A Simple Complication Author: Sally Bahnsen Date: April 2001 Rating: PG-15 (language throughout and slightly adult situations at the end) Category: S, MT, UST, MSR(eventually), XF Spoilers: This is one big spoiler for Jersey Devil. A small mention of Biogenesis. Disclaimer-- Mulder and Scully and all other recognisable characters belong to CC and 1013. I don't own them and I don't want to, I could never afford to maintain them. When I'm finished playing, I promise to hand them back. All 12 parts can be found at my website:- www.geocities.com/sallybahnsen/ Summary-- Mulder suffers what he believes is a minor injury during stakeout duty. Ignoring it, he convinces Scully to accompany him to New Jersey to investigate what he hopes is an X file. Mulder realises too late that his minor injury may not be as trivial as he first thought. Author's notes: I first put words to paper for this story in November, 1999. So, as you can see it's taken me 16 long months to complete. Unfortunately it's not because this is a work of brilliance, but rather, because I'm a slow writer. I have to give many, many thanks to my team of betas who have helped me to complete this. First to Ten and Judy, who regularly asked me if I'd written anymore and when I said no, just kept on telling me not to worry, but hurry up and get on with it. Thankyou to Vickie Moseley who's words of encouragement are always kind and make me feel as if what I'm writing might be okay. A special, special thank you to Peg, who came aboard at the just the right time and helped me get through the paramedic and hospital scenes, where I was hoplessly stuck. Thank you to my punctuation nazi: Laurie, who showed me the 3 billion places that needed commas. (okay, slight exageration, but you get the picture.) And a huge thank you to Suzanne who went over this with a fine toothed comb and had the guts to tell me all the places I was going wrong I owe you big time! And I would like to thank my friend, Dawn. Whenever I read her stories, my first thought is 'who am I kidding, thinking I can write?' But after getting over that, I find that what I am reading usually inspires me to try harder and do better. Thanks, Dawn. And thanks to all the many talented fanfic writers who have kept the X files alive while Mulder has been gone. This story is about Mulder and Scully together, as a team. And it has an awful lot of gratuitious MT and Scullycomfort. Because, when it's all said and done, that's how I like to see them. Feedback will be lovingly treasured and answered. A Simple Complication By Sally Bahnsen ************************** Friday, June 2, 2000 11am One of my English professors once lectured me about boredom. "You know, Mr Mulder," he said, "a man's life can be wasted in many different ways, but none is quite as debilitating as in the form of boredom. 'Risk is what separates the good part of life from the tedium.,'" he quoted at me. "A very useful phrase, Mr Mulder. Remember it. Live by it. Don't allow others to prevent you from achieving your full potential simply because they refuse to take a risk. Boredom wilts the soul, Mr Mulder. Mark my words." Of course, at the time I had no idea what he was talking about. Life at Oxford was full and satisfying. I studied hard, I played hard. The world was my oyster. Perhaps my English professor was psychic. Perhaps he saw something in me that I hadn't recognised in myself. When I joined the FBI my life continued on in much the same vein. I didn't know what boredom meant. Until I took the wrong turn somewhere along the road to success and managed to piss off my superiors. It was then I discovered in the worst possible way exactly what my professor meant. I hate him for it. I don't blame him, but somehow I feel he cursed me that day. His words come back to haunt me whenever I find myself in any situation that forces me into a state of inactivity for any length of time. Today is no different. I pray for something - *anything* - that will relieve me from the boredom that is currently not only wilting my soul, but shrivelling it up into something completely dry and lifeless... Pick up laundry. Return books to the library. Buy fish food. Invite the guys over to watch reruns of Deep Space Nine. Now that has potential. I run a mental checklist through my mind, ticking off what I need to do after work, then stretch back in the driver's seat and clasp my hand over my mouth, trying to hold back a yawn. I check my watch for the twenty-ninth time and sigh in weary frustration. Okay, so maybe this is my fault. I don't mind taking the rap for the unfortunate situation that Scully and I are currently enduring. But, sheesh, Skinner really could have cut me a little slack here. It was all a misunderstanding. A glitch, a hiccup, a lapse in memory. Call it what you will. Hell, maybe I was drugged. I could have sworn I'd filled out that 302. I had every intention of signing my hot little monogram on the dotted line. I guess I just forgot. So, one ass reaming, and three hours later, Scully and I are still sitting in the car staring plaintively at the rearview mirror in the hope of getting some action soon. No one is even sure if this is the right guy. They *think* he's involved in some sort of stolen car racket, moving them across state lines and into the hands of the big time criminals. Another yawn escapes, and this time I don't bother to hide it. Yep. There have got to be better, more productive things I could be doing with my time. There hasn't been a peep out of this guy. The house is so quiet I'm beginning to wonder if there's even anybody inside and this isn't just some spiteful ploy by Skinner to get me out of his hair-- figuratively speaking of course--for a few hours. Bastard. It's been two long weeks since anything even remotely resembling an X-File has come across my desk. Who can blame a guy for trying to find something meaningful and worthwhile to fill his working hours? Daily visits, sometimes twice or three times, to our Imperial boss's office did not produce the required results. He had nothing for me. Nothing except paper shuffling, report writing, and expense reconciliations. Like three or four months worth. The only reaction I got from Skinner were the 'placatory' tones of, "Well, Agent Mulder, why don't you take advantage of this lull in activity and try getting that backlog of paperwork completed and on my desk by Thursday morning." Trust me, there was nothing friendly in the way he delivered the message. I was left with no doubt in my mind that he was issuing an order and there'd be hell to pay should I ignore it. I didn't ignore it. Not exactly. Not in the Websters Dictionary interpretation of the word 'ignore.' I just kind of got distracted. I found an X-File. Yeah, okay, it was in the National Enquirer, but hell, surely some of the stuff they print is true. Isn't it? Well, as Scully would say, I ran off half-cocked, then wham, bam, thank you ma'am, the deadline for my paperwork came, and went, and now here we are, tucked up nice and cosy in a surveillance vehicle. Did I mention that my partner is severely pissed at me? Not so much from the point of view of being forced to do stakeout duty, although that initially went down like a lead balloon--only serving to bolster her already frayed mood. It's something else that I did. Once again totally accidental. I was down to my last handful of sunflower seeds. That was after the first hour. We'd been talking. Actually, I was doing the talking, Scully was in one of those less-than-communicative moods. I happened to be biting down on a sun flower seed at precisely the wrong moment. As I spoke, the husk shot from my mouth and landed in the air conditioning vent. It was brilliant. It would never have happened in a million years if I'd planned it. I turned to Scully expecting to see admiration. What I saw was a look that didn't quite give the impression that she'd stood in dog poop, although it was close. No, that look was still coming. Being pretty impressed with myself I told her to watch and I'd do it again. I should have quit while I was ahead. I bit down on the husk and prepared to blow it from my mouth. I miscalculated and it shot off the side of my tongue and straight into Scully's hair. That's