Abner By Anonymous Rating: PG-13 Classification: CH Yvonne will accept feedback for this author at yvonne@ihug.co.nz. Please indicate that the feedback is for Anonymous. Disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, Walter Skinner and the X-Files and X-Files characters are the property of 20th Century Fox, Fox Broadcasting and 1013 Productions. No infringement is intended. MISCELLANEOUS DISCLAIMER I'm not dissing Albert Dekker's tragedy or his family, but really...! The characters on BEWITCHED do not belong to me, either, and for that I'm rather glad. They belong to someone else but I didn't catch who it was on Nick at Nite last night. So sue me. LOGLINE Mulder and Scully are assigned to investigate a possible serial killing in a small, very suburban neighborhood. ***** Except for the red candles, which had been arranged in a pentagram in the middle of the road, Morning Glory Circle was a pleasant suburban neighborhood. While the patrons of Morning Glory Circle were rather upset that they couldn't steer their sport utility vehicles and station wagons through the pentagram, they were a forgiving lot and made only the requisite number of complaints to the uninterested local police department. It must be some neighborhood boy, recreating a famous science experiment, they thought. Being pleasant in Morning Glory Circle meant that you didn't try to stretch intellectually. Thing was, the pentagram only appeared occasionally and so the neighborhood believed that there was no cause for alarm. Until the animals started dying. Mrs. Lupovitz noticed that Fluffy didn't seem to be moving as well as he used to. When Fluffy began decaying and attracting flies, Mrs. Lupovitz realized that something had gone terribly, horribly wrong with her beloved kitty. Yes, the vet said, Fluffy had been poisoned. Rat poison, most likely. Terrible shame. Little Billy Batson ran screaming to his mother after finding his dog, Mr. T, nailed to the same fence on which Billy used to bounce his tennis ball. Adorable Sally Worth was sprayed with cat's blood as her own beloved kitty, Salome, convulsed at her feet. Something was wrong in Morning Glory Circle. But still nobody paid much attention. New pets were procured as old pets died. The people of Morning Glory Circle were nothing if not adaptable. And it was only when Mr. Dimsdale, the high school principal, was found dead in his bathroom that the local authorities were called in. They blanched, ran outside, and promptly threw up. The Police Chief, Cranham, was quick to call it a suicide. If Cranham hadn't made this error, the case would have most likely been solved and would have gone away. But Cranham, between bouts of vomiting, failed to notice that Dimsdale was hanging from the shower-curtain rod, had both legs and one arm bound behind him, and had two hypodermic needles stuck in his person. ***** "There is no way this is a suicide," Fox Mulder stated emphatically. Dana Scully, head still buried deeply in the police report, nodded in agreement. "I'd have to agree with you there, Mulder. I suppose he could have..." Scully tried to imagine what Dimsdale would have to have done first in order to successfully end his life. She shook her head and closed the file. Scully looked at Mulder and sighed. He had THAT LOOK, the one that said, You'd better have that girlie overnight bag packed, Scully, because we're off to . She tried to head him off. "So that makes it a murder, Mulder. And not a very interesting murder at that." Mulder raised an eyebrow. Scully was impressed. He didn't usually go there. "It's a -- a tacky murder, Mulder." "Scully, don't you think that there is evidence that this is a ritual murder?" "If you look hard enough, you can find that evidence in any murder. As you have on more occasions than I care to count." Mulder bounced up off his desktop and flung another file her way. She flipped through it. "Animal sacrifices? We have a poisoning...a drowning...a, what is this? Crucifixion... I'll give you that this is sick, Mulder, but don't animal sacrifices generally have some coherence to them?" Mulder nodded. "Yes, yes they do. You're the one who said animal sacrifices, Spooky." Scully allowed herself a small smile. Mulder continued. "Let me tell you where I'm going with this, Scully," Mulder began. Scully put on an impressed face. "Oh, yes, please DO, Agent Mulder!" He shot a wry look at her and continued. "The reason this case came across my desk is because it appears, on the surface, to be ritualistically motivated. VCU took one look at it and turned it over to me, which tells you how much they've slipped since I left. It took a long time for the local fuzz to get interested in this. They were convinced that it was kids playing games and that the kids would grow out of this sick fascination they've got with death, just like we did when we were kids and we put firecrackers...well, you know what I mean." "Serial killer," Scully promptly said. Mulder nodded. "You're quicker than the VCU guys." Scully shook her head, still puzzled. "I don't understand why they'd send this to you, Mulder. Catching serial killers has taken on the guise of a drinking