Title: Vacation At Hall Manor

Date: Feburary 5, 2005

Author: Kathy Foote

Spoilers: None

Summary: Mulder and Scully enjoy a restful vacation at Hall Manor…or do they?

Rating: PG

Category: Adventure, MSR

Disclaimer: Fox and Carter own the characters. I don’t make any money off this (who

would pay me anyway), but I sure did LOVE playing with them for a while.

Archive: This story belongs exclusively to the Virtual Season 12 site for two weeks; after

that, I’d be honored, but it would be nice if you dropped me a note letting me know.

Acknowledgements: This is for Vickie Moseley who encouraged me to write it and whose

wonderful ideas helped make this story. And, as always, thanks for her splendid beta

work. I also want to give a huge thanks to my Mom for all her fantastic help; she is my

silent collaborator. Last, but not least, I want to thank Emmy, my biggest fan and best

friend.

Feedback should be sent to kmfoote@charter.net.

Vacation At Hall Manor

TEASER

Hall Manor Bed & Breakfast, Norwich CT

Spring – 2000

Eric and Michelle Young are a young married couple who had come to stay at the Hall

Manor Bed & Breakfast for a much needed vacation. They had been there for three

days and Eric was becoming increasingly agitated. It was the night of the third day and

the young couple were getting ready for bed.

“I want to leave, Michelle. Now…please,” begged Eric, obviously upset.

Michelle stared at him incredulously. “Leave? Why? I thought you were having a good

time. It was your idea to come here in the first place.”

“Yeah, I know…and I was having a good time until…until…”

“Until what?”

He stalled before giving her the answer to the question. He knew it would not make her

happy. “Her! I saw _her_ again!”

“Her who?” she queried, completely at a loss as to what he was talking about.

“The ghost! The ghost who lives here at Hall Manor.”

Michelle rolled her eyes at his statement. “Please…you can’t be serious. I thought you

had given up on that.”

“Michelle, I’m telling you she is real and I saw her…again. This afternoon, while you

were napping, she visited me in the den.”

“And what did she have to say?” she asked him sarcastically.

Eric was dead serious as he looked at Michelle. “She said she loved me and that we’d

be together soon. She said she’d take care of everything,” he said in an even monotone

voice.

“This is just your imagination. You’ve been spending all your free time listening to Mr.

Chambers filling your head with all those ghost stories.”

“What about the tree branch? My God Michelle, it could’ve killed you.”

“The woods are old. Tree branches weaken from years of weather. They break. What

do you want me to say? It was just poor timing on our part to be there when it broke. I

don’t _think_ it means anything.”

“I think someone or something broke that branch as we walked underneath it.” Michelle

huffed unbelievingly at his statement. Eric grabbed her hands in his own. “Please,

Michelle,” Eric begged, “I want to leave. We could drive to Mystic or even New Haven.

We can find a nice place to spend the rest of our vacation. I’d feel so much better if we

go. Please!”

She could see he was very upset by all of this, real or not. She didn’t really want to

leave this lovely place, but how could they enjoy their vacation when he was so

distraught? “Well, we can’t leave now, it’s already 11:00. The owners are in bed, but we

can leave first thing in the morning. Happy?”

Eric wrapped his arms around her pulling her into a tight hug. She could feel his body

trembling slightly in her arms. She had not realized how scared he was. “Yeah, I guess

we have to wait until morning. But we leave first thing and head to the coast.”

She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Agreed. Now come on let’s get to bed. I am

dead on my feet,” she said with a grin

“Dammit, Michelle, that’s not funny,” he said angrily as he pushed her away.

She giggled lightly and held her hands up as if surrendering. “I’m sorry. Geez, where is

your sense of humor. I’ll be glad when we leave. Hopefully, you will lighten up.”

Michelle had fallen asleep almost immediately. He could hear her deep slow breathing.

Eric had lay in bed replaying what the ghost had said to him. He was nervous about

what she had meant. Finally, the sound of Michelle’s breathing and his own exhaustion

lulled him to sleep.

A few hours later, Michelle climbed out of bed. She walked out of the room and out of

the house, as if she was in a trance. Her eyes were closed, but she had her hand out in

front of her as if someone was leading her by the hand. She stumbled through the

woods in her bare feet, following this unseen person. She was oblivious to the pain in

her feet from stepping over such rough terrain.

When she arrived at the cliff, her hand dropped to her side and her eyes slowly opened.

She looked around not knowing where she was or how she got there. She realized that

she was at the cliffs at the back of the property. She was suddenly scared and turned to

go back to the house, when she came face to face with the translucent vision of a

woman.

Michelle stared unbelieving at the ghostly figure in front of her. Her first thought was that

Eric was right. The ghost moved forward toward Michelle and she took a step backward.

The ghost moved forward again and Michelle retreated until she was balanced on the

edge. The ghost stood directly in front of her. She was paralyzed with fear.

The wind began to strengthen and gusted as it blew around the cliff edge. The form of

the ghost began to change, as she seemed to solidify. “He is mine…I will not lose

another lover,” the ghost explained to her. The ghost continued to move forward as an

extremely strong wind gust pushed Michelle back and she fell off the cliff to the rocks

below.

Eric awakened suddenly, unsure of what had startled him. He quickly realized that

Michelle was not in bed. Panicking, he got up to search for her. He noticed the ghost

standing at the door to their room.

“It’s all over, love. Now we can be together,” the ghost said to him.

Terrified by what she meant, he rushed out of the room, calling out to his wife. He

checked the bathroom, but it was empty. He ran downstairs crying out her name, but

there was no answer. He noticed that the front door was standing open and he knew

where she was. He raced through the woods to the cliffs. He looked over the edge and

there in the moonlight, lay Michelle’s broken body on the rocks below. At that moment,

his heart shattered. He dropped to his knees at the cliffs edge and wailed,

“Noooooooo!”

ACT ONE

En Route to Norwich CT

February – 2005

It had been quite a while since they had taken time off for a real vacation. The kind of

vacation where you relax, sleep late, sight see, and eat too much; a _real_ vacation.

They had been very busy lately and both needed some downtime. They didn’t want to

spend their time off in Washington. They needed to get out of the city.

They had decided to not go too far from home, but far enough to get away from

everyone. Scully remembered when Mulder had suggested the Hall Manor Bed &

Breakfast in Norwich, CT. He was so excited.

“Scully!” yelled Mulder, “I found the perfect place. Check it out!”

“I’m warning you, Mulder. It better not be near any UFO hotspots, like those last two

places.”

“Scully, you wound me,” he said as he placed his hand over his heart. “You’ll like this

one. I promise.” He pulled her onto his lap, so that she could read the description on

the screen.

She began reading the description and was pleasantly surprised. It was an old house

that had been built in the 1950’s and transformed into a charming Bed & Breakfast in

1992. Large bedrooms, private baths, situated on 10 acres of wooded land along the

Yantic River, complete with garden and walking trails. He was right, it sounded perfect.

She continued to read with a widening smile. Half through the description, she stopped

and her posture stiffened instantaneously.

She turned to glare at him, her smile gone. He had the good sense to duck his head.

“Haunted?” she asked him. “Is that why you picked this particular place? Because it’s

haunted?’

“Ah come on, Scully. Why can’t we stay in a haunted house for vacation? There won’t

be any UFOs.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Like ghosts are supposed to be better than UFOs?

“Look…there are lots of things to do in the immediate area, it’d be a great home base for

exploring all parts of Connecticut, and…the best part is…it’s haunted. It’ll be fun.

Please!” he pleaded as his lower lip jutted out giving her his best pout.

She could never deny him anything when he resorted to his patented pout . He looked

like a little boy when he did that. “Ok. _But_ I am _not_ spending my whole vacation

ghost hunting and neither are you.”

“Agreed!”

Now here it was two months later and they were on their way. After the horrible winter

storm the area received in January, they had been concerned they would be forced to

cancel their vacation. Mulder had said they were going, even if they had to rent

snowmobiles to get there. Luckily, that hadn’t happened. On the contrary, the weather

was amazing; unseasonably warm for this time of year. The weather forecast was

calling for the possibility of showers later in the week, but that wouldn’t stop them. It was

a perfect time to get away.

They had left DC early this morning and had stopped at some roadside diner in New

Jersey for lunch. They crossed into the city limits of Norwich around 3:00, right on

schedule.

They drove straight through the town, eager to get to their destination before they went

on any excursions. They found the turnoff to Hall Manor without any problem. It was a

small country road, barely wide enough to accommodate two cars at the same time.

The road dipped down and crossed over a creek, before it rose up the hill, to disappear

into the trees. The trees were bare due to winter and you could see some walking paths

weaving throughout. The above average temperatures had melted all evidence of the

terrible snowstorm that had occurred the previous month.

As the road continued to rise, they finally broke through the trees to see Hall Manor in

the center of a large clearing completely surrounded by woods. It was a large well-

cared-for stately Manor. It looked to be three stories or perhaps two stories with an attic.

The lawns around the building were beautifully landscaped and a gazebo could be seen

in the back in the middle of a garden, from the looks of which, in summer would be full of

flowers and colorful bushes.

“Oh my God, Mulder, it is absolutely beautiful. I can understand why they don’t have a

lot of vacancies.”

“Yeah, the pictures really don’t do it justice. No wonder the ghost chose to live here,” he

quipped. She merely gave him a look that said she was not amused. “Ok, Ok. What do

say we get checked in and go see the town?”

She smiled, “Now _that_ sounds like a plan.”

They parked in the small lot at the side of the house. Mulder snagged both their bags

before Scully could take hers and hauled them up to the front door. Neither of them

noticed the ghostly figure watching them from the attic window.

A bell chimed as they pushed open the front door and walked into the foyer. The house

was warm and inviting. There was a wonderful smell of something being baked; cookies

maybe, or bread. He put down their luggage and they both inspected the place that

would be their home for the next few days. There were dark wood floors and straight

ahead of them was a staircase made of the same dark wood that led to the second floor.

The wall at the side of the staircase was covered in paintings and framed pictures. To

their immediate left was what appeared to be a small office. It was complete with a

beautiful Queen Anne reception desk and several high backed chairs. There was an

antique grandfather clock chiming 3 o’clock just inside the entrance to the office.

Beyond that, they could see the entrance to a much larger room. From what they could

see, the walls were lined with bookshelves; probably a library. On the right, was a dining

room. A large table that could seat at least ten was in the center. A matching china

cabinet could be seen against the far wall and the room was lit by two brass chandeliers.

As they were peering into the dining room, they saw an older woman with snow-white

hair coming toward them. She had entered the room from the doorway on the far side,

which obviously led to the kitchen. She wore a warm friendly smile and an apron, which

she was diligently using to clean her hands. She looked like she could be anybody’s

grandmother.

“Oh my, I thought I heard the door chimes. Welcome, welcome. Let me guess…you

must be Mr. and Mrs. Mulder.”

Scully looked questioningly at Mulder with a raised eyebrow. He responded with a

shrug, indicating he didn’t know where she got the idea they were married. “We’re not

married,” corrected Scully.

“Yet!” he blurted out. “I’m Fox Mulder and this is Dana Scully. You must be Mrs.

Chambers.”

“Oh, please, call me Mary, short for Meredith. No one around here calls me Mrs.

Chambers. Let me get Maurice and we’ll get you folks checked in.” She turned to yell

up the stairs, “Maury!” She turned back to address them, “He’s always running around,

fiddling with this and that. You’re going to enjoy your stay here. As soon as you get

settled in, come back down and have some coffee and fresh baked cookies.” She

leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially, “I don’t want to brag, but my oatmeal

cookies have won first place at the State Fair for three years in a row.”

“Yummm…that sounds great, Mrs….” Scully stopped short at the woman’s scowl. “I

mean, Mary.” The woman’s scowl turned into a smile at Scully’s correction.

They all turned to look in the direction of the staircase when heavy footsteps were heard

descending from the second floor. An older man wearing overalls and a worn Red Sox

baseball cap was coming down the stairs towards them. Mulder, a confirmed Yankee

fan, cringed slightly at the cap.

The man stepped onto the first floor. Mary reached out and grasped his arm, pulling him

closer to the small group. “This is my husband, Maury Chambers, owner and handy

man here at Hall Manor. Maury, this is Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.”

“Oh well, it’s nice to meet you young folks,” he said as he removed his cap revealing a

head of snow-white hair like Mary. He wiped his hand on the leg of his overalls, before

extending it towards Mulder, who gave it a firm shake. He then offered his hand to

Scully, who likewise gave it a firm shake.

“Step over to the desk and we’ll get you checked in.” He motioned for them to

accompany him to the office. “I’m sure you’re tired from traveling and would like to

relax.” He looked through the reservation slips on the desk and found the one that bore

Mulder’s name. “Ah, here we are. Looks like we have you two in the “Blue” suite. It’s

the best room in the house. King-size bed, fireplace, private bath with a huge claw foot

tub, cable TV/VCR, separate sitting room, and a double Jacuzzi.” Scully’s smile

widened when he described the fireplace and the claw foot tub, and Mulder got excited

about the cable TV, and they beamed when he mentioned the Jacuzzi.

“Breakfast is served from 6:30 – 10:00 every morning in the main dining room. Mary

always puts out cookies and pastries with tea and coffee every afternoon. We have

menus from all the local restaurants in the library. We can help with any reservations

you might want to make for meals or local attractions. Just let us know. Here’s keys to

your room and to the front door. The other guests are all out right now, but you’ll meet

them later. We want your stay with us at the Hall Manor to be one you won’t soon

forget.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Chambers. I’m sure we will have a wonderful time.” Scully

grabbed Mulder’s hand to lead him back to the foyer to gather their bags, but he didn’t

budge. She turned to see him address their host.

“Mr. Chambers…Maury…I read that the house is haunted. Is there any truth to that?”

“You bet it is, son. I’ve seen the ghost many times myself.”

“Really?”

“Sure and I’m not the only one. Even Mary has seen her, but she likes to pretend it was

something she ate or some other rubbish. I think she’s just afraid to believe.”

Mulder turned to look pointedly at Scully. “Sounds familiar.”

“I usually see her in the attic window or out in the gardens. The rumor is that she tends

to take a liking to some of the men that have stayed in this house. I guess it’s lucky for

me that I’m too old, because she’s never bothered me. I’ve heard she can be quite

possessive.”

Scully looked at Mulder and saw he was mesmerized by what the man was saying. She

herself was skeptical to say the least.

Mary entered the office, “For goodness sakes, Maury, you’re not going on about the

ghost are you?”

“The young man asked me. What was I supposed to say?” He turned back to Mulder,

“Listen, if you want to know more, ask Wilma Starnes, the local librarian. She’s been in

this town all her life and knows everything about this house. If you’re so inclined, there

are boxes of stuff in the attic that have been there for years. You’re more than welcome

to look through them. The door to the attic is at the top of the stairs on the right.”

“Oh, enough about the ghosts. These folks are exhausted. Let’s show them to their

room, so they can relax and freshen up. Come on, Dana, I’ll show you to your room.”

She put her arm through Scully’s arm and led her back through the foyer and up the

stairs.

“Thanks for the information, Maury.” Mulder grabbed their luggage and followed the

ladies up the stairs. There was a hallway at the top of the stairs that went straight to the

back of the house. There were doors on either side of the hallway that obviously led to

the other rooms.

“The Blue suite is the second door on the left. You’re just going to love this room. It’s

situated in the corner of the house, so you have views of the woods on one side and

gardens on the other.” She opened the door and moved across the rooms to open the

curtains. The room was instantly flooded with light. The rooms walls were covered in a

light blue cloth, which matched the bedspread on the king size four poster bed. The

room contained antique furniture like the mirrored dresser and more modern furniture

like the entertainment center that housed the TV.

Mary went about pointing out the amenities. When she got to the TV, she held out the

remote control, which Mulder was about to take, but Scully snagged before he had a

chance. “I’ll take that,” she said as she glared at him. He gave her his best pout, but

she just smiled and said, “You won’t need it I have other plans for you.” She gave her

eyebrows a little waggle hoping he took the hint. He, of course, having a brilliant mind,

had no trouble grasping the meaning of her statement. He smiled and returned the eye

waggle, indicating he fully understood what she meant and he whole-heartedly agreed.

Mary could barely hear herself think with all this unspoken communication going on.

She took this opportunity to make herself scarce. “Call me if you need anything.

Anything at all.” She closed the door behind her as she left the room.

Mulder stepped forward and slipped his arms around her waist. “So what are these

_plans_ you have?”

She rose up on her toes and gave a quick kiss on his lips. “You’ll see,” she said

secretively, as she spun out of his arms and walked over to the window.

Mulder was not satisfied with her answer, so he joined her at the window. He again

encircled her in his arms, nuzzling her neck. “Can you give me a hint?” he whispered

huskily.

“Isn’t it just beautiful?” she commented as she looked out over the gardens. “Maybe we

could come back in the spring when the gardens are full of color.” There were small

pathways that wove between the hedges and shrubs radiating from the gazebo in the

center.

He was entranced by her neck and was not really paying attention to what she was

saying. He heard the word beautiful and that got his attention. “Yes, you are,” he

mumbled against her skin.

“Mulder!” she said firmly. At the mention of his name, he stopped his assault on her

neck.

“Yes?” he asked somewhat bewildered by her tone.

“I _said_ aren’t the gardens beautiful.”

He raised his head and looked out the window. “Yeah, Scully, they’re gorgeous…simply

gorgeous.” He paused a moment and then returned his attention to her neck. “Now

about those plans.”

“Mulder, I’m hungry.”

“Ohhh, me too, Scully,” he groaned as he began kissing her neck in earnest.

She turned in his arms, so that she was facing him. “I mean food. I’m hungry for food.

We haven’t eaten since lunch and _you_ are going to need your energy. Let’s get

unpacked, head into town, and grab some dinner. Afterwards, we can come back here

and I’ll enlighten you concerning my plans.”

“You got a deal,” he answered. He gave her a final squeeze and they turned away from

the window to unpack their luggage. They never noticed the ghostly vision watching

from the gazebo in the garden.

They went into town and had a relaxing dinner at a small family-owned Italian restaurant,

complete with checkered tablecloths and drip candles. Mulder had the lasagna, while

Scully had a seafood pasta dish, and they both shared a bottle of red wine. By the time

dinner was over, they were both very tired and very relaxed. They returned to the bed

and breakfast and retired to the room. Scully enticed Mulder to join her in the claw

footed tub and after a long and romantic soak, they crawled into bed, relaxed and sated,

and fell right to sleep.

ACT TWO

The next morning Mulder woke when the sunlight came streaming in their east-facing

window. He was never much for sleeping late anyway; years of getting up early for work

prevented that. He felt great. That had been the best night of sleep in years. It must

have been the bed or the wine from last night or the soak or the company

He looked down at the mane of auburn hair that was resting against his right shoulder.

That made his smile widen more. He loved waking up with Scully in his arms. It was the

perfect way to start every day.

He kissed her on the head. “Morning sunshine!

She rubbed her head against his shoulder and made a sound like a purr. Yes, she

actually purred. “I’m so comfortable. Just five more minutes.”

He tightened his arms around her sleep-warmed body. “Babe, we got things to do

today. You know vacation things. We can’t waste our time lying in bed all day. Come

on, let’s shake a leg.”

She just rolled her eyes. Only Mulder would think lying in bed all day was a waste of a

vacation. Some people would think that was the perfect vacation. “So, what’s on the

agenda for the day.”

“First, breakfast. I’m starved.”

“After that huge slice of lasagna last night? How can you be hungry?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, but I am. Maybe the vacation is making me

hungry. Anyway, after breakfast, I thought we could explore the grounds, you know

explore some of the trails. After that, we can head back into town. I want to go to the

local library and have a chat with this Wilma.”

She rose up on his chest, so she could look him in the eye. “All right, but we are not

spending all day listening to ghost stories. Thirty minutes tops.”

“Scullleee,” he whined, “that’s barely enough time to make introductions. Two

hours…please.” He begged her with his puppy-dog eyes.

“Fine. Two hours it is, but after that you are taking me to the Slater Memorial Museum

for at least two hours.”

He frowned, “That’s an art museum, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“Two hours? In an art museum? How can anyone even look at art for 15 minutes, let

alone two hours?”

“It’s up to you. Two hours in the library for two hours in the museum.”

“I got it. You could go to the museum, while I go to the library?” he suggested hopefully.

“No way. We are on vacation and we are spending it together. You are not ditching me

for some librarian. I don’t care how good her ghost stories are.”

He thought about it a moment. “Fine. You win. Equal time in the library and art

museum. Now let’s get up, get dressed, and get a move on.” He rolled her off of him

and bounded from the bed, heading toward the bathroom.

Half an hour later, they walked into the dining room. The aroma Mulder had smelled

from upstairs had grown exponentially until he was overwhelmed by it. He

absentmindedly wiped has hand across his mouth, as he feared he had been drooling.

Platters of fresh fruit and cheese, pitchers of juice, and a multitude of covered serving

trays were on the bar. They started at the beginning where there was a stack of plates

and made their way to the end. Scully filled her plate with fruits and snagged a container

of yogurt. Mulder passed up the fruit and went straight for the covered serving trays.

Each one was filled with a breakfast dish. There were scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage,

home-fried potatoes, pancakes, and more. He piled the food on his plate, regretfully

stopping when it was filled to capacity. There was another couple already seated at the

table, indulging in the feast before them. Mulder and Scully took seats opposite the

other couple.

“Good Morning,” Scully said cheerfully.

The woman perked up at Scully’s greeting, sensing the opportunity for conversation.

“Morning,” the woman answered with a warm smile on her face. “Did you two just get

here? I don’t believe we’ve seen you before.”

“We arrived yesterday afternoon. I’m Dana and this is Mulder.”

“Nice to meet you Dana…Mulder,” she nodded in Mulder’s direction. “We’re Rob and

Laura.”

Mulder’s head snapped up. “Petrie?” he inquired.

Rob snorted as if he had heard that before. “Tanner!”

“Never mind him. So have you guys been into town yet?” asked Laura.

Scully really didn’t want to be having this conversation. She hadn’t realized what she

had started with her simple greeting. “We did have dinner there last night, but it was

dark, so we didn’t see much. We’re heading into town after breakfast.”

“You _must_ go see the Slater art museum. It is fantastic.”

Scully turned and pinned Mulder with a “I told you so” stare. “Thanks, Laura. We

definitely plan to visit there.”

“Sorry, buddy, ” Rob said sympathetically, “What is it about women and art museums?”

Mulder started to respond, but thought of it and simply shrugged his shoulders

noncommittally.

Laura continued, “There are plenty of other interesting sights to see in Norwich. You can

pick up a visitor’s guide in the office.”

“You want juice, Scully?” Mulder asked, trying to rescue her from the conversation.

She smiled at him, silently thanking him for the overture. “Sure. That would be great,

but I’d kill for coffee,” she answered. He couldn’t help but chuckle at her statement. He

knew how much she loved her coffee in the morning. As he was retrieving the juice,

Mary came into the room with a steaming pot of coffee.

“Did I hear someone say they wanted coffee?” She must have overheard the

conversation, because she headed straight for Scully and filled two cups.

Mulder brought the glasses of juice back to the table, setting one down in front of Scully.

“Thanks, Mary, you are a lifesaver,” he said, “You don’t how dangerous she can be

without her coffee in the morning.”

Scully turned to pin Mulder with a stare. “Watch it, Mulder, I still haven’t had any yet. I

could crush you with my bare hands.”

“Lands, you two are so funny,” commented Mary and she moved around the table to the

other couple, “Refill?” The other couple declined. They were obviously finishing up and

getting ready to leave. “Did you two introduce yourselves to the new folks?” Everyone

nodded that they had. “Good. You know, we want everyone here to feel like a part of

the family.”

” Listen, we gotta run. We’re heading down to the Mohegan Sun casino to win a

fortune,” Rob said.

“Or lose our _ass_,” Laura said contemptuously. It was obvious she was less than

thrilled about visiting the Mohegan Sun.

“Come on,” he pulled her toward the door. “It was nice to meet you folks.” When they

reached the door, he turned. “Oh, and Mulder? Enjoy that art museum,” he added

sarcastically. “Look, I told you, I have it all worked out. I have a plan,” he began to

explain to Laura as they left the room.

“Hey, Scully, maybe we should visit the Mohegan Sun. I would love to win a fortune.”

“You know, Mulder, the odds of winning big at a casino are…” she began to explain.

“Please don’t quote statistics. I was kidding!” he interrupted. “Let’s just eat, so we can

get out of here.”

After breakfast, they left the house through the back door, directly into the garden. The

sun was shining and the temperature would rise quickly today. There was a light

southerly wind that should bring in the warmer weather and perhaps, some rain showers

later in the week.

They walked through the garden and entered the woods following one of the well-worn

trails. It was beautiful in the woods. They walked along, hand-in-hand, deep within their

own thoughts. They were comfortable in this silence; there was no need for

conversation as they strolled. After about fifteen minutes, they left the woods and

stepped into a clearing. There was a rail that ran along the edge of the clearing on the

far side. As they neared the railing, a roaring could be heard, getting louder the closer

they came to the rail.

When they reached the railing, they realized that it was separating them from a sheer

drop-off. They leaned over the rail and could see the river rushing over the rocks below

them.

“I guess this rail is for safety. Wouldn’t want your guests to get a little too close to the

edge,” Mulder ventured, “that could be bad for business.” He looked around the clearing

for a moment, but seeing nothing of interest, he said, “Come on, let’s get back and head

into town.”

“Ok.”

“Besides, we got an art museum to visit. I for one can’t wait,” he added sarcastically.

She responded with a smack to his arm.

By the time they made it into town, the library was closed for lunch. They decided to visit

the museum first and then return to the library later that afternoon.

Mulder could never remember two hours passing so slowly. How could anyone look at

paintings and sculptures for two hours? He checked his watch every five minutes and

the second the two hours were up, he let her know it.

“That’s it! Two hours. Time to leave,” Mulder happily exclaimed. Scully could swear

she heard him add a ‘Thank God,” under his breath. She had said two hours and that

was what he gave her, two hours; not a second more. He practically dragged her out of

the museum to the car. Anyone could tell he was chomping at the bit to get back to the

library.

There were no other cars in the parking lot when they arrived at the library. There was a

small woman working behind the counter, completely engrossed with stamping books.

They walked to the counter and tried to get her attention.

“Ahem…ma’am? Are you Wilma Starnes?”

She looked up from her books at his question. “Yes, I am. How can I help you?”

“Mary Chambers suggested I speak with you about the history of Hall Manor.”

Wilma’s eyes widened at the mention of Hall Manor and then narrowed in suspicion.

Hardly anyone ever asked about Hall Manor, especially strangers. “Who are you? You

a ghost-hunter?”

Mulder smiled at her accusation. “No ma’am. Actually we’re FBI agents, but we’re here

on vacation. I’m just fascinated with the paranormal and was hoping to hear some more

about Hall Manor and their ghost.”

Wilma continued to stare at him, trying to determine if he was being truthful. She

addressed Scully, “What about you, young lady? You interested in ghosts too?”

“That’s his thing. As for myself, I don’t believe in ghosts.”

Wilma’s voice became chilling, “You will. After you hear my story, you _will_ believe in

ghosts.” She motioned for them to follow her. “Come on, let’s go to the office. It’s a lot

more comfortable and I just made some fresh coffee.”

After everyone had a cup of coffee, they sat in the small cozy office. Mulder and Scully

sat on the small sofa, while Wilma sat in the chair.

“So you want to hear about Hall Manor, do you?” Mulder nodded enthusiastically, as he

leaned forward in his seat. “I was just a young woman when it happened. The Hall’s,

Julia and Albert, were the richest folks in town. They bought that land and had Hall

Manor built in 1952. I’m not sure where they lived before they moved here. He was

some kind of banker or something; I never knew exactly what he did for a living.

Anyway, his wife, Julia, was a hateful, shrew of a woman who only loved Albert’s money

and the stature that his wealth provided her. She was always spending time in Hartford

or New York City; rarely spent time in the house. In 1964, a beautiful woman named

Lucy Miller moved to Norwich and opened a small restaurant. Since Julia was rarely at

home, Albert used to eat in her restaurant all the time. He would show up for dinner and

stay until it closed. Albert fell in love with Lucy Miller. He decided to divorce his wife and

marry Lucy. When Julia found out, she refused to give her husband a divorce. When

Albert told Lucy that they could not get married, Lucy killed herself in a fit of despair.

She jumped from the cliff at the back of the Hall property to the rocks below in the Yantic

River. Of course, the story was that Lucy decided to take her life if she couldn’t have the

man she loved, but everyone suspected that the wife had killed her; although it was

never proven. Albert was distraught over the loss of his love and ultimately committed

suicide a week later, by leaping from the same spot. Julia sold the property and moved

to Hartford where she lived happily alone until she died in the late 80’s.”

Mulder was so mesmerized by the story, he hadn’t noticed she had stopped, until Scully

spoke up. “So who is supposed to haunting the house?”

“Why, it’s Lucy Miller, my dear. Evidently, she feels that it is her house. It would have

been, if she hadn’t died.”

“Have _you_ ever seen her?” Mulder asked the librarian.

“I’ve seen her a few times at the house. I go visit Mary every month or so and I’ve seen

her in the gazebo several times. She seems to like the gazebo. Once I saw her on

Highway 2 between the Manor and town. I was driving home one night from a visit with

Mary, when I noticed her walking down the shoulder of the road.”

“You expect me to believe that you saw the ghost strolling down the road. Did you offer

her a ride?” Scully asked sarcastically.

“You’re being facetious, young lady. I know what I saw. And there’s more.”

“More?” Mulder asked.

“Tragedy has befallen many who have stayed in the house. Three families have lived in

the house since Julia Hall first sold it in 1967. The husband of the first family reported

that he saw the ghost many times at the house. Most people didn’t believe him, but a

few did; the few that had seen her themselves. Two years later, the man’s wife killed

herself by jumping from the cliff. The man took his family and left the house

immediately. He never returned. A couple of years later, another couple bought the

house. He and his wife said they both saw the ghost. They thought it was neat that their

house was haunted by a benevolent spirit. That is until, his wife was almost killed when

a tree fell on her in the woods and crushed both her legs. She was in the hospital for

several months and upon her release, the couple left town. The house stood vacant for

several years, when a couple, with their two young daughters bought the house. They

thought it was a perfect place to raise their family. They had heard about the suicides

and were not the least bit concerned. They got a great deal on the house. Everything

seemed to be going well for the young family, when one night the husband called the

sheriff’s office. He said they needed help. When they arrived at the house, the front

door was standing open. The man and his wife were missing, but they found the

daughters asleep in their beds. They searched the house and the grounds. They finally

found the broken bodies of the couple at the base of the cliff.”

“And you think the ghost is responsible for the deaths?” Mulder asked when she finished

the story.

“Yes, of course. Everyone does,” Wilma answered him confidently.

“Mulder, this means nothing. Suicide is not uncommon among young families. Do you

realize there were upwards of 33,000 suicides last year and that suicide is now among

the three leading causes of death among those aged 15-44?” Scully points out.

He turned to look at Scully. “Don’t you find it the least bit convenient that the suicides all

took place at that house? The _same_ place where Lucy Miller committed suicide or

more probably was murdered 40 years ago.”

“Yes, but that is all it is…a coincidence,” Scully explains. “What about the Chambers?

Has anything ever happened to them?” she asked Wilma.

“Mary and Maurice Chambers have lived in this town as long as I have. Maury used to

be a real-estate agent; a very successful real-estate agent. He was the one that sold

Hall Manor each of the three times. Anyway, after the last family left, the house stood

vacant for over ten years. When Maury decided to retire from real estate, he and Mary

bought the place and decided to turn it into a Bed & Breakfast. They renovated the

place and it opened for business in 1992.”

“He says the ghost has never bothered him. I wonder why that is,” Mulder pondered.

“Well,” responded Wilma, “I have wondered about that too. I figured either he was too

old, not her type, or she wasn’t interested in anyone that lived in town. She has never

bothered anyone who lives in the town, with the exception of the three families that lived

in her house.”

Mulder thought about Wilma’s reasoning. “So, there hasn’t been any more deaths since

the last family lived there?” he asked her.

“Now, I didn’t say that. Seems Lucy isn’t interested in any of the men or women living in

town, but she has taken an interest in some of the couples who have stayed at Hall

Manor. There has been a string of strange injuries that seem to plague some of the

guests at the Manor.”

Scully heard the word _injuries_ and perked up Injuries and Mulder did not mix well.

“What kind of injuries?”

“Most of them have been pretty minor; scratches, scrapes, a few broken bones. Mostly

caused by things falling on people. Of course, there could be logical reasons for these

things to fall, but most people think it’s Lucy’s doings.”

“But, have there been any more deaths attributed to the ghost of Lucy Miller?” he

restated his question to Wilma.

“Not officially, no,” Wilma says as she shakes her head. She stops shaking her head

and stares at Mulder, “but, like I said, most people think it’s Lucy. There was a young

couple named Andy and Sharon Sutten. They stayed at Hall Manor a year or two after it

had opened for business. They had recently had some personal tragedy in their life and

needed time to recover. They had been there for about a month, when Andy came to

see me and asked me about the ghost. He said he kept seeing her all the time. At first,

he only saw her in the garden, but recently, he had started seeing her in the house, even

in their room. He said she would talk to him and tell him that she wanted them to be

lovers. Of course, Sharon thought he was seeing things. Two days later, the bodies of

Andy and Sharon were found at the base of the cliff behind Hall Manor. Their death was

ruled a suicide and maybe it was. But, if that is true, there is something at Hall Manor

that makes people want to kill themselves.”

When Wilma finished her latest “ghost story”, Scully decided to take the opportunity to

try and make their escape before she could start another one. She looked at Mulder and

could tell that he believed every word Wilma had said. She could tell from the

expression on his face, that the wheels were turning in his mind. He was staring at

nothing, absently rubbing his fingers across his jaw, obviously deep in thought. It was

time to put an end to this.

“Well, that was very interesting Ms. Starnes,” Scully said as she stood to leave.

“Mulder? Are you ready to go?” When he didn’t respond to her question, she figured he

hadn’t heard anything she had just said. He kept staring into space. “Mulder? Mulder!”

“Huh?” He looked up to see Scully was talking to him. “What? Sorry, did you say

something?”

“I _said_ it’s time to go. Your two hours are up and we need to get going. Thanks for

your time Ms. Starnes.”

“Yeah, thanks for the information, Ms. Starnes.”

“Please, call me Wilma,” she corrected him with a smile.

“Ok, _Wilma_, thanks for the stories. They were extremely interesting. Perhaps, I could

come back later and talk…” Scully interrupted his statement by snagging his arm and

pulling him toward the door.

He pulled her up short. “Scully! What the hell are you doing?”

“Two hours. You promised. Remember?”

