Jonathan Creek/The X Files
Joan Taylor turned over in her bed. She hadn't been sleeping at all well these past couple of weeks, ever since she'd come back from hospital. Perhaps it was the country scene. Joan had lived in Dallas ever since she had retired, and she was used to the night-long buzz of cars and lights. A friend of hers, Adam Lyle, had taken pity on her and bought her to Waterdale for a couple of weeks. Joan was very grateful, but she couldn't block from her mind that something was slightly wrong.
Joan's clock rang lightly. It was seven 'o'clock. Slowly the bedroom door opened. Adam came in quietly carrying a tray of breakfast. He placed it on the bedside table, then went over to the window where he pulled back the curtains. Light streamed into the old woman's room, brightening the Christian cross above Joan's bed, a couple of photograph frames, and a single slipper on the floor. Adam helped the tired woman sit up.
'Morning, Joan', Adam said, as he gently placed another pillow behind Joan's head. 'There you go my angel. I think I made the coffee a little strong again'
'The stronger the better', replied Joan. 'I just can't seem to wake up these morning, for love nor money.'
'Anyone, who had had a major coronary bypass, and their leg removed by a bear, is allowed to feel a little grotty in the morning', Adam smiled as he laid some mail on Joan's lap. 'Couple of letters for you today.'
'Oh thank you', said Joan, taking a sip of coffee. 'How was your mail? Anything about your expedition, to, where was it?'
'Africa.' Adam answered. 'No, they're not interested. I wasn't surprised. A bugger to photograph anyway, Cheetahs. Will not keep still.'
Adam smiled at the memory of his trip. He had been a wonderful time out there, and had returned with an attractive tan.
Mulder sat at a small table sipping his Budweiser and reading a newspaper. It was only a tabloid, of which Mulder read very little of, as it was too biased for the way he liked to think. But the Daily World was easy to read after a hard day at the Bureau. He turned the page, where a beautiful woman, Amanda Stag, was presented to him. Top half naked, and surrounded by paragraphs of the story about her "fling with the famous", how she always needed "Amanda Shag", and extracts from the pornography magazines she was featured in. Mulder's lip stiffened. He knew these things were about as inaccurate as they were alliterate.
Amanda Stag walked briskly across the grass to her home in Waterdale, a large 18th Century mansion. She threw her coat down on a chair, and dumped the copy of the Daily World she was carrying in the trash compactor. Her husband, Richard, a retired FBI agent sat in the drawing room, carefully cutting out photos of his wife from the newspaper and gluing them into a scrapbook. Amanda strode in, slamming the door behind her.
'Are people so full of crap around here or what?' she shouted, pouring herself a small glass of wine. 'Can't even visit the newsagent without some bloody reporter staking my arse.' She gazed at her husband. 'Do I really deserve all this, Richard? Like I'm supposed to feel sorry for having a bit of fun in my life?' Amanda shrugged her shoulders. 'Well, I suppose if they're not totally avoiding me at the supermarket, they're hoarding around me, gagging for all the tasty details.'
Richard looked up, calmly. He was used to this. Her name had been in the papers for over 20 years, when she was a model back in the 70's. But Richard didn't mind, as much as the Bureau disapproved, Amanda was simply the most perfect being he has ever laid eyes on. He smiled sympathetically at his wife.
Amanda tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulders. She stood with confidence, as if she were being filmed right now. 'As far as I'm concerned', she said, putting a hand on her delicate hip, 'God gave me a beautiful body. And he did this for one reason. To bring people pleasure'
Richard took Amanda's hand. 'And you did, my dear. On a very regular basis.'
Amanda smiled. 'And I'm certainly not going to apologise.'
Suddenly, as if to mock her, a brick came flying though the window, just missing Amanda. A woman's voice could be heard shouting:
'Repent to the Lord your God, or be damned for all eternity!'
Richard opened window fully, and shouted back, glancing at Amanda. 'Thank you Mrs Gibson' He called. 'We don't need any of that talk around here.'
'I think I'll go and mow the lawn. It needs trimming. Can't remember when it was last done, we'll have weeds popping up everywhere', Amanda babbled, lighting up her cigarette and marching out through the French doors onto the grass. Richard followed her out onto the patio, where he sipped Amanda's' left over wine. Alice Wade, the post woman walked into the yard.
'Got a couple of letters for you today. Mr Stag', she said, leaning her bicycle against the wall. 'And I'll need you to sign this for me too', she added, passing Richard a small box.
The shed was filthy. It was dark, and you had to wade though piles of newspapers, buckets and tools before you reached the mower. Amanda took a puff from her cigarette and stepped carefully over the appliances. As she grabbed hold of a folded deckchair to steady herself, some smouldering ash fell from her cigarette, straight into a puddle of oil.
Richard jumped straight up, as the shed exploded into a ball of flames. Alice leapt to her feet.
'Bloody hell', she exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth.
Richard ran over to the burning shed. Smoke puffed up into the clouds, and he coughed loudly.
'Mandy!' He shouted. 'Oh God, Alice, call 911!'
Mulder sat at his desk, using a coin to flip sunflower seed husks into his paperclip holder, when Scully strode in, carrying some files. She dropped then onto Mulder's desk, covering the sunflower seeds. Mulder glanced up.
'I was eating those you know'.
Scully stared at him. 'Rather your desk than mine', she replied, sweeping the last of the crumbs away, and opening the top file. 'If you're done, I've just had a call from a retired FBI agent, Richard Stag. Said his wife Amanda's been rushed to hospital after being in a shed that exploded. He's convinced it was attempted murder.'
