Title: Circles

Author: The VS10 Producers

Category: Mytharc

Keywords: case file

Archive: Two weeks exclusively on the IMTP VS10 site. 

After that, please ask.



* * * * *

 



Teaser





Scully Residence

December 27,1993

10:45PM 





Maggie Scully slipped the key into the lock, opened 

the door and went inside, deftly side-stepping the 

neatly stacked boxes that lay just inside the foyer. 

Pine and cinnamon scented the air, stirring up old 

familiar memories of brightly wrapped Christmas gifts 

and saucer-eyed children. She understood perfectly 

her daughter's propensity for trying to make 

Christmas last a little bit longer. The best times 

were always far too short.



In the moonlit shadows, Maggie could just make out 

the Christmas tree standing in a corner of the living 

room, stripped bare of all its finery. Tall and 

green, its pine needles were still as fresh as the 

day they'd hauled it through the front door. 

Regardless, its stay in the Scully household was 

over. Bill was never one to linger over silly 

sentimentalities. He was never able to shed the 

batten-down-the-hatches all-hands-on-deck attitude he 

needed to captain a ship. Not even at home. And his 

family knew, that come the day after Christmas, the 

tree was history.



Maggie sighed audibly, her mood still troubled after 

their abrupt departure from her daughter's home. She 

had expected to stay and talk awhile before hitting 

the road. After all it was a rare occurrence these 

days for the three of them to be together, and she 

knew Dana had made a special effort with their meal 

tonight. Maggie shook her head. Even as an adult, 

Dana was still eager to impress her father, still 

seeking his approval.



Tonight, Maggie had hoped that her husband would 

finally give their daughter the encouragement she 

craved. They'd discussed it on the way over, and she 

thought that Bill would make the effort to tell Dana 

he was proud of her, despite his wish that she pursue 

a career in medicine.



When he'd failed to take the hint, she could have 

shaken him. Her frustration flared to life again and 

she turned to her husband, unable to hold her tongue 

any longer, "Bill, we talked about this. Dana needs 

to hear the words. She believes you disapprove of her 

career choice--"



"And she'd be right…"



"Bill!"



"Now, hold your horses, Maggie. Disapproving of Dana 

joining the FBI does not equate to lack of pride in 

her successes. "



"Then you should tell her…"



"Dana knows how I feel." Captain Scully shrugged out 

of his coat and peeled the scarf from around his 

neck. He hung both items on the wooden coat tree 

beside the door. 



Maggie stood with hands on hips. "How?"



"She's my daughter." Bill Scully gave his wife an 

affectionate wink. "Now, how about that cup of coffee 

you promised me." 



"Bill..." Maggie's argument was cut short by the 

sharp trill of a telephone.



A brief look of surprise crossed the captain's face; 

he checked his watch and glanced at this wife, "I'll 

take it in the den." He lifted his hand to his mouth, 

mimicking the act of drinking from a cup and mouthed 

the word, "Coffee?" Then, turning on his heel headed 

towards the den, the sound of the telephone loud and 

demanding at that late hour.



Bastard! "Pigheaded son-of-a…" Maggie cut herself off 

before the fruits of being married to a naval officer 

became all too apparent.



So, he was expecting a phone call from the base. 

That's why the big rush to get home. Asshole! She 

stomped into the kitchen, more in the mood to prepare 

a cyanide cocktail than a pot of coffee. Not only had 

he hurried to get home for work reasons, but he'd 

blown her off when she tried to talk about Dana.



She set about making the coffee, her movements jerky 

with the suppressed desire to throttle her husband. 

While the coffee was brewing, she leaned against the 

countertop in silent fury. *Don't think this is over, 

Bill. I'm not done with this topic of conversation 

yet."



"Uh, huh." Bill sat with one hip propped on the 

corner of his desk, phone tucked tight into his ear. 

Months of investigation were finally coming to 

fruition and this was the phone call that would drop 

the last piece of the puzzle into place. He hadn't 

told Maggie what had been going on at work; he hadn't 

wanted her worrying unnecessarily. One more vital 

piece of information and it should all be over.



"Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes."



Bill shifted the receiver to his other hand and 

grabbed a notebook and pencil from the desktop. He 

listened intently as the officer on the other end of 

the phone gave a brief summary of the day's progress. 

They finally had a name to go with the man they'd 

been seeking.



Leaning the notepad on his thigh, he held the pencil 

poised, ready to write. "Who?"



The answer hit him like a bullet, swift and painful. 

"That's...not possible..."



Maggie added two teaspoons of sugar to her husband's 

cup, and cream to her own. A few deep breaths and a 

self-administered pep talk had calmed her slightly. 

She knew how stubborn Bill could be at times and she 

usually just let it ride. But on occasion... She 

smiled to herself, suddenly amused at how the same 

qualities that had first attracted her to him, the 

ones she'd found so endearing—- his strength and 

sense of order—- were the same things that could 

drive her to distraction on a bad day. She sighed to 

herself. Nothing like a good cup of coffee to begin 

peace negotiations. 



A quick stir with the teaspoon and Maggie headed back 

to her husband. 



Being careful not to spill the hot liquid, she pushed 

the door open with her hip and entered, "Bill I..."



The crash of porcelain hitting the floor echoed 

through her head as time seemed to slow down to a 

frustrating crawl. "Bill! What's wrong?"



Maggie stood frozen in place, her feet suddenly heavy 

and uncooperative. She stared in horror as her 

husband took a couple of staggering steps toward her, 

both hands clutching at his chest. He opened his 

mouth as if to speak, but his face crumbled into a 

grimace of agony and Bill Scully sank to his knees.



Motor neurons suddenly kicked into life, sending 

vital messages to Maggie's numbed senses. She ran to 

her husband, wrapped her arms around his shoulders 

and lowered him onto his side. "Oh, my god! Bill!" 



The handset lay on the floor beside him. She snatched 

it up and held it to her ear. "H-hello. I need…" 

But there was no one there. With trembling fingers 

she hit 911 and waited to be connected.



*** 



Act I





Nine years later

FBI Headquarters, Washington, DC

Monday, 3:04 PM



The forecast had called for scattered showers so, of 

course, it was pouring. The dampness seemed to seep 

in everywhere, cling to one's clothing, and make 

squeaking sounds on linoleum as people carefully 

navigated the hallways with wet shoes.



Mulder rarely saw his partner on a bad hair day, but 

weather like this seemed to wreak particular havoc on 

her. She'd clasped the unruly strands in a tight 

ponytail at the nape of her neck in an attempt to 

regain control, but the humidity seemed to be 

winning.



As he tapped on the door to Skinner's office, he 

smiled down at her, receiving the expected smirk in 

response. She was still fussing with the sleeves of 

her blazer, which were probably still damp. Her 

umbrella had snapped open on her in the office, 

splattering both her clothes and all the papers on 

his desk.



A grumbling "come in" sounded from the other side of 

the door, and they entered. Skinner was at his desk, 

paging through the contents of a file folder that 

Mulder guessed was the case they were about to 

receive.



"I'll be with you in a moment," he said without 

looking up.



They took their customary seats, and waited. The 

water trickling down the window behind Skinner served 

well as a distraction during several minutes of 

silence. A gust of wind blew large, full droplets 

against the pane. It made them thankful they were in 

a warm, dry place, even if it was Skinner's office.



Mulder studied him patiently, his superior tapping 

short fingernails on clean white pages. He glanced at 

his partner, receiving a shrug in response. Skinner 

closed the folder and sat back in his seat. His mood 

was unreadable.



"I have a missing person case for you." He slid the 

folder across the desk to Scully. "Greta Wilson 

disappeared a few days ago in Clayville, New Jersey. 

Certain aspects of the case would seem to fit your 

particular area of expertise."



Scully opened the folder, holding it so Mulder could 

read over her shoulder. She looked up almost 

immediately. "*Crop circles*?"



Mulder knew the look Skinner was getting. He'd been 

on the receiving end of it a few times himself.

 

The A.D. shrugged. "It could be a hoax, one made to 

look like an alien abduction, but the fact remains 

that a woman is missing. And there have been similar 

cases over the past several years that we've only 

just now found out about. They were never reported or 

investigated."



"All in the same town?" Mulder jumped in.



"Yes. The previous women were all returned safely and 

refused to press charges. Arthur Wilson is the first 

to take any action, but he hasn't received any help 

from local law enforcement. I want to know why."



Mulder could sense Scully tensing up. Her thumb 

pressed a wrinkle into the manila folder. "Sir, it's 

not that I don't want to help Mr. Wilson, but I still 

fail to see why this is an X-file."



Mulder gently took the folder away from his partner 

before she folded it into an origami pattern. His own 

interest was definitely piqued, but he knew that 

Scully was far from convinced.



