Several days later, a white Chrysler pulled into the driveway of David and Annette Johanneson. A petite woman with red hair stepped out, followed by a taller man with short brown hair. They are Special Agents Dana Scully and John Doggett, experts on the paranormal. The two agents approached the door, but it was opened before they could knock. There stood Annette Johanneson.
"Are you from the FBI?" she asked, her voice full of a sorrow beyond anything the agents had heard before.
"Yes ma'am," replied the man. "I'm Special Agent Doggett, and this my partner Special Agent Scully. We're here to talk to you about your son."
The woman sighed. "Come in."
Upon entering the house, Scully's senses were overwhelmed. Police still hung about the house, and friends and neighbors had all come to offer their condolences. There was such a deep sense of grief in one little house. Annette interrupted her pondering.
"Please, come and sit down." The agents took a seat on a small, cozy sofa. Decorating the walls were cross-stitches of various Bible verses, proclaiming the word of God. Jacob had obviously grown up in a religious household. That seemed to rule out Scully's one major theory: a sick, twisted religious fanatic had tried to show an atheist child the way of the Lord. Nothing seemed to fit. Scully came back to reality. Doggett had already started questioning the woman.
"This may sound sort of silly, but does your family have any known enemies?"
Annette shook her head as David came to join her. "We live in a very safe, loving community. We wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone likes us fairly well, especially David. He was always helping out any way he could."
"How long had he been missing when you found him at the Church?"
"A week."
"And there were no substantial tips before the mysterious phone call that night?"
"No. There were tips, but they were all people trying to make a few bucks. They didn't care about finding my son."
Agent Scully rose unexpectedly. "Thank you, Mrs. Johanneson. Agent Doggett and I will be back shortly. There are some things we have to discuss."
A confused Doggett followed Scully out of the room. "Agent Scully, what is going on? We're not done here."
Agent Scully sighed. "The police aren't done here Agent Doggett, but we are. This isn't an X-file. We don't belong here."
"Agent Scully, this isn't like you. A young boy was nailed to a cross! You don't see anything strange here?" The argument was cut short by the sound of a phone ringing. Both agents went quiet. Suddenly, they heard Annette scream from the living room.
"What is it?" shouted Scully as she and Doggett entered the room. Annette had dropped the phone, and now stood shaking by her husband.
"It was him," she sobbed. "The same voice David heard."
"What did he say?" demanded David and Agent Doggett at nearly the same time.
Annette sank to the floor. "Christ is died. Christ is risen."
Scully and Doggett pulled up to the local cemetery ten minutes later, flanked by several police cars. As they approached the Johanneson family mausoleum, they found the door ajar, nearly hanging off its hinges. Scully entered first. She gasped. There stood Jacob Johanneson, wounds still fresh and bleeding. He was crying, but the tears were not of sorrow.
"Are you from the FBI?" she asked, her voice full of a sorrow beyond anything the agents had heard before.
"Yes ma'am," replied the man. "I'm Special Agent Doggett, and this my partner Special Agent Scully. We're here to talk to you about your son."
The woman sighed. "Come in."
Upon entering the house, Scully's senses were overwhelmed. Police still hung about the house, and friends and neighbors had all come to offer their condolences. There was such a deep sense of grief in one little house. Annette interrupted her pondering.
"Please, come and sit down." The agents took a seat on a small, cozy sofa. Decorating the walls were cross-stitches of various Bible verses, proclaiming the word of God. Jacob had obviously grown up in a religious household. That seemed to rule out Scully's one major theory: a sick, twisted religious fanatic had tried to show an atheist child the way of the Lord. Nothing seemed to fit. Scully came back to reality. Doggett had already started questioning the woman.
"This may sound sort of silly, but does your family have any known enemies?"
Annette shook her head as David came to join her. "We live in a very safe, loving community. We wouldn't have it any other way. Everyone likes us fairly well, especially David. He was always helping out any way he could."
"How long had he been missing when you found him at the Church?"
"A week."
"And there were no substantial tips before the mysterious phone call that night?"
"No. There were tips, but they were all people trying to make a few bucks. They didn't care about finding my son."
Agent Scully rose unexpectedly. "Thank you, Mrs. Johanneson. Agent Doggett and I will be back shortly. There are some things we have to discuss."
A confused Doggett followed Scully out of the room. "Agent Scully, what is going on? We're not done here."
Agent Scully sighed. "The police aren't done here Agent Doggett, but we are. This isn't an X-file. We don't belong here."
"Agent Scully, this isn't like you. A young boy was nailed to a cross! You don't see anything strange here?" The argument was cut short by the sound of a phone ringing. Both agents went quiet. Suddenly, they heard Annette scream from the living room.
"What is it?" shouted Scully as she and Doggett entered the room. Annette had dropped the phone, and now stood shaking by her husband.
"It was him," she sobbed. "The same voice David heard."
"What did he say?" demanded David and Agent Doggett at nearly the same time.
Annette sank to the floor. "Christ is died. Christ is risen."
Scully and Doggett pulled up to the local cemetery ten minutes later, flanked by several police cars. As they approached the Johanneson family mausoleum, they found the door ajar, nearly hanging off its hinges. Scully entered first. She gasped. There stood Jacob Johanneson, wounds still fresh and bleeding. He was crying, but the tears were not of sorrow.