The Bennington Triangle

By aka "Jake"

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Classification: X, Pre- or Early-Season 7

Summary: A team of wildlife researchers disappears on Glastenbury Mountain in Bennington, Vermont. Abducted by aliens? Eaten by a mythical beast? Drawn into a gravitational vortex? Mulder and Scully travel to Vermont to investigate the Bennington Triangle, while navigating the start of their IVF journey.

"I'm thinking this might be a case of unnatural selection, Scully."

Disclaimer: The characters Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are the property of Chris Carter, FOX, and 1013 Productions. No copyright infringement intended. This is for fun, not profit.

Author's Note: This story was originally written for I Made This! Productions Virtual Season 9. I recently gave it a major overhaul to include the IVF arc.

The original story was beta’ed by Brandon D. Ray and mimic117. The updated version by xdksfan.

PARENTI MEDICAL GROUP
625 OAKHURST AVENUE
COLLEGE PARK, MARYLAND
7:50 AM

Scully arrived a few minutes early for her appointment. It wasn’t her first time at the clinic -- she’d met with Dr. Parenti three weeks ago to discuss her chance of success with IVF. Then as now, she was impressed by the facility -- modern, spacious, and clean enough to build computer chips on its glossy marble floors. A group of eight OB-GYN specialists led a large team of nurse practitioners, midwives, and clerical staff, all pleasant and professional.

Despite the early hour, the waiting room was near capacity. Women in various stages of pregnancy thumbed through parenting magazines or talked in low voices with their significant others. Scully wondered again if she should’ve invited Mulder to accompany her, but then quickly dismissed the idea. He had agreed to be her sperm donor, nothing more. Not that they had discussed anything more. His eventual role in this endeavor -- if it proved successful -- was still up in the air.

Taking a seat in one of the room’s few remaining empty chairs, Scully picked up a pamphlet titled “Is IVF Right for You?” The cover photo showed a smiling couple holding a perfect newborn. A pang of envy settled like a stone in her chest. IVF wasn’t just one of several options for Scully -- it was her only option, if she were to make her dream of giving birth to a child of her own a reality. She had Mulder to thank for the opportunity. If he hadn’t recovered and safeguarded her stolen ova, she would have no chance at all.

An assistant named Trudy interrupted her thoughts, calling her into a back hallway, where she was instructed to step onto a scale. “Forty-eight kilograms,” Trudy announced before ushering Scully into one of a dozen exam rooms. Once inside, she took Scully’s vitals with calm efficiency.

“Your BP is a bit high,” she said as she typed the numbers into the room's computer.

“I’m a little nervous,” Scully admitted.

“Understandable. Dr. Parenti will be in shortly. He’ll take good care of you,” Trudy said by way of assurance. “Do you need to pee before your procedure?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“In that case, change into this, please.” Trudy handed her a folded paper gown. “Dr. Parenti will be with you in just a few minutes.”

Scully waited until the door closed behind Trudy before she unfolded the gown. Holding it up in front of her, she was glad she hadn’t invited Mulder to today’s appointment. He was her partner and arguably her best friend, but their relationship was a professional one, not personal, at least not this personal. They were not lovers. He wasn't her husband. They’d never even been on a date. As much as she appreciated his support, not to mention his genetic contribution to her future hypothetical progeny, she had to respect the boundaries between them. They were colleagues -- close colleagues to be sure -- but that was all they were. Wishing for more wasn’t going to make it true.

Scully removed her clothes and slipped into the johnny, then took a seat on the end of the exam table. Posters depicting how a healthy fetus develops month by month decorated the walls. A sonogram cart with a large monitor took up space in one corner. There was a display of brochures on pregnancy-related topics atop the room’s single counter. Next to them stood a scale model of a baby in utero, which appeared to come apart like a 3-D puzzle. And beside that was a speculum warming on a heating pad that was plugged into a nearby wall socket. Scully appreciated this nod to patient comfort.

She was here today to have a sonohysterography exam to determine if her uterus was healthy and free of obstructions or irregularities that could interfere with IVF. She had a general idea of what was involved, but a tray containing a transducer, lubricant, and an ultra-thin catheter gave her pause.

“Hello, Dana,” Dr. Parenti said with a smile as he entered the room. He quickly washed his hands in the stainless steel sink in the corner. “How are you today?”

“Fine. Nervous.” She hugged the paper gown to her body.

He quickly dried his hands, donned a pair of latex gloves, and turned to explain, “A uterine exam is nothing to worry about. It’s a minimally invasive ultrasound procedure that allows us to view your uterine cavity and lining. As a doctor yourself, maybe you already know what’s involved?”

“Only in general terms. My background is forensic pathology. My OB/GYN rotation was a long time ago and I couldn’t find many details online.”

“Okay, well, there are three steps to today’s exam, beginning with a transvaginal ultrasound. Following that, sterile fluid is introduced into the uterus via a thin plastic tube inserted through the cervix. The fluid will help us get detailed images of the uterus and endometrial lining when we repeat the ultrasound exam in the third and final step. Sound okay?”

Scully nodded though his explanation did little to ease her nervousness.

“If you’re ready and have no additional questions, we can get started. Lie back, place your feet in the stirrups, and try to relax.” Parenti adjusted the table’s gooseneck lamp before grabbing a tube of lubricant.

The procedure went smoothly, despite Scully’s initial apprehension. Parenti divided his attention between her and the images on the sonogram screen. She felt only a little cramping when the saline fluid passed into her uterus. Otherwise, the exam was pain-free.

“Everything looks fine,” Parenti announced with a smile when he finished. He stood and tossed the transducer’s disposable sheath, along with his gloves, into the trash bin. “You can get dressed and I’ll return in a few minutes to discuss where we go from here.” Before he left the room, he handed her a generous pile of clean paper towels, presumably to wipe off the gel between her legs and the saline solution that was leaking out of her vagina, soaking into the exam table’s paper cover. As she mopped herself off, she was once again glad she hadn’t invited Mulder. This was far too personal to share even with the man who’d agreed to be the biological father of her child.

A few minutes later, she was cleaned up and dressed. Thankfully, the ooze of saline solution had slowed to a mere trickle. Even so, she was grateful for the packet of “emergency” panty liners she always carried in her purse. She washed her hands at the sink and used the mirror above it to smooth her hair. By the time Parenti returned, she was put-together and waiting in the room’s lone stiff-backed patient’s chair.

“Doing okay?” he asked, taking a seat on his wheeled stool.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“Good.” He rolled in front of his computer. A few taps on the keyboard brought up her chart and associated medical information. “I’m pleased with what I saw today.”

“That’s reassuring,” she said, meaning it. Every step that went well was a step closer to achieving her goal. “So, what’s next?”

“That depends. Let’s take a quick look at the results of your sperm donor’s infectious disease screening and semen analysis.” Parenti searched through the notes on the monitor. “Here we are. You’ll be pleased to know that Mr. Mulder’s blood assays showed no hepatitis B&C, HIV 1&2, or syphilis. His gonorrhea culture was negative, as was his chlamydia LCR probe. All good news.”

Scully had been pretty sure Mulder was STD-free but it was a relief to have it confirmed. “And the semen analysis? Is that good news, too?”

“Indeed.” Parenti adjusted his glasses to study the information on his screen. “Cell count, motility, and morphology are all excellent. Despite Mr. Mulder being a little outside our preferred age range for donors, his sample passed our rigorous testing and can be introduced to your ova for fertilization whenever you’re ready to start the process.” He turned to smile at her.

She couldn’t help but smile back. “Will you use conventional insemination for fertilization or ICSI?”

“I see no need for intracytoplasmic sperm injection. However, given that your ova came to us frozen, I do recommend an assisted hatching process once any resulting embryos are ready for implantation.”

“Assisted hatching?”

“Frozen ova, unlike freshly harvested eggs, can sometimes result in a hardened membrane around the fertilized embryo, so we make a hole in the membrane just before the embryo is placed in the uterus. This helps it ‘hatch’ and attach to the uterine lining.”

“I see. So, how soon before you can start the fertilization process?”

“Tomorrow, if you want.”

As soon as that? She felt her heart begin to beat faster. “And after fertilization, how long before implantation?” She tried to picture her calendar and what might be on it that would need to be rescheduled.

“Three days after fertilization, a healthy embryo will contain about six to ten cells. By the fifth or sixth day, the fertilized egg is a rapidly dividing ball of cells, called a blastocyst. The inner cells become the embryo. The outer cells nourish and protect it. It’s at this point the embryo is ready for implantation.”

“So, implantation could happen as early as next week?”

“Yes, if the date aligns with your cycle, which...,” -- he glanced again at his notes -- “looks just about right.”

“That’s...that’s wonderful.”

It was much sooner than she expected but she was eager to get started.

“You may experience some slight bleeding or cramps from today’s procedure, which could last a couple of days,” Parenti said. “Anything more serious, please call me. I usually recommend patients take a day to rest before returning to work.”

Well, that was going to be a problem. Mulder was expecting her in today. He had a new case he was eager to investigate.

Before she could respond, Parenti continued to offer advice. “If fertilization of your ova is successful, and I have every reason to believe it will be, we’ll start you on progesterone supplements prior to implantation to improve the odds that the embryo attaches to the lining of your uterus. In the meantime, focus on maintaining a healthy diet. Avoid processed foods and alcohol. Reduce your caffeine intake. And start taking folic acid supplements.”

“Folic acid,” Scully repeated.

“Do you have any additional questions?”

“Not at the moment, though I’m sure I’ll have plenty as we go along.”

“Okay then! I’ll schedule fertilization for tomorrow morning and, if successful, will be in touch with you soon about the next steps.”

FBI HEADQUARTERS
11:02 AM

“There you are,” Mulder said when Scully came through their office door. “How did your doctor’s appointment go?”

"You popped corn?" Scully's eyes widened. God, it smelled delicious. She was hungrier than she realized. Ignoring Mulder’s question, she crossed the room to where he stood rocking on the balls of his feet, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms wrapped around a big bowl of freshly popped corn.

She reached for a handful.

"Uh-uh," he said, lifting the bowl high above her head and smiling. "Gotta earn it, Scully."

"What? Mulder!” She stood on tiptoes and grabbed for the bowl.

He rose on his toes, too, placing the popcorn impossibly beyond her reach.

"Since when do we not share?” she asked.

"Switch off the lights."

"Excuse me?"

"The lights. Off." His eyes targeted the bowl. He waggled his brows.

"Fine." She went to the wall switch and flicked off the room’s overhead lights, plunging the office into semi-darkness. "What's this about?"

"Show time, Scully!" Mulder's projector hummed to life and shot a beam of light toward the wall. A slide dropped into place. Scully found herself looking at an image of--

"A severed hand?"

