=====o================================================o===== "Rustic Suite" - Courante (allegro) by Mary Ruth Keller (mrkeller@eclipse.net) Disclaimed in Prelude =====o================================================o===== -----o-------------------------------------------o------ Thus pour the stars down plagues for perjury. Can any face of brass no longer out? Here stand I: lady, dart thy skill at me; Bruise me with scorn, confound me with a flout; Thrust thy sharp wit quite through my ignorance; Cut me to pieces with thy keen conceit; Love's Labour's Lost -----o-------------------------------------------o----- Winding Branch Farms Saturday, January 18, 1997 9:23 am Mulder and Scully followed Joe MacMillain, the farm manager, out past the barns to a refrigerated meat locker. On the concrete floor lay the mutilated carcass of a heifer. "We moved her in here as soon as we knew you wuz comin', Agent Mulder. We wanted you and Agent Scully to have the best shot at identifying whatever is behind this." The tall man in overalls stepped out, leaving the agents with the animal's remains. Mulder nodded his thanks as his partner knelt beside the heifer's head, opening the bloodied mouth with her latex-sheathed hands. Scully finished her observations of the oral cavity, then crawled back to examine the slit in the abdomen. Lifting the flap of skin, Scully nodded. "So far, Mulder, this looks like canine predation." She pointed to the pairs of holes in the throat. "Coyotes, wolves, and even the big cats like lions and leopards all use the same basic technique to bring down large animals: Hold the windpipe closed with their jaws until the animal suffocates. Then they eat the entrails, which would explain the missing intestines and uterus." She moved back to the head. "Although this business with the tongue is a little strange." He crouched beside her, grimacing as he stared into the orifice. "How so?" "Well, it looks like the tongue was chewed away, but the wound has been dissolved, as if someone poured acid on it." His forehead creased. "What?" "Look." She poked the remaining flesh. Mulder noted how smooth the surface was. "Isn't saliva acidic?" She sighed. "Yes, but not enough to do this. The fluids in the stomachs of predators are more acid than ours, but are still hydrochloric, which takes time to dissolve flesh. It would take a strong boric acid solution, or an alkaline substance, to break down this much tissue in the few hours since death, but a compound that potent," she explained as she swiped her fingers over the tongue and rubbed them together, "would dissolve these gloves." He stood. "So what are you saying, Scully?" Stripping off the latex, she rose to met his eyes. "The cause of death is definitely suffocation, Mulder, and the entrails were consumed by something with sharp teeth. The tearing there is too jagged to have been done with a knife or scalpel. Both these pieces of evidence are absolutely consistent with canine predation. Only the tongue is anomalous." He looked back at the carcass. "Could the tongue have been removed with a knife after death?" She shook her head. "Perhaps as it was being suffocated, but the heart was still beating, or there wouldn't be all that blood." She crossed her arms. "I wouldn't want to be in the middle of a pack of dogs while they were in a killing frenzy, armed only with a knife, would you?" His eyes narrowed. "You're right. No matter how well trained, at that point, a dog is just a wolf with flopped ears." She arched both eyebrows. "This doesn't look like a typical mutilation, Mulder, nor does it look only like a coyote attack. I'd like to see another specimen." She shrugged. "It's difficult to call a cow a victim, but we need to establish a pattern, some type of consistent behavior, even *if* our killer is *supernatural*." He looked back at the carcass one more time. "I agree, Scully. Daisy here has left us with more questions than answers. We'll go see the local law enforcement again. Perhaps he has pictures or can point us to another farm." He stepped back, holding the door open so she could exit first. --o-0-o-- Fordyce Sheriff's Office Saturday, 10:06 am Wallace Fortner regarded the two agents seated across from him. He had pulled the chairs from the small, rarely-used conference room, that comprised the back half of his office. The lanky man and petite woman had the town gossips whispering, especially after his cousin Abner had passed the word about the Honeymoon Suite. He leaned over his desk, piled high with WANTED posters and several days of newspapers. In this position, he could see both entrances to his office, the one in front of him opening onto the town's main street. The other was through the conference room, with its dozen or so chairs and the old school's 'green' board, into the back parking lot, where the twelve police vehicles were kept. He had set up his office so the desk faced the front double doors, with two filing cabinets on his right to hold the records of the few criminal cases he had handled in his tenure. The remainder of the filing cabinets, lining the walls between himself and the entrance, were for the town's records. He prided himself that no fire or flood had disturbed Fordyce's documents from the incorporation of the little town to the present. One day, he knew, some historian would come calling, looking for just such a complete history of small-town America. He hoped he would be here, to serve as librarian and aide. "Yes, Agent Scully, I have the photos from the Anderson's place. Let me check my files." The balding man, as short as his cousin, but stocky where the other man was lean, crossed the room to his filing cabinets, where he retrieved a torn manila envelope. Accepting it, the woman lifted the packet of photos out of their sleeve, passing half the five by sevens to her partner. They turned their stacks over slowly, and traded after a few minutes. The man nodded once, extracting a single image. "Yeah, Scully, here are those teeth marks again." She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I know, but it looks the same in the oral cavity as the cow we saw this morning." Mulder focused on the Sheriff, noting