Title: Poison Arrow
Author: Theresa Filardo
Classification: X-file
Archiving permission: Written for I-Made-This Productions' 
Virtual Season 9. First two weeks exclusively on VS9, after 
that, anywhere. Please drop me a line if you do, so I can 
come to visit!
Feedback: theresa@xf-mindseye.com
Summary: The major theme to this story has to do with the 
Chinese art of Feng Shui (pronounced "fong-shway") and the 
ancient fortune-telling science of I'Ching (pronounced "yee-
ching"). The theories of these two aspects will play a 
significant role in the case presented to Mulder and Scully. 
Extra notes appear at the end.
Time Period: Mid April, 2002
Spoilers: For VS8 and 9 and X-files' "All Things"
Thanks: To Mori for her always excellent beta job and 
friendship. Thanks also for the wonderful group of talented 
people that make up the IMTP Core group. You're the best! *****

Hartsdale, N.Y.
125 Columbia Rd.
5:05 p.m.

The day was sharply bright. Pale yellow rays pierced through 
glass like shears through fine silk. Old, wrinkled hands 
reached up to the light, a light that enhanced the ridges and 
valleys of loose skin, rivers of veins, and small brown spots 
where the sun had been too generous. They had seen 
younger, softer days once, but now showed the ravages of 
almost sixty-eight years.

Lili studied her fingers, woven with a bright red silk string. 
At the end of the string, past some decorative knots and 
tassels, hung an octagonal-shaped medallion with a circular 
mirror at the center. As she shaded the angled brightness of 
the afternoon sun from her eyes, she gazed upon the Ba-Gua 
approvingly. It was a token from her homeland, China, that 
had survived tradition, added spiritual comfort to millions of 
souls, through thousands of years. Now, it was settled in the 
palm of her hand, like a small, sleeping turtle.

About to hang the Ba-Gua medallion in its most useful and 
protective location, the front door of her daughter's new 
home, she heard the sound of an impatient shuffle behind her. 
It was not an unfamiliar sound, but the noise of the quick, 
scratching footfalls invoked a tiny creeping fear at the nape 
of her neck, as if she'd been caught doing something 
shameful.

"Ma," a female voice shot against the back of Lili's head. 

To the untrained ear, the hatchet-like interjection would have 
sounded harsh and scolding. To Lili, it was just a part of her 
daughter's accent. The bold syllables melded with a subtle lilt 
to her words added a certain octave to Hannah's Chinese-
American speech. She should have tried harder to believe the tone 
was not intended to intimidate her, but the tingles insisted on 
crawling up her neck.

The shuffle of her daughter's slippered feet drew nearer and 
more determined as their owner realized that her mother was 
not going to turn around. Lili frowned. She knew her 
daughter did not believe in devices such as the Ba-Gua 
medallion to ward off evil spirits, but she needed it -- now 
more than ever. Lili was convinced the things that were 
happening were the fault of bad Chi, or negative energy, 
coming into the house, and she knew exactly where it was 
coming from.

Lili finally turned and looked up at her only daughter. Her 
face was framed by straight-cut horizontal bangs and her 
long, jet-black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Hannah 
was the picture of youth, clean-cut, healthy, so sure of 
herself, staring down at her mother with the glimmer of pity 
in her beautifully slanted eyes. Oh, if she could only 
understand.

Lili held out the Ba-Gua. The tiny glimmer of pity in 
Hannah's dark brown irises grew into a fire of contemptuous 
disgust. Still, Lili tried.

"This can help," the older woman implored.

"It WON'T help," Hannah finalized, in an icy tone.

Lili inhaled slowly, her patience waning just a little more 
each time this conversation was doomed to repeat itself.
"It can't cause more harm than has already been done," Lili 
muttered.

Hannah bit her bottom lip as she raised her eyes to heaven. 
The light reflecting off the Ba-Gua medallion shone across 
the smooth contours of her face. So perfect in appearance 
was she, her mother thought, and so imperfect in her 
thoughts.

A small dusting of particles blew into the beam of sunlight, 
momentarily disturbing the shine off her daughter's cheek. 
Suddenly, a loud noise crackled through the air as a very 
large cloud of white dust blew into the entrance hallway 
where they stood.

Hannah snapped her eyes to the right where a workman had 
been repairing the ceiling, only to have caused more damage 
instead. The young woman blushed bright red in frustration, 
took a darting glance down at her mother and hissed through 
her teeth before waddling her pregnant belly ahead of her 
into the living room to survey the damage. As she watched 
the girl retreat, Lili felt a small bit of triumph, and her neck 
didn't feel quite so tingly anymore.

It was a difficult thing, to try and protect someone from 
forces they themselves did not believe in. If Hannah had 
learned to see things, not only from a practical sense, but also 
from a more spiritual, perhaps even mystical viewpoint, she 
would have realized much more happiness in her life. It was 
all Lili ever wanted, for her daughter to be happy and 
prosperous. The way she shut her eyes to the most obvious 
solutions just made things difficult. 

Lili again turned toward the glass storm door, observing the 
purples and greens of sunset. The house was on a nice tree-
lined street. All in all, she agreed her daughter had good taste 
in location. The house even sat on a small hill, above street 
level, although the neighborhood was quite congested with 
residences. There was only about twenty to fifty feet between 
each house. In fact, the houses were so close in some places, 
one could have passed a cup of sugar out the window to his 
neighbor while both were still standing in their own kitchens.


Hannah had chosen well with her house--in theory. There 
was plenty of room, beautiful yard, all except for the three-
story apartment building that sat heavily, like a giant red 
elephant, across the street. It was, in Lili's opinion, a source 
of bad Chi. Lili lifted the Ba-Gua again to hang it in the glass 
window of the door.

She stepped back to admire the object and smiled. 

Unfortunately, she could hear unhappy mutterings coming 
from the living room as her daughter reprimanded the 
workman. The house was falling apart. Hannah had called it 
a "fixer-upper." But how much more damage was supposed 
to come after the new owners had moved in? There were at 
least six incidents that had occurred, since the young couple 
had moved in, that made for even more "fixing-up." 

"It's an old house," her daughter had said. "It should be 
expected." Lili simply accounted it to bad luck.


She creaked the storm door open to step outside, away from 
the uncomfortable aura that was forming like a thick mist 
from Hannah's argument. The metal door slammed behind 
her, and all was quiet for a moment. The argument had 
ceased, the wind blew softly, and there weren't even any cars 
buzzing past on the street below.

Lili looked at the apartment building across the street. Empty 
windows stared back at her like ugly, gaping mouths. The 
dark interiors allowed the outside to reflect on the glass.
The emptiness somehow added to her silent moment, until 
she saw a faint pinpoint of light in the central second-floor 
window. It was quick and dim in the interior, and the 
reflection of her daughter's white house, ghostly in the 
darkness, made it almost impossible to notice. But she did 
notice.

She stared harder at the window, as if trying to invoke its 
presence again, to confirm, at least to herself, that she had 
indeed seen something. Again, all was quiet.

The deafening slam of the storm door behind her shattered 
her concentration, and nearly made her lose her balance as 
well. A large, hulking figure dressed in white-splattered 
clothing breezed by her and stomped down the stone stairway 
to the street. He swung a heavy plastic bucket and metal box 
into the back of his rusty white van and kicked the rear doors 
shut. Before stomping around to the driver's side of the 
vehicle, he glared up toward Lili, who stood unmoving 
during his display.

"You can tell that--" he pointed with an angry finger to the 
house behind her, "--that--daughter of yours, that she can find 
another contractor! I freakin' quit!"

He then climbed into the van, which rocked under the heavy 
weight of its driver and grumbled down the street with a 
black cloud of exhaust in its wake. A knot was slowly 
beginning to form in the pit of Lili's stomach.

She went back into the house, and carefully held the door so 
that it wouldn't slam again. A light coating of white dust 
blanketed the dark wood floor of the hallway. A single set of 
footprints trailed down the hall to the staircase leading to the 
second floor. On the bottom step, Hannah sat, tracing her toes 
around on the floor, leaving a pattern in the film of dust.
In the living room, Lili saw a pile of broken plaster strewn 
across the carpet, and the gaping hole in the ceiling that it had 
fallen from. 

She heard her daughter sigh.

"It's not his fault, you know," Lili said, in a quiet, even tone.

"He's a professional. He should know why these things 
happen, Ma."

Hannah sat with her hands cradling the round abdomen that 
sat heavily between her thighs. Her eyes were closed, holding 
back tears of frustration, exhaustion, and fluctuating 
hormones.

"Well," Lili said gently, "He's not your professional anymore. 
He's not coming back."

The young woman opened her red-rimmed lids halfway, too 
tired to continue the battle with her mother. She just didn't 
have the strength to argue anymore today. Lazily, Hannah 
dragged her fingers over her tummy, quietly meditating, as 
her mother watched.

"It's just not fair," Hannah whispered.

This time, pity shone in the old woman's eyes, but it was dull 
and full of sadness for her daughter's misfortune. The 
shadows of evening grew longer and the sky now filled with 
a beautiful orange light. Lili looked out at the sunset, severed 
by the dark square form of the apartment building.

And she saw it. The quick glimmer in the same window as 
before. Her heart leapt in her chest.

"Ma..."

The voice was wavering, weak and full of fear this time; not 
the crisp succinct tone Hannah had used before. And it 
instantly gave Lili a greater chill up her spine than any of her 
daughter's exasperations had ever done.

"Ma, something's wrong."

When Lili turned to look at her daughter, she was clutching 
her abdomen, leaning forward, as if she were trying to protect 
the child inside of her. Lili heard the crack of something 
breaking. 

"What..." The world darkened further as Lili realized what 
was happening.

"I have to go to the hospital," Hannah whimpered. 

Everything was moving in slow motion. Lili's feet felt glued 
to the floor.

"Please, Ma--call 911."

Lili did as she was told. When the ambulance arrived, she 
followed her daughter, lying strapped securely to a gurney, 
out the front door.

It was not until she was about to lock up the house that Lili 
noticed the Ba-Gua medallion lying on the floor, broken into 
pieces, the mirror shattered like confetti. The red string 
dangled from the bolt she had tied it to earlier, a piece of the 
medallion still attached to the end. It had not merely fallen 
off because of her carelessness. It was broken deliberately. 
Her eyes squinted to small slits, and she muttered angrily 
under her breath, "I will stop you."

In the dark of evening, with red and blue lights flashing, 
sirens blaring all around her, Lili climbed into the back of the 
ambulance with her daughter.

No one else noticed the steady glow in the central second-
floor window of the apartment building across the street, not 
even the old Chinese woman.


ACT 1

Westchester Airport 
One week later, 12:45 p.m.

He sat quietly in the terminal reading the fifty-cent local 
newspaper, pulled from the mouth of a blue metal vending 
machine. His right leg rested casually on his left knee; the 
cuff of the neatly pressed pants revealing too-short dress 
socks and a small patch of hairy skin. Mulder didn't care. He 
was too engrossed in the local police reports listed at the 
middle of section B.

It was amazing how suburbia could claim only half a page of 
significant police reports in one day -- and the most 
interesting seemed to be the one about Mrs. Fagella's missing 
toy poodle, found inexplicably up a neighbor's tree. He tried 
to imagine the tiny white legs of the dog scratching and 
scrambling up a narrow tree trunk.

It was encouraging, yet at the same time for someone like 
Mulder, it seemed disturbingly boring -- too "normal." It was 
something he was afraid of: a normal town, with normal 
people, doing normal things; especially when he was going 
out on a limb with a case. Scully wouldn't like it if he 
dragged her up here on the first available commuter flight for 
nothing.

He folded the paper up and placed it on the light-blue plastic 
seat beside him. The airport was small by most standards, 
and peppered with few customers in-between flights. Scully 
wasn't hard to spot when she walked across the wide, highly 
polished gray floor. She stopped about halfway between the 
gate and the waiting area where he sat, slowly scanning the 
terminal for him.

Normally, Mulder would have gotten up to greet her right 
away, but he was enjoying the view from afar. Several male 
flight attendants passed by her and hesitated in their stride 
to look back, in the hopes of offering some assistance to the 
lovely red-head in the light tan suit. But Scully managed every 
time to avoid eye-contact, and stiffened her posture in such a 
way to deter any chivalrous act.

At one point, she was fishing through her overnight bag when 
a young man in a baseball cap approached her. She smiled up 
at him politely, but concealed the expression quickly, so as 
not to lead him on or let him get too close. Mulder had seen 
her use the tactic often. The smile put people at ease, but then 
she subtly constructed her "FBI" mask that said she meant 
business. The young man, however, pursued his unwanted 
kindness too aggressively. She backed up a step, clicking her 
heel hard as she did so. A short statement was made by 
Scully, and the man tipped the bill of his hat and made an 
extravagant turn on his heel to leave her.

Mulder chuckled at the sight. That young man never even 
had a chance. He watched Scully resume the search through 
her bag. She pulled a small black object out of one of the side 
pockets. She swung her head around once again to survey her 
surroundings, then flipped open the cell phone and punched 
at the small buttons. A puff of air blew out between her lips, 
fluttering the once carefully combed bangs that now hung 
loosely in her face. As she held the phone to her ear, Mulder 
heard the soft purring sound of his own cell-phone ringing in 
his breast pocket.

"Yeah."

"Mulder, I'm at the airport."

"I see you."

"What?" Scully ran her fingers through the rebel strands of 
hair as if they had previously been blocking her view. She 
slowly turned in place, and nearly made a complete 180 
degree turn before she spotted Mulder sitting in the row of 
blue plastic chairs at the end of the terminal, chuckling in her 
ear. She snapped the phone shut and began walking toward 
him, heavy high-heeled clicks echoing across the floor. Even 
in her straight and narrow path with her focus on a set 
destination, eyes followed her, especially Mulder's.

He couldn't break his gaze away from her. She moved like a 
tigress on the hunt, smooth, yet deadly when she wanted to 
be. His chest constricted at the thought of such an image. 
Yeah, he could be hunted by her anytime. Then he saw the 
expression on her face. Well, maybe not this time.

