Ghost Who Came In From The Cold -- Part 3
By Joyce
mab49@earthlink.net

Whatever differences Simon and Scully had over the case, they had either settled them or at least had agreed to set them aside. Mulder watched them walk up the sidewalk in easy camaraderie despite their serious expressions. It looked like Scully was seething over something and Simon was trying to calm her down. He didn't look like he was having much luck, but when Scully got mad, very few people could talk her down. Mulder watched the concerned look on Simon's face and tried to be glad that Scully had a partner who cared.

I am glad, Mulder assured himself and wondered when he would fully believe it. Being dead hadn't magically made navigating through complex and contradictory emotions any easier. In fact, he ruefully admitted, the temptation to actually act on some of his impulses was much stronger now.

"Is he here?" Simon asked cautiously, his voice barely above a whisper as Scully opened the door. Mulder repressed the urge to smile. Even though he knew Simon couldn't see him, it hardly seemed fair to laugh at his nervousness. Simon was uneasy, but was trying very hard not to show it. Mulder could hear the pounding of his heart clear across the room. Mulder knew only too well the vast gulf between wanting to see the paranormal in person and finding yourself face-to-face with the stark, cold reality of a ghost. He had yet to meet anyone who could see a ghost without being reminded of their own mortality. Simon was doing very well, all things considered, Mulder decided.

If Scully ever decides she's tired of me hanging around, maybe I'll go haunt Cancerman and disturb his serene belief that he's in control, Mulder reflected. Besides, I'd be performing a public service if I goaded him into a heart attack.

Despite his need to talk to Scully about what he'd learned, he waited for her to call him. It would be easier on Simon than for him to just suddenly appear out of thin air.

"Probably. He wanted to talk to us here, so I doubt if he's very far away," Scully said. "Just relax," she added kindly. Her tone was still a bit sharp, but Mulder noticed she was making an effort to calm down. Whatever had happened apparently had nothing to do with Simon, or with him, Mulder decided.

"Mulder?" Scully called out softly with one of her half-smiles that Mulder liked to believe were reserved just for him.

Mulder whistled a few notes, saw Simon startle, and gave him thirty seconds before slowly materializing in a corner several feet away. Simon looked pale, but managed to give him a nod before blindly feeling for a chair. He almost fell into it, never taking his eyes off Mulder as if he was afraid that if he looked away, Mulder wouldn't be there when he looked back.

"Hi," Mulder greeted them as he settled into a semi-opaque form perched on the back of a chair. Simon shuddered then seemed to hunch before relaxing with a deep sigh. "Just try not to think of me as a ghost," Mulder suggested in a reassuring tone as he risked solidifying to a more solid form. Scully shivered as his cold aura touched her, but merely stepped back a few paces and selected a chair just out of range. Simon still looked uncertain, but the fact that Mulder was now more or less solid, seemed to reassure him.

"It's time we talked. We're running out of time and I have no desire for company on this side," Mulder commented without a flicker of a smile. He was serious. He hoped Scully was ready to accept that they had a case and not simply a set of coincidences.

"I'm listening," Scully replied briskly as she slipped into her professional skeptic mode. Simon gave him a hesitant nod. His eyes were still a bit wild, but Mulder could hear his heart rate begin to slow down.

"What did Skinner say?" Mulder asked abruptly, taking Scully by surprise. This obviously wasn't a question she was expecting. The angry flush that reddened her cheeks spoke volumes.

"He's putting extra guards on Delacontrari," Scully snapped as her lips flattened into a thin, angry line. Mulder waited. Simon shifted uncomfortably in his chair, but remained silent. Scully glared at both of them. After a long pause, she spit out the reason for her anger. "Assistant Director Skinner has placed a surveillance team outside. My neighbor across the hall has been asked to vacate her apartment while the team installs cameras and listening devices."

"Skinner's worried about you, Scully. He's simply skipping some intermediary steps in order to make sure you're safe," Mulder said carefully. He'd have been as upset as Scully if he discovered he was being placed under surveillance without his knowledge, but he could understand Skinner's concern. "I'm almost willing to place bets that there's a team assembled outside Simon's place and a more visible presence around Delacontrari's house. Skinner's lost two agents already; he's not going to lose more because he didn't take precautions."

"He should have informed me," Scully snapped.

"And if you'd objected, what was he supposed to do then, leave you to the mercy of this killer?" Mulder asked bluntly. Scully's eyes turned to stone, but he felt her breath catch as his blunt response forced her to stop and think about something other than her own resentment. "What would you have done in his place?" he added relentlessly, asking her to consider the situation from Skinner's point of view. He sensed Simon holding his breath in the corner, and hoped that he'd stay out of this for just a few moments more. Distract Scully from having to face cold facts and she might find a way to rationalize her anger.

Scully opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again. She was mad, but she was also having to consider the fact that Skinner was just doing his job.

"How would you feel?" she snapped back at Mulder.

"Angry as hell," he admitted somberly, then spoiled the effect with a rueful grin. "But at least he hasn't gone quite so far as to shoot you to protect you," he reminded her with a smile.

Scully blushed, then let out her breath with a whoosh and gave Mulder a stern glare that barely hid the twitching of her lips. "You do what you have to with unruly partners," she retorted seriously, before allowing herself to relax with a reminiscent smile. Simon's wild-eyed stare was back as he looked back and forth between Scully and Mulder.

"I thought that story had hit the water cooler gossip circuit ages ago," Mulder said, surprised that Simon hadn't heard the story. It had been number one on the water cooler gossip circuit for months. "She was right, she had no other choice, but she didn't give me one either. She simply did what she had to," he admitted.

"It's not quite the same, but I take your meaning," Scully conceded grudgingly. "I still intend to talk with Skinner about this, but for now, I'll accept that he's doing what he thinks is best."

From her expression, Mulder suspected that Skinner was going to have to do some fancy talking to convince Scully that placing a surveillance team around her apartment did not imply that he felt she was unable to defend herself. Mulder knew how touchy Scully was about being considered the equal of any male agent despite her small size. She might have the heart of a lion, but Mulder wanted a few very large predators handy just in case size made a difference.

"OK, that means I don't take any midnight walks outside unless I'm completely invisible," Mulder said with a mischievous grin. Now wouldn't that be an interesting anomaly to explain on a surveillance tape? he said quietly to himself.

"Just behave," Scully chided with a soft chuckle. "Well, at least my neighbor is getting an all-expenses-paid stay at a very nice hotel. I wonder how Skinner is going to justify that in his budget?" she pondered.

"Office supplies?" Simon offered blandly. In response to the puzzled looks from Mulder and Scully, he attempted to explain. "Well, how else does the military cover up its more exotic research? So, Skinner needed some very expensive paper clips this month."

Mulder chuckled and gave Simon an approving nod. Scully tried not to laugh, but finally gave in to a broad smile. Simon tired to hold onto his innocent expression, then gave up and smiled back. Mulder gave him high marks for knowing just when and how to relax the tension in the room.

"OK, Mulder, what happened here this afternoon?" Scully asked abruptly, pulling on her professional demeanor to indicate that it was past time they got down to business.

That was fair enough. As he recalled, his brief summation to her had been rather short on details and long on requiring her to take him on faith. That she had trusted him enough to go to Skinner and warn him that the suspect was on the move reminded him that no matter how far apart their positions might appear to outsiders, there was a strong bridge of trust they could rely on.

Simon looked at Scully with a startled inquiry in his eyes, before turning to look at Mulder expectantly. Obviously, Scully hadn't passed on any part of his report except the request to meet at her place. Not that he could really blame her. Considering the bare facts he'd relayed, if she had tried to fill Simon in, she'd be facing a barrage of questions she wouldn't have been able to answer. Having to admit that she didn't know the full story always had irritated her.

"Simon, how open-minded are you?" Mulder asked carefully.

Simon shrugged. "I don't believe in Santa Claus, but the jury's still out on the Tooth Fairy," he replied with a perfectly straight face. Scully's cough sounded suspiciously like a stifled chuckle.

Just what I need -- a straight man, Mulder grumbled to himself, although he was relieved that Simon could joke at a time like this. Simon sounded as if he was willing to entertain extreme possibilities as long as they came in small doses.

"I came back here, hoping to catch whoever was delivering the flowers in the act. Around three o'clock, I felt . . . I mean I heard a noise," Mulder continued hastily. There wasn't time to get into the physics of ghosts, but from the sudden jerk of Simon's head, he caught the slip. Mulder could almost feel his urge to interrupt with a question. After a long pause, Simon swallowed and settled back down to listen.

"When the footsteps stopped outside the door, I saw a tendril of darkness flow under the door along with a really foul odor. It assumed the shape of a snake and attacked me. Whoever was on the other side of the door appeared to be trying to control it, but that snake had one thing on its mind and that was me. Next thing I knew, the snake had become a cat and started chasing me around the room. When its claws brushed across my arm, it felt like my arm was on fire. Whatever this thing is, it can sense ghosts and seems to know how to hurt us. We dodged around the room for a bit with me on the losing end of the chase. I don't know what made me call out Chester's name, but suddenly he was here in the room. He scolded this thing he called a baka, and it fled. He gave me a charm of some sort to ward off the baka if it came after me again, but he said that Scully was vulnerable because whoever was controlling the baka had some claim on her. Then he left." Mulder watched the play of emotions over Simon's face and wondered if he realized how confused he looked. Scully was doing a bit better, but then she knew who Chester was and had never been able to explain him away.

"Questions?" Mulder asked as he concentrated on leaning back against the wall without actually going through it. Simon was doing fine, but he didn't want to push him too far.

"Why would this creature attack you?" Scully asked in a puzzled tone.

"Maybe it doesn't like ghosts?" Mulder responded with a shrug. "I don't know. I wasn't anywhere close to it since I was expecting a person to come through the door and didn't want to warn him I was here. I was barely visible, but the baka knew exactly where I was."

"Bakas are bad spirits connected with Voodoo, aren't they?" Simon asked hesitantly.

"Voodoo or Vodoun, but yes, you're correct." Mulder gave him an approving nod. Simon apparently knew his paranormal.

"I attended a Vodoun ceremony as part of an anthropology of religion class ages ago and decided to read up on the religion. I got to know a couple of the local Voodoo priests, but I'm not sure how much of what I saw really happened or was just wishful thinking," Simon explained.

"I'd be careful before disbelieving anything. After this afternoon, I'm taking Vodoun very seriously. According to Chester, bakas aren't something the uninitiated fool with, which means that whoever was on the other side of the door knew something about Vodoun sorcery."

"Are you sure it was Chester?" Scully asked bluntly. Being dead had one advantage -- he could sense Scully's heart start to beat faster and sensed she was hoping he'd admit to a mistake, or at least a doubt.

"It was Chester."

"Who's Chester?" Simon asked curiously.

Mulder glanced at Scully who flatly refused to meet his eyes. Not surprising. She couldn't explain Chester by any rational, normal means which meant that she might have to admit he was a paranormal phenomena. She wasn't ready to concede that ground just yet.

"Chester was a young boy we met on a case involving Vodoun. He seemed to be a normal boy in every sense of the word, except that we learned after the fact that he had been killed in a riot long before we ever arrived on the scene," Mulder explained. "He had this knack of disappearing and then showing back up when he was most needed." Like in time to save Scully's life, he thought gratefully.

"So, you're telling us that there's a sorcerer able to control a minor demon going around killing FBI agents?" Simon asked incredulously.

"So far, I don't have anything to connect the person who controlled the baka with the killings, just with delivering the flowers. I smelled them, by the way, if you want more proof," Mulder said and got a reluctant nod from Scully. He suspected she still had doubts, but wouldn't talk about her reservations until they were alone. Old habits, he thought fondly. It was rare that she'd tear his theories apart in front of other people; she preferred to wait until they were alone to scientifically shred his theories.

"If there's someone using a Vodoun sorcerer as an errand boy, we don't stand a chance, so why don't we assume that the flower man and the killer are one in the same?" Mulder suggested reasonably. "The suspect was definitely alive, so we're not dealing with another ghost, thankfully," he added with noticeable relief in his voice.

Simon looked disappointed, but rallied with only a small sigh of regret for his erstwhile theory. Scully looked torn between satisfaction that the ghost theory was out, but seemed less than happy that it had been replaced by a Vodoun sorcerer theory.

"Scully, right now, I would prefer that we had an ordinary psycho fixated on avenging Bryson to deal with, but that baka wasn't anywhere close to being normal, plus I saw Chester. If you can explain Chester as being normal, then I'll be willing to consider that our suspect is just a regular guy. Until then, we have to consider the possibility that our suspect can control paranormal beings," Mulder argued gently, but firmly. If he gave her half a chance, Scully would find a loophole in his theory and then insist on acting as if they were only facing a normal killer.

"That would explain Frank's death," Simon said slowly. "A baka could have pushed him and no one would be the wiser. They're mostly smoke, but I seem to recall reading that they pack quite a punch." Simon stopped as his eyes got a faraway look of intense concentration.

Scully started to speak, but fell silent at a gesture from Mulder. Mulder gave her a smile of thanks which was returned with a nod and a raised eyebrow. Except for the sparkle in her eyes, Mulder might have taken her response as exasperation, but he knew her too well for that. This was one of her patented 'You're impossible, Mulder,' looks that usually meant she was beginning to be intrigued by the mystery.

"If a baka was used, that means that the person controlling it had to be nearby. None of your neighbors report seeing anyone delivering flowers, but from what Mulder says, the man simply walked up to your front door in broad daylight. Hmmmmm. . . . Nah." Simon gave a sheepish chuckle.

"What?" Mulder asked. He didn't see anything amusing about the flower man, but he was willing to admit he was too close to the situation and too worried about Scully to see beyond the need to find and stop this killer before she got hurt.

"Sorry. The theme music to the 'Shadow' just popped into my head," Simon said with a shrug. He looked remorseful, but Mulder sensed that the idea that the killer could cloud men's minds intrigued him.

"With Vodoun, anything's possible. Colonel Wharton gestured at me and I felt like he stabbed me in the stomach with a knife. Vodoun sorcerers can do strange things with the mind, right Scully?" Mulder turned his best innocent look on her.

"That's what I've heard," Scully said slowly and reluctantly as if each word had been dragged out of her. Her official report had suggested airborne hallucinatory drugs, but Mulder suspected that she didn't believe it any more than he did. Something had happened to both of them in that graveyard and Scully was honest enough not to totally deny it.

"If we're dealing with Voodoo, then what's Bryson's connection? None of the profiles mentioned any connection with Voodoo or any other cult," Scully pointed out. Mulder recognized the shift in mood. She might not like the implications of accepting a paranormal theory, but lacking any other suggestion, then she would pursue this as relentlessly as she would a normal case.

"I'm not sure. . . ," Simon began slowly. Mulder and Scully turned to him curiously. Simon was proving to be a very useful addition to their team, Mulder decided. He had an unorthodox way of looking at things. "I was talking to Jackson, over in Evidence Retrieval, and he was mentioning that something very spooky was going on in the Evidence Room." Simon stopped short as he realized what he said and started to stumble over an apology.

"Don't worry. Fact of the matter is, I am spooky, at least now," Mulder said with a grin. "No, Scully, I haven't even been near the Forensics labs," he assured a slightly suspicious Scully who visibly relaxed. "Of course, now that you mention it, maybe I should pay them a visit." Mulder grinned, but the seed of the idea was already planted and growing.

"Mulder," Scully scolded, but not very seriously. "The lab has gone over the evidence and nothing unusual was recorded."

"Maybe not, but we have a dead man, a sorcerer, and something strange going on in a locked vault. Sounds like we have our jobs cut out for us," Mulder said with barely concealed satisfaction. He still had no idea where this mystery was taking them, but for the first time he had a trail to follow.

"I can talk Jackson into releasing Bryson's journals," Simon said. "He owes me a favor. Besides, with Bryson dead, the case is closed and the journals will just end up in storage."

"Give me the journals, Simon," Scully said. "You have to believe in sorcery to investigate it and despite what happened in North Carolina, I still have my doubts about how much of it was drugs or simple manipulation of our minds, and how much was sorcery," she said with a rueful smile aimed right at Mulder. He nodded his understanding of the distinction she was making.

"I guess that leaves me with the sorcery end since I doubt if I'm qualified to break into the Evidence Room. Mulder, you said you recognized the language of this chant?"

"It was some form of Creole. Oh, and something else -- I smelled hot, wet vegetation, like New Orleans on a steamy summer's night," Mulder said as he tried to recall everything he felt during the brief skirmish.

"It's not much, but I know a couple of people who might be able to point me in the right direction. You mentioned a baka, Chester mentioned something about loa, and you have a pendant he gave you to protect you. It sounds as if the spirits are a bit conflicted in this case." There was a purr of satisfaction in Simon's voice. "If so, once we uncover the truth, we might have a chance," Simon said firmly. His voice was becoming more certain as if he was a bloodhound on a hot scent.

Mulder smiled, but didn't say anything. He might have been looking at himself a year ago. Was I ever this young? he asked himself wistfully. Glancing over at Scully, he saw her face twist in a spasm of grief that was gone before Simon could notice. Walking over to her, Mulder laid his hand on her arm and smiled sadly.

"I know. I'm still here, as long as you need me," Mulder promised, directing his words for her ears only. Simon glanced over at them, then turned away as if embarrassed to be caught prying into their private world.

