"Whither Thou Goest" (1/2) 03-18-97 Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to Chris Carter, the Fox Network, and Ten Thirteen Productions. I'm just borrowing them. No copyright infringement is intended. OK to archive. Feedback is appreciated. Please send comments to JKGayle@aol.com Rating: PG Classification: X R Keywords: UST Summary: While investigating a case, Mulder and Scully come to realize how much they mean to each other. ******************** ******************** Whither Thou Goest by Judy Gayle (JKGayle@aol.com) 03-18-97 Wichita, Kansas August 22, 1996 Fox Mulder knocked on the door connecting their motel rooms. He'd heard her shower going earlier and knew she'd had time to be in bed, but probably hadn't turned the light out yet. "Come in." She was sitting up in bed, leaning on a pillow propped up against the headboard. The covers were pulled up to her waist, and a book lay open on her lap. "Whatcha readin', Scully?" She momentarily closed the book and held it up so he could see the cover, marking her place with her thumb. "The Bible!" he exclaimed, genuinely surprised. "I didn't know you ever read that stuff. I mean... I know you were... are... a Catholic, but I thought..." "I don't read it much anymore, Mulder. But it's kind of unusual to find these in motel rooms nowadays. So when I found this one in the drawer, I just thought I'd read for a few minutes." "Read what?" "The story of Ruth. It was one of my favorites when I was a kid." She closed the book and set it aside. "But you didn't come in here to talk about Bible stories. What do you want?" He flopped down across the foot of the bed. "Just wanted to get a peek at you in your jammies," he smirked. "Right! Like you've never seen me in my pajamas before." She couldn't help but smile. "Actually, I was looking for the photocopy of that first letter that was sent to the bank." "Forgotten what is says, Mr. Photographic Memory?" she mocked. "No," he smiled sheepishly. "Just wanted to take another look at it. See if I can get a feel for what the writer was thinking. Try to get into his head." "It's on the dresser, with the other letters." He got up and retrieved the file, then headed for the connecting door. "G'night, Mulder." " 'Night, Scully." He peeked back around the door before shutting it. She had picked up the book again. "Watch out for those bedbugs." He closed the door. ******************** ******************** "I read your story last night," he said as they drove to the bank. "What story?" "Ruth. The one you said was one of your favorites." She arched an eyebrow at him. "Oh? And how did you like it?" "Mmmmmm... interesting. Kinda porno, though, don't you think?" "Porno! Where did you get that!" "Well, there was the lying around on the threshing room floor, and then all the 'begats' at the end." "Mulder!" She knew he was just trying to needle her, but she couldn't help herself. "This is a story about devotion, and commitment, and honor. There's nothing pornographic about it!... And absolutely NOTHING happened on the threshing room floor!" He grinned at her. He knew he'd gotten to her. "There were an awful lot of 'begats', though." ********** They had been given the case because of a number of unusual incidents which had occurred at the bank over the past few weeks. At first, it had been minor things that had been chalked up to simple adolescent vandalism --- four-letter words spray-painted on the outside walls, bricks thrown at windows during the night. But banks weren't a normal target for juveniles, and the tenor of the incidents had escalated --- dead rats left at the front door, cryptic letters sent to tellers and bank officers. The initial investigation by local law enforcement hadn't turned up any likely suspects. They'd, of course, checked all loan applicants who'd been denied financing during the past few years. And every present or former customer who had filed a complaint against the bank. But they had come up with nothing concrete. And since the bank was a part of the FDIC system, offenses against it were considered federal crimes. So, finally, the FBI had been called in. ********** "Nine one one. What is your emergency?' "Listen carefully. There's a bomb in the bank building. You have thirty minutes." Click. "Sir? Which bank? Sir?" ********** They had already interviewed the bank president, who seemed at a loss to explain the incidents. He'd been with the bank for nine years --- its president for the past three years. As far as he could remember, there had been nothing out-of- the-ordinary. No customers or loan applicants so upset that they would resort to such behavior. The threatening letters didn't shed much light on the writer's motive. And they had been sent to four different bank employees. After talking to the bank