Summary: Mulder receives an intriguing invitation to take part in a role-playing
game. But is it really the innocent fun it appears to be?

Disclaimer: The X-Files, Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Walter Skinner belong to
Chris Carter, Fox Television, 1013 Productions, et al. Everybody else is mine,
thanks very much. (Chris, you're such a good sport, you can borrow 'em -  just
ask). No profit was made from this story, no infringement intended. This is
simply cheap entertainment - it keeps loose fanfic writers off the streets.

Also, Jonesport, Maine is a real place, but I made up nearly everything else about
it. No offense intended to anyone there!
 

Owing to RL, this one's been well over a year in the making, folks. I hope you'll
think it's worth the wait! Thanks to Terri, my editor and equally-obsessed friend,
and especially to Xanthe, for beta reading and encouragement (and threats!).
 

Spoilers: Demons, Redux, Redux II
Category: MulderAngst (of course)
Rating: R, for language
Distribute and Archive: Yes, please, thanks. Just leave my name attached.
Posted 1/2000
 
 

**********************************************************

February 17, 1998
Coast of Maine
12:31 a.m.

     The waves swept up to meet him. In an instant, he was enveloped in an icy
glove of churning inkiness, and the rush of air which accompanied the downward
plunge was supplanted by a muffled calm. Captured in an undulating dance as
old as time, he gave himself over to the sea, abandoning forever the horror of
what seemed a lifetime.
 

**********************************************************
 

Friday, April 10, 1998
Basement Office
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
5:46 p.m.

     "Now, Mulder!" Dana Scully adjusted her purse on her shoulder and held her
partner's coat out to him.

Fox Mulder sighed in resignation and shut down his computer, "You're glad to be
rid of me for a whole week, aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes, "No, Mulder, I'm not glad to be rid of you. I might actually
miss you a little, if you want the truth. But we all need a change of scene now and
then. It'll be good for both of us." She caught the visible slump of his shoulders as
he shrugged on his trench coat, "Mulder, it's a vacation, for God's sake, not a
death sentence... You know, if you'd get out of town for a few days, maybe try
something new, you might actually enjoy yourself."

He snorted dramatically. "What? And ruin my morose reputation?"

Scully gave him a light punch in the arm, "Any plans yet? Any ideas?" They
stepped onto the elevator.

"I'm considering checking out a story I read about in 'Science: Fact or Fiction?'
There's a rumor of a ghost in an abandoned convent and - "

Her right hand went up like lightning, index finger outstretched. "Mulder, if you
spend this vacation investigating your own X-File, I'll ask Skinner to force you
into more time off." She ignored the glare he gave her as they entered the parking
garage, saying, "You need a break." Her eyes suddenly focused on the concrete
floor as she passed him by, "And don't take this the wrong way, but so do I. I'll
enjoy staying in one place and organizing paperwork for a change."

He stopped in his tracks and assumed the expression of a child being forced to eat
lima beans,"You're not going to spring clean the office or anything drastic like
that, are you?"

She flashed a suspiciously smug smile, "No, but I am considering sweeping up
your damned sunflower seed husks."

He narrowed his eyes at her as they approached her car. "I guess I can handle
that. Just don't go hanging curtains or wallpaper, or anything."

"Mulder, so help me - " she dove at him.

His coat flew out like wings as he leapt from her reach, "Enjoy your week, Scully!
And remember, when the cat's away..."

As her mercurial partner made his way to his own car, Dana Scully  slid behind
the steering wheel and muttered, "God, grant me the serenity to accept the things
I cannot change..."

**********************************************************

Friday, April 10, 1998
Fox Mulder's Apartment, Alexandria, VA
6:27 p.m.
 

     Mulder tossed his coat onto the well-worn armchair and approached his
aquarium. "Hey, guys! What's new?" Tetra-Min rained down onto the fish. "Well,
I guess you're all stuck staring at me for a while. They've shoved another vacation
into my lap." He slipped off his dress shoes, wandered into the kitchen and pulled
a Guinness from the fridge before taking a seat at the desk. The resonant chirp
that accompanied the boot-up pleased him. He took a healthy swig of ale and
logged onto the Internet.

"Welcome! ...You've got mail!"
 
 

He laughed at himself and loosened his tie. The greeting granted the same thrill
that running to the mailbox had in his youth, hoping and praying that someone
had remembered him. It made him feel connected. His brows drew together as he
clicked on the message from 'GaymeBoi@aol.com' (Subject: You'd Never Guess!)
and waited.
 

          >>Agent Mulder, I presume!
 
                       Glad to make your acquaintance, sir. You don't know me, but I know
all about you! I've been following your work closely, and I applaud your efforts.
That article you published in last October's 'New Age Digest' was brilliant, I must
say!

And yes, I figured out that it was you, 'Mr. Luder' ;)

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Garrett Fessler. I'm a pre-med major at
Burroughs College in Maine. My friends and I have created a role-playing game
called 'Catalyst'. Are you a gamer? Maybe you've heard of it. A new round starts
each quarter, with a new theme every time. Each theme is related in some way to
the supernatural or paranormal world, and lasts the entire quarter. We pride
ourselves on maintaining a realistic and believable atmosphere, while still making
it as fantastic as possible. We always keep our eyes (and ears) open for people
who might be able to assist us in maintaining that delicate balance of realism and
imagination.

Past games have involved themes such as Shamanism, psychoanalytic dream
sequences and voodoo. We've just started the fourth quarter, and The Alien
Abduction game begins on April 13th, Mr. Mulder. We all voted unanimously
that you should be our next expert advisor.

What do you say? Maybe you could call in sick to the Bureau :)  We realize that
you won't be able to join us for the entire round, but if you'd care to come up for a
few days and get us started, we promise to give you an experience you won't
soon forget. We'll cover your travel expenses and provide lodging (are dorm
rooms below your standards?). E-mail me for details, as well as a travel schedule.

We sincerely hope to hear from you ASAP, Mr. Mulder.

Your fellow gamer, ;)
Garrett Fessler<<
 
 

Mulder blinked at the screen and took another swallow of beer. Maybe the next
week wouldn't be so dull after all.
 
 
 

**********************************************************
 
 

Saturday, April 11, 1998
Dana Scully's Apartment, Annapolis, MD
11:42 a.m.
 

     "You're going where?" Scully raised her left brow quizzically.

His mouth lifted slightly on one side as he leaned against her sofa, arms crossed at
his chest, "Jonesport, Maine."

"Jonesport, Maine... to be in a role-playing game... with a bunch of college kids."
She dropped onto the couch, shaking her head. "This isn't some early mid-life
crisis or something, is it, Mulder? Some attempt at recapturing your youth?"

Mulder threw his hands up. "For cryin' out loud, Scully! Do the words 'get out of
town for a few days, maybe try something new' sound familiar? Or was I hearing
voices? Maybe you'd like me to call up and reserve a seat on the next tour bus at
Colonial Williamsburg."

"You're right, Mulder, I said it... I-I just never expected this to be what you came
up with."

"Well, I didn't come up with it, Scully; somebody else did. They just asked me
along for the ride. I know it sounds a little offbeat, but when was the last time I
took a normal vacation?" He sighed and glanced at his feet, "I thought you'd be
pleased."

She suddenly felt like a bully, and hurried to make amends. "I am pleased,
Mulder. It's just a little... unconventional... But then, so are you." She grinned at
him when he raised his eyes.

He maintained his air of seriousness, "Conventional is boring, Scully... Come on,
admit it. I make your life interesting."

She couldn't help but chuckle, "It's never dull with you around, that's for sure."

He leered at her, "Oooh, Scully, the things I could show you - "

She held up her right hand, cutting him off, "So, I guess you need me to fish-sit?"

He laughed aloud at her abrupt change of topic. "Yeah, if you don't mind. I fly
back on the eighteenth, and you'd only need to stop by every other day. Are you
sure it won't be a hassle?"

She stood to join him and pulled her chilly hands inside the sleeves of her
sweatshirt. "I don't mind, Mulder. They aren't exactly high-maintenance."

"Still got my key?" He turned to leave at her nod and smiled, "Thanks, Scully. I'll
treat you to lunch when I get back."

She grabbed the doorknob and braced herself for the cold blast of air from the
drafty hallway. "I want real food, Mulder. Not a dog 'n kraut from the roach
coach."

He stepped over the threshold as she opened the door, "You got it, partner - your
pick. I'm taking my cell phone, so call if you need to." He gave her arm a little
squeeze, "See you in a week, Scully. And by the way, nice slippers." Scully looked
down at her feet, ensconced in grey fuzz and sporting whiskers, a gift from an old
friend. As he practically bounded down the stairs, she smiled to herself. Fox
Mulder actually seemed happy.
 
 

**********************************************************
 

Saturday, April 11, 1998
Municipal Airport, Bangor, ME
8:37 p.m.

     The kid holding the 'Mr. Mulder' sign did not look old enough to drive, let
alone be in college. He had hair that was dark and close-shorn on the sides, spiky
and blond on top. Baggy jeans, Airwalks and a green pima cotton shirt that was
two sizes too large. Not to mention the ring through his eyebrow... Mulder
suddenly felt every one of his 37 years, and wondered what he'd gotten himself
into. He hoisted his backpack onto his shoulder and approached with a hesitant
smile, "Garrett Fessler?"

The boy put out his hand and shook Mulder's eagerly, "No, sir. Garrett had to
write a biology paper, so he asked me to do the honors. I'm Oliver. Oliver
Meadows."

Immediately taken with the boy, Mulder grinned broadly and attempted to
disentangle his hand, "Nice to meet you, Oliver."

"The pleasure's all mine, sir!" he gushed, shoving a fallen spike of hair from his
eyes.

"Call me Mulder."

"Okay, Mr. Mulder."

The agent shook his head, "No, not Mister Mulder, just Mulder."

The youth looked frazzled, "Oh, sorry... Mulder?"

He felt himself chuckle, no doubt flustering the kid even more. "Yeah."

"Do you have luggage, sir?"

Mulder decided to let it drop, or the boy would probably clam up completely.
"Yes, just one bag." Oliver led him down the terminal and onto an escalator.
 
 
 

 Fifteen minutes later they were pulling onto the freeway, and Oliver
glanced at him nervously. "It's about an hour and a half back to Jonesport. Are
you hungry?"

Mulder squinted out the window and into the dark, trying to get a sense of his
surroundings, "They fed us on the plane."

The kid shifted in his seat, "Do you mind if I stop for a burger? I came straight
from jazz band rehearsal."

Mulder grinned and turned back to him, "Not at all. I'm at your disposal."
 
 
 

     He ended up ordering a large fry and soda for himself, and that seemed to put
Oliver at ease. They chewed in unison as they drove along, chatting amicably
about college life and the horrors of dormitory living. Oliver was impressed with
Mulder's educational background, blurting out, "I'll bet Oxford had better dorms
than Burroughs does!"

Mulder snorted, "Don't be so sure... their buildings date back to the sixteen
hundreds."

The boy's eyes widened. "Man! Did you have indoor johns?"

"Yeah, but just barely. The facilities left a lot to be desired. And heat was all but
nonexistent." Mulder grimaced at the memory.

"Well, at least we've got heat... You're rooming with Garrett, by the way. He's the
RD, so his room is a lot nicer than most. It even has it's own bathroom."

Mulder nodded, "What do you major in?"

"Marine Biology, with a minor in Archaeology." Oliver signalled and pulled the
grey Honda Civic around a slow-moving semi.

Mulder eyed him from the passenger seat, "That's an odd combination."

The kid looked put out. "Not really. Ever heard of Atlantis?"

Mulder laughed, "I stand corrected... And Garrett's pre-med?"

Oliver got back into the right lane. "Yeah. He's going to be an immunologist."

Impressed, Mulder whistled lowly. "What do your other game-playing friends
major in?"

"Lessee... Evan's studying Psychology and Russian History... Sarah's English Lit,
but she's going on to law school... Drew is an Astronomy major... Ainsley's in
Accounting and Statistics - don't ask me why, but she wants to be a CPA... Griffin
is majoring in Comparative Religions with a minor in Philosophy... and Elliott's
Computer Science and Engineering."

Mulder saw the beginning of a pattern, "Is anybody just a liberal arts major? Or at
least undeclared?"

Oliver shook his head, "Uh, no... We all know pretty much in which direction
we're headed."

The agent cocked his head to one side, "Oliver, if you don't mind my asking, how
old are you?"

He looked uneasy. "Um, seventeen... I started early, because I went to Latin
school. I'm a sophomore."

"I see... I take it there aren't any 'dummies' in the crowd?"

The boy shifted in his seat again. "Well," he looked uncomfortable, "not really, sir.
No one in the game has a GPA below 4.0... Not that we planned it that way! It just
sort of... evolved... A few other people started out with us, but I guess it got a
little... well, you know..."

Mulder's eyebrows went up. "Over their heads?"

Oliver couldn't help but grin back at him. "Yeah. We're all in MENSA, you know,
so..." his voice trailed off, embarrassed.

Mulder looked out the darkened window again at the dense, black forest to his
right. "Boy, I hope I'm up to this! I have to tell you, my grades at Oxford were
good, but - "

Oliver reached over and patted his shoulder, a gesture Mulder found innocently
endearing. "I'm sure their program was much more demanding, Mr. Mulder.
You'll be fine."

Mulder was beginning to wonder.
 

**********************************************************
 

Saturday, April 11, 1998
Hexley Hall, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
10:48 p.m.