"Belonged to Harvey Akins, USGS, Biological Resources Division, last seen heading into Vermont's Green Mountains."

"For the purpose of...?"

Mulder slouched against his desk. He patted the vacant spot beside him with one hand and shook the bowl of popcorn with the other.

Lips pursed, Scully moved to join him. With a small hop, she settled beside him on his desk. He helped himself to a handful of corn and then placed the bowl in her lap.

A few seconds passed. Mulder stared in silence at the photo of Harvey Atkins’ severed hand.

“Is there a problem, Mulder?” she asked.

“No, it’s just...” He turned to look at her, his expression serious. “You sure you’re okay, Scully? Nothing you want to tell me?”

Should she?

I wouldn’t want this to come between us.

These were Mulder’s exact words when he’d agreed to father her child. She understood what he meant, truly. She felt the same about losing the closeness and friendship they shared. Not to mention their professional relationship. What would she do if their partnership suffered because of a change in the status quo, a change initiated by her? Transfer? Never see him again? It was unthinkable and not worth the risk of being overly candid with him, pushing her agenda and her priorities on him. He didn’t need to hear the minutia of her morning and she didn’t feel like sharing it in any case. Some things were better left unsaid.

“I’m fine. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Nothing?”

“Not at this time. Continue your slideshow.”

He gave her a dubious look, but went on to explain the details of the case. ”Harvey and his two companions, Ted Rosenthal and Danielle Valdez," he said, talking around a mouthful of corn, "researchers from the National Wildlife Management Institute and UVM's Wildlife Research Unit respectively, were searching Glastenbury Mountain for a large carnivorous animal, allegedly responsible for devouring a family of four, surname Kerber, who had been hiking on the mountain the previous week."

Harvey Akins' dismembered left hand appeared larger than life on the wall. The sun glared off his wedding ring. Blood darkened the surrounding ground.

"I'd say Mr. Akins found his carnivorous animal, Mulder. Or it found him."

"I'm thinking this might be a case of unnatural selection, Scully."

"Meaning...?"

"Glastenbury Mountain. Hotspot for UFO activity, strange lights, sounds, odors, specters, and mysterious creatures."

"You aren't going to show me a picture of a mutilated cow, are you?"

"Why would I do that?" He flipped to the next slide, which showed a close-up view of Harvey's severed wrist. "Cast your forensic peepers on that, Scully. In your professional opinion, does that look like the work of an animal?"

Scully had to admit it didn't. "Mr. Akins hand appears to have been cut off with a knife or fine-toothed saw,” she said. "Do you have any pictures of the body?"

"No. But check this out." Mulder flipped to the next slide.

"Right femur," Scully said. "Broken at the narrowest point of the shaft. Looks like a child's. What does it have to do with Harvey Akins?"

"Lab tests indicate it belonged to eight-year-old Tommy Kerber."

"One of the missing hikers." Scully rooted through the popcorn for old maids.

"Yep. It's the only forensic evidence recovered from the mountain -- other than Akins' left hand. The really curious thing about Tommy's femur is that it contained no bone marrow. None at all.”

"So?" Scully found an unpopped kernel. She showed it to Mulder and smiled before popping it into her mouth and crunching it loudly between her back teeth. "Some woodland creature probably ate it."

"Exactly." Mulder turned to sort through a pile of dusty newspapers on his desk. "Ever hear of the 'Bennington Beast,' a.k.a., the 'Glastenbury Gorilla'?"

"Please do not tell me you suspect Bigfoot. Need I remind you--"

"Who said anything about Bigfoot?" He pulled an old issue of the Bennington Banner from the stack and held it up for Scully to see. He tapped the headline, which read: Missing Woman's Body Found! "Frieda Langer went missing on October 28, 1949, while hiking on Glastenbury Mountain with her cousin Herbert Elsner. After falling into a stream, Frieda told her cousin to wait while she ran the half mile back to camp to change clothes. She never arrived there. Search teams combed the area and found nothing. Followup searches on November 5 through 7 also turned up nothing. Same result on November 11 and 12 when more than three hundred military personnel, police, firemen, and volunteers scoured the mountain. The following spring, Langer's remains finally turned up on an open ledge where she couldn’t have been missed during the searches. The cause of her death was never conclusively determined. Locals, however, suspected the Bennington Beast."

"The Bennington Beast."

Mulder advanced the projector to the next slide. Something large and dark blurred the center of the picture, blocking out the pine trees and underbrush. "Photographer Bruce Hallenback snapped this photo on Glastenbury Mountain in 1994 while hiking Long Trail to the summit."

"It's nothing but a blur, Mulder."

"Hallenback claims it's the Beast. And he's not the only person to have seen it either. There have been stories about a killer beast in Bennington as long ago as the late 1800s when a stagecoach was attacked and overturned on what is now Highway 9, just west of Glastenbury Mountain. The occupants of the coach survived to tell the tale of a hideous creature that, after capsizing them, escaped into the forest."

"Two words, Mulder: urban legend. Did anyone in the stagecoach disappear or get killed?"

"No, but they saw what they saw."

"Stories about ape-like men and Dr. Moreau-esque lycanthropes are just that...stories."

"Two words, Scully: Jersey Devil."

"The Jersey Devil was not an ape man or even an ape woman. She was as homo sapient as you or I."

Mulder tossed the newspaper back on his desk. "Okay, Scully, I'm willing to leave the Bennington Beast theory...for now. There are other possibilities, all equally X-Filish."

"Such as?"

Mulder advanced the projector and a new slide replaced the black blur, filling the wall with an aerial view of the Green Mountains. A fire tower topped the summit of one craggy hill. "Glastenbury Mountain," -- Mulder walked to the wall and pinpointed the fire tower with an index finger -- "is located in an area of Vermont sometimes referred to as the 'Bennington Triangle,' so called because four people disappeared from there in 1899. Ten more vanished in 1949, including Frieda Langer. Langer's body was the only one ever recovered. Did I mention, all of her bones were broken?”

"All of them?"

“According to the accounts. Frieda was the final victim...until the Kerber family vanished last week."

"Hikers get lost in the woods everyday, Mulder. They’re missing persons cases, not X-Files."

"Twenty-one people, Scully, counting the Kerbers and the biology researchers. All on the same mountain." He swiveled to look at her, hands on his hips.

"Maybe it's a particularly dangerous mountain."

"It is, but not in the way you’re thinking. Glastenbury Mountain is the mother lode of X-Files. Take your pick: alien abductions, magic stepping stones, cursed winds, interdimensional horizons -- all are said to exist there, and all could explain the multiple disappearances."

"Interdimensional horizons?"

"Doorways, if you will, between universes. People step in, but they don't step out."

"Ah." Scully crunched another unpopped kernel.

"Fifty years separated the first group of vanishments from the second. Another fifty years passed between the disappearances of Frieda Langer and the Kerber family. Did I mention that Ms. Langer was found with all of her bone marrow missing?"

His last statement stilled her chewing. "Hmm. Change fifty years to thirty and bone marrow to liver -- you could be talking about Eugene Victor Tooms."

“That crossed my mind.” He studied the image on the wall. "We're flying to Vermont in an hour.”

An hour? Parenti’s advice was to stay home and take it easy. But she was honestly feeling fine. There was no excuse not to go. Besides, she’d be needing time off in the near future if all went well with the fertilization process.

"Considering the excess of paranormal possibilities waiting for us there,” she said, “I'm amazed we haven't visited before." She pitched a fluffy kernel of popcorn at him. It bounced off his head and landed somewhere beneath a bookcase.

He faced her and opened his mouth, inviting her to try again. She aimed and lobbed one high and on target. With only the slightest dodge, he caught it on his tongue, delighting them both.

Crunching the kernel, he shut off his projector. "Don't forget to pack your fly dope, Scully," he said, turning to find her at his side. "I hear the mosquitoes are big enough to carry you away."

"Well, maybe that's the answer to your mystery right there."

This brought a smile. He snagged his suit coat. "Mutant mosquitoes. Not exactly what I was thinking, Scully, but it's very James Arness, a la Alamogordo. I like it."

FIFE 'N' DRUM MOTOR LODGE
BENNINGTON, VERMONT
6:10 PM

"We got shuffleboard and horseshoe pits, if you're interested," said the pudgy woman behind the motel’s front desk. Her name tag proclaimed "Hi! My name is Tonya." She processed Mulder's credit card while he studied a rack of tourist brochures. He selected one titled "Green Mountain Ghosts, Ghouls, and Unsolved Mysteries" and waved it at Scully.

"You ever catch a glimpse of the Bennington Beast, Miss...um...Tonya?" he asked.

"Not me. A friend of my sister swears she saw it once. You can see it, too, over at Meddie’s Museum, if you're interested."

“I’m very interested. Where’s the museum?”

Tonya smiled at him. "A mile and a half outside of town on Highway 9. They got all kinds of interesting things. Stuffed catamount, world's biggest nut, Indian junk."

Scully leaned against the counter, her face solemn. "Imagine that, Mulder. World's biggest nut."

"The Bennington Beast is at the museum?" Mulder asked, ignoring Scully.

"Just the head,” Tonya said. “There's a picture in that brochure you're holding." She pointed a plump finger.

Mulder unfolded the brochure and held it out for Scully to see. Together they studied the photo of the alleged beast's empty-eyed skull. The cranium was massive with two sets of distorted facial features, one on each side of its misshapen head.

"It's got to be a hoax, Mulder."

"Does it?” It looked a bit like the Great Mutato to him.

"Museum's open 'til eight o'clock, if you wanna see it for yourself," Tonya said. She slid Mulder's receipt across the counter for his signature. "Rooms include coffeemakers, microwaves, and mini-fridges."

"Dataport/modem line?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, sir."

He signed the receipt. "Museum's on Highway 9?"

"Turn left at the war monument."

MEDDIE'S MUSEUM

Meddie's Museum -- a low-slung log structure -- sat tucked into the woods at the base of Glastenbury Mountain. Evergreen trees encroached on its small gravel parking lot, shadowing the entire property and blotting out the setting sun. The lot was surprisingly full -- a half dozen cars and trucks were parked beneath the overhanging boughs. The plates came from all over: Ohio, Iowa, Virginia, Maine, Alaska. A hand-painted sign above the front door read Meddie’s Museum -- Emporium of the Unusual.

"Your kind of place, Mulder." Scully stood beneath the sign. She sidestepped to allow a young couple and their twin toddlers to exit the front door. "Cute kids," she said and entered the museum.

Mulder hung back, watching the young family, picturing Scully pushing a stroller, their future child babbling happily inside. At this point, a baby was still just hypothetical, a fantasy, but eventually it would become reality. A real kid, hers and his, a miraculous blend of their genes. Whether a boy or girl -- or twins -- he hoped it...they took after her. Smart, beautiful, kind, patient, yet driven and strong and fiercely loyal. She would make a great mom.

