Subject: Groveton 1a/? by multiple
Date: Wed, 28 May 1997 13:07:49 GMT
From: Ecksphile@aol.com 


Summary:  At the request of their friends Chris and Candy,
Mulder and Scully go to Florida to investigate the overnight
disappearance of a whole town.  When they run into the
inevitable trouble, a very unexpected ally comes to their aid.

GROVETON  1/8

by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Carol Jenner
Ecksphile@aol.com, Agnt CJ@aol.com
April 30, 1997

        They're baa--aack!  By popular demand, Chris and
Candy are back in an XFiles adventure, driving Mulder and
Scully crazy.  No tornadoes or other weather disturbances this
time, but plenty of government conspiracy, aliens and a real
XFile.  Not to mention UST, violence, implied sex, jealousy,
and several other deadly sins.

        Several of these characters don't belong to us.  If you
recognize their names, they probably belong to Chris Carter,
1013 Productions and Fox TV.  If they belonged to us,
Samantha would be found, Scully would be cured, the UST
would be RST, and there'd be a lot more shots of Mulder and
Skinner in their underwear.

Please archive!!!  May be copied, disseminated, whatever, as
long as this story remains unchanged and our names attached
as authors.

Category: X

Rating: R for language and violence
Spoilers: Anything pre-Never Again, US4

GROVETON
Chapter One

Groveton, Florida
Thursday, February 27, 1997
2:37 A.M.

        She smiled in her sleep.  Sated and exhausted by the
athletics of their lovemaking, she snuggled more closely to her
lover.  Outside in the velvet dark, countless tree frogs
cheeped their song.  Moisture dripped from palm fronds and
pooled in the cups of bromiliads.  From time to time the soft
whirr of owls' wings cut through the night, followed by the
sharp squeal of their prey.

        Suddenly, all was deathly quiet.  A zephyr stirred the
dingy curtains in the windows of the bedroom and
automatically, her hands drew the thin covers over her
shoulders.  On the fourth-hand mahogany dressing table,
small items began to tremble - comb, brush, gold hoop
earrings, bottles of nail polish, a little pile of pocket change.
Gently at first, then more energetically, they danced across
the surface of the table like waterbugs on a still pond.  A low
throbbing filled the tiny house, with treble counterpoint
provided by glass vibrating in the windows.

        For a fraction of a second, the impenetrable dark was
exterminated by a blinding flash of blue-white light, gone
almost before it could register on the eyes.  Frowning, she
turned in her sleep.  But the light and vibration were gone, and
she slept on.

                        - - -

        "How do you want your eggs?" he called from the
stove.

        Smiling, she pulled the tank top down over her head
and stepped into some running shorts.  It was a joke between
them - he cooked eggs only one way, no matter what her
preferences or his original intentions.  She padded barefoot
over the cracked and pitted linoleum out into the kitchen.
"Let's see - maybe shirred today... or perhaps Eggs Benedict.
Oh, I know!  How about Eggs Florentine?"  She wrapped her
arms around his waist and kissed the side of his neck.

        He grunted.  "How 'bout scrambled?" he asked as she
crossed the small room.

        "Great idea."  She perched in a chair at the rickety
table, hugging her knees to her chest.  "You slept well last
night," she observed slyly.

        He smiled as he pushed the eggs around in the pan.
"I had good reason to, wouldn't you say?  God, woman, you
exhausted me!"

        "Nonsense," she grinned.  "I'm merely providing you
with both an incentive and a method to stay in top physical
condition."  She looked appreciatively at his broad shoulders,
trim waist and washboard stomach.  Whatever their problems,
lackluster sex was not one of them.  Tossing back her golden
hair, she raised the window further, peered up at the sky and
sighed.  "Another boring, beautiful day."

        He scooped the eggs out of the pan and onto plates,
added buttered toast and carried them to the table.  "Well, just
wait until summer.  The thunderstorms, hail and tornadoes will
thrill you.  Maybe even a hurricane, if you're lucky."

        They ate in silence for a while.  "Juice?" she asked,
rising.

        "No thanks - had mine.  Picked and squeezed fresh
this morning.  Yours is in the fridge."

        She wandered back to the table but remained
standing, her hand trailing over the back of his shoulders.  "So
what are your plans for today?"

        He shrugged.  "More digging, I guess."  For several
weeks he had been spearheading a project in the little town,
an irrigation system designed to pump well water to the fields
and groves.  Not that anything much would flourish there
anyway, in the mixture of clay and sand.  He sighed.  Water
first, then on to bigger and better things - like fertilizer and
topsoil.  Assuming he could whip up enough enthusiasm in the
locals, that is.  He looked up, seeing the small frown of
dissatisfaction marring her lovely face.  For the millionth time,
he kicked himself mentally.  He should have known better.
With her quicksilver mind, she couldn't help but be bored to
tears in this backwater town.  If only they could have stayed in
Zaire....  "The Crampton's pig is due to farrow.  Want to go
see if we have piglets yet?"

        She lit up with a smile of childlike pleasure.  "That'd
be nice."  She dumped the dishes in the scratched porcelain
sink and skipped to the screen door, holding her hand out to
him. "Let's go."

        He stood, and grasping her hand, led the way outside
and up the single dirt road of the town.

        "Sure is quiet this morning.  Feels like it's gonna be a
hot one today.  Maybe everyone's inside, saving their
strength."

        "Yeah, it is quiet," he agreed.  Then his expression
grew puzzled and his brows knit together in a frown.  "As they
say in the movies, 'too quiet'."  He dropped her hand as he
loped up the road and to the left, to their nearest neighbor's
house.  Leaping the two rotting wooden steps up to the porch,
he cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in through
the screen door.  "Roy?  Belle?  Are you in there?"  He was
answered with more silence.  Turning, he rejoined Candy in
the road.  "This is weird."

        "Maybe they've gone into Sebring to get supplies," she
suggested.

        He looked far from convinced.  "Maybe.  But usually
everyone knows when people are going into town so they can
give them their lists of stuff to pick up.  Besides, look down
there.  Luther's truck and the town van are still here.  They
wouldn't walk the thirty-odd miles into Sebring."

        They continued down the road, stopping at the
Crampton's place.  "Frank?  Rae Jean?"  Tentatively they
opened the door and went inside.

        Everything was orderly, if shabby.  In the small parlor,
yesterday's newspaper lay on the faded sofa, as if placed
there for a moment while the reader answered the phone or
grabbed a snack.  Chris looked around, and placed his hand
on the old radio.  "Why don't you check the other room?"

        She returned a few moments later.  "The bed hasn't
been slept in, as far as I can tell.  And I checked in the
bathroom - the toothbrushes are dry and so's the tub."

        "So either the Crampton's aren't real scrupulous about
their personal hygiene, or they haven't been here for several
hours.  The radio's cold - and you know how Rae Jean likes
her radio.  Let's check the barn."

        "Great!  Chris, this is so strange!  A real mystery, right
here in boring old Groveton."

        Chris glanced over at her.  For the first time in weeks
there was animation in her voice and her face was alight with
curiosity.  While concerned regarding the whereabouts of his
neighbors, he was glad to see the old Candy back.

        Exiting by the back door, they surveyed the little farm
from the porch.  Beyond the barn, two fields showed scraggly
rows of crops while a third field lay fallow. Marking the
boundary of each field, the dark green, orange and yellow of
the small citrus groves bobbed in the light, warm breeze.  Not
a soul was in sight on the Crampton's property nor any of the
surrounding ones, as far as they could tell.

        They crossed the deserted barnyard and swung back
the creaking wooden doors to the barn.  "No piglets, " Candy
observed.  "In fact, no pigs, cows, horses or chickens.  This is
strange.  I mean, thirty six people plus livestock and chickens
can't just up and move without a sign or a sound.  Chris, what
do you think is going on here?"

        "I have no idea," he murmured.  "Come on, let's check
out the other houses."

        One by one, each drab little house was searched,
each barn examined.  The story was the same for each.
Every living creature other than themselves had vanished
from the town.  Chris stood with his hands at his hips, gazing
around in disbelief.

        "What the hell happened to everybody?"

                        - - - - -

Washington DC
Saturday, March 1, 1997
4 PM

        The mug of fresh coffee levitated in front of her face
like an apparition.  She looked up.

        "Thought we could do with a break."  He set the coffee
down on her desk, then threw himself into his chair and settled
into a comfortable slouch.  He looked like hell. She suspected
she did too.

        The Jeffords case had been brutal - the kind of case
they both hated.  Six preschoolers in the Cheyenne, Wyoming
area had been abducted over the last four months, three of
them in the last two weeks.  All had been found dead within a
few days of their disappearances. Their bodies displayed so
much evidence of apparently mindless savagery that animal
attacks had been blamed for the first couple of deaths.  Finally
someone on the Cheyenne P.D. noticed that, rather than
mindless, the deaths had been surrounded with a sick kind of
ritual.  And where there was ritual, there was intelligence.  No
one on the Cheyenne P.D. or even in the local office of the
Bureau could fathom how a human could have committed
such atrocities.  Then another child was reported missing.
Washington had been contacted, and Skinner had Mulder and
Scully on a plane that very day.

        They had gone to work immediately, and within forty
eight hours had their man, even saving the life of his latest
abduction victim.  But not before they had both been
traumatized by the small, tortured bodies they had seen.  By
mutual consent they had left the city as soon as possible, but
the stench of madness and death had not been left behind.
The memories would haunt their dreams for months to come.
And now ....

        And now, thought Scully, writing all the reports, seeing
the photos, simply threw a spotlight on all the horror and
tragedy they had seen.  Somehow Skinner knew.  Perhaps he
had gotten a phone call from Gantry, the ASAC out in
Cheyenne.  Or maybe he just knew his agents so well that he
could anticipate the effect that this case would have had on
them.  That morning he had paid a rare visit to their office.
Nothing was said, but his demeanor was almost guilty, almost
apologetic for the horror his order had exposed them to.
Glimpsing one of the photographs on Mulder's desk, he
himself had paled, and his lips had set in a thin, tight line.
When the paperwork was finished, he ordered, they were to
take a week off with pay.  He never explained why, but then,
he didn't have to.  Mulder had nodded and Skinner, never
comfortable in the strange basement lair, left without another
word.

        "How much longer, do you think?"  he said wearily.

        "Unless you're a hell of a lot speedier writing these
reports than I think you are, at least another three or four
hours, I'm afraid."

        He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.  Tiredly,
he looked over at her. "What were your plans for tonight?" he
asked tentatively.  "Because as far as I'm concerned, as
uncharacteristic as it might be, I'd rather just keep at it until
we're finished."

        "I'm with you, Mulder.  I want to work through, until we
have every damn 'i' dotted and 't' crossed.  I never want to
hear about this goddamn case again."

        The slight tremor in her voice was enough to tell him
how close she was to breaking.  She was paler than usual, the
dusting of freckles across her nose standing in stark contrast
to the bleached ivory of her skin.  Under her eyes, dark circles
attested to the nightmare-scattered sleep of the past several
nights.  At this point, she was holding herself together by guts
alone.

        He nodded.  "Look, let me phone for a pizza, so we
don't even have to stop for dinner."

        "Just a salad for me. My stomach's not too great at the
moment."

        He glanced at her sharply, but she had already
returned to the pile of papers before her.  There wasn't any
use arguing with her, but she had lost several pounds on the
Cheyenne trip  - weight she couldn't afford to lose. He was
damned if she would lose any more.  He stood and pulled on
his jacket.

