By Jake
nejake@tds.net
 

Rating: R (Language, Violence)

Classification: X (X-File)

Spoilers: None

Keywords:

Summary: When two bodies are discovered entombed in the ice of Burntland
Lake in northern Maine, Mulder and Scully travel to the remote frozen
wilderness to investigate who, or what, is literally freezing the locals
in their tracks.

Deep Freeze

by Jake

Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are the property
of Chris Carter, FOX and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement
intended. This is for fun, not profit.

__________________________

Unorganized Territory T11 R17 WELS, Northern Maine

January 19

10:10 AM

Everything was white. The flat, endless overcast; the snow falling at a
nearly horizontal pitch, driven by a chilly northeastern wind; the
thick, frozen surface of the lake. Even the tall, tight evergreens that
encircled Burntland Lake were barely visible, obscured by the
distressing snow and ice that bent their branches and disguised their
dark needles. Out on the ice-covered lake, everything appeared
unsubstantial and hazy, as if seen through a frosty veil.

Roy Martin, his face turned away from the biting wind, trudged several
yards from his idling snowmobile and cleared snow from the lake's ice
with his foot. His young son sat perched on their aging Skidoo, huddled
in an oversized parka, and watched his father.

"Bring me the auger, son."

Twelve-year-old David, small for his age, slid from the seat and with
difficulty lifted the heavy tool off the back of the sled. Careful not
to drag the blade, the boy managed to carry the auger to his father.

"Think we'll catch anything today, Dad?" David asked.

"I expect we'll be eatin' a fish or two for supper," Roy smiled.
"Now go and get a tip-up and some jigs. There's extra line in the
tackle box under the seat," the man directed his son as he positioned
the auger's spiral blade on the ice. He steadied the machine and
started the engine while the boy ran back to the sled. The drill roared,
cutting a smooth, circular hole through the ice. About ten inches down,
the blade unexpectedly caught and the auger stalled.

"Shit!" Annoyed, Roy tugged hard and jerked the auger from the hole.
Twisted tightly around the blade was a length of bloodied fabric. "What
the??" Roy removed a glove and yanked at the material, unwinding the
cloth from the drill. Fear gripped Roy and he knelt to inspect the hole.
His hand still bare, he brushed the fresh snow back, ignoring the cold,
and peered into the dark ice. "Jesus Christ," he whispered, his breath
shaken.

"What is it, Dad?" David had returned to his father's side, the tip-up
and tackle box clutched in his mittened hands. The boy stared through
the snow-cleared ice and his eyes widened. "It's a man!"

"My God, it's Edward Earley. He's froze into the ice, just like the
old man Jesse found the day before yesterday."

__________________________

Bangor, Maine

January 22

11:34 AM

Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully arrived at Bangor
International Airport from Washington DC on a bumpy ComAir flight and
immediately transferred to a six-seat Cessna 206 waiting for them on the
snowy tarmac. Don Lagasse, Allagash Air Service owner and pilot, helped
the two FBI agents load their gear into the smaller plane before making
his final check. Mulder and Scully climbed aboard, relieved to escape
the frigid wind.

"It's gonna be a rough ride," the pilot warned as he slid behind the
controls. "Wind's at thirty knots with gusts to forty-five. Snow
squalls all the way, I'm afraid. You've picked a helluva day to fly
into Maine!"

"We gonna make it in this plane?" Mulder asked, trying to hide his
concern behind a lop-sided grin. He watched the windshield wipers swipe
away the hammering sleet as the pilot steered the aircraft onto the
runway.

"Hell, yes," Scott informed him with casual confidence. "I've been
flyin' planes in and out of northern Maine for twenty-five years. My
daddy started Allagash Air Service in '46 with a three-seat Piper
Super Cruiser. Now that was a nice little aircraft. Not much legroom in
it though," Don Lagasse threw a sympathetic smile over his shoulder at
Mulder. The tall agent had managed to squeeze his lanky frame
uncomfortably into one of the tiny passenger seats.

Lagasse accelerated and the plane picked up speed, finally lifting,
laboring against the strong northerly wind.

"You all right back there, ma'am?" the pilot yelled over the clamor of
the engine. The plane dipped and bucked as it ascended.

"I'm fine," Scully answered. She sat behind Mulder, gripping the back
of his seat, her knuckles white. Mulder swiveled to look at her. Her
lips were pressed together, her expression apprehensive. She met his
gaze and gave him a quick insecure smile before nervously biting her
lower lip and turning to watch the snow covered ground recede outside
the frosted window.

"The flight won't take long," Lagasse assured her. "We'll be landing
about fifteen miles east of Daaquam Checkpoint. Daaquam's one of
several border crossings between Maine and Quebec. Ranger Scott Belyea
will meet us at the airfield. He's bringing your supplies, including
the snowmobiles."

"Snowmobiles?" Scully repeated, confused.

"Yeah. Sleds are the only way to get in to Burntland Lake at this time
of year. Road's closed after the first snow in late October."

Scully narrowed accusing eyes at the back of Mulder's head and
although he didn't turn around, he knew she was glaring angrily at
him. He fidgeted uneasily in his seat. As was often his habit, Mulder
had given Scully only the sketchiest details of the case they had come
to investigate, leaving out more than he divulged. After six-years
together as partners in the FBI's X-Files Division, Mulder knew Scully
would balk at the rustic accommodations this trip required. She rarely
shared his enthusiasm for exploring the unknown when it meant completely
dispensing with personal comfort. And despite her diminutive size,
Scully could launch into a tirade of complaints that actually frightened
Mulder more than the menacing monsters, ghosts, mutants and alien life
forms they faced on a regular basis.

__________________________

An airstrip 15 miles east of Daaquam Checkpoint, Maine

12:40 PM

The tiny Cessna skidded to a slippery stop on the remote frozen
airstrip, just short of a narrow road that cut through the otherwise
uninterrupted timberland wilderness. Parked on the road's crown was a
pickup truck with US Ranger decals and hooked to the vehicle's rear
bumper was a trailer carrying two Arctic Cat snowmobiles. The ranger,
who had watched the aircraft land from the driver's seat of his
pickup, now traipsed across the recently plowed runway to greet the
plane's occupants.

"Hey, Don," the young ranger greeted the pilot who was already outside
the plane and reaching back to take Mulder's bag. "How was the
flight?"

"Always an adventure," the pilot grinned. Mulder hopped from the
airplane and stretched the kinks from his long legs. Lagasse set
Scully's bag in the snow next to Mulder's, and turned to assist the
smaller agent out of the door and to the ground. The stinging wind
whipped Scully's coppery hair wildly about her face until she raised
the hood of her parka and tucked the red tangles beneath it.

"Scott Belyea," the ranger identified himself and extended his hand to
Mulder, then Scully.

"These are agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully from the FBI," Lagasse
introduced as he retrieved a couple of swollen canvas bags from the
cargo hold and passed them off to the ranger. "I'll help you load
these supplies into your truck, Scott, but then I'll have to be
goin' before the weather gets worse."

"Welcome to Maine," the ranger squinted into the driving sleet and
smiled at Mulder and Scully. "Why don't you two jump into the cab
while Don and I load the truck?" he suggested.

"Need some help?" Mulder volunteered in order to delay being alone with
Scully and her inevitable harangue of questions. He tried to remember
exactly what he had told her about this trip but couldn't recall with
certainty if he had purposely misrepresented any of the circumstances,
or if he had just left out the parts to which he knew she would object.
He chanced a quick look in her direction. Her scowl convinced him to
grab an armload of boxes and head for the rear of the pickup. Scully
heaved an irritable sigh and climbed into the heated cab. The men made
several trips back and forth between the plane and the truck, hauling
and loading a variety of bags and boxes. Most contained groceries to
restock the station at Daaquam. When the last of the parcels had been
tucked into the truck bed, Don Lagasse headed for his plane and the
ranger and Mulder crowded into the cab on either side of Scully. They
watched through the side window as the little Cessna successfully
traveled down the short runway and lifted into the air.

"The snowmobile trail into Burntland Lake is about five miles down the
road," Scott Belyea informed them with a friendly smile as he shifted
the pickup into gear. "We'll unload the sleds there. I've packed
some things you might need into the sleds' storage compartments.
Snowshoes, heat packs, polar shield blankets, stuff like that. We can
strap your bags to the tops of the sleds' seats. You bring a first aid
kit?"

"Mmhm. I restocked it before we left. It's in my duffel," Scully
assured Belyea.

"What else did you bring? You got compasses, flares, flashlights?" Both
agents nodded. "Plenty of warm clothing? I don't mean to sound like a
mother hen but it gets damn cold up here and there's no place to stop
and shop."

"We're all set, Ranger Belyea," Scully affirmed with a soft smile. "We
packed plenty of thermal underwear and Gore-Tex. And keep your comments
to yourself, Mulder," Scully warned before he could respond with one of
his predictable innuendoes. "What about our accommodations? Where are we
staying?" she asked. Mulder held his breath as he waited warily for the
ranger to answer her question.

"Roy and Barb Martin own the cabin where you'll be stayin', located
about a half a mile down the lake shore from their place. Barb said
she'd set the place up with linens, groceries, water, and what not.
It's nothin' fancy, but it's dry. No electricity." Scully's eyes
widened. She shot Mulder a stormy look. He gazed over the top of her
head at the ranger, silently willing the man to stop talking. "There's
kerosene lamps," Scott Belyea continued helpfully. "Roy will have the
woodstove goin' before you get there, so the place should be plenty
warm."

"How do we find the Martin's?" Mulder asked before the ranger could
mention the fact that the cabin lacked indoor plumbing.

"You follow the snowmobile trail approximately ten miles through the
woods before you come to the lake. Roy and Barb live in a yellow,
two-story house on the western shore. It's the first place you'll
come to. About thirty people live around Burntland Lake through the
winter. Most are either Martins, Earleys or Chubbs, 'cept for James
Patterson who moved up from Boston after sufferin' a nervous breakdown
and Henrietta Coombs who stays to herself and always has. By the way,
Barb Martin said to tell you to stop in. She'll have some supper for
you to take over to the cabin. To be honest, I think she's just
curious to get a look at you. Never seen an FBI agent before," Belyea
winked at them.

"Wasn't it Roy Martin who found one of the bodies?" Mulder asked.

"Yeah. Roy and his son David. It's really strange how the body was
frozen into the lake ice like it was. Ed Earley had gone out onto the
lake only an hour or so before Roy found him dead and completely
embedded in the ice."

"That's not possible, Ranger. Are you sure Mr. Earley didn't
disappear the previous night?" Scully asked.

"His wife claims Ed ate breakfast with her before he left on foot to
visit Frank Chubb who lives directly across the lake. That was around
nine o'clock in the morning. Roy found him dead shortly after ten."

"What about the other victim?" Mulder queried.

"Old man Harvey Chubb. Great uncle or somethin' to Frank. He and
Frank's boy Jesse went ice fishin' together. Jesse went home for
lunch while the old man stayed to watch the traps. When Jesse returned
an hour later, the old man was gone. A couple of the tip-ups had fish on
the lines, so Jess reeled 'em in and carried 'em over to Harvey's
place, but the old man wasn't there. The boy went back to pick up the
fishin' gear and collect the traps. That's when he found the old man
laid out, frozen solid in the ice."

"You mean on the ice," Scully corrected.

"No, I mean in the ice. Entirely encased. The only thing sticking out of
the ice was the tail end of the old man's scarf. That's what caught
Jesse's eye. It was kinda' flutterin' in the breeze."

"That doesn't make any sense," Scully commented rationally.

"That's why we're here, Scully," Mulder put in, an excited glint in
his eyes. "The facts as Ranger Belyea have stated are enough to make
this case an X-File, but there's more."

"More? I'm afraid to ask, Mulder."

"Some of the residents claim a local witch is responsible for turning
the victims into human popsicles."

"A witch?" Scully sounded skeptical.

Scott Belyea chuckled. "That's what some are sayin'."

"Who are they saying is the witch?"

"Henrietta Coombs. I don't believe it, myself. She's peculiar and a
loner for certain, but I doubt she's casting evil spells of black
magic, literally freezing her neighbors in their tracks. Hell, people
here are scared. They're looking for someone to blame for somethin'
that, as you just pointed out Agent Scully, doesn't make any sense."
The ranger pulled to a stop. "Here's the trail," he indicated with a
nod and left the engine running while he hopped from the truck.

Mulder and Scully joined the ranger at the back of the pickup. Belyea
had already disconnected the trailer hitch from the ball and tipped the
trailer tie upward. He clambered onto the trailer and straddled one of
the sleds. With a turn of the key, the snowmobile's engine burst to
life and the ranger rode the sled down and off the trailer. He left the
machine to idle while he repeated the procedure with the other sled.
Mulder hefted the agents' two bags out of the truck bed and swung them
onto the backs of the waiting snowmobiles. While the ranger reconnected
the trailer, Scully and Mulder strapped their bags securely to the long
seats, leaving plenty of room for them to ride comfortably.

"Good luck to you folks," the ranger handed them each a snowmobile
helmet. "You're welcome to call the station if there's anything I
can do for you."

"We will. And thanks for everything," Scully indicated the snowmobiles.
The two agents waited until the ranger had driven out of sight before
donning the helmets and mounting the sleds.

"Ladies first," Mulder gestured to Scully and she took the lead.

__________________________

Snowmobile trail, 10 miles south of Burntland Lake, Maine

1:32 PM

To her unexpected delight, Scully discovered that she enjoyed riding the
powerful Arctic Cat, steering it smoothly between the trees and over the
humps of thick, fluffy snow. When a sudden dip in the trail left her
airborne, she laughed out loud and turned to watch Mulder hurtle through
the air behind her. She refocused her attention on the trail ahead and
opened the throttle, increasing her speed along the narrow passage. She
whipped past the wide trunks of evergreens and ducked beneath the
snow-laden branches that hung low over the path. Mulder could hear her
whoop with excitement as she plunged down a steep ravine to race across
the small stream at its bottom. She urged the machine up the opposite
embankment, casting a tall spray of snow high into the air behind her.
At the hill's crest, Scully pulled to a quick stop and waited for
Mulder to catch up.

