Ghost at Her Side (The) by Joyce

Go to “The Ghost and Agent Scully” story format selection page

Continued from The Ghost in Her Life

The Ghost at Her Side
by Joyce

March 1998
RATING: R (profanity)
CLASSIFICATION: X,A

SUMMARY: This is a sequel to ‘The Ghost in Her Life’. Character is already dead, but certainly not gone. Scully gets a new partner while still learning to cope with the ghost of her old partner.

DISCLAIMER: FM and DS and Skinner belong to CC and Fox Broadcasting and I am only borrowing them for a moment and will return them. No infringement is intended. Lord knows, I’m not making any money off of this and have no intentions of making any money from it. All other characters are belong to me and may not be used without my express permission.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: It takes a whole village to raise a child and I think I must have had at least a village of wonderful, talented, determined ladies to get this bird out of the nest. Ladies – thank you for your patience and for your determination that this story get finished.

---

The Ghost at her Side

Thursday, Three weeks after Mulder’s death
9:25 a.m.

“Damn.”

Special Agent Dana Scully swore under her breath as she walked quickly down the stairs to her basement office. The lines in the copy room had been longer than she anticipated, then she had to stop and accept the condolences of no less than three agents from Bank Fraud who she barely knew to speak to. Perfect strangers seemed to feel moved to make long personal statements of respect for her late partner.

“Respect my ass. Mulder was right. He’s more popular dead than he ever was alive.” Scully walked a little faster, hoping against hope that her new partner had not made it out of Personnel and down to the office ahead of her. Mulder was not expecting anyone but her and she didn’t want to contemplate the repercussions if Agent Ambercrombie walked in and saw a partially materialized man he knew to be dead sitting at her computer.

She wasn’t sure she could explain the situation. Most of the time she wasn’t even sure the situation wasn’t just some very detailed hallucination and she would wake up and be at home hugging a Scotch bottle trying to come to terms with Mulder’s untimely death and her own soul-wrenching grief.

Ghosts did not exist. She accepted that dictum with every fiber of her scientific mind. Unfortunately, no one had thought to inform Mulder of that particular scientific law or, if they had, he ignored it with his usual flair for inconvenient facts.

Mulder was dead. She had seen him die, his head crushed by an errant baseball. Her grief was barely controlled and, at times, surged in an unruly storm of loss and might-have-beens that was only barely tempered by the appearance of what purported to be Mulder’s ghost. Now she had to deal with a scientific improbability, grief for all the possibilities that had died with Mulder while feeling the warm comfort of having him back with her. Trust Mulder to complicate her life even after he died.

Scully reached the door and was relieved to find it locked. Maybe Mulder was learning some caution. The last thing they needed was for word to spread that his ghost was haunting the basement office. Some of their enemies might take up ghost hunting as a hobby and Mulder was not the most adept of ghosts yet.

“Mulder?”

Scully stepped into the office looked around for any sign of her erstwhile partner. She allowed herself the luxury of an exasperated sigh; a luxury that was becoming all-too-common in recent days.

“Mulder, where are you?” she whispered. Her new partner was due to arrive at any minute. She did not need to be overheard talking to a man who had been dead these past twelve days.

“I only left him alone for fifteen minutes,” she muttered as she tried not to consider what mischief Mulder was creating. Being a ghost had opened new opportunities for him to play with the minds of some of his former colleagues and Mulder was not a great one for avoiding temptation.

“Mulder,” she whispered one last time, trying not to let the faint note of worry reach her voice. He is here. He did come back. I am not dreaming. She threw the unspoken words in the teeth of her doubts and prayed she was not mistaken.

Ambercrombie would be here any minute. She had mixed feelings about this impending partnership. On the one hand, Ambercrombie was a fine young agent; on the other hand he was also the man directly responsible for the accidental death of Fox Mulder, her former partner. It was one thing to publicly absolve the young man of Mulder’s death; it was going to be quite another to work closely with him without remembering Mulder’s body stretched out on a dusty ball field.

“Hey, Scully,” a soft whistle followed by a familiar voice broke into her grim reflections.

Relieved that once again this skewed version of reality had remained true, Scully swivelled her chair to look towards the shadowy back corner of the office in time to see Mulder slowly materialize until he was reassuringly opaque. He smiled ruefully at her and gave a slight apologetic shrug of his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just went up to check on Skinner and found him entertaining a certain smoking gentleman of our acquaintance. Skinner is going to need new lungs soon if that bastard doesn’t leave him alone.”

“Hear anything interesting?” Scully asked in a low voice, keeping one ear cocked for the sound of her new partner’s arrival.

“Relax, Scully. Ambercrombie is still trapped in Personnel getting writer’s cramp. He’ll be there at least another ten minutes before they run out of forms for him to sign.” Mulder chuckled. “I think if Personnel ever found out I’m still around, they would find some form I absolutely had to sign.”

“So?” Scully was proud that only a hint of her impatience crept into her tone. She resisted the urge to tap her foot. Mulder was in one of his moods and she refused to allow him to see how exasperated she was becoming.

“So, what?” Mulder asked, his eyes refocusing on her with a slightly puzzled expression.

Scully restrained an urge to sigh. Death had not improved Mulder’s tendency to scamper off after tangents. Sometimes she wondered if he did this deliberately to divert the direction of the conversation or whether he simply mislaid the main focus of the conversation when his mind veered off track.

“Skinner. The Smoking Man. Remember?” she asked in a deceptively calm, even tone.

“Oh, that.” Mulder moved over to perch on the edge of a small table holding the printer and a slide projector. Here he was out of the way of both desks and away from the main traffic area of the office. In just two days, Scully had already begun to think of the table as Mulder’s place.

“Skinner’s catching hell over letting you pick your new partner. You really owe Skinner this time, Scully. You were supposed to be waiting for Special Agent Drew Franklin to walk through that door.” Mulder’s mouth twisted in disgust and his eyes turned dark with anger. A slight halo of static electricity began forming around him.

“Mulder,” Scully hissed as she gestured at the miniature lightning storm playing about his shoulders.

“Sorry,” Mulder said as he regained control of his anger. As quickly as it had formed, the static electricity disappeared.

“I keep forgetting that little side effect,” he confessed. “I never realized that being a ghost could be so complicated.” He smiled and gave a brief shrug of his shoulders. Scully nodded in sympathy. It wasn’t any easier for her to adjust to having a ghost attached to her life. Scientifically she didn’t believe in ghosts, but her skepticism was no match for the very real presence of the apparition of Fox Mulder sitting in her office.

“Franklin makes Tom Colton look like an angel. I met him a few times when I was reassigned to Violent Crimes, back when the X-Files were shut down.” Scully nodded as she remembered those dark weeks of separation.

“Franklin would sell his mother’s soul if it offered him a chance at a promotion. I think the plan was to do to you what you were supposed to do to me five years ago; shut the X-Files down and send you back to Quantico in disgrace.” Mulder gave her a look that somehow managed to mix sternness with amusement. Scully wished she knew how he did that.

“Is Skinner going to be OK?” She had not really stopped to consider what repercussions Skinner’s gesture might have for her boss.

“Probably. Cancer Man is livid, but Skinner is holding his own. Rushing the paperwork through before Cancer Man realized he had been snookered helped. Retracting the appointment now would offer Ambercrombie a chance to appeal. I doubt if Cancer Man wants to risk this little deal coming to light. Franklin has some rather unsavory details buried in his personnel file regarding his ability to work well with women who are smarter than he is – of course that does include just about every female employed by the FBI, janitorial staff included,” Mulder reflected in mock seriousness. “Skinner is tough. Besides, I think he’s enjoying his victory.” The smile this time was genuine Mulder-mischief.

“Are you OK with this, Mulder?” Scully whispered as she reached out to touch his hand, shivering slightly as his icy aura sent chills down her spine.

Mulder started to make a flip reply, then caught the concern in Scully’s eyes and bit back the quip before it could leave his mouth. She needed his honesty, not his defensive humor. His promise to be honest with her was proving to be very inhibiting to his long-established defense mechanisms.

“Do you mean am I comfortable with the fact that in a very few moments you will take on a new partner, start building a relationship of trust with him and begin going on with your life? No, not really. If you mean do I trust you enough to believe in your promise never to stop needing me? There is no one I trust more, Scully.” Mulder tried a smile that wavered a bit between a smile and a grimace, but Scully gave him points for trying.

Mulder suddenly stiffened as his head swung around to face the door. His face twisted in an expression of pain and resignation. Before Scully could say a word, he faded from view. Seconds later a tentative knock followed a moment later by a firmer rap announced the arrival of Ambercrombie.

Scully drew in a deep centering breath and slowly exhaled as she faced the door. Right at this moment, Tooms might be easier to face than the man preparing to come through that door.

“Come in,” she said firmly.

“Nobody here but the FBI’s most unwanted.” A memory whispered by a ghost tore at her heart.

There was a brief hesitation, then the door swung open. He’s probably just as nervous as I am, she thought and to her surprise felt herself relaxing.

“Good morning, Agent Scully.” Ambercrombie hesitated, half-in, half-out of the doorway, his tall wiry frame poised to retreat at the first sign his arrival was unwelcome.

“Scully, you’re scaring him. At least let him get in the door before you start rearranging his psyche.” Mulder’s soft whisper came from the direction of the filing cabinets. She resisted the urge to swat at him. No need to convince Ambercrombie she was crazy any earlier than she had to. She sighed and gave Ambercrombie an encouraging smile.

“Sorry, I’m late. I think Personnel was inventing forms for me to sign,” Ambercrombie added hesitantly, watching her warily as if gauging her reaction to his attempt at humor.

“Why Agent Ambercrombie what a thing to suggest?” Scully replied with a straight face. Only Mulder could have spotted the smile buried deep in her eyes, masked as it was by sadness and a tinge of resentment. Memories of bantering with Mulder, using her ability to keep a neutral expression despite laughing inside at his barbs, clawed at her composure.

For a moment Ambercrombie appeared ready to bolt before Scully took pity on him and made an effort to smile. She owed Ambercrombie a fair chance. Rationally she was prepared and ready to accept Ambercrombie as an equal partner. A small part of her, however, remained childishly obstinate. Her smile was as much for her stubborn inner child as for Ambercrombie. If Mulder could fight past his defenses and be honest with her, then she could deal with her mixed emotions.

“Relax Ambercrombie. I don’t bite. I wouldn’t have asked for you if I wasn’t prepared to work with you,” Scully reassured him.

“Right,” Ambercrombie ran a hand through his cropped sandy brown hair and took a deep breath. His expression turned inward for a moment then a slow smile blossomed that transformed him from an awkward young man to a self-assured agent. He straightened up and squared his shoulders until he almost stood at attention.

“Agent Scully, can we start over?” Ambercrombie turned around without waiting for her reply and left the office, shutting the door behind him.

Mulder desperately tried to stifle a laugh at Scully’s befuddled expression. A strangled chuckle escaped in spite of his best efforts. Only a knock at the door saved him from a blistering glare.

“Good morning, Agent Scully. Sorry I’m late,” Ambercrombie said pleasantly as he walked confidently over to her desk and stretched out a hand. Slightly dazed, Scully took it. Ambercrombie exerted just enough pressure to make the handshake firm without trying for the manly art of seeing who could crush the other’s hand first.

“Good morning, Agent Ambercrombie,” Scully said with more aplomb than she felt at the moment. It wasn’t helping to hear Mulder’s muffled laughter in the background. Well, at least it was laughter and not the sullen silence of depression, though knowing Mulder, that would no doubt be making an appearance before the day was over.

“Welcome to the X-Files,” she said as she shook the hand of the man who single-handedly had inflicted more pain on her than Cancer Man, Tooms, and Pfaster put together. She gestured to the other desk. “That’s your desk. If you need anything, just ask,.” she said in a carefully neutral tone. She was in control, she reminded herself. She would not allow the pain to show.

“I have laid out some files I think you should read before we get started on any cases. They represent, as much as possible, the types of cases we have handled in the past.” Scully bit her lip to keep from adding that the list of files was the end result of an impassioned debate between Mulder and her over science versus the paranormal. In the end she picked four cases which represented her view that science could answer the questions posed by the X-Files while Mulder picked four cases which, to him, clearly demonstrated a paranormal explanation. At one point in the debate, Mulder had blown out all of her fuses when his temper slipped out of control. As exasperated and angry as she was, Scully had to smile at Mulder’s chagrin. By the time she got the lights working again, Mulder had regained control of his temper and was extremely careful to remain calm and reasonable for the remainder of the discussion.

Ambercrombie stepped out of the office for a moment then returned carrying a large box overflowing with files and assorted knick-knacks. Scully left him alone while he adjusted the chair and began transferring his personal belongings to the desk. She took this opportunity to watch him, to try to see him without also seeing the image of Mulder dead in the dust that had been burned into her memory.

A brief icy touch of Mulder’s fingers brushed her shoulder. Involuntarily she shivered. The motion caught Ambercrombie’s attention and he looked over at her, puzzled yet uncertain whether to make a comment. Abruptly he lowered his eyes as a look of sadness crossed his face. Apparently she wasn’t the only one who had to live with that particular memory.

Mulder watched helplessly as Scully and the man who had killed him raised the invisible barrier of his death between them.

“Damn it, Scully. Don’t do this. Give him a chance. Give yourself a chance. Don’t give Cancer Man an opening. That would be a hell of a way to memorialize me,” Mulder pleaded as he knelt beside her. She shivered again. Mulder retreated back to his table, frustrated that he couldn’t comfort her.

Feeling Mulder retreat, Scully reached for her self-control and brought her emotions back behind the professional mask she wore to work. She needed Mulder’s comfort yet his very presence played hell with her ability to control her emotions. Despite her intellectual acceptance of his ghost, the superstitious Irish lass that lurked in the deep dark depths of her soul gibbered in fear every time he touched her. Her heart wanted to feel him close, her mind still vaguely refused to fully acknowledge his existence, and her soul was a seething mass of fear, welcome and stubborn skepticism. She wished they had had more time to sort out all the conflicting emotions this new relationship evoked. Instead, she had the dual task of learning to cope with a ghost while breaking in a new partner. Why me, she thought irrationally towards heaven? Why me?

“I meant what I said at Mulder’s funeral, Agent Ambercrombie. It was an accident. This is not going to be easy for either of us, but I know Mulder respected you and I really can’t think of anyone else he would have wanted to … ” Scully hesitated. There was no way she could force out the words ‘take his place.’ No one could ever ‘take his place,’ especially since he was probably standing not too far away still firmly entrenched in her life.

“Follow in his footsteps? Pick up the torch? I can think of a few others, but those probably say it best,” Ambercrombie said softly. He looked up at her, in pain, but also in control. “I admire you so much for continuing what he started. You are a very brave, determined woman and I am honored that you’d give me the chance to work on the X-Files with you.”

Then, as if embarrassed by revealing too much of his inner thoughts, Ambercrombie cleared his throat and went back to stuffing folders into the drawers of his desk.

Scully sat back in Mulder’s chair and considered the strange complexities of this young Agent who could shift from an awkward youth to an assured mature man in a heartbeat. Ambercrombie was turning out to be as complex and confusing a partner as Mulder. Different ends of the emotional spectrum perhaps, but mercurial to the core.

Once Ambercrombie had finished stashing his belongings in the desk drawers and arranged the desktop into a comfortable clutter, he looked around the office. His expression betrayed his curiosity about the mysterious files that found their way down to this basement domain of Spooky Mulder. A slow smile spread across his face as he realized that all of these mysterious files were now open to him.

I promise I’ll take good care of them, Agent Mulder, he pledged silently. They’re in good hands, he added with just the barest hint of a benediction.

For now he would be content with the files Agent Scully had selected for him. He picked up the first one and quickly became engrossed in the story of the discovery of a new parasite in the Arctic. Questions arose immediately to mind. He glanced briefly over at Scully, engrossed in reading a file, hesitated as if to say something then thought better of it.

Despite her assigning him the files to read, Ambercrombie suddenly felt like a voyeur prying into the strange and complex relationship shared by the man he had accidentally killed and Agent Scully. He had heard all the rumors and gossip about the pair of them. Did they or didn’t they? But now, reading this file, seeing their reports of a danger confronted and a bond of trust forged he knew that whatever they had shared was something unique and wonderful. Fresh guilt over his role in ending that partnership threatened to spill up and out. Biting back the urge to beg her forgiveness again, he stared blindly at the pages, trying to understand something of her loss. An uncomfortable silence descended on the office.

From his perch in the back of the office, Mulder noted Ambercrombie’s curiosity and fought back a brief surge of jealousy; these files, his files, now belonged as much to Ambercrombie as they did to him. What did this kid know of the price he paid for each and every one of them? It wasn’t fair.

Stop that, Mulder sternly addressed his sulking ego. He doubted if it would listen to him, it never did. Maybe it would be better if he disappeared somewhere for awhile and left Scully and Ambercrombie alone. He could feel Scully’s slight unease and suspected that she might welcome a chance to get to know Ambercrombie without an old partner hovering. The idea frankly scared him a little, which was all the more reason to disappear he chided himself. Scully needs breathing room. You said you trusted her, now prove it, he admonished his doubts.

“Scully,” he whispered to catch her attention.

Scully’s head shot up before she could catch herself. Her mouth started to form the words ‘what is it, Mulder’ and she barely stopped herself in time. Ambercrombie looked up from the journal he was pretending to read and gave her a puzzled look.

“Agent Scully?” he asked, wondering if he had somehow missed something. There was an odd feel to the way she started to shift her eyes to the back of the office, then held them rigidly on the pages in front of her.

“Sorry, Scully. I just wanted to let you know I’m taking off for a bit. You don’t need me hanging around right now. You can tell me all about it tonight. Remember, if you need me, just call,” Mulder said as he left his perch and drifted over to Scully’s desk. He made a wide swing through the filing cabinets to avoid coming close to Ambercrombie.

Scully shivered as Mulder’s fingers brushed lightly across her shoulder as he left. She saw Ambercrombie’s puzzled expression.

“Yes?” she said trying to put the conversational ball firmly in Ambercrombie’s court until she could gather her wits back together.

“Nothing, I thought you started to say something. Didn’t mean to barge into your train of thought,” he said shyly.

“No bother. I was just rereading an old file trying to reconcile scientific laws and the evidence. Didn’t work the first time, but I thought I would try again,” Scully gave a resigned sigh.

“Does that happen often? Trying to reconcile science and the paranormal?” Ambercrombie asked, relieved to be able to indulge his curiosity before it fragged his self-control.

“Often enough, Agent Ambercrombie.” Scully paused for a moment as if debating whether to proceed. With Mulder gone this was perhaps the best moment to address the problem of names. This was a complication she had foreseen, but even after two days of careful consideration she was still unsure how to deal with someone else calling her Scully. She had not asked Mulder whether he would mind; she sensed that whichever path she chose was going to hurt him.

The slight frown on her face made Ambercrombie freeze like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck. He rapidly reran his part of the conversation checking for faux pas.

“This is getting cumbersome. We’re partners and I really can’t see us spending the next weeks, months or years referring to each other as Agent Ambercrombie or Agent Scully. I’m Scully or Dana if you prefer. I assume you have another name as well or do you prefer Ambercrombie?”

Ambercrombie appeared to find the ceiling worthy of intense scrutiny as he considered what was said and what was not said. From the controlled expression on Scully’s face, he suspected that his response was going to define their partnership for good or bad. For such an innocent question, why did he feel the shadows thicken until they threatened to choke him? Damn this insight of his. He already sensed Scully was hiding something; there was an odd feel to this office. He hoped it was merely the memory of Agent Mulder clinging to this place and not Scully’s regret in letting him try to atone for his part in her partner’s death.

“Simon will do. It’s a lot faster to yell in an emergency,” he added. “If you’ve read my personnel file, you know what my middle name is so you can understand if we just stick with Simon.”

Scully bit back a chuckle as she saw the resigned amusement in Ambercrombie’s, no, Simon’s eyes.

“I could keep my mother’s reading habits a deep dark secret until that damn movie came out. Let’s just say the guys in VC had a field day.”

“I promise, no nicknames. Besides, you don’t look at all like Val Kilmer,” Scully assured him with a very suspicious twinkle in her eyes. “Now that we have your name settled….”

“Since we’re on the subject of names…” Ambercrombie hesitated, biting his lip in confusion.

“Scully has always worked very well … Simon,” Scully assured him quietly.

Simon nodded, trying to put his uneasy feelings into words.

“I know that this isn’t easy for you. I can feel the memory of Agent Mulder in this office. I don’t want to infringe on that memory. You act as if you keep expecting to hear him, to see him. I don’t want to be just a shadow partner … Scully.” Simon’s tone was wistful and tinged with a deep sadness. Regret turned his dark green eyes a rich emerald green that shone with unshed tears.

Scully started involuntarily, her eyes momentarily widening before she regained control of her expression. She barely resisted the urge to glance over at Mulder’s ‘place.’

The phone rang, startling them both and saving her from a difficult explanation.

“Agent Scully.”

“Yes sir, we’ll be right up.”

“Yes sir, Agent Ambercrombie is settling in very well.”

Scully slowly replaced the receiver on the phone and stared at it for a moment, lost in thought. At Simon’s quizzical glance, she smiled and got up.

“Well, Simon, it seems we have a case. A.D. Skinner wants us in his office in ten minutes. If you’ll wait here for a moment, I need to make a small detour before we go upstairs,” Scully said as she headed for the door. Simon nodded and got up to put on his coat.

As soon as she reached the small bathroom down the hall, Scully took a deep breath and mentally focused on Mulder.

“Mulder,” she whispered loudly, not sure how loud she needed to make the call, afraid of being overheard. It would just be her luck to have a stray maintenance person show up in the hallway and overhear her calling Mulder.

“Mulder,” she whispered urgently, after delaying as long as she could. Skinner said ten minutes and that didn’t leave her a lot of time to dawdle.

“I’m here,” a soft whisper preceded Mulder’s materialization by mere seconds. He looked curiously at her.

“Skinner has a case for us. I thought you might like to come along.”

“Beats scaring the pigeons at the Jefferson Memorial. Damn birds,” Mulder said with feeling as he faded from view.

Scully hurried back to the office, feeling Mulder’s reassuring presence beside her, and met Simon coming out.

“Ready, Scully?” Simon asked as he shut the door behind him.

Scully felt her stomach twist as she realized Mulder had heard. She felt him flinch, his hand going stiff against her back. There was no time to reassure him, to help him over this awkward moment. Events always seemed to carry her best intentions away on a whirlwind.

She maneuvered slightly to put Simon on her right side, expecting Mulder to take his place as usual on the left. As Simon took his place at her right side, she felt Mulder retreat. The small of her back missed the chill touch of his fingers. For some strange reason, she suddenly felt very much alone despite Simon walking beside her. Trust Mulder to be so paranoid that he refused to walk beside her because Simon might sense his presence.

Why did some people react to Mulder’s presence while others seemed totally oblivious? Scully pondered the question for the umpteenth time since Mulder barged back into her life. At some point she was going to have to come to terms with this apparition and try to understand it. The scientist in her shuddered at the notion of applying scientific method to paranormal phenomena, but she refused to spend the rest of her life with Mulder fading in and out of range whenever someone came close to her. Mulder had already confessed that he had no idea what prompted a reaction. He was adamant however that dogs hated him. For some reason he remained stubbornly silent about his effect on cats. No amount of pressure had elicited any comment other than a dark glower and words muttered too soft for her to understand. If his comment a moment ago was any indication, birds also could sense his presence. That left, as the main variable, the human factor.

As they waited for the elevator, Scully considered the possibilities posed by this new case. Whatever it was, she was willing to bet Skinner was anxious to get Simon and her away from their nemesis until the dust settled over Simon’s transfer to the X-Files. Hopefully it would be something with at least a smidgen of scientific plausibility to it. She wanted to give Simon a gentler introduction to the X-Files than she got. Knowing her luck, she was not clinging to optimism.

Watching Scully and Simon walk towards the elevator, Mulder observed the two of them while fighting down the bitter taste of jealousy. As hard as he had worked to convince Scully to accept Ambercrombie, he wished she hadn’t accepted him quite so easily. Despite all his handicaps, Ambercrombie was a bright, capable, normal agent. With him at her side, Scully was going to discover that there was no limit to how far and how high she could fly. No more ‘Spooky’ to clip her wings, he thought morosely.

Once the elevator doors closed behind them, Mulder concentrated on visualizing Skinner’s outer office and let himself drift there. As he passed unseen through the crowded halls of the FBI building, he tried to ignore the lonely feeling he got when moving among the living. A few agents shivered slightly as he passed by, others remained completely oblivious to his silent passage. He fought down the urge to indulge in a few random acts of mischief to reassure himself that he did indeed exist. Scully would not be pleased by a public display of paranormal events by a partner who had, more or less, promised to behave.

As he waited for Scully and Ambercrombie to arrive, Mulder pondered the problem of how to associate with Scully without betraying his presence to her new partner. Ambercrombie had not indicated that he had noticed the chill in the air that marked his presence in the hallway outside the basement office. That didn’t match what Mulder knew of him. Either he really was oblivious or else he was playing a very deep game. His suspicions flared, but Mulder reined in his paranoia. Scully had enough to worry about without him setting off an electrical display here in Skinner’s office. There was always later, he smiled to himself as he felt Scully arrive. A new case awaited and with it the testing ground for this new partner of hers, no theirs, he reminded himself.

–X–

A.D. Skinner’s Office

Scully was pleased to find they had reached Skinner’s office within the allotted ten minutes.

“Good morning, Agent Scully. Agent Ambercrombie,” Kimberly, Skinner’s executive assistant smiled warmly at them. “The Assistant Director is expecting you. Please go on in.”

“Good morning to you too, Kimberly,” Mulder whispered softly as he lounged against the window. He wondered wistfully if he would ever get used to being completely invisible to the living. If he had not been able to get through to Scully, he would be spending his days in quiet desperate loneliness playing mindless little tricks to amuse himself. The week between his death and Scully’s acknowledgment was as close to hell as he ever wanted to be.

The sound of the inner door closing snapped him out of his self-absorbed reverie. Time for self-pity later, he chastised himself as he passed through the door in time to see Skinner wave Scully and Ambercrombie to the pair of chairs in front of his desk. Remembering Skinner’s reaction to his presence the last time he was here, Mulder carefully chose a corner as far away from the Assistant Director as he could find.

The air reeked of stale cigarette smoke. Scully fought to keep from coughing. A small air purifier labored valiantly on Skinner’s desk but was clearly outmatched by the smoke. Ambercrombie’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the lingering aura of evil trailing amid the smoke fumes. There was also the same faint trace of something that he had felt downstairs. What was the use of this extra sense of his if it couldn’t be any more precise than ‘something’?, he grumbled to himself. A lot of use it was. Exasperated, he shoved his vagrant extra sense into the back of his mind and concentrated on what Skinner was saying.

“Agents Scully, Ambercrombie, the Bureau’s assistance has been requested in a pair of murders in Viderson’s Gorge, Ohio. After reviewing the request, I believe you are the best qualified agents we have to handle this case.” Skinner shifted his gaze from Scully, down to the file, lying open on his desk, then back up to stare first at Scully, then Ambercrombie.

“Sir, I …” Scully started to speak, but fell silent as Skinner held up his hand.

Curious about the case Mulder drifted carefully over to Skinner’s desk, giving Ambercrombie a wide berth.

“The case was referred to me because the police chief of Viderson’s Gorge specifically requested Agent Mulder’s help. After speaking with Chief Talbert, I agree that the case falls within the province of the X-Files. Agent Scully, your expertise as a forensic pathologist should be especially valuable in this case. Chief Talbert is open to all possibilities, including scientific explanations, as long as this case is solved. Any questions?” Skinner’s attitude suggested that it would take a brave man or an extremely foolish one to reply in the affirmative.

Mulder leaned carefully over the side of the desk, his arms folded behind his back, trying to avoid brushing against Skinner as he attempted to read the open file. Two men murdered, both prominent citizens, and a police chief who asked for him by name, that was almost an X-File by itself. Mulder tried to remember where he might have met Chief Anson Talbert. The name was vaguely familiar, but the precise memory was elusive. As Mulder craned over to read the opening paragraphs of the report, Skinner leaned forward to close the file and his head brushed against Mulder’s face. Skinner jerked with shock, shivering as the chill of Mulder’s aura set his teeth aching. Mulder shuddered violently and fled to the far corner of the room, trying to shake the horror of feeling a living body pass through him.

“Sir?” Ambercrombie asked, half rising in alarm. Something was wrong here. The Assistant Director looked as if he was having a heart attack. His face was pale and his eyes were wide and staring.

Stroke was the first thing to come to Scully’s mind. Followed quickly by heart attack. Automatically shifting into doctor mode she started to go to Skinner’s aid when the third most logical, while at the same time the most irrational, cause came to mind – Mulder.

Scully gripped the arms of her chair in an effort to keep her expression one of neutral concern. Mulder was being curious again. For four years she had wavered on the razor’s edge of wanting to shake some sense into him or giving in to the urge to smile at his impulsive boundless curiosity. Death had not diminished his capacity for curiosity and she was somewhat resigned to discover that the razor’s edge was still as sharp for her.

“Are you ill, Sir?” Her voice wavered a bit as she tried to control the peculiar mix of irritation and amusement that belonged to Mulder and no one else.

Skinner took a deep breath, his eyes narrowed and, after taking a long slow scan of the room, he waved Ambercrombie back to his seat.

“I’m fine, Agent Scully. The air conditioning system has been acting up recently. I just caught one of the drafts. Maintenance has promised a thorough performance check so these random drafts should be eliminated shortly.”

Mulder winced. He had rather enjoyed playing with the minds of some of his former colleagues, quite forgetting that he was leaving a trail of cold drafts behind. Mulder tried to gauge Scully’s mood. She had had to cope with a major shift in reality these past few days and her tolerance levels had yet to settle down to a predictable pattern.

“Yes sir.” Scully tried to sound convinced by Skinner’s rather lame explanation. Who was she to raise any doubts in a perfectly logical scientific explanation for Mulder’s perambulations through the corridors of the FBI building?

Ambercrombie gave Skinner a puzzled look before resuming his seat. His extra sense was screaming at him, but, as usual, was not coughing up any explanation. Great, he thought, I know something is wrong, but not what or why. Really useful this talent, granma, he muttered under his breath, aggrieved at the injustice of being granted forewarning without knowledge of what he was being warned about.

“Chief Talbert’s reports are in the file as are your plane tickets. Do not let the fact that Chief Talbert asked for Agent Mulder influence your investigation, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder was also known as a brilliant profiler. If there is an X-File here, deal with it. If not, then the sooner we have the perp behind bars, the better. Don’t you agree, Agent Ambercrombie?” Skinner gave Ambercrombie a challenging glare.

“Yes sir. I’ll try not to look for ghoulies and ghosties and long-legged beasties, sir,” Ambercrombie retorted with a straight face and in a surprisingly serious tone. Scully glanced at him in surprise, torn between shock that he would joke with the Assistant Director like that (even Mulder usually kept his unruly sense of humor leashed in Skinner’s office) and dread that he wasn’t joking.

“Your flight to Columbus leaves from Dulles in four hours.” Skinner snapped curtly, glaring at Ambercrombie until the young agent lowered his eyes. A muttered “I’m sorry” followed by a sigh apparently mollified the A.D. Giving Ambercrombie one last stern look, he handed Scully the file and stood up, indicating that they were dismissed. For a moment Skinner looked as if he was about to say something more. A muscle twitched in his jaw then fell still. “Good luck, Agent Scully, Agent Ambercrombie.”

“Thank you, sir,” Scully managed with a small smile. She wondered how Skinner would react if he realized Mulder was one of the ghosties her new partner was not supposed to look for. She took the file and wondered if it held any surprises. Masking a sudden nostalgia for Mulder’s wild theorizing, she walked resolutely towards the door. Ambercrombie allowed her to precede him by a half a step while he shadowed her right side. Scully’s maneuver downstairs had apparently convinced him that she preferred he walk on the right.

Mulder stared at Ambercrombie trying to fathom whether he had not made a mistake when he insisted Scully take him on. Either he was faking a fascination with the paranormal or else he was on more intimate terms with it than Mulder had ever suspected. Suspicion, fanned by a rising tide of jealousy at the ease in which Ambercrombie was assuming his place at Scully’s side, flared up in spite of his best efforts to control his emotions. The faintest flickers of electricity began to halo him. Alarmed by the prospect of creating a miniature lightning storm in Skinner’s office, Mulder fled for the safety of his basement office.

Watching the door close behind Scully and Ambercrombie, Skinner gave his office a suspicious once-over. The air tasted like ozone and he still had the shivers from that cold draft that swept over him a few moments ago. Mechanical failure, it had to be the damned built-by-the-lowest-bidder central air system, he told himself. The distant memory of a peaceful, serene moment when he stepped outside the boundaries of life echoed for a moment then vanished like smoke on the wind.

He hoped he was doing the right thing in giving Agent Scully a case before she and Ambercrombie had gotten to know each other. Still, as he recalled, Agent Mulder gave Scully a bare ten minutes before hauling her off to a case in Oregon. “May you have the same luck he did, Agent Scully, and find in Ambercrombie a true partner,” Skinner prayed quietly to whatever gods listened to harried, hassled and overtasked FBI administrators.

–X–

X-Files Office

All the way back to the basement, Scully felt the effort Simon was exerting to contain his curiosity. She was reminded of a German Shepherd a friend owned who lived for golf balls. The every time Ellie had escaped from her yard, she had been found terrorizing the golf balls at a nearby country club. She would wait, poised to spring to the attack, ears alert, tail making an anxious twitch, until the crack of iron to ball would signal the attack. No ball could elude her ferocious pounce. Each ball was hers and hers alone until dropped forgotten when the next ball soared into range. She became known as the Terror of the 16th Green and was actually included in the club’s rulebook as an official hazard along with the accompanying penalty stroke.

Simon walked beside her, outwardly calm and professional, but Scully sensed that his entire attention was focused on the file she carried. She felt the unasked questions battering against the silence she imposed on their walk. Simon was proving even less of a match for one of her stern glances than Mulder had been. He lacked Mulder’s disingenuous habit of looking sorrowfully at her from liquid hazel eyes. Maybe, just maybe, she finally had a partner who would listen first before haring off after impossible theories. Of course I’ve always been an optimist, she warned herself. Watching Simon stretch out to open the door before she could lay a hand on the doorknob, she was certain that if he had had a tail, it would be twitching in slow, anxious wags. She smiled at the image. Simon looked rattled and hung in mid-motion with the door halfway open, effectively barring her entrance with his outstretched arm.

“It’s alright, Simon. You don’t have to open doors for me. We’re partners, remember?” she gently chided him.

“Sorry, Agent … I mean Scully. Old habits die hard. Guess I’m not doing very well on the ‘impress your partner with your suave demeanor’ scale?” Simon gave her a self-depreciating smile and moved his arm to the top of the door to allow her to get into her own office while steadying himself so he wouldn’t fall flat on his face.

“I don’t recall that the FBI application form had a section on suave demeanor. Maybe that’s just on the forms they hand out to the men,” Scully retorted enjoying this light banter. For just a moment, she could pretend this was Mulder and things were back to normal.

From his perch in the back of the office, Mulder watched Scully and Ambercrombie banter and tried to be glad Scully was beginning to feel at ease with him. He remained a silent shadow hovering just outside the bright dawning of her new life. Time enough for them when night fell and he was alone with her again. The day would belong to Scully and her new life, but the night was his, even if all he did was watch her sleep – she belonged to him for those few hours and no one else. He tried not to dwell on the emotion that lurked just beneath the surface of his need to be with her. It only served to torment him with might-have-beens. Scully felt safe with him; she did not need to know that his passions had not died with his mortal body.

Right now however, Scully was probably only too aware that she was driving two men nuts with curiosity. Mulder caught the faint glint of a smile deep in her eyes. She knew he was around, somewhere, waiting for her to put that goddamn file down and open it so he could read it. Ambercrombie was nearly ready to beg. Mulder could sense the curiosity rolling off of him in waves.

“Scully, quit this damn foreplay and get to the point,” Mulder stage whispered.

