From: Pita M. Date: 07 Feb 2002 03:32:57 GMT Subject: NEW: Walk Beside Me 3--The Moon Beckons (1/2) Source: atxc Title: Walk Beside Me III - The Moon Beckons Author: Pita1013 Feedback: is always answered--> PitaM13@cs.com Rating: PG-13 for violence Classification: XA Spoilers: up to but not including Per Manum is fair game Summary: The agents get their first case together, leading to the first in a series of revelations that cast a new and different light on Mulder's actions. Ask before archiving, unless you've already archived other parts of this series (in that case, go for it). Hey look look look! Im posting the next part! Whee! Disclaimer: Characters from the X-Files are owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. They are being used without permission and without money changing hands. Author's Notes/Intro: Anyone whos been really annoyed with me thus far should feel better by the end of this part. And anyone who doesnt like the way I wrote the introduction, stick it out because it doesnt stay that way for long. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Walk Beside Me Book III - The Moon Beckons ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ The sun is rising over Maple Plains. The secluded community has no maple trees anywhere near it, nor is it located on the plains. Maple Plains is nestled in a valley filled with pine trees and little else. This discrepancy doesn't bother the townspeople, who have gone through a variety of odd name changes in its hundred-year history. Until a few years ago, it was the town of Swift River; the nearest river is sixteen miles beyond the city limits and as swift as an arthritic sloth. People are beginning to stir in Maple Plains, now that the sun has ventured a peek at them. A milkman makes his early morning deliveries, one of the last of that once-common breed. A schoolboy flings newspapers up front walks, landing more than half of them in the surrounding bushes. A middle-aged woman rolls her eyes as she fishes her newspaper out of a juniper bush. This is Anna O'Toole, the only resident at 3 Jane Johnson. Her neighbor across the street, at 4 Jane Johnson, fishes his own paper out of a clump of gladiolas. Across the *other* street, the paper is right where it belongs, centered on the welcome mat, but Anna notices that the Rosens haven't retrieved it yet. The house at 2 Jane Johnson remains dark. Anna notices this and frowns absently. In seven seconds she will forget all about it as her toast ignites in the toaster. She won't remember the faint feeling of unease that touched her, not even later when the police visit her home. The house at 2 Jane Johnson is owned by Peter and Janine Rosen. Peter is a writer; Janine a doctor. Her brother is also in the house visiting, passing through the tiny Maine village on his way from Canada to New Jersey on business. Peter is awake as his neighbor is noticing his paper, but has more important things on his mind. He is much too busy oiling the hedge clippers to take heed of something so mundane. He adds a few more drops and squeezes the handle, satisfied with the silence of the tool. Peter leaves the oil can on the table as he heads upstairs. He stops to regard his wife's sleeping face for a moment, then begins with the clippers. It's done in less than ten minutes. Peter surveys his handiwork and moves on to the guest room. Again it takes less than ten minutes. He regards the stained clippers and then turns them on himself with the same dispassionate expression. The paper remains on the front stoop. Five blocks away, at 4 David Johnson, Police Chief Daniel Lange is drinking his morning coffee and staring at a stack of files. They are murder cases, most with a suicide thrown in for good measure. They are all open-and-shut, in that both the victims and murderer were immediately obvious from the scene. There are, however, no motives apparent. Daniel Lange is beside himself. There's a plague of murder and madness in Maple Plains, but nowhere to even begin looking for a reason. There isn't a shred of evidence to explain it. Daniel Lange is terrified, and his day will not improve. In two hours Lange will receive a call from Diana King, the resident of 1 Jane Johnson, who lives in the same four-home quartet as the Rosens and Anna O'Toole. She will notice the forgotten newspaper and darkened house and will call Janine. When she receives no answer, she'll phone the police station immediately. She will not go knock on the Rosens' door. Chief Lange is not the only one who's terrified here. Lange will take Officer Alex Kraska and go to the Rosen home. Kraska will find Janine's body and have to leave the room at a run, so he wont contaminate the crime scene when he vomits. At three o'clock that afternoon, a friend of Lange's named Jack Bonsaint will refer him to the FBI. To a specific agent, in fact, who specializes in the bizarre. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ FBI Headquarters September 5, 2000 Time heals most wounds, and when healing is impossible time can still lessen the ache. After two weeks of forced seclusion, Skinner's anger had faded into mere irritation; at the same time his confusion had increased. Part of that was the certainty that he was missing a vital piece of the puzzle. The feeling of *wrongness* wouldn't fade away. Stepping back into his office again was soothing. He was a work-oriented person, and time off was excruciatingly boring at times. He was pleased to note that the X-Files Division hadn't disintegrated in his absence. He had been extremely worried, especially about Scully, but the stack of memos on his desk belied his fears. The most heartening one was from Scully herself, notice that they were undertaking a "massive overhaul of the filing system" in the office. Skinner applauded her sensibility. Filing overhauls were a time-consuming, tedious task, but it was also low-tension. It was the kind of work the three agents could do without ripping each other's heads off. The rest of the memos were from Kimberly, his always- efficient assistant. She had, without Skinner's prompting, kept her eyes trained on Scully, Doggett, and Mulder; her observations were soothing. Kimberly reported that the agents were appearing to get along, conversing and even eating together in the staff cafeteria. By all accounts they had managed to hit equilibrium. The news made Skinner feel better than he had in weeks. ----- From her desk, Kimberly heard the unmistakable, and completely uncharacteristic, sound of whistling. She felt a stab of