KENWOOD MOTEL

KENWOOD

TENNESSEE

OCTOBER 20TH 1997

7.59am

The Reverend's motel was just outside the town on a lonely stretch of road just off the 374. It was still dark, the thick mercury clouds overhead trying their best to drown the sunlight leaking through the trees. Early morning mist clung stubbornly around the motel, making it appear as though it were floating against the trees, their bare branches scratching at its roof like old fingers.

Their car splashed through puddles left in the gravel car park as they pulled in outside the lobby with its over-reaching awning that afforded at least some protection from the elements for those who ventured to stay here. The motel itself looked old but was well cared for with homely touches of potted palms in the lobby and flowers in the windows. A diner advertising that it was open to non-residents stood to the left of the entrance and a neon-pink sign advertised the vacancies that were already obvious from the lack of cars out front. A police cruiser, most likely belonging to the Reverend's guard, was the only other vehicle there.

Inside the lobby sat a middle-aged brunette wearing a little too much make-up who smiled warmly at them over the polished mahogany desk and informed them that the Reverend was staying on the second floor in room 27.

Unfortunately, the FBI wouldn't officially recognize jurisdiction for the Reverend's complaint. Though they had been contacted privately by the Reverend, they were informed by the Memphis field office that a watch would not be a reasonable use of time and resources as no crime had actually been committed and there was nothing to indicate malicious or violent intent within the note. A heated exchange had taken place over the matter the previous afternoon between Mulder and the SAIC of the field office but to no avail. They told him that the Bureau was already overstretched and until a direct threat to the Reverend could be proved, they suggested that the local police provide cover. Despite his protestations, the guard had eventually been provided by Detectives Callahan and Pryce of the Kenwood police department.

As the lift doors opened on the deep burgundy corridor, the younger of the two men came towards them.

'Good morning, I'm Detective Elliot Callahan. You must be Agents Mulder and Scully.'

'Good to meet you,' said Mulder, shaking his hand. 'Is the Reverend awake?'

'No, sir. He stayed up until late last night, didn't have dinner 'till almost 8.30,' replied Callahan as they walked back up towards the Reverend's room.

He was young, slim and about two inches taller than Mulder, who already towered over Scully. He also had the sharpest, bluest eyes they'd ever seen, like ancient ice sheets. His partner was something of a contrast. He had wiry blonde hair and dull green eyes set into a lined face that gave the impression of a hard life lived. His greeting had none of the openness and warmth that Callahan's did, but he nonetheless shook hands confidently with both the agents.

'Didn't he go down for breakfast, order room service, anything like that?' asked Scully.

'Not that I know of. Unless he telephoned down this morning and it hasn't arrived yet,' replied Pryce.

'He didn't go down for dinner?'

'No, Agent Scully. The Reverend was tired, didn't want to be bothered with dressing and eating three courses, being polite to waiters, you know,' said Callahan.

'I guess I can understand that,' said Mulder as he tapped gently on the door. When no reply was forthcoming, he knocked again. 'Reverend Cork? It's Agents Mulder and Scully. Could we have a minute of your time please, sir?'

The lack of response halted the quiet conversation between Callahan and Scully as Mulder knocked again.

Still no answer.

It was as though someone had placed an icy hand right between his shoulders. The back of his neck bristled and he felt his pulse quicken. 'Do you have a key?' he asked.

'Yes, of course,' replied Pryce. He took the keycard from his pocket and slipped it into the slot in the lock. Mulder signalled to the two officers to back off as Scully followed her partner inside the room. It was dark and silent, the curtains still drawn.

'Reverend Cork?' Scully was answered only by silence. She quickly scanned the room, the light filtering in from the corridor providing the dim illumination. Only the silhouettes of the nightstand, the lamp, a chair in the corner and the rumpled sheets of the unmade bed could be seen.

'Mulder,' said Scully, placing her hand on his arm to bring his attention to the bed. As their eyes became accustomed to the poor light, Reverend Cork could be seen lying silently under the covers.

Mulder impatiently ran his hand around the door. 'Where's the damn light switch?'

He found it, and for a few seconds they were both blinded.

'Oh, God,' Scully breathed. Reverend Cork's pallor and blank expression conveyed everything she needed to know. She walked over to him to check for a pulse. 'He's dead, Mulder.'

