Through the Looking Glass
by Lovesfox

Headers in Prologue


Part 16

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Diary of Liza MacGregor
January 14, 1916

Essie was gravely stricken with scarlet fever, and Andrew came 
to me, begging me to save his daughter's life.  Hiding my glee, 
I promised assistance in the way I am known for.  My herbs 
helped, and she slowly recovered, though she was greatly weakened 
by her ordeal.

I worry that Essie is the last of John and Rose's line, and that 
the curse will die with her, unless she begets a child.  That 
prospect seems bleak, as she is already becoming known as a 
spinster, which once before would have been joyful news to me.

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Scully's Room
4:05 PM


"Careful, Scully," Mulder found himself cautioning her again; 
despite the fact he knew she was being as careful as she could 
be with the task at hand.

The diary's appearance was a sure indicator of its age and 
fragility, and it was unrealistic of them to expect it to be 
in pristine condition.  And for all they knew, there could be 
nothing of value or interest contained within.  Still, he felt 
it could be important.

Scully did not reply, but the look she shot him was eloquent.

Holding his hands up in surrender, he subsided.  Unable to wait 
patiently though, he shifted around on the bed until his head 
was by her left knee.  He didn't realize he was blocking her 
view until she spoke.

"Mulder, could you move back a bit, please?"  Her voice was 
just slightly peeved, and perhaps a little bit amused.  "You're 
in my light."

"Sorry," he muttered, and leaned back out of her way.  But he 
was full of restless energy, and knew he often thought better 
on his feet and moving around.  So he climbed from the bed, 
mindful that he not jostle Scully, and strode over to one of 
the windows.  

Nudging the curtain aside with one finger, he saw that though 
the rain had subsided once again, a batting of fog covered the 
town, lying over the land like a gray shroud.  The sky was 
thick with dark clouds, possibly signifying the rain was not 
yet finished with Nantucket. 

Letting the curtain drop back into place, he turned from the 
window and began to pace with slow, measured steps.  He 
replayed the meeting with Dave Collingsworth in his mind, and 
easily recalled the retired cop's last words –- that he had 
thought the Carringtons were behind the disappearances but 
hadn't been able to prove it.  

"I agree with Collingsworth, Scully," he announced, and 
unintentionally his voice was startlingly loud in the quiet 
room.  He winced, and Scully's head jerked up.

"What are you talking about, Mulder?" she asked somewhat 
testily, knowing her confusion, and annoyance, was evident.  
Having finally managed to separate two pages in the beginning 
of the diary, she had been struggling to read one of the 
entries.  The volume of his voice had jolted her.

He sent her a quirky, apologetic smile and then explained, 
"Collingsworth thought the Carringtons were somehow behind 
the disappearances, and that's my theory as well."

Her eyebrow arched skeptically.  "They certainly seem to be 
likely suspects, yes.  But given that the dates of the 
disappearances cover quite a time span Mulder, what are you 
suggesting here?  Longevity?"

Mulder halted his pacing, and leaned one hip against the 
dresser, his arms crossed over his chest.  The hint of sarcasm 
in her voice stung, and he had to resist the urge to snap back 
at her.  It was a familiar, and oft-frustrating, dance –- he 
thrust and she parried, he proposed, she refuted. 

His voice was tight when he replied, "It's not like we haven't 
encountered similar incidents, Scully.  Remember Eugene Tooms?"  
Grimacing at an unpleasant memory –- Scully recuperating in a 
hospital bed in New York –- he added more softly, "Arthur 
Fellig."

Scully frowned, and unable to explain those two incidents away, 
refrained from replying.  Despite his response that seemed to 
support the theory of longevity, she realized suddenly that it 
was not the direction in which her partner had been headed.  
Before he could say anything further, she tossed out, "You've 
bought into the idea of a curse, haven't you?"

Mulder opened his mouth to justify his belief, but without 
incontrovertible proof, it was nothing more than a belief at 
this point in time.  "It's all I've got right now, Scully," he 
said with a resignation he hoped was temporary.

Sensing it was the wrong time to pursue this line of discussion, 
Scully said nothing further, and after a stalemated moment of 
staring at each other, looked back down at the diary at the same 
time Mulder turned away.

A few minutes passed, and then Scully quietly exclaimed, "Ah ha, 
there we go."  Tilting the fragile diary to the side and bringing 
it up closer to her face, she dipped her head down closer, having 
located an undamaged page midway through the book.  "The 
handwriting is clearly feminine, and flowery, which would make 
sense since the diary belonged to this Liza MacGregor," she told 
her partner, sending him a brief glance.   

