From: MaybeAmanda <maybe_a@rocketmail.com>
Date: Fri, 18 Feb 2000 07:57:54 -0800 (PST)
Subject: xfc: NEW: Malus Genius 01/10 - Plausible Deniability & MaybeAmanda
Source: xfc

From: MaybeAmanda <maybe_a@rocketmail.com>

Title: "Malus Genius, vel Hoc Lemma Nequiquam Latine Scribitur" (The
Evil Spirit, or This Title Is Written In Latin for No Reason)

By: Plausible Deniability &  Amanda Wilde (MaybeAmanda)

Address: pdeniability@hotmail.com / maybe_a@rocketmail.com

Link for Spookys and for those missing parts: This story can be found
in its entirety at: 

http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Dreamworld/2528/mgtitle.html 
or 
http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Lair/4566/mg0.html.

Archive: freely

Category: X, R, A, H

Rating: mostly R (sexual situations, mature language, and implied
violence), but there are a couple of NC-17 sections.

Spoilers: Brief episode references late in the story; no major
spoilers. This is a stand-alone, with the typical stand-alone
disregard for the mytharc.

Keywords: MSR

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the television program
"The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used
without permission. No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: What's *your* evil spirit?

THANKS appear at the end. If you don't read any other part of this
story, we hope you'll read those.

**********************


There was a little wart-covered demon in Mr. Kopeck's desk. He
couldn't tell people about it because they would think he was crazy,
but if he opened the file drawer and peeked inside, he could see two
yellow, malevolent eyes glowing at him from the dark interior. The
worst part was, in a few minutes Mrs. Chernoff was supposed to take
over his seventh period class, so he could talk to Principal Waters
about that unfortunate incident last week.

Mr. Kopeck didn't know what to do. Should he warn Mrs. Chernoff about
the thing in his desk? Should he keep the information to himself, and
just take the chance that she wouldn't open the drawer? Maybe, he
thought, he should simply pretend he didn't know anything about the
creature, even if she did find it. Really, was it his fault that the
thing was living in his desk?

At the back of the classroom, Brittany Woodall raised her hand.

"Yes?" said Mr. Kopeck, dragging his attention back to his students.

Brittany -- she really was a hot number, Mr. Kopeck thought --
brushed eraser crumbs off the front of her sweater. "Can I go now?"

His brows drew together in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She sighed impatiently. "My mother wrote you a note, Mr. Kopeck. I
have a dentist appointment. I'm supposed to be excused at 2:15."

Mr. Kopeck nodded. "Oh -- that's right. Of course, Brittany. Just be
sure to take your textbook home with you. The homework assignment
tonight is the chapter review on page 82."

A collective groan went up from the class.

Mr. Kopeck ignored it. He watched Brittany sweep her books and
folders off her desk and gather them to her chest. She was wearing
that sweater he liked again, that tight one with the blue stripes.
When he'd been in high school, he thought, he would have killed for a
date with a cheerleader like Brittany Woodall.

A rustling sound from his desk drawer brought his thoughts back to
the ugly little demon, and Mrs. Chernoff. He opened the drawer a
crack and peered at the sharp teeth that glinted at him from the
darkness.

Screw it, Mr. Kopeck thought. He had never liked Mrs. Chernoff that
much anyway.

****

"This is where she was found," said Principal Waters, looking down at
the floor with a troubled expression. "Right here in front of the
blackboard. They took the body this morning, but otherwise nothing's
been touched."

Scully knelt down. With gloved fingers, she examined the bloodstain.

"I don't know how something like this could have happened in my
school," the principal said, wringing his hands. "Nothing ever
happens around here."

Since the school sat across from a postcard-perfect New England
common in a village with more quaintness than people, Scully found
nothing incongruous in the claim. "I just came from examining the
body," she told the hovering principal. "The victim died from massive
head trauma. Judging from the shape of the wound, I'd say she hit her
head on the metal eraser tray."

"She must have hit it with a lot of force," Mulder said behind her.
She heard the edge in his voice, and wondered whether it was meant to
convey mere doubt about her medical opinion, or lingering resentment
over whatever had been bothering him all day. "The last time I saw a
head wound like that, the victim had been hit with an axe."

Principal Waters whimpered.

Still on her knees, Scully looked at the classroom around her. The
air smelled like chalk dust, musty books, and pencil shavings. It had
been a while since she'd been in a setting like this, but the feeling
was familiar, and agreeable. A person didn't forget two decades of
being a teacher's pet overnight.

She gestured to the overturned office chair lying a few feet from the
bloodstain, then to the line of partially-erased writing high on the
blackboard. "It looks to me like she was standing on that chair so
she could reach the top of the board, and the chair went out from
under her. She was just unlucky enough to hit her head on the tray as
she fell."

"What about the bite marks you saw on the body?" said Mulder, looking
over Scully's shoulder at the pool of blood.

"Rats."

"Rats?"

"Rats," said Scully emphatically.

Principal Waters paled. "Oh, dear. I didn't know we had rats --
except in the cafeteria, of course."

Scully got to her feet, and drew off her latex gloves with a snap.
Mulder was fooling himself, she thought, if he suspected an X-File
here. It was sheer coincidence that another teacher from this same
school had died in the last week. Full-figured women in pumps were
simply not meant to go standing on chairs, especially not chairs with
casters.

Of course, she couldn't tell him that outright, not after the way
he'd been behaving all day. She'd never realized Mulder could be so
touchy.

"This isn't even poor Mrs. Chernoff's classroom," said Principal
Waters behind her, still peering anxiously at the red stain. "It's
Larry Kopeck's. She was only here because he had a meeting with me."

Mulder took a step backwards to look up at the writing on the
blackboard. "'Venio, venis, venit,'" he read. "'I come, you come, he
comes.'"

"Some kind of grammar exercise?" Scully said.

"Either that, or the play-by-play for a Roman orgy."

"It's the present indicative conjugation of the verb 'venire,'" said
a voice from the doorway.

All three of them -- Scully, Mulder, and Principal Waters -- wheeled
around.

Scully was surprised by the man attached to the voice. He was a
little over six foot, she estimated, an inch or two taller than
Mulder, with broad shoulders and long legs, the kind of physique one
expected to find on a second-string high school quarterback or a
weekend warrior who took his games seriously. The pale patches on his
nose suggested it had met a curveball or the sharp end of a hockey
skate once or twice but had been carefully patched up afterward, and
the faint, neat, but visible scar on the underside of his square jaw
was clearly the result of stitches. His neatly if unimaginatively cut
black hair was just beginning to recede, and Scully knew he was the
sort of man who'd go a distinguished salt-and-pepper at the temples
first. All in all, she thought, not a bad looking man. The only thing
that didn't seem to go with the rest of the package was the air of
uncertainty he projected.

Principal Waters stiffened. "Mr. Kopeck," he said, with the sort of
dry disapproval one usually reserves for shoplifters and people who
drive without car insurance.

Mr. Kopeck smiled disarmingly, and shrugged.

"You teach Latin?" Mulder asked.

Mr. Kopeck shook his head. "I teach World History. We've been doing a
unit on the Roman Empire, and I just wrote that on the board as an
example of the language. I had some better-known phrases up there,
too, but it looks like they've been erased."

"Still, you do read and write Latin?"

"Yes," said Mr. Kopeck. "Not that there's much call for it these
days."

Scully wondered what Mulder was getting at, and why he was even
bothering. If the victim had been wearing a cardboard sign that read
"I lost my balance and hit my head," the facts could not have been
more obvious.

She decided she ought to assert herself a little, at least in a
tactful way. She took out her badge and showed it to Mr. Kopeck. "I'm
Agent Scully, and this is my partner, Agent Mulder," she said. "Is
there anything you can tell us about Mrs. Chernoff's accident?"

"It was definitely an accident, then?" said Mr. Kopeck, with a note
of hope.

"Yes," said Scully.

Mulder glanced back at the Latin on the chalkboard. "We can't be
sure."

Mulder had many sterling qualities, Scully thought. He was smart and
dedicated and he knew a thing or two about erogenous zones. At the
moment, however, she wanted to smack him.