He remembered the first time he thought about her as a mother in an abstract sense, years ago in Home, Pennsylvania. The possibility had struck him like a bolt out of the blue. Suddenly she was more than just his FBI partner. She was someone’s potential mother.

And now? Now he imagined her as the mother of his child specifically. It surprised him how much that difference mattered, how it made him feel. Proud. Protective. Fucking lucky.

There was no denying he’d been carrying a torch for Scully for quite some time. However, as far as he’d been able to ascertain, his love remained unrequited. Not that he hadn’t tried to make his feelings known or to ferret out hers. He told her outright he loved her after she pulled his ass out of the Sargasso Sea last year. Her reaction? Nothing but an eye roll and a dismissive “Oh brother.” 

Clearly, she didn’t share his feelings. Which is why it shocked the hell out of him when she asked him to be her sperm donor. She must care for him at least a little, right? A woman doesn’t ask a man to father her child if she doesn’t like him. Does she?

Then again, Scully had always been practical and maybe he was simply her most expedient choice.

Whatever the case, he desperately wanted to be more a part of things. He hated being left out and couldn’t help wondering what happened at her appointment with Parenti this morning. Maybe he should press her for more info.

Or not. Scully was a private person, always had been, and he didn’t want to pry if it would make her uncomfortable. And to be honest, she’d never asked him to be anything more than a sperm donor. So, unless she told him different, he had to assume that’s all she wanted or needed from him.

Point of fact, she hadn’t been the least bit curious about how his appointment with Parenti had gone earlier in the week. Hadn’t mentioned it even once. He’d returned to work and they carried on as if nothing happened. Business as usual. Of course, she was a doctor, so certainly knew what was involved. He masturbated into a cup, so what? Why would she want to hear a blow-by-blow? Asking him to be her donor didn’t mean she needed to endure an awkward conversation about it.

And now it looked like that one act might be the sum total of his role in all this.

Downhearted, he entered the museum to trail after her. Time to get his head back in the game. They had a case to solve. Woolgathering over their relationship -- or lack thereof -- wasn’t going to catch their murderer.

The air inside the museum smelled musty, thick with mildew and a hint of formaldehyde. Despite the cars in the lot, the place appeared deserted.

“Is anyone here? Hello?" Scully called from a central aisle midway to the back of the museum. No one responded. She continued walking away from Mulder, weaving past glass display cases and taxidermied wildlife.

Mulder took his time, inspecting the contents of the first case he came to. It held spear points, arrowheads, and prehistoric axes. In the next case, butterflies and bugs posed on pins. He recognized a praying mantis and moved on. Passing boat models, farm tools, and a spinning wheel, he stopped only when he came to a woodland diorama where a large, fierce-looking catamount perched atop a papier-mâché mountainside, its fangs bared and glass eyes sparkling.

"Must be the kitty chow," he said, and continued his search for the Bennington Beast.

He found it displayed on a shelf between two murky jars, which contained moose testicles and a white-tailed deer fetus. The Bennington Beast's deformed skull was enormous, nearly double the size of an ordinary man. It had four eye sockets and two distinct mouths.

Ignoring the "Do Not Touch!" sign, Mulder picked up the beast's head.

"Hey, Scully, take a look at this," he called, rotating the skull in his hands.

She returned to his side, looking puzzled. "No one's here," she said.

"Alas, poor Yorick!" He held out the skull. "What do you think, Scully? Is it a fake?"

She took it from him. "It...it looks like the head of cephalopagus twins, but--"

"Cephalopagus?"

"A rare form of conjoined twin -- the upper body is fused, with two faces forming on opposite sides of a single head." She flipped the skull over. "Strange. Most cephalopagus twins are stillborn or die within twenty-four hours. Twins with a defect as severe as this rarely grow to adulthood."

"Are you sure it's an adult?"

She traced a zigzagging fissure across the cranium. "Yes. You can tell by the sutures, and the teeth." She opened and closed one of the lower jaws.

"Maybe it isn't human."

"It's human. Deformed, but human."

"Not a fake?"

"I assure you it's real," a deep voice startled them from behind.

They turned to see a slender man with a thin, lined face, long silver-streaked hair, and eyes so pale they appeared almost colorless. He wore a dark suit, the knees gray with dust. A cobweb painted his right sleeve. He reached for the skull and Mulder noticed what looked like blood beneath his fingernails.

Scully relinquished the head and the thin man placed it back on its shelf between the formaldehyde-filled jars. He adjusted the "Do Not Touch" sign to a more prominent position.

"Where did it come from?" Mulder asked.

"The mountain," he said, tilting his head in the direction of Glastenbury.

"Do you work here, sir?" Scully asked.

"I'm both curator and owner -- John Meddie." He didn't smile or offer his hand. "And you are...?"

"Special Agents Scully and Mulder, FBI." She held up her ID.

"How old is the skull, Mr. Meddie?" Mulder flashed his badge, too.

"It was discovered by my father in the early fifties. I inherited it -- along with this museum."

"You think it's really the Bennington Beast?"

The thin man pinned Mulder with a pale-eyed stare. "What else could it be?"

FIFE 'N' DRUM MOTOR LODGE
10:10 PM

"Shooz awf muh fed, Muller," Scully said around her toothbrush. Fresh from a shower, she was dressed in her favorite travel terry bathrobe and fuzzy slippers. She spit into the sink and grabbed her dental floss. Leaning her head out the bathroom door, she checked to see if Mulder had heard her.

He had. Relaxed against her headboard, four pillows stacked behind his shoulders, he toed off his shoes and kicked them to the floor. Case notes and photos surrounded his legs. A notepad rested in his lap. His laptop computer glowed from the nightstand beside his sidearm and the weapon he usually wore at his ankle. He held the Meddie Museum brochure in one hand and the television remote in the other.

Scully stood at the bathroom door, flossing her teeth while squinting at Mulder's clutter. "Why do you..." -- she waved her limp floss at his papers -- "all over my bed? You have a perfectly good bed in your own room."

"I can't believe you packed slippers," he said without seeming to take his eyes from the television set.

She looked down at her feet. "What's wrong with slippers?"

"They're not exactly survival gear. We're sleeping outdoors on a mountain tomorrow night, you know."

"I like to be comfortable." She dislodged a fragment of popcorn from between her back teeth. "Besides, I'm not the one clinging to the television remote. Is cable TV considered 'survival gear,' Mr. Boy Scout?"

"Indian Guide. And I'm not 'clinging.'" He aimed the remote at the set and raised the volume. The narrator’s voice boomed across the room: Many birds build isolated, inconspicuous nests to avoid detection by predators. Some are so successful at hiding their nests that even the all-seeing eyes of man have hardly ever looked upon them...

Scully retreated to the bathroom to finish flossing. She wondered again if she should tell Mulder about her uterine exam earlier in the day. Or at the very least, let him know that Dr. Parenti was planning to fertilize her ova with Mulder’s sperm tomorrow.

In addition to that conversation, they also needed to talk about how their lives were going to change if the IVF proved successful and she became pregnant. There would be adjustments to make at work. And personally? Would Mulder want to take an active part in the baby’s birth? What about later on? He wasn’t obligated, she’d made that abundantly clear when she’d asked him to be her donor. She’d insisted that becoming a parent was her idea and she didn’t expect him to provide any support, monetary or otherwise. The decision to have a child was hers and she was fully prepared to do it on her own.

You don't have to answer now, she'd told him. Think about it. I-I want you to think about it.

She'd fretted for hours, worried he'd turn her down. When he finally came by her apartment to give her his answer, he admitted to being flattered, but acted shy and awkward, which made her feel self-conscious and nervous. The conversation was clearly uncomfortable for them both. Not surprising, given the intimate nature of her request. They could talk nonstop about cases or Bureau protocols, but something personal like fathering her child? That was outside their usual office banter and they were both at a loss for words. When he finally said yes, she was thrilled and grateful. He seemed pleased, too, happy to do this for her. But at the time, he hadn't mentioned wanting to be involved in their child’s upbringing. And she didn't ask.

Since then? They both avoided the subject. Typical.

Tonight was not the time to get into it either, she decided. Better to save the discussion for another day. She was too tired and he was too focused on the case for a heart-to-heart now.

"Hey, Scully?" Mulder called from the bed.

She tossed her floss in the wastebasket and scuffed back to the bedroom. "Hmmm?"

"Physiology of bone marrow -- what's it do?" He spoke loudly to be heard over the TV.

She crossed the room, confiscated the remote, and muted the television set. Without speaking, she cleared a space beside him on the bed, collected his bios, photographs, and assorted newspaper clippings into a jumbled pile, which she dropped into his lap along with the remote. She rounded the bed and powered off his computer. A website called "Mystery Primates: Yetis to Yowies" turned to black when she closed the lid.

"Yowies?" she asked, and tugged a pillow out from behind his shoulders.

"The planet is full of human-like cryptids, Scully. The wendigo of northern Canada, the Russian alma, the Chinese yaren, the African ngoloko, kakundakari, and Tano Giant--"

"The Bennington Beast of Vermont?" She raised an eyebrow. "Bigfoot, Sasquatch, call them what you want, Mulder, these creatures don't exist. Evolutionary throwbacks are genetically impossible."

"Impossible?"

"Unlikely, at best. Chromosomal abnormalities do occasionally produce primitive characteristics, such as excessive body hair, vestigial tails, two rows of nipples, but these are not the result of devolution."

"Two rows of nipples?" His brow furrowed and he ran his palms across his chest. "Scully, suppose creatures like the Bennington Beast aren't throwbacks, but have managed to survive unchanged and undetected, hidden away for centuries?"

"Survival of the fittest contradicts the possibility. Such creatures would be competing against modern man for resources. Success is extremely unlikely."

"But not impossible. We've seen something like this before. The Moth Men--"

"Mulder, the Moth Men were not an example of reverse evolution. Their mutation was the result of a new environmental stressor that-- What the hell am I saying?"

"Go with it, Scully."

"It's late."

His eyes followed her around the foot of the bed. She placed the commandeered pillow beside his and turned down the blankets. Stepping out of her slippers, she removed her bathrobe and hung it over the rounded post of the headboard. She slid beneath the covers.

"Bedtime already?" He blinked at his watch. "You were going to tell me about bone marrow."

"Mulder, I'm tired. It’s been a long day.” She closed her eyes.

"We could talk about your morning appointment with Dr. Parenti instead.”

Her eyes reopened. She huffed a sigh. "Bone marrow contains a network of blood vessels surrounded by fat and stem cells that give rise to leukocytes, erythrocytes, and platelets."

"I don't know what you just said. Give rise to...?"

"White and red blood cells...and platelets."

