Disclaimer: All characters and ideas pertaining to The X-Files are the sole property of Chris Carter, 1013 and FOX. Wednesday's Child by Rhondda Lake and Sherry Davis (part 1/?) 10 MILES WEST CLAYTON, NM JUNE 9, 1989 Sarah Brighton just finished repairing the last section of the ranch's stockade fence. Two nights ago something had caused the cattle to panic, damaging the wooden stockade but not completely breaching it. She had finished hammering the thing in place just as the sun dipped down below the horizon. If she didn't get back soon her father would begin to worry and send Lyle out after her as if she were four not twenty four. She stowed her tools in her saddle bag and climbed up onto Blackie's back. She could have brought the truck out here, but she liked the peace that riding brought to her. Just as she turned the horse for home, a slash of fire ripped through the sky, leaving a jagged tear across the golden twilight. She watched the impact of something big about a mile away. A full second after the impact the earth shook and a loud booming noise ripped across the plain. Blackie reared and pranced in panic. Sarah immediately calmed her skittish mount. That boom could have been either sonic or impact. Up ahead it looked like a meteor had hit. Curiosity pulled her like a magnet. All thoughts of her father's worry fled as she turned her reluctant horse in the direction of the meteor. XXX From a half mile she knew it was no meteor. The general shape of the thing was aerodynamic. It looked like a experimental jet or stealth. Something in Sarah kicked into high gear. There might be someone in need of help near the now burning wreckage. She pushed her heels into Blackie's side and spurred the gelding to a full run. The plane had left a charred trail across VERY rocky ground. Hell, this area was nothing but rock and black dirt, a few scattered trees clinging to scant earth. The good news was there would be no grass or brush fire. The bad news was no soft earth to cushion the impact. Blackie shied again in panic... and Sarah circled him until they were upwind of the wreckage and pulled out a sweat-rag to cover his eyes after she dismounted. She raised her arms against the heat as she drew near. "Hello? Is anyone in there?" The crackle of flames almost drowned out her calls. The jet had been dark and matte; perhaps a stealth after all. God the spread of the wreckage and the shape of what was most likely the nose cone was like nothing she'd seen in the skies before. "Can anyone hear me?" she called out again. Then she heard it: a banging sound coming from the far side. She circled the wreckage and saw a large section of warped metal jerking with the pounding. "Hold on, I'll find something to use as a lever!" She searched the darkened rocks frantically. Someone was still alive on the other side of the hot metal. She saw a small fallen tree behind her, snapped off at the ground by the crash. It was small enough for her to drag and thick enough to be of use. She maneuvered the broken sapling under a section of the panel and braced it on a piece of wreckage. The heat from the fire sucked the moisture from her skin. "Now if you have any way of helping me when this starts moving, push for all you're worth!" Sarah leaned all her weight on her end of the lever. Her muscles strained against the weight, but slowly the panel lifted . . . Suddenly, the panel gave way sending Sarah sprawling in surprise. Acrid smoke bellowed from the wreckage and she could barely make out the outline of a large man on the inside. She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, choking on the smoke and fumes. Her hands found purchase under the man's arms and she barely managed to move him, inch by agonizing inch. At last they were clear, and Sarah used the light of the wreckage to see the man. She smelled the sickening stench of singed flesh and immediately noticed his arm was badly burned. He was wearing some sort of flight suit under the fine layer of soot covering everything. He was also HUGE. At least six four or five, and heavier then all hell. He moaned slightly and she pressed her fingers against his neck to check his pulse. JESUS, his heartbeat was barely there; it was sluggish. "I gotta get you to a doctor, mister. Do you know if your base knows you went down? Are they going to be sending a rescue team?" "No... no medical assistance." A large hand enveloped hers and tugged her hand from his pulse. "Must... must... evacuate... area..." "Look, you're in shock. Your arm is a mess. Your plane is nothin' but scrap now. You need a hospital." Sarah pulled back. "No medical personnel..." He struggled to sit upright. "They will be coming for me soon. If they find me... I will die." His voice grew stronger as he somehow managed to gain a full sitting position. Sarah gasped and fell backwards as the man's features shifted, his soot-blacked features flowed and changed. Somehow, impossibly, he was now half the bulk he had previously been. Her mind reeling, Sarah's terrified eyes took in the flaming wreckage and darted back to the man now cradling his damaged arm. "I... need assistance." He turned to face her. OH Shit. Ohshitohshitohshit! This wasn't a jet and he was no air force test pilot. Any minute Rod Serling was gonna appear. "They will be coming soon." His voice was without inflection. Sarah stood and debated sprinting for Blackie and riding like hell for the ranch. "Please..." She spun again to face the injured man... no... was he a man? Damnit! Her father always swore she was too damn soft-hearted for living on a cattle ranch all her life. "Are you gonna... suck my face off or somethin' if I help you?" Sarah stepped forward and then back again, indecision rocking her. "I... need assisstance." he said again. English. He... or it... was speaking English. That had to count for something, right? "I just know I'm gonna regret this." She rushed forward before she could change her mind. "Put your good arm over my shoulder, and try not to spook my horse." His arm was heavy across her shoulders as they shuffled their way toward the still skittish mount. Sarah turned slightly at the waist to take a long last look at the strange looking craft that had brought this man... this creature, for want of a better word, so dramatically into her life. The craft still burned. The sound of the metal creaking and cracking filled the air around them. A plume of thick black smoke rose steadily upward, vying with the night clouds for dominance of the sky. The smoke would give their position away. If the things the wounded pilot had told her were true, someone would be looking for him. That someone would be drawn to the obvious smoke signal as surely as a moth to a flame. Sarah stopped abruptly and gently lowered the pilot's arm from her shoulders. She pivoted around and started to make her way back toward the wreckage. A heavy, warm hand rested upon her shoulder and stilled her movements. "What is wrong?" The pilot looked intently at her, searching her soft brown eyes for any sign of apprehension. "I have to try and put out the fire. The smoke's a dead give-away, It'll lead whoever's after you straight to us." Sarah kept her eyes locked on his so that he knew she were being truthful and not abandoning him, "We have to buy a little time so that I can get you someplace to check out that arm." "It is dangerous. I will attend to it," he made as though to walk past her, but she stopped him with a small hand to his chest. "You're hurt enough already. I'll be careful. I've put out a few fires in my time. I know to treat them with respect." Before he could protest she moved away and quickly strode toward the still smouldering wreckage. Now that she had time to study it more she could tell that there was no way that this thing was an experimental aircraft. For one thing it was incredibly well intact considering the impact it had taken. She stopped a short distance away and scanned the area for a suitable way to douse the fire. Sand was her only option, there was no water nearby and the little she did have left in her canteen wouldn't be enough to snuff out a candle let alone this. She took off her short denim jacket and tied the arms together. To make a kind of sling. Kneeling down on the ground she began to scoop the hot, dry dirt into her makeshift bucket and carried the first deposit to the craft. There she threw it over the nearest flames and was rewarded for her effort when they instantly went out. She repeated the procedure around other area's of the wreckage until the conflagration started to diminish and only a small wisp of smoke was left to float aimlessly into the ever darkening night sky. She was just finishing up her impromptu stint as a fire-fighter when something caught her eye. In the cockpit of the craft she could faintly make out another body like form. She squinted in the half light in an effort to see more clearly. Could there be another creature injured and still trapped inside the wreckage? If there were then why hadn't the pilot mentioned it to her? She levered herself up onto the hot metal and peered further inside the cabin. As soon as her eyes adjusted to the darkness she could see why the pilot hadn't mentioned his traveling companion. If he hadn't already been dead from the severity of the burns upon his body, it was obvious to her that he most certainly would have died as a result of the long jagged piece of shrapnel that protruded from the back of his neck. She closed her eyes to ward of the nausea that rolled suddenly in the pit of her stomach. Jesus. What a way to go. She opened her eyes again and they were immediately drawn to the body's face and she gasped in surprise. The face, although a little charred, was identical to the man she had helped to rescue. Sarah quickly glanced over her shoulder to check on the man in question and found to her relief that he was seated on the ground resting his injured arm. She glanced back again at the body in front of her. Could they be twins? The thought registered for a second before the logic center of her brain kicked in to reminded her of the strange eerie shifting effect she had witnessed earlier. This must be their natural state then. She shuddered despite the heat around her and scrambled back down to the ground. They had spent too much time here already, she had to get him away and she had to get him away now. She jogged the short distance back toward the stricken pilot and stopped to catch her breath. "Can you walk?" She asked as she took in another breath of warm air. "Yes." He replied and to prove his point he stood up without the need of any assistance. "Good, because we have to get out of here." Sarah began walking back toward Blackie and the pilot followed at a sedate pace behind her. The horse whinnied and tried to shy away from her as she approached it and she realised that like all animals, her mount could sense that something strange was