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Copyright:
Thursday, March 10, 2005 01:37:25 PM
PARADISE ISLAND
BERMUDA TRIANGLE
SUNSET - DAY 2
Scully broke free of the clinging underbrush, and pushed her way out of the
thick forest. Startled birds squawked and rocketed through the air in a flurry
of brown and white feathers. She shielded her face as several shot by too close
for comfort, and heard Mulder laugh behind her. "Damned kamikaze seagulls," she
grumbled, stepping cautiously into the clearing.
The rounded mountaintop looked like a cratered lunar surface. Weathered upthrust
stone, stained white with fresh bird droppings, ringed dozens of small,
scattered indentations. She was grateful that the stiff breeze was blowing
downwind, and carefully watched her footing as Mulder followed her to the
summit.
"Here’s where your birds are getting their water, Mulder," she commented,
nudging the nearest basin with one foot. "Must have rained recently."
He bent, and swirled a hand through the sun-warmed liquid. She joined him, and
wistfully moistened her dry lips. "It looks clean enough to drink," she
hedged, "but there’s no telling what diseases those birds might be carrying. I
suppose we’d better not risk it."
Mulder grimaced. "It’s hot as hell up here, Scully. I’ll take my chances!" And
before she could protest he bent down, scooped up a double-handful, and splashed
it across his sunburned face. "God, that feels good!" he groaned, sighing with
relief. "Here, I’ll show you."
"I can do it myself," she quickly insisted, before he could playfully douse her.
The water felt refreshing against her hand, and trickled down her wrist in cool
rivulets as she gratefully rinsed her flushed cheeks and forehead.
"Tastes fine to me," he suddenly added, dipping his hands in again.
She stared at him, aghast. "Mulder, you didn’t!"
He spread his long arms wide in a comical protest. "Some of it got in my mouth,
what was I supposed to do?" Then he sobered again. "If we don’t take
some risks, Scully, we’ll die faster of dehydration than trichinosis."
"Trichinosis is a parasitic worm contracted from eating raw or undercooked
pork," she automatically corrected, pursing her lips. "You’re thinking of
coccidiosis, an organism which lays oocyst, or coccidae eggs, in the small
intestine walls of young pigs, cattle, and certain types of poultry. It’s also
been found in wolf pups, pigeons, and..."
Mulder quickly clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her precipitate lecture.
"My mistake, Dr. Scully," he apologized with a wry grin. "If it makes you feel
any better, it tasted just fine.
"Although..." He hesitated for a moment, frowning, then cautiously dipped his
finger in again, and let another glistening drop fall on his tongue.
"What?" she demanded, leaning closer. "What is it?"
Mulder looked genuinely puzzled. "It tingles somehow!" he exclaimed,
shaking his head. "Like carbonated soda water. But what would cause an excess of
carbon dioxide in these rocks?"
Scully looked blank. "I don’t know," she admitted. "Ancient Greeks and Romans
were fascinated by mineral springs. The Greek physician Asclepiades believed
that bathing in natural hot springs was the key to counteracting disease. Even
today, people around the world swear by thalassotherapy’s curative properties,
and travel hundreds of miles to ‘take the waters.’ But the conditions here are
totally wrong for a natural spring, Mulder. And anyway, this is just plain
rainwater!"
"I know." He frowned thoughtfully for several moments, then shrugged. "Well,
it’s obviously not hurting those birds. So I think it should be safe enough for
us, too."
"You’d better hope so," she muttered under her breath. But she didn’t protest
aloud when he scooped up more, and took a long leisurely drink. He knew the
risks; if he chose to ignore them, he also knew the possible consequences.
"C’mon, Scully, try some," he urged, wiping cool droplets from his chin. "You
don’t know what you’re missing!"
She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the burning in her parched throat. Perhaps
one small sip wouldn’t hurt...
But she pointedly moved to a different basin, one with considerably less seagull
guano scattered around it, before easing her deep thirst.
It was only then, when she raised her head, that she caught a glimpse of the
vast shimmering ocean spreading beneath them. "Mulder, look!"