"Why would the other abductees have refused to report 

the crime?" he wondered aloud.



Scully shot him a sharp glare for his terminology. 

She addressed Skinner directly then. "They could have 

become enamored of their kidnapper. Perhaps this guy 

is very charming. Once they were returned, they may 

have wanted to protect him. It's a common reaction to 

the experience. You should know that, Mulder."



Skinner shared a silent acknowledgement with Scully 

as Mulder rifled trough the report.



"But crop circles to cover it up, Scully? It's seems 

like overkill. Why would he create a distraction if 

he's already won them over enough to keep quiet?" He 

noticed she was still staring at Skinner, not wanting 

to listen to him.



"I know this has some sensitive subject matter for 

you both," Skinner remarked quietly. "But, I do think 

you two are best suited for the job. And, I'm sorry 

to say, I agree with Mulder. We need an investigation 

here and somebody has to help Mr. Wilson and his 

family. We can't leave a citizen stranded like that. 

Plus," he leaned back in his chair, "it seems we need 

to jump start the local PD into some action."



Scully looked very much as if she had more to say, 

but instead, she nodded and stood up. Mulder quickly 

followed suit. She glanced back at him over her 

shoulder as she headed for the door. "I'll go home 

and pack, Mulder. You see about a car."



He traded looks with Skinner and started after her. 

"One bureau-issue Taurus, coming right up."



***



New Jersey Route 55

8:40 PM



Scully was MIA. Distracted, pensive, she'd spent the 

majority of the trip gazing out the window at 

nothing. Mulder's attempts at any of the distractions 

they normally enjoyed on long car rides had fallen 

flat. Truth or Dare, Watercooler Trivia-- even My 

Favorite Mutant-- were all met with polite 

disinterest. She didn't seem to be angry with him, 

she was just... someplace else. 



He shifted his grip on the steering wheel and glanced 

over at her, trying to catch her eye. When, after 

several minutes, it became clear she was completely 

oblivious to the overture, he sighed.



"Talk to me, Scully."



She jerked a bit, pulling her gaze reluctantly from 

the window to focus on his face. The dim interior was 

lit briefly as they passed under a streetlight, and 

he saw the faint creases marring her pale brow.



"About the case?"



"About why the case is bothering you."



Her forehead smoothed and she huffed a little laugh, 

but not before he caught the guarded look in her 

eyes. "Mulder, the only thing bothering me about this 

case is that we're investigating it in the first 

place. It's a waste of our time." She shook her head. 

"Crop circles."



"Bullshit." He gritted his teeth, clamping down on 

his irritation. The days of accepting "I'm fine, 

Mulder" were over. They were past that, damn it. 

"This isn't professional differences over a case, 

Scully. Something's been eating at you ever since 

Skinner handed us that folder. Is it your own 

abduction? Is this hitting a little too close to 

home?"



Her lips compressed to a thin, bloodless line. "I was 

kidnapped, Mulder. By Duane Barry, not aliens. Those 

responsible for my disappearance, for the tests 

performed on me, were very human." She looked away, 

jaw clenched. "Physiologically, anyway."



His angry retort stalled as he caught a glimpse of 

her trembling hands. Mulder took a long slow breath 

and gentled his tone. "I know. I'm not discounting 

the possibility that these women might have suffered 

the same experience. Either way, it warrants further 

investigation." 



He paused, realizing she'd somehow neatly steered the 

conversation from its original purpose. "After all 

you've been through... It's understandable that this 

case might push some buttons for you, Scully."



"I'm all right."



Something inside him snapped. His grip on the 

steering wheel turned white-knuckled. "You aren't all 

right! Why is it so hard to admit that to me, Scully? 

Why do you always have to be the strong one, so 

perfectly in control? I love you, damn it! All of 

you. God knows, I'm a basket case often enough. Do 

you think less of me because of it?" He tore his eyes 

from her and concentrated grimly on the road, voice 

little more than a whisper. "Maybe you do."



"Pull over."



It wasn't what he expected. A startled glance at her 

face revealed little as he cautiously guided the car 

onto the shoulder and flipped on the hazard lights. 

He shifted into park with more force than necessary 

and waited, glaring at the windshield.



"You know that's not true."



He blinked at the undercurrent of emotion in her 

voice. Still unwilling to let go of his frustration, 

he turned to study her face. The pure, undiluted love 

there dried up the remainder of his anger.



"You're right. But sometimes, Scully. Sometimes it 

feels that way."



"I'm sorry." She tangled their fingers together but 

turned to look out the window. "I was raised by an 

officer in the United States Navy, Mulder. In a 

household run with military precision. Logic, 

self-control, discipline--those were qualities my 

father prized above all others." A tiny smile curved 

her cheek. "A Scully doesn't fall to pieces under 

pressure, doesn't give in to displays of emotion. 

She holds her head high, rides it out." A slight 

pause and she squeezed his hand. "It's not easy to 

overcome twenty-one years of conditioning."



Mulder lifted their joined hands, brushing his lips 

across her knuckles. He tipped his head, one corner 

of his mouth turning up. "You've been there for me 

during some of the darkest days in my life. I'd like 

to return the favor now and then."



She swallowed; blinked. When she spoke her voice was 

wispy. "I'd like that, too." She licked her lips. "I 

was being truthful when I said I was fine with this 

case, Mulder. But I can't say it hasn't caused a 

few unpleasant memories to resurface."



"Is that where you were just now?" At her questioning 

look, he added, "You've been quiet and distracted 

since we left. You may be physically in this car, but 

mentally you're miles away."



"I guess I was thinking about the women and what they 

may have endured. You know, whether the kidnapper is 

human or extraterrestrial doesn't really change the 

sense of powerlessness, of complete dependence on the 

whim of your captor. The violation of your mind as 

well as your body." Her gaze turned distant, 

contemplative. "Regaining some semblance of control, 

even if only over the memories, means everything."



"Are you saying you think that may be why the women 

never involved the police?"



"It's possible. Better to forget than dredge it up 

over and over again. Reliving an experience may 

eventually bring healing, but it's a painful process. 

Too painful, for some." She seemed to shake herself 

out of a daze. Her eyes dipped to the dashboard clock 

and she squared her shoulders. "We'd better get 

moving."



He nodded and reached for the gearshift. "I have the 

feeling Skinner's going to be keeping tabs on this 

case."



"You might try to remember that when you're dealing 

with the local boys." A hint of a smile curved 

Scully's lips, affection replacing preoccupation. 

"And just for the record, Mulder? I love you, too."



He grinned smugly and shifted into drive. "I know."



Thirty minutes later they pulled into the parking lot 

of The Ambassador, a motel that had little to warrant 

the grandeur of its name. Mulder was whistling when 

he returned from checking them in, a Cheshire cat 

smile on his face. He slid behind the wheel, 

jiggling two large plastic key rings in her 

direction.



"Rooms 28 and 29, right around the corner. Two double 

beds and a king, respectively." He jockeyed the car 

into a parking spot in front of the two doors and 

waggled his eyebrows. "Wonder which room will be 

seeing the most action?"



Scully rolled her eyes and got out of the car. "You 

said it yourself, Mulder. Skinner will probably be 

monitoring this investigation more closely than 

usual."



Mulder popped the trunk and handed over her suitcase. 

"What's your point? It's not like we're still in the 

closet, after all. Skinner's known for months that 

we've been doing the horizontal mambo." He leaned 

into her space conspiratorially. "Scully, the man 

gave us a gift voucher to a sleazy motel. I consider 

that his blessing."



She gave him the look--the one that left him feeling 

like an errant toddler. "We've been over this, 

Mulder. What we do on our own time, and what we do 

while we're on the clock are two very different 

situations." She plucked the key to 28 from his hand 

and headed for the door. "You can have the king."



"Sculleee! When we're sleeping we are on our own 

time." Hearing the whine in his voice did little to 

dispel the toddler image. He shut the trunk and gave 

it one more try. "It's conservation of resources, 

Scully. Less water wasted washing sheets, less 

manpower expended cleaning the room..."



She disappeared into 28 without a backward glance and 

the door shut firmly behind her. Mulder hefted his 

suitcase with a longsuffering sigh.



"God, I hope they have cable."



Before he'd taken three steps the door opened and 

Scully's head popped out. This time she was the one 

with the Cheshire cat grin. 



"I had you, Mulder. Big time."





* * *



Clayville Municipal Hall

Tuesday, 8:45 am



Mulder parked the car at a metered spot just a few 

yards from the door of the Municipal Building. The 

city fathers and mothers of Clayville had obviously 

received some nice grant money or a fat real estate 

tax increase, because the building before them was 

very new, sporting a cornerstone dated 2001. 