happening. She comforted the horse, talking softly, and soon had it back under some control. She threw herself into the wide saddle and offered her hand to the man before her. "Grab my hand and climb up behind me. I know a place a little way from here where you'll be safe for a few days." The pilot eyed both her and the horse with curiosity. "C'mon it won't bite. It's more afraid of you than, you are of it." "You can control it?" He asked and his eyes flashed a worried look at the animal. "Yes I can control it. Look we haven't got much time." Her reminder of his predicament seemed to settle whatever argument he had regarding his new form of transport and he took her hand and climbed up onto the back of the horse. "Put your arm around my waist or when we start to move you'll find yourself back on the ground." He did as he was told and slipped his arms around her waist, wincing slightly as the movement jarred his injured arm. When Sarah was satisfied that he was comfortable she motioned the horse forward with a light tap of her heels in its side and they moved away from the wreckage. Twilight was fast being overtaken by nightfall and she hoped that she would have the time needed to settle her charge into the old root cellar back at the ranch house before her father sent the posse out looking for her. The two rode in silence toward their new destination, the sound of the horse's hooves thudding over the sand and rock their only accompaniment. End part 1... Wednesday's Child. Rhondda Lake and Sherry Davis. Part 2/? Brighton Ranch, 10 Miles West, Clayton NM. Kevin Brighton was worried. Sarah should have been back hours ago, but there was still no sign of his errant daughter. He paced the length of the old rickety porch, listening to the worn-out wooden struts creaking and groaning under his weight and pondered the whereabouts of his little girl. Where was she? It shouldn't have taken her this long to mend the stockade fence. His ponderous thoughts only served to enhance his anxiety and he tried to shrug off the feeling of foreboding that had begun to seep into his tired bones. He should send Lyle out to look for her, but he was reluctant to do so. He had to let her do things her own way. She chastised him enough over his protectiveness toward her and he knew that, should he send Lyle out again to bring her back, she would only get angry with his lack of trust in her ability to look after herself. Kevin stopped his pacing long enough to allow his body the luxury of leaning against one of the ornate hitching posts that were spaced out along the outside of the porch. He sighed to himself and dug his hands into the pockets of his old faded denim jeans. He rested his head against the wooden post and stared intently toward the far gate as though willing his missing child to miraculously ride through it because it had been his express wish that she do so. He stared long and hard, but went unrewarded for his efforts. He glanced at his watch and found that only twenty minutes had passed since he had last checked it. She hadn't been missing long enough yet to start a panic, but certainly long enough to make sure that come morning he would have a few more greying hairs. Kevin Brighton was a big man, well over six feet tall, but with a slim and agile body. Years of hard outdoor work upon a working ranch had given his skin a tanned leathery look. His face, although suffering from the same weather-beaten and rugged look as the rest of his body, refused to show its true age and anyone not familiar with him would have taken him to be in his late forties rather than approaching his early sixties. He decided that he would give her half an hour to put in an appearance before asking Lyle to take a few of the hands out to search for her. For all he knew she could be lying in a ditch somewhere, hurt and in need of help and in a situation like that all the stubbornness in the world wasn't gonna help her none. His train of thought was broken by the sound of a horse snorting and his eyes immediately fixed once again upon the far gate. Blackie appeared out of the dark shadows and to Kevin's immense relief he saw the familiar figure of his daughter sitting high and proud upon the horses' back. His relief was short lived however when his dark eyes picked out the figure of a man seated behind her with his arms draped tightly around his daughter's slim waist. What stray had she brought home with her now? The horse tiredly plodded its way toward the ranch house, the burden of the extra weight it had had to bear telling by the way that it snorted and by the slivers of frothy sweat that clung to its tack and bridle. The horse finally slowed to a stop in front of the porch and Sarah let go of the reins and jumped down off of its back and walked toward her father. "I know what you're thinking, Dad, and you're way off course." "Who's your new friend?" Kevin asked and jutted his narrow chin in the direction of the man still mounted upon the tired horse. "Someone who needs help," Sarah fixed her father with a determined look in her eyes, "and before you say anything, I've told him he could trust us and that he will be safe here." "Safe from whom?" Kevin asked and once again his eyes moved from his daughter's face and perused the stranger before him. He was a big, burly guy dressed in what Kevin supposed was some type of jump-suit. Military? Why would someone from the military be asking for his help? Was he a deserter? If so, they could be in big trouble if they helped him. It was bad enough that those fancy flyboys decided to buzz his cattle every now and then, but if they took in a deserter the damn Air Force would traipse all over his land. "I refuse to harbour a deserter," Kevin said. "Dad, he's not a deserter." Sarah stared around her at the dark night and tried to figure out a way she could explain the situation to her father without him thinking she had suddenly gone loco on him. "Dad, can we all go inside? I promise I'll explain everything once we're inside." Kevin nodded somberly and watched as his daughter returned once more to the horse and the man upon it. "Com'on you can get down now. You'll be safe here." "He does not want me here." The pilot stated, his blue eyes rising to look at the tall, agile figure on the porch. "He just doesn't understand the situation. When I've explained everything he'll be different," the pilot gave her a look that told her he didn't believe her. "I promise." He nodded reluctantly and proceeded to dismount. Sarah couldn't be sure, but it looked as though the toughguy in the flight suit was actually relieved to be off of Blackie's back. When Blackie gave a derisive snort it seemed to indicate that the horse was glad to be rid of him, too. They climbed up the porch steps and Kevin stepped away from the hitching post, extending his hand in greeting. "Kevin Brighton, I'm Sarah's father." The pilot accepted the hand as though it were a foreign object and didn't even pump it up and down as Kevin had expected. "And you are?" Kevin asked as he clasped the big man's hand. The pilot looked at him in confusion as if not quite sure what was expected from him as an answer. "I am..." he hesitated once again, "hurt... I am hurt." Kevin's eyes widened and he glanced at his daughter with a look on his face that said 'what kind of an idiot have you brought home this time.' Sarah shrugged sheepishly and decided that maybe it was gonna be a whole lot harder to explain what had happened today after all. "Let's go inside." She walked past the two men and strode into the ranch house. Kevin followed her with his eyes before turning back to the man whose hand was still clasped tightly in his. Kevin released his hold and dropped his hand to the side. Taking a step back, he swept his arm in the direction of the open ranch house door. "After you." The pilot looked at the door with a little trepidation before walking slowly toward it. Kevin shook his head in exasperation and followed sedately behind the newest in a long line of strays and waifs to be brought to the Brighton homestead. ### Brighton Ranch, 10 Miles West, Clayton NM. 9.15p.m. Kevin Brighton leaned back in his rocking chair and stared slack-jawed at both his daughter and the man sitting uncomfortably by her side on the couch. "Jesus, you're serious, aren't you?" His grey eyebrows rose to form peaks upon his forehead. His daughter just nodded slowly and reached for her father's callused hand. It had gone better than she had anticipated. Her father had listened patiently as she explained to him what had happened out by the stockade earlier that day. Although at one point his eyes told her that he didn't entirely believe her story, thankfully he had not shot it down all together. "He needs our help Dad. If he's found, he'll die." She squeezed his rough hand tenderly, "It's up to us to keep him safe." Kevin looked beyond his daughter's pleading face and glared at the silent man on his couch. "Is this story true, son?" "It is as she has stated." The pilot sat back in his seat and relaxed his tired body. As he did so, the muscles around his face slackened and rippled, reshaping and reforming until an exact duplicate of Kevin Brighton emerged. "Fuck me," Kevin muttered and standing up, he moved toward his doppelganger and sat down next to him. Reaching out his hand, he touched the soft, warm skin and traced his fingers around the contour of a face that he was well accustomed to. "It's like looking in a mirror," he whispered softly in awe. "I mean no disrespect, but I thought a demonstration would act to further your belief." The pilot stated matter-of-factly. "None taken, son." Kevin replied as he withdrew his now shaking hand and settled it upon his thigh. "I better get some things together and take a look at that arm." Sarah arose from her seat, heading toward the kitchen and the medical supplies, effectively leaving her father alone with the stranger in his living room. Living out in the middle of nowhere on a cattle ranch meant that the Brighton family medical chest resembled something that a small cottage hospital would be proud of. She rummaged around until she found the things she was looking for, some dressing and some strong antiseptic cream; although judging by the look of the wound earlier she was certain that he was gonna need a lot more than that. She returned carrying her stash and found her father still deep in conversation with their guest. "Here, let me take a look at that." Sarah reached for his injured arm, but he pulled it away from her sharply. "It is not necessary, it will heal in due course." "Don't be ridiculous, it must hurt like a son of a bitch." Sarah once again moved to take his arm and he once again countered her movement. "I insist that no medical treatment be given." "Son, you need it seeing to or else it'll get infected." Kevin stated. "You do not understand." The man seemed to think for a moment before continuing, "It