THE GHOST AT HER SIDE - Pt. 3
by - Joyce
March 1998NOTE: Italics indicate thoughts. Underlining is for emphasis.
"You took a big chance, Mulder," Scully said as she eyed the wedge of tomato on the end of her fork. The inn's owner, Katie Millins had insisted on preparing a large salad for her and told her to make free use of the gazebo in the garden as long as she was a guest. Katie was a pleasant woman in her early fifties who managed to make her guests feel at home with effortless ease. Tall and willowy with tawny hair and intense green eyes, Katie seemed to take the erratic hours of her newest houseguests in stride. Scully found herself relaxing under Katie subtly warming hospitality.
"I would have taken a bigger one with your reputation, not to mention this case, if I hadn't materialized," Mulder replied calmly. He was sprawled in a large wood recliner, barely visible as a hazy shadow against the stark white-painted slats. The screens enclosing the gazebo effectively blocked him from view if anyone happened by.
"I could have handled him," Scully replied with a crisp tone.
"Eventually, maybe, but Talbert is as stubborn as you are and I didn't think he needed to be wasting his time being suspicious of you." Mulder was silent for a moment, watching Scully as she slowly ate her salad and considered his reasoning.
"Because of me, you were being driven to the point where you were going to have to either deliberately lie or tell Talbert the truth." Mulder's voice softened almost to a whisper. "Talbert can smell a lie. If you started lying to him, nothing you did or said afterwards would have carried any weight. Getting you sent home in disgrace is not my idea of how I want to help you," he ended with a typical Mulder-look that managed to combine mischief, sadness and a shrug.
"I don't think Talbert would have gone that far, but I can see where it would have made our working relationship extremely difficult," Scully conceded, keeping her expression neutral. She wanted to smile at the memories that look of his evoked, but held to her vow to never acknowledge how effective that look really was. During the first year of their partnership, she had discovered a weakness for Mulder's favorite expressions. She had vowed then that he would never realize just how effective they were, otherwise she had a feeling she would lose all control of the situation.
"Even so, it was my decision. Besides, it was worth whatever risk I took to see the expression on Talbert's face when I materialized," Mulder chuckled. "Paid him back for one very hair-raising Halloween at Oxford."
Scully gave him an indulgent smile which he returned in full measure. God, how she treasured the memory of those rare open grins that transformed him from a man burdened by conspiracies and secrets to an intensely alive, curious, attractive man. She sighed quietly. So many possibilities she had not allowed herself to explore. With a resolute shake of her head, she returned those fruitless thoughts back to the closets of her memory and returned to the case at hand.
"So, any more ideas on who is behind these murders?"
Mulder shrugged and shook his head. "Other than an absolute certainty that the new library is at the center of the motive, no."
"You don't think a ninety-year-old librarian is masterminding these murders, do you," Scully asked incredulously. Mulder had come up with some pretty far-out theories in his lifetime, but never one quite this far out.
"No, but I think somehow she is involved," Mulder said slowly, picking his way through a jumble of half-formed ideas and theories. "Nothing makes sense. Not the way the victims died. Not the total lack of trace evidence. Nothing."
Mulder flowed up from the chair and began pacing around the gazebo, careful to keep just enough of his attention focused to walk around the furniture, rather than through it. "I'm missing something, Scully. It's staring me right in the face and I can't see it."
Mulder sounded frustrated. Scully could sympathize. She had gone over the autopsy reports and performed a meticulous autopsy on Amos Peters and knew no more now than when she had started. Hopefully Simon was finding his interview with Miss Ellie to be beneficial. She was pinning her hopes on the tox screen on Peters.
"Did anything turn up in the autopsy?" Mulder asked hopefully as he came to a stop about five feet away from Scully.
"Other than what we already knew and the fact that all three men had eaten within two hours of their death, no," Scully sighed.
"Anything unusual in the food department?" Mulder actually looked hopeful, as if this was the last straw he could cling to.
"Not that I can tell. The autopsy report on Jackson indicated that he had eaten a full meal accompanied by a glass of wine about two hours before his death. The report I have on Culver's stomach contents did not list any food, but he did have something to drink shortly before his death, I suspect tea or coffee, but the examination was cursory and I really can't be sure." Scully looked and sounded exasperated by the casualness of the autopsy reports.
"OK, we have one with food and drink and one with just drink. So far, not much of a pattern."
"Well, Amos Peters definitely had a couple of crackers and some tea shortly before he started running." Scully bit back a smile at the alert look of interest flashing across Mulder's face.
"Now that's a bit unusual. Running with tea sloshing around inside your stomach is not my idea of a comfortable jog," Mulder faded to a hazy shimmer in the summer air as he focused on the problem.
"Until we get the toxicology report back from the state crime lab, I'm afraid that's all we have to work with." Scully tried not to sound too hopeful. Mulder's expression resembled that of a cat who may have heard a mouse somewhere; he was distant, focused and not at all aware of his surroundings.
"I'm close, Scully. I'm so damned close I can smell it, but I just can't make it make any sense." Mulder fumed for a moment then stopped and turned around to face Scully.
"You're waiting, aren't you?" he asked with a mock accusing glare at Scully's suddenly innocent expression. "You've been waiting all this time for one of my outrageous theories to spark something in that analytical brain of yours." Mulder chuckled.
Scully kept a neutral, slightly quizzical expression firmly fixed, but allowed her eyes to sparkle, just a bit. She had wondered just how long it would take Mulder to catch on to her. His theories, his ideas were indeed outrageous, but for some reason they inspired her to make that leap of analytical deduction that took them the next step closer to finding the real answer to the mysteries that faced them.
"What a team we made, eh Scully? Ying and yang, yet somehow in spite of or, even perhaps because of, our differences we managed to create an unbeatable combination. Did I ever remember to tell you that you were the best thing to ever happen to me?" Mulder asked in an oddly serious off-handed fashion. His eyes were deadly serious, even while his tone and his smile cast the question in the form of a light-hearted quip.
"Scully!" Simon's hail from the garden gate startled Scully. With a quick nod at Mulder, she took a deep breath and slipped back into full-agent mode. Damn Simon's timing, she thought unreasonably as she watched Mulder disappear. They were just on the brink of a real conversation, one too long delayed and one she had almost given up hope of ever having when he died.
"Over here, Simon," she answered her partner's call.
Simon looked uneasy and Scully wondered what he had learned from Miss Ellie to unsettle him. "Mulder?" she breathed out in a soft whisper.
"I'm here. Something has him spooked and I don't think it's learning that Miss Ellie has a habit of running around at twilight butchering politicians. Though," he paused and Scully almost felt the impact of his unseen grin, "she could be a real handy woman to take back to Washington with us."
"Sshhh," Scully hushed him while trying not to laugh at the image of an elderly woman chasing Cancer Man around the Mall with a cutlass.
"Sorry to interrupt your lunch. Katie told me you were out here and sent me packing with my own lunch. I think I could fall in love with this town," Simon finished with a smile as he set down a plate containing a large roast beef sandwich and a giant pickle along with a large mug of root beer.
"How did your interview with Miss Ellie go?"
"Interesting. She is a fascinating old lady, but no murderer. I can see why Chief Talbert respects her so much. There is something about her..." Simon paused, staring down at his hands griping the edges of the plate, and took a deep breath. He was afraid he was about to blow this new partnership out of the water, but he had to be honest. Just maybe, if Scully had been willing to accept Agent Mulder's peculiar theories, she might be open to his. Then again, from everything he had heard, Scully remained doggedly rationalistic despite encountering the strange denizens who populated Mulder's world.
"What happened, Simon?" Scully gave him a shrewd look and recognized the incipient signs of breast-baring. After four years with Mulder, she knew the symptoms of an on-coming oddball theory as well as she knew the periodic table. "I may not be a believer, but even Mulder was closer to right than not much of the time," she added. No doubt Mulder was enjoying this small confession of hers, but it was one she owed both men. She didn't have to agree with Mulder to accept that sometimes, science and the paranormal could both supply the answers to a single question.
"Did you ever get the impression that something good and very special was being corrupted by someone or something evil?" Simon looked up at Scully, his eyes looking past her into shadows she did not see.
"What happened?" Scully repeated slowly, not wanting to startle Simon who appeared to be miles away in thought.
"I met a charming eccentric old lady who has surrounded herself with books that are as real to her as you or I. Yet, despite all her eccentricities, Miss Ellie possesses a keen mind and a sharp awareness of people. She doesn't know who is behind the killings, but, for some reason, I think she is somehow involved," Simon reported in a perplexed tone of voice. "I don't want her to be involved and I don't think she is consciously involved, but she is, somehow, in some way I can't figure out. Damn this case," Simon blurted. Seeing Scully's concerned expression, he shrugged and began slowly eating his sandwich, obviously wanting to think rather than talk for the moment.
Scully sat back and sipped her tea and considered the mounting evidence. Mulder felt the case revolved around the new library and, for whatever tendencies he might have towards extreme theories, Mulder's instincts were sound. The only link between the dead men was the library project. Now Simon came back from talking with the former librarian convinced that she was at the heart of the mystery. Too many intangibles and too many 'what-ifs' for her taste, but right now, they were all she had to work with.
It really didn't come as much surprise that Simon believed in the paranormal. Certainly he seemed to be able to tell when Mulder was around. Despite all of Mulder's assurances and her own dislike of paranormal explanations, Scully was beginning to wonder if they weren't dealing with a ghost. Mulder was still very new to his condition and an older, more experienced ghost might be able to hide from him. Scully shook her head and wondered how she had become desperate enough to reach the point where she was giving serious consideration to believing their perp was a ghost.