        "Maybe I'll check the cafeteria to see if they're having
any non-lethal specials today."

        "You never know," she said, not looking up from her
work.  "Maybe it'll be an X-File."

        He smiled slightly and closed the door behind him.

        Scully worked for about twenty minutes before he
returned.  "What's this?" she asked, surprised.

        "From the deli around the corner.  Corned beef on an
onion roll for me, chicken soup and crackers for you.  Iced tea
for the both of us. Eat up - it's good for you," he said, setting
the container in front of her.

        She glanced warmly at him.  "Thanks, Mulder."

        "My pleasure."

        They ate in silence.  Scully was surprised to find how
hungry she was, and finished every drop of the hot, savory
soup.  Her color was a little better after she had eaten.

        "That was great.  Now back to - "

        They were interrupted by the ringing of the phone.
She scooped up the receiver.  "Scully."  Mulder noticed her
tense, her knuckles blanching as she held the phone.  He
stood, a look of concern passing over his face.  In a flat,
resigned voice, she said,  "Yes, it's all right.  We know them.
Send them down."  She let the receiver fall from her fingers to
clatter back onto the phone.  She took a deep breath and
sighed heavily. "That was Security in the lobby.  They want to
know if we know two people called Chris and Candy.  They're
on their way down."

End of Chapter One, part a


Groveton 1b
by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Carol Jenner
Ecksphile@aol.com, Agnt CJ@aol.com
April, 1997

See Chapter 1a for disclaimers and acknowledgements

Chapter One, part B

        "Shit! What the hell could they want?"  At the moment,
Mulder's resentment at the intrusion no less than Scully's.  He
honestly didn't think he could handle Candy's breathless, if
ephemeral, enthusiasm right now.  And Scully, feeling as she
did after the Jeffords case, was in no condition to try to put up
with her either.  Or the waves of testosterone emitted by Chris,
he thought sourly.

        "I have no idea what they want," she said tiredly.
"Mulder, look... can we just get rid of them?  I'm whipped, and
in no mood for a social chat."

        "No argument from me.  I'll handle it."

        Ten seconds later there was a knock on their door,
instantly followed by Candy's excited entrance.  "Scorpy!" she
squealed, and launched herself into his arms.

        Chris followed, nodding to Mulder and catching Scully
around the waist to swing her around.  "Dana, you look
beautiful as always."

        "Uh, thanks, Chris," she said, with as much
enthusiasm as she could muster.  "Why don't you have a
seat?  Oh, just a sec...."  She cleared some maps and files off
the two remaining chairs in the room.

        "Come out to dinner with us," Candy demanded. "We
just got into town and we have to celebrate!  We haven't seen
you in a while, and there's so much to catch up on."

        "Sorry, no can do.  As you can see, we're buried in
paperwork."  Mulder disentangled himself with difficulty from
her embrace.  Swiftly, he gathered the case photos and put
them in a folder so they couldn't be seen.  They certainly
weren't for general consumption.  "I'm afraid this is going to be
a work night for us.  Besides, we've just eaten."

        A knowing smile lit her face.  "I bet I know how I can
change your mind," she sang teasingly.

        He caught Scully's eyes, her expression nearly
screaming, 'Change your mind and you're dead meat'. He
shook his head.  "Sorry, Candy.  We can't come out to play
right now.  We have to finish up this mess."  He sat down.
"What have you two been up to, anyway?  It's been - what,
almost a year since we last saw you."

        "Oh, this and that," she said airily.  "Getting deported,
you know, that sort of thing."

        "Getting deported? From where?" Scully blurted,
before she could stop herself.  Now you've done it, she
thought.  The explanation will just prolong the agony.

        "We were doing some relief work for the Red Cross
among the refugees in Zaire.  Well, you know me," Chris said
with an apologetic grin to Scully.  "I have a very short fuse
where bureaucracy is concerned at the best of times.  But it
was so damn frustrating seeing money and food earmarked
for the refugees being stolen left and right by petty officials.
Both Candy and I tend to be somewhat...direct, and it wasn't
appreciated by the powers that be.  In retrospect, I guess we
were lucky.  If we hadn't been deported, we probably would
have been assassinated for refusing to give in to some
bureaucrat's extortion demands and our bones would have
been found in the jungle ten years from now."

        "Well, it sucked," Candy said flatly.  "We were doing
good work, necessary work.  I was involved in some research
on weather patterns that could have made a real difference to
crop yields - assuming they ever stop killing each other long
enough to plant crops, that is."

        Chris took up the tale again.  "Anyway, we found
ourselves back in the States.  That was ten weeks ago.  The
Red Cross was pissed because we 'failed to act like courteous
guests of the government of Zaire'.  They've been giving me
the runaround about my next assignment.  Just between us, I
think they'd be very happy if I just disappeared."

        "Then they'd be fools," Scully declared.  "You're so
good at what you do."  Just as Candy's remarks were pointedly
addressed only to Mulder, she aimed hers at Chris.

        He smiled at her.  "I know.  But apparently they want
disaster workers who minored in diplomacy.  I thought with the
floods out west that they could use both Candy and me.  But
every time I try to contact them to get an answer, it's 'don't call
us, we'll call you - when we're damned good and ready'."

        "So what have you been doing?"

        "It was karma," Candy announced to Mulder
dramatically.  "We were just travelling around, you know?
Waiting for something to happen?  And it did!  We were
driving through the middle of Florida, in this tiny backwater
town called Groveton, when our Jeep broke down.  Well, the
people there were really nice.  They drove Chris into Sebring -
the nearest city of any size - to try to get the replacement part,
but it was going to have to be ordered.  So they brought him
back to Groveton and offered us the use of a house until the
part came in."

        "That was nice of them," commented Mulder.

        Candy grinned. "You haven't seen the house.
Anyway, the part was delayed for like a week, by which time
we had gotten to know everyone pretty well.  And the place is
so poor and so depressed, well....  Chris and I thought maybe
we'd stay and see if we could help them in some way.  You
know, to try to repay their hospitality."

        That'll teach 'em, thought Scully sourly.  She could
only imagine the effect of a woman like Candy on a tiny,
remote community.  She fidgeted in her chair, anxious for the
couple to be on their way.

        "The town - well, it's not really even a town," explained
Chris.  "The residents aren't very talkative, but I found out
some information from the historical society in Sebring.  The
Federal government started a project in Groveton about
fifteen years ago.  They built twenty little three-room houses
and set each on five acres of land.  The original intention was
to try to make migrant workers more independent by giving
them their own little homestead to farm."

        "It's hard to remember that your original intention was
to drain the swamp when you're up to your ass in alligators,"
observed Mulder, his eyes twinkling.

        Chris chuckled.  "Exactly.  The houses had been built
to strict government specification.  Of course, with the
government involved, the result was predictable... it was a
complete disaster.  Wood is not the building material of choice
for the Florida humidity, and the houses started rotting.  The
migrants demanded help with the repairs, and the funds for
the project dried up fast.  Without financial backing until they
could get on their feet, the migrants couldn't stay.  They went
back to following the crops."

        "But there are people still there, I thought you said,"
prodded Mulder.

        Candy draped herself over his shoulders.  "Well,
therein lies a tale, Scorpy.  They were - but now they aren't!"

        He looked at her blankly.  "What?"

        Chris cut in.  "That's why we're here.  It's not just a
social call.  We need your help."

        "The people have all disappeared!" Candy exclaimed.
"One day they were there, the next morning they were gone!"

        Knowing Candy all too well, Mulder turned to Chris for
confirmation.

        "She's right," he admitted.  "Everything the night
before was just like it always was, and the next morning, there
wasn't a soul left in town.  Even the livestock was gone."

        "Did you hear anything?  Car engines in the middle of
the night or anything like that?" asked Mulder, intrigued in
spite of himself.

        "Nope - not a thing.  And besides, other than our Jeep,
there were only two other vehicles in the whole place - a van
and a pickup - and they were all present and accounted for the
next day."  She looked at him triumphantly.  "See - told you I
could make you change your mind.  Thirty-six people -
vanished!  Know what I think, Scorpy?"

        "I'm afraid to hazard a guess," he said weakly.  He
spoke the truth - Scully's eyes were burning into him like azure
lasers.

        "I think they were all abducted by aliens."

        "Beam me up, Scottie," Scully muttered.  Louder, she
said, "Look, you really can't think that an entire town was
abducted en masse.  I mean, why wouldn't you have been
abducted at the same time?"

        Candy gave her question serious consideration.  "You
know, I've been asking myself that ever since it happened.  It
must be that since I was already abducted once, I wasn't
needed again."

        Scully snorted.   Mulder's glance at her was pleading
for her patience.  "Look, Candy, you and I have talked about
that before.  I know you think you were abducted and I know it
seemed very real to you, but that was just your imagination in
overdrive."

        "Okay - then how do you explain the whole town
disappearing?" she demanded, neatly shifting the subject
away from her delusions.

        "Well, I can't," he said helplessly.  "What do the local
authorities have to say about it?"

        "That's why we came for your help,"  responded Chris.
"According to the local authorities, no one's been there for
years."

                        - - - - -

        The explosion wasn't long in coming.

        "GodDAMN it, Mulder!   'I'll handle it'....   THAT's how
you handle it?  How dare you tell that...that...fruitcake that
we'd go down and investigate that disappearance?  We're both
exhausted, we still have a mountain of paperwork to get
through, and you KNOW what she's like!"  She threw herself,
smouldering into her chair.  "How could you have done that to
us?"

        Mulder sighed.  He had been able to get rid of Chris
and Candy only after promising they would go down to Florida
with them as soon as the paperwork on the Jeffords case was
finished.  In truth, he was intrigued by their story, and he had a
week off with nothing to do looming ahead, an occurrence he
always tried to avoid.  "You know me, Scully.  I hate time off.
It's such a waste. And it's not like this will be real work.  We'll
have plenty of time to rest and recuperate, just like Skinner
intended us to.  And you have to admit that there are worse
things than spending a week in Florida in the middle of the
winter," he said persuasively.

        "And the fact that Candy and Chris haven't tied the
knot yet would have nothing to do with it, I suppose," replied
Scully bitterly.

        "What? I though they got married last year."

        "Mulder, for an highly intelligent man and a brilliant
investigator, you can be so fucking dense sometimes. No
wedding ring, Mulder.  On either of them.  And no tan lines
indicating rings were ever there."

        He stared at her, then a small smile teased his lips.
"Jealous, Scully?  That doesn't sound like you."

        "Of course I'm not jealous!  Jealous of what, for
Christ's sake?"

        "Would it help if I promised you that I have no desires,
carnal or otherwise, regarding Dr. Candy McDermott?  Look
Scully, I meant it when I said was interested in what was going
on down there.  You probably are too.  It will undoubtledly
have a rational explanation, and then we can go soak up the
sun.  Or if you really don't want to go, that's okay.  I can
accept that.  I can go alone.  I didn't mean to necessarily
commit you to this fool's errand."

        She sighed.  "Mulder, that's not the point and you
know it.  We're both exhausted.  We still have all this
paperwork to do.  You need the rest. I'm sure Skinner wouldn't
have given you the week off if he had known you plan on
spending it combing the swamps of Florida for missing
persons."

        "Me? I'm fine, Scully."