guilt that her reports had been so glowing. They were accurate, of course, but with concern for her boss's worries foremost in her mind, she had glossed over some potentially negative signs. She sighed inwardly. He'd find out in time, and he'd draw his own conclusions. Her thoughts were cut off by Alvin Kersh. Her eyes narrowed slightly as the Deputy Director strode past. She opened her mouth to speak, but Kersh swept by her before she could utter a word. Inside the office, the whistling cut off abruptly. The inner door closed with the finality of a tomb. Kim was glad for it. Whatever was about to happen, she didn't want to hear it. Kersh brought news that was always equal in magnitude to the plagues of Egypt. ----- *That's a good day shot to hell already,* Skinner thought as Kersh's figure appeared in the doorway. Beyond his outline he could see Kimberly, looking both disgusted at Kersh's presence and dismayed about what that presence might portend. The door closed like a gunshot. Kersh was looking particularily jovial, and it unsettled Skinner. It meant that something nasty was coming, and there was a good chance it had to do with the X-Files. He was right. "I've noticed there's some hostility in the basement," Kersh said. His voice sounded grave, but his eyes were laughing. "They haven't accomplished anything in the two weeks they've been working, A.D. Skinner." "It's been a hard transition for all of them," Skinner said, gritting his teeth. "They're doing a filing overhaul now and I think it's been long overdue. They'll be back in the swing of things soon." Kersh smiled, a truly ghastly expression. "Not soon. Now. Give them a case, A.D. Skinner. Get them out in the field as soon as possible. They can't hide in the basement for the rest of their careers." Skinner thought that hiding in the basement sounded like the best idea. In fact, joining them down there was sounding better and better. "With all due respect, sir, I think that's a bad idea at this point," Skinner said. "They're still getting used to each other, and sending three people out on a case with their three radically different approaches is bound to cause more friction than before." he finished silently. "Give them a case, Skinner," Kersh commanded, and walked out without another word. Skinner fought the childish urge to make crude hand signals at the Deputy Director's back. Hours later, Skinner was still poring over two weeks of backed up cases, looking for something that wouldn't push too many buttons. If Kimberly's reports were accurate, a delicate balance had been reached; Skinner had no intention of upsetting it now. With a grimace he flipped past a group of alien abduction cases. Two cases, one involving a child named Emily and another a child named Samantha, were also eliminated. He discarded cases that were at the other end of the country, not wanting extensive travel to add more strain. After haphazard but constant whittling, he narrowed the field to ten options. As he prepared to sift through them again, the phone sprang to life, startling him. "Skinner," he said curtly. The man on the other end was tentative. "Assistant Director Skinner? My name is Daniel Lange. I'm the police chief of Maple Plains, Maine." Skinner had never heard of Maple Plains, but deemed it unnecessary to mention that. "Yes, Chief Lange. What can I do for you?" Lange started rambling about murders and unexplained phenomena, and briefly mentioned wanting an agent before starting in on the problems inherent in small-town police investigations. "What, exactly, do you need from me?" Skinner broke in, not wanting to sound rude but completely bewildered about the purpose of Lange's call. Lange was immediately apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I'm a little low on sleep here. I have a friend named Jack Bonsaint, who's the police chief in Amma Beach, Maine. He got assistance on a case a few years back from one of your agents... Her name is Dana Scully; I understand she works with unsolved, unexplained cases." "She's actually part of a three-agent team," Skinner said slowly, "but you're right about their area of expertise. Tell me a little about your case and I'll see what I can do for you." He didn't need to hear much of the case to realize it was a godsend. It would keep them in the East, relatively close to home, satisfy Kersh, and it had nothing to do with aliens or conspiracy. It was perfection. "Kimberly, call the basement and let them know I'm coming," Skinner called out the door, while he looked over the case material Lange had faxed over. He didn't notice Kimberly's look of dread, nor the note of apprehension in her voice as she spoke to whichever agent answered the phone. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Despite Kim's reports, Skinner wasn't completely positive of what he'd find in the basement. Part of him expected a never-ending fight, jumping from one point of contention to the next without pause. Another part expected stony silence, a line drawn in chalk across the office, and an undercurrent of unaddressed tension. What he found was desolation. The battle lines he'd seen two weeks before weren't there anymore, nor was there a haze of rage that was thick enough to touch. All he found was three miserable people, plodding through files without seeing them and barely speaking over a low mutter. It was painful to watch. It was also obvious that Kimberly either hadn't seen this part of the situation or had tried to protect him, albeit temporarily, from knowing about it. He wasn't sure if he should appreciate the gesture or not. Scully and Doggett were still sharing a desk, but they weren't even talking. Scully looked like she'd aged ten years in the past two weeks. Doggett looked better than her, probably because his emotional stake in the situation was a lot less, but he was moving as if a loud voice or fast movement would knock them all down like dominoes. Mulder was in the worst shape of them all, and Skinner felt a wave of pity well up for the younger man. There was no question that he hadn't been sleeping. His eyes couldn't sink farther into their sockets, and the dark circles made him look like something from a B-movie. His face was stubbly and lined, and he had already lost a lot of weight. If he kept up, he'd look like a refugee from some Third-World country within the next month. All of his observations passed through his mind in a matter of seconds as he stood in the doorway. Then he took a step forward, clearing his throat. Three sets of bloodshot eyes