     "Garrett, we're back!" Oliver set Mulder's duffel bag on a well-worn lounge
chair and motioned for the man to have a seat. "Make yourself comfortable, Agent
Mulder... Garrett!"

"Relax! I heard you the first time!" A tall blond boy in a green rugby shirt and
jeans entered the room confidently, "Mr. Mulder, good of you to join us! I'm
Garrett." He smiled broadly and extended his hand, "How was the trip up?"

Mulder looked him over, taking in the chiseled jaw, intense green eyes and
aquiline nose before returning the handshake. "Uneventful," he answered, "just
the way I like them. How goes the biology paper?"

The young man waved his hand dismissively. "Piece of cake. You want a beer?"
Garrett caught his glance at Oliver and laughed, "Don't worry, Agent Mulder, I'm
legal. Not all of us are wunderkinds like my boy Oliver, here." He smacked his
friend lightly on the back of the head.

Mulder sank into a well-worn chair. "That's not what I heard... And yes, a beer
sounds great."

Garrett returned from the kitchenette and handed Mulder an open bottle of Bud
Light, "And just what did you hear?" He tossed Oliver a can of soda.

Mulder raised the bottle in silent thanks. "That you're all geniuses."

Garrett snorted with laughter, almost blowing beer out his nose, "Oliver told you
that?"

"Well, I concluded that for myself after he told me what all of you were majoring
in. And the MENSA thing didn't hurt, either."

The boy dropped his athletic frame onto the couch beside Oliver. "We're really
nothing more than dedicated students. And from what I remember, you don't
have much room to talk. Your file was pretty impressive - "

"My file?" Mulder's shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. "Where did you read a file
on me?"

Garrett had the good grace to flush slightly, his rosy-cheeked complexion coloring
further, "I'd rather not say, sir. But I will say that nothing is completely
safeguarded from someone who knows what he's doing."
 
 

Mulder felt very uneasy at that, but pushed the sensation aside. At this point, it
was simply too late to worry about it. Still, he made a mental note to pursue the
issue once he got back to D.C. He took another swallow of beer and cocked his
head to the left. "So, tell me about this game of yours."

Garrett turned to Oliver and grinned broadly, "Well, Agent Mulder, this is how it
starts..."
 
 
 

****************************************************
 

Sunday, April 12, 1998
Jonesport, ME
11:26 a.m.

     The slight chill of mid- spring still hung in the air as Mulder strolled alone
down the main street of Jonesport. The picturesque sea town reminded him of
Quonochontaug; rustic, replete with nautical history, and as yet, unspoiled by the
commercialization of the coastline further south. He'd joined Garrett, Oliver and a
boy named Griffin for breakfast in a greasy-spoon diner by the wharf. Between
mouthfuls of pancake, Garrett had related the history behind Jonesport. The
harbor had been a haven to pirates in the early days of America, and then to
blockade runners during the Civil War.

Mulder sensed that history all around him now as he ambled along, taking in the
ancient clapboard structures and the sand-dusted pavement. Feeling pensive, he
sat down on a bench that overlooked the water and closed his eyes. As the sun
shone down and warmed his upturned face, he took in the roar of the ocean. He'd
always felt at home by the sea, always felt at peace. And it pleased him to realize
the feeling hadn't altered. He lazily allowed himself to bask in the familiar.

He was tired, having stayed up until two-thirty discussing "Catalyst" with Garrett
and Oliver. The constant surge and recession of the tide could easily lull him to
sleep. And what if it did? He had nowhere to be, nothing pressing to attend to.
No alien killers to track down, no mysteries to unveil. And to his surprise, it felt
good. He raised his eyelids slowly and stretched, breathing in the salty air. On a
whim, Mulder pulled his cell phone from his jacket and dialed.
 

"Scully."

He grinned at the sound of her voice. "Morning, Scully, it's me."

"Mulder, where are you?"

"Guess," he held the phone out to the sea. "Can you hear it?"

"Is that the ocean, Mulder?" she asked.

"One of  'em."

"It sounds beautiful... How are you?"

Mulder hugged his coat around him to ward off the tidal wind. "I'm good,
Scully... As a matter of fact, I'm really good. I called to say you were right; I
needed this."

"I know you pretty well, Mulder. I saw the signs." Her tone brightened, "Are you
having a nice time?"

"So far. The flight was good, and these kids seem cool. The ones I've met so far,
anyway. Jonesport reminds me a lot of Quonochontaug; it's really pretty. And I
had one helluva stack of strawberry pancakes for breakfast."

She groaned, making him grin, "With whipped cream?"

He narrowed his eyes and milked it as if she were physically present with
him,"Oh, yeeeaaah."

"Ooh, I love whipped cream on pancakes," came the innocent reply.

Mulder suddenly sat up straight on the bench, "Well, if you're interested, I could
show you a thing or two to use whipped cream on besides pancakes."

Her response was acerbic. "In your dreams, Mulder."

"As if I didn't know," he sighed plaintively.

"What're you doing today?" Scully asked.

"I'm on my own for a few hours, so I'm just taking in the sights. They all had
homework," he laughed at the absurdity of it and ran his free hand through his
wind-blown hair. "But this evening, they're having a cookout and a bonfire near
the cliffs. I'm going to help them lay out a game plan and everyone's going to
choose a role. I'm developing my character this afternoon."

"Didn't you say this game lasts all quarter, Mulder?"

"Yeah," Mulder answered absently, watching a seagull surf the wind.

"How can you be in it if you have to come home in a week?"

He chuckled, "I said the game lasts all quarter, Scully - I never said all the
characters did. I guess they'll have to kill me off somehow."

They chatted for several more minutes and Mulder said goodbye, not knowing
his partner sat hundreds of miles away, wondering about the joys of a game in
which you had to die to stop playing.
 

**********************************************************

Sunday, April 12, 1998
Cliffs of Jonesport, ME
6:19 p.m.

     Mulder zipped his leather jacket to his chin and flipped the collar up. Despite
the pleasant temperature and the still-present sun, the wind from the ocean
whipped about, cutting through him like a knife.

"Want a blanket, Agent Mulder?" A pretty girl, no taller than Scully, but with
curly, dark-brown hair smiled up at him, revealing a dimple in her left cheek.

He shook his head and held his hands out to the fire, "No, thank you. I'll be fine in
a minute... It was Sarah, right?" He had to raise his voice to be heard.

Laughing, she pushed the end of her pony-tail away from her mouth and nodded,
"The wind dies down after the sun sets. Then it'll be warmer." She settled next to
him and shoved her hands into the pouch of her bright yellow pullover, "Do you
like ghost stories, Agent Mulder?"

"Who doesn't?"

"We'll tell some later, after everyone gives their character analysis." She pointed at
a wiry boy with long dark hair and a backwards ball cap who stood watch over
the hot dogs and hamburgers, "Elliott tells the best ghost stories you ever heard.
And sometimes he even writes his own. He scared the hell out of us at last
quarter's cookout... I didn't sleep for two weeks!"

Mulder hugged his knees and grinned at her. Sarah's teeth were white and even,
set between a pair of full, wind-colored lips. She appeared to wear little or no
make-up, just a fresh, healthy glow.  She was adorable, and the exuberance of
youth radiated from her eyes. This was someone who had known very little of the
dark side of life, and he envied her for it. Had he ever had that look on his face? A
look of pure, unadulterated joy? He doubted it.

"Are you hungry?" she practically shouted.

He nodded vigorously, "I'm starving!"

"It's the sea air, you know. You'll have one hell of an appetite while you're here!"
Sarah suddenly jumped up and returned a moment later with a bag of tortilla
chips. She pushed them at him, "Elliott says the dogs are almost done... Do you
like chocolate chip cookies?"

Mulder popped a chip in his mouth and licked the salt from his fingertips, "I've
yet to meet a chocolate chip cookie I didn't like."

"Good! I made some for dessert. So did Ainsley," she said, indicating a blonde girl
with a friendly face but a little too much eye shadow.  Sarah leaned close to his
ear, "But I think mine are better!"

"I'm looking forward to trying them, then." Mulder turned to look at her, and his
breath caught in his throat. Her face was only inches from his, and he could smell
her. Could smell the scent of... of gardenia... and sea wind and sunshine... and...
and freshly-washed hair. Several strands of that hair fluttered against his cheek
and Sarah's lips parted slightly as she gazed into his eyes. Mulder suddenly felt
his stomach drop -

"Soup's on! Come and get it!" Elliott's voice reached them across the roar of the
wind, and they blinked at one another.

"You - you get to go first. You're the guest of honor." Sarah scrambled to her feet
and reached down to help him up.

Mulder took her hand and stood, then dusted the seat of his jeans. He smiled
awkwardly and mumbled, "Thanks," then moved to take the paper plate Garrett
held out for him.

"She's hot, isn't she?"

He was caught by surprise. "Huh?"

Garrett nudged him in the girl's direction. "Sarah! She's hot, isn't she?"

"Uh, y-yeah... she seems sweet." Mulder stuck a hot dog into a bun and absently
squeezed far too much mustard onto it.

Garrett inclined his head and watched her giggling with the other girl. Their eyes
were glued on Mulder. "She likes you."

"What?"

"I said, she likes you!"

"That's nice," Mulder snorted. "I'm old enough to be her father."

"Maybe, but you don't look like it. You don't act like it, either. You fit right in with
us." Garrett slapped a spoonful of macaroni salad onto his plate and handed
Mulder a fork.

The older man couldn't help but laugh, "Yeah. My partner seems to think I can be
pretty juvenile at times!" Garrett's laughter joined his and they sat down beside
Oliver, balancing their dinner on their knees.

"Agent Mulder, have you decided who you're going to be?" Oliver had a spiral
notebook open in front of him. It was filled with writing, and he'd made several
detailed sketches in the margins.

Mulder looked over at the drawings and felt rather unprepared. "I, uh, I didn't
write anything down..."

"Neither did most of us," Garrett said, stuffing the last bite of his hot dog into his
mouth. "Oliver always goes above and beyond."

"I just like to be thorough!" Oliver cried, slamming the notebook shut.

"Relax, Junior! I admire your dedication to detail. I just prefer to wing it, myself."
Garrett looked to the FBI agent, "So what did you come up with, G-man?"

Mulder put his plate on the grass beside him, then planted it under his toe to keep
it from blowing away. He looked up, "I'm going to be a drifter. Someone who's
just passing through town. Everyone is suspicious of me." They all hooted and
laughed at that. "And I have a secret, but I'm not telling any of you what it is.
You'll have to figure it out for yourselves."

"Ooohhh! Secrets are good! We love secrets!"

"What about you, Ainsley? Who are you?" Oliver asked.

The girl with the eye shadow hunkered down against the wind and smiled shyly
at Mulder before answering, "I am the girlfriend of a guy who got abducted last
month. I was with him when it happened, and I've been mute ever since."

"That's cool!"

"Maybe that sign-language skill of yours will finally come in handy!"

"Yeah, but none of us can read it." They all snorted.

Griffin waved them into silence. "Who's next?"

"I'm the trigger-happy town sheriff," Garrett spoke in a redneck dialect, "and I'm a
royal asshole."

"Gee, that's a stretch... Not!" Much chuckling followed Elliott's jibe.

Sarah nudged Garrett's best friend, a round-faced kid with wire-rim glasses and
an olive complexion. "Griff, you go!"

"I'm deputy to the sheriff. I'm the real brains behind the act," Griffin grinned at
Garrett. "Only I'm terrified of something; it's my one weakness. And I've never
told a soul what it is." They cheered, and Mulder felt himself laugh at their
enthusiasm.

They continued around the circle, casting themselves as assorted members of a
small community hounded by a menace from the skies. Finally, they got to Oliver,
the last one to divulge his identity. They all seemed to be waiting with baited
breath.

"Go on, Ollie. Tell!" Several of them prodded him.

Eyes fixed on his lap, he fingered the notebook, "Well..." They leaned into the
circle, and something in the boy's face made Mulder follow suit.
 
"I'm an alien, a member of the grey Reticulan race. And I'm here as a messenger.
Only no one's listening. You just want to destroy me, to do experiments and
things like that. No one understands my native language, so I speak in whichever
tongue I need to communicate. And I have a weapon that no one suspects."

"It's an E.T. finger, and it's loaded!" Evan cried. There was snickering, and Oliver
smiled shyly without looking up.

"Time is running out for your race, and I am the key to your salvation. But you're
holding me prisoner. I'm battling the clock and the authorities to convince you of
your fate." He swallowed, then closed the notebook gently and raised his eyes.

For once, everyone sat in silence, until Ainsley threw her arms around him and
planted a kiss on his cheek, "Oh, Ollie, that's your best ever!" Oliver pulled away,
blushing. "Agent Mulder helped me with it. He says Reticulans aren't green;
they're grey..."

Fox Mulder stood up to get a beer, and tried to make sense of the eerie chill that
had just traveled down his spine.
 
 
 
 

10:47 p.m.

     "Thunk... Sshhhh. I want my golden arm... Thunk... Sshhhh... give me back my
golden arm..."

Deathly silence.

"Thunk... Sshhhh. Thunk... Sshhhh... I'VE GOT IT!" Evan shouted as he grabbed
Drew from behind. Everyone screamed, clambering over each other in a drunken
mass of arms and legs. And to his own dismay, Mulder was smack-dab in the
middle, yelling, "Holy shit!" along with the rest of them.

"You fucker!" Drew gave Evan a hard shove. "You said you were goin' after
Sarah!"

