Title - Bad Video I (01/13) Author - Lee Ann & Steven M. Wagner E-Mail address - lawagner@mindspring.com wagnersm@mindspring.com Date Finished 30 July 2000 Rating - R - Violence Toward Children Category - S Keywords - The Sentinel, X-Files, Non-Canon Characters, Mulder/Other Spoiler - None Summary - Scully and Mulder, Aysa and Charles go to West Virginia and find a movie studio, one with dead bodies. Warning - This story includes references and description of the torture and murder of children and adolescents. Disclaimer - This is a fiction story based on the characters created by others. No infringement of copyrights held by Pet Fly, Paramount, 1013 Productions, Twentieth Century Productions, or Fox Broadcasting is intended. The characters of Rebecca DaSilva and Lisa Bennett belong to their creators and are used with their permission. All unrecognized characters and plot-lines belong to us. Names, characters, and places exist solely within my imagination, or are used fictitiously. No connection to any person, living or dead, is intended, and any resemblance is entirely coincidental. Feel free to distribute, but please keep us as the author. Additional Credits - BeckyD Rebecca DaSilva Section Chief - FBI Forensic Anthropology Section Lisa Bennett Lisa Bennett Special Agent - FBI Exploited and Missing Children Unit Our thanks to our Beta readers, Lisa Bennett, Becky DaSilva, Stephen DeBerry, and Tegan Ridgeway. These people pointed out what we were doing right, and even more importantly, pointed out what we were doing wrong. Our thanks go out to them, ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (01/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Monongahela National Forest 3:00PM Thursday, 9 October 1998 ------ The harsh cries of the bald eagle and peregrine falcon echoed in the cold air of the Appalachian highlands. A westerly breeze rustled among the cedars and red pines. Soon the snows of winter would cover this distant place under its white blanket. The roar of a poorly muffled V-8 outshouted nature's voice. A banged up Dodge truck crawled up a gravel road until it got over a ridge and started it's downward slide on the loose gravel. The sounds of raptor and breeze had barely returned when the whine of a green U.S Forest Service Jeep drove up the gravel until it reached the same ridge and disappeared. The world seemed to hold its breath for a moment. A male "What's going on here," was the only sound heard. Then the sharp crack of a single gunshot pierced the air. A faint child's voice was raised, "Mommy!!" Three more sharp cracks. No other sound until the engines of the truck and Jeep started again and made their way back down the gravel road toward civilization. The silence descended once again. *-*-* Randolph County Airport Elkins, West Virginia 2:20 PM, Monday, 13 October 1998. ------ The twin propellers slowed to a stop as the ancient airliner ended it's journey at the edge of the runway. A moment later, the passenger door dropped open and the 4 passengers on the chartered flight climbed down to the rain-puddled tarmac. Charles Farragut looked out at the airfield. It was a typical isolated small town airport, a couple of old hangers, a Weather Service station, a battered sheet metal shack that served as an terminal and ticket office. There was probably not that much traffic through this airport anymore. He turned and helped Anna, Dana, and Mulder unload their luggage from the Douglas DC-3. Soon there was a pile of suitcases and bags at the edge of a patch of gravel Charles hoped was the parking lot. "We're off loaded. Thanks for the flight," he yelled out to the two pilots. After a quick pre-flight check of the airplane, the passenger door closed and the pilot waved the four away from the plane. "It reminds me of some of the planes I was on in India," Anna said looking the airplane over. Charles watched Scully and Mulder walk to a bench next to the shack before turning towards his partner. "These babies were built to last. I wouldn't be surprised if it saw service during World War Two." Anna glanced at the airplane sitting at the end of the runway, it's engines revving up. "And it hasn't fallen apart yet. I guess there's hope for you yet, Pard," she said slapping him on the back. Charles chuckled, shaking his head at her comment. His sharp eyes caught a nearly imperceptible movement of Anna's. Her attention seemed to be on something close to the building. He had learned to pay attention when something caught his partner's eye. Mulder and Scully were still standing by the bench intently discussing something instead of sitting. Charles heard a snatch of Dana's voice telling her partner that she'd gotten more sleep then he had. Anna walked up to them, her tan duster billowing around her ankles. "Hey you two. There's plenty of space for both of you on that bench. Siddown." Anna stopped and gracefully dropped to the ground, sitting with her legs crossed. "There's even space for you, Charles," she said patting the ground next to her. "I think I'll pass, Anna," he said. He walked downwind of them and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "They stink," Anna called out, not even turning her head. "But they taste good," he replied smiling. He watched as Dana and Mulder has sat down, their coats wrapped tightly around them. They shouldn't have been on this case. At the moment, they shouldn't have been on any case. They had spent the last 2 months on a hellish case in Wyoming and needed some R&R to decompress. Instead, they'd caught the red eye back to DC and had joined Charles and Anna on the DC3 to West Virginia not two hours later, both of them exhausted, apparently aching, but resigned to their fates. He idly watched his 3 charges as his mind replayed the meeting with AD Skinner. He had pushed for Dana and Mulder to be kept off the case because, clearly, they needed their R&R. The only thing that had stopped him was Skinner's quiet comment that it would be best that the two be someplace away from a certain man who smoked Morleys. Charles looked down at his Marlboro. He used to like the taste of an unfiltered Morley. The sound of car tires on gravel caught his attention. "Hello," a man said climbing down from the driver's seat of the GSA motorpool Ford van, his body wrapped in a navy blue parka. "Section Chief Charles Farragut?" he asked. "Yes," Charles replied. "And you must be Special Agent David Huntley." "The same," the sandy haired man said, extending his hand. "And these are Agents Anna Rose, Dana Scully, and Fox Mulder," Charles introduced, pointing out each person in turn. "Glad to make your acquaintance," Huntley said. "I drove through rain driving here from Job. Let's load your luggage in the van before it hits." *-*-* Driving down US33, Huntley started talking. "I must apologize for dragging the four of you from Bedlam on the Potomac. We only have 2 agents at the office in Charleston, and a recent rash of bank robberies has both Chet and I buried." "So you called Washington?" Scully said. "Not quite. Pittsburgh," Huntley replied. "We talked with the SAC and _she_ called Washington." Scully chuckled. "Any information about the case?" Scully asked, leaning forward in her seat. By now, the van had left Elkins behind and was now driving down a two-lane road. "The report we faxed to Washington was pretty complete. We got the call from the Randolph County Sheriff's office late Saturday afternoon, one dead Ranger and 3 adolescents. By the time we got here from Clarksburg, it was after sunset. We drove up to the scene and took a quick look around by flashlight. Body count was right." Huntley took a moment to catch his breath. The quiet of the van's interior was interrupted only by the rumble of tires against all-weather pavement. "We slept the night in the cab of Chet's truck. We checked the crime scene again in the morning. All four had been killed by a small caliber bullet; Ranger Boyles by a bullet in the chest, the three adolescents by a bullet in the back of the head. At that point, we called Pittsburgh." Everybody in the van watched the leafless trees and mobile homes pass by for a couple of minutes. "Any impressions?" Anna asked from the back seat. "Not too many, Agent Rose," Huntley replied. "The Randolph County Sheriff sent out a crime scene team and collected evidence. The autopsies were done at Davis Memorial Hospital at Elkins." "Thank you, Agent Huntley," Anna said. Charles leaned back in the front passenger seat of the van. His first impression looked like it was going to be the right one: people killed for some sorry reason. Probably stumbled over a still or a hunting accident. Shiiit. The trail was cold, the only way they were going to find the unsub was getting lucky. The van was quiet all the way to Job. *-*-* Job, West Virginia was a main street along Gandy Creek with a single church, a boarded up brick mercantile building of some sort, a scattering of houses, and a combination gas station and grocery. There was a Randolph County Sheriff's patrol car sitting in the parking lot of the gas station. Huntley pulled the van up beside the Sheriff's Crown Vic. "That will be Deputy Miller. He is the one that found the bodies." Charles nodded and looked out the side window of the van. Job would be a pretty little place in spring. The trees and grass would be green, the sky would be bright blue. But now, it was cold, the trees were bare, and the sky was gray and threatened more rain. Charles opened his door and slid open the side door of the van. The Deputy walked out of the building and pushed his Stetson back a touch. "Welcome to Job, West-by-God-Virginia," he said with a smile and a hand shake. "I'm Deputy Sheriff John Miller." "Thank you," Charles said, an echoing smile on his face. "These are agents Dana Scully, Anna Rose, and Fox Mulder., and I'm Section Chief Charles Farragut," he said by way of an introduction. "Pleased to meet you, ladies, gents," Smith said, touching the brim of his hat. "Sir," Scully replied smiling. Anna and Mulder followed suit. "Billie Bob has some chairs and hot coffee," Deputy Miller suggested. "Let's go in." Miller reported. "We got a call yesterday morning. Ranger Peter Boyles had not shown up for work since the morning of the 9th. His supervisor, Ranger Lisa Smith had checked for him at his house in Hopeville. His Forest Service Jeep was sitting in the driveway, there was no answer, and when she checked around the back of the house, she found his keys tossed behind a bush." Miller took a sip of his coffee before continuing. "Nothing in the law says that you can't up and quit your job if you want. Lisa can be quite persuasive when she wants to be so we went against our best judgment sent a team over to fingerprint the Jeep and Boyle's house. She called out Search and Rescue. We had 50 people combing the National Forest in an hour." He sighed before continuing, "I went up to check out a mothballed resort a couple of miles off Stinking Run Road. I found Boyles and the two girls and the boy dead. I called the Sheriff and he called the FBI." "And that's when Brinkley and I came in," Huntley added. Miller nodded. "The Sheriff's crime scene team came out and checked the area around the bodies. The bodies are down at Davis Memorial. Doctor Post, the ME is performing the autopsies." Coffee finished, he crushed the paper cup and threw it away. "Anything else?" Farragut shook his head. "I don't think so, Deputy Miller. Thank you for your report and assistance. Your assistance in this matter is greatly appreciated." "Transport?" Rose asked. "The Forest Service is loaning the FBI two Jeep Cherokees for the duration of the case," Huntley interjected. "Mulder and I can go and talk with the ME in Elkins," Scully suggested. "Yes, good idea," Farragut said. "And Rose and I can check a couple of bars and talk with the locals." "Check the Port Side Pub in Dryfork, Roy's Place in Bowden, and Lady Godiva's in Elkin," Miller suggested. "The locals hang out there." "Thank you, Miller," Farragut said. "Meet here afterwards?" Mulder asked. "The hotel," Rose suggested. "Where are our reservations, Huntley?" Farragut asked. "The Alpine Lodge in Bowden." "That will work," Farragut said. Turning to Deputy Miller, he stretched out his hand. "Thank you again, Deputy Miller. We'll keep in contact with the Sheriff's office." "You're welcome," Miller said, shaking the offered hand. "We'll take over from here, Huntley," Farragut said. "Mulder, Scully, if we don't get the opportunity, we'll talk over breakfast tomorrow morning." "I'll get you the keys," Huntley said standing up. Within minutes, Miller, Huntley, Mulder, and Scully had left the parking lot. "Shall we go hit the bars?" Farragut asked Rose. "Thought you'd never ask," Rose replied. *-*-* Roy's Place Bowden, West Virginia 6:20 PM, Monday, 13 October 1998. ------ It was early night, the street lights just starting to come on when Anna and Charles pulled into the gravel parking lot. The doors of the building closed tight against fall's cold breath. Outside was cold twilight, inside, it would be 'Miller Time,' light, warmth, the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke. Charles looked the place over. The building was low, made of painted concrete block, a fluorescent sign on the street announcing its name. The parking lot was filled with Jeeps, Broncos, and just about every other species of 4X4s and trucks. The front door opened and two men came out, their hands tucked into the pockets of their pants trying to keep warm. Anna watched them make their tipsy way to a truck, then shrugged absentmindedly. "I've been in worse places." "So have I," Charles replied walking towards the door. "Ohh! Details. I want all the gory details. And soon," Anna joked, pulling the door open. A juke box was playing an old Tanya Tucker song. The air was warm and fragrant with the smell of beer, tobacco, and human bodies. One more cigarette wouldn't make a difference. So Charles lit up and took a deep drag. Time for a drink, he pushed his way to the bar. "Coffee and a Coke," he told the bar tender. Charles took a minute to survey the crowd. It was a mostly male group, working stiffs in for a cold one. A pool table provided some entertainment, a half dozen beer signs provided decoration. There was signs for the restrooms and an 'Employee's Only' sign on what could only be a storeroom. "Nice place," he mumbled to himself. He sipped at the coffee, listening to Anna talk with a couple of locals. She was not doing well getting them to talk. She came back to where Charles was leaning against the bar. "Nobody's talking, boss," she said setting the glass down and waving the bartender over for a refill. "What do you think?" A quiet question. Anna studied the question for a moment or two, then gave her head the slightest shake. He nodded. He knew that she has some idea of what was going on, but didn't want to speak of it here. "Oh, thanks," Anna told the bartender smiling picking up the fresh glass of coke. The bartender smiled back and went back to polishing the oak bartop. A minute later, and Anna put the empty glass back on the bar, a bill tucked under it. "Lets go," she said simply. Safely seated in the Jeep Cherokee, Charles started driving in towards Elkins. "What couldn't you tell me in the bar?" "We're dealing with a bit of an antagonistic attitude here. The local people don't like the Park Rangers. The Rangers keep them from hunting at times. If they find stills, they destroy them." "We'll have to check to see if Boyles did any of that. It might just give us a lead." "A lead would be nice," Anna agreed. "If I had some time with the locals, I might be able to get through and get them to talk." "How long?" "A couple of months," Anna answered. "We don't have that long. If we don't find any leads by the end of the week, we're back in DC," Charles said. Anna's face suddenly got the sour look she reserved for a kosher Polish Dill pickle. "I can do many things, but I don't think that this is a rabbit that I'll be able to pull out of the hat that quickly." "I know, Anna. But the murder of one Federal employee on Federal land is not a big enough case to keep the four of us here." *-*-* Lady Godiva's Elkins, West Virginia 7:20 PM, Monday, 13 October 1998. ------ "You've got to be kidding me," Anna said looking up at the bright neon sign. "What's wrong with the sign?" Charles asked. "It's a little tacky to me." "But Lady Godiva's! What do you think the dress code is in there?" Charles laughed. "A little different from what the Lady wore on horse back, I suspect." "At least I have the hair for it," Anna said, leaning her head back and shaking her long mahogany locks. Lady Godiva's had a bit more going for it than Roy's. The parking lot was paved for one thing, and there was a mix of sedans and coupes among the trucks. The exterior of the building wasn't simply painted block; there was faux half-timbering on the exterior walls. A pretentious place for this town. The interior matched the exterior in slightly tacky British decor. Pictures of the Queen and the late Princess of Wales vied for spots on the walls. As did pictures of the English countryside and a darts target. It was unlike any pub he'd ever been to in the British Isles. Finally he saw what gave the place its name. Behind the bar was a portrait of a woman on horseback sitting sidesaddle facing the viewer. And the only thing keeping the picture out of the hands of the morals police was her strategically placed blond locks. Charles stared for a moment. "It's not natural. It's a wig," Anna whispered. His eyes glanced low on the figure to check. "Made ya look," Anna whispered, her smile wide, her eyes glistening. "Bratling," Charles growled. "Anyway, if the artist was doing his job right, he would have made all hair match," he continued laughing. Anna joined in his laughter. A couple of soft drinks later and Anna was back at work. Charles stayed with his partner when she started talking with people this time. A couple of people didn't know anything, hadn't been down US33 for years. "We don't know anything that happens in the hills. Ask the Rangers," one young man said belligerently, his eyes down at his drink. "Sure about that," Anna asked sweetly. "Yeah, I'm sure about that," he said looking up at her. Then a feral smile spread across his face. "And I'm sure about something else. Come over to my place, and I'll show you something that only a real man can do." His eyes went up and down her figure. Charles took a hard look at the lanky young man. This was unacceptable. This wasn't flirting, this was sexual harassment. Charles stood straight and started to open his mouth. Anna touched his arm and gave her head a brief shake. "Honey," she said reaching out and touching the young man's cheek. "Who are you going to get to show me?" The man's friends started laughing and hooting at the man's embarrassment. Anna motioned for Charles to precede her out the door. Back in the cold winter air, Charles took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. "I must apologize for what went on in there Agent Rose. I'm not normally this aggressive, but that statement of his set me off." "I have to admit, it's a funny feeling, a man fighting for you," Anna quipped. Charles looked her square in the eyes and chuckled. "That is how it came off, didn't it?" "Yes, it was," Anna joined in the chuckling. "It isn't like I've been handling jokers like that one for the past 10 years now." Charles just nodded his agreement. "Shall we try any other places?" "No. I think that the people we have talked to really don't know anything. On top of the animosity towards the Rangers, people tend to keep to themselves and not notice what others do, especially strangers." "Back to the hotel then?" "Yeah, maybe they'll have something good on pay-per-view." Charles laughed, "Maybe, Rose. Just make sure that there's something left in your per-diem to pay for it." "Hey, I packed my own roll of quarters and everything, " she replied. Charles looked at his partner for a moment, a long-suffering look on his face. "I know, I know. Get in the car and shut up." She sounded resigned before giving him a mischievous smile. They got into the Cherokee and headed back towards the Alpine Lodge and their beds. Continued in Part 2. ------ ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (02/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Interlude 1 From the casebook of FBI Special Agent Anna Rose: 13 October 1998 "It's 12:30 in the morning and I'm glad your there to spend this cloudy night with me. Now for a song from one of the finest looking women in country music today.... Shania Twain." I stood up and stretched, moving to the beat of "You're Still The One". As the last notes sounded, I reached over and switched off the radio and headed into the bathroom for a nice hot shower. Twenty minutes later I was back sitting at the table, reviewing my notes on the information, or lack there of, that Charles and I collected at the bars. The attitude of the locals was very puzzling. I had expected some unfriendliness, after all we are outsides and FBI to boot, but the people I had talked to were beyond unfriendly. They were at times hostile. I had expected more flirting and to be given information that would send us on some snipe hunts. Instead, the locals acted closed mouth and indifferent to the murders. Of course, I only asked about the ranger because we were trying to keep the fact three kids were also killed from hitting the press before we could notify their families. Continued in Part 3 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (03/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Dory's Diner Elkins, West Virginia 7:30AM Tuesday, 14 October 1998 ------ Charles looked over the three assembled at the table; Anna Rose, perusing a menu, a cup of coffee in her hand; Dana watching Mulder closely, an eyebrow raised warningly; Mulder, menu open in front of him, smiling at his partner. Charles glanced down at his own menu, wondering what Mulder felt was so funny, and what Scully knew about it. "Farragut?" Mulder asked. "Yes, Mulder?" Charles replied, his eyes not leaving the menu. "They've got 'S.O.S.' on the menu. It's even the breakfast special today." Charles's head shot up. Not that stuff. S.O.S., 'Shit On a Shingle'. Charles remembered it all too well. Ground beef, cooked in a watery white sauce, slopped on a piece of burnt bread that could pass for a charcoal briquette. A poor excuse for creamed chipped beef on toast. The stuff wasn't even close. It was barely edible. And he'd been fed it _way too many times_ by the Navy. "Scully, isn't it a normal Navy breakfast?" Mulder asked teasingly. "Mulder . . ." Scully said warningly. "Well?" Mulder couldn't leave it alone. "Yes it is," Charles said. "And I remember enjoying it many mornings while shipboard. Why don't you order it this morning, Mulder?" Mulder's eyes went wide for a moment. "Nah. I think I'll stay with the eggs and bacon," Mulder said, his eyes back at his menu. Charles chuckled. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed his last plate of S.O.S., hadn't it? The waitress came up, ticket book at hand. "Whatcha have?" A question said around a wad of Bazooka. "Sausage and Eggs. Grits. Biscuits," Anna piped up. "I'll have the malted waffle," Scully said. "And you hon?" the waitress asked Mulder. "Scrambled eggs. Bacon." "I will have the breakfast special," Charles added. When Mulder turned and looked at him, he just smiled. "You're right, it is an old Navy breakfast." The waitress nodded and left for the kitchen. "Let's have the reports. Scully?" Charles asked. "I read over Dr Post's reports," Scully began. "He did a thorough job on the 4 autopsies. Ranger Boyles died instantly from the bullet wound to the chest, the three adolescents died instantly from a single bullet to the back of the head while kneeling. "Execution style," Anna said. Scully nodded and continued, "The conditions of the bodies are consistent with a time of death of Thursday afternoon, the cold weather being a consideration. Boyles had all of the expected personal effects except for his key ring." "Which was found at his house with his Jeep," Mulder interjected. "Robbery wasn't a motive or his wallet and the Jeep would have been missing," Charles added. Scully nodded. "Toxicology found traces of sodium pentothal and Valium in the adolescents' blood. And ligature marks on their wrists and ankles." She paused for a moment. "The oldest adolescent, a 14 year old female showed signs of being raped." The table went silent for a moment. "One thing stuck Dr Post and myself as very odd. Even with the cold weather, there should have been some evidence of insect activity on the bodies." "Scavengers?" Anna asked. "No signs of them. And according to Post, there are plenty of scavengers in the area." "I doubt that insects and scavengers are going to make or break the case," Charles said. Food arrived and everyone's attention was focused on the plates in front of them. There was little talk while everybody was paying attention to the serious business of eating. And Charles' S.O.S. was what he remembered, a hot meal that filled one up on a cold wintry morning. The table, now littered with empty plates and a few crumbs, Anna looked over at Charles. "Now what, boss?" she asked. "Settle the check. Clean up at the motel, then hit the scene of the crime," Charles said. *-*-* Blackthorn Lodge Smoke Hole Gorge, West Virginia 11:00 AM Tuesday, 14 October 1998 ------ It was cold and damp, windy with a low overcast gray sky. The sort of damp cold that soaks into your clothing and your bones until the only thing that will get you warm again is a soak in a hot tub of water. Charles' trench coat was keeping him warm, just barely. For a moment, he envied his partner's waxed cotton duster and sweater, it might not look smart on 5th Avenue, but it did a better job of keeping you warm. This had been a nice place, probably a rich man's summer home, Charles decided looking over the area. A lodge, built of stone and timbers in the old grand traditions; a barn for horses; several other outbuildings. The view was spectacular, mountain layered on mountain until they disappeared into blue obscurity, and from one of the valleys, a column of condensing moisture, one of the 'smokes' that gave this area it's name visible in the distance. Now, it looked like a deserted plaything of some rich fool who enjoyed the mountains. The windows were now shuttered, padlocks on most of the doors, and the landscaping left to run wild. The cold cutting wind made the place one you didn't want to tarry at. "Boss," Anna said. "I'm no good at this, so unless you find an arrowhead or a fetish object, I'm going to wander around the site. If you find something, give me a yell." She headed for the barn without even waiting for his reply. Charles glanced over at Scully before giving a smile and a shrug that said, "Can't do anything about it, so . . ." Scully smiled back, her blue eyes sparkling. "Mulder, what do you . . .?" Charles turned and discovered that he was talking to the agent's back. "What the hell?" "Mulder does this. He finds a highspot and looks over the crime scene while he goes over the case file mentally," Scully explained. Charles watched Mulder walk up the rise where the lodge stood as it had since it had been built sometime in the 1920's. A shrug of the shoulders, it was a bit of insubordination he could live with. "Well, let's go over the crime scene from a closer point of view." Charles opened the file folder to Huntley and Brinkley's notes. He scanned it briefly before passing it to Scully. The outline tape made it clear where the bodies had been, and little numbered flags showed where the crime scene techs had found the bullet casings. Charles knelt down and ran his fingers through the sparse grass. The soil was hard, no evidence would be found there. "The notes say that they searched for a 10 yard radius and didn't find any useful impressions in the soil. The Search and Rescue team had disturbed the ground too much." "That's not unexpected. Rescue is the first order of the day for them." His fingers touched one of the numbered flags. "The rounds used to execute the people were manufactured by Fabrique Nationale, the brand the FBI buys." "That narrows it down a lot, doesn't it?" Scully commented, her voice slightly bitter. Charles glanced up at the redhead. The humor that had been there a scarce minute before was gone, the sparkle in her eyes dulled by the fatigue that lurked just under the surface. It just reiterated that her and Mulder should be anywhere other than the field. "Scully! Over here!" Mulder shouted. Charles and Scully exchanged a quick glance, then quickly made there way to the front of the lodge building. "What is it, Mulder?" Scully asked. "Didn't the case notes say that a Ranger by the name of Steve Ura had checked the lodge building and that it was secure?" Scully released a long sigh, one that let Charles know that she was prepared to be patient with her partner no matter what his mood. "Yes, Mulder." "Well, the basement door is unlocked," Mulder said, leading them down a slope and to a wooden door set in a gray field stone wall. A gentle twist by Mulder's gloved hand and the door opened smoothly. "No noise." Charles observed. "The hinges and lock were oiled recently," Mulder replied. "Don't they do preventive maintenance on mothballed structures?" Scully asked. "I think so, but I doubt much more than a visual inspection on little used doors like this one," Mulder replied. "Rattle the doorknob so to speak. This certainly moves Ura to the top of our interview list." "Yes, it does," Scully agreed. "When we talk with him, why don't you play bad cop this time, Scully?" Mulder teased. "Like anybody would believe that you're the good one," she replied deadpan. Mulder leaned to with in an inch of Scully's nose, a school boy leer on his face. "Are you implying that I'm not good, Agent Scully?" Scully raised an elegant eyebrow, a faint smile acknowledging the word play, and letting him know that she wasn't going to raise to his innuendo. Charles looked from one partner to the other, secretly pleased that they were teasing each other. No danger of them blowing up at each other soon. At least not that moment. "Let's check out the interior," Charles said slipping on a pair of latex gloves himself. "Rose!" he called out to his missing partner. Within a minute she was present and making a quick report. "All of the out buildings are locked." She hesitated for a moment. "Something else you noticed?" Scully asked. "Yeah. The lock and hinges on the barn door looked like it had been oiled recently." Charles nodded. "Interesting. Mulder found the basement door of the lodge unlocked. The door hinges and lock have been oiled recently, too." "Interesting is a good word," Anna mused, nodding her head. "But odd or strange might be better." "True. We'll check out the interior of the lodge, then we'll hit the barn," Charles said. He pulled open the door before stepping back and letting the others go in first. Scully and Mulder had already gone through the weatherbeaten door when Rose stopped, one foot already in. "Charles," she said quietly, "you know me and crime scenes." She pulled her foot back. Her eyes were fixed on some point off in the middle distance, just left of beyond Mulder's shoulder. "I'll just contaminate the evidence. You know, that's me .... like a total klutz." She took a step back. "Never did learn to keep my hands to myself," she said with a nervous laugh to her voice. She took another step back away from the open door. "Besides, you have one of the best forensic people there is right there." She pointed at Scully. "What do you need me for?" She slid back another step. "How about I just keep casing the grounds? Maybe I'll find something useful. Okay?" By now, Anna was about two yards away from the open door. Her hands were flying as fast as her words. Charles looked down at his partner. Her voice was quiet, her face pale. But he couldn't miss the brief look of pleading that was in her eyes. "Sure. The three of us can go through the building well enough. Yell if you find anything interesting," he replied. She visibly relaxed. "Sure thing, Boss. And... a...thanks. And you do the same." Charles watched her wonder off towards the barn. Something was up, this was most unusual behavior. She actually quite good at collecting evidence. But he wasn't going to get a good answer from her right there, and he didn't want to dig it out of her in front of Mulder and Dana. The basement was illuminated by a couple of windows next to the door. The walls were stone construction, the floor concrete. The smell was a barely musty. Not what you would expect from a building that had been mothballed for years. There were the expected brick pillars supporting the floors above, and a set of stairs going up to what was probably the entry hall of the building. Against one wall were what appeared to be a group of smallish rooms built of brick with wooden doors. From the quality of the masonry, the rooms had been built much latter than then the rest of the building by less skilled masons then those that had built the basement. The hasps and locks holding the doors closes were nice and shiny. Mulder stood in front of the brick rooms, his eyes going from one door to the next. "I don't like this." Scully raised an eyebrow inviting an explanation from her partner. "These rooms," Mulder replied. "I've seen storerooms in older buildings like this, but they tend to be bigger. This building was mothballed sometime back in the 80's. These room look newer that." "Any ideas?" Scully asked. "Something was kept locked up down here," Mulder said. "That's obvious," Scully commented dryly. "But what you lock up in a mothballed building?" "I can't tell you that. But keep thinking. You may come up with something," Charles said. "OK, let's go ahead and check the rest of the building. "We may find a lead up there." "Sure," Mulder said, his hand on the railing of the stairs. The entry hall of the building was empty, decently lit by windows either side of the front door. The first room they hit must have been a parlor when the house was built. A fireplace was centered on one wall, and the walls were covered with a wallpaper that would have been stylish 30 years ago. "This is something unexpected," Mulder said looking at the floor. "Co-ax cables. Like you would use to connect your VCR to your television." Charles scanned the floor. There were maybe about 10 to 15 of them, haphazardly scattered around the room. "Some of them maybe." Kneeling down, he picked up a cable that look a little different, "Some of them have RCA jacks, something you would use to hook a audio system together or a video camera to a recorder." Straightening back up, he looked to the door of the room, "Let's check across the hall." The room across the hall was lined with built-in bookcases of some dark wood, the library when the place had been a residence. The floor had been nicely carpeted once with a sizable table, built of the same wood as the shelves, in the middle of the room. Now instead of books, the shelves had boxes stacked on them. Scully carefully took one of the boxes, set it on the table and opened it. She reached in and pulled out a shrink-wrapped VHS tape. She carefully rotated the box, carefully handling it by its edges. She held the box up so they could all read the title, "Little Girl Screams." There was a picture of a young girl, maybe 14 years old, tied spreadeagled on what appeared to be a bed, a red-hot poker about to brand her between her bare breasts. Charles felt like he'd been kicked in the gut, he'd never seen anything like this before in his life. "Shit," Mulder breathed. "See little girls get their sweet first taste of hot iron against their skin." She picked up a second shrinkwrapped box. Pain evident in her tone as she spoke again, "See the blood flow as a knife slips deep between their ribs." The picture on the front was a girl her eyes wide as she looked down at a knife protruding from her chest. Charles gently took the box from her fingers. Close up, he could see the faint quiver of her fingers, the way her blue eyes had darkened in horror. The picture on the front held his attention in a morbid, shameful way, from the angle of the knife as it protruded from the right side of her chest, to the look of horror on the girl's face. The box suddenly felt like it was made of lead, he set it down before he could drop it. "Let's check the rest of the building." He led them to the kitchen. It was empty, no tables, no chairs, nothing but an ancient bottled gas stove and built-in cabinets. It was a relief not to find any utensils, he didn't know right then if he could handle finding a knife that matched the one on the box. He glanced over at Mulder and Scully. The two were looking through a cabinet. He wasn't sure who was supporting who. They both looked pale, but the words they were sharing were soft, and his hand was low on her back. They would be OK, for now. The dining room was empty, which left the second floor. He led them upstairs. Of the six rooms, five looked like they had been used with minor bits of adult clothing and toiletries left. They checked the sixth room. In the dim light that came through the dirty window, they could see blouses, pants, jeans, skirts, shoes, even a couple of book bags. A lot more clothing than might be for the three lying dead in the Davis Memorial Hospital morgue. Charles froze for a moment thinking of the number of children this room might represent. "Let's get out of here," Charles said. "Let's go see what Agent Rose may have found." He guided them down the stairs, back out into the welcome sun. He looked into Scully and Mulder's faces, seeing a mask of professionalism that he knew was hiding the same thoughts of horror that he was hiding. Reaching into an inside pocket, he pulled out a pack of Marlboro's. He offered one to Scully before lighting the cigarettes. "We need the Response Team here ASAP," Mulder said. Charles only nodded, smoke slowly drifting from his nostrils. "I'll go see if she's found anything," Scully offered. The two men watched the redhead walk towards the barn and the fourth member of their band. Mulder was the first one to break the silence, "What do you think is going on here, Farragut?" "I don't know, Mulder," Charles said. "This is rapidly becoming a bigger case than I discussed with Skinner." Mulder snorted. "It was supposed to be a small, well defined case to give us experience with a normal case," Charles said, a faint sound of disgust in his voice. "Sorrrrry," Mulder said, elongating the word. Charles saw the smirk on the younger man's face. "There's Scully and Rose," Charles said changing the subject. "Scully filled me in," Anna said as she walked up, her arms wrapped around her stomach. Charles looked at her for a couple of seconds. She was pale under her olive complexion, and seemed rather quiet. This was not right for Anna. And why did she not want to enter the building. That was a second question that needed answering. Perhaps later. "I am going to call AD Skinner and get the Rapid Response team here." Charles pulled out his cellophane and started to dial Skinner's office. He didn't dial more than two numbers. "Damn. There isn't any cellular service in this area." "We can call from a public phone from the store in Job," Mulder suggested. "Good thinking," Charles said. He glanced over at Anna for a moment, she looked a little troubled. She needed to say something and would when she was ready. "Charles," Anna said. "I noticed that there are new-looking power lines running from the lodge to the barn and another out building. So I checked out the barn. Through one of the windows, I saw something that didn't look right." She looked down at her hands. Charles waited a moment, "Then." "I sorta picked the lock and opened the barn door. There is a fairly new Homelite generator sitting in the corner of the barn with a couple of barrels of fuel." The words came out in a rush. She hesitated for a moment, "I did something illegal, huh?" "No. It's a appropriate search. We were invited onto the property," he replied. "Anyway, it's all Federal property," Mulder added with a shrug. "Well, there's something else by the barn I think you guys need to see," she added. Charles thought for a moment. He wanted to bring in the Rapid Response Team as soon as possible. But he trusted his partner and she was right more often than not. "Ok. Let's look." Something was notably wrong with her. Something he needed to find out. Soon. She lead them to a corral behind the barn and away from the lodge. "Take a look," Anna said opening the gate to a corral. Charles walked into the enclosure and slowly turned around. Something was there, she was right. Frost-withered grass waving in the afternoon sun. Old fencing needing paint and repair. The sound of wind and his own breathing. His eyes was picking up something that his brain was not registering, but what? "Get closer to the ground and look," Anna suggested. Charles glanced over at her, pulled up his pant's legs and followed her suggestion. He looked across the corral for only a couple of seconds before freezing. Sweet God in Heaven. . . There were depressions in the ground. Depressions that Charles recognized. Not the small depressions left when you fill in a foxhole or other small hole, but rather the depressions left when you shallowly bury bodies. He slowly stood up and straightened into attention. "There's tools in the back of one of the Jeeps." His voice low and even. "Bring me a couple of trowels and a brush," Anna said, her voice flat, but authoritative, "And a pail or bucket." At Charles's questioning look, she continued, a wan smile on her face, "Don't forget, I've been on an archeology dig. I know how to excavate a site. We'll need to do this slowly and carefully. It's a shallow grave and a shovel would damage things." Charles nodded. A couple of minutes latter he returned with the requested tools. After Anna waved off his assistance, he stood a couple of yards back with Mulder and watched as Anna and Scully slowly scrape off the soil, an eighth of an inch at a time. It took an hour to scrape the soil down to where they found it. A hand, the partially decomposed hand of a child. Continued in part 4 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (04/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Interlude 2 From the casebook of FBI Agent Ann Rose 14 October 1998 - *Well," I thought, "That was fun.* I moved further into the shadow of the stables and waited for Mulder to return with Scully and Charles. I hoped one of them would return before the phantoms we had just chased tried to reclaim whatever lays waiting in that monstrosity that was born and nurtured in the lodge. My eyes scanned the area looking for movement. My nose twitched searching for unknown and previously undetected odors. My ears strained in the silence to pick up any noise that shouldn't be there. Finding nothing, I let part of my mind recount what had happened while the other part continued it's search patterns. After we uncovered the hand, Charles decided to call in re- enforcements and talk to the head ranger. He wanted someone to stay on site, to make sure it remained undisturbed. I knew Charles needed to make the call to bring in the Rapid Response Team since he was the SAC on this case and that he needed someone with him to help question people. Since that is not my forte, I volunteered to stay on site. Mulder and Scully are superb at questioning people for specific information. I can get people to talk to me, but I have never conducted a criminal investigation type interview since the role playing games at the Academy. Scully volunteered to stay with me. After Mulder and Charles left, she tried to get me to tell her what's been bothering me, but I sidestepped the issue and she let me. I know she wasn't dazzled with my verbal footwork. Hell, she deals with Mulder who is a pro at sidestepping things he doesn't want to talk about. But Scully routinely gets him to talk about things. She ranks right up there at the top when it comes to give and take. She's every bit as good as Blair at getting people to talk and he routinely practices his skill on Jim Ellison who rivals Mulder at sidestepping skill. So I know she let me off the hook, for now. I want to talk about what I'm feeling. Honest I do. I know that I am not fooling Mulder, Charles, or Scully. But how do I explain that I can smell the rotting bodies buried in those holes? Or that I can see a trail of blood leading from the basement door to the corral? I can almost feel the evil pouring out of the lodge They would think I'm crazy if I told them. Well . . . . okay. . . . . Mulder wouldn't. But Charles and Scully sure would. So I'll just keep my mouth shut for now and hope that no one pushes too much. I stole a quick glance over my shoulder at the corral, the plastic covered hole clearly visible to me. Scully had carefully bagged the hand in an evidence bag to keep it from becoming contaminated. She dealt with it so calmly and professionally. I really admired the way she handles the dead. She treats them with respect, but never lets her emotions get in the way of her job. The hand we uncovered didn't seem to effect her much except for a slight jump in her heart rate. The guys handled it just as well. Charles just sighed softly and squatted down to get a better look. As did Mulder even if he paled slightly when he first saw it. If I hadn't been able to hear all three heartbeats speed up slightly, I would have figured they thought the hand was just some hideous prop from a TV show that someone had buried as a joke. But not me. Nope, one look at that hand and I'm in the bushes puking my guts out. Talk about embarrassing. At least Charles waited a few minutes before he came looking for me. And he didn't do anything but smile when I stated that I should have known better than to eat a big breakfast before my third cup of coffee. If he had made a fuss at that moment, I would have broken down and started crying and told him everything. Of course, if I had told him everything, I'd be sitting in a nice, warm padded room at St. Elizabeth's Hospital back in Washington instead of crouching in the shadows between the Lodge of Death, as I think of it, and its makeshift cemetery, waiting for my partner and friends to show up. Or the bad guys to come back. A smile on my face, all I could do was think about the stupid move the bad guys pulled tonight. Thinking they could sneak back into the lodge. Of course, they had no way of knowing we had stayed on site instead of going back into town. It was their bad luck that it's a long drive back to town and we're a small team. And if Mulder and I had been able to sleep, no one would have heard them sneaking around. I guess Charles can't bawl me out too much for not being in bed like a good little agent this time. Nope. But he will bawl both Mulder and me out for chasing the bad guys without letting him and Scully know what was happening. But it's not as if we planned on chasing bad guys in the middle of the night without telling anyone. It just sort of happened. But I knew that line of reasoning would not cut it with Charles and Scully. Scully would see it as Mulder doing something stupidly dangerous and dragging me with him. Mulder will be lucky to escape with just the lecture Charles will give us. And deliver a lecture he will. I better get the facts in order cause Charles hates it when I ramble. All Mulder and I were doing was sitting outside the servants' dormitory, talking about nothing and everything: of seals and ships and sealing wax and Becky DeSilva. God, Mulder's really hooked on Becky and really worried about doing something to blow the relationship. His track record with meaningful relationships is actually worse than mine, something I never thought possible. It was then that I saw someone moving around the lodge. I pointed it out to Mulder and we slowly moved a little closer to get a better look. We had just cleared the fence around the corral when the two silhouettes by the Lodge must have seen or heard us because they took off into the woods. Mulder followed without a moment's hesitation, his gun drawn. I hesitated a beat before following him, knowing I should wake up Scully and Charles but also knowing I couldn't let Mulder chase the intruders by himself. All I could think was if Charles was that going to be mad about Mulder and me investigating the two people trying to break into the Lodge, I would be lucky if he just killed me for chasing them through the woods without proper backup. Once we entered the woods, the moon disappeared. The growth of hemlock, spruce, red pine, and cedar are so thick that very little moonlight filtered through. The two figures, I could tell it were two because of the sound of two sets of footfalls, must have been familiar with the woods, as neither used a flashlight. Mulder didn't have his with him, so the low branches of the dwarf red pines slowed him down a bit. Which was lucky for me because I'm not much of a runner or sprinter. Suddenly the sounds stopped. I pushed my hearing range out and tried to pick up the trail again. But there was nothing to indicate where the two people we had been chasing were. I could hear the rapid flapping of bats, the rustling of nocturnal animals, even the running water from a distant river, but not a trace of the foot steps we had been following. In fact I was so intent on listening for the people we were pursuing that I never noticed we had emerged from the forest until I bumped into Mulder's arm. Lucky for both of us that he saw the edge of the rocks we were on before we both went over the edge. The scene before me totally captivated me. The moon was again visible and illuminated the landscape in its cold light. Here and there I could see outcroppings of rock that appeared to have been burnt at one time or another by intense ground fires, and patches of luminous lichen growing in the cracks and crevasses. Some of the rocks were covered in a white ghostly carpet that when I focused I could see was some