the similarities with the hotel proprietor. "Do you have a map of the local area?" He waited while Fortner nodded, pointing to a framed map of Dallas county. "If you would indulge us, Sheriff, would you help us mark off the locations and numbers of the dead animals?" Fortner passed them a rolled-up version of the framed chart. "Already done that, folks." Scully took the map and held it open as Wallace Fortner stood behind her, pointing. The tall agent positioned himself behind him, nodding as the sheriff described the timing and pattern of the attacks, "They started at the extreme western edge of the county, just a few in November, then they spread eastward, expanding with time." Mulder shifted on his feet. "Almost like the rings a pebble leaves on the surface of the water. What about the other counties those rings would intersect?" Fortner frowned. "Haven't heard from Lewis about any attacks, either now or in the Fall. I thought this was some kind of hoaxer, if you ask me." The red-haired woman stood fluidly. Thinking of his grandmother who lived in the Ozarks and could outshoot any of the men in the family until she was ninety-five, Fortner smiled at her without being conscious of the gesture. Scully focused on him, relieved that she wouldn't have to tip her head back when they conversed, as she did if Mulder stood close. "Why do you say that?" "Just a hunch, I guess." Stepping up to him, she looked him squarely in the eye, the slight herbal fragrance recalling his grandmother for him all the more. "No, Sir, I'm really curious. The bite marks and abdominal penetration are typical canine behavior. I can't explain the tongues though, but if you can, I'd like to hear it." The Sheriff looked back at her partner, who was holding onto his chair with one hand, nodding encouragement. "Oh, there was this movie at the drive-in about aliens landing in Oklahoma or some such nonsense. The local kids were all worked up over the part where they showed the spaceships abducting farm animals. Thought it was the biggest hoot they'd ever seen. I've been afraid of something like this ever since." Now Mulder moved forward. "You may be right, Sir." He looked over at Scully. "If there were dogs with them, they may be responsible for the predation." She was shaking her head as he paused. "It's possible, Mulder, but why the punctures in the neck? The abdominal tearing, yes, that's instinctive for an uncontrolled large dog, but it wouldn't bite the throat if it hadn't been trained to kill or the prey were already dead." When he shrugged, Fortner resumed his seat. Scully walked over to Mulder, tipping her head back as he looked down at her. "So far, we just have suspects, but I think we're missing some piece of the puzzle that would tie this all together." Mulder crossed his arms, thinking. "Let's at least check the movie angle out, Scully. A poorly done hoax would explain the disjoint pieces of what we've seen." He glanced over at the Sheriff, then lifted the map off the chair and unfurled it. "You said the attacks progress across the county in time. Where are the farms on the leading edge of this ring that haven't been hit yet?" Fortner opened his desk drawer to extract a red pen, circling three locations running from north to south. Scully tapped the oval in the middle. "We'll try staking out this one tonight, if the owner gives us permission." The partners exchanged a glance, and she shrugged. "It's the closest to the last attack, and the pattern seems for the deaths to move in a zig-zagging line along the rings." Mulder nodded. "Sheriff, would you mind introducing us to the owner?" Fortner cleared his throat. "Well, old Jezreel won't take kindly to strangers, but Agent Scully will remind him of his Annabelle, so he may go along with you." He rose from his chair. "If you folks will follow me, prepare yourselves for a slice of the *real* Arkansas." --o-0-o-- McAndrews Farm Saturday, 11:26 am Dana Scully could scarcely contain her laughter. Her Oxford-educated partner from New England was gawking, his mouth hanging open slightly, and she kept sneaking peeks at his face. They had driven past the broken-down barns, sway-backed mules grazing in yellowed pastures, and up to the sagging grey farmhouse where a wizened man sat on a rocker in long johns and overalls. As Mulder engaged the emergency brake, the man tapped his corn-cob pipe on his boot, stood, and jammed a frayed straw hat on his head. Mulder snorted. "Jezreel, my eye, Scully, it's a Jed Clampett before picture." A small gurgle escaped her, and, as he turned off the ignition, she whispered to him. "Just don't start talking about 'yewts', Mulder, and we may solve this case yet." He rolled his eyes. "How much do you know about Oldsmobiles, Scully?" She shook her head. The Sheriff was out of his truck and walking up the steps as the old man descended to meet him. The agents followed, shaking hands with the farmer after they were introduced. As Fortner had predicted, Jezreel McAndrews warmed immediately to Scully, willingly leading them back behind his home to a waiting tractor. "He's back a ways, gents. I'll take the little lady here and Wally, you use that fancy four wheel drive our tax dollars bought you and follow me." The agents locked eyes, Mulder shaking his head at the old man. --o-0-o-- As the elevated truck bounced over the stumps and ruts in the dirt track, Mulder hung on to the overhead strap with both hands. "So, Sheriff, when did this attack take place?" Fortner shouted to be heard over the engine and the thumps. "Last night, not long before the one at Winding Branch Farms. McAndrews is the sort to keep his troubles to himself, so if we hadn't taken your partner's suggestion and stopped by, I probably never would have known about this." He glanced over at his passenger. "Oh, Agent Mulder?" The tall man took his eyes off the road long enough to focus on the bouncing badge on the Sheriff's broad-brimmed hat. "Let me do the talking with Jezreel for you. No insult intended, but he'll have trouble with your Massachusetts accent." Mulder shook his head. "None taken. I've lived in England and then DC for so long I thought it was gone. How can