Alone Calvert Cliffs Park Southern Maryland April 25th, 2:10 p.m. It is a clear, bright, beautiful day. Birds are singing and the wind is blowing through the trees of a dense forest. The canopy is so thick, the sunlight barely filters through onto a well-traveled path. Into the midst of this idyll intrudes the sound of arguing voices, one male and the other, female. "I thought we agreed to make a day of it!" exclaims the man. "No, Stephen, I agreed to spend the day with you--not you and Mother Nature," she shoots back. The sarcasm of her tone as well as the words themselves make it clear that she is quite upset. "You know, Sarah, I'd think you would be grateful. I took time off....” "Time off? Hah! A busman's holiday is more like it! I saw you reading the paper this morning!" she accuses, continuing on despite his attempts to protest. "You're still pissed about missing out on the safari--all those missed opportunities to film 'big game'"--here she makes quotation marks in the air with her fingers--"going after the kill! And now you're hoping to catch a glimpse of that big bear everyone's talking about!" “I hope to catch more than just a glimpse,” he says, tapping the compact video camera hanging from a strap around his neck. “And it may not be a bear.” They have reached the head of the trail, and their SUV is within view. "Well, as far as I'm concerned, I might as well have been on my own all day!” she throws over her shoulder. “And if you want to go back out there and get your precious photos, that's how you're going to have to do it! Alone!" By now they have reached the SUV. Stephen unlocks it by remote, and his companion jerks open the door and throws herself in. He starts to turn away. "Keys," she snaps. He turns back and digs them out of his pocket in silence, then hands them over. He opens his mouth to speak, but she slams the door and rolls down the window. He stares at her in silence, then sighs and lifts the camera to his eyes. "Hey, gorgeous,” he says, thumbing the camera on. “Aw, Sarah, come on,” he says ruefully. She looks at him stonily and then deliberately turns to look out the windshield without answering. Stephen turns the camera back off and starts back up the trail. The bushes move as he brushes past them. In the SUV, Sarah puts the keys in the ignition, then turns on the radio and catches the tail end of a song. She settles back to listen as the news comes on. “Good afternoon. It’s 2:15, and this is Rafe Hite with your Front Royal news minute on WZRV.” Meanwhile, Stephen starts to jog down the trail in an attempt to run off some of his frustration. He cradles his camera in one hand as he does so to keep it from banging against his chest. He covers the ground fairly rapidly and enters a clearing, where he stops. The man is slightly winded; he bends at the waist and puts his hands on his knees to breathe heavily, the camera swinging from his neck. Back in the SUV, Sarah listens to the news. "And finally, there is still no word what kind of animal is on the loose in Calvert Cliffs Park. A representative of the park says several deer and one bear have been discovered partially eaten, but attempts to track the beast responsible for the killings have been in vain." She turns to look out through the open window toward the trail, the look on her face a mixture of pensiveness, frustration, and concern. “And now, another hour of non-stop requests on your station for oldies, WZRV.” There is a brief pause, and the next song begins: There was a man A lonely man Who lost his love Through his indifference Sarah leans back in her seat and closes her eyes, her face a study in indecision. In the clearing, Stephen straightens up and looks around, noticing that everything has grown quiet: the birds are no longer singing, and even the breeze seems to have died down. "Sarah?" he calls. He can still just hear the radio in the distance. A heart that cared That went unshared Until it died Within his silence.... Suddenly alert, and receiving no response to his call, Stephen turns in a slow circle, nervously scanning the woods about him. He reaches down absently and turns the video camera back on. A sound of crackling in the bushes startles a panicked sound from him, and Stephen turns sharply in that direction, his eyes darting from bush to bush. His hand goes to the camera at his neck, but he makes no move to take a picture. He sees nothing. More crackling sounds issue to his right, and closer now. He darts out of the clearing down the path. As Sarah opens the door of the SUV and climbs out, her fiancé’s voice screams her name in the distance. "Stephen?" she calls, running toward the path. The SUV door jiggles back and forth slightly as it settles on its hinge in an open position. "Stephen!" Stephen runs headlong down the path, his camera swinging crazily and banging against his chest, back, and shoulder. And solitaire’s the only game in town And every road that takes him takes him down His eyes wild, his breath coming in harsh bursts, Stephen shoves the larger branches out of his way as he runs heedlessly along, smaller ones slapping at his face and legs. The larger crashing sounds behind him seem to be gaining. He rounds a curve and Sarah comes into view, frowning in concern. "Get back to the car!" he cries. The open door to the SUV is within her reach, but she merely stands and stares, looking beyond him, her eyes wide. "Sarah--get back in the car!" he yells, still running towards her. She continues to stare, frozen in terror. A huge dark shape leaps upon Stephen from behind. The camera swings wildly, recording a confusion of movement: Sarah, her eyes and mouth open wide in a silent scream. The slightly tanned skin of Stephen’s hands, raised in defense. A glimpse of dark, shaggy fur. claws, teeth, an odd, lithe tail lashing too quickly to be seen clearly. Sarah scrambles into the vehicle and slams the door after her. She is hyperventilating. “Stephen...Stephen....” The camera records the ground rushing up with a bang, then all is black. The final words of the song echo with Sarah’s scream into the woods. While life goes on around him everywhere He’s playing solitaire.... *** A. D. Skinner's Office April 26th, 7:58 a.m. Assistant Director Walter Skinner looks at Scully with a melancholy expression on his face. She shifts her position slightly, her bulk at odds with the narrow confines of the chair. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water?” he offers. Scully looks up. “No, thank you,” she replies rather abruptly. Realizing her answer sounds a little sharp, she tempers her response with a lower, “I'm fine. Really.” Skinner nods and clears his throat. “They should be here shortly.” As he moves to press the intercom button, the office door opens. Agent Doggett steps in and nods at Scully in greeting as he moves to take the chair beside her. He unbuttons his jacket and smoothes his tie. He looks first at Skinner, then back at Scully. An uneasy tension fills the room. Scully makes an attempt to remain still, but one tapered nail taps nervously on the arm of the chair. Her eyes are fixed on a point somewhere behind Skinner. Doggett breaks the strained silence. “So, what's up?” “Agent Doggett, as you are aware, Agent Scully’s maternity leave commences today and upon due consideration, it has been determined that in the interim, you will be assigned a partner.” Perturbed, Doggett protests. “With all due respect, sir, I don't need a partner while Agent Scully is away.” Skinner continues over Doggett's objection. "As I said, I’ve assigned a partner to you....” He reaches for the intercom button; again his intent is disrupted as a tinny voice informs him the replacement agent has arrived. He acknowledges the message and, in a few long strides, crosses to the door. He opens the door to usher in a woman of medium height in her mid-twenties. Her ash blonde hair frames a friendly, intelligent face. Blue eyes quickly look over the occupants of the room. Skinner shepherds her over to Doggett, who has risen from his seat. “Agent John Doggett, this is Agent Leyla Harrison. She will be your partner for the duration of Agent Scully’s leave.” Doggett nods briskly and offers his hand. Harrison gives it a firm shake, a smile on her face. “Agent Doggett, nice to meet you.” “Agent Harrison.” Doggett’s manner is cool and reserved. Skinner continues the introductions. “This is Agent Dana Scully, the senior agent in the X-Files division.” Scully makes a move to rise, but Harrison quickly waves her off. “Please, don’t get up. Nice to meet you, Agent Scully.” She extends her hand and Scully shakes it briefly, settling back into her seat with a grateful sigh. “Thank you.” Harrison’s smile grows a bit wider as she continues to gaze at Scully. Scully inclines her head briefly, her right eyebrow on the rise. “I’m sorry, have we met?” “No. No, you don’t know me. But...I know you. That is, I know of you,” she begins, briefly rattled. Recovering her composure, Harrison continues. “I’m sorry, it’s just....” She smiles apologetically. “I know of you and your work...from one particular case.” Scully prompts her, curious now. “And that case