He remembered and she was right. He had promised two hours, no more. He turned

back to address Wilma. “I’m sorry, we really have to go, but thanks again for your time.”

“You’re quite welcome young man,” she said in response. Then her voice took on a

serious tone. “You be careful out there at the Manor. You’re just Lucy’s type.”

“What?” but Mulder didn’t get a chance for a response, because Scully was dragging

him out the door.

Once they were in the car, Mulder turned to ask Scully, “What do you think she meant by

that last statement?”

“Nothing, Mulder. She was playing with you. It was obvious you believed everything

she told you.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You do admit, it does sound like something funny is going on at Hall

Manor.”

Scully looked up at the ceiling of the car, as if she could find the answer there. After a

moment, she returned to looking at him. “You know, you never cease to amaze me.

There always has to be _something_ going on. Perhaps, she tells these ghost stories to

bolster the tourist trade. Look, I’m hungry. Let’s grab something to eat and head back to

the Manor. It’s been a long day and I’m looking forward to a nice long soak in the tub.

Care to join me again?”

“Huh, yeah Scully, that sounds great,” he answered her absently. She wasn’t sure if he

even knew what he was agreeing to.

That night, after Scully fell asleep, Mulder slipped out of bed and made his way to the

attic. Mary had said there was a light switch inside the door at the foot of the stairs. He

found it after only a few seconds of fumbling. The light from above lit the steps to the

attic floor. The attic was full of stuff. There were boxes, trunks, luggage of varying

sizes, old furniture covered in sheets, and an old dress dummy. The dress dummy

startled him at first, thinking it might be the ghost.

He decided to investigate the boxes first. They were covered in dust. He opened the

first box and found that it was full of old newspapers. He flipped through the papers,

noting the dates, 2000, 1998, 1994. He pulled out the paper from 1994. The headline

read “Out of Town Couple Found Dead”. The story was about the Sutten’s. Family

members had said the couple was distraught over the unexplained death of their young

daughter. They assumed that’s why the couple killed themselves.

He opened the second box and found that it contained even older newspapers than the

first. He flipped through the papers, noting the dates, 1984, 1979, 1976. He pulled out

the paper from 1976. The headline read “Suicide Leap Claims 2 More Victims”. He

scanned the story. It was about the last family that lived in this house. It was just as

Wilma had said.

He flipped through a few more papers, until he found one from 1967. The headline on

this one read “Prominent Citizen Takes His Own Life “. The article was about the death

of Albert Hall. There was a picture of him and a woman on the front page. He was a

handsome middle-aged man. The picture said the woman was his wife Julia. They

didn’t seem very happy with forced smiles. He thought it looked like a lot of the pictures

of his parents. The story said there was a note found, where Albert confessed to being

unable to live without Lucy and how he wanted to join her in death. His wife had sold

everything and moved to Hartford.

The next paper was from a week earlier. The headline read “Local Woman Found

Dead”. There was a picture of a beautiful young woman on the front page. She had

long flowing dark hair and a cheerful smile, that even encompassed her eyes. Her

whole face seemed to smile in happiness. Not the kind of woman who you would expect

to commit suicide. He was reading the article when he got a feeling that he was being

watched. He looked around the room and spotted the dress dummy. He chuckled to

himself, at how caught up he was getting. Still, the feeling was there, stronger now. He

turned suddenly to look behind himself, where he saw the translucent vision of a woman

with long dark hair. She was floating in the corner staring at him.

ACT THREE

He stared at the ghostly apparition with his mouth agape. He couldn’t believe what he

was seeing. He then realized that he did believe what he was seeing. At that moment,

he was sure that this was the ghost of Lucy Miller.

“Who are you?” Mulder asked the ghost, although he had a pretty good idea already.

“My name is Lucy Miller and this is my house,” she told him.

“Your house? I thought it belonged to Albert and Julia Hall?”

“It would have been my house…it should have been my house, but Albert’s wife took

care of that.”

“How?” he asked curiously.

She floated out of the corner to the center of the room, so that she was only a few feet

from Mulder. He could almost see straight through her. It was like looking through a

puff of smoke.

“Julia had asked me to meet her at the Manor. She said she wanted to talk about Albert.

It was just a ruse to get me there. We walked the trails talking about Albert. She

seemed so friendly to me. She didn’t seem like the woman Albert had described. I

should have heeded Albert’s words. He said not to trust her.”

“What happened?”

“When we finally got to the cliff, she changed. She became hateful, saying she would

never give up Albert’s money; not to some tramp. She said she had one favor to ask of

me.”

“What favor?”

“She said she wanted me to die! She pushed me off the cliff and I died on the rocks

below. I remember my body floating up and I saw Julia run back to the house. Later

that day, they discovered my body. Albert was heartbroken. I wanted to go to him, but I

couldn’t. He couldn’t see me. Seven days later, I watched Albert jump from the same

cliff. I thought I would see his soul then and we would be together, but I never saw it. I

don’t know what ever happened to him. After that, I moved into the house and I have

been here ever since. Tell me your name.”

“Mulder.”

“Mulder? That’s a strange name. What is your last name?”

“That is my last name. My first name is Fox, but I prefer to be called Mulder.”

“Fox! What a wonderful name. I love it,” she said with the same smile as in the picture

in the newspaper. Her whole face seemed to smile. “Why are you not afraid of me?

The others were.”

“I came here because of you. Well, partially. We’re actually on vacation, but I was really

hoping to see you.” She seemed to brighten even further when he mentioned he had

hoped to see her.

“Can I ask you something, Lucy?” When she nodded, he continued, “Did you have

anything to do with the suicides?”

Her smile vanished. “I loved them, Fox, I really did. I had to do something.”

“What do you mean? What did you do, Lucy?”

“I knew their wives wouldn’t let them go; let us be together, as it was meant to be. I had

to protect the men I loved, before their wives betrayed me…us. I had to get rid of them.

I couldn’t let them prevent us from being together.”

“So you…killed them?” She nodded at his question. “But, how?”

“I tried to run them off, at first, but they just wouldn’t take the hint. Eventually, I pushed

them off the cliff, just like Julia had done to me. I figured if I got rid of them, the man I

loved would stay with me and I wouldn’t be lonely again. Unfortunately, they were not

what I thought they were. They either left or chose to join their wives. I have been

looking for someone for almost 40 years. Someday, Fox, I will find the right man. One

who will love me and stay with me forever.”

She floated toward the door to the attic and turned to address him once more. “Perhaps,

I already have.” Before he could respond, she vanished.

Mulder couldn’t believe he had sat and carried on a conversation with a ghost. Scully

would never believe it. He thought about her final statement and wondered what she

meant. Maybe she had already picked out another couple to harass. He and Scully

should investigate the other couples staying here. Perhaps, they could prevent another

so-called suicide.

He put the newspapers back in the boxes as he had found them. He turned out the light

and left the attic, returning to his room. Scully was still sound asleep, so he slipped into

the bed beside her. She immediately snuggled against him and he put his arms around

her. He lay there thinking about what the ghost had said. Finally, sleep overcame him.

The next morning, he told Scully what had happened in the attic.

“Are you sure you didn’t dream it, Mulder? I mean, after all of Wilma’s ghost stories,

perhaps it was just your imagination.”

He was getting annoyed with her for always doubting him, but of course, why would he

have expected her to believe him now. She rarely believed in things, even when she

saw them. She hadn’t seen the ghost and even if she had, she would have explained it

away.

“How would I know that the suicides were actually murders, if she hadn’t told me?” he

asked with irritation.

“And that proves what? Are you saying you believe that this _ghost_ pushed these

people off the cliff?” He nodded. “Mulder, only in movies are ghosts considered

dangerous. Even those who believe in ghosts feel the most they can do is move small

objects and scare people.”

“But, she confessed.”

“So what if you saw a ghost and she confessed to murders. Are you going to reopen the

case? Investigate the murders? Mulder, these suicides took place years ago. I know

there is no statute of limitation on Murder, but it would be extremely tedious to track

down the individuals and the evidence, if any, would be long gone. There is nothing you

can do. Just drop it.”

“She said she had found another man. We should talk to the couples staying here; it is

probably one of them.”

“No! Positively not! We are not going to question the other guests, to see if any of them

are seeing visions of a ghost.”

“But…”

“No buts, Mulder!” she said loudly. She took a deep breath. She didn’t know how the

conversation had turned into an argument, but she was going to stop it now. “Look, I’m

sorry I shouted. We’re on vacation. Can’t we just enjoy ourselves and forget about the

ghost? Please.”

His rigid posture softened. He held out his arms and she walked into them. “I’m sorry

too,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her. “Let’s forget about the ghost and head

down to Mystic like we’d originally planned.”

They ran into Maury as they were leaving. He seemed to be his usually cheery self.

“Where are you two headed today?”

Scully fielded this question. “We’re headed down to Mystic.” Maury’s smile

disappeared. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It looks like the weather is starting to turn. It’s started drizzling and we’re supposed to

get a lot of rain over the next day or two. You folks be careful.”

Scully nodded and started to leave, but Mulder hung back a moment. “Hey, Maury, have

any of your guests reported seeing the ghost recently?”

“Mulder…” Scully warned.

“You said I couldn’t question the guests. You didn’t say anything about the owner.” He

turned back to the owner. “What about it?”

He shook his head. “Not that I know of. Why? Have you seen her?” Mulder shrugged

noncommittally. “Well, you stay away from her, Mr. Mulder. She’s nothing but trouble.”

Scully grabbed his arm and pulled him out the front door. The skies were overcast and

there was a light mist falling. They left the property and headed south on Highway 2

toward Mystic. Neither one said anything after they left the Manor. The silence was

making him nervous.

“I’m sorry I mentioned it to Mr. Chambers. No foul. Come on, don’t be mad at me.”

“Under one condition. You will not mention the ghost for the rest of the day.”

“You got a deal. Scout’s honor.” He mimicked the pledge by holding up two fingers.

When his eyes returned to the road, there was someone standing in the middle of it. He

slammed on his brakes and turned the wheel to the left to avoid the person. The mist

had made the roads slick. The tires lost traction and the car began to spin toward the

shoulder of the road. Unable to control the car, it came to an abrupt stop when it

sideswiped a tree a few feet off the road surface. Mulder’s last thought before he lost

consciousness was that the person in the road had been Lucy Miller.

He awoke to someone calling his name. It was Scully. She had unbuckled her seatbelt

and moved next to him in the front seat.

“Mulder? Are you okay? Where are you hurt?”

“My head and my left side.” He looked around trying to get his bearings. The driver side

window was smashed. Probably why his head was pounding. Right outside his door

was a tree, which is obviously what stopped the car. “What about you Scully? You

hurt?”

“I think my wrist may be sprained. Mulder, what happened?”

“Didn’t you see her?”

“Who?”

“Lucy Miller. She was standing in the middle of the road. I thought it was a person at

first, but it was her. You didn’t see her?”

“All I saw was the scenery fly by as we spun out of control.”

“Well she was there Scully. I saw her. She was standing right there in the middle of the

road,” he repeated angrily.

Before they could say more, a car pulled onto the shoulder of the road ahead of them. A

man wearing a slicker got out and ran back to their car, banging on the passenger

window. Scully rolled down the window with her good right hand.

“Are you folks all right?”

“Yes, we’re fine,” she replied. “Well, nothing life-threatening.”

“You two just sit tight. I’ve already called the police.”

“Did you see what happened?” Mulder asked the stranger.

“Nope, sure didn’t. Sorry. I was just driving by when I saw your car smashed up against

this tree.”

Sirens could be heard in the distance. Within minutes, a police car and an ambulance

pulled up. The EMT’s helped them out of the car and checked them out in the back of

the ambulance. They confirmed that Scully’s wrist was probably sprained, but it should

be x-rayed to be sure. Mulder definitely needed to be checked for a concussion due to

his head injury. The scratches on his face and neck were no longer bleeding, so they

left them for the hospital to clean.

The police officer stepped to the back of the ambulance to ask them what had

happened. “I’m Officer Rains. Can I get your names.”

Mulder took the lead answering his questions. “Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.”

The police officer wrote their names on his report. “Address?”

“We actually live in DC, but here on vacation, staying at Hall Manor.”

He added this to his report. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Mulder looked at Scully and saw the look on her face that pleaded with him not to

mention the ghost.

“There was something…a small animal…in the road. When I swerved to miss it, I lost

control on the wet pavement and hit the tree.” Mulder said.

“That happens. There are a lot of animals in this area.” He looked up to address the

EMT. “You going to take them to the hospital?”

“Yeah. They need to be examined by a doctor.”

“Fine.” He turned back to Mulder. “We’ll get your car towed into town. I’ll come by the

hospital to finish your statement and let you know where you can find your car.”

The ambulance took them to the Emergency Room at Backus Hospital. They were there

for a couple of hours. Scully’s left wrist had been x-rayed and it was only sprained. Her

wrist was placed in a splint and she was given a sling to keep it elevated.

Mulder had a sizable lump on the side of his head where it had hit the window. Since he

had lost consciousness, a CT scan of the head was indicated. It turned out negative and

neurologically he was normal. There were bits of glass in his hair and a few embedded

in his neck and cheek. None of the scratches required stitches, so the nurse cleaned

them and applied an antibiotic cream. His left shoulder, arm, and hip were bruised from

where they hit the door at impact. He would be sore, but other than that, there was

nothing to be done.

The doctor gave them both a prescription for a pain reliever in case they were

uncomfortable. The nurse gave them their discharge orders and they left the Trauma

Room together.

When they entered the Emergency Room waiting room, they saw the police officer from

the accident. He was sitting in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that seemed to be

standard issue for a waiting room. He stood as they approached.

“Mr. Mulder, Ms Scully, how are you feeling?”

“I believe we’ll live; albeit painfully for the next few days,” Mulder said with a strained

smile.

“Do you mind if we sit here and finish your statement? After that, I’ll give you folks a ride

back to Hall Manor. You’ll probably want to rest for the rest of the day. Maury can

probably give you ride into town tomorrow to take care of your car. Which, by the way,

was towed to Norwich Ford on North Main.”

“Mulder, why don’t you finish with Officer Rains and I’ll run to the hospital pharmacy to

get this prescription filled. I _know_ will be needing it later.”

Mulder answered, as Officer Rains asked questions and transcribed his answers onto

the accident report form. They were just finishing up the report, when Scully came back

from the pharmacy.

“Come on. Let’s get you folks back to the Manor, so you can get some rest. You both

look very tired.” He would get no arguments from them.

It had begun to rain a little harder. No longer the light mist they had experienced earlier.

Twenty minutes later they turned off onto the drive to the Manor. As they crossed over

the creek, the officer noticed the water was higher. He commented on how it would

most likely flood if the rain kept up much longer. They really weren’t listening to what he

was saying. They were thinking about how much they wanted to lie down and sleep.

The officer pulled up to the front of the Manor and let them off. He said he would call to

check on them tomorrow. Before they made it to the top of the steps, the front door was

thrown open startling them. Mary was standing there wearing a very worried look.

“Oh my God, you two look terrible. Come in, come in. Jerry…Officer Rains, called and

told me what happened. Are you two okay?”

“We’re better than our car,” said Mulder. “Perhaps, Maury could drive us into town to

tomorrow to check on it. We need to make arrangements to get a loaner.”

“Sure, that won’t be any problem. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“No thanks, Mary,” Scully said, “we just need to get some rest.”

“Of course. If you need anything, you let me know,” Mary offered. “You two come down

later if you feel like it and I’ll make you up some dinner.”

“Thanks, we just might do that,” replied Mulder. They made their way up the stairs to

their room. Mulder couldn’t help but let a few groans slip through as his left hip protested

the climbing.

Scully removed her clothes, slipped into her pajamas, and crawled into bed. Mulder

stripped down to his boxers. His left side was beginning to turn several shades of

purple. She asked him to get her a glass of water so she could take the pain pills and

suggested he do the same. He usually didn’t like to indulge in pain medication, but he

had a feeling he would not be able to sleep without it.

He crawled into bed next to her. Soon the pills took effect and they were both sound

asleep.

Mulder was standing in the clearing between the woods and the cliffs. Scully was

standing at the edge of the cliff in her pajamas. Floating between them, was the ghostly

vision of Lucy Miller. They were talking, but he could not hear what they were saying.

Scully’s expression was one of anger. He realized that the wind had suddenly picked

up. He started running towards them. Lucy moved closer to Scully. Mulder was scared

and ran as fast as he could, but he seemed to be running in slow motion. Lucy moved

again and Scully fell backwards off the cliff. He screamed her name and suddenly his

legs closed the distance in record time. When he got to the cliff’s edge, he looked down

and saw her broken body on the rocks below. He was sure she was dead. He was

broken-hearted. What would he do without her? He heard a noise behind him and

turned to see the ghost of Lucy Miller.

“You killed her!” Mulder said angrily

“It’s over, Fox. Now we can be together…forever,” she told him soothingly.

“NO!” he yelled at her. “I love Scully. I could never love anyone else but Scully. She

was my heart and soul and now she is dead.”

Lucy’s expression turned angry. “I thought you were different, but you’re like all the

others. I thought you loved me…loved me like Albert. I thought you were the one, but I

was wrong.”

The ghostly vision transformed into a hideous creature and she let loose a terrifying

scream. A huge gust of wind suddenly blew and pushed Mulder over the edge of the

cliff.

“Nooooooo,” Mulder screamed.

Scully awakened at the sound of his scream. She turned to see him sitting up in bed,

drenched in sweat. His eyes were wide and frightened.

“Mulder. Are you okay?” she asked as she ran her hand up and down his arm in a

soothing motion. He nodded, but didn’t look at her. “Did you have a bad dream?” He

flinched at the mention of the dream, but he again nodded. “Do you want to talk about

it?”

“No!” was the first verbal response he had given since he had awakened. “I don’t want

to talk about it. I’m fine.” He rolled onto his side facing away from Scully. She watched

him for a few moments, but decided he would talk about it when he was ready. She lay

back down and was soon asleep. Mulder lay there with his eyes wide open. There was

no way he was going back to sleep.

ACT FOUR

Scully awoke sometime later that afternoon when she realized she was all alone in the

bed. She sat up and saw Mulder sitting on the couch in the sitting room off the main

bedroom. He was wearing his jeans and a worried expression on his face.

“Mulder? What are you doing up? Couldn’t you sleep?” A shake of his head was his

only acknowledgement to her questions. “Is it because of your dream?”

He turned his head to look at her. “I had a dream about Lucy. She pushed you off the

cliff.”

“Mulder, you just had a bad dream and that’s quite understandable.”

“Oh yeah, why is that?”

“Think about it. You’ve been inundated with ghost stories over the last few days and

you’re exhausted. Add to that the effect of the painkillers. It’s little doubt that’s what

caused your nightmare.”

She always had an explanation for everything. “It was _not_ the drugs or the ghost

stories,” he firmly stated. “I believe it was a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yes, Scully, a warning.” He was becoming flustered. Why must he always defend his

theories? He tried to calm himself before he continued. “Look, I told you she said she

had found another man, right? Well, I think that man is me.”

“Oh, please…”

“Dammit, I have seen her,” Mulder shouted, leaping to his feet. He moaned at the pain

that caused his hip. He brushed off the pain and continued, “She told me that she killed

those women, so she could be together with the men. I believe she means to do you

harm…like all the other women.”

“Calm down, Mulder.” He rolled his eyes at her attempt to change the subject. “Let’s

just say that is true. What do you want us to do?”

“Leave,” he said flatly.

“Leave?”

“Yes, leave. We can drive down to Mystic and get a hotel.”

“Drive? How can we do that without a car?”

“We can get the Chambers to drive us into town. We can stay at the Marriott tonight and

get a car in the morning. I just don’t want to stay _here_ another night.”

She could see he was upset and arguing with him only made him more upset. She

couldn’t believe in the terrorizing ghost theory, but Mulder did and if leaving this place

would ease him mind, then she would do it.

“Fine. We can leave.”

He stared at her as if he wasn’t sure he had heard her right. “Really?” She nodded. He

visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank you. I’ll go ask the Chambers to drive us into town. You

pack. Oh, wait! I’ll ask them to drive us into town and then _I_ will pack. You just sit

there.” He raced out the door before she could respond.

He ran downstairs to track down the Chambers. In his haste, he had forgotten to put on

his shoes and a shirt. He was in too big of a hurry to turn back. He found Maury at his

desk in the office.

He stepped into the doorway and shouted, “Maury!”

Maury was startled by the sudden intrusion. He turned and saw Mulder standing there in

his jeans. His bruises were really starting to stand out on his skin. He suddenly became

worried. “Mr. Mulder? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah…well, no…Maury, could you drive Scully and me into town?” He didn’t want to tell

him about his nightmare.

“Now?”

“Yeah, now. How about it?”

“Well, son, I wish I could.” Mulder’s face fell. “It has been raining all afternoon and the

creek has overflowed its banks and flooded the road. I’m afraid we’re stuck here until

the rain stops. Why is it so important you get into town tonight? You don’t need the

doctor again, do you?”

“No,” he answered in a defeated voice, “we’re just fine. Thanks anyway.”

Mulder slowly ascended the steps to the second floor and returned to their room. When

he entered, Scully knew something was wrong. “What’s wrong?”

“The rain has flooded the road. We can’t leave until the water recedes.”

“Well, that’s it. I guess we will have to stay until morning.”

“No. We can’t stay here.”

“What do you suggest? We could swim across the creek and hike into town,” she

suggested sarcastically.

He slumped heavily onto the couch in the sitting room. “Of course not.”

“Then I suggest you calm down and try to relax. Hopefully we can leave first thing in the

morning.”

He knew she was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He would try to relax, but

he knew that would be impossible. At least he would try not to get on her nerves.

They sat in silence for a while, each deep within their own thoughts. Mulder thought that

if they couldn’t leave, then they should be around other people. They should go down

stairs with the other guests, or at least, where the Chambers were.

“Scully?”

She started at the break in the silence. “Yeah?”

“I’m starved. Let’s go see what Mary has to eat.”

She thought about it a minute and decided that she was hungry too. They hadn’t eaten

anything since breakfast and it was now evening time. “Sounds good. I’m hungry too.

Let’s get dressed and head down stairs.”

Mulder jumped and moved to the dresser to fish out socks and a t-shirt. He was so

relieved that she had agreed to go downstairs. He didn’t want them to be alone.

Mary was so happy to see them coming down the stairs. She ran up and grabbed both

their arms and pulled them toward the kitchen. The kitchen was warm and inviting. She

ushered them to the small table in the corner and beckoned them to sit.

“Can I get you something to drink? I got some fresh-brewed iced tea?”

“Oh yeah, Mary, that sounds great,” Mulder replied.

She got two large glasses from the cupboard. She filled them with ice and tea and

placed them on the table before them. “I bet you two are hungry. Let me fix you

something for dinner. I could make you a couple of club sandwiches, complete with

fresh sliced turkey, cheese, crisp bacon, on toasted bread, with a side of my fresh potato

salad. How does that sound?”

Mulder was salivating from her description. “That sounds great. I can practically taste it

from your description alone. You should do commercials.” She laughed at his

assessment of her persuasive speech.

They sat there at the table sipping their tea as Mary moved about the kitchen preparing

them dinner. She made it seem so effortless. She kept up a nonsensical one-sided

conversation the entire time. Mulder even began to relax in the warmth and safety of her

kitchen. Within fifteen minutes she placed a sandwich in front of each of them and they

dug in with gusto. They hadn’t realized until now how hungry they were.

After eating she urged them to go into the library with the other guests. There was a

roaring fire in the fireplace and its golden light bounced off the walls. They sat on the

cozy loveseat in front of the fire away from the others. He could almost forget about

Lucy when he was this happy and felt so safe, but he knew she was there…just waiting

for the right time.

A big yawn escaped from Scully as she stretched. He could tell that sitting here was

going to put her to sleep and then they would have to go back to their room.

He glanced around the room trying to find a reason to stay here, when he noticed the

pile of games. “Hey, Monopoly! Come on, Scully, let’s play a game.”

“Oh, Mulder, aren’t you tired?”

‘We slept all afternoon. Oh please, just one game?”

Mary came in with a pot of coffee and a plate of cookies. “Anybody want a snack?” She

placed the tray on the table in front of them.

“Yes!” Mulder blurted out. Perfect. Coffee would keep them awake. He poured her a

cup of coffee and then snatched the game from the shelf. “How about it?”

“Okay. One game only.”

He set the game up and they played, while they drank coffee and munched on oatmeal

cookies. The game lasted for a couple of hours and Scully’s yawning was becoming

more and more frequent. Mulder was feeling more and more guilty. It was obvious, that

Scully was beyond tired and he needed to put her to bed. He couldn’t keep her down

here all night.

She let out another jaw-cracking yawn and he took action. “Okay, that’s it, Scully. I

concede defeat. Time for bed. You can barely keep your eyes open.” She didn’t argue,

she was exhausted. “Let me put this stuff away and we’ll go up to our room.”

She changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed. Mulder got her a glass of water so

she could take her pain medicine. She watched him as he put the glass back in the

bathroom, retrieved his gun from the dresser, and then made himself comfortable on the

sofa in the sitting room. She stared at him until she realized that he planned to stay

there.

“What are you doing? Aren’t you coming to bed?”

“Nah, I’m not tired.”

“Who are you kidding? You were yawning as much as I was downstairs. Mulder, you

need to rest.”

A yawn slipped past his defenses. “No, really. I think I’ve gotten my second wind. I’m

just going to sit here and…watch TV.” He jumped up, flipped on the TV, and grabbed the

remote. He couldn’t tell her he was waiting up in case Lucy made an appearance. She

would have laughed at him.

“Fine. Suit yourself, but I’m going to sleep.” She turned off the bedside lamp, rolled over

facing away from the TV, and was soon asleep.

He sat there on the couch, with his gun in his right hand, absently switching channels

with his left, watching Scully sleep. He was really tired. That nap this afternoon had

been anything but restful, but he would not let himself fall asleep. Scully may not believe

that she was in danger, but he did and he would not let the ghost get to Scully.

A few hours later he felt the call of nature. It must have been all the coffee he drank

trying to stay awake. He didn’t want to take his eyes off of Scully, even for a few

minutes, so he waited, but by 3:00am, he couldn’t stand it. He decided he would run to

the bathroom and back…maybe a minute…two at the most…he would hurry.

He ran into the bathroom and relieved himself.

Moments after he left the room, Scully rose from the bed and headed for the door. She

had her hand in front of her as if she was being led by someone. She was being led by

Lucy Miller out of the house. In her mind, Mulder was leading her and she was

following. They left the house through the front door and walked across the yard and

disappeared into the woods.

Just as he was finishing his business and was prepared to return to the room, Lucy

Miller appeared in the bathroom. She was hovering at the open door. “Don’t worry,” she

said, “I’ll take care of everything. We will be together now.” She vanished and the door

slammed shut in his face.

He panicked and grabbed the knob to open the door, but it was locked. He pulled and

pulled, but it would not budge. He banged on the door shouting Scully’s name. Nothing.

He looked for something to break the door with…nothing. He was terrified now, banging

on the door, yelling for help. He screamed for Lucy not to hurt Scully, tears were

streaming down his face. He tried throwing his body against the door, which only

bruised his other shoulder.

Suddenly, the door was flung open and he was face to face with the Chambers who

were standing there in shock.

“Where is Scully?” he yelled, as he raced past them into the room. The bed was empty.

She was gone.

“Mr. Mulder! What’s wrong?”

He didn’t stop to answer them, but rushed past them, down the stairs. The front door

was standing wide open. He knew where Scully had gone. He raced out the front door,

through the woods, towards the cliffs. It was still pouring down rain and the wind was

blowing. The trails were slick from the rain and he slipped several times as he ran over

the trails.

When he entered the clearing, he saw Scully standing by the edge of the cliff looking

down at the rushing river. The ghostly vision of Lucy Miller was hovering between her

and Mulder. Scully was soaked; her hair plastered to her head.

“SCULLY!!” he screamed.

She seemed to snap out of her trance. She turned towards the sound of her name and

came face to face with the ghost of Lucy Miller. Mulder yelled for her to run and again

began to run towards them.

“He is mine,” Lucy told her as she moved closer to Scully.

Scully was backed up the edge and could not move back any further. She steadied

herself and confronted the ghost. “No! He is _mine_. I will not let him go,” she said in a

firm steady voice.

At first, Lucy’s expression turned to one of disbelief. No one had ever attempted to

challenge her before. Who was this woman, who tried to stop her from taking what was

hers. At this thought, her face turned angry and the wind started to blow harder.

Mulder noticed that the wind had picked up. He ran even faster. When he was near

Lucy, he took a flying leap. He tried to tackle her before she could push Scully over the

cliff, only he had forgotten she was an apparition. He flew right through the vision.

Wildly he tried to grab at something to stop his flight. His hands made contact with the

rail, which slowed him down.

As the rail slowed him down, he was spun back and slammed into the side of the cliff.

The railing was wet and he could not hang on. His fingers slid off the wet rail and he slid

down the cliff face. He flailed his arms, trying to grab hold of anything. He finally came

to a thudding stop on an outcropping of rock about twenty feet below. He managed to

snatch a handful of roots before he could slide off the ledge into the river below.

He could hear the deafening roar of the Yantic River as it rushed over the rocks; any

white-water rafter’s dream. He realized that he had stopped short of being crushed to

death on the rocks below or being swept away in the treacherous river current. He also

noticed that the gusting wind had stopped and that the rain had slowed to a steady

drizzle.

It took him a moment to get his bearings, when he suddenly remembered Scully. Where

was she? Was she okay? “SCULLY!!” He called her name over and over, but there

was no answer. He had to get back up there. He began to look for a way.

As soon as Mulder went over the side of the cliff, the world seemed to stop. The

expression on Lucy’s face instantly changed to one of shock and then slowly melted into

one of sadness. Finally, the gusting wind dissipated and the ghost of Lucy Miller

vanished. Scully stood there stunned for a moment, unable to comprehend what had

just happened. Suddenly, she remembered seeing Mulder fall off the cliff. She ran to

the cliff’s edge and looked over. She couldn’t see anything, but she could hear the roar

of the rushing Yantic River below.

She called out his name over and over, but there was no answer. She came to the

realization that he might be gone. He obviously fell into the river and was being rushed

downstream by the mighty current. He might still be alive, that was if he hadn’t been

crushed on the rocks below. At that moment her heart broke.

Scully didn’t know what had just happened, other than seeing Mulder fly off the cliff.

Was that real? Did she really confront the ghost of Lucy Miller? Was this a dream?

Was she sleep-walking? She was so confused. At that moment, the Chambers burst

through the trees into the clearing.

Mary Chambers rushed to wrap her arms around Scully. “Oh, my dear. Are you all

right? Where is Mr. Mulder?”

Scully buried her head into Mary’s shoulder and cried. “He went off the cliff. Oh my

God, I saw him go over the cliff.”

“I should call the sheriff. He needs to get a Search and Rescue team to check the river

downstream,” Maury reasoned.

Meanwhile, Mulder had managed to inch his way along the outcropping about twenty-

five feet around the edge of the cliff. Here the cliff was not quite as sheer and there

seemed to be much more vegetation. Using the vegetation, he managed to pull himself

up the face of the cliff and over the edge. His arms were trembling from the effort and

he was exhausted, but he had to find out what had happened to Scully. He noticed

several people in the darkness about thirty feet way. He could hear that one of the

voices was Scully’s

“Come on child… _you_ need to get out of this rain. We need to let Maury call the

authorities and get them to check the river.” Scully didn’t want to leave the cliffs, but she

knew they needed to form a search party, even if it was only to retrieve Mulder’s body.

“Scully?”

Oh God, now she was hearing things. She looked up and saw Mulder coming toward

her. At first, she was sure this was a continuation of this nightmare, but he looked so

solid…so real.

When he got close to them, he asked, “Hey, Scully, what happened to the ghost?”

She stared at him, having trouble believing it was really him. That he hadn’t gone over

the cliff. That he wasn’t dead. Scully threw her arms around his neck and kissed his

face.

“Mmmm…missed me huh?” She burst into laughter. Tears of joy mixed with her

previous tears of anguish.

“All right you two,” Mary interrupted, “you can continue this reunion back at the Manor.”

She marched off into the woods.

Mulder and Scully gazed at each other, both had been convinced they would never see

each other again. After a moment of unspoken communication, they broke into huge

smiles, and then headed off in Mary’s direction, arm in arm.

EPILOGUE

From the Journal of Fox Mulder

What makes a soul not want to leave this earthly plane, even after death. Lucy Miller

would not let herself leave. She was looking for something she felt was robbed from

her…Love. She felt her logic was perfect, however, it was flawed. She didn’t expect that

these men, once rid of their loved ones, wouldn’t want to spend eternity with her. She

had not even considered it a possibility. How bad can one want love, to sabotage

another’s relationship to get it?

Scully cannot be convinced of what really happened, insisting that she was not attacked

by the apparition of Lucy Miller. She blames it on the pain medication that she and I

were taking for our injuries. I don’t know if she really believes that, but that is the only

way she can explain it without admitting she had a paranormal experience.

As for me, I believe that even though she disappeared after our confrontation on the cliff,

she still haunts Hall Manor, waiting for her next victim. I can only hope that someday

she will choose to move on and perhaps, be reunited with Albert Hall.

Scully and I have decided to spend the last two days of our vacation at the Mohegan

Sun casino at Maury’s insistence. He knows the manager there and arranged for a limo

to pick us up at the Manor the following morning. At Maury’s request, they put us up in

one of their best suites. At one point, I wanted nothing more than to be all alone with

Scully, but we’re still pretty bruised and sore. Now, I’m enjoying the feeling of safety

being lost in the crowds. Who knows, maybe I will even win a new car at the slots.

THE END

FINDING THE FUTURE

By: Traveler

Rating: PG-13 for a few nasty words and a little MT.

Classification: X-File

Summary: The question of mankind’s fate is explored

when Mulder finds himself looking through a window to

the future.

Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully and the other characters

are property of FOX and 1013. I borrowed them Chris,

you haven’t been doing anything with them lately so I

hope you won’t mind.

Archive: Exclusive to VS12 for two weeks, please write

if you’d like to archive this elsewhere.

Feedback: iluvxf@hotmail.com

ANCIENT DIG SIGHT, WEST AFRICA

A commotion of voices brought her awake. Diggers

working in the ruins in the early morning light had

discovered something that had frightened them. She

heard one voice among them ask to see her,

demanding that she see what had them all so upset.

Gathering up some clothes she dressed quickly,

emerging from the tent to find a familiar face connected

to the voice. She recognized the man. He’d worked

with her several years ago on the coast during one of

the most frightening experiences of her life.

“Professor Ngebe,” he said, coming forward now, his

hands extended towards her, asking her to take the

object from him. She accepted it, looking down at it in

recognition. It was a tile, a flat irregular shaped tablet of

some sort of stone material filled with glyphs. Glyphs

she recognized all too well, glyphs she knew were not

meant for her.