variety of grass. But the thing that made this whole scene truly surreal was the billowing mass of mist that seemed to emerge from the face of the cliffs themselves. It was thick and dense more like smoke than fog or mist and blanketed everything with a white covering softening the almost barren landscape. This was the mist that gave the area its name - Smoke Hole. I recalled local legends that the smoke was from the smoldering cave fires that Native Americans used to smoke their meat or from the stills hidden in caves by moonshiners. Seeing it first hand like this at that moment I probably would have believed if someone had told me that the smoke was escaping the fires of Hell through cracks in the scorched earth. I was so mesmerized by the moving, shimmering landscape in front of me that Mulder had to repeat himself twice before I realized he was asking me if I knew where the people we had been chasing had disappeared to. I still couldn't get my mind to form words; so I just shook my head. Turning back toward the Lodge, he stated we had better let the Scully and Farragut know what had happened. Numbly I turned and followed him. But all I really wanted to do was sit and meditate, allowing the smoke to move over me, through me, as I tried to connect with it and the land. Once we got back to the lodge area, Mulder instructed me to keep an eye on things while he woke up the others. Then he shoved his back up gun in my hands and took off. Which is why I am lurking in the shadows of the barn, holding a gun, and waiting for Charles to show up and firmly show me the error of my ways. I was scanning the area again when I spotted a couple f flashlights coming toward me from the servant's quarters. I also heard the sound of running footsteps. Figuring I only have a few more seconds before I have to account for Mulder and my actions, I began going over the sequence of events again only this time I left out my reactions to the sod area and made it sound like Mulder and I were perfectly justified in pursuing the intruders. If Scully and Charles buy the story, Mulder and I may yet get survive this night. Continued in Part 5 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (05/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 7:00AM Wednesday, 15 October 1998 ------ Low gray clouds muted the sunlight, the wind cold and damp. It didn't smell of snow to Charles and the clouds were dull steel gray, not a glowing eggshell. It wouldn't snow today but he wouldn't count on there not being any by the end of the week. A short figure, her body wrapped in a blue trenchcoat, walked up to him. "Good Morning, Dana." Charles offered her a cigarette before taking one himself. A scratch of steel against flint and the two smokers were enjoying the first one of the day. A quick scan of the perimeter assured Charles that things were well, or at least was well as they could be with one child in a shallow grave and promise of maybe 12 more graves. "Good Morning Charles," a soft reply. "Thanks for the cigarette." "You're welcome." Charles drew the smoke deep into his lungs. The first cigarette of the day was a pleasure, something that tasted good, and woke up the brain. "When is the Rapid Response Team due in?" Charles slowly exhaled, letting the smoke trickle from his nostrils. "Noon. DaSilva will be with them. There's space in the servant's quarters for them as well." "Mulder will be happy to see her." A nod. Charles took another drag and watched Anna and Mulder stand at the fence surrounding the corral. He couldn't see the hollows in the surface of the corral in the soft light of the rising sun, but he knew that they were there, all thirteen of them. They needed to find how many bodies were buried there. The size of the unmarked graves indicated holes that were bigger than what was needed for a single child's body. Another drag and Charles looked at the cigarette, now burned almost down to the filter. Time to return to work. "Let's join the others and start earning our keep." A nod from Dana and they started on their way. *-*-* "Sleep well?" Mulder's question hung in the cold damp air. He hadn't even looked over at Charles, his eyes still studying the corral. "Yes I did. Think of anything?" Charles asked. Mulder grimaced, "Not too much. I can't get a handle on the perps." A truck's horn blast stopped any further discussion. Deputy Sheriff John Miller climbed out of the cab. "Good Morning!" he called out before nodding at each of the ladies. "Thank you for coming out," Charles said shaking the Sheriff's offered hand. "Glad to," Miller said shaking Mulder's hand. "So do you think there's more bodies out there?" "We found thirteen depressions, one of which has a body in it," Mulder said, little animation in his voice. "Yeah. Do the math," Miller said pushing back his hat. "The sheriff told me to stay out here until you get back. He's real unhappy about this happening in his county." "I can understand. I would have hated for this to have happened on my watch when I was in the Navy," Charles replied. "And thank you for coming out here and watching the crime scene while we talk to the rangers. We had some visitors last night." Miller looked squarely into Charles' face. "You don't say?" Miller's voice sounded a little perturbed, like he didn't like this sort of surprise. "Details, please." "Agent Rose and myself heard some people around the Lodge building this morning at about 2AM. We gave chase but couldn't apprehend them," Mulder explained. Miller frowned. "Anything else?" he asked looking at each of them in turn. All shook their heads. "I'll look around while waiting. Might just find something." "Thank you," Charles said. He'd screwed up not informing the Sheriff's office the prior night. Luckily, a minor one. He'd have to stop by the sheriff's office to see if he could borrow a walkie-talkie from them to keep in touch with them. "If you wish to track us down, Agent Rose will be stopping at Billie Bob's to order some supplies and the airport to guide some additional FBI agents that will be arriving at Noon. Agents Scully, Mulder, and myself will be interviewing Rangers Smith and Ura." Miller nodded. "OK. I'll be here when you return." *-*-* Ranger Headquarters Cheat Ranger District Parsons, WV ------ "Good morning, Ranger Smith," Charles said showing his FBI ID. "I am Section Chief Charles Farragut, and these are Agents Dana Scully and Fox Mulder." "Good morning," the blonde Ranger shook Charles's hand. And please call me Lisa." "Charles, then. And thanks for sending the maintenance staff to look over the buildings." "Glad to," she replied. "Just being hospitable." "Dana," Scully said shaking the Ranger's hand. "Mulder," Mulder said, a faint smile on his face. Lisa looked at the boyish agent for a moment before nodding. "Please be seated," she said and waved them to the mismatched collection of chairs in her office. "You are here about the murder of Peter Boyles and the 3 civilians up at Blackthorn Lodge." "Yes we are," Charles nodded. "We would like to talk with Ranger Steve Ura to see what light he can shed on the situation." Smith nodded. "Shouldn't be a problem, Ura works out of this office. He should be at his desk right now." She picked up the receiver of her phone and punched 4 buttons. "No answer. Let's take a look at his office. Follow me please." A few steps down a pine paneled hallway and Smith knocked on a door labeled 'Steve Ura.' "Steve, somebody here to talk with you." No answer. Lisa glanced over at Charles and knocked again. "Steve," she said sharply, knocking on the door again. Half a minute later, she gave Charles a sour smile. "Today is his paperwork day. He should be here. And he doesn't take much unscheduled time off." She tried twisting the knob, it was locked. "Let's check the board to see if Steve checked in." Another trip down a corridor ending this time at an open area. A check of the In-Out board showed Ura as still 'Out'. A younger woman sat behind a desk, hear head bowed over some papers. "Josie, have you heard from Steve Ura?" "No, Lisa," the woman at the desk responded. "Please try to get a hold of his walkie-talkie." A lever was depressed. Words spoken in a microphone. No answer. "Try him a second time, please." Charles watched the proceedings. Ranger Smith was doing all the right things to try to find her errant staff member. But without success. Smith stood for a moment, an unhappy frown on her face. "Let's look at his office. I'll go get the key." Behind a cabinet door, a metal keybox opened with a key from Smith's keyring. Pulling a tagged key from a hook, she closed and locked the box back up. "Let's go." Charles followed Smith down the hall. It wasn't too damning, Ura being gone. He could be at the doctor's, or any of a number of other places. A twist of the key and the office door opened. Opened to a small, tidy office. An empty office. "Thanks," Mulder said slipping through the open door pulling a pair of latex gloves out of a pocket. "I'll wait out here. The space is too small for both of us at the same time," Scully said. Mulder nodded. He slowly turned around scanning the office while putting on the gloves. He bent down and started to look at the items in the In-box on the desk. A word from Smith stopped him, "Wait." Once all eyes were on the Ranger, she continued, "Hold up on your poking through things until later. I'm not satisfied that there isn't some normal logical reason why Steve isn't here." Mulder nodded, then finished his quick look. Charles couldn't help but notice the unspoken communication between Mulder and Scully. Mulder's glance at his partner, Scully's minuscule shake of the head, and Mulder's nod, accepting his partner's declining a chance to search the scene. Coming out of the office, Mulder peeled off his latex gloves. "Didn't find anything interesting." "But something makes you uncomfortable," Charles said. Mulder nodded. "Ura. You think that something has happened to Ranger Ura?" Scully asked. "Don't know. But it is very suspicious that Ura disappeared soon after Boyle's murder," Mulder replied, his eyes returning to the very neat office. "I would like to look over Boyle's and Ura's personnel files," he said, turning to Smith. Charles watched Smith and Mulder try to stare each other down. He understood Smith's position; if somebody he didn't know requested access to one of the SEALs' personnel files while he was their CO, he would have balked too. None of their fucking business. But Mulder was following a lead, Charles understood his request. "Reviewing Ranger Boyles's personnel file makes sense in light of his murder. And with Ura's disappearance, so does looking at his." Smith thought for a moment. A curt nod. "Let's go to the conference room. I'll get the files." "Let's lock up Ura's office first," Scully suggested. At Smith's questioning look, she continued, "If my partner is correct, we don't want any possible evidence in that office disturbed." Smith locked the door. *-*-* "Nothing odd in Ura's personnel file," Scully said closing the file. "Several letters from people in the area. All in all a good work record." "Nothing odd in Boyle's file, either," Mulder said. "He did have a couple of complaint letters from people. Something about being overly enthusiastic in his enforcement of hunting laws." "Ura patrolled area around the Lodge for much of the past 10 years. He got along well with the people in the area. Perhaps too well," Smith said. "And?" Charles asked, his voice edged with military demand. "There are rumors that Ura over looked the occasional out-of- season hunter and still," Smith said leaning back in the chair. "He grew up in this area and probably knows half the people in the county. Kinda hard to arrest somebody you went to school with. That is why I moved Boyles into that area. Boyles had the rep for being a hardass when it came to following the rules. It did not make him very popular." Charles nodded in understanding. "Do you think that any of the locals would have gotten angry enough with Boyles to shoot him?" "The other agents asked that question," Smith said taking a sip of now cold bitter coffee. "No, I don't think so. They all know that if a Ranger is shot, the area is going to be crawling with Federal agents of one kind or another. Which would cut into the cottage industries of moonshine and marijuana." Mulder nodded. "Would Ura have a set of keys to the Lodge? And how often would maintenance be done on the buildings?" "Ura wouldn't have carried any keys to the Lodge or it's out buildings. And neither would Boyles. But any of the Rangers can sign out the keys. And checking mothballed buildings is part of the job. But with the cutbacks . . . maintenance isn't done as often as it should be. I'll need to check the records, but I think that the last time maintenance was done to any of the lodge buildings was the spring, two years ago." Charles caught Mulder looking over at Scully, a faint smile of success on the hazel-eyed Agent's face. They had done enough damage at the Ranger's office. "If my colleagues don't have any other questions, I think we need to check out Ranger Ura's house. I've noted his home address, but can we have a copy of his personnel file?" "Ya know," Smith said reaching for the phone setting in the middle of the conference room table. "Nobody's bothered calling Steve." She punched in a phone number. "All this talk about what's happened to Steve, you'd think somebody would bother with a call." Sitting still for a couple of moments, she growled, "Steve. Call me. Lisa Smith." She hung up the phone and looked at it for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip. "Steve has a old cassette answering machine. There were 8 beeps. 8 messages waiting to be listened to. Steve would never leave that many messages on his phone. Let's visit his place." "Who would have the key?" Charles asked. Smith laughed. "He lives in one of the bungalows they provide for rangers. So I'm both boss and landlord. The key's in my desk." *-*-* Residence of Steve Ura Parson, West Virginia 12:20PM Wednesday, 15 October 1998 ------ Ranger Smith looked from FBI agent to another. "So what do we have?" Charles asked Scully and Mulder. "Not much," Mulder replied. "Ura's office and house looks like he expects to be back any moment. No sign of forced entry to either place, no signs of violence." Scully finished her partner's comment for him. "But he is gone. It appears that some clothes may be missing from his closet, and at this point of time, that looks suspicious," Mulder added. "Yes, it does," Charles agreed. "And this all means?" Smith asked. Charles turned to face her. "We don't know. But it truly looks suspicious and we need to search his house thoroughly." Lisa nodded her acknowledgment. "Get the warrants to search his bungalow and office. I've got the keys." *-*-* Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 1:30PM Wednesday, 15 October 1998 ------ The forest green Jeep Cherokee slowly crawled down the gravel road towards the Lodge buildings, the loose gravel of the steep road making Mulder cautious. A caution that did not abate until the Cherokee pulled up alongside other another green Forest Service and two white Federal moterpool Cherokees by the servant's quarters. "They're here," Scully announced from the backseat. "NSS," Mulder replied, his eyes on the tall lean blond standing by the front door of the quarters. A smile on her lips, a mug of something steaming in her hand. "We'll carry the stuff in, Mulder," Charles offered. Mulder replied with a lopsided smile and tossed Charles the keys. A moment latter, Mulder exchanged a couple of words with Becky and walked with her into the building. Charles tapped the tailgate release on the dashboard and climbed out of the 4-by-4. A couple of minutes later, Scully and Charles were setting the various portable radios on the small table in the room Charles had appropriated as his room and office. A knock on the door caught their attention. Standing just outside the door were Becky DaSilva and Karl Klugman, the head of the evidence team. "Hello," Becky said, Karl echoing. Karl, was about Charles' height, about 6-3, and as trim as Becky. Green eyes and salt-and-pepper hair completed his appearance. "Hello. I'm glad that you have arrived," Charles responded. "Come in and sit down. I would like to discuss a little what we are going to be doing here. Dana, this is Agent Karl Klugman, Rapid Response Team lead. Agent Klugman, this is Dana Scully, one of the agents on the team." Dana and Karl shook hands. "Two of the agents on the team, Anna Rose and Fox Mulder, are not present at this time. Rose is in town, . . ." "And I introduced, Karl to Mulder already," Becky interjected. Becky turned to Karl, a smile on her lips, "I've worked with Farragut, Dana, and Mulder before." Charles chuckled. "I'll head out and see how I can help Rose," Scully said. Charles nodded. "Shall we sit down?" Once seated, Charles resumed. "Originally the FBI was called in because of the apparent murder of a Federal employee. Agents Mulder, Scully, and myself went through the Lodge, finding the children's clothing and the VCR recordings." Charles stopped for a moment, before continuing, "While checking out the outbuildings, Agent Rose found the depressions in the corral. Agents Rose and Scully dug down into one of the depressions finding a partly decomposed child's hand. That's when we called in the Rapid Response Team and your forensic anthropologists, DaSilva." DaSilva and Klugman nodded. Klugman spoke, "The team is already starting to go through the house. Agent Rose, your partner, did a very thorough job familiarizing the Team to the house. She pointed out several places that will require detailed study and should reward us with some very good information as to what was going on here." "Rose has always done her job to her fullest," Charles said, his eyes narrowed. Picking up one of the Motorola walkie-talkies, he handed it to Klugman. "Here is a walkie-talkie that you can use to communicate with the rest of the team here. I have local police and Forest Service walkie-talkies if we need to contact them. And here is yours, DaSilva. "I'll report at dinner," Klugman said, getting out of his chair. "Karl, until I get some professionals in, I'll be needed Rose and Scully for my digging," DaSilva said turning in her chair. Karl nodded and left the room. She waited until Karl's footsteps couldn't be heard anymore the turned to Charles. "Something is bothering you." "Nothing is wrong, Becky," Charles said, rolling his shoulders as if to relieve a little tension. "Bullshit. I've worked with you before, Charles," Becky stood arms folded. "Ok, Becky," Charles capitulated. "Rose didn't go into the Lodge building when we were first here. She refused, apparently bothered by something in the building. So I was surprised by Klugman's comment. That's all." Becky nodded her acceptance. "Rose looked like she was nervous as all hell. She did a good job, even pointed out some blood splotches." Charles smiled, "She always does a good job." The smile disappeared, "By the way, the depressions in the corral." Becky nodded. "The last time I saw something like that, each hole was a multiple grave. From 3 to 6 bodies interred in each." His voice quiet. "Where was it, Charles?" He chuckled, "Can't tell you that, Becky." He stood up, "The location is a matter of national security, and I'd have to kill you if I told you. And that would piss a couple of people off big time." *-*-* Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 7:30PM Wednesday, 15 October 1998 ------ The sun had already been over the horizon for two hours when the agents sat down for dinner. It was a plain dining room, scarred linoleum floor, painted board walls. The few furnishings were of scarred yellow oak, now expensive, but in their day, cheap and serviceable. And now, ten servants of the Federal government sat, enjoying a simple meal before the upset of the daily reports. "Everybody eaten their fill?" Charles asked. At everybody's agreement, he continued, "Rose, thanks for fixing dinner. A couple of people will police the kitchen." "No need boss," Anna replied, a smile on her face. "I've got the kitchen cleaned up from the cooking." "There are plates and cups to wash. It's unfair to expect the cook to do the dishes after a meal." "OK," Anna said, the tone of her voice letting all who listened know that she wasn't totally agreeable to the assistance. "Klugman, your report please." Klugman pulled a notepad out of a jacket pocket. Opening it, he started talking. "The team did an initial screening of the building. We didn't find anything that hadn't already been reported. There are over 400 recorded video tapes in the videotape library. We have also started cataloging the clothes found on the room on the second floor. We estimate that there are over 500 articles in the room, mostly for young women, but a few items are for young boys." The room was silent for a long minute. "Any fingerprints?" Becky asked. "We are not doing a lot of fingerprinting at this time," Klugman said. "And we have not gotten any usable prints off of the items we did fingerprint." Becky nodded. "Your report, Section Chief DaSilva," Charles said. "Scully, Rose, and I used the ground penetrating radar to determine the contents of the depressions found in the corral. It took approximately 2 hours to do the 20 passes to cover the surface of the corral." She stopped for a moment, the sparkle in her eyes gone, her lips dry. "The 13 holes range from 5 to 7 feet in depth. And it appears that there are 4 to 5 bodies in each." Charles sat back, his face not showing the horror he felt inside. He hadn't wanted to be right. "Can you be certain?" one of the Emergency Response Team asked. Charles hoped for uncertainty in Becky's analysis. He didn't want the horror he had seen in an isolated jungle clearing repeated a day's drive from his home. "Pretty certain. The radar is an imperfect tool. But I could see the edges of the pits that were dug, and the stratification of each of the layers they shoveled in. And in 70 per cent of the layers, I could detect human remains." "Certain that they are human and not some animal buried there?" Charles asked. "Yes. The human cranium and pelvis are very distinctive. Even in children and adolescents." Continued in Part 6. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (06/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Interlude 3 From the casebook of FBI Agent Anna Rose 15 October 1998 - I hate that lodge. I had thought that the case was bad yesterday, but man, it turned nasty today. Very nasty. I mean the day had started better than I could have hoped for. Charles and Dana got up last night after Mulder and I chased the guys who tried to break into the lodge. They listened to the explanation as to why we broke regs and chased after suspects without calling for backup. I totally expected Charles to have a fit about us breaking regs like that. Especially with the way he comes down on me when I don't sleep or eat the way he thinks I should on a case. But surprise! He didn't. He said that while the regs do say that you need to go for backup, the reality of the situation was that in this instance waiting for the backup would have meant losing sight of the perps, and that I had to go after Mulder as the only backup available. It totally floored me. He did say that one downside of what we did, was that the group we chased may have been only a diversion, a second bigger group could have been waiting for us to get clear before coming in. He added that he was going to get walkie- talkies for everybody to carry. That way somebody on guard would be able to raise an alarm. It was actually cute the way Dana acted. She made me think of the nanny Zee and I had that time we wandered away from her in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. First she fussed over us to make sure we were in one piece and then bawled us out for wandering off in the first place. I thought for sure Dana was going to ground us or something. She didn't, though. Shoot, she even let me go into town to get supplies and meet the Rapid Response team without checking in every half hour. ;-) The people in the store were certainly friendlier than the ones at the bars, but then I was spending money not asking questions. The owner of the store, Billy Bob Metz, was very helpful when I asked him to box stuff up to be picked up later and his son Bubba followed me around helping me lift things and carry them, doing some harmless flirting. At least until his girlfriend Patty Lee showed up. She did not like it one bit. But since I left fairly soon after she arrived, I doubt there was any damage done. Since the supplies were going to be picked up later, I took a few packs of Dana and Charles's cigarettes, a bag of sunflower seeds for Mulder, and some Hershey's for Becky with me in my backpack. After calling the car rental agency to have a couple of trucks at the airfield for the Rapid Response Team and their stuff, I drove out to the airport to wait for them to arrive. It was good seeing Becky again. It will do both Mulder and Dana a world of good having her here. Shoot, seeing her smile when she spotted me made me feel good for the first time in two days. I put her stuff in the back of the Cherokee, making it clear she was riding with me. Everything else went into the trucks. It was a quiet drive back. Becky and I discussed anything but the case. It was relaxing not thinking about what was buried in the corral back up on the mountain for a little while. Once we were back at the site, everyone got busy unloading the equipment. Luggage and personal items going down to the servant's quarters where we had set up headquarters was left in the back of one truck. Everything else was off loaded and sorted within five minutes. God, these guys are as good as most tour roadies that work for my father. Then I got hit with a shot out of the nowhere. "When would be a good time to walk us through the crime scene, Agent Rose?" Karl Klugman, the Rapid Response Team Lead asked. I hadn't been in the building. And I sure as hell didn't want to go into the building. But I'd do it. I had to. I couldn't wimp out and make my partner look bad. But all I think of was how I felt when I almost stepped into the building yesterday. I swear my hands felt like I had stuck them in ice water. "OK, when would you like to go?" Maybe if they waited until Charles got back, Charles would take them. "Right now, if at all possible. We would like to start going through the lodge building as soon as we can," Karl said. A quick swallow, and a pasted on smile, "Sure. Becky, you coming?" Becky hesitated for a moment. I could tell that she had picked up on my hesitation. "Yes, Anna. I wouldn't miss this for the world." "Let's do it, then." It took only a couple of minutes to walk to the basement door of the Lodge. "Ok. We'll be entering the side door of the building. This door was unlocked when we got here. The front door is still locked." I looked back. One of the Team members had a small video camera. Just what I need. They're going to videotape the whole thing. As if the film of me being born wasn't embarrassing enough, now there'll be video of my hurling. It will really make the lab personnel think of me as a professional. After taking a deep breath to center myself, I walked into the building. I played back Mulder's description of the basement in my head. There were the three little brick rooms. But what he didn't mention was the stale smell of fear-induced sweat that left a bitter taste in my mouth each time I inhaled. Nor the lingering coppery scent of blood which was almost masked by the sweat. The closer I got to one of the small rooms, the strong the smells got. I would swear I could almost hear a child's cry of fear, of wanting it's Mother or Father. I quickly turned my eyes down to the scuff makes on the floor. Something - many somethings - had been dragged to the stairs "I don't know if you're going to get any finger prints off the doors, but you might want to check the inside of the rooms for fibers. Also you should be able to find a trail of blood leading out the door." Karl nodded. He looked around the room. "Not much here. Upstairs?" Next we went up to the first floor of the building. The foyer was pretty clean, so I led them to the parlor and the co-ax cables. "Check those cables. They don't look like the kind you use at home." That's one way to put it. The cables were professional quality. Some of them had the cup and pin of a RCA jack like you'd use in your home, but others were set up with a jack that wouldn't work with a normal home VCR or TV. These guys were pros or used pro equipment. I knelt down and looked at the floor. "There's also some blood stains. You can see them a couple of places on the center of the floor. Also there are some scrapes and gouges. Here, and here." I pointed them out. They nodded. The chill of the room dropped a couple of degrees. It was colder than my Sub-Zero freezer back home. "Let's check the next room." I stood by the door to the old library. I didn't need to go in there. With the boxes of VHS video tapes on the shelves, it was obvious what the room was used for. Stockroom. "The tape and box on the table are from yesterday's search of the building." "Thanks," Karl said. The others entered the room, but I stayed outside. I could see the pictures on the boxes just fine. I could hear the response team's heart rates increase as they looked at them. Even Becky's was elevated even through she seems cool and calm to the eye. "There wasn't much in the other rooms on this floor. Maybe some fingerprints or a few hairs. But check the kitchen sink and drain. It's a logical place to clean up knives and such." "Good suggestion. We'll check those two rooms later," Karl replied. "Let's go, troops." So up the stairs we went. I could have sworn that the air grew heavier as we climbed, but I figure it was just my overactive imagination again as no one else seemed to notice. It almost seemed to become harder to pull oxygen in the closer we got to the room with all the clothes in it. Now that was a room I wanted to avoid. "Most of these rooms won't have much evidence in them. Whoever did this splashed some sort of cleaner, bleach I think, around before they left. Nods of understanding. "It's the sixth room that has much of the evidence." I heard their breath catch, and their pulses spike when they looked into the room with the clothing in it. I took a quick peek into the room. In the faint light that came through the window, I saw all that I needed to see. Piles of children's clothing. My heart was pounding in my ear now and the walls felt like they were closing in on me. I wanted out of here. I looked at the other people with me for the first time since entering the building. And for the first time since joining the FBI, I saw the professional masks that agents normally wear slip and the emotional reaction show through. "Well, that's it for this building. The servant's quarters where we are staying were locked down tight and showed no sign of use. The barn was probably used for hiding cars, but not much else, although there is a big generator out there. Need to check it out?" "Yes," Karl replied rather hurriedly. Nobody argued. The outbuildings didn't take up much time. The barn was pretty empty except for the Homelite generator. "Anything else I can do for you?" "No thank you, Agent Rose," he said glancing over at the lodge building. "We'll be in the dining room of the servant's quarters going over how we'll be approaching the building. "Ok, fine." I walked around the side of the barn away from the lodge and everyone and almost collapsed against the side. It was so good breathing air that wasn't from inside that house of horrors. And best of all, I hadn't hurled. I hadn't freaked. Now, I grant you I had come close several times, but I didn't run out of that place screaming. Maybe my mom was wrong and I can handle being a FBI agent after all. "Any coffee brewed?" Becky asked. Man, did I jump. I had been so busy enjoying the smell of fresh air and congratulating myself on holding myself together that I didn't hear her walk up. "Ah, no, but we can make some." I took off as fast as I could. Becky had just handed me the perfect way to survive this case: busy work. Doing things like making coffee, meals, shopping for supplies, and doing dishes was a marvelous way not to think about dead bodies. I had run a base camp for anthropology expeditions before. Running this site would be just about the same. The busier I stay, the less time I have to think. Perfect! Later, it was pretty cool running the ground penetrating radar with Becky and Dana. I'd used one in my archaeology field school, but this one was way more advanced. It took a little over two hours to scan the corral. And another quarter of an hour for the computer to analyze the data. The software with the radar kicked butt. You could tell by the way it quickly crunched the data and built the 3D diagram of the soil under the corral on the LCD screen of the laptop. "Shit," Becky said quietly. "Damn," Dana said muttered. I wish I hadn't seen the screen. I couldn't say a thing. My mouth was open, but my mind had shut down. The pits well defined. The stratigraphy was clear, and the bodies well defined in each of the layers. I pointed out the hole we'd been working on. "This is the most recent burial. We'll find some bodies for Dana to autopsy. They haven't been in the earth very long. The hole next to it is about a month older. The bodies are a little farther along. As we go further back towards the barn, the burials get older and older. The ones in the back are oldest. There's nothing but bones left." "How do you know, Anna?" Becky asked, her voice not more than a whisper. "I can smell the bodies rotting. It's bad close to the front of the corral, and it gets less back close to the barn." Dana looked at me for a long moment before speaking, "Makes sense. They would bury any bodies as far away from their living quarters as possible." "Good call, Anna. We'll finish this hole and then report on our findings," Becky said. "Any questions?" "None from me," Dana's alto was heard. Quiet and a little flat. I looked at Dana. There was no sparkle in her eyes now. There was resignation and sadness. This was a road she had traveled down before. This might be her job, but she hated it none the less. She looked drawn, stressed even more than she had been earlier. Her blue eyes were bits of sapphire, hard and cold. This was the 'Ice Princess' I had heard about and someone I wouldn't want to cross. I just shook my head. ------------------------------- I had put my plan into motion that night. I left Dana and Becky to start cooking supper. The oil stove is cranky from not having been used for 10-15 years, but it worked well enough. Cleaning up afterwards wasn't too bad either. After supper Mulder and Dana went into Elkins to talk with the coroner. Dana thought she'd be doing some autopsies and wanted to check things out. Man, am I glad I didn't have to watch Dana work. Not that I think she isn't good at her job, but if I had to watch an autopsy, I'd probably be knocking on my mother's door in LA about now, begging her to let me move in, and agreeing to marry any man she picked out for me. I am such a wuss. Well, I can hear the truck pulling up, so I guess they're back. A nice pot of tea would probably soothe everyone's nerves, so I'll get the water going before they get in. Then I should probably hit the sack. If Charles finds out I'm up so late, he'll be pissed. Continued in Part 7 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (07/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 7:00AM Thursday, 16 October 1998 ------ The bright lights and warm smells of cooked food and strong coffee held the cold of the late West Virginia Autumn at bay. Inside was camaraderie and warmth, outside was a cold wind and bodies ignobly buried in shallow graves. Charles sipped at his coffee knowing that he had to pull people away from the table and out into the chill. "Good Morning, everybody," Charles called out to the assembled team. After the chorus of replies died down, he continued. "I hate to break this to everybody, but Uncle Sugar does expect us to do something for our paychecks and per diem." Charles could tell by the forced laughs that his joke had fallen flat. "If the team leads will report what their plans are today, we will get the day's investigations underway." Karl Klugman stood up. "The Rapid Response Team will continue inventorying the contents of the Lodge." Becky looked up from her notebook. "Agents Scully, Rose, and myself will systematically excavate the depression you started excavating yesterday." "Wouldn't it be better to excavate another depression?" one of the Rapid Response Team asked. "No." Becky had a quick raspiness. "We want to disturb as little as possible until I can get the full forensic anthropology team up here. The ground penetrating radar indicates that all of the depressions have bodies buried in them. I want to use one of the depressions to prove that. If I excavate and find bodies where the radar says they should be, I can than assume that in the local soil, the radar has correctly indicated the bodies in the other depressions." "Thank you." "Mulder and I will go into Elkins and try to find a Judge that will sign off on the warrant to search Ranger Ura's home and office space," Charles said. "Any questions?" *-*-* Charles lit a Marlboro waiting for Mulder to join him. It was cold, windy, and damp, a truly miserable day to be out in. He idly watched Anna and Becky prepare to start excavating the depression they had found the body in the prior day. Unwanted, impressions and memories of last night's nightmare came to the forefront. Like a faint washed out movie overlaying the live action around him, he could see the room with the video tapes again. He picked up a colorfully printed box. The girl one the front of the box screaming as a knife was thrust into her abdomen was his daughter Christine. Nervously, he picked up a second box, the bright color picture showed a girl tied to a stone wall, a red hot bar about to burn her chest. The girl was Christine again. A third tape beckoned him. He reached out for it, knowing that the would see a his loved daughter being tormented on the box. "Ready?" Mulder said, his voice quiet. Charles jerked, the images disappearing. He put the cigarette out before climbing into the passenger seat of the Cherokee. *-*-* Chambers of Judge Travis Elkin, West Virginia 9:15AM Thursday, 16 October 1998 ------ "Agent Farragut, am I to believe that you wish to invade a man's privacy simply because he has disappeared?" Judge Travis leaned back in his chair. Charles steeled himself against lashing out against the man. It was not the Judge's fault. He was simply trying to protect a citizen from unlawful search. But there was due diligence and there was acting like a starched shirt. "If I may remind the Judge, Ranger Steve Ura has disappeared within days of the murder of one of his fellow Rangers. We would like to talk with Ranger Ura regarding the Lodge where the murders occurred." "We are concerned about Mr. Ura's well being. To have him disappear so soon after the death of another Ranger has us concerned," Mulder added. "Agent Mulder, I've read about you. You're one of the wonderkids from the FBI aren't you?" "I was a profiler earlier in my career, Your Honor," Mulder said pleasantly. "That's what we need, Agent Farragut, more young men and women willing to go out on the limb for their country." No shit. Just hope you don't bury them young. The names of several SEALs that died young in their country's service came to mind. "Agent Mulder has had a memorable career in the FBI." "He works for you?" "No Sir," Mulder interjected. "We both work for the same boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. A decorated Viet Nam veteran, Sir." "That so," Travis looked off into the distance. Taking a gold pen from a deskset, he scribbled his name and date in the appropriate spots. "Take this to my clerk and let him make a copy for the Court's files." The agents stood when the judge did, Charles trying to hide the surprise he felt and the sudden change in the Judge's attitude. Farragut shook the offered hand. "Good luck finding Ranger Ura. Good day, agents." Travis sat back down. "Thank you, Your Honor," Mulder said. "Shall we, Farragut?" Charles followed Mulder through the building and to the parking lot, his feeling of surprise changing to frustration. Shaking a cigarette out of the pack, he lit it, and drew the smoke deep into his lungs. Frustration with the Judge, he asked himself. A second drag, and he knew it wasn't the Judge. By the time he was looking for a trash receptacle for the butt, he knew it was the case that was driving him nuts. The number of the dead. Their youth. Seeing his partner being dragged down by this sorry excuse of a case. God, he was going to be happy to go home and put this behind him. "A little stressed?" Mulder asked. Charles turned and glared at the younger man, his cigarette pack back in his hand. "Yeah. Didn't know that it showed," he quipped. "Just a little," Mulder smiled. Charles chuckled. His equilibrium back. "Let's grab a hot cup of joe and then call Ranger Smith." "Sounds like a plan. I'll buy," Mulder said striding towards the restaurant. *-*-* Ranger Headquarters Cheat Ranger District 11:45AM Thursday, 16 October 1998 ------ "Thank you, gentlemen," Ranger Lisa Smith said standing at her desk. "This makes my life a lot easier." Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a keyring. "Let's take a look at Steve's desk." Mulder had his latex gloves on by the time the reached the door. Waiting a moment for Smith to unlock the door, he slipped into the small room and started through the InBox on the desk. Working quickly and efficiently, Mulder went though the small office in half an hour. "Nothing to indicate he was planning a trip. His desk calendar has entries for weeks after his disappearance." "So if he left, it was against his will or suddenly," Charles said. Mulder nodded. "His place?" "I think so," Charles agreed. "I'll call the Sheriff's office and tell them to send over the cameraman. Ranger Smith, we will be searching Ura's house, now." "I got the keys right here. I'll lead the way," Lisa said leading them out the door. *-*-* "Single story brick house. Shingle roof, white painted trim." Mulder said. "There is no car or truck in the car port. Window shades are down. House appears deserted." Charles nodded. The sky was gray, the wind damp and cold. Charles pulled the collar of his coat around his neck. A stray thought wondered if he would ever really feel warm again, the dampness penetrated everything, coats, blankets, making one's bed a miserable place. About the only place that was even close warm was the kitchen of the servant's quarters. And one could not spend the entire case huddled around the stove. A Sheriff's office sedan pulled up. A khaki-clad deputy climbed out from behind the wheel. He reached in an pulled out a small black shoulder bag. A friendly wave and he joined them. "Good morning," he said reaching out his hand. "You must be Section Chief Farragut and Agent Mulder. I am Deputy Sheriff Peters, Tom Peters." He turned towards the Ranger and tipped his hat. "'Morning, Lisa. Sorry to hear about Pete's death." The Ranger nodded, "Thanks Tom. It was quite a shock to us at the Ranger Station." "Shall we get moving, please?" Charles asked. Smith and Peters nodded. Peters pulled a palm camera out of the bag. "Just got this for my birthday. First time I've used it on a case, but the Sheriff thinks that the video that I shot for Kim's birthday came out great. He's appointed me the ex-officio video photographer for the office." Charles groaned inside. An amateur photographer with a 'birthday gift' camera. How bloody lovely. "How old is Kim?" Mulder asked. "8 years old. Mrs Date, her 2nd grade teacher let Betty, that's my wife, throw a birthday party for her class last week. Everybody had a great time, and the video turned out nice and sharp." Charles understood the value of making points with the locals, but the investigation needed to get moving. "Deputy Peters, if you will please shadow Agent Mulder and myself, recording what we are doing and going through." "Of course," Peters replied, pulling a cellophane wrapped tape out of the bag. "Sounds simple enough." "Good. We'll do a quick survey of Ranger Ura'a house first, and then go though each of the rooms in the building. Any questions?" Seeing no questions offered, Charles started up the driveway for the building. "Let's check the back yard," Charles said. "Nothing fresh on the driveway," Mulder said. Charles turned to where Mulder was kneeling down looking at the asphalt driveway. Charles realized that he hadn't even thought to look at the driveway. "And nothing of note in the back yard," Charles said looking over the expanse of dead grass between Ura's house and the next bungalow. "Ranger Smith. If you would please unlock the side door." Once the door was unlocked, Mulder pulled it back. Charles looked in for a moment. The two rooms he saw, a living room and a dine-in kitchen were plain. Little in the way of nick-knacks, plain curtains, minimal furniture. "The kitchen is the center of the home for many people," Mulder said over his shoulder, leading Charles to the house's kitchen. "They eat their meals there, entrain friends and casual visitors there. The table doubles as a desk and work bench." Charles looked around the room. There wasn't much, an older Frigidaire refrigerator, a gas stove, a few cabinets, a small dinette with 3 mismatched vinyl chairs. "Nothing very interesting here." "Maybe," Mulder said opening the freeze compartment of the refrigerator. "Several foil wrapped packages in here, we'll have to go through each of them." "Jolly," Charles said. Peters chuckled. Charles smiled. Mulder pointed out a set of enameled canisters, smiling. "And we'll have to carefully go through them. It's tempting to put something small in with the sugar and flour. And flour can make such a mess if you're not careful." "Which would not look good for the FBI if Ura shows up safe and sound tomorrow," Smith said, a humorless smile on her face. Charles nodded. "The back bedroom?" No comments to the contrary, he led everybody to the room. There was little in the room, an old single bed, it's mattress stained with years of use and neglect, and an empty closet. "Examine the mattress and poke around in the closet to make sure that nothing is hidden behind a loose board," Mulder said, his eyes scanning the room. Charles nodded, Mulder knew what needed looking at. Charles hadn't enjoyed the opportunity to conduct too many searches. Even as a rookie in Philly, one SAIC had been a twit and for the good of the case, Charles had to step in and lead or things would have fallen apart. The next one had heard of his successes and put him in leadership roles. Charles followed Mulder into the front bedroom. The front bedroom looked like it was the one that Ura used. The bed was still made, the sheets and blankets tucked in under the mattress. The closet door was open, showing an obvious gap in the clothes hung on the rod. "Mattresses, chest of drawers, and determine what could be missing from the closet," Charles suggested. The suggestion had came easily; there wasn't much else in the room. "Correct." Mulder slowly looked around the room. "I can't see anything that you missed. Let's go." It was only 2 steps from the bedroom door to the entrance to the bathroom. The deputy stuck his head in the room first. "Toilet tank and the medicine cabinet?" he suggested. Charles hung back as Mulder followed the deputy into the room. The bathroom was a small room; too many people would mean flattened toes. "Right you are, Peters," Mulder said. "Let's check the living room. Charles looked the room over. There wasn't much; a TV set, couch, coffee table, a lamp. The walls, like the string of rental properties he had lived in as a newly married Lieutenant, were painted a color that would have been white if clean. Mulder came in and scanned the room. "Farragut, look at the floor by the front door. Mail has been delivered since Ura was here last. And it looks like an envelope from the a bank. Maybe Ura's bank statement. Also a phone bill." "Can you go through his mail?" Ranger Smith asked. "The warrant read, 'Examine everything in the house,'" Mulder said kneeling, slipping the bank envelope into an evidence bag. "And the envelope was inside the front door. It appears to have been slipped through the mail slot in the front door." Smith nodded, her obvious concern about the legality satisfied. Charles looked around the room one more time. "Something's odd about this room. No pictures, nothing really personal that I can see. Do you get that impression too, Mulder?" Mulder took several seconds to scan the room one more time. "Yes, you are right. The whole house is like that. It looks that either Ura has no personality, or he took everything of importance with him." "Your guess?" "He took stuff. I can see a couple of marks in the dust on the side table." "Peters, please get a picture of the side table Mulder is referring to. Let's check the room over." It took but a few minutes to discover that there was nothing under the cushions of the couch. "Shaving and other grooming and personal hygiene items are gone. The medicine cabinet," Mulder said from the bathroom. The squeak of hinges told of the cabinet door closing. "Hey Farragut, you want to do the honors?" Charles looked into the bathroom. The Deputy was standing in the bathtub, his camera trained on Mulder. Mulder had his hands on the toilet tank lid. "No thank you," Charles replied. "Please carry on." The lid came off for a long moment. "Nothing there." Charles nodded. Ura was gone. And probably had a 48 hour jump on them. "I'll check the spare bedroom. He checked it. In about 5 minutes, he checked out an empty closet, counted 10 dust bunnies under the bed, and lifted the thin single mattress. Nothing. The boards