Title: An X-File Author: RocketMan >lebontrager@iname.com< Disclaimer: Mulder and Scully belong to CC, 1013, and Fox. No fringe is intended. NOTE::::This was the story I wrote for Creative Writing, and I sent it to a friend, Nora. She was the one to encourage me to post. So, this is for Nora. If it weren't for her, there'd be no "RocketMan." =-=-=-= An X-File =-=-=-= May 21, 1997 Coralville Lake, Iowa 10:13 p.m. The old man watches the waves lap the side of his boat, a faraway look in his eyes, as if he is not really seeing the gentle water. The dark night has prompted him to turn on the aft and starboard lights, but he can't see beyond their sharp beam. He sees another larger boat sail past him, barely missing his prow, he thinks, and curses to the sailor, waving his fists and glaring at its white hull. Suddenly, from the fog-like darkness comes an old ship, its mast and sail gone, as if it has weathered a terrible storm. The boar that had almost rammed the old man swings the wheel hard to port to escape the oncoming derelict, he thinks, but the prow of the beautiful white boat crunches into the ship's side. The old man watches in amazement and then gets up, shouting and yelling, his balance thrown off by the wind and water. The ship turns effortlessly and heads straight for the old man, waving in his tiny boat. Suddenly the old man doesn't care much for survivors. He turns sharply and puts the engine setting the highest it can go. =-=-= June 6, 1997 Washington, D.C. 8:32 a.m. Special Agent Fox Mulder watches her as she leaves for coffee, her second cup, and taps the pencil against his desk, a tiny gleam in his eyes. Dana Scully, his partner, comes back to their office and closes the door behind her, then sits down across from him. "Okay, what have you got?" she says. Smiling he hands her the file folder, knowing she is not in the mood for guessing games. "Ghost ships, Scully." Her eyes briefly scan the testimony of Mr. Alfred Whitman, an older man who seemed to be scared to death from his report. Then she glances at the information gathered at the site of the shipwreck and shakes her head. "Mulder, this sounds like a case for Scooby Doo, not the X-Files," she says. His eyebrows dance at her comment, but he insists upon her reading the report in its entirety. "Scully, that man believes he saw a ghost ship, circa 1800, ram into another boat on Coralville Lake, then turn and head straight for him. He didn't know it was so old until the authorities tried to get him to identify the type of boat," he says, eyes gazing intensely at her. He doesn't have to have her approval to investigate the case, but he would like it, just for himself. "Mulder, I have a feeling that in the end we'll find this is another prank or an old man's hallucination, just like in Scooby Doo." "Well then, if this is Scooby Doo then you must be Velma, the one who's always so sure it's nothing more than some cheap costumes and lighting effects," he says, trying to rile her, challenge her beliefs. "And you must be Shaggy, the guy that sweats he saw a ghost when it's only old Mr. Whittaker set on his revenge," she responds, intent on not losing this battle. "Even old Mr. Whittaker has to be caught eventually. Let's save someone else the trouble," he replies, standing as if to say, conversation closed. They are going. =-=-=-= June 9, 1997 Coralville, Iowa 10:21 a.m. Scully stretches stiffly, her back tight from airplanes and rental cars, and tries to pay attention as the old man, Mr. Whitman, explains what he saw that night. She remembers from his profile that he has been convicted of several DUI's and is known for being at the local bar every night. She can tell that Mulder has some different ideas as to the origin of the 'ghost' ship. Mulder's lanky frame sits in the chair next to her, his posture slightly relaxed, but his nerves on edge; he is getting nothing new from the man. Their hour drive from Cedar Springs Airport has left him cranky, but he tries not to show that while he works. The witness is rambling on and he can't seem to concentrate. He decides that seeing the physical evidence will get them farther on this case than listening to another frightened word from Mr. Whitman. =-=-= June 9, 1997 Coralville, Iowa 11:07 a.m. Dana Scully walks around the old man's boat, looking for proof of her already formulated theory. She eyes a cooler, presumably for the man's catch of fish, and tilts it open with one finger. She smiles and picks up the evidence she has found, hearing Mulder approach. "Okay, listen to this, Scully," he begins, before she can say a word. "Mr. Whitman sees this ship, an old one from the 1800s, and it purposefully rams into this other boat, causing it to break up on the rocks. Whitman says it looked like the ship had been through a terrible storm. I think the ghost ship is trying to reenact its fateful night at sea, giving other boats its same fate." He looks eagerly to her, his hazel eyes alight with mischief and ideas. She hates dashing his carefully constructed theories of paranormal incidents, but she can't believe what he says, and must point out the flaws. She holds up the beer bottles she found in the old man's cooler, giving them to him with a sweet smile. "There's no history of ghost activity here. I think he was stinking drunk," she says and keeps her eyes locked on his. HIs face blanks and reestablishes its control, then her grins a bit at her. "Good job. A find like this deserves a Scooby snack." She raises her eyebrow and he looks down at the bottles in his hands. "Just fill out the report, Mulder, and get me back to D.C." she says and walks back towards the police station, a smile tugging her lips. =-=-= June 9, 1997 Highway 218, Iowa 12:45 p.m. Scully is happier after upstaging his theory, his wild, crazy, very Mulder theory. She listens to the radio until the station dies and then turns it off and watches the landscape roll by. Mulder is driving, it's become a law of nature almost, and his jaw works under his skin. She wants to comfort him, but doesn't know what she should say. She thinks it's best to make no big deal about it. Softly, imperceptibly, she begins to hum. Mulder hears her and listens with more concentration than he has for the road. He can almost make out the tun when he realizes exactly what she is humming. The theme song from Scooby Doo. =-=-=-= end adios RM