lifted from various papers and computer screens to look at him. Scully reacted first. "It's good to see you, sir," she said, smiling widely at him. Skinner smiled back, thinking He couldn't say anything about it in that setting, though, so he filed it away in his mind to talk to her about later. "Agent Doggett," he said, reaching over to shake Doggett's hand. Doggett shook it with a half-smile and sat back behind his computer. With only a second of hesitation, Skinner crossed to Mulder and repeated the gesture. "Agent Mulder," he said in greeting as his hand hung over the desk. Mulder, for his part, looked shocked. Skinner pretended not to notice that the other man's hand was trembling as he reached out to take the offered hand. Their eyes met. Skinner told him without a word, and Mulder seemed to sense his intention. His posture relaxed a little and his shoulders straightened as he released Skinner's hand. His eyes fell on the folder in Skinner's other hand. "Are you giving us a case?" Mulder asked. He sounded hopeful, and Skinner considered that he might have been wrong. Maybe a few days out of the office would be beneficial, not damaging. He handed the case to Mulder, another small olive branch, and explained the phone call from Lange without going into much detail. When he mentioned the Police Chief of Amma Beach, Scully rolled her eyes skyward. "The man is a pest," she announced to the room at large without elaborating on the comment. "We'll get on it right away, sir," she added, almost as an afterthought, glancing at the file in Mulder's hand. Skinner regarded Scully for a moment, wondering if she was irritated that he was treating Mulder like a part of the team again. She didn't *look* mad, though, just thoughtful. Skinner considered that a good sign. He nodded to all of them and left the office. It was up to them now. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Scully had never been so relieved to reach a destination in her life. When she saw the police station of Maple Plains at 4 David Johnson, she felt as if a cloud had lifted. The trip to Maple Plains from the Bangor Airport had been trying. On the plane they had been distracted by the other passengers and stewardesses as they made their rounds, but once they piled into the rental car it went downhill fast. Scully had taken the front passenger seat without thinking, because it was her normal place. Whether with Mulder or Doggett, she had usually ridden "shotgun" and read over the case again. With Mulder it had been to find ways to counter his unscientific ideas; later with Doggett, it was finding ways to beat down his overly logical ideas. Scully thought as she sat down. She didn't notice that her choice in seating had sparked a problem with her partners. Mulder and Doggett both headed for the driver's side, then stopped and glared at each other. It was Alpha-male behavior at its finest, and had Scully noticed it, she may have just shot them both and been done with it. But she didn't notice, and Mulder backed down. Scully would rather have him in the backseat, out of her line of vision. He folded himself into the small car and decided he wouldn't whine no matter how badly his legs started to hurt. With seating arrangements taken care of, they started for Maple Plains, over a hundred miles from the city of Bangor. The silence was heavy starting out, and by the time they reached the city limits, it was thick enough to feel. Scully wondered, irrationally, if she'd have to wash the stink of silence out of her clothes, if it would cling to her like cigarette smoke. Then they couldn't find the police station. They turned onto Gene Street, which was the only entry to the private area. After driving in circles for an hour, finding a both a Johnson Street and a David Street, but no David Johnson Street, Mulder spoke for the first time since leaving the airport. "Are these people using intersections for their addresses?" He pointed to the four houses around the crossing where they had stopped to get their bearings. They were labeled one through four, going clockwise. Scully looked at the street names. They were at the crossing of Anderson and Lucy. "1 Lucy Anderson?" she ventured, as she waved toward a large white house. Doggett stared at her, then back at Mulder. "So if we find David Street again, we just follow it to Johnson and we'll have the place?" The other agents nodded, though they both looked perplexed. "Hell of a thing to leave out of the directions," Doggett muttered as he turned the car around. So when Scully saw the police station, she was ready to leap out of the car and dance. Judging by the expression on the Police Chief's face, he might have joined her. He bustled out of the station as if he'd been peeking out the window watching for them. "Agents, I'm so glad you found us," Lange said as he pumped their hands energetically. "I realized too late that I forgot to explain our address system. I was sure you were lost." "We were, a little," Scully admitted, "but since we're here now, it doesn't matter." She was happy enough to see another human being after their car ride that she graced him with what was, for her, a huge grin. Lange led them into the station, which consisted of a mere handful of desks. Two holding cells, both empty, could be seen through a door at the far side of the room. Lange ushered them up a small flight of stairs and into his own private office. It was about eight feet square and resembled a seacoast after a hurricane. He pointed the agents toward three folding chairs, obviously placed there for this occasion. He took his place behind the desk, stabilizing a stack of files before they could land on his lap. "I know you've read over the case file, but I'd like to just outline the situation again to make sure you know everything you need to know. When I'm done, you can ask anything you want." Lange said firmly, and in that moment he transformed from a small-town cop to a fully competent officer and leader. It was as sudden as taking off a hat. Scully's opinion of the case changed as drastically in that moment. In the back of her mind she had suspected a simple matter of rural inexperience with crime; with the Chief's sudden change of character, she realized immediately that she had misjudged the severity of the case. "That's perfectly acceptable, Chief Lange," she answered, and for a disconcerting moment she had the feeling he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. If he did, he gave no indication of it. Lange cleared his throat, took at gulp