Centenarian by Black Orchid & Halofyve

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Centenarian by Black Orchid & Halofyve

From: “Halo Fyve” <[email protected]>

Subject: “Centenarian” 1/9

Date: Sat, 21 Feb 1998 22:32:12 PST

Disclaimer: All X-Files characters belong to CC, Fox Broadcasting, and 1013. We want no money for writing this story.

Rated: R Violence: 4

Type: X, T, A(mild) , UST(mild)

Keywords: Case File

Spoilers: Some 4th season. Pre-finale.

Distribute: Archives only.

Do Not post to ATXC

Feedback: Author 1: Halo 5 – ([email protected]) Odd chapters

Author 2: Black Orchid – ([email protected]) Even chapters

Title: Centenarian Length: 9 chapters

***NOTE Written before season 5. Scully still has cancer here.***

Summary: X-File story. Is an old woman with extraordinary powers the link between a string of murders and extraterrestrial occurrences in a rural Louisiana town, or is a serial killer to blame for the gruesome deaths?

A big thank you goes out to Clannad for her Louisiana background and to our wonderful editors Charly and Cherie. You three have made the difference!

*****

Centenarian Chapter 1 by Halofyve

11:10 pm
Louisiana Swamp Country

She was not going to attend the post-prom bash, because there would be plenty of teacher supervision and no alcohol. The whole deal was going to be boring. Annie Yates was dead set on ending her senior year of high school in party-girl fashion. She was this year’s undisputed Queen of Tappa-Kegga High; complete with a motley court of devout subjects.

Her Royal Highness rolled down the passenger window of her royal coach, a blue rusted-out Ford truck, and pitched a cigarette butt outside. A roar of hollering followed as the cigarette bounced off the side of the truck, showering her subjects in the truck’s bed with red-hot embers. The Queen ignored their yells and straightened out her red velvet, short-cut dress and gently tucked a strand of her long blonde hair behind her ear.

Dave McClintock smiled at her and laughed at the cursing and swearing coming from the back. He had shed his formal wear earlier and was now dressed in blue jeans and a green Travis Tritt T-shirt. He sharply yanked the steering wheel to the left, sending the vehicle speeding down a twisty, dirt road. The truck’s headlights seemed to be swallowed by the heavy blackness of the night that lay ahead.

Meanwhile, in the truck’s bed, Tom Fisher pulled his white tuxedo jacket over his head. The branches of the trees lining the road were scraping the side of the truck and whipping Tom in the head. His friend Mike was lying down for shelter and trying to open a beer. When Mike finally twisted the cap off, beer came fizzling from the bottle’s mouth. Vaguely Tom could see the white froth pour down his friend’s arm. When the truck hit another bump in the road he could hear the rest of the beer splash out of the bottle.

Across from Tom was Tammy Quinn. The girl was a petite brunette, slim, but well-endowed up top. Her black, low-cut dress could barely contain certain parts of her anatomy from popping out at Tom after every bump. The girl’s face was partially hidden by an umbrella. She had brought it because her mother was afraid that it would rain that night and ruin her dress. She protected herself from the lashings of the branches with the umbrella in one hand, while in the other hand she held a bottle of Planter’s Punch.

Tom’s mind was preoccupied with thoughts only a drunken, horny teenager would have. The hell with ruining the dress, Tom thought, the mother ought to be worried about the ruination of her daughter. He had to figure out a way to get Tammy’s dress off tonight.

Finally there was Andy ‘Pig’ Loush. Everyone called him ‘Pig’ not just because of his 230-pound size, but more for his smell. Andy had dropped out of school the year before to help work at his father’s slaughterhouse. They raised pigs there, slaughtered them, and used their excrement to fertilize a corn field they ran on the side. Andy had a six pack of ‘Old Mud’ and a bottle of JD all to himself. No one there doubted Pig could drink all of it. By daybreak they would be rolling him back into the truck as a human distillery.

“We’re here,” Dave yelled out the window.

Tammy put down her umbrella. “Where’s here?”

Annie rolled her eyes at her friend’s lame comment as she got out and pulled the latch down on the truck’s tailgate. “Just get out,” she snapped impatiently.

“Pig, haul the rest of the beer while Tom and I start a bonfire,” Dave ordered.

“I’ll just keep the girls company while you set up,” Mike said as he wiggled his brows and lent a devilish glance at Tammy and Annie.

“You touch Annie and I’ll have Pig crush you, Mikey. You got that?” Dave tossed a firm look of warning towards Mike.

“We’ll feed your beer-soaked ass to the gators,” Annie leaned in and whispered to emphasize the point.

*****

12:43 pm

The group had settled in around the fire. Tom was watching Tammy intensely, waiting for her dress to do a disappearing act. Another beer or two, he figured, and she’d be his. Across from Tom sat Pig. He had just finished another beer and was beginning the “Pig Ritual”, which was: throw a can in the fire and belch.

“Might be better, Pig, if you just farted in the fire. You know, try to blow yourself up,” Dave offered.

Annie made a face of disgust and pulled away from Dave. “Don’t give him any ideas. You’re such a jerk.”

“Yeah, but you still love me, Dah-lin’,” he whispered with a purr, nipping at her ear.

“How ‘bout we tell ghost stories?”, Mike blurted, tossing his can over his shoulder.

“Come on, Dave, let’s go for a walk.” The Queen laid down her decree and decided to leave court. Mike, the court jester, was boring her.

As she and Dave left through a clearing in the trees, the jester began to spin his ghostly tale.

“You guys know the story about the Honey Island Swamp Monster?”

“Is that like the Swampthing or some bullshit like that?” Tom replied while crushing an empty can in his hand.

“No, this guy ain’t friendly.”

“Mike, I don’t want to hear about monsters.” Tammy picked up her beer and went back to the truck. She turned the key in the ignition part of the way so the radio could be turned on.

Tom shot a pissed-off stare at Mike. The bastard had ruined his plans to get Tammy. Now he had to enact Plan B. He got up and walked towards the truck, hoping he could calm her fears and win himself a little ‘action’.

Mike was left alone to enjoy Pig’s belching.

*****

Turning on a pocket flashlight, Dave led Annie a little further until they reached a small pond.

“I used to fish here with my Pop-Pop. Hardly anyone from town knows about this place. I brought a canoe here last night, just for you and I. It’s not safe otherwise, ‘cause of the gators.”

Teetering slightly from the booze she had drank, she walked closer to the boat. “Dave, how the hell am I supposed to climb into that smelly fishing boat while I’m wearing this dress? It’ll ruin it.”

“Annie, here’s another beer. I’ll lift you in.”

After he got his inebriated queen situated, he took an oar and pushed the canoe away from the pond’s edge. The boat sloshed gently against the water and drifted out. A crescent moon hung above them, alone in the sky with most of the stars hidden by thickening clouds. Lazily, the canoe floated to the center of the pond and remained there.

Annie had finished her beer and decided to toss the can into the water. It made a soft splash as it hit the surface and clinked against the side of the canoe. He shook his head. Annie didn’t have any class, but she was good looking and popular. He just wanted some piece of ass from her. Next week he’d be in Paris Island as a Marine recruit and she would be a fond memory. Not to mention a great ego-boosting tale to tell his fellow Marines.

“Come here,” he said to her in a soft voice, barely audible above the sound of the crickets.

She smiled and moved in to kiss him. Annie knew what he wanted. They kissed for a few moments until he broke their embrace. He gently leaned her back in the canoe and moved to lie partially on her. Annie giggled, feeling the effects of the beer and most importantly the touch of Dave’s hand gliding up her leg. As she opened her eyes and looked up at the moon, the bobbing motion of the boat began to turn her stomach.

“Get up. I’m going to get sick.”

“Annie, relax. Close your eyes. It’ll be fine.”

“No, Dave. I’m gonna hurl.” Annie pushed her boyfriend back and hung her head over the side. Her body began to shake from vomiting.

Dave turned his head away, disgusted. He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger until she was finished. Slowly he reached over to hold her against him, burying his face in her blonde hair. He massaged her back to try to quiet her sobs. Focusing his view out to the end of the canoe, he noticed something.

The beer can she had thrown into the water was spinning slowly in a circle. Then he noticed the canoe was beginning to do the same thing. Dave moved his eyes around, checking the trees for wind, but there was none.

“What?” she asked, sensing his attention was elsewhere. “What’s wrong?”

“Ssh,” he ordered, hearing that the crickets had fallen silent.

“What’s going on?” she asked, this time with more urgency as she leaned back to grab the sides of the canoe.

The boat began to spin faster.

“Make it stop! It’s scaring me!” Annie screamed.

Dave took the oar and plunged it into the water, but the spinning of the canoe had turned the water into a hurricane-like vacuum, sucking the oar from his hands. His mind panicked. What the hell was going on, he thought, trying to maintain his balance and hold on to his girlfriend.

“Oh my God, Dave! God! Get us out of here!”

As her screams ended, their surroundings became quiet again and the water returned to its prior tranquility. The oar and can bobbed up and down, hitting the canoe with a tinny knock.

“Is it over?” she forced the words into a whisper.

“Dunno,” he replied, cautiously reaching over the side for the oar. When his hands made contact with the water, an electrical charge rippled across the pond and shocked his hand. It wasn’t painful, but numbing. Almost like touching a static charge globe in science class.

“Why isn’t it affecting the canoe? It’s metal; why isn’t it conducting the electricity?” he wondered aloud.

“Christ, Dave, who gives a shit. Get me out of here.”

“I can’t get us out of here; I can’t touch the water. Look, the fish are dead.”

“Fuck this! Fuck you and the fish!” she pushed him to make an attempt for the oar, but he stopped her.

“What’s that?” he pointed towards the opposite shoreline.

“Fog?”

“Blue fog?” he added.

The azure mist snaked its way through the trees, forming a dense layer over the pond. Electrical streaks began to shoot upwards into the mist from the water, making tiny flashes inside the thick air. The fog seemed to turn and crest like a wave as it approached. Rising and falling, devouring everything in its path.

“Dave, I have to tell you something.”

“What, are you going to get sick again?… ‘Cause I think I’m going to barf too.”

“No, I… I …”

She didn’t finish her sentence.

“What, Annie? What?” He shook her arm, trying to get her attention. As he grabbed her face and their eyes met, he saw something there.

Reflecting in each eye was a wisp of electricity.

She let out one more deep breath and fell limp in his arms. The fog surrounded the canoe and disappeared. Dave was left holding her lifeless body.

*****

“Me-ma, Me-ma! Wake up. You’re dreaming again,” Cheryl Thompson urged, shaking her great-grandmother.

Hanna Walker gasped for breath and released her grip from the bed sheets. The old woman’s icy blue eyes snapped open, but only darkness greeted her. Since her birth she had been blind.

*****

Two days later
FBI Headquarters
Pathology Lab
9:32 am

Holding the recorder inches from her lips, Scully ran down the list of facts known about the victim.

“Anne Elizabeth Yates, age 18. Five feet and four inches in height; weight is 105 pounds. There appears to be no marks outside the body to indicate a struggle or assault. Large quantities of alcohol were found in Miss. Yates’ blood, but nothing else has been discovered from the toxicology tests. Further investigation of the victim’s organs is warranted.”

Just then Mulder pushed open the metal double doors leading into the autopsy bay. “Tell me, Scully, was her last supper gumbo?”

“Gumbo? Mulder, is this some weird voodoo sacrificial victim lying here?”

“No, I was just curious what they serve at the prom in Louisiana.” He smiled, tilting his head slightly.

“Nothing was found in her stomach, but she sure had her fill of booze for the night.”

“Alcohol poisoning?” Mulder asked, taking a seat on a stool near the examination table.

Dana looked into his eyes and saw a familiar glint. Instead of being direct she entertained his question. “While the alcohol level in her blood was substantial, it wasn’t high enough to kill her. The police report also states that she partyed frequently, so don’t believe it was an allergic reaction to alcohol. There was also no trace of narcotics in her system.”

“So, could it be the heartbreak of a teenage beauty, who wasn’t crowned the Prom Queen?” he questioned, crossing his arms.

“Where is this going, Mulder?”

“To Louisiana bayou country, of course.”

“I figured as much, but why is it of interest to us?” Scully took off her latex examining gloves and threw them away.

“I want to go down and ask her boyfriend some questions. He was with her when she died.”

“And I would assume he is the chief suspect in her death?” she asked, also crossing her arms.

“David McClintock. He supposedly took her out on a pond in a fishing canoe. A little baiting with a six-pack. Must have been one killer make-out session, Scully.” He raised his eyebrows and gave her a sly grin.

“Besides this being unfortunate, I don’t see a paranormal catch. For the record I would also like to add that Ms. Yates was pregnant. Maybe McClintock didn’t want the child.”

“Scully, her boyfriend reported electrical flashes and strangely-colored fog that appeared and disappeared. The boat they were in spun like a top. By the way, if Yates was a victim of multiple abductions, that child may not be her boyfriend’s.”

“Have you been reading the tabloids again? Are you saying that aliens are flocking to Louisiana for more than the Mardi Gras, Mulder?”

“I’m saying we ought to check out McClintock’s story. Just remember to bring the bug repellent. I hear that the mosquitoes are the size of Big Bird.”

Scully narrowed her gaze and smiled faintly as she watched him leave. Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention back to Annie’s body. Before covering the corpse with a sheet, Dana gently touched with her fingertips the cold, porcelain-like skin of Annie’s cheek. It was becoming harder every day to see young, healthy people lying dead, waiting for the knife to cut open their tender skin. They waited for the merciless knife, Scully’s knife, to slice away their humanity, putting them on display to be prodded and examined.

Everything around Scully was death.

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 2 by Black Orchid

A figure hobbled in and out of the ancient trees and through the thick underbrush, splashing now and then as it traversed deep patches of standing water.

He was going to find the mist again. He had seen it before, but he had witnessed its true power for the first time the other night, when those party-boy high school snobs had come to this bayou lake. They had no business here, Bennie thought. This was his place. It was right what the mist had done. It was…just.

Bennie Jackson, who had been laughed at so many times in his life, had snickered to himself when the mist had put an end to that whore wanna-be.

After witnessing death from his cover of darkness, once the kids had gone, Bennie had ventured to where the mist had been. Waited for what seemed like ages. Asked for it like he was sending up a prayer, or as close to a prayer as he had offered since his early childhood.

Then it had come to him. It told him who it was. Not in words, not even in thoughts, but in something deeper. More primitive. It showed him what it could do for him. Great works, he knew, as long as he promised to obey, to be its servant. And it told him to come back tonight to complete the deal.

Bennie reached the small clearing where he knew the mist would be. Where it had told him it would be. He closed his eyes and waited patiently.

Minutes later, maybe hours – Bennie had lost his sense of time while he beckoned the mist with his obedience – he opened his eyes, knowing he would see the mist surrounding him. It was there. It slowly gathered itself, becoming denser and more compact, hugging the ground jealously. Then it began to swirl around him, closer all the time, eventually caressing him like a lover, growing seductive in its movements.

The mist engulfed him completely.

Hypnotized as he was shrouded by the soft blanket of whirlwind, watching its sparkle and listening to its hum, Bennie learned the story the mist had to tell, about its origin and its history. It verified its promises for him, and then showed him what it wanted in return.

Bennie nodded his assent with a smile. They had made their bargain.

*****

Same time
Hanna Walker’s house

The aged woman closed her dead eyes as the vision faded. She felt as ancient as the wisened trees that hid her house from the view of outsiders as she had seen the images in her mind. Lids softly closed, she dropped her head back onto her pillow and thought of the events to come.

Hanna had lived in the bayou all her life. “Mud in her veins,” her dear old Pop-Pop used to tease her with when she was a little sprite. But her Pop-Pop had sprung from the swampland, too, and to the land he had returned.

Once, her ancestors had been forced to defend the land. Their bones were also part of the earth around her, and she felt them calling out to her to join them soon. She was ready to follow them; her aching joints and tired soul reminded her of that daily. But she knew her job on this earth was not quite over. The time had come, and it was her turn to fight the battle that had no end.

Wisps of the azure plane touched her mind once more before her aching body was left to the mercy of sleep. The windows to her soul, connecting to the countless many who had gone before her, slid open one last time to see what was to come soon…very soon.

A blue shadow was cast across the faint image of two interlopers – a man and a woman. Hanna sensed a special bond between the two; a deep, unconsummated love that was destined to end in death.

They did not belong in this, Hanna confirmed. She repeated that fact in her mind as she finally was released into a sleep that shrouded her in blood-filled dreams.

*****

The next day 4:23 pm
Outside Bedico, Louisiana

Scully looked out at the expanse of wilderness that whipped by her window as they neared the town limits. She glanced over at Mulder.

“You know, my father had been stationed in Baton Rouge years ago, before he and my mother were married,” she said, breaking the long silence that had filled the car after they left the last gas station. “He told me a lot about the local customs. Voodoo, black magic…”

“Oh, I’ll bet you let your father have a big dose of your scientific, rational skepticism,” Mulder replied with a grin. “I’ve always meant to ask you, Scully – did you tell your little brother about Santa Claus?”

Scully ignored him, looking out the window at the wild, time-worn land that flew by them. Gnarled trees crowded together in shadowy clumps that seemed to reach to eternity. “Actually, I was quite fascinated by it all.”

Mulder looked over at her in mild surprise. “I wouldn’t think you’d find that kind of stuff interesting, Scully. You mean you didn’t give your dad a lecture on how ‘magic’ is actually an example of wish fulfillment or self-hypnosis? You didn’t ‘tsk, tsk’ at the idea of people seeking medical help from someone who didn’t sling a stethoscope around their neck?”

“Mulder, I was only eight years old when he told me about it.”

“Scully, you were never eight years old. Or, at least, I have a hard time imagining you ever having an eight-year-old’s naivete. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you were born with a medical text under one arm and a microscope under the other.”

Scully chuckled at the image that brought to mind. “Yeah, and I imagine your first words were ‘I want to believe’.”

“No, actually, my first words were, “Hey, Mom, I just saw Bigfoot in our back yard.” Mulder looked at the map Scully was holding open on her lap. “By the way, Mom, are we there yet? I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Mulder, didn’t I tell you to go before we left? Every time we go for a drive, you do this.” Scully smiled anew and looked closer at the map. “Well, we should be hitting downtown any moment now. It’s supposed to be 23 miles from our last stop. We must have gone 23 miles since then.”

It was then they noticed the first signs of civilization: a short stretch of run-down small businesses that lined both sides of the road ahead of them. The both sighed in relief.

“Not much to look at, huh, Scully? Well, at least I might finally get my chance to find the perfect bowl of chicken gumbo here,” Mulder said, trying to look on the bright side.

“Chicken gumbo? I haven’t eaten chicken since the Chacko case.”

“Well, you know me; I like to live dangerously. Especially where food is concerned.”

“Always thinking with your stomach, aren’t you?”

Mulder avoided the obvious retort with a knowing grin and a mildly lecherous glare at Scully.

Scully got the idea, and shook her head amusedly. “Let’s find you a motel and a bathroom, Mulder; I think this drive has been too long for you, and it’s affecting your brain. You haven’t mentioned the case once in the last 40 miles.”

They drove on slowing through the downtown of this isolated community, looking for signs of motel life. Or at least some functional plumbing.

At the same time
Cavendish’s Garage

Bennie watched as the new rental Ford cruised slowly past the garage, the same garage where he had worked for the last 13 years. He wondered what a car like that was doing here. The people inside looked like city folk, with their suits and their fancy looks. This wasn’t their place, Bennie thought resentfully. He spat a stream of tobacco juice into the dust, barely missing Greg Lacombe’s polished boot.

“Shee-it, Jackson, watch where ya spittin’, man!” the burly man warned, stepping back in disgust. “‘enry, why de ‘ell you ever hire dis retard? I don’ t’ink ‘e knows a spark plug from his own dick.” Greg laughed at his own joke as if it were the funniest thing he had ever heard.

Bennie spat again and went to work at cleaning up the garage.

Henry Cavendish handed Greg’s keys back as they walked to the office to finish the paperwork on the repair. “I need de help, Greg, and Bennie needs de work,” Henry replied, vaguely defending his mechanic.

The three men, all in their early 30s, had known each other all their lives. They had gone to school together from the first grade. Greg had been a star linebacker on their high school’s football team, and had even gone on to play for two years at Louisiana State, before he flunked out. Never had a chance to make it to the pros because of his lack of real girth, but he had his days in the sun as an LSU Tiger.

Henry had been an average student, with average looks, average skills, and average popularity. He owned his own business, and that was a respectable accomplishment in this town.

Bennie, in contrast, had always been the outcast – the butt of jokes throughout his school days, until he dropped out in 10th grade at the age of 15.

It seemed like everyone in town had held Bennie in contempt all of his life – especially his contemporaries. For one thing, he was poor. No one in the town was wealthy but, even compared to the meagerest family income, Bennie and his folks were a prime example to the rest of the town of “poor white trash”. He had grown up in a small cabin deep in the bayou. Electricity only from a small generator, no running water, his family living off the land as best they could.

In school, Bennie had been perpetually filthy. He rarely wore shoes, and when he did – only when the weather was at its wettest – they were always heavy, ill-fitting work boots found at the town dump or out of a church’s charity bin.

Most notable about Bennie was that he had been sickly all his life. Most likely because of his squalid living conditions, poor hygiene and nonexistent health care, he seemed to have one physical ailment after another. Bronchitis was Bennie’s middle name, townspeople joked when they heard him hacking up phlegm.

