Through the Looking Glass
by Lovesfox

Headers in Prologue


Part 8

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Diary of Liza MacGregor
January 20, 1885

I celebrate, for Rose has been stricken with pneumonia.  As each 
day passes, I watch with a masked delight as she grows frailer.

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Nantucket Police Station
20 South Water Street
Saturday, May 21, 2000
3:20 PM


Officer Marston greeted them by name this time, still on-duty 
behind the counter.  The officers that had been there earlier 
were not present and all the desks were empty.  His tone was 
friendly as he asked them how their lunch had been, the question 
directed at Scully, and the smile that followed the words showed 
his teeth.

Scully allowed her lips to curve just slightly in response.  His 
attention was undisguised, and she did not want to encourage him 
into thinking the interest might be returned.  "Lunch was very 
good, Officer Marston," she replied in an equally cordial tone.  
"Agent Mulder and I thank you again for the recommendation."

The officer tipped his head slightly in acknowledgement, his eyes 
warm.  "Anything to help, Agent Scully," he returned smoothly.  
"Anything at all."

Mulder was waiting for Officer Romeo to lean over and put his 
elbow on the counter, propping his chin in his palm to gaze at 
Scully, in an attempt to try and shmooze her.  He was tempted to 
tell the guy he was wasting his time, or to back off, but it was 
not his place to do so.   He tried not to think about the fact 
that he wished it were his place. 

Instead, he cleared his throat, and spoke brusquely.  "We need 
to use the file room again, Officer Marston.  If that's all right 
with you."

Marston blinked in surprise, the smile sliding away, and nodded.  
"Yes, sir, Agent Mulder, right this way."  

Cupping his hand lightly under Scully's elbow, and ignoring the 
amused look she shot him, Mulder guided his partner along the 
counter to the gateway they had walked through earlier.  His 
hand slid away as she moved through first, and he followed her 
and Marston down the hall back to the file room.

The officer unlocked the door and pushed it open, bracing one 
arm across the wood surface.  Holding it for Scully, another 
smile on his face.

Tipping her head in a short nod of thanks, Scully passed Marston 
and walked over to the table, placing her briefcase on it.

Marston remained there for a moment, his eyes on Scully, before 
he suddenly straightened and moved away from the door, only 
briefly glancing at Mulder.

As the officer began to walk back to the front, Mulder recalled 
he had meant to ask him about the woods behind the Inn.  "Say, 
Officer Marston?" he called, and watched the other man stop and 
turn around.

"Yes, Agent Mulder?"

"Is there any way of finding out about who owns a piece of 
property in Nantucket, without waiting until Monday when the 
Register's Office opens?"

Marston pursed his lips, clearly in thought, and then said with 
a sudden assurance, "Yes, there is."  He walked back towards 
Mulder, his hands resting easily on his Sam Brown belt.  "I call 
one of the clerks in to open the office and find the information 
you need.  It's a procedure already in place if the need ever 
arises."  He jerked a thumb in the direction of the front office 
and said, "I'll place the call now, and it shouldn't be long.  
Town Building's just around the corner on Broad Street, and most 
everyone lives within twenty minutes of it."

"Thank-you, Officer Marston," Mulder replied, his gratitude 
coloring the tone.  "Let us know when you need us."  

"Will do," the officer replied, and headed down the hall.

Mulder entered the file room to see Scully already busy.  She 
was seated at the table, with the file from Marston opened 
before her, flipping through its pages.  "What are you looking 
for?" he asked.

Scully glanced up at her partner, and then resumed looking as
she replied.  "The information on Annabelle Esther Carrington, 
mother of John and Nancy Carrington.  She committed suicide in 
1970.  I'd like to take a look at the police file."  

Mulder's lips pursed as he mulled that over.  "Any particular 
reason?"

"The note in the file Officer Marston supplied us with is very 
sketchy," she answered slowly, having located the paper in 
question.  Holding it up, she met his eyes again and added, "I 
just want to see if the police file says anything more.  I'm 
curious, and I don't know why."