Scully took the last few steps between them and stood in 
front of her partner's crossed legs. She shook her head as if 
disappointed in him, then curled up one corner of her mouth.
"You know, I could have used your help back there. I assume 
you saw the whole thing." She raised an eyebrow in wait.

Mulder tucked his cell-phone carefully back into his pocket. 
"Ah, Scully, you can handle yourself, can't you?" He stood 
up to his full height, crowding her personal space so that she 
had to lift her chin to look at his face. She crossed her arms.

"Yeah. Thanks..." She started to walk away when Mulder 
gently touched her arm.

"Don't I get a 'hello?'" Mulder asked, his lips pursing in a 
distinctly fish-like way.

Scully considered a moment. Behind Mulder, the young man 
in the baseball cap looked on. Mulder followed her attention, 
and noticed him too. Hmm. Perhaps he should have stepped 
in and helped her after all. Then he felt small fingers entwine 
themselves within his own, and pull down, ever so slightly. 
Mulder smiled. 

When he turned, Scully pressed her lips to his, quickly, 
lightly, but enough to make a certain baseball cap hurry down 
the hall with its owner. 

"Thanks," she said, before releasing his hand.

Mulder cleared his throat. "My pleasure."

They walked out across the parking lot to the rental car 
Mulder picked up yesterday. Scully threw her bag into the 
trunk and then joined her partner in the front seat.

"So you couldn't have waited until I finished the seminar to 
come up here? This must be some case, Mulder."

Scully had been invited to speak the night before to some first-
year students at a local medical college. Lately, Scully seemed 
to have an unsatisfied air about her. Mulder guessed she just 
needed a change of pace. But when she told him about the 
seminar, he realized that maybe Scully just needed to validate 
herself. She was a wonderfully, exceptionally intelligent 
woman. Many times he had felt guilty for trapping her in 
something as obscure as the X-files. Perhaps getting back to 
teaching for a little while was something that made her feel 
she had a purpose, or at least, that all her medical knowledge 
wasn't being wasted.

Nope. Scully was not going to like this one.

"Mmm, hmm." Mulder pulled the car out toward the main 
road and headed south. He didn't elaborate any further on the 
case, which was unusual -- quite unusual. Scully picked up 
on it right away.

"You do have the proper authorization for this case, don't 
you, Mulder?"

"Mmm..." he vaguely answered.

"You *don't* have it," Scully prodded, a squinting eye 
sliding over to study her partner.

"Mmm-mm," Mulder hummed as if he were trying to place 
the first two notes to a song.

"Holy rusting shovels, Batman! Who are we going to save 
this time?"

"Scully...?" Mulder's eyes left the road and tried to focus on 
this aberration that called herself his partner.

"Oh, he speaks too!" she muttered, sarcastically noting the 
inarticulate conversation they'd been having thus far.

"Holy what...?"

"Rusting shovels. It's what you'll be using, Mulder, to shovel 
yourself out of the ton of you-know-what when *you* 
explain this crusade to A.D. Skinner." 

"I'll tell him..." Mulder groaned at length.

"Mmm hmm." Scully rested her forehead on the passenger 
side window as the blurry greens and browns of vegetation 
that lined the streets passed by. The cool pane of glass did 
little to ease the dull throb of a headache coming on.

"I take it you didn't read my notes on the flight," Mulder 
spoke hesitantly. These were always rough waters with 
Scully, when he dumped a case with too many loose ends 
into her lap. At least he'd let her sleep in her own bed last 
night, and hadn't dragged her up to New York in the middle 
of the night. This was a good case, but it was no alien 
conspiracy. And besides, he had been feeling a little under-
appreciated himself lately. Wasn't he allowed to get excited 
about anything anymore?

Scully sighed audibly and turned to watch Mulder's stoic 
profile as he drove. She couldn't conceal a small grin. Good. 
He knew he was in the doghouse.

"It's just that you may as well be some Adam West-type 
vigilante with me as your sidekick in tights."

"Adam West? I thought I'd be at least a Val Kilmer, myself. 
Don't you think..." his voice broke off when he saw his 
partner staring at him with darts practically shooting from her 
tiny black pupils. He clenched his jaw and stared at the road 
ahead.

Scully began again, "Sometimes, I just wish I had more 
control over things; a little more say in what we do and don't 
investigate."

Lead weights filled Mulder's stomach, heavy with guilt that 
threatened to make its way deeper into his abdomen had not 
Scully known exactly how he took criticism from her.

"It's O.K., Mulder." She reached across to his hand resting on 
the transmission grip, and gently caressed his knuckles with 
her thumb. "I guess it was nice to be rescued from an 
auditorium full of lazy-eyed freshmen. It's amazing how 
'unexplained death' doesn't spark any interest for their post-
mortem examinations. I guess they like boring, run of the 
mill..." She stole a glance at him, noting the slight slump 
to his shoulders and hollow, unseeing eyes.

She sighed again, as if dissatisfied with the tedious 
presentation. What she was really thinking was that she was 
being forced to stroke Mulder's ego again.

"They did, however, perk up quite a bit when I showed them 
our slides of the Alien autopsy. Found it *quite* interesting."
At the lower section of his right cheek, Scully could see 
Mulder's tongue pressing along the inside of his mouth. Then 
his lips began slowly to bend upwards, and a shine came 
back into his eyes.

"Aw, Scully. You're just trying to make me feel better."

"You get us out of this one with minimal flak from Skinner 
and I may just slip a couple of those slides in next time." She 
grinned widely.

"I'll hold you to that."

"I know you will."

Mulder stepped on the gas, speeding up a little in his 
improved mood. Scully released his hand, slightly nervous 
about his one-handed driving.

"Oh, and Mulder..."

"Yeah?"

"Michael Keaton."

Mulder looked over at his partner, and began singing --

"Nana-nana-nana-nana..."

*****

The Olient Gift Shop 
Hartsdale, NY 
1:00 p.m. 

The dim light of a paper lantern swayed back and forth over 
the open box of earthenware teapots like a searchlight in a 
prison. Dr. Jonathan Yin reached down, hovered his palm 
over one pot, then another and finally picked up the most 
beautiful of them to admire. The teapot was a dull tan color 
with tiny black speckles and dark blue painted 
chrysanthemums grouped on one side. He lifted his glasses 
from the bridge of his nose to take a closer look.

"The boy has talent, Lili."

"Too much, I sometimes think."

Jonathan replaced his glasses and peered through the empty 
shelves to where Lili was stocking some newly arrived 
'Hello-Kitty' pencils in the next aisle.

"Too much?"

"I don't trust him, Jonathan." She pushed a full box of pencils 
to the back of the shelf, blocking half his view of her. "I feel 
as if I'm paying for my own daughter's destruction if I 
continue to sell his pottery."

Jonathan looked at the exquisite teapot he held in his hands, 
and then down at the box where the matching saucers sat in a 
nest of bubble-wrap. 

"Better to keep things in the status-quo rather than anger him, 
I say. If you really think he is a threat, that is."

He could hear the tearing of a perforated cardboard box in the 
next aisle where Lili crouched to open her inventory. Then 
her head popped up again in the empty shelf space, and she 
poked her nose forward to see through to her friend.

"Don't test me, Jonathan," she said, and blocked his view 
completely with a box of pink and red erasers.

Jonathan placed the teapot gingerly back into its box and 
wove himself through the red paper lanterns that hung from 
the ceiling. He was unusually tall for a Chinese man of his 
age. He kept his dark hair combed back and a very neatly 
trimmed, although sparse, mustache below his nose. From a 
distance, some might say he looked like an Asian version of 
Mister Rogers.

As he turned the corner of the aisle to meet Lili on the other 
side, he hid his hands deep within the pockets of his tan 
cardigan sweater. He did not speak until he was sure Lili was 
able to see him in her peripheral vision.

"So when is this agent supposed to arrive?"

"Sometime today."

Jonathan turned to look at the collection of brightly colored 
accessories in the aisle. He picked up a small purse sporting a 
green frog with large round eyes. He smiled. His 
granddaughter loved things like this. Perhaps he would buy 
one from Lili later and take it over to his son's house this 
weekend.

"What did you say his name was again?"

Lili stood up, her knees crackling with the effort. "Agent 
Mulder."

Jonathan nodded. Lili stepped carefully around the large box 
of inventory on the floor and looked him straight in the eye.

"Agent *Fox* Mulder."

Jonathan's eyebrows shot up far into his hairline. "Fox?"

Lili nodded slowly.

Jonathan looked up toward the ceiling and moved his lips in a 
quick mathematical calculation. "Hmm--" he said, nodding in 
approval. "That is a very lucky name, now, isn't it?"

Lili's eyes sparkled with pride. Not only did Fox Mulder have 
a certain knack for solving unusual cases, as she had read in 
one of her novelty magazines, but he had a very lucky name 
according to the ancient calculations of the I'Ching.

"Hmm--" Jonathan said again, and he replaced the frog purse 
onto its hook. "I'll be in my office. Let me know when he 
gets here." 

He moved to walk toward the back of the store.

When Lili had first taken over the Olient Gift Shop after her 
husband's death, she could not afford it alone. Jonathan Yin 
had offered to help her, on the condition that he keep a 
secondary office in the store to run his Feng Shui 
consultations. Lili happily agreed and they had shared the 
store ever since. She was extremely thankful to have him as a 
friend, and even more so that he was willing to back her up in 
explaining Hannah's situation.

Jonathan stopped about halfway down the aisle and turned. 
"Mul-der?"

"Yes," Lili answered, "and he has a partner, Agent Scully."

"What is his first name?"

"He didn't say."

"Hmm. We shall have to find out when they arrive. I'll leave 
my door open."

*****

The Olient Gift Shop
1:32 p.m.

The tinkle of tiny brass bells hitting the back of the entrance 
door welcomed the two agents as they entered the shop. The 
sounds of the busy sidewalk were filtered out as the door 
closed slowly behind them. So too was the high afternoon 
sun filtered by colorful, translucent plastic beaded curtains 
that hung in the windows. They refracted the light in a 
hundred points all over the industrial carpeting. 

Beyond the entrance was little space before rows of shelving 
took up the rest of the gift shop. To the left they could see 
shelves filled with various New York memorabilia and rows 
of candy. Scully imagined swarms of pre-teen boys hitting 
the store after school to squander their allowances on 
Pokemon cards and Jolly Ranchers.

She moved her gaze over to the right, scanning the aisles. 
The next contained what looked like a combination of books, 
magazines, posters and various other literary items. At the 
back of that aisle she could also make out a small refrigerator 
with a big Pepsi sticker on the glass sliding door.

Mulder, she had noticed, was fumbling with the small 
chachka littering the front counter. During his exploration he 
found some business cards in a dragon-shaped holder. He 
picked one out, ran the pad of his thumb over its embossed 
letters, and stuffed it into his breast pocket.

She wandered over to him, watching his movements. He 
picked up a small wooden statue that sat next to the register.

"Hey, look, Scully," he spun around to face her and presented 
the miniature representation of Buddha sitting primly in the 
palm of his hand.

"I have one just like this!"

"I know. It's right beneath your fish tank."

Surprised, he looked down at the statue and then back up at 
Scully. "I didn't think y..."

"Agent Fox Mulder?"

A short old woman with black closely-curled hair and 
walking with a timid, slightly bent-over posture approached 
them from within one of the heavily stocked aisles.

"Yes, that's right," Mulder answered. He placed the statue 
carefully back onto the glass counter and then pulled out his 
ID badge. Scully followed suit as he continued to speak. 
"This is my partner, Agent Dana Scully. You must be Lili 
Wong?"

The old woman nodded once, so slowly it almost seemed like 
a bow. She studied Scully a moment, as if appraising her, 
moving her eyes from the top of Scully's red head to the tips 
of her not-so-sensible shoes. Scully felt her spine go rigid at 
the attention. After a few awkward seconds, Lili finally 
turned away to speak to Mulder, but the awareness she held 
for his partner hung in the air like the heavy scent of incense.

"I am so glad you are here, Mr. Fox Mulder. I was afraid of 
getting the wrong kind of attention for my, ah -- situation." 
Lili's words were syrupy-sweet, and she regarded Mulder as 
if he were her savior from heaven. Mulder blushed and 
pressed his thumbs together in a nervous gesture.

"Agent Scully and I have handled many cases such as yours. 
You won't receive any undue criticism from us." Hazel eyes 
met blue in confirmation. Lili did not acknowledge the 
exchange between the two agents. She continued to admire 
Mulder quietly.

A single customer came up to them and stood in front of the 
register with a clear plastic package that held a pair of 
Chinese slippers.

"Excuse me please," Lili said to Mulder with a quick smile, 
and brushed past the agents to help the woman.

When the sale was complete and the brass bells tinkled a 
farewell, Lili pushed the door shut securely, turned the lock 
and hung a sign in the window that read "out to lunch."

"Please, Mr. Fox Mulder, I would like you to hear my case in
the presence of a trusted friend, Dr. Jonathan Yin."

"I have no problem with that. Scully?"

But before Scully could even nod her head in answer, Lili 
was already on her way down the center aisle to the back of 
the store. The old woman turned once, motioning with her 
hand to follow. "Please," she invited, and continued to the 
rear of the aisle.

Scully didn't quite know what to make of this small Chinese 
woman. She wasn't sure if she should be insulted by the 
scrutiny, dismissal and then pure lack of acknowledgement of 
her presence as Lili ogled over her partner.

Mulder had at least explained on the car ride over the way 
Lili had contacted him: through a written letter addressed 
simply to Agent Fox Mulder, FBI, Washington, DC. It was 
amazing the letter had found its way to the basement office 
with such little information.

As they approached the back of the store, a male tenor voice 
called out in Cantonese, followed by a short laugh after it had 
finished its undecipherable sentence.

Lili glanced up at Mulder apologetically. "Excuse me, 
please..." and then disappeared into the open doorway. On 
the wall beside it was a nameplate that read "Dr. Jonathan 
Yin, Feng Shui Master" in English, and repeated right 
beneath it in Chinese characters.