'Goddammit,' he sighed. 'Looks like he passed away in his sleep, but under the circumstances, I guess that's unlikely. No signs of violence or blood in here.'

'No, but I think we both know better than to judge things on face value.' She carefully folded back the sheet to avoid damaging any possible trace evidence and looked over the body for anything that may suggest that the Reverend died from something other than natural causes.

'Is he alright?' Callahan asked from the doorway.

'I'm afraid it looks as though the Reverend passed away during the night,' said Scully. 'Could either you or Officer Pryce please contact the coroner and arrange for this room to be treated as a crime scene, at least until we have established the cause of death?'

'Is that really necessary?' asked Pryce. 'We've been right outside all night.'

'Yes, it's necessary,' said Mulder. 'This man was receiving threatening mail. I find a sudden death in these circumstances suspicious. This needs to be treated as a crime scene until cause of death is established. With respect, it is not a subject for debate.'

'Alright, alright,' he said, holding up his hands. 'Just as long as you're happy to complete the paperwork.'

'I live for it,' replied Mulder with a wry smile.

Pryce lodged no further protestations as he left, swiftly followed by his partner, the chattering over their police radio fading away.

'Congratulations, Mulder. I do believe you've just succeeded in alienating the local law enforcement,' said Scully.

'Oh, I do hope so.'

She turned back to the bed. The Reverend looked so peaceful, thought Scully, the lines on his face softened by death, his skin so pale. Death must have come swiftly, and for that Scully was grateful. She had liked the Reverend, even though she had only spoken to him briefly. The spark, the light in his eyes that had been apparent yesterday was gone, that special part that had made the Reverend who he was, moved on. Words that her father had once spoken now rang truer than ever.

We are all more than the sum of our parts, Dana.

She didn't know where he'd heard that, but those words had brought her infinite comfort in the days, weeks and months following her father's death. The thought that there was something indefinable that made us more than what we are, something that could transcend death, something that would continue to exist somewhere out there in the universe was soothing to her, and it didn't matter whether that came from spirituality or religion. Something made us who we are, defined whether we became leaders or killers. Was that a soul? She didn't know, but for the first time in her life, she found herself not wantingto believe, but needingto.

She had seen so many good people taken from loving families through the years, but none had affected her as deeply as this death. Perhaps because a heart attack had taken her father; she almost saw him lying here instead of the Reverend, and the memory of those dark days, and the intense grief she suddenly felt again, brought tears to her eyes.

Mulder noticed Scully's hesitation, and saw the pain in her face. 'Scully, why don't you take some time back at the motel? There's nothing more you can do anyway for now. I can handle things here.'

Normally his fussing would have been unwelcome, but she was tired, had a growing headache and didn't want to start that same old fight again.

'I appreciate your concern, but I'd rather stay. It's just…he reminds me a little of my father. Really, I'll be alright.'

Mulder was about to reply when Callahan pushed open the door. Pryce continued his conversation outside over the radio, then followed him in.

'The coroner and the SOC team are on their way, Agent Mulder. There was only one other guest on this floor, but he left earlier today. They've got his name and address in reception if you wanted to speak to him.'

'Thanks,' said Mulder, pulling the sheet back over the Reverend. 'Agent Scully and I will be accompanying the body to the coroner's office. We'll be sure to let you know the outcome of the autopsy.'

'Forgive me for pointing this out, but this is not your case, Agent Mulder. The bureau has no jurisdiction here,' said Pryce. 'We are capable of handling this locally.'

'John, if the bureau wants to complete the paperwork on this one, it's their call. We got enough on our plates right now,' said Callahan.

He shrugged. 'Fine. It's all yours. You can have the headaches.'

'I know Doctor Khan, the coroner,' said Callahan. 'He's a good man. I'll give him a call and ask him to put a rush on. We can also deal with notifying next of kin, if you wanted.'

'Sure, that would be helpful. Thank you,' said Scully. 'Though I would prefer to complete the examination myself, if I could. I am a fully qualified doctor.'

'Oh, okay. Well, I'll mention that. I'm sure he won't have any objections.'

'Great.'

'Well, I guess there's not much more we can do here for the moment, so we'll get out of your way,' said Callahan. 'We'll be outside if you need us.'

Mulder shook his hand. 'No problem. Thanks for your help.'

Pryce just rolled his eyes and left without another word.