'I wouldn't be too surprised' replied Mulder, passing Scully his newspaper. 'Not exactly the parish newsletter. Plenty of people wanted revenge. Question is, would anyone hate her enough as to want to kill her?'
'Mulder, agent Stag is very distressed. I expect all sorts of things would be running though his mind right now. I'm sure the cops will have checked out the shed for any signs of an explosive device. Frankly I don't see the point of this, I'm sure it was just an accident. But Skinner wants me on this case, so I'll flying out to Waterdale in Utah for the next day or so.'
Mulder looked up at he with a glimmer in her eye. 'You'd better book another ticket.'
Scully sighed. 'Why do you want to come? This probably isn't even a murder. It's certainly not an X file.'
Mulder grinned. 'Actually, it may well be an X file. Let me look at those reports.' Mulder grabbed the folder from Scully's hands as she rolled her eyes. 'Mulder what's the point?' she questioned.
'Yes, you've got here that the shed Mrs Stag was in the shed that exploded at two in the afternoon, on the 16th of April? During that time, no other person was seen in that shed, or the garden, apart from agent Stag, and the post girl, Alice Wade?'
'That's right Mulder. But where are you going with all this? It's a straightforward case, only related to the FBI because the husband used to work for it. As I said, it's not an X file.'
'Actually Scully, I'm one step ahead of you.' He grinned. 'I got a call too, from a villager who knew about the incident - Jack Palmer. He told me he'd heard of my work on the X files though agent Stag, and that I would be the only one who would believe him.'
'Believe what, Mulder?'
'That Amanda Stag was spotted in the lane at seven-thirty in the evening, totally unharmed, on Tuesday, the 16th of April. Just five hours since she'd been rushed to hospital, where she has been in a coma, with half her body burnt off, ever since. And the women who not spotted her, Joan Taylor, said that she was certainly not mistaken, because she even had a conversation with her in the backyard, about her past sins.
Richard Stag sat in the small cubicle where his wife lay. A cardio-monitor provided the familiar bleep. Like something out of a TV program, he thought. Richard took his wife's bandaged hand, and glanced at her face, which, too, was completely covered in bandages.
Mulder and Scully arrived in Waterdale early next morning. Mulder had persuaded his partner to grab an earlier flight than the other agents who would be flying in the next day. Jack Palmer was waiting for them at the airport.
'Agents', he cried, running over to greet them, much to the surprise of Scully, who hadn't expected them. 'Thanks so much for coming on such short notice.' He smiled with great enthusiasm at Mulder.
'Richard is in a terrible state. He hasn't met this Joan person of course, but told me that she's either mistaken, or playing a very nasty trick on us all. I've been thinking about the case all day, just waiting for you to arrive. It's totally impossible, she was on the verge of death, and I talked to Joan, she's certain she didn't dream it. I mean, I know she's a bit grotty at the mo, after being attracted by a bear, but-'
'Mr Palmer, slow down', Scully remarked as they entered the unloading area to pick up their bags. 'I don't understand. What's all this about bears?'
'Perhaps we should speak to this Joan Taylor first, before we start climbing the trees before we've planted them.' He paused. 'We haven't hired a car yet, so I'll see if we can get a cab.
'Oh that's alright', smiled Jack. 'I'm parked just around the corner actually!'
Scully grimaced as she clung to the back of Jack's coat. Mulder looked as if he was about to throw up. Travelling by scooter and sidecar was certainly not their first choice of transport.
The two agents were gathered in Jack's living room. It was small and cramped, and magazines and tabloid newspapers were scattered about the place. Most were opened on the story of Amanda. Jack's girlfriend, the post woman, Alice, dished out cups of coffee.
'So I've guess you've heard all about this then, Mr Mulder? What they've all been calling her?'
'Bits and pieces', replied Mulder. 'What was she, some model back in the 70's then?
'A, er, professional bed-hopper,' said Jack. 'Screwed up God knows how many marriages before she settled down here as the country wife.'
Scully turned to Alice. 'I hear you were at the scene? Could you tell us what you saw please?'
'A fate that shouldn't have happened to anyone, not even her. I was delivering the mail to the Stags, heard something about Amanda going off to mow the lawn. Turned round a few seconds later, the whole shed had exploded. I know Richard was saying something about a murder, but I don't think it was that. Amanda smoked; I guess she probably let some ash fall into some oil or whatever. And then Jack and I were round at Adam's this-'
'Adam Lyle,' Jack added. 'He lived just down the road from here, got his friend Mother Teresa staying. Joan used to work as a missionary, spreading the word of God; she's retired now, but still as sharp as a needle. Pathologically honest. She's the last person to ever make something like this up.'
'And that's what make's this thing so strange, Alice continued. 'If Joan tells anyone anything, it has to be taken as gospel. Yet she tells us that she had a conversation with Amanda Stag, in the front yard, 5 hours after she was rushed to hospital, in a coma, half her faced burnt off.
'Well my 40 years of Christian Aid work around the globe has given me my share of sorcery and witchcraft. But nothing quite like this.' Joan Taylor spoke clearly, enhancing every word she said.
Mulder seemed to be hanging on to every word Joan told him, but Scully was only half listening. She was sure Joan was mistaken - as a doctor, she knew that it was impossible for anyone in Amanda's condition to leave her bed and appear as flesh and blood just five hours later. You didn't need to have a medical degree to believe something like that. She glanced at Mulder, who was sitting on the edge of Joan's bed, trying for as much information as he could get out of her, or looking for some clue that she was lying. Mulder worked as a criminal profiler for the FBI before be discovered the X files, and he could tell that Joan Taylor was telling the truth entirely. He pondered this thought for a few moments. If there was something more sinister going on than this, then perhaps the fact that Joan never lied was the clue to what anything else might be about.