Mulder waited for Scully to join him on the 

sidewalk, placing his hand at the small of her back. 

"So, how do you want to play this? Good agent/bad 

agent or 'I'm from the Government, I'm here to 

help you'?" he asked with boyish grin.



"Mulder, Skinner made it clear that the local police 

weren't interested in our being here. I say we play 

it straight, ask as many questions as they'll answer 

without giving us any bull and continue on our 

way."



"Oh goody! I get to be bad agent this time," he 

responded gleefully.



"I can't take you anywhere," Scully said with a 

deep sigh as he opened the door for her.



Inside the building it was warm and bright and still 

held the aroma of new carpeting and freshly brewed 

coffee. A glass partition separated the visitors from 

the woman sitting at the desk, immensely engrossed 

in the latest Harlequin Romance. Mulder wiggled 

his eyebrows down in Scully's direction and 

approached the glass, bending so he could speak 

through the metal filter.



"Excuse me, I'm Special Agent Mulder with the 

FBI and this is my partner, Agent Scully. We're 

here to see Chief Donaldson." To prove his identity, 

Mulder pulled out his wallet, gold badge catching the 

overhead lights and reflecting back off the glass 

divider.



The woman held up an index finger to either signal 

a pause or check for wind direction, Mulder wasn't 

certain which, and proceeded to wait until she 

reached the bottom of the page before turning her 

attention to the two agents. With exaggerated 

slowness, she put the book aside and smiled up at 

them. "Sorry, Chief Donaldson's out of the office 

until Tuesday. I can leave a message," she suggested, 

pulling over a pad of scrap paper.



Mulder smiled tightly. "No, I'm afraid we need to 

speak with someone sooner than next week. Is it 

possible to speak with the second in command?"



A frown replaced the woman's feigned helpful 

smile. "Deputy Chief Ambrose is out sick. Sorry."



Mulder bit his upper lip and felt his blood pressure 

rise a few notches. Scully unobtrusively put a hand 

on his arm and took a step closer to the glass. "Is 

there anyone here we could speak with regarding a 

missing person's case?" she asked sweetly.



The woman's blank stare lasted a full minute. Just 

when Mulder was about ready to take out his weapon 

and see if the glass was indeed bulletproof, the 

woman reached over to the phone on her desk and 

quickly dialed a number. "Jeff, there are two FBI 

agents out here. Can I send 'em back to you? They 

want to know about a missing persons case." 



A few seconds of silence filled the air, the woman 

picked at a hangnail. "I know, but everybody else is 

gone. Looks like you get the sticky end of the 

lollipop, buddy," she said with a sarcastic smirk. 

She hung up the phone and looked up at Mulder with 

undisguised distaste. "He'll be right up." She then 

picked up her book and found her place again.



In short order a well dressed young man opened a 

side door and waved Mulder and Scully in to the 

inner office. He turned on his heel and led them 

through a maze of standard office cubicles to the 

last one. Grabbing a chair from the cubicle next 

door, he set it down and motioned for the two agents 

to take a seat. Finally he looked at his visitors.



"I'm Jeff Harrison. What did you want to ask about?" 

he said. Mulder noted that the greeting did not 

include the customary offer of a handshake and was 

relieved. He wasn't sure if he could shake the man's 

hand. His neck, maybe, but a hand might require too 

much self-control.



"Detective Harrison," Scully started, noting her 

partner's bright red flush of anger. "We're here to 

help with the investigation into Greta Wilson's 

disappearance. Her husband contacted our office..."



"Domestic dispute," Harrison said shortly. 



"Excuse me?" Scully asked, tilting her head.



"Domestic dispute. Happens all the time. A married 

couple fights all the time in the city, gets this 

idea that they need a change of scenery and move to 

the sticks, but he keeps beatin' on her or she keeps 

cheatin' on him. Sooner or later one of them has 

their fill of it and runs off. It's not a missing 

persons case."



"Is that what happened the other times?" Mulder asked 

coolly. Scully noted the air in the room had dropped 

twenty degrees just from the sound of his voice.



Harrison looked dumbfounded. "I don't know what 

you're talking about," he said, nervously shuffling 

papers on his desk. "What other times?"



"You said 'it happens all the time'. We've received 

information that other women have gone missing, but 

they returned. Are you saying those were 'beatin' 

and/or cheatin' situations as well?" Mulder leaned 

back in his chair and crossed his legs. Scully 

instinctively sat forward, watching every move the 

detective made.



"Miscommunication. Notes get mislaid, messages aren't 

written down. You can look at our records. We don't 

have any official reports of missing persons."



"Except Greta Wilson, right? Her husband reported her 

missing two days ago. As of late yesterday, he'd not 

heard anything from your department," Mulder said, 

leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees. 



"Look, if you're accusing this department of . . ."



"I'll take it from here, Jeff." A tall man with dark 

curly hair, receding just a touch at the temples, 

filled the doorway of the cubicle. "I'm Chief 

Donaldson. Is there anything I can help you with?"



Scully noted that the young man looked extremely 

relieved to have slipped off the hook. She turned 

her attention to Chief Donaldson. The agents stood 

and Mulder again pulled out his badge, flashing it at 

the Chief. 



"Chief, we heard you were out until next Tuesday," 

Mulder remarked innocently. When his comment received 

no reaction other than a stern glare from the Chief, 

he continued. "I'm Agent Mulder with the FBI. My 

partner, Agent Scully," he said, turning slightly 

toward her. "We're attempting to get some information 

on the disappearance of Greta Wilson."



Donaldson nodded. "Let's talk in my office," he said. 

"Thanks, Jeff. Go see if Gracie needs any help 

filing."



Scully scowled as the young man headed in the 

opposite direction. "He's not a detective?"



"Who said he was a detective? He's a file clerk," 

Donaldson replied curtly. Scully's blood pressure 

reached the boiling point just as Mulder's had.



Once in Donaldson's office, Mulder noted there was 

only one chair for visitors. When the Chief made 

no effort to obtain another, both agents stood. "Has 

there been any progress on the investigation?" 

Mulder asked, frustration coloring his tone.



Donaldson seated himself at his desk, then made a 

few keystrokes on his computer. "Let's see, 

Ambrose took the statement just yesterday, 

contacted her former employer, they haven't answered 

back—looks like no progress at this time." He looked 

up at Mulder and smiled. "You know, it's very 

possible..."



"That this was a domestic dispute and she just ran 

off with her boyfriend?" Mulder supplied 

sarcastically. "At least that was the 'official 

opinion' of your file clerk! Chief, I get the feeling 

that your department really isn't taking this 

disappearance very seriously."



Donaldson bristled, a flush coming to his cheeks 

that matched the red in Mulder's eyes. "Look, this 

isn't New York. When someone goes missing, a child or 

someone like that, we take it seriously. But I'm not 

going to waste manpower chasing after some Eva Gabor 

wannabe who's decided she doesn't like the Green 

Acres as much as her husband tried to convince her 

she would. That's their business and they'd do best 

to leave law enforcement out of it, so we can 

concentrate on some real crimes."



"There have been other occurrences," Mulder said 

through gritted teeth. "Were those ignored as well?"



Donaldson narrowed his eyes to mere slits. "There 

have been no official reports. Now, if you don't 

mind, I do have other business to attend to."



"Chief, if I need to subpoena you and drag you before 

a Grand Jury for obstruction of justice, I'll do 

that. Have there been other occurrences where people 

have gone missing?" 



It looked like a Mexican standoff, but Donaldson 

was the first to blink. "Over the years, there have 

been a few knee jerk reports. But the women turned 

up safe and sound and every last one of them refused 

to discuss it. Their husbands took them back, 

probably to save their marriages and we just dropped 

the investigations for lack of evidence. That is all 

I have to say on the matter. Now, I'll ask you 

nicely, remove yourselves from this office or I 

will." 



Without a word, the two agents left the office and 

the building. Out on the sidewalk, Mulder stopped 

and looked back toward the door, pulling a few 

seeds out of his trench coat pocket and popping 

them in his mouth. "Bet he's never been invited to 

the National Organization of Women's fundraising 

luncheon," he grinned over at Scully. Scully shook 

her head, but couldn't keep the grin off her face. It 

faded as soon as they were settled in the car.



"So why would every one of those women refuse to 

make a statement? Are they willing to buy into the 

'cheatin' heart explanation?" Mulder asked as he 

started the engine and backed out of the parking 

space.



"Most of them probably don't remember what happened 

to them, Mulder," Scully said quietly, staring out 

the passenger side window. "And the ones who do 

probably don't want to."



