Charles Grant - The X-Files - Goblins

There was, then, mostly silence as they finished their meal. And once the table had been cleared, Scully flipped over her paper place mat and pulled out her pen, and looked to Mulder, who nodded it was her show, be my guest.

The family left.

The men at the counter paid and left as well.

“Pierce,” Scully said, lightly jabbing the place mat with her pen, “was killed on a Saturday night. So was Corporal Ulman. Almost a pattern until last night.” She paused, and Mulder was grateful she didn’t mention Carl’s name. “It’s my guess Dr. Tymons is dead, too. Probably sometime yesterday.” She filled them in quickly on what they had seen at Walson after the others had left, but gave neither of them a chance to comment. “The Project, whatever it is, is over.”

“For now,” Mulder added.

“All right. For now. And we don’t have much time.” She tapped the place mat again. “All the deaths are the same — throat slashed, deeply. This isn’t a professional’s attack. The violence… and the fact that each one came from the front, not behind…” She took a breath and shook her head. “It’s almost psychotic. And the strength to do this indicates it’s probably a man. Or,” she added, when Mulder opened his mouth to comment, “a woman, okay. These days, there are a lot of women who go for weight training, defense training, things like that. We can’t rule that out.”

“Which means,” Andrews said sourly, “we’ve narrowed it down to about eight or nine thousand people, right?”

“Wrong.”

Mulder sat up, staring at the doodles Scully had drawn on the paper.

“While Pierce may have died just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, it’s pretty obvious the others are connected. The corporal worked for Major Tonero — although we can’t guarantee he knew everything that was going on, Carl Barelli was asking questions about goblins, and Dr. Tymons was the Project head.”

She scribbled Tonero’s name and circled it.

“I also think Mulder’s right — the Project’s in danger, and the goblin is cleaning house. Which is why we have someone staying with Ms. Lang.” She circled Rosemary Elkhart’s name. “That gives us motive. Hide the mistakes, bury the evidence. Literally.”

“But if Tymons really is dead,” Webber said, “won’t that kill the project for good?”

“Oh, no. Not by a long shot. Dr. Elkhart, no matter what the major thinks, is in charge now. Nothing we said in that office fazed her, while the major was only partly acting. So I’m assuming she’s gotten hold of the records, and I don’t doubt she’d be able to have another center up and running before very long.”

Andrews leaned forward eagerly. “She could have been planning it, you know. For weeks. Months, even. Something about the project, maybe it’s almost ready, you know? I mean, done. Maybe she wants all the glory.”

Scully tapped the name again. “I don’t think there’s any maybe about it, Licia.”

“Then she did it!” Webber exclaimed.

Mulder blinked. “What? You think she’s the goblin?”

Webber nodded, then shook his head, then threw up his hands. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.” He brightened. “But she could be directing it. I mean, wouldn’t she know who was a threat and who wasn’t?”

Scully smiled. “Weekend nights,” she reminded them. “Only weekend nights.”

“So what are you saying?” Andrews asked with a frown. “We narrow it down to only those people who are free on weekends?” She shook her head. “Give me a break, okay?” She reached out to push at the place mat. “Do you know how many troops there are at Dix, for one thing? And every one of them—”

“Damn!” Mulder said.

Scully jumped, and he apologized with a quick gesture, but he had followed her road, marked the signposts, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized he already had the answer.

“What?” Webber said anxiously.

“Louisiana,” he answered, speaking to Scully.

All she could do was look.

“That guy in Louisiana, he was supposed to have disappeared in the middle of a circus ring. Walked through a crowd of people and didn’t come out the other side. But he was still there, Scully. He just didn’t look the same way.”

“And how do you know that?”

His left arm rested along the back of the seat, forcing him to turn toward her. “You’ll be happy to know that I don’t think he just disappeared in a puff of sawdust. He had to be there; he was just different, that’s all. The police were looking for one thing, so they didn’t see anything else.”

“Okay, so things weren’t what they seemed. What does that have to do with this?”

“Ghosts and goblins, Scully. Ghosts and goblins.”

“Meaning?” Andrews said testily.

“Meaning our field of suspects has just been made considerably smaller.”

Rosemary stood his pacing, his ranting, for as long as she could. Then she came around the desk and said, “Joseph.”

He ignored her. “God damn them, anyway. Did you see the way they spoke to me? Who the hell do they think they are?”

“Joseph.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “This is too much. It’s just too much.” His face reddened, and he aimed a kick at one of the cartons. “And I even packed my damn keys away! Jesus H. Rosie, the whole world’s gone nuts!”

She leaned back against the desk.

“Son of a bitch bastards are not — I repeat, are not — going to get away with it. I’ll call that goddamn senator myself and—”

“Joseph!”

He whirled on her, one fist up, but she didn’t flinch. She only softened her expression, and beckoned with a crooked finger. “Joseph.” Her voice deep in her throat. “Joseph.”

His chest rose and fell, the fist trembled and fell away.

“Joseph, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What? How the hell—”

“Nothing to worry about,” she repeated calmly, and beckoned him again.

This time he moved, close enough for her to place a hand on his shoulder.

“Everything we need from downstairs we already have. Everything we need from here is ready to ship.”

“Yes, but—”

She hushed him with a finger on his lips. “And everything you need is right here, too.”

She kissed him softly, quickly, and used all her remaining control to stop herself from slapping him.

“You have the orders?”

He leaned around her and yanked open the center drawer, pulled out a folder and handed it to her. “Signed and sealed, Rosie.”

“Good.” She pressed the folder against her chest. “Now we can either forget about downstairs altogether, because no one will see it for weeks, maybe even months. Or we can get Captain Whatshisname from Battalion to clean it up.” She smiled. “After all, what are soldiers for?”

“I say we just leave it.” The flush had receded from his cheeks and brow. He puffed a little, slipping back into his role. “And I say we don’t wait for tomorrow morning.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I can get us a flight tonight.”

She considered it, and nodded. “Not too late, though. I want to get there in time to get a decent night’s sleep.”

His expression made her shudder. “Who says we’ll get any sleep?”

“I do, you dope.” She slapped his shoulder playfully and slipped around him, heading for the door. “We sleep, we see the right people, you take that leave, and then… who knows?”

Tonero laughed. “Okay, Rosie, okay.” Then he frowned. “But what about—”

“All taken care of, darling.” She picked up her coat from the chair. “All it takes is one phone call.”

She waved, showed him a little chest movement, and left before he could think of anything else. There was no doubt he would make all the proper arrangements; she trusted him that much. As for the actual flight itself… she never had minded traveling alone.