Wednesday's Child part 1/? By Rhondda Lake She was afraid. Her fear was a dark, primitive thing clawing it's way out of her. Only Mrs. Thomas' voice held that shrieking terror from overwhelming her. "Keep your heads down. As close to the floor as you can get and still..." Mrs. Thomas coughed, fighting for her own breath, "still move." The floor tiles were cold under her hands and knees, and her eyes watered and stung from the smoke and the smell. She felt her own lungs burn and a coughing fit overtook her. She could hear the others gasping for breath, soft whimpers of fear punctuated by hacking coughs. Behind her Mrs. Thomas urged them on. "Just a bit further. The gym should be the next door on the right." "I'm there. I got the door open, Mrs. Thomas." Jeffy Gray called out from somewhere ahead. "Good... good. Everyone follow Jeffy." She'd follow Jeffy if she could see anything but the tear-blurred outline of the treads on the sneakers ahead of her. Barbie sneakers. Must be Linda. Just then another explosion rocked the school. She could barely make out her own screams mingling with the others as a wave of heat swept over her back. She wanted her Mommy. She wanted her Daddy to be there to hold her and make everything better. Something above her fell, something on fire and she felt that new heat land too close for comfort. Mrs. Thomas was shouting for them to move. The child surged forward as fast as she was able, and found the edge of the gym's open double doors. The children inside were crying. "It's locked! It's locked from the outside. Mrs. Thomas..." Jeffy was frantic and she heard him rattle the doors, impotently. "Oh, dear God..." Mrs. Thomas' fatalistic plea sent the terror flying. The children began to scream louder, their cries become more desperate. Unable to hear Mrs. Thomas anymore, she took three great gulps of the warm, cloying air at the floor level and stood, holding her breath. Stumbling in the direction of the doors to the outside she blindly felt their edges. She knew she wasn't supposed to. She knew she'd be in trouble if she did. But they were all going to burn up if she didn't. She spun around and brought her foot up in a sweeping kick. The doors burst open and the hot air rushed past her like a hurricane, pulling the smoke with it. She could hear the roar of the approaching fire trucks and ambulances as she fell from the push of hot air rushing outward. The others rushed past her, screaming, glad to be alive, seeking the fresh air with all the strength left to their young bodies. Mrs. Thomas wasn't among the dark, soot covered press. She turned back, facing the roaring beast inside the school. It was hungry. It wasn't going to get Mrs. Thomas. Falling back to her hands and knees she returned to the smoky darkness. Behind her, now, firemen were screaming, and she felt water hit her back. Her fingers found Mrs. Thomas' hair first, then a shoulder. Hooking her hands under the shoulders she PULLED. The unconscious teacher slid over the gym floor. She pulled again, slipping in the water now pooling around her knees, soaking her jeans. Then there were grown ups there. One pulled her away from Mrs. Thomas, the other picked up the teacher. The outside air was blessed relief. She looked up into the masked face of a fireman. "It's okay, honey. You're okay." He was patting her down as if to assure himself. When he put her down she rushed to the gurney where paramedics were working on Mrs. Thomas. She was small, so she was able to get close enough to grasp the teacher's hand before someone noticed her. "Someone take care of this kid. She looks in need of medical attention." A fragmented voice came from her left. The voices were unreal. Only Mrs. Thomas was in sharp focus. "We'll take care of her, darlin'..." to her right just as she felt the rush of energy leave her. Her knees gave out just as Mrs. Thomas began to cough again. "I got a pulse. She's back. Get that oxygen on her..." Someone picked her up and she didn't see or care who it was. They were carrying her to another ambulance. Somewhere, far away, she heard someone shouting, "Thank God it was a small summer school class. Thank God..." Then another voice. "What the hell ripped open the chain holding those exit doors?" She knew she was going to be in trouble. Then she knew nothing. X - x - X THREE DAYS LATER Scully shielded her eyes from the glaring sun. Mulder was just inside the yellow tape roping off the burnt out husk of the town middle school. "Mulder, this report states that the fire was started by improperly stored fireworks. What are we doing here?" She hated when he kept her in the dark about a case. "A class of twenty accelerated learning students escaped this, along with their teacher. Amazing isn't it? Considering the school broke almost every fire code written." Mulder dropped a piece of charred brick and wiped his hands together. "The teacher got the children out through the gymnasium exit." Scully scanned the file in her hand. "Nope. That door was chained shut on the outside. Something... or