you tell?" Fortner smiled. "It's a hobby of mine. You have to do something here to keep the mind sharp. I can't place Agent Scully, though." Mulder grunted when the vehicle bounced on a tree stump. "You won't be able to, because her father was Navy. She's lived everywhere from Charleston to Philadelphia. Her father made Captain and was living in Annapolis when he died." "If you don't mind my asking, how long have you two been partners?" Mulder arched both eyebrows. "Almost five years now." Surprised, Fortner glanced at him. "Doesn't the Bureau move their agents around fairly often?" The tall man sobered. "No one else will put up with me." The vehicle slowed. "We're here," the driver announced. Scully was already bending over the bloated body of a steer when the engine fell silent. Mulder saw his partner nod politely as she proceeded with her examination. Jezreel was speaking loudly and continuously in his slow Arkansas drawl, "I heard the commotion last night and hauled out here on the tractor, so they only had time to do old Rufus in, not eat the poor feller." Scully glanced up at Mulder, who was wrinkling his nose as the stench emanating from the carcass. "That's methane from the stomach." He nodded. She continued, "Jezreel is right, they brought the cow down, but didn't eat him. However - " " - the tongue is missing." Suddenly excited, Mulder stepped forward to drop to his knees by the front legs. "Hey, Scully, look at this." He pointed to one set of teeth marks. "These fang holes are further apart than any of the others." Scully moved closer, pulling a small ruler out of her bag. "By about two inches over the rest. I noticed that as well, Mulder." She began scribbling notes and measuring holes. Her partner rose to speak to the Sheriff. "Ask Jezreel what he heard last night." Fortner repeated the question. Jezreel looked Mulder over carefully for the first time, taking in the dark suit under the tweed trench coat. "Just crashing sounds back here, Agent Mulder." "No barking or howling?" A murmur in the old man's ear followed. "No." Scully spoke up from where she knelt. "That wouldn't necessarily mean anything. Coyotes don't always howl during the kill, usually only to keep themselves together as they hunt moving prey. Given the noise that tractor makes, I doubt Jezreel would have heard anything." She stood and leaned close to Mulder, who bent over for her. "He's very deaf." The tall agent nodded. As if to prove the point, the old man began loudly complaining to the Sheriff about the lack of fall and winter precipitation, while he stomped on the rock-hard soil. "Need to get the ground prepared for spring!" He was standing close to Wallace Fortner, the Sheriff having assumed a patient expression of tolerance. Mulder laid a hand on Scully's back and they stepped to the other side of the bright green tractor. Scully huddled close to her partner. "He's right about the ground, Mulder. I couldn't find any tracks or claw marks on the surrounding bare patches. Even the tractor wheels aren't leaving impressions." He inclined his head once. "Okay, so we'll pick up no new details from the scene of an attack. Do you remember anything unusual about the fang marks on the other animals?" She shrugged. "I never noticed this until now. If MacMillain's left the carcass alone, we should stop by Winding Branch Farms and make measurements there." Mulder frowned. "We'll check the photos as well. If we can get a sense of scale, we may be onto something here." Returning to the two men, the agents explained their plan. Leaning over the older man's stooped shoulder, Fortner shouted their farewells in Jezreel's ear. Before the three climbed into the Sheriff's truck, Jezreel took Scully's hand and kissed it. Mulder touched her elbow as she climbed in the vehicle, leaning close as he whispered to his partner, "Do you want me to tell Frohike he has competition?" She shot him a quick glare and slid over so he could sit. --o-0-o-- Fordyce Sheriff's Office Saturday, 1:12 pm The Sheriff looked up as the partners entered. "Well, agents, it looks like you were right." Mulder crossed the room to Fortner's desk, standing at the Sheriff's left elbow as Scully stood at his right. The stout man pointed to a separate pair of tooth marks by the cow's collar. "Since old man Anderson had collars on all his dairy animals, I could use the width as a gauge." Mulder frowned. "Isn't this only a meat-producing region?" Fortner smiled. "Anderson never lets a day go by without a crazy idea or two." The agents locked eyes over the man's head, Scully tossing out a tease, "Long-lost relative of your Father's, Mulder?" The Sheriff glanced from one to the other, then reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a ziploc bag containing a red nylon strap. Scully held out her hand. "May I?" He passed the bag to her. Quickly donning a pair of gloves, Scully turned the collar over in her hands, examining it for cuts. Using a pair of tweezers from her kit, she extracted three long black hairs that were wound around the crossbar of the buckle. Fortner gasped. "Where were they?" "Worked into the fold of the cloth." She raised an eyebrow. "My Pomeranian was always getting his fur caught in there, so I checked." Scully dropped the hairs into a smaller bag that Mulder held open. After sliding his fingers over the Ziploc threads, Mulder dropped the bag in Fortner's outstretched hand. "I know most animals grow longer coats for the winter, but that's too long for a cow, right, Sheriff?" He watched the Sheriff nod. "Anyone you know that has a black dog?" Rising from the chair, Fortner gazed out the window, considering. He replied without turning to face them. "Not really, no. Most folks' animals are whatever color comes out, but I don't know of any longhaired black dogs to speak of." The agents exchanged a glance while Mulder shrugged. "Not a hoax, then. You're probably right, Scully." She shook her head. "But the tongue, Mulder. It still doesn't fit." His eyes flashed. She waited warily. She focused on the piece of paper he was dangling in front of her nose. "Scully, bite down on this for me." As Fortner turned to observe the pair, she stepped