Title: All the Pretty Little Horses

Author: spookycc

Rating: Possibly PG, nothing more than the ep.

Classification: In-ep filler, Doggett POV. DF -- *Doggett Friendly*

Summary: Introspection on scenes in "Invocation". Pre-quel to my fic "A
Father's Confession".

Spoilers: "Invocation."

Disclaimer: No characters, human or canine, are mine. <g>
And no dogs were harmed in the making of this fanfic. :)

Any similarity (and you shouldn't feel any) to "Bittersweet" (by Mare) is
coincidental - In this prequel to my original "A Father's Confession", I'm
focusing on the final act of the episode, leading up to my own story.
These scenes were not in Mare's fic, only implied as a lead-in. (We've
emailed each other about our respective stories, and neither feels that the
other had any ideas that were not original.)

Feedback welcomed at spookycc@earthlink.net

Dedication: As ever, to Doggett's Bitch (f/k/a "Vixen" :). My soulmate, and
the SHODDS that opened my eyes to The Big Dawg.

No beta-reader was used. All typos are my own.

****

Flashing red lights - the ambulance leaving the Underwood home - jolt me
from a very private place, and I glance up at my surroundings. Scully is
headed this way. Great. She's gonna wanna know what that scene with the
police psychic was all about. What'll I tell her? I stare straight ahead,
not allowing any feeling to work its way to the surface.

She sits beside me in our Lariat rental, and regards me somewhat curiously.
"Well, they've got her stabilized. It looks like she's gonna be ok." She
looks my way again, and again I direct my gaze straight forward. "...If
you're at all curious about her condition."

She says that almost accusingly, as if I don't *care* about what happened to
Sharon Pearl. I do. It just hit too damned close to home. My reply is more
terse than it needs to me. OK, you're the skeptic here, Doggett. Play the
part. "I'd be more curious if I believed it."

"Believed what?"

"The act."

Scully's look is incredulous. "You think that was an act?"

"It's pretty standard fare, isn't it? Float a few choice revelations, as if
they came from on high, roll around on the floor." I finally meet her gaze.
Is she buying this?

"You saw that symbol appear on her forehead," Scully appeals to my
observational skills.

"It's a damn good trick. Don't ask me how she does it." (Like Scully would
ask *me* how she did it.)

Scully doesn't reply, and at first I'm relieved. Until I see her fiddling
with the miniature tape recorder we had running during the "session". God,
no, I don't need to hear that again.

"Agent Scully, *please*," I implore her to leave this alone.

She is not persuaded, and flips the play button. "No. I think you oughtta
hear this."

Damn. Sharon Pearl's voice invades the car, invades my thoughts, as Scully
replays the audio we recorded while Sharon's forehead was being manipulated
into the symbol we've seen before.

Scully doesn't read the look of dismay on my face. She hits "rewind" and
invites me to listen to it backwards. Great. What now - satanic verse?

Instead I hear a voice. "Who's that?" I ask.

"It's a child singing. Lyrics."

The youthful, haunting voice fills the car. A song that I once knew as a
lullaby sounds anything *but* that, now. 'All the Pretty Little Horses'.
Scully hums along a bit, recognizing the song herself.

My eyes are drawn back to the street. Ronald Parnell's car pulls up along
the other curb, facing us, headlights shining into my eyes as I strain to
see if he is the one driving it. "What's *he* doin' here?" I wonder aloud.

Scully looks up, puzzled. From this distance, she surely can't tell it's
the kid from the juvenile records photo.

I leave her bewildered, and jog towards Ronnie's car. As I approach, he's
lookin' freaked out. When I get to his window, I knock on it. Then my
attention is drawn to the passenger seat. Billy Underwood! How the hell did
he get there?

"Ronnie, open up the car!" I try to pull the door open, but the handle
doesn't work. He has it locked from the inside. "Ronnie - Ronnie, stop the
car!" I'm still jerking on the door as he throws it in gear. Gun drawn, I
run beside him, but I can't keep up, so I summon my partner and hope she can
hear me. "Agent Scully, he's got Billy!"

Taking the car, she traps him in the next block over, and I catch up as
she's ordering him out of the vehicle. I grab Ronnie by the shirt-collar and
throw him against the side of the car, leaning down to look inside as I do
so.

The front seat is empty. So is the back seat. Shit.

"Where's Billy?"

Ronnie doesn't answer me.

Scully arrives beside me, and looks puzzledly in at the car's interior. "I
thought you said Billy was in the car." I don't know what to tell her. I
don't know how he could have gotten *out* of the car, not without me seeing
him.

I turn Ronnie around and back him against the side of his car. "Where's
Billy?"

