Episode List:
(This section will list episodes as they are posted. The bottom episode is the one currently being updated. Check my story list for the most recent episode.)
Episode 1: The Meadow: While investigating a massive cave system in Kentucky, Mulder falls victim to a poltergeist that once haunted a French exploration team.
Episode 2: The Sight: Mulder and Scully face off against an alien parasite who feeds on the psychic abilities of others, namely the local children.
Episode 3: The Reaper: While visiting the Scully family on Christmas, Mulder and Iden stumble upon a weathered treehouse with a mind of its own.
Episode 4: The Widow Tree: When a local 'witching' festival goes down in flames, Mulder and Scully must discover the true cause before vandalism turns into murder.
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EPISODE ONE: THE MEADOW
Chapter 1.
Wayfield, Virginia.
May 17, 2010.
It was hushed in the mountains that morning. In the quiet moments before dawn the sky opened up, the clouds dissipated, and the stars were vibrant, displaying the constellations like they were projected on a movie screen. He was miles away from the pollution of city lights, miles away from the influence of the outside world, so even the dimmest stars showed. Some that he had never seen, and that others could never imagine, peeked through in a dense network that, while fleeting, was stunning to behold. He could see the moon more clearly than ever – a massive, apple blossom white orb hovering above the tree line. It made the world glow pleasantly around him.
He was lying on his back in his front yard, surrounded by an ocean of trees and cascading hills, wearing only flannel pajama bottoms that were soaked through with dew and mud. He had his hands folded behind his head to keep his hair out of the grass. It was a little chilly, forcing goosebumps to rise on his arms, but there was a warm breeze blowing from the south and it encouraged him to stay outside. He had barely slept the night before, abandoning his home for this view of the sky. He had room to breathe out here.
His phone vibrated before the sun made an appearance. He had a new email from an address he didn't recognize. He sat up to check it, grimacing when his bottom half sank further into the damp soil. Some nearby birds squalled and streaked into the trees and the dog scrambled up to see them off, giving a few low barks to remind them whose yard this was.
He received a simple message. I heard about you from a friend – she's a fan of yours – and I thought you might be interested in the disappearances in Kentucky. It had a digitized version of a Lone Gunmen article, with Mulder as the star. His name was highlighted over and over in the text.
He stared at it for a while, two simple sentences and an article about him, before he shut his phone off and flung it into the grass. He cringed when it rolled toward a puddle, but it stopped short. Frankie, a conglomeration of a cattle dog who had lost her ears to the residential prepubescent psychopath, shot after it and brought it back to him, tossing it against his chest and circling him to get him to throw it again. He waved her off, falling back into the grass with his arms up over his head. He sighed.
It could not be happening again.
His mind was working quickly, drumming up all of the possibilities, trying to figure out who would have his private email, and for what purpose, and to what end. He could think of a hundred ways to say that he wasn't interested, a thousand short, effortless responses that would take, at the most, a few seconds away from his stargazing, but he couldn't make himself do it. He poised his fingers at the letters, holding his phone up, staring at the message, watching the vertical line blink with expectation. He had all the means, but none of the motivation.
He wanted to hop on a plane and figure out what was going on in Kentucky. If they were contacting him it was sure to be supernatural, or at least unusual. He wanted to be part of that world again so badly that it hurt. He had to force himself to close the email again.
He flung the phone, removing temptation by force. He watched it skip across the dirt road and land in the meadow on the other side of the yard. Frankie bolted after it and he smiled, rolling her over and scratching her stomach when she made it back to him. She had a judgmental look in her eyes.
"What?" he asked. "You can't judge me. You ate a poor defenseless bunny last week. I don't have to take this from a bunny murderer." She whimpered, so he flung the phone again. She scrambled up so fast that she sprayed mud over his chest. "Don't say I never did anything for you!"
He was enchanted with the idea of going on another case, of delving into the world he had done his best to forget. Scully wanted peace for them, and it wasn't so bad to settle down, to know where every meal was coming from, and to have casual friends, and sports friends, and cookout friends. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't him. He knew that Scully saw it. He knew she worried he would just disappear one day, off on another adventure, and that he would chase his passions to his death.
Frankie dropped the phone beside him, panting, and flopped down on her side. He pulled up his email again, wiping broke blades of grass and drool from the screen.
What is the nature of these disappearances?
He waited, playing the drums on the dog, until the response came.
Twenty-one people have vanished from Mammoth Cave National Park. The witnesses – at least the ones that I've spoken to so far – all gave the same story. The person went missing and a few minutes later the group heard a low rumbling, and then frantic screaming.