Scully’s look of surprise was instantly covered up, but Ambercrombie gave her a searching look then scanned the office. Mulder froze and let himself sink through and under the table. Ambercrombie was proving to be just a bit more perceptive than Mulder would have liked. He had gotten used to delivering these impromptu cracks from the ether and rather enjoyed Scully’s startled reaction. It appeared that Scully wasn’t the only one who was going to have to get used to having a new partner.

“Sorry, Scully, but you are … well I was going to say killing me, but that is hardly accurate anymore. How about, if you don’t open that file and start telling your new partner what is going on, your old partner is going to start a nasty rumor about a haunted office?”

“Scully, why don’t I run home and pack while you read over the file. I can be back here in just over an hour then I can follow you home if you like and drive you to the airport. I can look at the file while you pack and then maybe we can discuss the case on the plane,” Simon said in a hesitant voice, afraid of pushing into his partner’s personal space, but unsure exactly how she and Agent Mulder had operated. He was flying blind as he tried to navigate the treacherous waters of this new partnership.

Scully looked startled, hearing two voices at once. She closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. Having two partners at once was becoming quite confusing.

“That sounds like a good idea, Simon. Don’t rush. I’ll see you back here in … say an hour and a half. You can leave your car at my place and I’ll drive us to the airport. That way you can read the file while I drive,” Scully offered in a tone just shy of a command.

Simon resisted the urge to salute. She had a point, but …. He supposed it was a bit early in their partnership to tell her that he had a tendency towards motion sickness. Making a mental note to take the Dramamine before he left home, he nodded and, after one last longing look at the file, left the office.

“Finally taking over the driver’s seat, eh, Scully?”

“Shut up, Mulder,” Scully snapped. Mulder flinched. Bad timing. Very bad timing, he chastised his erratic sense of humor. Memories of another unfortunate comment about short legs reared its ugly head in his memory. From the look in Scully’s eyes, she was recalling the same memory.

“What did you think you were doing just now in Skinner’s office?” Scully’s tone of voice dropped the temperature in the room about twenty degrees. Mulder could feel the ice forming on his ectoplasm. “The last thing we need is for Skinner to launch an investigation into your pranks. I thought he was going to have a heart attack.” Scully sighed, not really angry, just frustrated, worried and above all tired of trying to reconcile this new reality with her old comfortable scientific certainties.

“I just wanted a look at the file,” Mulder explained. “I was being careful. How the hell was I supposed to know he was going to lean forward? You’re so goddamn concerned about Skinner, do you have any idea how I felt? Fuck, I hate that feeling,” Mulder said as he abruptly materialized.

Scully stepped back in momentary alarm as the empty air in front of her was suddenly occupied by a tall, glowering Mulder. She had grown used to his slow careful materialization. Now he just popped in. Was this a sign of irritation? Was this another signpost she needed to learn in order to read the emotional state of this new Mulder?

Mulder felt his fear and disorientation simmer as he tried to stabilize. Damn it, he knew better than to materialize this suddenly. His ectoplasm sloshed about inside his seemingly solid form until he felt slightly nauseous. The look of alarm on Scully’s face wasn’t helping. He hadn’t meant to startle her.

“Damn it. I’m sorry, Scully. You just have no idea what it feels like to have somebody stick their head through yours. You were a physics major. Remember that basic law that says two objects cannot occupy the same space – well they can, but it plays hell with whatever it is that I’m made of now.” Mulder fought to remain calm and was rather pleased to find he had managed to vent some of his fear without setting off an electrical storm.

“OK, Mulder, but if Skinner starts suspecting that the sudden drafts everyone is experiencing are something more than a faulty air system I’m not going to be responsible for the explanations.” Scully gave Mulder one of her best ‘I-am-not-amused glares and felt her momentary irritation fade when he began to wilt slightly around the edges. It was nice to know that her stern glares still had an effect on him. She promised herself she would use them sparingly, but they remained her most effective weapon to curb his impulsive enthusiasm.

Mulder shrugged his shoulders in silent apology before going over to Simon’s desk and sitting down on top of it. He didn’t look exactly repentant, but Scully decided to accept the gesture of apology and be satisfied that Mulder would try to remember to stay out of Skinner’s way. She refused to give him the satisfaction of smiling at his antics.

“OK, Scully I’ll be a good ghost and behave. You know, this ghost business would be a whole lot more fun if you weren’t so hard-nosed about random acts of mischief happening to some very deserving people – like Colton or Blevins.” Mulder gave her his special grin that blended devil with saint and made her shudder for the consequences of his ideas of mischief.

“Yes, and I’m sure you would make a very nice paperweight if the Morley man ever found out you were still around. I’m not the only one with a bottle, Mulder,” Scully scolded gently trying to laugh at their greatest fear. She had once threatened to track him down and stuff him in a bottle if he tried ditching her again. The image had seemed amusing until she caught the look of uneasy fear in Mulder’s eyes. Apparently the idle joking threat held fearful possibilities for him, at least a gnawing uncertainty.

Mulder shuddered briefly even as he tried to come up with a witty comeback. The notion of spending eternity crammed into a small space was not an option he wanted to consider. He wasn’t sure what kind of bottle it would take to confine him, but if anyone could come up with such a bottle it would be Cancer Man. Scully was right, but did right have to be so boring?

“He won’t. After all, who but Spooky Mulder ever believed in ghosts?” Mulder quipped lamely with a shaky grin and a shrug of his shoulders.

“Just see to it you don’t give anyone here reason to start believing, OK, Mulder?”

“I’ll do my best, Scully. Now, can we please take a look at that damn file before Ambercrombie gets back,” Mulder pleaded.

Scully smiled innocently at him and spread open the file on her desk. Mulder leaned in and began pouring over the sparse facts as related in Chief Talbert’s report.

Four days ago, Thomas A. Jackson, prominent businessman and Alderman of the town of Viderson’s Gorge was found dead in his fenced backyard at 9:30 p.m. when neighbors investigated a loud scream. Cause of death – massive trauma and blood loss resulting from a cut that extended from his right shoulder down through his lower rib cage. The blow severed his collarbone, spine and several ribs indicating that the assailant possessed great physical strength.

The victim was a man of medium height, slightly overweight, but in otherwise excellent health. He was 52, married, no children. Wounds on the hands indicated that he had tried to defend himself. Despite there having been a heavy rain earlier that day, there were no footprints other than the victim’s. The gate to the fence was locked and there were no signs that anyone climbed over the fence.

Jackson was respected, if not particularly well-liked in town, and had no known enemies. His wife said that her husband had heard the dogs barking and had gone down to investigate. She heard her husband shout at someone or something then he screamed. No one saw or heard anyone approach or leave the yard. The two dogs, a husky and a chow, were found cowering under the deck.

Mulder raised an eyebrow at the description given by a deputy of how he found the two dogs pressed up against the foundation of the house whimpering and snapping at anyone who came close. Tranquilizer darts were finally used to sedate the dogs and remove them to the local vet’s.

Scully carefully read the autopsy report. The time of death was estimated at between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m. based on examination of stomach contents and temperature of the body. The official time of death was judged to have occurred at the moment Jackson’s scream had broken off. The medical examiner estimated that death was probably instantaneous though the victim could have lingered for maybe a minute after his windpipe had been severed by the blow. What caught Scully’s eye was the doctor’s speculation that the blow was caused by a heavy-bladed sword such as a machete, saber or cutlass delivered with enough force and skill to instantly cleave Jackson almost in half.

Mulder caught the twitch in Scully’s eyebrow and quickly scanned the report. Despite the seriousness of the case, he couldn’t help smiling.

“Wouldn’t have guessed that Jackson was the sort of man to engage in a duel in a wet backyard at nine o’clock in the evening, but then you never know about these stolid middle-age men,” he teased.

“Difficult to duel when only one person is armed, Mulder. There is no evidence that Jackson was armed or even expecting trouble. Still, maybe a chance to meet Duncan McLeod of the Clan McLeod might brighten up this trip. Makes a nice change from sewer monsters,” Scully quipped in an absent-minded tone of voice that barely concealed a chuckle.

Mulder flung up his hands in mock surrender and retreated back to Chief Talbert’s report. It felt good to be back to normal. Well as normal as things could be now, he amended sadly.

The second death occurred two nights ago. Samuel “Toby” Culver was found on the sidewalk just outside his office on Main Street at 8:00 p.m., dead from a bullet wound to the chest. There were no witnesses even though the cafi next door was still open and had several patrons lingering over coffee. The patrons claimed they heard a loud shout at approximately 7:55 p.m. and rushed out to investigate and stumbled over Culver’s body.. No one saw anything suspicious.

Culver was a small man, widowed, somewhat frail of health with a tendency towards hypochondria. His doctor said that other than a touch of arthritis and gastritis, Culver was in good health for a man of 73. He owned and operated an Internet cafe/bookstore and lived alone. He was active in the local church, a past president of the local Audubon Society, founding president of the local Internet Society and was serving his seventh consecutive term as chairman of the library board. He was considered a pleasant man, but not a friendly one.

The autopsy report cited the cause of death – gunshot wound inflicting massive trauma to the heart and lungs. The bullet recovered was a musket ball – untraceable.

As Scully read that, she frowned at the page in front of her. Without a word, Mulder reached over and plucked the report out of her hands and read it over to see what the problem was.

“Different,” was all he could manage to get out. A sword, now a musket ball. Nice untraceable weapons, but how in the world did someone parade around town carrying a sword and musket without being noticed? This was definitely beginning to look like an X-File, but he didn’t have a clue about what or who could be behind it.

“Any bright ideas, Mulder?” Scully asked hopefully. Obviously this was not going to be a simple open and shut case. She didn’t see any indications of paranormal activity which was a relief. Chief Talbert had probably heard of Mulder’s profiling skills and wanted his opinion on whether there was a pattern here.

“Other than the fact the whoever is doing the killing is rather old-fashioned, no. I’m puzzled about the dogs though. Huskies and chows have never struck me as even knowing how to cower. Something scared them or maybe they were drugged. Did anyone do a blood test on the dogs, Scully?”

Scully rifled rapidly through the various appended reports and shook her head.

“Damn.”

“Have you remembered where you met this Chief Talbert? His request to the Columbus FBI office does specifically ask for you, but won’t say why. The closest he comes to explaining is the phrase: ‘I think this case merits Agent Mulder’s unique and verified skills as an investigator.’ Quit grinning Mulder. I’m the one who has to live up to your reputation. Apparently the district office neglected to tell him you were not among the living anymore.” Scully scowled at Mulder’s chuckle.

“Let’s see, Columbus is Dickerson’s territory. This Talbert must be someone with a lot of influence or just plain stubborn. Dickerson hates to let anyone other than his people into his territory. I bet he was hoping Skinner would tell Talbert that the man he wanted was dead and bounce the case back to Dickerson.”

“Well it would certainly help matters if you could manage to remember who Talbert is. I thought you had a photographic memory?” Scully shifted through the pile of reports again in hopes of finding some clue as to why the chief of a small rural Ohio town would know and specifically request Mulder to assist in solving these murders.

Mulder spread his hands in apologetic puzzlement and headed over to the computer on Simon’s desk. Scully had finally gotten the systems manager to release his files. Burrowing happily among his stored files and directories, Mulder felt more at ease than he had since a little white ball had blasted him into the afterworld nearly 14 days ago.

As he searched for information on Viderson’s Gorge, he pondered the name Anson Talbert. Nothing in his files gave any indication that he had worked with the man or even met him. Still, something about the name haunted him. Mulder paused to smile at the imagery. Being dead apparently was no easy cure for a chaotic memory. He wished he could make Scully understand that just because he couldn’t forget things didn’t mean he couldn’t mislay them.

Viderson’s Gorge turned out to be a normal rural town with a population of 2,000 reasonably law-abiding souls. The crime rate, aside from the arrest of a major drug ring who thought hiding their operation in a small town was a smart move, was about average though with a significant rise in juvenile crime in the past two years. The town housed five churches, a library, a variety of retail stores, fifteen antiques shops and a restored, functioning grist mill.

“Hey, Scully – remember Home, Pennsylvania? Well I think we just found its twin in Ohio,” Mulder offered in a teasing tone of voice.

Scully gave him a steely glare to cover her smile. “Well, Mulder, if we run into any more pigs, I’ll let you handle them. I checked, my job description does not include pig-herding,” she said with a deceptively innocent smile.

Mulder grinned. He could almost pretend this was a normal day in the X-Files office, if he ignored the fact that he could see the keyboard through his fingers.

Half an hour later Mulder started to shove his chair away from the computer and found himself drifting slowly through the chair to the wall.

“Bright move,” he grumbled to himself as he focused on solidifying his body. One of these days he was going to remember to keep at least half of his attention on retaining form and substance when he was using furniture. A quick glance over at Scully told him she had not noticed his lapse of attention. He really was trying not to spook her any more than necessary.

He copied and printed out all the relevant information he could find on Viderson’s Gorge for Scully to read. Nothing very remarkable. Nothing to indicate why someone would succumb to an urge to murder their neighbors with antique weapons. With all the antique shops in town, procuring the weapons would be simple. No doubt this Chief Talbert had already made the rounds looking for recent purchases. Mulder wished Scully would hurry up and finish with those reports. He wanted a chance to look them over before Ambercrombie came back.

“Scully?”

“What is it, Mulder?” Scully sounded distracted. Mulder smiled as he recalled her penchant for getting engrossed in reading files. He used to tease her that an elephant could march through the office and she was merely move aside to allow it to pass without missing a word.

“Just wondered when I was going to get a chance to look over the rest of the files. Remember, I can’t exactly ask you for them on the plane,” Mulder reminded her.

Scully looked blank for a moment then nodded. Sitting like this, exchanging comments over case files, she had forgotten.

“How are you going to get to Viderson’s Gorge, Mulder?” she asked suddenly. “I thought you said you couldn’t go where you haven’t been before?”

“I thought I’d hitch a ride with you. Always wanted to be a stowaway. Actually tried running away once when I was eleven, intent on making it to Boston harbor and stowing away on a tramp steamer.” Mulder chuckled as he recalled his childhood fantasy of exotic travels.

“Made it as far as the ferry landing on the island. Didn’t even manage to stow away on the damn ferry. The pilot caught me sneaking aboard and called my father. I ate standing up for the next three days. Thus began and ended my career as a stowaway.”

Scully smiled at the thought of a young Mulder trying unsuccessfully to steal a ride on a ferry. Apparently his luck had never been good where infiltration was concerned.

“I’ll follow you onto the plane and I should be OK.”

“Just don’t distract the pilot … or the stewardesses.”

Mulder grinned, but made no promises. It would give Scully something to worry about while flying other than the case or whether the airplane had passed all its safety checks and had a competent pilot.

“Any luck on Chief Talbert?” Scully asked as she handed him the file. Mulder scooted the chair over to her then pushed back and let the chair roll back towards the other desk.

“No. I know I know him, but I can’t put my finger ….”

The sound of the office door opening startled Mulder into invisibility, his words trailing in the air behind him. Horrified, Scully saw the case file folder hanging suspended in mid-air still clutched in Mulder’s hands and then begin to fall.

“Mulder!” she hissed as two things happened simultaneously. Ambercrombie walked through the door and the file skidded across the desk to land in a jumbled heap of disordered paper against a large framed photo of a desert scene.

“Oh shit,” Mulder swore softly as the file flew across the desk. Frantic that the file was slipping through his fingers he had literally thrown it towards the desk as he faded into thin air. Very cautiously he got up from the chair and wafted over to his perch on the printer table. Scully had a look of stunned disbelief on her face as she looked towards the file then at the empty chair and then at Ambercrombie standing stock-still in the doorway.

“Simon,” Scully’s voice cracked slightly. “You’re back early.”

“I had a bag packed for emergencies and traffic was light. Miracle of miracles, no one managed to have an accident in my lane.” Simon stared at Scully who was reassembling a neutral expression on her face. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Simon.” Scully tried to think of a way to get Simon out of the office long enough to discretely reassemble the reports and shut off the computer. She didn’t like the way Ambercrombie was studiously avoiding looking at his desk. Why didn’t he say something? Could it be that he actually hadn’t seen or heard anything? Could she be that lucky?

“Did you find anything interesting in the files?” Simon asked curiously as he made his way to his desk. He wasn’t surprised to find the files scattered across the desktop. That was the sound of rustling paper he had heard as he entered, but what had caused the creaking sound? His odd sense was going off, telling him that something strange was going on. There was that odd feel again; bone-chilling cold mixed with what he could only describe as a faint electric charge to the air. From the way Scully was acting she knew what was going on, but apparently was not choosing to trust him with it. OK, for now, he promised her silently, but sooner or later you and I are going to have to talk about this.

“No,” Scully answered, almost too quickly. Damn it, slow down and calm down before you blow everything, she sternly ordered herself. “Nothing that seems out of the ordinary except the weapons used to kill the men. I’ll let you read the file and you tell me what you think.”

“Fine with me, I was always rather good at word puzzles,” Simon said with a smile as he gathered up the file, put the reports in order and turned off his computer without once indicating that he found any of this strange.

“Shall we go, Scully? I think I should warn you now, I’m paranoid about missing airplanes. I have been known to get to airports two hours early. Why don’t we just get started now. If we’re early we can grab coffee somewhere and try to map out a plan of action. Sound good?” Simon kept the tone of his voice casual and open. Whatever secret Scully was hiding wasn’t going to be forced from her – not if half of what he had heard about her was true. She would either tell him voluntarily or he would find out on his own.

“Sure, fine. You can follow me to my place and start reading those files while I pack.” Scully grabbed the report Mulder had printed out and stuffed it into her briefcase before hustling Simon out of the office ahead of her. She turned back to switch off the light and saw a very faint hazy Mulder materializing in front of the file cabinet. She tried to smile at him and gave him a brief wave masked in the sweep of her hand on the light switch. See you at my place, she mouthed and was relieved to see him nod in acknowledgement.

Mulder listened to Scully’s and Ambercrombie’s footsteps move down the hall and disappear into the elevator. That had been too close. There was no way Ambercrombie could have missed all of that. Suspicion, worry, even a tiny bit of fear warred for dominance and Mulder stood in the middle of a glowing halo of electricity as he fought for control. Ambercrombie would bear watching. For all his innocence, he could still be an unwitting tool of their enemies. For Scully’s sake, Mulder wanted Ambercrombie to work out, but he admitted he also didn’t want to share.

“I won’t let you hurt her. Not this time. Not anymore.” Mulder threw the words into the shadows, defying whatever forces protected their enemies. Suddenly feeling rather foolish cursing the empty shadows in his office, Mulder shrugged and faded away. He would keep his suspicions to himself and let Ambercrombie prove or disprove them. Scully wasn’t easily fooled and if their enemies thought her helpless and alone, well they would learn the price of their folly. Smiling at the memory of how many times Scully brought him to heel, Mulder let himself drift towards the safe familiar scent of Scully’s home.

–X–

Scully’s Apartment

Arriving at Scully’s apartment a mere moment after he left the office, Mulder paused to check for the presence of maintenance men before materializing. He had popped in yesterday to find a man busy steam-cleaning the blood stain out of the carpet. Fortunately he appeared behind the unsuspecting worker. He disappeared again before the man could register the sudden drop in temperature or turn around and find a specter standing over him.

Mulder remained fascinated by the ease in which he could travel between places. It had only taken the time it took to visualize Scully’s living room for him to travel across Washington to her apartment. As long as he had been to a place during his lifetime, he could travel there. Try as he might, however, he could not go somewhere he had never been, no matter how detailed a description he was given.

“Does that mean we leave a piece of ourselves in every place we’ve every visited?” Mulder wondered aloud as he paced restlessly.

Being dead had not diminished his restless impatience, he noted with wry resignation. The visual image of the file lying on the seat beside Scully tantalized him, lured him into wondering how Scully would react if he abruptly materialized in the front passenger seat of her car.

Disastrous was the word that sprang to mind. The more he considered the matter, the more he realized that disastrous was probably too mild a term. Scully was adapting remarkably well to his re-appearance. Pulling a stunt like that could shatter her willingness to tolerate the idiosyncrasies of his new existence.

Bored, frustrated and impatient, he roamed the apartment trying to remember why the name of Anson Talbert was familiar. There were several Talberts in his past, but none with the first name of Anson and certainly none likely to end up as chief of police in a small Ohio town.

Irritated with his inability to pin down the name, Mulder’s eyes suddenly lit on Scully’s computer. Hesitating only for a minute, he went over and booted it up and logged on to her account. The ethics of using Scully’s account didn’t bother him in the least. Scully might have a few choice words to say to him, but she had asked him to find out why Chief Talbert specifically requested him. He reminded himself of this virtuous excuse as he typed in her password and user name.

Once in, he sent an e-mail to the Lone Gunmen in her name asking them to dig up everything they could find on Chief Anson Talbert and what connection he had with her late partner. While it seemed strange to write about himself in the third person, he wanted an answer, not trigger the guys’ paranoia. His friends might believe in every outlandish conspiracy theory out there, but ghosts might be a bit far-fetched, even for them.

Resisting the urge to surf the Net, Mulder dutifully logged off and shut down the computer. Concentrating very intently, he could feel Scully approaching. It felt good. He wasn’t sure why he could focus so easily on her, but he had experimented and found that he had an awareness of her that distance did not seem to diminish. Even as far away as the Vinyard, he maintained a spider-like awareness of her moving about on the far edges of his web.

Before long he heard the car pull up. As he heard the key in the lock, he remembered that Ambercrombie was following her. Scully opened the door cautiously, speaking loudly to Ambercrombie who was striding up the walk. Mulder quickly faded from sight. Where to go was the immediate problem. Deciding that Ambercrombie would remain in the living room, Mulder moved directly through the wall into Scully’s bedroom. He was learning caution, especially where Scully was concerned.

“I’ll only be a few minutes. Make yourself at home,” Scully assured Simon as she headed straight for the bedroom.

“That’s OK, take your time. This will give me a chance to start on the file,” Simon responded cheerfully as he began to spread the file across the coffee table.

Scully was not surprised to see a transparent shadow gradually becoming opaque standing just inside her bedroom door. Perhaps she was getting used to this.

“Remember anything yet?” she whispered as she took out a suitcase and began adding suits and blouses to the basic essentials already packed.

Mulder felt a painful lurch in the general region where his heart used to beat. Each suit represented a memory, a case where their combined skills had coalesced to bring the bad guys to justice. Not always successful and most times barely agreeing on who or what the bad guys were, nevertheless they had made a difference. Being dead seemed to be one long continuous string of good-byes.

“Mulder…?”

“Sorry.” Mulder hauled his attention back to Scully and the problem at hand. “I’m working on it.” Not a lie. He had promised her honesty, not the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

Scully finished packing in silence, a slight frown of concentration on her face as she tried to search her own memory for any reference to Anson Talbert.

“Scully, as far as I know, I have never met the man. The only thing I can come up with it that someone I worked with knows him and recommended me.”

Scully considered this possibility. It was the most logical explanation. So why did logic suddenly make her so suspicious? When had paranoia replaced simple obvious logic?

“You’ve worked with me too long, Scully,” Mulder teased. “Just because an explanation is obvious does not make it suspect.”

“Scully?” Simon’s light baritone filtered in from the living room startling them. “Did anyone run blood work on the dogs?”

“Bright boy.” Mulder grinned with reluctant approval even as he turned his head slightly to hide from Scully the longing that darkened his eyes into pools of shadow.

“He’ll do,” Scully replied coolly. Then, with a quick glance to gauge Mulder’s mood, she continued with a straight face. “He’s a lot like a new car, Mulder. Runs faster, smoother, looks classy, but the old model was comfortable and its quirks familiar and predictable. I went to a lot of trouble breaking in the old model, I wasn’t ready to trade it in.”

“Classic or sports?” Mulder asked with deadpan seriousness. His eyes however lightened to a crystal green that sparkled with tiny diamonds of amusement.

“Oh definitely classic – along the lines of a Duesenberg Model J roadster. Fast with a sleek, trim chassy,” Scully mused, lost in a daydream that sent a slight flush to her cheeks.

“Always heard they were hard to handle,” Mulder responded cautiously, no longer sure where this conversation was going, but sensing dangerous curves ahead.

“Not if you knew what you were doing,” Scully replied giving him a totally unreadable stare from eyes that held secrets looming in their clear blue depths.

The sound of the front doorbell shattered the moment. Scully blinked and drew the curtains back over whatever secrets had peered out a moment before.

“I’ll get it,” Simon yelled.

Alarmed, Mulder looked at Scully. “Have you warned him about answering doors?”

Scully shook her head as she headed for the living room. “Simon, wait a…”

“Shit,” Mulder swore as he vanished and translocated to the front door just as Simon opened it to reveal a very young-looking delivery man holding a small bouquet of dark red roses.

“This the Scully residence?” The boy had a voice that would have made a bass tuba proud.

Mulder hovered just behind Simon, too concerned about a possible repeat of Monday’s attack to worry about the effect of his aura on either man. Simon might have the edge of training and height, but the boy looked like a linebacker. Despite his suspicions and paranoia, Mulder found the sight of this very large block of a man carrying a bouquet of roses and lilies of the valley incongruous. Mulder wouldn’t have been surprised to see him whip out a pistol and start blasting away. He watched the boy in the same way a mongoose studied a cobra. Lacking a solid reason for his suspicions, but consumed by them none-the-less.

“Yes,” Simon answered succinctly as he tried to fight an irrational urge to reach behind him and rest a hand on his gun. His sixth sense was gibbering hysterically at him. A wave of numbing cold roiled against his back creating an almost impossible urge to shudder and run. The boy looked bored and completely oblivious to the storm brewing in front of him.

“Sign here,” the boy shoved a clipboard into Simon’s hands. Catching a sight of Scully striding towards the door, he smiled professionally then whistled very softly under his breath. Mulder swore he could hear the boy hmm suggestively under his breath and forcibly restrained an urge to pick him up by the throat and hurl him back into his van.

Simon scrawled something that might have been a signature if the reader had been feeling especially generous and almost slammed the clipboard into the boy’s chest. His nerves were on full battle alert for no reason that he could tell and all he wanted to do was get rid of the boy before he made a fool of himself before his new partner.

“Flowers for the lady,” the boy attempted to reach around Simon to hand the bouquet to Scully. Momentarily distracted by the clipboard, Simon tried to intercept at the same time Scully reached out for the bouquet and Mulder went semi-transparent to block the transfer.

Confronted by an apparition that appeared out of thin air and grabbed his wrist with an icy grip, the boy yelped, dropped the flowers and bolted for his van. Startled by Mulder’s sudden appearance and the icy menace she felt pouring off of him, Scully stepped back. Completely confused, alarmed and on a hair-trigger reaction, Simon started to spin around to see what on earth spooked the delivery boy and why he suddenly felt the flight or fight urge sideswipe his usual calm assessment of dangerous situations. His eyes caught a misty shadow hovering in the air behind him for just a second before it was gone. He shook his head and wondered if adding that second cheese Danish for breakfast might not have been too much of a good thing. This was turning into a very strange day.

Confronted by several options for action, Mulder opted for disappearing again. Keeping a wary eye on Simon, he knelt down by the bouquet and carefully scanned it for explosive devices or other such surprises. To his slight chagrin, it appeared to be nothing more than a simple bouquet.

“Sorry, Scully,” he whispered softly. Her attention was focused on Simon, but he caught the slightly irritated glint in her eyes. No doubt he was going to be in for a lecture. He tried to feel remorse, but the memory of Monday’s assault was too vivid. If Scully wanted to blister his ectoplasmic ass off, he’d take it, but he would not promise not to do the same thing again.

“What the….” Simon began shakily.

“Sorry, Simon. Guess I’m still a bit shaky from what happened the other day,” Scully said as she reholstered her weapon. No need to tell Simon that the gun had only been drawn in the last two seconds. She was going to have to have a very long talk with Mulder. Not that she didn’t understand his paranoia. She did, in fact she was beginning to share it, but appearing like that could have disastrous consequences. He just didn’t think things through, she complained silently.

“Sure, I understand,” Simon responded politely but not very convincingly. His expression screamed out for an explanation, but Scully avoid his eyes and bent down to retrieve the bouquet.

Scully felt the brush of Mulder’s cold fingers linger for just a moment and understood his silent apology. She sighed softly and nodded acceptance. He meant well and was probably anticipating a stern lecture on over-protectiveness. Maybe she’d surprise him and just let the subject drop. He was Mulder after-all. It’s just now his tendency to over-protect her had a much broader range of action.

As she carefully shifted the roses and lilies back into some sort of order and went to hunt a vase, she admired the quality of the roses and let the rich heady scent envelop her. Nothing more than a simple gift of flowers, she admonished herself. As she unwrapped the flowers to put them in a vase, she noticed the simple white card.

Check is not checkmate.

A wise man, or lady, knows the price of the game before they presume to play.

There was no signature, but Scully thought she could catch the faint stench of cigarette smoke coiling around each word. A loud angry hiss beside her betrayed Mulder’s presence and his own suspicions. Could poison be hidden in a smell, she thought briefly before squelching such an insane thought.

“He never sent me flowers,” Mulder’s words came out of the air beside her, fear barely hidden behind the forced humor.

“Later, Mulder,” she whispered back, jerking her head towards the living room in silent warning. “Not now. Not here.”

Scully felt two cold fingers rest for a moment on the hand that held the card and sensed Mulder’s reluctant acquiescence.

Squaring her shoulders and assuming a neutral expression, Scully carried the vase back into the living room and placed it on the table by the front door. Beautiful flowers to camouflage what she could only accept was a warning from her enemies.

“Secret admirer?” Simon asked in a cautious tone. His nerves were relaxing, but he was still sensing unease, alarm and anger eddying in the air.

“Just a belated sympathy gesture from a … a man Mulder had business dealings with.”

Simon nodded. This was obviously not the time to push Scully for answers. She managed to say nothing while conveying the fact that he had stepped into deep and treacherous waters. His common sense tried to assure him that Scully was dealing with an overload of grief and the residual effects of the attack on her in this every room earlier this week. His sixth sense however was looking for a convenient rock to hide under. He would have been a lot happier with answers, even answers he probably really didn’t want to know about, but he had to believe that Scully would tell him what he needed to know in her own good time. She was too good an agent to leave him hanging out to dry just because she didn’t want to talk about something.

Simon watched her return to the bedroom, presumably to finish packing, but more, he suspected, to recover her equilibrium. Restless and still a bit uneasy, Simon paced about the room, trying to piece together what happened and formulate a theory. He had all the pieces, he thought, but nothing fit together. On a crime scene, he would immediately assume that some of the pieces were missing, but he was a witness here and as far as he knew, all the pieces were present. This was like one of those jigsaw puzzles made from a Jackson Pollack painting – all abstract splashes and dabs with no coherent pattern to follow, just dumb luck and a careful matching of size and shape.

Drifting over to the flowers, Simon paused and considered them as one of the stranger pieces to this puzzle. The roses were a deep red, almost black. Funereal in the extreme with an overpowering scent, almost reminiscent of myrrh. The smell brought with it images of death, power and above all a cold indifference to life. Simon shuddered violently and stepped carefully away from the flowers. He regarded them as he would a rattler hidden in the brush. The warning was clear, he just wasn’t sure what the warning was or why it was even issued.

“I’m almost ready, Simon. Get the files together and I’ll meet you out at the car.”

“OK, Scully.” Simon was glad to get out of this apartment with its shadows and the looming sense of being watched.

–X–

During the long drive to the airport, Mulder listened to Scully and Simon review the file. Curled up in the trunk with just his head poking into the back seat, he maintained a bare hazy cohesion – just enough to anchor himself to the car, but not solid enough to be seen and far enough away to blend in with the air conditioning.

Mulder knew he should have just translocated to the airport and waited for Scully to show up. Getting to Dulles would not have been a problem. He knew that airport better than he knew the back of his hand. Riding in the back end of Scully’s car was really serving no purpose except to placate the imp of jealousy that had him firmly in its grip. He felt foolish and knew Scully would be disappointed in him. After all his high-minded words about giving Simon a chance and trusting her to need him, Mulder found himself battling an irrational and embarrassing fear that Scully was adjusting too easily to Simon, adapting too well to a new partner. He wanted the faint chill of his presence to remind her that he was still here.

Simon was smart and almost too damn quick to pick up the nuances in the report that had screamed inconsistency to him. Either they had an extremely clever killer on their hands or the police of Viderson’s Gorge suddenly became sloppy at certain points only to resume their highly professional investigation without anyone noticing the lapse. Simon was living up to his reputation as one of the best crime scene investigators in the VCU. Ruefully, Mulder realized that as a team, Scully and Simon would probably be able to run rings around any other team in the Bureau on sheer application of scientific logic and deduction.

At least he was spared listening to Simon extrapolate a profile from the reports he was reading. Mulder decided that he could learn to accept Simon beating him out in laying down a solid, scientific foundation for investigation. It would have taxed his powers of restraint and control to the limit if Simon had displayed a hidden talent for profiling from scattered and obscurely related data.

Mulder smiled with guilty relief when Simon began spinning a theory that their perp had either been involved with law enforcement or perhaps taken a few criminal justice courses at the college level. This must be a change for Scully to hear a rational, extremely mundane explanation that forced her to rebut without first having to disabuse her partner of the notion that there was anything paranormal involved. Mulder watched Scully glance over at Simon several times with an expression he could swear was part relieved surprise and part (he hoped) wistful remembrance of his off-the-wall theories.

So far Scully seemed to be keeping her own theories to herself, but Mulder was skilled in observing the minute signs of her thought processes. When he was alive, he was usually too caught up in his own theories, in the excitement that maybe, this time, he would get the proof he needed to show the world he wasn’t a crackpot. He acknowledged, now when it was too late, that too often he ignored the signs, stampeding over Scully’s reasoned arguments when he should have tempered his arguments at the beginning and worked with her to launch his theories off of her rational science. Maybe he would have been able to garner some of that proof he had been pursuing so hotly.

If he started tabulating lost opportunities he would never get anything done, Mulder scolded himself. Somehow he didn’t think that was what Gordon had in mind when he sent him back. Of course, Gordon wasn’t exactly forthcoming about what he was supposed to do. Another lost opportunity, Mulder sighed. Then again, being dead was a shock. Still it wasn’t everyday he encountered an angel, caretaker or whatever Gordon was, who bluntly told him he wasn’t supposed to be dead and calmly informed him that he was going right back as a ghost. Perhaps he could be excused for not pumping Gordon for more details.

As he lay amid the luggage, Mulder began to review the facts he had gleaned from the file reports. There was a pattern to the killings that was making him very uneasy. The little voice that had earned him the nickname of Spooky was whispering to him that the choice of weapons was the key to understanding the murders. Weapons, not chosen to misdirect or conceal, but as essential to the motive behind the murders as the victims themselves.

Preoccupied by reviewing the data and trying to comprehend the pattern his subconscious was detecting, Mulder tuned out the conversation in the front seat, even forgetting for a moment that he was lying in the trunk of the car.

“Scully, I think….” Mulder began as an idea struck him.

Startled by the sound of Mulder’s voice behind her, Scully hit the brakes hard, slamming the car almost on its nose as it swerved onto the median strip and screeched to a stop. Simon grabbed for the handlebar over his door with one hand and tried to hold the files together with the other, with marginal success. Papers spewed out of his lap across the floor of the car, carpeting it in photos, reports and print-outs.

“What the hell?” Simon sputtered as Scully wrestled the car as it bucked to a stop. One look at Scully’s flustered, angry expression and he decided he could wait for an explanation.

Meanwhile, Mulder found himself about twenty feet in front of the car sailing down the road. Absorbed in his mental gymnastics he had forgotten to maintain his solidity and had flown straight through the front seat, past the engine and out into the air in front of the car before he realized what was happening.

“Damn! Well, that answers one burning question – the laws of physics still apply,” he grumbled as he gradually lost momentum and came to a stop. This was not good. He was almost afraid to turn around. The prospect of looking right into a pair of blazing blue eyes was enough to make him shudder. He hadn’t meant to startle Scully; he had simply forgotten he was dead in the excitement of coming up with an idea he wanted to bounce off of her. In a moment of inattention, he had reverted to habit. This ghost business was proving to be a lot harder than he thought.