        The irony of having her own standard hollow response
tossed in her face fueled her fire once again.  "You're NOT
fine, Mulder.  YOU had to take Jeffords down, YOU'RE the
one that shot him before he could butcher that kid.  And
although there were few people on this earth more deserving
of death than Marvis Jeffords, I KNOW how that affects you.
You dwell on it for weeks, beating yourself up, not sleeping.
You need the rest, Mulder - you're dead on your feet.  But now
that you've gotten us into this, we're more or less committed.
So you stay here, and I'll go down, conduct a quick and
undoubtedly fruitless investigation that will satisfy them and
then come back here."

        "Wait a minute.  *I* need the rest - and you don't? Is
that what you're implying here? Scully, I know what went on
during that autopsy you performed in Cheyenne."

        "What?"  Her voice was a harsh whisper.  "Now you're
spying on me?"

        He crossed over to her chair and squatted down
beside her, placing his hands in her lap.  "I wasn't spying - I
was concerned, Scully," he said softly.  "Gantry told me.  You
got halfway through and you had to leave the room.  When
you came back ten minutes later, he said it looked like you
had been crying."

        She flushed and looked down.  Something about the
case, the horrors the children had suffered, had gotten to her.
For the first time in her life, her clinical detachment had failed
her in the autopsy suite, and she had barely gotten into the
scrub room before bursting into body-shaking sobs.  She had
composed herself finally, wiped her eyes, and pulled back the
mask and goggles before returning to the autopsy and the
agents gathered around to witness it.  "Gantry had no business
telling you about that," she muttered.

        "He was worried about you, Scully.  *I* was worried
about you.  You know, it's not a crime - it's not weak - to show
very human emotions sometimes.  God knows there was
enough justification for it on the Jeffords case. You've lost at
least five pounds over the past week - weight you couldn't
afford to lose - and you haven't been sleeping any better than I
have.  Admit it."

        Her shoulders moved in a slight shrug.  She looked
down at him.  "I could cheerfully kick your ass from here to the
Memorial for getting us into this, Mulder."

        His eyes warmed.  "Which one?  Vietnam Vets,
Jefferson, Lincoln - "

        "Take your pick."  She sighed.  "All right. We stick
together."

        Mulder smiled encouragingly at her.  "Okay, then.
We'll finish up the paperwork tomorrow morning and take off
for Florida with Chris and Candy in the afternoon.  We'll play
like investigators for a day or so, then hit the beach.  Scully,
trust me.  This is going to be a nice, relaxing week off."

End of Chapter One


GROVETON 2/8
By Carol Jenner and Suzanne Bickerstaffe
Agnt CJ@aol.com, Ecksphile@aol.com
April 30, 1997

Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One.

Chapter Two

Sunday, March 2
6 PM

        The flight to Florida was less than uneventful.  Because
of the short notice and the annual college Spring Break season,
all planes were booked, even for FBI agents on a case.  The
best the foursome could do was two seats in first class, and two
in economy, Row 48.  After coins were tossed, and promises
and death threats made, Chris and Scully got stuck in the back
of the plane, while Candy and Mulder sat in comfort in front of
the curtain.

        The four decided it would be best if they shared their
Jeep instead of letting Mulder and Scully rent a car.  The town
of Groveton wasn't on any map and the way to get there was
harder than navigating the streets of DC.  Mulder and Scully
were both so exhausted mentally and physically that they
welcomed trading driving for the two hours of downtime.

        The scenery was typical Florida - to a Floridian, that is.
It wasn't Disney World, by any means.  Lush green vegetation
and the smell of dank and decay wafted through the crack in
the windows.  It was spring, so the truly wilting heat and
humidity associated with Florida hadn't begun, but for two
Northerners plucked from the dead of winter, it was much
warmer than they were used to, especially since the Jeffords
case had them in frigid cold of Wyoming.  It was all part of
being an FBI agent, thought Scully sleepily.  Freezing one day,
boiling the next.  Hell on the health, the skin and wardrobe.
The partners dozed in the back seat until they felt the car slow.

        "Are we there?"  yawned Scully, as she stretched her
cramped arms.  The heel of her hand connected smartly with
her partner's jaw.  "Oh my God, Mulder!  I'm so sorry."

        "Good to know you don't hold a grudge," he grumbled
sleepily.

        "You have no idea how good," she smiled sweetly.  In
truth, she wasn't that sorry.  Back in Coach, she'd been
cramped longer than he had.  Mulder and Candy had even
been served complimentary champagne and edible food.

        "Okay, kids.  We're home."  The tires crunched as
Chris pulled the Jeep into a gravelled area.  The evening
gloom appeared more like midnight.  The only light they had
was from the car headlights, providing the agents with only a
partial picture of their surroundings.

        The building ahead of them looked like it needed a few
coats of paint.  The wood looked weather beaten.  Chris parked
the car and turned off the headlights.  "Okay, Mulder and I will
unload the car.  Candy, how about you and Scully going in and
fixing up some snacks or something?"  In the shadows, Candy's
head nodded and she opened the car door.  The suddenness of
the light made the two sleepy agents cover their eyes.

        Wearily Mulder and Scully got out of the car.  Scully
followed Candy into the house, or what passed as a house in
this town, and Mulder helped Chris unload the trunk.

        "You know, Candy and I really appreciate you coming
down here.  I realize that you two are busy and all."  His voice
tapered off as he reached farther into the trunk.

        "Oh, it's no problem.  Sorry about the plane.  I'm sure
Scully will make me pay for it over and over, but it was nice
catching up on old times with Candy."

        "Old times?  That's right, I guess you two didn't have
much time for talking when you met last May."  He subtly
emphasized the word 'talking'.

        Ouch, thought Mulder.  Chris was referring to the first
time he met Candy.  She was draped naked on the bed and
Mulder was struggling to get into boxer shorts. At a loss for an
adequate reply, he just cleared his throat, picked up Scully's
and his suitcases and trudged into the house.

        Candy gave Scully a quick tour of the house, what
there was of it.  Mulder's apartment was bigger than their little
shack.  The wood had fallen victim to the heat, humidity and
carpenter ants.  For once, Scully longed for one of those
cheap-out-of-the-way motels that Mulder was famous for
picking just because NICAP had recommended it.

        "I'm sorry we don't have a spare bedroom. The couch
does pull out into a bed.  Chris and I debated about where we
were going to put you.  We were thinking that you and I would
sleep together in the bedroom, and the boys share the couch."

        "I would hate to put you and Chris out of your bed.
Mulder and I are adults, we can share - or Mulder can sleep on
the floor."

        "Oh, God, don't let that happen.  I'm not sure, but I
think we have an ant problem."  Scully noticed a prehistoricaly
large ant making its way determinedly across the window sill,
and felt her skin crawl.

        "Well then, he'll just have to behave."  Candy patted
her arm and gave her a woman-to-woman smile.

        Scully stepped back a bit. "Well, I'm starved.  Chris
and I got only a couple bags of peanuts on the flight."  She
started to pull crackers and other snacks out of the cupboards.
"With the price of airline tickets you'd think they would provide
more food."  She heard the men's voices in the living room and
took the opportunity to escape the traditionally female role
Chris had blandly relegated her to.

        "Hey, Dana.  What's to eat?"

        "Ask Candy."

        "Mulder, you want a beer?"

        "Uh, sure."  He looked at his partner as if asking for
approval.  "Scully, you want one?"

        "No.  Do you have ice tea?"

        "Yup, sure do.  It's my favorite drink in the world.
Nector from the gods.  I'll go help Candy and we'll call you
when it's ready.  I'm sorry we don't have central air.  You look a
little hot.  You may want to open up the windows, but be sure
the screens are in securely.  We don't want to fill the house with
wildlife."

        Mulder just nodded but stared at his partner.  He was
exhausted,and feeling it.  He could only imagine how Scully
was feeling.  "Scully, I..."

        "Save it, Mulder," she said in one of her 'I don't want to
talk about it' tones.  She went over and started tugging at the
window.  Mulder crossed to try to help, but she waved him
away. Finally the window gave and slid up with a squeak.

        He slumped down in a sagging chair and propped his
left foot on top of a suitcase.  "So what do you think?  Cozy
place."  Scully finished putting the screen in.  She turned
around and rolled her eyes.

        "Okay, kids!  Soup's on!"  The call emerged from the
kitchen in unison.

        Mulder dragged himself out of the chair and followed
Scully into the kitchen.  His eyes and head hurt from the bright
florescent light, painful after the welcomed dimness of the
living room.

        Candy put down a tray full of different sized crackers,
assorted cheeses, and some pepperoni. Chris popped open a
beer for Candy and Mulder and poured Scully and himself
some iced tea.  Mulder saw the iced tea and looked longingly at
it - no doubt it would be better for his throbbing head than the
beer he held.

        The foursome sat and ate quietly, while bugs were
getting zapped into oblivion outside the back door.

        "Okay, now that we are here, tell us more about the
town and the people," suggested Scully.  The sooner they got
this case closed the more they would have left of their week's
vacation.

        "We pretty much told you everything.  What do you
want to know?" inquired Chris.

        "Well, what kind of people were they?  Where were
most of the people from?"

        "Why do you need to know that?" demanded Candy.

        "If they were from somewhere else and not planning to
be here permanently, they may have returned to wherever they
call home. Maybe if we know where they could be headed we
can figure out why they'd so suddenly leave -"

        "LEAVE?  They didn't leave - they were taken!"  Candy
stood up and slapped her hand on the table.  "We told you in
Washington.  They were taken.  We woke up and they were
gone.  How can you say they just left?"

        "Candy,"  Mulder said without raising his voice, "we
haven't determined that they were taken, nor have we
determined that they had left on their own.  Agent Scully is just
trying to get all the facts."  Candy had sat back down.

        "I'm sorry, Dana.  Please continue."  She took a big
cleansing breath.

        "As I was saying, the people who lived here, were they
what you would expect of migrant workers, recent immigrants?

        "No," said Chris, his eyebrows raised in surprise.  "In
fact, I would say they were all of northern European descent,
but as American as apple pie.  Spoke perfect, even educated,
English without any trace of an accent."

        Scully frowned slightly.  "What about the children?  Did
they attend a public school here in town or were they home
schooled?"

        "Children," repeated Candy, flatly. She looked at Chris
thoughtfully.  "You know, I never really thought about it before,
but there weren't any children."

        "We didn't associate much with the town's folks. They
were friendly enough, but in a distant kind of way. Kinda kept
everyone at arm's length.  Everyone - really, I guess it was only
us." There was a long pause. "Come to think of it, I don't
remember seeing any old people, either.  Everyone in town
seemed to be about the same age - late thirties, maybe early
forties."

        Scully had her black notebook out, writing everything
down.  "And that didn't strike you as odd?"  Chris merely
shrugged. "Okay. So what do they grow around here?"

        "Mostly just vegetables, a little corn and hay.  Some
green leafy stuff I didn't recognize.  And citrus, of course.  I was
helping them work on an irrigation system, but they really didn't
need my help."

        "What do you mean by that?" asked Mulder, casually
sipping his beer.

        "Well, they just didn't care about it. A few times, I tried
to make a few suggestions, but they were met with disinterest,
like it wasn't really important how the crops did.  They seemed
more - I dunno, distracted I guess - than other migrant groups
I've worked with.  But these people were tight, seemed to have
extraordinarily close relationships with each other, some sort of
solidarity.  I can't explain it better than that."

        "Well, I for one would like to see the town," remarked
Mulder as he finished off his beer.  As tired as he was, it had
left him with a pleasant buzz. "Scully, care to take a stroll?"

        "Mulder, it's dark out, it's late and I'm tired."