"Leadfoot," he teased as he brought his sled parallel to hers.

"Slowpoke," she responded, smiling wide, her cheeks pink from the cold.
"Wanna race?" she challenged.

"No thanks. And take it easy, Scully. We want to arrive all in one
piece."

"Fuddy-duddy. Gettin' old, Mulder? Losin' your nerve?" she provoked.
He raised his eyebrows in warning. "Wuss," she added in mock disdain. He
dropped to his seat and gunned his engine, shooting ahead of Scully and
blazing a curving track through the forest. Scully laughed, squeezed the
gas and chased after him. The Arctic Cat reverberated beneath her as she
closed the gap between the sleds. The trail tapered and Scully was
unable to advance around Mulder. He swerved from side to side, taking up
the entire width of the path, blocking her progress.

"Out of the way, roadhog!" she yelled at him. He twisted to get a view
of her over his shoulder and laughed. Too late, he turned back to see
the prone branch that hung in his path. Although he managed to crouch
low enough to miss the full force of impact, an avalanche of powdery
snow blinded him as he brushed against the bottom side of the evergreen
limb. Instinctively, he loosened his grip on the gas and his sled
slowed. Scully took full advantage of Mulder's misfortune, and pinched
her machine past his.

"Eat my dust, Mulder!" Scully yelled as she left her partner behind to
scoop the snow out of his collar before it melted in chilly rivulets
down his back. Mulder caught up with Scully a few moments later at the
wood's edge where she sat waiting for him by the frozen shore of
Burntland Lake. She grinned at his snow-filled hood and wet parka.

"What's so funny, Scully?"

"You stop to make a snow angel, Mulder?" she snorted.

"We'll see who's making snow angels," he reached out a long arm and
pushed her hard, toppling her off her sled. She shrieked as she fell out
of his view.

"Scully?" Mulder chuckled and was answered only by the chilly wind.
"Scully? You okay?" he asked, concern growing in his tone. He didn't
believe he had shoved her too hard, but a wave of guilt washed over him
when he thought about how much he outweighed her. He rose from his sled
and walked around the nose of her machine. She lay on her back in the
snow, her eyes closed. "Scully?" he knelt beside her and removed a glove
to check her pulse. Scully's eyes popped open and, without warning,
she washed a fistful of snow across his face.

"Damn you, Scully," Mulder laughed as he tried to grab her wrists and
still her hands. She managed to fling another handful of snow at him, a
satisfied chuckle escaping her throat, before he pinned her. "Now what
do you do, Scully?" he gloated.

"Let me up, Mulder."

"Unh, unh."

"Unh, unh?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Nope," he shook his head. "Not until I get an apology." She bit her
lower lip while she coolly scanned his features and considered her
options. She could try to knock him over. She could paste a look of
alarm on her face and yell "Look out behind you!" She could actually
apologize.

"Let me up, pleeease?" she wheedled, stalling.

"That's not an apology, Scully."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mulder," she said flatly.

"I don't feel any sincerity in your apology, Scully." He continued to
hold her. She fixed her blue eyes on him; her face became serious.

"Mulder, I'm truly sorry for pretending to be hurt," she told him
earnestly.

"And?"

"And for throwing snow in your face." He let go of her wrists and leaned
back so she could sit up. "Wuss," he heard her whisper under her breath.
 

"That's it, Scully," he tackled her. She let out a shriek of laughter
as he grabbed her around the waist with one arm and lifted a palm full
of snow to her face with his free hand. She kicked and elbowed him but
was unable to deflect the shower of snow he shoved across her small nose
and smiling lips.

"Alright! Alright!" she spit snow from her mouth. "Truce! Please!" He
immediately let go and rolled onto his back, panting quick, frosty
breaths. She watched with surge of delight as he spread his arms and
legs to press a snow angel into the fluffy powder covering the ground.

__________________________

Martin residence

Burntland Lake, Maine

2:15 PM

Mulder and Scully drove their snowmobiles right up to the Martin's
front door and parked beside the three aging Skidoos already littering
the yard. Roy Martin had heard the buzz of the Arctic Cats and stepped
out onto the stoop to greet the agents. Roy was a big man in his late
thirties with a full, dark beard and thinning hair. Despite the frigid
temperature, he was dressed only in a pair of worn jeans and a thin,
white T-shirt that stretched tightly across his expansive belly. The
man's brawny upper arms were filled with poorly drawn tattoos of
eagles, fish, bear and human skulls. A single red rose was the sole spot
of color amid the blue-black ink that wrapped around his biceps.

"Come on in," Roy soberly invited the agents. Mulder and Scully stomped
the snow from their boots onto the small welcome mat just inside the
Martin's tiny front hall. The house was as hot as an oven; intense
heat rolled off a cast iron woodstove that filled one end of the small
living room. Barb Martin appeared in the kitchen doorway, wiping her
work-chapped hands on a dishtowel.

"Take their coats, Roy. Don't just leave 'em standing there at the
door," the stocky woman urged her husband. "I'm Barb Martin," she
introduced herself, nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her
ear. "This is my husband Roy. And that's our boy David, peerin' out
at you from the livin' room." David smiled shyly from the threshold.

"I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder and this is my partner, Special Agent
Dana Scully," Mulder informed the Martins as he pulled off his
snowmobile helmet and unzipped his jacket. Barb Martin gaped as Scully
removed her helmet and her glossy red hair tumbled out.

"Oh! When the ranger said two FBI agents were comin', I just
assumed?well?that you were both men!" Barb stammered, a worried look
crossing her wide features as she stared directly at Scully. "I hope the
cabin's gonna be comfortable enough for you," her voice was full of
concern.

"It will be fine, Mrs. Martin," Scully assured the flustered woman. "We
appreciate the last minute accommodation." Barb Martin remained
unconvinced, her expression uncertain.

"May we ask you some questions, Mr. Martin, before we head over to the
cabin?" Mulder asked.

"Of course. Come on into the kitchen. Have a cup of hot coffee," the big
man offered, relieving the agents of their coats and helmets. Mulder and
Scully followed Barb into the cluttered kitchen where the delicious
aroma of fresh biscuits, baked beans, pork roast and rich coffee filled
the modest room.

"Take a seat," Barb gestured toward the mismatched chairs crowded around
the old Formica table. She reached into an upper cupboard, removed four
assorted mugs and filled the cups from the steaming coffeepot.

"Milk and sugar?"

"Milk, please," Scully smiled as Barb set the mugs in front of the
agents.

"You, too, Agent Mulder?"

"Black is fine." Mulder lifted the hot mug to his lips and took a
satisfied taste. Roy hooked his own mug off the counter and joined the
agents at the table.

"What can I tell you?" Roy asked, focusing on Mulder.

"Can you describe for us where you found the body of Edward Earley?"

"Sure. David an' I were ice fishin' in Little Bear Cove, 'bout a
mile east of here. We was about to set our last trap when the ice auger
bound up an' stalled. Guess I drilled right smack into Ed," Roy
swallowed hard, remembering how the bloodied fabric of Ed Earley's
clothing wound around the blade of his auger.

"What was the condition of the body?"

"Ed was froze solid, lyin' on his back, lookin' straight up, his
eyes and mouth wide open. He was completely encased in the ice.
Nothin' was stickin' out -- not a finger, not his nose, not even the
toes of his boots."

"How did you get the body out of the lake?"

"I dropped David back home, an' called Scott?er, Ranger Belyea?to
come out an' take a look. He got here around two and together we cut
Ed out with chain saws. Scott had the body transported to Greenville."

"Was an autopsy done?" Scully asked.

"Not yet, as far as I know, ma'am."

"Did you notice any wounds on the body, Mr. Martin?"

"There was nothin' I could see, an' I did look. But it was kinda
hard to get a decent view through the ice. Course, I did drill a big
hole right into Ed with the auger. It's got an eight-inch blade,
and?well?" Roy's voice trailed off.

"Mr. Martin, do you have any idea how Ed Earley might have come to be
frozen in the lake ice?" Mulder asked the bigger man.

"I dunno, Agent Mulder. It's the strangest thing," Roy shook his head
in wonderment. "The lake has been froze solid for nearly two months,
'cept for the inlet which stays open all year. That's located down
at the north end, more than four miles from Little Bear Cove. The ice in
the cove is almost two feet thick. I can't begin to explain how a
person could get inside the ice the way Ed was. Even if he had broke
through somehow, I'd expect he'd be trapped under the ice, not in
it. It just don't make no sense." Roy was quiet for a moment, a grim
look of confusion furrowing his brow. "Sorry. It just don't make no
sense," he repeated, at a loss for a reasonable explanation.

"Mr. Martin, have you heard the suggestion that witchcraft was involved
in either Ed Earley's or Harvey Chubb's deaths?" Mulder asked
earnestly. Roy nodded, his expression equally serious.

"Yeah, some of the neighbors are sayin' exactly that. Frank Chubb,
Harvey Chubb's nephew, believes Henrietta Coombs is practicin' black
magic, castin' spells an' such. They're sayin' that she murdered
Ed and Harvey."

"Why would Henrietta Coombs want to kill either man?"

Roy shrugged. "You'd have to ask her. Personally, I don't believe
it."

Scully noticed Barb nervously twisting her hands as she stood ramrod
straight by the sink. "What about you, Mrs. Martin? What do you
believe?" Scully asked.

"Oh, well, I don't know. Henrietta is a bit odd. An' she's had
some trouble with the Chubbs."

"What kind of trouble?"

"Not too long ago she fired a shot at Frank and Harvey with a huntin'
rifle."

"They were trespassin' on her property, an' they've been
harrassin' her ever since," Roy growled angrily. Barb pressed her lips
together and said nothing further. Scully exchanged glances with Mulder.

"Thank you for the information, Mr. Martin, and the coffee, Mrs.
Martin," Scully smiled gently and pushed her chair back from the table.
"Agent Mulder and I will be heading over to the cabin now. We'd like
to get settled before dark."

"Of course," Barb looked relieved. "Let me dish up some supper for you
to take with you. I doubt you'll feel much like cookin' after
travelin' all day!" Barb bustled about the kitchen filling containers
with beans, pork and biscuits while Roy retrieved the agents' coats.
At the front door, Barb handed Scully a bulging canvas tote, warm with
the food, and Roy shook Mulder's hand again.

"If you need anything, let us know," Roy offered. "You'll find the
cabin a half mile up the lake on this side. Woodstove's goin' an'
Barb's got you all set up with beddin' an' groceries."

"Thank you both," Scully reiterated before she pulled her helmet over
her head. Young David joined his parents on the front step to watch the
agents mount their sleds. He waved a small hand as Mulder and Scully
steered their snowmobiles out of the yard and up the lake.

__________________________

Martin cabin

Burntland Lake, Maine

3:25 PM

The heavy overcast concealed the setting sun, effecting a false, early
dusk as Scully and Mulder arrived at the cabin and unloaded their gear
from the sleds in the dim, late afternoon light. Mulder unlatched the
tiny cottage's front door and allowed Scully to walk through. It was
pleasantly warm inside; a barrel-shaped woodstove radiated heat from the
center of the cabin's single room. Scully scanned the small space.

"Mul..." Scully spun around, facing her partner. Her mouth remained open
but no words followed the one shocked syllable. Her pleading blue eyes
rose to meet his.

"Home, sweet home, Scully. Nice, isn't it?" Mulder smiled hopefully.
He set down his bag and delicately tugged hers from her clenched hands.

"Mul?"

"You're repeating yourself, Scully. Come in. Relax," he urged, setting
her bag beside his, he took her shoulders in both his hands and gently
turned her around to face the room once more. "Let me help you with your
coat."

"No, Mulder!" she finally found her voice and shrugged off his hands.
"This is only one room!" Aghast, she looked to her right. "There's no
sink in the kitchen. Hell, there's hardly a kitchen at all." It was
true. A set of cabinets with a meager counter lined the short wall and a
tiny gas-powered refrigerator was tucked beside the cupboards. An enamel
basin sat centered on the countertop in front of a row of gallon-sized,
plastic jugs containing fresh drinking water. A little round table and
two folding chairs filled the front corner. Scully swiveled to stare at
the opposite side of the room.

"There's only one bed!" her stunned voice rose in pitch as her gaze
settled on the full-sized bed pushed to the far wall, made up in a
colorful quilt. The only other furniture in the room consisted of two
wooden rocking chairs facing the woodstove, and a small low table
between them, graced by a kerosene lamp.

"Where's the bathroom?" she asked, alarmed. "Mulder, there's no
bathroom!" she keened.

"Uh?actually there is. It's?uh?out back."

"Out back?!" incredulous, she twisted to face him again. He chanced a
small smile and nodded. She threw up her hands. "I don't believe this!
Actually, I do believe this, Mulder. This?this?" she sputtered,
"this is so typical." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Tell me Mulder, why
is it we never investigate a case in?in Hawaii, or?or?or the
Virgin Islands? Why does every X-File occur in some remote,
God-forsaken, cold, wet corner of the country, where we end up rushing
in, ill-prepared and doomed to?to?to endless days and nights of
incommodious discomfort and annoying inconvenience?"

"Incommodious, Scully?" Mulder blurted.

"It means 'cramped,' Mulder."

"I know what it me?" He bit his lip and looked contrite. "Scully," he
said carefully, "I can't promise our next case will be in
a?capacious?tropical paradise, but I do promise to treat you to a
fancy fruit drink with one of those little paper umbrellas when we get
back to Washington." He presented his best puppy-dog face. "Please
don't be mad."