After checking to make sure he was invisible, he reluctantly turned around. Sure enough Scully was staring straight ahead, hands griping the steering wheel so hard he saw her knuckles whiten. She couldn’t see him and probably still thought he was somewhere in the car behind her, but Mulder could see her mouth working as she chewed back a string of curses aimed, no doubt, at his head. He watched as Simon reached over and carefully touched her arm. Scully jumped a bit as she came down from a combination adrenaline high and fury. She gave him one of her half-smiles and shook her head before mouthing some reassuring platitude as she edged the car back into traffic. Mulder thought he caught the words small animal and once again realized that Scully was covering for him.

As the car passed him, Mulder saw Simon’s expression slowly return to normal even though his breathing appeared to be ragged and shaky. Simon was getting one hell of an introduction. He must also wonder about the sanity of his partner, Mulder thought ruefully. I’m not helping her, he thought as he stood on the side of the road and watched the car disappear into traffic. Letting her drive off without him was painful. He wanted to be the one sitting beside her, pitching outrageous theories like baseballs for her to hit out of the park. Then again, perhaps that particular imagery wasn’t particularly apropos, he corrected himself with a dark, grim smile.

“Simon, I hope you know just how damn lucky you are. I wish I could hate you. I want to hate you, but it wouldn’t do any good. I’m dead and no amount of hate is going to change that or give me another chance to be a better partner.” Mulder wrestled with his anger. There was so much to get used to, so much he missed and desperately wanted back. Jealousy swirled in black eddies amid the growing spiral of electrical energy forming around him. Frightened by the immensity of his own fear and anger, Mulder fled into the ether. There, merely thought floating in a gray, formless cloud, he gathered up the shards of his anger and slowly regained control.

Time had no meaning in the gray place, but Mulder sensed the thread binding him to Scully lengthening. With a single thought he launched himself towards the lodestone of his universe. There was still time to reach her before she left the airport. He let her spirit draw him to her until he saw her standing alone by the waiting room window staring out at the arriving plane. Simon was walking down the concourse towards the coffee bar. Mulder wondered if Scully had sent him off on an errand to give him a chance to announce his presence.

Mulder gave a soft whistle, followed by a feather-touch on the small of her back to let her know he was there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly just for her ears alone. “I forgot.”

Without saying a word, Scully let a sad smile form and gave a slight nod of her head to acknowledge his apology. Her eyes did not give away her inner feelings. Mulder felt a slight chill and suspected that she was waging her own internal war.

“Later,” she breathed, not even loud enough to be called a whisper.

“Later,” he acknowledged as he withdrew. She was asking for space, the least he could do was give it to her. Besides, Simon was on the way back. No need to further convince him that his partner was as spooky as her former partner.

Mulder slipped aboard the plane and managed to find a seat in the rear of the near empty flight. For once he had no trouble stretching out his legs across an entire bank of seats. He left Scully and Simon to themselves in the front of the plane and occupied himself by watching the earth pass by underneath while concentrating enough to stay with the plane. He deliberately refrained from listening in to the conversation between Simon and Scully.

Time to earn his keep and try to reconstruct the idea that surfaced briefly in the car. Scully needed a profiler, not a ghost who couldn’t manage to remember that he was a ghost. With a small sigh of regret for the taste and feel of the sunflower seeds that once helped him to think, Mulder began reviewing the files from memory. If the idea had come to him once, it would come again, he just had to coax it out of hiding.

–X–

Columbus, Ohio

By the time the plane landed in Columbus, Mulder was well on his way to being bored. What ever stunning revelation had struck him in the car had slithered back into hiding. A photographic memory was all well and good, but he needed to review the actual file; to pry out of its reports and photos the secrets they hid. He missed the stimulation of running into the brick wall of Scully’s scientific rationalism. Now that he was ‘out there’ so to speak, the argument had lost some of its flavor. He was beginning to realize what else was out here with him and frankly the possibilities scared the hell out him.

Scully and Simon exited the plane deep in an animated discussion. Squelching a vicious surge of jealousy, Mulder hung back and followed them at a safe distance. Scully’s eyes were flashing blue sparks as she defended a theory or poked holes in some idea Simon was offering – Mulder was too far away to tell. Still, in spite of his simmering jealousy, he smiled to see Scully come alive again, in her element and confidently aware of her skills.

“Simon, there are a dozen better ways to commit an untraceable murder without resorting to using antique weapons. If the perp is a student of criminology as you maintain, he should be well aware of those ways. Why choose weapons that are clumsy at best and difficult to use?”

Scully zeroed in on the weakest point in Simon’s argument with a zest she had not expected to ever feel again. It felt strange to argue about a case without fielding outrageous suggestions involving poltergeists, planetary alignments or aliens. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and felt slightly adrift when it didn’t. She had not realized how much she actually enjoyed arguing science versus Mulder’s paranormal enthusiasms.

Listening to Simon attempt to rationalize the use of antique weapons with only half an ear, Scully tried to sense if Mulder was around. Since that brief exchange in the Dulles airport, she had not felt him near. Apparently he was keeping well away to avoid any future accidents. She appreciated the effort, but rather missed the slight chill in the air that told her he was close by.

Now that her nerves had settled down, she realized how unfair her reaction was. Mulder had repeatedly pointed out that this entire situation was confusing to him – he was here yet he wasn’t. Maybe it would have been a good idea to have taken some time off to simply get used to interacting with Mulder’s ghost.

Scully shuddered at the manifestly unscientific admission that Mulder was a ghost, but if science had taught her one thing above all else, when the evidence points to a theory despite all prior scientific laws to the contrary, then that theory is likely valid. She had seen Mulder die, read the autopsy reports and watched as his coffin was lowered into the ground. The evidence of his death was incontrovertible. So far so good. Unfortunately, Mulder was a living, well rather existing, contradiction of established law.

“Scully?” Simon probed his partner’s inattention cautiously.

Scully came back to the present with a start. Later, she reprimanded herself. Time enough to debate the scientific basis for Mulder’s existence when she was alone.

“Sorry, Simon. Just thinking,” she tried to assure her new partner without telling him that she was trying to reconcile the continued presence of her deceased partner with her science.

“Well, I was just about to point out that we seem to have company, but he’s already here,” Simon whispered hurriedly as he stepped slightly in front of her to confront the man who was blocking their way, giving her time to collect her thoughts.

“Agents Scully and Ambercrombie, I presume,” the man said in a cold tone that held a tinge of distaste. He was a beefy man with a thick thatch of grizzled hair glistening with the mousse that shaped it into a bouffant wave that almost, but not quite, covered the emerging bald spot on the back of his head.

Simon nodded curtly, his hackles rising as he realized that the courtesy of a simple handshake had not been offered.

“And you would be….?” Scully replied in a tone cold enough to freeze hell, but overtly very polite.

“I am deputy director Dickerson, agent in charge of the Columbus office. I don’t know what Talbert thinks he’s getting in you two, but the sooner both of you just tell him his blasted oracle Spooky is dead, the sooner my people can start dealing with this case. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Scully absently noted that Simon’s nostrils were flaring like a bull’s and his left hand was clenching in a most unprofessional way. She felt her own temper rise with a flush of heat that no doubt was tingeing her cheeks red. Then, knowing exactly the effect it would cause, she relaxed and gave Dickerson a cold smile.

“Absolutely. No doubt Assistant Director Skinner just overlooked consulting you about our assignment. But, since we’re already here, I think we’ll just drive down to Viderson’s Gorge and take a look at this case,” Scully said in a pleasant voice that dripped with professionalism.

Dickerson was turning a very unpleasant shade of mauve by the time Mulder edged close enough to hear what was going on. Hearing that particular tone in Scully’s voice sent chills down his spine and a sly smile to his lips. He never liked Dickerson. As he listened to Scully dissect Dickerson’s ego, he entertained a number of diverting ways to make Dickerson’s life miserable.

Staying far enough away from her to keep Simon from detecting his presence Mulder gave a soft reassuring whistle. The sudden light in Scully’s eyes warmed his soul. She had missed him. No matter how angry she might be at his failings, that single fact gave him hope that somehow they could reconstruct their partnership.

“Don’t let the fact that Agent Mulder bought himself some high-level protection persuade you that you have the same protection, Agent Scully,” Dickerson snapped as he abruptly turned on his heel and stomped away.

“This the usual sort of reception you and Agent Mulder received, Scully?” Simon asked curiously. He was rather proud that he had hung onto his temper. The entire time Dickerson had been talking, Simon kept visualizing the effect of his fist on the man’s noble Roman nose.

“Not usually so up-front, but the attitude is not unusual,” Scully replied with a tight smile.

“You mean to tell me that the X-Files are not my ticket to the top of the ladder?” Simon asked with a mocking smile.

Scully shook her head and tried to loosen up her smile in appreciation for Simon’s effort to lighten the mood. In a voice almost too soft for Simon to hear she whispered, “But they can be more rewarding than your wildest dreams.”

Scully did smile now, letting the memory of her journey into Mulder’s world of shadows and monsters flow up out of the tightly sealed room in her mind where she kept all her most precious memories. The X-Files had brought her headaches, loss and more enemies than she could keep track of, but they had also brought her challenges beyond her wildest dreams and, most of all, they had given her Mulder, who was perhaps the biggest headache of them all, but also the most treasured.

Simon held his silence, sensing that Scully would not have heard any answer he gave. If she was letting herself remember, perhaps she was beginning to heal. He was no psychologist, but he was intimate with the stages of grief. Scully was too strong and too intelligent to dwell in the past, but the past had to be accepted before the future was possible. Another one of his grandmother’s favorite lectures, Simon reflected with pensive humor.

And how, Granma, do I reconcile my past into a hope for the future? What price does a man’s life bring these days?, he whispered to himself.

“Excuse me!” a loud irritated voice boomed out from behind them.

Simon started guiltily as he realized they were standing stock still in the middle of the concourse. He nodded at the fuming businessman and stepped aside to allow him and his baggage cart to pass. Scully also shook off her introspective mood with more than a little irritation at her lapse of control.

“Come on, Simon. Let’s get our bags and the car. We have about a two-hour drive to Viderson’s Gorge,” Scully said crisply as she took off down the concourse.

Simon did a half skip to catch up to her and started to open his mouth to volunteer to drive when Scully continued matter-of-factly.

“I’ll drive. You keep studying the files. The answer is in there, somewhere. We just have to find it.”

With a resigned sigh for his slightly queasy stomach, Simon nodded agreement and popped another Dramamine chiclets into his mouth. It was going to be a long partnership if she never let him drive. He made a mental note to discuss this with her when they had gotten a bit more used to each other.

Mulder gave them a good head-start before drifting after them. Dickerson was proving to be more of an asshole than he had remembered. Power was not improving the man’s already extreme sense of self-worth. So far, it appeared that Dickerson was willing to give Scully a chance to fall on her face. Mulder estimated that Dickerson’s patience would probably last two maybe three days before he would start trying to horn his way into the investigation. It must be driving him wild trying to figure out why Chief Talbert wanted Spooky Mulder on the case over any of his well-trained agents.

Mulder grinned wickedly. He could just imagine how wild it would make Dickerson to know that Spooky Mulder was on the case. Dickerson was going to find himself writing some rather ‘spooky’ reports if he tried barging in on Scully’s investigation, Mulder vowed. What Scully didn’t know about, she couldn’t call him on. As he recalled, he promised to be honest, he didn’t promise to volunteer truths not asked for. Scully deserved a chance to shine on her own considerable merits. If he had to run interference he couldn’t imagine a more deserving person than Dickerson to interfere with.

–X–

On the Road to Viderson’s Gorge

Perched in the back seat of the rented Saturn sedan, Mulder was concentrating on remaining cohesive enough to stay in the car while trying to see if he could control the cold aura that betrayed his presence. At the cost of driving Simon nearly nuts trying to adjust the air conditioner, several resigned looks directed into the rearview mirror from Scully, and at least two times when he floated free of the car, Mulder thought he was finally getting the hang of the problem. The less cohesive he was, the less influence he had on the surrounding air. It was a delicate balance to maintain and required extreme concentration, but he was willing to exert the concentration required if it meant he could sit inside the car like a normal living person instead of curled up in the trunk like an extra piece of luggage. Now he could eavesdrop in comfort.

Keeping a wary eye on the backseat, hoping whatever Mulder was up to did not involve a sudden appearance, Scully tried to distract Simon from his incessant fiddling with the air control buttons. Simon seemed restless, almost fidgety, rifling through the files, seemingly unable to concentrate for more than a minute or two on any one folder. At first she had put his unease down to Mulder’s rather erratic antics in the back seat, but she hadn’t felt a single blast of cold air for the last thirty minutes and Simon was still unable to remain still.

“Still holding to your belief our perp is an amateur cop?” she asked pleasantly.

“Not sure what I believe anymore,” Simon sighed. He fought another battle with his queasy stomach as Scully took a curve a good ten miles over the recommended speed. The Saturn held the road perfectly, but Simon felt the meager contents of his stomach careen sloppily from side to side until they hit the straight-away again. Unfortunately, another curve greeted them almost immediately and Simon felt his outraged stomach begin to make a serious protest. He couldn’t even read to take his mind off his queasy stomach since reading only intensified the problem so he was reduced to watching the scenery. At least the blasted air conditioner had finally settled down to a steady stream of cool air instead of the periodic eruptions of cold air that had cursed the first hour of their trip.

“Simon, are you alright?” Scully asked as she noted the slight greenish tinge to Simon’s normal lightly tanned complexion. As she recalled, Simon had turned down the airline’s lunch offering, though she gave it no thought at the time since she also decided that a cardboard ham and cheese sandwich still cold in the middle from the freezer didn’t appeal to her.

“I’m fine, Scully,” Simon managed to reply in a more-or-less convincing tone.

Scully raised one eyebrow and started to politely tell her new partner to stow the crap when she heard a muffled laugh from the back seat. A quick glance, first at Simon who remained oblivious to the sound and then in the rearview mirror, showed a comfortably vacant backseat so at least Mulder was keeping himself safely invisible, if not completely silent.

“Touche , Scully,” Mulder chuckled, “I think you have met your match in the ‘I’m fine’ department.”

Poised on the brink of a retort followed by a quelling glare, Scully suddenly saw the humor in the situation and gave a soft chuckle. As the new agent on the block four years ago, she would rather have died than confess to not feeling up to tackling her weight in grizzlies. Of course she wasn’t counting on strange marks appearing on her back, but that momentary break in her stoic demeanor had meant all the difference in her partnership. Somehow, hopefully without running into evidence of purported alien abductions, she had to convince Simon that he could trust her.

It occurred to her that perhaps she could learn something about trust and exposing her occasional lapses in good health in the process. Guess I always felt I had something to prove to you, Mulder, she thought sadly. You always expected me to keep up with you and never gave a thought to the chauvinistic idea that a woman couldn’t keep up with a man. You were … are the most unchauvenistic man I ever met and I guess I just didn’t want to risk introducing you to the idea that I might need some slack once in awhile.

“Really, Scully, I’ll be alright. I … I just … I’m fine,” Simon finished lamely. Good job, Simon, he thought, convince your partner that you’re a basket case on road trips. I’m just amazed Ansler’s story of having to stop the car every ten minutes coming down off the Skyline Drive never reached the basement. It was on his top ten stories of ‘Why I Hate Rookies’ hit parade for nearly a month. Naturally he never thought to mention that he was taking that damn twisting road at a godawful forty-five miles-per-hour when every damn speed sign clearly said twenty-five miles-per-hour max.

Just remembering that road and his losing battle with motion-sickness gave his stomach that extra bit of incentive to rebel in force. Willpower battled nausea as Simon fought to curb his urge to yell for Scully to stop the car.

In the back seat Mulder sensed an abrupt change in, for lack of a better word, the aura surrounding Simon. He was no expert, but the rather sickly green tinge to the halo of faint electrical energy outlining Simon’s body was not a good sign.

“Uh, Scully? I think you better stop the car … now,” Mulder said with rising anxiety. His sensitive hearing was picking up the first faint sounds of a stomach determined to purge itself. “Now,” he almost shouted as he leaned forward making a deliberate effort to throw the chill of his presence against Simon hoping to distract him.

Reacting automatically to the note of urgency in Mulder’s voice, Scully smoothly pulled the car over to the side of the road and came to a rolling stop. Almost before the car had come to a complete stop, Simon was leaning out the door taking in great shuddering gulps of air. Doctor-mode kicking in, Scully leaned across the seat to support Simon as he regained control of his now motionless insides.

“Shit,” Mulder muttered in relief. Poor Simon. Not a hell of a way to impress a new partner. Despite his uncertainty about Simon and his motives, Mulder couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man. He remembered Scully’s defiant ‘I’m fine’ responses throughout their partnership every time he allowed himself to openly express his concern. Simon was shaping up to be as stubborn as Scully. Should be an interesting experience for Scully, he thought as he watched Simon win the battle with his stomach. I knew better than to tell her I was ‘fine’ since I was usually stretched out in a hospital bed when she got around to asking the question.

“Simon?”

“I’m fine,” Simon responded feeling highly embarrassed. This was not how it was supposed to happen. He shoved himself out of the car and began slowly walking around, taking care to breathe evenly and deeply without hyper-ventilating. Fainting would be the last straw, he grumbled to himself.

Scully sighed in mild exasperation for male pride and just a little for heaven’s tendency to indulge in payback. If she read the signs right, her new partner had a fairly strong case of motion sickness. That was probably non-prescription Dramamine gum he had been chewing all day. She would have to see about getting him a stronger dose for road trips involving country roads.

“Thanks, Mulder,” she whispered. A cool brush of fingers along her cheek told her he was near.

“No problem. Simon will work out. I should have guessed he had a problem. He didn’t strike me as the gum-chewing type. You can live with motion sickness, Scully. It just helps to drive.”

A sudden thought struck Scully and she twisted slightly in the seat to stare into the back seat. As expected she didn’t see anything, with Simon pacing around outside the car, Mulder would have been a fool to coalesce even to a hazy shadow.

“You? That’s why you never let me drive?”

Scully felt the fingers stop for a moment and then felt a light tap against her forehead.

“Got it in one, partner. And I bet you thought I was just being selfish all those years?” Mulder chuckled as a verbal expression of his grin. “You aren’t the only one with a stiff-assed pride, Scully. I had enough trouble with the nickname Spooky. I wasn’t about to try for Pukey or whatever else the guys in VC might come up with.”

“How did you get away with it when you were in ISU?” Scully asked curiously.

“You’ve seen me profile, Scully. I could have stripped down and danced naked on Patterson’s desk and the VC boys would simply have chalked up another aberration to Spooky’s golden profiling skills.”

“You bastard. You let me think that you were a selfish SOB just so you could protect your manly pride?” Scully wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or burst out laughing.

“Yeah, well, do the words ‘I’m fine’ ring a bell,” Mulder retorted, smiling through the words. His fingers rested against Scully’s face drawing warmth from her spirit.

“Mulder … ” she started when she caught sight of Simon trudging forlornly to the car. He resembled a dejected puppy – a very large and potentially ferocious puppy, but still a puppy.

She felt Mulder’s hand withdraw and raised a hand to the spot where his fingers had rested to hold the cold of his touch on her face for a moment more.

“Simon, why don’t you drive the rest of the way. It will give me a chance to study the autopsy reports again.” Scully got out of the car and moved around to the passenger side.

Simon looked doubtful for a moment then gave her a long intense stare as if searching for any glimmer of pity. Finding nothing except Scully’s calm expression, he shrugged his shoulders and slipped into the driver’s seat, nearly breaking both legs against the steering wheel before he got the seat moved back. Mulder hastily slid over behind Scully before his legs shot through Simon’s body as the seat hurtled backwards.

As Simon started the car, he shot a surreptitious look of gratitude at Scully who was sorting through the reports with obvious preoccupation. Feeling much better behind the wheel, Simon faced the prospect of another hour on a scenic country road with something akin to enthusiasm.

Careful to remain focused on the reports to give Simon a chance to retrieve his battered pride, Scully felt a passing brush of Mulder’s hand on her shoulder. “Well done, partner.” Mulder whispered from behind her. Smiling to herself, Scully plunged into autopsy reports and only mildly regretted handing over the wheel. It should be Mulder at the wheel, but somehow, here in her usual spot, she felt at home, even a bit at peace with what she had lost.

–X–

Viderson’s Gorge, Ohio

Twilight was full upon them by the time they reached the outskirts of Viderson’s Gorge. Scattered farms abruptly gave way to weathered clapboard houses lining the main street. Antique rusted farm implements dotted the lawns serving as silent advertisements for such establishments as “Treasure Trove Antiques” or “Grandma’s Attic”.

“I wish my Granma had stuff like that stored in her attic,” Simon commented with a rueful grin.

“What no Chippendale furniture?” Scully retorted. Her eyes ached from trying to make sense of the crime reports. Two men were dead, by obvious means, yet there seemed to be no motive and worst of all, no pattern to the deaths. She had this looming sense of dread that Mulder’s particular talents were going to be very necessary and very difficult to explain when presented in her report.

“How about forty years of the Grainville Howler stacked haphazardly in piles along with forty years of recipe clippings from every newspaper and magazine published within two hundred miles of her home?” Simon replied with a huge sigh. It had taken him a week to clear out the accumulated papers. He counted it as a minor miracle that the entire mess hadn’t spontaneously combusted years ago.

“Bit of a pack-rat?” Scully asked curiously. She knew she was trying to avoid thinking any more about the case until she had more to work with. So far she had too few clues to form any theory. Usually with Mulder it was a case of too many clues to shift through to find the ones that really counted.

“It’s a family curse. I am absolutely convinced that as soon as I throw a piece of paper away, I will discover that it is essential to whatever it is I’m working on at the moment. My mother has fifty years of National Geographics neatly stacked in her attic. It’s a wonder the ceiling hasn’t caved in.”

Scully chuckled and busied herself putting all the files back in the right folders. Her back was beginning to warm up again after feeling Mulder leaning over the car seat reading over her shoulder for the past hour. She was going to have to remember to start bringing a sweater along on these rides. Still, it kept Mulder occupied and his occasional whispered comment sorted out some of her thoughts about the case. Even Mulder wasn’t coming up with any snap solutions, but he seemed to be burrowing after an elusive idea.

The main center of town looked like any other normal mid-western town, full of feed and seed shops, a hardware store, two auto repair shops, a couple of restaurants and a brick courthouse surrounded on both sides by modern-looking two-story offices clearly marked as police and city hall offices. Large oak trees shaded the park in front of the courthouse. A low brick building under construction opposite the courthouse bore the sign – The New Home of Viderson’s Gorge Public Library. A bank building occupied the third side of the square around the park. Further down the street from the square, a couple of church steeples peeped over the tree-line.

Simon pulled the car into a parking spot in front of the police station. He got out, stretching the kinks out of his back, and studied the area. Everything looked normal. There was no sign that the recent murders had alarmed or frightened the community.

His eyes drifted over to the spot in front of the Widow’s Tea Room where Samuel Culver had been killed. There was plenty of light, unless one of the street-lights was out. Someone had to have seen something.

Mulder gave Scully a long head start before exiting the car. He was torn between wanting to check out the murder sites and beating them to the police station to check out this mysterious Anson Talbert who claimed to know him. Paranoia won and Mulder drifted past Simon and Scully in a close approximation of a dead run for him.

The police station was quiet. Mulder counted seven cubicles arranged around the room, their walls low enough that a standing man could see over them, but high enough to give each occupant a semblance of privacy. A high counter closed off the room from the front. A young serious-looking man was diligently typing something into a very up-to-date computer. Beyond the open office area, Mulder saw two heavy-paneled doors. One had a sliding bolt and two locks. Just on a guess, Mulder decided that probably led to the local jail. The other door had a small name plate affixed to it that read simply, Chief of Police.

“OK, Mister Chief of Police Anson Talbert, let’s see who you are,” Mulder muttered as he headed to and through the door. As he passed into the office, he heard the front door open and Scully’s voice announcing their arrival.

Chief Talbert’s office was a surprise. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases lined the walls. A large oak desk sat in front of a large bay window, a tall man sat at an auxiliary desk scanning files on a computer, muttering to himself. There was something familiar about the man that Mulder just could not place. A knock on the door caused the man to look up. Mulder grinned as he finally realized who Anson Talbert was.

“Yes?”

“FBI, here to see you, sir,” a young voice answered as the door opened. Mulder felt Scully approach and moved quickly over to one side.

Chief Talbert rose and walked around his desk to greet his visitors. He looked older than Mulder remembered him, but then he supposed he would have looked just as much older to Talbert; college was a long time ago in a land far away.

“Good afternoon, Agents Scully and Ambercrombie. Thank you for coming so quickly.” Talbert’s kept his heavy baritone muted but it still sang in an orator’s pitch.

“Chief Talbert?” Scully began. This was not who she was expecting. Talbert couldn’t be much older than Mulder. He had a broad open face with muddy blue eyes and a lean limber look of a runner.

“You’ve got him,” Talbert acknowledged with a smile as he shook Scully’s hand, then Simon’s in a firm welcoming grip. Formalities over, he gestured them to a pair of comfortable chairs and took his place in the third chair on this side of his desk.

Mulder noted the gesture. Apparently Talbert retained his cavalier attitude towards formality. Mulder could sense Talbert exerting his particular talent for setting people at ease. Simon was visibly relaxing and even Scully seemed to be allowing her cool professional demeanor to ease off a bit.

“Before we get started, I would like to extend my condolences, Agent Scully on the death of your partner. Fox Mulder was a close friend when I needed one the most. This is the kind of case I think where I think his special talents would have saved us time and possibly more lives,” Talbert said then stopped and shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t quite mean that to sound as if I doubt your abilities, Agent Scully. It’s just that I don’t think we’re dealing with a normal case of murder here.”

“I understand, Chief Talbert. I worked with him for four years. No offense taken. He is sorely missed,” Scully replied trying to tread carefully between truth and half-truths, aware that Mulder was in the room somewhere eavesdropping.

“Well, then now that I’ve stopped putting my foot into my mouth, what do you need from me?” Talbert smiled and Scully felt an answering smile rise up. Something about Talbert’s smile was infectious. Scully tried to feel uneasy about the relaxed camaraderie Talbert was infusing between the three of them.

“It’s OK, Scully. Tonto here has a natural tendency to charm anything that walks, crawls or flies. He’s harmless, well, mostly harmless,” Mulder assured her with a laughing lilt to his voice.

“Tonto?” Scully queried. She realized that she must have spoken aloud. Chief Talbert had paused and was looking at her while Simon was glancing around the room with a decidedly puzzled expression on his face. This was not good. She either had to tell Mulder not to speak to her at all when other people were present or she was going to have to learn to think on two levels at once.

“I see Mulder mentioned me,” Talbert said with a rueful grin.

Scully nodded with what she hoped was a knowing expression. Not for the first time, she wished ghosts were telepathic. Rapidly putting two and two together, Scully guessed that Chief Talbert and Mulder had been friends, probably a very long time ago if the acquaintance had totally slipped Mulder’s mind.

“I had hoped to surprise him,” Talbert admitted as he stared up at a group portrait hanging on his wall. He fell silent as his expression grew distant. Scully suspected he was lost in memories of a time and a Mulder she could only guess at; a time before her partner had become consumed by his quest. What would that Mulder have been like? She suspected she had caught a glimpse of him during the ballgame, just before he died – laughing for the sake of laughing, reveling in the competition, confident in his skills. The silence drew her in and held her in the grip of memory.

Mulder felt the emotional charge in the room suffocating him. Too much grief, building up with nowhere to go. He felt like a fly trapped in congealing amber. Talbert was leaking emotional pain, part grief, a very large part anger at the unknown killer stalking his people, but most of all a sense of loss.

“OK, Scully. It’s getting rather deep in here.” Damn it, he had forgotten Talbert’s little habit of infecting everyone around him when he forgot to shield himself. Mulder winced at the New Age crappy vocabulary, but he never really came up with a better way to describe how Talbert could shunt off his emotions, much less how he could affect everyone around him when he forgot to close them off.

Mulder went over to Scully, careful to avoid coming too close to Talbert. Kneeling beside her, he took her hand and deliberately let her have the full force of his cold touch. Scully shuddered spasmodically. Mulder felt the thick gooey atmosphere of the room shatter as Talbert jerked back to himself and regained control. Mulder almost felt the click as Talbert slammed the gate on his emotions.

“Sorry, Scully. You’re here to solve two murders, not to hold a wake for me. Catch the killer and, if Talbert is the same man I remember, you’ll get a chance to throw a real old-fashioned wake with all the trimmings.”

Still, shivering, Scully managed a discrete nod. She looked up to see Simon giving the room a careful scan. It was becoming rather obvious that Simon could somehow sense Mulder’s presence without knowing what it was he was sensing. This could be a problem, but not one she wanted to deal with right now. Mulder was right. They had two dead men and a killer on the loose with every expectation that he or she would kill again.

“Agents Scully, Ambercrombie, my apologies. Fox Mulder was a very good friend, but he would be the first to remind me that we have a killer on our hands,” Talbert apologized.

“Do you have any leads not contained in the reports? Any ideas, even hunches as to the reason behind the killings?” Simon asked, hoping to relieve some of the uncomfortable silence.

“Motives aplenty for each man alone, but none that I can see that link them. Tom Jackson could be a hard man when he put his mind to it. Didn’t take well to opposition and he usually had a fair amount of it. He liked to think of himself as a visionary. He had a sharp tongue and the wits to flay a man alive with it should he put his mind to it. He had plenty of enemies, but not one of them likely to take up a sword and cleave him in half.” Talbert looked exasperated, as if he had gone over and over the list of enemies and the method of death until there was nothing but an endless circle without beginning or end.

“How about Culver?” Scully asked. “He was shot, apparently with a musket. That doesn’t take a great deal of strength.”

“Have you ever tried firing an old musket, Agent Scully. It can kick harder than a jackhammer and is about as accurate as a drunk on a straight line. The killer had to know how to load the musket, somehow manage to conceal it until the last moment and then, on a crowded street, fire, tear a great blooming hole in Toby’s chest from a distance of more than ten feet, and then disappear all in the space of two minutes.”

“Why ten feet?” Simon asked. He almost heard Scully smile beside him and sighed. “Sorry, of course, no powder burns on the clothing.”

“What’s worse, no powder burns or flash-marks anywhere.” Talbert actually smiled at the way Scully’s eyebrows shot up. He noticed that it took Simon a moment or two, but he wasn’t far behind her in understanding the significance. Mulder must have been very proud of his partner. She caught on faster than his entire force.

“Muskets throw out a lot of powder. There should have been powder residue at the place where he stood. I had my men go over the entire block foot by foot and there simply was no powder residue anywhere to be found.” Talbert surged up out of the chair and walked over to his desk. Simon watched the muscles tighten in his neck and wondered if the man was about to break something.

“Damn it, I have two impossible murders committed with two antique impossible-to-trace weapons and a god-awful feeling that the killer isn’t done yet. I need your help Agent Scully, Agent Ambercrombie. I needed Mulder’s ability to look inside the killer’s mind and tell me how to catch the bastard before he kills again.” Talbert said in a voice straining with anger and weariness as he stared out the window at the early evening shadows creeping over the park.

“Tonto, I’m here. I wish I could let you know that, but it’s too dangerous, for you, for Scully. Of all people, I think you would understand. Scully’s good. On hard evidence, better than I ever was. We’ll catch your killer. One way or the other, I promise,” Mulder vowed as he forced himself not to reach out to comfort his friend. This time he made sure Scully could not hear him. His words fell into the silent chasm between the living and the dead.

“Well, I don’t have Agent Mulder’s insights, but I did a lot of crime scene investigations when I was in the Violent Crimes division. I can go over the crime scenes again. Maybe fresh eyes … ” Simon hesitated, not wanting to imply he thought Talbert’s men weren’t competent.

“I’d appreciate that, Agent Ambercrombie. My men are good, but we’re more used to dealing with the occasional burglary, domestic violence, even drug traffic, but there hasn’t been a murder in this town for nearly twenty years.”

Talbert turned and noticed Simon’s hesitant expression.

“Agents, don’t hesitate to suggest any course of action. I wouldn’t have called you in unless I was willing to take any and all suggestions. Mulder wasn’t exactly known for coming up with normal solutions to cases. So you can guess how far out into left field I’m willing to go,” Talbert assured them with a smile.

“Fine then. I assume that the body of Thomas Jackson has already been released for burial?” Scully asked.

“In fact, no. The widow is not at all happy with me, but the local judge sees the wisdom in keeping all of the evidence available for the experts, that’s you two by the way. Both Jackson and Culver are occupying space in the freezer in the funeral home. They await your convenience.”

Scully looked surprised and gave Talbert an approving nod of her head. She decided she could get to like this man. With a slight sigh she got up, prepared to head over to the funeral home and plunge into autopsies.

“Agents, it is almost supper time. You have both had a long day. Jackson and Culver aren’t going anywhere. Get some supper, I’d recommend Sally’s Kitchen if you want plain well-cooked food. If you fancy something a bit more elaborate, and expensive, the Grist Mill Tavern has the best ribs and steaks in the entire county. Katie Millins has set aside two rooms for you. She runs our bed and breakfast inn. It’s clean and a hell of a lot closer than the nearest motel which is in Sanderson, about forty miles away. She’s expecting you.”

The thought of a decent meal followed by a chance to talk with Mulder alone was an overwhelming temptation. Simon had perked up when food was mentioned and she remembered that he probably had not eaten since breakfast. Duty warred with a simple desire to eat, rest and get a fresh start in the morning.

“Go ahead, Scully. Have a leisurely dinner and then relax. I’ll scout around and see if I can pick up anything. Just call me when you’re ready, I’ll come tuck you in,” Mulder added mischievously. Scully maintained her poise, but Mulder caught an answering glint of amusement in her eyes. She was getting better at this, he thought with pride.

“As much as I would like to,” Scully nearly chuckled when Simon’s expression turned forlorn, “get started on the autopsies, I think getting a good night’s rest might be best. Simon?”

Simon almost sighed with relief as he hastily nodded. His stomach had begun reminding him that breakfast had been a very, very long time ago. He was also tired. He had been too keyed up last night to sleep more than an hour or two. Now he wanted nothing more than to eat something and collapse into bed. Right now he doubted if he could make sense of a Nancy Drew mystery, much less a real life crime scene.

“Good. Sally’s OK?”

Both agents nodded. Scully was too tired to appreciate expensive food. As long as it was fresh and didn’t fight back, she was ready to eat anything.

“I’ll phone over to Sally and let her know you’re on your way. I’ll also stop by on my rounds and tell Katie you’ll be showing up after dinner.” Talbert escorted them to the door.

“Agents, thank you for coming. Tomorrow morning I’ll introduce you to my deputies. Anything you need, just ask.”

He watched as the two FBI agents walked out of the office. They were his best hope. It was too soon to trust them entirely, but if Agent Scully had worked with Mulder for four years, then surely she was prepared for extreme possibilities. The other agent was an unknown.

“Mulder, you just had to get yourself killed just when I needed you. You realize of course you still owe me for diverting the warden.” Talbert returned to his office, immersed in pleasant memories of a midnight race across the college commons with the warden and his deputies in hot pursuit of a pair of young rascals.

“I haven’t forgotten. You might just be surprised, Tonto. If you’re real good, I might just forget about that deck of marked cards you used on more than one occasion to milk me out of my quarterly allowance,” Mulder muttered with a sly smile as he drifted out in Scully’s wake. Who would have thought that Tonto would turn up on a small town in Ohio as chief of police – master criminal maybe – policeman — not in his wildest imagination.

–X–

With scarcely a twinge, Mulder watched Scully drive off with Simon to a well-earned dinner. He was getting better at letting her out of his sight. There was still a hollow ache approximately where his heart used to be every time they were apart, but he was beginning to get used to it. He had to get used to it if Scully was going to have any sort of life of her own.

Taking a firm grip on his resolve to give Scully breathing room, Mulder allowed his awareness of her to narrow down to a silken thread that stretched out across the distance between them. He would be able to find her again when she called. Until then, he needed to start earning his keep.

The town square was beginning to fill with people closing up their shops and businesses and preparing to go home. He wandered over to the bookstore that had been Toby Culvert’s place of business. The Small Bytes Cafe next door was about half-full of people, much as it had been the night of Culver’s murder. The cafe was small, four tables and a long counter crammed in a narrow room. On the other side of the cafe an office supply store was in the process of expanding into the last space at the end of the short block. Three businesses close together, a square full of people, yet no one saw Culver’s killer approach with a musket, fire and leave.