        "Scully, it's only 8:00."

        She just peered at him.  Keep it up Mulder, and you'll
be sleeping with the ants, she thought darkly.

        "Listen, why don't we get some showers and go to bed,"
suggested Chris.  "It's been a long day, and tomorrow promises
to be longer.  Candy will take you two through town and let you
snoop around."

        "We don't snoop.  We investigate."  Scully gave a brief
grin to Chris; they were obviously sharing a private joke.  "I
think Chris is right."  She glanced over to her partner. "Come
on, Mulder."  She bumped his leg.  "You and I are bunkin'
together."

        "Oh, but...." began Chris, but Candy, her eyes hot and
sultry, stifled his protest with a glance.  "I'll go get you some
sheets."

                        - - -

        The beer buzz evaporated, Mulder was like the walking
dead.  Scully made him pull out the sofa bed and warned him if
he tried any funny business he would be the next person to
come up missing.   She went off to use the bathroom while he
finished making the bed.

        She returned to find him stretched out, still in his
crumpled suit, on top of the covers.  She ruffled his hair and
murmured, "Hey, before you fall asleep, it's your turn for the
bathroom."   He gave her a mock salute, slowly got up and
trudged from the room.

        Mulder walked into the bathroom and groped around
for the light.  When he saw the condition of the room, he forgot
for a moment that people actually lived there.  The wall paper
had loosened and partially peeled off in the humidity, hanging
limply from the walls.  The light flickered annoyingly and the
toilet made noises and he hadn't even used it yet.  Finally with
a last surge of life, the light flickered and then went dead. "Oh,
great."  He went back out into the hallway, and tapped on the
bedroom door.

        "Yeah?"  replied a muffled voice.

        "I, uh, need a light bulb.  The one in the bathroom
burned out."  He thought he heard giggles and some rustling of
clothes, and then silence.  Finally the door flew open, and
Candy stood there in tee shirt and panties with a big smile on
her face.

        "I'll get it for you."  She wisked passed him and to the
hall closet.   "Could you get a chair from the kitchen?"

        With difficulty in the dark, he returned with the chair.
"Candy?"

        "Right here."  It was practically a whisper.  She lit a
candle.  "Okay, let's get this light changed."  The floor in the
bathroom was as warped and uneven as in the rest of the
house, giving the chair a dangerous wobble.  Without giving it a
thought, she climbed up and proceeded to change the light
bulb.  "So, Scorpy, do you believe me?"

        "About what?"

        "The alien abduction?"

        "Mmmm...well, I want to check out the town first before
I make a, uh..." He didn't know how to tell her that he, like
Scully, had his doubts.

        "It's okay.  No one believes me.  Voila.  Flip on the
light."  She turned around and looked down into his eyes.
"Mulder, I trust you.  If you don't think it was aliens then I'll
believe you."  As she shifted her weight; the chair rocked and
then slipped.  Mulder quickly wrapped his arms around her
waist, as she grabbed around his neck. The chair fell out of the
way, unnoticed.  They eyes met and locked, and Candy brought
her lips down to meet Mulder's.

        Scully noticed that her partner had forgotten his
shaving kit, and sighing, got up.  She felt badly about how she
had treated Mulder.  It wasn't his fault he had won the coin toss
for the seats in First Class. So she decided she would extend
an olive branch to him.  She felt for him.  The Jeffords case
had taken its toll, and she knew what guilt he must be having.
Not so much for killing that sick, twisted man, but for the
children he hadn't been able to save.

        "Mulder, I..."  She stood in the doorway, holding the kit,
with her mouth open.   Mulder lowered Candy to the floor and
she quickly slipped out the door and retreated into her
bedroom.  Mulder took the kit from Scully.  "I thought you might
need that," she said miserably.

        "Thanks, I did."  They were both embarrassed. "Scully,
the light.  The chair."  He pointed to the overturned chair on the
floor and the dead light bulb on the sink.

        "No need to explain, Mulder.  I'll be in bed when you
get back."  She disappeared.

        Part of him wanted to follow after her, explain what had
happened.  Then he thought better of it - it might be best to
wait a few minutes.  Maybe she would be asleep and this whole
thing would blow over.

                        - - -

        By the time Mulder got back, Scully had the lights off
and was in bed.  He couldn't tell whether or not she was asleep.
Since he bumped his shin at least ten times trying to maneuver
though the rearranged furniture to the hide-away bed, she was
most likely awake.

        The buzz had long since worn off from the beer and
Mulder was missing it.  It had been a long time since he had
just kicked back and enjoyed a drink.  He listened to Scully's
breathing, lulling him to sleep.

        Sounds from the bedroom forced his eyes open again.
"Oh.  Oh...Oh...Yes. Yes, right there!  Oh, yes, YES! Just like
that!... Oh God....Oh GOD!!!"   Apparently Candy hadn't told
Chris about the bathroom incident.

        "Scully?"

        "Yeah?"

        "Are you awake?"

        "Are you kidding?  Who could sleep through THAT?"

        "You want to talk about it?"

        "About what?"

        "About what happened in the bathroom."

        Scully sat up in bed, too tense to sleep. She got up and
pulled on some sweat pants over her shorts and rummaged
through her suitcase for a light jacket and some shoes.

        "Where are you going?"

        "I'm going for a walk."

        Mulder got up and grabbed a jacket to put on with his
sweat pants.  He caught up with her by the car.  He had the
forethought to grab a flashlight from their suitcase before
leaving the house.

        Without a word they started walking down the driveway
and down the dirt road.

        "Scully, it was nothing."

        "What was?"

        "I know what you thought you saw.  It was an accident.
I don't want Candy.  And she doesn't want me - not really."

        "Then what does she want?"

        He sighed.  "She wants attention. She wants someone
to believe her.  Someone to believe that the people of this town
were taken away by aliens."

        "That's it, isn't it?  You believe her story, don't you?"

        "No.  Yes.  I don't know!  I do know that you can't close
your mind off to this.  There is something going on. A
supposedly migrant community, all white, all English speaking -
educated English - all the same age, without children or the
elderly, and with little or no interest in the crops that were their
livelihood? You have to admit it's unlikely."

        "Mulder, just because they don't fit our stereotypical
view of migrant workers doesn't mean it's the work of aliens."

        "Okay, how do you explain that fact that all the
inhabitants were around the same age?"

        "Candy and Chris themselves said it wasn't a real
sociable town.  Perhaps they didn't see any old people because
they weren't..."  She paused looking for the right words.

        "Go ahead and say it. Because there weren't any to be
seen."

        "No, I wasn't going to say that." Her eyes flashed
angrily at him.  "Maybe...maybe conditions here were too harsh
here, maybe they sent the children and old people away, to
someplace easier, not as rustic."

        "Or to the mother ship?"

        "Mulder, stop it.  Just stop it.  I refuse to turn in another
report that has the word alien in it!"  They stopped in the middle
of the road, facing each other hotly.

        "Scully, please.  Just listen to me.  What if they were
some experimental society, or maybe a control group of some
kind.   I don't know, but I have a feeling there is more to this
than what Chris and Candy know."

        "I agree - there IS something going on here.  But don't
let her fill your head with some crazy ideas just because she
believes them."

        "This has nothing to do with Candy.  It's over between
us, it has been for years. Please believe me."

        "I want to.  I want to believe."  She walked past him
and back to the house, and Mulder followed disconsolately.
Neither of them said a word.  Exhausted, they crawled into bed.

End of Chapter Two


GROVETON  3/8

by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Carol Jenner
Ecksphile@aol.com, Agnt CJ@aol.com
April 30, 1997

Disclaimers, acknowledgements and introduction in Chapter
One

Chapter Three

Monday, March 3
8 AM

        Scully woke with the hot Florida sun in her face.  She
tried to move to escape its rays, but the sun followed her with
unerring accuracy. Instead of fighting it, she got up.  Grabbing a
fresh set of clothes, she glanced at Mulder, who was snoring
softly.  She stifled a giggle.  In all the years she'd known him,
she never knew he snored.

        She shuffled into the kitchen and looked around for
coffee.  Coffee, I must have coffee, she droned on in her mind.
She didn't think Candy or Chris would mind if she made herself
at home.  She noticed an old percolator on the counter, and
figured there had to be coffee somewhere.  She opened up
cupboards and found nothing.  Not even the usual old cans of
vegetables that no one likes, but someone bought anyway just
because the bargain was just too good to pass up.  She tried the
freezer and found an old carton of frozen yogurt, crystalized.
She was afraid to open the refrigerator.

        "Can I help you?"  came from a voice from the doorway.

        "Oh, good morning, Chris. I'm looking for coffee."

        "Morning.  Unfortunately, we don't have any.  I prefer
herbal tea and I've been breaking Candy from her coffee habit.
If there's anyone that doesn't need the stimulation of caffeine,
it's Candy."

        "You got that right," she replied drily. "I'm afraid Mulder
and I won't be so easily broken, however. Is there any place we
can get coffee?"

        "Well, I'll tell you what. I'll make you the strongest cup of
herbal tea I can.  It'll grow hair on your chest."

        She smiled. "Oh, great, just what I want - a hairy chest."

        "Candy and I will go to the market today.  Why don't you
make a list of things you want.  And if we do pick up some
coffee, you have to promise me that you'll take it with you when
you leave."

        She made the Boy Scout salute. "Scout's honor.  So is
there anything for breakfast?"

        "Well, I dunno.  The animals were taken, but I think
there might be some eggs left in the fridge.  How do you and
Mulder like them?"

        "I prefer mine sunny side up... I don't think it matters to
Mulder."

        "Okay.  Scrambled eggs coming up."

        Scully went out into the living room with a cup of herbal
tea for Mulder.  He was still sleeping peacefully.  She hated to
wake him, but the sooner they got this investigation over with,
the sooner they could get back to Skinner's original intent for
their time off.

        "Mulder?  Mulder, wake up."

        "Mmmph."

        She sat down on the hideabed and waited for him to
come back to consciousness.  "Morning. It isn't Starbucks, but it
does have a kick to it."  He scooted up on the bed, and took it
cautiously.

        "What time is it?" He quizzed her in his sexiest morning
voice.

        "Oh, about 8:30.  Chris is making eggs.  You hungry?"

        "Mmm.  Where's Candy?"  Scully tried to pretend she
didn't hear that, but he repeated it again.

        She sighed. "Sleeping Beauty hasn't emerged yet.
Chris got the pleasure of waking her."

        "Scully, I didn't mean it like that.  I just wanted to know.
There is nothing between us.  Please believe me."  He looked
her in the eyes, but she glanced away.

        "Mulder, it's really none of my business.  I don't care.
Really, I don't.  Now drink your tea, take your shower, and let's
get this investigation over with.  Okay?"

        "As you wish."

*********

        Candy and Chris had left for the nearest town which had
all the rural amenities - a small grocery store, two liquor stores,
three gun shops and a gas station - to stock up on food and
other supplies.  Mulder reasoned that since the other inhabitants
of the town were gone, they wouldn't mind if he and Scully
looked around.

        They took a methodical approach, starting with the
nearest house to Candy and Chris's place.

        "This house belongs to Roy and Belle," read Scully from
the notes she had jotted down over breakfast.

        "Do Roy and Belle have a last name?"

        "Chris and Candy didn't mention it."

        "Hold on."  Mulder walked back to the end of the
driveway and opened up the mailbox. Not only was it empty, the
hinged door squeaked and the spider webs and other creepy
crawlies in it made it doubtful it had been used in the recent
past.  He turned around and shrugged, and walked back.  "Well,
it was worth a shot.  Evidently the townsfolk don't get much
mail."  He opened the door, "You first."