Bennie thought it was his fault for being a sickly child no mother would want when his me-maw ran off when he was 12. His father, an alcoholic for as long as anyone could remember, drank himself to death three years later. Bennie was on his own after that. He mnaged to slip through the cracks of the child welfare system – either that, or the government folks chose to look the other way about the 15-year-old living alone in the bayou.

Bennie remembered the bitterness he felt throughout those earlier days as he picked up a broom to sweep the floor. He couldn’t help but hear Greg’s continued jokes about him, which Henry, Bennie’s only friend, chuckled at occasionally. After all, Bennie knew, Greg Lacombe and his precious truck were among Henry’s best customers.

Bennie thought of how, soon, the years of bitterness would be revenged.

Once Greg had left, Henry came back into the garage to sit on an oildrum, watching Bennie as he continued to sweep the floor free of debris. He finally realized what had seemed different about Bennie today. “Hey, Bennie, I jus’ notice’ – y’ ain’ been hackin’ for days. Wha’jou do – visit one ‘a dem backwoods witch doctors? Maybe a Voodoo priest?” Henry guffawed at the thought.

Emptying his dustpan into a trash barrel, Bennie turned his back on Henry to hide the knowlege in his faint smile.

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 3 by Halofyve

4:30 pm
Driving down Main Street

The road cutting down the center of the town was uncommonly long for such a small town. It reminded Mulder of the main drag in Las Vegas; minus the casinos and people. This place they were in was one giant strip of nothing.

“Scully, do you feel like we’ve entered some kind of movie produced necropolis?”

“You mean one where all the streets are vacant of life until you go outside and get ate by the undead?”

Mulder turned and looked at her with pleasant surprise. “You saw the zombie movie? I’m impressed, Scully.”

Scully restrained a smile. “Don’t be too impressed. I never said I liked the movie. I was forced to sit through it. A guy took me to the drive-in. There was a double header playing, which thankfully I left before the second half.”

Her partner was starting to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” she asked defensively. “Haven’t you ever gone on a blind date, Mulder? You don’t actually think that I would plan a romantic evening around a morbid zombie flick?”

“Oh no, of course not. You just grew up to be a coroner who likes to wow guys with your spleen removing techniques.”

“I haven’t had many dates recently. Spleens aren’t attracting them like they used to, Mulder. Maybe I should move to extracting kidneys instead?” she asked, pretending to eye him as a possible donor.

“Put the imaginary scalpel away, Scully. I don’t like the creepy feeling you’re giving me. Besides, no one should be that in love with their work.”

She looked at him briefly afterwards. It was his certain way of camouflaging the most flirtatious comments that made her wonder if he was really joking. If you didn’t pay attention to the slight fall in his tone the point would often go by unnoticed. But she had picked up the softness in his voice, knowing full well its exactness was not a mere coincidence.

He was sly as a fox, no pun intended. Maybe that’s why he hated the name Fox. Perhaps it was a tell-all that left nothing to the imagination, or branded him by not allowing him to become an individual.

It had to be hell going through life as a misnomer.

Her partner stirred hundreds of questions within her. However, those questions would have to wait until later, because they needed to find lodging. She was too tired for banter and wanted to relax. “What I would love to do is find a motel while it’s still daylight. There can’t be more than a handful of streets here.”

Mulder nodded his head wearily in agreement. He was also quite tired from the long drive. “Yeah, I agree. I’ll pull into the service station and ask.”

*****

Bennie Jackson gritted his teeth while he yanked down the large, rusted door to the garage. The creaking and clanging of the metal silenced the crickets, chirping in the nearby field. He took a faded, blue hand towel from his back pocket to dab at the sweat on his forehead as he quietly cursed summer’s approach. He’d lived here all his life, but he still couldn’t get used to the darn humid climate. As he turned from the garage, he noticed the city folk’s car pulling into the parking lot. “It’s too ‘ot for dis shit,” he murmured.

“‘Good afternoon; what can I do for y’all?” Bennie offered, trying to sound like he gave a damn.

Scully stepped forward first. “We were wondering if there is a good motel nearby.”

“Nope,” Bennie plainly answered before spitting out a trail of tobacco juice that just barely missed hitting Mulder in the foot.

Mulder glanced down with a slight grimace and then aimed his view towards his side, trying to ignore the mechanic’s gross behavior.

Scully had also briefly pointed her attention to the act, but moved on quickly to continue the conversation. “No, there are not any good motels, or there are not any motels at all?”

“Well, y’all still might be able to git inta Widow Lemieux’s place. She boards folks in ‘er house for extra money. It’s de big white house at the end of dis street on de right ‘and side.”

“Thank you,” Scully answered curtly as she and Mulder turned away at the same time, wanting to part company as quickly as possible from the greasy mechanic. Before they had reached their car, Bennie called out to them.

“Mais oui, it’ll be a fine night with a lover’s moon.” Bennie cackled and continued to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck with the hand towel.

Mulder turned to Scully and mumbled, “I could have sworn tonight was a full moon.”

“Come on; let’s get some work done,” she replied.

*****

In the bayou
8:24 pm

Bennie slashed long cuts through the swamp’s greenery with his machete. He felt young and powerful again. As he reached a clearing near the edge of one of the many ponds that dotted the area, he saw a faint light coming from a shack.

It was Hanna Walker’s bayou house. The white paint had long peeled off its exterior and its roof now dipped and curled from age. The house was old and looked rickety, but was strong enough to last maybe another hundred years. Much like the owner, it was built out of tough wood.

Bennie loathed that old neggra lady with a passion. She knew the best fishing was off her dock and no matter how nice he had been to her, she still wouldn’t let him set foot on her property.

“Dat’s okay, you old rag. You’re on my list, too. Bet your life on it. You’ll git yours. I’ll feed your soul to it and dance a fais do-do on de dust of your bones.”

*****

Inside the house

The azure plane is peaceful once you find your way through the mist. The souls of ones that are taken too soon are here to greet you. In this place there are no handicaps or boundaries of any kind. The only ones that are held here are those who can’t find their way to heaven or hell. If you are pure of heart the evil can’t touch you.

When the mist travels to the living, the inhabitants of the azure plane can make contact with those in the present. For Hanna it is different. She can go there whenever she pleases. Without her sight the world of the unseen is part of her everyday life. God gave her a more precious sense of vision.

Hanna smiled in her trance as she reached out across the plane. Her mother, Joli Marie, took form in front of her. The woman wore a calico print dress and her dark hair graced her shoulders in gentle curls. Joli’s brown eyes sparkled with joy and her smile was warm and loving. The electric pulses surrounding her soon disappeared from the background and were replaced by deep, green fields filled with colorful wildflowers.

Hanna’s mother called out to her. “Hanna, girl, come see your mama.”

“Oui! Mama, can we search for rainbows today?”

“Sure, dah-lin, anyt’ing you want!” Her mother shouted while reaching upwards toward the sky. Streams of light jumped from her fingertips, creating a brilliant spectrum of color.

Hanna stared in amazement for a while, then she turned to her mother. “Mama, I know dat I’ve spoken to you before about dis, but I must do so again. I t’ink you should go to the odd’er side, to ‘eaven.”

“I won’t leave you, my baby. No.”

“You could still watch over me. Mama, my time in the living isn’t long. I will join you soon.”

Before her mother could answer clouds rolled in overhead, darkening the sky. The field disappeared and again the electric plane returned.

“Hanna, leave now. Someone means you harm,” her words trailed off into darkness.

A strong surge pulled her back into her earthly world of darkness. She awoke back in her chair, staring out into the nothingness of the blind with her ice blue eyes. Her mother was right; someone was nearby. She could sense it and the feeling of the presence was familiar.

*****

Outside

Bennie opened his mouth and let the mist enter from there into his body. He began to shake as its power coursed through his veins. His breathing grew rapid and his heart felt as if it would burst from its staccato rhythm.

No, not tonight, he was told by the mist. The old woman could wait.

*****

Next morning at Widow Lemieux’s house
8:20 am

“Dat’s good andouille, no?” Esther Lemieux asked about the sausage as she hurried around her kitchen preparing bread for their breakfast. The woman reminded Scully of an overly excited grandmother who had not seen her grandchildren in ages. Esther’s silvery gray hair was braided and pinned in a bun on top of her head. Her whole appearance resembled a pear as her body gradually grew larger and rounder the farther down you looked. The house dress she wore was pink-and-white checkered and covered in the front by a blue, hand-made apron.

“Yes, Esther, everything is delicious. Thank you.” Scully folded her napkin and finished the last bit of coffee in her mug before picking up the Yates file to put in her briefcase. “Mulder, the authority in charge is Sheriff Ed Belleville. He was responsible for bringing Dave McClintock in the night of Annie Yates’ murder.”

Esther looked over at the agents. “Dat’s a real shame about Annie Yates. She was so young. ‘ow tragic; dat boyfriend of ‘ers is a monster. Now, if y’all are looking for Sheriff Belleville, he can be found in Bedico today. De towns are small ‘round ‘ere, so ‘e oversees a couple. Are y’all from de New Or’leans po-lice?”

“We probably should have told you when we checked in. We work for the F.B.I. and are investigating some strange circumstances around Ms. Yates’ death,” Mulder answered.

Esther’s eyes narrowed with curiosity. “Strange, like how strange?”

“Esther, are there any electric plants nearby, generators of any kind?” Scully began.

“Or, have you noticed any fog lately that glows blue?” Mulder continued the questioning. “What about your appliances … have they ever started up without you using them? Do clocks stop or metal objects spin?”

His partner bit the inside of her cheek. Why did his questions always have to be so weird? It was a wonder that anyone spoke to them at all.

“What?” Esther’s wrinkly face contorted and she smiled a crooked, disbelieving grin. “Funny fog and electric st-oo-ff working on its own? Um, let me t’ink now. No, but my doorbell sometimes sticks. ‘enry from de garage said that it’s because de wiring is old.”

Scully tried to save their credibility by moving the conversation to more logical ground. “Well, I’m sure everything is fine, Esther. Did you know Dave McClintock?”

“‘e used to deliver my groceries. I never t’ought ‘e’d do somet’ing like dat, because ‘e was such a nice young’ un. ‘e wouldn’t even accept tips from me.” Esther kneaded the material of her apron with her hands, distraught over the thought a murderer might have stood in her house.

*****

9:32 am
Town of Bedico, Louisiana

The heaviness of the morning haze hung in the air, dulling the lush greenness of the trees in the distance. By midday the hot sun would burn through to heat the land and drive the residents inside their homes for the comforts of air conditioning. Like most summer days in the South, there was usually no relief to be found from the humidity by a gentle breeze, only a brief afternoon shower to break its oppression. More times than not the relief was temporary and that true escape could only be found after dusk.

Unfazed by the sweltering heat was Sheriff Belleville. He patrolled in his old, brown Pontiac Parisienne, making his daily rounds through each of the sleepy little towns under his jurisdiction. Martha, his wife of 35 years, had made him a brown bag lunch today, like she did every day. The food sat next to him in the front seat and he eyed it with some interest. Martha had gotten the idea that it would be good for Sheriff Ed to go on a diet.

Diet …hell, he thought, turning his car into his designated parking space outside the Bedico Sheriff’s office. He’d save the lunch for later, because he had promised his wife, but right now he wanted some coffee and a donut or two. Or three for that matter. As he exited his patrol car he noticed a brand new Ford parked near the building’s entrance. Probably nothing, he figured, probably just some city folk that drove off the interstate and got lost. Unless it was the federal agents he had requested, but he didn’t think the government would have sent them so soon. There were more pressing cases involving national security.

Sure enough, as he walked into the office, standing there were a man and a woman dressed in fancy clothes. The deputy quickly stood up from behind the desk, fumbling with some paperwork.

“Mornin’ Earl. Mornin’, folks. What can I do for you?” the sheriff said while heading to get a cup of coffee.

“Sheriff, these are the F.B.I agents from Washington.”

Belleville continued to prepare his coffee, paying no attention to his new guests. “Is that right? Well, I guess y’all ought to follow me back to my office.”

Once inside the sheriff’s cluttered office, the two agents sat down on plainly-styled oak chairs, waiting for the sheriff to present them with information on the Yates case. What they received instead was a pile of folders with yellowed, torn papers stuffed inside.

“What are these?” Scully questioned. Mulder eyed the folders with childlike curiosity. This was the sort of case he was going to love.

“First off,” the sheriff began, “My name is Sheriff Ed Belleville. Now it’s your turn.”

“I’m Agent Dana Scully and this is Agent Mulder.”

“Just Mulder?”

A slight nod of affirmation came from Mulder.

“Ok, Dana Scully and … Mulder, what do you know and what do you suspect? I want to know your feelings on that girl’s death before I hand over these documents.”

Scully cleared her throat quietly and pursed her lips briefly before answering. “Agent Mulder and I are of two opinions. I think that Ms. Yates’ murder was either accidentally or intentionally carried out by her boyfriend, Dave McClintock. Agent Mulder, on the other hand, suspects that there may have been other forces at work that caused her death.”

“Uh-huh. Well, Agent Scully. On the record, I sure do agree with you. But off the record, I tend to side with Agent Mulder. That’s why I called y’all down here and didn’t mention my crazy ideas in the original report.”

“Hot damn,” Mulder said under his breath, just loud enough for Scully to hear. “Sheriff, what are your ideas?”

“Well, locals knowing the honest integrity of the young Mr. McClintock say it was the Honey Island Swamp monster. Others believe it was a curse put on Annie Yates by old Hanna Walker, who lives in the bayou not far from the murder scene. I don’t know about swamp monsters, but I do know Hanna Walker. She’s over one hundred years old and can’t see to boot! She’s a real nice woman. I think the swamp’s spirit did it.”

“Is it an Indian legend?” Mulder asked.

“Goes back farther than that, Agent Mulder. Older than the Cajuns, Indians, maybe older than voodoo. I believe that all land absorbs the good and evil carried out over it. Now y’all are probably wonderin’ what a guy like me is doin’ believein’ in this stuff. Well, let’s just say that I saw the mist one night. I was about ten or eleven back then. I slipped out of my room to go fishin’ and I saw it.”

Scully arched her brows in interest. “What happened?”

“Don’t rightly know. My bait caught a bite. When I looked up from the water the mist was gone.”

“So what makes you think that something you might not have seen years ago killed Annie Yates last week?” Scully’s interest had subsided and she had written off the sheriff’s story as a trick of light off the fishing pond’s water.

“Other eyewitness accounts. But, y’ all will find their testimonies in those files. Anyhow, if you need my help just call Earl here. He’ll get a hold of me. My job has me driving around a lot. Let’s keep what I said between ourselves. If it ever gets out, the people won’t re-elect me,” the sheriff ended with a small chuckle.

*****

Outside the Sheriff’s station

“See, Scully. There’s a reputable person that believes me.”

“Yes, Mulder, and maybe in twenty years you can retire and drive around in an outdated car while eating donuts. The heat does funny things to people. Like when you see a mirage out in the desert. Look, I don’t care how many witnesses say that they saw a blue mist kill someone. When we look at the time of year that these deaths happened, and with a little research, I’m sure we will discover some naturally occurring swamp event that killed them.”

“Scully, if I had a dollar for every time you passed off the paranormal on swamp gas I could retire and drive around eating donuts.”

“Have you ever thought that it could be an undiscovered plant species that releases a pollen into the air? Could it be that those people who died are allergic to the pollen? Besides, I still think that the Yates’ death is unrelated. Her boyfriend is involved, Mulder.”

Silence.

“Mulder?”

Fox Mulder had tuned his partner out to stare at Bennie Jackson, who was staring back at him from across the street.

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 4 by Black Orchid

Although hinted at in other chapters, this part portrays particularly strong racist language and anti-Semitic attitudes in a character. No offense is intended.

Still in front of the Sheriff’s office

Scully noticed Mulder staring across the road at Bennie and joined him for a better look at the mechanic.

Even from a distance, Bennie’s mien was disturbing. His calm face seemed to mask an underlying hostility; his eyes glinted a challenge, yet superficially he remained impassive. Just a simple small-town working man out to buy some hardware supplies, looking at the strange out-of-towners.

Bullshit, Mulder thought. <This guy looks like he would rip my head off if he had a chance.>

“And people call me ‘Spooky’,” Mulder commented, not taking his eyes off Bennie’s glare. Finally, Bennie broke the link between them and began walking down the road out of town. He clutched a small brown paper bag jealously to his chest.

“C’mon, Scully, I have a feeling our charming mechanic friend is someone we should be talking to,” Mulder said as he started across the empty street.

“Why, Mulder?” Scully’s question met inattentive ears. Mulder had already jogged diagonally across the road, reaching the other side. Scully was momentarily annoyed that her partner, once more, was digging his teeth into a case with such intensity that she felt like his kid sister tagging along. Still, she followed after him. She had learned that letting Mulder pursue his instincts often paid off. It also just as often got him in trouble, she allowed, but she ignored that voice for now.

“Sir! Excuse me…Sir!” Mulder called after Bennie, having to repeat it louder before the mechanic stopped and turned around to face the two agents.

Bennie’s face now showed an open, pleasant smile, making him look more like Goober from Mayberry than the apparent sociopath that Mulder had seen moments earlier outside the hardware store.

“Why, you de folks who stopped by de garage yes’day,” Bennie said, the grin not reaching his eyes. “How’d y’all take to de Widow Lemieux’s?”

“It’s just fine, Mister…?” Scully said, prompting Bennie for a name.

“Jackson, Ma’am. Bennie Jackson,” Bennie said, eyes hunting around, seeming too nervous to look at Scully directly. Mulder introduced himself and Scully, and they each flashed Bennie their badges. “We’re here investigating the death of Miss Anne Yates. I assume you’ve heard about it.”

“Yah, dat was all aroun’ town.” Looking closer at Mulder, Bennie wondered if this fancy city boy was a Jew boy, too. Mulder…Bennie had never heard that name before. He bet he was, though, with that nose. Just his luck to get a Jew law man from some big city on his ass.

“Well, what do you think happened?” Mulder asked. “I understand some people around here say it had something to do with a kind of fog or mist that’s been seen out in the swamplands where Miss Yates was killed.”

Bennie took a step back, wishing he hadn’t given in and stopped to talk to these two. But there had been no way he could have continued to ignore this FBI man’s pushy insistence.

The moment Bennie had seen them drive into town, he had figured they were some kind of law folk, here to check about that girl. That girl wasn’t worth no one’s time of day, dead or not, Bennie thought. “Mister Mulder, I live’ out dere in de bayou all my life. It’s jus’ de town folk who make up crazy stories about dat swamp gas.”

Scully looked up at Mulder, her eyes conveying the message: See, even this rube recognizes swamp gas when he sees it.

Mulder smiled at her patented expression and went on. “Well, what do you think it was?”

Bennie rolled his eyes up at Mulder as if he were explaining higher math to a slow child. “I s’pose it ‘uz what de sheriff was thinkin’…de only t’ing it could be. Dat boyfriend of ‘er’s musta done it.” He paused to see their reactions, getting nothing in return. “I mean, dey t’rew de boy in jail for it, di’n’t dey?” Bennie was feeling cocky as he went on, playing the fool for them. “Dem law folks, dey’s smart. Dey mus’ know what dey’s doin’.” Bennie’s grin began to look more genuine…but as if he were genuinely sarcastic in what he said.

Mulder’s gut feeling, that this odd little man knew more than he was letting on, would not go away. In fact, it increased as he sensed the veiled insincerity in Bennie’s voice and posture. “So, if you live out there, you must be familiar with this mist. Why do you think so many people believe there’s something going on out there…something that doesn’t have anything to do with people?”

Bennie thought for a moment, surveying Mulder up and down before he replied. “Yah, mister, I know dat mist pretty well.” He thinly tried to hide his amusement. “And what happened out dere has ev’ryt’ing to do with people.”

Mulder and Scully exchanged glances.

“Mister Mulder; Ma’am,” the mechanic nodded at each. He decided he had had enough of the two federal agents for one day, and turned to return from where he came.

Later, at Bennie’s shack

The dogs outside howled their hunger as Bennie latched the door behind them.

Bennie opened the sack he had carried from the hardware store, pulling out the one item it contained. He never went all the way to the town’s small ACE Hardware to buy just one item; he rarely bought anything new, managing to make do with what he had around the shack and what he could scrounge up elsewhere. But this was important.

“Yah, dis’ll do jus’ fine on dat kid,” Bennie said to himself as he admired the deep grooves and gleaming sharp rises of the hacksaw blade. “An’ if dat kike FBI an’ his red-haired, Jew-lovin’ bitch t’ink of stickin’ aroun’ ‘ere too long, it’ll do jus’ fine on dem, too.”

That afternoon Route 12

Scully looked again at the toxicology reports that the lab had faxed her after their arrival. This was about the only thing she liked about Mulder taking on most of the driving responsibilities; she always had a chance to review case notes and reports when they were driving from one site to the next. Otherwise, she was usually trying to keep Mulder from getting them lost.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder, but there’s nothing in there that suggests our prime suspect might be the Honey Island Fog Monster,” she said with a serious expression on her face, closing the folder the report was in and placing it on the dashboard.

“Oh, didn’t you know? Evidence of fog monsters usually shows up on weather reports, not on faxes coming out of the FBI toxicology lab. I’m always telling you, Scully, you just need to know where to look.”

Scully smiled and closed her eyes, then lightly pinched the bridge of her nose. Reading in the car was a good use of time, but it often gave her a headache. Especially lately, since her cancer had spread. She took her hand away before Mulder noticed. “So how come I’ve never heard fog monsters mentioned in weather reports?”

