Author's Note: ok, I'll try to keep this short! First things first, a massive thanks to those who left comments and reviews; it really means a lot, especially when it comes to things with relatively small fanbases. Second, update schedule will be erratic for a while, because of school and stuff. Expect way more updates in the next 2 or 3 weeks, then fewer after that. Third- I'm trying to mess around with dreams and stuff a little, but don't worry, next chapter will definitely revisit the lodge and all that! Hope you enjoy this chapter...

"What?"

"What?"

"I thought you said something," Scully frowned, "that's all."

"What did you think I said?"

"Nothing. Forget it," she insisted as the pair entered the warm, slightly old-fashioned sheriff's building. The smell of coffee and wood struck her as soon as she stepped inside the doors.

"No, really, what?" Mulder smiled slightly, bemused.

"Can I help you?" came the almost child-like mewl of the petite blonde receptionist sat impatiently behind a cluttered desk, perched on top of which was a small card reading the name 'LUCY MORAN' in black lettering.

"We're agents with the FBI. We're looking for Sheriff Truman," Scully said authoritatively, grateful for a chance to change the subject.

"I'm sorry," the woman behind the desk said slowly, "but he isn't available at the moment."

"What do you mean, not available?" Scully asked.

"We're here," interjected Mulder, "about the disappearance of one of our agents. It would be really helpful if we could talk to the sheriff as soon as possible."

"Oh. You're here about Special Agent Cooper?" Lucy asked, her voice affected with a slight tinge of sadness.

The two agents glanced at each other for a moment. "Yes, we are. Why, do you know anything about what happened to him?"

"Well, no, but I'm sure that the sheriff will be able to help you. Or he would, but-" she stopped herself suddenly with a small intake of breath.

"But what?" Mulder prompted.

"I'm afraid he's not available at the moment," Lucy intoned monotonously, looking up at them with wide eyes.

"Why, exactly, isn't he available?"

"Because," she almost squealed, "he's gone missing as well."

The woods were deep and damp and dark; the air seemed thick with the near overwhelming scent of the trees. Above the tall, swaying branches that seemed to whisper with the breeze, an endless silver sky was obscured by tendrils of charcoal clouds unfurling their wispy tentacles across the vast greying canvas. Things seemed to swish by, just out of sight, and there was a low, menacing hum in the background that vanished when directly focused upon.

According to the somewhat stern deputy accompanying Mulder into the woods, the sheriff hadn't been seen for almost a week now. Unsure of what to do, the sheriff's department had, apparently, been forced to find a way to split their time and resources on tracking down the sheriff, and maintaining the peace in the town of Twin Peaks.

"Surely keeping the peace isn't too difficult in such a small town. It's difficult to imagine there being much chaos in a place like this," Mulder had asked as Deputy Hawk had explained the situation to him before they had set out into the woods.

"You wouldn't be the first to think that, agent, and you certainly won't be the last. It's hard to picture the kinds of things that go on behind closed doors in this town, however. In fact, as much as I love it here, it's getting more and more difficult to ignore the cracks starting to form, and the secrets starting to spill out." The deputy's dark, wise eyes had grown distant by this point. "And now, with the sheriff gone…"

And with that the deputy had led the agent into the misty depths in which he currently found himself.

And in these misty depths did Mulder find himself not just unsettled by the chillingly picturesque shadows dancing blithely amongst the trees, but also by the rapid onslaught of glimpses of a dream he had experienced the night before. He could not remember much, except several flashes of an intoxicatingly red room, and the spasmodic speech of a small man in scarlet: 'Let's Rock.'

"What did you say?"
"Excuse me?" Mulder looked up sharply, his recollections suddenly interrupted.

"Did you say something?" the deputy said. Mulder, stricken momentarily for words, shook his head. Hawk gave him a strange look, before swiftly continuing his sweep of the area.

Mulder could only frown in response.

Meanwhile, Scully was at the sheriff's department, unsure what to do. Usually by now there was a corpse to examine, or a witness to question, or a ridiculous theory- usually related to the paranormal- to argue over. This time, however, there was nothing. There was nothing to go on, nothing solid to do, and she hated it. She was beginning to wish she had joined her partner and Deputy Hawk on their search for the missing sheriff; at least they were doing something. Anything was better than the itch of idleness; it didn't help that there was something else about this whole thing tugging at her, making her feel… weird. Something about the atmosphere, even the light quality; Scully couldn't quite put her finger on it, and that alone was enough to unsettle her.

She supposed she could ask questions, start to get a vague idea of what could've happened to the missing agent. That would be the reasonable course of action. However, something Mulder had told her about the case was lingering on her mind, and it had begun to fester: the Black Lodge. With no idea what that could mean, and no idea where to look, Scully thought to ask the slightly odd secretary if she had any idea who the best person to talk to might be. This was, at least, a course of action, albeit a somewhat uncharacteristic one. Perhaps too much so, she countered- maybe it was best to leave that line of question until she somewhat understood what question exactly she intended to ask.

"Who are you?" came a voice from behind her, making her jump slightly.

"Special Agent Dana Scully. I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation," she replied, noting with some surprise, as she turned on her heel to face who had spoken, that the man before her had just one arm.

"Another one," the man sighed.

"Excuse me?"
"You should leave while you still can. I'm afraid it may already be too late for your partner, but you should still try."

"What do you mean? Who are you, exactly?"

"I suppose you're here sniffing after the other one. Too late, much too late. BOB's latched on now, and he's not letting go," the one-armed man continued sadly, ignoring her entirely.

"Who is Bob? What do you mean? Sir? Sir, come back here! What are you talking about?"

As the man began to leave, he turned and, to Scully's horror, hissed but three words in response: "the Black Lodge."

Scully could only stand and stare as he left.