        "You take the bedroom and I'll look around here."
Mulder nodded.

        She explored the kitchen and didn't see anything out of
the ordinary.  The house wasn't in much better condition than
Candy and Chris's.  She was mildly surprised to find the
refrigerator and cupboards completely stocked.  Her eyes were
drawn to a Maxwell House cannister in the fridge, and debated
whether her caffeine withdrawal consituted enough of an
emergency to commandeer it.  Finally she decided that it was
evidence and should be left where it was.

        The house was shabby, but extremely orderly and clean,
except for a fine layer of dust.  She walked through the living
room, looking for anything that might help them learn what kind
of people lived here and how they may have disappeared.  But
the house was devoid of anything personal - magazines or
books, old photographs, letters or other personal papers, nothing
to give a hint of the people who lived there.

        She heard Mulder coming.  "Well, I can tell you
Goldilocks hasn't been here yet."

        "Nothing here either.  Did you find any photographs?"

        "Nope.  There are a couple of old suitcases in the
bedroom, I checked.   My mother never kept our house this
neat."

        "Mine either.  Something else, Mulder.  The kitchen is
well stocked - cupboards and refrigerator full of food.  You'd
think if they had planned to go off somewhere permanently, that
poor people like this would have cut down on their food supply,
used up what they had.  Maybe even bring the nonperishable
stuff with them, wherever they went.  Strange."   She swept the
room with her eyes one more time. "Okay, let's go to the  next
house."

        Both the agents walked silently down the road, taking in
the scenery.  "So what do you think?"  asked Mulder.  He knew it
was too soon to make any kind of judgment but the silence was
deafening between them.

        "I don't know.  Maybe the whole town is part of some
religious cult or something, and went off on a retreat."

        "We found no Bible, no religious tracts of any kind," he
reminded her.

        "Well, it doesn't look to me like they plan to be gone
long.  The gas and lights are still on, water's still on, there's food
in the kitchen.  I think Candy and Chris just jumped the gun.
Maybe the whole town takes an annual vacation together or
something."

        "But their suitcases were still there," protested Mulder.

        "Maybe they bought new ones. Maybe they're... they're
camping or something, and didn't bring them. Maybe they had
better luggage and left the old stuff behind."

        "You don't know that."

        "You don't know that they didn't."  They stopped in front
of the neighboring house, "This  - giving it the benefit of the
doubt - home belongs to a Frank and Rae Jean Crampton.
Would you care to check the mail box?"

        "No, I'll pass. I doubt there'd be much point. This time
you get the bedroom."

        Mulder went into the kitchen and checked out the
cupboards and refrigerator - fully stocked as though the
inhabitants were just out for the day.  He noticed they had a
cannister of coffee on the counter.  He debated half a minute on
whether or not it would be ethical to take it,  but decided he
wouldn't dare break the rules with Scully around, especially in
her present mood.

        He went through the living room but found precious few
traces of "living."  He did find several books on the southwest,
many dealing with New Mexico and the Anasazi.  His eyes
narrowed in thought, then he shook his head.  No, he was
reading too much into it, he had to be.

        "So did you find anything?" asked Scully, emerging from
the bedroom.

        "Some books on the Anasazi tribe of New Mexico.
You?"

        "Nothing.  Same as the other place.  The Anasazi," she
shuddered.  "Please, I'd rather put that whole incident behind
us."

        Mulder's shoulder spasmed in remembrance. "Yeah, me
too."  He put the books down and they left the house.

        At each of the remaining houses in the tiny town, they
explored in vain for any clue as to how and why the inhabitants
should suddenly disappear. Each house was devoid of
character, of personality as if no one really lived there.  No
pictures, no photo albums, no memorabilia, no personal papers,
no indication of family anywhere else.

        "Well, Mulder, are you satisfied?"  Scully scanned the
green fields behind the houses. "There's nothing here, nothing at
all.  These poor people will probably be back in a day or so and
wonder who the hell's been going through their things."

        "And you don't think it's weird that we found nothing
whatsoever of a personal nature in any of these homes?"

        "Unusual, yes, Mulder.  Weird, no."  She sighed as he
rolled his eyes and looked upward, apparently pleading to the
heavens to give him patience.  She felt a flash of anger at his
perfectly obvious assumption that she was just being annoyingly
stubborn for the sake of disagreeing with him. She clamped
down on her own impatience and tried to explain.  "Mulder, I'm
not just being pigheaded about this.  Look, you won't find electric
appliances and transistor radios and photographs in an Amish
household, but it doesn't indicate that that there's anything
supernatural going on.  Or that if their house happens to be
empty, that they've been beamed aboard the mother ship.  I'll
admit that things here are a bit strange.  But people have the
right to live the way they want, and divulge their plans to
whomever they want. Or not divulge them."

        He smiled at her sheepishly.  "Okay, point taken.  Even
what you didn't say - that Candy would be the LAST person most
people would confide in.  And I can accept that.  But something's
happened here, Scully. I can FEEL it."

        She nodded slowly, feeling for the first time since Candy
and Chris had talked them into this escapade some recovery of
the warmth that normally existed between them.  Warmth that
she had been sorely missing for the past twenty four hours.
"Okay, Mulder.  Let's say we give it another day.  If we haven't
turned up something definitive, something that we can both
agree should be followed up by then, we leave.  We'll make
tracks to Daytona, or Sarasota, or Ft. Lauderdale or Clearwater
Beach and soak up some rays, and our toughest chore will be
deciding between a mai tai and a marguerita.  Deal?"

        His lips parted in a rare smile.  "I do believe you're
coming on to me, Scully.  How can I say no to a win-win
proposition like that?"

        "Watch it," she said without rancor.  "You could still end
up on the floor tonight with the ants."

        "Duly noted, Agent Scully.  What now?"

        "Well, hopefully, that's Chris's Jeep coming down the
road.  Maybe it means a real meal - with coffee."

        Mulder raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun
and saw a vehicle coming toward them, kicking up a trail of dust
in its wake.  "It passed Chris's house - and it doesn't look like a
Jeep.  Come on, this could be interesting."

        The car braked to a stop and they walked up to it as an
officer was emerging.  "Afternoon, folks.  I don't suppose y'all
could tell me what you're doin' here."

        Mulder looked at Scully, and they pulled the ID's from
the back pockets of their jeans.

        "Agents Scully and Mulder, huh?  Now what would the
FBI want in a deserted backwater like this, I'd like to know."

        "And we'd be happy to tell you, Officer...?"

        "Sorry, ma'am.  Officer Scott Kelley of the Sheriff's
Department."

        "Well, Officer Kelley, we're here on an apparent fool's
errand.  Some friends of ours were staying here and said that
one night all the people in town vanished...."  As Scully spoke,
Mulder studied the cop.  He was about 45, short and stocky, with
a broad face and twinkling brown eyes.  Mulder figured him to
be the kind that was affable in friendship, and as mean as hell in
a fight.  His uniform was stained with sweat and dust, the collar
tight around his neck, the back of his shirt soaked through with
perspiration. "...so you see, we're down here mostly on vacation
- this is not an official Bureau matter, by any means - but we did
agree to stop by Groveton just to allay their fears."

        The officer smiled and shook his head. "Well, what the
hell have your friends been smokin', anyway? There hasn't been
anyone livin' here for at least ten years that I know of."

        "When's the last time you were through this town,
officer?" asked Mulder conversationally.

        "If y'all are suggestin' I don't come through here regular-
like, well, then y'all'ud be right about that.  I guess it's been a
good year or maybe more since I last drove through. Ain't much
call to - the damn town's not on a main road and bein' deserted,
it ain't like anything ever happens here, right?"  He laughed
good-naturedly.

        "No, I guess not," agreed Mulder, returning his smile.
"But what do you suppose the odds are of maybe a bunch of
squatters taking up residence for a while?"

        "Now I suppose that could happen," Kelley said
doubtfully.  "I don't see why they'd want to, mind, but I suppose
it's within the realm of possibility.  You said your friends knew
these people, talked with 'em and so on?  Where would they be
at right now?"

        "They drove into the next town some time ago to lay in
some supplies," began Scully.  "Wait!  That must be them now."
She gestured behind the squad car, to where Chris's Jeep could
be seen approaching.

        Candy barely waited for Chris to stop before she was out
the door and sprinting toward the squad car.  "Have you come
about the abductions?  It's about time! I must have called every
law enforcement department in the state of Florida, days ago.
You're losing time, you need to start investigating - "

        "Hold on there now, little lady.  Suppose we all go into
the house and out of this sun, and I can take your statements
down, official-like, okay?  Then we'll figure out how to proceed.
How will that be?"

        Candy flashed a dazzling smile.  "Officer, that will be the
best news I've heard in a long time."  She looped her arm in his
and led the way back to the house.  Chris shugged sheepishly
and followed.

        "Hurricane Candy strikes again," Scully muttered.

        "Aw, you're just pissed he didn't call you 'little lady'," her
partner answered with a half-smile, striding off to follow the
others while Scully stood open-mouthed, at a loss for an
adequately scathing reply.

        She caught up with the others at the house.   "Can I
offer you some coffee, officer?" she asked hopefully.

        "No, ma'am, don't trouble yourself.  Though I wouldn't
say no to an iced tea, if there was one around.  Now, little lady,
about how many people lived here, would you say?"

        Scully poured iced tea and ground her teeth in
frustration as Candy gave her statement.  Officer Kelley seemed
to be totally under her power - that is, until she gave her theory
of what had happened to the townspeople.

        "Taken by ALIENS?  Y'all aren't serious?"  He looked
around in astonishment at the others in the group.

        "That is Dr. McDermott's theory, Officer Kelley.  A
theory for which there is absolutely no evidence," Scully said
firmly, looking at her partner for confirmation.

        Mulder nodded. "We don't know what happened here,
officer.  As we said, we just stopped down to see if there was
any evidence of foul play, any clues as to why everybody would
have disappeared so suddenly.  We've just done a cursory
investigation so far, but we haven't really come up with anything,
one way or the other."

        Apparently mollified, Kelley nodded.  "That's all right
then.  For a minute, I thought y'all were havin' some kind of joke
at my expense.  Okay sir, now you were here, too, I take it?" he
said to Chris.  "Y'all just sit yourself down and let me take your
statement. And I don't want to hear the word 'alien'  again - got
that?"

        Chris gulped and sat.  "Yessir."

                        - - - - -

        It was almost two hours later that Officer Kelley had
finally finished taking their statements and had walked through
the little town, searching the houses.  He drove away, promising
to be in touch soon.  The group watched until his car had
travelled the length of the town headed toward the main road,
then went back into the house.

        While Chris and Candy busied themselves in the
kitchen, Scully pulled Mulder into the living room to talk.  She
plugged in the box fan, as much to create some 'white noise' as
to try to move the hot, humid air in the little room.

        "So what did you think?"

        "Ladies first."

        "He seemed okay.  I was impressed at how thorough his
investigation was.  I mean, he didn't take a long time, but he
checked out everything that we did."

        "Yes, I was surprised at that myself," Mulder replied
mildly.

        Scully looked at him suspiciously. "Okay, Mulder, what's
up?  What aren't you saying?"

        "Well, didn't he strike you as exactly what we'd expect
from a rural cop?  Complete with the 'y'all's' and the 'ma'am's'
and the 'little lady's'?"