when I got the 'new improved look,' the one that said she had not only stood in the dog poop, but traipsed it all through her apartment as well. I apologized profusely. I even promised to write all the reports for the next two months as well as finish the surplus from the previous three or four. She was unmoved. So, consequently, we have passed the last two hours in stony, monosyllabic, silence. "Mulder!" She pokes me in the ribs. Forgiveness? "Look. Cantlon's heading this way," she whispers to me as if the suspect is going to hear us through the layers of bullet-proof glass and reinforced metal. I sit up a little straighter in my seat, craning my neck to get a better look in the mirror. Scully observes our man through the sideview. "Dammit," she curses softly under her breath. "I think he's seen us." Yep. The guy takes one look at the car, our car -- the plain, black car that screams, 'look at me, I'm spying on you,' parked four doors down the street from where he is residing -- does a double take, then a runner, right back in the direction of his house. "Hallelujah." I sigh under my breath. Action. I reach for the door, throw it open and prepare to alight. That is until I feel something tugging on the back of my jacket. "Mulder! Where are you going?" She hisses at me. Sometimes I wonder about Scully and her powers of deduction. "He's getting away, Scully. I'm going to stop him." I jerk forward, out of her grip. "You can't. We need back up." "You're right," I tell her reasonably. "Why don't you call it in." Then I'm off. Feet thundering on the pavement, arms pumping, chest heaving. Man, it feels good to be *doing* something. I head off after Cantlon. He has a start on me but I'm about 6 inches taller, ten years younger and around 20 or 30 pounds lighter. I don't think he's going to be getting too far. I reach the driveway and stop, getting my bearings and trying to catch sight of him. Nothing. His house is suburban and ordinary. A single story structure wrapped in white clapboard. A porch stretches across the front and winds around the corner. The yard is neat, the grass clipped. Baskets of flowers hang from the eaves above the wooden railing enclosing the porch. I see nothing that offers a hiding place. I cautiously make my way towards the side of the house. The driveway continues along its length, stopping at a waist high steel gate, separating the front yard from the back. "Mulder!" Scully runs towards me, her coat flapping behind her like a cape belonging to a cartoon superhero. The faint sound of sirens are playing in the background. Back up. "Where is he?" I open my mouth to answer but am interrupted by an earth shattering scream. His wife? Girlfriend? A hostage? The sound of breaking glass follows close behind the scream. Scully and I look at each other, then, reading our respective expressions, take off in different directions. She moves to the front door and I race off towards the back yard, the gate no obstacle for me as I hurdle it and continue on my way. I skid to a halt at the corner of the house, drag my weapon from its holster, pull my arms close to my body and point the muzzle to the sky in readiness to round the corner and take aim. One, two, three. I count soundlessly in my head then step from my cover and extend my arms straight out in front of me. THWACK! Shit. Pain ripples along my arms and the gun is sent flying through the air, coming to rest some twenty feet from where I am standing. Damn it! I wonder if I included loss and damage reports in my rash promise to Scully? Something whizzes past my ear. I glare at the man before me. The man, mirroring my own defensive stance. Except for one thing. He has a baseball bat, I am unarmed. I curse a long string of very inventive and if I do say so myself, very creative expletives. How the hell do I keep getting myself into these situations? For once, just once in my life I would like to have an arrest go down by the book. I know it's possible. I've seen Sipowitz do it on NYPD Blue. Wait. Bad example. That guy is a complete nutcase, a censure waiting to happen. Who's the blond guy? The one that replaced Simone? Now he's got style. I'd like to get an arrest happening like him. WHOOSH. I side step a double swing. One aimed at my stomach, the other at my head. The action is a little too close for comfort. I eye my weapon longingly, calculating the chances of diving on it and rolling into a position to fire before I am used for batting practice. I lick my lips, then make my move, lunging for my weapon. There are certain things I do well, and certain things I really struggle with. I run with the grace of a gazelle, I swim like a fish, my profiling skills are renowned throughout the FBI. But when it comes to fighting...well, lets just say things don't quite happen the way I anticipate. Today is no exception. As I leap towards the gun, my coat somehow entangles itself in my legs, upsetting my finely-tuned timing and sending me sprawling to the ground, laid out flat on my stomach. My right hand is stretched in front of me, sliding along the dirt gathering tiny bits of gravel under the skin. Dammit. That, however, is the least of my worries. I turn onto my side just in time to see Cantlon raise the bat above his head ready for the downward swing. Instinct takes over and I roll to the left as the bat crashes to the ground, throwing Cantlon off balance. I take advantage of the situation and scramble to my feet, using the momentum to propel myself forward, wrapping my arms around Cantlon's chest and allowing my weight to carry us both to the ground. My luck is still with me. My bad luck. I feel Cantlon grunt as our bodies hit the ground, a gush of hot breath rushes past my ear and the rancid smell of garlic fills my nostrils. But those are just peripheral sensations. What really grabs my attention is the agonizing pain shooting through my right thigh. Somehow, with the utmost precision that only I am capable of achieving, the bat has become wedged between our bodies, ramming itself with the full force of our weight right into the fleshy part of my thigh, just above the knee. Aaah! Fuuuushiiiieeet! I bite down hard on my lip to keep from crying out. What I'd really like to be doing is hollering at the top of my lungs, but a man has to maintain some sort of dignity. Underneath me Cantlon continues to puff and grunt his foul breath inches from my nose. But I don't move. I can't move. Not yet. "Sir? Sir, are you all right?" Hands. Strong hands. On my shoulders. Pulling. Lifting me. Rolling me on my back. This time I lose the fight at heroic stoicism and let out a low growl from the back of my throat as the movement sends a sharp, piercing pain through my leg. Who is this guy, and why is he touching me? What about Cantlon? He'll get away! "Agent Mulder?" Huh? He knows my name? I open my eyes. "Who the hell are you?" I demand. Okay, so my manners could use some work, but too bad, my leg hurts and I don't feel like playing nice. "Um...uh...Special Agent Keith Simmons. Agent Mulder? Your partner, Agent Scully, she said you might need some help. Guess she was right." He answers timidly. I twist my head to get a better look at this guy. *He* is an FBI agent? Are they grabbing them straight out of high school these days? Suddenly I feel very old. And for some reason that really pisses me off. "Help me up." I stretch out my arm and grab Agent 'whats-his-name's' hand. It's at about this time that I notice two uniformed cops dragging Cantlon to his feet and escorting him to the front of the house. I stand up, balancing on one leg, waiting for the thudding ache to subside. "Sir, would you like me to get you some medical assistance?" I test my leg, tentatively putting some weight on it. Yeah, I've had this sensation before. Nothing too serious; my guess is it's just a bruised muscle. Not the first time I've had one of those. I'll live. "Sir, shall I..." "No! No. I'm fine. Thanks." I give him a sheepish grin. "I saw what happened, but you got in the line of fire before I could wing him. You were lucky he missed your head." Oh yeah. I'm lucky all right. This has been about the luckiest day in my life. Maybe I'll go and buy a lottery ticket to celebrate! I take a couple of limping