Through the Looking Glass
by Lovesfox

Headers in Prologue


Epilogue

*~*~*~*

Three Days Later

X-Files Office
Washington, D.C.
Wednesday, May 25, 2000
4:30 PM

Mulder murmured his thanks into the mouthpiece, and after 
returning the phone to its cradle, leaned back in his chair, 
the leather creaking with his movements.  His right hand 
went to his mouth, index finger and thumb lightly pinching 
his upper lip as he contemplated the memento and evidence-
covered wall to the right of his desk while he mulled over 
the information he had just received.

The call had been from the SAC of the Evidence Retrieval 
Team in Nantucket, reporting that the skeletal remains of 
three bodies had been unearthed deep in the woods behind 
Starbuck House thus far.  

Expectations were high that there were still more to 
discover.

Mulder had requested those remains be sent to Quantico for 
examination, though he had little doubt as to their identity.  
Nor did those now involved in the case, or his often-
skeptical partner, who was currently at home on an enforced 
sick leave recuperating from the events of Sunday night.  
Despite her protestations that she was fully recovered and 
suffering no ill effects.

He wasn't so blasé about it –- Scully had not regained 
consciousness until after the ambulance ride to the Island's 
only hospital, and had been diagnosed as disoriented and 
shocky in the emergency department.  Thankfully the mild 
hallucinations she had been experiencing had cleared during 
her 24-hour observation period, as had her nausea and 
breathing difficulties, and she had been released.

He briefly debated giving her a call right then to fill her 
in, but decided against it.  He had plans to see Scully after 
work, having promised to bring dinner, and they could discuss 
the closure of the case at that time.

At that particular thought, his mind chose that moment to 
replay and relive those frantic minutes on the floor of 
Scully's room at Starbuck House three nights ago.  He could 
feel again that heart-stopping fear when he had discovered 
his partner lying on the floor by the mirror, and how that 
fear had magnified when he hadn't been able to find her 
pulse.  He shivered at the memory and shifted uneasily in 
his seat.

Continuation of his frightening recollection had Mulder 
marveling with dark wonderment at the craftsmanship of the 
mirror.  What had prevented it from swinging upward and 
whacking him in the knees after his immediate and violent 
blows to smash it to bits?

For that matter, what had led him to the conclusion that 
destruction of the mirror would save Scully?

That question had him shifting once again, leaning forward 
to sift through the papers and reports that covered the 
surface of his desk to search for the transcription of his 
initial interview with Nancy Carrington.  Locating it, he 
leaned back once more and scanned quickly through for the 
place where he had asked the Innkeeper about the mirror.  
With Scully in the hospital at the time of the interview, 
his mind hadn't been fully focused on the task at hand, and 
he needed to double-check Nancy's exact words in regards to 
the mirror.

Consumed by guilt, and devastated at the death of her 
grandmother, the Innkeeper's emotional disclosure in the 
early stages of the interview had confirmed his suspicions 
about a curse.  She had also revealed that it had been 
placed on John and Rose Bishop and their descendants through 
the cheval mirror, which had been gifted to the couple back 
in 1872 by one Liza MacGregor.  

It was as if the floodgates had opened, or perhaps it was 
that she was relieved to finally get it off her chest, 
finally freeing herself of the guilt she carried and no 
longer feeling bound by secrecy.  Nancy had gone on to say 
that she and her brother had attempted to rid themselves of 
the horrendous burden of the curse by destroying the mirror, 
to no avail.

One eyebrow arched, and Mulder made a low sound of revelation.  
The Carringtons not been able to destroy it, yet he had.  He 
could only surmise that it was due to the fact he was not a 
descendant of the Bishops.  And his desperation and absolute 
terror of losing Scully hadn't hurt, either.

Grimly, he thought further about the Carringtons, about the 
atrocities in which they had willingly partaken.   Resigned 
to their fate and frightened by the consequences had they 
not obeyed the curse, the family had continued to comply, as 
their ancestors had before them.

Shaking his head at the sad tale of the loss of innocent 
lives, he continued reading the transcribed report.

At that point in the interview, Nancy Carrington had broken 
down completely.  She had then confessed to poisoning Tom 
Phillips, Karen Cross, Lorraine Harrison and Suzanne Tyler, 
and to disposing of the bodies with her brother, John 
Carrington.  Without prodding, she had provided detailed 
directions to the burial site in the woods, which was where 
the team was currently investigating.

So that was where things stood at this time.  Esther Dunford 
was dead, having apparently suffered a fatal heart attack 
when he had broken the cheval mirror, and John and Nancy 
Carrington were in custody and facing a number of charges 
stemming from their respective confessions.  Once all the 
remains were located and identified, several unsolved 
disappearances would be closed.  