“I’ve heard of see no evil, hear no evil, but this is ridiculous,” Mulder groused.

The spot where Culver’s body was found glowed with a dark, oily sheen to his hypersensitive sight. Violent death left its indelible mark upon the scene even though Mulder was certain the bloodstains had been scoured off the sidewalk. Walking carefully around the spot, Mulder tried to visualize the crime scene as described in the reports. Culver had just closed his store and apparently was starting his evening walk across the square towards his home about five blocks away.

Mulder stood in silent contemplation as twilight closed in on the square. Street lamps lit up the corners of the square, but left the park in shadow. The sidewalks were illuminated by the lights from the cafe and a few businesses still open after dark, but the lighting was dim. It was possible that a killer could approach Culver from the darker shadows of the park, but the blast from the musket should have rattled the windows behind Culver.

Mulder paced distances and tried to piece together the crime, but nothing fit. No one heard anything or saw the muzzle flash from a musket. Culver was murdered within a few feet of a dozen people and no one even noticed until someone stumbled over his body in the street. Mulder understood the stubborn refusal of witness to get involved, but this was a small town with the inherent nosiness of small towns.

Spying an unoccupied bench on the edge of the park, he drifted over and sat down to watch the flow of people in the square, to get some idea of how many people might have been potential witnesses, but were not. As he sat idly observing the mixture of people out for an early evening stroll and leisurely shoppers, Mulder allowed himself to relax. It was at moments like this, in the darkling hour between day and night, that he could imagine himself still alive with endless possibilities stretching out before him. In short, he could dream of a future.

At one time those dreams had included a family, children, the whole ‘settling down’ bit. On rare occasions, he had allowed himself to ponder the confused mix of emotions he felt for his partner. His death had effectively ended those dreams, but not the emotions which spawned them. If Gordon had not assured him otherwise, Mulder might have concluded that his current existence was his corner of purgatory – an eternity of coping with the unresolved and now unresolvable issues of his heart.

As he sat there in the deepening shadows, Mulder pondered again what he was supposed to accomplish as a ghost. Gordon had been blunt – he was to remain on earth as a ghost until something he was supposed to have achieved was completed. It was entirely possible that his mission was simply to see that the conspiracy which had haunted his life, their lives, was neutralized. A logical enough mission, yet Mulder couldn’t help but hope that perhaps his duty lay closer to his heart – to see Scully safe and happy.

As much as he longed to insure Scully’s future, Mulder felt a gnawing horror at the prospect of completing his mission and dissolving into the afterlife. As painful as his situation was, he shuddered to contemplate leaving her. His heaven was here, at her side. He had no need of harps or angels or pearly gates. How could he rest separated from her? He recalled reading once, that hell was nothing more than an unfathomable separation from God. Well, he wasn’t sure about God, even now, but hell for him would be existing apart from Scully.

It was ironic in a way. His reward for completing his life’s task was to willingly walk into hell. Still, if he had been willing, when alive, to die to protect her, surely he could do no less than embrace the torture of separation in order to ensure her future happiness. Mulder felt the build-up of static electricity around him and hastily shut off his errant thoughts.

The last thing he needed to do was set off a miniature electrical storm right in the center of town. Wouldn’t Tonto love that little display of spirit manifestation? he thought with a resigned smile.

“Wonder if Scully could use a full-time guardian spirit? If you’re listening, Gordon, I’d be willing to stick around and do the job,” Mulder whispered his prayer to the evening breeze and tried to believe in a God who wouldn’t tear his soul apart for the sake of granting him eternal peace.

Fearful of wandering too far down that path, Mulder resolutely turned his attention back to the case. As far as he could tell from this very unscientific sampling, the killer took aim in plain view of over a dozen people and successfully carried out his murder with no one being the wiser.

It was almost as if the murderer didn’t exist. Mulder smiled at that thought. Ghosts didn’t need to lug around ancient muskets or wave cutlasses at people. He was learning there were ways his type could kill that left no trace. “OK, scratch an irritated ghost as the main suspect,” Mulder commented to a passing cat. The cat hissed and spat at him. Mulder retreated into the gray limbo world before the damn cat called in reinforcements. For some reason cats just didn’t take boo for an answer. Dogs wisely retreated and howled their protest at his unnatural presence, but cats seemed to feel a more direct protest was called for.

The thread binding him to Scully began to hum calling him to her. Responding instantly to her summons, Mulder followed the thread to the place where she waited for him. The closer he got, the warmer the connection until he felt as if he were surfing on top of a tidal wave of molten fire. The heat of her life called him to her.

When he arrived, Scully was standing by a window staring at the darkness beyond the dim lamp in the yard. A thick band of woods lay like a barrier between the lights of the town and the faint light from a farmhouse. Her expression was relaxed, even a bit pensive as she held the thick curtains aside with one hand, the other hand resting against the window frame. Mulder wondered what she was thinking about; if they were pleasant thoughts and if he was part of them. Most of the weariness she had carried around her like a cloak all day was gone. The result of a nice relaxing dinner with no untimely interruptions by yours truly, he thought with a peculiar half-pleased, half-sad resignation.

Scully stood quietly by the window staring out at the darkness. She had changed into comfortable jeans and extra-large sized T-shirt. Clinging to invisibility, Mulder hovered in the room behind her, silently watching her. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times in his lifetime he had been granted the simple pleasure of watching his partner unobserved. Death brought him endless opportunities for observing her unguarded moments, but it was the memory of watching her when he was alive that he treasured most. Each moment was a precious memory that recalled the pleasant sensation of being alive as well as a bitter reminder of the possibilities he had squandered. He willingly embraced the pain as price for the pleasure.

Scully stirred and glanced back into the room, cocking her head slightly to one side as she looked around expectantly for him. Recalling with a guilty start that she had summoned him to talk, not indulge in silent observation, Mulder thrust his memories back into the locked chambers of his mind and gave a soft whistle in the odd minor key that he used to announce his presence. He smiled as a look of relief and anticipation lit up Scully’s eyes. Slowly, to avoid startling her, Mulder materialized beside the ancient wing chair in the corner of the room.

“There you are. I wondered if you had gotten lost,” Scully teased. Mulder never liked admitting he had a cavalier attitude towards maps and directions that took them in strange detours.

“Nope, just took the ‘scenic route’,” Mulder said seriously. Then he grinned, “This town isn’t big enough to get lost in.”

Mulder gestured Scully over to the chair and he walked over to the large four-poster bed and carefully sat down, after making sure he was solid enough to stay on top of the bed. It was getting easier to maintain the right amount of cohesiveness without giving the matter his full attention.

“You’re looking better. Nice dinner?” Mulder asked solicitously.

“Better than I expected. The place looked like one of your favorite hole-in-the-wall diners, but they have a baked chicken recipe that I would kill for. This town is turning out to be quite a surprise, in more ways than one.” Scully hesitated for a moment, gave Mulder an odd, apprehensive glance, then stretched out her feet on a padded footstool and settled back into the chair.

Despite the gesture of relaxation, Mulder sensed that the serious part of the evening’s conversation was about to begin. He pulled his legs up under him and settled back onto the bed. One minor advantage to being dead – his knees didn’t complain about the odd positions he assumed.

“OK, Mulder. We have established that I’m well fed and relaxed. Simon is across the hall in his room. I think it’s time we talked,” Scully said with a slight smile that reassured Mulder that she wasn’t about to bring up any of his assorted missteps.

“I am completely and eternally at your service, Scully,” Mulder said with a grandiose bow and a wicked grin. He was delighted by the answering twitch of Scully’s lips as she fought against returning a similar grin. It was fun to tease Scully, but there were perilous traps along that road, for both of them. She felt safe in his presence because it never occurred to her that a ghost retained the passions of the living. Mulder walked a fine line between maintaining the sly innuendoes he had teased her with when he was alive and concealing how her return volleys affected him.

“Where do you want to start first,” he continued in a more serious tone.

“You might begin by explaining Chief Talbert,” Scully retorted. She lifted one eyebrow in their silent language to indicate that he had some explaining to do and had best begin.

Mulder shrugged with a apologetic smile on his lips and mischievous reflection in his eyes.

“I don’t think we have that long, Scully. Tonto is one of the most complex individuals I have ever known. I never would have imagined he would turn up as a policeman in a small Ohio town.”

“Mulder, you have a genius for meeting complex individuals. However Chief Talbert seems to know you a bit better than a casual acquaintance would,” Scully prompted. Prying information out of an amused Mulder was like eating an artichoke – she peeled it out of him one layer at a time.

“I met Tonto my second year in Oxford. Believe it or not, he was a Rhodes Scholar majoring in ancient history. Nicknames are a way of life in English universities. I don’t think I ever knew his first name.”

“Why Tonto?”

“Talbert is half Iroquois. When the other guys in the house learned this fact, he was lucky to get off with the nickname Tonto. We were two Americans in a house full of Brits.” Mulder shrugged. “He was alone, even more so than I had been. He was a Yank and an American aborigine. I always was a sucker for the underdog. We ended up making the warden’s life hell though,” Mulder reflected with a laugh.

“OK, so you knew him in college. Why would he ask for your help in this case?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he kept track of me. We were pretty close until I met Phoebe. Then … well, I pretty much blew everybody off after that.” Mulder’s tone was cold. Phoebe was not a memory he enjoyed reliving.

Scully shifted slightly. Mulder sensed she was trying to bite back an acid comment about the woman she had met briefly and disliked on sight. Scully had a keen eye for character. Mulder wished he shared that sixth sense of hers that told her when a vicious predator was cloaked in the guise of a seductive woman.

“Anyway, Tonto is one of the good guys unless he has changed. I didn’t pick up any hint that he’s masquerading as a serial killer or Consortium hit man in his spare time,” Mulder teased half seriously.

“Well, at least he has good taste in hotels and food,” Scully jibbed back. Mulder acknowledged the hit with a muttered ‘touche’. It wasn’t his fault the Bureau’s per diem had rarely allowed them to stay in first-class motels.

“Did you pick up any clues while you were out exploring, Mulder?” Scully abruptly shifted the conversation, eager to get at the case now that her concern about Talbert’s mysterious connection with her partner was laid to rest.

“Other than the fact that the people in this town must be blind as well as deaf? No, not really.” Mulder got up and began to pace, taking care to remember to walk around the furniture. “It is remotely possible that the killer could have approached Culver unseen, but the blast from the musket should have rattled the windows of the cafi. No one heard anything. I’m not really up on antique muskets, but I seem to recall that there is significant fireball visible even in broad daylight, not to mention one hell of a cloud of smoke.”

Scully looked puzzled.

“I have very distinct memories of the sight and sound of the muskets used to celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of Concord every year in Chilmark. It was very loud and very smoky. Yet here we have our perp firing off a musket in the middle of a public square and no one saw or heard anything.” Mulder sounded exasperated.

Scully opened her mouth, then closed it again, then cautiously opened it again. “Ghosts?” she asked tentatively, the tenseness in her posture betraying her fear that her question might be answered in the affirmative.

“Being the resident expert on ghosts, Scully, I can assure you, we don’t need to use muskets and cutlasses to kill,” Mulder assured her with a grim smile.

“Alright, then, some sort of silencer perhaps?” Scully offered with no enthusiasm.

“I honestly don’t know, but I rather doubt if they make silencers for black-powder muskets. Maybe the autopsies will turn up something tomorrow.” Mulder hesitated and turned to stare out the window.

“Go on, Mulder. What else?” Scully sighed, wondering what exotic theory Mulder was preparing to drop in her lap.

“Nothing much,” Mulder said, then squared his shoulders and turned to face her. “Would you really mind if I tagged along after Simon? I’m entirely too sympathetic to the corpses these days,” he blurted out.

“As I recall, Mulder, you have never been particularly fond of autopsies,” Scully responded with a teasing smile that prompted an answering smile from Mulder. “Just don’t scare Simon with any sudden revelations from thin air.”

“I’ll be good. He’s not my type anyway – much too tall,” Mulder added with a mock pout.

Scully fell silent, her eyes steadily boring through him as if she could read his mind. Mulder shifted uneasily, his body becoming hazy as he wondered what had prompted this sudden shift in mood.

“I miss you, Mulder. Tonight, eating with Simon, I found myself missing the little things – how you constantly played with the silverware, how your hands never seemed to rest. It’s too quiet,” Scully admitted with a sigh, releasing Mulder from her intense gaze.

Mulder moved over to kneel beside her, careful not to touch her until she adjusted to the drop in temperature. She gave a brief shudder then sat quietly. Before Mulder could reach out to her, she laid a hand on his cheek, drawing her fingers down the semi-solid planes of his face in a slow caress.

Now it was Mulder’s turn to shudder with the force of his longing. His eyes turned into dark pools of shadow concealing his despair; his soul hummed with desire. Frozen by her touch, he knelt before her, helpless to stop the storm she was summoning. Preparing to plead with her for his release from this exquisite pleasure, his eyes met hers and he found himself drowning in a sea of unasked and forever unanswered questions.

With slow deliberation, she released his jaw until only one finger remained in contact. That finger glided down to his lips half open with the words of comfort he had been about to speak still caught in his throat. Scully gave him a smile so drenched in regret and sadness that Mulder felt his soul shatter and fall at her feet. The finger rested, just for a moment against his open lips, closing them, then departed as her hand dropped to rest in her lap.

Mulder remained still, a statue conjured by a gesture, now captive to her will. This was dangerous ground they were treading. More perilous than she could ever imagine. Thinking herself safe, believing him to be beyond all passion, she explored the edges of the one extreme possibility they had never allowed themselves to entertain. Mulder’s soul cried out in fear, for her, for himself. The living should not reach out to the dead for love, for completion, not when the dead would sunder his soul for the single memory of that union. Even without her touch, but feeling it burn upon his face, Mulder knelt there shuddering, helpless between the combined assaults on his resolve. Knowing it was wrong, knowing it would damn him beyond all hope of redemption, he waited for a sign, a summons from her that would betray her trust in him.

“Aaarrgghhh!!”

The scream of terror shattered the spell that bound them. Scully’s head snapped up as she bolted up from the chair, through Mulder to grab her gun. Mulder collapsed down onto and through the chair convulsing once as he broke free of the spell that had bound them in perilous desire. Feeling her pass through him was at once both erotic and terrifying, but sufficed to bring him back to his senses.

“Mulder, outside,” Scully snapped as she opened the door, pausing to pound on Simon’s door. “Simon!” she shouted. Simon appeared, armed and rumpled, still awaking from his half-doze. “Outside, now,” Scully barked as she hurtled down the hall to the stairs. With a muttered oath, Simon followed her, yelling something about ‘slow down, wait for me,’ before disappearing down the stairs.

“Shit,” Mulder swore as he dematerialized and poured through the window into the night following the sound of the screams. Unhindered by the need to avoid trees and bushes, Mulder plunged after the terrified man. His screams continued, frantic howls of terror beyond words, beyond reason. Confused by the strange surroundings, Mulder used the screams as a beacon, ignoring everything but catching up to the screamer. As he drew close to the man he heard his frantic breathing and felt his terror like a filthy fog billowing around him. For just a moment, Mulder seemed to see a large dark shape surrounded by a pale aurora plunging out of the darkness behind the man. Startled by this shadow, Mulder paused and tried to focus on it, but it shimmered and faded before he was even sure it was there.

“Scully, over here. To your left,” Mulder shouted as he heard her break into the woods behind him. There was no way he could stop this man, short of materializing right in front of him and considering his terror now, the sudden appearance of a ghost might be enough to stop his heart altogether.

Trying to keep the man in sight, while guiding Scully to him, Mulder didn’t see the gorge until the man hurled himself into mid-air and plunged down to the bottom one hundred feet below with one last despairing cry. Mulder was across the gorge before he realized what had happened. Hearing Scully running down the same path, Mulder quickly realized her peril and leaped back to intercept her.

“Scully, stop!” he yelled as he took a chance and briefly materialized in front of her, making himself solid enough to stop her headlong flight towards the edge of the gorge. Reeling from the shock of the sudden collision, Scully leaned against him, trying to catch her breath. Simon crashed onto the scene in time to see his partner in the arms of a shadowy figure.

“Halt, FBI!” Simon slid to a stop, aiming his gun at the man. Scully gasped and stumbled to her knees as Mulder abruptly disappeared. Simon advanced cautiously, gun at the ready, a confused expression replacing the fierce protective glare of a moment ago.

“I’m fine, Simon. What happened to the man we were chasing?” Scully asked breathlessly. Mulder’s sudden appearance and equally sudden vanishing act had disoriented her.

“I think he went over the edge,” Simon said as he gingerly approached the edge of the gorge, about five feet from where Scully was getting to her feet. It was a miracle she hadn’t run right off the side of the gorge.

“Better call Chief Talbert … and the medics,” Scully said wearily. It was going to be a long night. So much for early to bed and a nice refreshing ten hours sleep, she sighed.

Mulder watched the pair of them begin to move in the old familiar rhythm of preserving a crime scene. The man at the bottom of the gorge was dead, very messily dead. As far as Mulder could determine, he had simply run in abject terror to his death from a shadow. Whatever had chased the man to his death was no ghost, but Mulder sensed it wasn’t alive either. This was going to be a bitch of a case, he complained to the heavens.

–X–

Confident, that between them, Simon and Scully could wring the last piece of evidence from the crime scene without his help, Mulder began backtracking the path the victim had taken. He wanted to get as far away from the place of death as he could, for his own sanity. The man’s terror fouled the air with a stench that was nearly unbearable. Whatever horror the man had run from was beyond his comprehension or belief. The longer Mulder stayed near the place of death, the more he had to fight an urge to flee into the gray nothingness and hide. Not a very helpful course of action and one he was determined not to take.

The world Mulder now inhabited was disturbed by the violence of the man’s passage through it. Sudden death sent ripples across the gray land that spanned the gap between the lands of the living and the dead. Like a storm at sea, the man’s death churned the surface of the afterworld. Mulder sensed that farther down, where souls at rest dwelt, the storm raised nary a ripple, but up here, on the surface, the wind howled in a continuous soul-splitting banshee wail.

An extremely uncomfortable thought occurred to him. They had an eye-witness to the crime, if indeed this was a crime and not simply an unusual case of suicide. The problem was that no court in the land would accept his testimony even if Mulder was able to reach the man and get some sense out of him. Remembering his own disorientation after his abrupt departure from life, he wasn’t optimistic the most recent victim was going to be coherent enough to answer questions, but he had to try.

Bracing himself against the violent winds, Mulder pushed into the storm, forcing his way down to the bottom of the gorge where the body of the latest victim lay sprawled across a fallen tree. Mulder was rather glad he couldn’t see the man’s head, which seemed to have impacted against a rock. Memories of the thump of the ball against his head followed by the abrupt fall into the gray nothingness of the afterworld were still too fresh.

Mulder felt the man’s terror and the disorientation of his sudden death as he carefully looked around for any trace of the man’s spirit. The aura was too strong for him to have left the area; most likely he was hovering around his body frantically trying to slip back into the physical form. Mulder focused on remaining calm and aloof from the swirling emotions in the air. Finally the darkness lifted enough for him to see the ghostly form of a man in his late fifties, casually dressed in jogging shorts and tee-shirt. Mulder admired the very expensive shoes the man wore, one hundred fifty dollars a pair, as he recalled. The spirit was frantically trying to jump back into his body with all the success of a man hurling himself against a brick wall. Mulder winced. He was glad now, in a way, that by the time he had gotten to see his body, he had begun to come to terms with the fact that he was dead.

“Hello,” Mulder ventured carefully. Nothing in his psychology training had prepared him for this type of interrogation.

“Who … who are you?” the spirit yelped in startled amazement.

“A friend. Well, at least someone who wants to help,” Mulder corrected himself. At least the man hadn’t run away. Not that he would probably want to go very far from his body, but still …

“What happened? Why can I see myself lying here? Oh my God, what happened?” the new spirit wailed as he tried to ease himself back into the broken body with no success.

Mulder wished there was an easier way to do this, but he didn’t really think there was any easy way to tell someone that he was dead. Remembering Gordon’s blunt approach, Mulder decided to follow his example.

“You’re dead. You ran off the cliff and fell nearly a hundred feet.” Mulder paused to see what effect this news had on the spirit.

“Who are you? Why are you telling me these lies? I can’t be dead, I’m running for mayor,” the man insisted with growing agitation.

Mulder raised his hands in a placating gesture and decided to drop the issue of death. This really wasn’t his department. “Gordon, where in … whatever, are you?” Mulder asked the empty ether.

“What were you running from?” Mulder asked in a deliberate change of topic as he carefully perched on a large boulder where he could watch the newborn spirit without getting too close to the body. From the sound of things up top, the medics had arrived. Pretty soon it was going to get very crowded down here and he was pretty sure the sight of his body being zipped up in a black plastic body bag was not going to go over well with this man.

The man looked suspicious at the change of topic, but shrugged and lay down atop his body trying to meld back into it. Almost as an after-thought he answered, “a large hideous dog. When I find out who let an animal like that run loose, I’m going to see to it that the animal is destroyed and then sue them for damages.” The man almost gloated as he detailed the exact figures he expected to gouge out of the delinquent pet owners.

Mulder frowned. He hadn’t seen any dog. Considering the reaction most dogs had to him, he doubted that even a dog in full chase would run past him without making some sort of protest. It certainly wasn’t a ghost. Mulder wasn’t sure if dogs could become ghosts, though he saw no immediate reason why they couldn’t, but that would put the beast on his plane and, aside from himself and this irritating gentleman, there wasn’t another ghost within five miles.

“Damn dog just appeared out of nowhere and charged. You would have thought someone would have heard it howling and come to help me. That’s the problem with young people today, no sense of public duty. When I’m mayor, I’m going to make some changes in this town, you wait and see,” the man ranted.

Mulder looked up involuntarily as a bright spotlight suddenly illuminated the area around the body. He flinched even though he knew he was invisible. Old habits die hard, he thought. The man’s spirit however stood up and started waving frantically and shouting at the medics beginning their climb down the gorge. He was almost frothing at the mouth in fury at being ignored by the time the medics reached the bottom. He charged at them, yelling threats and promises of dire consequences.

It didn’t take a genius to predict what was going to happen. Mulder almost felt sorry for the man. The medics walked right through him and knelt beside the broken body. Mulder watched as the man’s expression went from fury to horror in a split second. A wail of despair, fear and loss filled the air. The spirit collapsed into a shuddering heap crying and wailing. Mulder envied the medics who couldn’t hear a thing and proceeded, with calm detachment, to examine the body, being careful not to disturb anything.

Simon soon made his way down the gorge, followed by Talbert. Mulder backed away into the shadows. At least Scully remained up top. As Simon sketched the position of the body, Talbert made notes. Mulder wished he could walk over and take a peek at them, but didn’t want to press his luck. The man’s spirit was making enough noise to alarm any Sensitive within a mile radius. Mulder noticed that Simon kept looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. No use adding a cold chill to the repertoire.

A feeling of homely warmth, like a fire on a chilly fall afternoon, spread out from the shadows. Mulder lost all interest in Simon, Talbert and the body as he turned towards the source of that radiance. As he felt the heat spread out to envelop the area, he knew a desperate longing to walk into the radiance and rest, but he knew the welcoming fire was not for him, not yet.

“Hello, Gordon,” Mulder greeted the incandescent shape that stood on the edge of the darkness. The radiance swallowed up the glare of the search light as if it were a candle set against the sun. Mulder felt a smile touch his mind. He tried to smile in return.

With an inestimable sadness, he watched Gordon go over to the man’s spirit and embrace it. The wailing stopped as a look of wonder streaked with awe and fear swept over the spirit’s face.

Slowly, gently, Gordon enfolded the spirit and withdrew with it to the place it was meant to be.

Mulder half-raised a hand in farewell as he watched them go. The loneliness overwhelmed him and he threw back his head and let out a wail of grief. Dogs responded in a cacophony of hysterical echoes to his cry. Simon dropped his sketch pad and whirled in fright. Talbert went completely still and slowly turned around, trying to see into the shadows. From up top, Mulder saw Scully lean out over the edge of the gorge and reach out a hand to him.

“Mulder, it’s alright. I’m here. You are not alone,” she whispered to his ears alone. Pain and grief rang in her voice.

Mulder stretched out a hand to her, knowing the distance was too great, but needing to feel her touch as he had felt her words. As if she were a magnet, he felt himself drawn up to her until he knelt beside her.

“Mulder?” she whispered, careful not to be overheard by the deputies milling about.

“I’m here,” he assured her, basking in the warmth of her presence. His trembling slowed and his grief faded as he remembered that no matter how serene and beautiful the place beyond the limits of his ghostly world appeared to be, it lacked the one essential ingredient to be heaven – it lacked Scully. Perhaps he was just not meant for harps and clouds and eternal peace if it all meant nothing to him without her.

“You’re looking for a very large, very ferocious invisible, non-existent dog,” he added with a spark of mischief, shaking himself out of his gloomy thoughts. Time enough for dour philosophical musings when this case was solved. Right now, he had to prove that he could be useful.

Scully glared at him, or at least in the general direction of the ice cube she felt appear at her side. Mulder briefly considered just letting his smile go visible, but decided prudence was still the better part of valor where Scully was concerned.

“Well, I didn’t see a dog, but the man claimed he was being chased by a large vicious dog,” Mulder admitted wishing he could go visible enough for her to see his perplexed expression. Trying to pour his quicksilver emotions into his voice was a lot trickier than it first appeared. He was so dependent on her catching the underlying meanings behind his words in a glance, a twitch of his shoulders or a smile that having to depend solely on words and the expressiveness of his voice was frustrating.

“I didn’t see one either, Mulder, but I’ll have Chief Talbert check for tracks just to be on the….” Scully’s eyes suddenly went wide.

“How did you…?”

“Ever hear of ghosts, Scully?” Mulder asked with a very definite chuckle. “He didn’t stick around for very long; he got the fast track to the afterlife, but he was very emphatic that he was attacked by a large vicious dog.”

“Right. And I’m supposed to tell Chief Talbert that my partner, who is now a ghost, got this information from the dead man, who was briefly a ghost, but isn’t around any longer?” Scully shook her head. “Mulder….”

“Sorry, Scully. I know it’s not admissible evidence, but it’s a start. I never said this arrangement was going to be easy.” Mulder thought for a moment. “Why don’t you tell Talbert you thought you heard the man scream something about a dog just before he ran off the cliff?”

“You want me to lie.”

“Do you really want to tell him the truth?” Mulder asked. Scully shook her head. “Didn’t think so. Don’t think of it as a lie; think of it as a slight detour.”

“Now I’m taking directions from a man with an absolute genius for getting lost.” Scully chuckled and gave a reluctant nod of her head. “I’ll do my best, Mulder. We’ll talk later. Now disappear before someone overhears me talking to myself.”

“Your wish is my command, Scully. Later it is. I’m going to scout around the dog population so it’s going to get a bit noisy around here for awhile,” Mulder warned with a laugh. He let his hand linger on Scully’s for a moment longer then faded away into the ether and disappeared.

–X–

Scully stood up and brushed the leaves and dirt from her jeans. Trust Mulder to come up with an off-the-wall theory that was just weird enough to be true. It was a starting point, but how, or even if, this death was tied into the others was still a mystery. On the surface, the death did not appear to be murder, but Scully trusted Mulder’s instincts. Still, she planned to conduct a very thorough autopsy. A hallucinogen could be the culprit in this case, otherwise she was at a loss to explain the victim’s headlong rush off the side of the gorge.

“Deputy Ross?” Scully looked around for Talbert’s senior deputy. A medium-built older man with a weathered, outdoor appearance stepped away from the gathering crowd of curious townsfolk.

“Yes ma’am?” Ross replied in a soft bass that threatened to subside into a whispering rumble.

“Have you taped off the path the victim followed? I’d like to check for tracks,” Scully suggested. Despite Talbert’s clear directive to make every use of his deputies, Scully felt a little hesitant about assuming complete command. From what she had seen so far tonight, Talbert’s deputies were professional and highly competent. No doubt Ross had already seen to the establishment of the crime scene boundaries, but she needed something to do. The memory of Mulder’s soul-gutting wail still had her heart shuddering. What had he seen that prompted such grief? He sounded so alone, so lost.

“The ground’s a mite dry for tracks, but I’ll check out the area at sun-up, might catch tracks when the light is slanting just right. I’m going to leave Halsom here overnight to keep the terminally curious out of trouble.” Ross flashed her a rueful smile. “Seems there’s always some who find a ‘do not cross’ sign to be an irresistible temptation.”

Scully nodded in agreement. She wasn’t optimistic that there would be tracks. If Mulder was correct, then whatever was chasing the man didn’t leave any tracks.

“Mind telling me what you’re looking to find? From what I’ve been able to gather from the garbled reports of several witnesses, Amos Peters was out for his evening jog when he suddenly gave an unholy shriek and bolted for the gorge. No one saw anything chasing him, but they all agree that he was running flat out when he disappeared into the woods here.”

“I’m not sure.” Scully hesitated then mentally squared her shoulders and forged into the uncertain territory of prevarication. “I thought I heard him yell something about a … dog,” she ended with only a slight rush. Mulder would have given her one of his looks that told her he wasn’t fooled in the least. Deputy Ross merely nodded and looked back along the path, now lit by search lights with a contemplative hum.

“Well, we certainly have enough of them around here, but Peters had dogs of his own and never seemed much impressed by anything smaller than his own Rottweillers. Still, there are some farmers hereabouts that operate on the philosophy that bigger is better. If there was a dog running out here, I should be able to tell from the tracks, providing of course I find the tracks,” Ross chuckled. “I’ll have Sullivant check around and see if any of our canine delinquents were running loose tonight.” Ross sighed. “I’d be real happy to put this death down to misadventure. It’d make a nice change from murder. Folks are beginning to get spooked.”

“So far, I think we can class this as unexplained, unless we turn up some tracks or I find drugs in the autopsy,” Scully reassured Ross.

“Personally, I’m not sure ‘unexplained’ is anything to be relieved about, but the public seems to cope with unexplained phenomena better than they do with the idea that we have a killer rampaging among us,” Ross commented dryly. He nodded at Scully and trekked back to the job of keeping the curious from obliterating what little evidence there might be in this narrow strip of woods.

Scully watched him leave and gave her original estimate of Talbert as a good solid policeman another notch upwards. His deputies were some of the best she had ever encountered. Those kind of deputies usually meant that the top man was very, very good.

From the scrabbling and scraping noises behind her, she guessed that Simon and Talbert were on their way back up out of the gorge. Simon had given her a resigned look when he realized that the only way down to the body was by rappelling down the side of a gorge by the light of a pair of search lamps. Scully wondered how Mulder would have reacted if faced with a similar challenge. She couldn’t quite repress the smile at the thought of her very dapper partner donning a workman’s jumpsuit and rappelling down the side of a steep cliff.

“I didn’t think I looked that funny, Scully,” Simon said with a bemused glance down at his dirt-streaked jumpsuit.

Scully started and came back to the present with a thump. Simon began stripping off the jumpsuit as Talbert climbed out of the gorge behind him.

“Find anything?” Scully asked to cover her brief lapse into daydreams.

“Hrmphfu” Simon replied as he struggled with the suit’s zipper.

Chief Talbert refrained from laughing, but his eyes were definitely twinkling. “Nothing much. Amos Peters landed face down across an old hickory tree that used to stand right about there,” Talbert pointed to a spot about five feet away. A jagged four-foot tall stump, almost buried under ivy, still maintained a tenuous grasp on life. “Lightning struck it about three years ago and sent most of it crashing into the gorge. I expect Peters was dead the moment he hit the tree. I doubt if he knew what happened. My question is – why would a normally sane, fitness-addict like Amos Peters suddenly take it into his head to run off the gorge? Silas Viderson might have pulled off that leap two hundred years ago, but Amos was no Silas.” Talbert shook his head and went over to help the firefighters guide the raising of the body bag.

“Sorry, Scully. I hope you have a strong stomach. Chief Talbert made a preliminary ID of the body based on clothing and shoes and a class ring. The face is a bit of a mess.” Simon looked a little green.

“I’ve seen worse, Simon. It’s part of the job.” Scully hesitated. Simon had been a little ways behind her during their run after Peters. If she could just convince him that she had been close enough to hear Peters shout something that didn’t reach his ears.

“Deputy Ross is going to check for tracks tomorrow, so stay well clear of the path,” Scully said with off-handed confidence.

Simon looked up at her, pausing in his effort to pull the jumpsuit off over his shoes. His expression went from open puzzlement bordering on a question to sudden stillness. He seemed to be debating something with himself and Scully braced herself to answer questions with as much honesty as she could to coat the essential lie.

“Who was that man that stopped you from running off the cliff?”

When the question came, it came from a direction she hadn’t been expecting and hadn’t even considered preparing for. She hesitated, trying desperately to come up with a passable lie, anything to get Simon off the track.

“It’s not an unreasonable question. A man runs off a cliff and a mysterious someone steps out of the shadows to prevent my partner from following him, then disappears. Seems to me that the gentleman has some questions to answer.” Simon kept his voice very level and calm, but he was watching Scully like a cat watched an indecisive mouse. Scully would not have been surprised to see him lick his lips.

“Simon … I …” Scully began then stopped, drawing a complete blank. Simon’s question was reasonable. He had every right to believe that the man in question might have knowledge about the crime. Scully felt the jaws of the trap closing in on her. No matter how she explained the man’s presence, anything short of the absolute truth would seem to be an obvious evasion.

“Scully, I’m not trying to pry into your private affairs, but we have two, maybe three murders on our hands. If this man knows anything, saw anything, we need to question him. I’m not saying he is involved, but we have to be sure.” Simon shucked off the jumpsuit and threw it aside. His voice betrayed his concern as well as his growing frustration with a situation he did not understand.

Scully took a deep breath and wished she was into praying to the saints. St. Jude came to mind immediately, but what she really needed was a patron saint of liars.

“Simon, I can’t explain, not now. The man has absolutely nothing to do with this case.” Except of course that he’s my invisible partner who is trying to help us, she added silently to whatever amused saint happened to be listening. She looked up at Simon with a calm, straight face. “Just trust me for a little while on this.”

Simon looked at her as if weighing the options open to him. Finally he nodded. Scully let out the breath she hadn’t known she had been holding in a loud relieved sigh.

“There is something very strange going on here, Scully. I can’t operate in the dark. If you can’t trust me with this, then maybe … maybe …” Simon stopped unable to continue.

Scully looked into his eyes, brimming with hurt and confusion and silently damned the errant ball that landed them all in this mess.

“Simon, it’s not entirely my secret to tell, but I give you my word that it has nothing to do with any lack of trust I have in you. Just give me some time to work this out, OK?” Scully paused and hastily blurted out the rest before her better judgment interfered. “I promise, if it begins to affect our … my handling of the case, I will tell you.”

Simon nodded again, this time trying to give her a smile. On impulse Scully reached out and grasped his arm, wanting the contact to reassure him of her trust, despite her keeping Mulder’s existence a secret.

“You’re my partner, Simon. I won’t do anything to place you at risk. Now, I have to set up a toxicology screen for Peters and the sooner I get to it, the sooner I can get some sleep. Deputy Ross is going to be out here going over the scene at sun-up, maybe he can use your expertise,” Scully suggested. “You are supposed to be one of the best crime scene analysts the VC ever had, aren’t you?” she added with a smile.

“That’s what they kept telling me every time they got me up before dawn to look at a crime scene,” Simon replied with a self-mocking smile. “Guess this means an early breakfast,” he sighed. “I hate mornings,” he muttered as he followed Scully out of the woods.

Scully knew he realized she was diverting his attention and was grateful he accepted the diversion. It was a temporary reprieve. She and Mulder had to talk, and soon, before the situation got completely out of hand.

–X–

It was after midnight by the time Scully wearily opened the door to her room and sank down the chair she had abandoned nearly three hours before. Instead of the quiet relaxing evening she had anticipated, she had spent the evening investigating yet another murder. A more complete autopsy would have to wait until morning, but her preliminary examination confirmed that the cause of death was massive trauma resulting from a fall. The blood-work for the toxicology screen was prepped and ready for shipment to the state crime lab first thing in the morning. Chief Talbert had promised her that one of his deputies would personally transport the samples to the lab in Columbus.