of coffee, and began. "Maple Plains was founded a hundred years ago by a group of very rich men, who wanted an elite community away from the hectic, dirty environment of Boston and New York. They found this area, away from the crowds, and moved in. It evolved over the years into the community you see now. Our population as of the last census was six hundred, all well-to-do couples, very few children, no criminal backgrounds, all professionals--doctors, lawyers and the like--and all living in peace. We had a kind of utopia here." Mulder and Scully exchanged looks, remembering the last "utopia" they'd encountered. They looked away just as fast, remembering that they'd been the closest of friends then. "Two months ago, there was a murder-suicide on the east side of town. It was brutal, but not cause for any undue alarm. Then there was another, much worse, closely followed by another that was so violent I had nightmares." Lange took another swig of coffee, not realizing that his hand was shaking hard enough to slop his drink over the lip of the mug. Scully noted it, and saw her partners doing the same. "Then they tapered off. The death toll that first month was forty people, all murder-suicides." "Forty people?" Doggett burst out, unable to contain his surprise. "The case file didn't give us any numbers!" "The file I sent was deliberately vague, and I do apologize for that," Lange said, "but I didn't want to reveal too much until you got here. Maple Plains has always been quiet; the last thing we want or need is a media circus." Doggett thought about that for a moment, then nodded for Lange to continue. "Last month, it began again, right at the same time. The murders cycled up and then back down, just as before. This time the death toll was fifty-seven." Mulder choked, then waved his hand to indicate he was fine. All attention focused back on Lange. Doggett's eyes were huge, and Scully had lost three shades of color from her face. "That brings us to a total of ninety-seven dead. One-sixth of our original population. Almost seventeen percent." Scully opened her mouth, then closed it again. Nothing she said would properly express her horror at those numbers. Through all her time with the X-Files, she couldn't remember any other case with that kind of carnage. "Now the toll is exactly one hundred, as of yesterday morning," Lange continued. "One hundred and one, if you count Janine Rosen's unborn child." Scully reeled as she tried to breathe air from a room that didn't seem to have any more. She was sure that she'd pass out and completely ruin her credibility there. Then she'd have to explain why she fainted at that little tidbit of information when she'd sat stoically through the rest of the briefing. She wondered how Mulder would react and then wondered why she cared what he thought. Then she realized that she was still in her seat, and aside from clenching her fists hard enough to hurt, she hadn't given any outward signs of her distress. Doggett was watching her stealthily out of the corner of his eye, but wasn't making any other movements. she though, realizing that the whole internal meltdown had taken less than ten seconds. Lange continued without pause. "Janine was killed by her husband Peter Rosen, who then killed himself. Somewhere in that time, Peter also killed Janine's brother, Michael Racutt, who was visiting from Seattle. It's unlikely that Peter or Janine knew about the pregnancy, and its also not likely that it would've made a difference to Peter had he known." Lange paused, took another shaky breath. "The murders were committed with a pair of hedge clippers. There was an oil can left on a table, indicating he took time to oil the clippers before going upstairs, probably to make sure they didn't squeak at a bad time. Both victims were in bed at the time. There was no sign of struggle." "This is the beginning of another cycle, agents," Lange said, "and I won't kid you that I'm scared. I've lost a significant number of people that I knew and cared for, and I want this to stop." He looked over the agents and saw three varying shades of green; he also saw determination, and was heartened by it. He wondered for a moment about Agent Scully, who looked like she wanted to throw up, then decided that if his friend Jack recommended her, she'd do just fine. "Questions? Comments?" Lange asked. "Just one to start out with," Mulder said. "Can I see a map of where the murders occurred? Just to see if a new set of eyes can pick out a pattern?" Scully noted the form of the question, *Can I see* rather than *Is there a map*, and realized Mulder had arrived with the same set of doubts she had, and had changed his own opinions in the same way. This was Mulder at his most respectful, one that didn't come out to play very often. After being partnered with Doggett, she'd forgotten how often Mulder had stepped on the local law enforcement, and she was glad that he wasn't in his traditional role of Spooky Mulder, bane of the police. Not yet, anyway. Lange moved two stacks of files, revealing a map of the town with tiny pins sticking out to mark the murder locations. "Blue pins for last month, red for the month before," Lange explained. "I can't see a pattern, but feel free to try." Mulder gazed at the map for a moment, then shook his head. "It's random," he said softly. "But come look for yourselves in case I'm wrong." Scully thought, and squashed the pity that wanted to rise up. Doggett and Scully both examined the map, but both agreed with Mulder and Lange. They couldn't even force a pattern out of the jumble of pins. Scully ventured the next question. "This will seem obvious, but were there any changes made to the town prior to the first murder?" "There's a new well supplying the town's water, but it was dug over three months before the first murder. We judged that it probably wasn't a factor, but we had it tested between the last two murder cycles to be sure. Nothing came up." Scully sighed, disappointed. "We'll start going over your individual case files tonight. Which ones pertain to these murders?" She asked, looking apprehensively at the stacks of file folders. Lange caught her look and gave her a small and humorless smile. "All of them," Lange confirmed. "Everything that's out in this office is from these killings." At the agents' identical looks of frustration, Lange added, "I'll give you the spare key to my office so you can come and go as you please. My officers know you're here, so you won't have any hassles." They thanked him and stood. They each took a handful of files to work on and started out. Doggett remembered a crucial detail at the last moment. "Can you tell us where the nearest motel is?" Lange snorted with real amusement for the first time. "The nearest motel? That would be back in Bangor, my friends. We aren't a tourist spot, and any visitors are friends or family of people who live here. But you can go down to Annette's place, at 2 Jane Erickson. She's the closest to a motel we've got around here." Still laughing under his breath, Lange saw them out. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ continued in part 2 of 2 Walk Beside Me Book III - The Moon Beckons by Pita1013 continued from part 1 ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ It took less than five minutes to find 2 Jane Erickson. The woman who answered the doorbell was Annette Danens, and when she found out Lange sent them she threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "Danny knows I'm almost full up this week," Annette said as she waved them in. "I rent short-term rooms to hunters and fishermen that come this way, and usually there's not very many. But with the moon, there's more. Hunters around here wait for the moon 'cause they don't need artificial light that way. Helps them trick the deer or something. I don't know if it really works, but it's their dime. I don't mind making a little extra money since my husband passed last spring. But you're lucky, I can give you a room. Just one, mind, but you're all adults and I figure you can handle it." Annette laughed brightly, and it took the agents a moment to catch up with her flow of conversation. By the time they realized what had happened, she had left them in a small room with two double beds and an attached bathroom. The three agents stood there for a moment, looking at the beds and wondering what in the living hell just happened. Doggett broke the silence first. "Shit." "Indeed," Mulder agreed. Scully sank into one of the two chairs and fought back the desire to scream. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 8, 2000 2:32 a.m. Spooky Mulder revealed himself for the first time at the darkest hour of the night, on their second day in Maple Plains. "Moon madness!" he blurted out, scaring Scully into dropping the file she was reading. She thought for a second that she had heard him wrong. Then on second thought, she realized that this was late in coming. "Oh, no, Mulder," she groaned, flopping over backward on the bed she had commandeered. Mulder was sitting on the other bed, which he and Doggett had grudgingly agreed to share, looking thrilled with his idea. "No, really!" Mulder said earnestly. "I remembered what Annette said about her rooms being rented for the full moon, and the pattern fits." He ignored Scully's indignant look and went on. "The murders start a few days before the full, then taper off a few days after. It's a classic case of lunacy--" "Mulder," Scully broke in finally, "repeated studies have failed to establish anything of interest regarding alleged lunacy or moon madness or whatever you want to call it. The documented instances of lunacy can be eliminated as self- deception and hindsight bias." Mulder waved a pen at her. "Why can't the moon have an influence on behavior? Take werewolves--" "No thanks, Mulder, I'd rather not," Scully said testily. "I'll admit to the existence of lycanthropy as a mental illness, but there's no evidence that Peter Rosen or any of the other killers acting like wolves. If anything, the murders were planned in a very cold, human way." She thought of Janine Rosen's unborn child and suppressed a shudder. "But moon madness--" Mulder began, but Scully shushed him. "Moon madness has to do with selective memory, Mulder," she said. "People see something happen on a full moon and think it's the moon's fault, but if they see the same thing at any other time, they don't even think twice about it. Studies show that violence and unexplained phenomena do *not* increase during the full moon!" Doggett chose that moment to return from his trip down to the kitchen for more coffee. He walked in to see Scully waving a file folder and Mulder brandishing a pen, and wondered if they were about to finally kill each other. Then he noticed the animation in both their eyes and realized the truth--that for a moment they had gone back to the early days when they had bantered and bickered over every case, working like a perfectly-matched team. He was sorry he had interrupted that moment. It only took a minute for Mulder to explain his new theory, and only ten seconds for Doggett to realize he was serious. He reiterated Scully's earlier argument. "I know from experience that people are more likely to comment on events during a full moon. It's a self-fulfilling delusion that I saw a lot of in New York. But that doesn't make it true," Doggett reasoned. Mulder was adamant, but Scully wouldn't be convinced. She had a feeling the problem was pathologic in nature, but had no way to prove it. The victims from previous months were buried, and all that was left was the current three victims. Initial, cursory autopsies had been done with no result, and blood tests had come back negative. Scully had an appointment with the victims later that day to do a more thorough autopsy. Meanwhile, the clock continued to tick down toward another murder. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 8, 2000 10:02 a.m. The medical examiner drove in that morning from his home in the nearby town of Brentwood. Lange had already told Scully that he was the ME for most of that county because the towns were much too small to have their own. The tall, sandy-haired man introduced himself as Grant Williams. Thankfully, he didn't seem to resent Scully's involvement as many small-town MEs seemed to, and Scully liked him immediately. She realized as she shook his hand that everyone in Maple Plains so far had been likable. It made the reality of the murders that much stranger. The full autopsies revealed nothing more than the initial ones had. The condition of the bodies made examination difficult, and the appearance of Mulder during her work on Janine Rosen made it worse. He began prattling about moon madness immediately, and Dr. Williams began looking at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. Scully thought, and felt a pang of regret. She squashed it ruthlessly. "Dr. Williams, could you give me a minute with my partner?" she asked. He nodded and backed out, still giving Mulder the *what-a-loony* look Scully recalled from the