"Jesus, Mulder," Scully heaved a loud sigh. She plucked a match from the
tin by the stove and lit the kerosene lamp, adjusting the wick until the
room was suffused with a soft, warm light. She set their dinner, still
packaged in its canvas tote, on the kitchen table and shook off her
coat, placing it over the back of a chair. She looked across the
confined room at her partner, who continued to stand by the front door,
his hazel eyes leveled apologetically on her.

"You want to eat before it gets cold, Mulder?" she asked, her anger
diminishing. He let out a long breath, relaxed his shoulders and nodded.
Scully unpacked the tote, spread the containers across the table and
lifted their covers. The agents hadn't eaten since breakfast and the
smell of the food made their mouths water. Mulder stripped off his coat
and tossed it into the nearest rocker. He opened the refrigerator and
withdrew a stick of butter, a jar of pickles and a jug of water. Scully
located silverware and a stack of paper plates in one of the cupboards.
She grabbed a couple of forks, knives, and plates, and set everything
haphazardly on the table next to the food. Scooping a greedy helping of
baked beans onto her plate, Scully pushed the container toward Mulder
who traded it for the remainder of the roast pork. Reaching for the
biscuits simultaneously, they bumped knuckles. Mulder withdrew his hand
and gestured to Scully to go first. She took two, stuffing one in her
mouth immediately.

"S'good," she mumbled, slathering butter on her second biscuit.
Swallowing, she added, "I didn't realize I was so hungry." They ate
without speaking for several minutes, concentrating on nothing but
filling their empty bellies. Mulder uncapped the water jug and lifted it
to his mouth, but before he could take a long draft, Scully howled
"Cups!" He rose to search the cupboards and returned with two plastic
tumblers. He filled both and slid one over to Scully. "Thanks," she
washed down a large mouthful of tender pork. "So Mulder, how do you
think the bodies of Ed Earley and Harvey Chubb came to be immured in the
lake ice?"

"I dunno, Scully. It's strange, isn't it?"

Scully paused to stare at him, her fork poised at her lips. "No
outlandish theory based on an unlikely paranormal legend, Mulder? No
improbable speculation, conjecture or assumption drawn from nothing more
than mere wishful thinking?"

"You aren't making fun of me, are you, Dr. Dana Katherine
'Prove-It-to-Me-with-Hard-Scientific-Evidence' Scully?"

"Cause and effect, Mulder. Everything can be explained logically once
the facts are uncovered."

He rolled his eyes. "How can you say that, Scully, after all we've
seen?" For six years the two agents had chased mutant creatures,
phantoms and even aliens from other planets. Yet, despite bearing
personal witness to numerous inexplicable events, Scully held firm to
her belief that science could uncover any mystery. Mulder, her opposite
in many if not most ways, held equally firm to his own conviction that
truth could be found in the unexplainable.

"I thought you'd jump on that witch story, Mulder."

"I haven't ruled it out. But I want to know more before I make up my
mind. How about you, Scully? Got any scientific rational?"

"It's possible the lake's ice shifted, opening up along stress
fractures, and the men fell in," she licked butter from the tips of her
fingers.

"And the lake froze solid around them in less than one hour?" Mulder
asked doubtfully. "Scully, ice on large freshwater lakes grows at a rate
of only a few thousandths of an inch per inch of existing ice per degree
Fahrenheit."

"Do we know how cold it was on the days the men died?"

"Yeah. Hold on a minute." Mulder crossed the room, unzipped his duffel
bag and, after briefly rummaging through its contents, withdrew a folder
boldly marked with an "X" on the tab. Flipping open the file, he quickly
located the Maine weather information he had downloaded and printed from
the Internet before leaving their Washington office. He passed the page
to Scully without reviewing it. "It was eighteen degrees above zero on
the day and at the time Harvey Chubb died. No wind. And?" he paused to
remember, "it was twenty-one degrees above zero, with winds at fifteen
to twenty knots, on the day and at the time Ed Earley died." There were
times, like now, when Mulder's photographic memory really annoyed
Scully; she envied his ability to retain and recite detailed trivia with
so little effort. Scully double-checked his figures and saw that he was,
of course, correct. "I'm not too good at arithmetic, Scully, but those
numbers in that time frame don't add up to a couple of frozen-stiff
stiffs. Tell me, how long does it take a body to drop from ninety-eight
point six degrees to thirty-two?"

"Because of the salt content in body fluids, human tissue can only
freeze if the temperature is below twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit.
Which it was," she waved the sheet of weather data. "Water conducts heat
away from the body even more rapidly than air because of its greater
density. However, it would take longer than one hour to freeze solid
much more than the distal areas of the body that have high surface to
volume ratios," she conceded.

"Meaning??"

"Ears, nose, fingers, toes, uppermost layers of the epidermis. I wish I
could have examined the bodies to determine if the men were still alive
or already dead when they fell into the lake. In a living person, when a
hand or foot is cooled to fifty-nine degrees Fahrenheit, maximal
vasoconstriction and minimal blood flow occur. If cooling continues to
fifty degrees, vasoconstriction is interrupted by periods of
vasodilation, with an increase in blood and heat flow. This response
recurs in five to ten minute cycles, providing some protection from cold
and delaying deep tissue freezing."

"So it would take substantially longer to freeze a living body than a
dead one?"

"Yes. Specific pathophysiology would be evident if the victims were
frozen while still alive. As tissue begins to freeze, ice crystals form
within the cells. Intracellular fluids freeze, and extracellular fluids
enter the cells, increasing the levels of extracellular salts during the
water transfer. Cells usually rupture due to the increased water, or
from tearing by the ice crystals. Blisters form when cells rupture and
release cellular fluid."

"Frostbite."

"Exactly. If cold temperatures remain constant or worsen, deep freezing
continues to the muscle and bone."

"There's no need to speculate, Scully. Call the Greenville Hospital
and ask them to fax the autopsy results to Ranger Belyea at Daaquam. We
can connect with him either by phone or in person," Mulder suggested.
"As a matter of fact, why don't you place the call while I take care
of the dishes?"

Pleasantly surprised by his offer, Scully went to search her bag for her
cell phone. Mulder picked up the paper plates and tossed them into the
woodstove. He stoked the fire with a couple of hefty logs from the
nearby pile before filling the large cast iron teakettle with water and
setting it on the stovetop to heat. Scully was just hanging up from her
call as Mulder gathered and placed all the dirty dishes in the basin on
the counter. He squirted them with liquid dish detergent.

"The medical examiner is performing the autopsy on Ed Earley tomorrow
morning. As soon as his report is ready, he'll fax it, along with his
report on Harvey Chubb, to Daaquam. I left a message for Ranger Belyea,
letting him know the reports are coming. So what do we do now, Mulder?"
she asked.

"The night is young, Scully," he grinned roguishly and waggled his
eyebrows at her.

__________________________

Martin cabin

Burntland Lake, Maine

10:45 PM

"Just once more, Mulder, please?" Scully enticed, a smile of
satisfaction playing on her lips.

"No, Scully, I'm too tired," he yawned sleepily. "You've already
beaten me fifty-seven games in a row; skunked me six times. No more
cribbage!"

"I'll let you win this one."

"No you won't."

"Pleeease?"

"Hasn't the joy of beating me waned a bit by now? I'm going to bed,"
he stretched his arms wide, cracking a bone or two in his spine.
Standing, he tugged his sweater up over his head and deposited it,
inside out, on top of his coat in the nearby rocker. He had removed his
boots hours ago, tossing them next to Scully's by the door. Not the
least self-conscious, Mulder now stripped off his socks, dropped his
pants and stood before Scully in nothing but his white thermal
underwear.

"You coming to bed?" he asked her tiredly.

"Yeah. It's just?" she glanced dubiously at the door, "I have to use
the outhouse." His lips formed a silent "O." She rose reluctantly to don
her coat and slip into her boots. She shot him a wilting glare before
grabbing her flashlight from her duffel and exiting the cabin.

Outside, the wind howled. Scully pulled her jacket tightly across her
chest. The Martin's had thoughtfully shoveled a path around the
cottage and out to the privy. She followed it, hastening her stride, and
found the outhouse approximately twenty yards behind the cabin. She
carefully opened the door and pointed the beam of her flashlight inside.
Predictably, empty spider webs stretched thickly across the ceiling and
mouse droppings littered the unpainted pine floor. She stepped in,
allowing the door to slap shut behind her. She was pleased to see a
fresh roll of toilet paper hung on the dispenser, at least. Her gaze
shifted to a pile of worn Playboy magazines, all dated from the early
eighties, stacked beside the toilet seat. Scully rolled her eyes. Afraid
she might accidentally knock her flashlight down the latrine, she set it
on the floor beside her feet. She lifted the lid and quickly unbuttoned
her pants. "Jesus," she blurted aloud as her bare bottom made contact
with the frosty seat. She rushed to finish her business and cover her
exposed skin once again with the insulating warmth of her long johns.
Retrieving the flashlight, she hurried back to the comfort of the
cabin's woodstove.

Mulder was already in bed when Scully returned.

"Don't you have to go?" she asked, hanging up her coat and toeing off
her boots.

"No," he answered too quickly.

"You went off the porch, didn't you, Mulder?"

"Uh?yeah," he replied sheepishly. "So, how was the room without a
view?"

"Just peachy." The static electricity she created by pulling her sweater
over her head caused her hair to stand on end. Uselessly, she tried to
shake the red strands back in place. She unfastened her pants and slid
them off her legs. Mulder watched openly as she undressed. Like Mulder,
she wore a set of long thermal underwear. She wanted to remove her bra
before getting into bed, but seeing that he was observing her, she felt
unexpectedly shy. He's seen me naked, she chided herself, recalling
the decontamination shower they'd shared only a few months ago.

"Mulder, do you mind?" she complained.

"Sorry," he mumbled and turned in the bed to face the wall. She quickly
withdrew her arms from her sleeves, unhooked and removed her bra and
slid her arms back into her shirt. She folded her bra into her duffel
and blew out the kerosene lamp before slipping into bed next to Mulder.
The bed was too narrow and too soft to avoid contact with each other.
Mulder's weight compressed the mattress, causing Scully to roll toward
him. She didn't mind; his warmth was welcome after the chill of the
outhouse. She settled comfortably against his back and pulled the quilt
high up over her nose.

"Good night, Mulder."

"G'night, Scully," he murmured sleepily.

__________________________

Martin cabin

Burntland Lake, Maine

4:25 AM

Scully awoke with Mulder's chest pressed snugly against her back, his
knees tucked behind hers and his arm wrapped loosely around her waist.
His face was buried in her hair; his quiet, even breathing tickled a
free strand of red across her temple. It was cool in the room; the fire
had burned low hours earlier. And it was still dark. Scully burrowed
more deeply under the blankets causing Mulder to stir in his sleep.
Reflexively, he drew her more tightly to him.

"Mmm," his audible sigh reverberated across her ear. His palm slid up
her rib cage. Scully knew she should pull away; the pleasantly heavy
sensation of desire building in her abdomen was followed by an abrupt
surge of doubt and inexplicable guilt. When his thumb brushed the
underside of her breast, she twisted her head to look over her shoulder
at him. His eyes opened. In the dim light, or as a physical reaction to
her proximity, the black of his pupils grew large, thinning his green
irises to no more than lines. She stared at him. A part of her wished he
would kiss her. As if reading her mind, he brought his palm to her cheek
and, light as a feather, he brushed his thumb across her lower lip. At
his touch, her entire body flushed with a heat so intense and
unexpected, it caused her to gasp. She rolled away from him and slipped
out from under the covers. She crossed the cold room to the woodstove,
the floor chilling her feet. Loading wood into the stove, she took
several deep breaths in an effort to steady her nerves and slow her
racing heart.

"Mulder?"

"I'm sorry, Scully," he sounded forlorn and extracted in the dark.
"Come back to bed before you freeze. I won't touch you again." She
remained where she was, hugging her arms to her chest, her back to him.
"Please, Scully. I am sorry."

"It's okay, Mulder. I didn't mind. Really. I?I think I wanted you
to?" her voice was faint and unsteady. She didn't trust herself to
continue, her feelings of doubt returning. She felt certain she
shouldn't encourage this change in their relationship. The two agents
had a perfect partnership based on trust, respect and mutual support.
They risked their lives time and again for one another. They knew each
other so well, they could often communicate without speaking, relying on
no more than a glance to convey their thoughts. After six years of
working together, Scully knew she cared deeply for Mulder, loved him
even, but believed she wasn't in love with him. Her body's reaction
to his advance confused her; it was obvious that at least on a physical
level, she wanted him.

Scully was surprised to feel Mulder standing behind her, his hands on
her shoulders. He bent his head, briefly scraping the rough stubble of
his jaw along her smooth cheek.

"What did you want, Scully?" his urgent whisper rushed past her ear
causing her to shiver. "Tell me," he softly insisted. She turned to face
him and was nearly overcome when she saw her own desire mirrored in her
partner's eyes.

"Nothing, Mulder. I?nothing." His desire transposed to disappointment.
Chagrined, he guided her back to the bed and lifted a corner of the
blankets, encouraging her to crawl under. She sighed and slid in between
the sheets. The bedding was still warm where he had left it only a
moment ago. He lay down on his back beside her, lacing his fingers
together across his chest, careful not to crowd her.

"Mulder, I?"

"It's okay, Scully. Go back to sleep."

__________________________

Martin cabin

Burntland Lake, Maine

7:17 AM

The next time Scully awoke, Mulder was in the kitchen making coffee. He
was already dressed and had even managed to shave. She watched him pour
hot water over the ground coffee and through the filter; she waited for
him to set the kettle down before she spoke.

"About this morning, Mulder?"

"Forget it, Scully," he said amiably. He crossed the room and handed her
a steaming mug. "The weather's gotten worse. If the thermometer
outside the front window is correct, it's a balmy five degrees below
zero. A couple of inches of fresh snow fell last night, too." He sunk
into one of the rockers and lifted his own mug to his lips.