Tilting the book even further, she squinted.  It seemed to help; 
the words were a touch clearer.  "'I have been scorned.  John has 
forsaken me for another woman, one younger and far fairer of face 
than I'," she read aloud after reading the words to herself.  
Looking at Mulder again, one eyebrow arching, she remarked, "Liza 
MacGregor was also a bit on the melodramatic side, it would seem."  
Dipping her head down and skipping one line, she continued, "'He 
has broken our betrothal, arranged since we were in the cradle, 
saying he has sworn himself to Rose Daniels now'."    

As he moved closer to the bed, she said, "A few months later she 
writes: 'The townspeople look upon me with pity, but I hold my 
head high.  They will not see my shame.  Nor my hatred.'"  Scully 
paused to send him another look, both eyebrows now arched, and 
then continued reading, "'I have commissioned a wedding gift for 
John and Rose, a handcrafted cheval mirror of cherry wood from 
the town's finest furniture maker.  It is intended as a symbol of 
my wish for their continued happiness, and a gesture to show all 
that I am not bitter, or in despair.  It is only here in these 
pages that I can admit that these are falsehoods.'"

Reaching her, he murmured, "Melodramatic, indeed."  Jerking his 
thumb at the mirror in the corner, he remarked, "Wonder if that's 
the infamous mirror."  She followed his gaze and showed him a 
'could be' expression before turning back to her task.  

With a shrug, he leaned in and looked over her shoulder, and 
Scully obligingly turned the diary to give him a better view.  
Catching sight of the date, he whistled.  "1872."  He gave her 
a nudge and joked, "A little before our time, huh partner?"   
They shared a small smile and then he said, "Let me know if you 
find anything interesting."

"Well I had hoped to keep it a secret, Mulder," she said with 
mock disappointment, a bigger smile flirting at her lips.  "But 
if you insist."

It was his turn not to dignify her comments with a response.  
After playfully giving her the evil eye, he resumed his pacing 
and his deliberating.

Perhaps another five minutes or so had passed when Scully's 
voice pulled him from his thoughts.  It was clear she had found 
something of interest. 

"Mulder, didn't you make note of the disappearance of a Molly 
Flynn back in the early 1900's?"

He nodded, once again walking over to stand by her side, the 
details coming easily to mind.  "February 10, 1907.  She was 
a chambermaid at Starbuck House.  Why, did Liza write about 
it?"

"Mm-hmmm," Scully replied.  "Though the bottom half of the 
page is missing."  Holding the diary up, she read aloud, "'A 
young chambermaid by the name of Molly Flynn has disappeared 
from Starbuck House.  Marie Rose is rightfully distraught, but 
I gleefully...'"

Her voice trailed off, and he arched his brow at her in silent 
query as to why she had stopped.

"Bottom half is missing," she repeated, and showed him the 
torn page, carefully holding the diary aloft.

He grunted upon presentation of that disappointing evidence, 
and then asked, "Who's Marie Rose?"

"Essie's mother," Scully replied slowly, staring at him, as 
if she were waiting for him to make a connection.  "She was 
in the bible's family history."

A tingle ran through him -– his intuition was gearing up.  
"Was Liza MacGregor listed in the bible?" he asked.  

Scully shook her head, still holding his gaze.  "But a John 
Bishop married a Rose Daniels on September 10, 1872.  Marie 
Rose, Essie's grandmother, was their daughter."  Both interest 
and excitement glimmered in her eyes and animated her 
expression.

"Odd that the diary was found with the bible though it appears 
that Liza MacGregor has no familial connection to the Bishops 
or their descendants, the Carringtons," he commented, rubbing 
his hand over his chin, his thoughts whirling.  He had a kernel 
of an idea –- that Liza MacGregor was the source, that it was 
she who had put a curse on John and Rose Bishop and their 
descendants because John had married Rose instead of Liza.  
The nature of said curse and how it played out was the rest 
of the mystery.  "I think we should try and find out more about 
Miss Liza."

She nodded her agreement, and he added a moment later, "Keep 
reading, Scully."  Taking a seat at his end of the bed once 
more, Mulder reached for his portfolio, pulling out his pen.  
He tore a blank sheet from the tablet of paper at the back of 
the folder, having decided to attempt to create a timeline of 
the events concerning the disappearances.  Perhaps there was 
a pattern to be discerned.

He had jotted down only a few facts when Scully interrupted yet 
again.

"Essie had scarlet fever in 1916, and nearly died," she 
announced, and by her tone, he knew she had further news to 
relate.  He eyeballed her as she waited a dramatic moment and 
then added, "Less than a year later, there was another 
disappearance."

"Sarah O'Connor on August 2, 1916," he intuited.  "What does 
Liza have to say about it?"

