.”

“But…”

“Mulder.”

He grinned at her. It was cruel how easily she bit.

“C’mon, Scully. Lets go see why quilt-making is so

tiring.”

Large oak doors, chocked open with a brick, framed

the entrance to the Community Center. They made their

way through a small foyer adorned with pamphlets and

posters offering various community activities to the

townsfolk of Clayville. Ahead of them was a set of

double glass doors leading into the main hall. Mulder

stood back and let Scully pass in front of him.

A group of about a dozen women were seated in a

circle at the back of the hall. A table laden with

small patches of material sat beside them. A picture

of concentration, they all sat with their heads

bowed, working industriously over the intricate

pattern on the quilt. Not one of them was speaking,

and not one of them was even remotely curious about

the intruders.

Mulder leaned down and whispered to Scully, “When

they called it a Quilting *circle*, I didn’t think

they meant it literally.” Then he cleared his throat

and addressed the women, “Excuse me?”

In unison all the women lifted their heads and stared

at the agents, their expressions blank and eyes

strangely vacant.

Mulder took a step towards them, reached into his

pocket and held up his ID. “I’m Agent Mulder and this

Agent Scully. We’re with the Federal Bureau of

Investigation.”

The women continued to stare.

Scully moved beside Mulder. “We’re investigating the

disappearance of Greta Wilson and were wondering if

we could ask you some questions.”

A woman with short blond hair who looked to be in her

early 30’s stood up. “I’m sorry. We can’t help you.”

Mulder took another step forward. He wasn’t quite

sure why, but this woman made him feel that if he

made a sudden move she would scamper off like

frightened deer. “Her husband said she was a member

of this group.”

“She was. But now she’s gone.”

“Did she mention to any of you that she was leaving?”

Mulder let this eyes scan the faces of the others who

seemed content to let the blond woman speak on their

behalf.

“I told you, we don’t know anything.”

“Mrs.…?”

“Johnson. Lizzie Johnson.”

“Mrs. Johnson, the local police are under the

impression that Mrs. Wilson left because of marital

problems. What do you think?”

“I couldn’t say.” The woman laced her arms defiantly

across her chest.

Scully moved closer to the group. “We’ve just been

speaking with Greta Wilson’s husband. He’s extremely

worried about her.”

When there was no response, Scully sighed quietly

then continued, forcing her voice to remain calm and

composed. “Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Wilson believes

something bad has happened to his wife. We would

really appreciate some help. Any insight at all to

her state of mind before she disappeared. Did she

seem anxious or upset?”

“She seemed fine. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to

get this quilt ready for the church raffle.” The

woman returned to her seat.

A quick glance at her partner, a deep breath and

Scully decided to try another tack. “It’s very

beautiful,” she said, nodding towards the huge quilt

stretched taut across a wooden frame. “It must have

taken you a long time to make.” For the first time

since entering Scully noticed the elaborate pattern

of circles sewn into the material. She’d never seen

anything quite like it.

“Not so long.” The woman gathered up her needle and

began stitching.

Mulder could feel his partner’s growing frustration.

Cutting her some slack he calmly took over the line

of questioning. “Mrs. Johnson. Ladies. A woman is

missing. More than likely being held against her will

and I find it strange that you are able to sit here

and treat this matter as if it is nothing unusual.”

Despite their persistent silence, Mulder sensed he

had hit on something.

Scully moved back to her partner. “Mulder…”

Mulder ignored her, instead, he propped his hands on

his hips, stared directly at Lizzie Johnson and

continued with his train of thought.

“Maybe because here, it’s *not* unusual. Greta Wilson

isn’t the only woman to go missing from Clayville, is

she? It’s happened to you, all of you, at some time.

And you were all returned. That’s why you’re not

concerned. You expect her to come back.”

Lizzie Johnson held his gaze. “I’m sorry, I don’t

know what you’re talking about.”

One of the other women found her voice. “Lizzie,

maybe we…”

“Shh. Quiet, Alison.”

Mulder turned to a young woman who looked as if she’d

rather be offering herself up as a sacrifice to the

gods than speaking out of turn in front of the FBI.

He spoke quietly when he addressed her. “Alison? Can

you tell us anything about what happened to Greta?”

Lizzie jumped to her feet again. “Agent Mulder! I

must insist that you leave now. I’m sorry about

Greta, but we can’t help you.”

This time when Scully’s hand found his elbow he

allowed her to pull him aside, out of earshot.

Mulder lowered his head speaking directly into her

ear. “Hey, Scully, I thought I was playing bad cop

today.”

When she answered, her breath was warm against his

cheek. “Mulder, we’re not getting anywhere here.”

“They know something, Scully. I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe they do, but they’re not going to tell us.

We’re wasting our time.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Scully was right.

These women weren’t going to give them anything. At

least not intentionally. Coming to a decision, he

nodded quickly and straightened up. He placed his

hand on Scully’s shoulder and gave it a gentle

squeeze then turning back towards the women he

offered Lizzie Johnson his card. “If anything comes

to mind, anything at all, please call us. Both Agent

Scully and myself can be reached on our cell phones.

Any time.”

Reluctantly, Lizzie accepted the card and with a

slight incline of her head bid them good day.

The women sat like statues, no one daring to move or

speak until the agents were completely out of sight.

Alison Mackie held the edge of the quilt in tightly

clenched fists, eyes shifting nervously between

Lizzie and the others. “Oh God. It’s happening

again.”

“Alison, I told you to be quiet. We agreed not to

talk about it.”

“But it’s longer this time. It’s never been like this

before.”

An older, heavy-set woman, her face lined with

concern said, “She’s right, Lizzie. This is

different.”

Lizzie Johnson turned on the group, eyes blazing, and

lips pulled back in an angry snarl.

“Do you think I don’t know that?! We’ve all been

through it, some of us more than once. But there’s

not a darn thing we can do to stop it.” She paused

taking in the bewildered faces staring back at her.

“We have to try and forget about it. We’ve all got

families that need us. Billy’s only just now starting

to trust me again. And I don’t want to give him any

reason to be getting stupid ideas about me playing

around on him.” She paused, softening her tone, eyes

turning distant and bright. “He still looks at me

funny when I leave the house. Like he’s wondering if

I’m going to come back. We’ve gotta let it rest.”

The women looked at each other. Lizzie was right. If

they just kept quiet, didn’t draw attention to

themselves then maybe they would be safe.

* * *

Outside Clayville Community Center

11:45 AM

Mulder slipped the key into the ignition and started

the engine. Beside him Scully was fuming, chewing on

the inside of her cheek as she stared out the window.

“That could have gone better.”

She swiveled in her seat, turning the full force of

her glare upon him. “Could have gone better? Mulder

that was nothing but an exercise in futility; a

complete waste of our time.”

“I disagree, Scully. I, for one, learned a lot.”

One eyebrow crawled up her forehead. “You did.”

He nodded, deadpan. “Quilting is obviously a much

more complicated process than I ever realized.”

Oh man, there was that look again, and this time she

was not amused.

“Okay, okay.” He held up both hands, partly in

surrender, partly to ward off any sudden

(though perhaps deserved) blows. “I was kidding about

the quilting. But I am serious when I say that I

don’t believe the interview was a total loss. They’re

scared, Scully. Couldn’t you feel it?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know. I

guess I felt something, I’m just not sure what it

was. They were so damn tightlipped but…” She raised

her eyes to his. “I did get the sense some of them

were uneasy. And not just about us.”

Mulder nodded. “I’d venture to say whatever happened

to those women is a lot scarier than a couple of

agents on Uncle Sam’s payroll. The question is, where

do we go from here?”

“We haven’t examined the mysterious crop circles

yet.” Scully’s tone made it clear that she filed crop

circles in the same category as “The Whammy.” “Maybe

it’s time we went out there and took a look at what

all the fuss is about.”

He leaned in close, until his nose brushed the soft

flesh of her cheek near her ear. “You trying to get

me out in the middle of nowhere so you can have your

wicked way with me, Agent Scully?”

She astonished him by placing her hand on his thigh,

tantalizingly close to certain portions of his

anatomy, and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t

have to get you in the middle of nowhere for that,

Mulder. I can have it pretty much anywhere I please.”

Her voice was low and husky, just the way she sounded

when they…

She was getting too damn good at this. He swallowed,

resisting the urge to shift in his seat. “I was

thinking a bird’s eye view might be best. Maybe the

state police have an extra helicopter we could

borrow.”

“You really think they’ll hand over a helicopter and

pilot when we tell them we want to view crop

circles?”

Mulder shifted into drive, doing his best to ignore

the hand still resting on his leg. “Just ask ’em in

that voice, Scully. The helicopter is in the bag.”

State Police Headquarters

2:20 PM

“I’m Jack Weston; I’ll be your pilot.”

Not bad, Scully noted as she shook the young man’s

hand. Early thirties, jet black hair and big blue

eyes. Not exactly the shy, retiring type, if the

1000-watt grin he flashed her was any indication. She

was both irritated and amused to feel Mulder bristle

at the pilot’s attention. When would he ever learn?

She hadn’t given another man more than a passing

glance in years and now… She enjoyed an inward

smirk. Last night should’ve assured him how she felt,

if nothing else did.

Mulder scowled at her a little as they settled into

their seats and Jack began his pre-flight checks. He

fastened his seatbelt, glaring first at Jack’s back

and then her.

“You look awful damn happy for someone being forced

to investigate crop circles. What are you thinking

about?”

Sometimes he growled just like Skinner–a fact that

he’d vehemently denied when she once pointed it out.

Scully allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up in

an enigmatic smile. “Bubble bath.”

He blinked, knocked off balance by her answer. Scully

turned to look out the window, humming a little under

her breath. Twice in less than two hours. She was

getting good at this.

“We should reach the area you want to see in about

three minutes,” Jack called back. “What did you say

you were looking for? Some kind of circle?”

“Crop circles. Impressions in vegetation caused by

the extreme heat and weight generated by an alien

craft–in this case in a cornfield.” Mulder launched

into lecture mode, obviously buoyed by her remark.

“They’re often characterized by…”

“Let me get this straight. You’re hunting aliens? As

in little green men flying space ships?” Jack’s

question lacked malice, yet dripped with incredulity.

“You telling me the federal government pays you to do

that?”

Mulder settled back into his seat with a smirk. “God

bless America, land of opportunity.”

Jack shrugged. “Whatever. At least I’ll have

something to tell the… What in the hell is that?”

Mulder peered over Scully’s shoulder as the

helicopter dropped to a lower altitude. The

impressions were unmistakable, whorled and

twisted paths where the dried, brown stalks had been

flattened and pressed into the earth. The tracks

covered a large section of land, anywhere between 20

and 30 acres in size.

“One heck of a big crop circle.” Mulder frowned,

leaning closer to the glass. “Or maybe more than

one.”

Scully gazed down at the flattened corn, mesmerized

by the intersecting lines and curves. And then,

abruptly, her eye found the pattern and everything

clicked sharply into focus. Her breath caught in her

chest, jaw dropping in sheer disbelief as her brain

tried to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.

“Scully?” Mulder’s hand cupped her shoulder, warm,

reassuring. “What is it?”

She met his concerned gaze for only a moment before

the landscape drew her back like a magnet. It was

either one hell of a coincidence or…

“I thought you said you learned something about

quilting today, Mulder.” She shook her head at his

puzzled expression, chuffing a shaky little laugh.

“Look again– not at the individual lines and

circles, but at the pattern. Can’t you see it? The

design is just like the one in the quilt those women

were sewing!”

Mulder blinked, eyes widening in disbelief, then

delight. “You’re right! They’re identical!”

Jack, momentarily forgotten by them both in the

excitement of discovery, motioned for their

attention. “I’ve already made one circuit of the

field. What do you want me to do now?”

Mulder moved to make eye contact. “Can you land?”

Jack hesitated, then chuckled. “Why not? To hear you

tell it, I won’t be the first craft to touch down in

that field.”

As the pilot maneuvered the helicopter into landing,

Mulder grinned and jerked his thumb in Jack’s

direction. “He’s beginning to grow on me.”

Scully rolled her eyes. Moments later she was

struggling to follow Mulder, who had jumped out of

the chopper the moment the runners touched the

ground, face alight with glee. She had a

sudden, vivid memory of him on a deserted road in

Oregon, dancing in the rain. Gritting her teeth, she

fought to keep up, but the faster she tried to move

the deeper her heels sank into the mud.

The trill of a cell phone brought them both to a

standstill. They each grabbed instinctively for their

pockets, Mulder coming up the winner.

“Mulder.”

Scully watched his impatience transform first to

surprise, and then the intense concentration that

signaled a Mulder on the scent.

“When?… Where is she now?… I understand, but we

really need to speak with her… Yes, today. We can

be there within the hour… Thank you.”

He pocketed the phone and strode rapidly back toward

Scully, face grim. “This will have to wait, Scully.

That was Mr. Wilson. His wife has come home.”

* * *

Act III

Wilson residence

6:20 PM

Greta looked exhausted. Dark circles beneath her

haunted eyes stood out starkly in a face pale as

moonlight. Her blouse and jeans hung limply on her

thin frame, and her blonde hair looked as if she’d

recently raked through it with nervous fingers.

Her husband sat next to her at the kitchen island,

urging her to drink some hot chicken broth. She

pushed it away several times, until it finally

spilled and cascaded over the countertop and onto the

floor.

“I really wish you’d come back at another time, Agent

Mulder,” Arthur pleaded as he sopped up the rest of

the broth with some paper towels.

“I apologize, Mr. Wilson, but we need to know what

your wife can tell us while the memories are fresh.”

It was Mulder’s greatest fear right now. He wanted to

be sure their evidence didn’t remain locked inside

this woman’s mind.

Greta stared mutely at a splash of broth her husband

had missed. She hadn’t moved or acknowledged their

presence, and Mulder’s frustration was beginning to

show. “You have to let us talk to her.”

“Look at her. What can you do but make matters

worse?” Arthur Wilson put his arm protectively around

his wife’s shoulders.

“She needs to talk about what’s happened. She needs

someone to help her remember.”

“It’s not going to be you. You don’t care about her,

only about what she can tell you!”

Mulder’s eyes flashed a warning, and Scully stepped

forward to place a hand on his arm.

“Mr. Wilson,” she interjected, “I understand your

concern, but Agent Mulder and I are here to help,

just as you asked us to do. I’m also a medical

doctor, and I can assure you that your wife will not

be harmed by talking to us.”

“I’ll talk to you, Agent Scully.”

Three startled pairs of eyes turned to Greta Wilson.

She looked back at them with a shaky smile as her

husband pulled her into a fierce hug.

“Oh, sweetheart! Are you okay? Are you sure?” The man

was babbling in his excitement, and his wife patted

his arm absently as she looked directly at Scully.

“I’d like to talk to you. Please.” She gently

disengaged herself from her husband’s hug and got

slowly up from the stool. “We can go to my room.”

Scully walked to the woman and steadied her with an

arm around her shoulders. As they headed down the

hall, Mulder moved to join them, but Scully shook her

head. He nodded reluctantly and watched the two women

enter a room at the end of the hall, closing the door

softly behind them.

* * *

“Greta, I’d like to do a quick exam, if that’s okay.”

The woman smiled faintly. “A house call?”

Scully smiled, too. “Special circumstances.” She

placed two fingers on the woman’s wrist and noted the

not unexpectedly rapid pulse. “When was the last time

you slept?”

Greta frowned in concentration. “It seems like a very

long time… I don’t really remember.”

Scully lifted the woman’s chin to look closely at her

eyes, then began to move her fingers along the jaw

and throat, probing gently for swollen glands. When

she reached the back of the woman’s neck, the breath

froze in Scully’s lungs. She bent closer and lifted

the woman’s hair back to verify what her touch had

located. There was a small red scar at the base of

Greta Wilson’s neck.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?” Scully

forced her voice to a neutral register as she

continued her exam, her heart pounding with

recognition.

Greta closed her eyes and sat quietly for several

minutes. She shook her head in defeat.

“I remember dreams. Scattered images that don’t make

sense to me.”

“Do you remember anything about being in a field? Do

you remember being with the women in your quilting

circle?”

“Only the meeting last week. And no, I haven’t been

in any kind of a field.” She began to cough

uncontrollably. After a moment, Scully went to the

door and called down the hall for Mulder to bring a

glass of water. He brought it a moment later, with

Arthur Wilson hot on his heels. Scully handed the

glass to Greta, and silenced their questions with a

look.

The coughing abated, and Greta sagged forward,

bracing her hands on either side. She was facing away

from the two men, and Scully gently stroked the hair

away from her neck as she caught Mulder’s eye. He

followed her gaze. Scully knew the instant he spotted

the scar.

She sat down next to Greta and spoke softly. “What

happened at the meeting last week?”

Greta sighed deeply, coughed one more time, and

latched her hand onto Scully’s arm for support. “The

usual. We completed one of the presentation quilts

for the festival. It came out beautifully.”

“I saw it. It was very beautiful. Tell me, Greta,

where did you come up with the pattern for it? It was

very unusual.”

“I don’t know. The other women in the circle had

designed it. This was the first big project I had

participated in.”

“Have you ever seen the pattern anywhere else?”

Greta was silent again for a long moment. “No,” she

finally answered.

“Are you sure?” Mulder interrupted.

“No.”

“No, you’re not sure, or no, you don’t remember?”

The grip on Scully’s arm tightened and Mrs. Wilson

began to breathe loudly again, as if she were ready

to cry.

“Maybe that’s enough for today,” Arthur suggested,

anger still an undercurrent in his voice.

“Mrs. Wilson–”

“Mulder, please,” Scully stopped him. Then to the

woman at her side, “Mrs. Wilson, can you answer our

questions?”

“I can’t. I can’t because I don’t know. What’s

happening to me? Do I have amnesia? Am I losing my

mind?” Then she really started to cry.

“I think that is enough for today,” Scully stood up,

giving Greta’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll

come back and talk some more another time, when

you’re feeling better.”

Greta nodded but never looked up.

The man walked them to the front door, then followed

them out onto the porch and closed the door behind

himself. “Agents, I’m sorry if I’m being difficult.

It’s just…”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Mulder demurred. “We

understand. Please call us if her condition changes.

Otherwise, we’ll just stop by tomorrow afternoon to

speak with her again, if that’s all right.”

Wilson nodded. “Yes. If– *when* she’s better.” He

walked inside and closed the door, defeat in every

line of his body.

*****

The Wilson Residence

Greta and Arthur Wilson’s bedroom

Wednesday, 7:10 PM

Greta Wilson had a splitting headache. More than

anything else, she wanted to sleep. Sleep all day,

all night, all month. She wanted to wake up and find

out that this was all a nightmare. Leaving her job,

moving out to the country, joining the circle. A

nightmare that would disappear with the first rays of

daybreak and never return.

But she knew that wasn’t the case.

As she stood in her bathroom, her reflection stared

back at her. What was happening? How could everything

have gone so wrong so fast? Just six months ago she

was successful, looking up the ladder of her career.

She’d joked to one of the support staff about

changing the drapes in her boss’s office when she got

in there.

And now, there was nothing but black void and

terrifying feelings that weren’t even real memories.

Greta prided herself on her memory. She was excellent

with figures, fantastic at recalling small,

insignificant details. That’s how she’d gotten so far

in her old job. But there were four days missing from

her life and she had little hope of ever reclaiming

them.

She opened the medicine cabinet with a shaky hand and

started rifling through the bottles and jars. Didn’t

they have anything for a headache? Her hand landed on

some sleeping pills that she’d gotten when they first

moved to Clayville. Surprisingly, the darkness and

the quiet at night seemed to cause her difficulty

sleeping. She was used to noise, she was used to

activity. But the pills had worked and after a few

weeks, she’d become accustomed to the silence at

night. Now, she welcomed that silence, that darkness.

It was someplace to hide. She clutched the bottle and

struggled with the childproof cap, shaking one pill

into the palm of her hand. Replacing the bottle on

the shelf, she cupped her hand under a stream of

water from the faucet and used the mouthful to

swallow the pill. Closing the medicine cabinet door,

she went back into the bedroom and crawled into

bed under the goose down comforter.

The phone rang. She glared at it a second, willing it

to stop. Where was Arthur? Why wasn’t he answering?

On the fourth ring, she groaned and sat up, grabbing

the receiver. Her greeting was cut short. A frown

carved its path across her forehead. She stared

blankly at the dresser against the wall. After a few

moments, she nodded. “Yes,” was all she said and she

carefully replaced the receiver.

Slipping her feet to the floor, she walked the few

steps back into the bathroom. This time she didn’t

stop to look at her reflection in the mirror, she

just opened the medicine cabinet and let her hand

close around the bottle she’d just used. The cap

didn’t cause her any trouble this time, and when it

was removed, she shook the remainder of the bottle,

two dozen pills, into her hand. Very methodically,

picking them up one by one, she swallowed each pill

dry. With a blank expression she once again replaced

the cap on the bottle and put the bottle on the

shelf, closing the cabinet door. On stocking feet she

returned to the bed and lay down, closing her eyes,

this time for the last time.

****

Ambassador Hotel

7:35 PM

Mulder pulled the car into a space near the motel

door. Scully was out of her seat and halfway to the

door before he could catch up with her.

“She knows something, Scully. You saw how she was

acting,” he said as she opened the door with her key.

“Scully, what about the chip?” For a moment, he was

afraid she was going to close the door on his foot,

but instead, she moved farther in to the room,

allowing him to follow her.

“Mulder, she was upset, I’ll give you that. And yes,

there was a chip in her neck, I’ll grant you that we

need to investigate this further. But from what I

could see, she knew nothing. She couldn’t tell us

where she’s been, and she definitely didn’t know

anything about the chip or the crop circles. I can’t

see where that little exchange at the end, which

almost caused her to break down completely, got us

anywhere on this investigation!” She tossed her purse

on the bed and was pulling off her coat when she

stopped dead in her tracks.

“You know, you two really should consider marriage

counseling if this keeps up.” At the sound of the

voice in the darkness of the back of the room, Mulder

pulled his gun. Alex Krycek stepped into the room

just as Scully flipped on a light.

“Nice welcoming committee, Mulder,” Krycek said with

a smirk and then looked over at Scully. “At least

Agent Scully isn’t ready to drill me,” he noted with

a ‘cat who ate the canary’ grin.

Mulder didn’t move from his position, didn’t lower

the gun. After a moment, he raised the weapon to eye

level. “Krycek, I suggest you either leave or start

talking because my finger has been itching all day.”

“He’s such a tease,” Krycek quipped to Scully. “Put

the gun down, before you hurt somebody. I’m unarmed.”

He held his arms out and turned toward Scully, a

silent offer for her to frisk him. Scully stepped

closer and patted him down. When she looked up at

him, their eyes met and for a fraction of a second,

she saw the other Krycek, the one she’d met in

another dimension, smiling down at her. Shaking her

head to clear the image, she stepped back.

“He’s telling the truth, Mulder. He doesn’t have a

weapon,” she said, trying to cover her embarrassment.

“At least not one we can find,” Mulder allowed

reluctantly. He holstered his weapon, but kept his

hand on the grip. “You have five minutes.”

“What is this, Name that Tune?” Krycek asked. At

Mulder’s stare he shrugged. “OK, it’s not like I need

to point you kids in the right direction. I just

thought I’d save you a little time.”

“What are you talking about?” Scully demanded.

“Greta Wilson, for one. And about 15 other upstanding

women of this fine community, for another. They might

not remember what was done to them when they all

vanished into thin air, but it goes back a long time

and it will continue. Unless it’s stopped, of

course.” Krycek flashed Mulder a toothy grin. “If

you’re man enough to try and stop it, I should say.”

Mulder closed his eyes and refused to take the bait.

“We suspect the disappearances are related to the

quilting circle and to the crop circles we saw

outside of town.”

Krycek shook his head angrily. “Stop looking at the

obvious! They want you to make that connection. What

you need to do is look farther, deeper.”

A quick look over to Scully and Mulder decided

against mentioning the chip again. He glared at

Krycek. “And this is news?” Mulder huffed. “Stop

being so damned cryptic and tell us what you came

here to say!”

“You flew over the field, right? Did it ever occur to

you to look closer? Go look at the corn, Mulder. Take

a look at the ground around the field. It might just

lead you to the real perpetrators of this little

disappearing/reappearing act. And they might not be

as far away as you think.”

Scully exchanged a quick glance with Mulder, then

looked back at Krycek. Could they have missed

something that easy to find?

“Go back to the field,” Krycek told him.

“It’s almost dark,” Mulder pointed out.

Krycek rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Then use

those high-powered, over-priced flashlights you’re

always losing,” he growled. “Wasting taxpayers

dollars never seemed to bother you before. I can tell

by the layer of dust in the adjoining room you rented

to keep up pretenses,” he added with a cheshire cat

grin.

“What’s out in that field, Krycek? Burn marks?”

Mulder asked once again ignoring the smart remarks,

but his patience was obviously growing thin.

“You two kids have a good time at that field. And

remember, curfew is at 11 on a school night.” Krycek

said, heading for the door.

Mulder grabbed his arm. “What are we going to find,

Krycek?” he seethed.

The double agent just smiled. “Guess you’ll have to

go out there and see for yourself. Oh, and Mulder,

next time, let Scully play ‘bad cop’. I think that

would be so much more enjoyable.”

* * *

Scully’s room

11:39 PM

Hunger had driven them to the Denny’s across the

highway after Krycek’s visit, and the debate that had

drawn stares from their fellow diners was still in

progress.

“I can’t believe we just let him walk out like that,”

said Mulder, his body language showing every bit of

the tenseness his voice held.

“We had nothing to hold him on, Mulder. What did you

expect to do with him? Handcuff him to the bed frame

until we figured out what he’s up to?”

Mulder shook his head. He knew she was right, but

that didn’t ease the frustration. He walked over to

where their suitcases lay and lifted them to the bed.

Then he opened them both and started rifling the

contents.

“Mulder, do you mind? I’d like to have something to

wear tomorrow that’s not totally wrinkled or torn.

What are you looking for anyway?”

“Damn it, Scully!” he said, his voice tense. He

continued to pick through the clothing until he found

what he was looking for and laid it aside. Then he

began a search of his suitcase. “We looked at that

field! What the hell is he not telling us?” he said,

continuing to sift through the articles inside.

“I don’t know; you never know with Krycek. There’s a

real possibility that it’s nothing more than a red

herring.”

“What are you talking about? Look, Krycek has always

been sneaky and underhanded, but the information he

had always led us somewhere.”

“True, but more often than not, his information led

us to blind alleys. You know that’s true, Mulder.”

“I know, I know. But even his blind alleys took us

somewhere, even if we didn’t always see where we were

going.”

He picked up the small, black object and held it as

if testing its heft. “Hmm, they sure do make these

suckers a lot smaller. Here ya go partner; heads

up!” he called out as he gently tossed it over to

her.

She looked at him with an incredulous expression.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Mulder. It’s almost

midnight. What can we possibly hope to find now that

can’t wait till the morning?”

“Red herring or not, Scully, we’ve got to go check it

out, now. Krycek doesn’t just appear out of the blue

because he likes to make social calls; he was here

because he expects us to go check it out. And that

means now.

“Now? Mulder, you said it yourself – it’s dark out

there. What the hell are we supposed to see?”

“Hey, Ratboy was right about one thing,” Mulder said,

as he hefted up the other small, but high-powered

flashlight. “These suckers cost the taxpayers an arm

and a leg; we might as well get our money’s worth out

of it.”

* * *

It was easy to forget how damn dark it got out here

in the middle of nowhere, Scully mused. Their high

powered flashlights seemed barely adequate in the

vast blackness that marked their path.

As they approached the perimeter of the crop circle,

she raised her flashlight to look at the corn. “This

is too strange,” she said in a whisper.

“What?”

“The corn, it’s bent.”

“Well, of course it’s bent, Scully, how do you think

it gets formed into these huge, intricate designs?

Besides,” he added with a small smile, “didn’t you

see ‘Signs’? Crop circles around the world have corn

that’s bent.”

She managed to choke back her chuckle. “No, it’s

more than that. Look how it’s bent. They’re too

perfectly angled, in the same spot on each ear of

corn. It’s… odd.”

While Scully continued to look at the corn, Mulder

bent down to check out the ground. “Scully! I think

I’ve found something.”

Scully walked away while still mulling over how the

corn could have been so consistently bent without

being broken. She knelt down near her partner and

asked him what he’d found.

“I guess the movie forgot to mention the tire tracks

that go along with the circles. Look.”

“Too small to be a four by four,” she commented.

“Yeah, way too small, but it would have to be to get

around here.” He studied the marks, then snapped his

fingers. “Of course.”

“You gonna let the rest of the class in on your idea,

Mulder?” She smiled. Scully always did enjoy

watching her partner make those giant leaps.

“Golf cart.”

“Golf cart?” she echoed.

“Yup, they’re very maneuverable and small enough to

get around these cornstalks.”

She couldn’t argue. “Okay, so now what?”

“There’s got to be a reason these tracks are here.

Let’s go follow the yellow brick road.”

They found themselves weaving back and forth,

following the intricate pattern of the crop circle’s

design as they followed the tire tracks to the other

end of its perimeter.

“It’s not leading anywhere, Mulder. I really think

this is a waste of–”

“What the f–?” called out Mulder.

Bright lights flooded the area leaving some to shine

directly on the agents, blinding them.

“SCULLY!”

“I’m here, Mulder! I’m right here!”

The intense lights blinded them. They stood side-by-

side with weapons drawn, unable to see anything but

blinding white.

Suddenly, the distinctive sound of weapons being

cocked chilled their blood. “Oh, shit,” Mulder

offered. “Scully, lower your weapon.” The lights

began to dim, and they could see a dozen or more

armed soldiers wielding machine guns in front of

them. Corn rustling in the dark told them there were

at least another dozen soldiers behind them.

“So, do you like your red herring pickled or boiled,

Scully?”

“He did it to us again, Mulder.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know this time,” he replied,

and then turning to his captors, he said, “What do

you want from us?”

Suddenly the lights brightened and temporarily

blinded them again. Then, from out of a halo of

lights a single officer approached. Scully shielded

her eyes in an attempt to identify the person.

Immediately, an arm grabbed her from behind and

pressed his arm firmly against her carotid arteries

on both sides of her neck. She pulled futilely at the

arm for a few seconds before the darkness took her.

“No!” Mulder cried out, “Leave her alone!” He rushed

over and tried to free her, but before his hands

could get a good grip, another soldier stepped

forward. Mulder only had time enough to recognize the

butt of a rifle headed his way before the impact sent

him to the ground.

One of the soldiers spoke into a walkie-talkie. “It

is done, sir.”

“They are contained?” came a voice, scratchy with

static, through the speaker.

“Yes, sir.” He then ordered the others to drag the

now unconscious bodies of the two agents to the backs

of the two small golf carts that awaited them.

“They’ve been loaded up, sir.”

“Excellent, lieutenant. Bring them to me.”

“Yes, sir, Commander Scully.”

* * *

End (1/2)

Continued in Patchwork

Title: The Third Sacrifice

Author: Gina Rain (ginarain@aol.com)

Category: X, MSR

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Mulder and Scully run into a little girl who

claims to have been his daughter–in another lifetime.

Disclaimer: CC and Company own it all.

Special Thanks: To Sybil and the one and only Livia

Balaban for beta services. I’m extraordinarily flattered

that they would be willing to read my work in its

primitive stages and thank them for helping me polish it

into something presentable.

The following was written for IMT Productions Virtual

Season 10 project.

The Third Sacrifice

Arabella: (Latin) Beautiful altar.

Teaser

The child wakes into her dream. As she often does. Her

soft brown eyes are wide-open and filled with curiosity.

The bright light doesn’t scare her anymore. She sits

back against the cushions of the couch, not questioning

how she moved from her soft bed to the sofa in the den.

Somehow, she just did.

The first time, she cried. Her eyes hurt. She was scared

of what was to follow. But no one listened. That’s how

she came to know it was a dream. Only in a dream could

you cry and cry and no one comes. Because no one can

hear or see someone else’s dreams. They are your own

personal movies. That’s what her Mommy had told her.