He reached over and found her hand on her lap, 

squeezing it gently. "Scully, I know this is really 

tough—"



"Mulder, I'm not ready to assume alien abduction, 

or even military abduction," Scully said, pulling her 

hand away and crossing her arms. "Maybe there's 

something else here. Maybe it could be as simple 

as a domestic dispute." At his disapproving glance, 

she dropped her eyes. "I just don't want to jump on 

the alien bandwagon until we find more evidence of 

their involvement."



Mulder stopped at the red light at the corner and 

turned to look at her. "But you aren't dismissing it 

out of hand," he offered, an affectionate smile on 

his face.



She let a grin steal across her lips. "Mulder, after 

all these years, I know better than to dismiss 

anything out of hand. Now, let's go over and talk to 

Mr. Wilson. Maybe he can give us some insight 

into this."



"Yes ma'am!"



* * *



Act II





Wilson residence

Clayville, N.J.

9:30 AM





"Arthur Wilson?" Mulder asked as he pulled out his 

ID. Upon seeing Wilson's nod, Mulder introduced 

himself and Scully. "May we come in, sir?" When the 

man failed to respond in either word or deed, Mulder 

added, "Please? Or we're going to need life jackets 

soon, Mr. Wilson."



Mulder's words shook Wilson out of his trance, and he 

stepped aside quickly. "Sorry," he muttered, closed 

the door, and then led them into the living room. 

"Will you help me? Please," he pleaded, "I don't 

understand why she's still missing. This makes no 

sense."



"Mr. Wilson, what doesn't make sense?" asked Scully. 



"That she's still missing. I mean, first of all 

there's been no one looking for her. Can you imagine 

that? The cops keep telling me there's nothing they 

can do about it. Of course that was after they'd 

asked me about my marriage and whether me and the 

little missus were having any problems," the 

distraught man's voice began to escalate. "If Greta 

ever heard herself referred to as the 'little missus' 

you can be sure there'd be hell to pay. The woman has 

a brown belt in karate. Who the hell do they think 

they're dealing with here, Ma and Pa Kettle?" ranted 

Wilson, the anger in his voice becoming more evident 

with each passing syllable.



"Have you spoken to your neighbors?" asked Scully. 



"I tried, but every time I've gone over to try and 

talk with them, the housekeeper or the nanny answers 

and they refuse to speak with me."



"Well, what about the police? Have they tried to -" 

began Scully.



"- Agent Scully, do you have any idea of what I've 

been dealing with here?" Arthur Wilson asked angrily. 

"They keep trying to convince me that she ran away 

with her lover from New York. They haven't lifted a 

finger to try and find her. Not one damn thing!"



"Mr. Wilson," Mulder said softly, "is there any 

possibility that the police department's assumptions 

might have some validity to them?" 



"No." Wilson answered quickly, and though the agents 

gave some consideration to the swiftness of the 

response, both concluded it was due not to 

bitterness, but rather to confidence in his beliefs. 

"None whatsoever, " he continued. "The thing that's 

getting me so pissed off is that they won't lift a 

finger to try and find her. God knows who the hell 

has her!"



"You think she's being held against her will?" 

interjected Scully. "On what evidence do you make 

that assumption?"



"Well, if she weren't being held against her will, 

she'd be back by now! I'm telling you - someone's got 

her!"



"Okay, sir, I think it would be best to start from 

the beginning," suggested Mulder in a quiet, non-

threatening manner. 



"I've already told the police everything I know."



"Yes, but given the amount of support the local PD 

has been giving you of late, it might be best to 

start over with us," Mulder said.



"Yeah, of course." He drew a deep breath, blew it 

out, and then took a moment to take a good look at 

the two strangers who stood before him. "Christ, 

almighty, you're sopping wet. You want something hot 

to drink? Tea or coffee, or something?" he asked, 

suddenly contrite.



"Actually, a cup of coffee sounds pretty good at the 

moment," Mulder admitted. Scully couldn't help but 

nod.



"C'mon, let's go into the kitchen. I've got a pot 

going round the clock." 



Wilson led the partners down the long center corridor 

of the colonial home. They entered the large kitchen 

where Wilson pointed to the oversized island for the 

agents to plant themselves. He grabbed the coffee pot 

and three mugs and clanked them softly down onto the 

faux marble counter top.



"Nice place," remarked Mulder. "How long have you 

been here?"



"Not all that long. We moved here from New York two, 

no I guess now it's almost three months ago. I'd just 

gotten a promotion with my company, so my sales 

territory grew by a few hundred miles. We figured 

with the additional traveling, it was better for us 

to be more centrally located to my clients. So, here 

we are in good old Clayville, New Jersey," he said 

with a sigh.



"You don't seem to be very enthusiastic, Mr. Wilson," 

observed Scully.



"Forgive me, Agent Scully, for not exactly being 

enamored with a place that's all but told me that the 

fact my wife has been missing for over 72 hours is 

not their concern."



"I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson; of course that's 

understandable." Scully paused for a moment, 

wondering if she should push. She decided the need 

for information was paramount. "You mentioned your 

wife has a brown belt in karate. What other interests 

does she have?"



"My wife loves reading - damn, she's voracious, you 

know? She can read two and three books at one time. I 

know I never could do that - too damned confusing for 

me."



Scully smiled and looked over at her partner briefly. 

Greta Wilson certainly reminded her of someone she 

both knew and loved. "I know what you mean, sir. I'm 

a one-book-woman myself." She smiled, and then gently 

asked the question that was upper-most on her mind. 

"Mr. Wilson, was your wife happy about your moving to 

Clayville?"



"Yeah, Agent Scully, as a matter of fact she was. It 

was a mutual decision that we figured would benefit 

both of us. Greta is this A-type personality, you 

know? She was a bank officer at one of the largest 

banks in Manhattan and working these ridiculous 

hours. Everything you heard about so-called banker's 

hours is bull; she put in ten and twelve hour days 

easily. 



"Well, when I got the promotion and the extra money 

that went with it, we decided now was the time to try 

and start a family. We decided that Greta would be a 

stay-at-home mom. And yes, Agent Scully, that was a 

mutual decision, too. Greta didn't want to watch our 

child grow up via the video camera. So, she's taken a 

leave of absence from a job that she doesn't plan on 

returning to, and we've been trying to conceive."



Mulder gave Scully a quick glance. She returned it 

with a small smile to let him know she was okay with 

the subject matter. One of these days she was going 

to have to have a serious talk with her partner about 

his protectiveness.



"So, you moved here and while you traveled, Greta set 

up house?" asked Mulder.



"Yeah. Well, she tried." Arthur smiled, but fatigue 

cramped its full effect. "Greta was a helluva loan 

officer, but she was not exactly June Cleaver. We 

finally called in a decorator to help put the place 

together. We'd been living in a pretty small 

apartment in Queens, New York, so we had a lot of 

empty rooms to fill in this house. It was driving 

Greta crazy, so we hired someone to decorate and get 

everything ordered and arranged. Fortunately, we had 

a nice little nest egg from living in that small 

Queens apartment, so we could afford that luxury."



"The house looks lovely," said Scully.



"Thanks. Now if Greta could only come home to enjoy 

it."



"What did she do all day? I mean if she was leaving 

the decorating of the house to someone else, how did 

she occupy her time?"



"It was hard at first, especially since I was out of 

town for days at a time. It got better when the 

Quilting Bees sent her an invitation."



"The Quilting Bees?" echoed Mulder.



"Yeah, it's some kind of women's club. They get 

together and make quilts. I think they do other 

things, you know, like for charity, but they 

primarily make these giant quilts," explained 

Wilson.



"Not exactly like getting a workout in a dojo, is 

it?" remarked Mulder.



Wilson let out a small chuckle. "That's true. Greta 

didn't know what the hell to make out of it at 

first." Wilson's curled up into the first true smile 

since the Mulder and Scully had arrived. "When she'd 

first learned of the Quilting Bees, Greta told me of 

how she'd flunked Home Economics in high school. Of 

course, when her own teacher, in an attempt to help 

poor, helpless Greta, sewed the zipper into her skirt 

project backwards, Greta figured that it was a sign 

from above that everything she wore was best left to 

the professionals - you know, Lauren, Armani, Wang." 



The smile quickly faded.



"What I wouldn't give to have her be on a damn 

shopping spree right now," he said softly. Both 

agents nodded in understanding.



"But she joined anyway?" prodded Mulder.



Wilson nodded. "Yeah, she figured it was a good way 

to get to know the other women in the community. 

Greta wasn't exactly sure if she was going to fit in; 

she's a professional, white collar working woman, you 

know? She brought home the bacon, but she 

was never one to really take the time to fry it up in 

the pan. So, she joined, but not without a lot of 

trepidation."



"How did it go?" Mulder asked.



"Okay, I guess. She didn't say much about the women 

or the meetings. In fact, she'd always be real quiet 

for a couple of hours after she'd come home. It was a 

little strange, but I figured it was just because she 

was marking out new territory for her."