Mulder was nodding while he read. His mind was already stirring up the lore that he had been suppressing for almost a year. He knew a lot about caves, mostly because the Discovery Channel played almost nonstop in his living room, and he knew a lot about their unsavory inhabitants, from the mole people to the lords of the underworld. He knew of thousands of unexplained disappearances in cave systems across the globe and he had read hundreds of survivors' stories about horrifying monsters, shifting passageways, and dimensional portals within the Earth.
He let himself run away with the idea, his excitement growing, and sent out another email. I'm interested, but I want to know how you got this email.
Betty Olsen gave it to me.
He cringed. She had sent him a few strange news articles in the mail, trying to stir up his interest, and he had communicated casually with her, avoiding any commitment to the supernatural. She had never used another person to contact him before, and she had never sent such a serious case his way. She was a watchdog of sorts for paranormal sightings and reported hauntings. She generally didn't deal in missing people.
Mulder sent a short reply. How are you involved in all of this?
I'm a biologist. I've been studying the cave system. I have a federal grant to document it. I started hearing about the disappearances on the news and I thought they might be connected to my studies.
What exactly are you studying?
I thought I knew, but now I'm not sure. Betty shared my interest in the disappearances and she said this was your area. She recommended I contact you before I investigated it on my own. I have to tell you, though – I think there is something new in those caves.
He couldn't hear him, or even picture his face, but when the response came it made the hair on his neck stand up. Something new. It excited him, when it should have deterred him. He knew that most people would shy away from that conclusion, but it was his conclusion. He was swapping emails with someone who thought like he did, and that was invigorating.
Send me whatever you have on the disappearances – and your address. I can be out there tonight. Do you know of any good hotels in your area?
He retreated to the house, leaving wet footprints all the way to his study. He waited on his email, refreshing it over and over again until a message appeared from the biologist. It had his name, Gene Foster, his address, and his phone number, along with several attachments, from photos to audio files. He had also written a short message inviting Mulder to stay in his guest room.
He poured through the files until he came upon a hand-written list of victims. It looked like Gene had written it, put it through the washing machine, and then scribbled on it with several different pens. He had recorded the basic information for each missing person, giving Mulder enough to conclude that they were random, not chosen for any particular trait. Four were children, a third of them were women, and they were various races and nationalities. Some had gone missing from tour groups, some from research parties, and some while trespassing.
He kept reading until the sun came up and he heard the alarm clock going off in the bedroom. He quickly grabbed a towel from the hall and scrubbed the dog down, only getting half of the debris off of his back before Scully shuffled out. She took one look at him and smirked.
"I see you got a good night's rest."
"Couldn't sleep," he responded, heading back into his study. He dropped the towel and wiped up his watery footprints as he went, flopping down into his chair and turning to watch her enter his doorway. She was beautiful, all sleepy and bundled up in a fluffy white robe.
She looked doubtfully at the muddy dog bouncing around at her feet. "I just gave her a bath. Do you have to let her swim in the river?"
"She likes the river. She almost got a duck earlier."
She came over to him, leaning over to look at his computer screen. "Are you writing a profile?"
"No, just doing a little research. I got an email from a biologist who thought I might be interested in something out in Kentucky."
He looked up, finding an appropriate amount of alarm in her expression. She did her best to hide it, but it was always there, whenever he mentioned anything out of the ordinary. She knew he was less than dazzled by their quiet life, but she never brought it up. She let it simmer.
She tried to act casual, picking a wet leaf off of his shoulder while she spoke. Her tone was thoughtful. "So, are you… interested?"
He turned his chair, putting his hands on her hips to draw her closer. "Let me tell you about it, at least. It's pretty fascinating. So far I haven't found any evidence of extraterrestrial or government involvement." He waited, scanning her face. "So you can breathe now."
She let out a breath, looking away. "I have to get ready for work."
"It'll only take a second."
She sighed. "Fine. Lay it on me."
He grabbed the top sheet of the file, which he had printed in its entirety. He saw her frown at the stack of papers. "We need more black ink, by the way."
"Mulder…"
"Listen. Clarence Dawson, a thirty-nine year old postal worker from Kansas, vanished within the three hundred and ninety mile cave system beneath central Kentucky. He was vacationing with his family, a wife and three daughters, when he strayed from his tour group. Within minutes of his disappearance, witnesses in the group heard a low rumbling sound and what many perceived to be the dying screams of Mr. Dawson. A search of the cave was organized, but it's a labyrinth, and much of it remains unexplored. This was the twentieth such disappearance within the last year."
"Why do I feel like this is going to get silly?"