He moved to her side, and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Helluva view," he
murmured.
Something elusive in his low voice made her head snap around. "What?" she
demanded, rising to her feet. "You know where we are?"
"No," he said, his voice heavy with foreboding. "But I know where we’re not."
Cold chills ran down her spine. When Fox Mulder started sounding cryptic,
Trouble was never far behind. "All right," she said, keeping her voice steady
with an effort, "where aren’t we?"
Her partner stared out at the distant horizon, then dropped to one knee and
began sketching a rough map in the dust. On the left, she recognized the
distinctive waving Atlantic coastline; on the far right, the small island of
Bermuda. "Down here are the Puerto Rican islands," he explained, sketching St.
Thomas, Guadeloupe, and Antigua at the bottom. "Up here, way north of our last
known position, are Santa Luzia, Topo, and Biscoitos. And right in the middle,
this is where our plane went down."
"I know that," she muttered, fighting for patience. "So we should be about here,
a little north and east of the crash." And she stuck a sliver of rock point-down
above his small ‘X.’
Mulder slowly shook his head. "I don’t think so, Scully. It’s way too hot and
humid here. Besides, I know that region like the back of my hand. I should," he
added with a wry grin. "I’ve studied it often enough."
That much was true, she reluctantly conceded. One whole wall of the X-Files’
cluttered basement office was filled with maps, charts, geological surveys, and
satellite photographs of the infamous Bermuda Triangle. Nearly half of the files
in his cabinets held accounts of missing planes and ships, magnetic anomalies,
alleged UFO encounters. And he knew each one by heart.
"There’s nothing within a hundred miles of your proposed location that matches
this island," he continued without a pause. "A few rocky upthrusts, that’s all.
And look." He pulled their compass from his pocket, and held it up in the fading
light. Scully stared in cold horror as the slender needle wobbled a few times,
then began to swing back and forth again in random directions. Just like out
there, in the distant ocean.
"What are you suggesting, Mulder?" she demanded.
He took a deep breath, and looked back over the ocean. To the west, the setting
sun was almost touching the distant horizon, gilding the rippling waves with
liquid gold. In the east, a lopsided crescent moon was hovering about thirty
degrees over the ocean, gleaming pearl-white against the darkening sky.
It was the most beautiful panorama he’d ever seen--and the most deadly. Because
the sea around them was terrifyingly empty. No other islands. No lights. No
ships. No planes. Nothing but an unbroken expanse of shimmering aqua waves.
"I don’t think we traveled north at all," he finally admitted. "When the stars
come out, I’ll know for sure. But I believe that we were--diverted somehow.
Nothing else makes sense."
She stared up at him in angry confusion. "You’re not making sense,
Mulder!" she argued. "The Gulf Stream currents flow northeast from Cape Hatteras
to the Grand Banks. Where else could we be? That compass reading could be
caused by any number of things--a large iron deposit nearby, for instance. A
fluctuation or maybe a deviation in the magnetic poles! Or it might even be..."
"Scully!" Mulder gripped her right shoulder with frustrated strength. "Forget
logical thinking for a minute, and look at the hard evidence all around you!
Those islands you saw from the plane were all part of a volcanic chain. But we
never came anywhere close to them--and this island has a totally different
composition. There are no indications of magma stress, no ash accumulation, no
phreatic explosions or effusive lava flows...nothing that you’d expect to
find in a volcanic chain!
"Remember when we got sent to Hawaii a few years ago, because tourists kept
insisting they were seeing Pele’s ghost walking through the Haleakala crater?
You commented yourself how the sand was black and glassy, so different from
anything on the mainland. Now tell me, please, how golden-white talc even comes
close to volcanic sand!
"And I’ll remind you of something else," he added before she could muster an
indignant protest. "If we’d been bounced north, we sure as hell wouldn’t be
baking in this kind of heat! These temperatures are more consistent with the
lower Caribbean region."
"Bounced?"