is not necessary for you to treat my injury. It will heal of its own accord. My people have a stronger pain threshold than humans, therefore that which is painful to you is only a mild irritant to me." "No shit!" Sarah snorted as she viewed the blackened forearm with its reddened blistered and flaying skin. "It is true, you will witness this for yourself." He glanced at his badly injured arm and inspected it, "by morning there will be no trace of an injury." "You can really do that?" Sarah asked. The pilot nodded and then his eyes became deadly serious, "It is imperative that you both understand something about my race," he paused as though searching for the correct words to communicate the seriousness of what he was about to say, "our blood is harmful to humans. It is toxic and in confined spaces the smallest amount emitted into the air can be fatal to you." "But your arm," Sarah said, "If your blood is poisonous to my people how come I wasn't affected when I found you?" "My wound had already begun to heal," he replied, "the layers of broken skin were already regenerating before you reached me and luckily for you, Sarah, you did not come down into the cockpit of the aircraft where the toxicity would have been more harmful." "Is that another reason why you didn't want me to treat you?" Sarah asked softly. He nodded and slowly raised his grey eyes until they met and held hers. "Okay," Kevin said, breaking into the conversation, "the next question is where are you going to stay?" "We could put him in the house tonight. Once fit, we tell the other hands that he's a new employee. He could stay in the bunk house with them. If anyone comes looking for him then the root cellar will have to do. It's dry and warm and it still has the cots we put down there during the last big dust storm." "Sounds like a good idea." Kevin agreed. "He's showed that he can blend into the background, so he should fit in without a problem and there are always new hands starting, especially this time of year," Kevin gave the young man an amused look before continuing, "Just quit impersonating me and we'll get along fine, Son." "That is acceptable," the pilot responded, "if there is anyone in particular that you wish me to impersonate?" "Oh, Tom Cruise, Harrison Ford, Mel Gibson." Sarah rattled off with a grin on her face. "If you have a likeness to these people I cou..." Sarah broke him off with a muffled laugh, "If you started walking around here looking like one of those guys, you'd become more conspicuous than inconspicuous. You look just fine as you are." He nodded again more slowly and she thought for just a second that his face flushed pink. < My... an alien that has the capacity to blush. > She thought to herself wryly. "Com'on, I'll show you to your new abode." Sarah said as she rose from the chair and extended her hand to the man in front of her. He grasped it gently and pulled himself up to stand next to her, just as Kevin rose from his seat as well. "You are all taking a grave risk in sheltering me." He said, "I appreciate your gesture of kindness." "Think nothing of it. It's not everyday I get to meet the man in the moon." Kevin replied with a small smile tugging at his lips. "Let's go..." Sarah said, then frowned, "You know we don't even know your name." "My given name would be too complicated for you to understand." Came his reply, "your language is too primitive to be able to make the sounds necessary to accurately reproduce it." "Primitive." Sarah's eyebrows rose with mock indignation, "Gee... give an alien a place to stay and this is how he repays you by insulting your race." "It was not meant to be..." "Oh, come on. I'm tired and you must be too." Sarah cut in and began tugging on his good arm. She lead him out of the living room and down the hallway toward one of the spare guest rooms. Kevin began turning off the lights in the living room. He was a little worried by the commitment that he had made toward the man... the whatever it was, that was now sharing his house. It was dangerous... really dangerous, but the humanitarian inside him couldn't let him be captured and killed or worse - experimented upon. His other fear was that Sarah was already becoming attached to him way too much for his liking. She always did this whenever she took something in and she was always heartbroken when they died or left her. He couldn't bear for that to happen to her again. As he turned off the last light and began walking down the hallway to his room he heard her soft voice floating toward him. "You know, I'm gonna have to think up a name for you." Kevin heard her chuckle and knew that she was in a mischievous mood. "How about Duke or Sam or, God forbid, ARNIE!" She began giggling loudly. Kevin shook his head in wry amusement. That poor boy was in trouble... XXXXX 9 YEARS LATER XXXXXX BRIGHTON RANCH 10 MILES WEST CLAYTON, NM JULY 2, 1998 The front door flew open and a small flurry of activity swept through the immaculate kitchen. "Granpa, granpa, they're gonna have FIREWORKS!" Kevin Brighton turned to scoop up the six year old, delighted at her childish exuberance. He tugged at a golden curl and winked. "Then we'll just have to go see them won't we?" "Where's mommy? I wanna tell her." The little girl wriggled in her grandfather's grasp. "She's with the new calf out in the stable." Kevin shook his head as the child sped out the back door. "Tell her dinner will be in twenty minutes!" "Mommy?" The stable door opened a crack. "I'm in here Lyca. Close the door behind you." Sarah Brighton held the large bottle in both hands as the hungry calf suckled. Its mother had shown no interest in the poor thing. Since it was female, Sarah had decided to try to save it. Lyca crept close to her mother. "Can I do that?" Sarah handed over the bottle, the calf followed, not relinquishing the nipple for a moment. Lyca smiled. "Granpa said dinner is in twenty minutes. Mommy, they're gonna put off fireworks at the school's track on Saturday. Can we go?" Sarah smoothed her daughter's bright hair, loving the color. The first blonde in the family in six generations. "Sure, we'll go. How are your classes going?" Lyca frowned a bit. "Reading's okay, and so is math, but I am having trouble with science." Sarah shook her head. Lyca had qualified for accelerated summer classes, but she'd have to learn she couldn't be good at everything. "What's the problem in science?" Sarah stroked the calf's side. Shrugging, the six year old replied, "Just stuff." Sarah sighed. Lyca tended to keep so much to herself, even at her young age. "Try and tell me over dinner. Maybe I can help." The blue eyes that locked on Sarah looked for a moment, as ageless as the sea. "But if I don't work it out on my own isn't that cheating?" "No. Everyone needs help sometime. Half of learning is knowing where to look for the answers you don't know." End Part Two... Disclaimer in part 1. Wednesday's Child by Rhondda Lake and Sherry Davis (Part 3/?) J EDGER HOOVER BUILDING X-FILES DIVISION WASHINGTON, DC JULY 6, 1998 8:24 AM Dana Scully was beginning to hate the smell of freshly applied paint. The almost overpowering fumes were causing her eyes to water and itch. She was also sure that it was responsible for the faint metallic taste in her mouth. As if that wasn't enough for her to cope with, the newly laid carpet had that 'just unwrapped' smell to it that made her stomach want to distribute its contents into the nearest receptacle. What she would do for a window. She sighed wistfully and closed the file she had been browsing through. She stood and crossed the room to the filing cabinet and opened a drawer. It was nearly empty, but Mulder had assured her that the cabinets would soon be a bit fuller once the Gunmen had printed out some of the backup files that they had on disk. Where was Mulder anyway? He had left over and an hour ago to talk with one of the metallurgists down in the SciCrime lab. She had no idea why he would want to go down there and just the thought that he would actually venture to one of the labs instead of asking her to go had almost been enough to convince her to open an X-File. They were so low on cases right now that it would actually give her something to do. Since the division had been re-opened there had been little, if anything, to investigate and Scully was beginning to wonder if the powers that be were trying to bore the both of them into handing in their resignations. She heard the soft snick of the door opening behind her and turned around to greet her partner. "What's up?" she asked cocking one auburn eyebrow at him, "You don't usually visit the lab unless Mike has season tickets to the Knicks game up for auction." The corners of her mouth turned up mischievously, "Or are the paint fumes giving you a headache?" "What do you make of this?" Mulder crossed the room to his desk and laid a file folder upon it. She crossed the short space to his desk and joined him as he gazed down at the now open file before him. At this point anything interesting would be a welcome diversion. Inside were pictures of a heavy chain, in pieces. Signs of scorching had been prominently marked out upon the photographs. "It's a broken chain." Scully frowned. "You win the prize." Mulder smiled slightly and flipped over the photograph to reveal a more magnified one underneath. "Look here." He pointed at the picture, "What do you see?" "The metal is torn." She shrugged, "So, something snapped it." She looked up at him, knowing he'd get to the point eventually. "That thickness and weight of steel would take about four hundred pounds of pressure to snap. That chain was used to hold secure the gymnasium door of the President Johnson Grade School in Clayton, New Mexico." Mulder tapped the picture with a forefinger. "The school burned to the ground when some improperly stored fireworks went off, taking half the school with it. There was a class of twenty or so students in an accelerated learning summer school program in the school when it happened. Five kids died in the explosion. I'm sure you saw it on the news." Scully nodded. Five young lives reduced to one more strip of horrific news tape and a couple of sound bites. Seventeen children escaped through the... oh. "The gymnasium." Now she had made the connection, she still couldn't figure out why Mulder would be interested with the news story, "So, someone without a key saw what was happening and hooked up a grapple to some truck." "No." Mulder wore the tiny smile he got when he had his nose on a new trail. "Paramedics and all other help arrived when the gymnasium doors burst open. One fact remains the same in all stories. It looked like a six year old girl kicked open the doors, but of course that's impossible. Just like it's impossible for the same kid to help drag out several other kids and two adult teachers overcome by smoke." "I don't understand." Scully looked at the stress marks on the metal. "I don't either." Mulder