Home, Pennsylvania
July 10th, 1996
Standing near the boys' baseball diamond, which had so recently been the site of a grisly discovery rather than just boyish pastime, Mulder bends down and reaches for the ball. His hand draws back empty, since he's of no mind to play this time around. Instead he goes to Scully and takes the tape measure from her, and gives her a rest while he writes down the rest of the particulars in a small notebook.
Scully looks down at the numbers when she notices his bemused look. "Compression marks indicate the shovel blade to be approximately six and three-quarters inches. Uh, the angle of movement and deeper indentation on the right side of the mark suggests a left-handed individual."
Though he nods absent-mindly, Mulder's gaze is fixed on the porch of the Peacock's house. ::I hate this fucking case.::
"I've collected soil specimens and, uh, although numerous shoe impressions were made from the sandlot game, I think a, uh, a couple of dental stone casts will prove invaluable to the investigation."
::I should just pull out my gun and start shooting right now and get this over with.::
"Meanwhile, I've quit the F.B.I. and become a spokesperson for the Ab-roller," Scully says, apropos of nothing, which gets his attention.
"Look at that ball. In a couple of years we'll have to sign Sammy up for T-Ball," Mulder says, hoping to prolong this moment - the moment before they go to examine the hideously deformed little corpse.
"He can't even walk yet, don't you think you're jumping the gun a little?" Though her tone is arch, she's smiling at him.
"Page too, of course. I don't want to be sexist, since baseball is good for all growing kids. God, this brings back a lot of memories. My sister played too...all day pick-up games out on the vineyard, ride your bikes down to the beach, eat bologna sandwiches. Only place you had to be on time was home for dinner. Never had to lock your doors. No modems, no faxes, no cell phones. I like where we live, but places like this have charm too."
"Here?" She snorts dismissively. "I know I don't have to worry about you suggesting we move some place like this."
"You know that how?"
"Mulder, if you had to do without a cell phone for two minutes, you'd lapse into catatonic schizophrenia."
"You don't know me as well as you think you do. You know, our work demands that we live in a big city, but if I had to relocate someday...it'd be to place like this."
"And leave our gigantic house for some small two story clapboard? It'd be like living in Mayberry."
After a rumble on the road a truck pulls up and a man gets out. It's all Mulder can do not to give him a hateful glare. This is the moment that the idyllic-ness of the scene evaporates and transforms from pastoral dream to genetic nightmare.
The man politely inclines his head in their direction. "Agents Mulder and Scully?"
Mulder reluctantly nods to him. The sheriff walks under the yellow tape and shakes Scully's hand. "Hi, I'm Sheriff Andy Taylor."
"For real?" Mulder asks with a smile in spite of himself. He offers the other man his hand.
"Can't thank you or the bureau enough for coming out. It's just me and my deputy, and...hell, we never had anything of this nature."
"Do you have any thoughts or, uh, suspects?" Scully asks. Mulder grimaces behinds their backs, his eyes looking for signs of his suspects again.
"The population of Home is only a few hundred. Everybody knows everybody, pretty much," the sheriff replies.
"Well, were there any local women who were pregnant and now suddenly aren't?" Looking back at her, he notices what seems to be a look of nausea cross her face. He doesn't blame her, since his stomach feels sick too. He could never do what had been done to the victim to his child, never no matter what was wrong with it.
"No. I just saw Mary Ellen and Nancy. They're both doing fine," Sheriff Taylor says, proving just how small a town it really is.
Eager to have the case done so they can leave, Mulder jabs a thumb in the air." Hey, Sheriff, who lives in that house there?" Taylor's eyes follow his thumb, but the other man says nothing. "Did you question them?" Silence. "'Cause they've been watching us the entire time."
"That farm belongs to the Peacock family. Three boys now. Well, men. Guess you could call them human. Their folks were in a bad car wreck a while back and we suppose they died." Taylor makes not attempt to disguise his distaste.
"You suppose?" Scully asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, we tried to administer medical attention, but the boys hauled the bodies away. Took them home. They haven't been seen in ten years, so...we suppose they died." The man shrugs.
"Have you questioned the men?" she persists.