This case was not making any sense. Three men dead, by different methods, with no other connection than their local prominence. At least with Amos Peters’ death, she could hope that the toxicology report would turn up traces of a hallucinogen. That was certainly better than trying to justify Mulder’s contention that the dead man had been fleeing from a large glowing dog.

Speaking of Mulder, Scully wondered where he was. The sound of howling dogs for an hour after the body of Amos Peters had been pulled out of the gorge had given her a good idea of where Mulder was and what he was up to. The town was silent when she finally left the impromptu morgue in the basement of the town’s funeral home. Apparently whatever idea Mulder was pursuing had lead him away from the canine population, no doubt to the relief of every dog owner in town.

“Mulder?” she whispered, wondering how he could hear her if he was across town. Still, he had assured her that he would know if she called him, no matter how far away he was.

Long minutes passed with no response. Scully began to nod as she sat in the chair. It was so comfortable and she was so tired, it would be easy to fall asleep. So much for his ability to hear me, she thought with only a trace of irritation. As much as she knew she and Mulder needed to talk, she needed sleep more. Only half-awake, she went through her pre-bedtime routine, occasionally calling to Mulder until she gave it up as an exercise in futility. He was probably off chasing some elusive lead, oblivious to everything else. In a way, the old familiar feeling of exasperation with her wayward partner comforted her and she fell asleep wondering what on earth he was finding so engrossing.

Hearing her breathing slip into the soft regular rhythm of sleep, Mulder detached himself from the shadows in the corner of the room. Leaning over her, he adjusted the sheet around her and then went over to the chair and sat down where he could watch her. Ignoring her repeated calls had been hard, but he had seen that she needed rest and he was not ready for that conversation she kept insisting they needed to have. He hadn’t completely recovered from the last ‘conversation’ they had in this very room. Somehow he was going to have to find the words to tell Scully that while he might be a ghost, he retained all the emotions and, to a certain extent, the abilities of Mulder the man.

As far as his investigation of the area dogs went — well, other than sending every dog within the town limits into hysteria, he turned up nothing. Whatever chased Amos Peters off the cliff, it wasn’t one of the town dogs. Every one of them large enough to intimidate a man was either chained up or locked behind fences. The strange half-shadow shape he had glimpsed just before Peters ran over the edge of the gorge bothered him. It wasn’t a ghost. It certainly wasn’t real, yet there was something about it that radiated horror that even he could feel. There wasn’t much that scared him, but he really didn’t want to meet up with whatever that thing was.

After drifting around town scaring dogs, Mulder had gone back to the crime scene and perched on the edge of the gorge and tried to put himself into profiler mode. Between Tonto and Simon, he suspected there wasn’t much physical evidence that would escape notice. Scully would have the corpses telling her their life stories. Unfortunately, Mulder had this sinking feeling that all the physical evidence was simply going to confuse the case.

He was deep in thought when he felt Scully call him. He felt her exhaustion through their link. She would be determined to talk to him, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to talk to her. When they finally talked he didn’t want any distractions.

By the time he reached her room, Scully was already half-asleep in the chair, her weariness coming off of her in waves. Knowing he was acting as much from selfishness as from a concern for her, Mulder did not announce his presence, letting her believe him too preoccupied to respond to her. That, in itself, might have ramifications that could complicate their relationship, but he would worry about those when, or if, they arose. Now, Scully needed an uninterrupted night’s sleep. Watching over her from the chair, Mulder let his mind rove over the reports he had seen earlier that morning and tried to put the pieces together.

The night passed quickly for Mulder. Shortly before dawn he heard Simon leave his room across the hall to join the crime scene team. Scully’s breathing indicated she was still in deep sleep. She looked so young; sleep wiped away the stress that were turning her eyes old before their time. Even the grief which had weighed her down recently was fading. Of course as the grief faded, she was acquiring a whole new level of stress, Mulder noticed with a resigned acknowledgement of his own persistent contribution to her stress levels.

At least the night had proved useful for something other than watching Scully sleep or scaring dogs. Mulder could recite the various crime scene and background reports by heart. Two links between the first two victims had finally slipped into place. One of the links also applied to the third victim and possibly the second did as well. He wasn’t sure the links would prove to be very useful. He suspected Tonto might already have noticed them, but Tonto was looking for a motive as a base and so far Mulder could not discern a motive buried in all the reports.

The sun was full up and shinning as brightly as only a late July sun could shine by the time Scully opened her eyes. Mulder stifled a laugh as her bleary eyes registered the fact that she was not in her own bedroom — OK, her mind was beginning to function, she had remembered she was on a case. Mulder could almost see the wheels begin to turn as Scully stretched and glanced over at the travel alarm clock by the bed. A look of shock was quickly followed by a breathtaking vision of a t-shirt clad Scully hurtling out of bed and into the bathroom. God, he loved mornings.

Fifteen minutes later, Scully emerged from the bathroom, her hair still slightly damp, and grabbed her cell-phone.

“Chief Talbert? I’m sorry, I must have overslept….” she began.

Mulder couldn’t hear Talbert’s response but from the look on Scully’s face, it must have been reassuring.

“Thank you. I did tag the samples “rush” so, with luck we’ll get a preliminary report back in a couple of days.” Scully listened for a moment, her face registering chagrin, relief and then a touch of impatience.

“I understand, but I would like to get to the autopsies just as soon as possible. Just tell the funeral director I will be there in …” Scully glanced at her watch and frowned. “… twenty minutes.” She listened for a moment or two longer then nodded. “Yes, twenty minutes. Tell Agent Ambercrombie I will meet him at your office around noon. Thank you again, Chief Talbert.”

“Damn alarm clock,” Scully muttered as she glared at the offending object.

“Good morning to you too, Scully,” Mulder said as he materialized in the chair.

Scully started then closed her eyes for a moment before giving him a smile.

“Morning, Mulder. Did you have fun last night?” she asked as she dried her hair and pulled it back out of her face. Her eyes twinkled as she teased him.

Mulder basked in her refreshed energy. Whatever the consequences eventually, the short-term benefits of his decision not to acknowledge her call were obvious.

“Yes, I did,” he replied with a warm smile. No need for her to realize the double significance of his answer.

“We have to talk and soon, Mulder,” Scully switched out of teasing mode and became serious. The memory of her last conversation with Simon came back crystal clear.

“Scully…” Mulder began, trying to deflect her.

“Simon suspects,” she added brusquely.

Mulder’s eyes went wide then dark with concern. This was not a complication they needed right now.

“He saw you last night or, at least, he saw a man step out of the darkness and stop me from running off the edge of the cliff. Naturally he wants to know who you are and if you know anything about the case.”

“Well, I refuse to apologize for saving your life, but I’ll admit this complicates matters. Is he going to be a problem?” Mulder asked with a trace of concern.

“Not immediately. He has agreed to trust me that the mysterious stranger is not involved in the case, but I won’t be able to stall him forever.” Scully sighed and wondered why her life only seemed to grow more complicated.

“We’ll just have to keep him too busy with the case to worry about stray mysteries,” Mulder said with more hope than he felt.

“Oh, I did come up with a couple of common factors between all three victims.”

Scully turned to look at him, a mixture of hope, anticipation and, perhaps, a trace of uneasiness.

Mulder repressed a chuckle. She seemed so convinced he was going to bounce some off-the-wall theory off of her that it seemed almost a shame to disappoint her.

“Sorry, Scully, no ghosts that I can find. I’m not saying we’re stuck with a plain ordinary serial killer. Something very odd is going on, I’m just not sure what,” Mulder added with a shrug of his shoulders.

Scully gave him a stern look as she shrugged on her jacket. Mulder never did like to come straight to the point.

“First off — all three victims were killed between eight and nine o’clock on a week night. Perhaps not very significant, but doesn’t it seem strange that a killer should target his victims during a time when so many people would be out and about. Thomas Jackson was murdered just after nine p.m. on a Thursday. Toby Culver was murdered at eight p.m. on a Tuesday. Amos Peters ran off the side of the gorge at approximately eight-thirty last night, which was a Thursday.” Mulder paused for a minute and pondered a spot on the wall behind Scully’s left ear.

“OK, we have a killer who likes to kill before it gets dark. Are you trying to tell me we have a killer who isn’t allowed out after dark?” Scully asked incredulously.

“Interesting theory, Scully. Been saving that one up for me?” Mulder asked with a grin.

“No, I really doubt we’re dealing with a child … ” Mulder fell silent as he tried to snag a passing thought and failed. Something important had just flitted through his mind and he had been too busy teasing Scully to grab it. “Damn, I hate when that happens,” Mulder swore irritably.

Scully raised an eyebrow in a silent question and paused, one hand on the door knob, obviously listening, but also obviously impatient to get started with the autopsies.

“Nothing, just my mind playing tricks on me again. Anyway, the second common factor is that all three of the victims seem to have played a significant role in town politics. Jackson was on the city council, Culver was on the local library board and Peters was running for mayor. You might ask Talbert for a more complete rundown on their political lives.”

“OK, we have a narrow window of opportunity used by the killer and a predilection for politicians,” Scully nodded thoughtfully. “It’s not much, but it is a start. I’ll pass the information on to Chief Talbert and to Simon and we’ll see if anything shakes loose. Thanks, Mulder,” she added with one of her dazzling full smiles that reduced Mulder to a smoky haze barely remembering to wave goodbye as she hurried out of the room.

“Damn, if she only knew what those smiles of hers do to me. I must have been the densest idiot alive not to have told her once how much I cared for her,” Mulder muttered softly to the empty room before he faded into the ether.

–X–

Simon stretched. His back muscles pulled uncomfortably as he stood up from the awkward squatting position he’d been in for the last hour. Deputy Ross and his team had finished scouring the area around the crime scene for tracks, any tracks and come up with nothing. Ross had been at a loss to explain why they couldn’t find any evidence of the dog Amos Peters had screamed about. The ground was dry, but even Simon could pick out an occasional footprint left from the EMTs last night.

For the past two hours, Simon had gone over the approximate area where Amos Peters bolted out of his routine evening jog to run terror-stricken to his death. Nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to explain why a perfectly health middle-aged man should suddenly take it into his head to run into the woods and off the side of a cliff to his death.

“Damn. There has to be something. Peters was running for his life,” Simon muttered as he surveyed the area.

“Nothing, eh?” Deputy Ross walked carefully to his side on the narrow boards Simon had erected over the area he was searching.

“As far as I can tell, Peters just decided to bolt for the cliff. There is no evidence he was attacked,” Simon responded with a sigh.

“Well, whatever your partner heard Peters scream was chasing him, it wasn’t a dog. I found a set of Peters’ prints on the other side of a fallen tree limb; the ground is still soggy from the rains last week. Peters was running at full speed. His prints were clear and deep. If anything was chasing him, its prints should have shown up in that same area. There wasn’t room to jump over the limb and avoid the soggy area.”

Simon shrugged, at a loss to explain the lack of physical evidence. Whoever the killer was, was damn good, too good. Even the best of killers left something behind. Simon felt lost. He was missing something. The complete absence of physical evidence was, in itself, a clue. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the least idea what that meant. Damn it, I’m missing something here, he swore to himself.

“Did you hear anything?” Ross asked hopefully.

“I was too far back. Scully is a lot faster than she looks. By the time I caught up with her she was standing on the edge of the cliff and Peters was dead at the bottom of the gorge,” Simon replied, being careful not to mention the mysterious gentlemen who appeared out of nowhere to prevent his partner from following Peters. Another mystery on top of a mystery.

“Well, maybe the toxicology screen will come up with something. Peters was an irascible old Puritan, but some of those can really put away the alcohol. If you don’t mind, I’m going to pray that we find evidence that Peters was suffering from alcohol-induced dementia.” Ross walked off towards his car. Simon felt sorry for him, but was helpless to offer him any hope that the killings would stop or that they were making progress in finding the killer.

Slowly, trying to cudgel an idea out of the murders that left no clues behind, only dead bodies, Simon packed up the planks and cleared out the bright yellow crime-scene tape that had blocked off the area. The methods of death were a clue. Simon felt that fact screaming at him, but he couldn’t pin down what the clue pointed to.

“Why? Why does my first case with the X-Files have to be such damn labyrinth? I’d have liked to given Scully some reason to believe she was not getting a VC reject as a partner,” Simon muttered as he waved off the offer of a ride back to the police station. Walking might help clear his head. Besides, there was a coffee shop on the way. Coffee and a danish, caffeine and sugar — two of the basic food groups for thinking, in his opinion.

–X–

Mulder watched Simon as he cleared up the debris of tape and planks. The man was good. He doubted if there was an inch of ground Simon hadn’t examined or a tree Simon hadn’t checked for trace evidence. Mulder never had the patience for this kind of detective work. Give him piles of reports from the people who gleaned the last bit of information from crime scenes and bodies and he could create a profile of the killer and then crawl inside his head. For the first time, Mulder began considering the unique advantages the X-Files had with this new partnership. All jealousy aside, Simon and Scully were two of the best crime scene detectives he ever met. Scully could also make leaps of deductive reasoning that he envied. Simon had the makings, but needed time, experience and a few cases like this one where he had to put his brain into overdrive. Still, they lacked the one thing he could give them — his unique genius at profiling.

A raffish grin spread across Mulder’s face and lit up his eyes. The boys in VC were going to be eating the dust of the X-Files division in a few years. Of course, they did have this rather impossible case to solve first. It was driving him crazy and, from all the signs, was galling Simon as well. The answer was staring him in the face, laughing at his blindness.

Taking care to stay a good ten feet behind Simon, Mulder followed him down the street, watching Simon stare at the small town that hid a killer who was baffling the finest minds in the FBI. Everything looked so ordinary, a typical small Midwestern small town right down to the frame houses and the neat rail fences. Mulder tried to imagine what forces were driving someone to kill the men who wielded power in this community. He brushed against the elusive idea that had been dodging his best efforts to pin down into a concrete thought. OK, if motive was eluding him, he’d concentrate on the method. In his experience, the method provided a better insight into a killer’s mind than the motive.

Mulder was so preoccupied by his own thoughts that he didn’t see Simon suddenly stop until the last minute. “Shit!” Mulder gasped as he stopped so abruptly that he actually felt like a plucked bowstring. Simon gave a convulsive shiver and turned around. Mulder retreated immediately . The last thing he needed was to create a public scene. Two feet was definitely too close. Simon was still shivering and his breathing was ragged, but it was beginning to steady as the shock wore off. From what Scully had told him, suddenly encountering his cold aura was a bit like taking an unexpected bath in ice water. Mulder could hear Simon’s heart beating fast, but strong.

Simon was looking suspiciously around, almost as if he expected to be able to see what caused the sudden temperature drop. Mulder faded out until he was a shadow of a shadow. Simon had a very odd look on his face, one that suggested he recognized the effect he just experienced. If he’d had breath to hold, Mulder would have been holding it. This was not good. This was very definitely not good. Simon was not stupid. Give him enough clues and he might come to a very awkward conclusion. Mulder tried to imagine how Simon would react to the presence of the man he accidentally killed and found his imagination fell woefully short.

Careful to stay away from Simon, but curious about what had caused him to stop so suddenly, Mulder looked around the area. A large lot containing the rubble of a demolished building boasted a sign: Future Home of the Viderson’s Gorge Public Library and Information Center. The names of several prominent citizens were listed underneath the larger letters announcing the construction company and architect of the proposed project.

Mulder gave a contented smile as he began to put the pieces together. They had found the common link. Now to figure out who had the motive and the means to systematically kill the men who controlled this project. The placard proudly listed the names of Samuel Culver, chairman of the town library board, Thomas Jackson, chairman of the town council and Amos Peters, president of the Gorge

Land and Construction Company. Mulder noted two names that, so far, had not shown up in the killer’s repertoire: James Rowston, architect, and Larry Alverson, information specialist/cyberian.

Mulder watched Simon make a note then make a beeline for the police station. As much as he wanted to rush to Scully’s side and break the news, Mulder wasn’t about to interrupt her in the middle of an autopsy. He had not been kidding about his extreme distaste for autopsies now. She didn’t want to know about the eerie aura that seeped out of the incisions until the body was surrounded by a swirling fog that gradually dissipated into the ether. If he had seen the fog when he was still alive, he might have been deluded into believing he was watching the soul leave a body. Now, knowing better, he was baffled and frightened. He had seen the remnants of that fog clinging to his own body and had fled in horror as it oozed in his direction.

Despite that memory, he had deliberately visited an autopsy while waiting for Scully to acknowledge his reappearance in her life. The results would have given Stephen King nightmares. There was probably some very sound scientific principle involved, but he neither cared nor wanted to know. It was enough that the fog existed. By now, Scully was probably hip deep in that fog and, short of a catastrophic emergency, he had no intention of barging in on her.

As a salve to his pride, Mulder decided he should allow Simon the honor of giving Scully the news that they now had a solid connection between the victims as well as a pretty good idea who the next victims might be. It certainly couldn’t hurt for Scully to believe he was deliberately giving Simon a chance to prove himself, he thought as he followed him at a discrete distance.

Besides, he was really interested to see how good Simon really was. Hopefully he wasn’t going to turn out to be a crack profiler. That would be just a bit too much to swallow, but he didn’t mind if Simon drew up a really good evidence report that would give him a springboard into the mind of the killer.

Chief Talbert was not in his office, but a deputy ushered Simon in with a promise to page the chief and to order Simon two of the local bakery’s famous cherry danish. Mulder found a convenient corner stool to perch on while he watched Simon scribble notes to himself and pour through crime scene reports trying to make sense out of a jigsaw puzzle with too few pieces and no picture to guide them.

Mulder felt the warm tingle of Scully’s approach about the same time he heard Talbert come in a back door. If his Scully-radar was accurate, she would be joining this little party in about five minutes, he estimated. Time to start pooling information and ideas, even though most of his would have to be filtered through Scully. Mulder smiled. Scully was going to find herself with a reputation for sharp intuitive reasoning. There really wasn’t much she could do about it short of telling him to disappear and she was too much of a professional to do that. Hopefully Simon’s curiosity and suspicions could be laid to rest before things became uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted to do was place Scully in the awkward position of having to choose between partners.

Scully’s entrance cut off Simon’s attempt to pump Talbert for information about the library construction project. Both Simon and Talbert pulled up chairs around a makeshift work station and barely gave Scully time to get settled before drawing her into the discussion. Mulder drifted over to Scully.

“Hey, partner. Missed you. We’re making progress. Simon isn’t doing badly, for a novice,” Mulder quipped lightly. He laid a cold hand briefly on the back of her shoulder before returning to his corner. Scully raised a hand to rub her neck and caressed his fingers along the way with a strange sad smile in her eyes. Simon had that baffled, intent look in his eyes Mulder had seen earlier when they nearly collided. Talbert was very still, almost sniffing at the air. Mulder retreated silently, content that Scully knew he was there. Time to flush a killer out of the random clues they had assembled.

–X–

“OK, let’s get started,” Talbert said as he passed out coffee and put a plate of sandwiches on the table. “Now that you have had a chance to look over the evidence, why don’t we pool our information and see what we can come up with?” He was obviously passing the buck to his experts and was prepared to listen to whatever they had to offer.

Scully caught the repressed excitement in Simon’s eyes and barely kept from smiling. Obviously he had had a more productive morning than she had. Nodding at Simon to go ahead, she snagged a sandwich and leaned back to listen. If, in the back of her mind, she was hoping to feel the feather-light touch of Mulder’s fingers again, she was disappointed. He just had to choose this time to be circumspect, she sighed. Still, considering her earlier warning about Simon growing suspicious, she should be grateful that he was exercising caution.

“Your deputies are very good, Chief Talbert,” Simon began warmly. “Unfortunately, there was nothing to find – just like all the other crime scenes. I’m at a loss to explain how our perp is carrying out the murders without leaving a trace, but that’s just what he is doing.” Simon actually looked irritated, as if the killer was taunting him by leaving no physical evidence behind.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Talbert responded. “You have no idea how hard I was praying that my men had somehow gotten sloppy. That I could deal with. Catching, much less convicting, a killer who doesn’t leave any trace behind is not going to be easy. It’s beginning to look like we’ll have to catch him in the act.”

“Chief, I did stumble across one common factor that links all of the dead men.”

Talbert looked up from his intense scrutiny of his coffee to stare at Simon.

“You said each of the victims was prominent in local politics, one way or another, yet none of them served on the same local boards?” Simon asked.

Talbert nodded slowly, uncertain where Simon was heading but willing to follow.

“Well, I just saw a sign announcing the construction of a new library building and guess what? All the victims are involved with the project.” Simon looked half triumphant half worried. He was suddenly afraid that his leap of assumption was going to land him face first in the mud.

Scully gave him an approving nod as she stared into space trying to see where this train of thought could carry her.

“Scully, Simon may just have stumbled on the key to this whole mess. I don’t know why, but I’m sure this whole case hinges on that library project. I’m still missing something, but this feels right,” Mulder said softly from his perch across the room.

Scully caught herself before she nodded a reply. Instead she turned to Talbert.

“Was there anything about this project to cause anyone to kill?” she asked.

“The new library was Toby Culver’s grand vision for bringing Viderson’s Gorge into the Twenty-first Century. He kept harping on it, kept plugging away at the notion that our town was going to be the center of a whole new electronic wave until finally the city council gave in. Yes, there were some hard feelings. Toby didn’t take well to opposition and there were plenty of folks who grew up with our old library and didn’t take kindly to the notion of having to battle a computer to find out where a book is kept,” Talbert said with a smile.

“Enough hard feelings to kill?” Simon asked.

“Not that I was aware of. Miss Ellie was probably the person most affected, but she was more sad than mad.”

“Miss Ellie?” Simon pressed for details.

“Ellie Tannerson. She’s been the town librarian since Hector was a pup, as they like to say around here. Must be nearly 90, if she’s a day, but as spry and as sharp as someone half her age. From what I understand, she had an instinct about books and people that was almost spooky. She must have known the reading habits of everyone who ever borrowed a book. She was an institution around here.” Talbert paused for a moment, then sighed.

“Being old nowadays is hard. Used to be, elders were respected for their wisdom. Now, they’re shunted aside as relics and forgotten.”

“You sound almost bitter, Chief,” Scully remarked candidly. She heard Mulder cut off a retort and hoped he would control his urge to leap to a friend’s defense until this was over.

“No, just sorry to see a woman who’s given her entire life to this town, shunted off into retirement with only an official thank you and a pension,” Talbert replied. He looked at Scully and grinned.

“Sorry, I’m not in the habit of running around at night killing off our local politicians. If I were, I’d sooner go after the chairman of the committee that sets our budget,” Talbert chuckled. “Now that’s a scalp I’d like to collect.” Talbert almost appeared to consider the prospect with a wistful sigh.

“But others could feel as you do. Maybe someone who already had a grudge?” Scully asked.

“Possible. Can’t say that I can imagine any of them waving a cutlass around or hauling out an antique musket, but it beats the alternative,” Talbert conceded. At Scully’s puzzled expression he smiled. “Began to think I had a ghost on my hands. Now that would be a report to have to write up.” Talbert laughed as he grabbed a sandwich.

Scully smiled and prayed that he would never learn how close to the truth he had just come. Simon’s expression grew distant as he stared at the opposite wall in deep concentration. Scully started to say something, then stopped. Simon’s intelligence and openness to extreme possibilities was beginning to get very uncomfortable.

In an effort to distract Simon, Scully threw in her morning’s effort.

“Well, I can confirm that the cause of death listed for each of the previous victims was exactly what was stated. Culver died from a musket ball that shattered his heart. Jackson died from massive trauma to his neck and chest from a heavy sharp-bladed weapon. It would have taken a powerful man to have wielded that sword with such effect. Peters died from severe head injuries consistent with the fall. Unfortunately, no one sent in samples of Jackson’s or Culver’s blood for a tox screen.” Scully tried not to sound critical.

Talbert shrugged his shoulders and looked apologetic as he tried to swallow the bite of sandwich he’d just taken.

“Sorry. No one thought about it until too late. We were dealing with an obvious cause of death in both cases. I admit I fell down on the job, but it didn’t occur to me a tox screen was needed,” Talbert replied without attempting to sidestep his mistake.

“They might not have been of much help, but it’s always nice to have them and not need them, than need them too late,” Scully advised. She gave Talbert a quick smile to let him know she was giving advice, not criticizing his lapse.

A sudden chill warned her that Mulder was up and probably pacing. She hoped that he would remember where he was. Talbert gave a brief shudder and Simon had that look in his eyes again. Please, Mulder, go pace somewhere else, she prayed silently as she tried to think of ways to end this session and retreat somewhere alone with Mulder to talk. The cold feeling receded and she thanked God or whatever that Mulder had heard her prayer. She didn’t believe in telepathy, but she was beginning to believe Mulder could pick up on her thoughts. Better watch some of them, she reminded herself with a hint of a blush.

“Well, we now have a possible motive, vague as it might be. I’ll get my deputies to checking out any problems with the land deal or if there were problems with the contract.” Talbert thought for a moment.

“One of you might talk with Miss Ellie, see if anyone has come to her breathing fire. She lives alone, except for a nephew who comes around to keep her yard trimmed and take care of any repairs. Her home is always open to visitors. Of course, you might have to take a book home with you.,” Talbert gave a rueful chuckle.

“The library board voted to get rid of most of the older books and Miss Ellie had Robbie truck them all over to her house. That was as close to mad as I’ve ever seen Miss Ellie. Said that was no way to treat old friends and if no one else appreciated them, she’d take them home with her,” Talbert said with an openly approving smile.

“If Miss Ellie were thirty years younger, I wouldn’t put it past her to horsewhip Culver and the others. Come to think of it, I might even have helped,” Talbert said.

Simon raised an eyebrow and glanced at Scully. She acknowledged his question with a slight nod, giving him full permission to go off in search of Miss Ellie. Simon had just the right amount of boyish charm to appeal to a ninety-year-old lady, Scully thought.

Simon excused himself and, after grabbing another sandwich, hurried out the door. Scully could hear him talking with one of the deputies about getting a ride out to Miss Ellie’s place.

–X–

“So, other than our obvious motive, Agent Scully, what do you think of this case?” Talbert asked with an intent look in his eyes. He took a long slow drink of coffee, watching her reaction over the cup. His smile relaxed his face, but never his eyes which remained fixed on Scully’s face.

Suddenly wary, Mulder tried to sense any landmines in Talbert’s question and found none. Guilty conscience, he admonished himself. Talbert was simply respecting Scully’s expertise and reputation. Then why did he suddenly feel so vulnerable. Talbert was entirely too poised, too controlled. Talbert was after something, but Mulder was at a loss to know what. He had been very careful through the entire meeting to stay well away from both men. Except for that brief moment when he absently started pacing, but as soon as he noticed Scully’s slight shiver, he had retreated immediately and stayed put in his corner.

“It is one of the more curious cases I’ve come across. I’m sure there is a simple explanation. Now that we have a motive, I think we’ll be able to narrow down a list of suspects and find our perp before he kills again,” Scully replied confidently.

“Now look, I know you aren’t obligated to share every piece of information with me, but I might be able to help. Ross tells me you said you heard Peters yelling something about a dog chasing him. There isn’t a dog in this entire county big enough to send Peters running off a cliff clutching a can of mace in his hand,”

Talbert said, watching Scully intently as he threw that tidbit into her lap.

“Damn!” Mulder swore as Talbert’s words revealed the trap he was laying for Scully. He saw Scully’s eyes widen and quickly blocked her from hearing his string of profanities. Great, we get Simon diverted and now Tonto has to get his hackles up, he grumbled. This playing ghostly partner to Scully was turning out to be more difficult that he anticipated. Scully was being squeezed in the middle and he had no way of helping her out of the trap that was closing around her.

Scully looked at Talbert with a relaxed, attentive expression that never faltered. Mulder admired her composure. She was being backed into a corner of his making and she wasn’t batting an eye. It was too late now to regret he had ever suggested she tell the deputies about the dog. He had been so sure there would be evidence to back her up. This wasn’t a ghost, he would swear to that. So what else could chase a man off a cliff and not leave a single track behind.

“Are you suggesting I didn’t hear Peters correctly?” Scully asked calmly.

“Just noting one more curiosity one top of a case full of them,” Talbert replied equally calmly. “Then, there is the case of why you didn’t follow Peters off the side of the cliff.”

Mulder closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Whatever guardian spirits looked after well-meaning ghosts must be taking a vacation, he sighed. If he had had any idea that Tonto was behind this case, he’d have stayed in Washington and played with the pigeons. He had forgotten about Tonto’s mind-bending skills at solving puzzles.

Scully didn’t reply, but raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. Mulder could see the wheels turning behind her eyes and knew she was trying to fathom where this minor inquisition was going and how to divert it from the truth. She knew she was being blindsided, she just didn’t know by what.

“Ross is the best tracker in five counties. He searched that entire area inch by inch this morning and didn’t come up with so much as a claw mark. However, he did come up with some excellent tracks that showed Peters running like hellfire and you following right behind at a dead run. Peters’ tracks went right off the side of the cliff. Yours stop abruptly about three feet from the edge. Stop so sharply that your feet dug holes in the ground. Ross says it looked like someone, who by the way didn’t oblige us by leaving any tracks in soft ground, blocked your path.” Talbert settled back in his chair and waited for Scully to reply.

Mulder could see Scully was at a loss for words. The nervous little habit she had of wetting her lips and pursing them into a tight line betrayed her confusion. Her hands were clenched slightly in her lap. Lying just wasn’t in her repertoire yet the truth was going to come out sounding insane. Mulder knew Scully was willing to lie to protect him; she just didn’t do it very well. Talbert was an expert where lies were concerned. He was the only man Mulder knew who got away with a bald-faced lie to the Dean.

“Are you suggesting that I’m … shielding someone?” Scully asked carefully. Ask a question to answer a question, a good interrogation technique, Mulder noted, but Talbert had the scent now and he wasn’t going to be diverted so quickly.

“Are you?” Talbert asked softly.

“What are you implying, Chief Talbert?” Scully replied going on the offensive.

“Go, partner,” Mulder muttered softly, but loud enough for her to hear.

Scully’s eyes flashed icily for a second in the direction of his voice and Mulder knew he’d just been told to ‘shut up.’

“Implying? Nothing. Curious? Very much so. I won’t push you for an answer Agent Scully as long as you can give me your word that whatever is going on has absolutely nothing to do with this case.” Talbert caught her eyes with his and bore down with all of his will. Something was going on here and he was determined to find out what it was. He had enough problems with his damn murder investigation without having to worry about what these two FBI agents were up to.

“Shit,” Mulder whispered. Scully remained calm, but Mulder could sense her trying to pick through Talbert’s words to find a way to lie without lying. An infinitesimal moment passed and Mulder saw Talbert’s eyes narrow and felt his soft sigh. Whatever Scully said now, would not be enough. Talbert knew something was up and that Scully was hiding something.

“Sorry Scully. I underestimated Talbert. Forgot he was like a terrier with a rat when it came to puzzles.” Mulder walked over to stand behind Scully and put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “We’re going to have to trust him, Scully.”

“No,” Scully said, answering both men with a single word. She was holding herself rigid in an effort to control the shivers, but her voice was firm and sure.

“Not your call, Scully. I’m not having your reputation called into question because I can’t figure out how to be a quiet ghost,” Mulder responded with the barest hint of humor in his voice. “Hold on to your hat, here I come,” he added with a slight melodramatic lilt. He tried to ignore the soft whisper that sounded suspiciously like Scully calling him an impulsive SOB.

Whispering his own small prayer to the patron saint of ghosts, Mulder began to solidify slowly. He didn’t want to alarm Talbert any more than he had to. As he became visible, Mulder realized he was going to settle one of his burning questions. Did he have to actually intend another person to see him or was manifesting simply enough?

“My God!” Talbert croaked as he sat bolt upright. Mulder was less than half manifested, appearing as a pale shadowy form coalescing behind Scully. A blast of cold air swept out from the apparition. Scully was biting her lip to keep her teeth from chattering while she was openly shivering. Talbert gripped the arms of his chair in an effort to stop his own shudders. Every instinct screamed at him to bolt for safety, but he grimly stayed put. Agent Scully, while looking cold and resigned, did not appear to be frightened by whatever was appearing behind her. In fact, she was actually raising one hand to lay on top of one of the apparition’s hands resting on her shoulder. Talbert wondered why he ever began this line of questioning and whether his need to pick a puzzle apart was really worth this kind of disruption to his ordered view of the universe.

Well, that answers that question, Mulder thought. Now I have to figure out whether I can actually manifest and have people not see me. However, right now was not the time to experiment, he conceded Scully was radiating disapproval and Talbert looked … well, he looked as if he was seeing a ghost, Mulder acknowledged with a wry grin.

“Hi, Tonto.”

–X–

Confronted by the semi-transparent apparition of a man he had been told was dead, Talbert blanched and moved back as far as his chair would allow.

Mulder heard Scully sigh and then felt the reassuring squeeze of her hand on his. Concentrating slightly, he materialized further until he could return the squeeze. The horror on his friend’s face was an all too powerful reminder of his changed state.

“Yes, Tonto, it’s me,” Mulder said sadly, trying for a smile. “I wasn’t planning on making an appearance, but you just had to get curious.” Mulder managed to sound slightly aggrieved and was pleased to note Talbert reacting to his tone. He was slowly regaining his color, but his expression was still shell-shocked.

“Chief Talbert, I’m sorry,” Scully apologized as she gave Mulder an affectionately reproving stare. “This does take some getting used to.”

“Mulder, they … are you … ?” Talbert paused to take a deep steadying breath. “What happened?”

Mulder shrugged. “I ran into a baseball. Next thing I know I’m dead.” Mulder looked a bit forlorn then gave a sad chuckle. “You know me, Tonto, always finding the hard way to do things. Turns out I wasn’t supposed to be dead so I’m stuck being a ghost.”

Talbert gave his friend a strained attempt at a smile that began to relax into a reminiscent smile as he thought back to their days at Oxford. “Mulder … “

“It’s OK, Tonto. I’m getting used to the idea, with Scully’s help.” Mulder smiled at her and was delighted when she smiled back. Before he could lose himself in that smile, he turned back to Tonto.

“You’re what I’ve been sensing. I knew something was upsetting the spirits, but thought maybe it was the murders,” Talbert said accusingly.

Mulder shrugged an apology. “Sorry. I’m still new at this ghost business. I never intended to be noticed, but I had no choice.”

Talbert saw pain, stubbornness and a melancholy tenderness in his friend’s eyes as he glanced down at his erstwhile partner following his confession. Whatever these two shared, death had not been able to diminish it.

“No, I don’t suppose you could, Mulder. May I also assume that you are the source of the dog theory?”

“Guilty. It seemed like a good idea at the time.” Mulder confessed with a sly grin that provoked a chuckle from Talbert and a quizzical look from Scully.

“An old college story, Scully. I’ll tell you later,” Mulder said as he muffled a laugh at old memories.

“Did you see a dog, Mulder?” Talbert asked brusquely, returning to a quasi-official tone.

“No, not really. I mean I saw something but it just looked like a shadow that flickered for a moment and was gone. Peters was the one ranting about a dog.” Mulder mentally counted the seconds as he watched that comment sink in. Talbert closed his eyes and muttered something in a strange language before taking another deep breath. He did not look happy with this latest revelation.

“Mulder…” Scully chided as she warily watched Talbert trying to come to grips with Mulder’s casual reference to yet another ghost.

“OK, Mulder. Why don’t you tell me exactly what is going on here?” Talbert said through a resigned sigh. His eyes narrowed and his expression left no doubt he wanted the whole story with no further frills. “Am I really dealing with a murderous ghost?”

“Tonto, as your resident expert on ghosts, I can assure you that your perp is not a ghost,” Mulder replied calmly. “Peter’s spirit only hung around for a couple of minutes. He stormed about, complaining about the dog and threatening to sue the owners. He sounded like a very vindictive man,” Mulder added in a mildly resentful tone.

Scully reached over and laid her hand on his arm. Her eyes told him she understood his resentment at being left behind to haunt her while an angry bitter man like Peters was ushered into the afterlife. Mulder nodded to let her know he was coping.