steps. Yep, getting better all the time. Perhaps I'll even be able to keep this whole incident from Scully. Hmmm. I eye 'wonder boy' warily. He's staring at me with a mixture of wide eyed fascination and puzzlement. I decide to put him at ease and flash him a reassuring grin as I drape my arm conspiratorially around his shoulder. I figure I need to have a little 'man-to-man' chat with him about keeping his mouth shut. "Um, Ken. Can I call you Ken?" "Keith." "Excuse me?" "My name is Keith, not Ken." Right. Not a good start. "Sorry. Keith. I wonder if you'd do me a favor?" "Sir?" "Look, how about we keep this little fiasco just between ourselves. I'd rather my partner didn't know about the uh...baseball bat thing. You know what I mean?" "No, sir." Damn. This isn't going to be as easy as I thought. "It's just, well, you know how women get. They think you're injured, they get all worried, start hovering, making silly, irrational demands about going to the Emergency Room..." I pause, waiting for the words to sink in. Aah, there it is. Suddenly the light bulb clicks on and the kid smiles knowingly. Progress! "Sir, I think I know what you mean. My girlfriend, she's the same. If I come home from work with so much as a paper cut she starts fussing and carrying on." Atta boy. "So, mum's the word then," I say winking and holding my index finger over my lips for added effect. I give him a couple of 'male-bonding' claps on the back and head towards the front of the house to find Scully. "Sir! Agent Mulder, sir." I hear Ken's voice ringing out from behind me. Now what? "Your gun. You forgot your gun." Dammit. I've really got to do a better job at looking after my weapon. "Thanks, Ken. This really is my lucky day." I squeeze out through gritted teeth. "Keith." Damn. "Sorry." **************************************************** One look at Scully and I feel my resolve shrivel. The minute I step from the corner of the house I know she has me pegged. "What the hell happened to you?" she asks, running her eyes over my body from head to toe. "Uh...nothing. Nothing at all. Ke...Keith and I were just finishing up out back." I explain, pointing to the thankfully retreating form of Agent Simmons. "And?" She presses. "And what?" I ask innocently. "Mulder! You're filthy. Look at your clothes. *And* you are limping." I am? "Oh, that. I fell when I tackled Cantlon. It's no big deal." I shrug. "You fell?" "Yes." "Well, you know, Mulder, there's falling and then there's falling. Which did you do?" What the...? She's gotta be kidding, right? I stop walking and turn around to face her. I place my hands on her shoulders and gaze seriously into her eyes, then, very quietly reply, "I fell." With that, I turn on my heel and stride purposefully towards the car. "How did you fall? Did..." "Jeezus, Scully!" I cut her off. "How does anyone one fall? I lost my balance, gravity took over and I hit the ground." "Hmmm. Lost your balance." She seems to consider this for awhile then asks, "Were you dizzy?" "No! I wasn't dizzy. I tripped. I fell. Plain and simple. Now, can we drop it, please?" This time when I resume my walk to the car I keep going. I'm sure I can still hear her mumbling under her breath, but I am not hanging around to continue the argument. My leg is aching, my hand is stinging and all I want to do is get back to the office and forget this morning ever happened. *** Basement Office Friday 2:00 p.m. I nudge the basement door open with my shoulder, struggling to maintain the precarious hold I have on the various literary journals balanced in my arms and the brown paper bag clenched in my teeth. I head over to where Scully is working at her computer and release the parcel from my mouth like a dog presenting it's master with a ball to play with. "Where the hell have you been and what is *that*?" she whines at me. "Lunch, Scully. Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun!" I sing at her. She looks like she wants to vomit. "Only kidding." I reassure her. "That was my lunch. Yours is: lettuce, cucumber and sprouts, on low fat, gluten free, fibre enhanced rye. No butter, margarine, mayo, mustard, salt, or anything else that might resemble taste." Her face lights up with pure delight. I screw up my nose in disgust. "I don't know how you can eat that stuff, Scully, let alone enjoy it!" "Mulder, when you're lying in hospital recovering from triple bypass surgery *then* you'll know how I can eat this." She replies, pulling the sandwich from the brown paper bag. "Save the lecture for someone who cares, Scully. Your scare tactics are not gonna work on me." I say, holding my hand up to ward off any further health care sermons she feels I need to hear. "Mulder!" What? Surely she can't be upset about that. "What's the matter?" I ask, confused. "Your hand. What happened?" My hand? Scully covers the space between us in four quick steps, snatches my hand with her own and turns it over to inspect the palm. She seems oblivious to the fact that she's just sent three or four fine literary journals tumbling to the floor. "My God, Mulder. You're an infection waiting to happen. Look at all this dirt under your skin. Did this happen this morning, when you fell?" Ow, yeah. Come to think of it my hand is stinging. I guess in all the excitement at finding something that really does qualify as an X File, I'd forgotten about the gravel rash blazed across the palm of my hand. "Why didn't you say something?" She glares at me angrily as if this is some secret conspiracy I've attempted to hide from her. Close. The real conspiracy is the constant throbbing in my thigh. "I'm thirty-nine years old, I've endured gunshot wounds, exposure to alien viruses, numerous concussions and you expect me to come running to you over a grazed hand like some overgrown toddler?" "Well, Mulder, if the shoe fits..." She smirks at me. "Ha. Ha. You're a regular comedian. Now, give me my hand back. I've got work to do." She lets go then returns to her desk, ducking down behind it and reaching for something that I can't quite see stashed at the back of her chair. She bobs up and plonks a first aid kit on her desk. "Geez Scully, have you got those things planted all over the Northern Hemisphere?" I snap at her. She ignores my comment. "We need to get that wound cleaned up." Wound. She calls this little scratch a wound? "Sit, Mulder. I'll be back in a minute." She disappears through the door not even bothering to check if I am complying with her orders. When did I become so easy to boss around? I stoop down and gather up the magazines scattered across the floor. Heaving a deep sigh, I drop into my chair and start flicking through the pages while I wait. Just like a regular waiting room in a regular doctor's office, I muse to myself. Scully returns in a few minutes armed with a bowl of water. Where the hell does she find these things? Is it some secret doctor code that just enables her to sense where medical supplies are hidden? She grabs the First Aid kit on her way past, totally ignoring the sandwich that I went to so much trouble to buy. "What are you reading?" She asks as she disentangles the fingers of my right hand from around the pages of the magazine. The tabloid wilts and caves in on itself, making it impossible to read the print. I close it and lay it to rest on the pile with the others. "A magazine." She looks at me. That's all it is, a look. But it's enough to send certain parts of my male anatomy crawling up inside me for cover. "I know that, Mulder. What's in it that you find so interesting?" She returns to her task and begins unpacking her tools from the kit. Gauze, tweezers, antiseptic, sticking plaster, all lined up neatly on top of my desk. "What are you doing this weekend, Scully?" I ask as she pulls my hand close to her breast, holding it under the light to get a better look. "Why?" She asks, not looking up. "How does a little trip to New Jersey sound?" This time she raises her head and looks at me from under a stray strand of hair that has fallen across her eyes. She puffs it out of the way and eyes me suspiciously. "It sounds like trouble, coming from you, Mulder." She turns her attention back to my hand and starts rubbing vigorously at the graze with the gauze and antiseptic. She picks up the tweezers and begins an enthusiastic excavation of the little specks of gravel. "Hey! Watch it, Scully. That's live flesh and blood you're digging into there." I shift an inch or two in my seat to keep from yanking my hand from her grip. "Spill it, Mulder. What's the sudden interest in New Jersey?" I reach for the magazine I'd been reading and hold it up triumphantly, for her to see. 