Abruptly, Mulder broke the silence before it swallowed Scully and him in incalculable regrets for what they had lost. "Right, I'll tackle the Evidence Room and see if I can figure out what's going bump in the night in there. If Skinner's teams can keep the killer from reaching Delacontrari, then we'll have time to. . . ." The ringing of the phone cut him off. Simon literally jumped about two inches, and Scully tensed.

"Scully residence," Scully said as she mouthed, "It's probably Skinner," at Mulder.

Scully gave Mulder a good-natured scowl as he sidled over to hear both sides of the conversation. Trying not to turn Scully into an icicle, Mulder faded until he was barely a misty outline.

"Ah..... This will be more interesting that I expected," a man's voice breathed softly. Mulder could swear the person on the other end was purring. Scully went very still and held her breath, her face going pale with surprise.

"No more warnings, witch. Tell your familiar I won't be balked so easily next time. Blood for blood until I have my satisfaction," the voice promised silkily as the line went dead.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Scully slowly replaced the phone in its cradle with a dazed expression as Mulder struggled to control his anger. Tiny sparks were already swirling around him as his temper spat out tiny bits of fire from his ectoplasm. Simon stared the two of them with wild eyes as he edged cautiously away from Mulder.

"That wasn't Bryson's voice," Scully finally managed to say in a slightly shaky tone. "I didn't think to hit record on the machine," she added regretfully.

"That was the suspect?" Simon asked, startled out of his dismay at Mulder's pyrotechnics. Scully nodded.

"Shit -- Delacontrari!" Mulder snapped as he vanished.

"Mulder, wait. . . ," Scully called after him. She looked over at Simon who was pale but composed. He looked a little shell-shocked, but he appeared to be holding his own.

"I believe the caller was our suspect. He told me that there would be no more warnings. Apparently he believes I'm some sort of witch," she added in a bewildered tone.

A moment later, Mulder re-appeared looking sheepish. "I don't know where Delacontrari lives," he admitted grumpily. His brief flight into the ethereal had cooled his temper, but he was frustrated that none of his abilities were worth a damn in tracking this killer down. So far, he hadn't even been able to stop him. The baka would have taken him out if Chester hadn't intervened.

"I think we better start keeping in close contact. Mulder, I know you can find me anywhere, but can you do the same with Simon?" Scully asked practically. Mulder wondered how she could remain so calm when he wanted to punch his fist through a wall, but he recalled that Scully always did have the knack for suppressing her emotions when she wanted to.

"I don't know. I haven't really tried," Mulder confessed. Simon looked intrigued and more than happy to be doing something, even something as trivial as playing sonar with a ghost.

"Simon, go outside and pick a spot at least a hundred yards away. I'll give you three minutes and then I'll see if I can feel your location. If you haven't heard or seen me in five minutes, come back inside," Mulder told him. Simon nodded and headed for the door.

Scully and Mulder remained silent as they listened to his rapid footsteps move down the hall. Mulder started to speak, but Scully reached up and laid two fingers against her lips as she mouthed later. Mulder gave her a doubtful look -- Scully was very good at delaying conversations they needed to have.

"I promise," she whispered with a nod to seal it. She started to lift her hand to his arm, but dropped it before she touched him.

Mulder smiled his acceptance of her terms and settled down to wait out the three minutes. When they were up, he concentrated on locating Simon but came up empty. There just wasn't enough emotional connection to fix his position. He could sense that Simon was somewhere nearby, but not his exact location. It was a start, but they needed more of an edge.

"No luck?" Simon asked as he re-entered the apartment. "Our bodyguard detail has increased, by the way. I think Skinner is getting nervous."

"Good," Mulder growled under his breath. He wanted Skinner to be paranoid. Maybe the guards wouldn't be much use against a Vodoun sorcerer, but they were a reassuring presence in case sorcery had to fall back on simple human efforts.

"Simon, take this and see if it makes a difference," Scully said as she poured her cross into his hand.

Mulder swallowed his protest. Scully was just being her rational self. He doubted if she placed the same importance on that cross that he did. He had worn it during her absence until it became a talisman, his unwavering hope that she would return.

This time Scully refused to meet his eyes as they waited. Restless, Mulder paced through the room, ignoring anything in his path until he was startled to find himself in the middle of the dining room table when Scully called out 'time.'

Concentrating again, Mulder felt a slight pull off to one direction. Following this thin trail, he let the tug draw him to where Simon was standing.

"Boo," he said softly, repressing a chuckle when Simon jumped back. "It works. Come on back in."

"Mind if I have a heart attack first?" Simon asked in a shaky tone that bordered on exasperated. Mulder smiled to himself as he disappeared -- Simon was doing a lot better than he had even dared hope. Get him some more seasoning and experience under fire, and Mulder might just consider him competent enough to watch Scully's back.

"Found him. He's on his way," Mulder announced triumphantly as he re-materialized a few feet away from Scully. "He's taking this well, Scully."

Scully didn't reply, but Mulder sensed she still wasn't happy about Simon being in on the secret. At least she'd worked her way past irritation to grudging acceptance. Mulder made a note not to push too hard on this issue. Scully needed time to work out the justification for Simon knowing about him. Once she convinced herself that there were strong, valid reasons, then she'd perk up and be surprised that anyone had thought she had doubts.

"It's starting to snow," Simon announced as he came back in shaking off heavy flakes of snow clinging to his jacket.

"Mulder, if Simon continues to carry my cross, will you be able to find him?" Scully asked briskly. Mulder wanted to believe she was hesitant about giving up her cross to Simon even for a brief time, but he sensed nothing but satisfaction that a sticky problem had been easily resolved. He mentally sighed, and nodded.

"Next time, give a fellow some warning; I'm too young to have a heart attack," Simon griped with a smile.

"I'll give you the same whistle I give Scully," Mulder said with just a hint of satisfaction that he could be just as dispassionate as Scully. He caught the brief flicker of surprise and the faint taste of irritation before Scully pulled back behind her barriers. Good. Let her know what it's like to have something personal given to an outsider, he thought, aware that he was acting a bit petty, but really didn't care.

"Well, that's settled," Mulder continued, brushing through the emotional cobwebs threatening to tangle them up in issues they needed to talk about, but not now -- not until the killer was neutralized. Scully pursed her lips as if to protest, then apparently thought better of it. Mulder suspected she realized that anything she said could lead them into the quagmire of a discussion she wasn't ready for. Simon gave Scully an uncertain look, then nodded.

"I'll contact my sources and see if I can get anyone in the Vodoun community to talk with me," Simon said. "I don't know how long it might take, but I'll stress that we have an emergency on our hands."

"Before you go, what did your friend say was happening in the evidence vault?" Mulder asked as he stretched out a hand to stop Simon. At Simon's shudder, he hastily pulled it back. "Sorry."

Simon took a deep breath before responding. "Nothing much -- just that things seem to move around. Once he walked into the vault and felt as if something was watching him. Jackson doesn't believe in anything he can't touch or see, but he's really getting unnerved by whatever is going on. He even jokingly suggested it might be your ghost, looking for the evidence that always seemed to slip through your fingers," Simon added apologetically.

Scully bristled. Mulder shook his head and gently laid a hand on her arm. She shivered, but relaxed the angry glower forming on her face.

"It's OK, Simon. That's a relatively mild joke. Evidence usually did prove to be elusive in our investigations, right, Scully?" he asked with a reminiscent smile. Scully smiled back and relaxed. "That didn't mean nothing was out there, just that it didn't lend itself to hard evidence."

"Or to scientific validation," Scully shot back teasingly. "Simon, I can't count the number of times we saw things that could be explained a number of ways, but we always seemed to lose the hard evidence to back up either of our theories. It's just something you'll get used to in the X-Files," she warned. "I believe Mulder once asked me if I believed in extreme possibilities -- I do, but I like hard, scientific data to back up my observations," she said with a sly smile at Mulder.

"You always seemed to be in the wrong place just when the most interesting phenomena occurred -- Scully's luck?" Mulder asked straight-faced.

"Or Mulder's luck," she retorted instantly. Mulder raised his hands in acknowledgment of her reposte.

"Simon, you start contacting your Voodoo friends and tomorrow you can ask Jackson for the journals so I can start checking them for any hint of a connection between Bryson and Voodoo. Mulder?" Scully asked uncertainly. Mulder sensed she was almost afraid to ask what he'd be up to.

"I'll head over and make a quick check of the vault tonight, then come back here. I know Skinner has put together a strong team of agents to protect you, but if we're dealing with a Vodoun sorcerer, I don't want to take any chances," Mulder explained. "Simon, if you sense anything out of the ordinary, give me a call."

Simon nodded, albeit a bit uncertainly. Mulder wondered if he felt as if he was caught between a rock and a hard place -- literally between a baka and a ghost. He gave Simon an encouraging smile which didn't seem to help. Perhaps he needed to remember to solidify a bit more around Simon. Scully was used to talking to a semi-transparent person -- Simon still wasn't over the shock of finding out that ghosts really do exist. Mulder made a mental note to try to materialize to an opaque form when Simon was around.

With a wave and a impish grin, Mulder mouthed a promise to Scully to be back as soon as possible, then he dematerialized and followed Simon out to his car. He was pleased to note at least four agents scattered around Scully's apartment complex and two men in a car ready to follow Simon home. Skinner had obviously put this case on high priority -- as well he should, Mulder grumbled to himself.

Once Simon was safely away, Mulder paused, thought of the X-Files office and let himself flow through the ether towards his goal. From there, he knew he could find the evidence vault, but it had been a couple of years since he'd been up there and he preferred to take the long way. Besides, walking through the Hoover Building after dark was an old habit and he was in a nostalgic mood.

He had no idea what he was going to find once he reached the evidence vault, but the solid feel of Chester's talisman and his instincts told him that the baka was somehow involved. The Hoover Building was his and no upstart spirit was going to trespass on his territory. He was amused to find that he had a peculiar sense of proprietary protectiveness about the place. Despite the bad memories, he'd spent most of his adult life there and just about all of his after-life as well. The Hoover Building was as close to a home as he'd ever had. Whoever was disturbing the evidence room probably didn't belong there and needed to be chased off, if it could be. At least this time he'd be prepared -- he hoped.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Hoover Building
Tuesday evening, 9 p.m.

It came as no surprise to Mulder to find several dozen offices occupied with agents busily catching up on backlogged cases. The Hoover Building took on a life of its own after dark with agents trying to squeeze a few more hours out of the day. Once, one of those lights would have been burning in the basement office he called home. Scully was a nine-to-five person who rarely stayed on after hours unless working on a case deadline. Mulder wished he could explain what she was missing, but the nightlife here had to be experienced, not explained.

As he passed through the halls, Mulder recognized several agents who were regular after-hours workers. With the advent of computers and office printers, it was no longer necessary to bribe the copy room staff to leave the door unlocked, or to cajole the records clerks to stay just a little longer. His season tickets to the Washington Wizard's games had been hot items in the free market economy that reigned after hours, especially when convincing a lab tech to do a little unauthorized testing.

Mulder passed through the locked door to the evidence room and made a quick check for anyone working late before he risked materializing to an opaque shadow. Intellectually he knew he could do everything while completely invisible, but he still found it easier to be able to see his hands when he was working. He might be a ghost, but he still thought and acted in many ways like a living man. That would probably change as he grew more accustomed to being a ghost, but over thirty years of habit wasn't going to be overcome in just a few short months.

The vault in the back of the room appeared to be locked and secure. Wishing he could take a deep breath to prepare himself, Mulder stepped through the steel door. Since he was partially materialized, he felt himself move through the metal with a curious squelching sensation -- like Jell-O being squeezed through a vise. He couldn't decide if it was painful, but it definitely didn't feel pleasant.

It was pitch black inside the vault, but Mulder didn't need light to see. Nothing looked out of place. Scanning the closet-sized room, he didn't sense anything amiss -- certainly no stray bakas or ghosts hiding in the shadows. Still, that sixth sense of his that used to warn him that he was missing something in his analysis was going off.

A single large cardboard box held the evidence taken from Bryson's house. Taking up most of the space was a thick leather-bound journal that felt old when Mulder touched it. The last entry was a month before Bryson's death and the entry before that was nearly six months prior. Obviously Bryson wasn't meticulous about recording his thoughts, so why keep a journal at all? Mulder felt a growing sense of unease the longer he held the journal -- it was almost as if he could feel Bryson's evil lingering in the pages. Either his imagination was going into overdrive, or else there was more to Bryson than anyone suspected.

The only other objects inside were a small metal box and a couple of plastic evidence bags containing the diagram for the mines Bryson had laid out in the house and maps pinpointing the murder spots in his multi-state killing spree. Mulder was tempted to open the box, but he felt an odd reluctance to touch it. He had no desire to spark a major confrontation with a Vodoun spirit right here in the middle of the Hoover Building. The box wasn't going anywhere, although he suspected that it might be the focus of the disturbances Jackson reported. He made a mental note to warn Simon about it.

Checking the inventory list Jackson had compiled, Mulder looked over the contents of the box -- one leather bag containing a jade snake ring, a bottle of unidentified powder, a small bottle of whiskey, and a silver knife wrapped in black silk. Mulder was no expert, but he sensed Vodoun ritual stamped all over these items. If Bryson was involved in Vodoun, how did this escape the notice of a team of FBI agents who spent weeks pouring over the tiniest details of his life?

At the bottom of the evidence box another plastic bag contained the trophies Bryson had taken from each of his victims. A note inside the bag listed the names of those victims and their ages. Even through the plastic, Mulder could feel the death agonies of the men and women who died to appease Bryson's rage. For an instant, he seemed to see their faces moving out from a crowd of other ghostly faces hovering around him. There were over a hundred faces forming out of the darkness like Furies seeking vengeance -- too many for Bryson to have killed, but Mulder sensed that every face was a victim and they were not at peace. Unless someone had changed the rules as he understood them, Mulder couldn't figure out why these spirits still cried out for vengeance when their slayer was dead.

Mulder felt as if he'd stepped through the looking glass into a world where nothing was as it seemed. He had to get back and try to convince Scully that the case wasn't closed and Bryson might not be as dead as they thought. If Bryson was involved in Vodoun somehow, then all bets were off and Scully had better start believing in extreme possibilities very fast.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Mulder, Bryson is dead. I shot him myself and I've read the autopsy reports," Scully snapped in an exasperated tone. She had abruptly hung up her cell phone when he appeared and, other than saying that it wasn't the killer, she refused to reveal anything more about the conversation. Her temper was definitely raw and Mulder wished he had better news for her.

"I'm dead, but I'm still here," Mulder retorted, softening his voice with a gentle smile. He didn't even want to remember the autopsy that Scully had insisted be done on him. Her paranoia was admirable, but he still shuddered as he recalled seeing the M.E. slicing open his skull. "If Bryson is involved with Vodoun somehow, then anything is possible," he reminded her.

"You're reaching for this one, Mulder," Scully replied sharply. Mulder couldn't tell if she was angry because the case was rapidly slipping out of her control into the realms of the paranormal or because she was afraid. He wouldn't blame her if she was afraid; he was. The baka was more powerful than he was and if whoever was controlling it sent it after Scully, he might not be able to stop it.

"I'm just asking you to keep an open mind. If I can be a ghost, then it's very possible that someone with Vodoun training might be capable of reaching out from death for revenge."

"Fine. Let's assume you're right. Explain to me what precautions I should take against a . . . a zombie?" Scully asked in a chilly voice. She glared at Mulder, obviously waiting for an answer. Mulder wished he had one to give her.

"We're not dealing with a zombie. I'm not sure what we are dealing with, but I'm about 99 percent certain the killer is alive," Mulder explained, trying to buy himself some time before he confessed his total lack of useful suggestions about defense.

"Well, I guess that eliminates holy water and a crucifix, or do you think I should call in a priest?" Scully's tone was definitely on the sarcastic side. This was a complete turnaround from the mood she had been in barely an hour ago. What had happened in that time to change her attitude? It might not be the time or place to force a conversation, but Mulder was tired of trying to second-guess her mood changes. It was possible that the killer might be using sorcery to manipulate her emotional state, to undermine her resolve. The killer certainly had had the opportunity to gather hair or other personal items during his previous visits. At least it was something to keep in mind.

"OK, Scully, I'm tired of this. What's wrong? If it's something I've done, then tell me and we can argue it out, but this constant current of resentment and anger is getting very old." Mulder saw Scully's eyes go cold and knew he'd stung her, but he barreled on without giving her a chance to interrupt.

"Ever since the raid, you've been moody and irritable. You act as if I'm imposing some terrible burden on you just by being around. Then you turn around and act as if nothing is wrong. Make up your mind -- if you want me to go, just say the word. I don't think that's it, but unless you tell me what the problem is, that's the only thing I can assume." Mulder felt tiny electrical sparks swirl around him as he kept his temper under tight control. If he could push Scully hard enough to lose her temper, she might blurt out the truth. He was taking a big risk, but either they cleared the air now, or they'd end up facing the killer divided and uncertain of each other and that spelled disaster.

"You have no right. . . ." she blustered.

"I have every right," he interrupted as he moved closer to her. Scully shivered as the combination of cold and electrical discharges washed over her. For a moment, Mulder's heart sank as he saw fear in her eyes. Before he could relent, she literally exploded in a furious verbal assault. He'd gotten what he wanted, now he hoped he'd survive the storm he raised.

"How dare you! You walk back into my life with never a thought to how I feel trying to balance your needs and Simon's needs. I'm the one who has to cover up after you pull some bonehead stunt that nearly tells everyone you're a ghost. I'm the one who has to explain to Skinner how I know things I have no reasonable way of knowing. You drop suggestions into my lap and expect me to follow up on them like a good little agent without once considering how damnably impossible it is to justify my actions." Scully stopped to draw a shuddering breath, shaking with the effort to rein in her temper.