old days. "Mulder, is there a reason you're interrupting my autopsy? Shouldn't you be with Doggett working on the files?" she asked, trying to hold her patience. "I'm just seeing if you've made any headway with your own theory," he said, and Scully swore there was a note of smugness in his voice. That was familiar too. "Why, so you can rub my nose in the fact that I'm not having any luck?" Scully snapped. "I'd just like you to acknowledge that my theory has some potential," he answered calmly. "I'm sure these people are the victims of moon madness." Scully saw the body on her examining table, saw where the woman's child would have been had she not been hacked apart by her own husband, and lost her temper for only the third or fourth time in her life. "Listen closely to me, Mulder, because I'm not saying this again," she said, voice deadly cold. "I won't let you cheapen this woman's death by attributing it to some half- wit fantasy of yours. I'll find the reason behind this, and it'll be a damn good one. She and her child--" her voice started to choke up and she controlled it fiercely "--they deserve an explanation that isn't made of smoke and mirrors. I'll find it, Mulder." He started to speak and she cut him off. "And as for acknowledging your theory," she continued, her voice now rising despite her best efforts, "don't you *ever* say that to me again. You've *never* taken my ideas with any degree of certainty. You patronized me, you humored me, and sometimes you came right out and said I was wrong, but you *never* paid any attention. You feed me crap about how I respect your journey, but when have you ever respected mine? When? Has there ever been a time?" Scully realized she was shouting and stopped. Mulder had turned first scarlet and then chalk-white as she'd ranted, and now to Scully's horror she saw his eyes start to shine with unshed tears. she thought, knowing somehow that she'd break down too. And she didn't want to do that. She knew she was right, and she knew he knew it as well. He didn't cry, though. He just turned and left without a word in his own defense. Scully didn't feel like she'd won. She took a moment to regain control, and then went back to work. Dr. Williams came back in as she was preparing a sample of blood for the microscope. "Dr. Scully, all the tests came back negative on those samples," he reminded her. Scully nodded. "I know, but I'd like to just take a look myself while I'm here. It doesn't hurt to be thorough." Scully positioned the slide in the microscope and glanced up at the computer display. She blinked twice, then called for Williams to come look. He looked at the screen. "What the hell is that?" ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Autopsy Report--Addendum Dr. Dana Scully recording A second examination of the Janine Rosen's blood has shown a small colony of bacteria that were not present before. On examining Peter Rosen's blood a second time, the same type of bacteria was found in much greater quantities. Further testing has revealed that these bacteria cause a neurologic response once the concentration becomes high enough in a person's blood. This can account for the heightened state of psychosis that resulted in the deaths of Peter and Janine Rosen and Michael Racutt. I can venture the assumption that the other deaths in Maple Plains were due to this bacteria. However, there is no way at this time to establish where the bacteria originated and how it entered the victims' systems. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 8, 2000 5:11 p.m. Lange studiously ignored the tension radiating between agents Scully and Mulder when Scully briefed him on her findings. Doggett looked uncomfortable as well, and Lange had the feeling that the third agent had no idea what had transpired between the other two to cause this wave of strain. The chief wasn't stupid; he could tell on meeting the agents that Mulder was somehow disconnected from the other two. But this feeling was new, and it made Lange nervous. If they self-destructed, he wanted them to do it somewhere else. Far, far away, if they could help it. He had enough problems without adding them to the mix. He was impressed with Scully's findings, and told her so. But she demurred. "It was completely by accident," she told him. "And Dr. Williams did a lot of the testing after we discovered the bacteria. Plus, we still don't know where it came from or how to stop it. We can treat outbreaks with antibiotics, but finding people at risk will be difficult." "It's the first step, and a *huge* step at that," Lange said with a small but genuine smile. "Don't sell yourself short, Doc. You're doing great. Now let's find the source, shall we, agents?" "But where do we start?" Doggett mused to the room at large. "That new well was in place long before the murders began, so it's probably not the water supply. And besides, it was tested." Scully's eyes widened. "But so were the blood samples from the Rosens. And they were still contaminated." Doggett picked up her thought. "Chief, you tested the water between cycles, right? What if we test it now at the very start of a cycle?" Lange was already picking up the phone before Doggett had finished the thought. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 8, 2000 10:27 p.m. The phone didn't wake any of the agents, who were all in bed but wide awake. Scully was thinking of Janine Rosen's child. Mulder was thinking of what Scully had screamed at him earlier. Doggett was wondering why Mulder and Scully, after working well together for a few days, were now back to square one in their partnership. All three agents went for their phones, saying their names in perfect unrehearsed chorus. Mulder had the winning phone. It was Lange with the results of the water testing. He had called in several favors to get it done quickly, and the results were astounding. "Those damnable bacteria are *everywhere* in the water," Lange squawked. Scully and Doggett could hear him even though it was Mulder's phone. As for Mulder, he was holding the phone two inches away from his ear. "All we need to do is put the city on bottled water until we can clean up the well! Half the people here only drink bottled water anyway, so we can screen the other half for the bacteria and treat accordingly." Mulder nodded, and repeated the news for the other agents. "We'll get down to the station early tomorrow to help out," he told Lange, and shut off the phone. He looked at it for a moment and set it on the nightstand. "Why did it take so long for