Vacherie, Louisiana

December 15, 2017

10 a.m.

Mulder stepped out of the car, staring at the sight of the Halloween party, the abandoned remains of the church. Yellow police caution tape was fluttering in the breeze, having come loose from a tree it must have been tied around.

"Hmm," Scully said, closing the passenger door, the case file in her hand. "This place looks like it could fall down at any moment." He nodded in agreement, his hands on his hips.

"It's pretty dilapidated." She nodded and they looked at each other before walking toward the church.

He gathered the caution tape, pulling it from the tree and balling it up. Leaving it on a bush, they walked through the open doorway and into the church.

It was worse inside, the walls crumbling and the ceiling nonexistent in spots. There was litter scattered in the rooms they passed through, not only from the Halloween party, but from obvious recent visitors.

"Seems odd that people would come here after what happened only six weeks ago," Scully said quietly, looking at the empty chip bags and crushed cans of beer.

"But that's precisely why they would come out here," he replied as he looked around. "The draw of the deaths pulls at the curious mind, as macabre as that sounds."

"Yeah," Scully agreed, walking to the back of the church and stepping through what used to be a doorway and into the backyard. "Whoa…" He followed her out and they stood on what was once a back porch, but was now a mess of crumbled stones.

"I knew it had a graveyard of course, but damn. The crime scene pictures don't exactly capture the grand scope of it," she said as they both looked around. He nodded, the sight of the graveyard having a chilling effect on him.

"So it was here," she said, stepping down onto the grass and losing her balance a little.

"Careful," he said, stepping down beside her. "You don't exactly have the ideal footwear on for this terrain."

"I've been walking into forests with heels on for years, Mulder. I'll be okay." She rolled her eyes slightly and he nodded with a raised eyebrow. "As I was saying it was… it was…" She grunted as she tried to pull her heel from the depth of the grass, only succeeding in pulling her foot from her shoe, and lurching forward. He caught her elbow and held onto her, catching her from falling over.

"Oof," she said, grabbing onto his waist, the case file crushing between them as she hit his chest.

"So, you were saying?" he teased and she laughed before pushing off his chest and looking up at him.

"Shut up and grab my shoe, will you?" She smiled and he laughed softly, squeezing her upper arms gently.

She remained standing on the grass, one foot up, wobbling slightly as he stepped over to pull her shoe from the grass. It took a couple of tries to get the shoe loose, and when he had it in his hand, he wiped off the mud and grass from the heel as he turned around.

She held onto his shoulders as he bent down to slip her shoe back on, his hand holding her calf gently. Her skin was warm and soft and he was unable to stop his mind from remembering kissing that exact spot many times as he had moved even further up her body.

"Thanks," she said quietly, moving her hands and standing straight, his hand moving down her leg as she did. He took a quick breath, his mind racing as he stood up and nodded silently.

"So… I think I might need to hang back," she admitted. "My other heel is already stuck." She smiled with a shrug and he chuckled.

"Probably a good idea then," he agreed and offered his arm for her to hold onto as she pulled her shoe free and walked back toward the crumbled stone porch.

"I'll look through the inside again, see if there is anything they, or we missed," she stated and he nodded as she handed him the file and walked up the stairs.

"I'll look around out here, sensible shoes and all."

"Just don't slip or anything or we'll both be stuck." He laughed and winked as she smiled, walking back inside.

Turning around, he put the file under his arm and walked around the graveyard, shaking his head at the large headstones and statues. Opening the file, he looked at the pictures and glanced up to see the exact location where the victims had been found. He walked the area, searching for any evidence that was overlooked, but found nothing.

Standing up, stretching his back, he sighed as he imagined the kids who had died out there, how scared they must have been, the grass high and headstones large. He remembered graveyards in England, in his stupid youth, when the dangerous was alluring and he shook his head.

As he began to make his way back to the church; a particular headstone caught his attention, the writing clearer than others he had seen.

Here lie Cormier

Taken from her beloved husband James on their wedding night

Twenty years old

The Angels be with you

June 1, 1855

He felt a chill as he looked at the only missing letters on the headstone, as though they had been scratched out years and years ago. It seemed out of place within the clarity of the remaining letters.

Turning around, he jumped back and cursed loudly, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

A statue of an angel was directly across from the grave of who he could only assume from the missing letters was Elinor Cormier. It was a large statue, and he was surprised he had not noticed it before. It had its head turned to the side, the eyes downcast. Stepping closer to it, he frowned, noting that it was not an angel, not having any wings, but it was a woman.