"OK, then until we hear back from the state crime lab, we'll focus our attention on the library project. Meanwhile we can interview the remaining two men on the list and arrange for Chief Talbert to keep an eye on them between eight and nine at night. Maybe our killer will get careless or overconfident. He certainly has been bold enough in the past. I doubt if he sees much reason to become cautious now," Scully commented drily.
"In other words, it may work to our advantage that we appear to be floundering badly?" Simon asked ruefully. "Never thought I'd see the day when coming up empty could be seen as a positive step."
"These are the X-Files, Simon. Sometimes we move in mysterious ways to find the truth." Scully gave him a warm smile of encouragement.
"And sometimes we simply moved in mysterious ways chasing our own tails, Scully." Mulder's comment drifted softly on the afternoon breeze from somewhere near the trellis on the gazebo's eastern wall.
Scully silently told Mulder to be quiet even as she acknowledged the truth behind his quip. Still, it had taken nearly a year for her to realize that they were often chasing shadows who refused to be caught. She didn't want to discourage Simon any sooner than she had to. She wondered if it was possible to ease someone gently into an awareness that one's own government hid crueler secrets than any serial killer could dream of.
"Well, I can't say we're making any progress attacking this case head on, so I'm all for a surprise flank attack. I want to write up my report on the interview with Miss Ellie this afternoon. I'll do some checking with some friends of mine on the Internet and see if they can dig up anything on the new librarian. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll turn out to be a serial killer in his spare time," Simon managed to smile.
"We can't be that lucky. It's against the rules," Scully said with a straight face. She was rewarded by the sound of Mulder trying to choke back a laugh.
"Keep your cell-phone on in case I need to contact you. I want to wander around and try to get a feel for the layout of this town and how our killer seems able to move around so easily without being seen." Scully collected her dishes and prepared to leave the gazebo.
"Maybe you can ask that mysterious stranger of yours if he has seen anyone." Simon looked almost startled by his own voice. He colored slightly. "I'm not prying, Scully, but he is our only lead and we are running out of anything else resembling a lead. Just ask him," Simon urged keeping his eyes resolutely away from Scully's face. Her sudden stillness was measure enough of her unease with this topic.
"See you this evening. I'll ask Chief Talbert to post a guard on Rowston's house before I take my walk," Scully said, avoiding the topic of her 'mysterious stranger' completely. She heard Simon sigh and suspected that eventually his patience was going to run out unless they solved this case soon.
She felt Mulder's hand on her back as she walked back to the house. "He's as stubborn as someone else I once knew. Any chance you two are related?" Scully asked facetiously. A disgruntled hrumph was her only answer, but the fingers against her back twitched a bit as if Mulder was laughing.
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"Well, Scully, still convinced there is a straight-forward explanation for the killings?" Mulder asked as he perched on a low stone wall outside the historic grist mill. For nearly four hours he had taken Scully over the town, showing her the nooks and crannies of the crime scenes and all the ways in and out of each area. They had ended up at the restored grist mill. Scully was sipping a large lemonade on a small bench underneath a shade tree a little ways away from the tourists occupying the outdoor patio.
"I haven't seen anything to prove otherwise," Scully gave a small weary sigh and flexed her feet. She now knew this town better than she knew her own neighborhood. "I think we are dealing with a very human killer who is simply using very unconventional methods to execute his murders."
"Without leaving any trace evidence behind? He could be real popular with the CIA," Mulder cracked. In a way, he found Scully's continued resistance to the paranormal, in spite of his intrusion in her life, to be rather comforting, a constant in his radically altered universe.
"I'll admit, the lack of evidence disturbs me, but at every crime scene I have seen ways a clever killer could have carried out the crime," Scully responded.
"I think we'll find that the lack of evidence is the key to this whole case. Something is bothering me. I've missed something very obvious, Scully," Mulder griped. "I'm supposed to be a profiler yet the killer keeps slipping through my fingers, almost as if he really isn't there. What's worse, is that I'm getting a different feeling out of each of the killings."
"Mulder, I absolutely refuse to believe we have three separate killers running loose in this town," Scully snapped as she gave a stern stare at the unoffending wall she assumed her partner was sitting on.
"I agree. We are dealing with one killer, but one who seems to take on a different personality for each killing. Multiple personality disorder patients rarely engage in murder. If they do, usually only one of the personalities is the violent one."
"Your point is?" Scully asked warily. Whenever Mulder started out a theory using solid psychological reasoning, she could usual expect him to end up pushing the extreme edge of rational possibilities.
"Possession," Mulder replied in a dead-pan voice, trying to conceal the rising chuckle at Scully's raised eyebrow and the slight tic of her tongue as she bit back a comment.
"OK, so I really don't believe we are dealing with a case of possession here," Mulder admitted as he finally gave in to a chuckle. Scully shot him a cold stare that dissolved into a smile as she acknowledged his quip. "However, I do think we are dealing with more than just normal, I just don't know what, yet," he added. He was not going to allow Scully's first case as head of the X-Files to be a failure.
"Well, right now I'm not willing to rule anything out. Chief Talbert has men watching James Rowston in case our perp goes after him. Larry Alverson is due to arrive in town for a meeting with the Library Board in two days. I think our killer is going to try to take out Rowston before his last victim arrives."
"Sounds reasonable to me. Also, I suspect Alverson is not as vital to our killer as the local men are. He's more of an abstract enemy, without the personal animosity our killer has towards the local men," Mulder offered.
Scully fell silent, obviously in thinking mode. Mulder watched her and wondered what was going on in that analytical mind of hers. This case must be frustrating her. No evidence to latch onto and force answers out of the tiny traces left behind by the killer. In this case, everything was possible and most likely was.
"Mulder."
The sound of her voice startled him out of a quiet dream where he was alive and they were back in their basement lair arguing over how to collaborate on a report to Skinner. A quick check relieved him of the fear that he had accidentally gone visible.
"I'm still here, Scully," he answered to assure her he hadn't gone chasing off into the ether.
"I'm going to take Simon and help Chief Talbert keep an eye on Rowston tonight. His men are good, but they are too local. They might dismiss our perp simply because they are used to him being around and consider him innocuous." Scully had that firm, no-nonsense tone to her voice that sent a thrill through Mulder. Whatever doubts or confusions she had about this case, she had picked out a plan of action and intended to follow it through.
I wonder if she realizes just how sexy her take-charge confident attitude is, Mulder wondered, making very sure he wondered quietly to himself.
"You could be right. I often thought that if CancerMan had really ever wanted to kill me, he could have slipped in an assassin among the maintenance men in the Hoover Building and I'd have been a sitting duck. We don't see as threats the invisible men who wander through our lives on a daily basis. Very good idea, Scully." Mulder let a bit of his pride and respect for her loose in his voice and was mildly pleased to see her accept the compliment with a small smile and a slight nod of her head in his direction. "I'll tag along just in case something out of the ordinary happens. Just consider me your backup in matters nonmaterial," he added, only half-joking.
"Just don't scare the hell out of Simon if you do have to intervene. He is shaping up as a rather decent partner. I don't want to get the reputation as the agent who keeps losing her partners," Scully shot back with a straight face. She couldn't keep the twinkle out of her eyes and finally gave up the effort to remain serious.
"Hey, it will probably be another dull stake-out and we'll all end up with nothing more than a bad case of boredom by morning."
"Let's hope not. I really to get this case solved before we have Dickerson breathing down our necks. Now, I better go collect Simon and fill him in on the evening's agenda before we grab some dinner." Scully stood up and tossed her cup in the waste can as she headed up the street to the inn. "Coming?" she said softly.
"No, you go on. I'll do a bit more exploring. I think I want to take a look at Miss Ellie's house. If Simon thinks she is at the center of this case, then I better get to know the layout of her house, just in case," Mulder said as he flowed over to walk beside her. He touched the small of her back for just a second then withdrew completely into the ethereal. Scully looked wistful for a moment then shrugged off the regret and strode off towards the inn and Simon. To Mulder's not-impartial eyes, she looked every inch the professional FBI agent determined to put an end to a killer's flaunting of the law.
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As he watched Scully disappear around the corner, Mulder suddenly remembered that he had no idea where Miss Ellie lived.
"Great," he grumbled. "It's not as if I can just casually go up to someone and ask directions ... on the other hand," he mused as he considered his options.
No one in town knew who he was. He could materialize and risk a brief encounter with a stranger and get directions. The icy cold that radiated out from his materialized form was a problem but if he planned it carefully, the effect might be blamed on a faulty air conditioner. The idea appealed to his sense of mischief, although he said a silent prayer that Scully never found out. She couldn't know how frustrating it was to exist amid a sea of people and not be able to communicate with them or to share the most basic of interactions without considering the ramifications. Hell, at least the people in the Witness Protection Program got new identities and were not exiled from the human race as he was.
Mulder flowed out of the Mill's patio and into the street, retracing the steps he and Scully had taken earlier until he found a small antique shop near where the old library stood. An large air conditioning unit rumbled as it battled the July heat. Ducking around a corner into a small alleyway, he concentrated and materialized slowly, making sure no one happened by in the process. When he was fully materialized he gathered up his courage and walked confidently into the store.