game over there." Mulder sat back down on his desktop, looking slightly uncomfortable. Scully cocked her head. He sighed and looked down. "I created the drinking game," he mumbled. Scully held back a laugh, gathered her things and got to her feet. "I suppose I should go home and pack. Where is this place? Iowa? Idaho?" "Massachusetts," Mulder replied. Scully sighed. Massachusetts. No wonder nobody noticed the pentagram and the animal slayings. Massachusetts. ***** Gladys Kravitz stood on her favorite chair, high-powered night vision binoculars pointed unwaveringly at the neighbors' living room window. Her husband, Abner, sat (as he usually did) on the couch, glasses perched on his nose, concentrating on a tiny model of the Starship Enterprise. He'd recently finished a model of the bridge on the river Kwai and was hoping that the Enterprise would fit nicely into the odd tableau he was creating. Retirement was a bitch. "Abner!" Gladys shrieked at the top of her lungs. Abner, used to such squealing from his bride, continued to work. He felt, rather than heard, Gladys hop down off the chair and scurry over to him. He sighed as she stuck her squinty little face between him and the model. He had no choice. He looked up. Big mistake. Gladys was a frightful woman, driven by something that Abner had not yet been able to identify. She was worse than a snoop. No snoop would have taken such delight in her Christmas present, a directional microphone. Best on the market. If it wasn't for the new Hack n'Shack out on the highway, she'd be spying on the neighbors through a pair of dreamy bedroom slippers. And hating him, of course, for being a dreary little man with no imagination and a love for tinkering. Gladys's squinchy face got closer. Her buggy eyes stared directly into his. Abner idly wondered if Gladys was always feverish or just very excited. "Abner, are you listening to me?" He set down the Krazy Glue after deciding not to attach a nacelle to Gladys's bouffant. "I'm always listening to you, Gladys. What are the Stevens' up to now?" Excited, Gladys sat down next to her husband, fixing him with That Gaze again. "I think it's Mrs. Stevens, Abner." She waited expectantly. Tiredly, Abner went through all the possibilities. "Let me guess: she's flying again. An elf has appeared at the door. France has appeared at the door. Her mother is sitting on the rooftop. A pink elephant has appeared --" "Stop it, Abner! Stop playing around!" If she considers this playing around, thought Abner, I'm a lucky man. "The murders!" she shrieked. Abner winced, wishing that there was a ball-game on that he could escape with. "What murders?" "Well, murder, but animals were killed, too, so that makes murder murders." Abner slowly set down the Enterprise. "You think that Mrs. Stevens, that lovely wife and mother, is a killer?" Gladys was silent, apparently working that over in her feeble brain. She disappointed him by coming back with her stock answer. "You have to admit, Abner, that some strange things go on over there." "No, I don't have to admit that. I don't have to admit anything, Gladys. Just leave that nice family alone. " Just as Gladys was opening her mouth to retort, a knock sounded at the door. Gladys shot up off the couch, glancing around wildly. Abner sighed. "You don't have to worry about anything, Gladys, it's probably not the FBI come to interrogate you about the Things You've Seen." Gladys glared at Abner and stalked towards the door. She opened the door to find two pleasant-looking young people, both stylishly outfitted and wearing the most beautiful overcoats Gladys had ever seen. She was almost overcome with envy. The woman smiled politely at her. She and the man simultaneously pulled out their identification. Gladys put a hand over her heart and staggered backwards. "Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, FBI. Can we have a moment, Mrs. Kravitz?" Gladys fluttered her hand towards her lump of a husband. He'd picked up the Enterprise again. She staggered back further and whipped her head around. "Abner!!" she wailed. She didn't see the two agents wince at the sheer decibels of her scream. Mulder peered inside. The elderly man didn't even appear to have heard her. Gladys raced towards Abner and pulled him to his feet, nearly crushing the Enterprise. He glared at her as she dragged him towards the door. He smiled politely as the two agents flashed their I.D. again. "Please, come in. We were just talking about the FBI," Abner said. Gladys went white, muttered something about coffee, and scurried off to the kitchen. Abner led Mulder and Scully into the living room. As they sat down, Mulder took notice of the Enterprise. He picked it up and examined it, then looked at Abner. "Nice. Do you build a lot of models?" Abner nodded. "Build models, listen to ball-games, hear my wife whine about the neighbors...that sort of thing." Abner watched as Scully turned to look at the binoculars. She picked them up, impressed. "The FBI doesn't even use these. Your wife's?" Abner nodded again. "She's a spy. Not like a James Bond spy, like a nosy neighbor spy. She's got to know what's going on in the