"Late last night a ranger responding to a call for help went missing in a similar fashion. Search groups have been scouring the area since the ranger failed to report back, even going so far as to send search and rescue dogs and remotely operated drones. Now, with all this fancy equipment you'd expect them to find something – a blood stain, a footprint in the mud, something – but as of this moment no bodies have been found, and no signs of foul play have been detected. These people weren't kidnapped, they weren't stabbed to death, they didn't fall down a chasm – they just vanished into thin air, undetectable, never to be heard from again."
"I suppose you have a theory… other than people literally vanishing."
"I have plenty of theories. The caves were carved out by the River Styx, a name you should be familiar with. Ancient legends say that souls of lost travelers traverse such rivers on a ghostly vessel, claiming those who stray too close to the shore."
She stepped a little closer to him, pressing his hair down with both hands. She smiled, amused by his words. "Oh? So are we blaming Hades for this?"
"I have other ideas – but that one is the coolest by far. Some groups claim that mole people live in that part of the caves, and from what I've gathered from this biologist so far, I think he attributes the disappearances to some kind of animal. He invited me out there, but…"
"But what?"
"Do you think I should go?"
He expected her to reject the idea outright, and it almost seemed that she would, but something changed in her expression at the last second. She ran her hand down his face, resting it on his shoulder. "I… I know you don't like it here. I know you hate this."
"I don't hate this," he insisted.
She laughed a little. "Okay, maybe you don't hate it, but you're bored out of your mind. Every night you're out there looking at the stars. You tried to make a raft out of logs last week."
"Succeeded, not tried."
"You accused Gordon of being a Sasquatch."
"It was dark and he's a hairy guy."
"You were caught dumpster diving behind the Mayflower."
He cringed. "…Lobster… people?"
She leaned a little closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He was amazed by her patience with him, by the adoring look she gave him even when she was irritated. "My point is… if you want this… if you really want to do this again, I can't stop you. I don't want to… I don't want to hold you back. I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy."
"You can stop me," he whispered.
"Since when?" She withdrew, smiling at him, but there was a deep longing in her. He knew it very well. She left him there, climbing into the windowsill, where soft boards were baking in the brand new sunlight. She looked at the mountains, wistful, and toyed with her pinky toe. "I wish you would take it with a grain of salt, at least. Jumping back into this… it might lead you down the same road. We've lost so much already, Mulder."
"Well, it's the road that brought me to you, isn't it?"
"Don't be cute. You know what I mean."
"I can't help it."
"I just don't want you to get hurt."
He spun his chair around, twisting his lips as he looked at the victim list again. "What about these people?" His voice drifted off. He thought of two dozen people lost in the darkness. "What if they're alive somewhere down there? What if that ranger is still alive down there, but the rescuers aren't equipped to find him?"
"And you are?"
"I have a different perspective, and so does this biologist. He's going down there with or without me, so I might as well be there to back him up."
He slid over to her, resting his chin on her knee. He liked the way the dawn light reflected in her eyes. It reminded him of the countless mornings they had spent together, almost seventeen years of sunrises in that pretty blue gaze. He did his best to reassure her. "I'm not jumping into bed with them anymore, Scully. I'm done with that. I'm done with conspiracies and the government. I'm not… I'm not running blindly off a cliff. You just have to trust my instincts, okay?"
"I do trust you," she responded quickly, smirking. She popped his cheek lightly. "I trust you to get into as much trouble as you possibly can, as fast as you possibly can."
She stretched out like a kitten, watching him for a little while. When she finally released him from her thoughtful expression, she looked around the room, at the collection of newspaper articles and memorabilia he had tacked to the walls. She drew her legs up again, her hand falling down to his thigh, and Frankie hopped into the windowsill with her. She looked at the dog, grimacing at her wet fur, and then she looked at Mulder, twisting her lips.
"So… when are you leaving?"
"Tonight. Later."
She put her hand on his face again, running her thumb over his lips. It was something she did habitually – telling him she loved him while simultaneously telling him to shut up. "Just be careful this time. You have a habit of running headlong into danger. Even if you found out it was an escaped boa constrictor eating people you would-"
"An escaped boa constrictor?"
"It was an example." He just grinned at her, and she flicked his kneecap. "Shut up. I get to have theories, too. It's more logical than the lord of the underworld."
"I believe you, sweetheart," he responded, standing and urging the dog out of the windowsill. He frowned at the muddy streaks she left on the old wood. Scully was looking at them too. "Uh, I'll give the dog a bath before I leave. Sorry."
Scully cocked an eyebrow, leaving the window. She circled his office, ruffled his hair, and then slipped out of the room. He followed her into their bedroom, flopping down on the bed and watching her get ready for work. He trailed after her throughout the house, making an effort to hinder her progress to provoke more laughter. He liked the sound of it. Eventually she locked him out of their room and he ended up in his study again, sitting in the tarnished windowsill with his patchwork mutt. He wondered idly how long it would take to scrub the guck out of her fur.