He felt strange, disconnected from the solid material world he had just re-entered. Everything had a strange glare that hurt his eyes. Each step was taken on legs so rubbery that he felt he was on the brink of falling on his face every time he moved. He was solid. When he bumped into the corner of a roll-top desk, there was no pain, just a solid thunk and a realization that there was a barrier in his way. He felt ill. Nature might not be rebelling against his intrusion into the world of the living, but his ectoplasmic body definitely had severe problems with being this solid for any length of time. The energy drain was tremendous and he realized that unless he got a quick response to his question, he was going to fade out right in full view of the proprietor. "Wouldn't Scully be pleased with that little scenario," he muttered to himself. What had seemed such a good idea was now quickly assuming the qualities of a nightmare.
"May I help you, sir?" The proprietor, a tall handsome woman, dressed in a denim dress, with thick silvery hair and dark brown eyes looked up with a ready smile that turned into puzzlement, tinged with a faint sense of concern. Absently, she fingered a large ornate silver pendant that glowed softly to Mulder's aching eyes.
Mulder fought to stay focused. He decided he did not have the energy to move any further into the store and hoped that by staying near the entrance he would be able to get away before he disappeared. A quick check showed that he was still completely solid. The expression on the proprietor's face worried him. Why was she looking at him as if he had wandered in from left ... "Oh shit," Mulder swore softly. In his haste to materialize he had not taken time to alter what he was wearing. The white jeans were probably no problem, but the light gray baseball shirt with the FBI logo was probably a bit out of place. Too late now, Mulder plunged ahead hoping he could just ask his question and get away without giving this woman the paranormal experience of a lifetime.
"I seem to be lost. I was looking for Miss Ellie's house. She used to run the library in town," Mulder added aware that he was on the verge of babbling.
"Lost," the woman repeated in a puzzled tone as she stared at him with an expression of someone trying to put her finger on some notion she'd mislaid. "Used to is right. That damned new library they're building is a sorry excuse for Miss Ellie's way with books. Still, progress will have its way, no matter how many good people are bulldozed along the way," she finished with a disgusted note in her voice.
Mulder fought the urge to repeat his question. If this dear lady did not hurry up and answer him, he was going to lose all hope of remaining solid and visible. He was already feeling the edges of his form begin to quiver and was fighting to hold on with every ounce of energy he could suck in.
"Sorry, you didn't come here for a discourse on the sad state of our town politics, did you? Take Wayne Street off of the court square, it's the street just past the old blacksmith's shop that's now a bakery, the one with the anvil in the window. Go two blocks north then turn right onto Lafayette Avenue. Miss Ellie lives in the fourth house on the left, almost to the end of the street. I think she'll be very glad to see you. Just you don't go and scare her," she ordered in a tone that brooked no disagreement.
"I mean her no harm, ma'am. She might be in some danger. I ..."Mulder stopped, suddenly uncertain why he was close to admitting his reasons for wanting to see where Miss Ellie lived.
Confused, exhausted and intimidated, Mulder nodded towards the lady towering in the back of her shop and left as fast as his rubbery legs would take him.
"Be sure that you don't," the proprietor's voice followed him out the door carrying an unmistakable warning.
Mulder felt his form go hazy the moment he stepped out onto the street and almost hurtled into the alley in his haste to reach cover before he dematerialized and slipped back into the gray nothingness of the ethereal.
It took Mulder nearly a half an hour before he recovered from his little adventure. When he cautiously reemerged into the natural world, he was still weak, but as long as he was careful to remain completely invisible he was able to move without feeling like he was going to come apart. He flowed back up to the town square and quickly found his way to Miss Ellie's house without a hitch. Well, other than that really upset daschund on Anthony Street. If people obeyed the leash laws, their dogs wouldn't be out where they could run into innocent ghosts minding their own business, Mulder thought rather uncharitably. The dog sounded as if it was going to be in need of some serious therapy, but he suspected its urge to wander was cured.
When he turned onto Lafayette Street, he realized what the lady in the antique shop meant - Miss Ellie's house was distinctive. This was a house that had once welcomed visitors; a house of laughter now darkened by a feeling of unease that warned off interlopers. The house seemed afraid, though Mulder had no idea how or why a physical object could project emotions.
The longer he stood looking at the house, the more reluctant he grew at the thought of entering it. The windows shone with dark opalescence in the late afternoon sun, reflecting back the attempts of the outside world to penetrate the mysteries they guarded. The house stood quiescent, silent, waiting like some ancient dragon content to doze in the sun, but ready to awaken if danger threatened.
The creak of a screen door screeched loud in the silence, startling Mulder out of his reverie. Suddenly the noisy afternoon sounds of children and cars and air conditioners roared back into focus. As if a spell had been broken, Miss Ellie's house dwindled back down to an ordinary, if ancient, dwelling like all the other houses on the street. Mulder glared suspiciously at the now innocent-appearing house, even more reluctant to enter a place capable of such duplicity.
"I'm back, Aunt Ellie. As soon as I get washed, I'll brew your tea and we can pick up where we left off."
Mulder watched as an ordinary-looking man entered the back porch. A small, ancient Yugo was parked in the driveway. That must be Robbie, Miss Ellie's nephew, Mulder reasoned. Robbie appeared to be in his late fifties. Not a handsome man, Robbie's face was narrow and pinched with a permanently sour expression that seemed to have been engraved along with the wrinkles. He moved easily and with a vigor that belied his years. From the looks of the house, Robbie was no slouch in the carpentry department. A vigorous man and a strong one, but not a happy one, in Mulder's opinion.
Robbie disappeared into the kitchen and Mulder resumed his contemplation of the house. With a start, Mulder sensed Scully calling him and realized that he had been lost in thought for over an hour. It must be nearly time for the stake-out to begin and she was probably wondering if he had remembered to join her or was off traipsing after some enticing clue.
"No such luck, Scully. The key is right in front of me, but I can't make it fit the lock. Miss Ellie is involved, somehow, someway, but it makes no sense - at least any sense that would stand up in a court of law," Mulder muttered as he followed the invisible cord binding him to Scully. Right now he fervently hoped that a nice solid perp would show up dressed in a cape, waving a sword and attempt to skewer Rowston in front of their eyes. For once, he didn't want there to be a supernatural explanation. He considered praying, but decided that since nobody out there ever listened to his prayers when he was alive, he really doubted if prayers from a ghost would receive any more attention.
Within moments, he had arrived at Scully's location. The last few blocks had a hazy, disoriented feel to them and he knew that she was someplace he had never been before. Depending entirely on the connection he shared with Scully to guide him was slightly unnerving, sort of like bungee jumping - a lot depended on that damn rubber band. He wasn't sure what would happen it the connection ever broke when he was in transit. It wasn't a subject he particularly wanted to explore.
Scully and Simon had apparently just arrived and were talking with one of the deputies. Mulder moved cautiously forward until he could conveniently eavesdrop without being detected.
"Agent Ambercrombie, I understand your concern, but no one who doesn't have a good reason has been anywhere near this place today." The deputy, one Mulder vaguely recognized but could not put a name to, seemed to be trying not to sound condescending. Scully was keeping her face impassive, obviously allowing Simon to take the lead, but having difficulty restraining an urge to point out some of the harsh facts of murder to the deputy.
Mulder whistled softly. Aside from a brief widening of her eyes, she gave no sign that she heard him. Well, perhaps he could hope that the hint of a smile was for him. It comforted him to believe that the half-smile that lit up her eyes and softened her expression was given only to him.
"Simon, I'm going to check around back once before we settle in. Deputy Taylor," Scully nodded to the young deputy before leaving Simon to explain the realities of murder to a man not prepared to accept that a neighbor he knew and trusted might also be a murderer.
Simon gave her a fleeting look of entreaty then sighed and went back to trying to glean the names of every delivery boy, handyman or neighbor who had walked past the deputy without a thought being given to darker motives.
When they were out of earshot, Mulder leaned over to whisper, "Were we ever that young?"
"Once, a very long time ago," Scully answered with a hint of amusement in her voice. She could remember being that naive, right up to the moment before she stepped into the basement office that had become her professional home. She doubted if Mulder had ever been that young.
"Any bright ideas?" Scully asked, hoping for a yes, but dreading some fantastic solution she was going to have to justify.
"Not a one," Mulder replied morosely. So much for his vaunted profiling ability. "Our perp is clever, original and obsessed with eliminating everyone involved in the decision to build a new library. The methods chosen are significant in some way to the killer, in fact, I'd say they were crucial, but why is eluding me. I think when we understand the methods, we will understand the killer."
Scully sighed, but didn't look too disappointed. If Mulder had stumbled onto an idea he would have been bursting to share it. She would have felt his excitement. It was back to basic police work and the hope that their perp would be overconfident enough to attempt his fourth successful murder tonight.
"Oh, by the way, Chief Talbert got a phone call from Dickerson offering the services of his expert agents along with a crime scene team and the full use of the FBI labs to solve his problem," Scully's tone was scathing.
"Shit. Maybe I should pay a little visit to Dickerson tonight," Mulder glowered. Tiny sparks began to swarm around them. Before Scully could say anything, he damped down his irritation. Focusing his rising anger into the possibilities of the mischief he could inflict, he felt a chuckle coming on. "Scully, mind if I borrow a sheet?"
"Mulder, don't you dare!" Scully warned, though the vision of Dickerson waking up to a billowing, sheet-covered apparition did sound very tempting.