someone, ripped that chain apart. That someone, according to the firemen who were just arriving when the doors burst open, was a five year old girl." He looked back at Scully, enjoying the subtle play of disbelief on his partner's face. "The chain was five hundred pound weight," he added, for effect. A familiar eyebrow raised. "And no one thought the smoke might have obscured what really happened?" "That's why we're here. By the way..." Mulder headed back to their rental car, evidently having seen enough of the burnt out shell of a former school, "The girl in question and her parents have disappeared. So have all medical files and blood work done on the kid when she was taken to the hospital." X-X-X BIG SKY HOSPITAL The smell of antiseptic was cloying enough to almost cover the scent of sickness and dehabilitation. Mulder knocked on the door of room 455 then let himself in without waiting for a reply. Scully followed, hoping Mrs. Emma Thomas was decent. "Mrs. Thomas?" Mulder betrayed a hint of surprise. Scully was a bit surprised herself. She had expected at least an oxygen tent, not to mention an older woman. Emma Thomas was in her late twenties with short, black hair and large, soft eyes. She was sitting up in bed, with a novel in her lap. The look she gave them was puzzled until Mulder flashed his badge. "I'm Special Agent Mulder with the FBI, this is my partner, Dana Scully." "Oh. Am I in trouble?" The woman paled a bit. "No, not at all. The school district might be, but not you. I understand you're actually quite a hero." Scully quickly reassured the woman, who had the grace to blush furiously. "I just did what any teacher would do. I'm just so glad no one was seriously hurt." At the last sentence Mrs. Thomas' doe eyes darted away from the agents. Scully frowned just slightly. Something was up. "If there was a hero at all it was Lyca West. She actually re-entered the burning school to try and drag me out. The whole fire crew was impressed, though I was mortified to hear it." The teacher studied her hands. "Lyca West, the five year old witnesses claim burst open the gymnasium doors?" Mulder's eyes met Scully's briefly. He was aware of the discomfort level in the room as well. "Oh, I doubt that agent... Mulder, was it? Mulder. Lyca is a slight little thing. I'd be surprised if she could have pushed open those doors without that damned chain, never mind with it." Mrs. Thomas met Mulder's eyes at last, daring him to correct her. "Do you remember anything else strange about the fire?" Mulder queried. The teacher shook her head, her eyes shifting away again. "Are you aware that the entire West family has disappeared?" Scully asked, pointedly. "Apparently they took all pictures, clothes and personal affects, but abandoned their apartment, furniture and other belongings." Mrs. Thomas chewed on her bottom lip and winced. With a long sigh she closed her eyes before speaking. "I long suspected the parents were in some kind of trouble." Her eyes snapped open, "Not that they would ever have done anything to harm Lyca. Lord, no. I'd have blown the whistle at any sign of such thing. But... The mother was always on edge. She was very leery of placing the child in advanced classes, despite the fact that, at five, Lyca was reading at the fifth grade level and was capable of basic algebra. It was the father who convinced her the child could handle it." Emma Thomas went back to examining her hands, "It was just that every time a picture was scheduled to be taken at the school, Lyca was out sick. She was the healthiest little girl, otherwise. And her records... well... they were too new. No wrinkles, stains or creases. They checked out, mind you. But... I thought I was just seeing something odd. And they never allowed her to receive in school shots. They claimed she was allergic to so many things it was better their own doctor take care of things." The teacher looked up again, her eyes boring into Scully's. "I've lived in this area all my life, and I've never heard of a Doctor Gronski. But the Wests dote on that girl and she obviously adores her parents." Scully nodded, the situation did sound very suspicious. Could the couple in question have kidnaped the child and live in fear of being caught? Despite what the teacher thought that kind of situation could be very dangerous. "Thank You, Mrs. Thomas. You've been very helpful." Mulder stuck out his hand and the teacher shook it. "One thing... You might think I'm crazy..." Mrs. Thomas chewed on her bottom lip again, "My leg was burned in the fire." Scully looked down to the teacher's covered leg. "My pant leg was vaporized, and my shoe is missing. I am quite certain I felt my leg burn from the second explosion. I tried to hide it from the children. They were panicked enough already. Their screaming covered my own, matter of fact. But... when I woke up in the hospital... not only was my leg perfectly fine, but there was no indication of smoke damage to my lungs. I don't mind telling you I passed out from both the pain and the inability to breathe any more smoke. I... I guess God was watching over me. I... You asked if there was anything strange and... well... there was that." end part 1. Wednesday's Child part 2/? by Rhondda Lake 10 MILES WEST CLAYTON, NM 7 YEARS AGO 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 reverberating 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 feet 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." Luminous green eyes popped open to stare into her soul. 