KENWOOD, BRIGHTON

TENESSEE

OCTOBER 18TH 1997

10:13AM

The meeting tent stood in the middle of a beautiful park just a short drive away from their motel and a queue was already beginning to form outside. It was cold and gray, and rain was beginning to spit against the tarpaulin walls, but it didn't seem to be bothering the gathering crowd who sheltered beneath a rainbow of umbrellas, chatting and laughing, buoyant with hope, faith and anticipation of the miracles they believed they were about to witness.

Scully watched them through the rain-spattered car window, hugging herself to try and keep warm even though the heater was turned up full and Mulder was sweating as though he were in a steam room. She was staring at them as she worried her bottom lip with her teeth, perhaps wondering what could be wrong with them when, for the most part, they seemed to be perfectly healthy, though she knew from her own experience that outward appearances didn't always betray the darkness within.

'Penny for them?'

She blinked and sighed. 'I was just thinking how much I envy those people. They all derive such strength from their faith, even in the face of serious illness. I just wish sometimes that I could feel just a little part of that. I believe, Mulder, I really do. I guess I have to, or I'm not sure I would be able to cope. But my beliefs – not only don't they bring me comfort, but sometimes they don't even make much sense to me anymore.' She opened the window just a little because the glass was beginning to fog. 'Perhaps that's why they can be cured. Because their faith really is that strong, or because they're capable of that level of positive thought. I don't understand how they can trust in something so completely when all they do is suffer and pray for deliverance that just never seems to come.'

'I guess not all people who are miraculously healed believe in God. There have been so-called faith healers and miracle workers around for years, and I have read about cases where even doubters have been healed. I think that no matter what you really have faith in, whether you believe in God or the healer themselves, the real ability to heal comes from a strong enough desire to be well. Personally, I think that most of these guys are charlatans out to make money from vulnerable people and for that alone they should rot in prison. I'm not saying that miracles can't happen because there are countless cases where that's exactly what seems to have happened. I guess I'm just questioning the original diagnoses.'

'You're probably right,' she said with a tired sort of smile. 'But you can't deny that whether something miraculous is happening or not, these people seem to leave the meetings happier than they were when they went in. I don't think there's anything wrong with seeking just a little peace of mind, wherever you manage to find it.'

'No, I guess not. It's just these televangelists that I don't have too much time for. They're selling ideals that don't exist, making people believe that their happiness and even the salvation of their souls depends on parting with hard earned cash in exchange for pieces of blessed microfiber cloth and fully illustrated copies of Hymns for Every Occasion. It's sheer exploitation for profit.'

Silence fell as she turned away from him to watch the queue finally moving into the tent. He knew the reasons for this crisis of faith she seemed to be having and understood her interest in this case now more than ever. Although she always wore a cross, she'd hardly attended church since leaving home and the few times she had attended confession over the past few years could be counted on one hand. Yet now the little faith she had was failing her, and so she was seeking her peace of mind elsewhere. It troubled him deeply because he knew that there had been a time when she would have been as cynical as he was about this sort of thing, but she wasn't thinking clearly. Her desperation was leaking through into everything she did, everything she said, yet he didn't pity her or feel sorry for her. He just felt an immense sadness, a crushing wave that threatened to engulf him. The heaviness in his chest pushed toward his throat, and he felt tears burning in his eyes. He furiously blinked them back, refusing to show her how he felt now when she most needed his strength and support.

'I guess we'd better go,' he said, getting out of the car. She didn't seem to hear him. She just kept staring out of the window.

'Scully? Are you alright?'

'Yeah,' she said dreamily, then, 'yes. Sorry.'

He walked around to her side of the car and opened the door for her.

'Are you sure? We don't have to do this now. There's another meeting tomorrow if you're not up to this.'

'I'm fine, Mulder,' she said, slamming the door a little too hard. She softened when she saw the concern in his face. 'You shouldn't worry about me so much. I'm okay.'

They joined the queue, took a promotional flyer from the attendant at the door, and went to sit at the back. Despite the cold outside, body heat from the crowd kept the tent warm. In front of them on either side of the stage were huge bouquets of brightly colored flowers erupting from three legged wrought iron stands. Behind the stage was a particularly graphic depiction of The Passion, which would probably be justified by the artistic community as realism. Not a single one of the cheap foldaway chairs remained empty, and the atmosphere was almost electric with anticipation.

Scully turned to look at him and must have misread the smile playing upon his lips as enjoyment.

