Charles Grant - The X-Files - Goblins

“They don’t get sick.”

He shook his head. “Not that kind of sick.” He tapped his temple. “This kind. It isn’t like the others. It’s…” He swallowed, and let his hand slide away. “It’s evil, Ms. Lang. I don’t know any other way to put it.”

Scully saw it then, the doubt and the birth of fear in the woman’s face. Suddenly she seemed two decades older. “You shouldn’t be sitting out here,” she said quietly. “You should be someplace warm. It’ll rain again soon.”

“The children,” Elly whispered.

“I don’t think they’ll be playing much today.”

She stood, sliding her hand along the woman’s coat until she grasped her hand. The fingers twitched, then curled around hers, and she pulled Elly slowly to her feet, the umbrella dropping forgotten to the ground.

Mulder retrieved it as Scully pointed to the cruiser. “See that man there? His name, if you can believe it, is Spike. I think I can talk him into staying with you for a while.”

Arm in arm they walked across the grass.

“Is he married?” Elly asked.

“I don’t think so.”

Mulder went ahead, keeping himself between the women and the driver as he spoke. Scully blessed him for that.

“He’s a nice boy,” Elly said, using her chin to point at Mulder.

“Yes. I know.”

In the middle of the street, Elly stopped, her lower lip trembling. “Is he right about this goblin?”

She nodded.

“I’m not ready to die yet, you know.”

Dana squeezed the woman’s arm. “I know. And you won’t.”

“Too mean, too cranky.”

Dana smiled, although the woman didn’t see her. “Well… I don’t think so.” She urged them forward again. “You’re just tough, that’s all. A good thing to be.”

“Are you?”

Scully didn’t know how to answer that one, and was saved from stumbling by Todd Hawks’ arrival. It didn’t take long to get Elly camped in her apartment, and not much longer than that, once they were outside again, to tell the chief they suspected that someone attached to, or working for, the Special Projects Office at Fort Dix was responsible for the murders. Someone, she added, who was extremely skilled at blending in.

“Disguises, you mean?” Hawks asked.

“You could say that.”

“A real expert, one of the best,” Mulder said, following her lead. Then he smiled so quickly she almost missed it. “You could say it gives a whole new meaning to the word wallflower.”

“Son of a bitch.” Hawks checked the sky as if daring the rain to add to his misery. “Damn, I don’t need this. I really don’t.” He shook his head and looked up at Elly’s apartment. The curtains were open; a lamp burned in the window. “If you don’t mind telling me, you got anyone in mind?”

He sounded neither bitter nor imposed upon; he only sounded as if he wanted this to be over, so his town could get back to what passed for normal.

“Because,” he added flatly, “what I’ve got is three goddamn corpses, and three families and some local politicians on my ass demanding explanations.” He looked at Mulder then, eyes narrowed. “And would you happen to know why, while I was poking around Vincent’s house this morning, a United States senator called my office?”

Oh, great, she thought; just great.

Though she could hear traffic in the distance, the neighborhood was quiet. A few lights on porches, in front windows; an old black dog trotting along the gutter; a large crow strutting across the ball field.

Like her, it seemed in a state of anticipation.

“Chief, can you patch Mulder through on your radio, to try to locate the rest of our team?”

“No problem,” he said with a wry smile. “They were on their way to the station when I left, trying to find you.”

When Mulder questioned her with a look, she shook her head slightly, waiting until Hawks was on the radio. “We’ve been sloppy,” she said, matter of fact, not a scolding. “The major’s ready to bolt, and all we’ve been able to do is run from one killing to another.”

“The restaurant,” he suggested.

She frowned. “Why?”

“Hank does his best thinking in front of a plate of pancakes.”

“Mulder,” she started, then waved herself silent. “Okay.”

Then she hurried inside to be sure Elly was all right, a concern quickly allayed when she saw Spike on the stool, cap in his lap, avidly listening to the old woman describing her lifelong hunt for goblins.

Neither noticed her in the doorway; neither noticed when she left.

Hank was at the curb when she reached the sidewalk, Mulder already in the car, waving her around the back to the other door. The chief stopped her at the rear bumper.

“You’ll let me know what I need to know?”

She promised, then swore when her shoulder bag slipped off and hit the ground. I have got to get control, she snapped at herself, and was grateful when Hawks crouched down to help her fetch her things. She had to kneel to grab a pen that had rolled beneath the car, only half-listening as Hawks made some lame jokes about a woman’s purse.

She leaned over, saw the pen, and reached for it.

And froze.

“You need help?”

She shook her head and backed out, the pen retrieved and in her pocket. Then, as he helped her to her feet, something about the license plate puzzled her, froze her again until she saw it.

“Listen, Agent Scully, if there’s something the matter—”

“No.” She waved off his offered hand. “No, thank you, I’m fine. I just thought of something, that’s all.” She knew he didn’t really believe her, but didn’t know the right question to ask. “Thanks,” she said, and slipped into the car.

As soon as she was settled, Andrews turned around to ask what next. As far as she was concerned, all they were doing was chasing their own tails, and widened her eyes when Scully said, “Exactly. That’s why we’re going to the restaurant, order a long lunch, and get things straight before we start tripping over ourselves.”

“And what about our goblin?” Mulder asked quietly.

“Our goblin,” she said, “won’t be out again until tonight.”

Despite the day’s gloom, the Queen’s Inn’s lights were kept low, giving the room an evening feel. Two diners sat at the counter, each reading a newspaper; a family of six sat in the last booth, one of the children describing the movie he had seen on TV that morning, complete with explosive sound effects and dialogue quotations. A busboy swept the already gleaming floor. In the parking lot, a trailer truck took its time making a wide U-turn, causing a minor backup and a brief flurry of angry horns.

“Another peaceful day in the country,” Mulder said glumly. He sat by the window, pushed into the corner, his topcoat draped over the seatback. Although his head no longer throbbed to distraction, his side refused to give him respite. He squirmed, thought he was settled, and then a quick stitch made him shift again.

The others didn’t seem to notice his discomfort.

Hank sat across from him, gleefully, for Scully’s benefit, attacking a steak with all the trimmings he’d been able to think of, while Andrews and Scully settled on salads. All he could think of was pancakes and bacon, so forced himself to order just a sandwich. Two seconds later, he had forgotten what kind it was.

The truck finished its turn.

The kid finished the movie to the laughing applause of his family.

Mulder shifted again. “Do you know what W. C. Fields said about children?”

Licia asked him who W. C. Fields was.

“I’m not old, you know,” he said to Scully’s infuriatingly blank expression. “Really. I am not old.”

“Eat, Mulder,” she ordered. “We have work to do.”