back, half-turning away from him. "Mulder, don't say it." He grinned. "Okay, I won't." He leaned over her shoulder. "Lon Chaney, Jr." As she groaned, the Sheriff stepped between them, frowning. "Would one of you please tell me what you're talking about?" Mulder looked triumphantly at his partner, then raised the paper to his own mouth and bit down firmly. He measured the space between the canines in the impression. "I think these marks were made by a human, or what is by day a human." Agape, Fortner stared at him. Scully covered her face with her hands, whispering about coincidences and jumping to conclusions. --o-0-o-- The agents had excused themselves to conduct their argument outside, and Dana Scully's eyes were smoldering. Waiting, the tall man leaned back against the wall. He was not disappointed. "Mulder-you-can't-be-serious!" His partner had assumed her classic hands on her hips pose. "There are no werewolves, none, Mulder, at all." She freed one hand to jab him in the sternum with a forefinger. "That the spacing between your canines matches the larger sets of holes is simply happenstance and nothing more." As she began stomping around in front of him, he held out both arms. "Maybe, maybe not. But I think Sheriff Fortner and we should stake out those other two farms tonight, with some IR film if we can get it in this town." She stopped to glare up at him. "Why? So we can look like idiots or something?" He rested his hands on her shoulders. "No, so we can acquire some evidence one way or the other." He dropped his arms. "Scully, whether you believe it or not, I'm trying to approach this logically. I know I've just thrown a totally irrational idea at you, but, think about it this way. We have these attacks with characteristics that don't quite make sense, either as straight canine predation, or as cattle mutilations. You've said as much yourself." She frowned. "But that doesn't necessarily mean werewolves, Mulder, anymore than an exsanguinated body implies the presence of Leestat!" Mulder brought his face close to hers. "Never knew you looked forward to nocturnal journeys with immortals, Scully." He straightened. "If we see something out there that we can't capture on film, then we have to wonder about us, about the sensor that is the human mind. If the heat-sensitive film shows a body of some sort, we can at least have the images analyzed back in the lab. If those black hairs turn out to be human, then we'll be able to prove something." She calmed down and began to think. "If the pattern of attacks holds up, we may not see anything tonight. Usually there's a time lag of about three days, which is also consistent with canines." He stepped closer. "After a large kill, they wait and digest their food?" Nodding, she dropped her shoulders. "But at least if we're on a stakeout, we'll avoid the Pink Palace." He reached for the door, but she wasn't finished. "Mulder?" He glanced down at her. Scully shifted until she stood squarely in front of him. "Let me do the talking, okay? Fortner looked like he was about to pull one of his rifles off the rack and shoot you before we stepped out here." He grinned and guided her in. --o-0-o-- Little Rise Farm Saturday, 11:16 pm Fox Mulder eyed the herd of sleeping cows cautiously. He had never been big on animals; the fish were a dare from Frohike. His partner had explained about sleep rigors, that it was better for cows to be upright to avoid nocturnal predators, that rigor was a part of REM sleep for humans as well. Nodding as she had spoken softly in the dark, he had grinned to himself, finding a biology lecture preferable to an argument about who would take the first watch. He would miss claiming her undivided attention once they were training new team members. The agents had set up their base in an empty utility shed with a small window for observation, that protected them from coyotes or the mysterious larger animal. Checking the dark shape at his feet, he listened to his partner's deep, regular breathing. Dana Scully lay curled inside a sleeping bag on the rough wooden floor. She had earned the late shift not by a trick coin toss, but through simple physiology. While he was more of a night owl, she was an early bird, and could stay awake between two or three in the morning and sunrise with ease. Mulder, of course, could keep himself awake for all hours of the night, but more before one than after. Sheriff Fortner and two of his deputies were staking out the farm in the southern half of the county. Mulder glanced at his cel phone, waiting for the 11:15 check-in call. One ring. "Mulder. No." Terminating the conversation, he replaced the phone in his jacket, shuffling to keep his feet warm as he tucked his hand back in his glove. The shed was unheated, so they had piled on several layers of wool back at the hotel. When he heard her begin to mutter, he knew this dream was no sea voyage with St. Brendan, but a descent into her recently revived horrors. After quickly checking the cows, he knelt by her side, his anxiety for her drawing his hand to her arm. "Scully, wake up, now." She twisted onto her back, the murmurs rising into pleas. Sitting beside his partner, he took her by both shoulders to hold her upright. "No!" Her eyes flew open, but he knew they were the unseeing orbs of one caught in a night terror. She was fighting in her sleep, her fists flying. Mulder grunted as she connected with his chest, then slumped limply against him. Rubbing her back while she became aware of her surroundings, he sought to reassure her with gentle words. After she had awakened, moved away from him, and wrapped her arms around her knees, he turned the battery-powered light to its lowest setting. He wanted to study her face while she answered his question. "Scully? Where were you?" She chewed her lip, hard, but had assumed her usual mask of control. "I don't know, Mulder, but I wasn't a Marchioness." "Can you remember anything at all?" "No." Her quiet voice cracked. "Nothing, except I was hitting something." Scully recoiled when she realized she had struck out with her fists as well as in her mind. "Did I hurt you?" He shook his head. "Nah, although I'd rather you