Title:  Crenshaw Mansion
Author:  Vickie Moseley (teaser and story concept 
by Sally Bahnsen)
Summary:  Investigating the disappearance of a 
Forestry employee, Mulder and Scully stumble on a 
horrible secret that almost separates them forever.
Rating:  clean enough for everyone
Written for Virtual Season 12
Archives:  two weeks exclusive with VS 12, after 
that, yes
Disclaimer:  I don't own the Mansion, the state 
bought it a couple of years ago.  I don't own Mulder 
and Scully, Carter keeps them chained in his attic.  I 
do pay taxes in this state, so I guess I'm part owner 
of Ferne Clyffe State Park (yes that is the correct 
spelling) and as pretty as that place is, I'll be happy 
with that.  No copyright infringement intended.
Dedicated:  To Sally, for helping me hammer all 
this out.  I love ya!  Kisses for Mary for lightning 
fast beta while packing for Media West.  Big 
Chocolate Mulders for Lisa, for finding shackles 
and carriages with tops.  And for the rest of the 
VSX crew, Donnaj, T, Martin -- you guys keep me 
sane.
Author's notes at the end.

Crenshaw Mansion part two

4:00 am

It was the darkest part of the night, just before 
dawn.  The stars were all the illumination in the sky, 
the moon set early.  However, the mansion was 
ablaze with light.  The Sheriff's Department had 
placed portable floodlights all over the parking area 
and throughout the house.  In addition, the 
electricity had been restored and all the rooms in the 
house were lit.  Every speck of dust, every cobweb 
in the attic was cast in stark relief.  If there were an 
injured agent, or even one just trying to hide in the 
house, someone would have seen it.

Scully's mind was reeling.  She stood on the front 
porch and looked out to the woods just beyond the 
parking lot.  Trees ran along both sides of the small 
creek, which she noted was past its banks from 
recent spring rains.  She couldn't imagine what 
would have provoked Mulder to run into the woods 
or the fields on all sides of this hilltop.  It made no 
sense for him to leave Miller and take off without 
consulting anyone.  Without waiting for her.

Not for the first time, her mind flashed images of 
other famous 'ditches' -- when she'd been left behind 
for supposedly noble reasons.  Arecibo, Dead 
Horse, the middle of the Sargasso Sea . . .  She'd 
lost track long ago of most of the smaller 
infractions.  But since they'd been together, since 
they'd spent almost every waking and sleeping hour 
in each other's presence he hadn't taken off on her.  
Well, not as often, and usually with some clue as to 
where he'd gone.  This time he'd just disappeared.  
She did remember, back in 2000, a case that 
brought them out to the shores of Lake Michigan 
and into the company of a murderous ghost.  Her 
mind flashed forward to their recent run-in with a 
ghostly presence; one that almost cost her life as 
well as Mulder's.

"No more damned ghost stories after this one, 
Mulder, and I mean it," she mumbled to herself in 
the cold night air.  "At least for a while," she 
amended, because as much as she would like to 
pretend they had any say in their cases, she knew 
that wasn't the truth of the matter.  Even though 
Skinner and the Bureau would allow them to turn 
down a case now and then, Mulder's innate curiosity 
always got the better of both of them.

She heard the car tires on gravel before she could 
see the car.  It came into the bright light of the 
parking lot and slowed, looking for a place to stop.  
A dark blue or black Ford Taurus, federal plates.  
She groaned inwardly -- the 'cavalry' had arrived 
from Springfield.  Skinner had made it clear that she 
needed help finding her partner, but he never 
seemed to process that more often than not the local 
field agents were less than helpful.  She sighed 
heavily and made her way down the steps to greet 
the two men at the picket fence gate.

Their whole demeanor screamed FBI.  The taller of 
the two was at least 6 foot 3, while his shorter 
counterpart still had Scully craning her neck.  As 
they approached stiff-necked and glowering, she 
could imagine them with dark sunglasses, even 
though it was the dark of night.

"Agents," Scully called, pulling out her own 
identification.  In tandem, the two men reached into 
identical pockets and produced their own ID 
wallets.  

"Peters," announced the taller of the two, a dark 
skinned and strikingly handsome man with an 
expression that would have melted a more timid 
person.  Or any unattached female in the vicinity.

"Jeffers," said the other man who was a polar 
opposite to his partner -- fair skinned, blonde, surfer 
good looks.  They could be bookends, Scully 
thought to herself.  

"Dana Scully," she introduced herself, making use 
of her first name as well as her last.  Out of courtesy 
she extended her hand to Peters who merely raised 
his eyebrow.

"Yeah.  We know.  So, what's ol' Spook gotten 
himself into this time?" Peters asked and Jeffers 
snickered at the joke.

Scully quickly schooled her expression.  She took 
an immediate dislike to both men, but they weren't 
just flesh and blood to her at that point.  They were 
all the Bureau resources and she was alone in a 
remote part of the country.  As much as it irked her, 
she needed them more than they needed her.

"Agent Mulder was called out to investigate the 
disappearance of a United States Forestry 
employee," she said evenly.

"Look, Scully, we got the fax from AD Skinner.  
What we need are the details.  What did Spooky 
step in?  Have you two pissed off anyone who 
might have nabbed him?  Did you two have a fight 
and now he's shacked up with a local waitress?  
What the hell are we doing standing on a 
goddamned hill top in the middle of goddamned 
nowhere southern Illinois at not even five o'clock in 
the goddamned morning?"

"Agent Scully," called one of the uniformed state 
troopers from around the side of the house.  
"There's somethin' you oughta look at back here."

Flashlight beams danced as she and the trooper ran 
back around the house, the two agents close on their 
heels.  When the trooper stopped it was at a post 
sticking out of the ground about 5 feet tall with a 
iron hoop about a half foot from the top connected 
to the post with a thick screw.  The trooper shone 
his light near the bottom of the post.

