Born On the Bayou By Laurie D. Haynes shannara@xemplary.com Classification: X, A, MSR Disclaimer: Not mine (more's the pity), I'm just playing with them. Rating: R for violence and adult situations Category: T, A, X, MSR Spoilers: "Triangle" (but it's not a post-ep) June 16, 1999 Summary: Mulder and Scully are sent to Southwest Louisiana to help on some murder/dismemberment cases. But it's an X-File, too, because rumor is it might be the work of the legendary cat people, who live in the swampland forests of the area. Note: the story is based partially on some actual murder/dismemberments that I covered as a newspaper reporter in this area. And the FBI really did help out on at least one of the cases. I'm afraid the legend is my own invention, however. Johnson's Bayou, Cameron Parish, Louisiana Standing on the creaky wooden dock, Jimmy Thibodeaux cast his line into the bayou again, hoping to land a big bass. As he started to reel it in, he felt something heavy resisting him. He became excited and started to reel faster, calling to his brother nearby, "Hey, Donny, I got me somet'in' big here! Get the net!" "Whatchoo think you got?" "Dunno. Mebbe a big catfish. It don't feel like a bass." "Ahhh, you probably just got hung up. Better hope ya didn't snag a gator!" Donny teased. As he continued to reel in the line, Jimmy could see that whatever he had hooked was definitely neither a fish nor an alligator, but he couldn't quite tell what it was. "Damn! I guess I hung up on some trash after all." Jimmy let out some line and walked off the short dock back to shore, then up to the edge of the pond. Standing in the mud and weeds, he brought in his "catch." "Ohmigod, Donny! It's a man -- or what's let of 'im!" Donny pulled in his own line and joined his brother on the bank. Donny held his nose and examined the gruesome find. "Oh shit. He don't have no head! And his arms or legs have been cut off, too!" "Go call the sheriff," Jimmy told him. "I'll stay here with the body." Donny ran to their beat-up pickup and hauled ass down the road to the nearest store, a good five or six miles away. ********************* The Cameron Parish sheriff's department had deputies combing the site, searching the soggy ground and tall marsh grass lining the bayou, trying to see if there were other body parts visible. The ID officer took photos of the remains and a video of the scene, as well. There being no coroner in Cameron Parish, a funeral home hearse waited for the signal to pick up the body and take it to wherever the sheriff instructed. It wasn't every day a dismembered body was found in his parish, so Sheriff Huey Fontaine himself was on the scene, perspiring heavily in the humid climate, sweat staining his Stetson and the armpits of his short-sleeved white Western shirt. When his forensics team finished, Fontaine waved the funeral home workers to bag the remains. "Where ya want us to take him?" asked one of the young hearse attendants. "Take him to the morgue in Lake Charles. We'll get the coroner there to look at him," the sheriff replied. "But they ain't got no coroner, right now," the funeral home worker replied. "He quit last month and they ain't found another 'un, yet." "Shit! I guess you gotta take him to Baton Rouge, then. Damn, we'll be three months getting an autopsy with their caseload!" The chief detective on the case, Capt. Trey Kent, walked up to the sheriff. "Why don't we call in the FBI for help?" Kent suggested. "Whatsa matter," said Fontaine derisively. "You don't think you can solve this one?" "Oh sure, but we can get it solved a lot quicker with the FBI's resources. They might even send their own pathologist down." "But you know they're gonna need a better reason than we just want help," said the sheriff. Kent nodded thoughtfully, then an idea occurred to him. "They have this special division, called the X Files. They look into strange, unexplained phenomena and unsolved cases. They're also supposed to be the best investigators in the bureau. Tell them the locals are saying it's the work of the Chat Hommes, the cat-men." "I like it," grinned the sheriff. "I'll tell some of our guys to spread the rumor around. It's not like folks haven't been saying forever that they see those things around here." "Probably swamp gas," said Kent with a smile. "Sure, but don't tell my grandmere that. She insists she's been seein' 'em for years," laughed Fontaine. ************************ Mulder and Scully flew into New Orleans and caught a commuter flight to Lake Charles. The journey on the small plane was quite bumpy and Scully was white-knuckled from clutching the arms of the seat so tightly. As usual, Mulder was unaffected, other than being unable to catch even a short nap with his knees crammed up against the seat in front of him and Scully gasping at each bump. As they filed into the airport lobby, an attractive young woman in a business suit handed them vouchers for $2 in chips for one of the riverboat casinos on the lake. "Might be fun, Scully," Mulder said, looking at the voucher. "Do big winners turn you on?" he asked her with a wicked grin. "I play a pretty mean hand of poker, myself, actually," Scully said. "My father taught me to play. And I've never been on a riverboat. Maybe if we get time, we could go." Mulder grimaced at the thought of getting on a boat, of traveling on water. "On second thought, Scully, maybe you don't need to be impressed by my gambling prowess." She laughed, immediately guessing the reason for his sudden change of heart. "It's a lake, silly. No waves, no seasickness." He looked dubious. "If you say so." Mulder walked up to the car rental desk and obtained a vehicle for their use. They threw their bags in the trunk and Scully checked out the map and directed Mulder to the correct highway to Cameron. They'd been told to go to the sheriff's office, which was located in the parish courthouse. ************************* "Have you identified the body yet?" Mulder asked the sheriff and his detective. "No," said Kent, "but we did find some more body parts -- we had a storm last night and a leg washed up not far from where the trunk was found." "Any papers in the man's pockets?" Mulder queried. "No wallet, no nothin,'" the sheriff answered. "What does your coroner say about the time of death?" asked Scully. "Well, ma'am, we hadn't got an autopsy done yet," Fontaine replied. "We don't have a coroner of our own. We're too small of a parish. We usually send any bodies to Lake Charles for the Calcasieu