neighborhood and who's doing it." "That's actually why we're here, Mr. Kravitz," Mulder said, "We've heard a little bit about your wife's, er, activities and wondered if she could shed some light on the spate of escalating crimes in Morning Glory Circle." Oh, God, thought Abner. I've got to warn Mrs. Stevens. Poor woman. Gladys returned a little calmer and set down a tray with four coffee cups, cream and sugar. Mulder and Scully took cups with thanks. Abner really wanted a beer. The female agent began. Abner steeled himself. "Mrs. Kravitz, I'm sure that you've heard about the recent murder --" "So it IS a murder then, is it? I knew it was, Abner, I told you he couldn't have committed suicide," Gladys gloated. Mulder dove in. Scully marveled at his ability to flawlessly relate the facts without referring to the file. Damned eidetic memory. "You're right, Mrs. Kravitz. Fred Dimsdale was found hanging by his neck from the shower curtain rod in his bathroom. The rope was knotted underneath his neck and looped around both legs and one arm. His arms were handcuffed behind his back and two hypodermic needles were stuck in his person. The police are still a little in the dark about this case but have upgraded it to an accident." Mulder looked closely at Gladys and Abner. Gladys's eyes were wide open and one hand was covering her open mouth. "My God," she breathed, "just like Albert Dekker." Mulder looked like he'd been shot. Scully glanced at him, then looked back at Gladys. "Who was Albert Dekker, Mrs. Kravitz?" Gladys looked at her husband, who was still tinkering with his model. Mulder spoke first. "A low budget actor. He died in a really awful looking apartment building in Los Feliz in 1968." "He was the sinister Dr. Cyclops," Gladys murmured. Scully was amazed. The change in Gladys Kravitz was complete and more than a little spooky. Mulder had recovered nicely, though, and continued to play one upsmanship with Gladys. "That's correct. His death was also first ruled a suicide and then changed to an accident. Murder was never entertained. Actually, twenty actors who appeared in films with Dekker died under mysterious circumstances -" "And his son committed suicide in 1957. His girlfriend's daughter -" "Was murdered. And he became an assemblyman in 1944, representing Hollywood," Mulder, irritated at Gladys, finished rapidly. Scully looked suspiciously at Gladys, who really did look shell-shocked. Mulder changed the subject. "Have you noticed any unusual activity in the neighborhood, Mrs. Kravitz? Any strangers who don't belong, odd noises, anything like that?" Gladys was overcome, transformed back into the loud, annoying being. She leaped to her feet, grabbed Mulder by the arm, and steered her over to the window. She pointed a finger at the Stevens' nicely appointed house across the street. "If you want to know what strange occurrences are happening in Morning Glory Circle, you need look no further than Darrin and Samantha Stevens. I can't tell you the odd things that we've seen here since they moved in." Mulder stepped forward, peering out the window at the other house. "How long have they lived here, Mrs. Kravitz?" "Five years!" Mulder looked at Scully. They sighed. Gladys looked confused. "What's wrong?" "Mrs. Kravitz, the chances that the Stevenses are responsible for this murder are pretty slim --" Mulder began. But Gladys Kravitz was just getting warmed up. "Don't give me your educated guesses, Agent Mulder! Don't you think that I know an awful lot about serial killers? I've done my homework, like any concerned citizen would. And you haven't lived in this neighborhood, under this reign of terror. You don't know what it's like, living next door to a --" Gladys stopped herself and looked at Mulder in horror. He leaned forward, intrigued. "Next to a what, Mrs. Kravitz?" Abner glared at his wife's back as if he could mind-meld with her and get her to shut the hell up. But Gladys would not be swayed. "A witch!" She said triumphantly. Scully almost had to leave the room. Mulder, poker face firmly in place, continued to look intrigued. "She's a witch, huh?" He said, looking out the window once more. "Yes she is. The things I've seen..." Glady's voice trailed off. Abner went back to the couch. At least the FBI agents appeared to be sensible young folks. They wouldn't listen to Gladys. No, they wouldn't, but Abner shared a bed with the woman. He didn't have a choice. And she talked in her sleep. Then he heard about the most awful thing he'd ever heard. "What makes you think she's a witch, Mrs. Kravitz?" And Gladys opened her mouth, and out it came. Abner launched himself for the remote and in one smooth move, clicked on the TV. He found an Australian Rules Football game, which would suffice for now. Once again picking up the Enterprise, he settled back to watch the game and struggled to ignore his wife's insistent babbling. ***** Mulder and Scully walked down the neatly tended path of the Kravitzes yard. Scully waited until they were all the way to the sidewalk before she stopped, grabbed Mulder by the arm, and looked him in the eye. "Why, Mulder?" She asked simply. He sighed and shrugged. Both