In a town near you...
An X-Files fan-fiction by Robin Zoellner
Mulder sighed with irritation as he slipped behind the wheel of the rental care. "Why are these things always the lamest colors? Teal, aqua, crème? What man would pick such a paint job?"
"Is this your way of asking me to drive?" Scully sighed, rubbing her eyes, "because I'm not doing it, the way I feel after spending two hours in that trashy little airbus. I can't believe it really was cheaper for us to fly into this tiny airport than drive straight from the last main city." Her companion sighed at her rant.
"Damn it," he said, as they drove through the semi-urban area, "what is this, two lanes or four? Who designed these roads?"
It isn't long before they are past any urban traffic, and Scully feels it is safe to talk again. "Honestly, why are they sending us out here? Do they not have homicide units in this state? Is it that isolated of a rural hellhole? I could almost believe it, considering that there are no hotels within thirty miles in any direction of our destination."
"Oh, no, there is a hotel in town, but we won't be staying there. They think none of the victims were local, and some may have been staying there, if not all. It's in town number two as we drive there, I have a picture in the file. Looks like the bates motel, only without the house on the hill in back."
"Ah yes, like where we usually end up staying. I'm almost grateful to the killers for forcing us to stay in a nice Holiday Inn. So this isn't an x-file? We just drew the short straw and had to come out here?"
"Actually, I think we're bing made fun of. There's some supposed occult angle, human sacrifice or something like that. As though regular feds can't handle a cult, honestly. I hadn't given you the file ahead of time since I was hoping we'd get to look into some disappearances out in Oregon."
"And, instead we're in the mid-west. I'm not reading in the car, I'll get the rundown from the locals. God knows they probably left enough out, anyways." She glares out the window at the passing mishmash of small fields and scrubby forest. Nothing inspiring or lovely.
They slow down, and Mulder says, "Well, here's town number one. We're just going past, to the actual site."
Scully listlessly eyes the storefronts, and then tenses for a moment when she thinks she sees something. But, of course, it couldn't be. It's May, for crying out loud. Still, she feels weird all afternoon, like she is being stared at, while they are shown twenty plus discovery sites.
"You'll have to go back up to see the bodies, of course," says the chief of police from town number two, as he adjusts his belt around his girth. "I'm pretty glad we don't have a morgue here in town, actually. One less thing to deal with."
For once, Scully is the first to ask the supernatural questions. "The file said something about suspicion of ritual sacrifices? What made your men think of something besides 'regular' serial killer?"
"You'll want to see the bodies, for that," he says, "you ever see kids make a stylized letter S? Using six lines to start with?" He draws the image he is failing to describe. "Found a lot of these carved on all the ones with skin left to look at."
"Kids draw these?" Scully's eyebrows shoot up. She hates cases that involve children. "How old were the victims?"
"All ages, really, which does make it seem more opportunist than serial killer. Even I know they tend to be picky. Anyhow, my daughter used to draw that thing when she was in middle school, few years back." The chief looks uncomfortable saying that. "We don't think anyone that young is involved, though."
"And what makes you come to that conclusion?"
"Firstly, we're getting something like one body per year going back at least 25 years, according to the lab. Plus, the only group around here successful enough to make folks think that they were doing evil to get it is the high school spell bowl team."
"Spelling bees are that big around here?" Mulder jumps in, sensing potential weirdness.
"Not spelling bee, spell bowl, with teams that write spelling words. I don't know much about it, besides that. The middle school team has good years and bad years, and all the same kids are on the high school team, usually, right? But the high school team has gone to state every year for over twenty five years, and they win there from time to time. It's part of the reason people think we're still looking for bodies. The real reason is the gaps, assuming there really was a kill every year."
After that, they talk about what years bodies were dated to, and Mulder keeps periodically scoffing. "Really, human sacrifice for a spelling team? That's really silly. Who cares that much about an academic team? Why not a sports team, huh?"
It's still light as they head back through the town to go to the morgue, and Scully watches over Mulder's shoulder as he drives, to see if she was imagining things in the morning, or if he sees what she is looking at. Unfortunately, it is there, and he doesn't notice. She stays late at the morgue, hoping to tire herself out enough to not think about it, but somehow the images of the bodies only combine with the image in her mind. Scully sleeps, but there are strange nightmares, and she feels more tired in the morning. Mulder drives without complaining, after seeing the look in her eyes. This time, seeing it is less of a shock, but somehow more horrible. She notices a for sale sign on the building, though, with a phone number. When they come back to eat in town after looking at the bates or whatever it was motel, Scully memorizes the phone number.