replied, "But I'd like to meet the kid who can do that." As soon as she heard the words she knew she was going to have to pack for New Mexico. XXXX PUBLIC RECORDS OFFICE, CLAYTON, NEW MEXICO 5:36 PM Since their arrival a few hours previously, the only productive things that Mulder and Scully had gotten done so far was booking a hotel and visiting the ruins of the President Johnson Grade School. The scene at the school had been much worse than either agent had imagined it would be. Upon their arrival they had been confronted with a sight that would be forever printed upon their minds. They had been met by a vanguard of flowers and stuffed toys and other such pitiful offerings as the small farming community could muster. They had been piled all around the burnt-out husk of the once pristine building. Some sealed envelopes fluttered in the wind, bearing the names of the dead children. Five small American flags had been hastily stuck up behind the roped off line, each marking where a body had been found. The farm and cattle community was wrapped in a miasma of shock and loss. Even the Sheriff's department was less then helpful. People were tired of the questions and of the press feeding off their pain and grief. To them the two FBI agents were no more than another set of curiosity seekers. The Sheriff had laughed outright at the notion that anyone could have snapped the chains binding the door, and offered the theory that the heat of the fire had weakened it, and the shock from the explosion had then blown it open. Scully had initially agreed, but Mulder had made one credible point. How could a shockwave that was strong enough to rip metal leave the child standing, on her feet no less, when she was just in front of the door. Too many eye witnesses quoted saying they had seen a small child in the doorway as the doors had burst open. Scully was now currently rifling through the cities birth records dating back six years, as not a single person asked so far would or could name the mystery child. "Mulder, why do I feel like I'm in the middle of a snipe hunt?" She jotted down another name and address before moving to the next birth certificate. Mulder was scanning the school registration records. This years records had gone, literally, up in smoke, but with any luck a kid in an advanced class might have started early. "You hold the bag, Scully, I'll flush out the snipe." He removed his reading glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Why are we here, Mulder?" She asked as she continued her task, "This whole investigation is flimsy at best, and I really don't think this town needs the added fear of your presupposition that the accident was a terrorist bombing. It was a grade school. The fire investigators PINPOINTED it as badly stored and defective fireworks." She kept writing notes even as she argued against it. "Great cover story, isn't it?" Mulder retorted dryly. "There were a few kids in school that day Scully, but all of them were exceptionally bright. What better way to mask an assassination attempt?" Mulder shut the school records drawer with a bit more force than necessary. "Mulder, don't tell me you dragged me all the way to New Mexico because you were desperately in need of an X-File in any shape or form." She glared at him in annoyance, "Fabricating one isn't a good way to re-start..." "Gibson." Mulder held up a finger and with that one name silenced her. "I think we may have another Gibson here. Younger, but psychically as powerful." His hazel eyes locked with her blue ones, "And someone wants her dead." "Psychokinesis?" Scully's eyebrows rose, then she sighed, "Mulder, there is nothing here but, at most, one very lucky little girl." Mulder shook his head. "No. I can feel it, Scully. There's something more than that at work here." "So now you're psychic as well?" Scully ran a hand over her face wearily. "Mulder, is this really a case or an avoidance issue?" "Avoidance of what?" He looked at her, genuinely puzzled. "Nothing." She stood abruptly and shoved the birth records back in their place, then slammed the drawer as well. "Nothing at all. Come on, we have twenty eight six-year old girls in the area. We have to start bugging scared people." She turned and strode toward the door leading out into the hallway. XXX MOTEL 6, CLAYTON, NEW MEXICO. 9.15 P.M. Scully closed and engaged the deadbolt upon her motel room door before wearily leaning her forehead against it. GOD, she was tired. They had spent hours fruitlessly searching for the child that Mulder was so desperate to find. They had traipsed around half the county interviewing families with six-year-old daughters matching the description of the little girl that had been seen at the site of the accident. There had been no other way to go about it. Old fashioned legwork and obtaining statements from the children seemed to be the only way they would get a lead. Both teachers who had been present at the school during the fire were suffering severe smoke inhalation, and one of them was fighting infection from burns that peppered her back. The severity of their injuries had ruled out the possibility of the agents getting to speak with them. The school principle had suddenly taken a long vacation out of town to escape the media. The firemen and ambulance crews had explained all that they had seen, but they didn't remember many names, other than those of the dead, and the most severely wounded. That had left the children. Mulder had been, admittedly, delicate so far. He hadn't talked down to the kids, and he had been careful to watch out for any sign of distress or potential psychological scarring. Hell, he had been an angel with them. But the lack of anything concrete was beginning to grate upon Scully's worn nerves. She was seriously wondering if even these most delicate of questions were leading to anything but further upset in this community. So far, none of the little girls had been attending the accelerated classes, but the parents were edgy about the fire. Most, undoubtedly thinking - There, but for the grace of God... So far not one of the little girls had met with all the criteria that Mulder had laid down as being needed to match her to the mysterious child that they were searching for. If he had his way, he would have continued his door to door search well into the night and possibly into the next morning as well, but Scully had managed to curb that insane idea by pointing out that families did tend to need their sleep. Mulder had latched on to this case with an almost religious fervor. Granted, he always became wholly absorbed during a case, but this time he was frighteningly so. She feared that having only this one case to concentrate on had somehow focused all Mulder's natural obsessiveness into a laser pinpoint. Now all she wanted to do was grab a hot bath and then settle down for the night. She pulled herself away from the door and crossed over to the double bed. Kicking off her shoes she sank down into the mattress and closed her eyes for a second. Thoughts and images of the little twelve year old chess protege entered her mind unbidden. She had grown incredibly fond of the little boy over the short period of time that she had known him. It wasn't everyday that she met such an innocent person, albeit one with a mind that could act as though it were a human lie detector. When she had first met him, she had been struck by how much he reminded her of, of all people Frohike. For a short while she could imagine that Frohike had looked just like that at the same tender age, but then Gibson had said something that had proved to her that there was no way in hell that he could be the little man's, little guy. She remembered smiling at that truthful, yet innocent remark. Gibson hadn't known just how close to the mark he had been when he had offered up his child's assessment of her partner's mental processes. She could almost guess what Gibson had picked up when Mulder had made his remark about the assets of watching Baywatch. She sighed and rolled over onto her side. She had to confess that not a day went by without her wondering where Gibson was and whether or not he were all right. She had no doubt that if he were still alive, whomever was responsible for taking him would want to find out as much as possible about his unique talents. She just hoped that they weren't hurting him. She couldn't bear the thought of him being hurt by those bastards that held him against his will. She had failed him. She had promised that nothing would happen to him and she had failed to keep that promise. That last night that she had seen him still haunted her dreams. She could still see him looking up at her as he had told her that someone wanted to kill him. Then she had given him her word that she wouldn't let anyone hurt him and he had looked at her with those knowing blue eyes and had replied, "I know you do." He had said it as though he would liked to have believed it to be true, but she now felt that he had somehow known that he wouldn't be around in the morning to finish the little talk that they had started earlier that evening. One thing was for certain, if this little girl did have the same abilities as Gibson, then she was going to make damn sure that NOBODY got their hands on her. A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. "Hey, Scully, you asleep?" Mulder's soft voice floated through the wood panelling of the door. She smiled. Why did people ask that question and expect a sleeping person to answer it? "Doors unlocked, Mulder, com'on in." "Are you decent?" "No. I'm stark naked, Mulder, but what the hell..." She tried throwing some of his own acerbic humor back at him for once. "Maybe I should come back when..." He appeared a little thrown by her apparent playfulness. "Mulder, I'm decent. I'm fooling around, com'on in." Scully pushed herself up until she were in a sitting position upon the bed. The door opened slowly a fraction of an inch as though her partner were checking to see if she were telling the truth. When it was obvious that she was indeed decent it swung the rest of the way open. "What can I do for you, Mulder?" Scully asked and tried to stifle the sudden yawn that broke out across her face. "I should wait till morning." He said and turned back toward the door. "No, it's okay, you're here now. What's wrong?" He crossed over to the bed and sat down on its edge. Scully noticed that he had the case file in his hand along with the list of names that they had formulated earlier. "I think we're going about this all wrong," he said and he pointed to the list of names, "we still have over half the names on this list to track down and then there is no certain guarantee that any of those girls will be the one we're looking for." "So, what are you suggesting?" She asked. "We should go and talk to the other children that were there on the day of the fire. They are bound to know who the little