in the closet were all sound, none loose. No rips in the mattress, old and repaired or new and open, were found. Charles turned and looked to the door. Mulder was standing there, and Peters had his camera to his eye, the little red recording light on. "Nothing found," Ranger Smith's words were a touch accusing. Charles looked at her as she stood, arms crossed, leaning against the door frame of the room. She was telling them that she wasn't sure that this was all a crock. "Not yet," Mulder replied. "But there's a couple of rooms full of places to hide things." The front bedroom was small, the bedclothes tucked in under the mattress. A chest-of-drawers in one corner. A little table next to the bed with a clock radio and a lamp. Not much personality in the room either, Charles mused. "Get a picture of this," Mulder said, pointing out the closet. Charles turned. He could see the open closet doors, an obvious gap in the clothes. And a depression in the carpeted floor of the closet just the size of a large suitcase. He could hear the faint chime as Peters hit the record button on the palm camera. Mulder started going through the chest-of-drawers. "There's gaps in what appears to be the socks and briefs drawer. He didn't take all of them. Looks like maybe half of them." Charles nodded, checking the inside of the closet. Ura's uniforms were still there, which indicated that it was his civilian clothing that was gone. It sounded more and more like he had disappeared on his own. He looked over his shoulder at Peters, "Getting it all?" Peters nodded. "Lets check under the mattress," Charles said. Charles and Mulder wrestled the mattress up off the box spring. "I'll hold it. Mulder, you check." It wasn't hard to hold up the queen- sized mattress, but bulky. "Nothing here. No rips, repaired or otherwise," Mulder's voice was heard. "Let's try the kitchen." The freezer was full, the refrigerator stocked. "Eggs, butter, milk. If he left, he's planning to come back," Charles said. "Or decided to leave suddenly and abandoned a lot," Mulder added, checking out the few pots and pans. "You get to do the flour and sugar." He held out a stock pot and a colander. Charles grimaced. He sat the stock pot down on the counter and put the colander in it. "We haven't found any papers or bills." "True. And with the detail he kept track of things in his desk calendar, he would have kept records of bills and his payments. We haven't even found a check register," Mulder said, leaning against the a counter. The sugar all fit in the colander. A few minutes shaking the colander and all of the sugar was in the pan. Nothing was left in the colander. "There's still the flour," Mulder said. Charles looked up at the smiling agent. And smiled back. He knew that he was the butt of a minor joke that you'd play on a rookie agent, being stuck with the messy job of going through the sugar and the flour, but that was ok. "He may have had a file box that he kept his papers in, he could have taken it with him." A couple of minutes work and the sugar was back in the canister. Now came the flour. The process repeated itself. It took a little longer, but there was wasn't anything left in the colander. "That or a safety deposit box," Mulder suggested. The contents of the freezer took longer to go through. Half gallon of chocolate ice cream, a couple of cans of frozen apple juice, and foil wrapped package marked 'bacon.' "No reason for freezing bacon," Smith commented. "No shit," Mulder said taking the package out of the freezer and setting it down on the table. Charles slowly unwrapped the foil. Inside was a compact bound ledger book wrapped in a plastic bag. "Bingo." Charles carefully looked through it. Columns of figures and numbers, no words. "What is it?" Peters asked. "A ledger book. Carefully hidden, and with data not well identified inside of it," Charles reported. "A little suspicious." "Anything else?" Ranger Smith said. Charles looked over at the Ranger. She didn't look happy. He expected that she has hoped that nothing really damning would be found. But the ledger really looked bad. "Mulder?" he asked turning towards the fellow agent. "No," he replied. "Let's head back. *-*-* Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 1:00PM Thursday, 16 October 1998 ------ Charles turned the ignition off and leaned back in the Cherokee's seat. His shoulders were sore from tension already, and day wasn't half over yet. "They got some excavation done," Mulder said, pointing out a blue tarp where DaSilva, Aysa,and Scully had started digging that morning. A wave from the barn caught of their attentions. Becky was standing in the doorway, waving at the returnees. Grabbing the evidence bags, Charles led Mulder over to the barn. "Hello," Becky said, her voice a little flat. Charles could tell that something was up with the normally smiling blonde. It was a quiet group inside the barn. Rose was stirring something in a pot over a Coleman gas stove. Scully leaned back against a post, her eyes closed. Tucked back in one corner were two black plastic zipper bags. Body bags, with small little lumps zipped inside. "Hi, guys," Rose said, waving a hand. "I've got some lentil soup ready to eat. Should be good. Made plenty." "Thanks Anna," Charles replied. Something was not quite right with his partner, she generally didn't talk in such incomplete sentences. "Something to report, Becky?" Becky drew herself up straight before answering. "We excavated two bodies this morning. Dana identified them as young adults." Charles eyes were drawn to the two body bags on the floor. This was going to be a long day. "Thank you. And your next step?" "I need more staff to excavate further. Anna and Dana have done a good job, but with just the three of us it would take too long. Grad students from one of the universities will fill the bill." Charles nodded. Scully's eyes opened. "Charles, look at this." She walked over to one of the bags and unzipped it. Charles looked at the body. Female. Nude. A small wound where a blade had slipped between her ribs. She looked familiar. He glanced up at Scully. Nothing there, she wasn't going to give anything away. Another glance and Charles's breath froze in his throat. "She's one of the girls we saw on the videotape boxes. The one being knifed." Scully just nodded. Charles sighed. This case was going bad, very bad. "Karl?" "We've collected over a hundred pieces of evidence in the clothing room upstairs. Only a couple of items with names on them, and only first names at that," Karl reported. "We'll keep looking." "How long do you want to take getting information from the locals, boss?" Rose asked. Charles looked at his partner for a moment, waiting for her to explain things further. "I'm sure I can get the locals to give up any information they may have, but it could take months." "What do you need?" "Something to shake the locals a little to get them talking." "Do you think that some of the evidence we've collected from the lodge would do?" Anna stood and thought for a moment before shrugging. "I'll have to look at it. How much can I talk about the extra bodies?" "Generalities," Scully said. "You can mention that we've found two additional bodies, and expect to find more. But don't give them any numbers. Knowledge of that fact may separate the real killers from those searching for notoriety." Charles looked at the red-headed agent. Her hair looked a little dull, her eyes lifeless. Tension on top of tension. Have to make sure that Anna includes her brand of cigarettes in her shopping. "Take a couple of colorful pieces of clothing," Mulder suggested. "We found a child's lunch box in amongst the clothing. That should hit them," Karl suggested. "That sounds good," she replied. "We also need to call in somebody from the Missing and Exploited Children unit," Becky said. "We're looking at possibly over 30 bodies." "Good call. Call Skinner when you are in town calling the university. Why don't you and Rose ride into town together?" Charles suggested. Becky and Anna looked at each other. Anna nodded. "Cool. After lunch, okay?" Continued in part 8 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (08/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Interlude 4 From the casebook of FBI Agent Ann Rose 16 October 1998 - Whoa, same nightmare two nights in a row. Well, thinking about the imagery I don't need a degree in psychology to figure out what my subconscious is fixated on. If not for a concerned parent, my sister Zee or myself or Blair Sandburg could have easily been one of those bodies buried out there. All three of us grew up with nomadic single parents, so it would have been too simple for any of us to have ended up a street kid who could have disappear at the drop of a hat and no one would even have noticed. We could have been long buried in one of those holes before a missing persons report was even filed. And as for what would have happened before the bodies were dumped into the holes ..... well let's say my mind can come up with more ideas than I want to even contemplate. So if I am going to get any sleep tonight I need to stop thinking about it. I'll just make myself a nice cup of tea and catch up on my field journal. Then I will go up upstairs and sleep. So where did I leave off. Oh yeah, the excavation. While Mulder and Charles went to get a search warrant and search that ranger's house, Becky, Dana, and me started work in the corral. Set up the string grid. And started scraping away the soil. The soil was still soft, it had only covering the bodies for about a month. Becky and Dana handled the actual digging. I screened the dirt for anything. Not that there was much to find, just a few cigarette butts. I carefully placed each one in a medicine bottle for the forensic lab. After all, you never know what the lab techs can determine from just one cigarette butt. And I have a feeling every little bit of information will be crucial toward solving this case. Slowly the body belonging to the hand we found yesterday came to light. It was a girl. Maybe 13-14 years of age. The body was starting to decompose, but we could tell where there had been bruises and possibly some serious injuries. From what we saw of the face, she had been pretty. Hopefully now she will finally find some peace. I kept breakfast down. Thank God for that. I remember standing long side the hole and just staring at the body. The bastards who had killed her didn't even cloth her before they buried her. I guess they couldn't be bothered to give her even that much dignity. Then my mind latched on to an oddity that was too irrelevant. The girl's fingernails were painted a delicate shade of pink. The color looked so soft and innocent even after being fouled by dirt. But her toe nails were painted a dark, rich shade of red. In my mind this oddity came to represent the fact that this girl had died at a time when she was still a child but quickly becoming a young woman. I had to look away from the body or I would have lost all control of my emotions. So I focused on Becky and Dana. I could hear their heartrates jump when they had finished uncovering the body. But by now they had returned to normal. But the visible reactions were still there. Both women were pale. Their eyes had lost some of the light that I was so use to seeing in them. Yet the professional calm that both radiated was in place and intact. As they moved the body to one of the black body bags, they gave the girl as much respect as was humanly possible. I quickly moved away from the scene so that they couldn't see the tears beginning to run down my cheeks. Dana called a break and we headed into the barn. I busied myself making a fresh pot of coffee. So I just heard Dana leave the barn and return a few minutes later. A quick glance told me she was carrying an evidence bag with a VCR tape box in it. I fussed around the Coleman stove while Dana compared the box in the evidence bag to the body. She then called both Becky and myself over. Becky took the bag from Dana's outstretched hand and looked it over before looking at the body. She then showed it to me. It just took one glance before I realized what Dana had all but confirmed: the girl we had just dug up was the same one as shown on the box. The stab wounds and the burns depicted in lurid color matched the ones marring they body. That was when I lost control of my stomach. I don't remember running from the barn. All I do remember is falling to my knees in the tree line and emptying my stomach violently. At that moment a padded room at St. Elizabeth's Mental Hospital back in DC or marrying one of those up and coming executives my mother is always trying to set me up were sounding ideal to me. Once I got my emotions back under control, I headed back to the barn. Dana was standing outside smoking a cigarette. As I walked past her, she gave me a warm, understanding smile. While I know Dana was trying to make me feel better with that smile, but it really made me feel worse. Here I was acting like a rooky fresh from Quantico losing my breakfast at the sight of a dead body. It was embarrassing. And she was being understanding. She should have kicked my ass for being such a wimp. I flashed her a weak smile before heading for the coffee. I found Becky sitting by the heater holding an empty coffee cup. Her mind was somewhere else when I approached her holding the coffee pot in one hand and my cup of coffee in the other. She looked dazed, haunted by what we had found. Touching her shoulder, I asking if she wanted more coffee. She glanced up me and shook her head no. Her eyes held such a look of sorrow that I had to stop myself from running out of that building again. Soon we were back to work. The second body was buried maybe a foot under the other one. A boy this time, appeared to be a few years younger than the girl. He hadn't died easy. You could tell that both forearms had been broken before death. And there was at least one wound to the chest. I was oh so happy when the zipper closed and we carried the black plastic bodybag back into the barn. At that point Becky called a halt to the digging, stating that she wanted to talk to Charles before going any further. I started a nice pot of lentil soup for lunch. The mundane task cutting up the carrots, adding the lentils, the bay leaves and other spices distracted my mind enough so that I could forget the two bodies resting in the black bags. While waiting for the soup to come to a boil, I pulled out Ranger Boyles file. I hadn't looked over the contents and I figured maybe it would give me a clue about we people around the town were acting kind of hostile. It came to a boil before I got even got through the listing of where the man had been assigned, so after I turned down the heat to let it simmer, I went back to reading the file. Man, this guy was a real ass. Boyles seemed to feel that the exact letter of the law was all that was important. He treated the tourists who visited the park as inconvenient pests that had to be borne and shown the least amount of politeness and courtesy possible. But the locals were not even accorded surface tolerance. Locals were dealt with as if they were vermin that should be locked away somewhere else. Letters of complaints ranged from rudeness to harassment to destruction of personal property. It seemed that the ass had tried to block a burial in an old family cometary stating that it was against the law to bury someone on federal property even through the family had a legal agreement with the government allowing them to continue to use the burial ground. Once the Superintendent of Parks had ordered Boyles to allow the burial, he became even more petty. As soon as the grave was covered over and before the family had even gotten into their cars, he started gathering up if flowers calling them garbage and issued the family and funeral director tickets for littering. Needless to say one of the younger more hot headed members of the family had taken a swing at Boyles and been arrested. But the local federal prosecutor had declined pressing charges siting that Ranger Boyles had incited the incident by his callous behavior. This had happened right before Boyles had been transferred to a different section of the park, the one where he had been killed. After finishing reading this man's employment file, I now understood why locals wouldn't help. But Boyles wasn't the only victim. Three kids had also been killed. Their deaths should have negated the hostility. This bothered me so I asked Scully about it. She reminded me that Boyles' murder was a death penalty case because he was a federal employee killed while doing his job. So the local feds had probably concentrated on Boyles and didn't talk much about the kids. Things now made perfect sense. The locals most likely felt that the feds were only interested in prosecuting someone for Boyles' murder and not the kids' and they'd be damned if they'd help with that. So if we wanted anyone who might have seen people up here to talk to us, I would have to shift the focus from Boyles to the other victims. But cops are notoriously reluctant to talk about young victims of crime. Which meant I had to find out how much information I could reveal to locals without stepping on anyone's toes. Which meant I needed to talk to Charles, Mulder, and Scully, which meant waiting until Charles and Mulder got back. It was decided that I should give it another go to try to get information from the locals, so I called and made an appointment to talk to the mayor, county sheriff, and as many of the other community leaders as could arrange to be present. I dressed accordingly: suit, my hair up, sensible shoes, light make-up. And I picked five pieces of evidence that I felt would shake the local officials up, but not identify the victims: a Barbie doll, a toy car, a little girl's dress, and two of the least graphic video boxes. The meeting went excellently. I would like to claim that I wowed the officials, but I think the idea that outsiders brought these horrific crimes to their community had more to do with the promised help than anything I said. But I'll take what help I can get. The mayor and sheriff promised to have anyone that was likely to have come in contact with anyone from the lodge in the mayor's office the next morning. I had arranged for Becky to pick me up at the general store as we needed some more supplies up at the site. As I was walking past the hardware store, this horde of reporters appeared. Now normally Charles handles the reporters and I just stand in the background. But this time there was no one to run interference for me. The photographers aren't so bad. I got used to them as a child. As long as you keep moving, they don't get too close. But the guys with the microphones and tape recorders are a menace. They plant themselves in front of you so you can't keep walking without plowing into them. Since I was surrounded on three sides, I moved closer to the hardware store. Big mistake. The next thing I know is my elbow goes through the plate glass window. Man, talk about looking like a dork. I'm standing there pressed up against a broken window, blood dripping from several cuts, cameras going off, and questions being yelled at me from three sides. Luckily, I had taken my suit jacket off or it would have been ruined. As it was I lost a shirt. About this time one of the Deputy sheriffs showed up and took charge of the situation. He had one of the guys who works at the general store take me over to the clinic. 15 stitches later I was ready for Becky to take me back out to the site. The guy who took me to the clinic was so nice he even hung around to make sure I was OK, and then offered to bring the groceries up to the site each morning. Which was quickly accepted. Continued in part 9 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (09a/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 7:00AM Friday, 17 October 1998 ------ "Everybody got their plans down?" Charles asked the assembled team. Everybody nodded. But then, Charles didn't expect anything else. They were all first rate professionals. Nothing else would be expected. But things told him that things were not right with the team. Anna was sitting sipping her coffee. She was uncharacteristically still and quiet, she'd made only one joke and that one had fallen flat. From the front of the room, he could see circles under her eyes, he knew he was going to have to talk with her about getting more sleep. Dana was just as bad. Normally the woman was radiant, bright blue eyes and copper hair, today the hair and eyes both looked dull. Mulder was setting back in his chair. He didn't give away much. Have to keep an eye on him. Becky looked like she was holding up ok. But she had a frame of reference for doing something like this that the others didn't. He didn't know enough about Karl and his crew to be able to read any of them. "Scully and I will take the remains that were found in for autopsy," Mulder said. Charles nodded. A loud car horn sounded right outside the building. "That's for me. I'm heading into town for a meeting with a couple of townspeople the Sheriff called in. And the Sheriff sent up the two guys that I've arranged to have food up. He thinks it would be noticed less than one of the white Cherokees. Caio." Anna grabbed her backpack and left the room. The roar of a badly muffled V-8 filled the room, then died as the vehicle pulled away. Charles just stared at her for a moment not fully comprehending the whirlwind that had just swept through. He'd have to talk with Anna about this when she got back. "Karl, you and your team?" Karl shrugged. "The same thing as yesterday: going through the Lodge." "Sounds good," Charles replied. "I'm going to the airport to pick up Agent Bennett. Any questions?" There were none. He watched everybody leave the room. Mulder and Scully moved slowly, carefully. Like somebody whose body hurt, not the pain of a broken bone or migraine, but more like the little pains you get if you go sleep wet and cold, or just hadn't gotten enough sleep. Anna was getting worrisome. He's asked her to review some resumes of candidates for the anthro unit. She hadn't reported on them yet and that wasn't like her. Her eyes looked a little glazed, like she was coming down with something. Or wasn't sleeping enough. Becky he wasn't worried about. She had dealt with this type of case before, and if there wasn't much sparkle behind her eyeglasses, she looked like she was handling everything well. She was standing tall. Karl and his team looked OK, too, but then, what they were doing was nothing too out of the ordinary for them. *-*-* Charles glanced up at the sky. It was a partly cloudy sky, a steel gray that didn't promise rain nor snow, but told you that you wouldn't be seeing the sun any time soon. He checked his watch, drew on his cigarette. He was a little worried, a little aggravated. The airplane was running late. Not that it would be the end of the world if it got in an hour late, but it caused worry that something might have gone wrong during the flight. Lighting a fresh cigarette off the butt of an old one, he gave it one good draw then looked up at the sky again. In the distance he heard the low drone of aircraft engines. It was the plane from Washington. The pilot made one pass low over the airfield, then came in and landed. The passenger door opened and the little ramp came down. A redhead, a little taller than Scully, stood in the airplane's door. Charles could see her look over the fall scenery in front of her until her eyes settled on him. He walked up as she made her way down the airplane's steps. "Agent Bennett?" he asked. "I am Section Chief Charles Farragut." Charles took a moment to look her over. Washington power suit, briefcase, and the ever present trenchcoat. He'd never worked with the Missing and Exploited Children unit, but he'd gotten a report about Special Agent Lisa Bennett. Knows her stuff, hard worker, wasn't much interested in the Bureau politics. "Good morning, sir," she replied, her voice polished. "Welcome to Elkins, West Virginia," he said. "Thank you, sir. Now if you will allow me to get my luggage." "Let me help you," Charles offered. A moments work and the luggage was in the back of the Cherokee. "A television set, sir?" Lisa inquired, seeing a large cardboard box in the back of the Cherokee. "There is some evidence on VHS cassette that we would want to look at." A brief nod. He closed the back hatch. "And please call me Charles or Farragut. The 'sir' is unnecessary." He smiled. "Yes, . . . Charles. The site is on first name basis?" "Mostly. Mulder is a profiler on the case and he prefers his last name to be used." A nod. "I've heard many things . . .," she started to say. At Charles's look she elaborated. "Mostly good. I've wanted to work with him and his partner Dana Scully." "You'll have your chance now," Charles said. A moment latter and the passenger door of the Cherokee was open. A few seconds latter and they were pulling out onto Beverly Pike. "Anything you need to pick up before we head out to the site, Lisa?" "No thank you." She'd kept