Okay, this is my first attempt at X-Files fan fiction, and I'll
appreciate any constructive criticism.  Flames will be thoroughly
ignored.

Disclaimer:  The characters and situations of the television program
"The X Files" are the creations and property of Chris Carter, Fox
Broadcasting, and Ten-Thirteen Productions, and have been used without
permission.  No copyright infringement is intended.

Summary:  Scully's analytical mind is put to the test when she
encounters an old boyfriend during a bizarre case. 

Spoilers:  Mild almost unrecognizable reference to a case in Season 4.  

Classification:  Plenty of X-File, UST, some Mulder angst and Scully
angst.  Hopefully, a tad of humor, too.

PG just to be safe.

Permission is given for this fan fiction to be posted on atxc.  Any
other archives, please let me know you're doing it. Thank you.


The Reaper's Hand 
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk


FBI Headquarters
Basement
Friday, 5:30pm. 

     Fox Mulder flipped through his Rolodex quickly, hoping he'd find
the name in time.  What was her name again?  Becky Wimble?  Jackie
White?  Brandy Wine?  He shook his head and pushed an impatient hand
through his hair.  At this rate he'd never find it.

     And what if Scully found out?  What would she say?

     He tapped his fingers on the desk, contemplating his next move.
The last thing he needed was for Scully to be any more pissed off than
she already was.  All week she'd been acting strangely, and he had to
admit it was getting to him.  Their last case had been a long one;
they'd been in South Dakota in the middle of nowhere for almost two
weeks.
 
     Sighing heavily, he reached for the Rolodex again.  He was never
going to get this done in time, but then it was his fault for waiting so
long.  If he could find the name then he could get his plan into motion
before-

     The door suddenly creaked open, and Mulder swiveled his chair
toward the door.  Dana Scully came in the room, her arms stacked with
newspapers.  She dropped the papers onto her desk with a thud.

     Mulder smiled at the exasperated look on his partner's face.
"Housecleaning again, Scully?"

     Straight faced, she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head
to the side.  "Mulder, I haven't been home long enough in the last two
weeks to clean house."

     Mulder winced.  That reminded him of something else he'd forgotten
to do.  Their last case really had put a crimp in things.  He leaned
back against his chair.

     "You're not planning on going through all those papers tonight, I
hope," he said.

     She glanced at her watch and sat down at her desk.  "Yes."

     "It's almost six o'clock.  Times up and there's a great episode of
the Night Stalker on tonight."

     She lifted one eyebrow sardonically.  "Since when did you ever pass
up work for an episode of Night Stalker?"

     He swiveled around to his desk and picked up a file folder.  Then
he stood up and handed her the folder. "I figured I'd better take a
break before this next case.  We've got tickets to leave at 6:00am
tomorrow."

     Scully sighed, picked up her glasses and put them on.  "When did
this come in?" 

     "About an hour ago.  Skinner stopped by."

     She opened the file and began to read.

     He turned back to his Rolodex.  Methodically, he went through the
small cards one by one until he finally hit the right name.  Brandy
Vine.  Snatching the card out of the holder, he turned to Scully with a
smile. "Bingo!  Just the woman I need."

     Scully didn't look up from her file.  "A Rolodex, Mulder?  I
thought you kept a little black book."

     "Lost that years ago.  Think it was about the time I met you."

     Slowly she looked up at him, the barest of smiles curving her lips.
"Hot date tonight?"

     "No.  Why?  Are you volunteering, Scully?"

     "Sorry, but I've got a date with the Night Stalker at eight."

     Mulder closed his eyes and counted to ten.  There didn't seem to be
any way to throw Dana Katherine Scully into a tail spin.  He'd have to
try harder.

     After a few seconds of perusing the papers in the file, she peered
at him over the top of her reading glasses.  "This report says the
victim was missing parts of his intestines, liver, heart and lungs.
This is very odd."

     "Especially when the coroner remarks that he couldn't find any way
this man's organs could have been in the shape they were and have him
still be alive,"  Mulder said.

     Scully looked at the report closely.  "No sign of a level four
virus.  That could have dissolved parts of his body."

     "Also no signs of previous surgeries that would account for removal
of parts of vital organs."

     "Very interesting.  But why would Skinner send us on something like
this?"

     "The man who was murdered apparently has friends in high places,
and they want to get to the bottom of it," Mulder said.

     He stood up, leaned on the desk with one hand and pointed to an 8
by 10 glossy of a handsome man.  "Eric Thomson, former owner of Witch's
Cave. A bar in Salem, Colorado."

     He heard her sharp intact of breath before he even looked at her.
"I don't believe it."

     "What?"

     Scully's blue eyes widened, and she picked up the black and white
photograph.  "I know this man."

     Looking down at her, Mulder could see the worry lines that creased
her forehead.  "Where from?"

     She put the photo down and looked up at him.  "College.  He dropped
out of med school part of the way through."

     "Well it looks like his chosen profession wasn't that far off the
mark."

     She frowned.  "Bar owner?"

     He shrugged.  "And bartender.  I've known a few that dispense
advice and medicine as good as what you can get in the doctor's office."

     Smiling slightly, she held his gaze for a few seconds before her
expression clouded over and she looked down at the photo again.  "I'd
never have guessed he'd end up dead in an alley.  Who would want to kill
him?"

     Going back to his chair, he stretched his long legs out in front of
him and crossed them at the ankles.  "Maybe someone didn't like his
advice."

     She looked through several more pages of the file.  "Wait.  This
doesn't make sense.  The coroner's report says Eric died of alcohol
poisoning.  And the police found no evidence to support  a murder."

     Mulder shrugged.  "Skinner insinuated that family members think
there's more to it than that."

     "Such as?"

     "Eric's wife Clara said he never touched alcohol."

     She shook her head.  "He must have become a teetotaler in the last
few years.  I was always amazed at how much he could drink at a party
without getting sick.  I think he prided himself on it."

     He linked his fingers behind his head and sighed.  "Other family
members also said he didn't drink alcohol."

     "Why does Skinner think this is an X-File?" 

     Before he could answer his phone rang, and he picked up it up.
"Mulder," he said.

     Looking back at the file, she glanced through the coroner's report
again, trying to pick up on clues that might point to another cause of
death.

     "Hi," Mulder said into the phone.  "Yeah, I know.  Listen, I'll
have to put it on hold until I get back from a case.  I'm going out of
town tomorrow morning."  He chuckled and rubbed his eyes.  "I know.  Me,
too.  I've been looking forward to it for a long time."

     Scully looked up from the file and directly at Mulder, curiosity
pinching her features slightly.  Mulder smiled at her, and she looked
back at the file.

     "I'm disappointed, too, "Mulder said.  "If I'd done it
before...well, no use crying over spilled milk.  What's done is done.
See what you can cook up while I'm gone.  Okay.  I'll talk to you when I
get back.  Thanks, Gloria."

     After he hung up, he wrote himself a reminder.  Another thing to
add to the list of should ofs, could ofs, would ofs.  He had to stop
procrastinating.

     "Gloria from Operations, Mulder?"

     "Yeah."

     "I didn't know you were dating her."  He could feel Scully's gaze
boring him in the back so he turned back around.

     She looked almost angry, he thought.  No.  Not any more angry than
she'd looked all week.  "I'm not."

     Retrieving her briefcase from beside her desk she said, "She's
married."

     "I know."

     "Very happily married."

     He smiled.  "I didn't know you cared, Scully."

     She pinned him with that particular look that only Scully could and
tossed the file on Eric Thomson into her briefcase.  "Do you mind if I
take this file home tonight?"

     "No."

     "Good."  She stood up, grabbed her purse and briefcase and started
for the door.  "I'll see you tomorrow."

     Without another word she was gone, closing the door firmly behind
her.

     Mulder stared at the door for a few moments.  What had gotten into
her lately?  During their last case he'd wracked his brains trying to
figure out what was bothering her.  No one factor pointed him in the
right direction and it was starting to worry him a little.  Witty
rejoiners aside, there was an edge to her that made him feel like an
outsider.

     Yeah, that was it.

     In all the years of working with her he'd never felt this sense of
detachment from her.  It was gnawing away at him like a mouse with a
piece of cheese.  His feelings about her were always ambiguous at best,
because he could never define them. 

     Friendship, certainly.

     But something lay beneath the surface.

     Eating away.

     Shaking his head again, he turned away from the door, looked at the
wall clock and muttered, "No Night Stalker for me tonight."

     Then he picked up the phone and dialed Brandy Vine's number.

End of Part One




-- 
Denise A. Agnew


Disclaimer:  See Part 1

Classification:  Plenty of X-File, UST, some Mulder angst and Scully
angst.  Hopefully, a tad of humor, too.

PG just to be safe.

Permission is given for this fan fiction to be posted on atxc.  Any
other archives, please let me know you're doing it. Thank you.

The Reaper's Hand (2/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk 

Dana Scully's Apartment
10:00pm

     Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight.  Scully knew that before 
she'd even reached her apartment after leaving Mulder at FBI 
Headquarters.

     As she lay in bed, she listened to the wind whispering and 
lashing against the window. At least that's what it seemed to be 
doing.  Murmuring about how she was denying her feelings.  She 
turned on her side and stared into the darkness.  She sighed.  
Seeing that picture of Eric Thomson's handsome face reminded her 
of someone else she'd known in med school, and she didn't care to 
recollect that time in her life.  A time full of learning, 
exploration, and love.  What was the old saying?  It was the best 
of times and the worst of times?  Wasn't that how it always felt?  
Telling herself that the memory was a fickle thing didn't help.

     Lucien Gray.

     Even the name evoked flashes of deep feeling.  Lucien had 
been Eric Thomson's best friend all through college, at least 
until Eric had dropped out.  Then Lucien had kept in touch with 
Eric by phone.

Lucien had been more than her friend, but she wouldn't have 
called him a significant other.  No, he was too aloof for that.  
Too remote and ordered, too deep into his science to be 
significantly in anyone's life.

Like someone else she knew and cared for.  Mulder.

Mixed in with her speculation about the case was a new 
direction in her feelings for her partner.  Now, whenever he 
touched her, whenever he was close to her, her attention would 
focus on his proximity, or the heat of his body.  Not the task at 
hand.

She turned over on her side and pushed thoughts of her 
partner to the side.
Lucien.

He'd given her a glimpse into a hidden part of himself, a 
side filled with heat and passion and something she once had 
mistaken for love.  When Lucien had graduated and left for Salem 
to work on a practice of his own, he'd taken a vital piece of her 
with him, one she wasn't sure she'd ever get back.

How did you regain trust and the desire to give your all to 
someone? 

  After Lucien had left she'd concentrated on moving forward 
with her life, and when she'd started working with the FBI life 
was too busy to reflect much on Lucien.  Then came the X-Files.  

The wind bashed against the window again, roaring like an 
angry bear.

        Great.  If tonight's forecast for snow was correct, maybe 
their flight out of Dulles tomorrow would be canceled, and it 
would give her time to think of an excuse not to go to Salem.

        If she was really lucky Lucien might not live in Salem now.  
After all these years it seemed unlikely.  Lucien was too 
ambitious, too hard-driving to stay in one place long.  She'd 
always wondered why he'd started a practice in a small place like 
Salem anyway.  He could have started in a high speed, low drag 
hospital right away with his reputation and credentials.

        For one tiny moment she considered getting out of bed and 
turning on her computer.  She could surf the net and check for an 
address and phone number.  At least she'd be well armed before 
she went to Salem.  Or she could go back to the office-

        No way.  What if Mulder was still there?

        "What of it, Dana?" she said out loud.  What would be so 
different about that?  It might even be fun to listen to more of 
his witty repartees.  Already he'd probably formulated some 
theory about an alien who injected alcohol into people's blood in 
lethal quantities.

        Not likely.  The coroner's report had stated Eric's liver 
was already in bad shape when he'd died. 

On the way home she'd cursed at herself for bringing the 
case file home.  She really should relax while she had the chance 
and not take work home with her so often.  But her work was her 
life.  Not that she was complaining.  Where else could she 
satiate her curiosity about anomalies of nature, the laws of 
physics and medical science and have so much fun?

Their trip to South Dakota had been interesting, and for 
once Mulder had managed to get through a case without getting 
hurt.  She smiled into the dark.  God, she loved this job.

Okay.  Maybe fun didn't come into it.  At least not at the 
moment.  Lately she'd been feeling restless.  Ill at ease.  In 
the back of her mind was a querulous devil that told her maybe 
she needed a vacation, some time away from hard driving schedule.  
Perhaps someplace warm and secluded where she could lie in the 
sun, read a good book, and sip one of those drinks with the 
little umbrella in it.

Closing her eyes she turned over.  She wondered if Mulder 
really was still at the office working or if he'd managed a 
liaison with the woman in the Rolodex file.

No.  He was probably slumped on the couch watching an old 
movie.  But who was to know?  With Mulder you never could tell.  
He was so damned obtuse sometimes.  In South Dakota he had really 
gotten on her nerves, and she'd found herself snapping at him, 
questioning his every reasoning, even those that weren't bizarre 
or unusual.  And every night before she went to bed, she'd try to 
understand why she'd been so touchy, so off kilter.

She made up her mind.  After this case she'd take vacation.  
A week or two away to sort out her feelings.  When she came back 
she'd be her old self again.

Mulder would be his old self.  Unpredictable.  Mad cap.  
Smart aleck extraordinary.  Her friend.  The only person she 
could trust with her life.

Discomfort welled in her psyche.  There was that word again.  
Trust.  Mulder didn't trust anyone, except for her.

Yet there was part of him that was closed off and 
inaccessible, and she respected that, just as he honored her 
space.

Restless she turned over again, listening to the increasing 
winds.

"Come on," she whispered.  "Come on.  Snow."

Frowning, she drifted to sleep, that niggling discomfort 
indefinable need diminishing with the need for rest.

End of Part Two  
The Reaper's Hand (3/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk


Twenty Miles From Salem, Colorado

     Scully watched the road zip by.  The thrum of the tires on the
pavement and the endless stretch of road out of Denver was starting to
hypnotize her.  It was a good thing Mulder was driving.  She felt like a
zombie this morning.  She'd slept like a bear in hibernation, comatose
and always on the edge of wakefulness.

     Unfortunately, the morning had dawned clear and their flight to
Denver went on.  She'd napped on the plane, avoiding conversation with
Mulder most of the way.

     He, on the other hand, looked rested and alert.  "How was your
night, Scully?"

     "Fine.  How was your night?"

     "Excellent.  Everything came together perfectly."

     She looked at him sharply.  If he'd gotten together with the
Rolodex woman... 

     "Ever get to watch Night Stalker, Mulder?"

     He smiled but kept his gaze on the road.  "Nope.  Too busy."

     "Going over the case?"

     "How was I supposed to do that when you had the file?"

     Feeling stupid, she smiled.  "Sorry.  I forgot."

     "That was a long sleep on the plane.  Up all night reading the
file?"

     "Yes."  She lied, but she certainly couldn't tell him that Lucien
Gray had popped in and out of her dreams all night, or that she'd had
vivid, very disturbing dreams about Mulder. suddenly.

     "After you left last night I did some more checking.  Eric's not
the only person who's turned up in Salem with sundry parts missing."

     Her brows drew together.  "What?"

     Mulder's stomach growled loudly.  "I'm hungry.  Why don't we stop
and get something to eat before we get to the sheriff's office?  We're
almost to Salem anyway."

     "I don't know if I could eat anything."

     A queasy, unsettled feeling rolled in her intestines.  The idea of
food didn't appeal to her.  She'd barely touched the stuff they'd served
on the plane.  Although as a doctor she'd witnessed far too many grizzly
scenes to believe talking about missing body parts would upset her
stomach. 

     "Then I'll eat and we can discuss the case before we meet with
Sheriff Allan.  We've got plenty of time."

     As they crested a hill, Scully gazed out the window at the
mountains around here, enjoying the majestic scenery.  Aspen trees had
begun to turn, and the dazzling combination of golden hues and deep
green was a rich palate.  Salem wasn't far from Denver, but it nestled
just into the Rocky Mountains, secluded and somehow lost in time.
Everything here looked pristine and clear, the thinness of the air
giving it a sharpness and rugged appearance.  Maybe that was what her
problem was.  She had a little oxygen deprivation.  It had been a long
time since she'd been in altitude this high.

     Salem came into view, and she was immediately impressed by the
panorama.  Quaint houses row upon row, a variety of late Victorian era
structures, some of them painted pastel colors.  Then there were
Colonial style homes, their plain faces either brown or white.

     "It's not very big," she said.

     "You know what they say about throwing a rock from end to end?  The
population is just over six hundred souls.  Established in 1899."

     "The houses look like New England clapboards."

     Mulder nodded as they drove into Salem.  "A little strange for
Colorado wouldn't you say?"

     "Maybe.  Everything looks well taken care of."  She looked at her
watch.  "It's getting late.  I think we should find the sheriff's
department first and then eat."

     "Okay.  But I warn you, I get grouchy when I haven't had anything
to eat for hours."

     She shook her head.  "Mulder, you don't need a reason to get
irritable.  It's a part of your genetic make up."

     As their car passed a small park, Scully thought she saw a dark
figure step from behind a tree.  A tall, lean figure with a fall of
dark, flowing hair.  From this distance she wasn't sure whether it was a
man or a woman.  Deep inside her familiarity rose, a certainty that she
knew who the person in the park was.

     No one else was in the park, or she was sure they would have been
just as alarmed as she was at what she saw next.

     The figure vanished.

     She reached out and grabbed Mulder's arm.  "Mulder, stop the car!"

     Startled, he glanced over at her.  "What's wrong?"

     She pointed to the curb.  "Just pull over there."

     He pulled over and the tires screeched with the effort.  "What is
it?"

     Opening her door she looked over the roof of the car.  Scanning the
area, she looked from tree to tree, from picnic table to picnic table.
Whoever had been in the park was gone.

     Mulder got out of the car and looked in the direction of her gaze.
"What did you see?"

     "What?" she said, the sound coming out breathless and surprised.
"Uh...I'm not sure what I saw."

     He smiled.  "Was it animal, vegetable or mineral?"

     Still curious about what she'd seen, she shook her head and got
back into the car.  "There was a figure in the park.  I was looking at
it and it simply vanished."

     Mulder laughed.

     She glared at him.  "What's so funny?"

     He started the car and pulled away from the curb.  "After all this
time working on the X-Files and you finally see a ghost."

     She closed her eyes for a moment, then scowled at him again.  "I
didn't say it was a ghost, Mulder."