Scully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and 
stared at the circle of light as it struck the wooden 
post.  "I don't -- "

"There," the trooper said, bending down and 
pointing a finger at a fine line of liquid running 
down the grain of the wood.  "It's wet."

Scully looked up at him wide-eyed and pulled a 
latex glove out of her pocket.  In a few seconds, she 
was running one gloved finger down the wood and 
brought it forward into the light of her flashlight to 
examine it.  "It's blood," she declared evenly.  
"Take samples, I want this run against Agent 
Mulder's blood type.  It's on file with the Bureau in 
DC."

"But this is fresh, it can't be over a couple of hours 
old," Jeffers pointed out.  "How did he get out here 
without anybody seeing him?"

"There've been troopers and county people out and 
about this yard all night.  No one's been out here 
that we didn't know about," the trooper interjected.

At that moment, Scully heard it.  At first she 
thought it was the wind howling through the 
branches of the tree just thirty or so yards from 
where they were standing.  Then, when she heard it 
again, she realized it was coming from the house.

The third time she heard it, her blood ran cold.  She 
knew that moan.  She'd heard in times of extreme 
pain and in the heights of passion.  It could only 
belong to her partner.

"Mulder!" she whispered and then shouted it loudly.  
"Mulder!"  Leaving the three men in her dust, she 
ran toward the house and the door that came off the 
small addition to the private residence.

"Agent Scully, that door's locked," the trooper 
called out.  

Realizing her mistake, Scully turned on her heel and 
ran for the front of the house.  She made it long 
before the other men, even given the difference in 
length of strides.  She bounded up the steps and into 
the house without a glance back to see if anyone 
followed.

Shoving deputies out of her way, she continued up 
the steps to the second floor.  In the hallway, she 
stopped, tried to calm her breathing and the 
pounding of her heart.  She strained her ears to hear 
the sound, the moan, again.  Nothing.

"Mulder?" she called hesitantly, hopefully.  
"Mulder, where are you?  Mulder, if you can hear 
me, answer me.  Anything, a grunt.  Just tell me 
which way to go," she demanded.  She waited 
again.  Silence echoed back to her.

The tears caught her by surprise.  Angrily, she 
swiped at her eyes and turned her back on the two 
agents and the trooper who had finally made it to 
the second floor.  When she got control of her 
emotions, she turned to face them.  

"What did you hear?" asked Jeffers, who gently 
took her elbow and steered her toward the steps 
leading to the attic.  At first she refused to sit, but it 
seemed that all the fight was leaving her and in the 
wake of its departure she felt completely drained of 
life.

"I heard him," she said in a voice just above a 
whisper.  "I heard him.  He was here.  I don't know 
where he is now, but he was here."  She sat there a 
moment, chewing on her bottom lip.  Suddenly, she 
sprang to her feet.  "A tunnel.  There has to be a 
tunnel somewhere, under the house.  That's where 
he is, it's where he has to be!"

Mulder was in so much agony, he kept his eyes 
clamped tight as the overseer dragged him up the 
stairs of the house by the shackles on his wrists.  
The open cuts on his back flared with white hot fire 
with each bump and bounce as he hit the steps one 
by one.  At the top of the stairs, his hip hit the edge 
of a baluster and his eyes flew open in pain and 
surprise.  

There, in the dim light that comes just with the 
dawn, he saw her.  Scully.  She was saying 
something but he couldn't hear her voice.  Her 
image wavered in the air, like a mirage.  He wanted 
to call out to her, to warn her, to call out to her to 
get help, but he was being dragged up the final set 
of stairs to the prison on the third floor.  When he 
blinked the tears from his eyes, she was gone.

An eternity later, he was thrown in the little closet 
that was their cell.  Tom was lying on his side on 
the bottom bunk, staring into space.  Mulder 
crawled into the second bunk and stifled a cry as his 
back hit the hard wood.

"Tom," Mulder whispered after he found a position 
that didn't bring tears to his eyes.  "Tom.  I think I 
saw my partner.  I think I saw Scully."

The other man made no response for several 
minutes.  Finally, he drew in a deep breath.  
"Hallucination.  Or trickery.  We're in Hell, haven't 
you figured that out yet?"

"This ain't Hell," came a voice from the next cell.  
"Ain't done nuthin' to deserve gonna ta Hell."

"No, it wasn't a hallucination," Mulder gritted out, 
ignoring their companion.  "I saw her.  I know she's 
here.  She's looking for us."

"Thought I heard Beckie once.  It's just the mind, 
playin' tricks on you," Tom bit back angrily.

"She was all shimmering.  It was like she was there, 
but not really there.  Maybe it was a mirage," 
Mulder said with a heavy sigh.  "But I felt her.  I 
know Scully was there.  She was calling my name 
but I couldn't hear her voice."

"It's the pain.  Does things to the head," the man in 
the next cell said.

"What if -- what if we're here and she's here but 
we're in two different planes of existence?" Mulder 
mused aloud.

"Different -- what?  What kinda nonsense is that?" 
Tom demanded, stopping to cough.  "We're here but 
we're not?  You hit your head on the way up them 
steps, Agent Mulder?"

"No, listen, when I came into this house Miller and 
I checked the attic.  There was nothing up here -- no 
chains, definitely no men.  Now the place is full of 
people.  How is that?"

"We aren't in the same place," Tom answered.

"No!  We're not in the same 'time'!" Mulder replied 
quickly.  "We just have to figure out how to get 
back to our time."

Tom coughed again, this time the sound was wet 
and wheezing.  "Well, when you figure that out, you 
let me know," he said derisively.  