girl was, after all she's a classmate of theirs. Plus I think a child will be more forthcoming than an adult." He held up his hand, "I know... I don't like the thought of further traumatising these kids, either. I've been thinking about this for a while, and I really don't think there is any other way." He sighed and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "If this kid is in danger, we're wasting valuable time going door to door and hoping for the needle to stick outta the haystack. We need to find her, Scully. We need to find her before someone else does." "I'm aware of that, but asking those poor children is something I can't recommend, Mulder." "Just one or two, Scully. If it looks like we're making their recovery worse we'll back off." She looked at him for a long moment weighing up his words. "I promise, Scully. I won't push them." His warm hazel eyes pleaded with her to let him have a little bit of leeway in this. Scully sighed in resignation. Whenever he looked at her with that expression on his face she found it hard to deny him anything. It was almost the same look he had given her that night in the hallway when they had... She abruptly stopped herself from continuing that train of thought. It was unproductive at best and downright distracting at worse. "All right," she told him, "but we have to be VERY careful about this, Mulder." "Scouts honor, Scully," he replied softly as he raised his right hand in an imitation of the scouts salute. "Indian scouts don't count, Mulder." Scully replied with a small smile that tugged at her lips and shone out of her amused blue eyes. "Hey, I kept us safe in the forest, didn't I?" He stated all mock indignation in his voice. "Excuse me!" Scully arched an eyebrow at him in response. "Okay you kept us safe in the forest. I'm getting outta here, I know when I'm beat." He rose from the bed and headed back toward the connecting door. As he prepared to leave he looked back over his shoulder at her. "Thanks, Scully. I know you don't believe in the validity of this case, but thanks for allowing me to play this one out." "Hey, that's what partners are for." She gave him another smile and watched as he returned it before heading out the door and closing it quietly behind him. Scully let out a long breath and rose from the bed. Crossing to her overnight bag she dug out her nightwear and her toiletry bag. Forget the bath, she was gonna need a shower and if she couldn't damn well get those images from Mulder's hallway out of her head it was gonna have to be a cold one. Damnit! Why couldn't she get what had so nearly happened out of her mind? It had been haunting her since they had returned from the Antarctic. If she didn't clear the air between them one way or another, soon, this distraction was going to become dangerous, or maddening. She hated that it was bothering her so much. She'd have expected Mulder to be the one to be more emotional, but was surprised to find that it was she who had to prod at it like a sore tooth in her psyche. She hated emotional turmoil, she preferred dealing with things or shoving them away. But this issue refused to stay locked in a closet in her mind. It kept rearing it's head and making her think of all the possibilities, both positive and negative. They were going to have to talk, soon, for her own sanity's sake. End Part Three... Wednesday's Child by Rhondda Lake and Sherry Davis Part 4/? CLAYTON, NEW MEXICO. 10:13 AM Dana Scully paused for a moment, inhaling the air redolent with fresh cut hay before stepping up onto the front porch of a neatly tended ranch house. Mulder was waiting, more than a little impatiently at the door. It had taken the threat of physical force to keep him from visiting the first of the accident survivors before now. He had been up at an indecent hour and ready to go. No injured child needed them banging on their door at six-thirty in the morning. So he had gone for a run to work off the nervous energy he seemed to be thrumming with. Unfortunately it didn't seem to have worked. If anything it had invigorated him even more. It had not helped HER mood any to face crops on either side of the road to the farmhouse. One side, filled with hay being threshed and bundled, was fine, but the other was full of acres of ripening corn. She had shivered at the sight and wondered if she'd ever bite into a corncob again. Scully shot Mulder a warning look and stepped up onto the concrete slab forming the front porch floor. "Mulder, according to the hospital this boy suffered smoke inhalation and a few first degree burns. If I signal we have to leave, we politely leave, agreed? Even if he is willing to talk, I don't want us overexerting him." "Agreed." Mulder tossed out carelessly as he knocked on the door. Inside a dog barked at the intrusion. A tall, blonde woman dressed in jeans and a armless plaid shirt opened the door. "Yes?" Mulder already had his badge wallet out. "I'm Special Agent Mulder and this is Special Agent Scully. Mrs. Thomas, would it be possible for us to have a word with Trent?" The woman regarded them warily. "He already gave a statement to the police..." "I realise that, Mrs. Thomas, We just have a few additional questions to ask him. We promise we won't take too much time, and if our questions seem unduly distressing we'll leave." Mrs. Thomas opened the front door and let them in. "Trent, there's some people here to see you," she called into the house. The house was decorated in a south-western theme, and well kept. The ten year old boy stepped out of he kitchen to face both agents. He, too, looked at them with guarded dark eyes. His thin left arm was wrapped in white gauze. "Who're you?" Scully stepped forward before Mulder could start questioning the boy. "We're with the FBI," she offered her own badge as identification. The boy peered at it closely. His features transformed from wary to excited faster than the speed of light. "Really? Why ya'll wanna talk to me? Can I touch your badge?" Scully handed him her badge wallet with an indulgent smile. Mulder spoke up. "We're interested in finding the girl who helped pull you out of the School. We understand she was very brave. We were hoping, perhaps, that you could tell us her name and where we could find her." "Lyca? She was in my math class. I was ahead of her in everything else, but I've always had trouble with math." Trent Thomas looked a bit embarrassed. "Everybody thought she was just a baby and shouldn't be in the summer classes, but she sure is good at math. Do you guys get into a lot of car chases and stuff?" Both agents smiled as the boy switched topics at a dizzying speed. "Only in the movies," Mulder answered. "Lyca?" Scully recalled the unusual name from the birth certificates. Something about that name niggled at her mind. She'd have to look at her notes when she got back to the car. "Yeah, Lyca Brighton. Her mom and grandpa, run the Brighton cattle ranch just outta town. Do you two carry guns?" Scully stifled a grin and bowed her head. It didn't seem as if Trent Thomas was suffering many ill effects from his traumatic experience. "Yes we do. But if we showed them to you we'd have to shoot you," Mulder winked at the boy. "Cool. Do you haveta', you know, go to college to be in the FBI?" Scully felt a pang of envy. How long had it been since she had been so full of wide-eyed wonder and unrepentant energy? "We both did. Most agents do these days. A very few have moved up through the ranks of local law enforcement, but these days it helps to have a college education." Mrs. Thomas stepped in. "Trent wanted to be a fireman just last week..." she closed her eyes and looked away. "That's okay, Mrs. Thomas. He's just at that age where everything seems exciting." Scully offered the woman her kindest professional face. "Trent, on the day of the... incident, did you see who opened the gymnasium doors, or how they opened?" Mulder charged back into the topic at hand. "Not too good. There was a lot of smoke, and my eyes were watering. I was kind a payin' attention to my arm, because I thought it was burnt worse than it was." Trent closed his eyes and screwed up his face, trying hard to remember. "Mrs. Flynn kept us all down on the floor, I remember even the wood felt hot, and thinkin' we were all gonna die," his voice broke a bit at the last part. "So you didn't see who opened the doors?" Mulder sounded slightly disappointed. "We all tried when we ran into the gym. But they wouldn't budge. I just remember all the air rushing out at once, and fighting to breathe. Then the smoke got thinner, and the air got cooler. Someone grabbed me under the arms and I remember being dragged out on the grass, but I was still choking and everything still tasted like soot. Then I saw Lyca. She was patting my arm," He gestured with the wrapped arm to indicate it. "Things got even more blurry after that. Lyca disappeared and I thought I heard Mrs. Flynn coughing out her name. Someone next to me said a kid went back into the building... then nothing until I was in the hospital." Trent frowned. "Ma, can I have a drink, my throat's sore." "We'll let you go then. Thank you, Trent. You've been a big help." Scully tugged Mulder's sleeve. Outside they walked quickly to the car. "Please tell me you have a Lyca Brighton on your list of birth certificates," Mulder half muttered as he got behind the wheel. "I do. I remembered the name because it was unusual." Scully opened her briefcase and pulled out her notes. There it was, the reason for that niggling associated with the name. "Mulder, Lyca Brighton wasn't born in the hospital. She was born in February and the hospital she was checked into after birth was Mercy Care Center, but according to her birth certificate she was born at home." "Considering the time of year, that isn't too odd, but it is worth noting. Was she adopted?" Mulder pulled the car around and headed back down the country road. "No. Sorry to disappoint you, Mulder. Her parents are listed as Sarah and Michael Brighton. It's doubtful that she's another Gibson." She felt compelled to stress this point once more, as if repetition would pound the point home. "Do we have an address or do we let our fingers do the walking?" His question just went to prove Mulder's skull was too damn thick for any amount of mental bludgeoning to make a difference. XXXX BRIGHTON RANCH 10 MILES WEST CLAYTON, NM 11:03 AM "Mulder, COW!" They came around the bend a little too fast and Mulder had to veer sharply to keep from hitting a steak dinner that had decided to lay down in the middle of the road. Luckily, his quick thinking and dextrous hands meant that he managed to avoid both it and the fence that bordered the side of the road. The car stopped abruptly and a cloud of dust billowed up around the vehicle to obscure their view from the windshield. When the dust finally settled, the agents were surprised to discover that a man on horseback had appeared almost as