     His mouth tilted up at the corners slightly, but he didn't laugh
this time.  "I did.  According to the research I did last night Salem
has a lot of ghosts.  One in particular haunts that park back there."

     Looking at him in disbelief, she said, "You're kidding, right?"

     "No.  Apparently the one in the park isn't too shy, either.
Practically everybody who lives here long enough sees it at least once.
Welcome to Salem."

     "Humph.  You managed to find out that much information just since
last night?"

     "I let my fingers do the walking."

     She stared at him, but he kept his gaze on the road.  Did he mean
what she thought he meant?  "The Rolodex woman?"

     They came to a stop sign, and he turned a hundred watt smile on
her, then looked both ways before continuing on.  "I have my sources." 

     She hated it when he did that.


The Reaper's Hand (4/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Salem, Colorado
2:00pm

     Scully and Mulder found the sheriff's department with ease.   It
was on the main street just before the end of town.  As they climbed out
of the car, Scully looked down the block and noticed a tall bell tower
perched at the end of the street.  She could barely make out a weather
vane at the top of it, spinning in the wind.

     A river of heat washed into her limbs, and her knees felt a little
shaky.  She leaned on the car.  Mulder moved around to her side of the
car and stopped very close to her.  His was grinning widely, and when
she looked up at him she felt a dizzy swirl pass through her head.

     Wind tossed his hair into a tangle, and his eyes were penetrating
and serious.  He took hold of her arm.  She felt the warm press of his
fingers and it sent a tiny shock clear up her arm.

     "You okay, Scully?"

     Her head began to throb a little.  "Altitude sickness, I think.
Maybe not enough sleep."

     Mulder's frown deepened and his grip on her arm tightened.
"Feeling a little depressed about this case?"

     Surprised that he was so on the mark, she almost admitted it.
Depressed wasn't the word.  Apprehensive, maybe.  "No, why should I be?"

     "Eric Thomson was your friend, right?"

     "We weren't good friends.  Acquaintances is a better way to
describe it."  She looked down at where Mulder held her arm, acutely
aware that he was still touching her.

     "Look, we can go right to the hotel and get you checked in.  You
can lie down, and I'll come back and talk to the sheriff."

     "No.  I'm fine.  Let's get on with it."

     She gently disengaged herself from his touch, feeling more than
slightly ruffled by his intrusion into her personal space.  It seemed
that lately,  when he looked at her there was a special glint in his
eyes.  Was it her imagination?  Had it been there all along and she was
noticing it just now?

     A certain protective attitude.

     It had always been there between them.  She didn't like to think
about being without this special relationship.  It was almost
unthinkable.

     Almost.

     Sure he was her partner, but there was something more that
disturbed her, made her increasingly hyper aware of him.  She didn't
have time to analyze it right now, however, and walked ahead of him into
the building.  

     The only thing housed in the building was the Sheriff's department,
and a young deputy at the front desk directed Scully and Mulder to
Sheriff Mel Allan's office directly down the hall to their left.

     As they walked down the hall, the floorboards beneath their feet
creaked, and Scully looked up at Mulder. 

     "Anything about this place remind you of another small town we
visited?" she said.

     "If the sheriff starts talking about incestuous relationships and
genetic malformations I'm leaving," he said.

     The door to the sheriff's office was open. Inside the small office
a man in his fifties with thinning salt and pepper hair sat at his desk
typing at a computer.  He looked up at them and smiled, rising to his
feet.  Thin, almost to the point of being gaunt, he had a sharp, unusual
look.  Like a large, very inquisitive mouse.

     "Sheriff Allan?" Mulder asked.

     The man nodded and reached out to shake Mulder's hand.  "You got
me.  You must be Agents Mulder and Scully.  Please have a seat."

     Mulder and Scully sat down, and the Sheriff settled behind his
desk, leaning his elbows on the desk and folding his hands.  

     "So, how do you like our little town so far?" Sheriff Allan asked.

     "It's beautiful," Scully said.

     "Agent Scully has already seen a ghost," Mulder said with a
straight face.

     The sheriff's dark eyebrows speared upwards.  "Already?"

     Scully cleared her throat and reached into her briefcase to pull
out the file on Eric Thomson.  "Sheriff Allan, Agent Mulder and I would
like to interview Eric Thomson's family."

     Sheriff Allan nodded.  "I can arrange that.  But I warn you, you
might not get a good reception."

     "I thought Eric's family wanted his alleged murder investigated,"
she said.

     The Sheriff pushed his fingers through his graying hair and sighed.
"Well, more specifically, his wife wants it investigated."

     "What about Eric's parents?"

     "They're less enthusiastic.  They think Clara is reacting
hysterically.  According to Eric's parents, he was on the edge because
of his drinking.  Clara insists Eric never drank."

     "What do you think, Sheriff?" Mulder asked.
 
     The older man narrowed his eyes at Mulder.  "When one of my
deputies found Eric in the alley next to the Catholic church, I wasn't
exactly surprised.  Two weeks ago he had a car accident that could have
killed him and Clara.  Got a DUI.  Now I've known Clara since she was a
little girl.  She's always been sensible, calm...a very stable person.
I think her grief is so great she's in denial about his drinking." 
        
     "Sheriff did you know that Eric was missing parts of his internal
organs?" Mulder asked suddenly.

     The Sheriff turned a little green, and Scully groaned inwardly at
her partner's style of coming out of nowhere with questions and wild
theories.

     "I read the coroner's report," Sheriff Allan said.

     "Did your deputy report anything unusual that night when he found
Eric's body?  Anything that might explain how Eric came to be missing
parts of his anatomy?" Mulder asked.

     Scully scanned the deputy's report and then looked at Mulder.
"There's nothing here to suggest the deputy had any idea Eric was
missing internal organs.  There were no external wounds visible."

     Sheriff Allan picked up a pen and tapped it against the stack of
papers in front of him.  "Almost sounds like one of those cattle
mutilations."  He chuckled.  "I've seen some pretty strange things
around these parts but I'll be damned if you can explain it."

     "Cattle mutilations or Eric's missing parts?" Mulder asked.

The sheriff gave Mulder an exasperated look.  "Cattle mutilations are
caused by coyote.  Mountain lion.  That sort of thing."

     Mulder gave Scully a small smile but said nothing.  The sheriff
cleared his throat.  "When I read the coroner's report the first thing I
thought was that Eric had surgery some time."

     "There would have been some scars visible if he'd had surgeries.
As it is, he couldn't have survived with the damage to his organs,"
Scully said.

     "Well, he was walking around fine just a few days before."  The
sheriff stood up and walked over to the coffee pot on a stand behind
him. "Coffee?"

     Mulder and Scully declined and watched silently as the thin man
poured himself a cup.

     "Did you see Eric a few days ago, Sheriff?" Mulder asked.

     Sheriff Allan went back to his chair.  "Yup.  He was sitting in the
park over off Main Street."

     Mulder glanced at Scully, and she raised her eyebrows at him.  

     "What was he doing?" Scully asked.

     "He was on a park bench talking to someone.  It was-"  He rubbed
his chin and looked into the distance.  "Now if that don't beat all."

     Scully and Mulder waited patiently.  After a moment Sheriff Allan
looked at them, furrows of puzzlement etching his forehead.  "I can't
for the life of me remember who I saw him with." He shrugged.  "Don't
matter I guess.  It'll come to me."

     "You can contact us when you remember, Sheriff.  I'd also like to
view the body if I may," Scully said.

     The sheriff nodded.  "We're about ready to release it to his wife,
so you'd better get over there quick."

     "Sheriff, I retrieved some information that suggests there have
been others who've turned up with missing body parts," Mulder said.

     Mulder watched the sheriff shift in his chair, then begin tapping
the pen against the paper stack again.  "There was one incident, but
that was years ago.  Before I was even sheriff.  Some damn fool got
drunk and fell off a bridge outside of town."

     "And he was also was missing undisclosed parts of his body in much
the same way as Eric Thomson," Mulder said.

     Apparently the sheriff's patience with Mulder's tactics went only
so far.  He narrowed his eyes.  "What are you getting at Agent Mulder?"

     "If it was murder, it sounds like the killer's been around a long
time.  Right under your nose, Sheriff," Mulder said.

     Sheriff Allan's eyes sparked.  "Are you insinuating I'm not doing
my job, young man?"

     Scully cleared her throat.  "I'm sure you've given this case your
full attention."

     Leaning back in his chair, the sheriff cast a suspicious look on
Mulder.  "I was elected four years ago because the sheriff before me
didn't have a clue what he was doing.  I've been in law enforcement a
long time.  It's rare anybody can put something past me."

     "Who was the sheriff before you were elected?" Scully asked.  

     "Jeff Strasney.  Been dead going on four years now.  Had a heart
attack right after the election."

     "Didn't like retirement?" Mulder said.

     Sheriff Allan stared at Mulder silently, a look akin to confusion
or disbelief on his face.  Scully wasn't sure if the sheriff always
understood Mulder's brand of humor or if he was astonished at her
partner's attitude.

     "Bad diet," Sheriff Allan said.  Touch for the sheriff, Scully
thought. 
 
     Mulder leaned forward in his chair, apparently unruffled by the
sheriff's come back.  "May we interview the deputy who found Eric's
body?"

     The Sheriff was silent for so long, it appeared he might not
answer.  Then he shrugged.  "Don't see why not.  You'll have to catch
him at home, though.  He's off today.  Lives on the old Double X Ranch a
couple miles west of town."

     As Scully and Mulder were about to leave, a shadow fell across the
room.  The sheriff looked out the window.  "I'd hurry if I was you.
Weather looks down right spooky."

     Mulder smiled at the Sheriff and said, "My kind of weather
Sheriff."


The Reaper's Hand (5/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Salem, Colorado
Lucien Gray's Medical Practice
Caldwell Gulch Road
4:00pm

     "It doesn't seem to go away, Doctor," the young woman said as she
sat on the examination table.  "I don't know what's causing it."

     Lucien Gray smiled down at Jenny Hammond as she gazed at him with
blue eyes that reminded him of clear Caribbean waters.

     He smiled.  Soon he'd move on, and if he had his way...no when he
had his way, the Caribbean would be his next stop.  Not before, however,
he'd sampled a taste of the young flesh before him.

     Another face flashed into his mind.

     Dana Scully.

     It had been so long since he'd seen her, and his work here didn't
leave much time for memories.  Did she even remember what they'd been
like together?  He doubted it.  When he'd studied and searched and
realized what he could do, and that his abilities were getting stronger,
he knew he had to leave her.

     Leave her or destroy her.

     "Open your mouth and say ahhh," he said to Jenny.

     Her soft lips opened wide, and he examined her throat.  "Looks like
nothing more than a sore throat left over from that cold you had last
week.  I'll have the nurse come in and do a culture."

     Jenny put a restraining hand on his arm as he started to move away.
Lucien was jolted for a moment as he picked up a very powerful message
from her.  Even if he hadn't been able to read her thoughts, her
intentions would have been obvious in the liquid way her eyes lingered
on him, and the softness of her touch.

     "You always make me feel so good, Lucien," she whispered.

     Inwardly he was shocked.  He hadn't even turned his considerable
influence into play, and she was responding already.

     "It's my job, Jenny."  He reached out and brushed her cheek with
his index finger, and he saw her eyes flicker closed.  She was so easy,
it was pitiful.  Leaning forward, he touched his lips to hers gently,
felt her warm breath rush between her lips and into his mouth.

     He savored the burst of energy, the rush.  It tingled along his
nerve endings like an electrical shock.  He pulled back and watched as
she swayed slightly, her eyes still closed. 

     So young.  So delicate. 

     An image of Dana Scully popped into his mind and interrupted his
concentration.  Jenny started, and her eyes popped open.  He walked away
quickly and went through a side door where Nurse Michelle Gibbons was
talking with another patient.  After asking her to do a throat culture
on Jenny, he quickly popped into his office and stood by the window
looking out at the street.  He closed his eyes and concentrated again.

     Dana.  Dana.  Dana.  

     Slowly a smile crossed his lips.  This was going to be easier than
he'd thought.

*   *   *

4:15pm

     Scully's perusal of Eric's body produced no new clues.  As the
coroner had reported, Eric's body was missing sizable parts of his
internal organs.

     During the examination of Eric's body, Scully looked increasingly
tired.  Although Mulder was trying to concentrate on the case at hand,
thoughts of his partner's health intruded.  He had to get her out of her
before she fell over from exhaustion.

     As Scully scrutinized the body with careful deliberation, Mulder
had a difficult time imagining that the man on the table  had been only
twenty nine years old.  The wear and tear on his face suggested a much
older man.  Perhaps drink had taken Eric's youth and then his life.

     Somehow, though, he knew it wasn't that simple.

     Scully removed her gloves and scrubs.  "The coroner appears to have
done a good job.  I don't see anything out to refute his findings."

     "Nothing that would suggest how he came to be missing half his
insides?"

     She shook her head.  "Nothing."  She tossed her notebook and pen
into her briefcase.  She gazed at Eric's face.  "He certainly looks a
lot older than when I last saw him."

     He got up from his chair and moved to stand by her side.  "Exactly
what I was thinking."

     When she didn't budge, Mulder placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Reminiscing about old times?"

     "Unfortunately, yes."

     By the time they finished with Eric's body and headed back to the
car, a fine, misty rain blanketed Salem.  He glanced at her as she
climbed into their vehicle.  Even carefully applied makeup hadn't
covered the dark circles bruising her eyes.  Usually Mulder didn't worry
about her because she was tough and independent.  She'd made it through
numerous situations not every agent could have handled.  But despite
everything he was anxious.

     "Scully, you look horrible."

     Her smiled erased some of the weary lines from her face.  "Thanks.
I can always count on you for an ego boost, Mulder."

     "Anytime.  Let's go to the hotel first and check in before we
interview the deputy.  You could rest awhile.  Get some fluids back into
you."  He smiled.  "I could get some food."

     She turned a weary look on him.  "Thanks, but I'd like to get as
much of this investigation done today as we can."
        
     "You've haven't eaten all day."

     "You're starting to sound like my mother."

     He smiled.  "Somebody's got to look after you."

     She turned her face toward the window.  "I don't need anyone to
take care of me.  I gave up that fantasy a long time ago," she
whispered.

     "What?"

     "Never mind, Mulder.  Just drive."

     He knew from her resolute tone that she wasn't going to give in, or
answer his questions.  He'd let her go as far as she could, then when
she was completely debilitated he'd take her to the hotel and force some
nourishment down her.  He started the car and headed toward Deputy
Darrell Franklin's home on the outskirts of Salem.

     After a short silence she sighed and looked at Mulder. "What kinds
of insightful questions do you have lined up for Deputy Franklin?"

     "Think about it.  Just because his report says he didn't see
anything unusual when he discovered Eric's body doesn't mean he didn't
see anything."

     "Why would he leave important evidence out of his report?"

     "Fear."

     Scully looked at her partner closely.  "Fear of what?" 

     "Reprisal from whoever killed Eric Thomson."

     "None in the evidence thus far suggests Eric was murdered."

     He waited before replying.  While he was used to Scully's skeptical
viewpoint, that strange, nagging feeling surged to the forefront.  She
was hiding something from him.  And Scully concealing something from him
was not only unusual, it was maddening.

     "Scully, why do I get the feeling you're trying to run us through
this case quickly so we can get out of here?"
     
     "You're imagining things."

     "I never imagine things."

     She leaned her head back on the seat.  "All right.  Maybe seeing
Eric lying there shook me up a little."

     "I don't think so.  You're a doctor, Scully."

     "It doesn't mean I don't have feelings."

     "Of course you do," he said quietly.  "What are you feeling?"

     "Nothing important."

     Mulder pulled over to the side of the road and shut off the engine.

     "Mulder, what are you doing?"

     "We're going to get his out in the open right now.  What's been
bothering you lately?  You can tell me."

     She shook her head.  "I don't have to tell you.  You're not my big
brother, my father, Skinner, or the President of the United States.
Just because you work with me doesn't mean you know me."

     Her words stung him.  Know her?  Of course he did.  He'd spent more
time with her than any woman he'd ever known.  Every movement of her
body, every nuance of her voice was imprinting on his mind like
indelible ink.  If he lived to be one hundred he couldn't forget
Scully's smile, her copper hair, or her sharp mind.  

     Mulder gazed at her flushed face and the determination in her blue
eyes.  The way she looked now, with that glow in her face, made him
absolutely crazy.  He wanted to challenge her again, do something that
would keep her blood circulating, a fire in her eyes.

     God, he thought, at that moment she was too inviting.  If he'd been
any other man...someone with less scruples and less afraid of the
consequences, he would have made a move.

     Leaned closer until their lips...

     He stopped the thought and realized he was leaning forward, and
that not only was his face close to hers, but that his breathing was
picking up speed.  His gazed homed in on the way her chest rose and
fell.  She, too, was breathing more rapidly.  Could she be afraid of
him?  No.  His gaze trailed back to her face and drank in her dazed
expression, and the way her lips parted.  Tantalizing.  Very
tantalizing.

     "You're blushing, Scully," he said so softly he wasn't sure he'd
even said it out loud.  He put his arm on the back of her seat.  "What
are you feeling?"
        
     What was she feeling?  Heat, nervousness, confusion.  You name it,
she had it.  All her senses seemed caught up in the musk scent of his
after shave, the way his breath had sucked in quickly when he'd moved
closer to her on the seat, the huskiness in his voice when he'd asked
her what she was feeling.  The way his eyes had traveled over her slowly
and with great interest.  What the hell was he doing?  She'd never seen
him quite this way before.  She had never felt this way around Mulder
before.

     She almost laughed.  That was joke.  She'd always felt that way
around him.  Now it was harder to deny, to put in that convenient part
of her mind where she could box up her feelings, shove them aside with
the importance of her work.

     Was he getting even closer?  God, help her. 

     She licked her lips, and he caught the movement.  

     "I get it.  It's all right for you hide things from me, but not the
other way around?" he asked.

     Like bullets his words hit with deadly accuracy.  Denial, however,
was a good self-defense in this case.  "I don't know what you're talking
about."

     "You've been acting strangely for a few weeks now.  When we went to
South Dakota it was the same thing.  Moodiness, long silences,
grouchiness.  Where's the Scully I know and love?"

     Again, his words plucked a resonant chord in her and she looked at
him.  Love?  An unusual word for Mulder to use.  It wasn't that he was
incapable of love.  She'd seen proof in his single minded devotion to
finding Samantha, and his unrestrained emotion at his mother's bedside
when he'd been sure she was going to die.  Somehow, though, she didn't
see herself as a part of that equation.

     "She's on hiatus," Scully said.  "And as for you, Mulder, you're
the king of moodiness."