president, Mulder and Scully decided to split up. Scully would talk to the woman loan officer, and Mulder went down to the ground floor to speak to the Customer Service VP. Mulder had just introduced himself to the man and was walking toward his desk to shake hands, when he was knocked to his knees by a violent shaking of the building. Flakes of plaster fell from the ceiling, and a fine dust filled the air. Mulder got to his feet, shaken but unhurt. The other man had a death-grip on the edge of his desk, but he, too, was unhurt. His eyes, though, were wide with fear. Mulder realized. "Scully!" He was yelling her name even as he sprinted from the room. As he took the stairs two at a time, he could hear the screams coming from the upper floors. He had to fight against a current of people coming down the stairs --- some bleeding... others crying... all terrified. "Scully!... Scully!..." He could see debris, now --- in the hallway... through the open doors. Pieces of ceiling panels and concrete. All obscured by the thick dust hanging in the air. "I'm okay, Mulder." Relief flooded through him at the sound of her voice. "I seem to be stuck, though." He stood in the doorway, surveying the scene. At last he saw her --- or at least part of her. She was on her back, half buried under what appeared to be a concrete beam. Only a crushed credenza and desk had prevented it from crushing her as well. The beam lay across her hips at an angle, while a huge slab of ceiling material covered her legs. But both hands were free. And the dust had coated her face and torso, giving her a ghostly appearance. "Well, don't just stand there, Mulder! Help me get out of here!" He rushed to her side and knelt on one knee beside her, unconsciously taking her hand in his. "Scully! Are you sure you're all right?"... he fought to keep his voice calm. "I'm fine, Mulder... not hurt. At least I don't think so. I just can't get out from under this stuff." She gently extricated her hand from his and tried to push herself up. It was no use. She was stuck fast under the beam. Fragments of plaster and insulating material continued to fall, and she looked around apprehensively. "What happened, Mulder? A bomb?" "Looks like it... Lemme see if I can pull you out." He moved around behind her head and reached under her shoulders... putting both hands under her armpits. "Take it easy," she cautioned. He tugged gently. "No! Stop!" she yelped. "...There's something holding my legs." "Can you tell if they're hurt?" He came back to kneel at her side. "No, I don't think so... at least it doesn't feel like anything's broken." "Look, Scully, if you're sure you're okay, I'm gonna go get some help. It's gonna take some equipment to get you outa here." She nodded, and Mulder started to get up. Then he knelt back down, and, taking his handkerchief out of his pocket, carefully wiped some of the dust and dirt off of her face. "Go on, Mulder. I'll be okay." She gave him a weak smile. "Be right back." He made his way back through the office and down the hall, taking notice, this time, of the extent of the damage. he thought. Most of the damage had been confined to three or four offices. The one Scully was in had been one of the hardest hit. He didn't see the loan officer anywhere; she must have escaped right after the explosion. He wondered if the bomb had been targeted at her. By the time he made his way down to the lobby, he could hear the sirens; and soon the first emergency personnel were arriving. He didn't see anyone with major injuries --- at least nothing worse than a broken arm here and there, and some cuts and abrasions. It was amazing that it hadn't been any worse. But Scully was trapped! He grabbed the first fireman he saw. "My partner's trapped on the third floor," he yelled over the din. "We're gonna need some equipment to get her out!" ********** It was quieter on the third floor now, as the men tried to figure out how to move the beam. They were afraid that any wrong move would cause the beam to settle further. It had to be propped up some way. And there were still chunks of plaster and concrete hanging precariously from what was left of the ceiling, adding to their sense of urgency. ********** "Nine one one. What is your emergency?" "There's another bomb." "Sir? Did you say a bomb?" "That's right. Set to go off in ten minutes. " Click. ********** "Leave?! You can't leave!" he shouted. "She's still trapped!" But the fire captain was adamant. "I can't let my men stay here when there's another bomb set to go off in this building," he said, as he ushered his men out the door. " We've probably only got a couple of minutes to clear the area, and it won't do HER any good to put OTHER lives in danger. We don't have time to get her out , and I don't have time to argue with