"I got the platelets part." Mulder set his stack of photos and papers on the floor beside the bed. "Go on. I love it when you talk doctor. Wanna take my pulse?" He scooted closer, crowding her side of the bed.

"Mulder..."

"Tell me more about stem cells," he murmured into her ear.

Knowing he would pester her until she humored him, she responded, "Stem cells are undifferentiated cells, which means they can be used to develop other cell types."

"How is that?" His voice was no more than a breath of air.

"By treating stem cells with a mixture of antioxidants and growth factors, scientists can generate nerve, muscle, skin, and other cells for transplantation."

"That's interesting." He nestled closer, pressing his body along the length of hers.

"Yes, it is." She waited for him to continue, offering her a new theory of some sort, but he remained uncharacteristically silent. After a minute she asked, "What are you thinking, Mulder?"

"I'm thinking...about two rows of nipples."

MOUNTAIN VALLEY DINER
7:16 AM

"Here you go." The waitress set a steaming cup of rich-smelling coffee in front of Mulder before passing an anemic decaf to Scully.

Parenti had told her to avoid caffeine and it took all of Scully’s willpower to follow his advice. Her uncharacteristic choice of beverage hadn’t gone unnoticed by Mulder, but she ignored his raised brows to focus on the menu.

“My name's Candy,” the waitress said, taking out her pad and pen. Not much older than eighteen, she wore a tiny denim skirt, dangly earrings, and frosty pink lipstick. “Ready to order?"

"I'll have the number three, eggs sunny, extra bacon, and a side of home fries," Mulder said, not waiting for Scully. They sat in a booth by the front window overlooking Bennington's Main Street. “Oh, and a grilled blueberry muffin. Please.”

Candy scribbled on her pad, then turned to Scully. "And you, ma'am?"

“Just toast and a small orange juice."

"No, no, no. Bring her the number three as well," Mulder told the waitress.

"I don't want the number three." Scully looked at Candy. "Toast and OJ."

"Uh-uh," Mulder insisted. “Scully, you of all people know that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. We're going mountain climbing -- bulk up."

"Mulder--"

"We could get lost, be gone for days."

"We won't get lost. We're going with a guide, remember?"

"Two words, Scully: Donner Pass. Eat something."

"Two words, Mulder: no thanks. If you're worried about survival, watch your cholesterol, not my caloric intake. Just the toast and a small OJ," she repeated to the waitress.

"We make great omelettes," Candy suggested.

Recalling Parenti's recommendation to eat a healthy diet -- especially one rich in folic acid -- Scully gave in with a sigh and a quick nod. “Okay, I’ll have a spinach and feta omelette.” Eggs and dark leafy vegetables contained folic acid. As did orange juice. “Make that OJ a large, please.”

With a wink at Mulder, Candy headed for the kitchen.

"Happy?" Scully asked.

"I am. What time are we meeting Ranger Whidden?"

"Nine o'clock. At the base of the mountain. And speaking of survival, what did you pack?"

Ignoring her question, he dug into his pants pocket, withdrew his tourist brochure, and opened it to the photo of the Bennington Beast.

"Scully, what evolutionary advantages would a creature with two mouths and four eyes have over us?"

"I would guess none." She sipped her decaf and considered reordering a half-caff.

"Wider field of vision. That might be an advantage."

"It seemed to be for Sister Katherine. I swear she had eyes in the back of her head."

Mulder smiled. "Catch you at something naughty?"

"It's too early for this conversation." She turned her attention to the window.

He chuckled and went back to studying the photo. "It has a larger brain case. Maybe it's more intelligent."

"Whales' brains are four times larger than humans', and although they're intelligent animals, they are not smarter than us." She watched the driver of an SUV struggle to parallel park behind a car across the street. She winced when the SUV bumped the rear fender. "Most of the time anyway." Unsuccessful, the driver tried again. "Whether you're talking about absolute brain size or the ratio of brain size to body mass, neither determines intelligence. Bigger is not necessarily better."

"Refreshing perspective. Men everywhere are heaving a sigh of relief." He also watched the SUV pull forward, back up, try a third time. It remained cattycorner and hopelessly far from the curb. Mulder tapped the beast's photo. "I wonder what this thing's body looked like. Do you suppose it had four arms and four legs?"

"Mulder, stop hunting mutants. Enjoy your breakfast, drink your coffee, watch the world go by."

The driver of the SUV gave up and drove off in search of a larger parking space. A rusty Volvo immediately took its place. Two doors opened and out stepped museum owner John Meddie and what could only be his identical twin brother.

"Look at that, Scully. There are two of them."

"Actually, there are four of them."

She nodded at two identical men hurrying down the sidewalk toward the car. Reaching the museum owner and his twin, the newcomers stopped to talk.

"Quadruplets?" Mulder asked.

"Maybe. Or it could be just a strong family resemblance."

"They look exactly alike."

"Clones?"

He slid from the booth and headed for the door.

"Mulder, where are you going?"

"To watch the world go by," he said over his shoulder. He pushed through the diner's front door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The four men were already in the car and pulling away from the curb as he drew near. Two sets of pale eyes gazed out at him through the Volvo's rear window as the car drove off down the street. Mulder stared after them until they turned a corner and disappeared from view.

Scully came out of the diner to join him on the sidewalk. "Where'd they go?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, but I want to talk to Meddie again after we return from Glastenbury."

"You think he's involved in the disappearances?"

"Maybe."

“Involved how?"

"I'm not sure yet, but my Spooky Alarm is ringing.”

BASE OF GLASTENBURY MOUNTAIN
9:20 AM

"Hope you brought fly dope. The bugs'll bleed you dry." A physically fit man in his early thirties thrust out a hand to Mulder. Dressed for hiking, he wore a Gortex rain jacket, sturdy boots, and a massive backpack. A fog of mosquitoes swirled around his head. "I'm Ranger Whidden, USDA Forest Service, Manchester District. Call me Rick." He turned to the fresh-faced young woman who stood beside him. "This is Sheila Baxter, bio-technician on the UOP Wildlife Management Project."

"Hi," Sheila said, smiling broadly and exposing a chipped front tooth. "Generally I study bird habitats for the Upland Openings Program, but rumors of a large carnivorous animal in the area piqued my curiosity. Rick was kind enough to let me tag along." She wore her long blonde hair pulled back into a thick braid. Like Rick, she was dressed for the wilderness.

"I'm Fox Mulder. And this..." -- he gestured toward Scully, who stood not far away stooped over their car's open trunk -- "is my partner, Agent Dana Scully."

Scully gave a quick wave and continued pawing through the gear in the trunk. "Mulder, did you remember to bring matches?" she asked. "I don't want to relive the Apalachicola Forest incident."

"Got 'em, Scully." Patting his coat pocket, he gave Rick and Sheila an embarrassed smile.

"Have you two done much wilderness hiking?" Rick asked, taking in Mulder’s jeans and general purpose jacket.

Mulder nodded enthusiastically. "We love the outdoors."

"Good, you'll find Glastenbury is an easy climb." Rick pointed to the mountain. "We're gonna take Long Trail -- it runs twenty-two miles to the summit. I expect we'll be on the mountain two or three nights max, depending on how much exploring you need to do. We'll camp near Langer's Ledge, which is about two thirds of the way up."

“What can you tell me about the Ledge?"

“It’s a wide, granite outcrop on the mountain's western face. It's where Frieda Langer's body was discovered after she disappeared in 1950. Have you heard the story?"

"A few sketchy details.”

"Mulder?" Scully called, her voice sounding a bit desperate. She wrestled an enormous backpack from the trunk of the car to the ground. It was his -- she already wore her own.

Mulder hurried to grab the pack from her. He swung it onto his back and adjusted the shoulder straps. Although heavy, the load rested comfortably. He looped the pack's belt around his waist and fastened the clasp. "Ready," he announced when he saw Scully had already shut the trunk and stood waiting at the trailhead.

The well-worn trail snaked from the parking lot into a thick forest of oaks, birch, and firs. Sheila took the lead. Scully fell in line behind her, followed by Mulder. Rick brought up the rear. The slope was gradual at first, the ground damp and occasionally muddy. Low, dark clouds filled the sky and the sour smell of rotting vegetation blended with the sharper fragrance of pine and cedar. Jays screeched warnings overhead while small woodland animals scurried through the underbrush. Mosquitoes whined incessantly around the hikers' heads. Under the weight of their packs, all four quickly worked up a sweat, despite the cool, overcast morning.

The path soon grew steeper. Granite cobbles and tree roots served as natural footholds. Enormous evergreens veiled the view and blocked the chilly wind, isolating them from the outside world. Every now and again, Sheila would step to the trail's edge to hold a low-hanging branch out of the others' way. She pointed out mud puddles, loose gravel, and slippery stones. "Watch your step.”

*      *      *

At midday, Rick paused to announce they were about halfway to Langer’s Ledge and to ask if Scully and Mulder wanted to stop for a rest.

"I'm doing fine," Mulder said and looked to Scully.

"I'm good." She was feeling no ill effects from yesterday’s procedure and was glad she’d decided not to take a day off and sit this investigation out.

“Alright then, let’s keep going.” Rick waved them on.

A dense layer of rust-colored needles muted their footfalls as they climbed. The chilly, moist air warned of an early winter. Mulder peppered Rick with questions. The Bennington Beast. Frieda Langer. Bone marrow. Lost hikers. Upended stagecoaches. Scully half-listened while she watched Sheila's long braid swing hypnotically back and forth with every step the younger woman took.  

"Agents, does the FBI usually get involved in cases like this?" Sheila asked over her shoulder, upsetting the rhythmic sway of her braid. "You know, where people are lost in the woods or attacked by wild animals?" 

"Not usually,” Scully answered. Deciding it would be best to withhold Mulder's theories about cryptids and interdimensional horizons, she added, "We're here to rule out the possibility of a kidnapping."

"What do you two think happened up there?” Mulder asked their guides. 

"My best guess is the victims were attacked by a large carnivorous animal, maybe a catamount,” Rick said. “Officially, there hasn't been a wildcat in Vermont since the 1920s, but people claim to see them from time to time. There were several sightings over the summer. Game Warden received five calls from Bennington County alone."

"That many?"

Rick laughed. "That's at least a dozen fewer than those who reported seeing the Bennington Beast. Glastenbury Mountain has quite a reputation, Agent Mulder. Ghosts, goblins, aliens from outer space -- you name it and somebody swears they've seen it."

“You don't say. You ever witnessed anything...um...out of the ordinary?” Mulder asked.

"Nah, I've been on this mountain at least a hundred times and I've yet to spot anything that couldn't be rationally explained. There are more than 27,000 acres of mountain wilderness on Glastenbury, Agent Mulder. In my opinion, people get lost, hurt or die here because they come unprepared. They fail to bring even the most basic survival gear. I guess they expect it to start raining Whopper Jr.'s when they get hungry."

