Classification: XRA
Rated: Strong R
Key Words: Mulder/Scully Romance, slightly AU
Spoilers: The cancer arc, Detour
Disclaimer: Chris Carter owns them, I don't,
so no profit for me.
Archive: Gossamer, please. Email me before
archiving elsewhere. I don't see why I'd refuse.
Summary: Four girls have vanished, each one on
a different night. Each one by the light of a
full moon. Is it just a coincidence?

Notes: Before anything else, I'd like to thank
my wonderful beta, Artemis, who somehow found
time to work on this during the hectic holiday
season. Without her encouragement, corrections
and advice, this story would be in a sorry state
indeed--probably never to be finished on my
hard drive <g>

Also, a big thanks to Lib, who beta-ed this story's
first part and helped me get started. Good luck
with college, Lib!

Thanks to Tamra, for helping me to revise this story
and make it work better!

And thanks to Circe Invidiosa, for providing me
with such a beautiful web page :)
www.invidiosa.com/oracle

Now, about the story...I had an idea, I ran with
it, and then I realised it wouldn't fit exactly
into the show's canon. I didn't want to change
anything, so I decided to make it AU. What this
means is--the story is set in Season Five sometime
after Patient X/The Red and the Black (I wanted
Mulder as a believer)--but there is no mention of
Emily. Also, ignore everything Scully said about
the occult in Chinga (a.k.a. Bunghoney in some
countries).

--------------------

He is radiant. She wonders if he is a flame,
but he doesn't flicker, doesn't move.

He glows.

She squints because the darkness is blinding. He
seems to have been cut into it--one slit in a
black canvas. She is part of the darkness, and he
is the only light, the only difference.

She has always wanted him.

There is no choice--she walks closer. Silently,
steadily, she walks closer, afraid to startle
him. Closer.

But then he vanishes. Was he ever there at all?

She is left wanting him even more.

--------------------

*MONDAY*


"What are we looking for, Mulder?" asks Scully,
the words sounding clipped and civilised in the
pagan wilderness.

It's a quiet day, even with a gentle wind swirling
through the forest. The clearing in front of
them is lush with tiger lilies, swaying softly and
nodding their vibrant heads. Golden sunlight
reflects from every surface, making Scully feel
fuzzy and light-headed. The leaves glimmer
emerald-green, and the scents of flowers, crisp
greenery and mouldering earth have mingled together
in the air, drugging her senses.

Mulder is gazing into the field of lilies, but his
attention is focused inward. She can't understand
why he suddenly walked off the road, into the forest,
but she knows that somewhere in his mind, an idea
has been sown. Now he'll nurture it until it can
block out her rationalizations.

"I'm not sure, Scully," he says, after a time. "I
just have a feeling about this place. The girls all
lived near here."

Four girls, she thinks. Their faces appear in her
mind's eye, one by one. Smiling schoolgirl faces--one
with braces, one with a pierced nose. Four girls
who have vanished, each one on a different night.
Each one by the light of a full moon.

It sounds melodramatic and enchanting, but it's
probably it's just a coincidence. At least, that's
what she thinks. Mulder has other ideas.

"We have to get going, Mulder. The Sheriff's expecting
us in -" she checks her watch "- five minutes." She's
annoyed by her prim tone, and feels like she did as
a child, trying to get Melissa to school on time.
She looks up at Mulder, shielding her eyes from the
sun. She wonders if he thinks of her as straight-laced,
sensible, and precisely on time.

He suddenly shifts his attention to her. "I just
want to check this place out, Scully. There's
something about this place...I don't know how
to describe it. We'll only be a few minutes
late." His stare is both penetrating and welcome,
and she forgets what she was thinking.

She tries to be irked but feels pleased instead.
Mulder has once again shunned rational thought to
chase a hunch, and it has brought the two of them
to this beautiful clearing. He often demonstrates a
keen, secret knowledge of places like this. Places
with an underlying mystery. Once he arrives, he's
never afraid to explore what he finds, even if it
reeks of ugliness and decay.

Resentful of having to follow him, Scully is too
addicted to back away. Alone, she would never be
able to discover the world like this. Had she been
by herself, she would have walked straight from
the motel to the Sheriff's office, maybe admiring
the scenery a little along the way. But she's with
Mulder, and something always catches his eye. He
always manages to tug her away from the beaten path.

Mulder is wading through the lilies, looking
around. Searching for something he cannot name or
define. Something that might not even exist. She
wades after him, cool petals brushing her thighs.

He bends gracefully and plucks a flower from the
ground. When she reaches him, he turns and hands
it to her. "M'lady," he says, smiling and bowing
slightly.

She returns the smile but refrains from replying
in kind. His gaze is dangerous, as it often is these
days, so she focuses instead on his gift. The lily
stem is soft and slightly furred against her palm,
and the magnificent flower leans towards her face.
Its bittersweet fragrance is barely there, but she
catches a hint of it. "Thank you," she says finally,
almost shyly.

Looking up, she sees he's glancing around again,
prying into the atmosphere of this place. But then
he stops and shakes his head, "Maybe I'm wrong,
Scully. I can't see anything."

She gives their surroundings another once-over. A
lily-choked clearing, surrounded by forest, with a
clear blue sky overhead. Nothing more.

As they're walking back to the road, she pauses to
leave her lily on a gnarled tree root, and gives it
a glance of regret. When she stands up, she sees
Mulder gazing over his shoulder. He's staring past
her, into the forest.

"Did you notice something?"

He looks baffled for a moment, but then slowly
shakes his head. "A trick of the light," he says,
and they keep walking.

Behind them, the breeze remains calm, but the
forest begins to rustle and creak.

--------------------

Scully expects Sheriff Jenkins to be gruff and
sneering. He's a big, burly man, wearing a uniform
pulled tight by muscles. His mouth is a thin line
beneath a bristling moustache and his beady eyes
seem slightly ferocious. Faced with this bulk of
a man, sitting behind his massive oak desk, Scully
feels as small as a gnat.

Until he speaks. He has the disarming, jovial voice
of a radio DJ, and Scully isn't sure whether to laugh
or to sigh with relief. "I'm Mike," he says, leaning
across his desk to shake hands with Mulder, "we spoke
on the phone."

"This is my partner, Agent Scully."

Scully smiles politely, and extends her hand, somehow
managing not to wince when Mike's big paw clamps
over it.

"I'm so glad you folks could make it down here," says
Mike, beaming like a kid on the fourth of July. "We've
been working this case for months, ever since the
second girl disappeared, and we still haven't found
a trace of them. We don't know the whys, the hows or
the whos of this one, I'm afraid. All we have is the
goddamn full moon."

"Do you have any theories?" asks Mulder, leaning
forward slightly. He looks like he has several already,
and is just waiting to spin them out.

"We think they've been kidnapped, because we can't see
why four young girls would run away in such a pattern.
But then again, there's no evidence of kidnapping. No
ransom notes, no telephone calls--nothing like that -"
the Sheriff lowers his voice a little "- I heard you
have a reputation for cracking cases like these. That's
why I called you in. I think I'd better warn you
now--my deputy doesn't agree with me. She's a real
firecracker."

Scully bristles, shooting both men a sharp look.

"No offence, ma'am," says the Sheriff, abashed. "It's
just this case...we're getting on each others nerves
about it. No one has a clue what to do. That's the
other reason I called you in--I think some people in
my department need a break. My deputy is obsessing
about this case. She'll call me up at night about
it, always spouting another wild theory."

Scully clears her throat, trying not to look at
Mulder. "Well, Sheriff, we'll certainly do
everything possible to help."

"I'm sure you will," he says, smiling broadly. "My
deputy will take you to each of the girls' houses
this afternoon--she wants to speak to the parents
again. After that you'll be on your own. But if you
need any help at all, just come by my office."

"Thank you," they say automatically, as they stand. For
a second Scully fears another handshake, but is saved
when the Sheriff's phone rings. He gives them a wave as
they walk out.

--------------------

"I think you've done it this time, Mulder," she
says, eyeing his French fries.

"Done what?"

"Found an unsolvable case." She turns her attention
back to the file, which is packed with information
about the four missing girls, and little else. "Mulder,
there's no evidence. There's no motive. There's nothing
but four missing girls, all of whom were seemingly
well-adjusted."

He shrugs, "You never know, Scully. Maybe they did
run away. There's only so much digging you can do,
into the private life of a family."

"You think they were abused?"

"Not necessarily. I just think we should look into
their family situations. And their social situations.
Perhaps they were outcasts at school, and relied on
each other for support. They might have formed a group
together--a secret club, or maybe some kind of cult.
It could be that the full moon was a significant
symbol to them." She snags one of his fries, and he
pretends to ignore the theft. "What do you think,
Scully?"

"I think you're getting way ahead of yourself there,
partner -" she's cut off when he snatches her
half-finished soda and starts sucking it down "- hey,
Mulder! Give that back!"

He smirks, his lips curving around the straw. "Fair's
fair, G-woman," he says when he's done, handing her
an empty glass.

"I hardly think one measly slice of potato is worth
half a soda!"

A waitress suddenly materialises beside the table,
and they both blink at her. Scully realises that ever
since she sat down, her entire attention has been
focused on Mulder and the case file. How she's managed
to tune out the bustling diner is beyond her. It's
brimming with the lunchtime crowd, consisting of
everyone from roughened farm workers to real estate
agents. Harried young mothers are gathered at one
table, alternately calming and feeding their fussing
babies. The table beside them is packed with Hell's
Angels, scowling and drinking beer.

Scully thinks that it's strange, how in one moment
Mulder will be showing her something new and wonderful,
and in the next the world will be passing her by
because she's so fixated on him.

With a sigh, Scully looks to the waitress, who is
probably twenty but could pass for fifty. Her watery
blue eyes are dwarfed by the bags beneath them. "How're
you folks doing?" she asks, her face and voice devoid
of expression.

"We're fi -" Scully begins, automatically.

"We'd like another orange soda," says Mulder, turning
on the charm. The waitress offers him a wispy smile
as she jots down the order.