He looks scared, sure. But he looks puzzled, too. And he doesn't answer my
question.


****

I look through the window as they process Ronnie, impatiently waiting to
interrogate him. I'm fuming, I know. I'm pacing like a dog in a kennel. How
could we *lose* Billy?

"Count to ten, Agent Doggett," Scully suggests.

"He took Billy!" I look at Ronnie behind the window again.

"He couldn't have," she protests.

"How're you gonna back that up, with Billy now missin' from his home?"

"By the certain knowledge that not five minutes earlier, I saw him enter his
home with his mother."

Damn, she's exasperating, sometimes. "I saw him! I saw Billy ridin' in the
car with Ronnie! Why else would Ronnie take off like he did?" My frustration
is only mounting, and Scully isn't helping matters.

"It's impossible, Agent Doggett, like everything else about this case."
Scully is animated. "Like how Billy can be in his home one minute and then
in Ronnie's car the next. Everything about this case is impossible."

Why can't she see what's going on here? "The kid is the key, Agent Scully."
I point to Ronnie in the next room. "I've been sayin' that from the
beginning, and I'll say it now."

Our discussion is interrupted - thankfully, I first think - by the sheriff.
But he brings more bad news. The Underwood's other little boy is missing.
Scully follows him out the door into the hall, to talk to the parents. She
glances back when she realizes I'm not behind her.

"I've gotta talk to this kid, Agent Scully." Why do I feel like I need to
apologize? I *know* this kis can lead us to Billy. And now, maybe, to Josh
as well. "I'm absolutely sure."

She gives me a look I hope I never see again, and turns back to the worried
parents. I pause a moment. I *feel* the scene in front of me. I feel for
Scully, relating to the distraught parents, and for them, too. I know all
too well what they're feeling. If Scully was lookin' at me right now, she'd
see how close I am to this. *Too* close. But her attention is on the boys'
parents.

I close the door on those unproductive thoughts, as Ronnie is led into the
room. He sits at the table, and I flip on the tape recorder.

"I know what you're gonna ask," he says. "I ain't got no answer."

I use my best badgering techniques. He insists he doesn't know how Billy got
into his car. Yeah, right.

"You said I could talk to him," Ronnie looks at me almost pleadingly.

"You *needed* to talk to him! After all those years, you couldn't live
without him. You wanted him back."

Ronnie shakes his head slowly. I ask him where he kept Billy, for all those
years. "Man, you don't understand," he insists.

"You were sorry you let him go."

His voice breaks, just a bit. "I - I *couldn't* let him go."

My patience is wearing thin. "Who else knew about him? Your mom?" He shakes
his head no. "Where'd you keep him?"

"I didn't-"

I'm right in his face now, what little patience I had forgotten. "What did
you do to him?!"

"I didn't do anything!" His gaze levels as if he's looking inside himself,
and finally he confides in me. "I took care of him. I sang to him, so he
wouldn't be afraid."

The pieces are starting to come together. The song, the lyrics, the youthful
voice on the tape. "Afraid of who?"

His next answer is not as easy to get at. I push him. "Who was he afraid of,
Ronnie? Somebody else involved? Somebody else make you do it?"

Ronnie's eyes are shaded, troubled.

When I ask about Josh, Ronnie looks puzzled. Damn, he didn't even *know*
about that. And his eyes tell me something else.

"You're afraid of him too, aren't ya?" His expression tells me he is.
"You're a victim, just like those other kids, is that right?"

He's close to breakin' - I hafta get him to talk. "You. Me. Billy. This is
our chance, man." I appeal to him as best I can. "What's his name?"


****

I swing our car into Cal's yard, followed by a half-dozen sheriff's
department vehicles and an ambulance. Scully and I race to the horse
trailer, where Ronnie told me that Cal held the boy.

Under the floorboards, a frightened child. Josh. Scully's expression mirrors
my own - we try to calm him down as we release his bonds. Scully catches a
glimpse of Cal running, just outside the trailer. I pursue him, alerting the
deputies that he might have Billy with him.

Breaking through dense underbrush, I make better time than Cal, and cut him
off in a small clearing.

"Down on your knees! Put your hands in the air!" He complies, winded.
"Where's the kid?"

"In the trailer." 

"*Other* kid!" He must have seen that we'd already found Josh - why does he
think he can still hide Billy away?

"There's no other kid." He looks puzzled.

"Billy Underwood!"

"There's no other kid."

What the hell? I hear rustling in the bushes behind me, and I wheel around
to find Billy standing there, regarding me calmly.