"Quiet how?" probed Mulder.



"I don't know; she was just quiet. She didn't talk." 

 

"If you asked her a question, did she answer you?" 

asked Scully, picking up the line of questioning.



"Well, as a matter of fact no. She'd just go into the 

bedroom and lie down to go to sleep. I just figured 

she was tired."



"And when she woke up? How was she then?" asked 

Mulder.



"Fine. Like she always is. Why? Do you think this has 

anything to do with her being missing?" asked Wilson 

anxiously.



"It's probably nothing, Mr. Wilson, but we're going 

to look into every possibility. Do you have the names 

of the Quilting Bee members?"



"No, I'm sorry, I don't. I just know that most of the 

women from this development are members."



"That's fine. Here's my card. If there's anything 

else that you can think of that might help us to find 

Greta, call that number."



"Okay, I will," he said as he accepted the card. 

"Please find my wife, so that we can get the hell out 

of here and go back to New York where we belong."



Both agents nodded their assurances that they would 

and let themselves out. Scully turned to Mulder and 

said, "Never knew quilting could be so damned taxing 

that you'd need to take a nap afterwards."



"Just what I was thinking, Scully. Think maybe we 

need to pay a visit to the Quilting Bees?" 



* * * 



Clayville Community Center

11:10 AM





Obviously, the nice fat grant money hadn't extended 

to the Clayville Community Center. There was no doubt 

in Mulder's mind that this building was the product 

of a rural township. But that wasn't to say it was 

unattractive. It was small, and well maintained, and 

it looked as sturdy as any modern-day structure. 

Maybe more so. Its fine architecture almost resembled 

that of a church. White cement rendered exterior 

walls, long rectangular windows, and a tower that 

could easily pass for a belfry.



They found a parking space in front of the building 

and pulled over.



"Quilting Bees." Mulder muttered to himself as he 

climbed out of the car. "Bees, Scully. You know you 

gotta wonder…"



"Don't even go there, Mulder. This has nothing to do 

with bees. It's just a name."



"But…"

 

"Mulder."



He grinned at her. It was cruel how easily she bit. 

"C'mon, Scully. Lets go see why quilt-making is so 

tiring."



Large oak doors, chocked open with a brick, framed 

the entrance to the Community Center. They made their 

way through a small foyer adorned with pamphlets and 

posters offering various community activities to the 

townsfolk of Clayville. Ahead of them was a set of 

double glass doors leading into the main hall. Mulder 

stood back and let Scully pass in front of him.



A group of about a dozen women were seated in a 

circle at the back of the hall. A table laden with 

small patches of material sat beside them. A picture 

of concentration, they all sat with their heads 

bowed, working industriously over the intricate 

pattern on the quilt. Not one of them was speaking, 

and not one of them was even remotely curious about 

the intruders.



Mulder leaned down and whispered to Scully, "When 

they called it a Quilting *circle*, I didn't think 

they meant it literally." Then he cleared his throat 

and addressed the women, "Excuse me?"



In unison all the women lifted their heads and stared 

at the agents, their expressions blank and eyes 

strangely vacant. 



Mulder took a step towards them, reached into his 

pocket and held up his ID. "I'm Agent Mulder and this 

Agent Scully. We're with the Federal Bureau of 

Investigation."



The women continued to stare.



Scully moved beside Mulder. "We're investigating the 

disappearance of Greta Wilson and were wondering if 

we could ask you some questions."



A woman with short blond hair who looked to be in her 

early 30's stood up. "I'm sorry. We can't help you."



Mulder took another step forward. He wasn't quite 

sure why, but this woman made him feel that if he 

made a sudden move she would scamper off like 

frightened deer. "Her husband said she was a member 

of this group."



"She was. But now she's gone."



"Did she mention to any of you that she was leaving?" 

Mulder let this eyes scan the faces of the others who 

seemed content to let the blond woman speak on their 

behalf.



"I told you, we don't know anything."



"Mrs.…?"



"Johnson. Lizzie Johnson."

	

"Mrs. Johnson, the local police are under the 

impression that Mrs. Wilson left because of marital 

problems. What do you think?"



"I couldn't say." The woman laced her arms defiantly 

across her chest.



Scully moved closer to the group. "We've just been 

speaking with Greta Wilson's husband. He's extremely 

worried about her."



When there was no response, Scully sighed quietly 

then continued, forcing her voice to remain calm and 

composed. "Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Wilson believes 

something bad has happened to his wife. We would 

really appreciate some help. Any insight at all to 

her state of mind before she disappeared. Did she 

seem anxious or upset?"



"She seemed fine. Now if you'll excuse us, we have to 

get this quilt ready for the church raffle." The 

woman returned to her seat.



A quick glance at her partner, a deep breath and 

Scully decided to try another tack. "It's very 

beautiful," she said, nodding towards the huge quilt 

stretched taut across a wooden frame. "It must have 

taken you a long time to make." For the first time 

since entering Scully noticed the elaborate pattern 

of circles sewn into the material. She'd never seen 

anything quite like it. 



"Not so long." The woman gathered up her needle and 

began stitching.



Mulder could feel his partner's growing frustration. 

Cutting her some slack he calmly took over the line 

of questioning. "Mrs. Johnson. Ladies. A woman is 

missing. More than likely being held against her will 

and I find it strange that you are able to sit here 

and treat this matter as if it is nothing unusual."



Despite their persistent silence, Mulder sensed he 

had hit on something.



Scully moved back to her partner. "Mulder…"



 Mulder ignored her, instead, he propped his hands on 

his hips, stared directly at Lizzie Johnson and 

continued with his train of thought.



"Maybe because here, it's *not* unusual. Greta Wilson 

isn't the only woman to go missing from Clayville, is 

she? It's happened to you, all of you, at some time. 

And you were all returned. That's why you're not 

concerned. You expect her to come back."



Lizzie Johnson held his gaze. "I'm sorry, I don't 

know what you're talking about."



One of the other women found her voice. "Lizzie, 

maybe we…" 



"Shh. Quiet, Alison."



Mulder turned to a young woman who looked as if she'd 

rather be offering herself up as a sacrifice to the 

gods than speaking out of turn in front of the FBI. 



He spoke quietly when he addressed her. "Alison? Can 

you tell us anything about what happened to Greta?"



Lizzie jumped to her feet again. "Agent Mulder! I 

must insist that you leave now. I'm sorry about 

Greta, but we can't help you." 



This time when Scully's hand found his elbow he 

allowed her to pull him aside, out of earshot.



Mulder lowered his head speaking directly into her 

ear. "Hey, Scully, I thought I was playing bad cop 

today."



When she answered, her breath was warm against his 

cheek. "Mulder, we're not getting anywhere here."



"They know something, Scully. I'm sure of it."



"Maybe they do, but they're not going to tell us. 

We're wasting our time." 



As much as he hated to admit it, Scully was right. 

These women weren't going to give them anything. At 

least not intentionally. Coming to a decision, he 

nodded quickly and straightened up. He placed his 

hand on Scully's shoulder and gave it a gentle 

squeeze then turning back towards the women he 

offered Lizzie Johnson his card. "If anything comes 

to mind, anything at all, please call us. Both Agent 

Scully and myself can be reached on our cell phones. 

Any time."



Reluctantly, Lizzie accepted the card and with a 

slight incline of her head bid them good day.



The women sat like statues, no one daring to move or 

speak until the agents were completely out of sight.



Alison Mackie held the edge of the quilt in tightly 

clenched fists, eyes shifting nervously between 

Lizzie and the others. "Oh God. It's happening 

again." 



"Alison, I told you to be quiet. We agreed not to 

talk about it."



"But it's longer this time. It's never been like this 

before."



An older, heavy-set woman, her face lined with 

concern said, "She's right, Lizzie. This is 

different."



Lizzie Johnson turned on the group, eyes blazing, and 

lips pulled back in an angry snarl. 



"Do you think I don't know that?! We've all been 

through it, some of us more than once. But there's 

not a darn thing we can do to stop it." She paused 

taking in the bewildered faces staring back at her. 

"We have to try and forget about it. We've all got 

families that need us. Billy's only just now starting 

to trust me again. And I don't want to give him any 

reason to be getting stupid ideas about me playing 

around on him." She paused, softening her tone, eyes 

turning distant and bright. "He still looks at me 

funny when I leave the house. Like he's wondering if 

I'm going to come back. We've gotta let it rest."



The women looked at each other. Lizzie was right. If 

they just kept quiet, didn't draw attention to 

themselves then maybe they would be safe. 



* * *

  

Outside Clayville Community Center 

11:45 AM

 

 

Mulder slipped the key into the ignition and started 

the engine. Beside him Scully was fuming, chewing on 

the inside of her cheek as she stared out the window.