Scully echoed, confused. "If you’re talking about all those reports in your case
files, where ship locations suddenly changed...not one of those reports can be
scientifically proven, Mulder. Pilot error, equipment malfunction, each one has
dozens of logical explanations!"
"Maybe," he conceded with a shrug, "but maybe not. Remember what happened just
before the storm ended? Remember how everything changed in a single
instant? I’ve seen you sail through a hurricane without flinching, but you were
just as seasick and disoriented as the rest of us."
She leveled a hard glare at him. "Just what are you implying?"
"What I’m saying," he clarified, "is that something happened to us in
that storm. Something that can’t be explained by any rational laws of physics."
His grim conclusion sent shivers racing down her spine. "All right, then," she
scowled, gesturing at his dusty map. "Assuming this crazy theory of yours is
correct--where would you guess that we were ‘bounced’?"
Mulder’s shoulders sagged with weary resignation. "Here," he answered, stabbing
another stone flake into the ground with a heavy sigh. "About two hundred
kilometers due east of Antigua. Right along the Triangle’s southeastern
boundary. And, ironically, that’s not far from where we located the Queen
Anne when it returned from its fifty-year trip through time."
Scully simply stared at him. "Mulder, that’s nearly four hundred kilometers from
our last-known location," she finally protested. "What could have bounced us
that far in the wrong direction?"
He slowly rose to his feet. "I don’t know," he conceded. "Not yet. But I do know
that we weren’t disoriented by the storm itself. It was by getting transported
halfway across the ocean and dumped in a totally different location."
Suddenly his expression changed, and she bolted upright in alarm. "Don’t move,
Scully," he whispered, curling a gentle arm around her shoulders. "Just turn
your head and look."
She didn’t know what to expect--hostile aborigines, maybe, or slimy two-headed
aliens. Anything was possible, anything at all, where Fox Mulder was concerned!
Almost fearfully she followed his wondering gaze--then caught her breath in awe.
Vivid colors were splashed across the darkening sky like rich satin. The glowing
sun was nearly gone, but a long swath of rippling gold marked its slow descent
across the watery horizon. Scully held her breath as it sank lower, lower--and
then a quick flash of green dazzled her eyes as the sun vanished completely, and
velvety darkness enveloped the night sky.
"Ancient cultures believed that green light at sunrise or sunset was a sign from
the gods," Mulder murmured in her ear. "Some shamans took it as an evil omen,
others believed that it was a promise of impending good fortune. Huge ceremonies
were performed to minimize or maximize its potential, depending on the shaman’s
interpretation."
Scully rolled her eyes in mock-disgust. "The green tint is caused by refraction
of light over the waves," she countered. "It only happens at sunrise or sunset
when weather conditions and the sun’s angle are perfect."
Then her lips curved in a grudging smile. "We were lucky to see it."
"Maybe it’ll bring us luck," he suggested, a teasing gleam in his green
eyes.
She made a scoffing noise. "Right. What other bedtime stories do you know?"
"If
I am elected..." Mulder instantly retorted, then chuckled at her outraged
expression.
Suddenly Scully became aware of his warm hands gliding over her arms, and her
heart began to race. They were still in a crisis situation--yet she couldn’t
summon the strength to move away. Not yet, not when she was still so unnerved by
the crash, and his terrifying theory. Not when his strong embrace felt so
comforting, so safe...
"We will survive, Scully!" Mulder was promising, his husky voice muted
against her tousled hair. "It doesn’t matter how we got here. When Skinner
investigates the crash site and can’t find our bodies, he’ll know that we’re
still alive. And he won’t rest until he’s found us. Neither will Doggett and
Reyes, or Max and Penelope’s families."
"I know," she murmured, forcing a wan smile. He was right--they would survive.
They always did. Nothing could defeat them, as long as they were together.
Then she glanced at the blackening sky, and shivered. The light breeze was
cooling fast, and she dreaded clambering down that steep hillside in total
darkness. "We’d better head back now," she sighed. "They’ll be wondering what
happened to us."
"Okay," he agreed. "Tomorrow we’ll explore the island further. We’ll find
everything we need then."