her briefcase with her and now opened it up on her lap. "We made a firm identification from the fingerprints of one of the bodies found with Ranger Boyles. A tentative identification on a second, but nothing matching the third." Charles sat and digested the information for a moment. "At least one body IDed. There is evidence that there are roughly 30 additional bodes at the scene." "Shit," Lisa said quietly. Charles risked a glance over. Lisa was staring straight ahead, her expression neutral. "That's quite a large number to find at one crime scene," Lisa said. "As soon as we can get some good pictures and fingerprints, I'll have staff at the Hoover Building start searching." Charles nodded. She was going to be in for a surprise. *-*-* Charles pulled the Cherokee into a spot beside the servant's quarters. "I'll help you in with your luggage, Lisa." "Thank you," she said absently. Her eyes were on the scene in front of her. "When can I meet the rest of the team?" "As soon as you've settled, I'll take you to talk with Karl and the other members of the Rapid Response team. Section Chief Becky DaSilva is here. Agents Scully and Mulder are in Elkins doing two autopsies, and Agent Rose are talking with people in Job." She nodded and went up the stairs to unpack. *-*-* "Getting ready for tonight's entertainment?" Charles turned his head from the TV/VCR combo he was setting up and looked up at Becky lounging against his room's door frame. "Wish it was that simple," he replied. "Don't know anything about an archaeological dig." "Nothing worse than an amateur." "And I really don't have the patience to catalog and label evidence." "And we have a crew handling that quite well." "So I'm going to review a couple of the tapes to see if we will be able to get any good stills from them." "Sounds like a worthwhile plan. Mind if I join you?" Charles raised his eyebrows, DaSilva was a specialist in forensic anthropology; surely there was something more productive she could do. "Can't do any digging right now, any good defense attorney would be able to question the validity of any evidence found by a lone investigator." Charles thought for a moment, "Draw up a chair." He opened an evidence bag and pulled out a VHS videotape. "They already dusted the cassette for fingerprints and did not find any." He carefully peeled off the cellophane wrapper and handed the cassette to Becky. He watched her look the tape over, his fingers busy playing with an unlit cigarette. Becky pulled the cassette out of the slip case. "Computer printer printed labels rather than silkscreen," Becky said. "Nicely done. It looks professional." "Yes it does. The labels on the cassette look like they were done with an inkjet printer." "Yeah. I've got the software and printer at home myself." Charles chuckled. "I've found it real useful printing labels for TV movies I've taped," she insisted. "Let's watch the tape." Charles nodded and slipped the tape cassette into the VCR. The screen stayed blue for a moment before a logo displayed on the screen: PAIN PRODUCTIONS, INC. Music started to play, a light rock tune that Charles barely recognized. The set seemed to be minimal, a stone wall with a heavy 'X' shaped wooden structure leaning against one wall. A stone wall that looked like the Lodge's basement. "Please don't hurt me," a girl's voice came through the cheap speakers of the television set. A young woman was dragged onto the set by two people, one a man dressed in the stereotypical executioner's outfit of tight black pants, boots, and a black hood, the second totally covered in a black robe, hood, and gloves. Charles hit pause on the remote. "Could that be the girl dug up this morning?" Becky looked at the image for a moment. "It could be. Can't be 100% certain." "Probability?" he pushed. "Seventy percent without additional research." Charles nodded and wrote the frame number down. "White peter pan collar blouse, blue jeans." "I wonder if those aren't somebody else's clothes?" Charles looked at Becky, "Your reasoning?" "A girl of her age wouldn't wear a peter pan collar blouse with a pair of jeans." Charles nodded and noted the fact. "And I think that's the basement of the lodge." "Yeah, I noticed," she did not sound thrilled with the fact. He released the pause. "Betty here has been a bad girl, and deserves to be punished," an off-camera male voice spoke. The figures pulled her to the wooden St. Andrew's Cross, each man pulling her wrists up to the waiting leather cuffs attached to the upper ends of the 'X' by loose chains. Then her ankles were restrained. The hooded 'executioner' started to unbutton the girl's blouse, baring the white lace bra covering her small breasts. "No, please," she pleaded. Charles glanced over at Becky. She seemed mesmerized by the actions on the TV screen. "Here, let me help with that," the other executioner said. He pulled a wicked looking knife out of a boot and brought the blade up to the girl's face. Her eyes were wide as they tracked the shiny blade passing before her. The man then lowered it down, running the tip over the skin on her stomach. A thin red line followed. The girl cried out. The blade's next pass was up the middle of her chest, the tip slipping under the band of her little girl bra. A quick movement and the band parted to the sharp steel. A black gloved hand pushed the ruined bra apart displaying small breasts. The following images were a montage of more assaults and violations. The jeans cut away from her body, a hand pulverized by a mallet, a nail being driven into the flesh of one thigh. Charles looked down at his watch. They'd been watching the video for about 20 minutes; it was time for the ending murder scene. He hit pause on the remote. "You don't have to watch the end," he said to Becky. The blonde's smile was cold. Her eyes were colder still, little bits of glittering ice behind her eyeglasses. "I'll see it through. Let's finish the tape." Charles just nodded and started the tape again. The girl hung whimpering in the shackles, her face and body bloody. "Time for your big scene, Betty," the smooth oily voice they had heard at the beginning of the tape was heard. She looked up, fear in her eyes. The executioner with the knife came on camera, after passing the blade in front of her eyes a couple of times, he put the point of the knife an inch below her right breast. "Ready, Lord High Executioner?" A cruel laugh, "Yes, My Lord." "Ready to scream nice and loud for the pleasure of the audience, Betty?" Her eyes widened as realization of what was going to happen hit her. "No! NO!!" "Do it." She looked down as the tip slowly slipped between two ribs. At first silent in shock, then hoarsely screaming in pain as the knife penetrated deeper, the hand twisting it after the guard touched her skin. Soon the screams changed to coughs, coughs bringing up red foamy blood from a damaged lung. In three minutes, the coughs stopped and she hung there unmoving, blood dripping from a corner of her mouth. "Thank you for joining us for today's execution. Please pick up other releases of Pain Productions. Our actors and actresses are dying to please you." The music came back on as the two executioners released first her ankles, then her wrists letting her fall to the room's floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Grabbing her ankles, they unceremoniously dragged her out of the room, her unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling, the knife still buried in her chest. Charles hit the rewind button, his hand trembling. "I don't understand this Charles," Becky asked, her eyes wide in disbelief. "Why do people watch this?" "I really don't know, Becky. Mulder can give you all sorts of psychological reasons." Charles got up from the chair and walked to the room's closet. Rummaging around for a moment, he returned with a pint bottle of Kentucky Bourbon. "Have a shot," he said opening the bottle and handing it to Becky. Becky looked up at Charles before taking a swallow from the bottle. A swallow followed by a grimace. "I'm not into Bourbon." "I know, you prefer dark rum and Coke." When Becky looked up at him, Charles smiled. "I was the AIC on the Disney World case. I had to sign all of the expense reports." Becky smiled back. It was a sad smile, a smile that graced her lips but not her eyes. "My best guess is that their customers enjoy the torture aspect of the films. Some people seem to enjoy watching torture, and these are for the extreme cases." "I may understand that other people enjoy this, but I don't." Charles chuckled, "That's good. That means that you are reasonably normal." "Meet anybody who would have enjoyed these?" Her voice was thoughtful. "I ran into a few in the Navy that enjoyed inflicting unnecessary pain. Never wanted any of them on a mission. Their enjoyment got into the way of the mission." She nodded. "The girl on the tape is the one we dug up today. I doubt they drive nails into the thighs of many of their victims," Becky said, her voice flat. Charles sighed. He was looking, hoping that they would find a match between the person on the film, and one of the bodies. But it was disquieting to find it. "And we know now that there are at least three men involved in the filming. The camera moved too much when both people were on screen." "The person in the black hood was a woman," Becky said. "She moves like a woman, not a man." Charles got hit with another blow. "Fucking hell," he said. He shook his head. "I'm going outside for a cigarette. Do you want to continue the conversation outside?" At Becky's nod, he grabbed a jacket and went outside. Charles looked over the dreary scene of gray clouded sky, mostly bare trees, and cold-browned grass. The cold breeze cut through the thin jacket he had picked up. The day had been getting better and better. A flick of his Zippo and he was drawing nicotine-laden air into his lungs. Becky nodded. "What's next?" "Lunch." Becky's reply showed her surprise. "Lunch?" she questioned. Charles took one long drag in the Marlboro then exhaled the smoke. "Yes, lunch. Can't work on an empty stomach. Anna brought some coldcuts. Thought I would make a sandwich and then see how Lisa and Karl are doing. Want to join me?" "Sure." Continued in the second section of part 9. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (09b/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 12:00AM Friday, 17 October 1998 ------ The noise of a truck badly needing a trip to the muffler shop interrupted Charles's enjoyment of a salami and Swiss. Charles looked up at Becky for a moment, then the realization of what was happening hit. "Anna's returning," Becky said smiling, her eyes sparkling at Charles' momentary confusion. After a look that matched his kosher dill pickle, Charles got up and looked through the kitchen curtains. An ancient blue Ford truck, several boxes of food in the bed, and Anna and two young men in leather jackets and blue jeans standing beside. Anna smiling at them, pushing a lock of hair behind an ear, moving her backpack up onto her shoulder. She was flirting with the guys. "You're right," he said glancing over to Becky. "I'm going out and help bring things in. Charles grabbed his jacket from his chair back and went out to the truck. "Hello, Sir," one of the young men said, nodding in Charles's direction. "Mr Farragut," the other said before turning to Anna. "Where do you want to put the food?" "In the kitchen through the open door," Anna replied. "Hi boss." "Hi Anna. Let me help with carrying in the groceries," Charles offered moving to the back of the truck. "No thank you, Sir," was one of the men's replies, a hand pushing back his yellow and green John Deere cap. "We'll take care of it, Sir," the other said, his face split in a big grin, his hat advertising "Red Man", his hands filled with a box of food. Charles nodded and stepped back beside Anna. "You'll have a report soon?" he asked, his voice pitched low so as not to be overheard. "I can give you a quick verbal report once they leave," Anna spoke quietly. "Good." Five minutes later, the back of the truck was empty and they were waving as the guys climbed into their truck. Charles walked over to the door and waited until Anna walked into the kitchen ahead of him. "Hi, Anna. I went ahead and put the food away," Becky said, a cup of coffee in her hand. "Thanks, Becky, I would have done it," Anna replied, taking her coat off and hanging it on one of the coat hooks near the door. "A cup of coffee?" Becky asked. "Thanks, I would love some." A cup of coffee poured, Anna took a sip before speaking, "I first talked with a group of people at the Mayor's office. I impressed how important it was to find the people who had been up here. That we were investigating this as six murders on Federal property. They were surprised at the number, but as we had discussed, I mentioned us finding the burials. I didn't give any counts." "And. . .?" Becky asked. "Mayor didn't know anything, but told me to use his name if I needed cooperation. I talked with the Postmaster and some of his people. They told me that there were two men who came about once a week and picked up mail sent to them General Delivery under the names John Smith and David Jones. They didn't speak much, posted a couple of packages. They had always thought that they were survivalists staying in some shack. The Deputy said that he'd get in a sketch artist and do some drawings of the people. "I talked with about a dozen other people. Nothing out of any of them. I walked back to the store, thinking I could hitch a ride back with them. While they loaded the truck, we talked. I mentioned that I was looking for people with roughly this description. And wouldn't you know, they had people matching that description coming into the store buying supplies. Three interesting things: they had a woman with them at times, they bought enough for 3 to 4 more people, and they always paid in cash." Charles spoke up. "We looked at one of the VHS tapes we found in the Lodge. The victim on the video matched one of those we have already found. And one of the perps on the tape moves like a woman." Anna sighed as her shoulders slumped. Shaking her head, her eyes went up to Charles' He could see pain and a question in her eyes. "I'm going to ask Mulder if he thinks looking at one of the tapes would help him with his profile. Other than that, I don't know of any reason to ask anybody else to look at them." Charles watched Anna's sigh of relief. There was no valid reason for her to look at the tortures on the tapes. "Oh, by the way, boss," Anna said, her eyes sparkling with humor. "There's some people in town that want to visit the site." Charles' face split into a smile. "There's no chance of that. This is a crime scene. No visitors." He took a breath to mention the two guys with a truck. "These are people from a group calling themselves 'Protect Our Children. From what the Sheriff said, they sound like they could get nasty," Anna said. "And like Skinner always says, we have nothing to hide," Becky added to the conversation. "I haven't heard of them. I think we need to talk with Lisa Bennett about this," Charles said. Becky nodded. "Lisa's at the Lodge going through the labeled evidence, we'll have to go there," Charles said looking right at Anna. Anna looked up at her boss and shrugged. "Let's go then," Charles said. *-*-* They found Lisa sitting at the table in the Lodge's kitchen, evidence bags surrounding her and her laptop. She'd look at a piece of evidence for a moment, then key something into the laptop. Charles knocked on the doorframe. "Hello," she said looking up. "There's a wealth of evidence here. And some of it is coming up on the FBI missing children database." "Good. Let me introduce two more members of the team. This is Section Chief Becky DaSilva and Special Agent Anna Rose." "Lisa Bennett. I'm from the Bureau's Missing and Exploited Children Unit," she said, a smile on her face and her eyes sparkling. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Agent Rose. I've wanted to meet you since I read your report on the case in Hawaii." Anna smile and blushed slightly, "I'd be willing to discuss the case any time if you want." "I may take you up on that offer," Lisa replied. "Lisa," Charles said. Once he had her attention, he continued. "I've been told that some people from Protect Our Children want to visit the crime scene. What do you know about them, and can we ignore them?" "You can't ignore them. They are a small but very vocal group of parents that can cause a great deal of trouble. I don't believe that we have to allow them here on site, but somebody will have to talk with them." "You have dealt with them in the past?" Becky's question was as much a statement as it was a question. "Yes, a couple of times," Lisa's wry smile showed that she did not have pleasant memories of the event. "Then, Charles, you and Lisa should be the ones to go down and talk with the people. We need Karl and his people working on the evidence. And I need Anna helping me recover bodies," Becky said. Lisa's quick glare at Becky told Charles that she was not looking forward to this meeting. "Anna, when did the group say they were coming up here?" Charles asked. "I only heard a part of one side of a conversation. But it sounded like they were planning on coming up here about 2PM if they can find someone to show them the way." Charles glanced at his watch. It was only a little past noon, and he liked the idea of the surprise move. "Let's go down and hit them first," he said with a smile. "I'll be ready in half an hour," Lisa replied. Charles nodded. "I'll meet you outside the servant's quarters." Lisa nodded and started to pack her laptop. Charles turned and started for the Lodge's front door. Becky's low voice stopped him. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown." Charles chuckled and continued for the door. *-*-* US33 Between Job and Elkins, West Virginia 1:00PM Friday, 17 October 1998 ------ It wasn't a rain, not even a decent drizzle, more like a breeze wafted mist that made everything in God's creation damp and cool. The roads were slick with the moisture, the trees dripped like a rainstorm had been through hours ago. It was the sort of day you weren't certain what to wear in the morning, wool or cotton, thick and warm, thin and dry. And should you turn on the air conditioning or the heat. You were more damp than anything else. Charles looked out the windshield of the Cherokee, the wipers occasionally interrupting his view of the wet asphalt and leafless oaks with a pass of black metal and rubber blade. The sky was gray, the dull sort of gray you get from cheap flatware. The kind you bought at the discount house for twenty dollars for a service for eight. He wanted a bit of the sun, of blue sky, something to relieve the tedium of gray sky and damp roadway. "Any idea on how to handle this P O C group?" Charles asked. Talking more to break the silence than anything else. Lisa jerked as if she'd touched a live wire. She turned to Charles before speaking. "A lot depends on who is there. P O C is a very loosely organized collection of groups. There is very little coordination at the National level, and little more at the state level. Most of the activity is at the community level and is very depended on the person who is running the group." "Lovely," Charles said. No way to know what sort of lions were going to be in the den when you got there. Simple fucking lovely. "They believe that the government doesn't do enough to recover missing children. Or so they state. It seems at times they are more interested in headlines and sound bites than investigation." "Don't they know that they are not helping to find of their children?" "For some of them, the children have been gone so long, the quest has become the object, not the children," Lisa said quietly. Charles gave her a quick look. She was stressed and trying her best not to show it. "There's the turn off for their hotel," Lisa said, pointing out a hotel driveway ahead. Charles pulled the Cherokee off and into the hotel parking lot. He was not thrilled with the upcoming opportunity, not thrilled at all. *-*-* "Thank you for taking the time to come to the hotel," the tall man sitting behind the conference table said. "I'm George Smith." Charles shook the offered hand, taking that moment to look over Smith. Gray, thinning hair. A widening of the middle from sitting behind a desk. Made him think of any of the thousands of civil servants he'd had the displeasure to deal with. "And this is Mary Allan, she is the president of the West Virginia chapter." Charles shook the woman's hand. 5 foot, 8 inches. Pale skin. Mousy brown hair. The smile on her lips did not match the hard look in her weary eyes. "And finally," Smith gave a week laugh," is Robin O'Keefe. She is our point person for working with the Federal government." A little shorter then Allan, maybe 5 foot, 4 inches. She looked like somebody who took the time to keep in shape. Her handshake was firm but not hard. "And this is Special Agent Lisa Bennett of the FBI Exploited and Missing Children Unit," Charles said introducing Lisa. He watched as Lisa shook everybody's hand. O'Keefe seemed to be a little warm, Smith was OK, but Allan seemed almost antagonistic. "I don't know why we are wasting out time here when we could be out at the site looking over things for ourselves," Allan said. "It's our kids that are missing," her voice desperate. First salvo has been fired. "I am afraid that visiting the site is out of the question. It is an active crime scene. Only authorized personal are allowed there to lessen any chance of contamination of the evidence," Charles said. "Perhaps a limited visit might be possible," O'Keefe said. "There has to be a part of the crime scene, a parking area perhaps that we could view most of the site. That way we could report to our members what the Federal government is doing." "That might work," Smith agreed. Charles was not thrilled with the idea, it went against FBI policy, and who knew what else. But it might . . . "They will show us only what they want us to see," Allan said, a bit of anger or frustration in her voice. "We might as well not go if we cannot explore the site as we need to." "It's a possibility," Smith tried to moderate again. "They'll lead us by the nose, letting us see only what they want us to see," Allan said emphatically. "The Federal government really doesn't care about the missing children. They are only interested in searching for the murders of the Ranger. That's why they assigned the clowns they did." "Now, Mary," O'Keefe started to say. "Don't now 'Mary' me," Allan started to say. "They should have assigned the agents they used in Hawaii or the ones that rescued the kid from the woman and her mercenary friends in North Carolina." "Allow me to remind you," Lisa said. "Section Chief Farragut, Special Agents Anna Rose, Dana Scully, and Fox Mulder were the agents assigned to both those cases. So they did assign the agents they used in Hawaii and North Carolina." That sat the POC members back for a moment. "We should have done more with the press," Allan said. Her voice sounding a little smug. "The press?" Charles asked. "Yes, the press. The Federal government will do anything they can do to sweep these cases under the rug. We have to go to the press to get the necessary pressure to make sure that the federal and local governments do what they so often fail to do." Charles sat there for a moment, his mind shocked at the implications of what POC had done. Lisa spoke up, "I had wondered how the press were here so quickly. Telling the press was a very irresponsible thing to do. The less the criminals responsible for these deaths know about the investigation, the better chance we will have of finding the criminals that killed those kids." "I am sorry for any problems that contacting the press has caused, but we feel that it is best that the press and the public are involved in missing children cases," O'Keefe said. "That is true in a case involving runaways and where one parent takes the kids and runs. And even when the children die of natural causes like exposure. But not when it's a case where the children are murdered," Lisa said, her voice hard, her gaze pinning each of the POC members. "Anything else, Agent Bennett?" Charles asked. "No." He stood up. "Then I think it is time that we return to the investigation, Agent Bennett. And Mr. Smith, ladies, I wish to remind you and any other member of POC that attempts to get to the crime site of this: anybody found uninvited on the site will be arrested for interfering with a Federal investigation." Charles paused a moment before continuing, "And you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law." He knew that his barely controlled anger was present in his voice, but right then, he didn't care. And maybe it would be something that these stupid people might understand. "Good day." *-*-* Charles lit a cigarette as soon as they were out of the building. "I don't know how people can be so stupid." Lisa looked at Charles' cigarette with a frown. First moving