"Who, me?" Mulder asked innocently. He wasn't fooling Scully, but it was nice to relax into the old habit of bantering with her.
"Yes, you," Scully replied barely masking a chuckle as she began making a careful check of the backyard and the rear of the house. She may have used the excuse of wanting to check out the area to talk to Mulder, but she was determined not to make it into a lie. Mulder moved into and through the tool shed and checked to see that the screen door and the back door were firmly latched.
"Everything's clear and locked down tight, Scully," he assured her when he rejoined her. "Even the windows are latched. Rowston doesn't appear to be taking any chances."
"Well, he's been warned. Talbert suggested he go elsewhere for the night, but he refused. Talbert has almost his entire force scattered around the area, but isn't very hopeful they could stop our perp from getting in, but he said that the killer would find that getting out was going to be a whole other story."
"Sounds like Tonto. This case must be frustrating him. He always prided himself on being able to solve puzzles that stumped the rest of us," Mulder said with a reminiscent smile.
Scully began walking slowly back to the front of the house. She looked frustrated herself and Mulder wished he could be of more help. Just as they rounded the corner, Mulder touched the small of her back and let his hand linger for a moment, feeling the warmth of her body and the pulse of her blood comfort his soul.
"I'll be nearby if you need me. I don't want to hang too close. Simon is already bristling like a watchdog. I'd rather not give him any more cause for suspicion if I don't have to," Mulder assured her.
Scully paused for a moment, absorbing the feel of Mulder's cold touch. "Katie fixed up a jug of iced tea," she said quietly, her voice a whisper that held a distant memory of another stakeout long ago. She felt Mulder's hand quiver then leave her back. She bit her lip, wondering if she should have just kept that memory to herself. Then, light as an early morning breeze, she felt Mulder's hand cup the side of her face and knew that he shared not only the memory but also the regrets.
"Be careful, Scully. I don't want company on this side," Mulder quipped, trying to hide his concern and a gnawing fear that something was going to happen. He felt like there was a storm brewing somewhere off the horizon. His entire body was beginning to tingle unpleasantly and the air was growing thick and still around this house.
Reluctantly he took his hand away, allowing himself the indulgence of letting the tips of his fingers linger for a second or two. With a sigh he let Scully go on ahead to join Simon without him. Time for him to play sentry and begin patrolling the area.
Scully nodded and straightened her shoulders as she resumed her professional demeanor. Something told her that their perp was going to try for his fourth victim tonight. She had always had a sixth sense about these things. She knew it was simply her unconscious mind putting together a thousand tiny clues her conscious mind had absorbed but not understood. Scientists and investigators did this all the time and called it inspiration, intuition, or even a hunch. Mulder did it constantly, usually on less visible evidence than she was comfortable thinking about, but essentially it was the same process. Now, her intuition was telling her that the killer was getting ready to strike. They were ready for him. This time, she vowed, he was not going to succeed. She would prove to that bastard Dickerson that the X-Files division was as sharp as ever.
"Ready, Simon?" she asked as she rejoined her new partner. The deputy was nowhere in sight, and Simon looked like he had been sucking on a lemon.
"Yeah, sure, considering that half the town has been to see Rowston this afternoon. If our killer was checking things out he could be any one of a dozen people, all with legitimate reasons to be in that house," Simon grumbled.
"Well, Rowston is still alive and we're going to make sure he stays that way. None of the victims had been poisoned, so whoever our killer is, he has to make an appearance. We'll catch him," Scully assured Simon as they walked up to the door of the house across from Rowston's. Talbert had persuaded the owners to go see a movie in Columbus so she and Simon could have a comfortable and invisible observation post.
"Ever get the feeling that something really bad is going to happen and you can't do a thing to stop it?" Simon asked as he ushered Scully inside and shut the door.
The parlor was filled with Victorian furniture that looked entirely unsuitable for accommodating Simon's lanky form. He found a stout wooden chair and planted it beside the window where he could see out without being seen. Scully pulled up a matching chair a few feet back from the window and settled in for several hours of boring observation.
Scully didn't answer Simon's question. She suspected Simon didn't want an answer. She wasn't even sure she wanted to consider an answer. This case was unsettling them all. Mulder's unease was plain. That worried her more than all the baffling, contradictory facts in this case. Her acceptance of the paranormal was limited to the belief that her dead partner had returned to her. She still did not accept that there were things out there that defied science. The notion that they might be confronting something science hadn't gotten around to defining yet was cause for worry. Simon was a good man. She now understood why Mulder wanted her to take him as a partner, but she would much rather be sitting here with Mulder facing the unknown.
Outside the sun began a slow descent behind the tree-line and the haze of early twilight settled onto the town like a shimmering fog. A light appeared in Rowston's house, but Scully and Simon stayed in the gathering darkness and watched. Mulder moved into Rowston's living room and stood in the shadows watching and waiting for the storm to break. Rowston, a handsome man in his mid-sixties with a mane of silver hair and the nose of a Roman patrician, sat nervously in his dining room clutching an elephant gun capable of blowing a man in two. Mulder couldn't help but compare the situation to a play - the actors were all in place, their lines prepared, waiting for the director to give the signal to begin.
0=0=0=0=0=0=0
The clock in Rowston's living room struck seven, then after an interminable time, eight chimes sounded loud in the hushed silence. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on Rowston's face and hands despite the blast of chilled air pouring out of the air conditioner beside him. Mulder took another walk around the house, unable to stay still. Whatever he had now instead of nerves was twitching in fearful anticipation. He took a quick jump to check on Scully who was looking tired and tense. A half-empty glass of iced tea sat on the small table next to her chair along with a barely touched sandwich. Simon was pacing in the background reminding Mulder of an agitated leopard. So, he felt it too, this gathering sense of ... something.
Pausing to brush a hand across Scully's shoulder, Mulder returned to his vigil. When he arrived back in Rowston's house, he knew whatever lurked in the wings was moving. Rowston looked around nervously, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow in frantic bursts. Mulder heard Rowston's breathing speed up and felt him begin to pant. Mulder scanned the area and could not see what was alarming Rowston. The air felt heavy and an oppressive silence swallowed up the house. Suddenly Rowston stood up and screamed, firing the rifle at something in the living room. Mulder winced as the cloud of hot gas and powder blew through him followed by the bullet which tore through the wall and, from the sound of it, kept going through the next room and out the outer wall of the house.
Fighting his bewilderment, Mulder forced himself to calm down and view the scene with the detachment of a spirit removed from the fears and concerns of the living. Gradually he saw a shadow take form, moving through the rifle fire with deadly intent. From outside he heard Scully and Simon rushing across the street, summoned by the sounds of gunshots. Hell, as loud as Rowston's damn gun was, everyone within a five-mile radius must have heard it.
Rowston was now beyond rational thought. He kept pulling the trigger on an empty gun, mindlessly caught in the last rational thought he had had. To Mulder's horror, the shadow snapped into focus and he found himself almost face to face with a shimmering, gaunt, stern-faced man dressed in oilskins and seaman's boots, stumping towards the terrified Rowston on one wooden leg. A harpoon was raised and ready. The figure was muttering something, but Mulder had no desire to hear what he said. Actually, he had a rather good idea what the apparition was saying, but Mulder's mind kept insisting that it didn't exist, that it couldn't exist on the same plane as he did. For a moment, Mulder hesitated, fighting disbelief until he heard the sound of Scully and Simon pounding up the porch steps.
The advancing figure did not seem to hear their approach and continued to slowly stalk his victim. Gathering his courage, Mulder stepped in front of the apparition and to his surprise saw the thing's eyes register his presence.
"Begone, foul spirit from Hell. Ye'll not save this coward's life." The seaman's Boston accent was so thick to be nearly incomprehensible.
"I ...," Mulder tried not to consider that fact that he was about to argue with a figment of imagination. "Captain, this is wrong. You're being deceived by an evil man."
The seaman paused, looking at Mulder suspiciously. Behind him Mulder could see Simon burst through the door and jump to one side covering the room while Scully followed him and peeled to the other side. From the startled, confused expressions on their faces, Mulder knew they didn't see the seaman. Rowston was cowering in a corner holding the gun up as a shield babbling hysterically.
"Cover me!" Scully ordered as she cautiously moved through the room, the seaman and Mulder in her march towards Rowston. The seaman seemed unmoved by the experience, but Mulder shuddered briefly before clamping down on his urge to go off somewhere and shake.
Scully reached Rowston and dodged a vicious swipe of the rifle before disarming the sobbing man and checking him for wounds. Her back was to the seaman who seemed to hesitate. Mulder seized his chance and moved to stand between Scully and the seaman.
"You can't hurt a woman. Your feud is not with her. You are being used," Mulder repeated, fighting the compulsion which had sent this impossible killer on his mission. "Miss Ellie wouldn't want this," he ventured, praying that his sudden suspicion was correct.
The seaman's eyes softened, twisting his face into unfamiliar lines. Then the seaman shuddered as if whips of fire were striking him and his eyes blazed with fanatic determination. Slowly he resumed his slow pace forwards. Mulder raised a hand to stop him and felt his hand slide through the figure without resistance.
"Damn!" Mulder cursed. He had a nasty feeling that even if he materialized, he would not be able to interfere. Simon was scanning the room, his eyes darting as if he could sense something just outside his ability to see.