She slowly eased away, but didn’t protest when he caught her hand in a secure
grip, and gently squeezed it. Somehow that simple contact helped bolster her
confidence, and strengthened her resolve.
Impulsively she rose on tiptoe to lightly kiss him. "Mulder?" she whispered.
"Hmmm?" She could almost see his gentle smile through the deepening shadows as
he stroked the curve of her cheek.
"Thanks."• • • • • •
"Agent Mulder!"
Penelope heard them
coming long before they breathlessly emerged from the tangled underbrush, and
dashed down the beach to meet them. Scully grimaced as the pretty young girl
caught at Mulder’s long arm, and artlessly pulled him along. "I thought you’d
never make it back! We were all starting to get worried! Come look at our
signal fire, isn’t it great?"
Mulder tossed an
imploring glance over his shoulder, silently begging for help. Scully snorted in
disgust. She didn’t know which was worse--the girl’s obvious crush on her
charismatic partner, or his inability to deal with the awkward situation.
"You must have been
watching for us," she muttered, trying to distract the girl’s rapt attention.
Penelope threw a
brilliant smile over her shoulder, but didn’t loosen her eager grip. "Oh, I was!
And I made Maxie build the fire really big, so that you couldn’t possibly miss
it. Didn’t he do a good job?"
Max’s bonfire was
dazzling against the velvety black sky. Fiery sparks danced amid golden tongues
of flame, casting long wavering shadows across the glittering white sand.
Something primitive stirred inside Scully, offering her an abrupt understanding
of early aboriginal tribes’ rapt fire worship.
Say what you will
about Max’s sullen attitude, she grudgingly conceded. When he
chooses, he can do an excellent job. That light will be seen all the way to the
horizon--assuming there’s anyone around to see it.
Darker shadows suddenly
broke away from the wavering bonfire, and she recognized Esther and Reuben’s
distinctive silhouettes. Relief eased the tightness in her chest, and she
stepped forward to greet them with a lighter step. Mulder gratefully extricated
his arm, and clapped Reuben on the back.
"You’re just in time for
dinner!" the old man welcomed them, his raspy voice burgeoning with smug
satisfaction.
"Dinner?" Mulder echoed,
his eyes widening. "You mean, you actually found something?" Then the wind
shifted, carrying a delicious aroma toward them. He inhaled deeply, and his
stomach responded with an embarrassingly loud rumble.
Esther jammed both fists
on her ample hips, and mock-scowled up at him. "Of course we found
something!" she sniffed. "You just don’t know where to look!" And she dismissed
the heavy bunch of bananas in his hand with an indignant gesture. "Penny’s such
a good girl, she helped me make a tidepool down where the rocks make a big
half-circle. When the tide comes in, there’s enough fish to feed even a growing
boy like Max!"
The surly teenager threw
her a hostile glare, but she ignored him. "Now you go wash up," she instructed,
relieving Mulder of his cumbersome burden. "You’re both covered with dirt. Then
we’ll eat. Tomorrow Penny and I will show you our masterpiece!"
The weary agents
exchanged amused glances, and meekly preceded her to the water’s edge. "What’s a
tidepool?" Mulder demanded in an undertone as they sloshed cool water over their
sunburned faces.
"A rocky hollow where sea
water collects at low tide," Scully explained. "Small fish and crustaceans are
washed into natural pools at high tide, then get trapped there by the low tide.
Anemones and sea urchins often become permanent residents."
"So what you’ve got," he
deduced, "is a built-in fish tank that can be harvested every twenty-four
hours."
Scully wiped away a
trickle of water dripping down her neck. "Head of the class!" she nodded. "The
larger the tidepool, of course, the more chance of fish getting trapped by the
tide."
"So how would you make
a tidepool?" he urged, fascinated.
"I’d assume," she
speculated, rising to her feet, "by piling rocks along the outer rim, to keep
trapped fish from swimming back out. We’ll have to see it tomorrow. Right now,
let’s eat! I’m starving!"
The energetic retirees
had been busy during their long absence. Reuben had improvised sturdy supports
for their makeshift sailcloth, and fashioned a tent-like shelter in the sand.