X-FILES OFFICE 9:13 A.M.

Scully was surprised to find the office door partially

open as she came down the darkened hallway juggling

her briefcase, a bakery bag and a tray carrying two

large coffees. Kicking the door open farther with her

foot she was twice as surprised to find Mulder seated at

his desk engrossed in something he was viewing on the

computer monitor. The noise startled him but he got up

quickly to grab the tray from her hands.

“Thanks,” she said as he took the tray and set it on the

corner of the desk. “I didn’t expect to find you here. I

thought you had a meeting with Skinner this morning?”

“Well I’m here and I did and which one of these is that

low-fat latte crap you like to drink?”

She turned at the sound of aggravation in his voice and

took in his already haggard appearance; tie askew, his

shirtsleeves rolled up almost to his elbows. Peeling out

of her coat she walked over to where he was perched

on the edge of the desk and grabbed her drink, curling

her chilled fingers around the hot cup.

“Mulder, you left the house at 6:30 in a fairly good mood,

it must have been a hell of a meeting.”

He picked up the other cup, inhaling the nutty hazelnut

aroma as he popped off the lid and then got to his feet,

wandering over to the row of files cabinets and leaning

against one as he sipped the drink. “Wait until you hear

this. He wanted my opinion about adding some agents

to the department. Do you believe that? How long

have we been fighting to keep the X-Files open and

now they want to add more agents to the department?”

Scully’s eyed him as she blew on her drink. “What did

you say?”

“Among other things, I told him electronic bugs were

bad enough, we didn’t need live ones crawling around

down here.”

She rolled her eyes, “And?”

“And then he got frustrated because he said he was just

trying to help us out. Made some crack about my age

and still being out in the field; that my time was too

valuable to be spent running across the country. Then

he suggested that maybe if we had a couple pair of

agents down here it would give us more time–more

FREE time we could spend on research. And then he

ragged on me about our reports being late, that we

could use some clerical help. To that I basically told

him we’ve worked together for 10 plus years without any

help and we didn’t need any now. And then he said he

wanted to talk to you.”

“Now?”

“As soon as you got in-but first,” he set the cup down

and took her by the arm to steer her around the desk. “I

want you to open this package from Africa with your

name on it,” he finished, motioning with his head toward

the chair in front of the desk, the one on which she had

dropped her coat.

Following his gaze she noticed the brown box hidden

beneath her coat. She set her cup down while Mulder

cleared a spot on the desk so she could set the box

down on it. It was addressed to her, care of the Federal

Bureau of Investigation with a return address from West

Africa. She looked at him, puzzled; he caught her eye

and reached over the desk to extract a box cutter from

the top drawer. “Mulder” it came out apprehensively. “I

haven’t had any contact from anyone over there in

years. Who would be sending me something?”

“Maybe you should open it and find out,” he said as he

handed her the cutter.

The box wasn’t that large or heavy and when she got

the flaps open it was stuffed with straw type packing

material; an envelope with her name on it was lying on

top. She took the envelope and slid the note from it not

noticing that Mulder had moved the box from in front of

her and was digging through the packaging.

DR. SCULLY,

IT SEEMS OUR PAST HAS ONCE AGAIN COME

BACK TO HAUNT US

AND WE FIND OURSELVES QUESTIONING THE

ORIGIN OF OUR

EXISTENCE. THIS I FEEL IS MEANT FOR YOU TO

EXPLORE

NOT I. I HOPE THIS WILL HELP YOU FIND THE

ANSWER.

A.N.

“A. N.? Mulder, I think this is from professor Ngebe, the

woman….”

Mulder was standing next to her. In his hands was a

large piece of tile filled with inscriptions like the ones

she had seen on the craft in Africa, like what had been

on the copy of the rubbing Skinner had given him, the

one that several years ago had almost driven him

insane. She watched as he gently caressed the script,

his fingertips running across it almost reverently, his lips

whispering something she could not hear. He looked

up at her with a look of understanding and amazement

but said nothing. As realization hit her she went to grab

it from him but it suddenly fell from his hands, his entire

body contorting from the spasm that wracked it. He

stood frozen in the moment and then another spasm

racked his body and he dropped so fast Scully had little

time to react, his head meeting the edge of the desk on

his way to the floor.

Scully followed him down; the head wound already

bleeding when he hit the floor. She rolled him onto his

back. “Mulder? Dammit, Mulder!” He was

unresponsive, his eyes glazed. Unable to palpate a

radial pulse and feeling no respirations she bolted for

the phone to dial 911.

“This is Agent Dana Scully with the F.B.I. I have an

agent down! Forty-three year old male in cardiac and

respiratory arrest, I am a doctor, I will start CPR,

basement offices, tell them to come in through the

garage!”

She dropped the phone on the desk, returning to the

floor with Mulder. Tilting his head back and opening his

mouth she blew a deep breath into his lungs and then

clutched her hands together and started CPR.

“1..2..3..4..5…”

NORTHEAST GEORGETOWN MEDICAL CENTER

Scully had resuscitated him in the office before the

paramedics had arrived. His heart rate had been

thready, erratic and on advice from the hospital the use

of a defibulator had stabilized him. By the time they had

reached the hospital his vitals were almost normal but

he had remained catatonic on the way in.

The results of an EKG showed that his heart had been

subjected to some sort of electrical trauma. “You’re

certain that he hadn’t touched anything, that he didn’t

receive any sort of electrical shock?” The young ER

doctor asked her.

Nothing earthly Scully thought to herself. “No, I was

standing right next to him. He had some sort of seizure

and then just dropped to the floor in arrest.”

She caressed Mulder’s arm, watching his face for some

response as the doctor continued to study the test

results, his glazed eyes staring back at her but seeing

nothing. “There’s nothing in the tests we’ve run that

indicates any type of cardiopulmonary cause here. I

think maybe we need to do a CAT scan and an MRI.

His BP is good or I would suspect an aneurysm but

there are also other possibilities in the form of a stroke

or some sort of neurological disorder. I could

recommend a neurologist.”

From somewhere, the mention of a neurologist hit home.

Something she had read recently about a friend from

med school who had been named the head of the

Neurology Department here. “Um, yes, I understand Dr.

Jason Leonard is head of the department now, I went to

med school with him, if you could let him know I’d like

him to take a look at my partner…”

“Yes, certainly. You’re a doctor?” the young doctor

asked somewhat surprised. “I’m sure you’re aware then,

there is a very real possibility of brain damage due to

oxygen deprivation. You have medical power of

attorney?”

Scully looked up from her study of Mulder’s frozen

features. She had only half listened to what the doctor

had been telling her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re not his wife but I see you listed on his chart as

the emergency contact.”

Scully tried to make it sound matter-of-fact, “Yes-we

work for the F.B.I. We’ve been partners a very long time.

It’s easier that way.” It was more than obvious to the

doctor as he watched Scully thread her fingers through

Mulder’s unresponsive ones, that these two were much

more than partners. She turned to look at him then,

meeting his eyes, “He wasn’t out long enough; I refuse

to believe this is caused by brain damage.”

Somehow this all felt like deja vu only this time she was

present to see the effects. This time however, Mulder

was not raving about in a padded room. This time, his

mind was somehow frozen in that moment when he

touched the artifact back in the office and she was at a

loss at how to bring him back. Still wearing her coat,

she pulled it more tightly around her, her hand sliding

into the big pocket to worry the surface of that very

same artifact in some hope she would find an answer

there.

Within a half hour, they had stitched up Mulder’s head

wound and had him on an IV drip. The heart monitor

showed a steady reassuring 74 beats per minute. As

they were preparing to take him down for tests a nurse

came in to inform her that there was a Walter Skinner in

the ER waiting room and that he wished to speak with

her. She leaned over the gurney, caressing Mulder’s

cheek, his eyes still lifelessly gazing up at her. Placing

a gentle kiss on his forehead she nodded to the orderly.

She found Skinner in the waiting room as the nurse had

said. At the moment he was standing at the window,

his back to her with his hands on his hips, his dark

trench coat giving him a menacing look from behind.

Seeing her reflection in the glass he turned as she

approached his eyes catching the worry lines that were

as much in evidence on her face as he knew they were

on his own.

“I got word that Mulder was rushed in here in cardiac

arrest. What happened?”

Scully met his eyes; he could see the resignation in

them. The oversized coat she still wore made her look

so much less than her usual self. “I don’t know” she

almost whispered. “They don’t think it was a heart

attack. He just literally dropped dead right there in front

of me.” He watched as her eyes welled with tears, the

shock now wearing off to become grief.

Skinner reached out to touch her shoulder in an act of

reassurance. “The nurse said his vitals were normal

now, how’s he doing?”

She looked away, brushing angrily at the tears that

threatened to spill from her eyes. Skinner was the last

person she wanted to see her like this. “He’s

unresponsive, catatonic, the ER doctor is afraid there

could be brain damage from the lack of oxygen to his

brain.”

“A stroke?”

She shook her head, choking back the sob that

threatened to burst from her. Skinner fought the urge to

wrap her in an embrace, not certain that she would

welcome it especially in this public place. He looked

around, almost suspiciously. “You know, this is the

hospital they brought him to before. Are you okay with

him being here?”

She nodded a small smile, realizing what he reference.

“They-they just took him for some tests. I have a friend

from med school, a neurologist who is on staff here now.

I’ve asked for him.”

Skinner shuffled his feet, looked down and slid his

hands into the pockets of his coat. “You know-we had

this conversation this morning…”

“I know, he told me. He said you wanted to see me

because you weren’t getting anywhere with him and you

won’t. He’d never be happy behind a desk sir; you

know that as well as I do.”

“Agent Scully?” They both turned at the sound of her

name, one of the ER nurses was approaching her with

a somewhat distressed look on her face. The nurse

pulled them aside so she could speak somewhat

privately. “They need your help down in imaging. Mr.

Mulder seems to have regained consciousness but he’s

being quite uncooperative.”

“Oh God,” Scully glanced quickly at Skinner and then

turned to follow the nurse. A few steps down the hall

she hesitated. “Sir?” She fumbled with her coat,

tugging on something she had stuffed into one of the

large pockets. Pulling out an object wrapped in a

leather covering she handed it to Skinner. “Could you

see that the Gunmen get this?”

He took the object from her with a puzzled look.

“I think that is the cause of Mulder’s illness.”

**

Standing on a high point of land, the city stretched out

below him. Built by their own hands, it was an

incredibly intricate labyrinth of buildings and temples.

The houses were arranged in long terraces and simply

built. The temples, on the other hand, were elaborate

masses of monolithic block faultlessly cut with razor

sharp edges that integrated completely into each other.

Intricate carvings decorated the exterior of many of the

temples. The whole city had been neatly terraced and

carved into the mountainside.

Lush greenery surrounded the city on all sides, hiding it

from all but the sky above. The combination of stone,

foliage and water made it a work of natural sculpture, a

place where man and the earth lived in harmony, a

heart-achingly beautiful place.

But now it had become a city in turmoil and fear. Failed

crops and hunger gripped the people and the demand

for sacrifice grew. The gods were angry the priest had

told them and the king had ordered that blood needed

to be spilled to appease them. Warriors had raided the

outlying villages, dragging off those chosen for sacrifice.

He’d come here to hide and to watch as below him the

blood of many of his fellow villagers spilled down the

steps of the temple, their screams echoing off the faces

of the other buildings and up into the heavens above

him.

Fear griped him, making it hard to breathe, how could

this carnage make the gods happy? His friends were

being taken from their homes and slaughtered, many of

them attempting to flee into the jungle only to be

brought back by the king’s warriors. He was one of

them, his flight instinct urging him to run but he found

for the moment he could not take his eyes from the

scene below him.

Behind him he heard the rustling of foliage. He froze,

knowing for certain that when he turned around death

would be staring him in the face. More thrashing filled

the jungle behind him and when he did turn he found

himself face to face with two of the king’s warriors. He

bolted, dashing off into the jungle, knowing that if he

were caught his heart would be added to those already

piled on the sacrificial alter below. He ran, down the

hillside, brushing aside vines and stumbling over

exposed roots, his heart pounding in his throat with the

sound of the men behind him. Crashing on through the

dense foliage, branches cutting at his hands and face,

he thought for a time he would elude his captors. But

then he fell, coming down hard, his arms out in front of

him in some feeble attempt to prevent himself from

being injured. He was going to die, what did it matter?

Strong arms grabbed his upper arms pulling him almost

to his feet. He struggled, trying desperately to shake

the men off but he was no match for their strength and

soon found himself being dragged back through the

jungle, across the courtyard and up the many steps to

the altar. His eyes scanned the people below

desperately searching for one, the woman he loved,

screaming her name as they pinned him to the alter.

The village priest began to chant, standing above him

holding the sacrificial dagger. Pain lanced through his

body as the sheath cut through his chest and he

remembered nothing else.

**

“What’s going on?” Scully hurried after the nurse who

now stood before the elevator angrily punching the

DOWN button as if it would encourage the elevator to

arrive more quickly.

“I don’t know. I picked up the call from imaging. There

was a lot of yelling in the background, they just said to

get you down there STAT — come on, come on!” She

continued to smack the elevator button.

When the elevator doors opened on the diagnostic level

another nurse was nervously pacing the hallway. “Are

you Dana Scully?”

“Yes, where is he?” Before the nurse could answer

they both heard him screaming; the nurse bolting for the

exam room with Scully right on her heels.

Stepping into the technician’s office Scully could see

through the glass window to the exam room. Three

orderlies had Mulder pinned to the wall. His face was

beet red as he tried to fight the men that held him. He

continued to scream, terrified of the restraint, his voice

growing hoarse. It sounded like he was saying “Asordo”,

over and over but she had no idea what the word meant

or why he was screaming it.

Someone came through the door behind her, a doctor,

pushing past her as she entered the exam room. She

saw the needle in his hand and knew immediately that

they were about to sedate Mulder.

“No, wait! What are you giving him?” The needle went

into Mulder’s hip before she could get the doctor’s

attention. “Dammit it, what did you give him?”

“Five milligrams Haloperidol, he almost killed the

technician,” the doctor answered angrily motioning to

the young woman who was being attended to on the

opposite side of the room. Scully turned back to Mulder,

the fear draining from his face as the drug took over.

He slid to the floor with the aid of two orderlies. “Oh,

Mulder,” she stooped to touch him but he shied away

from her.

“Ego indeo asordo…” he all but whispered as his eyes

drifted shut.

“I want him in the psych ward, five point restraints!”

Scully stood and turned to the doctor who was barking

orders. “Who the hell are you?”

As Scully squared off with the offending doctor the

orderlies had strapped Mulder onto a gurney and were

in the process of wheeling him out of the room. She

turned around again, “Just stop right there!”

“I might ask you the same thing. Who gave you the

authority to just come barging in here?” The doctor was

a big man, brusque, probably mid 50’s.

“He’s my-I have legal medical power of attorney over

this patient, I’m his personal physician.”

“And you have the authority to practice in this hospital?”

“No…”

“Then they’ll take him where I tell them to take him. Fifth

floor, restraints!”

Scully knew how Mulder hated restraints, she didn’t

want him waking up in them, not again. “He’s not

violent, that’s totally unnecessary.”

“Yeah, well tell that to Ms. Ellis…” The doctor stormed

out of the door after Mulder’s gurney.

Scully looked around at the shambles of the exam room.

A young nurse was being attended to by another

physician. She made her way across the room and

squatted down next to the young woman. She noted

her name tag, KATIE ELLIS. “Katie, I’m so sorry, are

you alright?”

The doctor looked up from his ministrations for a

moment, “Looks like she might have suffered a minor

concussion, I’m going to have her admitted overnight.”

Scully turned back to Katie, “Can you tell me what

happened?”

“He came too during the scan, I think he was just

frightened, but I’ve never seen anyone that frightened.

He was terrified. We shut it down, tried

to talk him down, get him out but I guess he just didn’t

understand. Doesn’t he speak English?” Katie asked.

Scully looked back at her confused, “What do you

mean?”

“He was chanting or something, I couldn’t understand

him. It was like he didn’t know who I was or what I was

telling him. Then he just grabbed me and pushed me

back against the wall, then the guys came in, he yelled

your name a couple times, you’re Dana right? And then

he started yelling something like ‘asordo’ and you know

the rest. I’m sorry it got so out of control but I didn’t

know how to calm him down.”

“It’s not your fault Katie,” Scully stood and helped the

doctor get Katie into a wheelchair before leaving the

room in search of Mulder.

GEORGETOWN PSYCHIATRIC WING

It wasn’t hard to find the psych ward on the east wing of

the fifth floor, she’d been there before. When she

stopped at the desk to ask for Mulder’s room number

the nurse asked her to have a seat in the small waiting

room across the hall, explaining that Dr. Leonard was

on his way in and wanted to talk with her immediately.

The room was small, about the size of an average

hospital room. It was carpeted with two nicely

upholstered sofas, a lounger and a small kitchenette

with coffee. She poured herself a cup and sat down

hard on the end of one of the sofas. Cradling the cup in

her hand she took a sip, tilting her head back to inhale

the pungent aroma. It was the first chance she’d had to

relax since she’d gotten out of bed that morning.

She continued to sip her coffee lazily, thinking hard over

the events of the day. What had brought this all on?

Was Mulder’s condition truly a reaction to the artifact?

She’d denied it all the first time around, running off in

search of answers and leaving him behind to be

drugged into a stupor; she would not be fool enough to

do it again. She needed to get a hold of Amina Ngebe.

Find out if it was really her that had sent her this artifact.

If so, she needed to know how Amina had come to be in

possession of it and if the ship had reappeared. But first,

she needed to get Mulder some help; she would not let

him go through that hell again.

Someone cleared their throat on the other side of the

room. The sound startled her from her thoughts. She

looked over in the direction from which it had come.

Jason Leonard, Dr. Leonard now stood in the doorway,

he smiled tentatively at her, “I didn’t mean to startle you

Dana.” She started to get up but he waved her off,

coming over to sit on the opposite end of the sofa. “I

have to say, I’m surprised to see you here — in another

role, that is. How are you?”

Jason Leonard had been a classmate in med school.

He was probably Mulder’s height with a slightly heavier

build, short cropped curly hair and dark eyes that were

now hidden behind wire rim glasses. He’d been a

member of the little clique she’d hung in with until they

all branched off into different fields.

“I’m not the one you need to be asking that question.”

“So I understand. Dr. Kelley filled me in on what

happened down in Imaging.”

“Is that who that idiot was? I want the restraints off,

Jason.”

“Dana,” he reached over to touch her hand. “I think we

should leave them on, at least until he’s lucid. Until we

run some neurological tests, we don’t know what we’re

dealing with. He has a history of violent behavior from

what I’m reading here about the last episode.” He

flipped casually though a thick file she knew instinctively

was Mulder’s.

She set her coffee cup down with a shaky hand. “He

was frightened Jason, he didn’t understand what was

happening to him. There was no need to drug him like

that, if they just would have let me talk to him. He won’t

hurt anybody. I know he won’t hurt me. Please Jason,”

why was she begging? She could just go in there and

take them off herself. “I’ll sit with him until he wakes up.

I don’t know how to explain it; I won’t have him wake up

restrained Jason, not again.”

Jason took in her haggard appearance. According to

the file, she was his F.B.I. partner and legal power of

attorney but it was painfully obvious they were much

more to each other. She was just as strong willed now

as he had remembered her and he wasn’t about to butt

heads with her. It had never worked before. He’d wait

it out. Let the guy wake up and take it from there.

7:22 A.M.

She awoke to someone stroking her arm. She raised

her head from the edge of the bed and looked into

some slightly groggy hazel eyes, a gentle smile curving

his dry lips. Taking his hand, she brought it up to place

a soft kiss on the back of it. “Good morning, sleepy.”

Pulling his hand away he stroked her hair, pushing it

away from where it had stuck to the side of her face in

sleep. “Who’s the sleepy one?” He’d drifted in and out

all day yesterday but this was the first time he’d been

lucid enough to speak to her.

She sat up and looked at him, really looked at him. He

was pale, the dark circles under his eyes giving him a

hallow look. He looked confused and a little

apprehensive. “Do you know where you are?” As he

glanced about the room, she noticed him fiddling with

something on the other side of the bed, the restraint

strap she realized. Then he turned to her, “It looks

alarmingly familiar. I’m in the nut ward again,” he

sighed. “Do they just automatically send me here now

when I’m admitted?” There was resignation and a little

disgust in is scratchy voice.

“I’m sorry Mulder, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why am I here?”

“You don’t remember?”

She watched him think for a minute, a moment of fear

passed across his face, he touched his chest, “I only

remember — we were in the office, you had opened that

package from Africa-I remember…”

“What?”

He hesitated, the memory of his dream coming back.

He felt a little unsure of what to admit and what was

best to keep to himself. This was nothing like he’d

experienced in ’99 or recently in North Dakota for that

matter; the details of which he hadn’t shared with his

partner. “Nothing-just weird dreams I think,” was all he

would admit. He reached for the water pitcher but his

movements were still sluggish. Scully had seen

something pass across his face, worry or fear, she

wasn’t sure but got up to pour him a glass of water,

which he took from her with a shaky hand. She knew

he was keeping something from her.

He sipped the water, holding it with both hands to

steady the glass. He felt loopy; shit what had they

given him? “What was in the box?”

She sighed, giving him that “What are you not telling

me?” look. She knew he got it loud and clear but

answered his question anyway. “That was the day

before yesterday Mulder, it’s Sunday. There was

another artifact in the box, Professor Ngebe sent it,

similar to the one the rubbing was produced from, the

markings were the same, I recognized them.”

His face lit up immediately, she could almost see the

cloud lifting from his brain. “From the ship? The ship

you told me about in Africa? Do you suppose it’s

reappeared on the beach?” He was already fumbling

with the covers, sitting up in an attempt to get out of bed.

She jumped back as he swung his long legs over the

side but stopped immediately when a wave of nausea

swept over him. She watched as his face went white

and grabbed him to hold him steady.

“Dammit, Mulder, you’re not going anywhere! Not until

we find out what’s going on. Put your head down.”

He pushed her back gently when the dizziness had

subsided then raised his head slowly to meet her eyes.

“What is going on?”

All the fight went out of her when she saw the worry

reflected back in his. She raised the head of the bed

and helped him settle back into it, sitting down next to

him. “You collapsed in the office yesterday, cardiac

arrest,” she said as his eyes grew alarmed. “You were

holding the artifact when it happened.” When he

attempted to say something she shushed him with a

finger to his lips. “You were catatonic and unresponsive

by the time we got you here. Your heart is fine, no sign

of any cardiopulmonary disease or damage. They took

you down last night for a CT scan and MRI; you came

to during the MRI and attacked the technician, that’s

how you ended up here.” He searched her face with

that same

“What are you not telling me?” look. She sighed,

“Mulder, what does ‘asordo’ mean?”

He shook his head ever so slightly; she could imagine

the thoughts running though his mind. His eyes closed

and tilted his head back against the pillows. Was it

happening all over again? He knew that’s what she was

afraid of. “There’s no oral dissonance, no voices Scully,

I feel fine.” She ignored him.

“You were shouting it, they hit you with some

Haloperidol, you looked at me and said ‘ego indeo

asordo’.”

“I need help.”

10:13A.M.

A light rap on the door startled her. She had spent the

last hour gazing at her sleeping partner. He’d fallen

back to sleep, still fighting the effects of the Haloperidol.

She’d gotten him to tell her a little of the dream he’d had.

Though it was frightening in its intensity what scared her

more was the way his actions had paralleled it. Right

down to screaming the name of the woman he loved.

She looked up to find Jason standing in the doorway.

“How’s your patient?”

Scully pushed herself up from the uncomfortable chair,

patting Mulder’s arm reassuringly, “Still snoozing off the

dope.”

Stepping away from the bed she motioned to Jason and

they both stepped to the other side of the room. “You

look beat Dana, why don’t you go home for a while?”

“I can’t Jason; it’s a long story…”

“Yeah, I gather from the size of this file I’ve been

carrying around.” Jason hefted Mulder’s medical file

and then flipped it open. “The good news is his CT

scan and MRI are clean but there are some anomalies

on the EEG that concern me.”

“What type of anomalies?” Scully glanced at the bed

and then back to Jason.

“Unusual activity in areas we don’t normally see it.

From what I gather this is similar to what put him here

back in ’99. The guy ended up in a padded cell

Dana. If we can’t determine a physical cause for this

then I think you need to consider a psychological one.”

“What do you mean, from what you gather? Can’t you

compare the test results?”

“Yeah, I could, if I had them but they don’t seem to be

anywhere in this hospital.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “They’re gone?”

Jason didn’t either, “Dana — what’s going on here?

Who is this guy?”

“Yeah, Dana, who is this guy?”

They both froze as Mulder’s dry voice came from behind

them. Turning around they found him sitting up in bed.

He did not look happy. Scully touched Jason’s arm,

guiding him towards Mulder’s bedside. “Mulder, this is

Jason Leonard, he’s a Neurologist, we went to med

school together. Jason, this is Fox Mulder my — my

partner.”

Mulder gave her a look she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“You know Scully, one of these days you and I have to

sit down and determine just exactly what we are to each

other.”

Scully ignored the rub. This was no time to get into a

discussion of their relationship, especially not in front of

Jason. “We were just discussing the results of the

tests…”

“Like hell, what you were discussing was the fact that Dr.

Neurologist here thinks I’m delusional, that I belong

here.”

Mulder’s behavior was beginning to infuriate her; he

was acting like she’d gone behind his back to discuss

his medical care. For now she was going to ignore it.

“…we need to determine the cause of what happened to

you yesterday, Mulder.”

Mulder glared at her. “You know what caused it Scully;

the problem is none of your damn tests are going to

prove it for you so when can I get out of here?”

Jason cleared his throat. “Look, you two can get into

your own debate on your own time. I’d like to run some

neurological tests, and a PET scan Fox, if I don’t see

anything there that causes concern, I see no reason to

keep you. The cardiologist might want to send you

home with a 24 hour monitor though. Dana cares about

you, she and I just want to be sure what happened

yesterday doesn’t happen again. Agreed?”

“Fine.”

“I’ll go see what time I can get you scheduled.” With

that Jason ducked out of the room, pulling the door too

as he left.

When they were alone again, Scully moved closer to

the bed, crossing her arms in front of her she almost

hissed at him, “Dr. Neurologist? What the hell was that

all about?”

Mulder tilted his head back against the pillows, covering

his face with both hands; he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Look, I’m sorry, I was out of line.”

“Yes, you were. I’m sure Jason wonders why I’m

wasting my time with you at this point.”

“Jason, huh? Was he before or after Daniel?”

“What?” This confrontation was suddenly escalating

into something that would end up with one of them

being hurt. She had no idea what had brought on this

hostile attitude of his all of a sudden and she wondered,

for the first time if what Jason had said to her might be a

possibility. She didn’t answer him and when he realized

it was probably for the better he changed the subject.

“What happened to the artifact?”

She sat down, God, she was tired. “I gave it to Skinner

to take over to the Gunmen.”

He wasn’t angry at her, just at her attitude. She knew

damn well what he believed had happened to him

yesterday. What had influenced the dream or vision

he’d had? It was happening all over again only this time

something was different. He felt different. This time

there was no noise, no pain, no voices in his head, he

felt enlightened or-or illuminated with something

unknown. The urge to move on it was becoming

overwhelming and the longer they kept him here the

more frustrated he knew he would become. He needed

her help not her medical expertise. “We need that

artifact, Scully. That’s where you’re going to find your

answers. We need to find out where it was found, if

there are more pieces. You told me before you thought

it had led you to a key, the key to all the questions

we’ve been asking; a piece of a puzzle that was left for

us to put together. After what happened to me

yesterday, I think I know how to put those pieces

together.”

No, despite how angry it would make him, she was not

going to believe what he was suggesting. “Mulder, what

are you talking about? Please-don’t sugg…”

He reached for her, caressing the side of her cheek,

she was scared, scared for him. “I’m OK, I’m not crazy,”

he chuckled briefly. “Just trust me, Scully.”

GEOREGETOWN IMAGING DEPARTMENT 3:40 P.M.

They had come up and gotten him about an hour after

Jason had left the room. The PET scan would alert

them to any usual brain activity. The same test they

had run on Gibson. Leaving Mulder in Jason’s care she

made a quick trip home to change and bring Mulder

back some clothes. She knew the moment she stepped

into the exam area that things had not gone well. Jason

and two technicians hovered over a lighted screen

conferring over Mulder’s scans.

Mulder was nowhere in sight.

“Geez — will you look at this…” one of the technicians

tapped his co-worker on the arm. “You ever see

anything like this?”

“He must have been having a hell of a dream,” the other

tech commented as he used his finger to highlight the

areas he was referring to. “I’ve never seen activity in

these areas either.

Jason caught here eye, “Dana, come here, you need to

see this.”

The concern evident on his face, she moved to stand

next to him. What she saw on the screen brought back

memories immediately, of a twelve-year-old boy and his

incredible abilities. Her hand went to her mouth as a

small gasp escaped her. Mulder believed that Gibson’s

abilities were attributed to something akin to alien DNA;

something that despite her beliefs she had proved was

a part of every human being.

Jason caught her reaction. “What?”

“I’ve — we’ve, Mulder and I have seen this before. A

young boy we had contact with several years ago.”

“He had this same heightened activity in the temporal

lobe?”

“Yes, very similar.”

“How did you treat him? The human brain normally

functions at 5 to 10 percent of its capacity. What we’re

looking at here is at least 50 percent; I couldn’t even

begin to tell you how to slow this down.”

“We didn’t. He was just a normal kid-only…”

“Only what?”

She turned to look Jason right in the eye. “He was

clairvoyant, he could read minds Jason.”

“Dana, that’s not possible.” He touched her shoulder as

if asking her to get a grip on herself. “Those are just a

cheap parlor tricks. Look, I know Mulder is your friend

but you’re a doctor, you know what the human body is

capable of and what it’s not.”

“Jason, I’ve seen things that 15 years ago I wouldn’t

have believed either. You have no idea what the

human body is capable of.”

Jason smiled at her hesitantly. “OK, so what happened

to this kid?”

“We don’t know.” Mulder’s voice came from the

doorway. He walked over to stand next to Scully so he

could see what they were looking at. He leaned down

and in a soft voice meant only for her he whispered,

“What more proof do you need?”

At this point she didn’t know whether to be upset,

worried or scared to death. She had seen scans done

before on Mulder and they had never looked like this.

Jason was right, neither of them had any idea how to

treat this or even if it needed treating. Mulder actually

seemed fine now. “Mulder, I…”

Mulder stepped back a few steps, the irritation again

evident on his face. “Look, you two can stand here and

debate what you see for as long as you think it’s

necessary, I’m going upstairs and find my clothes.”

“Mulder — this could be dangerous, maybe you should

stay here until we know what to do about this,” Scully

pleaded with him.

“You’ve already decided you don’t know how to treat it

and there’s no way I’m going through that hell again.

You,” he pointed to Jason, “can find me some discharge

papers or I’m walking out of here AMA. And you,” he

pinned Scully with a warning look, “can take me home

or I’m calling a cab.” He then turned, making sure he

mooned them both as he left the room.

Scully turned back to Jason. “I’m sorry, he’s usually not

like that. Please, can you write up those papers?”

Jason signed heavily. “I don’t like this Dana. I know

you’re worried about him, that you want to do what’s

right, but I’m also worried for you. This behavior could

be a sign that we’re dealing with some mental disorder.

He could get violent.”

She looked down, her fingers nervously playing across

the screen in front of her and then looked back up to

Jason. “Truthfully, I’m more worried that it’s not some

mental disorder, at least that I know we could treat.”

GEORGETOWN PYSCHIATRIC WING

He’d pulled on the clothes that Scully had brought and

gone into the bathroom to throw some water on his face.

He leaned over the sink, letting the water run a few

minutes until it was at least lukewarm. He cupped his

hands under the stream and splashed the water on his

face several times. He then propped his hands on

either side of the sink, standing there to let the water

drip from his chin. God, what was going on? The vision

he’d had, it had been so real. He remembered the pain

lancing through his chest; his own life coming to an end.

Somehow it had felt so much larger than that, like it was

the death of thousands he’d experienced, not just his

own. He remembered holding the artifact in the office.

The characters suddenly conforming to reveal a

message that he couldn’t quite read at the time but

thought he understood. He needed to see it again. He

groped for a towel and raised his head to look in the

mirror. His movements freezing at what he saw

reflected there.

The image that stared back at him was not his own.

What he saw before him was the image of an older man

with a flowing white beard and hair, dressed in a white

cloak. He rubbed his eyes in frustration but the image

remained. A sudden chill wracked his body and he

reached out a shaking hand to touch the glass before

him. When his hand made contact with the mirror, the

image disappeared.

“Mulder?” Scully’s light wrapping on the door startled

him and he found he couldn’t make his voice utter an

acknowledgement. She pushed the door open gently to

find him leaning against the sink, white as a sheet. A

worried look immediately crossed her face, he looked

like he was about to pass out. “Are you ok?” she asked

with concern, moving into the room to take his arm.

He yanked it away from her, “Yeah,” he said as he

pushed past her and made his way unsteadily across

the room. She turned around and followed him.

“Mulder, I don’t like this.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed a

shoe, jamming his foot into it and tying it angrily. “I

know you don’t but I gotta get out of here Scully, or

I might really go nuts.”

MULDER’S TOWNHOUSE

There hadn’t been much conversation in the car on the

way home. She’d finally gotten him to tell her a little bit

about what had caused him to hare off during the tests.

When they got in, Mulder headed right for the study and

had been there ever since. He was working on the

computer; she could hear the keys even through the

drone of the basketball game he had put on to cover it

up. By 8:30 he still hadn’t made an appearance outside

the room. She had thrown together a small supper of

grilled chicken and pasta and headed up the stairs to try

and entice him into eating some of it. The television

was still on but the room seemed quite. Maybe he had

fallen asleep.

Pushing open the door she found the room empty.

Knowing he hadn’t left the house, she made her way

across the room to the desk, curious as to what he’d

been so engrossed in all afternoon. On the monitor was

a web site detailing Mayan culture, there were also

several other windows opened to Egyptian mythology,

star charts and human evolution. She glanced down at

the desk and began to thumb her way through the

papers that were strewn across its surface. He had

printed out pages and pages of reference material but

what fascinated her most were the pages of hand

written notes and incredibly detailed mathematical

calculations.

The sound of the water in the bathroom startled her,

she felt like she was eavesdropping on him and yet she

couldn’t pull herself away from what he’d been doing.

Moreover, she was in awe of the work he had done.

She’d never known Mulder to be a great mathematician;

he refused to balance the checkbook. But this was the

work of someone not only knowledgeable in

mathematical calculations but also astrological

projections. Her little calculator was still in the drawer,

he’d done this all this in his head.