gestures together were not a good thing. "In my experience, Scully, even the wacky and bizarre can have meaning. Gladys Kravitz is a big-mouthed busybody, but she's also extremely observant," he replied. "Yeah, apparently around the clock, Mulder. She's nuts! Just look at what she's done to her husband!" Mulder couldn't dismiss the truth of that statement. "I know, Scully, and I don't for one minute think that the homemaker next door is a witch or is in any way responsible for the murder, but do you think it's a coincidence that this woman mentions a witch, and we find a pentagram made out of candles, AND a pentagram is carved into the chest of the dead man?" Scully groaned. "I wish you wouldn't keep things like that from me, Mulder. Carved into the chest of a suicide, huh?" Mulder grinned and handed her another file. She opened it and skimmed it rapidly then shook her head. "Whoever did this is really sick, Mulder, and out of control. This doesn't look like any ritual killing." "Not to put too fine a point on it, but duh Scully. Most serial killers start with animals but the urge within them grows so much so that sometimes, not even a human life is enough to quench their insatiable appetite." "What are you saying, Mulder?" Mulder took Scully's arm and led her down the sidewalk, trying to ignore the glint of high-powered binoculars on his neck. "Look at it this way. The suburbanites ignore the pentagram, which appears and disappears with some regularity. They ignore the first animal killing, which is a poisoning. They ignore the second animal killing, which is a crucifixion. They ignore all subsequent animal killings, which get more bizarre and more gruesome. If you look at the time frame, though, things start getting really ugly. In all, twenty-five pets and one person were murdered. In a week. Even for a budding serial killer, that's working pretty fast." Scully paused and looked at Mulder. "That is odd," she said softly, "and except for Gladys Kravitz, nobody in this neighborhood seems too upset by these events." Mulder nodded. "My point exactly. He'll strike again, Scully. Soon. Come on, let's see if the witch is stirring her cauldron." Scully hurried to catch up with her partner. "For a minute there, I thought you were going to finger Gladys Kravitz as the murderer," she said. Mulder looked at her oddly. "Why would you think that?" "She knew all about that actor's death, and the similarites -" Mulder dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "It's just old Hollywood lore, Scully. Everybody knows that stuff." "Maybe, in her sick mind, Gladys Kravitz thought that she could get away with murder by making it look like suicide," Scully offered. Mulder stopped and whirled around. Even Scully couldn't manage to keep a straight face in the presence of Mulder's outrage. She grinned breezily at him. "Then again, who's that stupid?" Mulder watched as Scully headed towards the Stevenses, umbrella swinging jauntily. ***** Samantha Stevens smiled at her daughter Tabitha as the little girl helped set the table. She turned back to the stove but a sixth sense made her turn around again. A fork floated past her nose. "Tabitha," Samantha warned. The fork stopped and dropped to the floor. The little girl bent to pick it up and carefully set it into the sink. Samantha smiled. "That's better. Darrin! Dinner!" She called. Her husband, Darrin Stevens, the most wonderful man in the world, came downstairs. She beamed at him. God, she loved that man! He smiled that odd, twisted smile of his and kissed her on the nose. Samantha giggled. A private joke. "Hi, sweetheart. What are we having?" "Meatloaf!" his daughter piped up, "And I helped!" Darrin reached down and picked his daughter up. "Really, did you? I'm sure it will be twice as good as usual!" "You know what they say, Darrin. Too many witches..." Darrin set his daughter down in her chair. "I thought that was too many cooks, Sam." "It was adapted." "We'd better eat quickly because I've got to get down to the office to go over the sketches with Larry on the Jack Hill proposal." Samantha smiled fondly at her hard-working husband. It was her goal in life to please this man completely, and that included getting the meatloaf on the table at a reasonable hour so that he could continue his work. Darrin was almost ready to sit down when the doorbell rang. He and Samantha exchanged a look. He smiled and rose. "I'll get it." ***** Mulder leaned over to Scully as they waited at the door of the Stevens house. "Have you ever seen a neighborhood so whitebread in all your life?" "Yeah. Yours." "Ouch." They got their badges ready and flashed them at a tall, lanky dark-haired man who was dressed in an open-necked white shirt and a cardigan. He smiled pleasantly at them and examined the badges. He began to look alarmed. "Mr. Stevens? Nothing to worry about. I'm Fox Mulder, this is Dana Scully. We're investigating the recent murder of Fred Dimsdale and would just like to ask you a few questions." Darrin turned and looked behind him for a long moment, then looked back at Mulder and Scully and reluctantly opened the door. "Of course. Please come in." Mulder and