"Mulder," hisses Scully, when they're alone. "I can't
drink another soda."

"Who said you get to drink it all?"

He grins at her, and she grins back helplessly.

How did things become like this between them? She
remembers last year's diners, when their conversations
were filled with stops and starts, and she would
shovel her food around to make it look like she was
eating. Last year they would have been arguing right
now, with him smug and hurt, and her avoiding his
depthless eyes.

But right now, in the present, he's flashing smiles
at her and "accidentally" nudging her foot beneath
the table.

She "accidentally" nudges back.

--------------------

They meet the deputy on the sidewalk outside the
police department, in the blinding sun.

"Agents Mulder and Scully? I'm Officer June Curtis."

Curtis is a lithe, handsome woman, probably in her
early fifties. Scully sizes her up as they shake
hands, and can't help respond to the woman's warm
smile and sparkling grey eyes.

"I suppose Sheriff Jenkins has already told you all
about me," says Curtis, with more than a touch of
sarcasm. Her friendly expression darkens a little.
"He's not the most open-minded of men."

Although he's wearing sunglasses, Scully can sense
Mulder's amusement. "There's a lot of that going
around these days," he says, directing a smirk in
Scully's direction. She resists a childish urge to
elbow him in the ribs.

"Sheriff Jenkins told us you're reluctant to work
with us," Scully says, confused by Curtis' amicable
behaviour.

"Hogwash. That man needs to uncross his wires. You
see, he called you in without consulting me--I only
found out through his secretary. Naturally, I was
pissed off, and I'm not the kind of woman to keep
quiet when I've been given the run-around. But then
I ran a background check on the two of you."

"And?" asks Mulder, as they begin walking to Curtis'
car.

"Well, I have to admit, I'm intrigued. From what I've
read about your work, you certainly don't fit into the
FBI's mainstream. You have an individual approach to
your investigations, with each of you coming at a case
from a different angle. Plus, you're not afraid to
explore the unexplained. I like it." Curtis flicks a
button on her key chain, unlocking the car. Scully
starts when she realises it's a Mercedes Benz.

"Old money," says Curtis, noticing Scully's inspection
of the leather upholstery as they buckle in. Scully
nods, embarrassed, and there's a short silence.

"So I gather we're going to the first girl's house?
Bianca Greenwood's?" asks Scully, to alleviate the
awkwardness.

Curtis smiles sadly, "Yep, the one and only. I used to
babysit her, when she was younger -" she clears her
throat "- anyway, I guess Jenkins told you I want to
interview the parents again?" They nod. "Well, I don't.
I've spoken to those poor people so many times now; it's
like listening to a broken record."

"Then why are you driving us around?" Mulder asks from
the backseat, watching Curtis' eyes in the rear-view
mirror.

"I know it sounds odd, but I want to check out the
plants in their backyards," she replies, pulling into
the drive of a large, white house. "I've been looking
into herbal lore, especially into the use of plants in
spells. It's possible the girls were part of a coven
and needed plants to perform certain rites. I think
their involvement in an alternative religion could have
brought about their disappearances."

As they step out of the car, Mulder stares at Curtis
in awe, and Scully rolls her eyes at him.

"Oh," says Curtis, turning to face them. "Before we go
in, I should tell you that the parents have decided to
give us free reign. Even though this case isn't a
confirmed kidnapping, you can do a thorough search of
the girls' rooms."

Scully frowns, "Isn't that a little...intrusive?"

Curtis gives them a grim look. "These people are
desperate to find their daughters. They'll do whatever
it takes."

-------------------

Bianca's room is plush and pale. Scully eyes the heavy,
rose-petalled curtains with distaste, as Mulder roots
around under the bed. He disturbs a pile of magenta
pillows, which cascade onto the floor around him. Scully
tries not to giggle.

"Nothing," he announces, standing up and glancing
around. "Hey Scully, where did you hide your secret
diary, when you were a girl?"

"You're assuming I had a secret diary."

He starts in on the chest of drawers, and she watches
with mild amusement. "Aw, come on, Scully. Every girl
has a diary." He turns to look at her, panting
slightly, and she quirks her eyebrows at him. "What?"

She shrugs and pulls a chair over to the tallest
cupboard. When she climbs up she sees it, lying right
against the wall. A sparkly pink diary, coated with
dust. Scully tries not to gloat when she takes it
down and shows Mulder. It's not often that she
out-investigates him. Usually she's playing Watson
to his Holmes.

"How did you know?" he asks, agape.

"It's where Melissa always kept her diary. One day
I saw her hiding it, so as soon as I had the chance I
took it down and read it, cover to cover. Most of
it was a whiny diatribe about our conservative parents."
Whenever Scully mentions her sister, Mulder's face
droops with guilt and regret, and this time is no
exception. But this time, she has the means to cease
his wallowing. "Here," she says, "you want to read?"
She hands him the small book, and brushes off her
dusty hands.

He perks up immediately, getting back into sleuth-mode.
"Ah..." he flips through it a bit "...let's see.
Something about her annoying best friend, her parents,
a C on a project. Oh, listen to this - 'I hate myself.
I wish I was prettier, and my nose wasn't so big, and
I didn't have braces. I'm so ugly and the guys all laugh
at me. I see them, in the school corridor and the
cafeteria. Robert is the worst. And it's terrible because
he's so hot. I have the most unbelievable crush on him'."

"It sounds like something out of 'Sweet Valley High'."
Scully takes the diary and peers at Bianca's outrageously
curly script. "Do you think we should speak to this
Robert?"

"Maybe," says Mulder, discarding the diary to nose around
in the homework papers on Bianca's desk. The room seems
to have been left exactly as it was when Bianca still
inhabited it. The clutter, combined with the fine sheen
of dust over everything, is faintly disturbing.

"Come on," says Scully, bagging the diary. "Three
to go."

--------------------

"I think this proves the existence of alternate
universes," says Scully, after stepping out of the
Jones' ordinary suburban home, into their daughter
Sara's room.

The room features torn 'Korn' posters, piles of black
clothes, a dog collar on the bedside table, a huge
stereo system, and shelves packed with strange jars
and velvet-coated books. A black pentacle has been
hastily etched on the ceiling.

"I think we've hit the jackpot, Scully. Sara was
obviously involved in some kind of alternative religion.
Possibly a mild form of satanism." He walks over to a
shelf and starts picking everything up, studying the
odd little books, carved candles and other paraphernalia.
"Or maybe not satanism..." he says, surprised. "It
looks like she did a lot of love spells. Maybe she was
a Wicca and a Goth. "

"Love spells? Wiccan Goths?" For the second time, Scully
thinks of her sister, although this version of Melissa
is an adult, decked in a flowing velvet dress with a
crystal dangling from her necklace. "Missy would give
me spiritual advice, but I never knew where it was coming
from. I don't know what she would have called herself."

Before his guilt can make an appearance, she steps over
to him and takes a scarlet candle from his hand, brushing
her thumb against his palm. Their eyes lock.

"How do you know about this stuff, anyway?" she asks,
ending the moment.

"General knowledge. Although, I probably know as much
about paganism as Sara did, if not more."

"What makes you say that?" Scully sniffs the candle,
recoiling at its musty, sickly aroma. Patchouli? She
puts it down and turns to a stack of CDs.

"Well, there are numerous versions of modern paganism.
Pagans practice magic through many different mediums.
Although conservatives tend to brand it all under
"Devil-worshipping black arts", methods of practicing
magic vary greatly, and paganism doesn't involve
devil-worship. Lucifer was a Catholic invention, after
all."

"Your point being?" asks Scully, deciding to ignore
the dig at conservatives.

"Judging by the conglomeration of various symbols and
spells in her room, Sara didn't understand the
differences between numerous pagan beliefs. She must
have decided to become a witch without doing much
research. It looks like she was desperate to start
practicing magic -" he pauses, then adds, ominously
"- and maybe she stumbled upon something she couldn't
control."

"You're speaking of her in the past tense," says
Scully, as she starts checking out the CDs. They
include every Korn album, 'Ava Adore' by the Smashing
Pumpkins, a quaint looking album by a band called
Rasputina and several Sepultura singles. Scully chuckles
when she finds a Natalie Imbruglia album, right at the
bottom of the stack. Then she realises Mulder hasn't
spoken for some time. "Mulder?"

He's sitting on the rumpled bed, leafing through a
large, leather-bound book. "Check it out, Scully. This
was Sara's private spell book. There are journal entries,
too. She talks a lot about her chemistry teacher--a
Mr. Samuel Kirk."

"Interesting," says Scully, coming to sit beside him.
She sees that Sara's writing is a hasty scrawl, written
in blood red Sharpie. The differences between Sara and
Bianca are astounding. The two girls seem to have
nothing in common. Or had nothing in common, as the
case might be.

"Listen to this--'Mr. Kirk is like some dark angel, who
has come to save me from this most mundane existence.
My life is a black hole, slowly sucking me under, but
his passionate dark eyes will save me. Alas, my magic
is the only thing that can bind us together.'"

"We should definitely have a word with him," says Scully,
"that is, if the local police haven't already discovered
this."

"I don't think they have, Scully," he says. "There are
so many books in this room, and they all look so similar.
The police probably didn't read through all of this--they
don't have the time, or the manpower. I found this book
at the bottom of a pile." He turns the expensive-looking
book over in his hands, to reveal its spine, which has
some kind of polished, pearly stone stuck onto it.

"What is it?"

"A moon stone," he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the
opaque gem.

--------------------

They've had incredible luck so far, but this kind of
providence never lasts. Scully isn't surprised when
Hannah's room yields nothing but a window box cache
of well-read Harlequin romance novels, frilly lingerie
with price tags still attached, and an unopened box of
flavoured condoms.

"A girl after my own heart," says Mulder.

--------------------

Jennifer Kiel's room is deceptively girlish, with
big posters of a boy band on the walls, and a fluffy
throw rug on the floor. However, her collection of
books and CDs instantly dispels the stereotype.