“See, I was right all along, you were sent to spy on me.”

His voice behind her made her jump. But when he

came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and

pulling her back against his chest she relaxed and

leaned back into him. “I was just wondering what

you’ve been doing up here all evening?” She continued

to page through the papers he’d been working on.

“What are you trying to work out?”

He nuzzled her neck, something she found incredibly

distracting. “What do you mean?” He’d asked the

question like he didn’t know what she was referring to

and continued his ministrations. She had the distinct

impression he was either trying to change the subject or

he really had no idea what she was talking about. As

good as his lips felt, she really needed to know.

“Mulder, stop that!” she pulled herself out of his arms

and turned to face him. “What are all these calculations,

this date, 2,012; look, you keep coming up with it over

and over?”

He actually looked totally confused and leaned over the

desk to page his way through all the papers there. “I —

was just looking for some information on what I might

have seen in that vision. I think it had something to do

with Aztec or Mayan sacrifice. Here,” he grabbed up a

few pages on Mayan culture. “This mentions how they

felt the need to sacrifice not only animals but humans

as well to appease their gods.” He looked at her at last.

“I think that’s what I was experiencing…” He could tell

she didn’t buy his weak attempt to cover his confusion

when she slammed the papers she held down on the

desk in front of him. He stood up and stared at the

sheets covered in his own scratchy penmanship.

“You have no idea what you were working on, do you?

I know you’re not a math wiz, Mulder. This is calculus —

I don’t know what else. You did it in your head.” The

wind went out of her sails when she realized from his

panic face, he really didn’t know either. “How?”

His eyes came down to meet hers, she watched him as

he wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his arms

briskly as if he was suddenly cold. Truth was he

couldn’t really remember much of this afternoon from

the point where he’d sat down to do just what he told

her, looking for some information on the Maya. That

was three hours ago. “I don’t know Scully, I honestly

don’t remember…”

Her heart ached for him and as she stepped towards

him, opening her arms to him, he came willingly,

stepping into them and pulling her tight relishing in her

warmth. “I made us some dinner,” she mumbled into

his shoulder. “Please come down and eat with me.”

7:05 A.M.

She awoke the next morning alone in bed with the

unmistakable aroma of coffee filling the house.

Downstairs she found Mulder seated at the table in his

work clothes, tie strung about his neck, buttering a

muffin he had just taken from the toaster.

“What are you doing? I hope you’re not planning on

going to work?”

He looked at her as if she had just asked the most

ridiculous question he’d ever heard. “It’s Monday, why

wouldn’t I be going to work?”

She shuffled across the floor and slid into the seat next

to him, placing her hand on his arm. “Mulder, a few

days ago they took you out of the office in what for all

intents and purposes was cardiac arrest, you were in

the hospital for two days, you’ve been having waking

dreams, hallucinations, lapses in memory. I don’t think

it’s a good idea, not until we know what’s causing this.”

“You were planning on going in weren’t you?” he asked

around the bite of muffin he’d popped into his mouth.

She didn’t really acknowledge him but she didn’t need to,

he knew she was. He got up from the table then, went

over to the coffee maker and poured another cup

adding the condiments the way she liked it. Ambling

back across the floor in his socks he handed her the

cup. “Well, then if I come too you can keep an eye on

me there.”

Her shoulders slumped as she let out a sigh. There

was no use fighting him when he was right.

FBI HEADQUARTERS

Scully made her way down the hallway with a tray from

the cafeteria; a sub for Mulder and a salad for herself,

and two bottles of water. She had almost made it to the

elevator when a familiar voice stopped her. “Agent

Scully?” Skinner’s deep voice resonated behind her

and she turned to find him approaching her. He gave a

quick glance in several directions as if looking to see if

the coast was clear then he grabbed her arm gently and

steered her into an adjacent empty hallway.

“I understand Mulder came in with you this morning.

What the hell is he doing here?”

Scully sighed in resignation. “As he put it, Sir, the

doctors didn’t exactly say he couldn’t come in to work

and since I was planning on coming in anyway, I could

keep a better eye on him here.”

“Is that your opinion also?” She could hear the concern

in his question, see it in his face.

“I don’t know what to tell you. They released him from

the hospital because basically they couldn’t find

anything wrong with him and yet we both know there is.”

“What to do you mean?”

“He’s having visions, waking dreams; Dr. Leonard

prefers to call them delusions and thinks he should be

treated for schizophrenia. Mulder, on the other hand, is

certain that what he is experiencing is directly related to

his exposure to that artifact I gave you to take to the

Gunmen. He says it has his name on it.”

Skinner frowned, remembering the sight of Mulder in a

padded room, his inability to help him when he asked

for it. “Is this the same thing that happened to him

before?”

Scully sighed, “No, I don’t think so, the effects are very

different. The scans show activity in the brain similar to

back in ’99, much like what we saw in

Gibson, a capacity beyond what we normally see in the

human brain. He insists he’s not in any pain; there’s no

dissonance, nothing like he experienced before, he just

zones out. Yesterday I found him in the study working

on some mathematical equations even I couldn’t figure

out and that he has no recollection of doing let alone

what he was trying to calculate with them. Byers just

came and picked them up to analyze them for me. I

think that’s what happened in the hospital…he was

mentally somewhere, someone else.”

Skinner glanced around again, smiled agreeably at a

couple of agents who passed by. “Scully, if you need

any help, if there’s anything I can do you know I’m

here.”

Scully gave him a hesitant smile. “I will, thank you,” she

said as she stepped away from him.

“Dana,” she turned at the use of her given name. “Just

be careful, I know it’s a whole different ballgame now.”

X-FILES OFFICE

She found a desk full of papers and an empty chair

when she entered the office. Setting the tray down she

briefly paged though the drawings and written text that

littered Mulder’s desk. What the hell was he working on

now? A noise from behind her made her turn around.

Mulder was standing in the back of the office, his arms

braced on the table his head bowed. “Mulder?” When

she got no response she approached him cautiously.

“What is it?”

He looked up suddenly, the anguish on his face making

her heart suddenly ache. He stood up and turned

towards her. “What the hell is that?” he demanded,

motioning to the papers she had been sifting though. “I

find myself working on this shit and I don’t even know

what it is or why I’m doing it.”

He walked passed her and stood with his hands on his

hips, a stance she recognized as very much his. His

hands came up and he buried his face in them. Scully

walked over to stand in front of him. “I think I should

take you home…”

His hands dropped immediately, “I don’t want to go

home!” he grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair

and attempted to pass by her but she snagged his arm

and held on tight despite his attempt to shake her off.

“Let go of me!”

“Where are you going?” Scully demanded.

“To see the Gunmen — the answers are in that artifact

Scully, I keep trying to tell you that!”

“I will not pick you up off the floor again, Mulder…”

He finally succeeded in yanking his arm from her grasp.

“It’s not going to happen again…”

“How can you know that?”

He rolled his eyes; a huge annoyed sigh escaped his

lips. “I just do. Just like I was calculating the

procession of equinoxes yesterday, the astronomical

variances of planets and constellations and their

alignments within a given century and comparing them

to ancient calendars and even though I don’t have a

clue as to why I was doing it I discovered that every

single one of them came up with the same date,

December of the year 2,012. The Mayan calendar, the

most accurate calendar in the world, one that has

existed for centuries ends in December of that year.

The Egyptians worked it out too. There’s got to be

some significance. And that, whatever I was working on

there,” he said pointing to the papers on the desk, “has

something to do with an energy source. Chemistry,

astrophysics, Scully, have you ever known me to know

anything about that? It’s like I suddenly have this

knowledge and its here in my fron for a reason and I’m

more certain than anything that the answer to why is

written on that artifact and I’ll know how to read it.”

She was certain he hadn’t taken a breath in that long

tirade and now he just stood there in front of her waiting

for some form of acknowledgement from her that she

understood what he was trying to tell her. She didn’t

know what to say to him. Somewhere in there he’d

dropped another word that didn’t make sense, fron?

What did that mean? In the context it was used she

had assumed he’d meant his head and yet that’s not at

all what he’d said. All she was certain of was that he’d

almost died three days ago and without any other

explanation somehow that artifact had contributed to his

collapse. She would not let him touch that thing again.

“Okay, look,” he said wiping his face in frustration.

“There have been a lot of recent discoveries in the fields

of archeology and geology that indicate that the many of

earth’s early civilizations were tied together somehow;

that they all came from a common ancestral past. The

names have been changed but their stories are all

pretty much the same. Written in these myths and

legends is the history of mankind on a global scale.

The ruins and artifacts that have been discovered are

full of clues to a past we’ve only just begun to

understand because the ability to understand them has

been lost to us. Somewhere in our past is the key to

our future. What if someone had a connection to that

past, could understand what was written?”

“And you think that it’s you?”

Mulder shrugged into his jacket. “Do you remember

what Chuck said about the characters on the rubbing?

What a Magic Square is-a way of trapping power to the

person whose name or numerical correlative exercises

the power written there?”

Scully closed her eyes and then opened them again to

find Mulder standing there still waiting from some

response from her. “Mulder, that rubbing was a fake.”

“You believe that?” He swung away from her and then

turned around, using his hands to animate his speech.

“Then why did it affect me the way it did? What about

what happened the other day? Or hell, why did you go

all the way to Africa for God’s sakes? You told me that

what you found there were not only religious texts but a

map of the human genome; a key to life itself. Maybe

that rubbing of that artifact wasn’t meant for me, on the

other hand, maybe this artifact is. Maybe it maps my

genome or somehow altered my genetic code. You

remember what we saw in Gibson.”

“So you’re telling me that you think this little piece of a

greater whole that Ngebe sent me — she sent it to ME,

Mulder, has somehow given YOU some super power

to connect to another civilization or whomever or

whatever created that artifact?”

Mulder shrugged, spread his hands in supplication.

“See, it’s like I told you years ago, we don’t need to

work on our communication skills, you understand me

perfectly.”

Scully crossed her arms across her chest, “That is

ridiculous, Mulder.”

“What? The part about you understanding me or me

being a super human?”

Scully turned away from him, dropping her arms down,

“Dammit, Mulder, you can’t just flip a switch and change

someone’s DNA, it doesn’t work that way. Many people

who have returned from a near death experience

believe they’ve acquired some sort of psychic ability…”

“NDE? Oh, that’s good Scully; let me get out my diary.”

“But, I think what you’re experiencing has to do with

what happened to you the other day, your body went

through a very traumatic event and you need rest. I

think these hallucinations of yours are more of a post

traumatic stress syndrome than anything else.”

He glared at her suddenly. “You know, I used to enjoy

this technique you have of always trying to rationalize

everything I say, but right now I think it’s a bunch of bull

crap.” He stalked back to the desk and picked up a file

and thrust it at her. “You remember this? Those are

the DNA results from the claw we found in Arizona.

DNA you told me matched the alien virus, the virus you

were exposed to. The same DNA you found in Gibson.

Junk DNA that is found in all of us, what you called a

genetic remnant that in Gibson was turned on. What if

that artifact turned something on in me?”

“Mulder…” She wasn’t sure whether he was just being

thickheaded or he really had gone over the edge. “First

of all,” she shook the file at him. “This only proves that

it’s a common trait in all of our DNA.”

“A common ancestral past.”

“It doesn’t prove you can turn it on and off. It’s not

possible.”

He grabbed the file from her and threw it back on the

desk. “You want proof, well then fine,” he grabbed her

hand and started to pull her towards the door but she

stood her ground.

“We are not going to see the Gunmen!”

“I know, we’re going up to the lab, I want you to run a

PCR.”

“Mulder…”

Not letting go of her hand he turned back, “I need your

help here Scully. I need you to help me prove the

impossible. Have a little faith.”

His last comment made her angry. “Don’t question my

faith, Mulder.”

He dropped her hand, his eyes met hers and a gentle

smile curved his lips. “Faith is believing in something

when common sense tells you not to.” He turned and

took a few steps towards the door, “You coming?”

She stood there watching his back disappear out the

door. “Isn’t that from MIRACLE ON 34th…?” Her

shoulders slumped again, damn him. She turned and

grabbed the papers from the desk.

F.B.I. LABS

She placed the last vile of blood in the container and

gently pulled the needle from his arm, placing a cotton

ball over the puncture wound. “Hold that for a few

minutes.” Mulder watched her label the vials in

preparation for the test. No one had questioned them

when they had entered the lab and even though they

were getting a few questionable looks from the other

technicians, most of them seemed to accept that this

was just another round of far out investigations from the

pair in the basement office. She turned around and

without saying a word angrily placed a Band-Aid over

the cotton. He started to roll his sleeve back down.

“How long will it take?”

“I’m going to call you a cab. I want you to go home like I

asked you to before.”

As she started to step away he quickly grabbed her,

sliding his hand down her arm making her turn back to

him. “I don’t want us to argue over this Scully. I know

you’re concerned. Jason thinks I need a shrink but as

far as I’m concerned you’re the only doctor that can help

me here. That’s all I’m asking.”

She finally looked at him. With her standing and him

still sitting on the table where she’d drawn his blood

they were eye to eye. What she finally saw in those

eyes shocked her. He was frightened, literally scared to

death and he knew she was the only person who could

understand that fear. With a quick glance around the

lab she placed her hands on either side of his tired face,

stroked his cheeks with her thumbs. “We’ll get through

this Mulder, I promise you this.”

She watched him close his eyes, his dark lashes

coming to rest against his face. He turned his head a

little and as his lips came into contact with her right

hand, he gently kissed her palm. “I’m going to believe

that,” he whispered.

MULDER’ S TOWNHOUSE 8:10P.M.

**

The sun beat down overhead, a relentless heat that

never seemed to end. The work was laborious, cutting

the limestone to precise measurements required

intricate skill if it were to fit in its place on the pyramid.

The tools they used had been given to them by the

gods and possessed a magic he didn’t understand

anymore than he understood why they had all been

assembled to build this great monolith; a huge square

that, as it rose steadily from the sand, tapered into a

point aimed at the heavens.

Unlike other temples that were being built to

commemorate gods or pharaohs; this one was to be

different. Larger than anything else on the plateau, it

dwarfed the men who worked on it. Travelers from

other villages said it could be seen far off into the desert,

its golden tip like a beacon in the sun. Within its walls

chambers were being cut but their purpose was as yet

unclear. No pharaoh would make his trip to the next

world from this place. Its purpose remained a mystery.

He was hungry and thirsty now. The water bearers

didn’t come often enough in this heat and the sweat

dripped from his brow, his hands throbbing from broken

blisters. As he worked on the block near the edge of

the quarry his footing began to slip, the block tilting ever

so slightly in his direction. The huge block of limestone

could crush him in an instant if he were to become

trapped beneath it. He continued to work; shaping the

block into the precise measurements he’d been given.

More gravel slipped from beneath his feet and he

scrambled for better footing.

Fear griped him as he realized the more he scrambled

the more the gravel gave way cascading down into the

quarry below. The block leaned more precariously in

his direction and then suddenly let go. His arms came

up to brace against the block in a feeble attempt to stop

the monolith from crushing him. He screamed for help

but all his co-workers could do was watch as he and the

huge stone tumbled down into the quarry together.

**

Scully could hear the television as she opened the door.

It was dark in the room with the exception of the light

from the television, a couple of men droning on about

basketball on some sports talk show. She was about to

toss her keys onto the table when she noticed Mulder

sitting in the armchair, one leg on the ottoman, his head

thrown back, asleep. She set her things down on the

table and walked across the room. As she approached

him she could see his face was somewhat flushed,

sweat beaded his forehead. Sitting down on the

ottoman next to his leg she gently rubbed it to wake him.

She wasn’t sure who was more startled when he awoke

with a gasp and sat up abruptly, his eyes wide. She

dropped the envelope she had brought home with her,

placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Oh God, Mulder, I’m sorry,” touching him she could feel

him trembling under her hands.

Realization finally crossed his face and he dropped his

head, running a hand through his hair, “Shit.”

“You were having another dream, weren’t you?”

He sat back, “Yeah, you could say that.” She watched

him as he inspected his hands and then his head went

back against the back of the chair and he closed his

eyes again. “What did you find?” As she bent to

retrieve the envelope she realized that he had asked

almost as if he already knew the answer.

She slid the PCR results from the envelope, biting her

lip as she did so. What she now had in her lap was

something she had told him was impossible only hours

ago. He didn’t wait for her to say anything. Reaching

over; he slid them from her grip and held the first one up.

It was dated a few years ago though he couldn’t

remember the reason it had been done. When he

placed the current one on top of it and held them up

together the evidence of what he believed stared right

back at him. There were obvious anomalies in the

latest scan. “It’s just like Gibson, Mulder.” Her voice

was hesitant, barely above a whisper. “I don’t

understand it, but you were right. It’s as if somehow

inactive DNA has suddenly been turned on.”

“So I’m no longer a DNA match for myself huh?”

She smiled a little, “Something like that. Mulder

whatever is causing this; we have to find a way to treat

this, these delusions of yours. Look at you, you’re

exhausted.”

A sudden look of disgust crossed his face. “Pump me

full of Thorazine? I don’t think anything your doctor

friend has in his medicine chest will cure this.” He sat

up a little, looked down at the films he still held in his

hands. “I’m not delusional, Scully. It’s something else.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said looking up to meet her eyes. “It’s

like I have this connection to something — something

ancient. I think these dreams are clues –clues to

answers you and I have been searching for all these

years. I just need you to bear with me a while, stop

being my doctor. I need you as a friend

Scully.”

As frightened as she knew he still was, as worried as

she was for him, she understood how he felt. “Mulder,”

she rubbed his leg that still extended across the

ottoman. “I have been and always shall be your friend.

What do you need me to do?”

Pulling his leg from beside her and placing both feet on

the floor in front of him, Scully watched as Mulder took

the envelope from her lap and without a word slid both

the films back into it. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Has anyone else seen these?”

“No one, I ran the test myself. I have the only results.

When I knew what I was looking at I destroyed the rest

of the blood samples.”

“Good because I don’t want to end up as a test subject

for anyone but you.”

5:14 A.M.

He came awake in a cold sweat. The dream from

earlier had come back with a vengeance only now he

was fairly certain of where he had been. Egypt, for

centuries it had been the Mecca of culture. Home to a

civilization as old as creation itself, the birthplace of a

library of wisdom and knowledge so complete it would

today awe any scientist. He’d stood in the great Library

of Alexandria, its halls filled with ancient scrolls and

texts said to have been the greatest collection of

scientific knowledge in the ancient world. Many today

wonder what science would be like had the contents of

this great library not been destroyed.

He had then found himself in a great labyrinth,

incredible underground chambers filled with

breathtakingly colorful paintings and connected by

intricate hallways filled with ancient Egyptian

hieroglyphs. His hands had scrolled down the text,

reading stories from civilizations older than the

Egyptians themselves. Stories of a people who came

from another land bringing with them their mathematical

and scientific knowledge, architectural knowledge, star

charts, maps and the formulae for sources of incredible

energy that made it possible to travel from one world to

the next.

Within these walls were written the history of the world,

not as he knew it but as it had actually happened,

secrets of a civilization that had flourished on a global

scale thousands of years ago, before recorded history

and that had vanished in the blink of an eye leaving little

evidence of its existence. What he knew without a doubt

was that this incredible place contained more

knowledge than his muddled human brain could ever

begin to assimilate. It made his head hurt and he sat up

quietly, putting his feet on the floor and resting his

throbbing head in his hands.

He’d been here before, he realized, on this bridge

between two worlds where he had to decide between

life and death. This however was not a choice between

life and death; it was a different bridge, one that in one

direction would lead him back to a time when the world

was a different place, one that even the history books

failed to mention. He could feel the pull like a magnet,

almost as if it were beckoning him to come back to a

place he’d been before, perhaps were we’d all been

before-on the brink of the future. Something pulled at

his memory, a date he’d seen calculated in the drawings

within the labyrinth, a date he’d calculated himself only

days ago, 2,012; the date the Maya believed signaled

the end of the present world. He closed his eyes in

resignation. He’d once told Scully that life wasn’t

governed by fate, that we had the free will to choose

and that it was those choices that ultimately determined

our fate. What would happen if he gave in to these

ancient memories? Would he lose himself or become

gifted with their knowledge? With every choice you

change your fate he’d told her. He realized he now had

a choice to make.

He pulled at the tee shirt that stuck to his chest; he

needed to get out of the room, to think out what he had

just experienced.

As he moved to get off the bed Scully’s hand came to

rest on his back, her sleepy voice questioning his

movements. “Mulder?”

He hadn’t realized he had awoken her and he turned

around to find her looking at him with concern. “Hey,

I’m sorry,” he brushed her shoulder and took her hand

in his. “I can’t’ sleep, I’m just going to go downstairs for

a while. Go back to sleep.” He leaned over, kissed her

softly and started to slide off the bed.

“You won’t tell me what’s troubling you, will you?”

Standing up he looked down at her. “I will, I promise

you, when I can figure it out for myself.”

She listened to him pad down the stairs, heard the

refrigerator door open and close, the television come

then muted? And finally, she heard the unmistakable

opening and closing of the front door.

GEORGETOWN UNIVERSITY

Despite the chilly morning he’d already worked up a

sweat by the time he reached Georgetown’s athletic

field. Dawn was barely breaking the eastern horizon

and he found himself alone on the track. He made the

first few laps at his usual pace and then the scenery

around him began to change. He felt the earth shudder

beneath him and looked down to find the track’s surface

had changed to cobblestone. As he ran he realized he

was no longer running on Georgetown’s track but

darting through ancient village streets as structures

crumbled around him. The sounds became deafening,

a thunderous roar came from the earth and the people

that ran with him screamed. The ground continued to

tremble, huge fissures opened, ash fell like snow

coating him and sucking the air from his lungs. He ran

harder but there seemed to be no escape from the

terror as the world fell apart around him.

Hundreds of people filled the streets, running together;

many of them falling only to be crushed beneath the

feet of fellow villagers. He ran with them, a terrified mob

running down the hill to the harbor below. When they

reached the sea, people were scrambling to get into

anything that would float, while others just swam out

into the churning waters. Mulder could feel himself

being pushed along with them.

The ground shook again, pushing up and then dropping

from beneath him as he tried to outrun the surge of

people who were carrying him into the sea thrashing

and clawing at each other in fear. He found himself

being carried out with them away from the sinking land,

hundreds of people seeking some sort of safety in the

familiar waters. As they drifted out many of them clung

to boats and rafts as the water frothed and churned

around them. A hand reached out to grab him and he

took it. The arm pulled him tightly against the boat’s hull

and he clung to it desperately as the boat drifted away

from land. Other boats gathered with them, the

screaming had now stopped and silence fell over the

scene as they all watched their home sink beneath the

sea.

**

Scully hadn’t waited long before she dressed and

headed out the door after Mulder. She knew where

he’d go, one of the reasons he’d moved here,

Georgetown University’s athletic field. She spotted him

on the track, not running at that easy jog he was

comfortable with but running as if the hounds of hell

themselves were after him. The closer she got she

could see him glancing back, his face an image of terror

from the unseen force that she knew he imagined was

after him.

He was on the other side of the track and she yelled his

name but got no response. There was no point in

chasing after him; she’d never catch him until he fell in

exhaustion so she waited until he came around the

track.

His shirt was soaked with sweat; rivers of it ran down

his face, his hair plastered to his head. She waved at

him trying to gain his attention but he ignored her, she

could hear him panting as he approached her. At a loss

as to what else to do she made the only move she knew

would stop him, she tackled him bringing them both

down in a heap on the rough surface of the track. He

started to thrash about, gasping for air and kicking as if

he were trying to swim away from her.

“Mulder! Mulder!” She crawled on top of him, pawing at

him as she tried to pull his arms to his sides to calm this

irrational fear he was enveloped in but he continued to

fight her. “Mulder, stop! It’s me, Scully! You’re okay,

you’re safe! She grabbed his head with both hands and

forced him to look at her. “Stop it, relax, it’s over.” She

tried to be calm but the truth was her own heart was

pounding almost as fast as the one she felt pounding in

his chest.

She watched his face as he came back to her, his

breathing slowing a little. She was still sitting on top of

him. “Take it easy, just breathe Mulder.”

He took a huge gulp of air. “You know,” he gulped

again. “Any other time I’d — I’d find this position

incredibly erotic.”

She rolled her eyes and then closed them in submission

before gently climbing off of him and helping him into a

sitting position. “Just sit for a minute, I’ve got some

water.” Patting him on the shoulders she got up and

went to get the backpack she’d dropped.

He was trying to wipe the sweat from his eyes with his

soaked shirt when she got back, handing him the towel

she’d brought along. He looked up with a thankful

expression and took it. Neither of them said anything

for a while. Mulder drank the water she’d offered and

slung the towel over his shoulders, he was actually

starting to feel cold as the sweat began to dry. When

Scully saw him shiver she produced a sweatshirt from

her pack and offered it to him.

“You wouldn’t happen to have an ounce of sanity in that

pack would you?”

“I wish I did Mulder. Come on…”

He chugged the rest of the water before letting her help

him stand and pull the sweatshirt over his wet head.

“You need to get dry and warmed up and then we need

to get you some help.”

“I don’t need a doctor, Scully.”

She paused for a moment, reluctant to agree with him

but knowing now that it was the only way. She faced

him, took his hand, “I know, I’m taking you to see the

Gunmen.”

OFFICE OF THE LONE GUNMEN

It took Frohike several minutes to open the assortment

of locks that secured their door. He smiled when he

opened the door to find the two of them standing there.

“Mulder my man, you gotta stop scaring us like this,” he

quipped in reference to Mulder’s latest hospital stay as

the agents passed by him.

“Yeah, another trip back from the dead. We’re

beginning to wonder if you don’t have some biblical

power.” Byers said as he gave Mulder a friendly hug.

“Don’t encourage him boys, he’s doodling again,” Scully

did not sound amused as she handed Byers the latest

of Mulder’s writings.

He took the papers from her and leafed through them.

“You know, I think I can tell you what this is — or at least

the theory behind it.”

“You’re kidding right?” Mulder seemed somewhat

astonished that Byers was able to make anything out of

his drawings.

“No, not at all. I think what you have here is a power

source, one that has baffled scientist for centuries with

its simplicity. It was nicknamed

Brown’s Gas because a scientist in California, Yull

Brown actually built a generator using it.”

“What sort of a power source?” Byers’ comments had

gotten Scully’s attention.

“It’s a combination of hydrogen and oxygen that burns

at a low temperature and yet can burn holes through

bricks or weld different types of metals together.

Basically water, when decomposed into its primitive

elements by electricity, produces a clean, limitless,

pollution free energy source.” Langly piped in.

“So this is no scientific breakthrough then?”

“Actually Jules Verne alluded to it in THE

MYSTERIOUS ISLAND back in 1874. If you remember,

the characters in the story end up on a remote island

when their balloon crashes. At one point in the novel

they’re all sitting around the campfire discussing what

will happen when the world runs out of coal. Harding,

the book’s scientific genius exclaims, water! And then

goes on to explain how one day the engine rooms of

steamers and locomotives will be stocked with these

two condensed gases which will burn with immense

power…it will be the coal of the future.” Leave it to

Frohike to add a little color to the conversation.

“But seriously Mulder, the history dates back further

than that.” Byers continued. “It’s believed that the

Egyptians and Mayans used something similar to

electroplate gold. There have been many discoveries of

ancient batteries that would have supplied the electric

current. All I’m saying is that what you have here is

something using that theory but in a much more

powerful sense.”

“When you combine hydrogen and oxygen you get an

explosion, remember the Hindenburg?” Scully asked.

“That’s the thing; it took years for Brown to figure out

how to combine the gases to prevent that. What he

eventually discovered was that by combining them in

the exact same proportions as they are found in water

you get an implosion not an explosion. Add a little

flame to it and you get something similar to a welder’s

torch.”

Scully was intrigued. “So how does this produce an

energy source?”

“There’s the mystery, Agent Scully. Nobody knows for

certain. It has something to do with how the

combination reacts with the material it’s being used on.

The Chinese actually used a similar generator in their

submarines to dispose of nuclear waste because of the

gas’s ability to detoxify it. The possibilities would be

endless if we could understand the chemistry.”

“Do those diagrams help you understand the

chemistry?” Mulder asked.

Langly, who’d been sitting at one of the workstations

suddenly jumped away from it as movement caught his

eye. “Hey! Watch out!” Both Mulder and Scully turned

as Langly cried out. He’d been working on the artifact,

attempting to decode the writings on it when it had

suddenly begun to turn, rotate of its own accord, lifting

from the table and flying across the room in the

direction of his friends. Byers’ and Scully’s natural

reaction was to duck, it sailed right over Frohike and

they all watched as Mulder stabbed it like a line drive.

“Mulder!” Scully voice pierced the silence.

He looked up at the sound of her voice, caught her face

alarmed with fear, at the look of astonishment on the

faces of his three friends and then they all faded from

his vision. He now found himself in the midst of chaos.

Hundreds of people, but not human, running and

screaming as heat and smoke consumed them; a world,

much like our own, dying in an instant. And then he

was somewhere else, another world. Grays, as he’d

fondly always called them, their eyes even larger than

he thought possible, their long slender finger tips

pressed against a glass, gripping it in some attempt to

reach out to a world they would never see again.

More visions passed through his mind. Other worlds,

light years from here all being consumed by a force

their inhabitants could not fight; something greater than

them, something greater than he. It was he realized the

natural, universal force of the cosmos that had lasted

since creation and would continue for all time. A force

that made this fight he and Scully had been consumed

in feel suddenly silly and absurd.

Mulder’s heart pounded in his chest. Was this earth’s

future he was witnessing? What possible recourse

could any of them have? From somewhere he heard a

familiar voice, felt the touch of a warm hand on his

trying desperately to bring him back.

The visions continued. The earth, he recognized; as

seen from above. Flashes of stone temples, monolithic

statues, laid out in patterns across the landscapes;

artwork etched in the plains, reminders of a civilization

the world knew little about, left as a warning. Voices

now filled his head, ancient languages he didn’t

recognize but understood. Whispering to him of

voyages across the vastness of the universe, of finding

a new home on a small green planet, and using a highly

technical knowledge to influence the peoples they found

there. His head was filled with a consciousness of the

ages, voices of the past whispering to him a warning for

the future.

The images changed again, to driving rains, torrents

that swelled rivers and oceans consuming the entire

planet in an endless sea and washing away the

evidence of these mysterious visitors. He found himself

panting for breath, unable to suck enough air into his

lungs it made him dizzy. Then a voice came again, a

familiar one, warm and reassuring, “Mulder…”

“Do you want me to call 911?” Another voice, familiar to

his ears broke through the haze of visions. Frohike and

the others had watched while Scully tried to reach

Mulder. He’d stood there frozen in place, holding the

artifact. His eyes glazed over, pupils dilated and

unresponsive; his breathing erratic.

“Mulder, please, give it to me,” she pleaded with him,

her palm outstretched.”

She reached to take if from him but he waved her off;

turning it over in his hands, caressing the face with his

fingertips. He was back now, in the present. “I’m okay,”

he whispered softly to her; moving a few steps away in

order to read the script. “I WILL DESTROY MEN,

WHOM I HAVE CREATED, FROM THE FACE OF THE

EARTH, FROM MAN EVEN TO BEASTS, FROM THE

CREEPING THING EVEN TO THE FOWLS OF THE

AIR, FOR IT REPLENTETH ME THAT I HAVE MADE

THEM.”

No one said a word. Scully met Mulder’s eyes, “The

Bible, Mulder?”

“No, Scully,” Mulder said, shaking his head ever so

slightly. “It’s from them, a warning maybe,” he looked

up. “A story passed down through the ages.”

He finally handed her the tile. No, she did not believe

this. The genesis of the human race was not alien

despite what she knew Mulder believed. But what if

there had been alien intervention somewhere along the

way? This virus they’d chased across the world, could it

possibly be evidence of an ancient civilization…a far

more advance civilization that once flourished here?

Did that explain the sudden advancements in evolution

and technology that have yet to be explained by

science? More frightening yet was what if Mulder was

right, that this artifact was somehow linked to it and

somehow it did trigger something in his DNA, turned

something on in him like they’d seen in Gibson? It was

Byers who broke the silence.

“We — ah — haven’t been able to identify the material.

Jesus, Mulder, you can read that?”

“A passage from The Bible,” Frohike took the artifact

from Scully. “What would a verse from The Bible be

doing on-on something…?”

Mulder turned around, his eyes glistened. “Something

alien,” he nodded towards Scully, “She doesn’t believe it

and yet she found evidence of it in Africa.

Religious texts from The Bible, The Koran, human

genetic codes; the power of God himself inscribed on a

ship that washed ashore on the Ivory Coast. You’ve got

to get in touch with Ngebe, Scully, find out where she

got the piece she sent you. Maybe she knew how it

would affect me. The falatus came from that artifact; I’m

not cruvus about this.” He stood there while four pairs of

eyes looked at him like he’d grown another head.

“What?”

“What did you say?”

“I said the ability came from the artifact. I know I’m not

wrong about it.”

Scully shook her head wearily. “No, that’s not what you

said the first time. You said something like ‘the falatus

came from the artifact…’

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know, you said it!”

Frohike was hacking away at one of the computers, “It’s

similar to Medieval Latin. You take Latin in school

Mulder?”

“NO, I did not take Latin in school!” he swiped angrily at

his eyes, destroying the evidence of just how upset he

was becoming over this. “Look, are you guys gonna

help me here or not?”

“Hey,” Frohike approached his friend. “Just tell us

what’s going on, what you need, man.”

Mulder’s eyes flashed to Scully. “I’m not real sure I’m

Fox Mulder anymore.”

1:15 P.M.

Mulder had explained what he’d seen in his earlier

visions; in the hospital, at home, the terrifying escape

he’d experienced on the track. How he’d felt himself

become a part of them. How he was sure the first one

had something to do with the Mayans and that in the

second he had found himself in ancient Egypt. He had

no recollection of where he was in this last one but had

proceeded to draw a map of a landmass that Byers was

now studying along with all the other drawings and

calculations Mulder had been working on the past few

days.

Langly and Frohike had gone off to another workstation

to go over the PCR results and scans that Scully had

brought from the hospital. The four of them had been so

busy that none of them had noticed that Mulder had

plopped himself on the couch in exhaustion and

eventually drifted off to sleep.

**

Around him lay the ruins of a ravaged civilization he

recognized all too well. Monuments he’d passed

everyday, buildings whose purpose now seemed

incidental. Visions of the world he knew that suddenly

seemed to be no more. But it was not the desolate

wasteland he had assumed it would be. Instead it was

alive, green and filled with the voices of the future;

people, hundreds of them. Who had picked up the

pieces of a shattered lifestyle and rebuilt them into

something new and different and better than before. It

felt peaceful here, simpler; as if the earth had been

cleansed, the sky brighter, the water clearer, the air

fresher. A new world, risen from the old much like what

he now knew had happened before.