'JERSEY DEVIL STRIKES AGAIN' Her expression is a mixture of pained disbelief and blatant disgust. "Oh, Mulder, " she groans. "Please tell me this is a sick joke." I hold her gaze. "No. You can't be serious. Have you checked the name of that publication? 'National Enquirer.' It's a load of crap. Remember this morning? Getting bawled out in Skinner's office? Stakeout duty? Didn't you learn anything from that?" Her face is scrunched up in an frustrated frown. I calmly place the magazine back on the desk and reach for another. I hold it up so she can clearly see the front cover. The same picture as the one on the National Enquirer stares back at her. "So? What is your point?" she asks. You're a hard woman, Scully. "New Jersey Reporter. A reputable magazine, and they are running the same story. As is another well known hunting journal, 'Open Season New Jersey.' "All I see is a bunch of hysterical reporters each fueling the other's fear and convincing themselves that this thing is real. We've already travelled this route, Mulder, and proven it to be nothing more than an anomaly of nature." "Well, actually, that was never proven and I'm not disagreeing with you on that. I don't believe that what is being reported here is the work of the 'Jersey Devil.'" "You don't think this is an X File?" She sounds both puzzled and hopeful. "Oh yes. This is an X file. I'm certain of it. But not in the way you are thinking." She turns back to my hand and plucks at the last remnants of gravel. She sits back and admires her handiwork, frowning as she seems to consider my last words then lifts her head to speak to me again. "All right, Mulder, what's *your* theory?" "I thought you'd never ask!" I grin at her. Scully sticks a bandage over the graze on my hand and lets it go. I take the opportunity to make my escape, fully intending to head to the filing cabinet and retrieve a folder. That is, until I straighten my leg to stand. A tight, crampy, pain clenches at the muscle in my thigh and my forward motion is halted as my leg gives way and I collapse back in my chair. "Mulder?" I hear Scully's concerned voice. "Cramp." I grind out. My hands are pried loose from my leg and I feel Scully's strong fingers digging into my flesh, massaging the knot with one hand and pulling my leg out straight with the other. Eventually she succeeds and I start breathing again. Shit. Now, that was an intense ten seconds that seemed to last a life time. "Better now?" She asks. I nod my head and offer a husky, "thanks." "What happened, Mulder?" She still has one hand resting on my knee as she squats before me. "I don't know. It just hit me when I stood. Must've been all that exercise I got this morning chasing Cantlon." I deflect her questioning with the usual flair that I have developed over the last seven years. "You were limping when you came back, does this have anything to do with your fall?" Either I'm slipping or she's waking up to me. My flair just let me down big time. "Scully." A little reassuring chuckle. "No. I'm fine, really. It was just a cramp. Guess I'm a little out of shape. Now where were we?" I stand and this time make a very determined effort to keep the limp out of my walk. Not as easy as I'd hoped. The dull ache of earlier has become a sharp pain with each step I take. I find the file I need in a couple of minutes and return to my desk sinking gratefully into my chair. Scully is busying herself with packing away the medical supplies but still manages to watch me from the corner of her eye. I pretend not to notice. The file has streaks of black smudged across it's cover. A stark reminder of how close we came to losing everything in the fire. This was one of the few files that managed to remain relatively undamaged. "I'm still waiting for your theory, Mulder. And it better be good." The first aid kit has magically returned to its former hiding place and Scully is back behind her desk unravelling her sandwich from its paper covering. I guess my efforts at lunchtime weren't wasted after all. "Okay. It goes something like this. Bodies have been turning up in a New Jersey state forest. The cadavers have bits missing. Part of a leg, part of an arm. All gnawed off." I pause for dramatic effect. No response. Scully sits there chewing on her sandwich staring at me. So, I'm failing miserably as a showman as well. That fits in perfectly with all the other things I have successfully failed at today. "Gnawed off, Scully." I reiterate. "As in eaten, chewed, bitten." "Go on." She encourages, not in the least bit phased. "Well, doesn't that remind you of anything?" "I thought you said we weren't going down that path, Mulder? This is not the Jersey Devil. And if you are sitting there suggesting otherwise..." "No. I'm not suggesting the Jersey Devil per se. I'm suggesting son of Jersey Devil, or daughter. And I don't mean Jersey Devil as in 'Big Foot' and 'Sasquatch.' I'm talking about the woman who was killed by the Atlantic City Police Department. You said it yourself Scully, her uterus showed signs that she'd given birth. I think what we are seeing here is the result of that birth. The kid. All grown up with a very healthy appetite. "That's quite a leap, Mulder. Why couldn't it be something as simple as a bear or a mountain lion? Why does it have to be a wolf baby?" "Because...bear and mountain lion don't exist where those bodies were found. And, did I say anything about wolf babies? Although that's an interesting point. I hadn't really considered the child may have been raised by wild animals." "Mulder, no." "Think about it, Scully. The pattern is identical to that of the other victims in 1993. Only these weren't homeless people. These were unsuspecting hikers, caught out while walking on their own. This time the mountain came to Mohammed. Home delivery instead of takeout. Hey Scully, even primitive creatures are moving with the times." I grin at her. She glares at me. "I'm still waiting for the punchline. You must have more than that. What aren't you telling me?" "All I have is a theory. What do we know for sure?" I hold up my fingers and count off. "One: The woman gave birth, proven from the medical examiner's report. Two:..." I pause, this is where my argument gets weak. "Two: Well, we don't really have a factual two but we do have a two based on speculation. Let's assume for arguments sake that the child was ten years old at the time..." "Sure, Mulder, why not. Pluck any number you like out of the air and run with that. It's about as substantial as anything else you've offered." I scowl at her. "You know, sarcasm does not become you, Scully." She takes another bite of her sandwich. While her mouth is full I continue with my theory. "Let's say the child is sixteen or seventeen. Big enough now to go out hunting, big enough to overpower a fully grown adult. And, okay, just to cover some other options, the child could be anywhere from eight years old to twenty years old, but that's unlikely. I'm going to go out on another limb here and suggest that it could indeed have been brought up by wolves or some other forest creature, once its mother died, depending of course, how old it was at the time. You've got to assume it's learnt some survival skills, either from it's parents or--and I'm only suggesting this not setting it in concrete--from whatever type of animal has taken care of it." "But why come out in the open now?" That's better, at least she's asking intelligent questions. "Maybe its adopted parents are dead. Maybe food is running low, or it got curious. Who can say for sure, but it's worth checking out. Imagine what we could learn from it if it was caught alive. I don't trust the police in Atlantic City. You saw how they hunted the woman down like a wild animal. All that matters to them is keeping the casinos full, the slot machines turning over and the tourists