When I knocked on the door, I didn't know what to expect when the door opened. Frequently the vampire sent to the door would have an appearance calculated to scare or intimidate a visitor- so they would look like a bouncer, or worse yet, a fright out of a horror movie. Which is why I was surprised that the vampire doing door duty had the appearance of a fresh- faced eighteen year old girl. The appearance was deceiving, since I could sense that she was 200 if she was a day, but it was a nice touch.
"Good evening, Ms. Blake." She greeted me politely. "Lancaster asked me to bid you welcome to our home."
"Thank you." I replied just as politely. However nice a reception I got, it was still hard to let my guard down, because doing that sort of thing at an inopportune moment could get a girl killed.
While the outside of the building was probably bringing down the neighborhood's property values, the inside was quite nice. It brought caskets to mind for some perverse reason. I'll say this for Lancaster, no matter what his faults might be, he has great taste in art. We entered a long hallway, and the walls of it were decorated with copies that were rendered so perfectly that, had I not known that the originals were hanging in museums, I would have been fooled. Landscapes by Parrish, Surrealism by Dali, even a touch of whimsy in the form of a painting by Bedard.
The man seated on a throne-like chair in the large room we entered was no less a masterpiece himself. He looked up and cheerfully said, "Ms. Blake, so glad you could make it.
Meanwhile...
Mulder glanced into William's room. The toddler was sleeping on his back, his bow lips slightly parted. In a dusty corner of his mind, one that he never visited except in his nightmares, lurked a fear: that, on one of his nightly rounds, he'd open the boy's room and find him huddled in terror at one end of his crib, or even worse, gone. His conscious mind could mostly lock down those sorts of thoughts, but they were what motivated him to check on the boy each and every night. After he was satisfied that all was well in the nursery, he gently closed the door so he wouldn't wake his son, and walked to the next one.
Emily slept as soundly as her brother, thought for the life of him, Mulder couldn't fathom how that could be possible. Most of her bed was taken up by a hoard of stuffed animals that looked back at him with impassive plastic eyes. If he'd asked Maggie, she could've told him that it was the nature of small girls, and she herself had spent many a night marveling that there had been room among the fuzzy armies for her little redheads. As it was he had become adapt at locating the sandy blond head on the pillow each night before he closed the door.
He sighed to himself as he thought about the children. His children. Emily was his by the bonds of love and care, but Jeffrey's by blood and chance. Though he realized that was as much a choiceless victim in Emily's making as Scully was, he couldn't help but slightly resent the facts of biology. His brother never asked for this visceral connection to Scully, never asked for a child, while on the other hand Mulder would have been thrilled if he discovered that his beloved's older child was his. He tried to shake the wistful thought from his head as he went back downstairs.
Scully was frowning as he rejoined her at the table. She barely glanced up at him before refocusing her attention on the papers and lurid photos spread before her.
"Scully, it's late. It's Thanksgiving. Give yourself the night off and get some sleep. You'll be fresh in the morning." Mulder gently massaged her shoulders as he spoke to her in a coaxing tone.
Scully leaned back into his touch and sighed. "I will. Soon. There's just something I'm missing. There has to be some sort of clue we've over looked." She made a frustrated noise.
"We'll get it soon. I'm sure of it." He declared with a true believer's conviction. She gave him a half-hearted smile, but was much less sure.
"Good evening, Ms. Blake." She greeted me politely. "Lancaster asked me to bid you welcome to our home."
"Thank you." I replied just as politely. However nice a reception I got, it was still hard to let my guard down, because doing that sort of thing at an inopportune moment could get a girl killed.
While the outside of the building was probably bringing down the neighborhood's property values, the inside was quite nice. It brought caskets to mind for some perverse reason. I'll say this for Lancaster, no matter what his faults might be, he has great taste in art. We entered a long hallway, and the walls of it were decorated with copies that were rendered so perfectly that, had I not known that the originals were hanging in museums, I would have been fooled. Landscapes by Parrish, Surrealism by Dali, even a touch of whimsy in the form of a painting by Bedard.
The man seated on a throne-like chair in the large room we entered was no less a masterpiece himself. He looked up and cheerfully said, "Ms. Blake, so glad you could make it.
Meanwhile...
Mulder glanced into William's room. The toddler was sleeping on his back, his bow lips slightly parted. In a dusty corner of his mind, one that he never visited except in his nightmares, lurked a fear: that, on one of his nightly rounds, he'd open the boy's room and find him huddled in terror at one end of his crib, or even worse, gone. His conscious mind could mostly lock down those sorts of thoughts, but they were what motivated him to check on the boy each and every night. After he was satisfied that all was well in the nursery, he gently closed the door so he wouldn't wake his son, and walked to the next one.
Emily slept as soundly as her brother, thought for the life of him, Mulder couldn't fathom how that could be possible. Most of her bed was taken up by a hoard of stuffed animals that looked back at him with impassive plastic eyes. If he'd asked Maggie, she could've told him that it was the nature of small girls, and she herself had spent many a night marveling that there had been room among the fuzzy armies for her little redheads. As it was he had become adapt at locating the sandy blond head on the pillow each night before he closed the door.
He sighed to himself as he thought about the children. His children. Emily was his by the bonds of love and care, but Jeffrey's by blood and chance. Though he realized that was as much a choiceless victim in Emily's making as Scully was, he couldn't help but slightly resent the facts of biology. His brother never asked for this visceral connection to Scully, never asked for a child, while on the other hand Mulder would have been thrilled if he discovered that his beloved's older child was his. He tried to shake the wistful thought from his head as he went back downstairs.
Scully was frowning as he rejoined her at the table. She barely glanced up at him before refocusing her attention on the papers and lurid photos spread before her.
"Scully, it's late. It's Thanksgiving. Give yourself the night off and get some sleep. You'll be fresh in the morning." Mulder gently massaged her shoulders as he spoke to her in a coaxing tone.
Scully leaned back into his touch and sighed. "I will. Soon. There's just something I'm missing. There has to be some sort of clue we've over looked." She made a frustrated noise.
"We'll get it soon. I'm sure of it." He declared with a true believer's conviction. She gave him a half-hearted smile, but was much less sure.