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 assistance." 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 was 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 had 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 remind 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 realized 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. The first show of emotion she had witnessed from him thus far. She wondered if he was in shock, and if she could tell if he was. "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. x-x-x Sarah jolted awake as the truck hit another pot hole. She looked wildly about, disoriented for a moment. She'd been dreaming of the past. Lyca stirred in her lap and the present came crashing in. Looking down she made sure her daughter remained sound asleep. She hadn't slept well the night before on the lumpy mattress of the last cheap motel. Sarah felt tears well into her eyes. It wasn't fair. Lyca didn't deserve this. She was just a little girl. She needed normalcy, security in her life. A large hand covered hers on the seat of the truck and squeezed slightly. Sarah looked over to the driver and offered a weak smile. It would be okay. It had to be. They'd make it okay. All they had to do was find someplace they could blend in. Someplace where they were just three more faces in the throng. And no more classes for gifted children. Sarah tightened her grip on her sleeping daughter. Home schooling from now on. No compromising. end part 2. Wednesday's Child part 3/? by Rhondda Lake WEST APARTMENT BIG SKY, MT Scully sifted through the bills she'd discovered in a desk drawer. There were no credit card bills or purchases. All payments had been made on time, and not a single bill went back any further than ten months. "Anything interesting?" Mulder was going through the kitchen, trying to decipher the mystery of the average junk drawer. "No credit cards, nothing from before they moved here, and a lot of prompt payments." She looked over the phone bill. "Hey, here's something. Only four long distance calls, and three of them to Clayton, New Mexico. Each call about twenty minutes." She scrawled down the number on a piece of paper. "New Mexico?" Mulder's head popped through the doorway, a look of anticipatory glee in his eyes. "Not Roswell." Scully shot him a long-suffering look. The five room apartment was incredibly tidy, the three day accumulation of dust seemingly an affront to the former housekeeper. All the furnishings appeared to be second hand but well-maintained. There was a certain southwestern feel to the place, from the rugs and framed lithographs on the walls to the few knick nacks artfully arranged. "I'll take the master bedroom." Scully stood from her seat at a small roll-top desk in the living room. Mulder nodded and moved past her down a short hall. She glanced into the room he'd entered and caught sight of a Winnie the Pooh motif, and stuffed toys on the bed. Entering the master bedroom she noticed the same southwestern flavor. Indian print bedspread and throw pillows, a large Georgia O'Keefe print, and a small vase of wilted sunflowers. The dresser drawers had been cleaned out. On top of the dresser she spied deodorant, a hairbrush, small sample bottles of perfume, a single silver hoop earing and a half empty bottle of White Musk massage oil. There wasn't a single photo in the house so far. The closet yielded a man's work shirt with missing buttons and a torn sleeve. It was clean and indicated a large framed owner. Other than that, empty hangers stared mutely back at her. "I'm checking the bathroom..." She stood in the door of the child's room and froze. Someone had transformed one wall of the room into a mural. Not of Pooh bear and Christopher Robin, but of a nebula and starscape. It was beautifully rendered by a true artist. "Nice, huh?" Mulder was sitting Indian style before a pink bookcase. "You know, when I was five I read Dr. Seuss. Lyca West reads Bunnicula, the Animorphs and 100 amazing Make-it-yourself Science Fair Projects." Mulder tossed the last to Scully, who caught it expertly. She looked past Mulder's shoulder. A Wrinkle In Time, Charlie and The Chocolate Factory, The Wind In the Willows, Charlottes Web... Lyca's teacher was right, unless her parents read these to her, the child was reading way beyond the kindergarten level. However, she still acted like a five year old, if the crayon drawing on the wall, half hidden by the book case, were any indication. "Any pictures?" Scully scanned the room once more. "Nope." Mulder stood, knees creaking as he got up. "They must have