spending." "It's a bit late for that don't you think, Mulder? They've splashed the whole thing over the front pages of several magazines. They can hardly keep it quiet this time." She screws up the sandwich paper into a ball and tosses it into a wastepaper bin on the other side of the office. "Nice shot, Scully. To answer your question: No. The press has built this up as the work of a mythical creature, the Jersey Devil. That legend is as old as the hills; it'll either bring in more tourists or it will be ignored as just another crackpot report." "Hmmm. I wonder why you didn't see it that way," she mumbles to herself. "And besides, Mulder. That detective...what's his name..." "Thompson." I supply for her. "Whatever. Whoever. He's probably got wanted posters with your face on them plastered all over his office. I can't see him letting you just waltz in there and start poking around. And Skinner will see you in hell before he'd be willing to sign off on another 302 based on a tabloid story." "Scully, you are so right. And that's why I'm not going to go through official channels or deal with the local police. I'm going to take some personal time, mosey on up to New Jersey and take in the sights. I hear the woods are looking great this time of the year. Care to join me?" Scully buries her head in her hands. I've got her, I know I've got her. She won't be able to resist this. Her scientific mind will not allow her to pass this up. "No, Mulder. I'm not going." "Sculleee!" "I'm not spending my weekend in some two-bit motel stuck out in the boon docks of New Jersey. Sorry, Mulder." "All right, Scully. What will it take to change your mind?" *** Interstate 95 Friday 8 p.m. ******************** "I mean it, Mulder. Four stars or we turn back to D.C. now." "Scully. I promised, didn't I? When have I ever broken a promise?" I ask with mock indignation. "Hmph. Maybe not *broken* your promises, Mulder, but you've sure bent them out of shape often enough." "Trust, Scully, whatever happened to trust?" "Trust no one, Mulder. And when it comes to motel accommodation, that includes you." I shake my head in disbelief. I can't understand what her problem is. Do I not provide a place of rest that offers all the comforts of home? Television, couch, table to work on, even a bed. Women! I could dedicate a whole section of the X-Files just to attempting to understand how their minds work. "So what exactly is it you hope to achieve out of this little trip to the woods?" Scully asks as she idly picks at a loose thread on her sweater. "I thought I explained all that. We're going to try and find the kid before the authorities do. They may not be worried about keeping this quiet but I'm pretty sure they'll be working around the clock to solve it by whatever means prove expedient. And you can be fairly certain they are not going to be concerning themselves with the finer points of discretion." "Okay, let's assume we find this kid, if it is indeed a child that we are looking for. What then? Do you think it will just allow itself to be caught and taken into captivity?" "I don't know. But I do know we have to try. I'm not going to let them hunt it down like some kind of rabid dog." "Mulder, maybe that's exactly what we're looking for. Nothing more than a wild animal. Where's your proof that the killer is even human?" "Well, Scully, that's the point of our trip. To gather evidence and prove our case." I grin at her. She heaves a sigh, turns to look out the window then shifts her attention back to me. "And a spa, Mulder." "Excuse me?" "I want a spa in the room. If I'm going to be trekking all over the New Jersey State Forest, I at least want to be able to soak in a nice hot tub when we're done." And she says I make leaps. "Only the best for you, Scully." "And I want to eat dinner in a real restaurant. One where you get to sit down and choose from a menu, and the food actually has some nutritious value." "Are you suggesting that McDonalds is nutritionally challenged?" The look tells me she is. And she manages it without even moving an eyebrow. "Your wish is my command." I say, weaving my hand through the air in an exaggerated bow. "Shut up, Mulder, and watch the road." ********************************************************* Lucky Stars Motel 12:35 a.m. Maybe if we had left for this trip yesterday, or tomorrow, or perhaps next century, I wouldn't be caught in this vortex of bad luck that seems to be hounding me today. Maybe if my uncle was my auntie...yadda, yadda. yadda. But life doesn't work like that. How was I supposed to know one of the biggest gatherings of science fiction fans in the US was being held right here in Atlantic City? On arrival, all that stood out to greet us were the flashing neon lights of 'No Vacancy' signs. We must have checked out every motel with a four star rating in the city. Failing that, we graduated to five stars. Nothing! Back down to three star and that was just as bad. The temperature in the car was rapidly plummeting, and it had nothing to do with the weather. By 11:30 p.m: tired, hungry and completely at odds with one another, we managed to scrape up a charming two and a half star motel on the outskirts of town. Of course 'charming' is in the eye of the beholder. To me, anything that didn't display the words 'No Vacancy' and offered something horizontal to lay on and a TV with cable was looking not only charming but downright spectacular. My eyes were hurting from staring at the road, my neck was stiff from avoiding eye contact with Scully, and that annoying pain in my leg was reminding me of its presence with a little more insistence than earlier. I snapped up the two remaining rooms with enthusiastic gusto, and as good luck would have it-- for a change-- there was even an adjoining door --although I am wondering at the wisdom of that, given Scully's mood by the time we found a place to call home. But...what really nailed it was the community bathtub just down the hall. Scully would get to soak after all. When I told her this she didn't quite receive it with the joy and excitement I had hoped. In fact I could have sworn that her first reaction was to reach for her weapon. We sorted out the rooms and I dialled a local pizza delivery. I even let Scully choose. Tonight she introduced me to a new concept: vegetarian pizza--up until this point in time I'd managed to avoid such culinary delights. I guess Scully felt she was doing her bit to ward off my apparent impending heart problems. As much as I hate to admit it, I kind of liked the taste. The fact that she had encouraged me to eat vegetables seemed to improve her mood and the chilly aura that had surrounded us since checking in gradually lifted. Scully has since retired to her own room and I am left to clear away the mess. I pick up the empty pizza box, fold it over and toss it in the general direction of the tiny trash can hidden under the counter that supports the television. On my way past I hit the 'on' switch. Immediately the silver light from the TV screen offers some much needed extra illumination. The insipid yellow glow from the overhead light just isn't cutting it. A soft fuzzy noise fills the room. Oh yeah, this motel is really living up to its meagre two and a half star rating. I should have realised that decent television reception would be too much to ask for. In lieu of catching a late night movie I decide to put in some reading before calling it a night. My briefcase is lying on the counter by the TV. I open it and retrieve the Jersey Devil file that is resting on top of a pile of case notes, then flop onto the bed, landing spread eagled on my back. I fight back the urge to cough and sneeze as a cloud of dust swirls lazily through the air. I guess that's another downside of two and a half stars. Dust, poor lighting and a lousy TV reception. I turn on the bedside lamp and settle back to wade through the reports and case files dating back from 1930 up until the more recent sightings in October last year. But before I start on the case files there are a couple of other things I want to check out first. So, I lay the files beside me and sift through the assortment of computer printouts I collected this afternoon, deciding to brush up on the general history of the