::That's my girl, you ask the hard questions.:: Mulder thinks.
"The Peacocks built that farm during the Civil War. It still has no electricity, no running water, no heat...they grow their own food, they raise their own pigs, they breed their own cows...raise and breed their own stock...if you get my meaning."
::That's not putting too fine a point on it.::
"It is, however, the closest residence to the crime scene," Scully points out.
"Those boys are feeble, Agent Scully...and sad. They wouldn't have any idea what you were talking about."
"Well, they could've witnessed..."
"Look, this town is my home. I love it. It's quiet...peaceful. I don't even wear a gun." Mulder nods, but he can't help but wish that the man did. "I've seen and heard some of the sick and horrible things that go on outside my home. At the same time, I knew we couldn't stay hidden forever...that one day, the modern world would find us and...my home town would change forever. And when I saw...it...in the ground...I knew that day had come. Now, I want to find whoever did this...but in doing so, I'd like it if the way things are around here didn't have to change. I know this is iffy bureau jurisdiction...but I didn't know where else to turn. So I called the bureau in Pittsburgh, and when I described the victim...they said I should see you. "
"Well, maybe we should take a look at the victim then," Mulder tells him, his mouth tasting of ash.
Police Station
Home, Pennsylvania
The moment Mulder has been dreading arrives. The refrigerator door is pulled open, where the baby is sitting on a tray, a washcloth draped over it. Taylor pulls it out and walks over to Mulder and Scully.
"We don't have a lab or a morgue. I've got a room down here, might be a bit cleaner," Taylor says apologetically.
As he's leading them to the room, another man walks in. "By the way, this is my deputy, Barney."
"Fife?" Mulder says, anticipating the reaction.
The deputy grimaces. "Pastor!" He storms off before Mulder can say anything else.
The room is as tiny as Mulder remembers, so he finds himself fleetingly glad that Scully's her normal svelte self, since she never would have been able to do the autopsy while expecting their babies - their simply was no extra space for a round belly.
"Uh, I could use a little more elbow room," Scully complains as the men crowd behind her.
"Thing is, see, folks have been dropping in to ask about the case and I wouldn't want anybody to pop in and see this," is Taylor's nervous excuse.
"Well, you could just lock your door to the office," Mulder points out.
"Oh, folks know I never lock the door. They'd start rumors."
::Rumors are the least of your worries, pal.::
Taylor backs out of the room and shuts the door behind him. Scully puts on rubber gloves and pulls up the covering, revealing the most deformed baby in history. Even though he's seen it once before, it's worse than he remembers so he gasps and looks away.
"Oh, my God...Mulder...it looks as if this child has been afflicted by every rare birth defect known to science. I mean, I, I'm going to have to order DNA typing from the crime lab, but...there appears to be abnormalities associated with Nev-Laxova Syndrome, Meckel-Gruber Syndrome, estrophy of the cloaca, I mean, I don't even know where to begin." Tears well up in her eyes which makes Mulder want to wrap his arms around her, but he knows that would only prolong the time they'd spend looking at the victim, so he keeps his arms to himself.
Swallowing hard, Mulder looks down at the bent pink body. "I guess we can rule out murder as the cause of death, huh?"
"Well, I don't know about that." She pulls out some tweezers and probes the baby's mouth with them. "There's evidence of occlusion due to dirt in the nose and mouth...indicating the dirt has been inhaled. This baby was born alive."
"There's something rotten in Mayberry," Mulder says, trying desperately to break the tension.
They walk outside. A baby is crying as it is pushed by in a stroller. A perfect baby, like both of their children.
"Imagine all a woman's hopes and dreams for her child and then nature turns so cruel. What must a mother go through?" Scully asks as they settle on a bench and drink in the fresh air.
"Apparently not much in this case if she just threw it out with the trash."
"I, I guess I was just projecting on myself."
"Why do you say that? You'd never do anything like that to a child of yours, even if it was as damaged as our victim is."
"I'd like to think so," she tells him.
Mulder bumps her with his shoulder. "Nothing like that would ever happen to our kids anyway. You lucked out by finding yourself a husband with a spotless genetic make-up and a really high tolerance for being second-guessed and started pumping out the little Uber-Scullies. Or maybe it's Uber-Mulders."