Parish pathologist to do the autopsy. But they ain't got one right now, either. We were gonna send it to Baton Rouge, but Trey said maybe the bureau could get it done a whole lot quicker." Scully nodded. "I'm a forensic pathologist, myself, I can do it. Where's the body?" "Calcasieu Parish morgue," Kent told her. "If you don't mind, I'd like to sit in on the autopsy." "I need to have a look at it, myself," Mulder said grimly, "so I guess I'll stick around while you do it. Kent, you can fill me in on the local folktales surrounding the Chat Hommes." ****************** Scully changed into a set of too-large scrubs while the morgue attendant brought the limbless body and its separated leg out and prepared them for the autopsy. When she emerged from the changing room, Mulder and Kent joined her. Mulder pulled a jar of Vicks out of his pocket, unscrewed the lid and offered some to Kent. The detective scooped up a glob with his fingers and spread it on his nostrils and upper lip. Mulder followed suit. "Thanks, Agent Mulder, this is definitely a ripe one," Kent said, nodding at the remains on the morgue table. "How do you stand it, Dana?" "A liberal dose of perfume on my surgical mask helps a lot," she replied. "You get used to it to a certain degree." She pulled the sheet off the still-clothed trunk and leg. Mulder and Kent came up to look with her. Scully turned on the recorder. "Body is wearing an undershirt, which appears to have been white at one time, and blue jeans, with a Western belt. The clothing is stained with blood despite having been in the water for some time. The right leg is wearing a leather cowboy boot." Scully carefully worked the boot off the foot. She looked at the tag inside. "Victim wore a size 11 boot," she dictated to the recorder. "Pull his belt off, Scully, and let me see it," Mulder asked, grabbing a pair of latex gloves from a dispenser on a nearby counter. Once gloved, he accepted the belt from Scully and stretched it out on the table next to the body. Using a towel, he wiped the pond scum off the leather to reveal a name stamped into the leather. "Our John Doe is now a Brian Doe," Mulder said, and showed the belt to Scully and Kent. Mulder wiped off the buckle to reveal silver inlaid with turquoise and coral. "Looks like we're already getting somewhere," he said. "We can put out a description of the belt and his boot size and see if it rings a bell with anyone or matches up with any missing person in the area." A further search of the clothing turned up nothing and Scully cut the jeans, shirt and red jockey shorts off the body and put them into a paper bag. "Victim is a Caucasian male, age anywhere from 20-40, I'd say. The state of the body makes it difficult to pinpoint the age at this time. >From the decay present and larvae infestation, I'd estimate the victim has been dead five to 10 days." Scully prepared to make the first incision and Mulder gestured to Kent to move with him to just outside the autopsy bay. The two sat down while Scully worked. "So tell me about these cat-men," Mulder insisted. "The old folks around here, and even some of the younger ones who live back up in the marsh, say the creatures are for real," Kent said. "I'm more inclined to think it's some sort of marsh panther and a whole lot of imagination." "I'd be interested in talking to some of them," said Mulder. Kent nodded and avoided looking Mulder in the eye. "Mulder!" Scully called. "Come here." Mulder walked into the room where his partner was working. "What's up?" "One thing I can tell right away," said Scully. "This man wasn't killed by any beast. The limbs were hacked off, not torn off. Someone obviously murdered him and then mutilated the body. Whether it was just to try to cover up the murder or there is some sort of fetish working, I can't say. But this is not an X File. Here, take a look through the magnifying glass at the marks." Mulder frowned, but let her point out what she was talking about. "Are there any wounds on the torso?" he asked. "I haven't finished yet, but from what I can tell, there are none, other than where the limbs were removed, and it appears to me they were removed after death. I'll know for sure once I've completed the autopsy." "Be my guest," said Mulder, gesturing with a flair. "I'm going to have a little talk with the detective. Something smells, here, and it isn't just the body." He strode out of the room and found Kent in the nearby break room, pouring a cup of coffee. "Scully says the victim was not killed by any kind of wild animal, but by a human. The limbs were hacked off." Kent stood up straight and paused before turning around to face Mulder. "Ah, well, we really haven't taken much of a look at the body -- not having a coroner and all that," said Kent. "Yet, you called in the FBI for help before you even knew what you were dealing with?" Kent sighed. "We really do need your help," he said. "We don't have much in the way of resources and we particularly wanted an autopsy done before a month had passed." "And this legend of the cat people," Mulder said angrily, "you made that up, didn't you -- just to get us down here?" "No, I swear, the folks back up around the bayous insist the stories are true," Kent said, "but it's just folk tales. I'm not going to apologize for trying to get something for our taxpayers' dollars that we needed. Look, I'd heard of the X Files and figured you guys were our best shot at finding whoever killed this guy. We're just a small parish and don't have much in the way of resources." "Ok, we'll help. But I still want to talk to the people about the legend." "It's a deal," said Kent, breathing a sigh of relief. "We'll need to question people around there anyway to find out if anybody saw anything." "Have you even started that process, yet?" asked Mulder, beginning to wonder if he was even working with trained professionals. "Oh, sure, but there are people scattered all up in there. Some of them can only be reached by boat," said the detective. "Ok, so we leave out first thing in the morning," Mulder insisted. "First thing I want to see is where the body, or what's left of it was found." Scully finished her autopsy, finding nothing beyond what she already had. She gathered samples, though, and packaged them up, along with the clothing remnants, to send to the FBI lab in Washington. She hoped she would hear something before the end of the week, but it wasn't likely. Other cases would likely take priority, even as nasty as this one