From: msnsc21@yahoo.com   
      
   Reimagined: IWTB   
   by ML   
      
   -x-   
      
   Chapter Six: Field Trip   
      
   A sharp jolt awakened Mulder from his uneasy sleep.  They were still   
   driving, must have been for some hours now.  His watch indicated it   
   was not long until sunrise, and he wondered where they were.   
      
   The excitement he'd felt at being involved in a case again had   
   dissipated somewhat with Scully's refusal to go along for the ride.   
   It was strange, being in the back seat of a car with a bunch of   
   strangers.  He was still a little unsure about the whole enterprise.   
   If the two agents in the front, and the ones following in the second   
   SUV, decided he was no longer necessary, they could just drop him out   
   of the car anywhere.  If this whole thing truly was nothing more than   
   a way to smoke him out, then he was more vulnerable now than he'd   
   ever been.  No gun, no cell phone, nothing but the coat on his back   
   and a wallet that probably still had his latest fake ID in it.  Worst   
   of all, no Scully to back him up.   
      
   Scully wouldn't have let him go if she'd felt there was any danger,   
   of that he was certain.  Still, he missed her.  Being on a case   
   without her just wasn't the same.   
      
   "Where are we?"  He heard the raspy voice of Father Joe ask from the   
   seat next to him.   
      
   Agent Whitney spoke.  "That's for you to tell us," she reminded him.   
      
   "I haven't a clue where we are," Father Joe admitted.   
      
   "That's okay," Mulder assured him.  "Everyone works differently.   
   Just take your time."   
      
   Father Joe gave him a sideways look.  "So what are you, the good cop?"   
      
   "I'm a non-cop, actually," Mulder said with a small smile.  He took   
   Monica Bannan's official FBI photo out of the folder and handed it to   
   him.   
      
   Father Joe studied it for a few moments, and handed it back.  "I   
   haven't the faintest idea who this girl is," he said.  "I don't know   
   what the connection is, I'm sorry."   
      
   "There's always something," Mulder said, "a connection of some kind,   
   however small."   
      
   "So you believe in this sort of thing?"  Father Joe asked, rather as   
   if he didn't believe himself.   
      
   "Let's just say, I want to believe," Mulder replied.  "I used to   
   investigate paranormal cases for the FBI.  It was a long time ago."   
   He turned to look out his window at the dim landscape.   
      
   "And his sister was abducted by E.T." Agent Drummy's sarcastic voice   
   broke through his reverie.   
      
   "Is that true?" asked Father Joe.   
      
   "It was a long time ago," Mulder repeated.   
      
   "Something you don't care to discuss?" the priest asked.   
      
   Mulder said nothing.   
      
   "She's dead, isn't she?"  Father Joe persisted.  "Your sister?"   
      
   Mulder turned and saw the compassion in Father Joe's eyes.  This was   
   no psychic intuition; Mulder knew he wore his heart on his sleeve.   
      
   He caught Agent Whitney's look in the rear view mirror.  He shook   
   his head very slightly, willing her not to say anything.  He could   
   see she was familiar with at least one version of the story, and   
   wondered which one it was.   
      
   Suddenly Father Joe's voice changed.  "We're here!"  He exclaimed.   
   "This is where she was taken!"   
      
   Mulder leaned between the seats and said, "I want him to see the   
   crime scene."  He caught a look between Agents Whitney and Drummy, as   
   Agent Drummy brought the car to a stop near a rustic house.   
      
   The house was one of half a dozen in a small enclave; far enough   
   apart to offer privacy but close enough for neighbors to feel   
   neighborly, if they were so inclined.  The sun was all the way up   
   now, but it had snowed in the night and all was fresh and pristine   
   around them.  No footsteps or tire tracks marred the snow, sparkling   
   in the sun.   
      
   Father Joe walked forward to the driveway of the house they'd   
   stopped near.  He looked around, puzzled.  "This isn't right," he   
   muttered to himself, and took another step or two forward.  Finally   
   he turned and said accusingly, "You brought me to the wrong house."   
      
   Mulder grinned at the disconcerted Agent Drummy and murmured,   
   "Pulled that one right out of his ass, didn't he?"   
      
   Father Joe was already on the move, and the others followed him,   
   though not too closely.  He walked without hesitating past another   
   house and headed for one not visible from the road, where the carport   
   was crisscrossed with crime scene tape.   
      
   Father Joe was already inside the carport by the time the others had   
   caught up to him.  With a nod, Dakota Whitney sent her partner after   
   him, while she stood outside with Mulder.   
      
   He raised his eyebrows at her.   
      
   Dakota shrugged.  "There were news crews out here, covering the   
   scene, pictures of the neighborhood -- he could've seen it on TV."   
      
   "Sure," Mulder agreed, "but why?  Why fabricate such an elaborate   
   story?"   
      
   "Expiation," she said.  "Forgiveness of his sins."   
      
   "Father Joe thinks he can fool God?"   
      
   "Not God.  He's written dozens of letters to the Vatican, pleading   
   reengagement with the church."   
      
   "Seems like a pretty far-fetched way to impress the Holy See."   
      
   "God's voice talking through a man?  That's been a winner a few   
   times," Dakota said as they followed the priest and Agent Drummy   
   through the carport and to the back of the house.   
      
   Mulder stopped.  "You still think he's involved somehow, don't you?'   
      
   "We do have to consider him a suspect, yes."   
      
   "Even though you've found nothing, no connection."   
      
   Maybe another agent would have bridled at this, considered it a   
   criticism, but Dakota Whitney smiled.  "My guys are still looking,   
   believe me.  And they think they'll find something."   
      
   "But you're not so sure," Mulder persisted.  "Otherwise, why am I   
   here?"   
      
   She turned her wide blue eyes on him, and admitted, "Let's just say   
   I'm not the most popular girl at the FBI right now for calling you   
   in."   
      
   "Well, I wasn't exactly 'Miss Popularity' at the Bureau either.   
   Really, what do you think you can gain by calling me in?"   
      
   She said earnestly, "You've dealt with psychics before: Luther Lee   
   Boggs, Clyde Bruckman, Gerald Schnauz...I've read those cases.  The   
   work done there was extremely impressive."   
      
   "Thanks, but," he said, "I'm only half of the team."   
      
   "But it's your expertise I need," she insisted, giving him that look   
   again.   
      
   Flattery will get you nowhere, he thought.  I've been down that road   
   before.  He turned toward the field beyond the house, where Mosley   
   Drummy was watching Father Joe wander about.   
      
   Drummy said nothing, but Mulder could feel the disapproval coming   
   off him in waves.  It didn't take a psychic to know how he felt.   
      
   "This is a waste of time," he said to Dakota, ignoring Mulder   
   completely.   
      
   Mulder was about to argue his point again, when Father Joe stopped   
   in his tracks and fell to his knees.  Mulder ran toward him.  "Father   
   Joe?"   
      
   "It was here!"  Father Joe shouted hoarsely.  "Right here!"   
      
   The others moved to his side as quickly as the soft snow allowed them.   
      
   "She ran," Father Joe said in a pained voice, "but she couldn't get   
   away.  There were two men...he pushed her down...it happened right   
   here...they put her...they put her..."   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)