Adam burst into the room carrying some cups of coffee. 'Yes, you've certainly done the round since we first met! A hundred years ago, when I was a cameraman in TV.' He smiled at Scully. 'My first ever documentary, about this young lady's good work! Been chums ever since.' Scully smiled politely back.
'After her operation, Joan here was pretty much bed-ridden. Thought a couple of weeks here in Waterdale might perk her up a bit. And last week, we thought we'd try going outside for supper.'
Joan looked up. 'I was rather reluctant at first! I have to say, just lying here all day, with my book, or my music, it's been bliss. Though I haven't been sleeping too well, I'm very much grateful to Adam for putting up with me all this time!'
Mulder smiled at Joan. 'Tell us about the time you talked with Mrs Stag'.
'Well, I was sitting here in my bed, writing to a friend, and at seven 'o'clock, in comes Adam. Time to stir your stumps - or in my case - stump - and have a bit of tea in the front garden. It was a very pleasant spring's evening I must say. Homemade lemonade and sandwiches. The air was cool and pleasant, slightly damp, as if it were morning. Until that nasty wasp came along! Adam went to get some cream or whatever, and I was left alone in the yard, when Amanda Stag appeared behind the wall. I hadn't heard about the accident, so I wasn't in the least surprised when I saw her. She climbed over the stile and looked at me, said "hi", and introduced herself. I invited her to sit down and have a glass of lemonade, which she did. She mentioned newspapers, the stories about her. I asked her what she's been up to which was so awful, then her guilty look told me she wasn't feeling too happy about it. I gave her the once over, and "guessed" what was the matter. Amanda seemed to agree with what I was saying, and she glanced up at the church, which can be seen through the trees. She wondered if it was too late to make her peace with God. I told her that it was never too late, she said goodbye, and wandered off to the church.'
By this time, Scully was fully listening. Mulder and Jack were right. This woman certainly was not lying. She waited for Mulder to say something about ghosts or aliens, and was slightly surprised when he stuck to a rational question, and asked her what time all this took place at.
'Well as I said, I had a good view of the church, which has a clock on it. I remember glancing at it that evening as she left. It was just coming up to half past seven.'
Scully looked blank for a second. 'You didn't notice anything abnormal about Mrs Stag? Not burns or abrasions?' she asked.
'Well', Joan started. 'The only thing I did notice, was that the bottom of her pants where slightly damp.'
'Damp?' Mulder questioned. 'How far up?'
'Oh, a couple of inches. As if she had been walking through damp grass.'
Suddenly Scully's phone started to beep. 'Excuse me a second' she remarked. 'A text message. From the agent Stag.'
Mulder walked over to his partner and read her message. 'Amanda Stag. She's dead.'
The whole room looked up. Adam looked very sincere. 'I'm surprised Richy managed to write that text message, actually.'
'Richy?' Scully remarked to the informal reference.
'Richard Stag. I mean, he absolutely worshipped the woman. How she saw the attraction, well, that's another mystery entirely! Like my missus. PhD in medievil history. Runs off with a man who makes balloon animals.'
Mulder glanced at a photo of Adam, Joan and another woman, presumably his wife.
'Guts are suddenly torn out of your life like that. Suppose one must find a way of dealing with it.'
Scully glanced at Mulder. What did he mean 'dealing with it'?
'Maybe it's me', said Joan quietly. 'Maybe it's my faith that's being tested here. But she did appear, as flesh and blood. As I said to Jack, I certainly didn't dream it. But is it true? That she made her peace with God before she died?'
The agents weren't due to be booked into their hotel until the next day, so Jack Palmer and his girlfriend agreed to make them tea. Scully took a bite out of her roll, and looked at Mulder.
'When are you going to bring out the aliens in this one, then, Agent Mulder? She smiled. 'This whole thing doesn't quite add up somehow. That Mrs Taylor. She certainly seems to be pathologically honest.
But they're no way that she could have appeared as flesh and blood at seven-thirty that evening.'
Alice walked in. 'Heard you haven't got booked for a hotel yet, and we're obviously not going to solve this in five minutes. Well, there's a spare double bed upstairs. So no problem with sleeping arrangements.'
Mulder turned over in the bed. Jack was constantly kicking him in his sleep. Bloody hell, he thought. Why'd I have to end up like this? Maybe it would have been better for him and Scully to share a bed after all, he thought, as Jack's arm flopped over him. He got out of bed, and slept on the floor instead, gazing though the window.
Moonlight streamed into the room where Scully and Alice lay in the other double bed. The windowsill seemed like it was being hit by daylight. Scully got up again to pull the curtains tighter, when suddenly he had a breakthrough in her thinking. A glimmer of what this whole thing was about.
Next morning, Mulder trenched downstairs, rubbing his sore neck. Scully was already having breakfast. She was feeling clever, having placed another point on the lateral graph. He noticed Mulder emerge for breakfast and smirked at him. 'Such a dirty trick, you know. Sleep with someone then piss off early the next morning.' Mulder chewed his lip and tried to ignore her.
'What's the plan of action today then? Make's sense to check out our old Bureau man.'
Alice poked her head round the corner. 'While you're at it, get a load of his magazines.'
'What magazines?' Scully asked. Alice just winked.
'At the last count, we were well into the thirty-thousands,' explained Richard Stag. He stood on a ladder and reached out for what appeared to be an expensive book. This sort of book filled the bookshelves or the room. Every wall was covered with them. And, to Mulder's surprise, each book was in fact a folder for ten or so pornography magazines. The ex-agent had certainly kept quiet about these during his time.