Beside them, Principal Waters cleared his throat. "Mr. Kopeck was
with me yesterday afternoon when the unfortunate incident occurred,"
he told them. "I doubt he can shed any more light on the matter than
I can."

"You can come in, Mr. Kopeck," said Scully, since the teacher was
still standing in the doorway. "The forensics team released the scene
this morning, when the body was removed. We're just verifying a few
things for ourselves."

Mr. Kopeck looked even more uncertain. "Actually, I was hoping I
wouldn't have to see the, uh -- to see where Mrs. Chernoff was found.
I just came to collect my gym bag, if that's possible, and those two
books on the corner of my desk."

"You didn't need those things yesterday?" Mulder asked, his tone so
sharply suspicious that Scully felt a surge of impatience.

Mr. Kopeck shook his head. "No. I didn't know there'd be any reason
to move my classes to the auditorium, and I only work out on Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays. After my meeting with Principal Waters, I
went straight home."

"The scene's been released," Scully repeated. "You can take anything
that's yours."

Mr. Kopeck remained in the doorway. "Could you possibly... you know,
pass the things out to me? I just need those two old books, and the
gym bag under my desk."

Scully resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew there was no
shortage of squeamish people in the world, but she found it hard to
understand what was so intimidating about a dried bloodstain.

She collected Mr. Kopeck's belongings, then walked them over to him,
feeling slightly ridiculous. As she handed the teacher his things,
she was surprised to see that he was sweating.

"Thanks," he said, and disappeared quickly back into the hallway.

Mulder was already giving Principal Waters the old "Thanks, be sure
to contact us if you remember anything that might be of importance"
speech as she rejoined them. They all shook hands, and Principal
Waters made his exit.

Scully crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for Mulder to admit
that he had brought her on a wasted trip.

Instead he crossed his arms over his chest, too, and leveled a
challenging look at her. "You're sure this was an accident, Scully?"

"Positive."

"In that case, I have just one question for you."

She sighed. This conversation was fifty percent professional, she
sensed, and fifty percent whatever it was that had put him in this
mood. "And that would be...?"

"If Mrs. Chernoff was standing on the chair and erasing the
chalkboard when she fell and hit her head, where's the eraser?"

Scully looked around her at the bare floor.

Finally she said, "I see what you mean."

"The chief detective on the scene assured me that nothing had been
tampered with, and Principal Waters told us the same thing. So what
happened to the eraser?"

"Couldn't the janitor have moved it when he found the body?"

Mulder shook his head. "He said he didn't touch anything, just ran
out of the room in a panic."

Scully frowned. "So maybe she got up on the chair, and then realized
she'd forgotten the eraser."

"She must have had it at some point. Mr. Kopeck said someone had
erased his Latin phrases. Why would she put it away, halfway through
erasing the board? Someone else was here, Scully. Someone tidied up."

Mulder was regarding her with an air of what looked very much like
smugness. He wanted to prove her wrong, she thought. This wasn't just
about the case. This was about settling some mysterious score.

Scully's gaze drifted to Mr. Kopeck's desk. Dusting powder on the
drawer pulls told her that the forensics team had already collected
prints. If she looked through the desk, would she find the eraser
neatly put away?

She reached down to open the bottom drawer.

****

He was just going to leave town, Mr. Kopeck told himself as he tossed
his books and his gym bag in the front seat of his car and jumped in.
He was going to go home, throw a few things in a suitcase, and then
hit the road and never look back. There was nothing in this town to
hold him here any more anyway.

He had never dreamed that the demon in his desk would kill Mrs.
Chernoff. Scare her a little, maybe; but Mrs. Chernoff had deserved a
little scaring. She'd been a thorn in Mr. Kopeck's side for a couple
of years now, ever since he'd opposed her campaign for a stricter
student dress code. Mr. Kopeck had never understood why teenage girls
in belly shirts were supposed to be the ultimate peril to Western
Civilization, and he'd told Mrs. Chernoff so. Since then she'd had it
in for him, the meddling old busybody...

He caught himself. Jesus, that was a fine way to refer to the dead.
Poor Mrs. Chernoff was never going to meddle in anything again, and
it was all his fault.

He'd been horrified when he'd heard about her accident. Of course,
that was only the second shock to his system in a week. The first had
come when the incantation in that dusty old book of his father's had
actually worked. He'd almost peed himself, then. He still might pee
himself.

Now there was a death on his head. Maybe two deaths -- he still
wasn't sure about Mrs. Stiller, the guidance counselor. Supposedly
she'd killed herself, but who could say for sure? They'd found her
dead in her office on Tuesday, with an empty bottle of Valium in her
hand. She'd called a friend that same day, though, sobbing and saying
that she was going insane. She'd called her priest, too, leaving a
message on his answering machine asking about exorcism. What if she'd
seen the demon in his desk drawer? He'd talked himself out of feeling
responsible, but now he was starting to have doubts again.

Damn it, how had he gotten himself into this mess? The whole thing
had seemed ridiculous, a chant for calling an evil spirit from the
underworld. Just a big joke. He didn't even believe in an underworld,
for God's sake -- how was he supposed to know he could actually
summon a demon?

Well, he was getting out of here. Let someone else find the horrible
thing; he was washing his hands of it. He was going to head somewhere
sunnier and more modern than this oppressive little town, Phoenix or
Miami or L.A., someplace where pretty women wore bathing suits nine
months of the year. He was going to start a new life. From this day
forward, he wasn't going to be the loser for whom everyone in town
felt sorry. Instead he was going to be the most careful, most
capable, most self-assured man in the world.

Yes, that's what he was going to do. His life had gotten completely
out of control, and the only thing to do was start fresh.

Halfway to the health club, Mr. Kopeck discovered that the demon was
in his gym bag.

End 1/10

From: MaybeAmanda <maybe_a@rocketmail.com>

MALUS GENIUS  02/10

by MaybeAmanda & Plausible Deniability
maybe_a@rocketmail.com  / pdeniability@hotmail.com 
See part 01 for Disclaimers, etc., and part 10 for Notes
****

"But Scully..."

"Valium, Mulder. If you swallow them back like they're M&M's, you
die."

They were eating, or rather waiting to eat, in the village's small
diner. Mulder had no idea what to call the meal they were about to
have. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner; what's
more, distrust of the menu had compelled him to order the all-day
breakfast. "But you said there were teeth marks..."

"Which, Principal Waters assures us, were likely caused by rats."

"Come on, Scully..."

She held up a forestalling hand. "She swallowed a handful of pills,
Mulder. She went into respiratory arrest and then she died. Her body
wasn't found until the next morning. The rats gnawed on her during
the night. End of mystery."

Mulder opened his mouth to reply -- argue, really -- when their
young, leggy, and oh-so-teenaged waitress dropped his plate in front
of him with an unnecessary thud and frowned rather fetchingly. "We,
like, didn't have any more hash browns."

"What?" Mulder glanced down at his plate. Home fries. Whatever. "Oh.
That's fine. Now, Scu -- "

The girl rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, holding the
tray in front of her like a particularly ugly melamine shield. "And
no, um, white bread, so you've got, like, whole wheat."

"Yes, I see that." He did, too. "That's okay, that's great. Really."
He flashed a quick *everything's-fine-here-now-go-away* smile and
turned back to his partner. "Scully, I -- "

"And I don't think the cook knew what you meant by 'overheard,' so,
like, he made the eggs sunny-side-up. Sorta. See?"

Mulder looked down at the mess on the plate before him, really looked
this time, and all but cringed. Sorta was right. Yuck. Insufficiently
toasted toast, too-browned potatoes, and he half-expected the seeping
yellow slime to resolve itself into yolky worms, crawl up his left
nostril (or maybe the right; it was hard to guess what semi-sentient
yolk creatures might do, given half a chance) and attempt to
infiltrate his brain.

Not, he thought with a mental sigh, that brain infiltration would
necessarily be a bad thing, right now. Not that it would in any way
make the day worse.