"Precisely!" Evan cackled, tossing back the last of his beer. The little group fell
back onto an assortment of mismatched blankets and began to quiet. "That one
gets me every damn time," Oliver sighed. "Which was your favorite, Mulder?"

"I've always been partial to the 'I'm in the house with you' story, but Elliott's
tarantula thing... That gave me the creeps, big time!" He swiped his sleeve across
his mouth, then lifted the edge of the blanket beneath him and looked around
suspiciously.

"Yeah, that was great!"

"The best yet, El.... You outdid yourself."

"Where do you come up with that shit, man?"

"You are one twisted son-of-a-bitch!" Garrett cried, tossing his empty bottle into
the fire.

Ainsley pointed at the black expanse above them, "Hey! Shooting star!" Within
minutes, they were all lying flat and staring up, oblivious to anything but the
wonder of the universe and the easy companionship they shared. No one noticed
the swinging lights coming toward them across the clearing.

Above their whispers and the muted sound of the tide below, a strange voice
suddenly rang out, "Alright, what the hell are you kids doing out here?"

Eleven heads raised up and peered into the blinding flashlights of the local police.
Three uniformed cops stood over them, stiff-legged and unamused. Mulder
draped his arm across his eyes and groaned.

"Uh, we were just star-gazing, sir."

"Yeah... looking at constellations."

"It's a project for school..."

The oldest cop gave them all a knowing smirk. "Well, it's nice to see such
dedication from Burroughs' students, but you're all drinking publicly, and you've
got an illegal bonfire here. We're going to need to see some ID. On your feet, boys
and girls."

Mulder doubted the ground would open up and swallow him, but he prayed for
it, nonetheless.
 
 

********************************************************************
 
 

Monday, April 13, 1998
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
9:53 a.m.

     "You got busted? Mulder, are you in jail?" Scully dropped the files she was
holding and sank into her chair.

"Nah, they didn't arrest us, Scully. Just made us put out the fire and drove us all
back to the dorms in squad cars."

Scully shook her head. Leave it to Mulder to accomplish something this
interesting on vacation. "So, what did they think about having a Federal Agent
among their group of illegally-partying college kids?"

His voice was amused as it came through the receiver, "Give me a little credit,
Scully. I didn't show them my badge. All I gave them was my driver's license."

She stared at his Vegreville paperweight across the room and slyly asked, "Were
they amused when they realized you were a little, ah, too experienced to be
there?"

"You mean old? I admit, I did get sort of a 'you should know better' look from the
police chief, but he didn't say anything. I told them I was visiting my little brother
for the weekend."

"Really, Mulder, you scare me sometimes."

His laugh flowed to her from the other end. "I thought you'd appreciate my sense
of adventure... How's my desk?"

"Your desk is... just fine." She used her toe to slide the bucket of Lysol and hot
water behind her.

"That pause made me nervous, Scully. What're you up to?"

Scully pushed a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "Honestly, Mulder, I'm not up
to anything... certainly not by your standards, anyway."

He groaned loudly, "Please, Scully, be kind. I have my own system, you know. If
you go moving stuff - "

"Gotta go, Mulder, someone's knocking on the door. And for God's sake, stay out
of trouble!" She dropped the receiver into the cradle and surveyed her handiwork.
The place was smelling better already.
 
 
 

*********************************************
 
 

Monday, April 13, 1998
Woods near Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
8:41 p.m.

     "Hold it right there, mister!" The sheriff and his deputy stepped from the car
and approached the tall, dark-haired stranger.

He took a hesitant step backwards and gripped his backpack a little more tightly.
"What is it, officer?"

"What's in the backpack, son?"

"Just clothes and..." The man nervously fingered the straps.

"Then you won't mind if we take a look inside," the sheriff smiled wickedly and
made a too-sudden lunge for the bag.

Startled, the man swung out, knocking the sheriff off his feet. He plunged into the
thicket of trees and tried to ignore the threatening shouts from the roadside. His
blood was pounding in his ears as he stumbled over roots and hurled past
branches, tearing his bare hands and face. He heard the thud of approaching
footsteps and saw the beam of light bouncing off the pine trunks all around him.
The sheriff's laughter cut through the darkness, "You can run, boy, but you can't
hide!"

Chest heaving, he spun on the balls of his feet to head east. The barrel of the gun
took him completely by surprise.
 
 

***********************************************
 
 

Natural Sciences Building, Room 221, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
9:23 p.m.
 

     "Out with it, boy! We ain't got all night."

The sheriff leaned in, and the stranger felt hot breath on his neck. He raised weary
eyes to the lawman, "I told you, I'm hitchhiking west. I didn't even plan on
stopping here... that was your idea." He jumped when the sheriff slammed his fist
down on the table top.

"You gettin' mouthy with me, son?"

The man shook his head and swallowed, "I'm not stupid."

The sheriff crossed his arms and regarded him coldly, "Jury's still out on that. See
mister, thing is, one of our kids went missin' last week, and you're the first guy in
town since it happened who ain't part of the investigation. I got a feelin' you ain't
tellin' us all you got to say, and until I ain't got that feelin' no more, you ain't
leavin'... Frank, lock him up."

Panic tinged the stranger's voice as the bespectacled deputy hauled him from the
chair and shoved him toward the door, "Hey! I get a phone call!"

"Phone call? You been watchin' too much TV, kid." The sheriff tossed his head
back and laughed as Frank escorted their suspect from the room.
 

***********************************************
 

The Ram Cafe
Jonesport, ME
11:33 p.m.
 

     "You shoulda seen your face when I whipped out that gun!" Garrett slammed a
fresh brew in front of the FBI agent, "This one's on me... boy."

Everyone crowed and jostled Mulder good-naturedly. He took a swig and swiped
at his mouth with a dirty sleeve. "I wasn't expecting that, I guess.. You just came
unhinged!"

Griffin straddled the chair and rested his arms on the back. "The interrogation
was a blast! I'm glad you gave us that background stuff ahead of time." He
elbowed the older man, "You seemed really nervous when Garrett was yelling at
you."

Mulder kneaded the back of his neck, "I'm usually on the other side of the table!
Besides, you guys seemed pretty serious. I wasn't sure how far you'd go to keep it
realistic."

Evan stretched out and crossed his feet in front of him, "We haven't killed anyone
yet." They all laughed loudly.

"How's your cell, Agent Mulder?"

He smiled shyly at Sarah across the table, "It's, ah... small. And there's no john."

"Yeah, well, the theatre department's only got so much money," Drew tossed a
handful of peanuts in his mouth and brushed his angular jaw. Pushing his
straight, brownish-red hair from his eyes, he winked at Mulder. "We promise not
to leave you in there for more than three hours at a time!"

Mulder raised his beer to him as Oliver leaned forward, "Thanks for being such a
good sport, Agent Mulder. You really got into it!" He pushed his ginger ale aside
and fingered the cut on Mulder's forehead.

Mulder winced and pulled back, "Is it bleeding?"

"Not anymore."

"Yeah? Well, you should see the tree." At the raucous round of laughter, the
doubts that had been niggling at Mulder began to melt away. He was actually
starting to feel like he belonged here.

And nobody thought he was spooky.
 
 
 

*********************************************
 
 

Tuesday, April 14, 1998
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
12:51 p.m.

     "Good afternoon, sir." Scully smiled at her boss as she passed him with her
lunch and headed for the elevator.

The Assistant Director held up his hand and whirled around casually. "Oh, Agent
Scully..."

"Sir?" She stopped and turned back to face A.D. Skinner.

He slid his hands into his pockets. "How's everything going? Did Agent Mulder
give you enough to keep you occupied?"

Scully put her hand beneath the white sack and felt her soft drink beginning to
leak through. "Everything's fine, sir. I've got a mountain of paperwork to catch up
on."

He chuckled, "Left you all the dirty work, did he?"

She shrugged, "It isn't so bad. I've been asked to assist on the autopsy in the
Klemington case tomorrow, and I'm planning to spend some time on the firing
range Thursday." Skinner nodded approvingly as she continued. "And I had a
chance to organize the office a little yesterday."

He raised his eyebrows, "I might have to come down and see that for myself
before Mulder gets back and undoes your efforts. Have you heard from him?"

"Yes, sir. I spoke with him yesterday."

His eyes suddenly looked concerned. "Hopefully he's enjoying himself. He's
looked worn out recently."

Scully gritted her teeth at the soggy bag in her hand and tried to smile. "Oh, I can
assure you he's enjoying himself, sir."

"Good to hear it... You're due some time off yourself in June, if I remember
correctly."

Surprised, she genuinely grinned, "Yes, sir. I could use it."

The A.D.'s smile tipped slightly, "Yes, I'm sure you can Agent Scully.  You and
Agent Mulder've been through quite a lot in the past twelve months... Well, I'll let
you get on to your lunch. I just wanted to check in. Let me know if you need
anything."

"I will... Thank you, sir." Scully stepped onto the elevator and shook her head as
the doors shut.  Walter Skinner never ceased to surprise her.
 
 

*********************************************
 

Tuesday, April 14, 1998
Fine Arts Building, Room 304, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
10:29 p.m.

     He rose from the cot and blinked into the darkness beyond the window. "Is
someone there?"

A long moment passed, and he began to think he'd heard nothing but his own
anxiety. Then, another rustle from below.

"Pssst!"

"Hello?" he called.

"Ssshhh! Quiet, mister! You'll get us all busted if they hear you." The harsh
whisper was youthful, feminine.

He swallowed the eagerness in his voice, "Sorry... Where are you?"

"Down here; below the window... You okay?"

He tried not to snort out loud. "Yeah, I suppose. If being illegally held against
your will without due process constitutes 'okay'."

A light laugh, "Welcome to Saintsville, mister... We're gonna try to get you out of
there, but it might take us a while."

"Who's 'we'?" The bars on the window prevented him from looking down.

"Friends."

He rolled his eyes in the darkness. "You don't say? How do I know that? How do
I know I can trust you?"

"Hey, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, fella." This voice was deeper, and
rather perturbed.

"I'm just curious about why you would try to get me out. How did you even
know I was here?"

The deep voice again. "Nothing happens in Saintsville without everyone
knowing, that's how."

His head fell forward to rest on the bars, "But how do you know I'm not the bad
guy they say I am? How do you know I didn't hurt that kid?"

"Because we were all with that kid when he disappeared. We know who hurt him,
and it wasn't you."

"Who was it, then?"

A pause, then, "I should've said 'what' hurt him."

The man stared into the night and shivered, "What are you talking about? What
happened to him?"

The silence that followed was excruciating, then the feminine voice returned,
"They took him. While we all just stood there and watched, they took him... But
no one believes us."

"Who took him? And why don't they believe you?" he asked, frustrated.

"Look, enough talking! We have to work on a plan, and you need to stay quiet.
Get away from the window and don't draw any attention to yourself."

He sighed and moved away. Robbed of the brief companionship, he suddenly felt
the overwhelming loneliness again. Mind racing, he dropped back onto the cot.

Just what in the hell had he stumbled onto here?
 

***********************************************
 

The Ram Cafe
Jonesport, ME
11:08 p.m.

     The barmaid smiled kindly. "Keep the change," Mulder paid for his beer and
returned to the booth where Oliver, Griffin, Ainsley, Drew and Sarah sat
discussing the evening's events. The first strains of "Sympathy for the Devil"
floated across the bar, and Garrett bounded over from the juke box.

"You guys worry me," Mulder laughed, "You're into too many things I like. Are
you sure you're all just college kids?"

"You mean the Stones? The Stones are timeless," Garrett shoved Oliver into the
corner and slid in beside him. "And who isn't into beer?"

"Good point." Mulder lifted his bottle, "To good tunes, good brew, and good
times."

"Here, here!"

"You said it, G-Man!"

He stretched his arms over his head and grabbed the high back of the booth, "So
when are you gonna get me out of that damn cell, huh? I kept waiting, but you
never came back."

"Patience, newbie, patience!" Griffin laughed. "You greenhorns are always
wanting action." He picked at the label of his Bud Light and adjusted his glasses,
"There's always stuff happening, even if you aren't in the middle of it, and it all
moves the game along."

"Like what? What did the rest of you do while I was cooling my heels?"

"You only find out what's necessary for your character to know, Agent Mulder."

Mulder's hands went up. "Why? I want details. What's going on in the rest of the
game?"

"My, aren't we curious?" Sarah shook her finger at him, "You'll find out soon
enough. If you knew, Fox, it would affect how you played out the next episode.
And then it wouldn't be real. See?"

He glanced down at her. "I guess... But I hate not knowing. I hate being in the
dark."

"I'll bet that gets you into a lot of trouble, doesn't it?"

His thoughts suddenly turned to Scully, and a bark of laughter escaped him, "If
you only knew."

She grinned. "Enlighten me."

"I can't. I'd have to kill you." They all crowed at that.

"I'll buy you a drink..." she sang.

Mulder chewed his lip thoughtfully, then lifted his chin, "For a Manhattan, I
might be persuaded."

"It's yours. I'll be right back." Sarah left for the bar.

"Dude, she wants you bad," Griffin teased.

Mulder shook his head, "Been there, done that. College women are deadly." He
slid from the booth, "I gotta take a leak."

Griffin watched until he entered the men's room, then nodded to Garrett across
the table. The other boy sang out Mick's chorus for a measure, "Whoo, hoo, whoo,
hoo," then his lip curled back from his teeth in a chilling smile, "So it begins."
 