 

"That could have gone better."

 

She swiveled in her seat, turning the full force of 

her glare upon him. "Could have gone better? Mulder 

that was nothing but an exercise in futility; a 

complete waste of our time."

 

"I disagree, Scully. I, for one, learned a lot."

 

One eyebrow crawled up her forehead. "You did."

 

He nodded, deadpan. "Quilting is obviously a much 

more complicated process than I ever realized."

 

Oh man, there was that look again, and this time she 

was not amused.

 

"Okay, okay." He held up both hands, partly in 

surrender, partly to ward off any sudden 

(though perhaps deserved) blows. "I was kidding about 

the quilting. But I am serious when I say that I 

don't believe the interview was a total loss. They're 

scared, Scully. Couldn't you feel it?"

 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't know. I 

guess I felt something, I'm just not sure what it 

was. They were so damn tightlipped but..." She raised 

her eyes to his. "I did get the sense some of them 

were uneasy. And not just about us."

 

Mulder nodded. "I'd venture to say whatever happened 

to those women is a lot scarier than a couple of 

agents on Uncle Sam's payroll. The question is, where 

do we go from here?"

 

"We haven't examined the mysterious crop circles 

yet." Scully's tone made it clear that she filed crop 

circles in the same category as "The Whammy." "Maybe 

it's time we went out there and took a look at what 

all the fuss is about."

 

He leaned in close, until his nose brushed the soft 

flesh of her cheek near her ear. "You trying to get 

me out in the middle of nowhere so you can have your 

wicked way with me, Agent Scully?"

 

She astonished him by placing her hand on his thigh, 

tantalizingly close to certain portions of his 

anatomy, and giving it a gentle squeeze. "I don't 

have to get you in the middle of nowhere for that, 

Mulder. I can have it pretty much anywhere I please." 

Her voice was low and husky, just the way she sounded 

when they...

 

She was getting too damn good at this. He swallowed, 

resisting the urge to shift in his seat. "I was 

thinking a bird's eye view might be best. Maybe the 

state police have an extra helicopter we could 

borrow."

 

"You really think they'll hand over a helicopter and 

pilot when we tell them we want to view crop 

circles?"

 

Mulder shifted into drive, doing his best to ignore 

the hand still resting on his leg. "Just ask 'em in 

that voice, Scully. The helicopter is in the bag."

 

 

State Police Headquarters 

2:20 PM

 

 

"I'm Jack Weston; I'll be your pilot." 

 

Not bad, Scully noted as she shook the young man's 

hand. Early thirties, jet black hair and big blue 

eyes. Not exactly the shy, retiring type, if the 

1000-watt grin he flashed her was any indication. She 

was both irritated and amused to feel Mulder bristle 

at the pilot's attention. When would he ever learn? 

She hadn't given another man more than a passing 

glance in years and now... She enjoyed an inward 

smirk. Last night should've assured him how she felt, 

if nothing else did.

 

Mulder scowled at her a little as they settled into 

their seats and Jack began his pre-flight checks. He 

fastened his seatbelt, glaring first at Jack's back 

and then her.

 

"You look awful damn happy for someone being forced 

to investigate crop circles. What are you thinking 

about?"

 

Sometimes he growled just like Skinner--a fact that 

he'd vehemently denied when she once pointed it out. 

Scully allowed the corners of her mouth to turn up in 

an enigmatic smile. "Bubble bath."

 

He blinked, knocked off balance by her answer. Scully 

turned to look out the window, humming a little under 

her breath. Twice in less than two hours. She was 

getting good at this.

 

"We should reach the area you want to see in about 

three minutes," Jack called back. "What did you say 

you were looking for? Some kind of circle?"

 

"Crop circles. Impressions in vegetation caused by 

the extreme heat and weight generated by an alien 

craft--in this case in a cornfield." Mulder launched 

into lecture mode, obviously buoyed by her remark. 

"They're often characterized by..."

 

"Let me get this straight. You're hunting aliens? As 

in little green men flying space ships?" Jack's 

question lacked malice, yet dripped with incredulity. 

"You telling me the federal government pays you to do 

that?"

 

Mulder settled back into his seat with a smirk. "God 

bless America, land of opportunity."

 

Jack shrugged. "Whatever. At least I'll have 

something to tell the... What in the hell is that?"

 

Mulder peered over Scully's shoulder as the 

helicopter dropped to a lower altitude. The 

impressions were unmistakable, whorled and  

twisted paths where the dried, brown stalks had been 

flattened and pressed into the earth. The tracks 

covered a large section of land, anywhere between 20 

and 30 acres in size.

 

"One heck of a big crop circle." Mulder frowned, 

leaning closer to the glass. "Or maybe more than 

one."

 

Scully gazed down at the flattened corn, mesmerized 

by the intersecting lines and curves. And then, 

abruptly, her eye found the pattern and everything 

clicked sharply into focus. Her breath caught in her 

chest, jaw dropping in sheer disbelief as her brain 

tried to make sense of what her eyes were seeing.

 

"Scully?" Mulder's hand cupped her shoulder, warm, 

reassuring. "What is it?"

 

She met his concerned gaze for only a moment before 

the landscape drew her back like a magnet. It was 

either one hell of a coincidence or...

 

"I thought you said you learned something about 

quilting today, Mulder." She shook her head at his 

puzzled expression, chuffing a shaky little laugh. 

"Look again-- not at the individual lines and 

circles, but at the pattern. Can't you see it? The 

design is just like the one in the quilt those women 

were sewing!"

 

Mulder blinked, eyes widening in disbelief, then 

delight. "You're right! They're identical!"

 

Jack, momentarily forgotten by them both in the 

excitement of discovery, motioned for their 

attention. "I've already made one circuit of the 

field. What do you want me to do now?"

 

Mulder moved to make eye contact. "Can you land?"

 

Jack hesitated, then chuckled. "Why not? To hear you 

tell it, I won't be the first craft to touch down in 

that field."

 

As the pilot maneuvered the helicopter into landing, 

Mulder grinned and jerked his thumb in Jack's 

direction. "He's beginning to grow on me."

 

Scully rolled her eyes. Moments later she was 

struggling to follow Mulder, who had jumped out of 

the chopper the moment the runners touched the 

ground, face alight with glee. She had a  

sudden, vivid memory of him on a deserted road in 

Oregon, dancing in the rain. Gritting her teeth, she 

fought to keep up, but the faster she tried to move 

the deeper her heels sank into the mud. 

 

The trill of a cell phone brought them both to a 

standstill. They each grabbed instinctively for their 

pockets, Mulder coming up the winner.

 

"Mulder."

 

Scully watched his impatience transform first to 

surprise, and then the intense concentration that 

signaled a Mulder on the scent. 

 

"When?... Where is she now?... I understand, but we 

really need to speak with her... Yes, today. We can 

be there within the hour... Thank you."

 

He pocketed the phone and strode rapidly back toward 

Scully, face grim. "This will have to wait, Scully. 

That was Mr. Wilson. His wife has come home."



* * *



Act III





Wilson residence

6:20 PM



Greta looked exhausted. Dark circles beneath her 

haunted eyes stood out starkly in a face pale as 

moonlight. Her blouse and jeans hung limply on her 

thin frame, and her blonde hair looked as if she'd 

recently raked through it with nervous fingers.



Her husband sat next to her at the kitchen island, 

urging her to drink some hot chicken broth. She 

pushed it away several times, until it finally 

spilled and cascaded over the countertop and onto the 

floor.



"I really wish you'd come back at another time, Agent 

Mulder," Arthur pleaded as he sopped up the rest of 

the broth with some paper towels.



"I apologize, Mr. Wilson, but we need to know what 

your wife can tell us while the memories are fresh." 



It was Mulder's greatest fear right now. He wanted to 

be sure their evidence didn't remain locked inside 

this woman's mind. 



Greta stared mutely at a splash of broth her husband 

had missed. She hadn't moved or acknowledged their 

presence, and Mulder's frustration was beginning to 

show. "You have to let us talk to her."



"Look at her. What can you do but make matters 

worse?" Arthur Wilson put his arm protectively around 

his wife's shoulders. 



"She needs to talk about what's happened. She needs 

someone to help her remember."



"It's not going to be you. You don't care about her, 

only about what she can tell you!"



Mulder's eyes flashed a warning, and Scully stepped 

forward to place a hand on his arm.



"Mr. Wilson," she interjected, "I understand your 

concern, but Agent Mulder and I are here to help, 

just as you asked us to do. I'm also a medical 

doctor, and I can assure you that your wife will not 

be harmed by talking to us."



"I'll talk to you, Agent Scully."



Three startled pairs of eyes turned to Greta Wilson. 