"I heard it rained weenies and marshmallows in Florida once. Or maybe it was sleeping bags."

"That sounds as unlikely as ghosts, goblins, and the Bennington Beast, Agent Mulder.”

4:26 PM

"We'll camp here for the night," Rick said as they entered a clearing. He slid the pack from his back.

The others followed suit. Freed from his burden, Mulder stretched his arms and worked his shoulders. Scully handed him a bottle of water and warned him to stay hydrated. With a few thirsty gulps he drained the bottle.

"Agent Mulder?" Rick crouched over a bloodied patch of earth, summoning Mulder with the waggle of two fingers. Mulder joined him and squatted, too. "This is where Search and Rescue found Akins' hand."

"Nothing else was recovered?" Mulder glanced over his shoulder at the four hefty packs they had carried up the mountain.

"Not as far as I know."

"I guess we're looking for a catamount with a taste for pup tents and Evian." He waggled his empty water bottle.

"It is strange S&R didn't find more. The wildlife team was carrying a lot of equipment. Cameras, FLIR, GPS."

Mulder stood. "Can we go up to the Ledge now?"

A roll of thunder thrummed in the distance. Rick squinted at the darkening sky. "Storm's heading our way," he warned. "We should set up camp before it starts raining."

"Go explore," Sheila said, her pack unloaded and gear spread at her feet. "By the time you get back, I'll have the tents up and a fire going."

Rick accepted Sheila's offer with a nod. He rose to his feet. "Okay, agents, follow me. And watch your footing on the trail. It’s a long drop if you fall.”

He led them to a narrow path that hugged the face of the mountain. They hiked single-file, careful to stay clear of the near-vertical slope. A thickening fog swirled up from the valley below. Thunder rumbled and the sky momentarily flashed with distant lightning.

"It's not far," Rick said. "You can already see the Ledge up ahead."

He pointed to a crag of granite that protruded from the mountainside about fifty yards to the west. The Ledge was broad and empty, shrouded in mist, and nearly as gray as the sky.

"According to native legend, the Ledge is enchanted," Rick continued, as they picked their way around scabby catspruce, past mounds of pungent mint. Burdocks and beggar's ticks snagged their legs. "The four winds are said to meet there, making it a powerful place. The Indians believed the stone was magic and would swallow anyone who stepped on it. They avoided Glastenbury, claiming that not even the animals would come here."

"Interesting, considering...that." Mulder pointed to the overhang where two identical men stared back at them, their long silver-streaked hair billowing in the updraft. "Will the real John Meddie please stand up?"

Scully shouldered past Rick. "Let's go." She broke into a run.

Mulder sprinted after her. The twin men on the Ledge backed away and disappeared from view.

Mulder and Scully raced up the steep path. Each footfall sent loose gravel skittering over the hillside. At the bottom of the Ledge, they pulled up short, faced with a six-foot vertical wall of granite.

"I'll give you a boost," Mulder said and locked his fingers together.

Scully fitted her boot into his hands and he lifted her up the face of the stone wall. She hooked her elbows over the top. With another push from him, she was up. Finding a toehold, he hauled himself up after her.

The Ledge was empty. The mysterious men had disappeared.

"Where did they go?" Scully turned, looking in all directions.

The massive stone Ledge, smoothed by centuries of wind and rain, was about twenty feet wide and protruded from the mountain like an eagle's aerie. The back end was anchored in the forest. Mulder crossed to the trees and drew his gun. Scully positioned herself to one side, aiming her own weapon into the woods, covering his back. Another roll of thunder echoed across the mountaintops.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Mulder crooned in a sing-song voice before stepping into the evergreens.

Beneath the trees, it was dark and difficult to see. Mulder listened for footsteps or snapping twigs while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the shadows. The woods had gone unnaturally quiet. Not a bird cawed. Squirrels no longer rustled through the leaves. Even the mosquitoes had ceased buzzing. Total silence prickled the back of Mulder's neck and the sweat between his shoulders felt icy cold, rousing a rash of gooseflesh across his arms and legs.     

Keeping his gun held high, he proceeded into the gloom. Ten yards. Twenty. He was about to turn back when an unfamiliar noise brought him to a standstill. A snuffling sound. Wet and labored.

"Mulder? … Mulder!” Scully's voice punched through the boughs far behind him. The eerie noise died away.

Mulder ignored Scully's call. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his flashlight. Shining it into the woods, he searched for the source of the sound, but his beam revealed only more trees.

Arms rigid, flashlight gripped beneath the barrel of his gun, he edged around the thick trunk of an ancient pine.

What in hell...?

Four menacing eyes glowered at him, blinking against the beam of his flashlight.

*      *      *

"Mulder? Are you okay?" Scully called out from the Ledge behind him.

The four eyes vanished.

"Mulder?"

Mulder panned the forest with his flashlight. The beam exposed crooked branches and black tree trunks but no sign of the two men who looked like Meddie or the pale, glowing eyes. Taking a few steps deeper into the forest, Mulder probed the dark with his light.

Nothing.

Damn it. He was certain someone or something had been looking out at him. Not quite ready to give up his search, he continued on. Six paces. A dozen.

There was no one. Nothing at all.

"Mulder?"

"Coming." He took one final look around before retracing his steps.

Rick was waiting with Scully on the Ledge when Mulder emerged from the trees. It had begun to rain in earnest. Lightning sizzled in the clouds, closer than before.

"What did you see?" Scully asked Mulder.

"I'm not sure. It was dark."

"And it's getting darker," Rick warned. "We need to get back to camp."

Mulder was reluctant to go. John Meddie and his twin couldn't have gone far. He glanced again at the woods.

"Come on, Mulder." Scully tagged his arm. "We can come back in the morning."

"Okay." Reluctantly, he holstered his gun and pocketed his flashlight, then lowered himself over the side of the Ledge. When he stood firmly on the path below, Scully crouched and reached out to him. He steadied her, his hands gripping her waist to guide her as she slid down the granite to the ground. As soon as she got her feet under her, Rick scrambled down after them.

A bolt of lightning flashed overhead, followed quickly by a furious crack of thunder. It vibrated the ground and filled the thickening air with the heavy scent of ozone.

"That was close," Rick said, eyeballing the sky. "We'd better hurry." He led the way.

They made good time despite the rain and fog. Back at the campsite, Sheila's fire was a welcome sight. She had pitched two of the tents and the tidy bivouac appeared deceptively safe.

"Sheila?" Rick called.

A gust of wind whirled through the clearing, shaking the tents and causing the fire to crackle and snap.

"Sheila?" Rick called more loudly, his voice full of concern.

"I'll check the tents," Mulder said and poked his head into each. Both were empty. "She's not here."

"Where could she be?" Rick asked. He swiveled and shouted her name. "Sheila! Sheila!"

10:12 PM

Rick dropped another branch on the dying fire, bringing the flames back to life. Mulder and Scully stepped closer to warm their hands. After several hours of combing the woods in the cold and rain, they were exhausted and chilled to the bone. Finding no sign of Sheila, they had reluctantly given up for the night and returned to camp.

"You know what's strange?" Rick crouched beside the fire, his expression grim. His voice was hoarse from calling Sheila's name. "All this soft, wet ground and we didn't find a single track."

"She must have gone missing before it started to rain." Scully's hair hung in wet spirals. Water dripped from her nose.

"No, I mean we didn't see any tracks. No rabbit, coyote, deer."

"Would you expect animals to be moving around during a storm?" Mulder asked.

"Animals are always moving. Have you noticed we haven't heard so much as a bird chirp since we unloaded our gear?"

Mulder squatted and wiped rainwater from his chin with his wet sleeve. Shivering, he tugged his jacket more tightly around himself. "Fits with the legend." 

Rick scowled, clearly not in the mood for legends. "Langer's Ledge is not enchanted."

"I'm inclined to agree with you. I think what we're looking at is a real physical phenomenon, a gravitational anomaly, not something mystical."

"Mulder, I think we're all too tired for this." Scully moved to stand behind him and laid a palm on his shoulder.

"They exist, Scully." He looked up at her. "The Oregon Vortex in Gold Hill, the Mystery Spot in Santa Cruz, California, Spook Hill in Lake Wales, Florida, the Wonder Spot in Lake Delton, Wisconsin."

"The Wonder Spot?" Scully hunkered beside him. "Sounds like something discovered by Masters and Johnson."

He offered her a quick smile, which encouraged her to say, "Go ahead, Mulder -- what are gravitational anomalies?"

"They're places where high concentrations of energy cause magnetic disturbances. Animals won't cross them. Things inside them defy gravity. Balls roll uphill. Light bends. People grow and shrink."

"Mulder..."

"The vortex in Oregon is more than 165-feet wide, Scully. Witnesses claim to have seen all those things there. Some believe the Bermuda Triangle is just such a vortex, explaining the unsolved disappearances there.”

He’d experienced that one first hand not so long ago.

Rick rose to pace at the outer edge of the fire’s light. "Mythical beasts. Indian legends. Vortexes. This is bullshit. Sitting around the fire telling fairytales won't help us find Sheila."

"There's nothing more we can do tonight," Scully said gently.

Rick turned his back to the fire and bellowed into the woods, "SHEEEEEILAAAAA!"

Scully stood and went to him. "We can't help Sheila if we're exhausted. We should try to get some sleep."

Rick continued to stare into the woods. After a moment, his shoulders slumped and he nodded.

"I'll take the first watch," Mulder volunteered.

"I'll spell you," Rick said, and turned toward his tent. "Wake me in three hours."

1:12 PM

A blast of rain and wind followed Mulder into the tent, stirring Scully from sleep.

"Sorry." He zipped the flap shut behind him.

She curled deeper into her sleeping bag. "Whattimezit?"

"One o'clock. Rick's on watch. You have another three hours."

He saw then that she had zipped their sleeping bags together. "You have plans for us, Scully?"

"You're the one who brought only one tent."

"Oops. Must've put it in my other backpack." He hadn't seen the need to carry two when they could easily fit into one. And it wasn't as if they'd never shared a room before. He sat down beside her and removed his coat and boots. "I remembered to unplug the coffeemaker before we left though."

Feeling chilled, he considered sleeping in his clothes, but his jeans were drenched from the knees down and rain had leaked into his coat, soaking his shirt. He took off his guns and tucked them under the sleeping bag within easy reach. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Scully" -- he wriggled out of his wet pants -- "but I believe Bureau policy advises against male and female agents consorting in motel rooms while on assignment." He peeled off one damp sock at a time and tossed them to the back of the tent. "This isn't a motel room," -- he yanked his shirt over his head and lobbed it in the direction of his socks -- "and we aren't consorting." Stripped down to his boxers, he slid into the sleeping bag beside her.