"Amazing," Mulder exclaims, running a finger along
the spines of several novels. "She's got Dostoyevsky,
Dickens, Tolstoy and the Bronte sisters...and Sylvia
Plath, Margaret Atwood, J.D. Salinger, Mark Twain..."
his voice trails off.

"Jen's an avid reader," says her father, who insisted
on coming into the room with them. "Ever since she was
seven years old, she's read everything she can get her
hands on. She loves poetry too." He takes one of the
books down, handing it to Mulder. "Alfred, Lord Tennyson
is her favourite. But she's also fond of modern poets,
like e.e. cummings and Ezra Pound."

Scully watches the man as he speaks, noting his tired
green eyes and the deep lines of sadness carved at the
corners of his mouth. His voice attempts brevity, but
he only manages weariness. Before, when she realised
he was determined to accompany them into his daughter's
room, she'd had her suspicions. Now she realises he
just wants to be part of the investigation. He's a
single parent--a widower. With Jennifer gone, he's
all alone in the house.

"Does Jennifer keep a diary?" she asks, giving him a
purpose.

"I've searched this room from top to bottom, several
times, but I haven't found anything. I've even checked
her laptop--every single file. All I discovered is
that she's been working on a novel for quite a while."

"Really?" Mulder asks, clearly fascinated. "She's only
fifteen. Is it any good?"

"I didn't read all of it, but you have my blessing to
take the laptop and see what you think. If there's
anything I can do to help--anything at all--I'll
do it..." for an instant, Scully thinks he might lose
his composure, but he doesn't break down. "I just want
her found," he continues, after a pause. "None of this
makes sense to me. I don't think she has a connection
to the other missing girls, and she certainly doesn't
have a sordid secret. I know her. She would never have
run away."

Scully exchanges a glance with Mulder. The other
parents have told them roughly the same thing.

"We'll keep you informed," she says, tenderness
softening her polite tone.

--------------------

"Did you turn up anything?" asks Curtis, as they
pull out of the Kiels' drive.

"I was about to ask you the same question," says
Mulder, absently stroking his stubbled jaw. Scully
tries not to envy his hand. "Listen, Curtis," he
continues, "I have a very similar theory to yours,
and I agree with a lot of what you said earlier. But
I don't think plants are the place to look."

Curtis laughs quietly, "You're telling me now? I'm
going to be scrubbing my nails for weeks to get rid
of the grime, and I didn't find a thing. Aside from
the Greenwoods' cat, which leapt out of a hydrangea
bush."

"I think it's highly unlikely these girls were part
of a coven," says Scully.

"Oh come on, Scully," Mulder responds, shaking his
head in disbelief. "You saw Sara's room."

"Yes, but that's only one girl, Mulder. One. And
the second girl to disappear, I might add. You can't
say she started off a chain reaction by vanishing
into a cloud of smoke."

"So what's your theory, Scully?"

She stares out the window for a beat, annoyed by his
slightly mocking tone. "I think the girls mimicked
each other," she says, at last. "I think Bianca ran
away first--for whatever reason--and just happened
to leave on the night of a full moon. Sara heard about
her and decided to copycat, thinking it was a "cool"
idea. The next two girls did the same."

"Maybe," says Curtis, finally breaking into the
argument, "but Agent Scully, those girls had no good
reason to run away...well, possibly aside from Sara.
And if they did leave on their own volition, why
didn't they leave a note? Or at least take some
money?"

Scully looks to Mulder, who raises his eyebrows at
her, expecting her to keep arguing. But she doesn't
know what else to say.

--------------------

"I've arranged interviews at the high school for
tomorrow."

"Hmm?" Mulder looks up from his laptop, tired eyes
peering at her through his glasses.

"I said, I've arranged interviews at the high school
for tomorrow," Scully repeats, flopping onto his bed.
"With Mr. Kirk, and with the once mysterious Robert.
His last name is Bradbury."

"I wonder if he's related to Ray," says Mulder, taking
off his glasses and wiping them on the edge of his
grey T-shirt. Scully sucks in a sigh of disappointment.
She's developed a strange fetish for him in glasses.

She discards her thoughts and gets straight to the
point. "Mulder, are you making any progress? Because
I'm not." She sits and perches on the edge of the bed,
staring down at her folded hands. "I've read some of
Jen's novel, and it's pretty good, considering it was
written by someone so young."

"What's it about?"

Scully sighs and looks up at him. "A lonely young
woman, pining after a married man. It's a period drama,
reminiscent of Jane Austen novels. So far, it's very
depressing. And I don't think it will help us at all."
She never wants to look at it again. It reminded her of
her relationship with Daniel.

"I don't know, Scully. Maybe it could help us."

She raises her eyebrows in query and his eyes dart
away, almost nervously. He seems embarrassed by what
he's about to say, and she's startled. Mulder is never
embarrassed. Maybe, she thinks, he's uncomfortable for
some reason.

"Scully, it seems the only thing these girls had in
common was their loneliness. Hannah was obsessed with
becoming sexually active, but she didn't have a
boyfriend. Sara was trying to seduce Mr. Kirk with
potions and incantations. Bianca was experiencing
self-esteem issues and had a crush on the unattainable
Robert. And Jen was writing a novel about a lonely
woman."

A lonely woman. Scully stares down at her hands again.
"You've got a point Mulder, however I don't see what
it has to do with our investigation."

"Neither do I." He yawns dramatically and rubs his
eyes. "I've just got a feeling about it...it's the
only thing linking the disappearances, aside from
the moon."

"Speaking of the moon, how's your research coming
along?"

"Well..." he turns to his laptop and opens a window,
displaying a site called 'Esoteric Moon Maidens'.
Scully gives an unladylike snort. "Mock me all you like,
Scully, but this site is run by Moira Ravenwaves."

"Who?"

"Moira Ravenwaves. I've heard of her before--she's
a leading practitioner of Wicca, and has written
several novels on the subject. She's also a university
lecturer at Berkley, teaching anthropology."

"So what does this Ravenwaves woman have to say about
the moon?"

" 'The moon is a symbol of energy and light, and moves
in a cycle of energy. As the moon waxes, the energy
field available to practitioners increases in intensity.
Thus, it is wise to complete spells of creation and
renewal under a waxing moon...The cycle is completed
while the moon wanes and energy levels decrease. This
time should be utilised for spells of destruction, such
as a spell to break an already completed charm...It is
important to note that beneath a full moon, energy levels
are at their highest. This is a time of great power--a
time when practitioners must be wise in their use of
magic. It is also a time when energy, negative or
positive, can be drawn easily from one source to another.' "

He looks at her, and she sees that his weariness is only
a facade. Beneath it burns the fire of enthusiasm. Oh no.
"Mulder, surely you don't believe..."

"...that the girls' energy--their life force--has been
taken to another plane somehow? A higher plane?"

"Something like that," she mumbles, yawning herself.
"Mulder, I don't believe in any of this. I mean...don't
energy fields go with things like chakras and auras?
You sound like an aging hippie Mulder. Even if you're
right, how come thousands of teenage girls and boys don't
disappear every year? Why hasn't this happened before?"

"Maybe it has. It wouldn't be a common occurrence,
Scully."

She yawns again, then smiles softly. "Look Mulder,
I'm tired, and I don't think we should get into this
right now."

"Are you backing out of an argument, Scully?"

She stands and moves over to him, their knees almost
brushing. "I thought we were having a discussion,
Mulder. And it can wait till tomorrow."

"Uh-uh, Scully. Time is ticking. There'll be another
full moon on Tuesday."

"You Spidey sense picking up a change in energy
Mulder?" Scully asks, cocking an eyebrow.

He grins at her. "Yes. And I checked the paper this
morning." He pauses, clearly thinking hard about
something, "Look, Scully, I'm not expecting you to
believe any of this, I just think we should treat
it as a possibility. There's a high chance someone
else's daughter will disappear on Tuesday night, but
there should be a way of preventing it. We have to
explore all avenues."

"I know," she says simply. On the spur of the moment,
she decides to ask him something she wasn't sure she
should mention. "Mulder, have you thought that maybe
they've been, ah...taken." She often finds it difficult
to say the word "Samantha", or even "abduction", but
that's okay. He knows what she means.

"No, Scully." His eyes shine with pain, and she regrets
saying anything. "There's no evidence these girls were
abducted. No unusual scorch marks or other abnormalities.
Plus, no recent UFO sightings. I checked into it before
we left--the last sighting in this area was reported
in 1950, and it turned out to be Venus." They both smile
faintly at that. "I also got the guys to run a thorough
background check on the girls' families, and they dug up
nothing. No ties to the government and no links to
other abductees."

"And you're okay? You're okay with this case?"

He nods, his lips quirking slightly. She's surprised
to realise he's slightly amused. Too tired to even
attempt comprehension, she mutters a "good night, see
you tomorrow", and starts for the door.

Mulder reaches up and gently enfolds her hand, pulling
her back. "I am okay, Scully," he says, his voice softly,
strangely dark. "I'm more than okay. I want you to know
that." His skin is always so smooth and warm; she thinks
it must taste of cocoa, or maybe cappuccino. "Scully?"

"Well then..." she tries to respond, utterly confused,
and utterly aroused. Their contact zings through her
blood, as heat blossoms around her heart. "That's
um..."

He grins and drops her hand, obviously sensing her
discomfort. "It's fine, Scully, don't worry about it.
Go get your beauty sleep."

"'Night, Mulder."

She misses their eye contact as soon as it breaks.

--------------------

*TUESDAY*


Mulder traces a rib with his index finger, his
thumb pressing into her navel. She writhes like a
fish on a hook, gasping for oxygen as he nips at
her throat. His lips travel around her mouth, his
hands moving to draw lines beneath her breasts. She
arches her back, straining to press her belly against
him, but he's too high above her. His tongue flickers
against her cheek, lizard-like. His hot breath
lingers on her lips, but he won't follow it with
his mouth. His nose brushes hers, an Eskimo kiss.

"Kiss me," she tries.

Thumbs stroke her belly, lips move across her jaw,
for hours, for days. He won't kiss her; he'll never
kiss her.



