SAN FERNANDO VALLEY
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
NINE HOURS LATER

"It was peeled open like a can of fish, Agent Mulder," said the local cop showing him around the crime scene. "I've never seen anything like it."

This was Detective Shona Reece, a tall, striking-looking African-American woman with short-cropped hair who reminded Mulder of the singer Grace Jones.

Mulder was examining the ruined roof of the crashed automobile, the rips and indentations in the metal making it quite clear that it had been torn open by someone or something rather than by mechanical means.

"And you say the driver survived?"

"Yes, though he was pretty banged up. Claims he was attacked by some sort of winged demon."

"A winged demon," said Mulder, almost smacking his lips at the thought, just as he had when he had been alerted to the case. "Most of the major religions and peoples of the world have myths about winged demons of various sorts, from the very earliest civilisations onward. I wonder which type we're dealing with here?"

"What, you think it really was a demon that did this?"

She frowned and Mulder sighed inwardly at her reaction.

"At this point I'm keeping an open mind and...hello, what's this? A bloody fingerprint?"

"Yeah, we had it photographed but couldn't find a match. We thought maybe whoever or whatever it was had cut themselves tearing into the roof, but it turned out to be the first victim's blood."

"Interesting," said Mulder. There was no reason for a demon not to have fingerprints, but he was surprised to discover this one did. It wasn't something he had encountered in any of the literature on the subject. "Can I speak to the driver?"

"He's agreed to swing by the office later and answer your questions."

"Good. I assume you took a ton of crime scene photos; can I get copies?"

"Of course."

"Excellent," said Mulder, starting back off up the embankment to where his car was parked on the road above. "Now let's get to the morgue and find out what my partner has discovered about the other victim."

The local morgue was indistinguishable from a dozen others Mulder had visited, all of them chilly, brightly lit, and smelling of strong disinfectant. Scully seemed pleased to see him, managing a small smile when he and Detective Reece joined her there.

"What've we got, Scully?" asked Mulder, nodding at the body on the slab before her.

"The victim is Carter Johns, a 38 year old caucasian male. Death was due to exsanguination, the result of a severed jugular caused by severe lacerations of the throat. After close examination of the lacerations, I'm of the opinion they were made by some sort of large animal."

"Witnesses reported seeing a creature the size of a man launch itself into the air from the school sports field where the body was found and fly off to the east," said Mulder.

"Those witnesses were all in moving vehicles on the road outside the school and it was after dark," said Scully. "None of them can be sure what they saw."

"Nevertheless, a second attack occurred soon afterwards a few miles away from the first, and this time the victim survived."

"Ah yes, the 'winged demon' you dashed off to find," said Scully, smiling. "Any luck with that?"

"Not as yet, no. Is there any link between the two victims?"

"Not that we've been able to find," said Detective Reece. "Gary Negretti claims never to have met Carter Johns, and there's nothing in their backgrounds to suggest a connection. Johns was an elementary school teacher, and Negretti is in the air force."

"That explains the gun," said Mulder, "but he wouldn't have been authorized to carry a grenade."

As he was saying this the doors swung open and two men in military uniform entered, one of them a familiar figure.

"No he wasn't, Agent Mulder," he said, "and though it saved his life he will face a charge over that."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," said Detective Reece, under her breath. She said it quietly, but it was still loud enough for Scully standing next to her to hear. She frowned at the other woman.

"Major Meacham," said Mulder, "it's good to see you again!"

They shook hands, and Meacham turned to the other officer.

"This is my superior, Colonel Negretti," he said. "He works at Edwards but lives off base. He's agreed to answer any questions you have."

"So it really was a demon that attacked you?"

"I know how crazy that sounds, but I don't know how else to describe it. It was the size and shape of a man but had huge, bat-like wings growing out of its back, and its toes and fingers that ended in pretty vicious claws."

"Was it wearing anything?" asked Scully.

"'Wearing anything'? C'mon Scully, it's a demon! Of course it wasn't wearing anything."

"Actually, Agent Mulder, it was," said Negretti. "It was wearing blue jeans."

"Blue jeans?"

"Yeah, Wrangler stone-washed 501s. I'd just bought a pair for my teenage daughter, so I recognized them immediately."

Seeing the look on Mulder's face, it took all Scully's willpower not to burst out laughing.

"Was it wearing anything else?" she asked.

"No shirt, no shoes, just blue jeans. Oh, and they had a Grateful Dead patch sewn on the right thigh."

"The Grateful Dead...," muttered Mulder, shaking his head. He turned to Meacham.

"Do you think this might have something to do with Olympia?" he asked, referring to the case Meacham had assisted them on six months earlier.

"I don't see how? Do you have reason to believe this was something more than a random attack?"

"No, not really," said Mulder, "I've just always had a hard time believing in coincidences."

"Could you run us through the attack on you from the beginning, Colonel," asked Scully, "just so we can be sure we haven't missed anything?"

He did so and they listened intently, interjecting the occasional question.

"OK, well thank you for your time," said Mulder when he was done, "I'm sure we'll be in touch if we need anything else from you."

When they had left, Scully turned to Detective Reece.

"Did I detect some sort of negative vibe between you and the Colonel?"

"Very perceptive, Agent Scully," she said. "He used to be my commanding officer."

"You were in the military? What happened?"

"I'd prefer not to talk about it, if you don't mind."

"I understand."

Mulder gave his partner a quizzical look, indicating he would have pressed Detective Reece further on this, but he accepted her decision not to and did not push the matter.

"Right, well I guess we'd better interview Carter Johns' family now," he said.

It was mid evening by the time they got back to their motel, Johns' family having been unable to provide them with any reason why he might have been targeted.

"It's starting to look like these really are unconnected, random attacks," said Mulder, as Scully brought their car to a halt in the motel lot, "which means we have nowhere to go from here. All we can do is wait for another attack."

"I know," said Scully, as they climbed out of the vehicle, "but it's not something I want to think about right now. We had an early start and I'm beat. I'll see you in the morning, Mulder."

"Alright. G'night, Scully, don't let the bed bugs bite."

The motel they were staying at was a cut above those the FBI usually found for them, and came complete with a well kept swimming pool and some fairly decent poolside furniture. When Mulder woke and headed out for breakfast the following morning he was surprised to find Scully already sitting at one of the tables, a pot of coffee before her, poring over the notes they had taken the previous day and the crime scene photos. She was also smoking a cigarette.

As he approached her, Scully took a drag on her cigarette and looked up. She ran her eyes over him appreciatively, then grinned.

"Nice!" she said, exhaling a long stream of smoke.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Scully?" he asked, frowning at his partner's unusual behaviour.

"Quite a bit, actually," she said, "but I think you'd better take a seat first."

Mulder did so, feeling uncomfortable at the way she was looking him up and down.

"God, you really are identical to him!" she said. "I mean yes, I knew you would be, but knowing something and experiencing it are two different things."

"Him? Him who? Scully, what are you talking about?"

"That's just it, Fox. I'm not Scully - at least not your Scully. I'm not her at all."