would be?” “About five years ago--Comity, New Hampshire--the death of a teenager.” A hint of color appears in Scully’s cheeks. “I see,” she murmurs. “How is it you’re familiar with the case, Agent Harrison?” “Before I transferred, I was assigned to the New Hampshire field office,” Harrison says helpfully. The color in Scully’s face deepens a little. Harrison continues, unaware of Scully’s discomfiture. “It was a little slow there sometimes and I read the case files. It really intrigued me. The, uh, positing of the theory of the effect that unseen forces may have on our lives.” Scully’s expression is carefully neutral. Doggett makes a noise of exasperation. “Oh, for...” he mutters. “I never thought I would find phenomena like that so interesting...” Harrison’s voice trails off uncertainly. Skinner draws their attention by motioning to the empty chair Doggett has vacated. “Agent Harrison, please be seated.” Harrison takes the seat offered, and Skinner reseats himself behind his desk. “If we can get down to business.” Doggett remains standing near the edge of Skinner’s desk, his arms crossed. Skinner shuffles through the papers on the desk before him, but before he starts to speak, Doggett brusquely interrupts. “Excuse me, sir. Not that I need a temporary partner--” he glances significantly at Skinner and, despite a glare of warning from the A.D., continues, “--but what are your qualifications, Agent Harrison?” Unfazed, Harrison coolly replies, “I’ve been with the Bureau for almost two years. As I mentioned, I was assigned to the New Hampshire field office. I just recently moved to D. C and heard of the opening in the X-Files division. I applied for the position and got it.” Skinner has heard enough. “Agent Harrison’s qualifications are not up for discussion. This is not a fact-finding committee. She is temporarily attached to the X-Files and will remain so until this office decides otherwise.” This last is directed to Doggett, who nods in reluctant acknowledgement. Satisfied, Skinner rises from his chair. “Welcome to D.C., Agent Harrison. I’m certain Agent Doggett will do everything in his power to make your transition seamless.” He looks pointedly at the male agent. “Of course, sir.” A hint of sarcasm laces Doggett’s overly innocent agreement. Skinner ignores it. “That will be all, agents.” “Thank you, sir. I have to stop by Personnel and will meet up with Agent Doggett directly,” Harrison responds as she rises from her seat. As Scully levers herself into a standing position, Skinner and Doggett both move as if to help. A look from her halts their motions. “I’m going to clean out my desk,” she says to no one in particular. Scully and Harrison leave the office. Doggett turns to Skinner, but the A.D.’s expression forestalls any comment and, resigned, he exits the room. *** X-Files Office 8:20 a.m. Scully sits behind her desk. A medium-sized bankers box bears the fruits of her wistful, methodical examination of the contents of each drawer. Doggett enters the office. Scully glances up from her sorting and acknowledges his presence with a brief nod. She puts a laser pointer in the box alongside a well-read copy of Jose Chung’s From Outer Space. Doggett stops in the middle of the room, hands shoved in his pockets. He notices she is packing a lot for what is to be a temporary leave. “So,” he offers. “This is it.” Scully pauses in her packing and surveys the top of the desk, cluttered with files, crumpled Post-Its, and miscellaneous odds and ends. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes,” she sighs. “It is.” She adds a tree-shaped air freshener to the contents of the carton as Doggett awkwardly moves a little closer. “Must seem strange,” he says with forced cheerfulness, waving his hand toward the littered surface. “I mean, packing to leave.” Scully fits the lid to the top of the box. “Very strange,” she replies distractedly as she begins to gather the scattered files. Doggett stops her. “I’ll clean that up if you’re finished,” he says. Scully smiles gratefully. “Thanks.” She looks slowly around the small office, her wistful gaze coming to rest on the “I Want To Believe” poster. Her eyes moisten as she stands before it. Doggett watches her introspection silently. A moment later, Scully takes a deep breath, squares her shoulders and turns. She takes her coat from the back of her chair and shrugs into it. Walking around the desk, she stops a short distance from Doggett. “I, uh...I wanted to thank you, Agent Doggett. For your help, for...” she begins hesitantly. She puts her hands in her coat pockets. The faint jingle of keys can be heard as she fingers them nervously. He waves off her remark. “No thanks necessary. It’s what partners do for each other. And, hey, it’s not like this is permanent. You’ll be back before you know it. Right?” A small, cryptic smile is Scully’s only reply as she picks up the box and, with a final glance around the room, walks out the door. As he listens to the sound of her footsteps rhythmically fading down the hall, Doggett realizes she never answered his question. His face shows his disappointment. His eyebrows wrinkle in thought and his shoulders slump a little as he faces an office that seems to mock him with its silence. He walks to the desk and picks up the pile of folders, refusing to dwell on Scully’s unspoken answer, then crosses to the row of file cabinets and yanks open a drawer. He turns with a smile at the sound of heels approaching the office. “Hey, that didn’t take long. Did you forget something?” Agent Harrison appears in the doorway. She smiles in apology at the crestfallen expression on his face. “Sorry, Agent Doggett. Just me.” She hands him a plain manila folder. “I ran into A.D. Skinner on my way down here. He’s given us a new case and said if we have any questions, we were to give him a call.” “Thanks.” Doggett takes the folder and scans the contents. After a few minutes of perusal, Agent Harrison reminds him of her presence. “Agent Doggett? The case?” Doggett looks up. “Yeah, it’s, uh, a missing persons investigation. A man by the name of Stephen Andrews, who was hiking in Calvert Cliffs Park, Maryland. His fiancee was with him, says he was attacked. She’s reported him missing.” “Is it an X-File?” He abruptly closes the file and hands it to Harrison. “It’s a missing persons case, Agent Harrison. We’ve only been called in because the crime scene is in a national park. I’m going to requisition a car.” He brushes past her. Harrison leans out the door. “I’ll meet you in the garage,” she calls after him. Doggett does not respond. “Okay,” she mutters as she flips off the lights and strides purposefully down the hall. *** Scully’s Apartment 11:40 a.m. Mulder watches as Scully walks once again from the kitchen to the bedroom. “Three,” he murmurs. She has been a blur of motion since arriving and Mulder is getting tired just watching her. She travels from the front of the apartment to the back and all points in between. Several times. As she completes her fourth trip, he cannot hold back any longer. “Scully, you’re gonna wear out the floor if you keep going back and forth like that. I don’t know how to replace a floor, Scully. I watch Oprah, not Bob Vila.” She continues to putter in the kitchen, re-wiping counters already cleaned within an inch of their collective lives, straightening canisters that look as if a ruler has been used for alignment. Drying her hands on a dishtowel, she walks slowly to the living room. “I’m just straightening up a little, Mulder. What with the desiccated remains of your sunflower seeds, empty iced tea glasses, and the inexplicable lack of knowledge you appear to have as to the location of the laundry hamper, the clutter would overwhelm me in no time if I didn’t.” Finished, she tosses the towel onto the kitchen table, where it lands in a small, disheveled heap. Mulder grins at the contradiction as she lowers herself onto the couch beside him. He bumps her shoulder lightly with his. “A little clutter is good for the soul.” Scully returns the gesture, smirking. “Then you should be ready for sainthood.” “Really, Scully, you okay? You’ve been...how shall I put this so you don’t feel the urge to move my nose to the back of my head?” “Don’t tempt me, Mulder,” she warns. “Full of excess energy, nervous, antsy, unable to sit still for more than two seconds,” he continues as if she hasn’t spoken. He gives her a sideways look. “You’re not doing that nesting thing, are you?” “No. No nesting,” she reassures him. She takes a steadying breath before continuing. “It’s just...ever since I left the office this morning, I’ve felt funny. I just don’t feel right.” She brushes off his look of concern. “I mean, I feel like...I don’t know...like I’m shirking somehow, jumping ship or...or, playing hooky.” She raises her hands in a helpless gesture and then clasps them loosely in her lap, worrying a thumbnail. Mulder chuckles. “Hooky, Scully? You? You never played hooky a day in your life. Am I right?” At her chagrined shrug, he continues, his voice lower, all traces of humor gone. “You’ve paid your dues, Scully. Too many times above and beyond. Now it’s time for