'I has every major British and American title. Mayfair, Playboy, Flirt and Skirt. And this is a very rare Hot Jugs and Hooters. Cancelled after just one issue - most copied were burned.
Mulder tried not to stare at any photo for too long. He reached for a Razzle that lay on Richard's desk. Inside, the front page of the first magazine showed a large picture of Amanda, wearing very little. Richard strode up behind him. 'She was, quite simply, the most perfect being I had ever laid eyes on. Though I have never knew whether she married me only for my money. But she is the most precious and irreplaceable part of my life. Like a diamond. That may be slightly flawed. But will always be a diamond.' Richard wandered over to the window, where he could see Scully searching the shed for any evidence.
Scully knew there was very little point to this task. The shed was, apart from being burnt, totally normal. She sighed and looked up at Jack, who was watching her.
'Well I found exactly what I expected.' She remarked.
Jack looked excited. 'Really? What did you find?'
Scully stared at him. 'Nothing', she answered simply. 'And I didn't expect to find anything either. If you ask me, there's nothing at all dodgy about this shed - and I never thought there would be.'
'Then what are we looking at then? Some kind of a switch?'
Scully looked blankly at his. 'A switch'? She asked sceptically.
'Yeah. I mean, it couldn't have been the same woman both times, could it? Not if she gets burnt, then goes to hospital. Maybe, it isn't Amanda Stag under those bandages at all! But another woman entirely, who…'
Scully looked unconvinced. 'Well', she began, 'I had a text from the hospital earlier. Amanda Stag died. Without ever regaining consciousness.'
And with that she wandered back to the Richard Stag's library, leaving Jack in more of a state than he had been before.
The lane was still slightly damp from the morning dew. Mulder and Scully wandered down it, discussing the situation.
'Neat little idea he had going there,' said Mulder, after Scully had told him about Jack's switch idea. 'But I take it from that ungracious smirk that you weren't too impressed?'
'Hmm. Surprisingly, however, he did give me another little idea about what really happened.'
'Oh yes? What would that be?'
'Well over the days, even though this whole thing doesn't quite add up yet, there have been one or two flaws in this murder mystery.' Scully glanced up at Mulder, waiting for his response.
'Well you're obviously a couple or steps in front of me', he replied. 'I was thinking about Joan Taylor. Thinking about how totally convincing she is. She is certainly mistaken, but not about seeing Mrs Stag at half-seven. If you think about it, that's the one thing that's so convenient in this case. Having such a reliable witness. She's been set up to lie - not about the time, or place, or even the seven-thirty hour-'
'But which seven thirty-hour' filled in Scully. 'I thought of it when she mentioned the dampness around 'Mrs Stag's ankles. The morning dew.'
'Mrs Stag had already been to the church. Before she was taken to hospital. It was seven-thirty in the morning when Mrs Taylor saw her. And the fact that the death of Mrs Stag, and the murder of Mr Lyle's ex's new boyfriend just briefly intertwined can give us the answer to the whole mystery. No aliens. No ghosts or doubles. Pure logic and lateral thinking.' Scully smiled at him, surprised by the way he threw any talk about ghost doubles out the window..
'Well, I suppose all this is all very well in theory, but I guess we've got to back this all up with good ole' FBI evidence. And the clue to it all, I think, may lie in Adam Lyle's garden.'
Adam Lyle's garden was totally overgrown in most areas, apart from a small flagstone path and a cleared area where a table and chair sat.
'I suppose that's where the whole "back from the dead" thing happened', said Mulder, nodding towards the table. 'Positioned by Lyle so that Mrs Taylor would have a perfect view of the clock. Almost the perfect murder, wouldn't you say? Using her - what did Jack say - pathological honestly to provide an alibi. He goes out at about seven thirty in the evening on the 17th of April, and the next morning, has breakfast with Mrs Taylor. Who has been led to believe that it is seven-thirty in the evening, so she would swear blindly that Lyle was with her the whole time Lyle's little scheme was being carried out.'
'And I suppose,' continued Scully, 'As a cameraman in the late 60's, he would have access to all sorts of scaffolding and lighting. Trick that's always worked in the movies is put to more cynical use, in this very yard. Take a look at this.' Scully pointed to several long grooves in the soil. 'Where his power cables and scaffolding have laid I suppose. Strange how much trouble he's gone to really. Better get back to D.C now this whole thing's been sorted out. I haven't turned my phone on all day actually. Skinner will probably be blowing his mind on me not being here.'
'Would you like to fill us in on the missing details then, Mr Lyle?'
Adam sat quietly in the Bureau interview room. He put his face in hands and murmured swear words. Sighing, he began: 'Everyday, I'd shift Joan's watches and clocks forward one hour. After several days, I finished erecting the scaffolding. Put a black cover over the window and the lights, drew the heavy net curtains inside. By the 16th, we were exactly 12 hours ahead. Joan lived night for day, and day for night. On the 16th, we went down to the garden. Half seven in the evening - and as you've already worked out; it was in fact half-seven in the morning. Shot the little clown twelve hours later, after I'd slipped Joan a couple of sedative, so she's sleep right through the day. So we were back to real time.'
Mulder stared at him. 'Clever. But not quite a perfect murder. You probably knew about some evening gym class or whatever your ex used to go to? Knew only the boyfriend would be home?'
'That's right. As I said earlier, I had to find a way of dealing with it when your guts are torn from your life like that. So I shot Steven Hitchens. Right in the guts.'