"That'll make this morning's trip to the outhouse an adventure," she
said dryly. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"I thought we'd pay Frank Chubb a visit. And Henrietta Coombs. See if
there's anything to this witch theory we've been hearing about."

"Sounds good. I'll be right back." While Scully trekked to the
latrine, Mulder started breakfast. The small refrigerator was well
stocked, thanks to Mrs. Martin. Mulder pulled a few items from the
shelves and by the time Scully returned, the room was filled with the
aroma of bacon and eggs frying in a large skillet on top of the
woodstove.

"It's really cold out there, Mulder," she informed him as she poured
hot water into the basin on the counter. Mulder was considerate enough
to turn away while she stripped off her thermal undershirt and plunged
her numbed hands into the bowl. She soaped her face, neck and chest,
wishing the cabin was equipped with hot running water and a shower. As
she scrubbed her arms, she imagined herself standing beneath a steaming
spray, rinsing her hair and enjoying the heat beating into her back.
Mulder tossed her a towel and she roughly dried her skin. She didn't
feel any cleaner. Digging through her duffel, she pulled out fresh
underclothes and quickly dressed.

"Bulk up, Scully," Mulder advised as he placed a plate of eggs, bacon
and last night's leftover biscuits in front of her. "We're gonna to
need the calories."

"Do you have an address for Frank Chubb?" she asked, looking dubiously
at her greasy breakfast.

"As a matter of fact, I do. Well, an approximate location, anyway."

"Is it far?"

"Nope. Other side of the lake," he managed between bites. "It won't
take us long to get there on the sleds."

"We'll need something more than the helmets to protect our faces.
I'm worried about frostbite."

"Thanks to 'Mother Hen' Belyea, we have knit face masks. He packed
them in the sled's storage compartments with the other safety gear."

Scully nodded, satisfied. "Be sure to drink that orange juice, Mulder,"
she pointed to his untouched glass. "A decrease in fluid level makes the
body more susceptible to hypothermia and other cold injuries."

"Thank you, Doctor," Mulder downed his juice. "Or should I start calling
you 'Mother Hen'?"

"Don't you dare."

__________________________

Frank Chubb residence

Burntland Lake, Maine

9:47 AM

Mulder removed his glove and rapped loudly on the storm door's metal
frame. The extreme cold stung the back of his hand and he had to squint
to protect his eyes from the blowing snow. It had been a chilly but
short trip on the snowmobiles to the Chubb's residence. The small
home, tipped and sagging on a barren point of land, had been easy to
spot, even from halfway across the lake.

"Mr. Frank Chubb?" Mulder yelled over the blasting wind. "Federal
agents."

A stocky man dressed in a filthy coverall yanked open the inner door and
scowled suspiciously out through the glass of the rusted and bent storm
door.

"Whaddaya want?" the man sneered.

"Are you Frank Chubb?" Mulder asked curtly.

"What if I am?"

"I'm Special Agent Mulder. This is my partner, Special Agent Scully.
We're from the Federal Bureau of Investigation and we'd like to ask
you a few questions." Mulder held up his badge.

"About what?"

"About the death of Harvey Chubb. May we come in, sir?" Reluctantly,
Frank Chubb unlatched the door and stood back so the agents could let
themselves in.

"Whaddaya wanna know?" Frank rubbed an impatient hand across the dark
stubble of his unshaved chin. Not moving from the front hall, he pulled
a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, selected one and stuck it
between his lips before tucking the pack away.

"May we sit down, Mr. Chubb?"

"I ain't got all day to yack. Ask your questions and get outta here."
He lit his cigarette and sucked the harsh smoke into his lungs. Although
he remained silent, Frank's eyes widened with apparent disgust when
Scully removed her helmet and facemask, revealing her gender.

"I'd like you to describe, to the best of your knowledge, what
happened on the day Harvey Chubb died," Mulder urged.

"Jesus Christ," the man sighed peevishly. "My boy Jesse was fishin'
with Harv. The boy came home for lunch. When he went back out on the
lake, he found Harv dead, face down an' froze solid in the ice. End of
story. We done here?"

"No, sir. May we speak with your son, sir?"

"Not a fuckin' chance. You got questions, you ask me."

"Alright. How long was your son at lunch?"

"'Bout an hour."

"What did he do when he found the body?"

"He came back home, then dragged me out on the lake to have a look."

"What did you see, Mr. Chubb?" Scully spoke for the first time since
they'd arrived. Frank glowered at her before turning back to face
Mulder, deliberately disregarding Scully's question.

"What did you see?" Mulder repeated with irritation.

Frank casually exhaled a cloud of bitter smoke through his nose. "I saw
a dead man froze in the ice."

"Do you have any idea how he came to be frozen in the ice?"

"I got my suspicions."

"Meaning??"

"Meaning," Frank spat, "Harv was killed by that old witch, Henrietta
Coombs." A movement at the end of the hall caught Frank's eye. "I told
you to stay put in the kitchen, goddammit!" he growled at the skinny,
care-worn woman who meekly peered out at them from the threshold. A
healing black eye and a freshly split lip marked the woman's
frightened face. "Get!" Frank shouted at her, causing her to flinch and
back away. Now it was Scully's turn to glare at Frank. She briefly
touched Mulder's arm as she passed him on her way down the hall.
Entering the dingy kitchen, Scully could hear Frank railing to Mulder,
"Damn women. Never do what they're told. Ain't that right? Gotta put
'em in their place every now and again. Bet you know just what I'm
talkin' about."

The thin woman stood at the sink, her back to the room. At the kitchen
table, a worried looking boy of about fifteen sat quietly chewing his
lower lip and hypnotically rolling a baseball across the tabletop
between his palms. He gaped at Scully when she entered.

"Are you all right?" Scully approached the woman.

"I'm okay," the woman responded with a nod, her voice no more than a
whisper.

"What's your name?" Scully asked gently.

"Vonda."

"Vonda, my name is Dana. May I look at your injury? I'm a doctor,"
Scully offered. Reluctantly the woman turned around, keeping her head
lowered and her eyes focused on the floor. Scully reached for the
woman's face, but her movement startled Vonda, causing her to
instinctively jerk away.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help," Scully soothed. "Why
don't you sit down by the table where the light's better. I'll get
you cleaned up." Accustomed to taking orders, Vonda did as she was
directed. "I need to get my medical kit from outside," Scully told her.
Worried that the fearful woman would bolt the minute she was left alone,
Scully turned to the boy to enlist his help. "Are you Jesse?" she asked
him. He stopped rolling the ball for a moment and nodded. "Jesse, it's
very important that we take care of your mother. Will you sit here with
her until I return?"

"Yeah. Okay," he agreed softly.

"I'll be right back," she assured them both. Scully walked straight
through the house and out the front door, ignoring Frank and Mulder. She
hastily removed her first aid kit from her snowmobile's storage
compartment. When she reentered the house, Frank stepped forward to
block her return to the kitchen.

"We don't need your help," he told her, his tone nasty.

"I'm going to treat your wife's injuries," she said firmly.

"You ain't goin' nowhere, missy, unless I say so."

Mulder moved closer. "Yes, she is," he insisted in a low voice, his
posture suggesting there would be no argument. Scully brushed past. In
the kitchen, she set her kit on the table. She quickly sorted through it
for the items she would need to clean and stitch Vonda's bleeding lip.
The woman sat stoically silent as Scully threaded several stitches
through her swollen flesh.

"How's your vision in that eye?" Scully inspected the fading
yellow-purple bruises marking the left side of Vonda's face.

"S'okay. Really. Thanks." Scully turned her attention to the boy,
cursorily inspecting him for obvious injuries. "Frank don't ever lay a
hand on Jess," Vonda rushed to say.

"Vonda, are you going to be alright when Agent Mulder and I leave?"

"Yeah, sure," she sounded unconvincing.

Scully faced the boy. "Jesse, Agent Mulder and I are staying at Roy
Martin's cabin, if you need to get in touch with us for any reason.
Any reason." She emphasized. "Okay?"

"Uh huh. Um?thanks?for fixin' my mom's lip."

"Sure," Scully offered him a small smile. She repacked her kit. Just as
she finished, Mulder stuck his head into the kitchen.

"You ready to go?" he asked.

"Yes. I'm done here." He placed his palm at the small of her back and
trailed her down the narrow hall and out of the house.

__________________________

Burntland Lake, Maine

10:52 AM

Scully threw her medical kit into the storage compartment of her
snowmobile and mounted the sled.

"Which way, Mulder?" she asked angrily.

"North," he motioned with a tilt of his head. Scully gunned her
snowmobile, quickly pulling away from Mulder. "God damn it," he cursed
under his breath. He rushed to straddle his own machine and follow her.
Her engine at full throttle, Scully charged down the lake, smashing
through snowdrifts and skidding wildly across bare patches of ice. She
gripped the gas, relentlessly trying to squeeze more speed from the
sled's motor in order to put as much distance as possible between
herself and the Chubb residence. She plowed her way up a small
embankment and became airborne on the other side. When she landed,
hitting the ice hard and nearly losing control of the Arctic Cat,
Mulder's concern for her state of mind grew to a fear for her physical
safety. He increased his speed in an effort to catch up with her and
convince her to slow down before she killed herself. Incrementally, he
closed the distance between them. When Scully momentarily slowed,
bogging in some deep snow, he was at last able to pull along side of her
and they hurtled in tandem toward the north shore.

"Scully! Stop!" he shouted, trying to be heard above the buzzing
engines. "Stop! Scully, stop now!" Reluctantly, she released her hold on
the gas and her machine lost speed. He overshot her and had to circle
back, finally coming to a halt beside her parked machine. She was off
her sled and marching away from him, her hands balled into tight fists.
She yanked off her helmet and flung it away from her. He shut down his
engine and stood, waiting for her to return to him.

"That bastard!" she yelled, and spun to face Mulder at a distance of
about twenty yards. When he didn't reply, she crossed her arms in
frustration and abruptly turned her back to him. She shut her eyes and
fought to control her fury. The unfair predicament of Vonda Chubb and
Scully's own inability to ameliorate the poor woman's situation
overwhelmed her with outrage. Tears stung her eyes, but she held them at
bay, refusing to weep. "He beats her, Mulder. He beats her?" Scully
twisted to look over her shoulder at the tall, dark man who stood
patiently beside the snowmobiles, his sympathetic green eyes leveled on
her. Scully inhaled and tipped her face to the sky. She let the grating
wind blow across her flushed skin, cooling her feelings of resentment
and failure. She walked back to Mulder, bending to retrieve her helmet
on the way. "Mulder, she had old bruises on her wrists. She had scars on
her face, neck, and arms?some looked like they were from cigarette
burns."

"What about the boy?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I didn't see any signs of physical abuse."

"Did you ask him about finding Harvey Chubb's dead body?" Scully's
expression registered incredulous shock at Mulder's question.

"No, I didn't ask him about finding the body. That boy is living in a
nightmare, Mulder. His father beats and tortures his mother on a regular
basis and he's powerless to stop it."

"So are you, Scully." The truth of his words swept her with anguish.

"I want to help her."

"You did help her."

"Only for the short term," she glanced back in the direction of the
Chubb's house. "He could be hurting her right now."

"Scully, what do you really think you can do for Vonda Chubb? Do you
believe you can convince her to leave her husband?" She looked sadly up
at her partner and shook her head. Mulder opened his mouth to say more,
but was interrupted by a series of dull thuds reporting loudly against
the underside of the ice sheet. The noises were followed by a tremendous
groan. They listened in stunned silence as the ice cracked and popped
beneath their feet.

"Jesus," Scully's heart hammered in her chest.

"Come on, Scully. I think it's time to get moving."

__________________________

Henrietta Coombs' residence

Burntland Lake, Maine

11:34 AM

Hidden beneath the cover of leaning cedars, Henrietta Coombs' miserly,
one-story cabin appeared abandoned. The windows were pitch dark and deep
snow lay untouched along the entry path. The only indication that anyone
lived in the tiny house was a smudge of woodsmoke drifting out of the
metal chimney pipe above the bowed slope of roof.

Mulder and Scully slogged through knee-deep snow to Henrietta's front
step. Clouds of vapor billowed from their mouths with each frosty
breath. Stuffing his gloves in his pockets, Mulder rapped firmly on the
small weathered door; the muted sound of his knock was absorbed
instantly into the snowy evergreen branches all around them.

"Maybe she's not home," Scully suggested. Before Mulder could reply,
someone inside shuffled toward the door.

"Who is it?" a reedy voice demanded from the other side.

"Special Agents Mulder and Scully from the FBI, ma'am. We'd like to
speak with Mrs. Henrietta Coombs, please." The door jerked inward.

"It ain't missus," Henrietta spat sourly. It was difficult not to
stare at the old woman. She was small, only slightly over four feet
tall, with sparse white hair drifting in hazy tufts around her pink
head. Most of her front teeth were black or missing from her tightly
puckered mouth. But her most remarkable feature was a wide burn scar
encompassing her left eye, cheek and most of her neck, giving half of
her face the appearance of melted wax. "Well?" the woman piped.
"Whaddaya want?"

"We'd like to ask you some questions, Miss Coombs, about the deaths of
Edward Earley and Harvey Chubb."

"Don't know nothin' about them two," Henrietta asserted and started
to close the door. Mulder placed a palm against it, preventing her from
shutting them out. With his other hand, he reached into his coat,
withdrew his badge and displayed it plainly. The old woman leaned
forward and, squinting, carefully reviewed the agent's identification.

"Your name really Fox?" she cackled, mysteriously pleased by his
uncommon name.

"Yes," he looked impatient and slightly embarrassed. "May we come in?"

