How well do you know this woman, Mulder?
How well do you know anybody you meet on the Internet? She likes to talk.
Well, I question her motives.
You're suggesting that this case was a way to get me out here, to meet me? (no response; Mulder smiles) I'm flattered, but, no. I don't know this woman. I'd go out on a limb and say there's no way in hell she has anything to do with those four people being dead.
She's enamored of you, Mulder. Don't underestimate a woman. They can be tricksters, too. (They share a look.)
KBKarin Berquist
Where's Fox?
Continuing his investigation.
KBKarin Berquist
You're not working together?
No. This is my investigation.
KBKarin Berquist
I have no idea what you mean.
I thought at first that they were eccentricities or affectations - the dark, the clothes - but it's photosensitivity. Your sleeves cover up skin lesions. It's why you're here amongst the humans instead of out in the field. Systemic lupus erythematosus.
KBKarin Berquist
Lupus... From the Latin for "wolf." Ironic, isn't it?
KBKarin Berquist
I've ignored the symptoms for years. I've always felt more like a wolf than a person.
But not with Mulder. With Mulder, you found somebody you could communicate with.... someone who challenged you... But that wasn't enough. You needed to lure him out here.
KBKarin Berquist
(flatly) I lack your feminine wiles.
(looks away for a moment) You don't believe it, do you - not for a minute - that there's an animal out there killing?
KBKarin Berquist
I don't believe that this man, Dr. Detweiler, ever caught it. I lived in Asia. I know about the Wanshang Dhole and if it survived for over a century it was because it was more cunning than man, more cunning than this man Detweiler ever dreamed of.
More cunning than you? (Karin looks surprised; Scully warns her) I'm watching you.
KBKarin Berquist
You watch... But you don't see.
Through some blood curse, this man undergoes some kind of nocturnal transformation. He becomes the same shape-shifting trickster as that mythical dog.
So, what is he going to do? Walk in here, skitter across the linoleum and pee in the corners?
It's about territoriality. He's going to come back here tonight to make sure his dominance isn't challenged. He's going to put down the threat he failed to eliminate when he attacked Cahn. Karin Berquist confirmed it.
Mulder, the only thing Karin Berquist is interested in is you. (he chuckles dismissively) You're kidding yourself if you think that she hasn't manipulated this entire situation for her own purposes.
I don't know. It's not a simple bisection. There's a considerable amount of his abdomen missing. I mean, it almost looks like a burning but it's too localized. Maybe an industrial acid.
(looking at the report) There's, um... no acid found in his office.
Oh. (long pause; seriously) Spontaneous human combustion.
(grinning happily in disbelief) Scully...!
Well, isn't that where you're going with this?
(smiling) "Dear Diary: Today my heart leapt when Agent Scully suggested spontaneous human combustion."
(defensive) Mulder, there are one or two somewhat well-documented cases. (He says nothing; looks off to the side and nods thoughtfully; she sighs) Mulder, shut up. (He tries to look innocent and totally fails)
(voiceover, as Scully looks at the charm left under Mulder's door) Her prompt mind ran through the golconda of possibilities - was this trinket from the killer? Was there a message contained in its equivocal symbolism? Was he a religious fanatic who had, in fervid haste licked the envelope, leaving the telltale DNA that would begin his unraveling? She had a condign certainty the killer was a male... and now, as she held the cold metal at her fingertips she imagined him doing the same trying to picture his face.
It would be a plain face, an average face... A face people would be prone to trust. She knew this inherently, being naturally trusting herself. But the image she conjured up was no better than the useless sketch composites that littered her files. Preconsciously, she knew this wasn't her strength as an investigator. She was a marshall of cold facts, quick to organize, connect, shuffle, reorder and synthesize their relative hard values into discreet categories. Imprecision would only invite sexist criticism that she was soft, malleable not up to her male counterparts.
Even now, as she pushed an errant strand of titian hair behind her ear she worried her partner would know instinctively what she could only guess. To be thought of as simply a beautiful woman was bridling, unthinkable. But she was beautiful... fatally, stunningly prepossessing. Yet the compensatory respect she commanded only deepened the yearnings of her heart... to let it open, to let someone in.
[Scully enters a church to look at a painting of Christ with a burning heart. Phillip Padgett comes up next to her.]
I often come here to look at this painting. It's called "My Divine Heart" after the miracle of Saint Margaret Mary. Do you know the story... The revelation of the Sacred Heart? Christ came to Margaret Mary his heart so inflamed with love that it was no longer able to contain its burning flames of charity. Margaret Mary... so filled with divine love herself, asked the Lord to take her heart... and so he did placing it alongside his until it burned with the flames of his passion. Then he restored it to Margaret Mary sealing her wound with the touch of his blessed hand.
Why are you telling me this?
You came here specifically to see this painting, didn't you?
Yes. How did you know that?
I saw you enter. The way you knew right where it was.
I know you. You live next to somebody I work with. Why are you following me?
I'm not. I'd only imagined that you'd come here today.