Joan Taylor turned over in her bed. She hadn't been sleeping at all well these past couple of weeks, ever since she'd come back from hospital. Perhaps it was the country scene. Joan had lived in Dallas ever since she had retired, and she was used to the night-long buzz of cars and lights. A friend of hers, Adam Lyle, had taken pity on her and bought her to Waterdale for a couple of weeks. Joan was very grateful, but she couldn't block from her mind that something was slightly wrong.
Joan's clock rang lightly. It was seven 'o'clock. Slowly the bedroom door opened. Adam came in quietly carrying a tray of breakfast. He placed it on the bedside table, then went over to the window where he pulled back the curtains. Light streamed into the old woman's room, brightening the Christian cross above Joan's bed, a couple of photograph frames, and a single slipper on the floor. Adam helped the tired woman sit up.
'Morning, Joan', Adam said, as he gently placed another pillow behind Joan's head. 'There you go my angel. I think I made the coffee a little strong again'
'The stronger the better', replied Joan. 'I just can't seem to wake up these morning, for love nor money.'
'Anyone, who had had a major coronary bypass, and their leg removed by a bear, is allowed to feel a little grotty in the morning', Adam smiled as he laid some mail on Joan's lap. 'Couple of letters for you today.'
'Oh thank you', said Joan, taking a sip of coffee. 'How was your mail? Anything about your expedition, to, where was it?'
'Africa.' Adam answered. 'No, they're not interested. I wasn't surprised. A bugger to photograph anyway, Cheetahs. Will not keep still.'
Adam smiled at the memory of his trip. He had been a wonderful time out there, and had returned with an attractive tan.
Mulder sat at a small table sipping his Budweiser and reading a newspaper. It was only a tabloid, of which Mulder read very little of, as it was too biased for the way he liked to think. But the Daily World was easy to read after a hard day at the Bureau. He turned the page, where a beautiful woman, Amanda Stag, was presented to him. Top half naked, and surrounded by paragraphs of the story about her "fling with the famous", how she always needed "Amanda Shag", and extracts from the pornography magazines she was featured in. Mulder's lip stiffened. He knew these things were about as inaccurate as they were alliterate.
Amanda Stag walked briskly across the grass to her home in Waterdale, a large 18th Century mansion. She threw her coat down on a chair, and dumped the copy of the Daily World she was carrying in the trash compactor. Her husband, Richard, a retired FBI agent sat in the drawing room, carefully cutting out photos of his wife from the newspaper and gluing them into a scrapbook. Amanda strode in, slamming the door behind her.
'Are people so full of crap around here or what?' she shouted, pouring herself a small glass of wine. 'Can't even visit the newsagent without some bloody reporter staking my arse.' She gazed at her husband. 'Do I really deserve all this, Richard? Like I'm supposed to feel sorry for having a bit of fun in my life?' Amanda shrugged her shoulders. 'Well, I suppose if they're not totally avoiding me at the supermarket, they're hoarding around me, gagging for all the tasty details.'
Richard looked up, calmly. He was used to this. Her name had been in the papers for over 20 years, when she was a model back in the 70's. But Richard didn't mind, as much as the Bureau disapproved, Amanda was simply the most perfect being he has ever laid eyes on. He smiled sympathetically at his wife.
Amanda tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulders. She stood with confidence, as if she were being filmed right now. 'As far as I'm concerned', she said, putting a hand on her delicate hip, 'God gave me a beautiful body. And he did this for one reason. To bring people pleasure'
Richard took Amanda's hand. 'And you did, my dear. On a very regular basis.'
Amanda smiled. 'And I'm certainly not going to apologise.'
Suddenly, as if to mock her, a brick came flying though the window, just missing Amanda. A woman's voice could be heard shouting:
'Repent to the Lord your God, or be damned for all eternity!'
Richard opened window fully, and shouted back, glancing at Amanda. 'Thank you Mrs Gibson' He called. 'We don't need any of that talk around here.'
'I think I'll go and mow the lawn. It needs trimming. Can't remember when it was last done, we'll have weeds popping up everywhere', Amanda babbled, lighting up her cigarette and marching out through the French doors onto the grass. Richard followed her out onto the patio, where he sipped Amanda's' left over wine. Alice Wade, the post woman walked into the yard.
'Got a couple of letters for you today. Mr Stag', she said, leaning her bicycle against the wall. 'And I'll need you to sign this for me too', she added, passing Richard a small box.
The shed was filthy. It was dark, and you had to wade though piles of newspapers, buckets and tools before you reached the mower. Amanda took a puff from her cigarette and stepped carefully over the appliances. As she grabbed hold of a folded deckchair to steady herself, some smouldering ash fell from her cigarette, straight into a puddle of oil.
Richard jumped straight up, as the shed exploded into a ball of flames. Alice leapt to her feet.
'Bloody hell', she exclaimed, putting a hand to her mouth.
Richard ran over to the burning shed. Smoke puffed up into the clouds, and he coughed loudly.
'Mandy!' He shouted. 'Oh God, Alice, call 911!'
Mulder sat at his desk, using a coin to flip sunflower seed husks into his paperclip holder, when Scully strode in, carrying some files. She dropped then onto Mulder's desk, covering the sunflower seeds. Mulder glanced up.
'I was eating those you know'.
Scully stared at him. 'Rather your desk than mine', she replied, sweeping the last of the crumbs away, and opening the top file. 'If you're done, I've just had a call from a retired FBI agent, Richard Stag. Said his wife Amanda's been rushed to hospital after being in a shed that exploded. He's convinced it was attempted murder.'