Heavy stones held down one end, leaving the interior sheltered from the cool
breeze, but with a clear view of the surrounding ocean. Hollow coconut-shell
bowls were arranged in a neat semicircle, and long bleached strips of driftwood
had been fashioned into rough plates and trays. Mulder lifted one and angled it
toward the firelight, admiring the old man’s clever handiwork.
Reuben caught his
wondering glance, and a shy smile curved his weathered lips. "I tried to make
some forks before it got dark," he apologized, "but the wood was too old and
soft. Reckon we’ll have to make do with chopsticks, like we did back in the
war."
Both agents hastened to
compliment his spectacular work. "I figured we’d be eating bananas and berries
with our fingers," Mulder added with a wry grin.
Another exasperated
hmmmph! echoed from the nearby submerged firepit, where Esther was pushing
aside wilted palm fronds with a set of wide sticks. "You just leave the cooking
to us," she ordered, reaching for a wide wooden tray. "We’ll make sure
you don’t go hungry."
A dull orange glow
emanated from the pit as she began lifting out huge fish fillets, and piling
them on the biggest platter. They steamed in the cool night air, releasing a
mouth-watering aroma. "Penny, you pour the coconut milk," she instructed. "Max,
stop your sulking, dinner’s ready. And you’d better be polite, or you
won’t eat."
Common sense warred with
resentment in the boy’s expression, and won by a narrow margin. Grim-faced, he
slumped down in the tent’s corner, and pulled a plate and mug within easy reach.
"It smells good," he offered, in a half-hearted attempt to placate the older
woman.
Penelope snatched at a
loose tidbit and stuck it in her mouth, then vigorously blew on her fingers. "It
is good!" she assured him. "But hot! I burned myself!"
Esther’s long skirts
twitched as she settled herself beside Reuben, and began transferring the flaky
slabs to everyone’s plates. "Serves you right," she grinned, wagging a reproving
finger in the girl’s direction. "Next time, don’t be so greedy!"
Moist white coconut meat
and Mulder’s fresh bananas rounded out Esther’s hearty baked fish dinner. They
ate hungrily, pausing only to wash down mouthfuls with sun-warm coconut milk.
Finally Penelope set her
plate aside, and beamed up at Esther. "That was delicious!" she exclaimed. "Will
you teach me how to cook?"
The old woman stared at
her in disbelief. "You don’t know how to cook? At your age? Then we start
tomorrow!" she promised. "No time to waste! Now why don’t you tell Max how you
caught these fish, eh?"
So Esther had noticed
Penny’s infatuation, too, Scully realized with an inner pang. Not that she felt
threatened by childish puppy love, of course--but any unchecked complication
could threaten their ability to survive. She’d have to find some way of
diverting Penelope’s interests, before things got out of hand.
"Momma knows everything
about catching fish," Penny eagerly began, aiming her words at Max but gazing
adoringly up at Mulder. Then she caught sight of the boy’s challenging glare,
and spun to face him. "What?" she demanded. "She said I should call her
Momma, because my mother died so long ago!"
Mulder quickly
interceded. "I’d like to know how you caught so many fish," he urged. "Your
tidepool must work really well!"
Penelope beamed at him.
"It’s really something!" she agreed. "We strung fish hooks from the
emergency kit all along the reef, and baited them with bits of fruit. Then Momma
showed me how to make a spear, just like Tom Hanks did in the movie Castaway.
First you cut all the branches off a long stick, and whittle the tip to a sharp
point," she explained, blissfully unaware that both agents were already expert
survivalists. "Then you tie your pocketknife to the end with really strong
vines, so that it won’t come off and get lost if you jab it into the sand. And
you wait for a fish to swim by, and you try to spear it.
"I’m not very good at it
yet," she confessed, looking crestfallen, "because the fish aren’t really where
you see them. So I keep missing. But I’ll learn, and get a lot better. Then I
can show you how to do it, and maybe we can go fishing together!"