He'd asked, of course, for eggs *over hard*, something he hadn't done
in years, probably since Oxford. The English had an interesting knack
for overcooking everything that should have been, maybe, a little
undercooked, and undercooking anything that, by all the laws of god
and man, should have had the living tar flamed out of it. He'd
learned to ask for his eggs *over hard* after his first nauseating
encounter with a couple of underdone ones and the startling
realization that semi-congealed egg white looked alarmingly like --

"Is that okay?"

"S'fine," he assured the waitress without much conviction. Whoever
said the all-day breakfast was always a safe bet had clearly spent no
time in Craftsbury Common, Vermont.

"Oh and, like, we only had orange juice." She twitched her head from
side to side with what was becoming a grin, and her ash blonde
ponytail brushing from shoulder to shoulder. Across the table, Scully
almost choked on a mouthful of BLT.

Mulder was not a stupid man. Slow, sometimes, yes, but not stupid.
The light having dawned, he put on his best smile and pinned her with
what was meant to be a flirtatious gaze. "You aren't from around
here, are you" -- he made a show of eyeing the name tag pinned to her
shirt-straining left breast -- "Kandee?"

"Nuh uh," she beamed, shaking her pretty, apparently vacant head and
setting the ponytail in motion again. "My family just moved here,
like, about a year ago, right? From California? And, like, you,
you're from the FBI, right?"

"Yes, *we* are," Scully chimed in, her eyes still down. Mulder sensed
that if she looked up at him or at Miss Congeniality, Scully was in
serious danger of losing it.

Kandee glanced over at Scully as if she really hadn't expected to
find an especially unattractive warthog sitting at her station, then
turned her attention back to Mulder. "Brittany, she's in my gym
class? She said you're here investigating Mrs. Chernoff's murder."

"Your gym class?" Mulder repeated absently, wondering if there was
anything edible on the dessert menu.

"Uh huh. She said the school board called the FBI in 'cause they
think there's a serial killer loose in the school. Like 'Scream' or
something."

"'Scream' or something?" Maybe the coffee -- no, Mulder could see a
fine film of oil swirling on top of it. "They do, do they?"

"Uh huh. First Mrs. Stiller, and then Mrs. Chernoff. That's, like, a
pattern, right? An accelerating pattern. I saw that on 'The
Profiler.'"

Mulder gave Scully a significant look. He'd been suggesting a
connection between the two deaths -- albeit not this connection --
and had only gotten some comment about putting his overactive
imagination to better use for his trouble. Fabulous mouth on Scully,
no question about it, but the things that came out of it,
sometimes...

"We're here looking into Mrs. Chernoff's death," Scully answered. "It
seems to have been an unfortunate accident. Could I get another Coke,
please?"

"Yeah, right." Kandee flipped the tray over to her right hip. "No way
that was a accident. Mrs. Chernoff is -- was -- a really hard grader,
you know? Everyone hated Mrs. Chernoff."

"Did they?" Scully sounded even more bored than usual.

"Well, okay, not everyone." Kandee took a step closer to Mulder. "But
someone must have, right? 'Cause, like, they killed her."

"That's an interesting theory, Kandee." Mulder pulled out his
notebook. "Let me take your -- "

Mulder was interrupted by the sound of ice hitting glass. "Coke?"
Scully asked, and rattled the tumbler again. "And no ice this time,
please?"

Kandee took the tumbler with a tight little smile that said she knew
Scully wasn't much of a tipper, and turned on her platform
sneaker-clad heel. "Certainly." She tossed Mulder another jailbait
grin and bounced off to the kitchen.

Scully arched an eyebrow in the direction of Mulder's notebook. "What
was that about?"

"What was what about?" Mulder tucked the pad back into his pocket.
"She could have some information, some insight. She seemed eager
enough to talk."

"Eager is right." Scully took another bite of her sandwich, chewed
and swallowed. "Please, Mulder. She's young enough to be your daught
-- well, definitely to be your daughter's really good friend."

Mulder's mouth twisted. Another crack about his age? Yesterday she'd
idly mentioned, post-coitally, that she wished she could have known
him "when he was still in his prime." The remark wouldn't have
bothered him so much, maybe, if he hadn't just been congratulating
himself on having given what he'd thought was a pretty energetic
performance.

As if that weren't bad enough, she'd twisted the knife early this
morning in the shower. Without warning she had not-so-delicately
yanked a hair from somewhere in the vicinity of his right nipple.
Then she'd frowned at it thoughtfully, said "Hmmm...a gray one," and
let it wash unceremoniously down the drain.

"I'm guessing she was born in about 1984," Scully said, staring off
in Kandee's direction. "That would have put you...where, Mulder? At
Quantico?"

"Oxford, actually," he said, trying to sound not at all bothered by
the question.

He looked down morosely at his runny eggs.

****

The demon made its presence known as Mr. Kopeck approached a stop
sign. The bag stirred, and a voice, muffled but nevertheless horrible
and otherworldly, rumbled "Expedi me."

Mr. Kopeck almost rear-ended the Volvo in front of him.

"Expedi me," repeated the voice -- set me free.

"No!" said Mr. Kopeck, his heart beginning to pound wildly. "I told
you before, I'm never letting you out. If I could send you back to
wherever it is you came from, I would."

"Expedi me!"

"No." Mr. Kopeck shook his head emphatically, the hair on the back of
his neck bristling. "Tibi non licet exire."

"I will crush you utterly. I will feast on your flesh!" snarled the
demon in Latin.

It can't get out unless I let it out, Mr. Kopeck reminded himself
fearfully. It's like a genie in a bottle.

"Carnim tuam epulabor!" repeated the demon, his voice booming through
the car.

"I know what you did to Mrs. Chernoff," Mr. Kopeck said, gripping the
steering wheel so tightly his knuckles showed white. "Why would you
do something like that?"

The gym bag shook with the demon's evil laughter. "Latibulum meum
aperuit," he said -- she opened the drawer.

Mr. Kopeck shivered. "Jesus, you're an evil little shit."

The demon just laughed harder.

Damn, Mr. Kopeck swore to himself. What was he supposed to do?
Nothing in fourteen years of teaching had prepared him for handling
warty, foul-mouthed spawns of Satan.

High school students were frequently foul-mouthed and sadistic, but
very few of them had horns and came from the dark netherworld.

****

Mulder moved his eggs around on his plate. There was no sense fooling
himself; he was pushing forty. He *was* getting old. It was only a
matter of time before he was watching Matlock reruns and playing
shuffleboard in Bermuda shorts.

"Mulder?" Scully interrupted his wallow in self-pity.

"Hmm?"

"What was it you were saying before Hurricane Kandee blew through
here?"

"What? Oh -- Kandee. Did you notice the desk blotter in Principal
Waters' office?"

She shook her head. "No."

"There was a note for an appointment. 'Kopeck re: K. Caine, 7th p."

"So?"

"Mrs. Chernoff was killed right after seventh period, in Mr. Kopeck's
room. And I'm willing to bet that's K. Caine, who just told us
everyone hated Mrs. Chernoff, on her way over here right now with
your Coke."

He paused as Kandee set the tumbler in front of Scully. She turned to
him. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Just the check, Miss Caine."

She beamed at him. "Certainly. I'll be right back."

Mulder wore a smug look as he watched her saunter off. The smirk was
half self-congratulation at having correctly deduced her name, and
half appreciation of the view. Kandee had the kind of perfect ass
found only on sixteen year old cheerleaders.

"So what does that prove?" Scully's voice suggested a scowl, so her
face wouldn't have to.

"It proves her parents had a weird sense of humor, or really high
hopes she'd have a future in lap-dancing."

"I meant the appointment."

"Oh." He half-shrugged. "Nothing, yet, but it seems a little too 
coincidental."

"Nothing, yet? Look, Mulder, I think you're trying to make
connections that don't exist."

"It's possible," Mulder agreed, inwardly discounting the possibility.
"But, statistically, the violent deaths of two teachers in a tiny
little nowhere high school in the span of six days is suspicious."

Scully didn't quite roll her eyes. "It's anomalous, I agree." A glob
of mayonnaise hung mesmerizingly at the corner of her mouth and she
swiped it away with her tongue, a move Mulder found rather
distracting. "But anomalous is not the same as suspicious."