Act III scene 1

She had the bearing of a woman of wealth and 
power.  Mulder caught sight of her as he curled in a 
corner of his bunk, trying to keep his aching back 
from touching the unforgiving wood surface.  She 
stepped around the attic room as if she didn't notice 
the squalor or the stench.  When the man they'd 
called 'Buck' moved toward her, the smile on her 
face lit the dark corners of the room.  She put her 
arms around his neck and kissed him fervently.  
Mulder closed his eyes, thoughts of Scully in his 
arms warring with the image of a woman in silk and 
hoop skirts embracing a man barely clothed in 
tattered garments.

His eyes were still closed when he heard the two 
approach.  He feigned sleep.  It wasn't hard to do, 
his back was screaming but his body was so tired he 
probably would have fallen asleep standing up.  On 
reflection, that was most likely the only position he 
would be able to sleep.  Every time his back hit the 
wood, he was jolted from what little peace his 
slumber could give him.

They were whispering.  Part of him wanted to listen 
closely to what they were saying.  Part of him 
wanted the entire experience, hell, the whole trip 
out to Illinois to be a very bad nightmare so he 
could wake up in Scully's arms and have her tell 
him he was going in late in the morning because she 
wanted him to get a little more sleep.  

He decided to ignore the intruders until they moved 
closer into the cell.  He cracked an eye open just a 
slit and watched Buck nudge Tom with his foot.  
The younger man groaned in pain.  It relieved 
Mulder that Tom was responding at all, he'd begun 
to wonder if the engineer was unconscious.

"They're white," the woman commented, as if 
noting that there might be rain later in the day.  
Buck grunted in agreement.  She looked up at the 
tall man with a coy smile.  "Come, we don't have 
much time," she purred and took Buck by the arm, 
leading him to the far end of the attic.  

When they were far enough out of earshot, Mulder 
leaned over to check on Tom.  He found the young 
man's eyes open, staring into space.  He had to get 
him talking.  

"Who was that?" Mulder asked in a hoarse whisper.

"Mrs. Crenshaw," Tom replied with a tired smirk.  
"She and Buck -- well, let's just say Buck has lots of 
duties around here, some of them nicer than others."

"Mrs. Crenshaw?" Mulder repeated.  "As in -- "

"Crenshaw's wife.  Her family had money and lost it 
in some land  deal.  She thought she was gonna 
marry into society because Crenshaw was up and 
coming.  He built this place for her.  Guess this 
wasn't the exciting life she'd hoped for," Tom said 
with a faint twinkle in his eyes before turning 
serious.  "Be careful around her.  I've seen her get 
more than one man whipped for just lookin' at her.  
And if Buck gets to do the job -- those men never 
came back."

"So Buck -- "

"Buck is an overseer, just like Harold.  Crenshaw 
doesn't have him on the same payroll," Tom tried to 
explain.

"How did you find out all of this?" Mulder asked.

"Been listenin' to some of the talk up here.  Plus, I 
grew up in these parts.  Crenshaws have been a 
topic of gossip since they moved here.  The fact 
they were dead didn't make them any less interestin' 
to the most of us."

Mulder dozed for a while, he had no idea how much 
time had passed.  He heard footsteps and looked out 
to see Mrs. Crenshaw coming back to ward them, 
straightening her skirt and adjusting it in the 
reflection of the windowpane.  She walked over to 
their cell and peered in at Tom on the bottom bunk.  
She put her hand out, touching the young man and 
flinched when she made contact.  "He's feverish," 
she said over her shoulder to Buck, who was 
standing right behind her.  "How long have they 
been here?"

"That one, two nights.  This one just got here."

She turned to speak directly to Buck, disregarding 
Mulder, who was staring right at her.  "They can't 
stay here," she said firmly.

"We could dump the bodies in the woods," Buck 
offered.

She shook her head.  "No, it would just lead to more 
questions.  Two white men, whipped, dead.  There 
would be an investigation of some sort.  There's 
enough suspicion in town as it is.  Besides, our 
guest will be arriving soon.  Finding them here 
would be an embarrassment to Mr. Crenshaw.  We 
have to do something quickly."

"What do you want me to do?" Buck asked.  She 
started to answer, cast a glance down at Mulder and 
then moved Buck away.  Mulder could hear them 
murmuring, but couldn't make out any words.

Act III scene 2

Mulder had drifted off to sleep, so he was startled 
when a hand landed on his shoulder.  In the dim 
light of the cell he could make out the huge dark 
form looming over him.  A second large hand came 
down over his mouth and he struggled for a moment 
before the hand covered his nose and he was forced 
to be still.

"Quiet," ordered a voice in the darkness.  "Be 
quiet."

Mulder nodded silently and the pressure on his 
mouth and nose lessened.  He watched in silence as 
the large form moved into a slant of light from a far 
lantern and he could see its face.  Buck.

"What -- "

"Silence, damn it," Buck hissed.  He reached into 
his pocket and Mulder watched in amazement as the 
larger man produced a set of skeleton keys and 
deftly unlocked the shackles around Mulder's throat, 
wrists and ankles.  In a few seconds, he'd 
accomplished the same feat for Tom.  Tom, unlike 
Mulder, was now totally unresponsive.

"You have to carry him," Buck directed, jerking his 
head down to the bottom bunk and Tom's still mass.

"Is he dead?" Mulder breathed.  It was taking him 
some time to crawl down from his bunk, his back 
was aching and his legs where wobbly.

"No.  He's alive.  You have to get out of here."

Mulder pulled Tom into a sitting position and 
hoisted the other man's arm across his shoulders.  
Pain licked up his back as the action pulled torn 
flesh, but that didn't deter him.  A tiny voice in his 
mind that sounded almost like Scully cautioned him 
and he stopped.  

"Wait.  Why are you doing this?  Is this a trap?  Are 
you going to kill us for trying to escape?"

Buck looked at him sourly.  "Mas'er Harold's down 
in the main house, play acting as a servant.  The 
Missus wants you gone.  If you were found up here, 
there'd be Hell to pay.  Nobody minds what happens 
to one of us, but if they found out about you -- "

"Servant?  Why, what's happening?"