*********************************************
 

Wednesday, April 15, 1998
Tristan Commons, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
12:52 a.m.

     "I had a great time tonight... What about you? Are you enjoying yourself?"

Mulder looked down at the petite brunette. Her eyes were twinkling, and he had
that same funny sensation in his gut he'd experienced at the cookout. He smiled,
"You wouldn't believe how much. This is the best time I've had in... in..." It
suddenly dawned on him how stupid he sounded and he shrugged, "Oh, I don't
know. A really long time."

She seemed amused at his lack of composure. "Are you nervous, Agent Mulder?"

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if you were nervous. Do I make you nervous?"

He studied his fingernails, "No, of course not. What makes you ask that?"

She touched his sleeve, "You seem kind of nervous. Not all the time; just right
now."

His tipsy defenses rallied, "Well, I'm not. There's nothing to be nervous about. I
only walked you back to your room to be sure you were safe."

She toyed with her hair. "Thank you. You're more of a gentleman than any of
those guys I hang around with."

"I'm more of a man than any of those guys you hang around with."

Sarah laughed loudly, a laugh made bolder by alcohol, "I'll bet that's true in more
ways than one!"

Mulder sobered more in that instant than he had in the forty minutes since his last
drink. Eyes wide, he mumbled, "I... I'd better go. You've got class tomorrow."

"Not until ten-fifteen." It was most certainly a loaded reply. Then, as if she sensed
his fears, an unexpected sweetness replaced her bravado, "But I am tired, actually.
And I have a quiz on Ben Jonson in my first class; I'd better get some shut eye."
She turned and slid her key into the lock, "Thank you for walking me home,
Agent Mulder. I appreciate it."

He reached out and took her hand, squeezed it, "It was my pleasure, Sarah."

Her grin brightened the dim corridor as she backed into her dorm room, "I'll see
you tomorrow... boy."

And a boy was just what Fox Mulder felt like as he made his way back across
campus to Garrett's room. A smitten, awkward, uncertain boy.
 
 

*********************************************
 

Wednesday, April 15, 1998
Hexley Hall, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
11:13 a.m.

     Mulder's bare feet padded into the bathroom. He leaned against the sink with
both hands, and waited for the nausea to pass.
 
 

He showered in a groggy haze, then rummaged in his suitcase for clothes.
Clumsily toweling himself dry, he pulled on his favorite jeans and slipped a shirt
over his pounding head. Mulder slid to the floor, then picked up his phone and
called his partner.
 

 
     "Scully."

"Hey, Scully. What's up?"

"Mulder, hi. Nothing much. I'm going to the firing range tomorrow, so you'd
better be on your toes when you get back."

"Still trying to top my last score, aren't you?" he taunted.

"Mulder, I topped your last score six minutes after you made it."

He said nothing for a moment, then, "Oh. Just making sure you were on your
toes, Scully. How's work?"

"Good. I'm assisting on the Klemington autopsy today at one. Based on what we
find, they could have enough forensic evidence to charge the gardener."

Mulder looked down at his bare feet and laughed, "Go get 'im, Scully. I'll bet he
did it in the ballroom with a candlestick."

She ignored the jibe. "Gotten yourself arrested since we last talked?"

He wondered absently how he'd ripped his toenail and drew his foot up to
investigate.  "Well, yes, in a manner of speaking."

Her pitch was alarmed. "Mulder!"

Mulder abandoned his foot and let his head fall back. "Relax, Scully. My alter ego
got picked up hitchhiking the other night. They're trying to pin a missing kid on
me."

As comprehension apparently dawned on her, she asked, "How's it feel to be on
the other side of the law?"

He lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "Don't tell anyone, Scully, but it kinda
turned me on."

Scully sighed in exasperation. "The adrenaline of danger, I guess... Where do the
aliens come in?"

"I suspect they're the ones who really took the boy, but no one's listening to the
kids who were with him. I'm apparently the scapegoat." He fingered the hem of
his shirt.

"They feeding you right?" she suddenly asked.

Her change of topic threw him momentarily.  "Oh, probably not, but it's all been
good. Pretty close to what I'm used to."

She snorted. "That figures... Hey, Skinner asked about you yesterday. He said he
hopes you're enjoying yourself, because you've looked tired to him lately."

He ran his hand across his gravelly eyes. "Oh, God, that's all I need - him
breathing down my neck like some militaristic mother hen."

Scully nearly choked with laughter. "Mulder, he seemed genuine."

He sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of... Do my fish miss me?"

The amused edge remained in her voice. "They  did 'The Wave' when I showed
up, but they were probably just glad to know they weren't going to starve to
death."

"What about you? You miss me yet?" His voice sounded expectant even to him,
and he cringed.

"Yeah, like a bad retro-virus." When he failed to laugh, she queried, "Mulder, is
everything okay?"

Another long pause passed, then he softly replied, "Yeah... I probably just drank
too much last night. I feel sort of sick."

"Don't overdo it. You aren't nineteen anymore... not physically, anyway."

He attempted to sit more upright, but his head was still pounding. "Thanks for
reminding me, Scully. I already feel ancient here... Well, I'll let you go."

Mulder heard the masked concern in her tone when she said, "Call me soon,
alright? I'll be eager to hear what happens next."

He grinned in spite of the headache. "I think you really just want to brag about
your shooting score, but okay."

"Mulder?"

"Hhmmm?"

"Don't let them pin anything on you.

The comment made him feel strangely uneasy, and he replied, "Gotcha. Bye,
Scully." He shut off his phone and leaned against the couch, trying to figure out
why his mood was so poor. Even Scully hadn't helped. And a good deal of time
passed before he finally forced himself up and out into the brilliant afternoon.
 

***********************************************
 

Oceanside Drive
Jonesport, ME
3:26 p.m.

     Mulder shoved the little wooden whale into his pocket. It wasn't much, but it
was handcarved from local driftwood, and Scully would appreciate it. He
fingered it as he strolled past the shops, stopping now and then to gaze into
windows and take in the local flavor. He'd stopped and bought a bag of
sunflower seeds and was shelling the first few when he spied a familiar figure
across the street. Mulder jogged across the sandy road and approached the
wooden bench, "Afternoon, traveler."

The bi-colored head came up. "Oh, hi, Agent Mulder! What's up?"

Mulder held the bag of seeds out in silent offering and Oliver took a handful. "I'm
just passing time, enjoying the day. I hate to admit it, but I just got up a couple of
hours ago."

Oliver squinted up at him, "I'm not surprised. You weren't feeling any pain when
you left The Ram last night."

Mulder sat down with a grimace, "Was it that obvious?"

Oliver grinned. "Yeah, but not disgustingly so. You just seemed really happy."

"That definitely isn't my usual state of mind," he grunted.

The teenager turned his attention to the sea for a long moment, then asked, "You
feel okay today?"

"Yeah, just a little green. My body's not used to this kind of abuse anymore."

Oliver scuffed his toe in the sand. "Good... I mean, I wouldn't want you to miss
tonight."

Mulder's eyebrows went up. "Oh? Got something special planned?"

The boy's solemn face broke into a wide smile, "I can't say."

The agent shoved the bag of seeds into his pocket. "This secrecy is killing me. Is
everyone in on it but me?"

They both stared out at the horizon. "No, not everyone. Besides, each of us has
our own agenda. Things could change at any moment."

Mulder leaned forward between his knees and gathered a handful of sand, let it
fall between his fingers, "Sounds like fate."

"Something like that." Oliver stood as if to leave, but he appeared to have
something on his mind.

Mulder dusted his hands off on his jeans and stuck a seed in his mouth, "You look
like you've been doing some heavy thinking, kiddo."

The boy shrugged and fingered the ring in his eyebrow, "I dunno. It's just..."

"What?"

"Have you ever had the feeling that you were on the verge of something that
could change your whole life?" Oliver watched the tide roll out, as if he didn't
expect an answer.

Mulder watched him. "Yeah, I have. Lots of times."

The boy's face registered his surprise. "What happened?"

"My whole life changed... but it was usually for the better."

That seemed to placate the teenager. He chuckled to himself and slipped off his
sandals, "Wanna go wading, Mulder?" He began to roll up his trousers.

The agent saw someone familiar standing before him... himself. Oliver seemed
alone even when surrounded by friends, probably the result of being younger
than his intellectual peers and brighter than those his own age. Mulder recalled
how he'd felt at seventeen, how out of place he'd been, and he sat down suddenly
to pull off his sneakers and socks. "C'mon, I'll race you!" He tossed his things onto
the sand and they bolted for the chilly water.
 

***********************************************
 

Woods near Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
8:56 p.m.

    He pressed himself into the brush, hugging the cold ground. They had led him
here after setting him free from the tiny jail, cautioning him to stay put until they
came back. It had been over an hour and his nerves were jangled. Surely that low-
life sheriff and his deputy would've noted his absence by now...

He sank back against a tree. The darkness around him was made oppressive by
the denseness of the forest, so he closed his eyes. It helped some, but the foreign
noises all around gave him the willies and he had to open them again. He was
cursing for the millionth time his stupidity in taking this route when something
moved nearby. He jumped, exclaiming in a frantic whisper, "Who's there?"

No answer. He waited, balancing himself  on his heels in the soft, loamy earth.
What seemed like an eternity passed, and he began to relax. He settled against the
tree once more and began to hum softly to himself.

It progressed so slowly, so silently, that he was not aware of it's presence until it
stood beside him. It was actually the light he noticed first. Curious, he turned his
head to see...

"Aaagghhh, ah, God! What the..." he scrambled backwards, sprawling hard on his
back in his clumsy attempt to escape. He hadn't really intended to run. He was
too dumbfounded to do anything but stare.

It looked to be a young man, no more than a boy, really, but it had an unearthly
appearance. It wore a shimmery, silverish gown that hung almost to it's knees,
and it was barefooted. He was struck most by it's expression. It was one of
extreme sadness and... knowledge. He had never been a religious man, at least not
in the usual sense, but he knew without a doubt who it reminded him of. He'd
seen pictures. That worldly sadness only belonged to one being. He shivered.

It stepped forward, bringing the brilliant, warm light with it. He unconsciously
scooted back again, his breath caught in his throat. The light wrapped around him
like a silken mantle. "Don't be afraid. I've come to warn you; you're in danger." It's
voice was soft, and smooth as honey. "There are those around you whom you
cannot trust, so you must take great care." And then it began to fade slightly,
moving away in a slow, steady glide, whispering,  "If you allow it, your grief will
be their triumph."

The man opened his mouth to speak, a multitude of questions balanced on his
tongue, but it moved back suddenly, and then it was gone. Vanished. Absorbed
by the forest as if it had never been.

Draped in darkness once more, he dropped his head to the ground and stared up
into the trees. He was still lying there when they came to fetch him.
 

***********************************************
 

The Ram Cafe
Jonesport, ME
10:43 p.m.

     Sarah pushed playfully up against him, oblivious to the clamor of friends all
around. "Are you sure you're okay?" She brought his chin up with her fingers, a
look of concern on her face. He nodded, smiling faintly, "Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks."

"What happened out there tonight, Mulder? You're white as a sheet."

"Oh, no you don't!" he teased. "You only find out what's necessary for your
character to know, remember?"

She shrugged, "It was worth a try." Then her voice dropped, "No, really, Fox. Did
something happen to upset you?"

He ignored the use of his first name, "It just got..."

"What? It got what?"

"It felt real tonight, Sarah. More real than it has yet, and that's saying a lot..." He
examined the scars on the table top. She glanced around to see if anyone had
heard him, then watched Mulder fidget, watched him suddenly overcome
whatever it was he was fighting against. "Hey, want to take a walk or
something?" he asked.

She smiled and pushed her glass aside, "I thought you'd never ask."
 
 

****************************************

Thursday, April 16, 1998
Tristan Commons, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
1:21 a.m.

     "But are you close, like... you know..."

"Like, do we fuck?"

Sarah reddened, then laughed, "Yeah, like that."

Mulder fingered with the rim of his empty glass, "Scully's my closest friend, and
I'd do anything in the world for her, but no, not close like that."

"Good," she swiped at the drop of wine on his upper lip.

He slid the glass onto the table, "Why 'good'?"

"Because I don't like guys who cheat on their girlfriends."

The look on her face practically melted him then and there. Mulder swallowed,
inclined his head to one side. He parted his lips slightly, thrilling at her scent as it
tickled his nose. He let his eyelids drop and waited, allowing her the next move.
His body rejoiced when her mouth met his, and they tumbled to the floor, a
tangle of groping limbs...
 

***********************************************
 

Tristan Commons, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
12:47 p.m.

     "You volunteered for this one... Hell, you all but begged for it! You can't back
out now. It's too far along, and you're too far in." Garrett came into the tiny living
room, the empty wine glasses in his hands. "Or, should I say, he's too far in?" He
threw back his head and laughed.

Sarah snatched the glasses from him, "God, Garrett, sometimes you make me ill."

"Oh, really? You didn't seem to think that when you were fucking me."

"As a matter of fact, that's why I stopped fucking you. Nausea and passion make
piss-poor bedmates."

He came up behind her, draped his hands over her shoulders, "Look, I know
you've taken a fancy to your little secret agent man; it was painfully evident to all
of us at the cookout. But he's just another pawn in the game, Sarah, and when the
game ends, he's gone. No Mulder, no game. You agreed. So stop seeing him as
your latest lay, and start seeing him for what he is." He leaned down and nipped
at her neck with his teeth.

Sarah shivered, hated herself and her body for responding as always. "And what
might that be?" she demanded.