Lili's high-pitched voice joined the male tenor, but at a 
significantly lower volume. Each syllable between them was 
short and clipped, all except the last few vowels from Lili, 
which were elongated and seemed to sing downscale. The 
whole tone sounded very angry and quite condescending.

Surprisingly, when the two emerged from the office, they 
were all smiles. Dr. Yin held out both his arms in welcome 
and immediately grasped Mulder's right hand with both of his 
own.

"So nice to meet you, Agent Fox Mulder," he said, nodding 
his head to emphasize his happiness. Dr. Yin then turned 
toward Scully, just as enthusiastically, but shook her hand 
with a gentler touch. "And *Miss* Scully. A pleasure." When 
he released her hand he stared at her a moment longer, and 
Scully thought she could see a smirk threatening to curl the 
corner of the good doctor's mouth.

Scully stiffened again, if not for the fact that these two people 
had succeeded in making her feel utterly uncomfortable, then 
for putting up her hardest exterior. She was determined to 
hold her own no matter how trivial a female law enforcement 
officer seemed to them. Of course, that's what she assumed 
their reaction was to her.

"Would you both come into my office? I have chairs inside 
and it is much more comfortable than standing among the 
paper kites." Dr. Yin swung his arm in front of himself 
dramatically toward a bin that held a bouquet of thin, wooden 
sticks and rolled paper.

They followed Yin into his office, and Lili followed them, 
walking around the large rectangular desk where her friend 
sat, only after Mulder and Scully took their seats opposite. It 
was a small space. One could tell it had been sectioned off 
from the rest of the supply room next door when it was first 
built. Although the office had no windows, there was plenty 
of light from the table lamps Yin had situated on the desk and 
filing cabinets. He even kept some beautifully flourishing 
houseplants. And despite the shameless inspection she had 
just undergone, Scully immediately became at ease in the 
pleasant surroundings.

"Well," Dr. Yin began, as he closed a large red bible-sized 
book with many ribbons marking its pages, "shall we begin at 
the beginning?"

"Uh, yes, please Dr. Yin. I'd like to refresh my memory and 
Scully hasn't had the opportunity to review my notes," 
Mulder offered.

Both pairs of eyes flicked over to look at Scully not more 
than a split second, but just enough so that she knew it. She 
smiled politely, but swore internally to smack Mulder up the 
side of his head once they were alone. It was as if he were 
oblivious to Lili's and Dr. Yin's attitudes toward her. And 
now they thought of her as being unprepared.

"Well then, I shall tell you the background of Hannah's, ah -- 
plight," Yin graciously continued. Lili remained silent.

"You see, this is not the first time Hannah has suffered from 
bad luck. It all began again when she returned from college, 
with a new education, a new job, and a new boyfriend."

"Simon. He is now her husband," Lili broke in. Dr. Yin 
looked up at her passively, undisturbed by the interruption. In 
fact, he looked almost thankful when he turned back toward 
the two agents, as if he might have forgotten the detail.

"Yes, Simon. A wonderful boy. Now, this bad luck we speak 
of, it is not at all Hannah's fault. She is a very intelligent girl, 
and she had no problems when she was growing up in 
Chinatown or when she was away at school."

"So, you think that the problem is localized?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, exactly. You see Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, Lili and 
I believe that we are all affected by our surroundings, natural 
influences that will determine our fates in life. That is not to 
say that a person cannot forge his own path in the world, but 
there are mystical forces at work that lead us in the right 
direction.

"We believe that Hannah has been subjected to some bad 
influences, particularly targeted to bring her bad luck. The 
reason we have become concerned now, is that it is affecting 
lives. You do know that Hannah went into the hospital last 
week due to complications with her pregnancy?"

Mulder crossed his arms and looked up at Lili surprised, "No, 
I didn't know that."

The old woman moved nothing, but her eyelids blinked once 
to confirm.

"Hannah is not destined to have a difficult life, Agent 
Mulder. And I can assure you that her mother has done 
everything in her power to surround Hannah with an 
auspicious household when she was growing up. It is Hannah 
who has chosen to make some unfortunate decisions."

"If all of this is based on your understanding of fate, and how 
Hannah has unfortunately taken the wrong path, I can't see 
how this is something to investigate for you," Scully 
remarked. She was not seeing the point of being here.

"I must agree with you there, Agent Scully," Dr. Yin replied, 
"I had thought the same thing upon hearing the story for the 
first time myself. Are you familiar with the principles of 
Feng Shui?"

"No, I can't say that I am."

"That may be to your advantage. It may be a good thing to 
have an unbiased opinion to view the situation." He folded 
his hands, and pressed his two index fingers against his lips. 
His eyes looked far away briefly, and then he refocused them 
on Scully.

"But I digress. Feng Shui is the theory that the world is filled 
with forces of positive and negative energy. For my purposes, 
as a Feng Shui Master, I can consult with people on how 
positive energy enters and flows through their homes. A good 
flow of energy can lead to a prosperous and comfortable 
household. 

"Hannah has just recently moved into a new house with 
Simon. Lili, in her concern for her daughter's well being, 
requested that I come to help Hannah set up her house 
according to the principles of Feng Shui. Hannah flatly 
refused."

"She called it old-fashioned," Lili said, disappointment heavy 
in her voice.

"I almost think that Hannah deliberately chose her house to 
rebel against our beliefs," Yin added. "Have you seen the 
house yet?"

Both agents shook their heads.

"When you meet with Hannah, which I'm sure you will soon, 
she may take you on a tour of the house. There are many 
things wrong with it according to the principles: a long 
central hallway, a staircase facing the front door, not to 
mention the chaos of renovation construction going on 
presently. But the first thing I noticed, even before entering 
the dwelling, was its location."

It was then that Dr. Yin pulled out a blank sheet of paper and 
a pencil. On the paper he drew a shape like a camel's hump, a 
house, and a large square object, lined up from right to left.
"In Feng Shui it is good to have a hill at the back of the house 
as protection, an anchor if you will. Hannah's house is on a 
hill, the highest point of it being behind the house. Very 
good." He drew a happy face inside the house shape. Next, 
his pencil pointed to the large square object.

"This, unfortunately for Hannah and Simon, is a large, four-
story apartment building which sits directly across the street 
from their new home. It blocks their view from anything out 
the front door, and all the windows of the building face their 
house."

"And this is bad?" Scully asked.

"In a matter of speaking, yes. There are ways to rectify the 
problem, but Hannah would have none of it. I only 
emphasize the exterior surroundings more because the energy 
inside of a house is always easier to control. The landscape, 
however, can have a very strong affect on one's house no 
matter how well one protects it from the inside. The 
apartment building, in my opinion, has two problems: it 
blocks the only chance sunlight has to hit the front of the 
house all day and it is a source of 'shar chi.'"

"Bad energy," Lili defined.

"Specifically, in straight paths, directed toward Hannah's 
house. They are usually caused by the sharp angles in a modern 
structure, and are also known as 'poison arrows.'"

"And this is what you think has caused problems for your 
daughter, Mrs. Wong?" Mulder asked.

Lili hesitated. "For the house, yes. For Hannah..."

Yin looked up at Lili whose forehead had become 
increasingly wrinkled throughout the conversation. He 
decided to continue for her. "For Hannah, we have another 
theory."

He took his friend's hand as she stilled herself to explain the 
events of last Friday evening. Her explanation was slow, 
deliberate, as if she did not want to forget a single detail, a 
single feeling that she had during the whole experience. Most 
of all, she had a deep concern for all the things Hannah did, 
why she argued with the workman, why she was angry, and 
then she told them her explanation for Hannah's abdominal 
pains.

"Before we left for the hospital, I noticed the broken Ba-Gua 
lying on the floor, shattered. This would really not be much 
of a concern under normal circumstances." She glanced over 
to Yin who nodded his approval. "But I had seen the light in 
the window, that flash, right before Hannah was in pain. Now 
that I think of it, I also remember hearing the Ba-Gua crack.

"What I believe, Agent Mulder, is that someone in the 
building across the street has somehow figured out a way to 
direct bad energy toward Hannah, to control her. And..." Lili 
swallowed hard. "I have a good idea of who might wish to 
cause her harm."

Mulder waited silently for her to continue. Scully pulled out 
her notepad and poised her ballpoint pen above a blank page.

Lili inhaled deeply, doubt washing over her face. "His name 
is Henry Chin. He is a sculptor; the son of a family friend. He 
makes pottery. As a favor to his family, I sell his work to the 
public here in the store." She scrunched her mouth up as if 
she had tasted something bitter. "And what do I get in 
return?"

Scully leaned slightly to the side, so that Mulder could see 
her notepad. On it she scribbled, "PROOF?"

Mulder sat forward in his chair and folded his hands between 
his knees. "Mrs. Wong, how can you be sure it's Henry?"

"This is not the first time Hannah has suffered from bad luck, 
as Jonathan had said before. I call it more than coincidence 
that Henry has been present for the most tragic occurrences." 

"Would you mind describing some of these occurrences?" 
Mulder inquired carefully. The subject was apparently 
difficult for Lili to discuss. Either she was afraid of what 
Henry would do next, or more likely, she was afraid of 
Mulder and Scully discounting her claims. 

"Henry has known Hannah for most of her life. Many of the 
Chinese-American children around here have. Ever since we 
moved here from Chinatown, Henry has had an infatuation 
with my Hannah." 

"A crush?" Scully said, fighting to keep the condescension 
out of her voice.

"More than that," Lili continued. "He--how can I say it? He 
feels he has a right to her."

"I don't understand," Mulder questioned.

"Let me explain. One of the first incidents that relates to the 
current situation is when the two children were still taking 
Saturday Chinese school classes. Hannah had made many 
friends and Henry was just not getting along well at all, both 
in grades and in popularity. For an upcoming dance, Hannah 
was going with a boy from the school, and not with Henry, 
although he had asked her. 

"Now although many teenagers are awkward dancers at first, 
Hannah and this other boy were having particular trouble. 
They stepped on each other's feet, Hannah's dress got torn, 
spilled juice on--the important part is that their clumsiness 
got so bad, they finally tripped over one another, and the boy 
fell right into a glass punch bowl, pulling Hannah down with 
him. The bowl broke, and both children had to go to the 
emergency room to get stitches. Henry witnessed the whole 
thing. Bad luck situation number one."

Mulder sat back in his chair, committing the little history 
lesson to memory. Scully scribbled casual notes on her pad, 
still not convinced entirely that this was worth their time. Lili 
continued.

"Through her junior and high school years, Hannah suffered 
at least three more incidents like this, involving other boys, 
and ending with some kind of trip to the hospital.

"By the time she went off to college the bad luck had worn 
off some. She met Simon. They fell in love and nothing went 
wrong, because of course, Henry did not go to the same 
college."

"Of course," Scully added.

Lili ignored her. "When the two came home to announce 
their engagement, I began preparations immediately. I was so 
happy to see Hannah in her bliss. But when Henry got wind 
of the coming wedding, he made his presence known once 
again. This is when his father asked me to sell his pottery. I 
was happy to do it. After all, I was thrilled with my 
daughter's wedding, and was too busy to think anything else 
of it.

"Two days before the wedding, Hannah's father, my husband, 
died of a heart attack. Hannah and Simon decided to put the 
wedding off, too upset at the tragedy to go on with it. They 
would simply reschedule.

"They rescheduled *four* times before they were able to get 
married. All due to other tragic events that I will not go into 
at this time. Bad luck situation number two.

"Finally, and with a new baby on the way, the newly married 
couple decided to buy their own home. Henry, who had been 
living with his family all this time, decided to move out and 
live on his own. He heard about Hannah and Simon finding a 
new house while he was looking for an apartment.

"Now, you must understand, Henry and Hannah have 
remained friends throughout their lives, only Hannah is too 
blind to see Henry's intentions. Henry was helping the couple 
move some furniture in when he saw the vacancy sign across 
the street in the apartment building. And he said to Hannah, 
'Wouldn't it be so nice to be neighbors again? I will apply for 
that apartment this afternoon!'"

"Did Henry get the apartment?" Scully asked.

"What do you think?" Lili spat out, the corners of her mouth 
reaching far down the sides of her chin.

"Bad luck situation number three." Mulder stated.

Yin leaned across his desk toward the two agents. "Of course, 
the local police believe none of this. We had hoped, Mr. Fox 
Mulder, that you would find some way to prove that Henry is 
harassing our Hannah. Her life is in danger, along with her 
unborn child's. And from the stories Lili has just told, we can 
only assume that Simon's life may be in danger as well," Dr. 
Yin summed up.

"Well, that just leaves one thing," Scully sighed, sounding a 
little bored.

"What's that, Scully?" Mulder inquired curiously.

"How he does it."

Lili dropped her gaze to the floor. "That I cannot tell you. I 
understand that this may be difficult to believe."

Mulder nodded slowly. "I think we have enough to start with. 
It won't be easy, though."

"Please, Agent Fox..."

Mulder jerked at the use of his first name. "It's just Mulder, 
please."

"Pity," Dr. Yin said, at an almost inaudible volume.

"Agent Mulder," Lili continued, "I *know* she is in danger. 
Please help her."

Mulder looked at the two older people on the other side of 
the desk, Lili still standing, Dr. Yin still clutching her hand in 
his own. "We'll do our best."

"Thank you," Lili said to him. Then to Scully, "You are very 
fortunate to be working with such a great man, Miss Scully. 
I'm sure you will learn much from him."

Scully opened her mouth to protest -- her own intelligence 
well-established; but she heard Mulder's voice answer before 
her vocal chords even got a sliver of air into them.

"Scully has handled herself just fine with me for eight years, 
Mrs. Wong. You can count on both of us to work very hard 
on this case for you."

As he got up to shake hands with Mrs. Wong and Dr. Yin, 
Scully's mouth still hung slightly open. She pulled herself 
together for a proper farewell, and then followed Lili and 
Mulder out to the front of the store, not saying a single word 
until they exited the shop.

*****

Lili peered through the beaded curtains at the two agents 
walking to their car. She heard carpet-softened footfalls 
approaching behind her.

"You shouldn't have called out to me like that. How do you 
know neither of them speak Cantonese?"

Jonathan stopped walking.