was. After she cleaned up and changed back into her street clothes, Mulder filled her in on his conversation with the detective. "Tell you what," said Kent. "Let me take you out to dinner. There's a terrific Cajun seafood restaurant, the Plantation House, that's absolutely fantastic. I owe you one." Both agents readily agreed and Mulder's stomach growled right on cue. "Better feed that thing," joked Scully. Mulder grinned and the three left the coroner's office. ***************** The restaurant was housed in an old Southern mansion and furnished with antiques. Mulder and Scully both ordered the charcoal-grilled red snapper covered in a Dijon sauce with scallops and crawfish, while Kent ordered a platter of boiled crawfish. Never having eaten boiled crawfish, Mulder watched in fascination as Kent broke open the succulent shellfish, eating the tail and sucking the spicy fat from the head. The detective looked up to see both Scully and Mulder staring at him. Kent laughed. "Crawfish are a true Cajun delicacy. You can tell who's from this area and who's not. The outsiders eat the tails and throw away the head without touching it." "You don't exactly have a Louisiana accent," noted Scully. "That's because I'm originally from Kansas," said Kent. "But I've been down here for 11 years. After college, I took a trip to New Orleans. Saw an ad in the Picayune-Times advertising for patrol deputies in Cameron Parish. I figured it would be like New Orleans, so I applied and got the job. Wasn't too long before I found out differently." "So why'd you stay?" asked Mulder around a mouthful of red snapper. "I met a girl and fell in love," replied Kent. "She was a dispatcher, then, and now she's a patrol deputy. Her family's from here and she really doesn't want to leave. We've got two kids and a house. This is my home, now, and I'm content to stay. I've been through three sheriffs and -- don't tell Huey -- but I'm thinking about running for sheriff myself." "Isn't it a problem being married to another officer in the same department?" Mulder asked, glancing slyly at Scully, who pretended she didn't notice. "Sometimes," admitted Kent. "It's all I can do not to rush to the scene when I hear her on the radio saying she's pulling someone over. But she'd have my hide if I did that." Mulder nodded in understanding. "You respect her as a professional, capable of carrying out her duties. That's how it is with me and Scully." Scully snorted in derision. "That's not the impression I get when you run off and ditch me, Mulder." "Now, when was the last time I ditched you? I don't do that anymore." "Bermuda was only a few months ago," she pointed out. "I didn't ditch you," argued Mulder. "We weren't assigned to a case. I was just investigating something on my own." Scully chuckled and told Kent, "Nine times out of 10, when he goes off on these 'independent investigations,' he winds up in deep trouble and I have to go pull his behind out of the fire." Kent grinned. "That so?" "No, it isn't," Mulder retorted, then amended his statement as Scully gave him her patented look. "Not that much anyway." He laughed. "I guess it's about half the time, though." Scully didn't comment, but smiled slightly. The three finished their meal and Kent took the agents back to their motel. The accommodations were actually quite nice for a change. Room rates were reasonable in this casino hotel, designed to give gamblers a place to crash in between sessions of gaming. Mulder was awakened about 4:30 a.m. by a call from Kent. "Sorry to wake you, but I figured you'd want to know," said the detective. "We've got another body. Some boaters found it in another section of Johnson's Bayou. Same M.O. -- the body was dismembered. How soon can you get down here?" "Give us an hour. Where do you want to meet -- the sheriff's office?" "No, come on down to Johnson's Bayou. There's a little convenience store, there, the only store in town. It's right on Highway 82, you can't miss it." "OK, tell them to leave everything as it is. Do you have a forensics team you can call?" "Calcasieu Parish will loan us one. I've already called them. See you in an hour," said Kent and hung up. Mulder looked over at Scully, lying next to him in the bed. She was already awake and listening to him talk to Kent. Mulder hung up the phone and lay back down, drawing her into his arms. "They just found another body in the same area as the last one," he said, sighing. "They want us on the scene." Scully rested her head on Mulder's bare chest and yawned. "If I'd known we were going to have to go out before sunup, I wouldn't have let you talk me into this last night." He grinned and kissed her. "You thought it was a good idea at the time." She laughed. "I always do. You can be pretty ... persuasive." She shifted in the bed and felt evidence of his considerable interest in remaining where they were. "Down, boy, we've got work to do." Caressing his face, she got up reluctantly from the bed. Mulder made a playful grab at her, but she evaded him and left for her adjoining room to use the shower. ************** Dressed in jeans and boots, Mulder and Scully stood on the dirt road beside the bayou as the forensics team swept the area and prepared to retrieve the body parts. As before, some parts were missing. A team of deputies and forensic experts were standing by with a boat, prepared to drag the bayou if necessary. As soon as he saw the forensics team was finished with the area on the bank next to the body, Mulder carefully approached, followed by Scully. The sun was just coming up, but the area was brightly lit by spotlights from the patrol cars on the road and the spotlight on the boat. There were numerous footprints in the area, which didn't help matters. Obviously, the fishermen who had found this body had set ashore to go find a phone. The nearest home was about a mile further up the road. The agents looked around the bank themselves, but could not see anything. Scully called to the men in the boat to bring the body in to shore. Grimacing, the deputies retrieved the body parts floating on the surface -- a torso and an arm -- and took them to the bank. A hearse drove up and parked beside the patrol cars on the road. Her hands clad in latex gloves, Scully examined the remains. Something glittered when she shined her flashlight on the arm. Around the wrist of the arm was a charm bracelet. Scully removed it and handed it to Mulder, who put it in an evidence bag. A quick examination of the torso revealed