He nibbled her ear, "Why, the sacrificial lamb, of course."
 

***********************************************

Sedgewick's Coffee House
Jonesport, ME
3:19 p.m.

     "So, did you sleep with her or not?" Oliver stirred his cappucino and tossed the
spoon down.

"I'll plead the Fifth. Besides, you shouldn't ask your elders things like that."

The boy rolled his eyes histrionically. "You might as well tell me. She'll blab to all
of them anyway."

Mulder sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "Great. My first sexual
encounter in seven months, and it's going to make the headlines."

Oliver's face registered smug satisfaction. "So you did it."

"Yes, if you must know, we did it. But I'm not revealing any details, so don't ask."
Mulder wiped the foam from his mouth, wracking his brain for a new topic of
discussion, "By the way, alien boy, you scared the shit out of me last night. That
gave me the creeps."

Oliver chuckled, "Sorry. I felt bad about that, because of your sist - " He stopped,
then continued, "I know it took you by surprise, but it was necessary."

Mulder ignored the slip. "Why was freaking me out necessary?"

Oliver appeared exasperated and glanced around the little shop before returning
his eyes to Mulder. "Not freaking you out, Agent Mulder. Warning you."

"Oh, that. What was that all about, anyway? Why am I in danger?" Mulder asked
nonchalantly.

The kid slid his coffee stick through a spill on the table top. "I can't tell you that - it
would ruin the game. But I can tell you that you should take it seriously."

Mulder grinned, "Okay, consider the advice heeded... What did you mean, I'm not
the first? Has 'Sheriff Garrett' framed someone before?"

Oliver threw the coffee stick down. "Mulder, I can't say!"

The agent's hands went up in self-defense. "Okay, okay!! Help me out here, Ollie.
It's Thursday. I have to fly back to D.C. on Saturday. I'd like to have some closure
to this thing when I leave, you know."

Frustrated, Oliver drained his cup and gazed across the table to this stranger he'd
grown to like. "You're a smart man, Agent Mulder. Solving mysteries is your life.
Figure it out."

Mulder noted the unexpected intensity behind the green eyes and the serious
tone. He chewed his lip thoughtfully. Then he nodded.
 
 

***********************************************
 

Hexley Hall, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
4:44 p.m.

     "Scully?"

"Hi, Mulder, what's up?"

He stared at the ceiling and tried to picture her sitting there in their office. "Oh,
nothing, really... I just..."

Her voice was worrisome. "What is it, Mulder? Is something wrong?"

Mulder slipped off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him."No... at least, I
don't think so...  I -  Scully, I've had this weird feeling, and I thought maybe if you
had a few minutes - "

"Out with it, Mulder," she quickly responded.

He proceeded to give her a brief overview of the game thus far. He also recounted
his conversation with Oliver at the coffee house.
 
 

     "...So, like I said, it's just a weird feeling, but the kid seemed so serious, and - "

"Your 'weird feelings' turn out to be right more often than not," she inserted.

He picked at the chair.  "Yeah."

"Do you want me to check the missing persons records, Mulder?"

He switched his cell-phone to his other hand, "Yes, I guess that's as good a place
to start as any... See if anyone was last seen up here, or if their last known
destination was anywhere close by."

"I'll get right on it... Where are you right now, Mulder?"

He circled his toes in the carpet, "I'm at the dorm."

"Are you still staying there?"

Mulder nodded. "Yeah."

"Listen to me, Mulder. I want you to go get your stuff and check into a hotel. I
don't trust those kids."

"Scully, it'll look odd if I pack up and get a room somewhere."

Her angry tone came across the line, "I don't give a damn how it looks, Mulder! I
only care that you're safe. Make up some excuse... Tell what's-his-name you'll get
into the game more if you distance yourself from him during the day."

He considered the excuse, then straightened in the ratty chair, "Okay, that might
work. I'll call and let you know where I'm staying. If you come up with anything,
Scully, let me know right away. I'm running short on time up here."

"Good," she huffed.

"Scully, I don't want to leave if there's something going down," he blurted out.

"Mulder, that something might be you. I don't want you up there playing in the
woods with a bunch of psychotic geniuses. If there's suspicious activity going on,
let the locals deal with it after you leave. In the meantime, I'll see if I can dig
anything up for you. You just keep yourself out of their way until your butt's on
that plane."

"Yes, mother," he teased.

"Don't get smart, Mulder. Something's up, or you wouldn't have called me...
Besides, I've had a bad feeling myself."

He drew his brows together. "You have? What about?"

"I don't know, I can't put my finger on it. I just felt bothered after we talked
yesterday."

"I felt strange yesterday, too. But I think it was just a hangover," he laughed.

At the other end of the line, Scully only sighed.
 
 

***********************************************
 
 

Hexley Hall, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
9:17 p.m.
 

     He looked around the room, "So it came out of nowhere, and then the boy was
gone?"

They all nodded. The mute girl's hand was lightning-quick as she scribbled, and
one of them said, "She says it looked gentle. Like it was sad, or something."

"Was she afraid?" he asked.

She nodded, and scribbled once more.

The red-haired boy looked up. "A little, but she didn't feel threatened. Only now
she's afraid; since it took James. She says it can't be good, because he's gone."

He thought for a moment, "None of the rest of you saw it?"

"We only saw the UFO over the trees. It made this strange humming noise and we
heard Mollie scream," one of the girls offered, "but James was already gone when
we got there."

He crossed his arms and sat back. "And you told the whole story to the sheriff,
but he doesn't believe you, right?"

A half-dozen heads shook. "They all said we must've been high or something, and
that we made it up. But that's such bullshit, because this kind of thing has been
happening here for a while, and they all know it," said the red-haired kid again.

"What? You mean, this isn't the first person to disappear?"

A tall boy in a ball cap answered, "No, this is the first time anyone's been involved
directly. But we've been seeing the lights and hearing weird noises for a few
months. The whole town has been talking about it."

"Then why does the sheriff think I had anything to do with it? Why doesn't he
think James just ran away or wandered off stoned, or something?"

The boy shrugged, "The town's scared. He doesn't have an explanation or a body,
and the parents are demanding one or the other. You fill a need; that's it."

The man groaned, "I need to get out of here. Did you guys manage to snag my
backpack?"

The kid in the cap nodded. "We've got it, but you can't leave yet."

He stood up angrily, "Why the hell not?"

"We need your help! We have to try to get James back, and they won't pursue the
only real lead."

He sank back down on the couch, "Look. I'd love to help you find your friend, but
I have to watch my own tail. If that redneck asshole of a sheriff finds me again,
he's liable to lock me up and throw away the key... or worse. I have to go."

The red-headed boy stared at him. "We'll keep you clear of him, and we'll hide
you out here. Please, just a couple of days, mister..." He held out his hands
beseechingly.  "Who else is going to help us? No one else has bothered to take us
seriously. They're all acting as if this isn't real a threat... What if something else
happens? To one of us? Knowing what you know, you'll be partly responsible, if
you just stand by and do nothing."

He took in the youthful faces gazing back at him, hopeful and expectant. The
mute girl's made-up eyes were glistening, pleading... "Damn," he muttered to
himself, then nodded. "Alright. But only until Saturday. If we haven't gotten
anywhere by Saturday, you're on your own." The silent one launched herself at
him and flung her arms about his neck. He returned an awkward hug,
simultaneously cursing his own gullibility.
 

***********************************************

The Ram Cafe
Jonesport, ME
11:27 p.m.

     "Hey, Mulder!" Drew and Elliott signalled to him from the back of the pub, and
he guided Sarah through the crowd. They dropped into chairs with their drinks in
hand and joined the conversation. It was the usual melange of politics, music, and
sex, and Mulder kept pace with no hint that he was 15 years ahead of them in all
three topics. As the night wore on, he accepted the drinks they offered one right
after another. His vacation was almost over, and he planned to make this night
memorable.

He couldn't keep his eyes off Sarah. She looked radiant tonight; her hair was
pulled back and the dark curls tumbled over her shoulders. That delightful scent
of gardenia floated gently about her, and the deep wine velour dress she wore set
off her face... and her figure. She touched him constantly; first his cheek, then his
hand, then his thigh beneath the table. He found her easy laugh as intoxicating as
the liquor he was consuming, and the thought of leaving her in less than two days
was almost unbearable. He hadn't felt this way in many, many months. And he
didn't want the feeling to end.

Marvin Gaye's voice drifted over the din of the crowd. Mulder took a long
swallow from his glass and stood up. He was about to ask Sarah to dance when
his vision suddenly dimmed. He swayed slightly on his feet, overcome by a
sickening wave of nausea.

"Fox? Are you okay?"

He heard Sarah's concerned voice beside him as he gripped the back of the chair.
"Yeah," he tried to laugh. "I think I need to slow down, though."

"Here," she patted the seat. "Sit down."

"No... No, I think I need to... I'll be back." He swiped his palm across his face as he
pushed his way past the crowd toward the bathroom.

Garrett burst out laughing, "Hey, Sarah, your boyfriend can't hold his liquor!"

Sarah glared at him. "Shut the fuck up, Garrett." She collared Oliver, who was
staring after Mulder in awkward silence. "C'mon, Ollie. Come with me and make
sure he's okay."
 
 

******************************************************
 

Friday, April 17, 1998
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
10:19 a.m.

     "Thank you. You've been a big help," Dana Scully hung up the phone and sank
into her chair. The computer screen still gazed silently back, still professed the
same information it had twenty minutes ago, before she'd made the confirming
call. And though what she saw there alarmed her, at least it gave her a place to
start. A purpose. As she gathered her assortment of scribbled notes and printouts
to head upstairs, she said a soft prayer to herself and to her God. "Please keep him
safe until I figure this out."
 
 

***********************************************
 

A.D. Skinner's Office
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
10:27 a.m.

    "Agent Scully, he'll see you now." Claire smiled at her as she passed, and Scully
took reassurance from it. She had resources available; people to help.There was
no reason to panic just yet. She pulled the door shut behind her and moved to her
customary chair in front of her boss.

He leaned back, hands folded on his chest. "What can I help you with, Agent
Scully? Claire implied the matter was urgent."

Scully cleared her throat, "Yes, sir. I believe Agent Mulder could be in trouble,
sir."

The A.D. straightened and slid his chair forward, "What makes you think that?"
 
 

     Scully explained Mulder's vacation plans first, then repeated the last
conversation she'd had with him on the phone. She also admitted to the uneasy
sensation she'd had, the one that had grown in intensity each time she'd spoken
with her partner. Skinner nodded in understanding; he'd spent enough time
around the pair to realize there was something unspoken between them. A
sometimes eerie bond that transcended the norm. And if Dana Scully (whom he
trusted implicitly) said she had a feeling, he knew better than to question it. "So
you did some checking for him?" he asked.

Scully squared her shoulders. "Yes, sir. And what I found was... well, rather
alarming."

"Go on," he urged.

"I started with the missing persons database, sir. And I cross-referenced
everything I had that would place potential victims in Maine, particularly on the
coast or in and around the city of Jonesport. Four names came up, sir." She leafed
through her notes. "One was an elderly man who wandered from home, and one
was a schizophrenic off his meds. I discarded both of those, because neither
seemed a likely contestant in a college role-playing game. But the other two
names might fit."

 Skinner's eyebrows raised and Scully continued, "A woman; Kyle Inez Caughlin,
29 years old. She taught at The Santa Fe College of Art and Design. Her colleagues
reported her missing after she failed to return from a week's vacation in Maine."

Skinner made of a quick note of the woman's name and looked up, "Did they say
why she went there?"

"Reportedly to visit relatives, but her roommate thought that was strange. She
said in the police report that Kyle was raised by her grandparents in Tucson,
Arizona after her parents were killed in a car wreck. The grandparents are both
dead, and as far as the roommate knew, they were the woman's only family."

Scully looked across to the A.D. His fingers were steepled to his lips, and his eyes
reflected his thought process. He blinked, "Tell me about the other victim."

She opened the second file folder, "Henri James DePuy, age 43. A psychiatrist in
Baton Rouge, Louisiana. He told his partners he was taking time off to go whale
watching in Maine and never - "

He tapped his pen on the desk. "And never made it home. Any contact after he
left?"

"No, sir. His staff at the office said he was only supposed to be gone for four days.
The investigation confirmed he was on a plane into Bangor, Maine, but he missed
the return flight he'd booked. And there were no records of him with any of the
whale-watching tours in the area."

Skinner leaned back in his chair again, "Where did Mulder's flight land?"

"Bangor, sir."

"He's due home tomorrow?" he asked.

Scully looked at the floor. "He was, sir. But he implied he might want to stay - "

"Stay? Today is the last day of his vacation, Agent Scully. You two need to start
on the Wellsburg Hospital case immediately. I expect him back in the office on
Monday, not off playing in the woods somewhere."

Her face flushed. "I'll remind him, sir. But he seems intent on pursuing this
further."

Skinner pursed his lips, and considered her words. "Both of those cases are still
unsolved?" he asked.

Surprised, Scully nodded her head, "No bodies have been recovered. Ms.
Caughlin has been missing since April of last year, and Henri DePuy since that
September."

"It's April now," Skinner remarked.

Scully nodded again. "Yes. It's too soon to know if there's any relevance, though.
We need more than coinciding vacations to tie these to each other and certainly to
tie them in with what Mulder's told me. But those students knew an awful lot
about him. They implied they have extensive access to numerous record banks."