This case, although found in a rather unorthodox manner, 
could be considered a success story of sorts for the X-Files 
Department, adding to their already strong solve rate.  
Though, as always, he and Scully's greatest concern lay not 
with measuring up to some bureaucrat's yardstick of success, 
but with helping the victims or stopping those responsible.

His office phone rang again, and at the conclusion of the 
call from the Lab, he had another piece of information to 
share with his partner later.  

Analysis of the tea found in the mug in Scully's room had 
been compiled, and compared to the blood sample taken from 
Scully upon admittance to the hospital, and a report was 
being completed.  Traces of Atropa Belladonna, also known 
as nightshade, had been found, as well as Aconitum Anthora 
or wolfsbane, valerian root and nutmeg.  

He had done much reading on Witchcraft and the Occult, and 
recalled that both belladonna and wolfsbane were traditional 
ingredients to aid in flight.  Wolfsbane had been used in 
the 13th and 14th centuries as poison bait for wolves, and 
was also thought to 'cure' werewolves.

Medically, both plants were highly toxic and potentially 
lethal, and a combination of the two was extremely dangerous.  
Belladonna was also a hallucinogen, and when paired with the 
paralyzing effects of the wolfsbane, could be fatal.  

What could not be explained however, was the fact that those 
substances should have dissipated within twenty-four hours of 
ingestion, yet had not. 

The other main finding seemed to indicate that there was one 
substance the battery of tests could not identify; no match 
from any known database existed.  It was being proposed that 
this mysterious element might have acted as a catalyst or 
possibly a synergist for the other ingredients.

Once again, his partner had become an X-File.

Mulder grimaced and leaned back in his chair, fingers now 
tapping lightly at the edge of his desk.  His eyes lost their 
focus as his mind wandered into familiar, dark territory, 
recalling the other incidents when Scully had received the 
dubious distinction of a red-and-white-tabbed file bearing 
her name.

The first, and arguably the worst -- though all of the 
situations had been frightening in their own ways -- Duane 
Barry and her missing time.  He had been lost those months 
she was gone, cast adrift in a sea of uncertainty and fear.  
Oftentimes, barely functioning.

And then there was Philadelphia, and the Pudovkin case, the 
case Scully had worked on half-heartedly.  While he had been 
finding himself in Graceland, she had found Ed Jerse.  The 
entire experience had left him reeling.

Realizing he was now clutching at the desk edge with a white-
knuckled grip, he resolved to think no more of such things.  
Scully had recovered from this latest incident as she had 
the others; she was fine.

Sitting up, he glanced at his watch and decided to call it 
a day.  He'd surprise Scully by being early for once.  He 
rose to his feet and gathered together all the papers of the 
case, shoving them into a file folder, which was tossed into 
his briefcase.

A brief stop at the Lab for a copy of their report, and then 
he would be on his way.

***

Scully's Apartment
Georgetown, D.C.
Wednesday, May 25, 2000
6:10 PM


>> An early morning stroller found Tom Phillips' body on 
Madaket Beach today, and it is quite fortunate that the 
police are labeling his death an accidental drowning.  The 
children are remorseful about neglecting to dispose of him 
properly, and have vowed they will not make the same mistake 
again. << 

Scully finished reading the diary entry for June 21, 1977 
and closed the aged, leather-bound book that had been found 
amongst Esther Dunford's belongings and taken as evidence.  
And subsequently 'borrowed' by Mulder.  

Leaning forward, she placed it on the coffee table, sighing 
wearily, feeling the beginnings of a headache.  She had been 
reading the diary on and off the entire day, and was paying 
for it now.  Her hands were cold, and the left one ached from 
holding the book for so long, so she clasped them together 
and rubbed gently, staring into space.  Her thoughts were 
whirling, recalling the other entries she had read, entries 
detailing the deaths of the family's hapless prey.

After suffering from and nearly dying of scarlet fever, Essie 
had chosen eighteen-year-old Sarah O'Connor as her first 
victim in 1916, believing the curse had caused her own 
illness.  Seven years later, Beth Donaldson had disappeared 
from Nantucket, and eight years after that, Mary Patrick.  
There were other victims, every seven to ten years or so, as 
well.  In each case, Essie had described how she had dragged 
the bodies through the woods and buried them, along with the 
evidence of her deeds.

Esther Dunford was as guilty as her grandchildren.

A hot wave of shame coursed through Scully and she closed her 
eyes, slumping back into the cushions of the couch.  She had 
been completely and utterly fooled by the elderly woman, had 
fallen for the friendly, helpful act like a rookie fresh out 
of Quantico.