'Do you come here often or something?' she asked.

'Are you hitting on me, Agent Scully?'

She pursed her lips at him in amused derision as the dull rumble of low conversations faded away. From behind a curtain to the left of the stage a young man holding a microphone had appeared.

'Well now, it's a real pleasure to see so many of you here today, challenging the inclement weather. We bid you the warmest of welcomes to the first meeting that Cork Ministries has held in this beautiful town. We hope that, with the good Lord's blessing, you will all find what you came here to seek. Amen!'

'Amen!' the crowd replied. Mulder looked around and wondered if he was the only one feeling like a vegetarian at the annual cookout.

'Now, if you could all please give a very warm welcome to the man whom the Lord has chosen to be His blessed voice here today, the Reverend William Cork!'

At the invitation, the crowd began applauding and singing along with the gospel choir, which probably would have been pretty good had they actually been present and not pre-recorded onto CD. The Reverend flamboyantly threw back the stage curtain and raised his arms expectantly as though he had already wowed them all by arriving on the back of the flaming wings of an angel.

He was a tall, well-built man in his early-fifties with a slightly receding hair line. He had strong features and, despite his rather over-the-top entrance, his eyes were kind and his huge smile made him seem years younger than he probably was. Mulder had to admit to being surprised by him in more ways than one. He wore a smart, navy-blue suit with a small red carnation in the lapel, and around his neck had a small gold cross not dissimilar to Scully's, with no trace of the multitude of gold chains and rings that he had always imagined evangelists to be draped in.

The Reverend eventually made his way up to the stage, lowered his arms and lifted the microphone. Again, the crowd fell silent as the music stopped.

'My dear, dear friends,' he began with a voice like molasses, 'you are all so very welcome, and I thank you for joining us. But we are not the only ones present here today. Oh no. Someone else is here. I feel the presence of the good Lord here today! Amen.'

The crowd replied with shouts of 'Hallelujah!' and 'Praise the Lord!'

Beside Mulder, Scully shifted uncomfortably. He looked over to see her playing with her cross, a nervous action which was completely unlike her. Perhaps it was because they were the only two people there who weren't joining in with the 'Hallelujahs'. Or maybe it was something else.

'Scully? You okay?'

'I'm fine. Bit of a headache, that's all. It'll go.'

'You know who causes your suffering, my friends. You know who plagues us and tempts us to draw us from the one true path of the Lord. But the vile one will not triumph over the might of the Lord, and He will overcome today! Through me, his devoted servant, He will make his power known today! Praise the Lord!'

'Amen!' replied the crowd, bibles and rosaries in hand.

Reverend Cork moved down from the stage and approached a pretty young woman with tight brown curls sitting in a wheelchair in the front row. He put his hand on her forehead.

'Oh, yes, my dear friend. I see you were injured in a car wreck.' He closed his eyes, and tilted his head back as if searching for inspiration from a higher plane. 'You have been angry with the Lord. You have begged him to show you a reason for your suffering, and turned from Him in your weaker moments, but He understands. He is always there for you, even if you can't always feel Him. He understands the hardships that we must endure, but it is only through hardships that His miracles can be known. We need to know the darkness of night so that we may appreciate His gift of light. The Lord understands your pain, and through your belief in Him, He will heal you of your demons today.'

'I believe, Reverend', the woman sobbed, reaching for her husband's hand. 'I do believe!'

'Do you believe that the Lord can save you?'

'I do, Reverend!'

'You shall walk again! The Lord will save all those who believe!' He then touched her forehead and cried out, 'Lord! Help this woman! Show her and all your people here your compassion and mercy! Demonstrate your power here today!'

The woman seemed to shiver, then just a short time after the Reverend had touched her, he moved his hands down to hers to help her from the wheelchair.

'The Lord has cleansed you of your demons! Rise from your chair and walk!' He gently pulled her to her feet, her husband anxiously holding out his arm behind her.

'You know, Scully,' said Mulder, leaning over to her, 'these kinds of instant results seem just a bit gimmicky, don't you think? She's probably a plant. You know? Just to get the crowd warmed up and in a generous mood before the collection plate comes around.'

She didn't reply. She seemed enthralled, watching the apparent miracle in front of her as the woman stood and, leaning on her husband, slowly took a few steps. She started to cry, thanking the Reverend over and over, and crying out, 'Praise the Lord!'

The whole crowd joined her in echoes of 'Amen!' and 'Praise the Lord!'