Skinner stood suddenly and circled his desk. He approached her, "I've got a...
When do college semesters start, Agent Scully?"

She glanced up. "Typically in August and January. And they end in December
and May."

He waved his hand, "Never mind; none of those months fit."

"No... " Scully chewed her lip pensively. "But my best friend went to a school that
followed a quarterly system. If Burroughs College is on quarters rather than
semesters, the dates would fit. Quarters run from September to Thanksgiving,
January to March, and then April through June, I think."

"Mulder arrived at the start of a quarter, if that's right."

"Yes... And the other two would have, as well..."

"Where is Agent Mulder staying, Scully?" Skinner asked suddenly.

She shifted in her chair. "I told him to check into a hotel, sir. He was rooming with
the boy who first contacted him, but I didn't feel it was wise for him to trust
anyone, just now."

The A.D. crossed his arms and sighed, "Good. I'm glad one of you has your feet
on the ground... Alright, Agent Scully, use the rest of the day and whatever
means available to determine if there's a connection here. I'll contact the Bureau in
Portland and have them look into both disappearances again, as well. But if
nothing substantial turns up, I want Mulder's butt back in D.C. no later than
Sunday night."

 Scully nodded curtly at him, and he leaned forward from his perch on the edge of
his desk. "What's your gut telling you, Scully?"

She stood and clutched the files she held. "That these kids are up to something,
sir. I just can't say exactly what. The last couple of times we've talked, Mulder has
sounded... distracted. He hasn't quite been himself."

"What do you think is affecting him?"

She raised her chin. "I don't know, but I don't like it. He sounded great the first
day or two, very happy and enthusiastic, but now... Maybe this whole abduction
scenario is just hitting a little too close to home."

The A.D. considered her words and asked, "Do you feel like this boy Mulder
befriended is on the level?"

"As on the level as he can be without implicating himself... or getting himself
killed. He sounds like one scared kid, sir. He's in over his head, and I think he
wants out."

"And he's looking to Mulder to rescue him," Skinner said.

Scully took a deep breath. "I think he's hoping Mulder is all he's reported to be...
and more."

The A.D. addressed her gruffly, "Let's hope he is, Agent Scully. Let's hope he is."
 
 

***********************************************
 

Basement Office
FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.
4:41 p.m.

     Scully had been on edge throughout the afternoon. She'd made calls and
compiled information, waiting all the while for her partner to contact her again.
She'd tried his cell phone twice, only to hear a message telling her it was turned
off. So she forged ahead, growing more and more anxious with each passing
moment. She finally reached for the phone to check in with Skinner, hoping the
Portland field office had had something reassuring to share. Something that
would blow their macabre theory to hell. The receiver rang in her hand, and her
jangled nerves ambushed her. Trembling, she blurted out, "Scully."

"Scully, it's me."

"Mulder, where are you?"

"I'm at The Seaspray Lodge in Jonesport, room 15. It isn't fancy, but it does have
satellite TV and - "

She scribbled the name down, then cut him short. "Listen, I dug some things up,
and they don't look good."

"What things?"

"Two missing people who could very likely be victims of your little head-gamers."
There was a long pause at his end of the line. "Mulder?" Scully asked.

"Yeah."

She stood and stretched her stiff back. "You okay?"

"I'm fine, Scully. Go on."

His dead tone didn't sound fine, but she went ahead and gave him a run-down of
all she had, from the missing people's names and their jobs to where they'd grown
up. "I still need to talk to people who knew them, but no one's answered yet. I'm
going to wait until after five to try again," she concluded.

"I thought Oliver was just bullshitting me," Mulder replied off-handedly.

Scully tried to sound gentle, "I hope he is, Mulder, and that may still be the case,
but it doesn't look like it... What are you doing tonight? Where will you be?"

"We're playing. I never know where until we meet."

"Where do you meet, then?" she pressed, pacing the minuscule office.

"Out on the edge of town, at the cliffs where we had the cookout. Garrett gives
everyone the schedule for the night. Then we split up and head out."

She sat down on the edge of his desk. "Take your cell phone with you, Mulder,
and your weapon."

"Scully, that's a little extreme  - "

Scully stood again. "Don't say that, Mulder! You could be their next target. You
have to take precautions, just in case."

"Oh, alright," he muttered.

She changed the subject, "So how did this charmer, Garrett, take it when you told
him you were moving to a hotel?"

"He agreed it might make the game more intense."

Scully waited for him to expand, but he didn't. "Mulder, be really careful out
there tonight."

He answered as if he hadn't heard her, "They all seem like great kids, Scully."

Alarmed at his naivete, Scully remarked, "Mulder, John Lee Roche seemed like a
nice guy to all the people who bought vacuums from him." He didn't respond to
that, and she immediately regretted bringing it up. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have
said that. I just don't want you to take any of this lightly, okay?"

"... Alright."

Scully swallowed her anxiety and said, "Promise you'll call me tonight when you
get in. I don't care how late it is."

"Since when?"

That sounded more like the Mulder she knew, and she realized how much she
missed his company. "Mulder, if it's legitimate, I never mind. Listen, I should go if
I'm going to get anything done today. I need to call Skinner and see if he had any
luck with the Portland field office this morning."

"You told Skinner?" Mulder's voice took on a new tone.

She bristled.  "Mulder, I felt like he should know what's going on - "

"Scully, there might not be anything going on!"

"But Mulder - "

"I'm gonna look like an alarmist nut if this turns into a dead end, Scully," he
scoffed.

She attempted a joke in the hope of appeasing him, "Mulder, Skinner already
thinks you're an alarmist nut."

"Oh? Thanks a lot," his voice was cool.

Scully couldn't understand the severity of his reaction, and she wished she hadn't
even mentioned their boss. "Mulder, please. I'm sorry I said anything to Skinner,
but it seemed like the right thing at the time. He was very interested... and
concerned. He said he'd call the Bureau office in Portland and see what they could
tell us. Don't be angry with me."

"I have to go, Scully."

"Mulder, call me - "

"G'bye, Scully." The line went dead.

She stared at the silent receiver in her hand, and only placed it back in the cradle
when it began to buzz annoyingly. "What the hell was that all about?" she asked
herself  aloud. He'd taken her completely by surprise; gone from easy - though
stilted - conversation, directly into cold, cutting anger. Skinner had been right
when he'd questioned her. Whatever Mulder was experiencing up there was
having an effect on him. A negative effect.

Scully resolved to have some real answers by the end of the night. Something
concrete she could put on the table to prove to him he was in danger. And if she
had to, she'd fly up there and drag him home herself. She pushed a stray lock of
hair behind her ear and pushed her partner's angry words from her mind. Then
she picked up the phone and called her boss.
 
 

***********************************************
 

Dana Scully's Apartment
Annapolis, MD
7:29 p.m.

     Scully adjusted the phone at her ear. "So you don't think she really went to visit
relatives?"

"No, ma'am."

She rolled her pen in her fingers. "Why do you think she lied to you, if you don't
mind my asking?"

"Oh, no, that's alright. I've wondered it myself hundreds of times since. And I've
wished every time I'd've pressed her for the truth... I honestly don't know what
she went up there for; it was very sudden. You see, Kyle was always a loner. I was
her best friend, but even I never got too close; she wouldn't allow it. For all I
know, she had a boyfriend or something up there."

Scully took a swallow of iced tea and set the glass back on her coffee table. "You
described her as a loner. Why is that?"

"Well, Kyle's parent were killed when she was young, and I don't think she ever
got over it."

"She was raised by her grandparents, right?" Scully asked.

"Yes. They legally adopted her when she got out of the hospital."

She drew her right foot under her left leg. "The hospital?"

"Yes, she was in the car with her parents when they wrecked. She actually - " The
woman on the line stopped herself abruptly, then continued, "She was in a coma
for several weeks. And she suffered severe emotional problems after she woke up
and they told her what had happened."

"What did actually happen?" Scully probed. "What caused the accident?"

"I - I'm not sure, exactly."

The agent held up the file she'd spent the afternoon reading. "The police report I
have here says her father apparently lost control of the car."

"Yes, that's all I know," her voice was defensive, and Scully found it odd.

"Are you sure? Kyle never told you how it happened?"

"No. She - she was hurt. She didn't remember," the woman said.

"None of it?" Scully pressed her.

"No. None of it," came the flat reply.

Scully quickly decided to approach from a new direction, "Did Kyle go through
counseling after the accident?"

"Yes, of course. Extensively."

The agent sighed. "I suppose I should look up those records. It's possible she told
the counselor what happened - "

"She was just a little girl!" the woman on the line burst out. "A child!"

Scully straightened on the couch, "Excuse me?"

"She was only playing, like kids do. She never imagined anything like that could...
Could ever..."

Scully swallowed. "Ms. Arrington, did Kyle cause that accident? Is that what
you're trying to tell me?"

An interminable length of time passed, then a weary, "Yes."

"How?" Scully sat back and waited.

"They were on a weekend trip. It happened near Raymar, which is some distance
from where they lived, and I guess the roads were unfamiliar. There were steep
embankments all along the road, Kyle said, where it just sort of dropped off...
Anyhow, she got bored. She was sitting in the back seat with all these toys she'd
brought along. And she started tossing one of them into the air and catching it."
She paused.

"Go on," Scully urged gently.

"Well, her dad asked her to stop because it was getting in the way of his rear-view
mirror. She kept it up, though, until her mother, I think, threatened to take her
toys away. So she stopped for a short time, but she forgot and started doing it
again. Her father lost his temper. He reached back to grab the stuffed animal, and
Kyle got scared. She threw it into the front seat, thinking he'd cool off, but the
stupid thing fell under the steering wheel and onto the floor. It got caught under
the brake pedal."

Scully tensed, knowing the inevitable outcome.

"He reached down to try and grab it and the car swerved into the other lane. Her
mother screamed, she said, because there was a semi in the other lane. The truck
knocked their car to the side, and without any brakes, it just went - went right
over the edge."

Dana Scully shared the woman's silence for a moment. "So, Kyle blamed herself
for her parents' deaths?"

"Yes. And no amount of counseling could convince her otherwise. Neither could I,
but God knows I tried. We became friends at nineteen, in college. She even
attempted suicide when we were 23, but she pulled through."

"How would you describe her emotional state when she disappeared?" Scully
asked softly.

"That's the strange part. She was better than I'd ever seen her. She'd gotten a new
job teaching at the Santa Fe College of Art and Design, and her sculpture works
had just been shown at a gallery. Some of her articles were being published, as
well."

"Her articles?" Scully's ears perked up.

"Yes, Kyle had a combined Master's degree in Native American Studies and
Ritualistic Art. She specialized in folklore and spiritual experiences, particularly
among the Apache."

Scully made several frantic notes, "So she submitted some of her writings?"

"Yes. She had several works that documented the Apache tribal rites and
proposed theories on the role of Shamanism among Native Americans."

"Unh huh," Scully scribbled more memos to herself as her brain accelerated. Kyle
Caughlin's story was becoming eerily familiar, and Scully's breathing was
growing erratic. "So you said she was doing very well?"

"Yes. Career-wise, she was finally getting the recognition she deserved. She'd
worked so hard for it... You see, all that crap she went through, it made her
determined. She was brilliant, Agent Scully, and driven. Kyle went through life as
if she had to prove herself each and every day."

"Prove herself? Why?" Scully planted both feet on the floor.

"She told me she had to prove she survived that wreck for a reason... But I also
think she was trying to be perfect, to make up - in some strange way - for causing
it."

Dana Scully leaned forward, her grip tight on the receiver, "Ms. Arrington, thank
you so much for taking the time to speak with me. I know it wasn't easy for you. I
only have one more question, and then I'll leave you alone."

"Yes?"

"Did Kyle have Internet and e-mail access?"
 
 

***********************************************
 

The Ram Cafe
Jonesport, ME
11:56 p.m.

    They watched as Mulder gently ushered Sarah out the door. "She's convinced
him to stay another night," Garrett smiled. "He won't be leaving until Sunday
evening now. Or so he thinks."

Elliott adjusted his cap, took a swig on his beer and turned serious. "When do we
finish it?"

"Not just yet. Let's see how far we can string it out... If Sarah can keep him going,
we might have a few nights left to toy with him before we send him over the
edge," Garrett laughed.

"He seems to have a pretty high tolerance for the drug," Drew remarked from the
corner of the booth.

Oliver sat up at that. "No. He got sick last night."

Griffin's head shook from side to side, "Not sick enough. Spencer was a fruit loop
by this point... You'll have to get more, Garrett. And tell Sarah to up the dosage."

"Done. I'll take care of it tomorrow." Garrett draped his arm around Ainsley and
dropped his mouth to hers. "I'm outta here. I need to work on my term paper."

She giggled and pulled away, "I'll walk back with you."

The rest of them rolled their eyes, but gathered up their jackets and prepared to
leave. They filed out, headed en masse for the dormitory village. No one noticed
as Oliver slipped away and ran in the direction of Main Street.
 
 

****************************************
 

Saturday, April 18, 1998
Dana Scully's Apartment, Annapolis, MD
10:13 a.m.