you. We'll come back just as soon as we can." With that, he grabbed Mulder's arm and tried to pull him toward the door. "You better come, too. You can help her more if you're alive to do it." Mulder wrenched his arm free of the other man's grasp, and in the same motion, drew his weapon. "By God, you're gonna stay here and get her out, or you're gonna die here!" he snarled. "Mulder! No!" Scully cried from behind him. "He's right, Mulder. You've got to leave... ALL of you... Please!... Captain, take him with you!" "All right! Get out! Get out, you sorry bastards!" Mulder shouted, his voice cracking with frustration and despair. He dropped his gun arm to his side and turned away from the fireman. "Sorry, ma'am. We'll be back as soon as we can." The fire captain turned and left. "Mulder... please go. I don't want you to get hurt." He didn't answer her, but quickly ran his eyes over the room, as if frantically searching for something. He replaced his gun in its holster, then ran out the door. She could hear him rummaging through the wreckage, throwing things. "Shit!" "Mulder! What is it?" He came back into the room. "Looking for something... anything... to put over you, in case some more stuff comes down from the ceiling. But all the desks and chairs are either smashed or buried in rubble." He came over and knelt beside her, squeezing up as close to the beam as he could. "There's not much time. Guess I'll just have to improvise." Awkwardly, he stretched his body over hers, forearms on either side of her head, her face against his chest. "Mulder, what're you doing?" "Just trying to keep anything from falling on you." "No." She tried to push him off. "Just leave, Mulder. Please! Get out!" He could see the tears streaming across her temples, leaving streaks through the layer of dust on her face. "Shhhhh. I'm not leaving you," he said softly. "Mulder!" she yelled. "It won't do any good. You'll just get yourself killed, too!" "We're in this together, Scully. If you die, I die. I won't leave you." He heard her sob into his chest. Then her hands snaked under his suit jacket. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him to her tightly. He bent his head down against the top of hers. And they waited. ********** They didn't have to wait long. The building shuddered as the second bomb detonated. Debris rained down from the ceiling, and suddenly the floor seemed to sag, as dust filled the air again. That slight sag in the floor was all it took to free Scully's legs. Mulder quickly got up, shaking scraps of concrete from his back, and dragged her out from under the beam. Scooping her up into his arms, he hurried out the door, dodging piles of wreckage. "Mulder, I think I can walk," she protested. He didn't even slow down. "No time to find out. I wanta get outa here before this floor goes completely." Halfway down the stairs, he met the firemen coming back up. But he wouldn't relinquish her to them. He carried her all the way to a waiting ambulance. ******************** ******************** She was doing it again. This was the fourth time today that he'd caught his partner staring at him. He could just feel her eyes on him. But every time, when he'd turned toward her, she had looked down or away, not meeting his eyes. Well, he was determined to catch her this time. Quickly, he looked up, capturing her gaze before she could escape. She knew he'd caught her. "What is it, Scully?" Her face and neck immediately became flushed. "Nothing, Mulder. Really." She shook her head and looked away. Mulder got up from his chair and came over to squat beside her, putting them more on the same eye level. "You can tell me," he said gently, putting his hand on her arm. "Does it have something to do with what happened yesterday?" They'd both been taken to the local hospital and been treated and released, Scully with some serious bruises and minor cuts on her legs, and Mulder with just bruises and minor nicks and scrapes. But it had been a traumatic day for both of them, and it had to have taken a toll on her. She just nodded, still not looking at him. "Scully... Tell me." He squeezed her arm gently. She turned to face him. "I was just wondering," she said hesitantly, " how much of what you said yesterday was influenced by the fact that you read that story." "What story?" "The story of Ruth, Mulder. How much influence did it have on what you said?" "None." He shook his head slowly from side to side, his eyes never leaving hers. When he saw her skeptical look, he continued. "Come on , Scully... if it had, I think I could have phrased it a little better. I mean, 'Intreat me not to leave thee' sounds a little more eloquent than 'Shut up, Scully. I ain't leavin' '. Dontcha think?" She couldn't stop the small smile that crept over her face. He always