“Dennis, it is really you?” Sharon asked tearfully.
The phantom Dennis looked down at his translucent body, a confused look spreading slowly across his face. Sharon held her hand out, beckoning the ghostly figure to accept it. Dennis stared for a moment, then attempted to place his hand on hers, despite seemingly being together, neither felt a physical sensation.
“I’ve missed you, darling.” Sharon wept.
“Where am I?”
Ignoring his question, she stared deep into his eyes.
“How did you get here?”
“I… I don’t know. The last thing I remember we were outside the Vic and…” he stopped suddenly.
“Dennis,” Sharon whispered.
Blood began seeping through his grey t-shirt, staining it a dark colour. As he clutched his chest, his once hazel eyes disintegrated, leaving only a black vacancy. Sharon screamed hysterically, trying to free herself from the horrific imagery staring right through her. She was still screaming when Phil burst into the living room, armed with a baseball bat. She ran towards him, sinking into his arms as he turned on the light. By that time, Demonic Dennis was gone.
Later that day, Mulder took a seat at the table and gave a wave to indicate he was ready for the interview to begin. This was the moment he was expecting, a big breakthrough, some detail from the witness that could shed some light on what was going on. Their interviewee, Sharon Mitchell had insisted it was conducted in the Queen Vic rather than her home. Something to do with her husband not liking cops apparently, not that Mulder minded. It gave him a chance to see a potential reaction from Mick Carter behind the bar. If what Sharon had told Mick was true, these two visions were almost certainly connected.
Only Scully’s findings had the normally cool Mulder concerned. Her investigation seemed to confirm that both Ronnie and Roxy were dead. If this was indeed the case then what they were dealing with was most likely a form of the angry dead. The dead with some unfinished business was a common source of ghostly goings-on.
Seated across from a shaking Sharon, Mulder watched Scully hit the record button on the tape recorder.
“In your own time Mrs Mitchell.” Scully soothed.
As Sharon relived the creepy events of the previous night, Mick Carter was becoming increasingly uncomfortable behind the bar. Mulder sensed his agitation, culminating in a dropped glass smashing all over the floor.
“Are you OK Mr Carter?” Mulder asked, leaving the table to check on the shaken landlord.
“I just got a bad feeling about this Mr Mulder, right here in my nut.” he growled, pointing to his forehead.
Mulder cleared his throat, preparing to explain his theory so far. A crash interrupted him and the Vic doors flew open, revealing an enraged man in a brown jacket careering towards Mick. Mulder did not react quick enough and the man managed to pin Mick against the wall.
“Well?” the man stared angrily at Mick. “Any chance of you explaining why you’re telling people my dead wife was in your pub?”
Scully helped Mulder pull the irate man away, leaving a surprisingly calm Mick to adjust his waistcoat.
“You do that again an I’ll iron you out!” he raged.
“Oh yeah,” Jack replied, squaring up to his supposed friend.
“ENOUGH!” Sharon interjected. “I think we can all agree something strange is going on here. The last thing we need is a punch-up in the middle of the pub.”
Looking sheepish, Mick returned behind the bar, leaving Jack to turn his attention on the pair of FBI agents.
“You’re here to cause trouble. Just stay the hell away from me and my family with this.”
He exited the Vic, slamming the double doors as he did so. Mulder smiled at Scully. It was a smile he had flashed many times before during the course of their investigations. Particularly when the locals were being less than friendly.
“I’m gonna head over to that little cafe.” he announced.
“Why do you fink summat might be there worth checking out?” Mick asked.
“No, it’s lunchtime.” he responded dryly.
Meanwhile, over at the Branning residence, Jack had returned and was sitting down on his couch to have a glance at his business documents. Ever since his wife Ronnie had passed away, he had found juggling family life with business to be extremely difficult. So much so that he hired a Norwegian nanny to help him out with household duties. Thankfully she had taken the kids out, giving him some much needed time to catch up on his work.
Sipping the warm coffee, he glanced over the document and let out a sigh. How had he allowed things to get this far? Perhaps if he had spent less time moaning he could have taken steps to sort this earlier. No! Getting over Ronnie was one of the hardest things he had ever done. Even seven months later, the pain was still raw. If only she had not dived in to save her sister? If only she had done what he suggested and drop Roxy like a bad habit?. Roxy WAS a bad habit to Ronnie….. and she was responsible for his wife’s death in his eyes.
The papers in front of him suddenly flew up into the air and floated gently to the ground. Cursing his luck, he checked the windows and was surprised to find them locked. Strange? he thought. Perhaps the front door was open? No! It too was closed. A rustle from behind made him spin on the spot. What he saw was enough to generate nightmares for the rest of his life. Roxy Mitchell was stood on the first step of the stairs, her washed out skin contrasting with her glowing red eyes. Jack gulped hard, then blinked. By the time he opened his eyes, Roxy was gone.
Over at the cafe, Scully came out clutching a white paper bag that held a roll and bacon. She was looking forward to lunch and had no intention of waiting for her partner who was still in the queue. Scully walked towards the car but stopped dead a few yards away from it. On the window screen was a small slip of scrunched up paper. She pulled it from the wiper and opened it up. Written inside in red writing were the words:
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