“Oh, you have to get the special bulletins. I check the paranormal edition of the Weather Channel every day.”

“Well, too bad we can’t get any decent cable out here, or maybe we’d have had this case solved and the Fog Monster in custody by now.”

Mulder chuckled. Scully had become an expert at joking with him, often even getting in the last jab. The banter helped to dispel the tedium and stress of field investigation. “Did you see anything else in that report?”

“Nothing conclusive.” Glancing back at the folder on the dash, she took a deep breath before adding what had been perplexing her the most about the case. “There was something a little unusual. The body had large amounts of residual endorphins that are found in epileptics, after they experience intense or repeated seizures. It’s also seen in victims of electric shock.”

“That sounds like something that would catch your interest,” Mulder said, curious to find out more.

“It did catch my interest, but I thought it must be an error by the lab,” Scully said. “Yates wasn’t an epileptic, and she couldn’t have received an electric shock out there on the lake…unless someone gave her one. I think those kids would have noticed if she had been struck by lightning. And her body shows no electrical burns that would suggest lightning or foul play. There’s no way this should be showing up on her toxicology.”

Mulder grew quiet and thoughtful for a moment, thinking of the reports he had read of the local police’s interviews of the McClintock kid. The boy had mentioned something that looked like electric wisps, or static, showing in Annie’s eyes before she died.

“If fog were concentrated enough, couldn’t it be a conductor of electricity?” he asked Scully almost rhetorically. “After all, fog is water. Water is a great conductor. They were on the lake…”

Scully nodded, knowing where he was going, but also knowing where he was going was a dead end. “In theory, Mulder, yes. Even, rarely, in actuality. But there would have to be a source of electricity. Like lightning. It was a clear night in late spring when this happened. Lightning can come out of a clear sky, but the kids didn’t report any. I’m sure the weather bureau would confirm that.”

“Okay, we can rule out lightning; for now, at least. What if the fog found another source of electricity? Like a car battery. The kids had a pickup truck parked nearby…”

Scully nodded, having already entertained that possibility, remote as it was. “Yes, that can happen. Again, it would be highly unlikely. But none of the kids said anything about seeing an electric charge flying through the air. The kids’ campfire was right there, a few yards from the truck, and they would have noticed that. The only one who saw anything, really, was McClintock. He should be our suspect, not some natural – or unnatural – phenomenon.”

Mulder knew Scully had a point. None of the kids, not even McClintock, had said anything that would suggest such a thing had happened that night on the lake. Still, this indication of unusual electrical activity in Yates’ body was the first piece of evidence he had to hold on to. Then it hit him.

“Epilepsy…Scully, you said Yates wasn’t an epileptic, but…the human body operates on electrical activity. That could have been the source.”

Scully sighed. She was going to stick with what she knew of human nature. Of teenage boys who were not ready for fatherhood, and would do anything to keep from being forced into playing “Daddy” and maintaining a steady job when they still had plenty of partying in them. She picked up the folder of case reports again to check a fact she remembered from one of the pages. “Or Dave McClintock could have had something with him that supplied the electricity. After all, his father owns the only electrical supplies store in town, doesn’t he?”

Mulder had passed over that detail in the report, but he wasn’t surprised Scully had picked up on it.

Again, his partner had a point; she always did. But he had a feeling the cause of Yates’ death had nothing to do with a scared boyfriend. Scully herself had already admitted that the pregnancy was at such an early stage, it would be unlikely that even Yates had known about. And there were no electrical burns on Yates’ body. Any electrical activity in her body must have been very selective, he knew. It must have been in her brain itself to leave such little evidence behind.

Mulder drove on to the jail where McClintock was being held, remaining silent and pensive for the rest of the drive. There were reasons a boat might spin like a compass gone wild, but those reasons didn’t show up in autopsies or toxicology reports.

An hour later
Robert, Louisiana Tangipahoa Parish Jail

Mulder looked patiently across the wooden table at Dave McClintock. The young man looked like your typical high school jock, future good-ol’-boy, a little unkempt, but hardly a murderer. He mostly looked scared.

“When did you first notice something strange happening?” Mulder asked.

“Well, I guess it was when the boat started turning around. Spinning,” McClintock said, voice shaking slightly. He looked up from his hands, which were clasped tightly in front of him on the table as he hunched over it. He knew how crazy this all sounded, but all he could think of to do was to tell the truth. “But when I saw all the dead fish…and then Annie’s eyes…” McClintock swallowed hard. His eyes grew even larger and the slight tremor in his voice intensified. “I swear, Mister, I didn’t do anything. I…I tried to save her!”

Mulder leaned closer to McClintock. “Tell me about what you saw in her eyes, Dave. What was it like?”

Dave paused, unsure of what the agent was getting at. He swallowed and then began to recall the worst part of that night. “I know it’s impossible, but…but it was like…like static was running through her eyes. You know, in the pupils or something. It was like…like the little sparks you see when you comb a cat in the dark. But it was more powerful. And it was in her eyes. It was like…like it was alive. Like it knew what it was doing to her.”

Mulder looked up at Scully, standing next to him with her arms folded in front of her. She showed no visible reaction to McClintock’s story.

A story was how she saw it.

“Alive?” Scully said skeptically. “What was alive, Mister McClintock, was your girlfriend. And the baby she was carrying inside her.” Scully had waited for this moment to bring out this piece of evidence, to see McClintock’s reaction when he was already showing some distress.

McClintock gasped in surprise, sitting up straighter than he used to when he was a little kid and his mom would catch him fidgeting through a sermon in church. He put his hands down to tightly clutch the sides of his worn blue jeans. “She was…she was pregnant?” McClintock spluttered out.

If he was faking his shock, Scully thought, he was a damned good actor.

“Yes, she was,” Scully answered, wanting to push this as far as she could, despite her new suspicion that McClintock really hadn’t known about the pregnancy. “She was, and I think that you knew, and weren’t happy about the situation. You got something from your father’s store, and you took the easy way out. And you’re trying to use the local lore about this mysterious blue fog as an alibi.”

“No, I didn’t! I swear to God, Ma’am, I didn’t!” McClintock broke into tears as he screamed his denial.

McClintock’s behavior unnerved Scully. She decided this would be a good time to leave the boy alone to think about the serious charges against him. And about how his story of blue fog, spinning boats, and electric flashes in a girl’s eyes would never hold up in court. It would take some time, but they’d have the bottom of the lake searched for whatever electrical device he might have used as a murder weapon. She beckoned Mulder and they left the interview room, leaving McClintock with his face buried in his hands.

That night Loush residence

“Ya gotta pray…”

The music blared from the boom box in the basement bedroom. Pig Loush sang along, off-key, even though it was a rap song and didn’t have much of a tune to follow. He was off-key not just because he was tone deaf, but because he was well on his way to drinking himself unconscious. He belched and took another swig from the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s as he lay stretched out on the opened hide-a-bed.

The loud noise emitting from the speakers drowned out the creak of the trap door to his living quarters as it was slowly opened. If he had heard it, even in his drunken stupor, he would have become alarmed, or maybe thought it was a buddy playing a trick on him; his parents were both out for the night, trying to win some beer money at Bingo down at the Veterans’ Hall.

He didn’t hear the heavy thud of boots coming down the wooden steps, either. The thuds blended in with the beat of the music and the mild alcohol-induced drumming inside his skull. But he didn’t have to hear to realize that someone was in the room with him, just as the sledgehammer made contact with the right side of his face.

The same time Tangipahoa Parish Jail

McClintock laid stretched out on his bunk, thinking over the events of the day. The interview with the FBI agents. Shit, he was in one mess of trouble. He had known that before, even though he knew he was innocent. But now that he knew that Annie had been pregnant…even he, SAT reject that he was, knew that fact made him look guilty. Real guilty.

Dave shivered. Fuck, it’s getting cold in here, he thought. Why the hell can’t they heat this place better – they probably want us all to die of pneumonia. He pulled the grey wool blanket snugly around his neck, closed his eyes tightly, and tried to drift off to sleep.

He awoke with a jerk running through his body, not knowing if he had been asleep for hours or just moments. But he was wide awake now. He felt energized with more than just fear. “Shit, what was that?” Dave asked aloud. He was no longer cold; in fact, he felt feverish, burning up inside. He threw the blanket off himself and quickly sat up. It was then he realized that he couldn’t see a thing. The entire cell was filled with blueness.

Dave rubbed his eyes hard, hoping it was just an after-effect of sleep. Usually when he woke up in the middle of the night, his eyes had adjusted to the dark in his sleep and he could see quite clearly. He had never experienced anything like this before. But when he opened his eyes again, the blue had intensified, turning bright, and drawing in like a ball right in front of him, framed by the darkness of the cell.

It reminded him of the mist he had seen at the lake that night – acting differently, but still, he was suddenly sure it was the same thing. He became paralyzed with fear, able only to stare at the concentration of blue fog before his eyes. It hovered there for a moment, then lunged forward and entered him.

McClintock’s body jerked upward, his head hitting the empty bunk above him with a loud “clank”, making him bite his tongue enough to taste the blood. He was too dizzy to truly notice it, though. Then he fell back down on his thin mattress, head slamming this time into the wall behind him, feet splayed on the concrete floor, every muscle tightening to a near-tearing point.

Dave tried to scream, but his vocal chords were as taut as the rest of his body. His panicked mind could find no expression, other than to torture itself knowing he was going to die. Then the convulsions started.

An eternity later, Dave McClintock’s body stopped its shaking and jerking and flopped limply from the cot and onto the floor. A static buzz was the last thing he heard in life as the blue mist left him and drifted back through the bars of the open window. Back to its ancient home in the bayou.

*****

Oh, you don’t really feel sorry for him, do you? Well… ;^)

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 5 by Halofyve

As an extra warning for you, dear reader, gory scenes are contained in this chapter.You’ve still got time to jump ship.

Esther Lemieux’s House
10:32 pm

Dana Scully sat quietly in a chair at the kitchen table and Mulder was standing a few feet away. He was pacing around the kitchen like a caged animal; every once in a while taking a glance at the work before them. The files given to her by Sheriff Belleville lay spread across the round-shaped table in large, fan-like piles. Her partner had gone through each file and had separated the pictures of the victims.

Mulder had a routine. He would first examine the pictures closely with a magnifying glass and then hold them up to the light. Scully found his behavior distracting, but after four years she knew better than to question it. Today she had heard enough of his wild theories.

Much to her displeasure, the silence between them didn’t last long.

“Scully, what would you estimate the murder rate to be in a town this size per year? In fact, what percentage of murders end up labeled as death by natural causes in a town like this when the victims exhibit no signs of trauma or unusual toxicology?”

She plopped the reports down on the table and peered through her glasses upwards toward him. Mulder had stopped pacing around the room and stood staring at her anxiously awaiting an answer.

“Most small-sized towns probably have less than a handful of murders per year. And, I suppose, many of the pathologists in rural areas of the country lack in-depth experience with certain methods of homicide. Some of those murders that are missing the usual signs could be mistaken as death by natural causes. But, that’s not what we have here, Mulder. Judging from the medical histories and causes of death of these victims, they died naturally or by accident and were not murdered.”

Mulder expected her response. “What about the witnesses from the earlier cases?”

“They’re either dead or have relocated to other states. I cannot base an opinion on the validity of their statements without first questioning their mental state at the time.”

Her partner nodded in agreement, all the while forming another question in his mind. “Okay, but … we did question McClintock. Now, granted … he was scared, but I don’t believe he is crazy.”

“Mulder, there is no doubt in my mind that the act of murdering his girlfriend has given him some kind of post-traumatic shock. His memory of the events of that night are warped from his impaired perception.”

His cellphone rang as he posed one more fact to her. “Scully, you’re missing the obvious again. How come all the witness stuck to their stories in light of the autopsy reports? —Mulder—,” he spoke into the phone.

Scully rubbed her eyes and wondered how much cooler the weather probably was in Washington D.C.

“Uh-huh. Okay, Sheriff, we’ll be right there.” Mulder clicked off his phone and looked at her with a measure of concern.

“Did McClintock confess?”

“No, Scully, he’s dead. Apparently from a seizure. His friend Andy Loush has also died. Mr. and Mrs. Loush came home after a profitable night of Bingo to find that someone had used a sledgehammer on their son’s head.”

Their eyes met in mutual fear. This case was going to get much worse before it got better.

*****

Tangipahoa Parish Jail
Cell 104 B

The local coroner, who was the area’s family doctor, and who also moonlighted as a livestock veterinarian on weekends, stood over Dave McClintock’s corpse, which was covered by a white sheet. The sheriff and the agents had just arrived and were pushing their way through the on looking guards in the prison hall outside the cell.

Mulder was the first of the three to kneel beside McClintock’s body. “How long ago was he found? Who discovered the body?”

A guard stepped forward. “I’m Corrections Officer Brad Nelson; I found him ‘bout 45 minutes ago. The guy in the cell next door said he didn’t see anythin’. The thumping against the wall woke him. Then he heard McClintock fall to the floor and gasp for air. You know, like he had trouble breathin’ or somethin’.”

Scully took a pair of white latex gloves from the coroner and briefly examined McClintock’s chest, neck, mouth, and eyes. “No signs of any ligature. His chest shows no bruising. Although there are some pin-point sized broken blood vessels … in his eyes, which are commonly found in someone who has been strangled or suffocated somehow. It looks like he bit down on his tongue during the seizure. When did the last watch come through here, before the body was found?”

“Around an hour. We check all prisoners once an hour,” Officer Nelson replied.

Belleville nodded. “What did McClintock eat today?” he questioned the officer.

“The normal chow. He did ask for a piece of chocolate cake.”

Sheriff Belleville sternly looked at Nelson. “Did you know that McClintock was a diabetic? That should have been stated on his paperwork. Do you know that the cake you gave him mighta killed him?!”

Scully stood up and took off the gloves. She gave Mulder a glance and whispered “Case closed” before walking out of the cell.

“Scully, wait! Listen, this is too cut and dry.”

“Mulder, the kid is probably a Type A diabetic. He loaded up on sugar and went into a diabetic seizure, which is normally followed by a coma. That’s if you live through the seizure. I knew a guy in school who ate one ice cream bar while he was studying, and almost died from the same thing we see here.”

“Can we at least wait until you complete an autopsy? That way we can be sure.”

“I’ll do the autopsy, Mulder, but I think he did this on purpose. Don’t you agree it is a little coincidental that we question him about murdering his girlfriend and then he is found dead the same night? The pressure got to him, so he killed himself. Plain and simple.”

“And what about Andy Loush? Scully?!” he called out to her as she walked down the hall away from him.

The sheriff had exited the cell and was standing next to Mulder. “She always run off and leave you like that when your opinions differ?”

Mulder smiled briefly, knowing the situation was usually the other way around. “We’ll follow you to the Loush scene.”

*****

Loush Residence
Albany, LA
11:45 pm

The same coroner who was at the prison had followed the mini law enforcement convoy to the Loush murder scene.

As everyone got out of their vehicles and approached the front door of the house, Mulder turned to address the coroner. “You getting overtime?”

“Nope, and I’m thinkin’ about bein’ a full-time veterinarian. Does your partner want to take my place? She’s welcome to it. I’m too old to be runnin’ around all night long.”

Scully side stepped around Mulder to go into the house while replying to the coroner. “Does the job have good benefits? Dead people are the only ones who appreciate my bedside manner.”

“Does this mean I should polish up on my dead stiff routine to show my appreciation?” Mulder asked dryly as they worked their way to Andy’s bedroom.

“Mulder, the dead don’t talk. I think any improvement on your part is an impossibility,” she smiled with her reply as they entered the room. “Oh my God …” her voice trailed off. She froze in her tracks and gasped in horror upon viewing Loush’s body.

Blood was splattered in dark scarlet blotches everywhere in chaotic patterns. It dripped silently from the sheets onto the floor. Loush’s eyes had been violently bashed into their sockets and his nose broken. Whatever blunt object used to inflict the damage had completely obliterated his jaw, smashing the teeth out of his mouth.

This was a very up-close and personal attack, Mulder thought, remembering cases from the V.C. . Someone had something big to settle with Andy Loush and in a bad way. Bad enough that the kid’s brains were probably scattered over three parishes, judging from the holes in his head.

As if the killer wasn’t satisfied with the bludgeoning he had done to the head, he also smashed and sawed the boy’s chest in half and strewed the organs across the bed. What appeared to be the large intestine was wrapped around the kid’s neck. One detail did stand out from the slaughter. It was the absence of one of Loush’s arms.

Belleville and the coroner stood motionless. Once the initial shock of viewing the scene had passed, the sheriff spoke first. “Hey, Doc, you ever seen anythin’ like this?”

The coroner swallowed hard. His skin felt clammy and looked a tad on the green side. “In ‘Nam, sure. But, Christ, you don’t ever get used to it. I think I’m going for a glass of water out in the kitchen.”

“I’ll join you. I believe they can take it from here. No wonder Mr. Loush took his Missus over to Covington hospital for sedatives,” Belleville said before turning to Mulder. “You catch whatever son-of-a-bitch did this. You’ve got my full cooperation and anythin’ y’all need. Y’hear?”

Mulder agreed silently, unable to take his eyes from Andy Loush’s body.

“Whatever y’all do, don’t breath a word of this to anyone. If this gits out, we’ll be swarmed with media,” Belleville warned the agents and coroner.

When they were alone, Scully aired her opinions to her partner. “Still believe magic fog did this, Mulder? Do you know what I think?” Her voice raised a pitch, almost sounding angry. “I think we have two separate crimes.”

“What … like, Loush got in with a gang out of New Orleans?”

“It is quite possible. And maybe this gang isn’t necessarily from New Orleans. There were other teenagers at that party the night Yates was murdered.”

“Do you think Loush was going to rat on McClintock? I don’t buy that at all. Scully, look at this body. People that commit crimes like this are psychopaths, not local wet-behind-the-ears punk kids. A monster did this and I think that the person is living out in the swamp. In most cases, when I dealt with an individual that was this violent, the suspect almost always lived away from the public eye.”

“Okay. We can find out from Belleville who lives in the bayou, but I think the other kids should be kept in jail for questioning.”

He agreed. As Scully left the room to talk to the sheriff, Mulder took one last look at Andy Loush. There was a small piece of leaf or grass sticking out of Loush’s mouth.

*****

Bayou
12:47 am

The ride out to the swamplands was quiet for the most part. In the silence of the drive each agent was replaying the gruesome Loush scene in their minds. No one deserved to die that way, except maybe the Smoking Man, Mulder thought.

Mulder decided to be the one to break into conversation. “Let’s start at Hanna Walker’s place.”

“That is a waste of time. She’s 105 years old, from what the Sheriff said.”

“I realize that, Scully. I don’t think Hanna Walker beat Loush to death with her cane, but she might have heard of someone living out in the bayou who could have done this.”

“Fine, although you may remember our strange mechanic friend lives out there, too. I think we ought to take the direct route and question him.”

“Just trust me, Scully.”

His partner shut the file listing the bayou residents. She wondered why she always gave in to the trust me excuse.

*****

Hanna’s bayou house

The centenarian’s great-granddaughter had come to live with her. She was in her late thirties and had spent most of those years growing up on a farm outside Baton Rouge. Her name was Simone, but liked to be called Mona. The whole family loved Hanna; especially Mona. When she was little she enjoyed hearing stories about the turn of the century and about her great-grandmother’s struggle to make a living as a maid.

Hanna had saved every cent she earned back then with hopes of someday buying a house with her now-deceased husband, Ezechiel, and maybe putting some money back in case one of their six children wanted to attend an African American college. She had heard that there was such a thing, that blacks could educate themselves up North in the big cities.

It wasn’t until Mona had graduated from high school that a member of the Walker family had decided to advance their education. Mona went on to LSU to major in Anthropology.

Hanna was very proud of Mona.

Unfortunately, Mona had been in a severe car accident shortly after she graduated from college. She suffered massive internal injuries and was in critical condition for over a month. The incident left her unable to have children and forces continued visits to the hospital in Covington for kidney dialysis once a week.

Hanna believed that was the reason why Mona had never married. It wasn’t because she didn’t have suitors, but because Mona felt guilty about not being able to start a family.

“Give me some sugar before you go to sleep, Mona, ‘oney.”

“Mee-maw, you know I always do.” Mona bent over and placed a kiss on Hanna’s cheek.

Then there was a knock on the door.

“Where’s dat pepper spray I bought you?” Mona asked.

“Oh, it might be under my pill-a on the bed.”

Mona grabbed the pepper spray and whipped open the door, stretching her arm and spay dispenser into the face of the late-night visitors. “What y’all want? Nobody live here that knows you.”

“Mona, be nice. Speak correctly, dear.”

“Mee-maw, don’t git riled up, now. This time of night I wanna scare ‘em off, not wow them with intellect.” Mona directed her attention back to the strangers and addressed them as Hanna wished. “Good evening, welcome to the Walker residence. Can I help you? Please, come in.”

Mulder turned to Scully as a cue to present their badges.

“F.B.I!!!” Mona yelled with surprise.

“F.B.I!?” Hanna echoed. “Y’all ‘ere lookin’ for drug smugglers? ‘Cause sometimes dey-s drop deir st-oo-ff in de water outside and I can ‘ear it splish-splashin’. Sometimes it even bounces off my dock. One of dese days I bet it’ll come right t’rough my roof and Oh, Lordy … look out!” Hanna shouted, laughing as she spoke.

Scully smiled slightly, not expecting such lively banter after midnight from a 105-year old woman. “No, Mrs. Walker, the DEA takes care of most drug trafficking. Agent Mulder and I are here investigating a suspected murder.”