Scully stepped over the threshhold and into a modest but airy house. Poorly decorated, thought Mulder, by someone with little or no taste. Darrin ushered them into the living room. Scully saw a blond woman, a blond little girl, and a wild-looking red-headed woman staring at her. She looked at Darrin. "I'm sorry, we're interrupting..." Darrin helped her to a seat. "No, no, don't be silly." He looked at the red-headed woman and seemed to glare at her. Mulder leaned forward, intrigued. Darrin made his way to the dining room. "Honey, the FBI would like to talk to us about Fred Dimsdale." Samantha came forward and shook hands. "How do you do. Samantha Stevens, this is our daughter Tabitha, and my mother, Endora." The red-headed woman floated forward, a sardonic grin on her face. Mulder was taken aback. This was the first indication of pure meanness, not to mention assertiveness on the part of a woman, that he'd seen yet. The old woman shook his hand, retracting her claw-like hand distastefully. Mulder was repulsed. "And you, Mrs., uh...?" "Endora is fine," she drawled. "Endora. Do you live here?" Endora laughed. "Goodness, no, young man. Live here? With Darwin? I don't think so." Mulder saw Samantha Stevens wince. Interesting. These people were not as bland as the others had been. Maybe they would get somewhere here. ***** Mulder forked the last bite of meatloaf into his mouth. He smiled at Samantha. "Excellent meal, Mrs. Stevens. Thank you for having us." "You're welcome, Agent Mulder. It's been delightful. Perhaps the women should retire to the kitchen and bring out the dessert while the men go out to the living room." Mulder, frozen, looked at Scully. She glared daggers at him. He shrugged, pushed back his chair, and followed Darrin into the living room. Scully reluctantly picked up a plate and followed Samantha and her mother, who was not carrying a thing, into the kitchen. I am a career woman, Scully reminded herself, I have a demanding job that I have trained years for. I am a career woman, not a walking doormat. Scully smiled falsely at Samantha, who was slicing a large, mouth-watering chocolate cake. "Why don't you make the coffee, Agent Scully. Oh, and you can ask the men if they'd like any brandy. Darrin doesn't usually drink brandy after dinner, but since we have guests...oh, and find out how your partner takes his coffee, will you? Mother, if you're just going to stand there glowering at the - at the, um, way I'm doing things, why don't you put Tabitha to bed." "Of course, Samantha. Glad to be of some help," Endora drawled. She quirked an eyebrow at Scully and glided out of the kitchen. I am a career woman...Scully sighed. It was no use. She filled the coffee maker with water. Samantha finished slicing the cake and turned to Scully. "So, you work for the FBI! How exciting! Whatever do you do there?" "I'm a medical doctor," Scully supplied automatically and then, much to her horror, found herself reciting her academic and professional credits. She stopped herself before bragging about the F. Emasculata incident. What a horrible braggart this situation had turned her into! "Uh, I'll go ask the men..." she mumbled, backing out the swinging door. Christ! She was hideous! She was turning into her worst nightmare, and at this point she couldn't decide if that nightmare was a ball-busting female man or a simpering, clueless, devote-to-her-man housewife. ***** Mulder and Darrin regarded each other politely. Darrin pulled out a cigarette and offered the pack to Mulder. He shook his head. "No thanks. Don't smoke." Darrin looked intrigued. "Oh? Company policy?" Mulder was confused, but he shook his head. Darrin nodded. He lit his cigarette and puffed away. Mulder sighed inwardly. They'd gotten nothing from the Stevenses at dinner and aside from some optical illusions performed by the magical, insipid Endora, the night was a total wash. They were entertaining enough, but it was in that suburban way that made you want to run for cover, screaming into the night. Darrin, sensing that he wasn't entertaining the way he should, tried again. "Agent Scully is lovely," he said. Mulder nodded, then cut off in mid-nod and looked suspiciously at Darrin, who stared guilelessly back. "Yes she is," Mulder replied. "She must be a very fast typist," Darrin said. Mulder's head snapped around. He stared at Darrin in disbelief. "I wouldn't actually know," he said slowly. "Oh, you probably have everything on computer now. Newfangled contraptions. Larry wants us to get computerized, but I just don't think the girls could handle it." Now Mulder was pretty sure what was going on here. Darrin Stevens was a gigantic male chauvenist. "The girls?" he asked politely. Darrin nodded, stubbing out his cigarette and lighting another. "You know how women are. Wonderful creatures, but totally useless outside of the kitchen. My Samantha is the most wonderful girl in the world and she's learned her lessons well. I was a little worried about her at first, what with her rather unorthodox upbringing, but she caught on quickly and can host a party as well as anyone. She'll never embarrass me. She's a wonderful mother, too, just