He stared more intently and wondered if it had been a statue created in the likeness of Elinor. Her hands were laying atop each other at her breast and she was wearing a long dress. Perhaps it was of Elinor on her wedding day and added far after the headstone as it looked much newer.

In fact it was a lot newer, he thought, reaching out to touch it, when he heard Scully calling his name.

Turning his head, he dropped his hand and sighed. Looking back at it once more, he frowned, the newness of the stone strange to him.

"Coming, Scully," he called and turned toward the church, curious thoughts niggling in his mind. Keeping the name Elinor Cormier in his head, he made a note to write it down and research it later.

As he walked toward the church, his thoughts busy and his attention pulled from the surroundings, he did not notice the sudden quiet or see the movement behind him. It began to gain ground on him, until it stopped a few feet before the church steps, hiding behind a large headstone, unable to proceed any further, as once again birds chirped and the wind blew through the grass.

Chalmette, Louisiana

1:30 p.m.

"Well, at least this place will be easier for you to maneuver," Mulder teased, as they got out of the car and walked up the walkway.

"You're hilarious," she quipped back and he shrugged with a smile. "But yeah, this place is in way better shape than the church."

"Of which I'm thankful, that church was… creepy."

"Oh you say that about every church," she teased as they both turned at the sound of a truck pulling up, out of which stepped an older black man in a sheriff's uniform. He waved with a smile as he walked toward them.

"Y'all the FBI agents?"

"Yeah. Agents Mulder and Scully," she answered, each of them showing him their badge. He nodded as he looked at them and sighed, reaching out his hand.

"Sheriff Lavonne. Harold Lavonne. Call me Harry. Nice to meet you." They smiled at him and he put his hands in his pockets. "You been out to the church, I assume."

"Just before we came here, yeah," Mulder answered with a nod.

"It's the damnedest thing the way those kids died. And the ones here. I ain't never seen anything like it. I've been in law enforcement nearly forty years and I…" He shook his head and made to reach in his front shirt pocket and then sighed again. "Hell of a time for me to quit smoking. Again. I still think I'll find that pack in there." He chuckled good naturedly and they joined him.

"Well, let's go take a look around. I got all the information back at the station, but it's good to get a fresh pair of eyes seeing it for the first time. I know I sent you pictures, but… well, let's just head in." They nodded and followed behind him. He lifted the yellow caution tape for Scully and she whispered her thanks.

As soon as Mulder ducked under and into the house, he felt something different than he had at the church. Heavy. Almost dark. It was dark inside, a lot of the windows boarded up, but it was more than that, and he could not quite put his finger on it.

"How many people were at this party?" Scully asked and Harry sighed.

"About forty. Most of them were in the large room at the back of the house, though they had been all over, judging by the mess they left behind. At least they had sense to stay downstairs," he said, pointing up and they looked at the ceiling, finding large areas of broken floorboards they could see through to the next level of the house.

"Jesus," Scully breathed, moving away a little, shaking her head.

"Oh, don't worry, Agent Scully. It's quite structurally sound, considering. These houses were built differently over a hundred years ago." He smiled, but Scully did not smile back. He shook his head and motioned for them to follow.

The house was large, with small rooms branching off all over: what was once a large dining room, sitting rooms, a library with many books still on the shelves, dusty and moldy. They walked through a kitchen, the remains of the party still evident and just as at the church, there seemed to be new trash there as well, curiosity getting the best of people.

"This is the room, the ballroom, as was its main use years ago," Harry said as they walked into a very large room, the windows free of boards and cleaner than any of the other rooms.

"Wow," Scully breathed, looking at the large room. "Imagine having this, plus all the rest of the house. That's… wild."

"Hmm," Harry hummed, no other response forthcoming.

Mulder walked around, taking in the large fireplace, which was full of ash and trash, and spray painted with graffiti. The floors were dark, and not as dusty as the rest of the house, as it had obviously seen more foot traffic. Many of the windows were broken, large shards of glass lying on the floor, a slight wind blowing into the house. There was an old mirror above the fireplace, the darkened glass surprisingly still intact, considering the state of the rest of the room.

"The kids… well not kids, but you know," Harry said and Scully smiled at him in understanding. "They've been coming here, the church, and a few other places since around the Fourth of July. There's never been a problem, other than the noise at times and the mess they leave behind." He looked around and shook his head, reaching again at his front pocket, sighing with a near growl, his hands in fists at his side.

"Is it every weekend?" Scully asked and Harry shook his head.