Then a trickle of blood began to flow from Scully's nose over her milk-white skin. The pain that cramped Mulder's gut then was as though the injury was his. He reached into his pocket for a handkerchief and offered it to her.

'Dana', he said quietly.

She seemed momentarily surprised, and then, realizing what was wrong, took it from him.

'Oh, God...thank you.' She dabbed at her nose. 'I'd better go outside.'

'I'll come with you,' he said, starting to stand before she put a hand on his shoulder.

'No. You stay here and finish the meeting. I'll see you later.'

He watched her stand and leave with his heart throbbing in his throat, wishing that he could find it somewhere within him to believe in miracles.

Forty five minutes later, people started filing out of the tent, most of them seeming to be much happier than when they went in. Scully was sitting on one of the park benches a few yards away beneath the shelter of an oak tree, her red hair playfully ruffled by the gentle breeze that had arisen since the rain had stopped. Her nosebleed had stopped too, but evidently she hadn't wanted to come back into the meeting. She waved at him.

'You made it through the whole meeting. I'm impressed,' she said with a wry smile. 'So how did it go?'

'Oh, pretty much as you'd expect. The paralyzed can walk, the deaf can hear, blind can see. I'm still just about ready to be certified, but I guess he can't heal everyone.' He was glad to hear her soft, gentle laughter. 'You okay?'

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and shivered. 'I'm fine. I just felt a little light headed. I think it was the heat in there.'

He wasn't convinced. It had been warm, but not uncomfortably so. 'Well, if you're feeling better, we should go see the Reverend before he leaves.'

She slipped the bloodstained handkerchief into her pocket as she stood up. 'Sure.'

Two of the Reverend's staff were pulling the plastic doors closed on the tent.

'Good morning,' he said, opening up his badge. 'Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI. This is my partner, Agent Dana Scully. We're here to see Reverend Cork. He should be expecting us.'

'Oh, yes,' said one of the men, pushing back his baseball cap that declared Jesus Saves. 'He did say some folks from the FBI might be dropping by. Come on in.'

There were a few other attendants inside piling up the chairs, picking up litter and putting the proceeds from the collection plate into a black cash box. Reverend Cork was wrapping up his bible and large crucifix in a black leather case. He looked up as he heard the agents approach and smiled.

'Ah, Agent Mulder, I'm glad you could come. Did you enjoy the meeting?'

'Yes, it was quite…an experience.'

Reverend Cork thanked the attendants and told them to finish up later. 'Yes, the miracles of the Lord are most impressive. I'm sorry you couldn't stay for the whole meeting, Agent…Scully, was it?'

'Yes. I'm pleased to meet you, Reverend', she said, shaking his hand. 'I'm sorry about that. Slight headache.'

He moved towards her, closing his eyes and reaching out his hand toward her forehead. Mulder was surprised that she had allowed him to touch her when ordinarily she would have run a mile. 'Oh, I think we both know it is more than that, Agent Scully. Will you let - '

She backed away as soon as she saw the concern furrowing his brow. 'No, thank you. Perhaps we could return to the reason we're here.'

He sighed as he opened his eyes and lowered his hands, fixing Scully with a look of disappointment and…pity?

'Not all who need healing will acknowledge it. Neither do all who need healing believe. Many who come here feel as if the Lord has deserted them, yet they come. Why do you think that is?'

She raised an eyebrow at the strange question. 'I…I don't know. Perhaps when conventional medicine has failed, they feel they have nothing else to lose. I have no doubt that people who come here are healed, Reverend. I just doubt that any miracles have occurred. I have great faith in the human mind, its ability to heal itself and even others.'

'Exactly, Miss Scully,' he said smiling. 'Do you know, no-one ever truly loses their faith. Oh they think they do, but they don't. The old saying about there being no atheists in fox holes is truer than you might think. In a man's darkest moments, he always asks God for help. But the Lord doesn't care whether you believe in Him or not. You are still his child and He will help you. If God made us all, then didn't He also make our minds? We are all part of God, therefore capable of healing ourselves. Do you see, Miss Scully, you cannot believe in one without the other.'

'Let's just stay on the matter in hand, Reverend,' said Mulder, not wanting to enter in to a religious debate and suddenly feeling very protective toward Scully whose face had flushed as she had retreated into an uncharacteristic silence. 'You contacted us because you have been receiving threats.'