Her excitement dimmed just slightly.  "The bottom half of the 
page is water-damaged, and the ink ran together into one big 
blotch.  I can only make out this: 'Sarah O'Connor, an 
acquaintance of Essie's, has gone missing.'" she read and 
then looked up at him, shrugging her shoulders.

"Interesting," he commented with a lift of both eyebrows.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Diary of Liza MacGregor
August 2, 1916

Sarah O'Connor, an acquaintance of Essie's, has gone missing. 

I do believe that Essie is responsible, for she had come to 
me just days before with questions and accusations about the 
origins of the curse.  I warned her of the folly of not 
complying, and she left in a rage.

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Scully's Room
5:15 PM


They continued working in a companionable near-silence for 
another half hour or so after Scully had read Liza MacGregor's 
entry about the disappearance of Sarah O'Connor, both at their 
opposite ends of the bed.

While Scully tried again to separate pages that were stuck 
together, Mulder roughly charted out a chronology of the 
disappearances.  Not that it seemed to matter -- he found 
that when he had finished there really was no discernible 
pattern.  The time periods between disappearances linked in 
any way to Starbuck House ranged from as little as four years 
to as great as nine.

Though he had not yet fully focused on looking for similarities 
among all the victims, it seemed relatively clear that there 
were none, beyond the fact that they had all been female and 
fairly young. 

Scully cleared her throat to get Mulder's attention.  Once 
she had it, she told him, "The last entry in the diary, despite 
the fact that there are several blank pages after it, is dated 
November 19, 1918."  She looked a little frustrated, sharing
the fact that like some of the other pages, it had been torn
and it appeared that there might have been more to this particular
entry.  "Well, anyway, in it, Liza reveals her own long-standing 
ill health and predicts her own demise."

Mulder nodded, rubbing his chin.  "For the time being," he said 
slowly, "I think we can only assume that her prophecy had been 
correct."

It was Scully's turn to nod, in agreement.  "As you said earlier, 
hopefully we can find out more about her," she replied, and went 
back to work.

Several minutes later, a loud rumbling noise distracted Scully 
from her thus-far unsuccessful attempt to pry apart several 
earlier pages, and she looked up to see her partner lift his 
head, smiling sheepishly.  She realized then that it was not 
thunder as she had absently presumed, but Mulder's stomach 
growling with hunger.  

A smile flirted with her lips, and then became a grin she could 
not contain.  At the same time, she recognized a similar feeling 
of hunger within her, along with what she despairingly thought 
was the beginnings of a headache.

Twisting her wrist, she glanced at her watch and saw that it 
was almost six o'clock.

"It's been a long time since coffee and cookies, Scully," Mulder 
explained, one hand patting his flat stomach.  "Whaddya say we 
take a break and go get some dinner?"

As if on cue, her stomach growled, though far less noisily than 
Mulder's, and a huge grin split his features in response.  She 
smiled back and said, "I think that sounds like a wonderful 
idea."  Uncrossing her legs, she inched over to the edge of the 
bed so that her feet touched the floor, and then stood.  "I need 
to freshen up and change first, however."

She watched as Mulder rolled off the bed in one economical and 
graceful movement to stand and stretch, his arms raised high 
above his head.  His untucked tee shirt lifted as well, baring 
his taut, lightly furred stomach, and her mouth went dry.  She 
looked away before he could catch her staring, and busied herself 
picking up the bible and diary.

"I'll go get changed," Mulder remarked, and after collecting his 
portfolio and papers, headed through their connecting bathroom.

She followed him into the bathroom and called out, "My treat 
tonight, partner."  Her hand on his door, she hesitated, waiting 
his response, which came a second later, slightly muffled as if 
he were in the process of pulling off his tee shirt.

"Great," was the reply.  "In that case, we'll get two pizzas."

"I can't wait," she responded dryly, and shut the door over the 
sound of his laughter.  Turning to face the mirror, she frowned 
at her reflection -– hair disheveled from repeatedly running her 
fingers through it while she had been working, and face pale and 
drawn, with circles under her eyes.  

She was tempted to take a quick shower, but opted against it upon 
consulting her watch once more.  After washing her face and 
brushing her teeth, she hurried back into her room and changed 
into khaki pants and a sweater, and then returned to the bathroom.  
A light application of make-up and a few strokes of her hairbrush 
and she was reasonably presentable.

Knocking on Mulder's door, she called out, "Mulder?  Ready when 
you are," and headed back into her room to put away the evidence 
of their research.

By the time she had tucked her suitcase back under the bed, the 
diary and bible once again wrapped up and inside it, Mulder was 
standing there waiting.  He was dressed in jeans, a sweatshirt 
and boots, and held his Gore-tex jacket in one hand.