'I wouldn't be too surprised' replied Mulder, passing Scully his newspaper. 'Not exactly the parish newsletter. Plenty of people wanted revenge. Question is, would anyone hate her enough as to want to kill her?'
'Mulder, agent Stag is very distressed. I expect all sorts of things would be running though his mind right now. I'm sure the cops will have checked out the shed for any signs of an explosive device. Frankly I don't see the point of this, I'm sure it was just an accident. But Skinner wants me on this case, so I'll flying out to Waterdale in Utah for the next day or so.'
Mulder looked up at he with a glimmer in her eye. 'You'd better book another ticket.'
Scully sighed. 'Why do you want to come? This probably isn't even a murder. It's certainly not an X file.'
Mulder grinned. 'Actually, it may well be an X file. Let me look at those reports.' Mulder grabbed the folder from Scully's hands as she rolled her eyes. 'Mulder what's the point?' she questioned.
'Yes, you've got here that the shed Mrs Stag was in the shed that exploded at two in the afternoon, on the 16th of April? During that time, no other person was seen in that shed, or the garden, apart from agent Stag, and the post girl, Alice Wade?'
'That's right Mulder. But where are you going with all this? It's a straightforward case, only related to the FBI because the husband used to work for it. As I said, it's not an X file.'
'Actually Scully, I'm one step ahead of you.' He grinned. 'I got a call too, from a villager who knew about the incident - Jack Palmer. He told me he'd heard of my work on the X files though agent Stag, and that I would be the only one who would believe him.'
'Believe what, Mulder?'
'That Amanda Stag was spotted in the lane at seven-thirty in the evening, totally unharmed, on Tuesday, the 16th of April. Just five hours since she'd been rushed to hospital, where she has been in a coma, with half her body burnt off, ever since. And the women who not spotted her, Joan Taylor, said that she was certainly not mistaken, because she even had a conversation with her in the backyard, about her past sins.
Richard Stag sat in the small cubicle where his wife lay. A cardio-monitor provided the familiar bleep. Like something out of a TV program, he thought. Richard took his wife's bandaged hand, and glanced at her face, which, too, was completely covered in bandages.
Mulder and Scully arrived in Waterdale early next morning. Mulder had persuaded his partner to grab an earlier flight than the other agents who would be flying in the next day. Jack Palmer was waiting for them at the airport.
'Agents', he cried, running over to greet them, much to the surprise of Scully, who hadn't expected them. 'Thanks so much for coming on such short notice.' He smiled with great enthusiasm at Mulder.
'Richard is in a terrible state. He hasn't met this Joan person of course, but told me that she's either mistaken, or playing a very nasty trick on us all. I've been thinking about the case all day, just waiting for you to arrive. It's totally impossible, she was on the verge of death, and I talked to Joan, she's certain she didn't dream it. I mean, I know she's a bit grotty at the mo, after being attracted by a bear, but-'
'Mr Palmer, slow down', Scully remarked as they entered the unloading area to pick up their bags. 'I don't understand. What's all this about bears?'
'Perhaps we should speak to this Joan Taylor first, before we start climbing the trees before we've planted them.' He paused. 'We haven't hired a car yet, so I'll see if we can get a cab.
'Oh that's alright', smiled Jack. 'I'm parked just around the corner actually!'
Scully grimaced as she clung to the back of Jack's coat. Mulder looked as if he was about to throw up. Travelling by scooter and sidecar was certainly not their first choice of transport.
The two agents were gathered in Jack's living room. It was small and cramped, and magazines and tabloid newspapers were scattered about the place. Most were opened on the story of Amanda. Jack's girlfriend, the post woman, Alice, dished out cups of coffee.
'So I've guess you've heard all about this then, Mr Mulder? What they've all been calling her?'
'Bits and pieces', replied Mulder. 'What was she, some model back in the 70's then?
'A, er, professional bed-hopper,' said Jack. 'Screwed up God knows how many marriages before she settled down here as the country wife.'
Scully turned to Alice. 'I hear you were at the scene? Could you tell us what you saw please?'
'A fate that shouldn't have happened to anyone, not even her. I was delivering the mail to the Stags, heard something about Amanda going off to mow the lawn. Turned round a few seconds later, the whole shed had exploded. I know Richard was saying something about a murder, but I don't think it was that. Amanda smoked; I guess she probably let some ash fall into some oil or whatever. And then Jack and I were round at Adam's this-'
'Adam Lyle,' Jack added. 'He lived just down the road from here, got his friend Mother Teresa staying. Joan used to work as a missionary, spreading the word of God; she's retired now, but still as sharp as a needle. Pathologically honest. She's the last person to ever make something like this up.'
'And that's what make's this thing so strange, Alice continued. 'If Joan tells anyone anything, it has to be taken as gospel. Yet she tells us that she had a conversation with Amanda Stag, in the front yard, 5 hours after she was rushed to hospital, in a coma, half her faced burnt off.
'Well my 40 years of Christian Aid work around the globe has given me my share of sorcery and witchcraft. But nothing quite like this.' Joan Taylor spoke clearly, enhancing every word she said.
Mulder seemed to be hanging on to every word Joan told him, but Scully was only half listening. She was sure Joan was mistaken - as a doctor, she knew that it was impossible for anyone in Amanda's condition to leave her bed and appear as flesh and blood just five hours later. You didn't need to have a medical degree to believe something like that. She glanced at Mulder, who was sitting on the edge of Joan's bed, trying for as much information as he could get out of her, or looking for some clue that she was lying. Mulder worked as a criminal profiler for the FBI before be discovered the X files, and he could tell that Joan Taylor was telling the truth entirely. He pondered this thought for a few moments. If there was something more sinister going on than this, then perhaps the fact that Joan never lied was the clue to what anything else might be about.