managed to crack some joke that could break the tension. But she was dead serious, and she wanted an answer. "I meant it, Scully. Ruth or no Ruth, there's no way I would have left you alone in that building." "You've run off and left me alone before." "But that was to try to keep you OUT of danger, not when you were already IN danger." "But you could have been killed." "I know... but... I didn't care." He took her hand in his. "I know it sounds... kinda hokey,... but... the thought of leavin' you there in order to save my own sorry ass was more horrifying than the thought of dying with you. ...Know what I mean?" She nodded slightly, and looked down at her lap, trying to hide the tears welling up in her eyes. "Thanks, Mulder." "Any time, Scully." They were interrupted by a knock on the door. The local police department had made this small office available to them during their investigation, and now one of the deputies stuck his head around the door. "They've pin-pointed where the bombs were." ********** ATF agents had been on the scene within an hour after the second blast; and since the damage to the building hadn't been too bad, they'd been able to go into the building right away. The first bomb had been placed in an air vent in a restroom at the end of the hallway, one room away from the Loan Officer's office. Fortunately, the closest office had been vacant at the time, as it suffered extensive damage. The second bomb had been in a supply closet one floor below. It hadn't done much damage, but had been strong enough to further damage the already-weakened structure between the second and third floors... causing the sag in the floor which had enabled Scully to get free of the beam. "It's the same type of bomb that was used at Oklahoma City," the ATF agent was saying, "but much, much smaller. It was set off with a simple timer... not a remote signal." ********** Mulder was pacing back and forth in his motel room. "He didn't want to hurt anyone, Scully." Scully was sprawled across the bed, papers spread out over the foot of the bed. "What do you mean?" "I don't think he really wanted to hurt anyone." "Mulder!... He set off TWO BOMBS, for God's sake!" "I know. I know... But it just doesn't make sense. The bombs were well made. He knew what he was doing... But both bombs were small. He must have known they wouldn't do much damage." "Damage! Lots of people were injured, Mulder... including you and me! And just because he didn't totally level the building, doesn't mean there wasn't plenty of structural damage done!" "But that's just the point, Scully. We know he had the skill to make ONE bomb big enough to level the whole building. But he didn't. It's almost as if he was more interested in scaring people off." "Why would he do that?" "I haven't figured that out yet." He collapsed onto the bed beside her. "They must have missed something in the initial investigation. Where's that list of all the foreclosures and rejected loan applications?" She handed it to him. "And here are the reports on all the interviews they did in relation to those incidents," she added, handing him a thick file. He opened the file and handed her half of the stack. "Here. You go through these, and I'll look at the rest. These go back about twelve years. If it's not in here, we'll just have to go back further." "Do you really think someone would hold a grudge for that length of time, and then all of a sudden try to exact revenge?" "I don't know, but we've already interviewed everyone who works at the bank. No one has any vengeful ex-husbands or ex-boyfriends that can't be accounted for. And, obviously, he's targeting this particular bank. I'm not even sure what we're looking for, but it has to be in these records somewhere." ********** "Mulder... look at this," Scully said three hours later. "What is it?" "One of the foreclosures. This family..." she looked up to the top of the file to find their names. "John and Barbara Heller. They had a 250-acre farm... it had been in his family for four generations. Typical story --- they had gotten deeply into debt buying new equipment --- back when the banks were pushing that sort of thing. Then they couldn't make the payments. The bank foreclosed on their farm." "So?" "They refused to vacate the property. The sheriff had to be called out to evict them, so the bank could take over the property. They refused to leave and had to be removed forcibly. They were even jailed for a couple of days." "So?" "The date the eviction papers were served... the date the sheriff came and removed them from the property... was August 23rd, 1986." "Ten years to the day before the bombs went off!" Mulder exclaimed, springing from his chair and coming over to look at the file. "But, Mulder, according to this note," she pointed