Here's the fun part... two disclaimers that are in total contradiction to each other: This story is based on the characters and situations created by Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and FOX Broadcasting. No infringement is intended. This story is also for the entertainment and enjoyment of the members of the EMXC. Please do not further distribute or archive without my express permission as it will be in violation of international copyright law. SPOILER WARNING! This is a little peace(and I mean little) of filler for the 4th season episode "Home". Script by Glen Morgan and James Wong. Directed by Kim Manners. Thanks Glen and Jim for coming back to the Files and giving David and Gillian such a wonderful script to work with. Thanks also to the regulars at the EMXC chats on AOL who have listened for 9 months as I moaned about my writing dry spell. And, to the rest of my EMXCers, who haven't read anything from me since February - Enjoy! "There's No Place Like Home" K. Enriquez SciNut@aol.com This is tactically bad, Mulder thought as he moved across the browning grass of the lot and ducked partially behind a roll of barbed-wire and old fence posts. The powerful, musty oder of hog manure wafted after him as if caught in the eddies of his passage. Squinting in the midmorning sun, he glanced back, quickly, at the three Peacock brothers as they chased the freed pigs through tall grass. Mulder dodged his way to another stack of rubbish piled in the lot, looking for something, anything, to push open the Peacock's front door. Deputy Paster had commented earlier about not wanting to be taken out by an antique but instead had been decapitated by a booby-trap. An old trick out-dating even the musket. This is tactically bad, he told himself again as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned in time to catch the rotted two-by-four Scully tossed at him. Though he had been the one to mention calling Pittsburgh for back-up, not wanting to argue with Scully who would've most assuredly had it out with him if he'd suggested what he wanted to do, Mulder was surprised to hear her suggest it herself: coming up here as soon as possible, albeit alone, to free the trapped, helpless woman the Peacock's most probably were holding captive. Mulder had halfheartedly offered the logical argument. With just himself and Scully, it was two against three. But, Deputy Paster had entered the picture, still shaky with the sudden murder of his boss and friend, willing to join them. "And this," Paster had said holding his barretta up, it's own presence now exuding itself into the decision. "This will be the advantage." Mulder had quipped about how Paster had been too "Chuck Bronson" for him to deny and had given in gracefully and too willingly to the unwise choice. As he glanced back nervously at the three horribly disfigured men, moaning and wailing as they chased the scattered hogs, he wished for the swat team that would have accompanied them had they waited and placed that call to Pittsburgh. Mulder creeped up the stairs, his eyes flickering quickly from his footing on the rotted wooden steps to the men in the field. Scully was, as always, a cool, calming force as she followed him just as quickly to the front porch. Pausing, Mulder allowed Scully to turn the knob on the ancient door before pushing it open with the two-by-four. He hadn't witnessed Deputy Paster's ill-timed and ugly demise, being without the field glasses, but he had heard Paster's short cry of alarm. He had seen the silhouette of Paster's body crumple, lifelessly to the floor and the three massive shapes of the Peacock brothers swarm over the body. It hadn't been until they had crept silently to the hog pen that Scully informed him of the beheading. His brief rumination was brought to a horrifying stop with a sharp click and the piece of wood suddenly impaled by what looked like the axle to some small piece of farming equipment. Mulder jumped back, startled by both the lethal piece of metal and the falling glass from the shattered window. Anger boiled up inside his chest. Paster hadn't stood a chance. He looked back at the mutated forms running around the yard, howling and grunting at the hogs. The men were no more than animals themselves now. Had the mutation caused by centuries of inbreeding robbed them even of the ability to speak? Mulder didn't have the time to think about an answer as Scully met his eyes and they drew their weapons simultaneously. She proceeded him into the house, pausing just inside the door as he pushed the spike out of the way and closed the door. Hopefully the "boys" didn't have enough brain cells between them to notice the broken glass. "Federal Agents, is anybody in here?" Scully called as she moved further into the front room. Only silence answered. "FBI," Scully called again, peering into the darkness. They both strained to hear any faint cries