From: Katvictory57@aol.com   
      
   TITLE: This Could Be Heaven Or This Could Be Hell Post 3 of 6   
   AUTHOR: Katvictory   
   RATING: I'd go NC17. Some nasty words. Violence.   
   CATEGORY: X-File, Angst, Alternate Universe, MT   
   SPOILERS: Clear up to "The Unnatural."   
   SUMMARY: Set in the "Into The Mystic" universe. Mulder's and Scully's   
   manhunt for a body swapping serial killer leads them to El Cajon,   
   California and a whole lotta trouble.   
   DISCLAIMERS: You know the drill -- Mr. Carter owns these people. He   
   owns the universe where they live. I expect no money. The song lyrics   
   quoted by Mulder ad nauseam are from "Hotel California" by Eagles   
   Frye and Henley. The lyrics Mulder sings to Scully are from "Only The   
   Good Die Young" by Billy Joel. I offer these artists the same   
   assurances I do Mr. Carter. I make no claim of ownership and expect   
   no money.   
   THANK YOU: So many to thank: Roda93, Idigomuse & Mori who rolled up   
   their sleeves and got their hands dirty doing the hard part, making   
   me a little less ignorant. And again, to Amy, Indi, Mori, Rae,   
   Laurie -- special people who encourage, badger, read, edit, burp me,   
   change me, and are my friends. Thank you!   
   This story is dedicated to Wong and Morgan, El Cajon Valley High   
   School Class of 1979. That's what hooked me on X-Files, learning that   
   we all attended ECVHS. The El Cajon, CA portrayed in this story is   
   pure fantasy, memories of a misspent youth. No relation to any town,   
   living or dead.   
   FEEDBACK: Please! Katvictory57@aol.com   
   Katvictory ECVHS Class of 1975   
   Go Braves!!!   
   "Some Dance To Remember, Some Dance To Forget"   
   The soonest Scully could set up an appointment with the bishop's   
   representative was 9 a.m. the next morning when they were to meet   
   with a Monsignor Robert Kieran. Oddly enough, the monsignor requested   
   the meeting be held at their motel room. She agreed. That bit of   
   business done, the pair set about finding a spot to grab a bite to   
   eat.   
   The agents stopped at a small restaurant in a fifties-style strip   
   mall, down Second Street from the motel. The Boll Weevil was a little   
   hole in the wall, much closer to Mulder's taste than Scully's. Both   
   partners were surprised by the food, which was tasty, and the   
   service, which was friendly but non-intrusive. They took a table off   
   in a corner and waited for their barbecue burgers to arrive, sharing   
   a pitcher of iced tea between them. The topic of discussion was what   
   to do with the rest of the day until they could walk through the   
   murder scene, Ruby Letourneau's home.   
   The valley had been under a Santa Ana condition, a heat wave in which   
   temperatures stayed near 100 degrees, for a month. Short of leaving   
   town and heading for the cooler weather of the coast, there wasn't   
   much left to do in the sweltering suburb.   
   "Hey, we can always go visit Rocky," Mulder suggested, around his   
   first bite of the monster-sized burger.   
   "Whmm?" Scully's question was muffled by her mouthful, which she   
   hastily swallowed down with a sip of tea. "Who?"   
   "Scully, don't tell me you've forgotten Rocky? The late, great Jose   
   Chung stated in his last book, that Rocky settled in El Cajon. I   
   thought you read it?"   
   "I thought you didn't?" Scully replied, with a raised brow.   
   "Never mind," Mulder groused. "Why don't we just go back to the motel   
   and watch that movie you rented? That guy whose butt you like isn't   
   too bad an actor."   
   Scully was too busy eating to do anything but nod.   
      
   ****************   
      
   Ruby Letourneau's house on Wintergardens had been built in the early   
   thirties. The property had once been on the outskirts of town but   
   now, one burg in Southern California ran into another and the   
   dividing lines showed up nowhere except on maps. El Cajon ran into   
   Lakeside ran into Santee and so on throughout that part of the state.   
   The house was ramshackle, but Fox Mulder knew that with the price of   
   land in California, he was standing at a place that was worth half a   
   million dollars. It was hard to believe the poor widow who lay on the   
   slab at the coroner's office had spent her declining years pinching   
   every penny to survive on her Social Security. She had been living on   
   what was essentially a gold mine.   
   Dana Scully had preceded Mulder up the steps and had already broken   
   the yellow tape seal to gain entrance to the house. No one had   
   entered the residence for a month, except law enforcement and others   
   needing to investigate the murders. The thick fetid smell of the   
   crime that had been committed in the place was overpowering.   
   Upon getting a whiff of the sickly sweet, acrid odor Mulder quickly   
   switched to breathing through his mouth, but it was too late -- his   
   stomach rebelled and he fled back out to the porch to lose his lunch.   
   As he leaned over the side railing, spots appeared in front of his   
   eyes from the violent retching. He was secretly grateful that Scully   
   was the only person to see his weakness. He felt her cool hand on the   
   back of his neck and turned to see that she was offering him a   
   towelette. With a nod, he took it and wiped his face. The cool   
   moisture helped, and with a groan he pushed himself up, then sank   
   down to sit on the railing, fighting another wave of dizziness.   
   "Just take it slow, Mulder," Scully soothed, using another towelette   
   to wipe his brow.   
   "Just... It's been a while," he apologized, taking deep breaths,   
   trying to calm his quaking belly and ease the shakes that made his   
   hands tremble like he was infirm.   
   "And it's so hot," Scully agreed, offering her own reasons for his   
   weakness. "We can come back tonight, when it's cooler."   
   "Nah, let's try; what have I got to lose? Got nothing left to puke,"   
   Mulder said, pushing up to stand.   
   "You are so gross," Scully said, leading the way back into the   
   stifling house.   
   "Wow, Scully, you're talking like a native, now, huh? 'Bitchin'."   
   Mulder teased.   
   Scully ignored the barb and her partner, but she was glad that he   
   felt better. He must, if he was able to tease her about her Southern   
   California upbringing. She peered about in the dimly lit room. Every   
   surface had been dusted. The marks on the floor pointed to where each   
   bit of evidence had lain. The carpet had been removed in patches,   
   even one section of the hardwood floor had been cut away. Flipping   
   through the report, using her penlight to read by, Scully followed   
   the path that the murderer and the investigators before her had   
   walked.   
   When she looked up from her examination, she noticed Mulder had left,   
   and hearing his movements on the porch, she figured the stench had   
   gotten to him once again. This time, she let him get sick in peace.   
   Like he had told her, there was little left in his stomach to vomit,   
   and she believed he really didn't want her hovering about him. She   
   toured the back of the house first, slowly working her way to the   
   front.   
   Walking into what must have been a formal dining room in the large   
   house's glory days, the agent spotted a large area where the carpet   
   had been removed in one wide 4 X 4 patch. The report placed this as   
   the spot where the murderer had gutted Ruby. The odor of death was   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)