"Shit," Scully gasps, into the empty motel room. Her
head is throbbing, and her leg is hovering in midair.

When she sits up she almost falls off the edge of the
bed. She rubs her sore scalp as she reaches to switch
on the lamp.

"Damn it," she mutters, realising that she's hit her
head on the bedside table. She stares at the mess of
tangled sheets around her legs, and wonders how it's
possible--she started the night on top of the
comforter. Her pyjamas are askew and her hair seems
to have transformed into a bird's nest.

The digital clock numbers gleam in the darkness, like
the red eyes of a goblin peering out of a cave. 4:43.

She combs fingers through her hair, cursing under her
breath. It feels good to curse in the wee hours of the
morning, well before the sun comes up. In daylight
she's punctual, respectable and mature. There's never
a hair out of place, never a smudge of lipstick on her
shiny front teeth, and never a button undone...well,
except in extreme circumstances.

But at this hour she is wild. Her imagination roams
free, a panther prowling through her rational mind,
shredding her thoughts. Her desires are not only
allowed, but welcomed.

As always, she thinks of Mulder. She imagines how the
muscles of his back might ripple beneath her
fingernails. Working herself with her fingers, she
moans into the pillow, hoping she won't be ashamed
later on.

After, she can't get back to sleep. The ratty motel
curtains resemble gossamer shrouds in the moonlight.
She sits on a chair beside the window, her face
pressed against the glass until her nose turns cold.
Gradually, she dozes off.

--------------------

Scully looks out the car window as they inch along
Main St., stuck behind a farmer's cabbage
laden pick-up truck. They pass an old-fashioned
bakery, with plump cakes and pies displayed
in the window. Then a clothes store, a supermarket,
a pharmacist, and a gift store called 'Trash and
Treasure'. The last store in the line has an unusual
name--'The Tortoiseshell Cat'--written in large
purple calligraphy. There's also a painting of said
cat, wearing a black witch's hat and cape.

"Hey Mulder, check it out," she points as they go
past. "That must be the New Age store where Sara
bought her supplies."

"We can look into it this afternoon," he replies,
his voice grating and his knuckles white on the
steering wheel. He's casting an evil eye at the
pick-up truck.

"Mulder, calm down." Instinctively, she places a
hand on one of his, but when he flinches she quickly
withdraws it. "Sorry," she mutters, turning to gaze
out the window again, berating herself.

The pick-up turns off down an unpaved track, and she
senses Mulder relaxing beside her. "No Scully, I'm
sorry," he says, and his long fingers twine with her
own. "I think I need Road Rage Anonymous meetings,"
he jokes weakly, but she smiles at him anyway.

She strokes the pad of her thumb across his pulse
point, and he gives her an unreadable look.

--------------------

The school is an ordinary brick building, much like
any other school in a small town. A utility for
learning, with bitumen basketball courts out the
front and a football field on the side. Inside, it's
a maze of cream corridors with the occasional--'Say
No to Drugs'--poster stuck onto a wall.

As Scully passes classrooms she looks through the
glass panes in their doors, watching students smile
and joke during class. Their teachers are similarly
relaxed. It's late spring and the exams are over, so
school is just a formality for them. Scully recalls
the anticipation that came before summer, when she'd
looked forward to swimming at the local pool,
stargazing with her latest boyfriend, or lazing around
at home in the heat, eating popsicles. Simple, normal
activities.

Activities she's happily traded to co-exist with
Mulder in his dangerous world. She wonders if he knows
about her lack of regrets. She remembers her past life
with nostalgia, but deep down she can't even imagine
living that life again. Although terrible things have
been done to her and her family since she started
working with Mulder, she has found a purpose in her life
that could not be replaced with a safe, yet humdrum,
existence. She wishes Mulder would notice how she usually
feels about the X-files, instead of dwelling on the
occasional pang of melancholy she expresses at losing
her chance for a normal life.

And she wishes Mulder would see that it's not only
their work she can no longer live without.

When they get to Samuel Kirk's classroom, where he's
agreed to meet them during a spare period, Scully puts
these thoughts out of her mind. She tells herself
to focus on the investigation, and the interrogation
she and Mulder are about to do.

Kirk greets them warmly when they walk in, and she sees
immediately that he could put Heathcliff to shame. He's
a mixture of cliched tall-dark-handsome and rugged good
looks, and Sara's probably not the only one in his class
with a schoolgirl crush.

Even Scully might have found him attractive once...before
Mulder. Now all she sees are ways Kirk doesn't measure up.
His smaller hands, his paler skin, his duller eyes. Scully's
not sure when she found herself unable to date--it just
happened. Aside from Ed Jerse, she hasn't been with a man
in four years. She's not even sure if Jerse counts.

Mulder doesn't know she feels this way, and she hopes
he'll remain ignorant. She's never seen him glance at
a beautiful woman with disdain.

Suddenly she catches herself, and captures her waning
attention. Lately her firm control has been slipping,
and she worries she might start daydreaming if she doesn't
reign herself in. She focuses on Kirk's classroom
--the chalk equations on the board, the neat rows of
desks, and Kirk's cluttered workspace between them. Her
traitorous emotions flow away.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about one of your
students," Mulder begins, after they sit down. "Do you
remember Sara Jones?"

Kirk looks sad, but that's it. Sad. Scully sees no passion
flare in his expression, or even any pain. There's just
the suitable, expected grief of a teacher who has lost a
student.

"I heard about her disappearance," Kirk says, his voice
slightly sorrowful. "What a terrible thing, especially
for her family. I met her mother earlier in the year,
during parent/teacher interviews--a very kind woman. And
Sara is an exceptionally bright girl." He gives them a
querulous look, "I was under the impression she ran away.
Are you treating this as a kidnapping?"

"The cause of Sara's disappearance is as yet unknown," says
Scully. "At the moment we're simply checking into
everything."

"Did you know Sara well?" Mulder asks quickly, trying to
catch Kirk off guard.

But the man is utterly unperturbed. "Just as well as my
other students." He seems puzzled by Mulder's question,
but then his eyes narrow and fill with anger. "Is this an
interrogation? Am I a suspect?"

Scully glances at Mulder, meeting his eyes. Her expression
tells him she doesn't think this is their perp, and he
lifts his eyebrows slightly in agreement. There's nothing
amiss about Kirk--no unusual reactions or behaviour.

Mulder smiles politely, "Like Agent Scully said, we're just
checking into everything. We'd appreciate it if you could
tell us anything you know about Sara."

Kirk seems to relax a little, although his eyes remain wary.
"She was a gifted student--almost obsessed with obtaining
the highest grades. Unfortunately, this made her a bit of
a social outcast. Her unusual sense of humour and alternative
dress sense just made things worse for her. She often seemed
very lonely--she'd stay after class to help me pack up
experiments." He smiles fondly, adding, "I hope she's okay."

"We'll find her," says Mulder, although for once it doesn't
sound like he entirely believes it.

--------------------

They've decided not to drag Robert out of class. With
nothing but Bianca's vague allusions to go on, they're
not treating him as a suspect just yet. As they wait
outside his classroom, they take the opportunity to
discuss Kirk. Or rather, to concur about Kirk.

"I just don't think it's him, Mulder. I know some of the
things he said sounded suspicious, like the fact Sara
often stayed after class to help him. But there was nothing
in his manner to suggest they were anything more than
teacher and student."

"I agree wholeheartedly, Scully," says Mulder, for once
without sarcasm. He looks a bit sheepish, as though by
rights he should be arguing with her.

"Wow, can I quote you on that?"

"Sure, just as long as I get to tell people about that
time you -"

"Save it, Mulder."

"Jeremiah was a bullfrog, Scully."

Scully sighs, pretending to be exasperated. Really
she's trying to stop blushing, embarrassed at both her
tuneless singing and the state of arousal she'd found
herself in that night, sitting in the forest with him
cradled in her lap.

"Anyway Mulder," she says, "aside from Sara's obvious
infatuation, there was nothing in her diary to implicate
him -"

"Nada."

"- so even if we did suspect something, we'd have
nothing but speculation. Mulder, we're not getting
anywhere." Frustration ebbs through her mind, and he
sees it in her eyes.

"It's only a couple more days, Scully." She notes that,
predictably, he's blaming himself. He probably thinks
she blames him too.

"I know," she says, "and I don't mind, Mulder, really.
It's just I can't remember the last time we landed a
case with so few leads."

Now he definitely looks contrite, "I'm sor -"

She cuts him off. "There's no way you could have known.
Besides," she says, trying to lighten things up, "we've
still got Robert, and 'The Tortoiseshell Cat'."

"But even if we solve this, what are the chances we
find those missing girls? I think their life force has
been transported to another dimension, Scully. Or perhaps
to the astral plane itself. My theory hasn't changed,
and I don't think it will. And unless we start practicing
witchcraft..." his meaning is clear, and although she
doesn't believe what he's saying, she gets chills just
thinking about it.

"I think you're jinxing us, Mulder," she says, trying to
make a joke but sounding serious instead.

Mulder's eyebrows suddenly pull together in thought. "You
know, Scully, even Kirk recognised that Sara was lonely."

"So?" she raises her eyebrows expectantly.

"So now we know she was not only longing for a man she
couldn't have, she was also virtually friendless."

"I thought we decided the girls' loneliness has nothing
to do with their case. That it's just a coincidence."

"Maybe we're wrong. Look, Scully, the girls all wanted a
fulfilling relationship, and they were all bereft. You
couldn't simply call it loneliness, especially not in an
adolescent. It would have been a deep, painful ache."

"Do you have a theory to go with this?"

"Actually...there's something I've been thinking about.
You remember what we were reading about the moon--the
rising and falling energy levels?" She nods. "Well, I'm
thinking that the girls' loneliness and despair could have
been sending out negative energy. If they were practicing
witchcraft by the light of a full moon, their energy could
have disrupted the strong positive powers used in their
magic...but I don't know how."