"I locked my door, so let's go through yours," he said.  

Grabbing her damp jacket from the doorknob where it had been 
hanging, she opened the door and gestured him through.  Following, 
she pulled the door shut behind her and locked it, pocketing the 
key.  

Upon descending the main stairs, they encountered Nancy Carrington 
in the lobby, a dust rag in one hand and a can of dust spray in 
the other.  The Innkeeper greeted them cordially, with a hint of 
curiosity in her voice as she enquired on their destination.

Mulder answered easily as he slipped into his jacket, "We're going 
out for a bite to eat.  Can you recommend a place we can get some 
pizza?"

"That I can," Nancy replied with a smile, walking over to stand 
next to Mulder.  "Sophie T's Pizza is a favorite of ours," she 
continued, "and they serve more than just pizza.  An added bonus 
is that you can eat in or take out."  At his nod of encouragement, 
she proceeded to give him directions to the eatery.

"Appreciate that, Nancy," he said with a smile, and started to 
turn away.  He stopped then, as if the question had suddenly 
occurred to him, and snapped his fingers.  "Nancy, you wouldn't 
happen to know anything about the story of a woman named Liza 
MacGregor, would you?"

Scully smiled inwardly at Mulder's theatrical performance.  
Standing behind her partner, she had been covertly observing 
the Innkeeper under the guise of donning her jacket, and Nancy's 
reaction to Mulder's query about Liza was one of discomfort.

Mulder noted how Nancy shifted uneasily, her gaze now centered 
on his chin instead of meeting his, and that she had paled 
slightly.  Her reactions told him there was indeed much more 
to the mysterious woman named Liza MacGregor.

Clearing her throat, Nancy finally replied.  "She was a...
friend...of the family many, many years ago," she said, her 
voice just a touch higher than normal.  "I never met her 
myself."  Now her gaze moved from him to Scully and back to 
him again, her expression wary.  "How did you hear about her, 
if I may ask?"

With an easy shrug of his shoulders that belied his interest 
in her clearly false statement that Liza was a family friend, 
Mulder replied, "An old article while doing research at the 
library.  I was just curious."  Before she could query any 
further, he shifted away from her in a polite signal that they 
were leaving.  Facing Scully, he asked, "You ready, Dana?"

At his partner's nod, he turned his head to the Innkeeper and 
said, "Thanks again for the dinner recommendation, Nancy."

"You're welcome," she replied, forcing a smile.  "Enjoy."

Once outside in the misty rain, and nearing their rental, Mulder 
exchanged glances with Scully.  His tone was sardonic as he 
remarked, "Family friend, my a--"

She broke in before he could finish, "I didn't buy it either."

"But she did know of Miss Liza," he commented knowingly as he 
rounded the car after unlocking her door.  Their gazes met once 
again, over the roof of the sedan.

Scully nodded.  "Definitely."  It was not necessary to reiterate 
the need to find out more about the woman whose diary had been 
found in the Carrington's family home.

They said little else on the drive to Sophie T's, which took 
just over ten minutes.  Fortunately parking was ample in the 
Nantucket Commons where the eatery was located, and the place 
itself was not overly crowded.  Mulder took the lead, and 
guided her to a booth in the far corner, away from most of 
the other patrons.

The friendly atmosphere and good food kept them there for quite 
some time, long past case discussion and into casual and relaxed 
conversation.

By the time they left, the rain had intensified.  With the roads 
slick, Mulder drove cautiously, and it was after nine when they 
arrived back at the Inn.

The lobby was empty when they entered, but moments later Nancy 
came from the back of the house.  "Oh, dear," she said.  "Don't 
you two look wet and cold.  That rain doesn't seem like it's 
going to let up tonight."

Through chattering teeth, Scully asked if it were possible to 
get a cup of tea.

"Certainly," was Nancy's reply.  "And would you like anything, 
Mr. Mulder?"

After his polite decline, the Innkeeper informed Scully she 
would bring the tea up, and advised them both to get dried off 
before they caught a chill.

Scully bid Mulder a fond good night as they both unlocked their 
doors, and upon entering her room, hurried to change into her 
night attire.  Donning the borrowed nightgown, she bundled 
herself into her warm robe, and then hung up her damp clothing.

She had just finished toweling and brushing out her hair when 
there was a tap at her room door.  Tossing the towel over the 
end of her bed, she crossed the cool floor and unlocked and 
opened her door.

It was Nancy, holding a small tray upon which rested the 
requested cup of tea.

Scully accepted the mug with gracious thanks, and after bidding 
the Innkeeper a good night, and closing and relocking her door, 
took it over to the little bedside table.  She would read over 
her case notes and drink her tea before retiring for the night.

***

End Part 16