Hi, here's another chapter. I will try to update a bit more regularly, now that my classes are over. Thanks for the feedback: I appreciate you alltaking the time to let me know that you're interested in my story. So enjoy the next chapter.

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Chapter 4

The next morning was dark and foggy, even at eight in the morning. It took us longer than expected to get out of Atlanta because of the fog and the traffic. We decided to take one vehicle, to save on gas money. Nicole took the first shift driving, while she and Mulder discussed the case. I didn't say much, but I did listen very attentively from the back seat.

As the miles rolled by, my eyes started to get heavy, and I had to fight to keep them open. Mulder and Nicole's voice started sounding like they were in a tunnel, drifting in and out. I desperately wanted to stay awake, so that Mulder wouldn't ask if I was alright. I was fine, I was just tired.

Suddenly the car lurched to a stop and I heard Mulder say, "Hey Scully, we're taking a rest." I jerked upright, trying to straighten my rumpled appearance.

"Oh, okay," I said, still feeling like I was on auto pilot. I climbed out of the car and stretched my back, and then walked around, waking up my legs.

We were at a rest stop along the highway, and I could see a soda machine beside the small building. I asked Mulder and Nicole if they wanted anything to drink: Mulder said he'd take a diet Coke, and Nicole said she wanted a diet Pepsi. I didn't hurry to get the sodas, because I needed time to wake and get the blood moving so that I wouldn't fall back asleep.

"Thanks," said Mulder when I handed him his soda.

"Yeah, thanks," Nicole echoed.

"No problem," I replied, taking the cap off of my bottle and taking a sip. The sugar in the soda helped to wake me up, and I realized I was running out of energy. I knew I should be more careful about letting my energy levels get too low.

"You wanna drive Scully?" Mulder asked as we got ready to hit the road again.

"Yeah, for a while."

He tossed me the keys and I caught them, then gave Mulder a small smile. He cracked a smile in return, and then I got in the car and started the engine. It eased my mind a little that Mulder didn't seem to be mad. Maybe we were okay.

I drove for about an hour, and then Mulder drove for the last hour. For the last leg of the trip, we were out in the country, heading into a very swampy and desolate looking area. There was moss hanging off the trees, and the woods were dark and full of shadows. We finally came to a large iron gate, between two great stone walls covered with dark green moss. Nicole checked to see if the gate was open, and despite the fact the gate creaked as it swung on its hinges, it opened easily.

The drive was gravel with a neatly mowed grass strip in the middle, and it was about a half mile up to the house. When the house finally came into view among the grand old trees, it reminded me of something out of Gone with the Wind. It was old, but it had an air of grandness and dignity about it. Vines hung from the balcony, and large old rose bushes framed the huge front porch with its big white columns. White curtains fluttered in the floor length windows, and white wicker chairs were seated strategically around a white wicker table on the porch. The whole place was absolutely lovely, but the damp, misty air gave it a spooky feeling.

We all walked slowly up the broad steps to the front door, and Mulder knocked sharply on the frame. When no one answered he rapped again, a little louder, and about minute later we could hear the loud clicking of rapidly approaching high heels on a wooden floor.

A blonde haired young woman peered through the screen curiously, her eyes wide and questioning. "Yes? How may I help you?" she asked.

We all pulled out our badges, and Mulder said, "I'm Agent Mulder, this Agent Scully, FBI, and this is Detective Beaumont, Atlanta Police. We here to talk to Mrs. Charlotte Monterale, is she's available?"

"Please come in," the woman, said, stepping aside so that we could enter. "If you'll just follow me."

She led us into a large, airy room with a huge fireplace and Victorian style furniture. She said she would see if Mrs. Monterale would speak with us, and then she hurried out of the room.

"Wow!" exclaimed Nicole, "I'd seen pictures of this place, but its way more impressive in real life. It's like a fairy tale mansion."

"I'll say," Mulder agreed.

"Or something out of Gone with the Wind," I added, and they both nodded.

We didn't have anymore time to talk as the young woman reentered the room, followed by a stately looking, older woman. Her brown eyes were already looking us over, even before we were introduced, appraising us. Her silver hair was pulled into a tight French twist and her lips were set in a thin, tight line.

"Mrs. Monterale, this is Agents Mulder and Scully with the FBI, and Detective Beaumont with the Atlanta Police," the young woman said. By now I had decided that she was the maid.

"Why are you here?" Mrs. Monterale asked sharply, sitting down across from us. Her back stayed ramrod straight.

"We're here to talk to you about the death of your son," Mulder told her, and she stiffened even more, if that were possible.

"Why? There's nothing I can do to help you."

"Well, there might be," said Nicole. "Any information we can get will help us solve his murder."

Mrs. Monterale sat there, studying us. For a minute I was afraid she was going to order us out of her house, but then she sighed and asked, "What could I possibly know that would help you?"

"Anything you can tell us. Even if you think it's not important to you, it could be important to us," I said.

"Well, I don't know much," she said.

"First of all, when was the last time you talked to Philip?" asked Mulder.

"About four years ago."