"Mrs. Stiller called her priest and complained she was having visions
of demons..."

"A psychosis which no doubt explains how she got hold of a
prescription for 60-odd diazepam."

"...and Mrs. Chernoff had complained to her doctor only a few days
before that she was hearing voices that weren't there. 'Weird
chanting, and after all the students had gone home' were her exact
words."

"I know, I heard her doctor, too." Scully frowned. "So, fine. She
said she was hearing things. Chanting. From this we can conclude that
she was -- what? Fantasy prone, maybe? Suggestible, if she knew all
about Mrs. Stiller, with whom she was apparently friends? In the
early stages of an organic or mental illness? Delusional?"

Mulder half-shrugged. Some days he wondered if they were going to
play these games forever. "Maybe. But both of them..."

"So, yes, statistically it's an aberration, but that's all it is."

He took a deep breath. "Possibly."

Scully hesitated. Then she sighed and her expression softened.
"Mulder, I know why we're here."

"Oh? You do?"

"I do." She nodded. "And I appreciate it. I appreciate that you were
actually listening when I said I wanted to get out of DC for a few
days."  She startled Mulder by reaching across the table and brushing
his knuckles, quickly, with her fingers. "And I appreciate that you
tried to find an official excuse to use as a pretext. I know you take
this work seriously and it has to be hard for you to chase these
pretend leads. But there's no case here. There's no X-File. There's
nothing here but a couple of unfortunate, unrelated deaths." Her lips
quirked into a tiny grin. "And a really useful king-sized four-poster
back at the bed and breakfast."

Mulder contemplated this sudden, unexpectedly pleasant assault. Even
he had to agree that, while strange, the evidence didn't point to a
whole lot of anything. There were some odd elements to the deaths,
true, but they weren't all that odd. And to be honest, his
Spidey-sense just wasn't tingling the way it usually did when
something weird was going on. "Really useful, huh?"

Scully gathered her coat and stood, brushing a few crumbs from her
suit jacket. "Pay the bubblehead and I'll show you how useful." She
smiled, instantly inflating his ego, and promising to do the same for
regions lower.

Mulder returned her smile with one of his own as he threw a twenty on
the table and placed his hand squarely on the small of Scully's back.
No, he thought wickedly; this no-longer-in-his-prime guy is going to
show *you* just how useful.

****
End 02/10

From: MaybeAmanda <maybe_a@rocketmail.com>

MALUS GENIUS  03/10

by Plausible Deniability and MaybeAmanda
pdeniability@hotmail.com / maybe_a@rocketmail.com
See part 01 for Disclaimers, etc., and part 10 for Notes

****
Mr. Kopeck's breath came in short puffs as he hiked to the ridgetop
at the edge of the village, the gym bag slung awkwardly over one
shoulder.

He could hear the demon snarling at him from inside the bag. "Saccum
patefac, pedicator!"

"I'm not opening the bag," Mr. Kopeck panted. "And stop calling me a
buttfucker."

He had left his car parked in an empty lot, where the falling leaves
were collecting on the hood and against the hubcaps. Now, as he
approached the edge of the high ridge that overlooked the woods far
below, it seemed to him that the gym bag grew heavier with every
step.

"Huius te paenitebit," hissed the demon -- you will regret this.

Mr. Kopeck stumbled to the edge of the ridge, and paused for a moment
on the precipice. Before him, the forested hills and mountains of
Vermont's Northeast Kingdom stretched out for miles in all
directions. The early October colors in the valley below might have
taken his breath away, if he hadn't already been breathless from
lugging the cursing demon up the slope.

"The only thing I regret," Mr. Kopeck said, lifting the gym bag over
his head, "is stupidly summoning you in the first place."

With that, he heaved the Nike bag out into the valley beneath him. It
sailed out, spiraling down, down, down, until finally the dark blue
tote disappeared from view in the thick treetops far below.

"Thank God," whispered Mr. Kopeck under his breath. Perhaps someday a
cross-country skier or a hiker might find the bag, but Mr. Kopeck
rather doubted it. The countryside was remote enough, and the winter
snow-cover constant enough, that no one was likely to discover one
little demon in a zippered bag. Mr. Kopeck dusted off his hands, and
turned back toward the village for the trudge to his car.

His heart was light -- well, at least lighter -- as he drove past the
Common with its white steepled church and baseball diamond, past the
high school and the library and the village post office. This might
be the most boring town in New England, he thought, but right now
boring was exactly what he needed.

As he slowed his Camry at the quiet intersection, he spied the two
FBI agents from the high school that afternoon, emerging from the
diner. He stuck his arm out the car window to give them a cheery
little wave. The redhead was damned attractive, he thought, craning
his neck to watch her walking away; it was nice to see a woman
dressed in something other than corduroy and flannel.

That was the problem with Craftsbury Common, he thought, making the
turn toward his house -- well, one of the many problems. All of the
good-looking women moved away as soon as they were old enough to
afford a ticket out of town. That left only the strapping androgynous
women who'd graduated from the local college with a degree in
Forestry, women who could fell a spruce with two or three chops of
their mighty arms; or, on the other end of the spectrum, the little
blue-haired old ladies who kept bed and breakfasts for the tourists.
Was it any wonder he had a hard time keeping his eyes off his high
school students?

Well, he'd worry about that, and about his little problem with
Principal Waters, some other time. Right now he was just going to
enjoy the feeling of having rid himself of the demon. With
satisfaction he pushed the button on his garage door opener, and
pulled slowly into his garage. With satisfaction he got out of the
car and slammed the door soundly behind him. Free -- he was free.

It was such a good feeling that, even after he stepped inside the
house and switched on the kitchen light, it took him a minute to
realize that something about the room was different.

The gym bag was sitting on his kitchen table.

****

The four-poster in Scully's room was big, one of those colonial-style
affairs that stood high off the floor, so high that the furniture
included a pair of mahogany steps for climbing into bed. Mulder
restrained himself from making a joke about Scully's little legs, and
closed the door to her room quietly behind them.

She was already removing her jacket and toeing off her pumps. He
might be past his prime, Mulder thought with a slight shake of his
head, but Scully was pretty obviously entering hers. These days she
was apt to get down to business without so much as a preliminary
glance. Sometimes he even found it a little disturbing.

He started unbuttoning his shirt while she efficiently shed her
clothes. In no time she was nude. She climbed up and sat on the bed,
watching him with a smile while he finished undressing.

Her frank curiosity seemed out of place amid the picturesque
old-fashioned furnishings. The room didn't even have a television,
for God's sake. He turned his back to her to peel off his socks,
feeling slightly ridiculous as he hopped naked on one foot.

Ridiculous, but turned on. He might be pushing forty, but a nude
Scully still worked like magic on his system. That tumbled red hair,
those bee-stung lips, those firm breasts with their rosy nipples,
those sleek legs -- even on a day like today, just the thought of her
could get his motor running.

He went to stand before her, and she scooted to the edge of the bed
to greet him. "You're slowing down, Mulder," she teased, her small
hand closing around his cock. "It used to be that you'd have your
clothes completely off before I could even step out of my shoes." She
tilted her face up for his kiss.

He cradled the back of her head as their tongues twined. After a
moment his hand strayed from her soft hair to her breast, where it
lingered for a few moments, his fingers lightly circling her nipple,
evoking a sigh. Then his hand dipped lower, to find her already
slippery and hot.

She spread her knees a little wider. The mattress was high enough
that, though she was sitting on the edge of the bed and he was
standing before her, their hips were at the same height. Her hand,
which had been stroking up and down his cock, tugged him closer. He
positioned himself against her.  She broke off their kiss and watched
as he eased slowly inside her body.

"Mmmmm..." she sighed.

He'd been watching, too. "Lie back, Scully," he said, a little
hoarsely.

She did. There was something about the sight of Scully, lying flushed
and passionate on the rumpled bed, that sent his pulse into
overdrive. Standing at the edge of the bed this way, he had both his
hands free. He reached out and caressed one of her breasts with his
left hand, while with his right he found her clit, already silky and
wet from his earlier explorations. He began fucking her slowly while
his hands played over her.