the victim to be a woman. "She's been here over a day," said Scully. "I'll know more when we get her back to the morgue." Mulder nodded in understanding and ordered the deputies to begin dragging the bayou. "Hell, this damn bayou is 10 miles long," complained one of the deputies in the boat. "Then you'd best get started," Kent snapped. "Start at the northernmost part that's deep enough to cover a body and work your way down to the mouth of the bayou." "Scully, why don't you go with the body back to the morgue and Kent and I will get started questioning the people around here," Mulder said. She agreed, climbed in the passenger side of the hearse and left with the funeral home attendants. Mulder turned to Kent. "So where are the people that found this body?" Kent motioned to one of the deputies who opened his patrol car, ducked his head in and then a man and woman got out. Mulder and Kent went to question them. "How long had you been here before you saw the body?" asked Mulder. "We had just launched our boat and turned on the spotlight when we saw it floatin' in the water," said the man. "Betty, here, thought it was a piece of log at first and hollered for me to go around it. She kept the light on it as I steered the boat to the side and when we got closer, we saw it was a person -- or what was left of one." Betty nodded in agreement. "I told Bubba to put ashore and I got in the truck and drove up the road to Old Millie's house to use the phone. She was already up and let me in." "Did you see anyone else around here?" asked Kent. "No, there wasn't nobody here but us," Betty replied. "Have you heard of anybody missing around here?" Mulder inquired. "Not really. But you gotta understand there's a lot of folks who work in the oilfield and might be gone for a week or more at a time -- especially if they work offshore," Betty explained. "The rig phones are usually just for the company people and the toolpusher, so it wouldn't be unusual not to hear from your husband or wife for a week or more. And then there's the guys who do nothing but party and run around in Lake Charles or Lafayette their whole time off." Mulder and Kent drew aside, away from the couple. "Whoever dumped these bodies must have been figuring the alligators would take care of them," said Kent. "There are a few around here, but most of them are back up in the marsh. It's illegal, but there's a fair amount of alligator poaching that goes on, so the gators have taken to avoiding areas like the main part of the bayou where people come out fishing fairly often." "Sounds like our killer may not be from this immediate area, then," mused Mulder. "Yet he knew where the bayou was, so he knows something about the area." "So it's probably someone who visits around here or passes through the area," Kent theorized. Mulder turned in a circle, scanning the horizon. In the distance, to both the north and west, he spotted derricks out in the marsh. He pointed at them and added, "Or works in the area sometimes. Let's go talk to this Old Millie, since I gather she's the nearest resident and is up at odd hours, then we'll go over to those rigs and ask around." Obtaining directions from the couple who found the body, Kent and Mulder drove up the road to the old woman's house, which was built on stilts to keep from being flooded. They found her on the porch of her home, rocking peacefully in a chair. The two men climbed the stairs to speak with her. She regarded them suspiciously. "What you two fellas want?" she demanded. They both showed their ID and badges and the old woman nodded in satisfaction. "I heared about dem dead bodies. People been sayin' since the other day, dat de Chat Hommes tore up a man, ate on 'im and throwed de leftovers in de bayou," she said in a thick Cajun accent. Mulder's eyes gleamed at the mention of the cat-men, but he said, "In this case, the killer was all too human. The first body was definitely dismembered using some sort of knife or meat cleaver and I suspect we'll find the same thing with the second one." "Now, dat I believe. The Chat Hommes don' kill no one dat don' try to hurt dem. Dey is peaceful creatures." "I would like to talk to you about that," Mulder said, "but first, have you seen any strangers around here dumping stuff in the water?" Old Millie shook her head. "I know most everyone," she said. "But I'm an old woman and my sight ain't so good anymore. I go to bed real early, but I gets up when de rooster starts crowin'. Other dan some dirty people who t'row down their beer cans by the bayou, I ain't seen nothin' like dat." "You mentioned the Chat Hommes," Mulder prodded the old woman. "What do they look like?" "Well, I really shouldn't be talkin' about them, seein' as how I'm descended from Le Protectors. Why you wanna know? You gonna go huntin' dem?" "No, no, nothing like that," Mulder assured her. "I'm just interested in that sort of thing." "Well, I dunno ... You look like an honest young man. C'mere and let me read you." Not sure what she meant, Mulder squatted on his heels beside her rocking chair. She reached out with both hands and touched his temples. She closed her eyes for a moment and Mulder could have sworn he felt a little flutter in his mind. "OK," she said, removing her hands. "You'll do. But you must swear by your love for that pretty little woman of yours that you will not take this information back to the government." Mulder and Kent glanced at one another and the agent saw from the expression in Kent's eyes that he knew the old woman was talking about Scully. She waved Kent away and insisted on talking to Mulder alone. The detective excused himself and promised to return for Mulder later. "How did you know about my partner?" Mulder asked Millie. "I has the sight. Your thoughts of her are very strong. You love her very much. You should not hide that love, but let it out." "It's not that easy," he replied. "There are those who would use that knowledge against us." "Mebbe dey already know," said Millie with a slight smile. "I loved my Richard for sixty-one years before he passed on. But I still wish we'd had more time. Don't take your love for granted, young man. Make the most of every day you got on God's good Earth." "I will," Mulder promised. "Tell me about the Chat Hommes. I'm not going to hurt them." "Dey are night creatures, like most wild cats. No one knows how dey got here. The Indians say de Chats were here before dey even got here. The Chat Hommes are a very old race. They walk on two