Jersey Devil. The earliest sightings date back to the 1700s. While it would seem that differing legends place the 'Devil's' year of birth at 1735, 1778 and 1850, it is generally agreed that the birth place was Leeds Point. Remains of the old Shourd house, where the devil was supposedly born, can still be found in the woods today. Hmm, I wouldn't mind taking a look at that. Some of the earlier documented sightings of the devil include naval hero Stephen Decatur, who in 1800, reported seeing a creature in the Hanover iron works and fired a cannonball through it. The gaping hole had no affect on the creature. It flew casually away. The guy must have been a good shot. Joseph Bonaparte, the former king of Spain and son of Napoleon, saw the Jersey Devil while hunting on his estate near Bordentown in the early 1800s. Then there were a spate of sightings in 1909 where over one thousand residents in thirty towns around Delaware saw the creature in January alone. All very interesting reading, but for now, I'm sticking with my 'wolf boy' theory. I drop the printouts on the floor by the bed and pick up my files. Maybe there's something in these that I missed last time. Something that will help me find the child before the local authorities do. *********************** Lucky Star Motel 4:00 a.m. Dammit! I've just about exhausted all the possibilities. One chance left. I make my way over to the rickety wooden chair in the corner of the room, eyes fixed on my black leather jacket draped carelessly over the back. There's gotta be some in there. It's my last hope. I propel myself awkwardly forward by leaning one hand on the table and one on the counter reluctant to put my foot to the floor. The intermittent pain in my leg has become a relentless ache, deep inside my thigh muscle. Weight bearing isn't impossible, but it is damn uncomfortable. I reach for my jacket and search the outside pockets. Nothing. I delve into the little pocket camouflaged in the lining and...bingo! Twelve Tylenol capsules wrapped nice and snug in their plastic covering. I close my eyes and offer a silent thank you to whoever may be listening, knowing full well that the one who really deserves the thanks is sleeping soundly in the next room. Scully. In all likelihood these little white gems are left over from some other forgotten time, a time when I was suffering the effects of something a little more serious than a bruised thigh muscle. I pop three capsules from the blister pack, return the rest to my pocket and head off in search of water, limping my way to the bathroom. I wonder idly why my leg would be hurting this much. Yeah, okay, so a baseball bat jammed into me, but hell, it wasn't that bad. I lay back on top of the bed, drape my arm across my eyes and wait for the painkillers to kick in. I'm not even sure I'd describe the pain as a throb anymore. It's more like a persistent squeezing. I roll onto my side and try massaging the muscle but that hurts too. So, gritting my teeth, I lay still and wait for the tylenol to work. Lucky Star Motel 6:30 a.m. The radio alarm squawks an inhuman shriek into the stillness of my room. I slam my fist at the snooze button with a little more force than I'd intended but it does the job and silence reigns once more. Not that I was asleep. I've been lying here willing the time on. I know you're not supposed to take these painkillers before four hours but I'm not sure I'm gonna last that long. The ache started again about half an hour ago and hasn't let up. "Mulder." A knock on the adjoining door and a muffled call from my partner. Dammit. I bet she's up and dressed and looking like a million dollars. "Mulder? Are you decent? I'm coming in." Boxers and a t-shirt is about as decent as I get at this time of the morning. "Yeah, come in Scully." I sit up slowly and swing my legs out of bed, swallowing pack a gasp as the sudden movement sends a lance of pain through my thigh. Scully slips through the connecting door and joins me. "Mulder! I thought you wanted an early start?" She pauses, her eyes travelling over my body. The scan continues around the room, her roving eye coming to rest on the scattered papers adorning the floor, the bed and the nightstand. "You look like hell. Did you get any sleep?" Her eyes narrow as she looks at me accusingly. "What? Six-thirty not early enough for you, Scully," I snap at her. Her face caves into a frown and she opens her mouth to retaliate. I apologize before she gets the chance. "Sorry." I comb my fingers through my hair a couple of times then turn back to look at her. Her expression is expectant. "I didn't sleep well." "It shows. Why don't you get showered and dressed and meet me in the diner for breakfast." Yeah, yeah. Just go. I gotta take some more Tylenol. "Fine. See you in ten." I force my features into a less than convincing smile. "Fine." She closes the door and I breathe a sigh of relief. My leg is still taking my weight, but it's no fun. I hop to my jacket. What the hell, who's going to see me? I decide to save walking for the public arena. Lou's Diner 7:00 a.m. ***************************** By the time I make it to the diner, the little white pills have performed their magic and the pain is a mere shadow of its former self. The relief is almost overwhelming and my mood is much lighter than before. As penance, I may even let Scully order me something healthy for breakfast. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon permeates throughout the diner. My mouth waters in appreciation and any intentions of letting Scully order for me fly out the window. Suddenly I'm starving and craving a *real* breakfast. I search the diner and find Scully sitting in a corner booth sipping on orange juice and digging daintily into what I presume to be cereal. I grab the waitress on my way over and place my order with her before sliding into the booth. "That was a long ten minutes, Mulder." She eyes me over the rim of her glass. I don't bother answering her. "I'll call a waitress over and you can order something to eat," she offers. "Not necessary, Scully. I've already ordered." I smile at her. "Hmm. I can imagine." She dips the spoon into her bowl of shredded cardboard, puts it in her mouth and chews appreciatively. I take a second to look her over. She has her hiking gear on. Blue jeans, white t-shirt, and red checked, flannel shirt. She looks good, kind of like a little girl playing 'dress up' in her dad's clothes. "What are you smiling at, Mulder?" "You, Scully. You look... hot." I suggest, casually. "It's okay, I've allowed for the weather. If it gets too hot I can strip down. I'm wearing a t-shirt under the...what? What the hell are you laughing at?" "I wasn't referring to the weather when I said you looked hot!" I can barely contain myself, but with some effort I manage not to choke on my laughter. Her cheeks turn a light shade of pink. Dana Scully blushing. Now that *is* hot. She deftly side steps the compliment and turns the conversation to the case. "Still planning on heading up to the park this morning?" "Yep. I want to speak to the ranger. See if he can add anything to the newspaper reports. I also want to take a look at the area where the latest body was found." "What makes you think the ranger will co-operate? And supposing he does, what do you hope to find? It's been over a week since the last body was found and I'm sure the area would have been thoroughly searched." "Oh, I have no doubt about that. Look, Scully, I'm pretty certain they know what killed those hikers. That's not the point. It's what they are going to do about it that I'm concerned about. The press can have a field day promoting the theory of some kind of monster, call it 'Bigfoot', 'The Jersey Devil', whatever. It's the perfect smokescreen. While all the attention is being focused on a monster, the authorities, the Atlantic City Police Department, will be hunting down a 'wolf -child' with the intent of killing it. I'm not going to let that happen." Scully places her hand over mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. Before she can say anything, the waitress arrives with my breakfast. Bacon, eggs and hash browns. Scully gives me a disapproving frown. "Hey, I need the energy." She heaves a sigh. "Eat up, Mulder. I'm gonna go pack the backpacks. You did remember to bring the water bottles didn't you?" "Sure. They're in the trunk, with the medical kit, the extra flash lights, spare blankets, flares and ponchos. I think you might be suffering from over kill, Scully. It's just a day trip." "Hah! I've got one word for you, Mulder. Mothmen. I'll see you back at the motel." I watch Scully's retreating form. When I'm sure she's out of sight I stretch my leg out in the aisle and rub at my thigh. The ache is building again and it's only been an hour since I took the tylenol. This could be a long day. *** Garden State Parkway Saturday 8:21 a.m. *********** "Mulder, this article really doesn't go into much detail about the dead hikers. The reporter seems more intent on stirring up the Jersey Devil legend. It says that it all started, and I quote here..." Scully pauses and throws me a sceptical look before continuing. "...'When a woman who was pregnant with her thirteenth child was said to have given birth to a 'devil child' that flew away up her chimney. While the claim can never truly be substantiated...'