"Appears I got no choice." The old woman faded into the blackness of the
cabin's interior, allowing the two agents to follow after her. Inside,
the light was so low, Scully found it necessary to pause for a moment at
the threshold to accustom her vision to the dimness. "Come on,"
Henrietta urged, her thin voice bobbering from a distant back room.
Scully trailed Mulder as he ducked his way through the confined space.
They found Henrietta in the kitchen, touching a lit match to the wick of
a kerosene lamp. "Might as well have a seat," the old woman indicated
the chairs circling the table. She set the lamp down between them.
It's yellow light cast an uneven glow across the tabletop and onto
their faces. "You got an interestin' first name, too?" Henrietta
leveled her pale eyes on Scully.

"Dana. My name is Dana."

"Humph. Not so interestin'." Henrietta reached out a shaky hand and
grasped a lock of Scully's bright hair between her bent and swollen
fingers. The old woman's scarred flesh crinkled more deeply around her
toothless grin. "Hair makes up for it though." She reluctantly released
Scully's hair. "Go ahead an' ask your questions, Agent Fox Mulder,"
she emphasized his first name.

"Did you fire a rifle at Frank and Harvey Chubb several weeks ago?"

"I did. Thought about actually hittin' 'em, too."

"Why would that be?"

"They was tryin' to steal my firewood. So I chased 'em off. Them
bastards have been at me ever since. Trespassin' on my land,
stealin' things from my shed. They killed my cat, goddamn 'em," her
bitter voice turned watery with remembered grief. "Tossed the dead cat
into my woodshed after they done it. They come by regular to laugh an'
taunt me about it, but now they stay outta range of my rifle."

"They're claiming you're a witch," Mulder told her outright. "Are
you?" he asked bluntly. Scully was more than a little shocked at his
lack of subtlety.

"You're mighty straightforward for a fox," Henrietta unexpectedly
smiled. "You believe in witches, do ya?"

"Yes. I do."

"How 'bout you?" the old woman turned her gaze to Scully. "You believe
in witches, evil spells, black magic an' such?"

"No, Miss Coombs, I don't."

Henrietta laughed. She eyeballed Mulder intently. "Maybe you're a
crafty fox after all! Tell me, Fox Mulder, how'd you trick this young
woman into followin' you 'round, chasin' after things you believe
in, but she don't?" Mulder shifted uneasily in his chair. This was a
question he had asked himself on more than one occasion. His obvious
discomfort caused the old woman to laugh again. "Maybe it's you
that's castin' spells, Agent Mulder," she suggested. Mulder cleared
his throat.

"Miss Coombs, did you know Ed Earley?"

"Course. I've lived on Burntland Lake for more than seventy years.
Guess I know everybody that lives here."

"How did you and Mr. Earley get along?"

"If what you're really askin' is would I kill Ed or want him dead
for some reason, the answer is no."

"You've never had any run-ins with any of the Earleys?"

"I didn't say that. In seventy years, you're bound to offend a
person or two in some foolish little way."

"Such as?"

"Such as turnin' up my nose at Ed Earley's great, great aunt's
rhubarb pie or missin' third-cousin so-an'-so's funeral service
over in Greenville. Nothin' serious. Nothin' to kill over."

"What exactly would you consider serious enough to kill for?"

"Agent Mulder," the old woman's thin voice became solid and resolute.
"When I was four years old, I saw my mamma kill my daddy with a kitchen
knife. She stabbed him in the neck for tossin' a pot of boilin'
water in my face. I've lived eighty-two years with the scars he left
on my face. But they ain't half as hurtful as the scars she left
inside my soul when she decided to murder him. There ain't much I
consider serious enough to kill for." Mulder nodded and pressed his lips
together, but he wasn't finished.

"Have you ever caused anyone's death, Miss Coombs? Have you ever
killed anyone?" Gruff and impatient, Mulder pushed for an answer. "Did
you murder Harvey Chubb or Ed Earley or both men?"

"Mulder!" Scully rarely objected to Mulder's interrogation techniques.
He was good at reading people and his line of questioning was usually on
target. But Scully was uneasy with his treatment of Henrietta Coombs.
His tone throughout the interview had been harder and more accusatory
than was his custom. She wondered if her partner had picked up on a clue
she had missed or if he had predetermined the old woman's guilt.
Scully felt suddenly protective of the tiny woman and locked angry eyes
with Mulder. Mulder audibly exhaled his disapproval and turned his head
away from Scully's scrutiny, indicating to her to continue the
interview.

"When was the last time you saw either of the victims, Miss Coombs?"
Scully asked as kindly as possible.

"Le's see," Henrietta ran a crooked finger thoughtfully across her
scarred chin as she tried to recall. "Saw Harvey an' Frank last week.
They took a real quick ride through my front yard on their snowsleds.
Too busy to stop for a chat, I guess," she cackled, her serious demeanor
gone. "I haven't seen Ed since last summer when he parked his bass
boat just off my shore and hauled in an eight pounder. Won himself the
top prize in the fishin' derby." The old woman paused a moment. "You
got any other questions for me, young lady?"

"Yes. Just one. What do you think happened to Ed Earley and Harvey
Chubb?"

"Well, it is a mystery, ain't it? Don't think I can answer that one
for you. How about you, young Fox? You got anythin' else to ask?" Her
eyes bore into Mulder but she continued to smile.

"As far as you know, Miss Coombs, has anyone other than Ed Earley and
Harvey Chubb been found frozen in the ice of this lake?"

"Not this lake or any other that I've heard. On the ice or under the
ice, yes. But in it? Never."

__________________________

Burntland Lake, Maine

12:20 PM

"What was going on in there, Mulder?" Scully demanded once they were
outside and beyond earshot. "You treated her like..."

"Like a murder suspect?" he finished for her. "I think it's possible
she did it, Scully. She's not the helpless old lady she appears to
be."

"How, Mulder? How did eighty-six year old Henrietta Coombs murder Ed
Earley and Harvey Chubb? Did she kill them with the 'evil eye'? Did
she put the 'whammy' on them?"

"She may have," he replied seriously. Scully knew her partner actually
believed such things were possible. His views often seemed ludicrous to
her, as now. She tried to control her irritation.

"Is there anything specific that leads you to believe Henrietta is
involved?" she asked him as calmly as she could manage.

"She had motive for killing Harvey Chubb."

"But not Ed Earley."

"Not that she admitted."

"Maybe someone else has a motive for killing both men," Scully
suggested.

"Maybe. I want to talk to Ed's wife. See if her story corroborates
Henrietta's." Mulder strode past Scully, down the narrow path to their
snowmobiles. He swung a long leg over his sled but paused before sitting
down, a flash of light catching his eye at the nearby northern curve of
the lake.

"What is it, Mulder?" Scully followed her partner's gaze.

"Must be the inlet. Looks like open water." The sun flickered faintly
across the distant rippling surface. "Roy Martin said the channel into
the lake stayed unfrozen all year," Mulder reminded her before he sat
and turned the key.

Scully let Mulder lead the way down the lake. Since he seemed to know
where he was going, Scully guessed he must have gotten directions to
Henrietta Coombs' and Ed Earley's houses from Frank Chubb while she
had been busy stitching Vonda Chubb's split lip. After several minutes
of riding south, the two agents rounded a point of land and Scully
recognized the distant cove where the Martin's home and their own
cottage were located. She could discern a white, two-story house several
hundred yards to the north of their cabin, and since Mulder was headed
for it, she decided it must be the Earley residence. All of a sudden,
Mulder increased his speed and veered away, changing direction and
turning toward the lake's middle. Puzzled, Scully followed,
accelerating and trying to see around Mulder to determine his
destination.

Four figures stood in a tight circle around a small, cleared patch of
ice at the lake's midpoint. Even from a distance, Scully was able to
identify Roy, Barb and young David Martin. She didn't know the slender
man who gestured broadly while speaking to the others.

"What's going on?" Mulder barked as he brought his sled near the group
and climbed off. Scully parked beside Mulder's snowmobile, shut down
her engine and joined the gathering.

"See for yourself," the gaunt stranger urged and pointed at the ice.
Mulder squatted and ran his gloved hand across the smooth, snowless
surface. Scully watched as he peered intently into the ice. When he
lifted his head to look up at her, her stomach lurched at the melancholy
and apologetic expression on his face. She barely felt her legs moving
as she stepped closer and dropped to her knees beside Mulder. Buried in
the ice, looking up through the glassy surface with open eyes, were the
frozen bodies of Vonda Chubb and her son Jesse. A new bruise blackened
Vonda's right eye and jaw. The fresh stitches in Vonda's lower lip
were plainly visible through the translucent thickness of ice and at the
sight of them, tears sprang to Scully's eyes.

"She's not wearing a coat, Mulder," Scully whispered, a single tear
spilling down her cheek. "They must have been coming to us for help."
She felt Mulder's hand slide across her back offering her solace. She
was afraid she would not be able to stop her tears if she looked at him,
so she addressed Roy instead. "We need to get them out."

"I'll get a couple of chainsaws. Barb can call the Ranger," Roy
suggested.

"Take my sled," Mulder told him. Roy nodded somberly and led Barb to the
snowmobile. She climbed on the seat behind him.

"David! Stay outta everyone's way," Roy shouted to his son as he
turned the sled in the direction of their house and sped off.

Mulder helped Scully to her feet. "You gonna be all right?" he asked
softly.

"I'll be fine," she insisted.

"I'm Jim Patterson," the slender stranger thrust a lean hand at
Mulder, introducing himself.

"Fox Mulder. This is Dana Scully," Mulder shook the man's hand.

"You're from the FBI." It wasn't a question. "Got any idea what's
happening here?"

"Our investigation is still ongoing," Mulder offered by way of
explanation. "Did you find the bodies, Mr. Patterson?"

"Call me Jim, please. And yes, I found them," Jim's friendly smile
faded as he glanced back at the figures beneath the ice. "Uh, actually,
I thought I heard the boy cry out before I rounded the point. But since
I was on foot, it took me awhile to get over here. By the time I
arrived, the only thing visible on the ice was this." Jim held forth a
baseball. Scully numbly took it from his hand.

"This was Jesse's. He had it at the kitchen table this morning,"
Scully informed them.

"You were at Frank Chubb's this morning?" Jim sounded shocked.

"Yes. Why?" Scully handed the ball to Mulder.

"Well?it's just?Frank doesn't usually let the people he knows
into his house, let alone strangers. He's a pretty private guy? with
quite a temper."

"So we noticed. Can you tell us anything about Frank's relationship
with Ed Earley? Did they get along?" Mulder asked Jim, curious to know
if Frank's violent temper had been let loose on either of the previous
victims.

"Ed knew Frank beat his wife and it didn't sit well with him. Ed
threatened to call the county sheriff."

"How did Frank react?"

"He blew up. Swore a blue streak. Told Ed to mind his own business and
shut his mouth or he'd shut it for him, permanently."

"Frank said he would kill Ed?"

"Well, not in so many words, but that's the impression I got."

"When was this?"

"About two weeks ago. We were all over at Harvey's house playing
cards."

"Were there any problems between Frank and his uncle Harvey?"

"Harvey was real fond of Jesse; he was more of a father to the boy than
Frank was. He told me a couple of times, he was worried about the boy.
Thought Frank might go crazy one day and hurt him, although, as far as
anyone knew, Frank never laid a hand on the kid. Seems he preferred to
beat Vonda. One time after Frank knocked the crap out of Vonda, Harvey
came to take Jesse to his place for a few days; give Frank a chance to
cool down. Frank refused to let the boy go. Told Harvey to go fuck
himself."

Scully noticed young David listening to the men's conversation from a
discreet distance. Placing a hand on Mulder's sleeve, she indicated
the worried boy with a tilt of her head.

"Why don't we discuss this later," Jim offered. "The two of you could
come to my place for dinner. I'm actually something of a gourmet cook
and I'd enjoy a chance to show off to someone new," he flashed an
inviting smile at Scully.

"Thank you, Jim. We'd appreciate the meal, and an opportunity to talk
further with you," Scully accepted.

"Great," Jim's smile widened. "Whenever you're finished here, come
on by. I live at the north end, across the inlet from Henrietta Coombs.
You know where her place is?"

"Yes. We just came from there," Scully told him.

"Then you won't have any trouble finding me. Cedar shake house, porch
hangs out over the lake. It's one of the older places, built before
all the setback rules and regs," Jim informed them before being
interrupted by the roar of Mulder's snowmobile returning across the
lake. Roy rode the agent's sled up close to the bodies. Trailing the
Arctic Cat was an attached toboggan loaded with two chainsaws, an ice
auger, and a coil of rope.

"Barb called the Ranger and he's on his way," Roy informed the group.
"Should be here in about thirty minutes. He told us to go ahead and cut
the bodies outta the ice, as long as Agents Mulder and Scully are here
to collect any evidence. Shall we get started?" Without waiting for a
reply, Roy hefted the auger off the toboggan and into position on the
ice just beyond Vonda and Jesse's heads. While the others watched, he
drilled a neat eight-inch hole through the frozen surface. Setting the
auger aside, Roy lifted the two chain saws and held one out to Mulder.
"You know how to work one of these, Agent Mulder?" Roy asked.

"Let's get it on." Mulder took the saw, yanked the pull cord and the
small engine buzzed. When Roy started the second saw, the sound was
deafening. The big man dipped his saw blade into the ice close to the
body of Vonda Chubb and sent a spray of snow high into the air. Mulder
began cutting on the opposite side, around Jesse's body. The two men
worked for twenty minutes, slicing through the two feet of thick ice to
free the chunk surrounding the combined bodies of Vonda and Jesse. Roy
was careful to cut a wide arc around the hole he'd drilled with the
auger.

"David, grab that rope and bring it over. Here's what we're gonna
do," Roy told the others as he tied one end of the rope to the back of
Scully's snowmobile. "Agent Mulder and I will stand on the far end of
the ice block. Our weight should be sufficient to push the back end down
into the water, liftin' the front end high enough to clear the lip of
the hole. Jim, you slip the other end of this rope through the auger
hole and knot it. Agent Scully, I'd like you to drive the snowmobile,
keepin' an even, slow pull. I'll tell you when. Everyone clear on
what they're doin?" the big man asked. He waited for each affirmative
answer before ordering, "Let's get started then."