“That Yates death?” Mona asked.

Mulder sat down in a chair next to Hanna. “Yes, Annie Yates. Did you know her or know anything about her friends?” he posed the question to both ladies.

Mona gave Hanna another kiss on the cheek before leaving for the bedroom. “No, I don’t know anything about her or her friends. And if y’all want to know the truth… I’m sick of hearin’ about it. Now, if y’all excuse me, I’m going to bed.”

“Hanna, would it be okay if my partner stayed here to ask you some more questions? I’m going to check out another residence.” Mulder announced as he got up from the chair and made his way towards the door.

“Mulder, don’t go over to Jackson’s without me,” Scully warned.

Hanna agreed with Scully. “Oh-no, Mr. Mul-dah, don’t you go over to Crazy Bennie’s at night. Be just like ‘im to feed you to de gators if you scare de fish away.”

Mulder’s curiosity was piqued.

Scully, knowing her partner all too well, dreaded the way the conversation was headed.

“Uh-huh, so Bennie likes to fish at night? He walks around in the swamp?”

“Yessir, ‘e does. ‘e doesn’t bother wit my water no more, t’ough. I t’ink he t’inks I’m a witch. ‘aven’t ‘eard from Bennie in a year or so. Reckon ‘e’s frightened of me. Course, I helped it on some. One time I pretended to put a voodoo ‘ex on ‘im. I ‘ung dead chickens off my dock.”

Mulder smiled, “Well, that would scare me off too, Mrs. Walker. I’ll be back in a little while. See ya, Scully.”

“Mulder, it’s the middle of the night? Mulder?”

Hanna smiled and reached out for Scully’s hand. “Pay ‘im no mind, Miss, I ‘ave a feeling ‘e’ll be okay. Dere’s no need for you to worry about de hour. I love de company.”

Scully smiled faintly as she looked out the window of Hanna’s house. She watched as the swamp’s fog quickly swallowed the red glow of their car’s tail lights.

Hanna couldn’t see the car leave, but she felt and unspoken worry for the male agent. These two strangers had an important role to play in something. She remembered the two people from her vision. Perhaps they were the same two; the ones whose strong bond could fight the ancient evil and stop the flow of blood in the bayou.

*****

Yates Murder Scene
One quarter mile away
1:12 am

Mulder had brought a gauss meter with him to detect any abnormal readings of electromagnetic activity. He grabbed the meter and a flashlight off the car seat and stepped outside. The car door shut behind him and its noise echoed loudly against the eerie serenity of the swamp.

The moon was not out, unlike the night Annie was murdered. Tonight it was hidden behind clouds and Goliath-sized trees that had to be older than Hanna’s 105 years. Cascades of Spanish moss hung from the trees’ branches and lay in greenish-brown colored piles on the ground.

The swamp grass was long, almost as tall as Mulder’s knees. Its blades, moist with dew, soaked his pant legs. As he proceeded to walk further using the flashlight to illuminate his dark surroundings, he could see duckweed and cattails surrounding a pond. He felt alone in this forgotten part of the world. The only other living creatures around were the crickets and frogs, but even they had strangely quieted and vanished at his arrival.

The beam from his flashlight reflected off the water, causing its black surface to sparkle like smooth obsidian. Along the water’s edge was a small ribbon of green algae that covered the entire circumference of the pond. The algae lay stagnant and thick, clinging to anything that made contact with it.

To his left a gentle splash sounded in the distance. The noise urged him to point his gun and flashlight towards it.

It wasn’t a gator, thankfully. His trek remained uneventful for now at least.

Mulder moved closer to the water, staring at his reflection in its lighted surface. He looked forward, out of curiosity, trying to see if he could distinguish the other side of the pond. Nothing strange here, he thought. Indeed, nothing was out of the ordinary until his eyes glanced downward again to the pond’s mirror-like surface. The new reflection showed him that he had company.

It was Annie and Dave. Or more correctly their glowing blue spirits.

Mulder spun around. In his panic he lost his footing on the soft soil and fell into the water. For some reason the ghosts didn’t vanish into thin air like he would have expected. Getting up, he glanced down at the guass meter laying on the shore. Its reading was above the accepted residential area danger level of 2.5 milligauss.

There was an unseen electricity in the air. But, was it the kind McClintock had described? The blue mist was nowhere to be found.

*****

Hanna’s house

The sheriff had called her cellphone right after Mulder had left. Tom Fisher and Mike Coffey had been brought in to custody, but Tammy Quinn had not. Apparently, the Quinn girl was in California visiting her grandparents. Scully said that she didn’t think the girl was involved. Females typically did not commit this kind of violent crime. At least not to the extent of the carnage found at the Loush scene.

After she hung up with the sheriff, she couldn’t think of any questions about the case that Hanna could answer. Scully felt out of place, keeping this poor woman up so late for no reason. She hoped Mulder would get back soon so they could all get some rest.

Although, one question she was curious about was how Hanna dealt with obstacles in her life. Maybe there was some advice the old woman could give her that she could take to heart.

The advice would probably be the usual stuff. You know, things your grandmother would say, like: believe in God; live a good honest life; work hard; and believe you can accomplish anything.

Yadda, yadda. Why did she even bother to start thinking about this stuff when Mulder wasn’t around? Were his troubles the only thing besides cancer and death that could keep her mind preoccupied?

It didn’t matter, she thought to herself. Why get a hobby? Why make new friends and get a social life? You have a 99.9 percent chance of dying.

But what about that other .1 percent?

That small margin was probably reserved for people like Hanna that lived forever.

Scully erased what seemed to be a needless jealous thought from her mind. How could she let herself think that way? Hanna was blind. Was that a fair trade to be blind, but healthy?

Would you rather live 100 years and see nothing or 33 years filled with images of the fantastic and unexplained? Would you rather not witness once-in-a-lifetime events for a chance at boring normality?

The answer was clear to Scully. She wouldn’t change a moment in her life even if it meant that she would live a second longer that she was supposed to.

“Are you and Mona lonely here?”

“No, me and de child keep ourselves company. I never got used to city life. I lived in Montgomery, Alabama, for a while. De crime got bad, and my ‘usband and I didn’t feel it was safe to raise de children dere. Times have changed, like time does, and now it looks like a person ain’t safe nowhere. Used to be de gators were de scariest thing. But anyhow, Mona and I get along fine on our own.”

“It’s peaceful and beautiful in Louisiana, being away from everything. I have lived all my life up North. My father was in the Navy and we moved around a lot, but never settled the family to the southern part of the country. He may have been here before I was born. Mrs. Walker, I could be comfortable living here. Everyone has been so nice since we arrived.”

“D’ere are some ‘round ‘ere that still fight the Civil War, but most folk, dey accept de Yanks. You respect dem and dey’ll do you right in return. Good ‘ol Southern hospitality ain’t no lie.”

“We have been staying with Esther Lemieux. Her cooking is fabulous,” Scully added.

“Is dat ‘ol girl still breathin’? Hmm, t’ought she passed some time ago. She ‘as to be close to my youngest child’s age. Est’er and my lil’ Patrice are in deir eighties.”

Hanna’s ice blue eyes were a little spooky. The steely gaze seemed to stare right through whatever was in front of her. But, Scully got used to it and enjoyed her company. It was nice to be able to relax and take in the local flavor. “Is Esther that old? She didn’t seem a day over 70.”

“Yes, Miss Scully, she is. I only ‘ave one od’der child remaining besides Patrice. It’s a son named H’orace. ‘e lives in a nursin’ ‘ome out in Mississippi. Now dat is a state I’d love to live in, but you couldn’t git me in no nursin’ home. I’m gonna die and be buried on de land that I was born.”

“Will Mona stay here?”

“Yes, I t’ink so. She doesn’t ‘ave a ‘usband and can’t ‘ave no babies. So, I reckon she’ll live out ‘er days in de bayou. Speakin’ of de bayou … your partner ‘as been gone a while.”

Scully looked at her watch with some concern. Mulder had been gone a while for just checking out the nearby residence.

*****

Bayou

A storm front was close, as flashes of distant lightning lit the clouds. The air had thickened from the humidity since the sun had set. It wasn’t a fog, but a soupy haze that hung dead over everything. The beam of his flashlight seemed to be devoured by the air’s density.

“Hey, stop!” Mulder yelled at the apparitions, foolishly thinking that they would respond like living people.

They kept running in and out and right through the thick vegetation. Mulder was having trouble keeping up. It was if Annie and Dave were leading him somewhere.

They were. Up ahead Mulder could see a run-down shack that had one light on inside. The spirits stopped about 200 yards from where he stood and motioned for him to approach.

Mulder took out his gun when he saw a blue mist seep out of the ground around the sprits’ feet. The flashlight shook in his hand in anticipation as to what was going to happen next.

He was hit on the head from behind. When he fell to the ground his gun went off.

*****

Scully thought she heard something. “Hanna, did you hear a bang or a pop?”

“Dah-lin, dat’s one advantage of being blind. I can listen like a hawk and ‘ear a mouse a state away. Yes, I do believe dat was a bang of some sort. Sound travels far in the bayou, sometimes for miles. Do you t’ink your partner met up with a gator?”

“What direction does Bennie live in?” Scully’s pulse quickened as she dialed Mulder’s phone. He wasn’t answering. “Hanna, can I borrow Mona’s car?”

“Sure can. Mona told me dat de keys are on de wall next to de door. It ain’t like I’m ever gonna use dem. And Bennie, well he lives in de same direct-sion my dock points to.”

“Thank you,” Scully uttered as she quickly bolted out the door to find Mulder.

*****

Branches from willow trees and pines slapped against the side of Mona’s car. The roads leading back into the swamp weren’t really roads at all, but more like dirt trails. The car rocked side to side as it sped over bumps and fallen branches on the uneven paths. The trip was dark and unfamiliar, and Scully couldn’t see much past the distance that was lit by the headlights. Every new twist in the road led her deeper into no man’s land.

A couple of yards further she thought she saw their rented car partially hidden by some brush. Scully slammed on the breaks and threw the car into reverse. Off on the left-hand side she could see the tail lights of their car. She turned off the road and parked Mona’s car next to the other vehicle.

Scully got out and noticed it was unnaturally quiet. The beams from the headlights of Mona’s car allowed her to carefully check the surrounding area for anything unusual. She noticed the gauss meter and his cellphone near the pond.

“Mulder!” She called out to him as she reached for her gun. Mulder had locked the car so she couldn’t get to her flashlight. She would have to feel her way around in the dark if she wanted to venture deeper into the swamp.

*****

A young Samantha was sitting on the ground next to her brother. He had drifted to the azure plane during his unconsciousness. His sister had taken it upon herself to transform the area into a large grassy field with nothing else in sight. Its lush greenness went on forever until it met the deep blue of the sky at the horizon.

“Fox, wake up. Come on!” She shook him by the shoulders.

When he came to he stared at her and slowly reached to touch her face. “Samantha? Are we dead?”

“No, I’m lost. You just showed up here. I guess we’re both lost.”

“Lost where?”

Samantha smiled and looked past her brother. “Hanna!”

“Samantha, wait! Don’t go!”

“Come on, Fox. It’s just my friend Hanna. We want to go to the lake today.”

Mulder’s body felt stiff as he got up from the ground. He wondered if Samantha’s friend was the same Hanna Walker he had met tonight. Impossible. He had to be imagining this whole episode.

The little girl ran over with Samantha to where Mulder stood and introduced herself. “Hi, Mr. Mul-dah. Your partner is out lookin’ for you. Miss Scully was frettin’ somet’ing bad happened.”

“Scully? What… what, is she in this place, too? Where are we?”

Hanna smiled. “We can’t tell you yet. But look out for de bad man. ‘e visits ‘ere sometimes.”

*****

“‘ey dere, Boy. Wake up, now.”

Mulder opened his eyes and squeezed them tightly shut again to block out the spinning images above him. Someone had given him a nasty rap on the skull.

“Come on, fella, git up,” the strange man said again.

*****

Dana Scully had just broke through the dense vegetation to the clearing where the single house stood. She could see the strange man attending to Mulder. “Freeze! Don’t move! Back slowly away from him! I am a federal agent!” Scully yelled with her gun drawn.

The man did as she requested. Immediately she ran over to Mulder and knelt by his side, keeping her eye on the stranger.

“What happened?”

“Scully, I saw Annie Yates and Dave McClintock. I followed them here.”

“Mulder, you saw no such thing. They’re dead. Remember?” Scully looked with concern at her partner.

“No, wait, listen. They disappeared in the fog and then someone knocked me out. During that time I went to this other plane of existence and Samantha was there with Hanna. But, Hanna wasn’t old… she was roughly the same age as my sister.”

Scully pointed the beam of her flashlight in one hand indirectly towards Mulder’s face and raised the index finger on her other hand directly in front of his face. “Mulder, follow my finger with your eyes, but do not move your head.”

He seemed fine. Never normal, just fine.

“Mulder, I think you’ll reconsider that story once you get some rest,” she said before turning to the stranger that had helped her partner. “Who are you?”

The man adjusted his Braves baseball cap and took one step forward. “My name is H’enry Cavendish. I’m de manager of de service stay-sion in town.”

“Do you work with Bennie Jackson?” Scully asked.

“Yes, Ma’am, I do. ‘e is one of my best employees. Bennie is a little on de slow side and maybe a tinge weird, but I like de guy.”

Scully continued with another question. “Does he live far from here?”

“Nope, ‘e lives a little way to your left, t’rough t’ose trees. What do you want wit Bennie anyhow?”

“Nothing; we are asking all residents of this area if they know Dave McClintock or any of his friends. Does Bennie work at the garage tomorrow?”

“‘e’s dere just about every day. And about dat McClintock kid … I didn’t really know ‘im or ‘is friends. Alt’ough, ‘e did piss me off a time or two when dey’d bring dat truck of ‘is up ‘ere and go mud bogging. Lil’ bastard used to tear my yard up. What dere is of my yard anyhow,” Henry said.

Scully thanked him quickly, because she had suddenly noticed that Mulder had wandered off again.

As she followed her partner, she noticed he was taking samples of different leaves and grasses. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I saw something like a leaf or grass on Loush’s body. When we get back, I want to check if this vegetation matches that stuff on him or if it was found on Yates’ or on McClintock’s body anywhere.”

“That is not concrete evidence. We need a murder weapon and fingerprints. The vegetation is indigenous to almost the entire state of Louisiana. We need to visit McClintock’s friends who are being held for questioning.”

“Belleville has them in custody? I’m going to tell him to let them go home. They didn’t commit those murders. No matter what you think, Scully, I saw something.”

“Mulder, are you taking these samples to be analyzed, because you think a clue might found in them concerning this mist you keep raving about?”

“Scully, just worry about the autopsies. I’ll take care of the grass.”

“Yard work, huh? You sound almost domestic. Do you want me to cook up a liver for dinner after the autopsy?”

The two stared slyly at each other.

“Only if it’s Cajun,” he finally replied.

“You’re in luck. That’s the fresh catch of the day.”

*****

Bennie thought about packing up and leaving as he listened in on the two agents. He was scared that he might get caught for the murders. The voices from the azure plane reassured him and convinced him to stay.

“We’ll take care of you, Bennie.”

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 6 by Black Orchid

Bennie’s shack Just before dawn

Bennie came in from the vague pre-dawn coolness, a short time of relief that would soon be replaced by an oppressive humidity. The rust-hinged wooden door slammed open as Bennie entered, a blackly green Hefty bag swinging heavily in his right hand. With one leg outstretched as he tossed the bag onto a table, he barred the two Catahoula hounds that were trying to get at the bag’s contents.

“You jus’ wait. You’ll get yours,” Bennie muttered at the dogs as he closed the door, leaving them outside to frustratedly bark and scratch against the weathered wood.

It had been a close call. The F.B.I. man had come out on his own, nosing around near his house. Getting into where he didn’t belong. Seeing what he wasn’t meant to see. Just like a city Jew boy to be stupid enough to wander around in the bayou at night by himself, acting like he owned the place.

Well, he didn’t own it. Bennie’s people did. They would make sure those FBI snoops found that out, one way or another. They had told Bennie about the kind of people from whence the F.B.I. man had sprung.

Bennie dumped the contents of the bag onto the wooden table, which had been covered since his mama’s days by a red gingham plastic tablecloth. It was now cracked and faded dingy gray where it had once been fresh white. He thought for a moment that he should have wiped off the mess from last night’s dinner of catfish, cornbread, and sticky molasses that covered the table, but then shrugged the thought away. He’d just have to clean up later, anyhow.

He had stored the fat boy’s arm in a large green Coleman cooler outside, and filled the container with cool water from the lake to keep the meat fresh – just like he did when he had caught more fish than he could eat in one sitting. The bag fit easily. He had hoped he would have a lot more to put in the Coleman, but the kid’s damned parents had interrupted his hunting. He guessed they had had an unlucky night at Bingo and had come home early to fuck off their disappointment. He also guessed they probably hadn’t felt much like sex after seeing what was left of their one and only spawn. Bennie grinned, chuckling deeply.

He picked up his hand ax and began chopping at Lousch’s elbow, finding the tendons there a lot tougher than it was on his usual prey. Lousch had been a big boy; “Pig”, they had called him. Bennie wondered if he would taste like pork. Bennie stopped for a moment, considering this. Letting his head drop back to gaze up at the cobwebbed rafters above him, puzzling in disgust that he had thought of such a thing. “Naw; naw! Dis is for de houn’s!” he spat out, angrily, as if he were reprimanding someone else for suggesting he cook up something more substantial than his usual grits for breakfast.

Tangipahoa Parish Morgue Autopsy bay 9:46 am

Mulder pushed through the metal door of the autopsy bay, coming back from the lab. He had first dropped off for analysis the broad grass that had been sticking out of Lousch’s mouth. From his own comparison, it was the same kind of grass as one of the weeds he had collected back in the bayou. Now he wanted to find out what might be on the blade found on the body – particularly, if there was an unusually high EFT level.

Scully was standing next to the body on the table, swimming in the borrowed scrubs she had donned. This rural morgue didn’t usually get 5′3″ pathologists carving up their dead. Peering through the plastic goggles, Scully didn’t acknowledge Mulder’s arrival, being too focused on measuring the wound on Lousch’s left shoulder.

Mulder stepped beside her under the bright overhead light. He had gone back to the crime scene with the sheriff to talk to the now relatively calmed Mr. Lousch; Mrs. Lousch had had to be sedated since they had discovered what was left of their pride and joy.

In the meantime, Scully had supervised the transport of the body to the morgue. She was convinced she would find the evidence they needed in her examination of the wounds.

“Find anything?” he asked.

Scully looked up at him and pointed to the gash she had been measuring at the apex of Lousch’s left shoulder. “Well, I’ll want our own labs confirm it, but by the look of the serration on the collarbone, this was probably done by some kind of hacksaw.”

Mulder nodded, looking not the least bit surprised. He knew this hadn’t been the work of a skilled surgeon.

Scully continued, moving to the end of the table and turning Lousch’s head to reveal the largest impact wound on the skull. “The cause of death, however, and no big surprise here, was massive trauma to the head. Done by an extremely heavy, blunt object. Most likely, from the shape and depth of the primary fracture on the skull, a sledgehammer.”

“So you think he was already dead when his arm was amputated. And when he was turned into the catch of the day, as well?” Mulder peered with a sickened grimace at the gaping hole that had once held Andrew Lousch’s intestines.

Scully nodded. “Or at least unconscious. This kind of blow to the head would probably kill someone instantly. By the look of the body, no sign that he put up a struggle, I would guess that he was taken by surprise. Any sensation would also have been dulled by his high blood alcohol level. He probably didn’t even know what happened…thank God.”

Not the first time that morning, she thought of how much she disliked this part of her job. Especially having to see the senseless destruction of someone who had not even begun to live. She had 15 years on this kid, and her own mortality was becoming a daily consideration with the cancer growing inside her. There was nothing more unfair than being snuffed out before you’ve had the chance to make your contribution to the world.

She snapped out of her self-pity and put her professional face on for Mulder. “How did your interview with the parents go?”

“They said their son had loud music on when they got home. That’s why they went down to the basement – to tell him to turn it down. That must be why he was taken by surprise. I’m sure you’re right that the kid must have been out of it, too. The empty Jack Daniel bottle in his hand tipped me off to that. The parents didn’t seem surprised that their son had consumed enough to give him a two-percent blood alcohol level. Do you want to see his liver? Not even an adult yet, and it’s already hardening.”

Mulder steeped back from the body and looked intently at Scully. “I think I’ll pass on that, if you don’t mind. I think I’ve seen enough of your friend here …and we were never even properly introduced.” He tried to keep his stomach from betraying his less-than- cool exterior; how Scully ever did autopsies on a regular basis was beyond him. He swallowed hard.

Scully sighed and peeled off her latex gloves, tossing them in a waste basket. “Drinking yourself senseless seems to be the primary form of recreation for young people around here. That and ‘mud bogging’. Not much else to do in this burg.” She tried to sound light and joking, but her fatigue showed in her voice and her eyes. “You up for some mud bogging, Mulder? I sure could use having some fun right now.”

“Oh, would you now, Scully?” Mulder replied with a sly grin.

Her partner ignored the harmless flirtation and put the goggles back in their drawer. A few shots of that whiskey young Lousch had consumed actually sounded good to her. And it wasn’t even 10am. She rarely drank, almost never hard liquor, but after the last few days she doubted just a hot bath and the entire contents of Esther Lemieux’s box of Calgon would “take her away” from her morbid thoughts tonight.

