Disclaimed in part 1.

Sans Avertissement (Il Peut Y Avoir Seulement D'un)
by Rhondda Lake
(part 6/?)

The Summer House was NOT decorated with antiques. Rochelle 
knew Daddy Dion didn't trust the moisture laden air here with his 
collection of furnishings, paintings and sundries. 

She used her own key to unlock the front door. Both Mulder and 
Scully entered behind her, instantly shining bright beams of light 
through the tranquil darkness of the living room area.

"The generator is through here," Shelly gestured to the back of the 
small house and agent Scully followed, illuminating the way for her.

Shelly inhaled deeply as they passed the kitchen. It was incredibly 
hot and stuffy in the house, because Daddy always kept the windows 
closed and locked when the place wasn't in use. 

The sounds of the water gently lapping at the piling holding up the 
house was muted and peaceful, though. Rochelle hated to break that 
lulling silence, but as Scully's light danced over the blocky mechanical 
form of the generator, Shelly new she had no choice. 

Checking the gas and oil gauges and pressures and satisfied all was in 
order she set the generator to work. It wasn't loud, but the humming 
and chugging was distracting. 

"Lights should be working now," Scully called into the rooms they'd 
passed.

The rooms brightened instantly.

"You notice anything missing?" Mulder asked as Shelly and Scully 
re-emerged into the living areas.

Shelly looked around. "Everything seems in place, but then, most 
of the things at his house looked the same, too."

Scully closed in on a roll-top desk and sat in the chair placed before 
it. "I guess I'll start here."

"Photo albums are under the coffee table. I'll check out the attic." 
Shelly disappeared back into the generator room, and returned with 
a folded ladder.

"This place has an attic?" Mulder looked dubious as he sat on the 
couch and dug out the three photo albums.

Shelly grinned and placed the ladder in the middle of the room. 
Climbing to the seven foot ceiling she pushed on a section, revealing 
a square opening barely big enough for an average man. "Well, more 
like a crawlspace full of junk," she admitted. "Can I borrow a 
flashlight?"

Mulder dropped the albums and stood at the bottom of the ladder, 
handing up his own powerful flashlight. "Are you sure you don't want 
me to do that?"

"I'm a big gal, Agent Mulder. A couple'a spiders an mice ain't about 
to send me into shock. Have Louis go over those albums with ya', he'll 
most likely spot anything outta place." Shelly climbed into the attic.

The crawlspace was about three and a half feet high; dirt was evident, 
but not dust. It was too damp. Instead there was a musty smell of mud 
and mildew. The flashlight beam revealed cobwebs and boxes, mostly 
of cardboard. Each box was labeled. 

'Christmas' boxes next to 'Independence Day', followed by one labeled 
'Linda'.

Shelly frowned. She didn't remember anyone named Linda associated 
with Daddy Dion. Whoever she is, or was, she was important enough 
for him to keep a box full of things related to her. 

Pushing aside her twinge of guilt over prying into her friend's life, she 
pulled the box toward her. As she began to shove it past her she noticed 
another box. A wooden one. Ancient oak, intricately carved. It was five 
feet long, about two feet high and another two feet deep. There was a 
brass lock on the front.

"I might have found something..." Shelly pushed the first box to the 
opening. Louis' head popped up through it.

"What?" He reached to help with the cardboard box.

"This one and something else, back there." Shelly crawled on hands and 
knees back to the wooden box and, finding it had brass handles on the 
ends, gave it an experimental pull. "Jeez... I'm gonna need some help 
here. This thing is heavy."

"Louis, you better help her. Mulder'll just end up dropping whatever 
it is, most likely on his own foot." Scully's voice wafted up from below.

"Scully, are you implying I'm accident prone?" Mulder's tone was 
more amused then offended.

"No, I'm telling her outright that you're a klutz."

Louis' head popped through the hole once more. He frowned at the 
box Shelly was trying to move.

"What the hell is that, cher?"

"Now if I knew do ya think I'd be tryin' to drag it outta here? I'd just 
tell ya'll and save myself some work." She waited for him to crawl to 
the other side of the wooden chest.

"How're we supposed to get this down the ladder?"

Shelly considered. "If it got up it can get down, right?" She snapped 
her fingers, "rope! Hey, Scully," she shouted down once more, "the 
cabinet behind the generator is full of fishin' and trappin' gear. There 
should be a good length of rope in there for the crawdad traps. Could 
ya pass it up?"

"I'll get it." Mulder's voice was the one that answered. 

"Just don't trip on your way up the ladder." Shelly grinned and winked 
at Louis by the glow of the flashlight.

"Cobwebs and smeared crud... good look on you LaCroix." Louis 
dodged the smack she sent in his direction. 

"Better'n lookin' like I got a mop stuck on my head." 

Shelly was spared his response by Mulder's impeccable timing. The 
agent's head and shoulders blocked off the light from below.

"Rope." He held up the coil.

"Toss it over here. No need for ALL of us to get filthy." Shelly 
examined the handles as Louis caught the rope. 

"If we drag it to the opening and I loop the rope through this handle, 
I can counter balance it while you ease it down." 

Louis shook his head. "So *I* get squashed like a bug if you loose 
your grip and it comes down on top of me? I don't think so."

"If I string the rope around my waist and use myself as a brace, I won't 
loose my grip. Besides, a big, strong man like you should be able to 
take the weight."

"Appealin' to my male pride would work, if I thought you actually meant 
it. But somehow I doubt the sincerity of your ego stroking." Louis grunted 
out as they both manhandled the wooden chest to the opening.

"Your ego is the only thing'a yours I'm ever gonna stroke so ya might as 
well give up on the dream right now." Shelly looped the rope with care. 
"Now get your skinny ass down that ladder and help me."