"Scully, Ahab's in here with a fucking harpoon. Knock Rowston out, now!" Mulder yelled as he bolted for Miss Ellie's house. It was a last ditch effort, but if they could break the connection that was drawing this apparition towards his victim, then they might have a chance. If he was correct, the answer to this horror lay at Miss Ellie's. He had to trust that Scully could protect Rowston from something she couldn't see.
Simon's head came up and he began moving forward. Scully glanced over her shoulder, startled and prepared to argue. Without a word, Simon swung his gun against Rowston's head, catching him as he slumped forward.
"What the hell..." Scully began angrily. First Mulder screeches in her ear that there her father was here with a harpoon and then Simon cold-cocks the man they were supposed to be protecting.
"Sorry, Scully," Simon looked chagrined. "I don't know what came over me, but I thought I heard someone yell to knock him out." Simon was looking confused as he stood in front of Scully. He continued to scan the room for an enemy he knew was there, but couldn't see.
Scully tried not to think about the fact that Simon had responded to Mulder's command. This case was becoming a real nightmare. How she was going to explain this in her report was going to be a challenge. She was supposed to be the rational one and yet her report was going to read like a cheap horror novel.
Scully went still as her mind suddenly shifted focus and began churning unrelated facts into an impossible thesis. She didn't believe it, but what if all it required was for the victim to believe in it. Hallucination, drugs, her rational mind pleaded, but that tiny part of her that was Irish and believed in Mulder knew that something beyond her science was taking place here.
"Simon, do you sense any danger?" Scully wasn't sure why she felt Simon could answer that question, but she was beginning to suspect that Simon had his own form of intuition. Well, why not. She already had a ghost as a partner, why not add a psychic, she sighed with amused resignation.
"I sense something, but it seems to be waiting, maybe even confused, if that makes any sense," Simon added sheepishly. He was blushing slightly and refused to look Scully in the eye. This was not how he wanted to impress her.
"It's OK, Simon. I suspect that by tomorrow morning we both we just be glad to forget half of what is going on, but right now I'm inclined to believe in extreme possibilities. Let me know if there is any change, will you?" Scully tried to sound reassuring, as if this sort of confrontation was just another day in the X-Files.
"Right," Simon answered, his tone making it very clear that he didn't believe this was routine, but wasn't going to argue. He wondered if anyone would believe him if he tried to explain that he was standing guard against a phantasm he couldn't see or hear, but knew with absolute certainty was in the room with them.
"Simon," Scully said quietly, keeping her voice calm and steady, "have you ever read 'Moby Dick'?"
"What the ....," Simon retorted. He didn't think his confusion level could go up any higher, but his partner just proved him wrong. This did not seem the time or place to discuss English literature.
"Cutlass, musket, harpoon - what does that say to you, Simon?" Scully prompted, still feeling her own way around an idea that seemed too incredible to even consider. She wished Mulder would speak up, give her some help, but she had a sinking feeling that he had dashed off to confront the source of this madness.
Simon was silent for a long time. Outside he could hear the sirens as Talbert's deputies converged on the house. He wondered how they would explain the situation without sounding like idiots. No wonder Agent Mulder got the reputation of being half-crazy. After only one case, Simon began thinking that Agent Mulder was probably the sanest man in the FBI if he could cope with all of this without going mad.
Something clicked in Simon's mind and he began to follow Scully's reasoning, if reason had anything to do with this idea. "Books. Our killer is using characters out of books. But how?" Simon asked plaintively.
"I don't know. Hallucinations, maybe produced by drugs and suggestions. We won't know for sure until we do a tox screen," Scully answered frankly.
Simon stiffened for a moment then raised his gun. The reassuring sound of deputies rushing the house turned into howls of fear and the sound of men hitting the ground yelling at each other in confusion.
"Shit. Scully, right now I'm willing to bet that whoever our perp is just threw in some reinforcements. Something tells me that our friends out there drank or ate something laced with your hallucinogen," Simon said as he tried to stay calm and focus on the sense of threat he felt building up in front of him. Whatever was in the room with them was getting angry and beginning to move.
"Mulder," Scully whispered as softly as she could. "We could really use your help right now," she suggested. Silence, not even the faint chill to reassure her that he was nearby. He must have gone after the source. "Fine, but how am I supposed to fight something I can't even see?" she asked the thin air in a vexed tone.
Even a skeptic like herself could feel the tension build up in the room. She recalled watching a storm roll in off the sea and feeling the electric tension roll out in waves before the boiling clouds and rains. The room felt like the inside of a pressure cooker. A greenish-silver cloud seemed to form in the center of the living room, about man-high. Anger, confusion and fanatic obsession billowed out from the cloud.
Simon kept moistening his lips and Scully could see the sweat beading out on his forehead as he stared at the cloud. She had to admit to feeling nervous, well, perhaps a bit beyond nervous, but that was perfectly understandable. They were facing something able to hide in plain sight with murderous intentions. It was only natural that she would be uneasy, she assured herself. The Mulder-voice in her head told her to be careful and not trust anything to be as it seemed to be.
Standing up, Scully deliberately placed herself between Rowston and the cloud. If she couldn't see the killer, could she stop his attack? Interesting question and one she did not have an answer to, but she intended to do her best. Simon moved to stand beside her, keeping his gun focused on the cloud. He was murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like "The Charge of the Light Brigade" to Scully and she had to smother an urge to laugh.
Simon shrugged and interrupted his recitation to say, "Well, it can't hurt. We could use a bit of help right now," and tried not to look sheepish.
"Sure, Simon, whatever, but just remember there has to be a logical explanation for all of this," Scully reminded him.
The air in the room exploded in sparks as the cloud roared and charged. Scully braced herself and tried to believe that bullets would work against whatever this was. Simon fired first, then stepped into the cloud just before it reached Scully. Scully felt the room contract until her bones bent inward then the air exploded in a blast that obliterated sense and awareness. She fell to the floor. Her last conscious thought was that a mighty wave had crashed against the house, caving in the walls and drowning them all.
0=0=0=0=0=0=0
Mulder bolted from the chaos in Rowston's living room and sped towards Miss Ellie's house. It hurt to leave Scully behind to deal with Ahab, but the apparition was only the tool of whoever was masterminding these killings. The suspect was beginning to be rather obvious now and he made a mental note to spend several hours kicking himself for blatant stupidity when this was all over. He fought the undertow of Scully's need for him as he raced towards the center of the storm.
A single light beckoned him through the darkening twilight. The house loomed in the shadows, threatening any who dared disturb it, but Mulder was beyond caring. He had not left Scully behind to face a murderous illusion just to let the menace of this ancient house deter him. His charge into the house became a tug of war with him as the rope. Scully's need pulled him one way and the house shoved him away, but he fought his way forward slowly until with a surge he dove through the wards and tumbled headlong into Miss Ellie's parlor.
Books, hundreds and hundreds of books were everywhere and Mulder felt each and every one of them growling at him, rising up from their slumber to rise to the defense of the one person who saw them as living beings. Mulder hoped he wouldn't have to cope with an army of outraged literary characters out to shred his ectoplasm to the four winds. There were more that a few villains, not to mention heroes, in the books of his childhood that he had no desire to meet, even on a friendly basis.
Looking around, he saw Miss Ellie sitting in a large stuffed chair reading a book in a dreamy, half-aware tone of voice. Her eyes appeared to be unfocused, entranced and Mulder suspected she wasn’t even aware of what she was reading. The words she spoke aloud were the words that Ahab shouted to the great white whale, defiance, vengeance, hatred for the thing that stole his ship and his leg. Hearing Ahab's curses in Miss Ellie's dreamy cultured voice was unsettling. In this room, they were the rich textured words of a great novel; words that evoked the smell of the sea and the fear of the great beasts that swam through it and the puny efforts of man to impose his will upon the untamable ocean.
"Miss Ellie," Mulder began softly, willing her to hear him, this grand old lady who was unwittingly giving life to a killer.
Mulder knelt beside her chair and materialized just enough to form a hazy shadow of himself and touched her arm. Miss Ellie looked up and smiled, not startled at all to see a ghost hovering at her side.
"I don't recognize you. I thought I knew all my guests. Well, there are so many books, so many tales I've forgotten. Welcome," she said with a warm smile.
For a moment, Mulder felt the pull of her invitation. The sense of menace he had been feeling from the books evaporated, replaced by the warmth of good fellowship and feeling of having reached safe haven. Here was home. Here was where he would be loved and cared for and read...
Mulder shook his head. He was not a book to find sanctuary here. Scully needed his help.
"Miss Ellie, you have to listen to me. Your nephew is using you. He's using your books to do evil things," Mulder argued.
"Robbie, such a good lad, but so angry. He helps me care for my friends." Miss Ellie looked at Mulder for a long time before nodding. "I think I knew. The tea has tasted different and my dreams so real." Quietly, crying but a single tear, she reverently closed the old volume of "Moby Dick" she held in her lap. "They are the only family I have left, you know, young man. They mean well. They thought they were helping. You won't hurt them, will you?" she pleaded, slurring the words slightly as she fought the drug pulling her back into the dream.
"I won't hurt them, Miss Ellie. No one will ever know. We can stop Robbie now, before he hurts anyone else," Mulder assured her. He took her hand in his and held it until she sighed and closed her eyes. For a heartbeat, Mulder feared she was dying until he sensed the slow but steady beat of her heart. "Sleep, Miss Ellie, I'll bet you'll wake up to discover you have more friends left than you ever realized."