Jim took the coil of rope from Roy and stood ready while Scully mounted
the snowmobile and turned on the engine. Roy and Mulder stepped
carefully, one at a time, onto the ice block, their weight sinking the
back end of the slab beneath them and lifting the opposite end out of
the water and above the hole. Jim dropped one end of the rope down
through the auger hole and had just enough room to loop it back before
tying a firm knot. Scully inched the sled forward until the rope was
pulled taut. She stopped and waited for Roy's signal.

"Watch your footing, Agent Mulder," Roy warned as the slab tilted
steeply beneath their feet. "Alright, Agent Scully," Roy called out to
her. "Pull her out, nice and slow." Scully eased the sled forward,
feeling the tug of the additional weight. The mass of ice creaked up and
across the lip of the hole.

"Keep goin'," Roy shouted to Scully as he and Mulder hopped off the
block. Scully continued her even pressure on the gas until the thick
slice moaned and scraped and finally lay atop the lake's surface.

"Good job, everyone," Roy praised. "And just in time. Here comes the
Ranger."

__________________________

Burntland Lake, Maine

2:19 PM

Ranger Scott Belyea raced his snowsled across the lake and slowed to a
stop beside the group. Foregoing any pleasantries, he immediately
crossed to inspect the thick slice of ice containing the bodies of Vonda
and Jesse Chubb.

"Jesus Christ," he cursed, recognizing the corpses. He turned to face
the others. "I've got a chopper coming up from DeWitt Field to airlift
the bodies to Greenville. It should be here in a few minutes. Oh?these
are for you, Agent Scully." The Ranger reached into his coat and
withdrew a packet of papers. "Autopsy reports on Harvey Chubb and Ed
Earley. The Greenville Hospital faxed them earlier this afternoon."

"Thank you. Have you looked at them, Ranger?" She took the reports from
him and slid them into her pocket, out of the blowing wind.

"Naw. They don't exactly write those reports in English. All that
Latin doesn't mean a thing to me. By the way, has Frank Chubb been
around to find out what's happened to his family?"

"No, but I'd like a chance to question him again," Mulder replied.

"Again?"

"Yeah. Scully and I were at his place this morning. Before his wife and
son became members of the Burntland Lake Cryogenics Club."

"Why don't you two go ahead, try to find Frank. With the helicopter
and crew coming, we have plenty of help here."

At that moment, out of the forest to the south came the distinctive
"thump-thump-thump" of a UH-1 Huey, its rotor head spinning the tips of
its two blades faster than sound, creating shock waves as it revolved.

"Let's get these snowmobiles outta the way. Give 'em some room to
land," the Ranger ordered.

The Vietnam era helicopter swept through the sky toward them, then
hovered for a moment before settling its skids on the lake. The noise
from the forty-five-foot long, rotating blades was thunderous. Gradually
the blades slowed and the roar diminished. The Ranger stepped forward to
help the pilot and copilot unload the cargo net that would be used to
transport the ice-encased bodies, suspended below the chopper.

"Come on, Scully. Let's see if we can locate Frank," Mulder suggested,
parting from the group, his hand on her elbow. He called out to
Patterson, "Jim, we'll see you later," before leaning down to whisper
to Scully, "You accepted Smilin' Jim's invitation awfully fast."

"I thought he might be able to give us some good information."

"Right."

"Not to mention a decent meal."

"Sure."

"Mulder? Did you want me to say no to him?"

"Keep that thought in mind."

__________________________

Burntland Lake, Maine

2:52 PM

The nearer the agents got to Frank Chubb's place, the angrier Scully
became. Much of her anger was directed inward; she was irritated with
herself for not insisting that Vonda and Jesse leave Frank earlier in
the day. Yet, despite being upset by her own inaction, she was even more
furious at Frank for creating the situation that put Vonda and Jesse out
on the ice and in danger to begin with. What role had he played in their
deaths, she wondered. Or in the deaths of Harvey Chubb and Ed Earley.

The temperature was dropping quickly. The ineffective winter sun hugging
the western horizon provided scant light and even less heat. Mulder rose
from his parked sled and shook the cold from his hands before striding
up the front steps. Scully experienced a profound sense of dej=E0 vu
when she joined her partner on the snowy stairs.

"He killed them, Mulder."

"We don't know that."

"Frank Chubb is to blame for the deaths of his wife and son."

"I'll admit, he didn't make life easy for Vonda and Jesse. But, as
bad as he was, that's not the same as murder, Scully. I'm not sure
you're being entirely objective here."

Scully's jaw dropped. She couldn't understand how Mulder could
rationally entertain the assumption that witchcraft, or any other
paranormal event or entity, had caused the four deaths on Burntland
Lake. She was convinced that a living, breathing murder suspect was
walking around free while she and Mulder were chasing phantoms and
bugaboos. She clamped her teeth together and frowned. She decided not to
argue with him. It was too cold, and she was beginning to feel very
hungry, and it was just possible that he was right. She had been
affected by the vulnerability of Vonda and Jesse. Maybe she was being
biased.

"Knock on the door, Mulder."

"Frank, open up! Now!" Mulder hollered, rapping loudly on the storm
door. When Frank didn't answer, Mulder tried the knob and found the
door unlocked.

"Oh, look, Scully. Our party invitation just arrived. Shall we go
mingle?" He drew his weapon and stepped silently inside. Scully slid her
Sig Sauer from the small of her back and took up a defensive position
just inside the front entry. Mulder surveyed the livingroom. Finding it
empty, he moved soundlessly down the hall to the kitchen, pausing to
peer into the powder room on his way by. Scully glanced back over her
shoulder at him and he shook his head letting her know the rooms were
vacant. With a look toward the ceiling, Mulder signaled to Scully that
he was going to search the upstairs. She stood at the foot of the
staircase and kept watch on the front and back doors while he quietly
climbed the steps. Once he was at the top, she followed, backing her way
up the stairs, her gun pointed toward the lower landing.

"I guess we're fashionably too late, Scully," Mulder's head appeared
around the far bedroom's doorframe. "Party's over and everyone's
gone home. Not a coat left on the bed."

"Shall we look around for anything interesting left behind by our
missing host?"

"Oooo. I love scavenger hunts," he grinned. "Let's see. Our list
includes 'opportunity,' 'motive,' and 'murder weapon.'" The
two agents quickly went through the house, opening drawers, cupboards
and closets. After a thorough search, they came up empty-handed, finding
not a single piece of incriminating evidence against Frank Chubb.

"There's nothing here, Mulder," Scully sounded disappointed.

"Most noticeably Frank. I wonder where he's gone." Absently,
Mulder's fingers tapped a rapid rhythm against the front door's
inside knob.

"He could be at his uncle Harvey's," she suggested.

"True. An empty bed. Plenty of peace and quiet. Shall we go have a
look?" he smiled and raised his eyebrows, excited by the chance to
follow up on the possibility. As usual, his pursuit of the truth
animated Mulder with a manic intensity. His stamina seemed limitless
when he was chasing the unknown. Scully, on the other hand, needed
something to eat. Keeping warm in this climate burned a lot of calories
and she was running out of energy. She looked miserable. "A quick look?"
he amended sympathetically.

"Very quick. On the way to Jim's for dinner," she acquiesced.

__________________________

Burntland Lake, Maine

5:31 PM

Mulder and Scully found Harvey Chubb's cabin unoccupied, its unheated
rooms colder inside than out. Mulder decided to push his advantage and
persuaded Scully to search the place while they were there. Once again,
they encountered no clues or condemnatory evidence, nothing to implicate
Frank's participation in any of the murders. Scully would take no more
stonewalling. She wanted to eat.

"Let's go, Mulder."

"We haven't checked the woodshed or the garage yet."

"What are you expecting to find? From what little we know, all the
victims were still alive when they became frozen in the ice. What kind
of murder weapo?" Scully paused when she realized the unread autopsy
reports were still in her coat pocket. Looking a little embarrassed, she
withdrew and opened the packet of papers. "I must be really hungry.
Sorry, Mulder. I should have checked these before we searched Frank's
house." Scully rapidly scanned each report. "Harvey Chubb and Ed Earley
were both alive when they were frozen," she concluded after reviewing
the ME's summary. "Oddly, there was no water found in either man's
lungs. They didn't drown. Beyond the pathology expected in a cold
injury victim, and the post-mortem auger hole in Ed, the medical
examiner found no evidence of trauma- or drug-induced deaths. I was
sure?How is it possible that four reasonably healthy people were
frozen to death so quickly?"

"Eye of newt?"

"That's not funny. I'm not buying your witch theory. There has to be
a better explanation."

"Well, you can tell it to me after we eat. Let's go taste Smilin'
Jim's gourmet cooking."

"Hallelujah. And be nice to him, Mulder. He's offered us a hot meal."

"When am I ever not nice?"

"I'll race you there." She pulled on her helmet and stepped outside.

"No. We're not gonna race. When am I ever not nice?"

"Last one to Jim's writes all the case reports for a month." She
climbed on her sled and started her engine.

"Scully, we're not racing. When am I ever not nice?"

"Can't hear you, Mulder!" Scully called back as she hurtled away from
him across the lake, her headlights boring into the dark.

__________________________

Jim Patterson residence

Burntland Lake, Maine

6:44 PM

When Jim Patterson opened the front door to his cottage and greeted
Mulder and Scully with a broad and genuine smile, the spicy aroma of
cooking food spilled agreeably out onto the porch and over the agents.

"You locate Frank?" Jim asked as he took their coats and helmets.

"No," Scully shook her head. She toed off her heavy boots and placed
them next to Mulder's on the mat. "Mind if I take these off?" she
indicated the pants to her snowmobile suit.

"Make yourself comfortable," Jim urged and headed for the kitchen. "Just
hang 'em on one of those hooks by the door," he called back. Scully
slid the thick outer pants from her legs while Mulder stared at her.

"You gonna take yours off, Mulder?" she stood before him, at ease in her
stocking feet and jeans.

"Oooo, Sculleee. Ask me that later when we're alone, huh?" he leered
and drew his own snowmobile pants down over his hips.

The agents followed the delightful smell of their dinner through the
house and into the kitchen where they found Jim chopping vegetables, his
sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a dish towel tossed across his
shoulder. Three wineglasses sat empty on the counter next to a bottle of
Sangiovese di Romagna.

"Would you do the honors, Agent Scully?" Jim pointed his paring knife
toward the wine.

"Please, call me Dana." Scully's spirits lifted at the sight of food
and the prospect of a mouth-watering meal. She filled the glasses.
Smiling, she set one in front of Jim, then passed a second glass to
Mulder.

"Thank you, Dana," Mulder teased, emphasizing the first name he seldom
used with her.

In response, she silently mouthed "Be nice," causing him to raise his
eyebrows in mock innocence.

"How about you, Agent Mulder? Do I call you Fox?" Jim asked amiably.

"No. Please. I prefer Mulder."

"Alright. Mulder it is. You two hungry?"

"Yes!" they answered in unison and Jim laughed.

"Sorry," Scully explained, "We haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Don't apologize. There's plenty to eat and everything will be ready
in just a few minutes."

"It smells delicious. What are we having?" Scully lifted the lid from a
simmering pot and peeked in.

"That's carrots and green beans there. What you can smell is stuffed
venison baking in the oven. I cook it with cloves, a little nutmeg,
cayenne pepper, among other things. Very spicy. It'll warm you up even
on the coldest winter day." Jim watched a chunk of butter melt in a
shallow pan before adding a handful of sliced fresh mushrooms.

"What's the venison stuffed with?"

"Italian sausage, rice, shallots. A few other secret ingredients," he
winked at her before turning back to the stove and grating a fine powder
of fresh nutmeg into his pan. "I'm making the mushroom cream sauce
now. Helps cut the heat from the spices. Would you mind putting the
bread on the table, Dana?"

Scully transferred a board of sliced cranberry bread to the diningroom.
She was impressed with the care their host had taken to set an elegant
table. Linen cloth, candles, real china and silver.

"How long have you been living here?" she heard Mulder ask as she
reentered the kitchen.

"I moved to Maine about four years ago. Completely renovated the place.
The house was in pretty rough shape when I bought it."

"Why come to Burntland Lake?"

Jim laughed. "For my sanity, believe it or not. I had been working as a
member of a geological studies team in the Antarctic. The project was
funded through MIT by a private grant. We spent ten months studying the
structure, growth, strength and stability of ice sheets at the South
Pole. I returned to Boston with more than fifty rolls of irreplaceable
film for our local lab to process. They lost it. All of it. Every roll.
And that's when I lost it. Had a nervous breakdown. I decided to quit
and come live in a less stressful environment." It was Mulder's turn
to laugh.

"Less stressful?"

"Yes, actually. Despite recent events, I like it here. It's very laid
back and simple. I make a little money reviewing scientific papers and
it's enough. The only thing I miss is the opportunity to entertain.
So, you see, you're both doing me a favor. Speaking of which?" Jim
handed Mulder a large platter of sliced, stuffed venison surrounded by
bright vegetables, then passed Scully a deep, steaming bowl.

"Winter squash?" she asked.

"Pumpkin. It's sweeter. The spices compliment the venison better than
squash." Grabbing the wine and the mushroom sauce, he gestured toward
the diningroom. "Shall we?"

"Jim, have you studied the ice on this lake? Is it unusual in any way,
particularly this season?" Mulder set the platter on the table and took
a seat.

"The ice sheet on Burntland Lake is pretty typical for a freshwater body
of this size." Jim refilled the wineglasses and served Scully a thick
slice of venison. "This year, the weather was ideal for the creation of
large grain ice. The surface froze in very still conditions with no snow
falling."

"Ice is made up of grains?" Mulder poured mushroom sauce over his
venison.