the bacteria to take effect?" Doggett asked. Scully thought for a moment. "I'll bet it has to do with the concentration of the bacteria. Remember Janine Rosen had them too, but her husband had four times as many. He was the one that went off. It probably took that long for the bacteria to concentrate enough to cause psychosis." "Makes sense, but why the cycle?" Mulder wondered aloud. Scully paused. "I think maybe we were both right, Mulder," she said hesitantly. "I think maybe the bacteria respond to the moonlight." "Nocturnal bacteria?" Doggett suggested, not noticing the look of astonishment on Mulder's face as he watched Scully biting her lip. "Not quite," Scully said, still gnawing on her lip. "I think it's possible that the bacteria grow best in moonlight, and that's why the violence cycles up when the moon is at its brightest. It's *similar* to a nocturnal plant, but not quite the same." Now she wasn't just chewing on her lip. It looked like she was tearing it off in large chomps. "I think I might owe you an apology, Mulder," she said, barely whispering. Doggett was completely lost. "Huh?" he muttered, then decided he didn't want to know. "Regardless of my personal feelings, I shouldn't have ripped into you like that. I'm sorry," she finished, looking down at her hands. Mulder gaped at her, then found his voice. "There's no need to apologize, Scully. Most of what you said was true." He realized suddenly that no one had turned on a lamp when the phone rang, and he couldn't see how she was reacting to his words. He plunged on nonetheless. "You were right about a lot of that, and I know it. I think I'm the one who should apologize for being a shit for the last seven years." Mulder still couldn't see Scully clearly, but he had the uncomfortable suspicion that she was starting to cry. He could see the movement of her shoulders against the window. Doggett apparently sensed it too, because he broke in. "Look at us, agents. Discussing blame and bottled water, in bed and in our pajamas. Kersh would *love* to see this." The men heard Scully snicker from across the room, and even Mulder didn't suppress the chuckle that brewed up. It was only a little laughter, but it was only a little joke, enough to lighten the mood. For the first time Mulder thought that maybe he could learn to like Doggett. For that night, they all forgot that it was the first night of the full moon. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ That night, there were sixteen murders while the agents slept peacefully. The sixteen killers then turned their assorted weapons--garden tools, kitchen appliances, machetes and blunt objects--on themselves. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 9, 2000 5:15 a.m. Lange's frantic call at five that morning sent the three agents into a flurry of action. They were up and out in record time, flying toward the station. The cycle was running and there was no time to spare. "I've never seen people bludgeon *themselves* to death before," Lange was saying to Officer Kraska, the man who had found Janine Rosen's body, as the F.B.I. contingent hustled in. Lange was frightened, but in control. "We got antibiotics rush delivered from the nearest medical centers, but the problem is getting the at-risk people treated as soon as possible. We've got Haz-Mat teams coming from Bangor and Augusta but they'll take a while, so we're on our own now." "Just tell us what to do," Mulder said. "We're going to canvass the area. These houses--" Lange thrust a handful of papers at Scully. "We've already put informational flyers in the morning newspapers and they've been distributed," he told them. "The flyer is asking people to call in and tell us how much, if any, of the city water they've used. Like I said earlier, a lot of the residents use bottled water, so they're not in any danger." "So these houses are--" Doggett began. "Houses that haven't checked in yet. People at risk have been told to go to our medical center and everyone has been warned away from the water. But these residents are still in question. We're all going together in case anyone else goes bugshit on us," Lange said. "So, what are we waiting for?" Mulder asked, heading for the door. The rest of the team followed behind. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 9, 2000 11:02 a.m. By the time they reached the final street of their canvass, everyone involved was hot, tired, and miserable. Six hours of door-to-door was bad enough, but everyone they spoke to was on the verge of panic bred from two months of fear. It took forever at each home to reassure the residents, and send the at-risk over to the medical center. With three houses remaining, Scully was ready to fall over. She was acutely aware that this kind of activity was too strenuous for a pregnant woman who was probably under- nourished after the past few weeks of stress. She was also aware of Doggett hovering just behind her, and both resented and appreciated the concern. He was like her mother. They ran into trouble at the last house. They had let their guard down as they came to the end of the canvass, and Lange almost paid for it with his life. He knocked on the door, and after waiting for a response that didn't come, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. He waved Kraska and the agents forward. "People didn't lock their doors around here, although after all these murders most people are now," he told them as he entered. "Hello?" he called. There was a thin whistle, and a steak knife was suddenly protruding from the door frame. Lange stared at it for a full three seconds before hurling himself backwards off the porch. The rest of the team, who hadn't even begun to start up the porch steps, backpedaled toward the street. There was a flash of light, the reflection of sunlight off a blade, and another knife stuck, quivering, from a fence post next to Mulder's left arm. He had enough time to register the inscription in the handle (Ginsu, nothing but the best for Maple Plains) before Doggett towed him out of the way. Crouched behind the fence and out of the thrower's range, Lange started ranting. "God*damnit* I should've known. It's always the last goddamn house, isn't it? If we did the last house first we'd never have this problem." He went on muttering as he checked the clip of his gun. Mulder and Doggett were doing the same to his left, while Kraska and Scully repeated the motions on his right. "I want a decoy in the front and everyone else to sneak in the back way. Who's volunteering to be a wooden duck