And besides, once she stopped crying, she realized the

pictures weren’t scary at all. Through the light, she

saw pictures of her other mommy. Her other daddy. Long

gone. Long dead.

Just like her.

_________________________

Act One

Starbucks

Washington, DC

Tuesday, 5:30 AM

Mulder looked out the window one more time. Scully

wasn’t late yet but he was still anxious to see her. He

enjoyed these early morning, once-a-week ‘dates’. The

coffee house they chose was close enough to the Hoover

building to ensure a slow, leisurely breakfast that

wouldn’t be followed by a mad dash to the office in

order to get there on time; but far enough away not to

run into the usual FBI regulars.

He spotted Scully maneuvering her car into a spot across

the street and left his table briefly to collect her

coffee and bagel. By the time he deposited her breakfast

on the table, she was just pushing open the front door

of the restaurant.

“Happy Tuesday, Scully,” he said, moving forward and

quickly sliding his hand down her arm in greeting. He

took his seat across from hers.

“‘Morning. I have to warn you, Mulder, I’m going to need

to finish three quarters of this cup before I’ll be

ready to talk. I’m really tired.”

Mulder’s smile faded. “These dates are not written in

stone, Scully. We can always cancel them.”

“No way, Mulder. You’re not getting out of it this

easily. I like this once a week thing. It gives us a

chance to talk without work or sex getting in the way.”

“Sex gets in the way?” he smirked.

“Yes–in the way of conversation. Well, with me, anyway.

Nothing much stops you when you’ve got a theory to

espouse. Anyway, don’t throw the baby out with the

bathwater. Just because I’m tired today doesn’t mean I’m

calling everything off. The only thing I need is for you

to do the talking until I wake up fully. Pretend we’re

in bed,” she added with a twinkle.

“Oh, okay. ‘Ride me like a stallion, baby … ‘”

Scully came as close to doing a spit take as she had

ever come in her life. Instead, she hastily swallowed

the sip of coffee in her mouth and laughed.

“I don’t remember you ever using that particular

expression, Mulder.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Generally, I can do those things without detailed

instruction or verbal encouragement.”

“Mmmm … yes, you can.”

“Mulder? First of all, you’re making me talk too much

and I’ve barely touched my coffee. And secondly, sex is

managing to rear its … well, let’s talk about

something neutral, please.”

“Beige or Switzerland?”

“Surprise me,” she said, taking a bite of her bagel.

“I don’t like beige, so Switzerland it is. Let me tell

you about my skiing trip in the early 80s.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Mulder regaled her with a

tale of mountains, snow, skis and a tree with Phoebe

Green’s name on it. After the laughter died down, Scully

looked up from her second refill to find Mulder looking

past her shoulder.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Just … kids,” he said in a mock-exasperated,

world-weary tone. She looked behind her to see the back

of a woman’s head. Beyond her, on the opposite side of

the table, was a cute little girl. She looked to be

about five or six years of age with dark curly hair and

big brown eyes. She was leaning far over to her right,

staring unabashedly at Mulder.

“Your appeal to women apparently spans the generations,”

she said as she turned her attention back to him.

“I guess. She’s been staring at me since they sat down

about ten minutes ago,” he leaned closer. “It’s kind of

disconcerting.”

“Children stare. And it’s still so early. The poor child

probably feels like a zombie.”

Mulder leaned further towards her. It was time to narrow

their focus back to just the two of them. “Ah, Scully,

you know these gratuitous zombie mentions turn me on.”

Their world expanded again in seconds, as the child

suddenly approached their table.

“Hello,” Mulder said looking around the store until he

spotted the girl’s mother ordering another cup of coffee

to take out.

“Hello. My name is Arabella.”

“Well, hi, Arabella. I’m … ”

“Daddy,” she interrupted.

“What?”

“Daddy. Not now. But back then. When I wasn’t Arabella.

When I was Mary. You were my daddy. Once. Before we all

died.”

End of Act One

Act Two

“Arabella! What a thing to say,” the woman admonished

from her spot near the cashier. She was still fiddling

with her purse but kept an eye on the child as she

finished paying.

“But it’s true, Mother. It’s him. I told you I had

another daddy.”

“Arabella … ”

The little girl once again focused her attention on

Mulder. “I just wanted to say hello and to tell you to

stop worrying. See, you watched me die but now I’m alive

again. And so are you. That’s pretty cool, huh?”

Mulder sat there with his mouth slightly open. The girl

turned to Scully and stared.

“I should remember you, too. But, I don’t. Not yet.

Maybe next time.”

“Bella!” The well-dressed older woman had gathered their

possessions, laid her hand across the child’s shoulders

and steered her towards the door. “Sorry. She has a very

active imagination,” she said to Mulder, by way of

explanation. She hurried the child out before Mulder or

Scully could do little more than give a nervous smile of

reassurance in return.

“Well, that was … ” Mulder began.

“Typical.” Scully said.

Mulder raised his eyebrows in response.

“I swear, Mulder. You’re a magnet. Anything or anyone

out of the norm automatically cleaves unto you.”

“You don’t seem so pissed when it’s you doing the

cleaving,” he joked.

“I’m not pissed. Yet.” She said, matter of factly,

laying her napkin on the table and smoothing it flat

against the surface.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, slightly

defensive.

“It means,” she said slowly, “if you don’t go jumping to

conclusions, and properly categorize this as a ‘kids

say the darndest things’ moment, I will have no problem

with the situation whatsoever. If you start talking

about past lives … ”

“Reincarnation is a valid research subject, Scully. Many

brilliant people have been interested in this

phenomenon.”

“Mulder,” her voice held a warning.

“I’m dropping the subject. It’s dropped.” Beneath the

nonchalant tone of her voice, he knew she was serious.

It was not worth arguing about. Still, he was never one

to let an opportunity to push the envelope pass him by.

“She kind of looked like me, no?” he said with a smile.

“No,” Scully said, rising and gathering the remnants of

their breakfast together.

Their date was officially over.

Wednesday, 5:45 AM

The subject dropped but the interest remained.

Mulder drove through the streets of Washington, DC, lost

in his own thoughts. When children under the age of four

spoke of previous lives, those trained in the field sat

up and took notice. Children Arabella’s age were in the

‘iffy’ category. They were certainly old enough for

outside influences to have affected their thought

processes. However, this child was so offhand about the

subject that Mulder wanted to give her the benefit of

the doubt. She hadn’t seemed to want to shock him. She

just wanted to inform him of something she considered a

fact.

Getting Scully involved at this time was pointless. He

simply wanted to have a little more contact with the

child and possibly suggest further study if the parents

seemed receptive. If not, that was also fine. Scully

would think it was all nonsense and that he should stay

out of it altogether. He recalled a time when she was

vehemently opposed to just this type of exploration.

Adding to this essential prejudice was the fact that

they were now dealing with a child. The whole issue of

children was something they rarely brought up. It was a

sticky subject best left untouched.

So, he planned on a couple of early morning breakfasts

in the coffee shop without Scully. What harm could come

of it?

By the time he arrived, Arabella’s mother was trying to

balance a backpack on top of a briefcase on the empty

chair by their table. The child sat quietly and watched

as the well-groomed blonde fussed over their

possessions. She looked up as Mulder passed her.

“Hello, Daddy,” she said in greeting. He stopped and

smiled at her.

“Arabella … ” the somewhat harried woman said in a

warning tone.

The child looked irritated.

“You said I could. You said I could call him that.”

“Honestly, Bella. Your imagination!”

“It’s all right. I’m flattered to be the object of your

daughter’s … um … ”

“Yes, I know. Don’t know what to call it, do you?” She

said. “Bella? You want a cinnamon bagel with cream

cheese or butter?”

“I want the cream cheese with the raisins in it.”

“Okay. I’ll be right back. You stay here and don’t

move.”

Mulder took a seat directly behind Arabella’s. She

turned to him as soon as her mother walked to the

counter.

“Mister Daddy … where’s your girlfriend?”

Mulder smiled softly. “She’s not here today.”

Bella leaned back in her chair and looked upwards.

“I was trying to think if I saw her before but I don’t

think so. She was not the lady who was my momma. You

know, the time you were my daddy? That lady had brown

hair and brown eyes. Like me.”

“Ah. And what was her name?”

“Momma,” she looked at him as if he had a few screws

loose.

Mulder smiled again. The kid was probably right.

“Momma,” Bella mused. “That makes three. Momma, Mommy

and Mother. Pretty cool, huh?”

He frowned in complete confusion. “Um, yeah. Pretty

cool. Bella–do you watch a lot of television?”

“No. Not anymore,” she looked around conspiratorially

and nodded at the woman waiting for their order, “Mother

won’t let me. Mommy always did but not anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My mommy–the one who is not here now–she likes TV. My

daddy liked it, too. But since they hate each other and

are going to get ‘vorced–mommy listens to mother now.”

“Oh,” he said, realization dawning. “You have two

mothers.”

“No, I have one mommy and one mother. Mommy is confused.

Mother knows everything about everything. She said so.

So, Mommy has to listen. And so do I. But really, I

don’t think I should because I’m not confused.”

“Where’s your daddy?”

“We lost him.”

“Lost?”

“Yes, we ran and ran and finally lost him. Mommy and

Mother were happy but I’m not. I love him. He’s nice.

Like you but better because I know him more.”

“Talking your ear off, is she?” Arabella’s ‘mother’ came

back with a tray filled with bagels, juice and coffee.

“It’s fine. I’m enjoying myself.”

“Do you have children?” The woman asked.

“No.”

“Well, they are a handful but also a great joy and

comfort. And a source of entertainment–when they have

active imaginations like my Arabella.”

She petted Bella’s head, much as she would a Golden

Retriever’s, before taking her seat.

Bella rolled her eyes.

“I have to go to the bathroom. Can’t eat before I wash

my hands. Mommy don’t like it.”

“Get the key from the nice lady. Want me to go with

you?”

“No. I’m a big girl. I go myself.”

They watched as the child approached the counter, got

the key and walked over to the ladies’ room. She opened

the door easily and went in.

Mulder looked over at the woman who sat a few feet away

from him. This time, it was her chair facing in his

direction. She looked more confident with the child in

the other room. Now was a good time to broach the

subject.

“Has she always–said things like that?”

“About second daddies and past lives? Yes. Ever since

she was a toddler.”

“I … have an interest in psychology. There is a whole

school of thought … ”

“Yes, I know. That all this could be based on reality.

We’ve explored some of the options but have decided that

Bella needs to lead her life. Not concentrate on some

bizarre memories that may not be more than some neural

aberration that most people don’t experience. The child

doesn’t need to be a lab rat. She needs to be five and a

half years old.”

“You’re probably right.”

“You’d know I was definitely right if you had a child of

your own.”

“I suppose I would,” he said, doubtful whether she had

any more experience of biologically having a child than

he did.

“I’m hungry now,” Arabella stated as she came running

back to the table.

The woman laughed and handed the girl her breakfast.

Mulder had no further conversation with either of them

until he was getting ready to leave.

“I’m sorry if I was a bit abrupt earlier,” the woman

said as he was putting on his coat. “You’ve been very

kind. Some people just don’t understand and pass

judgement on what she says. Anyway, I just wanted to say

I hope we’ll be running into each other again. My name

is Constance. Constance Jeffers. And you’re … ”

“Fox Mulder.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Mulder. We’ll see you around.”

Mulder smiled and left for work.

Hoover Building

Thursday, 12:02 PM

Arabella Jeffers. The other “woman.”

It was fairly easy to find out her name. The girl on the

early morning shift at Starbucks was more than happy to

keep her ears open. She knew a g-woman when she saw one

and was all too willing to act as a junior spy in the

making. No amount of denial on Scully’s part could

convince her that *they* weren’t on a case. She had the

child’s last name ready for her by the time she walked

into work this morning.

And also confirmed what Scully knew all along.

Mulder had breakfast there two mornings in a row without

her.

She couldn’t be angry. Well, she could but it wouldn’t

be fair. Children had the tendency to complicate

matters. She remembered when she discovered Emily. She

wasn’t thinking about her career, or ties with Mulder or

anything else but claiming the little girl as her own.

If Mulder were presented with a child who had any kind

of connection to him–no matter how remote–she could

understand his need to find out more about her.

However, the connection *was* remote. And suspect.

Mulder didn’t always think rationally in matters such as

these. It was her job to find and present the facts.

She thought of another time when Mulder didn’t think

with his head. A time when he so needed to be part of

something. Something big and grand that spanned

generations and lifetimes.

She had searched for facts then, too.

And came up with proof of the existence of the two

people Mulder named as belonging to him and his eternal

“soulmate”.

She kind of shot herself in the foot with that one,

Scully thought with a wry smile.

Mulder would have moved heaven and earth to get Melissa

away from Vernon Ephesian. And he would have tested the

soulmate theory. She was certain of it. He would be busy

testing while Scully was moving her own heaven and earth

to prove they were all full of shit.

But now she was treading in murkier water. A child was a

whole other story.

For one thing, she didn’t want Mulder to get himself in

trouble for meddling in Arabella’s life. The FBI didn’t

look too kindly on their employees stalking children,

and using a defense of parental rights through

reincarnation would surely not sit well with anyone.

For another, she didn’t want him to be hurt, believing

with his heart, instead of his head.

So, information had to be gathered. Facts had to be

presented.

She just hoped she wasn’t shooting herself in the foot

again.

Constance Jeffers’ Apartment

7:30 PM

Arabella was sitting on the couch, bouncing up and down

as she spoke to Elizabeth, her biological mother. The

woman looked younger than Constance. Her dark hair was

pulled up in a ponytail; her shirt tucked haphazardly

into her jeans.

“He’s nice, Mommy. He lets me talk and I like him. Not

as much as my daddy of now, but since he’s not here

anymore on account of we lost him … ”

“No, Belle, don’t even think about it.”

“What? I didn’t *say* anything,” a definite whine was in

the making.

“You were thinking it. The only daddy you have is your

real daddy. He loves you. Don’t ever forget that.”

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted the

discussion between Bella and her mother.

“Arabella–why don’t you go to your room and play?”

Constance told her.

“Play with what?”

“A game or something.”

“I can’t play a game by myself.”

“Then read.”

“I take too long. I can’t read good yet.”

“Don’t pout, Arabella.”

“I’m not pouting. I don’t like that name, either. It’s

silly.”

“It’s your name.”

“Daddy never called me that. Neither did Mommy ’til you

told her to.”

“Arabella,” Elizabeth said in a weary tone of half-

warning.

“Fine. I’m going. I’m going to play with my dollies.

They like me.”

She got up and went to the other room, closing the door

behind her with a definite slam.

“Elizabeth, I thought you were ready for this,”

Constance said, softly.

“I am. I was. But, she’s a baby.”

“She’s a child. Old enough to understand that she has

older people she must defer to. As we have Someone we

must defer to. Had you found the strength of obedience

earlier, you would be living your reward now and

Arabella would never have been born into the heartache

of this world.”

Elizabeth looked down, tears in her eyes.

“I tried. But, my child … .you can’t understand what

it’s like.”

“Can’t? I *can’t*? I have a uterus just like any other

woman. I was just able to control myself better. And, if

I had succumbed to the evils of the flesh, I can assure

you I still would have had the wherewithal to train my

child as a proper Christian.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.”

“Of course. Now, what did I interrupt? She wants to get

closer to Mr. Mulder, doesn’t she?”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Good. This should be encouraged. He must be the third

sacrifice.”

“You keep talking about the third sacrifice but you

don’t tell me anything other than it will lead to the

ultimate sacrifice.”

“You don’t need to know anything more. You’re acting

like Arabella. You already gave up one chance at eternal

life, for you and your child. He’s damned for this

world. Don’t do the same thing to Arabella. Prove your

faith.”

Starbucks

Friday, 5:45 AM

Mulder sat by his window seat watching Constance park

her car. The child unstrapped herself from her seatbelt

and let herself out of the car before Constance could

round the front of the vehicle.

Arabella had her arms crossed in front of her and her

lower sip stuck out in a pout that was truly Mulder-

worthy. She suddenly looked at the coffee shop window

and met his gaze. A smile crossed her face and she ran

through the door and into the restaurant. Inside, she

climbed aboard his lap before he could greet her, and

squeezed his neck with her little arms.

“I hate her,” she declared, the ‘her’ in question just

coming through the door.

“Arabella!” Constance noted the child’s position on

Mulder’s lap.

“It’s all right, really, ” For once, Mulder was

uncertain about what he should be doing or saying under

the circumstances.

“It’s not all right at all. This is highly inappropriate

behavior, Arabella, and you know it.”

“I want to talk to my friend.”

“Your friend?” Constance asked.

Mulder sensed a challenge behind the simple question and

felt Arabella shift in his lap.

“My old daddy.”

“He’s not your daddy, Arabella. Old or new.”

Mulder frowned.

Constance had goaded the words out of the child’s mouth,

then denied them.

“Come, Arabella. Let’s eat.”

“Can’t I sit with … him. While you get it?”

Constance raised an eyebrow in question and Mulder

nodded his head in agreement. She turned and went to the

counter to order.

“She made my mommy cry. I don’t like her any more. And

I’m not calling her ‘mother.’ No matter what she says,”

she said in a whisper.

“And what does she say?” Mulder asked softly.

“She says God won’t love me no more. But daddy and

mommy–they told me God is good and he loves me no

matter what. So, I like that better.”

Mulder smiled. “Me, too.”

“If she makes my mommy cry again–I’m gonna, I’m gonna

… find my daddy and he’ll fix everything.”

“Arabella, don’t pester Mr. Mulder. Come on. I’ve got

you hot chocolate,” she said, turning from the counter.

“My name is Belle,” she whispered to Mulder, squeezed

his neck and joined Constance.

Mulder spent the next half-hour watching them but had

very little additional contact. Arabella ate her meal in

relative silence, intent on buffing up her chocolate

milk mustache. Constance was equally intent on making it

disappear. More pouting ensued.

It was time for Mulder to call in the troops.

Hoover Building

Friday, 7:55 AM

Scully was pacing by the time Mulder walked into the

office. She didn’t want to bring the subject up but he

had to know certain things about his ‘daughter’ before

he became emotionally attached.

Mulder walked through the door. He reached out and

touched her shoulder.

“Good morning, Scully.”

“Mulder, we have to talk.”

“Yes, we do. Sit down a minute. I have a confession to

make.”

“A confession?” She sat in her chair, while Mulder

leaned against her desk.

“Yes, I know there’s no dark booth but I thought I’d

just wing it. It’s good for the soul, so they say,” he

didn’t look completely convinced. “Anyway, I just wanted

to tell you I’ve been going to Starbucks every single

morning since we saw that little girl.”

“Yes, Mulder. I know.”

“You do?” He asked, thoroughly surprised.

“Yes, I assumed you would and confirmed that you did.”

“Are you angry?”

“No.”

“Hurt?”

“No.”

“Disappointed?”

“No, Mulder. None of the above. We can discuss all of

this later but right now, you have to listen to me and

keep an open mind because I’m pretty sure … ”

“I’m being played like a violin,” he stated simply.

“You know?”

“No. I don’t *know*. But I strongly suspect. I’m turning

to you for the hard evidence.”

She smiled a moment before getting serious.

“There are some strange, strange circumstances and one

very bizarre connection. It could be a coincidence but

that would really be a stretch of the imagination.”

“Tell me.”

“Okay. I got the child’s name from the girl who works

the morning shift in the coffee shop. She asked the

child directly while the mother was bringing things to

the table. Her name is Arabella Jeffers.”

“How convenient,” Mulder said.

“What is?”

“It’s convenient that everyone is allowed such access to

the child. I think that’s one of the first things that

aroused my suspicions. She’s not yet six years old and I

was allowed to be alone with her several times. Today,

she was even sitting on my lap with her arms around my

neck. This woman doesn’t know me. I’m just some strange

guy who has no business being anywhere near–never mind

being alone with her while her mother is on the opposite

side of the coffee shop. Not a smart move in this day

and age.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’m sorry. I interrupted. Continue, Scully.”

“Arabella was recently registered into a kindergarten

class here in D.C. There are no previous school records

for her anywhere. Strange, but not completely unheard

of. While most children attend some sort of pre-school,

it’s not mandatory. However, what is really odd is the

papers used in her enrollment. She has both a mother,

and a guardian: Constance Jeffers. Unrelated. Arabella’s

last name is the same as the guardian’s. The Gunmen say

that the papers looked authentic enough but were not

filed anywhere. Apparently, they were so convincing, no

one went through the red tape necessary to find out they

were fakes. Anyway, a search using her mother’s

information turned up her birth certificate. She was

born Belle Wiley in Los Angeles, California to Elizabeth

Wiley: mother. Father: Unknown.”

“Okay.”

“It gets stranger, still. A search of Elizabeth herself

came up with the following information: eleven years

ago, she gave birth to a baby boy. Scott. Father unknown

in this case as well. The legal guardianship of this

child was given to Elizabeth’s parents almost six years

ago, right before she was due to give birth to Belle.

She moved to California, gave birth and married a David

Curtis when Belle was one. He legally adopted her. That

fact was conveniently missing in all the school records.

They have Elizabeth as a single mother, never married.

They were–and are–married. Six months ago, David filed

missing persons reports for Elizabeth and Belle. He

doesn’t have a great deal of money but he’s spent quite

a bit trying to track them down. Everything being under

Constance Jeffers’ name has complicated matters. Since

he’s an adoptive father, he just doesn’t have the rights

Elizabeth does. The police have pretty much considered

this case simple abandonment due to probable domestic

discord.”

“From what Belle told me, I was under the impression

they might be lovers–Elizabeth and Constance.”

“That, I don’t know. But wait–you haven’t heard the

good part.”

“Which is?”

“Before giving her son up to her parents, Elizabeth had

one address listed for six months. The Ephesian compound

in Apison, Tennessee.”

The hand Mulder was using to help him lean against the

desk slipped a bit and Mulder had to take a brief second

to steady himself.

Scully finished presenting her evidence. “And Constance?

Well, a little digging around has shown that she may

very well be one of the masterminds behind the Temple of

the Seven Stars.”

End of Act 2

Act 3

“Close your mouth, Mulder,” Scully said after a few

seconds.

He closed it only to open it again.

“I’m shocked.”

“I thought you would be. I was myself. I have ordered

transcripts from Melissa Ephesian’s therapy sessions and

a few other files that will hopefully shed some more

light on the situation. But the Gunmen were pretty

certain of their facts. Constance was a psychiatrist.

Specializing in hypnotherapy. It is suspected that she

was on the outside of this movement–recruiting from her

patient base. When suspicions started being voiced, she

suddenly packed up her practice and wasn’t heard of

until her recent reemergence in Elizabeth’s life.”

“I’ll be damned.”

Constance Jeffers’ apartment

4:30 PM

“It’s time, Elizabeth,” Constance said, placing a pad of

paper and a pen before the woman resting on her couch.

“What’s time?” Elizabeth had been napping. She was still

not completely alert.

“It’s time for the second sacrifice.”

“You never told me what that was.”

“You need to join Vernon’s other wives. You need to

complete the cycle. He only took six wives with him. You

know you were meant to be the seventh. You need to join

him. Now.”

“I … can’t. My baby.”

“Your ‘baby’ will be just fine. No harm will come to

her. I am not Vernon. Now, come. Write the note and this

evening, your mission will be complete. We will all be

together soon enough.”

Elizabeth frowned as she slowly rose from the couch and

walked toward the desk.

Mulder’s Apartment

7:30 PM

Mulder unlocked the door and escorted Scully into his

apartment. She promptly sat on his couch and pulled a

few thick files from her briefcase.

“I could have read all of it, you know,” Mulder said, a

touch of annoyance in his voice. “You could have driven

us home and I could have read the entire report myself,”

Mulder told her.

“I know. But why open up old wounds?”

“For me, or for you?”

She stared at him. “I know you are trying to be

flippant and I’m not happy about it. I wasn’t happy at

the time, either. It’s interesting to hear you

acknowledge that the Ephesian case might have been

painful for me. At the time, you were so consumed with

what you *thought* was happening you paid very little

attention to anything–or anyone–but yourself. I hope

you won’t let history repeat itself.”

“Okay,” he said, still not quite understanding what her

problem with the case was. “I can see where you might

think my actions were selfish. You were never fond of

the regression sessions–for Melissa or myself.”

“No, I wasn’t. And I believe I told you so at the time.

But I really wasn’t fond of you falling hook, line and

sinker over this romantic notion of a disturbed woman

being your soulmate while I was risking life and limb

and sanity every day to stand by your side. I did it

willingly, and would do it again but I can’t say it made

me feel wonderful to know that, had she lived, you would

more than likely have run off to be with your ‘soulmate’

because she tickled your paranormal fancy. Even if the

situation itself made no sense.”

Mulder stared at her but chose not to say anything. She

had never talked of her personal feelings over this case

before and some of what she was saying surprised him. He

had always assumed the case struck a raw nerve with her

due to the extreme breach of protocol involved. It

hadn’t really occurred to him that the whole soulmate

issue was the problem. He wanted to hear more.

“Enough of this,” Scully said, “I only brought it up

because of the connection to the little girl. And please

don’t leap to the conclusion that Arabella was your’s

and Melissa’s love child in 1247 or something.”

He winced as she turned her attention completely away

from him and began rifling through the pages of the file

until she found what she was looking for.

“Ah. Here it is,” she said, after a few moments of

silence. Her voice was as calm as it always was when she

focused on a case. Mulder took a small breath and

concentrated on her words, leaving their relationship

issues behind, for the moment. “Melissa told us the

following, during her therapy session: ‘There was a …

woman who came to the temple. She and her son had been

living on the street.’

The therapist asked what her name was. Melissa replied

that it was Elizabeth. Her son was named Scott. She then

continued. ‘Vernon took a liking to the boy. He said he

was a prophet returning. He took the boy away from his

mother.’ Remember that story?”

“She snuck in and brought the child candy,” Mulder

responded. “Vernon was disgusted with them both and beat

them in front of each other. Then he rejected the child

as prophet, humiliated him further by calling him

garbage and threw them out.”

“Right,” Scully said. “Melissa never told us about the

timing but ‘Sidney’ did call the tip into the FBI saying

that Vernon was abusing children. That might have been

the incident that pushed her over the edge.”

“Elizabeth and Scott. Not uncommon names but it would be

quite a coincidence if another mother and son with those

names lived in the compound at that time,” Mulder mused.

“Yes, it would.”

“So, we have two women associated with the Temple–

trying to contact me. I assume it’s just me since no one

has mentioned you since the first time we met up with

them.”

“That’s a fair assumption,” she acknowledged.

“And a child who claims to be my reincarnated daughter.”

“Yes.”

Scully’s calm, businesslike demeanor was beginning to

make him nervous.

“I’m *not* leaping to conclusions, Scully. There could

be many rational explanations for all of this.”

“Yes.”

“I actually don’t believe she is my daughter. Not even

in the past.”

That seemed to get her attention.

“Really? Why not?” she asked.

“The circumstances surrounding this whole situation are

highly suspicious. I just believe it’s all a set up and

not a genuine case of reincarnation.”

She sat back against the cushions and gave out a small,

barely perceptible sigh.

“Mulder. When all this is over, we need to sit and

discuss your needs.”

He smirked at her comment. It was a force of habit.

She ignored it. A response also honed through years of

practice.

“We need to discuss your need to be a parent,” she

clarified.

“I don’t need to be a parent,” he said quickly.

“It’s not something you’ve probably even explored until

now.”

“I’ve explored it many times, Scully. There were times

when I thought about settling down, having children. But

it is all part of *settling down.* It would be

irresponsible to have children in the line of work we

are in now. And if we ever do settle down into something

more … sedentary … safe … we can discuss adoption

or whatever you want. Both of us. Both exploring our

needs. It’s not one person over the other.”

She nodded slowly. He was glad he still had the ability

to surprise her once in a while.

The phone rang.

“Mulder.”

“Mr. Mulder. I can’t talk for long. I am Arabella’s

mother. Her real mother. I live at 1298 Sycamore.

Apartment 9B. Please. There isn’t much time. She’s going

to make me drink the poison and then take Belle and kill

her. And you will be next. Please. Find my daughter and

take her back to her father. Please.”

He got off the phone and turned to Scully.

Outside of 1298 Sycamore

Friday, 9:00 PM

1298 Sycamore was quite a distance away and they had

called the police for help and/or backup before they had

even left Mulder’s apartment building.

The EMT were loading Elizabeth onto the ambulance as

Mulder and Scully were pulling up.

Scully was out of the car before Mulder completely came

to a stop. She flashed her badge and asked what the

local PD had found.

“Looked like an attempted suicide, except for what you

told us on the phone. A half glass of iced tea laced

with something, a note.”

“The child … the little girl … ”

“Nope, no little girl. Just the woman unconscious on the

couch.”

“Is she going to make it?”

He nodded toward the emergency workers. “They think she

might have a good chance. Her breathing was pretty

strong and they’ve been working on her since they found

her.”

“Can we have a look upstairs?”

“Sure. And we’ll be taking her to Mercy in case you want

to join up with us there.”

“Thank you.”

Mulder and Scully went to the upscale apartment. The

smell of vomit hit them as soon as they came through the

door. They bypassed the local police and went through

the rooms. There were two bedrooms–one functional, the

other a more cluttered adult bedroom clearly shared by a

child. Belle’s dolls and books were everywhere.

They opened the closet doors.

“It’s impossible for us to know what’s missing, Mulder.

There is clearly a good supply of clothing left but …

how much was taken, if any–we have no way of knowing.”

He frowned. “You’re right. I don’t think we’ll find much

here. And I have absolutely no clue where she’d take

Belle. We have to talk to the Elizabeth.”

Mercy Hospital

3:37 AM

Mulder and Scully approached room 717. An extremely

tired looking man in his mid-thirties was pacing the

hallway. When he spotted them, he went to them

immediately.

“Anything?” he asked.

“You are … ” Mulder prompted, pretty much knowing the

answer.

“I’m sorry. I’m David Curtis. Elizabeth’s husband. Have

you found Belle?”

“No. I’m sorry. We’ve been through the apartment and

have questioned people locally. Questioned a lot of the

tenants of the building–doormen, security guards. No

one saw anything,” Mulder said.

“The doctor called and told us Elizabeth was finally

awake and ready to talk.”

“Yes, go right on in. I’ll wait here in case she wants

to tell you things she might not necessarily want me to

hear.”

Scully gave him a brief, reassuring smile before she and

Mulder walked into the room.

Elizabeth was sitting up in bed as they made their brief

introductions. She looked pale and exhausted but leaned

forward, seemingly eager to answer any questions the two

agents might have for her.

They sat on mismatched plastic chairs near her bed.

“We’re going to need to have a brief history of your

involvement with the Temple of the Seven Stars, Mrs.

Curtis. Anything you can tell us might give us some idea

of where to begin looking for your little girl,” Mulder

said.

After a moment’s thought, Elizabeth began to speak.

“When I had my son … I was very young. Very young. My

parents were not happy with the situation, mostly

because I didn’t tell them who the father was. He was

married and didn’t want anything to do with either of us

and I swore we’d never ask for anything from him. Not

one penny.

Well, my parents were more than willing to have us all

live under the same roof, but they were still my

parents. They wanted me to do things their way. I was

headstrong and we argued a lot over decisions I was

beginning to make. We stayed with them for four years. I

finished high school and had some odd jobs here and

there. Scott was doing well with his grandparents. But

they still wanted me to sue Scott’s father for child

support, to ease the financial burden off of all of us

and let me use more of my own money for goals I should

be working toward. We had one last blow-up and, being

arrogant and stupid, I ran away. With my child. And

within a few months, we were moving from shelter to

shelter. But I couldn’t swallow my pride and go back to

my folks.

Vernon found me panhandling one day, me and my son. He

looked at my little boy, who was about five at the time,

and said he looked like one of his children. I was

messed up. Completely confused. And here was a man who

cared about me and my boy. And had the keys to eternal

life right in his hand. And he could surely talk the

good talk. There didn’t seem to be much to think about.