-- that's for sure..." she smirks. "Go on, Scully, keep reading." I prompt. She sighs but keeps going, "...'Several New Jersey residents have reported sighting the demon child on a number of occasions over the past two hundred years..." She reads quietly to herself for a few minutes, running her finger over the print as she goes. "Basically, Mulder, all that is being said here is that anything unusual or unexplained is shoved under the banner of the Jersey Devil." "Which is exactly why I want to find this kid before the authorities do. Hysteria, hype, whatever, the truth won't even enter into it. The child will be labelled a 'devil' and hunted down as such. Think about it, Scully. By allowing rumors of the Jersey Devil to circulate via the press, the Atlantic City Police Department can stand back and without criticism, let any trigger-happy hunter loose in the woods under the guise of tracking down a monster." My frustration at the death of the woman seven years ago is clawing its way to the surface. "Mulder, I can't help wondering if maybe you've..." "What?" I demand. "Maybe you've got the wrong slant on this..." "Those bodies had parts of their arms and legs chewed off. *Chewed* off, just like last time." "Without seeing an autopsy report there is no way to prove it was done by a human." "I've told you already, there are no wild animals out here. No bear, no mountain lion, the most ferocious animal you're likely to encounter is a disgruntled beaver. And, I might add, the bodies were discovered nowhere near water. My thoughts are that the food supply has somehow reduced and the child has been forced to hunt outside its natural habitat." "There is another possible explanation." I glance at her quickly, wondering where she is going with this. "We've seen something similar before. Have you considered the possibility that some other type of wild animal, something a little more dangerous, from...from...somewhere else might have been abducted and transported to...Mulder?" The car skids precariously to the side of the road, I fight with the steering wheel to keep the car from running into the guardrail. When I get both the Taurus and myself under control I blow out a long gusty breath and wipe the sweat from my brow. "Scully, are you trying to get us both killed? You've gotta give me a little more warning before you launch into something like that. As much as I like the idea that you are considering extreme possibilities...you're going to give me a heart attack if you start expounding paranormal theories without at least a little warning." Scully glares at me from the passenger seat before continuing. "I'm only saying that maybe, after everything we've seen, it shouldn't be discounted without at least some investigation." She looks away guiltily. I'm not sure why, perhaps she feels as if she's just betrayed the entire scientific community. "I'm all for keeping an open mind, Scully, you know that." I grin at her. "Get over in the right hand lane, Mulder, the next exit is ours." I get the message loud and clear; the subject of 'alien abduction' is closed for now. ********************************************************* Wells Mills County Park New Jersey 8:40 a.m. >From a distance, the ranger station is just visible, hidden amongst shadows created by the tall pine trees surrounding it. The building itself is a log cabin structure with a porch in front and a few steps leading up to a sliding glass door. A small parking lot surrounds the immediate building, government issue signs stand like rigid sentry guards indicating that this area is reserved for staff cars and emergency vehicles only. Around back and up a narrow asphalt road is a larger parking lot for the general public. I opt for the staff lot, the only vehicle visible is the ranger's four wheel drive parked under a modest garage attached to the office. I figure on only being here long enough to question the guy and find directions to the crime site. "Not much sign of activity." Scully comments as she pushes her door open. "It's still early. Most of the weekend park dwellers won't be out until later." I open my door and climb out. The moment I'm upright, the throb in my thigh increases. Along with that inconvenience, I realise that somewhere along the journey, my foot has fallen asleep. My toes are tingling, almost numb. I'm forced to hang on to the car door and wait out the initial pounding triggered by standing. I rub my hand over my face and close my eyes. "Are you okay, Mulder?" "Yeah, sure. Why?" I ask, snapping my head up and pushing away from the door. "You look like you're in pain." "No, I'm fine. My foot's gone to sleep. Pins and needles," I offer by way of explanation shaking my foot lightly in order to restore some circulation. I steal a quick look at my watch. Two hours since I had the last Tylenol. I weigh up whether I should try and wait out another hour or top up with a capsule now. The throbbing seems to be easing up and the feeling is returning to my foot. I decide to bite the bullet and hang on for a while longer. "Come on, Scully, let's go talk to the ranger." "Mulder." Scully pulls my arm so I'm facing her. "What is it?" "Remember, we are not here in any official capacity. If the ranger's not willing to talk..." Her voice trails off and I get the distinct impression that what she's not saying is what I'm really supposed to be hearing. "Scully! Are you suggesting that I would be anything other than my charming self?" "No, Mulder, I'm suggesting that you *should* be anything other than your charming self. You cannot pull rank on this guy, no matter how uncooperative you think he is being. We have no jurisdiction here." "Trust me Scully, I keep telling you that." "I know you do, Mulder, and that's what worries me." ************************** "Good morning, folks, how can I help you?" The guy seems friendly enough. I give his office the quick once over. A long counter runs the length of the cabin. Scattered over the surface is an array of maps and brochures, pointing out the parks best features and places to visit. Behind the counter is an oak desk, which seems to be a life support system for loose-leaf papers, manila folders and a stack of magazines that look like they might date back to the nineteenth century. Hmm, I could be at home in a place like this. Behind the desk, standing on a table in the corner is a two-way radio. I see a door leading off the main office, opening onto a small kitchenette. I guess there's probably a bathroom in there as well. I return my attention back to the ranger and study his name badge- Jeff Davies. Not the same guy the press was reporting as the one who found the latest body. But, he'll do for now. "Hi, my name's Fox Mulder, and this is my par.." A thought suddenly strikes me..."um...my wife, Dana." I feel Scully stiffen beside me at the same time as I notice a crestfallen look cross the ranger's face. What is he thinking? That he's going to hit on Scully while we are here? I don't think so, pal. I drape my arm around Scully's shoulders and pull her a little closer. He holds out his hand to me and nods at Scully, "Mr and Mrs Mulder, Jeff Davies, what can I do for you?" I bite back the smile I feel creeping across my face...Mrs Mulder...yeah, it has a nice ring to it. "We're up visiting from D.C. I've been reading some pretty interesting magazine reports over the past few days. Is it...is it true that the Jersey Devil's been seen around here recently?" I study the man's face, trying to gauge his reaction. He offers me a slight twitch of his eyebrow, before breaking into a wide grin. "You've come to the right place, Mr Mulder. The..." he raises his fingers in the air imitating quotation marks..." 