"Mulder..."

"Yes?" he said huskily, hoping she was getting ready to talk dirty.

"Why were you so interested in whether the history teacher could read
Latin?"

Mulder felt his hopes plummet like an anvil shoved from a balcony.
"What?"

"Latin. Mr. Kopeck. Oh, yeah, right there..."

"Like this?"

"Like that," she gasped. "Just like that. Yeah. What about the
Latin?"

"Could we focus, here?"

"I'm focused," she answered, "extremely foc -- oh, focused. Now
explain the Latin."

"I wanted to know because," he said, punctuating every couple of
syllables by stroking firmly into her, "historically in the West,
rites of summoning and exorcism have usually been in Latin."

"Summoning and exorcism? But that's -- oh god." Scully wiggled her
hips closer to intensify the contact. "But that's only because Latin
was the language of the early Church, and not" -- she gasped as he
thrust harder -- "not because there's anything intrinsically magical
in the language. And what's it got to do with...with...oh..."

He didn't answer, too intent on the slick plunge of his body into
hers. Scully's hands clutched the sheets. "Did you know Mr. Kopeck
was sweating today when he came by his classroom?"

Speaking of sweat, Mulder felt a trickle inching its way down between
his shoulder blades. "Really?" he said, hooking a hand under her
right knee and lifting it higher.

"Mmmmm-hmmm."

Mulder was beginning to pant, his chest rising and falling with each
impassioned breath.

"That was an odd look Principal Waters gave him, too," Scully added
thoughtfully.

Mulder frowned. Damn, when was she ever going to stop talking? Wasn't
this doing anything for her at all?

"Maybe it wouldn't hurt if we checked him out," Scully said.

He'd once been afraid that the sex might interfere with the work; it
had never occurred to him that, in fact, it might be the other way
around. "Am I keeping you awake?"

She smiled up at him. "I'd just like to ask him if -- ohhh, Mulder,
that's good just like that -- "

Finally, Mulder thought with gratitude. He'd been starting to wonder
if she even realized they were having sex.

"Oh, yes, oh -- " Scully moaned, a blissful expression dawning on her
face.

She looked like a goddess on the bed before him, Mulder thought: her
red hair spread over the ivory coverlet, her eyes heavy-lidded, her
breasts bouncing slightly with his exertions. God, she was beautiful.
Suddenly he, too, wished she could have known him when he was in his
prime. Then maybe she wouldn't have been able to do this and talk
work at the same time. One of these days he was going to find it
difficult to keep up with her...

That day wasn't quite here yet, though. He still had a few good years
left in him. A perverse desire seized him to outdo Scully at sexual
multitasking.

"So...you think we should interview the teacher?" he asked, thrusting
firmly into her.

She opened one eye and looked at him in surprise. "Yes," she gasped.

He rubbed her swollen clit. "So you're beginning to think the deaths
might be more than mere anomalies?"

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip and nodded.

"You think it might even be an X-File?" he demanded, fucking her with
pure determination.

She bunched the bedcovers in her fists. "Yes," she panted. "Oh --
yes!"

Her back arched. She squeezed her eyes closed and came, moaning his
name in a long, shuddering sigh.

Mulder watched the whole thing with a surge of satisfaction. "Jesus,
Scully," he said. He could still feel the tremors rippling through
her.

He figured he'd proved his point.

She smiled, slowly opened sleepy eyes, and stretched her arms out in
an invitation. He covered her body with his. As he kissed her
hungrily she lifted her legs higher, wrapping them around his back.

He went a little crazy then, thrusting into her, still half-standing,
his toes digging into the Oriental carpet for purchase. Oh God, oh
God, oh my God, he thought, his brain whirling feverishly. He was not
too old for this, he would never be too old for this, he'd show her
just how many good years he had left --

He groaned, and spilled into her.

He was dizzy afterward -- he was always dizzy afterward -- so dizzy
that he even forgot for a moment where he was, and why he was
half-on, half-off an enormous four-poster bed. Gradually, however,
with the slowing of his heartbeat, lucidity returned. He realized
that Scully was speaking to him.

He looked down.

"We should probably ask Mr. Kopeck about Kandee," she was saying
matter-of-factly underneath him, in perfect FBI Agent mode, "and if
he had any reason to want Mrs. Chernoff out of the way..."

***************
End 03/10

From: MaybeAmanda <maybe_a@rocketmail.com>

MALUS GENIUS  04/10

by MaybeAmanda & Plausible Deniability
maybe_a@rocketmail.com / pdeniability@hotmail.com
See part 01 for Disclaimers, etc., and part 10 for Notes

***

Mr. Kopeck tossed his copy of "Claudius the God" down beside him on
the couch, and stared at the gym bag in the center of his living
room.  It was no use trying to read over the demon's steady stream of
invective.

"Foolish mortal!  I will torment thee beyond imagining!" snarled the
demon in Latin.

Mr. Kopeck frowned.  "Yeah, you talk real big for somebody in a gym
bag."

Twenty-four hours of hearing the demon cursing at him had
strengthened his resolve considerably.  He was still afraid of it,
but he was damned if he was going to let it push him around.

"Te exanimabo!" snarled the demon. "Testiculos tuos dentibus
sanguinolentis conteram!"

Mr. Kopeck put his feet up on the coffee table.  "Kiss my entire
ass."

The gym bag fairly shook with rage.

Mr. Kopeck smiled in satisfaction.  If he was going to go to hell
anyway, he thought, he might as well enjoy the trip.

The sound of the doorbell halted the demon in mid-curse.  Mr. Kopeck
got to his feet, wondering who could be at his door.  Usually when
students toilet-papered his front yard, they just honked their car
horns.

He opened the front door, and froze.

"Oh my God," he said finally.  "Kandee."

The blonde smiled up at him.  "Mr. Kopeck, you are, like, totally
cute when you're surprised."

She was wearing a short pleated skirt and a skin-tight top that was
just abbreviated enough for him to see the ring in her navel.  Mr.
Kopeck swallowed, and found his voice again.  "Quick," he said,
reaching out to haul her inside.  "Get in here before someone sees
you."

Kandee's nose crinkled happily as he yanked her in and shut the door.
 "Mr. Kopeck!  I was hoping you'd be glad to see me, but you are sooo
the eager beaver."

His lips thinned into a grim line.  He took one look at the living
room, remembered the demon in the gym bag, and marched Kandee in the
other direction, toward his kitchen.  If Principal Waters got wind of
this visit, he thought, there was going to be hell to pay.

"Sit down," he said, pushing her toward a dinette chair.

She sat.

"Kandee," he said, stabbing an accusing finger in her direction, "do
you have any idea how much trouble you've already gotten me into?"

Blue eyes blinked up at him innocently.  "Me?  Like, what did I do?"

Mr. Kopeck clasped his hands behind his back, and glared at her. 
"You know very well what you did!  First you proposition me -- "

"Proposition you?  Like, no way, Mr. K."  She tucked her chin and
looked up at him through her lashes, a hint of a grin on her lips. 
"Or can I call you, you know, Larry, now?"

"You most certainly may not call me Larry.  And I think 'I'll do
anything if you change that D to a B, Mr. Kopeck. Anything, anything
at all,' is pretty clear.  I haven't seen such a blatant come-on
since Ginger found out Gilligan was judging the Ms. Castaway
contest."

"Since who was, like, what?" Kandee asked, even more confused than
he'd come to expect from his weakest student.

"Never mind," he half-snarled.  "That's not even the worst of it. 
Did you really have to go telling all your friends about your offer,
making it sound like I was actually considering it?"

"Oh please."  Kandee balled her fists on her shapely hips, pulling
her T-shirt even tighter

He shook his head in confusion.  "Look, that's beside the point.  The
point is, word of your little offer got back to Principal Waters. 
Only, the way he heard it, I propositioned you."

Kandee squealed.  "Seriously?  Oh, that is, like, totally hilarious!"