He'd had leaps of intuition and insight from nothing more than 
his curiosity on numerous occasions.  Nodding his understanding, 
he moved towards the table.  "I'm going to look up the files on 
the other two possible disappearances from those newspaper 
articles."

Locating both files, he sat down and read them, jotting down 
the salient facts.  As he was finishing up with the second 
file, Marston returned.  The officer rapped lightly on the 
wood surface and stepped just inside, his eyes once again 
lingering on Scully.

"Agent Scully, Agent Mulder?" the officer said.  "Jessie Owens, 
one of the town clerks, is at the Town Building waiting for us."

Mulder rose quickly, waving at Scully for her to remain seated.  
For some reason, he didn't like the thought of her going off 
with Officer Romeo without him there as a buffer.  Or a 
deterrent for the amorously eager man.  "I'll go with Marston 
here," he told her.  "There's no point in both of us going."

"Fine," Scully said, without rancor or emphasis, looking up at 
him, straight-faced.  Managing to hold back the smile that was 
threatening to curve her lips, though she was certain her eyes 
were laughing.

Sometimes her partner was so glaringly obvious, and other times 
his every mood was a complex exercise in subtlety.

Pushing her chair back, Scully rose to her feet, aware that she 
was the focus of both men's attention.  It was pleasing and 
embarrassing at the same time.  Mulder's eyebrow lifted in a 
silent inquiry, and she answered him indirectly by saying, "Is 
there a computer I could use, Officer Marston?"

"Of course, Agent Scully," Marston replied quickly, the look on 
his face evidence of his eagerness to be of assistance.  "If 
you'll come with me, I can take you to one of our offices for 
some privacy."

"That would be wonderful, Officer Marston, thank-you," Scully 
replied. Removing her notepad, pen and glasses case from her 
briefcase, she picked up the police file and exited the room, 
Mulder at her heels.

The officer took her to his Lieutenant's office, unlocking the 
door and holding it open for Scully as he had the door to the
file room earlier. 

In no time at all she was settled in front of the computer, 
glasses perched on the end of her nose.  Mulder had closed 
the office door behind him on his way out, remarking that they 
would probably only be half an hour, maybe less.  Officer Josh 
Grady, who had apparently been on his lunch break in the back 
of the station, was now staffing the front desk.

Scully called up the case file on the death of Annabelle 
Carrington, and was soon engrossed in the coroner's report.  

With no signs of foul play, a hand-written suicide note found 
near the body, and the amounts of secobarbital and 
phenobarbital –- both powerful sedatives –- found in her 
system during autopsy, not to mention traces of alcohol, 
there had been no reason not to label the woman's death as 
anything but suicide by barbiturate overdose.  

Focused on the screen, Scully manipulated the mouse blindly 
with ease; printing out a copy of the report, and then after 
clicking on a few icons, she found the suicide note.  She 
scanned it quickly; noting the woman's signature, just her 
first name, was messily scrawled at the bottom, and then read 
the note again, though there was not much to read.  The last 
words of Annabelle Carrington were very brief, and explained 
little.  

'I can't take it anymore.  The guilt is too great.  I'm sorry.'

Guilt for what, Scully wondered.  Had Annabelle been referring 
to the disappearances because the women had been staying at 
the Inn at the time?  Or had there been something else, such 
as alcoholism or extra-marital affairs?

There was no mention of the father of John and Nancy beyond 
his name and his last known address, which was off-island.  
Another curiosity.  

With a shrug, for there was nothing she could do at the moment, 
Scully made a notation in her notebook in regards to the 
mystery man, and perused the file one last time.  

The date of Annabelle Carrington's death –- August 25, 1970 
-- caught her eye, and she stared at the  screen for long 
moments before she realized the reason why.  There had been 
a disappearance just a few weeks prior to Annabelle's suicide.  

After jotting this interesting factoid down as well, she logged 
off the computer.  Gathering her things, she exited the office 
and returned to the file room to review the case files and await 
Mulder.

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Diary of Liza MacGregor
January 4, 1888

Rose has sickened with pneumonia again, and is now bedridden.

I sense her time is nearing.

