Through the Looking Glass
by Lovesfox

Headers in Prologue


Part 3

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Diary of Liza MacGregor
September 2, 1872

The mirror has been completed; it was delivered to me today.  A 
thing of beauty, it will become the instrument of my revenge.

For at my grandmother's knee, I did learn many things, and a 
curse have I placed upon it.
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Starbuck House
11:30 PM


Mulder moved through the darkened lower level of the house with 
ease, his eyes having adjusted quickly, skimming the room and 
finding obstacles in time to avoid them.  The service entrance 
was unlocked, as promised, and he pulled it quietly shut behind 
him as he exited.

There were two paths he could take –- one that led around the 
front, to the street, or one that led around the back of the 
house and the rather significantly sized property.  On their 
brief tour he had caught a glimpse of a patio as he looked out 
the sunroom windows of the dining area.  Beyond the patio there 
was what appeared to be rather extensive gardens, and beyond 
those, a stand of woods.

Woods that looked dark and mysterious.  

He smiled to himself at the fanciful thought –- weren't all 
woods dark and mysterious when viewed at night?  He was certain 
those descriptors were a prerequisite, a must have, for a scary 
movie or story. 

The temptation to check the woods out was strong, but he knew 
Scully would not be impressed if he went without her, or at the 
very least without informing her of his intent to investigate.  
Despite being drawn to explore –- it was the nature of his beast, 
after all –- and how difficult it was to acquiesce to her, he 
decided he would just walk around the exterior of the house and 
do a quick scout at the very edges of the trees.

The crushed stone path ran along the side of the house, where 
at the corner he again had two options.  Turning right led to 
the large flagstone patio, with its tasteful groupings of white 
wicker furniture and umbrella tables with chairs.  If he followed 
his present course, moving along the path would lead him through 
the gardens and to the very edge of the property, which became 
the woods.

After only a cursory glance at the patio furniture, he continued 
down the path.

Besides the typical flower garden, either John or Nancy was 
also cultivating an herb garden.  Mulder recognized a few of 
the plants, but not all, and wondered if Scully might know any.  
Making a mental note to ask her, he continued on, reaching where 
he assumed the Carrington's property ended and the woods began.  
He and Scully could check with the town's registry or surveyor's 
office, or possibly the public library tomorrow to confirm if the 
woods were town property or privately owned.

There was a functional yet decorative shed in the north corner of 
the property, with a sturdy-looking padlock on its double doors.  
A glance in the tiny, four-paned window revealed only the shadowy 
outline of what appeared to be a lawn tractor, and various and 
sundry garden tools and implements.  

The lawns appeared to be professionally done, and were immaculately 
tended right to the small wooden fence that ran along the entire 
back of the lot.  He walked its length, hand skimming the top rail, 
and as he neared the far eastern corner, his fingers encountered an 
anomaly in the thus-far smooth surface.

Pulling his mini Maglite from the zippered slash pocket of his 
track pants, he knelt down and trained the small beam on the fence.  
Moving it length-wise down the nearest post, he realized it was a 
cleverly concealed gate.  

Finding the latch, and then the hinges, he opened and closed the 
gate several times, confirming that the components had been well-
oiled, and operated smoothly and silently.

Standing up once more, Mulder trained the light on the ground on 
the opposite side of the fence, where the woods began.  There was 
a not-quite obvious dirt path leading from the gate itself, one 
that appeared to cut through the dense thicket of bushes and trees.  
With the weak beam of light from his Maglite, he was unable to see 
how far it might go.  It was too late to go traipsing through the 
forest now.  He'd have to wait until the next day and convince 
Scully to go for a walk in the woods.

Turning the Maglite off and returning it to his pocket, he made 
his way across the lawn to the house, ending up at the edge of 
the patio on the opposite side of where he had started out.  
Instead of cutting over the flagstones to retrace his steps to 
the door he had exited, he followed the path along the other side 
of the house.  It was cement, and far wider than the other one, 
and there was a wooden ramp that led up to another door into the 
house –- wheelchair access?  