"Yeah, actually it is. The grain can tell you a lot about how the ice
was formed and how it will melt. The melting takes place between the
grain boundaries of the ice. The melting point of water is slightly
lower at the grain boundary because the crystal structure is less
perfect there. This first shows up as strings of bubbles in the ice
along the grain boundaries. After an extended period of heating by the
sun, the grain boundaries will melt all the way to the bottom of the
ice, forming many tiny drain holes. This is evident when all the puddles
disappear from the ice surface of thawing ice."

"Has any thawing occurred recently? Have any holes or weak areas
developed?"

"No. It's been too cold. Although it's possible for drain holes to
form in less than twenty-four hours in twelve-inch thick ice, it only
happens during mid- or end-season thaws, depending on how much surface
water drains through the holes and how warm the water is. Internal
melting of thick ice is usually a more gradual process, requiring
several days of sunny, above freezing days and warm nights. Temperatures
here have been below freezing for well over two months. Night and day."

"What is the current condition of the ice?" Scully asked, reaching for
more bread.

"Very stable and strong. Relatively few nucleation sites."

"Nucleation sites?" Mulder queried.

"A nucleation site is something the cold water molecules will accept as
a seed crystal. It can be a small ice crystal, a snowflake, or a piece
of dirt the water accepts for an ice crystal. This season, ice crystals
formed long, flat spears or dendrites. They look like Christmas trees
and can be seen in any still water in the process of freezing. The
spears grew until they ran into one another, and then they filled the
intervening surfaces with dentritic branches. Because the process
wasn't disturbed by dynamic weather conditions, the first thin skin of
ice determined the grain structure for the ice that formed as the sheet
thickened. Some of the spears grew rotated in the water surface. The ice
grains that developed from the rotated spears grew at an angle to the
surface. The grains mechanically locked together because the grain
boundaries were relatively large planes which had a lot of interlocking
between the grains."

"Is there a difference between the stability of large grain ice and
small grain ice? This dinner is delicious, by the way," Scully
complimented with a satisfied smile.

"Thank you. Yes. Large grain ice is definitely stronger. Small grain
ice, or honeycomb ice, begins with a lot of nucleation sites with grain
boundaries typically less than an inch apart. The grains constrain each
other so much they grow almost straight down. The relative weakness of
small grain ice is a result of the grain boundaries being interlocked on
a much smaller scale. This small scale interlocking melts out quickly
when the ice melts." Jim paused to laugh. "I'm sorry, this is probably
more than you ever wanted to know about ice!"

"Not at all," Mulder volunteered. "Your information may be able to help
us understand how four people became embedded in the ice here, ending up
like a Mrs. Paul's entree in the frozen foods case." Mulder lifted a
second slice of venison onto his plate.

"Jim, you've said the ice hasn't thawed at all. If it's too thick
for a person to fall through, is it possible that large cracks could
have developed, opening up the ice enough to allow someone to fall into
the water? Mulder and I heard a lot of popping and thumping when we were
out on the lake earlier today."

"The noise is common. The thumping is caused by water rushing into the
lake from the inlet and sloshing against the ice surface from below.
Those heart-stopping popping noises are the result of the sudden
formation of pressure ridges and cracks. Temperature change or wind can
stress the ice and cause cracking. The cracks tend to be long but I
doubt one would open up wide enough to allow a person to fall through."

"Hmmm. Are there any other causes of holes or openings forming in ice?
Pass the carrots, please."

"Well, gas holes are common on some lakes." Jim scooped more vegetables
onto Scully's plate.

"Gas holes?"

"Gas holes are caused by the steady release of marsh gas from the lake
bottom. The rising gas pulls a plume of warmer water up from deeper in
the lake that keeps the hole open. The gas comes from decomposition of
vegetable matter on the lake bottom. They tend to be a problem only in
the early part of the season. By mid-season, the cold weather often
overpowers the ability of the gas to keep the hole open."

"How big are gas holes? Could a person fall through one?" Mulder scooped
another helping of pumpkin onto his plate.

"They are typically round with a dimension of one to four feet. They do
join together to form larger, irregular holes at times and they often
skin over at night making them invisible and treacherous. Yeah, a person
could fall through one. But gas holes are almost always found in a
specific, limited area. Most are associated with a stream that empties
into the lake, like the nearby inlet here. I found Vonda and Jesse's
bodies several miles south of the inlet. I don't see how a gas hole
could have formed there."

"Do you often walk so far on such a cold day?" Mulder asked, remembering
that Jim was on foot when he discovered the two bodies earlier in the
day.

"Yeah, I walk a lot, despite the weather. I like to keep track of the
ice conditions -- an old habit from my days in the Antarctic, where it
was usually a lot colder than here, by the way. After Ed Earley and
Harvey Chubb were found frozen in the ice, I couldn't help but be
curious. I checked out both locations, looking for anomalies in the ice
sheet."

"Did you find any?"

"Nah. I've been walking the length of the lake every day since.
Haven't found anything unusual, until the bodies today that is. You
two ready for coffee?"

"Sure. Is there anything we can do to help?" Scully offered.

"No. I've got it taken care of. Just relax," Jim gave Scully's
shoulder a friendly squeeze before he disappeared into the kitchen.
Mulder felt an uncharacteristic prick of jealousy as he watched Jim's
long hand slide from Scully's arm.

"I like him, Mulder, don't you?" Scully whispered, her eyes bright.
"He's been very helpful."

"Really? I don't feel any closer to solving this case."

"Well, we now know that the four victims didn't fall through typical
weaknesses in the ice."

"How is that information helpful exactly?"

"It eliminates the idea that the deaths were accidental."

"I'd already eliminated that idea, Scully. What I'd really like to
know is how a living person becomes a human ice cube in less than one
hour."

"So ask him, Mulder."

"Ask me what?" Jim had returned carrying a silver coffee service on a
tray. He poured them each a steaming cup of rich smelling coffee.

"Can you tell us how in under sixty minutes each of the four victims was
frozen alive in the ice of this lake?" Mulder asked.

"They were alive?" Jim looked shocked. "Jesus. Are you certain?"

"We have the autopsy reports for Ed and Harvey," Scully told him. "The
victims were alive when they started to freeze."

Jim sat down and ran a thoughtful hand across his jaw. "I dunno. I
don't think it's possible. Not in under an hour, not at these
temperatures. To freeze a living person that fast, you'd need
something more like liquid or solid carbon dioxide, not H2O."

"Dry ice?"

"Yeah. Dry ice is minus one-hundred and nine degrees Fahrenheit."

"Scully, let's call Don Lagasse at Allagash Air Service in the morning
to find out if he's delivered any shipments of dry ice to this area."

"Dry ice as a murder weapon? That has to be a bit unusual," Jim
observed. "You probably don't get cases this weird as a rule, huh?"

Mulder and Scully exchanged glances.

"You might be surprised," Scully confided, sipping her coffee.

"Jim, I have another question for you, if you don't mind. Where did
Burntland Lake get its name?"

"Oh, that's really interesting," Jim's face lit with excitement.
"About a hundred and fifty years ago a C1 carbonaceous chondrite, a
primitive type meteorite, impacted here. It created a huge fireball,
then shattered and rained fragments over the area. One or more of the
largest fragments created a small crater, or trough, about five miles
long and a mile wide. Acres of surrounding forest burned. When the
crater filled with water from the nearby existing stream, what is now
the inlet, the locals called the resulting lake Burntland Lake."

"Is there proof of the meteor impact or is the story only local legend?"
Mulder wanted to know.

"There's proof. I have some documentation somewhere in my study. I can
try and locate it for you, if you're interested," Jim offered.

"How about tomorrow, Jim," Scully suggested. "Mulder and I should be
heading back. It's getting late."

"So soon? This has been such a treat for me. I hate to see you go," Jim
professed.

"The pleasure has been ours," Scully assured the earnest man. "The food
was delicious. We really appreciate your hospitality." When Jim folded
his hand over Scully's, Mulder cleared his throat and moved to stand
behind her, placing his palms possessively on her shoulders. Jim failed
to notice Mulder's proprietary posture and the slender man continued
to hold firmly to Scully's fingers.

"Time to go home to bed," Mulder murmured silkily into Scully's ear,
loud enough for Jim to hear. Jim released Scully's hand immediately
and Mulder flashed a triumphant smile. "We'll come by tomorrow to pick
up that information about the meteor, if you don't mind, Jim."

"Oh, by all means. That would be fine." Jim rose to retrieve the
agents' coats and helmets while Mulder and Scully moved to the front
hall to pull on their snowmobile pants and boots.

"Until tomorrow, then," Jim helped Scully with her jacket, fussing to
straighten her collar and hood comfortably at her neck.

"Thanks for everything, Jim," Mulder grabbed Scully's upper arm and
steered her out the door.

__________________________

Burntland Lake, Maine

9:48 PM

"What's your hurry, Mulder?" Unsuccessfully, Scully tried to shrug her
arm from her partner's solid grasp as he propelled her down the front
steps. "Mulder!" She yanked herself loose and purposely stopped at the
base of the stairs.

"Don't wanna keep you out too late, Scully. I promised your Mom I'd
have you home by ten."

She arched a graceful eyebrow at him and asked him frankly, "Is
something bothering you, Mulder?"

"No. No. What would be bothering me?" he feigned indifference.

"I don't know. You tell me. We enjoyed a delicious meal with an
interesting man?"

"Interested."

"What?"

"Scully, don't pretend you didn't notice how Smilin' Jim couldn't
keep his hands off you. Or?maybe you wanted his attention. I can head
back to the cabin myself, if you'd like some time alone with him."
Although he kept his expression neutral and his voice calm, Mulder's
eyes ignited with a flustered mixture of anger, unease and desire for
her. Scully took a step toward him and reached for his hand. She pressed
his gloved fingers into her palm.

"Mulder," she sighed, annoyed. "I don't want to stay. But yes, I did
notice that Jim was flirting and yes, I liked it. Why wouldn't I? My
social life is far from ideal, you know."

"It doesn't have to be," he mumbled. She carefully studied his face.

"What exactly are you saying, Mulder?"

He chewed his lower lip and considered telling her the truth. That he
loved her. That he was jealous when other men paid attention to her.
That, at times, he was nearly overcome by his lust for her. Like this
morning, he thought miserably. He stood perfectly still. Looking down at
her small, serious upturned face and into her magnificent blue eyes, he
wanted so badly to place his lips on hers.

"Scully?" Her name strangled from his throat as he lost his nerve,
convinced that she couldn't possibly share his feelings. How could she
love a fucked up, sorry ass like me? In his head, he ticked off six
years of horrifying tragedies she had suffered as his partner and
friend. Her abduction, her sister's death, her own cancer, Emily. He
blamed himself for all of it. Guilt bored through him and hollowed him
out, leaving him feeling unworthy of her and deservedly alone. A gust of
icy wind blasted over the two agents and the sight of Scully's sudden
shiver broke Mulder from his dismal reverie.

"Let's go, Scully. It's too cold to stand out here."

She didn't release his hand, but held it even more tightly as they
walked to the snowmobiles. Reluctantly she let go to mount her sled.

"I'll follow you," she said softly, nearly breaking his heart with the
unfathomable truth of her familiar words. He wanted to scream the
question "Why?" at her, but turned instead to start his engine, knowing
without looking back that she would be behind him no matter which
direction he headed.

__________________________

Burntland Lake, Maine

10:02 PM

Mulder steered his snowmobile in a wide arc away from Jim Patterson's
cottage. It was beginning to snow and the Arctic Cat's headlights
reflected off the falling flakes, unable to penetrate the dark by more
than a few feet. He checked his bearings, looking back over his shoulder
to locate Jim's hazily lit windows nearly invisible in the short
distance, and headed southwest, hoping he would be able to recognize the
correct cove when they came to it. Scully followed Mulder's dim
taillights and wondered how he could see where he was going. When his
lights dipped and disappeared in front of her, she instantly brought her
snowmobile to a stop.

Mulder's sled dropped out from under him, splintering the ice and
impelling a turbulent explosion of frigid water skyward. Shocked to find
himself unseated, Mulder plunged feet first into the hole created by the
sinking machine. He held his breath as the icy lake closed over his
head. A terrifying jolt of cold slammed painfully through his clothing,
across his skin and into his cramping muscles. Fighting against the drag
of the sled and the weight of his drenched garments, Mulder struggled
toward the surface only to collide with the underside of the ice sheet.
He pressed his palms upward in a useless attempt to break through the
solid layer. Blindly, he searched for the opening by feeling his way
along the frozen undersurface, uncertain if he was going in the right
direction. He could see nothing in the blackness and the numbing cold
hurt his eyes. A desperate need for air heaved his chest. Frantic, he
flailed his hands back and forth across the icy ceiling. Thrusting his
stiffening fingers upward once more and meeting no resistance, he raised
his head at last above the surface of the water. Gulping for air and
dazed by the paralyzing cold, Mulder cried out to Scully and tried to
stay afloat.

"Sculleee?help?Scull?"

"Mulder? Mulder!" Scully jumped from the seat of her sled and tore open
its storage compartment. Trying to waste no time, she rummaged quickly
through the contents and yanked out a flashlight and a length of rope.

"Scull?Scully?" he choked. She hurried toward his voice, keeping her
flashlight pointed downward at the cracked and thinning ice surface. As
she neared his location, she slowed, feeling the ice bend under her
weight. Carefully, she lowered herself to her hands and knees to
distribute her weight more evenly across the flimsy surface. She
inspected the broken edge of the vast open hole.

"Mulder?"

"P-please hur?ry, Sc-scul?l-l-lee." She saw him battling to keep his
head above the frigid water, the weight of his sodden clothes and
water-filled boots pulling him under. Scully set her flashlight down,
leaving its feeble beam pointed out over the open water.