adorable with Tabitha. The career gals, like the secretaries in our office, always seem to be working above their capacity. And you can't blame them, the poor things. They've been taken completely out of their environment. How do you handle it with Agent Scully?" Mulder had a fleeting thought, two fleeting thoughts actually. The first was to smash Darrin's nose in, and the second was to tell Scully what Darrin said and let HER smash his nose in. He tried that deep breathing crap, which never worked but he always hoped that there'd be a first time. He decided to be patient. "Let me tell you how it is, Mr. Stevens. Agent Scully is a Special Field Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. What that means is, she actually graduated high school, attended a four-year college, received an undergraduate degree in physics, applied to and was accepted to medical school. She graduated medical school with honors and became a medical doctor. The FBI recruited her because she had a lot of potential EVEN for a woman, she taught forensic science at the academy at Quantico and is THE pre-eminent pathologist working in the FBI today. She became my partner and were it not for her, I'd be either dead or out of a job. My track record is for shit if you remove Scully's influence." Mulder stopped. He'd started getting a little passionate about Scully's accomplishments and a little jealous too. She was, after all, a medical doctor, and he was merely a brilliant psychologist. He sighed inwardly. Should he have gone the hard science route? He stopped his wandering mind and concentrated on Darrin Stevens to see how all this was sinking in. He was frowing. "Well," he began, but at that moment Scully entered the room. Mulder gasped. She was wearing a frilly apron over her Armani suit, a gigantic frown on her face, and was holding a tray on which two cups of coffee and two wedges of chocolate cake resided. Scully was a walking advertisement for Demure Woman. Darrin's frown cleared up and he beamed at this perfect example of womanhood. "Coffee? Cake? Would you like some brandy?" Scully muttered darkly. Darrin stood up. "Why, how lovely, Agent Scully! Sure, set the tray down on the coffee table. I'd like two sugars and cream, please." Scully stalked forward, daring Mulder to say anything. He wisely kept his mouth shut and made a note to not eat or drink anything that hadn't been tested first. ***** Mulder and Scully, exhausted, staggered down the Stevens' driveway. Without saying a word they made it to the Taurus, buckled their seatbelts and sat there, drained. Scully turned her head. Mulder winced, waiting for the inevitable lecture on the sanctity of womanhood. But Scully just shook her head. "I have never felt so much like - like -" Mulder tried to help. "A servant?" He ducked away again. Stupid, stupid Mulder! But Scully nodded again. "It was humiliating. I've never seen people so at ease with their society-given roles before. Talk about not being liberated. She didn't have any idea that such a thing existed. I was Susan B. Anthony to her...her...Carol Brady. Samantha Stevens is so thrilled with her role as homemaker, wife and mother that I felt like I was out of my body watching myself in horror as I served you dessert." Scully shuddered. "It was worse than Duane Barry. It was worse than Robert Modell. I've never felt so...violated before." For one brief instant, Mulder thought about telling her what Darrin Stevens had said. But then he decided against it. For one thing, she got most of it from Samantha and for the other thing, he didn't want to have to live with Angry Scully. "Surprisingly, the only person with their head on straight was that woman, Endora." Mulder nodded and shifted into drive, wanting to get far, far away from Morning Glory Circle for the evening. "She was certainly the only person who was operating on any level of irony. Aside from us, of course." Scully made a face, reached into her bag, opened a brand-new package of Tic Tacs, and as Mulder watched in amazement, downed the entire package. She crunched thoughtfully for a long moment, then swallowed. She grinned at Mulder. "I feel better now," she said. "Uh, I'm glad. I hadn't realized that Tic Tacs also doubled as Prozac." "You'd be surprised, Agent Mulder." Mulder decided that they were once again on common ground and steered the discussion back to the case at hand. "We've interviewed everyone on Morning Glory Circle. I don't know what to think. Either these people really have no clue what's going on or --" Mulder stopped himself. "Or they're all involved," Scully finished quietly. Mulder sighed. "That's all we need. Serial killing the Julius Caesar way." ***** Samantha Stevens was shaken. Obviously, the FBI agents had been talking to Mrs. Kravitz. But nobody ever believed Mrs. Kravitz! That was the beauty of the whole set-up. She was completely bats. But the male agent, Mulder, kept pressing the subject. And Mother was no help either. That levitation trick...Samantha shuddered. And Mulder was so gullible, too. He was probably going to get a warrant and would be back in the morning to arrest her. Frankly, Samantha hadn't given