someone else to take over for a while.” “I know that. I really do. But it still feels bizarre.” He grabs the TV remote from the coffee table. “Well, here, if you want bizarre, it’s time for Jerry Springer.” She snatches it away, holding it out to the side, out of his reach. “Mulder, no. Absolutely no Jerry Springer.” Mulder breathes an exaggerated sigh. “Besides,” she continues easily, “I’ve got something in mind that should easily keep you occupied for the next couple of hours, if not longer.” *** Calvert Cliffs Park 11:40 a.m. A lush green carpet of grass borders the narrow road that leads into the asphalt parking lot. With the exception of a park service pickup and two featureless sedans, the area is empty. The bureau car pulls into the space beside the pickup. Doggett and Harrison exit the vehicle and walk toward the tree line a short distance away. A park ranger stands near the trailhead waiting for the two agents. Yellow caution tape stretches across the path; one end is tied to a nearby tree and the other to a white arrow atop a signpost that indicates the cordoned-off route is the Green Trail. As they approach, Doggett holds up his identification. “Agent Doggett from the FBI, this is Agent Harrison.” The ranger shakes Doggett’s hand and nods to Harrison. “Thanks for coming out. I’m Albert Schenck. This section of the park is my responsibility.” He holds up the flimsy barrier for them to pass under. Harrison goes first, case folder and pen in hand, then waits for the two men to join her. “How long have you worked in this particular area?” Doggett questions as he ducks under the tape. “About seven years.” Schenck follows and motions at the mushy path leading into the forest. “This is actually the crime scene, but the other investigators are down this way.” Doggett and Harrison glance around at the markers placed on the ground and carefully step around them as they follow Schenck down the trail. Clustered stands of poplar, maple and oak trees burgeoning with spring foliage crowd the edges of the path. As they slowly progress along the trail, the waist-high undergrowth of bushes and wild grass bordering the route becomes denser. “What happened out here yesterday?” Doggett asks. “Well, I was making my rounds and noticed this Explorer in the parking lot with the radio going. I walked over to check it out and found the woman inside, just staring out the windshield. When I spoke to her she jumped--I thought she was going to go right through the roof. She started crying, said something attacked her boyfriend.” Doggett interrupts. “According to the police report the woman said there had been an argument.” “Yeah, he, uh, wanted to see if he could find some kind of monster rumored to be mutilating animals in the park. She wanted to leave.” “Monster. Check,” Doggett says skeptically, glancing at Harrison, who is listening closely. He urges the ranger to continue. “Go on.” “I talked her out of the car, followed her up the trail a ways didn’t see or hear anything. She was hysterical, screaming and such, so I called the police.” The ranger stops walking. “The cops from Prince Frederick came out to help search yesterday until it got dark. We didn’t find anything. My supervisor called you guys in.” Schenck indicates two men several yards ahead on the trail. “The tall guy is Detective Connors, a cop from Prince Frederick. The other guy is one of yours, an Agent Matthews,” he explains as the trio resumes their walk. “Hey, found anything?” Doggett calls out. Matthews looks up and makes a half-hearted gesture at the surroundings. “We started back there at the scene, we’ve been clear up the trail and we’re working our way back. The ground’s awfully soft. As near as I can tell, he got this far and then his tracks get mixed in with something else.” As Doggett engages in conversation with Matthews, their low tones volleying back and forth, Harrison wanders a short distance from the group, searching the undergrowth along the path. After a few moments of careful inspection, she happens upon a narrow, partially hidden trail that veers off into the woods. She walks slowly along the trampled groove, the remnants of last fall’s leaves, soft and spongy underfoot. It leads her deeper into the forest. After a few moments of quiet conversation with Matthews, he notices Harrison’s absence and looks around the scene. He sees her moving slowly through the forest. “Agent Harrison?” he calls out. She looks back to the group. “Huh? Oh.” She waves in acknowledgement. “Yeah, I’m just checking over here.” The trail widens slightly and a small patch of upturned earth, the leaves and grass scraped away, catches her attention. She peers closely at an indentation in the soft mud. She motions to the park ranger. “Ranger Schenck, what kind of print is this?” The ranger leaves the group and joins her, looking at the ground where she is pointing. He scrutinizes the muddy impression. “I don’t know. It, uh, looks like it could be some kind of big cat. But we don’t have any kind of animal in the park that could make that.” He moves aside as Doggett leans around him to get a look. “I don’t see any footprints our hiker would’ve made,” Doggett observes. “Is this a public trail? Where does it lead?” she asks. The ranger shakes his head. “It’s not a public trail, no. Deer could’ve made it, I think. It looks like it heads toward the wildlands.” “Wildlands?” “Yeah, an area of the park, about a thousand acres or so, that’s restricted to public use. It’s way off the main trail.” Harrison nods and resumes her exploration. She is several feet away from them when she stops. She squats down and pulls a plastic bag from the pocket of her jacket. Using a small stick, she scrapes a glob of something from the ground into the bag. “Tell me about the trail,” Doggett says, breaking the silence as Harrison walks back. “Does it get much use?” “Not a whole lot this time of year. It’s still early in the season.” “So this time of the year, it’s conceivable those two people were the only ones on the trail at the time of the incident.” “Yes, sir, it’s possible.” “How long is this trail? Could someone get lost walking it?” “It circles about four miles through the park. Pretty hard to get lost if you stay on the trail.” Harrison stops in front of the ranger and holds up the bag. An opaque, gelatinous substance is smeared inside. “Do you know what this is?” Schenck looks closely. “No, I sure don’t,” he says after a moment. Doggett motions for them to leave and the two agents start back toward the main trail. Schenck doesn’t follow. He glances first at the indentation in the ground then looks farther down the narrow path. Neither Harrison nor Doggett takes notice. As they are walking, Harrison hands the bag to Doggett. “I found this a little farther down, along with what looks another print.” Doggett scrutinizes the contents. “It might just be from something that lives in these woods.” “The ranger can’t identify this stuff or the print. Whatever it is, it doesn’t belong and might have something to do with our hiker.” “I think you’re reaching a little,” he says over his shoulder. Harrison follows, moving quickly to keep up with Doggett’s long strides. “It can’t hurt to have the lab take a look at it. We don’t have much else to go on at this point,” she says stubbornly. Agent Matthews, hearing the conversation, comes over to join them. He hands an identical bag to Doggett. “Found that splattered on a tree near the spot where our missing person’s footprints end. And this.” He takes a bagged video camera from Detective Connors and passes it to Doggett as well. “The witness said her boyfriend had a camera. Maybe it caught something useful.” “There’s some kind of print on that path. Could you get a photo and maybe a casting?” Harrison asks Matthews, pointing back to where the ranger is still standing. Doggett frowns, turning the bagged camera over in his hands. Matthews nods. “I’ll see what I can do,” he says as he walks away from them. Doggett hands the samples to Harrison. “Take these to the lab when we get back to D.C., since you think it’s important. I’ll touch base with Skinner.” “I can do some research on this area. If there’s something here, I’ll find it,” she says confidently. “You sound awful sure.” “I was very proficient when I investigated the white collar cases in New Hampshire.” “I thought your file said you were a field agent. You rode a desk?” he says disbelievingly. “Well, actually, the only time I went out in the field was to gather files and records. The rest was spent analyzing paper trails, background research, things of that nature.” Doggett is exasperated. “Skinner said you were qualified.” “I am. I went through the same training you did. I just haven’t had an opportunity to put it to actual use,” she says defensively. Doggett stalks off. “Great, just great,” he mutters. “A green agent.” *** Scully’s Apartment Midday Scully sits on the sofa with piles of clean laundry surrounding her. Wood pieces for some project are scattered on the carpet to the right of the sofa. She is dressed casually in tan pants and a navy blue tunic and folds a towel with a faint smile on her