taken any they had." "Bathroom." Scully announced as she left him. The room was as clean as her own bathroom. Towels were folded neatly, except for a Tigger towel haph-hazardly tossed over a rack. Budget brand shampoos and bubble baths filled the shelf of the shower, except for some lilac scented bath gel from Bath and Body Works. They had taken their tooth brushes and razors but there was a small bottle of Polo after shave on the back of the toilet. "Well, whatever prompted them to leave, they were pretty thorough." Scully frowned as she emerged back into the living room. Mulder was at the roll-top desk tapping a letter opener in his hand. "Mulder?" He held out the letter opener. It wasn't what she thought. It was a wood handled ice pick. "What the..." Mulder rushed back into the kitchen and jerked open a drawer, retrieving another ice pick, tossing it to Scully. "I'm seeing a pattern here, Scully." He moved quickly past her into the parent's bedroom and began rifling night stand drawers, then stuck his hand under the mattress. "Ah-HA!" His cry of triumph was accented with the flourishing production of another of the tools. "Either the Wests have an ice fetish, or they were afraid of something." Mulder handed the third unit to Scully. "Isn't that a leap?" She dropped the three instruments on the bed. "Is it? I don't think they were eccentric fans of Basic Instinct." He crossed his arms, "what do they remind YOU of?" "I'll grant you they do resemble the alien weapon. That *IS* where you're going with this, isn't it? But why would they feel the need to stockpile ice picks? Why would they even know about..." her eyes widened, "no, Mulder." She shook her head. Following Mulder's usual logic she knew where this was going. "Yes, Scully. I think Lyca West healed Mrs. Thompson. Just like Jeremiah Smith reputedly healed others." He gestured to the tools on the bed, "And the Wests were afraid someone would come after her." "You think a five year old girl is... what? An alien?" The eyebrow was back, speaking more eloquently than words of her opinion on that. "I think she may be a hybrid." Mulder nodded slightly. Scully's lips thinned as she pressed them together. Gathering her resources before she spoke. "I think it is much more likely that Lyca West was kidnaped as a baby, possibly even bought illegally, and her current 'parents' are terrified of being caught." "Let's see how that phone number enlightens us, and draw further conclusions from there." Mulder gestured to the apartment's phone. X-x-X SIX HOURS LATER BRIGHTON RANCH 10 MILES WEST CLAYTON, NM "I don't believe we're in New Mexico." Scully bestowed a look of tolerant affection on Mulder from the passenger seat of the car. "They wouldn't answer their phone. We know it's a ranch. Yipee Ki-Yi-Ya, Scully." Mulder grinned. He was enjoying this, perhaps a little TOO much. He had that cat-that-ate-the-canary look. Last time he had that look he'd spread plastic over the floor and introduced her to body painting with chocolate pudding. She still couldn't pass the Jell-O section of the supermarket without getting horny. She snapped violently out of her musings of Mulder and a memorable chocolate feast by her innate sense of danger. "Mulder, COW!" They came around the bend a little too fast and Mulder had to veer sharply to keep from hitting the 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 evening." Mulder opened the car door and got out into the hot early evening sun while Scully took a couple of relaxing breaths before joining him. "Ya'll 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. "If he's the owner." Mulder shrugged. "That'd be him." The man spat a wad of something unsavory 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, "We'll 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. They were greeted at the door by a whip thin woman in her mid fifties. "Can I help you?" her Mexican accent was faint. "We're looking for Kevin Brighton?" Mulder offered up his ID. "Come in. I'll get him." The woman led them to a comfortably appointed living room and gestured for them to have a seat before moving further into the house. Scully noticed an array of photographs on the mantle of an impressive fireplace. "Mulder," She gestured her head to the photos. Most were of a girl, a progression of pictures documenting a life, from infancy to a framed remembrance of a startlingly pretty woman in her late twenties proudly holding a squalling infant. Mulder tapped the glass over the baby's scrunched up face. "Odds that this is the child we're looking for?" "Bout Zero." Both agents turned to face the stern and craggy face of a man who looked to be in his late forties or early fifties."My daughter and her baby were killed in a car crash four years ago." He thrust out a large, work-worn hand, "Kevin Brighton." End part 3... Wednesday's Child part 4/? by Rhondda Lake Kevin Brighton closed the door behind the two Federal Agents and at last let himself sag. Damn... They were on the trail. Kevin knew the look of a dog with a bone. That man