"All I said was that it was a pity these two were not a couple. 
It *is* one of the things I do, Lili -- consult with married 
couples on their relationships. I had assumed Agent Scully 
would be a man as well." 

"So did I," Lili said, curiously.

Outside, Mulder and Scully stopped by the passenger side 
door of their Intrigue. Scully stood with her arms crossed and 
her chin pointing out toward her partner's chest. She said 
something to him that made him shrink back and hide his 
hands inside his pockets.

Lili slid her hands between two strands of beads for a better 
view of the pair.

"I was as surprised as you were that Agent Scully was a 
woman." She glanced back at her friend standing just at the 
head of the center aisle, as if he were afraid to cross the floor 
to meet her. "Do you think this will affect the way they 
handle Henry for us?" she asked, still valuing his opinion 
despite his carelessness.

"I will have to refer to the I'Ching again. I didn't have time to 
find a reading for a business partnership before they 
arrived..."

Lili looked back out at the FBI agents on the sidewalk. The 
conversation had turned into a heated argument. Mulder 
reached out to Scully's shoulder, attempting to calm her. She 
lowered her head to look at the concrete as her partner 
continued to speak, his own head lowered so that he could do 
so at a softer volume. Subtly, he tried to move her closer to 
him, but he froze half-way. The hand Mulder rested on her 
shoulder, Scully covered with her own. Perhaps this was the 
end of the argument, Lili thought.

She continued to watch as Scully pulled Mulder's hand off 
her shoulder and held it out between them. Then, staring him 
straight in the eyes, she released it, and it dropped limply to 
his side like a wet rope. Scully straightened her posture and 
walked forcefully around to the driver's side door.

"As I said before, it's too bad..."

"I wouldn't be so sure they are not a couple, Jonathan."

Lili released the strands of beads she held aside and allowed 
them to sway back into place. When she turned to walk 
toward the back of the store, Jonathan was standing there 
with an impish grin.

"You think...?"

"Let's take a look at those readings, shall we?"


ACT 2

128 Columbia Rd. 
Apt. 2C 
3:30 p.m.

Henry inhaled the ironically dry, salty smell of wet clay as he 
ran his fingers over the gray lump spinning before him. He 
reached down to grab a soaking sponge and then squeezed it 
over the clay, the water running down its sides, making it 
supple to his touch.

He applied gentle pressure to the form, pushing upward so 
that as it spun, the clay grew taller in his hands. Where the 
clay was too wet, it ran through his fingers and down his arm 
in thin, meandering rivers. He loved to see the clay take 
shape. It obeyed his every movement, followed his caresses 
and became beautiful because of him. 

Hovering his fingers over the spinning object, drips of gray 
liquid fell onto it and disappeared on the surface, becoming 
one with the mass. At just the right moment, he plunged his 
fingers down into the center of the clay. His hand, now 
engulfed by the object, moved subtly to the right and left, 
cradling the edge into his palm. He manipulated and 
massaged the inside and it became slick and smooth, it took 
on a form, a life of its own. He had done that. He had made it 
what it was. 

Henry slowly took his foot off the electronic pedal, and the 
wheel slowed. A cool breeze blew from the window he faced 
and a chill shot across his forehead. He had been 
concentrating so intently on his work that he had begun to 
sweat. Absently, he smeared the back of his hand on his face 
to mop up the perspiration, leaving a trail of gray behind that 
was reminiscent of war paint.

He admired his perfect vase as it sat, still wet, but spots of 
white began to appear randomly as the air touched its surface. 
His eyes fluttered with the breeze, and followed its path to 
the window, then past the window to the small white house 
across the street. Inside the top floor window of the house, he 
could see a woman reclined on her bed, and if he didn't know 
there was a TV right below the sill, he would have thought 
she was looking back at him.

"Oh, Hannah," he sighed.

It was good to see her at home, especially in her pregnant 
condition. That burden was something she should never have 
had to bear. Hannah was much better off staying home while 
she had a child on the way. He still could not believe she and 
Simon were both planning to work after the birth. What kind 
of a family was that? Henry could most assuredly provide a 
better household than Simon ever could.

He got up and stood by the window's left edge, careful not to 
give himself away through the glass's reflection of the house 
outside. He knew it protected him from her sight. It should 
have been *his* child inside of her. He should have been the 
one she married. His stomach began to turn as he thought of 
Simon becoming intimate with Hannah. Her husband would 
touch her in places meant only for himself, not this stuck up 
businessman who worked fifteen hours a day.

He leaned on the window with his forearm and slid it closed 
as he gazed at Hannah. The afternoon was becoming chilly. 
After a while, she rose to turn off the TV. Henry was 
instantly enthralled, held his breath and became still, so as 
not to disturb the moment.

She walked carefully back to the bed and began to write 
something in a small, black daily-planner. God, but she was 
beautiful. His heart constricted as he thought of the years of 
unrequited love he had felt for this woman. It just wasn't right 
that she belonged to someone else. Friendship just wasn't 
enough anymore. 

He spun around violently and stormed toward the back of the 
room, where he kept his personal sculptures. Here, he 
experimented with several different materials: wood, metal, 
glass, ceramic. On a large wooden worktable lay his latest 
group of pottery, all unfinished, waiting to be glazed and 
baked in the kiln.

They were all shapely vases, some tall, some short, but they 
all had the same characteristics of the one he had just 
finished. They sat in a neat row, like eight bottom-heavy old 
biddies waiting for their tea. They were the types of women 
that mocked him as a child, who "encouraged" him to grow 
up and become a respected businessman -- the type of man 
Simon had become.

Henry stood silently, but his eyes nearly glowed with the 
fiery anger building up inside him. He didn't deserve to be 
treated like that! Not from anyone--not even Lili--especially 
not Lili. Why should he be denied?

In one fell swoop, Henry crashed his arm through all eight 
vases like a baseball bat, knocking them to the floor. They 
clanked and shattered against the linoleum and left white skid 
marks of dust on impact. It looked as if there had been a 
million tiny landmines set off at his feet, and the explosion of 
noise would have suggested nothing less.

He kicked at the larger pieces of fallen pottery and proceeded 
to search through a scattering of tools on the table, tossing 
those he didn't want carelessly aside to join the dusty 
fragments on the floor. Finally, he picked up the tool he was 
looking for. It was a woodworker's awl. He used it mostly to 
etch details into the clay--not its intended use, but it worked 
for him. He admired its sharp point.

He held the tool in front of him, bobbing it gently in his hand, 
keeping in rhythm with his heavy breathing. The adrenaline 
had consumed his thoughts and all he knew now was that he 
could hear his heart pounding -- the very heart that was not 
allowed to feel love. 

The more he toyed with the awl, the more his bobbing hand 
inched closer and closer to his chest. The pain of the tool 
plunging through his ribcage to the soft organ beneath would 
at least match the terrible anger coursing through him at this 
very moment.

"Hannah--" he whispered,"--you will be mine someday."

He lifted his hand up, clutching the sharp tool above his head, 
directing the point straight for his heart. Yes, he could do 
this...

He lifted the awl higher and screamed out his rage, 
"Noooooooooo!" He brought it down fast and hard, missing 
his chest by millimeters, swung himself around and released 
the tool so that it went flying across the room--straight into 
the round base of the still drying vase on his pottery wheel. It 
stuck into the clay like a dagger in soft flesh, yet there was a 
strange sound as it hit--like the pop one hears from a dropped 
light bulb.

Beyond the vase he saw Hannah stumble by her bedroom 
window, as if she'd snagged her foot on a throw rug. She was 
oblivious of the tortured soul across the street, nor did she 
hear him scream. Her window was closed. So was Henry's.

The breeze blew in and whistled into Henry's apartment, 
through a tiny hole in the window pane, exactly the same 
diameter as a 4" woodworker's awl.

*****

Hartsdale, N.Y. 
125 Columbia Rd. 
3:50 p.m.

Mulder unfolded himself from the passenger side of the 
Intrigue and closed the door with his backside. He leaned 
against the car and loosened his tie, breathing in the crisp 
spring air. He heard, or rather, felt Scully slam the driver's 
side door. A lump sprang up from his stomach in reaction to 
the jerking motion of the car. Had he known that Scully was 
going to be in such an irate mood after lunch, and then take 
her frustrations out in her driving, he would never have 
ordered fajitas from the Mont Parnasse Diner.

A chili pepper-scented burp escaped through his lips. He 
rubbed his stomach with care, as if to soothe it back into 
submission. Scully came around the car to face him, her 
eyebrow raised in question.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Mmm. Fine." He burped again. "Pardon me."

Scully suppressed a grin with her fist and turned to look up at 
Hannah's house, hiding the humor in her eyes from him. 
After a moment she returned her gaze. "Well..."

"After you." Mulder waved his hand toward the rocky 
staircase leading up the hill to the modest white house. The 
ascent was quite treacherous, like a dried up riverbed 
someone had decided to build a staircase out of. Mulder tried 
to imagine the EMS workers trying to carry Hannah down in 
a stretcher. That must have been no easy task.

It took a while before anyone responded to the doorbell. 
After all, Hannah had been ordered to bed-rest since her little 
incident. Someone was definitely home, though. The locked 
metal storm door was the only thing keeping visitors outside. 
Through the glass, they could see a heavier red-painted door 
swung open against the wall and a long hallway that 
stretched back to the staircase leading to the second floor. 
Mulder wondered why that was bad in terms of Feng Shui. 
He would have to hit the library later tonight.

Mulder took the opportunity to look around. Across the street 
he saw the infamous apartment building where Lili and Dr. 
Yin believed some of Hannah's bad luck had been generating. 
It looked friendly enough to him: a Tudor-style structure with 
a tiled roof and only about four floors to it. It was pretty dark, 
though, he had to admit. The sun was situated in such a way 
that if he squinted his eyes the building was no more than a 
silhouette against the blue sky.

He felt a plucking at his elbow, Scully's attempt to focus his 
attention. Hannah was coming to the door. The first thing 
they saw was her pink slippered feet carefully stepping down 
from the second floor. She made her journey slowly, 
balancing on each step before venturing to the next. 
Whatever happened to her last week must have taken a 
serious toll on her.

When she arrived at the door she had a pleasant smile on her 
lips, but one could notice a tiny crease in her forehead that 
eluded to an emotion other than welcome. She knew who 
they were, why they were here, and who had sent them. Let's 
say she wasn't entirely pleased to have visitors, especially 
those flashing badges.

"Welcome agents," Hannah greeted, pushing the squeaky 
door out to them.

"Hello, Mrs. Park. I'm Agent Scully and this is Agent 
Mulder."

Hannah nodded curtly. "I've been expecting you. My mother 
told me you'd be coming." Hannah motioned her head toward 
a doorway off the main hall and led them into the living 
room. As she hobbled ahead, she held her back with one hand 
and stretched the other out to balance herself against any 
obstacles -- obstacles of which there were many to watch out 
for.

Mulder and Scully stepped around some paint cans by the 
front door, two-by-fours leaning against the doorjamb of the 
living room and a pile of rubble unexpectedly making its 
home on the oriental rug next to the couch.

"I must apologize for the mess. We've been re-modeling and 
my contractor quit last week right before my..." Hannah 
lowered herself onto a plush mint-green couch, her weight 
denting the cushions. "Well, I'm sure you know the whole 
story. What can I help you with?"

Scully began the interview. "As you know, Hannah, your 
mother believes your life to be in danger. Can you tell us 
anything about that?"

The pregnant woman leaned back in her seat and sighed 
heavily. "Unfortunate things happen, Agent Scully. My 
mother just blows things out of proportion."

Mulder wandered around the living room while Scully 
continued to question Hannah.

"So you don't believe that you are in danger?"

"Not in the slightest, Agent Scully," she answered, apparently 
becoming bored with the same question.

Scully inhaled and took notes on her pad. "And your 
pregnancy... We heard you suffered from complications last 
week. Have you had a difficult pregnancy up until now?" 
Scully tried to be delicate in asking the question. Mulder 
heard her voice soften, as if she were asking Hannah if a 
loved one had passed away. 

It brought back memories, the thought of having difficulty 
conceiving a child. Old, not quite forgotten guilt tickled the 
top of his stomach. All of a sudden his lunch didn't feel so 
loose anymore, but more like a solid brick.

Damn it. How did he always manage to put Scully in 
torturous situations like these? Not only had their interview 
with Lili and Dr. Yin gone badly, but now, when he had 
offered to let her take the lead with Hannah, yet another 
pitfall opened up beneath him. He felt like protecting her, yet 
he wanted to allow her the professional courtesy of not 
second guessing her actions. Either way, he felt like it was all 
going to end badly for him. 

Was he really that blind as to be unaware of Scully's needs? 
What happened at the airport made him feel like he wasn't 
doing enough for her. What happened at the gift shop made 
him feel like he was covering for her too much. She certainly 
didn't like that. So what was he supposed to do, and was it his 
place to decide? Maybe he was too self-centered. Or maybe 
he was suffering from some bad luck of his own.

Mulder paced the living room as Hannah replied, "It wasn't 
easy getting pregnant." She paused and lowered her eyes to 
the floor. "I almost expected the complications."

"What do you mean?"

"My mother had several miscarriages before I was born. I 
have no other siblings because of her difficulty conceiving. I 
could only assume it was hereditary..." She pulled at a loose 
string on her dress. "... I guess I assumed right."

Mulder stopped and craned his head upward to look at the 
gaping hole in the ceiling where a large amount of plaster had 
fallen. He found it strange that there were no other cracks in 
the plaster leading to the hole, nor were there any signs of 
water damage.

"What can you tell us about bad luck, Hannah?" Mulder 
interrupted, as he still scanned his surroundings.

Both women turned to look at him, Scully knitting her 
eyebrows and Hannah with a surprised, dumfounded 
expression.

"Oh, no," Hannah chuckled under her breath, but with no 
humor lightening it. "You *have* been talking to my mother 
too much."

"Well, it seems you've had a long history of personal injury 
and unfortunate circumstances. From what your mother and 
Dr. Yin have said..."

"Dr. Yin! My God, she *is* serious this time!" she 
exclaimed. Then softly to herself, "I can't believe it. She's 
gone too far." She shifted her weight again, seemingly 
uncomfortable whichever way she sat.