Mulder sensed her weariness and tension and placed his hand lightly on her back, rubbing gently for a moment, then bringing it up to rest on her left shoulder. “Sorry, Scully. Maybe we can try mud bogging when we get back to D.C.” He turned her around to face him, looking serious in his concern. “Hey, Starbuck, how about us getting away tonight? Having dinner out for a change?”

He had noticed a nice-looking Cajun restaurant not far from the Courthouse building. The widow’s cooking was outstanding, but the dear woman herself wanted to do nothing at dinnertime but interrogate them about the case – probably to use in the next day’s round of gossip with half the town. It was getting harder to avoid and sidestep her questions. They could both use a break. Mulder knew that Scully planned on doing some research at the library after she finished up here. He wanted to talk to Jackson again. Then, a nice, leisurely dinner to cut the stress a bit.

Scully’s mouth turned up in a weary response, and she patted Mulder’s hand on her shoulder. “That sounds great, Partner. Just great.”

They both could tell it was getting harder for her to make it through their field work without wearing herself down. But neither of them wanted to talk about it.

Early afternoon Cavendish’s Garage

Bennie felt wonderful. Stronger every day, as strong as that Lousch boy he had killed the other night. Maybe stronger.

He pulled on the chain fall with one hand, lifting the engine easily out of the Dodge pickup. It used to take both him and Henry to do this kind of work; now Bennie reveled in his vitality and power. Power the mist was giving him as he did its bidding.

He didn’t notice Mulder approach the garage, and almost dropped the engine in surprise when the agent walked through the open roll-up door. Bennie gripped the chain with both hands now, carefully letting it settle back down into the guts of the truck. Making it look difficult.

Mulder had seen Bennie’s show of strength – couldn’t help but gasp at the sight – but decided not to mention it to the mechanic. He filed the fact away as an important piece in the investigation. “Excuse me, Sir.”

Bennie turned around to face Mulder once the engine was back in it’s housing. “Mistuh, ya bettah be careful coming inta a man’s workplace like dat,” he said, his eyes burning with more than concern for safety. “Somebody boun’ t’ get hurt wid you walkin’ aroun’ like dat.”

“Sorry, Mr. Jackson; I just wanted to ask you some more questions.” Mulder chose to stay two steps behind Bennie; he didn’t want to be the one to make a man who could lift a 300-pound engine with one hand feel cornered. With a couple of yards between them, Mulder could still make out pinhead-sized spots of what looked like dried blood on Bennie’s shirt front and boots.

“Yeah? Why you askin’ me all dese questions, anyhow? I don’ see you interrogatin’ no one else in dis town.” All those polite “Sirs” and “Mister Jacksons”, Bennie thought in disgust. The mechanic knew what this man was like, with his proper ways and big words. Just like that Heeb guidance counselor they brought out from New York when he was in high school. Real nice to your face, calling you “young man” and politely asking you endless series of questions and making you take all those tests. Then they stab you in the back and say you’re “seriously emotionally disturbed”. “Crazy” is what they mean; they just like those big words better. Maybe think you won’t know what they’re really saying.

Mulder noticed how Bennie’s formerly polite disposition was replaced with a look of suspicion and hostility – face darkened and eyes intense; jaw and fists tightly clenched. He had known the “good old boy” act had been false from the start. Mulder was not going to give anything away to this man. “Well, Sir, I assure you, we’re looking into all avenues of investigation. I just wanted to ask you about what happened last night, not far from your home.”

Sure he did, Bennie thought. The nosey lawman nearly got himself killed out there, going where he had no right to be, and now he’s coming back for more. “I don’ know not’in’ about any goin’s on las’ night near my place. I was asleep.”

Bennie closed the gap between them, standing directly in front of the agent, his eye level coming to Mulder’s chin so he had to look up. “You know, it’s not a good idea for folks ta be out walkin’ aroun’ out dere in de bayou at night. ‘Specially city folk like you an’ de missus.” Bennie realized his slip as soon as he said it. Mulder’s presence and intrusion into his business was enraging him, fogging his mind.

Mulder asked the obvious question. “How did you know we were out there if you were asleep?”

Bennie paused a moment. He envisioned himself grabbing the chain hanging down from the fall and swinging it savagely across the agent’s face. Or maybe bringing the engine itself down on the other man’s head. “Why, ‘Enry tol’ me about it.” A blatant lie, and one that could be checked, but that was all he could think of at the moment.

Mulder let it pass. He knew Bennie was lying. He could check out his story with the owner of the garage later, and when it was proved untrue they would have cause to bring Bennie in, and even to get a search warrant for Bennie’s house. Mulder doubted, by the look of Bennie’s clothes, that the mechanic was the most meticulous of housekeepers…or of murderers trying to cover up evidence.

Mulder knew Bennie was centrally involved in the deaths, at least in Lousch’s case; he doubted the mysterious mist could pick up a sledgehammer and saw. But he also knew that the mist was real, and that Bennie was intimately connected to it. Bennie’s incredible strength, the extraordinary gauss measurement he had taken out in the bayou, and the way the blue mist he had seen seemed to cling to the ground near Bennie’s shack – as if possessing the land itself – were among the many clues he was collecting to prove his theory right. Or at least, confirm it more in his own mind. Something stranger than swamp gas was going on out there.

“So you saw nothing?” Mulder asked again.

“Naw, like I tol’ you, I was sleepin’. I gets to sleep real early, every night. I have ta do a full day’s work at a man’s job, I can’t be stayin’ up all night playin’ frien’ly wit’ de ladies,” Bennie replied, smiling cockily – knowingly – at Mulder.

Mulder had heard such insinuations from better men than Bennie to let them bother him. “Well, if you remember anything, you can reach us at Mrs. Lemieux’s,” Mulder said, ready to leave. He had gathered plenty of information from this short visit.

Bennie grinned unnervingly. “Yassuh, Mistuh Mulder, I sure can reach you dere.”

That evening Katie’s Kajun Kitchen

Mulder poured another measure of red wine into Scully’s proffered glass, a little unsure as to whether he should. “How many is that for you, Scully? Five?”

Scully was annoyed at Mulder’s tallying her intake. Silence was her response, simply continuing to hold her glass out for him to pour. They were supposed to have come here to relax, to get away from the case and from death for one night, and all Mulder wanted to do was talk about what he had uncovered in his talk with Jackson. This was worse that dining with the widow.

She admitted to herself that, as always, it was hard for her to put the case behind her, too. She had found something unusual that afternoon in her own investigation. Wanting to find out more about the history of the section of bayou where Yates had died, and where Mulder insisted he had seen his visions, she had discovered at the library that Bennie and Hanna were definitely related. Blood related.

She decided to tell Mulder the details in the morning, because in his current obsessive state, with any new findings like this he would probably keep her up all night telling her about auras and psychic energy and collective spirit entities, or whatever the hell Mulderesque theory he could come up with. And how these phenomena often were mistaken for swamp gas.

Scully sipped her wine, its effects having started with the second glass. Mulder had kept better count than she had, she was sure. “Why don’t you have a little more of this, Mulder?” she asked, tapping the near-empty bottle with the back of a fingernail. “You need something to wash down all that spicy gumbo.”

“That’s what the water is for, Scully,” he answered, trying not to sound as concerned for her untypical behavior as he was. No, he shouldn’t worry, he told himself, putting another hunk of dripping chicken in his mouth. Let her have a night off for once. Just as soon as he thought that, however, he came out with another unwelcome comment.

“We’ll have to talk to Henry Cavendish first thing in the morning,” he said. Cavendish had not been anywhere to be found that afternoon. He was reported to have visited his mother in another town, but no one quite knew where that town was. He would be returning that evening.

Scully was not amused at Mulder’s breaking of his promise to give the case a rest tonight. She speared a large hunk of meat from her own bowl onto her fork and held it threateningly an inch away from Mulder’s nose, forcing a smile on her lips.

“Listen here, Mulder: if you mention Bennie Jackson or Barney the Electric Blue Swamp Monster or gauss readings or anything else tonight having to do, in any form or fashion, with this case, I’m going to get the widow’s big butcher knife when you’re fast asleep and turn you into the biggest batch of gumbo Katie’s ever served.”

Mulder swallowed, taken aback by her reaction. He would be a good boy, he told himself. He’d try his usual wry humor to make amends. “Uh, Scully, Barney’s the purple dinosaur. I don’t know the swamp monster’s name.”

Scully would get in the last word on this one. “Oh? You mean you weren’t properly introduced?” Her voice still gave off a hint of anger.

They finished their meal quickly and wordlessly, and equally quietly headed back to their seperate rooms at Esther Lemuieux’s.

Lemuieux residence

Mulder laid back on the bed, wishing there was some late-night TV he could watch to lull him to sleep. Scully had fallen asleep during the drive back, but had managed to wake up when they arrived back at the house, enough to stumble out of the car and up to bed. She had brushed away the arm he offered to help her up the stairs.

Throughout the drive, Mulder had chastised himself for not easing up about the case. There were so many new developments; he just couldn’t put them out of his mind. Piecing things together and making the kinds of connections and leaps of logic that gave them the highest solve rate of any pair of agents in the Washington Bureau was Mulder’s talent. It was also his burden. He usually thrived on the rush these connections gave him, thinking of nothing but the case at hand. But now all he could think of was Scully. This case was taking a definite toll on her.

Same time the bayou

Bennie stood in the clearing, the mist surrounding him. The voices were getting stronger inside him, their words finding a better hold on his mind and will, their plans becoming more clear. He had proved worthy of their trust, and they showed him more secrets. About Hanna. About their common ancestry. About the law that forced his white forefathers to give the title to part of the bayou to the mulatto offspring of one of their own.

These truths shocked and then infuriated Bennie as he heard them in his mind. His anger was justified by the mist.

Bennie cried out his feelings of unjustness and betrayal. “The law! The law be hanged! This is our land! Our blood was shed to protect it, not theirs!”

Then he heard a noise beyond the stand of trees. The mist responded to the intruder.

*****

Henry had returned from the long day trip to his mother’s house dead tired. He had planned to stay there longer, maybe overnight, but there was a lot planned at the garage the next day. He couldn’t leave Bennie to handle it himself for two days in a row, even though the mechanic had seemed eager to have the place to himself for a while. Henry also couldn’t stand visiting his mother for long; she was dying of pancreatic cancer, spending her final days at home in one final attempt at dignity. There was nothing dignified about dying like that, he thought, as he tried to erase the image of his mother’s wasted body lying limply and full of pain on the bed.

Then he heard what he knew was Bennie’s voice, calling out something unintelligible. Sounding angry. Even a bit insane, although Henry had no idea what it was that Bennie was ranting about.

“Maybe the old boy’s tying one on, whooping it up for a change,” he said as he grabbed a flashlight and went to investigate. Henry thought he could use some company tonight, even if it was just Bennie’s company.

*****

Bennie saw the beam of Henry’s light glide back and forth across the marshy, weed-choked ground as he came into the clearing. He knew immediately what the mist intended.

“No! Don’ do it!” he screamed at the mist collecting above. Then, to the closest thing he had ever had to a friend, he cried out a warning. “‘Enry! Get outa ‘ere! Run!”

Henry looked up in confusion. Before he could decide what to do, he saw the mist come down and touch the water. Not until it was too late to move, Henry realized he was standing knee-deep in a patch of it.

Bennie watched as his friend’s body did a dance’s grim parody, convulsing for eternal moments, and finally toppling face down with a splash into the swamp water.

*****

Bennie hoisted the 30-gallon meat freezer over one shoulder and began trudging toward his cabin. His voice was shaky as he consoled himself. “Ol’ ‘Enry said I could ‘ave dis some day. Ol’ ‘Enry’s a real pal to give it ta me. ‘E sure is.”

Bennie stopped for a moment, letting the weak beam of his friend’s flashlight dance madly across the water as he used a shirt sleeve to rub the salty wetness from his cheeks and nose. His reddening eyes were wide and wild. He tried to keep his thoughts focused on the goal of getting his burden over to his land and hooked up to his generator.

Crossing through the dark land with only the flashlight to guide him, Bennie misstepped occasionally, not quite falling, but making the walk hard. With each stumble, the freezer’s contents rolled heavily inside.

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 7 by Halofyve

The next afternoon
Mulder’s bedroom at Widow Lemieux’s House
4:34 pm

There was minimal progress made on the case that morning, because Scully had not been feeling well. She fell back to sleep after eating breakfast and lunch. Mulder didn’t know if the sudden illness was from the cancer, or if she had drank too much the night before. The reason could be attributed to both, he thought to himself; the alcohol made the headaches worse.

What was there about this case that was making her act irrationally? It was a mystery to him and he hoped she would return to her sensible self, or at least let him in on what was troubling her. All she would have to do is reach out to him and he would be there for her without fail.

His partner had always helped him when he was in a tough spot. She gave freely; never putting herself before another. Why wouldn’t she let someone else bear the pain she carried inside? There was no need for her to think about losing her pride. He owed his life to her more times than he could count. But, Scully was tough and proud, any assistance on his part would have to be subtle.

Mulder nodded his head in mystery. Here he was a psychology major without a clue. Maybe it was better on his ego to pass it off on not understanding women in general.

He picked up the remote control for the television again, like he had done last night and this morning, searching for something good to watch. On channel 5 was the early edition news. Channel 7 didn’t look much better. It was airing Beach Blanket Bimbos with all the good parts censored for television viewing. Finally there was channel 10, a public broadcast network that was showing an Italian opera.

With most entertainment options limited, he decided there was nothing better to do but to work on the case. Since his partner was sick and probably wouldn’t want to deal with it tonight, he was going to choose another avenue to get some investigating done.

He picked up the phone on his night stand and dialed a number.

A deep voice on the other end answered. “Bedico Sheriff’s office.”

“Sheriff Belleville?”

“Yes, it is. How may I assist you?”

“Sheriff, it’s Fox Mulder. I wonder if we could meet and check out some hunches of mine?”

“Surely can. Give me an hour. Dunno what you’ve got planned, Mulder, but I’m guessin’ from the tone of your voice that your partner isn’t coming along. Is she?”

Mulder reached over and quietly closed the partially open door to the bedroom. “No, she isn’t. Uh, I also have one other favor to ask you, Sheriff, can you wait in your cruiser? I can meet you at the corner.”

Belleville chuckled. “Now, isn’t your partner gonna think that’s a little unprofessional? Don’t answer, Mulder. I’m just razzin’ you a bit.”

“Meet you in 60. Thanks.” Mulder hung up the phone and slowly opened the door. He wanted to make a quick round of the house to see if Scully was asleep.

Quietly, he walked down the hallway. At the very end of the hall was Scully’s room. Music sounded faintly from behind the oak door. He figured it belonged to the Italian opera. She had been fast asleep earlier, but he wanted to make sure.

Mulder turned the doorknob and slightly opened her door enough to peek in. Luck was not with him, because she was still awake.

“Forget to knock, Mulder? I was hoping for a little privacy.”

“I’m sorry, Scully. I … I was just curious if you were awake.”

“Yup, I’m up. What do you want?”

“Nothing, I wanted to tell you that I was tired too and heading to bed early myself.”

“Nighty, Night, Mulder,” she said in a motherly fashion.

“Okay, Scully, what’s bothering you?” he questioned firmly, stepping further into the room, closing the door behind him. Her attitude irked him. She had become increasingly short-tempered with him over the past day or so for reasons normally blown off.

“I don’t know; could be the pesky swamp mosquitoes down here, Mulder.”

Enough was enough. She was intentionally doing this. “Well, I’m sure your attitude will fend them off,” Mulder snapped at her while turning to leave the room.

“It already has,” she whispered.

Mulder stopped and looked back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I’m not deaf like the rest of the this retirement community. Do you honestly expect me to believe that my partner, Mulder the night owl, would be going to bed before the sun sets? I was standing at the top of the stairs near your door and clearly heard your conversation with the Belleville.”

Mulder leaned his head back on the door and raised his eyes toward the ceiling momentarily. He couldn’t meet her accusing gaze. He knew he had gotten caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. At the same time, however wrong as it was to lie to her, he knew work had to get done.

“Scully, I have every right to work on my own. I seem to recall a dinner conversation in which you had hinted that you were done for the night. Today, you slept all morning and most of the afternoon. If I work on this now, I’ll be doing both of us a favor. The quicker we solve this case the sooner we can get your air conditioned-loving self back to Washington.”

He couldn’t the coldness of his last statement. He really was a selfish bastard. Every time he opened his mouth the wrong thing spewed out. Blame your inconsiderate manner on the heat, he thought to himself, not on your typically acidic way of dealing with people.

Mulder had been told he was an asshole so many times that he had actually gotten good at assuming the role.

He wanted to take back the words, but that was impossible. An apology to her would only be met with an angry retort. Silence was probably the best thing for him to maintain.

Scully threw one of the two pillows from underneath her head at him.

He caught it and calmly placed it on the bed next to her. “Do you want me to call you if Belleville and I find something?”

“Sure,” she smiled faintly.

Mulder moved to sit a small distance from her on the bed. “Do you need to talk? I have some time before Belleville shows up.”

“No, Mulder. You know how things are… same old, same old. I have bad days like everyone else. Not everything that troubles me is cancer related.”

But deep down it was the cancer that was transforming her personality and her thoughts into an ugliness she was finding hard to continually deny.

“Okay,” he said quietly, placing his hand over hers. He let his gaze meet her eyes for a moment to make sure that she truly was fine. It was then that he noticed something peculiar. “Scully, what are you wearing?”

She looked down to the light pink summer dress she had on. It was made from cotton, but was trimmed at the neck and sleeves with darker pink satin.

“Oh, it’s just a dress Esther had made for her granddaughter. Sometimes she comes to stay with Esther and brings the family along. I didn’t think we would be staying here more than a day or two, so I had packed lightly. If you need something washed I could do that while you’re gone.”

“Nah, I like to wear my stuff a couple days to break it in. You know, to achieve that Bennie the greasy mechanic look. Girls love the manly-man appearance.”

“Are you sure that you’re not mistaking their reaction? It could be pity, Mulder.”

“Scully, you know the pink number you’re sporting looks exactly like something my mom would wear.”

“Go play, Mulder, but be careful. Call me if there is a problem.”

Mulder gently squeezed her hand again and left to meet Belleville.

She watched him leave before reaching into her handbag to retrieve three pills. The headaches were getting worse and pretty soon the recommended dosage of medication wouldn’t be enough. The alcohol she had drank the previous evening had helped, making her drunk enough to fall asleep.

Scully continued to think about drinking and then considered its role in the Yates case. The poor girl was probably too drunk to feel her life slip away.

She also figured if someone didn’t have the luxury to die in their sleep, getting plastered beforehand would be the next best thing.

Could she drink herself to death? As a doctor she knew it wouldn’t take much to do the trick. At her height and weight a good dose of vodka would be sufficient.

Her ideas were composed of total insanity and she knew that, too. This was a game she liked to play when she was alone. It tested her belief in science, this game of Russian roulette. In one chamber of her mind was the belief in a cure; in another a rash action waiting to be triggered.

These thoughts were helping her to an edge of escape. One day she would admit her fear of dying and run to her partner for help.

*****

The bayou
6:36 pm

The sheriff’s Pontiac rolled to a stop not far from the pond where Mulder had seen the apparitions of Annie and Dave. After turning off the headlights and removing the keys from the ignition, Belleville reached over to retrieve his gun from the glove box.

He held the .357 revolver in his hand and stared at it. The blued steel was cold and unfamiliar against his skin. “Been a while hasn’t, Lulu?” he spoke to his weapon.

Mulder had ceased testing his flashlight and gave the Sheriff a curious response. “Huh?”

“That’s right. Her name is Lulu. Thank God I’ve only had to pull her out three times and shoot her once in all my years on the job. Don’t you have a name for your sidearm, Mulder?”

A slight pink flush of embarrassment spread over Mulder’s face before he answered the sheriff’s question. “Uh, no. My track record for holding on to weapons isn’t very good. I’ve gone through as many guns as girlfriends.”

“Well, I guess if you named each one after one of your ex’s, you wouldn’t mind losing them as much. So go ahead, Mulder, name it.”

“Okay, I’ll name it Phoebe, but you’ve got to promise to dump it in quicksand for me after this case is over.”

“If’n that’s what you want,” Belleville smiled as he made his promise. It was a promise he intended to keep, because he was beginning to like Mulder. Even though the agent was a city boy, they walked on common ground. Common ground had brought them together tonight. He felt that now was a good time to ask why they were snooping around in the swamp. “Now that you’ve got me out here, where are we headed?”

Mulder reached for the back seat to grab his black leather jacket. “Bennie Jackson’s,” he replied.

****

Widow’s house
7:23 pm

Scully checked the dryer and found that her pants were dry. Her blouses that were hanging on the line would not be ready until the morning. She folded up the finished wash and made her way back upstairs. This attempt to keep herself busy and her mind off Mulder was not working. She was tired and needed to rest, but the constant nagging intuition that something might happen to Mulder kept wearing at her.

When she reached her room, she lazily dropped the clothes on top of her suitcase and shuffled with some resistance over towards the bed. With the television off and the entire house quiet, she decided to lie down to relax. She folded her arms underneath the pillow in hug-like fashion and closed her eyes. There alone in the her room, a noise that was faint at first was becoming louder.

It was the ticking of her wrist watch.

Scully pulled her arm out from under the pillow and watched the second hand snap forward around the dial with its annoyingly tinny tapping noise.