"Someone's coming.  Even Crenshaw has 
overseers," Buck snorted at his own joke.

Tom started to rouse and moan.  Buck clamped a 
hand over his mouth.  "Keep him quiet, or I will 
have to kill him," he warned Mulder.  The agent 
nodded mutely and struggled with Tom's weight a 
moment before following Buck to the window.

"How are we supposed to get down?" Mulder asked 
when Buck came to an abrupt stop.  The agent 
looked out the window and down, then faced Buck, 
who was smiling.

"You can't expect us to jump!  The fall would kill 
us!" Mulder sneered.

"You dumb bastard," Buck said with the shake of 
his head.  "That drainpipe has carried twice your 
skinny asses.  Just grab hold and shimmy down."  
To demonstrate his point, Buck leaned out the 
window, took hold of the guttering and proceeded 
to climb down as if it were a tall tree.

Mulder gapped at the man's head as it got farther 
and farther away down the pipe.  When Buck hit the 
ground and waved up to him, he had no choice.

"Scully, you're missing another display of my 
youthful agility," he muttered as he hoisted Tom 
onto his shoulder.  He would have to take the 
younger man in a fireman's carry and even then it 
would be a dangerous feat.  "Tom, I'm really glad 
you're a health nut," Mulder told the unconscious 
engineer.  "Otherwise, this journey would be all 
over before we even got started."

It was a tight squeeze getting out of the window, but 
they managed.  Mulder was surprised to find the sill 
provided a decent foothold as he reached for the 
drainpipe.  He was pleasantly amazed to note that 
the gutter pipe was made of cast iron and very 
sturdy.  That didn't make climbing with 160 pounds 
of dead weight any easier, but at least he didn't have 
the worry that the pipe would collapse as they 
crawled down. 

When he got to the second floor, he realized their 
proximity to the open window.  He could see, in the 
corner of his eyes serving girls coming and going 
out of one of the rooms.  He saw Crenshaw's wife, 
dressed in a beautiful green gown, enter the hallway 
and start for the stairs.  For a second, she turned and 
glanced out the window.  She met Mulder's eyes 
and smiled.  She turned and descended down the 
stairs without saying a word.

Buck was on the ground shooting Mulder glares 
when the agent faltered and almost dropped Tom.  
The engineer's body seemed to grow heavier with 
each step, but Mulder doubled his efforts.

If felt like an eternity to Mulder before they finally 
reached the ground.  Mulder's back was bleeding 
again; he could feel the sticky wetness and felt the 
pull as it clung to his shirt.  Adrenaline was keeping 
the pain at bay.  Carefully he lowered Tom to his 
feet and leaned him against the pipe.  Buck grabbed 
Mulder's arm and shoved him against the clapboard 
of the house.  "Stay here," he hissed and melted into 
the darkness around the corner of the structure.

"Tom?  Tom, can you hear me?" Mulder asked, 
trying to rouse his companion.

The young man's eyes flittered open.  When he 
realized he was standing, or rather leaning, and felt 
the cool air on his face, he searched around for 
Mulder.

"Where are we?" he asked in a hoarse rasp.

"We're outside the house.  We're going to get out of 
here.  My car was parked out front.  If we can just 
get out that way -- "

Buck's sudden appearance from around the corner 
stopped further conversation.  "You go straight to 
the woods, down there," the big man growled, 
pointing to the woods to the south of the house.  
"Don't go near the front of the house.  People's 
comin' -- there are carriages up there.  If you don't 
wanna be caught again, go that way."

"Why are you helping us?" Mulder asked again, still 
harboring suspicions that they were being lured into 
a trap.

"Missus and me, we don't want no trouble.  Not for 
old Crenshaw and not for us.  Understand?"  He 
towered over Mulder, a menacing look to his eyes.

"Understood," Mulder said with a nod.  "What 
about water?"

"Plenty in that stream you have to cross," Buck said 
with the hint of a chuckle.  "You'll have all the 
water you could ask for in just a few minutes.  Now, 
hightail afore I change my mind and just kill ya for 
the fun of it!" 

Over in the east, the deep purple was just beginning 
to give way to a lighter blue.  Mulder knew they 
didn't have much time to make the woods before 
someone would be up and would notice their 
escape.  Hoisting Tom on his shoulder again, he 
started around the house and down the gentle slope 
to the stand of trees.

Horses hoofs on the dirt path to the house caused 
him to press against the clapboard.  The sound of 
carriage wheels, groaning under their burden 
seemed horribly close to Mulder's ear.  Cautiously, 
he lowered Tom to the ground so he could creep 
along the building and see if they might be detected.

Torches were lit at the front of the mansion, lighting 
the circular drive up to the house.  Two horsemen 
and a carriage had just pulled up directly in front of 
the stone sidewalk that led to the front porch.  
Mulder saw a big bulk of a man, easily near six feet 
and more than 200 pounds, standing at the gate at 
the end of the sidewalk.  As the driver to the 
carriage jumped down and opened the small leather 
door, the man at the gate almost danced with 
excitement.  

It took a moment for the occupant of the carriage to 
exit and Mulder's position was such that the 
carriage door blocked most of his view.  Finally, the 
occupant stepped forward, adjusting a tall 
'stovepipe' hat before extending his hand toward the 
man at the gate.  In the profile cast by the torches, 
Mulder got a picture of the occupant of the carriage 
worthy of the front page for any newspaper in the 
country.

It was the 16th President of the United States.  
Abraham Lincoln had come to visit the Crenshaw 
Mansion.

"Mr. Lincoln, I trust the ride down from Springfield 
wasn't too difficult," spoke the jovial man at the 
gate.

"It will be a far sight easier when we get the 
railroads completed, Mr. Crenshaw.  A far sight 
easier," said Lincoln.  Now that they stood together, 
Mulder could see that Lincoln was much taller than 
Crenshaw, taller than any other man standing near 
him.