face. The phone rings, and she drops the towel onto her lap, looking about in consternation. There is no way she will be able to climb up out of the sofa in time to reach the phone--if she could find the phone in the first place. Mulder passes behind the sofa, wearing jeans and a dark brown pullover. He hands her the cordless phone and she smiles her thanks. As she thumbs the "talk" button, he continues around the sofa and stops, looking at the coffee table with his head tilted to one side. He somehow manages to nudge the piles of laundry aside enough to put two drinking glasses on the table, one near Scully's knees and one at the right end, where he settles down on the floor, puts on his reading glasses, and turns his attention to the pile of wood pieces, rubbing his hands together as though he cannot wait to get started. "Hello," Scully says into the phone. Mulder picks up a piece of paper, which grows to map--sized proportions as he unfolds it. He holds it up, obscuring his face for a moment, then turns it over and upside down with a maximum of crumpling sounds. In the office, Doggett sits heavily in his desk chair and tilts it back as he speaks into the phone. "Agent Scully, this is John Doggett. Sorry to call you at home like this.” He picks up a pen and taps it on the manila file on his desk. "Enjoying your time off?" He waves Harrison to the other desk, but she ignores him, preferring to roam the office instead, picking up items on the shelves and examining articles and photos on the walls. When she reaches the "I Want to Believe" poster, she smiles slightly. "Just killing time until we have to leave for Lamaze class," Scully says brightly. "So, why did you call?" "Well, Agent Harrison and I were assigned a case--a series of animal mutilations in a national park a couple hours from here, and a hiker went missing yesterday. They thought it was some kinda animal, but there was some trace evidence the lab techs here can't make heads or tails out of. I was hoping maybe you might have some idea where to go next." "You need me to come in?" Mulder puts the pieces of wood down with a clunk and turns to look at Scully quizzically. "No, no--no need for that. You're on leave, Agent Scully." "Do you have the lab report there?" There is a beep in the background, and Mulder rises from his place on the floor. "Yeah, and I'm faxing you a copy." Doggett places the phone between his chin and shoulder and opens the file folder. "But I got my copy right here." Scully turns to Mulder but he is already at her elbow with a pad and pen and the fax. She darts him a quick glance beneath lifted eyebrows and he grins, and then makes room for himself on the couch to sit next to her and read over her shoulder. Scully scans the diagrams on the fax. "But--I don't understand. Is this from multiple samples?" "No, Agent Scully, why?" "There are combinations here--a venom like that found in cobras, for example, but mixed with what looks to be saliva." "Don't cobras spit their venom, blind their prey?" "Yes, but there's no saliva involved. The venom is never actually in the mouth. And--cobras? In Virginia? And in these quantities?" "Stranger things have happened. In fact, the witness's statement is pretty strange." "There was a witness?" Scully asks. "Two, actually. A videotape that was too damaged to be of much use--and the victim's fiancée. Also not of much use." "What did she see?" Scully is still frowning over the fax. "She’s still in the hospital under sedation, but someone was able to interview her briefly last night. She described the attacker--but I dunno, Agent Scully...." "What?" Doggett takes a deep breath. "Well--she said it was like a man, but it wasn’t a man. It was on all fours and had a furry body and wings. Scully drops her pen onto the pad where she has been taking notes. "A man with a furry body and wings." Beside her, Mulder seizes the notepad and scribbles furiously. "Yeah. Oh, and a tail with a stinger on it." Scully glances down at the notepad, which Mulder has just shoved back into her hands. Beneath her precise notes are two words in his bolder script, underlined twice. Scorpion tail? She raises her head and looks at him. "Like--a scorpion?" she asks haltingly. Mulder's face becomes even more animated when he hears Doggett's tinny voice through the receiver. "Yeah, like a scorpion." Scully tilts the phone so that Mulder can share it and sits in silence, listening. "Doggett, this is Mulder." Doggett leans back even farther in his chair. "Hey, Mulder--I was just filling Agent Scully in on this case....” At the word "Mulder," Harrison turns from her perusal of an article on the wall with a slightly amused look on her face. "It's a manticore," Mulder interrupts. "A what?" "It sounds like it could be a manticore,” he relents. "A manticore." Behind him, Harrison gives a start. Doggett leans forward and braces his forehead on his hand. "And what, pray tell, is a manticore?" Both Mulder and Harrison begin to speak at once, bombarding Doggett with a confusion of sound and information. "A creature with all the best parts of a man, a lion, an eagle, and a scorpion, all tied up in one neat, if very scary, package," Mulder explains. "It's got a red face like a man's, wings like an eagle, a tail with a sting, and the body of a lion. And it eats human flesh," Harrison puts in. "Hang on a second, Mulder. Where did you learn about manticores, Agent Harrison?" "I minored in classics in college." "Classics." He considers this for a moment. "Wait a minute. *Wait* a *minute*! Mulder, are you tellin' me we're looking for a *mythological creature*?” "Apparently not," Mulder responds wryly. Doggett sighs. "Hang on, I'll put you on speakerphone." "Agent Mulder?" Harrison begins. "It's just 'Mulder' now, Agent Harrison." Abashed, she tries again. "Mr. Mulder--have you ever run across anything like this before?" She casts a glance at the row of file cabinets lining one wall. "No, I'm afraid not." Her face falls. "Though there are several cases with other unusual creatures that might be useful." "Okay, where do I start?" she asks, turning to face the files again. "Try--the drawer marked 'C,' under 'Creatures, Unidentified,'" he suggests. Doggett rolls his eyes, but Harrison darts forward and begins pawing through the drawer he mentioned. "Why not 'A' for 'Attacks'?" she asks. "Why not 'O' for 'out of your mind'?" Doggett mutters under his breath. "Ran out of room--there are two 'A' drawers just on aliens," Mulder responds matter-of-factly. Scully shakes her head and tries, unsuccessfully, to hide a smile. In the office, Doggett buries his face in his hand and blows out an exasperated breath, but Harrison takes this in stride and continues rifling the file cabinet. Scully clears her throat. "We need to get going, Agent Doggett.” "Okay," Doggett says, rubbing his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. "Call us if you need anything," Mulder volunteers. "Uh huh. Oh, and Agent Scully...." He lifts his head. "Yes?" "Just remember to keep breathing." He disconnects the call and looks over at Harrison, who is poring over the file in her hand, several others tucked under her arm. In her apartment, Scully and Mulder hang up as well. She looks at him speculatively. "All the *best* parts, Mulder?" *** Calvert Cliffs Park Late afternoon Agents Doggett and Harrison pull up in their bureau-issued car. Doggett is driving; Harrison has her nose buried in a red-striped file. Doggett stops the car and turns to look at her, but she makes no move to get out. He huffs impatiently. "Agent Harrison." There is no response. "Agent Harrison," he says more sharply. She looks up from her reading, answering him only with a cool gaze. "We're here." With this he gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. She climbs out more slowly, stuffing papers back into the file. "Where is he?" She shrugs and continues shuffling papers. Doggett stands with his hands on his hips, scanning the area. "I thought you told him we were on our way," he mutters. "You know I did," she responds. "I called him from the car." "Well, he obviously didn't understand the urgency of the situation," Doggett drawls, "seeing as how he's got a *mythological creature* on the loose in his park." Harrison tosses the file in on the seat. "Why don't you just say what you mean, Agent Doggett?" "And what's that?" "That you don't think I'm qualified to serve as your partner because I majored in history and minored in ancient civilizations instead of beating the streets in--where was it you served again? New York?” "I already *have* a partner, Agent Harrison." "Who isn't here." "No," he replies with obvious regret. "No, she isn't." There is a long pause, laced with anger, as they stare at one another. "Just answer me this, Agent Doggett," Harrison says, her voice too calm. "Is it me personally you object to, or having any temporary partner at all?" "Nothing personal," Doggett replies. "It can just get dangerous out here, and--" "Thank you," she snaps, holding up a hand to forestall anything further. "You've answered my question." With that, she closes the door on the passenger side of the car