     For the second time in 15 hours, Scully felt drained as she hung up the phone.
She had just spoken with the former partner of one Henri James DePuy of Baton
Rouge, Louisiana. Dr. DePuy, 43, a well-known psychiatrist, had enjoyed a
thriving practice and the respect of his peers at the time of his disappearance. But
like Kyle Caughlin before him, Dr. DePuy had harbored a secret. As a teenage boy
in northeastern Louisiana, he had coaxed an unwilling friend into crossing a
forbidden train trestle to shorten a long walk home. The train had come along, of
course, when both boys were halfway across. The friend, frozen in terror, had
died there, and Henri DePuy had lived his life with the knowledge that he was
responsible. A quest for answers and a means of escape had led him down the
path of Cajun customs. Eventually, he had fostered a fascination with voodoo, a
practice in which his region was well-versed. He'd had many of his articles
published in occult magazines and had even applied some of the tamer methods
in his psychiatric practice. But an apparently sudden whim to go whale-watching
in Maine had cut all of that short. Like Kyle Caughlin, he hadn't been seen or
heard from since. And, like her, he had frequented the Internet.

Scully showered quickly and dressed before looking up her boss' home phone
number. She didn't have all the pieces to the puzzle yet, but she had enough to
know that her partner was, in all likelihood, the next potential victim. She was
pulling out her suitcase, the cordless in her other hand, when the A.D. answered.

"Skinner."

She tossed the Samsonite onto the bed. "Sir, it's Agent Scully. I apologize for
calling you at home so late, but I felt it was necessary..."
 
 

     He listened without interruption while she related both phone conversations
she'd had. He didn't need her to point out the frightening parallels between the
two missing people and his own impetuous agent. "The Portland field office had
all the same background information, but what they faxed me lacked the human
element you turned up," he commented when she'd finished.

Scully hastily folded a sweater and threw it in. "Yes, sir. I don't think I could've
gleaned all that from a fax."

"Scully, how do you think they knew about these people? About their histories?"
Skinner asked.

She scanned the room for her favorite loafers. "I've given it some thought, and I'd
need more research to prove it, but I believe both of those accidents would've
been on public record... As would the disappearance of Samantha Mulder."

"Yes, I suppose some of that could've been found through tracing their published
works," he replied succinctly.

"Yes, sir. And once knowledgeable of the incidents, they only had to research
them."

"But Mulder's never been published - " the A.D. began.

"Yes, sir, he has. Under a pseudonym. And he told me they had mentioned that
when they first contacted him." She spied the loafers and hurried to get them.

"I see... Any theories on motive, Scully? Do you think they're carrying out some
sort of judicial action?"

Scully sighed, "That's my only take so far. I need a little more time to develop that
further. But right now, my main concern is Mulder. He was supposed to call me
when he got in last night and never did." She ignored the fact that her partner had
been furious at her when they'd last spoken, and silently waited for her boss'
response.

"I want you up there, Scully."

She stopped halfway across the room, ridiculously wondering if he sensed she'd
already begun to pack."Sir?"

"I want you in Maine as soon as possible. You can carry on the investigation and
keep your partner out of harm's way at the same time. Those victims were
intelligent, well-educated people, and someone still got to them somehow. I don't
want him up there alone."

Scully looked down at her half-packed suitcase and smiled. "Neither do I, sir.
Thank you."

The A.D.'s voice was suddenly tight, "I'm tempted to just order him home, but it
sounds as if he's onto something. Besides, he's still officially on vacation. He'd
probably just ignore me." They shared a nervous laugh at that. "Go on, Scully; get
up there. And keep me posted. I want you to check in twice a day. I'll let the
Portland office know you're coming, in case you need anything."

Scully rifled through her lingerie drawer and grabbed a handful of underwear.
"I'll call you first thing tomorrow, sir."

"Call me tonight, Agent Scully."

She stuffed them into the side pocket of her bag. "Alright, sir. I will. Goodbye."

Scully hung up, somewhat relieved now that she'd clued Skinner in.  She hoped
Mulder was simply angry with her, but she'd be glad to get to Maine and find out
for herself. Then she could give him an earful in person.

Once she'd reserved her flight, she couldn't finish packing fast enough. Their new
laptop would be a godsend up there, and she carefully tucked it into its carrying
case. She was about to lock her front door behind her when she realized she'd
forgotten something. Scully set her luggage down in the hall, hurried back in, and
returned a moment later, her doctor's bag in hand.
 
 

***********************************************
 

Seaspray Travelodge
Front Desk
Jonesport, ME
5:41 p.m.

     "What can I do for you, hon?"

Scully smiled at the middle-aged woman behind the counter. "Is there a Fox
Mulder registered here?"

The desk clerk stood slowly and crossed her arms over an ample chest. "I'm not
allowed to give out that information, miss. Sorry."

Scully sighed. She didn't really want to pull out her badge. It would only start
people talking. She smiled slyly. "Fox Mulder is my partner. I need a room; one as
near to him as possible."
 
 

     The woman winked several moments later as she handed Scully a key with her
credit card. "You might want to keep an eye on the room to your left, hon. I hear
the fella staying there is trouble."

Scully laughed and thanked her, then returned to her car. She pulled around to
the side of the building and parked, relieved to finally be in her partner's vicinity.
She lugged her bags into Room 17 and pulled out her cell phone. As Scully
flopped onto the bed and kicked off her shoes, she was met with the
pronouncement that his phone was turned off. "Damn," she muttered, tossing
hers onto a chair. She shrugged in resignation, changed quickly into jeans and a
sweater, then slipped on a pair of loafers.

The evening outside was chilly. As Scully stepped from her room, she zipped her
jacket up and shoved her hands into her pockets. Scanning for cars, she jogged
across the road and went down onto the beach. She strolled for an hour or so
before dusk faded, forcing her to return to the road. A little cafe just up the street
looked warm and inviting, and she went in and took a seat by the window. It was
dark out by then, and the glass, cloudy with condensation, was opaque. She
realized she wouldn't see Mulder now even if he passed right by her. One hot
bowl of beef stew and two buttery rolls later, Scully headed back to the lodge.
 
 

***********************************
 

Seaspray Travelodge
Jonesport, ME
6:53 p.m.

     Mulder was slipping his room key into the lock when a shout from across the
dimly-lit parking lot caught his attention.

"Mulder!"

He turned, startled to see his partner coming toward him. "Scully! What the hell
are you doing here?"

She jogged up to him, breathless. "Jeez, Mulder, not even a hello?"

He tossed his head, "Sorry. You just shocked the shit out of me...Why are you
here, Scully?"

She cocked her head to the right. "Why are you here? You were supposed to fly
home this afternoon."

He shrugged and opened his door. "I changed my flight. I'm going home
tomorrow night."

Scully raised her brows, "I had a feeling you might do that... Thanks for calling to
tell me."

He suddenly looked chagrined, "I'm sorry, Scully. I... My head's been someplace
else. I would've called you tonight." He pushed the door wide and stepped aside
to let her in. "Now, tell me what you're doing up here."

Scully went in and sat down in the desk chair. "Two reasons, actually. First, I
made a few phone calls yesterday. I was afraid you might be in trouble, so I came
up here to help."

He laughed bitterly and dropped onto the bed, "Scully, I'm a big boy. I don't need
my partner to protect me from a bunch of kids."

"Mulder, if the information I've gathered so far is saying what I think it's saying,
that bunch of kids is a very dangerous lot... Besides, Skinner sent me up here." She
braced herself against his temper.

"You're both overreacting, Scully. I'm fine!" He slammed his fist into the pillow
and glared at her.

Scully glared right back, "I hope you're right Mulder. If we find out you are, then
we've lost nothing but the cost of my plane fare and a motel room... Now, the
second reason. Why didn't you call me back last night?"

He looked away. "I was mad at you... I really wish you hadn't involved Skinner."

Scully waved an exasperated hand at him. "Well, I did, and now he's involved, so
get over it. You need to read the reports I've got - they're scary."

Mulder leaned back and laced his fingers over his chest, "So, the big guy doesn't
mind if I extend my vacation, huh?"

She rolled her eyes, "I didn't say that. We're going to have to come up with
something more concrete than I've got now to justify staying beyond tomorrow."

"Alright." He glanced at his watch and stood up suddenly, "Well, I need to get
ready, Scully. I'll see you later. If I stay, they have to think it's because I want to
keep playing, so you're on your own tonight."

Scully stood herself, and realized for the first time how pale he was. She
pretended not to notice and said, "Uh, okay... Maybe I'll talk to the local police
while you're gone. Then we can look over everything tomorrow."

"Whatever... I'll call you when I wake up in the morning." He opened the door,
"G'night, Scully."

Painfully aware she was being gotten rid of, she stepped out. "Night, Mulder...
Have fun." As the door shut in her face, she shook her head and dug her own key
from her pocket. A moment later, she slipped into her room, unaware that Garrett
Fessler was watching her from the far side of the parking lot.
 
 

**********************************
 
 

Woods near Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
9:06 p.m.

     They reached the clearing and dropped to their stomachs. The man followed
suit, unsure exactly why. "What are we hiding from?" he asked.

"Ssshhh!!" Nine voices hushed him into silence, and the red-haired boy beside him
whispered, "The police have been swarming all over this place. We can't risk them
finding us here."

The man nodded in understanding. "This is where James disappeared from?"

"Yes," the boy answered. "We were all out here just drinking a few beers and
having a little fun, then we heard the noise."

He tried to ignore the cold seeping into his body from the damp grass beneath
him. "What did it sound like?" he asked.

The kid in the ball cap responded. "It was humming, sort of like a helicopter, only
not nearly as loud. And smoother. It almost sounded electronic, if you know what
I mean."

The stranger nodded again. "So when did you see it?"

"Just a few seconds after we first heard the noise. It came over the tops of those
trees, with these little lights flashing all over it." The kid pointed across the
clearing. "It blocked out the moon."

He squinted through the darkness, then looked back to the little group around
him. "You all talked as if James and Mollie were the only ones who saw it."

"They were the only ones to see the... the creature, or being... or whatever. We all
saw the craft, though. It was huge," the red-haired boy said, shivering
convulsively.

"Did it land?" the man asked.

"No," a girl's voice softly answered him. "It only hovered there for a few minutes.
We all just stood and watched it; we were so amazed. Then it took off. Really fast.
And.. and that's when we heard Mollie scream."

"So the being must've gotten back on board or... something."

"Yeah, that's what we figured," she nodded, more to her friends than to him.

He glanced at them and narrowed his eyes. "Where was Mollie when you found
her?"

"She and James had been off in the woods just a little way. It took us a while to
find her, because after that first scream, she didn't make another sound."

The man searched the surrounding faces until he found her, the silent one. Her
dark eyes were haunted, but she smiled back. Feeling uncomfortable, he turned
his own to the sky above, "So, what did she say happened?"

The curly-haired girl continued, "It came through the forest, with light all around
it, just like you saw. Then there was a big swoosh of air, almost like in a big
thunderstorm. She closed her eyes against the wind, and when she opened them,
James was gone."

"Did the entity speak to her too?" They all eyed him strangely, and he
remembered he had kept that particular information to himself.

The girl looked away, to the woods across the clearing. "No. It didn't say
anything. Just floated there a second before the big wind."

His eyes followed hers, and he shifted on the cold ground. "And you've seen the
lights here since?"

"Yes, several times. But until you saw it, the entity hasn't been back."

As they continued to wait, he wondered silently to what he owed that honor.
 
 

**********************************
 

The Ram Cafe
Jonesport, ME
10:41 p.m.

     He pushed away the beer Elliott offered with a smile. "No thanks. I felt like
crap the last time. I need to take it easy tonight."

Sarah laughed and hugged him. "Let's go, Mulder," she whispered. "I want you all
to myself tonight if you're leaving tomorrow night."

He grinned down at her. "Just what did you have in mind?" he said in her ear.

"It's a surprise. C'mon." She pulled on her jacket and yanked at his sleeve.

Mulder turned to the surrounding group, "I'll see you guys tomorrow. And
remember, you have to come up with some way to send me off in style."

Garrett raised a glass to him, "Oh, don't worry, Agent Mulder. We'll make sure it's
unforgettable."

"Here, here!" They all waved as the couple left the bar, then huddled together.

"Alright," Garrett said in a low voice, "we hafta get into his head a little more, get
'im thinking... Someone's gotta bring up the little sister... Who's gonna do I?"

They all stared at the table or glanced around the room.

"C'mon!" he cried. "It's not a big deal! The guy must've told the story a million
times in his life. We only need to remind him, that's all." He looked from one face
to another, then settled his gaze. "Griff. You do it. He likes you, so it won't seem
like anything but a simple question."

Griffin glanced briefly at Elliott over the rims of his glasses and nodded
reluctantly. "Okay. I'll mention it tomorrow."
 
 

**********************************
 
 

Tristan Commons, Burroughs College
Jonesport, ME
11:48 p.m.

   Mulder tossed the wad of gift wrap away and held up the little striped figure.
"Tigger?"

Embarrassed, Sarah pulled away. "It's... it's stupid, isn't it? I don't know what I
was thinking."

He grasped at her. "No! No, I love it. He was always my favorite; even more than
Pooh. I'm just curious why you picked him."

Sarah settled against him. "You remind me of him. The way you said you always
act first without thinking. And he's always eager for adventure. Plus, he's a little
bit of a loner, just like you, always running off by himself."

Mulder was touched. "I'm flattered... I would've picked Eeyore if I'd had to define
myself in the Hundred Acre Wood."

Sarah shook her head wildly. "Oh, no! Eeyore's too lacking in self-confidence to be
you. But he does have a good heart, doesn't he?"

"YOU have a good heart," he whispered. "But I think you're more like Roo."

"Roo?" She slapped him playfully, "He's just a baby!"

He tickled her under the arms, delighted at the way she arched her back in
laughter. "Exactly," he said. "And an impossibly cute one at that..."