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Registry Office, Town Building
16 Broad Street
Saturday, May 21, 2000
3:45 PM


Mulder followed Marston out of the police station, and was not 
surprised in the least when the officer asked about Scully once 
they had reached the sidewalk. 

"Have you known Agent Scully long, Agent Mulder?"

"We've been partners for seven years," Mulder replied, and 
offered nothing further.  He was uncomfortable with where the 
subject seemed to be going, and had been the few times it had 
come up in the past.  How could he quantify or qualify his 
relationship with Scully to others?  Partners, yes.  Yet so 
much more.

"Long time," was Marston's witty observation.

It didn't require a reply in Mulder's opinion, so in lieu, he 
shrugged, and continued walking in the direction Marston had 
pointed in as they had exited the police station.

After a few moments of heavy silence, broken only by the sounds 
of their boot heels on the brick, Marston spoke again.  "Um...
is she seeing anyone?  Or are you...are you guys an item or 
anything?"

Would Scully kill him if he said yes, or would she be relieved 
when Romeo stopped with the calf-eyes and over-eagerness?  
Sighing inwardly, Mulder answered with his pat standby, his 
voice flat and without inflection.  "Agent Scully and I are 
co-workers, her personal life is none of my business."  Again 
he could not stop his wayward thought – he wanted it to be 
his business.

Whether it was his monotone or the words themselves, Officer 
Marston subsided, though Mulder sensed the man had more to ask.  
They rounded a corner, and Marston cleared his throat, 
indicating they were there with a lift of his chin.  "Here it 
is."

Here was a rather non-descript two-storey, brown-bricked 
building, built in what Mulder thought was called the federal 
style.

He followed Marston up the one low, flat step and through the 
unlocked, white double doors with an arched skylight window 
beneath its white lintel.  A woman in her mid-thirties, casually 
dressed, was standing in the small lobby, apparently awaiting 
their arrival.

"Afternoon, Officer Sam," the woman said, coming forward, and 
then looking and smiling politely at Mulder.  "I went to school 
with Samuel," she explained.  "My daughter Katie always calls 
him Officer Sam."

"Afternoon, Jessie," Marston replied, tipping his head, his 
right hand coming up to touch the brim of his hat, which he 
had put on before exiting the police station.  "I'm real sorry 
I had to call you in on a Saturday."  His sincerity was clear.  
Turning slightly, he gestured towards Mulder.  "Jessie Owens, 
this is Mr. Mulder.  He's writing a book and is interested in 
some properties here on the Island.  The Chief's promised him 
full cooperation."

Jessie extended her hand, and shook Mulder's with exuberance.  
"Hello, Mr. Mulder," she said warmly.  "It's very nice to meet 
you."  She flicked a glance at Marston and leaned in closer.  
Her other hand came up to cover Mulder's, so that she now 
clasped it between hers, and her voice dropped a little with 
her next words.  "I have to tell you I think it's very exciting 
that you're writing a book, particularly if Nantucket is 
featured."

Mulder had returned the handshake, plastering a polite smile 
on his face.  "I'm pleased to meet you too, Mrs. Owens –"

Still holding his hand, she interrupted him with an energetic 
squeeze and, "Oh, please call me Jessie!"

"Jessie," he acquiesced, returning an equal pressure to her 
hand, and hoping she would release his.  "I appreciate your 
assistance today, Jessie."

"Not a problem at all," she said breezily, and finally let 
go of his hand.  "I'm honored I could be of help."  She then 
gestured down the hallway in the direction he assumed would 
lead to the Registry Office.  "If you'll come this way?"

Mulder followed Jessie, with Marston bringing up the rear.  
He watched as the woman opened one of several doors in the 
hallway, revealing a well-lit office, and entered behind 
her.

"I've already booted up the computer," Jessie explained, 
moving to take a seat at one of the desks and typing at the 
keyboard as she continued to speak.  "So if you'll give me 
the address of the properties in question, I'll secure the 
map and parcel numbers.  Then I look up the owners of record."  
That said, she looked up at Mulder expectantly.