"Well, let's get inside and I'll take you to your room.  
You can rest and then we'll have some breakfast.  
I've taken the liberty of contacting some of the other 
businessmen in the area in regards to your 
campaign.  They're very excited about . . ."  The rest 
of Crenshaw's words were lost as the men, Lincoln, 
Crenshaw, the riders and the driver all entered the 
house.

Mulder leaned against the clapboard, trying to 
process what he'd just seen.  He remembered Bob 
Miller telling him that Lincoln was supposed to 
have visited Crenshaw, but to have the man who 
was credited with freeing the slaves right under the 
same roof as a slave trader was almost too extreme 
a possibility!  

He waited until he was sure that all the men were 
inside the house before he went to Tom.  The 
younger man was coming around, obviously in 
pain.  Mulder put his hand over Tom's mouth to 
keep him from moaning too loud and alerting the 
occupants of the mansion.  Finally the agent slung 
the engineer's arm over his shoulder and the two 
started the trek to the trees and hopefully, freedom.

They hadn't gone far when Mulder's ears picked up 
on something coming from the direction of the 
house.  He stopped for a moment, almost causing 
Tom to slip from his grasp.  The jarring was enough 
to snap the younger man into full consciousness.

"What is it?" Tom asked.

"I thought . . . " Mulder was silent until he heard it 
again, confirming his worst fears.  He looked over 
at the engineer, realizing that his companion had 
heard it too.

"Dogs," they said in unison.

Panic swept across both men's faces.  Mulder 
looked around frantically, trying to find a good 
hiding place or even an easier way to get through 
the trees.  Tom tugged on his hand and pointed 
toward the water.

"The creek.  We'll walk the creek bed.  Hopefully 
they'll lose the scent."

Mulder nodded immediately and headed off toward 
the creek.

Act III scene 2
Crenshaw Mansion
5:04 am

Scully stood on the top step of the porch and looked 
out into the darkness.  Off to the east, she could see 
the deep purple letting go to the lighter blue of the 
morning sky.  One star shone brightly on the 
horizon and she offered up a prayer for her partner.  
She was about to go back into the house when she 
heard another set of tires on the gravel drive.

Two minivans with Sheriff's Department markings 
pulled into the parking area.  Quickly, the drivers of 
each van jumped out and released the occupants of 
the back cargo areas.  Four tan bloodhounds, tails 
wagging and tongues lapping, tumbled over each 
other in their excitement to get on with the chase.  

Scully felt a hand on her elbow and looked up into 
the kind eyes of the local Sheriff.  "We tried this 
when Tom first disappeared, but the trail had gone 
cold.  It's the best we can do until the State Police 
can get a helicopter up at full light to search the 
fields."

She nodded, but could tell even the Sheriff thought 
it was a futile attempt.  "Do you need anything?" 
she asked.

"If you have some item of clothing, maybe 
something in his rental car?"

"If one of your men doesn't mind popping the lock 
on the trunk, I'm sure I can find something," she 
said, walking to the abandoned car with the Lariat 
sticker at the far end of the parking lot.

In minutes she had rummaged through Mulder's 
bag, the bag she'd helped him pack just two nights 
before, and found his Hoya's sweatshirt with the cut 
off sleeves.  She'd often threatened to turn it into a 
dust cloth because it never seemed to lose the smell 
of sweat, even after repeated launderings.  He'd 
always managed to dig it out of the wash and hide it 
before she had a chance to find her scissors.  She 
caressed the natted fleece for the briefest of 
moments and then handed the shirt to the Sheriff.

"This should work," he said and smiled in 
encouragement.  "We still have the ball cap Beckie 
gave us that Tom wore, so that's all we need."  He 
turned to go over to the dogs and their handlers, but 
turned back.  "Did I hear you talking to your boss in 
DC?"

Scully was chewing on her lip, deep in thought, but 
his question got her attention.  "Yes.  He got a call 
through to the Director.  The St. Louis office will be 
sending a team out this morning.  They should be 
here around 10."

The Sheriff smiled.  "We haven't had this big of a 
posse since Jesse James used Cave-in-Rock for a 
hideout one winter," he smiled.  "We'll find 'em, 
Agent Scully.  Don't you fret."

All she could do was nod and plaster on a hopeful 
expression.  It made her face feel like it was cast in 
cement.

It was painful to stand and wait, but Skinner had 
instructed her to be available to the St. Louis agents 
when they arrived.  She watched the dogs and their 
four handlers canvass the grounds of the mansion 
and then saw them perk up the ears and head in the 
direction of the creek several yards from the house.  
She pulled in a deep breath and watched them, 
sending up another silent prayer.

9:54 am

She'd sat on the top step of the porch steps and 
dozed for a few moments.  The tires on the gravel 
startled her awake.  The cavalry, such as it was, had 
arrived.  Four men wearing FBI jackets emerged 
from the Crown Vic and headed toward her.  One 
broke ranks and headed straight for her.  She did a 
quick double take and stood up as recognition hit.

"Marty?  Marty Neil?" she said, first in a whisper 
and then louder.  "Marty?"

The man was standing directly in front of her, a big 
grin on his face.  Glancing over his shoulder before 
turning back to her, he gave her a wink and offered 
his hand before pulling her into a quick hug.  
"Dana.  Been a long time."

"Marty, I thought you were in New York, foreign 
counter terrorism.  Of course that was years ago."

"Nine-eleven shake up.  It was decided that the 
Midwest needed some expertise in that area, too.  
Been in St. Louis almost four years.  I'm regional 
SAC," he said, a proud smile on his face.  "And 
you.  You're still with . . . Mulder?"  She could tell 
he was about to call her partner by his nickname, 
but thought better of it.  "You two have been 
partners -- how long now?  Some kind of Bureau 
record, isn't it?"