"Agent Mulder, I have sustained personal injuries, but they 
were all minor. Some stitches here, a broken leg there--and 
all so long ago. What can you expect from a clumsy 
teenager?" She paused and appraised his stance. "Tell me, 
Agent Mulder, you being in law enforcement and all, how 
many times have you been in the hospital?"

Scully's eyes widened and she scrunched up her lips 
suppressing a snort. Mulder shifted from foot to foot, 
Hannah's squinting eyes scrutinizing him mercilessly.

"Uh--more times than I can count. But that's part of my job, 
Mrs. Park. You seem to be a magnet for a considerable 
amount of bad luck without looking for it."

"Coincidence with ancient mumbo-jumbo. I don't believe in 
fate and rivers of positive and negative energies determining 
it for me. I can handle myself Agent *Fox* Mulder. My 
mother just hasn't learned to accept that yet."

Mulder winced at his own name for the second time that day. 
Only this time he had good reason; Hannah had said it as if it 
were a curse. "Why this obsession with my first name, Mrs. 
Park? I noticed your mother tried to address me by it earlier 
today."

"Hmm." Hannah licked her lips, as if considering whether or 
not she wanted to say anything. "I suppose there's really no 
harm in telling you. It's another of her 'divine theories,'" she 
said, with a sneer. "In the I'Ching, or the 'Book of Changes,' 
every letter of the alphabet is designated a mystical number. 
When you add the numbers in your name, take into account 
your age and sex, you come up with a calculation 
determining your basic path in life. Your name Agent 
Mulder, Fox, adds up to nine. It is the luckiest of all 
solutions. Your path is deemed as extremely auspicious. It is 
no accident that my mother requested your assistance."

Mulder stopped pacing. Had Lili called him in especially 
because he validated her beliefs? Was he merely a pawn to 
convince Hannah that her mother was right? He glanced over 
to Scully. Now he knew what it was like to feel helpless 
against unfounded prejudice. And he knew he was back in 
the dog house again.

"So you don't believe in any of these claims your mother has 
made backed up by Feng Shui or this I'Ching you speak of?"

"If I were to base my life on the sayings in an ancient mess of 
fortunes you're likely to find on a slip of paper inside a 
cookie, I would have been rich and famous by now."

"Could bad influences have changed that?"

"No," Hannah said with punctuation. "The readings are 
simply wrong. I don't believe in them and I shouldn't be 
forced to just because my mother does."

"Do you despise her so much because of these beliefs? Why 
make your home so close to her then? Why choose a house 
that is the direct opposite of what she thinks is ideal?"

Hannah became still. She folded her hands over her bulbous 
abdomen. Her words were hushed. "I never said I despised 
her, Agent Mulder. She is the only family I have. Just 
because someone has different beliefs, even if you know it 
will hurt them if you deny them to their face, doesn't mean 
you can't love them all the same."

Mulder instantly felt like a heel, but a tiny glimmer at the 
back of his brain told him he had discovered something 
interesting about Hannah. 

"I'm sorry, I..."

"Simon and I live here because it is convenient to the train 
station. He works late hours for his office in Manhattan. I like 
this neighborhood because I know it. I grew up here. My 
friends are here. In fact, my friend Henry lives right across 
the street there." She pointed out the picture window to the 
apartment building across the street.

"About Henry--How good a friend is he?" Mulder tested, 
sitting on an ottoman next to the chair where Scully had 
remained after he so rudely stole the interview from her.

"Does this have any bias linked with it caused by my 
mother?" Hannah huffed out, blowing her straight-cut black 
bangs from her face.

"I'm asking *you* the question, Hannah."

She turned her eyes away from him and began playing with 
the string again. "I've known him all my life. He is a very 
close friend and a wonderful craftsman. He--he has always 
helped me through the most difficult times of my life--" She 
looked up at Scully this time. "--the times my mother and 
some others would account for bad luck. At least he lived in 
the real world and tried to ease the pain instead of blaming 
spirits."

Scully closed her notebook and looked at Mulder as if to say 
"Can we go now?"

Mulder stood up. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Park. I 
wish you all the best of..." he paused and second-guessed his 
statement, "Uh, I hope your pregnancy comes to term with no 
further difficulties."

Hannah made some shifting movements so that she could see 
her guests to the door.

"No, no, please don't get up, Mrs. Park," Scully scolded her 
gently. She shook the woman's hand in farewell. "We can 
show ourselves out. Thank you again."

The storm door slammed behind them as the two agents left 
the small white house.

"So, Mr. Fox Mulder, how do you propose to continue this 
case if the victim doesn't even believe there is a case to begin 
with? And I have to admit, the argument to the contrary lacks 
conviction." She crossed her arms and followed her partner's 
stare across to the dark Tudor apartment building.

Mulder bit at his thumbnail. "There's something here, Scully. 
I don't know how to explain it to you right now. Call it a 
lucky hunch--a little queasy feeling I have in my stomach." 
He rubbed his gurgling belly, suddenly reminded of his 
volatile lunch.

"That's not luck, Mulder. That's revenge."

"Oh, you're a regular comedian, Scully. I'm sure you're 
having quite a laugh at my expense about now."

Scully slid her tongue on the inside of her cheek. She said 
nothing.

Mulder cleared his throat and fumbled for his notepad. "So, 
what do you say we get our last interview over with?" He 
flipped to a page with an address and apartment number 
scribbled on it. "We're here already. Might as well."

"Fine." She started down toward the street. "But if there's 
nothing to go on here, Mulder, I'm calling Professor Jenkins 
and telling him I'll be in tomorrow for that Saturday evening 
seminar."

Mulder double-checked his notepad. "Apartment 2C," it read. 
He studied the windows on the second floor of the building 
across the street.

"Fine," he said, then followed his partner.

*****

He had watched them; watched them get out of their shiny 
red car, enter Hannah's house and exit a short time later. He 
watched these neatly-dressed people, probably cops or 
something to that effect, step down from the height of the 
small white house and down the rocky staircase. He watched 
the tall man in his dark g-man suit stare directly at him, yet 
not knowing that he actually did so.

They passed by their car. They weren't leaving yet. They 
were coming this way.

Henry's eyes flitted wildly around his studio, to the fragments 
of broken pottery all over the floor, his ruined vase on the 
wheel, the gray streaks all over his t-shirt and face.

"Ah, hell." That's exactly what it looked like.

The buzzer from the intercom zipped through the air, and 
shuttered up his spine. He had expected the sound, but the 
anticipation of it made it seem all that much louder. He 
helplessly took a last look at his studio, and then pressed the 
"speak" button.

"Hello?"

"Henry Chin?" A muffled female voice asked through the 
grating of the speaker. The system was so old, he thought it 
might be working on a string and two cans hidden inside the 
wall.

"Yes? Who is this?" For a split second, he almost convinced 
himself they were just salespeople. Salespeople wore suits 
like that too, didn't they? Maybe they were just making their 
rounds, and he was the next lucky customer to view some 
rubber nipples or something. He made a mental note to stop 
watching Ren and Stimpy.

"My name is Agent Dana Scully and I'm with my partner, 
Agent Mulder, from the FBI. Would you mind giving us a 
moment of your time?"

Damn. Maybe he could stall them. "You got ID?"

"Yes, sir. If you let -- up -- show -- you." The audio was 
breaking up.

"All right, all right. Come on up." He held the buzzer down 
for five seconds, then ran to the bathroom to wipe a damp 
towel over his face. His cheeks were nicely pink after the 
quick scrub, and had barely enough time to cool to his 
normal skin tone by the time the doorbell rang.

He slid the chain lock out of its slot, and then replaced it. He 
wasn't ready yet. What was he getting so nervous about? The 
police didn't believe in this stuff. He was golden. He just had 
to blow it off.

He thought of Lili and her smirking little grin, waiting to see 
him caught at last. She was the only one who believed. Even 
Yin simply humored her. She acted like Henry was her child, 
as if she had a right to tell him what he should and should not 
do. She told him to stay away from her daughter, but he just 
couldn't. He loved her too much. The only way he'd be able 
to have Hannah was to take things into his own hands, 
slowly, over time, subtly. Lili saw through it. She knew his 
plan. And now she was using the government to stop him! He 
was appalled! Despite his need to stay calm in front of the 
two agents out in the hall, his heart began doing jumping 
jacks -- on double-time, no less.

He took a deep breath, unlatched the chain again and opened 
the door.

They walked into his apartment and stood in the middle of 
his studio space. Henry silently wished he had an entrance 
hallway or at least a living room so guests didn't have to walk 
straight into his work area. Scully stepped carefully around 
some stray bits of broken vase. Smaller fragments crackled 
under her high-heeled shoes.

Scully flashed her badge. "I believe you wanted to see this."

Henry nodded, struggling to keep his demeanor casual.

"My partner would like to ask you a few questions," she 
glanced around at the mayhem, "if you're not too busy."

Her partner flinched strangely at his introduction. What was 
it that skimmed across his face? Guilt? Dread? Or was he 
simply caught off guard? It disappeared quickly, and the way 
Mulder began his interview caused Henry to forget the 
instance almost immediately.

"What do you know about Feng Shui, Henry?"

"What?" Henry stepped back and bumped into his worktable. 

He tried to cover up his clumsiness by resting his left buttock 
on the edge of the table and crossing his arms.

He was completely taken back by this man's forward 
question. He didn't beat around the bush did he? But did he 
know where he was going with this? Henry hoped to count 
on the agent's ignorance of the subject.

"Feng Shui," Mulder repeated, "Do you know of it?"

"Yes, but I can't tell you much about it, really." Henry 
shrugged his shoulders.

"What can you tell us?"

Henry was starting to get nervous. Who would have thought 
the conversation would have started this way? Who was this 
guy?

"Nothing. I really don't know anything."

"I see."

Scully walked behind her partner and admired a large metal 
sculpture Henry had started working on last week. It was no 
more than a sheet of bent aluminum now, but he was 
planning a large work, a great one, something he could show 
off, maybe even get into a gallery. Mulder followed Henry's 
attention.

"You're an artist, Henry?" Mulder asked.

"Yes."

"Hannah Park seems to think you're quite talented."

"What do you know about Hannah?" Henry shot out. That 
was it. He was convinced now that this was all Lili's work.

Scully remained silent, although Henry couldn't ignore her. 
Her red hair was momentarily disturbed by a light draft. She 
turned toward the source and wandered over to the far 
window. She dragged her fingers along the base of the sill, as 
if to check the integrity of the sealed window. It was still 
closed. Then she touched the pane, running her finger over 
one spot several times -- *the* spot.

Henry could feel a tiny trickle of sweat running down his 
back. This was all too much. How could they prove it? How 
could they even suspect such a stupid, superstitious lead such 
as Shar Chi? They couldn't possibly believe Lili -- could 
they? Did they know what he was capable of? He watched 
Scully scratch her nail along the edge of the small round hole 
in the glass.

"We're following a case for Hannah and her mother, Lili 
Wong. Since you are both a friend of Hannah's and an 
employee, so to speak, of Lili's, we thought you might have 
some insight on the case at hand."

Henry attempted to look concerned. "What's happened? Is 
everything all right?" he said with some urgency.

"Well," Mulder side-glanced at his partner, "We're still trying 
to determine that. Lili seems to think that Hannah's life is in 
danger. And, according to Lili, her daughter seems to be in 
denial of it."

"Hannah's in no danger."

"Oh?"

"If this has to do with what I think this has to do with, Lili is 
dragging you along for a ride. I've seen her use the argument 
of her 'bad energy' attacking Hannah before, Agent Mulder." 
Yes, that was it, debunk Lili and all would be fine. He let out 
a loud, fake-sounding laugh. "Can you believe that she's even 
tried to blame *me* for some of Hannah's bad luck? 
Amazing, really."

"Yes, amazing." Mulder stuffed his hands into his pockets 
and nibbled at his bottom lip.

Henry was gaining momentum in his white lies. "I've actually 
been the one to support Hannah against her mother. Yes! 
She's been trying to convert us for years. When she's going to 
start living out of her mystical dream world... Well, we can 
only hope it's not part of the aging process, if you know what 
I mean."

Mulder rubbed his chin and studied Henry for a moment, as 
if trying to read his mind. He pursed his lips. "It is interesting 
that Simon has remained quite silent about the whole 
situation, don't you think? Her own husband."

A heat rose in the young Chinese man's cheeks, and they 
became pink as if he had rubbed the towel over his face 
again. His hatred of Simon, that thief, was not easy to hide. 
Through gritted teeth, he commented, "I'm sure Simon 
supports his wife in anything she does or believes. That's 
what a husband is for, isn't he?"

"One would hope," Mulder answered.

Scully moved away from the window, noticed the impaled 
vase on the potter's wheel, dismissed it with a raised 
eyebrow, and then came to stand beside her partner. Such a 
strange pair. It was as if they had split up their observational 
skills between them in order to achieve a short and efficient 
interview. The psychological and visual scrutiny was 
beginning to bug him. He had to get rid of these two before 
he slipped up.

"So what do you want from me, Agent Mulder?"

"Well, as a friend of Hannah's, I would ask that you keep an 
eye out for her. If anything comes to you, anything you can 
think of that might help us protect Hannah from getting into 
trouble, we'd appreciate it."

"No problem." Henry stretched out his hand to Mulder.

The tall agent hesitated, then placed his hands back into his 
pockets. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Chin." Mulder 
walked past Henry and left the small stuffy studio, followed 
closely by his partner.

Only when they had climbed into their car on the opposite 
side of the street did Henry let out the breath he held. What a 
situation! That was too close for him. He violently pulled the 
awl from it's stuck position in the drying clay and tossed it 
onto his work table.

He stared out the window at the white house on the hill, it's 
shingles brightly lit by the late afternoon sun -- the only sun 
the front of the house would receive all day.

His eyes blurred with gathering wetness, and his throat felt 
hot and constricted. It just was not fair. He had to change his 
life. He had to make things right, be the master of his own 
fate. He dragged himself over to the unmade bed in the 
corner of the room and buried his face in the soft sheets. All 
he wanted to do was sleep. He wanted to sleep until all his 
reality melted away into darkness.