He tucked that interesting tidbit away in his mind, and continued 
on until he had come to the front of the house.  Rounding the 
corner, he hesitated momentarily, the hairs on the back of his 
neck prickling. Sending a quick glance at the deep, partially 
closed in porch, he was unable to make out much except for the 
vague shadowy outlines of what he assumed were rocking chairs.  
Brushing off the feeling of being watched as an overactive 
imagination, he moved down the crushed stone path and through 
the picket fence gate, where he then leaned upon a section of 
the fence to perform some stretching exercises.

A few minutes later, feeling limber and loose, and eager to run, 
he started off.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Diary of Liza MacGregor
September 10, 1872

John and Rose were married today.  

I could not weep, for my soul has withered.
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Scully's Room
11:45 PM


As Scully efficiently moved about the room putting away her 
clothing, she caught occasional glimpses of her reflection in 
the cheval mirror.  She could see now that it was perfectly 
placed to allow the occupant to see themselves almost everywhere 
in the room.  And to put its fine craftsmanship on display.

All the furniture in the room, and those downstairs were 
beautifully handcrafted.  Scully's mother's house contained 
many fine pieces that were family heirlooms handed down through 
the years, pieces that Scully admired and cherished as being a 
part of her family's past, but she had to admit many here had 
definitely caught her eye.  

A huge yawn escaped her mouth then, interrupting her musings, 
and Scully glanced at her watch.  It was 11:50.  She should 
have told Mulder she would see him in the morning.  His mind 
would be all revved up from his run and he would probably want 
to discuss the case.  They could do that in the morning over 
breakfast, as well as determine which avenue of investigation 
they would take.  

After putting away the last of her clothes, she stored her 
empty suitcase under the bed, and reached for her toiletries 
bag to get ready to retire.  She paused in mid-action.  

Where were her pajamas? 

She distinctly remembered pulling out her freshly laundered, 
purple silk, tailored men’s style pair and laying it on her 
bed at home.  She heaved out a sigh of exasperation, her 
hands on her hips as she stared down at the empty suitcase.  
Unfortunately, she had no recollection of actually placing 
the pajamas in there.  A dull throb began in her temples, 
and she lifted one hand to rub lightly at her forehead.

An odd noise from out in the hallway distracted her, and she 
looked up, to realize two things.  Her room door was still 
wide open, and the squeaking, creaking sound had to have come 
from the old-fashioned wicker chair styled wheelchair that 
was now parked in front of said door.  The occupant of the 
wheelchair was an elderly lady with shockingly white hair 
who was watching her with interest.

"You look troubled, dearie," the woman said, her voice nasal, 
and sounding of the sea.  "Is there something the matter?"

Scully dropped her hand back to her side and moved closer 
to the door, a little taken aback.  She had been under the 
assumption that no one else was staying at the Inn, other 
than Mulder and herself.  Her voice was guarded as she 
replied, "I've misplaced...something."

The elderly woman nodded sympathetically, and her smile was 
sweet, making Scully smile in return.  "I'm always misplacing 
things.  Old age does that to you, you know."

Scully was not sure how to reply to that, and her hesitation 
must have shown on her face, for the woman chuckled, although 
cackled might have been a better word, and said, "Don't worry, 
dearie.  I know I'm old."  She followed up that statement with 
another chuckle-cackle and then said, "So what have you 
misplaced then?"

"Actually, my pajamas," Scully answered, a little self-
consciously, for the woman's eyes suddenly seemed very 
piercing.  "I'll have to make do I guess."  The dull throb 
in her head pulsed harder, and she barely contained a wince. 
She disguised the instinctive move to rub her forehead again 
by smoothing her hand through her hair instead.