'Yes, Agent Mulder. Please, sit down.' He sat on the edge of the stage, indicating for Mulder and Scully to take the front row seats facing him. 'It's really been quite distressing. I'm afraid I'm at a complete loss to understand why anyone should want to threaten me. All I have ever tried to do is help and minister to people to the best of my abilities.'

Mulder leaned back in his seat and took out a notepad and pencil. 'I'm sure you have, Reverend, but people can often feel aggrieved over some very petty things. Most don't get to the stage of issuing threats though. What we need to establish is if it's possible for this person to have the motivation, ability and inclination to act upon them.'

'Well, by that reasoning, Agent Mulder, I suppose I have a great deal to worry about.'

He smiled reassuringly. 'Realistically, it's very unlikely for anything to move beyond a threat. People just need to vent occasionally.'

The Reverend took a deep breath and sighed as he considered. Mulder could see a memory flicker briefly through his mind because it registered in the barely perceptible tightening of his jaw. He cleared his throat and murmured, 'There was one…incident I probably should mention. Thoroughly unpleasant, I should add, and not something I'm used to dealing with.'

'That's fine. We need a place to start.'

'A few weeks ago, a young man disrupted a meeting we held in Philadelphia. About halfway through, he stood up, pointed at me and started yelling about false prophets and fake healings. He said that the Lord gives the true gift of healing to a chosen few, and I wasn't one of them.'

'That must have upset you, Reverend.'

'I think I was more surprised than upset. You can't answer a calling like mine and not expect the odd fanatic, you know, but they are generally just a little enthusiastic rather than rude or unwanted. I have men at the door here who are very rarely called upon, but I am sad to say that the young man had to be forcibly removed. I wish I could tell you where he went after he left the meeting, but I'm afraid he wasn't anywhere near the tent. My staff searched for him. I was disappointed as I would have liked to speak with him, but I suppose the Lord did not wish me to.'

'Did you have any idea who he was?'

Reverend Cork nodded. 'I'm sorry to say, but yes. I believe his name was Virgil Anderson. He is the son of a man who used to be my friend until I discovered that he was more interested in making money than saving souls. He died many years ago now. Virgil was raised by his grandparents.'

'Virgil? Not a name you hear very often.'

'No. His father was a great appreciator of Dante, I believe.'

'Could you describe Anderson for us?'

'Of course. He would be around twenty five now, black hair, around six foot, six foot two, maybe, slim build, clean shaven. Good looking boy. Was never short of female admirers.'

'And you could identify him if you were to see him again.'

'Definitely.'

Mulder nodded as he jotted everything down. Virgil Anderson was looking like a promising initial suspect, though he'd been doing the job for too many years to leap to obvious conclusions.

'You mentioned in your report about threatening letters. How many have you received?'

'Two. The first came about four or five weeks ago. I thought it was a crank so I ignored it. I felt it wouldn't be wise to ignore the second that came just a few days ago, particularly considering the blades.'

'So they started after the incident at the meeting?'

'Yes, actually. Now I think about it.'

'Do you still have the letters?'

'I do. I'll get them for you.'

The Reverend went behind one of the curtains that led backstage. The envelope with the razors secured inside had been placed in a plastic bag. The letters themselves were folded into the back of the Reverend's diary. As he handed them to Mulder, he saw that they weren't letters so much as scrawlings on the back of pictures that appeared to have been computer printed. One depicted a ruined city with the clouds forming the countenance of an angel blowing a trumpet, the other was a copy of the dark Babylon Fallen by Gustave Dore. On the back of the first the numbers 23136/13 had been written, on the second 40715/17 had been hastily scrawled alongside the words, 'Take heed, Reverend.'

'The first was posted from Atlanta, Georgia, as you can see from the postmark on the envelope. The second came from here, in Brighton. A little worrying, as I'm sure you can imagine.'

'How long have you been staying here?' Mulder asked him.

'Since last Monday. I suppose anyone could have sent it. My residence here is public knowledge.'

'Do you think Anderson would be capable of sending you something like this?'

'In all honesty, I don't know. I would have said no, had you asked me a few months ago. Virgil was always such a promising young man. Kind. Thoughtful. Not a vicious or cruel bone in his body. Though he lost his parents so young, he was, in many other ways, very blessed. I don't understand his behavior at the meeting.'

'Your meetings, Reverend, are they publicized in advance?'

'Yes, they are. I advertise in the local papers normally, but occasionally I post bills around in local stores, too.'