harder than necessary and stalks off down the path in the direction of the crime scene. Doggett stares after her for a moment, then follows, digging his cellphone out of his coat. The display informs him that there is no service in the area. *** Horizon Pregnancy Care Center Late afternoon Scully’s Lamaze class is held in a large, bright, airy room. Mulder and Scully walk in and are greeted by the instructor and several class members. When they reach a free space on the perimeter of the room, Mulder helps Scully lower herself to the floor, drops the pillow next to her, and takes his place at her back. “Today we’re going to practice controlling our breathing and blood pressure,” the instructor says from her place at the front of the room. “What, no movies?” Mulder quips in an undertone to Scully. She continues to face forward, and he misses her smirk. “And then we’ll finish up with a video of a water birth,” the instructor continues. Mulder groans. “Payback for one too many cattle mutilations, huh, Scully?” he asks. Several couples nearby turn to look at him quizzically. Scully simply stares straight ahead. *** Calvert Cliffs Park Late afternoon Harrison and Doggett work the area around the crime scene separately, crisscrossing from one side of the path to the other, following their own lines of thought in relative silence. They rarely look at one another and do not speak even when Harrison straightens up from examining a fallen log and steps back onto Doggett's foot. He merely steps back out of her way and allows her to pass in front of him. They continue to work, but their faces show the strain of this uncomfortable working environment. Harrison looks somewhat hurt, while Doggett merely appears frustrated. The sky sympathizes, and a light rain begins to fall. *** Horizon Pregnancy Care Center Early evening The Lamaze class is breaking up. As the members gather their supplies and leave the room in couples and small groups, they chat amiably, several waving their farewells to Mulder and Scully, who walk out together. Their faces are more relaxed than they were an hour ago. As they approach the car, Scully unlocks the doors by remote, then tosses Mulder the keys. He catches them, looking surprised. "I figure you know where to get the best Tex-Mex," she explains, climbing into the passenger seat and stretching the seatbelt across her ponderous belly. "Tex-Mex?" "I see nachos with extra jalapenos in my future," she assures him, closing the door. He gazes at her through the glass for a moment, an expression of bemused delight on his face, then jogs around to the driver's side. *** Calvert Cliffs Park Early evening Harrison crouches over another pool of the gelatinous material they discovered earlier. Her forehead furrows: this sample, like the previous ones, appears fresh. Doggett rises from his position on the other side of the footpath and brushes his hands on his knees. He looks around for Harrison but does not see her. He pulls out his cell phone. Still no service. "Great." Returning the phone to his coat, Doggett spots Harrison and makes his way toward her. He speaks to her but she does not respond. Growing frustrated, he strides toward her forcefully; when he is still several yards away, his foot comes down hard and then sinks into the earth. He only has time for the look on his face to change to one of shock before he disappears from view. There is a distant thud. Harrison's concerned face appears over the edge of the hole. "Are you okay?" He struggles to his feet at least eight feet below her, favoring his left knee. "I think so," he says, wincing. When he sees Harrison dig out her own cell phone, he shakes his head wearily. "Don't bother, Agent Harrison." She frowns at her phone, then holds it face up on her palm, turning slowly in a circle as though divining for a signal. "If I could just--" "Agent Harrison!" Doggett barks. She stops to stare at him. "Don't move." She looks down at her feet and realizes the wisdom of his words: the perimeter of the cave-in is unstable, still dripping loose earth and debris at his feet. Doggett looks around him. "This is some kind of tunnel--it goes in both directions." Harrison looks apprehensive at this. "I'm not gonna be able to climb out on my own--it's too high. Go find the ranger and get help. I'll wait right here," he finishes, his voice laced with sarcasm and self-disgust. "I think I can get you out," she offers. "No way, Agent Harrison. Just go find the ranger station--he'll have a phone and a radio. And probably a ladder," he adds dryly. "But if that thing is around here--for all we know it *lives* underground," she argues. "Manticores...." "Will you stop it with the manticores already?" he bellows. Harrison throws up her hands in frustration. "Why can't you just accep--" and, as she takes a step forward, the ground gives way beneath her feet and she falls through the forest floor. *** Scully’s Apartment Evening The door to Scully's apartment opens and she enters, pressing one hand to her stomach. Mulder is right on her heels. He secures the door and gives her a look of concern. "Are you okay?" "I'm fine. I think that last taco did me in," she informs him. He grins. "Why don't you lie down while I--" "And miss you attaching part D to part F using bolt Y? Not on your life," she assures him, disappearing into the living room. Mulder follows. "No calls," he says, glancing at the answering machine. “I thought we might have heard from Doggett by now.” “They don’t have to report to us,” Scully points out. He merely nods. She looks at him sympathetically. “You miss it, don’t you.” “What, slogging around in the muck, sticking my fingers into indefinable goop, not to mention training a new agent?” he says unconvincingly. Her only response is a look. He sighs. “I was a new agent once,” she reminds him. “Yes,” he replies. “So--you do. Miss it, I mean.” “Yeah. I do.” They share a look. She holds her hand out. “Pass me those instructions--partner. I don’t want the baby to wind up with a jungle-gym instead of a cradle,” she quips, dispelling the tension. *** Beneath Calvert Cliffs Park Undetermined time Doggett and Harrison stand in the tunnel, looking up. "I'm sorry," she says softly to a clearly aggrieved Doggett. He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth as if to say something, then changes his mind. Might as well check it out, since we’re down here," he says instead. She nods, and they begin to move in opposite directions--Harrison left, Doggett right. She only goes a few paces before she turns and follows him, pulling out a small maglite and clicking it on. The light, though bright, cuts only a narrow swath through the gloom of the tunnel ahead. "It’s obviously man-made--probably a drainage system at some point," Harrison offers, following closely behind him, her flashlight aimed well ahead. She shines the beam on the walls, ceiling, and floor, which absorb rather than reflecting the light. Doggett nods. "Yeah, looks like it." The tunnel winds aimlessly, and they come to a two-way fork. They stop. “Okay, which way?” he says to himself. “Well, whichever way, we’d better mark our choices, assuming we have to make more of them,” Harrison says. She steps forward and scratches against the right wall of the tunnel with the end of her flashlight. The beam bounces crazily off their dirty faces and the surroundings as she does so. “The wall’s too hard--I can’t make a mark,” she says disappointedly. “So we’ll take the right fork each time,” Doggett says, turning in that direction and striding forward. He walks out of the beam of light and stops when she does not immediately follow. “You coming or what?” “I was thinking.” “Well, can you think and walk?” he asks, taking a step back toward her. “The--uh, it could live down here,” she suggests, avoiding the word “manticore” as she continues toward him. "Are you suggesting someone made this place for--that thing?" "Or, well, if it has the face of a man, it's probably partly human." They look at each other in silence, the only sound their breathing, eerily amplified by the close space. “You’re talking about intelligence,” Doggett says slowly. She starts to shrug him off, then thinks better of it. “Agent Doggett, the things I’ve read in those files....” Doggett huffs his impatience and turns to continue in the direction they had been going. “Wait.” Her voice stops him in his tracks. Her flashlight beam is focused on something that shines wetly. He crouches to examine it. “It’s not like that stuff we found in the woods,” he says. “It looks like--" “Yeah, it’s blood,” he says, touching it with a cautious finger. “Fresh.” Rising, he draws his weapon. They continue on more slowly than before, Doggett in the lead, Harrison only slightly behind him, the beam of the small light flitting from walls to ceiling to floor. The tunnel forks again, and he stops. “Right,” he says, then steps forward. Something crackles beneath his feet, a deeper sound than snapping twigs. Harrison’s flashlight swings down, revealing Doggett’s foot embedded in the skeletized ribcage of a small animal. Other bones are strewn about, some broken and completely