"Mulder, it doesn't make sense. If the girls were part
of a coven, then why were they so lonely? They might have
been an isolated group, like you said originally, but
wouldn't they have relied on one another for support?
They wouldn't have been as lonely as you say, much
less lonely enough to emit some kind of negative
energy field."

Mulder worries his lower lip, "Maybe there's another power
involved. Some other energy force that influenced theirs."
She sees her frustration reflected back at her in his eyes.
"Scully, there has to be a way of stopping this -"

Just then, the electronic bell rings through the speakers,
heralding a rustling of papers and opening of doors. Students
pour into the corridor, none of them paying attention to
Mulder and Scully, who stand with their backs to a wall.
Noise levels rise to a cacophony, punctuated by raucous
laughter and catcalls.

Scully takes Mulder by the wrist and pulls him into the
classroom beside them. She feels like deadbolting the
door behind her.

"So you're the FBI Agents," says a boy's voice. He's slouched
on a desk in the front row. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"We're not accusing you of anything, Robert," assures Mulder.
"We just want to ask you some questions."

Robert snorts, "Yeah right, that's what they always say
in the movies." Sunlight is slanting through the window,
coating his face, and Scully moves closer to see him better.
She perches on the edge of the teacher's desk and takes a
brief inventory. He's fair-haired, with big baby blues,
and probably tall. Unfortunately, his posture--combined
with his XXL tee-shirt and baggy pants--makes him look
like a little boy dressed up in his father's clothes.

His tough-guy attitude, however, is reminiscent of John
Wayne in an early Western. He meets Scully's eyes without
flinching.

"Robert, we're not the bad guys," says Scully, taking him
down a notch with a patronising tone. "We're simply making
inquiries into Bianca Greenwood's disappearance, and we'd
like you to tell us anything you know about her. Anything
at all."

Robert drops his eyes, scuffing his foot against a desk
leg. "Why are you asking me?" he mumbles. "I hardly knew
her."

Scully sees she's cowed him, and she's not sure why. She
knows she can give anyone a run for their money with
her steely glare and iceberg voice, but she didn't think
Robert would back down so easily. Maybe there's more to it
than that, she thinks. Maybe he's ashamed.

"We have reason to believe that you bullied her,
actually," says Mulder, sitting beside Scully and casually
crossing his legs at the knee. "Mind if you tell us
about it?"

"You got any proof?" Robert asks, still whittling away at
the desk with his basketball shoe.

"We have evidence, yes," replies Scully. Definitely shame,
she thinks, glancing up at Mulder. He nods--he's noticed
too.

Robert looks up at them then, and she can't believe the
fury of self-pity and guilt in his eyes. He's too young
for that kind of pain. "I wanted to fit in," he confesses.
"I didn't want to hurt her--I mean, I didn't hurt her.
I laughed at her, sure, but it was just me and the guys,
joking around. She knew that."

His voice trembles whenever he says 'she' or 'her', and
he never mentions Bianca's name. Scully immediately senses
what's going on, but wishes she hadn't. Robert's pain is
too private, and too familiar.

"That's all we needed to know," she says, quickly and
quietly. "Thanks for your time, Robert."

--------------------

Like yesterday, the diner is bustling to the brim. But
unlike yesterday, Mulder and Scully have arrived too
late to get seats. They stand beside the door, waiting
for a free table. A mixed smell of baking pies and black
coffee clouds the air, and Scully's mouth fills with
drool. But what's worse is the sound of people eating--
forking and spooning up steaming food, then chewing and
swallowing, accompanied by sounds of pleasure.

"I know I've survived severe frostbite, Scully, but my
body can't take any more of this," says Mulder, with a
dazed, ravenous look in his eyes.

She's about to suggest they go pay a visit to the bakery
down the street, when a table against the back wall
catches her eye. "Hey Mulder, isn't that Jenkins and
Curtis?"

"I can't see past all the food, Scully," Mulder whines,
pouting like a little boy. "Let's go, okay?"

"I really think it's them," she says, peering past a
gaggle of tea-sipping old biddies.

"Scully, did I ever ask you that hypothetical question
about being stranded on a desert island with your best
friend and nothing to eat? Well -"

"Mulder, it's them." She takes his hand and starts
tugging him through the crowd, eyes focused on the
Sheriff's khaki sleeve.

"What if they don't want us to sit with them?"

Scully shoots him a Look. "Mulder, they're friendly
people and I want some pie. Don't you?" He's too
hungry to do anything but nod emphatically.

However, when they arrive at their destination they
stop short, surveying the scene. Curtis is tearing
paper napkins into strips, but her eyes are glaring
right at Sheriff Jenkins, who seems to be sweating a
little. He's nervously tapping his fingers on the
tabletop as he speaks.

"Scully, we've been cloned!" Mulder whispers, right
into her ear. She ignores him, instead paying attention
to Jenkins. The man seems to be going off on a major
tangent.

"...you think I don't know what you're trying to prove,
June? I know exactly what you'd like. And I want you to
know, I respect your beliefs. There's not many who could
say that. But honestly, June, you've got to listen to
me on this one--you've got to look at this with common
sense. The girls didn't vanish into thin air, because
it's not possible. I'm tired of you calling me at two in
the morning, yapping about spells and potions and the
full moon. I mean, what exactly do you believe?"

"I think the girls have accidentally transported
themselves out of this world."

Scully looks up at Mulder, watching his eyes widen.

Jenkins sighs, "It wouldn't make sense, even if it was
possible. Why would the girls have kept attempting the
same spell, over and over again, even as their numbers
dwindled? June, I gotta confess, sometimes I think
you're mad as a hatter."

"Like I said before, the girls were desperate to complete
the spell. I don't know what it was..."

"An anti-loneliness charm?" Mulder asks, nearly
breathless with excitement.

He's broken the tense connection between Curtis and
Jenkins, and for an instant a deep silence descends.
They turn to stare at him in bewilderment, as though
he's severed a physical bond that was binding them
together.

The Sheriff recovers first. "Agents!" he exclaims
in a pleasant voice, although he's still coloured
with anger. "It's a pleasure to meet you here."

Scully's not sure she wants in on the table now, but she
certainly doesn't want to seem ridiculous. "Nice to see
you too, Sheriff. We were wondering if we could share
your table."

The Sheriff's expression brightens tenfold. "Why, it's
Officer Curtis you should be asking. I was just leaving
--I've got some work to do, back at the station." He
pushes his chair back and stands up, sending Curtis an
inscrutable, unpleasant glance as he picks his hat off
the table.

He edges past Mulder and Scully, giving them
a courteous smile whilst narrowly avoiding a plate-stacked
waitress. "See you around, Agents." They return his
smile before he's lost in the ocean of customers.

"You'll have to grab another chair," says Curtis,
flatly. Her cheeks are flushed cherry blossom pink.

"That's okay," says Mulder, glancing sideways at his
partner. "Scully can sit on my lap."

Scully's not sure whether to sink a stiletto heel onto
his big toe, or to congratulate him for making Curtis
crack a smile. Many of his jokes would sound like sexual
harassment coming out of another man's mouth. But Mulder's
well acquainted with a deadpan delivery.

Scully ends up quirking a smile at him too. "I'll find a
chair," she says, moving off to search.

She ponders the irony of Mulder's innuendoes. He's been
making them since the beginning of their partnership, and
she's always firmly rebuked him. At the same time, she's
never minded them--in fact, quite the opposite. Quite
the opposite indeed.

When she returns to the table, Mulder and Curtis are deep in
a wild discussion. She'd predicted as much.

"...your idea about loneliness never crossed my mind, Agent
Mulder. I think you might have cracked this."

Mulder shakes his head, "The theory still has some flaws...
for instance, as Scully pointed out, why was Sara's room
the only one containing evidence of paganism?"

"I think that's where they stored all their supplies. The
other three girls must have wanted to completely hide it
from their parents. Or maybe they were in denial--or they'd
been coerced." Curtis is flushed again, but this time in
enthusiasm, not anger. "I think the question we should be
asking is, are there more than four girls in the coven?"

"I'm still not sure if we're right about the coven," says
Mulder. "I still think there might be another explanation."

Scully sits quietly, sipping a root beer and eating pie,
unwilling to contribute. Mulder alone she can handle, but
the ranting of theories concerning paganism--a belief
system her religion completely rejects--doesn't seem worth
tangling in. She's just starting to feel like a third wheel
when Mulder turns to ask her opinion.

"I still think there's no need for your wild theories," she
replies, calm and cool as a snowflake. "Just because the
full moon is involved, and just because Sara is a pagan,
it doesn't mean the girls were spirited away on a beam of
magical energy. I'm afraid I have to agree with Sheriff
Jenkins."

Scully gives Curtis an apologetic look, and the woman
shrugs, her lips curving in a smile. "I'm sorry about
earlier," she says. "I guess Jenkins and I get a bit
carried away sometimes. We go way back."

"I know the feeling," says Scully, dryly.

"Yeah, I never thought Scully'd stick around this
long," Mulder hits back, but he can't seem to help a
fond smile.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a while, draining
their coffee and polishing their plates. The caffeine hasn't
kicked in yet, so Scully feels drowsy and full. When her
head starts lolling towards Mulder's shoulder, she knows
it's time to leave. She looks at Mulder, who nods his
agreement.

"Well, it's been nice speaking with you," Scully says, as she
and Mulder stand up.

Curtis follows suite and Mulder grins at her, "Feel free to
call me anytime with those insane theories of yours. Don't
waste them on Jenkins."

Curtis looks ready to echo his sentiment, but one glance
at Scully makes her reconsider. "I think I'm all theoried
out," she says instead. "Hey, where are you two staying?"

"Motel 6," Scully replies. "With the cockroaches."

"God, that awful dump. Why don't you stay at my place for
the night? I've got plenty of room, and it's certainly not
too much trouble."

Scully answers automatically--"I'm afraid we can't
possibly acc-"

"Scully and I would never turn down such a generous
offer...would we, Scully?"

"Great," says Curtis, handing Mulder her card. "Arrive
whenever you want--the key's under the doormat."