The setting sun changed the color of the room from orange to 
purple to gray, and finally, to black. Henry slept soundly, 
dreamlessly, but contentedly aware that his two visitors did 
not have a 'smidgen' of a case against him.

ACT 3

Comfort Inn
Route 9
5:30 p.m.

"Where's the closest library um--Marie?" Mulder asked, 
squinting his eyes to read the receptionist's name tag, as 
Scully signed for her room.

"Only about ten minutes down the road from here. I think 
they're open until nine," the heavy-set, middle-aged woman 
informed him.

"I can't believe you're asking me to stay the night here, 
Mulder. Why can't we just go back tonight?" She handed the 
woman the completed forms, and took the set of keys 
dangling from her pudgy, though extravagantly, manicured 
fingers.

"What I can't believe, Scully is how you could have missed 
everything we saw today."

"And what did we see, Mulder? As far as I'm concerned, 
there is no case here."

"What?" He stood in front of her, blocking the path to the car 
where she was heading to retrieve her bag. "At least two of 
the people we saw today are in denial of the facts, Scully. 
There is something here. Unfortunately, Lili is the only one 
willing to admit it."

Scully stepped to the left. Mulder blocked her way. She 
stepped to the right. Again, Mulder's towering body was a 
wall to her. Ugh! She hated these power games he played 
with her. "Mulder, get out of my way."

"Not until you hear me out, Scully. We have proof that 
Hannah has been, and is in trouble, right? If you take a look 
at my notes, you'll find her medical history--not the most 
recent of course. Lili sent them to me last week..."

Scully stared at him, the pinpoints of her pupils sharp with 
annoyance.

"All right, I should have prepared you for that before meeting 
with Lili. But Scully, we have to put the pieces together. 
Something is causing this. Nobody is that unlucky. Do you 
really believe the things Henry told you? He was sweating 
like a pig the whole time we were in his studio. He knows 
something, Scully. I know it."

"Since when does overactive perspiration automatically make 
someone guilty?"

"It's suspicious, Scully."

"Mulder," she sighed, weary of her fight. "All the things that 
happened to Hannah have completely sound and logical 
explanations. She was a clumsy child. She was unlucky in 
love. She bought a house that was a fixer-upper. She's had a 
difficult pregnancy. These things happen, Mulder. They 
happen to 'normal' people.

"All I can see here are three people who are just very 
unhappy. They're worrying about one another's lives instead 
of focusing on their own. No one can control another person. 
It just doesn't work that way. It's no use blaming 'bad vibes' 
either. I tend to agree with Hannah. This is all blown out of 
proportion, and I can't believe you were dragged into it--and 
me with you."

She pushed past him to open the trunk of the car. "I'm tired, 
Mulder. I'm going to use this time to prepare for my next 
seminar with Professor Jenkins." She walked toward room 
eight, but turned back before unlocking the door. "I'm going 
to give you until tomorrow morning."

Mulder guffawed. "Is that an ultimatum?"

She closed her eyes, and squeezed her key so hard that when 
she opened her palm, a neat little impression had been left in 
her skin. "I hate doing this, Mulder, but I'm not going to 
chase around weak hunches just because you have a 'feeling' 
about this case. I have things that I want to do too -- that are 
important to me. I hope you can understand that."

"This is work, Scully, not personal free-time."

"Whatever you say. You're the senior agent."

Mulder threw himself into the car and made a dramatic show 
of pushing the seat back to make room for his long legs. "I'll 
be at the library."

"Fine."

He slammed the door and rolled down the window. 

"Tomorrow morning," he called out to her.

"That's right," she said bluntly and entered her motel room. 
Before she had closed the door all the way, she heard the 
engine of the Intrigue revving wildly as Mulder backed out of 
the parking space.

If Mulder came back tomorrow having made no headway, 
she would go to Lili and drop the case herself, no matter how 
badly she felt about his ego. This was work, as he had said, 
not personal.

So why did she feel like she was breaking his heart?

*****

Room 8
Comfort Inn
7:35 p.m.

An hour later, Scully was still staring blankly at her laptop. 

She had hoped to prepare a short summary of her 
presentation for tomorrow night, but had only gotten as far as 
naming the file and placing a heading at the top of the page. 
She was thinking about Mulder.

It shouldn't surprise her that he was willing to throw himself 
whole-heartedly into the case. It just felt like a defiance this 
time, and it turned her off to the investigation completely. 
Was she really the one making this a personal battle?

She glanced down at her watch and tapped the crystal 
absently. "Tomorrow morning... tomorrow morning..." she 
whispered. She really didn't know anything about the case 
herself. Maybe she was being unfair to him. She was pretty 
convinced the facts were leading nowhere, but was that 
enough for Mulder? No. Was it enough for her?

She opened her e-mail program, sighed heavily, and began to 
type. Mulder deserved as much proof from her, on the 
contrary, as she needed from him to confirm Lili's case. She 
grumbled and typed simultaneously. When she was finished, 
she read over the e-mail before sending it.

::
::Professor Jenkins,
::
::I regret to inform you that I will not be able to attend
::the seminar tomorrow night. I have been called in on a case
::that requires some special investigation on my part.
::I apologize for the short notice, and hope to assist you
::in further seminars.
::
::Sincerely,
::Dana Scully, MD
::

"Damn it, Mulder," she cursed, then hit send.

She flipped open the manila envelope with Mulder's notes, 
and found Dr. Jonathan Yin's office phone number. She 
waited for several rings before a heavily accented voice 
answered.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Yin? This is Agent Dana Scully."

"Miss Scully! How wonderful of you to call! How is your 
investigation going?"

"That's what I called to ask you about, Dr. Yin. I'm not sure 
I'm entirely convinced of the validity of Lili's case."

"Oh. That is unfortunate." He sounded very quiet, saddened 
by the news.

"I think I need some more information. I need to understand 
more about this Feng Shui. My partner seems to have gone 
off on a theory and left me somewhat in the dark. I need 
some help."

"Oh, are you alone? You two would usually work so well 
together."

"Yes, but..." Scully stopped in mid-sentence. "You only met 
us today, Dr. Yin. How could you know how we work 
together?"

"It is written in the book of I'Ching."

Scully shook her head. "I don't need my fortune told right 
now."

"Ha, ha! Where did you hear that?"

"From Hannah. I'm leaning toward her side of the case--
unless you can convince me otherwise." God, she couldn't 
believe she was doing this. Why, Mulder, why?

"Why don't you come down to my office, Agent Scully? I can 
clarify things for you about my profession, and I can provide 
you with some reference books."

Finally, some sensibility! "That would be very helpful. Thank 
you. I'll have to take a cab."

"I await your arrival."

"Uh, one last thing. Will Lili be there? I would appreciate it if 
she weren't. I'd like to keep this meeting as unbiased as 
possible."

"As you wish. Lili will be leaving at eight as usual. I will not 
alert her to your visit."

"Thank you. I'll see you shortly."

She hung up the phone, then called the front desk for cab 
service.

***

When she arrived, the store was dimly lit. She thought for a 
moment that Dr. Yin had forgotten and left, until she saw him 
crouched on a short stool by the register reading a joke book. 
She tapped on the glass door and he leapt to answer it for her.

"Welcome, Agent Scully," he exclaimed, his enthusiasm not 
an ounce less than when they had first met. She followed him 
to his office where she took the same seat that she had earlier 
in the day.

She adjusted herself several times, fidgeting with her jacket 
or pushing her hair behind one ear. All of a sudden, Scully 
didn't know what her purpose was in visiting the doctor. It 
felt as if wads of cotton grew inside her throat, and prevented 
her from uttering a single sentence. She made a small 
grunting noise to test her vocal chords. They were still intact.

"I..." Her voice was more than willing to make sounds for 
her, yet the thoughts were still not gathering. I may as well be 
honest, she thought. "I really don't know where to begin, Dr. 
Yin. I don't understand any of what you and Lili claim."

Yin folded his hands and pressed his index fingers to his lips. 
It seemed to be a subconscious reaction while he was in deep 
thought. His narrow eyes twinkled with something 
mysterious, something that made Scully shiver right between 
her shoulder blades. It wasn't quite creepy, but she felt 
somewhat exposed. She looked away from him.

"It is a shame. Agent Mulder believes so strongly..."

She shot her glance back to Yin's face. "I didn't mean to say 
that I don't want to understand..."

Yin blinked once, causing Scully's voice to trail off. "It is 
only too bad that he went off on his own."

"Yes, I suppose?"

"You need each other. You have gotten through many 
difficult cases before, but only together."

She heard a subtle throbbing, like waves crashing against her 
eardrums -- she was beginning to panic. It was as if she were 
in some sort of trance, not because there were puffs of 
incense smoke hovering about the room -- there weren't any-- 
nor because Yin had waved his hands in a funny manner 
before her eyes. It was that exposed feeling again, as if he 
had opened her up and began fishing through her darkened, 
suppressed little memory files. "How do you know this?"

"It's written right here." He placed his hand gently on the 
large, red leather book with ribbons marking the pages. It sat 
on his desk like an entity unto itself. He giggled softly, 
awakening her from her trance. Despite herself, she felt the 
skin of her cheeks becoming quite warm. Yin graciously 
ignored it.

"The translation might be slightly different in English, but it 
simply describes your nature. I'll read you an excerpt that I 
translated earlier."

Scully raised an eyebrow.

"Lili had me check," he said in response to her silent 
question. "She believes in her methods, and mine, but she 
needed to be sure Hannah would realize her danger from 
someone *Hannah* could believe. Mulder was the ideal 
candidate, since he has a history of researching the 
unexplained and such, but he is also a government official -- 
someone Hannah could trust."

"I'm not sure Mulder would be the most obvious choice, now 
that we've met with Hannah," Scully admitted.

"Oh, no. I realized that right away. It is quite obvious that no 
matter how lucky Agent Fox Mulder is, he would have gotten 
nowhere without his soul mate by his side."

Scully huffed a nervous laugh. "I'm not..."

"Please, just listen."

Resignedly, she sighed, "All right."

"I will say first, I found it interesting when analyzing your 
names, that you and Agent Mulder shared a common path. 
You two are so closely bound together, you don't know 
where one life ends and the other begins. Here, let me read 
you something I found in the book."

He unfolded the large book near to the front and found in the 
pages a few small scraps of white paper, stuck exactly where 
he had left them. It was like he had discovered some old 
photos long forgotten and his lips quirked upward as he 
admired them and rubbed the corners of the sheets with his 
thumb.

He adjusted his glasses and began to read, "'It is the way of 
the Earth...' -- that is you and Mulder. You both share the 
Earth sign -- '...to provide a path, complete with twists and 
turns, forks, obstacles, and diversions, through even the 
wilderness. So, too, your path takes you continually forward, 
continuously onward down the road--beyond the last fork--
beyond the next bend. The path you are on is endless and 
eternal--marked by turning points, and fraught with choices. 
Yet nothing stands in your way for long. There is nothing 
you cannot get over. There is nothing you cannot get around. 
There is nothing you cannot get through. And so, your 
progress is assured."

"How does that 'assure' that Mulder could not have gotten 
this case done without me?"

"Because you are his path. Where this reading only works 
half-way with Mulder, you have the Earth in you through and 
through. It is quite unfortunate that Agent Mulder does not 
allow people to refer to him by his first name. His nature is 
most influenced by how he is known. If more people called 
him Fox, there's no telling how his luck might change-- for 
the better." Yin flipped through some more pages. "I also 
found something else--as to your relationship."

Scully once again averted her eyes.

"'You are bound by your mutual experience and your 
collective self-interest.' Tell me, Agent Scully, has your work 
with Agent Mulder led you to your present romantic 
relationship with him?"

A somewhat recent memory crept into the back of her mind. 
A visit with a woman who enlightened her to the possibility 
that all the things she experienced in her life were meant to 
lead her to one moment in time. She had begun to merely 
scratch the surface of this logic, to find a new way of viewing 
herself and what she wanted. It was a mystical experience for 
her then; something she didn't quite understand or want to 
acknowledge until she was able to speak to Mulder about it.
Slowly, she became aware that Dr. Yin was waiting for her 
response.

"I... Is this pertinent to the case, Dr. Yin?" Scully quickly 
swiped her eye with the back of her hand, catching some 
wetness that had inexplicably begun to gather.

"No matter how much you try to avoid the subject, Dana, it 
was meant to be between the two of you. You have a purpose 
together."

"The readings are all very general, Dr. Yin."

"But is it accurate?"

She paused. What could she say? Did she dare admit 
anything to this man? How much did he know about them? 
Or was this his way of convincing her that these theories 
were real -- that they did work, and Hannah truly was in 
danger because of them. Finally, she concluded, "If 
interpreted the right way, they could be."

"Mmm." Yin closed the book and pinched the end of his 
chin. "You see, Agent Scully, I had hoped to show you 
through your reading, that the Book of Changes can be 
accurate. I had hoped that, if you could identify with 
something in these mysteries we are putting our faith in, your 
understanding of our situation might come more easily."

She was hating this immensely, having this man tell her what 
her life was. But at the same time, she was uncontrollably 
intrigued. He had not merely made these things up. He could 
not have pulled these readings out of the sky. They were 
written thousands of years ago somewhere in China. Was 
destiny so strong as to predetermine someone's life so far into 
the future? Was one's path set in stone? Couldn't it be 
changed?

Clearing her throat, Scully tentatively asked, "My, uh, 
reading in particular speaks of a path in life. I suppose 
Hannah has strayed from such a path?"

"The 'path' is whatever situation you come across. It is not 
necessarily defined as one's destiny, but how one will 
approach a problem or activity or occurrence. You will 
approach a situation and keep working at it and working at it 
until it makes perfect sense to you. Agent Mulder will 
approach things similarly, but to a point. He will most likely 
depend on his hunches because he is used to being lucky." 

"And Hannah?"

"Hannah's path is deemed very lucky as well, although not as 
much as Fox Mulder's. You see, one can determine the 
outcome of a situation, or at least the direction in which one 
is going, if you use some methods of chance. The book of 
I'Ching isn't called the Book of Changes for nothing.