I went with him.”

“And he abused both of you?” Scully asked.

“No. Not until the night he threw us out. At first, he

was real nice. He told me that I would be his seventh

bride. I would complete his worldly obligations and we

could all move on to heaven. But, my boy needed to learn

a few more things about the way of the Lord and he felt

I was too easy on him. He took him away and, for a

while, I was content, knowing he was grooming the two of

us for the afterlife. But then, I heard stories. Of how

harsh he was to the children. How unforgiving. I was his

mom. I went to my child. And it was really my fault that

he was beaten. It was my fault that I was beaten. I

instigated it all through my stupidity.

He threw us out and then … within days, everything was

over. Everyone in the compound had killed themselves and

Scott and I were on the outside. And I was pregnant.”

“Belle is Vernon’s child?” Mulder asked, leaning forward

in his chair.

“Yes.”

“Did anyone know this?” Scully asked.

“Constance had suspected I was pregnant. There was no

real medical care on the compound. She was going to get

me a home pregnancy test on her next trip out but by the

time she came back, I was gone and the troubles were

starting. She went into hiding.”

“What was her role in all of this?” Scully asked.

“She was our counsellor. We saw her when we first came

in and during the whole time we were there. She made us

keep our goals in sight.”

“How?” Scully took note of her odd phrasing.

“Just by talking. Relaxation techniques.”

“Then what happened?”

“I knew I had to start over. I contacted my parents. I

couldn’t saddle them with two kids. So, I thought I

would go and have my baby and give her up for adoption.

I did give them Scott. I signed over guardianship and

moved to California. My sister was there. She enrolled

me in some secretarial courses while I was pregnant. I

gave birth and later worked in an office. That’s where I

met my husband. I never did give up Belle. I just loved

her so much. And I didn’t go back to pick up Scott

because … I don’t know. My parents just did so much of

a better job of raising him than I ever did. I almost

got the poor child killed. But with Belle–we had a

fresh start. My parents liked David so much, they agreed

with the arrangement completely. I see Scott a few times

a year and keep in touch with him.”

Scully looked like she was about to say something,

thought better of it, and dropped the subject.

“What about Constance? How does she fit into the picture

now?” she asked instead.

“I met up with her by accident. She saw me with Belle

and said something like, ‘well–I guess you didn’t need

the home pregnancy test after all.’ We started talking.

We’d meet every once in a while. She said that she

really thought our mission had ended too soon. That

there were those of us left behind that should be

experiencing the joys of the kingdom. She had her ways

… the more I listened, the more it all made sense.

We’d meet and have tea every once in a while, and then I

started having relaxation sessions with her, because she

was thinking of starting up a practice again and needed

to brush up on her skills.”

“And she convinced you to leave your husband and follow

her?” Mulder asked.

“Yes. David was a very down to earth man. He knew about

my past and a little about my connection with the Temple

of the Seven Stars but put it down to some youthful need

to belong. He would never, ever have gone along with

what we were planning. And, as Constance said, if you

weren’t for us, you were against us.

We wanted to start up the church again. But we needed to

prove some things to those who had been on the border–

waiting to come in. We needed to convince them that they

should leave their lives behind and follow our way. That

they should be our disciples. And for this to happen–we

needed three sacrifices. ”

“Three?” Mulder asked.

“I knew what the third sacrifice was. I always knew

that. But I only just figured out the first two were me,

and Belle.”

“And the third?”

“The third is you, Mr. Mulder. You were going to be

sacrificed so people could see how strong and powerful

we really are. Then we could gather everyone together

and make the ultimate sacrifice–our mortal lives in

exchange for eternal life.” Elizabeth shrugged her

shoulders. “It all made so much sense at the time.”

“And when did it stop making sense?” Scully asked

sharply.

“When the look in Belle’s eyes began to resemble the

look in Scott’s.” She looked blankly into the distance,

seemingly lost in her own thoughts. Then she turned her

attention exclusively in one direction. “You have to

stop them, Mr. Mulder. You have to get back my Belle.”

Mulder’s car

4:45 AM

“Get back her Belle,” Scully said with a huff, as the

car moved along the highway.

“Oh, come on, Scully. I thought you’d be a little more

sympathetic.”

“I was. Until she told me she let her child be

hypnotized into believing she had lived and died before.

She sat back and watched as that child was taken from

her bed–every single night. Put on a couch–in a dark

room–with a bright light shining in her face, while

pictures of you and Melissa Ephesian were projected on a

screen.”

“I think she needs help, Scully.”

“She needs serious help, Mulder. And I’m not so sure she

should be mothering any child until she gets it.”

“Well, fortunately, I think David Curtis is more than

capable of parenting the child while Elizabeth

straightens out her life. Now, I just need to get his

little girl back so I can prove my theory.”

“*We* will.”

“Scully, I’m not so sure both of us going is a good

idea. This woman has obvious issues with me, not you at

all.”

“Mulder. This is not up for discussion. Or one sentence

worth of debate. We are doing this. Both of us. Case

closed.”

He turned and looked at her face. Her eyes were looking

straight out into the darkness of the early morning, her

chin set and determined.

He smiled softly. Skeptical or not, she was the only one

he wanted to help him tickle his paranormal fancy.

“Fine,” he said after a moment. “Straight to the

airport, then? No stops?”

“No stops.”

Apison, Tennessee

Saturday, 2 PM

They were in a rental car on an all too familiar road.

Mulder was driving and Scully was in the backseat,

crouched on the floor, beneath Mulder’s trench coat.

They were heading toward the back of the former Ephesian

compound.

“Don’t talk anymore, Mulder. I don’t want them even

seeing your lips move. The field office should have

agents in place by now. Close, but not too close. Try

and park near an area with bushes … somewhere near the

perimeter so I can get out of the car and watch you

under cover of foliage,” she was silent for a moment.

“Mulder, be careful. We’re not through with this

lifetime yet.”

He cleared his throat in acknowledgement before parking

the car, and getting out. The cool air felt good on his

face.

After walking through the field a few moments, he felt

the familiar melancholy the location inspired, the

tragedy of lives lost. But he did not feel the spanning

of generations and the pull he once thought he had.

His soul had a home. It did not seek another.

After a few moments, he looked past a stretch of

dramatically overgrown grass and found them. He saw

Constance first, surrounded by twelve people. Men and

women standing in a circle. The group bowed their heads,

while their lips moved in a chant. Constance looked up

and saw Mulder. Her lips curled in a smile. It was not a

pleasant sight.

“Step aside, ladies and gentlemen. The third sacrifice

approaches.”

Mulder stopped walking toward them. “The third

sacrifice? Hey–if I can’t take first place, I’m not

playing.”

“Mr. Mulder,” Constance sighed dramatically. “Please.

Now is not the time to be flippant. We have some very

serious work to accomplish.”

“Lady, frankly I don’t care what you’re trying to

accomplish. All I want is the little girl.”

“Your daughter?” she asked with an even broader smile.

“Daughter, my ass. Just give me the child and I’ll be on

my way.”

“You don’t really believe I’ll do that, do you?”

“I thought it was worth a shot.” He shrugged.

The dirty dozen moved aside to reveal Belle on a

makeshift altar. A dozen lit candles surrounded her

still body.

“She’s not … ?” Mulder’s eyes widened in horror.

“No. Of course not,” Constance seemed genuinely insulted

over his assumption. “She’s alive. She’s just …

sedated. As you well know, she is not known for her

silence and Elizabeth never taught her proper respect

toward her elders. But she will stay alive as long as

you cooperate. However … ” Constance trailed off as

the man closest to Belle pulled out a hypodermic and

grabbed Belle’s arm, the needle pressing against the

baby soft skin. “Now, you will be a good little agent of

the FBI and come here.”

Mulder drew his gun.

“Put down the hypodermic. Now!” he shouted.

“Now, now, Mr. Mulder,” she said, pulling out a gun of

her own and aiming at the child. “I can assure you,

death by this type of lethal injection would be a lot

less painful than the type brought about by a gun.

However, it’s your choice. And that choice can be

avoided altogether if you will just cooperate.”

Grand gestures of any kind were too much of a risk with

Belle’s life in imminent danger. As Mulder approached,

two men grabbed him and tied him securely to a tree near

the altar.

“Let her go,” he said, watching Constance put her gun in

the pocket of her jacket.

“Mr. Mulder? Where is she going to go? She’s a child and

she’s unconscious. Of course, if you’ve fulfilled your

part of the bargain, she will be absolutely unharmed.

You don’t understand. She is worth far more alive than

dead. She is the child–the only living child–of our

former leader. Given proper training, she has the

potential to bring in many converts. Save many souls.”

“Elizabeth told me there would be a mass suicide.”

Mulder said. “Just as there was before. She mentioned a

third sacrifice. If I’m going to be that sacrifice … I

have a right to know why.”

“That seems reasonable. I knew it was pointless to tell

Elizabeth everything. She couldn’t even understand the

information she was given. There are three sacrifices

necessary to complete the first phase of the

reconstruction of our Temple. The first is Belle. She

will not die, but her life is going to be completely

tied to the church. From here on out, her every waking

moment will be occupied in gathering disciples–in her

own, immature way, of course. But she is charismatic.

How could she not be with Vernon as her father? And she

will learn. She’s smart and quick.

Belle’s mother was the second. At one time, she was

being groomed to be Vernon’s seventh bride. We’ve just

helped her fulfill her destiny.”

Mulder did not correct her assumption.

” And you … you are a representative of

useless earthly authority. Our people were not

ready for the ultimate sacrifice, but your

meddling forced their hands. Vernon hadn’t yet

taken his seventh bride when you interfered.

There were others involved but your death will be

noticed. And those who have left in fear, will now

return in confidence, assured that divine justice will

be served.”

“And then you will all kill yourselves?” Mulder asked,

hoping to buy more time.

“We shall see what course of action would better serve

our Lord,” Constance replied but Mulder noticed the

smile slipping from her face, and a look of pure

annoyance taking its place. She shook it off and picked

up a pitcher from the altar. She approached Mulder.

“The flames of justice will burn eternally,” she said,

as she poured the liquid from the pitcher all over

Mulder. He could smell some sort of oily substance. Not

gasoline–kerosene, perhaps. He swallowed hard, thinking

of how many seconds it would take before the flames

would consume him completely. He knew there was very

little chance that he would die instantaneously and the

thought of living long enough to know he was burning to

death made his breaths come from his lungs in quick,

painful bursts.

Constance bent down and gathered twigs and leaves and

placed them by Mulder’s feet. She looked up and spoke

only to him, “It makes the fire look more impressive,”

she said with a smile. Mulder felt the color drain from

his face. His breaths were even more uneven than they

were before.

She returned to the altar.

“Pick up your candles. It is time,” she announced.

Each of the twelve solemnly picked up a candle. As the

man with the hypodermic reached for his, a shot rang

out. He doubled over in pain and the needle fell to the

ground.

A sudden chorus of ‘Freeze, FBI!’ came from several

directions and there was frantic movement around him.

But just as Mulder focused on his own personal fireball

running toward him, his eyes widened in horror as

Constance freed her arm from the agent holding her,

grabbed a lit candle and threw it at the pile of leaves

by his feet. A small flame started and Mulder closed his

eyes, hoping that whatever happened would be quick. He

felt air whoosh around him as Scully threw her raincoat

over the burning twigs. After a few seconds, he opened

an eye to find no fire–just Scully stomping her boots

on the raincoat, making sure no spark was left to catch

the fuel that Mulder was doused in. Luckily, Constance

had gathered the leaves and twigs after she had poured

the kerosene. They were untouched by the accelerant.

Scully stopped her little dance and began to untie

Mulder. She was intent on the rope, while he was busy

watching the FBI agents arrest each member of the group.

After Constance had been read her rights, she looked

over at him.

“You have done well. Thank you. My unjust incarceration

will bring many sheep unto the fold, I can assure you,”

she said, calm and unflappable.

As soon as Scully freed him, they walked over to the

paramedics attending to Belle.

“She’ll be okay. We’ll take her to the hospital to run

some tests but I’m pretty sure they just have her

heavily sedated.”

Mulder watched the child. She didn’t look drugged. She

looked as if she were sleeping the sleep of an innocent,

her breathing audible through her slightly congested

nose.

They had succeeded. Mulder could bring a sweet,

precocious child back to the father who loved her.

__________________

Epilogue

Scully’s apartment

Saturday, 11:03 PM

Mulder opened the door of Scully’s apartment with his

own key. He walked directly to her couch and sat down on

the armrest without taking his coat off.

It had been a harrowing day. He had decided to stay in

Tennessee a few more hours to wrap things up, while

Scully took an earlier flight to check on Elizabeth’s

progress and start the dreaded paperwork on the whole

ordeal.

“Was your flight on-time?” Scully asked, coming through

the kitchen and lightly kissing Mulder on the cheek.

“Pretty much.”

“Did Constance sing?”

“Like a bird.”

“Tell me.”

He stood up and slowly removed his coat. He laid it on

the armrest he had been sitting on. He sat on the couch,

with Scully next to him.

“Constance and Vernon had been the masterminds of the

Temple. They both were very much in it together. Because

he had a naturally charismatic personality, he became

the ‘leader.’ She, however, was a brilliant

hypnotherapist. She recruited some members of the

religion this way, but more than that–once they were

involved–she brainwashed them into giving up more and

more of their personalities and melding them with the

group’s concerns.

A big stumbling block came with the actual

interpretation of the religion they both founded. He

very much believed in his own interpretation of the Book

of Revelations. She had religious beliefs, but she also

was on quite a power trip and had no qualms about

bending the beliefs to suit her own purposes. Vernon

went about his business and was convinced that his

earthly job was almost complete; while Constance felt

there were a whole lot of people out there with her name

on them. She wanted more conversions and a lot more time

on this mortal coil.

“Vernon was now a liability. In spite of the praises she

was singing to her new disciples out there in the field,

she *wanted* him gone. And she wanted the original

followers gone. They were completely taken by Vernon and

would never switch allegiances. But she could use the

mass suicides and the ‘legend’ of the church to her

advantage. To start her own religion. Enter Melissa

Ephesian. In one of her first sessions with her,

Constance realized she had a multiple personality

disorder. She used it to her advantage. She made some

suggestions during their ‘relaxation sessions.’ Talked

about true believers standing up for justice for the

abused children. She knew which buttons to push.

And, it worked. Through ‘Sidney,’ and the FBI’s

involvement, the mass suicide took care of Ephesian and

his followers. She’s been lying low–keeping her eye on

Elizabeth and plotting—all these years. She had enough

time to gather her twelve disciples and was ready for a

big time comeback. She still is. Only she will now have

to do it behind bars. And she’s absolutely convinced she

will. Apparently, those twelve people are not the only

ones she’s gathered. We can only hope they will not

carry on her work without her.”

Mulder leaned back a bit and Scully put her hand on his

shoulder, rubbing slightly.

“How is Elizabeth?” he asked, leaning into her touch.

“She’s fine. She’s already started therapy. Not a moment

too soon. Tell me about your last assignment of the

day,” she said, smiling but sympathetic at the same

time.

“Mission accomplished.”

“No tears?”

“Scully. What do you take me for? Some sort of

sentimental fool?”

She smiled and put her arms around him. He wrapped his

own around her waist and held on tightly.

Washington, DC

Days Inn, 10 PM

Belle was seated cross-legged next to David Curtis–the

man who had been her true “Daddy” almost all her life.

She was busy pulling the packaging away from two new

dolls, and talking non-stop about her adventure.

“And then … mommy took a nap, and then–that mean old

mother took me outside and said we needed to get some

help. I didn’t want to leave Mommy because she looked

kind of funny but that Mother-lady said I had to. So,

then she gave me some chocolate milk and I got real

tired. I closed my eyes for just a minute and didn’t see

her again until I woke up in a car and she was gone. And

I wasn’t where I was before. And that other man–the one

you met–the one who is not my daddy at all–not even a

hundred years ago or anything–he was taking care of me.

And then, we went to the hospital where that red haired

lady sat with me while they gave me tests–and she

brought me chocolate chip cookies and juice and told me

my mommy is okay and then, she had to go on account of

she had to go back and take a peek in at mommy, who also

went to get some tests. And then me and the not-Daddy

man got to fly in a plane.”

“And then we finally got to see each other again, huh,

Belle?” David managed to interrupt Belle’s tale. “I

missed you so much, honey.”

“I missed you too, daddy. But I have a question for

you.”

“Shoot.”

“If that other man–who is not my daddy–is not my real

daddy, how come he was holding onto my hand so tight and

his eyes were kinda wet when he said goodbye to us?”

David smiled. He remembered the exchange and felt a stab

of pain for the agent who obviously had been smitten

with his little girl. He could still see Mulder as he

placed his hand on Belle’s shoulder and gave her a

gentle push in his own direction. And she was right. His

eyes had a telltale sheen to them.

“I think, Belle, it just hurts whenever someone has to

say goodbye to a sweet girl like you.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said, satisfied with his answer. “Want

to play dollies?”

The end.

Episode 10×12

Artwork by Evie

Link to VS10 Home

Title: Ovan Akta

Authors: Foxfirex_00,and Girlie_girl7

Em: FoxfireX_00@yahoo.com,

Girlie_girl74@yahoo.com

Extra: Notes appear at the end.

Ovan Akta (Unusual Gift)

by Foxfirex_00,and Girlie_girl7

Friday July 19, 2002

Outside Honeyville, Indiana

Forestry Agent Joe Warren enjoyed his job. He’d

been traveling through Northeastern Indiana’s

Amish communities, informing groups of farmers on

the perils of the dreaded Asian Beetle. The

voracious bug had infested trees in northern

Illinois the previous summer and was moving east

in a hurry. The Federal Government, for once

attempting to head off a problem and not just

react to the fallout, finally got smart and sent

their agents out to talk to tree nurseries,

communities, and farmers. Joe was assigned to

work with the Amish.

He had been holding meetings twice a day in up

and down the countryside, using the big white

barns as gathering halls. His last meeting of

the day took place in the barn of Jacob Yoder. As

they dismissed, Joe paused in front of the

structure, wiping the sweat from his forehead

with his handkerchief. It was the time of year

that the heat rolled through that part of the

country, settling in and bringing with it

stifling humidity.

Joe was amazed how the Amish could function with

no air conditioning, without electricity. They

didn’t even have fans. He was of the opinion that

they were just plain nuts. How they chose to live

their lives was their business but he couldn’t

wait to grab a bite and head back to the air

conditioned, shower providing, HBO offering motel

room he’d been staying at all week.

—

Leah Beechy was setting the table for dinner.

Her husband Matthew would be home soon. He’d gone

to the next farm over to hear a man speak about

insects that could harm their trees. Her two

older sons were working in the field while her

daughters tended the family garden. Gardening was

usually a job that Leah took care of herself, but

being nearly nine months pregnant, she had

decided to turn that chore over to her daughters.

That left her youngest child, Obadiah. If she had

a favorite child it would be Obadiah. He was

considered slow, with the innocence of a younger

child and a carefree spirit. Leah knew he would

be by her side until the Lord called her home.

The solid oak dining table was covered in a fine

white lace cloth that she removed with care. The

fragile cloth had been her mother’s and her

grandmother’s before her. Grandma Carper had

tatted the lace herself, a skill that Leah had

longed to learn. But with children always under

foot she never had the time. Now with another

baby on the way it looked like the tatting would

once again have to wait.

—

Joe Warren had just finished up his second plate

of chicken and noodles at Fern’s Diner. He had to

admit these people knew how to cook. He stood

outside the diner letting his belt out by one

notch and watching the sun slowly set. He tossed

his jacket into the back of the rental car and

crawled in the front seat, starting the engine.

He opened all the vents and cranked up the air,

and was soon on his way back to his motel room.

He passed a neatly kept farm filled with

barefooted Amish children playing. The little

girls had their hair up in pigtails or rolled up

tightly in a bun. Their brightly colored dresses

swirled around them as they played. The boys both

had a chili bowl haircut, blunt cut across the

front and short on the sides and back. They were

clad in pale colored shirts with blue cotton

trousers held up by thin suspenders.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse

of something in the nearby field. He turned his

head to see a cow hovering a few feet above the

ground. He hit the brakes and watched as the cow

slowly floated back to earth. He sat in the car

a second not fully believing what he’d seen.

Maybe it was the combination of the heat and that

second plate of Fern’s noodles. Suddenly another

cow lifted a few feet off the ground. The

helpless cow let out a confused moo. Joe grabbed

the door handle and was out of the car in a flash

as the cow he was watching settled back down to

the ground. He stood by the barbed wire fence in

the dimming light. The small herd remained

grounded. Just as he was about to head back to

the car, cows start popping up and down like

horses on a carousel.

Leah Beechy was just pulling the chicken out of

the warming oven when she heard a low mooing

drifting in her kitchen window. She pushed the

chicken back into the oven and went to see what

was the problem. In the slowly dimming light she

could see a calf straddling her buggy garage. She

immediately knew what was afoot and who was to

blame. “Obadiah!” She called.

Out from behind her bridal wreath bush crept a

small barefoot boy. “Yeah, Momma?”

“Obadiah, I thought we agreed, no more messing

with the cows.”

The boy grew pensive and looked down at his feet

muttering, “Okay Momma, but don’t get mad at me.”

Leah smiled at her small boy. “I’m not mad at you

son, just put the cow back and come in and get

ready for supper.” She softly smiled at him.

Obadiah ran up the porch steps and started in the

house just as his mother took his arm. “Obadiah.

The cow.”

The dirty-faced boy grinned at his mother. “Oh

yeah, I forgot.” Leah watched as the cow slowly

descended to the ground and scampered off no

worse for wear.

Joe Warren quickly climbed the fence, racing

toward the herd. He stood mesmerized by the

sight before him. Cows were rising and falling

all around him. Unfortunately he was unaware of

the 900 pound, Holstein cow hovering just above

him until it was too late. The cow came crashing

down upon the unsuspecting man. Joe Warren had

eaten his last plate of Fern’s noodles.

Part 1

Thursday August 1

Basement Office

Hoover Building

Agent Dana Scully entered the office, to find

her partner Fox Mulder already there. She went to

get the coffee, since it was her turn. She sat

his cup in front of him, finding room next to his

big foot that was propped on the top of his desk.

He opened the top and took a deep drink. Wisely,

he waited until she had almost finished her cup

before he spoke.

“Scully what do you know about the Amish?”

She stood to toss her empty cup in the trash and

rounded Mulder’s desk, perching on the corner.

“Well they are similar to the Kindred. They shun

modern conveniences, they put great faith in

their religion, their family and their community.

Why?”

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like to

live like that?”

“Oh no, Mulder! I am not going undercover as an

Amish.”

Mulder got up and moved around the desk, placing

his hands on Scully’s arms. He nuzzled her neck

and softly said, “Not even for me, Scully?”

“Mulderrr..you’re not playing fair. Stop kissing

me.”

“Not even for your partner, your best friend,

your love slave? I would have gone undercover as

a troll for you.” She smiled as his dark hair

brushed the underside of her chin.

Scully lifted her chin to allow Mulder greater

access to her neck. “Okay Mulder, what will have

us posing as Amish?”

“Flying cows.”

“I beg your pardon.” She pulled back to look at

him, he straightened up and began gestering with

his hands. He was excited, and it had nothing to

do with being her love slave at the moment.

“Flying cows, Scully. Bovine aviation. I have a

whole file full of flying cow sightings.”

“And how is this an Amish problem?”

“Because the sightings only occur in or near

Amish communities.”

Mulder points to a map of the U.S.,

“Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Texas.”

“Texas? Mulder.”

“The lone star state can’t have Amish?”

“So why is the FBI getting involved?”

“Because this time a Federal Forestry Agent has

been killed by a flying cow.” He was fairly

hopping in place, bouncing on the balls of his

feet.

“Oh, just the break you’ve been waiting for.

Mulder isn’t it just possible the cow just fell

over on the agent?”

“You mean like cow tipping? Sure Scully, drunk

Amish boys go out and tip over cows on

unsuspecting Federal Forestry Agents.”

“Well, it’s as plausible as flying cows. You’re

serious about this aren’t you, Mulder?”

“Scully, a federal crime has been committed. It

is our sworn duty as investigators, to well. . .

investigate.”

Scully looked up at Mulder with a solemn

expression and said, “Mulder, you are so full of

shit. So how do you purpose we infiltrate the

Amish?”

“I have it all worked out. We spend a few days in

the library and on the net doing research on the

Amish, then we fly to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania,

buy some Amish garb. . . ”

“Amish garb?”

“Change our appearance, catch the bus headed west

and get off in Shipshewana, Indiana.”

“Shipshe…”

“Wana. Shipshewana. The location of the agent’s

death.”

“Hmm, sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time

working on this.”

“You were at your mom’s this night, I had some

free time on my hands.” He smiled sheepishly at

her. She hated it when he spent his time off

working. She was convinced he was going to end up

with an ulcer or infarct or something. He usually

didn’t admit he spent his empty time without her

working on a case.

“You were supposed to be relaxing, Mulder, not

working.” She smiled at him, shaking her head.

“Work is relaxing.”

“Flying cows are relaxing?” She snorted at him.

“Not just any flying cows, Scully, Amish flying

cows.” Proverbial kid in a candy store, she

thought. Her expression softened.

“Okay, give me a day or two to look this over.”

“Deal!” Mulder smiled. “Besides I need to find us

a place to stay.”

“Oh, and Mulder, if you tell them we met at a UFO

convention, I will be catching the next bus out

of flying Amish cow town.”

Sunday August 4 Fox Mulder’s apartment

Files littered the coffee table in front of the

sofa. Mulder sat looking them over, his hands

resting loosely on his knees. He cocked his head

to the side, then called, “Come on in, Scully.”

She opened the door. “I hate it when you do

that.”

He grinned at her, “So stop wearing those four

inch heels, I hear you coming as soon as you get

off the elevator.

“So, what’s up Mulder?” She crossed the room and

sat next to him, kicking her heels off and

tucking her feet under his thigh.

Waving a paper in the air, Mulder said, “Our

ticket to cow town.”

“Is that your personal invitation from Elsie the

cow?”

“No. Listen to this. ‘Mr. Mulder, I received your

wire, and we would gladly welcome you and your

wife to our home. Since the sudden death of my

dear wife’s parents we have the older side of the

house available. I was saddened by your story and

am willing to let you and your wife live here

until you get back on your feet provided you help

on the farm and your wife helps my Leah, who is

carrying our 6th child. We will pick you up at

the bus stop on August 6. God bless, Matthew

Beechy.'”

Scully closed her eyes and rubbed her right

temple. “Mulder, what have you gotten me into

and how did you find this man?”

“The Budget.”

“The Budget?”

“Yeah it’s kind of like the USA Today for Amish.

It’s their national newspaper. Didn’t you know I

subscribed to The Budget? The sports page sucks

but the classifieds are interesting. I found an

ad looking for a renter of a double house.” He

jumped up from the sofa to pace in front of the

coffee table.

A double house?” She couldn’t help herself from

repeating the foreign things she was saying, and

it was irritating even her.

“Scully, didn’t you do your homework? That’s two

houses built side by side that share a common

washing room.”

“The purpose being….?”

“I’m glad you asked that. The elderly parents

live in one side of the house while the married

son or daughter, live in the other side with

their children. I’m sure it’s a lot cheaper than

nursing home care.”

“And a whole lot better for the parents. So just

what was this sob story that got us this warm

invitation?”

“I told them we lost our shop to an unscrupulous

land developer and you nearly had a nervous

breakdown over it.”

“Mulder! A nervous breakdown? Why do I let you

come up with our cover? I never learn.” She

dropped her head in her hands.

“Yeah, well, all you have to do is twitch once in

a while, and we’re gold.” He stopped his pacing,

and sat on the coffee table in front of her,

pulling her hands away from her face and rubbing

her arms.

“I’ll twitch all right, G-man, but you’re not

going to like what I twitch.”

“Anyway, we leave for Harrisburg tomorrow. So you

want to come into the bedroom where we can

practice playing house?”

“Lead the way, G-man, I’m in the mood for some

twitching.” —

Monday morning, August 5 Flight 625

They sat on the plane going over the case during

their flight, files open before them. They were

studying not only the route of Agent Warren, but

giving their Amish hosts a final perusal as well.

“Mulder, did you forget to shave?”

“No Scully. Once an Amish man marries they must

stop shaving.”

“That’s right, and I have to wear a white

bonnet.”

“Ahhh you have been doing your homework.”

Mulder’s brow furrowed. “Hmm, one problem,

though…”

“What?”

He gathered the strands of her hair resting on

her collar, “Amish women don’t cut their hair,

and yours is too short. Can you pull it up or

something so it looks longer?”

“This is all the hair I have!” Scully sighed,

“Okay I’ll see what I can do. I have been reading

about the Amish lifestyle and it’s fascinating,

but for us to carry this off we will need

aliases’. I don’t think Fox Mulder and Dana

Scully will fit in.”

“Mulder.”

“What?”

“Dana Mulder, we’re married now.” He waggled his

eyebrows at her.

“Well just the same I think we need to pick

Biblical first names.” She had spent so many

years deflecting his innuendo, it was second

nature to keep the conversation on track.

“Alright, just call me Jesus.”

“Not that Biblical, Mulder!”

“How about Sampson and Delilah?”

“Mulder, have you ever even read the Bible?” She

looked at him skeptically.

“Just the good parts.”

“What did you tell Mr. Beechy your name was?”

“Just Mr. Mulder. The Falls taught me an

important lesson. Thou shalt not name thy

undercover selves without thine partner’s two

cents.”

“Smart move. Mulder does sound like it might be

an Amish name. I’ve got it, Noah.”

“And you can be Patsy.” He announced, with a smug

satisfaction in his voice.

“Would you please point out where one can find

the name ‘Patsy’ in the bible?” Scully folded her

arms across her chest, narrowing her gaze at him.

“Well, I think you look like a Patsy.”

“I can be Hannah, I always liked that name. ”

“I could get use to calling you that.”

“Hannah?”

“No. Mrs. Mulder.” She had to admit, the man

brought out the soft touch in her. She blushed

slightly at his adoring gaze and looked back down

at the book she has been reading on the Amish.

“Mulder, how much of this book have you read?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“It says here the men never wear pants with

zippers.”

“Scully, won’t that be a little drafty?” He

looked concerned.

“No big boy, they use snaps, buttons, or hook and

eyes.”

“That hook and eye thing sounds painful.” His

look was shifting from concerned to low level

panic.

“I guess that’s the sacrifice you make to be an

Amish.”

—

La Quinta Inn

Harrisburg PA

Mulder hung up the phone after calling a cab to

take them on their shopping excursion. “Ok, are

you ready for this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.” They walked

to the curb, Mulder’s hand on the small of her

back to guide her into the cab.

Mulder had requested a driver with good knowledge

of the Amish shops in the area, and he wasn’t

disappointed. The cabbie bypassed the tourist

shops, where the parking lots were packed with

out of state plates on vacationing mini vans.

Instead he drove to the edge of town, where

traffic and buildings were thinner. Here he

directed the Agents to an authentic Amish shop.

Mulder paid the driver, actually tipping this

time, and they walked over to wooden front porch

of the shop. Mulder sat on a bench, Scully

joining him with a quizzical look on her face.

“Research continues. By observing the locals,

maybe we can get a better idea of what we need.

“Good idea.” She sat next to him, lacing her

fingers through his and together they simply

watched the customers come and go for almost half

an hour. They drew a few strange looks, being the

only ‘English’ people in the vicinity, but all in

all they were left alone.

Deciding that they had a handle on the needed

attire, they entered the shop. Mulder pointed

toward the ‘men’s’ side, with small implements,

sacks of seed and grain and small racks of work

clothes. Scully, with an eyebrow implanted firmly

at her hairline, headed for the feminine section

of the store. ‘Her’ side was laden with bolts of

cloth, racks of thread both for sewing and

knitting and kitchen staples. Near the back sat a

small rack of somber dresses, and one shelf of

bonnets, undergarments and aprons.