for help. "Is there any body in this house?" They moved efficiently through the house, their flashlights trained on all the corners and shadows. "Is there any body here?" Scully stopped next to a door. Mulder forced it open with a swift kick quickly entering the room beyond with Scully on his heels. Classic and efficient search protocol. The room was empty, save for stacks of old, decaying newspapers which added a musty scent to the already fragrant oder of rot. The sound of massive, fat flies increased in the aftermath of the disturbed room. "Oh, no." A headline gracing the top paper grabbed Mulder's attention and he lifted it into the beam of Scully's light, hoping to ease the cloying, claustrophobic feeling the darkness of the house was causing. "ELVIS PRESLEY DEAD AT 42" He mustered the most sorrowful and pitiful pout he could. She didn't smile, but she did reward him with a slight rolling of the eyes mixed with a frustrated sigh. Suddenly, a loud squeaking sound reached their ears and they were both suddenly fully alert. It sounded almost like wheels too long without oil. Scully followed him out the door and down the hall in the direction the sound had come from. They entered the room as one, totally in tune with the other's actions. A musty bed was pushed into a corner under windows that had long been boarded up to keep away the chill of winter. There were other, equally old and neglected pieces of furniture scattered about the room while small yellowing photographs were taped to the walls. Mulder saw none of them however as his eyes tracked the floorboards, looking for any sign of a trap door. Visions of Amy Jacobs, trapped in an underground prison with monsters doing horrible things to her, filled his mind. Slowly, methodically, he worked his light across the floor until it landed on a set of marks worn into the floor near the bed. Taking the few short steps necessary to reach the side of the bed, he bent to peak underneath, following the path of the marks. "Noooo! Go away!!" A loud, hoarse voice screamed as the light penetrated the darkness under the bed. Mulder leapt immediately to calm her. His training taking over his actions and emotions as the terrified woman continued to scream. "It's all right Ma'am. We're federal agents. We're here to help you." He had to yell in order to be heard over her screams. His emotional detachment began to falter as visions of what the Peacocks had done to this woman to make her this hysterical flitted through his mind. He couldn't even begin to imagine the horror of what she must have suffered at their hands. "We're here to help you." He repeated. Scully said something to him over the woman's continued terror but he couldn't hear her. Instead he turned his light on the woman's body trying to find some way to pull her out without causing her any more pain. "They've got her strapped to some kind of board or something..." he trailed, the piercing sound of the woman's voice cutting through any ability on his part to think. He couldn't help but be pulled into her emotional state. It was his gift, to empathize with the victim as much as, if not more than, the victimizer. What had she been doing the night the Peacock's had abducted her? Had they grabbed her on the street? Had they pulled her from her home? Had she been passing through and her car stalled on the I-95? Where was her family and why weren't they looking for her? He grabbed the board which she was strapped to and pulled, his mind moving at a thousand thoughts a second. His consciousness lost in the now pitiful moaning of this victimized woman. "Take it easy, Ma'am, take it easy," he tried to soothe. The stench that followed her out from under the bed nearly causing him to pass out. Her hair was a dirty, tangled mess but she continued to look away from them and to her spot under the bed. "It's all right, it's all over," he rambled as much to himself as to her. His eyes drawn to the rest of her body. He didn't need to be a medical doctor to see that the bilateral above knee amputations and above the elbow amputation of the right arm were traumatic. His stomach turned nausiously as his extensive knowledge of how one human can mutilate and dismember another human filtered through his mind. Still, he continued to soothe her, to try and silence her continued terrified moaning, though he wondered if she could even understand him in her dementia. "We're from the FBI. We're here to help. We're going to make sure you're safe. We're going to make sure you get home..." he trailed off, thinking that this woman would never again have a sane moment in the rest of her life. "Mulder," Scully's voice came from beside him. He'd forgotten she was there. "She already is home." His eyes bolted up to met hers and then followed her gaze to a picture illuminated on the wall by her flashlight. "It's Mrs. Peacock. She's their mother." With her words, Mulder