Scully dipped her head, allowing her hair to hide 
her face for a second.  "Twelve years now," she 
said, lifting her chin and meeting his challenge.

"That's, uh, that's great.  I heard about some of the 
work you've done."

"Good reports, I hope," she shot back.

"Oh, yeah, definitely.  Well, mostly.  Say, I got the 
file from DC, but maybe you could fill us in a little 
better?  I brought Starbucks in a thermos.  You still 
drink latte, right?"

Somewhere in southern Illinois
10:14 am

For a while, the cold water of the creek rejuvenated 
both men.  As the day drew on and the air grew hot 
and humid, their strength began to sap.  Mulder was 
now almost carrying Tom and he wasn't in much 
better shape himself. 

"We have to rest a minute," he told the younger 
man.  "Do you hear them?" 

"Nah, I think we lost 'em.  Look, if we follow this 
creek for just a little more, the Cache River that 
runs past here.  We can follow that further south."

The two stumbled up the creek bed to dry land, 
falling to their knees.  Mulder's legs were wobbly 
from running and dodging the rocks at the bottom 
of the stream.  They were in a few trees, but just 
beyond a couple of cottonwoods, the day was 
heating up and the field of foot high corn near them 
already seemed to shimmer in the heat, waving in 
the gentle breeze.  

Mulder pulled off his shirt and tore it into strips.  
Dipping one in the creek, he wiped his own face 
and then wet another and handed it to Tom to do the 
same.

"Where are we going, Tom?" Mulder asked, 
concerned that they were just running but had no 
plan.  They still had to figure out how to get back to 
their own time.  He had to find a way back to 
Scully.

"There's some rock formations just a few miles 
from here.  Lots of caves, rocky land.  We can hide 
there while we figure out how to get into town," 
answered the engineer.

"Tom, town may not be like it was a few days ago.  
Town might be like the house, 170 years ago," 
Mulder cautioned softly.

"Look, all's I know is Beckie can find me if we get 
someplace with a phone."

"That's just what I'm saying, Tom.  Back at the 
house, they didn't have phones back then."

That seemed to only anger the young man.  "You 
got a better idea?"

Mulder stared out into the cornfield.  It didn't look 
any different than cornfields he'd seen on any of his 
several visits to this part of the country.  But had 
farming really changed that much in 170 years?  
Without an obvious piece of evidence, say a John 
Deere tractor plowing a field or an SUV parked in a 
farmhouse driveway, how would you know what 
century you were in down here in the deep rural 
Midwest?  It all looked ageless. 

"How far did you say these caves were?"

Tom smiled.  "Rest up.  Just a couple of miles, but 
the last couple will take a bit of climbin'."

Crenshaw Mansion
1:15 pm

The Sheriff's Department had sent out lunches, bags 
of burgers and fries from McDonald's, but Scully 
hadn't touched hers.  She'd managed to down half a 
cup of latte, but eventually left the cup somewhere 
and couldn't remember where she'd put it.  

The private residence had been opened up and now 
served as the command post.  The kitchen island 
held topographical maps of the area, pictures of 
both Tom and Mulder were taped to the doors of the 
cabinets.  Scully stood in the living room area, away 
from the bustle of agents and local law 
enforcement, feeling adrift and totally useless.  The 
Sheriff's walkie-talkie squawked to life but she only 
marginally listened.  So far, all reports from the 
field had been negative.

"That's great!  Give me your coordinates again; 
we'll be out there fast as we can.  No, just leave one 
man behind, you others go on ahead.  This might be 
the lead we're lookin' for."

The Sheriff's words grabbed her attention and she 
was next to the man in a flash.  "They found 
something," she said breathless.

"A neck tie.  The tag said it was some shop in 
Georgetown."

"Mulder," Scully whispered.  "I'm going with you."

"I figured you would.  We'll take my Jeep.  It's got 
four-wheel drive."

They took mostly back roads and Scully was 
amazed at the switchback curves and deep hills and 
valleys.  Illinois had never seemed to have much 
landscaping; certainly not up near Tuscola where 
they'd encountered a phantom panther just a few 
months back.  Here the landscape almost resembled 
the foothills of the Appalachians that she knew in 
Maryland and Virginia.

When they went off road, she was very happy to 
have the four-wheel drive and even happier to leave 
the driving to the Sheriff.  He plowed along farm 
paths and finally came to a creek where she spotted 
one of his men.

"I gave Brutus to John, figured they'd need him on 
the trail," the deputy told the Sheriff to explain his 
missing bloodhound.  "Here's the tie."  He held the 
scrap of silk out to the Sheriff, but Scully's hand 
snatched it from him.

"It's Mulder's.  He was wearing it the last time I saw 
him."

The Sheriff looked around.  "We're a good nine 
miles from the house.  If that blood can account for 
anything -- "  He gave Scully a furtive glance and 
didn't finish the thought.  

"How did he get this far, injured?" Scully said 
quietly.  "And is he alone?"

"We found some footprints over there.  Looks like 
he was following the creek, like you thought, 
Sheriff."  The deputy directed them to a fallen log 
just on the edge of the creek.  "There're two sets of 
prints.  Those are work boots one of 'em's wearing.  
The other set appears to be leather, no tread to 
speak of."

"The leather shoes are Mulder's.  He had on his 
wingtips.  But I don't know about the work boots," 
Scully mused.

"Could that be who took him?" the Sheriff asked.  
"But we didn't find any of those prints back at the 
house."

"Wouldn't Tom Coleman wear boots like those?" 
Scully asked.  "And look at the imprints.  They're 
both struggling, but the work boots are fainter 
impressions and dragging the toes.  Either the 
person is very light -- "

"Or your partner is helping him along." 

The Sheriff and Scully exchanged worried looks.  
"We best get moving.  We might be able to catch up 
to the dogs now," the Sheriff said.  The deputy 
hopped in the back of the Jeep and they were off.