Mulder rummaged through the sparse offerings and

made his way to the register with four pairs of

zipperless cotton trousers along with half a

dozen plain cotton work shirts, undershirts, and

briefs. He picked out a heavy pair of work boots

and cotton socks to go with them. For the sake of

decency he bought a bathrobe and pajamas. Next

came a work coat and two pairs of suspenders and

last but not least a straw hat to top it all off.

He sat again on the bench just outside, waiting

for Scully. Finally she emerged from the store,

her arms loaded down with packages.

“Sorry that took so long, but they didn’t have

much to choose from and finding something that

fit was difficult. Did you know that Amish women

make all their own clothing, except for under

clothes.”

“It’s good you aren’t Amish, Scully, because you

would be the first nudist in the congregation.”

“You don’t think I could make my own clothing? I

can sew.”

“Scully sewing up a ‘Y’ incision and occasionally

your partner is not my idea of fine stitching.”

—

Tuesday Morning, August 6

The bus was due to leave Harrisburg at 9:00 a.m.

They still paid for two rooms when they traveled,

but seldom used more than one. Mulder was up and

showering when Scully awoke, so she made use of

the shower in the connecting room. The night

before they packed all the new clothing they had

bought into the empty suitcases, save for what

they needed to wear on the trip.

Scully finished her shower and began to dress.

The transformation she saw in the mirror stunned

her. She shook her head as she turned this way

and that, examining her new look. She couldn’t

wait to see what Mulder looked like.

She grabbed her pajamas and headed back to the

room they slept in, nearly running over Mulder

who was coming through the door. They both jumped

back with a start.

He stood before Scully, beautifully tall and

shortly bearded. His blue cotton shirt stretched

across his shoulders, the suspenders running the

outline of his pectoral muscles. The simple dark

blue trousers hugged his lean thighs just enough

to hint at their shape. His smile was brilliant,

causing his eyes to sparkle down at her. The new

growth of beard strangely did not make him appear

unkempt. He just looked mysterious, possibly

dangerous, and definitely sexy.

Mulder couldn’t help but smile down at the tiny

woman before him. Her homespun lavender cotton

dress tied in back and fell just below her knees.

The sleeves came down to the fine bones in her

wrists. The simple garment actually did more for

her figure than the dark two piece suits she

wore to work. She wore no makeup allowing the

freckles across her nose to stand out against the

pale skin on her face. Her hair was pulled back

and pinned up, accenting the shape of her

cheekbones. She wore flat black leather shoes

that caused Mulder to tower over her even more

than usual. She stunned him with her beautiful

simplicity.

“Mulder, you look like you belong on a farm.”

Scully grinned up at him.

“And you look like you belong on my arm.” Mulder

replied as he offered her his arm and walked her

back into their room.

They finished gathering their things and packing

in silence. Each cast surreptitious glances at

the other, both pleased with what they saw. When

their packing was completed, Mulder put his straw

hat on and pushed it down on his head. Scully

took out the starched bonnet from the hatbox and

sat it carefully on her head. She then took a

small box of straight pins out of her purse.

“Eww ouch, Scully what are you doing with those?”

“The clerk showed me how to hold the bonnet on

with these.”

“You’re not pinning that to your head are you?”

“Of course I am.” Scully then turned to the

mirror and began to weave the pin into the bonnet

edge, gathering up a few strands of hair and

pushing the pin back out the bonnet. She did this

three more times and turned to smile at Mulder.

Satisfied she hadn’t drawn blood in the pinning

process, he kissed her lightly on the nose and

gathered up the suitcases while Scully carried

the hatbox and the suitcase containing the laptop

and case files. They trudged down to the bus

stop.

The bus bound for Shipshewana was half full and

most of them were Amish. Mulder watched them

carefully, studying their mannerisms and

movements. Then he realized something, “Scully

lean forward a little.”

“What for Mulder?”

Mulder deftly unhooked the tiny cross from around

Scully’s neck and placed it in her palm. Scully

closed her hand around it and looked at him

questioningly.

Mulder leaned over. “They never wear jewelry.”

Scully immediately placed the small cross in her

purse.

8pm

Ten excruciating hours later the bus pulled into

the parking lot of Yoder’s Department store in

Shipshewana. Mulder stood up and stretched,

unkinking his long frame, and listening to his

back and knees pop. He leaned over and ran his

knuckles over Scully’s cheek. She had fallen

asleep hours ago. Her eyes fluttered open as she

gathered her bearings.

“Come on, Hannah, we’re here.” Scully took a deep

breath, and reached up to straighten her bonnet.

“Sure, Noah.” Mulder grinned as he helped her out

of her seat. They were the last ones off the

bus.

—

Mulder gathered their suitcases, while Scully

looked around the nearly empty parking lot. Off

to the left stood an Amish man tending to his

horses. He glanced over to Scully as he tied the

horses to the hitching post and noticing her

clothing, he approached Scully cautiously. She

saw he was little taller than she, and solidly

built.

The man tipped his hat and asked, “Excuse me,

ma’am, would you be Mrs. Mulder?”

“Yes, yes, I am.” Mulder came to stand at her

side, setting the suitcases down. “This is my

husband, Noah.”

The shorter man thrust out his hand. “I’m Matthew

Beechy”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Beechy, and thank you for

meeting us. It’s been a long trip, and we

appreciate the ride out to the farm.”

“My pleasure, why don’t you two follow me.”

Matthew picked up Scully’s hatbox and the small

case she had been carrying and led them to the

two-seater black buggy. The bags were tossed

behind the second seat and Matthew climbed in the

front. Mulder helped Scully into the second seat,

and climbed in after her.

“Get up Pat, Star.” Matthew Beechy gave the reins

a snap, sending the buggy lurching forward. The

horses soon fell into step next to one another as

the buggy made its way down State Road 5. Cars,

motorcycles, and even an occasional semi-tractor

trailer whizzed by at a dizzying rate, but the

horses never strayed from the path they were

relegated along the narrow highway. Mulder

noticed Scully’s white knuckled grip on the side

of the buggy, and took her hands into his. She

sighed and leaned against him, doing her best to

ignore the heat.

Mulder leaned forward and spoke to Matthew. “Have

you lived here long, Mr. Beechy?”

“All 45 years of my life, and they call me

Matthew or just Beechy.”

Scully smiled to herself. Not another one.

“You like living here, Beechy?”

“Good soil and plenty of fresh water, no reason

not to live here.”

“What do you grow?”

“I farm seven acres of wheat and five acres of

beans, and I have 10 milk cows. It’s time to

begin bringing in the wheat. I can use your

help.”

The rest of the ride was spent in silence. They

passed softly rolling hills dotted with white

homes and large barns. Occasionally they passed

another buggy and a hand would appear from it and

wave at Beechy with him acknowledging it.

The buggy leaned to the right, pulling into what

Mulder guessed was a long lane. The lack of an

internal combustion engine and electrical system

operated by a battery meant no headlights to

pierce the darkness for him. Scully smiled and

pointed down into the dark, in the direction of

a yapping sound that could only be the family dog

out to greet them.

The hot and sticky ride lasted nearly 50 minutes,

with Mulder calculating they had traveled about 7

miles. He was sure all Scully wanted to do was

take a shower but he doubted that would be

possible.

Beechy called a halt to his tired horses’ efforts

in front of a two story house that had lamps

burning in several of the windows. A side door

flew open, and out bounded two dark figures, the

lead holding a small lamp. As they neared, Mulder

could tell they were teenage boys and each took

one of the horses by the headstall and held them

as the adults alighted from the buggy. A

practiced team, they led the horses toward the

barn, tossing a greeting over their shoulders for

their father, and smiling openly at the

newcomers. As the traveling companions stretched,

a teenage girl stepped down from the porch, also

carrying a lantern.

“Welcome home, Poppa.” The young girl smiled

warmly. She let her smile slide to include Mulder

and Scully, then turned to light their way into

the house. Beechy and Mulder wrestled the cases

and followed Scully and the young woman up the

steps and inside.

The kitchen was large and very neat. On the left

side stood a large cream and green cook stove.

There were oak cupboards running along either

side of it. A sink with a hand pump stood next to

the back door. On the right was an ice box, the

kind that Mulder and Scully had only seen in old

movies. The kitchen was painted white and filled

with home canned produce. The only window in it

had no window dressing.

“Leah.” Beechy called out to his wife as he

removed his hat. Into the kitchen waddled a very

pregnant woman wearing a pink cotton dress with a

white apron covering her large belly. Much to

Scully’s delight, her bonnet covered a head of

red hair. The woman had a shy smile and Mr.

Beechy stepped forward and took her hand. The

room was soon filled with children.

“This is my wife, Leah, and our daughters,

Rebecca and Mary.” He gestured to the two boys

just returning from the barn, “This is David and

Samuel.” He then looked down and pulled a small

boy out from behind his wife’s skirt. “And this

is Obadiah.”

The child grinned sheepishly up at Scully and

said, “Momma, she’s got hair just like yours!”

The whole room erupted into laughter causing the

boy to turn red.

His mother placed her arm around his shoulder.

“Yes, she does, son.”

Mulder spoke up, “My name is Noah Mulder, but

like Beechy here I’d rather just be called

Mulder.” The kids all giggled. Mulder took

Scully by the hand and pulled her further into

the light of the lantern. His eyes glowed with

warmth as he looked down at the bonnet covered

head, “This is my wife, Hannah.”

“Nice to meet you, Hannah,” Leah said shyly. She

seemed both embarrassed and pleased by Mulder’s

apparent fascination with his wife.

“Nice to meet you and your family.” Scully warmly

smiled, but her exhaustion was causing her to

lean on Mulder’s arm.

Leah spoke up, “Matthew these people are tired,

show them to their home.” Beechy smiled and

gestured for them to follow him through the door

leading from the kitchen.

As they turned to follow, Scully realized for the

first time that not only would she and Mulder

actually be living as man and wife, she would be

responsible for his clothes and meals. Not to

mention keeping the house neat. A vision of

Mulder and his dirty sock tossing habits flashed

through her tired mind. Unlike the Falls, this

time their relationship had advanced to the point

of intimacy. Suddenly the dirty socks seemed

small in comparison to the greater perks. She

shook her head. She must be losing her mind.

Beechy led them out the small door, which opened

into a room that held a wringer washer and a

large kettle hanging over a wood fired stove. The

floor was cement and as clean as the kitchen.

Shared wash room, Scully remembered Mulder

telling her about that.

Beechy opened another door that led into an

almost exact copy of the kitchen they had just

left. Mulder was reminded of the house they had

spent Christmas Eve in with Maurice and Lyda.

He glanced at Scully, her quirked eyebrow telling

him she was thinking the same thing.

Beechy continued on with the tour, leading them

through the kitchen to the dining room and on

through the living room and into a small study.

He then backtracked to the dining room and began

to climb a small staircase. He pointed out the

bedrooms and then opened up a the bathroom door.

The bathroom was large, with a huge claw-footed

tub in the center, and a small sink on a

pedestal against the wall.

Demonstrating how to draw water up the pipes by

using a hand pump, Beechy explained that if the

reservoir on the wood stove was filled, a few

gallons of hot water could be obtained by

turning a tap. He then turned and pointed out the

tiny window to a dark spot in the yard. Somewhere

out there stood the outhouse. Flukemen danced

through Scully’s mind. Sometimes, it was

difficult to find a situation where ghosts,

goblins and or monsters didn’t flit through her

head.

They all returned to what was soon to be Scully’s

kitchen. Mary had brought over two large pieces

of chocolate cake and an ice-cold pitcher of

milk. “Momma thought you might be hungry.”

Mulder and Scully thanked her and bid the Beechy

contingent good night. He turned to Scully,

pulling her close and letting her rock into his

chest, supporting her weight. “Well, Mrs.

Mulder, you want to go to bed?”

Scully pulled out of his embrace and took a seat

at the table. “I don’t know about you Mr. Mulder,

but I’m having a piece of cake.”

Mulder joined Scully as they ate their cake and

drank their milk by the light of the lantern.

Scully spoke up first, “I’d like to stick close

to Leah tomorrow. Maybe I can get the hang of

this.”

“Good idea. I’ll try to follow Beechy. It can’t

be that difficult to be a farmer.” He said, as he

took a large gulp of milk.

“I don’t know, Mulder. This is farming like they

did it one hundred years ago. You won’t have

motorized equipment, and you’ll be out in the

heat all day.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said with a smile.

“Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.” She

took another bite of her cake.

“I want to nose around and see what I can find

out about the death of Agent Warren. It happened

in the pasture of an Amish farmer, surely they’ve

all discussed it, and maybe Beechy will have

some idea of what’s behind it.”

Scully pointed her fork at Mulder.

“I saw a pile of old newspapers in the wash room,

maybe they use them to start the fires. There

might be one with a story on the agent’s death

in it. Maybe a local perspective from the press

would be helpful, too.”

“Good idea, Scully.” He finished off his cake.

“It’s Hannah, and I’m going to take a bath no

matter how cold the water is. I have no idea how

they sleep on nights this hot.” She had finished

her cake and started up the stairs.

“I guess you just get used to it. I’m going to

check out those papers.” He called out to her as

he headed back out to the washroom.

Scully lit an oil lamp that hung from the ceiling

and pumped about four inches of water into the

huge tub. She gathered her bags and stripped off

her clothing and slid into the slowly warming

water. She leaned against the cold granite of the

tub and slowly poured handfuls of water over her

sweaty body. She closed her eyes, enjoying the

sensation when the door flew open. “Shit! Mulder

you scared me!”

“Scully, is that any way for an Amish woman to

talk? What are you doing?” He closed the door

behind him, his eyes darkening as he took in her

wet and naked form.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m taking a

bath.”

“I can see that, is there room for two in there?”

Without waiting for an answer Mulder began

stripping off his clothes. Scully was amazed at

the energy this man could display at that hour of

the night and in the heat. Tossing aside his

socks Mulder nudged Scully forward and slid in

behind her. He leaned over and spoke into her

ear. “In my own defense, Scully, this water is

cold.”

Scully laughed and laid her head back against his

chest. Mulder leaned up and kissed the back of

her neck. Her laugh deepened into that sexy

chuckle he loved to hear. “That beard tickles.”

Mulder stopped his nibbling and leaned over the

edge of the tub to retrieve a newspaper he had

dropped there in his haste to get naked.

“You were right, Scully, here’s the newspaper

article on the death of Agent Warren.” He held

the paper in one hand and reached around Scully

to thump it with the other.

“According to the paper, Warren was killed not

far from here. He had been last seen earlier in

the evening at a local place called Fern’s Diner.

There were no witnesses to the accident and he

was found around 10:30 p.m. by a passing delivery

van driver. The driver said and I quote, ‘he was

squashed like a bug under that cow’. The coroner

reported he died of massive internal injuries

consistent with being squashed like a bug.”

“Charming. So was that his medical opinion?”

Scully looked up at Mulder questioningly.

“Well, as close as he could come. He’s a butcher

by day and county coroner by night.”

“He better keep his day job,” Scully deadpanned.

“I think I’m going to take a look at the scene

tomorrow. Are you falling asleep on me? Because

if you are, I’ve got a major cramp going on

here.”

“I knew it was too good to be true.” Scully

sighed as she crawled out of the tub and began

to towel off. Mulder followed her.

In the master bedroom Scully pulled on a pair of

cotton panties and a long cream colored

nightgown. The heat was stifling and her hair

was kinking up in the heavy humidity. Mulder

pulled a pair of cotton briefs from the suitcase

and slipped into them. He sat on the edge of the

full size bed.

“Scully, why is it so hot!”

“Mulder, we’re in the midwest, in mid summer, in

an Amish house with NO electricity and you have

to ask me why it is so hot?”

“I’m sorry I asked,” Mulder mumbled.

She pulled back the large handmade quilt and top

sheet that covered the bed. She dropped onto the

bed on her back. Mulder soon followed. He moved

over to wrap his arms around her.

“Mulder, I love you more than my own life, but if

you touch me tonight, so help me I will shoot you

again.”

Able to take a hint, Mulder never said a word but

and crept back to his side of the bed.

Part II

Wednesday, August 7

Neither agent slept much and both were up by 5

a.m. Scully had just dozed off when a rooster

crowing made her nearly jump out of the bed.

Mulder slipped on his trousers and tee shirt and

made his way to the outhouse. At least they

didn’t have to share one with the Beechy family.

As he was heading out the outhouse door he passed

Scully going in. He knew better than to speak to

her in the morning before she’d had her first hit

of caffeine. She had her robe wrapped around

herself and a bad case of bed head going on but

he wasn’t telling her that.

Mulder went back upstairs, dressed properly and

finished by brushing his teeth and combing his

hair. He checked out his furry face in the

mirror. One nice thing about being undercover as

an Amish was he didn’t have to shave. One bad

thing was that at this length his beard caused

his face to itch like hell.

He wandered around the house trying to get a feel

for these simple people. It soon became evident

that all the books they had read were true. There

were no mirrors in the house and no photos or

pictures of people, only landscapes and animals.

The house reflected the modest lifestyle they had

chosen to live. Scully came in to find Mulder

scratching his bearded chin. The things he would

endured for an investigation. She went upstairs

and quickly dressed. Mulder met her on the steps

as she was coming down. “Scul… Hannah, Leah

wants to know if we would like to eat breakfast

with them?”

Scully quickly walked around him, “Mulder, any

meal I don’t have to cook is a favorite of mine.”

He chuckled at her as she headed for the

connecting wash room door.

They entered Leah’s kitchen to find the table

surrounded by hungry children eager to eat.

Mulder thanked Leah and pulled out a chair for

Scully. Mr. Beechy led the group in a prayer and

the food was passed around. Mulder had whole-

wheat toast, hamburger gravy, orange juice, fresh

brewed tea and a homemade cereal that resembled

Grapenuts. Scully had her coffee first and then

dug into the best breakfast she had ever eaten.

Leah spoke up. “Did you sleep well, Hannah?”

She put down her cup of coffee and rubbed her

hands on her lap. “It was fine except for the

heat.”

Leah and the children looked at her in silence.

Scully had the feeling she had just said

something wrong but she wasn’t sure what.

Leah snapped. “Beechy didn’t you tell these good

folks about the bedroom in the basement?”

“Bedroom.” Mulder gulped.

“In the basement.” Scully sighed.

“Sorry, Leah, it completely slipped my mind.”

“Oh, my! You two must have had a terrible night

in all that heat! Hannah, after breakfast Mary

will show you the bedroom downstairs. We all

sleep in the basement in weather this hot.”

“Really,” Scully spoke up trying to save Mr.

Beechy’s hide, “It was not that bad.”

After the meal was over, Mulder followed Beechy

and the boys out to the porch. Scully called him

back in. He had forgotten his hat. He took it

from her and kissed her lightly on the cheek and

crossed the yard again to jump on the wagon with

the boys. Scully waved to Mulder from the porch

as he set off on his first day of work.

—

Scully went back into the house feeling a little

lost. She wasn’t sure what to do next.

Mary and Rebecca were both off to work at the

noodle shop. The extra money helped out the large

family. Mary would bring lunch to her father and

brothers and Mulder, saving Leah the hard work of

making a noon meal for the men.

Scully helped gather up the breakfast dishes and

was soon up to her elbows in homemade soapsuds.

Leah was drying and softly humming to herself.

Obadiah was lingering near by.

“Obadiah.” His mother called out.

“Yeah, Momma?”

“Why don’t you take Buster and go down to check

on the calves.”

“Okay, Momma.” Obadiah ran to the back door.

“Oh, and son, don’t go near the road.”

“I promise I won’t, Momma.”

Scully watched the small boy run out the back

door. “Who’s Buster?”

“His dog, but you met him last night.” Leah

smiled as she finished wiping a plate, using the

back of her sleeve to wipe a loose tendril of

hair out of her eyes.

Scully smiled and handed her another plate. “He’s

a darling child.”

Leah placed the last plate in the cupboard.

“Obadiah? Yes, he is.”

Scully let the water out of the sink. “Does he

play in the road?”

“Obadiah forgets how fast the motor cars travel.

He’s come close to being hit twice. I never let

him get the mail unless I’m with him. He never

developed like the other children did. He seemed

well, slow. He didn’t walk until he was almost

three.” Leah laughed. “But when he finally did he

never stopped.”

“Does he attend school?”

“No. We tried, but he just couldn’t keep up and

it frustrated him so. Obadiah will always be my

baby.” Leah said wistfully.

Scully nodded silently. She understood Leah’s

concern for her child. Not for the first time did

she wonder at the strength of women, who were

faced with adversities in those they loved most,

and yet made the best of it. “Does he like to

watch the cows?”

“He loves animals, but he’s simply crazy about

our milk cows. I think he’s most satisfied around

them. They pass no judgement on him and they like

to see him coming,; he’s so gentle with them,.”

Leah replied as she placed another plate in the

cupboard.

“All done,” Scully smiled.

“Good. I need a break.” Leah arched her back,

supporting the weight of her belly with her

hands. She made show circles with her well worn

hands, in an age old rhythm of comfort and

satisfaction known to pregnant women. Turning to

the table, she looked up at Scully, “Your

husband, he’s a bit thin.”

“Mulder?” Scully said as she walked over to the

table and pushed in the chair Obadiah had been

sitting in.

“Yes, but he seemed to have such an appetite at

breakfast. I wish Matthew could keep the weight

off like your Noah.”

Scully looked a little pensive. She had to tell

her sometime, it just might as well be now. She

pulled out a chair and sat down across from Leah

at the kitchen table. She ran her tongue over

her bottom lip. “Leah, I, I have a confession to

make.”

Leah looked up at Scully. “What is it, Hannah?”

Leah studied Scully for a long moment, sizing her

up, perhaps, or wondering if her head was going

to start spinning around, thanks to Mulder’s

mental breakdown story.

Scully held her breath for a moment and then

blurted out. “I can’t cook! I mean I can, but not

like you.”

The gentlewoman then smiled, “Is that all!

Cooking can be learned. My mother was a great

cook and she taught me. I can teach you. We’ll

put some meat on your husband’s bones.”

Scully grinned back at Leah. “Thank you, I am

very grateful. In return I want you to let me

lift the heavy things around here. You’re

certainly not in the shape to be doing it.”

Leah took a moment to think. “There are no canned

goods or provisions in your house. Tell you what,

until you can get on your feet, you can help me

out here and we’ll cook together.”

“That’s a deal!” Scully smiled.

The rest of the morning flew by for Scully. It

was bread baking day, and while Leah mixed up the

dough, Scully kneaded it into loaves. Bread was

made twice a week and with such a large family,

it took many loves to last.

It was nearly noon when Obadiah ran into the

kitchen. “Momma, I’m hungry.”

Leah laughed and wiped the sweat from her head.

“Of course you are. You’re always hungry. Go wash

up and I’ll get lunch.”

Obadiah went to the sink and pumped out the cool

water. He soaped up his hands and face and

scrubbed, making a joyful mess the way only a

child could.

Scully watched the little boy with interest.

“Good boy. Now, go sit down.”

Obadiah pulled out a heavy wooden chair.

“What sounds good, son?” His mother asked.

“Gill cheese!” The little boy chimed.

Scully and Leah both laughed. “He does love his

grilled cheese.”

Scully watched as Leah pulled out a loaf of

cheese.

“Here let me do that.” Scully said.

Leah handed the knife to Scully and she began to

slice of thin slices of cheese.

Leah lit the propane stove with a match and

placed a heavy skillet on the burner. She then

buttered two slices of homemade bread and put two

slices of cheese between them butter side out.

She placed the sandwich on the hot skillet.

“Hannah can you get me two tomatoes from the

basement. We’ll have sliced tomatoes for lunch.”

Scully went down the steps and was met with a

cornucopia of home canned vegetables and fruits.

Barrels held potatoes, squash and yams. She found

what she was looking for and came up out of the

basement, sparing a glance behind her. Basements

were but one more thing that gave her the creeps

at times. She washed and sliced the tomatoes,

while Leah poured the cold milk.

“Umm, good!” Obadiah said.

Scully decided she liked the little boy with the

soft eyes. Those eyes told her he had a gentle

soul; in their depths she recognized the same

warm glow she had become familiar with in

Mulder’s. She watched him beneath her lashes

until lunch was concluded. As soon as the last

crumb was gone from his plate, Obadiah ran back

outside.

Scully rose to collect the dishes and spared a

glance toward Leah. She was tired and drained

from the heat, the work, and the baby she was

carrying.

“Leah, why don’t you go rest? I can clean up.

That I do know how to do.”

Leah laughed and patted her stomach. “I think I

just might do that.”

“I’ll look after Obadiah for you.”

“Thanks,” Leah said as she left the kitchen to go

downstairs.

Scully did what little dishes they had used and

cleaned off the table and the old stove. She then

went outside to check on Obadiah and to get out

of the heat of the kitchen.

The boy was sitting on a wooden plank swing tied

high to a maple tree. Scully stepped off the

small porch and walked toward him, matching his

smile with one of her own when he spotted her

coming.

“You want me to push you Obadiah?” She asked.

“Yes, please. Momma used to do it, but she can’t

no more.”

Scully pushed the boy in the swing. He kicked out

his tiny legs. “Your momma says that you like the

cows?”

“Yep, I do.” He answered.

“Do you know how to spell cow, Obadiah?” Scully

asked as she pushed the swing.

“No,” the little boy replied. “Can you tell me

how?”

Scully stopped the swing and bent down next to

him. “C-o-w. Cow. Can you say that?” She said it

again. “C-o-w.”

Obadiah slowly said, “C-o-w.”

“That’s right!” Scully laughed and stood up to

push him again.

“C-o-w, c-o-w, c-o-w.” He repeated over and over

as he swung higher.

“Obadiah, you think you can remember that and

surprise your momma at supper?”

“I sure can, Hannah. C-o-w. I like cows,

‘specially when they float like Poppa’s boat on

the lake.

With a start, Scully suddenly realized that he

might have been witness to the cow that killed

Agent Warren. She stopped the swing and took

Obadiah by the hand. “Want to go for a walk?”

“Sure. Hannah, you got pretty hair. Just like my

momma’s.”

“Obadiah, you said you liked it when the cows

float. Can you show me the cows that do that?”

The boy stopped walking and looked down at his

bare feet, pulling on his bottom lip. “I can’t do

that.”

Scully was confused. “You can’t tell me or you

can’t do that anymore?”

The boy ran down the cow path. “I’m gonna go see

the cows, come on, Buster.” The boy took off down

the path with his dog barking at his side.

Scully went back into Leah’s kitchen and crossed

through the wash house into her own side. She

glanced out the window to see Obadiah playing

with the calves. She climbed the stairs and went

to the master bedroom. She hung up Mulder’s

clothes and took off her bonnet, letting down

her hair. She went to the bathroom and filled

the sink with cold water. As she washed her face

she wondered how Mulder was faring.

Scully dried her face and pulled back her hair.

Looking out the upstairs window, she could easily

see Obadiah still playing in the field. She

secured the starched bonnet once more to her head

and straightened her dress and went down stairs.

Deciding she couldn’t put off that trip to the

outhouse any longer, she headed out the back

door.

As she crossed the yard, Scully would have only

had to turn her head to the right to see a cow

slowly float past her bedroom window and land

back in the field.

Leah had gotten up and was lighting the stove

when Scully returned to the house. She quickly

washed her hands and helped Leah pour water into

the reservoir on the top of the stove.

Leah wiped her hands on her apron as she said,

“There’s a haystack supper tomorrow night at the

school. I thought I’d get my pies done early.

There won’t be much time tomorrow, it’s wash

day.”

Scully took the large bucket back to the wash

house. “A haystack supper?” She asked as she shut

the door.

“Don’t you have those back in your part of the

country?”

Scully just smiled and closed the top to the

reservoir.

“It’s a fun way to raise money ’round here. This

time it’s for a new roof for the school.”

Leah sat her large mixing bowls on the table.

“Can you get the measuring cups and mixing spoons

out Hannah?” Leah asked. “The women all get

together and make supper, but it’s stacked in

large bowls. Usually mashed potatoes go in first,

and then noodles and roast beef or pork on top

of that, finally corn or beans are added, and a

slice a bread tops it off.” She laughed. “I

guess it kind of looks like a hay stack.”

“Sounds like fun.” Scully said as she busied

herself in the kitchen.

“Oh it is.” Leah said as she looked around the

table. “Can you get me the eggs and some cream?

But I’m in no shape to help this year, so I’m

making some pies for the auction.”

Scully got the eggs and cream out of the icebox.

“So what kind of pies are we making?”

Leah looked at Scully with a grin. “WE are making

a cherry pie, a rhubarb custard, and a German

chocolate.” Leah sat down and wiped her face with

her apron. “What kind of pie does your husband

like?”

Scully thought for a moment. “Sweet potato,” she

said.

Leah laughed. “He’s in luck. I canned sweet

potatoes last fall and there should still be a

quart or two in the basement.”

“Hannah, can you go downstairs and bring me up a

jar of rhubarb, a jar of cherries, two cups of

pecans, and a jar of sweet potatoes? You’ll find

the nuts in a small wooden barrel. We’ll have

these pies done in no time.”

Scully did as she was asked and soon they were

measuring and mixing and beating the ingredients

together. She watched Leah as she cut a piece of

lard into a small pile of flour she had poured

on the table. Leah added some ice water a few

drops at a time until she had a beautiful ball

of piecrust dough.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and in ran

Obadiah holding his hand. He had pinched his

fingers in the gate latch. Leah kissed his

forehead and took him upstairs to mend his

fingers.

Scully looked down at the smooth ball of crust on

the table. She was sure she could make her own

crust now that she had seen a pro do it. She

placed a small pile of flour on the table and

cut a little lard into it. She added the water

just like Leah had and rolled the mixture into a

ball, but the ball was sticking to the table so

she added more flour. This made the dough too

stiff so she added more water. Finally the dough

began to some what resemble the dough Leah had

made. Scully was feeling pretty proud of herself.

Just then Leah came back downstairs.

“Is he okay?” Scully asked as she pushed back her

hair with the back of her hand smudging her face

with flour in the process.

“He’ll be fine. He does that all the time. I kiss

it, get him a cold wash cloth to put on it and he

lays down for a nap.”

Leah looked over at Scully’s little ball of

dough. “I see you have made your crust.”

“I hope so.” Scully says, not entirely convinced.

Soon the pie shells were all filled and were

baking in the oven.

Leah stiffly stretched her aching back and sat

down at the table as Scully cleaned up the mess

they had made. “Where did you meet Noah?”

Scully broke out in a sweat and this time it

wasn’t from the heat.

Leah went on. “I met Matthew at a church picnic.

I can still remember it like it was yesterday.

Church was held at Jacob Mishler’s Farm.

Everyone was there. Some members of the

congregation in Middlebury came over to join in

the prayer service. Matthew was among them. He

was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes

on.” Leah blushed.

Scully was furiously scrubbing the kitchen table.

She knew she would have to come up with

something. “Noah ran a small store back home. He

needed help and I applied for the job. That was

nine years ago.”

“So how long you been married?”

Scully rinsed out the dishcloth. “About two

years.”

Leah laughed. “You two certainly took your time.”

“Tell me about it.” Scully muttered. She

desperately wanted to change the topic. “Those

pies smell great.”

“We’ll have the cherry one for supper. How does

rib eye steak, cheese potatoes, lima beans and

fried green tomatoes sound for supper.”

“Sounds great!”

“Good, because you’ll have to help. I’m just too

worn out in this heat.”

Scully began to worry about the other woman. She

went to the sink and filled a large glass with

water and wet a dishcloth. She sat the glass

before Leah and handed her the cloth. “Here. You

look like you could use this.”

Leah smiled up at Scully. “I guess the good Lord

sent me my own guardian angel.”

Scully pinked with pleasure, or heat, or

deception. This was the part of the job that she

found distasteful. She had to make people trust

her, then pull out the gun and handcuffs and

start arresting those trusting souls.

Leah wiped her face with the cool cloth. “Can you

take the pies out of the oven?”

“Of course,” Scully replied and grabbed the oven

mitts.

Soon the room was filled with the smell of

cooling pies and boiling vegetables. Scully was

peeling potatoes while Leah was preparing the

steaks. Scully looked up at Leah. “When is the

baby due?”