'Jersey Devil' is seen around these parts pretty darn regularly. It's our biggest tourist attraction." He folds his hands on the counter and puffs out his chest with pride, as if he personally is responsible for the upturn in the tourist trade. "Really?" I ask. "Well, you know, that's very interesting. I...um...*we* were kinda hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature ourselves. Can I share something with you Mr Davies?" I ask dropping my voice slightly. "Go ahead." I feel Scully's eyes drilling holes into me. She hates it when I do this, she's never quite sure which way I'm going to jump. She'd never admit it, but Scully is not real big on surprises. It's nice to know that after seven years I can still keep her guessing. "I've been studying up on the Jersey Devil ever since I was a kid, kind of a hobby with me. That...that's why when I read the magazine and newspaper articles about those hikers being killed, I said to Dana ..." I give Scully an affectionate hug for emphasis, "...I said, 'you know honey, this might be the biggie. The one and only *real* opportunity to catch a look at this creature. Nothing like a couple of bodies to produce some hard evidence and prove the infamous legend really exists.' I'd sure like a chance to see the 'Devil' for myself." I lift an eyebrow to show the guy how hopeful I am. Another little nuzzle with Scully for added effect, coupled with an indulgent smile. I'm on a roll. In fact I may just quit my job at the FBI and take up acting, this is real Emmy material. The ranger shrugs. "You never know your luck. I have several maps here marking some of the more recent sightings. Are you experienced hikers?" "Yes." "No." Scully and I answer simultaneously. "We are." I confirm, squeezing Scully a little closer and hoping she'll get the message. "No matter, the trails are clearly marked, I only ask because we have advanced walking trails if you really want to get back to nature." He picks up a couple of brochures from the counter and opens them out. "See here, this trail will take you around the lake and up a slight incline, it can be a little hard going but the view is well worth it. Did you bring binoculars? The bird life is really something to see along this route." "Hmm, it sounds very interesting. I'm a little concerned though," I tell him. Scully does a quick dip from under my arm and leans forward over the counter to get a better look at the map. "According to the newspaper reports the hikers were killed in *this* park. Were they walking one of these trails?" I point to the map laid out before us. "While I'm keen to see the Jersey Devil, I'd prefer Dana and I weren't its next meal. Do you really think the 'Devil' was responsible for the deaths?" "No, sir, to be perfectly honest I don't. What you read in the papers is pure hype. We had two hikers fall to their deaths on separate occasions. The press got wind of it and contrived their own version. But that doesn't mean you won't get to see what you came looking for. We've had a couple of recent sightings of the 'Devil'. Who's to say it isn't the real thing? The tabloids like to jump on the publicity bandwagon, one person starts to make noises that the Jersey Devil is responsible for killing those two young men...the press picks it up and before you know it, everyone's talking as if it's fact. Like I told you though, there's no real harm done and it brings in the tourists." "Two deaths in the one park in as many weeks. That's quite a coincidence, don't you think? I wouldn't mind having those odds on my side down in Atlantic City." I lean a little closer claiming some of his personal space. "These things happen. We see it more often than I'd like; inexperienced hikers wandering off then getting themselves lost. That's why the trails are marked, to avoid this type of tragedy." "So, if we stick to this trail here..." I run my finger along the red line winding through a thick patch of green..." we should be safe?" "Yes, sir, those two fellows wandered off in a northerly direction, here." He points to a place an inch to the side of the marked path. "It gets a little hazardous in that area. Stay away from there." He looks at me, his expression deadly serious. Hmm. I consider this for a moment. "Both those hikers were killed in the same place? Makes you want to ask the question: what lured them into that particular area?" "It's a very scenic route, lots of wildlife. If you were a nature enthusiast or a keen birdwatcher, the temptation to explore further into the park often overrules common sense." He shrugs. "Maybe they thought they saw the Jersey Devil." "Maybe. Were the bodies autopsied?" I feel a slow pressure build in the toes of my left foot. I look down and see one of Scully's size fives pressing down on my boot. Her eyes are boring into me, a clear warning written in them. "Can't see why they would be? It was pretty obvious how they died. You've sure got a lot of questions." The eyebrow twitch has mutated into a full arch. Suspicion is swimming in his eyes. "Just naturally curious, I guess. When I'm not studying up on the Jersey Devil, I'm reading crime novels. Dana here says I should have joined the FBI or something." I offer a very reassuring smile to our friend Mr Davies and yank my foot out from under Scully's before I am forced to utter some very undignified words. "Well, Mr Mulder, stick to the path on the map and you should be fine. Is there anything else I can do for you?" "No, Jeff, you've been most helpful," I gather up the map and brochure then offer the ranger a firm handshake. "Well, you take care, now, and remember, stick to the marked paths. We don't want any more accidents happening." I wave my understanding then guide Scully through the door. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "What the hell was that all about, Mulder?" "What? Was I not the ambassador of good manners? Did I flash him my badge, mention I was with the bureau? I was so charming that for a minute there I nearly had to pinch myself to make sure it was really me." "I *mean*, the husband and wife act." She is keeping perfect pace with my long strides, a sure sign that life is not perfect in the Scully camp. For a second her comment actually wounds me. "Is the thought of being my wife really so repugnant to you, Scully?" She stops suddenly, then turns slowly towards me. At first I'm not sure how to read the look on her face. It's a mixture of shock and some kind of realization rolled into one. What she means by that expression is anyone's guess. Her mouth is moving but there's no sound coming out. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say my question had hit a raw nerve. "Mulder...I...it's not that. I...uh..." I decide to stop her before she does herself some real damage tripping over her words. "Hey, relax, Scully, I was only kidding. It's a good cover story though, don't you think? Mr and Mrs Mulder. It has a certain...Ow! What was that for?" I rub my shoulder and give her an offended look. "Just catching up on one that I probably owe you and forgot about." Oh, God, I think my knees are gonna buckle. She's just flashed me her million dollar smile. The one that lights her eyes and turns them a deep sapphire blue, the one that scrunches her nose so you can't help but notice the little sprinkling of freckles decorating it, this one even includes teeth and if I'm not mistaken I think I hear a little giggle. "Come on, Mulder, let's go catch us a Jersey Devil." She tugs on my sleeve then turns and heads back to the car. "Jersey Devil *child*." I correct her when I can eventually make my voice work again. ***************************************************