"Spotless, huh?" she asks, leaning forward slightly when he makes a move to rub her back
"Hmm? Well, aside from the need for corrective lenses and a tendency to be abducted by extraterrestrials involved in an international governmental conspiracy, the Mulder family passes genetic muster. We'll just have to get those new microchips implanted into the kids so we can track them if they're ever picked up by the grays."
"Mulder, those are for pets," Scully protests.
The smile fades from Mulder's face when he realizes what he said about chips - at least that hasn't happened to her in this lifetime. He shakes his head slightly to clear it. "Now, Scully, that child inside is a tragedy. Some young parents, probably scared kids, disposed of an unwanted birth...in a very certain sense, infanticide is involved, but this is not an F.B.I. matter."
::If I pretend to believe that, maybe we can go home and forget all about this.::
"But from what I know from about genetic defects, Mulder, it's unlikely that child is a result of a single polygenic mating."
"We should let local authorities investigate that." ::please please please::
"Those defects, Mulder, are autosomal dominant disorders, and from the degree, I'd say, mutations that go back many generations."
"Scully, uh, Sheriff Taylor, uh, implied that the boys in that family were not really the type that could easily get dates."
"But he also implied that they practice inbreeding. Now we all have a natural instinct to propagate..."
"Do we?"
"Yes, and not just you and I, even if that's what you're thinking of from the look on your face," she says slyly. "There are theories which pose that our bodies are, are simply vehicles for genes needing to replicate."
"Yeah, yeah, but there's no sister. The mother's been dead for ten years."
"But if the instinct and the need is strong enough, they will answer it any way that they can. Now a woman gave birth to that child, Mulder, and my guess is, against her will."
He realizes his defeat. "And kidnapping is a bureau matter." Dragging his feet, he follows her as she goes to start the car.
Peacock Residence
Home, Pennsylvania
With Scully in the lead, they approach the front steps. Before they get to the front door they walk over to the white Cadillac sitting on the lawn. It has no license plate. Mulder skirts a pig's head with flies swarming sitting on the steps as they walk up them. Mulder knocks on the screen door, but there is no answer. He reaches for the door handle.
"No, there's no probable cause."
Frowning in frustration, Mulder takes out his flashlight and shines it around inside. More flies buzz and rusty tools and dirty dishes clutter the place, making it look like an agricultural frat house. Before long the beam of light lands on what they're looking for: blood on the floor. Taking out their guns, they step inside carefully and quietly. Mulder puts his hand in an evidence bag inside out, picks up the scissors in the pool of blood, then turns the bag inside out, enclosing the scissors. He shoves the bag in his pocket as they look at the bloody footprints on the floor. Scully takes out a picture of a footprint taken off the field.
"They match," Scully whispers.
Mulder looks for the shovel off to the side, it's where he thought it would be. He picks it up and they look at the blood on it.
"This room alone should convict them," she whispers again.
"Yeah, if we can find them. They probably bolted when they saw us coming." Mulder leads them cautiously down a hallway. "We'll alert Sheriff Taylor to issue a warrant for the brothers' arrest, put out a county-wide A.P.B."
"And check any prior missing-persons for a woman, and check the vehicle identification number on that Cadillac."
A sense of dread falls over Mulder as they begin to turn away from the hallway. ::This is the beginning of it. They know we're here, so tonight they'll murder the sheriff and his wife. Tomorrow they'll booby-trap this house, and that'll lead to Barney's death, which is a shame since he could probably go pretty far if he didn't have less than twenty-four hours to live. Tomorrow?::
Mulder impulsively points his flashlight down the hall, looking for the booby-traps that'll confront them tomorrow. There aren't any. ::They haven't done it yet, us being here now must be why they do it. They haven't done it yet…::In three steps he catches up with Scully, who hasn't realized yet that he paused.
A hand on her shoulder stops Scully, and she gives Mulder an expectant look. "What Mulder?"
"Did you hear that?"
"Voices."
"You're hearing voices?" Her expression is half amused, half alarmed.
"Not like that. Actual human voices. Well, if you can call the Peacock brothers human."
"Saying what?"