In order not to throw attention or suspicion on Starbuck House 
or the Carringtons, Mulder had decided to have Jessie check 
on other properties as well.  During his run of the previous 
night he had noted a few –- one vacant lot and some rather 
stately homes with large parcels of land.  With his memory, 
the addresses came easily.

Jessie clicked away, stopping every so often to write the 
information down.  After the vacant lot, she murmured, "Is 
that all of them?"


"Just one more," Mulder said, and told her he was interested 
in the stand of woods behind Starbuck House.

Her head came up and for a second, an expression –- part 
curiosity, part unease –- flashed over her face, and then 
was gone, although a tightness remained about her eyes and 
mouth.  Nodding, Jessie resumed typing.  This time, instead 
of writing on the paper she had noted the other information 
on, she grabbed a small piece of paper from a note cube and 
jotted a number down.

Mulder mused to himself about how the mention of Starbuck 
House elicited a reaction from many he and Scully had come 
in contact with already.  It was to be expected he supposed; 
the residents of small towns were usually well aware of 
everyone's business.  

The disappearances and the connection to Starbuck House 
could not have gone unnoticed, and had to be ripe for gossip 
and speculation.

He remained silent and watched as Jessie pushed back her 
chair and got to her feet, coming around the desk, paper 
and pen in hand.  She explained that she needed to go into 
the file storage room to look up the owners of record for 
the land behind Starbuck House, and asked him if he'd like 
to have a seat while he waited.  With a nod, he sat down in 
the chair Jessie had indicated.

Marston had remained standing just inside the opened door, 
leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded across his 
chest.

Jessie returned roughly ten minutes later and came over to 
Mulder as he was rising to his feet.  

"Here you go, Mr. Mulder," she said, and held out the paper 
upon which she had written the owners of records for the 
properties he had inquired about.

"Once again, I appreciate your time, Jessie," he told her 
as he took the paper with his left hand, extending his 
right out once more.

"Not a problem," she reiterated her words from earlier as 
they shook hands.  "Hope this information helps."

He hadn't glanced at the paper yet, but he smiled and said, 
"It certainly will, thank-you."  Folding the white sheet 
up, he tucked it into his pocket for the time being.

"Thanks, Jessie," Marston put in next, having straightened 
from his slouch against the door.  He started to turn to 
exit, and stopped, asking, "You want me to wait while you 
lock up?"

Jessie smiled and shook her head.  "You go on, Samuel.  Since 
I'm here, there were one or two things I didn't get to 
yesterday, I might as well finish them and save myself the 
work on Monday.  I won't be long."

"Okay then, Jessie.  You take care now."

"Thanks, Samuel.  I will," Jessie told the officer, and then 
looked at Mulder.  "Afternoon, Mr. Mulder."

Another nod of his head, and then he was leaving the office, 
following Marston.  They walked silently down the hallway 
and out through the double doors, into a slightly cooler 
temperature than when they had gone in.  The air felt damp 
as well, heavy with the rain that was obviously on its way.

"Going to rain," Marston commented as they moved along the 
sidewalk, eying the gathering dark clouds.

"Looks like," Mulder agreed, for lack of anything else to 
say.  He knew what was coming –- the rest of the conversation 
they had begun on the way to the Registry Office.  Shoving 
his hands in his pants pockets, he braced himself for the 
onslaught.

Marston coughed and then cleared his throat before speaking 
again.  "Do you think Agent Scully would mind if I asked her 
out to dinner tonight?"

This one was easy.  And he didn't even have to make something 
up.  "Actually, Marston," Mulder replied,  "We've got dinner 
reservations."  Which Scully didn't know about yet, he 
reminded himself silently.

Whether Marston took his reply as a silent hint to back off 
or he was unsure of how to continue, the officer said nothing 
further for the remainder of the short walk back to the police 
station.

Officer Grady nodded a brief hello as they entered through 
the front door, and as the two of them crossed to the gated 
entrance, he told Mulder that Scully was back in the file 
room.