legs, 'cept when dey hunt, dey go on all fours." "What do they eat?" "Not people, though some folks have claimed dat. The marsh is full of birds, ducks, fish, rabbits and nutria rats. The nutria ain't from here. Crazy government people brought them to put in the lakes to eat the water lilies that get out of control because people don' keep the water clean. Dey likes this marsh country and dere are lots of dem, now. Trappers like de fur, but dey ain't much good to eat. The Chats like dem, though." Millie pointed to a grove of oak and cypress trees. "Dere be lots of areas like dis out in the marsh. In the day, the Chat Hommes sleep in the branches." "What do they look like? How big are they?" "Even taller dan you, but dey have thick bodies and are very strong. De fur is black with brown mixed in." "Do they talk?" "Not with the words of a man. Dey talk with their minds, but they don' think like a human. But Le Protectors can speak with them after a fashion." "Who are Le Protectors?" "The ones called by Saint Francis to be the stewards of the wild things. Go in my house and bring me my Bible dat's beside my easy chair." Mulder rose and opened the screen door and entered the woman's house. He looked around, quickly spotted the Bible and took it to Millie. She opened it up a pulled a medallion from inside it and handed it to Mulder. He examined it closely. Engraved in the bronze was a hand holding a globe with rays of light surrounding the hand and what it held. "Dat is the symbol of Le Protectors. My daddy, bless his soul, was a Protector and his daddy before him. My mama was a Protector, too. I woulda been one, but Richard didn't believe in that stuff and didn't want me hangin' out with those people." "Do you know any of the local Protectors?" Mulder asked with keen interest. "Do you think they would show me the Chat Hommes?" "Yeah, but dey ain't gonna tell no outsider nothin'." "You did." "I gots the second sight. I can look into your soul, boy. I know you are a good man. But ain't none of dem gonna take my word for it, you bein' a Yankee and an outsider." "It would mean a lot to me if I could see the Chat Hommes," Mulder insisted. "You cain't find dem. Dey find you if dey have reason." Mulder sighed. "Well, can you recommend someone around here who knows the bayous and would be willing to show me around? Capt. Kent seems to know the area fairly well, but I'm sure he doesn't know the backwoods and the marsh." "Lemme call Johnny -- that's my grandson. He works as a hunting guide during duck season." Millie rose creakily from her seat on the front porch and went inside to the telephone. She dialed a number and after a minute, began speaking in Cajun French to the person on the other end of the line. She paused and put her hand over the mouthpiece. "Johnny said OK, he will take you where you want to go. But it's $20 an hour for him and his airboat." "All right. Tell him to meet me in half an hour at the dock just down the road." Millie nodded and apparently relayed the information to her grandson. Before Mulder left, she pressed the medallion into his hand. He started to protest the gift. "Keep it for now. You can bring it back when you don't need it anymore," she said mysteriously. Mulder bid Millie goodbye, stepped out onto the porch and pulled his cell phone from his jeans pocket to dial the Lake Charles morgue. He asked for Scully, who the morgue attendant said had just arrived. "Hi, Scully, it's me. Listen, I've found someone with an airboat and I'm going to get them to take me out to some rigs out in the marsh. It's possible our killer works on one of the rigs." Scully sighed. "OK, but be careful. And no side trips to look for cat-men, either." "Scully, you wound me. What makes you think I would do that?" He heard Scully snort in derision. "I'll have my cell phone with me," Mulder said. "Call me when you get some autopsy results." "All right. Take care." Her voice lowered to almost a whisper and she added. "I love you." Mulder smiled and replied, "Love you. See you later. I promise you a first class dinner and a scented bubble bath tonight -- with me in it." "I'll hold you to that," Scully answered. "Bye." Mulder walked down the road to the dock he and Kent had passed earlier and sat down to wait on Millie's grandson. It wasn't long before he heard the roar of the airboat and spotted it coming from the south around the bend of the bayou. The airboat operator cut the motor so he could talk to Mulder. "You the Fed that needs a guide in the marsh?" "That's right. Are you Johnny, Millie's grandson?" The man nodded and reached into a toolbox, pulled out a set of ear protectors like the ones he wore over his Skoal baseball cap, and handed them to Mulder, along with a life jacket. The agent climbed aboard the boat and sat down on the cushioned seat next to Johnny. He donned the life vest, pulled on the ear protectors and turned to Johnny. "I need to go out to those two rigs out there." "Granny said you're lookin' for the ones what killed that man and woman and tore 'em up." "Right. You wouldn't happen to know anyone named Brian, who had a western belt with his name on it and a fancy turquoise and silver belt buckle, would yo u?" "No, I sure don't. Sounds kinda fancy for folks around here. People 'round here are pretty poor. The oil patch pays pretty good if you don't mind bein' on the road and not knowin' how long you'll have a job. It ain't like the '80s when oil was boomin.' You used to see rigs scattered all over the coast. Lots of people lost their jobs when the bust came -- includin' me, but I do all right as a fishin' and huntin' guide, now. At least I can feed my family and pay the bills." Mulder nodded. "OK, let's go." Johnny fired up the engine and took off up the bayou, then turned onto a side creek. The boat skipped across the water and marshland for about 15 minutes until they reached the first rig. Johnny pulled up alongside the drilling barge and tied off next to a larger airboat and a couple of skiffs with outboard motors. "How long you reckon it's gonna take?" asked Johnny. "Hard to say," replied Mulder. "Just wait on me, I'll pay you for your time." "OK, but I'm gonna wait in the rec room and watch some TV. I know the pusher on this rig. He's a big duck hunter. Want me to introduce you?" "Sure, that would be great." Johnny and Mulder climbed a ladder to the main platform. The fingers of the derrick were full of drill pipe and Johnny commented, "They're out of the hole right now, might be