The deputies have caught up. I'll let them take care of Cal while I talk to
Billy. "Get this man in cuffs, read him his rights. The kid's over-"

I shine my flashlight back toward where I saw Billy just a moment ago. He's
gone. Again. Dammit!

Rushing to the spot where I last saw Billy, I kick through a pile of dead
leaves. And that's when I see it. A skull. I'm no M.E., but I'd say it's a
child's skull.


****

Sunlight plays through the trees and wind rustles the police line tape
cordoning off the grave-site. I stand out of the way, watching Mr. and Mrs.
Underwood relive their grief all over again. I realize I'm clenching my
teeth, and I release them. I see Scully across the way, and walk over to
meet her.

We stand side-by-side, separated only by our beliefs.

"I don't believe it," I state simply.

Scully looks patient. "OK. The clothes, the age and condition of the bones,
the location of the grave. There is no doubt that that is Billy Underwood's
skeleton that is in that grave."

How can she believe that? My voice is incredulous, I'm sure. "We spent time
with this boy. Doctors took Billy's blood. You examined him yourself! Now
*I* can't accept it - I can't believe we're askin' *them* to!" I point to
where the sad parents kneel by the grave.

"I know," she replies understatedly. "But the forensic evidence is gonna
come out, and what then? What if I'm right?"

"Well what, then, Agent Scully? What do we do, we move on? Let it go? Case
closed?" How can she dismiss all we've seen?

She seems to understand how I feel. "Look, I know where you are with this -
I have been there. I know what you're feeling, that you failed, and that
you have to explain this some*how*." Her voice raises a little at the last,
then quiets once more. "And maybe you *can*..."

"Not if that's Billy's body, I can't."

Her voice lowers a bit more. She's trying to help, I can tell, but it's not
working. "But maybe that's explanation *enough*. That that's not Billy's
brother lying in that grave, too. That that man who did this is never gonna
be able to do it again. Isn't that what you wanted, Agent Doggett?"

Yes, it is. But it's not enough. How could we have *seen* Billy if he wasn't
really here? I sense her theory now. "Agent Scully, don't ask me to believe
that this is some kinda justice from beyond the grave." How can she believe
stuff like that?

Her eyes are still locked with mine, and she pushes a bit more. "All I'm
saying is that maybe you succeeded. Whether you're willing to see that or
not." 

I don't understand any of this, but her words touch me on some level. She
almost reaches out with more than her voice, but instead she sighs, and
walks back through the clearing toward the car. I'm left deep in my
thoughts, until my attention is drawn back to the couple by the grave.

The father gets up at last from his kneeling position, and goes to his wife.
They embrace, sharing grief-stricken tears. I feel like I'm intruding, but I
can't move. I've been here before. God, I know exactly what they're going
through.

My thoughts drift back to my son, and I almost pull his photo out again, but
I don't need to. He's with me, all the time. Instead, I stand behind the
couple, unobserved and alone. I watch as Mr. Underwood leads his wife away
from the grave. The last cop on-site lifts the police tape for them and
follows them back toward the vehicles.

It's time to leave, I know. But I can't. Something holds me here, and I
can't explain it. Not right now. I lift the police tape and stand before
Billy's grave. Last night when I stumbled upon the body, my first reaction
was shock. And this morning, confusion. But now... A deep sadness penetrates
deeper than both these other feelings. It consumes me.

Without even thinking about it, I find myself kneeling beside the grave,
like Billy's father did, minutes ago. I knew working on the X-Files would
expose to me to a lot of weird stuff. I was ready for that. But I wasn't
prepared for the feelings this case brought. The loss hits me, washes over
me like a wave. I don't know how it can still hurt this much after all these
years, but it does.

Scully said I succeeded. Then why do I feel like I failed? The man who
killed this little boy won't kill again. Neither will the man who took my
son. But that knowledge seems hollow. It doesn't help *these* little boys.

I'm not aware of Agent Scully behind me until she rests a hand quietly on my
shoulder. I'm startled, for just a second, as her touch pulls me from my
dark thoughts. But I quickly relax - I feel her concern, and it lifts just a
bit of the sadness that hangs over me.

'C'mon, Agent Doggett, let's get out of here," she suggests quietly.

I turn and look up to meet her caring gaze. I'm sure she wants me to talk
about my behavior on this case, and the reasons for it, but maybe she won't
push me on it. At least not yet.

I stand once again, and my eyes drift downward to Billy's grave. Too many
feelings... I swallow hard, and manage a nod. It is time to leave. To leave
this place, this little boy, and to push the sadness and loss back just a
bit, to that part of my heart where I usually hide it.

We walk back to the clearing where our rental car awaits. The haunting
lyrics fill my mind again: "All the pretty little horses..."


~fini~