The Truth You Leave Behind

Scene 1

"Are you sure we're on the right road?" asked Scully.
Mulder didn't answer. He had that far away look that made her wonder what windmill he was chasing now.

"Mulder?" she urged, looking out the window at the endless rows of trees, trees, trees. "I think you missed the turn back there."

"No," he mumbled. It was the first word he had spoken since they crossed the Canadian border two hours ago. "I'm sure it's up ahead."

"Well, would you mind telling me what this is all about before we get there?" she asked, a little annoyed that he had kept her in the dark all this time. "You know, we're well out of our jurisdiction...that is, unless you have some wild fantasy about becoming a mounted policeman."

Mulder smirked. "That's not a bad idea, Scully. They always get their man."

Scully rolled her eyes. She hated this evasiveness. Even more, she hated her blatant bad judgment for going along with him without knowing if they were chasing legitimate criminals or the tooth fairy. Still, she was curious, curious to find out what it was that had kept Mulder brooding since they left Washington for this so-called "vacation". Mulder's vacations usually involved defying death. She shuddered just thinking about it.

"Check this out," said Mulder, pulling down the visor. A magazine fell out and he threw it in her lap. "Pages 35 and 36."

"National Geographic?" she asked. The magazine automatically opened to the right pages. Obviously, it had been well perused. The photographs were breathtaking all right, but what did they have to do with anything? Some wild theory, no doubt. "Let me guess. National Geographic is involved in a global conspiracy that includes the Canadian government. They've been in cohoots for years to conceal the existence of extraterrestrials right under our noses."

Mulder laughed. "Scully, sometimes you come up with the craziest ideas."

She glared at him. "Well, what is it, then?"

"Michael Robbins," said Mulder. "We went to high school together. Mike the Pike. Get this Scully. One time he organized a protest outside the biology lab because he didn't want to dissect innocent frogs. It attracted the media. Ha! He's had his name in print ever since."

"I've heard that name," said Scully. "Isn't he the guy on those wildlife conservation ads?"

"Yeah...and he's an amazing freelance nature photographer," Mulder finally divulged.

"These are his photos," Scully noted.

"Yeah. He was doing a series in a little out-of-the-way place called Woodlawn, Ontario. That's where he disappeared four days ago."

"Four days? And they haven't found a trace of him?"

Mulder's forehead furrowed. "No." He paused, before blurting a flood of words at once. "I don't get it. It's not like him, Scully. Mike's the best in his field. The best! He wouldn't be careless. It doesn't add up."

Scully was stunned. For a change, there were no UFOs, no mythological fantasies involved? Just a photographer friend of Mulder's, missing? Maybe, for a change, they could conduct a normal investigation.

"I'm sorry," Scully offered, in a futile attempt to console him.

"Yeah...well...I'm not giving up yet. I made a phone call this morning and local law enforcement has agreed to work with us." He smiled. "Those polite Canadians..."

"I don't know, Mulder. If we get any further out on this cow path you call a road, they may have to send a search party for us. The turn..."

Mulder smiled triumphantly. "It's right here."

Scene 2

"Are you sure you know where we're going?" asked Scully, curtly. All these trees looked the same to her. How could anyone tell which direction was the right one without a compass?

They had been walking for what felt like days, but was really only an hour or so. Sgt. Stewart, the almost handsome OPP officer with the semi-Scottish brogue assigned to "co-operate" on this case was with them, as well as Thomas Yearling, nature artist and owner of the elaborate log house where they had left their belongings in the guest rooms where he had so politely insisted they stay. "This is rural Ontario, Miss," Yearling had reminded her. "The nearest motel's an hour's drive from here."

Now, here they were, making like forest rangers, dressed in sweaters and jeans and sneakers, which Scully was particularly glad to be wearing. This would be a terrible hiking trip in a pair of pumps. It wasn't just the forest. There were downed trees and branches everywhere along the path, making walking more treacherous than usual.

"We're almost there," Thomas assured. "I've done a lot of paintings on location in these woods. I know my way around well enough."

"Here!" said Mulder, as they stumbled across what was obviously the remains of a campsite. Mulder picked up a tarp...at least, it used to be a tarp. Something had torn it to shreds...something large. "Are you sure this is Mike's campsite?"

Yearling nodded. "Yeah. It's his. He had a blind set up. He was doing a series on timber wolves. They're an endangered species, you know. He was supposed to come back to the house and use my dark room to develop the shots." He looked at the tarp and grimaced. "We...we worked together a lot. He was...is...my best friend." His head lowered.

Mulder picked up a flashlight. He turned it on. "It works." He could hardly bring himself to ask the obvious question. "What do you think happened here?"

"It's hard to say," said the officer. "I hope no harm has come to Mr. Robbins. He's well-liked 'round these parts, but then, this has been an odd year."

"Odd?" asked Mulder, rummaging through items strewn here and there over the ground. "In what way?"