"Four years?" Mulder repeated. I could hear the surprise in his voice, but it seemed to go unnoticed by Mrs. Monterale. "Why that long ago?"

"Because when Philip married Alexis, the rest of the family cut off relations with him. We didn't talk to either of them."

We all exchanged glances and then Nicole asked, "You didn't approve of the marriage?"

"Most certainly not! Alexis was too young and childish for him. She was a little hussy. If he had wanted a young woman, he should have married when he was young."

"Mrs. Monterale," I began slowly, carefully choosing my words, "you're saying that no one in the family has had contact with Philip or Alexis since they were married?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Do you have any other children Mrs. Monterale?" asked Mulder.

"Yes, my son Peter. I presume you'll want to talk to him?" she responded rather haughtily.

"Well, if he's here, then yes, we would like to speak with him," Nicole informed her.

Mrs. Monterale pressed her lips together again, and then picked up a little bell and gave it a ring. A moment later, the young woman appeared again, and stood waiting expectantly.

"Andrea, would you please tell my son that there are two FBI agents and an Atlanta police officer that wish to talk to him," she said.

"Yes ma'am."

Andrea hurried away, and a few minutes later a man in his late thirties stepped into the room. He had yet to even say hello to us, and already there was a dark scowl drawing his eyebrows together.

"I'm extremely busy, so please don't take up my time," he said pompously, seating himself across from us.

"Well, we'll try to be as brief as possible," said Mulder. "Mr. Monterale, where were you on the night that your brother was murdered?"

"I beg your pardon?" Peter snapped, bristling visibly.

"It's a standard question that we have to ask," Nicole explained, but the explanation didn't seem to smooth his spikes at all. In fact it seemed to agitate him even more.

"I don't think it's even necessary to ask that question. We may have had strained relations, but I would never kill him," Peter snapped. "Something like that has never entered my mind; that's the absolute, one hundred percent truth."

"Please just answer the question," instructed Mulder.

"I was here, with my mother," he replied. We all exchanged a quick glance, and then I said, "Mr. Monterale, we checked with the courts, and they told us that you were staying at the Westin Hotel three days before your brother was killed, and that you didn't check out of the hotel until the morning after your brother was killed."

If looks could kill, I would've been dead right then from the glare that Peter sent my way.

"Agent, I didn't kill my bother."

"Mr. Monterale," Mulder said, "why'd you lie to us? It's very easy for us to check records: why would you lie to us unless you had a reason?"

A heavy silence followed as Peter's eyes shifted from one person to another. A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and a humid breeze stirred the white lacy curtains. As Peter sat silent, the air in the room seemed to grow thicker with tension; so thick it felt like you could cut it with a pair of scissors.

Finally he breathed a heavy sigh and looked over at his mother. She raised a finely groomed eyebrow and nodded ever so slightly.

"Listen," Peter said, pressing his hands together until the knuckles turned white, "when I heard my brother was killed, I knew that because of the assault charges that I would probably be a suspect. I needed an alibi, and saying that I was in a hotel room, alone, wasn't going to be very convincing."

"My son didn't kill his brother," Mrs. Monterale spoke up, her voice shaking. "When he came here, we thought of the alibi together. We thought it would work. Obviously it didn't. I lost one son, and I didn't want to loose another."

Mrs. Monterale's sorrow was open and honest. No matter how old she might get, and how old her son might get, or how much relations were strained, she would always think of Philip Monterale as her little boy. And it hurt to loose a child. It hurt a lot.

"Mrs. Monterale, we are very sorrow for your loss," Mulder told her. "We know these questions are painful and maddening, but we're just trying to find your son's killer."

"I know, and I'm sorry if I wasn't helping."

"That's alright. We're through now. Thanks for your time."

As Andrea walked us out to the front door, I looked back over my shoulder to see Peter put his arms around his mother's shaking shoulders. My throat started aching and I painfully swallowed the giant lump that had just lodged there. I knew I didn't have much to compare with Mrs. Monterale's pain, but I could at least understand what it was like to loose a child.

"Hey Scully, you comin'?" Mulder asked me, tapping me on the shoulder.

"Oh, yeah," I responded, starting for the car.

Just as we got in, a loud, resounding peal of thunder rolled through the dark threatening clouds, and large raindrops started pelting the car.

"We better get out of here before the roads flood," Nicole stated worriedly.

We had barely been on the road two minutes when the skies opened up and sheets of rain poured down, drenching everything and making it next impossible to see. Mulder pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"I can't see anything," he said as a gust of wind shook the car. "I think we're gonna have to ride this out right here."

We must've been right in the center of the storm because the thunder was deafeningly loud, and the lighting flashed almost simultaneously. The rain came in waves, heavy and heavier, and the pounding echoed inside the car, giving me a headache. Leaves and sticks hit the side of the car, and some stayed plastered there. A branch crashed down right in front of the car, and we all jumped. I hated to admit it, even to myself, but this was starting to scare me. What if it spawned a tornado? We were out in the middle of nowhere, without any protection.