--------------------

'The Tortoiseshell Cat' is a deceptive store. At
first, dazed and blinking from the sunlight outside,
Scully is reminded of a tornado ground zero or a
nuclear blast site. But as her eyes adjust, she
begins to see that everything is arranged in a kind
of organised chaos.

Along two walls run rickety black shelves, stacked
with dusty jars, large polished stones, misshapen
flasks and leather-bound books. The third wall is
entirely covered with paintings and photographs, of
all colours and sizes, depicting various mystical
images and symbols. In a quick glance, Scully sees
Stonehenge lit by a golden sunrise, two Hindu deities
locked in an unspeakable act, and a faerie dance
in a moonlit forest.

A long mahogany table sits several feet in front of
the fourth wall, and doubles as the cashier's desk.
It is stacked with books, knickknacks, candles and
children's toys. Behind it, lining the wall, are
glass cabinets displaying the jewelry of seemingly
all cultures and tastes.

Even the ceiling and floor are put to good use--the
ceiling hung with crystals, glass beads, dried herbs
and chiles, glass teardrops, silk scarves, and wind
chimes; the floor concealed by rugs and bamboo mats.

Scully and Mulder stand in the doorway for a few
minutes, trying to take it all in. Scully feels
like Ali Baba, the man who shouted "open sesame"
and stepped out of the desert sun, into a cavern
of treasure. At the same time she's reminded of
fairytales about witches lurking in forbidden
woods, luring children to their doorsteps. The
store certainly smells like witches' brew--
a spicy mixture of beeswax, dried herbs, incense
sticks and scented candles.

The store's owner, however, does not resemble one
of these make-believe hags. She's a tall, graceful
woman wearing school-marmish spectacles and an
ordinary linen dress. Her only consent to witchdom,
it seems, is a small pentacle charm dangling from a
chain around her neck.

She's involved in writing something onto a creamy
sheet of parchment, and doesn't look up when Mulder
and Scully walk up to the counter. She only notices
them when Mulder clears his throat.

"How may I help you?" she asks, smiling kindly.

When they take out their badges and introduce
themselves, the woman is strangely unaffected, as
though she's been expecting them. Scully gets the
impression that very little could shock this
woman--that she gracefully accepts whatever life
brings her.

"I'm Clara Goldsmith," she says, folding up her
parchment. Her voice reminds Scully of Melissa's--
flowing and musical, but with a wise edge to it.
"What would you like to ask me about?"

"We're making enquiries about Sara Jones, and about
the three other girls who recently went missing," says
Scully. "Did they ever come to this store?"

Clara's smile fades, but her eyes remain calm. "I've
already spoken with June about this."

"We'd like to hear your opinions first-hand," says
Scully.

"Oh, that's fine," Clara assures them, "It's no bother
for me; I just didn't want to waste your time. And in
answer to your question--Sara was the only girl out
of the missing four to visit my store."

"What did she buy?" Mulder asks.

Clara considers this, glancing around her store as
if for clues. "Sara was a curious child," she says.
"Curious in both senses of the word. She came in here
often, about four times a week, although she didn't
always buy something. When she did make a purchase, it
was usually an ingredient for a love spell. Once she
bought a pink velvet robe -" Clara points to a clothes
rack, half-hidden behind the shelves in the corner.
"Pink is an important colour in love spells, because
it invites true romance. Sara bought many pink
items--like candles, ribbons and beads. There are
certain aromas that attract love, too, such as
ylang-ylang, rose and patchouli, and Sara bought
anything scented with these."

"Did she speak to you often?" asks Scully.

Clara's smile returns. "Very rarely. That's why I
thought she was curious--a strange girl. I have
many regular customers, and they've all become dear
friends. All except Sara. She had an aura of distance
around her, but also an aura of sorrow. It was as
though she was very lonely, yet incapable of letting
anyone in."

Mulder's eyes light up when they latch onto something
in the room. "Ms. Goldsmith," he says, pointing to a
row of books, "we found one of those in Sara's room.
It had a moonstone attached to its spine."

"Ah," says Clara, "those can be used for anything.
Notes on magic, spells, or simply as a journal. Each
one has a gemstone on its spine."

She walks out from behind her desk and over to the
books, gesturing for the agents to follow. She
plucks one from its shelf and turns its spine to
Mulder, displaying a small green stone. "Each of
these books has a modern birthstone stuck to its
spine," she explains. "Sara was born in the month
of June, and so according to modern practices, her
birthstone is a moonstone. This one represents an
emerald, for the month of May."

Mulder nods, tongue-tied with disappointment. Scully
remembers his excitement over the moonstone. She'd
even shared it to a degree. Now, like every other
lead they've had, the stone's been proven meaningless.
Scully's not quite at her wits end, but she's getting
there. On the one hand she's worried that they'll
never find the missing girls. On the other, she's
afraid the coming full moon will somehow steal away
another girl. The worst of it is, she can't do
anything about either concern.

Scully realises she must look flustered and tries to
calm down, but she can't pull the wool over Clara's
eyes. The woman casts Scully a sober look, but doesn't
comment, as though sensing Scully's dislike of
emotional discussion.

"June's told me a bit about the case," says Clara.
"Nothing specific, mind you, but enough for me to know
it must be difficult. It sounds like all you've caught
are red herrings."

"That we have," Mulder replies. "Big, juicy ones, too."

Clara's expression softens into serenity. "Maybe you
should stop looking for the answers," she says. "Maybe,
if you wait long enough, they'll find you." She speaks
these words as though she's stating a fact, not giving
advice.

Scully frowns and raises her eyebrows, "Are you asking
us to 'go with the flow'?"

"Something like that," Clara responds, grinning at
Scully's terminology. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've
got some work to finish before I close up shop. It's
been a pleasure speaking with you."

"Thanks for your time, Ms. Goldsmith," Mulder says with
a smile, as he turns to walk out the door.

Scully smiles too and moves to follow him, but stops
when something presses against her palm. She looks
down to see Clara pushing a pink candle into her hand.

"On the house," the woman whispers, dropping a sly
wink. "Just in case."

Mortified, Scully's not sure how to respond--not
with Mulder watching them from the doorway. She hopes
he hasn't seen the candle, but she knows he will if
she doesn't do something quickly.

"Thanks," she murmurs, swiftly tucking it into her
deepest pocket. She dearly hopes the dry-cleaner will
be able to get rid of its sickly-sweet smell. "Here's
our card," she says in a louder tone, handing it to
Clara. "Call Agent Mulder or myself if you think of
anything else."

She tries not to bolt outside and barely succeeds.
Mulder gives her a curious look that she takes no
notice of.

"Blessed be!" calls Clara, as the door snicks shut
behind them.

--------------------

Digging through her suitcase, Scully finally finds
a blue T-shirt that's perfect for the steamy weather.
She's already tried taking a cold shower--she
emerged feeling ready for anything, only to wilt
again a few minutes later. Even though the sun set
half an hour ago, the temperature seems to have
risen, and the night is sultrier than the day.

Scully doesn't know how she'll sleep in the heat.
She pictures herself a few hours from now, with bed
sheets twisted around her ankles like clinging ivy
and sweat dribbling into her eyes. Completely
incapable of sleep.

And right now, she thinks wryly, I need sleep more than
anything else. She's so drained and tired, she'd trade
practically anything for a few decent hours of shuteye.

The case has been niggling at her constantly. It's even
bugging her now, as she fixes her hair into a loose
ponytail. Mulder's not the only one who gets obsessive
about tough cases--Scully can be just as tenacious and
thorough, although usually not by choice. Mulder actively
slips into obsession, as though it's an old pair of jeans.
Scully, however, becomes haunted by details of the case.

They keep running through her mind, over and over
again. She feels like the words "change in energy
flow" have been superglued to her brain. But she
can't make head or tail of them, or of anything
else for that matter.

The strangest thing is, Mulder's frustration with
the case seems to have lessened while her's has
grown. Maybe he's been influenced by Clara's advice,
or maybe he just copes better with the heat. Either
way, with her T-shirt already sticking to her back
and her mind buzzing with impossible possibilities,
Scully can't help a surge of resentment towards him.
Especially when she walks out onto the porch and
sees him chatting animatedly with Curtis.

Curtis' house is a massive weatherboard, built right
in the heart of the forest. It's a somewhat decrepit
building, swamped by glory vines and wysteria, and
entirely surrounded by the sagging porch. Scully
gingerly treads across worn wooden boards, making her
way to the cluster of deck chairs where Mulder and
Curtis are sitting.

As she nears them, Scully goes for a Zen Buddhist
approach and tries to count her blessings. At least
Mulder and I are safe and well, she thinks. At least
we got out of that rattrap motel. At least Curtis is
friendly and Mulder's having a good time for once.

She's just starting to feel better when she bangs her
pinkie toe on a loose nail. "Damn it!" she mutters,
pain shooting up her leg. So much for positive thought.

She wants to hobble back into the house and regain her
composure, but Mulder catches sight of her before she
can make a move. He grins and beckons her over, his
eyes gleaming in the moonlight. Despite herself, warmth
spreads through Scully's body, melting her irritation.
She grins back and sinks into the chair beside his,
as though she can't control her own movements.

"Hey Scully," he says, handing her a large, earthenware
bowl. "Have some of these." She notices a bluish-purple
stain around his lips, like a bruise.

She tilts the bowl towards the night sky, illuminating
its contents. It's piled high with ripe blueberries,
raspberries and blackberries, sweating their
own juices. She hasn't seen so many fresh berries
since the sixth grade, when she and her family went
strawberry picking in midsummer. She recalls lush juice
dribbling down her chin, and the feel of her siblings'
sticky hands as they all tried to grab their share
from the bucket.

Curtis smiles at her, "I picked them this afternoon."

"Thank you," Scully replies, slightly awed. She wants
to devour the whole lot in dripping, glutinous
handfuls, but begins to pick at them daintily instead.
It seems there's always a wide gulf between what she
wants to do and what she actually does.