Adam burst into the room carrying some cups of coffee. 'Yes, you've certainly done the round since we first met! A hundred years ago, when I was a cameraman in TV.' He smiled at Scully. 'My first ever documentary, about this young lady's good work! Been chums ever since.' Scully smiled politely back.
'After her operation, Joan here was pretty much bed-ridden. Thought a couple of weeks here in Waterdale might perk her up a bit. And last week, we thought we'd try going outside for supper.'
Joan looked up. 'I was rather reluctant at first! I have to say, just lying here all day, with my book, or my music, it's been bliss. Though I haven't been sleeping too well, I'm very much grateful to Adam for putting up with me all this time!'
Mulder smiled at Joan. 'Tell us about the time you talked with Mrs Stag'.
'Well, I was sitting here in my bed, writing to a friend, and at seven 'o'clock, in comes Adam. Time to stir your stumps - or in my case - stump - and have a bit of tea in the front garden. It was a very pleasant spring's evening I must say. Homemade lemonade and sandwiches. The air was cool and pleasant, slightly damp, as if it were morning. Until that nasty wasp came along! Adam went to get some cream or whatever, and I was left alone in the yard, when Amanda Stag appeared behind the wall. I hadn't heard about the accident, so I wasn't in the least surprised when I saw her. She climbed over the stile and looked at me, said "hi", and introduced herself. I invited her to sit down and have a glass of lemonade, which she did. She mentioned newspapers, the stories about her. I asked her what she's been up to which was so awful, then her guilty look told me she wasn't feeling too happy about it. I gave her the once over, and "guessed" what was the matter. Amanda seemed to agree with what I was saying, and she glanced up at the church, which can be seen through the trees. She wondered if it was too late to make her peace with God. I told her that it was never too late, she said goodbye, and wandered off to the church.'
By this time, Scully was fully listening. Mulder and Jack were right. This woman certainly was not lying. She waited for Mulder to say something about ghosts or aliens, and was slightly surprised when he stuck to a rational question, and asked her what time all this took place at.
'Well as I said, I had a good view of the church, which has a clock on it. I remember glancing at it that evening as she left. It was just coming up to half past seven.'
Scully looked blank for a second. 'You didn't notice anything abnormal about Mrs Stag? Not burns or abrasions?' she asked.
'Well', Joan started. 'The only thing I did notice, was that the bottom of her pants where slightly damp.'
'Damp?' Mulder questioned. 'How far up?'
'Oh, a couple of inches. As if she had been walking through damp grass.'
Suddenly Scully's phone started to beep. 'Excuse me a second' she remarked. 'A text message. From the agent Stag.'
Mulder walked over to his partner and read her message. 'Amanda Stag. She's dead.'
The whole room looked up. Adam looked very sincere. 'I'm surprised Richy managed to write that text message, actually.'
'Richy?' Scully remarked to the informal reference.
'Richard Stag. I mean, he absolutely worshipped the woman. How she saw the attraction, well, that's another mystery entirely! Like my missus. PhD in medievil history. Runs off with a man who makes balloon animals.'
Mulder glanced at a photo of Adam, Joan and another woman, presumably his wife.
'Guts are suddenly torn out of your life like that. Suppose one must find a way of dealing with it.'
Scully glanced at Mulder. What did he mean 'dealing with it'?
'Maybe it's me', said Joan quietly. 'Maybe it's my faith that's being tested here. But she did appear, as flesh and blood. As I said to Jack, I certainly didn't dream it. But is it true? That she made her peace with God before she died?'
The agents weren't due to be booked into their hotel until the next day, so Jack Palmer and his girlfriend agreed to make them tea. Scully took a bite out of her roll, and looked at Mulder.
'When are you going to bring out the aliens in this one, then, Agent Mulder? She smiled. 'This whole thing doesn't quite add up somehow. That Mrs Taylor. She certainly seems to be pathologically honest.
But they're no way that she could have appeared as flesh and blood at seven-thirty that evening.'
Alice walked in. 'Heard you haven't got booked for a hotel yet, and we're obviously not going to solve this in five minutes. Well, there's a spare double bed upstairs. So no problem with sleeping arrangements.'
Mulder turned over in the bed. Jack was constantly kicking him in his sleep. Bloody hell, he thought. Why'd I have to end up like this? Maybe it would have been better for him and Scully to share a bed after all, he thought, as Jack's arm flopped over him. He got out of bed, and slept on the floor instead, gazing though the window.
Moonlight streamed into the room where Scully and Alice lay in the other double bed. The windowsill seemed like it was being hit by daylight. Scully got up again to pull the curtains tighter, when suddenly he had a breakthrough in her thinking. A glimmer of what this whole thing was about.
Next morning, Mulder trenched downstairs, rubbing his sore neck. Scully was already having breakfast. She was feeling clever, having placed another point on the lateral graph. He noticed Mulder emerge for breakfast and smirked at him. 'Such a dirty trick, you know. Sleep with someone then piss off early the next morning.' Mulder chewed his lip and tried to ignore her.
'What's the plan of action today then? Make's sense to check out our old Bureau man.'
Alice poked her head round the corner. 'While you're at it, get a load of his magazines.'
'What magazines?' Scully asked. Alice just winked.
'At the last count, we were well into the thirty-thousands,' explained Richard Stag. He stood on a ladder and reached out for what appeared to be an expensive book. This sort of book filled the bookshelves or the room. Every wall was covered with them. And, to Mulder's surprise, each book was in fact a folder for ten or so pornography magazines. The ex-agent had certainly kept quiet about these during his time.