Act III scene 3
Gallatin County, Illinois
4:30 pm

Mulder had been so concentrated on the path before 
him that he hadn't had time to look around at the 
spectacular scenery surrounding them.  Tom was as 
good as his word, knowing where trails were that 
led them over hill, dale and skirted large rock 
formations.  Their path left Mulder almost dizzy but 
finally, just as Tom's energy seemed at its lowest 
point, they topped a crest and saw the cave.

When Mulder thought of 'cave' he assumed it was a 
hole in the side of a hill or mountain, like he'd 
found in Tennessee, home of the gigantic man-
eating mushroom.  But these caves were really 
indentations under huge granite boulders, little more 
than low roofed shelters.  It took some time to 
scramble down the hill to the nearest cave, but after 
several missteps and an almost twisted ankle, they 
arrived at their destination.

"This is it, this is as far as I go," Tom gasped as he 
slid out from under Mulder's arm and to the rock 
floor.  

"I'll see about getting us some water," Mulder said 
tiredly.  There was a trickle of water coming from a 
crack in the ceiling of their cave and he made for it.  
Once there he'd cupped handfuls of the precious 
commodity into his mouth to quench his own thirst, 
he realized he really didn't have much to carry any 
water back.  He quickly soaked a corner of his 
tattered shirt to take back to Tom.  

Tom wasn't conscious when Mulder checked on 
him.  The agent shook his head in frustration and 
then looked around.  It was getting close to evening 
and a cool wind had blown in.  The day had been 
hot, but the night could be a problem and they had 
nothing to keep them warm.  He thought briefly 
about starting a fire, but was concerned that the 
wood smoke might alert their pursuers to their 
whereabouts.  They weren't much better off here 
than they had been walking, except they had some 
time to rest.

He was so tired.  He hadn't slept at all the night 
before and between the journey and carrying Tom, 
his back felt on fire.  He sat down next to where the 
young engineer was sprawled on a rock.  When his 
back hit the cool, rough surface of the cave wall 
Mulder winced, but gradually accepted the small 
amount of comfort it afforded.  Maybe if he just 
closed his eyes for a moment he could collect his 
thoughts.

The sun was further behind the hills when he 
awoke.  Something he'd heard had jarred his senses 
and brought him out of a deep slumber.  He looked 
over at Tom, putting a hand to the young man's 
forehead.  Fever radiated off the engineer's pale 
skin.  Mulder bit his lip and thought about getting 
more water just to try and cool Tom down a bit.  
But then the sound that woke him came again.  
Barking -- off in the distance but coming closer.

Mulder had to do something!  They were going to 
be found.  Searching the ledge cave for any fissure 
big enough to hold both of them, he found only a 
few boulders at the far end of the indent.  Maybe he 
could hide Tom and lead the dogs away from the 
sick and injured man.  It was all he could think of 
on such short notice.

It took almost all his strength to pull Tom's 
senseless body over behind the rocks.  He hoped it 
was enough cover.  He walked out of the cave and 
listened again.  It was hard to judge exactly which 
direction the dogs were coming, the hills and rock 
formations made for natural echo chambers.  The 
deep shadows from the setting sun made it even 
more difficult to decide on a direction to run.  He 
saw a rise with a huge oval shaped boulder just a 
few hundred yards away from the cave and sprinted 
off toward it.

The dogs were close now.  He could almost hear 
their panting in between the howls and the barking.  
He imagined he could hear their paws clawing at 
the rocks for purchase.  He made it to the boulder 
and was looking back, trying to see if he could spot 
the dogs.  His foot caught on a tree root and he went 
head over heels, but instead of hitting forest floor, 
he kept falling, tumbling over and over until all was 
darkness.

Ferne Clyffe State Park
Just outside Goreville, Illinois
6:00 pm

As they cleared the ridge, Scully was scrambling to 
keep up with the dogs and their handlers.  All four 
animals were brown and black balls of pure energy, 
excited by the strength of the scent and the end of 
their hunt.  Anxiety was high among the humans.  
Scully had been calling her partner's name as she 
climbed down the rocks, but the wind kept stealing 
it away.

The dogs stopped under a ledge and sniffed.  One 
grabbed something in its mouth and the handler 
took it gently.  "Looks like a piece torn off a shirt," 
he said, handing the cloth over to Scully.

"There's blood on it," Scully noted, biting her lip.  

As she spoke the words another one of the dogs 
rushed over to a boulder at the far end of the 
overhang and started pawing at the ground.  Its 
handler looked behind the rock with a flashlight and 
then frantically flagged the rest of the group.  "I 
found one of 'em!" he shouted.

A portable stretcher materialized from some one's 
backpack and Scully hurried over to see who had 
been found.  She had to choke back an anguished 
cry when she discovered not her partner, but the 
man they had originally been sent to recover, Tom 
Coleman.  Swallowing her fear for Mulder, she 
quickly examined the engineer.

"Get him on the stretcher and get a thermal blanket 
over him.  Notify the chopper of our whereabouts 
and that they need to get this man to the nearest 
trauma center.  He's in shock, feverish, looks like 
he's been hit pretty hard in the head.  If I'm not 
mistaken, he's been horse whipped."

"Horse whipped?" questioned one of the rescuers, 
but hurried to help perform the task of getting the 
injured man on the stretcher.  As they moved him, 
Tom began to rouse.

"Dogs. . . gotta keep movin' . . . can't let 'em . . ."  
The rest of his words were lost in his delirium.

"Mr. Coleman, where is my partner?" Scully asked 
gently, hoping the young man would have some 
connection to reality and could point them in the 
right direction.

"Overseers," Tom muttered and fell back into 
unconsciousness.  

The Sheriff touched Scully's shoulder.  "We're 
losing the light, Agent," he said firmly.