Mulder and Curtis are talking about Wicca, and Scully
isn't surprised to learn that Curtis is a practitioner.
Although Scully's never considered paganism to be a
valid religion, she finds herself listening to Curtis.
The woman speaks of her twenty years as a Wiccan with
pure warmth, her voice brimming with joy. After a
while, Scully begins to ask questions, hoping she
doesn't sound too ignorant. Curtis answers them all
without taking offence, even when their discussion
becomes more a theological debate.

As Scully munches on tart, sweet berries and questions
pagan philosophy, she gradually realises that Mulder
is watching her. He's not doing it directly, of course,
although he's sneaking glances now and then. Melissa
once told her that the only way to see a fairy is to
watch it from the corner of your eye, and that's what
Mulder's doing now. Gazing at her from the side, as
though if he looks straight at her she'll disappear.

Maybe it's her tight T-shirt, drawing his attention
to her figure. Periwinkle blue, she remembers reading
on its tag. She bought it thinking of him--wondering
if he'd like it on her. Maybe he does.

She drops out of the conversation, suddenly unable
to form words. An intense feeling washes over her
and settles in her gut.

Although it seems impossible, the idea that Mulder
is in love with her strikes her from time to
time. Occasionally Mulder will say something or
do something, and she'll wonder--what if?

Until her rationality takes control and the feeling
passes, of course. Logic sweeps her emotions under
the rug, and soon everything has returned to the
status quo.

Mulder is speaking to Curtis now, asking about the
importance of the summer solstice, and Scully finds
herself watching him in the same way he's been
watching her. She finishes the berries but their
tang remains in her mouth, stimulating her senses.
Every inch of her skin tingles in the humid night
air. She can feel individual beads of sweat glide
down her neck and pool in the runnel beneath her
nose.

Mulder and Curtis' conversation is a steady murmur
in her ears, like the flow of a river. It drowns out
all other sound. She listens especially to Mulder's
deep, smooth tones. His voice comforts her like
nothing else.

Drowsy, she lolls in her chair and half-closes her
eyes. She doesn't notice when Mulder abruptly stops
speaking, or when he leans towards her.

But she does notice his vice-like grip on her wrist.
"Hey!" She opens her eyes, intending to glare at
him. "What's going on, Mulder?"

He's staring at her so intently, she's unable to do
anything but gawk back at him. She recognises his
look almost immediately. It's been about a year since
she's seen him like this. His eyes are desolate and
his mouth is pulled tight. Every second his face
grows a shade paler.

"Scully..." he croaks, kneeling in front of her. He
isn't looking into her eyes. He's looking below them,
at her nose.

His grip tightens and shocks her into action. She
pulls away from his touch and her wrist throbs.
"Mulder," she says, reaching up to touch the liquid
beneath her nose. Her voice trembles slightly.
"Mulder, is my nose bleeding?"

He closes his eyes and slowly nods his head. Oh God.

Not again, Scully thinks, numbly. Please not again.

Mulder opens his eyes, watching her as she looks
down at her blood-streaked fingers. There's
something obscene about the dark red that's smudged
into her white skin. She can't believe her own body
has done this to her. Has betrayed her like this.
She can smell her blood's salty, rusty-iron scent,
and when she licks her lips and tastes it, she feels
like she might be sick.

"Scully, this can't be happening," says Mulder. She
can sense he's on the verge of panic.

A cold, hard logic takes over her mind. It's the
same kind of logic she experienced a year ago, under
similar circumstances. The same need to blot out
any and all emotion as though it doesn't exist.

"It isn't happening, Mulder. I'm fine. It's just
the heat."

Mulder's eyes lose their devastation, his expression
hardening into anger. "We're going to a hospital to
get it checked out. Right now." He grabs her hand
and stands, yanking her to her feet. "Right now,
Scully."

Now it's her turn for anger. "Don't be ridiculous,
Mulder," she says coolly, flicking away his hand.
"When and if I get this checked out, I will go
myself. I'll take care of it myself." She doesn't
care if she sounds shrill--she needs to handle this
on her own. If pushing him away is going to do the
trick, then so be it.

"You can't ignore this, Scully." He crowds into
her personal space. "You can't pretend nothing
happened. I'm not going to let you do that."

Her anger rises into fury. "I'm not sick, Mulder!
Everyone gets the occasional nosebleed. You don't
have to mother me. I'm not going to take up valuable
space at the ER just to satisfy you."

She turns on her heel and stalks off, heading for
the front door. More than anything, she wants to
curl up in bed and bawl her eyes out, and not have
to worry about breaking down in front of Mulder.
And Curtis, for that matter, who probably thinks
they're both insane by now.

"You think this is about me, Scully?" Mulder shouts
after her. His voice is rough and she can tell
he's trying not to cry. "This isn't about my
satisfaction. This is about your life, Scully -"

She steps into the house and slams the door, just as
hot tears begin to flow down her face.

--------------------

*WEDNESDAY*

It's two in the morning when Scully realises she
has to come to grips with reality.

There's no way she's going to be sleeping tonight.
For one thing, her room is a stifling hellhole. For
another, she's been obsessing about her nosebleed
and subsequent fight with Mulder for the past few
hours, all the while trying to forget random facts
from the case that keep popping into her mind. To
top it all off she's got a cramp in her left ankle.

She's tried counting sheep, tried drifting away to
the monotonous sound of crickets chirping in the
forest outside, tried pacing around her room, and
tried to avoid the heat by stripping naked and
ditching her pillow. But all to no avail.

Right now she's lying on her stomach, carrying
out an internal monologue fragility of her and
Mulder's relationship.

"...both of us are the problem," she thinks, face
pressed into her mattress, "all the unresolved
issues between us...our inability to agree...and
he wants to control my whole life...but his
intentions are good..." Her mind goes on like
this for about half and hour more, without
reaching any conclusions.

Then she starts craving a glass of milk.

The idea of running into Mulder at two thirty in
the morning seems remote, at least to her exhausted
mind. Besides, another argument would be a small
price to pay for the sweet, ice-cold liquid sliding
down her throat. As she pulls on a floppy T-shirt
and boxer shorts, Mulder's habitual insomnia
doesn't even cross her mind.

"Too hot," she murmurs, stumbling out into the
darkened corridor.

Curtis gave them a tour of the sprawling house when
they arrived, but in Scully's current state she can't
tell left from right, let alone where the kitchen is.
First she stumbles into the bathroom, where she
splashes her face with cold water. Then through the
dining room, somehow navigating around chairs in the
dark. When she reaches the living room she doesn't
notice the flickering light beneath the door--until
it's too late and she's opened it.

Mulder's sitting on the sofa, watching a 'Twilight
Zone' re-run. He looks up at her as soon as she walks
in the room, and when their eyes meet she knows
there's no escape. Although surprisingly, he doesn't
look like he has the thirst for a fight.

"Hey Scully," he says, picking up the remote and
switching off the TV. He looks as tired as she feels,
with his mussed hair, sweat-shiny face and drooping
eyelids. "Don't just stand there--come sit down."
His voice wavers from tone to tone. "C'mere, Scully,
I wanna talk to you."

She walks over and plops down beside him, and he
loops an arm around her shoulders. In such close
quarters she can smell his rich, earthy scent, but
she's too tired to be either aroused or repulsed
by it.

"Hey Mulder," she says, leaning her head against
his side and stifling a yawn.

They sit for a while in a silence that should be
awkward but somehow isn't. Mulder's fingers stroke up
her arm and tangle in her damp hair, while she moves
to press her palm over his heart.

Scully reflects on the fact of their friendship. Even
though she considers him the love of her life, Mulder
is first and foremost her best friend. Whatever happens
between them and however many problems they have, this
will always be their one certainty. Their one truth.

"I was out of line, earlier," Mulder mumbles, lips
brushing her hair. "But I can't apologise, Scully. I
was scared and I still am." He's not being particularly
articulate, but his raw emotions say more than words
ever could. "I know your nosebleed was probably
caused by the heat, but what if it wasn't?"

"You know it was," she says, her voice gentle.
"Mulder...I'm cured. You cured me."

"I thought you thought it was a miracle."

She smiles indulgently, into his shirt. "Yes. You are
a miracle, Mulder."

For a second he stills, his heartbeat speeding up
beneath her hand.

"So are you, Scully," he whispers, shifting to pull
her closer. He presses a clumsy kiss to her forehead,
then another to the side of her nose. "If you only
knew a fraction of how much you mean to me, Scully.
If you only knew..." He strokes his thumb along her
jaw and kisses her temple.

His caresses lull her into even greater drowsiness.
She's too tired for whatever he's trying to say. A
revelation, maybe? A part of her wants to sigh with
relief and another part wants to rejoice. But she
doesn't know what she's celebrating.

"Tell me tomorrow," she murmurs, closing her eyes.
"I don't know what you're saying, Mulder...this
isn't a good time..." she yawns deeply and nuzzles
into his embrace.

Mulder watches her as she falls asleep, sifting her
hair through his gentle fingers.

--------------------

Darkness closes in around Scully. All she knows is
that Mulder's calling her name, over and over. He
sounds like he needs her.

"Mulder, what's happening? Are you okay?"

She looks around, trying to find him, but all she
can see is the thick, pitiless gloom.

"I don't know where you are!" she yells, cupping
her hands around her mouth to amplify the sound.
"Mulder, tell me where you are! Talk to me!"

That's when she sees the light, far off in the
distance. A bright speck, warm and sharp--so
different from the darkness. Instinctively, she
knows it's Mulder. Somehow, he's become a beacon,
shining for her in the dark.

She has to get to him.

He is radiant.

--------------------

The kitchen door creaks closed, waking Mulder.
He sits up and glances around with sleep-glazed
eyes, at first wondering where he is. The
curtains are glowing with moonlight, illuminating
his surroundings, and it doesn't take him
long to figure it out.

He remembers his conversation with Scully and
starts wondering why he's alone. Wasn't Scully
just here? Didn't she just fall asleep in his
arms? It feels like only a few seconds have
passed since her soft hair was tickling his
jaw and her breathing was soothing him into
slumber.