logging. If they are, this will be a good time to talk to the toolpusher." They bypassed the rig floor and entered a metal building that Johnny said housed the toolpusher's and company man's offices and the living quarters for the entire crew. They came to a room whose door was open, and walked in. A man was seated at a desk, talking to a grimy rig hand. He looked up as Johnny and Mulder entered and grinned widely when his eyes lit on the guide. The man dismissed the rig hand and walked up to Johnny, hand extended. Johnny grasped it and the other man pounded him on the shoulder. "You no good sonnuvabitch!" the man said with a smile. "Where the hell you been?" Johnny grinned. "Takin' bigshots out huntin' and fishin.' How's it goin' here, Bob? You gonnna make a well?" "Mud loggers and geologists say it looks good. We're runnin' an electric log right now," replied Bob. "That's good to hear. Sounds like y'all might be stickin' around the area for a while, then," said Johnny. "Yeah, if we got a good hole, the company wants us on another one here in this same field," Bob said. "Listen, Bob, this here's Agent Fox Mulder from the FBI in Washington. He's out here investigating some murders. He wants to talk to your crew and see if anyone might have any information." Bob politely shook hands with Mulder. "Murders? I heard about that one body they found, didn't have no head, arms or legs. There been another one?" "Yes," Mulder answered. "They found the body of a woman floating in the bayou early this morning. She'd been dismembered, just like the other body. " "Oh, man! That's bad stuff for sure," said Bob, grimacing. "Well, I reckon you can talk to my boys. We got some service people here, too. The mud loggers are here and there's a well-logging crew out of New Orleans that has been here all night." Bob grabbed a couple of extra hard hats kept on hand for guests and gave them to Mulder and Johnny. "If you don't mind showin' Agent Mulder around, Bob, I'm just gonna go hang out in the rec room and watch some TV or somethin.'" "Sure. Actually, you'll find a bunch of the crew in the rec room right now, except for the ones that are helping the loggers." The three walked to the rec room and the toolpusher turned off the television and told his rig hands to listen to Mulder. Mulder explained what was going on and then described the belt found on the first body. "Any of you know anyone that might have had a belt like that?" The rig hands looked at one another, but none of them indicated they knew the answer. Mulder thanked them for their time and followed Bob to the mud loggers' trailer. Inside, one man was looking through a microscope at what appeared to be rock samples. He straightened as the other men entered. "Mark, this is Agent Mulder from the FBI. He's investigating a couple of murders and wants to ask you something." Mulder described the Western belt to Mark, who thought for a moment, then nodded. "Y'know, I remember a mud engineer a while back who had a belt like that. Name was Brian, too. He didn't wear it when he was working, but when he was getting ready to leave to go on his time off, I noticed he had a fancy belt. I asked him about the belt buckle and he said his ex-wife had given him the whole thing -- had it made special for him." "When was the last time you saw him?" asked Mulder. "About three weeks ago or so. I just figured he got sent someplace else," replied Mark. "Who did he work for?" "Barachem," said the toolpusher. "That's who the oil company has on this job. I can get you a phone number and address. They're out of Lafayette." "Great! I appreciate it." Mulder and Bob returned to the office where the toolpusher looked up the information and gave it to the agent. Returning the hard hat, Mulder took his leave and went to the rec room to collect Johnny, who was shooting a game of pool with one of the off-duty rig hands. Mulder felt the suspicious eyes of the young men gathered in the rec room, but shrugged it off. Johnny accompanied Mulder back to the airboat and they again put on their life vests and ear protectors before heading out to the next rig. As they pulled out, they did not notice the dirty young man who climbed into a flat-bottomed boat and followed behind them. They were well away from the first rig and still a good mile from the next when the first shot was fired. Over the noise of the airboat engine, Mulder and Johnny did not hear the ping as the first bullet hit the fan blade. But when Johnny crumpled a minute later, Mulder grabbed him to keep the man from falling off the airboat. As Johnny's hand fell from the throttle, the airboat began to slow down and the skiff pulled up beside them and the man driving aimed a pistol and fired again. The bullet struck Mulder in the left shoulder and the force carried him off the boat and into the water. As he fell, however, he hit his head on a metal protrusion and was knocked unconscious. The airboat continued on for a short way, then finally stopped. Johnny's body was spread out on the seat, his eyes open and unseeing. The man in the skiff circled the airboat. Satisfied that Johnny was dead, he went back to look for Mulder. The agent, however, pushed by the waves from the boats, had drifted into some marsh reeds and was hidden from view. The life jacket did its job and kept his face out of the water. The shooter in the skiff cursed and looked at his watch. He knew he'd better get back to the rig before anyone missed him. He would come back later and look for the Fed. He turned his boat back to the drilling barge and left. Calcasieu Parish Morgue, Lake Charles, LA Scully, having completed the autopsy, showered and changed back into her street clothes. She took her phone from her purse and dialed Mulder. His phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. *He probably just turned it off, or the battery is dead,* she told herself. *Or knowing Mulder, he dropped it in the water and lost it.