With much grunting and groaning, and a minor rope burn across Shelly's 
palm, they managed to get the box down to the living room floor.

As Shelly climbed down the ladder Louis wiped his brow and shook 
his head, "I 'm *NOT* putting that back up there."

"I'm just hoping there isn't a body in there. If I have to do ONE more 
autopsy..." Scully checked the lock on the box, "I don't suppose anyone 
has a key?"

"You were checking out the desk." Shelly shrugged and swiped 
ineffectively at the black smears across her t-shirt.

"Yes, I was. Your friend had eight different accounts under different 
names in several banks. Two of them in South America, not to mention 
a bank book for a Swiss account. The restaurant business must be 
good around here." Scully gestured to the lock but looked at Mulder, 
"but there were no keys."

"A couple of centuries can build up quite a bit of interest. I left my 
autopik in my other jeans," he knelt next to her, "but I'll give it a shot. 
Anyone got a nail file?" 

Shelly rolled her eyes. "Amateurs. I got a pick set in the boat. Can you 
use regular picks, or do you need the lazy man's gun?"

Louis sighed and collapsed on the couch. "You gotta worry 'bout the state 
of the world when the law all know how to pick locks."

Shelly snorted. "Yeah, like who taught ME?"

"Did you hear me exclude myself? I didn't hear me exclude myself..."

"I can use regular picks." Mulder interceded.

"Fine. Be right back." Shelly walked out to the deck slash porch and 
took a deep breath of cleansing air. 

Evidence was stacking up to support Mulder's insane theory more and 
more. She shivered, despite the night's heat. She didn't know what to 
think anymore. If this was real, than did that change the relationship she'd 
had with Daddy? Yeah, it meant all her life he'd lied to her. Maybe it was 
a lie of omission, but they were friends, damnit, and this was one hell of a 
big omission.

She grabbed her pick set from her box of emergency police supplies and 
returned to the house to find Mulder, Scully and Louis staring into the 
open cardboard box she'd dug out.

"What is it now?" She peered over Scully's shoulder and stifled a gasp.

Someone had opened a small firebox that had been inside the cardboard 
one. Inside lay pictures. Lots of them. Old, faded tin plates. People dressed 
in civil war era clothing. On top was a picture of Daddy Dion in a 
Confederate uniform standing next to a pretty blond woman glowing with 
happiness rarely shown in photographs that old.

"It's got to be an ancestor. His great grand daddy or somethin'." Louis 
offered.

"That's better than a family resemblance, we're talking exact double, 
here." Mulder picked up the plate carefully, by the edges.

Beneath it was an ancient drawing on fragile paper. It was pen and ink, 
and quite well done. It consisted of a group of people in the dress of 
the late seventeen hundreds. The date at the bottom of the drawing was 
1763, the name, Dion. Recognition struck Shelly instantly. She had seen 
this drawing before, in a Acadian Pride magazine.

"Mon Dieu, that's a group from Le Grand Derangement. Some of the 
first Acadians to settle this area." There was a tremor of awe and quiet 
respect in her voice. 

"Circumstantial at best. We know Mr. Dion collected Antiques. Antique 
photographs and drawings may just be an extension of that. And this 
could well be one of his ancestors," Scully pointed out.

"And this one?" Mulder held up a clearer tin plate, the dress style was 
of the early nineteenth century. 

It was Daddy Dion again, though this time the woman next to him was 
old, perhaps in her mid seventies, early eighties. She was stooped, and 
didn't look in the least bit happy. She was turning her face away from 
the photographer. Shelly picked up the first tin plate and held it next to 
this one. 

"It's the same woman. She's aged at least fifty years but look at the eyes, 
the chin. He hasn't changed at all." Shelly felt the chill again. It moved up 
her spine and set her heart to hammering in her ears.

"Could be her son. Another relative..." Louis offered.

"Three men of the line looking this much alike? Only in books and movies. 
This is... I don't know what this is." Shelly shook her head, trying to clear it 
and deny the images all at once.

The rest of the box was full of remembrances. A ring box holding a man's 
wedding ring, faded hair ribbons, a bible; in French, a pair of women's 
gloves, a lock of blonde hair in a dried up ribbon. 

"She was his wife." Shelly whispered it softly as she lifted the lock of hair 
with deliberate care. "If you're right, Mulder, just think about it. He had to 
watch her grow old, while he stayed the same. How horrible, for both of 
them."

She looked up to notice both FBI agents looking at one another, their 
expressions unreadable. However she had the distinct impression that 
for the moment she and Louis didn't exist to them.

She glanced at Louis who was looking at her strangely. "What?" She 
frowned at him.

"Nothin', cher. I just didn't think you were that... I dunno, sensitive."

"Yeah, that's me. Mr. Spock. No emotions." She huffed.

"I didn't mean it THAT way, Shell..." Louis back peddled.

"Just stow it, Marcell. We got a crate to open." That seemed to snap 
Mulder and Scully out of their own little time warp.

Shelly offered Mulder her pick kit and he sat on the floor before the box, 
once again. His face was drawn into lines of intense concentration as he 
maneuvered the two picks he selected to release the tumblers inside 
the mechanism. Everyone remained silent as he worked.

In three long minutes the top loosened marginally, indicating the lock 
was undone. Mulder grinned and handed over the picks.

"I'm impressed. You gotta record, Mr.FBI?" Shelly grinned back.

"Maybe." He opened the lid to reveal a layer of rich, red velvet. 

"It was way too heavy for drapes." Shelly muttered, one finger tracing 
the rope burn on her left hand.

Mulder drew pack the velvet to reveal the first of the box' treasures. 
Another antique sword. In excellent condition. If the lumps and flashes 
of metal at the end of the velvet were any indication, the whole chest 
was full of swords.

end part 6.