Mulder would put it down to a vivid dream, except
for the fact he can still smell her. A heady
combination of her shampoo, soap and sweat
lingers in the air around him. He's sure she was
with him only moments ago.

"Scully?" he calls, standing and glancing into
the dining room. The house seems unbearably dark
and silent, although he knows Curtis is asleep
in her room and Scully is probably asleep in hers.

She must have woken up and decided to go back to
bed. It's not like she'd want to share the sofa
with him, anyway. He currently stinks like old,
dog-chewed sneakers, and besides, it's too hot
to be cuddling with anyone.

Although he certainly hadn't minded.

Mulder debates over whether to lie back down on
the sofa or go check on Scully. The latter would
be for purely selfish reasons, of course. He
envisions her draped across her bed, her face
smoothed in sleep and dappled by moonlight. Her
lips slightly parted as she breathes, deep and
even. He could spend the rest of the night
watching her breathe.

His decision is easy. He moves swiftly and
silently through the shadowy house, carefully
avoiding furniture and throw rugs. When he
reaches her door he's afraid to walk in,
picturing her sitting on the edge of the bed,
glaring at him. But he can't stop thinking about
the fine bones of her ankles, her petal-soft
eyelashes, her hair in curls across the pillow,
and the steady rise and fall of her chest. So he
walks into the room.

She isn't there.

"Scully?" he whispers, moving in further and
looking around. There's a desk, some shelves,
a chest of drawers and a chair that are all
grey in the light. Nothing more.

He backtracks, softly calling her name. By the
time he reaches the kitchen, he's starting to
suspect she's up and left. Possibly waking up
in his arms was too traumatic an experience for
her to handle.

After checking the microwave clock--3:03 a.m.--
he rethinks his paranoia. Scully's probably gone
outside to get some air, that's all. She's probably
settled on the porch, gazing out into the moonlit
forest and deep in thought.

Company is almost certainly the last thing she
needs, but he can't help himself. He steps out
the kitchen door and slowly shuts it, then starts
walking quietly across the rickety boards. He peers
into the night, pausing to admire the forest's
beauty. Every leaf, it seems, is glinting in the
brilliant light.

That's when something catches his eye. A flash of
white, fifty yards or so down the road that winds
past Curtis's house. The white shape disappears
behind a black clump of trees before he can make
out what it is. When it reappears he sees it's
slowly moving forward. It seems to be gliding along,
graceful and blurred, like a spectre.

Wait...wasn't Scully wearing a white T-shirt?

"What the...?" he mutters, forgetting his bare feet
as he runs down the porch steps. He winces when he
reaches the gravel drive, picking his way across
the sharp grey stones. He's not going to risk
racing back to grab his sneakers, because Scully
could be long gone by then.

What the hell is she thinking, running off in the
middle of the night? Surely waking up beside him
didn't upset her that much. "Scully?" he calls
after her, stage whispering because he doesn't
want to rouse Curtis. The situation is bad enough
without the added embarrassment of someone finding
them out here.

As Mulder draws closer he sees it's definitely
her. Her whole body is dyed silver by the moonlight,
except for her luminous T-shirt. She's moving at
such a leisurely pace that she's hardly making any
progress. He wonders if she wants to get away
from him or just to really piss him off.

"Hey, Scully!" he calls, louder now. She doesn't
turn around.

When he gets right up next to her, his features
tight with anger, he finally realises something's
wrong. There's something off about the whole
situation, but he can't quite put his finger on
it. Scully stares stonily ahead, still walking
forward, acting as though he isn't beside her. Her
angelic face gleams like a pearl, accentuating
the softness of her skin. But her eyes are shadowed
and sharp, and her mouth is a rigid line.

"Scully?" he murmurs, squeezing her shoulder but
getting no reaction. He finally catches on to
what's happening. "You're sleepwalking, aren't
you Scully?"

His question is answered perfectly when she doesn't
respond. He's not sure whether to be relieved she's
not mad at him or worried about her present state.
Why would Scully suddenly start sleepwalking,
tonight of all nights? As far as he knows, she's
never demonstrated somnambulistic tendencies in
the past. Plus, she seems to be going somewhere
definite, judging by her careful steps along
the road.

When he glances up at the full moon, it all
clicks into place.

For some reason, Scully has been selected to join
the ranks of the four missing girls. By who--or
what--he has no idea. All he knows is that if he
hadn't come outside to check on her, Scully would
have vanished forever.

Mulder wraps his fingers around her small, warm
hand. He's going to follow her, wherever she leads.
And he's not going to let go.

--------------------

From Curtis's porch the forest looked like a
fairyland, but beneath the canopy it's more like a
Grimm's fairytale. Ten minutes ago, Scully turned
off the road into the trees, and since then their
travels have been decidedly less pleasant. Mulder
feels like Hansel, unwittingly tiptoeing towards
the gingerbread house with Gretel by his side. The
forest around them, peaceful and inviting during
the day, has become a tangled, spooky labyrinth by
night.

More than once Mulder's been given a fright by
curled blackberry brambles clinging to his ankles
or leaves tickling his forehead. His free hand is
constantly shoving vegetation out of their path.
He does his best to protect them both from
overhanging branches and sharp twigs, but isn't
always successful. Scully's already got an angry
red scratch down one cheek.

All the while, Mulder fears poison ivy welts and
swollen insect bites. When Scully walks them
through a spider web, Mulder has to brush away
the sticky threads and wriggling arachnid,
shuddering with distaste. Momentarily he's glad
Scully isn't awake to see his girly behaviour,
although otherwise his need for her company grows
with every step. He craves her rationalism and
wisdom, the wake-up call to reality she always
gives him, and her quick wit. Her blank eyes
unnerve him more than anything else.

Fortunately, he thinks, the ordeal will be over
soon. The closer they get to their destination,
the quicker Scully walks. Forty-odd minutes since
they left Curtis's house and she's practically
running; sliding and tripping across the humus
of the forest floor. But despite Scully's
quickening pace, he's starting to wonder if
they'll finish their journey before dawn.

That is, until he sees the light.

It's definitely not the silver light of the moon,
which has been illuminating their way so far. No,
this new light is a warm, sunset orange haze that
seems concentrated in one area, almost like a dome.
The colour darkens and heats as they get closer,
and a fresh, citrus scent fills the air. Mulder is
reminded of eating tangerine flesh, with its tangy
sweetness and dribbling juice.

Orange seems a more appropriate colour for the
balmy night than silver moonlight. It's soft and
heavy, just like the heat, and Mulder finds it hard
to distinguish between the two. He starts to feel
the orange light's irresistible pull--its strange
hypnotic qualities. For a second he almost falls
into a lull, but recovers quickly, squeezing
Scully's limp hand.

Mulder realises that around them, the forest is
completely silent and still, like a cardboard
backdrop. He feels as though he's looking at it
through tinted glasses. The colour deepens and
reddens, and then suddenly...

Suddenly it's familiar. Deja vu washes over him,
gradually replaced by the clarity of knowledge.

"The field of tiger lilies..." he mutters,
tightening his hold on Scully's hand. "I should
have known...should have trusted my instincts."

He wants to shake Scully awake right away, but
there's no room for mistakes--not where the
missing girls are concerned. Mulder keeps walking
with her, waiting until he can see the clearing
through the trees. The concentration of light
grows so intense it's almost blinding, but Mulder
can't risk shielding his eyes. He tries not to
think of retinal damage as he looks around,
searching for the clearing. Finally he sees
it--long grass dotted with sharp-petalled flower
heads--and that's when he turns to Scully,
gripping her shoulders and trying to shake
her into consciousness.

Only she doesn't wake up. "Scully!" he yells,
his lips grazing the shell of her ear. His voice
seems amplified in the deathly silence, but she
doesn't react. He clamps down harder, knowing
he'll bruise her but somehow managing not
to care.

"Scully, wake up! The girls are in the field--
we have to find them!"

Now she's struggling with him, clawing and
twisting. She's even gnashing her teeth and he
doesn't doubt she'd bite him if she could. Her
eyes lose their passivity, becoming infused with
rage until they glow with a rabid hostility. But
there's still a dullness to them, letting him
know she hasn't awoken.

"Let me go!" she screams, her voice sounding
foreign and harsh, almost a growl. "I have to get
to him, have to see him..." Her eyes fix on a
point past Mulder's shoulder, and he realises with
growing horror that she's gazing straight into
the light.

It's more than a light, he realises. It's an entity
of some kind.

And Scully's calling to it. "Mulder! Mulder, help me!
He won't let me get to you."

She's calling to it and she's using his name?

In shock, his hands loosen slightly on her shoulders.
At the same time, she shoves both of her palms
against his chest.

"Get away," she hisses, as he flies backwards.
His shock has increased tenfold by the time
he smacks into the ground. Where did she
get the strength to hurl all six-feet of him
through the air?

Mulder lies on the ground, trying to catch his breath
while he watches her stride towards the clearing.
He sees that her body is lit from within--that her skin
is radiating the orange light.

Scully's been infected by this entity, whatever it is,
and he let go of her hand. He let her go.

"Scully, no!" He gets to his feet and runs after
her, stopping her just at the tree line. "No," he
says, knuckles white where he grips her upper-arms.

He tries to meet her eyes but she's not looking at
him. All her concentration is focused on the entity
behind him. The light has become so thick now--it's
no longer warm and comforting. It's a terrible,
sickly, boiling light.

Yet even now Mulder can feel its seductive tug.
Scully is struggling in his arms again, jabbering
at him to let her go, and his eyes are stinging
from the brightness. But there's a force wrenching
at his heart, compelling him to turn around and
face the entity.

He rests his forehead against Scully's, whispering
and murmuring a steady stream of words, almost a
prayer--"Please no, Scully, stop, don't keep
doing this, stop for me, don't do this Scully..."
on and on, until he can stand it no longer.

He has to turn around, and when he does, he's
frozen in disbelief. This has to be the strangest thing
he's ever seen, bar none.

Standing right in front of him is...himself.
It's