"He has to be here!" she spit out.  "He would never 
have left an injured man behind.  Not unless he 
couldn't help it."

One of the dogs had broken loose from its handler 
and had run to a boulder some distance away.  The 
bloodhound was now standing on top of the 
boulder, barking at whatever lay on the other side.  
Scully took one look at the Sheriff and they both 
hurried after the dog.

She thought about climbing up the rock, but the 
Sheriff pointed to a way to get around it.  As she 
cleared the edge of the rock and peered down into 
the ravine hidden beyond it, her heart jumped to her 
throat.

There on the forest floor, unmoving, was her 
partner.

Epilogue
Massac Memorial Hospital
Metropolis, Illinois
The next day
10:13 am

Mulder was dozing in his hospital bed when Scully 
came in carrying another bouquet of flowers.

"Did I die and you just haven't had the heart to tell 
me?" he asked as she placed them next to the other 
four or five bouquets already decorating the 
windowsill.

"No, it's just Southern Illinois hospitality," Scully 
said with a grin.  "These are from Tom's parents."

"How is he doing?" Mulder asked, wincing as he 
reached for the cup of water on his tray table.  His 
back still hurt but the pain meds were helping 
tremendously.

"Better.  His fever is down.  Some of the cuts and 
welts on his back had become infected and he had a 
touch of pneumonia, but he'll be back on his feet in 
a few weeks.  He and Beckie finally announced 
their engagement, so everyone was pretty happy.  
The flowers by the wall are from Beckie, by the 
way." 

"Did you get a chance . . ."

She held up her hand to stop his question.  "Mulder, 
after ensuring that you weren't in a coma and 
weren't going to die on me, I went back to the 
mansion.  Neill and his men had all but dismantled 
the attic.  There were no signs of any of the men 
you told me about, not any chains, shackles, iron 
collars -- "

"Nothing?  What about the bunk where Tom was 
kept?  There should have been blood there."

"I'm don't know what to tell you, Mulder.  There 
wasn't any blood anywhere."

"But you did find my blood on the whipping post," 
he reminded her.

"Yes, the blood we found out there was a match to 
you.  Are you sure someone didn't just hit you in the 
head and you hallucinated -- "  She stopped her 
question when she saw the set of his jaw.

"Scully, I didn't imagine being whipped.  I have the 
cuts on my back to prove that.  And what about 
this?" he asked, holding his hospital issued gown 
out to expose a dark bruise at his throat where he 
wore the iron collar.  "I suppose I hallucinated that, 
too, huh?"

"But Mulder, I was there all night.  I never left that 
house, except to go out on the porch.  And I saw 
nothing."

"But you heard me.  You admitted to me that you 
heard me call your name.  And you heard me 
moaning in pain.  You aren't suggesting that you 
were hallucinating, are you, Scully?  Because you 
weren't hit on the head."

"Mulder, I'm just saying it's hard for me to believe 
that you were lost in another time, that the 1840s 
and 2005 crossed for a while."  He folded his arms 
defiantly, grimacing when he pulled the healing cuts 
on his back.  Scully shook her head.  He wasn't 
going to be dissuaded this time, but then she 
reminded herself that was nothing new.  "Look, 
however you accomplished it, you did find Tom 
Coleman and return him to his loved ones."

"And you found me and did the same," he said, 
reaching for her hand.  She allowed him to pull her 
next to him on the narrow hospital bed, happy to be 
in his arms.  "So, when can we go home?"

"Doctor wants to keep you one more night for 
observation.  I have us on a 2:30 flight out of 
Paducah tomorrow afternoon."  He scooted over a 
bit so she had more room.  "So you were invisible 
to us all that time, huh, Mulder?" she asked as she 
put her head down on his chest.  The rhythm of his 
heartbeat was a salve to her own emotional cuts and 
bruises from the last 24 hours.

"A hundred and sixty years ago men were gathered 
up and sold back into slavery in a free state, Scully.  
No one noticed then, either.  Maybe sometimes evil 
is just invisible."

She nodded, digesting that thought.  After a moment 
she pulled up enough to look in his eyes.  "You 
really saw Abraham Lincoln," she challenged.

"Stove pipe, beard and all," he replied.

"The Great Emancipator spent the night in a 
mansion where slaves were being housed and sold.  
What does that say, Mulder?"

"I'm pretty certain he didn't know it was happening, 
Scully.  As for what it says, I would think it says 
evil is everywhere.  And it's up to the righteous to 
be constantly on guard," he told her.  He kissed her 
softly on the crown of her head.  "It says that we 
will always have work to do, Scully.  No matter 
what happens next, we must always be vigilant and 
look where no one else dares."

the end 

Author's notes:  There is a lot of factual information 
in this story.  I want to acknowledge some articles I 
dug up on the internet about the Crenshaw Mansion 
at Hickory Hill.  The Daily Egyptian, fall 2003 
edition has a wonderful article on the house.
http://newshound.de.siu.edu/fall03/stories/storyRea
der$539
Clarence Bonnell gives a nicely detailed account of 
the Crenshaws and the house on the 
illinoishistory.com site
http://www.illinoishistory.com/osh-loststory.html
Bill Furry did a lengthy article for the Illinois Times 
in 1997
http://www.illinoishistory.com/itosh.html
And finally, the house was featured in Brian 
Roesch's Haunted Illinois (scroll down to 
'Shawneetown')
http://www.webspawner.com/users/hhaauunntteeddi
llino/
But last and certainly not least, I have to thank the 
former owners of the house, the Sisk family, who 
gave me a guided tour of the premises.  It was when 
I first saw the bed that Lincoln supposedly slept in 
(just as I describe it here) that I got the inspiration 
for this story.

PS, many of the pictures used for the illustrations 
are pictures of the actual house and the surrounding 
county.  Those pictures can be found on the Virtual 
Season 12 website at 
www.vitualseasonx.com