to an entry in the file, "both parties died five years ago." He scanned the file. "A murder-suicide!" he exclaimed. "On August 23rd, 1991! Ooooo, Scully, I think we've got something here!" "Mulder! They're both dead!" "Did they have any children?" He was searching the file for that information, when she answered. "One son. He was killed in an automobile accident two years ago." She pointed to another note in the file. Mulder looked crestfallen. "No other relatives?" he asked. "None." He sat down heavily on the bed. "It's too much, Scully. Too many coincidences. I want to find out what happened to that property after the bank took it over." "Okay, Mulder. But let's do it tomorrow. It's 2:00 in the morning." ******************** ******************** End Part 1 of 2 From jkgayle@aol.com Wed Mar 19 14:08:35 1997 Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: **NEW** "Whither Thou Goest" (2/2) From: jkgayle@aol.com (JKGayle) -------- Whither Thou Goest (2/2) by Judy Gayle (JKGayle@aol.com) 03-18-97 Disclaimers in Part 1. ******************** ******************** Bank records revealed that the farm had remained in the bank's hands for two years after the foreclosure. Several attempts to lease the property had failed --- on two occasions, the tenants had broken the lease after a short time and abandoned the property without explanation. "It was sold to a developer in 1989," Scully was saying. "He then divided it up into smaller parcels --- and, over the years, sold all of them to various individuals." "What about the original farmhouse?" Scully shuffled through some papers. "Here it is. The farmhouse and ten acres was the last parcel sold. It was bought last year by a ... Mark Fowler. Were you able to find out any more about the Hellers?" "Not much. They were both cremated, but there's no record of the final disposition of the ashes. Apparently they were turned over to the surviving son, but there's no record of any burial plots in their name, and the ashes weren't listed as among his possessions when he died." "Probably stashed away in a box in an attic somewhere." "Yeah. What about this guy Fowler? Is there any connection to the Hellers?" "None that I can find. He apparently didn't move to this area till after the Heller son's death, so didn't know any of them. He works for Harvest Chemical as a chemical engineer. I called to see if we could come over and interview him, but they said he'd been off sick for the past several days." "Wanta go for a drive, Scully? I'd really like to talk to Mr. Fowler." ********** The aging farmhouse was badly in need of repair. It was a two-story frame structure, with a partially screened-in porch --- most of the screen panels being either missing entirely, or torn. Encircling the bare-dirt grounds was a low, once-white picket fence. Most of the paint had long-since peeled off, and a number of the slats were missing or broken. The gate hung crookedly on sprung hinges. The house itself had obviously not been painted in many years. The window sills were rotten and broken, and several of the window panes were cracked. "Damn, Scully! This place didn't get in this condition in just a year. The bank and the developer must not have wanted to dip too deeply into their maintenance budgets. I'm surprised this place hasn't been condemned." "I'll bet it was a beautiful house at one time, though," Scully mused. "Wonder why a guy with a college degree and a good job would want to live in a place like this." "Guess we can ask him." Scully nodded toward one of the second story windows, where they could see someone watching as they approached the house. As they stood on the porch, waiting for a reply to their knock, Scully turned and look back out at the grounds. "It's strange, Mulder. So quiet. Seems like there ought to be a cat, or dog, or chicken --- or SOMETHING around an old country farm house." "Yeah. Kinda spooky," he grinned at her. Mulder pounded on the door again. "Mr. Fowler. We're with the FBI. May we speak with you for a minute?... We know you're there. Please open the door." He pounded again. Finally, they heard some movement inside the house, and the door slowly creaked open. In the dim interior light stood a haggard-looking middle-aged man, wearing a sweat-stained tee shirt and jeans. And holding a pair of needle-nose pliers in one hand. "Sorry to bother you, sir. We understand you've been ill," Mulder said, noting the dark circles under the man's eyes. "I'm Agent Fox Mulder, and this is Agent Dana Scully. We're with the FBI, and we'd like to ask you a few questions." They had both pulled out their IDs, but the man did not appear to be looking at them. His eyes seemed to be strangely unfocused. "Doing some repairs?" Mulder asked, nodding toward the pliers, as he put his ID back in