"Make do?" the woman repeated.  "Nonsense!  I have something 
you can use, a lovely handmade linen nightgown that was passed 
down to me.  I never wore it, myself."  She seemed to know 
Scully would protest, and added, "And don’t you go giving me 
any excuses.  I insist you take it."

Scully tensed slightly, uncomfortable with the elderly woman's 
persistence on the matter.

As if she had sensed Scully’s uneasiness, the woman smiled 
again, and her whole face was transformed into that of a sweet 
grandmother.  "Please?" she asked.  "It would do this old 
heart good to know I’ve done some good.  Besides, I think it 
would look lovely on you."

Scully decided to acquiesce, for it seemed the elderly woman 
was really set on her wearing the nightgown, and what could 
it hurt, really?  Besides, the woman would never know if she 
wore it or not.  She could take it and leave it out on the bed 
in the morning, in case she came by again.  "Thank-you, that’s
very kind of you," she said softly, and was then embarrassed 
by an enormous yawn she just barely managed to cover with one 
hand.

The old woman made that odd laughing sound again and said, 
"You’re exhausted, dearie.  I won’t keep you any longer.  If 
you open that little chest there in the corner," and here she 
pointed one age-spotted hand in the corner opposite that of 
the mirror, "you’ll see the nightgown in there, on top of some 
extra blankets in case you happen to get a chill."

Scully surmised then that the woman was a family member –- at 
her age and with the impediment of her wheelchair she was 
probably not part of the Inn's help.  She then mused to herself 
that the elderly woman's age, which she judged to be in her 
late eighties, could actually be a benefit, in regards to 
perhaps answering questions about some of the older 
disappearances. 

Murmuring her thanks, Scully turned her head to look where 
the elderly woman had pointed, and saw an antique wooden chest 
bound in brass that was dull and pitted with usage.  It was 
roughly two and a half feet long and maybe a foot and a half 
deep, appearing just big enough for what the woman had said, 
a few blankets or maybe some linen.  Definitely not a hope 
chest or a linen chest, but perhaps a traveling chest of sorts 
that might have been used in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s, 
and one that suited the décor of the room.  

Returning her gaze to the woman, Scully said, "Thank-you again, 
Mrs...Oh, I’m so sorry, we never introduced ourselves, did we?"  
Shaking her head and moving over to the doorway, she held out 
her hand and continued, "I’m Dana Scully."

The old woman lifted both of her hands from her lap and took 
hers, sandwiching it between them and squeezing gently.  "Nice 
to meet you, Miss Scully.  I’m Esther Dunford, but please call 
me Essie."  With a nod and a smile, she added, "My grandchildren 
run this Inn."

Confirming her supposition.  Scully smiled back, glad Essie 
had invited her to call her by her personal name, or nickname, 
for the woman had not put an appellation to her full name, and 
she had been wondering what to call her.  "I will, Essie.  And 
call me Dana."

Essie squeezed her hand once more but did not release it.  She 
seemed to be studying Scully's face, and her voice was shrewd 
when she remarked, "You've a headache, haven't you, Dana?  I've 
got something that will help take care of that.  It will help 
you sleep too."  She released Scully at last, and put her hands 
on the wheels of her chair.

Scully opened her mouth to protest that she was fine, but Essie 
added, "It's no trouble, I've already got it brewing.  I drink 
a cup myself every night.  You go get that gown on, dearie, and 
I'll be back in a minute or two."  

Closing her mouth, Scully just nodded instead, and watched as 
Essie maneuvered the wicker wheelchair around and headed back 
down the hallway.  Grasping the beautiful doorknob, she gently 
shut the door, musing at how easily the elderly woman had 
overridden her protestations.  But then again, she was quite 
tired, not to mention the fact that her headache was steadily 
building in intensity, so she was not quite up to par.

Turning, she walked over to the chest in the corner and knelt 
on the floor before it, lifting both hands to raise the lid.  
It creaked slightly and released the sweet smell of a sachet 
that someone, most likely Essie, had tucked along one side. 
 