tried that maneuver wearing leather and armed to the hilt." His eyebrows forming into a worried frown, he leaned in front of her face. "You okay?" Catching the fear in his tone, she reassured him too quickly, "Sure, Mulder. What time is it?" "Eleven thirty." Switching the light off, he heard the rustle of nylon slipping against cloth. "I'm awake, Mulder, so why don't we swap. Anything?" "No. Not here or at the other farm." He slid into the bag before the warmth of her body left it. "You were probably right about this being an off night." He settled in, propping his head up with his hand. "Fortner wants to meet with the farmers tomorrow to let them know about the attacks. I'm not sure that's a good idea, Scully." As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see her balanced on a small crate, alternately looking out the window and back at him. "Why?" she queried. He shrugged. "We'll have to be careful not to stir up a panic among the locals. But if this is a hoax of some kind, then the perpetrator may be emboldened to try something more dramatic." "You think it might escalate to murder?" He rolled onto his back. "It may." "But what about your lycanthrope theory, Mulder?" Grinning, he looked over at her. "That you refuse to let me share with the good folk of Fordyce?" She smiled at the teasing tone of his voice. "Who's to say, Scully? As you reminded me yesterday, it's not like we have much experience to guide us here." She patted his shoulder. "Get some sleep, Mulder. I'll wake you if anything unnatural begins to metamorphose." --o-0-o-- Fordyce Sheriff's Office Sunday, January 19, 1997 8:49 am "Well, Agents, that was a wash." Deputy Allen Archer grumbled as he refilled the styrofoam cup Scully held out. The three had gathered in the conference room, where the coffee Sal had sent over awaited them. She passed it back to her partner, who sipped the hot liquid before scratching his stubble. Scully rubbed her eyes, aware her partner was keeping close track of her after the nightmare. "At least it was consistent." She knew he wanted her to lean over and tell him not to worry, that she was okay, but truth be told, she didn't know anymore. The dream of the boat and the monks seemed so real, so vivid, especially after the long night of watching in the dark. They would be meeting with the citizens of Fordyce after morning services at the First Baptist Church, so she hoped they would have a chance to clean up and talk. --o-0-o-- Wallace Fortner picked up the phone on his desk. After hearing Mulder's werewolf idea, he'd left a call for Assistant Director Walter Skinner. He was sitting down now to converse with the agents' superior in relative privacy. "Skinner here." "Director Skinner, this is Sheriff Fortner down here in Fordyce, where your agents Mulder and Scully are on a case?" "Oh? Where are they now?" Fortner noted the undertone of worry beneath the resignation. "Right in my conference room, Mr. Skinner. I wanted to ask you about them, or more precisely, him, if you don't mind." "Agent Mulder?" Now the voice on the phone took on the impatient edge of a father whose son had a habit of falling into misfortune. "Well, Sir, we were investigating these attacks, and all of a sudden he starts spouting off about..." "Aliens?" The Sheriff frowned. "No Sir, werewolves." The silence was deafening. "Sir? Are you still there?" "Yes, I am." He heard the FBI Director heave a long sigh. "Sheriff, I am not as surprised as you might think. What was Agent Scully's reaction, if I may ask you?" Fortner smiled at the memory of the glare the tiny woman shot her partner. "Well, Mr. Skinner, how familiar are you with the stock phrases used in Homer's Iliad?" The voice lilted, "Flashing-eyed Athena?" "More or less, Sir. Good to speak with a well-read man." "Likewise. Was the ... , oh, never mind." "Well, they stepped outside, but I could still hear them from the back room, Director Skinner." Fortner thought he heard a faint chuckle. "That bad? I'll look forward to their report. Sheriff Fortner? Don't let Agent Mulder's ideas put you off; he's a good man. When he works with Scully, they may take some strange detours, but they will find your attacker for you." Now the Assistant Director felt he had to come to his agents' defense. "Do you remember the earthquake down in Mexico last year?" Fortner brightened. "Oh, these are the two agents who helped the victims?" Skinner grunted. "The very same, Sheriff. Does that relieve your mind?" "Thank you, Sir. Yes, it does." --o-0-o-- Skinner Residence Falls Church, Virginia Hanging up the phone, Walter Skinner settled back under the covers. Sharon Skinner rolled against his chest. "What's wrong, Walter?" He smiled as he slid his arms around her shoulders and back. "Nothing anyone has to worry about, yet." --o-0-o-- Fordyce Sheriff's Office Fordyce, Arkansas Wallace Fortner rested the receiver in the cradle of the old rotary phone. He scratched the end of the horseshoe of hair behind his left ear. He leaned over in the chair to observe the two agents, sitting side by side. As they discussed the previous night's non-events, the tall man was looking down at the auburn-haired woman with gentleness and concern. Remembering the pair of drawn faces on CNN, he resolved that these two would not hear whispers behind their backs. He'd bend Abner's ear at the church and tell him to lay off the rumor-mongering. Besides, as a long-time law enforcement officer, he had learned to make quick judgements about suspects' emotional states, and all his senses told him that the agents were not secret lovers. Instead, their bond had been forged in the line of duty, to a strength greater than some thirty-year marriages he had seen. "Agent Mulder?" The tall man looked over at him. "Why don't you two head back to Abner's and get ready for this afternoon? Allen and I need to make ourselves presentable before we meet our wives at 11:00." --o-0-o-- Fortner's Family Inn Sunday, 9:53 am Mulder stood behind the couch, then touched his partner's arm. "Scully?" She stopped combing her wet hair to meet his gaze. They had both showered and changed from jeans into their professional suits. "You feel like telling