     "We're not talking about me here."

     She sighed heavily.  "I haven't had a vacation in a long time.  I'm
thinking of taking some time off after this case."

     "Probably would be good for you."

     Scully thought about how contradictory Mulder was.  He needed a
vacation almost as badly as she did, yet he hadn't had one for what?  As
long as she'd known him?

     "What about you?" she asked.

     He smiled widely.  "Go with you?  People would talk."

     "Mulder..."

     He held up one hand.  "Take a few days just to relax."  

     "Some things don't go away.  Not with vacations, not with anything.
I don't know...I need to work this out for myself."

     Exasperated, Mulder forced himself back onto his side of the car
and restarted the engine.  When he drove away the tires squealed like an
angry, stuck pig. 


The Reaper's Hand (6/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Double X Ranch
Outside Salem, Colorado
5:00pm

     Soon Scully and Mulder arrived at the entrance to Double X Ranch.
Mulder turned down the narrow dirt road and maneuvered the car down the
washboard surface.

     As they bumped along the road, rain came down with big splashes and
Mulder turned on the wipers.  The sound of the wipers swinging back and
forth seemed to punctuate Scully's thoughts as they came staccato into
her mind.

     Why had Mulder cornered her like that?  Not just figuratively, but
literally.  When he'd loomed over her in the car she'd felt threatened.
Not that he would hurt her, but that he'd do something else.

     Kiss her.  No.  That couldn't be.  It was unthinkable.  Unbearably
exciting.  Forcing the idea from her mind, she looked thorough the wind
shield at the homestead.   

     At the end of the long road she could see a nondescript white two
story house..  Fall had turned the trees clustering around the house into
dark, barren sticks.  To the side a large red barn resided, as well as
several other outbuildings and a corral with two horses.

     When they reached the house, Scully felt the malaise that had been
plaguing her all day ease slightly.  Not gone, but improved, she
realized. After they'd interviewed the deputy she'd take Mulder's advice
and go straight to the hotel.

     Quickly getting out of the car, they moved up the steps and onto
the covered porch.   
 
     Deputy Franklin opened the door on the first ring.  Immediately she
noticed his blond hair was cut military short.  His vivid blue gaze
looked from Scully to Mulder warily.  Pulling a rag out of his dirty
jeans he wiped his hands on the cloth and scowled.

     "Can I help you?" he said.

     Scully and Mulder produced their ID's.  "I'm Agent Mulder, this is
Agent Scully.  We're from the FBI.  May we come in?"

     Franklin's lips twisted into a lopsided grin, but he made no effort
to invite them in.  Scully wondered how often he turned on that megawatt
smile.  "Oh, yeah.  Sheriff Allan said you'd be by."

     Scully exchanged glances with Mulder. 

     "He called you?" Scully asked.

     "Yeah."  

     When he didn't elaborate, Mulder smiled at the younger man.  "May
we come in Deputy Franklin?"

     He moved back, gesturing for them to proceeded.  "I hope you don't
mind paint fumes.  I'm doing some redecorating."

     Paint fumes assaulted Scully's nose as they went into the foyer.
Scully and Mulder followed the deputy into the living room, and sat on a
couch that had been covered in sheets.  Deputy Franklin sat on a rickety
looking rocker.  The house was rather threadbare, and Scully could see
as she looked around that it needed considerable work.

     "Sorry for the mess," Deputy Franklin said.  "What can I do for
you?"

     "Didn't Sheriff Allan fill you in?" Mulder asked.

     The deputy shrugged.  "Not really.  But I'm not sure how I can
help.  You have a copy of my report, right?"

     "Yes," Scully answered.  "Right now our only concern about this
case is strange physical abnormalities present within the body of the
deceased."

     Deputy Franklin nodded.  "Oh, yeah.  When I heard I almost freaked.
Can you believe it?"

     "We don't know what to believe," Mulder said.  "On the night you
discovered Eric's body, did you experience anything unusual or see
anything out of the ordinary?"

     His brow knitted and began to rock the chair.  "What kind of
unusual things?"

     "Anything to indicate something of a paranormal nature had
occurred."  Mulder said.

     "What Agent Mulder is trying to ask is whether you saw any
indication of a struggle or that someone had been around the body before
you got there," Scully said, giving her partner a withering look.

     Deputy Franklin's gaze darted about the room, and he brushed his
palms against the thighs of his jeans.  "No." 

     "Are you aware that there has been another case similar to Eric's
death?"  Mulder asked.

     "No."  He continued to rock in the chair.  

     After Mulder probed with several more questions that Scully saw as
irrelevant, she decided she'd better cut him off before the deputy
became angry.  She could see by the stiffening in the young man's
shoulders and the stubborn line of his jaw that they were getting
nowhere fast.

     "I think we've determined that Deputy Franklin has given us all the
information he can, Mulder," she said, standing up.

     Surprisingly Mulder seemed to agree, and as they left the living
room and started out the door, the deputies face seem to relax.

     "Sorry I couldn't be of any more help," the deputy said as they
started down the porch steps and into the rain.

     As Scully looked back at him she saw the insincere smile plastered
on his face and made a mental note of it.

Slightly damp from the rain, the agents quickly got in their car and
drove away.  When they were moving down the dirt road Deputy Franklin
finally lost his smile.  A far different expression marred his pleasant
features.

Uncertainty.  Consternation.  

     "Damn it, damn it, damn it," he muttered as he went back into the
house.  He plopped back onto the rocker and put his head in his hands.  

     The power shouldn't be able to reach him out here on the ranch.
But if that bastard found out the agents had been here what would
happen?  A trickle of sweat ran down the deputy's back and caused him to
shiver.  Much more of this and he'd be stark raving mad.  Maybe he ought
to skip town.  Clear out his bank account and get out of Dodge before
all hell broke lose.  It was only a matter of time before the FBI
figured it out.  From the questions that Mulder character had been
asking it was plain he understood that odd powers were at work.

     A short, burning ache in his stomach caught Franklin off guard and
he gasped.  "What the hell?  Not again."

     He'd gone to Dr. Gray about this ulcer, but instead of his problem
getting better it had gotten worse.  Now that he really knew what was
going on he couldn't go to the doctor at all. But if the FBI agents
didn't discover what was happening on their own and put a stop to
it...he didn't even want to think about the consequences. 

     He reached under the neck of his T-shirt and retrieved the cross
dangling from a chain around his neck.  If he wore this all the time the
bastard might not be able to hurt him anymore.

     As soon as this was all over he was going into the Sheriff's office
and turn in his resignation.  Then he was getting out of town and away
from the insidious horror that lay underneath the surface of the quaint
town of Salem.

*   *   *

Just outside of Salem, Colorado
5:45pm

     As they approached Salem, Scully felt a new wave of exhaustion pour
over her like molasses.  It weighed her down, pressing her into the car
seat.  She looked out the car window and the approaching darkness seemed
to encroach on the vehicle.  She shuddered.

     Mulder glanced over at her.  "That's it.  We're going to the hotel
now and you're going to bed if I have to put you there myself."

     Scully turned a tired smile on him.  It was pay back time.  "Gosh,
would you Mulder?"

     His eyes widened and he threw her a startled glance.
"Is that an invitation, Scully?"

     She barely suppressed an evil grin.  "No.  A little of your own
medicine."

     To her surprise he smiled back, and they were silent until they
reached town.

     "Did you see that hex sign on the barn?" he asked.

     "Yes. I didn't think they did that anywhere in this part of the
country."

     Mulder smiled.  "And who would name their ranch Double X?  Brings
all sorts of possibilities to mind."

     Scully decided not to reply. 

     After a few moments of looking at the intense concentration on his
face, she said, "Okay, Mulder, what's going on in that head of yours?"

     "A theory."

     "Are you going to let me in on it?"

     "Deputy Franklin was holding a lot back.  I'd venture to say he's
scared spitless."

     "I'd have to agree with that," she admitted.  "But why?"

     He shrugged.  "I haven't figured that one out yet.  Right now my
stomach is overruling my deductive reasoning, my dear Watson."

     They arrived at the hotel a few moments later, and as Scully got
out of the car, her knees almost didn't support her.  Mulder once again
took her arm, and he ushered her into the two story Victorian style
structure.

     
     After they'd checked into their rooms, Mulder headed to his room to
freshen up.  While he was there, he got an inspiration and pulled out
his wallet.  He found the folded Rolodex card and reached for the phone.
He dialed the number and waited.

     The phone rang once before the caller answered.

     "Hello, Brandy, it's Fox Mulder.  Yes.  I'm calling from Salem,
Colorado...yeah, that's right.  Did you have any luck?...Great.  I
thought these things took a lot longer."  Mulder laughed when Brandy
replied.  "Can you promise me it will be ready when I get back?"

     His eyes widened at her next reply, and he grinned.  "Uh...well...I
think you can leave that off.  Might make the wrong impression.  Yeah."

     Shortly thereafter he hung up the phone, pleased that the
arrangements were going well.  Maybe he'd pull this off yet.

     He headed for Scully's room before he went in search of fast food.
When he knocked on her door she answered right away.  She'd removed her
shoes, but otherwise she looked the same as when he'd left her to
freshen up in his own room.  

        He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen her look this ill.
Apprehension spiked in him like a two alarm fire.

     "Why aren't you in bed?" he asked as she let him in the room.

     "I was just about to lie down when you knocked."  She sat down on
the bed, then swiveled so that she was lying down.  She folded her hands
over her stomach and gave him a lukewarm smile.   
        
     He sat on the edge of the bed and planted his hand on the opposite
side of her prone body.  His hand almost touched her waist. "No, I mean
in bed.  PJs, teddy bear, all that good stuff."
 
     She sighed.  "Food, Mulder.  Go find food.  I can hear your stomach
from here."

     He stood up and walked to the door.  "Okay, but I warn you, if I
can't find good Chinese food in this little town you might have to
settle for peanuts and a candy bar."

     "Get out of here, Mulder."

     After he'd left the room she closed her eyes, shivering as a wave
of heat penetrated her suddenly.  What the hell was wrong with her?  She
reached up to touch her forehead and felt the heat warm her palm.
Fabulous.  Now she was coming down with a fever.  Since her stomach
wasn't doing triple somersaults anymore she figured she could take an
aspirin safely.  

     As she got up to reach into her suitcase for the aspirin, there was
a knock on her door.  No doubt Mulder had forgotten something. 

     "Mulder, what do you want?" she asked, as she strode to the door
and yanked it open.

     The man who stood there hadn't changed a bit since the last day
she'd seen him.  Perhaps with one exception.  In med school he'd worn
his black hair short.  Now it flowed down to his shoulders in a heavy
waves.  He was tall, with broad shoulders, his dark gaze swept her from
head to toe.  Years dropped away, and this time when her stomach
fluttered it wasn't from being sick.  

     He smiled, and she remembered the last time she'd kissed those
handsomely chiseled lips.  "Hello, Dana."

     The heat wave she'd experienced a moment before turned into an
inferno and swept upward to her head.  

     Then she did something Dana Katherine Scully never did.

     She fainted.
 

The Reaper's Hand (7/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Salem, Colorado
Main Street
6:45pm

        Mulder cruised Main Street and discovered that most of it was
already rolled up at this hour. 

        "Yippie Ki Yeh," he whispered when he saw the lights of the only
fast food restaurant in town on the corner of Main Street and Wedgewood
Avenue.  Once he was out of the drive through and heading back to the
hotel, he began to ponder the case.

        What was Deputy Franklin trying to hide?  Although he'd seemed
perfectly composed being interviewed, Mulder had seen that wary, nervous
look in many a man's eye.  Mulder planned on calling Sheriff Thomson in
the morning to see if he'd had any luck setting up interviews with Carla
Thomson and Eric's parents.  

        The scent of hot French fries reached his nose and tantalized
him beyond restraint, so he reached in the bag and snagged a fry.
Chewing gratefully, he thought about Scully's stubborn insistence that
everything was fine with her.  That she'd even said she was stressed out
and needed a vacation was a major admittance on her part.

        Then he recalled the incident in the car.  When Scully had
bewitched him and tempted him almost beyond control.  He smiled.  Maybe
this town had a decidedly mesmerizing effect on people.  Made them do
things they'd never do elsewhere.  

        Salem.

        Witches' Cave.

        Was there a theme here?

        He shook his head.  Nope.  The only thing that had happened
between him and Scully was in his own imagination. 

"God, Mulder, what the hell did you think you were doing?" he said out
loud.

He was treading on very dangerous ground.  But maybe, just maybe, he
might test Scully's boundaries and see what she'd do.  

"Yeah, right," he muttered.  "She'd probably slap you."

Within him burned a curiosity that defied common sense.  Had he imagined
that she'd enjoyed it when he'd sat next to her on the bed so closely?
Probably.  But the temptation to reach out and caress her pale cheek had
been almost overwhelming.

        "Jesus," he said out loud.  "Get a grip on yourself."

He pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and parked next to a blue
Jaguar that had not been there when he'd left. Carrying their food, he
went in the hotel and headed upstairs to Scully's room.

        As he walked up he saw that the door was slightly ajar.
Suspicious by nature and necessity, Mulder slowly withdrew his gun from
his shoulder holster and approached the door. The bag of food was
instantly forgotten as he slowly lowered it to the floor outside the
door.

        He touched the door lightly, swinging it inward centimeter by
centimeter.

        A man was sitting on the bed next to Scully, and his hand was on
her cheek.

        Just like he had wanted to do.  Like he had imagined doing
moments before. Scully's blouse was pulled out of her pants and
unbuttoned all the way to the waist.  Her lacy pink bra was exposed.

        Mulder shoved the door open and held his gun out in front of
him.  "Back off!"

        The man jumped and turned around, instantly putting his hands
up.  "What the hell-"

        Mulder came in the room.  "Back away from her! Over against the
wall."  As the man complied, Mulder inched toward the bed.

        "Look, I can explain," the man said.  "I'm-"

        "Shut up and face the wall."  Mulder's voice deepened in anger.
The man complied and Mulder glanced at Scully. "Scully?"

        No answer.  He leaned down and picked up her wrist.  Strong
pulse.  Thank God.  He took a deep breath to calm the racing of his
heart.

        "I didn't hurt her," the man said as Mulder frisked him for
weapons.  "She's an old friend of mine."

        Mulder gazed at the man skeptically and retrieved the man's
wallet as he frisked him for weapons.  "How did you find her?"

        "I talked to the sheriff today and when I heard that two agents
were investigating Mr. Thomson's death...well he told me your names, and
I thought there could only be one Dana Scully in the FBI.  Sheriff Allan
told me where you were.  When she opened the door and saw me she
fainted."

        Mulder peered at the Colorado driver's license in the man's
wallet. "Lucien Gray."

        "That's right.  Dana and I were friends in medical school.  I
have my practice here now."

"So you knew Eric Thomson?"  Mulder said, still feeling wary.

"Yes.  We were good friends.  Can I turn around now?"

        "Yeah," Mulder said, and Lucien turned about slowly as if he
half expected Mulder to shoot him.  Mulder put his gun away and tossed
the wallet back to Lucien.   "When I saw you touching her...with her
blouse open..."

        Lucien smiled.  "No problem.  Are you Dana's partner?"

        "Yes.  Is she all right?"
        
        "I think so."

        Mulder sat on the bed where Lucien had been, and Lucien stood at
the foot of the bed.  When Mulder put his hand on her forehead and felt
the heat radiate from her skin, his worry increased.  "She's burning up.
Damn it.  I shouldn't have left her alone."

        She opened her eyes right at that moment.  Then she sat bolt
upright.  "Mulder?"

        "Hey, hey, take it easy."  He gently pushed her back onto the
pillows.  "You're sick."
        Her gaze darted to the foot of the bed to Lucien.  Her eyes
widened and she stared at Lucien with something akin to fascination.
"Lucien.  It really is you."

He chuckled. "In the flesh.  I'm sorry I startled you."

Mulder looked at Lucien, really looked at him, for the first time.  

        He wore a long black trench coat, and a dark gray suit with a
brilliant red tie.  Long, black, wavy hair tumbled from the man's
handsome head.  His skin was very tan and practically flawless.  His
eyes were a piercing black darkness that seemed to swallow objects
directly into their depths.  A craggy nose was the only thing that kept
his face from being too good looking.  Right now he seemed on the verge
of another smile.

A tingle of unease radiated up Mulder's spine, and he realized that it
wasn't the suddenness of the man's arrival that disturbed him.
Something else wasn't right, but Mulder couldn't have described it if
asked.  He brushed away the unsettled feeling and concentrated on
Scully.

        "Scully, we need to get you some medicine or something."

        "All I need is an aspirin and I'll be okay."  She tried to sit
up again, and this time Mulder helped her, because he knew she was
stubborn and would do what she wanted regardless.  She leaned against
the pillows, her face loosing even more color when she realized her
blouse was undone.  Hastily she buttoned it.  Mulder stood up, wondering
if she was embarrassed.  He retrieved the aspirin and water for her.  

        "What are you doing here?" she said to Lucien after she'd
swallowed two aspirin.

        He smiled.  "It's good to see you, too."

        Smiling slightly, she said, "Sorry.  I was lying down for a rest
when you knocked."

        "I should have called first.  But I wanted to see you again, and
I hoped that you could tell me if there have been any leads into Eric's
case."

        Lucien explained to her about the sheriff telling him where they
were staying.  He moved to sit on the opposite side of the bed.  "I'm so
sorry that something like this happened.  Eric was a great guy."

        "What do you think happened?"  Scully asked.

        He shrugged.  "I don't know.  I talked with the coroner and he
explained about Eric's internal organs and the alcohol poisoning."

        "Was he a heavy drinker?" Mulder asked.

        Lucien sighed.  "Unfortunately, yes.  I tried to get him to go
to a clinic in Denver for help, but he refused.  Swore up and down that
he was fine."

        "So you don't think he was murdered?" Mulder asked.

        Lucien seemed to ponder the idea a moment.  "No.  I think he
finally had the last drink his body could take.  Frankly, when I heard
the FBI was investigating I was very surprised." 

        Lucien reached out to touch Scully's forehead.  "Dana you should
take care.  Does it feel like a flu bug?"

        "I don't think it's that bad.  Like I said, I'll be fine.  I
just need some sleep."

        Lucien gave her a skeptical glance.  "You haven't changed a
bit."

        She managed a smile.  "Neither have you."

        "Good genes, I guess."

Mulder glanced back and forth between the two of them, catching little
nuances in the way they looked at each other.  Sparks of something that
betrayed their past.   

        They'd been lovers.