“Damn it,” she cursed to herself, after a few more moments of alternating her view of the ceiling and impatiently back to her watch, picturing Mulder lost in the swamp. Maybe she could visit with Mona and discuss her findings about the link between Hanna and the Jackson family. Mona was an anthropologist and she might be interested in the information.

But who would care this late at night? Scully had to face the facts. She just didn’t want to go out there alone, and more importantly, if Mulder needed her, she wanted to be close by.

It was worth a shot. It was worth saving her sanity. Quickly, Scully took off the pink dress and put on her freshly cleaned pants and her ankle-high, lace-up shoes. Remembering that her blouses were not yet ready, she went next door and grabbed one of Mulder’s shirts.

His shirts were not dirty; in fact he had packed enough for two weeks. Laughing to herself, she buttoned up the shirt, rolled up the sleeves to her elbows, and tucked in the rest of it as best as she could. After all she might have to reach for her gun. With that in mind, before she left, she quickly returned to her room for the gun and a flashlight that were lying on the night stand.

*****

Same time
Bayou

Mulder and Belleville were crouched behind some brush where they had a good view of Bennie’s shack. From there they could see that Bennie was up late working on something.

“What do you think he’s hackin’ away at, Mulder? My eyesight ain’t as good as it used to be.” Belleville whispered.

“Looks like Henry should have stayed home with his mom.”

“Come on now! Are you serious? That’s Cavendish?”

“Ssshhh. Jackson is coming out.”

The two watched and waited. Mulder pulled out a mini-sized pair of binoculars to get a closer look at what Bennie was holding.

The sheriff, also wanting a better view, tugged on Mulder’s jacket sleeve. “What do you see there?”

“It appears to be an arm,” Mulder answered flatly.

“An arm!?” he let out a coarse whisper. “You act like it’s no big deal. Give me that thang. An arm, you’re full of it.”

Mulder handed over the binoculars. “Well? I flunked Anatomy, but I can safely say that I do know an arm from a leg.”

“Glory be, it is an arm. Right or left, I wonder? If it is Cavendish, that’s a shame. He was a heck of a right-handed pitcher for the Albany Alligators.”

Even though Belleville’s comment was a bit on the morbid side, Mulder couldn’t help laughing to himself about it. Reaching over, he took back the binoculars to watch Bennie some more.

*****

Bennie spit out the remainder of his chew to the ground and called for his dogs. “‘ere boys! Come ‘n’ git it! Heyipyipyip!” he yodeled out loud. From the mechanic’s left came two large hounds emerging from the thick brush.

He threw what was left of Henry’s arm about ten feet from the doorway. As the dogs lunged for the meat, he sat and watched, feeling proud. Good guys finish last, he thought. Good guys like Henry. Even with the murder of his best friend, Bennie had been made a man by the mist. Not a kind, honest one, but one that could hold his head high with accomplishment. No one was going to mess with him now.

Hell, if he had to kill off the entire state to be respected, he would. Yes indeed, good guys always finished last. Or in this case were fed to the dogs or made into Shepherd’s pie.

That thought caused Bennie to think about his own dinner. Before he went inside, he took the bottom of his T-shirt and pulled it up to wipe the sweat from his face. As he moved the shirt away from his eyes, he noticed a quick flash from across his land. Someone was nearby. He wasn’t no dummy, no sir, he chuckled to himself. The mist had made him a genius almost overnight. Without looking suspicious, Bennie walked back inside his shack and out the rear door. He called to his dogs in a hushed voice so no one else would hear.

When the hounds circled around to the back where he was, he ordered them. “Go git ‘em. Go on. Go git ‘em.”

*****

Hanna Walker’s house
7:36 pm

Scully had called on her way to meet the centenarian’s great-granddaughter. She hadn’t told Mona about her findings, but did ask if she knew any more interesting tidbits concerning local history. As she pulled up in the stone paved driveway, Mona came out to greet her.

“I think it would be best, Agent Scully, to take our conversation elsewhere.”

Scully gave Mona a puzzled look, but unlocked the passenger side door to comply with the woman’s request. Once they both sat inside the car, Mona pointed out which way Scully should drive.

The anthropologist began to spin her tales of swamp legends as they headed down the twisted, dirt roads leading back into the swamp. “Around 1883 a young biologist named Jacques LaLonde stumbled upon a strange occurrence while takin’ samples of algae. He liked to do his research at night, because he enjoyed the tranquillity. It was on one night in particular that he noticed a strange glow emanatin’ from across a pond. Jacques, bein’ a curious scientist, decided to go check it out.”

Scully took her eyes off the road for a second and lent a knowing look to Mona. “The glow was the mist that Mulder has been talking about. The same phenomenon that the locals weave into their stories.”

“Yes. When Jacques finally found where the mist was he also found the body of a sugar cane farmer. The farmer’s name was Pierre LaChance. I looked Pierre up in the vital records and found his cause of death to be undetermined.”

“Mona, that doesn’t prove this mist killed LaChance. It merely shows early pathology was not advanced enough to show the real cause of death.”

“That might be so, but … I continued to read on in the biologist’s notes. He said that the mist had sprang out of the farmer’s body like a lightning bolt and surrounded him. It was as if he had been lulled into a trance-like state. The only thing LaLonde can remember from the experience is a spirit in the mist spoke to him.”

“What did it say?”

“Sang et histoire toujours. Roughly translated it means; blood and history last forever.”

“So, basically this mist, if it exists, is out for revenge.”

“No, not entirely, Agent Scully. It might mean that whatever has taken place in the past can never be changed. We can’t go back in time. We change who our parents are. But we can write our own history in the present. What we do today will affect tomorrow. I’m guessin’ that these apparitions you told me about are souls trapped in time. Those who cannot go back or accept their future.”

Scully was becoming frustrated. She had hoped an educated person like Mona would have placed an explanation in science not in folklore. “So why is it killing people!? If we create our own destiny, why is it interfering?”

Mona was quiet for a few seconds. She pointed to a road on the left-hand side. Scully recognized it as the path that lead to the pond.

“Dana, there is a possibility that if someone is emotionally close or related to an entity who resides in the mist, they could somehow make contact or assume an energy from it. If they could do that, then they could become the hand of fate. While I have studied concrete facts about cultures, I have also taken spiritual beliefs very seriously. A myth comes from a truth.”

“Myth aside, it would be perfectly logical to believe that Bennie Jackson killed those teenagers, because he feels he owns the swamp. That in itself makes sense, but why would he use the mist to kill and leave no trace of evidence and other times savagely mutilate a body?”

The women ended their conversation momentarily as their car pulled up alongside the Sheriff’s cruiser. There was no one in sight. The possibilities of Mulder’s whereabouts laid heavy on Scully’s thoughts.

Mona got out of the car first, listening carefully for any voices. Scully followed her. After a few moments they walked over to the pond; again finding no one.

“To answer your question, I think he’s gettin’ too confident. Whatever power he is receivin’ from this is makin’ him bold,” Mona replied.

Scully shook her flashlight, trying to get the beam a little brighter in case she needed it later. Now was not the time for the batteries to quit. “Well, this energy you’re talking about might coincide with the unusually high electromagnetic gauss levels Mulder was describing.”

“Around here there are legends of feu follet. Commonly known as will o’ wisps. Feu follet are globes of electricity that swirl around and emit lightning-like, sporadic bolts. The appearance of these have been reported near water locations.”

Scully shook her head in agreement, but was not wholeheartedly listening. Assuming command, she pointed in the direction of Bennie’s house and begun the trek through the swamp to find her partner. Mona could do nothing more than follow her.

After struggling through the tall grass and brush for about ten minutes, they came upon a freshly made trail. “This must be from your partner and Sheriff Belleville,” Mona whispered.

“I think you’re right. By the way, Mona, there is something I didn’t tell you.”

“What?”

“Was your great-grandmother’s maiden name Juneaux?”

“Yes.”

“The Jackson family had held Juneaux members as slaves. After the Civil War most of them stayed on for work. The family had managed to hold on to their fortune enough to pay for help. It was written the Jacksons were kind people. Because of that, some of your family changed their names to Jackson. Others remained as Juneaux. Out of those who stayed with the name Jackson, one was an actual branch from the Jackson family.”

“She never told me about these things,” Mona replied in disbelief. “I suppose it was because mulattos were looked down upon. Shunned.”

“Mona, if what you say is right about this phenomenon, Bennie might be using his connection with an ancestor to take his family’s land back …” Scully paused, “I can’t believe I just said that. I sound like Mulder.”

“That may not be such a bad thing. Mulder could be right. Bennie’s father hung himself. His father could be trapped in the nether world.”

Scully thought about the fact, even as impossible as it seemed. The only point bothering her more than the likelihood of all of this being true was Mulder’s vision of Samantha. He had said his sister was lost, not dead.

Somehow, she needed to prove these visions of the dead and blue mists were psychosomatically triggered. What would Mulder do if he thought Samantha was dead? Scully couldn’t let that happen.

*****

Near Bennie’s

Mulder pointed to his left to direct the sheriff. He decided it was better if they split up to check out the land surrounding Bennie’s for any evidence. “Meet me behind the house,” he said before they parted.

*****

Bennie grabbed the sledgehammer he had used to cave in Loush’s head. Quietly he headed into the forest to wait.

*****

One of the dogs had picked up on the sheriff’s scent. It circled around him and came up from behind.

Belleville stopped, hearing the deep growl of the dog. As he reached for his weapon, the dog bit his hand.

Ow! Shit!” he yelled as the teeth of the Catahoula bred dog met bone.

The dog hung on, shaking its head and body like a shark in a feeding frenzy, refusing to unlock the jaw from the bloodied catch.

The sheriff struggled with the animal. From inside the dogs eyes a flash of electricity sparked. The evil that lurked deep inside, hidden behind the eyes, scared him. After freeing his hand, he called upon his military training from the past and took hold of the dog’s neck and snapped it. He loved animals, but that dog was possessed by something.

Branches snapped under the weight of approaching footsteps, and a voice sounded from behind. It was Bennie. “Shouldn’t ‘ave done dat. ‘e was my best ‘ound.”

Again Belleville went for his gun.

Bennie was quicker than the aging lawman. He moved with mercurial speed and swung the sledgehammer right for the sheriff’s legs. The instrument made contact with a firm thud, and the sheriff’s left knee shattered.

Belleville immediately dropped to the ground, grimacing in pain.

“You’re lucky I didn’t bash your head in. Now, git up and walk to de house. We’ll call on your friend,” Bennie ordered.

*****

Mulder had found the second dog. The animal was frothing at the mouth and its electrified eyes centered on him with insatiable hunger. Cautiously he reached for the fold-out utility knife inside a sheath at his ankle. When the dog lunged for him, Mulder took the weapon and buried the blade in the animal. With a yelp, the dog fell to the ground and died. The strange blue spark that had glowed in the dog’s eyes dimmed slightly and disappeared.

As Mulder left the scene and reached the back of the house, he viewed the Sheriff being roughed up by Bennie. Quietly, Mulder walked up to the back door. He readied his weapon and prepared to make a surprise entrance.

*****

Hanna’s house
8:02 pm

While Hanna was in her sleep, her mother, Joli Marie, appeared. Hanna had drifted to the azure plane without intending to do so. Her mother had pulled her there.

The blue mist, with its violent electrical flashes, slowly disappeared, and her mother walked towards her.

“‘ello, Mama. Why are we ‘ere?” Hanna asked.

Her mother, looking troubled, reached for her daughter’s hands. “H’anna, dah-lin, we make our longest journey toget’er dis night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hanna, baby, your time is over.”

Hanna stepped back from her mother. She had expected to die someday, but she was still afraid. “If dat is so, might I not live until morning to say good-bye to Mona?”

Joli smiled, trying to hide the disappointment of her answer. “No, love, you cannot. On de way to de Promised Land we will need to make right a wrong.”

“What has happened, Mama?”

Her mother took Hanna’s hand and led her to a dark place that was filled with the echoes of wailing voices.

“Dere is a bad man, my child,” Joli Marie replied as she pointed towards an image of Bennie Jackson.

“I knows him, Mama!” Hanna exclaimed.

“Oui, and ‘e means to kill you and Mona. ‘e will kill anyone dat gets in de way. Dat man means to take back the land of ‘is ancestors.”

“But de land is not ‘is to ‘ave, Mama. No ‘uman truly owns de land … de Bible says so.”

Joli Marie reached out to comfort her daughter. “I know, but ‘is family were slave owners. Dey owned part of de swamp and a planta-sion built on good land not far from ‘ere. ‘is family even owned us.”

“‘e uses the mist, doesn’t ‘e, Mama?”

“Oui, and ‘is father ‘elps ‘im. Dat man was so cruel and evil. ‘is black soul reaches from de beyond and forces Bennie to do t’ings. ‘is father’s voice creeps into ‘is head. I’d stop him from ‘ere, but alone I’m not strong enough.”

“Mama, ‘ave pity on Bennie. We can stop ‘im, but I don’t wanna kill ‘im.”

“Our job is to prevent, not to pass judgment. Bennie will answer for ‘is crimes to dose who remain in de living. When ‘is time is done, ‘e will answer to de Lord. Eit’er way, cherie, justice will prevail.”

*****

Bennie’s shack

With one firm ram with his shoulder on the shack’s door, Mulder rushed inside. He pointed his gun at Bennie. “Drop the sledgehammer and lie down on the floor,” he ordered.

Bennie laughed at him and dropped the object. “Don’t need nothin’ to protect me. And if you t’ink dat gun you’re holdin’ will help you … it won’t.”

Belleville, still holding his wounded knee, inched his way across the floor toward Mulder. His leg was injured badly and had left a trail of blood from where he had been.

“You go on now, Belleville. Go runnin’ to de F.B.I. man,” Bennie taunted.

As soon as the sheriff was far enough away, Mulder aimed at the mechanic again and pulled the trigger.

Something was in his head telling him to shoot.

The gun never went off as the trigger fell and sounded with a faint click.

Bennie started to laugh and dance in a little circle.

Mulder lowered his weapon, focusing on Bennie’s eyes. There were wisps of blue swirling inside the irises. From behind the mechanic, just outside the shack’s windows, Mulder could see the mist approaching rapidly.

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 8 by Black Orchid

Strong R for language and violence. Especially this part. Sadistic MulderTorture ahead… and I mean it!

Still at Bennie’s shack…

Mulder was in awe of the sentient behavior of the mist as he watched it obscure the windows of the shack.

Bennie saw fear in Mulder’s expression and laughed. “Outside, boy,” he ordered as he stepped forward and shoved Mulder back out the door.

Mulder landed on his back on the damp earth outside. He watched as the mist wrapped like tendriled fingers around both sides of the shack, then as it rejoined itself to finally seep slowly over the ground, zeroing in on Mulder. It covered him like a blanket. Immediately he felt its total power over him.

Standing respectfully on the porch, Bennie watched as the mist took over Mulder’s mind; saw the body tense, then relax, as the electric wisps of blue shone in the FBI agent’s eyes. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy. “Please,” Bennie pleaded. “You promised I would have him. For all I done. Please!”

Bennie quieted and waited patiently once the mist gave him his answer. Later. He would have him later. The mechanic watched and waited, smiling, for his turn with the man.

Mulder had been hypnotized many times before. This felt like conscious hypnosis. He could see nothing beyond the blue of the mist. He knew he should try to get up, to fight this and to stop Bennie, he even wanted to get up, but he knew without trying that he couldn’t. Because the mist wanted him to lie still.

Then he knew he was to turn his head to the right, and he did what he was told. Into the blue fog, the image of his eight-year-old sister appeared.

“Fox,” she said imploringly. “Why haven’t you found me, Fox? It’s cold and dark here. You’re supposed to take care of me, Fox. Dad put you in charge.”

Tears stung Mulder’s eyes, yet he could not look away. “Samantha, no! I’ve tried…I’ve tried to find you. Where are you?”

“It’s cold and dark here, Fox. I’m scared. Why don’t you come get me?”

“I’m trying to! Just tell me where…how…”

“You let him take me, Fox, and he hurt me. I’ve been so cold and scared for so long!”

“Oh, God, Samantha…I’m so sorry…I’ve tried….”

Mulder gasped as the clouded image of John Lee Roche appeared behind his sister. The lanky, balding man put his hand on her shoulder and smiled faintly, possessively, knowingly.

“You stay away from her!” Mulder screamed. “I blew your brains out, you bast-”

“Don’t believe it, Agent Mulder!” a woman’s voice cried from beyond the mist. “That one’s not your sister!”

The hold on Mulder weakened, and he looked up to see who was approaching. The mist lost its intensity, pulled away from Mulder, and began to sink into the ground. Mulder, still on his back, slowly rolled over onto his hands and knees, peering into the darkness towards where the voice had come. He recognized Mona as she came nearer. Then he looked back to where the images of Samantha and Roche had been standing. They were gone, replaced by the night’s blackness.

Then he remembered Bennie. He spun around to see the man clenching his fists in rage, still standing on the porch, framed by the light coming from the doorway to his shack. The mechanic began to move forward when the blast of a gunshot echoed in the silence.

“Freeze! You’re under arrest!” Scully shouted. “Now, put your hands up!”

Bennie stopped and did as he was told. The gunshot proved that he had lost the mist’s protection. He did not know why at first. His throat tightened, wanting to cry like the child he had once been, abandoned by his parent. Then, while he let Scully come forward to handcuff him, the mist reassured him as it finished returning to the earth. <We are still here, Bennie.> it spoke into his mind. <Wait.>

*****

Later
outside the widow’s house

She had tried to get him to stop beating himself up about what he had seen. Ever since Bennie’s arrest, she had counseled him and coddled him, telling him that the visions had been just that – figments of his own guilty conscience, not the truth.

Now, a half hour later, she only told him to get some sleep. He snorted as he stood outside the driver’s side door, holding it open for her, waiting for her to get in. “Sure, Scully, whatever you say,” he said in a sarcastic tone.

<How can she expect me to sleep at all tonight?> he wondered. <How could she leave me alone?>

“Have fun with your report, Scully,” he said before he shut the door. He stood in the street and watched the Ford disappear into the night, headed for the sheriff’s office and a respite from the demons of Fox Mulder.

*****

Route 12

The thick patch of blue fog had come out of nowhere. The officer driving cursed as the cruiser suddenly stalled.

“What they heck is going on, Keith?” the junior partner asked the man behind the wheel. The car coasted to the side of the road.

“How the hell should I know? It’s like the engine just stopped. Call this in, Jerry. I’ll go take a look.” The driver got out as his partner radioed in that they were experiencing car trouble, and gave their general location.

Then Jerry got out and joined his partner to look under the hood.

Bennie was left behind in the caged back seat. He smiled, and watched as the mist engulfed the two officers. And laughed as he heard their screams.

*****

Widow Lemieux’s

Mulder closed the door behind him and locked the door. Esther had left it unlocked, as was habit in this small town, even with the recent murders. He would have to have a talk with her before they left in the morning.

He went to the kitchen to find a note from their hostess on the table. The sheriff’s wife had called her about what had happened, apparently waking her from an enviously peaceful sleep, and Esther had gone to stay with her friend while the sheriff spent the night in the hospital.

Good, Mulder thought. He’d have the place to himself tonight. He really didn’t want any company right now, after all.

*****

Later
Bennie’s cabin

Bennie’s mind was racing as he furiously readied himself for the rest of the night’s activities. He had made sure everything he would need was in its place and sharpened to a razor’s edge. He took down the vial of extract, made from herbs employed for generations in his family as a strong sedative for home surgeries, and stuffed the small glass container into his front jeans’ pocket. Taking one last look around and finding satisfaction in what he saw, he picked up the burlap sack and headed out the door to town.

*****

Widow Lemieux’s house

Scores of crickets protested the muggy air outside the kitchen window. Sitting hunched over the rectangular formica table anchored in a sea of linoleum, his wire-rimmed reading glasses having slid halfway down the bridge of his nose, Mulder tried to ignore the insects’ cacophony as he worked on his hand-written report on the case.

Despite the fact that he still wore the white T-shirt, jeans and hiking boots he had donned for his trek into the bayou earlier that night, Mulder still felt the humidity that hung on even in this early morning hour. He knew he would not being able to sleep any time soon; not after having seen his sister in the mist with Roche.

He had repeatedly told himself what Scully and Mona had tried to convince him of while they had waited for the ambulance to take the sheriff away, and for the police cruiser to take Bennie to jail – that the images of Samantha and Roche were just a construct of his own mind.

Mulder took a bite from the slice of pecan pie in front of him, washing it down with a sip of cool iced tea. Mulder was constantly grateful for the widow’s many contributions to this case, despite her tendency to gossip. They should bring her back to D.C. to get her to head up the Bureau’s commissary staff, he thought with a grin. You just don’t get stuff like this from your standard motel room service.

The half pitcher of iced tea he had drunk over the course of the evening suddenly made its presence known in his bladder, and Mulder gladly got up to stretch his legs and make a trip to the toilet.

The sound of the door to the downstairs bathroom shutting and the hum of the ventilation fan blended in with other noises in the house: the soft rattle of the screen being removed from the open living room window, and the soft creaking of the floorboards. Bennie cautiously made his way to the kitchen and to Mulder’s half-finished glass.

*****

Sheriff’s office

Getting away from Mulder after the events of tonight was a relief. She could have done this back at the boarding house, but she knew she needed her space. If she had stayed with him one minute longer than she had to, after getting things settled with the arrest and the sheriff’s transport to the hospital, she knew she would have chewed her partner out for ditching her once again. She was furious at him not just for running off without her, but for the lies he had told her to sneak off to the bayou and get himself in danger again.