Mulder stared down at the dreaming woman whose belief was so strong that she could call to life the heroes in the books which had been in her care for over half a century. He hoped Robbie burned in hell for using her dreams to wreak his vengeance. Mulder felt the spirits of the books gather around Miss Ellie, comforting her and protecting her. There was also anger, a concentrated fury focused and directed at the man who had used them. Mulder flinched as a thunderous cloud burst out of the shadows in the far end of the room. Vengeance was loose and Scully was in the path of the storm.
Running out of the protective envelope of the house, Mulder felt Scully cry out to him followed by silence. Mulder fled back to Scully's side. His imagination envisioned disaster, though he knew that Scully was still among the living. So much could have gone wrong. He had failed to protect her. If Robbie had hurt her, he would take a personal delight in haunting that man into hell. He prayed with every ounce of faith he could scrounge up that the wrathful spirit raised up by the books had only taken one victim.
Shaken deputies were slowly getting to their feet on the front lawn of Rowston's house when Mulder sped past them. Tonto had a look of awe on his face as he carefully stepped onto the porch and moved cautiously into the living room. Mulder didn't even bother with the door. He rushed straight through the front wall and slithered to a stop beside Scully's prone form.
Simon was unconscious on the floor, spread-eagled in a giant X, one hand clutching a harpoon. Rowston was slumped in a corner, groggily trying to sit up. A large goose-egg was blossoming on the side of his head. Mulder was impressed. He didn't think Scully could hit that hard. Scully was groaning softly. If the burgeoning bruise on her forehead was any indication, she was going to have a hell of a headache when she woke up. Other than the bruise, Mulder couldn't find anything else wrong. It looked as if she had been caught in the blast wave of an explosion.
"Ross, call the medics. We have three people down," Talbert shouted to his chief deputy.
"Yes sir. What about Robbie here? He's dead and I know what I saw, but I don't believe it," Ross said slowly.
"Leave him for now. He's not going anywhere. These people are alive and need medical attention." Talbert got up and looked over at Scully. Ross hurried off yelling for someone to get the medics to the house now.
"Hey, Tonto, it's me," Mulder said from thin air. Talbert didn't even start. Mulder wondered what on earth had happened here.
"Mulder, you have got some explaining to do. I've got a dead man, killed by a bloody fucking knight who calmly rode up through my men, who by the way, were being held off by a fucking archer. Damn thing put an arrow through one of my squad car windows. I sure hope you have a nice rational explanation for all of this." Talbert sounded brusque. Mulder really didn't blame him. Scully wasn't going to be very happy either.
"Nope. But it's over. Robbie is your killer -- well, more or less, but he was the one behind the killings," Mulder said reassuringly.
Talbert glared at the hazy shadow forming next to Scully, then sighed. Agent Scully seemed like a nice sane reasonable person. Hopefully when she woke up she would have a nice sane rational explanation so he wouldn't have to sound like a fucking idiot in his report. Then again, maybe he could lose the report before it ever got to the town council.
"Agent Scully hurt?" Talbert asked knowing that Mulder was checking her over more thoroughly than even the medics would. From the sound of his voice, Mulder was not frantic so Agent Scully was probably just knocked out by whatever had swept through this house like a whirlwind.
"Knocked out from the blast," Mulder replied as he smoothed her hair out of her face and away from the bruise. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, but he really didn't think the town needed any more unexplained phenomena occurring tonight and a floating FBI agent might be one phenomenon too many.
Reluctantly Mulder retreated back into thin air when the medics arrived. By the time Scully was awake and assuring the medics that she was fine, Simon was being given oxygen while the medics bandaged a savage gash on the hand holding the harpoon. Simon kept staring at the harpoon as if not entirely sure what he was doing with it. Mulder wanted to hear that story. He knew Simon and Scully hadn't been drugged, Robbie was nowhere near the area when they arrived with their food. So, how in the world did Simon end up with Ahab's harpoon?
Against medical advice, Scully stood up, waited while the world stopped spinning. She walked unsteadily out to where Robbie lay in an untidy heap on the far end of the porch. Stooping carefully, she examined his body.
"Not a mark on him, yet I'll take an oath along with my men that he was killed by a man in a full suit of armor. Agent Scully, if this is a normal case for you, then you and Mulder have my complete and utter respect," Talbert said as he came up behind her. He felt a chill and knew that Mulder was probably right there beside her.
"Chief Talbert, nothing about this case is normal," Scully sighed and tried not to look as if she had a killer headache.
"Go back to inn and get some rest, Agent Scully. My men and I will clean up around here. I'm going to have blood drawn from my men and Rowston, and I think I'll contribute a bit myself. With luck, we'll all have been drugged and I can write all of this off as drug-induced hallucinations followed by the hysterical collapse and subsequent death of the killer." Talbert said hopefully.
"Come on, Scully. Tonto can handle things now. It's over and you need to rest," Mulder pleaded quietly, praying that for once in her life she would listen to him.
Scully looked as if she wanted to argue, then closed her eyes and held a hand to her head. "Take a sample of Robbie's blood as well, Chief Talbert. Let's cover all our bases." Scully swayed a bit and felt Mulder steady her. "Tell Simon where I am," she asked as she moved down the stairs wobbling a bit as she swayed in Mulder's arms.
"Taylor, take Agent Scully back to Katie's, then get back here, pronto," Talbert ordered. "See you in the morning, Agent Scully. Oh, and thanks," he added with a smile.
Scully nodded, immediately regretting that action, and allowed Mulder to steady her for the walk to the car. They needed to talk -- God, how many times had she said that to herself, she laughed. But right now she needed a good night's sleep and a bottle of aspirin more.
"Come on, Mulder, let's go home," she whispered and heard his soft chuckle. Tomorrow would be time enough, both for talk and for explanation. Tonight she just wanted to sleep knowing he was watching over her and maybe dream of extreme possibilities.
0=0=0=0=0=0=0
The ride back to the inn had been mercifully quick and silent. Deputy Taylor showed no signs of wanting to discuss the case. Scully sat quietly in the passenger seat, content to close her eyes against the glare of the street lamps in the darkness. As soon as the car pulled up in front of the inn, she exited as gracefully as she could, mumbled a thank-you to the deputy and walked as fast as she could without seeming to hurry up to her room. Twice, on the stairs, Mulder's steadying hand braced her when the headache flared up in stabbing pain and she stumbled. He said nothing as he felt each tiny hiss she made against the pain. He knew she needed to keep her mask in place until she was alone, away from curious eyes.
Reaching the sanctuary of her room, she shed all pretense of stoicism and sank into the chair. Mulder carefully lifted her feet up and placed them on the footstool. While in the bathroom, he allowed himself to materialize to a semi-solid wraith that seemed more shadow than substance. He was still too tired from his afternoon's adventure to attempt a full materialization, but this should give him enough form to satisfy Scully's need to see who she was talking to.
"Here, Scully, I've got some extra-strength aspirin and some water," he offered as he knelt down beside her. As near as he could remember, cold was bad for headaches, so he refrained from stroking her brow as he wanted to do.
"I'm fine...," Scully started to assure him, then realized that reverberations of speaking hurt her throbbing ear drums. She looked over and found herself face to face with Mulder who did not look at all convinced by her statement. His eyes were dark pools she wanted to drown herself in; to forget in their depths all the chaos of the evening.
"We need to talk," Scully said, carefully mouthing each word and talking as slowly and softly as she could.
"Take the aspirin, Scully. You need to rest. It's been a busy night. Our talk can wait a few more hours. I'm not going anywhere," Mulder said with a smile. Without giving Scully time to come up with any more arguments, he gave her the glass and handed her two aspirin and waited.
"Why doesn't my head hurt when you talk?" she asked stubbornly, forging ahead despite eyes that narrowed in pain with every word.
"Because I'm not really here," Mulder answered with a grin. He sighed when she did not look satisfied. "Scully, now is not the time to discuss ghost physiology, but since I don't have a real body, my voice isn't real, more or less. I think you hear me because I want you to hear me - it has nothing to do with sound waves or auditory physics. Satisfied?" he asked hopefully. He really didn't want to try to explain something he didn't understand himself, but trust Scully to want a scientific explanation for his ghostly abilities.
With a resigned sigh, Scully nodded and swallowed the aspirin. For once, she was in too much pain to argue. As much as she wanted to talk with Mulder, she wanted to crawl under a rock and hide until her head quit hurting. She watched as Mulder turned down the bed. Would he offer to undress her, she wondered with a mixture of shyness and desire. As she tried to sort through her tangled feelings, she made a mental note to add another item to the list of things they needed to talk about. To her disappointment and relief, Mulder showed no signs of assisting her any further.
Mulder concentrated on moving the bedcovers. He felt the heat of Scully's gaze and felt the stirrings of his own desire. He was grateful that he was too exhausted to betray himself. Scully couldn't know that she aroused him with a touch or that piercing intense gaze of hers that felt like it was peering into his soul. For both their sakes, she had to remain blissfully unaware of his response to the relaxing of her emotional barriers.
"OK, Scully, time for bed," he said with only a slight tremble in his tone. "I'll be right here if you need anything. We'll talk in the morning, I promise," he added more firmly and reassured her with a smile.
Scully nodded slightly, relieved to feel the sharp edges of the headache begin to dull. As much as she hated her sensitivity to extra-strength aspirin, right now it was a relief to know that she could let herself fall asleep under its influence. She was amused to see Mulder turn and stare pointedly out the window as a signal for her to undress. By the time the aspirin was slowing her movements and muffling her thoughts, she was in bed and drifting off to sleep. The last thing she saw was Mulder standing by the window, watching her with a sad smile on his face. It felt good to have him here; she could relax completely knowing she was safe in his care.