his jacket pocket. "Wha...? Oh,... yeah," the man finally replied, looking down at the tool in his hand. Without inviting them in, he stepped back away from the door and turned aside, out of their field of vision. As Mulder started to follow him through the doorway, the door suddenly slammed violently in his face. He had just enough time to turn his face slightly to the side, avoiding the full force of the door, but not enough to prevent an immediate nosebleed. "Mulder!" Scully shouted, grabbing his arm to steady him. "Shit!" He grabbed his handkerchief and tried vainly to staunch the flow of blood. Through watering eyes, he saw that the door was open, having apparently hit the frame so hard that it bounced back instead of latching. "Well, Scully, looks like we've got an open door and an assault on a federal officer. Don't need a warrant now!" They both drew their guns and cautiously entered the house. "You okay, Mulder?" Scully whispered, as they crossed the first room. "I'll live." They heard running footsteps on the second floor, accompanied by filaments of dust seeping through the boards in the ceiling. Mulder started up the stairs, with Scully right on his heels. They cautiously approached an open doorway, and Mulder peeked around the door frame in time to see Fowler screwing down the contact on an electrical switch. "Freeze!" he shouted, as he darted through the doorway --- only to find himself falling, as his foot crashed through a rotten floorboard. A dozen or so cardboard boxes that had been stacked near the door crashed to the floor with him, scattering their contents. Except for Mulder groaning softly on the floor, the room was suddenly deathly quiet. Scully held her gun leveled on Fowler, and he stared back --- leaning forward over the switch, with his hand poised just millimeters above it. Scully instantly took in the wires, the battery, and the 55-gallon drum to which the wires were attached. "Get away from the switch!" Scully ordered. But he just shook his head, hand trembling above the switch. "It's too late! You shouldn't have come here. Now you have to die." "Hold on! Just wait a minute!" Mulder called out, consciously trying to lower his decibel level with each word, in a effort to calm the man. "We know you don't want to hurt anyone. That's why you made the bombs small." "You're right. I didn't want to. But now they're punishing me. They made me make this big one to finish the job." Tears were streaming down Fowler's face. "Who's punishing you?" Scully asked, glancing quickly over toward Mulder as he struggled vainly to extricate his leg from the jagged boards. "I don't know! I don't know!" Fowler screamed. "But now I've gotta kill you." Mulder waved his hand in a downward motion at Scully, indicating for her to lower her gun. "Take it easy, Fowler. You know you don't want to do that. ....At least, let her go. You don't need to kill both of us." "Forget it, Mulder! I'm not leaving without you! Look," she said, turning back to Fowler, "I'm gonna put my gun away, and we can talk about who's making you do all these things. Okay?" As he hesitantly nodded his head and eased his hand away from the switch, Scully moved slowly over to help Mulder, pushing some of the scattered boxes aside in the process. The floor seemed to shiver, as a slight tremor shook the house. At first, Scully thought it was her imagination, until she met Mulder's eyes, and saw that he had felt it, too. "Scully! Look!" Mulder pointed toward one of the boxes. Lying half out of an old cardboard box was a highly-polished mahogany box, its lid open. The interior was lined with lush red velvet, and nestled in the velvet were two bronze urns. "It's them, Scully! It's gotta be them!" As Scully picked up one of the urns, another tremor shook the house. Mulder yelped as the sharp ends of the broken boards jabbed into his leg. Fowler looked around wildly at the shuddering boxes, leaning heavily on his workbench to try to steady it. As the tremor passed, Scully carefully removed the lid from the urn and poured some of its contents into her hand. "Ashes. Human ashes." She gingerly poured them back into the urn, making sure she got all of the ash off her hand, and replaced the lid. Tenderly, she placed the urn back into its velvet-lined coffin and closed the lid. Then she turned back to Mulder. Before either Mulder or Scully realized what was happening, Fowler rushed across the room, grabbed the box, and retreated to his workbench. "Are they the ones? The voices? Dead people?! Is this what's been making my life a living hell?" He raised the box above his head and smashed it to the floor, breaking the lid off and spilling the urns and their contents across the floorboards. The house seemed to become a living thing. The old timbers creaked and