        Mulder felt it in his bones with a suddenness that hit him like
a punch in the stomach.  He found he didn't like the idea.  Not one
damned bit.

Lucien stood up.  "I think I'd better be going.  You need rest."  He
reached in his coat and pulled out a card.  "Here's my number.  If you
start feeling worse tonight, call me and I can be over immediately."

Mulder's eyebrows darted up.  "A doctor that makes house calls?  I
thought that went out about a hundred years ago."

Lucien smiled at Mulder.  "This is a small town.  We tend to hang onto
the old ways a little longer."  His gaze transferred to Scully, and he
gave her a broad, charming grin.  "But every once in awhile, we like to
infuse a little new blood into the place."

"Blood?"  Mulder asked.

Lucien retained his smile and simply looked at Mulder with blank
complacency.  "A little at a time, of course.  Too much change all at
once can be hazardous for health."

        Mulder put his hands on his hips.  "If Eric Thomson was murdered
I'd say Salem has some big changes coming."

        Scully cleared her throat and took Lucien's card as he offered
it to her.  "Thanks Lucien.  I'm sorry about what happened."

        She looked at Mulder as if she expected him to apologize, but he
kept his mouth shut.  One apology was enough.  

        Lucien reached for the door knob, but paused to look at Scully
again..  "Sleep tight."  Then he spared Mulder a glance.  "Feel free to
call on me at the office tomorrow, Agent Mulder.  If you have any
questions, I'll be at your disposal."

        "Just what I had in mind," Mulder said, a little surprised that
Lucien had hit on what he was thinking.

        Lucien opened the door, a small, secret smile curling the very
corners of his finely carved lips.  "I know."

*   *   *

Scully's Hotel Room
7:30pm

        "Mulder, you could have apologized to Lucien," Scully said as
she chewed a cold fry unenthusiastically.

        She sat across from Mulder at a small table in the corner of her
room.  Although she felt a little fuzzy, the aspirin had helped
significantly, and she felt much better.  

Scully watched as Mulder ate a cold hamburger with relish.  Initially,
her stomach turned over at the thought of eating, but she'd done it
anyway, realizing that she need her strength. 

        Mulder frowned and finished chewing.  "For what?"

        "You overreacted."

        "What?"

        "Overreacted.  There was no reason to come charging in-"

        "Wait a minute."  Mulder held his hand up.  "Let me get this
straight.  I come up to your door and see this strange man leaning over
you and your blouse is undone.  What the hell am I supposed to think?"

        She stared at him, unable to answer immediately, because her
mind was still full of images of Lucien standing at the door.  Images of
Lucien picking her up, placing her on the bed, and undoing her blouse.
She hadn't been awake during this time, and maybe that's why her heart
sped up at the thought.  

        In her imagination she remembered other times Lucien had undone
her blouse, slipped her clothes from her...

        "Earth to Scully,"  Mulder said.  "Are you okay?"

        "Yes.  I was just remembering some old times."

        Mulder crumpled up the hamburger and fry wrappers and stuffed
them in the trash.  "Outside of the fact you're ill, is there another
reason why you fainted when Lucien appeared?"

        "No.  I probably fainted from hunger because it took you so long
to get back with the food."

        For a moment Mulder looked puzzled, as if he wasn't sure whether
to be mad or amused.  "Maybe."  He stared at her for a few more moments
until she started to feel nervous.  "Scully, were you and Lucien
lovers?"

Scully's face flushed, and this time she was pretty sure it wasn't from
fever.  "That's none of your business."

"I saw the way he was looking at you."

"He was a very, very good friend.  Can we leave it at that?"

He shrugged.  "For now."  He stood up and reached for his coat.  "I
think you should stay in for tomorrow.  You're not well enough to
continue the investigation."

        "I'll be fine-"

        "No arguments, Scully.  You're staying here in bed and rest.  I
plan on checking on you every couple of hours and if I find you out of
bed, I'll tie you to it."


The Reaper's Hand (8/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Clara Thomson's Home
Salem, Colorado
McCarthy Street
Sunday, 8:00am

        "Darling we know how hard this is for you," Dora Thomson said to
her daughter-in-law Clara.  "But won't you come to the morning service
at St. Paul's with us?  It might give you strength."

        Clara sat at the kitchen table, a mug of black coffee as yet
untouched on the table in front of her.  She wrapped her cold fingers
around the hot ceramic, hoping it would soothe the freezing ache in her
heart.

        But nothing would ever warm her again.  Not Eric.  Not love.
Not even finding out who had killed him.  Nothing.  A cold acute and
invasive had settled like a chunk of ice where her heart used to be.
This was her punishment.  Because of the horrible thing she'd done, Eric
had been taken away from her.

        She looked at Dora and attempted a smile.  Eric's mother meant
well.  But Clara suspected that Dora's grief was actually eased by her
belief that Eric's death had been of his own making and not at the hands
of a killer.

        "No.  I can't...I can't do it yet." Clara whispered.  "The next
few days, with Eric's funeral things are going to be bad enough.  I just
can't."  

She took a deep breath, trying to prevent a fresh stream of tears.

        "All right then.  Are you sure you want to talk to those FBI
agents?" Dora asked.

        Clara nodded.  "You know I do.  I want them to find the bastard
that killed Eric."

        Dora swallowed and patted Clara's hand.  "Darling, they aren't
going to find anything because there's nothing to find."

        "She's right," came a deep voice from the kitchen door.  Clara
started and almost spilled hot coffee from her mug.

Eric?

Then the form moved closer and she realized immediately it was her
father-in-law.  But his tall, lanky form was so much like Eric's that
for a moment she'd thought...

        Wilson Thomson stood by his wife and put his hand on her
shoulder.  His eyes were stony and clear.  "When are you going to accept
that Eric drank himself to death, Clara?"

        Dora reached up for her husband's hand.  "Now Wilson, take it
easy.  Clara's been through a lot.  She needs time-"

        
"Time won't make a damned bit of difference."  Clara shoved her chair
back and the scraping sound grated on her ears.  "Eric is dead, and even
if they find the murderer it isn't going to bring him back.  But I'll
sure feel a hell of a lot better."

        "Eric was sick, Clara," Wilson said.

        Clara searched Wilson's eyes.  Was there grief there?  Or was he
as good at hiding what he was thinking and feeling as Eric had once
been?

        She sighed and leaned on the table toward him.  "When I came to
Salem five years ago it was to get away from the big city.  I never
expected to find someone as wonderful as Eric here in this small podunk
place.  But when I did, I thought it was the best thing that ever
happened to me."  She took a deep breath and tried to see through the
blinding rush of tears that came to her eyes.  "But now I know it was a
mistake.  This damn town is like a hell hole.  Sucks the life from
people and doesn't give it back.  As soon as I find out what really
happened to Eric, I'm out of here."

        Tears streaming down her face, she left the kitchen and went to
her room.  She sank onto her bed and let the sobs come, wishing just for
a moment that they would cleanse her of the fear, and the excruciating
guilt.

*   *   *

Scully's Hotel Room
8:00am

        Scully was fuming.

        First, the alarm on the clock radio hadn't gone off so she'd
slept right through to 7:30am.  Second, Mulder hadn't bothered to wake
her, and he'd probably gone to see Clara Thomson without her.  She'd
knocked on his door but there was no answer.  

        She felt reasonably well this morning, and all the nausea,
headache, and weakness had lessened considerably.  Maybe the altitude
had been the problem and nothing more.

        As she finished with her shower and dressing, she thought back
to yesterday and Lucien's sudden visit.  What was it about the man that
still intrigued her?  The fact that he didn't look a day older?  That
his charm had always effected her far more than she'd liked?  Perhaps it
was a purely physical thing.  The man's shoulders were as wide as a line
backer's, and he certainly oozed charisma by the train loads.  

        There was a knock on her door, and she went to answer it.
Mulder was going to get an ear full this time.

        She unlocked and opened the door to find Lucien standing there.
"Morning, Dana.  May I come in?"

        She hesitated for a moment, but she wasn't sure why.  She looked
directly into his black eyes and felt the word slip from her lips,
"Sure."

        She let him in and closed the door.  As he passed by her she
felt that fuzzy feeling settle into her head again.  Almost as if she'd
had too much to drink.

        "I came by to see how you were," he said, stepping closer to her
and placing a warm palm on her forehead.  "You're still very warm.  What
are you doing out of bed anyway?"

        "Hoping to get this case done quickly."

        He frowned.  "At the expense of your health?"

        "You know me, Lucien.  I've always been difficult to keep down."

        He smiled and Scully recalled the first time she'd seen his
sinfully suggestive smile.  Back at her first day of medical school.
What woman could have resisted his wit, his sardonic sense of humor, his
gentle touch?  She certainly hadn't.

        "If I recall," he said.  "You are quite a handful."

        She felt her face burn slightly at his double entendre.  Scully
didn't want to remember those times, because when he'd left her she was
sure she'd never love anyone like him again.  Now here he was mucking up
her senses so she felt like a teenage school girl around the class jock.

When she didn't respond, he asked, "Where's your partner?" 

        She shrugged.  "God only knows. Probably off in search of
breakfast."

        She didn't really know that, but she felt uncomfortable
discussing anything about the case with him.  Even if Lucien was an old
friend, that didn't mean she could blurt out the details of the case to
him. 

        "He's quite a character," Lucien said.  "I thought he was going
to kill me when he came crashing in your door last night."

        She smiled.  "Mulder is sometimes over enthusiastic.  He takes
his work very seriously."

        "He's possessive."

        She was certain she hadn't heard him right so it took her a
moment to reply.  "About what?" 

        Lucien chuckled, and the sound sent another waver of heat like
warm cream through her body.  "You.  Do you date him?"

        Scully's mouth dropped open.  "You certainly haven't lost any of
your straightforwardness have you?" 

        "Not where you're concerned."

        She sighed.  "Mulder and I are partners and friends."

        He continued to look at her expectantly, but she ignored the
question that remained in his eyes.  She decided now was as good a time
as any to ask Lucien questions about Eric.

        She sat down on the bed, because her knees were feeling a little
wobbly.  "Lucien, why do you think Clara Thomson believes Eric was
murdered?"

        "Your guess is as good as mine.  Clara doesn't like me very
well."

        "Why?"

        He shrugged and sat down next to her on the bed.  "I wish I
knew.  When I heard about Eric's death I went to her right away to
express my desire to help anyway I could.  She slammed the door in my
face.  Not exactly what I expected."

        "She'd probably had about enough of people looking in on her in
one day."

        "Maybe."

        "When was the last time you saw Eric before he died?"

        He looked at his feet for a moment, then at her.  "It was about
two days before he died.  He complained of pains in his body.  But from
the way he described the symptoms it was apparent to me he was stressed
out and overworked.  He'd been putting in long hours at his bar."

        "Witches' Cove."

        "That's right.  I could tell he'd been drinking, and I begged
him to get help.  But he didn't listen.  I'm afraid the stress of
running the bar pushed him over the edge."

        Scully knew that Eric had always been a time bomb, and people
were constantly astonished when he could go for hours and hours studying
and never wear down.  Scully had known that one day he'd come to his
limit.  

"Eric always did try to do too much," he said as if he had read her
mind.  

        "And never got anything done as a result."

        His chocolate eyes clouded over.  "Eric was a great guy but he'd
been on the edge for so long that none of this surprises me."

        She stood up and paced the room. "But how do you explain his
internal organs, Lucien?  That's one part of the case that baffles me.
The previous sheriff here also was found dead with the same grievous
injuries.  That's pretty strange, don't you think?" 
                
        Lucien stood also, and touched her shoulder.  She stopped to
look up at him and found her gaze locked with his.  He reached up and
cupped her cheek.  "Dana, it's so good to see you again."

For a fleeting moment she wanted to move back, move away.  She didn't.
His warmth was soothing, familiar and too enticing to resist.  A tiny
prick of distaste tried to warm its way into her mind, but it
disappeared so quickly she barely noticed its touch.

"You are so pretty, Dana," he whispered, his breath mint fresh and his
lips enticingly close.

A languor spread into her limbs and before she could speak her legs
began to collapse.

Lucien's arms quickly went around her waist and back, and he held her
up.  He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, so light it might have
been butterfly wings.  But the reaction it produced turned Dana's
resolve, her willpower, everything to instantaneous mush. The warmth of
his arms spilled like liquid heat through her limps, coursing into her
veins.
        
"Lucien," she whispered back.  God, he was the most gorgeous man she'd
ever seen.  Ever...

Why didn't he just kiss her and put her out of her misery?

Then, as an answer to her prayers, he did.

The Reaper's Hand (9/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Scully's Hotel Room
Sunday, 8:50am

        Mulder saw the blue Jaguar parked outside the hotel and clinched
his teeth.  He pulled in next to the sleek car and headed into the
hotel.

        Lucien Gray again.

        Mulder wasn't sure if the pounding headache he'd woken up with
this morning was making him a bit crazy, or if the anger in his gut came
from seeing the Jaguar.  

        His encounter with Lucien had baffled him in more ways than one.
Something disturbed him about the guy.  As soon as Mulder left Scully's
room last night he'd wanted to call in Lucien's license number and see
what else he could find out about the smooth talking young doctor.
Instead, he'd felt incredibly tired and retreated to his bed to sleep.
This morning his head felt like he'd had a fight with a Tequila bottle
and had lost.  

        Obviously whatever Scully had was contagious.  Mulder made a
disgusted sound.  Well, not everything.  Her blind trust of Lucien, the
way she'd made cow eyes at him was definitely not contagious.  Mulder
felt his blood pressure spike.

        Mulder tromped up the stairs.  First he'd make sure Scully was
feeling better, then he'd head over to Clara Thomson's.  On the way he'd
call in a couple of favors and see what he could dig up about Lucien.

        As he reached Scully's door he thought he heard a low, deep
laugh.  Yep, Lucien was in there.

        He knocked loudly on the door.

        It took Scully a few moments to open the door.  

        When she whipped open the door, the first thing he noticed was
the state of her hair.  It was slightly mussed, not the sleek, well
combed tresses he was used to seeing.  One wayward strand clung to her
cheek like a lover, and he wanted to reach out and put it back in
place. 

        Instead his headache increased, and he felt a deep, burning
disappointment.

        "Mulder, I was wondering where you went.  Why didn't you wake me
up?" she asked him sternly as she let him in the room and closed the
door.

        Instead of answering her question he glanced at Lucien.  The man
reminded him of a black panther, sitting on the edge of Scully's unmade
bed as if he'd made a kill and was about ready to eat.  He looked like
he belonged there.  As if he'd never left Scully's life in the first
place.

        "Lucien,"  Mulder said, taking off his coat and flinging it
carelessly onto a chair by the window.  "I thought you have a medical
practice."  He looked at his watch.  "Don't you have patients?"

        Lucien smiled pleasantly.  "My practice is closed on Sundays,
Agent Mulder.  Emergencies only."

        Mulder looked at Scully.  "Are you an emergency, Scully."  He
tossed the bag of food on the table.  "I brought us breakfast."

        Lucien stood up, smiling as if he didn't have a care in the
world.  "Dana, I think I'd better go.  I'll call you later."

        She smiled at Lucien, and Mulder gritted his teeth at the
sparkling, happy look in her eyes.  Where had he seen that expression
before?  Hadn't she turned that special look on him once in awhile?
Suddenly, before he could blink, a sharp pain stabbed him in the neck.
It was so unexpected that he grasped the back of his neck and closed his
eyes.

        "Ow!"

        Scully turned to look at him.  As he continued to rub his neck,
she walked over to him.  Mulder opened his eyes in time to see Lucien's
expression over Scully's shoulder.

        Hatred.  Pure, raging, undiluted hate.

        He closed his eyes quickly, and when he opened them again Lucien
was opening the door, and his gaze was turned away.  Had he imagined the
malice in Lucien's eyes?

        He felt Scully's hand on his shoulder and looked up at her.
"Mulder, are you all right?"

        "I think you gave me your bug, Scully."

        She smiled and shook her head.  "You probably slept in an
awkward position."

"I've been told I do that," he said to her with a straight face. 

She frowned at him and turned to Lucien and smiled.  "I'll see you
later, Lucien.  Thanks for coming by."

        Lucien nodded.  "My pleasure, Dana."

        With that he was out the door, closing it softly behind him.

        And with him went most of Mulder's headache and stiff neck.

        Mulder closed his eyes and let his breath out slowly and rolled
his head from side to side.  He felt Scully move to stand behind him,
then her warm hands on his shoulders as she began to knead the muscles.

        It was heaven.

        "God, Scully.  You're a doctor, and FBI agent, and a masseuse?
That feels great."  He groaned and closed his eyes.

        She squeezed one of the muscles tightly and it hurt.  "Ow!"

        "That's for being an insufferable pain in the ass," she said.

        "Was I?"

        "Are, Mulder.  Are.  Currently.  Now.  Always have been."

        He smiled.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to interrupt your little
love connection."

        She stopped her massage and moved to stand in front of him.  He
knew he was in trouble now.  Her blue eyes blazed with that particular
Scully rage not often seen but dreaded just the same.

        She crossed her arms.  "How dare you come into my room and act
this way?  First you don't stop by here to ask me if I even want that
greasy fast food breakfast when there's a perfectly good restaurant
downstairs.  When I call you on the cell phone you don't answer-"

        "Scully-"

        "Don't interrupt me, Mulder.  Then you come in here and make
some erroneous assumption about me and Lucien and make a stupid second
grader remark."

        Mulder didn't dare smile at her.  "Okay, Scully, I'm sorry I
didn't ask you about breakfast.  But I didn't know how you were going to
feel.  You may not have felt up to leaving bed today.  I'm surprised
you're up right now."

        "I feel great," she said.

        And she did look great.  He had to admit that. In fact her
cheeks were downright rosy. 

        "I'm glad," he said softly, and reached up to push that copper
strand of hair off her cheek.

        She stepped back as if she'd been burned.  "Why didn't you
answer your cell phone?"

        "Well, I didn't get the call," he said, exasperated.  He stood
up and looked down on her.  "Do you feel up to going out to the Thomson
place now?  I contacted Clara this morning and she's willing to talk
with us."

        Some of the spit and vinegar seemed to drain out of Scully's
ire.  "Yes."  She walked over to the bag of food and looked inside.
Breakfast muffins and hash browns.  "Yummy, yummy."

        He smiled slowly, glad she was feeling better.  "We can toss
that if you want and eat in the restaurant downstairs."

        "Thanks, Mulder.  Besides, I could use some coffee."

        She looked up at him and grinned slightly, almost sheepishly,
and that's when he noticed how smudged her lipstick was.