His eye caught a movement to his left, he turned. A

man was standing next to him, a man he also

recognized. The man whose image he’d seen in a

bathroom mirror a few days ago. They stood there

together watching a new life being recreated from death

of the old. It was that same universal force engaged in

it’s never ending cycle. The man said nothing to Mulder

but somehow an understanding grew in his mind; an

understanding that he’d just been given a sneak peak at

the future and a very real message of hope.

**

“This is a map of Antarctica,” Byers said turning to

Scully who had been sitting with him.

“How can that be?” She felt a sudden chill. “What

Mulder described sounded almost Mediterranean. Why

would he be drawing that? Antarctica is a frozen

wasteland.”

“That might not have always been the case. Do you

know what earth-crust displacement is?”

“The theory that the earth’s crust is in constant

movement?”

“It’s much more than a theory. Every time you have an

earthquake, it’s an example of displacement. There is

however, a theory that at one point in the earth’s history

Antarctica was much warmer that it is today. That at

one point parts of the continent were located some

2,000 or so miles further north, outside the Antarctic

Circle in a more temperate climatic zone. Ever hear of

the Piri Reis Map?”

“An ancient map of the globe?”

“An extremely accurate map, here look at this,” Byers

clicked into a website that brought up the map he had

been referring too. When he and Scully compared the

map to the one Mulder had drawn they found them

alarmingly similar. “Reis was a sixteenth century

Turkish sailor and the author of a sailing book filled with

comprehensive descriptions of land masses, ports and

harbors of the Mediterranean. His source maps were

probably housed in the Imperial Library at

Constantinople and may have originally come from the

Library at Alexandria.”

“How would such a library contain maps of Antarctica?”

“Better yet look at this,” Byers acknowledged. Clicking

into yet another website, he continued, “This is a current

geological survey map of the Antarctic continent under

the ice. When I transpose them all together…” Scully

watched as the three maps came together in an almost

identical fashion. “There were no geological surveys of

the planet in the sixteenth century Scully, as far as we

know the people of the Mediterranean didn’t even know

Antarctica existed, let alone how to map it. Only

someone with an aerial view of the planet would be able

to map this so accurately.”

“I don’t understand how this relates to the vision Mulder

had.”

“Maybe it’s where he was in the vision.”

“Hey, Agent Scully, you should take a look at this.”

Langly called from across the room. She and Byers

came over to look at the images displayed on the

screens in front of the two men. “These are the PCR

scans of Gibson you brought us a few years back,”

Langly pointed to the right screen. “And these are

Mulder’s,” Frohike said pointing to the other screen.

“You can see the similarities in the areas we highlighted.

We all know by looking at this older scan of Mulder’s

that these anomalies didn’t exist a few years ago. “You

said that Mulder had been exposed to a virus years ago.

Viruses are known to leave markers in DNA, you’ve

heard of gene therapy…” She looked at him in disbelief,

he sighed. “Well, then you explain it.”

“I can’t explain it! I was also exposed to a virus guys

and I’m not experiencing any of these visions.”

“You know we all assumed that Gibson had been born

with his abilities but this indicates that it’s possible to

literally turn genes on with the right stimulus. What we

see here are active genetic remnants, genes that

science will tell you there is no explanation for.”

“Maybe because we have no use for them anymore?”

Scully questioned her mind suddenly drifting back to

what Mulder had said in their office about us losing the

ability to understand the words of our ancestors.

“Sadly, you’re probably right. As we’ve advance

technologically, we find we no longer need our instincts

to guide us. Look at all those people who perished in

Asia and yet the animals had the good sense to run for

higher ground.” Langly was not amused. “Millions are

spent each year on warning systems set up to warn us

of danger because it seems we no longer have the

ability to sense it. We’ve lost touch with the earth

around us because we sit inside watching television

instead of watching the sunset.”

“You should talk.” Frohike quipped.

“Hey, I didn’t say I wasn’t just as guilty as the next

person but it’s the truth. Mulder’s afraid he’s become

some sort of super human when maybe all he really is,

is more human than the rest of us.”

“But why me, what are these visions trying to tell me?”

They all turned at the sound of Mulder’s voice. He’d

been so quiet they’d almost forgotten he was there. He

didn’t move to get up from the couch; he just continued

to sit there slumped against the back cushion with his

legs spread, his mind still reeling from his latest dream.

“If we’re to assume that this artifact came from the same

ship as the rubbing and it’s some sort of key to

unlocking human potential then what is the likelihood

that Ngebe would find the piece that was meant for

me?”

“I’d have to say highly unlikely Mulder.”

“Have you been able to reach her?” Mulder asked,

getting up to get a closer look at what they’d all been

working on.

“I called the university, she no longer teaches there,”

Scully answered.

“So the answer to that question is, no.”

“No, I have not been able to reach her.” Scully’s reply

was curt.

“I think we might have an answer to your question

though Mulder,” Byers motioned for him to join him at

his computer.

“This man you saw in the mirror, the pale figure with the

white beard?” Byers questioned. “Legends of the

Andes people describe a similar figure. He has different

names in different places but he’s always recognized as

the same figure, a tall bearded pale skin man wrapped

in a cloak of secrecy. Viracocha, Foam of the Sea, a

master of science and magic who wielded terrible

weapons and who came in a time of chaos to set things

right with the world.”

Byers clicked a command into his computer and the

image Mulder had seen in the hospital appeared on the

screen. “As the legend goes he appeared when the

world had been inundated by a great flood and plunged

into darkness; society falling into ruin and disorder.

With his powers he created hills and valleys of lush

earth from the destruction and taught the people how to

live with love and harmony.”

“Similar legends exist in other cultures,” Frohike took up

the narrative. “Quetzalcoatl is the Mayan equivalent;

he’s credited with the invention of the advanced

mathematical and calendrical formula that the Maya

used to create their calendar of doom. Similar I might

add to what you used to calculate the very same date,

2,012. There’s Kon Tiki and Isis and Osiris; Native

Americans speak of the White Buffalo Woman, even

Christ can be seen as this figure.

A quick search or mythology from around the world

reveals other striking similarities. Legends from

different peoples all living in different corners of

the earth seem to tell the same essential story-that

somewhere in humanity’s past certain individuals with

godlike powers were responsible for shaping mankind

into a civilized state.”

“Wait a minute,” Mulder turned to Frohike in shock at

what he assumed his friend was referring to. “I don’t

have any godlike powers and I’m certainly not the

reincarnation of Jesus Christ!”

“Hey, easy man,” Langly patted his friend on the

shoulder and walked around to face him. “For a long

time these stories have been dismissed as myth but

with the advances in geology and archeology

researchers are starting to realize that there is a lot of

truths in the ancient myths. Evidence is coming to light

of the possible existence of a highly advance civilization

that once flourished here on earth. You know the story

of Atlantis, right, the mysterious continent whose

civilization was swallowed by the sea? There are a lot

of similarities in the Mayan and Egyptian cultures

leading to a very popular theory that these people are

the descendents of Atlanteans.”

“It’s a story, Langly, a myth.” Mulder said with disgust,

he stepped a few feet away and then turned around.

“There’s no evidence that Atlantis has ever existed. If,

as you’re suggesting, this highly advance civilization

lived on this mythical continent; how is it possible for

them to disappear so thoroughly that even with our

modern scientific knowledge we can’t say for certain

that they ever existed?”

“You’re not listening, Mulder.” Byers came over and

gently steered Mulder to a stool and made him sit on it.

“Maybe they just haven’t found it yet. The Bible is filled

with myth. Do you know that the story of Noah, the

great flood, exists in almost every culture on the globe?

It predates The Bible. Natives believe that the earth

has passed through different ‘worlds’ in its history. Hopi

myth tells us that the first world was destroyed as a

punishment for human misdemeanors by an all-

consuming fire. The second by ice and the third world

ended in a universal flood, that very same Noah story.

They believe the fate of the present world depends on

how the people behave in accordance to the Creator’s

wishes.

There is other evidence, a lot of it; written in the codes

of ancient civilizations all over the world, codes which

are only now slowly coming to light. Discoveries in

archeology have found that many sacred sites across

the globe like Stonehenge, the Great Pyramid and other

mystical structures scattered across the globe might

have been built to preserve and transmit the knowledge

of an advance civilization. Some have even suggested

these sites are a warning system left behind for future

reference if we could only figure out how to use them.”

“Listen to this.” Frohike added as he watched Mulder

roll his eyes. The guys were on a roll and all he and

Scully could do was listen as they continued to weave

their tale. “Egyptologists continue to insist the Great

Pyramid was built as a tomb but just about any

archeologist will tell you now that it is a lot older than

originally perceived and that no pharaoh was ever

buried in it. It’s an incredibly sophisticated design.

Each of its four sides aligns almost perfectly with points

on a compass. The height is proportional to the radius

of the earth and its perimeter to the circumference.

Measurements of its base halves yield the numbers

365.256 and 365.259, the number of days it takes for

the earth to orbit the sun. Back in 1957 satellite

technology was able to establish that the polar radius of

the earth was something like 150,265,030.4 inches.

One ten-millionth of this distance would be roughly

25,026 inches. This exact measurement is found at

least three times within the pyramid. The number

25,000 also happens to approximate the number of

years in the processional cycle, the time it takes for the

earth to pass through the twelve zodiacal constellations.

And here’s one more mystery for you. This 25,000-year

measurement is the most complex measurement we

know. It’s been shown that the shafts if the Great

Pyramid align perfectly with key stars of the Zodiac at

major changes in the houses of the Zodiac, like when

the earth passes from one sign to the next along the

line of procession. When you look at star charts from

the age of the last global catastrophe, they are

alarmingly similar to the charts you will see in the year

2,012. Mulder has them all printed out. Somehow, who

ever built the Great Pyramid was able to calculate this,

align these shafts so that they and the Zodiac would

come into alignment in much the same way once

again.”

“Procession of the Zodiac?” Scully asked. Mulder had

mentioned this in his own explanation of what he’d been

working on, she, needed some clarification.

“Here…” Frohike grabbed some of the papers from the

table Mulder was sitting at and handed them to Mulder.

“Mulder calculated it himself. Basically the

constellations of the Zodiac form a ring around the solar

system. Each year on the Spring Equinox the sun rises

within a particular constellation. Right now, it’s Pisces.

This goes on for around 2,000 or so years and then the

earth processes into the next constellation, this being

Aquarius. I know that sounds backwards, but trust me

on this. It’s called Procession, it takes about 25,000

years for the earth to pass though all twelve signs of the

zodiac and what’s remarkable is many of the ancient

civilizations were able to calculate it long before modern

day astronomers ever figured it out.”

“It’s a clock.” They all turned to Mulder who had been

studying the calculations.

“What’s a clock?” Langly asked.

“The Great Pyramid, a doomsday clock.”

“Ticking down to what?”

“You saw what happened in Asia, the terrible tsunami; it

was caused by a violent quake beneath the ocean,”

Frohike said. “Imagine if that happened on a global

scale. Geologists believe we’re on the verge of some

violent changes in the earth, a cataclysmic destruction

of the world as we know it. Numbers are a universal

language. If these calculations Mulder has worked out

are some kind of code, a way to determine the exact

date and moment of this catastrophe, think of the lives

that could be saved.”

“December, 2,012,” Mulder looked up at his audience,

“The beginning of a new age, the age of Aquarius.”

Three pairs of eyes seemed to believe him, the fourth,

those piercing blue ones, the only ones he had faith in,

did not.

“You all weave a clever story of gloom and doom here

but how does this all fit in with Mulder?”

“I think he already knows.” Frohike motioned with his

head towards Mulder who had stepped off the stool to

reach over and pick up the artifact again. “And I saw a

new heaven and a new earth. For the first heaven and

the first earth was gone, and the sea is now no more.

They’re right Scully. The earth is covered with clues to

our past, the answers to where we’ve been and where

we’re going aren’t going to be found in the science of

the future. You said it yourself, the answers are there,

you just have to know where to look.

I don’t know if we’ll ever know who our progenitors were

or what happened to them, but a whole legacy of their

knowledge has been left for you to find. You have the

key now,” Mulder hefted the artifact. “That’s why Ngebe

sent this to you, I’m your key.”

She stood there looking at him, the boyish enthusiasm

he’d always possessed clearly evident in his eyes. Was

this truly his destiny? To be some conduit to the past

that would guide them to the future? She walked slowly

over to where he stood, wrapping her hand around his

wrist to find the pulse point and the evidence of his

excitement that she found there. He knew exactly what

she was doing; she could see it on his face. “Mulder,

listen to yourself, even if this were true, how do we

possibly find this information, how do you prove that this

knowledge of yours actually allows you to understand

any of it if we did?”

He pulled his hand from her grasp and flashed the

artifact in her face. “You’ve got to believe it, Scully. Nou

ani anquietas. Ego indeo navo locas hic qua videum.

You just won’t give up on this proof thing of yours will

you? I’ve been fighting this battle with you since I’ve

known you. You can accept the idea that God exists

without question but suggest that maybe we weren’t first

on his list and you need a room full of evidence. We’ll

here’s your evidence

Scully, it’s staring you right in the face!” He put the

artifact in her hand and then turned and walked to the

door, letting himself out as they all stood silently and

watched.

She stood there for a few minutes looking at the piece

of tile. The truth was she did believe where it had come

from. It was believing in how it had affected him that

frightened her most.

“We are the ancients.” Byers had been typing as

Mulder spoke, “Looking for a new location for our

legacy.”

“Do you want us to go after him? Frohike asked.

“No,” she shook her head with a small smile at his

concern.

“For what it’s worth Dana,” Byers came over to stand

beside her. “There’s a lot of truth in what he’s related to

you. The things he’s seen, the theories. The world is

filled with mysteries Scully. Thousands of books have

been written on the subject. The research continues.

Through it we’ve come to realize that early man was a

lot more advance than we ever imagined he could have

been. Proof? Maybe you only need to prove something

if it’s first been disproved elsewhere.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you read, John.”

“No, but you should believe in him.”

“I do, I wish he understood that. I’m just afraid to

believe it could be true. I’m afraid of what this ability

could do to him.”

Langly came over and took the artifact from her. “He

seems okay now. It doesn’t seem to be affecting him

anymore.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s already worked its alien magic,”

Frohike made a vain attempt to lighten her mood.

“Mulder is NOT an alien, Melvin.”

“You know what one of the definitions of the word alien

is?” Byers asked. “Unlike one’s own, different. I think

that describes Mulder pretty well. I want to read you

something.” He leaned over and picked up some of

Mulder’s papers from the table, shuffling through them

until he found the one he was looking for. “I am the

Highest of All, the First, the Creator of Heaven and

Earth; I am the molder of the human bodies, and the

supplier of the Spiritual Parts. I have placed the sun

upon a new horizon as a sign of benevolence and proof

of the Alliance. In order to do so, the Commandments

of the Creator, verified by the

Highest of All, were, acting via the Souls of the

Ancestors, transmitted to the Youngest Ones.”

Frohike looked at Scully’s puzzled features. “It’s a

translation from the Egyptian BOOK OF THE DEAD; the

passage of knowledge from something far greater than

us. Ancient rites and wisdom coded in secrecy and

passed down through ancestral lines to a new place for

the legacy. History is filled with these inventive and

insightful individuals who are responsible for some of

the greatest leaps in our development. Mulder

understands this Scully though why he’s been selected

remains a mystery.

Why indeed. “Dammit Frohike, the Rosetta stone has

enabled the translation of hieroglyphs for years.” Scully

was not going to buy this sales pitch the guys had taken

up in Mulder’s cause.

“You’re right,” Byers acknowledged. “But most of the

time the translations are so filled with flagrant errors and

misinterpretations that nothing is left of the initial

meaning. To be able to understand their true meaning,

to interpret the messages that have been left for us as

Mulder believes he is able to do is a gift Scully; a gift

that maybe we should just accept without question.

“Oh God, John, if only it were that easy.”

“Well whatever has him reciting ancient scripture I don’t

think it’s something you want to broadcast to the world.

Somebody might lock him up and not because they

think he’s crazy.” Frohike walked back over to the table

he and Langly had been working at and picked up an

envelope which he proceeded to hand to Scully.

“You said someone took his old test records. You

better make damn sure they don’t get a hold of these.”

MULDER’S TOWNHOUSE

Scully finished putting away the dishes and turned the

lights off in the kitchen. Mulder had been sitting in the

car when she had left the Gunmen’s’ and they had

driven home in silence. They’d engaged in some off

topic conversation over dinner and then he’d

disappeared. She was still worried about him. How

would she convince him to seek medical help if these

dreams of his continued? Would he even tell her if they

did? Langly was right, he’d seemed fine when he left

their office. Could this nightmare finally be over? She

found Mulder stretched out on the couch in the living

room with a book of mythology propped on his lap. She

smiled and walked over to him. “Find any answers?”

Mulder put the book down, looked up to meet her eyes.

“You still think I’m nuts don’t you?”

“Actually I’d prefer that you were because it scares me

to death that you’re not.” She sat down next to him as

Mulder moved his legs over to make more room.

“All that gloom and doom stuff?”

“I believe in you Mulder, I always have. I want you to

know that even though I don’t know if I can believe what

you’ve been trying to tell me. Visions of the past,

ancient astronauts, the end of the world; two thousand,

twelve, Mulder, that’s only seven years away. It’s safer

not to believe any of it. Even if the answers are here

and by some miracle we could find them do you

honestly think that you and I can could convince a world

of non-believers in their authenticity?”

The truth was sometimes an ugly thing, especially when

you thought you knew what it was. “No, probably not;

they’d lock me up faster than your doctor friend was

threatening to do. But I think with the right information

your science could. It’s all about finding the future

Scully before the future finds us. Oo ya wolin wolin we

tayil” Mulder watched her freeze and then he smiled.

“That’s Mayan, says it right here, the enemy of my

enemy is my friend.” He closed the book and let it drop

to the floor beside them, reaching up to pull her close.

She settled in next to him and he wrapped his arms

around her. “Would it help if I told you that even though

the signs might point to the end of the world as we know

it, the next one will be a much better place?” She didn’t

look convinced. “Maybe we should have paid a little

more attention to all that harmonic philosophy your

sister used to try and pass off on us.”

Scully smiled into his shoulder, “She liked you Mulder.”

He hugged her closer. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to know her.

Now that I think about it, we had a lot in common.”

“Mulder?”

“Hmm?”

“Promise me I won’t lose you to these ancients?”

“You mean if I find myself reliving ancient history again

I’ll let you know?”

He felt her shiver in his embrace. She clutched at his

shirt. “I’m not kidding. That if you feel yourself slipping

away again you’ll let me help you hold on? If seven

years is all we have, if it’s all the time I have left to

spend with you I don’t want to think about living them

without you.”

He cuddled her closer and kissed her gently. “Then

don’t think about it, Scully. Carpe Diem”

“Seize the day?”

“Every minute of it.”

AUTHORS NOTES: This story is purely fiction. Not

being a scientist or anything remotely close, you’ll have

to accept my artistic license and conjecture.

There are a few facts thrown in for your enjoyment and

to get you thinking. I remember a television series that

was very good at that. If you’d like to explore some of

the ideas put forth here, take a trip down the New Age

aisle of your local bookstore; you’d be amazed what you

might find there. Reading about some of the earth’s

mysteries I’ve come to the conclusion that there truly

are more worlds than the one you can hold in your hand.

Special thanks to all my ebuddies out there, Chris for

her constant poking, Vickie for her help, encouragement

and some great ideas and to Chuck for his beta help;

couldn’t do this without you.

And yes, there is a quote from Star Trek in here

somewhere.

The Bicoastal, Bilocated Fly-By Murder Case

Author: Martin Ross

Category: Columbo/X-Files crossover

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: When America’s top horror writer

scares up a murderous doppelganger, Lt. Columbo

summons Special Agent Fox Mulder to help bring

a supernatural killer to justice.

Disclaimer: I dedicate this paean to the

inverted mystery to Chris Carter and Mssrs.

Levinson and Link, the creators of two of my

favorite investigators.

Vista del Sol Hotel

Beverly Hills

9:34 p.m.

Lt. Columbo meditated as the M.E.’s people

hauled away the remains of America’s departed

New Crown Prince of Horror (New York Times).

The homicide detective gazed across the now-

deserted deck of the Vista del Sol’s Olympian

pool at the hotel’s luxurious lobby, his eyes

suddenly alighting.

Raincoat flapping, he corralled the distressed

hotel manager, who’d been simultaneously

mourning the loss of one of his favorite

celebrity guests and contemplating how he’d

communicate the attending unfavorable publicity

to the Vista’s German-French ownership

consortium.

“Mr. Martel?” Columbo inquired, cautiously. The

manager looked up — the odd little policeman

already had asked about his $76 handmade,

imported Italian silk designer tie. “You said

Mr. Prinze had had dinner in the hotel

restaurant about an hour or so before he fell

into the pool.”

Martel blinked away his corporate anxieties.

“Yes, yes, that’s right, Lieutenant. The

maitre’d said he had the canard l’orange,

orange duck, our specialty du jour.”

Columbo looked baffled by what seemed a litany

of French. “Ah, yes, sir. Well, let me ask you

this.”

“Absolutely.”

“See, I had to be in court today, and I didn’t

get a chance to grab any lunch or nothing. You

guys serve chili? Cause I could sure go for a

bowl right about now.”

Martel paled. “I’m afraid today’s soup du

specialte is a chilled cream of cucumber with

tarragon.”

“Ah.” Columbo nodded sadly. “Bacon

cheeseburger?”

“I believe there’s a Jack-in-a-Box a few blocks

away, Lieutenant.”

“Hey, Columbo!” The pair turned toward Sgt.

Kramer’s gravelly voice. He was standing near

the mouth of the Vista del Sol’s winding stone

drive with a stout middle-aged woman in

brilliant chartreuse jogging regalia. “Got a

witness here, thinks she mighta seen the perp!”

Columbo put his hands to his mouth. “Just a

second, Sarge!” He returned to Martel. “You

know, chili’s real popular. You put it on the

menu, you might be surprised how much street

traffic you pull in. Just a thought.”

“And a very trenchant one, too,” the manager

said dryly.

The lieutenant was winded by the time he

scrambled down to the street. He held up a

hand, and Kramer patiently studied the evening

traffic until Columbo was through wheezing and

weaving.

“Mrs. Flossburton here was out for her evening

‘constitutional’ when the vic came down,” the

detective sergeant grunted.

“I looked up to see where he’d come from,” she

breathed in a moneyed British accent. “That’s

when I saw the killer. He was smiling, mind

you, bright as day.”

“Wow,” Columbo breathed. “That’s absolutely

amazing. Ma’am, I wonder if you wouldn’t mind

going with Sgt. Kramer down to headquarters. We

got a guy down there, you can describe somebody

to him and, well, it’s like one of those mall

artists–”

“I don’t need any police artist,” Mrs.

Flossburton said, digging into her Prada

handbag. “I have his picture right here.”

The volume she pulled out was thick and black,

a silver skull embossed on the cover. The title

was dwarfed by the name slashed above the

grinning Death’s head: Simon Khan.

Mrs. Flossburton turned the book over. A tall

man with a broad forehead, large brown eyes,

and Fu Manchu moustache glared into the camera.

“That’s him.”

Malibu Canyon

One day later

“Cool customer,” Sgt. Kramer grunted, staring

at Simon Khan’s glass-fronted home. The Maestro

of the Macabre waved cheerfully at the pair

from his stone stoop.

Columbo grinned ruefully. “I guess a fella like

that, writing all the time about murder and

monsters, probably doesn’t get too ruffled

about things.”

“Why would he? Man’s got a perfect alibi.”

“And we got a perfect witness. We just can’t

make both of them fit together. We just have to

work out how they fit.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Kramer said

as they approached Columbo’s vintage (his term)

Peugeot.

The lieutenant wrenched the import’s door open

with a screech worthy of a Stephen King crypt,

and leaned on the frame. “Well, you know what

Sherlock Holmes said?”

Kramer sighed. “‘Why am I wearing this nutty

hat?'”

“No, Sergeant. He said when there isn’t any

possible way for something to happen, you gotta

consider the impossible. And I know just the

fella to help me do it.”

**

“You didn’t tell me this was going to be on the

final exam,” Special Agent Fox Mulder

complained.

Mulder had welcomed the Homicide cop’s call —

the paranormal investigator collected quirky

people like Midwest housewives collected

Hummels or pimply dateless twentysomethings

ST:DS9 memorabilia. He had been intrigued by

Lt. Columbo’s receptivity to some of the more

unorthodox elements of the Huykendall murder

case (see “Murder With a Future” at

http://www.planetpreset.com/murdfut.html.

“There’s a killer, real smart guy, who has a

perfect alibi miles away from the murder

scene,” Columbo repeated. “But a witness — a

very reliable witness — swears she saw the guy

in the room with the victim right after the

victim went off a 14th floor balcony. And the

guy’s very unusual-looking.”

“Wait a minute,” Mulder interjected. “Is this

the Daniel Prinze murder? The horror writer?”

“That’s the fella.”

“So I assume your killer was a critic.”

“Geez, I kinda like the guy’s books. You ever

read that one he wrote about the demon who gets

elected president?”

“Hell to the Chief. An American literary

treasure. So who do you think killed Prinze?”

“Get a load of this, Agent Mulder. Simon Khan.”

Mulder leaned forward. “Get outta here. The

Simon Khan? He writes circles around that hack

Prinze.”

“Yeah, he’s a hell of a writer, all right. But

Mr. Prinze’s manager, she tells me Mr. Khan’s

got like, oh, ah, a mental blot.”

“Block, Lieutenant. Well, I guess at two novels

a year over the last 20 years or so, plus seven

books worth of short stories, he was bound to

tap out. You trying to tell me Khan killed

Prinze out of jealousy? The washed-up master

and the hack kid?”

“We-e-ell, there mighta been a little more to

it than that. See, Mr. Khan, he was about to

make a big sale to one of the studios. You ever

read Kenneth?”

“Wow, yeah. Guy convinced he’s trapped in some

parallel universe, or is he? Classic modern

fable of dislocation and alienation in the

post-9/11 world. They’re making a movie out of

Kenneth?”

“They were, I guess. Then the studio changed

its mind and signed up to do three of Prinze’s

books. Manager said they got Jennifer Lopez to

star in the one, oh, you know, the one about

the lesbian zombies?”

Mulder groaned. “Ghoul-on-Ghoul?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Mr. Prinze just found

out about the movie deal the day before he was

killed. He lives near San Diego — he was at

the Vista del Sol, fancy-shmancy hotel in

Beverly Hills — for some news conference or

something. We traced a call from the hotel to

Mr. Khan’s house out in Malibu, maybe about an

hour before he went off the balcony.”

“Really? What’d Khan have to say about that?”

“Said Mr. Prinze called him to tell him about

the big movie deal.”

“Youch.”

Columbo chuckled. “Yeah, I guess Mr. Prinze

didn’t know nothing about Mr. Khan losing out

on his movie deal. Mr. Khan says Mr. Prinze

wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Uh,

that was Mr. Khan’s words, Agent. Anyways, Mr.

Prinze didn’t seem to know Mr. Khan wasn’t real

crazy about him.”

“How long had Khan known Prinze?”

“The manager says they met right after the

Columbine thing, you know, the two boys that

shot up the high school? Terrible thing. Mr.

Khan got a buncha horror writers together for

some kinda teen suicide charity thing. Started

a foundation for troubled kids.”

“Face Your Fears. Heard of it. So you say Khan

has a perfect alibi?”

“Oh, yeah, a party at his place. We got a

hundred or so people will vouch for him.”

“Then why do you believe he killed Prinze?”

Columbo paused. “Well, I guess you could call

it a policeman’s hunch. Or maybe that Mrs.

Flossburton, our witness, swears Mr. Khan was

in that room when Mr. Prinze went off the

balcony.

“Or it could be what Mr. Khan said when I went

to question him about Mr. Prinze’s death. I

mentioned the off-possibility it coulda been a

suicide – which I don’t think it was, cause

when he had supper earlier, Mr. Prinze asked

his waiter about the next day’s dooger.”

“Dooger?”

“The thing, you know, like the blue plate

special, only fancier.”

“The specialty du jour.”

“Yeah. That’s it. Seems he was torn between

a couple of the dishes on the menu, and so he

wanted to know what the hotel restaurant would

have the next day so he wouldn’t have beef two

days in a row, or chicken, or…”

“So why would Prinze have been interested in

the next day’s special if he was going to take

a swan dive off a balcony?” Mulder summarized

smoothly. “I gotta say, it’s a little weak.”

“Well, there was also an open bottle of

champagne in the room – room service brought it

up after Mr. Prinze’s manager called him with

some more details on the movie deal. The hotel

sent that bottle up only about 15 minutes

before Mr. Prinze was killed. You gonna open a

couple hundred dollar bottle of bubbly if you

aren’t gonna be around to drink it? And, oh

yeah, there was no note. Nothing in the room or

on his laptop.”

“That’s a little more solid. But why’s any of

this point to Khan?”

“Because,” Columbo said meaningfully, “it

wasn’t me that made that point about the

champagne. When I mentioned that we didn’t

think Mr. Prinze had killed himself, Mr. Khan

said that made sense, cause why would he pop

open a bottle of Dom Perignon right before he

does the dutch? Now, Mr. Prinze ordered that

bottle quite a bit after he called Mr. Khan.

When I pressed him about how he knew about the

champagne, Mr. Khan said he woulda ordered up a

bottle if he’d just struck a big deal that was

gonna make him rich.”

“Why didn’t he just say Prinze told him he was

going to open a bottle of champagne to

celebrate? It would’ve made more sense, and

nobody would know for sure that wasn’t Prinze’s

plan.”

“Exactly!” The triumphant crispness of

Columbo’s exclamation startled Mulder. “And why

say Dom Perignon? Why go into that kinda

detail? Why not just say, ‘Mr. Prinze was gonna

open up some champagne’?”

“Because he’s playing you,” Mulder drawled.

“You told him you had a witness who could put

him in Prinze’s room, but he has an airtight

alibi, so why not have a little fun? He’s

daring you to catch him.”

“That’s why I called you, Agent Mulder. You

know all about this crazy stuff. Maybe you

could figure out some way he could be in two

places at one time. You fly out, I’ll show you

the town, maybe take you for a burger.”

Mulder paused, tempted. “Gee, Lieutenant, I’d

love to, but my director’s suggested I stick

around the office for the next few weeks. There

was a little incident involving silver bullets

and a lawsuit. You’ll crack it, Columbo. And

you need to bounce any ideas, just call. OK?”

“Well, OK,” Columbo sighed. “Thanks for taking

the time. Good talking to you again.”

“Same.”

Scully strolled briskly into the office,

inspecting her meditative partner. Mulder

looked up and hastily cradled the phone.

“Well, Buffy, you lucked out,” the petite

redhead breathed. “Skinner talked to the brass,

and they agreed to let your little misadventure

in lycanthropy slide if you get some

counseling.”

“Aw, jeez, Scully, I gotta see a shrink?”

Mulder whined.

Scully smiled slightly, enjoying her control of

the moment. “Relax, Mulder. We negotiated, and

it just so happens there’s a major Bureau team-

building seminar coming up.”

Mulder came out of his chair. “I’d rather have

the inkblots and the electrodes.”

Scully blinked innocence. “I assumed that given

the choice of sharing your affinity for bizarre

role-playing games with some Washington PhD or

playing Truth or Dare in the California sun–”

Mulder’s tantrum halted in mid-tant.

“California?”

“Yup,” she nodded gleefully. “La-La Land.”

Mulder pumped his fist in the air, causing

Scully’s jaw to drop. “YES!”

LAX International Airport

21 hours later

Fox Mulder took in a deep breath of Southern

California air as he stepped out of the LAX

terminal, sneezing as the brown L.A. haze

seeped into his nasal passages. He flipped his

Raybans back onto his recovering nose, sighing

as the L.A. sun caressed his face. Mulder leapt

back as a wheeled brushed steel makeup case

bumped over his Italian loafers. The Nordic

blonde toting the arsenal glared back at the

agent.

“Hey, Agent Mulder!”

Lt. Columbo flapped his rain-coated arms beside

a small foreign compact that appeared to have

lost a minor skirmish with a monster truck.

Mulder had planned a few Scullyless hours by

the hotel pool. “Columbo,” he called, limping

toward the disheveled detective. “I thought we

were supposed to meet down at Parker Center at

2.”

“We got another sighting!” Columbo shouted as a

pair of airport security guards approached.

“Sighting?”

“Another Simon Khan sighting,” the lieutenant

explained nervously.

“This is a shuttle zone, sir,” the larger of

the pair rumbled. “You gotta move on.”

“That’s what we’re gonna do, fellas,” Columbo

grinned, finally locating his badge case.

“Today, officer,” the guard ordered, enjoying

his moment of control and turning on his heel.

“Bye, fellas!” Columbo yelled. “Gee, they

seemed nice. Climb on in, Agent Mulder.”

“You know, it looks kinda tight in there,”

Mulder murmured. “Why don’t I take a

cab and meet you there.”

“Oh, geez, no. Those cabbies drive like

maniacs.”

Ten minutes later, as Mulder’s shins slammed

for the fifth time into the dashboard, he

gripped the windowframe for stability. “I, ah,

researched a few possible explanations for

Khan’s bilocation.”

“Bi-what?” Columbo asked.

“The road, please? Bilocation – the ability of

an individual to be in two locations

simultaneously. There’s actually extensive

documentation of such cases. The most common

phenomenon reported is the doppelganger, or

‘double walker,’ a so-called shadow self.

Supposedly, only the owner of the doppelganger

can see it, and it can be a harbinger of death.

Guy de Maupassant, the French novelist, claimed

to have been haunted by his doppelganger near

the end of his life.”

“Demap a…?”

“A variation is the wraith, a double an

individual can project to a remote location.

The double can interact with other people just

like the real person. It’s kind of like astral

projection, except…”

Columbo scratched his forehead. “You know, I’m

not sure the Captain would really go for that

wraith thing…”

“OK, how about good old solid quantum physics?

Scientists at the Massachusetts Institute of

Technology recently proves that an object at

least as large as a molecule can be made to act

like a light wave. It can be forcibly split

into two component waves and separately

manipulated, altered, recombined and analyzed.”

“That’s real interesting…”

“In other words, the same molecule conceivably

could exist in each of the two waves – in two

places at once. Then, if you want to get really

cosmic, there’s mirror matter. Every particle,

every atom may have an identical ‘partner’

particle or atom. The asteroid Eros shows signs

of being bombarded by invisible mirror matter.

If mirror matter exists, it opens the

possibility of parallel universes. Or people.”

Columbo stuck the cold cigar in his mouth. “Oh,

yeah, the captain’s not gonna like this at

all.”

**

“Where’s Extreme Makeover when you need it?”