This time, it had almost cost the life of the sheriff, as well as Mulder’s. She was relieved that they had managed to reach them in time, but she knew that one day she wouldn’t be there to pull his butt out of the fire. Her throbbing headache offered a grim reminder of that inevitable reality.

Now that she was done with the paperwork she needed to complete, she thought she’d give him a call to let him know she was heading back to the house. She knew he wouldn’t be asleep, even though she had entreated him to do so. Knowing him, he was still tearing himself up about the visions he had seen of his sister. From her four years of working with Mulder, she had learned that all she could do at times like this was leave him alone.

Scully picked up the 1970-ish model black rotary phone on the sheriff’s desk and dialed Mulder’s cell number. It rang twice, then disconnected. His phone must have been turned off mid-ring.

“Damn him,” Scully cursed quietly. He must know it was probably her calling him. He was shutting her out again. She tried to shrug off her annoyance and got up to leave.

*****

Widow Lemieux’s

The slats in the door of the broom closet permitted Bennie to watch his plan unfurl. He had nearly been found out when the cellular phone left on the kitchen table had rung, but Mulder could not have heard it all the way in the bathroom. It only rang twice before Bennie managed to turn it off, fumbling a bit to find the right button on the gadget.

Then Bennie had another close call when Mulder had returned to the kitchen, but fate was with Bennie. His victim had not heard the closet door click shut.

The voices told Bennie what to do each step of the way. Bennie knew only the basics of herbs and folk medicine, just what he had needed to survive on his own, but the voices had centuries of experience. They told him to pour only half the vial of extract into the glass. More than that would have likely killed the man, Bennie now knew. The voices also had warned him that the FBI man was returning, even though Bennie did not hear him coming.

Watching him now, Bennie had a hard time stifling giggles as the Jew boy agent took a long swig of the mixture. In his eagerness to have the man as his own, Bennie wanted to jump out of the closet as soon as Mulder had swallowed, but the voices kept him in check. <Patience>, they whispered, and Bennie knew then that the drug would take effect in several minute’s time. Bennie peered unblinking through the gaps in the closet door, letting his jaw hang slack in anticipation.

*****

The pages he was reading began to blur, and Mulder looked up at the clock. He could not read the dial. The fatigue had hit him suddenly; he had felt wide awake when he had taken the bathroom break. Now he felt relaxation and warmth throughout his body. Even picking up a sheet of paper was a challenge.

“Better hit the hay, or Scully’ll lecture me on not at least trying to follow her advice,” Mulder muttered to himself. But then, he thought, where was she? She was just as stubborn as he was.

He decided to forget about straightening up the papers he had out on the table; he would have to sleep on the widow’s couch, because he wasn’t going to make it to the bedroom. No problem with him, but the old lady might get an eyeful if he slept in his shorts.

He tried to stand up. Vertigo hit him, and his sense of where the floor, walls, and ceiling were in relation to himself became skewed. The arm he tried to use for support on the table numbed, sliding out from under him to send papers floating to the ground, while his legs gave way and knocked his chair over in a clatter that echoed in the small kitchen. <What the hell?> he thought as he hit the floor, landing flat on his stomach, rapping his chin audibly on the linoleum and biting his tongue in the process. He let out a low groan, but even that was difficult.

Mulder was no longer intensely sleepy; instead, he felt a numb consciousness, and soon realized he could not move a muscle. Unable even to turn his head to one side and get it out of the uncomfortable position in which he had fallen. He had been unable even to reflexively raise his arms to break his fall; they lay impotently at his sides. His eyelids hung half-mast. He could not will them to open, and he did not want to try to close them for fear they would stay shut.

Mulder realized he felt just like he had after the melanin vampire had hit him with the dart: paralyzed and completely helpless. Scully had saved him then… but Scully was not here this time. A sense of foreboding filled him. <This is not a good sign> he thought in dark amusement, trying to make light of the situation. Then he heard a door behind him clack open and slam against a wall so hard that he felt the vibrations in the floor.

“Hey dere, you nosy son of a whore,” he heard Bennie growl in a mixture of glee and intense anger.

Mulder then heard the heavy clump of work boots approach and stop next to the kitchen table. <Oh, shit…he escaped; somehow, he escaped.>

Bennie spoke again. “You t’ought you was done with me, di’n’ ya? Well, I’m not done wit’ you. Not by a long shot.”

Mulder longed to be able to look back as the man came nearer, but despite his struggling will, all he could do was move his eyes to one side and catch a glimpse of Bennie out of his peripheral vision.

Bennie squatted down at Mulder’s left side, patting him on the back almost affectionately.

Mulder wanted to cringe in reaction to the touch of the rough, blunted fingers of the mechanic, but he could not even manage the smallest response. He did get out another almost inaudible groan, not one of pain this time, but of disgust.

*****

Outside the sheriff’s office

<Shit! I thought I had locked this thing!> Scully thought as she pulled the car door open, sat down behind the wheel, and put the key into the rental’s ignition. Turning the key, she was met with only a “click, click” as the engine refused to even try to turn over. Red lights lit up the instrument panel to inanely tell her that something was wrong. She tried twice more with similar results before she gave up, slamming a palm on the dashboard and letting out a now very audible “Shit!” She popped the hood, simultaneously pulling her own cell phone out of her purse and pushing Mulder’s pre-programmed cell number. His cell was still off. “Crap!” she proclaimed, trying for some variety in her curses.

There was only a faint light cast from outside the sheriff’s office, so she grabbed Mulder’s flashlight from under the driver’s seat before exiting the car. She didn’t know a lot about cars, but Ahab had shown her enough to be able to recognize the most common mechanical problems. The car was a ‘97, and it had been running fine since they had picked it up in New Orleans. It must be just a loose wire or cable, she thought, for it to suddenly go out like this.

Lifting the hood and peering at the engine, flashlight aimed at the most vital parts of the engine, it didn’t take a mechanic’s license to see what was wrong. The distributor cap was gone. Someone had deliberately disabled the car.

Her phone rang as she brought the hood back down. She pushed the button to answer, annoyed, putting it to her ear. “Mulder, I was just…” She stopped when she realized it wasn’t Mulder’s voice on the other end.

“Agent Scully, this is the Parish Jail,” the nervous voice on the other end interrupted. He sounded barely out of his teens. “We were told you were involved in the apprehension of a murder suspect.”

“Yes,” Scully answered. “Listen, my car…”

“Ma’am, the other arresting officers reported that they were experiencing trouble with their vehicle in transport. We lost radio contact with them, so we dispatched a unit….Ma’am, the cruiser was found, both officers dead, and the suspect is missing.”

Scully could only stare into the darkness as she tightly held the phone.

“There is a manhunt being organized now, but…we just don’t have a lot of people up here,” the young man’s voice continued. “It’ll take some time. We wanted to notify you of what has happened. We’re operating under the assumption that the suspect is armed and dangerous.”

It was then that Scully noticed the greasy hand print on the hood’s finish.

Suddenly she found a new explanation for Mulder’s cell being out of commission. She also realized that police backup could still be miles away. She would have to act quickly if Jackson had gone after Mulder.

She struggled to keep calm as she explained the situation to the dispatcher, giving him directions to Esther’s house and, from there, to Bennie’s shack.

Disconnecting the phone and then checking her weapon at the small of her back, she began running down the street toward the boarding house.

Widow Lemieux’s

Bennie made the knots in the rope that held Mulder’s hands behind his back mercilessly tight. Jackson didn’t know how long it would take for the drug to wear off, although he sensed tying the man up was really unnecessary. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances.

Mostly, however, he wanted this experience to be as unpleasant as possible for the FBI man. He took another length of rope out of the burlap sack and similarly tied Mulder’s feet together, crossed at the ankles and wound so securely that Mulder’s feet were sure to grow numb.

Satisfied that his handiwork was as painful as it could be, Bennie leaned over his prone captive. “So, you Kike bastard, ya t’ink you’re pretty smart?” he spat out, breathing hotly into the back of Mulder’s neck. “Ya t’ink I’m some kind of retard? Or ‘emoti’n’lly disturb’, what ya really mean as crazy? ‘Ow about bot’…dat’s what you t’ink, don’ ya? Well, dis crazy ol’ idjit done outsmarted you, didn’ ‘e?”

Mulder wished he could respond, if only to stall Bennie long enough to keep him from doing whatever he had in store for Mulder in time for Scully to return. Or Esther. But the widow’s walking into this would only put an innocent civilian in danger. He just hoped that, if either came, it was Scully and not the old woman. Scully with her five-foot frame ready to kick some butt, her Sig Sauer loaded and drawn, looking like a petite Dirty Harry in drag.

Mulder almost smiled at the image, despite the throbbing in his wrists, ankles, and his bitten tongue, but he could not. He also could not find the strength to respond to Bennie’s ranting interrogation. His groaning was getting better, though. He made another attempt at vocalization, this time quite loud. “Scu…” was all he could get out.

Bennie considered this and suddenly grinned, although his victim was not in a position to benefit from seeing his mirth. The mechanic stroked Mulder’s hair. Again, touching him with disturbing gentleness. “Well, I guess I better do somet’in’ about de noise you’re makin’,” he said as he dug into the bag one last time, pulling out a faded red mechanic’s rag. He swung one leg over Mulder, straddling the agent’s shoulders, making him groan again as Bennie sat down on his bound hands.

Bennie chuckled as he folded the rag and made a knot in the center of the band of material. He pulled Mulder’s head up, grasping a handful of brown forelock – reserving any gentleness he had in him this time – and shoved the knot into Mulder’s mouth, then tied the ends at the back of his neck. He released his hold on the gag and let Mulder’s head flop back down to the linoleum. Mulder managed the strength to turn his head to one side in time to avoid hitting his chin on the floor again.

<At least something’s gone right for me> Mulder thought, although he knew he’d probably have a shiner on that side of his face when he came away from this. If he came away from this, he amended. A bruised cheekbone should be the least of his worries, he knew. “What d’jew t’ink of dat, Jew?” Bennie said, laughing at his own bad pun. “Bet dat don’ tas’ too good. It don’ make no sense to wash dem rags, seein’ as how they’ll jus’ get dirty again.” He patted Mulder on the shoulder like they were old buddies.

Mulder shuddered mentally at the touch and choked slightly on the filthy, grease-stained gag as he tried to swallow. He wondered what Bennie was going to do now that he had him trussed up. Sit there all night and tell him racist one-liners? He doubted it.

Almost as if Bennie had heard his question, Mulder got his answer. “Now you’re comin’ home wid me, buddy boy,” the smaller man said as he easily lifted Mulder up and over one shoulder, not even grunting from lifting 170 pounds of dead weight, as if Mulder were a 6-foot rag doll. That’s exactly how Mulder felt as he was carried out the back door and into the dark foliage beyond.

All Mulder could do was hope Scully wasn’t planning on working too late at the office.

*****

Minutes later
Widow Lemieux’s house

Scully cautiously entered the front door of the house, gun drawn and senses peeled. The entry hall and living room were in semi-darkness, lit only by the bottom globes of antique hurricane lamps the widow used as night lights. The only bright light in the house was the one coming from the kitchen’s open doorway.

She had to assume that Jackson was still here, that he was holding Mulder hostage, and that he knew Scully had entered the house. Always be prepared for the most dangerous scenario, she had learned from her FBI training, although it would be worse if Jackson had taken Mulder out of the house. Or if he had killed him already, she thought, and was waiting here to take her out, too. The thought of finding Mulder dead on the floor, lying in a pool of blood with his throat cut, was almost paralyzing, and she knew she had to keep such thoughts away if Mulder had any chance of survival. If he was still alive.

She surveyed the entry hall quickly, then hurried to do the same to the living room, peering around the door frame between the two rooms. Looking at any possible hiding places for signs of Jackson. Then she saw the empty burlap sack on the kitchen floor. She ran quickly to the entrance to the kitchen, holding her gun in front of her with both arms locked. “Mulder!” she called out, not really expecting him to answer. “Mister Jackson, I’m armed; come out with your hands up,” she warned.

Looking at the kitchen’s disarray, papers scattered on the floor and the chair Mulder had been sitting in when she had left him that evening overturned, drops of blood next to a rumpled burlap bag, Scully knew Jackson and Mulder were no longer in the house.

“Shit,” she cursed aloud for the third time that night. The highway patrol she had contacted had said backup would be at least a half hour in arriving. Luckily, they had a canine unit available. They would be able to track Mulder and Jackson if they had gone into the bayou. She punched in the number again to give them an update and directions to Jackson’s cabin. If he hadn’t taken Mulder there, they could be anywhere in the bayou.

She was not going to sit around and wait for backup while her partner’s life was at stake.

*****

The same time
Bennie’s cabin

Bennie roughly tossed Mulder on his butt in the middle of the moonlit one-room shack. Mulder let out a cry through his gag as his left hip jarred against the weathered wooden planks. He was unable to keep himself upright and rolled back over his hands, finally laying flat on his back, having to arch over his bound hands. Some of his control over his muscles was returning, and he weakly managed to keep his head up to peer warily at Jackson’s dark form, wondering what would happen next. His hands were throbbing now, but he could not roll over to take his body’s weight off them. He doubted he’d really want to, because he could not tear his gaze away from Jackson’s approach.

Bennie pulled the thin chain to the one source of electric light in the cabin.

Mulder squinted in the sudden blinding brightness, unable to shield his eyes. Bennie’s generator kept one bare, dust-covered bulb burning dimly in the center of the room, suspended from the high ceiling. Mulder looked up at it and saw the rope hanging from the rafter just above and to the left of the bulb; it fell all the way to the floor, several feet of slack coiled on the floorboards. Mulder had an idea of what was next in Bennie’s plans for him.

Just as Mulder began contemplating this, Bennie grabbed the bindings around Mulder’s ankles and both dragged and spun him into position, drawing his feet over a large metal eyehook that Bennie had screwed into one of the floorboards directly below the rafter with the hanging rope. Jackson took the excess rope from around Mulder’s ankles and threaded it through the eyehook’s loop, tying the loose end to the metal and effectively anchoring his victim to the floor, a foot of rope between the soles of Mulder’s hiking boots and the loop.

<Not like I’m going anywhere>, Mulder thought, frustrated with his near-total immobility. He did notice some strength returning to his muscles, but now that he was tied like a sacrificial lamb all he could do was struggle futilely to sit up.

“Boy, you ever watch a butcher get a slab of meat ready?” Bennie asked, looking down into Mulder’s eyes, not expecting an answer from his gagged victim, but delighting in catching a glimpse of terror there. Bennie chuckled and picked a short, serrated knife off the lone wooden table in the room.

Mulder couldn’t help but think of the irony of the worn and faded red gingham plastic tablecloth that covered the table. His mother had one just like it that they had used on family camping trips throughout his childhood. Even the knife looked like one he had used as a boy to gut the fish he had caught on those trips. Now Bennie looked at him like he would be that gutted fish. Mulder tried to kick out, to scream, but neither effort held any potency.

Jackson pushed Mulder back down flat on the floor with one boot pressed to his right shoulder. Mulder drew in a gasp as Bennie drew the knife to the collar of his undershirt, grabbing the crew neck band and slicing it open. Then Bennie put the hasp of the knife in his mouth (<Looks like Daniel fuckin’ Boone, and I’m the bear> Mulder thought), and ripped the cotton fabric down the middle with his bare hands. Jackson pulled the split shirt over the other man’s shoulders, rolling him over and drawing the material down over his victim’s bound hands. Then he took the knife in his hand again and cut the cloth to free it from the agent.

Bennie stood back to admire what he saw like a painter admiring a favorite canvas. “Yeah, I bet you’ll be mighty tasty,” he said.

His prey laid on his belly, the rough floorboards putting slivers into his abdomen and chest as he struggled. Bennie rolled him back over again with one foot.

“Now, I’m gonna borrow somet’in’ of yours; I hope you don’ mind, Mister Mulder, Sir,” Bennie said, getting cockier and reaching into Mulder’s right front jeans pocket.

Mulder gasped through the cloth in his mouth as he felt the hand invade him, trying to squirm away from the feel of Jackson’s touch through the thin material of his pants pocket. Then he saw the hand pull out the handcuffs he had put there before he had left earlier with the sheriff to come to this place.

“I felt dese in your pocket when I was carryin’ ya,” Bennie explained, tossing the metal bracelets in the air like a schoolboy tossing a ball, catching them easily. “Mister FBI man, I guess I got somet’in’ of yours dat’s workin’ again’ ya.”

Bennie snapped one bracelet around Mulder’s right wrist, then cut the rope that had tied Mulder’s hands together so painfully. Mulder couldn’t help but sigh in relief, but knew this would probably be his only opportunity to fight back. His right wrist held firmly by the handcuff in Bennie’s grip, Mulder lashed out with his numbed left arm, swinging it around to make contact with the other man’s shoulder. The numbness- weakened punch had no effect, and Bennie easily grabbed the free wrist in a vice-like grip and brought it up with the other wrist, sealing it in the other cuff.

Mulder felt like a small child in Bennie’s hands as the mechanic used his incredible strength to lift him up to a squatting position by the chain between the handcuffs; Bennie didn’t even strain to do this with his left hand, while he grabbed the rope hanging from the rafter with his right.

Mulder’s linked hands were raised above his head, his legs still too weakened to take his weight, although he desperately wanted to stand up. Bennie brought the rope through the loop made by Mulder’s chained arms and made one knot in the rope around the chain, then tossed the long loose end up and over the opposite rafter.

Bennie tugged on the loose end and Mulder was pulled to a standing position and beyond, stretched tautly between the rafter and the floor. Inclined forward slightly because the chain of his handcuffs was knotted to the rope overhead almost a third of the way between the rafters, while his feet were tethered to the eyehook directly under the left rafter. Bennie looped the remaining rope around the leg of his sturdy cast-iron stove and pulled one last time, hard and fast, until Mulder screamed through the gag at the pull on his shoulders and hips. Bennie then tied the end around the stove’s claw leg.

There was not a centimeter of give in the rope above or below, or in Mulder’s entire body. Mulder’s struggles only made the pain tearing through every joint and tendon in his body worse, but it was a reflexive reaction he could not pursuade himself to curtail, and he soon felt himself growing faint. He let his head fall forward.

Again, Bennie paused to admire his work.

Mulder slowly gave in to the grayness surrounding him.

*****

Elsewhere in the bayou

The backup officers were still on their way. At least, that’s what Scully hoped. She also hoped they’d be able to find their way through the confusion of swamp and growth that was the bayou, to find the small cabin that Scully was now sure held Mulder. All she knew was she couldn’t rely on their arriving in time. She sensed that time was limited, and that it was ultimately up to her to save Mulder.

Even she wasn’t sure if she was going the right way to reach the house. It was dark and she was feeling panic set in; she could have taken a wrong turn in her rush to reach her goal as quickly as possible. She stopped to gather her wits and take stock of her situation. Taking a deep breath settled her nerves a little. Then she heard the voice.

“Miss Dana…come…I kin help you.” It was a girl’s voice, a local accent flavoring it. The voice seemed disembodied. Scully did not see the owner of the voice anywhere, even though it sounded barely above a whisper. She began walking in the direction of the voice’s origin. She felt certain that she should heed the voice’s beckoning, despite the precious time she might lose in her search for Mulder.

Minutes later, Scully seriously doubted her decision to follow the voice. She wondered if Mulder’s willingness to go off on a wild hunch had rubbed off on her to a dangerous degree. However, just as she was about to turn around, she saw a distant light glimmering in a window. She realized she was standing at the edge of the clearing that surrounded Hanna’s house.

Standing before here were two young girls. She recognized one as Samantha. Something deep within her made her know that the other was Hanna.

Samantha looked sadly into Scully’s eyes. “You have to save Fox,” the pigtailed girl said.

*****

Bennie’s cabin

Bennie slapped Mulder’s face repeatedly, determined that the man be awake for what he had planned next. “Rise an’ shine, Jew boy, we ‘ave lots more on de menu tonight,” Bennie said with a smile a maitre d’ would envy.

It took Mulder several moments to remember where he was, and who the man was who looked up at him from his suspended position. As he rose from unconsciousness, his tormentor’s face changed from that of Eugene Tooms to Donnie Pfaster’s to Robert Modell’s. Finally, it settled on who he was now: Bennie Jackson, mechanic- turned-sadist extraordinaire.

Mulder realized that Bennie had cut away his pants while he had been unconscious, even removing his boots and socks, so now he hung from the rafter covered only by the thin gray cotton of his boxers. Bennie stood approximately eye level with Mulder’s navel.

Mulder no longer felt the pain in his limbs and joints – at least not like he had before, when it was so unbearable he had found escape in a small part of his unconscious mind. Now he just felt the buzz of endorphins coursing through his body, making him feel a numb warmth all over and an intense lightheadedness. He had forgotten about the gag, and tried to make a patented Spooky-brand quip through the saliva-soaked, filthy rag. It came out as muffled nonsense, followed by a fit of coughing that re-awakened the searing pain in his shoulders and chest.

“Now, when I was a boy, I use’ ta sneak down to de slaughterhouse and watch dem cut up de hogs,” Bennie said as he slowly approached Mulder with the serrated knife he had used earlier. “I liked goin’ dere, because sometimes dey’d t’row me some scraps to take home to my famb’ly.” Bennie playfully plucked the rope that suspended Mulder, making his victim open his eyes again in renewed pain.