        "Mulder, why shouldn't he be exactly what we expect?
He IS a rural cop.  He's probably never been further away than
Disney World in his entire life.  What's wrong with that?"

        "Look, I know you think I'm just being paranoid again.
But he never explained why he was driving through town - he
clearly didn't expect to find us, or the story we told him.  So what
brought him to Groveton?"

        She shrugged. "I don't know - maybe he drives through
once a year and this just happened to be the day.  Or maybe he
was looking for some place to take a nap."

        "Maybe," Mulder grunted, looking far from convinced.  "I
just think he laid on the whole 'Southern cop' routine a little
thick."

        "You're probably hallucinating due to lack of food,"
Scully said, smiling. "Let's go and see if we can speed dinner
along."

        "You might be right, at that."

        They went out to the kitchen, where the radio was
playing in the background as Chris and Candy performed the
intricate choreography of dinner preparations in a small space.
Seeing that they would only be in the way, the partners sat
themselves at the table and tried to ignore the nasal twanging of
the country music station.

        "What would country music be without faithless spouses,
dying mamas and unfair terms in the state pen?" Mulder
wondered aloud drily.  Scully flashed him a grin as the mournful
ditty whined to a close and the news came on.

        "So what's on the menu for tonight, Chris?  And can I
help?  Like make some coffee or something?"

        Her partner made a sudden shushing motion and she
turned toward him.  "Wh -"

        "Listen..."  He turned up the volume.

        "... body of a Sheriff's Department officer was found by
the side of State Road 18 twenty miles south of Sebring this
afternoon.  Officer Scott Kelley, 45, of Sebring was found by a
passing motorist, his body partially hidden by brush and his
cruiser missing. Cause of death was not immediately known.
The Sheriff's Department is asking for any witnesses who may
have been driving by the scene to give them a call at...."

        Candy looked puzzled.  "Wasn't that the name of the
officer who was here?  How could he be dead - he just left!"

        Scully looked at Mulder, a chill crawling up her body in
spite of the ninety degree heat.

        He met her eyes, his own face grim. "Still think there's
nothing strange going on, Scully?"

End of Chapter Three


GROVETON 4/8
by Carol Jenner and Suzanne Bickerstaffe
Agnt CJ@aol.com, Ecksphile@aol.com
April 30, 1997

Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One

Chapter Four

Monday, March 3
9 PM

The news of the cop's death didn't do anything to ease the
tension within the house.  After a very quiet dinner, Candy and
Chris went to bed early, as did the two FBI agents.

        Chris stood near the closet door.  "Candy, I know how
you feel about this, but I think we need to get out of here."  He
planned on packing now, so they could be on the road in the
morning.  If Mulder and Scully wanted to stay, that was fine with
him, but he was going to get his fiancee and himself out of
there.  It was getting a little too weird for him.

        "Chris!"  Candy was at a loss for words. She had seen
him in these moods many times, and invariably, when he had
made up his mind like this, there was no budging him. "We can't
leave!"

        "And why not?"

        "What about Mulder and Scully?  We brought them
down here to check this out, we can't just leave them!  And what
about about our friends and neighbors?  Don't we owe it to them
to find out what happened to them? Maybe we can still do
something to help them.  Maybe, just maybe, they're counting
on us to help them."

        He pulled the suitcase from the closet with more force
than necessary.  "That's it, I've had it. I've had it with your
wacked-out theories!  If you honestly believe all this crap, then
you're a flake!  Or maybe you just want an excuse to fuck your
ex-boyfriend!"

        Candy's temper flared. She grabbed a book from the
nightstand and hurled it at him.  He ducked and it flew by him to
thud into the back of the closet.  "You bastard!  Like you haven't
thought about doing the same thing with that red headed bitch!
Fine - then by all means let me pack for you!"  She stormed to
the closet, roughly shoving him away, and flung open the
suitcase.  She began pulling clothes off their hangers and
tossing them in.

        "Me?  You were the one making the moves on him in
the bathroom.  Oh, you didn't think I knew about that, did you?"
he demanded, seeing her startled expression.

        "Well, if you were half the man Mulder is, then -"

        "Then what?  WHAT?  Look at him!  He's obsessed with
little green men!  He thinks the government is out to kill him!
He's fucking nuts.  Maybe you two are meant to be together," he
finished bitterly.

        "You son of a bitch!"  She slapped him hard across the
face. "Is that what you think of me?  I put my career on hold for
you.  I followed you to Africa, for God's sake.  I watched those
children die.  Then I followed you to this hell hole. And for what?
To have you call me fucking NUTS?"

        This wasn't a new arguement for them.  Candy loved
Chris and Chris loved Candy more than anything in the world,
but there were times when they just didn't like each other.  This
was one of those times.

        In the living room, the two agents looked at each other
uncomfortably. They had both heard themselves referred to in
the argument and felt guilty about eavesdropping. Finally, after
the sound of yet another object smashing into a wall, Scully
nervously asked, "Mulder, do you think we should go in there?"

        "Without my weapon, I don't think so.  I know Candy
when she's in one of those moods."

        "But someone might get hurt."

        "Fortunately, her aim stinks.  Let Chris learn to duck - he
might as well get used to it."

        "Then let's get out of here so we can talk.  And that way
we won't have to testify as witnesses at the assault trial."

        Mulder glanced at the closed bedroom door, nodded and
grabbed his jacket. "Agreed. Let's get the hell out of here."

        They walked silently up the road for a hundred yards or
more.

        "So Mulder, what do you think about the cop's murder?"

        "I don't know.  But at least we know now that someone
besides us has an interest in this place."

        "Yeah, but it's who that worries me."

        They walked a few more minutes.  She tossed a glance
at her partner, finding him lost in thought.  Finally he asked, "Do
you think I'm nuts, Scully?"

        "Pardon?"

        "Do you think I'm nuts, that I'm just being paranoid about
the government being out to get me?"

        "Um, well....  Well, Mulder, I think, given all that we've
seen and everything we've been through, I think that... um..."

        "You think I'm nuts."  He snickered lightly.

        "Well, I mean, God knows you have every right to be
paranoid, and clearly there are forces within the government
who don't take too kindly to either one of us  But on the other
hand, you take some things to extremes."

        "For example?"

        "How about all the times you jump to 'supernatural'
conclusions when there is a rational explanation available?"

        "That doesn't prove I'm paranoid or crazy -  just that I'm
right." She wasn't sure if it was humor or smugness in his voice.

        "But do you honestly believe that the government is
behind these missing people?"

        "I never said the government was behind it."

        "No, you said that it was the work of aliens. That's not an
improvement."

        "Scully, that's not fair.  Candy was the one that said that,
I just..."

        "Humored her?  Played along?  Mulder, you gave up a
week's vacation to come to this swamp to find traces of alien
abduction.  Come on, admit it!  That's what you're looking for.
You have no real interest in these people or what happened to
them.  You just want to find proof.  Because if aliens took these
people, then it could have been aliens that took...."

        "My sister?  That's what your going to say isn't it?  You
seem to think that all my motives are personal.  Well, I'll tell you
something, Agent Scully, I care very much what happened to
these people. I was the one who wanted to come down here all
along. You could've stayed home and toured the fucking
Smithonian for all I cared. But you said you WANTED to come!"

        She bit back a retort.  The truth was she could have
backed out.   She had tried to convince herself that she had to
come to protect Mulder from himself, but the fact of the matter
was she came to protect him from Candy. A purely personal
motive of her own. She sighed forcefully. "Alright, Mulder.  I'm
sorry. I may have stepped over the line by saying you don't care.
But we have a dead cop and no explanation as to why or where
these people may have gone. This isn't just a simple thing
anymore.  We both have to admit there's something going on
here, but there's no proof of alien involvement."

        Mulder surveyed her face, and calmed down as well.
"I'm sorry, too."  He paused.  "Scully, I know what you're going to
say, and believe me, you're right that I need a vacation.  I need
a break, I need to not think about things for a while.  But there's
something strange going on here and we both can feel it."  He
placed both his hands on her shoulders and looked her square in
the eye.  "Let's keep looking.  It was no accident that cop
showed up dead.  What are the odds that he tours this area once
in a blue moon, and dies today?  You were the one that taught
me there were no such thing as coincidences."

        "Okay. Tomorrow I'll call the Bureau and try to get some
information on this town, and contact the local authorities to find
out what they've learned about Kelley's murder."  They began
strolling back to the house.

        "While you're doing that, I'll take another look around.
Maybe the crops have something to do with this.  It might be a
cover for illegal spraying or something - maybe everyone who
lived here got sick from some sort of experimental pesticide use.
Oh, and Scully. One more thing."

        "Yes, Mulder?"

        "I'm glad you're here, and not touring the Smithsonian."

                        - - - - -

Groveton
Tuesday, March 4
10 AM

        Scully was at the kitchen table with her cell phone to her
ear, jotting down notes when Chris walked into the room.  She
looked up and saw the livid mark on his cheek.

        "Yes, thank you."  She switched off her cell phone.
"Chris, your face."  If Chris looked like this after the argument,
she wondered what Candy looked like, then dismissed the
thought.  She didn't believe he was capable of hurting a woman.

        "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

        "You should put some ice on it."  She went to the
freezer, pulled out an ice tray and in seconds had an ice pack
made. "Here - put this on it."

        "I think it's too late for ice. Really, don't worry," he said,
flushing.

        "You sound like Mulder. Put it on - it will help.  Uh, you
didn't, by any chance...."

        "Oh God, no!  Dana, believe me, I would never hit a
woman under any circumstances.  Candy and I love each other,
but sometimes, she's just so damn difficult to deal with. She gets
these ideas, crazy ideas, and nothing can shake them loose...."

        She knelt down to where Chris was sitting and put her
hand on his arm.  "Chris, believe me, you have no idea how I
understand.  I guess all we can do is just love them, in spite of
it."

        "You love Mulder?"

        "Did I say that?"  She blushed, and used her best all-
business tone.  "Well, I mean in a partner-relationship sort of
way, of course."

        "Of course," Chris said drily. "So where is he?"

        "He wanted to go check out the crops.  He has a theory
that maybe they're part of the reason the people disappeared.
It is possible that there may have been illegal spraying or
something and he wanted to go check on it."

        "Dana, I would know if illegal spraying had been going
on.  That wasn't it.  I told you, the people weren't really
concerned about their crops at all.  Which I thought was odd, but
then again, the more I think about it, everything about this place
is odd."

        "When he gets back we're all going to have to sit down
and decide what we need to do.  Personally I think we need to
get out of here.  Mulder needs a rest; to tell the truth, so do I.
Our last case was horrific, and last night he had another
nightmare because of it.  Now you and Candy are fighting
because of it.  I think we need to evaluate this whole situation."

        "Oh, don't worry about Candy and me.  We don't need a
whole town to disappear to cause us to fight," he replied with a
grin. He stood up. "Maybe I'll go out and try to catch up with him,
tell him his illegal spraying theory is a no-go."

        "Fine.  Just remember, whatever new theory he comes
up with you'll probably like even less than that one."

        He chuckled.  "That doesn't surprise me."