Mulder was tempted to give her breathing space, but they were coming close to the truth, the core of Scully's anger and like it or not, he needed to find out what was gnawing at her.

"You didn't have to follow my suggestions. I don't recall you objecting to the solve rate you're getting, either," Mulder said in an even tone. He sensed that he was a hair's breadth from the truth; the facts were beginning to sort themselves out. He was hardly aware of what words he spoke, but they struck a nerve -- Scully turned dead white.

"Damn you," she spat as she turned on her heels and stalked off. The slamming of the bedroom door echoed through the apartment.

The missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place as Mulder saw past all of Scully's anger to the burning resentment she had been trying to bury the past few weeks. He'd been a profiler, one of the best, but he'd never found profiling Scully to be easy. Now he wished he'd taken a bit more time to try. There was mortification seething under that anger and he was partially to blame, he admitted.

Mulder knew that if he gave her time, she'd simply bury the resentment even deeper until it curdled every moment they shared. He'd rather face the baka again, than barge in on Scully right now, but if she'd been willing to risk his life by shooting him in order to save it, he figured he owed her the same in return.

Bracing himself, he slid through the door. Scully was sitting in a chair, staring out the window, her back a rigid shield against his concern. Mulder could sense that she wasn't crying -- his task might be easier if she had allowed herself the luxury of letting down her emotional barriers.

"Scully," he whispered softly, not moving from the doorway.

"Go away!" she hissed angrily, refusing to turn and look at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked gently. He wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms and hold her until her icy calm shattered, but he sensed that this time, physical contact was not the answer to their problem.

"I thought you said that you'd go away if I asked. Well, I'm asking," Scully snapped in a brisk tone that trembled with rage.

"When we've talked, if you still want me to go, then I will, but I won't leave until we talk this thing out," Mulder replied calmly as he tried to soothe her anger with his voice, allowing his understanding and remorse to flow through his words.

"We have nothing to talk about."

"Then you listen while I talk. Feel free to jump in and correct me if I make a mistake," Mulder said with just a hint of regret in his voice. Scully made no answer, but her back grew even more rigid.

"Grief can be a strange thing. You think you have a handle on it and that everything is under control, but it's like a stalking cat, always lurking in the shadows at the edge of your consciousness waiting to pounce. Normal grief is hard enough to work through, but quite unintentionally, I've made it a hundred times worse for you," Mulder admitted sadly. Scully made no sign she was listening, but at least she hadn't stormed out of the room. Mulder didn't want to have to chase her all over the house trying to talk to her, although the comic implications of that situation were almost enough to make him smile.

"I'm dead, but I'm still here," he continued, bluntly. "You never got a chance to work through your grief because my ghost showed back up and lulled you into a false sense that everything was OK again. But it's not, is it?" he asked brusquely, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer. That was fine -- at least he knew she was listening.

"I'm still part of your life, but it's not the same. You couldn't tell people that your irritatingly erratic partner was still around, giving you advice and playing the profiler. So, you continue to solve cases, with my help, but as far as everyone else can tell, you're flying solo and doing a fantastic job." Mulder paused to give a bitter chuckle. To his surprise, he saw that Scully had turned her head slightly as if to hear him better.

"It's ironic -- I've been fighting jealousy that you were getting all the attention without ever realizing the price you were paying. I felt left out. I heard the gossip that speculated whether you'd been the brains behind the X-Files and I was angry, ashamed of being angry, and jealous as hell. But all along you were the one having to bear the brunt of this new respect. It hurt, didn't it -- getting commendations for work that we shared? Resentment, need, friendship -- all boiling together in an impossible equation that had no solution. Did you come to resent me for putting you in such a false position?"

Mulder waited for a response, but all he sensed was Scully clenching her teeth while breathing in short, harsh gasps. He could feel her anger, but was encouraged by the faint salty smell of tears edging their way out of her tight control.

"I suppose the last straw was the Bryson case. Skinner isn't going to be content with a simple commendation, is he? He's probably told you that you're going to be officially commended in a grand ceremony for saving the lives of your team. It must seem like a betrayal of your own personal standards to accept, but you can't explain a refusal without telling him the truth. You're caught living a lie and it's eating away at you, and at our friendship." Mulder heard a choked breath which sounded suspiciously like either a growl or a sob -- he was hoping for the latter.

Figuratively taking a deep breath, Mulder plunged on.

"If you wish, I'll go away after this case is settled. I won't abandon you to whatever it is that's stalking you, but once we have the killer under arrest or dead, then I'll go and leave you to take up you life without me." Mulder felt a small sense of pride that he managed to get the words out without wavering or allowing his own grief to show in his voice. He didn't want to leave, but it might be the only way to allow Scully to move on. The offer wasn't made out of some noble sense of self-sacrifice -- it was simply the only way he knew to protect the memories they shared before they burned to ashes.

The silence stretched out between them like brittle toffee. Time passed and still there was silence, but then Mulder realized that he could hear tears sliding down Scully's cheek. Taking a chance, Mulder came over and knelt beside her chair. She shuddered as the cold of his aura hit her and gasped. As if the gasp were the final straw, a sob broke free, and then another until she was shivering and crying as she hunched over in the chair, burying her head in her hands. Without a word, Mulder gathered her into his arms and held her tight. Physical contact in this situation was a mixed blessing, but Mulder wanted to hold her; he had to remind her that in spite of all their differences he would always be there for her as long as she needed him.

For a moment, Scully relaxed against him, then she stiffened and started to push away. She stared in horror as her hands slowly pushed through him. Mulder released her and stood up. He hadn't wanted to materialize completely because of the cold effect, but now he wished he'd taken the risk. No matter how many times Scully witnessed proof that he was incorporeal, it never failed to catch her off guard.

"Why did you come back?" Scully asked in a small voice blurred by tears, staring down at her hands lying clenched in her lap.

"I didn't have a choice, Scully. There's something I left undone that I have to do," Mulder replied cautiously, wondering where this conversation was going. "You have no idea how beautiful it looks beyond that door I can't pass through," he added wistfully. The few glimpses he'd had were almost enough to pull him from Scully's side.

"I'm so confused," Scully admitted as she finally looked up at him. Her face was splotchy, but Mulder sensed that she was reaching the calm center of the storm. "You can't be real, but you are. I can't explain you and you make my life impossible, but the thought of losing you for good tears me apart. One day you'll just disappear and I'll be left behind to lose you a second time." Scully's voice trembled, but this time Mulder sensed that it was from grief, not anger. She was finally facing the monster lurking in the closet. Whether this meant that she'd tell him to leave now, while she could justify her grief, he couldn't tell.

"It's a fucked-up situation, but what else is new for us?" Mulder asked with just a hint of a roguish smile. To his relief, Scully's eyes brightened for a moment before she shook her head as if to push away his comfort again.

"Scully, we can work this out, but we need to start talking to each other. I wasn't very good at reading you when I was alive and death hasn't given me any special insights. I'm still the same old Mulder, just in a slightly different package."

This time Scully's expression brightened at his weak attempt at humor. Mulder wasn't sure if that was a chuckle or a belated sob, but he took heart that she wasn't retreating completely from him.

"I don't know if I'll have any say in whether I leave or not, but I promise that I'll try my best to convince Gordon to give me time to say goodbye. Maybe I can apply for the position as your guardian angel. Yours could probably use a vacation," he quipped with a smile that this time was reflected by Scully's smile and an answering chuckle.

"I still don't know what to tell Skinner. Mulder, I can't accept a medal for something I didn't do," Scully argued defiantly.

"Well, if you hadn't been there and been willing to listen to me, no one would have gotten out of there alive. Your team trusted you and that's what made the whole thing possible." Mulder thought for a moment. "How about a compromise -- you go to the ceremony and when it comes time to accept the commendation, I'll be standing right beside you. Skinner will be giving it to both of us, even if he never knows it."

Scully thought over the idea, looking doubtful. "It still doesn't feel right."

"It's not a perfect solution, Scully, but you really don't have a choice right now. You did help save those lives, Scully. Why not consider it payback for all the times we were disciplined when we hadn't done anything wrong. Take it, now and we'll figure out something for the future."

"I still feel like I'm accepting an award under false pretences, but you're right -- I can't refuse. I think there's a flaw in your argument, but it sounds too good to try to find the loophole I know is there," Scully confessed with a sigh as she let her body relax.

"Get some sleep, Scully. I'll be on guard. We'll muddle through somehow. I don't want to leave, but if you decide after this is all over that you'd be more comfortable if I maintained a certain distance, I'll give it a try," Mulder offered reluctantly.

"That's the problem, Mulder, I don't want you to leave. As many times as I've come close to telling you to go away, I've gotten too used to having you around to say the words, except when I'm mad," Scully admitted with a contrite look.

"Right now, let's just focus on taking down this killer before he kills again. You take the rational road, I'll take the paranormal road, and I'll meet you somewhere in the middle, as always," Mulder teased as he felt the tension between them seep away.

"It's a deal. Now please go somewhere else while I take a very long hot bath," Scully ordered briskly, shooing him away with her hands, but smiling.

"Sure, although if you need your back scrubbed . . . ," Mulder quipped as he hastily fled through the door one step ahead of the pillow Scully threw at him.

As he patrolled the apartment and surrounding area, Mulder felt relieved that they'd survived one more crisis in this new relationship. He was hopeful that maybe Scully now realized that telling him about what was bothering her was ultimately easier than facing these emotional roller-coaster conversations. Of course, that implied that he had to do the same, but he'd deal with confessing his own problems later. At least they'd cleared the air for the moment and could now focus their entire attention on catching this damn killer.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

4 .a.m. Wednesday morning, December 16th

Mulder drifted through the apartment appropriated by Skinner's watch-dogs. This was his third trip around the perimeter of Scully's apartment complex with nothing to show for his vigilance except two dogs and a cat who might require serious therapy after coming nose to ectoplasm with a ghost. Mulder didn't mind the sheer boredom of an uneventful evening; it meant that Scully was safe.

In the dark hours just before dawn, something changed. Mulder became aware of a shift in the emotional atmosphere surrounding Scully's apartment. He didn't have the vocabulary to describe what he felt. It was tempting to fall back on his sci-fi movie experience and call the phenomena 'a disturbance in the force,' but it really felt more like a dramatic wind shift preceding a nor'easter. Whatever it was got his attention. Resisting the temptation to fly to Scully's side, he forced himself to take time to try to pinpoint where this change was centered. To his relief, it wasn't coming from Scully's apartment. To his dismay, it was coming from the apartment commandeered by Skinner's guard detail.

Drifting over to find out what had happened, Mulder hoped that Delacontrari hadn't become the latest victim of the stalker. That would put Simon directly in the line of fire with Scully next in line. Whoever was orchestrating this campaign of vengeance was too damn clever for Mulder's taste.

To his relief, the agents Skinner had assigned to guard Scully were angry, but Mulder didn't sense any grief for the death of a fellow agent. It was clear that someone had died, but not Delacontrari. As he watched, both agents headed out to patrol the area. Mulder appreciated their diligence, but knew that neither one of them was prepared to confront a Vodoun sorcerer.

As he trailed along after the two agents, Mulder felt a slight tug. Lacking any other way to describe it, he decided it felt as if he'd been hooked and someone was slowly reeling him in. Irritated, he fought the pull only to find that he couldn't get any traction to brace himself against it. Irritation gave way to anger, but the tug remained strong and steady.

Whoever had hooked him better have a damn good explanation, Mulder thought as he ceased struggling to conserve his strength. He tried not to think about the possibility that the sorcerer was making sure he couldn't interfere in his future plans. Fighting a highly competent Vodoun priest was probably a losing option, but Mulder did not intend to be taken out without a major fight.

To his surprise, the tug pulled him across town to a modest complex of townhouses. Flashing blue lights signaled the presence of at least four police cars. An area marked off by yellow crime-scene tape was crowded with uniforms and FBI agents. Mulder recognized Agent Dobson who had been assigned to watch Delacontrari. To his surprise, he saw Skinner stride across the street with a sour look.

What in hell? Mulder stared at the crowd and tried to come up with a way to slip through without alarming anyone.

"Hey, FBI man." A familiar voice just behind him almost scared Mulder into materializing. Mulder turned to see Chester grinning at him.

"We need to talk," Chester said as he pointed to a small park outside the ring of police cars.

Mulder was tempted to stay put and find out what was going on, but Chester's invite was strangely compelling. If Vodoun was involved, it probably wouldn't be a good idea to piss off someone who was either a loa himself, or else on very good terms with them. Grumbling, Mulder obligingly followed the scamp. He had grossly underestimated Chester's abilities if he was capable of pulling him across town to talk.

"Man, you don't know half of what I can do. The loa like me and there isn't much they can't do if they put their minds to it," Chester said with a grin.

Mulder wondered what Chester had been like as a live boy. He had a insouciant sense of humor that had to have had its seeds in the refugee boy who had died so needlessly in a riot.

"What's so important that you pulled me away from watching Scully?" Mulder demanded. Chester might have his own priorities and Mulder wasn't sure he trusted anyone to guard Scully, especially FBI agents who didn't believe in Vodoun.

"Well, I thought you might like to know that the loa have decided to help you. The killer broke the rules, so my patron spirits aren't bound by the agreement not to interfere." Chester's grin grew wider and his eyes lit up with mischief.

Mulder wondered what in hell the killer had done. If killing randomly hadn't been enough to break whatever non-intervention pact existed among the loa, what was?

"What happened to change things? I thought we were on our own?"

"Revenge is approved, even encouraged. If a man has an agreement with a single loa that means the other loa have to follow certain rules unless one of their people is involved. All of you were outsiders, so you were fair game. The loa owe you and Miss Scully, but not enough to outweigh the right to revenge. They could send me to help you since you're sort of in their domain, like me," Chester said with a laugh.

The thought that he might have to cope with curious Vodoun spirits did not brighten Mulder's morning. Despite Chester's obvious delight, Mulder would just as soon avoid further complications to his already complicated existence.

"That still doesn't explain . . . ," Mulder started to object.

Chester shook his head and briefly glanced upwards. "Man, you are dense. You had more wits when you were alive. Think. What can break a contract that permits, even condones, revenge against your enemies?" Chester prodded.

Figuratively taking a deep breath, Mulder pulled up everything he knew about Vodoun. It was a religion of balances so what would tip the scales? Chester happily perched on the hood of a nearby car and grinned at him while he followed lines of reason and deduction. After what seemed like several minutes, but only spanned the time it took Skinner to walk from sidewalk to the knot of men milling around the garage of Delacontari's house, Mulder followed a thread to its logical conclusion.

"Someone not involved in the raid got hurt." Mulder felt approval radiate from Chester and, for a moment, thought he saw the shadow of a tall man standing beside him give a nod of approval.

"Not bad," Chester said as he cocked his head to one side and nodded approvingly. "I told the loa that you would figure it out. Took you a bit longer than I figured, but you're still a bit confused from the cross-over. The killer's loa still protects him, but he can't stop me from helping you. The loa understand debts. You helped them when you were alive, so they get to help you; Miss Scully, too."

"Then tell me how I stop him before he kills again?" Mulder demanded.

"Take something he wants and he'll come to you," Chester said calmly. "Of course, the baka will also come along and the killer's servant, too, so you'll have your hands full. Three of them to three of you. The loa like to balance things in threes."

This time the mischief in Chester's grin was anything but encouraging. Mulder had barely escaped with his life, or with whatever passed for his life now, the last time he met the baka. It didn't take a genius profiler to see how Chester had the sides aligned. As far as he could tell, the odds were all in favor of the killer.

"He wants Scully and I'm not using her as bait," Mulder declared.

Chester shook his head and once again seemed to glance up at the hazy shadow Mulder saw at his side with a look of 'Why me?' Mulder couldn't hear anything, but he saw Chester laugh.

"Being dead has really messed up your brain. You're right on top of the idea if you'll just stop worrying about Miss Scully and think," Chester admonished.

That was the second time Chester had rebuked him for not thinking clearly. Even through his irritation, Mulder wondered if he might not have a point. When he profiled, he used to be able to narrow his focus down to the case and shut out everything else. Now, his mind was scattered between worrying about his relationship with Scully and her safety.

"Keep an eye on her for me?" Mulder asked.

"OK," Chester promised with a thumbs-up gesture as he abruptly vanished.

Right, Mulder thought as he hoped Chester wouldn't do anything to startle Scully. He liked her, so Mulder was hopeful that he would do anything to scare her, but he was still a child. A mischievous and powerful child, but still a child.

Pulling all of his focus away from the material world was harder than he expected. Part of him didn't want to let go of the cord binding him to Scully's place, but he either had to trust Chester or not. The shadow man had gone with Chester, but Mulder sensed that he wasn't alone. Whatever, or whoever, remained wasn't inimical, but he wasn't entirely sure it was friendly, either. The best appraisal he could come up with was that someone was observing him to see what he would do; a type of testing, perhaps.

Whatever it was, Mulder decided to ignore it and concentrate on trying to profile the case. Unless Chester was right and death, or that damn baseball, had scrambled his brain, he should be able to slip into the hyper-focused state where he could visualize the facts sliding into place piecing together a shattered vase.

Gradually, Mulder let his mind shift through the evidence and the speculation, trying to make links between fact and hypothesis. Sometimes the pieces moved together easily, some stubbornly refused to fit anywhere at all. He was not aware of the passage of time nor of any pressing concern but the need to peel away the killer's misdirection and see the crimes for what they were.