me what's on your mind?" When she nodded, he joined her on the sofa. Envious that his short brown hair could dry so quickly, she turned to him. "It's my dream, Mulder." He rested a hand on her shoulder. "Not the nightmare, but the other dream, about the monks." She watched his mouth form into a silent O as he released her. "It was so real." She inhaled, searching for the right words. "All my senses were involved in it, which has never happened before. I could smell the salt air, feel the wind, hear the waves lapping against the boat. Was yours as vivid as that?" He frowned, considering. "I can't say, Scully. It wasn't as intense as the nightmares I have about Sam or you." They locked eyes. "But, you're right, it did seem, *real*. I remember the feel of the cloth I was wearing, and the heat of the fire on my face as I burned it." She leaned forward. "Is it the fatigue, do you think? Are our subconscious minds telling us to slow down?" He shrugged. "Dreams have as many interpretations as we want to place on them, Scully. But sometimes they mean nothing at all." As his stomach rumbled, he grinned. "Feel like an omelette?" After she smoothed her hair, Scully shook her head. "They'll be feeding us at the Church, Mulder, and you'll get all my fried chicken, I'm afraid." She smiled at her joke, hoping he would do the same, but her partner was still regarding her with that concerned big brother look she knew all too well. Since her humorous attempt to deflect his anxiety had failed, she spoke to his concern explicitly. "I'll be okay. I'm not about to fall apart in your arms again, no matter how tired I am." Relieved she was addressing her problems, he touched her elbow. "No, Scully, I know you won't. We're both mending, I guess, but it has taken longer this time than either of us expected." He stared down at his hand. "I really don't know what to make of these dreams. We'll have to monitor them for patterns, just as we are this case." She tossed her head. "More time on the couch, Dr. Freud?" He stood over her. "Works for me." He walked to the door and opened it with a flourish. "But first, we gotta go catch us a werewolf, Scully." She groaned as he ushered her out. --o-0-o-- First Baptist Church of Fordyce Sunday, 1:43 pm Mulder leaned towards his partner after the minister finished praying over the food. "I didn't think places like this still existed." The open, airy space with its crossed wooden beams was filled with folding wooden tables and brown metal chairs. The women had taped white paper tablecloths in place, adding a few evergreen boughs for decoration. Along one wall was the church's trophy cabinet, proudly displaying the evidence of multiyear championships for the men's and girls' softball teams. Winter's soft light shown in through the windows that occupied nearly the entirety of the back wall. She smirked. "You were expecting this to be like Dudley?" He rolled his eyes. "Good people, good food? I hope not, Scully, or everyone in the town will grow fangs at night." She shook her head, but Sheriff Fortner interrupted them by touching her arm. "Guests first, Agents." They followed him to the main serving table, laden with homebaked casseroles and deserts. Her partner loaded his plate with beans, tuna, and the ubiquitous fried chicken, while Scully carefully selected the least artery-clogging pasta salad she could find. As the Sheriff escorted them back to their seats, he stated simply, "It seems they were all worried about their livelihoods, but in these hard times, were afraid to ask. Folks are relieved I asked the FBI to help me on this." Scully nodded. --o-0-o-- Once the meal concluded, Fortner walked to the front of the Fellowship Hall. The local television station had a two camera set-up running, one to record the speakers, and the other to pan the assembled citizens. Their tiny NPR station had brought in phones and supplied volunteers to handle call-in questions. Mulder admired the way the Sheriff calmly informed the assembled townspeople and farmers of their conclusions about the attacks. He had the map mounted on a wooden frame, using it to explain the pattern of destruction they had deduced. Gazing over the open, anxious faces, the Agent could tell this town had no dark secrets to hide, only a trouble they wished purged from their midst. Fortner was winding down. "Now, folks, this is what we have to date. Agent Scully there will tell you about our forensic evidence." The partners exchanged a glance before she rose to walk to the front and stand beside the Sheriff. She had sketched out the marks on a diagram of the Anderson cow's neck, drawn on a large artist's sketch pad. While Fortner held the paper, she pointed out the different pairs of indentations. The cameraman zoomed in for a close-up. Scully suggested the possibility that some oversized black feral canine had joined the coyotes to explain the large holes, but as Mulder had ribbed her, mentioned none of his speculations. She asked the farmers to keep an eye out for any tracks in unexpected places, requesting they call the Sheriff's office if any were found. In conclusion, his partner reminded her listeners that any evidence should be left undisturbed until they could take a look at it. As a tentative hand rose, she smiled at the weatherbeaten face under it. "Yes?" "Are you suggesting from the pattern of attacks that those of us to the west are safe?" She answered gravely, "I would only say those to the west are less likely to be hit with a loss, Sir. However, as you well know, predators will travel to wherever the food is, so if all the farmers to the east of this line," she explained as she moved her hand down the map, "pull their livestock into shelter and guard them, then the canines responsible for the attacks will begin to migrate back." Mulder observed the nodding heads. Another hand appeared. "So we should try to move the animals into sheds?" She paused, then nodded once. "If you can, yes. The fewer losses the better, as I'm sure you'll all agree. If you do secure your livestock, inform the Sheriff, so we can disperse our resources accordingly." The group began talking among themselves. But his partner had