                        - - - - -

        Mulder walked down rows of thigh-high corn plants.  So
far, nothing about the crops seemed extraordinary.  And if illegal
pesticides were being used, they sure as hell weren't doing their
job, he thought darkly, swatting another large bug from his
jeans.  In the distance by some sort of shed or outbuilding, he
could see some dark vegetation, some of which was protected
by veils of cloth.  He strolled over to the field, inhaling the sweet,
almost overwhelming scent of the citrus groves in full bloom. His
brows knit into a frown as he got closer.  Something about the
field, about the cheesecloth shades placed over some of the
rows of dark leaves, set alarms ringing in his head.  As his ears
picked up the hum of bees, everything snapped into place.
Ginseng - these were ginseng fields.  Now why the hell would
these people be growing something esoteric like ginseng?
Squatting down, he picked a leaf and examined it closely. Then,
curious, he rose and advanced toward the outbuilding.

        It was bigger than it had looked from the corn fields.  It
was also locked - here in Groveton, where nothing else had
been locked.  Heart racing, Mulder picked up a flattened bit of
pipe and set to work on the lock. The lock itself was strong and
of excellent quality, but the wood from which the building was
made was in the same state of rot as the others in town.  The
lock was pried off in seconds.

        He cautiously opened the door and peered in, then
stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind him.  The building
obviously served as their utility shed.  Dusty light let in by the
one small window dimly illuminated tools hung from pegboards
nailed to the walls, and bags of seed standing in the corner. It
reminded him of his mother's garden shed behind their house on
the Vineyard.  Suddenly, like an unwanted intruder, more painful
memories of the shed rushed back to him - memories of his
father, and the beatings meted out there.

        Ignoring the feeling in his gut that was telling him to
leave, he explored the structure.   Nothing about its contents
seemed out of place or unusual.  He stepped back outside,
taking a good look at the building as he walked its perimeter.
Suddenly, he realized what made him uncomfortable - it struck
him that the building appeared much larger on the outside than
the inside.  He went back in and began knocking on the walls,
finally rewarded when his knock rang out hollowly. His fingers
felt for cracks that might indicate a door, sighing in frustration
when he came up empty.  Feeling a little silly, he moved to the
assortment of implements nearby, pushing and prodding them to
see if they might be the key to unlocking the secret passage.
I've definitely been watching too many late night horror movies,
he thought.

        He pushed and pulled, but to no avail. Then he stepped
back, wondering if seeing the wall from a distance might show
him something that closer inspection hadn't.  As he did so, one
of the floor boards gave way and he fell hard on his back. His
mouth gaped, as a door there was no sign of seconds previously
popped open.

        Mulder scrambled to his feet and burst through the door
into a very dark room.  He felt along the wall for a light switch
but, not unexpectedly, didn't find one.  He reached into his
pocket and found a book of matches.  Lighting one, he peered
around him and caught sight of a string hanging from a fixture in
the low ceiling.  He pulled on it and weak light flooded the room.
"Jesus Christ," he gasped.  "I'm in Command Central."

        There were maps along the wall, dotted with little red
flags. Computer terminals and journals lay on the rough wooden
shelf that lined the perimeter of the room. Flipping through the
pages of records, he noted columns of mathmatical formulae,
notes in barely legible handwriting and other notes that
appeared to be in some kind of foreign script. Pocketing some of
the pages of formula, he looked down and noticed a trap door on
the floor.  Pulling the metal ring, he raised the door, only slightly
surprised by the glow of greenish light emitted from below. Heart
pounding, he descended the stairs into the cellar, pulling the
trapdoor shut behind him.

        He found himself in a room that looked like it belonged
in a hospital or lab instead of a migrant farming community.
With a feeling of deja vu, he found a light switch on the wall and
pressed it.

        Like the room above, the walls were covered by maps,
with color coded pins scattered over their length and breadth.
Two very familiar looking tanks took up much of the floor space.
He grabbed the tail of his shirt, wiped the condensation off the
side and peered in.  Both tanks held a male body submerged in
green liquid.  But unlike the other clones he had run into, these
weren't carbon copies.  They had unique features.  Catching
sight of a bulletin board on the wall, he approached it.  It was
covered in photographs of men and women. Although none was
a copy of the other, the people nevertheless had a certain
similarity about them, as if they were all part of one huge family.
Then, the more he studied the photos, the more he recognized
that Woman A had the same shaped nose as Man B, and Man B
had the same eye color and shape as Man C.  Finally, the
significance of what he was seeing rocked him.  "My God.  They
perfected cloning," he breathed.

        He stuffed some of the pictures from the bulletin board
into this pocket.  It was possible that Chris or Candy would
recognize them as some of the missing inhabitants of Groveton.
He walked around the room a few times, scanning the walls,
memorizing the maps and trying to pull together a theory about
their significance. Suddenly, he heard voices upstairs.
Apparently searching for someone or something, the voices had
an unpleasant military tone to them. Mulder quickly turned off
the light and slumped down behind the second tank so he could
see, hopefully without being seen.

        "Sir, we searched the perimeter."

        "Did you find him, Sergeant?"

        "No, sir."

        "Search the town, and if you don't find him, take that
couple that lives on the outskirts of town in for questioning."

        "Yes, sir."

        Mulder's first thought was of Scully.  He looked around
desperately for a way out, but with a sinking feeling, knew that
there was only one way - a way not available at the moment.
The voices upstairs fell to murmurs, and for a fleeting moment,
he hoped that they had failed to spot the trapdoor and had
moved on...anything that would give him the chance to get out
of this damned place and get to Scully.  He had no sooner
finished the thought when the trapdoor flew open, closely
followed by the thud of boots on the wooden steps to the cellar.
Before he could react, two soldiers with very bright flashlights
were standing next to him, with M80's pointed at his face.

        "Who are you?"

        Mulder just shrugged and shook his head, as if he didn't
know English.  The other trooper grabbed him and pushed him
up the stairs.  "We found him."

        "Excellent," purred the Captain.  "Go tell the other troops
to assemble at the basecamp."

        "Yes, sir."

        "Well, Mr. Mulder.  You're a hard man to track down."

        "I'm in the book."  The trooper holding Mulder jabbed his
gun in small of his back.  "Ow!"

        "Sergeant, take Agent Mulder here to back to camp. And
remember, he is a Federal Agent with highly placed friends, and
I expect you to treat him as such."  The trooper nodded and
slammed the butt of his rifle into the side of Mulder's head.

                        - - - - -

        Making his way through the orange grove, Chris thought
he heard the motor of a truck.  He stopped to listen more
closely, then shook his head.  Christ, I'm getting as flaky as
Candy, he thought.  They had to get out of here.  Maybe it was
worth swallowing his pride and promising the Red Cross he'd
behave from now on.  Once he got his job back, they could
move to someplace where Candy could do her research at the
nearest university.  She had to be going out of her mind with
boredom.  No wonder she had fastened on to this little fantasy
about alien abductions.  And getting her involved in her career
again couldn't help but improve their relationship.  He felt his
blood pulse as he indulged in a few fantasies of his own.

        Perhaps that was why he didn't hear the footsteps
behind him.

End of Chapter Four


GROVETON 5/8
by Suzanne Bickerstaffe and Carol Jenner
Ecksphile@aol.com, Agnt CJ@aol.com
April 30, 1997

Disclaimers and acknowledgements in Chapter One

Chapter Five

Groveton, Florida
Tuesday, March 4
Noon

        Candy looked less than her usual luminously beautiful
self when she finally emerged from the bedroom. Sighing, Scully
stabbed the off button of her cellular phone and headed straight
for the coffee pot.

        "Morning.  You look like you could use some coffee."

        "Thanks, Dana.  I usually don't, but today I'll make an
exception. Where's Chris?"

        "He went out a couple of hours ago, trying to catch up
with Mulder.  I expected them both back by now."

        Candy toyed with some flatware on the kitchen counter,
avoiding Scully's eyes.  "I suppose you heard...last night."

        "It was hard not to," she said drily. "If it's any comfort to
you, Mulder and I went for a walk.  When we got back, it was
quiet.  We were just hoping you two hadn't killed each other."
She handed the woman a mug, took her own and the two sat
themselves at the table.  Please don't, thought Scully. Please
don't involve me in this, please don't want to have a woman-to-
woman discussion of yours and Chris's personal problems,
please don't -

        "Oh, Dana, what am I going to do?" Candy wailed.

        Shit.  "Well.. uh, Candy...I'm not really the person you
should be discussing this with," she began uncomfortably.

        "You're JUST the person, Dana!  You're so cool and
level-headed.  Chris thinks I'm a flake."

        "Well, I'm sure that there's aspects of that that he finds
charming, too," she countered weakly.

        "He called me fucking nuts, did you know that?"

        "Uh...actually, yes.... We were there for that part."

        "You don't think Mulder's nuts, do you?" she demanded.

        "Nuts?  No." After last night's discussion with Mulder,
she had spent some time thinking about the subject.  "He's
brilliant and his mind may not work quite the same way mine
does, but no, I wouldn't call him nuts."

        "See?  That's what I - "

        "What I would call him is gullible."

        "Oh." Candy's argument was deflated in an instant.

        "Sometimes Mulder just wants so much to believe in the
supernatural - because it will answer questions that don't seem
to have an answer -  that he doesn't fully investigate all the
rational alternatives. He jumps to the conclusion that paranormal
forces were involved. And admittedly, sometimes there isn't a
rational answer that we can find.  But that doesn't mean that
there isn't one; it only means that we haven't found it.  And
sometimes - rarely - it does seem like the paranormal might be
involved.  But Mulder's just a little too ready to believe.  And he
thinks I'm not ready enough.  We agree to disagree, and
balance each other out."

        The woman considered Scully's words.  "So what do you
think happened here?"

        "I honestly don't know.  Something's going on.  But I'm
not convinced that we're the right people to be investigating it, or
that the investigation needs to be continued from here in
Groveton.  We may well have gotten all the information we're
going to get from here."

        Candy was about to debate the point, but stopped when
she heard the pounding of running feet. Chris came flying
through the door seconds later.  She sprang from her seat and
went to him, her arms open.

        "Oh, Chris!  I'm so sorry about last night. I -"

        He took a startled step backwards.  "There's no time for
that now.  We have to leave - fast!"

        "Leave?" Candy asked, puzzled.  "We can't leave,
Mulder's out there - "

        "Dana, come on.  Into the Jeep.  Now!"

        "Far be it for me to agree with Candy, but she's right.
Mulder's out there investigating, and should be back any - "

        "That's the point!" Chris yelled, exasperated.  "Mulder's
been taken by some guys in uniform!  They're on their way here.
We have maybe two minutes to get the hell out of here.  Now
come on!"

        Still, the women hesitated.

        "Look, I'm not suggesting we abandon him," Chris
continued, more gently but no less urgently.  "But he's not in
Groveton anymore, in any case.  They drove off with him in a
truck.  We'll figure out a way to get him, but we need to get out
of here first.  If they get us, they'll find a way to use us against
him.  We're wasting time we don't have.  Let's move!"

        Reluctantly, Scully grabbed the cell phone and their
overnight bags.  "He's right, Candy.  Let's go."

                        - - - - -


        They had just creaked to a stop at the base camp when
Mulder was unceremoniously pushed out of the back of the
truck.  He supposed he should be grateful for the ride, they
could have made him walk.  They were miles from any town,
from anything at all familiar, and surrounded by unbroken lush
Florida greenery. He wished he knew how long he had been
unconscious - it might give him an idea of how long they had
been travelling, how far away he was from Groveton, and Scully.

        He struggled to get up off his face, spitting the dirt out of
his mouth.  One of the guards lifted him up by his handcuffed
arms.  Peering around and trying to ignore the pulsing pain in his
head, he tried to get a sense of the camp. Camouflage tents
were arranged in a horseshoe, with a large, makeshift wooden
building in the center serving as HQ.  A rifle barrel prodded him
in the back, propelling him in the direction of the building.