upwind, she thought for a moment before speaking. "They aren't stupid, just totally focused on a single thing." She waited a moment before continuing, "Have any children, Charles?" He started for a moment before answering, "Yes, a daughter going to Columbia and a son going to Annapolis. Why?" "If one of them disappeared into thin air, wouldn't you turn heaven and earth upside down to find them?" "Why, yes." "Each of those people have a missing child. And if memory serves me correctly, Mary Allen is missing two kids. It's an old story, there was a divorce, the husband had visitation rights, and didn't return them to her one Sunday evening. The best guess we have is that he's gone underground with the kids and they are now living in another state under assumed names. "Hope keeps you going for a while, then you don't find any leads. But you keep looking. You begin to think that if maybe the Feds and the State police did more you would have your children back. After several years, the search becomes an all consuming drive in their life." "Sounds bad," he replied quietly. They were by the Cherokee so he unlocked the doors and they got inside out of the cold wind. "What can I or any other investigator tell her?" she asked while putting on her seatbelt. "Your kids are gone. That the courts will not stop you from having them declared dead. The probability is that they are alive and well someplace. And then we spend millions of dollars trying to find out if someone lied on their income tax and she still doesn't have her kids to kiss good night. Can you really blame her for thinking we're not doing enough to help her?" Charles pointed to a strip of fast food places by the side of the road, Lisa just shook her head. "The only thing left for some of them is going to the media. Sometimes it works. And sometimes it gets in the way of the investigations. No way to tell." They drove for a couple of miles, the off-road tires of the Cherokee making a dull rumble. "What do you think the chances are of finding the identities of the kids buried there in the corral?" "How many kids?" "Becky thinks about 30." "Probably about a third of them we won't find anything, especially on the older burials. When they're just bones, it get's harder." Her voice sounded resigned. "With fresh bodies, you have appearance, coloring, scars, tattoos. With bones, all you have is dental records and DNA if you can get close enough to an ID." They continued driving in silence. *-*-* Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 7:30PM Friday, 17 October 1998 ------ It was a subdued group that sat down at the table that evening. Conversations were done in whispers. Food was pushed around the plate. The hot coffee and cocoa was the only thing consumed in any quantity. The people looked tired in the bright light from the overhead fluorescents. Faces looked drawn, eyes looked tired. People were sitting close, huddled together like they were seeking warmth from each other. "Excuse me," Charles said standing up. "I need some reports from people, then I'll leave most of you alone for the remainder of the evening. Becky?" She took off her eyeglasses for a moment and massaged the bridge of her nose. "Anna and I continued excavating the one hole. We found another body. Young male, about 14 years of age. Tomorrow we should be getting some grad students from the University of West Virginia. Once they are oriented, we should be able to recover more bodies quicker." "Karl?" "We cataloged another two hundred items. Working with Lisa, we've started correlating the items cataloged with the FBI list of missing children. We've got hits on about 3 items so far." "Thank you. Scully and Mulder." Scully pulled a sheaf of papers from her pocket. She looked pale, her peaches and cream complexion gone to the white of skim milk. Her partner looked just as bad, bags under eyes that had lost their luster. "We did the autopsy on the two bodies we took to town. They both appear to be young people of middle teenage years. We were able to get finger and foot prints from both of them. The county Sheriff is running the prints for us. We compared notes with Becky, and it appears that the female we autopsied is likely to be the one in one of the video tapes." She looked over at Charles a question in her eyes, You watched the tapes? "Becky and I looked at one of the video tapes to see if we could get any pictures of the perps. We were able to determine that likely, the perps are two man and one woman. She mentioned at the time that the injuries appeared to be the same as the girl you unearthed," Charles said. "And that leaves you, Agent Rose." Anna looked up from her untouched dinner plate. "I'm afraid that I don't have much to report. I talked with the Mayor and other leaders. They offered as much cooperation as they could. The Postmaster told me that two men came into town and picked up mail delivered to them General Delivery under the names Smith and Jones. I have a copy of their signatures, but the names are probably fake. I faxed the information to Washington and they're running a check to see if any matches turn up on the names. The Postmaster will keep watch on other mail delivered to the same names and hold it for us." "We might get lucky," Mulder interjected. "True. They posted a couple of packages, nobody remembers the addresses. The Postmaster thought they were some survivalists that were staying in the area. I talked with other people and they didn't know anything." "Do you think that they were being uncooperative?" Lisa asked. "No. I think that they were trying to be cooperative. Once I explained that we were tracking down people who killed children, and not just somebody who had offed a hated Ranger, they became very cooperative, but they just don't have any information to give us. The only ones that had information were the people at the store. They had customers that matched the descriptions that I got from the Postmaster. The only difference was that occasionally a woman was with them. Two interesting points, they bought enough for about 6-8 people at a time, and they always paid in cash." "Feeding their victims, for one thing, and not leaving anything that could be traced for the other," Karl pointed out. Anna nodded. "Anna," Charles said. "Do you think that there are any additional information we can get from the people living in Job?" "I doubt it. I think I'll have to go to some of the other towns. And I'm not certain that they'll have any information." "I think she's right, Farragut," Mulder said. "I don't have much of a profile, but chances are they thought they were safe here. There would be little reason for them to go elsewhere for food and mail. They might hit stores in Elkins for other things, like videotape and sound and lighting equipment. But even then I would expect them to head into Washington or Charleston for that." There seemed to be a general consensus supporting Mulder's comments. "Thank you Mulder. One last thing before I end this meeting. Mulder, I would like you to review one of the tapes we found in the Lodge. I would like a psychological analysis of the video." Charles could see Mulder's shoulders slump slightly, but he nodded. "I'll set up the VCR and TV set in one of the spare rooms. I'm not going to ask anybody else to watch it." "Is there any reason why anybody else can't watch it?" There was a biting tone to Lisa's question. "Shouldn't somebody else watch them with him to get an additional viewpoint?" "No. I'm just not going to ask anybody else. It's too horrid a thing to watch if you don't need to." He caught both Scully and Becky moving closer to Mulder. He'd have somebody watching the video with him. "Thank you," Lisa replied. "Unless there is something else to discuss before retiring, the meeting is over." Continued in part 10. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (10/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Interlude 5 From the casebook of FBI Agent Ann Rose 17 October 1998 - I hate turning my back on that building, especially at night. The feelings it arouses in me are like nothing I've felt before. Terror. Pain. Shame. Hopelessness. Loss. It sits there, looking for all the world like a slightly decrepit refugee from the Black Forest of Germany, almost but not quite fitting in with the pine, maple, basswood, and spruce trees in the surrounding forest. But underneath that harmless facade lurks something evil, twisted, malicious, waiting to reach out and grab at any living thing near here. The animals and the birds sense it as I have yet to see or hear even one. Nature itself seems to shun this building and the surrounding ground. Yet here I sit, alone, at 2 in the morning. Sitting vigil over the dead, both the ones recovered and the ones that the ground still holds. With only a lantern and a work table between me and that building. I long to go back to the lodge several yards away where the others are sleeping, to wake Charles who is suppose to take the watch that started at 1. But I see no sense in waking him from his sleep, a deep healing sleep if his heart rate is any indication. Sleep would allude me and even if by some fluke I did fall into Morpheus' embrace, that building would follow me along with the screams, cries, and pleading that I hear constantly. I would dream of the bodies that we have been uncovering, most without fleshy features. But in my dreams they would have faces, faces that I know and love: my sister Zee, Blair Sandburg, and myself. Three children that would have been lost to the streets but for the love of one parent; in Blair's case, his mother Naomi, in Zee and my case our father. I know how easily anyone of us could have been street children, prey to the kind of people who care about nothing but their own greed and lusts. Prey to the kind of people who tortured and killed the ones we are recovering and took that hunting lodge and made it into the building I have to keep where I can see it. So I sit here, cataloging the day's finds: bits of cloth, the remains of shoes, a hair ribbon, and even a doll. All that remains of the lost children in those graves except bones. All the while making sure that building remains in the outer edges of my vision. So it remains just an old hunting lodge in a national forest and not turn into something that can creep out to pollute the rest of the sleeping world any more than it has. Continued in Part 11 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (11/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Blackthorn Lodge Job, West Virginia 9:00AM Saturday, 18 October 1998 ------ Charles lit a Marlboro. The sky was still gray, the wind still cold and cutting. He could almost see ghosts of those dead and crudely buried in the corral in the smokes that billowed up from just beyond the next ridge. The problem now was finding his partner. She hadn't woken him at 1AM to take his turn at watch. He could understand if she had fallen asleep on watch. This was turning into BE-NO station. 'BE-NO action, BE-NO fun', the bane of any Navy man. And the bane of anybody stuck making sure that nothing was happening in the middle of nowhere when there was dead in the ground. To easy to get unfocused and miss something or simply fall asleep. Not that his sleep had been any too sound. Nightmares of his daughter stretched out on that cursed St Andrew's Cross and tortured kept violating his sleep. He'd have to get into town and call her to make sure she was safe. A soprano laugh caught his ear and attention. There Anna was, talking with the guys from the store in town. Putting out the third cigarette of the day, he started towards her and a rusty blue truck. She wasn't just talking to the guys in the truck, she was flirting with them, braiding her long hair, shrugging her shoulders which emphasizing her breasts, biting her lower lip. He stopped for a moment and stared. Of all the crap to be going on. There wasn't time for this. The case needed to be solved. There was no time for his partner to add names to her black book. He walked closer. "Agent Rose," he said once close to the group. He felt some little satisfaction when she jumped a little. "Gotta run, boys. Bossman's here," Anna said. "Thanks for the supplies." The guys got into their truck and left. He watched her stand there. She looked dead on her feet, the dark bruising formed a mask around her eyes, a slight stagger in her step. "Didn't you get any sleep, Anna?" Charles's aggravation at her flirting warred with concern for his partner. "Ahh, no," she replied. "I was working on cataloging evidence and kind of lost track of time and the next thing I knew it was six o'clock in the morning and time to start breakfast but definitely not time for bed so I just started cooking. There's some blueberry pancake mix inside and bacon and the guys just brought up some homemade bread that's still a bit warm and would be great with some apple butter and there's a fresh pot of coffee and . . ." she took a deep breath. "Coffee isn't what's needed here," Charles started speaking, his voice louder then it needed to be. "Bed is. Now. You're dead on your feet. When have you last gotten a good night's sleep, Rose?" "Ah, I don't know," Anna replied. "But that's OK, I'm used to going on little sleep." "Yeah," he replied sarcastically. He didn't notice the people, Becky, Dana, Karl, watching the scene, listening to every carefully enunciated word. "People who don't get enough sleep get sloppy. And when they carry a gun, they are a danger to themselves and all of those around them." He snorted. "That is," he paused for a moment, "when you remember to carry your sidearm. And then there is that flirting with those boys from the town. It is unacceptable to have civilians on a crime scene just to amuse yourself. I really don't give a damn what you do on your free time, Agent Rose, but when you are at a crime scene on a case, you don't have any free time." "Boss . . ." she tried to inject. If anything, he stood straighter. "Right now you can not even stand straight. Go take a nap, kid. You need it" "But . . ." "Go. Take. A. Nap." You could see the period after each carefully enunciated word. "Yes Sir." Anna turned and headed for the servant's quarters. Her shoulders drooping due to fatigue or defeat, none knew. Charles watched making sure that Anna entered the servant's quarters. His attention turned to others standing, watching. "Isn't there work to be done?" He turned and walked through the servant's quarter's door, ending at the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee. He hadn't paid much attention to the world around him as he walked so he was a little surprised finding Becky standing there. "Coffee?" he inquired. "What gives, Farragut?" Becky asked, her voice unusually even, controlled. "Nothing," he replied taking a sip of the hot brew. "That's bull. You don't chew somebody a new asshole out in public like this. It's not the way things are done," she said. She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "We need to discuss this." He stood straight, virtually at attention. "I don't think so," he said slowly. "You may be the AIC of this case, but I've been a Section Chief longer than you have. Last time I checked, I out rank you. We'll go to the barn and talk." "As I said, I don't think so. I've been placed in command of this investigation by Assistant Director Skinner. Not you. So if you will excuse me . . . " He turned to go to his room. Standing in front of him, standing tall, she started to speak, "What the hell is wrong with you, Charles? You're a bit of a fascist prig at times, but chewing your partner's ass in public is uncalled for. I've never seen you act like such an asshole. What's wrong?" Charles stood for moment, looking at the tall blond before replying. "This case is going nowhere. The trail was cold when we got off the Goony Bird 5 days ago. There are no witnesses, and minimal evidence. And now my partner is not sleeping, flirting with civilians at the crime scene, and not getting requested paperwork done." "There's more, isn't there?" Becky's tone was more than a little accusing. "Nothing that I wish to discuss," Charles said. "And now . . ." He pushed past her and walked to his room. Setting the coffee cup he pushed back the kitchen chair from the card table he called 'his desk.' This had become a big fucking mess. A knock on the door ended his contemplation. "Yes, Karl." "The Sheriff contacted us via the walkie-talkie. The family of the girl that we have the tentative identification on is here." The man's tone was even, even a little controlled. Charles nodded. "I'll take Scully and Bennett with me. Anything else?" Karl stood there for a moment as if there was something that needed saying. "No," he finally replied. "Thank you." Charles said, dismissing him. *-*-* "Asshole." Mulder said in a stage whisper. Charles stopped walking for a moment and turned towards the agent. Mulder was leaning against the corral fence, his eyes scanning the irregular surface. Charles turned and continued walking towards the barn. A hard knock, and he opened the barn door. Becky and Dana were bent over a table working on something. Both heads turned and looked at him for a moment before returning to their task. Charles walked over and looked at what had the two so entranced. He stood totally still for a moment as his brain registered what was on the table, a skeleton, a human skeleton. Charles could identify the skull and several bones. A deep breath, and he was ready. "Excuse me." When both pairs of eyes were on him, he continued, "The family has arrived to make the final identification. Agent Scully, I'll be needing you and Agent Bennett to come with me." Scully looked at Charles for a moment. "Yes, Sir," was the cool reply. "I need a moment to clean up first." "Of course," he acknowledged. "I'll be waiting by the Cherokee." Scully nodded. Becky looked at Charles for a moment before returning to the bones on the table. Charles left. *-*-* Charles sat in the back seat of the Cherokee, his mind not registering the wet vegetation either side of the road. He had done a horrible uncalled for thing today, talking to his partner that way. The nightmares might have stressed him, but didn't give him leave to do as he had done. This was crap he could and maybe should be cashiered for. A sigh. He shook his head at Bennett turning around from the passenger seat. He wanted a cigarette and a stiff drink. He had never screwed up that way before. Maybe it was time for him to leave the Bureau and let other people lead men and women into battle. Leave before somebody got killed for his stupidity. This wasn't Anna's fault; she had not done anything to deserve a major dressing down. She had a good head on her shoulders. There had to be good reasons she flirted with those guys who came up on site. And for her to take too much on. Sounded like her. His jaw clenched. They needed to sit down and talk about what was going on. The truck turned and bounced slightly. Charles looked up and saw, against the gray sky, Davis Memorial Hospital. He nodded when Scully needlessly announced that they had arrived. He looked around after climbing out of the truck. The sky was threatening rain, the wind was cold and brisk. Weather matching his mood. There weren't many cars in the parking lot, so a car with an out of state license plate was easy to spot. Probably the parents the ME called about. Scully took the lead and pushed through the hospital's doors first. A whispered conversation between Scully and the receptionist, and Scully waved them over. "There is no surgery scheduled for today so they're in the Surgical Waiting Room. Follow me." It was a short walk down polished linoleum hallways smelling of disinfectant, the click of heals echoing off the walls. The plaque by the door read simply 'Surgical Waiting Room'. Scully and Bennett looked up at Charles, waiting for his lead. He stood for a moment, then opened the oak door. A couple sat in the uncomfortable seats that hospitals use all over the globe. They sat alone in the room, hands intertwined, her purse in her lap, a bag by his feet. A box of tissues sat well used on the table beside her. The man, eyes green behind hornrimmed eyeglasses, looked up at them, face lined from worry and fear. "Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth?" Charles asked gently. At the man's nod, he pulled out his badge. "We are from the FBI. This is Agent Dana Scully and Agent Lisa Bennett. I am Agent Charles Farragut. Thank you for coming down." Time stretched as the man sat there for a moment digesting what had been told to him. Charles could smell the bitter tang of the hospital's cheap disinfectant in this worn waiting room. The rumble of a gurney carrying somebody to surgery was just there at the edge of hearing. Colors were neutral pastels that the psychologists said were calming. Mr. Wentworth looked at his wife for a moment before climbing to his feet. "Can I see the body now?" he asked calmly. "George, I'll come too," Mrs. Wentworth said. "I need see if it's our baby." She rose slowly. Mr. Wentworth put an arm around her shoulders and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head. His second plea was rejected. "Let's go," she said, standing straight, her purse in her hands. *-*-* The room was as silent as a tomb. Walls of shiny stainless steel, fluorescent lighting that washed the color out of people's faces, a couple of silvery tables standing in the center of the room. The faint, cloying smell of corruption and blood. At Charles' nod, the Medical Examiner went to one of the four-foot square doors in the wall and pulled it open. Charles walked up and helped him pull out the body-laden shelf. It was a frozen tableau in the refrigerated room. The Wentworth's stood there staring at the sheet covered body, Scully and Bennett standing back, observing. The ME and Charles stood behind the shelf, waiting for somebody to make the request. At Mrs Wentworth's nod, the ME folded back the sheet, exposing the body's head and shoulders. The Wentworth's stopped breathing for a moment. The mother nodded, tears streaming down her face. "We had always hoped that she'd come home. She was just lost we told ourselves. That she would find her way home again. She always was a good girl. A very good little girl." "Yes, Mrs. Wentworth," Lisa's voice, "We all know that." "We won't get our Jean back, Mr Farragut. But now we don't have to worry that she's lying someplace hurt and alone. We can take her home now." Mr Wentworth reached out to shake Charles' hand. Charles shook the offered hand. "We'll find out what happened, Sir." "We know you'll do your best," Mr. Wentworth replied, his eyes on his dead daughter. Charles stepped back, leaving the Wentworth's in the Medical Examiner's hands. As the FBI Agents' left the room, the ME was covering the body. The door thankfully closed on the scene. *-*-* "Let's stop at the store." Lisa's words were the first words spoken in the Cherokee since they left the hospital parking lot. "I need a chocolate bar." "Sure," Charles agreed. "I need a fresh pack of Marlboro's." Here there was some activity at the General Store. A couple of workmen were installing a plate glass window, a Deputy Sheriff supervising their work. "Hello, Agent Scully, Agent Bennett, Agent Farragut," the Sheriff tipped his had to the ladies. "Hello, Sheriff Miller," Lisa said pleasantly. "Ain't this a right nice window?" Miller asked. "It is," Dana replied. "Very nice." Charles offered cigarettes to Miller and Scully before lighting one for himself. "Billy Bob can thank those reporters and Agent Rose for this window," Miller said smiling. "Do tell," Charles said. "Yeah. She was standing here when the reporters jumped her. One was so pushy, she ended up with an elbow through the glass." Charles grimaced for a moment. A glance at Bennett and Scully and a lack of guilty looks told him that the two agents didn't know about it. "Would you please give us a rundown of what happened?" Miller nodded. "Agent Rose had been talking with Billy Bob inside the store. When she came out, the reporters came up in mass and started asking her questions. And pushing forward trying to get her to answer." "Finally, they pushed too hard and her elbow went through the plate glass. I had seen things get ugly from across the street, but by the time I got to her, the damage had been done." Miller seamed unhappy with the events as related so far. Then he smiled. "I told the reporters not to leave and applied first aid. She was bleeding pretty good but nothing critical was cut. She asked me not to report it. I said sure, and I had Billy Bob walk her to the clinic. "As the reporters started to leave, I piped up that while no criminal charges will be filed, Billy Bob here can swear out a complaint. They were responsible for the destruction of an expensive plate glass window and all. When they started belly- aching about coughing up the money, I reminded them how it would be hard for them to practice their craft from an Elkin jail cell waiting for the Judge to set bail. They quickly settled down and agreed to pay for