As he drifted with the wind, he became aware that he might have the ability to go back in time and see the actual commission of the crimes. Certainly real time and space had little meaning for him as a ghost. Could that also mean that he could follow a sequence of events back to their beginning? The idea was tempting, but in the end, his fear of being lost in time was greater than the need to know exactly what happened. He would stick to looking at the evidence they had and drawing conclusions as he always had.

When at last he had stuck all the pieces he had collected together, he became aware of two things: the sun was up and they were running out of time.

=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=.=
7 a.m.

In the instant between thinking of Scully and reaching her apartment, Mulder began marshalling the arguments he would need to convince her that they were heading towards a confrontation with a centuries-old malignant Vodoun spirit that had driven Bryson on his killing spree. Scully was going to be a tough sell. Mulder wasn't sure about Simon, but he also had to be convinced.

"Not bad, for a man who got his brain turned into scrambled eggs," Chester said with a laugh. "She's in the shower."

"Thanks." Mulder prowled around for a moment or two, sniffing the air for any sign that the baka was lurking nearby.

"Nah, the baka won't try anything when I'm here. You got the case solved?" Chester asked impudently.

"I think so. I'd like to read the journal before I say for sure, but I think I know what's going on. A priest, a servant, and a baka seem a bit out of our class, by the way," Mulder chided. He wasn't happy about the odds, but he had a feeling that if the loa Chester was talking about wanted a three on three confrontation, he wasn't going to be able to pull in re-inforcements.

"They think so. Me, I put money on you and Miss Scully." Chester paused for a moment and turned serious. "You'll have help if you're smart enough to find it at the right time. That's all I can tell you and that's pushing it a little far even for me. I'll be there. I can't help, directly, but I can offer advice. Bakas are nasty, but they're really only very big snakes that spit venom and wiggle around a lot," Chester added with a cat-like grin.

Chester seemed awfully blasé about a creature that damn near ran Mulder into the ground and didn't even seem to have its whole mind on the matter. It was too damn early in the morning for this kind of relentless optimism, Mulder decided.

"I'll see you tonight," Chester said cheerfully as he vanished.

Mulder muttered softly as he headed for the living room. Having Chester around to bolster his arguments would have been nice. Scully liked Chester, even if he represented an aspect of a religion she considered more than half superstition.

Half an hour later, Scully emerged and seemed relieved to see him perched on a chair waiting for her. She was dressed in the suit she traditionally wore when she knew a face-off with Skinner was in the offing. Mulder wasn't sure if this was a good sign or not. He knew that wearing it was akin to a knight putting on armor. If Chester had whispered warnings to her in a dream she might have awakened with the sense that the end of the case was drawing near.

"Morning," he said noncommittally, trying to gauge her receptiveness to a resolution that involved baka and possession by the spirit of a vengeful Vodoun spirit.

"Skinner called," Scully announced brusquely as she walked past him to the kitchen.

Her rigid posture told Mulder that she was angry; perhaps more at herself for not stopping the killer before he took out an innocent bystander. Mulder wasn't sure what any of them could have done. The killer had been very precise and had executed almost flawless murders up to now. Maybe the loa had a hand in this mistake or maybe the law of averages simply caught up with the killer. Certainly Scully had no reason to anticipate that a mistake would be made. Getting her to believe that was another matter, but right now they didn't have the luxury of indulging in self-recrimination.

"I was there. Delacontari was the target, but something went wrong. An innocent life was taken, but that means that the killer isn't quite as invulnerable as he was before," Mulder said bleakly. It was a crumb of comfort amid an otherwise nasty case.

"Are you saying that because he made a mistake that the killer is more likely to be off-balance?" Scully asked sharply. She was radiating anger and Mulder was careful to remain at a safe distance. In this mood, she might try to provoke an argument just to have something to vent her rage at. He didn't want that something to be him.

"Would you believe me if I told you that this mistake freed up some friendly loa to help us?" Mulder asked cautiously. He had to move carefully right now. Push Scully too hard too fast and she'd dig in her heels.

"I don't believe in Voodoo, Mulder," she retorted as she slammed down her coffee mug so hard the coffee inside sloshed dangerously near the lip.

"Then simply believe that the odds have shifted in our favor. Look at it logically, Scully. Up to now, the killer has executed perfect murders. We may differ on the methods he used, but the results were obvious. Now he's made a mistake and, for the first time, he doesn't see himself as invulnerable. If we play this right, we can draw him into the open and end this. If not believing in Vodoun makes it easier, then don't believe, but at least believe that I can profile this killer," Mulder urged. Over the years Scully had always doubted his belief in the paranormal, but he believed that she trusted in his ability to profile. Now would not be a good time to find out otherwise. Mentally crossing his fingers, he waited for her reply.

"I refuse to use Simon or Delacontari as bait, Mulder," Scully avowed sternly.

Mulder said a few profane words into the ether where Scully couldn't hear them. She might read his expression and know that he was exasperated by her deliberate side-stepping of the issue, but she probably wouldn't say anything.

"Wouldn't think of it. I said the same thing to Chester about using you as bait," Mulder retorted with a sly grin. "We have something better, or rather will have once you or Simon liberate it from the evidence room."

Scully gave him a look that easily translated 'Are you crazy?' and looked heavenward as if asking for divine intervention.

"Just listen for a moment. Bryson left a journal and a box containing ritual paraphernalia. Something is trying to get at either the journal or the box. That's what's causing the rumpus in the evidence room. I'm guessing, as a profiler, that our killer is behind the rumpus. We can use those items to lure him out of hiding."

Mulder felt he was on solid ground with these arguments. As a profiler, he was used to selling his predictions and assessments of a killer to skeptical agents. At least Scully was a more receptive audience than some of his fellow agents had been. The next stage of his argument was going to get tricky. There was simply no way not to drag in Chester's comments about three balancing three. Scully had to understand that each of them had a role to play in stopping the killer. If she balked over the idea that Vodoun spirits were involved, then they didn't stand a chance.

"What's the catch, Mulder? You're flickering like a faulty light bulb. That usually means you're trying not to tell me something," Scully said with a stern glare.

Muttering to himself about being way too transparent as a ghost, he concentrated on becoming more solid, then caught the double-meaning of his thought and started to chuckle. Taken aback, Scully stared at him with a mix of impatience and a slight twitch to her lips that might be a smile trying to escape her control.

"The catch is that if we're going to succeed, we need Simon along and both of you are going to have to suspend your disbelief in sorcery until the killer is down. Believe whatever you want to about Chester, but as your resident authority on ghosts, he's one. The difference is that he's got friends in high places. Chester says that we're going to be facing three opponents. I get the snake spirit that damn near had me for lunch, I think you get the killer since his primary focus is revenge on you for killing Bryson. There's obviously a third person involved, but I think he's just along for the muscle. Simon will need to keep him occupied."

Scully looked stunned, then groped for the couch and sat down heavily. Mulder sympathized. She'd had plenty of practice fielding his theories over the years, but this time she was confronted with a conundrum. Her reflexive response was to deny the existence of the paranormal, but that was rather hard to do when she was talking with a ghost. Mulder watched her try to resolve the conflict until she simply put her head down in her hands and started muttering. Obviously he wasn't supposed to hear her profane swearing at him and at the universe, so he tried to pretend he was waiting for a response.

"If you expect me to sacrifice a chicken and scatter feathers in a circle, Mulder," Scully began indignantly.

In spite of the seriousness of their situation, Mulder had to chuckle. After an exasperated glare, Scully began to smile and shake her head. The tension between them broke and they relaxed into the familiar feel of shared frustrations and opposing beliefs bound together by a bond that had proven stronger than death.

"OK, no chickens," Mulder noted as if he was compiling a to-do list.

"Seriously, Mulder," Scully began as she tried to recapture control of the discussion. "I refuse to be part of some occult ritual. Voodoo isn't the only explanation for what happened in South Carolina," she added.

Mulder thought for a moment. Maybe they could use Scully's disbelief to their advantage. Simon more than half believed and Mulder had very few doubts left, at least as far as the baka was concerned. Disbelief could be a weapon, if used correctly. If he could tie up the baka which seemed to have no problem attacking non-believers and if Simon could keep the hired thug occupied, then the killer would have to confront Scully personally. He would have all the power of a Vodoun sorcerer at his command, but a good part of the power of Vodoun depended on the belief on the victim. Force the killer into making a direct assault against a determined non-believer and the odds might shift. It was a slim chance, but it was the best he could come up with.

"Then don't believe. Not believing in Vodoun might just be your best bet. A Vodoun's power doesn't entirely rest in illusions, but a lot of it does. If illusions don't work, then the killer might be forced to use more mundane methods and those you can deal with," Mulder said confidently. Scully might be small, but she was very capable of holding her own given even odds.

Scully looked startled, then got a far-away, serious look on her face as she started to scrutinize his suggestion for flaws. The longer she took, the more hopeful Mulder became that they had reached a common agreement on basic strategy at least.

"What aren't you telling me?" she asked suspiciously after several minutes. She had combed through his argument without finding a glaring hole and that obviously made her suspicious.

"If any one of us gets run over, the others will fall," Mulder replied bluntly. Part of him wanted to temporize, to soften the do or die aspect of this confrontation, but Scully had to realize that if they baited the killer, he was going to do everything in his considerable power to take them down. Scully usually liked to have backup and avenues of escape, but Mulder couldn't see how involving anyone else would help. If Chester was right, and Mulder saw no reason to doubt him, bringing in extra people would only be a hindrance.

"We should have backup, Mulder. Protocol . . ." Scully began her usual litany of proper procedure.

"And how would you go about explaining me to Skinner if I have to materialize?" Mulder pointed out. "Chester was pretty clear that the only chance we have of winning is by evenly balancing the forces the killer can bring to the party. If we increase the numbers on our side that means the killer can increase his forces. If I'm very lucky, I might be able to keep the baka off your back while you deal with our suspect. Do you really want to risk the lives of other agents if the killer manages to summon two baka?" Mulder knew appealing to her sense of responsibility was a low blow, but Scully had to realize that her proper protocol wasn't going to do them much good in this situation.

"Why do you have to sound so logical about ignoring the sane, rational thing to do? I know I should call Skinner and ask for backup, but you're right," Scully conceded reluctantly. "I may not believe that some supernatural creature killed Gowers and Thomas, but I find the repeated attacks on the team I led against Bryson too convenient for coincidences." Scully looked unhappy, but Mulder could sense that she had made up her mind.

"I'd like to leave Simon out of this," Scully said wistfully.

Mulder nodded his understanding. Scully might have her doubts about his theory, but she was ready to stake her life on the chance that he was right.

"If Chester is right and the killer has hired a thug then we'll need Simon. I'll have enough to do keeping the baka occupied." Mulder could see the indecision in Scully's eyes, but she finally sighed and nodded.

"Now all we have to do is convince Simon. How are your debating skills?" Mulder asked facetiously, getting a glare in return.

"Shoo. I'll see you in the office. This confrontation is your idea. I'm going to let you explain it to Simon. Maybe hearing it a second time will convince me that I haven't gone insane agreeing to it."

Not a very encouraging gesture of support, but Mulder understood Scully's point. It might take her most of the day to convince herself that there was a logical, rational reason they were going to bait a trap for a killer when the only evidence they had were two dead agents, a botched attempt on the life of another, and the testimony of a ghost. Mulder decided that the prudent thing for him to do was disappear and go hang out in the office until Simon showed up.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
9:30 a.m. X-Files Office

Simon cautiously perched on the edge of his desk. His absorbed pacing during Mulder's exposition had inadvertently taken him through Mulder's area of effect twice. Mulder had apologized and finally ended up dematerializing completely which unnerved Simon even more than feeling his blood turn cold. Intellectually he had come to terms with the idea that Mulder was a ghost and that it was perfectly normal to have him hanging around. Emotionally, hearing the disembodied voice of the man he'd accidentally killed freaked him out.

Scully had a faintly harried expression as she watched her partners absently pacing around the office and bumping into each other. Mulder's look of horror as Simon brushed through him mirrored Simon's expression so closely that if the situation hadn't been so tense, she might have been tempted to laugh.

Mulder decided that floating cross-legged in midair might feel strange, but it kept him out of Simon's way. Seeing Scully's mouth twitching against an incipient smile almost made being walked through worth it. If Scully could see the humor in the situation then that meant she was beginning to reconcile her skepticism with his proposal. To Mulder it was painfully simple: they either drew the killer to a place of their own choosing, or they waited while he picked them off one by one in sight of Skinner's guards.

"This ties in with a warning I got from my contact within the Vodoun community." Simon gave Scully an apologetic shrug which she waved off. She didn't look happy to have Mulder's theories confirmed, even from what she considered an even more unreliable source.

"Go on," Scully urged impatiently when Simon appeared to be hesitating. Mulder knew that tone of voice. Scully might dislike paranormal theories, but she hated people tiptoeing around the subject even more.

Taking a deep breath, Simon plunged on. "My source says that something has got the loa upset. The priests have issued orders that no one's to give any aid to anyone who isn't a member of the community. If I'm reading between the lines correctly, there's a power struggle going down and the priests are making sure their people don't get caught in the crossfire. Funny thing, just before he hung up, my source told me to tell the one who belongs to the Baron to remember Papa Legba." Simon looked extremely uncomfortable as he delivered that message.

Mulder didn't blame him. It was a disturbing message. The Baron was the loa of the dead so it was pretty obvious who the message was meant for. He was a little vague on who Papa Legba was, other than he was one of the principal loa. Thought became action and Mulder found himself floating in front of his file cabinets. Materializing just enough to give him a grip on the drawer, he pulled open the files on Vodoun and started rifling through them looking for his notes.

Simon gruffly cleared his throat and continued on in a more normal tone of voice. "Legba is the guardian of crossroads," he offered.

Mulder gave him points for not bolting. He kept forgetting how new Simon was to having a ghost appear and disappear right in front of his nose.

"Ah, here it is. Legba is also the opener of doors between worlds. I have no idea what the message means, but I think one of you better stock up on some very good alcohol. If the Baron and Legba are at least tentatively on our side, we might just stand a chance," Mulder said confidently. He wasn't about to admit to Scully that the idea that Baron Samedi considered him to be his was terrifying.

"Mulder, are you seriously suggesting that a bunch of Voodoo spirits are going to be involved in this?" Scully demanded irritably.

"Scully, whether or not you believe in Vodoun or not, if what Simon's source says is true, then the local Vodoun community thinks there's a major confrontation coming on the physical as well as the spiritual plane. Does that about sum it up, Simon?" Mulder asked. To his relief, Simon nodded.

"It sounds to me like there's an outsider trying to move into and take over. If the killer is involved with Vodoun then the local priests might consider his activities as poaching on their territory. Even if nothing about Vodoun is credible, you can at least understand a play for power. Knocking off FBI agents with impunity sounds like a sure-fire way to boast that you've got major pull with the spirit world," Simon argued earnestly.

Mulder noticed that Simon seemed to lose his nervousness in the excitement of the argument. He tried not to be jealous at the way Scully stopped to consider his words. Simon seemed to have found the key to reconciling the paranormal with Scully's skepticism; cast the argument in terms she could accept. Simon's explanation could be justified on a rational level. Mulder knew there was far more to the case than a simple play for religious prestige. Simon seemed to have at least a quasi-belief in the spiritual aspects of the case, although he seemed to be uncomfortable with them.

"Fine. If Bryson was somehow involved with Voodoo and the man behind the recent deaths of members of our team is also involved with Voodoo, then why did none of the profiles on Bryson suggest this connection?" Scully didn't smile triumphantly at this glaring lapse as Mulder expected her to. The feline purr of satisfaction whenever she pounced on a hole in his logic was missing. Instead, she seemed more thoughtful than satisfied.

"Maybe the journal could tell us. It's older than Bryson by at least a century," Mulder said quietly.

"How do you know that?" Scully demanded, startled out of her train of thought.

"I felt it when I paid a visit to the evidence room last night. The journal is old, very old. The box may be the bait we're looking for, but I think the journal may hold the answers to questions we haven't started asking."

"There's no case, Mulder. We don't have justification to remove that box from the evidence room," Scully objected.

"That's easy," Simon replied with a sheepish grin. "Jackson owes me a favor. If I ask for the box containing the evidence from the Bryson case, he won't ask why. I have a question, though," Simon added with a worried look on his face.

Scully looked as if she was trying to come up with a logical reason to tell Simon to back off, but Mulder could practically smell the curiosity roiling off of her. She might feel that they had simply overlooked something that would give them a credible lead to the killer. If trying to stay within the boundaries of logic and rationalism made her more amenable to the project, Mulder was more than happy to let her rationalize away.

When Mulder didn't prompt Simon for his question, Scully gave a small tsk and gestured for Simon to go ahead and ask the question.

"If we assume that the killer is the one creating the disturbance in the evidence room and that as of last night the evidence box is still secure, what's going to happen when I take the box out of the locker?" Simon's worried expression said volumes about whether he believed they were dealing with a sorcerer or not.

Scully looked blank and turned to Mulder. It was obvious from her expression that the ball was in his court. He was the one promoting the supernatural aspect of the case so he got to be the one to assure Simon that he wouldn't disappear in a puff of smoke. The problem was, Mulder wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't.

"Give me a moment to think about this," Mulder responded. Simon didn't look encouraged by this, but held his peace and pretended to shuffle papers on his desk to give Mulder time to ponder the question.