She makes the call, later, from the hotel. "I hope I'm not calling too late. Is this the realtor's office, or is the building for sale by owner? This is the number to call and inquire about the little red building down town, isn't it?"
The confusion on the other end of the line clears instantly at her last sentence. "Oh yes, I am the owner. I'd nearly forgotten about it being for sale, I've gotten so few calls," the man says.
Gee, I wonder why, Scully thinks to herself. "What a shame. I though it was such a cute little place driving through today, I just had to call," Scully tries to gush, "what do you usually use it for? A home, a shop, a restaurant?" Murder, probably, she thinks.
"Well, it has been through a few different phases," he says vaguely. "I'm sure I could help you get it rezoned for whatever you were thinking of. Sometimes this town can be a bit slow on zoning, though, I'll warn you."
"I suppose I can't really be sure, till I've seen the inside, you know," Scully says, and is surprised at how willing the man is to set up a meeting. She cleans and reloads her gun every time she wakes up from a nightmare that night. The next afternoon, she insists they leave an hour for lunch, rather than working through it again, and leaves Mulder at the same burger and ice cream shop they'd had dinner at yesterday, before walking over to meet the guy at the building. She caries her camera, and waves it at him in what she hopes is a cheerful manner. "My girlfriend is back in DC," she says, truthfully, before lying, "and I really want her to see how cute the place is. I've moved to the area for work," she adds, slightly more truthfully. Scully makes sure to take pictures of the whole town, not just the building. "I suppose you haven't redecorated since you put it up for sale," she says, hopefully.
"Oh, no, I put out flags for the fourth of July every year, and take them down before they look bad. The lawn gets mowed; I'm not sure how this little tree made it through the porch though. Damn mexicans at the mowing company," he grumps, and she shivers, both at his racism and the thing gazing at her through the window.
"Do you think all the talk about the murders will affect business in the area?"
"Well, hard to say if it'll drive people away or draw rubberneckers. Only a matter of time before they catch the killer, I'm sure, so I wouldn't worry about any danger."
"And the rumors about some high school cult?" She tries to use her nerves from the thing to look worried about what she says.
"Bunch of crap. Probably some dumb dropouts started it. I was on the spell bowl team myself, back in the day. I still drop by to give the kids snack sometimes. Anyhow, lots of valedictorians, and salutatorians like myself have been on the team. People get jealous, and generally hate smart people, you know, make up rumors."
Scully tries to rub the goosebumps off her arms subtlety. He sounds so very reasonable. They talk about drafts and leaks and whether the basement gets damp, and then she has to go tromp through the woods with Mulder in her damn skirt, as usual. She wonders what to tell him, and if her hunch means anything, as she takes the hottest shower she can that evening. Scully feels chilled to the bone, as if it really were winter, not a warm spring day.
Unable to sleep once again, she pores through her pictures on the computer, glad for digital cameras. She has everything from the morgue, the woods, and her shots of the little red building. There doesn't really seem to be any connection, especially if the spell bowl rumor is meaningless. She wonders how it could be that she is the one on the side of those who fear and hate academic success, and for once, the superstitious one in the duo. Mulder is often the more observant one, and she wishes for his eye as she looks through the pictures with different filters, and by zooming in and out on details. The whole situation wouldn't have even registered as weird on their usual scale of creepiness, but she is practically on a full-on freakout level. Is this how Mulder feels when she dismisses his concerns and theories, leaving him to stew in them alone? A fear shared is a fear divided or whatever the saying is, she supposes.
The next morning, she tries to avert her eyes, but she is still hyper aware of it, and catches it out of the corner of her eye. "Are we going to have to stay here till they catch the killers?" She groans, "it could be ages, you know."
"You forgot? We're here mostly for identification of victims and coordinating with departments wherever they are from. You're looking through dental records today." Mulder suddenly looks worried, noticing the increasing bags under his partner's eyes. "Have you been sleeping at all? It isn't like you to forget things."
"Oh, you know," she says in a tone meant to be airy, but is actually close to hyperventilation, "I'm getting the bureau recommended 2-3 hours for field agents. I'll survive."
