Pozo Saloon
Santa Margartia, California
The saloon stank of stale beer, sawdust, and something that smelled suspiciously like marijuana. The bartender and a lone patron sat listening to Willie Nelson crooning softly from the jukebox in the corner.
Mulder approached the bar and flashed his badge.
"I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully from the F.B.I. We're here about the murder."
The scruffy barkeep gave their badges a cursory glance and drawled, "Yeah, the Sheriff said you'd be showing up. They're out back by the stage."
Mulder nodded his head and started to guide Scully to a nearby door.
"There's a stage here?" she said, surprised.
"Yep. It's one of the most popular concert venues around. But I guess that's not saying much if you're in the middle of nowhere."
Shielding their eyes from the blazing, midday sun, the agents made their way along a dirt path leading to the stage. Scully noticed on the ground a menagerie of crushed beer cans, food wrappers, and one or two colorful glass pipes."
"Just what kind of concert are we talking about, Mulder?"
"4:20," replied a gravelly, slurred voice.
"Excuse me?" Scully scoffed and turned toward the voice.
"The Higher Grounds Music Festival, also known as 4:20," said a scraggly-haired man kneeling by the stage. He stood and wiped the dirt off his tie-dyed shorts.
"The name's Comet. I'm the festival manager."
Scully fought mightily not to roll her eyes.
"Nice to meet you, Comet," Mulder said and shook the man's proffered hand. "Can you tell us what happened here?
"It's a damned shame, really. We were all just minding our own business, jamming to some tunes when those biker goons showed up looking for a fight. Said something about a bunch of stoned degenerates desecrating their bar," Comet explained. "Ruby must've gotten caught in the middle."
"Ruby? That's the victim, right?" Scully inquired.
"Yeah. Poor thing. Ruby was such a sweetheart; she wouldn't hurt a fly," he replied glumly. "It makes what they did to her even worse."
"What they did? I'm sorry, Comet. The case file didn't offer a lot of information about the cause of death."
Comet blanched and glanced disbelievingly between Scully and Mulder, who was now chewing nervously on his thumbnail.
"She was stabbed in the back of the neck with… with what must've been an ice pick—probably the one from the bar, cuz we can't find it now," Comet gushed. "I wish I'd been there so I could've stopped it or so I could at least ID the sonuvabitch who did it,"
"An ice pick," Scully echoed, her eyes growing large.
"Yeah. I figured that's why you were here," Comet continued. "Mr. Mulder, you said on the phone—"
"Comet, you said that Ruby's boyfriend, Paul, was at the concert, too. But now he's missing," Mulder blurted. "Any idea where he could've gone?"
Comet paused to think. "He disappeared right after it happened, which is weird cuz you think he'd want to catch the guy who killed his girl. God knows I would. Only place I can think of is this cabin he and Ruby used to stay at out by the lake. I gave the address to the Sheriff's Department."
"Thank you, Comet. You've been most helpful," Scully cut in. She nodded curtly and broke away at a fast pace, tossing over her shoulder: "Agent Mulder, a word please."
Mulder shared a commiserate grimace with Comet and followed after her like a scolded puppy with his tail between his legs.
After several hundred feet, she stopped abruptly and spun around.
"An ice pick! Mulder, why didn't you tell me the alien bounty hunter was involved?" she seethed.
"Scully—"
"That's why we're here, right? You think the alien bounty hunter killed Ruby," she continued. "What the hell, Mulder. I can't believe you didn't tell me. I'm your partner!"
Mulder stepped toward her, hand outstretched, and whispered urgently: "Scully, your nose."
Scully jerked her head back instinctively. She could feel the telltale trickle of blood on her upper lip, but she persisted.
"I don't give a shit about my nose, Mulder. I want to know why you lied to me."
"I didn't lie to you, Scully. I didn't tell you about the cause of death because I didn't want to put your health at risk by upsetting you. I tried to get you to stay home. I failed on both accounts, obviously."
"I'm not a child, Mulder!" she spat. "You don't get to make decisions for me."
"I know. I'm sorry. I just—"
"You know what? I don't want to hear it, Mulder. I'm fine. I just need to clean up."
"OK," Mulder mumbled lamely as he watched Scully storm off toward the bar.
Scully slammed her palm against the bathroom door with the sign marked, "Cowgirls," causing it to smack against the wooden wall with a loud thud. She tore a handful of paper towels from the dispenser by the sink and started wiping the blood from under her nose. In the bathroom mirror she could see the sheen of tears in her reflection's eyes.
"Damn him," she growled and tossed the bloodied paper into the trashcan. She stood still for a moment, filling her lungs with a deep breath.
Slowly she turned back to the sink and ran the faucet. Willing her hands to stop trembling, she scooped up the cool water and splashed it against her face. She wiped the excess water from her eyes and glanced up into the mirror.
"Let me help," her reflection whispered.
But it wasn't her reflection.
"What the—" Scully gasped and stumbled backward.
In the crusty mirror she saw a young girl, not more than 20, with dirty blonde hair, wearing dangly earrings and a revealing, spaghetti-strap tank top.
"Let me help," she said again.
Several earsplitting thumps against the bathroom door startled Scully out of her trance.
"You OK in there, Scully?" Mulder's worried voice asked.
Scully glanced back at the mirror to find her own reflection staring back at her.
"I'm coming, Mulder. Give me a second," she replied.
She grabbed some more paper towels and blotted her face dry before heading for the door.
Mulder gave her the once over and then settled on her face.
"The Coroner's Office called. The body's ready, if you're up for it," he said.
"Yes," Scully replied and started for the parking lot.