“Dey t’ought it was awful funny, treatin’ ”dat sickly little Jackson boy’ like a stray dog. But oft’times dat was de only real meat my famb’ly had for a long, long time.” Bennie’s voice grew sad as he shared his recollection. Then he suddenly seemed inspired as he looked up into his captive’s face with a hungry grin.

“You one of dose Jews dat don’ eat pork, boy? ‘Cuz I’d hate t’ offen’ ya by treatin’ ya like a slaughtered pig.” Bennie didn’t even pause for an answer.

Mulder fought to get away from the tip of the knife as Bennie made his first cut, but his bindings had only grown tighter as he had hung unconscious, his muscles pulled to the tearing point, and he could not move even slightly. The blade’s end almost tickled as Bennie gently traced a line from the V of Mulder’s collarbone, drawing it painstakingly slowly down his chest, over his tight belly and stopping at the top of his groin. Bennie imitated the way he had seen the butchers draw out the cuts of meat before actually slicing into the flesh. Except they had done it with a butcher’s crayon; he would do it leaving a thin line of blood to mark his way.

Mulder watched his own blood slowly trail down his chest and abdomen to eventually form drops that flew downward to stain the wood below him. The dry wood soaked each small red pool up thirstily, leaving dark brown splotches behind.

Beginning to panic out of terror of the knife, Mulder began screaming. The cloth in his mouth muffled the sounds, but Bennie knew the FBI man was calling in vain for his redheaded partner. Excitement built in Jackson as he paused in his carving to watch the man in front of him struggle and to listen to his strangled cries.

Bennie wanted to experience the full effect of his power over the other man. “Okay, Jew boy, let’s let that li’l gal of yours hear you,” he explained as he used the knife to cut the gag away in one stroke. Bennie had no fear of anyone else who might hear them now. He had the azure plane to shield him and to draw on if anyone interfered with his plan.

The cloth removed, Mulder pulled up on the chain that held his wrists and gathered all the strength he had to fill his lungs with air. “Scully!” he managed to project hoarsely; probably loud enough to be heard a few yards from the cabin, Mulder thought. No one would hear him, he knew. Not out here. “Scully!” he bellowed again, growing weak from blood loss and the exertion. He looked down at Jackson, knowing the insane monster was probably going to be the last living thing to see him alive. “You motherfucker,” Mulder groaned at him when he saw Bennie grinning, eyes shining bright as they looked into Mulder’s weary gaze.

Bennie stuck out his tongue and laughed in reply. He was enjoying this more than he had imagined he would. He had thought the woman would be more fun, but his intense hatred of the man, the man whose visage often blended in Bennie’s mind with those of others who had hurt him in his life through their disdain, made toying with him an especially rewarding experience. He was regretting that it would eventually have to end. He knew the woman would be coming after her precious partner, and he had to have the Jew out of the way before she came. He would be ready for her, too; the man was acting as bait for her. Like an opossum hung from a tree to bring on bigger game.

*****

Hanna’s house

Scully turned as she thought she heard a faint, familiar sound in the distance.

The girl who looked like Samantha got her attention back. “Scully, you have to come now. It’s the only way you can save my brother,” she pleaded from the shadowy darkness a few feet away.

Scully started moving again, unsure in her mind if she was doing the right thing, but feeling somewhere inside that Samantha – or the image of Samantha that beckoned her – was right. Following the girls, who ran hand in hand ahead of her, Scully hurried up the steps to Hanna’s front door.

Entering the house, Scully saw that the girls had run to the center of the living room. They turned to look at her. Scully felt dazed, unwilling to comprehend what she was seeing. She addressed the black girl, the one she had thought was Hanna. “I don’t know who you are, but you said you could help me. Bennie Jackson has my partner. I know it. I got lost in the bayou on the way to his cabin. Police backup is on it’s way, but…”

“You din’t get lost, Miss,” the girl said. “I brought you here because you’ll need this.” She pointed to a tin that rested on the mantle, a tin that looked at least 100 years old. A beautiful scene of a peaceful clearing in the bayou was painted on its hinged lid. The metal was rusted and looked like it had been buried for a long time. “Open it,” the Hanna girl said. Samantha, standing quietly next to her freind, nodded in agreement.

Scully sensed that the girls could not touch things or move things; they could only show the way. She opened the box and removed its sole contents: a thin-chained, long, gold pendant. Lifting it up to touch the stone it held, she saw that it was a beautiful black opal.

“You won’ survive de mis’ wid’out dis,” the Hanna girl said mysteriously, suddenly sounding not in the least like the little girl she appeared to be. “It’s an old fambly heirloom. My mi-maw tol’ me about it tonight. After all dese years, I never knew….” The girl waved a hand at Scully, urging her on. “Now, put it on, an’ go find your young man. Dat stone has special powers when in de ‘ands of a firey-haired woman like you.”

Scully obeyed, slipping the chain around her neck, but silently berated herself for coming here. All these mysterious girls – probably hallucinations brought on by stress – had to offer was a superstitious token of protective magic. The kind of thing Scully had found fascinating as a child, but shouldn’t give credence to as a professional, scientific-minded adult. What if Jackson had murdered Mulder in the time she had wasted here? She would never forgive herself.

Hanna’s eyes seemed to darken a shade as Scully took a step back, ready to leave the house in search of Bennie’s shack. The spirit girl’s countenance grew serious, as if she were doubting if Scully had any chance in succeeding. “Miss, dere is one t’ing. For dis magic to work, you ‘ave to be willin’ to believe.” Scully paused at this, and took one last look at the other girl, who looked just like the photos she had seen of Samantha Mulder. The child’s face was grave. Then both girls’ images faded, and she was left standing alone in the room.

She pivoted around and hurried out the door and down the steps. One thing was different after her visit, she realized. She now knew exactly how to get to Bennie’s cabin.

*****

“Centenarian” Chapter 9 by Halofyve

Outside Bennie’s cabin

Scully wiped droplets of sweat from her brow and walked with determination toward the cabin, throwing away any thoughts of her personal safety. She had ventured on foot for this trek through the bayou, abandoning the car behind. There was something causing her to draw closer. It was more than a sense of duty to a partner, or fear for a friend’s life edging her onward. A force from the bayou was pushing her towards a mission she knew she had to complete, but one whose details were to be learned as she went along.

The mist surrounded her, but did nothing to obstruct her path to the cabin’s front door. The young Hanna and Samantha from the apparition had been right; the pendant would protect Scully from the evil inside the azure plane.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she ignored the danger inside and open the door. The strength possessed by her mind and body took her by surprise. Earlier she had been so tired; lifeless like the walking dead. Now she was charged with an existence larger than life and felt reborn. Her new found vitality made her wonder if the cancer had really polluted her body.

In front of her stood Bennie and behind him, hanging from the cabin’s rafters, was her restrained and battered partner. His bloodied appearance did not faze her, nor did the sight of the axe that Bennie held ready. Mulder stirred a little, trying to lift his head and open his eyes. He was still feeling the effects of the torture he had endured.

“Let Mulder go,” she ordered.

“Aw now, I wuz just fix’n to make us some dinn-ah,” Bennie replied as he reached back and pushed on Mulder’s body. The ropes that held him swayed slightly, causing the wooden beams that bore his weight to creak.

Scully took a step closer to Bennie and clasped her hand tightly around the pendant. “I think someone would like to speak to you first.”

Bennie looked past Scully, taking notice of the figures emerging from within the mist.

A young Hanna and her mother Joli appeared.

Bennie spat out a stream of tobacco juice and smiled. “Dey can’t ‘urt me! Deir dead, pretty one!”

Scully rubbed the pendant around her neck once more for strength. “No, but they gave me the power to hurt you. Now I strongly suggest that you put down the axe and let my partner go,” she said as convincingly as she could, relying on a leap of faith in magic to save herself and Mulder.

Bennie’s stance grew limp and he closed his eyes. He concentrated on summoning the mist to take care of the red-headed witch and her dead friends. He tried and tried, but nothing happened.

It was then his late father’s form appeared from behind Joli and Hanna. “De blue dwellers ‘ave done deir share. Now you must prove yourself. Kill de outsiders. Take back our land and cleanse our family’s name!”

He did as his father had instructed, raising the axe above his head. He smiled and tears began to rim his eyes. The taste of impending victory filled the air. At last he wouldn’t be the white trash loser, the ignorant fool who was the brunt of jokes. He’d be the king of the mountain and of all the land surrounding it.

“Use de pendant, Scully,” Hanna’s apparition warned telepathically.

Joli repeated her daughter’s suggestion. “Put your fait’ in de pendant. Only den will you send de evil back to ‘ell.”

Scully held on tightly to the necklace. Her hand turning white from its firm grip. She raised her eyes toward the axe’s blade and then to Bennie’s bloodthirsty gaze.

>From out of the mist a little Samantha appeared to her. She ran over an put a comforting hand on Scully’s arm. “You have the strength to do this. Only the red-headed witch can harness the power to expel the darkness.”

With the axe still held fast in Bennie’s hands, looming above her and Samantha’s head, a miracle from magic was looking highly improbable.

“I’m sorry,” Scully whispered as she let go of the pendant. She had lost her faith. It would take a real weapon to kill the living. Too much was on the line for her to trust anything else besides her gun.

Mulder opened his swollen eyes as much as he could. The scene that was coming slowly into focus made no sense to his groggy mind. He saw what he thought was sister standing next to Scully and Bennie. The Samantha he witnessed was not the same one that was speaking to Scully. This apparition was an evil incarnation sent by the other side to torment him. He was in his own personal hell, because he was vulnerable enough for the mist to take him there. No one could help him, not even Joli, Hanna, or the pure spirit of the other Samantha.

The image of Mulder’s Samantha was getting closer, holding her arms out, trying to reach for him. “Stop her, Fox. Don’t let her use the magic. You’ll never see me again if she does. Don’t let me die here! I’m scared, Fox!”

He tried to speak, but his words were a choked, faint breath. The blood still clogging his throat made it virtually impossible from him to be heard.

Mulder was surveying his surroundings again to look for a way out when Roche materialized from the darkness of Bennie’s shadow. He walked up to Mulder and whispered in his ear, “I like his M.O. . I could’ve used a guy like him. You know I was always partial to little girls, but two is better than one. It’s twice the fun.”

“Scully …” Mulder cried in a strained whispered, trying to save his sister and ignoring Roche’s presence.

As this was going on; Hanna and Joli had surrounded Bennie. They were trying to get inside his head, whispering for him to turn away from the vengeful evil that his father and the old ones were forcing him to continue.

“You can’t change t’ings, Bennie. Make peace wit de past and let it go,” they pleaded.

“Scully … no … no, ” Mulder coughed. Again he managed only her name. His weary voice wasn’t loud enough.

“Drop it!” she yelled with the gun wavering in her hand.

Bennie shifted his pose and brought the axe to his right, getting ready to swing. “No! Tell ‘em old neggras to git outta my ‘ead!”

His father was taunting him, too. He was standing between Hanna and Joli, telling him to swing the axe. All the voices and pressure were getting to Bennie. Everything was on him and it was coming on a little too heavy for someone unaccustomed to pressure.

Scully focused on the killer in front of her; with the calls of Hanna and Joli no longer able to reach her. She had no choice except to fire, because she knew he would obey his father.

As Bennie felt the bullet enter his body, he dropped the axe and fell to the floor. With this failure, his father began to disappear back into the mist. Before he vanished, he spoke to his son a last time. “You were born a good-for-nuthin’ and you’ll die dat way too.”

“No. No! Nonono!” Bennie cried as he tried to crawl across the floor toward Scully. The wound in his upper chest, near his right shoulder, left a scarlet trail of blood from where he had lain. He had only moved two or three feet before he fell unconscious.

Hanna, Joli, and the pure Samantha vanished too. Their faces expressed sadness, but there was nothing more they could do. Scully was left standing by herself with the gun in one hand and the pendant in the other. She had taken it off, knowing she too had failed.

“Tsk, tsk,” Roche teased Mulder as the dead killer’s form also began to disappear, taking a crying Samantha back with him into the mist.

“Samantha … Samantha,” Mulder anguished over and over to himself.

*****

Next morning
Covington Hospital
Room 1211

Scully’s smiling face was the first scene to greet him as he awoke.

“Good morning, Mulder.”

He cleared his throat a bit and extended a hand for some water, which she promptly gave him. After he had taken a couple sips, she eased the glass from his mouth. It wasn’t wise to let someone drink so much after being as traumatized as he had been. Finally he could speak. “Hi. What’s my prognosis on a scale of dead and my normal self?”

“I’ve seen you worse, so I wouldn’t say a hole has been dug for you.”

“That’s encouraging, Scully. Just stop me from wandering off on a date like that again,” he replied quietly. He tried to smile, but it hurt too much.

She reached over and held his hand softly.

He was surprised at her touch and her closeness to him. The warmth exchanged between their hands made the pain of his injuries disappear. He read the expression that graced her face. It reminded him of a worried guardian angel watching over her earthly charge. He could see her let go of the fear she had of losing him to welcome peace of mind to them both. Moments like this between them were few and brief. There was always other business demanding their attention, and right now they had a case to wrap up.

“What happened to Bennie?” he asked with regret, not wanting to spoil their time alone.

She moved her hand from his and a feeling of dread overcame her, because she knew this would only be one of many questions. Some of these questions would hold secret answers unknown to her, while others had answers she did not want to believe.

“Jackson is in a guarded recovery room after undergoing surgery for the gunshot wound I gave him. He’s stable. When he becomes strong enough the state will try him for the murders of Andy Loush and Henry Canvendish.”

“I think we have enough evidence to convict him,” Mulder added.

She quietly nodded in agreement.

There was something in the way she was sitting there. It was almost like she was holding something back. He looked at her and knew someone else had died. “Hanna’s dead too isn’t she.”

She met his gaze, trying to bury the emotion that might give away other facts. The information that Scully held inside had dangerous consequences, especially with her cancer. For her to profess the truth and explore the possibilities of life after death, or Heaven, and Hell was all too much.

And what about Samantha? Did she exist, or was she something Mulder convinced her to believe?

“So how is all of this going to be recorded in your journal for posterity?” he asked with slight sarcasm. He’d been down this road before with her. Spiritual-type cases were never easy for her, and her final judgment always fell back on the reliability of science.

“Well, Yates’ official cause of death will be a seizure. I know she wasn’t epileptic, but it is the only possible explanation I can come up with to file.”

“You mean the only scientifically acceptable explanation. Right?”

“No Mulder, that is what killed her,” she replied with a quick snap. The response did not come out as she would have liked, but it was necessary to discourage him for asking more questions.

He nodded in agreement, but couldn’t pass up the opportunity to probe further. “Sure, Scully, but what about the others. We have proof, but don’t you think it odd that a feeble-minded loser, like Bennie, with no criminal record turned into a cunning, axe-wielding psychopath overnight?”

“Well, Mulder, it holds more water than your the aliens must have done it; which you seem to conveniently apply to everything. Tell me, when you’re missing one sock from a pair do you ask NASA for a lost and found mission?”

Scully shot up from her chair that was next to his bedside and headed for the door. “Maybe you ought to get some rest. I’m going to check on Bennie before I make out the report.”

He was too weak to stop her.

*****

Bennie’s hospital room

The spirits may have returned to the nether world, but the voices were still in his head. As Scully examined the heart monitor and read Bennie’s chart, she could tell something unsettled his rest.

She closed the door to the room and went back to his bedside. Slowly she reached for his hand. There was a feeling of pity for him, whether he was insane or not. She wondered if the visions witness by Mulder and herself had also showed themselves to Bennie at the beginning. Perhaps they too could have been caught up in the same downward spiral of sanity.

Just as she was about to take his hand the heart monitor beeped once and showed that his heart had stopped suddenly. Quickly, she grabbed the room’s phone connecting her with the ICU desk. “This is Special Agent Dana Scully. Room 1675 has coded. I need a crash cart now!” She slammed down the phone and began to administer C.P.R. to Bennie.

*****

At the same time

Mulder had taken the pain medication Scully had prescribed for him. That had been fifteen minutes ago and he was beginning to feel its effects. The room was becoming blurry and his eyes were shutting.

“Fox …” a familiar voice called out to him.

His eyes snapped open to see Samantha.

“What are you doing here? Are you real?” he asked in amazement.

“Yes, Fox, I’m real. We’re just coming to get someone. Would you like to come with me?”

“Whose we and why can’t you stay? Who are you coming for?”

Roche’s hand and arm emerged from the wall behind Samantha and the rest of him followed. He didn’t say a word to Mulder, he smiled evilly like he had won a cupie doll at a country fair. The killer wrapped his arms around Samantha and began to vanish.

“Sam!” Mulder yelled, trying to leap forward for his sister. Tangled in tubes and wires he had managed to move his battered body to the end of the bed. There was nothing he could do, she was gone again. He reached over and rang the buzzer for the nurse.

*****

Outside Bennie’s room

Bennie had died and now Scully had even less evidence to present in her report. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a nurse running towards her.

“Agent Scully, there’s a problem with your partner! Come quickly!”

She ran down the hall with the nurse to Mulder’s room. She couldn’t imagine what the problem could be. She knew Mulder could be difficult if he wanted to be released or maybe if the food was bad, but he had taken his medication and should be sleeping. Horrible thoughts that he may have had a reaction crept into her mind.

As she entered the room, she saw that his fluid drip had been knocked to the floor and two orderlies were trying to hold him down on the bed. “Mulder! Mulder, stop! Relax. What happened?” she insisted. Her voice had dropped from shouting a firm directive to a comforting whisper.

He frantically pointed at the wall, but said nothing. The look in his eyes reminded Scully of the insanity she had seen in Bennie. “Mulder, yes, its a wall. What about it?”

“Sam …” he replied at last. “Roche took her, but she was here. I swear to God, she was here. Sam said they had come for someone.”

Scully concealed the terror within her that arose from his words. Samantha and Roche had come for Bennie? Was that possible? She hadn’t seen anything.

Hear no evil. See no evil.

As Mulder was being given extra sedatives to help him sleep, she noticed something on the floor by her foot.

It was a small piece of cloth cut in the shape of a heart. Scully let the cleaning person dispose of it as they picked up the mess from the tipped over fluid drip.

Nothing this insane was going to be printed in her report. This was not evidence it was her imagination. All of it.

****

That night
Widow Lemieux’s

Scully sat at the round kitchen table with her laptop computer. As expected, the construction of the report was going slowly. Earlier in the evening she had been contacted by a Dr. Rafael Bonneventure who had read about the murders in a New Orleans paper and knew of the local stories about the mist. Scully asked him why he had contacted her and how he knew to connect the mist to everything. He explained to her that he had been touring the country as a valid scientist to dispel any belief in paranormal occurrences. Furthermore, he had also given Scully a logical, scientific reason for the hallucinations.

Electrical hypersensitivity he called it. He said that hundreds of Americans living near heavy concentrations of electricity suffered a varying range of symptoms. Anything from a television, bad wiring in a house, or close location of high tension wires could bring on the illness and cause people to hallucinate and hear things. It wasn’t uncommon for people to hear an entire conversation from what they believed were ghosts.

Once someone was afflicted by hypersensitivity in its severe form; it was possible for that person’s mind to physically move objects without even knowing it. The doctor had faxed Scully a report of one man living in the suburbs of Tupelo, Mississippi who had the illness and was documented as moving lawn furniture in the backyard telekinetically.

The theory presented by Bonneventure did make sense. Someone who was exposed to high concentrations of electrical waves could begin to hallucinate within a couple of days. All of this was working out quite nicely for Scully. As nice as it was going to get anyhow, except for the exception of the pendant and cloth heart.

The pendant was hung over the corner of the laptop’s screen. She removed it and felt its smooth surface with her fingers. It wouldn’t be too far fetched to say that at the time while suffering from the illness she had found it. The heart-shaped cloth at the hospital was nothing but a coincidence. It would be excluded from the report entirely. It too could have been a figment as an after effect of hypersensitivity.

Two seizures, two murders, and a strange newly discovered, scientifically-proven illness would explain it all. Of course there might be a slight manipulation of the truth, but not a blatant lie. Scully figured it would be acceptable enough for Skinner. Her partner accepting it would be another story.

*****

Next day
Out in the bayou

Belleville had recovered enough from his injuries to be released from the hospital. On his way out he had visited Mulder. He had told the sheriff about Bennie and the visions of Samantha. There was no doubt in Belleville’s mind that Mulder was telling the truth. While he was there he reinstated his promise to the agent that he would ditch Phoebe, the gun, into a patch of bayou quicksand.

The thought had eased Mulder’s mind, considering that ever since he had named the gun Phoebe, he had received nothing but bad luck. On the other hand, the sheriff had a heck of a time trying to convince Scully that prompt disposal of Phoebe was a good idea.

She had read him off a list a protocol procedures and mentioned that the gun was federal property. But after some sweet talking by her partner, she reluctantly handed over the weapon. Mulder told her that Skinner wouldn’t be suspicious if he had lost another gun.

Belleville grabbed the gun off the seat of his patrol car, which the deputy was driving, and hobbled over to the edge of a quicksand pit.

“Adieu, Phoebe,” he said quietly before tossing the gun into the murk.

Below the quicksand’s surface the gun was being engulfed by a blue glowing substance.

*****

The azure plane

Bennie held Mulder’s gun tightly, admiring its handiwork. “Sure is a beauty, ain’t she?” He held the gun up to show his father. “I t’ink I’ll name ‘er, Sammy Jean. Maybe I’ll visit that Jew Fed Mulder wit it sometime and show ‘er off.”

*****

End

Authors:
Halo at [email protected]
Orchid([email protected])

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