****************************************
 

Sunday, April 19, 1998
Seaspray Travelodge, Room 17
3:17 a.m.

     Scully was vaguely aware that she'd listened for Mulder's return since going to
bed just after midnight. Consequently, she had only drifted in and out of sleep.
Now, a harsh, muffled sound from next door brought her fully awake. She sat up
in bed and tried to focus on it, and finally put her ear to the wall for confirmation.
It was definitely her partner in the throes of illness that she heard. Scully quickly
donned her clothes and went outside to bang on the door.

"Mulder! ...Mulder, open up, it's me!"

When he failed to appear, she hurried back to her room for her badge and jogged
to the office. The old man at the desk was glued to a black and white movie on the
TV screen. She had to say, "Excuse me!" three times before she got his attention.
He shuffled to the counter and blinked at her.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully with the FBI. My partner's in room number 15,
and he's very ill. I need a key to his room so I can check on him."

The old man eyed her suspiciously, no doubt questioning the true purpose of her
request. But he apparently had no intention of challenging her badge, and handed
her the key without a fight before shuffling back to his movie.

Scully slipped into Mulder's room, alarmed at the severity of the sounds coming
from the bathroom. She hurried in to find Mulder sprawled on his knees before
the toilet, clutching the tank with one shaky hand. He heaved violently for a
moment before vomiting into the bowl.

"Mulder?"

He spat, and his eyes were miserable when he managed to look up at her. "Go
away, Scully," he muttered.

"Like hell, I will." She stepped around the mess on the floor and pressed a hand to
his forehead; he didn't feel feverish. Scully grabbed the edge of Mulder's
spattered shirt and gathered it in on itself as best she could, then quickly jerked it
over his head and swiped the floor with it. As he began to retch again, she
wrapped one arm around his middle and held his head with the other. He
whimpered softly, gulping in air between attacks, and her brow furrowed with
concern. "Ssshh, it's alright. I'm here." He lurched forward once more, taking her
arms with him, and Scully noted that his stomach was now producing only bile.
She held him for a few minutes more until the spasms finally eased, and he sank
back onto his heels.

"Sit still," she ordered, and snatched a washcloth from the rack over his head. She
left to hold it under the faucet, then returned to gently clean his chalky face and
hands. Red-rimmed hazel eyes stared back at her when she handed him a glass of
water. "Rinse your mouth, Mulder. Then take a little sip or two." He complied,
and handed the glass back with trembling fingers. Scully flushed the toilet, then
reached around the door to place the glass back on the counter. She squatted
beside him, "Can you make it to the bed?" His eyes were closed, but he nodded.
"I'll help." She bent to grasp his hands, which were cold and clammy, and pulled
him to his feet.

They moved slowly into the main room, and she lowered him into a sitting
position at the foot of the bed. Scully drew the covers back and patted the
mattress, "C'mon, partner. Up here." He leaned over and scooted toward the
pillow, then dropped down, exhausted. She unlaced his boots and pulled them
off, then flipped on the lamp. As she rooted in his bag for a clean undershirt, she
asked, "Alright, Mulder, what're you doing rolling in here at this hour, and how
much have you had to drink?" He clamped his eyes shut against the light and
groaned. "No," she yanked the shirt over his head, perhaps a little more roughly
than necessary, "you're not getting out of this. Talk."

"You're my partner," he winced, sliding his arms through the sleeves, "not my
mother. I didn't know I had a curfew."

"Mulder," she sighed, "It's almost four in the morning. The bars closed hours ago,
but you just got back and you're sick as a dog. I could smell the alcohol while you
were throwing up!"

"I didn't drink that much," he scowled. "Only a couple of glasses of wine. I tried to
go easy after..."

His tone was sincere, and she frowned as she took his pulse. "Has this happened
before?"

"Not since college," he said weakly.

She tucked his hand under the cover. "This week, I mean."

Mulder rolled away from the light. "Uhm, yeah... last night. I - I cut way back
tonight, I did, but... God, I think I'm dying."

Scully pulled the blankets up over him and turned off the lamp. "I'll be right
back." She ran to her own room and returned with three Tylenol in her hand, then
refilled the glass. "Here. Swallow these." He obeyed, then sank back onto the
pillow. She sighed and pushed a sweaty clump of hair back from his brow. "No
more partying for you, mister," she admonished. "We either get some work done,
or we head home. Understood?" He nodded weakly. "Go to sleep. I'll come over
in a few hours to see how you're doing." He was out before she made it to the
door.

 
     Back in her own bed, Scully was discouraged to realize she was now wide
awake.  Perturbed, she got up and slipped the laptop from its case, then climbed
back into bed. She flipped it on, hoping a few minutes surfing the 'Net would
make her drowsy.

"You've got mail." Scully clicked on the icon, curious about the unfamiliar
address.
 

          "Agent Scully,

               Your partner's a targit. Act now. B4 it is to late."
 

Her stomach dropped. There was no name signed, but on second glance, she
realized it was an educational account, probably from the college. Fearful, she
scribbled a quick note to Mulder to come and get her when he woke up. She
hurried back to his room and stuck it to his bathroom mirror. Scully peeked at
him and put a hand to his cheek before she left, taking only small comfort in
knowing he slept peacefully. As she climbed back into bed with the computer, she
knew he would have to get enough sleep for both of them that night. She had too
much work to do.
 
 

**********************************
 
 

Walter Skinner's Apartment
Crystal City, MD
9:32 a.m.

     The phone rang, drawing Walter Skinner reluctantly away from the Sunday
morning sports section. He put down his cup of French roast and reached across
the breakfast bar for the receiver. "Skinner."

"Sir? It's me, Agent Scully. I hope it isn't too early..."

He folded the paper back and set it aside. "No, Scully, not at all. How are things in
Maine?"

"I suppose they could be worse, sir." Her tone of voice said otherwise.

The A.D. rubbed his eyes. "Not good, I take it. How is Agent Mulder?"

"Very sick. He came in after three this morning, sir."

He made his disapproval obvious when he snorted, "Too much partying with the
college crowd?"

"I thought so. But he said he hadn't had that much to drink, and I... I believed him,
sir. Maybe he's just caught a bug."

Skinner's reply came out more harshly than he intended. "Go get him, Agent
Scully. I want to speak with him."

She hesitated before answering, "He's asleep, sir. I went over to check on him a
few minutes ago, and he's still dead to the world."

The A.D. shook his head at the ceiling and turned to flip off the coffee maker.
"Then have him call me as soon as he wakes up... Obviously, he missed his flight
home last night."

"He has a flight reserved for late this evening, sir, but I don't think he'll be on it."

He couldn't help but cross his arms, a gesture he frequently used when the two
were in his office, standing before him. "Oh? And why is that, Agent Scully?"

She proceeded to tell him of the frightening e-mail she'd received, of Mulder's
erratic behavior, and of the information she'd gleaned from the Internet that
morning. She also told him of the conversation she'd had with the Jonesport Chief
of Police the night before, after she'd been dumped by her partner...

"A body?" The A.D. repeated. "Which victim was it? DePuy or Caughlin?"

"Apparently neither, sir. They can't ID him. The body was ravaged pretty badly
by the ocean. But it's too young to be Henri DePuy, and too recent."

He took his place on the bar stool again and traced the rim of his coffee cup with
his fingertip. "No one's reported a man missing in that area?"

"No, sir. At least, he doesn't fit any of the descriptions they've followed up on."

Skinner sighed heavily. "What did they have to say about the two names you
had?"

"The Bureau had already contacted every small town on the northeastern
seaboard, sir, so they were familiar with both names. But no bodies have turned
up."

"I see... What are your plans today, Scully?" The A.D. glanced at the clock.

"With or without Mulder's help, I'd planned on trying to trace this e-mail back to
the college, sir. And I need to see how much information is publicly available on
the two victims we have."

"That seems a good place to start. Let me know if I can do anything from this
end."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

He stood again, the posture making him feel more authoritative. "And Scully, be
sure Agent Mulder calls me today. I want to hear his version of all of this. His
vacation's over, and I can't have him running around eastern Maine without a
damn good reason."

"I understand, sir. I'll have him call."

They said their goodbyes and hung up. As Skinner returned to his coffee and
paper, he couldn't stop pondering his two agents and the strange situation they'd
fallen into in Maine. He mulled the facts over and over in his mind before tossing
down the paper and picking up the phone once again. He dialed the Bureau and
asked to be patched through to the Portland, Maine office. Ten minutes later he
was relating the new information to Brant Stiles, the SAC there whom he'd met
several times and had spoken with two days earlier...
 
 
 

     "So your man is actively pursuing this as a case now?" Stiles asked.

Skinner leaned forward, his palms flat on the bar top as he balanced the cordless
between his ear and his shoulder. "I can't say exactly at this point, Brant. He's a
little out of commission at the moment, and I've yet to hear the story straight from
him. But his partner is very reliable, and I trust her judgement. She's going to try
to tie up some loose ends today. Since you looked into this for me on Friday, she's
gotten online to see how much information was available on the two victims. The
woman has seven articles and some artwork posted, and the psychiatrist has his
own Web site."

"Hmmm... interesting. What about your agent? Is there information about him out
there?"

"Agent Scully found three of his pieces on a contemporary science site,  two on
one of those conspiracy theory pages, and a freelance story on a sci-fi site. She
says he told her that these kids had accessed his Bureau file somehow - hacked
into it, I guess - and that they knew more than he was comfortable with." Skinner
took a swig of cold coffee.

"But you said his work was published under a pseudonym," Stiles argued. "How
would they even know he was an agent so they could go looking for his personal
file?"

"Mulder's name isn't exactly unheard of among 'believers', or whatever they're
calling themselves these days." The A.D. put the mug down again and toyed with
edge of the Sunday paper. "He hears about crap all the time from people who've
tracked him down through one channel or another. Nor would I be a bit surprised
to find out the editors of those magazines he submits to know precisely who he is.
They're all paranoid, and God knows who they've paid off as contacts."

Brant Stiles chuckled. "Then let's say for the sake of argument that that's the case.
How did they know about his sister, or about the other victims' backgrounds, for
that matter?"

"Mulder's file is full of information about his sister Samantha's abduction; it was
assigned a case number all its own. He was even briefly investigated as a boy, for
God's sake. And I'm certain his childhood experience is common knowledge
among that crowd we were just discussing. It's part of what makes him
trustworthy." Skinner rubbed at the knot of tension in the back of his neck and
continued. "As for the other two, Scully said the biography on Dr. DePuy's site
alluded to a tragedy in his youth that led him to pursue psychiatry. It didn't
mention what that incident was, but it did name his hometown."

"And anyone with two brain cells could do the math and trace the local records."

Skinner nodded in resignation. "Yes... In Ms. Caughlin's case, she apparently
claims many of her beliefs about the spirit world and shamanism came about as a
result of experiences after her parents' deaths. Scully told me that in the posted
article from 'Modern Art' magazine, Kyle Caughlin relates the story of her
attempted suicide as a college student, and the reasons behind it. I'm sure that the
Caughlins' car accident is on public record."

"Is Agent Scully going to look into that?" Stiles asked.

"Yes, that's some of what she planned to do today," the A.D. replied.

"What about Mulder?"

He paced the galley kitchen. "She's hoping for some help from him. They need to
talk to the boy who first pushed Mulder to look into this whole matter. Scully
believes he's probably the one who sent her the e-mail."

The SAC cleared his throat. "Do you think Agent Mulder is in any real danger?"

"I'm beginning to suspect that may be the case. I'll admit, I had my doubts. When I
sent Scully up there yesterday, it was more of a precaution than anything. But the
more she turns up, the more worried I am."

Brant Stiles adopted an air of compassion, masked by a light tone. "Why don't you
have Agent Scully give me a call after she finishes up today, Walt? I'll have two of
my best look into that unidentified body again, and see if it has anything else to
offer. In the meantime, don't fret over your man; I'll be close at hand. Tell Agent
Scully to call me immediately if she suspects he's in any trouble."

Skinner leaned against the refrigerator door. "Thanks, Brant, I appreciate it. In
general, I trust them to handle their cases themselves, but... " He let out a loud
breath.

"But they usually aren't potential victims."

He stared at the floor. "No."

"I understand, Walter. Just try to relax; we've got them covered. Go enjoy your
Sunday."

"Thanks. That makes me feel a little better. I'll be in touch." As Walter Skinner
hung up, he realized how often Scully and Mulder actually had been potential
victims.

And it was far more times than he cared to count.
 
 
 

**********************************
 
 

Seaspray Travelodge, Room 17
11:48 a.m.

     The soft rapping took Scully by surprise. She was so focused on the computer
that she'd lost track of time. She climbed off of the bed and went to answer her
door. Her partner stood there, his hands shoved in his pockets and his face a mix
of chagrin and embarrassment. "Hi, Scully... I got your note."

"Mulder, come in. Have a seat." She pulled the chair up next to the bed. "How do
you feel?"

"Don't ask. I don't think my brain can come up with a fitting description this
morning." He sat down and stared at the floor. "What did you need to see me
about?"

"Mulder, there's something you need to see." Scully opened her e-mail log and
called up the message that had so worried her that morning. "Here, read this." She
turned the screen toward him.

He read it with no emotion on his face before casually remarking, "Not a very
good speller, whoever they are."

She could barely contain her exasperation, "Mulder, don't you dare laugh!"

He practically laughed in her face. "What do you want me to say, Scully? That I'm
scared? Of