"I'm not sure. It sounded like a threat, and there was a woman's voice too, calling for help," Mulder lies easily.
She turns, about to walk down the hall where Mulder is looking. "We have to go help her, Mulder."
"No. Not just the two of us. You saw all that blood, these men have no qualms about murder. Just you and I, we'd be outnumbered, and that could further endanger the victim as well as ourselves. Let's go outside and call for back up."
Although Home doesn't have much in the way of a police force, the nearest large city is only twenty miles away, so it only takes a few minutes for back up to arrive en mass. Mulder can't help but feel a sense of jubilation as he sees the officers arrive. Sheriff Taylor is there as well, and Mulder steps back to let the older man direct the attack.
Taylor looks at the men who surround him. "I've issued arrest warrants for George Raymond Peacock approximate age thirty, Sherman Nathaniel Peacock, approximately age twenty-six and Edmund Crieghton Peacock, forty-two. My deputy cautioned me that he's seen the men firing muskets, so they are to be considered possibly armed, and undoubtedly dangerous."
The officer who seems to have seniority nods to his men, all of whom are helmeted and wearing kevlar jackets. "You heard the sheriff, proceed with extreme caution. Let's move out."
Before they make a move, Mulder calls to them, "If you find the victim, send us word. Kidnapping is a bureau matter, not a local one." The men nod and begin creeping towards the home.
"I'm surprised you're not trying to lead the charge, Mulder," Scully says as they watch the men.
"If they need help we'll assist, but part of asking them to know their boundaries relies on demonstrating we know our own," he says with a shrug. "I was getting bored of ticking off the local authorities anyway."
She shoots him a look of disbelief before turning her attention to sheriff Taylor. "What about our victim, did you get any missing persons reports that point to her identity?"
"Deputy Pastor's on it right now."
"Sheriff Taylor, do you recall over the last eight to ten months any vehicles you found and considered to be abandoned, but which might actually belong to kidnap victims. We saw a white Cadillac in the Peacocks' front yard."
"We get so many of those, Agent Scully. A car breaks down, they move on. We'll probably find out from her who she is long before anyone could figure it out by tracking down the owner of the car."
Scully gives him a tight smile. "So long as she's in a condition to tell us who she is."
There are some shouts inside, but no screams and no sounds of gunfire, so the two agents and the sheriff are able to manage their anxiety, and none of them goes running into the house like a crazy person.
Scully points at the pen of pigs that takes up a lot of the yard near them. "Mom was telling me a couple of days ago about Charlie's little boy Brandon. She said it was hard to get my nephew's attention during our trip to New Orleans, and that she couldn't really get him too interested in playing with her or his cousins. Apparently this is because he watches 'Babe' fifteen times a day. I'm surprised that he didn't have a fit on the 4th of July given Charlie didn't have the movie with him."
"And people call *me* 'Spooky,'" Mulder snorts. "I'm beginning to see the light regarding your dislike of TV for small children."
"Bah-ram-ewe!" she says and shrugs when Mulder give her a funny look. "Mom says he wandered around the whole time saying that."
"Charlie and Elaine should consider getting him counseling."
More shouting proceeds the front door of the house opening, and officers frog-marching the three Peacock brothers out of the house. All the fight has gone out of the ugly men, and they are almost docile as they're thrust into waiting police cars.
A young officer walks quickly towards Mulder and Scully. "The victim is still inside," he tells them breathlessly.
Mulder looks at the man's name badge before responding. "Thank you officer Morton. Does the woman need medical attention?"
The young officer frowns. "There's another officer with her now trying to figure that out. She's in rough shape, but I think she's been that way for a while. C'mon, I bring you to her."
Scully nods, but speaks to the Sheriff, "Call an ambulance anyway, please?"
"Of course."
Morton leads them through the dark corridors, and into a large, dimly lit room. Mulder spies something on a table, and reaches for it. He holds up a paper with the headline "Elvis Presley Dead at 42." There is a picture of Elvis under it. Mulder makes a sad face and Scully looks at him strangely. ::I guess convincing her to name one of our kids Elvis is going to be an uphill battle.::
Mulder drops the paper as the two hear the mummer of a male voice, and the frantic reply of a slightly more feminine one. As they walk in Scully looks at the pictures on the wall of past Peacocks, all deformed. They approach where the other officer is crouching and look down. A deformed woman looks away, screaming.