"Penny speared four of
the dozen we caught this afternoon," Esther praised, affectionately patting the
girl’s arm. "Tomorrow maybe Max can join us, and we’ll have a real feast!"
Reuben glanced up as
errant gusts of wind ruffled the sailcloth, and a loose edge flapped restlessly
back and forth. "This tent will hold if the weather does," he commented,
prudently drowning out Max’s grumbling retort, "but it will never last through a
storm. Did you find anything good while you were off exploring?"
The two agents exchanged
glances. "This island shows a lot of potential," Mulder finally hedged. "There’s
a field of wild grain down around the southern point, close to your tidepool,
and we found plenty of fruit trees along the way. The eastern shore is all steep
cliffs, so we had to climb up the ridge. But there might be some useable caves
above the high tide mark."
"When we hiked up to the
mountain crest," Scully interjected, taking one last sip of her coconut milk,
"we found some small pools of fresh rainwater. There are sure to be more sources
where the hills intersect and fold together. Tomorrow we’ll search north."
Reuben seemed to sense
what they hadn’t said, because his old face looked drawn in the wavering
firelight. "What about other islands?" he urged, leaning forward. "Could you see
the mainland from up there?"
Mulder reluctantly shook
his head. "No, but that’s not surprising. The ocean is big," he
reminded them. "We can’t be too far from civilization."
"Yeah, right!" Max
blurted, scowling. "We’re going to starve here, in the middle of nowhere!"
Esther swung around and
thrust an angry finger in his startled face. "You ate more than anyone else
tonight!" she retorted. "I don’t see you starving!"
Her harsh rebuff was so
unexpected that hot tears burned in the boy’s eyes. He quickly ducked his head,
and glared at the sand beneath his heels.
"Max, you need to
understand," Reuben gently interjected, laying a soothing hand on his wife’s
plump arm. "All the rules have changed now. Here, we only have each other
to depend on. No butlers, no bodyguards, no rich parents running to your rescue.
"I think you hate the
whole world, eh?" he probed with a knowing sigh. "And you think it hates you,
too? But the only person who hates you, Maximillian J. Stanwick, is you!
The rest of the world, lad--they don’t even know you exist!"
Scully soberly nodded.
"We need to work together in order to survive," she agreed. "If we fight
amongst ourselves, we don’t stand a chance."
Reuben’s eyes suddenly
widened, and he smacked both hands against his bony thighs. "One family!" he
proclaimed, his voice ringing with new enthusiasm. "All of us, while we’re here,
are one family. Not Kensington, Stanwick, Mulder, Scully, or Schaumberg," and he
pointed at each of them in turn. "We are one family, and we work
together like one family. Nothing else will do!
"What do you call your
father, eh?" he demanded, stabbing a finger in Max’s face.
The boy blinked in sullen
surprise. "Father," he muttered. "Or Sir."
"Fine," the old man
exclaimed, a shrewd smile curling his thin lips. "Him, you call whatever. Me,
you call Poppa. Or Grandpoppa, if that suits you better. You ‘sir’ me, and I’ll
paddle your backside, you hear me?"
A slow grin tugged at the
rebellious teen’s lips. "Yes sir," he deliberately retorted.
Reuben chuckled, and
playfully swatted at Max’s tousled blond hair. "Impudent whelp!"
Mulder met Scully’s eyes
in the golden firelight, and something unspoken passed between them. "We will
survive," he softly promised her. "No matter what it takes."
Penelope spoiled the
moment by leaning forward and tugging on his sleeve. "How do you know so much
about surviving shipwrecks?" she urged, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Are
you assigned to protect the President or something?"
Scully rolled her eyes in
disgust, and quickly looked away again.
Mulder blinked in
surprise, then firmly shook his head. "Until very recently, Agent Scully and I
were assigned to a special branch of the FBI," he explained. "When a case was
deemed unsolvable by normal means--especially if it dealt with the paranormal in
some way--we were called in to investigate and solve it."
"So you’re just glorified
detectives?" Max sneered, his foul temper returning. "That doesn’t sound very
important."