        A deep, gnawing feeling centered in his stomach that had nothing
to do with being hungry.  Lucien had kissed her.  He was sure of it now.

        "What is it, Mulder?" she asked.

        He shook his head and reached for his coat.  "Nothing, Scully.
Absolutely nothing."


The Reaper's Hand (10/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Beckwith's Park
Salem, Colorado
Sunday, 10:00am

        Lucien sat on a park bench and watched cars and people pass by.
Rarely did anyone look his way.  He knew, of course, that they wouldn't.
And he liked it that way.  It was one of many things he'd learned to
control over the span of his life.  God, it was difficult enough hearing
their thoughts as they went by, listening to all the petty, amazing
things that went through a person's head every minute of the day.  It
was highly annoying. If they looked his way it was difficult to screen
out their thoughts.

        And if he didn't succeed in screening them out, he'd end up with
a very bad headache.    

        He chuckled.  There were some advantages to knowing people's
thoughts ahead of time.  All the old ladies who came into his office
always wondered how he knew the town gossip before they did.

        He sighed.  Life had been simple in Salem until the last few
years.  Until Eric had started to interfere.  If the damn fool had left
well enough alone, everything wouldn't be hanging in a balance right
now.  But he hadn't, and it had written his death warrant.  Too, if Eric
hadn't fought so hard his death would have been far less painful.

        He reached into his trench coat and pulled out a small photo.  

        The photo showed Dana and Eric, two other medical students, and
himself perched on a park bench not that much different than the one he
sat on now.

        He'd treasured this photo for so many years.  It reminded him of
a far simpler time when he wasn't able to read thoughts.

        He smiled.  That wasn't entirely true.  Ever since he'd been a
little boy he'd been able to influence people and win friends.  All it
took was a bit of concentration and will.  After that most people fell
into the palm of your hand.  His parents had, his sister, hell just
about anyone could be molded, and shaped into what he wanted.

        Except maybe one man.

        Fox Mulder.

        He wasn't certain how Agent Mulder resisted so much of his
power.  But it was there, nonetheless.  Lucien stood up and headed for
his car.  Dana had come to him willingly, and he might have accomplished
his seduction if it hadn't been for Agent Mulder.

        The man was a pest.

        A worm.

        It was obvious Agent Mulder would do whatever he could to keep
Dana from harm.  No matter the cost.  Apparently Agent Mulder loved
Dana, though he didn't really understand his true feelings, yet.  Wasn't
ready to accept that his friendship with her was much, much more.

        Lucien smiled.

        The cost was going to be very, very high.       

Clara Thomson's Home
Sunday, 10:30am

        Scully watched Clara Thomson waddle from the sink to the coffee
pot.  Clara was very pregnant.  Scully guessed she was in the ninth
month.  At the earliest, her eighth month.  It looked like she might pop
any minute.

        Clara poured coffee in mugs for Scully and Mulder and then
another cup for herself.  "It's decaf," she assured the agents.
"Wouldn't take anything to harm my baby."
        
        "Clara, can you tell us why you think your husband was
murdered?"  Mulder asked as they sat at Clara's kitchen table.

        Scully watched as Clara calmly placed the mugs of coffee on the
table and then slowly sank into her chair. Clara pushed a few strands of
her long, corn colored hair out of her face.  

"Now that you're really here asking me it all sounds kind of stupid,"
Clara said.

        Mulder smiled.  "Don't worry.  We specialize in strange."

        "Eric's parents don't believe a word of it," Clara said, staring
into the dark liquid in her mug.  "I wanted to be honest with them.  But
they think I need therapy.  I assure you I'm telling the truth."

        Scully recognized the stark grief on the woman's face.  Clara
was so pale the freckles across her nose stood out in stark relief, and
her eyes were puffy from crying.

        "We've read the coroner's report, Clara, and nothing in it
indicates foul play," Scully said softly.

        Clara looked up and smiled wearily.  "It wouldn't.  Eric
was...he was killed by a force.  Something too subtle to detect."

        "Force?" Mulder asked, leaning forward slightly.  "What kind of
force?"

        Clara closed her eyes.  "I'd better start from the beginning.
When I was a little girl I always heard tales about Salem being kind of
a weird place, but when I grew up I thought it was all tales designed to
scare people around the campfire.  I moved here a few years ago to get
away from the rat race in Denver.  Eric hired me on as an accountant for
the Witches' Cave."  She took a deep breath and opened her eyes, and a
fresh batch of tears trickled down her checks.

        Scully felt her heart contract, and she hazarded a glance at
Mulder.  Her heart did another flip when she saw the blatant empathy on
his face.

        When the agents said nothing, Clara went on.  "It wasn't long
before Eric and I married.  Been married three years last week."  She
wiped at the tears on her cheeks.  "About a year ago I started feeling
sick.  Dr. Gray said he thought it might be Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and
suggested I go to a specialist in Denver.  But the tests detected no
virus.  Then Eric started coming home from the bar at night acting
nervous.  I finally got him to tell me what was wrong.  At first I
didn't believe him when he said someone in town was committing horrible
acts."

        "What kinds of horrible things?" Mulder asked.

        "Draining the life out of people."

        "Like a vampire?" Mulder asked.

Scully looked at him sharply.   "Mulder."  

        Clara smiled sadly.  "You could call him that, I guess."

        Scully had been afraid of this.  A story that was too far
fetched to be believed.  She pictured Eric in college and remembered
that he was high strung and impossibly erratic.  Frequently he would get
wild ideas out of left field and decide he was in the wrong career field
and should try something else.  He'd come back a few days later saying
he'd researched a few new careers and they seemed too hard, too boring,
too something.  Like a wayward ping-pong ball he'd bounced from one
possibility to the other.  Eric had been impossibly scatter brained.

"Why did Eric believe there was a vampire here?" Scully asked.

        "He said that one of his friends was doing some strange things.
Apparently this man would come into the bar a couple nights a week.
While he was there he'd dance with some of the women and talk to the
men.  Eric noticed that by the time his friend left the bar people were
acting sluggish.  Almost drugged."

"Too much alcohol?"  Scully asked automatically.

"No.  Eric said even the people who were drinking non alcoholic drinks
were barely able to stand.  Eric noticed it as was only on the nights
his friend came in the place that people acted so strangely."

"Who is the friend?" Mulder asked, sounding the slightest bit impatient
with Clara's subterfuge.

Clara didn't reply to the question.  "When he mentioned it to his
friend, the friend told him he was crazy and not to worry about it.
Attributed it to alcohol also.  Eric was reassured initially."

"And you think this friend murdered Eric because Eric knew he was a
vampire?" Mulder asked.

Clara nodded.  "Yes."

"How would Eric know?" Scully asked, rolling with it, although she
didn't believe a word of the vampire angle.

"He'd seen how people reacted around his friend," Clara said.  She took
another sip of her coffee.  "You know much about the background of this
town?"

        "It's the sister city to Salem, Massachusetts," Mulder said.
"Close to skii areas, tourist attraction in the summer."

        Clara nodded.  "It's all that and more.  There used to be
witches here.  Real ones."

"Witches and vampires?"  Scully asked, her head tilted to slightly to
the side, her voice disbelieving.

"When I first arrived here I met two old ladies," Clara said.  "Gemma
and Edith.  They claimed to be about a hundred and twenty years old when
I met them."  She smiled.  "At first I thought they were about seventy
years old.  At least that's how old they looked to me.  Anyway, they
lived at the Double X Ranch.  Had lived there at least sixty years, they
said."

        "The place where Deputy Franklin lives now." Mulder said.

        Clara nodded again.  "Yes.  When Gemma and Edith died, a distant
relative sold it to him."  She took another large sip of her coffee. 

        "When did they die?" Scully asked.

        Clara shrugged.  "About a year ago."

        "Around the time you say Eric started acting nervous and telling
you his friend was a vampire?" Mulder asked.

        "Yes," Clara said.

        "What made you think they were witches?" Mulder asked. 
 
        "They showed me this journal they'd been writing in.  It was
very old, Agent Mulder.  Old paper, old leather bound.  The pages were
yellowed and some of the ink faded.  And the dates in the journal
started in the early 1900's.  It was written in Gemma and Edith's
handwriting."

"What did the journal have in it?"  Scully asked.

"Entries on spells, incantations, herbs, health remedies, notes on what
was happening in their lives," Clara said.  "More disturbing was the
entries they'd been making the last several years.  They said the Reaper
had come to town and was going to drain the life out of those who
opposed him.  Use others to his own end."

Scully watched as Clara slowly pushed out of her chair and over to the
counter where she filled her cup again.  "More coffee?"

The agents declined.  Mulder looked like he was deep in thought, and
Scully was dying to know what was spinning in his mind.  But it would
have to wait until later.

Rather than returning to her chair Clara looked out the window into her
garden.  "Gemma and Edith told me that I had to stay away from the
Reaper.  Sometimes they called him the dark man.  They told Eric to stay
away from him, too."

        Scully felt her skeptical side take hold again, but she kept her
face neutral.  Clara looked fragile enough to bolt if she was pressed or
criticized.  "They never told you who the dark man was?"

        "No." Her face started to crumble again, and Scully feared they
were pushing her too hard.  

        "We know how hard this is for you, Clara.  But if you can bear
with us a little longer," Scully said.

        "Why wouldn't they tell you who this Reaper character was?"
Mulder asked.

        "They said uttering his name would be bad for them.  Because he
knew they were able to guard against his power," Clara said.  Clara
returned to her chair.  "They tried to protect Eric and I.  I know they
did.  I have to tell you now what happened."  Clara looked at them
closely, as if she was reassessing whether to trust them.

        "Take your time," Scully said.

        "It's so complicated," Clara said, sighing.  "Edith and Gemma
said that they rarely went into town for anything unless they had bathed
themselves in a white light of protection.  A sort of aura of pure good.
But they said the average person had no defenses against the dark man if
he wanted something from them."

        "Did they take things like garlic with them?" Mulder asked.

        Clara smiled again.  "No.  None of that kind of stuff would
help.  Anyway, after I told Eric what Gemma and Edith told me, he got
even more scared.  He wanted to send me out of town.  I told him I
wouldn't leave him here by himself.  About that time Eric said he was
meeting with the dark man to try and convince him to stop what he was
doing."

        "The man in the park Sheriff Allan said he'd seen with Eric,"
Mulder said to Scully.  

        "Possibly," Scully said. 

        "One morning I woke up and I felt awful.  Pains all over my
body.  I could barely drag myself out of bed.  I went to Dr. Gray again,
thinking I'd caught a flu or something."

        Mulder looked at Scully, but she kept her gaze trained on Clara.

        Clara tucked her hair behind her ears.  "It was while I was
there, in his office, that I figured out who the dark man was."

        "Who?" Scully asked.

        As if she might be signing her death warrant by uttering his
name, Clara lowered her voice and whispered, "Lucien Gray."


The Reaper's Hand (11/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Sheriff Allan's Office
11:25am

        Sheriff Allan listened to the phone ring a couple of times
before the answering machine came on.

        "This is Franklin.  I'm not available.  Leave a message."

        "Damn it to hell!" Sheriff Allan slammed the phone down.

The last time Franklin had pulled this on him had been two months ago.
Franklin had broken up with his girlfriend and had imbibed in too much
Scotch.  Franklin hadn't answered the phone that time either.  

"Damn it to hell," the Sheriff said again.  "Baker!"

        Deputy Baker stepped into the room, his eyes a little wide.
"What is it Sheriff?"

        Sheriff Allan stood up and started toward the door.  "Franklin
doesn't answer his phone.  I'm worried about him.  I'm going out to his
place and see what the hell is up."

        Right at that moment the phone on his desk rang, and he turned
back to answer it.  "Sheriff Allan speaking."

        Deputy Baker watched Sheriff Allan's face fall like a souffl. 

"What?"  Sheriff Allan asked, his voice rising.

        Baker moved into the room, curious.

        "Mother of God," Sheriff Allan said.  "Are you sure?  Jesus and
Joseph.  Holy mother of God." 

Clara Thomson's House
11:25am
Clara's crazy statement that Lucien was a vampire sent an upsurge of
resentment through Scully's blood.  "That's not possible.  Lucien Gray
is a well respected physician."

        Clara took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "Yes, he is
well respected.  But only by the people who don't know him for what he
really is."

        "Are you saying that Lucien actually sucks blood out of people?"
Scully asked.

        "I think she's saying that Lucien is an energy vampire." Mulder
said.   

  Clara nodded.  "That's a good way to describe it.  While he had me in
his office he was very charming, very nice.  The perfect bedside
manner." Clara pointed to her stomach.  "But the last time I went to
Lucien when I was feeling ill, he took advantage of me."

        "What?" Scully asked, feeling her stomach roll over.  "What do
you mean?"

        Clara leaned on the table toward Scully.  "While I was there
Lucien seduced me.  I didn't even have the will power to stop him."

        "Clara, do you realize how strange this sounds?" Scully asked
quietly.  "Are you accusing Lucien of raping you?"

        Clara frowned at Scully.  "It was a seduction.  I wasn't able to
stop him.  I wanted him.  I'm not even sure this baby is actually
Eric's."

More than disturbed, Scully crossed her arms in defense.  This whole
conversation had been ludicrous.  Lucien wouldn't harm a fly.  She was
sure of it.

        For a moment Scully thought of the gentle way Lucien had kissed
her, making her feel as light as a cloud.  Just the way he used to make
her feel all those years ago.  Happy, wanted, loved?  Had it all been a
lie?  No.

        Lucien wouldn't have an affair with someone's wife, and he
certainly wouldn't do it right there in his office when someone could
have walked in on him.
 
        "Did you tell Eric about what happened?"  Mulder asked.

        "Yes.  I know he didn't want to believe it could happen.  He
said he knew he could trust me, and that it had to have been Lucien's
powers."

        "Mulder, can I talk with you outside for a moment?"  Scully
asked.

        Mulder nodded.  "I think that's enough questions for now,
Scully."

        "Thank you for your help, Clara,"  Scully said, trying to keep
her expression remote, uninvolved.  It was difficult. 

        "I think it might have all been too late," Clara said.

        Scully didn't say anything, and turned away from Clara to head
out the door.  Mulder started to follow Scully, but stopped in the
doorway for a moment.

        "If it's any consolation," Mulder said to Clara. "I believe
you."

        "Take care, Agent Mulder.  And watch after your partner.  She
could be in danger."

        He nodded and left.

*   *   *

        "Mulder, I have some serious reservations about what Clara was
saying back there," Scully told Mulder as they drove back to the hotel.
"Lucien is a normal, healthy male.  Not an energy vampire.  Whatever
that is supposed to be."

        "I'm a normal, healthy male, Scully.  But I don't go around
seducing other men's wives and draining the life out of people to gain
psychic energy."

        "Well, I don't know about the normal part."

"Thanks.  I like you, too, Scully."

"Clara Thomson needs some counseling and that's all.  I think we've
established that." As usual, Mulder didn't appear to be listening to
her.  "We have no evidence to suggest foul play or that Lucien has
anything to do with Eric's death."

"Haven't you ever heard of going by your gut instinct, Scully?"  He
cleared his throat.  "Usually when people drain the energy off of others
it's an unconscious process.  In this case, I think Lucien knows what
the hell he's doing and is pumping it for all it's worth.  My guess it's
as much about power as anything.  His ego is inflated."

        Scully wanted to say something about Mulder's ego, but held
back. "Lucien is a doctor.  He took an oath to protect life, not destroy
it."

        Mulder made a disgusted sound.  "Give me a break, Scully.  Do
you really think all doctors are ethical?  Maybe Lucien was once the
great guy you think he is, but now he's into something else.  It's
obvious those witches knew Lucien was up to something, and they
protected themselves.  It's also possible that Deputy Franklin knows
something about Lucien.  I'll bet that's why he was so nervous.  He
didn't want Lucien to know we were asking him questions."

        Scully sighed, becoming more and more agitated by the second.
Had everyone gone insane?  Was that really the problem with this little,
backwards town?  People had left their reasoning ability back in the
stone age and now Mulder, as usual, was going along with the whole
farcical tale.
        
        "Your jumping ahead again," she said.  "Not only are you
assuming that Lucien is some type of vampire, but that those old women
were witches."

        "Clara said she saw their journal.  How would you explain the
age of the journal?"

        Scully sighed.  "All conjecture, Mulder.  We don't even know if
the journal exists.  Your taking her word for it without any
investigation to find out if it's true.  And if the journal exists, we'd
have to do testing to determine it's actual age."

        Mulder nodded and smiled slightly.  "You're right.  I shouldn't
jump conclusions about the old ladies.  But I think we ought to contact
Deputy Franklin and ask him if he's seen the journal."

        "Probably the family took everything out when they sold the
ranch to Deputy Franklin."

        "Possibly.  Why don't we get some lunch and then call Deputy
Franklin?  If he has the journal we can look it over."

        "I'm not sure it's going to yield any answers, Mulder."

        He shrugged.  "It might give us some clues for how to protect
ourselves."

        "Protect ourselves from what?"

        "Lucien."

        Scully threw her hands up in the air.  "Mulder, what is it you
have against him anyway?"

        "I don't like him."

        "That's obvious.  What I don't understand is why."

        "He's a schmuck."

        Her mouth dropped open and she glared at him.  "He's my friend,
Mulder."

        "Friend," Mulder said, his voice rising slightly as he increased
the pressure on the gas pedal.  "Seems pretty damn cozy for a friend,
Scully.  I've seen how he looks at you.  Like a nice, tasty morsel he'd
like to get his teeth into.  Besides, if he was such a great friend, why
hasn't he kept in touch with you all these years?"

        "I'm sure he's been busy, Mulder.  A practice like his would
take a lot of time and energy to set up and to keep running."

        He glanced at Scully, then back at the road.  "I think you're
rationalizing your feelings for him.  He's been drawing you to him ever
since we got to town, Scully."

        "All I feel for him is friendship."  She looked out the window.
"We spent a lot of time together for awhile, but that was a long time
ago."

        Mulder smiled sarcastically.  "Can you really shut away your
feelings for someone that easily, Scully?"

        Before she could answer his cell phone chirped, and he pulled it
out of his coat pocket.  "Mulder."  

For a few moments Scully was wrapped in her own thoughts, and didn't
even hear what Mulder was saying.  Could any of this insane story be
true?  No.  It was simply too bizarre.  She'd believe in
extraterrestrials before acknowledging that Lucien was an energy
vampire.  And as for her feelings for Lucien, yes, she was attracted to
him.  Far more than she wanted to be.  That was no excuse for Mulder to
call Lucien names and believing the wild tales Clara Thomson had made
up.