"No! Get out, get away!" she shrieks, making Scully jump.
Mulder is a little more sanguine, given he's not as shocked by her appearance. "It's all right, ma'am! We're federal agents here to help you." He nods towards the officers, indicating that they're free to go.
"Go! Get out of here! Go away!"
"They've got her strapped to some kind of board or something," Mulder says, shining the light down. It's very clear that the woman is a quadriplegic.
"Get away! Get away! Go!"
"Ma'am, we're here to help you. Calm down. Ma'am, we're here to help. We're from the F.B.I." The woman screams louder. "It's all right, it's all over."
He and Scully look at her amputated limbs, unsure of what they can say. "We're from the F.B.I., we're...we're here to help...we're going to make sure that you're safe. We're - we're going to make sure that you get home."
Scully looks back at the picture of the man and the woman on the porch. They are the same woman. The woman sobs. "Mulder, she already is home. It's Mrs. Peacock. She's their mother."
Mrs. Peacock looks at Mulder and hisses. "When the ambulance gets here we'll have them help us get her out of the building." He walks to the window and looks out at the three police cruisers that are already loaded. "They can give her a medical exam before they bring her to the station."
Scully looks faintly puzzled. "Why would they bring her to the station rather than taking her statement here?"
"To arrest her, Scully. I'm sure she's an accessory. At least she aided and abetted."
"We're only assuming. We can't prove anything."
Mulder shrugs slightly. "Whether she should be charged with anything or not is for the local PD to sort out. The way I think it goes here is that Edmund is the...the brother and father of the other two. Which means that when Edmund was a kid, he could ground the other two for playing with his things. She's guilty of something. Let her know that her sons are in custody, and that we'll be taking her in as well." He pulls out a walky-talky and begins to talk to Sheriff Taylor about the estimated arrival time of the ambulance.
His wife returns to the woman's side. "Mrs. Peacock? You are in immediate need of medical attention. Agent Mulder and I are here to help you." Scully's tone is gentle.
Mrs. Peacock looks at her. "This is our home. Why leave it?"
"Whatever pain you may be..."
"Don't feel pain. Runs in the family. Have to check the boys, see if they hurt themselves." The woman's voice is thick.
"They're in police custody now, but where not injured. What about you, are you in pain? Even after the accident?"
"Right arm was torn off. Saw it sitting there across my dead husband's lap. Boys took me home...sewed me up just like the family learnt in the War of Northern Aggression. Whole time, felt the same as if been making breakfast." Even over the staticy conversation he's having, Mulder can hear Scully make a faint sound of disgust. "They're such good boys."
"Mrs. Peacock, they murdered your baby. That has to be punished."
"They did what had to be done. A mother has to understand that."
Scully turns away just as the siren wails into the driveway. Sighing himself, Mulder goes to her and threads an arm around her waist. All he can do is be thankful that she has no idea how much worse things could have been.
Deputy Pastor nervously smokes a cigarette outside, obviously waiting for them. "Sheriff Taylor had to leave to supervise the transport of the prisoners." He holds something out to Scully. "This came from the federal crime lab overnight."
Scully looks through the contents of the package, oblivious to the shrieks as the paramedics exit the building with their angry charge. Mulder's just glad that the woman will be soon out of sight and hearing.
"Damn it. The lab screwed up the DNA test on the infant." Scully points to pages in her hand. "Multiple maldistribution, chromosomal breakage, maldivision of the centromere..."
"You suspected these abnormalities," Mulder reminds her.
"Yeah, but this shows far too many gene imbalances, even for inbreeding. It would have to be a lab error." She shows him two slides of the DNA strands. "This child's cells would have had to divide triple-fold in cell metaphase."
Instead of asking her to translate into English, he plays along. "Triple? Hey, Scully, what if...each of the Peacock brothers was the father of that child?"
She stares at him incredulously. "Mulder...I know the Peacocks epitomize "keep it in the family" but only one sperm in thousands from a single individual can penetrate an ovum membrane, let alone from three separate males."