'Well, it's early days, but we will do our best to check on Anderson. Do you know if any other preachers have received letters like this?' He handed the pictures to Scully, who turned them over to examine the numbers on the back.

'Not that I know of, Agent Mulder. But then I don't often have the opportunity to meet with fellow men of God. I don't tend to socialize much, the Lord keeps me too busy for that.'

'Do you have any idea what the numbers mean, Reverend?' asked Scully.

'No, I'm sorry. Do you think I have reason to worry?'

'No, I wouldn't say so,' said Mulder. 'Even if Anderson did send you this, from what you said, he doesn't seem to be a violent person. I think if he had any more to say to you or if he planned on doing anything, I'm sure he would have done so when he had the chance. There's nothing overtly threatening in the letter and most of the time this type of thing is designed just to intimidate. We'll have someone stay at your hotel though, just to be on the safe side. Do you mind if we take the letters?'

'Good Lord, no!' said the Reverend. 'I'd be glad to have them out of my possession, Agent Mulder.'

'We'll take them to the lab, see if maybe we can get some fingerprints and DNA. Possibly a handwriting analysis too. We'll also do a little background work on Virgil Anderson. We'll be around for a few days yet, so if you need us for anything, here's my cell-phone number where I can be reached at anytime.'

Mulder reached for his wallet, took out a card and handed it to Reverend Cork.

'We'll see if we can find out what these numbers might refer to as well. Hopefully we'll have something for you within the next day or so,' added Scully.

'Good. I look forward to hearing from you.'

They were almost at the tarpaulin doors when Reverend Cork stopped them.

'Agent Scully?'

She turned around.

'You don't have to believe in the Lord for His miracles to touch your life. He believes in you, and His patience is never ending. When you are ready, He will be waiting.'

She smiled politely, but Mulder could see the embarrassment mixed with a touch of anger in her eyes at the perceived invasion of her privacy. Without another word, she left the tent.

Back outside, the clouds had finally relented and began to release the full force of the rain they had promised as lightning flickered on the horizon. It came down hard and fast, forming streams and puddles along the pathway and hollows in the grass, rapidly turning the ground into mud. It ran down the back of Mulder's neck like freezing fingers and raised gooseflesh along his arms. He turned up the collar of his coat, his arm at Scully's back, guiding her to the passenger door of their steel-gray rental Chrysler. Inside the car, she tried to catch her breath and ran one shaking hand through her damp hair while the other fumbled at the heating controls.

'What the hell is wrong with this? The engine is still warm but it's blowing freezing goddamned air.'

Mulder switched the dial back to full heat. 'I turned it down a little. Sorry,' he said. 'It'll warm up soon.'

She sighed and started fiddling with the air vents instead. 'I'd have brought different clothes if I'd known the weather was likely to be like this.'

'It's really not that cold. I guess it's just because we got a little wet out there. Are you sure you're okay?'

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the rest. 'Everything is fine,' she said with measured irritation. 'Look, would you back off a little? I'm not made of goddamned glass.'

Mulder stared at her for a second, stung. He hadn't realized that he'd been so stifling. He just wanted her to know that she didn't have to hide pain or discomfort from him, or feel that she had to put on an act. Perhaps it was partially for his own reassurance that her condition wasn't as bad as it really was, but he knew that he was allowing himself to be deluded far more than she was deluding herself.

Seconds ticked by in a strained and awkward silence while the rain tamped against the roof and windshield. Eventually, he tore his eyes from her to the washed out scenery beyond. He started the engine, put it into drive, and headed back to the field office so he could package the evidence for transport to the FBI's crime lab.

He also wanted to make a stop at the County Police Department, not only to arrange protection for Reverend Cork, but also in the hopes that they could get someone to take a look at the handwriting more quickly than the FBI could arrange.

They drove in silence for a while before she spoke. Her voice was quiet and uncertain, as though she had forgotten how to use it.

'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. I know you're worried about me. It's just that it feels sometimes as though you're giving me no space to breathe. I'm still able to work, so please let me.'

He sighed, and felt a touch embarrassed. He hadn't realized just how intense his concern had become and although he had been hurt, he decided that the best thing to do would be to change the subject and just pretend that it had never happened.

'Do you have any ideas yet for what those numbers could mean?'

'No, not really. They could be anything, although considering the nature of the Reverend's business, I would expect they're probably to do with a reference that the sender expected the Reverend to understand. Maybe they're hymn numbers, or a passage from the bible, something like that.'

'I guess we'll soon find out. We'd better get this to the lab first though.'