not finished. "One final thing. These canines are obviously dangerous. If you encounter them and can avoid a confrontation, do so. From the marks, we could distinguish at least twelve different individuals, and no shotgun will be an equalizer against those odds." The murmurs rose in volume. "It's more important that we track these animals down to their point of entry than that one of you be killed by them. It isn't entirely clear that they haven't been introduced by a person or persons unknown." The muttering was now accompanied by accusatory glances. Scully stepped back and returned to her seat, lifting one corner of her mouth at her partner. The assembly ended and several women regarded her with something approaching awe as they passed. Mulder smirked. "They're not used to hearing a woman speak with authority, Scully; I should give you the big office." She rolled her eyes. "No thanks, Mulder. You at least get our paperwork through the system, somehow. I'm afraid I'd tell Accounting off the first time they wanted a justification for our medical expenses. As for Travel, well, after I was finished with them, - " she snorted self-deprecatingly, " - for the rest of our careers, all our airplane seats would be on the wings." Sobering, he stood, one hand on the back of her chair to draw it out for her. "You have anything other than woman's intuition to back up the idea of human manipulation?" She bounced easily to her feet. "Only a little group psychology." He cocked his head. "Right. The locals will be less likely to shoot all the canines on sight if it's believed the attacks can be blamed on the slightly odd neighbor across the hollow." He held his arm out towards the door. "You inquisitors all think alike." She flashed a glance of agreement as they exited. --o-0-o-- Little Rise Farm Sunday, 11:36 pm "Scu ... No!" Dana Scully glanced down at her sleeping partner. He was flat on his back, one arm thrown over his eyes, but the bottom half of his face was contorted into a grimace. Kneeling beside him, she took his shoulders in her hands. Although none of them expected an attack, they, Sheriff Fortner, and his deputies were staking out the most likely strike locations for a second night. The farmers in the county had acted remarkably quickly, moving most of their animals into three-sided shelters for the duration of the long winter darkness. Even on this farm, only a few older animals were left outside as bait; the rest were under the manager's armed guard. Scully smoothed the hair off his forehead, comforting him with her hands as well as her words. "Mulder, wake up, you're okay." Careful with his still-healing side, she rubbed his shoulders, repeating her reassurances. He kept muttering her name, so she knew he was reliving the hell of her abduction. As he had her, she finally sat him upright, cupping his cheek in her hand. He stirred, but before she could move away, he had thrown his long arms out, pulling her against him tightly. "You're here Scully, you're alive and fine." As he awakened and the panic faded, his breathing and heartrate slowed. She had seen him through enough of these to know he would release her shortly, with some sly crack about straightlaced Catholic girls. But, for now, he needed the reassurance that only physical contact would bring him, so she stroked his hair with the hand not pinned by his clutch, soothing him while his tears fell. This had become something of a routine for them after she had been returned, each comforting the other after their respective night terrors had thrust them into consciousness. Even while they were so angry with each other, she would awaken to find him in her room, shaking with fear, but unwilling to ask for her help. That had hurt, worse than his rudeness, worse than his cutting comments, so she kept her panic inside, stifling her own pain. If they came out in her sleep, she would snarl at his concern and slap his hands away, then watch with satisfaction as he would crumble, finally snarling back. But, not now, and she hoped, never again. She found herself wondering, not for the first or last time, what cruelty had resided in the heart of Phoebe Green, as she had used this lonely, needy man for her emotional plaything, over and over. One final sniffle, and she was free. "Sorry, Scully." The apology was whispered, and she grasped his shoulder while checking out the window. "Anything?" "No. I've been thinking though, Mulder." Turning the knob on the lantern slightly, she met his eyes as a faint glow illuminated their faces. "Oh?" He was upset enough to need the sanity a rational discussion would bring. "We've both mentioned our fears about the changes the X-files will go through in the next few months." Nodding, he hugged his knees to his chest. "We need the help, Scully. If anything, just to spread the risks around." "I know, Mulder, but I'm talking about you and me, about our partnership." She sat on the upturned crate, where she could watch and talk. "Oh?" The voice trembled slightly. Scully touched his hand. "We've come this far since the Comity case because we've made an effort to change, to disagree without letting it become personal again. It was tough for both of us, I know, because all the time you were growing up, you never saw anything but two people who didn't get along. I never saw my parents fight, so I never knew how. Before we found the D'Amato papers, we were shouting at each other about our cases when it was really about ourselves, and that was fighting dirty, Mulder." Scully met his eyes, fixed on her face. "Since then, we've stayed in touch outside of work, getting to know one another as people, not just as agents." "Yeah. I've appreciated being able to do that. Are you saying you want to stop?" Another quaver in his voice. "No, Mulder, but I'd like us to try something my parents did once we were all born." She shifted the crate closer to him. "They set aside a half an hour, each night, whenever my father was home, just for the two of them. For that time, they were not Captain and Mrs., not Daddy and Mommy, just Bill and Maggie. We knew to respect that, and it helped them stay close, even when they were apart." She felt