the replacement of the window and repairs to the window frame." Miller chuckled before continuing, "Billy Bob had been needing to replace that drafty window for over 10 years. Those reporters were quite cooperative." Charles nodded. "Thanks." Miller just smiled. *-*-* Charles stood there waiting. Scully was in Anna's room checking on her. A nod from the redhead, and Charles walked into his partner's room. "Look, sir, I know I disobeyed orders. But I didn't see any reason to wake people up when I wasn't tired and therefore unlikely to sleep. Besides Lisa had shown me how to enter evidence into the missing persons data base and I was really making head way on the backlog." Charles sat there and let her talk until she stopped to take a breath. "Anna, I am sorry for what I said out there. You have the right to report my actions to Assistant Director Skinner." Anna frowned. "Why would I do that? I'm the one who missed up. You should be reporting me, not the other way around." Charles smiled, "I was out of line for talking to you that way. My only excuse is that this has been a very tense case. It was your plan to have the men from Job bring up the food?" She shook her head. "It's a good one. It keeps us away from town and the fourth estate." He paused for a moment, "How did your arm get injured?" Anna froze for a second, "My arm? There's nothing wrong with my arm. See." She flexed her arms several time. "I was told something about stitches and a plate glass window." "How did you find out? I know Becky won't rat me out," Anna said flopping back onto her pillows. Charles stood still for a moment, digesting the fact that two of his agents know that one of them was injured and didn't tell him. He'd talk to her soon. "Deputy Miller filled us in." "I just want to be a good agent and do my job," Anna said emphatically changing the subject. "I know Anna, I know. And you are generally a good agent. But this case you haven't been telling me things the way you should." She shrugged and looked at the floor. "I didn't mean not to tell you. I mean normally we work so closely on a case, that I don't have to tell you what happens. But on this case, we haven't worked together at all. But I guess I figured somehow you would know what was happening." Charles sat there for a moment before replying. "I think you are right. I would have been down there in Job watching your back when you got jumped by the press." She nodded. "And I want to show you I can handle this investigation just like a real agent. I didn't want to get sent back because you thought I couldn't do my job." She said quietly. "You do your job well, Anna. But you are also doing jobs that other people should also be helping out. None of us are too good not to help with the dishes." "Well, I've run base camps before and that's what this is really. Besides everyone else has high priority assignments. So I just figured if I took care of the mundane work, the others would be free to do what they need to do." "You haven't been sleeping well, have you?" he asked changing the subject. "Well . . . I . . . You know . . . .Maybe I just need a change in diet. Too much soup and that. Maybe I'll make some hamburgers and fries tonight. Good old fashioned red meat and grease might be just what I need." "Don't try to change the subject, Anna. I can tell you that you haven't been sleeping. I can see it in your eyes and the way you are reacting." She sat there, still for a moment. "I've been having nightmares. I didn't want to tell you because I worried that you would think less of me for having them. I mean here are the bodies of kids that suffered through hell before they died and all I can do is think about myself." "Nothing wrong with having nightmares. This case would give anybody nightmares. I don't think the less of you for having them. I've been having them too." Her eyes widened in disbelief, "You have?" "Yes, me too. I dreamt that it was Caroline being tortured. It's been a nasty case." He stood there for a moment. "As for everyone else having priority tasks, you have one as well. You need to talk with more of the locals. We need to find out as much as we can about the people who did this." "I don't think we'll found out anything more. The locals tend to private people even through your neighbors know everything that is going on in each others' lives. Which is okay because everyone has known each their whole lives and they're related to each other either through blood or marriage. This is what marks them as a community. The people who did this are outsiders. They made no move to become part of the community. So the locals would not pry into their business. Because if the locals did, that would give the outsiders the right to pry into the locals' business." "I was afraid of that," he stood there, a momentary grimace on his face. "I need to work on a report for Skinner. You rest a little longer, partner." She nodded. *-*-* It was compline, midnight. Karl Klugman was on watch. The servant's quarters were quiet. Charles walked into the kitchen and spotted Becky drinking a glass of water. Seeing her eyes on him, he started talking. "I've been having nightmares." His eyes boring straight into her's. "I've got a daughter, Christine, she's a junior at Columbia in New York City. Making good grades. Joan, her mother, and I are very proud of her. I saw her strapped to that damned St Andrew's cross in a nightmare. Being tortured, violated, murdered. Her bloody broken body hanging from her wrists. And I saw the same thing with Anna." He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. "And there was nothing I could do to stop it. And then Rose's flirting with those civilians this morning. She's late reviewing several prospective agent's C. V.'s. Skinner want's to add 4 additional anthropologists to the unit. I finally blew." "I've apologized to her." Becky nodded and put the empty glass in the sink. Continued in part 12. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (12/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner Interlude 6 From the casebook of FBI Agent Ann Rose 18 October 1998 - Well that was fun. Charles was livid. Of course I knew he would be angry for me not waking him for his watch, but I never figured he would blew up because I spent a little time talking with the guys who deliver the supplies. I only bother taking time off to do it because those guys are doing us a favor bring the supplies out here. And that saves us having to make the half hour trip into town every other day. Not to mention saves us from having to deal with the reporters that are hanging around town trying to get every scrap of information they can. Okay it save me having to go down into town and deal with the reporters. They're so aggressive. And my arm still hurts from the fifteen stitches it took to close the cuts from the window my elbow went through when they cornered me. But no one except Becky up here at the site knows about them, not even Charles. So I guess he doesn't understand my reasons for encouraging those guys to keep delivering the supplies from town. But I do think Charles way over reacted to everything. He yelled for ten minutes straight, never giving me a chance to say a word to defend myself. Then he orders me to go to bed like some naughty child being punished. Now that was totally out of line. But I still did what he said and went to bed. Dana came in and talked with me about the blow up. She was royally pissed at Charles for yelling, but reluctantly agreed that I need to eat and sleep more or I'd soon be sick. I couldn't argue with her logic nor does she need to hear all about my fears and nightmares, so I lay down and go to sleep like a good girl. The room I'm using for sleeping is nice enough, if a tad small. But then all the bedrooms in this building are small. I feel safe there. The screams and cries don't reach me there. But I still fear sleeping for I know the nightmare will start as soon as I fall asleep. And it's always the same dream. I am in some room in the lodge. There are two women and two men there as well as a young boy who was alive just minutes before. I know Blair is being held somewhere in the building. I just don't know where. I also know that it will be my turn to be tortured and raped before they kill me, all to be captured for eternity on film and sold. I break away from the two men who are holding me and run. Screams and pleas for help follow me as race down the stairs and out of the front door. Once outside, I head for the woods. It's night with very light moonlight filtering though the trees. A heavy smoke seems to be emerging from the very ground as I take each step. I can hear the sound of my pursers behind me, chasing me. And I know I have to escape or I'll die. Soon the trees give way to a barren landscape devoid of grass, trees, and brushes. The barren rocks are cracked and the ground itself is dry. But still smoke emerges as if from underground fires. My only hope is to use the smoke as cover until I can get to a road or house. So I run until I finally reach a highway. But just as I am about to break cover and run for it, a hand closes over my mouth and an arm snakes around my waist. And I know my flight to freedom and my life are over. This is when I wake up in a cold sweat, shaking like a leaf. And I swear I will do anything to avoid having that dream again. God, I wish I could make Charles understand this. After he told me about his nightmares, I knew I couldn't burden him with mine. So here I sit in the middle of the night at the kitchen table typing up the day's events in my personal journal. Charles wouldn't be too upset about me being up because he thinks I slept all day. I had to stop typing for a while because a male cry cuts through the night. I knew instantly it was Mulder. I've heard him cry out before during a nightmare he had at my townhouse once. What stopped me from getting up and heading up the stairs to his room are the sounds of two people getting out of bed and starting for his room. Becky and Dana were going to take care of him, and they are the two most important women in his life. I waited and listened. I could imagine the look on their faces. Each uncertain if they should push past the other to help Mulder, or be the one to stand by and let the other though. This could have gotten nasty, both of those two are strong willed and feel that they know what is best for him. Both Mulder and I lucked out tonight, one of them backed down. Scully headed down the stairs while Becky went to Mulder. *-*-* Seconds later Scully walked into the kitchen. Without her makeup, after only 3 hours of sleep, she's one of the walking wounded. But then I guess we all are. "Tea?" I asked holding up my mug. She looked over at me. "Chamomile. No caffeine," I told her. She flashed me a smile. I walked over and poured her a mug, then pointed out the sugar and the honey. "Thanks," she said, her voice thick with sleep. She mixed in a large dollop of honey and reached into the pocket of her robe. Pulling out a cigarette pack, she started toward the door to the cold outside. "No need to go outside. I can tolerate some smoke. Hell, after some of hotel suites I grew up in, L A on it's worst smog day in history would still have clearer air. So smoke from a few cigarettes wouldn't be a problem. Just don't tell Charles." Dana looked at me for a moment before replying, "Thanks." I poured myself some more tea, added an appropriate amount of sugar, and sit back down by my laptop and notes. A couple of minutes pass. I look over at Dana, and see her looking up at the ceiling. I listen for a moment. "Mulder's calming down. Becky knows what to do." Dana smiles and relaxes. "Good." She lights a second cigarette off the butt of the first one. "I worry. This case is very hard on him. Children are very special to Mulder, and to see them tortured and murdered. . ." She left the words hanging in the air. I do the only thing I can think to do, I nod. "And how about you, Dana? Is it any easier for you? If you want to talk about it, I've been told I'm a good listener." She stared at me for a moment, then busied herself fixing a second mug of tea. "It's hard on me too. I've tried to maintain a professional distance from the victims. But I can't anymore. I feel the bile rise each time I think of those video tapes, of those black bodybags. Becky and I sat with Mulder when he watched the video tape this evening. It tore all of us up." She stood there for another minute, sipping on her tea before started to talk again, " I . . . I found that I had a child, Emily, that I didn't even know existed." Her voice cracked a little. "I know that it sounds like one of Mulder's wacky theories, but genetic tests indicated that I was the child's mother. We had only a few days together before she died." Whoa, this is some heavy shit. Scully with a kid. That was going to take some serious thought. Later. I filed it away to think about when there was less shit going on. Dana's head was down, the chin against her chest. I did the only thing I could think to do: I got up and gave her a hug. She looked like she needed the human contact. "I'm so sorry, Dana." She hugged me hard back for a short, short moment, then released. I moved back, giving her the space she seemed to want. "Thanks." She tried to shake out another smoke. The pack was empty so she went to the kitchen freezer and got herself out a fresh one. A flick of her Bic later, and she was drawing in nicotine-laden smoke. "How about you, Anna? You haven't said much about yourself." She's trying to change the subject away from herself, but I wasn't going to put anymore emotional burden on her. "I'm cool. Nothings wrong that a little good old heavy metal won't cure." I can tell by the look in her eyes that she doesn't quite buy my spiel, but she isn't going to push. "Ok. If you need to talk, I'll listen. I got good reviews during my psych routine as an intern," she added smiling. "I'll remember that." I cocked my head for a moment listening to the second floor for a moment. "I think Becky and Mulder have fallen asleep up there." "Good." Dana put out her cigarette. "I'm going back to bed. Don't stay up too much longer, Anna." "I won't." I watched Dana going back to the stairs. I could hear her quietly walk to Mulder's door and hesitate for a moment. Then she sighed and went to her room and went back to bed. I went back to my journal. I wanted to finish before it is time for breakfast. Continued in part 13 ----------------------------------------------------------------- Bad Video I (13/13) by Lee Ann & Steven Wagner From the Diary of Dana Scully, MD Sunday, 19 October 1998 ------ It was a cold overcast day this morning. The cloud cover was fairly low, and was that luminous gray that foretells snow. And today, right after breakfast, it started snowing. It was a light snowfall, one that melted as soon as it hit the ground. Skinner arrived today, just after Noon. He was dressed in a Pennsylvania Avenue suit, polished wingtips, and a beige trenchcoat. From his shiny pate to his shiny shoes he looked perfect. As he and Charles walked, I was reminded of two Rottweillers I watched a couple of times. They didn't have to act big and bad, they knew they were big and bad. Big, bad, in control of themselves and the world around them, they moved with an ease and a grace that would be the envy of many a person. Mulder moves with a self assuredness that tells all around him that it wouldn't do any good getting in his way, he'll walk right through you. Hell, he's done it to me. But Skinner and Charles. They don't even worry about somebody getting in their way, people wouldn't dare. But today there's a crack in Charles' control. His blowup at Rose yesterday afternoon was out of character for him. This case is rattling him. Hell, it's rattling all of us. We're all aware of the bodies we've found, the children's clothing in the Lodge, the video tapes waiting to be sold. Mulder's not the only one to wake in the night, bed clothes soaked in sweat. And there's a lot of little things that are bothering us. Things that wouldn't normally even merit notice, but added to the shit the case is dumping on us, is pushing us to just about the breaking point. For me it's been personal hygiene and my clothing. I've been called prissy and worse. But I like to stay clean and my clothes just right. The bathtub at the servant's quarters is being shared by almost a dozen people, and the hot water heater is wimpier than the one in my apartment. So I'm feeling grungy, with dirt under my fingernails, wearing a pair of jeans that have so much mud caked on them they could stand on their own. Anna and Becky may be used to it, but I'm not. Maybe I should have taken Anna up on a soapless scrubdown in a cold mountain stream. It would have been an improvement over the way I am. The others are just as screwed up. Becky may be used to digging quantities of children out of the ground, but she's not used to her boyfriend freaking out on her. His crying and screaming last night was the worst I've ever seen. He really is a gentle soul, and that tape, each body in the ground, the feeling of hopelessness that's hit us all has just ratcheted the tension until he's gotten to his breaking point. Fuck. We're all almost ready to break. I think about the bodies we have found, and the bodies we have seen on the ground- penetrating radar screen. Missy ran away twice. How easy would it have been for her to have ended her life on a video tape. And Rose. She's the closest of us to that age group. And from what few things she's said about growing up, she or any of her sisters could have ended up here. I don't know Lisa Bennett or Karl well. But I can see the horror in Lisa's eyes. The faint quiver in her voice when she talks. This case is hitting her hard. *-*-* I watched Skinner and Charles as they walked, their footprints dark against the fresh snow. They walked slowly, Skinner asking questions, Charles explaining. The Lodge, the barn, and finally came to us at the corral. I stopped scraping at the cold soil, climbed out of the hole and joined Becky talking with the two of them. Thankfully, Charles offered me one of his Marlboros, I'd emptied the pack I'd opened the night before. I shed the latex exam gloves before cupping my hands around the warming flame of his Zippo lighter. "Hello," Skinner said. I'm seriously grungy, but I could still stand tall. "Hello, Sir." I heard Becky echo my greeting. "Anything to add to the report you gave Agent Farragut yesterday?" he asked. I zoned out a bit while Becky reported the new body we'd scraped down to. Scraping down a millimeter at a time with the edge of a trowel. Handing the pails of soil pulled out to Mulder who screened it. The only change was pulling out a 2 inch paintbrush to gently sweep away the soil when you think you find something. Loads of fun. Fucking mindnumbing if you ask me. I came back to earth when Skinner asked me if I had anything to add to Becky's report. "No, Sir. DaSilva's report was very complete." "Thank you," Skinner said before heading back to the warmth of the servant's quarters. Charles nodded and followed him. It watched Charles and Skinner walk back towards the Servant's quarters, their footsteps quickly filled in with snow. When the quarter's door closed behind them, I turned towards Becky. "What do you think?" "Damn if I know," Becky said. "Too many possibilities. Most of them bad." "Thanks for your words of joy," I replied, a frown on my face. Becky laughed, "Sorry, Dana. But this case is a lot like others I've worked on. Dig some holes, uncover somebody's handiwork. Try to piece together the bones. Sucks, but it beats academia." I replied with a grimace that might resemble a smile and climbed back down into the hole. An hour later, Anna came by and told us that there was a meeting with Skinner and Charles as soon as everybody got there. Mulder took in the vials of items he had found screening the soil, while Becky and me covered the hole with a blue tarp. It was quiet as we walked. No talking, the only noises was the faint sound of the snow falling, and the crunching sound of our footsteps in the snow. I walked right behind Becky and Mulder. They were close, very close, but their hand's were apart. I envied Mulder right then and there. His luck with the ladies sucked at best. Almost every one of the women in his life, his mother, Phoebe, Diana have emotionally abused him. Fuck, even I can be abusive to him when he trots out one of his theories that are barely supported by the facts. But he had somebody last night when he cried. Alasdair's back in England. The people in my life have been transient at best. Sucks. A quick wash at a faucet on the side of the Servant's quarters, we walked in and sat down. "Thank you for coming here on such short notice," Skinner said, his clothing still looking Pennsylvania Avenue sharp. "I have discussed this case with AIC Farragut, and each of you." He shuffled some papers on the table before continuing. "This case is a hard one. The numbers and nature of the murdered is staggering. The lack of any information about the UNSUBs is hard on everybody's morale." "No shit," Mulder mumbled. I know that I elbowed him, and I think Becky did to. "We have been able to discover what happened to Ranger Steve Ura. One of the automobiles on Amtrak's Auto-Train was not claimed then the train arrived yesterday in Sanford, Florida. When Amtrak personnel came to investigate, the drug dog showed a lot of interest in a car. The local police were called in. When they opened the trunk. Ranger Steve Ura's body was found. A bullet hole in the back of the head." "We won't get anything from him," Becky mumbled. Anna's eyes darted to the blonde agent. "It is a blow to the case. He was our only lead. There are no viable leads at present. As to the team here at the crime scene," Skinner looked at each of us before continuing. "I'm pulling Farragut, Mulder, Scully, Bennett, and Rose back to DC." We sat there stunned. What the fuck. . . This was our case. We were investigating it. I glanced over at Mulder, he looked resigned to the situation. Anna looked like she was about to ask a question. I didn't know how I looked, but I had gotten my chin off the floor. "Agents Mulder, Scully, and Rose. Agents of your caliber are hard to come by. From what I have read in the reports, and have seen here, you have done your job. Agent Rose has done a fine job talking to the local citizens, but does not believe that much additional information can be gotten through interviews. "Agent Mulder's profile will be a help finding the perpetrators. But it is doubtful that Agent Rose will be able to glean anymore information. Which leaves Mulder very little to do. "Agent Scully has forefilled her responsibilities as a pathologist well, but there do not appear to be any aspects of any future autopsies that a competent local would not be able to do. And you are being wasted recovering bodies." "Agent Bennett can correlate information in her office at the Hoover Building more efficiently that she can here. DaSilva, and Klugman will continue working on site. I understand that the West Virginia students will be arriving soon." Becky nodded. "I want you to understand one thing, the Bureau is not dropping this case. Farragut is still the AIC on the case. A felony was committed on Federal property and it is our duty to investigate. But there are other cases that you need to turn your attention to at this time. But when there is something to investigate, you will be called." Skinner looked down at his notes for a moment before continuing, "Farragut will be calling the car rental agency in Elkins to arrange rental cars for the drive home." He grimaced for a moment, "With the media attention on this case, you would be besieged by reporters when you arrived at the airport." I'm certain he said more, but I was in shock. As soon as he released us, I wandered back outside. The snow had continued to fall while we were talking, a thick blanket that covered the everything. You couldn't see any aspect of the case. It looks like a Norman Rockwell painting; weathered buildings with snow covered roofs, fence posts topped by little mounds of snow, pristine white snow blanketing the ground. Pristine snow blanketing the unmarked graves, the falling flakes hiding the horror that was there. And now, we're pulling out. Leaving this site, heading back home. Leaving the crime unsolved. I know that Skinner's right, we're being wasted here. The case was cold when we got here, and when Ura was found dead, got ice old. But it bothers me. Bothers me a lot. We dropped the fucking ball here. We should have solved the case. That's what we do, it's who we are. We solve puzzles. Becky digs them up out of the ground, I find them inside a cadaver, Mulder . . . Mulder pulls them out of that genius brain of his. But we couldn't do it here, we couldn't solve the case. It hurt, humbled all of us. We may have only been here a week, but it seems like forever. We are leaving the lodge, but we'll be carrying around a piece of this place with us for a long, long time. The end.