“Doc told me it would be six more weeks but that

was two weeks ago. Matthew has already made

arrangements at the new birthing center down the

road. They think I’m too old so I have to be

there a few days before my due date.”

“That’s probably best.” Scully agreed.

Leah finished putting the steaks on the broiler

pan. “You and Noah want children?”

Scully shifted in her chair and looked down at

her hands. “We would love to have children, but I

am unable.”

Leah stopped what she was doing and looked at

Scully, softly saying, “Oh, I am sorry to hear

that.”

Scully’s blue eyes shimmered, but she hid it from

Leah. Most of the time, their relationship and

their professional life lives allowed her little

time to miss having children. Times like these,

however, faced with a chance to be near a mother

so close to her time again, her heart hurt.

Soon supper was done and awaiting the men’s

return. Mary and Rebecca had been back for about

an hour and they helped set the table. Scully

went to her own home to clean up. She couldn’t

wait to see Mulder. It had been a long day with

out him. Just then she heard Buster barking and

the sound of horses hooves on the gravel drive.

She looked out the upstairs window to see the

team pulling up in front of the house. Out of the

back of the wagon jumped David and Samuel. Mr.

Beechy climbed down from the left side and an

obviously sore Mulder slowly climbed down from

the right.

Scully ran down the stairs and out the wash house

door toward the wagon. Mulder looked up at her

with that grin of his and held out his arms. She

gladly fell into them. His shirt was covered in

sweat but she didn’t care, he was home. He took

off his hat and wiped his face on his rolled up

sleeve. He then dropped his arm and wrapped it

around Scully and squeezed her. “Anyone miss me?”

he teased.

“You’ll never know just how much.” Scully grinned

up at him.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Maybe

later, I’ll let you show me.”

Beechy and the boys went over to a pump that

stood near the barn and washed up. As much as

Mulder hated to, he let go of Scully to join

them.

Scully could tell by the way he walked he was

tired and sore, but she would take care of that

later.

A prayer was said and supper was served. Everyone

dug in. Obadiah looked over at Scully and she

nodded her head to him. He grinned and spoke up,

“Momma, hey, Momma!” He wasn’t being heard above

the din at the table. Finally Scully said,

“Leah,” and glanced down to Obadiah.

Leah put down her fork and turned to her son.

“What is it?” The table grew quiet and Obadiah

began to freeze.

Scully smiled at him and said softly, “Go on.”

Obadiah spoke up. “Momma, I can spell cows.”

Everyone looked at him as he began. “C-O-W,

cows!”

The entire gathering laughed and clapped. The

small boy turned red.

Leah grabbed her son. “Who taught you that!”

“She did!” He said as he pointed to Scully.

Scully blushed and looked at him. “You said you

could remember it and you did.”

“Yes I did! C-O-W, cows.”

Scully caught Mulder staring at her. A smile

crossed his face, and then he winked at her.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence on

Mulder’s part. Scully knew something was

bothering him, and right after the dishes were

done she was going to find out just what it was.

Scully found Mulder standing under a tree,

leaning against a fence post. She slowly

approached him. “Hey,” she softly said softly as

she ran her hand across his back. She’d been with

this man long enough to know when something was

wrong. Mulder was feeling sorry for himself.

She leaned against the post and faced him. Her

arms were crossed over her chest. She glanced

around to make sure no one was within earshot.

“Okay Mulder, what gives?”

Mulder didn’t say anything.

Scully lowered her head and raised her eyes.

“Mulder?”

“I can’t farm, Scully.” He said quietly, with

such despondency in his voice Scully had

difficulty hiding the smile that teased at the

corner of her mouth.

“What?”

“I can’t farm,” he repeated.

“Well, Mulder, most city people can’t, without

some instruction.”

“No, Scully, they won’t let me farm!”

Scully frowned and circled him, ducking under his

arm that rested against the post and leaving her

hands on his warm chest. “Mulder.”

“I pulled fucking weeds all day.” He continued to

stare out over her head at the vast farmlands.

“Why? Why did you pull weeds?” He was confusing

her with his cryptic weed comments.

“Well, for starters, the horses got away from me.

Then I couldn’t stack the damn wheat into those

little piles. That’s a lot harder than it looks!”

His head of steam was growing, she could see it.

“I’m sure it is, but why did you pull weeds.”

Mulder leaned down and looked into her eyes and

snapped, “I guess Beechy got tired of chasing

down the horses!”

“It’s a good thing I told Leah you were a

shopkeeper.” Scully mumbled as she turned to

stand next to him.

“What?” Mulder looked down at her.

“Never mind.” She knew she had to pull him out of

his funk or the whole evening would be shot. “So

where did you pull these hated weeds?”

“In the bean field. I’m telling you, there is not

a weed left in that entire five acres. I even

scared off the baby weeds.”

“Even the baby weeds, huh. If you ask me, it

takes a real man to completely eradicate weeds

from a five acre plot. It takes precision,

attention to detail, persistence….”

He cut her off, “Ok, ok, I get the point.” She

grinned up at him, knowing the crisis had passed.

Mulder chuckled as he drew her close to him. “And

what did you do today?”

“Not much.” She didn’t have the heart to tell her

big strong man with the bruised ego how much she

had learned from Leah and the fun they’d had. “I

did bake a pie for the auction tomorrow night.”

Mulder rubbed his nose against hers and grinned.

“You’re turning into a regular Betty Crocker,

aren’t you.”

Scully remembered her talk with Obadiah. “Mulder

I spent some time with Obadiah.”

“I see that.” Mulder smiled and pulled her even

closer.

“No, besides that. I think he has some connection

or knows something about your flying cows.”

“Seriously?”

“He told me he liked to ‘see them float like

Poppa’s boat on the lake’.”

“It does sound like the kid might know something.

You seem to have established a rapport with him,

you work on that end, and I’m going to get over

to the crime scene.”

Mulder looked up to see a horse and cart pulling

up the lane. Beechy came out to greet the man

behind the reins.

“Mulder.” Beechy called out and motioned for

Mulder to join him.

“Oh, what now?” he groaned as he released Scully.

“Maybe the word got out about your prowess with

weeds.”

“Keep it up, Scully, and you’ll be bathing alone

tonight.”

The couple walked over to the cart. “Mulder, this

is LeRoy Bontrager. He has a cart you can use

until you get yourself a rig.”

LeRoy was a short man with a large nose and a

huge grin. “Mr. Mulder,” LeRoy said as he

extended his hand.

“Mr. Bontrager.” Mulder returned the handshake.

“This is awfully nice of you.”

“No trouble, Mr. Mulder. You can help me out

someday.”

“Yeah, he might have weeds to pull.” Scully said

under her breath.

Mulder elbowed her, “Shush, woman.” The murderous

gleam in his partner’s eye didn’t escape his

notice. Luckily, however, it flew past the two

men he was speaking with, who exchanged grins.

LeRoy unhitched his horse and crawled onto its

back. With a wave of his hand he headed down the

lane.

Beechy called out to his son mucking stalls in

the barn. “David, bring up Judy.”

He turned to Mulder and Scully. “Judy is a gentle

horse. She’s got some age on her, so we don’t use

her much.”

David came out with a chestnut brown horse with a

dark mane and tail. She looked like every other

horse they had seen in the last two days.

Judy was soon harnessed to the cart. Mulder took

Scully by the hand. “Come on, Hannah.”

Scully spotted Obadiah playing in the dirt with a

toy horse. “Hang on a minute, Mulder.” She went

over to the child and bent down. Soon she was

returning with Obadiah in tow.

Scully looked over to Mr. Beechy. “If it’s okay

with you Mr. Beechy, I’d like to take him with

us.”

Beechy walked over and bent down to pick the boy

up. He smiled at him and sat him in the cart.

“Now you don’t give these people any trouble,

son.”

“I won’t, Poppa.”

Beechy helped Scully into the cart, slapped Judy

on the rear and off they went. Mulder was at the

reins and Scully was not convinced this was such

a good idea. Her nervous look made him smile.

“Nine plus years together, Hannah, how many times

have I been in an accident?”

He paused. “Never. Well, not driving, anyway.”

Her mouth opened.

“And accidents caused by ghosts, conspirators, or

other bad drivers don’t count,” he countered

before she could voice her opinion.

“Why the hell not?”

“Hannah! You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

He glanced down at Obadiah, excitedly watching

the scenery go by at a steady snail’s pace. He

paid no attention to anything the adults were

saying. —

The sun was setting and everything took on a

golden glow. They reached the end of the lane

that led to the the Beechy farm and Scully spoke

up. “Okay, Noah, which way now?”

“According to the paper, it happened not too far

from Fern’s Diner.” Mulder said, aware of the

child sitting beside him.

Obadiah chimed in. “Fern’s, that’s where Becky

and Mary works.”

Scully looked down at him. “Do you know where

Fern’s is, Obadiah.?”

“That way.” The boy pointed to the right.

“Then right it is.” Mulder grinned and snapped

the reins.

The cart stayed on the buggy path at the edge of

the highway. Luckily the traffic was light, which

helped Scully become more comfortable with Mulder

at the reins. They had gone about three-quarters

of a mile when Obadiah yelled, “There it is!” He

pointed to a gray, low slung building just ahead.

“According to the report, we turn left at the

next crossroads and go another quarter mile.

Obadiah was suddenly excited. He pointed across

the highway. “Look! Cows, c-o-w, cows.”

Scully smiled down at him and draped her arm

around his shoulder.

“Look.” Mulder pointed to the right. “That cow’s

out of the pen.”

Obadiah turned in his seat to watch the dairy cow

grazing along the highway.

“Mulder, you think we should turn around and put

it back?

“Not now. I want to get to the scene while it’s

still light.”

Mulder looked down at the tight expression on

Obadiah’s face and said softly to the little boy,

“When we come back, we’ll put her in the pen.

Okay?”

Obadiah just nodded his head.

“Mulder, here’s the corner.”

Mulder managed to get the little cart across the

highway and around the corner without getting

anyone killed.

“There’s the tape.” He pointed down the road and

to the left. He pulled the cart over to the edge

of the road and tied the horse to a fence post.

“I’m not chasing any more horses,” he mutterd to

himself. He lifted Obadiah down and then helped

Scully. She took Obadiah by the hand and they

walked to the path that led into the field.

Mulder unlatched the gate and led the little

group to the crime scene.

In the dimming light there wasn’t much to see.

Mulder lifted the tape and bent down to touch the

loose soil. Scully released Obadiah’s hand and

bent down so she too could check out the scene.

“There isn’t much to go on, Mulder. Hoof prints,

a depression, and it looks like dried blood.”

Mulder was crouched down chewing on his thumbnail

when he heard Scully shout, “Obadiah!” The boy

was headed toward the highway. Scully grabbed

Mulder by the shoulder. “Mulder! The highway!

He’ll get hit!”

Mulder leapt to his feet and took off running

toward the child. Scully followed as quickly as

she could, but with the long skirt she wore she

had no prayer of keeping up with him. They both

shouted Obadiah’s name, as Scully watched

Mulder’s back pulling farther away from her.

Obadiah seemed not to hear the adults calling his

name, nor see the large semi-truck coming down

the highway. He had a single purpose in mind,

focused only on his appointed mission of saving

that cow.

Mulder was gaining on him, his long legs flying

when out of the corner of his eye he spotted the

truck approaching. In an instant he knew the

reflection from the sun on the window would make

it hard for the driver to see the boy before it

was too late.

Obadiah was nearing the fence. How much of a head

start did he have on them, anyway? Mulder shook

his head, children and crime scenes obviously

didn’t mix. He and Scully were so involved, they

had let the boy simply run off.

Mulder looked past the boy and saw the cow that

had strayed onto the highway. His lungs were

burning, but he knew Obadiah wouldn’t let the

cow come to harm, and he had he to get to the

boy. All that stood between Obadiah and the truck

was a thin wire fence.

Mulder knew Obadiah’s plan was to get to the cow,

to shoo it off of the road, but there was no way

the boy could do that without getting killed.

The boy hit the fence and began to climb. The

roar of the truck reverberated through Mulder’s

head. He wasn’t going to make it, he wasn’t

going to make it, no matter how fast he went now,

he wasn’t going to stop the death of this small

boy left in his care. He could vaguely hear

Scully’s voice cracking as she pleaded with the

child to not climb the fence.

Obadiah had his feet on the first cross wire of

the fence and came to a dead halt. The cow that

stood on the highway slowly rose up. The semi

cleared the hooves by only inches. The cow moo’ed

nervously as it gently fell back onto the

highway.

Mulder nearly ran through the fence before he

could stop. He was so winded he had to bend over

to catch his breath. Scully charged into him,

nearly knocking him over.

“Hannah, see the cow. C-o-w.”

Obadiah was oblivious to what had just happened,

but the cow wasn’t. She took off for the open

gate and didn’t stop running.

Mulder was still panting. “Scully, did you see

that!”

Scully gulped in heavy breaths. “I think I did.”

“That was amazing.” Mulder slumped to the ground.

Obadiah had crawled off the fence. Scully grabbed

the boy and hugged him tightly.

“Hannah!” Obadiah yelled. “I saw the cows!” He

hugged her back.

“You sure did.” Scully said as she slowly got to

her feet. She took Obadiah by one hand while

Mulder took the other.

The horse plodded along, retracing the route that

had brought them to the field. Obadiah was fast

asleep in Scully’s lap. Scully whispered, “What

do you think just happened?”

Mulder was still in a state of euphoria. He shook

his head. “I have no idea. It could be

atmospheric, climatic, geographical, or any

combination of things.” Mulder sighed. “Scully, I

am so sore.”

Scully stopped rubbing Obadiah’s back and began

to rub Mulder’s thigh. “I think I can take care

of that later tonight,” she purred. “A cool bath

for two, a backrub.”

“Son of a bitch!” Mulder growled as he pulled the

cart to a halt and stood up.

“Mulder! What is it?” Scully said with alarm in

her voice.

“A weed!” And there, in the middle of the bean

field stood a tall weed taunting Mulder.

Scully just shook her head and sighed, “Oh, no,

here we go again.”

Part III

Thursday August 8

Scully was up early, having slept much better in

the basement where the temperature was twenty

degrees cooler than the upstairs bedroom. She

awoke to find Mulder had snuggled up against her

in the night, seeking her warmth. She dressed,

made her trip to the outhouse and went in to help

Leah get breakfast ready.

After a breakfast of home canned bacon, eggs,

toast, fruit and cereal, the men made their way

out the door to work in the fields.

Scully followed Mulder to the wagon. She

whispered to him, “Don’t forget that weed.” He

kissed her lightly as the boys giggled. Mulder

made a wise crack back at them, crawled into the

wagon and off they went.

The beds were all stripped and the linens

changed. Laundry was piled high in the wash

house. Leah got the gas-powered wringer washer

going while Scully filled the pot with water to

heat.

By noon the laundry was almost done and had been

hung on the line to dry. Lightly hued dresses,

dark colored trousers, along with towels,

underwear and bed quilts. Once she got the hang

of it, Scully had done most of the laundry

herself.

Leah was making lunch for the three of them.

Obadiah had been down in the cow pasture all

morning and was slowly making his way back to

the house as Scully was finishing hanging the

last of the laundry. Obadiah saw Scully and ran

to her. “Hannah, can you tell me how to spell

Buster?” Scully was taken by the boy’s zest to

learn, even if he couldn’t tell a C from an O

from a W yet.

Scully stooped down and took his hands in her

own. “Well, Buster is a dog. How about I teach

you how to spell dog?”

“Okay!” Obadiah jumped with excitement.

“First, how do you spell cow?’

“C-O-W!” The boy repeated.

“That’s good. Now dog is D-O-G.”

Obadiah repeated slowly, “D-O-G.”

“That’s right.” Scully smiled at him. “D-O-G.”

Obadiah grabbed Scully around the neck with his

small dirty hands. “I like you, Hannah.”

Scully laughed and patted him on the back. “I

like you too, Obadiah.”

She pulled away from him and grabbed his hand.

“Let’s wash up for lunch.”

They walked over to the old pump and soaped up

their hands. Scully wanted to talk to the boy

about the incident last night but she knew, now

was not the time. His attention span being so

short and he was intent on learning how to spell

dog.

Leah already had lunch on the table. They ate

creamed turkey and biscuits along with homemade

applesauce. After lunch was cleaned up the rest

of the day was spent folding and ironing

clothes, greeting the iceman, and dusting the

house.

Leah let Scully talk her into going upstairs to

rest. That left Scully with Obadiah. She found

him playing in the dirt with his toys again. She

took four homemade cookies from the jar and

poured two glasses of milk and went outside to

sit on the front porch steps. Obadiah looked

over at her and realized she had cookies. He

jumped up and raced over to her. Scully chewed on

her cookie while he stared at her. She grinned up

at him. She wanted to see who flinched first.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot while

Scully ate the cookie. Then he pointed to the

other cookies. “Zat mine?” Scully laughed at him.

“Sure, if you want them.” She handed him a cookie

as he sat one step below her. He took a healthy

bite of his cookie and a drink of his milk,

wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Your husband is

tall.” He said with a smile.

Scully nearly choked on her cookie. “Yes he is.”

“I like him.”

“Thank you. I do too. Did you have fun with us

last night?”

“Uh huh. Judy likes him. He goes slow.”

Scully laughed.

“Did you see the cow on the highway, Obadiah?”

“Yeah. Momma says the motor cars will hurt me.”

“Yes, yes they will.”

“Will they hurt the cow too?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess so. But the

cow didn’t get hit, did it? Why is that?”

“She floated like poppa’s boat.”

“Do you know how she floated, Obadiah?”

“I maked her.” He said as he picked up another

cookie.

Scully was floored by his revelation. Just then

Buster came up.

“Hannah!” Obadiah screamed with delight. “Buster

eat my cookie!” Obadiah laughed and took off

after the dog.

Scully sighed. Mulder was going to explode with

joy.

The men came in from the fields earlier that

usual. They wanted to clean up for the haystack

supper that was scheduled for that evening.

Scully had already dressed and was pulling her

shoes on when Mulder stomped through the bedroom

door. He dropped to the bed and fell backwards.

“Scully, I will take chasing mothmen over farming

any day.”

She leaned over him to softly kiss his lips.

“Well Farmer Fox we have a supper to go to

tonight.”

Mulder let out a sigh and grabbed her. “I suggest

you get your dirty paws off me.”

“That sounds vaguely familiar.”

“Familiar or not you need to get cleaned up.”

Scully grabbed him by the hand and pulled his

towering frame up off the bed. She shoved him

down the hallway and into the bathroom.

He undressed while she ran his bath water. “I

saved this for you.” Scully poured a bucket of

steaming water into the bath.

“Oh Scully, you’re too good to me,” he said,

climbing into the tub.

Scully pulled a small stool beside the deep tub

and sat down. “Mulder, I had a talk with Obadiah

today.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he moved the cow out of the path of that

truck.”

Mulder leveled his gaze at her. “How?”

“I don’t know. His attention span is so short I

have a hard time talking to him.”

“Sounds like you’re doing fine. You really like

that boy, don’t you?”

“I feel so sorry for him. The potential is there

but he isn’t getting the attention he needs.”

“He is from you.” Mulder softly answered.

“But we’ll soon be gone and where does that leave

him?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Scully. I guess

we’ll figure that out later.”

“Yeah, well your water is getting cold and I’m

getting hungry so haul ass, G-man.”

“That’s Farmer Fox to you.” Mulder groaned again,

hauling said ass out of the low tub. His muscles

ached so badly, he was sure one more day would

kill him.

Mulder was soon dressed and met Scully

downstairs. She stood to follow him outside, her

eyes drinking him in. She still so loved the

looks of this man, beard and all. Beechy had

already hitched Pat and Star to the buggy. Leah

came out carrying the pies. Mulder ran over to

help her.

Beechy helped Leah climb into the front of the

buggy while Mulder helped Scully into the back.

The older children had already gone ahead with

friends. That left Obadiah standing beside the

buggy. Scully looked down at him and put out her

hand, soon he was sitting between her and Mulder.

Mulder looked over at Scully who just smiled and

shrugged her shoulders.

Beechy told stories of his childhood as the buggy

wound its way past homes and farms. At the crest

of a small hill stood a single story white

clapboard building. The wooden steps led up to a

set of wide double doors, and each side of the

building was framed with and six windows. They

drove down the gravel lane to where some twenty

to thirty buggies stood. Beechy found a spot on

the hitching post and tied Pat and Star to it.

Mulder got out of the buggy and helped Scully

down, then they both helped Leah. Obadiah jumped

to the ground.

Mulder took Scully by the hand and they walked

slowly past the rows of buggies. He stopped and

looked over the site around him. “Scully, how do

they tell these things apart!”

She laughed. “Come on.”

Leah and Beechy were already inside when the

agents arrived. The small room was packed with

bearded men and women in long dresses. Children

ran to and fro. A line was formed and tickets

were sold to the supper. Mulder bought two

tickets and he and Scully proceeded to get in

line to eat. The long tables were filled with

food and were overseen by the Amish women who

stood behind them, generously dishing up the

feast. Laughter permeated the air, along with

the wonderful aroma of dinner.

Mulder led Scully over to a small out of the way

table. She followed him, balancing her plate and

drink noticing the glances Mulder was generating

from the younger women. Even Amish women gawked

at him like love sick schoolgirls she thought. He

didn’t notice, though, he rarely did and she

chose to keep her mouth shut.

Obadiah made his way through the crowd to stand

before Mulder and Scully holding his bowl.

“Momma says if’n I’m good I can eat by you,

Hannah.” Scully scooted over on the bench she and

Mulder shared.

“Sure you can Obadiah, but wouldn’t you rather

eat with the other kids?”

Obadiah looked around the room longingly at the

other children. “I don’t go here with them.

You’re my friend, Hannah.”

Scully’s eyes grew cloudy and her throat

tightened. Mulder could see she was not going to

last long if he didn’t change the subject.

“Obadiah, you like cows, huh.”

“And dogs!” The boy spoke up. “D-O-G, Dogs.” He

grinned up at Scully.

Scully smiled at him and let out a tear-choked

laugh.

“That’s good.” Mulder praised. “But you really

like the cows.”

Obadiah was losing interest in Mulder and he

sensed he was not going to get anywhere with the

boy. He glanced over to Scully, catching her eye.

He then looked back down to Obadiah. Scully took

the cue and reached out to gently touch Obadiah’s

arm. He immediately focused on her. “Obadiah,

last night when the cow was on the highway. Do

you remember?”

He nodded his head as he ate his supper.

“Good. The cow was going to get hurt by the big

truck, right?”

He nodded again.

“How did the cow get off the highway?”

Mulder looked intently at the boy but said

nothing. Scully licked her bottom lip and

glanced at Mulder then back at Obadiah.

She leaned in and softly said, “You can tell me.”

“I told you she floated like Poppa’s boat.”

“But how did she float?” Scully took Obadiah’s

hands.

“I made her.”

“You did?” Scully looked him in the eye, hoping

to keep his attention.

“She was on the highway. The truck was gonna hurt

her like it did my cousin Thomas.”

“Thomas was hurt.” Scully asked, her eyes big as

saucers.

“A truck hurt Thomas and he never came back.”

Mulder was stunned. He scrubbed his face with his

hand.

“And you didn’t want the cow to get hurt?”

Scully’s voice cracked.

“Nope. I like cows. I like Thomas, too.” The boy

broke eye contact with her, and turned back to

his supper.

Scully didn’t know how much more of this she

could take.

“How did you make the cow float?”

Obadiah stopped eating and turned both hands up.

Mulder and Scully both let out a sigh. Obadiah

got up. “I wanna drink, Hannah.”

“Can you get it by yourself.” Scully asked

softly. The boy nodded and disappeared into the

crowd.

“Scully, that kid lost a cousin to the traffic

and these people still insist on riding around in

those death traps. Amazing.” Mulder slumped back

against the wall.

“I know.” Scully sighed. “But you believe he

controls the cows?”

“I’m not so sure. I know he thinks he does. I’m

not convinced that something else isn’t going on

here. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of these

folks have seen similar phenomenon, but only

Obadiah is honest enough admit it.”

“Let’s eat and get out of here.” She said. “I’ve

had my heart strings tugged at enough for one

night.” Mulder looked over at her and gently

rubbed her back. Scully and kids. Hell, himself

and kids were a dangerous combination these days,

they were both reaching the point of no return

for raising a child, and still didn’t know what

they wanted to do about her inability to

conceive.

The supper was finished and the dishes removed.

The tables were pushed to the side and the pies

to be auctioned were brought out. All sorts of

pies soon filled the tables, cherry, apple,

rhubarb, sweet potato and various custards and

berries.

LeRoy Bontrager stepped forword and tried to

quiet the crowd. “Everyone! Everyone!” He pleaded

with his hands in the air. The room finally grew

quiet. “The pies are ready to be sold so

everyone take a good look, especially the young

men.” He laughed while the girls all giggled.

“All the money we raise is going to the school

roof fund.” LeRoy stepped aside and let the crowd

look over the pies. Young men came up with their

girlfriends in tow. The girl would point out the

pie she had made and the boy would nod.

Mulder was resting his hip against a table that

had been pushed aside. His arms were crossed over

his chest and one foot hung off the edge of the

table as he watched this Amish mating ritual

with interest. Scully was standing next to him

softly talking to Obadiah.

“Hannah, what pie did you bake?” he asked Scully.

“Mulder, you do not what to know!”

“Come on.” He nudged her. “It can’t be that bad.”

Scully sighed. “Sweet potato.”

“Just for me,” he teased.

“Not if you value your health, it isn’t.” Scully

sniped back.

The crowd parted and LeRoy started the auction.

The bidding was fast and furious. The boys all

bought their girlfriends pies while Leah’s

brought in the high bid of 17 dollars so far.

They were down to three pies when LeRoy held up

Scully’s.

“Now who wants to open the bidding on this nice

sweet potato pie?” Mulder stood from his leaning

position and raised his hand. “I bid twenty-five

dollars.” A hush fell across the room, while all

eyes turned to Mulder.

“Mulder!” Scully gasped.

He looked down at her. “Hannah, it goes for a

good cause and I really like sweet potato pie.”

The room burst into applause.

Later that night as the moon hung low and heavy

over the quiet fields, a woman stood outside an

outhouse hugging her robe to her body.

“I am so sorry, Mulder.”

From inside the tiny building came a faint reply.

“That’s ok, Scully. It wasn’t your fault.”

Part IV

Friday August 9

The next morning breakfast was served. Mulder

had recovered and the men were on their way to

the fields. Mulder had finally gotten the hang

of handling the team. He would drive them up to a

row of wheat shocks and climb off. Then he and

Beechy and the boys would throw the wheat with

pitchforks while the horses walked down the row.

At the end of the row Mulder would climb back on

and start the team down the next row. The horses

had done this for so many years that they were as

much a part of the team as Beechy and his sons.

Leah was looking rather pale that morning. Mary

had wondered if she should stay home with her

mother but Scully reassured her she would be

there if anything happened.

It was the day Leah did her house cleaning, but

she didn’t feel well so Scully swept the floors

and washed the one in the kitchen. She dusted the

furniture and watered all the houseplants while

Obadiah ran in and out entertaining himself.

Leah went downstairs to lie down while Scully got

lunch. She fixed grilled cheese sandwiches and

opened a jar of peaches. At least she knew she

would not be poisoning anyone. She called

Obadiah in to wash his hands. He looked around

with concern on his face. “Hannah, where’s

Momma?”

“She didn’t feel well, Obadiah. She’s downstairs

in bed.”

“I wanna see her.” He headed out of the kitchen

and toward the stairs when Scully grabbed his

arm. “Sweetie, Momma is tired. Why don’t you eat

and then you can take her down a sandwich.”

He nodded his head, seemingly satisfied for the

time being.

While Obadiah was wolfing down his sandwich

Scully was hoping to talk to him further about

the cows. “Obadiah, do you remember how to spell

cow?”

The little boys’ face lit up. “‘Course I do,

Hannah!” he croaked out. “C-O-W, cows.” He

grinned at Scully.

“And how do cows float?”

The boy studied his sandwich intensely. “I don’t

know but they do.”

“DO any other animals float, Obadiah?”

“Nope. Jus’ cows. I like cows.” He got up from

the table. “I wanna see Momma.”

Scully made another sandwich and sent it

downstairs with Obadiah. She got out a glass of

milk and followed. Obadiah was already sitting

next to Leah on the bed when she got there.

“I thought you could use this.” She said as she

set the glass down.

“Thanks, Hannah.” Leah didn’t look well to Scully

and she thought it was more than usual final

trimester discomfort. “Leah, when did you last

see your doctor?”

“The day before you arrived.”

“And he thought everything was fine?”

“He told me to take it easy. That’s why I was so

glad to hear you were coming.”

“Well, I want you to get some rest. I’ll watch

this boy of yours. If you start to feel labor

pains, you call for me immediately.” Scully said

grabbing Obadiah’s nose. “And I’ll see what I can

do about feeding the men.” She sighed.

Late in the afternoon a car pulled up and Mary

got out. She was worried about her mother and

caught a ride home. She and Scully finished the

housework and got supper on the table.

—

Mulder had taken his bath and put on his pajama

bottoms. He found Scully already in bed in the

basement. She was so tired she had gone to bed

earlier than usual. He crawled in next to her and

turned down the oil lamp. “Rough day?” He asked

as he spooned up next to her wrapping his arm so

tightly around her that his hand rested on the

bed, curled under her ribs.

“Umm hum,” she murmured.

Mulder’s lips trailed the back of her neck.

“Mulder, I talked to Obadiah today.” Scully

mumbled.

“What’d he say?” Mulder asked as he ran his

bearded chin across her cheek.

“Just that cows float and other animals don’t.”

“It’s not much.”

“I know Mulder, I think we’re at a dead end.”

“It would appear so.”

“I’m sure Obadiah is involved,” Scully sighed,

“But I just don’t know how.”

“You think he orchestrated the flying cows?”

“I don’t know.”

“Even if he is behind it, Scully, we can’t charge

him. He was nowhere near the scene, he’s only

eight and no one would believe us.”

“I know.”

The bedroom door creaked open. Scully froze.

Mulder sat up straight. It was Obadiah. He ran

over to Scully’s side of the bed crying.

“Hannah, Momma’s sick.”

“Oh Mulder!” Scully whispered as she quickly got

out of bed and grabbed her robe, her eyes

beseeching him to come with her, to be her

strength as he always was. He was out of the bed

and pulling his own robe over his shoulders as

Obadiah led them into the other house and down

the stairs.

Mary and Rebecca stood outside the bedroom door

wide eyed in their nightclothes. David told her

Samuel had been sent down to Fern’s to use the

pay phone to call the doctor.

Scully entered the bedroom, Mulder close on her

heels, not giving a thought to the modesty of the

Amish women. Beechy, sitting on the edge of the

bed holding Leah’s hand seemed non-plussed by his

presence. He looked scared. Leah was covered in

sweat, despite the relative cool air of the

basement, her nightgown soaked through.

“I think it’s the baby.” Beechy said unable to

hide the concern in his voice. Scully gently

touched his shoulder. “Mr. Beechy would you go

get a bucket of cold water and a wash cloth.” He

nodded and squeezed his wife’s hand as he got up

from the bed.

“What do you want me to do?” Mulder’s eyes

riveted into hers, his hands griping her

shoulders in an effort to concentrate, and to

hide his shaking hands from Leah.

“I think this baby is about to be born. Can you

get my bag from the suitcase?” Mulder nodded, he

knew which bag she meant. “You going to be

okay?” Scully drew in a deep breath. “Yeah I’ll

be fine, just get the bag.”

Mulder passed Beechy on the stairs. “Your wife

ever delivered a baby before?” Mulder nodded.

“Once and she has had some medical training.”

Then he added, “Don’t worry they’ll all be fine.”

Scully came out and asked Mary to get her one of

Leah’s heavy white cooking aprons and some

linens and towels. She had Becky put the on

coffeepot. It looked like they would need some

before the night was through. She let Obadiah in

for a few minutes to see his mother but then

shooed everyone out except for Beechy.