As her mind replayed her encounters with Essie, from their 
first meeting to their last, she attempted to find fault with 
the woman's behavior.  Some sign that there had been something 
wrong, something she should have seen and had not.  But nothing 
eerie or unusual stood out in her memory.  Their interactions 
seemed rather innocuous.  Routine and ordinary, if a little 
overly friendly and attentive on Essie's part.

Yet Scully could not help but feel as if she had somehow 
failed.  Failed herself, failed her partner and the 
investigation.  Could not accept the excuse that this failure 
partially stemmed from the drug concoction she had been fed 
right from the start.  Though the knowledge that she had been 
drugged once again rankled bitterly.

In a cascading effect, her thoughts continued their downward 
spiral and turned to another negative aspect of the case –- 
her refusal to admit to the possibility of the existence of a 
curse.  More than once, Essie had made reference to it in her 
diary, and that fact, coupled with her partner's complete 
acceptance of this possibility, had caused Scully to seriously 
question her staunch beliefs.

A knock at the door pulled Scully from her dark,demoralizing 
contemplation, and jerked her upright, her head turning 
towards the entryway.  The knock was repeated, followed by 
Mulder's voice calling her name questioningly through the 
wood.  This had her glancing with surprise at her watch.  He 
was early; she hadn't expected him for at least another hour.  

It was a pleasant surprise, once she got over the shock.

Smiling slightly, she rose from the couch, smoothing her 
hands down her casual sweater before making her way to the 
door.  She realized her steps were eager, and recognized 
that she was glad to see her partner.  That she had missed 
their connection, their banter.  Had missed him.

Habit had her glancing through the peephole, which confirmed 
that it was indeed Mulder, who bore familiar white takeout 
bags in his arms.  He called her name out again then, and 
hearing the slight worry in his voice, she hurried to undo 
the lock and chain.

"Sorry, Mulder," Scully apologized upon opening the door.  
Standing to one side, she gestured him in, watching his 
gaze skim her from head to toe, lingering briefly on her 
face.
	
"I didn't wake you, did I?" he asked as he passed her, 
heading for the kitchen.  Along the way he detoured and 
dropped his briefcase on the floor by the couch.

After closing and re-locking the door, she followed him 
into the kitchen, where he was already placing cartons of 
Chinese food on her table.  As she busied herself getting 
utensils, plates and glasses, she told him, "I was reading 
Essie's diary."

There was something about Scully's tone that told Mulder 
she was perturbed about something, and he thought it most 
likely it was the contents of Esther Carrington's diary.  
However, he played it casual, sensing now was not the time 
to push.  

"Anything interesting?"  Of course, having read a good 
portion of the diary, Mulder already knew what it contained 
–- further proof that the Carringtons and family were guilty 
as hell, and had been the unwitting and unfortunate victims 
of a curse with deadly repercussions.

"Plenty," was her tart response, accompanied by the arch of 
one eyebrow as their gazes met briefly.

He tried a smile, but it was not returned.  In fact, he 
caught her frown as she turned away to open the refrigerator.  
Before he could express his concern, she spoke again, her 
voice deceptively casual.

"I've got beer or red wine."

Taking his seat, he told her, "Water's fine, Scully."  He 
waited until she had poured for them both and taken her seat 
to say, "Something's bothering you."  

Her look was classic Scully.

Giving her a rueful half-grin in response, Mulder added, "On 
rare occasions, enigmatic Dr. Scully, I can read you like a 
book."  His smile slipped away as he regarded her, noting the 
lines on her brow, which he knew denoted a headache.  "And 
this chapter is a troubling one."

She gave him the slightest of smiles, though it did not reach 
her eyes.  "How eloquent, partner."  There was no sting to 
her words; the statement was actually said with a certain 
fondness.  Then she sighed, and looked down at her plate, 
pushing her fork absently through her rice.

"Scully."  It was said softly, encouragingly.

Lifting her head, she met Mulder's gaze once again and saw 
that tender, supportive expression on his face.  The one 
that allowed her to bare her soul -- an often-difficult 
undertaking.

"The curse."  Scully stated the words baldly.  When Mulder 
merely tipped his head in a silent request for her to 
continue, she divulged, "I didn't want to believe in it."  
Frowning again, she glanced away and then back.  "I still 
don't want to believe in it.  But..." Her voice trailed off 
and she shook her head as if trying to clear it.

Mulder reached out and covered Scully's free hand with his, 
squeezing gently.

Her next words were hesitant, as if she couldn't quite believe 
she was saying them.  "But I do."  Pulling her hand free, she 
rose to her feet, exhaling heavily, her expression conflicted.

In affirmation, Mulder said, "You believe."