"The ice storm downed so many trees last winter," the officer continued. "We lost 25% of our trees in Ottawa alone. That's not countin' the ones in the forest here. We haven't been able to clean up even half of it."

"I saw that on the news," said Scully. "It looked bad."

"Aye." Sgt. Stewart nodded. "I've lived in these parts for nigh on 20 years and I've never seen the likes o' this before. The animals...it's been rougher for them to find food. They're comin' right out in the open. Bears...wolves...you name it. Desperate animals actin' out o' character and that could be dangerous for someone like Michael Robbins. He thought he knew these woods, but that ice storm changed all the rules."

Mulder walked off, lost in foreboding thoughts. His idea of a nice way to go didn't include being eaten by wolves. It didn't include being eaten period.

"Mulder! Over here!"

Mulder hurried to Scully's side. She was examining something. She handed it to him.

"Hair?" Mulder asked, puzzled. It was too coarse to be human hair. "Fur? This doesn't look like the fur from a wolf, does it?" He hesitated to say what he was thinking. Dark brown, coarse hair or fur. It didn't feel like either one.

"No," said Yearling. "It's definitely not from a wolf...or a bear...or a mountain lion...or.."

"Will you cut that out?" Mulder snapped. The thought of being eaten was giving him the heebie jeebies.

"Well, I..." Yearling's eyes grew wide. He couldn't hide the growing expression of alarm on his face.

"What is it?" Scully asked.

"Nothing," Yearling said, weakly. "I...I just don't like the look of things."

"He's lying," thought Mulder. "And he's got something to hide." Fox Mulder had seen that expression on the faces of many of the abductees he had interviewed over the years. It was that deny-everything look, that I-don't-believe-it-myself expression.

Sgt. Stewart was busy snapping pictures for his report. "I suggest we come up here first thing in the mornin' with a team o' hounds. I can't imagine us findin' much more with the daylight startin' to fade. We've got to head back soon. We don't want to be stuck up here come nightfall."

Mulder knew the sargeant was right. Still, he wanted to find his friend now. This minute! "Why didn't you do that earlier today? he asked, less than politely. "Mike could be injured...or worse...or don't you care about an American photographer?"

"Mulder!" Scully retorted.

"Agent Mulder," Sgt. Stewart said, never wavering from his soft tone to even sniff at Mulder's bait. "We didn't even know that Mr. Robbins was missing 'til this mornin'. He's in the habit o' going off into the woods alone and not returnin' for days. So, we took the report lightly at first. I admit, perhaps too lightly, but knowin' Mr. Robbins' ways and his desire for privacy when he's at work, we thought he was just takin' a bit longer. It's delicate work, you know, finding just the right shots to please those big city magazine editors. To be honest, we might not o' known yet if Mr. Yearling hadn't gone out to do some sketching yesterday and found the campsite like this. I'm just as fresh on the trail o' this investigation as you are."

Mulder looked at the officer, pain oozing from his face. He knew this backwoods oficer was doing his best, but there must be someone to blame. Who? Who was to blame? Yearling? He couldn't believe that. Yearling was the one who had called to let him know, suggested that he come and help with the investigation. Was it the ice storm...some vague news story that he remembered seeing on CNN last winter? Worst natural disaster in Canadian history. He had felt bad for a minute, but there were so many other disasters of the week at the time. Hmph! He couldn't even blame Cancerman for this one. "Well, maybe I will," he thought. Cancerman was convenient to blame for anything.

"We need to get this hair sample to a lab," said Mulder. "It's the best piece of evidence we've got."

Scully nodded in agreement. "I have a friend in Ottawa. We went to med school together. I'll see if I can get my hands on lab facilities close by. Come on." She took his arm gently. "This is all we can do here for now. You and Sgt. Stewart can head back here at first light and I'll check out the evidence."

He went with her, almost like a little boy would be led by his mother, and they started the long hike back to Thomas Yearling's house.

Scene 3

"I can't believe the pizza delivery guy found your house," laughed Scully, wiping her hands on a napkin.

Yearling nodded, his mouth full of Hawaiian pizza. "Usually, they don't deliver way out here, but when Sam's on shift, he makes a special trip for me. Another slice?"

Scully declined, smiling. She felt more relaxed than she had all day. The flickering flame in the fireplace made her feel peaceful, even glad she had let Mulder drag her along on another of his fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants adventures.

"Would you like to see my studio?" Yearling added, conspicuously delighted to have a captive American audience right here in his home.

"Yes. I'd love it!" Scully accepted. She motioned for Mulder to follow as Yearling led them into a large, sunken room where the walls were covered with originals, prints and sketches. It was a formidable collection of work. Near the picture window stood an easel and a table with a palette and paintbrushes on it.

"I work mostly in oils," Yearling explained. "But, I have experimented with watercolor, acrylics and pen and ink drawing. Oh, and of course, I do pencil sketches."