Chester? Mulder made a silent call to the boy ghost hoping he was hanging around somewhere close. This wasn't the time for guesswork.

"I'm here, but I'm going to have to explain about putting out the proper invite. Told you last time, I'd talk for a Big Mac and fries. I can't just be handing out free advice to just anyone who calls. There are rules, man," Chester admonished with a wide grin as he appeared. At Mulder's sharp look of concern at Scully, Chester laughed. "Nah, she can't see me unless I want her to."

"Been listening in?" Mulder asked with an answering smile. He liked Chester who seemed to have adapted to being a ghost far easier than he had. Maybe believing in Vodoun made the transition easier.

"Some. Tell Simon to find his gris-gris. It's got some powerful stuff in it. The baka won't like getting close to him and the man you're hunting won't want to use up the kind of power he'd need to force it against Simon this early. Go with him and the balance swings your way." Chester sauntered around the office, eagerly exploring, just like any 10-year-old boy.

"Thanks. Maybe Simon can pick up a Big Mac and some fries for you," Mulder offered. Chester's answering grin shone like a beacon. In the back of his mind, Mulder wondered why they hadn't felt cold waves coming off Chester when he was fully materialized. Maybe Vodoun ghosts operated under different rules. Mulder had a feeling that what he didn't know about ghosts would fill a library.

"OK. I just checked with Chester," Mulder said, ignoring Scully's look of dismay. "Simon," he prompted to draw Simon's attention away from trying to find another ghost in the room.

"Sorry, yes?" came Simon's flustered reply.

"Chester said something about a gris-gris you have. I get the feeling that it's very important so you might want to find it before you go near the evidence room. Oh, and pick up a Big Mac and fries on your way back. Chester seems to feel we owe him for his advice." Mulder flashed Scully a reminiscent smile. After a moment, she smiled back with a resigned shake of her head.

"Might as well, Simon. I have a feeling that we're going to have a visitor. I can't explain Chester, but I can't explain Mulder, either," Scully said with a weary, sad look in her eyes that reminded Mulder that he was the grit in her well-oiled machine of scientific rationalism.

Simon looked wild-eyed for a moment, then collected himself with a visible shake. "I haven't thought about that gris-gris for years. I know where it is, so I can run home and be back in a couple of hours. Anything I should pick up other than the Big Mac and fries? Once we get this bait, where are we going to wait for the killer to respond? I really don't think the Hoover Building would be a good idea," Simon said in what Mulder considered a massive understatement.

"Somewhere open and reasonably private," Mulder suggested.

"As long as we're asking questions, I have one," Scully announced. Mulder figuratively held his breath. Scully had a genius for last-minute questions that threw giant monkey wrenches into his plans. True, they were often extremely important monkey-wrenches, but nonetheless they had a tendency to throw everything into spontaneous free fall.

"How are we going to ditch Skinner's guard detail?"

Scully still looked disgusted that Skinner had felt it necessary to assign agents to protect her. Mulder had been enthusiastic about the idea, but right now they were going to be rather inconvenient.

"Damn," Simon muttered, making it clear that he'd forgotten all about the agents keeping an eye on him.

"Well, I was thinking that the soccer field near Scully's apartment complex would do meet the requirements of open space and private. If we can set this meeting to go down towards midnight, we'll probably have all the privacy we need. Maybe I can distract the guards long enough for you two to slip out unnoticed," Mulder offered.

Scully opened her mouth as if to object then shut it again. She didn't look pleased. The look she gave him suggested that as soon as she could come up with a better plan, his offer was going to be booted off the field.

"Mulder," Simon began hesitantly. Mulder turned his attention away from trying to decipher Scully's expression. "I have an idea, but not a clue if it will work."

Scully looked hopeful then grimaced as Simon shook his head. "Not about how we sneak past the guards. I remember reading somewhere that iron interferes with extrasensory perception. If that's what the killer is using to zero in on the evidence box, maybe I could put the journal and that small box you mentioned in an iron chest. If it works, then he won't be able to locate the objects until we open the box again."

Mulder thought about it for a moment and realized that Simon had very neatly resolved the nagging feeling he'd been having that they were overlooking something important. Squelching a spark of jealousy over Simon's quick wits involved a brief internal tussle, but thankfully neither Simon nor Scully noticed. Scully was giving the idea some thought and Simon was trying to look interested in one of the Bureau's memos reminding agents of some new regulation.

"Good thought," Mulder finally managed to say with determined enthusiasm. He was getting better at controlling his emotions. When unrestrained emotional outbursts created mini-lightning storms in the immediate vicinity, he had plenty of incentive for pouncing on his anger and jealousy before Scully saw them.

"Do you have an iron container handy?" Scully asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes. Long story. I'd rather not go into details, but I have an iron box about the size of a large safe-deposit box." Simon gave Mulder a slightly sheepish look. Mulder made a mental note to ask for the story later. It promised to be interesting.

"Fine. I have a 10:30 appointment with A. D. Skinner," Scully announced with a resigned expression. "I'm going to try to persuade him that we stand a better chance of catching the killer if he wasn't so obvious about the guard detail." Scully didn't look very hopeful, but she would probably give Skinner every argument she could think of.

"You might mention that the killer has been following a strict pattern so far. There's no reason to believe that he won't try for Delacontari again. That might pull some of the watchdogs off you," Mulder suggested. Scully nodded her thanks for the suggestion.

"I'll run home and dig out my gris-gris and the lead box. With luck and good traffic, I should be back here by 1 p.m.," Simon said as he walked over to grab his coat.

"Make it 2. The longer we wait to pull the evidence box, the less time our suspect has to prepare. The closer you stick to a normal routine, the better. The last thing we need is for Skinner to suspect that we're up to something. Oh, and don't forget the Big Mac and fries," Mulder reminded him. Simon nodded and walked out of the office, pulling on his coat.

Scully paused in the midst of gathering up papers and gave Mulder a suspicious look. "What are you going to do?" Her tone wasn't quite accusing, but it was clear she wasn't sure he should be left to his own devices for several hours.

"Drift around checking things out. Rest. Talk with the guys. Take ghost lessons from Chester. You know, the same old, same old," Mulder added with a mischievous grin.

Scully started to glare sternly, then shook her head and gave him the resigned, 'Why me?' smile she used to give him when he veered off after a wild goose. Mulder's grief for his old life ached, but he managed an impudent grin for Scully's sake.

Left alone in the office, Mulder puttered about for a bit, then paid the soccer field a visit to satisfy himself that it was big enough to give him maneuvering room and open enough to make sneaking up on them impossible. A sniper might be able to hide in the bleachers. The third man was the complete unknown. Chester had implied that he was a hireling which could cover everything from a street thug to an assassin. A sweep of the bleachers before Scully and Simon arrived seemed to be called for. He'd have to remind Simon to wear his flak jacket.

Mulder considered the possibilities of staging an area-wide blackout to cover their escape from Scully's apartment as well as to give the local cops and neighborhood watch people something to occupy their attention. Scully wouldn't approve, probably, but what she didn't know about until it happened she couldn't argue against. Scouting the various transformers took up the best part of an hour, but by the end he knew which transformers needed to blow to achieve a quarter-mile blackout. A nice thunderstorm would be useful as cover, but the night promised to be cold and clear with a waning crescent moon. Waning moons symbolized waning power in many traditions, he recalled, but the fading moon could also represent the increase in dark powers. Mulder frowned, then decided he had no idea what effect the moon would have on their confrontation. Probably even odds if he understood Chester's comment about the loa liking balance.

Having exhausted the strategic possibilities of the soccer field, Mulder decided to relax all hold on the material world and fade into the gray fog bank that served as his refuge. He'd come awake if Scully needed him, but until then he could rest. If he was going to do battle with a baka tonight, he wanted to be very rested.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
2:30 p.m. X-Files Office

Responding to Scully's whispered summons, Mulder hovered for a moment to make sure he wouldn't accidentally materialize too close to her or Simon. Simon was staring at the small desk in the back of the office with a wild-eyed expression. Scully was at her desk studiously ignoring the small desk. Mulder recognized her 'if I don't see him he doesn't exist' posture and knew that Chester had shown up to claim his payment.

"Hi, mon," Chester said happily around a mouthful of fries. "The new guy catches on pretty good. He bought me a milkshake." Chester grinned at Simon who gave him a weak, strained smile in return.

"How was Skinner?" Mulder asked Scully as he slipped past Simon to a chair opposite Scully's desk. She looked relieved that she didn't have to turn around to talk to him and confront Chester happily pigging out on hamburgers and fries.

"Testy," Scully replied. "Furious, frustrated, and impossible to reason with. The guards will remain in place and I am to cooperate fully with their efforts to protect me. I gave my word, Mulder," she continued in a disgusted tone.

"That complicates matters. I suppose that your word includes not slipping out to take care of the killer?" Mulder asked in growing frustration. Why did most of his plans always seem to crumble?

Scully nodded with an expression of mixed frustration and defiance. Mulder was afraid she'd see it that way. OK, so the soccer field was out. That left either the Hoover Building or her apartment and neither place appealed to him.

"I'm sorry, Mulder. I couldn't reason with him and it was either agree or find myself and Simon moved to a safe house." Scully didn't look happy as she braced herself for Mulder's reaction.

"You did what you had to," he assured her. "We'll find a way to work around it. Pity you don't have the reputation for ignoring the rules I did," Mulder added with deliberate mischievous smile that evoked an answering smile from Scully as he hoped it would. He could see the tense set of her shoulders relax.

"Simon?"

Simon jumped, swallowed hard, and pulled his attention away from Chester, who grinned at him. "What?"

"Did you get everything you went home for?" Mulder asked.

"Yep." Simon opened his shirt and showed them a small leather bag hanging from a leather thong around his neck. He pointed to a large metal box on his desk.

Leaning towards Simon to get a closer look at the gris-gris, he saw it glow with the radiance of hot coals and hoped that the sorcerer and his baka would be as reluctant to get close to it as he was. He had the coin Chester had given him and Scully had her cross and her indomitable skepticism regarding all things paranormal. Scanty shields for the fight they were facing, but unless Scully had a saint hidden among her acquaintances, they would have to do.

"Any ideas on what ground to pick?" Mulder asked Chester. He wasn't sure the boy would be allowed to give them this much help, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

"Familiar ground is best," Chester replied cautiously. His eyes flickered briefly around the room, but he said nothing more. Mulder could take a hint. He wasn't happy about turning his old office into a battleground, but he had the advantage of knowing every inch of this room and the hallways leading to it.

"Here?" Simon yelped in surprise when Mulder pointed his finger straight down. "Can the killer get past security?"

Mulder looked blank and turned to Chester for an answer.

"It'll piss him off, but he can get in. His hired man might be harder to pull through, but he can manage that as well. He'll use up a lot of goodwill doing it," Chester said looking a lot more cheerful than Mulder felt. So much for hope that the odds had swung in their favor.

"Mulder, we can't . . . " Scully began with a horrified look.

"It's either here, your apartment, or you break your word to Skinner," Mulder told her bluntly. He sympathized, but her promise to Skinner had severely limited their options. Either they drew the killer to a place of their choosing, or they let him continue to pick them off at times of his choosing.

The glare Scully gave him could have fried an egg, but Mulder stood his ground. She was caught between three bad choices, or four if she actually decided to wait for the killer to attack again. Mulder didn't think she'd risk losing another agent to that last option. Scully was difficult to predict most days, but if he had to profile her reaction to this kind of choice, he was certain that breaking her word wouldn't be her first or even second choice. That left choosing between her apartment or this office as the place to confront the killer and Mulder was willing to bet that she'd choose her apartment. It would involve fewer rationalizations about how the killer broke through the security net. Tonight was going to give her skepticism enough blows to explain away without including a killer slipping through the Hoover Building's security.

"I don't like it, Mulder, but our suspect has already shown that he can enter my apartment at will. At least there we'll have backup within call if we need it," Scully said with an air of satisfaction.

Mulder started to point out that if the loa had decided that this confrontation was going to be balanced three against three then she could have the U.S. Marines within call and they wouldn't be of any use. Looking at Scully's satisfied expression, Mulder decided not to push the matter. Her disbelief was the strongest defense she could have against a sorcerer. Put her into the middle of a fight and she'd find a way to fight, even if she refused to accept that she wasn't fighting something perfectly normal. He looked over at Simon who was fingering his gris-gris and staring at Chester. He looked like he was considering all the possibilities. Mulder couldn't do much to dissuade him. Simon was at least halfway a believer. He had protections and perhaps just enough knowledge to help him avoid the more obvious traps. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to confront either the baka or the sorcerer.

"Agreed?" Scully asked with the tone of someone who didn't want to hear objections.

Mulder gave her a half-smile and a nod. He had plenty of objections, but he had made a promise to himself to let her run the show, even if all his instincts warned him that this wasn't the best choice. Chester looked at her, shook his head, then jumped down from the table where he'd been sitting.

"I told them you'd be stubborn about this. It's your fight. I'll drop in to see how you're doing," he promised as he vanished.

Scully started, then quickly turned to the papers on her desk. Out of sight, out of mind her posture seemed to say.

"It's nearly 3 p.m. now. Simon, go collect the evidence box at 4:30 and we'll head to my place at 5 p.m. If anyone asks, we're going over the evidence in the Bryson case to see if there are any leads to the recent attacks. I'm certain that Skinner will be more than happy to have both of us under one roof. Do you have anything to add, Mulder?" Scully asked briskly. She was slipping into command mode which meant that objections and sudden changes in plans had better be well thought out.

"No. I'll stick with Simon until we reach your apartment complex, then I'll do a quick sweep of your apartment. Don't come in until I give you the OK. The killer is familiar with your apartment and I don't want him setting any surprises." Mulder tried not to think of the kinds of traps a Vodoun sorcerer could come up with. "If I don't show up with the OK, that means I'm either already fighting the baka or else the killer has found a way to take me out. Scully, be careful," he pleaded.

For the first time, Scully seemed to grasp that this confrontation had dangerous consequences for Mulder. Shock, then dismay flickered across her face before she reached out to touch him with a look of fear and loss.

"It's no more dangerous than all the other times we've gone up against the bad guys. The methods are different, that's all," Mulder tried to assure her as he allowed himself to materialize enough to let her feel him. Simon shivered briefly then braced himself and looked away.

"Be careful, yourself, Mulder," Scully said softly as she rallied her emotional control and assumed the air of a confident law enforcement officer about to go administer a sound thumping to the bad guys.

Mulder faded slowly to give Scully and Simon a chance to make their own preparations for the confrontation. Taking this last chance before starting the chain of events that he hoped would lead to the arrest, or preferably the death, of the killer, Mulder slipped into Scully's apartment and made sure that everything was secure. The apartment set aside for Skinner's guard detail was occupied by a very bored young agent trying to pay attention to video screens scanning the walkway into Scully's apartment as well as the parking lot. Thankfully, Scully had put her foot down against having a camera inside her apartment. Mulder wasn't sure just what it might have picked up, but he was certain that explaining it would have stretched Scully's imagination to the limits. The circuit breakers for the apartment complex were easily found. If he had to create a power failure to keep Skinner's agents from getting in harm's way he would, but he hoped that wouldn't be necessary.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Hoover Building Evidence Lockup
4:45 p.m. Wednesday afternoon

"Here you go, Ambercrombie. I was just about to route this box to storage, but if you think it might help to catch whoever killed Gowers, you're more than welcome to it. Just sign for it and don't worry about keeping it over the deadline," Jackson said heartily as he swung around a clipboard containing a release form.

"Thanks. We probably won't find anything useful, but I'd like to check and be sure," Ambercrombie replied as he balanced the box in one hand and signed with the other. He tried to ignore the prickly feeling of Mulder's ghost standing next to him. Praying that Jackson would restrain his tendency to crack jokes at Mulder's expense, he slapped his signature on the form and headed for the door.

"Keep an eye on that box, Ambercrombie. Evidence has a habit of disappearing whenever it gets near that basement," Jackson quipped, laughing at his own joke.

Simon held his breath, but aside from an increase in static electricity in his area, Mulder was keeping to his promise to behave. If Jackson kept this up, Simon wouldn't blame Mulder if he started making Jackson's life miserable. Simon frowned at Jackson, then turned his back on him. Jackson muttered something that could have been anything from an apology to an insult, but Simon just ignored him.

"Don't worry, I'm used to the jokes. Unfortunately, some are truer than I like to admit."

Mulder's quiet whisper steadied him. Remembering that Mulder could pitch his voice so that only the person he was talking to could hear him, he managed not to shoot an apprehensive glance at Jackson. The walk down the hallway to the men's room seemed to take forever. Mulder remained completely invisible, but Simon could feel the static electricity roiling around him. They had discussed the possibility that their suspect might be watching the evidence room for a chance to snatch the box and Mulder was along to try to block any attempt to spring the trap before they were ready. Simon didn't know whether the electrical discharges simply meant that Mulder was on guard or if he was actively thwarting an attack. The only thing he could do was keep walking and hope he could reach the safety of the men's room where the iron box was stashed. The sooner he got whatever the killer wanted under lock and key, the quicker he could start breathing normally again.

"So far, so good," Mulder whispered. "We probably tripped an alarm when we took the box out of the evidence locker, but I think we should be able to get the silver box stashed away before our suspect can react. Put the journal in as well, just to be on the safe side, but I'm pretty certain that our bait is going to be that silver box."