'I has every major British and American title. Mayfair, Playboy, Flirt and Skirt. And this is a very rare Hot Jugs and Hooters. Cancelled after just one issue - most copied were burned.
Mulder tried not to stare at any photo for too long. He reached for a Razzle that lay on Richard's desk. Inside, the front page of the first magazine showed a large picture of Amanda, wearing very little. Richard strode up behind him. 'She was, quite simply, the most perfect being I had ever laid eyes on. Though I have never knew whether she married me only for my money. But she is the most precious and irreplaceable part of my life. Like a diamond. That may be slightly flawed. But will always be a diamond.' Richard wandered over to the window, where he could see Scully searching the shed for any evidence.
Scully knew there was very little point to this task. The shed was, apart from being burnt, totally normal. She sighed and looked up at Jack, who was watching her.
'Well I found exactly what I expected.' She remarked.
Jack looked excited. 'Really? What did you find?'
Scully stared at him. 'Nothing', she answered simply. 'And I didn't expect to find anything either. If you ask me, there's nothing at all dodgy about this shed - and I never thought there would be.'
'Then what are we looking at then? Some kind of a switch?'
Scully looked blankly at his. 'A switch'? She asked sceptically.
'Yeah. I mean, it couldn't have been the same woman both times, could it? Not if she gets burnt, then goes to hospital. Maybe, it isn't Amanda Stag under those bandages at all! But another woman entirely, who…'
Scully looked unconvinced. 'Well', she began, 'I had a text from the hospital earlier. Amanda Stag died. Without ever regaining consciousness.'
And with that she wandered back to the Richard Stag's library, leaving Jack in more of a state than he had been before.
The lane was still slightly damp from the morning dew. Mulder and Scully wandered down it, discussing the situation.
'Neat little idea he had going there,' said Mulder, after Scully had told him about Jack's switch idea. 'But I take it from that ungracious smirk that you weren't too impressed?'
'Hmm. Surprisingly, however, he did give me another little idea about what really happened.'
'Oh yes? What would that be?'
'Well over the days, even though this whole thing doesn't quite add up yet, there have been one or two flaws in this murder mystery.' Scully glanced up at Mulder, waiting for his response.
'Well you're obviously a couple or steps in front of me', he replied. 'I was thinking about Joan Taylor. Thinking about how totally convincing she is. She is certainly mistaken, but not about seeing Mrs Stag at half-seven. If you think about it, that's the one thing that's so convenient in this case. Having such a reliable witness. She's been set up to lie - not about the time, or place, or even the seven-thirty hour-'
'But which seven thirty-hour' filled in Scully. 'I thought of it when she mentioned the dampness around 'Mrs Stag's ankles. The morning dew.'
'Mrs Stag had already been to the church. Before she was taken to hospital. It was seven-thirty in the morning when Mrs Taylor saw her. And the fact that the death of Mrs Stag, and the murder of Mr Lyle's ex's new boyfriend just briefly intertwined can give us the answer to the whole mystery. No aliens. No ghosts or doubles. Pure logic and lateral thinking.' Scully smiled at him, surprised by the way he threw any talk about ghost doubles out the window..
'Well, I suppose all this is all very well in theory, but I guess we've got to back this all up with good ole' FBI evidence. And the clue to it all, I think, may lie in Adam Lyle's garden.'
Adam Lyle's garden was totally overgrown in most areas, apart from a small flagstone path and a cleared area where a table and chair sat.
'I suppose that's where the whole "back from the dead" thing happened', said Mulder, nodding towards the table. 'Positioned by Lyle so that Mrs Taylor would have a perfect view of the clock. Almost the perfect murder, wouldn't you say? Using her - what did Jack say - pathological honestly to provide an alibi. He goes out at about seven thirty in the evening on the 17th of April, and the next morning, has breakfast with Mrs Taylor. Who has been led to believe that it is seven-thirty in the evening, so she would swear blindly that Lyle was with her the whole time Lyle's little scheme was being carried out.'
'And I suppose,' continued Scully, 'As a cameraman in the late 60's, he would have access to all sorts of scaffolding and lighting. Trick that's always worked in the movies is put to more cynical use, in this very yard. Take a look at this.' Scully pointed to several long grooves in the soil. 'Where his power cables and scaffolding have laid I suppose. Strange how much trouble he's gone to really. Better get back to D.C now this whole thing's been sorted out. I haven't turned my phone on all day actually. Skinner will probably be blowing his mind on me not being here.'
'Would you like to fill us in on the missing details then, Mr Lyle?'
Adam sat quietly in the Bureau interview room. He put his face in hands and murmured swear words. Sighing, he began: 'Everyday, I'd shift Joan's watches and clocks forward one hour. After several days, I finished erecting the scaffolding. Put a black cover over the window and the lights, drew the heavy net curtains inside. By the 16th, we were exactly 12 hours ahead. Joan lived night for day, and day for night. On the 16th, we went down to the garden. Half seven in the evening - and as you've already worked out; it was in fact half-seven in the morning. Shot the little clown twelve hours later, after I'd slipped Joan a couple of sedative, so she's sleep right through the day. So we were back to real time.'
Mulder stared at him. 'Clever. But not quite a perfect murder. You probably knew about some evening gym class or whatever your ex used to go to? Knew only the boyfriend would be home?'
'That's right. As I said earlier, I had to find a way of dealing with it when your guts are torn from your life like that. So I shot Steven Hitchens. Right in the guts.'