Mulder muttered as he studied the sunburst

mural that adorned the lavish lobby of the

Vista del Sol. A huge pewter sun anchored the

lobby.

Columbo whistled. “Yeah, I’d love to do

something like this with my living room, but

Mrs. Columbo’s got real simple tastes.”

“Hey,” a plump young woman called as she

approached the pair. The housekeeper was draped

in a sunny canary yellow – the Vista del Sol’s

official staff color. “You the cops? I’m

Consuela. What’s up?”

Columbo ducked his head. “Hello, ma’am. I’m Lt.

Columbo. You told Sgt. Kramer you saw something

the night of the murder here?”

“When I heard you guys thought that writer guy,

Khan, might’ve killed that other guy, I thought

I ought to let you know,” Vargas said,

nervously playing with the hem of her uniform.

Columbo nodded appreciatively. “That was very

public-spirited of you, ma’am. So when did you

see Mr. Khan?”

She pointed vaguely toward the hotel

restaurant, La Fête du Soleil (the feast of the

sun,” Mulder translated). “See, I was on my

break, oh, maybe about a half-hour before that

man went into the pool, and I…”

“Yes, ma’am?” Columbo invited.

Vargas’ eyes flitted to the front desk. “Well,

see, I been dating Karl, the sous-chef, and I

was hoping maybe he was around. So I look in

the kitchen, but he ain’t there. So I kinda

roam around the service corridor – you know,

the back way to the ballrooms? — and I

see him.”

“Karl?” Mulder prompted.

“No, man,” Vargas sighed. “That writer guy. He

ain’t supposed to be there, so I thought about

telling him he needed to get out of there. But

he’s like, famous, or used to be, so I don’t

want to sound mean or anything. Anyway, I

figured this big writer guy wouldn’t be

stealing napkins or forks or nothing, so I just

got outta there before he saw me.”

“How was he dressed?” Mulder asked.

“Well, he was kinda in the dark, you know, the

shadows. But it looked like he was all in

black, like a burglar or Johnny Cash or

something. Makes sense, I guess, him being a

horror guy and all.”

“Anything else, ma’am?” Columbo spurred.

“Nah, that was about it. That help you? ‘Cause

it is about my break time…”

“You were very helpful, ma’am — very helpful.

You go enjoy your break, and give Karl my

regards.”

The plump housekeeper blushed and smiled coyly

before fleeing. Columbo leaned against a lobby

table and sighed heavily. “Well, that sure

doesn’t make anything any easier. Now we got

about an hour window when Mr. Khan had to be

away from his party. You wanna tell me about

that mirror matter again?”

**

“Lieutenant!” Simon Khan beamed as Columbo and

Mulder approached his table. Several heads

turned to glare at the mismatched duo

interrupting Khan’s signing session. The

autograph seekers clutched an assortment of

mostly paperbacks, with a few more elegantly

attired fans sporting mint hardcovers bearing

Khan’s amiably macabre countenance.

The author himself was wearing his talk-

show/public appearance uniform — a loose-

fitting Hawaiian shirt festooned with red

hibiscuses, and stonewashed jeans. He waved the

new arrivals into the Barnes and Noble.

“I was hoping you’d be back,” Khan said as he

accepted a plump matron’s copy of The Autumn

People. “Your initial visitation inspired me to

explore my first detective novel. Well, a

supernatural detective novel. Perhaps Mr.

Mulder might be able to counsel me.”

Columbo blinked, nearly backing into a life-

sized cardboard Tom Clancy stoically guarding

his latest opus. “You know Agent Mulder, sir?”

“Tiny community, Hollywood,” Khan grinned. “The

studio almost hired me to consult on The

Lazarus Bowl a few years ago. How’d you like

Shandling’s Agent Mulder, Agent Mulder?”

“Lot better than Rob Lowe in Lazarus Bowl II:

The Pontiff’s Revenge,” Mulder murmured.

“What’s your idea, Mr. Khan?”

“Kind of a twist on the old astral projection

theme,” Khan answered nonchalantly, jotting a

greeting into a Goth girl’s battered copy of

Glow. “What they call the ‘Janus resolution’ in

the mystery world. Was a supernatural agent

responsible for the crime in question, or has

the murderer committed the perfect murder?

“There’s no such thing as a perfect crime,

sir,” Columbo countered.

“Well, perhaps not outside of fiction,” Khan

conceded, his grin widening. “What do you

think, Agent? Was my good friend Daniel

dispatched by a dastardly doppelganger?”

Mulder smiled. “Was your good friend into

alliterative graveyard humor, Mr. Khan?”

The writer shrugged. “Touche, Agent Mulder. But

you have to understand the world of horror

writers. Most of us were geeks and freaks in

high school, even college, and sometimes,

sarcasm and eccentricity were our best

weapons against a cold world.”

“Where’d Dan Prinze fit into that scheme?”

Mulder posed. “He wasn’t actually a geek in the

traditional sense. An assistant professor of

the classics, a Mensa member, one of the

country’s top Greek scholars. Even published a

mainstream novel.”

“Icarus Ascending,” Khan supplied. “Wasn’t a

bad read — Dan probably should’ve stuck to

literature. Problem was, he wasn’t content to

toil in academic obscurity. When Icarus tanked,

he cranked out a quickie paperback under a

pseudonym and was astonished — and probably

pretty damned disgusted — to discover the

public ate it up. Then the cable people made

that cheesy TV-movie out of it. Dan quit his

university gig and became a writing machine,

each fast-food book more popular than the rest.

“The problem is, Dan didn’t have the outcast

mentality necessary to fully imagine the basest

human fears. But the more popular he became,

the more he wanted to hang out with the geeks.

I found him sort of amusing. Hell, I even

invited him to my party the other night. But

Dan was too busy crowing about his movie deal.”

The Maestro of the Macabre glanced at his

watch, a Mickey Mouse model. “Hey, gotta run,

fellas — drinks with some audio book folks.

Sorry, Lieutenant, but I can’t be two places at

once. Right?”

Five minutes later, the cop and the agent

gnawed pensively on mall pretzels, Columbo

noisily sucking on a Coke. Suddenly, he stopped

in mid-suck.

“Mr. Khan knows some folks in the movie

business, right?” Columbo inquired.

“Yeah, I guess he would.”

“Think he might know any doubles — you know,

stunt doub–”

“No,” Mulder responded simply, ripping into a

salty rope of dough.

“Just a thought,” Lt. Columbo sighed. The

detective stared back into the bookstore, where

a clerk was removing all evidence of Simon

Khan’s visit. Within minutes, an unsmiling Tom

Clancy was replaced by a cardboard tombstone

loaded with Daniel Prinze’s latest novel. As

the cop watched the clerk and Clancy disappear

into a stockroom, he slapped his forehead.

“You want to drink that slower,” Mulder

suggested.

“I got it,” Columbo announced. “I got the how.”

He sobered, respectfully. “You might not like

it though, Agent Mulder. I’m afraid there

wasn’t any doppler-gangers or nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Columbo’s brow furrowed. “First, you got one of

those cell phones on you? Thanks.” Mulder

walked him through the intricacies of dialing

in the new millennium, then listened as he was

bounced between several parties. “Yeah,

Consuela? This is Lt. Columbo — yeah, the

murder guy. Sorry to take you away from your

work. Huh? Yeah, that’s how I feel, too.

Anyway, I just got two questions to ask you.

You got any big horror fans work with you?

Somebody likes scary books, Simon

Khan?…Really, yessss. Well, thanks, Consuela.

You mighta just busted the case wide open.”

**

“Hey,” Vincent Carmody mumbled, stretching and

blinking at the cop and the agent in his

apartment doorway. His carrot-hued hair was in

disarray. “You’re the dude that came out to the

hotel after that writer guy got offed.”

“Yes, sir, that’s right,” Columbo nodded. “And

this is Special Agent Mulder with the FBI. I

hope we didn’t wake you up, Mr. Carmody.”

“Naw, man,” the bellboy yawned. “I was watching

Chainsaw again. Hooper’s no Carpenter, you

know?”

“Mind if we come in, swap notes on Freddy vs.

Jason?” Mulder asked.

Vincent glanced anxiously back into his

darkened apartment. Mulder caught a glimpse of

Leatherface pursuing a distraught adolescent.

“Aw, you know, it’s kinda messed up. I ain’t

much of a housekeeper. That’s why I’m a

bellboy.” He snorted at his wit.

“Oh, come on, Vince,” Mulder urged. “We just

want to come in and see your collection. Or at

least one item. OK?”

“Hey,” Vince protested, blocking the doorway.

“I watch The Practice. You guys can’t just come

in here without a, you know, one of those

search things…”

Columbo smiled. “That’s true, sir. I’ll go

to go downtown and talk to a judge I know, then

come back here with a search warrant.

Meanwhile, Officer Schmidt will keep you

company.”

“Officer Schmidt?” Vince looked past Columbo

and Mulder, to the patrol unit at the curb. A

crewcut halfback leaned against the passenger

door.

“Yeah,” Mulder said. “We wouldn’t want anything

to get ‘lost’ while we’re getting that search

warrant.”

Vince slumped against the doorjamb. “Shit,

man.”

“Yup,” Mulder grinned.

**

Simon Khan stepped off the elevator with a

sense of trepidation. Columbo had been

particularly solicitous when he’d called out to

the house. Did he suspect the truth?

And why was he supposed to meet the cop and his

fed friend in Dan’s room? Simon fingered the

plastic keycard Columbo had left at the desk

for him.

The corridor was empty, and as the author

approached Room 1413, he listened for voices

within. Silence. He slipped the card into the

lock, waited for the green light, and pushed

in.

For a second, Simon’s breath was taken away.

His feet froze to the carpet, and his eyes

locked onto the figure across the room.

Simon Khan stared at Simon Khan for a moment

before his eyes acclimated to the darkness. The

Simon Khan by the balcony curtains was clad in

black and grinning mischievously, as if he were

savoring the horror in his doppelganger’s eyes.

Then Simon’s heart slowed as he understood, and

he laughed, briefly. Then the curtains flew

open, and he blinked.

“And that, Mr. Khan, is how a man can be in two

places at one time,” he heard Columbo announce.

The compact cop came into focus, followed by a

taller silhouette. Mulder.

The good lieutenant walked over, reached behind

the second Simon Kahn, and effortlessly picked

him up. He carried the two-dimensional author

over and placed him before the three-

dimensional one. “You’ve seen one of these

before, haven’t you, sir?”

Simon was silent.

“It’s one of those cardboard standup displays

like they put in the bookstores. I almost

knocked one over yesterday, remember? Tom

Clancy, I think.

Columbo examined the standup. “I think Agent

Mulder here’s actually a little disappointed.

He was hoping there was some kinda supernatural

reason for Mrs. Flossburton and Ms. Vargas

seein’ you here at the hotel when you were

sposed to be at your party. That’s what you

wanted us to think. But it was just a mistake –

a mistake you decided to take advantage of.

“See, Mrs. Flossburton saw you from, geez,

musta been at least two football fields away.

And Ms. Vargas, the maid, she saw this thing in

the dark. Turns out the bellboy – big fan of

yours – had this standup in his van. He bought

it at a comic book store a few days ago.

“But the night Mr. Prinze died, Vincent, the

bellboy, he snuck it in the employee entrance

when he thought nobody would notice. That’s

when Ms. Vargas saw it – while Vince was

checkin’ to see if the coast was clear. Then it

wound up in this room – that’s where Mrs.

Flossburton saw it, thinking it was you.

“You heard on the news what’d happened to your

friend, Mr. Prinze, and when I came to visit

you with that story about Mrs. Flossburton

seeing you up here, you decided to let me

believe you really were here. What harm could

it do? You had a perfect alibi, and since you

didn’t kill Mr. Prinze, you knew I’d never

crack it.”

The detective turned to the author – the real

one. “One thing bothered me. Why would you

try to take the blame for a murder you didn’t

commit? I get murderers, they like to play

games. Sometimes, somebody’ll try to protect

the real killer – a friend, a family member.”

“But I don’t think it was a friend or relative

or lover you were trying to protect,” Mulder

picked up. “When Prinze called you that night,

he was depressed, wasn’t he?”

Khan smiled inscrutably. “You gotta be kidding.

He was riding high.”

“I don’t think so,” Mulder said, calmly. He

pulled a small brown, safety-capped bottle from

his slacks. “I think the true impact of his

newfound fame came home to him. Prinze was a

associate professor, familiar with classic

literature, unsuccessful at his own try at the

Great American Novel. He was good at

literature, but he knew down deep he was a

failure at horror fiction. A popular failure,

but a failure. He called his mentor, you, and I

think you talked him through it.

Then you invited him to your party.”

Khan laughed. “You must have a touch of psychic

ability yourself, Agent.”

“Not really. See, that’s why this standup was

in the room. After talking to you, Prinze came

out of his funk. He ordered a bottle of

champagne, and bragged to the bellboy – Vince –

that he was going to a party thrown by the

great Simon Khan.”

“Great, yeah. I haven’t published in three

years, and I can’t get even any hack producers

interested in doing one of my stories. I’m on

the downhill side in an age when people are

more interested in a good beach read than

serious gothic scares.”

“To Daniel Prinze, you were a master in a genre

where he felt like an imposter. Then the

bellboy comes back, armed with his little

collector’s item here.” Mulder studied the

cardboard figure. “Prinze is already in a

vulnerable state, and Vincent the Sensitive

asks Prinze if he could get the Great Simon

Khan to sign it for him. Prinze says OK.”

“Then why didn’t he show up at the party?” Khan

challenged.

“I think Prinze sat here for a while, staring

at ‘you’ and realizing he’d never be you, no

matter how much fame or money he got,” Columbo

suggested. “Then I think he went out onto the

balcony for some fresh air. And that, Mr. Khan,

is when he jumped.”

Mulder glanced out toward the balcony. “Kurt

Cobain.”

Khan looked up. “What?”

“You weren’t protecting a killer. You were

protecting what you and Prinze had tried so

hard to do with Face Your Fear. What would

happen to your teen anti-suicide campaign if

one of the founders, a celebrity, the height of

his career, was found to have killed himself?

Guys like Kurt Cobain have already glamorized

the idea of suicide. You’d rather have had

people wonder if you were a killer rather than

let Daniel Prinze become some kind of romantic

hero to disaffected kids.”

Khan stared silently at Mulder, then at

Columbo. “You think you can prove this?”

“Vince was at poolside when Prinze jumped,”

Mulder said. “He didn’t want be implicated –

or, I suspect, to have his collector’s item

confiscated as evidence – so he rushed up

before anybody could identify Prinze and

removed the standup of you. He’s confessed to

doing that.”

“But he didn’t see Prinze go off the balcony,”

Khan said evenly. “This still doesn’t prove

Prinze wasn’t murdered.”

“You’re absolutely right, sir,” Columbo agreed,

thoughtfully. “We’re pretty sure Mr. Prinze

jumped off that balcony out there, but the only

solid evidence we have, well, I’m not so sure a

jury would buy it. See, I figured out the how,

but Agent Mulder worked out the why. He’s what

you call a profiler – he gets into a killer’s

head and figures out how he’d think, what he’d

do. But in this case, he got into the victim’s

head. Mr. Prinze’s head.”

“You know what Vista del Sol means, don’t you,

Mr. Khan?” Mulder posed.

“I live in California, Agent,” Khan smiled

sardonically. “View of the Sun, or something

like that, right?”

“Close enough. The hotel’s decorators and

owners have taken the name literally. You’ve

seen the sunburst in the lobby, the staff’s

uniforms, the name of the restaurant – French

for ‘Feast of the Sun.’

“Prinze’s first novel, the one that flopped so

badly. Icarus Ascending. You know who Icarus

was, I assume. The tragic Greek hero who made

wings of feathers and wax and tried to fly to

the sun. Only the sun’s heat melted the wings,

and he fell to his death. Prinze drew on his

knowledge of Greek mythology for his story of a

young man whose dreams exceeded his talents.

“Mr. Khan, Lieutenant, would you two come out

onto the balcony?”

Columbo pushed past the heavy drapes and, after

a moment, Khan moved out into the warm

California night. The sounds of music and

partying wafted up from the hotel pool.

Mulder grasped the railing. “Prinze already had

been fighting feelings of insecurity and

depression. Then Vince showed up and reminded

Prinze that he’d always be a pale reflection of

the Master of Horror, Simon Khan. I think

Prinze came out here to reflect, to be alone

with his dark thoughts, whatever. He comes over

here, looks down and… Well, Mr. Khan, would

you look down at the pool, please?”

Khan moved to the rail and willed himself to

glance down. “What am I suppose to be see-?”

The writer gasped sharply and stepped back.

Columbo placed a hand on his shoulder, and Khan

looked back into the shimmering blue water.

Beneath the surface, vivid tiles of orange and

yellow and red and white were arranged into a

large, seemingly incandescent circle. Tiled

rays emanated from the circle.

“You see, sir,” Columbo said quietly, “When Mr.

Prinze looked down there into that pool, he

musta thought about that character in his first

book, about how his talent would probably never

live up to his dreams…”

Washington, D.C.

15 hours later

“It must have seemed like an omen,” Mulder

suggested, rolling onto his side to face

Scully. He’d seemed subdued when she’d picked

him up at Reagan Airport, so Scully didn’t razz

him about his no-show at the Bureau seminar.

She placed a palm on her partner’s chest, and

pushed her pillow closer to his’. “But what a

horrible, hopeless decision.”

“We all want to imagine ourselves the hero of

our own drama – or, in Prinze’s case, his own

Greek tragedy. When he looked over that balcony

rail and saw what was at the bottom of that

pool, it must have seemed, oh, just right, I

guess. He climbed onto the railing and, just

like Icarus…”

“He flew into the sun.”

end

TITLE: A League of Demon Cats

AUTHOR: Sue Esty/ Windsinger

RATING: PG-13 –for occasional sick humor.

CATEGORY: Casefile

DISCLAIMER: No, Mulder and Scully and Maggie Scully are not mine but to my way of thinking Chris has clearly given up all rights to them.A League of Demon Cats

SUMMARY: Three elderly people have been murdered and the evidence points to the most unlikely person you can imagine.

Grantsville, Maryland

January 22, 2005

Mrs. Helen Landsburg lowered the footrest of her Laz-E-Boy then paused for

strength. Before reaching for her walker she pushed her frail body to the edge

of the chair. This was too hard, she thought as she shuffled towards the kitchen.

She should have petitioned her doctor for a prescription for one of those lift

chairs whose seat raises to push you to your feet. And a trapeze bar above her

bed would be helpful as well like the ones they have above hospital beds. Or a

service dog? A nice, friendly Lab could bring her things she forgot and save her

at least half the trips she made around her house each day. And a dog would be

company. Grace had a service dog, Peetie, the sweetest little Border collie you

ever saw. Helen had Missy but the gray tabby refused to fetch anything that

didn’t resemble a dead mouse. Still she slept on the old woman’s stomach on cold

nights, a warm, welcoming presence. That was worth a lot.

Behind her the television still blared. It was playing the opening theme music

for that soap Helen hated which came on after Jeopardy. Since the remote was ten

feet away now, the damn thing would just have to stay on until she could get

back to it. By then maybe the Meals on Wheels volunteer would get it for her. In

truth the volunteer who brought her lunch and dinner six times a week didn’t

work for Meals on Wheels but another organization even if Helen couldn’t

remember its name.

Helen never made it to the kitchen where she would have waited at the kitchen

table for the volunteer to come to her back door. She felt suddenly a little

dizzy and very weak and the bedroom was closer. She was lying down, useless

Missy mewing at her side for her missed breakfast, when the expected knock

sounded at her back door. “Come in,” she tried to cry though barely a whisper

escaped. As if from far, far away she heard the lock turn and the door open.

* * * * * * * * * * *

January 24, 10am

Georgetown

Washington DC

Scully found her partner and housemate in their back yard putting the little BBQ

grill away in the duplex’s four-by-six garden shed. The red dome was covered

with a double layer of dry-clearer bags. No fancy grill-covers for Mulder.

Scottish frugality and Yankee ingenuity all the way. Timing however…

“You should have done that in November,” she commented with a smile.

He shrugged as he tried to manhandle the grill past the lawn mower that took up

most of the floor space in the tiny shed. “I thought we might get another warm

spell before the holidays.”

“Which one — Thanksgiving or Christmas?” she teased.

He paused in his maneuvering to narrow his eyes at her. “I’ll remember that the

next time you’re in the mood for home-grilled shrimp, not that either of us are

going to get that wish for the next couple of months. They’re finally seeing a

change in the jet stream.” His attention turned to banks of clouds building from

the north then went back to struggling with the shed’s aluminum door. “I forgot

how living in a house with a yard required so much stuff.”

“I told you that we didn’t need a mower. A yard the size of this you can cut

with an electric hedge trimmer.”

“At least I didn’t get the riding mower that I really wanted. By the way, did

you have a nice morning with your Mom?”

For the holidays, Mulder had bought the house a bench made out of recycled

plastic and had set it up under the back yard’s drooping cherry tree in

anticipation of its spring fountains of pink blossoms. Scully collapsed down

onto the bench, which was overhung in January by only bare whips of twigs and a

lifeless sky. She looked suddenly so downcast that Mulder immediately came to

sit by her side. “What’s wrong? Is Maggie still having problems dealing with

Bill’s death?” And Charlie’s coldness he could have added but didn’t. When

Scully didn’t respond immediately he assumed both were a ‘yes’. His complexion

went a little paler than usual even for January. “W-Would it help if we …. if we

discussed the… uh… the ‘M’ word.”

With that Scully threw back her head and laughed even as she patted his clenched

hands. “Don’t get your intestines all tied up in knots. You know that you’re as

much of a son to her now as you will ever be.” In relief his death grip relaxed

and color returned to his face. “You just don’t have to be so relieved about

it,” she chided. “No, what’s wrong with Mom is not depression. She’s more….

manic.”

“Being manic is the flip side of depression,” he said. “It’s just another way of

grieving. Keeping busy helps.”

“I know,” Scully agreed reluctantly, “but this is just not Mom. It’s as if she’s

flying from one thing to the other. Some of it’s understandable — like her work

at the hospital which she’s very committed to — but she’s joined a community

chorus and a committee for the county fair. She volunteers at the library and

there’s the neighborhood watch she’s organized. Her schedule would exhaust

anyone!”

Mulder eyed his partner with concern. There was more. “What aren’t you telling

me?”

She sighed. “As I said, she’s just not Mom. She’s always been so neat, so

careful of her appearance. Now it’s as if she doesn’t care. She hasn’t seen her

hairdresser in months, she’s pulled out clothes from seasons and seasons ago and

wears them, and not just around the house. She goes out like that. Don’t get me

wrong, I’m not into that entire status thing, but I do believe that for most

people neatness mirrors emotional well being. She’s also forgetting things, like

our shopping date today. I found her wandering around the neighborhood.”

“Was she lost?”

Scully shrugged. “She says, no. She says that she was just getting exercise

though how anyone as busy as her needs more exercise, I don’t know.”

“And her forgetting her favorite daughter was coming?” he asked. Only belatedly

did he remember that Dana had been Maggie Scully’s only daughter for some years.

“We’ll invite her to dinner,” he offered, “though I don’t know why. She cooks

better than either of us.”

“It might be tough finding a night she’s free.”

They didn’t have time to discuss the topic further. At that moment, Mulder’s

cell phone began playing the Close Encounters theme that he had downloaded off

the Internet. He answered and listed before replacing the instrument into his

pocket.

“That was Moratti in VCS. They have a consult for us. Yes, I know that we had

the morning off but we’ve been specifically requested. Murder of an elderly

woman. Grantsville, Maryland.”

Abruptly, Scully’s back straightened. “That’s a suburb of Baltimore and not very

far from where Mom lives.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Mulder’s thumb and first finger rose up under his reading glasses in an attempt

to pinch away the headache rising behind his eyes. “You called us in about

demonic cats?” he repeated for the fourth time in the past two minutes. “Demonic

‘cats’?”

Lyndon Freize was an young, over-eager agent, five-foot-ten, slender and blond,

who had been so enamored by Mulder’s lecture series at Quantico on profiling and

out-of-the-ordinary cases that he had earned a near perfect score and then

audited the classes twice more. He had also applied for assignment to the X-

Files a least half a dozen times until Scully took him gently aside to assure

him that, in the opinion of the bean counters, there was barely enough work to

keep she and Mulder occupied. If there were ever an opening, however, Lyndon

would be the first one they would call.

“Lyndon,” Mulder repeated slowly, knowing the man preferred the use of his first

name since ‘Frieze’, shouted in the midst of a critical law enforcement action

could lead to unnecessary and potentially fatal confusion, “say again why you

believe demon cats are at the heart of these murders?”

The slender young man nearly danced around Helen Landsburg’s genteelly shabby

living room as he performed for his idol. “All three victims — one over the

line in D.C. and two in Maryland — were suffocated. All owned cats, who from

the amount of cat hair in the bed clothes, slept with them regularly. Upon

autopsy, cat hair and dander was found in the nasal passages and deep in the

lungs of the Uba and Pulaski. This third appears to be nearly identical though

they’ve barely started the autopsy. ‘Two may be a coincidence, but three? ‘Watch

your ass.’” Lyndon quoted and beamed, Mulder groaned inwardly. The quote was

from Mulder’s summation statement from lecture number three.

Scully was scanning the two earlier case files. “There is a surprising degree of

similarity. All elderly and in poor shape physically. One man, Ivan Pulaski. Two

women, Angela Uba and Helen Landsburg. All lived alone except for a cat. All

were suffocated.” Suddenly, like a hound on a scent, she was off, heading for

the kitchen. Mulder followed, Lyndon sliding in his wake. Mulder watched as she

leaned down to read a single sheet of paper on the otherwise empty kitchen table.

With a latex-gloved hand she swung open the hinged door on the trash receptacle

and opened the refrigerator. There she stood, back straight. Too straight,

Mulder noted. Then she went to the sink next to which sat a small forest of

prescriptions. After searching for only a few seconds she held up two bottles.

“Different religions, different neigh-borhoods and economic classes, but all had

a least some of their prescriptions filled at Baltimore-Washington Hospital.”

Mulder’s right eyebrow raised. “We’ll start there then, Scully, after we wrap up

here.”

Lyndon looked up, pert as a terrier. “Where do you suggest I start, Agent

Mulder?”

Mulder considered for a moment and for once did not say the first words that

came into his head. Instead he gestured as a sleek, gray and white shape crept

in through the cat door, glanced quickly and with disappointment at the empty

food dish, then vanished into the living room. “After we talk to your evidence

people, why don’t you round up our chief suspect there, and keep him, or her,

close confined for the next few days. With a name like Missy I guess it’s a her.

See if she exhibits any unusual behavior. Also, see if all three victims

frequented the same veterinarian.” Lyndon nodded with the same eagerness and

started off, crouching low. “And Lyndon,” Mulder added tongue so firmly in his

cheek that he was in danger of choking himself, “perhaps it would be best to

lock the cat out of your room at night.”

As they left Helen’s modest sixties-era ranch house, Scully headed for the

driver’s side of their Bureau car. All too familiar with that determined posture.

Mulder settled without a word into the passenger’s seat. She drove unerringly

and in silence for fifteen minutes, sliding at last onto the Baltimore-

Washington Parkway. The Parkway was like the cherry tree in Mulder’s back yard,

gray and barren, but in his mind he could see all the seasons interposed one

upon the other; the new green of spring, the jungle lushness of summer and the

golden splendor of fall. Variable yet never changing like partner’s moods. They

continued in silence. Scully turned off a few exits later at a sign for the

Baltimore-Washington Hospital. The set of her chin mirrored the steel in her

spine.

“You knew your way here without even glancing at a map,” he commented carefully,

“yet I don’t remember bleeding on the floor of their E.R. anytime in the past.

This must be the only hospital in the Washington area that can boast that

distinction.”

The expression on her face finally softened. “Not for lack of trying. This is a

small, private hospital. It specializes in geriatrics.”

Mulder’s eyebrow twitched. “That would explain why I haven’t checked in there

lately. So why did you know your way here so well? Geriatrics isn’t one of your

specialties. Is this related in any way to what you saw in Mrs. Landsburg’s

refrigerator?”

The tenseness was back. “On the table was a monthly receipt from Lots in the Pot,

a meal delivery service for the at-home infirmed. There’s a sliding scale for

payment depending upon need. The clients are usually elderly, but don’t have to

be. It’s like Meals on Wheels only in addition to a prepared lunch they also

deliver upon request a ready to heat dinner and other small necessities like

toothpaste and shampoo and staples like milk and cereal.”

“You recognized the carry out containers in the trash.”

She nodded, suddenly grim again. “There was also an unopened delivery in the

refrigerator. I know it was unopened because each client’s delivery is packaged

in a medium-size, brown grocery bag which is stapled closed at the top with a

list of the contents and the date and initials of the volunteer who made the

delivery. Deliveries are made between 10am and 2pm. This delivery was made the

day Mrs. Landsburg was murdered.”

“So about the time of her death according to the coroner.” Suddenly uneasy, he

added gently, “We’ll need to question whoever made that delivery.”

They had reached the visitor’s packing lot. Scully pulled into a space and

turned off the ignition but her eyes remained focused forward. “You know that

Mom volunteers at a hospital. Well, this is the one. Lots in the Pot works out

of here as well as other places. They have a contract with the kitchen to

prepare the food. She often drives for them. Those were my Mom’s initials on the

receipt in the refrigerator. I’d know them anywhere.”

Their first stop was to the pharmacy where they were the youngest people in the

room, both in front of and behind the counter, by at least three decades. They

requested and received all of the information the pharmacy database had on the

three victims which included drug history, doctors, and diagnoses. There was

nothing unusual in this information, Scully reported after a quick read. Just

the various ailments of old age – arthritis, diabetes, heart disease. They also

had different primary physicians. A trip to the hospital’s blue and beige

business office provided them with personal information that matched that in the

case files. All lived alone with no family close by. The second, Ivan Pulaski,

was relatively well off while the first, Angela Uba, seemed barely able to make

it month to month. Helen Landsburg’s finances seemed to fall somewhere in the

middle.

They retreated to the hospital’s coffee shop to review the new information.

Large picture windows looked out upon barren trees and gray sky which shortened

the already short day and did nothing to raise their spirits. As they finished

their coffee, Mulder’s cell phone chirped up with its Close Encounters Theme.

“Forensics,” he informed his partner, seeing the number, and took the call. He

asked a few questions and hung up less than a minute later. “That was easy.”

”Because it was just like the other ones?”

“Actually, they don’t have results on Landsburg yet. I asked some question on

the other two. In both cases suffocation was with something soft — but not a

cat — though they did indeed find cat hairs in the mouth and windpipe of both

victims. I did, however, see a several soft pillows listed as having been

removed from both Angela Uba’s bedroom and Ivan Pulaski’s bedroom. I asked the

lab to check for saliva on the pillow and the approximate number of cat hairs.

Other than the pillows they slept on, the pillows with the most cat hairs from

each bedroom also showed traces of the victim’s saliva.” As she stared, he added,

“I’m talking about cat pillows, you know. The beasts usually have only a few

preferred sleeping places. They’re very territorial. A neighbor in Chilmark had

three. I fed them when he was out of town.”

She found herself smiling for the first time in hours. “I know what a cat pillow

is. I wasn’t sure you did. So you really don’t buy into Lyndon’s demon cat

theory after all?”

He returned her smile. “I won’t say that I didn’t give it a passing thought.

After all there’s also that old wives’ tale which blames SIDS deaths on cats

smothering babies while they sleep. Old wives are not old wives for nothing, but

I’d still say that there are no demon cats today.”

“Your fan club will be disappointed,” Scully remarked as Mulder put in a call.

Within moments he had switched the speaker on and placed the cell phone on the

table between them. It sounded as if a half-dozen dogs were barking in the

background.

“Lyndon, any luck checking out vets?”

“REPEAT THAT?” asked the young agent in a raised voice.

“Any LUCK!” Mulder shouted back.

“NOT MUCH… “ The rest was lost.

“Check to see if Helen Landsburg kept a cat pillow in her bedroom. A CAT

PILLOW!”

“CAT PILLOW! Riiiight….”

The rest was grateful silence. Mulder folded up the phone. “That’s all.”

“I’d say that was enough,” Scully retorted.

Reluctantly, Scully led her partner down to the hospital’s ground floor. Here

the decoration was more utilitarian overall and the halls were narrower. The

overall impression was of coats and coats of blinding white paint. They were

very close to the hospital’s kitchens which was obvious not only from the warm

aroma of cooking from but from the hollow clatter of trays and cutlery, the

bell-like ring of huge pans, and the hiss of steam. Scully walked directly past

all this to a door marked: “Lots for the Pot. Welcome.”

She had been here before with her mom, Mulder surmised, feeling awkward. The

room was small and simply but neatly furnished with a couple of comfortable

chairs, a sofa, and end tables. On the end tables were lamps and little racks of

brochures. They had been in the room less than a minute before a small woman in

her mid-seventies wearing a print dress, low heels, and a single strand of

pearls greeted them.

“Dana,” she exclaimed with a smile, “so good to see you again. When I heard the

bell I thought it was someone coming in to inquire about the service for a

relative.”

Scully extended a hand and proceeded to tell ‘Delilah’ how good it was to see

her again as well.

“Are you here to see your mother? I can check her route for today,” Delilah

offered.

“Unfortunately, I’m here in my professional capacity today.” Noting how directly

the older woman was eyeing Mulder, Scully added. “This is my partner,” she

introduced as the partners both automatically pulled out their ID.

“Yes, Fox Mulder,” Delilah said smiling up at him as they shook hands, “Maggie

has mentioned you often.”

“Positively, I hope,” he replied radiating charm in the way only Mulder could.

Delilah hesitated a moment before answering. “We certainly have found the

stories of your exploits fascinating. But she never mentioned how… tall… you

were.”

Scully was willing to bet that ‘Good-looking’ was what the woman was actually

thinking, or ‘scrumptious’. Scully was proud of her handsome lover and gave

points to her mother for downplaying that aspect otherwise her mother’s friends

would all be planning her wedding.

Briefly, Scully summarized the reason for their visit. Delilah was shocked at

the news of the tragic deaths for, as Scully feared, all three were clients of

‘LIP’ as Delilah called it.

“We need to know the delivery dates in December and January and the IDs of the

drivers for Pulaski and Uba,” Mulder said.

“Let me go get the schedule for those weeks,” Delilah answered and hurried off

so quickly that she almost ran into a gangly, middle-aged security guard with

bold, arresting features. “Oh, Rubin, you’re still here? Do you have a minute to

help me pull down a box from the file room?”

As Delilah and the guard hurried away on their errand, Mulder murmured, “So our

exploits are fascinating?”

“I only discuss the most mundane of our cases with Mom,” Scully protested.

“She probably guesses that and makes up others to fill in the gaps.”