his hand brush hers. "You think we should do something similar?" "Um-hum. I think we need to, Mulder. You and I are such different people that we have to have some time to connect. I don't care if it's over a lunch every other day, or dinner on Saturday. But we'll both become so focused on the X-Files again that before we know it, we'll be at each other's throats over Belief versus Science, or aliens versus humans." He sighed, then was silent for a time. "Mulder?" Unwilling to trust his voice, he slid over near her and whispered, "Thank you, Scully." They stayed close, listening to each other breathe, until he found he could speak steadily. "If we want to get to the truth, this is an opportunity we have to seize, before the Shadows close ranks again. Losing you when you were abducted was hell. When we weren't talking last fall, I thought I was becoming invisible, even to myself. I won't let you go again." She shifted on the box until her leg was touching his healthy side. "I want you to find Sam. I want to see you as whole as your past will let you be. You didn't ask for your family, or for her abduction, but you've been trying to make good on other people's debts all your life. You've taken care of me, even when I didn't want it, and I'll never be able to repay you for standing by me. All I can do in return is try to help you to some peace." She stopped. He whimpered, leaning against her a little harder. She touched his back. "Anyone who was your friend would want nothing less, Mulder." She heard the rustle of the sleeping bag as he slipped out of it, then his boots scraping the pine floor as he paced. Knowing he would reply when he was ready, she killed the light and turned to the window, counting the cows. She felt his hands grasp her shoulders, then the warmth of his body as he pressed himself against her spine, and they stayed like that for a while, watching and waiting. Scully thought back to the previous February when she had huddled on his sofa, shaking with anxiety over her effort to reach out to this troubled man. She knew he was thanking her for her support in the only way his tortured childhood would allow. She chewed her lip as a sudden thought struck her. Perhaps she had said too much and embarrassed him as she had at Thanksgiving, but tonight she didn't care. If her partner's reaction to his Mother's public praise was any guide, he probably heard none growing up. With a final squeeze, he released her to settle back into the sleeping bag. He was silent for a time, but sleep would not come easily, so he turned over, facing where he knew she was. "Scully?" She braced herself. "Hum?" "Where do you see us in twenty years?" She sighed. "In my worst fears, Mulder, I see us both dead and buried, lying in our respective graves." He swallowed. "Ugh, Scully, where else?" "Or I see one of us dead and the other one struggling to barely hang on to his or her sanity." "That's worse. Any *good* visions, Rosy Kate?" Raising both eyebrows, she chuckled. "Mulder! That was almost a Dana, you know. If you wanted to call me Kate ..." "No fair! Don't change the subject, Scully." She sighed. "Oh, okay. One or two. The best one is where we are the way we are right now, working and arguing, still trying to solve these insane, impossible cases you keep finding." "Works for me." His considerably lighter tone and the rustle of the sleeping bag as he settled in relieved her of her concern. Scully knew she would never shake his belief that there was more out there than most people would be willing to admit. Likewise, he would never shake hers that humans would eventually work it all out. She also knew they would quarrel over the years about those exact things, but that they would seek answers together. Looking over to where she could hear his deep, regular breathing, she smiled. She frowned. Scully chuckled and gazed out the window again. --o-0-o-- Little Rise Farm Monday, January 20, 1997 8:13 am Mulder awoke to bright light and Dana Scully's face. He coughed. She felt his forehead. "You're not sick again, are you?" "No, just thirsty." She passed him a bottle of water. He spluttered again at the cold liquid. "What time is it?" "Almost time for Fortner's eight fifteen check-in." They heard the four wheel drive pull up, so Scully opened the shed door. "You folks all right?" She nodded. "Nothing?" He shrugged. "We'd better see something tomorrow, or I'll have a bunch of angry citizens to answer to." Mulder chuckled. "Somehow, Sheriff, I don't think we'll be that fortunate. You've heard from all your deputies?" Fortner nodded. "Yep. Nothing strange in the night at all." The older man took in their somber faces. "Hop in, you look worried or something." As he drove them back to his cousin's hotel, he asked polite questions about Washington, but was not surprised to hear Mulder explain that they were both too busy for much sightseeing. "My cousin's girl works in the State Department, and she hasn't been to the Smithsonian these past five years." Fortner offered as he stopped the truck at the front door of the Inn. "Well, this is where you get out." They nodded their farewells, agreeing to return to the Sheriff's office by noon. Mulder offered his hand to his partner. Fortner smiled as she took it and stepped down. --o-0-o-- Fortner's Family Inn Monday, 8:57 am Scully relaxed as she slid in the steaming tub, letting the chill of the shed ooze out of her. Closing her eyes, she sank into the water up past her chin. There was something to be said for Mulder's approach to these out of town cases, to take advantage of whatever relaxation the situation offered. Her partner having showered first, he was now commenting loudly about Mr. Rochester as he ran "Jane Eyre" in reverse through the VCR. She chuckled as he tried various accents for Orson Welles, then raised her head to stare at the door when the phone rang. "Mulder." A pause. "We'll be right there." When he knocked, she was toweling herself off. "What happened, Mulder?" He spoke quietly through the barrier, rose-colored hyacinths in diagonal stripes on the opalescent stained-glass panel, "There's been a murder, Scully." --o-0-o-- End - Rustic Suite - Courante