"Yes," said Mr. Kopeck dryly.  "When he told me he wanted to fire me,
I thought I was going to bust a gut."

Kandee giggled.  "You are sooo funny, Larry," she said.  "That's why
I like you so much."

"Don't say that.  And don't call me Larry."

She grinned up at him frankly, the dimples deepening in her cheeks. 
"But I do like you.  For an old guy, you're totally hot."

He was struggling not to notice the shininess of her ash blonde hair,
the pertness of her upturned nose, the taut muscles of her teenage
body.  She had the kind of flat stomach that made him want to reach
out and run his hand over her smooth skin.

Good lord, he was old enough to be her father.

"What if someone knew you were here right now, Kandee?" he asked in a
strained voice.  "What if your parents knew, or Principal Waters? 
Can you imagine what they would think?"

"No," she said.  "What?"

Mr. Kopeck counted slowly to ten.  "Kandee, you should go now."

She leaned closer, her soft lips parted.  "I really don't want to get
cut from the cheerleading squad.  But, like, the grade wasn't the
only reason I offered, you know?"

The shirt she wore was cut low, so low he could almost see the tops
of her nipples.  Mr. Kopeck looked away hastily.  "It doesn't matter
why you offered, Kandee," he said stiffly.  "You should go."

"Are you sure?" she asked, her voice a husky whisper.

Mr. Kopeck swallowed.  "Kandee..."

They both froze as the doorbell rang for the second time that day.

****

Mr. Kopeck lived in an ordinary white clapboard house on an ordinary
street in an ordinary neighborhood.  As Mulder knocked, Scully noted
some flaking paint on the shutters, and a spectacular display of late
fall dandelions going to seed in the front lawn.

"Agent Scully?"  Mr. Kopeck half-asked, obviously surprised and
flustered to find them on his doorstep.  He looked at her, blinked
twice, then shifted his gaze.  "And Agent, um..."

"Mulder," her partner supplied smoothly, slipping his badge back into
his pocket.  "We'd like to ask you a few questions.  May we come in?"

"What?  Oh.  Of...of course."  Mr. Kopeck stood aside and ushered
them, with what looked like reluctance, into his living room.  "But I
told the police everything I could think of..."

"Routine follow-up, Mr. Kopeck," Scully assured him, taking in the
sparse furnishings and minimalist decor.  There was a gray rectangle
under the window where the carpet was still its true color and deep
indentations near the corner where a large piece of furniture had
once plainly stood.  A gym bag and some small weights were pushed
under a water-ringed coffee table that matched nothing else in the
room, newspapers were scattered around, and mugs and drinking glasses
rested on most horizontal surfaces.  The couch and matching chair had
seen better days.  The only conversation piece in the room was a
saber-toothed tiger skull on the dusty mantle.

"Routine how?" Kopeck asked apprehensively and tucked his hands into
the front pockets of his jeans.  "I don't know what else I can tell
you about Mrs. Chernoff's awful ... um ... accident."

"We're just finishing up the paperwork," Mulder said easily.  He
pulled out his notepad and pen.  "I'm sure, as you said, that there
isn't much you can add, but since it was your classroom, we have to
conduct a formal interview.  Shouldn't take more than a few minutes."
 He nodded toward the couch.  "May we sit?"

Scully watched Mr. Kopeck's eyes swing around the room.  "Sure," he
said.  "Sure, just let me get this junk out of..."  He lifted the bag
and weights and took them quickly into a room she thought must be the
kitchen.  "I was getting ready to go out..."  His voice drifted off.

"Nervous," Mulder mouthed to her, as if he'd made some great
discovery.

Of course he was nervous.  People almost always got nervous when you
waved a badge in their faces.  Particularly, she'd noticed over the
years, the innocent ones, the ones who thought they'd never have a
run-in with law enforcement more interesting than a speeding ticket. 
"Duh," she mouthed back.  That got her a smile.

"So, um..."  Mr. Kopeck was standing in front of them again.  "Can I
get you anything?" he asked her, without so much as a glance toward
her partner.

"No, thank you," Scully replied.  "We don't want to tie up your
Saturday, Mr. Kopeck.  Especially if you were, as you say, on the way
out."

"That's right," Mulder continued in a tone that was entirely too
jovial.  "I'm sure you've got plans.  If you could just answer a few
questions, we'll get out of your way."

Kopeck perched on the chair opposite them, looking decidedly
uncomfortable.  "I was just going to the gym.  But, all right."

Mulder flipped through his notes.  "You've been at Craftsbury Academy
for six years, is that right?"

"Yes."

"And before that, after graduating from Boston University, you worked
for Art-o-Fax?"

"Yes."  Mr. Kopeck nodded.  "It was the family business."

"Specializing in?"

"Reproductions."

Scully arched an eyebrow.  "Reproduction?"

Kopeck shook his head and grinned a little sheepishly. 
"Reproductions," he said, emphasizing the final *s*.  "Antiquities. 
Coins.  Jewelry.  Movie models.  Fossils, real or imagined."  He
nodded toward the skull on the mantle.  "Copies of the Declaration of
Independence, the Treaty of Versailles.  That sort of thing.  Mainly
mail order."

"And your mother sold the business after his death?"

"The time was right," Mr. Kopeck nodded.  "Dad started out doing
props for theatre in college, then got into movie work, doing sets,
props, special effects.  The business started out as a sideline, and
grew from there.  But it was more work than either mom or I wanted to
put into it after he was gone."

"Movie work?" Mulder leaned forward, a curious gleam lighting his
eyes despite the routine nature of the questioning. "Your father
wouldn't happen to have been Richard Tyler Kopeck, would he?"

Mr. Kopeck looked surprised.  "You've heard of him?"

Mulder nodded rapidly and scooted even farther forward, so far that
Scully momentarily feared he was going to fall off the edge of his
seat.  "I've seen every -- " he began eagerly.

Just then he seemed to recall her presence, and that they were in the
middle of and interview with a suspect.  He stopped, glanced at her
quickly, and then looked back down at his notes.  "That is, uh..." 
Mulder flipped a page.  "You did keep a few souvenirs from your
father's business when you sold it, is that right?"

"Yes."  Mr. Kopeck's frown grew.  "Look, I don't see what this..."

"I don't either."  Mulder gave a *what-can-you-do-about-it?* shrug. 
He was really playing up the Good Cop routine, Scully thought.  "But
I have to ask.  For the report.  I'm sure, being a teacher, you can
understand about paperwork."

"Oh."  Mr. Kopeck sounded deflated.  "Yes, of course."

"You live here alone?"

His mouth twitched.  "I do now."

Mulder nodded in that *been-there-done-that* way he had.  "Children?"

"Just the ones I teach."

"We interviewed a Miss..."  Mulder turned to her.  "What was her
name, Scully?  Sandy?  Mandy?"

Finally, Scully thought, her cue. "Kandee, I believe.  Kandee Caine."

Across from them, Mr. Kopeck's jaw dropped.  He glanced quickly from
one of them to the other, alarm in his expression.  He appeared to
decide that she promised a more sympathetic ear, even if she was
supposed to be the Bad Cop.  "Look," he said to her in a rush,
"whatever she told you, it isn't true."

Scully felt her eyebrows climb.  Oh, brother.  So he was hiding
something after all.  "And exactly which part wasn't true?"

Mr. Kopeck swallowed nervously.  "All of it.  Or some of it. 
Whatever she told you about -- about us."

"About the two of you?" Scully asked.

Mr. Kopeck had gone absolutely pale.  "I never touched her -- I
swear!"

Scully traded a look with Mulder.

"It's just..."  Mr. Kopeck shifted his appeal to the only other man
in the room.  "It's just, women today -- "  He shook his head in
confusion.

"What about women today?" Scully asked, a little sharply.

"I wish I knew," Mr. Kopeck said, with a helpless gesture.  "I grew
up in this town.  It used to take three dates just to get to second
base, for God's sake.  There used to be rules."

Scully wondered if Mulder was as baffled by all this as she was. 
"What does any of this have to do with you and Kandee, Mr. Kopeck?"