Thanking the officer, Mulder headed down the hall and into 
their small, temporary 'office'.  Scully was indeed there, 
sitting at the table, making notes.  The boxes had been 
returned to their proper places, with all the files apparently 
re-filed.

"We all set?" he asked his partner, when she had looked up at 
his entrance and smiled a greeting.

"I think so," she replied, capping her pen and putting it down 
on her notepad.  She rose to her feet and started packing up 
her briefcase.  "We can always return if we feel we've missed 
anything."

While she did that, he retrieved the paper with the information 
he had requested of Jessie Owens from his pocket.  Ignoring the 
'red herring' locations, he focused on the sole reason for 
his request.

The Carringtons did indeed own the land behind the Inn.  The 
family had owned the entire property since 1820, when the house 
itself had been built.  For some reason, he felt that the fact 
they owned the woods could be vitally important, though he did 
not yet know why. 

Scully cleared her throat softly, catching his attention, as 
he knew she had intended.  Holding the paper up briefly, he 
told her, "The Carringtons own the woods behind the Inn."
 
Briefcase closed and in hand, she nodded briefly and then 
walked out into the hall.  Mulder folded the paper back up 
and returned it to his pocket, before moving over to flick off 
the light.  Shutting the door behind him, he followed her back 
to the bullpen area.

Marston was talking quietly with Grady, half-sitting on the 
edge of a desk.  He got to his feet as they approached.  "Is 
there anything else you need, Agents?"

"There's nothing we can think of right now, Officer Marston," 
Scully replied courteously.  "We would like to thank you for 
your assistance today, though."  She held out her right hand 
towards the officer.

Smiling widely, the officer tipped his now hatless head and 
stepped forward to shake hands with her, and then Mulder.  "I 
was glad to be of service, Agent Scully, Agent Mulder.  If you 
need anything at all, please don't hesitate to call the station.  
Or I can be reached at home."  A business card appeared in one 
hand, which he held out to Scully.  "My number is here, uh, if 
you have any inquires that can't wait, of course."

Mulder turned his snort into a cough as his partner accepted 
the card and tucked it into a side pocket of her briefcase, 
and then thanked the officer again, for both of them.

It was as they were exiting the counter-gate, he thought of 
something to ask Marston.  Turning back, he called out to the 
officer, "Say, Marston?  Are there any retired officers still 
living in Nantucket, who might remember some of the older 
disappearances?"

Officer Grady spoke up, getting to his feet and looking at 
Marston.  He started snapping his fingers, perhaps to jog 
his own memory, and then asked the other officer,  "What 
about old Dave Collingsworth?"

The name jolted Mulder's memory.  It had been on the police 
reports for two of the disappearances –- in May 1955 and July 
1962.  He definitely wanted to talk to the man.

"Yeah, old Dave," Marston agreed, nodding his head at Grady.  
Turning back to Mulder and Scully, he told them, "Dave 
Collingsworth was an officer from the late 1940's, I think, 
until he retired back in 1990.  I'm sure he'd be more than 
willing to talk to you."  Going over to the desk he had been 
leaning on, he jotted something down on a piece of paper.  
He handed the paper to Mulder, saying, "Here's his address 
and directions on how to get there.  I'll give him a call, 
let him know you'll be coming by to see him...Is tomorrow 
good?"

"Yes, early tomorrow afternoon would be good," Mulder replied, 
folding the paper in half and slipping it inside his portfolio.  
"If there's a problem, please let us know," he said next, while 
pulling one of his own business cards from the inner pocket of 
his jacket.  He jotted his cell phone number down on the back 
of the card and held it out to Marston.  "My cell phone number 
is on the back."

"Will do, Agent Mulder," Marston replied, holding the little 
card up in a salute of sorts.  "Afternoon, Agents."

Scully smiled, and Mulder half-waved, and then they were 
heading outside and to their rental car.

Once on the road, heading back to the Inn, Mulder glanced at 
Scully and casually remarked, "Hope you brought something nice 
to wear."

Scully turned to him with a look of bemusement.  "Was there 
any particular reason you wanted to know?"

"I have dinner reservations for us tonight."

***

End Part 8