Simon nodded and tried to walk a little faster while appearing to casually stroll down the hallway. He was coming to the conclusion that skulking about wasn't something that came naturally to him. Thankfully, there was no one in the hallway or in the restroom. Simon pulled the iron box out of hiding and hurriedly poured the silver box and the journal into it before placing the iron box into the cardboard evidence box. It was a tight fit, but with a little pushing it slid in. Simon breathed a sigh of relief. Up to now, he hadn't been sure Mulder's guess about the evidence was correct, but as soon as he saw the silver box, his doubts disappeared. There was no way he wanted to touch that thing with his bare hands. It had been all he could do to tip it into the iron box. The electrical discharges in the air where Mulder was standing flared up and stung his bare skin like a thousand biting ants.

"Sorry," Mulder said as he came visible for just a moment and shook himself like a dog coming out of water. "That box is dangerous and it's definitely putting out a call. The iron should keep it muted until we're ready to set the trap, though. Feel up to making it back to the office? If I'm wrong, I'd rather fight there than make a running fight through the hallways. I don't think Skinner is ready for that," Mulder added with a sardonic smile.

Simon nodded and tried to return the smile. Right about now, the full import of the trap they were laying was hitting him. All the training he'd had at Quantico hadn't prepared him to battle sorcerers and Voodoun hit men, he lamented to himself. Judo lessons and the brief course he'd taken in Aikido might, but he had a sinking feeling that improvisation was going to be the order of the night. He'd never been very good at spontaneity, but he supposed it was a bit late to mention this fact.

Picking up the evidence box, Simon tried to act as if he had nothing more important on his mind than fighting Washington traffic on his way home. He caught a glimpse of Skinner's watchdogs and nodded briefly to them before taking the elevator down to the basement. Their plan was for them to travel to Scully's apartment in separate cars with Scully taking the evidence box with her. Mulder was going to act as a roving guard, moving between the two cars to make sure that the suspect didn't try a pre-emptive strike. The plan was a rough one, but Simon knew they really didn't have time or resources to prepare a more foolproof one. At least Mulder would be able to quickly check out the apartment so they wouldn't be walking into a surprise.

Simon still felt guilty whenever he was around Mulder, but the man, or rather his ghost, seemed to accept that Simon's role in his death had been a tragic accident for both of them. Simon wondered, if their places had been reversed, whether he'd have been able to forgive. Angry at himself for indulging in self-pity, Simon left the elevator and hurried to the hopeful safety of the X-Files office. It was with a great sense of relief that he set the evidence box down on Scully's desk and fell into his chair. One hurdle jumped, but the evening was young.

"Thank you, Simon," Scully said after a moment.

Simon suspected that her attention had been focused on Mulder's report. He was beginning to recognize the slightly far-away look marked by a softening of her eyes combined with a sad smile that told him she was talking with the partner he had so unceremoniously hurled into the afterlife.

Out, damn guilt, Simon muttered to himself and firmly locked up every stray sense of guilt or shortcoming. If they survived the night, he'd indulge in an orgy of remorse accompanied by several large beers, but right now, his attention was needed on the job, not on his personal Pandora's box.

"All right, then, let's get started. Skinner has placed Delacontari in a safe house somewhere out of town. That should put him out of reach of the killer. I told Skinner that we would be reviewing the Bryson case files at my place tonight so we should leave together. Try to stay close, but if we're separated, Mulder can keep an eye on both of us," Scully added with a soft look towards the faintly coalescing shadow by the printer.

"Scully, I told you that I don't need the cross to find Simon any longer. You're going to need that cross and I'll feel better knowing you have it." Mulder kept his voice pitched for Scully's ears alone. It might have been necessary at first for Simon to wear Scully's cross, but the longer he kept it, the harder it was for Mulder not to yank it off. Probably any cross would do given Scully's faith in the symbol, not the physical item, but that cross had served as the only link Mulder had had to Scully during her abduction and he wanted to believe some of his stubborn faith that she would return had become part of the cross.

After giving him an exasperated look, Scully nodded. "Simon, Mulder says he can find you without using the cross I loaned you as a beacon. If you honestly believe in that amulet you're wearing, then I'd like the cross back," she asked awkwardly.

Hastily, Simon unclasped the cross and handed it back to her. "No problem. I don't think the two traditions would conflict, but I'd rather not experiment. Thank you for the loan." Simon looked uncomfortable and quickly turned to putting some papers in his briefcase.

"Then let's get started. I'm not putting much faith in this whole Voodoo sorcery theory of Mulder's, but if the killer is tracking us, the sooner we get home, the better." With that, Scully scooped up the evidence box, grunting a bit in surprise at the weight, then shifted it to a more comfortable carrying position and headed for the door.

Simon made a lunge to get it open one step ahead of her before she could juggle the box to grab the doorknob. Trying to act natural during the long trek to the parking garage was difficult, but they finally managed to achieve a genial level of banter. Their respective watchdogs kept a discreet distance behind them before peeling off into two cars. The small cavalcade proceeded out of the garage and into the darkness of a Washington winter night.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
6 p.m. Wednesday evening
Scully's Apartment

To Mulder's relief they arrived in the parking lot of Scully's apartment building without incident. Traffic had been heavy and somewhere along the way they had lost the cars containing Skinner's guards. The half hour until they caught back up was, for Mulder, a nerve-racking period of jumping back and forth between Simon's and Scully's cars trying to anticipate an attack that luckily never came. Mulder wasn't sure if their suspect knew the box was in transit or if he had somehow arranged for the traffic snarls, but if he had, then he'd been unable to take advantage of the momentary opportunity.

Before Scully's car finished pulling into her parking slot, Mulder had made a beeline for her apartment. He sensed the flowers before he flowed through the front door. The killer had made another gift of funeral flowers. The stink of them enraged Mulder, but he controlled the urge to heave them through a window. After a painstaking check of every room and the area outside the windows, Mulder slipped back to Scully who was taking her time closing up the car. The watchdogs were milling about scanning the area and clearly impatient to get both their charges inside.

"All clear, but the killer dropped off some more flowers. Either he's found a way to avoid the security cameras or else he can walk right past them without triggering an alarm," Mulder reported grimly.

Scully bent down to pick up the evidence box from the passenger seat and used the opportunity to scowl. By the time she was upright again, her composure was back to normal. Simon gave her a quizzical look, but then smiled for the benefit of the watchdogs.

We've had a visit from the killer," Mulder whispered to him as he shadowed them up the sidewalk, watching for any sign of the baka. He wished there was a way he could tell how long ago the flowers had been dropped off. Tempting as it was to flit over to the command center in the apartment across from Scully's, Mulder wanted to wait until Simon and Scully were safely inside her apartment. If the killer had struck again, they'd know about it soon enough. Maybe he was simply showing them that he could get past the security measures; a gesture calculated to throw them off-balance rather than celebrating a successful hit.

Once inside the apartment, Scully grabbed the vase of flowers and dumped them in the garbage can and set the can outside her back door on the small patio. Mulder approved. He didn't want anything left by the killer remaining in the apartment before they set the trap. What he didn't know about Vodoun could fill volumes. What he did know made him very wary of the things he didn't know. Extreme paranoia seemed called for right now and he was glad to see that Scully shared his aversion to having the flowers remain in the apartment. Under other circumstances, Mulder might have urged her to take them clear out to the garbage canister by the alley, but he didn't want Simon and Scully separated even by a few yards.

"Now what?" Scully asked as Mulder cautiously materialized by the Christmas tree. She sounded impatient and a bit irritated, but Mulder recognized that tone as her 'prepare for battle' voice and knew she was taking this operation very seriously. She might not believe in the paranormal aspects he had described, but hopefully all she had to do was hold on to her skepticism and force the sorcerer to meet her on her terms. Big task, but Mulder intended to be there to nudge things along if he could.

"Why don't you and Simon eat something and make some coffee before we open that box?" Mulder suggested. "I'll stay on watch and patrol the area. If our killer comes early, I'll let you know."

Scully nodded and headed to the kitchen. Simon prowled around the room and, after getting Scully's OK, explored the other rooms as well. By the time Scully had brought out cups, coffee pot, and a large plate of cheese and crackers, he seemed satisfied that he knew the layout and all the possible access points. Mulder came in from prowling and shook his head to tell them that so far he hadn't detected so much as a stray vibration.

A half hour later, Scully cleared the dishes and sat down on the couch. The evidence box sat on the coffee table in front of her. Simon swallowed nervously several times, but nodded his readiness to set the trap. Mulder decided to coalesce to a hazy shadow, mostly in the ether so that he could intercept the baka, but with another foot on the same physical plane as Simon and Scully so he could try to help them if they needed it. He felt as tense as he had when waiting for the starter pistol on a marathon run. Once the race began he could relax and concentrate on running, but the wait always played havoc with his nerves.

Scully looked around the room, pausing for a long minute at the Christmas tree sparkling and homey in the corner, then, with a deep breath, she removed the small silver box from the iron lockbox. It seemed to sparkle with dark sparks of energy that hissed in the air as Mulder stared at it. Malevolence radiated from it and Mulder kept a safe distance away. Even Scully seemed mildly affected as she rubbed her hands on the couch and moved to stand in the opposite corner from the tree. Simon took up position in the kitchen doorway, where he could watch the living room as well as the back door and the door into Scully's bedroom. Now all they could do was wait.

A half hour of tense waiting passed before Mulder saw the air around the silver box begin to move. Neither Scully nor Simon appeared to notice anything. Hesitating to sound the alarm prematurely, Mulder left off pacing around the apartment and the nearby grounds to focus on the box. At first, the disturbance seemed to be nothing more than a light breeze, barely noticeable, even for Mulder. Gradually, however, the breeze became a wispy tendril testing the air and darting towards the box. The dark sparks spat out and were absorbed by the tendril causing it to assume a dark, dusky appearance. Suddenly the tendril lunged at the box.

"They're here," Mulder shouted as he pushed his hand between the tendril and the box wincing as the sparks splattered against his hand. They burned like hot embers, but Mulder forced himself to swat the box off the table and into the waiting iron box on the floor.

Holding his burned hand, Mulder kicked the lid down on the iron box and braced himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Simon's head go up as the sound of glass breaking reached him. Grim-faced, Simon headed into the kitchen. Scully had startled when the silver box hit the iron container on the floor, then tensed as she watched Simon leave the room. She appeared calm and determined, but Mulder sensed her unease as she tried to ready herself to face whatever came through the front door.

"Give them hell, partner," he whispered to her. He'd never been good at famous last words and hoped that these wouldn't qualify.

"Be careful, Mulder," came her reply along with the familiar half-resigned, half-determined smile she used whenever they had faced impossible odds together. He held that smile fixed in his mind as he felt the air in the room begin to boil.

With a rush and a roar, the baka surged into the room, past Scully, who shuddered and stepped back, and straight at Mulder. Grasping the coin Chester had given him, Mulder side-stepped the charge. Turning sharply, the baka appeared to take shape, drawing heat from the air to form a writhing serpentine form that seemed part cat and part python. As solid as the baka appeared, Mulder knew that it was entirely centered in his world. Only if he failed, would it gain the power to materialize fully and threaten Scully. That meant that failing wasn't an option, although at the moment, Mulder wasn't entirely sure that winning was either. The best he was hoping for was a draw.

The baka sprang at him again and Mulder wrenched his attention away from Scully and whatever she might be facing to focus entirely on staying one step ahead of the baka. Malevolent didn't begin to describe the aura around the baka. Mulder had come face to face with evil when he was alive. Evil took on an entirely different dimension in the non-material world he now inhabited. Here, evil reeked more than the sewers of New Jersey. The actual physics of the baka were a mystery, but instinctively he knew that the stench was as big a danger as the beast-spirit's razor-sharp teeth and claws. Apparently the creature could smother him as well as shred him apart. This was not looking good.

Crashing sounds from the kitchen told him that Simon was probably busy with the hired help. Dodging the baka's charge by literally leaping for the chandelier, Mulder spared a glance to see if Scully was all right. Her expression of dismay and the standard FBI stance when pointing a gun at someone told him that somehow the killer had gained entry. Part of him wanted to rush to her side, but the baka was charging and dodging became more important. He'd just have to trust that Scully would be able to hold her own. His profiling instincts told him that the killer would wait until his creatures had destroyed her last hope and then, when she was totally alone, try to destroy her.

Mulder lost track of how many times the baka charged and how many different ways he found to dodge. He wasn't always successful. His side burned from a close encounter with the baka's claws and he was finding it increasingly hard to move in the turgid air bubble around the baka. The coin seemed to make the baka wary of actually closing with him. He had struck at the baka with the coin swinging from it's leather thong and felt it connect. The creature's roar of pain sent him tumbling through the walls, across the hallway, and halfway through the apartment with Skinner's men before he could stop himself. The baka followed and all hell broke loose. Under other circumstances, Mulder might have been amazed at the different ways electronic equipment had of blowing apart, but playing fox to the baka's hound took all his attention. Making a sudden decision, he decided to lure the baka into the small garden in front of Scully's apartment building.

The night was cold and clear. Pausing as he waited for the baka to follow him, Mulder felt the cool light of the thin crescent moon wash away the stench of the baka. Raising his head to look at the sky, Mulder realized that he could see each separate star so that the entire sky looked like it was full of fire. Feeling starlight and moonlight pour down over him, he was startled realize that he could draw power from them.

As the baka sprang out through the walls in pursuit it appeared less substantial in the moonlight. The baka also seemed to be making an effort to keep to the shadows except when it launched another attack. As he dodged away, Mulder began to form a rough plan. It was a gamble, but most of his plans usually were. Some of the time they actually worked, he reminded himself.

With more room to maneuver and with the baka attempting to stay in the shadows, Mulder had time to consider his options between attacks. He wasn't sure how much time had elapsed, but he could see shadows moving back and forth in Scully's kitchen and guessed that Simon was still fighting the killer's henchman. He couldn't see through the walls into Scully's living room, but he seemed to sense fear wafting on the wind. She was in danger and all his impulses were commanding him to rush to her defense. Turning away from that fear to face the baka hurt worse than the baka's claws had.

"Hold on, Scully," Mulder whispered knowing that she probably would never hear him.

Turning to face the baka, Mulder decided that he'd had enough. If he was wrong, he'd probably never know what happened to Scully. It didn't take a genius to figure out that if the baka tore him to shreds that he'd simply cease to exist and the baka would be free to join the killer in attacking Scully.

"Here, kitty, kitty," Mulder called mockingly to the baka. Praying had never come naturally to him and he didn't think now was the time to try to mend fences with whoever ran the universe, but if Chester was right, then there was someone who might just be listening.

Swallowing his fear, Mulder called out a single name. "Baron." He asked nothing, promised nothing, but simply acknowledged that he existed within the Baron's sphere of authority.

A soft laugh came out of the darkness behind him. "You called?"

Shaking off a sudden urge to flee from what he had summoned, Mulder stood his ground as the baka lunged. To his surprise, the baka skittered to a stop, legs splaying in all directions as it attempted to stop its forward motion. Mulder held up the thong holding Chester's coin and saw the moonlight reflect off the coin. The baka screamed. In the distance, Mulder could hear transformers blowing and the lights went out on the entire block and probably for several surrounding blocks, he guessed. Reduced to only the natural light of stars and moon, Mulder saw the baka's form begin to grow hazy. He took a step forward and the baka retreated; grudgingly, spitting venom, but retreating.

Now Mulder began a slow advance, driving the baka away from Scully's apartment. The Baron strolled casually behind him, laughing softly when the baka hissed. Time lost all meaning as Mulder slowly forced the baka backwards. With each step back, the baka became less solid until finally it was nothing more than a shape made out of smoke. As he forced the baka to retreat, Mulder had begun coiling up the thong until he held the coin in his hand. Suddenly, he stopped, assumed a pitcher's stance, and threw it directly at the baka's head. The creature's scream flattened Mulder and set every dog in a five mile area to howling insanely. When Mulder raised his head, the baka was gone.

"Not bad. You just might do. Chester, you win this round."

Looking up, Mulder saw a tall, skeletal figure dressed in top hat and tails standing over him. The Baron bowed slightly and following his gaze, Mulder saw Chester sitting on a tree branch grinning. When Mulder looked around, the Baron was gone.

"Hey, mon, you were cool. Not the way I'd have done it, but not bad, for a novice," Chester said as he jumped down. "Now, remember the second part of the message. Your lady needs your help. The gentleman I'll help because you just won the right to get my help. Go and finish off that bokor." With that, Chester vanished, gone to help Simon, Mulder hoped.

Mulder wasn't sure exactly what was going on with Chester and the Baron, but there wasn't time to analyze the situation. He could feel Scully's cry for help and homed in on her.

To his dismay, the living room looked like a small tornado had struck. There was no sign of Skinner's guards, though they must have been alarmed when their equipment exploded. Scully was backed up against the Christmas tree with a look of pure horror in her eyes. Mulder couldn't see what she was seeing, but he could see the mastermind behind this attack standing coolly in the middle of the room. He wasn't anyone Mulder had ever seen before, yet he seemed familiar.

"Ah, you. Through playing with the baka, ghost? Well, I have more where that one came from and all the time in the world to watch you play with my pets," the man Chester had called a bokor commented in a bored, languid tone.

"This has to end," Mulder said quietly. "Whoever you are, it has to end, now."

The bokor laughed. Mulder saw the darkness coiled within the human shell of the man standing before him and began to understand what they faced. Possession was often claimed by people ignorant of mental illness, but among all the chaff were a few cases that science and medicine couldn't explain away. Bryson had been as much a victim of the bokor as whoever this poor wretch was. Killing the husk would merely free the bokor to find another host, perhaps Simon or one of Skinner's agents.