had it. His family was in trouble, again. He wished he had some way to warn them. But they wouldn't carry a cell phone, so they called him, when they could. Please, baby, call me. Kevin rubbed his left arm, feeling it stiffen. He'd branded four new hiefers today. Ages ago the hard work wouldn't have left him with this dull ache. Ages ago he'd have bodily thrown out two nosey FBI types. He was pretty sure he'd convinced them he'd been called from Montana regarding a job opening. His daughter and grandbaby were dead. End of story. It had to be. If it weren't... Kevin felt a sharp tearing pain through his chest. He gasped. Oh God, not now. "Rosita!" He called as his long legs decided to stop holding him up. His housekeeper ran into the room. "Mr. Kevin!" Her dark face paled as she crouched at his side. "M'heart." It was hard to talk, and his vision was going grey. "I call an ambulance." Her accent thickened as her fear took over. "LYLE!!!" Her bellow filled the house as she scrambled for the phone. Kevin Brighton ceased to listen to anything but the frantic pounding of his own heart. In his mind he slipped back to when it all began. LAZY B RANCH 10 MILES WEST, CLAYTON, NM. 7 YEARS AGO 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 green 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, "wounded... I am wounded." 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 rough hewn face slackened and rippled, reshaping and reforming until an exact duplicate of Kevin Brighton emerged. "Holy...," 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 hospital clinic 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 blue 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. > Kevin thought to himself, wryly. "Com'on, I'll show you to your new abode. You're going to need to shower, too. You smell like a burning spaceship." 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. The closest you can manage is, Drogan" "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, Drogan. 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 normal 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... end part 4... Wednesday's Child part 5/? by Rhondda Lake Scully slipped off her shoes and sat on the hotel room bed to look over the files Mulder had dug up. A quick search of county records for the years '93 and '94 revealed that one Sarah Brighton had, indeed, given birth to seven pounds and six ounces of sugar and spice on June 10th of 1994. The baby's name was Lyca, co-incidently. The father was listed as one Logan Fallin. There was also three death certificates dated November of that same year. Both the birth and death certificates had been signed by one Thomas Brighton, M.D. Brighton. As in the uncle of the deceased and brother of Mr. Kevin Brighton. The infant had not been delivered in the local hospital. Indeed, her own investigation revealed not a single medical record for either little Lyca Brighton or any trace of Mr. Fallin. Though there was an extensive record of Sarah dating from birth. Mulder emerged from the bathroom toweling dry his hair. He smelled of Irish Spring. "So what are the odds of the Brighton kid having the name of Lyca, as well? It isn't that common a name." Scully nodded. He had a point. And during their short conversation with Kevin Brighton it had become apparent that he was dodging questions. He had obviously been hiding information. "So if these records are to be believed, Lyca is the natural child of Sarah Brighton, aka Sarah West. So... what are they afraid of? Why are they pretending to be dead and living with assumed names? Even following YOUR theory it would mean the child was adopted or fostered. There is a mystery here, Mulder, but I'm not entirely certain it's the one you're looking for." "What if she was an abductee?" Scully's only answer was number five in her repitoir of 'looks'. "Stranger things have happened." Mulder half mumbled. "I'd ask you to name one, but the list would go on until morning." Scully tossed the file onto the nightstand. "You better have left some hot water." "I offered to share." He brushed a kiss across her forehead after she stood. "You know we're off the clock now." "What clock? We have a clock?" She smiled slightly and trailed a finger along his bicep. "Since when?" "Since about two minutes ago." Mulder's voice had dropped an octave. "Is that a gun in your towel, or are you just happy to see me?" An eyebrow shot up. She leaned up for a kiss just as the phone rang. Mulder groaned. "Ignore it." Scully winced, "how many people know this number?" She looked angrily at the motel phone. "Mulder sighed and gave up, crossing to the phone. "Just the guys. They say it's more secure than cell phones. I had them running a check on adoptions in this area." Snatching up the phone he growled into the receiver, "this better be good." "Who pissed in your Cheerios, Mulder?" Frohike's voice answered, more than a hint of offence present. "Sorry, what have you got? We're pretty certain the kid we're looking for wasn't adopted." Mulder cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear as he spoke. "You're right, no adoption records come close enough in that area. However, Byers recognized the name of that town and dug up some old MUFON files. You're not gonna believe this one, Mulder." The voice sounded smug now, with a touch of glee thrown in for good measure. "Give me the phone." Byer's voice was muffled at first, then clearer, "Mulder, in June of 92 a supposed Russian jet went down just outside of Clayton. The whole area was sealed for a while, due to possible nuclear contamination. There was even a search for a missing pilot. Does any of this sound at all familiar?" "It's one of my favorite stories, tell me more." Mulder looked over to see Scully standing, arms crossed, eyes warning him he'd better share with the class and soon. "The wreck was hauled away and the pilot was found dead, according to the press releases. There was no contamination. Sounds suspiciously like a Fallen Angel to us. To most MUFON groups, matter of fact. It'd logged as the Clayton Crash." Mulder froze. "Mulder? Mulder, are you there?" Byers sounded worried. "Yeah. Yeah I'm here. Thanks guys, I'm gonna have to get back to you." He hung up the phone and reached for the file Scully had tossed on the nightstand as he repeated Byers' information to his partner. "And I don't suppose it ever occurred to any of you that an aircraft really did go down? There's a military base thirty miles west." Scully pulled out her carry on bag and retrieved a travel pack of shampoos and bath gels. "One of the code names for a downed UFO is a Fallen Angel," Mulder held up a copy of Lyca Brighton's birth certificate. "The father is listed as Logan Fallin." "And?" Scully looked far from convinced. "I'm going to go take my shower now. You have two choices. When I come out you better be either in that bed, naked, or have my fresh clothes laid out. But just remember, we won't see much of a seven year old crash site, no matter what crashed, in the dark." The bathroom door closed behind her. Mulder looked from the bed to her suitcase. Decisions, decisions... X - x - X The man shifted in the chair, uncomfortably. Catching himself mid-fidget, he stilled his body and tried to appear calm and confident. "Are you certain about this?" A hand wielding a cigarette tapped a crime scene photograph of a piece of chain, and the notes regarding a stress test. Ashes skittered over the glossy surface. "Yes, sir. We would have missed it entirely, if you hadn't wanted to be kept updated on all of Agent Mulder's projects." He decided honesty was the best policy with this man. He knew lies too well, and could sniff them out with amazing accuracy. "Mulder is looking for a young girl. One that apparently possesses some kind of super human strength." "How can that be? We have no ongoing projects in Montana." An inhalation on the cigarette brought it's tip to painful brightness before the ashes obscured it. "All the merchandise in this project are accounted for?" "Yes, sir. None of them are missing." He answered promptly. He'd checked on that himself. "Is there another project that we could be unaware of? Could another agency be looking into something without our knowledge?" The man was unsure if he should answer or if his superior were wondering aloud. "Sir, I thought we were the only ones who once had access to the base materials. Even if the Russians were the ones to take the... necessary subject, the child in question is five years old. We can only advance aging in clones, not in original material. Unless they are leaps and bounds ahead of us in that as well..." A wave of a hand silenced him as a cigarette was crushed out in a nearby ashtray. "It's unimportant. What is important is discovering just who is responsible for this," he made a gesture to the open file on the desk between them. "Thanks to Agent Mulder, we have a chance of finding out all we need to know." Cancerman lit his second cigarette and breathed deeply, "For once he has seen our shadow where it does not exist," a small smile toyed with lips unaccustomed to such expressions. "Unwittingly, he is helping us... doing our work for us... through his meddling we now know who the child is, and the names of her supposed parents." "Your job is now to locate them. We need the child, unharmed. At five 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. We must first learn how she came to be, and the existent of her abilities. After that..." A tap on the cigarette sent ashes scattering into the air. "She must be delt with before our 'friends' find out she exists. Bring in the mother as well. We need to know what she knows, and if she is, in fact, the biological mother she may be of use to the project." The man nodded solemnly, already making plans within his own head. "And Reese," The file was close and handed across the desk to him, "I don't have to tell you the price of failure in this matter." Reese shook his head. He understood. He stood and left, understanding the dismissal. He had a team to put together. end part 5.