“That sounds like Amos. So, what we have is a dog, visible only to the victim?” Talbert looked as if he hoped someone would contradict him.

Scully nodded, giving Talbert a resigned smile. Mulder followed suit. Talbert just sighed.

“This case is just one frigging contradiction after another,” Talbert muttered. “Sorry, Agent Scully,” he apologized.

“I understand, Chief, believe me, I understand. However, I also believe that sooner or later all of these seeming contradictions are going to add up to a reasonable conclusion,” Scully assured him. Her tone of voice made it clear that she sympathized with his frustration and his bewilderment.

“Does your partner know about …,” Talbert looked at Mulder, somewhat surprised to notice a flicker of pain flash across his eyes.

“Agent Ambercrombie is not aware of Agent Mulder’s continued presence. I believe it best that he not be made aware of the situation,” Scully said quietly, with a sadness that made Talbert’s heart ache.

“Now, Tonto, if you don’t mind, I’ll go back to being the invisible man. I’ll keep Scully informed of any theories I come up with and she’ll pass them on to you,” Mulder said, pausing a moment before continuing in a more serious tone. “I need you to keep my peculiar situation a secret. Scully and I made some powerful enemies who might decide to go ghost hunting if they suspect I’m still around.”

“Scout’s honor, Mulder. Just drop by and say hi on occasion.”

Talbert stuck out his hand, bracing himself for the cold touch of Mulder’s hand.

Mulder looked at the hand, looked deep into Talbert’s eyes, then grasped his friend’s hand in a firm, if chilly, grasp. Satisfied that the bargain had been sealed, Talbert stepped back and watched as Mulder faded slowly from sight, letting his fingers touch Scully’s until there was nothing left but a chill in the air around them. Scully released the breath she had been holding in a long sigh then set her shoulders and Talbert saw the professional agent reassert itself in her demeanor.

“Satisfied now, Chief Talbert,” she asked with a slight exasperated note in her voice.

“Completely, Agent Scully. I’m sorry I forced you and Mulder into this, but I have too many mysteries on my hands. I needed to sort out what was important and what I could ignore. I’ll keep your secret. Mulder knows I owe him too damn much to ever repay him. I thought, with his death, that the debt could never be repaid. It will be my pleasure to protect his secret. Besides, who would ever believe me?” Talbert asked with a grin.

“Nobody, Chief Talbert. Ghosts don’t exist except in fairy tales and children’s stories,” Scully added with a smile and a handshake.

Talbert watched her leave the office, sensing that Mulder wasn’t far from her side. The relationship those two shared was beyond anything he had ever witnessed, but he was glad his friend had finally found a woman worthy of his trust and his love.

“Now, back to the boring, but necessary paperwork this damn case is generating,” Talbert muttered.

“Sam!”

One of the deputies poked his head in the door. “Yes sir?”

“Get me everything you can find on the new library project. Council minutes, protest letters, everything,” Talbert ordered.

“Right away, chief.” The deputy shut the door and hurried off to burrow through City Hall records.

Talbert settled down to work and spared a prayer that Agent Ambercrombie was gleaning something useful out of Miss Ellie. Knowing that Mulder’s profiling skills were also on the job suddenly gave him hope that between the four of them, they could solve this case before another man died.

–X–

Simon looked at the ancient house as he followed Deputy Sullivant through the neatly painted picket fence. At a rough estimate, he figured the house must be over a hundred and fifty years old. It was a classic clapboard house popular around the Civil War. Miss Ellie’s Robbie must be a hard worker, Simon thought as he took in the neatly painted house and trimmed yard. The bright blue shutters and trim added a cheerful note to the plain white house.

Sullivant took the porch steps two at a time and pulled the clapper string on a large brass school bell. Before the echoes died, a tall, willowy elderly lady opened the door.

“Afternoon, Miss Ellie,” Sullivant said cheerfully.

“Well hello, Tommy. What a pleasant surprise. Do come in and have some lemonade.” Miss Ellie’s clear gray eyes sparkled with delight. Simon found himself smiling in response.

“Not today, Miss Ellie. I’ve got to get back to work. I brought someone who wants to talk to you about the new library project. Ma’am, this is Agent Simon Ambercrombie from the FBI. Agent Ambercrombie, this is Miss Ellie, our town librarian and the lady who taught me that a book was something more than a heavy missile weapon,” Sullivant said with a fond grin.

Simon saw the light in her eyes dim for a moment before she smiled wistfully at Sullivant.

“You were a mite more stubborn than most boys Thomas Sullivant, but I think the captain and I managed to persuade you in the end,” Miss Ellie’s bright smile returned. She turned to Simon and studied him for a moment. Simon felt himself reverting back to an awkward gawky boy. “Well, come in then, Simon, and set a-spell. It’s too hot to be talking out here.”

Miss Ellie stood aside and Simon stepped through the door into another world. Books, all sizes, shapes and colors, lined the walls in floor-to-ceiling bookcases. The room smelled of well-oiled leather and paper. For a moment, Simon wondered if he had stepped through a door in time to the first incarnation of the town’s library. Every book was neatly shelved. Dust motes danced in the slow moving air of a ceiling fan. The room was cool and dry, perfect weather for books, Simon thought as he fought to bring his mind back to the reason he came. The sight of this many old books was more tempting to him than cocaine to an addict. Perhaps coming here was a mistake, he thought as his fingers itched to trace the titles of each volume to find old remembered friends, to lose himself in their tales.

“They speak to you too, don’t they?” Miss Ellie’s voice whispered softly behind him.

Simon nodded, at a loss for words to describe what he was feeling. He felt the books reach out and welcome him as if he were a traveler come back home at last. The outside world, with its stress and turmoil seemed to fade away as he inhaled the barely remembered scent of parchment and leather.

“Well now, perhaps you’ll be pleased to select a friend to take home with you,” Miss Ellie said crisply, snapping Simon out of his reverie. She gestured towards a large stuffed chair and motioned him to sit down. “I’ll get us some lemonade and scones, Simon. We can talk better with a cool drink and something to eat. You are looking a mite peaked.”

Simon gave himself a mental shake and sat down. The room became simply a large living room crowded with books lovingly cared for. Around the corner he could see the dining room and saw more books crowded onto bookcases so new he could see the shine of the nails in freshly varnished wood. More of Robbie’s work, no doubt, he thought. He suspected that if he went on a tour of the house, each room would be packed with books. Apparently the library board had a rather broad interpretation of what were useless, outdated books.

“Here you go, Simon.”

Simon came back to the present to see Miss Ellie holding out a large glass of lemonade and a plate of the biggest scones he had ever been privileged to see. His stomach, deprived of lunch and subsisting on only the one danish, rumbled in anticipation.

Miss Ellie smiled broadly. “Take two then. You’re a sturdy lad, you need your energy. My mother used to say that her scones were good solid food, fit for whatever ails you.” With a sly smile, she plucked a scone from the pile before going over to a well-worn rocking chair and sitting down.

“Now, Simon. Why do you want to talk to me about that new-fangled electric library Amos is so intent on building?”

Simon realized that Miss Ellie had not yet heard the news about Amos Peters and stalled for time by biting into the scone. It melted in his mouth and nearly sent his taste buds into ecstasy. If he wasn’t careful, he could cheerfully spend the rest of the day munching scones and drinking lemonade with Miss Ellie. Certainly he could come up with enough questions to justify a lengthy stay.

He looked up to see Miss Ellie smiling at him and sighed. This was a very canny old lady. He could now see why Chief Talbert rated her so highly and why she could have been a terror twenty years ago. He scraped his initial plan to lead the conversation gently around the topic of the recent murders. Somehow he suspected that Miss Ellie would be one step ahead of him if he tried to be circumspect.

“Actually, I’m more interested in why the principal leaders of the library project are turning up dead, Miss Ellie,” Simon said, taking the direct path.

Miss Ellie stared steadily at him as the clock on the mantelpiece loudly ticked the seconds away in the silence. Finally she sighed and shook her head. “So, it is true. Robbie wouldn’t tell me much, just that Samuel and Thomas had died, but I sensed something was wrong. I may spend my life wrapped up in books, but I’m not a fool.”

“No, ma’am, I’m not trying to imply…” Simon began.

“Not you, lad, Robbie … and the others. Just because I was old when most of them were learning to walk doesn’t mean my brain has curdled,” she added curtly. She leaned back in her chair, sipping the lemonade and staring at the bookcases towering above her. Her expression grew distant and she cocked her head slightly to one side, as if listening to a distant voice only she could hear.

Abruptly she got up and walked over to one of the bookcases, caressing the leather bindings and tracing out the golf-leaf letters that identified each title. Simon watched her as she cradled one of the books in her wrinkled, veined hands, holding it as a mother would hold a beloved child. He felt like a voyeur intruding upon a lover’s tryst.

When she spoke again, it was in a whisper, as if the pages of the books were speaking to her, through her.

“They are disturbed. Something evil is walking among them, using them for its own purpose. This evil will not be satisfied. It feels its power and wants more.”

Simon sat still, afraid to move, afraid even to breathe for fear of disrupting her train of thought. He felt the room grow stuffy. The slowly circulating air whispered at him in the voices of a thousand rustling pages uttering words half-understood. Suddenly he became afraid that he would understand the whispered words and fought an urge to bolt for the door.

“Miss Ellie,” he interrupted, forcing his voice to speak over the soft whispers. “What evil?”

“Beg pardon?” Miss Ellie sighed heavily and looked around with a slightly confused expression. “My apologies, Simon. I was wool-gathering. My brain is as sharp as ever, but it does like to take these brief tea breaks,” she added with a smile that sparkled in her eyes.

The room brightened. Simon saw the sunlight chase the shadows back into their corners. The whispers became nothing more than the swushing sound of the ceiling fan. Simon wondered if his imagination was running overtime, yet he could not shake the feeling that he had touched the edge of the mystery behind the killings. Somehow, in a way he could not fathom, Miss Ellie was at the heart of this mystery. She didn’t strike him as the type to go running about in the twilight wielding a cutlass and the kick of a black-powder musket would probably send her flying. Still, he had felt something stir here that he wasn’t supposed to have felt.

“Are you telling me young man, that their deaths are related to the new library?” Miss Ellie sounded incredulous. Gone was the woman who moved among the books like a lover. In her place was a vigorous, sharp-witted old lady intent on prying out of Simon as much, if not more, than he would succeed in prying out of her.

“It seems that way, Miss Ellie. Samuel Culver, Thomas Jackson and Amos Peters were all locally prominent, but the only common factor between them seems to be this new library,” Simon explained, content to spar with this engaging opponent..

“Well, other than the fact that none of them have any respect for books, I suppose you’re correct.” Miss Ellie smiled at Simon’s raised eyebrow. “Thomas lost more books than any other boy in my memory. Once he was done with them, he simply tossed them aside. He ended up doing odd-jobs around the old library building until he was nearly eighteen trying to pay off the fines. Samuel, on the other hand, didn’t care for anything that didn’t move or have gears. If it wasn’t electric, he wanted nothing to do with it. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he came through my door and one of those times was three months ago when he was telling me my time was over.” Miss Ellie looked down at her hands and then looked around the room.

“The last time I saw Samuel was when he told me to get rid of all these old worn-out books so they would have room in the new library for computers and his virtual books,” Miss Ellie paused. “Tell me young man, how can a child climb up in a tree and pass a summer’s day adventuring with Sinbad with a virtual book?” Miss Ellie pinned Simon with a stern look that made him shift guiltily.

“I … I, ” Simon stuttered.

“Never you mind, Simon. It’s not your fault. Perhaps its not even Samuel’s fault. He is right, you know. My time and the time of my books is fading away. I am content, however. I have my treasures here. My golden treasures I call them,” she nodded at the books surrounding her. Then she smiled again and Simon knew that whatever bitterness surrounded this new library project, none of it came from this lady.

“Do you know of anyone who does resent the new library?” Simon asked gently.

“You mean enough to kill? No. There were hard feelings of course. There are folks in this town who remember me fondly and did not like to see me turned out of my own library, but no one angry enough to kill,” Miss Ellie responded with more directness than Simon had anticipated.

Simon gave Miss Ellie a respectful nod. He wished he had known her fifty years ago. Even now, nearing ninety, she was a formidable old lady. Miss Ellie gave him a stern smile.

“Just because I’m old, young man, doesn’t mean I can’t see the meaning behind your words. You came here to ask if I knew anyone who might be behind these murders. I don’t. Plenty of people in this town had reason to dislike all three men. They could be very unpleasant gentlemen when they put their minds to it. No one has come to me breathing fire and vengeance.” Miss Ellie paused for a moment then her eyes lit up with an impish smile.

“Well, I do suppose that if anyone in this town had motive to kill all three men it would be me, but I assure you Agent Ambercrombie, I have not been gallivanting about murdering men as an evening’s recreation.”

“No ma’am, I don’t think Chief Talbert considers you a suspect,” Simon replied with a barely concealed laugh. Whatever else this old woman might be, a murderer certainly wasn’t in her repertoire. “Still, if anyone does come to mind, I would appreciate it if you’d give the police a call. Unless we can catch this killer, I’m very much afraid there will be another death.”

“You’re right of course. I will give the matter some serious consideration. Anyone is capable of contemplating murder, but not everyone is capable of carrying it out, effectively. It is a pity really, that Sherlock Holmes could not step out of the pages of his book and assist of in this matter. Such intriguing mysteries. No matter how many times I read them, they still carry the power to draw me in and carry me away into their world.”

“Yes, ma’am, I know what you mean,” Simon admitted. “For me, it was Lord Peter Wimsey and Campion when I was growing up and Ellery Queen when I was old enough to enjoy a tangled web of clues and deceit.” Simon looked sheepish and wondered what possessed him to leave the safe trail of investigative procedure to talk about his obscure reading habits as a young boy.

“Well, then I have just the friend you need to take home with you.” Miss Ellie got up with just the barest creak of old stiff bones and walked over to a bookcase. Her unerring hand went to a large volume, bound in smooth brown leather, and plucked it carefully from its place on the shelf.

“Here is the last remnant of a collector’s edition the library received as a gift over sixty years ago.” she handed the book to him with a wistful smile. “The man who was to be my husband, before the War took him from me, gave me that set. Between floods and careless borrowers and whatnot, only one volume remains. Take it, Simon. Give one of my very oldest friends a home.”

Simon took the book and carefully examined it. The title, “Murder Must Advertise” was incised in neat gold leaf letters on the spine. The pages were tatter-cut along the edges and showed signs of wear, but the leather was soft and clean except where a hundred fingers had darkened the leather with their own oil. He looked up, unsure of what to say.

“It’s what I want, young man. Maybe it will give you pleasant memories to overwrite the bad when you think of this town.”

“Thank you, Miss Ellie. I promise I’ll take good care of it,” Simon replied solemnly.

“Well, not so good a care that you don’t read it once in a while. A book gets lonely without someone to read it. I don’t want to hear about my books getting lonely, do you hear?” Miss Ellie admonished with an odd faraway look in her eyes.

Simon braced himself as he felt his other sense stir, but Miss Ellie shook her head and the mood passed. Simon released the breath he’d been holding and decided that he had better leave before he started seeing shadows move.

“I have to be going now, Miss Ellie. Thank you for the lemonade and those marvelous scones. If you do happen to remember anything… “

“If a clue comes to mind, I’ll contact Anson. I will talk to Robbie as well. Maybe he’s heard or seen something that hasn’t meant anything up to now. We’ll show Lord Peter and Master Sherlock that we are legitimate heirs to their arts,” Miss Ellie said with a conspiratorial wink.

“Just be careful, ma’am. Whoever is behind these killings is not afraid to kill. Don’t take any chances, please,” Simon implored.

“Mum’s the word, young man,” Miss Ellie promised as she escorted him to the door.

Simon left feeling he had gleaned more clues than he recognized yet with a gnawing fear that his visit had set something into motion. “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes,” seemed to be an accurate way of describing his apprehension. Something wicked did indeed lurk in this town, but who and what was manipulating it was still hidden in shadow.

“Maybe Scully will be able to see what I’ve missed,” he muttered as he headed off towards the inn at a brisk pace. He wanted to write down everything he heard and felt before he lost the sharp bite in hazy memory.

–X–

“You took a big chance, Mulder,” Scully said as she eyed the wedge of tomato on the end of her fork. The inn’s owner, Katie Millins had insisted on preparing a large salad for her and told her to make free use of the gazebo in the garden as long as she was a guest. Katie was a pleasant woman in her early fifties who managed to make her guests feel at home with effortless ease. Tall and willowy with tawny hair and intense green eyes, Katie seemed to take the erratic hours of her newest houseguests in stride. Scully found herself relaxing under Katie subtly warming hospitality.

“I would have taken a bigger one with your reputation, not to mention this case, if I hadn’t materialized,” Mulder replied calmly. He was sprawled in a large wood recliner, barely visible as a hazy shadow against the stark white-painted slats. The screens enclosing the gazebo effectively blocked him from view if anyone happened by.

“I could have handled him,” Scully replied with a crisp tone.

“Eventually, maybe, but Talbert is as stubborn as you are and I didn’t think he needed to be wasting his time being suspicious of you.” Mulder was silent for a moment, watching Scully as she slowly ate her salad and considered his reasoning.

“Because of me, you were being driven to the point where you were going to have to either deliberately lie or tell Talbert the truth.” Mulder’s voice softened almost to a whisper. “Talbert can smell a lie. If you started lying to him, nothing you did or said afterwards would have carried any weight. Getting you sent home in disgrace is not my idea of how I want to help you,” he ended with a typical Mulder-look that managed to combine mischief, sadness and a shrug.

“I don’t think Talbert would have gone that far, but I can see where it would have made our working relationship extremely difficult,” Scully conceded, keeping her expression neutral. She wanted to smile at the memories that look of his evoked, but held to her vow to never acknowledge how effective that look really was. During the first year of their partnership, she had discovered a weakness for Mulder’s favorite expressions. She had vowed then that he would never realize just how effective they were, otherwise she had a feeling she would lose all control of the situation.

“Even so, it was my decision. Besides, it was worth whatever risk I took to see the expression on Talbert’s face when I materialized,” Mulder chuckled. “Paid him back for one very hair-raising Halloween at Oxford.”

Scully gave him an indulgent smile which he returned in full measure. God, how she treasured the memory of those rare open grins that transformed him from a man burdened by conspiracies and secrets to an intensely alive, curious, attractive man.

She sighed quietly. So many possibilities she had not allowed herself to explore. With a resolute shake of her head, she returned those fruitless thoughts back to the closets of her memory and returned to the case at hand.

“So, any more ideas on who is behind these murders?”

Mulder shrugged and shook his head. “Other than an absolute certainty that the new library is at the center of the motive, no.”

“You don’t think a ninety-year-old librarian is masterminding these murders, do you,” Scully asked incredulously. Mulder had come up with some pretty far-out theories in his lifetime, but never one quite this far out.

“No, but I think somehow she is involved,” Mulder said slowly, picking his way through a jumble of half-formed ideas and theories. “Nothing makes sense. Not the way the victims died. Not the total lack of trace evidence. Nothing.”

Mulder flowed up from the chair and began pacing around the gazebo, careful to keep just enough of his attention focused to walk around the furniture, rather than through it. “I’m missing something, Scully. It’s staring me right in the face and I can’t see it.”

Mulder sounded frustrated. Scully could sympathize. She had gone over the autopsy reports and performed a meticulous autopsy on Amos Peters and knew no more now than when she had started. Hopefully Simon was finding his interview with Miss Ellie to be beneficial. She was pinning her hopes on the tox screen on Peters.

“Did anything turn up in the autopsy?” Mulder asked hopefully as he came to a stop about five feet away from Scully.

“Other than what we already knew and the fact that all three men had eaten within two hours of their death, no,” Scully sighed.

“Anything unusual in the food department?” Mulder actually looked hopeful, as if this was the last straw he could cling to.

“Not that I can tell. The autopsy report on Jackson indicated that he had eaten a full meal accompanied by a glass of wine about two hours before his death. The report I have on Culver’s stomach contents did not list any food, but he did have something to drink shortly before his death, I suspect tea or coffee, but the examination was cursory and I really can’t be sure.” Scully looked and sounded exasperated by the casualness of the autopsy reports.

“OK, we have one with food and drink and one with just drink. So far, not much of a pattern.”

“Well, Amos Peters definitely had a couple of crackers and some tea shortly before he started running.” Scully bit back a smile at the alert look of interest flashing across Mulder’s face.

“Now that’s a bit unusual. Running with tea sloshing around inside your stomach is not my idea of a comfortable jog,” Mulder faded to a hazy shimmer in the summer air as he focused on the problem.

“Until we get the toxicology report back from the state crime lab, I’m afraid that’s all we have to work with.” Scully tried not to sound too hopeful. Mulder’s expression resembled that of a cat who may have heard a mouse somewhere; he was distant, focused and not at all aware of his surroundings.

“I’m close, Scully. I’m so damned close I can smell it, but I just can’t make it make any sense.” Mulder fumed for a moment then stopped and turned around to face Scully.

“You’re waiting, aren’t you?” he asked with a mock accusing glare at Scully’s suddenly innocent expression. “You’ve been waiting all this time for one of my outrageous theories to spark something in that analytical brain of yours.” Mulder chuckled.

Scully kept a neutral, slightly quizzical expression firmly fixed, but allowed her eyes to sparkle, just a bit. She had wondered just how long it would take Mulder to catch on to her. His theories, his ideas were indeed outrageous, but for some reason they inspired her to make that leap of analytical deduction that took them the next step closer to finding the real answer to the mysteries that faced them.

“What a team we made, eh Scully? Ying and yang, yet somehow in spite of or, even perhaps because of, our differences we managed to create an unbeatable combination. Did I ever remember to tell you that you were the best thing to ever happen to me?” Mulder asked in an oddly serious off-handed fashion. His eyes were deadly serious, even while his tone and his smile cast the question in the form of a light-hearted quip.

“Scully!” Simon’s hail from the garden gate startled Scully. With a quick nod at Mulder, she took a deep breath and slipped back into full-agent mode. Damn Simon’s timing, she thought unreasonably as she watched Mulder disappear. They were just on the brink of a real conversation, one too long delayed and one she had almost given up hope of ever having when he died.

“Over here, Simon,” she answered her partner’s call.

Simon looked uneasy and Scully wondered what he had learned from Miss Ellie to unsettle him. “Mulder?” she breathed out in a soft whisper.

“I’m here. Something has him spooked and I don’t think it’s learning that Miss Ellie has a habit of running around at twilight butchering politicians. Though,” he paused and Scully almost felt the impact of his unseen grin, “she could be a real handy woman to take back to Washington with us.”

“Sshhh,” Scully hushed him while trying not to laugh at the image of an elderly woman chasing Cancer Man around the Mall with a cutlass.

“Sorry to interrupt your lunch. Katie told me you were out here and sent me packing with my own lunch. I think I could fall in love with this town,” Simon finished with a smile as he set down a plate containing a large roast beef sandwich and a giant pickle along with a large mug of root beer.

“How did your interview with Miss Ellie go?”

“Interesting. She is a fascinating old lady, but no murderer. I can see why Chief Talbert respects her so much. There is something about her…” Simon paused, staring down at his hands griping the edges of the plate, and took a deep breath. He was afraid he was about to blow this new partnership out of the water, but he had to be honest. Just maybe, if Scully had been willing to accept Agent Mulder’s peculiar theories, she might be open to his. Then again, from everything he had heard, Scully remained doggedly rationalistic despite encountering the strange denizens who populated Mulder’s world.

“What happened, Simon?” Scully gave him a shrewd look and recognized the incipient signs of breast-baring. After four years with Mulder, she knew the symptoms of an on-coming oddball theory as well as she knew the periodic table. “I may not be a believer, but even Mulder was closer to right than not much of the time,” she added. No doubt Mulder was enjoying this small confession of hers, but it was one she owed both men. She didn’t have to agree with Mulder to accept that sometimes, science and the paranormal could both supply the answers to a single question.

“Did you ever get the impression that something good and very special was being corrupted by someone or something evil?” Simon looked up at Scully, his eyes looking past her into shadows she did not see.

“What happened?” Scully repeated slowly, not wanting to startle Simon who appeared to be miles away in thought.

“I met a charming eccentric old lady who has surrounded herself with books that are as real to her as you or I. Yet, despite all her eccentricities, Miss Ellie possesses a keen mind and a sharp awareness of people. She doesn’t know who is behind the killings, but, for some reason, I think she is somehow involved,” Simon reported in a perplexed tone of voice. “I don’t want her to be involved and I don’t think she is consciously involved, but she is, somehow, in some way I can’t figure out. Damn this case,” Simon blurted. Seeing Scully’s concerned expression, he shrugged and began slowly eating his sandwich, obviously wanting to think rather than talk for the moment.

Scully sat back and sipped her tea and considered the mounting evidence. Mulder felt the case revolved around the new library and, for whatever tendencies he might have towards extreme theories, Mulder’s instincts were sound. The only link between the dead men was the library project. Now Simon came back from talking with the former librarian convinced that she was at the heart of the mystery. Too many intangibles and too many ‘what-ifs’ for her taste, but right now, they were all she had to work with.

It really didn’t come as much surprise that Simon believed in the paranormal. Certainly he seemed to be able to tell when Mulder was around. Despite all of Mulder’s assurances and her own dislike of paranormal explanations, Scully was beginning to wonder if they weren’t dealing with a ghost. Mulder was still very new to his condition and an older, more experienced ghost might be able to hide from him. Scully shook her head and wondered how she had become desperate enough to reach the point where she was giving serious consideration to believing their perp was a ghost.

“OK, then until we hear back from the state crime lab, we’ll focus our attention on the library project. Meanwhile we can interview the remaining two men on the list and arrange for Chief Talbert to keep an eye on them between eight and nine at night. Maybe our killer will get careless or overconfident. He certainly has been bold enough in the past. I doubt if he sees much reason to become cautious now,” Scully commented drily.

“In other words, it may work to our advantage that we appear to be floundering badly?” Simon asked ruefully. “Never thought I’d see the day when coming up empty could be seen as a positive step.”

“These are the X-Files, Simon. Sometimes we move in mysterious ways to find the truth.” Scully gave him a warm smile of encouragement.

“And sometimes we simply moved in mysterious ways chasing our own tails, Scully.” Mulder’s comment drifted softly on the afternoon breeze from somewhere near the trellis on the gazebo’s eastern wall.

Scully silently told Mulder to be quiet even as she acknowledged the truth behind his quip. Still, it had taken nearly a year for her to realize that they were often chasing shadows who refused to be caught. She didn’t want to discourage Simon any sooner than she had to. She wondered if it was possible to ease someone gently into an awareness that one’s own government hid crueler secrets than any serial killer could dream of.

“Well, I can’t say we’re making any progress attacking this case head on, so I’m all for a surprise flank attack. I want to write up my report on the interview with Miss Ellie this afternoon. I’ll do some checking with some friends of mine on the Internet and see if they can dig up anything on the new librarian. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll turn out to be a serial killer in his spare time,” Simon managed to smile.

“We can’t be that lucky. It’s against the rules,” Scully said with a straight face. She was rewarded by the sound of Mulder trying to choke back a laugh.

“Keep your cell-phone on in case I need to contact you. I want to wander around and try to get a feel for the layout of this town and how our killer seems able to move around so easily without being seen.” Scully collected her dishes and prepared to leave the gazebo.

“Maybe you can ask that mysterious stranger of yours if he has seen anyone.” Simon looked almost startled by his own voice. He colored slightly. “I’m not prying, Scully, but he is our only lead and we are running out of anything else resembling a lead. Just ask him,” Simon urged keeping his eyes resolutely away from Scully’s face. Her sudden stillness was measure enough of her unease with this topic.

“See you this evening. I’ll ask Chief Talbert to post a guard on Rowston’s house before I take my walk,” Scully said, avoiding the topic of her ‘mysterious stranger’ completely. She heard Simon sigh and suspected that eventually his patience was going to run out unless they solved this case soon.

She felt Mulder’s hand on her back as she walked back to the house. “He’s as stubborn as someone else I once knew. Any chance you two are related?” Scully asked facetiously. A disgruntled hrumph was her only answer, but the fingers against her back twitched a bit as if Mulder was laughing.

–X–

“Well, Scully, still convinced there is a straight-forward explanation for the killings?” Mulder asked as he perched on a low stone wall outside the historic grist mill. For nearly four hours he had taken Scully over the town, showing her the nooks and crannies of the crime scenes and all the ways in and out of each area. They had ended up at the restored grist mill. Scully was sipping a large lemonade on a small bench underneath a shade tree a little ways away from the tourists occupying the outdoor patio.

“I haven’t seen anything to prove otherwise,” Scully gave a small weary sigh and flexed her feet. She now knew this town better than she knew her own neighborhood. “I think we are dealing with a very human killer who is simply using very unconventional methods to execute his murders.”

“Without leaving any trace evidence behind? He could be real popular with the CIA,” Mulder cracked. In a way, he found Scully’s continued resistance to the paranormal, in spite of his intrusion in her life, to be rather comforting, a constant in his radically altered universe.

“I’ll admit, the lack of evidence disturbs me, but at every crime scene I have seen ways a clever killer could have carried out the crime,” Scully responded.

“I think we’ll find that the lack of evidence is the key to this whole case. Something is bothering me. I’ve missed something very obvious, Scully,” Mulder griped. “I’m supposed to be a profiler yet the killer keeps slipping through my fingers, almost as if he really isn’t there. What’s worse, is that I’m getting a different feeling out of each of the killings.”

“Mulder, I absolutely refuse to believe we have three separate killers running loose in this town,” Scully snapped as she gave a stern stare at the unoffending wall she assumed her partner was sitting on.

“I agree. We are dealing with one killer, but one who seems to take on a different personality for each killing. Multiple personality disorder patients rarely engage in murder. If they do, usually only one of the personalities is the violent one.”

“Your point is?” Scully asked warily. Whenever Mulder started out a theory using solid psychological reasoning, she could usual expect him to end up pushing the extreme edge of rational possibilities.

“Possession,” Mulder replied in a dead-pan voice, trying to conceal the rising chuckle at Scully’s raised eyebrow and the slight tic of her tongue as she bit back a comment.

“OK, so I really don’t believe we are dealing with a case of possession here,” Mulder admitted as he finally gave in to a chuckle. Scully shot him a cold stare that dissolved into a smile as she acknowledged his quip. “However, I do think we are dealing with more than just normal, I just don’t know what, yet,” he added. He was not going to allow Scully’s first case as head of the X-Files to be a failure.

“Well, right now I’m not willing to rule anything out. Chief Talbert has men watching James Rowston in case our perp goes after him. Larry Alverson is due to arrive in town for a meeting with the Library Board in two days. I think our killer is going to try to take out Rowston before his last victim arrives.”

“Sounds reasonable to me. Also, I suspect Alverson is not as vital to our killer as the local men are. He’s more of an abstract enemy, without the personal animosity our killer has towards the local men,” Mulder offered.

Scully fell silent, obviously in thinking mode. Mulder watched her and wondered what was going on in that analytical mind of hers. This case must be frustrating her. No evidence to latch onto and force answers out of the tiny traces left behind by the killer. In this case, everything was possible and most likely was.

“Mulder.”

The sound of her voice startled him out of a quiet dream where he was alive and they were back in their basement lair arguing over how to collaborate on a report to Skinner. A quick check relieved him of the fear that he had accidentally gone visible.

“I’m still here, Scully,” he answered to assure her he hadn’t gone chasing off into the ether.

“I’m going to take Simon and help Chief Talbert keep an eye on Rowston tonight. His men are good, but they are too local. They might dismiss our perp simply because they are used to him being around and consider him innocuous.” Scully had that firm, no-nonsense tone to her voice that sent a thrill through Mulder. Whatever doubts or confusions she had about this case, she had picked out a plan of action and intended to follow it through.

I wonder if she realizes just how sexy her take-charge confident attitude is, Mulder wondered, making very sure he wondered quietly to himself.

“You could be right. I often thought that if CancerMan had really ever wanted to kill me, he could have slipped in an assassin among the maintenance men in the Hoover Building and I’d have been a sitting duck. We don’t see as threats the invisible men who wander through our lives on a daily basis. Very good idea, Scully.” Mulder let a bit of his pride and respect for her loose in his voice and was mildly pleased to see her accept the compliment with a small smile and a slight nod of her head in his direction. “I’ll tag along just in case something out of the ordinary happens. Just consider me your backup in matters nonmaterial,” he added, only half-joking.

“Just don’t scare the hell out of Simon if you do have to intervene. He is shaping up as a rather decent partner. I don’t want to get the reputation as the agent who keeps losing her partners,” Scully shot back with a straight face. She couldn’t keep the twinkle out of her eyes and finally gave up the effort to remain serious.

“Hey, it will probably be another dull stake-out and we’ll all end up with nothing more than a bad case of boredom by morning.”

“Let’s hope not. I really to get this case solved before we have

Dickerson breathing down our necks. Now, I better go collect Simon and fill him in on the evening’s agenda before we grab some dinner.” Scully stood up and tossed her cup in the waste can as she headed up the street to the inn. “Coming?” she said softly.

“No, you go on. I’ll do a bit more exploring. I think I want to take a look at Miss Ellie’s house. If Simon thinks she is at the center of this case, then I better get to know the layout of her house, just in case,” Mulder said as he flowed over to walk beside her. He touched the small of her back for just a second then withdrew completely into the ethereal. Scully looked wistful for a moment then shrugged off the regret and strode off towards the inn and Simon. To Mulder’s not-impartial eyes, she looked every inch the professional FBI agent determined to put an end to a killer’s flaunting of the law.

–X–

As he watched Scully disappear around the corner, Mulder suddenly remembered that he had no idea where Miss Ellie lived.

“Great,” he grumbled. “It’s not as if I can just casually go up to someone and ask directions … on the other hand,” he mused as he considered his options.

No one in town knew who he was. He could materialize and risk a brief encounter with a stranger and get directions. The icy cold that radiated out from his materialized form was a problem but if he planned it carefully, the effect might be blamed on a faulty air conditioner. The idea appealed to his sense of mischief, although he said a silent prayer that Scully never found out. She couldn’t know how frustrating it was to exist amid a sea of people and not be able to communicate with them or to share the most basic of interactions without considering the ramifications. Hell, at least the people in the Witness Protection Program got new identities and were not exiled from the human race as he was.

Mulder flowed out of the Mill’s patio and into the street, retracing the steps he and Scully had taken earlier until he found a small antique shop near where the old library stood. An large air conditioning unit rumbled as it battled the July heat.

Ducking around a corner into a small alleyway, he concentrated and materialized slowly, making sure no one happened by in the process. When he was fully materialized he gathered up his courage and walked confidently into the store.

He felt strange, disconnected from the solid material world he had just re-entered. Everything had a strange glare that hurt his eyes. Each step was taken on legs so rubbery that he felt he was on the brink of falling on his face every time he moved. He was solid. When he bumped into the corner of a roll-top desk, there was no pain, just a solid thunk and a realization that there was a barrier in his way. He felt ill. Nature might not be rebelling against his intrusion into the world of the living, but his ectoplasmic body definitely had severe problems with being this solid for any length of time. The energy drain was tremendous and he realized that unless he got a quick response to his question, he was going to fade out right in full view of the proprietor. “Wouldn’t Scully be pleased with that little scenario,” he muttered to himself. What had seemed such a good idea was now quickly assuming the qualities of a nightmare.

“May I help you, sir?” The proprietor, a tall handsome woman, dressed in a denim dress, with thick silvery hair and dark brown eyes looked up with a ready smile that turned into puzzlement, tinged with a faint sense of concern. Absently, she fingered a large ornate silver pendant that glowed softly to Mulder’s aching eyes.

Mulder fought to stay focused. He decided he did not have the energy to move any further into the store and hoped that by staying near the entrance he would be able to get away before he disappeared. A quick check showed that he was still completely solid. The expression on the proprietor’s face worried him. Why was she looking at him as if he had wandered in from left … “Oh shit,” Mulder swore softly. In his haste to materialize he had not taken time to alter what he was wearing. The white jeans were probably no problem, but the light gray baseball shirt with the FBI logo was probably a bit out of place. Too late now, Mulder plunged ahead hoping he could just ask his question and get away without giving this woman the paranormal experience of a lifetime.