came back to himself only a little. This wasn't a kidnap victim. He looked back down at the matriarch Peacock strapped to her board. Her head turned and she looked him full in the eyes. He saw the same deformed features pictured in the photograph: grotesque nose, wide forehead, deep sunken eyes and gaps of missing teeth in fat malformed gums. His stomach did another slow turn and he felt bile rise in his throat as Mrs. Peacock gave one long, demented wail before pulling herself back under the bed with her one arm. She continued to whimper as Mulder slowly got to his feet. His mind running circles. The picture of his own mother, bed-ridden and weak as she recovered from the stroke that had left her unconscious for more than a month, super-imposed itself on the old, musty bed in the corner under which Mrs. Peacock hid. His own mother, who only recognized him and called him by name on a good day, forever altered by an act of fate and destiny. If his mother were in danger, he would kill for her... but would he murder for her if she asked him to? Was that what had happened here? In this small town where everyone knew everyone? Could it happen here? He had come to Home and felt like a boy again. The memories of the Vineyard and Chilmark had been thick and vivid. But, now, as he stood in the darkness of this vile house, listening to the whimpers of centuries old torment, the feeling of small town community felt leaden, betrayed. The innocence stripped away. He turned and strode from the room. No longer able to tolerate or bare the soft sounds of Mrs. Peacock's sobs. "Mulder, where are you going?" Scully asked following him. He looked away from her, unable to meet her eyes. What happened in that room had stripped away his professional veneer and left him bare and vulnerable. But it left him angered as well. "The brothers may have heard the screaming. I'm going to check on their position." "What about her?" He glanced at Scully then, seeing that Mrs. Peacock's appearance and mental state had shaken her as well. He turned back to the room. The form of Mrs. Peacock effectively hidden in the shadows under the bed. "She's not going anywhere." he answered and closed the door. Scully sighed trying to keep up with him as he made his way back to the front of the house. "I mean, we may not be able to remove her. She doesn't seem to be held against her will. I mean, she appears to be but I don't believe she is." Mulder shook his head. "I'm sure she's an accessory. At the very least she aided and abetted." He stared out the broken window in the door seeing the Peacock brothers just rounding up the last few of the hogs. "We're only assuming. We can't prove anything." Mulder didn't respond. She was right, they couldn't prove Mrs. Peacock had any knowledge of the brother's actions. They were left with only what they could prove. "I think the only thing that goes here," Scully continued, "is that Edmond is the father and brother of the other two." "Which means when Edmond was a kid he could ground the other two for playing with his things?" Mulder answered, sarcasm and anger lacing his tone. The vision of the deformed woman refusing to leave his mind's eye. But he caught Scully's hurt expression as she looked away from him. Stupid, he berated himself and took a quick cleansing breath. Carefully neutralizing his tone to tell her he was angry at the world in general he said, "The brothers killed three people, Scully. Tell her we're going to bring them in and try convincing her that this is the only way to get out of this without any of her 'boys' getting hurt." He waited for Scully's nonverbal agreement and forgiveness. He received both with a simple nod. "All right, I'm going to keep an eye on them." "Scully..." he called softly as she walked away. "Watch your step, this place is rigged." He turned back to watch the Peacocks in the front yard, still chasing the pigs. The weight of his gun solid and reaffirming in his grip. His thoughts traced back over the case and, again, he felt the disappointment and grief over the loss of this small town's innocence. The people of this town would never again go to bed with their doors unlocked. The simplicity of sandlot ball games gone with the autumn leaves. A sudden movement in the front yard drew Mulder's attention and he watched with dawning anxiety as Edmond, the oldest boy, crouched over the still damp ground. He looked up, sniffing the air like a dog and called the other two over with a frantic waving of the hand. The two younger boys joined him, looking over his shoulder at a small handful of dirt and sniffed the air as well. As their eyes turned towards the house, Mulder knew he and Scully had just run out of time. end. My roommate says this is a good place to stop :-) Good, because this will be the first story I've completed since February '96. :-) Break out the party hats! I await email. ;-> SciNut(O'tay!)