She looked back at them with a shaky smile as her 

husband pulled her into a fierce hug. 



"Oh, sweetheart! Are you okay? Are you sure?" The man 

was babbling in his excitement, and his wife patted 

his arm absently as she looked directly at Scully.



"I'd like to talk to you. Please." She gently 

disengaged herself from her husband's hug and got 

slowly up from the stool. "We can go to my room."



Scully walked to the woman and steadied her with an 

arm around her shoulders. As they headed down the 

hall, Mulder moved to join them, but Scully shook her 

head. He nodded reluctantly and watched the two women 

enter a room at the end of the hall, closing the door 

softly behind them.



* * *



"Greta, I'd like to do a quick exam, if that's okay." 



The woman smiled faintly. "A house call?"



Scully smiled, too. "Special circumstances." She 

placed two fingers on the woman's wrist and noted the 

not unexpectedly rapid pulse. "When was the last time 

you slept?"



Greta frowned in concentration. "It seems like a very 

long time... I don't really remember."



Scully lifted the woman's chin to look closely at her 

eyes, then began to move her fingers along the jaw 

and throat, probing gently for swollen glands. When 

she reached the back of the woman's neck, the breath 

froze in Scully's lungs. She bent closer and lifted 

the woman's hair back to verify what her touch had 

located. There was a small red scar at the base of 

Greta Wilson's neck.



"What's the last thing you do remember?" Scully 

forced her voice to a neutral register as she 

continued her exam, her heart pounding with 

recognition.



Greta closed her eyes and sat quietly for several 

minutes. She shook her head in defeat.



"I remember dreams. Scattered images that don't make 

sense to me."



"Do you remember anything about being in a field? Do 

you remember being with the women in your quilting 

circle?"



"Only the meeting last week. And no, I haven't been 

in any kind of a field." She began to cough 

uncontrollably. After a moment, Scully went to the 

door and called down the hall for Mulder to bring a 

glass of water. He brought it a moment later, with 

Arthur Wilson hot on his heels. Scully handed the 

glass to Greta, and silenced their questions with a 

look.



The coughing abated, and Greta sagged forward, 

bracing her hands on either side. She was facing away 

from the two men, and Scully gently stroked the hair 

away from her neck as she caught Mulder's eye. He 

followed her gaze. Scully knew the instant he spotted 

the scar. 



She sat down next to Greta and spoke softly. "What 

happened at the meeting last week?"



Greta sighed deeply, coughed one more time, and 

latched her hand onto Scully's arm for support. "The 

usual. We completed one of the presentation quilts 

for the festival. It came out beautifully."



"I saw it. It was very beautiful. Tell me, Greta, 

where did you come up with the pattern for it? It was 

very unusual."



"I don't know. The other women in the circle had 

designed it. This was the first big project I had 

participated in."



"Have you ever seen the pattern anywhere else?"



Greta was silent again for a long moment. "No," she 

finally answered.



"Are you sure?" Mulder interrupted.



"No."



"No, you're not sure, or no, you don't remember?"



The grip on Scully's arm tightened and Mrs. Wilson 

began to breathe loudly again, as if she were ready 

to cry.



"Maybe that's enough for today," Arthur suggested, 

anger still an undercurrent in his voice.



"Mrs. Wilson--"



"Mulder, please," Scully stopped him. Then to the 

woman at her side, "Mrs. Wilson, can you answer our 

questions?"



"I can't. I can't because I don't know. What's 

happening to me? Do I have amnesia? Am I losing my 

mind?" Then she really started to cry. 



"I think that is enough for today," Scully stood up, 

giving Greta's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We'll 

come back and talk some more another time, when 

you're feeling better."



Greta nodded but never looked up.



The man walked them to the front door, then followed 

them out onto the porch and closed the door behind 

himself. "Agents, I'm sorry if I'm being difficult. 

It's just..."



"There's no need to apologize," Mulder demurred. "We 

understand. Please call us if her condition changes. 

Otherwise, we'll just stop by tomorrow afternoon to 

speak with her again, if that's all right."



Wilson nodded. "Yes. If-- *when* she's better." He 

walked inside and closed the door, defeat in every 

line of his body.



*****



The Wilson Residence

Greta and Arthur Wilson's bedroom

Wednesday, 7:10 PM



Greta Wilson had a splitting headache. More than 

anything else, she wanted to sleep. Sleep all day, 

all night, all month. She wanted to wake up and find 

out that this was all a nightmare. Leaving her job, 

moving out to the country, joining the circle. A 

nightmare that would disappear with the first rays of 

daybreak and never return.



But she knew that wasn't the case. 



As she stood in her bathroom, her reflection stared 

back at her. What was happening? How could everything 

have gone so wrong so fast? Just six months ago she 

was successful, looking up the ladder of her career. 

She'd joked to one of the support staff about 

changing the drapes in her boss's office when she got 

in there. 



And now, there was nothing but black void and 

terrifying feelings that weren't even real memories. 

Greta prided herself on her memory. She was excellent 

with figures, fantastic at recalling small, 

insignificant details. That's how she'd gotten so far 

in her old job. But there were four days missing from 

her life and she had little hope of ever reclaiming 

them.



She opened the medicine cabinet with a shaky hand and 

started rifling through the bottles and jars. Didn't 

they have anything for a headache? Her hand landed on 

some sleeping pills that she'd gotten when they first 

moved to Clayville. Surprisingly, the darkness and 

the quiet at night seemed to cause her difficulty 

sleeping. She was used to noise, she was used to 

activity. But the pills had worked and after a few 

weeks, she'd become accustomed to the silence at 

night. Now, she welcomed that silence, that darkness. 

It was someplace to hide. She clutched the bottle and 

struggled with the childproof cap, shaking one pill 

into the palm of her hand. Replacing the bottle on 

the shelf, she cupped her hand under a stream of 

water from the faucet and used the mouthful to 

swallow the pill. Closing the medicine cabinet door, 

she went back into the bedroom and crawled into 

bed under the goose down comforter.



The phone rang. She glared at it a second, willing it 

to stop. Where was Arthur? Why wasn't he answering? 

On the fourth ring, she groaned and sat up, grabbing 

the receiver. Her greeting was cut short. A frown 

carved its path across her forehead. She stared 

blankly at the dresser against the wall. After a few 

moments, she nodded. "Yes," was all she said and she 

carefully replaced the receiver.



Slipping her feet to the floor, she walked the few 

steps back into the bathroom. This time she didn't 

stop to look at her reflection in the mirror, she 

just opened the medicine cabinet and let her hand 

close around the bottle she'd just used. The cap 

didn't cause her any trouble this time, and when it 

was removed, she shook the remainder of the bottle, 

two dozen pills, into her hand. Very methodically, 

picking them up one by one, she swallowed each pill 

dry. With a blank expression she once again replaced 

the cap on the bottle and put the bottle on the 

shelf, closing the cabinet door. On stocking feet she 

returned to the bed and lay down, closing her eyes, 

this time for the last time.



**** 

Ambassador Hotel

7:35 PM



Mulder pulled the car into a space near the motel 

door. Scully was out of her seat and halfway to the 

door before he could catch up with her.



"She knows something, Scully. You saw how she was 

acting," he said as she opened the door with her key. 

"Scully, what about the chip?" For a moment, he was 

afraid she was going to close the door on his foot, 

but instead, she moved farther in to the room, 

allowing him to follow her.



"Mulder, she was upset, I'll give you that. And yes, 

there was a chip in her neck, I'll grant you that we 

need to investigate this further. But from what I 

could see, she knew nothing. She couldn't tell us 

where she's been, and she definitely didn't know 

anything about the chip or the crop circles. I can't 

see where that little exchange at the end, which 

almost caused her to break down completely, got us 

anywhere on this investigation!" She tossed her purse 

on the bed and was pulling off her coat when she 

stopped dead in her tracks.



"You know, you two really should consider marriage 

counseling if this keeps up." At the sound of the 

voice in the darkness of the back of the room, Mulder 

pulled his gun. Alex Krycek stepped into the room 

just as Scully flipped on a light.



"Nice welcoming committee, Mulder," Krycek said with 

a smirk and then looked over at Scully. "At least 

Agent Scully isn't ready to drill me," he noted with 

a 'cat who ate the canary' grin.



Mulder didn't move from his position, didn't lower 

the gun. After a moment, he raised the weapon to eye 

level. "Krycek, I suggest you either leave or start 

talking because my finger has been itching all day."



"He's such a tease," Krycek quipped to Scully. "Put 

the gun down, before you hurt somebody. I'm unarmed." 

He held his arms out and turned toward Scully, a 

silent offer for her to frisk him. Scully stepped 

closer and patted him down. When she looked up at 

him, their eyes met and for a fraction of a second, 

she saw the other Krycek, the one she'd met in 

another dimension, smiling down at her. Shaking her 

head to clear the image, she stepped back.