As he watched Scully steady herself and raise her gun, he knew that this wasn't the solution. Simon had given him the key. He'd already taken a step into the loas' world. What difference would it make if he walked all the way in?

"You can't touch me, you pathetic, mewling ghost, pining after a sad excuse of a life that ended in the meaningless death you deserved," the bokor taunted.

Mulder saw the darkness inside the man reach out and begin to draw a door in the air between them. With no time to consider the consequences, Mulder opened himself to the loa known as Papa Legba.

"OK, Papa Legba. You wanted a door, you got one," Mulder whispered softly. Aloud, he said, "Maybe I can't, but there are others who can."

Before he finished speaking, Mulder felt himself being turned inside out, wrung out, and then stretched as thin as salt-water taffy. One moment he was a singularity, the next he was a drop of water in a tidal wave rushing into and through him. Reeling, he watched in mixed horror and amazement as the spirits of nearly a hundred dead men, women, and children poured out of him to materialize into white smoky shapes. Screams of anger and triumph erupted from the ghosts of the people the bokor had killed.

Startled out of his preoccupation with the summoning of another baka, the bokor realized his danger too late. The crowd of hungry ghosts had surrounded him. For every one his darkness consumed, another took its place, until all Mulder could see was a human face screaming in mortal terror as it was literally torn apart. The darkness that was the bokor attempted to flee through the partially open window into the baka's world only to be harried away. The bokor darted towards Mulder only to be hurled backwards.

"The gate only opens one way. You were warned, Levigne. The Baron will not take you. I will not open the way for you. You are cast out."

Mulder felt the words form in his mouth, but knew that they didn't come from him. Someone was riding him. For a brief second, he felt eternity stretching out behind and in front of him.

The bokor screamed as his victims closed in around him. Mulder turned away shuddering. There was a final scream and then silence.

Well done. It is over.

Mulder heard the words in his head followed by a rush of wind that passed through him back towards a land that he had glimpsed twice before.

It is not my place to open the door for you. Another will come, but there is a choice. You have earned that choice. Choose wisely. The voice calmed his fear and left him feeling whole and at peace.

As he straightened up, Mulder saw an old man with water raining from his hands accompanied by a dog who sat quietly at his side. Papa Legba smiled and Mulder was reminded of Chester's infectious grin.

I have many children. So does the Baron. With nod of his head, the old man turned and walked away vanishing into a billowing white cloud that faded away as Mulder watched. Feeling oddly bereft, Mulder shook himself and looked for Scully.

To his surprise, Scully hadn't moved. Despite the feeling that several minutes had passed, they apparently hadn't passed for Scully. Mulder watched in stunned disbelief as her finger finished tightening on the trigger. Despite knowing that a bullet couldn't hurt him, he still yelped as he felt it pass through him and lodge in the wall. The roar of the shot was repeated in the kitchen. Scully's eyes were slightly glazed, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

Before he could finish materializing, the front door flew open and three of Skinner's guards burst in with weapons drawn. Mulder quickly dematerialized and bolted for the far corner. The agents were agitated enough without presenting them with the ghost of a man they knew to be dead. One of them peeled off to the kitchen while another made a quick search of the bedroom and bath. The remaining agent looked in disbelief at the chaos in the room and swallowed hard. Mulder didn't envy him the report he was going to have to make.

"What happened, here? Our equipment blew up and then we heard the shots. Are you OK, Agent Scully?" the lead agent asked solicitously.

"I'm fine," came Scully's patented reply. She stared at the wreckage of her living room and shook her head. "There was an intruder," she started then hesitated and stopped as she realized that there wasn't a body. Her eyes followed the path her bullet must have taken and saw the hole in the wall. With a sudden thud, she sat down in the nearest chair.

"Our cameras showed nothing unusual until they blew up and the lights went out. The police are reporting outages across half the city. Do you have any idea what happened?" The agent, Dyers by name Mulder recalled, looked confused, but immensely relieved that his report did not have to include another agent down.

"I need a medic in here," a voice from the kitchen yelled.

Scully sat upright and started for the kitchen. Mulder got there first and was relieved to see Simon sitting up against a cabinet that looked as if it had sustained a direct hit from a flying body, probably Simon's. He was bleeding from a gash that stretched from shoulder to wrist on his left arm, but otherwise seemed to be in one piece. His heart was racing, but very sound.

"Simon?" Scully asked as she knelt beside him. "There are more towels in that top drawer," she snapped at Dyer who promptly jumped to and grabbed out enough towels to bandage a platoon.

"Clear in here," came the call from the other agent who appeared in the doorway. "I'll call it in."

"This your intruder, Agent Scully?" Dyer asked, poking a prone body on the floor. A wide pool of blood was spreading across the tiles from under the body.

"I think so?" Scully replied in a distracted tone.

"Say yes, Scully," Mulder advised speaking for her ears only. "I'll explain later. Let's not confuse Dyer with things he won't understand or believe," he continued. Scully looked relieved.

"Yes," she affirmed before she went back to wrapping Simon's arm in towels. He opened his eyes and gave her a weak grin.

"Did we win?" he asked groggily. "Good," he replied when Scully nodded. "I'd hate to feel this bad if we didn't win." At that, Simon closed his eyes and started to slide down the cabinet to the floor.

"He'll be fine, Scully. If he's lucky, he'll sleep through the stitches," Mulder quipped. Scully bit her lip to keep from smiling. Mulder quickly mimed marking a point in the air. Even though Scully couldn't see him, she would know he was keeping score just as he always had when alive.

"A. D. Skinner will be here in thirty minutes, Agent Scully. He told me to tell you to sit down, take it easy, and if the medics wanted to check you over to please not give them any arguments," Dyer said in a carefully neutral tone.

Scully scowled, then nodded her agreement to the terms. She looked tired, from Mulder's point of view, but otherwise unharmed. They all needed to talk, but obviously that was going to have to wait until tomorrow. Mulder watched the familiar routine of agents investigating a crime scene and protecting two of their own who needed help. Finally, unable to bear the aching sense of loss, he withdrew into his fog bank. He felt as tired as Scully looked. Once everyone had gone, he'd come back and watch over her while she slept, but for now, he wasn't needed.

"Catch up with you later, Scully. We won. I'll be here when you're asleep," Mulder whispered softly in Scully's ear while Dyer was occupied with intercepting a pair of policemen responding to the call of officer down. A wan smile was all he got, but he hugged the warmth of that smile around him as he slept.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Thursday afternoon
X-Files Office

"Simon, you should be home resting." Scully shot him the glare she had patented when dealing with Mulder's intransigence over doctor's orders. Two partners did not constitute a reliable statistical base, but she was beginning to wonder if this was pushing the odds.

"The doctor said to rest. A. D. Skinner was the one who said to go home and rest," Simon pointed out reasonably. "I am resting," he assured her as he leaned back in his chair, carefully propping up his bandaged arm.

A laugh from the air near the printer table caused her to roll her eyes then spread her hands in a gesture of surrender. Mulder materialized slowly until he was opaque enough to reassure Scully that she wasn't talking to thin air. Simon shivered a bit and Mulder inched back until he could lean against the wall.

Mulder thought he could hear her mutter something about bad influences and stifled another laugh. Scully sounded miffed, but he could tell she was mostly worried, rather than upset with either of them. She had slept late and had steadfastly refused to discuss the previous evening's events. Mulder wasn't sure whether she was still rearranging the facts to fit into a theory compatible with science or whether she was trying to ignore the more outrageous parts of the attack. Either would be her natural approach to the paranormal. As far as he knew, he was the only paranormal phenomena she couldn't explain away or ignore. To his dismay, that chink in her logic didn't make her any more willing to accept other supernatural events. She was still the resolute skeptic, although he noticed that she had to work a bit harder to make the facts conform to science than before his reappearance as a ghost.

"Besides, I'll rest better when I know what the hell happened last night," Simon argued.

"He has a point, Scully. Eventually, Skinner's going to want a report and it might be better if you got your stories straight beforehand. Unless you were planning on explaining how two men broke into your apartment, past the security team, and only one body remained," Mulder observed with just a hint of sardonic amusement that got him another glare from Scully.

"It was a standard break-in and assault, Mulder. Nothing more. The fact that the perpetrator evaded the security set-up is a matter for Skinner to take up with the agents responsible," Scully announced firmly. Mulder noticed that she used the singular rather than the plural to refer to the attackers.

"Scully, the man Simon killed was a hired thug. You might not like to believe that the man responsible for the deaths of Thomas and Gowers was a bokor, but no ordinary thug has the power to summon a baka or stroll past security cameras without a trace showing up."

"So you say, Mulder," Scully snapped, then gave him an apologetic look. "Sorry. I keep trying to convince myself that the things that man made me see have a scientific explanation. Mulder, whoever I was facing seemed to know what my darkest nightmares were. That isn't possible," she added in a small voice.

"Scully, that man was a bokor, a Vodoun sorcerer. Vodoun, as you remember, specializes in illusions. Maybe he used some sort of airborne hallucinogens to disorient you," Mulder offered as a crumb of hope to her determination to find a scientific explanation. For all he knew, drugs weren't out of the question. If drugs made it easier for her to accept the violation of her psyche, he saw no reason not to let her take that comfort.

"You don't believe that?" Scully accused.

Mulder shrugged. "Drugs or psychic manipulation -- does it really matter? The man is dead. If Skinner wants to pin the entire blame on the thug it won't matter much to him, either. Whatever happened to bokor did not leave anything behind." Mulder looked pensively across the room. He doubted if Scully was ready to accept the truth. If he hadn't been there and seen what happened, he might be skeptical, too. In a way, the man the bokor possessed was just as much as victim of the bokor as Bryson. Maybe they weren't nice men, but they didn't deserve having their souls banished into limbo because a bokor wanted a body.

"So, what really happened?" Simon asked. "Not the stuff we'll put in our report and try to remember, but the things we don't want to remember?"

Scully stiffened, but didn't try to override him. Mulder wondered if deep down inside she was beginning to understand that skepticism and belief didn't have to be mutually exclusive. She could keep looking for the scientific explanation and accept that there were questions science didn't have answers to. She'd once told him that science sometimes didn't know how to ask the questions, yet. Maybe she'd be the one to come up with those questions.

"We faced off with something Chester called a bokor, which roughly translates as evil sorcerer, I think. Apparently, the bokor's been jumping from body to body for a very long time. Bryson's journal is really his journal started back when he was still in his original body," Mulder explained. It was a fantastic story and he wasn't surprised when Scully interrupted.

"Mulder that's impossible." Scully adopted her favorite exasperated, skeptical expression that she pulled out whenever she felt he had crossed the boundary between improbable to downright impossible.

"Is it any less possible than the demonic possession the Catholic Church acknowledges?" Mulder asked. It never ceased to amaze and bemused him that Scully could accept the miracles her church sanctioned as a matter of faith, yet reject paranormal events that were similar simply because they weren't included in her articles of faith.

"Are you claiming that Bryson was possessed by a demon?" Scully's tone slid into the incredulous.

"Demon, sorcerer, wandering spirit; who's to say where the line can be drawn?" Mulder paused for a moment then tried another tack. "Evil is evil no matter what you call it. Perhaps, in a very few cases, evil can survive the death of the body and infect others."

"Like a virus," Simon suggested. The idea seemed to intrigue him. Bryson's journal was lying on his desk and he kept darting wary glances at it as if curious, but also afraid of what he might find.

Scully started to scoff then seemed to pause to consider the theory. It was a start, Mulder figured. His return as a ghost had fractured her certainty that science held the answers to all the questions he used to ask. A contagion of evil was no less credible than the reappearance of her dead partner as a ghost.

"You're reaching, both of you. If you're suggesting that Bryson should be excused from his crimes because the devil made him kill. . . ." Scully's skepticism roared back and she looked like she was prepared to argue on this point.

"Well, it's certainly a theory the Catholic Church has endorsed in the past," Mulder countered, lobbing the ball back into her court. Not a welcome return if he was reading the discomforted look on her face correctly. Relenting, he softened the argument. "I doubt if a defense attorney would get very far with that claim these days. Perhaps for evil to move in there has to be an existing disposition towards evil. Bryson was not one of the good guys before he started on his killing spree."

"Read the journal, Scully, and then make up your mind. I think you may end up with more questions than answers," Mulder suggested. Scully shook her head, but she glanced over at the journal before jerking her gaze away. Mulder didn't push the matter. Scully had to chart her own path to belief. The more anyone pushed her, the more stubbornly she held on to her skepticism.

"Why don't we take this one at a time?" Mulder suggested and nodded to Simon to start off. Might as well start with the easiest account for Scully to accept.

"Not much to tell. I came into the kitchen and found the intruder standing just inside the back door. Skinner tells me that the man's name was Kinroy; he had a rap sheet a mile long mostly for assault with deadly weapons. As far as I can recall, the door was closed and the window wasn't broken. Before I could fire, he threw something at me that felt like a cannonball. I crashed into the cabinets and the next thing I knew he was on me with a very big knife; I think they call them Bowie knives. After he tried to carve my arm off, I finally managed to fire and he flew backwards. The next thing I know, Agent Fuller was kneeling beside me wrapping a towel around me arm. Couldn't have been more than three or four minutes from start to finish," Simon said with a grimace. "Longest four minutes of my life up to now, though," he added under his breath.

Mulder could have sworn his fight lasted a lot longer than four minutes, but he said nothing. It would be interesting to hear Scully's account to see if she shared that same sense of compressed time. That could explain why Skinner's guards had seemed to take so long to react. Mulder tried not to think about the power it must have taken for the bokor to play with time that way. Even if he'd known how powerful the bokor had become, he'd still have had to face off with him, but he'd probably have had the sense to be a lot more terrified than he was.

Scully seemed to be waiting to him to continue the story, but when Mulder showed no signs of offering his side, she sighed. "Frankly, I'm not sure what happened. I remember thinking that someone was in the room," she started, then hesitated, obviously unsure of how to continue. "I saw things, nightmares, really. It's all very confused. I remember raising my gun to fire at the intruder. Mulder, you appeared a moment later as I fired. I could have sworn there was someone there, but obviously I was mistaken. Then Agent Dyer rushed in," Scully said firmly. Whatever her nightmare illusions had been, she was obviously not going to share. Mulder couldn't really blame her. He had more than a few personal nightmares he wouldn't want anyone else to know either.

"How do you explain the mess in your living room?" Mulder asked gently. For a moment, Mulder thought she wasn't going to answer. She could dismiss what she'd seen as she had so many times before on their cases, but the tangible evidence of over-turned furniture and broken vases would be harder to explain away.

"I can't," she finally admitted after struggling with anger that melted into a tired resignation.

She looked tired and Mulder wondered whether pushing her to accept the fact that a sorcerer trashed her home while trying to drive her mad with her darkest nightmares would serve any purpose. On a deeper level, he suspected she believed, but the fear of believing was greater than her need to resolve all the loose ends. Maybe that had been her problem all along and he'd never understood. For him, believing had always been a grail, something to be sought out and embraced. Perhaps, for Scully, believing in the unknown represented chaos.

"Mulder?" Scully prodded.

Startled out of his thoughts, Mulder nodded. Whatever doubts she had were now firmly buried and Mulder didn't feel like exhuming them right now.

"I wish I'd shared your sense that the fight only lasted a minute or two," he quipped with a wry smile. "It felt like a football quarter with no time outs. Eventually, I managed to lead the baka out of your apartment and out into the park. Unfortunately, I think it was responsible for the damage done to the electronic surveillance equipment, not to mention the power outage," Mulder said sheepishly. Scully gave him a fond smile. She might not believe in bakas, but she did believe in his ability to create collateral damage.

"Just suspend your disbelief for this, Scully. It may sound like a fairy tale, but I was there and it happened," Mulder urged. Scully gave him a wait and see look. Simon leaned forward, all ears.

"The baka didn't like moonlight. I have a feeling that if we waited a couple more days to spring this trap, that we might not be here trying to decide what happened. Once we were outside, there was just enough moonlight to show that thing down. Then, I took Chester's advice and called for re-enforcements. I think the bokor had seriously irritated some of the more important loa. Once the baka was sent back to wherever bakas come from, I came back to see if I could help." Mulder paused and tried to come up with a way to explain what happened without straining Scully's tolerance for the paranormal. In the end, he decided to simply gloss over the bokor's destruction. The how didn't matter as much as the fact that it had happened.

"The bokor was destroyed by his victims. Maybe his illusions doubled back and killed him, or maybe I saw the restless ghosts of his victims take revenge. Either way, the man is dead and the balance is restored, according to Chester." Mulder watched Scully worry over the improbabilities of his story, then shrug a weary acceptance.

"So, we have the paranormal explanation and we have the nice, tidy mundane explanation that will allow A. D. Skinner to sleep at night. Personally, right now, I think I'll take the second option. I don't want to have to write up a report that tries to explain how a suspect threw me across a room without laying a hand on me," Simon said. His eyes were haunted.

Mulder wondered if he had sensed more than he was letting on. Simon was almost spooky, he thought with a rueful chuckle. Maybe there was something in the air in this office that touched people who were willing to believe.

"Then we'll give Skinner the facts. Everything else is speculation," Scully asserted with a relieved air. Simon nodded. Mulder sighed, but also nodded his agreement. A nice factual report would also gloss over his involvement. If Scully could reconcile filing a partial report by clinging to the idea that it was just the facts, then both she and Skinner would be happier.