“I seem to be lost. I was looking for Miss Ellie’s house. She used to run the library in town,” Mulder added aware that he was on the verge of babbling.

“Lost,” the woman repeated in a puzzled tone as she stared at him with an expression of someone trying to put her finger on some notion she’d mislaid. “Used to is right. That damned new library they’re building is a sorry excuse for Miss Ellie’s way with books. Still, progress will have its way, no matter how many good people are bulldozed along the way,” she finished with a disgusted note in her voice.

Mulder fought the urge to repeat his question. If this dear lady did not hurry up and answer him, he was going to lose all hope of remaining solid and visible. He was already feeling the edges of his form begin to quiver and was fighting to hold on with every ounce of energy he could suck in.

“Sorry, you didn’t come here for a discourse on the sad state of our town politics, did you? Take Wayne Street off of the court square, it’s the street just past the old blacksmith’s shop that’s now a bakery, the one with the anvil in the window. Go two blocks north then turn right onto Lafayette Avenue. Miss Ellie lives in the fourth house on the left, almost to the end of the street. I think she’ll be very glad to see you. Just you don’t go and scare her,” she ordered in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

“I mean her no harm, ma’am. She might be in some danger. I …”

Mulder stopped, suddenly uncertain why he was close to admitting his reasons for wanting to see where Miss Ellie lived.

Confused, exhausted and intimidated, Mulder nodded towards the lady towering in the back of her shop and left as fast as his rubbery legs would take him.

“Be sure that you don’t,” the proprietor’s voice followed him out the door carrying an unmistakable warning.

Mulder felt his form go hazy the moment he stepped out onto the street and almost hurtled into the alley in his haste to reach cover before he dematerialized and slipped back into the gray nothingness of the ethereal.

It took Mulder nearly a half an hour before he recovered from his little adventure. When he cautiously reemerged into the natural world, he was still weak, but as long as he was careful to remain completely invisible he was able to move without feeling like he was going to come apart. He flowed back up to the town square and quickly found his way to Miss Ellie’s house without a hitch. Well, other than that really upset daschund on Anthony Street. If people obeyed the leash laws, their dogs wouldn’t be out where they could run into innocent ghosts minding their own business, Mulder thought rather uncharitably. The dog sounded as if it was going to be in need of some serious therapy, but he suspected its urge to wander was cured.

When he turned onto Lafayette Street, he realized what the lady in the antique shop meant – Miss Ellie’s house was distinctive. This was a house that had once welcomed visitors; a house of laughter now darkened by a feeling of unease that warned off interlopers. The house seemed afraid, though Mulder had no idea how or why a physical object could project emotions.

The longer he stood looking at the house, the more reluctant he grew at the thought of entering it. The windows shone with dark opalescence in the late afternoon sun, reflecting back the attempts of the outside world to penetrate the mysteries they guarded. The house stood quiescent, silent, waiting like some ancient dragon content to doze in the sun, but ready to awaken if danger threatened.

The creak of a screen door screeched loud in the silence, startling Mulder out of his reverie. Suddenly the noisy afternoon sounds of children and cars and air conditioners roared back into focus. As if a spell had been broken, Miss Ellie’s house dwindled back down to an ordinary, if ancient, dwelling like all the other houses on the street. Mulder glared suspiciously at the now innocent-appearing house, even more reluctant to enter a place capable of such duplicity.

“I’m back, Aunt Ellie. As soon as I get washed, I’ll brew your tea and we can pick up where we left off.”

Mulder watched as an ordinary-looking man entered the back porch. A small, ancient Yugo was parked in the driveway. That must be Robbie, Miss Ellie’s nephew, Mulder reasoned. Robbie appeared to be in his late fifties. Not a handsome man, Robbie’s face was narrow and pinched with a permanently sour expression that seemed to have been engraved along with the wrinkles. He moved easily and with a vigor that belied his years. From the looks of the house, Robbie was no slouch in the carpentry department. A vigorous man and a strong one, but not a happy one, in Mulder’s opinion.

Robbie disappeared into the kitchen and Mulder resumed his contemplation of the house. With a start, Mulder sensed Scully calling him and realized that he had been lost in thought for over an hour. It must be nearly time for the stake-out to begin and she was probably wondering if he had remembered to join her or was off traipsing after some enticing clue.

“No such luck, Scully. The key is right in front of me, but I can’t make it fit the lock. Miss Ellie is involved, somehow, someway, but it makes no sense – at least any sense that would stand up in a court of law,” Mulder muttered as he followed the invisible cord binding him to Scully. Right now he fervently hoped that a nice solid perp would show up dressed in a cape, waving a sword and attempt to skewer Rowston in front of their eyes. For once, he didn’t want there to be a supernatural explanation. He considered praying, but decided that since nobody out there ever listened to his prayers when he was alive, he really doubted if prayers from a ghost would receive any more attention.

Within moments, he had arrived at Scully’s location. The last few blocks had a hazy, disoriented feel to them and he knew that she was someplace he had never been before. Depending entirely on the connection he shared with Scully to guide him was slightly unnerving, sort of like bungee jumping – a lot depended on that damn rubber band. He wasn’t sure what would happen it the connection ever broke when he was in transit. It wasn’t a subject he particularly wanted to explore.

Scully and Simon had apparently just arrived and were talking with one of the deputies. Mulder moved cautiously forward until he could conveniently eavesdrop without being detected.

“Agent Ambercrombie, I understand your concern, but no one who doesn’t have a good reason has been anywhere near this place today.” The deputy, one Mulder vaguely recognized but could not put a name to, seemed to be trying not to sound condescending. Scully was keeping her face impassive, obviously allowing Simon to take the lead, but having difficulty restraining an urge to point out some of the harsh facts of murder to the deputy.

Mulder whistled softly. Aside from a brief widening of her eyes, she gave no sign that she heard him. Well, perhaps he could hope that the hint of a smile was for him. It comforted him to believe that the half-smile that lit up her eyes and softened her expression was given only to him.

“Simon, I’m going to check around back once before we settle in. Deputy Taylor,” Scully nodded to the young deputy before leaving Simon to explain the realities of murder to a man not prepared to accept that a neighbor he knew and trusted might also be a murderer.

Simon gave her a fleeting look of entreaty then sighed and went back to trying to glean the names of every delivery boy, handyman or neighbor who had walked past the deputy without a thought being given to darker motives.

When they were out of earshot, Mulder leaned over to whisper, “Were we ever that young?”

“Once, a very long time ago,” Scully answered with a hint of amusement in her voice. She could remember being that naive, right up to the moment before she stepped into the basement office that had become her professional home. She doubted if Mulder had ever been that young.

“Any bright ideas?” Scully asked, hoping for a yes, but dreading some fantastic solution she was going to have to justify.

“Not a one,” Mulder replied morosely. So much for his vaunted profiling ability. “Our perp is clever, original and obsessed with eliminating everyone involved in the decision to build a new library. The methods chosen are significant in some way to the killer, in fact, I’d say they were crucial, but why is eluding me. I think when we understand the methods, we will understand the killer.”

Scully sighed, but didn’t look too disappointed. If Mulder had stumbled onto an idea he would have been bursting to share it. She would have felt his excitement. It was back to basic police work and the hope that their perp would be overconfident enough to attempt his fourth successful murder tonight.

“Oh, by the way, Chief Talbert got a phone call from Dickerson offering the services of his expert agents along with a crime scene team and the full use of the FBI labs to solve his problem,” Scully’s tone was scathing.

“Shit. Maybe I should pay a little visit to Dickerson tonight,” Mulder glowered. Tiny sparks began to swarm around them. Before Scully could say anything, he damped down his irritation. Focusing his rising anger into the possibilities of the mischief he could inflict, he felt a chuckle coming on. “Scully, mind if I borrow a sheet?”

“Mulder, don’t you dare!” Scully warned, though the vision of Dickerson waking up to a billowing, sheet-covered apparition did sound very tempting.

“Who, me?” Mulder asked innocently. He wasn’t fooling Scully, but it was nice to relax into the old habit of bantering with her.

“Yes, you,” Scully replied barely masking a chuckle as she began making a careful check of the backyard and the rear of the house. She may have used the excuse of wanting to check out the area to talk to Mulder, but she was determined not to make it into a lie.

Mulder moved into and through the tool shed and checked to see that the screen door and the back door were firmly latched.

“Everything’s clear and locked down tight, Scully,” he assured her when he rejoined her. “Even the windows are latched. Rowston doesn’t appear to be taking any chances.”

“Well, he’s been warned. Talbert suggested he go elsewhere for the night, but he refused. Talbert has almost his entire force scattered around the area, but isn’t very hopeful they could stop our perp from getting in, but he said that the killer would find that getting out was going to be a whole other story.”

“Sounds like Tonto. This case must be frustrating him. He always prided himself on being able to solve puzzles that stumped the rest of us,” Mulder said with a reminiscent smile.

Scully began walking slowly back to the front of the house. She looked frustrated herself and Mulder wished he could be of more help. Just as they rounded the corner, Mulder touched the small of her back and let his hand linger for a moment, feeling the warmth of her body and the pulse of her blood comfort his soul.

“I’ll be nearby if you need me. I don’t want to hang too close. Simon is already bristling like a watchdog. I’d rather not give him any more cause for suspicion if I don’t have to,” Mulder assured her.

Scully paused for a moment, absorbing the feel of Mulder’s cold touch. “Katie fixed up a jug of iced tea,” she said quietly, her voice a whisper that held a distant memory of another stakeout long ago. She felt Mulder’s hand quiver then leave her back. She bit her lip, wondering if she should have just kept that memory to herself. Then, light as an early morning breeze, she felt Mulder’s hand cup the side of her face and knew that he shared not only the memory but also the regrets.

“Be careful, Scully. I don’t want company on this side,” Mulder quipped, trying to hide his concern and a gnawing fear that something was going to happen. He felt like there was a storm brewing somewhere off the horizon. His entire body was beginning to tingle unpleasantly and the air was growing thick and still around this house.

Reluctantly he took his hand away, allowing himself the indulgence of letting the tips of his fingers linger for a second or two. With a sigh he let Scully go on ahead to join Simon without him. Time for him to play sentry and begin patrolling the area.

Scully nodded and straightened her shoulders as she resumed her professional demeanor. Something told her that their perp was going to try for his fourth victim tonight. She had always had a sixth sense about these things. She knew it was simply her unconscious mind putting together a thousand tiny clues her conscious mind had absorbed but not understood. Scientists and investigators did this all the time and called it inspiration, intuition, or even a hunch. Mulder did it constantly, usually on less visible evidence than she was comfortable thinking about, but essentially it was the same process. Now, her intuition was telling her that the killer was getting ready to strike. They were ready for him. This time, she vowed, he was not going to succeed. She would prove to that bastard Dickerson that the X-Files division was as sharp as ever.

“Ready, Simon?” she asked as she rejoined her new partner. The deputy was nowhere in sight, and Simon looked like he had been sucking on a lemon.

“Yeah, sure, considering that half the town has been to see Rowston this afternoon. If our killer was checking things out he could be any one of a dozen people, all with legitimate reasons to be in that house,” Simon grumbled.

“Well, Rowston is still alive and we’re going to make sure he stays that way. None of the victims had been poisoned, so whoever our killer is, he has to make an appearance. We’ll catch him,” Scully assured Simon as they walked up to the door of the house across from Rowston’s. Talbert had persuaded the owners to go see a movie in Columbus so she and Simon could have a comfortable and invisible observation post.

“Ever get the feeling that something really bad is going to happen and you can’t do a thing to stop it?” Simon asked as he ushered Scully inside and shut the door.

The parlor was filled with Victorian furniture that looked entirely unsuitable for accommodating Simon’s lanky form. He found a stout wooden chair and planted it beside the window where he could see out without being seen. Scully pulled up a matching chair a few feet back from the window and settled in for several hours of boring observation.

Scully didn’t answer Simon’s question. She suspected Simon didn’t want an answer. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to consider an answer. This case was unsettling them all. Mulder’s unease was plain. That worried her more than all the baffling, contradictory facts in this case. Her acceptance of the paranormal was limited to the belief that her dead partner had returned to her. She still did not accept that there were things out there that defied science. The notion that they might be confronting something science hadn’t gotten around to defining yet was cause for worry. Simon was a good man. She now understood why Mulder wanted her to take him as a partner, but she would much rather be sitting here with Mulder facing the unknown.

Outside the sun began a slow descent behind the tree-line and the haze of early twilight settled onto the town like a shimmering fog. A light appeared in Rowston’s house, but Scully and Simon stayed in the gathering darkness and watched. Mulder moved into Rowston’s living room and stood in the shadows watching and waiting for the storm to break. Rowston, a handsome man in his mid-sixties with a mane of silver hair and the nose of a Roman patrician, sat nervously in his dining room clutching an elephant gun capable of blowing a man in two. Mulder couldn’t help but compare the situation to a play – the actors were all in place, their lines prepared, waiting for the director to give the signal to begin.

–X–

The clock in Rowston’s living room struck seven, then after an interminable time, eight chimes sounded loud in the hushed silence. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on Rowston’s face and hands despite the blast of chilled air pouring out of the air conditioner beside him. Mulder took another walk around the house, unable to stay still. Whatever he had now instead of nerves was twitching in fearful anticipation. He took a quick jump to check on Scully who was looking tired and tense. A half-empty glass of iced tea sat on the small table next to her chair along with a barely touched sandwich. Simon was pacing in the background reminding Mulder of an agitated leopard. So, he felt it too, this gathering sense of … something.

Pausing to brush a hand across Scully’s shoulder, Mulder returned to his vigil. When he arrived back in Rowston’s house, he knew whatever lurked in the wings was moving. Rowston looked around nervously, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow in frantic bursts. Mulder heard Rowston’s breathing speed up and felt him begin to pant. Mulder scanned the area and could not see what was alarming Rowston. The air felt heavy and an oppressive silence swallowed up the house. Suddenly Rowston stood up and screamed, firing the rifle at something in the living room. Mulder winced as the cloud of hot gas and powder blew through him followed by the bullet which tore through the wall and, from the sound of it, kept going through the next room and out the outer wall of the house.

Fighting his bewilderment, Mulder forced himself to calm down and view the scene with the detachment of a spirit removed from the fears and concerns of the living. Gradually he saw a shadow take form, moving through the rifle fire with deadly intent. From outside he heard Scully and Simon rushing across the street, summoned by the sounds of gunshots. Hell, as loud as Rowston’s damn gun was, everyone within a five-mile radius must have heard it.

Rowston was now beyond rational thought. He kept pulling the trigger on an empty gun, mindlessly caught in the last rational thought he had had. To Mulder’s horror, the shadow snapped into focus and he found himself almost face to face with a shimmering, gaunt, stern-faced man dressed in oilskins and seaman’s boots, stumping towards the terrified Rowston on one wooden leg. A harpoon was raised and ready. The figure was muttering something, but Mulder had no desire to hear what he said. Actually, he had a rather good idea what the apparition was saying, but Mulder’s mind kept insisting that it didn’t exist, that it couldn’t exist on the same plane as he did. For a moment, Mulder hesitated, fighting disbelief until he heard the sound of Scully and Simon pounding up the porch steps.

The advancing figure did not seem to hear their approach and continued to slowly stalk his victim. Gathering his courage, Mulder stepped in front of the apparition and to his surprise saw the thing’s eyes register his presence.

“Begone, foul spirit from Hell. Ye’ll not save this coward’s life.” The seaman’s Boston accent was so thick to be nearly incomprehensible.

“I …,” Mulder tried not to consider that fact that he was about to argue with a figment of imagination. “Captain, this is wrong. You’re being deceived by an evil man.”

The seaman paused, looking at Mulder suspiciously. Behind him Mulder could see Simon burst through the door and jump to one side covering the room while Scully followed him and peeled to the other side. From the startled, confused expressions on their faces, Mulder knew they didn’t see the seaman. Rowston was cowering in a corner holding the gun up as a shield babbling hysterically.

“Cover me!” Scully ordered as she cautiously moved through the room, the seaman and Mulder in her march towards Rowston. The seaman seemed unmoved by the experience, but Mulder shuddered briefly before clamping down on his urge to go off somewhere and shake.

Scully reached Rowston and dodged a vicious swipe of the rifle before disarming the sobbing man and checking him for wounds. Her back was to the seaman who seemed to hesitate. Mulder seized his chance and moved to stand between Scully and the seaman.

“You can’t hurt a woman. Your feud is not with her. You are being used,” Mulder repeated, fighting the compulsion which had sent this impossible killer on his mission. “Miss Ellie wouldn’t want this,” he ventured, praying that his sudden suspicion was correct.

The seaman’s eyes softened, twisting his face into unfamiliar lines. Then the seaman shuddered as if whips of fire were striking him and his eyes blazed with fanatic determination. Slowly he resumed his slow pace forwards. Mulder raised a hand to stop him and felt his hand slide through the figure without resistance.

“Damn!” Mulder cursed. He had a nasty feeling that even if he materialized, he would not be able to interfere. Simon was scanning the room, his eyes darting as if he could sense something just outside his ability to see.

“Scully, Ahab’s in here with a fucking harpoon. Knock Rowston out, now!” Mulder yelled as he bolted for Miss Ellie’s house. It was a last ditch effort, but if they could break the connection that was drawing this apparition towards his victim, then they might have a chance. If he was correct, the answer to this horror lay at Miss Ellie’s. He had to trust that Scully could protect Rowston from something she couldn’t see.

Simon’s head came up and he began moving forward. Scully glanced over her shoulder, startled and prepared to argue. Without a word, Simon swung his gun against Rowston’s head, catching him as he slumped forward.

“What the hell…” Scully began angrily. First Mulder screeches in her ear that there her father was here with a harpoon and then Simon cold-cocks the man they were supposed to be protecting.

“Sorry, Scully,” Simon looked chagrined. “I don’t know what came over me, but I thought I heard someone yell to knock him out.” Simon was looking confused as he stood in front of Scully. He continued to scan the room for an enemy he knew was there, but couldn’t see.

Scully tried not to think about the fact that Simon had responded to Mulder’s command. This case was becoming a real nightmare. How she was going to explain this in her report was going to be a challenge. She was supposed to be the rational one and yet her report was going to read like a cheap horror novel.

Scully went still as her mind suddenly shifted focus and began churning unrelated facts into an impossible thesis. She didn’t believe it, but what if all it required was for the victim to believe in it. Hallucination, drugs, her rational mind pleaded, but that tiny part of her that was Irish and believed in Mulder knew that something beyond her science was taking place here.

“Simon, do you sense any danger?” Scully wasn’t sure why she felt Simon could answer that question, but she was beginning to suspect that Simon had his own form of intuition. Well, why not. She already had a ghost as a partner, why not add a psychic, she sighed with amused resignation.

“I sense something, but it seems to be waiting, maybe even confused, if that makes any sense,” Simon added sheepishly. He was blushing slightly and refused to look Scully in the eye. This was not how he wanted to impress her.

“It’s OK, Simon. I suspect that by tomorrow morning we both we just be glad to forget half of what is going on, but right now I’m inclined to believe in extreme possibilities. Let me know if there is any change, will you?” Scully tried to sound reassuring, as if this sort of confrontation was just another day in the X-Files.

“Right,” Simon answered, his tone making it very clear that he didn’t believe this was routine, but wasn’t going to argue. He wondered if anyone would believe him if he tried to explain that he was standing guard against a phantasm he couldn’t see or hear, but knew with absolute certainty was in the room with them.

“Simon,” Scully said quietly, keeping her voice calm and steady,

“have you ever read ‘Moby Dick’?”

“What the ….,” Simon retorted. He didn’t think his confusion level could go up any higher, but his partner just proved him wrong. This did not seem the time or place to discuss English literature.

“Cutlass, musket, harpoon – what does that say to you, Simon?” Scully prompted, still feeling her own way around an idea that seemed too incredible to even consider. She wished Mulder would speak up, give her some help, but she had a sinking feeling that he had dashed off to confront the source of this madness.

Simon was silent for a long time. Outside he could hear the sirens as Talbert’s deputies converged on the house. He wondered how they would explain the situation without sounding like idiots. No wonder Agent Mulder got the reputation of being half-crazy. After only one case, Simon began thinking that Agent Mulder was probably the sanest man in the FBI if he could cope with all of this without going mad.

Something clicked in Simon’s mind and he began to follow Scully’s reasoning, if reason had anything to do with this idea. “Books. Our killer is using characters out of books. But how?” Simon asked plaintively.

“I don’t know. Hallucinations, maybe produced by drugs and suggestions. We won’t know for sure until we do a tox screen,” Scully answered frankly.

Simon stiffened for a moment then raised his gun. The reassuring sound of deputies rushing the house turned into howls of fear and the sound of men hitting the ground yelling at each other in confusion.

“Shit. Scully, right now I’m willing to bet that whoever our perp is just threw in some reinforcements. Something tells me that our friends out there drank or ate something laced with your hallucinogen,” Simon said as he tried to stay calm and focus on the sense of threat he felt building up in front of him. Whatever was in the room with them was getting angry and beginning to move.

“Mulder,” Scully whispered as softly as she could. “We could really use your help right now,” she suggested. Silence, not even the faint chill to reassure her that he was nearby. He must have gone after the source. “Fine, but how am I supposed to fight something I can’t even see?” she asked the thin air in a vexed tone.

Even a skeptic like herself could feel the tension build up in the room. She recalled watching a storm roll in off the sea and feeling the electric tension roll out in waves before the boiling clouds and rains. The room felt like the inside of a pressure cooker. A greenish-silver cloud seemed to form in the center of the living room, about man-high. Anger, confusion and fanatic obsession billowed out from the cloud.

Simon kept moistening his lips and Scully could see the sweat beading out on his forehead as he stared at the cloud. She had to admit to feeling nervous, well, perhaps a bit beyond nervous, but that was perfectly understandable. They were facing something able to hide in plain sight with murderous intentions. It was only natural that she would be uneasy, she assured herself. The Mulder-voice in her head told her to be careful and not trust anything to be as it seemed to be.

Standing up, Scully deliberately placed herself between Rowston and the cloud. If she couldn’t see the killer, could she stop his attack? Interesting question and one she did not have an answer to, but she intended to do her best. Simon moved to stand beside her, keeping his gun focused on the cloud. He was murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like “The Charge of the Light Brigade” to Scully and she had to smother an urge to laugh.

Simon shrugged and interrupted his recitation to say, “Well, it can’t hurt. We could use a bit of help right now,” and tried not to look sheepish.

“Sure, Simon, whatever, but just remember there has to be a logical explanation for all of this,” Scully reminded him.

The air in the room exploded in sparks as the cloud roared and charged. Scully braced herself and tried to believe that bullets would work against whatever this was. Simon fired first, then stepped into the cloud just before it reached Scully. Scully felt the room contract until her bones bent inward then the air exploded in a blast that obliterated sense and awareness. She fell to the floor. Her last conscious thought was that a mighty wave had crashed against the house, caving in the walls and drowning them all.

–X–

Mulder bolted from the chaos in Rowston’s living room and sped towards Miss Ellie’s house. It hurt to leave Scully behind to deal with Ahab, but the apparition was only the tool of whoever was masterminding these killings. The suspect was beginning to be rather obvious now and he made a mental note to spend several hours kicking himself for blatant stupidity when this was all over. He fought the undertow of Scully’s need for him as he raced towards the center of the storm.

A single light beckoned him through the darkening twilight. The house loomed in the shadows, threatening any who dared disturb it, but Mulder was beyond caring. He had not left Scully behind to face a murderous illusion just to let the menace of this ancient house deter him. His charge into the house became a tug of war with him as the rope. Scully’s need pulled him one way and the house shoved him away, but he fought his way forward slowly until with a surge he dove through the wards and tumbled headlong into Miss Ellie’s parlor.

Books, hundreds and hundreds of books were everywhere and Mulder felt each and every one of them growling at him, rising up from their slumber to rise to the defense of the one person who saw them as living beings. Mulder hoped he wouldn’t have to cope with an army of outraged literary characters out to shred his ectoplasm to the four winds. There were more that a few villains, not to mention heroes, in the books of his childhood that he had no desire to meet, even on a friendly basis.

Looking around, he saw Miss Ellie sitting in a large stuffed chair reading a book in a dreamy, half-aware tone of voice. Her eyes appeared to be unfocused, entranced and Mulder suspected she wasn’t even aware of what she was reading. The words she spoke aloud were the words that Ahab shouted to the great white whale, defiance, vengeance, hatred for the thing that stole his ship and his leg. Hearing Ahab’s curses in Miss Ellie’s dreamy cultured voice was unsettling. In this room, they were the rich textured words of a great novel; words that evoked the smell of the sea and the fear of the great beasts that swam through it and the puny efforts of man to impose his will upon the untamable ocean.

“Miss Ellie,” Mulder began softly, willing her to hear him, this grand old lady who was unwittingly giving life to a killer.

Mulder knelt beside her chair and materialized just enough to form a hazy shadow of himself and touched her arm. Miss Ellie looked up and smiled, not startled at all to see a ghost hovering at her side.

“I don’t recognize you. I thought I knew all my guests. Well, there are so many books, so many tales I’ve forgotten. Welcome,” she said with a warm smile.

For a moment, Mulder felt the pull of her invitation. The sense of menace he had been feeling from the books evaporated, replaced by the warmth of good fellowship and feeling of having reached safe haven. Here was home. Here was where he would be loved and cared for and read…

Mulder shook his head. He was not a book to find sanctuary here. Scully needed his help.

“Miss Ellie, you have to listen to me. Your nephew is using you. He’s using your books to do evil things,” Mulder argued.

“Robbie, such a good lad, but so angry. He helps me care for my friends.” Miss Ellie looked at Mulder for a long time before nodding. “I think I knew. The tea has tasted different and my dreams so real.” Quietly, crying but a single tear, she reverently closed the old volume of “Moby Dick” she held in her lap. “They are the only family I have left, you know, young man. They mean well. They thought they were helping. You won’t hurt them, will you?” she pleaded, slurring the words slightly as she fought the drug pulling her back into the dream.

“I won’t hurt them, Miss Ellie. No one will ever know. We can stop Robbie now, before he hurts anyone else,” Mulder assured her. He took her hand in his and held it until she sighed and closed her eyes. For a heartbeat, Mulder feared she was dying until he sensed the slow but steady beat of her heart. “Sleep, Miss Ellie, I’ll bet you’ll wake up to discover you have more friends left than you ever realized.”

Mulder stared down at the dreaming woman whose belief was so strong that she could call to life the heroes in the books which had been in her care for over half a century. He hoped Robbie burned in hell for using her dreams to wreak his vengeance. Mulder felt the spirits of the books gather around Miss Ellie, comforting her and protecting her. There was also anger, a concentrated fury focused and directed at the man who had used them. Mulder flinched as a thunderous cloud burst out of the shadows in the far end of the room. Vengeance was loose and Scully was in the path of the storm.

Running out of the protective envelope of the house, Mulder felt Scully cry out to him followed by silence. Mulder fled back to Scully’s side. His imagination envisioned disaster, though he knew that Scully was still among the living. So much could have gone wrong. He had failed to protect her. If Robbie had hurt her, he would take a personal delight in haunting that man into hell. He prayed with every ounce of faith he could scrounge up that the wrathful spirit raised up by the books had only taken one victim.

Shaken deputies were slowly getting to their feet on the front lawn of Rowston’s house when Mulder sped past them. Tonto had a look of awe on his face as he carefully stepped onto the porch and moved cautiously into the living room. Mulder didn’t even bother with the door. He rushed straight through the front wall and slithered to a stop beside Scully’s prone form.

Simon was unconscious on the floor, spread-eagled in a giant X, one hand clutching a harpoon. Rowston was slumped in a corner, groggily trying to sit up. A large goose-egg was blossoming on the side of his head. Mulder was impressed. He didn’t think Scully could hit that hard. Scully was groaning softly. If the burgeoning bruise on her forehead was any indication, she was going to have a hell of a headache when she woke up. Other than the bruise, Mulder couldn’t find anything else wrong. It looked as if she had been caught in the blast wave of an explosion.

“Ross, call the medics. We have three people down,” Talbert shouted to his chief deputy.

“Yes sir. What about Robbie here? He’s dead and I know what I saw, but I don’t believe it,” Ross said slowly.

“Leave him for now. He’s not going anywhere. These people are alive and need medical attention.” Talbert got up and looked over at Scully. Ross hurried off yelling for someone to get the medics to the house now.

“Hey, Tonto, it’s me,” Mulder said from thin air. Talbert didn’t even start. Mulder wondered what on earth had happened here.

“Mulder, you have got some explaining to do. I’ve got a dead man, killed by a bloody fucking knight who calmly rode up through my men, who by the way, were being held off by a fucking archer. Damn thing put an arrow through one of my squad car windows. I sure hope you have a nice rational explanation for all of this.” Talbert sounded brusque. Mulder really didn’t blame him. Scully wasn’t going to be very happy either.

“Nope. But it’s over. Robbie is your killer — well, more or less, but he was the one behind the killings,” Mulder said reassuringly.

Talbert glared at the hazy shadow forming next to Scully, then sighed. Agent Scully seemed like a nice sane reasonable person. Hopefully when she woke up she would have a nice sane rational explanation so he wouldn’t have to sound like a fucking idiot in his report. Then again, maybe he could lose the report before it ever got to the town council.

“Agent Scully hurt?” Talbert asked knowing that Mulder was checking her over more thoroughly than even the medics would. From the sound of his voice, Mulder was not frantic so Agent Scully was probably just knocked out by whatever had swept through this house like a whirlwind.

“Knocked out from the blast,” Mulder replied as he smoothed her hair out of her face and away from the bruise. He wanted to take her into his arms and hold her, but he really didn’t think the town needed any more unexplained phenomena occurring tonight and a floating FBI agent might be one phenomenon too many.

Reluctantly Mulder retreated back into thin air when the medics arrived. By the time Scully was awake and assuring the medics that she was fine, Simon was being given oxygen while the medics bandaged a savage gash on the hand holding the harpoon. Simon kept staring at the harpoon as if not entirely sure what he was doing with it. Mulder wanted to hear that story. He knew Simon and Scully hadn’t been drugged, Robbie was nowhere near the area when they arrived with their food. So, how in the world did Simon end up with Ahab’s harpoon?

Against medical advice, Scully stood up, waited while the world stopped spinning. She walked unsteadily out to where Robbie lay in an untidy heap on the far end of the porch. Stooping carefully, she examined his body.

“Not a mark on him, yet I’ll take an oath along with my men that he was killed by a man in a full suit of armor. Agent Scully, if this is a normal case for you, then you and Mulder have my complete and utter respect,” Talbert said as he came up behind her. He felt a chill and knew that Mulder was probably right there beside her.

“Chief Talbert, nothing about this case is normal,” Scully sighed and tried not to look as if she had a killer headache.

“Go back to inn and get some rest, Agent Scully. My men and I will clean up around here. I’m going to have blood drawn from my men and Rowston, and I think I’ll contribute a bit myself. With luck, we’ll all have been drugged and I can write all of this off as drug-induced hallucinations followed by the hysterical collapse and subsequent death of the killer.” Talbert said hopefully.

“Come on, Scully. Tonto can handle things now. It’s over and you need to rest,” Mulder pleaded quietly, praying that for once in her life she would listen to him.

Scully looked as if she wanted to argue, then closed her eyes and held a hand to her head. “Take a sample of Robbie’s blood as well, Chief Talbert. Let’s cover all our bases.” Scully swayed a bit and felt Mulder steady her. “Tell Simon where I am,” she asked as she moved down the stairs wobbling a bit as she swayed in Mulder’s arms.

“Taylor, take Agent Scully back to Katie’s, then get back here, pronto,” Talbert ordered. “See you in the morning, Agent Scully. Oh, and thanks,” he added with a smile.

Scully nodded, immediately regretting that action, and allowed Mulder to steady her for the walk to the car. They needed to talk — God, how many times had she said that to herself, she laughed. But right now she needed a good night’s sleep and a bottle of aspirin more.

“Come on, Mulder, let’s go home,” she whispered and heard his soft chuckle. Tomorrow would be time enough, both for talk and for explanation. Tonight she just wanted to sleep knowing he was watching over her and maybe dream of extreme possibilities.

–X–

The ride back to the inn had been mercifully quick and silent. Deputy Taylor showed no signs of wanting to discuss the case. Scully sat quietly in the passenger seat, content to close her eyes against the glare of the street lamps in the darkness.

As soon as the car pulled up in front of the inn, she exited as gracefully as she could, mumbled a thank-you to the deputy and walked as fast as she could without seeming to hurry up to her room. Twice, on the stairs, Mulder’s steadying hand braced her when the headache flared up in stabbing pain and she stumbled. He said nothing as he felt each tiny hiss she made against the pain. He knew she needed to keep her mask in place until she was alone, away from curious eyes.

Reaching the sanctuary of her room, she shed all pretense of stoicism and sank into the chair. Mulder carefully lifted her feet up and placed them on the footstool. While in the bathroom, he allowed himself to materialize to a semi-solid wraith that seemed more shadow than substance. He was still too tired from his afternoon’s adventure to attempt a full materialization, but this should give him enough form to satisfy Scully’s need to see who she was talking to.

“Here, Scully, I’ve got some extra-strength aspirin and some water,” he offered as he knelt down beside her. As near as he could remember, cold was bad for headaches, so he refrained from stroking her brow as he wanted to do.

“I’m fine…,” Scully started to assure him, then realized that reverberations of speaking hurt her throbbing ear drums. She looked over and found herself face to face with Mulder who did not look at all convinced by her statement. His eyes were dark pools she wanted to drown herself in; to forget in their depths all the chaos of the evening.

“We need to talk,” Scully said, carefully mouthing each word and talking as slowly and softly as she could.

“Take the aspirin, Scully. You need to rest. It’s been a busy night. Our talk can wait a few more hours. I’m not going anywhere,” Mulder said with a smile. Without giving Scully time to come up with any more arguments, he gave her the glass and handed her two aspirin and waited.

“Why doesn’t my head hurt when you talk?” she asked stubbornly, forging ahead despite eyes that narrowed in pain with every word.

“Because I’m not really here,” Mulder answered with a grin. He sighed when she did not look satisfied. “Scully, now is not the time to discuss ghost physiology, but since I don’t have a real body, my voice isn’t real, more or less. I think you hear me because I want you to hear me – it has nothing to do with sound waves or auditory physics. Satisfied?” he asked hopefully. He really didn’t want to try to explain something he didn’t understand himself, but trust Scully to want a scientific explanation for his ghostly abilities.

With a resigned sigh, Scully nodded and swallowed the aspirin. For once, she was in too much pain to argue. As much as she wanted to talk with Mulder, she wanted to crawl under a rock and hide until her head quit hurting. She watched as Mulder turned down the bed. Would he offer to undress her, she wondered with a mixture of shyness and desire. As she tried to sort through her tangled feelings, she made a mental note to add another item to the list of things they needed to talk about. To her disappointment and relief, Mulder showed no signs of assisting her any further.

Mulder concentrated on moving the bedcovers. He felt the heat of Scully’s gaze and felt the stirrings of his own desire. He was grateful that he was too exhausted to betray himself. Scully couldn’t know that she aroused him with a touch or that piercing intense gaze of hers that felt like it was peering into his soul. For both their sakes, she had to remain blissfully unaware of his response to the relaxing of her emotional barriers.

“OK, Scully, time for bed,” he said with only a slight tremble in his tone. “I’ll be right here if you need anything. We’ll talk in the morning, I promise,” he added more firmly and reassured her with a smile.

Scully nodded slightly, relieved to feel the sharp edges of the headache begin to dull. As much as she hated her sensitivity to extra-strength aspirin, right now it was a relief to know that she could let herself fall asleep under its influence. She was amused to see Mulder turn and stare pointedly out the window as a signal for her to undress. By the time the aspirin was slowing her movements and muffling her thoughts, she was in bed and drifting off to sleep. The last thing she saw was Mulder standing by the window, watching her with a sad smile on his face. It felt good to have him here; she could relax completely knowing she was safe in his care.