"Every time I have posed the question of Hannah's fate, I get 
the same reading, which is very unusual, since it is always 
done randomly."

"How do you get your readings?"

Yin reached into his pocket and pulled out three shiny 
pennies, and sprinkled them onto the desk before her.

"That's it? How?"

"Each aspect is represented by a trigram symbol, made up of 
three lines. Each toss of the coins can determine if any of the 
lines are changing." Scully knitted her eyebrows in 
confusion. "It may be a bit much for you to understand right 
now. I will give you a book to take with you, so that you may 
learn at your own pace. For now, I will tell you that I have 
always come to this reading for Hannah..."

He flipped quickly through the book, to a page marked by a 
faded orange ribbon. "'The path you are on grows suddenly 
cloudy, and the way indiscernible, as a thick fog rolls into 
your life. This situation envelopes you, clouds your senses 
and interferes with your perspective.'"

He leaned his forearms over the pages and spoke in an 
extremely serious tone of voice, "I have reason to believe, 
Agent Scully, that Henry has clouded Hannah's mind with 
lies, so that she has become unaware of his intentions. Yes, 
our claims are difficult to prove. We need someone with an 
open mind to help us. Everything has come to a head, a 
crossroads, so to speak. I can certainly feel the tension 
building in the atmosphere. Something will happen. Only 
how it comes to be depends on who gets involved."

Comfort Inn 
11:23 p.m. 
Room 8

He tapped shave-and-a-haircut against the number eight of 
Scully's door. He didn't care how corny it was, Mulder was 
elated. He couldn't wait to tell Scully his theory.

As she opened the door, Mulder sailed past her, waving his 
arms slowly about him, his hands making a flat chopping 
motion through the air.

"Hooooooooh-waaaaaaaahhh..." he wailed out.

Scully closed and leaned against the door. She glanced at her 
watch. "Where've you been? I thought the library closed at 
nine?"

He walked quickly toward her, fluid in his motions, like he 
was floating on air. He crouched slightly so that his eyes 
were level with hers and then adjusted his hands so that he 
was looking at his partner through a box-shaped space 
between them.

"I've got a way to convince you that this case is worth it, 
Scully," he whispered. Then, suddenly, he whipped around 
and jumped up onto her bed, and began flailing his judo-
karate-tae-kwon-whatever moves again. It wasn't until he 
heard the crunching and rustling of paper beneath his feet 
that he realized he had completely disturbed Scully in the 
midst of a research session.

"Hey, what's all this?" He stood up quickly in surprise and 
smacked his head against the ceiling. "Ow!" He rubbed his 
head and climbed down to sit on the edge of the bed. "Guess 
I gotta cut down on the milk."

"I don't think you could get any taller," she said, as she 
hurried over to examine his head. "And I'm sure it's been a 
while since anyone referred to you as a 'growing boy.'"

"Ah, don't remind me." He picked up one of the books from 
the crumpled mess strewn across Scully's bed: "The 
Complete Guide to Feng Shui." Then he looked down at the 
rest of the pile: "The Portable Dragon - A Western Man's 
Guide to I'Ching," and several other articles and booklets 
with the same theme.

He beamed at her. "Scully! Does this mean I'm pardoned?" A 
warm fuzzy feeling began to expand in his chest, not only 
because she was giving the case a chance, but more because 
he had caught her in the act.

"Not quite, Mulder. However, I don't think you're going to 
tell me anything more convincing than what I've already 
learned today."

Mulder dropped his head in disappointment. The fuzziness 
seemed to crystallize and shatter inside his chest. He shied 
away from his partner's fingers trying to wind their way 
around his forearm, but she caught it anyway.

"No, Mulder. I mean, I'm willing to try."

"What have you found?" Excitement and confusion were 
spinning like a hurricane in his head. He watched her pale 
cheeks gain color, but just as quickly fade as she did one 
of her famous half-second composure checks. 

"Uh, let's talk about that a little later. I want to know 
what your groundbreaking discovery is."

"You know Bruce Lee?"

"You mean..." she mimicked his previous crazed movements, 
only more subtly and still sitting.

"Yeah, the Kung-Fu guy. You know, he died at the height of 
his career."

"Although I'm not a B-movie buff like yourself, yes, I do 
know that he died young."

"Well, there's a theory, or more like a legend, that his death 
was Feng-Shui related."

Scully wiped at her face. "Go on," she said sleepily, and 
moved some papers to lie on her side while Mulder told his 
bed-time story.

"From what I found today, it seems that Bruce Lee, or 'Siau-
Loong' got a little cocky in his fame. When he had gathered 
some wealth he, like most of us probably would, decided to 
buy himself a house. Only thing is, he bought it in a town 
called Kowloon, better known to the Chinese as the place of 
the nine dragons."

"So what?"

"So, his name, Siau-Loong, means 'little dragon.' What the 
Chinese believed is that if he decided to live in that town, he 
would anger his elder spirits. To avoid any problems, he 
placed a Ba-Gua medallion -- just like the one Lili tried to 
use -- above his front door. This worked for a while, but one 
night a typhoon hit the town and the medallion was knocked 
off and broken, leaving Lee's house open to attack by the 
dragon spirits. He died soon afterward."

"And this story is supposed to convince me?"

Mulder's jaw dropped into his lap. "Scully, can't you see the 
parallels? This event can be directly related to our case! 
Listen, Scully, what if Henry found some way of harnessing 
bad energy like Lili said? And what if he were able to direct 
it in a Poison Arrow, like Dr. Yin was describing, so strongly 
that it was powerful enough to shatter Lili's Ba-Gua?"

"And how would that harm Hannah? Sounds like a 
destructive temper-tantrum to me. If he wants to break stuff, 
he should make some more vases. Those obviously break 
well for him," she said, referring to the mess in Henry's 
studio.

"I don't think Henry knows what he's harnessed, Scully. I 
think you're right. This started out as a 'temper-tantrum,' as a 
jealous reaction against a girlfriend he couldn't have. I think 
in breaking that Ba-Gua he opened up a path for all the evil, 
all the hate he was feeling, to channel itself even more 
powerfully against Hannah. My guess is, he doesn't even 
know the current hardships Hannah has been through in the 
past week. All he knows is that she's hanging around more, 
which is all he wanted in the first place." 

Scully rolled from her side and onto her back. She pulled her 
fingers through her thick red hair and yawned.

"You're still not getting it," Mulder pouted softly. He got up, 
peeled his jacket off and threw it over the back of a chair. He 
kept his back to her, unable to face the stubbornness she 
persisted in holding against him. He heard papers shuffling as 
she sat up on the bed.

"On the contrary, Mulder, I think I do 'get it.'"

He turned to face her, so utterly confused it was beginning to 
hurt his head. "Well, hopefully you can clue me in, Scully, 
because I just don't get it. One minute you're adamantly 
refusing to believe in this stuff, and the next... what? Now 
you're agreeing with me?" He threw himself into the chair, 
and crossed his arms. "Okay, it's your turn now. What have 
you got that I ain't got?"

"If what you're saying is right, that Henry has opened up a 
way for Shar Chi to invade Hannah's domain more easily, 
then I think there might actually be some logic in all the bad 
luck that's been happening to her."

"All right..."

"I met with Dr. Yin this evening. He gave me some books 
and reference materials that explained a little more about 
Feng Shui. I found out that spirits, any kind of spirits, will 
travel in straight lines. That's why Yin mentioned the central 
long hallway in Hannah's house being a bad thing; there is 
easy access for bad energy, and it will disrupt a household. 
When Hannah experienced complications with the baby, she 
was sitting in the hallway."

"But normally the Ba-Gua would have deterred an outside 
influence. At least, that's what I've gathered. So the bad 
influence must have come from outside somewhere," Mulder 
added, excited now that the pieces were coming together. He 
stared at the door to Scully's room intently, trying to visualize 
the outside view of Hannah's front door.

"There's something else I didn't tell you, Mulder."

"What's that?"

"When we were in Henry's apartment, I noticed a small hole 
in his windowpane."

Mulder sat silently, trying to follow where Scully was 
leading him.

"Henry's window has a direct view onto Hannah's house. He 
has a clear view into her front door, or more accurately--a 
clear shot."

"You think he did a Lee Harvey? But a gunshot couldn't 
leave a small hole in glass at such a close range. It would 
have shattered it or at least left cracks."

"But we're not talking guns, are we Mulder?" She stilled 
herself and took a deep breath. Her cheeks paled noticeably. 
"I also noticed a sharp instrument stuck into the clay pot 
sitting on Henry's pottery wheel - like it was stabbed at. I 
was thinking, if one were to line up the angle of the tool with 
a straight line, it would have been directed perfectly toward 
that hole in the window. and then straight into Hannah's 
front door. If we had a source for a Poison Arrow, Mulder, 
that would certainly be one."

"So you *do* think it's Henry. And you do think this is Feng-
Shui related."

"I'm still not sure how Henry could have the power to control 
such passive energies to his benefit, but... According to the 
information I've gathered today, I'd have to say yes."

"Then we have a case!"

"Then, Mulder, we don't have evidence for our case. The 
evidence we have can be discounted very easily. Who is 
going to believe that a mystical Poison Arrow is Henry's 
weapon of choice?"

"So what's our next step, Watson?"

"We've got to convince Hannah."


ACT 4

125 Columbia Rd.
Upstairs bedroom
3:14 a.m.

Simon's body rolled over next to her for what seemed like the 
thousandth time that night. He had not liked the news that the 
FBI had come to visit her that afternoon, and it was affecting 
his sleep patterns. Hannah sighed to herself as she stared at 
the long shadows stretching across the ceiling of the 
bedroom. When Simon didn't sleep well, she didn't sleep at 
all.

Her husband's heavy weight bounced the mattress as he 
turned over again, sending waves of springs undulating to her 
side of the bed. Hannah had to get up. It was no use staying 
here when she couldn't sleep. Besides, she was supposed to 
be resting in a 'calm' environment.

She felt her way to the bathroom down the hall. She poured 
herself a paper cup full of water and drank it to the light of a 
plug-in night light next to the mirror. She thought about 
where she might be able to sleep. The guest room they had 
here on the second floor only had a dismantled bed and a 
mattress propped up against the wall. Maybe she could flop 
the mattress onto the floor. Or would that be too much 
activity for her in this delicate state? Perhaps she could just 
wait until Simon settled down.

She hated feeling helpless, but she wanted this baby even 
more. Everything seemed to be working out for her and 
Simon lately. Well, all up until last week. They'd finally 
saved enough to buy this house. And after trying for so long, 
they were pregnant. She couldn't wait to see her new baby in 
two months. Maybe even earlier than that if it were 
premature... She shook her head. No. She didn't want to think 
about such things.

Hannah crumpled up the paper cup and threw it into the 
wastebasket. She tiptoed back to the bedroom to check on 
Simon. When she peeked around the corner of the doorway, 
she saw her husband sitting up and bent over, clutching his 
head.

"Simon? Are you okay, honey?"

He grumbled and rubbed his temples. "Damn headache. I just 
got it. Must be why I can't get to sleep."

"Maybe it's too stuffy in here? It was pretty warm today, and 
you're probably not used to it after such a cold winter. Let me 
open the window a little."

"Mmm. Yeah, that might help. Thanks."

Hannah shuffled over to the window, pulled up the shade, 
and opened the window about half-way. Outside, she could 
hear a banging sound, like someone was hammering 
something with a wooden mallet. It sounded far away, but it 
was still strange, as it was nearly 3:30 in the morning.

"Why don't you lie back, Simon, and I'll get you some 
aspirin."

He followed her instructions and lay down, still holding his 
head, breathing heavily in a pattern like they did in their 
Lamaze classes.

As she started to move across the room she began to feel a 
little light-headed herself. Weird. She must have been having 
sympathy pains or something.

Before she could take another step, the shade behind her 
flipped up suddenly and whapped against the top of the 
window. Hannah jumped at the sound. Simon got up to fix it, 
but didn't get very far. He dropped to his knees almost as 
soon as he stood up.

"Simon!" Hannah shuffled as quickly as she could to her 
husband's side. The sound of the banging outside became 
louder, but Hannah accounted it to her heightened senses 
during her panic and dismissed it quickly.

"This is bad, Hannah. I've never had a headache so bad in my 
life." He leaned his elbows on the mattress. It looked like he 
was saying his bed-time prayers. He bobbed his head slightly 
with the throbs of pain. It was so strange. He nodded and whimpered 
in a rhythm, almost as if he were following a beat, to the drumming 
in a rock song-- or to the rhythm of that hammering outside. It got 
faster as Simon's pain became greater.

All of a sudden Simon started to shake. He could barely keep 
himself up on his knees anymore. He huffed and grunted, and 
it was horrible to watch his contorted face. Hannah was 
helpless to do anything. She didn't know what to do. What 
could she do?

Then Simon collapsed to the floor. He didn't move. Hannah 
shook his shoulder. He didn't respond. She held her finger 
close to his nose. He was still breathing, but he was 
obviously unconscious. She had to get help.

She got up quickly to call an ambulance -- a little too quickly, 
for the room began to wobble around her; another dizzy spell. 
She grabbed onto the bedpost for balance. As she stood there trying 
to gather herself, she began to feel a throbbing in her own head. 
Waves of dizziness made her sick to her stomach.

Hannah couldn't wait any longer. She had to help Simon. She 
forced herself to walk around the bed to reach the phone on 
the opposite bedside table. However in doing so, she smashed 
her foot into the wooden bedpost that had so recently been a 
crutch for her. She cried out, tears springing up to pinch her 
eyes.

She held onto the bed, trying to catch her breath, trying to 
breathe away the pain. The waves of dizziness subsided, but 
she became aware of something from the corner of her eye.

A harsh light illuminated a window in the apartment building 
across the street, as if it were from a bare bulb, blueish-white 
and cold. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the 
window belonged to Henry's apartment. 'He's up late,' she 
thought curiously. 