if out of nowhere and was in the process of lassoing the unmoving heifer. "You folks all right?" The man had a lazy drawl which was made worse by the wad of chewing tobacco that he had plugged in his mouth. The ranch hand climbed down off the horse and approached the incumbent heifer in a slow waddling gait. "Yeah, we're fine." Mulder replied dryly, " Nothing like an adrenaline rush to get you going in the morning." Mulder opened the car door and got out into the hot midmorning sun while Scully took a couple of relaxing breaths before joining him. "Yer should know better than to drive that fast on cattle land mister. A cow will do about as much damage to a little car like that as a truck doin' sixty. Not to mention it'd sure ruin the cow's day." The lecture was delivered by a man in his late forties as he tugged the cow into a standing position by her horns. "Is this the Brighton Ranch?" Mulder leaned against the car as the ranch hand tied the lead rope to his saddle. "Yessir, this is the Lazy B. You got business with Kevin?" The man proceeded to climb back onto his horse without approaching the car to assure they were safe. "No, actually we're looking for Sarah and Lyca Brighton." Mulder answered back. Scully noticed the man lean forward slightly in the saddle as he pinned her partner with a cold, steely gaze. "Then you got business with Kevin." The man spat a wad of something unsavoury alongside of the road and began to move off, taking the troublesome milk cow with him. Mulder and Scully got back in their car. "Is it me or did the temperature just drop a few degrees out there?" Mulder asked. Scully readjusted her blouse as she slipped her seat-belt over it. "Oh... I'd put it down to your unique way of making friends." "Me?" Mulder turned and looked at her aghast, " I didn't leave the cow lying in the middle of the road." A lopsided grin suddenly appeared on his face, " You gotta admit it makes one hell of a speed bump though." Scully rolled her eyes as Mulder shifted the car into gear and followed sedately behind the John Wayne wannabe trailing the cow. "Wonder how many miles to the gallon you get on one of those things," he mumbled as the car almost came to a standstill as he waited for an opportune moment to pass the cowboy and his charge. It seemed to take forever, both horse and cow were going at a snail's pace and it was beginning to wear upon Mulder's already overtaxed nerves. "Should I start a stampede, Scully?" His hand hovered over the horn and he shot her a devilish look. "Don't you dare, Mulder." She admonished. His smile widened a little as his hand wandered further toward its target, "Be able to see how well he bucks a bronco without having to go to the rodeo." "Yeah, and you can clean all the manure off the rental car when you scare that horse so much that it craps all over us." Scully replied as she hid an amused smile behind the back of her hand. Honestly Mulder could act like a schoolboy sometimes, that was when he wasn't being the world's biggest paranoid. He sighed dramatically in defeat and drummed his fingers over the steering wheel, "As always Scully, you make a valid point." He resumed looking out the windshield and as soon as it became safe enough, Mulder pulled around the cowboy and his steer and continued their journey toward the ranch. It took them another ten minutes before they entered through the large gates of the Lazy B and up toward the ranch house. As Mulder eased the car into a parking position he spotted something at the corner of his eye that instantly made his body go rigid in his seat. "Scully," He gestured with his head to the large barn not far from the house. Standing in the doorway was a little girl about six years old. Her blonde curls were pulled back into a pony tail. She wore a set of blue overalls and a red t-shirt, bare feet made up her rustic ensemble. Her attention was entirely focused on the calf she was feeding from a huge bottle. Mulder and Scully alighted the car and stood watching the little girl for a while as she continued to feed the small calf. To Scully, she looked like any normal six year old girl, totally engrossed in the chore that she was doing. Mulder, however, could sense something very different about the child. His inbuilt and finely honed radar for detecting the bouquet of the paranormal had kicked into high velocity mode almost from the moment that his eyes had registered the girl. He didn't know how, but deep down he *knew* that this little girl was the one that they had been looking for. "Can I help you?" Both agents turned to face the stern and craggy face of a man who looked to be in his late forties. "I'm Kevin Brighton." As if on cue an attractive woman in her early thirties appeared from inside the barn and began to herd the child and her docile pet into the darkness beyond the doors. Mulder turned his attention back to the tall rancher and noted that since the little girl had been taken out of their line of sight he appeared more relaxed. Mulder thought to himself. The rancher now stood in a casual stance with his large tanned hands resting lightly upon his denim clad hips. He was eyeing the two strangers before him with concealed worry. Whenever anyone in a suit had appeared upon his ranch it had always been something to do with Michael and these two turning up so soon after the fire didn't bode well to Kevin's thinking. "Like I said, something I can do for yer?" Kevin asked with just a trace of irritability in his voice. "I'm a busy man and I can see from the suits yer wearing that you ain't out here asking for a job." Mulder flashed his ID, "I'm Agent Mulder and this is Agent Scully," the hand with the wallet waved in his partner's direction, "We're here..." he got no further because Kevin Brighton interrupted him. "You're here about those news crews that have been trespassing all over my land, ain't yer?" He asked as his brown eyes first sized up Mulder and then moved on the do the same to his partner. "Afraid not, sir," Mulder replied, "we're here to interview your granddaughter about the fire." Both agents immediately sensed the change in the tall man as his relaxed posture now stiffened defensively once more. "She ain't got nothin' to say." He answered stonily and he turned to walk away from them hoping that they would get the hint and leave him and his kin alone. "We just need to ask her a few routine questions, sir, it shouldn't take up much of your time. In fact we could head right over to the barn now..." Mulder took a couple of strides in the direction of the barn, but got no further because a strong, callused hand gripped him around his forearm and spun him around. Kevin Brighton was now in his face, his brown eyes radiating fire, "Tell me, son, just what part of *she ain't got nothin' to say* are you having trouble understanding?" Mulder's eyes narrowed at the sting of the barb, "Sir, may I remind you that by refusing us access to your granddaughter you could be liable for charges of impeding a Federal Investigation." Scully decided to step in before things got out of hand. Mulder was playing hardball and when he got that way he could be pretty difficult. Yet the angry waves coming off of Kevin Brighton suggested that when challenged he could be just as pig headed as the rest of the male population. Mulder was playing a dangerous game with a man that had probably been responsible for the castration of more bullocks than Mulder had had hot dinners and Scully didn't particularly want to stand by and watch Mulder's balls, metaphorically speaking of course, be added to the rancher's list. She kinda wanted Mulder's balls, metaphoric or otherwise, to stay where they were. One day she might have plans for them. "Sir, if I may?" She noticed the rancher took a moment longer to stare down her partner before averting his eyes to focus on her, "If you would like to check with the other families of the victims of this tragic incident, you will notice that Agent Mulder and I have already interviewed most of them. We're aware of both the physical and mental trauma that these children have suffered and you have to believe me when I say that we in no way wish to add to that suffering." She paused to move between the two men and placed her left hand on Mulder's arm. He backed away a step or two and she stared up into the ranchers rugged face, "All we're trying to do, sir, is to paint a clear picture of what happened that night, so that we can stop something like that from happening again. Your granddaughter's statement could help us to further that goal." Kevin Brighton stood staring down into her eyes for what felt like an eternity, then she noticed an infinitesimal nod of his head and all the tension drained from his body. A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he finally answered her. "Lady, you know how to bullshit with the best of them." Scully smiled at his backhanded compliment and began to warm to the man standing before her. "Do I take that as permission to speak with Lyca?" She asked. "A couple of minutes that's all. She's still having nightmares about the whole thing and I don't like the idea of her being reminded of it." Kevin informed her. "I promise we'll be as gentle as we can be given the circumstances." Scully replied. Kevin nodded once more and then he was moving past her toward the barn and she began following behind him. Mulder fell into step alongside her and bent down to whisper in her ear. "Scully, I don't think a couple of minutes is gonna be long enough. I think *she's* the one." He stated excitedly. "Mulder, I've just saved you and your balls from a fate worse than death." And with that she followed Kevin Brighton out of the hot sunshine and into the dark interior of the barn. End Part Four... Disclaimed in part 1. Wednesday's Child by Rhondda Lake and Sherry Davis Part 5/? The Oecist Club, 46th Street, New York City. The cacophony of sound from the mid-morning traffic could be heard through the half open window of the gentlemen's club. Built at the end of the second World War, the club served as a meeting place for wealthy business men, career minded military officers and the puppet-masters that made up the mandarins of power. It was also the meeting place for those that had chosen to walk in the shadows. Four men, all aged somewhere between early sixties to late seventies, sat in their plush leather chairs. They were dressed smartly, their tailored business suits pristine. Two smoked large Havana cigars, and the smoke from them curled lazily through the air, eventually finding its way out of the opened window to mingle with the smells and sounds from the city below. The room was tastefully decorated. Oak panelling covered the walls, giving it the appearance of an old English country library. Antique furniture filled the room, sideboards, tables, a roll-top desk with captain's chair stood in one corner. Well crafted crystal decanters sat on top of the