        He and his captors traversed the main room without
notice from the soldiers bent over their electronic monitoring
equipment.  He was led down a hallway to a small room, which
looked like a typical interrogation room. In the center was one
chair and a table. The only thing missing, Mulder reflected
absently, was the mirror, which everyone with a functioning
brain stem knew was not a mirror at all, but a window for others
to observe the interrogation through.

        One of the soldiers shoved him into the chair and stood
looming over him claustrophobically. This certainly wasn't the
first time Fox Mulder had found himself at the answering end of
an interrogation.  He knew the drill and he knew his interrogator
did too, so he had to play the waiting game. 'Let's make em
sweat' was an old B movie trick, but it was working right now. He
knew that something was amiss in Groveton, and discovering
that room in the shed had only confirmed his suspicions of alien
involvement.  He had found the proof he needed. Unfortunately,
Scully hadn't been there to see it, and it would probably be gone
by the time she went looking for him.

        Time was ticking away.  He hoped that while his captors
played their waiting game, Scully would keep out of the way of
these goons and figure out where he was.  In the meantime, he
studied his surroundings, looking for an escape route.  The room
had that new smell of paint and wood, and the lack of dry rot led
him to believe that these people couldn't have been here long.
He didn't notice any power lines so they must have brought a
generator.  The electronic equipment puzzled him.  What were
they listening for?  The last time he saw this much activity in the
middle of nowhere was when he had met Max Fenig. Downed
Libian jet, my ass, he thought.

        The commander came in carrying some papers.  He
was an older-looking man, perhaps in his late fifties.  He
probably didn't exist on any government payroll, and wouldn't be
missed if he disappeared himself.  But Mulder knew, just by the
way the officer looked at him, that he wasn't someone to trifle
with.

        "Search him," the commander ordered the guard.  While
the man pulled his ID, the photographs and the pages of formula
from his pockets, the officer studied the fax. "Special Agent Fox
Mulder."  He looked away from the fax to his captive. "Oxford
education.  Top of your class. Spooky behavior.  The X-files."  It
was more like a grocery list he was reading than, some secret
government dossier.

        "Does it mention I like long walks on the beach, quiet
dinners for two, and - "    His teeth rattled from the force with
which the officer slapped him across the face. Obviously he
doesn't share my sense of humor, Mulder mused painfully.

        "What does the FBI want down here?"

        He was about to make another smart remark, but the
sudden ache in his back molar convinced him otherwise. "I
wasn't sent by the Bureau. I'm here on vacation."

        "Vacation?  Really?

        "Yes, really," he mimicked. He regretted it the moment it
escaped his lips, but the commander just smirked.

        "You know what I want and I'm not interested in hearing
your tourist stories.  What do you know about Groveton?"

        "Groveton?  You mean Groveton, Florida?"  He braced
himself for the blow that didn't come.  The fact that it didn't was
curiously unsettling.

        "You're vacationing and you don't even know where you
are?  Maybe your partner does."

        "Oh, no, I'm sure she doesn't."

        "Why is that?"

        "She's worse at directions I am."  That one earned him a
stinging slap across the ear.

        "Why were you in that shed?"

        "I needed some gardening tools?"  Again, the heart-
pounding wait for the blow that didn't happen.

        "But you're on vacation, why would you be gardening?"
The commander noted with satisfaction the confusion that
flashed across his captive's face.  He well knew that Mulder had
been in this situation before, and that his psychological profile
showed that no amount of beating would get the desired
information out of him.  But a schizoid interrogation, a constant
change of direction in both the questions asked and the
response Mulder's answers earned would unsettle the agent,
confuse him.  By playing this mental game he would eventually
get more answers than by beating his prisoner unconscious - at
least that's what the guys in G-2 had said.  "Mr. Mulder, why
would you need a gardening tool?  What implement were you
getting?"

        Mulder was puzzled, unable to figure out what the
commander was accomplishing with this line of questioning.
What the hell did it matter, what garden tool he was getting?
His mind went blank.  Finally he said, "A hoe"

        "A hoe?"

        "Yeah, a hoe."

        "All right, why?"

        "To do some hoeing?"  Maybe if he hadn't said it in the
form of a question he wouldn't be tasting blood right now.

        "Why is the FBI in Groveton?  Where are the people?"

        "What people?  The town is deserted.  My partner and I
are down here visiting old friends. They're the only ones in
town."

        "Ah, yes.  Killer tornadoes in South Dakota, isn't that
where you met them?  I seem to remember your name
connected with some story about killer tornadoes created by the
military as a weapon for world-wide domination. Really, you give
us too much credit. I must say you're an imaginative fellow.
Why not use that Oxford-educated mind a little and tell me
where the townspeople of Groveton are?"  Before Mulder could
say something he would probably regret, the commander lifted a
cautionary finger. "And think carefully before answering. I don't
give extra credit for originality."

        Mulder felt like he was on a game show and a scantily
clad girl would come through the door an moment with his year's
supply of Instant Cup O' Soups.  He took a big breath and
braced himself for whatever reprisals this man had in store for
him.  No answer was going to be right, so why not tell him the
truth?  "Aliens took them."

        "Aliens took them?  Little green men came from outer
space and beamed them aboard and took a town full people to
the mothership?  Why, to eat them?"

        Images from the Jeffords case flashed though his mind.
Jeffords did many unspeakable things to those victims, including
eating parts of them. Body parts in freezer bags nicely labeled
like holiday leftovers.  Mutilated bodies in various states of
decay.  For a moment he thought he could smell the stench of
rotting flesh.  The flash of horror and revulsion must have shown
on his face. "Ah, yes.  The Jeffords case.  That was a tough one.
It's hard to imagine that human beings are capable of such
violence."

        A wave of unease washed over Mulder.  How did this
man know about that case?  The commander was standing over
him with a look of concern on his face.  This puzzled him even
more. Why would this man be concerned, when he would most
likely end up ordering his execution for being on "vacation."

        "What was that?"

        "Vacation.  I'm on vacation."

        "Agent Mulder, perhaps we should talk when you're a
little better composed.  I'm sure a few moments to yourself
would do you wonders."  And thousands of dollars worth of
therapy wouldn't hurt, thought Mulder, dazed.  "I can always talk
to your friends.  Do you want us to talk to them?"

        "No." Mulder stared at him in defiance.

        "Then just tell us what you know and I'll let you have
some time alone."

        "I don't know anything," he insisted. "I'm here on
vacation with my partner."

        "With your PARTNER? The FBI must have had a recent
rule change about that sort of thing."  He made a suggestive
gesture with his hands, to the amusement of the guards.

        "You son of a bitch!"  Mulder struggled to get out of the
chair, but a pair of hands clamped down on his shoulders,
pinning him to it.

        "Agent Mulder, I want to know what you know.  Who
were those people in those tanks?"

        "You tell me."  The testosterone level was getting
dangerously high in the room.

        "Don't play games with me.  Where are the people of
Groveton?  I know you know.  Tell me!  Tell me!"

        "I don't know!  I'm on vacation..."

        "Oh, that's right, you're on vacation in a town in the
middle of nowhere with absolutely nothing to commend it.
Bullshit!   Now, what was that building you were found in?  What
purpose did it serve?"

        "This is pointless,"  Mulder replied firmly. "You know
more about what's going on around here than I do."

        "Oh do I?  So tell me.  Tell me what it is I supposedly
know."

        "You....you...."  Mulder hesitated, and suddenly, like a
sailboat emerging from a fogbank, his mind cleared.  Obviously
they didn't know anything, otherwise why would these drones be
questioning him.  If it were merely a matter of finding out how
many of their secrets he had tapped, he'd already be dead.
These idiots really didn't know anything, and were depending on
him for leads.  He had to buy some time.  He hoped that Scully
would be able to find him.  That she would figure it out.
Meanwhile, two could play at this insane game.

        "I what?  What is it?  What about me?"

        "You know as much as I do.  They were your people in
that tank."

        "My people.  Who are 'my people'?"

        "The ones that think it's okay to rewrite history because
they don't like the color of someone's suit!  It's obvious that
there is a conspiracy here and since you work for the Special
Committee in Charge of Government Conspiracy, I suggest you
check with your boss.  That is if you can find him.  I'll give you a
tip - he'll be the one in the smoking section."

        The guard behind him shoved him to the floor.  Before
he knew what hit him, he had a size 12 pressing on his throat.

        So much for psychological profiles, the commander
thought darkly.  Sometimes it paid to stick to the old fashioned
ways of doing things.  He grabbed a fistful of Mulder's hair and
yanked upward, lifting his head off the floor and putting more
pressure on the agent's throat. He leaned into Mulder's face.
"Don't mock me.  Be warned, I'll do whatever it takes to get to
the bottom of this.  I want to know where the people of Groveton
went, and you ARE going to tell me."  The commander left the
room.

        The guard removed his foot and watched the FBI agent
struggle for breath on the floor.  He had his orders.  He picked
the hapless agent up by his neck and threw him against the wall.

        Mulder felt like he had been hit by a semi.  The guard
must have been a tackle for the Packers.  He was too strong to
be a normal human. He struggled, but the guard scooped him up
like a rag doll once more and tossed him across the
interrogation room, slamming him into the opposite wall.  He
heard a loud pop, accompanied by a sickening lance of pain
through his right shoulder.  The makeshift building of drywall
shook every time he made contact.  He saw the guard coming at
him again, but instead of trying to get away, he prepared to fight
back.

        Just as the herculian guard got close, Mulder wrapped
his legs around those of his tormenter, causing him to fall.
Mulder scrambled the best he could to his feet and started for
the door.  His last conscious thought was that he might even
make it.

                        - - - - -

        They drove all the way into Sebring, not daring to stop
at the first few motels they passed, since these would be the first
places Mulder's captors would search.  Candy sat stunned and
speechless next to Chris, for which Scully was profoundly
grateful.

        Meanwhile, in the back seat Scully had been thinking
furiously, her only weapon against the feeling of dread that
threatened to overpower her. "What did their uniforms looks like,
Chris?"

        "All black.  They had the usual insignia for rank, but
other than that they were unfamiliar.  I couldn't even get handle
on what branch of the service they were."

        "How many?"

        "A small squad - no more than ten or so.  But there's
probably more of them somewhere."

        Scully thought for a moment.  "Where was Mulder when
he was taken?"

        "Just some shed in one of the fields.  It didn't look like
anything special."

        Chris finally stopped the jeep on the outskirts of Sebring
furthest from Groveton.  On a back road, far from the areas
more likely to host visitors, they found a little ramshackle motel
composed of a wide ring of freestanding cabins, shaded by
trees.  He exited the motel office a few minutes later, a key
dangling from his hand.

        "Number thirteen."

        That figures, thought Scully grimly.  Consistent with the
run of luck we've had so far.

        The Jeep rolled slowly over the gravel to the two most
remote cabins, stopping in front of one of them.  Chris handed
the key to Candy.  "Go on in.  I'll just get the bags."

        She slid out of her seat, and let Scully out. Then she
went to the door of the cabin and opened it, stepping inside.

        Scully heard the rasp of intaken breath, Candy's
strangled "Wh-what?"  She shoved the paralyzed woman aside,
reaching for her weapon simultaneously.  Then she froze.

        There, lying sprawled on the bed, was Chris.

End of Chapter Five