“Jesus, Mulder, you’re cold." She edged away. "And wet."

"Warm me." He snaked an arm around her and buried his nose in her neck.

"Dammit, Mulder." Her protest carried no real annoyance. She settled into his embrace. “See anything out there?"

"A guy building an ark. I booked us reservations."

Predictably, she ignored his joke. "Is Rick okay?"

"Mmm."

They were quiet for a moment, listening to the rain lash against the tent.

"Meddie's involved," Mulder said at last. "I think he and his doppelgängers are harvesting bone marrow."

"For what purpose?"

"We've seen this kind of thing before. Samuel Aboah, Virgil Incanto, Eugene Victor Tooms, Leonard Betts, Rob Roberts. Pick a body part, and we've met a mutant who feeds on it.”

“So now Meddie is a mutant?”

“You said yourself that bone marrow contains stem cells -- cells that can be used to create other cell types, even entire organs."

"Yes, but those cells are engineered in a lab."

"Maybe Meddie's metabolism allows him do the same thing, in vivo."

“Mulder...”

“You have to admit Meddie and his ‘brothers’ are unusual. How common are identical quadruplets?"

"In the absence of fertility treatments, about one in 700,000. They're rare but they aren't mutants." Unexpectedly, she chuckled.

“What’s funny?" he asked.

"You."

"Me?"

"Or us, maybe. We're like some sort of mutant magnets."

"You're admitting Meddie and his spooky siblings are mutants?"

"No, I'm admitting they’re unusual."

"Mu-tah-to, mu-tay-to." He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on her. "As soon as it's daylight, I want to go back to the Ledge. If we're going to find Sheila, we'll find her there.”

The next couple of minutes passed in silence. Mulder felt himself begin to drift off to sleep.

“Mulder?”

“Hm?”

“Speaking of fertility treatments...”

Mulder was instantly awake. Was she finally going to talk about her appointment with Parenti? Thank you, Jesus! “Yes?”

“I had a sonohysterography exam. Everything looked fine.”

He didn’t know what was that was and decided not to ask for details, lest she clam up. Instead, he said, “I’m glad you’re okay.” He risked stroking her arm.

“More than okay.” She snuggled against him, which delighted him no end. “Dr. Parenti said he was going to start the fertilization process this morning.”

Mulder pulled back to look at her. “This morning?”

“Yes...uh, wait, what time is it?”

“After 1:00.”

“Then technically, yesterday morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this back in the office? Or last night at the motel? Or today on the trail?”

“Because you were caught up the case and I wasn’t sure if you were really all that interested--”

“Of course, I’m interested, Scully. In the future, please don’t keep anything from me.”

“Okay. I won’t. I’m sorry."

Appeased, he settled back against her. “So, my...uh, my boys passed muster?”

She chuckled again and tucked her head against his shoulder. “They did.”

“Does that mean they’re backstroking around your ova in petri dishes as we speak?”

“The lucky ones may have already attached themselves to the zona pellucida.”

“The what?”

“The eggs’ outer membranes.”

He nodded. “Then what happens?” He wanted all the details.

“The sperm’s acrosome releases enzymes that help it digest the zona pellucida and reach the egg's plasma membrane. Then the sperm and egg fuse, which triggers a signal in the egg to release enzymes that alter the membrane and prevent other sperm from fusing with the egg.”

“Territorial little guys, huh?”

“Survival of the fittest, Mulder. The strongest and fastest win the prize.”

He wondered if the victors felt any sort of pride in their accomplishment. “What happens after that?”

“The sperm and egg's haploid pronuclei align on a mitotic spindle, which initiates the zygote's first division.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“The cell divides.”

Mulder pictured it. Male and female cells converging and sparking the start of a new life. Like magic. They’d divide again, following an ancient set of instructions, creating something altogether new. It was miraculous in general but especially for Scully and him.

“How long does all this take? Before there’s an embryo ready for implantation?” He hoped his questions weren’t overstepping. He didn’t want her to stop talking.

“About a week.”

“Only a week? You could be carrying our child by next Wednesday?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she warned. “It’s possible fertilization won’t occur and there won’t be any embryos to implant.”

He bristled at the prospect. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. We shouldn’t set our hopes too high.”

Mulder understood that hope could be a tenuous thing, battered as it was by the fickle, katabatibc winds of chance. But he wasn’t one to surrender too soon or too easily. He preferred to plant his flag beyond the point of reason, at that far-off locus where extreme possibility intersected with improbability.

He swept a loose strand of her hair away from her cheek and tucked it behind her ear. “Well, you do you and I’ll do me, Scully. I happen to believe in miracles. My hopes are orbiting the Earth like a UFO in the exosphere and I plan to keep them sky high."

6:06 AM

"Mulder?" Scully sat up and unzipped the sleeping bags. A rising sun colored the tent in fiery shades of orange. The rain had stopped. And it was late. Why the hell hadn't Rick woken her up? She shook Mulder's shoulder.

He lay on his side, face buried in the crook of one arm.

"Mulder," she said more urgently. His eyes opened. "Get up. It's after six."

"Six? Why...why are you still in bed?" He sat up and scrubbed his face with his palms.

She fumbled through her backpack for fresh clothes. "Rick never woke me. Something must be wrong."

"Maybe he fell asleep," he said, sounding like he didn’t really believe it. He reached for yesterday's shirt.

They dressed quickly and scrambled from the tent. The sky was clear and the early morning sun glistened on the dripping evergreens. No smoke rose from the now sodden firepit.

"Rick?" Scully called. "Riiiiick!"

Mulder checked the other tent. "He's not here, Scully."

"Dammit. I feel as if we're trapped in a remake of 'Ten Little Indians.'"

"'And then there were two.'"

"Don't leave my sight, Mulder."

"That's one thing you don't have to worry about. Come on, let's check the Ledge."

They retraced their steps from the previous evening, following the narrow cliff trail up the steep incline. The air was cool and still. Mosquitoes pestered them, gathering in buzzing clouds around their heads. Driven by the biting insects and their concern for Rick, they made good time. After only a few minutes, the Ledge loomed into view, stark and empty against the clear morning sky.

"Doesn't look any friendlier in the morning," Mulder said.

He led the way to the crag. Once there, he again boosted Scully up and onto the granite shelf, then pulled himself up after her.

Looking down at the valley, Mulder felt as if he stood on a primeval stage. The broad, ancient stone jutted out from Glastenbury's west face and the range of Green Mountains stretched away from it like a blue-green washboard as far as the eye could see. Clouds, flat-bottomed and gray as tin, gathered over the most distant peaks. It was eerily quiet. The mosquitoes had vanished. Nothing moved in the underbrush. Not a bird flitted among the evergreen branches. Their isolation and vulnerability prickled the skin on the back of his neck.

"Mulder?" Scully faced the trees, weapon in hand. She nodded toward a snarl of ferns at the forest's edge. Sheila's long blond braid, stained with blood, peeked out from the greenery.

Scully crossed the Ledge and parted the ferns. "Damn it," she cursed. Sheila's head lay on the ground with its eyes shut and mouth gaping. The neck appeared to have been severed by a knife or saw. Fresh blood matted the dead woman's hair and mottled her face. Scully glanced over her shoulder at Mulder.

He put a finger to his lips and tilted his head toward the trees. She nodded and took the lead, stepping through the evergreen boughs. Mulder followed, a brooding uneasiness traveling up his spine when the branches closed behind him.

Despite the clear weather and rising sun, it was dark as night beneath the trees. The air smelled pungent and sour. A few paces ahead, Scully stopped and aimed her gun at the base of an ancient pine.

Mulder stopped, too, when he heard it -- the snuffling noise, the same sound he'd heard last night. What the hell was that?

Scully took a cautious step forward. "Oh, my God," she gasped, her gun wavering. "Mulder?"

He moved in behind her, but even at close range, he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at.

It was a man. Sort of. Or two men. Naked and conjoined, they...it lay on the ground, snuffling through two disfigured noses, its chest heaving for want of air. Its massive head lolled on a too thin neck; its four nearly colorless eyes stared listlessly at nothing. It had four arms and four legs. A single split torso. A feeble bleat squeaked from one of its two misshapen mouths.

Scully holstered her gun and knelt beside it.

"Scully, maybe you shouldn't touch--"

She ignored his warning and placed her fingers on its neck. "Pulse is thready. I think..."

For a moment, the creature seemed to focus on her, but then its four pale, frightened eyes rolled upward beneath fluttering lids.

"It's dying," Scully said. "Call MediVac. Have them send a chopper."

Mulder dug his cellphone from his pocket. "Uh, Scully...?"

She looked up at him. "What is it?"

He pointed to the ground. Next to the creature, a woman's hiking boot lay overturned on its side. A broken bone protruded from the boot. The splintered tibia was as hollow as a straw, emptied of every trace of bone marrow.

BENNINGTON COUNTY MORGUE
8:14 PM

"What did you find out about our Bennington Beast?" Mulder stood at the morgue door, leaning against the frame with his jacket draped over one arm. Pine pitch blackened his hands. Mud spattered his jeans from the knees down. He had stayed behind on Glastenbury to help Search and Rescue locate Rick Whidden, while Scully accompanied the dying creature to Bennington Memorial Hospital via helicopter. The S&R Team came up empty handed. Thunderstorms and fog had moved in an hour ago, suspending the search until morning -- assuming the weather cleared.

The creature hadn't made it to the hospital alive. Now its corpse lay on an autopsy table, split down the middle by Scully's Y-incision. "That would be plural," she said, her hands thrust into the chest cavity.

"Beasts?" He came closer, looked into the open chest, and winced at the gore.

“Mm-hm. This is definitely more than one person."

"Twins?"

"Not like any I've ever seen or read about." She pointed a gloved finger at the body. "There are duplicate organs -- two hearts, livers, stomachs -- but they're conjoined in ways that are...impossible." She ran her finger along a large bluish vein that connected two sets of lungs. "See this pulmonary vein? It should return arterial blood from the lung to the left auricle of the heart, but it doesn't. It connects to its twin’s lung instead."

"Maybe that's why it...they...died."

"What I can't figure out is how they survived in the first place. They have no workable systems -- circulatory, digestive, or anything else."

"That's not all they don't have." Mulder pointed to the lower half of the body where four legs sprouted from a single pelvis.

"Exactly. No genitalia. No reproductive organs of any kind. No prostate, testes, uterus, ovaries."

"So is this a girl mutant or a boy mutant?"

"Let me show you something." She stripped off her gloves and crossed the room to a cluttered counter. Shuffling through a stack of reports, she retrieved a PCR film and held it up for him to see.

"What am I looking at, Scully?"

"The genetic makeup of your Beast. It has nearly twice as many chromosomal pairs as you or I do, but there's not an X or a Y in the bunch."