The nightgown was where Essie had said it would be, delicate 
looking white linen folded neatly on top of a brightly patterned 
quilt.  Scully thought it looked fragile, and touched it lightly 
with her fingertips before carefully removing it and standing.  
Unfolding it gently, she laid it out on the bed and admired 
its beauty.  

Sleeveless, with thick bands of the cotton material that would 
rest on the wearer’s collarbones, it had a scooped neckline 
delicately edged in eyelet lace with tiny pearl-like buttons 
down its front to the hem.  It gathered slightly at the waist, 
and looked like it would fall to mid-calf on her.  Simple, yet 
absolutely beautiful.

The gown was also nothing at all like her normal style of 
sleepwear, but Scully found she just could not resist.

Shedding her clothes, she neatly folded the pants and sweater 
she had been wearing, and placed them on the bureau to put 
away later.  Her bra was folded and placed atop the bureau 
as well, while socks were stored in the garment bag she kept 
for dirty laundry while on trips.  That was tucked back in 
her suitcase under the bed.  

Rising from that task, she stood there for a moment, before 
a shiver ran over her nearly nude body, and reached for the 
gown.  Lifting the soft linen up, she carefully eased it down 
over her head, shimmying her hips slightly to let it fall into 
place. It was cool at first, and as the material slid down her 
body, her nipples tightened from the friction.  

Several of the tiny buttons were undone near the top, and in 
her tiredness, her fingers were clumsy and she found it 
difficult to fasten them.  She looked up and caught a glimpse 
of herself in the mirror.  The white of the gown almost shone 
in the faint light, and the gaping front created interesting 
shadows on her skin.  She found herself walking around the bed 
to stand directly in front of the long oval.

Her hair was tousled, but it didn't look messy, it looked...
sexy.  The gown was very flattering to her figure, particularly 
where it dipped into the vee of her breasts, and she idly 
wondered what Mulder would think if he were to see her in it.  
Her head tipped to the side and one hand came up to touch the 
lace at her breastbone as she dreamily imagined his reaction.

She didn't know how long she stood there, staring at her own 
reflection, was in fact unaware of anything until a knock at 
the door.

Jumping in startlement, she smoothed her hands down the skirt 
of the gown.  

For a split second her image seemed to blur and shift in the 
mirror, and she shook her head, thinking she must be more 
tired than she had thought.  Blinking rapidly in an effort 
to clear her vision, she hurried over to the door, the half-
buttoned front of the nightgown gaping slightly.

Pulling the door open, Scully found Essie there, balancing a 
tray on her lap with one hand.  On the tray was a steaming mug.  
Scully watched as the old woman took in her gowned figure.  

Her mouth formed an 'O', the hand that had been on the armrest 
of her chair going up to flutter at her chest.  "Oh, my, dearie, 
you look beautiful," she crooned.  

Scully felt her cheeks warm, knew they were most likely turning 
pink.  "Thank-you, Essie.  It's such a beautiful gown.  You 
didn't...I shouldn't..."
  
Essie broke in, "I won't hear that, Dana.  It was just sitting 
there, never being used.  You keep it, and I'll have none of 
your protests."  She nodded her head once, emphatically.  "Now, 
I've kept you long enough from your sleep.  Here's your tea, 
dearie," Essie said, and lifted the mug up towards Scully.

Scully reached out and accepted the offering, carefully cradling 
the hot crockery in both hands.  Wonderful scents were drifting 
up to her nose on the wisps of steam, and she brought the mug 
closer to her face, inhaling deeply, eyes half-closing in 
pleasure.  "This smells wonderful, Essie.  Thank-you."

"You're welcome," Essie replied.  She winked then, and added 
in a stage whisper as she leaned forward conspiratorially, 
"It's my secret recipe, you know."  The old woman settled back 
into her chair after relating that fact, and continued, "You 
drink that right up, and you'll be right as rain."  Another 
emphatic nod, and then she said, "Good night then, Dana.  You 
get yourself to bed now, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Scully said, the respectful title having come 
unexpectedly to her lips.  "Thank-you again, Essie, and good 
night."