The storm lasted for another ten, very tense minutes before it moved on through and we could finally see again. Our relief gave way to frustration when we saw water across the road about ten yards ahead of us. It wasn't just lying there still, it was running across the road like a stream, and when we studied the map we saw that the road went over a small stream. Only now the stream was over the road.

Mulder got out of the car and jogged up the road to see how deep the water was. He grabbed a stick and leaned as far out as he could over the water, swishing the stick around in the rushing stream. For a moment it looked like he was going to lose his balance and fall face first into the muddy water. He was stretched out on tiptoe and his arms started flailing wildly. Nicole and I started chuckling as he struggled to regain his balance with some sort of semblance of dignity. When he was steady again, he turned around and sent a glare back at the car, but that just made Nicole and me chuckle even harder.

"Well," he said as he got back in the car, "it's definitely too deep to drive through. We're gonna have to go back the other way."

"Sure," was Nicole's serious reply, but there was a smirk hidden just below the surface, ready to break out into laughter. Mulder caught the look, and he saw my smirk as well, and he said, "Ladies, you wouldn't have wanted me to fall into that water. It would be a miserable ride for you too."

"Oh, and what were you gonna do?" Nicole asked in a teasing yet challenging tone.

"He would've sulked all the way back to Atlanta," I answered for Mulder, and he glared at me.

"I do not sulk, Scully."

"Sure."

Mulder was about to say something else but another gust of wind shook the car, and again heavy torrents of rain pelted the car. We all heaved a collective groan, and Nicole remarked that we wouldn't be going this way anytime soon.

"Let's see if this road goes through the other way," I said, picking up the map and turning it around until I could make sense of it. I spent about a minute studying it, and then reported that it did go all the way through, but it turned into a dirt road, and that there was another creek.

"Which probably flooded the road," said Nicole with a frustrated sigh.

"Well, only one way to find out," Mulder said, starting the car and making a U-turn.

The rain had let up, so we headed back the way we came. It wasn't too long before we came to another flooded section in the road. Here the water was even faster and deeper, and Mulder didn't have to get out of the car to see if we could drive through. There was no way that we could.

"Great," he growled, "we're stuck here."

"Maybe the Monterales know of another way out," Nicole suggested.

"Are you suggesting that we go back there and ask them?" I queried.

"Do you have any other ideas," countered Nicole, and I couldn't say that I did.

When we got back to the mansion, Peter and his mother didn't look surprised to see us. In fact it looked like they had been expecting us. When we asked if there was any other way out they said no, and that those creeks didn't go down very fast. It looked to us like we were now stuck out in the swamplands of Georgia.

Then Mrs. Monterale offered to let us stay overnight. When we started to object and say that we didn't want to put her to any trouble she stopped us and told she had plenty of room: besides there wasn't anywhere else we could go. With a quick exchange of looks we all agreed that it was probably the best thing to do, so we accepted her offer.

The rest of the evening passed very stiffly. We didn't say much, except for polite conversation with Mrs. Monterale and her son. The whole situation felt like one of those very embarrassing moments on a sitcom, where something revealing and awkward has just happened, and nobody knows what to do or say. I was very glad when an appropriate hour came and we could go up to the rooms provided for us without seeming impolite.

"Well, it's been a long and strange day," Mulder remarked as we all stopped at our bedroom doors. "We need to get some sleep, and get on the road as soon as conditions permit. Night."

"Night Mulder, Scully."

"Night."

I went into my bedroom and wearily closed the door behind me. The room was almost dark and the white bedspread looked eerie. I switched on a light on a stand beside the door and looked around the room. The bed was situated near the middle of the room, so that it had a clear view of the window. It was an absolutely huge four poster, and at the moment, it looked so comfortable.

Then I noticed a white, short-sleeved night gown lying just below the pillow. A bathrobe was laid out next to it, and a pair of slippers was sitting neatly on the rug, where a person's feet would land.

"Southern hospitality," I muttered to myself, picking up the night gown. It looked like it was brand new, kept specifically for guests who might have forgotten theirs.

I wandered over to a door opposite of the bed and opened it. My mouth made a little 'O' when I saw a small, but very nice bathroom. And there were towels and a washcloth, along with a small bottle of shampoo, and a toothbrush and toothpaste. This place was more furnished that most of the motels Mulder and I had stayed in.

I had read in etiquette books that the good hostess with resources had all these things for her guest, but I hadn't encountered anything to this existent and detail before. Mrs. Monterale was definitely a very prepared hostess.

I quickly washed up for the night, and after I finished I felt more refreshed. I was still tired, but I knew I would sleep better since I was clean. I turned off the light and slipped between the crisp lavender scented sheets. As the lavender began to permeate my senses, I began to relax. The night breeze blew in the open window and the lace curtains fluttered lightly. I could hear the frogs in the nearby swamp; they were saying "Knee deep, knee deep, better go 'round." A whippoorwill sounded in the distance, and even further away, another one answered. The lonely call of a hoot owl floated through the night air, and somewhere, far out in the swamp, a coyote made its presence known.

The wind had grown cooler, and I snuggled deeper under the covers as I drifted off to sleep.