Scully: A Narrative Fiction

Everybody that works with freaks becomes a suspect. Scully and Mulder approach the “Tabernacle of Terror”. The dark room covered with dusk, the light only entering in from the entrance and exit. The art manager was working at his workbench on a head with a screaming face. He is killed in his storage room by a slithering figure with the face of a monster. Blood is everywhere. Each time a murder occurs they make you believe that the freaks are responsible. They set the scene in a frightening space to pull the view in and make you think it must be the freaks. What this is saying is that even if you work in a horrible place such as the “Tabernacle of Terror” that it doesn’t make you a terrifying person. That often people who look different are

“What else have you got in there?” Hector asked, genuine curiosity lacing his voice as he placed the glasses back down on the desk.

In this quote, Jeanette explains how her dad would tell stories to entertain and impress them. In this case, he liked to say the FBI was on his tail to make it sound more intense and exciting rather than

“You can have it,” he says. I smiled, I was so excited! I never thought he would give it to me. “Really?!” I ask. He started to look through more of his old things and took out some things and put them off to the side and I also looked through those boxes.

“Yes, it will be fine trust me.” We get to the door and I carefully opened the door that was defiantly years and years old. We walk in and it's so dusty.

He says, “I’ll be there tomorrow. One more thing, I would like to come out of being undercover after this mission.”

Casey had a hard time understanding what happened to all the evidence. “I don’t suppose the evidence is misplaced and is somewhere else in the building?”

“Are you finding anything?” Castle asked as he searched the papers for any sign that something changed in Amy Dehner’s life. “‘Cause so far all I’ve figured out is she went to the same coffee shop almost everyday around eight o’clock.”

All he'd had to do was be himself, and not think about things too much! The threat to his crown jewels elicited a smile, that he attempted to keep hidden, before he entered the cabin and lay her on the sofa. She even smiled at him as she did so, and Agent Asshole felt quite proud of himself. "Well, you've been through a lot, Ms Lassiter." Still, his tone remained soft, and there was a note of admiration in his words. "Honestly, not many, if any at all would have coped with what you have, so I guess a little rest and recuperation, and possibly even some spoiling has been earned." The man arched a brow at that, after having checked out the kitchen, and peered down at her, an amused expression passing across his features, as some of her cheekiness appeared to return, and he wondered if she'd take advantage of his new found kindness. He'd be surprised if she didn't, and the look, if she managed to catch it, was to let her know that would only be allowed to happen by his

“No need I found something you might like, I went into your mother’s case and.”

Unbeknownst to Sarah Carpenter, the FBI was keeping tabs on her by eavesdropping on her phone calls and following her movements. They didn’t know how much information about himself, Roger Nelson had shared with her. But, just to be safe, the FBI wanted to be sure she didn’t muddle things of for them by talking too much. If Sarah knew the NSA was watching her, she would be explosive in her outrage, although in the final analysis she could do nothing about it, even if the FBI’s actions were illegal.

Valentina padded quietly down the short hallway and let out a long, slow breath before she stepped around the corner, and then back into the kitchen. She found Cole stirring his mashed potatoes and her meal in the microwave, where she walked over to watch the black container spin. It crossed her mind to thank him for starting her food for her, but he spoke up and cut her off before the thought could cross her lips. He wanted to know about the tapes. Of course, she knew the conversation was going to happen, but she was rather hoping she’d get to sleep first.

“We should get up to speed on the Dexter file. I’ve been studying over the weekend and…”

As the smoke rolled out his nose, he uttered, “What the hell could Cowolsky have said to Ford to get her to sneak out the window at that time in the morning?”

He sure wanted a look inside that room. Wouldn’t do to bust into a sheriff’s worst nightmare without he knew if he was too late, things were gone too far and he’d have to shoot somebody. He’d sure hate to shoot somebody dead, least those Triple Oaks boys. Not now. Not ever. But the door was solid, same as the wall, and no time for a peek through the front window glass.