for me today? Anyone?" Lange asked. Scully spoke up first. "I'll keep the suspect occupied. Just don't take too long going in, okay?" It was actually the least dangerous of the two options, and Scully knew it. Doggett was the only one who knew why she had chosen decoy duty. Crouching behind a fence and drawing fire was a danger to her, but crashing into a house with a madman was worse. She had a baby to think about; she realized once again that she'd be thinking in terms of the child for the rest of her life. It was daunting. Lange smacked her shoulder. "Do your thing, agent. We'll be creeping up behind him in no time." They hustled around the fence as Scully began to taunt the knife-thrower. Various knives began clattering down the front walk, but none of them came near her. She wondered briefly what would happen if the guy ran out of knives, and was answered when a long barbecue skewer flew out the door. It was followed by its mates, then by a pair of scissors. The weapons got more and more strange, until they became almost harmless. Scully actually laughed as a garlic press flew past her hiding place and landed in the street. Then there were three shots, and silence. At Lange's call, Scully stood up in the midst of a litter of kitchen utensils and desperately wished to go home. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Addendum to Case Report Special Agent John Doggett The situation in Maple Plains, Maine has been stabilized. A new well is being excavated and the old one closed until a way is found to clean the water. There have been no further murders as of this report. All tests have supported the hypothesis of Special Agent Scully, in that the bacteria is most active in bright moonlight and causes psychosis once concentrations rise to a certain point. It is interesting to note that, while Special Agent Mulder's theory of moon madness was incorrect in this case, this bacteria could be responsible for historical instances of lunacy. Every kind of superstition starts somewhere; perhaps the myth of moon madness stems from outbreaks of this bacteria. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 11, 2000 10:00 a.m. Doggett finished typing up his report addendum and looked up at his partners. Mulder was looking healthier, less like the walking dead and more like a human being, and Doggett supposed that had to do with being out of the office. Scully, on the other hand, looked worse. He wondered if he should say anything to her, or if she'd just get mad at his interference. He knew Skinner was worried as well, and decided to let the A.D. talk to her. They were much closer than she and Doggett. The phone trilled and Doggett picked it up. he thought as Skinner came on the line, asking to see them in his office as soon as possible with the case report from Maine. "Showtime, folks," he said with a brightness he didn't feel, and the other agents gathered the last of the case materials to head upstairs. Halfway to the elevator, Scully swayed and grabbed for the wall. She shook off Doggett's steadying hand and continued on. Mulder's startled expression was lost on both his partners. With a choked cry Scully swayed again, groping for the nearest solid object. That turned out to be Doggett, whose eyes nearly fell out when he saw her clutching at her abdomen. Then she cramped again with a much louder cry and crumpled toward the floor. Without a second thought, Doggett scooped her up and headed for the elevator, pushing for the parking level instead of Skinner's floor. Mulder followed behind, completely forgotten as Doggett headed for his car. Doggett didn't even notice Mulder getting in the back seat as he arranged Scully on the passenger side. She was barely conscious. Doggett peeled out like a maniac, heading for the hospital. Mulder held on for dear life, his eyes never leaving Scully's ashen face. Every other moment her face contorted with another cramp, but she was too far under to cry out. Less than five minutes later, she was being swept away down the emergency room corridor, leaving her frantic partners behind. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ September 11, 2000 11:02 a.m. When the doctor came out to talk to them, both Mulder and Doggett leapt from their seats to meet him. The doctor looked from one to the other, then down at the chart in his hand. "Which one of you is the father?" he asked innocently. Doggett thought miserably. He could see Mulder's jaw drop open but no sound came out. "We don't know who the father is, Doctor," Doggett answered. "We're Dana's co-workers. We brought her in when she cramped up at work." "I see," the doctor said, consulting his chart again. "Well, Dana will be fine, as will the baby, providing she doesn't take any risks. Dana is dangerously anemic; I'm betting that she's been under stress and hasn't been eating half as well as she should be in her condition." "You'd be right, doc," Doggett confirmed. "I'm having her transferred to a private room upstairs, and I'm keeping her there for a few days. I'm going to get a feeding tube in and take a few other measures to ensure she regains her strength quickly. If you want to wait, I'll let you know what her room number is in a few minutes," the doctor said. "We'll wait," Doggett said, and the doctor went over to the desk to get the room number. A moment later he gave it to them, then went back down the hall. It took Mulder a while to find his tongue again. "Why didn't anyone tell me? Why didn't you tell me?" The utter puzzlement in his voice angered Doggett. "Why would she tell you anything? You broke her trust, and I'd be surprised if she ever took you into her confidence again. And you have the audacity to ask why she didn't tell you?" Doggett realized his voice was rising and cut himself off before he could really start ranting. Mulder regarded him silently, and Doggett started to fidget under that suddenly stony gaze. "I did lie to her. And to everyone I cared about," he said, and his voice was like sandpaper. "But not about what you, or anyone, think." He turned on his heel, heading for the elevator that would take him up to Scully's room, leaving Doggett standing in the waiting room wondering about that last, cryptic message. ~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~ Continued in Walk Beside Me: Book IV (this year, I hope ^_^) All parts of this WIP to date can be found at: http://dreamwater.org/pitafic Let me know how I'm doing--> PitaM13@cs.com Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Thanks! Have a GREAT Day.