mahogany sideboard, filled with various rich looking liquids. The lighting was soft, wall lights and small reading lamps dotted the room. Nothing bright enough to chase away the shadows. One man, dark haired, large and swarthy in appearance, folded his copy of the Wall Street Journal and placed it upon the table at his side. He checked his watch, then summoned his personal assistant over to him. "Has he arrived?" His voice had a trace of an accent, Mediterranean or possibly South American as in keeping with his appearance. The assistant nodded slowly and the man ushered him away. He cleared his throat as he turned his attention the three other men in the room. "Gentlemen, our contact in Washington has arrived. Perhaps he will be in a position to enlighten us on the disturbing news we have been receiving recently." He brushed at a piece of cotton on his trousers and calmly crossed one leg over the other. The assistant opened the door and in came a tall gangly figure. He was much the same age, but he looked out of place amongst all the finery. His craggy, weather-beaten face and rumpled two-piece suit didn't fit in with the rest of the people in the room. He was a subaltern and although he should have known his place in the hierarchy of the group, he nonetheless seemed to work to an agenda all his own. Without hesitating, he walked slowly toward the chair situated in the center of the room and sat down. He lit a cigarette. The swarthy looking man fixed him with his small dark eyes. For as long as he could remember this man had been head of security for their project. A project started more than fifty years ago when all those gathered here were in the flush of their youth. Security had been tight and for decades nobody had dared question them and their motives. Now the nineties and its freedom of information threatened the very existence of their work, work that they would go to extraordinary lengths to protect. "Have you been able to confirm or deny the information that our source in New Mexico has relayed to us?" The swarthy man asked as a means of opening the conversation. The man with the cigarette inhaled sharply, taking the nicotine deep into his lungs before expelling it into the air around him. It shrouded his face in a thick mist for a few seconds before the smoke dissipated. "I can confirm that Agent Mulder and his partner are in New Mexico. From what I can gather they are investigating an arson attack at a grade school in Clayton." "For what purpose?" One of the other men asked, "What would grab Mulder's curiosity in a mundane arson case?" He looked at his colleagues in puzzlement. Cancerman smiled thinly and took another deep inhalation from his cigarette, "Mulder is looking for a young girl. One that apparently possesses some kind of super human strength." The other men looked at each other in wide-eyed alarm. The swarthy man was the first to break contact and turned his attention once again toward his subordinate. "How can that be? We have no ongoing projects in New Mexico." His dark eyes held those of the smoking man across from him, "Since the unfortunate incident with Mulder and the train-car, that area has been deemed unsafe for our purposes and all projects removed to a safer location." Cancerman nodded once, confirming the mans words. "Is there another project that we could be unaware of?" One of his colleagues asked, "Could another agency be looking into something without our knowledge." Cancerman waved a bony hand in the air dismissively, "Any and all projects have to go through us. None of our colleagues have been conducting any experiments in that area. I have checked." "Then I don't understand." The other man said, "How can there be a child in an area where we have no experiments taking place? How did she get there? Whose experiment is she?" "Could it be the Russians?" Another man asked, "Could they have infiltrated our defenses and be experimenting on our soil with their own children?" Cold dread filled his blue eyes as the ramifications of his own words hit home full force, "Maybe they have a colony of sleepers throughout the country waiting to be triggered when the date arrives." "Our Intel has stated that the Russians have been quiet since the incident with the rebel forces in Siberia. It knocked back their plans for an indefinite period of time. I do not think that this girl belongs to them." Cancerman stated flatly and withdrew another cigarette. "Then how..." The swarthy man began. "I do not know, but thanks to Agent Mulder, we have a chance of finding out." Cancerman lit his second cigarette and breathed deeply, "For once he has seen our shadow where it does not exist," a small upturned smile split his lips, "Unwittingly, he is helping us... doing our work for us... through his meddling we now know who the child is, her address... the fact that she was not born in a hospital... and the names of her supposed parents." "What do you suggest?" The swarthy man asked. "That we send a retrieval team to New Mexico to bring the girl back to our facility and learn what they can of who created her. Also, at six years of age she's currently outlived any product from our current projects. There must be someone overseeing medical intervention and with considerably more success then we have had so far. If we cannot locate the person overseeing her continued health, then perhaps we can discover the secret from her through testing." "See that it is done." The swarthy man watched as the smoker rose from his seat and prepared to leave, "and make sure that your team realise that failure in this matter is not an option." The smoker crossed to the door and left silently. The room fell quiet once more, the blaring of car horns and subway trains in the distance the only sound. The swarthy man picked up his newspaper and began to read the headlines. Soon they would have their answers. XXXXX BRIGHTON RANCH, 10 MILES WEST, CLAYTON, NEW MEXICO. 12.25 P.M. It turned out that the barn was considerably cooler than the July heat outside. Both agents had to wait while their eyes adjusted from the bright glare of the mid-morning sunshine to the dim, almost diffused, light inside the barn. If their eyesight was having trouble getting accustomed to their new surroundings, their sense of smell was not. Almost from the instant that they had crossed the threshold into the spacious barn their nostrils had been invaded by the sickly sweet aroma of eau de cow-pie. It was so overpowering that Mulder had to fight the temptation to gag. To compensate, he began to take shallower breaths and hoped to God that this interview wouldn't take too long. *Thank God, I'm not a country boy,* he thought sarcastically. When his eyes finally adjusted to the lighting he allowed himself a few seconds to survey the spacious barn. Immediately to his left stood two large stables which appeared to be empty of occupants. To his left, he found the culprits responsible for his nasal discomfort. A long line of milking stations, each with one resident owner, stretched out to the far wall of the barn. A conveyor chain had been set up to deal with the unwanted by-product that the cows emanated as they stood for hours on end in the small pens. Crinkling up his nose further, Mulder wondered if the conveyor was working to its full capacity. His eyes continued their sweep of the area and finally came to rest on the forms of Lyca and Sarah Brighton as they sat upon a hay bale, feeding and petting the docile calf. Sarah looked up with annoyance as Mulder and Scully approached, then shot a reproachful and questioning look toward her father. Kevin just shrugged at her. "Anythin' yer have to ask can be asked before my daughter an me." Kevin's eyes met with Scully's and the tall rancher seemed to dare her to keep up her line of bullshit. *That should be easy,* Scully thought to herself wryly, *considering I'm standing practically up to my sinuses in the stuff.* "Your daughter?" Mulder asked quizzically and turned to face Kevin Brighton. "I'm sorry, I thought Sarah was your daughter-in-law. Lyca's birth record listed her father as a Brighton as well so naturally I assumed..." "Never assume anythin', son. It just makes an ass outta you and me." Kevin crossed his arms across his chest defensively. "Sarah's my only child. Her Mama passed away when she was Lyca's age." Sarah seemed to be getting more and more agitated as the conversation wore on. "Excuse me, but would someone like to tell me what's going on?" "I'm sorry," Scully apologised and offered her hand in greeting, "I'm Special Agent Scully," she stuck a thumb in Mulder's direction, "and this is my partner, Special Agent Mulder, we're with the FBI." She delved a hand into the inside pocket of her suit jacket and extracted her leather identification wallet handing it over to Sarah Brighton, "We're here to ask your daughter some questions about the fire." Sarah opened the wallet and glanced briefly at the photo ID and the gold shield before locking eyes once more with the petite agent. "I don't understand. Why do you wish to ask my daughter questions about the fire? We've been informed by the Fire Department that it was a tragic accident." "Yes," Scully agreed, "that may well be the case, but the Bureau needs a clearer picture of what happened on the day of the incident. We've been interviewing all Lyca's classmates to ensure that we cover all the bases." The woman handed Scully back her badge and begrudgingly shook her proffered hand. Scully noticed that the woman's grip was firm and strong, and that the skin upon her thin hands were callused and work-rough. "My husband took my name so the family line wouldn't die out. It's not that uncommon these days." She looked uncertainly at the FBI agents. "Where is your husband, Mrs. Brighton?" Mulder looked down the row of milk stalls to the open doors leading to the stock yard. "He... left, two years ago." She looked away with a profound sadness in her eyes that was either genuine or the earmarks of an excellent actress. "We're sorry. We didn't mean to be impolite." Scully moved to crouch next to Lyca. "She's beautiful," she stroked the calf between it's soft, doe-eyes, "Does she have a name?" "Luna. She's the cow that jumped over the moon." Lyca held the bottle steady as the calf finished it's meal, but she finally looked up to acknowledge the strangers. "What about the fire?" Her question was asked in a hushed, fearful tone. The little girl suddenly looked very small and afraid. The blue eyes that locked onto Scully's with deep fear in their depths were the mirror of another child... another time... and Scully had to fight to keep her balance in her crouched position. Mulder picked up on Scully's reaction, and seeing a slight resemblance to Scully's departed daughter, he took over the interview. "Where were you, Lyca, when the initial explosion occurred?" The child bit her bottom lip for a moment and looked at her grandfather, who