About a half hour later, Mulder heard Simon come up the stairs and pause outside the door. A soft knock, followed by another, then a sigh then Mulder heard Simon walk slowly over to his own room. Mulder smiled. Scully was still his for the night. One of the reasons he had insisted on giving her the extra-strength aspirin was to forestall her temptation to stay up half the night and hash out a coherent report with Simon. She might grumble at him when she realized what he had done, but she would be rested and refreshed and in much better shape to deal with the fantastic events of the evening.
Watching her sleep, Mulder pondered how much to tell Scully and Talbert about Miss Ellie's role in the case. She was just as much of a victim as all the others; worse, in fact, her love and her power were abused and twisted by a vengeful angry man. Scully would want to know the truth and he couldn't lie to her, but he owed it to Miss Ellie to protect her from people who would not understand and might seek to put her away. He passed the night in thought, pausing only occasionally to listen to Scully's even breathing and watch her face as she dreamed and hoped that if they were pleasant dreams that he was in there somewhere.
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The first bright rays of sunlight were just topping over the trees when Mulder heard Scully begin to come awake. He watched her stretch like a cat then hesitate before relaxing into a smile. Obviously her headache was gone. At least now, if she grumbled at him, he could point out the wisdom of his insistence that she get some sleep.
"Mulder?" Scully's voice was still thick with sleep but she was scanning the room for him. Her tone was relaxed, mildly curious and not at all concerned that he might have gone flitting off somewhere.
"Over here," he answered, pleased that she trusted him to keep his promise. Slowly he coalesced until he was a dusky shadow in the morning light.
She smiled and closed her eyes for a moment before bursting out of bed in an explosion of arms and legs. Once upright, she stretched again, giving Mulder a tantalizing glimpse of a nice pair of shapely thighs. Mulder held on tight to his libido and retreated to a corner while Scully went through her morning routine of exercise, shower and dressing. He rather enjoyed the exercise part and, on some mornings, was not above giving her his version of a cheerleaders chant. Nothing like a good scowl to get the blood moving, he told her when she did eventually tell him to shut up.
The birds were in full voice by the time she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a light tan suit, an ivory blouse and his scarf, the one he had given her for her last birthday. Mulder suspected she knew he was putty in her hands when she wore that scarf. Trust Scully to wrangle any advantage she could.
"OK, Mulder, I think we need to talk," Scully stated bluntly.
Mulder nodded and cocked his head quizzically as if to ask where.
"Right here. Right now," Scully answered firmly as she sat down in the large stuffed chair by the window. Mulder moved over to the bed and tucked his legs under him and sat down, making sure he was solid enough to stay on top of the bed. Scully had been quite clear on more than one occasion that she found talking to someone drifting into furniture distracting.
"OK, it's your call."
"Well, aside from the entire problem of what to tell Simon, what in hell happened last night?" Scully asked with a tinge of confusion marring the professional tone she was trying to adopt.
Mulder quelled the urge to get up and pace around.
"I'm not sure what happened after I left you in Rowston's house. God, Scully, if I had any idea that you were in danger, I'd never have left you," Mulder blurted, his worry of the night before still fresh in his mind.
"Just tell me what you saw. There has to be a logical explanation for all of this."
"Well, there's logic and then there's what happened. You might be able to shoehorn this case into rational science, but it is going to be a very tight fit," Mulder remarked. "The closing of the old library was the key. We may find that Robbie was simply unbalanced or maybe there were other explanations, but whatever the reason, he decided to kill the men he felt were responsible for throwing his aunt out of her job."
"That explains who, Mulder. Not how. Chief Talbert is going to want to know how. What am I going to tell him - that Robbie managed to create a hallucination that killed those men?" Scully sounded exasperated and Mulder couldn't blame her. This was going to be a bitch of a report to write.
"I think how is never going to be settled. Blame it on drugs, Robbie's twisted mind, whatever sounds good. I know what I saw. I know what Rowston saw and I know what the other three victims saw. I even think I know how Robbie was able to do all of this and even what eventually killed him, but you are not going to believe it. Hell, I'm not even sure I believe it," Mulder said with a resigned sigh.
"Mulder..." Scully stopped and took a calming breath. He was always so quick to discount her willingness to accept answers that didn't exactly coincide with science. Maybe at one time he had been correct, she did reject anything that hinted at the paranormal, but she had seen enough over the years to begin to accept that, in some cases, the boundaries of science needed to be pushed back.
"We'll need to talk with Chief Talbert to see what he and his men witnessed and I want to talk with Simon. That harpoon came from somewhere. But you are my best witness at the moment. So tell me what you saw and where you ran off to before everything exploded," Scully insisted. To her relief, Mulder looked uncomfortable, but finally nodded and began talking, hesitantly at first then with more enthusiasm. She relaxed into the familiar routine of listening to him develop and expound on a theory.
"I was keeping an eye on Rowston and that fucking elephant gun of his. Sheesh, Scully. I think I was more afraid of what he'd do if you or Simon came running in than I was of our mysterious killer," Mulder grimaced. The memory of the chunks of wall blown out by the discharge of that rifle were only too easily transferred into chunks of flesh.
"Suddenly it got very still and Rowston screamed something and fired that cannon. If I'd had eardrums I'd be deaf right now. I turned to see what was so horrifying and came face to face with a gaunt seaman waving a harpoon around. I knew he wasn't real and he damn well wasn't a ghost, but there he was. At first he didn't notice me until I stepped right up in his face. Scully, he was Ahab, I'd swear to it -- right down to his wooden leg. I've read the book, it was Ahab," Mulder insisted aware of how completely out there this story was.
"I believe you, Mulder," Scully said. She nearly laughed at the look of stunned surprise on Mulder's face. He flickered in and out for a moment or two, apparently so taken aback by her willingness to believe that he lost control of his form. She coughed and he shimmered one last time before stabilizing.
"Scully, give me warning before you startle me like that. I thought I'd have to argue a lot longer to get you to accept what I saw," Mulder confessed.
"Well, after you left, I felt something and saw a glowing shadow about man high, radiating anger and a fanatic obsession - just the sort of emotions Ahab would have," Scully replied cautiously, trying not to sound as sheepish as she felt describing what was rapidly becoming a hazy memory. "Simon saw more than I did, I'm certain of that. When the cloud began to attack he charged it and right about then was when the house exploded and I lost consciousness." Scully chose her words with care, avoiding saying any more than absolutely necessary about what happened. Stick to the facts, the bare facts, she cautioned herself. They were bad enough without venturing into the emotions entangled with those facts.
"When you and Simon burst in, the apparition didn't seem to notice. You walked right through him ... and me ... to get to Rowston and it didn't blink an eye. I took a chance. I thought I knew where the source of the problem lay. It never crossed my mind that you and Simon could be in danger. Sorry," Mulder apologized morosely.
Scully nodded and gestured for him to continue. From across the hall, she could hear Simon beginning to stir about in his room. They had little time left.
"I went to Miss Ellie's house. She was reading aloud from 'Moby Dick," Mulder tried not to smile as Scully's left eyebrow nearly climbed into her hairline. "She looked as if she was under the influence of some sort of drug. I don't think she realized what Robbie was doing. When I told her, she closed the book. End of story," Mulder ended abruptly, looking uneasy.
"Mulder, what happened? Simon is going to be over here in just a few minutes. I need to know the truth," Scully argued. She suspected that more had happened at Miss Ellie's than she might ever know, but she needed to know the basic facts.
"What do you want, Scully? To hear me say that I think the books are as real as people to her? That those same books realized that Robbie had tricked them into killing for him and took their own revenge?" Mulder sighed. "Miss Ellie deserves better than to be locked up as a nutcase. What happened wasn't her fault," Mulder insisted, his voice rising slightly.
"Scully?" Simon's voice interrupted him. Scully sighed and knew that she had gotten as much out of Mulder as she was going to get. It was a strange tale he told, but considering the fact that she was cross-examining a ghost she was in no position to pass judgment.
"I'm coming, Simon," she answered as she went to open the door. Mulder vanished abruptly, but not before giving her a shrug of his shoulders and an attempt at a smile. One of these days, she promised herself, she was going to barricade herself and Mulder in a locked room and forbid any interruptions on the pain of death. If she didn't know better, she would swear Mulder was arranging all of these convenient interruptions to avoid a serious discussion.
"Morning. I smell breakfast and thought we might go over the case before meeting with Chief Talbert," Simon said uncertainly. His bandaged hand was hidden in his suit pocket.
"Sounds good. I'd be interested to hear what you make of this case. You have had quite an introduction to the X-Files," Scully said reassuringly as they walked down the stairs. She wondered where Mulder was, she missed his touch, but he seemed to be avoiding Simon. Which might not be such a bad idea, if Simon had some sense that could pick up on ghosts and other unlikely apparitions, she thought.
"I'm not sure you do," Simon muttered with a shrug. "I'm not even sure what I think I saw any more. Last night it was all so clear. I came back and wrote it all down before I went to sleep," Simon waved a spiral notebook at her. "This morning, it reads like something out of a bad horror novel. It's like I dreamed it." Simon looked forlorn and confused.