dried, others suspiciously red and wet. Harrison works her mouth to get enough moisture to swallow. “Those aren’t all from one meal,” she says hoarsely. “No,” Doggett agrees, attempting to draw his foot out of its prison. He finally kicks it off, the cage of bones skipping along the floor ahead of them and finally coming to rest with a hollow crack against the base of a wall. They start off again. After a few more steps, the tunnel forks again. “Turning right again,” Doggett says, tightening his grip on his weapon. Harrison follows without a word. There is a rushing sound as soon as they turn into the new tunnel, and they are knocked backward. Harrison is thrown against a wall, her head rapping hard enough against it that she blinks hard as she slides to the ground with a cry of pain. The flashlight drops as well and spins as it is kicked by scuffling feet. She pulls herself to a crouch and draws her own weapon, squinting into the gloom occasionally broken by a flash of the spinning light. She cannot fire her weapon without endangering Doggett. There is a bellow and a shout, then a cry of anguish. Heavy footsteps retreat in the direction they had been heading. “Doggett?” she whispers. The flashlight has come to rest in the center of the passageway, illuminating the floor of the tunnel ahead of her. She shuffles toward it cautiously, then bends and picks it up. The light catches on the eyes of whatever is lurking farther down the passage, and it bellows again and disappears in a rush away from them. Doggett is slumped on the ground. "Agent Doggett?" she cries in concern, crouching next to him. She rolls him over and he blinks furiously, wiping at his eyes, his face streaming a translucent liquid. Seeing that he is more concerned with clearing the substance from his face than responding to her, she pulls a handkerchief from her coat pocket and begins gently wiping his face for him, her brow furrowed with concern. He relaxes and allows her to minister to him. "Better?" she says with a smile when she finishes, tucking her hair behind her ear to keep it out of her face. "That depends,” he says evenly. “Is your light still on?” She freezes in the act of shoving the handkerchief back into her pocket and blinks at him, her eyes narrowed. "What?" “It spit something at me," he says, his voice rising in panic. “Everything’s blurry. You sure you got that stuff out of my eyes?” Harrison shines the flashlight on his face and gasps. He is still blinking, but he appears to be trying to take more of the light in, not protect his vision from it. His irises and pupils are rapidly turning a milky blue. “Harrison?” She does not respond for a moment, and, panicked, he reaches out to touch her. “I’m here,” she says calmly. "I wonder--if it's permanent," she adds, looking at her hands and blinking hard. She withdraws a small plastic baggie from her pocket and pushes the handkerchief into it, tucking the evidence pouch into her pocket. "I wish I had some of that waterless hand wash with me--I always keep some in the car." "Just keep your hands away from your face," Doggett admonishes. He is now nearly fully blind; he can see her movement as she nods, but that is all. "I'll do that," she assures him softly, then clears her throat. "We need to get moving." "Yeah. If we can get back to our original cave-in, maybe we can get out--or maybe Ranger Schenck will hear us when we call for help. Plus it'll still be lighter. Not that that matters for me," he adds in an undertone. Harrison pretends not to hear him. She lifts him to his feet, bending to retrieve his weapon, which she hands to him. He thanks her and reholsters it. The blue of his eyes is now almost completely opaque. She bites her lip at the eerie sight and begins to guide him back down the tunnel, their progress impeded by her own slightly blurred vision. She sets her mouth in a grim line and says nothing. They retrace their steps, turning left at each fork. At the second turn they hear something large moving through a side tunnel toward them. Harrison whips the light around and again catches just a glimpse of the beast. It is massive, frightening even seen through Harrison's damaged eyes--a great blur of dark, coarse hair and glistening teeth, a hint of sinuous tail, parts that could never add up to any rational whole. She drops Doggett's arm and reaches for her weapon, the beam of her flashlight glancing across the beast's eyes as she does so. It bellows and retreats rapidly into the tunnel behind it. "Some of these tunnels must empty onto each other," Doggett says, leaning heavily on the wall. "I've been thinking--there must be a couple of exits," Harrison begins as they continue onward. "Yeah, but for all we know, they're all back in that direction," he responds. She nods and, knowing he cannot see her, adds an audible assent. They turn again and she can finally see the debris on the floor that marks their original starting point. "I’ve been thinking--could you climb out if you stand on my shoulders?" Doggett asks. "I think so--let me try," she replies. “I’m not sure how I’ll get you out, though....” “You’ll go for help,” Doggett interjects firmly. “And leave you here?” She stares at him, aghast. “There’s no other way, Agent Harrison,” he says wearily. “You go get Schenck. I got my gun and if you’ll leave me the flashlight....” There is no response. “C’mon, Agent Harrison, you know this is the only way this’ll work.” She pauses, biting her lip. “Yes. I know.” She reaches for his left hand and carefully places her flashlight in it, wrapping his fingers around it securely. Doggett bends at the waist and allows her to scramble onto his back. He slowly straightens up, Harrison holding onto the wall to lessen her weight. She can reach the hole, but the earth around its edges may crumble. "If you can give me a boost," she explains, "I think I can clear the loose area." Doggett bends slightly at the waist again as she puts the end of the flashlight into her mouth, keeping its beam trained on the hole and freeing both hands. She taps him on the head and he pushes her upward. With a surge and a scramble she pulls herself out of the hole, throwing herself clear as it rains dirt and small stones down on Doggett. "You okay?" she calls, peering down into the widened hole from a safe distance. "Yeah, but I'll be better when you get back with the cavalry," he calls up. She smiles, unseen by Doggett. "It's afraid of the light--just wave the flashlight around if it comes back," she says. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she adds, then disappears into the bush. Doggett nods belatedly, then sinks to the floor of the tunnel, his back against the wall, weapon and flashlight at the ready. *** Beneath Calvert Cliffs Park Undetermined time Night has fallen in earnest; no ambient light comes from the hole above him. Doggett turns off the light to save the battery. A rustling noise comes from his left, the direction he and Harrison explored earlier. He shoots to his feet and stands crouched, flashlight and weapon trained on the space in front of him. The slow, stealthy sound of heavy footsteps approaches, horrifyingly accompanied by a slithering sound. He clicks on the flashlight and waves it, the beam bouncing wildly off floor, walls, and ceiling. The noise stops, and he swallows, backing up into the unexplored part of the tunnel. Water drips somewhere, testifying to the dampness of this winding prison. The footsteps approach again, and he wrinkles his noise at the odor that comes with it. Still flashing the light around, he slides the safety off his weapon and calls out. "Harrison? For God's sake, if you're anywhere near here, sing out!" Nothing. Even the footsteps have ceased. He leans his right elbow against the wall for a better purchase and to steady his aim, blinking rapidly in a futile effort to clear his vision. This time, the footsteps approach at a rush. He squeezes off two rounds and the kick of the weapon, fired blind, throws him off balance. It falls from his hand as he stumbles. *** Calvert Cliffs Park Undetermined time Above ground, Harrison stumbles into the clearing in front of the ranger's cabin. "Hello?" she calls, "Ranger Schenck?" There is no answer. Breathing heavily, wiping sweat from her dirty face with her torn jacket, she jogs up the steps to the door and bangs on it with her fist. "Ranger Schenck! It's Agent Harrison! Open up!" Still no answer. Ducking her head, she peers through the window next to the door. Through the cloud of her vision, which seems not to have gotten any worse, at least, she can make out a lit lamp and some furniture, but no ranger. "Schenck!" she calls once more, "I'm coming in!" Harrison uses the butt of her weapon to break the window, then reaches through to open the door. Returning the weapon to its holster, she enters the cabin and crosses to the phone on the desk. She sinks gratefully to the chair and dials a number. "This is Agent Leyla Harrison, badge number JTTO19722001. I'm calling from the ranger station in Calvert Cliffs Park. I need backup and medical assistance--my partner, Agent John Doggett, is injured." The reply she