So why couldn't she admit to Mulder that Lucien meant something to her? 

She watched Mulder's face fall, the grimness of his lips betraying the
seriousness of the call.  "Yeah, okay.  We'll be right there."

Mulder put away his cell phone and did a quick U-turn on the narrow
road. 

"What is it?" she asked.

"Deputy Franklin is dead."

End of Part Eleven


The Reaper's Hand (12/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Double X Ranch
12:45pm

        Scully lifted the sheet covering Deputy Franklin's body.

        A peaceful, almost serene expression covered the young man's
face.  For a moment she imagined he might be asleep.  But from her
estimation he'd been dead for about two hours.

        After doing an examination and taking notes, she wasn't pleased.
No sign of physical trauma could be found on his body to indicate the
cause of death.  Scully couldn't determine what had happened to him
until an autopsy was done.  She glanced about the living room.  Nothing
seemed disturbed.  No furniture overturned, no signs of a struggle. 

        Something was wrong here.  But what?

        A hand came down on her shoulder.  

        She jumped, startled, and looked up and around to see Mulder
leaning down to look at Deputy Franklin.  "God, Mulder, could you try
not sneaking up on me?"

        He smiled but left his hand on her shoulder.  "My, my, aren't we
prickly today?"

        She stood up, effectively breaking his contact with her
shoulder.  She gave him a dour look.

        "Any indication of cause of death?" he asked.

        Sighing, she consulted the small notebook she'd been making
notes in.  "No.  I'm going to see if I can assist the coroner with his
autopsy this time." 

        Sheriff Allan opened the front door and came in.  Scully thought
his thin face seemed more deeply lined than it had been before.  He took
his hat off and held it in both hands.  When he looked at Deputy
Franklin his eyes watered.

        "I can't believe it.  He was a damn good deputy when he wasn't
on the sauce."

"He had a drinking problem?" Scully asked.

The sheriff shrugged and fingered his hat nervously.  "Don't know that
you'd call it a problem.  Hardly ever touched the stuff except in the
last few weeks.  I've been meaning to talk to him about it.  The last
two months he's had trouble with not getting work on time.  He confided
in me that he broke up with his girl friend, so I was trying to be
sympathetic."  The sheriff looked at Scully.  "Do you think he drank
himself to death like Eric Thomson?"

"I don't know, Sheriff Allan.  The coroner will have to determine that.
I'll assist him and let you know right away if we find anything that
indicates cause of death," Scully replied.

"Hasn't been a police officer killed in this town in twenty years," the
sheriff said.

        "I think that's where you could be wrong, Sheriff," Mulder said.  

        "What the hell are you talking about?"  The sheriff looked at
Mulder sharply and then squatted down to peruse the young man's corpse.  

        "Sheriff Strasney.  He was found in much the same state as both
Eric Thomson and Deputy Franklin.  How likely is it that all three men
would have a drinking problem that would end up killing them?"  Mulder
asked.

        The Sheriff frowned.  "I don't get the connection." 

        "Sheriff, you have at least two cases of dead men missing parts
of their organs, and a young woman who claims she knows who killed
them," Mulder said.

        "What?"  The sheriff glared at Mulder.  "Young man, it would
help a whole lot if you just got to the damned point.  I don't know how
you people do it in Washington, but around here people are plain
speaking."

        Mulder raised his eyebrows.  "Lucien Gray is the killer,
Sheriff."

        Scully sighed and turned away.  "Mulder, I'll be out in the car
when you're finished."

        Scully left the house and got into the car.  She was starting to
feel weary about all of this suspicion surrounding Lucien.  Lucien had
always been kind to her, hadn't he?  She simply couldn't reconcile the
monster in Mulder's mind with the gentle, sweet, Lucien she'd known all
those years ago.

        True, he'd left her.

        To pursue a career.  A driving force within him.  

        If he'd really loved her wouldn't he have asked her to go with
him?  Or wouldn't he have stayed?

        No.  He'd never loved her.  But he'd been her friend.  She knew
that much if she knew nothing else.

        As she sat in the car ruminating about why Mulder was so intent
on crucifying Lucien, she got an idea.  If Mulder was determined to show
Lucien guilty, she was going to prove he was innocent.  

        She retrieved her cell phone and searched her purse for Lucien's
business card.

*   *   *

Lucien's Medical Practice
2:00pm

        Lucien smiled as he stared out the window of his office.  He
leaned back in the executive leather chair and put his feet up on the
uniformly clean desk.  This was going to be easier than he thought.
Dana was falling right into the palm of his hand without so much as a
whimper.

        He'd never of guessed she'd be so weak willed. 

        Dana Scully weaker than Eric, or Deputy Franklin?  It was
difficult to believe.  Well, he had to give Eric and the deputy some
credit.  They'd fought long and hard.  Much longer than he would have
expected.  

        Lucien tilted his head from left to right.  He was getting a
stiff neck from concentrating so hard.  The last few weeks were a drain
on his reserves.  But, once he'd had his way with Dana, and he'd put a
cork in Agent Mulder's relentless pursuit, he could take a vacation and
replenish his reserves.

He looked as his watch.  A couple of hours yet before he met with her.
Her phone call had made things easier for him.  He chuckled softly.  

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on her.  

Dana.  Dana.  Dana. 

        It was going to be so nice to taste her.

*   *   *
Mulder's Hotel Room
2:00pm

        "I'm going with you," Mulder said to Scully when she announced
she was leaving to assist with the autopsy.

        "There's no need for you to come with me.  Besides, I thought
you were going to take a nap."

He nodded.  "I was, but I don't want you to go anywhere alone."

Scully got up from her chair and stared him down.  "I can take care of
myself.  Something you conveniently seem to have forgotten."

"Do I detect a little venom behind that statement?"

"What you detect is an unwillingness to fall in with every hair brained
scheme that comes along.  We are FBI agents, Mulder.  We have to look at
the facts and draw reasonable conclusions from them."  She began to
pace.

"I've looked at the facts, and I've come to the conclusion that Lucien
Gray is capable of a lot of harm.  He's killed three people, possibly
more we don't know about.  He's harmed you-"

"He hasn't hurt me."

"Remember how ill you felt when you first came into town?  My guess is
that Lucien was already draining energy off of you before you even saw
him again."

"Absurd."

"You heard from Clara that she was seduced by him, and she's now
pregnant with his child."

"You don't know that it's his child."

Mulder nodded.  "All right, we don't know that it is."

Scully stopped pacing and stared at Mulder.  "You have no proof for
anything you've been saying, Mulder.  So far all we've been able to come
up with is that three people have died under mysterious circumstances.
While this is reason enough to investigate, it does not give us the
right to concoct motivations and attribute them to people beyond what we
know to be true.  And we do not know that what Clara Thomson said is
accurate.   Hundreds of years ago people used to think people who were
insane were possessed by the devil.  Think of the Salem witch trials.
And as little as a hundred years ago people were digging up graves
because they thought their relatives were dying because of vampirism.
Now we know that the people they exhumed had died of TB.  And from what
we know about initial stages of decomposition, we understand why bodies
sometimes looked as if they were still healthy.  Maybe even healthier
than before they died.  It had nothing to do with blood-sucking
creatures created in somebody's fantasies."

Mulder rubbed the back of his neck.  "He really has gotten to you,
hasn't he?"

She stopped pacing.  "Contrary to what you might believe, Mulder, I have
a mind of my own.  I can make decisions without your help, and Lucien is
not practicing mind control on me."

"Your infatuation with him proves he has influence over you."

She crossed her arms and sighed heavily.  "Why do you think it's so
inconceivable that I might find a man attractive and enjoy his
attention?  Is there something paranormal about that?"

Mulder chuckled.  "Not at all.  Just not Lucien Gray."

"Why not?  Because you don't happen to like him?"

Mulder shook his head and winced in apparent pain.  He closed his eyes.
Concern momentarily overran her anger with him and she sat on the bed
and touched his shoulder.  "Are you all right, Mulder?"

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  "I think the way I feel
right now is another example of Lucien's influence."

"That's crazy.  We've both had trouble sleeping and it puts a strain on
the body," Scully said.

"I didn't say I've been having trouble sleeping."

She got up and walked away from him, thoroughly annoyed.  

"I don't want anything to happen to you, Scully.  You're my partner.
I'd feel responsible if I didn't warn you against Lucien."

She turned to him.  "You have no right to dictate to me who I can see
and can't see.  This jealousy has got to stop."

Scully knew her statement was a challenge, but it was out of her mouth
before she could rein it in.  She wasn't sure why she'd picked jealousy
as a word to describe how he was acting, but it  seemed to fit.

When he didn't say anything she said,  "If there is one thing I don't
like to do, it is to engage in petty, meaningless arguments with people.
Especially not with you.  It's too damned exhausting."

Instead of answering, Mulder stood and came toward her.  As he was often
likely to do, he stopped when he was within mere inches of her.  She
could smell his musk after shave, and the heat from his body reached out
to her, enveloping her.  Used to this type of proximity with him, she
normally wouldn't move away.  This time she backed up a couple of steps.

"Are you afraid of me, Scully?"  Mulder asked, and took another step
toward her. 

"Of course not.  I trust you."  She back away again.  She didn't realize
she was so close to the wall and bumped into it.  This situation was
starting to feel awfully familiar.  She recalled the incident in the car
and her heart started to speed up.  Oh, God.  She hated this.  She hated
that within all this irritation with Mulder was a forbidden thrill.  A
need for Mulder that defied all sense and description.

What the hell was wrong with him?  With her?

"Then why are you backing away from me?"  He was almost touching her
now, and he leaned his hands against the wall so that he bracketed her
in.  

She did feel caged.  Imprisoned.  Never one to back down, she stared at
him directly.  "What are you trying to prove, Mulder?"

"That you aren't as invulnerable as you think."  His voice had dropped
to a husky whisper, and Scully felt light headed.

Where had she experienced this sensation before?  When Lucien had held
her and kissed her?  No.  This was different.  With Lucien she hadn't
been unable to resist.  Was that what Mulder had meant by an energy
vampire?  Someone that could take the power from a person and bend their
very will?

She took a deep breath.  "Are you trying to say you're an energy vampire
Mulder?"

"No."  He smiled gently and she realized that all he had to do was move
another couple of inches and his body would be against hers, pining her
against the wall.  And his lips would be on hers.


The Reaper's Hand (13/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Mulder's Hotel Room
2:20pm

What would it be like to kiss Mulder?

The phone next to the bed rang, and Mulder closed his eyes and swung
away from her.  As he went to the phone, she remained against the wall,
startled by how she'd reacted to his nearness.  She should have kneed
him in the groin.  That would have taken the stuffing out of his little
experiment.

Experiment to prove what?  That she was a weakling with no will power?
That she couldn't resist Lucien because he had special abilities?

Or that she couldn't resist Mulder?

She took a deep, shaky breath.  What on earth was happening to her?  The
solid foundation of control she relied on every day of her life was
cracking around the edges.  She simply couldn't go on this way.
Whatever happened she had to solve this case with Mulder and keep her
feelings inside.  He was her partner for God's sake.

        "Brandy, I thought I told you never to call me here."

        At the mention of the woman's name, Scully felt her irritation
with Mulder reassert itself.

        Mulder turned around and looked at Scully as he was talking on
the phone.  "I'm supposed to call you.  Yeah."

        Mulder smiled and Scully turned away.  What would Brandy say if
she could see the way Mulder had just acted?  She'd probably be pissed.
Scully shook her head in frustration, picked up her purse and headed for
the door.

        As she opened the door Mulder said, "Hey, Scully, wait.  Brandy,
I'm going to have to call you back.  Thanks."

        She turned around and looked at him as he hung up the phone.
"Whatever you're going to say, Mulder, make it quick.  I'm going to be
late for the autopsy."    

Mulder put his hands on his hips.  "You're going to see Lucien today,
aren't you?"

"Yes.  I've got some questions of my own to ask him."

"About the investigation?"

"Yes."

"Why don't you let me handle him, Scully?  I think he's been giving me
the pain in the neck.  But if that's all he can do to me, that's not
much in comparison to what he can do to you."

She shook her head.  "Even if I did believe your theories about him, we
would still have to establish evidence to arrest him.  Agreed?'

"Agreed."

"Then I'm going to hunt for evidence.  If you're with me it'll make
things more complicated.  I have a feeling he doesn't care for you any
more than you do him."

Mulder nodded.  "You've got that right."  He sighed.  "All right.  I'm
going back out to the Double X Ranch.  I'll drop you off."

Pleased that they were back on old, familiar footing, she felt a little
more at ease.  As he rolled down the sleeves of his white shirt and
buttoned the cuffs, he said,  "All I'm asking is for you to be careful,
Scully."

        She nodded, willing to concede that much.  "I'll be waiting out
in the car, Mulder."

*   *   *

Double X Ranch
3:00pm

        Mulder drove down the bumpy road leading to the Double X Ranch
and cursed himself a thousand times for a fool.

        For the second time in three days he'd acted like a jerk.  Back
at the hotel he'd wanted to prove to Scully that she wasn't made of
unbreakable glass and that Lucien could hurt her.  He'd wracked his
brain trying to think of a way to prove it to her, and his little
display of intimidation had been a spur of the moment decision.

        One problem with it.

        It had worked far better than he'd planned.

He'd expected Scully to stand up to him right away.  Probably even tell
him to stick it where the sun didn't shine.  Instead she'd backed away,
a strange expression of surprise in her eyes.  Vulnerability.  She'd
looked at him like that when he'd loomed over her in the car.  Afraid of
what she was feeling.  This time that wide-eyed expression had almost
been his undoing.  He'd been so close to the edge, so ready to cross the
line.

It would have been so easy to try it.  Taste her, Mulder.  Go ahead and
do it.

        Originally all he'd wanted was show her that someone you trusted
could hurt you.  He'd managed to startle her all right.  Show her a side
of himself that she'd never experienced.  Right along with it he'd
learned something about himself.

        And he wasn't really happy about what it had revealed.

        He was attracted to Scully.

        Mulder groaned and cursed.  He could easily destroy the trust
she had in him.  Nope.  It had been a sorry excuse for tactics to back
her up against the wall.  Then he smiled.  He was surprised she hadn't
kicked him in the family jewels.  It would have served him right.  Hell,
he should be thankful she hadn't smacked the crap out of him.  She could
probably do it, too.

        But, oh, if that damned phone hadn't rung.  

        Cutting off this dangerous train of thought, he pulled up to the
ranch house.  Once at the door he removed the police tape from the door
and went inside the house.

        The house was cold, and as he walked through the sheet draped
living room, he passed by the chalk outline of where Deputy Franklin had
fallen.  He squatted down and stared at the outline and wondered what
Deputy Franklin's last few moments had been like.  Had he known what was
happening?  Did he realize that Lucien was after him?  Nevertheless,
Mulder's mind jumped from one morbid, awful scenario faster than a movie
screen flashed pictures from a horror flick.  Morbid was a mild word to
describe how his mind worked.  It was downright scary what popped into
his mind on a regular basis.  

Certain that Deputy Franklin had known something that sealed his death
warrant, Mulder was determined to find a clue, a smidgen of evidence
that would positively point to Lucien as a suspect.  Scully was
certainly right about evidence.  Right now he had none. Shaking his
head, he stood up and headed for the stairs.

        The stairs creaked as he ascended, and when he reached the
second floor he hesitated about which of the five rooms to enter.
Finally he selected the first room to his left and opened the door.  He
continued to go through each room in this methodical fashion, hoping
he'd find the old ladies' journal along the way.  What were the chances
that the deputy had it in his possession?  Not much.  After an hour of
searching with no sign of a clue, he was about to give up.  

        Then he noticed that the bed in this room had drawers at the
bottom.  One last place to check.  The first drawer he opened was heavy,
very heavy.

        "Eureka!"

        Mulder pulled out a large, thick leather bound book.  Getting it
out of the drawer wasn't easy.  It was almost too large for the drawer,
so he had a difficult time removing it.  Finally, however, it pulled
free.  Sitting down on the bed, he opened the journal and began to read.

January 1, 1908

Edith and I are thinking of returning to Colorado.  When we were there
last autumn we found it so beautiful...

Mulder impatiently flipped through the pages, then slowed down when he
realized he could destroy the yellowed pages if he wasn't careful.  The
journal spanned several decades, with entries made every few months.
Most entries were short and to the point.  Very little personal
ramblings or feelings expressed.  As Clara had said, though, there were
plenty of references to spells, potions and cures with herbs.  Quickly
he looked toward the back of the journal, like an impatient reader who
couldn't wait to find out what happens at the end of a novel. 

There he found he found what he was looking for.

January 10, 1988

A sudden and appalling feeling of disquiet overcame Edith and I today as
we worked in the garden.  We knew in that moment that the Reaper had
come to Salem...

Coroner's Office
County Building
4:30pm

        Scully clicked off her small tape recorder and moved away from
the naked body on the silver metal gurney.

        "What do you make of it, Agent Scully?" Coroner Dave Camp asked
as he peeled off his gloves and began to remove his scrubs. "It's the
damndest thing I've ever encountered.  Now that I've seen it three times
I'm beginning to get a little edgy."

        "Three times?  Counting Sheriff Strasney?"

        He nodded.  "Yes."

        Scully had already removed her scrubs and stood looking down at
the Deputy's body.  "From the condition of the heart it's obvious that
cause of death was a heart attack.  The destruction of the other
internal organs is similar to Eric Thomson's body."

        Mr. Camp looked at Scully as they left the room and headed to
his office.  "Have you and your partner found evidence that Eric Thomson
was murdered?"

        Scully shook her head.  "No evidence.  So far I'd say your
explanation of death by alcohol poisoning stands firm on the bodies of
Sheriff Strasney and Eric Thomson."

        He shook his head as he opened the door to his office and let
Scully inside.  "I can't say I'm happy with that."

        "Why?  I'd think it would be a load off your mind to have
confirmation that your findings are correct."

"You'd think that, but it bothers me I couldn't find a reason for the
destruction of his other organs.  It is highly unusual Agent Scully, and
I'm the kind of man that doesn't like to leave things to chance."

Scully retrieved her briefcase and opened it.  She put her small tape
recorder inside and shut the case.  A lot of things in this case were
falling under unusual, and not all of them had anything to do with this
case.

All during the autopsy she'd had difficulty concentrating on the job at
hand.  Visions of Mulder kept penetrating her thoughts.  The way she'd
felt as he'd looked down on her with that heated, predatory gaze was the
most disturbing thing of all.  Jerking herself back to the present she
looked at the coroner.  