Scully returned to kiss him goodbye, getting momentarily distracted and settling down to lie on his chest for a few minutes. He stroked her hair back carefully, making sure every strand was in place, and she made a soft humming noise in her throat.
"Will you be gone before I get back?"
He shook his head, taking a deep, easy breath. He melted like butter whenever she cuddled up to him like this. He couldn't help thinking how lucky he was to have her affection. It planted a permanent smile on his face. "I'll probably book a midnight flight out of Reagan."
She twisted around in his arms, grabbing both of his hands and wrapping herself up in him like he was a throw blanket. "Good."
He stayed in the window when she left the house, waving at her as she loaded up in their SUV. It was one of two muddy vehicles they had acquired in the last year, the other being his studly silver jeep. It was more brown than silver at the moment, but still the perfect vehicle for taking back country paths and exploring abandoned tobacco buildings.
His eyes followed the gentle slope of the yard as it rolled toward the trees. It was a beautiful place, nestled into a picturesque valley, over a mile away from the nearest patch of asphalt, and a healthy ten minute drive from the tiny town on the mountainside. Their yard only stopped with a series of low wooden fences dancing between the trees. It was a horse pasture, home to several stunning young thoroughbreds and a perpetually grumpy quarter horse. It was beautiful, and lonely, and peacefully isolated from the world. His own little ode to the simple life.
His email dinged, distracting him from his thoughts. It was Gene Foster again.
I have a few interviews set up with witnesses tomorrow. I thought you might like to join me. I'm in the process of organizing an expedition into the caves. Pack warm hiking gear.
Mulder smiled to himself. He was open to all of the possibilities, but finding a supernatural being residing in those caves produced a childish excitement in him. He could imagine a dark river winding through ominous caves, its mouth lined with stalactites shapes like teeth, its water as black as pitch. He could see the glisten of flashlights on the water, the deceptive stillness, the eerie silence that follows the sound of dripping in the depths. He could see a ghostly boat, its walls chipped, its sails torn, gliding across the river's surface, full of long-dead faces that watched the shoreline, anticipating claiming another victim. He could see those hands reaching out, taking the lives of those who strayed from their groups, pulling them onto a mystical boat ride that never ended.
He thought the idea was spectacular, but he had no idea how they would solve the problem, if that were indeed the case. He had tried to explain such things to the world with little success.
He spent hours researching, saving important pages to his tablet and leafing through them while he wandered through the house. He booked a flight going out at three in the morning and arriving sometime around five, granted it stayed on schedule. He was pursued from room-to-room by the dog, who desperately needed to be lying across his lap.
When his mind became bogged down by all of the reading, he started writing. He hoped for the supernatural, but he still had to plan for the mundane. He typed out a profile for the potential killer, trying to figure out why anyone would choose a cave as their hunting ground. It was needlessly dangerous, well known, and well-traveled – all things that human killers tended to avoid.
He gave up eleven pages in, crumpling it all up and starting a rousing game of trash can basketball. Frankie retrieved the pieces that missed, rebounding them back to him.
He was coming to the end of his game, with only one more piece of paper in his lap, when he heard another car in the driveway and Frankie bolted through the house. She slipped out through the doggy door, going off like an alarm system all the way across the yard. Mulder followed her more slowly, switching his tablet out for the handgun he kept in the hall drawer and peeking through the front blinds. He saw a familiar car jerk to a stop just shy of the front porch.
He put his gun back and stepped outside, leaning against the pillar on the porch. He knew the faces in the car very well, having seen them relatively frequently for the last year. It was Deloris and her kid sister Iden – again.
He whistled to the dog and Frankie streaked back to his side, panting as she flopped down beside him. He waved at the women in the car, putting on his brave face. Deloris was the local psychic, and one offhanded remark by Scully at the hospital had led the woman to attach herself to Mulder. She was convinced he was going to die any second – and while that had been alarming the first two times she had predicted it, it got old after a few hundred false starts. He only tolerated her intrusions because she was kind of hilarious, and a genuinely well-meaning person, even when she was begging for attention. She was a consistent source of entertainment.
Deloris made a warpath toward him, glancing through the open door and making a face, while her sister trailed behind her. She smiled at Mulder as she came to sit on the steps. Frankie went to her lap immediately, begging for a tummy rub.
"Good morning ladies," Mulder said, winking at the kid while her guardian started pulling something from her purse. Iden giggled and looked away from him.
Deloris shoved a half-finished knit scarf in his face. "Fox – Fox, look at this." She twisted the threads, revealing a bead that had been buried between the others. "Look at this."