receives does not please her. "We don't have that kind of time! Look, call AD Skinner--he's supervising this case directly." A tinny voice informs her that she is being placed on hold. She sighs and then begins to search the desk for writing supplies. She grabs a pen, then notices the journal lying open in front of her and reaches for it to tear out a page. Her eyes are drawn like a magnet to her own name, which appears in the most recent entry. Above that she spots the word "manticore." *** Somewhere underground Undetermined time Doggett lies half on his back in the tunnel, groping around for his weapon, which he dropped when he fell. Fortunately, he did not lose the flashlight, a potentially more useful weapon in these particular circumstances. Retreating crashing noises reveal that the creature has fled; rather than fading into the distance, however, the sound merely stops some distance away. Abandoning the search for his weapon, Doggett climbs painfully to his feet and edges backward at a crouch, the flashlight still held before him. The sound of footsteps begins again, more slowly, stealthily, still beyond the cave-in but approaching steadily. He is being stalked. *** Calvert Cliffs Park Undetermined time Harrison flips frantically through the journal, focusing on a word here, a phrase there. Schenck's entries four months previously reveal the torment of his loneliness. He feels "abandoned out here in the woods," "overwhelmed by silence." Shortly thereafter, however, the entries change. Schenck details finding "a creature the size of a large tiger" in the eastern part of the park, something "like I've never seen, like something out of a horror movie." "I thought at first it was a man who had been attacked by a bear or wolf," he writes, "and perhaps that is how such a creature was begat, though what accounts for the wings and tail I can't imagine." He tries speaking to it but "it doesn't seem to understand nor express itself using human speech." Her concern mounting, she turns the pages more rapidly. Schenck describes building a "holding area" of sorts beneath the western part of the park, expanding on "an old system of tunnels once used to channel excess rainwater to prevent flooding in the lower wildlands." He has been feeding it "live prey from the park such as I could catch" to help it "retain its hunting instincts." He has no idea where to release it once it has fully recovered. "Perhaps I can study it," he writes in an entry from the previous month. He has "no desire to see it go"--he feels "finally useful, like someone needs me." In an entry from the week before, just two days before the hiker was attacked, Schenck has written, "it is no longer eating what I bring it, though it appears healthy." "Can it be getting out? I must look for another exit--I have only ever used the one in this cabin....” Dropping both phone and journal, Harrison darts her eyes around the cabin. It is still difficult to see, but she notices a throw rug in a free space on the floor. Bending down, she flips the rug up and sees a trap door beneath. She studies it for a moment, then leaves the cabin in haste. The front door swings closed behind her. *** Somewhere Underground Undetermined time Doggett stumbles to a stop, flattening his hand against the tunnel wall. His breath comes in short pants. Beads of sweat dot his face as he listens for signs of pursuit. Nothing. He takes a few hesitant steps, using the wall as a guide. He flails his other arm out to try and discern the location of the wall that should be parallel to his location. When he finds nothing but emptiness, he ventures a few feet away from the wall. He waves his arm back and forth. “Damn,” he says, cursing his blindness. He walks back to the wall and repeats the same process every few steps. “Have to be off the main shaft,” he mutters in a breathy whisper. Slowly, he moves further into the chamber. Carefully, but with a sense of urgency, he tests each patch of ground before he puts his weight on it to move forward. A faraway, rustling noise causes him to turn his head sharply just as he takes another cautious step. His foot comes into contact with a soft, lumpy mass, pitching him off-balance. He tries to regain his footing but he stumbles, falling forward. He thrusts his arms out hoping to break his fall and ends on his hands and knees. He starts to push himself off the floor to regain his feet and his hands come into contact with a wet, sticky substance. He tentatively explores further, sliding his hand along sickeningly familiar features--forehead, nose-- “Jesus!” The expletive explodes out of his mouth as he quickly withdraws his fingers and scuttles away from the gruesome heap until he reaches the wall. “Stephen Andrews, I presume,” he croaks. Doggett sits on his haunches and leans his head back, breathing harshly. He briskly rubs his hands against his pants in an attempt to clean them. He jerks his head as he hears a barely audible noise, followed by another. It is following Doggett’s route. He holds his breath and squints into the gloom. *** Beneath Calvert Cliffs Park Undetermined time Harrison steps quietly off the ladder as she finishes her descent into the tunnel. With an indecisive glance toward the open trapdoor, she switches on the small flashlight with one hand, and brings a spray can from her waistband with the other. Without hesitating, she moves forward. Snapping the beam from side to side with an occasional flick of the light to the ceiling and floor, she walks through the tunnel. She pauses at a fork and sprays a white blob in the shape of a sloppy arrow onto the wall. “Agent Doggett?” she calls. A distant voice answers from the darkness in front of her. Harrison carefully moves further into the murky tunnel, but her blurry vision hampers her speed. She gives cursory inspections to offshoots of the passage as she walks. Again, she calls out. “Agent Doggett?” She sprays another white blob on the wall as she awaits a reply. It comes back to her, a little closer this time. “Agent Doggett, keep talking,” she yells back as she continues toward the sound of his voice. She pauses as she hears a shuffling noise a short distance ahead of her position. She cannot determine what is making the sound but realizes she has to hurry. It’s coming from the same direction as Doggett’s voice. *** Somewhere underground Undetermined time Doggett raises his head as he hears the faint shout. A small, relieved smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. He gets to his feet, bracing his hands against the wall. “Agent Harrison!” he yells. “In here! I’m in here!” He walks toward Harrison’s voice, sliding his hand along the wall for guidance. He skids to a stop as a musky odor permeates the damp earthiness of the underground cavern. Nostrils flaring, he tries to determine where the scent is the strongest. He flattens himself against the wall as he realizes the creature must be in the chamber with him. He slides along the damp barrier slowly, ears tuned to the slight noises he is now hearing. The smell becomes stronger. Doggett senses a presence and frantically waves the flashlight in one hand as he lashes out with his fist, calling for Harrison. *** Somewhere underground Undetermined time Harrison picks up her pace, as she gets closer to Doggett’s voice. The hand holding the can skims along the wall as she uses it to help guide her through the passage. She pauses only long enough to make sure each spray from the can hits its target. The flashlight beam bobs ahead of her quickening steps as she approaches a large opening in the wall. A shout and a quick splash of her light show Harrison that she has found Doggett, who is brandishing the weak, flickering flashlight like a sword. The creature stands just a few feet away ready to lunge. Dropping the can, she switches the flashlight quickly to her left hand. With her right she draws her weapon and, with a bloodcurdling cry, plunges into the chamber. Doggett swipes out at the monster. Coupled with Harrison’s shout and bold entrance, the commotion startles the beast into backing up several paces. Harrison stops when she bumps against Doggett’s arm. He starts violently as she jostles his arm, his fists held in a defensive posture. “It’s me,” she says quickly. “Thank God. Get us out of here,” he says in short, panting breaths. “Working on it,” she whispers. A flicker of movement suddenly catches her attention. Squinting, she shines the light past the creature to the far side of the enclosure. A shadowy figure has just entered from a second doorway. “Damn.” “What? What’s happening?” Doggett turns his head frantically. “Could be another one,” she mutters. “I can’t tell. Grab my sleeve.” “Too many damn doors in this place,” Doggett mumbles as he grasps her arm with just enough force to keep a grip but not enough to hinder her use of the flashlight. “You have to leave! You can’t be here!” a voice hollers angrily from across the chamber. The beast’s shadowy bulk shifts slightly toward the sound, its interest wavering between the two agents and the newcomer. Doggett feels the muscles in Harrison’s arm tense. “What the hell?” he hisses. “Is that Schenck? What’s he doing down here?” “It’s Schenck, all right, but I’m not sure who he’s here to help,” she tells Doggett in a hushed tone. She divides her attention between the creature and the ranger, who is slowly walking to the center of the chamber. “I found a journal. He found this...creature and he’s been taking care of it,” Harrison hurriedly explains. Schenck gestures at the beast. “Don’t hurt him. It’s not his fault. I didn’t know he was able to get out.” “’Don’t hurt him?’ He’s nuts,” Doggett warns in a barely audible voice as he leans toward Harrison. “Schenck, you have to help us. Agent Doggett needs medical assistance,” Harrison tries to reason. Heedless of her plea, the ranger continues his slow advance and draws his weapon, which he holds loosely at his side. His slow steps bring him near the creature, which has been warily tracking his steady movement. Schenck faces the two agents. “I’ll take care of everything. You need to leave,” he says in a level tone. “We’re not...” Harrison starts. Schenck shouts angrily, cutting off her response as he raises his weapon threateningly. “Go now! Get out!” Alarmed, Doggett tugs on Harrison’s arm. “Let’s go!” he says. Keeping their backs to the wall, Harrison hustles them toward the doorway. They hurry through the opening. She quickly holsters her weapon and makes a grab for Doggett’s arm. They stumble along the passage. She pulls him through the tunnel, not hesitating even when a scream reaches their ears. Two shots ring out. Anguished yells tumbling one over the other echo through the walls, and then, but for the sound of their hurrying footsteps, silence. *** George Washington University Hospital April 27th, 9:20 a.m. Doggett reclines in his hospital bed, reading a book. He is holding it closer to his eyes than he normally would. At the sound of approaching footsteps, he looks up. A moment later, Harrison stands in the doorway holding a bunch of flowers. She reaches up to rap a knuckle on his door but stops when she discovers him looking at her. “Mind if I come in?” “Not at all, Agent Harrison.” He closes his book and sets it on the bed beside him, waving her to a seat at his bedside with a smile. The sunlight in his room is muted through drawn window blinds. She crosses to his bed and hands him the flowers, which he lays on a table he has swung out of his way, pushing aside a breakfast tray with an amorphous mass of a yellow substance passing itself off as eggs. “Not hungry?” she asks. “I’m not sure whether I’m supposed to eat it or use it for a sponge bath,” he quips. She smiles at this. He smiles back. There is an awkward stretch of silence. “So--how are you feeling?” she asks. “Doing better, thanks. It’s still a little blurry,” he gestures at his reddened, swollen eyes. “But the docs says the treatment they gave me at Prince Frederick helped a lot. I can probably go home tomorrow. You, uh, you look like you’re doing okay.” “Yeah. Yeah, almost back to normal.” She holds up a pair of sunglasses. “Just have to watch it around bright light for a while.” Doggett nods. “Good. That’s good.” There is another moment of awkward silence, though shorter this time, as Doggett fiddles with his tray and Harrison nervously fingers her glasses. “A little light reading?” she finally asks, indicating his book. He holds it up. Anatomy of Motive, by John Douglas. Footsteps out in the hall draw their attention away from their dangling conversation. Scully appears in the doorway, followed by Mulder, who carries a gift bag. The four exchange greetings and the tension eases slightly. “For you,” Mulder says, handing Doggett the bag. He and Scully seem amused about something. Doggett reaches into the bag and pulls out another book. “Edith Hamilton’s Mythology,” he says wryly. “And in large print, no less. You shouldn’t have.” The other three agents chuckle. “Consider it research,” Harrison responds. Doggett puts the book on his lap. “Agent Harrison, next time we run across any monsters, I’ll know just who to ask.” She smiles uncomfortably. Scully turns their attention to the case. “So, the last thing we heard, the two of you were headed back out to the park, and the next thing we know we get a call you’re both in the hospital. What happened out there?” Harrison looks briefly at Doggett, then back at Scully. “Well, long story short. We found the remains of what turned out to be our missing hiker, but whatever did it--and we never did find out for certain what that was--got away. Ranger Schenck had been, well, harboring it, in the tunnels underneath the western side of the park. I found his journal in the cabin. He was catching small game in the park and providing it with live prey. But a few weeks ago he wrote that he thought it was getting out and hunting on its own. He was looking for an egress to the tunnels he’d missed earlier when he was, uh, preparing them for its lair. That must be how he got in.” “Yeah, just in time to save us from his pet,” Doggett adds sardonically. Harrison shakes her head. “That’s the odd thing. Schenck didn’t seem to see the ma-- the creature as a pet,” she mused. “His journals were really interesting--chronicled his shift from loneliness to feeling needed by someone. Something.” “The manticore,” Mulder adds firmly. Scully shoots him a warning look that he blithely ignores. “The accounts date clear back to the fifth century,” he offers. Harrison looks relieved that the word is out there. She nods thoughtfully. “You know, a, uh, manticore characteristic not often mentioned is cowardly behavior. That may be the reason Agent Doggett is still alive. It wasn’t brave enough to confront prey that fought back. Aggression toward the creature made it retreat on several occasions. But we’ll never know for sure. We didn’t end up with a lot of hard evidence.” Doggett pipes up. “Welcome to the X-Files...and it doesn’t get any easier, let me tell you.” Harrison clears her throat nervously. “Say, I meant to ask you, Agent Harrison--how'd you get us out so fast? I was in an unexplored part of the tunnels, and you didn’t even come down at our original site.” Harrison turns to Mulder and Scully. “Earlier, it occurred to me that the maze of tunnels was similar to a labyrinth.” “A labyrinth,” Doggett repeats. “It’s in your book--check under ‘minotaur,’” Mulder interjects. Harrison continues. “Basically, the labyrinth was a maze built to keep a dangerous monster--in the case of myth, the minotaur--from finding its way out. Same with its prey.” “Okay, so--?” “So, I knew if I didn’t want to get lost, I would have to mark my trail somehow,” she says pragmatically. “In the myth, Theseus used a ball of string.” “Yeah, but we tried marking the walls earlier and couldn’t,” Doggett reminds her. “What’d you use?” “A can of Fix-A-Flat,” she says simply. Scully laughs softly. “Ingenuity--one of the most important characteristics of a good field agent,” Doggett congratulates her. “Yeah, uh, well...about that.” The other three look at her expectantly. “I’m--requesting reassignment.” Off Doggett’s look of surprise, she continues, “I mean, it was interesting and exciting, but I know where my strengths are, and they’re not in field work. I’ve applied to work in Research--assisting the VCU and other departments.” “I’m really sorry to hear that, Agent Harrison,” Doggett says slowly, dismayed. “Especially after you proved that a background in history and classics can be indispensable in the field,” he adds with better humor. She smiles, and the palpable tension eases. “You do realize that you’re one of a select few,” Mulder puts in. “Every agent who has ever worked the X-files has wound up in one.” She smiles again. “Glad to know the record is still intact.” “That leaves you without a partner, Agent Doggett,” Scully reminds him. Doggett shrugs nonchalantly. “Hey, it’s no big deal. I’ll survive till you get back.” His voice rises at the end of this statement, turning it into a question. And when will that be? it seems to ask. Scully lets the implied question go unanswered as she looks at Mulder. “Well, we’ve got to go. Doctor’s appointment,” she says apologetically. “I’ve got to get going, too,” Harrison says. “Are you able to drive? Do you need a lift?” asks Scully. “No, my friends are waiting for me in the waiting room,” she assures them. “We’ll walk out with you,” Mulder says. “If you ever need an obscure fact--“ Harrison says to the room in general, smiling. Doggett lifts the mythology book and waggles it at her as she, Mulder, and Scully leave the room. He watches after them for a moment, listening. “Say, while I have both of you here,” Harrison is asking. “I had a couple questions about this vampire motor home case?” Mulder and Scully both rush to respond, their voices a teasing babble of accusation and denial. He catches the words “fake teeth,” “gnawed on,” and “drugged” before Scully’s voice rises stridently. “He did not have buck teeth!” Doggett smiles, shaking his head. He lifts the book in his hand and looks at its cover, his smile turning sad. Dropping the book back into his lap, he sighs and stares straight ahead at the wall of his empty room, alone again. End.