Scully approached Leah and spoke quietly. “I’m

going to check you, if that’s all right. I need

to know how far you’re dilated.”

Leah nodded, biting her bottom lip as another

contraction began. As it waned, she positioned

her hips and asked, “How do you know how to do

that?”

“I’ve had some training, and I’ve delivered a

baby or two. Don’t worry, you’re going to do

just fine.”

Scully went to the basin and rinsed her hands.

“Well, I hope you’re ready to meet your son or

daughter, because you are at an eight, and almost

fully effaced. That means we don’t have much

time. Have you been laboring all day?”

“I think so, I just wanted to wait until I was a

little farther along before I went to the clinic.

The others took much longer, I thought I had

time.

Upstairs the older children were holding a prayer

vigil. Obadiah and Beechy were sitting in the

stairwell, waiting.

Mulder returned with her bag, he crossed through

the doorway as Leah screamed, a contraction

ripping through her. Mulder paled around the

mouth. “What else do you need?”

“Take my scissors and have one of the girls put

them in a pot of boiling water for ten minutes,

have her put another pot on and boil a few strips

of cloth, anything, as long as its white. When

the scissors are done have them take them out

with tongs, not touching the blade and wrap them

in a cloth they boiled. Then bring them back to

me. Have one of them bring me lots of towels,

some string, and the baby blankets that Leah was

working on.

Mulder turned to go back up the stairs, barking

orders as he went. She could hear feet flying

about, doing as he commanded.

Leah groaned through the end of another

contraction. “Your husband can give orders.” She

laughed weakly, then sucked her breath in through

her teeth as another one hit. They were coming

incredibly close, Scully knew she didn’t have

much time left.

“Leah, I need to check you again, and yes, he

does give orders well.”

—

On the stairwell, Leah’s screams were upsetting

Obadiah. “Mary.” Beechy called out.

Mary approaches the stairwell. “Yeah Poppa?”

“Take your brother here and get him some food.

You might as well start breakfast. I don’t think

any of us are going to be gettin’ anymore sleep.”

Mary took Obadiah by the hand and led him up to

the kitchen.

—

Back in the basement, Scully had Leah’s shoulders

propped up with pillows, allowing gravity to give

them a hand. Both of the women were drenched with

sweat.

“Ok, here we go, one more good push and you’re

there. Ready? Push! Push Leah! Good, just like

that, keep going….” Scully guided the head,

then tilted the baby’s body to free the

shoulders. “Stop pushing! Just breathe…” The

rest of the baby slid free, followed by blood and

remaining fluid. Scully swept the newborn’s mouth

assuring that the airway was clear, then wrapped

the infant in a blanket. Holding the bundle in

one hand, she quickly applied the hemostats she

had at the ready to two sections of the cord.

Making the cut, she handed the baby to Leah.

“It’s a girl.” At that, the baby began to cry. —

When Mulder couldn’t stand it any longer he went

outside. He had spent an hour walking up and down

the long lane in the pale moonlight with Buster

as his constant companion. Finally, Mary

appeared at the door. “Mr. Mulder, come quick!”

Mulder and Buster raced up the lane and into the

house. Leaving his new friend at the door, he

raced down to the basement. He opened the door to

the bedroom to find a crowd gathered around the

bed. He could hear faint snuffling and a soft

cry. Scully appeared from between the Beechy

children. Her hair was plastered to her face and

neck. The apron she had on was covered in blood,

saturating the nightgown beneath it. Her face was

covered in tear tracks, sweat and a large

exhausted smile.

Mulder opened his arms and she fell into them. He

put his chin on her head and rubbed her back.

“Looks like you two managed just fine.”

The older kids cleared out leaving Obadiah and

Beechy with Leah. Scully led Mulder over to the

bed as a very exhausted Leah showed him her baby.

“It’s a girl.” She croaked out. The baby had fine

red hair and deep dark eyes. Obadiah was sitting

by his mother pulling back the baby blanket to

see his new sister. Leah softly asked, “Obadiah.

What do you think we should name her?”

The little boy looked up at his friend. “I wanna

name her Hannah.” Beechy and Leah both nodded at

Scully.

Mulder grabbed her around the waist as the tears

began to fall down her face. “Come on. You need

to lie down before you fall down.” He took her by

the hand and led her out of the room.

Mary had thoughtfully run a warm bathtub of water

for Scully, which she gratefully accepted. Scully

slid under the water and would have fallen

asleep if it had not been for Mulder finding her.

The only nightgown she had brought was ruined.

Mulder gave her one of his white tee shirts to

slip on.

Mulder thought for a moment he was going to have

to carry her downstairs to their bed but she

managed to get there on her own. Scully crawled

under the quilts and immediately fell asleep.

Mulder lingered a few minutes longer reviewing

the events of the past few days. He had dragged

her out on what was turning out to be a wild cow

chase. She had to cook and clean and deliver a

baby and for what? Out of loyalty to him. That’s

what it boiled down to. No matter the case, the

heinous crimes being committed, the wrongs that

needed righting, in the end she did it because

she loved him. The occasional chance to prove him

wrong was just icing on the cake for her, he was

sure.

Beechy and the boys didn’t go to the fields that

day. They worked around the barn. The doctor

finally arrived to pronounce everyone was fine.

Saturday August 10

Later that afternoon Scully finally awoke. She

felt slightly disoriented, the events of the last

few days had all run together in her mind. She

got out of bed and dressed. Coming out of the

bathroom she met Mulder. “I was just coming to

check on you.” Scully yawned. “What’s going on?”

Mulder leaned against the stair railing. “The

doctor was here, everyone’s fine.”

“That’s good.” Scully nodded as she started down

the stairs.

Mulder grabbed her wrist. “You hungry?” Scully

leaned over the railing. “I need some coffee

first then eat.” Mulder didn’t release her wrist

but stepped around the railing behind her. “Let’s

go out for dinner.”

Scully leaned back into him. “Where would we go?”

Mulder placed his hand on her back and began

walking downstairs. “Ferns.”

“Great!” Scully replied. “I don’t have to cook.”

“I know!” Mulder laughed.

Beechy sent the family to Fern’s for supper. The

boys hitched Pat and Star to the buggy and off

they all went. Mary promised Beechy she would

bring supper back for him and Leah. The ride to

the diner was a happy one with the kids all

chatting about the newest member of their

family. Mulder and Scully sat in the back of the

buggy taking it all in.

The moment they got to Fern’s the older kids went

off to sit with their friends and tell them the

good news. Mulder and Scully sat at a small

table with Obadiah. Soon heaping plates of

chicken and noodles, mashed potatoes and buttered

homemade bread was set in front of them. Mary

came over and told Scully that they would be

going home with their friends but she would drop

her folks supper off first.

Obadiah was table-hopping, telling the family

friends about his new sister. Scully was well fed

and for once, thanks to the air conditioner,

cool. She sipped her coffee while Mulder ate a

large piece of German Chocolate pie. She knew

they hadn’t solved the case and it began to look

like they wouldn’t, but she had learned so much

in the past week about the Amish, about family,

about Mulder and best of all about herself.

Obadiah came over to their table and Scully

lifted him up onto her lap. He hugged her around

the neck and she hugged him back. He was so

honest with his emotions, she thought she could

learn something from this small boy.

Mulder paid the bill and unhitched the team from

the post. He had learned to handle the buggy

well enough to suggest they take a ride through

the countryside. Scully stepped up into the

buggy, instead of sitting in the back seat

Obadiah crawled over the seat to sit next to

her. Mulder got in the buggy and looked down at

the kid sitting next to him. He had always

worried Scully would lose her heart to another

man, he just thought he would be over eight years

old.

Mulder slapped the reins and Pat and Star headed

down State Road 5. The buggy turned the next

corner and went past the crime scene but Mulder

didn’t stop. There was no use in looking for

what wasn’t there. It was time to make some

decisions about the things they had seen, and go

home.

They passed a white farmhouse with kerosene lamps

hung in the windows. Children played outside near

a large family garden. The buggy had just passed

the next crossroad when a car roared up behind

them and pulled around them close enough to scare

the horses. Mulder managed to bring them under

control while the car left clouds of dust in the

loose gravel as it drove off.

As the dust was clearing Mulder saw the car

headed for them. It skidded to a stop in front of

them, blocking the road. The horses reared up

but once again Mulder was able to handle them.

The car door swung open and out stepped a man.

Mulder sized him up and figured he was about 5′

8″ tall, maybe 160 pounds and late twenties. He

had on jeans and a work shirt from a garage, with

the name ‘John’ on the pocket, and a large buck

knife strapped to his leg. Mulder glanced at

Scully and went for his gun, but he hadn’t been

carrying it undercover.

Another man close in build to the first got out

of the other side of the car. He walked up to

Scully’s side and leaned in the buggy, leering at

Scully and said, “Howdy folks.” John just stood

next to the car and watched his friend.

“Hello.” Mulder replied as he glanced over to

Scully and Obadiah. The boy looked scared.

“You folks know you was in our way?”

“We’re sorry.” Scully said.

“That don’t cut it!” The guy snapped.

John let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You tell

’em, Ray.”

Mulder was getting pissed. “We pay our taxes, we

have every right to use this road.”

Ray ran his fingers over Scully’s hand and said,

“I don’t give a fuck what you’re rights are, you

was in our way!”

John began to laugh, but made no move to leave

his position, leaning against the car. Mulder

looked around for any possible help but all he

saw was wheat to the left and cows in the pasture

on the right. The road was narrow with no houses

on it.

Ray grabbed Scully’s hand, an ugly look

blanketing his features. “Hey bitch, is it true

that you girls don’t wear anything under those

dresses?”

Mulder went from angry to blind fury in a flash.

He knew Scully was in danger, and turned to leap

from the buggy. As his feet hit the ground, John

was there and took a swing. His fist connected

with Mulder’s right cheek, knocking him into the

side of the buggy.

Before he could recover, John shoved him to the

gravel road, kicking him in the ribs as he hit

the ground. The wind hopelessly knocked out of

him, and dazed from the beating, Mulder lie in

the dirt. John then turned his attention to Ray,

who had pulled Scully from the buggy and was now

struggling with her.

Scully fought her captor blindly, thinking only

of getting to Mulder before the other man beat

him to death. She screamed his name, placing a

few stragetic kicks but was unable to free

herself. When she saw John come around the buggy,

she knew this was it.

Obadiah had witnessed the struggle and began to

cry. Both men had Scully now. She was fighting

them off as best she could. But she was rapidly

losing ground, as they began to drag her toward

their car. She looked over her shoulder and

screamed to the boy, “Run! Obadiah, run!”

The boy clamored out of the back of the buggy and

started to run when he realized where they were

taking his friend. He came to a stop, turned and

ran toward the fence.

Mulder had managed to get to his feet by

supporting himself on the buggy wheel. With his

eye swollen shut and fire in his ribs, he

struggled to a standing position intent on

getting to Scully before the men left with her.

Obadiah made it to the fence where the cows were

grazing and looked at them. Suddenly Mulder saw a

large Holstein rise up and fly toward the car. He

yelled, “Scully get down!” Scully managed to

twist out of the grasp of the men and fall to the

gravel road just as the cow slammed into the

pair.

I would laugh, if it didn’t hurt so much, Mulder

thought. The unsuspecting bovine missile took out

both men with one shot. Squashed up against the

car, grabby hands Ray was out cold, falling like

a sack of rocks to the ground. John, who used

Mulder’s ribcage for field goal practice was not

so lucky. He also lie on the road, next to his

prone companion but he was still conscious.

Judging from the moaning and blubbering he was

doing, John was severely injured. Mulder looked

over at Obadiah. “You did good kid.” He said as

he allowed himself to slide to the ground.

Scully found some rope and duct tape in the trunk

and tightly bound both men and left them sitting

beside the car. She helped Mulder back into the

buggy and he managed to get them back to Fern’s

where they called the police.

Within minutes the Lagrange County sheriffs

department was on scene. It turned out both men

were wanted on outstanding felony warrants and

they were suspected in the rapes of six Amish

woman over the past year. Mulder was being

checked out by an EMS technician, refusing

transport. Scully was full of abrasions from the

gravel but she too signed off.

Jacob Yoder came by and took the buggy home while

Mulder and Scully made their statements. Scully

saw Mulder take an Indiana State Police

detective aside and talk to him. He pulled out

his wallet. She was positive his FBI ID had just

been flashed. He pointed over to her. The

detective glanced her way and nodded. The two men

talked a few more minutes and then Mulder patted

him on the back and hobbled over to the rear of

the EMS where she sat with Obadiah. “Come on you

two. We’re getting a lift home.” Mulder took

Scully by the elbow while she held Obadiah’s

hand.

The State Police cruiser pulled up in front of

the Beechy home, the agents exited slowly,

mindful of their injuries. Obadiah was unusually

quiet, being overwhelmed by both the incident and

getting his first ride in a car.

Mulder leaned back in and thanked the officer,

shaking his hand before shutting the car door.

Beechy was standing on the porch. Obadiah ran to

his father, jumped into his arms and looked back

at Mulder and Scully. The boy’s face was filled

with concern as he watched Mulder limp up the

porch steps supported by Scully.

Beechy held the door open then followed them in

to the living room, still holding his son. Scully

led Mulder to the couch where she helped him

lower to sit, groaning all the way down. Scully

sat down gingerly next to him. Both agents were

dirty and bandaged. They sat there with their

shoulders slumped.

Beechy sat down across from them. Obadiah

immediately crawled off his father’s lap and

began playing with his toys. Beechy spoke first.

“I heard what happened.”

Mulder nodded. “Did you hear how it ended?”

“They said a cow trampled those two.”

“Not exactly. The cow flew through the air,

pinning them against the car.” Mulder said

lowering his voice.

“Who knows what might have happened if it

hadn’t.” Scully glanced over at Mulder, taking

his hand and gently squeezing it.

“Flying cows! Cows can’t fly. That’s utter

nonsense.”

“They do with help from your son.” Mulder looked

into Beechy’s eyes.

“My son, Obadiah? What’s he got to do with this?”

“I’m not exactly sure but I do know he can

levitate cattle, Agen… Hannah has witnessed it

too.” Obadiah sat on the floor playing with his

set of farm animals oblivious to what was going

on around him.

“It’s true, sir.” Scully lifted her head to look

at Beechy.

“This is crazy! Ain’t no man nor child that can

do that!” Beechy was becoming exasperated.

“Obadiah can.” The voice came from Leah who had

slowly crept up stairs. All eyes turned to look

at her except for Obadiah’s who was lost in his

own world. Scully got up and helped Leah to a

chair. Beechy stared at his wife in disbelief.

“Why do you speak such nonsense, woman?”

“Because it’s true.” Leah said as she sat down in

the chair, looking intently at her husband.

Scully returned to her place next to Mulder.

Leah went on to explain. “Beechy, it runs in my

family. I heard tell of my poppa having the

gift, but it skips generations. It only shows up

in boys about Obadiah’s age and only last one

growing season. I was relieved when David and

Samuel didn’t show any signs of this ability.”

She sighed, “Then Obadiah came along and I didn’t

know what to do.”

Obadiah left his toys and moved over to stand

beside his mother. “I’m sorry Momma.” His large

eyes watching her closely for the disapproval he

feared he would find.

Leah hugged the small boy to her, relieving his

anxieties with a soft smile. “It’s okay son.”

Scully spoke up. “Obadiah, come here.” The boy

walked over and stood before Scully. She took his

hands. “You saved my life and helped the police

catch two very bad men.” She brushed the hair out

of his eyes.

He smiled up at her. “Hannah, they were gonna

take you ‘way like Thomas. I miss Thomas.”

“I know you do.” Scully kissed his head and

hugged him. “But you mustn’t make the cows float

again, okay? I would be very sad if you were

hurt. Promise me?”

Obadiah looked her in the eyes. “Okay Hannah, I

promise.”

Beechy looked at Leah. Leah smiled at him and

said, “Beechy it’s called Ovan Akta.”

Mulder looked at her nodding his head and said,

“Swedish for Unusual gift.” Scully turned a

raised eyebrow to him.

—

Later that night Mulder and Scully lay in their

bed. Scully was on her side with her head propped

up on her hand playing with the tape that

covered Mulder’s bruised ribs. Mulder was lying

flat on his back with a hand resting on his

stomach. “Mulder, how did you know what Ovan

Akta meant?”

“I’ve read about it. Ovan Akta was mentioned in

an article on Jacob Ammon, founder of the Amish.

See, most of the Amish are originally from

Sweden. They formed when the church split into

the Amish and the Mennonites, depending on whom

they followed. I just didn’t know what the

‘unusual gift’ was until now.

Scully sighed. “So what do we do now?”

Mulder took her hand in his. “We head back to

D.C. tomorrow.”

“And what about Obadiah?”

“You heard Leah, it only lasts one growing

season, and this season will be over soon.”

Scully laid her head on the soft pillow of

Mulder’s arm. “I just wish I could do more,” she

sighed.

Mulder ran his hand down her arm. “You will.” He

kissed her head. “I have faith in you.” Mulder

reached over to turn out the oil lamp.

—

Sunday Aug 11th

The next morning found Mulder and Scully up and

packed. Mulder told Beechy of their intention to

return to Pennsylvania. Beechy had David hitch

up the team to take them to the bus stop.

Scully carried a suitcase outside and sat it on

the ground. She turned, squinting at the bright

sun, taking a long look at the houses. She closed

her eyes briefly, then reentered the house. She

followed the stairs up to the master bedroom,

softly knocking on the door. Leah called to her,

and she opened the door to find Obadiah sitting

with his mother. They were looking at the baby

Leah held in her arms. Leah looked up at Scully,

“Beechy tells me you’re leaving.”

“Yes. We’re needed back home.” Scully trailed a

finger softly down the baby’s cheek, memorizing

her tiny features.

“I’ll miss you Hannah, but I think there’s

someone here who will miss you even more.”

Obadiah climbed off the bed and ran around it to

hug Scully. She bent down and held the small boy

tightly to her as tears washed over her face.

She pushed him back and looked at him, letting

out a tear choked giggle. Mulder and Beechy came

in. Scully stood up and patted Obadiah’s head.

“How do you spell cow?”

“C-O-W, cows!” The boy piped up.

“And dog?”

“D-O-G, dog!” He grinned at her.

Mulder smiled at Scully as she pulled a small

card out of her pocket. She wiped her eyes on her

sleeve and laughed in embarrassment. She handed

the card to Leah as she sat down on the edge of

the bed. “Leah, this card is from a friend of

mine, Dana Scully.”

Mulder stared at her wide-eyed, but said nothing

as Scully continued. “She works for the FBI in

Washington, D.C. She is going to find a school

here that will give Obadiah the attention he

needs.”

Beechy moved over to the bed to look at the card

that Leah held in her hand. Scully ran her tongue

across her bottom lip. “He isn’t slow Beechy. He

has a learning disability. My guess is he could

be helped and then placed back into your school

system with the other kids.”

Leah called her son over. “Hear that Obadiah, you

might get to go to school after all.”

The boys’ face lit up, “Really Momma?”

Scully leaned down and ran her fingers over the

baby’s downy-soft head. “You take care of little

Hannah here.”

“Oh we will.” Leah smiled. —

Beechy and Obadiah accompanied Mulder and Scully

to the buggy that would take them back to

Shipshewana. Scully put her purse on the back

seat and turned to Obadiah. She squatted down and

held out her arms. The boy ran to her. “I’m

gonna miss you!” she softly said, kissing the

small boy on the cheek.

“Me too.” Obadiah smiled at her.

Scully took his face into her hands. “I’m going

to write to your momma and ask how you’re doing.”

“‘k” The boy grinned at her. She released him and

turned to climb into the buggy.

She looked out the side window, “And Obadiah, no

more flying cows.” She smiled.

“Okay, Hannah!” he yelled back to her as he

turned to run barefooted down the cow path with

Buster at his side.

Mulder thrust out his hand. “Beechy.”

Beechy grasp Mulder hand and arm. “Mulder, it’s

been nice having you here.”

“Sorry about the team.” Mulder grinned

sheepishly.

“That’s okay. I have the cleanest bean field in

the county now.” Beechy laughed.

Mulder stepped up into the buggy and sat down

next to Scully. David climbed in and took the

reins. Soon Pat and Star were headed down the

lane. Beechy waved from the front porch and then

turned to go into the house.

Scully took a kleenex out of her purse and

noisily blew her nose. Mulder started to laugh

but his ribs hurt too much.

David pulled into the parking lot at Yoder’s

Department store. He brought the horses to a stop

and got down to help Scully out of the buggy. He

gathered up their bags and sat them in a pile

near them. Mulder shook the boys hand and patted

him on the back. He then ran his hand over Star’s

slick back and patted the horse as she fell in

step with Pat. David waved as he started out the

parking lot.

Around the corner of the department store came an

Indiana State Police car. Scully got in the

cruiser while the trooper loaded their bags into

the trunk. Mulder moved around the car and pulled

the other rear door open. He gingerly sat down,

pulling his long legs in. They were soon on US

highway 20 headed to Michiana Regional airport in

South Bend. They both changed clothes in the

security room at the airport and boarded a flight

bound for D.C.

—

Epilogue

Two days later Special Agents Dana Scully and Fox

Mulder were seated before A.D. Walter Skinner in

his office. Skinner adjusted his glasses and

after scanning the last page of the agents

report, flipped it shut. “So you were able to

confirm that Federal Forestry Agent Joe Warren

was indeed killed by a cow?”

Mulder looked Skinner straight in the eyes. “Yes,

sir.”

Skinner added. “And it would appear that you

apprehended two men behind a series of brutal

rapes in the Northeastern Indiana’s Amish

Community.”

“Yes, sir,” Scully answered.

Skinner folded his hands together over the

report. “Good work agents.” Both agents nodded

and rose from their chairs to leave.

Scully had just stepped through the open door

when Skinner called out. “Oh, and Agent Mulder.”

Mulder turned. “Yes, sir?”

“Lose the beard.”

“Yes, sir.”

They continued down the hall. Scully smirked up

at her bearded partner. “Told you so.”

“He just suffers from follicle jealousy.”

~ The End ~

Notes: I live in the heart of Northeastern

Indiana’s Amish country and have always felt

there had to be an X File lurking there.

FoxfireX and myself were on a chat one night

acting silly when we came up with flying cows. (I

have always loved the cow scene from Rain King)

We did a little research on the Amish and their

traditions and wove them into the story. I hope

we have shown these gentle souls in a good light

and if not, no harm was intended. They are good

people who are true to their faith and not

sideshow amusements for tourist enjoyment. The

Asian beetle was a real threat. All the Amish

first and last names we used are real, but not

these particular individuals. The dogs’ and

horses’ names are also those chosen by Amish.

There is a new birthing center in Lagrange County

and haystack suppers really are held. The food is

all authentic Amish cuisine. Of course the X

File is fictional and as far as I know Amish cows

do not fly. To my partner in fanfiction FoxfireX,

as soon as you came in off the ledge and realized

we could do this, it turned into a widly fun

project. I can do the skeletal part of a story,

but it takes you to flesh it out and make it

readable, and you were the one to find that

wonderful title ‘Ovan Akta’ in your research. One

more thing, Fern’s does exist, and the noodles

are great! GG7

More Notes: We did it, Geeg! I’m really glad I

came in off that ledge to finish it, it was a

great ride. You have the ability to come up with

the greatest story ideas that are always tinged

with humor. The nights were sometimes long, but

it was worth it (even that night you suggested I

go out and paint one of my cows for the picture).

I am grateful for the opportunity to get to know

the Amish in more detail, they have facets to

their lives and faith that I would never have

fathomed.

Oh, and no cows were injured in the making of

this story. Although there should be a law about

injuring Mulder so often. FoxfireX

Send feedback to: FoxfireX_00@yahoo.com & Girlie_girl74@yahoo.com

TITLE: “The Lady of the Rings”

INFO: Written for I Made This Productions

Virtual Season 10

VS10 website is at:

http://imtpvs10.tripod.com/

AUTHOR: Ten

EMAIL: kristena@ocean.com.au

RATING: PG-13 for aftereffects of violence

CLASSIFICATION: S, Casefile, Angst, MT & ST,

MSR

SPOILERS: The Virtual Seasons branch off

from the show after “Je Souhaite”.

Minor references to “Dod Kalm”, “Kill

Switch” and the “Pusher” episodes.

Also references to Vickie Moseley’s Virtual

Season 9 story “Psi Time for

Skeptics”, and Vickie & Susan Proto’s story

“Mirror Mirror“.

SUMMARY: Mulder and Scully are kidnapped by

someone from their past, who is

determined to have revenge.

NOTE: I made up a few places in Florida so I

could put various elements in them

to serve the plot.

ARCHIVING: IMTP has a two week exclusivity

to all Virtual Season 10 stories

from the day each first appears on the

website. After that, please drop me a

note if you’d like to archive this.

My website for my stories is at:

http://bitter-moon.com/tenxffic/index2.html

DISCLAIMER: The X-Files, the episodes

referred to, Mulder and Scully and all

other characters from the show belong to

Chris Carter and his team of writers,

Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox

Broadcasting, and are used without

permission.

No copyright infringement is intended, no

profit will be gained. Characters not

recognized from the show are either mine, or

from previous VS10 stories.

THANKS TO: Debbie, Suzanne, Gerry, Mac,

Vickie and Judie – all for showing

wonderful patience, help and willingness.

Each went above and beyond the call

of duty with this story.

FEEDBACK: Yes, please! I like to know who’s

out there in the ether.

TEASER:

Late December 2002

Xavier, Florida:

Mulder stepped onto the beach and took in

the view.

Scully came up beside him and grasped his

hand. “Getting out of the unpacking,

Mulder?” she asked with affection.

“Look, Scully,” he said with contentment.

“Our beach and sea.”

“For the next week, anyway. Let’s hope that

Florida decides to let us have a

proper vacation this time.” This holiday

season was the perfect chance to try

again. A peaceful and happy Christmas had

been spent in D.C., then the agents

flew down here to the beach house they were

renting. They certainly appreciated

the change in temperature.

Scully leaned against Mulder’s side. “No

cases or recuperation or hurricanes or

humbug or psychic conventions or ‘magic’ ri-

”

He stopped her list by kissing her. Then he

said, “I’m glad that you decided to

tell your mom about us.”

“So was she. Well, she was ecstatic,

actually!”

“Bill wasn’t,” Mulder said with a grin.

“It’s not his life. It’s mine. And I am

going to live it how I want to.”

At the suggestive look that accompanied her

words, he said, “Hmm, anything

particular in mind?”

“Come inside, and I’ll explain…”

For their vacation, Mulder and Scully had

wanted someplace isolated – just the

two of them, with no neighbors close by

after what had happened on their last

‘relaxing break’ in Florida… So while they

were going over options, by chance

Scully had mentioned their search to her

friend Ellen, who happened to have a

friend who owned just such a place at

Xavier. The agents were able to rent it

for a lot cheaper than usual thanks to that

connection.

Mulder and Scully had booked this vacation a

while ago and looked forward to it

for just as long. The owners of the beach

house even gave them some leeway with

the timing, on the chance that a case might

prevent them from coming exactly

when scheduled. But it had all worked out

well.

The weather behaved itself beautifully.

Quickly the partners fell into a

routine of sorts. The morning started off

with a walk or jog along the beach.

They wore their swimwear under their clothes

so they could jump into the water

whenever they wanted. A few times they met

or saw other people along the way,

but it was mainly just the two of them.

During the day there was all the time they

desired to spend in bed if they

wished. There was also shopping and

sightseeing, the choice of eating out if

they wanted. A few movies, either at the

cinema or on video for the evening.

Even though the partners could sleep late if

they chose, they found that they

were going to bed early – for undercover

activities – then sleeping well, and

getting up early. Their surroundings were

invigorating them and they were

invigorating each other.

xXx

Monday morning

After dawn:

Mulder and Scully had walked down to a good

spot on the beach to have a game of

volleyball. A line in the sand was their

net. If they got tired of it they

could just keep strolling along, carrying

the ball, but for now they were

having fun.

Eventually the ball ended up in the surf

thanks to a wild spike by Scully.

“Good thing you’re better with a gun,”

Mulder teased, wading in to get it. Then

he turned, hearing Scully give a cry of

pain. She was holding her shoulder.

Abandoning the ball, Mulder hurried towards

her. “Scully, what’s wrong? What -”

He gave similar cry of pain as something hit

him in the shoulder. A dart.

Poison or tranquilizer? He couldn’t tell.

But either would have them at

somebody’s mercy…

By this stage he had reached Scully and

could see the dart that she had plucked

from her flesh. Quickly they looked around

them, but there was no sign of the

shooter or shooters.

“They must be in those rocks over there and

just ducked down… Did you see

anyone?” Mulder asked urgently.

“No. Mulder, we haven’t got our guns, our

phones…” Since they went into the

water every morning on these walks, they had

been leaving their cellulars in

the house.

His mind raced. The house. Their beach house

was about five minutes away. There

was nowhere else and no one else closer.

Could they reach the house in time

before the effects of the drug or poison set

in?

Mulder knew he could try a mad sprint, but

that would send whatever the dart

contained more quickly through his system –

though the adrenaline response to

being attacked had already set his heart

racing – and he’d also be leaving

Scully… He wouldn’t make it.

“Come on.” Scully was tugging at his arm.

“We have to try to get to the house.

Now!”

As they hurried along, they looked around

for their assailants. Two people – a

man and a woman – appeared from behind the

rocks and started following them,

albeit unhurriedly. “Pacing us like we’re

animals…” Mulder muttered. The man

was carrying a large sportsbag, which was

most likely concealing the weapons

used to fire the darts.

“Know who…they are?” Scully asked Mulder.

“No. Can’t…see…” The sun and distance

and the drug were conspiring against

him. And it was getting worse. Mulder

inwardly raged. There was nothing they

could use to defend themselves. If he

grabbed a rock to try to use as a weapon,

their assailants would simply wait out of

range until they became unconscious.

Mulder thought that the man and woman had

probably both fired – one aiming for

Scully, the other for him. Then the darts

could have different dosages to

compensate for their different sizes,

because if Scully had gotten the same

amount as he had, with her smaller frame she

would have been out cold by now,

no matter how she tried to fight it. Or

perhaps a single gun with time to

reload…

Mulder wished that his brain would stop

spinning its wheels in over-analyzing

the situation. The little details didn’t

matter – they were toast. And a

terrible feeling of loss and regret hit him

as he labored along.

Supporting each other as best they could,

they had almost reached the beach

house steps when Scully staggered then

collapsed, unconscious.

Trying to hold onto her, Mulder looked back

and finally got a good view of

their attackers.

The man was unfamiliar. But the woman who

was staring at them in triumph was a

blast from their Florida past. Another time,

another vacation.

Mulder found his mind flashing back, even as

he blacked out…

END TEASER

xXx

ACT ONE

Early April 2002

Beckwell, Florida

Day 1

Afternoon:

Mulder could not believe it. Thanks to a

suggestion from Skinner, he and Scully

were on an extra week of vacation.

In the first week the agents had checked

into a lovely suite at the Sheraton

Hotel in Kissimmee – of all places – and set

about doing Disney World in the

times when they had enough willpower to

leave their bed.

Then the Gunmen had arrived, in town to

attend a psi experiment at a

convention. And naturally they enticed

Mulder to check it out. Scully

reluctantly tagged along. Soon they found

themselves knee deep in an X-File,

with a psychic killer picking people off and

trying to take Mulder out at the

same time. The killer had come close to

doing so before being ‘de-powered’

thanks to a ruse from Scully and the

combined effort of a team of psychics.

So all that had cut into their vacation

time. With not long left to go of the

remainder of their one week, Mulder had

received a phone call from Skinner,

saying that some renovation work was being

done in the FBI basement area, due

to water damage which had started in one of

the bathrooms. The A.D. assured

Mulder that the X-Files office was undamaged

and would not be touched, but:

“Considering the noise and inconvenience and

no new cases, perhaps extending

your leave for another week would be

appropriate under the circumstances?”