Then she noticed he was working on something. In one 
sickening moment, she realized that he was hammering a 
large piece of metal. The shine of its surface flashed every 
time he hit it. Every time he hit it, she heard the ping of the 
hammer. It was like a shout to her, a sound that jabbed at her 
brain. She looked down at her fallen husband, then back at 
Henry; she lifted her hand to steady herself, the dizziness still 
coming in waves, then back at Henry.

"It can't be," she whispered in disbelief. She struggled to 
attempt at least a limp toward the telephone, but she stumbled 
over her own two feet. Her hands smacked the floor hard as 
she fell, trying not to land on her stomach. This was a 
nightmare! She couldn't get anywhere this way -- not if 
Henry was, dare she say it, tripping her up with bad luck 
every step she took.

Her gaze darted around the room frantically, looking for 
something to protect herself and Simon from this onslaught. 
For the first time, Hannah noticed just how cluttered and 
unfinished the bedroom, like the rest of the house, was. How 
could she have let things slide so much? 

She did, however, have her dressing table set with all her 
things. A large mirror was attached to the top of the dresser, 
but there was no way she could move that heavy thing 
herself. A mirror would deflect Henry's attack, but... Then 
she saw, among her make-up, a small bottle of perfume, half 
full, but the glass of the bottle had many facets, like a crystal. 
It might work.

She crawled over to the dresser, which was out of view of the 
window, and grabbed the small bottle. She hoped, since a 
crystal would usually refract light and good Chi into a house, 
that it would at least split up the Shar Chi Henry was 
shooting towards her, so that it was not so intense.

On her hands and knees, she crouched behind the TV set 
below the window sill. She timidly placed the bottle on top of 
it, between the rabbit-ears antenna. The hammering 
continued. 

"Damn it. I knew this wouldn't..." she cursed, but stopped in 
mid-sentence when the sound of the hammering changed. It 
became a thunking sound. It wasn't nearly as loud as before, 
and it was staggered.

Hannah saw her chance, and flew for the phone. Her fingers 
worked at the buttons of their own accord, and she was 
almost surprised when the paramedics answered so quickly.
"125 Columbia Road. My husband's had a stroke. Please 
hurry!"

She hung up, and sat on the floor next to the table. She could 
still see Henry fussing about his sculpture. Why was he doing 
this? Did he know that he was? She had trusted him for so 
long. They grew up together, for heaven's sake! Her mother 
had tried to warn her so many times, but she never listened. 
She had to find out the truth now.

She dialed the phone once more. "Ma, please come over. 
Simon's been..." she peeked under the bed and saw her 
husband's dark profile slumped on the floor. "...he's been 
hurt. I need you here, Ma. I'm so sorry. You were right."
She hung up. She stood and looked out to the bright rectangle 
of light outside. Henry stood, framed in the window, with a 
terrified look on his face. As much as she could manage, 
Hannah stomped downstairs, her destination one that had 
been a long time coming. She only wished she had realized it 
needed to be made much sooner.

*****

"Henry!" He watched Hannah walk slowly, so slowly down 
her front steps. "Henry! You get out here!"

What was wrong with her? He had seen Simon fall; he'd been 
happy about that -- the clumsy fool. It wasn't until his 
hammer began pounding in directions he never intended, that 
he realized something was going on.

After this afternoon, he had been certain Lili brought in the 
Feds to check up on him. When he awoke from his nap, the 
anger still lingered. His hands felt itchy to do something. He 
needed to release his frustrations. It was such an opportunity 
to tackle his big metal sculpture.

He torched it, he pounded it, threw all his strength and hatred 
into the huge object. He molded it until it was as sharp and 
angular as his emotions. It cut into the air with its shapes like 
knives and sickles. When it became too hot and stuffy in the 
studio, he opened his window. That's when he noticed that 
beyond, in the darkness, Hannah's and Simon's bedroom 
window was closed off from him, the shades drawn so that he 
could not see inside.

It made him angry. He pounded his sculpture vehemently, 
directing the sharpest points of the sculpture toward the 
darkened bedroom. The arms of the metal beast shuddered 
and flashed a reflection of his angry, tortured face every time 
he hit it. Downstairs and upstairs neighbors shouted through 
the walls, but he didn't care. Hannah could not keep him out. 
She would know that he needed her. She wouldn't need 
Simon as long as she had him. Simon had to go.

Now Hannah was coming to him. She finally reached street 
level. He ran down to meet her, excited that he had finally 
gotten Hannah alone to explain himself, but terrified that she 
would reject him even after all his trouble. He couldn't back 
down now. He had to see her, hold her, tell her everything 
was going to be all right now. She would never have to suffer 
from bad luck again as long as Simon was finally out of the 
way.

He swung open the entrance door to his building and met her 
in the middle of the barren street. But in the moonlight, 
instead of the warm, loving expression on her face he had 
always expected, her features were drawn, sad, and most of 
all, her eyes were on fire with rage.

"Henry, what's all this about? What are you doing to us?"

To us? This was preposterous. "Hannah, my darling, what do 
you mean?"

"Darling?! Henry what's wrong with you? Don't you know 
what you've done to Simon?"

She was so angry, she threw a punch at him, but he caught 
her arm before she made contact. "What's wrong with you, 
Hannah? Can't you see how terrible your life has been with 
Simon? You've suffered nothing but trouble since you moved 
into this house, since you married that stuck-up stiff!"

"Henry, let go of me," she begged, and clutched at her 
stomach. "Henry, you can't do this to me! Let go! My baby... 
you're going to make me lose it this time!"

Henry released her, but too harshly. She fell onto her 
backside scraping her elbows in the process. "This time?" he 
whispered.

"She said it was you that day. I didn't believe her. I almost 
lost this baby last week, Henry. Did you even bother to find 
out why I'd been staying home all of a sudden? How could 
you jeopardize my family for your own benefit? I can see it 
all now! You never let me fulfill my own decisions! The only 
reason I even got to marry Simon was because YOU weren't 
in the way!"

"But Hannah..."

"No, Henry. You CAN'T have me. I don't WANT you." The 
words hit him hard, like pummeling dodge-balls to his face, 
only he couldn't dodge them this time.

The faint sound of sirens whined from a few streets away. 
Hannah sat on the concrete, nursing her scraped elbows, 
dabbing the blood with her nightgown. Henry stared at her 
helplessly.

"You called the cops on me?"

Hannah scowled, but didn't give her friend the grace of eye 
contact. "That's the paramedics for Simon. You forced him 
into a stroke with your stinking Shar Chi."

Henry stared down at his own hands, pink even in the 
moonlight from the furious work he'd accomplished that 
night. A large vehicle flashing red and white lights came 
driving down the street at an insane pace, and screeched to a 
stop not eight feet from where he stood in the center. He 
could feel the heat of the engine and smell the diesel fumes 
like a breath of doom.

A stocky man in white came rushing over to her. "Ma'am?" 

He crouched down next to Hannah. "My God, it's you 
again?" He shot a look toward Henry, disgust creasing his 
mouth into a deep frown. Then he busied himself again with 
Hannah. "Don't worry, we'll take care of you."

"My husband. He's upstairs. He needs help more than I do. 
You have to get him to the hospital!"

"All right," the man assured her, and waved two other 
workers toward the house to see about Simon.

Another car pulled up to the scene. Mulder, Scully and Lili 
emerged and ran toward the three in the center of the street. 
Lili was immediately at her daughter's side, crying at the 
sight of her scarred and humiliated child. She removed her 
sweater and draped it over Hannah's shoulders despite the 
arguments of the paramedic.

Mulder carefully approached Henry, who had no plans of 
running anywhere. It was over. He just didn't have a reason 
to deny himself the punishment he deserved. Obviously, he 
was not meant to be Hannah's guiding light as he had 
thought. He would never find anyone like her again, and now 
he knew he'd cut himself off from her completely. She would 
never trust him--ever.

White Plains Hospital
8:00 a.m.
Saturday Morning

He sat in a row of blue plastic seats and watched her gently 
close the door at the far end of the hall. She walked toward 
him, her heels clicking down another sterile, glossy linoleum 
floor, like she had done so many times before. Once again, he 
was in awe of her.

"I have to hand it to you, Scully. You were right this time."

She closed the distance between them and stood in front of 
him. "We were both right, Mulder. We figured this one out 
together."

It was an alien thing to him, this compromise with Scully. He 
was so used to being challenged by her. He was still unsure 
why he even fathomed the thought of her accepting his 
theories earlier. Perhaps he had always kept himself separate 
from her, even in their new relationship, because he feared 
what that compromise would do to them. He realized now 
that it only made them better.

"How's Hannah?" he asked her.

"She's fine. The baby's fine, and Simon regained 
consciousness about an hour ago. Both OB and neurology 
want to keep them the rest of the day for observation."

She sat down next to him, slumping in the chair so that her 
head could lean against the wall behind her. "What about 
Henry?" she asked, at the tail-end of a yawn, so that her voice 
sounded high and squeaky.

"The police are not detaining him because of the 'minor' first-
time offense."

"What?" She sat up ramrod straight. "This is prolonged 
harassment, Mulder! How could they...?"

Mulder scratched his head and threw his hands out before 
him. "Evidence. Not everyone is as open-minded as we are. 
And remember, they've heard this before. They're not ready 
to re-think a decision that's already been discounted."

"As usual." She sat back again, but this time she rested her 
head on his shoulder. "They're letting him go home?"

"Under observation until this is brought to court."

"I should have expected nothing less," a voice came from 
beside them. Both agents stood quickly, embarrassed to be 
caught in an unofficially casual position. Lili gazed at them, 
her face drawn with the creases of age and fatigue. "You did 
well, but not enough I suppose."

Mulder, although he was a good two feet taller than the old 
Chinese woman, felt smaller than a mouse, scurrying to sniff 
at her feet. She had idolized him, put her trust in him. He felt 
like he had failed her.

"Lili, your daughter and son-in-law will be quite safe. He will 
be under observation to be sure he doesn't do anything 
again."

"Have you learned nothing, Agent Fox Mulder?" She studied 
his hand resting on his partner's shoulder. "I should have had 
this taken care of long ago. But I do thank you for bringing 
my daughter back to me. We have a new--understanding."

"We will be sure to give you any statements you require 
when you bring Henry to court. We are still willing to help 
you. Our work isn't quite finished."

"Neither is mine," she whispered as she turned down the hall 
to leave them.

She disappeared into the crowd of pastel-colored uniforms 
filling the hallway by the nurse's station, and her path was 
soon covered by the padding of white sneakered feet.

Both Mulder and Scully were left feeling hollow in a 
suddenly congested atmosphere, but were powerless to free 
themselves from it. It seemed Lili needed an answer, but was 
unlikely to get it in a world that swallowed beliefs like hers, 
only to conveniently forget as soon as they had been 
ingested. They could relate, they could understand, but they 
could not fix it, and they hated it.

"Well, we can probably still catch a flight back to D.C. today 
if you want to get back for that seminar, Scully."

"It can be rescheduled. I think I need the rest of this weekend 
to slow down a little, finish things up before starting 
something new."

"You sure? I know you were looking forward to it."

"Yeah. I'm sure of it," she concluded, and took his hand 
gently into hers. 


EPILOGUE

Henry was escorted to his apartment by a big burly officer 
dressed in undercover civilian clothing, but he was not 
unnoticed. As he walked to his front door, he heard several 
other doors creaking open, or the scratch of metal peep-hole 
covers being lifted in his wake.

When he was finally left alone in his studio, he observed the 
chaos he'd left behind. Everything was scattered, damaged, 
painful to look at. He rubbed his pink, irritated wrists as he 
stepped around the room. Everything in the room was 
completely disordered, all except his finished masterpiece.

The large metal object stood in the center of the room, as if it 
had used its sharp edges and sickle-like arms to slash at his 
whole life. The broken remains of his spirit crunched beneath 
his feet. The wooden mallet, his instrument of creation, still 
lay at the foot of the beast. How could he have created 
something so angry looking?

As he viewed his work, the taste of bile filled his mouth. He 
spat at the metal object, and kicked it over. It fell like a heavy 
body, but landed awkwardly, its spikyness preventing it from 
collapsing completely to the floor.

Behind him, he found his forgotten pottery wheel. It had 
always given him so much joy, relaxation, peace. The solid, 
curving objects he created were always pleasing to him. He 
dragged his fingertips over the rough, dirty surface.

Outside, the small white house lay in shadow. All the rooms 
were dark and empty. He'd probably never be allowed to see 
life pass through them again--at least, not the life he could 
ever share. It would always be hers, and hers with her 
husband. She'd be able to live it now, without him getting in 
the way.

He was about to start cleaning up the mess, when he noticed 
a tiny sparkle of light coming from Hannah's bedroom 
window. She wasn't supposed to be home yet, was she?

He decided to ignore it, and made his way toward the kitchen 
to get a broom. He automatically walked his normal path, a 
subconscious way he moved through the space due to 
everyday habits. Suddenly, his foot became snagged on 
something that would not normally have been left on the 
floor. 

The wooden mallet tangled up his ankles, and before he 
could do anything to stop himself, he lost his balance and 
tripped. His scream was cut off quickly as he landed.

The sharp edges of his sculpture gleamed with a spot of 
reflected light from outside. As it passed over one of the 
longer arms of the metal sculpture, it caught a stain of red, 
then scurried away, as if fleeing the scene of the crime.

Downstairs, across the street, an old Chinese woman opened 
the front door to her daughter's house and hung a small 
medallion in the entrance. She adjusted the red silk strings so 
that they hung neatly from the bottom of the piece. She 
smiled at it, then closed the door behind her.


*****

Author's notes:
I don't claim to know everything about Feng Shui or I'Ching. 
This story uses a few elements very loosely in order to tell a 
tale. I highly suggest going out and reading up on the 
subjects if you found them interesting.

These are the reference books I used while writing Poison 
Arrow:

"The Complete Illustrated Guide to Feng Shui" by Lilian Too
Element Books Limited 1996, Copyright Lilian Too 1996

"I'Ching in Ten Minutes" by R.T. Kaser
Avon Books, Copyright 1994 by Richard T. Kaser

"The Portable Dragon - The Western Man's Guide to 
I'Ching" by RGH Sui