Dimsdale's death much thought. The police had ruled it a suicide and it wouldn't be the first on Morning Glory Circle. Although Samantha couldn't imagine why anyone living in this paradise would take their own life... ***** Abner Kravitz smashed the Enterprise to bits. When there was nothing left but Starfleet rubble, he paused, breathing heavily. Taking out his anger and frustration on his models just wasn't working anymore. Dimsdale had the right idea, going out the way he did. Nobody knew Dimsdale the way Abner did. Fred had always been depressed, ever since he and his wife Florence moved into Morning Glory Circle. There was something about this neighborhood that did things to people. Abner had tried to help Fred, but he wasn't very experienced at that sort of thing and had obviously screwed up. He'd thought that replicating a famous suicide would throw the cops off his trail, but it was his mistake that what was originally a suicide had turned out to be a murder. He should have read the entire story in Gladys's little Hollywood lore book. Abner whimpered. They were going to find out, and Abner didn't think that he could hold it in anymore. Hell, he was going to be charged with murder anyway...Abner shook his head. He was thinking crazy now. He laughed, a short sharp sound. He'd been sorry that Fred had killed the animals, but the man had snapped, like every good postal worker did. And now Abner was going to take the fall. What would it be like, he wondered. What would Gladys do for entertainment if he decided to off Mrs. Stevens? Or Mr. Stevens? Or that insane Larry Tate? What about Gladys herself? Would she like to spy on her own murder? Abner banished those thoughts from his mind. He wasn't that bad off, he thought. Sure, his life was a complete waste, but he still had his health. He looked sadly at the Enterprise, And he had what was left of his models. If this was the way Fred started...Abner picked up his hammer again. "Abner!" Gladys shrieked. Abner rose from the couch and plodded out to the front window. He looked dully through the binoculars. Samantha Stevens was standing in front of a vacant lot. He blinked. No, now she was standing in front of her house. He glared at Gladys. "I don't see anything, Gladys," he muttered. She gave him the bug-eyed look. "Abner! The house is gone!" Abner, fed up, grabbed Gladys by the face and wrenched her around. She stared at the window, a little whimpering sound coming from deep in her throat. Great, thought Abner, one more trip to the doctor. He squinted out the window. The FBI agents were once more coming up the walk. He blanched. They'd found out. He didn't know how, but somehow, they'd found out. ***** Mulder leaned forward, his level gaze making Abner uncomfortable. "I need to ask you a serious question, Mr. Kravitz, and I need a straight answer from you." Abner blinked. Good Christ. "Shoot, Agent Mulder," Abner said, in what he hoped was an easy-going manner. Scully reached into her overcoat pocket and pulled out a plastic bag containing a hammer. She held it up for inspection. "Is this yours?" Mulder asked quietly. Abner, hands shaking, reached out and took the hammer, turning it over and over in his hands. He nodded, throat suddenly dry. "Where did you find it?" "In the forehead of Florence Dimsdale." Suddenly, Abner couldn't hear anything. People were talking but their voices were nothing but nonsensical buzz in his ears. Dear God. Had he killed Florence Dimsdale? Why would he do that? What kind of a moron was he, anyway? The first thing he heard, naturally, was Gladys shrieking his name. He blinked. The voices became voices again. "Did I kill her?" he asked. Mulder looked at Scully, then back at Abner. "I think I should ask you that, Mr. Kravitz." "Abner is not a killer!" Gladys screamed furiously. "There's no way he would kill Florence! We've been friends with the Dimsdales for years! This is ridiculous!" Scully put a hand on Gladys's arm, trying to calm her down, but Gladys kept going. Mulder kept his gaze on Abner, who was still staring at the hammer. "I don't remember doing it," he said quietly. "Did you kill Fred Dimsdale?" Mulder asked. Abner looked at him for a long moment. "Well...technically, yes, I guess I did." That stopped Gladys. For once, she was speechless. "Tell me," Mulder said simply. Abner cleared his throat and told Mulder the whole story, about how Fred had recently retired and was finding that life wasn't living up to his expectations, about how Florence was becoming a nag and how they were growing apart, about how empty Fred felt, about how Florence's passion for snooping was getting the better of him...about how, when Fred begged Abner to help him commit suicide because he couldn't stop killing the animals, Abner thought that helping a friend who was so like him would give him the release he'd been craving. "I guess it didn't, though, if I killed Florence," he mistakenly mumbled aloud. "You don't remember killing her, do you?" Scully asked. Abner shook his head. "I was destroying my model...and I was thinking that it just wasn't satisfying anymore, that I really wanted to destroy --" Abner broke off, eyes