* Scully definitely did not like the hollow feeling in her gut, though. She went into the coroner's office and looked up the number for the Cameron Parish Sheriff's Office. "Capt. Kent, please," Scully asked the person who answered. Moments later, Kent picked up on the line. "Trey, this is Dana Scully. I'm trying to get hold of Mulder. Is he with you?" "No, I haven't seen him since this morning when he went to talk to Old Millie. When I went back to get him, Millie said he'd left with her grandson to go out in the marsh." "Yes, he said he was going out to the drilling rigs he'd seen from where you found that second body," said Scully. "Mulder said he'd have his phone with him, but I can't reach him. It's probably nothing, but I'd feel better if I could find him. Can you send someone up to get me?" "I'll ask someone from the Calcasieu Parish S.O. to give you a ride. Maybe he'll be back by the time you get here. But in the meantime, I'll line up a boat in case we need to go look for him." "Thanks, Trey." Scully closed her phone and sat down to go over her autopsy notes while she waited. But it was very difficult to keep her mind on the notes when her brain kept summoning up images of an injured Mulder, lost in the marsh. *********************** Johnson's Bayou, Cameron Parish, LA Mulder groaned as consciousness returned, making him well aware of how much he hurt. And wherever he was, it was cold. He opened his eyes and looked around him. He was floating among some reeds near what appeared to be an island in the marsh. Paddling one-handed, he made his way over to solid ground and dragged himself up on it. He lay there for what seemed to be a long time, before trying to sit up. The attempt made his head spin and his stomach churned in rhythm. Mulder rolled over and vomited, then lay back weakly. He craned his neck to look at his injured shoulder and saw that his left arm and the life jacket on that side was covered in blood. He pushed the shirt off his shoulder and saw the bullet wound, still bleeding steadily. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Mulder pressed firmly against the wound and hissed at the pain. He sat up again, more carefully, and gazed out into the marsh. He could see no signs of the airboat or Johnny. Either the gunman had taken the boat or it had drifted away. Looking around him and taking stock of his situation, he weighed the wisdom of staying put so Scully could find him, or the need to hide in case the shooter returned to finish the job. Mulder opted for the latter and rose to his knees, then unsteadily to his feet and made his way toward a grove of oak trees about 50 yards away. His strength was all but gone by the time he reached the trees, but he continued on a few more steps and collapsed, his head and shoulder throbbing. He felt his gun, still in its holster at his side, but knew it would have to be dried out before it would be of any use. Remembering his cell phone, he reached in his pocket for it, hoping it hadn't been ruined. He pulled it out and it was entangled in the chain from the medallion Millie had given him. Mulder unwrapped the chain and hooked his arm through it so he wouldn't lose it. As he lifted the phone up, though, water poured from it. He tossed the useless thing away. Mulder clung to the hope that Scully would come looking for him soon. He knew he wouldn't last long out in the marsh in this condition. Although Mulder wanted to stay awake, it just wasn't possible. He was so tired ... and so cold. The darkness that descended was not the sun going down, but out, so he never felt himself lifted and carried into the trees. ************** Scully thanked the deputy who had driven her back to Johnson's Bayou. Trey Kent was waiting for her at the dock with a deputy and an airboat. She donned the ear protectors and life vest given her as they set out for the rigs. By chance, they went first to the rig where Mulder had been traveling when he was attacked. They went aboard the drilling barge, but no one had seen the FBI agent there. The toolpusher offered to radio over to the other rig, which was being leased by the same oil company. "No, Agent Mulder and Johnny left here about three hours ago," Bob told Scully over the radio. "They were in Johnny's airboat and they were headed over to where you are now." ************** When Mulder awoke again, he was warm, though still wet. He was covered by a fur blanket and lying on a bed of leaves. He was inside what appeared to be a tree hollow, but he had no idea how he had gotten there. He blinked in confusion and when he shifted, the pain in his shoulder returned instantly and he groaned and shut his eyes tightly. Mulder heard a soft step and opened his eyes to see a large, furry ... feline ... standing on two legs. He tried to sit up and scoot away in alarm, but no sooner rose than was overwhelmed by the pain. The creature squatted on its haunches and simply looked at him and held up the medallion Mulder had around his arm earlier. Mulder eased himself back down, realizing he was in no danger from the animal. He put his good hand up to his injured shoulder and felt that something had been placed on it. His shirt was gone, but someone had bandaged him using strips of clean material. He also noticed that the wound had been packed with a poultice of Spanish moss. "Thank you," Mulder said. "Merci." The Chat Homme (Mulder had no doubt what his host was) inclined its head as if to say, "You're welcome." *************** The rig hand pulled his boat up on the island. He had searched all around the area in the water and had not seen the agent's body. He knew that Mulder had been wearing a life vest, so if the agent was dead, the body should be floating in the area -- unless an alligator had taken it. He shook his head. Damn gators hadn't had the decency to eat ol' Brian or Glenda -- at least not all of them. He doubted he would be any luckier with the agent. He had to find the body and make sure the Fed wasn't alive. And if he was, well, that's what the pistol was for. He wondered if the agent would beg for his life like Brian had. Sonnuvabitch had cuckolded too many men. And that bitch Glenda -- she had tried to seduce him as he held the gun on her. For a moment, he'd almost given in, but remembered how he'd seen Brian coming out of her house that night when they thought he was on the rig. He had taken great satisfaction in shooting her in the stomach. He chuckled when he remembered the surprised look on her face. She hadn't been quite dead when he started cutting her up and he had to admit, that had been fun. The killer picked up Mulder's trail, the tall grass flattened and drops of blood where the agent had made his way to the trees. Cursing his bad luck, the rig hand followed the trail into the woods to where it ended abruptly at a tree. The man peered up into the branches of the trees, wondering if the injured agent had managed to climb one of them. ********************************** Mulder was resting fitfully and had thrown off the fur blanket. He was hot and suspected he had a fever. His mouth was dry and he wished he had some water. No sooner had he thought that, than his host reappeared with a wooden gourd filled with water. Mulder wasn't sure how pure the water was, but he decided to trust the Chat Homme. He tried to sit up, but found he couldn't. The Chat supported Mulder and he took the gourd with a shaking hand and sipped the water. The creature's ears pricked up and it suddenly turned its head and looked to the opening of the hollow. He gently lowered Mulder back to the bed of leaves and looked intently at the agent. Mulder received a picture in his mind of a man with a gun, searching through the woods. He shook his head and looked up at the Chat. *He was communicating with me,* Mulder thought. *Damn! The killer must be out there looking for me.