"What if generations of autosomal breeding could produce such a mutation? You saw their family pictures. These people have been into sanguinity for generations."
Scully shakes her head. "I don't think so, not even in a case like this."
"Don't discount it as impossible just because it's highly unlikely, Scully."
Her fingers tickle him, making him jump. "When you didn't want to go charging in there you had me worried, but here's the Fox Mulder I've come to know and love."
Mulder smiles wryly. "Are you saying I amuse you?"
"More than TV ever could."
Washington, DC
That Night
The kids are sleeping soundly, so the two tired agents decide to call it an early night themselves. For once Scully doesn't say anything when he strips off his clothes and leaves them puddled on the floor; in fact she does the same. Smiling to himself, he thinks it'll be leverage the next time they have a laundry argument.
Once they're in bed Scully burrows against his side and looks up at him. "Mulder, how many kids do you want?"
He thinks of his hopes of keeping her from danger in the coming months and of William. "Four."
"Just four?" She looks a little disappointed, which surprises him.
"Well, at least four," he amends, giving her a curious look. "How many kids do you want?"
Her cheeks pink a little. "I don't know."
"I can tell by the look on your face you've got a number in mind, Sweetheart."
She shrugs against him. "It's not so much a number… When I was a young I read all the classics, and so many of them seemed to hold the idea that God gives you as many kids as you need in high esteem. And as dumb as it is, I've always liked the idea of leaving it to God. No doubt a side-effect of a catholic upbringing. I think I probably would have had more siblings than I do if my Dad hadn't been away so often."
"Or if your mother had fewer morals than she does," Mulder murmurs, getting punched in the shoulder for his gall. "So you want to stop using birth control?" Mulder can't help but feel deeply amused.
"I wouldn't ask you to do that, Mulder. Not just to satisfy some sort of silly wish left over from girlhood."
"Well, I don't know. I find the idea of this sort of experiment intriguing," he admits. "It's not as though we can't afford to have more kids if we wanted, not with uncle Saul's money invested as it is. They say the more educated people are the fewer kids they have, which I think is kind of selfish. The world needs smart babies to balance out all the dumb people reproducing like bunnies. And god knows we'd all be better off with more Mulders than Peacocks. You might be able to talk me into this grand experiment, but I have a couple of caveats."
"What would those be?" Scully asks lightly. It takes Mulder a few seconds to focus on her question because her fingers are wandering along one of his thighs.
He pouts." You don't negotiate fairly. Those caveats would be: one that this experiment ends before your 40th birthday. Although I have no doubt whatsoever that you'll be as lovely in 2004 as you are right now, you know as well as I do that the risks of having a baby with problems goes up once the mother passes that age." He gulps hard. "I'll, uh, get a vasectomy as your birthday present that year."
"And? You said caveats, plural."
"We go back to using birth control if it becomes in our best interest to do so. If a doctor tells you to stop having babies, if we end up with as many kids as we can handle…we end the experiment."
"Of course. You really don't mind if we end up with five or six kids?"
He begins to get excited about the idea. "Three or four more kids as great as the two we have already? We're going to have the best family. And when they're old enough to play sports they're going to crush the opposition."
"Mulder!" Scully laughs. "You're a wonderful man."
"Nah, you're just deluded. Scully…" He looks down at her blissful smile, then becomes a little nervous. "Those books you read, Cheaper By The Dozen wasn't one of your favorites, was it?"
"Don't give me ideas, Mulder," she says with a laugh that doesn't reassure him. "I was more a fan of ' The Five Little Peppers And How They Grew'."
"Just checking. Maybe I should have added a third stipulation that the total number of kids we have remains a single digit."
"Too late now," Scully says primly.
"Scully!" Mulder's protest is cut short when Scully begins to distract him by rubbing up against his chest. "You really don't play fair."
Although most of his mind focuses on the interesting things his wife is doing to his body, the back of his mind is already plotting, trying to think of ways to use Scully's confession to the best advantage. She sure has gotten into a lot of trouble, so it's hard to think of the best times to conceive future Mulders. Of course, Scully's distractions soon obliterate all coherent thoughts from his mind.