Scully sympathized with him. If Mulder hadn't confirmed what she vaguely remembered of the events, she would have sworn they were part of an elaborate, complex dream. She kicked herself for not insisting that she and Simon be checked for drugs as well. That had to be the explanation - somehow Robbie managed to get access to the food they and the police ate or else he produced some sort of airborne hallucinogen inside Rowston's house. Scully felt an obscure satisfaction in the possibility that there was a rational, scientific explanation for all of this. A small voice persisted, however, in reminding her that her own personal ghost believed that books had come alive and gone about killing people and if she believed in one impossible thing, how could she justify dismissing other, less convenient impossibilities.
"Maybe we did, Simon. Let's see what the tox report has to say," Scully said hopefully.
"Is the tox report going to explain why I have a harpoon in my room?" Simon asked plaintively. At Scully's quizzical look he went on to explain, "Nobody else seemed to want it and I just sort of brought it home with me."
He did not seem prepared to go easily down the rational path of conventional wisdom. Scully really didn't blame him, but they had to find a compromise suitable for an official report. She had Skinner's health to consider. A stress-induced aneurysm brought on by unexpectedly receiving a Mulder-style report from her would not reflect favorably on the X-Files division.
"I don't know that we really need to tell Skinner about the harpoon, Simon," she replied calmly. She was almost amused to see Simon struggling with the concept of fudging a report. "I have found that, by-in-large, Skinner wants to know the facts and how the case was resolved. The minor details sometimes are best omitted from the official record. However, what we put in our own files is another matter," she added firmly. "I do want to know how you ended up with that thing."
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Mulder followed Simon and Scully down to the patio and eavesdropped as they tried to make sense of the previous night's events. Both of them seemed unwilling to probe too deeply into the paranormal ramifications of what they had experienced, yet they kept bumping into the inescapable fact that something very unnatural had occurred in Rowston's living room. Scully was gamely trying to straddle the fence between science and her new awareness that outside the borders of her beloved science there be dragons. As one of those dragons lurking in the twilight between science and fantasy, Mulder couldn't help but smile.
At first Simon was hesitant about arguing his opinions against Scully's preference for scientific explanations, but an exasperated sigh and a brief comment from Scully that she wanted a partner, not a yes-man, encouraged him to begin arguing cautiously for his opinion that something very strange and unscientific had occurred. Mulder watched Scully's eyes light up and knew, however she might disagree with Simon's theories, she thrilled to the debate.
"Maybe that's why she put up with me for so many years," Mulder mused to a wary squirrel hanging head down on the tree to his left. The squirrel responded with a hysterical chattering that prompted Scully to look up with her Mulder-I-can't-take-you-anywhere smile. Mulder smiled back even though she couldn't see him. Well, maybe she can feel the smile, he thought hopefully.
As he sat there listening to them debate in between bites of a scrumptious-looking breakfast, Mulder began to feel nostalgic for the days when he was alive and it was him sitting where Simon was sitting. A trickle of jealousy wormed its way into his enjoyment of the scene. Simon was in his place, sitting there oblivious to the privilege he was taking for granted. He felt a growing sense of irrational resentment towards Scully for being able to sit there and enjoy debating a case with her partner while he was dead. Mulder winced at that image and realized he still had not come to terms with his abrupt death. Then again, even when he was alive, he was not the world champion in coming to terms with the traumas in his life.
Better to leave before he embarrassed Scully with a display of petty jealousy that would be awkward to ignore and impossible to explain. He knew his jealousy was unfair, but that didn't mean he could just shrug it aside. Death hadn't magically transformed him and erased all his faults; it just severely limited his options to act on his impulses. For a moment, he considered just leaving without a word, but Scully had smiled at him and that alone deserved a courteous gesture in return. He waited until Simon took a drink of his coffee to lay his hand on her shoulder with a whispered 'I'm going to wander for a bit. See you later.' Scully gave a slight nod with a look in her eyes that told Mulder she understood. She threw out another question about the mysterious cloud that appeared in their midst last night before Simon had time to register her shift in expression.
Leaving the inn, Mulder wandered over to Rowston's house. The place was empty except for the carpenters looking at the blast holes in the walls, escorted by a nervous-looking deputy who kept reminding them not to touch anything. Listening to the workmen, he got the impression that the prevailing gossip held that Rowston had gotten drunk and had accidentally shot Robbie when he arrived at the scene. Opinion was divided on whether Robbie was killer. Not a word was said about the archer who held off the police nor about the armored knight who dispatched Robbie. Mulder gave Tonto credit for persuading his men that talking about what they saw would get them labeled as drunks or fools.
With a thought, he shifted over to Miss Ellie's house and assured himself that she was still sleeping, suffering from no ill effects from the drug. He saw a single deputy sitting in a patrol car outside the house, apparently under orders to observe but not to enter until Miss Ellie was up and around. No doubt Tonto and his men were crawling all over Robbie's house looking for evidence. Since he was here and was well past the stage where a warrant mattered, Mulder decided to search the house for any sign of the drug Robbie used to put his aunt into a trance.
As he moved about the house, Mulder felt the presence of the books like a shadow following him about. Apparently Miss Ellie's drugged acceptance of him had moved him from a warily watched stranger to a tolerated guest. He felt no menace, only a watchful protectiveness when he was in Miss Ellie's bedroom. A search of the main living areas turned up nothing. Mulder stood in the kitchen, feeling frustrated when he felt a tug. Startled, he looked down and saw the shimmering shape of a large collie. Once the dog had his attention, he padded off through the kitchen door into the back porch. Hoping his own sanity was not beginning to fray, Mulder followed and found the dog sitting beside a large tool chest. The dog had a very smug look on his face that turned to a growl as he nosed the chest.
Must be Robbie's, Mulder concluded. He hoped Robbie's spirit had gone on to wherever the souls of murderers go because if he was unlucky enough to get stuck as a ghost in this town, hell would start looking mighty good.
Carefully Mulder materialized enough to open the chest. The collie barked sharply once, as if saying, 'good boy,' then trotted back into the kitchen.
"Great, now I'm taking orders from a dog," Mulder groused. Rummaging through the tools, he came upon a jar containing several small button-like shapes that looked organic. A dim memory of a long-ago psychology class discussing mind-altering drugs, he began to have a dawning understanding of what Robbie had done. The how might never be answered, but the motive and method behind the killings could probably be answered to the
law's satisfaction.
Replacing the jar where he had found it, Mulder closed the tool chest and left the house through the screen door. He would alert Tonto to the jar and let official channels handle the rest. Those little buttons should give Scully the scientific answer she wanted without negating a single paranormal event. He thought that Tonto would be very interested in the buttons and would understand better than most exactly what Robbie had done. Maybe he could get used to this ghost business if it meant he could actively contribute to the cases Scully took on. It didn't exactly make up for dying, but he was beginning to see a number of intriguing possibilities in this new existence.
The town was beginning to bustle and he thought he heard Miss Ellie begin to stir upstairs. He felt the faint tug that told him Scully was on the move. Tonto must have sent someone to fetch her for their morning meeting. This should be interesting, he thought as he drifted back along the thin cord connecting him to Scully. Three people trying to come to some sort of agreement about what happened and write a report that won't get them dismissed as lunatics. Watching Scully and Tonto try to fill in the gaps with the information he could give them without alerting Simon to the source of their information should be quite entertaining.
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When he arrived in Tonto's office, Scully and Simon were already being plied with coffee in the outer office. Tonto did not look as if he had slept and Mulder noticed that his men tended to start at sudden sounds and shadows. He was very careful to stay dematerialized. A random rush of icy air might start a panic and Tonto would know exactly who to blame. Mulder didn't think Tonto knew any shamans, but he didn't want to take the chance that he might just be pissed enough to hunt one up.
"Hey, Tonto, you look like shit," Mulder whispered in a cheery tone. Talbert started, nearly spilling the coffee he was pouring.
"Damn, can't you give a man some warning before doing that?" Talbert asked as he set the mug down on his desk. He gave a wary glance at the door.
"They'll be here in a moment. I just wanted to let you know that there is a jar of what appears to be peyote buttons in a large tool chest on Miss Ellie's back porch," Mulder informed him smoothly just as the office door opened.
"Fuck ... " Talbert swore as the implications of Mulder's message sunk in.
"Good morning to you too, Chief," Scully said calmly. From the look on Talbert's face, she would be willing to bet that Mulder had just dropped a bombshell on the chief. Talbert appeared to be trying to shift gears in mid-stride. Whatever the news was, must have major implications on this case. She wondered if she looked like that whenever Mulder graced her with one of his leaps of intuition. She gave Talbert a knowing smile and a resigned nod to let him know she understood and sympathized. Moving over to the large table, she sat down and slowly sipped her coffee. Despite having finished breakfast not half an hour ago, Simon pounced on a large lemon danish. Seeing Scully's smile, he shrugged and took a bite.
"I'm addicted to danish. When they open a Betty Ford clinic for pastry abuse, I'll be one of the first to sign up. Until then....," Simon retorted. He was beginning to relax around Scully. Nothing like facing something completely unnatural and inexplicable to break down the artificial barriers, he thought. He realized that Scully was giving Chief Talbert a chance to recover his composure and was willing to play along, but he wished he knew what had so disconcerted the normally composed policeman.
"Jeff, radio Ernie to go up to Miss Ellie's place and ask, very nicely, if he can have the large tool chest on her back porch. I presume it's Robbie's. There may be evidence inside," Talbert told Deputy Sullivant who was hovering by