"I think I understand," Scully commented.  "Don't worry.  Agent Mulder
and I will be on this case until we get an explanation."  She started
toward the door.  "Thank you for the opportunity to observe the autopsy.
We'll be in touch."

As she left the office she saw the blue Jaguar parked out front and
smiled.  All thoughts of Mulder's unusual behavior left her mind.
Lucien saw her and got out of the car, unfolding his tall, lithe body
with a grace that reminded her of a jungle animal.

Today he wore his long hair tied back, and it emphasized the stark,
handsome lines of his chiseled face.  That hawk like nose was more
prominent this way, more impressive.  His trench coat flapped around him
like wings as a gust of cold air lifted the material.

Mulder's voice popped into her mind.

Vampire.

Ridiculous, she shouted back mentally.  Utterly, completely foolish.
Lucien was not a vampire.  Blood-sucking or otherwise.

"Right on time," she said, smiling.  "I'm glad you could pick me up on
such short notice."

"No problem."  He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, and she felt
the power of his strength in the strong, no escape hold on her fingers.
She also felt the uncharacteristic blush rise to her cheeks.  When his
lips touched her hand a hot, wild rush went through her body.

She smiled.  God, Dana.  You really haven't had a date in a long time.

He didn't release her hand, and she noticed that a few people passing by
on the street eyed them with interest.  "You're starting rumors Lucien."

He chuckled and let go of her hand.  "Rumor is my middle name.  I never
gave a damn about what anybody else thought in college, and I sure don't
now."

"Some things never change," she said, moving to get in the passenger
side of the shiny car.  He opened the door for her and she got in.  

Immediately she was assaulted by a slightly cloying scent.  Different
than his after shave.  Like a spice or an herb.  She didn't really care
for it.

Lucien got in the car and pulled away from the curb.  "How did the
autopsy go?  Find anything unusual?"

She nodded.  "Same thing as Eric Thomson."

His eyebrows shot up.  "Alcohol?"

"Not in the deputy's case.  Organ dissolution.  It's very disturbing,
Lucien.  I've put together a package of samples to send to the FBI for
analysis."

"What do you think happened to those men?"

Sucked dry by a vampire.

"I don't know.  Whatever it was, though, it isn't a very pleasant way to
die."

"What is?" he asked.

"Asleep in your bed when your ninety eight," she said quietly.

He laughed.  "I can think of far better ways to die."

"Such as?"

"In bed with a beautiful woman."

Scully tried not to smile, but she remembered that Lucien always did
have a smooth way of injecting sexual connotations into any
conversation. 

Mulder did that sometimes.

The best way to head him off at the pass was to ignore his innuendo
altogether.

Just like she did with Mulder.

"So where did you want to eat?" she asked.

"I've picked the one excellent restaurant in town."

"Oh?"

He grinned.  "My place."

End of Part Thirteen

From:             "Denise A. Agnew" <writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk>
Subject:          (14/14) The Reaper's Hand

Disclaimer:  See Part 1

Spoilers:  Mild almost unrecognizable reference to a case in Season 4.  

Classification:  Plenty of X-File, Unresolved Sexual Tension, some
Mulder angst and Scully angst.  Hopefully, a tad of humor, too.

Rated:  PG

Permission is given for this fan fiction to be posted on atxc.  Any
other archives, please let me know you're doing it. Thank you.

The Reaper's Hand (14/16)
By Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Double X Ranch
6:30pm.

Journal of Edith and Gemma Gateau

May 12, 1995

"Today Eric Thomson came to visit us and stayed for tea.  We were
surprised to see him because he hasn't been to the Ranch in a long time.
Last time was several months ago.  The poor man was quite a bundle of
nerves today, and Edith and I knew right away what the problem was.  As
we let him in the house, we felt the worry that creased his brow, and
the tightness clenching his body.  Stress is a terrible feeling, an
insidious killer.  Eats at the body.  We feel he is in great danger, and
we told him so.  He explained that he came to visit because he wanted a
protection spell or potion.  When we asked him why, he explained that he
feels Lucien Gray is a pox on the town.  We agreed, and told him it had
been so for many years.  Eric said he'd begun to feel ill and he told us
about the way people acted in his bar whenever Lucien is around.  We
agreed to help him, but it will not be easy.  Someone with the power of
Lucien is not quietly or easily subdued."  

August 10, 1995

"Gemma and I are certain beyond any doubt, that Lucien grows more
powerful every day.  We saw Eric again.  He looks very weak, and the
dark circles under his eyes give him a cadaverous appearance.  All of it
is worrisome to my sister and I.  Thank God for our little haven here at
the ranch.  So long as we are here we are safe.  How much longer can the
fiend known as Lucien Gray go on taking from people?  If too many die
there will be an investigation, then what would he do?  Then again, who
would be foolish enough to confront him, even if they understood about
him what we do?  What we know about him must not be spoken out loud, for
to do so would surely cause great harm to us.  To speak his name is a
millimeter of pain, a centimeter of hate.  Someday his evil will fall.
How or why, we cannot be sure.  Perhaps by the hand of someone with
great strength and conviction.  Belief in the powers of faith and
themselves, perhaps.  Some would say Lucien is no more an aberration
than Edith and I.  I say it is not true.  We harm no one.  Wicca has
never brought the disease of the soul and the unrelenting evil that
comes forth from Lucien Gray.  Tomorrow we go into town.  How much
longer can our white light of protection last?  Gemma and I are so old
now, someday our bodies will not be able to resist evil in any form.  It
will all be too much."

        Mulder thumbed through the rest of the journal, but there were
no more entries.  The sisters must have died sometime shortly after.  

        Mulder pulled his gaze from the journal and looked outside.
Night had overtaken the ranch.  He closed the journal carefully.
Apprehension tightened his gut and sent adrenaline bouncing through his
system.  He had to get to Scully.  Now.

Lucien Gray's Home
Anderson Street
Salem
6:30pm

        "This is wonderful, Lucien," Scully said as she savored another
bite of the creamy Fettuchini Alfredo.  "I'd forgotten what a wonderful
cook you are."

        Lucien smiled at her from across the table, and a warm lassitude
crawled through her limbs.  For a moment she was scared.  What if Mulder
was right?  Considering all the bizarre things she'd seen working with
Mulder these last three years, wasn't it possible that Lucien was up to
no good?  Before she could formulate another thought, a small wave of
nausea surged through her gut, making another taste of the pasta
unappetizing.

        "What else have you forgotten about us, Dana?" Lucien asked as
he took a sip of his wine.

        She eyed her wine and realized she'd almost finished the glass.
Enough for her.  She didn't drink much as a rule anyway, and it could
account for the way she was feeling now.

        "I don't know what you mean," she said, laying down her fork to
reach for her water glass.  She'd eaten too fast and that was why her
insides were roiling like a volcano.

        "I'm sorry," he said, still smiling.  "I guess I'm not any
better at expressing myself than I ever was.  I was wondering if you
regretted seeing me again."

        "No.  Of course not."

        "You're different somehow."

        "Really?"

        He nodded and gently nudged his plate to the side.  "You always
were tough, but there's an outer shell now.  Something I can't quite
reach into.  And believe me, I'd like nothing better to get inside."

        Was that another double entendre?  Of course it was.  Lucien was
a world class champion at slipping a suggestive comment in.  Kind of
like Mulder.

        Mulder.  Mulder.  Why did she keep comparing him to Mulder?  

        "Pays to be tough in my business," she said. "With what I've
seen working in the X-Files it doesn't pay to let down your guard."

His smile was slow, smooth and sensual.  "Oh, but if I remember right,
when you let down your guard the best things start to happen."

Okay, Lucien.  She'd play along.  Maybe she could lull him into a
complacent mood and wedge her way into what he was thinking.  It was so
damn hard to read him.

"What about you, Lucien?  Have you changed since I last saw you?"

"I'm sure I have.  You know, this little town is a great place.  I'm
glad I decided to come out here."

"What do you like about it?"

"The clean, fresh scent of pine.  The crisp, biting air in winter. I
enjoy the quiet.  Not much going on in a little place of this size.  A
comfortable practice, a home.  Nothing and no one bothers me."

        She glanced around his house.  It was a large, two story log
cabin structure with a vaulted ceiling.  No expense spared in the
construction, and in the decoration.  

"Of course there's the skiing," he said.  "Do you remember that ski trip
you and I took with Eric?"

How could she forget.  It was the first time she and Lucien had made
love.  "Yes, I remember."

He chuckled.  "By the pink in your cheeks I can see you recall well.  I
miss that.  Don't you?"

 Come on, Dana, you're letting him lead the conversation again.  Like he
always used to.  Always asking, seeking, looking for your soul.  Delving
deeper until there was nothing left to see.

Energy vampire?   

The gulp of water seemed to have wrangled her insides back into order.
"Are you flirting with me, Lucien?"

He relaxed his face into an innocent expression. 

"Absolutely.  A man would have to be crazy not to try.  You're even more
beautiful than I remember, Dana.  Do you have a boyfriend back in
Washington?  Or does that Neanderthal of a partner keep them away?'

That stung.  She didn't appreciate his choice of words to describe
Mulder.  Mulder could be thoughtless, relentless.  Stubborn to a single-
minded, all consuming degree.  But he could be gentle.  He could be a
friend.  Something Lucien hadn't been in a very long time.

"Mulder has no say in my personal life."

"I don't believe you.  He watches you like a hawk."

"I repeat.  He has no say in my life.  I do what I want."

He nodded, but she didn't think he believed her. 

        "Finished with your dinner?" he asked.

"Yes.  I think I ate too much."

He stood up and came around to her side of the table, then held his hand
out to her.  "Let's go and sit in the living room.  Would you like some
coffee?"

She stood up, pushing the chair back far enough so that she wasn't quite
so close to him, avoiding his hand.  "I think I'll skip the coffee."

She made the mistake of looking up into his eyes.

A wavering, fuzzy feeling gripped her and she swayed slightly.  Oh,
shit.  Not again.

"Dana," he said, as if he was worried.  He gripped her arm.  "Are you
all right?"

"Yes," she said, wondering for a moment if the whole world was going to
go black.  She felt him leading her into the living room, and then he
gently persuaded her to sit on the couch.  He sank down next to her and
put his arm around her.  It felt very familiar.  But uncomfortable.

"Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here," he said.  "You've had a long
day and you were sick."

"I'm fine.  I'm not used to drinking much wine."  She shifted slightly,
and he moved his arm so that it lay along the back of the couch. 

        "Did you discover anything new today at the autopsy?"

        "No.  Deputy Franklin had the same internal damage as the other
two."

        "Two?  I understood only Eric and Deputy Franklin have been
found dead."

        "I'm referring to Sheriff Strasney as well."

        He nodded.  "Oh, yes. I'd forgotten about him."

        Okay, Dana, let's get into those questions you formulated in
your mind before you got here.  Fire one.

        "Did you know Sheriff Strasney?"

        His fingertips brushed with a feather light stroke over the
heavy wool of her suit jacket.  She felt the burn of his touch as if
there were no clothes between them.

        "Dana, in this town everyone knows everyone."

"Don't you think his death was a bit strange?  Just as Eric and Deputy
Franklin's deaths have been strange?"

"No.  I already told you Clara Thomson's theories are bogus."

She stiffened.  "What theories?"

"Come off it.  I know she told you I'm sort of evil doer. She's been
trying to black ball me out of town for almost a year now.  I think she
blames me for not getting Eric into an alcohol treatment program before
he killed himself drinking."

How had he known about the visit to Clara?  She hadn't told him.  In a
small town word got around fast.

"That's not exactly what she said," Scully replied, hoping to throw him
off the path.  "Now, we were discussing Sheriff Strasney.  What was he
like?"

"Nice enough.  But I wouldn't say I knew him well.  He was sort of
distant.  Remote.  Kind of like you are tonight."

"I'm sitting right next to you.  I wouldn't call that remote."

He laughed, and the deep sound seemed to rumble from his chest and into
her body.  "I'd forgotten how quick you are.  You always were good with
a come back.  You were good at everything you did."

        She turned her blue gaze on him.  "Lucien, if I didn't know
better I'd say you're trying your best to seduce me."

        "Oh, I haven't even tried my best, Dana."  He leaned slightly
forward, until he was as close to her as Mulder had been earlier today.
The effect was slightly different this time.  A cool trickle of warning
pushed away the pleasant lassitude.

        "And you think it would work?" she said.

        "Of course.  Always did before."

        The arrogance of his tone irritated her, and she shifted away
again, putting more distance between them.  "Why?  After all this time
would you really expect me to jump into bed with you on a moment's
notice?"   

"Of course."

Anger.  Who the hell did he think he was?  Had he always been this
forward about sex?  Like a tiger in heat with no romance, no lead in?
Probably.  Perhaps the big difference now was her.  Maybe when she was
younger she'd given into her physical needs and mistaken them for
something longer lasting than just a hot, undeniable need.

"Lucien, we've been apart for a long time.  You don't know me any more
and I don't know you."

"I know all I need to know about you."

He reached back and pulled the tie from his hair, and the long strands
of his dark hair fell forward.  He was sinfully handsome.  But she knew
that's all he was.  Sin.

That did it.  She stood up suddenly, breaking his hold on her shoulder
and for the moment, his hold on her psyche.

Maybe Mulder had a point.  She certainly wasn't feeling well, and it
always seemed to happen when Lucien was around.  But that was so crazy.
Lucien would never physically hurt her, would he?

"Dana."  She felt his hands on her shoulders.

Fire two.

"Did you know Edith and Gemma Gateau, Lucien?"

He snatched his hands back from her shoulders like she'd burned him, and
she swung back to him.  Focus on his mouth, Dana, or his nose.  Don't
look into his eyes.

It always seemed to be worse when she looked into his eyes.

He wasn't smiling this time.  No slick, quick come back line.  "Yes, I
knew them."

"Do you know how they died?"

"Yes, but what has this to do with anything?  You're jumping from
subject to subject like a jackrabbit, Dana."

He reached for her shoulders again but she backed away.  "Let's keep
this on a professional level, okay, Lucien?  Now, what did they die of?"

"Old age."

"Really?  How old were they?"  She smiled.  "Clara said they were over
one hundred and twenty."

This time his smile was cold.  No seduction, no pretense.  

Don't look in his eyes, Dana.  Not his eyes.

"I think they were about that old."

A shock of surprise rippled up her spine.  "Amazing."

"I don't want to talk about them, Dana.  I want to talk about us," he
said softly and took another step forward.

She resisted the urge to step back again.  Hadn't she already done this
dance once today?  However, there was a big difference this time.  With
Mulder she'd been surprised, taken off guard.  But not afraid.  Curious,
maybe.

With Lucien her apprehension was catapulting quickly to the top.  In
some instinctive way she knew Lucien wasn't such a nice guy.  Maybe he
never had been. 

"Oh, Dana.  I wish you hadn't thought that."  He reached out suddenly
and grabbed her, tilting her chin up so quickly she made the fatal
mistake of looking into his eyes again.  Before she could blink an eye,
his mouth was on hers.

End of Part Fourteen


The Reaper's Hand (15/16)
by Denise A. Agnew
writer@agnewdt.demon.co.uk

Rated PG.

Outskirts of Salem
6:40pm

        Mulder cursed under his breath for about the tenth time 
since he'd jumped into his car and screamed away from the Double 
X Ranch.

        He picked up his cell phone and hit the speed dial number 
for Scully's cell phone.  He listened to the phone ring and 
cursed again.

        "Come on, come on!  Answer the damn phone!"

        He'd tried continuously.  Letting it ring and ring and ring 
until he thought it would be the last sound he ever heard.  Oh, 
hell, he thought, pushing the disconnect button.  What if she was 
hurt?  What if that bastard had killed her?

        No.  Scully dead was not an option.  Inconceivable.

        To take his mind of the horrifying thought, he rehearsed the 
protection incantation he'd read in Edith and Gemma's journal.  
Envision the shield bathing him in clean, pure, white light.  
Start the light at the top of his head and slowly let it flow 
down to his toes.

        He'd barely started when a pain stabbed his neck and he 
winced, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

        Then another stab.  And another.

        Lucien.  The bastard was after him.  Lucien knew he was 
coming for Scully.

        "Shit, shit, shit,"  Mulder said as another blinding pain 
pushed into his head.  

        His vision began to waver.  

        He wasn't going to make it.

But he had to.  Scully needed him.

        The pain intensified and he gasped, momentarily loosing his 
grip on the wheel and almost going into the ditch.

        Stab after brutal stab of pain punctured his head.

        He tried to picture Scully's face.  The way she'd looked at 
him when he'd been so close.

Oh, God.

He couldn't save her.

        Why did the people he love always leave him?
        
Mulder didn't see the car coming at him, and didn't realize 
he was drifting into the other vehicle's path until it was too 
late.

        The blare of the car's horn pierced his brain, but he 
thought it was just another pain hammering his gray matter.

        Scully.

        Scully.

Lucien Gray's Home
7:00pm

        Scully felt the sting rip through her body like a lightning 
bolt, and she yanked her lips from Lucien's.

        "Mulder!"

        She pulled from his arms violently.

        "Come back here." Lucien growled, baring his white, straight 
teeth.  

        His grip on her arms was powerful.  "No!  Let me go! I have 
to get to Mulder.  He needs me."

        "He doesn't need you!  He's a parasite on your soul, Dana," 
Lucien rasped as she struggled.  "Can't you see that.  He's the 
true enemy.  Always taking and taking and never giving anything 
back."

        She pushed him back and he fell on the couch.  Taking a 
deep, shaky breath, she felt her head clear almost completely.  
If she was smart she'd run right now.  Get the hell out.

        "Sounds like you're talking about yourself, Lucien.  Isn't 
that why you left me all those years ago?  Because you had 
nothing to give?  You're worse than selfish, Lucien.  You've 
taken that power and used it to kill people.  Isn't that right?"

        He was breathing hard, but he stayed on the couch.  "You've 
let Mulder's twisted thinking influence you, Dana.  I've never 
harmed a fly."

        The throbbing skin on her arms reminded her easily this 
wasn't true.  "I'd say the way you've manhandled me qualifies as 
harm."  She edged toward the door.

        "Stop!"

        The force of his word was like a mental sledgehammer.  She 
staggered but couldn't move an inch more toward escape.  Why 
hadn't she pulled her gun?  Was it because she still thought he 
wouldn't harm her?

        Lucien walked toward her slowly.  She tried to move but her 
limbs wouldn't obey.  Heart pounding, she looked from side to 
side for any weapon, any route to get away.  

        Mulder needed her.  She didn't know why.  But she knew he 
did.