Scully nodded jerkily, her gaze wavering, and when he took her 
hand once again, she let him tug her back down onto her chair. 
His quiet request that they eat first and talk later was a 
favorable one, and she acquiesced, realizing she hadn't eaten 
since noon.

Dinner was a quiet affair, quickly done, as was the clean up.  
Mulder declined tea, and went to sit on the couch while Scully 
waited for the kettle to boil for her cup of soothing brew.

Once she had settled on the couch beside him, her steaming tea 
on a coaster on her coffee table beside a plate of cookies, 
she leaned over and picked up Essie's diary, its pages 
decorated with small yellow squares of paper where she had 
bookmarked certain passages.  She didn't open the book right 
away, merely ran one finger gently along the leather spine 
while she formulated her thoughts, her words.

"Essie mentions the curse quite often," she said at last, 
lifting her head to meet her partner's patient, interested 
gaze.  "Liza MacGregor told her about it back in 1914," she 
continued, voice automatically taking on a didactic quality.  
"Essie didn't believe Liza, not until she herself nearly died 
of scarlet fever two years later.  It was then that she 
believed, and selected her first victim."

"Sarah O'Connor," Mulder interjected, nodding slightly.  
"Essie's friend."  He remembered the names of all the victims.  
He also already knew everything Scully had just related, but 
understood it was her way of thinking things out, of putting 
the pieces together in an organized fashion. 

Scully snorted derisively, while silently commiserating about 
the fate of the young girl so long ago.  "Poor choice in 
friendship."  Although she did in some small way, it was 
harder for Scully to feel sorry for Essie, who had elected to 
save herself at the cost of others.

Mulder merely nodded again, letting his partner work through 
the difficulty he knew she was experiencing as she wrestled 
with her beliefs and the evidence before her.

"Family illness seems to occur whenever there is a time period 
of a certain number of years between disappearances, though 
that number decreases as the years pass," Scully told him a 
moment later.  Leaning forward, she picked up a notepad from 
the coffee table, which she handed to Mulder, and continued 
talking while he perused the pages.

"I charted out a timeline of sorts, using Essie's and Liza's 
diaries for reference.  After her stroke in 1977, Essie writes 
that her grandmother Rose Daniels Bishop was quite unwell for
most of her adult life, and Essie even speculates that it was 
because of the curse, as was the stroke she herself suffered."

"It was also the cause of her death," Mulder commented wryly 
and with surety.

Scully frowned.  "Mulder, the autopsy clearly showed Essie had 
a heart attack.  She was 102 years old, and had experienced 
quite a shock."

Mulder had expected Scully to factor in Esther Dunford's age 
and the findings of the autopsy, would have been surprised if 
she had not.  "I know that, Scully," he replied, his voice 
rising slightly as he eagerly defended his stance.  "But Essie 
was the oldest living member of the cursed family, and when 
I destroyed the mirror, and thereby the curse itself, Liza 
MacGregor had her final revenge with Essie's death."

Rather than argue, and because they would never know with 
absolute certainty, Scully shifted gears and changed the topic.  
"You brought your briefcase in," she commented with a lift of 
one eyebrow.

"I did," Mulder agreed, nodding.  Shifting on the couch, he 
leaned to one side and slid it closer.  Opening it, he flipped 
quickly through the folders inside, removing one, which he 
handed to her.  "I picked up the preliminary lab reports on 
the analysis of your blood and the tea sample on my way out."  
Meeting her gaze, he added pointedly, "Interesting stuff."

Scully had already found the meat of the report and after 
reading it, made a sound of agreement.  "Essie does mention 
home-grown herbs in her diary, although nothing specific,"
she told him, her finger tapping the paper absently as she 
scanned the information one last time.  Closing the folder 
and handing it back, she then said guardedly, "Hopefully this 
helps explain my less than sterling performance on this case."

"Scully—-" he began, but was interrupted.

Shaking her head, Scully persisted, her voice rising with her 
agitation.  "Mulder, not only did I go into this case with 
skepticism, and maintain that position throughout, but I let 
myself be duped by one of the main perpetrators!"

Mulder quickly weighed his options, and decided to try and 
tease her out of her funk.  Flapping one hand at her playfully 
in dismissal, Mulder quipped, "Don't worry, Scully, I'll take 
the next drugging, okay?"

For a second her look was a glacial stare, and then she was 
slumping down, a rueful half-smile curving her lips.  "Deal," 
she murmured, her eyes slipping shut as her head hit the 
pillowed back of the couch.

Mulder grinned to himself as he watched the tension visibly 
seep from his partner.  He gave her a few minutes of peace 
before cheerfully commenting, "Hey Scully, did I mention I 
filed a 302 with Skinner to investigate a haunted house in 
Nantucket?"

"Mulder!"

*~*~*~

The End

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