He shook his head.  "Don't you see?  This place is one of the most
old-fashioned, traditional little towns you could ever hope to find -
and even so, there are sixteen-year-old young women with navel
piercings jumping out at a person from behind every tree."

Scully was still in the dark, but she could see Mulder nodding
sagely.  "Sexual politics aren't what they used to be, even in small
towns."

Scully found herself struggling to catch up.  She frowned at Mr.
Kopeck.  "So you're saying that Kandee...made a pass at you?"

"I was out of the dating scene for thirteen years and, frankly, it
scares me now," said Mr. Kopeck with a troubled expression.  "I'm
only thirty-seven, but it seems to me things used to be different. 
Women used to be different."

Scully waited for Mulder to set Mr. Kopeck straight and forge ahead
with the interrogation.  Instead he surprised her by nodding
sympathetically.  "The sexual dynamic has shifted," he said.  "Women
have always been in charge, but now they don't even bother to pretend
otherwise."

Mr. Kopeck gave Mulder a grateful look.  "That's right.  I knew it
wasn't just me."

Mulder stuffed his notepad back in his breast pocket.  "It's
unsettling, given that modern man evolved from hunter-gatherers."

Again Mr. Kopeck looked at him with gratitude.  "Exactly!  We're
supposed to be the hunters."

"Of course, we're still better off than the male black widow spider. 
The female of the species kills him after they mate," Mulder
observed, using the rapid monotone he usually employed when spinning
theories.  "Or the male praying mantis.  The female mantis is
initially passive throughout the mating dance, letting the male make
all the moves.  If he seems to hesitate, however, she seizes him in
her mandibles and bites off his head, the source of his sexual
inhibitions.  Then, as his now-headless body reflexively proceeds to
mate with her like there's no tomorrow, she continues to devour him. 
Finally there's nothing left except his still-twitching sexual
organs."

"But back to your meeting yesterday, Mr. Kopeck, we -- "  Scully
began, trying to bring the conversation back to the investigation.

"Yes," Mr. Kopeck replied glumly, ignoring Scully altogether, "at
least we're better off than that.  I sometimes think we're headed in
that direction, though."

Scully clenched her jaw, biting back her growing irritation. 
Mulder's apparent inability to stay on topic was annoying enough all
by itself.  Not only that, but she sensed he intended his little
side-trip into entomology as a veiled jab at her.

Enough, she thought.  If Mulder was the Good Cop, that must make her
the Bad Cop.  She'd just put an end to this conversation.  "So Mrs.
Chernoff found out about your affair with Kandee?"

"No!" said Mr. Kopeck, his gaze darting to her wildly.  "No, you have
it all wrong.  There was no affair.  Kandee was worried about her
grades, and rightly so, and, and...well, she propositioned me.  Her
exact wording was 'a lay for an A, Mr. K.'"  He blushed slightly, and
shot Scully an apologetic glance.  "I told her in no uncertain terms
that I wasn't interested, that I AM not interested, but the next
thing I know I'm being called down to Principal Waters' office to
explain the affair Kandee and I never had."

"I see."  Scully nodded slightly. "Mr. Kopeck, when we spoke with
her, Kandee implied that Mrs. Chernoff was not well liked by the
students...or the staff."

He was silent for a second, absorbing this information, and then a
look of horror dawned on his face.  "Oh my God.  You think -- don't
tell me you suspect Kandee and I planned -- "

"Just routine questions, Mr. Kopeck."

"I thought you said it was an accident."  He didn't look at her,
instead choosing to pick at a spot on the arm of his chair.  "The
coroner here said it was."

"It seems to have been," Mulder reassured him.  "We're just tying up
a few loose ends."

"Because I would never kill anyone, and as for Kandee...well, if you
knew her, you'd realize she's hardly the criminal mastermind type."

"I can believe that," Scully said dryly.

Silence fell.  Then, from the kitchen, she heard a faint rustling. 
She could tell Mr. Kopeck heard it, too, because he sat bolt upright.

"Is there someone else here?" she asked.

"No!"

"Because I thought I heard something -- "

"It's a rat," said Mr. Kopeck quickly.

"A rat?"

"A rat.  Absolutely."

They all looked at one another.

After a moment Mr. Kopeck sighed and said, "Okay, I admit it.  I have
a confession to make.  Kandee was here earlier.  I hustled her out
the back door when you rang the doorbell, but it's not what you
think.  I never expected her to drop by, and I asked her to leave as
soon as she arrived.  Absolutely nothing happened.  If I seem jumpy,
it's just that this has been a tough week for me.  My job is on the
line."

Mulder, the Good Cop, nodded.  "Thank you for telling us."

Mr. Kopeck stood up.  "Now is there anything else you need to ask me?
 Because I'd really like to get to the gym."

Scully shook her head.  "Nothing else."

"Good."

She and Mulder both got to their feet, and Mr. Kopeck ushered them
the few steps to his front door.  "I'm glad you understand about
Kandee," he said, with a nervous smile.  "Even a false accusation of
impropriety..."  His voice trailed off.

"It's the sort of thing that could ruin a career," Mulder agreed with
a nod.

Mr. Kopeck sighed.  "Even if it is only a teaching career."

They shook hands and he closed the door behind them.

A few seconds later, as she and Mulder were getting in the rental car
they'd left parked in the driveway, Mr. Kopeck's garage door opened. 
The man must be a regular fiend for working out, Scully thought.  She
could see him hurrying into his Camry, his weights in one hand and
his blue leather Nike bag slung over his shoulder.

"Did you ever work out, Mulder?" she asked.

He shot her a strange look.  "I still do."

She raised an eyebrow.  "Do you?" she said, fastening her seatbelt. 
"Huh."

****
End 04/10

From: MaybeAmanda <maybe_a@rocketmail.com>

MALUS GENIUS  05/10

by Plausible Deniability and MaybeAmanda
pdeniability@hotmail.com / maybe_a@rocketmail.com
See part 01 for Disclaimers, etc., and part 10 for Notes

****

"Well, I think that went rather well, all things considered," said
Mr. Kopeck to the gym bag on the seat beside him.  He wiped the sweat
from his brow with an unsteady hand.

A furious voice from inside the bag rumbled, "Pedicator!"

Mr. Kopeck sighed.  "I told you to stop calling me a buttfucker. 
Besides, can't you think of something a little more original?"

He felt a sense of relief.  He'd made it through an encounter with
Kandee, and gotten rid of her without doing anything he should
regret.  He'd survived an actual interrogation -- well, questioning,
anyway -- from a pair of FBI agents, and said nothing to make them
suspect he was harboring the murderous spawn of Satan.  Most
importantly, neither Kandee nor the agents had discovered the demon
in his house.  He was starting to feel like he might actually have a
handle on the situation.

The gym bag stirred, and the demon spoke again.  "Expedi me!" it
demanded for the hundredth time that weekend -- set me free.

Mr. Kopeck, both hands on the steering wheel, broke into a falsetto
rendition of Sting's "If you Love Somebody Set Them Free":  "Free,
free, set them free, who-o-oa..." he warbled.  "Free, free, set them
free..."

"Puellae modo cantas," spat the demon from inside the bag -- you sing
like a girl.

"I sing like Sting," Mr. Kopeck corrected, relief making him
flippant.  "You're just unable to appreciate it fully because there's
no music and no tantric sex in the underworld."

"Verpam meam suge, mentula contumax!"

"Now, now," said Mr. Kopeck mildly.  "I think I actually preferred it
when you called me a buttfucker."

He turned the car down the road that would take him to the gym. 
Birch trees and a white-washed wooden fence lined the quiet road. 
From behind the white fence, a brown cow watched his car go by with
bovine indifference.

"I haven't given up yet, you know," said Mr. Kopeck to the demon. 
"I'm sure eventually I'll find some way to get rid of you.  My father
did.  An exorcism, maybe."

"Cacabo ego vos et irrumabo!" the demon snarled -- I will shit on you
and fuck your face.

Mr. Kopeck shook his head sadly.  "My, my, we certainly have a
serious case of potty mouth today."