“Couldn’t be stranger than the truth,” Scully grumbled remembering ‘Flukeman’

and the carnival murders of many years past and others as bizarre since.

Delilah returned, her head buried in charts, her heels tapping brightly on the

linoleum. “Deliveries around December 17th for Mrs. Uba, January the 6th for Mr.

Pulaski, and the 13th for Mrs. Landsburg? All Thursdays,” the woman noted as her

eyes scanned down the columns. Mulder felt Scully’s eyes on him. Rattled over

Maggie Scully’s possible involvement, the pattern hadn’t occurred to either of

them. Delilah had a perplexed expression on her face when she next looked up.

“Dana, your mother was the assigned driver for each one of those clients and

there was a delivery on each of those days.”

To Mulder’s eyes his partner was visibly shaken but not so much that anyone but

he would notice. “And who was the driver for the next day’s delivery?” What

Mulder was asking was who should have found the bodies. None of the three were

found for at least forty-eight hours and always through a phone call to police

or a neighbor from a concerned and far-away relative.

Delilah’s brow furrowed as she referred to the sheets again. “There were no

other deliveries. Each contract was cancelled on the dates you stated.” The

woman looked pale. “I guess that that would have been the same day each died.”

A chilly breeze suddenly flowed through the room though no one had opened a door.

“Who cancelled?” Mulder asked, as Scully clearly couldn’t.

“Maggie,” Delilah reported and didn’t need to consult her spreadsheet this time.

Mulder led his partner from the hospital a few minutes later. She walked through

a light flurry of snow flakes in a kind of daze.

“We need to call Skinner,” Mulder said. “He likes your mom. He’ll want to be in

on this from the beginning.”

Scully’s step became more firm in the cool air. “Not yet. At least not till we

know more. Besides, odd behavior or not, she didn’t do it.”

“Of course she didn’t,” he assured her and meant it.

“But it looks bad,” Scully said. “How could she know to cancel the deliveries if

the bodies hadn’t even been found yet?”

“That’s what we’re going to have to ask her,” he said opening the car door.

“It’s only a coincidence, I’m sure.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in coincidences,” Scully accused.

He frowned. “There’s always a first time.”

Act II

January 24, 4pm

Mulder drove this time. He needed no help finding Scully’s childhood home, a

rambling white colonial sitting slightly below street level half way down a

gentle slope that ended at a little stream and a line of willowy trees. They

were relieved to find her car in the driveway, but alarmed to discover the door

unlocked and Maggie Scully nowhere to be found. Scully was clearly frantic but

struggled to hide it. Mulder climbed back into the car and they slowly drove the

neighboring streets. All the stately homes were at least forty years old, and

unlike the mega-cookie-cutter mansions of today had been built to house large

families in comfort, not opulence. Some were brick, some stone, some frame. Some

had wrap-around porches, some bay windows. Some had turrets, others were topped

with widow’s walks or gingerbreak. There were wrought-iron fences, stone walls,

brick walls and hedges. The streets were all lined with sidewalks and everywhere

there were trees. Mulder finally saw a small figure trudging along in the

distance, though with its overlarge coat, unfashionable goulashes, and slouch

hat pulled low he didn’t think it could possibly be Maggie. But it was. Scully

instantly recognized the outfit as one that many a bag lady would have disdained.

Maggie smile broadly as her daughter leaped out of the car before Mulder had

even brought it to a stop.

“Mom, what are you doing!” Scully exclaimed.

“Getting exercise,” and in truth Maggie’s cheeks were glowing from the cold.

“It’s nearly dark.”

“So it is. I love the glow of lights behind the windows of the houses,

especially in the winter. I think about everyone safe and warm inside. And talk

about warm…” Her walk had been brisk and she pulled off the shapeless mass of

the hat and briefly wiped at her perspiring forehead. “What’s wrong?” she asked

seeing her daughter’s grim expression. “I know that look. I first saw it when

you were eight. You disapprove of something. Don’t you like my hat?”

“I looks like it got run over by a truck.”

“So it does, but it does the job. Besides, I made this one myself.”

“But you don’t knit.”

Looking fondly at the misshapen object, Maggie sighed, “Some people will say I

still don’t.” She cast another look at her daughter. “You disapprove of more

than my hat.”

Scully squirmed. “Mom, it’s just that that outfit makes you look… sort of old.”

A button clearly having been pushed, Maggie flared, trounced a few steps over to

a bus shelter, and dropped herself firmly onto the bench. “In case you haven’t

noticed, I am old, or getting old. One day you’ll realize what it’s like. And

I’m not talking about the aches and pains part — that’s bad enough — but the

narrowing of your options, the limitations on being able to do everything you

still want to do in your life –“

“Mom, stop,” Scully said so sharply that Maggie did stop. “And don’t say such

things to anyone again.” Looking from one grim, young face to another Maggie saw

that there was more going on here than her attire. “Why? What did I say?”

“Because a D.A. could read a motive in there.”

“What? Fox…” Not getting sense from her distraught daughter Maggie turned to her

‘adopted’ son.

As quickly and simply as possible, Mulder told her about the three deaths. There

was no doubt that she was surprised and saddened.

“I knew that they were no longer clients of ours, but not why. Did you know they

were on my delivery route? Yes, you must have known or you wouldn’t have brought

it up.”

“Mom,” Scully explained in control again, “they aren’t just dead. They were

murdered and you were the last person that we know of to have seen them all

alive.”

Maggie’s eyes widened with a dawning expression of horror and sadness. “You

can’t possibly think that I –“

“No, of course not!” Scully exclaimed. “But a D.A. might see that a woman

undergoing a mid-life crisis, who complains about the ‘limitations’ of her life

–“

“Semi-end-of-her-life crisis,” Maggie corrected. “So how did you become

involved?”

Helplessly, Scully shrugged. “It’s not really our jurisdiction. They called the

FBI in because the crimes are similar enough that they might be the work of a

serial killer as well as the fact that the murders cross state lines.” Her eyes

went to her partner almost accusingly, “Then one of our bright young agents

called Mulder in because of some unusual ‘features’ of the case –”

“What features?” Maggie demanded.

“Cats,” Mulder answered with a kind of apologetic cough.

“Excuse me?” Maggie asked, not sure that she had heard correctly.

“Cats,” Mulder coughed again. “All three kept a cat.”

“That’s right. One of the reasons they were assigned as my clients was because

I’m not only _ not _ allergic to cats, but I like them. But I can’t see how

that has anything to do with the murder of those poor people.”

“Neither do I,” Scully murmured nearly, but not entirely inaudibly.

Mulder sighed. “Just tell us what you know about the last time that you saw each

of these people alive.”

Maggie looked hurt. “Do you really think I’m a suspect, Fox?”

Helplessly, Mulder waved a hand. “Just think of it as helping us to determine

time-of-death.”

Thought not altogether satisfied, Maggie gave it some thought. “I’d have to look

at my log to give you exact dates and times. I didn’t talk to Helen that day. I

came to the back door as usual and knocked, but she didn’t answer so let myself

in. I have a key. As important as bringing food, we check on the well-being of

our clients — mental and physical. Helen was lying on her bed asleep but

breathing easily so I didn’t wake her. The last time I saw Angela, she and I

chatted about her new great-grandchild and Ivan complained about his arthritis.

I changed a light bulb in a ceiling fixture for him.”

Without a glance in Scully’s direction, Mulder went on to ask, “What can you

tell us about their cats?”

Eyes round, Maggie proceeded to clasp her hands in her lap while making a

visible effort to comply. “Angela’s was a great big tom. Mycroft, a yellow tabby.

Followed her like a dog. Ivan’s was this white ball of fur, which he brushed

religiously twice a day. Its hair was still everywhere. I tried not to wear

black when I visited Ivan. It had a longer name but he called her Snowball.

Helen’s was a gray and white female. Missy, I think. I didn’t see her or

Snowball much. They didn’t like strangers but Mycroft would sit in your lap,

anyone’s lap. Does that help?”

Mulder sighed again. “I have no idea. Would you like a ride home? It’s cold.”

“Not when you’re walking it isn’t, which I’m not any more, but my neighborhood

watch meeting is just two houses up the street.” She glared at them pointedly,

“And no one there accuses me of murder or criticizes my hat,” and Maggie

proceeded to dump the lopsided tangle of wool on her head as she rose to do just

that.

“Mom,” Scully called after her, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t handle that very

well.”

Maggie paused, smiling softly. “No, you didn’t, but you’re forgiven.” A few

steps further and she took a moment to look back at the two of them. Dana wore a

bereft expression like the one last seen on the ten-year-old Dana when the

family dog died; her ‘son’ stood with shoulders hunched, hands deep in the

pockets of his long coat.

“Don’t you wait too much longer, you two. Life is shorter than you think.”

Jan 24, 6pm

Having no heart for food or even for a night on the couch before a movie, they

headed for the scene of the first murder, Angela Uba. She had lived in a tiny

duplex in the D.C. side of Takoma Park. It was an isolated place near a railroad

track and just as dreary inside as out. Clearly the person who had lived there

had been chronically ill for too long to do much more than the most rudimentary

house-keeping. The detective who let them in was well versed enough in the case

to answer most of their questions.

“And where is the cat now?” Mulder asked. “Mycroft, was it?”

“Animal shelter,” the detective answered. “Almost jumped into the cat carrier it

was so lonely. Has the run of the place now, I hear.”

Wearily they turned to Ivan Pulaski’s neat, gothic revival. It sat with its back

against a dark, looming parkland. Its red-shingled roof was almost lost in the

branches of the trees and three-quarters of its brickwork had been invaded by

English ivy. A single turret stood gracefully beside the front door, it’s cone-

shaped roof reaching to the second floor. Despite the presence of its feline

familiar, here was the romantic beauty of Tolkien’s English heritage and not the

lair of any witch or warlock. They found no garden troll on the doorstep,

however, only a tired-looking Lyndon Frieze.

“Heard you were coming,” he explained as he used a key to open the front door.

“You look as if you had as successful of a day as we did,” Mulder muttered as

the young agent used a latex-gloved hand to reach for a light switch.

“From the expressions on your faces, better than the two of you,” was Lyndon’s

reply as a foyer with high walnut wainscoting sprang into view. The rooms

opening on either side, small formal living and dining rooms, matched with their

dark wainscoting and pale stucco above. They were furnished in a graceful and

classic style, all dark wood and cream upholstery with here and there a splash

of color.

‘Nice place,’ was Scully’s thought. ‘Not expensive but elegant, if a little dark.

Mulder would love living here.’ When she saw the small study, its walls floor to

ceiling with books, she was sure of it.

Lyndon led them up a stairway, each tred so deeply carpeted that their steps

made no sound. Half way up the steps turned within the turret they had seen from

the outside. A window seat was constructed under each of the two oversized

arrow-slit windows. Between them on the wall, in what was clearly a place of

honor, hung an icon of Michael the Archangel. Its gold leaf and tiny pinpoints

of jewel colors reflected the yellowish light of a brass and glass fixture that

hung from a chain from the point of the turret roof above.

They had just reached the second floor and Lyndon was searching the shadowy wall

for the hallway light switch when a ghostly form, low to the ground, darted

across their path. Startled, Scully jumped and stopped still and was promptly

run into from behind by Mulder. Only by grabbing for the head of the handrail

did he stop himself from pitching down the stairs.

“What the…!” Mulder exclaimed even as he felt his partner’s touch on his arm,

steadying him.

“I think we found our demon cat,” she said, “at least temporarily.” Like some

will-o-the-wisp, the gray streak was gone.

The bedroom, the murder site, was all hunter green and beige beneath the

comfortable day-to-day clutter of a single man who had not had time to put his

affairs in order. Lyndon began to speak but a gesture from Scully stopped him.

Mulder was silently ‘feeling’ up the room, not only with his eyes, but with his

whole body, long hands raised like medium. A few minutes later at a nod from

Mulder they left for what from the thin layer a dust was an infrequently used

guestroom. In addition to a bed and small bureau there were two comfortable

chairs with a lamp table between them. Mulder dropped into one of the chairs,

long legs sprawled and gestured to the young agent. “Sit. Tell us what you

have.”

Perching on the corner of a cream chenille bedspread, Lyndon pulled out a small

dog-eared notebook, which in truth was a dog-chewed notebook. “I’m not sure what

it means. All three victims did take their cats to the same veterinary office,”

Mulder sat up a little straighter, “but to different vets in the practice. No

other similarities. I did find this, though,” he extended a scrap of paper,

“with the records for Maxilla’s Mischance Pulaski, AKA ‘Snowball Pulaski’.”

Scully took the paper, which seemed to be cut from a glossy magazine, and asked

as she read, “With a formal name like that, Snowball, was — is — purebred?”

Mulder’s eyes flickered with interest.

“A pure white Turkish Van,” Lyndon replied. “One blue eye, one amber eye.

Relatively rare markings for the breed and show quality but no champion.”

Scully continued to read. All at once she sat up still staring at the paper. “I

need to see Maxilla’s vet.”

Being nearly eight p.m. Mulder, Scully and Lyndon agreed to meet the slight,

fair-haired veterinarian at a neighborhood bar.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Tami Nash explained in a slight southern drawl, “I enjoy

talking genetics, but after a whole day of dealing with socially maladjusted

canines, I just have to get out.”

“We understand,” Scully said. “What we need is simple, I hope.” She handed over

the clipping which Lyndon had given her. “This came from Snowball Pulaski’s file.

This is from a top cat breeder’s digest and describes Pontifar, a rare lavender-

eyed, ring-tailed, Turkish Van. He is unique in my understanding in that he did

not trigger the typical reaction with any of a hundred individuals reported as

being medium to heavily allergic to cats.”

The woman looked with soulful eyes at the picture in the clipping. “Yes, I

remember this. Tragically, he escaped from his handler, lost his head in traffic

and was killed.”

“So an absolutely unique gene was lost. If the trait bred true, kittens of his

would have been worth thousands, not to mention the prestige to the breeder.”

“At least,” Nash agreed, “because Turkish Vans are luxurious animals. Almost any

cat owner would prefer them over your hairless breeds which many cat lovers with

mild allergies keep at pets. Interestingly, it’s not the hair but cat dander and

their saliva that people are allergic to. Light-colored, long haired breeds have

even been found to be less allergenic so it’s not totally surprising to see this

rare trait coming up in something like the Turkish Van. The Turkish Vans, in

case you don’t know, is a type of medium-haired magpie. That is a bi-color. One

of the most common coat patterns is generally referred to as a ‘tuxedo’. Turkish

Van’s, however, are largely white. Any contrasting color, if found, is primarily

on the head and tail. Very striking.”

“And the article states that Maxilla’s Mischance, Ivan Pulaski’s Snowball, was

Pontifar’s mother,” Scully said. “So the genes aren’t entirely lost. Did Mr.

Pulaski consider breeding her?”

“We had many conversations after Pontifar’s uniqueness was discovered.” Nash

took a sip from her beer. “He was even in contact with the owner of Pontifar’s

sire only he was worried about the dangers of pregnancy. He loved that animal.

You’ve seen her I take it?”

“Actually, she’s been making herself scarce,” Lyndon reported, “though she’s

somewhere in the house. Food laid out for her disappears.”

“She must be frantic. Anyway, Mr. Pulaski ordered a complete work-up on Snowball

before he would consider breeding her. I take it that he was a rather solitary

individual who seldom left his house after his wife died. Snowball was all he

had. In the end, he decided that the dangers were too great. She had her first

and only other pregnancy when she was too young and things went wrong. This was

before Mr. Pulaski acquired her. I agreed with his decision not to breed her

again. Could be fatal.”

“But maybe not.”

“Maybe not, but Mr. Pulaski needed her companionship more than he needed the

money. He was also offered quite a high sum to purchase her outright.”

Mulder perked up. “Do you know by whom?”

Nash shook her head and took a longer swallow of her beer. “No, though he

complained to me once about being harassed.” Mulder and Scully exchanged glances.

When they turned back the vet’s expression had changed to one of mild surprise.

She began to rise from the table. “Excuse me a moment, but I think I see someone

I know. I’ll be right back.”

They paid little attention as Nash greeted a nondescript sort of man sitting

alone with his back to them two tables from theirs. “If Pulaski refused to breed

or sell and never left his home, making theft difficult, then we may have found

our motive,” Scully suggested.

“And the other two murders were just ‘copycats’?” Mulder asked.

Scully groaned though from Mulder’s grim expression she knew that he found no

humor in the thought of two elderly people being killed merely to serve as a

smokescreen for a single intended victim. “The tragedy is that even if our perp

has the dame and the original sire, it may still take dozens of pairing to

reproduce a Pontifar.”

“Not fifty or twenty-five percent?” Lyndon asked.

“This is not simple high school wrinkled pea, smooth pea genetics here,” Scully

explained. “It’s a mixture of genes, more like looking for one wrinkled, yellow,

spotted pea among thousands of smooth, green peas. Maybe five percent; maybe one

percent. I’m not current with advances in veterinary science, but if the

technology were available and I were an unscrupulous professional breeder and I

had a female with Snowball’s history, I’d put her on huge doses of fertility

hormones to ripen the eggs. I’d then harvest them and fertilize them in the lab

with the right sperm. The fertilized eggs could then be implanted in multiple

surrogate females. In that way it would be possible, if expensive, to create

hundreds of offspring, vastly improving the chances of creating another

Pontifar.”

“I’d hate to see that tom’s child support payments,” Mulder murmured.

Scully allowed herself a thin smile. “In any case, the chances would be far

better than keeping poor Snowball constantly pregnant for the rest of her nine

lives if much more technically complicated. But then if this extreme

hypoallergenicity were due to a single spontaneous mutation, then they may never

be able to reproduce it.” Scully had been scanning the vet’s records as she

talked. Now she pointed to a later entry in Snowball’s history. “Look, here. The

harassment must have picked up. Six months later he and Dr. Nash actually

discussed hysterectomy for Snowball which would remove the ovaries as well, but

not to harvest the eggs, only to make her worthless in the eyes of certain

people. They went back and forth on that for months. The last note here

indicates that he was coming around to that decision.”

“Panic time for our mysterious breeder,” Mulder noted.

Lyndon raised an eyebrow. “You’re right about the panic. There’s a police report

of a break a month before the murder but only a watch and a pair of gold cuff

links were taken.”

“But not Snowball because, being skittish around strangers, she was obviously no

where to be found,” Scully said approvingly.

“After that Pulaski got a security system,” Lyndon read.

“So our perp needed another way into the house,” Mulder said.

“The Lots in a Pot drivers!” Lyndon exclaimed so loudly that the partners

gestured in unison for him to keep his voice low. “You suspected from the

start!” He said excitedly to Scully. “That’s why you were looking so closely at

the delivery containers. The LIP volunteers have got to be involved in some way

with the murders.”

Mulder coughed discretely. Scully flushed but only so much, as Mulder would

notice. “True, we have been looking into that,” she told the young agent. “LIP

is probably the source but we don’t believe that the driver is involved, at

least not criminally so. We think they are being used. LIP volunteers always

have the means to let themselves in since that’s part of their function — to

check on their clients who usually live alone and who might be sick or hurt and

unable to get to the door.”

“Think of it this way,” Mulder went on, describing the scene. “The LIP volunteer

inactivates the alarm if there is one, unlocks the door, announces herself and

goes in. While the driver goes to check on their client, the door is unlocked,

maybe even left open, and our perp can just walk in and hide until the volunteer

leaves.”

“You referred to this fictitious volunteer as ‘she’,” Lyndon said. “Do you have

one particular driver in mind?”

“Most LIP volunteers are female,” Mulder answered a bit too quickly, so much so

that Lyndon raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Besides, I think that we are looking

for two people. One who saw the article about Pontifar in Snowball’s records and

one who has access to LIP’s schedules and the other elderly people on that

volunteer’s route.”

“But why target other cat owners?” Lyndon asked. “Wouldn’t non-cat-owners make

for a better smokescreen?”

A little desperately, Mulder sought Scully’s eye. Lyndon’s point was far too

sharp. Luckily, Scully was already adding “Thursdays…” in an attempt to

complicate matters. “All the deaths occurred on a Thursday so wherever he works

now, our perp seems to have Thursdays off.”

But the young agent’s expression showed that he had already become distracted in

another direction. He was staring up to where Nash was still talking to the man

whom she obviously knew. Lyndon was soon furtively skimming through the dog-

chewed notebook. “I know that man,” he reported to the partners in a fast, low

voice, “the one Nash is speaking to. He’s a veterinary assistant in Nash’s

practice. He retrieved Snowball’s records for me. Took his time doing it, too. I

took down his name from his ID badge. DuPres. Jonathan DuPres.”

Scully raised both eyebrows at Mulder. “Coincidence again?”

“Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…. I think we’d like for you to look

into the background of Mr. DuPres, Lyndon, since you’re practically old friends

already. For example, does he have Thursdays off? Also, see if you can find out

if he has any connection with anyone at LIP. Also, who currently owns Pontifar’s

sire or do they have such things as feline sperm bank and is he a donor. We’ll

take care of the LIP contact.”

Once alone in their own car again Scully asked, “Why _ would _ the perp target

only cat owners? As Lyndon says, damn him, it doesn’t make sense.”

Mulder started the engine. “The fact that that all have cats may be due, like

your Mom said, to her having so many cat owners as clients since she’s not

allergic and actually likes the beasts. She was probably singled out at LIP to

‘take the fall’ only because she had Pulaski on her route but we have to prove

this before Lyndon’s superiors start getting itchy for a progress report.”

Act III

Jan. 26, 11:30am

Just before noon on a sunny, winter day, a white medical assistance van pulled

up in front of Ivan Pulaski’s brick and ivy home. A petite brunette in dark-

rimmed glasses and a practical but shapeless coat got out from behind the

driver’s seat and went around to the sliding van door to assist a thin, elderly

man in exiting the van. As she handed the frail old man his walker, he grumbled

and began to swear loudly in a thick Eastern European accent. Crotchety with

impatience, he began shuffling along towards the house moaning over how Ivan had

died leaving his whole house for his poor cousin Boris to have to clean out and

how he wasn’t a young man any more.

Grasping a portable oxygen tank in one hand and a suitcase in the other, his

‘nurse’ hurried to catch up. A brand new cat carrier sat in full view on the top

of the pile of luggage visible through the van’s open rear door. Over his loud

protests the small woman took the old man’s arm to assist him painfully up the

four steps and onto the front porch.

“Pull back on the awful accent,” Scully warned in a whisper close to the well-

known ear, “or he won’t be able to understand a word you’re saying.”

In answer the old man harrumphed loudly and fumbled for a full five minutes with

a ring of keys before he hobbled inside.

Once away from any windows the old man straightened up but not without clutching

his lower back. “Being old is going to kill me,” Mulder grumbled in his own

voice.

Scully scratched at the edge of her dark wig. “And here I thought Halloween was

in October.”

“You make a fetching brunette,” he leered, swooping down to nibble an ear, but

she only swatted his attentions away.

“And you’re a dirty, old man.”

“Someday. Now I’m only a dirty, not-quite-so-young man.”

“I’d better go bring in the rest of the luggage,” she announced and turned on

her heel and marched outside. Three trips later and it was all piled in the

small living room where in full view of the room’s largest window Mulder sat

sprawled with his legs far apart and his arms on the armrests of a deeply

upholstered chair, his walker by his side. “You don’t like my plan,” he sulked.

Forcing herself not to overtly snarl at him, Scully did allow herself a frown.

“I never have. You have your basketball buddies over in drug surveillance make

you up like some sort of Methuselah. Then you show up here trying to lure our

perp out of hiding by making him think that Ivan’s cousin has come to clear out

the house, including the cat. This assumes that he’s watching the house.”

“I assume he is, if only with a hidden video camera. ‘Boris’ even showed up at

LIP early this morning to loudly sign up for meal delivery starting tomorrow. He

was clear that he would only be in town a few days.”

“And Maggie is not scheduled to drive,” Scully said. “I made sure of that. If

Mom has been picked to be the scapegoat in this mess they’ll have to find a way

to change the schedule. It’s just the ‘they’ we need to find.”

“Remember that she can’t know about the masquerade,” he went on. “We know she’s

innocent, but we have to have proof for the rest of the world. Jonathan DuPres,

our eavesdropper of the other night, is clearly half of the team. Cream of the

crop that one: Age forty-five,” Mulder repeated from memory, “one-time furniture

salesman, one-time supermarket checker, one-time lawn service employee, and

currently veterinary assistant.”

“Who still lives with his mother — ”

“– and is desperate not to be, I’ll bet,” Mulder observed.

“You’d feel the same way if your two-bedroom apartment was also home to thirteen

cats. Mulder, you know why I’m against this. I don’t think the possible gain is

worth the risk, not when we’re so close without it. We know from his mother that

he picks up her prescriptions at the hospital pharmacy when there are a dozen

pharmacies closer. He has some reason to go there besides that. To meet his

contact probably. Sooner or later we’ll find that contact.”

“But we don’t have a name yet or what kind of job that person holds.” Mulder

made a motion to scratch at his make-up but forced himself to make an irritated

gesture instead. “He’s also dropped from sight, which his mother says that he

does from time to time, mostly to gamble, but who knows what he’s up to this

time. Worse, he knows that the FBI is sniffing around the veterinary office

where he works. He’s got to be worried, the kind of worried that can make a

person do something stupid. Scully, it’s imperative that we flush both of these

characters out as soon as possible. What if DuPres decides that they need to

suffocate another old person this week just to thicken the smokescreen?”

“So we arrange for him not to suffocate any ‘unknown’ old person, only you?”

Mulder leered again. “But I’m hard to suffocate, as you should know, my little

lamprey.”

The memory of a recent marathon kissing session when she had tired to ‘steal his

breath away’, and been successful, flowed through her. When she dared look back

at him again there was heat in his ‘old’ eyes.

“Cousin Boris and his cat carrier is a threat to any plans they may have.

They’ll need to make new plans, regroup. They won’t move for a day or two.

Tonight at the earliest.” He gestured towards the second floor. “Nothing to do

but wait then. We could try out the guestroom bed,” he suggested with a wink.

“Mulder, someone died in this house!”

“The forensics teams are finished here. Besides, that hasn’t exactly stopped us

before.”

He was right about that. “An authentic medical assistance service would only

linger here long enough to get ‘Boris’ settled. The plan — much as I dislike it

— is that you should be here alone.”

“The better to draw them out, my dear.” His long fingers began stroking the arm

of the chair as they so often stroked the skin of her back. She found herself

staring transfixed at that hand. “Come on, Scully, I’ll be here all alone

tonight. A quickie on the study floor. All those musty books for company. The

windows are heavily curtained already.”

She wavered, tried to think of an excuse and wavered again. He saw that and

began making feeble attempts to get out of the chair. Dutifully, she went over

to take his arm and help him begin tottering towards the back of the house.

“You’ll be gentle with me, won’t you?” he asked in his most ancient of voices.

“Of course, I will, but only to save wear and tear on your makeup, not because

you deserve it.”

1 pm

Hastily, Scully straightened her wig in the hall mirror. “Try not to play the

hero while I’m gone,” she warned him.

Mulder rolled an eye even as he reapplied black lines of mascara on either side

of his mouth. Kissing _ was _ hard on makeup, even when you’re careful.

He hobbled with his walker out onto the porch with her. They both shivered

automatically. In the hour they had been in the house the wind had picked up and

the air had a wet, chill to it. The blue sky was gone replaced by a sea of thick,

flying, gray clouds.

“Real snow for sure,” Mulder grunted in his Slavic accent and proceeded to take

in a thick breath of air that left him coughing. “Also smells like snow. Besides,

almanac says so. Three inches.”

“Five,” Scully challenged in a low voice, “or you pay for Starbucks for a week.”

It was a game of theirs, but then predicting the weather in the D.C. area was

always a gamble.

“Done!” Mulder whispered back but didn’t drop the accent. “Won’t keep the

delivery lady from coming, will it? Neither rain nor snow, nor dead of night—“

“That’s mailmen and five inches? My mom? She was raised in New England. She’ll

be here… What are you doing?”

The ‘old’ man was half-bending, half-falling down, long trembling fingers

reaching for one of a half-dozen newspapers which had been delivered since Ivan

Pulaski’s death. With a sigh of exasperation, she picked them up for him so that

their hands had an excuse to touch before she headed back to the van.

Dressed once again in her own clothes and without the awful wig, Scully stopped

at the FBI field office in South Baltimore and signed up for a visitor terminal.

Despite the backup agent who was staged less than a block from the Pulaski’s

house, she didn’t want to be as far from Mulder as their D.C. office but she

needed access to the FBI’s wider database that even Google didn’t have feelers

into. There was a lot they didn’t know about their chief suspect and his

supposed contact at LIP. And it wouldn’t do any good to catch him if they didn’t

have the evidence to hold him and confirm her mother’s innocence. Now she had

access to all the employee and volunteer records from LIP and everything they

had been able to come up with on Jonathan DuPres. With determination she began

crosschecking backgrounds.

9 pm

Hours later she found it. Good old-fashioned police work. Her last query had

come up with a match between DuPres and a security guard at the hospital who had

recently begun volunteering at LIP some evenings and on a few his days off.

Rubin Sweet. DuPres had been a student at Towson University when Sweet had been

a security guard there. She had also found how Sweet had probably been pulled

into the scheme. DuPres not only played poker but was preparing to finance his

future life by gambling, of which he was clearly very good. DuPres probably made

all those trips to the hospital because he had a little game going on off hours.

Certainly Sweet’s bank account showed large withdrawals over the past six months.

How much did he still owe? Enough to pay it off by volunteering at LIP, thus

obtaining access to the delivery schedules? Enough to break in and commit

murder? Also DuPres had Thursdays off and Sweet mostly worked nights.

Before she could call Mulder with the news, her cell phone buzzed. As she feared,

it was Tippett, Mulder’s backup.

“Got a problem, Harry?” Scully pounced, having detected a note of excitement in

the young agent’s voice.

“McAlester has turned himself in,” Harry Tippett reported in a rush. “That’s the

interstate fraud case I’ve been working on for the past two months. They want me

in the office ASAP. I’ve called for a replacement but there will be a gap in his

getting here.”

Scully felt a loosening in most but not all of the tension in her back. Not a

huge problem. Having a backup in place was part of their trying to take proper

precautions for once. They didn’t expect a visit from their perp until the next

day when the LIP volunteer — Maggie Scully — made her first delivery. “How

long of a gap?”

“Half hour, probably longer what with all this snow.”

The tension locked around her spine again. “How much snow?”

“What planet have you been living on, Agent Scully. There’s ten inches on the

ground and it’s still coming down like a house-afire.”

Her hand clenched and unclenched around the pen she held. She barely remembered

the lowering clouds and the bet she had laughingly made with Mulder. Then for

the first time she realized how quiet the usually busy office had been for some

time. Of course, this was the Baltimore-Washington area and the first

significant snowfall of the year. The roads would be clogged before the first

flake fell, its citizenry manic. Not a loaf of bread, a quart of milk, or roll

of toilet paper would be left on any shelf in any store in the area, and every

employee that could would had headed for home hours before.

She realized that Tippett was calling her name. “Sorry. I’ve been down in the

tombs of the South Baltimore station for the past — “she stared at her watch in

amazement “ — six hours.”

“Then I hope that you have four-wheel drive, otherwise you might be there for

another six, or more likely twelve hours,” Tippett informed her. “They’re

predicting at least eighteen inches now.”

“Eighteen inches! What happened to four?”

She sensed a shrug on the other end of the line. “A low pushed up from the Gulf

and got stalled by highs in the Midwest and New England leaving the storm right

over us with no place to go. But enough weather report. If I don’t get moving I

won’t make it to the station and you know that these scumbag lawyers don’t

respect snow delays.”

“Okay, go,” she told him. “Just urge your replacement to get there as soon as he

can.”

The connection broke and she dashed for the elevator. The first floor was just

as silent as the basement had been. She skidded to a halt by the employee lounge.

The large windows looked out on — black. She found the switch and turned off

the lights. Now she could clearly see the falling of the thick snow by the

parking lot’s security lights. There was an unbroken blanket everywhere except

for one solitary lump the size of her car.

Mulder had been going through Ivan Pulaski’s papers in study and bedroom, attic

and basement. He had spent the last few hours in a third bedroom on the second

floor. There seemed to be nothing there but paperwork. The man kept everything.

But did he keep an offer to buy his cat? It would be helpful to have that kind

of evidence if they were unable to catch the man red-handed. When Mulder’s cell

phone rang he had to return to the guest bedroom to retrieve it from the pocket

of his jacket. More time must have passed than he thought because the house was

totally dark except for the light in the bedroom where he had been working. By

the time he reached it, the phone had stopped ringing but he didn’t need to call

up his messages or missed calls log to guess who it had been. Her research must

have borne fruit. He called back. “You have news?”

She pounced without preamble. “Why didn’t you tell me about what’s been going on

outside?”

“I’ve been working. What has it been going on outside? Wait, what was that?” An

odd, muffled rumble had shaken the house. Mulder cocked an eyebrow. “Thunder?

Couldn’t be.”

“Ever hear of thundersnow, Mulder? It’s rare, but happens.”

“I know about thundersnow. It usually means inches per hour.” Peering though

slats in the blinds, he was shocked by the transformed street scene. “How much

snow _ have _ we gotten?”

“You don’t want to know. Also your backup had to leave to attend an

arraignment.”

“Well, it’s not like –” Mulder’s voice suddenly cut off. He wouldn’t have heard

the sight sound if it hadn’t been for the unnatural silence of the muffling snow

and the empty roads. It seemed like the grinding of a door being unhappily

opened somewhere, perhaps in the garage. Shit. “I think I have company, Scully,”

he reported in a hushed, tense voice.

“It might not be DuPres. It might be a hospital security guard named Rubin Sweet.

Sweet owes DuPres a lot of money.”

Mulder swore softly and reached for his service weapon. Not there. The stiff

leather of his new shoulder holster had been digging into his side. He had taken

if off and left it… where? In the master bedroom on the bed in plain view.

Stupid. The house had been so peaceful, but still stupid. The master bedroom was

on the other end of the house, but the hallway was carpeted. He should be able

slide down easily before whoever was tampering with the garage door could get in.

The door from the garage to the house was locked; of that he was sure. He

couldn’t risk any more lights though.

“Mulder, what’s going on!” Scully was demanding from the other end of the call.

“I’ll be right with you. I have to –“ He had begun soft-footing it down the hall.

It was nearly black but he remembered the layout; pass the entrance to the

stairway, then two more doorways and he’d be there. Suddenly there came a

glimmer near his feet, a ghostly white shape streaked across his path.