Once more she watched as the old woman slowly and carefully 
turned her wheelchair around, instinctively knowing Essie 
would not want any help.  The same squeaking and creaking came 
from the chair, and Scully wondered why Essie was using such 
an obviously antique item, instead of a modern and perhaps more 
easily maneuverable chair.  Though this one did seem to suit 
its occupant, and in a way, the house itself.

After closing her door, she hesitated with one hand on the 
old-fashioned lock, and then finally engaged it.  Hopefully 
Mulder would get the hint that she had retired for the night 
when he returned from his run, and not pound on the door until 
he got to talk to her. 

Lifting the mug to her lips once more, she blew gently as the 
liquid was still steaming slightly, and then took a tentative 
sip.  Her lips slowly curved in pleasure.  The flavors tingled 
and danced on her tongue –- it tasted as wonderful as it smelled, 
and was now just the perfect temperature.  Not moving from the 
door, she took another, deeper drink of the tea, her eyes 
closing, trying to isolate individual ingredients.  Cinnamon 
was the strongest, and easily identifiable, as was 
nutmeg.  

She made a note to herself to get the recipe from Essie before 
they left, and took one more sip before telling herself to 
get moving.  

Carrying the tea with her, she retrieved her toiletries bag 
from the end of the bed with her free hand, and moved into 
the bathroom.  She placed the bag on the little side-boy 
counter beside the beautiful pedestal sink, and turned to 
look at the whole room, sipping once more at her tea.  

As Mr. Carrington had taken them along the hallway, he had 
mentioned that she and Mulder would be sharing a bathroom 
and that it connected their rooms.  After noting the door at 
the other end of the rather large bathroom, which was ajar, 
and through which she could just see a portion of a quilt-
covered bed, her eyes immediately went to the huge claw foot 
tub, which was situated kitty-corner just to her right.  It 
was easily six feet long, and appeared to be in perfect 
condition, a gorgeous and glorious addition to this or any 
bathroom with the shower stall in the other corner more for 
expediency or convenience.  Thinking of neither of those 
things, Scully wistfully imagined herself slowly sinking 
into mounds of bubbles for a long, luxurious soak. 

But it was too late for another bath tonight; she knew Mulder 
would be raring to go in the morning.  As well, it was just 
after midnight, and she was tired, and her headache had yet 
to diminish.  Sighing, she scanned the rest of the room, 
taking in the wisteria-patterned wallpaper on the walls, 
and the cast iron wall sconce light fixtures.  

Absently, she brought the mug to her lips to sip at her tea, 
eyes moving slowly.  There was a small mirror above the sink; 
its scrolled trim also in cast iron.  Plush hand towels in 
purple-blue to bring out the color in the wallpaper, and a 
cluster of candles in varying sizes on one corner of the 
counter added beautiful, homey touches.  As did the clear 
crystal bowl filled with real wisteria on the other corner.

Someone certainly liked flowers, Scully mused.  Her room was 
decorated in a rose motif, with the bathroom accentuated by 
wisteria, and she had noticed vases and bowls of flowers 
throughout the house on their tour.  She idly wondered if 
Mulder's room had a similar theme, and smiled to herself as 
she thought that he probably hadn't, or wouldn't, notice.

A sudden, hard yawn had her remembering her tea, and draining 
the remainder.  After putting the mug down, she commenced with 
brushing her teeth and her nightly routine.  Minutes later 
she was turning the small bedside lamp off and climbing into 
the feather softness of the bed.  

The sheets were crisp and cool, and she snuggled into the 
pillow with another yawn, the covers pulled to her chin.

If Mulder later tried her door, or knocked, she did not hear 
a thing.

***

End Part 3