He swung into the parking lot of the gym, pulled into a space, and
cut the engine.  "You be quiet from now on," he told the demon as he
picked up the gym bag.  "I thought I was going to have a heart attack
back at the house, when that FBI agent heard you stirring."

Whether the demon was actually heeding him or was just too furious to
answer, all was silent as Mr. Kopeck strode into the gym with the
Nike bag over his shoulder.
******

Even in the car, it smelled like autumn: crisp air, burning leaves. 
This was the kind of quiet country place that most people pictured
when they heard the word "romantic," Scully thought as they drove
back to the bed and breakfast.  It was certainly having that effect
on her.

"Well, I guess that settles that," she said, admiring the red and
gold beauty of the landscape.  "Mr. Kopeck didn't particularly strike
me as the Svengali-type who would put a teenage girl up to murder."

"No," Mulder agreed.  "And despite her air of brilliance and
intrigue, Kandee never really struck me as the murderous type,
either."

He appeared not to notice her pointed look.

"So is that it for this case?" she asked.  "Are we agreed the two
deaths at the high school were just an unfortunate coincidence?"

Mulder frowned slightly. "I'm not sure.  Kopeck's family history does
suggest some interesting possibilities."

"It does?"

"I'm thinking of his father.  Richard Tyler Kopeck was more than just
some guy who sold genuine fake EBE skeletons by mail, Scully.  He was
prop master and special effects consultant on a number of
well-respected cinematic classics and -- "

"Was he?"  She folded her arms under her breasts.  She needed a
coffee.  And some Mulder.  Not necessarily in that order.  "Which
ones?  Casablanca? Citizen Kane?  Braveheart?"

Mulder snorted.  "I said 'classics.'  Unearthly Evil I, II, and III,
Night of the Banshees, Return of the Banshees, Vampire Vixens,
Vampire Vixens on Fire...

"Guess they haven't shown those on the Discovery channel lately."

"Fine films," Mulder assured her.  "Highest quality.  True art."

"So what's his family doing in Craftsbury Common?  It isn't exactly
Hollywood."

"True enough. But the last film he worked on was -- Gothar's
Revenge."  He gave her an expectant look.

She felt like the slow contestant on Jeopardy.  "Should I know this
one?"

"Scully, Scully, Scully..."  Mulder shook his head in mock disgust. 
"THE Gothar's Revenge.  Probably the best-known unfinished film never
made.  The entire production was plagued by one disaster after
another -- accidents, fires, the near-drowning of a boatload of
extras.  The leading man broke both legs before the production
started and had to be, as they say, hastily replaced, and the leading
lady was attacked by a knife-wielding psycho on the way to the set
one morning.  The cast and crew complained of things going missing,
inexplicable noises, random acts of destruction.  The second lead was
brought in and within a week OD'd on aspirin of all things, and a
stunt man lost an arm in a misfired explosion.  Finally, about
halfway into filming, the director, writer, producer and three
cameramen were all killed when a scaffold collapsed.  Not
surprisingly, the whole project was thought to be cursed."  He shook
his head again.  "I can't believe you don't know anything about it."

"And I can't believe you know that much," she countered with a smile.
 "So this forced Mr. Kopeck's father into early retirement?"

"Maybe.  Probably.  But Richard Kopeck was one of the best.  Through
his work, he not only became the grand old man of pre-CGI special
effects, but acquired an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the occult.
 In fact, after his Hollywood career, he was pretty much a regular on
the expert witness circuit, giving testimony for cases involving
either."  He turned to her and grinned.  "Or both."

The conversation was becoming unsettling, though she wasn't sure why.
 "So...what?  You're thinking there's some connection between the
senior Mr. Kopeck's expertise and the deaths here?" she asked.  "The
man's long dead."

"I know." Mulder nodded.  "But Richard Kopeck was also extremely well
known in certain circles for one other thing."

Scully had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.  She rubbed her
forehead with her fingertips. "Do I want to know?"

"Richard Kopeck could conjure demons."

"What?"

Mulder nodded, grinning his kid-in-the-candy-store grin.  "I always
assumed it was a special effect of some kind, something to do with
smoke, mirrors, and dry ice.  But this...this fits."

"Fits how?" she challenged.  "Fits what?"

"All of it," he answered decisively.  "Everything."

She stared at him a moment, watching the scenery rush past behind his
obviously delighted profile.  Demons.  How very Mulder, she thought
with sudden resentment.  And how very stupid of her to have believed
he had anything more on his mind than his usual crackpot theories. 
Here they were in the middle of a beautiful New England autumn, and
he wasn't thinking of romance, togetherness, or even the
mind-bending, toe-curling sex that had marked the trip to date.  No. 
He was thinking of evil spirits.  When was she going to learn?  "I
see."

He gave her a puzzled frown. "You see what?"

"Plenty," she muttered, and turned back to the window.  Autumn in
Vermont had suddenly lost its charm.

****

"Hi, Larry," said Belinda, the girl who worked at the front desk of
the gym.  She leaned her elbows on the countertop and tilted her head
to watch as he signed his name in the members' book.

He looked up at her with a half-smile.  "Hi, Belinda.  Busy
Saturday?"

She laughed.  "Nah, not really.  Cheerleaders are coming through to
practice with me at three, but right now, nobody's here."

He couldn't think of anything witty to say in return and so he
pretended to be absorbed in noting down the time.  He wished he knew
how to make small talk with her, but she was in her early twenties,
not much older than his students.  They didn't have that much in
common.

"I heard about you and Karen," Belinda said.  "Sorry about that."

He shrugged.  "I'm adjusting."

She gave him a sympathetic smile.  "Yeah, I've been there.  If it's
any consolation, my last boyfriend was cheating on me, too."

"Thanks," he said, wondering why people always thought their
infidelity stories would cheer him up.

She glanced up at him through her bangs, and reached out to play with
the chain that connected the ball-point pen in his hand to the desk. 
"I was just wondering..."

"Yeah?" he said, and was suddenly seized with the notion that she was
going to ask him out.  Uh-oh, he thought, his heart starting to beat
faster.  He didn't know whether he wanted her to be interested in him
or not.

"I was thinking of going to see that movie -- "

"Hey, Belinda!" called a chummy male voice.

Mr. Kopeck spun around.  He groaned inwardly when he saw Eric Noonan
bounding toward them, wearing sweat-stained workout gear and a grin. 
Eric sold cars at the Ford dealership in Hardwick and was, to put it
mildly, a colossal asshole.

Belinda brightened.  "Hey, Eric."

"You're looking gorgeous as usual, baby," Eric said, and winked at
her.  He seemed to notice Mr. Kopeck as a sort of afterthought.  "Oh,
hi, Larry.  I heard Old Lady Chernoff bought the farm in your
classroom day before yesterday."

"Yes, she had an accid -- "

"God, I hated that old bat," said Eric, turning back to Belinda.  "My
junior year, she gave me a D in Civics.  What a bitch.  Did you know
her, baby?"

Belinda shook her head.  "I had Mrs. Dorset for Civics.  I think I
got a B."

Eric grinned at her, flashing white teeth in an artificially tan
face.  "B as in Babe-a-licious.  I was just on my way to hit the
showers.  Care to join me?"

"Oh, Eric," Belinda said with a giggle.

He laughed.  "Yeah, I guess there wouldn't be room in the shower for
me and you and Mr. Happy.  One of these days, though, baby."  He
hunkered over the desk toward her and his voice dropped to a more
confidential tone. "Hey, I was thinking of going to see the new James
Bond movie tonight.  I figured maybe you'd like -- "

Mr. Kopeck picked up his gym bag, and turned toward the locker room
with a sigh.  Now he would never know what Belinda had been about to
ask him.  No, instead she'd be out tonight with Eric Fucking Noonan,
Mr. Smooth Used-Car Salesman, Mr. Self-Appointed Cocksman of
Craftsbury Common.  Eric had been an asshole in high school, and
twenty years later, he was still an asshole.

Mr. Kopeck was so discouraged that he actually forgot all about the
demon as he swung the Nike bag into his locker, and slammed the metal
door shut with a 
.
****
End 05/10