"How is that possible?"

"It's not." She tossed the film onto the counter.

Mulder returned to the autopsy table. He studied the creature's head, its oversized cranium, the two mouths, the four opened eyes. Pale blue-white irises stared dully back at him.

"Scully, is this sort of genetic abnormality inherited? Certain birth defects run in families, right? Like we saw with the Peacock family?”

"There is one aspect of this case I can state with certainty, Mulder: this anomaly was not a birth defect, not in any literal definition of the term." She crossed the room to the corpse and donned a new pair of gloves. "This creature was not born by conventional means." She folded the flap of abdominal skin back into place. "As you can see, it possesses no umbilicus."

"The plot thickens."

"More than you know. I had the stomach contents analyzed."

"Let me guess. Human bone marrow."

"That's right. And I'll bet you a week's pay the lab tests are going to show the marrow is Sheila Baxter's."

"No bet. Put this mutant on ice, Scully." Mulder shrugged into his coat.

"Where are we going?"

"Two words: Meddie's Museum."

MEDDIE'S MUSEUM
9:02 PM

Mulder pulled into the gravel lot and parked beside a Jeep Cherokee with Alaskan plates. It was one of several cars at the museum, though the building was dark and a closed sign hung in the front window.

"What do you suppose is going on down there?" Scully asked, nodding toward a dim glow from a basement window at the far end of the building.

“Pampered Chef cooking demo?" Mulder shut off the engine.

“I hope not. Let’s go have a look.”

They exited the car and jogged toward the light. The window was small and low to the ground. Dust and cobwebs clouded the glass. They crouched to get a better view.

At first, the basement appeared to be empty, but then Mulder caught sight of someone in a back corner. John Meddie -- or one of his lookalikes -- stood at a table butchering flesh from what appeared to be a human leg. A single bulb hung from the ceiling above his head, draped with cobwebs and casting a dim circle of light on the gory scene. Rick Whidden's bloody Gortex jacket hung on a chair nearby.

"Two words," Scully whispered.

"Probable cause,” he mouthed back.

They rose to their feet but when they turned to make their way inside, they came face to face with two more men who looked exactly like John Meddie. Both held shotguns aimed at the agents' chests.

"Just in time for dinner," said the doppelgänger who carried a Remington, his blue-white eyes bright in the dark. "How convenient. Put your hands where we can see them."

Mulder and Scully reluctantly raised their hands. The man’s twin, armed with a Browning, gathered Mulder's sidearm and the SIG Scully carried at the small of her back. Pocketing the two handguns, he motioned them to the front of the building with a wave of his gun barrel.

"Which one of you is John?" Mulder asked.

"Neither of us," said the man with the Remington.

"It's polite to introduce yourselves when you kidnap someone at gunpoint."

Mulder's smart remark earned him a jab between the shoulder blades with the Browning.

"Shut up. Get inside."

They entered the museum through the front door, which one of the brothers then locked behind them. The twins marched them through the display area, past the insects, the catamount, the bones of the Bennington Beast.

"What's the connection," Mulder asked, glancing at the skull as they passed it, "between you and the creature we found in the woods today?"

The men remained silent as they herded the agents to the back of the museum where a narrow set of stairs led down to the basement. The door was open and light bled up from the room below.

"Did you feed it Sheila Baxter's bone marrow?" Mulder asked. "Do you plan to chop us up, too?" He turned to look directly into the men's pale eyes.

The man with the Remington responded by driving the butt of his gun into Mulder's temple, toppling him.

Mulder clutched for the stair rail but missed and lost his balance. His stomach lurched when he dropped into the open stairwell. He tumbled to the bottom of the steps where his head hit the concrete floor. Pain exploded behind his eyes. His vision blurred. He struggled to call Scully’s name before losing consciousness.

*      *      *

"Mulder!" Scully lunged for the stairs but was brought up short when the man with the Browning grabbed her upper arm.

"Let me go!" She struggled and threw a left punch that clipped her attacker’s nose. The blow knocked him back several steps. He lost his grip on her. She tried to run to Mulder, but was halted once again when the barrel of the Remington speared her in the ribs.

"Walk...slowly," the man said, pressing the gun to her spine.

She did as she was told and descended the stairs. At the bottom she watched two more men who looked like Meddie snag Mulder under the arms and drag him across the room. They dumped him on the floor beside the table where a fifth and sixth man worked, cleaning flesh from bone. Jesus, all these men looked like Meddie. They all had the same thin, lined face, the same long silver-streaked hair, and they stared at her with the same pale blue-white eyes.

"Agent Scully," said one of the men at the table. He held a bloody cleaver in one hand and a human femur in the other. She guessed he was the original John Meddie they’d met in the museum two days ago. "Have a seat," he invited. His voice was neither cordial nor malicious. In fact, his tone was so neutral, and the circumstances so extreme -- the blood on his hands, the bones on the table, Mulder unconscious on the floor, not to mention six identical men watching her from various locations around the room -- it made Scully feel off balance, as if she were having a nightmare and would wake up at any moment to find herself back at the Fife 'N' Drum, or better yet, in her apartment--

"I said sit," Meddie repeated, his voice firm.

The man with the Browning grabbed her arm and yanked her over to the straight-backed chair where Rick Whidden's jacket hung. He forced her to sit. Mulder lay a few feet away, unmoving. Blood trickled from his brow.

"Let me go to him," Scully said.

Ignoring her, the man with the Browning said, ”It's time.” He appeared suddenly dizzy or disoriented. Staggering a bit, he handed his shotgun to the man with the Remington, who set the 12-gauge on the stairs.

"It's starting." John Meddie put down his knife and stepped forward to help lower the unsteady man to a sitting position on the floor. The man’s skin had taken on a sickly pallor, bluish and sweaty. He began to pant. He stretched out onto his back.

"What's happening?" Scully demanded. "I'm a doctor. I can help."

"There's nothing for you to do," Meddie told Scully. He knelt beside the prone man and stroked his arm, soothing him. "Usually, we do this in private, on the mountain, away from prying eyes. But you and your partner have made that impossible tonight. State Police, Search and Rescue, other nosey do-gooders, like yourself...and him." Meddie's pale eyes fastened on Mulder. "You've brought danger to the Nest. We'll have to make do here."

The man on the floor groaned. The others gathered around him -- all but the one who aimed his Remington at Scully. They removed the sick man's shoes, his shirt. They unbuckled his belt, tugged his pants from his legs. When he lay naked on the floor, Scully saw he had no navel, no genitalia, like the corpse in the morgue. A deepening trench notched the man's torso, striping him from suprasternal notch to pubic bone. Another trough divided each leg. Gutters formed along each finger, furrowed each toe. His flesh ballooned around the indentations. He moaned again.

Scully watched, astonished, as the man's arms dimpled lengthwise, and then split. Two arms separated into four. Ten fingers became twenty. Jesus, he was dividing! Mitotic reproduction, like a single-celled organism, only on an unimaginable scale.

The man's head expanded. His distorted face stretched to accommodate the impossible formation of four eyes, two mouths, and two snuffling noses. Air rattled in and out of his wet lungs, unable to supply oxygenated blood to new organs.

He...they...gasped. Flailed. They were suffocating, just like the creature Scully had brought down from the mountain.

"Quickly," Meddie said. He motioned to one of the others who hurried to the cutting table and gathered several long bones. Two of each: femur, tibia, ulna, humerus. Several scythe-shaped ribs. Rick Whidden's bones.

One man handed Meddie a long femur. Holding the bone in his fists, Meddie brought it down hard against his thigh and cracked it in two. The creature whimpered at the sound. Meddie gently offered the bone to it, holding the shattered ends up to each of the thing's begging mouths. It sucked greedily. Yellowish marrow leaked from the creature's lips as it drank. Scully knew the marrow contained fat and fluid filled with vessels, fibrous tissue, and cells. Leukocytes, erythrocytes, stem cells. Undifferentiated stem cells that could be used to generate new, specialized cells, new organs.

That was it. Exactly as Mulder had suspected. The creature needed stem cells to replicate itself.

Meddie cooed like a mother to her newborn while he nourished the creature, feeding it one bone after the next. The other men stood in a circle around them, concern written on their faces.

Finally no bone marrow remained. The creature had consumed it all and wanted more. Mitosis was incomplete. The twins remained locked to each other, not entirely divided.

Meddie looked over his shoulder at Mulder.

"No!" Scully shouted, and rose from the chair. "Don't you dare touch him!"

She made a dash for the Browning on the stairs. Before she could reach it, the man with the Remington swung his shotgun at her like a baseball bat and struck her in the neck below her ear. The impact sent her sprawling. She landed face down beside Mulder, her head near his feet. The sharp pain in her ear brought tears to her eyes. She blinked to clear her vision and Mulder's ankle holster came into focus, peeking out from beneath the mud-spattered hem of his jeans.

"Chop them up," Meddie ordered. 

Three of the men crossed to the cutting table to sort through the knives. The fused creature whimpered and writhed on the floor. 

“Hurry,” Meddie urged. 

When the creature let out an earsplitting, anguished cry, the man with the Remington turned his attention away from Scully. 

It was just the distraction she needed. She grabbed for Mulder's Walther PPK, slipped it from its holster. In one quick motion, she sat up and aimed the weapon at the man with the Remington. 

"Drop it!" she shouted. 

The gunman turned to face her, his pale eyes rounding with surprise. 

"Do it! Now!" she demanded.

He pinned her with a hate-filled stare. His eyes cut to the creature on the floor and back to Scully. When the creature groaned again, the gunman aimed his barrel at Scully.

She didn’t hesitate; her response was automatic, as instinctual as her impulse to protect Mulder. She fired a blast into the gunman’s arm. Her aim was precise, piercing the biceps brachii muscle, exactly where she intended. The jolt knocked him back. Blood sprayed from the exit wound. He clutched at his injury and the shotgun clattered to the floor.    

Scully rose up on shaky legs and kicked the fallen gun away from the man’s feet. "All of you, against the far wall. Leave the knives on the table."

Meddie glanced at the Browning on the stairs.

"Don't even think about it, Meddie. I will shoot you."

He offered her a desperate look, his nearly colorless eyes grieving for the creature that lay dying on the floor. She met his gaze, her weapon steady. Finally, he nodded, surrendering, and walked to the wall. The others followed him. 

She retrieved both the Remington and the Browning, then stood between Mulder and the five identical men. The only sound in the room came from the creature, snuffling as it labored to breathe. Scully slid her cellphone from her jacket pocket and dialed 911.

MOUNTAIN VALLEY DINER
7:36 AM

"What happened to you?" Candy gaped at Mulder's black eye. She carried two cups of coffee, one regular and one decaf, which she placed on the table.

"Mosquito bite."

"Really? Wow. You should stay outta the woods, mister."