"Is it saying I'll drown in knitwear?"
Iden laughed, but Deloris didn't seem to notice the joke. "No, no, it's so much worse!" She forced him to hold the scarf, and he realized it was damp and cold. She put her hand to her mouth, making a dramatic O with her lips. "Fox… it means you'll become lost… somewhere wet… somewhere cold… and drown."
He had at least a hundred sarcastic things to say to her, having pruned his list since their first encounter, but what she said took the luster right out of him. It had to be a coincidence. He was about to go to Kentucky and enter a labyrinth of caves, where twenty-one people had potentially drowned already. She must have known about it somehow. She must have encountered Scully that day.
He cleared his throat. "I'll be extra careful. Promise."
Deloris was only in her mid-forties, but she had all the drama of an elderly woman, and the energy of a child. She wore those thick glasses that were attached to a beaded chain, dyed her hair every color in the rainbow, and wore clothes from the seventies to give off the illusion of being a diviner. Her outfit, and her disposition, made it exceptionally entertaining to watch her perform. She threw her hand to her head, oversized rings and collections of bangles knocking together, and sighed, putting her other hand on his shoulder.
"Oh… I can see it… the darkness. Oh, you mustn't go to it, Fox. It… it is… so hungry."
He put his hand over hers, wearing his patient face. "I'll be careful."
She nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. "Stay strong in the face of death." She retreated down the steps, sweeping her tattered sweater around herself like she was flinging a cape. She paused at her door, looking around as if recalling something. "Will you protect her? I have something to take care of in town."
Deloris had a funny way of asking for a babysitter. She always insisted she had business to take care of someplace else, but Mulder was never sure where she was going, or what she was up to. She also had a peculiar habit of asking people to 'protect' Iden instead of watch her. He thought it had something to do with her purported predictions of death. Perhaps she believed her sister was also going to die any moment, and that she required constant supervision.
He glanced at the kid, who was cooing over his dog, and shrugged. "Sure."
Once the rusted station wagon was at the other end of the driveway, Iden dared to speak up. She wrapped her coat a little tighter around her and looked up at him, rubbing her legs together like a little cricket trying to start a song. "Are you going to the festival, Fox?"
Every year Wayfield hosted a Diviner's Festival in honor of a famous psychic who was born in the area. It was still months away and he had no business committing so soon, but the kid looked so hopeful that he couldn't help himself. "Of course I'm coming. What would a psychic festival be without me? I'm the best psychic around."
She grinned. "No you're not!"
"I am. I never told you that?" He came to sit beside her, rubbing the dog's stomach so she would stop whining at him. He brought his voice down a few levels of maturity, and into a secretive whisper. "I haven't even told Dana yet. I keep having visions of… of taking my raft down the river… and there's ice cream involved."
Her face lit up. "You finished it?"
"Well, the one I made of sticks fell apart, but I bought one of those rubber ones that expands when you pull the cord. Wanna take it for a spin?"
She bounced to her feet and raced across the yard. Frankie flopped around like a fish out of water, and then bolted after her. Mulder laughed, walking inside to get changed. His new raft had the potential to make it all the way to town, and he didn't want to be in his pajamas when they got there. Quite a few people in Wayfield already thought he was crazy.
He found another email waiting on his phone. Gene Foster had sent him more files about the disappearances. He left them downloading and went out to join the kid.
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"I think this is the best idea ever," Iden commented. She was sitting bolt upright, her hand gripping one side of the raft, the other suffocating an ice cream cone. She had vanilla streaks all over her cheeks from the bumpy ride. She smiled at Mulder with all the radiance of the early afternoon sun.
He jammed his walking stick against a rock, changing their course to avoid a tree limb that barely peeked above the surface. He nodded his agreement, letting his stick drag across the bottom of the river. It was almost completely translucent, exposing the minnows that darted away from the shadow of their vessel. They were passing through a field at the moment, heading for another patch of trees that led into town. Ahead of them, the world looked a lot like a Hallmark card, with massive mountains providing the backdrop, and horses grazing in the distance. Behind them, his stout cattle dog was trotting along the shore, dutifully keeping track of them when she wasn't busy sniffing a rocky crevice or chasing after curious birds.
"We could probably take this all the way to the ocean," Mulder said wistfully, shielding his eyes with his hands and squinting, as if he could see the beaches already.
Iden smiled. "I thought they were really far away."
"Well, with the right flotation devices we could hit the open water by… next year."
She twisted around, going to sit on the front of the raft. She dangled her feet in the water, wielding her own stick. She used it to tap the raft, adding a bit of music to their journey. "I think our raft would fall apart," she observed, picking at one of the corners.