Mulder tried not to agree ‘too’ readily, not

wanting Skinner to get suspicious.

Their boss didn’t know he and Scully were

‘together’ and the partners wanted to

keep it that way. So he had replied, “I’ll

phone Agent Scully and discuss it

with her. I’ll let you know.”

So, here they were. The agents finished with

Disney World and came to Beckwell,

near Tampa, to enjoy most of their bonus

week. At the end of it they were going

to get back to D.C. in enough time for

Scully to catch up with her mother on

the Sunday before they started work. Like

their boss, Maggie did not know they

were lovers. Having two whole weeks of

vacation and not seeing her at some

stage of it was not something Dana wanted to

achieve. Not to mention how hard

it would be to explain just how she had

spent the break…

The place they were renting was a house that

the Gunmen had found for them, an

‘apology’ for dragging them into the psi

convention and causing Mulder to be

hospitalized three times in thirty-six

hours…

Langly said about the house, “You’ll love

it. It’s right on the beach, and in a

nice neighborhood. We’ve checked out the

neighbors. A retired couple live on

one side, and a single guy on the other.”

Scully grinned. “Sounds good to me,” she

said teasingly.

“Don’t get any ideas!” Mulder warned her in

the same tone.

Langly continued, “The people who live there

have gone away for a month, so

they’re quite happy for someone to stay and

keep an eye on the place for

however long.”

The Gunmen were right about the property.

Scully loved it from the moment they

arrived.

While in the bedroom, Mulder looked out one

of the windows. It gave a good view

of the back yard, the beach, and some of the

neighboring property on the right.

Of the latter, Mulder could see a blonde man

in his twenties sitting on a

sundeck next to a bungalow. He was having

his photo taken by another man while

a woman sat nearby, writing in a notepad.

While the photographer changed

lenses, his subject gave the woman a

dazzling smile.

When Mulder went downstairs, Scully was

talking to an elderly man whom she

introduced as Adam, one of the retirees who

lived on the other side. He had

popped in to say hello and see if they

needed anything.

After exchanging greetings, Mulder said,

“Looks like the guy next door is being

interviewed for something. There’s a

photographer and reporter there.”

“Oh, probably the local paper. That’s Joseph

Stevens. He’s one of triplets –

the only boy. Helps his father with the

family business. Turned it around, in

fact, and saved it from going under. The

Stevens trio are always in the paper

for various achievements. Very close-knit

family too. And Joseph is quite the

eligible bachelor. More girls than I’ve had

hot dinners.” Adam gave a grin.

A few hours later the agents went for a

walk, to stretch their legs before

dinner. Mulder saw a man approaching from

the opposite direction, jogging. He

recognized the face of the man he had seen

having his picture taken earlier in

the day. “Scully, that’s our next-door

neighbor.”

When they met up, the muscular young man

stopped and smiled. “Hi, I’m Joseph

Stevens.”

“Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.”

They shook hands. A gold ring gleamed on

Joseph’s right hand. It looked like

there was a pattern on it, but Mulder didn’t

get a good look.

“Adam tells me you’re both federal agents.

Cool,” he said at their affirmative

nods. “I’d love to hear about it sometime.

Do you both jog?”

“Yes,” Scully answered.

Joseph said, “Well, if you’d like to use my

exercise equipment, just let me

know. I’ve got a set up – converted the

bungalow.” He pointed back at his

property.

“That’s very nice of you to offer,” Scully

said.

“Well, I might get some great stories out of

it. I can lend you the spare key.

If I can’t trust federal agents…” He

grinned.

Mulder could see from Joseph’s expression

that he was also doing it out of a

generous and friendly nature, and not out of

any noticeable desire to make

moves on Scully. The guy could see that she

was a beautiful woman, but also a

beautiful, taken woman.

Joseph continued, “I usually do my workout

at two in the morning. So I made

sure the bungalow is pretty soundproof.”

“Are you an insomniac?” Mulder asked.

“No. I’ve always been able to get by on four

or so hours of sleep, and I help

my father run a factory that has extensive

shift work, so I keep weird hours.

My sisters wish they only needed that much

sleep too. Lets me get a lot done.”

xXx

That evening Mulder finished up in the

bathroom and went into the bedroom,

where Scully was waiting for him in bed. “I

like that look in your eyes,” he

remarked.

She smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that

‘magic tickle spot’ you’re purported

to have, according to Zelda of Armenia.”

Zelda was a psychic who had given them

advice and help at the psi convention,

playing a part in the capture of the killer.

She told Scully: “Next time you’re

feelin’ frisky, try for the spot right

behind his knee. It’s his most sensitive

tickle spot and sweetie, you will not be

sorry.”

Mulder got into bed. “I do have it, and it

is provable, and Zelda must be a

psychic, because that’s the only way she

could possibly know about it!”

“But you’ve never mentioned it, and we’ve

been lovers since -”

“Scully, yes, that spot does fire my

rockets, but I had no complaints about how

you’ve been igniting them, and I still

don’t. I’ve been too busy enjoying

everything you’ve brought to the launch pad,

as it were, to get around to

saying ‘try here’. Hell, you’ve found places

I never even knew were erogenous

zones! I think because it’s you touching me,

any place feels good.”

“Well, it is high time I gave your knee some

attention. Let’s see what sort of

lift-off we can achieve.”

To the moon…

Several hours later Mulder woke up in need

of water. Scully was definitely on a

mission to dehydrate him – as pleasurably as

possible, of course. Perhaps that

was subconsciously why he hadn’t told her

about that tickle spot, he mused. As

he went to turn on the lamp, he saw a strip

of light coming in the window. Once

he was out of bed, he quietly crossed the

room and peered out the curtains. The

light was coming from Joseph’s bungalow.

Mulder looked at his watch. Their

neighbor had not been kidding about

exercising at 2.00 am….

xXx

Day 2:

The agents shared the newspaper at

breakfast, finding and reading an article on

Joseph Stevens. It was in the Tampa edition,

which everyone considered the

local paper.

The article was about Joseph’s opinions on

where Beckwell should be expanding

its business community in the future. There

was a picture of him accompanying

the piece, a close up with his chin resting

on his right hand. The gold ring

was clearly visible. It had a zig-zag

pattern etched into it.

There was a section of the article where the

journalist gave a rundown of his

achievements. It also stated: ‘Joseph is a

golden boy in many senses of the

word. When I admired his ring (pictured) he

explained that it is actually one

of three. Each of the Stevens triplets has

one. They came from the Hercules

nugget found by a prospector in California

in 1970. No ordinary baubles for

this family.’

After enjoying breakfast, Mulder and Scully

drove to Tampa and spent the day

enjoying some of the popular sights. When

they returned to Beckwell in the late

afternoon, Mulder went for another beach

walk, this time in the opposite

direction, to give Scully some time alone

and so he could have some time

himself.

Joseph was sitting on his sundeck when

Mulder returned past his property.

“Good article in the paper,” Mulder said in

greeting.

“Yeah, I actually got some phone calls today

at work asking if I’d sell my

ring. Dad bought them especially for us and

would kill any of us kids if we

dared think about selling, whether it was in

single or as a set! Dad said that

when he saw that two of the rings were for

women and the other was man’s size

it was like they were meant to be ours.”

“That’s an interesting pattern on it. Does

it have any particular meaning?”

“It’s the outline of the mountain range

where the Hercules nugget was found.”

Joseph invited him to sit and they talked

about sports for a while before

Scully came outside and saw them. She came

over and joined in.

At one point in the conversation Joseph made

an ‘I’d forgotten’ noise, then

said to Mulder, “I meant to ask – I hope the

lights from my bungalow didn’t

annoy you last night. I saw your light go

on.”

“No, I just needed to get some water.”

Mulder saw Scully give him a searching

look, probably making sure he was telling

the truth and not covering up a

nightmare that she had slept through. Mulder

said to Joseph, “Exercising at two

in the morning… You really do that every

day?” He occasionally went for runs

at odd hours himself, but that was when he

really had to burn off energy or

emotions. Usually he waited until daybreak,

at least.

“Yep. I feel really cranky and irritable

when I don’t have my workout, so I

make sure I always do. Like a drug, but a

good one. Then I get my sleep. Then I

go to work.” He gave them a spare key to the

bungalow before they went back to

their place.

That night, Mulder and Scully went out for

dinner. Scully had said she would be

perfectly happy to rustle something up in

the bungalow, but Mulder would not

hear of it. “It’s our vacation. Let’s go out

and enjoy it!”

As they were coming back from a delicious

and very filling meal, Mulder saw a

woman getting out of a car in front of

Joseph’s house. “I think that’s the

reporter who interviewed him. Think she’s

back to do a follow up article?” he

asked. “Or an exclusive?” he added with a

chuckle.

“Not so exclusive from what we’ve heard

about him!” Scully commented.

xXx

Day 3:

“I think I’m getting the hang of relaxing,”

Mulder commented to Scully. They

had gone over and used the exercise room,

enjoying the workout. While they were

doing so, Joseph came home from work and

took the opportunity to use the

equipment instead of going for his late

afternoon jog, so he could ask about

life as an FBI agent. When Scully went back

to their place to shower, Mulder

found out that Joseph still kept up his

fitness routine no matter what.

“When I bring a girl home, it’s only for the

evening,” Joseph said. “Then I get

them a cab or take them home or they come in

their car. Otherwise with my sleep

patterns it’s too disruptive, and ladies

seem to get very grumpy when I leave

them for an hour or so to go do weights. So

it’s easier this way.”

xXx

That night:

Mulder jolted awake. Two things he was

immediately aware of were Scully’s warm

presence against him and the fear from the

nightmare he’d just pulled himself

out of. He lay there, all keyed up and

doubtful of returning to sleep any time

soon. He couldn’t remember any specifics,

but his pounding heart and straining

lungs told him all he needed to know about

the fright factor.

Scully shifted against him, brow furrowing,

mumbling in her sleep. Mulder had a

feeling she was sensing his distress and

reacting to it. So he stroked her

gently and reassuringly and tried to get his

breathing under control, hoping it

would be enough to keep her from waking up.

Damn. His nightmares were a lot rarer these

days, thanks to Scully, but he

could not avoid them entirely.

It looked like Joseph’s bungalow light was

on, unless the light Mulder could

see coming in the bedroom window was

moonlight. He wasn’t sure, but was tempted

to get up and check. A burst on an exercise

machine or hefting weights would be

ideal. He could get rid of all this energy

and wear himself out in safety.

He sighed, toying with the idea. Daytime was

one thing, but at night…

“Mulder?” Scully’s voice was sleepy, but

concerned.

“I had a nightmare. It’s okay.” He explained

his idea of going to the bungalow.

“G-man, I’ve got another idea to get rid of

the energy and wear you out. Come

here,” she said tenderly.

Afterwards she held him and whispered to

him. He no longer felt the need to go

pump iron. He knew he was now okay to get

some more sleep.

And he did.

xXx

Day 4:

When Mulder saw Joseph, their neighbor said,

“I’m going to my usual bar tonight

– it’s called Troy’s. Actually, have you and

your partner been there? The

food’s great.”

And you usually manage to pick up some take

out too… Mulder thought, but kept

that to himself.

Sure enough, that evening Mulder and Scully

were involved in a frenetic card

game at the dining room table when Joseph’s

car drove past and turned into his

driveway.

Dana looked up as the car passed by. “A

blonde this time,” she remarked, then

she went back to counting her money, which

at that stage was a lot. It was

eleven by the time they turned in.

xXx

Day 5

Early morning:

Mulder woke up from a very nice sleep when

he heard a car engine nearby. The

cab for Joseph’s blonde, he thought, and

spooned closer to Scully without

bothering to check the time. Nightmare-free

sleep welcomed him back easily.

When he opened his eyes again, it was still

dark. He’d shifted in his sleep and

could now see the alarm clock. The luminous

figures burned into his eyes, even

though he quickly shut them. After two in

the morning. Damn. Why did he have to

wake up now? He wasn’t even having a

nightmare! Even the sun was still asleep.

Joseph would be up; however, this morning he

could keep his exercise routine to

himself. Mulder was determined to recapture

his sleep status. He blinked his

eyes, trying to rid himself of the flash

burn figures more easily, but then saw

something that woke him up properly. Or

rather it was something that he didn’t

see.

There was no strip of light coming in the

window to intrude on the darkness

like there should be at this hour.

Mulder turned on his lamp and sat up. His

‘spooky sense’ was sounding a few

bells.

“Mulder? Another nightmare?” Scully sat up

beside him, blinking.

“No.” Getting out of bed, Mulder went to the

window. He could see through the

gap between window and curtain that their

neighbor’s bungalow was completely

dark.

When he told Scully, she pointed out that

there could be a lot of reasons why.

Mulder explained his unease. “We haven’t

known Joseph for very long, but the

guy is a creature of habit. He’s usually

well into his bungalow exercise

routine by now. I want to go downstairs and

see if his car is there.”

“What if he’s found a woman to do an all-

nighter with? She could still be

there. Or he could have had to go to the

factory.”

“True. I’ll just go have a look out the

living room window. Won’t be long.”

Mulder went downstairs. Joseph’s car was in

the driveway. Slipping out the back

door, Mulder looked over at the man’s house

and could not see any lights in any

of the windows. The agent pursed his lips

and stood tapping his foot,

considering what to do.

A minute later Mulder was back in the living

room, looking through the phone

book. There were two taxi companies in

Beckwell. Mulder decided to try the one

that was a well-known national company

first. He dialed, identified himself and

gave his badge number, then asked some

questions. The dispatcher immediately

recognized the address. “One of our best

customers.” Yes, a cab had been

ordered to go to that address to pick up a

female tonight. “Actually, Joseph

always phones up himself but this time it

wasn’t him. It was his date.”

The dispatcher radioed the cabbie, who was

still on duty. Yes, a blonde woman

had been picked up. Only her. Then taken to

a nearby motel.

There was still no light on in the bungalow

or any sign of life that he could

see from here in the house. Mulder tried

phoning, but there was no answer. He

decided he might as well go check. If he

ended up looking like an idiot, what

else was new?

Scully had appeared in the doorway by this

stage, dressed. She was carrying his

sneakers and a bundle of his clothes. He

smiled at her. She had probably come

down while he was on the phone, heard what

he was up to, and knew what his next

move would be. Good thing she was a quick

dresser.

Clothed and armed with a flashlight, they

exited the house. Scully shone the

light across the fence onto Joseph’s

bungalow door. Its padlock was still in

place.

They went up the side of the rental house

and through Joseph’s front gate. The

automatic security light went on when Mulder

reached the porch, but that was

the only light visible. He rang the

doorbell. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

“Something’s not right…”

“He could have gone for a jog,” Scully said.

“No moon. He’d be risking life and limb on

the beach. Even with streetlights to

see by, pounding the pavement wouldn’t make

him popular with the locals at this

hour of the morning. Exercising in the

bungalow is a different story. That’s

why he set all his equipment up in there.”

Mulder tried the door. It was unlocked. At

this, even Scully looked worried.

Joseph kept his bungalow secure, so it was

logical to think he would do the

same with his house.

“Mulder, we don’t have our guns.” Since they

were on vacation, they had left

them in D.C.

“If he’s been robbed, the thief has probably

already come and gone.”

Scully had brought along her phone and used

it to summon help. She tried to

make Mulder wait until the law arrived, but

he knew that she knew it was a lost

cause.

Within a few minutes they found Joseph in an

upstairs bedroom. The young man

was on the floor next to the bed, naked,

with a head wound. Lifeless eyes

stared upwards.

END ACT ONE

xXx

ACT TWO:

Early April 2002

Beckwell, Florida

Day 5

Early morning:

It was hard to believe that someone so full

of life and energy was now no more.

Mulder and Scully were subdued, but

determined to find out who had done this to

Joseph and why. The agents had not heard

anything of the attack, since Joseph’s

bedroom was on the other side of the house.

Deputies were checking with his

other set of neighbors.

Scully could not give a good description of

the woman she had seen as Joseph’s

car had passed the house. She had only

glanced up and not gotten a good look.

Mulder and Scully went over the crime scene

with the local law enforcement, who

on the whole were just tolerating these FBI

intruders on their turf. Mulder

knew the attitude wouldn’t be as bad if he

and Scully were willing to do only

what was required of them as witnesses then

go back to their place and leave

the rest with the locals.

No way.

The local sheriff, Ben Helton, surveyed the

room and shook his head. “Looks

like the poor guy brought home the wrong one

this time. That nugget ring of his

is gone. Unless it’s in a box or drawer

somewhere or has been knocked out of

sight.”

“Possible, though as far as I know, Joseph

wore it all the time,” Mulder said.

“It probably has been taken. But his watch

is still on his wrist and it looks

pretty expensive. His wallet was in the back

pocket of his jeans. There’s still

money in it and credit cards.”

“Some might be missing. He probably caught

her in the act and she clubbed him,”

replied the sheriff. A baseball bat had been

lying on the floor nearby and they

were pretty sure it was the murder weapon.

“Since things didn’t go the way she

planned, she might have fled without taking

anything else. Unless someone came

in after the blonde left.”

“The cab dispatcher said that a female

called for a cab, not Joseph. And that

that was out of the ordinary,” Mulder said.

“When the family is able to go through his

possessions, there will probably be

other things that have been stolen, like

jewelry from drawers, that we wouldn’t

know about otherwise.”

Scully nodded at this and said, “Items that

were quick and easy to walk out

with. At least the nugget ring is very

distinctive. Easy to trace.”

“We’ve got people checking out the motel the

cab driver says he dropped the

blonde off at,” the sheriff said as he moved

off to confer with a deputy.

Mulder had been getting a distinct ‘you’re

muscling in where you aren’t wanted’

vibe from the sheriff, but that was the

least of his concerns at the moment. He

looked at Scully. “I should have gotten here

sooner.”

“Mulder, even without doing the autopsy, I’m

pretty certain that Joseph died

soon after he received that injury. It

wasn’t from a fall. He was deliberately

struck and was probably dead before his

assailant left.” She touched Mulder’s

arm and he gave her a nod, swallowing.

A deputy entered the room. His name was

Powell and he had interacted with the

agents without any sign of ‘cold shoulder

syndrome’ before moving off to try

contacting Joseph’s parents. Mulder and

Scully and the sheriff went up to

Powell, the sheriff asking, “Any luck with

the Stevens?”

“No.” Mr and Mrs Stevens were on vacation in

Africa at the moment and were

going to be hard to catch. “I tried Joseph’s

older sister, Alice. The girl who

shares a house with her – Linda Hayridge –

was just about to call us herself

when I phoned. Linda and Alice Stevens had

been out nightclubbing in Tampa but

the housemate didn’t feel well and came home

early. She found that the place

had been robbed.”

“Alice is one of the triplets?” Mulder

asked.

“Yes. Alice is older. Jemma is younger. No

other siblings,” the sheriff said.

He and Mulder asked, “What was taken?”

almost simultaneously.

The deputy said, “Nothing in the housemate’s

room as far as she can make out.

The only place that seems to be touched was

Alice’s bedroom.”

Mulder raised an eyebrow at Scully. “Joseph

and Alice robbed in the same

night… Where does Jemma Stevens live?” he

asked the deputy.

“Locally, in a house with her boyfriend. No

answer on the phone. We’re

dispatching someone to go there and check

that all’s okay. And if she’s there,

to break the news. We’re also trying to

track down Alice in the clubs.”

Mulder said to the deputy, “I need to speak

with Alice’s housemate.” Soon he

was on the phone with the young woman.

“Linda, do you know if Alice was wearing

her ring tonight? The one from the nugget?”

Since it was the only known thing

missing from Joseph’s possessions, Mulder

was curious to see if Alice’s ring

had disappeared too.

“She never wears it out to the clubs,” came

the answer. “She leaves it at home

on those nights because she thinks it’s too

showy. Guys kept coming up to her

and giving pick up lines like, ‘I’d offer to

buy you a drink, but from the

looks of that, you can get me one’.”

“Do you know if it was taken by the thief?

Can you go with one of the deputies

who’s there, to make sure you don’t disturb

any evidence, and show them where

to look?”

The housemate and deputy were able to find

Alice’s jewelry box, where the ring

was always kept when not worn. Linda said,

“The ring is gone. But as far as I

can tell, everything else is there. You’d

need Alice to say for sure though.”

“But can you think of anything else that

might be missing?” Mulder pressed.

“No. Everything seems to be here, just

tossed out of drawers.”

“Like someone was looking for something.”

“I guess…”

Mulder thought for a moment then asked,

“Where does Alice usually keep her

jewelry box? In sight?”

“No. In a desk drawer, under some things.”

That explained the search.

When he got off the phone he told Scully,

Sheriff Helton and Deputy Powell what

Linda Hayridge had said, then: “Someone –

and it seems like it’s this mystery

woman – is stealing the rings that came from

the Hercules nugget. That’s all

she’s focused on, leaving everything else

she could have easily taken, even in

an attempt to deflect attention. Admittedly,

we’re onto her earlier than she

would have been counting on, but let’s hope

we can catch up with Jemma Stevens

in time.”

He thought the sheriff might pour scorn on

this theory, but Helton had to admit

that both rings being stolen exclusively was

something to follow up, especially

since there was one left. Hopefully a chance

to capture the thief.

Mulder thought for a moment then told them

what Joseph had mentioned about

people phoning up wanting to buy the ring.

“They were told he wasn’t interested

in selling. His secretary might have kept a

record of who called though…”

The sheriff gave the task of checking that

to one of his men, then answered a

call on his cellular. When the conversation

was over, he told Mulder, Scully

and his team: “The motel the blonde asked to

be dropped off at has no one

booked in matching her description. Looks

like she went there to lay a false

trail.”

Another deputy reported back that Joseph’s

neighbors on the other side had not

heard anything suspicious during the night.

Mulder asked Sheriff Helton if there were

any legends or powers attributed to

the rings or the nugget they came from. The

sheriff gave him a look. “They’re

expensive enough in their own right without

needing ‘special powers’, but I

suppose that would be added motive for theft

if someone *thought* they were.

There may be something about the rings being

lucky but that’s all I can think

of. Lucky to be able to afford them, more

like.”

“But the triplets were successful,” Mulder

said.

“Yeah. Until this happened anyway…” The

sheriff’s tone had an ‘I’ve been more

than accommodating with you but this is not

an FBI matter’ sound to it. “You

two have been very helpful, thank you. We

have your statements and will let you

know if we need anything else. But for now,

if you’ll excuse me…”

Mulder and Scully watched him walk off.

Scully said, “Since this is a local case,

they probably won’t let me do the

autopsy. I’ll volunteer anyway and see. Or

they might let me observe.”

He nodded. “I should go with Deputy Powell

or one of the others to use the

computers at the station – do some

checking.” He hesitated. “Or stick around

here in case something comes up… There had

to be some way to track down the

Stevens girls. And to get information on the

Hercules nugget.”

Before Scully could comment, Deputy Powell

had more news, and the agents

hurried over to hear while he told the

sheriff. “I was able to reach Jemma’s

boyfriend. Jemma is staying overnight with a

friend in an apartment building

downtown.”

“Is she wearing her ring?” Mulder asked.

“Yes. Her boyfriend said it’s on a chain

around her neck. No answer at her

friend’s apartment. Same with Jemma’s

cellular.”

“Call the building’s security and let them

know what’s going on. Let’s go,” the

sheriff said before Mulder could say

anything. But apart from a look, he made

no verbal objection to the agents joining

Powell to head for the apartment

building. Finding Jemma was the priority.

On the way over, Powell was telling them

that his father had been an FBI agent,

but the deputy stopped talking when he

received a radio message at the same

time as they heard fire sirens. A fire alarm

had been set off in the apartment

building in question.

Mulder couldn’t see any smoke or flames as

they approached. It looked like

everyone had been evacuated and was waiting

outside for the all clear. People

were also appearing from other buildings to

watch.

“This fire could be why we couldn’t reach

Jemma. Her cellular might be still up

there,” Scully said.

Upon pulling up as close as they could to

the activity surrounding the

building, the agents and Deputy Powell

looked around for the nearest person in

charge, whether building security or from

the fire department. The sheriff and

other deputies pulled up as they did so.

“Has everyone been evacuated?” Deputy Powell

asked the first fireman he could

find.

“As far as we can tell. We’re checking now.”

“I bet that’s a false alarm courtesy of our

thief. She probably set off a

hand-pull alarm in one of the hallways,”

Mulder said.

“All this for three rings?” Scully asked in

disbelief.

“There’s got to be something to them. Or

somebody thinks there is.” Again

Mulder wished he’d had time to do some

checking first. Or that he’d asked

Joseph more about the rings when he had the

chance. “The thief could have set

off the alarm to get everyone outside,”

Mulder said. It made sense. As the

residents and neighbors and gawkers milled

around, the thief could search

through them and find the unsuspecting Jemma

Stevens. Easier than trying to get

to her in the building itself. Then it would

be a matter of knocking Jemma down

– in all the confusion it could easily be

staged as an accident. Or getting

close enough to make one quick tug and the

ring would be gone and the thief had

an excellent chance of getting away in this

crowd.

“Find Jemma and we’ve got a good chance of

finding the killer too,” Mulder said

urgently. He hoped that building security

had found Jemma or were looking for

her too, but with this unexpected

development and complication…

There had been family photos in Joseph’s

house and on a wall of his bungalow,

so Mulder and Scully knew what his sisters

looked like. The agents hurried

along together, scanning faces, while Powell

gave orders to other deputies to

do the same.

With people weaving their way around each

other, craning to spot friends and

catch up with people and watch the unfolding

drama, everyone ‘looked’ suspect

to a degree. It seemed like all of Beckwell

had arisen from their beds to find

out what was going on and then watch.

Too bad we couldn’t use a megaphone, Mulder

thought. But that could draw Jemma

to the killer’s attention at the same time

as to theirs.

Suddenly Scully had to stop to help one of

the bystanders, a middle-aged man

who was having trouble breathing. Mulder

could hear an ambulance coming and

Scully indicated that it was all right for

him to keep up the search while she

helped the man. Mulder moved off.

Then Powell was at his elbow and said,

“There she is. Jemma!”

A strawberry-blonde young woman stared at

Mulder and the uniformed Powell in

confusion as they made their way over to

her. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

she asked in a scared voice. The ring was

dangling from a long chain around her

neck.

They hurried up to her, Powell saying, “You

may be in danger. We need to get

you somewhere safe.”

And tell her the bad news, Mulder thought.

He looked around while the deputy

said this and while Jemma was asking why.

Suddenly Mulder froze, his attention caught

by a woman who was standing on the

edge of a group of people about ten yards

away. She wasn’t blonde, but she did

have two rings on her right hand, very

familiar-looking rings. One was on her

thumb, the other on her index finger. She

wasn’t staring at the building or at

any of the bustle. She was staring at Jemma.

“Deputy,” Mulder whispered, “I think the

suspect is in sight. No sudden moves

or we might lose her. I don’t know if she’s

armed.” He gave a quick description

of where she was and what she was wearing,

while cautioning Jemma not to turn

and look. “She’s not even concerned that

you’re here, Deputy. All she sees is

the ring. She’s waiting for her chance. If I

have the ring, she’ll focus on me,

not Jemma, and not you slipping away to

alert the others. Jemma, give me the

ring. We’ll explain soon.”

The confused and frightened girl stared at

him, then at the deputy.

“He’s an FBI agent, Jemma, do as he says and

come with me. It’ll be okay,”

Powell said quietly.

Jemma pulled the chain off over her head and

handed it and the ring over, then

the deputy ushered her away, whispering to

her to act ‘normal’.

Mulder’s theory proved correct. The woman

made no move to follow Jemma. Her

eyes were now fixed on Mulder’s hand. He

held the necklace and ring up, then

put them in his pocket and began moving

away, trying to get her away from

everyone else, which was going to be a

difficult task. But he had no idea if

she had any weapons.

He certainly didn’t have his gun. Though

pulling it on her at the moment would

be very risky anyway. He needed to keep her

distracted until the deputies could

cut her off.

She kept coming toward him, eerily not

speaking. She looked to be in her early

thirties and had an odd intensity about her.

Mulder continued to back away,

trying to buy time. He wanted to keep her in

sight and see what she was going

to do. He couldn’t risk losing her. People

continued to mill about and chat and

look at the building, unaware of the

unfolding drama nearer to them.

The pavement abruptly disappeared during one

of Mulder’s steps and he stumbled

backwards. He had unknowingly reached the

gutter. He managed not to fall, but

his foot had landed awkwardly and pain shot

up his right leg. He grit his

teeth, stumbling backwards.

“Give me my ring,” the woman said. It was

stated as a simple, straightforward

order.

“Why?”

She frowned, then held up her right hand,

palm out. The two rings gleamed in

the streetlights. Mulder at first thought

that was her way of answering his

question, but then realized she was

concentrating. Like she was expecting a

burst of power to fly from her hand and zap

him. He had seen a lot of strange

things in his time, so a ring that allowed

its owner to wield power would not

surprise him. And he’d had no time to

attempt to duck or leap out of the way.

He didn’t feel anything though, apart from

the pain in his ankle.

The woman stared in confusion. It was

obviously not what she expected to

happen. She shoved her palm out forcefully

towards him again. Nothing, apart

from a few passing odd looks from people in

the vicinity. Fortunately the

number of people was thinner in this area.

With a noise of fury, the woman looked

around. She was right next to a public

trashcan. With a quick movement she snatched

something from it and began

advancing towards him once more. He saw that

she was holding a broken bottle

firmly by the neck.

Great.

Mulder called out to people to stay back –

some had seen the woman grab the

bottle and hastily retreated even before he

started to speak. The woman ignored

them all. One man hesitated, looking like he

was considering jumping the woman

from behind, but Mulder called out to him to

keep back. He obeyed. The agent

kept shuffling away painfully, facing the

woman. Help was bound to arrive at

any moment –

“Don’t move! Put the weapon down!” Scully

yelled. The woman froze then looked

over at her. So did Mulder, since there was

still a distance between himself

and the woman. Scully was holding what he

assumed was a borrowed gun, training

it on the woman.

“You’re surrounded. Put down the bottle, get

down on the ground and put your

hands behind your back.”

Deputies were moving around into position as

she spoke.

The woman dropped the bottle, fury on her

face. “You have no right,” she said

coldly. She held her hands up. As the law

moved in, she made another of the

palm thrusts, this time towards Scully.

Scully didn’t fire in response, since

the woman clearly had no weapon. Yet the

woman seemed confused when her gesture

had no effect, just like when she had tried

it on Mulder.

As the woman was being handcuffed and read

her rights, Scully handed the gun

back to the deputy she had appropriated it

from, and hurried to Mulder, who had

hobbled back to the curb. Scully waved off

assistance from others and helped

him to a nearby bench. She clearing it of

spectators, and knelt down to check

out his ankle.

“Mulder…” She sighed in both relief and

exasperation. “We were supposed to be

on vacation to get away from cases *and*

away from you getting injured!”

“Scully, I honestly wasn’t even *trying* on

either count.” Their eyes met when

she raised her head from her inspection of

yet another injured Mulder body part.

“Well, it looks like you just gave it a good

twist instead of a sprain.

Amazing.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t feel too bad now.”

They were trying to keep their professional

masks down, but their eyes conveyed

a lot more than any words.

A deputy came over and got the ring from

Mulder. As he carried the jewelry

away, Mulder noticed the woman, as she stood

between two deputies. She wasn’t

watching the ring anymore, she was watching

him and Scully. She kept watching,

even as she was being led off to a squad

car.

The fire alarm had been a false alarm, so

people were being allowed back into

the building. Mulder and Scully were feeling

the effects of being shortchanged

on sleep, but pushed that aside and

accompanied Powell to the station.

There Sheriff Helton produced a thin file of

information, which was all that

his people had been able to gather in the

interim about the rings and the

nugget. As Mulder sped-read through it, the

sheriff announced that the mystery

woman they had arrested had no ID on her.

She was refusing a lawyer, for now.

“And, she said she’d only talk to the two of

you.” From the sheriff’s

expression, it was clear the woman had meant

what she said and he had no choice.