        "If you try to leave again, Dana, I'll kill him."  He 
laughed.  A wicked, amoral sound that trickled around her ears 
like a malevolent curse, a flood of drowning water.  "I'll kill 
Mulder."

Outskirts of Salem
7:00pm

The next thing Mulder knew the driver's side door was being 
yanked open, and he heard the angry voice of the sheriff rattling 
his already pounding head.

He forced his eyes open.  A hand touched his shoulder.

He shoved at the hand and pushed his way out of the car, 
pain exploding all along his body.  "Don't touch me!"

"Jesus Mary and Joseph!"  The sheriff shouted.  "What the 
hell is wrong with you, young man?"
Mulder leaned against his car, which resided in a shallow 
ditch next to the road, and realized with a sudden spurt of joy 
that he wasn't dead.  Still time to save Scully.

He hoped.

"I've got to get to Scully," he said, his voice sounding  
weak and grating on his own ears.  His knees gave out and he slid 
down the side of the car and sat on the ground.

The sheriff knelt next to Mulder and touched his shoulder 
again.  "Are you hurt?"

Mulder glanced at the crumpled fender of the car and shook 
his head.  The movement caused discomfort, but the excruciating 
pain he'd experienced earlier seemed to be gone.  Oddly enough, 
the pain seemed to have lessened the minute he'd careened out of 
the path of the sheriff's car and had crashed into the ditch.  
"I'll be okay."  He shoved himself to his feet. 

"Damn near killed yourself for Christ's sake.  Must have 
been going about ninety.  Don't you know it's dangerous to take 
these old dirt roads at that speed?  Could've killed me, too."

"Spare me the lecture until later, Sheriff.  Right now I 
need your help." 

"What for?"

Mulder started to move toward the sheriff's car.  "We've got 
to find Scully.  She's in danger."

The sheriff followed him.  "What did you find out?  You were 
drivin' down the road like the devil was on your heels."

"I think he was Sheriff."

Lucien Gray's Home
7:20pm

        Scully twisted against the bonds that held her to the heavy 
chair in the den of Lucien's house.

        Lucien was nowhere in sight.  After he'd overpowered her, 
and she'd given him a damn good fight, he'd knocked her cold and 
she'd come to strapped to this big chair.

        She cursed for the one hundred and ninety fifth time for not 
drawing her gun on Lucien.  It wouldn't have been to arrest him.  
But to get the hell out of his house.

        Mulder.  Was he all right?  She knew without a doubt that  
something had happened to him, but she didn't know what.  Leave 
it up to him to get in a pickle.

        Then again, look who was tied to a chair.

        A shuffling sound at the door, and then it creaked open 
slowly.  Lucien stood at the doorway.  He was still dressed in 
his elegant black suit, and when he smiled at her she could 
almost see his fangs growing.

        "No, Dana, I'm not a vampire."

        He moved quietly toward her, the casual way he moved almost 
hiding the wrath that appeared to hover on the edge.  It turned 
his handsome face into a sadistic mask.

        "What did you do to Mulder?" she whispered.

        "Killed him."

        She closed her eyes at the indescribable emotional anguish.

Killed.

        Dead.

        Oh, God.

No.

Not Mulder.

If Mulder had been killed because of her stupidity she would 
never forgive herself.

She wrenched against the ropes that held her and felt the 
harsh grate of twine against her skin.  But she welcomed the 
pain.  It told her she was alive.  And Lucien didn't have control 
of all her senses.

Mulder.  

        Stop it Dana.  You can't let him read your thoughts.  Can't 
let him in.  You've done well so far.

        Lucien, you bastard!

        He racked his long fingers through his hair and tossed his 
head back to laugh.  A harsh, deep noise.  Threatening, hateful, 
evil.  "Dana.  Such words from your pretty little head.  I heard 
that almost as well as if you'd said it out loud."

        "Maybe I should say it out loud.  And a few other choice 
expressions as well."

        "Go ahead.  I've heard them all.  Oh, yes.  I heard them 
from all of them before they died."

        When she looked at him he laughed again and kneeled at her 
feet.  

        "You killed Sheriff Strasney, Eric, and Deputy Franklin, 
didn't you?" she asked, desperate to keep him talking.  Until she 
could think of some way to get out of this.  "When they started 
to figure out what you were doing you killed them."

        "Of course I did.  You, see, the power I have allows me to 
drain energy off of others to use as my own.  Hell, the one that 
lasted the longest was Eric.  Plucky bastard, that one.  And 
Deputy Franklin.  Thought staying at that damned witches' house 
would keep him from harm."  He shrugged.  "But only for so long.  
A weird byproduct of my power is destruction of the internal 
organs.  But don't worry, Dana.  You haven't been around me long 
enough for that to happen."

        She felt a sickening roll in her stomach and wondered if the 
process had accelerated in her case.  "You impregnated Clara 
Thomson, didn't you?"

        "Of course."

        "Of course, of course.  What are we talking about here, 
Lucien?  Power?  Why are you doing this?"

        "Because I can."  He smiled.  "You've heard the old saying 
about why someone climbs a mountain.  This isn't any different."

        "It's got to be more than that."

        "No, it doesn't."

"You had everything you wanted.  Did someone hurt you when 
you were a child?"

"Don't psychoanalyze me, Dana.  I wasn't an abused child.  
My parents were very nice people.  But they were so dumb they 
didn't see what they had right before their eyes.  Me.  Think 
about it.  I could have given them so much more if they'd 
realized my potential.  Hell, I've had control over my life since 
I was a little kid.  You see, unlike your friend Mulder, I don't 
believe anything happens by chance.  We make our own destinies.  
I've been making mine every day, every chance I get."

        For the first time in a long time tears surged to Scully's 
eyes.  "So what we had together all those years ago was something 
you engineered?"

        "Yes."

        "Did you design my feelings?  All the hopes and plans I made 
that never happened?"

        For a moment he looked startled, as if the question had 
taken him off guard.  A flicker of the old Lucien, the one she'd 
known long ago, flashed through his incredible eyes.  A momentary 
glimmer of compassion, or maybe even caring.  "No.  At that time 
I wasn't powerful enough to manipulate all your emotions the way 
I wanted them.  But I was rather good even then at picking up 
feelings.  Fulfilling them.  Giving you what you wanted."

        Bastard.

        He laughed.

        What a horrible violation.  To know that her thoughts and 
vulnerabilities had been exposed to him.
        
        When she didn't spea, he shifted so he sat cross legged on 
the floor in front of her.

        "You know, I picked up your partner's feelings on more than 
one occasion," Lucien said casually as if he were talking about 
the weather.  "He's a smart man, that one.  Very, very clever.  
But when it comes to some emotions he's quite dumb."  He threw up 
his hands.  "Like a lot of men, eh, Dana?"

        "I don't know what you're talking about."

        "Sure you do.  Same stuff women bitch about all the time.  
Figure it out."  He sighed as if he was dealing with a 
recalcitrant child.  "He'd do anything for you.  Poor fool 
doesn't realize he's in love with you."

End of Part Fifteen
The Reaper's Hand
Part 16/16

Rated PG

Lucien Gray's House
8:30pm

        Sheriff Allan parked the police cruiser a half block away 
from Lucien's house, and Mulder jumped out of the car.  

        "Where the hell are you going?" Sheriff Allan yelled.

        "Like I told you, you might want to radio for back up.  This 
could get messy."

        "I'm coming with you."

        But Mulder was already running down the sidewalk at full 
speed, one thought only running through his head.

        If he died tonight let it be after he'd saved Scully.

        He hadn't saved Samantha.

        Or his father.

        Please.  If anything sacred was left in this world.  Let him 
save Scully.

        Mulder underestimated the Sheriff.  The older man caught up 
with him at the porch of Lucien's home.  Mulder fully expected to 
feel another stab of pain.  Surely Lucien knew he was coming.

Maybe that was what he wanted.

The pain came then, blinding him until he sank to his knees.

The Sheriff grabbed Mulder's arm.  "Don't pass out on me 
now, young man.  If your partner's in there she needs your help.  
Just think about Agent Scully."

That was it.  The way to break Lucien's hold.

So simple it was stupid.  Mulder had done it before when 
he'd run off the road.  Focus on Scully as if she was all that 
mattered in the whole world.

Mulder nodded and drew himself up.

"Let's kick some ass, Sheriff."

*   *   *

Scully didn't know what to say.

        "That's right," Lucien said.  "The big L word, Dana.  That 
scary, God awful emotion a good portion of the male population 
avoids like the plague."

        "Not every man is like you."

        He laughed, and this time it was high pitched.  An insane 
bellow that started low and went high.  When he stopped, he wiped 
his eyes.  "There isn't any man on earth like me.  After me they 
broke the mold."

        "Thank God."

        He sobered, and for a moment she was sure she'd make a big 
mistake.  

        Then the door to the den burst open and Mulder came in with 
his gun drawn.

        "Get away from her!"  Mulder yelled.

        "Mulder," Scully whispered and pulled against the tape. 

        No time to think, no time to be thankful he was alive.

The sheriff came right behind Mulder and stood at his side.  
"Do as he says, Dr. Gray.  I've got this gun trained right on 
your chest.  You make a false move, and I guarantee these old 
fingers will pull the trigger." 

        Lucien remained sitting on the floor, cross legged.  His 
stone cold face betrayed his loathing, his uncontrollable, all 
consuming conceit.  He touched Scully's leg and she winced as a 
sharp pain traveled up her leg.  Involuntarily she gasped.
        
        "You stinking piece of filth," Mulder grated between his 
teeth.  "I swear to God if you touch her again, I'll kill you."

        "You can't kill me, Agent Mulder.  At least not before I 
kill your pretty little Scully."

        Mulder caught Scully's gaze and held it.  

        Scully.  Scully.  I'm going to get you out of this.  I swear 
if it's the last thing I do.  I don't care if I die.

        Just not you, Scully.  Please.  Not you.

        Where Scully got the strength, she wasn't sure.  Maybe it 
was the message in Mulder's eyes.  Solid.  Determined.  Full of 
an emotion she couldn't name.

        No.

        Didn't want to name.

But whatever it was, it gave her extra burst of energy to 
pull one of her legs free.  With a growl she kicked Lucien square 
in the back.

        Mulder rushed forward.

        Lucien came at Mulder.

"Mulder, look out!" Scully screamed.

        The sheriff and Mulder took aim and fired.

        Lucien staggered as the two shots hit him squarely in the 
chest.  He swung toward Scully, his mouth hanging open, a gasp 
for breath issuing from his lungs.  Then he deflated like a 
balloon without helium and crumpled not far from her feet.

        "Jesus Mary and Joseph," the Sheriff gasped and knelt by the 
fallen man.

        Mulder pocketed his gun and strode to Scully.  He knelt by 
her side and pulled at the robes holding her wrists and foot.  
When she was free she didn't move, just sat in the chair, her 
breath still coming fast, a stunned, horrified look on her face.

        Mulder couldn't say anything as he watched her stare into 
space.

"Scully?" he finally managed to croak out.

She said nothing, and he noticed the bruise on her cheek and 
reached out to touch it gently.  This seemed to break her out of 
her trance, and she reached up to cover his hand with hers.

"Come on," he whispered.  Taking her hands he pulled her to 
her feet.  "Let's get you out of here."

For a moment she resisted and looked down at Lucien's 
lifeless body.

She shuddered, and Mulder slowly drew her to him, his arms 
enveloping her tightly against his body.  She rested her head on 
his chest and closed her eyes.

*   *   *

FBI Headquarters
Basement
Tuesday, 7:00am

        "Okay.  She should be here any moment, Gloria.  Good.  I'll 
see you then.  Oh, tell Brandy thanks.  I appreciated all her 
help."  Mulder hung up the phone and rubbed his hands together.  
All his plans had fallen together at the last minute.  Now, let's 
hope everyone could make it.

        He wished Scully would hurry up and get here.  She was 
usually in the office early every morning anyway.

        Damn it!  He was being selfish.  A couple of days ago she'd 
been washed out.  Drained of strength.  Had practically fallen 
under Lucien Gray's lethal brand of power.  He'd almost lost her.

        No.  He shoved that thought aside.  He didn't want to think 
about it any more.  The last two nights he'd suffered nightmares.  
Horrible, wretched nightmares where he'd failed to get Scully 
back.  But she'd made it.  She was safe.  Mulder had never felt 
better in his life.

        As he stared at the door to the office it swung open, and 
Scully came in.  "Hi, Mulder."

        She still looked tired.  But the bright multi-colored scarf 
at the throat of her navy blue suit gave her extra color.

        "Hey, Scully.  How do you feel this morning?"

        She rested her briefcase on her desk and sank into her 
chair.  She felt like hell.  It was a good thing she was going on 
vacation.  "I'll be better when Skinner tells me I can have those 
two weeks off."

        "Where did you decide to go?"

        "Honolulu.  There's a great resort there a friend 
recommended to me.  He said it was a nice place."

        Mulder raised his eyebrows.  "He?  Are you going there with 
someone?"

        She smiled.  "No.  He just told me about the place."

        "Who?"

        "I have my sources, Mulder."

        He grinned at her, and she was glad to be back in the old 
swing of things.  Glad to be with Mulder.  Safe and alive.

        It was going to take a little time to heal from this one.  
From the hurt that comes from betrayal of trust.  But, then, had 
she ever trusted Lucien?  Or had she pushed his true intentions 
to the back of her mind.

        She opened her briefcase and pulled Eric Thomson's file out.  
Then she headed to the file cabinets.

        "Was Brandy glad to hear from you, Mulder?" she asked, 
curious about the Rolodex woman.

        He linked his fingers together and leaned back in his chair.  
"Extremely excited."

        "Hmm," she said, not paying much attention as she shoved the 
file into the drawer and pushed it shut with a slam that sounded 
like 'good riddance.'

        "Gloria was pretty happy, too," he said.

        "Two of them, Mulder?  You've only been back since 
yesterday."

        When she turned around he was looming over her again.  "I 
thought I told you not to sneak up on me like that."

        He didn't move back.  "Sorry.  Look, Scully, I wanted to say 
something to you yesterday when we were flying back to 
Washington.  But no time seemed to be the right time."

        "What is it?"

        "About what I did when we were in Salem.  You know I was 
only trying to show you that you aren't made of steel."

        She nodded.  "I know.  Neither of us is.  Sometimes we need 
a little shake up to remind us of what really matters."

        He smiled and reached up to touch the bruise on her cheek.  
Scully held her breath and looked into his eyes.  It was there 
again.  That feeling of being suspended over a high bridge, 
swinging over a precipice.  But she wouldn't step off it.

        And neither would he.

        The door swung open and Skinner entered.

        Mulder stepped away from her.  "Sir."

        Skinner looked from Scully to Mulder for a second, his eyes 
narrowing.  Then he frowned.  "Agent Scully, there's a problem 
with your vacation plans."

        She knew disappointment was written on her face.  What now?  
Another weird case?  "What is it, sir?"

        "Your vacation plans are canceled until further notice."

        "What?"

        "Come with me, Agent Scully," Skinner took her by the arm 
and marched her in front of him.

        "Sir, I don't understand what is going on," she said.

        "In here," he said and he opened the door of the room across 
the hall.

        "SURPRISE!"

        Cheering and laughing went up as the room erupted with 
clapping.  Scully's mouth dropped open as she glanced around the 
room and noticed the balloons, streamers and the big sign that 
said, "Happy Birthday, Dana!"  Several agents stood around with 
goofy party hats on and those horrible noise makers.
 
        Stunned, she stood there for several seconds before she 
could speak.  "Oh, my God.  Thank you.  I mean, this is great.  I 
never guessed."

        Gloria grinned and glanced at Mulder, who'd stopped in the 
doorway and looked on silently.  "Blame him."

        Skinner laughed.  "Brandy, show her the cake." 

        From behind one of the tall agents a little old lady 
appeared.  She placed a large, square chocolate cake on the table 
in front of Scully.  In the center was one candle.

        In bold, beautiful letters the cake said:

        "Happy Birthday.  From all your friends at the FBI."

        "Brandy, you've outdone yourself," Mulder said.

        Scully looked from him to the cake and then back at the old 
lady.  "The Rolodex woman?"

        The petite lady smiled brightly.  "Brandy Vine's Bakery.  
Best cakes in town."

        After Scully had blown out the candle and Brandy cut pieces 
of cake for everyone, Mulder stood next to Scully and devoured 
his cake.

        "Mulder, all this time you've been planning a party?" Scully 
asked quietly.

        "Yes."  He wasn't about to tell her that it had been a rush 
job because he'd procrastinated and then this last case had come 
up. 

        "Thanks I-"
        
        "Don't mention it."  He took another bite of cake.

        "Mulder, you've got cake all over your upper lip."

        He stopped and looked at her.  "Are you volunteering to help 
me get it off, Scully?"

        She stared at him for a second and reached for a portion of 
cake on her plate.  "Mulder, would you think any less of me if I 
told you I just got very turned on?"

Dana Scully's Apartment
Tuesday
7:00pm

Special Agent Dana Scully, Case Log #90

        After further examination of the body of the deceased, Dr. 
Lucien Gray, the country coroner at Salem, Colorado, discovered 
some interesting and puzzling abnormalities with the body.  

While Lucien was known to be a healthy man in his thirties, 
the examination revealed that his physiology was of a much 
younger man.  In trying to determine if a brain disease may have 
cause Dr. Gray's behavior, the coroner examined the brain.  
Instead of finding a disease he discovered Dr. Gray's brain was 
unusually large for a human.  Whether the pathology of his 
actions can be explained by this peculiar fact, it can only be 
guessed.  Further study will be required.

While the mysterious deaths of Sheriff Jeff Strasney, Eric 
Thomson, and Deputy Darrell Franklin may never be solved to 
satisfaction, we will see in the months following whether any 
more deaths of a similar nature occurs.

        In this agent's estimation, no deaths of this kind will be 
seen in Salem again.

Denver General Hospital
Denver, Colorado
Wednesday
6:00pm

        Clara Thomson stood by the window and watched the little 
baby sleeping quietly in his crib.  She smiled.  

        Dora and Wilson Thomson came to stand beside her.

        "He's a beautiful baby, Clara," Wilson said.  "Beautiful."
        
        Dora smiled.  "Such dark hair."

        Clara's smile faded.  She didn't want to hear about how dark 
his hair was.  It reminded her of a very real possibility.  What 
if this baby was Lucien's?  Would he have the powers that Lucien 
had possessed?  

        "What have you decided to name him?"  Wilson asked.

        "Alexander.  Alexander Eric Thomson."

The End   



-- 
Denise A. Agnew