* He tried again to rise, but he just didn't have the strength. The Chat held up its hand and motioned for Mulder to stay put. The Chat went down on all fours and crept out the opening of the tree hollow. Once outside on the branches, the Chat sent a silent call to the rest of the pride, summoning them to deal with the danger the armed killer presented. The woods were beginning to get dark and that was definitely in their favor. The rig hand circled the tree Mulder was in, looking closely at the trunks. *There!* About six feet up was a smear of blood. How the wounded agent had managed to shimmy up the tree was beyond comprehension, but no matter. The killer stuck the pistol in the back waistband of his dirty jeans and made ready to climb the tree. About that time, he heard a growl from behind him and spun around to see a huge fur-covered creature about seven feet tall. He reached around behind him to try to pull out the gun, but the Chat was as quick as any of its smaller cousins and was upon him in an instant, its claws extended. The rig hand was no match for 300 pounds of claws and fangs. The Chat ripped him to shreds and the man died quickly once his throat was torn out. Satisfied that the human was dead, the Chat carried the body to other end of the small island and threw it into the murky water there. As the bloody body hit the water with a splash, the Chat heard two other splashes and saw the body jerked below the surface. He turned and went back to see about his injured guest. The pact between Le Protectors and the Chat Hommes had been kept. ************** Mulder awoke, thinking he heard someone calling his name. He looked around and saw the cat creature sitting beside him. He heard his name again and recognized Scully's voice. Suddenly, he remembered what the Chat had last communicated to him -- that a gunman was hunting him. "The killer! He'll hurt her! Please, do something." Again, the Chat Homme stared deeply into Mulder's eyes and the agent saw, like a replay in his mind, the Chat jumping upon the rig hand and ripping out his throat. Mulder's eyes widened, but he did not condemn the creature for protecting him as well as itself and its ... family. Scully called again, more urgently. She and Kent had found the trail of blood Mulder had left, then the site where the rig hand had been slain. "I thank you for helping me," Mulder told the cat. "But I need to go, now. Can you help me get down from here?" The Chat inclined its head again and picked Mulder up as gently as one of its kits. But it was necessary for the Chat Homme to put the human over its shoulder as it descended the tree. While Scully and Kent had their backs turned, the Chat Homme lowered Mulder quickly but gently to the forest floor, then leapt back up into the branches. It peeked out at Mulder, who waved weakly, then it disappeared into the thick foliage. "Scully!" Mulder called. "Here I am! Over here." Scully and Kent turned around and ran to where Mulder was lying. Scully kneeled and immediately began checking his injuries. She noted his fever and dilated eyes, but was glad to see the bullet wound was not bleeding. But she had no way of knowing how much blood he had lost. "I can't take you anywhere, can I?" Scully scolded him. But her tone was of concern, not anger. "You promised you weren't going to go creature-hunting." "I didn't," Mulder protested. "The killer apparently worked on the rig I visited. He followed us and shot us both." His voice softened. "Damn! I got Old Millie's grandson killed." Guilt weighed heavily on his conscience. "Don't start that, Mulder, it wasn't your fault," Scully said, smoothing his hair from his forehead. "If we help you, do you think you can walk to the boat?" "I'll try," Mulder responded and grunted in pain as Scully and Kent helped him up. All but carrying Mulder, they made their way back to the boat. **************** Calcasieu-Cameron Hospital "It wasn't my imagination, Scully, the Chat Hommes really exist and they saved me," Mulder insisted. He was lying in the bed, his arm in a sling, with the head raised up so he could see his partner. "Mulder, you'd had a bad blow to the head and a concussion, not to mention you were running a high fever. You were delirious." "Then how did I bandage my own shoulder? It's not like I had a first aid kit." Scully opened her mouth to speak, but could not think of a reply. Instead, she shrugged and smiled at him. Mulder patted a spot on his bed and she came and sat down beside him. "You believe me?" "I guess so. We have seen some pretty strange creatures before. Are you going to put the Chat Hommes in your report?" Mulder shook his head. "No, this is one time I'm going to come up with a more conventional explanation. They saved me and I'm not going to repay them by betraying their secret." "Kent is still out looking for the killer." "He won't find him," Mulder told her. "The Chats took him out and threw him to the alligators. Were you able to identify those two bodies?" "Yes, the ex-wife of the man, who was from just across the border in Texas, recognized the description of the belt when she heard it on TV. She identified the boot, too, as one of a pair Brian had owned. A missing persons report had been filed on the woman by her parents, who said she'd been dating Brian. They identified the charm bracelet as a gift they had given her for her 21st birthday." "Funny," Mulder mused. "Some would call the Chat Hommes monsters, but that rig worker who killed those two young people and dismembered them was the real monster." Mulder yawned hugely and pulled Scully down beside him, his good arm wrapped around her. Exhausted herself, she closed her eyes and slept.