Mulder and Scully looked at him in surprise.

Mulder handed Scully the folder.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

xXx

The tape recorders had been started. “Please

state your name and address for

the record,” Mulder said.

“Tara Josephine Keating,” the woman replied.

She was sitting calmly in her

seat. She gave an address in New York.

Her surname sounded a bell from the file.

“Are you any relation to the Simon

Keating who discovered the ‘Hercules’ nugget

in 1970?” Mulder asked.

“Yes.”

“And that relationship would be…?”

“I’m his daughter.”

Mulder opened his mouth to ask another

question, but Tara cut in. “They took my

rings off me.” She held up her now bare

right hand. “I want them back. Tell

them to bring them back to me now.” She

directed her instructions to the

sheriff, as if he was her servant.

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, Ms Keating,

those rings are actually stolen

property.”

“They’re mine!”

“How did you get them?” Scully asked.

Tara returned her attention to the agents.

“The nugget revealed itself to my

father.”

“No, I mean in your possession now -” But

Mulder made a signal that halted

Scully.

He asked, “The nugget – you’re saying that

your father didn’t find it? It found

*him*?”

“Yes. Now when can I have my rings?” she

replied as if that explained

everything.

“Tell me more about the nugget first.”

“Why?”

“If you tell us why those rings are yours

and what happened last night -”

“Oh, you’ll understand that they’re mine and

give them back to me.” Tara gave a

smile.

“Perhaps. I can’t guarantee that. But saying

nothing is definitely not going to

get them back.”

“Well, once I explain, you’ll see that I

need them.” With that reasoning, Tara

leaned forward earnestly. “My parents were

told that they couldn’t have

children. They had been married for a while,

and nothing had happened. Then one

day my father was prospecting and the nugget

let itself be found. That night I

was created. Dad said that the nugget bought

them good luck. He called it

‘Hercules’ because it was so big. He had it

melted down into rings. One for

himself, one for Mom, and one for me.”

“Nuggets are worth more if they’re *not*

melted down,” Scully said. “He didn’t

want to sell the nugget?”

“My family was wealthy then. There was no

need. Dad wanted to keep his special

find in the family.”

“‘His special find’. So he believed he found

the nugget, not the other way

around, like you think?” Mulder asked.

“Yes. But I knew the truth. There was a link

between me and the gold. There

still is.” Tara smiled.

“A link strong enough to steal them? To kill

to get them?”

“I didn’t steal them.” Tara was explaining

patiently, as if to children.

“They’re rightfully mine. And I *will* have

them back. Mom shouldn’t have sold

them in the first place. Dad would never

have let her.”

“Why did she sell them?” Scully asked.

Sheriff Helton was keeping quiet and

listening, since they were able to get

information out of the young woman.

Tara’s face clouded over. “Dad made some bad

deals and lost heaps of money.

Then he had a stroke and needed constant

care. Mom panicked and sold a lot of

stuff. She sold the rings. I didn’t know who

to. I was only nine. She told me

she didn’t want to hear another word about

the rings, that she had no choice

but to sell them and that was that. She

convinced me that I was being silly

about how special they were. When Dad died,

Mom and I struggled on, then I had

to look after her until she died.”

“So you wanted the rings back because they

had great sentimental value to you?”

Mulder asked.

“For the powers they have.”

“Powers?” came from Mulder and Scully at the

same time.

“The ring for me was made adult-sized, so

when I was grown up I could wear it

properly. I was allowed to wear it on a

necklace on special occasions when I

was little. Sometimes I would slip it onto

my finger. It was loose, but I could

feel its power.”

“You say power, but can you be more

specific?” Mulder asked.

“It made me smarter. If Mom had let me wear

it to school, I would have done

much better on tests. When I had two of the

rings on, I could hear them talking

to me, telling me things. And I could feel

energy coming out of my hands. With

the third ring I’ll be able to understand

more and be the genius I was always

meant to be and be able to do special

things. Mom and Dad never felt that power

when they wore their rings, because the

rings were tied to me, not them. The

gold made me. The rings will guide me. I

will be whole again.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged looks. Tara

truly believed what she was saying.

“The rings wanted me to find them,” she

continued. “When I saw the photo in the

paper of Joseph Stevens wearing one of my

rings, I knew. It was a sign. I was

visiting Tampa while on vacation and saw the

article. That did not and could

not happen by chance. The rings were guiding

me, probably because I was near

them again and they sensed me.”

“And what did you do then?” Mulder asked.

“I phoned his office and said I wanted to

speak with him about the rings. But

his secretary told me that none of them were

for sale.”

“Did you tell his secretary who you were?

That your family originally owned the

rings?”

“No. I knew it wouldn’t make any difference

if I did.”

“And then?”

“I wanted to see one of the rings and try it

on to find out if I was

remembering correctly from when I was

little. I went to the Tampa Public

Library and read up about the Stevens

triplets from the newspaper archives,

which was easy enough because they were in

the papers so much. Talked to some

of their friends in the nightly hangouts.”

“And decided that Joseph would be the

easiest one to approach?” came from

Scully.

“After a few days here, he was easy enough

to find and flirt with.”

“You were wearing a blonde wig?”

“Yes.”

“So you could then ‘change looks’ to go

after the next ring?”

“Yes. Joseph let me try the ring on while we

were at the bar. It was Dad’s

ring, so it would only fit properly on my

thumb. And I felt a change in myself.

I knew then I hadn’t been dreaming or making

it up when I was little.”

“So you went with Joseph back to his beach

house?”

“I know you have evidence that I did, so why

would I deny it?” Tara was still

speaking calmly.

“You went back there so you could steal the

ring,” Scully continued.

“Not steal. Reclaim what is rightfully

mine.”

“By seducing Joseph Stevens and then killing

him.”

At this Tara showed some emotion. “No! I was

not trying to kill him. Just knock

him out. He was trying to hurt me.”

“Before or after he caught you trying to

take the ring?” the sheriff asked.

“I wasn’t -”

Mulder had been silent, absorbing her

replies. But now he jumped in and

rephrased the question. “Caught you

reappropriating the ring then?”

“He became violent before that. I was

defending myself. He was alive when I

left.”

“Ms Keating,” Scully said, “when the autopsy

is done I’m fairly sure it will

indicate that Joseph Stevens was not alive

for very long after you hit him.”

Tara remained silent.

Mulder said, “That would make sense, because

otherwise you most likely would

have tied him up and gagged him, so the

alarm wouldn’t be raised until you’d

had the chance to get the other rings. You

couldn’t risk trying to take it

while he slept.” Tara kept looking at him.

“Time was of the essence, with two

more to go in the one night in the same

family, seeing as how it would be

quickly put together that they were gone.

How did you know where to find the

other rings? Did you get it out of Joseph

under the guise of small talk or

through talking to the triplets’ friends?”

He and Scully knew how open and

friendly Joseph was. And if friends had been

plied with alcohol in clubs and

queried…who knew what they had unwittingly

revealed.

“Some from him,” Tara answered. “Like that

his sister Alice didn’t often wear

her ring. But the ring I got back from him

told me where the others were. They

were calling to each other. And once I had

my father’s ring on again, I could

hear them.”

Scully regarded her skeptically. “Those

three rings are very distinctive. They

all have that matching pattern of the

mountain range. Did you really think

you’d be able to get away with taking all

three and keeping them?”

“Once I wear the three, I will have access

to such power… Police and laws

will be insignificant. They are

insignificant,” Tara said.

“They’d never be able to catch you?” Mulder

was making connections. “So that’s

why you were wearing two of the rings when

you were caught. You thought their

combined power would protect and help you.”

Instead of being a dead giveaway.

“I thought they would help me.” Tara

regarded Mulder and Scully closely. “There

are two possibilities why they didn’t work

when I was arrested. Something about

the two of you or between the two of you

rendered the power useless against

you, or it is *all* three rings that make

the power come completely together

under my control. You must let me have them.

Without them, I’m nothing. A

mediocre nobody in a dead-end job. But I can

do such good in this world with

them.”

“Like you did to Joseph Stevens?” the

sheriff asked.

“I only knocked him out!”

“Even if you hadn’t meant to kill him, you

did so during a crime. That makes it

aggravated manslaughter,” the sheriff said.

“I can make up for it a thousandfold with

those rings. They are mine, by

literal birthright. Why can’t you see that?”

“Those rings are just rings, that’s all,”

Scully said.

“Then it won’t hurt for me to hold them,

would it? For old time’s sake.” There

was a silence. Mulder knew that Scully was

thinking the same as him. For Joseph

to die for this…

The sheriff started asking questions about

the fire alarm being set off in the

apartment building. Tara answered that she

had started the alarm – as Mulder

had thought, because it was easier that way

to reach Jemma Stevens – but Tara

was now acting distracted, looking at Mulder

and Scully again.

She pointed to Scully. “It’s obvious that

you don’t believe.” Then her finger

shifted to Mulder. “But you’re more open to

the mystical.”

“I must admit that in this case, even I have

my doubts,” Mulder said. If that

statement made her clam up, they had more

than enough of a confession for now

anyway.

But Tara wasn’t finished. “A skeptic and a

believer as partners… That could

be why the rings didn’t work… You had a

canceling effect.” She sat back in

her chair, a thoughtful look on her face.

So that’s why she wanted to see us, Mulder

thought. She wanted answers too.

Then Tara asked where the rings were now.

“They’re in a safe place,” Mulder said.

“The rings are all together? Then they will

tell you to bring them back to me.

Or perhaps not you, since you seem to be

immune to their effects.”

“Lucky me. They’ll tell someone? How – like

hypnosis?”

“In a way.” She sat there, smiling, as if

convinced that at any minute a

glazed-eyed deputy would walk in and hand

over the trio.

xXx

A few minutes later, out in the corridor,

Mulder and Scully conferred with the

sheriff.

“Well, I know Tara Keating was caught red-

handed – or gold-handed as it were –

but for her to just confess like that is

very odd,” Scully said. “Where will it

get her, apart from a place in a psychiatric

ward? She won’t get those rings,

which is all she wants.”

“She’s convinced that she’ll get to put all

the rings on at some stage,” Mulder

explained. “That they will be ‘brought’ to

her. Even if during a session with a

shrink or in court with the defense trying

to prove that she’s delusional. An

insanity plea. She thinks that’s all that

she needs. Those three rings on her

fingers and she’ll be able to escape.”

“By turning invisible in the middle of the

courtroom?” Sheriff Helton asked in

a very Scully-like voice.

“I don’t think she’s putting anything past

the capabilities of those rings. At

the apartment building she was so focused on

them. Law enforcement being around

or how she was going to get away were

secondary matters. Or she thought that

the rings would ‘provide’ the answer or

protect her.”

The sheriff shook his head, more as if to

clear it than disagreeing with

Mulder’s theory about Tara’s method of

logic. He had seen how convinced she was

of her beliefs, of the powers of the rings.

Then Helton was called away to a

nearby desk.

Scully turned back to Mulder and said, “It

sounds to me like a classic placebo

scenario. All those times in movies and

sitcoms and books… Like for example

when the young hero keeps striking out in

baseball, so his father gives him a

magic keyring to have in his pocket to bring

him good luck. The kid, more

confident, goes on to crack the baseball all

over the field. Then comes the big

game, bases loaded, his turn at bat… And

he realizes he’s lost the keyring.

‘I can’t do it! I don’t have the magic

keyring!’ The father says, ‘It wasn’t

the ring! It was just a cheap toy. It was

you all along!’ So the boy goes out

there and hits the home run.”

Mulder smiled. “Ever thought of being a

storyteller, Scully?”

“The point is, Tara Keating kept referring

to herself as a mediocre person. Her

school results will probably show average to

below-average grades. She’s

blaming all that on the loss of those

rings.” His partner looked him squarely

in the eyes. “Do you think the rings are

magical?”

“Perhaps in Middle Earth. I’m not getting an

X-File ‘feeling’ or a paranormal

smell to this one. The normal answers all

feel right.”

Scully gave him a look of mock shock. “The

Florida air must really be having an

effect on you.”

“I think Tara Keating is a victim of her own

delusions, yes, but it wouldn’t

hurt to get all three rings analyzed. She’s

certainly extremely confident that

we will decide that the rings are rightfully

hers and that we’ll hand them

over, despite everything. Sociopathic

behavior. Anything required to get what

they want is acceptable to a sociopath.”

xXx

Jemma Stevens did not recognize the woman

who had killed her brother. The cab

driver who had gone to Joseph’s house did

identify her in a line up as the

woman he had collected and dropped off at

the motel. “She was a blonde when I

picked her up, but yeah, that’s her. Wasn’t

talkative.”

And some friends of the Stevens triplets

identified Tara as well, from her

talking with them in the nightspots when

trying to get information on the trio

and the rings.

The autopsy of Joseph showed that the blow

to his head had been

almost-immediately fatal.

The rings were analyzed in a lab. There was

nothing special about them

whatsoever. No mysterious energy emanating

from them. No strange metals in

their make up.

A sanity hearing was held. Tara did get to

try the rings on and then as Mulder

expected she promptly tried to vanish or zap

out with the power. But to her

obvious distress and amazement, nothing of

the sort happened. She started

yelling at Mulder and Scully, as if they had

neutralized the rings either

permanently or by them simply being in the

room with the jewelry. She demanded

that the agents be removed from the hearing,

from the building, the state even.

She saw absolutely nothing wrong with what

she had done in Beckwell: Joseph’s

death, the thefts, starting the fire alarm

and threatening Mulder. The rings

were her property and whatever she did to

reclaim them was therefore all right.

She did understand that killing in itself

was wrong but didn’t see that the

rules applied to her in this case because

she had been trying to get the rings

back.

Tara ended up being committed to a mental

hospital where she would stay until

she could convince the authorities to

declare her sane. If she could. Mulder

doubted that would happen. “She believes in

those rings too much to recant how

special she thinks they are, or to see the

error of her ways.”

END ACT TWO

xXx

ACT THREE:

Late December 2002

Present day:

Dizzy… Nauseous… Thoughts scattered to

the wind.

Scully groaned.

Mulder. The beach. Something had happened to

them both. Darts! she remembered

in a flash. But she wasn’t lying on sand.

She was lying on her side on…

Scully opened her eyes and managed to focus.

A concrete floor. And a few feet

away was…

“Mulder! Mulder?” She pushed herself up then

promptly went back down,

everything spinning. Some deep breaths and

she tried again. This time Scully

was successful, pushing herself up enough to

scramble over to her partner,

looking him up and down on the way. Her

partner was also lying on his side,

facing her, eyes closed.

Don’t be dead.

“Mulder?” He gave no response. There were no

visible signs of wounds or trauma

that she could see, but… Scully checked

his vitals as she started to look

around them, checking for danger or some

clue as to where they were. Neither of

them was tied up.

Scully felt hung-over from the tranquilizer

dart, but did her best to force

that to one side. She located a slow, steady

pulse on Mulder’s wrist while

scanning the area. It looked like they were

in a deserted warehouse. So far, so

good, on both counts. She felt Mulder’s

chest rising and falling under her hand

– thank you God – as she kept looking.

A doorway. An open doorway in the wall of

the structure. One of those large

doors you could get a truck in through. She

couldn’t tell how far away it was –

her vision was now okay but the tranquilizer

or whatever else she had been

given after it was making her thinking

fuzzy. Bright sunlight was visible

through the door.

And leading up to the door, spaced out at

intervals, were entertainment unit

set ups. A TV and VCR on a pedestal. Four

times. And each TV was displaying a

figure. 40. Power and extension cords snaked

away from them across the floor.

Scully quickly finished her scan, now

looking at the area that had been behind

her.

And what she saw nearly stopped her own

breathing and heart.

About seven feet away from the agents was a

bomb.

The device was secured around a steel

support post. It looked like it encircled

it. A digital screen facing Scully

displayed: 40.

Scully shook her comatose partner. They were

still in their beachwear. No

phones. No guns. She began backing away from

the bomb while grabbing Mulder

under the arms and pulling him with her,

getting ready to stand and haul him.

Her mind was analyzing the bomb and the

danger as best it could while fighting

the after-effects of the drugs. The sight of

the explosives certainly helped

her focus her thoughts. She knew enough from

her brief time in domestic

terrorism that she could not disarm the

bomb.

The count stayed on 40.

“Mulder!” She looked around desperately. No

one in sight. Apart from the bomb

and the TV equipment there was nothing –

Then she looked further up on the post that

the bomb was attached to and saw a

cluster of things high up out of reach. A

loudspeaker, a microphone, and

surveillance cameras.

Suddenly the loudspeaker crackled to life

and a voice came out of it. Female.

Scully tried to place it. “Hello, Special

Agent Scully.” The voice started out

cheerful then became forceful. “Stop moving

right now, unless you want me to

detonate that bomb. Have a ‘seat’. We have

things to discuss.”

Scully hesitated.

“I mean it, Agent Scully. That’s as far as

I’ll let you go, for now at least. I

have the power to blow you to bits within

seconds if you disobey. Don’t make me

have to detonate before time. A lot of work

has been put into this.”

Scully sank down, ending up with Mulder’s

head resting against her abdomen,

holding his upper torso in her lap. She

remained ready to spring up and drag

again – if the opportunity presented itself.

“Who are you?” The voice was

familiar in some way…

“This is Tara Keating. Remember me? Doesn’t

my name have a familiar ‘ring’ to

it?” the woman asked mockingly.

Uh-oh.

“It’s been a while. You’re both still

together. I see you haven’t got a ring

either, Agent Scully. Something we both have

in common. Well, perhaps the

‘suffer-ring’ part.” Her voice was hard.

Bile rose in Scully’s throat but she managed

to force it down. She had to stay

focused. “Tara -”

The woman pressed on. “Thank you for your

valiant efforts in reaching the house

after we darted you. I knew you’d try to.

This means we didn’t have to haul you

very far at all. That wouldn’t have been

good for our backs.” She laughed. “And

don’t bother trying to wake Agent Mulder. We

made sure he won’t be waking up

any time soon.”

“Why? What have you done?”

Another laugh. “He’s out for the count.

Literally. Plenty of sedative in his

system to ensure that his contribution stays

at being unconscious and

decorative. I wanted this to be between you

and me. Us girls. It’s more

interesting this way.”

“How so?” Scully’s mind was racing, trying

to remember what had happened to

Tara. Mental hospital. She couldn’t have

been released, surely? The last the

agents had heard about her was a few months

ago. Mulder’s prediction had held –

the killer could not give up her delusions

about the rings, not even to be

declared sane. And if she’d tried to pretend

she had seen the error of her

ways, it had been quickly seen through in

the interim.

Scully could not help the wry thought that

she and Mulder were NOT proving to

have a good track record when it came to

Florida and vacations…

Tara’s voice continued over the speaker,

“I’m a safe distance from this little

scenario. But we spent so much time cooking

it up, that I had to make sure that

I could see the drama unfold. So I’ve got

audio, both ways, and video. Multiple

angles on video, actually, to ensure I don’t

miss anything. And the remote

control to detonate that bomb whenever I

choose. All under my power. So make

sure you don’t make me decide to speed the

schedule up.”

To detonate the bomb? Then why the countdown

screens? Scully wondered. Unless

Tara had misspoken in her gloating and

excitement. And why a countdown at all?

Scully tried to speak, but Tara cut her off.

“My rings may not be with me at

the moment, but they sent me messengers to

help me get them back. They sent me

Brian. He worked at the hospital you got me

locked up in. He fell in love with

me and the rings. He wants to reunite us.”

And share in that ‘power’ too, no doubt,

Scully thought. How reassuring that a

mental hospital worker was just as capable

of being sucked into such a delusion

as one of the patients was!

“I have wanted revenge on the two of you for

what you did to me. I spent so

many nights coming up with scenarios. I told

Brian, and he promised to help me.

He’s organized everything. He’s so clever.

What he doesn’t know, he finds out

about. He knows so much about computers. And

he found an interview with Joseph

Stevens’ father. Daddy Stevens was moving to

Seattle, not wanting to stay in

Beckwell.”

No wonder, after what happened, Scully

thought.

Tara continued, “His daughters didn’t want

to wear the rings anymore, so he was

keeping all three, as a reminder. Very handy

for us. So it is time I reclaimed

them. And through the wonders of computers

Brian was able to find out about

your planned trip back here too, Agent

Scully. We couldn’t let that opportunity

pass, could we? I’m sure the rings brought

you here to be dealt with. So when

the time was right, Brian helped me get out

of that place -”

Escape, Scully translated mentally. He must

have stolen the explosives and the

drugs…

“And now we can deal with you two, then be

free to go reclaim what is

rightfully mine. It has all fallen into

place perfectly.”

“Tara -”

“You kept me from my birthright. If I had

those rings, I would have been

somebody. But you wouldn’t let me. So why

should I let you have each other?”

“Tara, we didn’t -” But the woman was not in

a mood to discuss, and Scully knew

that she would not be able to convince Tara

that the rings had no power.

“You also blocked me from using the rings

properly. Once you’re out of the way,

I can go get the rings and this time

succeed.”

Scully thought about the possibilities of

rescue. How many places like this

could there be in the area? Hopefully

someone had seen something and help was

on the way… She and Mulder had been

staying on a fairly isolated section of

beach – a mistake she was not going to

repeat if they lived to be able to take

another vacation. They had been kidnapped

about half an hour after dawn, but it

still took time for them to stumble up the

beach and then be loaded into a

vehicle. If there had been a passerby at any

stage of that, even from a

distance, it would have been an out of the

ordinary sight and therefore

noticed.

Tara had run a risk in grabbing them like

this, but with the isolation and

timing, Scully assumed it had been the best

‘chance’ the woman had. And she had

certainly taken it. Like with the rings, the

end result was worth whatever it

took.

Anyway, the more she kept Tara talking, the

more chance of help arriving in

time.

“Tara, we can help you find your rings again

and get them back. You don’t need

to do all this.” Whatever ‘this’ was.

“Agent Scully, there’s one thing this all

boils down to. Just a choice.”

“A choice?”

“Yes. I got the idea from a movie I saw

once. ‘Sophie’s Choice’. It was set in

World War II and the heroine was begging a

Nazi not to kill her two children.

He said he would spare one, but she would

have to choose which.”

Scully felt a shudder go through her. The

thought alone was horrific enough,

but now if Tara was going to put it into

reality…

Tara continued, “I think *you* should have

to make a decision like that. Once

the countdown is started, *you* have enough

time to get out, if you run.”

Me. If I abandon Mulder.

“If you try getting him out, you’ll never

make it. You’ll die.”

I abandon Mulder and he dies. I try to get

him out and we both die. My choice

is no choice. Either way, she ‘wins’, Scully

thought, staring down at her

partner’s face.

Tara laughed. “So, you see why Agent Mulder

had to be unconscious to make this

more fun and interesting. I promise that

I’ll wait the full 40 seconds before

detonating the bomb. Leave him, Dana. I’m

sure you’ll be able to live with

yourself.” She sounded smug.

It won’t be living, and you know that.

“That’s not a choice!” Scully yelled.

“You’re the one deciding that, not me. See

how you like being without the most

important thing in your life. Being

incomplete.”

“Tara -”

“Time to make your choice. Bombs away! Or

rather, countdown commencing!”

The ’40’ on the counter changed to ’39’.

Scully reacted, her hands under Mulder’s

arms to lift his upper body and drag

him backwards towards the opening. As she

got her feet under her, she stumbled

and swayed slightly from the effects of the

drugs. She could hear Tara’s

laughter.

“How sentimental! Dump him and run, Scully!

He’s just going to get you killed!”

“You’re the one that’s getting me killed,

not him!” Scully yelled back as she

hauled Mulder along. “But you can stop this,

right now!”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Scully looked around. There were other

exits, but they were further away than

the one that Tara had set up and they

weren’t open, so she couldn’t tell if

they were unlocked or boarded up or what.

The steel support posts were too

narrow and at distances – they would afford

no protection even if she did

manage to get Mulder over to one and attempt

to hide behind it.

If there had been time and if she wasn’t in

light beach gear, Scully would have

used something like a trenchcoat to hook

around and over Mulder’s shoulders and

use it to drag him with. Instead she

struggled along, pulling him as best she

could.

Scully cursed her small frame and Mulder’s

large one. Tara really had picked a

perfect ‘Sophie’s choice’ scenario for them.

There had been situations over the

years where Mulder had been injured and they

had needed to get out of danger as

quickly as possible. On those occasions

Scully had been relieved that there had

been others around to aid them or her

partner had been conscious enough to help

get himself to safety. Even if he was so

dazed at the time that he wasn’t fully

aware of what was going on, like when she

had rescued him from torture at the

‘hands’ of an artificial intelligence just

before it blew up the trailer its

hardware was housed in.

This time they weren’t going to make it, but

it wouldn’t be through lack of

trying. Adrenalin was Scully’s best friend

at the moment.

Mulder’s head hung limply as she backpedaled

them past the first of the TV set

ups, making sure she didn’t run into it.

Vaguely she noted that there were

other tracks on the floor – probably from

Tara and her accomplice setting up

the equipment and the van or transport that

must have brought the agents in

here and dumped them next to the bomb.

Muscles that were already abused or sluggish

were protesting, but Scully

disregarded them. And even though Mulder was

unconscious, his body was still

getting punished by being a dead weight and

having his limbs pulled every which

way and dragged along the floor. But she

figured that if by miracle they got

out of this alive, he would forgive her the

pain. Getting a teasing or

complaint would be worth it anyway. And God

only knew how ‘gentle’ Tara and her

partner-in-crime had been in the process of

kidnapping them and dumping them

here.

Scully considered that even if she and

Mulder did get out by miracle, would

that be far enough? The bomb could be strong

enough for the blast to follow

them through the door – or walls – and still

get them.

It occurred to her that Tara had taken a

huge chance. If Scully had chosen to

save herself, then her first act would be to

hunt the killer down. And she knew

Tara’s plans – though with the woman’s

history, as soon as Tara escaped the

authorities would know there was a good

chance of her trying to find the rings

again. And perhaps Tara had found out enough

about the partners to know Scully

would not abandon Mulder. Scully thought

that if she did get out, Tara’s

boyfriend might be there waiting, just in

case, to hold her hostage… Or

finish her off, since Tara believed that she

was able to block the power of the

rings…

Seconds raced by.

So this is how it will end, Scully thought,

glancing at Mulder again as she

kept hurrying and dragging. No dying

together of old age. The closest we got to

that was on the Ardent. At least it will be

together, at once. Neither of us

will have to exist without the other. Exist

is all it would be.

I’m glad he’s unconscious for this.

We know how we feel about each other and we

acted on it. Otherwise that is one

thing I’d go to my grave regretting. But if

only there were more time…

Time – she glanced back at the readout that

was next to the bomb, though she

had been keeping a mental count as well in

one part of her mind as the rest of

it raced with other thoughts. Six seconds

left. Still too far… Impossible.

Scully twisted them around so that her body

was now the one nearer to the bomb

instead of Mulder, and she pulled them

behind the closest TV setup. Hopefully

it would provide some protection. She

dropped down, throwing her arms around

Mulder, tucking her head in against his,

shielding him as best she could.

Braced herself.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

Did the last seconds of a person’s life

stretch out like infinity? Was Tara

toying with them – making Scully think that

she was safe, then she would

detonate the bomb?

Scully raised her head and sought out a

display. There were still two in front

of her, before the open door. The screens

were on ‘0’. But the countdown had

not been linked to the bomb’s detonation, it

had just been Tara’s fiendish idea

of a ‘grace period’. Tara had been going to

detonate the bomb herself. Yet the

loudspeaker was silent.

Scully got up again, raising Mulder into

position at the same time, and got

moving. Her muscles were screaming, but her

spirit and determination were

screaming louder. Whatever was going on, she

had to take advantage of it.

Though Tara and her boyfriend could be just

outside the door, waiting for them,

enjoying their ‘efforts’ just like at the

beach.

She heard noises outside. Raised voices.

Then a voice came through the speakers. A

male voice. “Agent Scully, this is

Deputy Reade. We’ve got Keating and her

friend. No one will be detonating that

bomb.”

Scully inwardly cheered over her jangling

nerves and pounding heart, but she

and Mulder were still in too close a

proximity to the bomb regardless. You

could never be too careful when it came to

explosives.

“Sit tight. We’re coming,” Reade continued.

“I don’t intend to sit, not yet, thank you.”

She kept hauling Mulder the hell

out of there as fast as she could.

END ACT THREE

xXx

EPILOGUE

Xavier, Florida

December 2002

The effects of the tranquilizer had worn off

on both agents, but it was going

to take longer for the soreness of their

muscles to abate. They were lying on

the bed at their beach house, Scully feeling

the effects of dragging Mulder,

and Mulder feeling the effects of being the

dragee.

He shifted and winced. “Have you found a

comfortable position yet?”

“No.”

“Let me know if you do.” They were managing

to hold hands, not just because

they needed the contact after their close

call.

A member of the public had witnessed Mulder

and Scully’s abduction from a

distance on the beach. “It could have looked

like a couple were helping another

sick or drunk couple, but you don’t load

sick people into your car trunk to

take them to a hospital…”

The man had hurried to the nearest phone and

immediately an all points bulletin

went out on the car. The man hadn’t been

able to see the license number, but

gave make, model and color. He was able to

give general descriptions of the

people he had seen. News bulletins were

issued. Law enforcement combed the area

and beyond. They knew that the victims were

FBI agents and that there was a

chance that one of the kidnappers was the

killer who had escaped recently from

a Florida mental hospital who had links to

the agents.

Finally a woman heard a description of the

car on the radio and realized she

had seen one being driven on her way to her

factory shift earlier. Her

information on where she saw the car

narrowed down the search and saved

valuable time. Fortunately the law had found

Tara in a building near the

warehouse. She had been so focused on

watching her scenario play out that they

were able to take her by surprise, not

giving her time to detonate the bomb.

Her boyfriend had been taken into custody

near the warehouse itself.

And here Mulder and Scully were now. Alive.

They were going to live to see the

New Year after all.

“Sorry I wasn’t a lightweight, Scully,” he

said.

She managed a laugh. “I can’t believe our

luck. We came to Florida for a

vacation. Where do we go to have a vacation

from our vacation?”

Mulder gave her a look. “Well, we thought

we’d gotten off cheap instead of

paying plenty for an isolated beach house.

Now we’re definitely paying for

it… Ouch. So much for our romantic

vacation.”

“At least we’re alive.”

“Every part of me is reminding me of that

fact!” His wry look became more

serious. “It’s worth it.”

“We did get some good days in before

everything hit the fan,” Scully reminded

him. “All right, they were better than

‘good’. Spectacular! But we can be very

romantic and meaningful without the sexual

side of things. We’ll just have to

use the remaining time as a refresher on

just how we managed before we started

sleeping together.”

“We can still sleep together, it’s just the

bang and the -”

“Mulder, I’m in enough pain without the pain

from a bad joke.”

“Hmmph.” Then the insulted look changed to a

sheepish one. “Oops. I didn’t even

think about the bomb when I said ‘bang’.

Sorry. Typical me.”

“That’s okay.” At least he hadn’t done any

‘haul ass’ jokes or ring jokes.

But even as she thought that, he grinned and

said, “How long do you think until

we’re right to go to the movies again? I

really want to see the next ‘Lord of

the Rings’ installment.”

Whacking Mulder with a pillow was worth the

aches it set off. Then she said,

“Why see it? We just lived it!”

There was silence for a little, then Scully

said, “When Tara told me her ‘great

choice’, I wondered if she’d been taking

lessons at the Modell/Bowman School of

Diabolical Scenarios.”

Mulder opened his mouth and then hesitated.

Scully knew that he was about to

refer to the choice that she had made, but

she also knew that he knew he would

have done exactly the same in her place and

why she did. There was no argument

to be had or statement of ‘you really

shouldn’t have done that, you should have

saved yourself, I’m not worth it’. They were

past that sort of introspection in

their relationship.

So when Mulder spoke, it was simply to say a

heartfelt, “Thank you.”

Scully caressed his fingers with her own.

“Anytime.”

THE END.