Seeing Simon idly fingering the journal and Scully resolutely pulling up her notes on the computer, Mulder decided it was time to go elsewhere. One of the few benefits of being dead was not having to write reports. Mulder intended to take full advantage of that.

"Catch you later, Scully," he whispered as he walked past her. She shivered as his hand touched her shoulder, but she smiled and mouthed, "Slacker." Mulder's laugh lingered in the air half a heartbeat after he disappeared.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Time: Indeterminate
Place: Somewhere else

Normally, as Mulder dozed in the grayish fog he called home, he was aware of his link with Scully, but little else. For all he knew, the fog could be full of wandering spirits, but so far he'd encountered no one. It was a place to relax the effort to hold the shape and form he had in life and simply hover effortlessly in what he thought of as a fog bank. Therefore, he was startled to sense the presence of another mind approaching. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, although a quick check of the link told him that Scully was not yet asleep. Pulling himself together, literally, he stood up.

To his surprise and growing dismay, the visitor was the spirit he called Gordon. Gordon had been the one who had informed him that his death was unexpected and gently explained that he had something to do before he would be allowed to pass into the afterlife. He had witnessed Gordon escorting other souls through the shining door, always with a sense of grief at the brief glimpses he caught of a bright world beyond. Gordon's appearance was highly unusual. As much as Mulder longed to see what lay beyond the door, he also resisted losing his contact with Scully. With a sense of foreboding, he waited for Gordon to speak.

"It's time," Gordon said simply, extending a hand. Beyond him, Mulder could see a door forming and light pouring through as if through a prism. Yearning and resistance balanced so completely that he felt like a tuning fork vibrating.

"So soon?" Mulder finally managed to say.

Gordon smiled and changed his proffered hand to a gesture to sit down. It didn't surprise Mulder to find that they were suddenly in a small garden on a hill overlooking the sea. Mulder wondered if Gordon had plucked this place out of his memory. This was his grandmother's garden in her house on the Maine coast. He used to sit for hours watching storms roll in from the sea when he was a boy, before Samantha was taken and his boyhood ended.

"This is but a shadow of what was. I thought you might be more comfortable here. Life, even the life after death, can sometimes become complicated. Before, you desired to pass through the door, but it was closed. Now the door is open and you no longer wish to pass through," Gordon said with a smile. His manner was relaxed and genial as if he had all the time in the world to sit here and chat with a reluctant soul. Mulder had no doubt that Gordon could kick him through the door if he chose, but apparently he was willing to listen to Mulder's reservations.

Encouraged by the prospect that he might have a say in the matter, he began to relax. Impulsively, Mulder walked over to the small wall surrounding the garden and sat on it, letting his legs dangle over the side with nothing beneath his feet, but a sheer drop down to the rocky coast. He had always enjoyed this precarious perch. Once, to his great surprise, his grandmother had joined him to watch a storm blowing in from the sea. His parents had always chased him off, telling him that it was too dangerous. This had been the last good memory he had of this place. His grandmother had died the following year and the year after that Samantha had been taken.

"Is Samantha there?" Mulder asked quietly.

"Like you, she chooses to exist in another realm, but if you are asking if her physical body is dead, then yes. She's at peace. One day you may journey to her realm or she to yours. She remembers you with love, Fox," Gordon added in a gentle voice.

The silence stretched out between them as Mulder allowed himself to grieve for the sister he hadn't been able to protect and whose disappearance had shaped his life. The Blessing Way vision then had been only a dream, the heartfelt wish of a man who wanted to believe he could still ride to the rescue and be Samantha's knight errant. Mulder smiled at the memory and let acceptance of what was relax one of the cords binding him to the earth. The other cords were still stout and strong, though.

"Was this how I was supposed to die?" Mulder asked curiously. As long as Gordon was in the mood to answer questions, he intended to ask them.

"In the original time line you died to save Dana, Simon and three other agents from the angry soul you confronted tonight. You were to be the only one who believed enough to confound the magic. It destroyed you, but in doing so it also destroyed him. You have done well and it is time to come home . . . if you wish?" Gordon asked after a brief pause.

Mulder looked up, startled and felt a tiny spark of hope beginning to catch fire. It sounded as if he might have a choice in the matter.

"You have won the right to a choice, or rather a choice has been petitioned for you." Gordon laughed at Mulder's dumbfounded expression. "The afterlife is rich and varied, Fox. We have many realms and many mansions and more cooperation among the various faiths than the living can imagine."

"I can stay?" Mulder asked, focusing on the important part of Gordon's comment. The rest he stored away for future reference, to mull over when he was resting.

"You have two choices. You can come with me and enter into the afterlife as originally planned. You have seen enough to know what this offers. However, you have attracted the interest of a group of spirits who are more earthbound than I. They, or several among them, have offered to welcome you into their midst with the understanding that upon Dana's death, you will be offered the choice again." At Mulder's look of surprise, he explained, "All of them have deferred the choice of passing through my door for many reasons." Gordon smiled fondly as his eyes stared out over the sea.

"You mean the Vodoun loa?" Mulder asked cautiously as his mind raced around trying to sort through all his jumbled emotions. The theology alone was enough to confuse him.

"The Baron in particular. Apparently his newest recruit has taken a strong liking to you and Dana and thinks it quite romantic to allow you to be on call to protect her. You would be, for all intents and purposes, a loa subject to the laws of the Vodoun." Gordon leaned back against a stone prop that Mulder could have sworn wasn't there a moment before.

Swinging his legs back to the patio, Mulder got up and began to pace. He'd always thought better on his feet and the habits of a lifetime couldn't be laid aside just because of the pesky fact that he was dead. Gordon sat quietly, staring off into the distance. Finally, Mulder's pacing slowed and he came to stand beside Gordon to stare out over the sea. A storm was forming off in the distance. As the wind picked up, he realized that he could see the currents swirling around in the air. Memories of life, of Scully, and of the sights and smells of earth wove strong chains around him binding him to the choice he realized he'd made when he had promised Scully he would always be there to look after her. It was a simple choice, in the end, and might bring regrets, but it was the right one.

"I thought you'd make that choice, Fox," Gordon said softly without taking his eyes off the sea. "You won't be able to continue as you have been doing for the past several months. The loa are bound by rules and as a loa, even one in training, so you will be, too. For someone who has always resented rules that may be hard. Think carefully," Gordon warned.

Mulder stopped and thought about it. He'd gotten used to dropping in on Scully whenever he pleased. From what he knew of Vodoun that free-and-easy relationship would have to end. On the one hand, Scully would be in control of the situation and that would reassure her. On the other, he would miss being able to just show up and chat. Both of them would need to make some adjustments, but taking the long view, he might be able to be of more use as a loa than as a ghost without a clue as to what he was doing. On the other hand, he could see some major problems looming.

"I'm beginning to get the hang of being a ghost. I'm not sure I'm into the spirit possession ecstasy thing," Mulder admitted. He wasn't familiar with all aspects of Vodoun ritual, but the idea of having to possess someone in order to talk to Scully was distasteful. Scully would probably recoil in horror at the idea and refuse to have anything to do with him. Mulder felt his spirits sink as he realized that there might be insurmountable difficulties with the whole loa idea.

"Vodoun is far more flexible than you know. No loa can be coerced to service against their will. Besides, I believe you would properly be considered as a guardian spirit rather than one of the traditional loa," Gordon pointed out. "It's a promotion from being a ghost, but still very low down in the hierarchy," he added with a chuckle.

One day soon, Mulder intended to spend an entire day pondering the startling notion that angels had a sense of humor. He wondered how that fact had been overlooked in the religious texts.

"So, where do I go to sign up?" Mulder quipped. It was tempting to be serious about such a heavy-weight decision, but flippancy came more naturally to him than ponderous seriousness.

"Go to the bench where you used to go to think things out. Your loa guide will find you," Gordon said. After a moment, he stood up and extended a hand. "Good luck, Fox. I wondered whether you might choose a different path. You and your sister are not that different. May you find happiness in your choice as she has in hers. Until we meet again," he added as he clasped Mulder's hand in farewell.

Mulder shot him a quizzical look hoping that Gordon might give him a hint as to how long that wait might be. To his disappointment, Gordon shook his head.

"I'm not privy to Dana's passing date, Fox. I'm merely the gatekeeper, not the one who severs the souls," he said softly as he turned and walked away.

Mulder watched him walk into a cloud and vanish with a slight qualm. Gordon had been an anchor in his confusing, upside-down world. He tried to tell himself that it was natural to be anxious about a new job as he gathered up his courage and thought about the bench beside the Potomac. Thought became action and he found himself standing beside the bench in the early dawn as a cold rain pelted the area. The rain tickled a bit as it passed through him.

"Hey, man, welcome to the family!" Chester's cheerful voice boomed out as he appeared out of the rain. His grin was infectious and Mulder found himself smiling in return. "I knew you couldn't pass up the chance. Now I got to explain some things to you, then take you around and introduce you. Some of the family are a bit miffed that you got in, but when Papa and the Baron say jump, they jump and don't ask questions. You'll be one of Papa's kin, but I pulled rank and snagged the job of teaching you the ropes."

Forgetting for the moment that he was insubstantial, Mulder sat down on the bench and floundered as he passed through the bench and halfway into the ground before catching himself. Chester laughed and offered him a hand up. Wondering just what he'd let himself in for, Mulder took the hand and felt himself literally hauled upright. Chester was stronger than he looked, although Mulder had always suspected that there was more to Chester than met the eye.

"Now, first thing you have to do is choose your offering," Chester said as Mulder cautiously materialized enough to perch on the bench. Chester sat down next to him swinging his feet and looking as normal as any ten-year-old boy.

"Offering?" Mulder asked as he tried to remember everything he'd read about Vodoun. There was a vague memory about ritual offerings of food and sacrificial animals.

"Tastes vary, mon. Hey, what do you want to be called, Fox or Mulder? We're going to be cousins after all," Chester pointed out.

"Mulder. I get to choose?" Mulder asked hopefully. His mind boggled at the image of Scully sacrificing a chicken to summon him. Actually, boggle was an understatement. His mind took one look at the idea and ran screaming for cover.

"Of course." Chester looked surprised at the question. "Hey, do you think I really need the Big Macs and fries? They taste good and I love them, but they're payment for my help. Pick something you really like and that's what Miss Scully or anyone else has to put out to call you."

"Anything?" Mulder asked as he considered his various tastes in food.

"Anything. Just be sure it's something you won't get tired of. Knew a loa once who loved fried chicken when he was alive and picked that as his offering. He got so popular that he can't even stand to smell the stuff anymore," Chester said with a laugh. Mulder wasn't sure whether he was serious or not, but the caution made a lot of sense.

"Sunflower seeds," Mulder said after giving the matter some thought. He liked them and they were easy to carry around, plus they were inconspicuous enough to conceal in a pocket or purse. It was going to be hard enough to explain to Scully that she had to set out seeds for him without him choosing something that might be noticed by other agents.

Chester cocked his head to one side as if thinking about the choice, then grinned. "Smart. Easier to get than Big Macs. You're going to do all right." Chester beamed with approval and Mulder sensed that one hurdle had just been successfully crossed.

"Ordinarily, we don't give free visits, but you made a promise and Papa likes people who keep their promises. Go tell Miss Scully that you'll be around and explain about the seeds. She doesn't believe in us so convincing her might take some doing. I've got leave from the Baron to remind her if she tries to call you without them. Can't do that more than one or two times, but I can pass word to your friends with the computers and maybe they can convince her." Chester's mischievous grin made Mulder wonder just how he intended on delivering that message to the Gunmen. He was tempted to ask, but decided that what he didn't know he wouldn't have to apologize for. Deus Ex Machina suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

"Thanks," Mulder said. Chester waved off the thanks as he disappeared. Mulder hoped the Gunmen had good nerves.

Summoning all his courage, Mulder focused on Scully and found himself in her apartment. To his surprise, it was already late afternoon on Friday. Obviously Scully hadn't needed to talk to him since their meeting with Simon Thursday afternoon. The living room had been straightened up and as far as Mulder could tell there was nothing to remind her that her personal safe space had been ruthlessly invaded two days ago.

A steaming pot of tea and a salad sat on the table by the large comfy chair she used when she wanted to curl up with a good book or to watch a movie on TV. Soft sounds from the kitchen told him that Scully was in there. Tempting as it was to follow her in, Mulder decided that she might appreciate being in relative control of this conversation. Given the recent home invasion, she didn't need to feel cornered. Materializing just enough to be an opaque form, Mulder drifted over to the couch. When he heard Scully begin to leave the kitchen he gave her a warning whistle. He was sure he wasn't meant to hear the soft 'damn' she muttered and tried not to take it personally. Scully had probably been looking forward to a nice, quiet, uncomplicated evening.

"Hello, Mulder," she said as she came into the living room bearing a mug and a jar of honey. Her smile might have been a bit on the sad side, but she didn't seem upset; just very tired.

"Hey," he replied then fell silent as he tried to marshal the words to tell her that she had just gotten a new guardian angel, well, spirit rather. Mulder doubted if he qualified for angel status even under rules bent into circles.

Scully let the silence grow between them as she ate her salad. Mulder felt oddly comforted by her acceptance of his presence. They had always said more in silence than in words. They needed to talk, but the silence after so many stresses and strains felt good.

Eventually, after she had finished the salad and settled back with a second cup of tea, Scully gave a small sigh and looked directly at him. "Is this goodbye?" she asked softly.

Surprised, Mulder shook his head. There were times when he thought that Scully had more claim on the nickname Spooky than he had. She had this uncanny way of knowing what he wasn't trying to say.

"No, although it was a close thing," he admitted. Scully sat up with a start.

"I was supposed to have died the other night, if I had been alive at the time that is. My belief in Vodoun was supposed to have saved you and several other agents, including Simon. Technically, I could leave, but I was offered this really neat job," Mulder said with a sly grin. Scully gave him a very wary look.

"Apparently, Chester and the loa, at least some of them, decided to adopt me. I get to stick around and be your guardian spirit. I think your guardian angel has applied for a long vacation, so consider me a very focused temp replacement," Mulder said brightly hoping to elicit an answering smile from Scully. She snorted, but Mulder could see her lips twitching ever so slightly. He hid a grin. This was going well.

"Let me get this straight. You're my guardian angel? I don't see any wings and I haven't rung any bells, lately," Scully replied with a straight face.

Grinning at her, Mulder stood up and made a slow turn so she could see that he didn't come equipped with wings. "Nope, no wings. I'm not an angel. More like a spirit in training. I'll be on call any time you need me. Only drawback is that I can't just drop in to say hi. You need to call me. Put out a dish of sunflower seeds, think of me, and I'll be here. No chicken feathers or odd chants, just sunflower seeds," Mulder added cheerfully.

Scully gave him a stern glare, but he could see she was thinking about it. Finally, she relaxed and shook her head. "I thought you had to leave when your time was up? If you've done something rash, Mulder," she began in a worried tone.

"No. This was an option approved of by Gordon himself and while I learned that angels can laugh, I don't think they can lie. I earned a choice and I took it. I won't be underfoot. You can live your life without having me show up at inopportune moments, but if you need me I'll be there. Eventually, I'll pass on. I have Gordon's promise on that." Mulder paused. Scully was looking dubious, but she was listening to what he was saying.

She must approve.

Mulder had no idea where that thought came from, but suspected that it was one of the new rules Gordon had warned him about. Years of experience with Scully told him to give her time, but if Chester was right, he wasn't going to get another chance to talk with her unless she played by those rules.

"Say, yes, Scully. Think about it for a few days. Put out some seeds and we can talk some more. If you don't like the idea, then you never have to put out the seeds and I won't pester you." Mulder winced as he made that promise, but he was beginning to feel the constraints of Vodoun laws. Why did there always have to be a downside to every major decision he made?

"Of all the insane, impulsive . . . .," Scully began then chuckled. She looked radiant at that moment as if she was seeing an impossibility become possible. " You're impossible, Mulder, but over the last twenty-four hours, when I deliberately refused to call you or expect you, I realized how much I'd miss you if you had moved on."

One of the downsides of being a ghost, or loa, was that he didn't have a breath to hold, but he felt himself go perfectly still waiting for her answer.

"Yes. It's a crazy idea, but I've grown accustomed to having you wander through my life. We're going to have to work out some ground rules, though," she cautioned.

"The ground rules are already laid out, Scully. You have to call me. I can't just show up uninvited. Running out of sunflower seeds would be a bad idea, however," Mulder added with a smile that won an answering smile from Scully.

"I'll put them on my weekly grocery list," she promised, then yawned and started to apologize.

"Get some sleep, Scully. I'll have to find out if my duties include tucking you in, but until then I'll just be your friendly, invisible, alarm system," Mulder quipped. Scully mimed throwing a pillow at him and laughed when he put up his hands in a protective gesture.

Mulder waited in the living room as she went about her nightly routine. When she was safely in bed, he slipped in to whisper a goodnight, then faded into the darkness. The bright world beyond Gordon's door still called to him, but this was his world as long as Scully had need of him. Satisfied, he returned to the bench by the Potomac and waited for Chester. He had a lot to learn, but for the first time since he died, he was a ghost with a purpose.

Out of the mist and shadows, Chester bounced into sight grinning excitedly. "Hey, Mulder, we're throwing you a welcome to the family party."

He started to run off, then stopped and looked back at Mulder who was still sitting on the bench looking slightly shell-shocked. "Come on. Let's go!"

What in hell did I just get myself into? Mulder wondered as he got up to follow Chester.

The End

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