Penelope glared at the
boy. "Agent Mulder saved our lives!" she protested, outraged. "Don’t you dare
insult him!"
Mulder choked on his
coconut milk, and began to cough. Scully callously thumped a fist between his
shoulder blades, nearly knocking him headlong into the fire. He tossed her a
reproving scowl as he painfully caught his breath. Dammit, puppy love and
warring teenagers were bad enough! Why was she mad at him?
"Actually," he clarified,
gingerly rubbing his bruised spine, "Agent Scully is one of the Bureau’s top
pathology and forensic specialists. Her graduate thesis was a redefinition of
Einstein’s theories, and now she’s a medical instructor at the FBI Academy in
Virginia."
Reuben eyed Scully with
renewed respect. "A teacher and a doctor? Smart lady!"
"What’s your specialty,
then, Agent Mulder?" Penelope demanded, fascinated.
Mulder gently smiled at
the girl. Her innocent affection was flattering, but he couldn’t afford to
encourage her. How could he dampen her growing infatuation without hurting her
feelings?
"I studied criminal
psychology at Oxford before I was recruited into the FBI," he admitted. "Agent
Scully and I worked together for nearly a decade on cases assigned to the
X-Files division, before we turned it over to younger agents." He was skating a
fine line, since John Doggett was actually a few years older than him. But
Monica Reyes was Scully’s age...so it wasn’t a total lie. And maybe by
emphasizing how much older he was, Penelope could be diverted back toward
someone in her own age group.
Esther’s forehead
wrinkled with confusion. "Paranormal?" she echoed. "You mean, like ESP? I
thought that didn’t really exist!"
Penny’s eyes blazed with
sudden excitement. "Oh, it does!" she assured the old woman. "I’ve read
everything I can about it! My mother used to be really into ESP and UFO’s until
she died!"
"Your mother was a
nutcase!" Max retorted, from his corner of the tent.
"She was not!"
Stung, Penny furiously launched herself at Max, her small hands balled into
fists. Scully and Mulder barely managed to catch her flailing arms, and drag her
back across the tent. "She was not! Let me go, he’s lying!"
Max smirked as hot tears
streamed down the girl’s face. "She was!" he taunted. "Everyone knows it!"
"Shut up, Max!" all four
adults snapped in unison.
Penny was still
struggling to free herself. "You don’t know anything about it!" she cried.
"She’d still be alive today if she hadn’t been taken away because of that UFO
network!"
Cold chills raced down
Scully’s spine. "UFO network?" she gasped. "Penny, how did your mother die?"
Her vehemence startled
Penny from her indignant rage. Frightened, the girl shrank away and burrowed
against Mulder’s chest. "Everyone who was taken away died of cancer," she
faltered, dashing tears from her cheeks. "It happened a long time ago, when I
was little. But I’m not supposed to talk about it. My father would be really mad
at me."
Mulder met his partner’s
shocked blue eyes over Penny’s hunched, trembling shoulders. He recognized that
intense look on her face, because his agile mind had already leaped ahead to the
same startling conclusion.
Before she could ask more
questions, he quickly shook his head. Penelope Kensington was a nervous young
girl, not a potential witness to be interrogated. She needed to be questioned
gently, or she’d never tell them what they needed to know.
And he had a hunch that
what she knew might be very important.
Perhaps her embarrassing
crush could be put to good use, after all.
Scully caught his subtle
cue, and released Penny’s arm.
"Penny," he murmured,
touching her small chin so that she looked up at him, "I know your father has
good reasons for not discussing your mother’s abduction. But we understand what
happened. Agent Scully was taken, too. We know who you’re afraid of--and we can
protect you from them."
It was another hunch, a
stab in the dark--but he knew that he’d guessed right when she sucked in a
startled gasp.
Frozen silence reigned in
the tent for several long moments as Penny stared up at both agents with wide,
uncertain blue eyes. Mulder held his breath, and forced himself to be patient.
Adoration battled with long-ingrained obedience; then she slowly nodded. "You
saved our lives, Agent Mulder. I know you’d never do anything to hurt my father
or me," she conceded with a tremulous smile.