"No, more of a monthly thing. Someone must be in charge of finding a location and they get the word out to others so they have time to plan."

They both nodded, Mulder catching her eye as he gestured to the back door, she nodded again and they all headed toward it. The doors themselves were gone, and they ducked under more tape as they stepped into the backyard.

"Do most of these homes have graveyards in the back of them?" Scully asked, as they stepped off the porch and walked along the broken up walkway. She stumbled once and Mulder caught her elbow and she thanked him with a look as he smiled.

"A fair portion of them, yeah. People tended to bury their family members on their property. This home belonged to the Boudreaux family for generations, so there are many of them buried here, along with their spouses."

Standing in the graveyard, the grass thankfully not as unaccommodating as the church, Harry showed them around the area, where they had found the victims, both dead and alive, once more shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

"That first party, I felt sick nearly the entire time I was there, but this one… this house… The deaths were bad enough, but being here…" He looked back at the house and shook his head again. "These homes, people find them to be grand, destinations for elaborate weddings. But for me… these homes were where my ancestors, or people like my ancestors, were kept. They were slaves, bought and paid for, forced to do all the work, keeping the homes intact and the grounds beautiful, while they lived a life of hell. People speak of ghosts or dark magic… but these grounds, and those like it, that's where the ghosts lie for me."

Mulder looked around and nodded with a deep sigh, seeing it through different eyes, something that had not even crossed his mind before it was mentioned. He looked back at Scully and saw her smiling softly at Harry, telling him she understood. He looked at her and nodded as he sighed again.

"I know as a law enforcement agent, I should be above such things…"

"No. You shouldn't," Scully said firmly, touching his arm briefly. He smiled at her and Mulder nodded at him.

As they finished up, ready to head to the police station and discuss the case further, Mulder's attention was drawn to another headstone, just as it had been at the church, giving him pause as Harry and Scully continued walking ahead.

Mary Boudreaux

October 31, 1855

He tilted his head, frowning as he read again the no frills epitaph on a nearly 200 year old headstone. The one at the church had been personal and caring. This one by comparison was cold and impersonal, which immediately sparked an interest in him.

"Hey, Sheriff," he called out, jogging slightly to catch up to them. "You said this was the Boudreaux estate. Do you know anything about a Mary Boudreaux?"

The sheriff turned around, Scully doing the same, frowning at him as they stopped walking and he caught up.

"Mary Boudreaux? Huh… I don't know the name off the top of my head, but we can check at the station."

Hours later, Mulder sighed tiredly as he came into his hotel room, closing the door as he took off his tie. Dropping the files from the station onto the table, he took his clothes off and laid them on a chair before he took a quick shower.

Sitting down at the table as he towel dried his hair, he began to look through everything in the file again. He reread the statements from others at the party, the victims, the officers, doctors, and the coroner. He laid the pictures out, looking at each of them intently in turn, hoping they would speak to him better than the printed words could.

Shaking his head after staring at them and finding nothing new, he started to gather them up when something caught his eye and he paused. Looking closer, he shook his head, looking up and wishing he had a magnifying glass.

In a moment of brilliance, he took a photo with his phone, zooming it up when he had. He looked at the other pictures in the pile, and took some more photos with his phone. Zooming and cropping them, he let out a breath of disbelief.

"Holy shit," he whispered. Grabbing the file, he quickly walked out the door without putting on his shoes. The courtyard was brightly lit with the Christmas lights, and the ground was cold beneath his feet, as he crossed over to Scully's door.

Knocking, he waited, bouncing from foot to foot, looking down at his phone, his heart racing that they may be onto something. He heard the door open and he began to speak before raising his head. When he did, he saw her sleepy face and realized how late it had gotten as he reevaluated the evidence.

"Oh… I'm sorry." he said and they stared at each other. She sighed and raised her eyebrows. "I just… I noticed something and I think it could be important." She tilted her head and waited. "One of the victims photographed, Becca Thomas, had goosebumps." He showed her his phone and she squinted at it, looking closer and then raised her eyes to his again.

"It's not uncommon, Mulder. Rigor mortis can cause many occurrences in a dead body."

"I know, but look at this." He handed her photos from Becca's autopsy. "They're still there before and during the autopsy. Is that common?" She took the photos from him, looking between them and the ones on his phone.

"I've seen this occurrence before, Scully. In Puerto Rico." He stared at her, knowing she would understand what he meant.

With a tired sigh, she looked up at him and stepped back, allowing him into the room, and closing the door behind him.