"Good advice."

Candy took out her pad and pen. "You want the number three again this morning?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“And you, ma’am?”

“Make it a double order," Scully said. "I'm starving."

Mulder smiled and nodded. "Two number threes."

"Okeydoke," the waitress said and headed back to the kitchen.

Scully sipped her decaf while Mulder dug into his pocket and withdrew the creased museum brochure. He laid it on the table between them and tapped the photo of the Bennington Beast. "You saw it, Scully. You witnessed an X-File...without me." He sounded envious, but pleased. “That’s gotta be a first."

"I'm not convinced it was an X-File, Mulder."

"A man split in two right in front of you."

"He didn't split entirely."

"Now you are splitting hairs."

"I'm pretty sure the process can be explained in scientific terms--"

"He had no genitals--

"--recent experiments indicate that stem cells can be stimulated to transform into specialized cells given a suitable environment--"

"--or a belly button."

"--so it follows that Meddie and his brothers may have developed the capacity to use stem cells to generate new organs, even entire bodies...at least...that's what I plan to write in my report."

"Why can't you admit this was an X-File and you saw it?"

"Mulder, there were no interdimensional horizons, no enchanted stones, no vortices, and no Bennington Beast."

"No?"

"No. The 'creature' was not a cryptid or an evolutionary throwback. It was a...a..."

"Mutant?"

"I don't care much for that term."

"I bet not." He smiled at her. "Tell me again how you saved my ass."

"Mulder..."

"Tell it. I love a happy ending."

She leaned an elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand. "For the millionth time, I grabbed your gun, they surrendered, I called 911."

"Hmm. It's lost something since the first time you told it." He took a sip of his coffee. "I'm surprised they didn't try harder to save themselves. They outnumbered you five to one."

"What part of 'I grabbed your gun' didn’t you hear?" She pointed her finger at him and pretended to fire a bullet into his heart. He lurched back in the booth and clutched his chest, making her smile. "The ultimate equalizer," she said, blowing across her finger as if she blew smoke from a gun barrel. "The creature was dying, Mulder, and they knew it. Better to save themselves and reproduce later. They're survivors."

He leaned forward and studied the Beast's photo. "Why did the creature die?"

"I'm guessing it needed more stem cells to complete the process. Meddie was practically drooling over your long, lanky limbs."

"So there is an evolutionary advantage to those short little legs of yours."

He reached across the table and poked her arm just as Candy arrived with their breakfast. Eggs, bacon, homefries, Texas toast, and two sides of baked beans, "on the house." Scully picked up her fork and began to dig in even before Candy asked, "Will that be all?"

"We're fine," Mulder answered. "For now."

With another "okeydoke" Candy left them on their own to enjoy their breakfast.

"Meddie called the Ledge their 'nest,'" Scully said, once Candy was out of earshot.

"I have a theory about that if you're interested in hearing it."

"Always."

"I'm thinking this case is a 'double' X-File." He draped his napkin across his lap.

Scully studied her fried eggs. "Look, a double yolk." She tipped her plate so he could see. He acknowledged the irony with a nod of his head. "Why a 'double' X-File, Mulder?" she asked, and scooped a bite of egg into her mouth.

"Number one," -- he held up his fork in his left hand -- "the creature's unique physiology: its ability to reproduce asexually, dividing like an amoeba into two new identical organisms. Number two," -- he held up his knife in his right -- "the geological anomaly of Glastenbury Mountain, specifically Langer's Ledge. Like the Oregon Vortex, Spook Hill, and the Wonder Spot, I suspect the Ledge is a nexus of concentrated energy -- what the Indians called the 'meeting place of the four winds.' The stone's abnormal magnetic properties would guarantee Meddie's clan plenty of privacy, keeping away animals and people, making the Ledge the perfect place to procreate. I think Meddie and his progenitors have been using the location as a safe, secluded maternity ward for centuries, returning every fifty years when it’s time to reproduce, the same way a salmon returns to the stream where it was spawned."

“That would explain the cars in the museum's parking lot--“

“Yes, Meddie's brothers traveled from far and wide to be in the Bennington Triangle at this exact time to propagate their species.”

Scully took a bite of toast and marveled at Mulder’s seemingly limitless enthusiasm for bizarre and bewildering phenomena. “Don’t you find it odd that Meddie put the skull of one of his own...uh, family members...on display in the museum?”

“I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe they don’t feel kinship with their relatives the same as we do. Or the opposite could be true and they revere them, so gave the remains pride of place. Alternatively, it might simply have been a way to draw visitors to the museum and by extension to the mountain, where Meddie and his kin could feed on them.”  

“A marketing tool?”

“Of sorts, luring potential victims to their deaths.”

“That assumes the general public is interested in mutants and urban legends.”

“That’s pretty much a given, Scully. The Loch Ness Monster, the Alaskan Kushtaka, the Hawaiian huaka'i pō, the Rougarou of—“

“No need to list them all, Mulder. I take your point.”

“At any rate, they may have inadvertently brought about their own extinction.”

"Why do you say that?"

"Given the increased number of tourists and outdoor enthusiasts who hike Glastenbury each year, it would be impossible for the clan to keep killing victims while hiding the murders. It's like you said a couple of days ago, Scully -- survival of the fittest presupposes the clan's failure. They were competing against the modern American sightseer for territory. The mutants were bound to lose eventually."

"Well, they're all in jail now. Without access to human bone marrow, they won't be able to replicate. The species will become extinct."

"Maybe not. There may be similar creatures reproducing at the Wonder Spot right now while you and I sit here enjoying breakfast and watching the world go by." He suddenly grinned. "Scully, what would you say to a side trip to Wisconsin?"

She set down her fork, reached across the table, and picked up the museum brochure. Looking Mulder squarely in the eye, she folded it in half and tucked it away in her pocket. "Two words, Mulder: case closed.”

He nodded and smiled, though she believed he had no intention of dropping the subject permanently. It would come up again, she was certain.

They ate in silence for awhile. Then, with his last strip of bacon poised halfway to his mouth, Mulder’s expression turned serious.

“Scully?”

He looked so solemn and earnest, she stopped eating to give him her full attention.

“What is it, Mulder?”

“Why did you choose me? To be your donor, I mean. Was it just...expediency?”

“No, of course not.” How could he think that?

“Then why?”

“You want me to list all your good qualities?”

“I’d kind of like that, yes.”

This brought a smile and a nod. “Okay, well, for a guy who believes in magic stepping stones, cursed winds, and interdimensional horizons, you’re surprisingly intelligent, capable, entertaining--”

“Entertaining?” He grimaced.

“Maybe ‘interesting’ would be more accurate. Never dull. Challenging? In a good way.”

“Challenging in a good way.” He chuffed a laugh. 

“Not to mention, you’re STD-free.”

“Well, the Bureau is pretty strict about wearing latex.”

She set down her fork and looked beyond his half-smile to the trepidation in his eyes and the nervous way he was mangling his paper napkin. “Do you seriously not know why I picked you?”

“I seriously don’t.” All trace of humor vanished. “I'm no prize, Scully. Nearsighted, colorblind, predisposed to alien encounters -- these aren't traits a woman usually looks for in a man.”

“But passion, perseverance, and bravery are.” She pulled a fresh napkin from the dispenser on the table and handed it to him. “Mulder, you went to Antartica for me. Antarctica! The literal ends of the Earth. You put your life on the line for me. And it wasn’t the first time. That counts for something.”

“Women. So easy to impress.” He placed the new napkin in his lap, but didn’t resume eating.

“Is there something else?” she asked. 

“Yes.” He leaned back, appearing both apprehensive and solemn. His eyes searched her face. He took a deep breath. “I-I want to be involved in our child’s life, Scully. All of it. Starting now...at conception.”

“Mulder--”

“No, hear me out. I want to take our child to see his or her first baseball game, teach them to drive stick. I want to help them with their homework, mark how much they grow each year on a wall, see them take their first steps and sink their first 3-pointer, hear their first cry and embarrass them with lame dad jokes when they bring their friends over. I want to be a father, Scully, a real father, who’s present in their lives, everyday. Who will love them no matter what because...because they’re ours, yours and mine. Can I...is it alright with you...if I do that?”

Scully’s throat tightened and tears filled her eyes. “I-I didn’t realize that’s what you wanted.”

“I do. More than anything. This child may have started out as your dream, but it’s mine now, too. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course.” She reached across the table. He dropped the slice of bacon onto his plate and took hold of her hand, smearing her fingers with grease.

“I don’t know how good I’ll be as a dad,” he said, his expression apologetic, “my role models were less than stellar--“

“To say the least.”

“But I promise to try my best.” He offered her a sincere smile.

“You’ll do fine, Mulder.”

It must’ve been exactly what he wanted to hear because now he was beaming. He released her hand and finished his bacon in two bites. “Whatever you’re thinking in regards to how we co-parent, I’m okay with it.”

What did she want? She’d been assuming all along that a traditional family was out of the question. She was prepared to be a single mom, raising her child on her own. She hadn’t allowed herself to imagine Mulder in her plans because she thought he didn’t want to be included. Yet here he was saying just the opposite.

When he’d said “I just wouldn't want this to come between us,” she thought she understood. Like him, she had worried they might lose all that they had together. It hadn’t occurred to her that a change in the status quo might actually be for the better.

“We’ll figure it out, Mulder.”

And the time to start was right now, she decided. She wiped her hands on her napkin and pushed away her empty plate. “If all goes well and there are viable embryos, do you...would you like to go with me for the implantation?”

“Do mutants procreate in the woods? Of course I want to go!”

She rose from the table and he did, too. He helped her on with her coat before shrugging into his own. When he went to the cash register to pay, she found herself staring after him. His confession was an unexpected revelation. Unexpected but welcome. He was all in. It surprised her how pleased that made her feel.

He held the door open for her on their way out. “Is it too early to be picking out names?” he asked as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Yes.” She headed for their car.

“I like Elvis for a boy. Or a girl.” He tagged her arm. “What do you think?”

“Two words, Mulder: you’re crazy.”

“Hey, that’s three words linked together with an apostrophe. No contractions.”

She glared up at him. “You want to come to the implantation or not?”

“I’ll shut up now.”

“Good thinking.”

“See, now that’s two words.” He grabbed her hand and dovetailed his fingers with hers. He swung their arms as they walked.

She was grateful for his presence. Whether the IVF worked or not, she had him to lean on. He was there for her as he’d always been, and yet their relationship seemed recast, their connection more profound and resilient than before. They stood on the cusp of a deeper commitment: an uncharted but lasting future together. She was seeing Mulder in a new light. More than a partner and a friend. So much more, she suddenly couldn’t imagine herself with anyone else. Delighted by this promising shift, she squeezed his hand and allowed her heart to fully open to new possibilities.

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