I'm a writer. That's what I do - imagine how people behave. I have to admit I've noticed you. I do that... Notice people. I saw that you wear a gold cross around your neck so I was taking a chance with the painting - explaining something you may have already known. I saw Georgetown parking permits on your car dating from 1993 and a government-exempt sticker that lets you park anywhere you like. You don't live in this area but as a federal employee, you have reason to frequent it. You're fit, with muscular calves so you must exercise or run. There's a popular running route right nearby that you might use at lunch or after work. You'd have noticed this church in passing and though parking is always a problem in this part of town your special privileges would make it easy to visit... not as a place of worship but because you have an appreciation for architecture and the arts... and while the grandeur is what you'd take away from your visit, this painting's religious symbolism would have left a subconscious impression jogged by the gift you received this morning.
I have to admit to a secret attraction. (she looks away and rolls her eyes) I'm sorry I didn't include a note explaining that but you didn't know me then.
Yeah, and I don't know you now and I don't care to.
I see this is making you uncomfortable (she rolls her eyes, like "obviously") and I'm sorry. It's just that I'm taken with you. That never happens to me. We're alike that way.
(voiceover) The overture in the church had urged the beautiful agent's partner into an act of Hegelian self-justification. Expeditiously violating the fourth amendment against mail theft, he prepared to impudently infract the first. But if she'd predictably aroused her sly partner's suspicions Special Agent Dana Scully had herself become... simply aroused.
[Cuts to scene of Scully and Padget in bed together.]
(voiceover) She felt an involuntary flush and rebuked herself for the girlish indulgence. But the images came perforce and she let them play-- let them flood in like savory-- or more a sugary confection-- from her adolescence when her senses were new and ungoverned by fear and self-denial. 'Ache,' 'pang,' 'prick,' 'twinge'-- how ironic the Victorian vocabulary of behavioral pathology now so perfectly described the palpations of her own desire. The stranger had looked her in the eye and knew her more completely than she knew herself. She felt wild, feral, guilty as a criminal. Had the stranger unleashed in her what was already there or only helped her discover a landscape she, by necessity, blinded herself to? What would her partner think of her?
KNKen Naciamento
Man imagines that he, too, can open up his heart and expose the burning passion - the flames of charity - like the creator himself but this is not in his power.
But I have love in my heart.
KNKen Naciamento
Yes, as a thief has riches, a usurer money. You have it... but man's only power, only true power is to destroy it.
Then what's the end of my story?
KNKen Naciamento
There can only be one true ending if it is to be perfect.
KNKen Naciamento
See? It almost writes itself.
Mulder, it is such a gorgeous day outside. Have you ever entertained the idea of trying to find life on this planet?
I have seen the life on this planet, Scully, and that is exactly why I am looking elsewhere. (Scully opens a paper bag and takes out something that looks like ice cream) Did you bring enough ice cream to share with the rest of the class?
(smugly, eating) It's not ice cream. It's a nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicle.
(returning to his book, disgusted) Ugh. Bet the air in my mouth tastes better than that. You sure know how to live it up, Scully.
(continuing to eat) Oh, you're Mr. Live-it-up. Mulder, you're really Mr. Squeeze-every-last-drop-out-of-this-sweet-life, aren't you? On this precious Saturday you've got us grabbing life by the testes - stealing reference books from the FBI library in order to go through New Mexico newspaper obituaries for the years 1940 to 1949, and for what joyful purpose?
Looking for anomalies, Scully. Do you know how many so-called "flying disc" reports there were in New Mexico in the 1940s?
I don't care. Mulder, this is a needle in a haystack. These poor souls have been dead for 50 years. Let them rest in peace. Let sleeping dogs lie.
No, I won't sit idly by as you hurl cliches at me. "Preparation is the father of inspiration."
"Necessity is the mother of invention."
"The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom."
(taking another bite) "Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die."
"I scream, you scream, we all scream for"- nonfat tofutti rice dreamsicles! (sets the book down; lunges for Scully. He grabs her arm and takes a bite of the dreamsicle, breaking it; it splatters on the page)
No-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho! (laughing) Mulder! (she looks at the page; accusingly) Mulder!? You cheat. I can't believe that you've been reading about baseball this whole time.
Reading the box scores, Scully. You'd like it. It's like the Pythagorean Theorem for jocks. It distills all the chaos and action of any game in the history of all baseball games into one tiny, perfect, rectangular sequence of numbers. I can look at this box and I can recreate exactly what happened on some sunny summer day back in 1947. It's like the numbers talk to me, they comfort me. They tell me that even though lots of things can change some things do remain the same. It's...
(interrupting) Boring. Mulder, can I ask you a personal question?
Did your mother ever tell you to go outside and play? Mulder?
(looking at the page the ice cream spilled on; to himself) Is that ...Arthur Dales?
(fake) Ah... Choo! (fake sneezes and rips the page out; Scully pretends to be horrified)
You just defaced property of the U.S. Government. (he grabs the page and his jacket and runs out of the office; she smiles slightly) You rebel.
I don't really care about the baseball, so much, sir. What I care about is this man in the picture with you. I believe to be an alien bounty hunter.
(opening the door a crack) Of course you don't care about the baseball, Mr. Mulder. You only bothered my brother about the important things like government conspiracies and alien bounty hunters and the truth with a capital "T."
Wait a minute. I like baseball.
How many home runs did Mickey Mantle hit?
(thinks) 163. (Dales begins shutting the door, disappointed; Mulder pushes it open) Righty. 373 lefty. 536 total. (Arthur Dales nods, impressed; opens door all the way)