Unfortunately he hadn’t seen what Scully had before or he wouldn’t have been so

surprised. A whisper of Lyndon’s original demon cat theory flitted across his

mind. Deftly, Mulder stepped aside to miss the phantom, or so he thought. At the

last moment the form changed direction with a sinuous leap. Mulder stepped on

something soft that screeched and rolled. Losing his balance, he grasped for the

head of the railing post but it come off in his hand just as it did in Jimmy

Stewart’s in It’s a Wonderful Life. He found the black void that was the unlit

first floor not coming up to meet him, but he was definitely going down to meet

it. There were eight steps to the landing and he hit every one.

Scully found herself screaming into the phone, her voice bouncing eerily off the

glass of the empty employee lounge. There was no answer, however, but a long,

odd roll of thunder from outside where the snow, if anything, was descending

even more heavily than before. Ten more seconds of silence from the headset and

she began to run.

Back down the steps she went to the computer room where she had left her coat,

laptop and notes. She knew from Tippett’s call that she should still have signal

in the basement. The signal bars still glowed, but there was no answer to her

demands that Mulder answer. There were only odd scratching noises that could be

the sounds of a battle too far away from the phone to be picked up clearly or

just as easily be static. Much as she hated to take the time, she paused at a

desk to stab in ‘9-911’ on one of the office phones. She had no illusions about

her ability to travel dependably in this weather. The stressed-old dispatcher if

anything was even more discouraging. “We have limited vehicles that can navigate

safely under these conditions and all are tied with other emergencies. Can you

be more specific about the nature of yours?” Scully wanted to scream ‘Officer

down!’ but had to admit that she had no way of knowing that for sure. The noises

from the garage Mulder had heard could have come from a noisy water heater, an

old furnace, or raccoons and she had heard no shot, just some grunts and banging

about. He had been fumbling around in the dark. He could have bumped a knee then

dropped the phone, which was now malfunctioning. Damn she needed more

information! In the end she could only request that an officer might need

assistance, give the location, her cell phone number, and flee.

Outside the rear entrance to the building, she paused only a moment as she

fished for her keys in the deep pocket of her coat. Juggling awkwardly with

phone, keys, notebooks and laptop, she prepared to ferry out into the dismaying

expanse of unbroken snow to her car. Nothing to be done but to plunge in. Even

when walking in the tracks of cars which had fled for home less than two hours

before, Scully found that the snow was well over her ankles. Her feet were cold

and wet within seconds. A sweep of her arm cleared the trunk lid where she

dumped in everything but keys and cell phone and fished around for the ice

scraper. As she swept away the worst of the cold, white stuff from the hood and

windows of the car, a glow of lightning lit up this upside-down fairyland. The

thunder that followed rolled and rolled across the sky. As if in response, it

seemed to snow harder. It was coming down so fast that her windshield was

covered almost as fast as she could clear it. Finally she was behind the wheel,

windshield wipers on high. Still, she barely dared to touch the accelerator as

her car rolled carefully out of the uncleared parking lot, snow groaning under

her tires. The side street she turned into was not much better.

10pm

She finally made time on a snow emergency route but not because it had seen a

plow. Some four-wheel drive monster must have gone up the same way no more than

ten minutes before. Other than these two tracks that were already white, her

world was quickly limited to the meager yards that her headlights could cut

through. Beyond that cone, the night was all blue-gray ground and formless black

sky that brightened from time by time by the ghostly lightening. Belatedly, she

realized how devoid of color the night was. It had been blocks since she had

seen a working traffic light. Not unexpectedly for an area that saw such storms

only every five years or so, dragging tree limbs had already taken down power

lines and transformers all over the city.

The minutes crawled by. Scully gripped the steering wheel so tightly that her

hands cramped. Neither did she have a hand free to hold the cell phone though

from time to time she shouted down to where it lay on the seat beside her. No

answering voice came back.

After what felt like hours, Scully began to notice familiar lines in the

streetscape of buildings and trees that even the drifts and heaps of thick snow

and the dark could not make entirely unrecognizable. This was the area where her

mother ran her day-to-day errands. Knowing where she was, Scully realized that

she could cut off some time if she dared. She paused in the middle of the street

— it wasn’t as if there was anyone to have an accident with — and picked up

the silent cell phone. Praying that she was doing the right thing and that the

chirping of Mulder’s phone wouldn’t call attention to him at a bad time, she

hung up the call and tried again. She screamed as the phone displayed ‘No

Service’. Of course, the storm would disrupt the microwave towers and everyone

would be calling loved ones who were not home or just clogging up the airways

chatting about how horrible the weather was. All of that meant that emergency

calls – like hers! – could not get through.

Swearing in frustration, she threw the phone back down on the seat and guided

her car into a sliding left turn onto a side street. The smaller road could not

have seen another car in hours and yet was a straight shot to where her own

loved one was. But in what shape? Injured? Dead? Foolishly stumbling around a

black, unfamiliar house looking for a flashlight or candles? Pulaski’s house

would undoubtedly be as dark as all the other houses around her by now.

Progress on this new road was slow. The snow was easily up to the undercarriage

of her car in places. There were no tracks going her way but then there were

none on the cross streets either so at least she could keep the car going in a

reasonably straight course. Deciding where the edges of the road were was

another matter. She sighed in relief when the street became tree-lined and the

black trunks against the misty-white field of snow gave her a guide. The

drooping branches overhead, mostly pines, also caught an amazing quantity of the

white stuff so the inches under her tires lessened and her visibility improved

so she dared to increase her speed. Finally she was making some time.

Feeling confident enough at last to free a hand for the phone, she tried another

call. The green glow of ‘No Service’ continued to leer at her. During that

second of distraction she failed to notice that the road ahead was no longer an

infinitely unbroken expanse of white. A faint black line, unclear in outline but

unmistakably there, had appeared. Even when she saw it, it took a few more

precious seconds to interpret what she was seeing. It was a tree, an aged blue

spruce brought down by the weight on its branches but long enough ago that it

was almost entirely covered with snow. Throwing down the phone, two hands on the

wheel again, she gently tapped the brakes and turned more sharply than she would

have wished. The tree did not seem to cover the entire road. With luck she

should be able to pass it on the right.

Their luck must have taken an early flight to Florida. The car began to slide.

It may have been packed snow from earlier in the day or old ice. It didn’t

matter. The car spun and spun as if she were on some slow-motion amusement park

ride. Turning into the skid didn’t help; her tires were that caked with snow.

Her car, and possibly Mulder’s salvation, ended up sliding tail first into a

ditch on the side of the road. The front wheels of her front-wheel drive car

spun uselessly in the air. In despair Scully dropped her forehead down onto the

steering wheel.

From the shadowed floor where she had thrown it, her cell phone began to ring.

End of Act III

11:30pm

Mulder had had worst falls. He had broken bones, dislocated joints and suffered

more concussions than were good for anyone. He had fallen in worse places —

onto hard pavement, parked cars, among rocks and in cold and rainy woods dozens

of miles from help. Falling down stairs was totally mundane, but then so was

falling in your own bathtub. At least the steps had been well carpeted, and

there had been only eight of them; he knew because he had a bruise for each one.

He had also come to rest on a landing, just as well padded, in a warm house in

an old Baltimore neighborhood while a once-a-decade storm raged outside. Things,

therefore, could be worse. Granted, he had no gun and no cell phone. What he had

was a back in a conflagration of pain and someone — very probably their three-

time murderer — was methodically searching the first floor.

From time to time Mulder could look down and see the gray light of the man’s

flashlight flickering off windowpanes, light fixtures, and the glass fronts of

cabinets. There was no other light, not even the light that he knew he had left

burning in the third bedroom above him. The storm must have disrupted electric

service. All Mulder knew for sure was that he had passed out, and woke

completely in the dark. Oh, yes, and any attempt to move caused all his limbs to

involuntarily contract and brought tears of indescribable agony to his eyes.

For long minutes he lay there, frantically concentrating on relaxing — a

contradiction if ever there was one. He was pretty sure of what the problem was

and what to do because he had thrown out his back before and super strength

muscle relaxants were what Scully had prescribed then. This time, however, there

was no Scully standing over him with weapon drawn, prepared to deal with the

perp on one hand while she dispensed her pharmacy of good drugs with the other.

In comparison his mind games seemed pretty lame.

So here he was, nearly blind in the dark and totally helpless. He had had a cell

phone once. He had even been talking on it at the time he had plunged down the

stairway. But where was the instrument now? Even if he knew he doubted that he

would be able to get to it.

‘Stay calm,’ he raged to himself again. He knew from before that anger only

locked the muscles tighter as if squeezed in a gigantic vice. Damn, but the

tightening spasms around his ribs were so bad that he could barely breathe.

There was a weight on his chest too. Fear racketed up a notch. Please, not a

heart attack; not that, not at his age. Not when he had just found…

But then heart attacks don’t rumble on your breastbone like a very small

motorboat.

Scully leaped for the ringing phone, finally pulling it out from under the seat.

“Mulder…” she began anxiously.

“Sorry,” apologized an only moderately familiar male voice in her ear, “just

Lyndon, and before you ask I’m stuck at Baltimore-Washington hospital. And where

are you celebrating the great snow-in? Clearly you’re not shacked up snug and

safe with Agent Mulder.”

Scully felt a wave of unease, but there was no way that Lyndon knew about their

relationship. He could only guess like all but the very few. “Neither snug nor

safe. I’m stuck in a snow drift about five miles from Pulaski’s house.”

There was a pause while Lyndon took this in. “That doesn’t sound good. I mean

about your car, not the other thing. Mulder on his way to rescue you?”

“Unfortunately not. He’s playing stalking goat at Pulaski’s and now he’s

stranded without a car or backup. Worse, he was cut off suddenly the last time

we talked and I haven’t been able to get any service on my cell since. How did

you ever get through?”

“It’s totally a volume problem or so I hear. It’s hit or miss getting a

connection. I’ve had nothing to do — except try not to be enlisted to pass out

bedpans since they are so short-shaffed — so I’ve been calling everyone I know.

You’re the first person I’ve been able to reach. So how did you get caught out

in this?”

”Backing Mulder up. He was hearing noises from the garage the last we talked.

Tippett had to leave and his replacement hadn’t arrived.”

“You tried 911?”

“Got through, but what can they do in this?”

Scully heard the edge in her voice; part fury, part fear. Sitting in her useless

car, in the total dark, how could she help it? But her anxiety was not for

herself. She was in the middle of a well-settled neighborhood. Knock on a few

doors, show her ID and some citizen would take her in. But Mulder… What in the

hell had happened — was happening — to him?

“I’m coming,” said Lyndon firmly. “How far away is the hospital from where you

are. Can’t be far.”

“Two miles, maybe, but Lyndon…” She’d seen what he was driving. It was no better

than her own.

His voice sounded distant as if he were already on the move. “I can do this. We

have snow in Texas, in my part anyway. Where do you think I got this first name?

Anyway, how can I make it any worse?” Scully could think of about half a dozen

ways but before she could interrupt, he continued, “There are emergency vehicles

here but very few. The storm caught everyone by surprise. I can’t even attempt

to commandeer one unless you’re sure the problem with Mulder is an emergency.

Are you?”

“No, I’m not sure,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “Just come then.”

Each left their cell phones on for who knew when either could get a connection

again and she talked him through the familiar streets now totally unfamiliar. He

was a good driver on snow, which meant slow and steady, not foolhardy, no sudden

moves, no stopping on uphill slopes. Still he had to get out from time to time

to brush off street signs so that he could accurately report his location. It

took an hour for him to make the two miles. During that time, Scully had waded

through the ditch drift to her trunk for a better look at what she had in the

way of emergency supplies. She found a pair of ankle high hiking boots, stiff

from cold and inadequate for the foot-and-a-half of snow, but better than her

work shoes. There was some food and the water was frozen, but what was most

useful was a small emergency shovel. It was like trying to empty Lake Michigan

with a spoon. Still, between trips to the car to sit in the dark to warm up, she

cleared the tailpipe and dug a kind of path to the road and tore branches from

the fallen tree to lay on a snow as a marker so Lyndon wouldn’t fall into the

same trap that she had.

Finally through the thick black of the storm, a gray car-shape loomed into sight

within a soft bubble of headlights. Lyndon’s young face was damp with sweat and

etched with strain as he crawled stiffly out and, taking the shovel from her,

dug out around his own idling tailpipe. “We’re not going to make five miles,” he

reported. “The exhaust is dragging in the snow and this poor old thing is

overheating. We need something higher off the ground.”

From his passenger’s seat Scully thought for a long moment, brow furrowed, hair

damply dripping with slush. Then her body straightened to alertness. “Can this

thing make two miles?”

“Probably, if we’re careful,” Lyndon reported.

“Then let’s head for my mother’s. It’s about two miles away and she just brought

home a new SUV to help her with her deliveries and shuttle her older friends

around. She also knows everyone in the neighborhood so she might be able to find

us something better.”

Not needing their own cell connections any longer she tried calling Mulder, her

mother, 911, the FBI switchboard, all in rotation while Lyndon crept on,

windshield wipers frantically trying to keep pace with the storm. When he got

out to clear the tailpipe, she would chop away at the corners of the packed

slush and ice that built up at the far sweep of the wiper blades. She had gloves

but they were already wet so it wasn’t long before her fingers, as well as her

feet, were like that ice. Finally a call got through to Mulder’s phone but her

worries soared when all she got was a busy signal.

“Busy! Who the hell’s he talking to?”

“Did he call you the last time?” Lyndon asked.

Scully found it hard to think clearly as if her brain had also turned to mush.

Then she remembered about how her last call to him had rung with no answer and

that he had called her back almost immediately. “He did.”

Lyndon’s lips tightened in renewed concentration and he gave his unhappy vehicle

just a whisper more of gas. They both had the same thought, that maybe the line

was still open from the original call.

A call that had been abruptly interrupted.

Lyndon continued his slow passage though black, featureless, snow-clogged

streets while Scully hunkered down in her coat and went back to pressing buttons.

Finally she got through to her mother’s house. Her daughter’s demands for use of

her SUV were crisp and edged with urgency.

“This has got to be related to Fox. I think that I can get you something better,

just you get here… That soon? We’ll still be ready.”

Scully didn’t take much notice of the ‘we’ll be ready’ only buttoned her coat

more tightly around her, in preparation for her dash from the car. Twenty

minutes later Lyndon’s wallowing Subaru labored up the last curving street, the

black trunks of old trees standing like ancient centennials to the right and

left. Scully anxiously sat on the edge of her seat peering out even though

visibility was less than twenty yards. A lightening in the distance caused her

to blink and consult her watch. Two a.m. It was no where near dawn yet the glow

grew as they crawled nearer. There were also pale colors in the light as if the

aurora borealis had come to earth. Engine laboring, Lyndon’s car rounded the

crest of the last rise. There was no need for Scully to announce that they had

arrived. As they slid to a weary stop, both stared.

One of Maggie Scully’s neighbors must have a generator because her house and the

ones on either side were brilliantly lit. Every interior light and every

exterior flood were burning. In addition, all three houses were fully

illuminated in holiday displays which may have been turned off after New Years

and Twelfth Night but never taken down. Hundreds of feet of tiny multi-colored

lights, cascades of shimmering ‘icicles’, white prancing reindeer, full-throated

choirboys, and animated Santas lit up the night with festival gaiety. Most

importantly, however, four high-clearance, four-wheel drive vehicles sat on the

street, engines purring and headlights burning. Eyes wide, Scully stepped out of

Lyndon’s weary sedan, which shook like a panting war-horse, to stare wide-eyed

at the largest and most amazing customized van she had ever seen. Each wheel was

half as tall as she was. The cab had been customized so that it could carry ten

or more people with ease.

There were figures everywhere shoveling and talking. One came briskly forward,

recognizable by her disreputable hat and shapeless coat even before anyone could

have made out her features.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Maggie announced as step ladder dropped down

from the open side door of the monster van. “Let’s go!”

Mulder’s concerns over an incipient heart attack dispelled quickly as the

rumbling weight on his chest began to move and tiny pinpricks found their way

through his shirt to pierce the skin of his chest. His suspicions were confirmed

with the fluffy flag of a tail brushed his nose. It was all he could do not to

sneeze which wouldn’t have helped either the pain in his back or his anonymity.

Yes, Maxilla’s Mischance, AKA Snowball, had finally made an appearance. Even in

the tiny bit of light available to him on the pitch-black landing he could just

make out her outline. In full light she would have been white. Without a doubt

she was the misty-white ball of mysterious ectoplasm that had appeared under his

feet and that was responsible for his being stranded and incapacitated here.

With a wave of his hand – he dare not move more of his arm than that – he tried

to encourage her to move the rest of the way down stairs. If this was their perp

and not a random burglar, maybe the man would just take the damn cat and leave.

Not that Mulder ever liked losing a ‘collar’, but they knew enough that their

chances of finding DuPres again and getting poor Snowball back high. Balancing

the chances of losing Snowball temporarily with losing his life permanently,

therefore, Mulder made an emotional decision and pushed the cat again. She only

dug her claws into the carpet all the harder then bent back to what she had been

doing which was batting something around on the floor just out of his sight. All

at once, a paw made contact. The cat’s current toy made a quiet but unmistakable

‘beep’ and a pale light lit the furry, white face.

No seductive, silver mouse this but his cell phone.

Stuffing a fistful of his old-man’s sweater in his mouth, Mulder reached out,

curled, and rolled towards the instrument. Mulder wasn’t so much distressed by

the scream of pain that surged up and threatened to explode around the mat of

sweater. Pain he could deal with. It was the convulsive way his body thrashed

out involuntarily as the tortured muscles seized giving him so little control.

As his hand flailed in the direction of the glow, Snowball pounced, claws

extended and drew a long line of parallel scratches. “No, I don’t want to play

now!” Mulder growled deep in his throat. The only sound that made it out was a

grunt.

The abused hand finally slide against the phone. Though the hand shook, he

managed to get the instrument up to where he could read the screen. His original

call to Scully was still connected but, not surprisingly, she was long gone.

What must she be thinking? He disconnected and called again. The switching took

an inordinately long time and in the end there was no dial tone. Swearing, he

allowed his hand to drop to the floor.

Within seconds the instrument began to vibrate and chime in his hand. At least

the volume was set low, but it still sounded terrifying loud under the

circumstances. His finger stabbed down on the button even though the action of

raising his arm again sent a knife stab of agony down the length of his back. So

intent was he on silencing the ring that he temporarily forgot that his mouth

was full of musty sweater. He barely heard Scully anxiously repeating his name

as he spat the wad from his mouth.

“I’m here,” he finally answered hoarsely.

“Are you hurt?” was her next question, not ‘Are you in danger?’. How did she

always know?

“You could say so,” he whispered short and petulantly.

“Do you need help?”

“Just a bit,” he snarled.

“You can’t talk, can you?”

“Got it in one.”

There was a pause. She was obviously thinking. “Keep this line open. We’ll be

there in fifteen, twenty minutes. You’ve got to hold out that long.”

“You don’t need to assemble a whole cavalry. A small SWAT team should suffice.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s eighteen inches of snow out here and it’s

still coming down, so I don’t have the cavalry, nor even a single SWAT team

member.”

“What do you have then?” he whispered.

“Mom’s neighborhood watch group.”

Scully placed the call on mute and leaned back against the monster van’s

incongruous glove-leather seat with a sigh of relief. Knowing what she was

facing, even if it was bad, was better than the unknown. Mulder was alive and in

good enough shape to be grumpy about it which was always a good sign. The nine

women and one man around her had heard her end of the conversation and deduced

that there was work to do. All but the man who drove and three who readied cans

of pepper spray began pulling out handguns from pockets and purses.

A mammoth headache began to buildup behind Scully’s eyes. Maggie noticed and

gave her arm reassuring pat. “Don’t worry. They all know what they’re doing. We

all have permits and go to the range once a month.”

At that moment old Mrs. Hampton whose husband had died in Vietnam dropped her

little Smith and Wesson and Frank whose converted van it was — “Better than a

blond and a red convertible,” his wife had testified — turned on the overhead

light so the weapon could be found. While rolling her eyes, Scully noticed for

the first time that all the women wore odd hats or scarves of various shades of

maroon and scarlet and purple. Noticing in the rear view mirror how her eyes

went from the head of one woman after another, Frank touched the brim of his own

jaunty red beret. “Honorary member,” he remarked enigmatically then went back to

his driving.

“Of what?” Scully asked more to herself than anyone.

“I’ll explain it later,” Maggie assured her with a sage smile. “We’re harmless.”

“Mostly harmless,” a spry octogenarian corrected, displaying a can of pepper

spray securely gripped in each liver-spotted hand. The purple feathers in her

red straw hat had seen far better days.

It would have all been surreal fun — as X-Files occasionally were — only

Mulder was not there to enjoy it.

“Can you give this monster a little more speed, Frank?”

The old man tipped his hat. “As you will, Mum,” and the truck leaped forward,

swallowtails of snow flying in its wake.

Mulder lay perfectly still, his heart slowing. For the first time he became

aware of the distinct chill in the air. His fingers and nose were cold. No

electricity must mean no heat. Just great. At least the soft sounds of the

intruder were still far away. Sweet was searching in the basement as he had been

for some time, a quiet kind of searching so that he wouldn’t alarm the cat or

the rest of the house. He would have to begin searching the second floor soon.

It was the only place besides the study that he had not searched. At least there

was no indication that he had heard the cell phone’s signature chirp or the

terse conversation. Good, but only a temporary reprieve. Mulder had to get off

this stairway and out of sight and it might not be a bad idea to have a weapon.

His eyes sought the dark at the top of the stairs. His own weapon in its stiff

leather holster was up there, and he was familiar enough with the layout of the

second floor that he was sure that he could find it even in the dark, but from

where he lay it seemed impossibly far.

A door shut below. Kevin Sweet the hospital security guard, if Sweet it was, was

finished with the basement and had shut the door to keep Snowball from

retreating down there later. Mulder knew that he dare not be seen and he would

be as soon as Sweet came down the hall from the kitchen. Sweet would only need

to swing the flashlight in just the right way. Chomping down on the sweater

again, Mulder rolled with infinite care onto one hip. His body trembled with the

stain of using as many muscles as possible that were not attached to his back,

but his limbs still threatened to twitch beyond his control. He was at least

facing the stairs now. And so he began the slow crawl up the eight steps to the

elusive second floor.

When the flash finally shone from below some minutes later, it first swung from

side to side. Soon enough, however, it touched the lower steps and traveled up

to the landing. So engrossed was the searcher on the brilliant gold of the icon

in the light from his beam that he failed to notice long legs being swung

laboriously over the last tred at the top of the stairs. When the cone of light

finally traveled up to touch the upper stairs, there was nothing to be seen. The

light disappeared into the study.

On the floor of the second floor hallway, Mulder lay belly down. His teeth were

clamped down on the now soggy sweater; his body jerked in spasms. His fingers

had dug into the nap of the rug up to the first knuckle and tears of strain ran

down his cheeks. For all of that, however, he felt an incredible upsurge of

exhilaration. Eight steps weren’t a mountain but it had been his.

3am

Weapon drawn, Scully cautiously approached the dark house. It was dark behind

her as well. The caravan had driven the last block with lights off. At least the

snow deadened not only the approach of SUVs and monster van but voices and

footsteps mounting stairs. That was, of course, if the voices were not too loud.

With irritation Scully spun around to where Lyndon was attempting in terse

whispers to prevent the gang from coming with them. Despite her instructions,

eight dark forms were struggling through the drifts following her tracks.

Furiously, she added a rather rude gesture of her own which managed to slow if

not stop them. Scully groaned. Sometimes there just were civilians around; risk

assessment was part of the job.

“Mom, you can’t come,” she admonished as firmly and quietly as she could.

“Do you think that I’m going to let you go in there alone?” Maggie’s pistol was

in her pocket but they both knew it was there.

“I won’t be alone. Lyndon will be with me, but only if we are certain that you

and your people are safe.”

“This child!” Maggie exclaimed. Lyndon glowered.

“He’s a fully trained agent, Mom.” Maggie looked dubious. “Mom, I need to depend

on you in this and Mulder needs you. What you can do is keep an eye out for our

suspect. He’ll try to escape if he hears Lyndon and I go in. If you see him with

a gun at any time, drop! So far he hasn’t used one. But I don’t want any of you

to use a gun either. I don’t even want to see one in sight. You can use pepper

spray, better bombard him with snowballs, but no guns.” Scully had laid down the

law in her FBI voice which he mother had seldom heard and the neighbors never

had.

Finally Scully could return to the house, this time with Lyndon at her side. On

the porch she carefully turned the front door knob. Locked. At least Mulder had

done something right and she had a key. It turned quietly in the well-oiled lock.

Lyndon gently pushed the door open as they stood to the side. They waited. No

light, no sound, no greeting or demand for identification. Scully peered in.

From the direction of the stairs halfway down the hall to the kitchen there was

a dim, gray glow.

Cautiously, they shook caked snow from their numb feet. They didn’t want to slip.

From the bottom of the stairs they could hear a voice — or was that two? —

coming from the second floor, but they couldn’t make out the words. The angry

one she heard most clearly was male but not Mulder’s. Gripping her service

weapon she padded as silently and quickly as possible up the stairs. The door to

the master bedroom was open. Here was the source of the light, a flashlight on

the floor. A dark figure half crouched in silhouette just inside the doorway.

“She bit me!” complained the crouching figure.

“Well, she scratched me,” came an equally peevish voice from inside. Mulder’s.

Scully let out a silent breath of relief. When there came a break in the

argument over who was most injured, Scully called out “FBI, no one move!”. When

it was clear that the figure now standing with arms raised was following her

instructions, Lyndon stepped rapidly forward and took control of the situation.

Beyond the round shouldered, middle-aged man who stood frozen in the doorway she

saw Mulder. He was sitting on the floor, strained features in high contrast from

the flashlight. He held his weapon in both hands, propped on his knees, and

still it shook with fatigue or pain, she didn’t know which.

“Took you long enough,” he growled.

“Aren’t you going to thank me for saving you?”

He gestured with the gun, an action which was accompanied by a grimace. “In case

you haven’t noticed, I managed to rescue myself this time. Now, can I put this

down?” Without waiting for an answer the heavy weapon fell and Mulder slipped

sideways to lie twitching on the floor.

Epilogue

4am till the snow plows come

It was the most delightful ‘snowed in’ party Mulder could remember other than

the one where he and Scully …

But that was another story.

Because of his injury Mulder got the couch in front of Ivan Pulaski’s roaring

fireplace. It was without a doubt the center of the snowbound party’s

festivities. Frank, the monster van driver, and Lyndon had built up the fire.

“Not because we can’t, dear,” Nina Pickeral told him, “but because they

volunteered and if they want to be responsible for having to go in and out

carryin’ wood, well, that’s their decision. Besides, it makes them feel useful.”

Maggie and her woman friends bustled about digging in the kitchen for anything

remotely edible and making nests of blankets for beds around the fire because no

one would think of going home even though with their vehicles they certainly

could.

The oddest, giddy sensation of celebration pervaded the group. It was almost as

if they had all taken part in the glorious capture of some notorious, black-

hearted criminal and not just middle-aged, mild-mannered and, at the moment,

very frightened Jonathan DuPres, a mamma’s boy if ever there was one. They had

suspected that the violence had been done by Rubin Sweet, the security guard,

who at least carried a gun on a regular basis. But it had been DuPres. Sweet had

only supplied information. Tied with loop after loop of Rita Pendergast’s

knitting yarn, DuPres now cowered in the corner staring wide-eyed at whatever

senior citizen was currently responsible for ‘covering’ him.

“But he is dangerous, Mulder. He murdered three people.”

“We talked some before you came. The killing of Angela Uba was an accident, not

that that absolves him. He was only trying to ensure she would be unconscious

for a while. He used less pressure with Ivan Pulaski but the old man was very

frail. DuPres swears that he didn’t kill Helen Landsburg. She died at some point

while he was searching the house. We’ll have to check the coroner on that. He

swears that he was hoping tonight to get nowhere near Ivan’s cousin ‘Boris’.

That’s why he searched the rest of the house first. Our theory was correct about

the three victims, by the way. He was only trying to keep the police from

identifying the real target.” Mulder inclined his head — carefully — to where

the pale, scanty-haired man shivered in his cold corner before Olivia Inaga’s

tiny, pistol-tottin’ form. “The influence of TV and the movies will have to be

blamed for much of this. DuPres thought that rendering someone unconscious would

be easy. He was terrified over the first death and tried to hide it as long as

possible by having Sweet cancel Angela Uba’s contract. They just repeated the

process after the other two victims died.”

Lyndon’s voice sounded from above their heads. “That’s what I found out at the

hospital when I was there just before the storm.” He was approaching with Maggie

having been pressed to help in the kitchen. “Although Margaret Scully was listed

as having called in and cancelled all three contracts, it was Rubin Sweet’s

handwriting on the log book each time. They were trying, rather clumsily, to

implicate her. Same reason they selected victims who had the same driver all

three times.”

“The fact that all three had cats,” Maggie added, “was just a coincidence. They

weren’t picking victims who had cats, it was just that most of my clients do.

And the reason why all three victims used the same veterinary office is that

that practice gives excellent discounts to senior citizens.”

“They didn’t choose cat pillows the first two times either,” Lyndon explained.

“DuPres just choose _ a _ handy pillow.”

Not for the first time that night Scully noticed a conspiratorial look pass

between the young agent and her mother. “So what’s up with you two? You’ve had

your heads together about more than this since we got back.”

“Your mother has been making improper advances, Agent Scully,” grinned Lyndon

boyishly.

“I have not!” Maggie retorted with a grin. “He just mentioned that he’s been

considering going to graduate school at John Hopkins University in forensics but

that the cost was prohibitive. I just offered to rent him one of my spare

bedrooms.”

“At a ridiculously low price,” Lyndon added.

Maggie drew her small frame upright. “In exchange for becoming a legitimately

trained addition to our neighborhood watch group since you and Fox seem so

against our carrying firearms.”

“I am considering it,” Lyndon replied, “though I’m not so sure how I feel about

being a kept man.”

“At least I’m not hiring you as my pool boy,” Maggie said.

“But, Mom,” Scully reminded her, “you don’t have a pool and it’s January.”

“Since when does that matter?” Maggie asked in all innocence. At that moment

Lyndon, smiling, was called away by the oldest member of Maggie’s gang who

needed help getting out of her chair. He was clearly a favorite already.

Maggie seated herself a little stiffly onto the floor next to her daughter. She

had been carrying a tray on which there was ‘something’ on crackers. At least it

was colorful. She extended it in Mulder’s direction.

“What is it?” he asked dubiously.

“Take-what-you-can-get S’mores: marshmallow cream and M&M’s on Ritz crackers

warmed by the fire.”

Scully made a face but Mulder reached for the plate. When a grimace crossed his

face, Scully magnanimously handed him one.

“I never heard:” Maggie asked as Mulder munched and Scully counted out more pain

medication. “How did you subdue the dread Jonathan Dupres?”

“I made it back to my weapon – somehow.” Pain crossed his face when he thought

of that agonizing crawl down the hall. “I was terrified that he’d come too soon

but instead he was taking forever. He really wanted to find that cat before

running into ‘Boris’. Then I began to worry that he’d get away when you and your

commandos showed up. Then we’d have to track him down all over again. So I lured

him into a trap.”

“And how did you do that?” Scully asked, smiling.

“What was he after?”

Enlightenment showed on her face and she glanced over to where Rita Pendergast

was entertaining the enchanting and enchanted snowy-white feline with more balls

of her endless yarn.

“She must have been lonely after all those days since Ivan’s death so she stayed

with me.” He frowned. “She won’t any more. I pulled her tail trying to get her

to meow. She didn’t like it but neither did she make much noise.” He licked at a

set of deep gouges on the back of his hand that ran perpendicular to his

original set. “She _ is _ a little demon. I had to shut her up in a closet.”

“So how did you lure DuPres?” Scully asked.

Mulder looked uncomfortable. “Made noises.”

“Like what kind of noises?”

He made a face and reluctantly answered, “Meowing noises.”

Maggie snickered. Scully knew better than to snicker, though she did ask,

“Interesting. Could I hear –“

“No,” he snapped. “You don’t ask me to make cat noises and I won’t ask you to

sing.”

“Better not then,” Maggie warned. “You don’t want to hear Dana sing.”

“I have,” Mulder reported with an adamant glare. He didn’t add that he had been

semi-conscious at the time.

“And you’re still together? Then it must be love.”

“Mom…” Scully began, knowing exactly where that subject was leading.

“Have another S’more,” Maggie suggested and the silence was filled for a moment

with the comforting crackle of the fire and a few snores from surrounding bodies.

Mulder was nearly asleep. The results of the day, the warmth of the fire, and

relief from the worst of the pain made it hard to stay awake. Scully had managed

to come up with an amazing cocktail of over-the-counter and some not over-

counter pain relievers from Ivan Pulaski’s medicine cabinet and the purses of

the neighborhood watch. Not surprisingly, the gang carried even more medication

than firearms. It was Scully who broke the four a.m. quiet to softly apologize,

“Mom, we are really sorry… about suspecting you.”

Maggie frowned. “That did hurt.”

“At the start the evidence did point to you as DuPres and Sweet intended it to,

and you had just been acting so strangely.”

“What you mean is differently. I guess that I should have told you about the

Society.”

Scully looked around the room at the women who had to be part of this ‘Society’.

They were a bright and energetic lot. Good friends for her mother to have, if a

bit eccentric.

“We’re members of the Red-Hat Society,” Maggie announced as if that should mean

something. When her daughter and as-good-as son-in-law exchanged blank looks she

went on. “Well, it’s fairly well-known in the over-fifty crowd, so well known

that we are thinking of changing the trademark for our local group. We agree

with the principle but once a secret handshake is no longer secret, a lot of the

fun goes out of it. How would you feel, Fox, if everyone suddenly believed,

unequivocally, that there were aliens on earth?”

Mulder raised an eyebrow, all the energy he could manage. “I wouldn’t exactly

call it ‘fun’, but I get your point.”

“Thought you would.”

“So the red hats mean what?” Scully prompted.

“It’s from a poem which describes one way of not going ‘silent into that good

night’.” And Maggie began to recite. “’When I am fifty, I will wear a red hat

and a purple dress that doesn’t suit me…”

As the twelve women in unison softly intoned their private mantra, Mulder let he

head lean against Scully’s shoulder as he sank into sleep as gently as he

thought he ever had. He had convinced himself once that he was alone and always

would be. Then he had found Scully. Then he thought that the two of them were

alone and now he found a whole sub culture of grown-ups who did not believe in

acting your age. He didn’t know if he had ever felt so contented in his life.

The End

The actual title of the poem is “Warning”. But I think “When I Am Old” makes

more sense.

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick the flowers in other people’s gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

By Jenny Joseph, reproduced from the following web page:

http://www.jworkman.com/purple.html

You can find more out about the Red Hat Society at the following web page:

http://www.redhatsociety.com/info/howitstarted.html and, yes, I’m old enough to

be a member but X-Files fans don’t need red hats to not act our age.

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A League of Demon Cats by Sue Esty