"I've got a rope. I'm going to toss it out to you. Grab it," she
ordered, hurling one end of the rope hard. It spun through the air,
uncoiling toward Mulder. She heard it splash loudly beside him. "Do you
have it? Mulder, do you have it?" She heard him moan. "Mulder, do you
have a hold of the rope?"

"Y-yes."

"Good. Hang onto it. Don't let go. I'm going to pull you out." Her
heart hammered in her chest. She knew she didn't have much time before
his hands would be too cold to grip the line. She scrambled back from
the edge of the ice so she could safely stand. Turning twice, she
wrapped the thick cord firmly around her waist and began to pull, using
her entire weight. Despite her slipping feet, she could feel the slow
tug of his body as he moved through the water toward the shattered lip
of the ice. With a jolt, she felt him bump into the edge of the frozen
surface. Although she strained to haul him up onto the ice, she wasn't
able to drag him out of the water.

"Mulder, you're at the edge of the ice. Can you pull yourself out?"

"N-n-no." He moaned again.

"Don't?let?go?of?the?rope," she screamed at him. Her body
was shaking with the effort of holding the line taut. He outweighed her
by at least seventy pounds when he was dry. His saturated clothing was
sinking him. She looked toward her snowmobile and decided the rope was
long enough to reach it. She'd have to use the sled to pull him out,
but it meant unwrapping the rope from her waist and possibly losing her
hold on him. "Mulder, I'm going to pull you out with the snowmobile.
Hang on. Do you hear me?"

"Ahnnhh." She took that as a yes, wrapped the endmost piece of line
several times around her wrist so it wouldn't slip from her grasp and
she spun to unwind the coil from her waist. The rope didn't jerk at
her wrist so she guessed Mulder must be hanging on to the lip of the
ice. Before he could fall back from the edge, she hurried the few steps
to the sled and hastily twisted the rope twice around one handle. She
yelled out to Mulder, "Get ready. I'm going to pull." She gave the
sled some gas. Please, hang on Mulder, she urged silently and steered
the snowmobile several yards from the open water.

"Mulder? Are you out of the water?" He didn't answer and she felt
panic rise in her chest. She bolted from the sled, taking the rope with
her, and skidded through the falling snow toward the dim glow of her
flashlight.

He was on the ice, stretched out on his stomach about ten feet away from
the opening, his frosty wet clothes stiffening in the cold winter air.
Scully tried to calculate out how long Mulder had been in the water. The
air temperature was well below zero and the strong wind intensified the
cold. She dropped to her knees beside him. Grabbing a fistful of his
jacket, she rolled him onto his back and unfastened his helmet, sliding
it from his head. He appeared dazed, his teeth chattered and he shivered
violently.

"Mulder, can you hear me? Do you know who I am?" she asked, trying to
access his condition.

"Mmmm. Slulleee," he slurred.

"Reach for my hand," she commanded, holding her palm up in front of his
face. He made a wide swipe toward it and missed.

"Try to stop shivering, Mulder. Hold yourself still, if you can," she
ordered, knowing from her medical training that if his shivering could
not be stopped voluntarily he was already moderately hypothermic.

"C-c-can't. SoocollldSculleee."

She needed to get him to shelter before his body temperature dropped any
lower. His clothes were already hardening as the water-soaked fabric
began to freeze. Removing her glove, she reached for his wrist and, with
relief, felt a faint pulse indicating his core temperature had not yet
dropped too far below ninety degrees.

"Come on, Mulder. Try to get to your feet," she tugged and jostled him
to a sitting position.

"Noo. Don' wanna," he argued.

"Yes, Mulder. We have to get you someplace dry and warm."

"No." His voice was flat.

"Yes!" When he refused to move, she stood and grasped him by the wrist,
pulling upward with all her strength. "Now!" she ordered him.

"Wanna staaayheeere," he stumbled to his feet, his legs shaky.
"I'mnotcoldanymore." Irrationally he tried shrugging off his coat but
his fumbling hands weren't able to unzip the icy parka, and he nearly
fell over from his effort. Scully locked her arm around his waist and
propelled him toward the sled. He leaned heavily against her, tripping
over his own feet as they made their way to the snowmobile.

"Get on. Sit!" she said firmly, shoving him at the sled with her hip. He
collapsed with a grunt onto the seat where she steadied him with her
shoulder and worked to get his leg across the machine. Her gloved
fingers slipped uselessly from his icy snowmobile pants. Frustrated and
oblivious to the cold, she angrily removed her gloves, stuffed them in
her pockets, and grabbed again for the stiff fabric of his frozen outer
pants. She yanked his knee up and across the seat, then grasped his
ankle and hauled his foot over the sled until he was at last straddling
the machine.

Mulder's shivering ceased for a moment before returning once more in a
violent wave. Scully knew her partner was running out of time before he
moved into the next, often deadly, stage of hypothermia. If his
temperature continued to drop, the pauses between his bouts of shivering
would lengthen. Heat output from burning glycogen in his muscles would
not be sufficient to counteract his dropping core temperature.
Eventually he would stop shivering altogether as his body shut down to
conserve glucose.

Scully mounted the snowmobile, slipping herself tightly between
Mulder's chest and the handlebars of the sled. She reached behind her
and lifted his arms over her shoulders and around her neck, adjusting
his weight against her back. He leaned solidly against her and she felt
his shivering stop briefly once more.

Scully decided they were closer to Jim Patterson's house than
Henrietta Coombs' cabin, so she carefully circled back the way they
had come. She kept her speed even to avoid knocking Mulder off the back
of the sled. Straining to see in the snowy dark, her headlights
providing scant illumination, Scully worried that Jim might have gone to
bed and turned off his lights, leaving her with no reference to the
location of his home. Just when she thought she must have gone too far
and overshot her destination, she glimpsed a bleary light ahead. She
steered toward it, up and over the hump of raised shoreline and as close
to the front steps as she could get. Because she held Mulder's wrists
at her neck with one hand, she was unable to apply the brakes, so
instead she released the gas, coasted to a stop and pulled the key from
the ignition.

__________________________

Jim Patterson residence

Burntland Lake, Maine

10:43 PM

Extricating herself from between Mulder and the dash, Scully ran up the
steps, across the front porch and pounded loudly on Jim's front door.

"Jim! Jim! Please help!" She was about to turn the handle when he opened
the door, his face registering alarmed concern.

"Dana, what's happened?"

"Mulder fell through the ice. Help me," tears filled her eyes as she
allowed her anxiety for Mulder's wellbeing to crush through her at
last.

"Where is he?"

"Just outside, at the bottom of the steps," Scully yanked Jim toward the
stairs, leaving the front door open. "We've got to get him inside."
The pair hurried down the stairs to where Mulder waited slumped against
the handlebars of the snowmobile.

"Here. I'll take his shoulders. You get his feet. Are you strong
enough to help me lift him up to the house?" Jim asked.

"Yeah," Scully nodded. "I got him this far, I'm not about to give up
now."

"Good. Let's do it." Jim grasped Mulder from behind, slipping his lean
hands beneath Mulder's arms and lacing his long fingers across the
semiconscious man's chest.

"Sculleee?" Mulder mumbled as Jim slid him off the back of the seat.
Scully bent to circle her arms around Mulder's ankles. Although
slender, Jim was strong and he easily lifted Mulder, backing his way
cautiously up the stairs. Scully, however, was breathing hard when they
reached the top.

"Where?" Scully gasped, sucking air into her straining lungs.

"Livingroom. The woodstove's there. We can lay him on the couch." Jim
backed his way through the house, slowing only to carefully maneuver
Mulder through the livingroom doorway. "Here," Jim indicated the sofa
and together they lowered Mulder's now unconscious form.

"I need towels," Scully told Jim as she unzipped her coat and tossed it
carelessly to the other side of the room. "And the first aid kit, the
heat packs and the polar shield blanket from the snowsled." She removed
her helmet and disposed of it in a nearby chair.

"Be right back," Jim strode from the room. Scully bent over Mulder. He
had curled into a fetal position, unconsciously trying to conserve heat.
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist in an effort to locate a pulse.
There was none. His skin was blue and his shivering had stopped
completely. She pulled his arm away from his body and let go. It curled
back and she knew he was still alive. Dead muscles don't contract, she
reminded herself. His body was moving into hibernation, shutting down
all peripheral blood flow and reducing his breathing and heart rates.
Scully lifted Mulder's eyelids one at a time, confirming that his
pupils were dilated.

"Is he alive?" Jim returned with a pile of towels, blankets, four
chemical heat packs and Scully's first aid kit.

"Yeah. Barely. His temperature must be below eighty-six degrees. At
eighty-six or less, a hypothermic person enters a state of 'metabolic
icebox.' They look dead but are still alive. We have to get these wet
clothes off him." She drew Mulder's hands away from his chest and
roughly unzipped his thawing parka, sending a spray of ice into the air.
Jim helped her pull Mulder's arms free from the sleeves.

"Get his boots," Scully suggested as she struggled to slide the
snowpants over Mulder's hips and down his legs. Jim finished tugging
them from Mulder's feet before unstrapping the .380 caliber handgun
from the rigid man's ice-cold ankle and peeling off each wet wool
sock.

"His legs and feet are stiff," Jim observed, worried.

"Muscle rigidity develops because peripheral blood flow is reduced.
Lactic acid and CO2 build up in the muscles." She had managed to get
Mulder's wet sweater over his head and began unbuckling his belt and
removing his Sig P228. "We need to watch his breathing. If it should
become erratic and very shallow, cardiac arrhythmia won't be far
behind. Any sudden shock may set off ventricular fibrillation. His heart
will stop and he'll die."

Jim was perplexed at her detachment. Her tone was even, her movements
methodical. She spoke about Mulder's death almost casually.

"You're a doctor," he realized.

"Yes," she answered without looking up. She had Mulder's pants
stripped from his legs and his shirt nearly off.

"Should we put him in a tub of warm water?" Jim suggested.

"No! Definitely not. We need to rewarm his core temperature, not his
peripherals, to avoid afterdrop."

"Afterdrop?"

She hauled Mulder's thermal undershirt up over his chest and dropped
it wetly on the floor. "Afterdrop occurs when peripheral vessels in the
arms and legs dilate during external rewarming. The dilation sends very
cold, stagnate blood from the periphery to the core further decreasing
core temperature. In addition, the blood is very acetic and may cause
cardiac arrhythmias and death. The idea is to provide a shell of total
insulation for him. No matter how cold, he can still internally rewarm
himself much more efficiently than any external rewarming. We have to
get him dry and wrapped with blankets to prevent radiant heat loss. And
contrary to popular belief, if someone is truly hypothermic, you don't
put him naked in a sleeping bag with another person. Pass me one of
those towels," she had managed to peel off the bottoms of Mulder's
thermal underwear. She reached for the towel Jim held out. "Dry his
legs," she enjoined. "But don't rub hard. It'll injure his skin."

They worked to wipe away the moisture from Mulder's bare, cold skin,
rolling him once onto his stomach in order to dry his back. His flesh
felt so icy against Scully's palms, she was disconcerted to see him
laid out on the sofa and not a metal table in an autopsy bay.

"Okay, let's wrap him in the blankets and cover him with the polar
shield." It took several minutes for the two of them to swathe Mulder in
a half dozen wool blankets, tucking an emergency heat pack in each of
his armpits to transfer heat to the brachial arteries and a third at his
groin to warm the femoral artery. She applied the fourth pack to his
neck at the carotid. She spread the polar shield blanket over him.

"What now?" Jim asked.

"We watch him. If his heart rate drops below two or three beats per
minute and he's taking less than one breath every thirty seconds, I
may need to perform CPR. But it's a dangerous call. Cardiac
compressions can cause arrhythmias. Also, even though the heart is
beating very slowly, it's filling completely and distributing blood
fairly effectively. External cardiac compressions are only twenty to
thirty percent effective. With its severely decreased demands, his body
may be able to satisfy his circulatory needs on its own."

"Is he breathing now?"

Scully leaned her cheek next to Mulder's icy lips and checked her
watch. "Yes," she said after an extended pause. "One breath every
twenty-five seconds or so. But even if ventilation stops, respiration
may continue. The oxygen demands for his body have been so diminished
with hypothermia that he may be able to survive for some time using only
the oxygen that's already in his blood stream. Ventilating his lungs
may assist internal rewarming, though." She glanced once at Jim before
lowering her lips to Mulder's mouth. Pinching his nose closed, she
released a long, deep breath into his lungs. His chest rose, filling as
she exhaled. For several more minutes, she continued to blow warm air
into Mulder's body, timing her breaths to fall between his own gradual
inhalations. At length, she reluctantly withdrew from him.

"When he begins to regain consciousness," she told Jim, "we'll need to
get some warm sugar water into him. He'll need the fluid and calories.
Also, we'll have to help him urinate." Jim's eyebrows raised in
surprised bewilderment. "Vasoconstriction creates greater volume
pressure in the blood stream," she explained to him. "The kidneys pull
off excess fluid to reduce the pressure. A full bladder is a place for
additional heat loss so urinating will help him conserve heat."

"He's lucky to have a medical doctor as a partner," Jim observed.

"Remind him of that when he comes to and I'm helping him pee."

__________________________

Jim Patterson residence

Burntland Lake, Maine

12:10 AM

Scully checked Mulder's pulse again and timed his breathing. "His
heart rate is up to about ten beats per minute. He's breathing more
often, too," she informed Jim when he entered the room carrying a tray.
Setting it down on a small table, he passed Scully a steaming cup of hot
tea.

"That's great!" Jim's smile was sincere. "Will he regain
consciousness soon?"

"It's hard to say." She studied Mulder's face, searching for a
return of color to his lips, nose and cheeks. He was very pale. His
eyelashes lay jet black against his blue-white skin.
 

"Dana, you look exhausted. You're welcome to use my bed, try and get
some sleep," Jim offered.

"Thanks, but I'm going to stay here with Mulder." Scully moved to sit
in the chair