"Man, Scully, I thought you liked having an active status. Do you have a hot date in DC I don't know about?" The worry leaves his tone, but not his face.
"Oh, I always do," she says wistfully, thinking of her girlfriend, "but that's not what's keeping me up at night, honestly."
"Can we talk about it tonight, seriously," Mulder asks as he pulls off the gravel road to park in the soggy grass.
Scully sighs and agrees. Victims appear to be coming mostly from neighboring states, and include a surprising number of truck drivers. She's honestly surprised nobody started a manhunt years ago, given the amount of paperwork and effort she knows is dedicated to keeping track of trucks, and therefore truck drivers, at any given point. There are a lot of companies that ship through these towns, however. It is enough to give her a headache, if she didn't already have one. The serious talk between her and Mulder gets postponed in favor of helping each other slog through the archives of the local newspaper. Scully's never seen such poor writing and sloppy grammar in a published work in her entire life, though Mulder claims one of the alien conspiracy groups he knows of puts out a magazine worse than this. The experience is so repetitive she spends the night dreaming she is reading more of the newspaper. When she wakes up, somehow everything makes sense, and the connection is obvious.
"Mulder," she says as they leave the hotel, "what if it is a group or even a few killers, and certain ads in the paper were used to communicate?"
"That's not what we're looking for, Scully, and it sounds crazy. People have phones. Ads for fish fries are not ads for human sacrifice, just because you don't know what a fish fry is."
"I'm not talking about the fish fries, Mulder. I'm thinking of the real estate listings. There are some houses and other buildings around here that go on and off the market like clockwork, and with totally random prices."
"Yeah, because the market here has to suck. Probably did even before the economy went bad. You are starting to see things from lack of sleep, my lovely partner."
"Nonsense, I'm fully rested today, for once," she says, "and seeing very clearly. In fact, I'll drive."
"And you're scaring me somewhat," he says, taking in the manic expression on her face.
She takes out their copy of the field surveyor's chart they've been using to keep a record of where bodies have been found, and adds the approximate death dates of each. Then she indicates six more locations, with a year for each. "If I'm wrong, you can call me crazy. If I'm right, I talked to the ringleader of the killers the other day." I sound completely melodramatic, Scully thinks, as she watches Mulder's eyebrows try to merge with his hairline, but really, I'm just that certain. Perhaps as certain as only the insane can be.
"I think," Mulder says carefully, "that I should let you get some more rest, while I look into these sites. You deserve a nice break, don't you think? Call your hot date, or whatever."
So Scully stayed in the hotel, and had a leisurely bath, and called her girlfriend, and went out to see a movie, and went out and treated herself to food from the kind of restaurant that did not deliver to hotel rooms. She had just laid down to sleep early, with a sappy movie on when Mulder burst in, a wild-eyed look of shock on his face. "I took it you found them," she yawned.
"Yes, and they want you to come in for questioning. Right now. It was all I could do to stop them from rushing up here and arresting you. They are convinced that you could only know that if you did it, and this was your confession, or something."
'
Scully sighed, got dressed again, and assembled her evidence from their boxes of research. "I knew you should have let me come along today and explain things. Do try to keep them from handcuffing me and confiscating these materials without an explanation, please, Mulder." Naturally, it ends up being another sleepless night, as Scully carefully explains the pattern of advertisements and the correlation of pricing and the coding on the map locations. It is mid-morning by the time teams are sent out to the homes and businesses of the people who had put out the ads. Scully is detained, although they let her sleep on the couch, but Mulder is allowed to tag along. When he finally comes back to the dozing Scully, looking far more exhausted than her, it is past dinner time.
"I just can't believe some people. These guys all had pictures that they'd taken of these events. How dumb can they be and still graduate in the top ten?" He slumped into one of the hard chairs. "And all of it really happening in that little red building in town. By the way, had you ever noticed that life-sized plastic Santa in the window? Creepiest thing when we had to go over that place."
"Yes Mulder, every single time we drove past."
"I can't wait to get out of here, Scully, and back to civilization," he sighs. "Is this how you usually feel, partner?"
Scully hums noncommittally, glad they only had a few more bodies to identify. Fortunately, they were able to leave at dusk. Unfortunately, it was still early enough that they both were able to see the grinning plastic statue one more time on their way out, as they headed toward the brighter lights of the distant city.
The End