Scully was practically
vibrating with urgency. "Penny, what do you know about your mother’s death?" she
urged.
Mulder folded his long
legs, and dropped back down onto the loose sand. Penny followed suit, huddling
reassuringly close. "I know she was killed on purpose," she admitted, clenching
her small fists. "Sometimes I eavesdrop on my father’s meetings when I can’t
sleep, and I heard those two bad men tell him so."
"Bad men," Mulder softly
echoed, locking eyes with his partner again. "What did they look like? Can you
describe them?"
Her long blonde ponytail
bounced as she nodded vigorously. "I wish I could forget them!" she vowed with
another baleful scowl. "They were both really old. One of them smoked a lot of
cigarettes, and the other had a British accent."
It was a meager
description at best--but more than sufficient for the two stunned FBI agents.
Their hated enemy, the Cigarette-Smoking Man, and his elusive companion, whom
Mulder had once nicknamed ‘the Well-Manicured Man.’ Scully numbly sank down
beside them, her face pale.
"I thought your mother
ran away for a while, and got sick after your father made her come back," Max
interjected, a malicious grin on his face. "My parents said..."
Penny cast a venomous
glare at him. "Your parents don’t know anything about it," she snapped. "She was
taken! And when she was finally released, she couldn’t remember anything
that had happened to her. Then she got sick and died, just like everyone else!"
Suddenly her head snapped
up, and she stared at Scully in disbelief. "You were taken, too!" she
accused, scowling. "Why are you still alive?"
Scully accepted her
bitter hostility with a weary sigh. "Agent Mulder risked his own life to find me
a very special cure," she admitted, unconsciously touching the back of her neck.
The girl’s eyes narrowed.
"Why didn’t anyone help my mother?" she demanded.
Mulder laid a restraining
hand on her shoulder. "Your mother was taken about thirteen years ago, right?
Back then, no cure existed yet," he explained.
"We weren’t even assigned
to the X-Files Project then," Scully agreed. "Penny, we’d have helped your
mother if we could--but it just wasn’t possible. You must understand that."
Esther and Reuben had
been listening to the exchange in shocked silence. "How do you know your mother
was killed on purpose?" Reuben suddenly demanded, leaning forward. Esther jabbed
him in the ribs, but he ignored her whispered reprimand.
Penny swivelled around in
the sand. "Those two men," she repeated. "I heard my father accuse them of
giving her cancer, and they didn’t even try to deny it! They said it had been
meant as a warning, to stay out of business that didn’t concern him."
"That sounds like a
threat to me," Mulder concurred with a rueful shrug. "Do they still come to see
your father?"
It was a subtle test,
because he’d seen the Well-Manicured Man killed in a fiery car explosion four
years ago. And they’d both witnessed those deadly black helicopters destroying
the Anasazi ruins where the Cigarette-Smoking Man had been hiding. Not even a
healthy man could have escaped that devastation--and he’d been almost at death’s
door. He was definitely gone--and good riddance!
Penelope hesitated, then
slowly shook her head. "No, not while I was around," she admitted.
Suddenly an unexpected
grin curved her lips. "I think he’s trying to work against them," she confided,
leaning closer. "One night I overheard him talking with an advisor about this
creepy special agent who investigates weird stuff like my mother’s UFO network.
He’s been trying to help him, keeping him out of trouble, so he can stop those
two men. My father said everyone calls him ‘Spooky,’ and he really lives up to
his nickname! Can you imagine having a nickname like Spooky?" she giggled.
The moment she’d said
‘creepy special agent,’ Scully had known exactly what was coming. Poor
Mulder--his inglorious past was catching up with a vengeance!
"Imagine that," her
disgruntled partner muttered in a dry voice.
It was just too funny!
Laughter began to bubble up inside her, and she choked it back with a violent
cough. "Allergies!" she finally rasped, wiping tears from her eyes. "I’m okay!"
Mulder slanted a
disgusted look in her direction--and pointedly changed the subject.
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