Mulder shook it suddenly, startling her so much that she fell backward into the floorboard. He snorted, grabbing her foot and pulling her upright. "I thought I saw a bee."
"You did not," she huffed.
"Really. It was a big one. I feared for my life."
"Fox, you're a crazy person."
"I'm not the one who picked vanilla over chocolate."
She hummed, accepting his judgement, and flopped back onto the inflated bench, forcing her legs up a few times before she managed to backflip behind him. She crawled onto the side and draped herself over it, one foot and one hand skimming the water. She alternated between staring at him and staring at Frankie, who was in pursuit of a frog on the shore.
Eventually the river brought them to town. It ran under two showy, arching white bridges and on to a popular part of the river. It widened and became shallow along the fringes. It forked around a white patch of sand, and on either side parents monitored swimming children. Mulder directed them to the right, waving at excited grade-schoolers as they marveled at his raft. Iden mimicked him, waving like a princess as she perched on the edge. Frankie also did her share of entertaining, begging kisses from the toddlers in the sand and provoking giggles from one of Scully's work friends, who was lounging in the sun with her husband.
Mulder called the dog off with a whistle. "Sorry Nancy!" he called, grabbing Frankie by the collar when she swam up to the raft. He dumped her inside. "She thinks everyone loves her!"
Nancy waved at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. Frankie whimpered, walking along the edge of the raft. She puffed out her chest, perked her ears, and kept watch for them, making sure no intruders dared attempt to enter her temporary home. Iden rolled around in the floor, trying to provoke the dog to play with her, and when her attempts failed she leaned over the water.
When the populated shores passed them by, Iden came to sit with him. She petted Frankie absently, twisting her lips around. "Hey, Fox, can I ask you something?"
He was leery of her suddenly serious expression. He hated to imagine what dark things could go on in her mind. She had lost her mother three years ago to suicide, and she had been the one to come home from first grade and find the body. Since then she had lived with her potentially insane sister, who meant well, but whose parenting skills were severely lacking. Mulder was allowed to forget these things when she was smiling, but when her smiles faded, the darkness reemerged.
He flicked a leaf out of her hair. "Sure. What's up?"
"Do you think I'm really psychic?"
He had asked himself that question many times since meeting this girl and her sister. Deloris claimed to be psychic, a reader of omens and a diviner of the weather, but she laid an even more dazzling claim on her sister. She told Mulder that Iden dreamt of the future in perfect clarity. She knew situations and events that were going to happen, and she had never been wrong.
He was uncertain about his own belief in the ability, having encountered several dozen frauds in his new town alone, but Iden was a special case.
"Do you think you're a psychic?" he asked.
She looked away, taking one more bite of her ice cream and giving the rest to the dog. She wiped her mouth on her shirt – a habit she had, unfortunately, picked up from Mulder – and shifted around, leaning heavily into his shoulder. "I see stuff sometimes. Deloris says I see the future. She says the things I dream about really happen somewhere."
"What kind of stuff do you see?"
Her frown deepened. "I had a dream that momma would die, and then she did. She died just like in my dream. Deloris said we could have saved her."
He took a breath. Leave it to that eccentric woman to blame a nine-year-old for something she couldn't have possibly prevented. "Sometimes things happen," He said, hoping to ease the guilt in her eyes. "Sometimes we can't do anything to stop them."
"But I saw what was going to happen," Iden murmured.
He felt a strange sense of comradery with this little girl. Their lives, from very early on, had been marred by the supernatural, and they would never experience the blissful ignorance of the kids they had passed on the shore. He wasn't sure Iden could understand what she was missing at this age, but he knew she would feel it one day. It would sit like a sour spot in her throat.
"I lost my sister when I was a kid," he said. "I had the chance to save her, but I froze up. I was so scared that I let it happen. I blamed myself for that for a long time, but I realized later that I was just a kid. I couldn't have done anything to help her. Some things are just… destiny."
"Deloris says that a lot."
He swallowed the lump of doubt he had for Deloris and nodded. "She's a pretty smart lady." He reached down and splashed Iden, getting the dog on the backstroke. "And you're a pretty wet kid."
"Hey!" she shouted, jumping away from him. She grinned, grabbing Frankie and hiding behind her. She changed her mind after a moment, diving into the corner and sweeping some water toward him. Her little hand barely made a splash, but she still managed to hit him.
He got drawn into a splash war, and he didn't see a boulder approaching beneath them. The whole raft lurched and he heard an ominous hissing sound.
Iden jumped back to his side, grabbing his arm. "What was that?"
Mulder felt along the bottom of the raft, groaning when water started seeping around his hand. "I think we're sinking." He grabbed his walking stick and reached down for the bottom of the river, dismayed to find his arm wasn't long enough. He tried to use it as a paddle with little success. He could see the rapids starting up ahead, distant white caps running over rocks.