nodded slightly. "In math class. There was a loud noise and everything shook. Part of the ceiling came down and we were all screaming. Then smoke started coming in under the door." "Your teachers took you all to the gymnasium because the fire and destruction had cut off the primary and emergency exits you'd otherwise use," Mulder pressed on, but gently. "What did you see and do then?" "The teachers tried opening the door. Most of us were crying and really scared. Some of us were hurt, Cathy broke her arm when part of the ceiling fell on it, and Trent was burned as we tried to move away from the fire. He pushed me away when the fire roared up. He got hurt saving me." Lyca looked deeply sad about that. "We all had to lie down on the floor to breathe. There were more, little..." her face screwed up as she tried to remember the word the tall man had just used, "... explosions, and everyone was screaming and crying at the same time." Lyca looked quickly at her mother who nodded as well. "Someone began to pray. Then the air all rushed out, and we couldn't breathe at all. Then it came back again cooler. We saw the door was open and we all ran out." Mulder didn't exactly frown, but something glinted in his eyes. "Trent Thomas said you helped get him out." "He was hurt, and not getting up. I helped pull him." Lyca looked nervously at her mother again. "You didn't see who opened the doors?" Scully was almost surprised to realise she had been the one to ask the question. "No. It was all smoky." Lyca set aside the bottle she held and turned to her mother. "Can I go inside now? I feel kinda tired." "Sure, honey. I'll be with you in a bit." Sarah smiled tenderly at her daughter and escorted her quickly away from the two agents. "Well, that's all she saw." Kevin announced, "Hope it helped you folks." He motioned to the door they had entered through, the meaning clear in his actions. Scully straightened up, feeling her knees pop from the unfamiliar position. "It did, sir." Mulder replied casually, as he pressed his hand to the small of Scully's back, guiding her toward the exit, "It helped us a lot, Mr. Brighton." The agents quickly made their way back toward their rental car. Once inside and therefore cut off from the outside world by the insulating barrier of the car Scully looked at Mulder questioningly. "Oh, come on, Scully. If that kid wasn't coached I'll eat my badge." Mulder started the engine and slowly backed away from the house, flipping on the car's meagre AC unit as a means to rid himself of the stench that still permeated his nostrils. "Granted, she did appear to seek confirmation from her mother and grandfather, but let's not forget that she is a child, and nervous. She may have been seeking comfort and support." Scully nodded out the window when the ranch hand they had encountered earlier raised a hand in salute as they drove by the pasture. "Everyone here has been withdrawn and suspicious." Mulder replied, "Why? I mean, they're acting as if they have something to hide." He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance across at her, "I just want to know what it is that they're hiding. Like who her father was, if there was a father. I want to look for records of artificial insemination. That she is Sarah Brighton's daughter is without question." Mulder's fingers tapped against the steering wheel with restless energy. Scully was relieved he hadn't been so blind as to overlook that obvious fact. Lyca's hair and eye color may be different, and Scully suspected that was because she inherited genes from her father, but her features were very much a reflection of Sarah Brighton, even down to the way she turned her head. Scully turned a little in her seat so that she could study his face as she spoke, "Are you thinking of the Eve project or something more... recent?" Scully worried her bottom lip as she pondered her last remark. She couldn't make herself same the name in relation to a case like this. The car passed through the gates of the ranch and Mulder developed his usual lead foot. The car speeded up and away from the ranch, sending a cloud of reddish dust billowing in its wake. Scully could feel another eye strain headache approaching at the thought of delving into even more records. "What are we looking for now is some sort of tampering without the Brighton's knowledge or with it?" She stopped herself and shook her head, knowing deep down inside the answer that he would give her and deciding to cut him off before he did so, "And what if we find records of a Michael Brighton after all? Or, what if he exists, but they weren't married here?" "Records will exist, somewhere." Mulder fought against a grin. "Maybe they never really married, did you think of that? Some people still prefer the lie of legitimacy to the truth of illegitimacy, especially here in the Bible Belt." "But," Mulder pointed out, "if he left two years ago that would mean that he spent at least five years in this area. There ought to be tax records, social security details, medical records... something." He moved one hand off the steering wheel to scratch the side of his nose, "What we can't find at the records office, we can get Danny to follow up on. He can get records from any and all fertility clinics in a reasonable distance as well." Scully leaned against the car door and rested her head against her fist. It was beginning to look like it was time to hunt more snipe. She studied his reflection in the side window as the car made its way back toward the small town of Clayton. In the dullness of the endless miles of open farmland she allowed her own mind to wander. And it wandered once more into dangerous territory. Was he really using this case as a means of avoiding the issue of what had nearly happened in his hallway? She closed her eyes and breathed deeply as she thought about it. If she were truthful with herself, she didn't know if he were avoiding the topic or not. All she knew was that she wanted it all out in the open, the not knowing was slowly starting to drive her insane. Damn him. He hadn't said one thing about that moment between them since it had happened. Maybe he thought she didn't remember it? How the hell did he think that she could have forgotten something like that? The look on his face as his lips had descended slowly toward her own would forever be imprinted on her brain. Nearly becoming a frozen popsicle in the Antarctic hadn't even come close to erasing it. So what was he frightened of? Did he now think that it had all been a mistake? *Maybe it was all an elaborate ploy to get you to stay, Dana.* A nasty voice inside her head suggested snidely. He couldn't keep avoiding the issue. One way or another she was going to get him to talk about it, even if it took locking him in the damn records office and handcuffing him to a chair to do so. *Oooh Boy! Don't go there, Dana,* her mental voice chastised amusedly. There were far too many other things she could do with him handcuffed to a chair, and each and every one of them took that moment to pass across her mind like scenes from one of Mulder's porn videos. The car continued on its journey toward Clayton. Mulder still deep in thought over the interview that he had just taken place at the Brighton Ranch. He was desperately thinking of ways that he might be able to prove to Scully that there was something more at work here than just a fire. He was so distracted by his thoughts that he never noticed the fact that Scully had started squirming in her seat restlessly, nor the fact that she appeared just a little too flushed for someone sitting in an air conditioned car. XXXXX UNKNOWN LOCATION, VIRGINIA, 19.30 HRS. Peter Bryce was waiting for the telephone to ring. It was a pastime that had almost become second nature to him over the last few years. Ever since he had been recruited as a section chief to one of the military's black operations units, Peter and his six-man unit had spent most of their downtime playing the waiting game. As though bearing witness to his thoughts the phone on the console before him rang and he picked it up. "Bryce," he answered. "There's a situation that needs your attention," the voice on the other end of the line was one he now knew well. He would know it anywhere and although it was soft and almost breathless it had an undercurrent of menace that never failed to send a shudder down Peter Bryce's spine. The sound of him drawing in a lung full of black smoke was also a well-known sound. "Where?" Bryce asked as he picked up a pen and pad to write down the address. He knew that as soon as he had memorised the details he would burn them. His employers didn't believe in paper trails of any kind. "New Mexico. Your targets are Kevin and Sarah Brighton..." there was a pause and the sound of a breath being sucked in, "they are to be questioned, then they are to be eliminated. There is also a girl... about six years old who goes by the name of Lyca. She is to be detained and brought to the usual location as soon as possible." "What questions are to be asked?" Bryce disliked questioning. It took too much time. "Where the girl comes from. We need to know who developed her, and how they were contacted. We need to know who else is developing a project like our own. Who maintains her health? Anything pertenant to these facts." "Any address?" Bryce asked as he jotted down the previous details. The name of the girl struck a distant cord within him... Lyca... wasn't that the name of a character in a William Blake poem? "They live on a cattle ranch outside of Clayton, New Mexico. It should be easy to find." Cancerman paused for a moment to let his cohort finish writing down his details. When sufficient time had elapsed, he continued, "I have been requested to pass onto you, Bryce, that failure in this mission is not an acceptable option for you or your men. It is imperative that this girl be found and brought to us. She is already drawing too much attention from the wrong direction." "What do you mean?" Bryce asked. "My source has informed me that a certain tenacious FBI agent and his partner are already looking for the girl and may have narrowed down her whereabouts." Bryce nodded even though his boss couldn't see him. He knew who his boss was speaking about, he also knew of other units that had been sent out to deal with the troublesome FBI agents and what had happened to those units when they had failed. Suddenly his boss' earlier words were making him break out in a cold sweat. He couldn't afford to fail, not this time. When these two FBI agents were involved it was a case of 'Strike ONE and you're out.' Permanently. "My men and I will be ready to go within the hour," Bryce informed his boss. "Good. Don't let me down, Bryce." There was a click followed by the sounds of the dialling tone. Peter Bryce put down the receiver and turned briskly about face, heading out the office door to brief his six man team. End Part Five...