groaned, as tremors rippled through the floor, and the walls buckled and swayed. Years' accumulation of dust was thrown into the air from every surface in the room. Mulder screamed and clutched his trapped leg, as the grinding boards tore into him like sharks' teeth. Scully dropped to his side and started tearing at the boards, trying to free him -- but without success. "Scully! Run! This old house isn't gonna last long." "No! I won't!" She suddenly looked up at Fowler. "Mark! Mark, help me!" she pleaded. But he seemed to be rooted to the floor. "Mark! Please! Help me!" He suddenly snapped out of his trance and grabbed a crowbar from a rack of tools behind him. Dropping to the floor by Mulder's side, he started prying at the boards. They could hear the sounds of shattering glass now and cracking timbers as the old house writhed and twisted in its dance of death. At last Mulder's leg was free, and they both helped him to his feet. Fowler pulled Mulder's arm around his neck and grabbed him around the waist to help him out of the room. But halfway down the gyrating stairs, he stopped. "Here! You'll have to help him! I've got to go back and disable the bomb!" As Mulder and Scully struggled on down the staircase, Fowler disappeared back into the upper room. Mulder was limping badly, and leaning heavily on Scully's shoulder, as they crossed the dirt yard and pushed through the gate toward their car. "Hurry, Scully!" Mulder yelled as he climbed into the passenger seat. "Let's get outa here!" Scully slammed the car into gear and tore away from the house, leaving a trail of rubber in the hard dirt. Fifty yards down the road, they stopped and looked back -- just in time to see the house shake itself apart and settle in a heap. The old stone chimney wavered for a moment before collapsing on top of the rubble. Seconds later, a tremendous explosion ripped the house apart, throwing debris high into the sky. Mulder and Scully ducked down into the seats, as pieces of board and rock showered down on the car. ******************** ******************** "We suspect that the ashes were secreted in the house by the Hellers' surviving son," Scully typed on her laptop. "Since the house was vacant for long periods of time, this would not have been difficult. "And since Mr. Fowler died in the explosion, we may never know how the ashes of the former owners could have influenced him to make the bombs. We subsequently found out that Mr. Fowler had recently gone through a traumatic divorce, and Agent Mulder believes that he was emotionally vulnerable to the paranormal influence of the vengeful spirits. Of course, there is no scientific evidence to support this. "Although Mark Fowler was undoubtedly responsible for setting off the bombs in the bank, it should be noted that without his help, Agent Mulder and I would probably not have been able to escape the collapsing house. "And although local authorities are attributing the destruction of the house to the bomb blast, both Agent Mulder and I can attest to the fact that the house had indeed collapsed before the explosion. What forces caused that collapse have yet to be determined, as there has been no known seismic activity in the area." " 'Bout through with your report?" Mulder hobbled into her room, then held the crutches aside as he settled carefully into a chair. "Almost," she smiled at him. "How's your leg feeling?" "Sore as hell," he grimaced. "But, considering the alternative..." "Yeah..." "Did they find any trace of the urns?" "No. But, then again, they didn't find much of anything that was recognizable." "It's a shame, Scully. I really think Fowler was a good guy, who just got caught up in something he had no control over." "I know. I'm sure glad he decided to help us when he did." Mulder fixed her with a stare. "You should have run, Scully. If he hadn't had that crowbar..." "Don't give me that! Like you said -- we're in this together, Mulder, and we're gonna play by the same set of rules." "But you could've been..." "This subject is closed, Mulder," she glared at him. He knew when he was licked. "Yes, ma'am," he grinned. ******************** ******************** "Y'know, Mulder, I'm still curious about one thing." "What's that?" "That first night.... in the motel... why did you read that story?" He was silent for a moment. "I guess I just wanted to see what kind of story little Dana Scully used to like to read." He turned to her and smiled. "And what did you REALLY think of it?" He paused again. "It's... beautiful. The story AND the language. 'Intreat me not to leave thee,' he quoted, 'or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.' "It kinda reminded me of the way I feel about you, Scully." "Me, too, Mulder. Me, too." "There WERE an awful lot of 'begats', though." **** END ****