He sat on the edge, grabbing Frankie and dropping her in the water. She swam to the shore and shook herself, whimpering at him.
"Abandon ship," he declared, grabbing Iden and dragging her to the edge with him. He pulled her hand over his shoulder. "Hold onto my neck."
He slid into the water with her, swimming in a diagonal line to the shore. He let Iden climb up first, giving her a hard shove to get her up the slippery clay, and then he dragged himself up after her. He sat up in the sand, watching his raft take the rapids and go on down the river. It would be full of water soon enough. He was grateful he hadn't told Scully about it.
Iden washed the sand off of her knees, laughing as she watched Frankie pursue every bird within twenty feet of them. When Mulder stood up, she scrambled toward him so fast that she almost fell back into the water.
"Okay, me hearty," Mulder said, turning Iden toward a steep incline. "We be walking back home, and we not be mentioning this to Scully unless we be wanting Fox to meet an early grave."
"Aye aye," Iden responded, dutifully saluting him.
It was a pleasant walk that was made awkward by their wet clothes. When they reached the miniature beach again, they got strange looks from everyone, and Mulder avoided making eye contact with Scully's friend. He focused instead on harassing his pint-sized companion, ruffling her hair and shoving her before running across the bridge. She chased him, yelling all kinds of PG pirate curses, and slapped him in the back when she reached him.
"Ow, ow, elder abuse," he complained, dodging another smack. He tipped her head to the side, jumping back before she could react. "You hit like a bologna sandwich."
"You look like a bologna sandwich," she countered.
Halfway back to the house, it occurred to Mulder that his phone was still in his pocket. He took it out, watching with dismay as water drained from the keyboard.
"You need a new phone," Iden stated, smiling a little.
He flicked the battery at her, getting her in the thigh. "Very keen observation there, little lady. Hey, whoa, watch that. Could be corrosive."
She stuck out her tongue, giving Frankie another scratch between the ears and then running at him. She hook both of her arms around one of his. "Carry me back!"
"Do I look like a taxi to you?"
"Fox," she whined, sinking down to her knees. She clawed at the ground. "I think my legs may be broken. I see the light! I can see my life flashing before my eyes!"
"All five minutes of it," Mulder grumbled. "Hop on."
When he arrived at the house with a soaking wet nine-year-old clinging to his back and a stumpy cattle dog dragging its feet behind him, he was horrified to find the SUV in the driveway. Scully was already starting toward them, looking at him incredulously.
"Mulder, what the hell have you been doing?"
He let the little girl slip down his back. "I bought a raft. Did I ever mention that? Iden and I went for a little ride." Iden wrapped her arms around Scully, smiling up at her. Mulder did his best to look anywhere but her face. "We sprung a tiny leak."
"We were sinking!" Iden said, glancing back at Mulder. She was oblivious to his cease-and-desist expression. "We had to abandon ship and walk home!"
Scully swept the girl's hair back with both hands. "That sounds really exciting."
"Are you on break?" Iden demanded.
Scully glared at Mulder for another split second. "Yeah, honey, I came home to get some lunch. Little did I know what I would find."
"Is Fox in trouble?"
Scully tilted her head, shrugging, and led Iden into the house. "How about we get you a quick bath? You're all muddy. You'll get a rash if you keep those wet clothes on much longer."
She shot one last scowl at Mulder as she escorted the girl into the house. Mulder followed them, changing into a fresh pair of clothes before doing his best impression of a starfish on the couch. He rubbed Frankie down with a towel before allowing her to settle between his legs. She rested her head on his thigh, sighing, and stared absently at the television.
When the girls returned, Iden was dressed in a set of princess pajamas she had left by mistake last week. He could hear the washing machine running in the other room, coaxing the mud and clay out of her jean shorts. She sat on his chest, giggling when Frankie jumped up to greet her.
Scully leaned over his shoulder suddenly, very close to his ear. "Don't burn the house down. I'll be home in a few hours. Channel the responsible adult inside."
"Responsible… what now?"
She slapped one cheek and kissed the other. "Shut up, Mulder."
He spent the rest of the afternoon with Iden, happily taking a break from his research. He hosted a showing of several kids' movies, helped her construct the best blanket fort in the history of the world, and then cut off all the lights and told her the story of one of their past cases, entertaining a question and answer session afterwards. Iden was a bright, curious kid, taking on the strangest mysteries with the most whimsical explanations. It was one of the reasons they connected so well – they thought alike. Iden was just as wild as he was.
Scully came home with Chinse food, obviously delighted when she saw that Iden was still there. She went on a full tour of the blanket fort while Mulder set out the food.