wide with terror. Mulder helped him. "That you really wanted to destroy something that was making you feel the way you feel, right? And the model wasn't a good representation anymore. Destroying something that you'd so painstakingly crafted didn't work anymore." Abner suddenly got to his feet and began pacing wildly. Mulder and Scully watched him warily. "You don't know what it's like here, Agent Mulder. Living in -- suburbia like this. Nobody sees, you know. Or worse, they see but they ignore it, pretend it doesn's exist. They don't know what's going on. I've got Gladys on the one hand, an absolutely crazy woman whose appetite for knowing everyone else's business is as insatiable as Jeffrey Dahmer's was for eating people, and on the other hand I'm surrounded by people who didn't even notice that their animals were being killed, didn't notice Fred's pathetic and feeble attempt to exorcise his demons by lighting those candles...they just don't CARE, unless it directly affects them, and they've made it a point to ensure that NOTHING affect them. They're not personally involved with anything or anyone outside their own four walls unless it's an unhealthy fascination, like Gladys's. The only normal people in this neighborhood are the Stevens, and she's a witch, for God's sake!" Gladys, who had been shocked into silence, came alive once more. "Abner! You -- you -- you believe that Mrs. Stevens is a witch??" Abner turned towards her, fire in his eyes. "Of course I do, Gladys! I didn't want to, but there was all that evidence. Every time I turned around something weird was happening at that house. But who are YOU to say that it's wrong, Gladys? Who made you God?" Gladys was, once more, stunned into silence. She shook her head from side to side, speechless and horrified. "You're a murderer, Abner," she whispered. Abner felt something snap. It was almost like he had mentally left his physical body, much as Scully's had when she'd been forced to serve the detestable cake, and was watching it from above, detached from the rage that coursed through his veins. He saw himself launch himself at Gladys. "You will not judge me!" he roared. Gladys screamed and threw up her hands. Abner's body raised the hammer, ready to bring it down in a killing blow. Mulder whipped out his gun, screamed "FREEZE!", then had no choice but to fire. The bullet tore off Abner's right ear and he tumbled to the ground, hammer still clutched in one hand. Gladys sank to the ground, sobbing hysterically as Abner's grey matter spilled out of the wound. Mulder quickly holstered his gun as Scully bent down to futilely search for a pulse. She shook her head. Abner Kravitz was dead. ***** Scully craned her neck to watch Morning Glory Circle disappear in the distance. She sighed and leaned back in her seat. Mulder glanced at her. "Glad we're leaving, huh?" Scully nodded. "You have no idea. Hey Mulder, something's been puzzling me. Aside from all of the nifty parallels between you and Abner Kravitz, of course. Why did he kill Florence Dimsdale?" "It's simple, Scully, and I'll ignore the other comment and just answer your question. Abner Kravitz was not inherently a killer, but like Fred Dimsdale and countless real serial killers, he couldn't hide his impulses anymore. He just wasn't being satisfied by denying the truth of what he'd seen and by ignoring his wife's rants. But killing the woman to whom he was married was most definitely wrong, and Abner talked his sick mind into believing that his only release would come with killing a woman who represented his wife. Hence, Florence Dimsdale and her bashed-in skull." "But that's still murder, no matter if she represented Gladys or not." "Ah, yes, but not to Abner. Even at the end, he was still trying to resist his impulses and still trying to save himself. By killing Gladys, he would have failed. By killing a woman with whom he was not very familiar but who also exhibited traits similar to those he loathed in Gladys, he would succeed." "But he didn't succeed, in the end. He went nuts and tried to kill her." Mulder sighed. "Serial killers and other emotionally disturbed killers don't know exactly what is going to bring them pleasure or relief. They think they've got it nailed, but the bad impulse, the desire, rears its ugly head and they've got to kill again. It's a vicious circle. Abner Kravitz was not cured. Nor will he ever be." Scully digested this, then looked at Mulder, who seemed extraordinarily pensive. "I understand that Jack In The Box has a two-taco special, Mulder," she offered. His mood lightened immediately and he gunned the engine of the Taurus. "Lead on, MacDuff," he said. Scully reached over and turned on the radio, searching for a good station, as the Taurus sailed on down the highway. ***** Endora floated easily above the car, listening to the discussion. She smiled craftily. She'd been worried about the male agent, Mulder. He'd seemed...too curious about her, like he believed in her. But not to worry. Nobody was THAT insane. Endora's cackle echoed above Morning Glory Circle as she turned in the air and flew back to her daughter, dress billowing in the night air.