About a half hour later, Mulder heard Simon come up the stairs and pause outside the door. A soft knock, followed by another, then a sigh then Mulder heard Simon walk slowly over to his own room. Mulder smiled. Scully was still his for the night. One of the reasons he had insisted on giving her the extra-strength aspirin was to forestall her temptation to stay up half the night and hash out a coherent report with Simon. She might grumble at him when she realized what he had done, but she would be rested and refreshed and in much better shape to deal with the fantastic events of the evening.

Watching her sleep, Mulder pondered how much to tell Scully and Talbert about Miss Ellie’s role in the case. She was just as much of a victim as all the others; worse, in fact, her love and her power were abused and twisted by a vengeful angry man. Scully would want to know the truth and he couldn’t lie to her, but he owed it to Miss Ellie to protect her from people who would not understand and might seek to put her away. He passed the night in thought, pausing only occasionally to listen to Scully’s even breathing and watch her face as she dreamed and hoped that if they were pleasant dreams that he was in there somewhere.

–X–

The first bright rays of sunlight were just topping over the trees when Mulder heard Scully begin to come awake. He watched her stretch like a cat then hesitate before relaxing into a smile. Obviously her headache was gone. At least now, if she grumbled at him, he could point out the wisdom of his insistence that she get some sleep.

“Mulder?” Scully’s voice was still thick with sleep but she was scanning the room for him. Her tone was relaxed, mildly curious and not at all concerned that he might have gone flitting off somewhere.

“Over here,” he answered, pleased that she trusted him to keep his promise. Slowly he coalesced until he was a dusky shadow in the morning light.

She smiled and closed her eyes for a moment before bursting out of bed in an explosion of arms and legs. Once upright, she stretched again, giving Mulder a tantalizing glimpse of a nice pair of shapely thighs. Mulder held on tight to his libido and retreated to a corner while Scully went through her morning routine of exercise, shower and dressing. He rather enjoyed the exercise part and, on some mornings, was not above giving her his version of a cheerleaders chant. Nothing like a good scowl to get the blood moving, he told her when she did eventually tell him to shut up.

The birds were in full voice by the time she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a light tan suit, an ivory blouse and his scarf, the one he had given her for her last birthday. Mulder suspected she knew he was putty in her hands when she wore that scarf. Trust Scully to wrangle any advantage she could.

“OK, Mulder, I think we need to talk,” Scully stated bluntly.

Mulder nodded and cocked his head quizzically as if to ask where.

“Right here. Right now,” Scully answered firmly as she sat down in the large stuffed chair by the window. Mulder moved over to the bed and tucked his legs under him and sat down, making sure he was solid enough to stay on top of the bed. Scully had been quite clear on more than one occasion that she found talking to someone drifting into furniture distracting.

“OK, it’s your call.”

“Well, aside from the entire problem of what to tell Simon, what in hell happened last night?” Scully asked with a tinge of confusion marring the professional tone she was trying to adopt.

Mulder quelled the urge to get up and pace around.

“I’m not sure what happened after I left you in Rowston’s house. God, Scully, if I had any idea that you were in danger, I’d never have left you,” Mulder blurted, his worry of the night before still fresh in his mind.

“Just tell me what you saw. There has to be a logical explanation for all of this.”

“Well, there’s logic and then there’s what happened. You might be able to shoehorn this case into rational science, but it is going to be a very tight fit,” Mulder remarked. “The closing of the old library was the key. We may find that Robbie was simply unbalanced or maybe there were other explanations, but whatever the reason, he decided to kill the men he felt were responsible for throwing his aunt out of her job.”

“That explains who, Mulder. Not how. Chief Talbert is going to want to know how. What am I going to tell him – that Robbie managed to create a hallucination that killed those men?” Scully sounded exasperated and Mulder couldn’t blame her. This was going to be a bitch of a report to write.

“I think how is never going to be settled. Blame it on drugs, Robbie’s twisted mind, whatever sounds good. I know what I saw. I know what Rowston saw and I know what the other three victims saw. I even think I know how Robbie was able to do all of this and even what eventually killed him, but you are not going to believe it. Hell, I’m not even sure I believe it,” Mulder said with a resigned sigh.

“Mulder…” Scully stopped and took a calming breath. He was always so quick to discount her willingness to accept answers that didn’t exactly coincide with science. Maybe at one time he had been correct, she did reject anything that hinted at the paranormal, but she had seen enough over the years to begin to accept that, in some cases, the boundaries of science needed to be pushed back.

“We’ll need to talk with Chief Talbert to see what he and his men witnessed and I want to talk with Simon. That harpoon came from somewhere. But you are my best witness at the moment. So tell me what you saw and where you ran off to before everything exploded,” Scully insisted. To her relief, Mulder looked uncomfortable, but finally nodded and began talking, hesitantly at first then with more enthusiasm. She relaxed into the familiar routine of listening to him develop and expound on a theory.

“I was keeping an eye on Rowston and that fucking elephant gun of his. Sheesh, Scully. I think I was more afraid of what he’d do if you or Simon came running in than I was of our mysterious killer,” Mulder grimaced. The memory of the chunks of wall blown out by the discharge of that rifle were only too easily transferred into chunks of flesh.

“Suddenly it got very still and Rowston screamed something and fired that cannon. If I’d had eardrums I’d be deaf right now. I turned to see what was so horrifying and came face to face with a gaunt seaman waving a harpoon around. I knew he wasn’t real and he damn well wasn’t a ghost, but there he was. At first he didn’t notice me until I stepped right up in his face. Scully, he was Ahab, I’d swear to it — right down to his wooden leg. I’ve read the book, it was Ahab,” Mulder insisted aware of how completely out there this story was.

“I believe you, Mulder,” Scully said. She nearly laughed at the look of stunned surprise on Mulder’s face. He flickered in and out for a moment or two, apparently so taken aback by her willingness to believe that he lost control of his form. She coughed and he shimmered one last time before stabilizing.

“Scully, give me warning before you startle me like that. I thought I’d have to argue a lot longer to get you to accept what I saw,” Mulder confessed.

“Well, after you left, I felt something and saw a glowing shadow about man high, radiating anger and a fanatic obsession – just the sort of emotions Ahab would have,” Scully replied cautiously, trying not to sound as sheepish as she felt describing what was rapidly becoming a hazy memory. “Simon saw more than I did, I’m certain of that. When the cloud began to attack he charged it and right about then was when the house exploded and I lost consciousness.” Scully chose her words with care, avoiding saying any more than absolutely necessary about what happened. Stick to the facts, the bare facts, she cautioned herself. They were bad enough without venturing into the emotions entangled with those facts.

“When you and Simon burst in, the apparition didn’t seem to notice. You walked right through him … and me … to get to Rowston and it didn’t blink an eye. I took a chance. I thought I knew where the source of the problem lay. It never crossed my mind that you and Simon could be in danger. Sorry,” Mulder apologized morosely.

Scully nodded and gestured for him to continue. From across the hall, she could hear Simon beginning to stir about in his room. They had little time left.

“I went to Miss Ellie’s house. She was reading aloud from ‘Moby Dick,” Mulder tried not to smile as Scully’s left eyebrow nearly climbed into her hairline. “She looked as if she was under the influence of some sort of drug. I don’t think she realized what Robbie was doing. When I told her, she closed the book. End of story,” Mulder ended abruptly, looking uneasy.

“Mulder, what happened? Simon is going to be over here in just a few minutes. I need to know the truth,” Scully argued. She suspected that more had happened at Miss Ellie’s than she might ever know, but she needed to know the basic facts.

“What do you want, Scully? To hear me say that I think the books are as real as people to her? That those same books realized that Robbie had tricked them into killing for him and took their own revenge?” Mulder sighed. “Miss Ellie deserves better than to be locked up as a nutcase. What happened wasn’t her fault,” Mulder insisted, his voice rising slightly.

“Scully?” Simon’s voice interrupted him. Scully sighed and knew that she had gotten as much out of Mulder as she was going to get. It was a strange tale he told, but considering the fact that she was cross-examining a ghost she was in no position to pass judgment.

“I’m coming, Simon,” she answered as she went to open the door. Mulder vanished abruptly, but not before giving her a shrug of his shoulders and an attempt at a smile. One of these days, she promised herself, she was going to barricade herself and Mulder in a locked room and forbid any interruptions on the pain of death. If she didn’t know better, she would swear Mulder was arranging all of these convenient interruptions to avoid a serious discussion.

“Morning. I smell breakfast and thought we might go over the case before meeting with Chief Talbert,” Simon said uncertainly. His bandaged hand was hidden in his suit pocket.

“Sounds good. I’d be interested to hear what you make of this case. You have had quite an introduction to the X-Files,” Scully said reassuringly as they walked down the stairs. She wondered where Mulder was, she missed his touch, but he seemed to be avoiding Simon. Which might not be such a bad idea, if Simon had some sense that could pick up on ghosts and other unlikely apparitions, she thought.

“I’m not sure you do,” Simon muttered with a shrug. “I’m not even sure what I think I saw any more. Last night it was all so clear. I came back and wrote it all down before I went to sleep,” Simon waved a spiral notebook at her. “This morning, it reads like something out of a bad horror novel. It’s like I dreamed it.” Simon looked forlorn and confused.

Scully sympathized with him. If Mulder hadn’t confirmed what she vaguely remembered of the events, she would have sworn they were part of an elaborate, complex dream. She kicked herself for not insisting that she and Simon be checked for drugs as well. That had to be the explanation – somehow Robbie managed to get access to the food they and the police ate or else he produced some sort of airborne hallucinogen inside Rowston’s house. Scully felt an obscure satisfaction in the possibility that there was a rational, scientific explanation for all of this. A small voice persisted, however, in reminding her that her own personal ghost believed that books had come alive and gone about killing people and if she believed in one impossible thing, how could she justify dismissing other, less convenient impossibilities.

“Maybe we did, Simon. Let’s see what the tox report has to say,” Scully said hopefully.

“Is the tox report going to explain why I have a harpoon in my room?” Simon asked plaintively. At Scully’s quizzical look he went on to explain, “Nobody else seemed to want it and I just sort of brought it home with me.”

He did not seem prepared to go easily down the rational path of conventional wisdom. Scully really didn’t blame him, but they had to find a compromise suitable for an official report. She had Skinner’s health to consider. A stress-induced aneurysm brought on by unexpectedly receiving a Mulder-style report from her would not reflect favorably on the X-Files division.

“I don’t know that we really need to tell Skinner about the harpoon, Simon,” she replied calmly. She was almost amused to see Simon struggling with the concept of fudging a report. “I have found that, by-in-large, Skinner wants to know the facts and how the case was resolved. The minor details sometimes are best omitted from the official record. However, what we put in our own files is another matter,” she added firmly. “I do want to know how you ended up with that thing.”

–X–

Mulder followed Simon and Scully down to the patio and eavesdropped as they tried to make sense of the previous night’s events. Both of them seemed unwilling to probe too deeply into the paranormal ramifications of what they had experienced, yet they kept bumping into the inescapable fact that something very unnatural had occurred in Rowston’s living room. Scully was gamely trying to straddle the fence between science and her new awareness that outside the borders of her beloved science there be dragons. As one of those dragons lurking in the twilight between science and fantasy, Mulder couldn’t help but smile.

At first Simon was hesitant about arguing his opinions against Scully’s preference for scientific explanations, but an exasperated sigh and a brief comment from Scully that she wanted a partner, not a yes-man, encouraged him to begin arguing cautiously for his opinion that something very strange and unscientific had occurred. Mulder watched Scully’s eyes light up and knew, however she might disagree with Simon’s theories, she thrilled to the debate.

“Maybe that’s why she put up with me for so many years,” Mulder mused to a wary squirrel hanging head down on the tree to his left. The squirrel responded with a hysterical chattering that prompted Scully to look up with her Mulder-I-can’t-take-you-anywhere smile. Mulder smiled back even though she couldn’t see him. Well, maybe she can feel the smile, he thought hopefully.

As he sat there listening to them debate in between bites of a scrumptious-looking breakfast, Mulder began to feel nostalgic for the days when he was alive and it was him sitting where Simon was sitting. A trickle of jealousy wormed its way into his enjoyment of the scene. Simon was in his place, sitting there oblivious to the privilege he was taking for granted. He felt a growing sense of irrational resentment towards Scully for being able to sit there and enjoy debating a case with her partner while he was dead. Mulder winced at that image and realized he still had not come to terms with his abrupt death. Then again, even when he was alive, he was not the world champion in coming to terms with the traumas in his life.

Better to leave before he embarrassed Scully with a display of petty jealousy that would be awkward to ignore and impossible to explain. He knew his jealousy was unfair, but that didn’t mean he could just shrug it aside. Death hadn’t magically transformed him and erased all his faults; it just severely limited his options to act on his impulses. For a moment, he considered just leaving without a word, but Scully had smiled at him and that alone deserved a courteous gesture in return. He waited until Simon took a drink of his coffee to lay his hand on her shoulder with a whispered ‘I’m going to wander for a bit. See you later.’

Scully gave a slight nod with a look in her eyes that told Mulder she understood. She threw out another question about the mysterious cloud that appeared in their midst last night before Simon had time to register her shift in expression.

Leaving the inn, Mulder wandered over to Rowston’s house. The place was empty except for the carpenters looking at the blast holes in the walls, escorted by a nervous-looking deputy who kept reminding them not to touch anything. Listening to the workmen, he got the impression that the prevailing gossip held that Rowston had gotten drunk and had accidentally shot Robbie when he arrived at the scene. Opinion was divided on whether Robbie was killer. Not a word was said about the archer who held off the police nor about the armored knight who dispatched Robbie. Mulder gave Tonto credit for persuading his men that talking about what they saw would get them labeled as drunks or fools.

With a thought, he shifted over to Miss Ellie’s house and assured himself that she was still sleeping, suffering from no ill effects from the drug. He saw a single deputy sitting in a patrol car outside the house, apparently under orders to observe but not to enter until Miss Ellie was up and around. No doubt Tonto and his men were crawling all over Robbie’s house looking for evidence. Since he was here and was well past the stage where a warrant mattered, Mulder decided to search the house for any sign of the drug Robbie used to put his aunt into a trance.

As he moved about the house, Mulder felt the presence of the books like a shadow following him about. Apparently Miss Ellie’s drugged acceptance of him had moved him from a warily watched stranger to a tolerated guest. He felt no menace, only a watchful protectiveness when he was in Miss Ellie’s bedroom. A search of the main living areas turned up nothing. Mulder stood in the kitchen, feeling frustrated when he felt a tug. Startled, he looked down and saw the shimmering shape of a large collie. Once the dog had his attention, he padded off through the kitchen door into the back porch. Hoping his own sanity was not beginning to fray, Mulder followed and found the dog sitting beside a large tool chest. The dog had a very smug look on his face that turned to a growl as he nosed the chest.

Must be Robbie’s, Mulder concluded. He hoped Robbie’s spirit had gone on to wherever the souls of murderers go because if he was unlucky enough to get stuck as a ghost in this town, hell would start looking mighty good.

Carefully Mulder materialized enough to open the chest. The collie barked sharply once, as if saying, ‘good boy,’ then trotted back into the kitchen.

“Great, now I’m taking orders from a dog,” Mulder groused. Rummaging through the tools, he came upon a jar containing several small button-like shapes that looked organic. A dim memory of a long-ago psychology class discussing mind-altering drugs, he began to have a dawning understanding of what Robbie had done. The how might never be answered, but the motive and method behind the killings could probably be answered to the law’s satisfaction.

Replacing the jar where he had found it, Mulder closed the tool chest and left the house through the screen door. He would alert

Tonto to the jar and let official channels handle the rest. Those little buttons should give Scully the scientific answer she wanted without negating a single paranormal event. He thought that Tonto would be very interested in the buttons and would understand better than most exactly what Robbie had done. Maybe he could get used to this ghost business if it meant he could actively contribute to the cases Scully took on. It didn’t exactly make up for dying, but he was beginning to see a number of intriguing possibilities in this new existence.

The town was beginning to bustle and he thought he heard Miss Ellie begin to stir upstairs. He felt the faint tug that told him Scully was on the move. Tonto must have sent someone to fetch her for their morning meeting. This should be interesting, he thought as he drifted back along the thin cord connecting him to Scully. Three people trying to come to some sort of agreement about what happened and write a report that won’t get them dismissed as lunatics. Watching Scully and Tonto try to fill in the gaps with the information he could give them without alerting Simon to the source of their information should be quite entertaining.

–X–

When he arrived in Tonto’s office, Scully and Simon were already being plied with coffee in the outer office. Tonto did not look as if he had slept and Mulder noticed that his men tended to start at sudden sounds and shadows. He was very careful to stay dematerialized. A random rush of icy air might start a panic and Tonto would know exactly who to blame. Mulder didn’t think Tonto knew any shamans, but he didn’t want to take the chance that he might just be pissed enough to hunt one up.

“Hey, Tonto, you look like shit,” Mulder whispered in a cheery tone. Talbert started, nearly spilling the coffee he was pouring.

“Damn, can’t you give a man some warning before doing that?” Talbert asked as he set the mug down on his desk. He gave a wary glance at the door.

“They’ll be here in a moment. I just wanted to let you know that there is a jar of what appears to be peyote buttons in a large tool chest on Miss Ellie’s back porch,” Mulder informed him smoothly just as the office door opened.

“Fuck … ” Talbert swore as the implications of Mulder’s message sunk in.

“Good morning to you too, Chief,” Scully said calmly. From the look on Talbert’s face, she would be willing to bet that Mulder had just dropped a bombshell on the chief. Talbert appeared to be trying to shift gears in mid-stride. Whatever the news was, must have major implications on this case. She wondered if she looked like that whenever Mulder graced her with one of his leaps of intuition. She gave Talbert a knowing smile and a resigned nod to let him know she understood and sympathized. Moving over to the large table, she sat down and slowly sipped her coffee. Despite having finished breakfast not half an hour ago, Simon pounced on a large lemon danish. Seeing Scully’s smile, he shrugged and took a bite.

“I’m addicted to danish. When they open a Betty Ford clinic for pastry abuse, I’ll be one of the first to sign up. Until then….,” Simon retorted. He was beginning to relax around Scully. Nothing like facing something completely unnatural and inexplicable to break down the artificial barriers, he thought.

He realized that Scully was giving Chief Talbert a chance to recover his composure and was willing to play along, but he wished he knew what had so disconcerted the normally composed policeman.

“Jeff, radio Ernie to go up to Miss Ellie’s place and ask, very nicely, if he can have the large tool chest on her back porch. I presume it’s Robbie’s. There may be evidence inside,” Talbert told Deputy Sullivant who was hovering by the door. As the young deputy turned to leave, Talbert continued, “And tell Ernie that Miss Ellie has probably forgotten all about that book he lost in second grade.” Talbert gave the bewildered Jeff a smile and waved him back into the outer office.

Scully raised an eyebrow in Talbert’s direction, but he refused to meet her eyes. Scully heard a ghostly chuckle from over in the corner and squelched a chuckle of her own. Simon gave her a measured look full of unasked questions. She did her best to ignore the look and concentrated on glancing over her notes. Simon looked at Talbert, then at Scully and gave an imperceptible nod before turning his attention back to his danish.

“OK, let’s get started, shall we?” Talbert began as he fortified himself with a large swig of coffee. “I assume, Agent Scully, that you and Agent Ambercrombie have come to some sort of consensus about what occurred inside Rowton’s house last night. I think it would be prudent if our accounts managed to converge on the details as well as on the overall course of events.” Talbert’s professional demeanor mostly hid the hopeful tone of his voice.

Simon looked at Scully, who cocked her head as if to ask him if he wanted to talk, and shook his head. He waved her on and stared down at the scrawled notes in his journal.

“Simon and I were observing the Rowston house from across the street when we heard several loud gunshots at around 8:35 p.m. We proceeded across the street and entered the house. Mr. Rowston was in his dining room in a state of extreme hysterical shock. There were several large holes in the walls of the room, presumably where the bullets he had fired had gone through,” Scully said in a precise, level tone. She was going to make it through this report without resorting to paranormal explanations, but it would require very careful wording.

“So far, so good, Scully,” Mulder whispered. He smiled at the flash of irritation in her eyes. He knew what she was trying to do and understood, however reluctantly, the reasons for it, but he didn’t want her to forget that she couldn’t dismiss everything paranormal with a few well-chosen words. Talbert was looking encouraged that he might just get a perfectly sane rational explanation out of this case after all.

“While I checked Mr. Rowston for signs of injury, Simon kept watch. Mr. Rowston appeared agitated and incoherent, his pupils were dilated and his pulse rapid. He was muttering about being under attack, but neither Simon nor I could see anyone in the area. We heard you and your men approach the house and … ” Scully stopped and took a deep breath. From this point on, she knew her observations must be considered highly unreliable, but Simon’s story seemed even more incredible. Ever since she heard it over breakfast, she had been trying to find a way to relate his evidence without opening him up to ridicule.

“Agent Scully was preoccupied with the victim, Chief Talbert,” Simon interrupted. He couldn’t help it if his story sounded insane, it was the truth. He appreciated Scully’s efforts to put a better face on his experience, but frankly he preferred to just tell what happened and deal with the fallout. For once in his life, he just wanted to tell the truth and not care what people thought. Anyway, if Scully, after all she had experienced with Agent Mulder, thought he was insane, then he’d rather know it now then get too attached to being her partner.

“Simon…” Scully tried to retake control of the conversation, but stopped at a light cold touch of Mulder’s hand on her shoulder.

“Let him tell it his way, Scully. I know how he feels. Something happened to him he can’t explain and if you try to bury it, it will only fester,” Mulder said quietly.

Scully sighed and reluctantly settled back into her chair and stared into her coffee. Mulder was right, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.

“I know most of what I’m about to say won’t ever make the official report. At least I hope it doesn’t,” Simon said with a rueful grin. “Something was in that room with us, Chief. Maybe we were drugged, I don’t know. I didn’t feel drugged at the time. I saw a cloud form out of thin air,” Simon noticed Talbert twitch and give a hasty glance at Scully who shook her head. Damn, Simon wished he knew what those two knew that they weren’t telling him. “I heard someone yell to knock Rowston out, that he was drawing the killer to him. So I sort of … well, I tried not to hit him too hard,” Simon added sheepishly.

“Wondered where he got that goose-egg. Don’t worry. Rowston doesn’t remember a thing about last night. He figures he fell asleep and rolled off the chair and bumped his head on the table legs. I see no reason to inform him otherwise,” Talbert assured Simon who only looked partially relieved.

“This is going to sound silly, but I felt the cloud get really angry and start to move towards Rowston. Agent Scully was in the way and I acted to protect my partner.” Simon looked all around the room, trying to avoid Scully’s eyes. It sounded so much better when it was happening. Now it came across as being rather melodramatic.

Mulder looked at Simon with new respect. He didn’t think Ahab would have been able to harm Scully, but Simon didn’t know that and had not hesitated to intervene. Jealousy aside, Mulder realized that maybe, just maybe, he had found someone who had the same basic goal he did – protect and preserve Scully.

“Instinctive reactions in the heat of battle always sound a bit silly in the light of day, Agent Ambercrombie. I think it’s a case of ‘you had to be there’ and believe me, most of us have been there,” Talbert said encouragingly. Simon looked so young. This must have been the first time he had put his life on the line for a partner and now wondered if he had made a fool of himself.

“Thank you, Simon,” Scully said simply, letting the warmth in her voice acknowledge his intention. She felt Mulder’s fingers tremble slightly and hoped he was not going to try to feel guilty about leaving her and Simon to cope with Ahab.

“Anyway, I charged into something that smelled like brine and tar and stale sweat and the world as a wave of sound and color exploded over me. I grabbed onto something and held on for dear life. When I came to, I was lying on the floor, clutching a harpoon and looking up into a medic’s face,” Simon concluded uncertainly. “I hit something, but for the life of me, I don’t know what.”

“Agent Scully, anything you want to add?”

“Other than the fact that I also witnessed the cloud and the explosion, no. If it weren’t for the fact that ball lightning has never been conclusively shown to exist outside the laboratory, I would be inclined to say we experienced something very close to a self-contained electrical storm inside that house.” Scully didn’t look entirely satisfied with her explanation, but it was the best she could come up with that fit the facts, more or less.

“An interior atmospheric phenomenon… Sounds official enough to satisfy the town council, most of who wouldn’t know a genuine phenomenon if it came up and shook them by the hand,” Talbert said with a chuckle.

“Chief Talbert, has the lab gotten any results back from the tox report?” Scully asked.

“Well, I owe the lab tech several very large favors, but I have a preliminary, highly unofficial result. The official report will take a couple of days, but basically I and all my men show high levels of mescal in our blood. According to the tech, Robbie had enough mescal in his system to make an elephant think he was a butterfly. Apparently a massive dose was ingested within a half an hour of his death and caused a massive heart attack.” Talbert sounded extremely irritated, almost offended.

“Mescal?” Simon asked, trying to pinpoint why Talbert was so upset.

“Peyote. A hallucinatory drug that changes perception of time, space and color,” Scully offered. “That would explain the traces of tea or wine I found in the victims’ stomachs. Peyote can be brewed with tea or mixed with wine to mask the taste. I doubt if the victims knew what hit them.”

“Then we’re dealing with drug-induced hallucinations?” Simon asked uncertainly.

“Makes for a nice clean official report. It will satisfy the town council and your superiors. It’s not the entire truth, but I don’t think the entire truth will serve anyone’s interests now,” Talbert said quietly.

“What is the truth, Chief? I can live with writing up a clean version for official use, but I want to know what in hell I saw last night,” Simon grumbled.

“I don’t know, Agent Ambercrombie. I’m not sure we’ll ever know.”

“And that’s it? We simply walk away without knowing what happened or why?” Simon sounded astonished. He surged up from his seat and began pacing around the room to Scully’s dismay.

Mulder did some fast dodging before taking refuge behind Talbert’s desk. He sympathized with Simon, yet he knew Scully wouldn’t be able to tell him what he had told her without something to back her up. The drugs were a plausible explanation and Robbie was a conveniently dead perp. He wanted to tell Simon the truth. Simon deserved to know the truth. Mulder fumed at the unfairness, but could not intervene without creating problems for Scully. He was very tempted to kick something but that act of childish rebellion had lost its attraction when his foot could sail right through the offending object. A set of chains might come in handy after all, he thought as he fought his irritation.

“What do you want me to say, Agent Ambercrombie? That I and my men were held at bay by a fucking archer who put an arrow through one of my patrol cars? Shall I try to describe the knight in full armor who walked past my men and stuck a sword through Robbie’s chest before vanishing along with the archer? Only when we get up there, Robbie doesn’t have a mark on him and the official report indicates that he died of heart failure due to mescal poisoning.” Talbert sounded exasperated, perplexed and, above all, tired.

Simon sat down in stunned silence. His mind was spinning wildly trying to create sense out of the clues and was coming up with only chaos and more confusion.

“I think Robbie misused a talent someone else had for his own angry purposes. He used drugs to bring his victims and himself into a world where extreme possibilities were common,” Scully’s low voice sounded hesitant as she felt her way around what Mulder had told her earlier. She tried not to blush as she realized both Simon and Talbert were looking at her as if she were a prophet reading some obscure text that explained the mysteries of the human mind.

“And the dream turned on the dreamer,” Talbert said slowly, nodding his acceptance of the spirits judgement on one who had profaned the dream quest.

“What will happen to her?” Simon asked as his mind made the connections.

“There is nothing to tie Miss Ellie to Robbie’s deeds. I think the town will realize that an injustice has been done. Miss Ellie and her books will find a place again in the town’s affairs,” Talbert assured them.

“Then we’re done here, Chief Talbert,” Scully said as she started to rise. “I’ll type up an official report and leave it with you this afternoon. I think we can overlook the obviously drug-induced hallucinations we all experienced and focus on the bare facts.” Scully smiled at Simon who tried to look satisfied. How like Mulder he was in this respect, she thought. The truth would hurt a gentle, intelligent old lady whose love for her books was grossly misused by a killer. So, the truth would be hidden behind the half-truths and verbal gymnastics that would satisfy the law.

“It has been a pleasure, Agents Scully and Ambercrombie. I think without your help, that Rowston would be dead and Robbie would still be out there killing anyone he resented.” Talbert shook her hand and Simon’s. “I think Mulder would be very proud of you both,” he added.

“Thank you, Chief Talbert.” Scully hustled Simon out of the room to the sound of Mulder’s clapping. Simon had that look on his face again that said he was catching to faint edge of Mulder’s presence and she wanted him out of the room before he started putting two and two together. Simon was smart and given enough clues, he couldn’t help but add up the equation and that was not a situation she wanted to deal with right now.

Mulder watched them leave, letting them go off to hash out an official report that would shine brightly but tarnish rather quickly if anyone looked at it close enough. Skinner, no doubt, would realize that the report was all sound and fury, but he was wise enough not to ask questions where none were needed.

“Still here, old man?” Talbert asked softly.

“Yeah. They’re grown up now. I figure they can write the report without me. Scully was always better at that sort of thing than I was,” Mulder admitted with a laugh as he allowed himself to materialize to a vague gray shadow in the corner of the office.

“Anything to add?”

“You pretty much covered it. Robbie was drugging Miss Ellie and giving her books to read. He used the drug himself to manipulate the spirit of the book’s hero to ‘protect’ Miss Ellie. The rest, as they say, is history.” Mulder ran his fingers across the worn leather bindings of the old books lining the walls. Talbert looked at the books and shook his head.

“Strange. All this time, she was a Dreamer and I never realized it. Probably neither did she until the peyote opened the way. I’ll keep an eye on her. Though I suspect her books have been doing that for years now.” Talbert smiled and stretched out his hand to Mulder. With a sad smile, Mulder clasped his old friend’s hand in a cold grip then faded back into thin air.

“Take care, old man. Good luck on your own quest,” Talbert whispered to the fading form of his friend.

“If I ever find out what it is,” Mulder quipped.

Talbert felt the air grow warm again and knew Mulder had left to follow his partner. Perhaps it was time to take that vision quest his cousin kept urging him to pursue. He had vacation time and with these murders successfully solved, he was sure the town council would be more than happy to approve some time off. Mulder’s extreme possibilities had raised hope in things unseen that he had given up believing in. Wonder if Miss Ellie would be interested in a dream quest, he thought as he shifted his mind back to the official channels of a police officer writing an official report. Time for visions and quests once the mundane world was assured that nothing could cross over from the dream world to the real world and that a murderer was merely a man with access to illegal drugs and antique weaponry.

–X–

Later that night Scully sat in the inn’s gazebo, listening to the cicadas sing in the humid darkness and watching fireflies dancing like stars across the lawn. Simon was being treated to a comradely beer fest by Deputy Ross and some of the other deputies. Everyone was celebrating the end of a frustrating case and Simon’s part in solving it. Simon was reluctantly, almost guiltily, enjoying the status of a local hero.

She had been invited, but declined. She didn’t feel much like partying when the one person she wanted to party with couldn’t make an appearance without creating havoc. Let them have their party and their beer, she had a pitcher of iced tea and Mulder and she really couldn’t think of anything more to ask for right now.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Mulder whispered from where he sat on the ground beside her chair. They had discussed the case without coming to complete agreement except to disagree until the words petered out and a comfortable silence rested between them.

He was a dark shadow in the darkness; solid enough for her to feel his weight against the wooden lounger. On impulse she raised her hand and ran her fingers through his hair, just as she had wanted to do so many times before. Mulder began to hum, almost a vibration that Scully was beginning to recognize as his way of breathing heavy. Content and relaxed, she allowed her fingers to explore his face, memorizing with her hands what her eyes knew by heart. She missed the evening stubble that had been a source of secret fantasies over the years.

“Scully…,” Mulder began shakily. If she didn’t stop the erotic caress of his face he was either going to go out like a light bulb or he was going to embarrass both himself and her in a most unghostly display of passion.

“Hmmmm”

“Why didn’t we ever do this when I was alive?” he asked quietly, trying to control the thrumming of his body as her fingers cajoled his heart into entertaining extreme possibilities his soul knew were wrong. Divert her with a question, he thought desperately, get her to thinking and we might both come out of this night with our sanity.

Scully sighed. Trust Mulder to want to talk when all she wanted to do was sit and enjoy a quiet moment together.

“Too busy. Too professional,” she smiled, “too scared that the other didn’t feel the same way,” she admitted.

“If you never realized how I felt, then I should have been an actor, not an FBI agent.” Mulder ventured a careful chuckle and felt the tremors turning it into a quiver.

Scully twisted slightly in the chair and looked into his eyes. Mulder felt himself drowning and knew he would do whatever she asked of him, even if it damned him. It was as if by dying he shed all his defenses against her. He had run as far as he could and could run no farther.

With sudden insight Scully realized that Mulder’s heart and soul lay bare before her. What fools we were, she thought. We had endless possibilities within our grasp, but squandered them. Only now, when death lay between them, did they shatter the wall that hid them from each other.

“I think I knew, but I was afraid,” Scully confessed. At Mulder’s look of concern, she hastened on. “Not of you, but of myself. I was afraid of being consumed by you, like a moth flying too close to a flame.”

“I … Scully … ” Mulder began uncertainly. He couldn’t fathom of the notion of Scully being afraid. Did she really not realize how much strength he drew from her every day they were together? “You are so strong. I envied that sometimes, you know. You looked out on the world like a captain of a ship, confident, sure of your path, undaunted by any storm.”

“Guess we’re both pretty good actors, then, Mulder. Do you think we ever would have really shed our masks and dared to show our real faces?” Scully turned away and stared at the stars, wondering what answers might lie out there.

Mulder thought for awhile, considered his own self-centeredness and the stout walls he had built against intimacy with anyone, especially someone like Scully who had the capacity for shredding his heart if he let her in.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think that, without that damn baseball, that, yes, maybe, someday we could have bridged that final chasm and trusted in intimacy. I once talked about soul-mates in ignorance and confusion. I never realized that while I may be temporarily paired with many souls on this journey through lives, I always had the other half of my soul right beside me.”

Mulder reached over and gently turned Scully’s face to him. He knew his eyes were telling her all she needed to know, but for once he felt the need for words as well.

“We’ve always spoken in the silence yet we also hid in it,” Mulder paused, trying to find the right words that never seemed necessary before. Scully watched him, content to dwell in his eyes and see herself in his heart, but knowing, this time, he needed to say the words.

“You have been my strength, my beacon in the darkness, my soul’s harbor. Whatever might have been, will yet be. We cannot be separated by life or by death or even by other souls joining us for part of the journey.” Mulder looked up at the stars Scully had been staring at so intently a moment before. He heard her breath deepen as she took in his words. Very gently he leaned down and kissed her forehead and then raised her head in his hands. She shivered but her gaze did not waver as she stared into his eyes. He smiled and, praying to any god listening that he was not breaking any commandments, leaned down and brushed his lips against hers, lingering just for a moment before withdrawing.

When Scully remembered to breathe again, she smiled. Somehow she suspected that a pledge had just been made. Trust Mulder to revert back to the silences for making promises for the future. That was fine, she wanted time to consider what had been said and what had been offered.

Seeing her smile, Mulder stood up and extended a hand to her to help her up and pulled her into a quick embrace. She shivered slightly from the cold and from the pent-up emotions their brief kiss had released. Mulder stepped away with a smile and sad eyes that told her he understood the complexity of the situation.

“Come on, Scully. It’s getting late. You’ve got an early flight and I suspect Simon is not going to be in any shape to drive.”

“Damn, I guess I better go rescue him, then. He wasn’t looking all that enthusiastic about partying until dawn anyway. Partners are such a lot of work, but rather nice when they’re properly broken in,” Scully quipped with an innocent look.

“You run along and fetch Simon home, Scully and I’ll have your bath drawn. If you’re real good, I’ll even scrub your back,” Mulder offered with a leering chuckle.

“In your dreams, Mulder. In your dreams,” Scully retorted as she headed for the car.

Softly, so Scully wouldn’t hear, Mulder whispered after her, “Always.”

Scully wrapped the warmth of the evening around her and pretended it was Mulder’s arms for a moment. Then she straightened her shoulders and slipped back into being Agent Dana Scully. It was time to step out of the dream and resume her normal life – well, as normal as it could with a ghost at her side, but she would not have it any other way.

THE END

Continued in The Ghost in the Dark

---