He heard his email ding in the other room, but he managed to ignore it. Scully and Iden joined him, but somehow his mind had managed to wander back into the cave while they were in the other room. He thought again of the people who had gone missing, how devastated their families must be, and it brought his mood down. Scully noticed as soon as he took his seat, but she said nothing. She distracted Iden with the ritual opening of the fortune cookies.
Over an hour later, headlights flashed out front and the Frankie alarm went off again. Scully took Iden to the door, handed her a neat pile of her formerly drenched and muddied clothes, and watched her walk out to her sister's car. Mulder hung back, still munching on the last fortune cookie.
"She needs more stability," Scully commented as she shut the door. She brushed past Mulder, beginning to clean up the table. "Deloris throws that girl around like she's a pet."
"She seems happy enough," Mulder said.
"For now, I suppose."
Mulder shrugged, unfolding his third fortune for the night. He cocked an eyebrow. "You will fall into bed with a beautiful woman."
Scully laughed. "Right."
"Hey, I just obey the signs," Mulder said, sneaking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, sliding her hair back to kiss her neck. She squirmed, still trying to scrape the plate into the trash. "We can't deny our fate, Scully. We have to embrace the signs as they are revealed to us."
She set her plate on the counter, leaning quietly into his arms and shutting her eyes. For a moment he thought she was thinking the same thing he was, but her expression became sad. She ran her hand over his. "You know, she's right around William's age."
He swallowed. Mentions of his son gave him a painful sense of grief. He had never really gotten over that loss – the loss that happened in his absence. He had held William all of one time. He could not even drum up a memory of his face. It stung his heart.
"Yeah," he responded, his voice a little thick.
"You would have been a good dad," she went on, twisting in his arms. She kissed him lightly on the lips, pressing her forehead to his. "Iden loves you."
"You would have been a good mom," he countered. "Iden thinks you run this relationship."
She smirked. "Well, she's not wrong."
When the dishes were done and the house was mostly settled, Mulder returned to the couch. Scully joined him, relaxing into his side for a while before sinking down to put her head in his lap. She held one of his hands, running her fingers over his wrist. He stared at the TV, aware of what he was seeing, but not really watching it. He wasn't particularly interested in penguin migration right now. He was trying to remember what his son looked like.
"I'm sorry I brought it up," Scully murmured, twisting around so she was on her back. She kissed his palm, her eyes glittering in the light of the television.
He smiled down at her, but the expression left him as he spoke. "Can you… remind me? What did he look like? I saw him once before… before he was gone."
She took a deep, settling breath. "He was beautiful. He hardly had any hair – it would have been blonde, or light brown, I think – and his eyes were the prettiest shade of blue. He reminded me of you so much, mostly because he woke up in the middle of the night, every night, and cried until I gave him what he wanted."
Mulder grinned. He raked his fingers through her hair, getting it out of her face. He loved the way she looked in this light, the way she looked when she was remembering something pleasantly, instead of painfully. It reminded him of the dozens of cases they had worked in the moonlight. It gave him a peaceful longing for the past.
She glanced at the clock. "When do you have to leave?"
"Soon, but not too soon."
"Is that why you're always late?"
He laughed. "You caught me."
"I wish you wouldn't go," she whispered, staring into his eyes for a moment. She had heavy thoughts dragging her mind down. He could read it on her face. She was reluctant to say what she was thinking about because the few times that they had breached this topic had led to fights. He shared her hesitation, though he wished things were different.
He drew in a deep breath, tilting his head back to view the ceiling. It was much easier to speak to her, to tell her something she didn't want to hear, if he couldn't see her eyes.
"I have to go, Scully."
He wanted to ask her if she would still be here when he returned. Their last case had brought that question to life. Scully had threatened to leave him for his devotion to the supernatural. She had been serious, too. It was all over her face. He could remember that expression – the expression he loathed the most – more than he could remember the moment they had reconciled. It was the bad things, the looming threats, that clung to him.
Losing her was the worst thing he could imagine, but his passion called him away. He wanted to find those people, to solve this mystery, and to go on to solve the next one.
When he looked down at her again, he found a familiar blankness in her eyes. It was always there when she withheld her feelings. "I hope you find what you're looking for."
Ouch.
He tried to come up with something to say as she rolled off of the couch, kissed his forehead, and retreated to the bedroom. He came up with nothing. He could have gone after her and swept her off her feet, promising that he would drop the case, swearing that he would forget about the caves and the disappearances. He could have saved the situation before it ate away at their fragile new life. He could have done a lot of things to comfort her, but he grabbed his bag instead. He lingered against the bedroom door, listening to her moving around on the bed, and then he left.