"He's telling the truth, Mulder. He doesn't have a 

weapon," she said, trying to cover her embarrassment.



"At least not one we can find," Mulder allowed 

reluctantly. He holstered his weapon, but kept his 

hand on the grip. "You have five minutes."



"What is this, Name that Tune?" Krycek asked. At 

Mulder's stare he shrugged. "OK, it's not like I need 

to point you kids in the right direction. I just 

thought I'd save you a little time."



"What are you talking about?" Scully demanded.



"Greta Wilson, for one. And about 15 other upstanding 

women of this fine community, for another. They might 

not remember what was done to them when they all 

vanished into thin air, but it goes back a long time 

and it will continue. Unless it's stopped, of 

course." Krycek flashed Mulder a toothy grin. "If 

you're man enough to try and stop it, I should say."



Mulder closed his eyes and refused to take the bait. 

"We suspect the disappearances are related to the 

quilting circle and to the crop circles we saw 

outside of town."



Krycek shook his head angrily. "Stop looking at the 

obvious! They want you to make that connection. What 

you need to do is look farther, deeper."



A quick look over to Scully and Mulder decided 

against mentioning the chip again. He glared at 

Krycek. "And this is news?" Mulder huffed. "Stop 

being so damned cryptic and tell us what you came 

here to say!"



"You flew over the field, right? Did it ever occur to 

you to look closer? Go look at the corn, Mulder. Take 

a look at the ground around the field. It might just 

lead you to the real perpetrators of this little 

disappearing/reappearing act. And they might not be 

as far away as you think."



Scully exchanged a quick glance with Mulder, then 

looked back at Krycek. Could they have missed 

something that easy to find? 



"Go back to the field," Krycek told him.



"It's almost dark," Mulder pointed out.



Krycek rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Then use 

those high-powered, over-priced flashlights you're 

always losing," he growled. "Wasting taxpayers 

dollars never seemed to bother you before. I can tell 

by the layer of dust in the adjoining room you rented 

to keep up pretenses," he added with a cheshire cat 

grin. 



"What's out in that field, Krycek? Burn marks?" 

Mulder asked once again ignoring the smart remarks, 

but his patience was obviously growing thin.



"You two kids have a good time at that field. And 

remember, curfew is at 11 on a school night." Krycek 

said, heading for the door.



Mulder grabbed his arm. "What are we going to find, 

Krycek?" he seethed.



The double agent just smiled. "Guess you'll have to 

go out there and see for yourself. Oh, and Mulder, 

next time, let Scully play 'bad cop'. I think that 

would be so much more enjoyable."



* * *

	

Scully's room

11:39 PM



Hunger had driven them to the Denny's across the 

highway after Krycek's visit, and the debate that had 

drawn stares from their fellow diners was still in 

progress.



"I can't believe we just let him walk out like that," 

said Mulder, his body language showing every bit of 

the tenseness his voice held.



"We had nothing to hold him on, Mulder. What did you 

expect to do with him? Handcuff him to the bed frame 

until we figured out what he's up to?" 



Mulder shook his head. He knew she was right, but 

that didn't ease the frustration. He walked over to 

where their suitcases lay and lifted them to the bed. 

Then he opened them both and started rifling the 

contents.



"Mulder, do you mind? I'd like to have something to 

wear tomorrow that's not totally wrinkled or torn. 

What are you looking for anyway?" 



"Damn it, Scully!" he said, his voice tense. He 

continued to pick through the clothing until he found 

what he was looking for and laid it aside. Then he 

began a search of his suitcase. "We looked at that 

field! What the hell is he not telling us?" he said, 

continuing to sift through the articles inside.



"I don't know; you never know with Krycek. There's a 

real possibility that it's nothing more than a red 

herring."



"What are you talking about? Look, Krycek has always 

been sneaky and underhanded, but the information he 

had always led us somewhere." 



"True, but more often than not, his information led 

us to blind alleys. You know that's true, Mulder."



"I know, I know. But even his blind alleys took us 

somewhere, even if we didn't always see where we were 

going."



He picked up the small, black object and held it as 

if testing its heft. "Hmm, they sure do make these 

suckers a lot smaller. Here ya go partner; heads 

up!" he called out as he gently tossed it over to 

her.



She looked at him with an incredulous expression. 

"You've got to be kidding, Mulder. It's almost 

midnight. What can we possibly hope to find now that 

can't wait till the morning?" 



"Red herring or not, Scully, we've got to go check it 

out, now. Krycek doesn't just appear out of the blue 

because he likes to make social calls; he was here 

because he expects us to go check it out. And that 

means now.



"Now? Mulder, you said it yourself - it's dark out 

there. What the hell are we supposed to see?" 

 

"Hey, Ratboy was right about one thing," Mulder said, 

as he hefted up the other small, but high-powered 

flashlight. "These suckers cost the taxpayers an arm 

and a leg; we might as well get our money's worth out 

of it." 



* * *



It was easy to forget how damn dark it got out here 

in the middle of nowhere, Scully mused. Their high 

powered flashlights seemed barely adequate in the 

vast blackness that marked their path.



As they approached the perimeter of the crop circle, 

she raised her flashlight to look at the corn. "This

is too strange," she said in a whisper.



"What?" 



"The corn, it's bent."



"Well, of course it's bent, Scully, how do you think 

it gets formed into these huge, intricate designs? 

Besides," he added with a small smile, "didn't you 

see 'Signs'? Crop circles around the world have corn 

that's bent."



She managed to choke back her chuckle. "No, it's 

more than that. Look how it's bent. They're too 

perfectly angled, in the same spot on each ear of 

corn. It's... odd."



While Scully continued to look at the corn, Mulder 

bent down to check out the ground. "Scully! I think 

I've found something."



Scully walked away while still mulling over how the 

corn could have been so consistently bent without 

being broken. She knelt down near her partner and 

asked him what he'd found.



"I guess the movie forgot to mention the tire tracks 

that go along with the circles. Look." 



"Too small to be a four by four," she commented.



"Yeah, way too small, but it would have to be to get 

around here." He studied the marks, then snapped his 

fingers. "Of course."



"You gonna let the rest of the class in on your idea, 

Mulder?" She smiled. Scully always did enjoy 

watching her partner make those giant leaps.



"Golf cart."



"Golf cart?" she echoed.



"Yup, they're very maneuverable and small enough to 

get around these cornstalks."



She couldn't argue. "Okay, so now what?"



"There's got to be a reason these tracks are here. 

Let's go follow the yellow brick road."



They found themselves weaving back and forth, 

following the intricate pattern of the crop circle's 

design as they followed the tire tracks to the other 

end of its perimeter.



"It's not leading anywhere, Mulder. I really think 

this is a waste of--"



"What the f--?" called out Mulder.



Bright lights flooded the area leaving some to shine 

directly on the agents, blinding them. 



"SCULLY!"



"I'm here, Mulder! I'm right here!" 



The intense lights blinded them. They stood side-by-

side with weapons drawn, unable to see anything but 

blinding white.



Suddenly, the distinctive sound of weapons being 

cocked chilled their blood. "Oh, shit," Mulder 

offered. "Scully, lower your weapon." The lights 

began to dim, and they could see a dozen or more 

armed soldiers wielding machine guns in front of 

them. Corn rustling in the dark told them there were 

at least another dozen soldiers behind them.



"So, do you like your red herring pickled or boiled, 

Scully?"



"He did it to us again, Mulder."



"I don't know. I don't know this time," he replied, 

and then turning to his captors, he said, "What do 

you want from us?" 



Suddenly the lights brightened and temporarily 

blinded them again. Then, from out of a halo of 

lights a single officer approached. Scully shielded 

her eyes in an attempt to identify the person. 

Immediately, an arm grabbed her from behind and 

pressed his arm firmly against her carotid arteries 

on both sides of her neck. She pulled futilely at the 

arm for a few seconds before the darkness took her.



"No!" Mulder cried out, "Leave her alone!" He rushed 

over and tried to free her, but before his hands 

could get a good grip, another soldier stepped 

forward. Mulder only had time enough to recognize the 

butt of a rifle headed his way before the impact sent 

him to the ground. 



One of the soldiers spoke into a walkie-talkie. "It 

is done, sir."



"They are contained?" came a voice, scratchy with 

static, through the speaker.



"Yes, sir." He then ordered the others to drag the 

now unconscious bodies of the two agents to the backs 

of the two small golf carts that awaited them. 



"They've been loaded up, sir."



"Excellent, lieutenant. Bring them to me."



"Yes, sir, Commander Scully."



* * *



End (1/2)



Concludes January 24, 2003