Scully was impressed. These were truly high quality works of art. Wolves howled. Great blue herons stood majestically in the water. Rabbits hopped across the snow, leaving their footprints behind them. Loons glided gracefully across a lake. She wondered which one of these paintings would look best on her wall at home.

Mulder wasn't interested in Yearling's strutting. He lost himself in a corner. Scully discounted it as just another bout of brooding, but as she approached him, she realized that he was carefully studying one of Yearling's paintings.

"He's very good," she commented.

"Not quite Van Gogh, but yeah, he's pretty good," quipped Mulder. I think I'm right after all. I think that sample is gorilla hair."

Scully raised her eyebrows, perplexed. "What are you saying?" she asked. "Mulder, gorillas are not a species native to Canada unless one escaped from a nearby zoo. Is that what you think?"

Her eyes fell on the painting Mulder was studying. "Oh no. No!" she exclaiimed. "You're crazy, Mulder. You're not really thinking that..."

"This is Big Foot," Mulder said.

"Actually, it's Sassy," Yearling corrected him.

"Sassy?" Scully said in disbelief. "You named Big Foot Sassy? You're both crazy."

It was a beautiful painting, very realistic, a rich, green forest with trees and plants and...Sassy. Yearling piped up: "Americans call it Big Foot. Canadians call it..."

"Sasquatch," Mulder said. "Of course. I've read about it."

"There have been more than 3000 reported sasquatch sightings across Canada," said Yearling. "This year, the majority of sightings have been in this area...right where the ice storm hit."

Mulder's eyes lit up. You could almost see the light bulb turning on over his head. "The ice storm! It's driving the animals out of the woods to forage for food. Maybe the sasquatch is being driven out of hiding!"

Scully rolled her eyes. She knew Canadians. Polite. Friendly. Now she could add lunatic to the description. At least this Canadian was a lunatic, and Mulder had to find him. Couldn't they have a normal case with a normal suspect and a normal investigation? Did everything have to be an X file?

"You suspected this as soon as we found that hair sample," Mulder said, turning to look at Yearling. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Yearling blushed. "Well, it's like she said. People think I'm crazy. I've been studying sasquatch sightings and interviewing people for years. It's a...hobby. As far as I know, I'm the first artist ever to paint a picture of a sasquatch in its natural environment."

Mulder smiled. "I think you're right, Thomas. And I think that hair sample will fill in a lot of the holes in this case."

"I paint on location a lot," said Yearling. "The day I painted that picture, I was really intending to do a nice sketch of wildflowers. It was last spring. I reached into my paintbox to get a tube of titanium white. When I looked up...there was Sassy, standing right out in the open, staring at me as if I were a specimen instead of...well, you know what I mean."

"Wait a minute," Scully interrupted. "You're telling me that you've actually seen a sasquatch?"

Yearling hesitated. Scully's blue eyes were fixed, scrutinizing, unbelieving. "Well..." he continued, nervously. "I know it sounds crazy, but yes. There she...he...it was. I froze at first, but Sassy just stood there. I didn't move. It didn't move. Then, it seemed to sense that I wasn't a threat...that I meant no harm. Sassy began to dig in the dirt...maybe digging for insects to eat...I don't know. I sketched her in pencil at first. Then, I came home and painted this picture. You believe me, don't you?"

"I don't disbelieve you," Mulder replied. "This depiction does match a lot of the descriptions I've read."

Scully didn't answer. Her silence made her position painfully clear. "We'd better get some sleep," she said, avoiding the subject altogether. "We have a lot of work to do tomorrow."

Scene 4

"Did you find anything?" Mulder said into his walkie-talkie. They had been scouring the woods for most of the day with Sgt. Stewart and a squadron of police officers with tracking dogs and still...nothing.

"Negative," came the static-riddled reply. "We'll have ta turn back soon, Agent Mulder. Nightfall will be comin'."

"No. Keep looking!" Mulder pleaded. "There's got to be something we missed. A man can't just disappear into thin air!"

Back came the reply. "A'right, Lad. One more hour. That's the best I can offer."

"Agreed. One more hour," Mulder answered, then turning to Yearling asked, "Where to now?"

Yearling was visibly exhausted. "We can't go much further into these woods wihtout getting into some pretty dense growth. I've never been into the denser parts. They're not as...user friendly." He smiled weakly.

"He could be in there. Let's go!" Mulder urged. He started off without waiting for a reply.

"Agent Mulder!" Yearling called. "Stop! You don't know where you're going!"

"Show me!"

Yearling scrambled after him, half limping. "No. I really don't think it's a good idea. We could get seriously lost. I mean it!"

Mulder, in the heat of driven passion, ignored him and ran ahead, leaving Yearling behind in the dust. He knew it was a dumb move. He knew that his gut was burning with that "feeling" that came every time he was on the verge of a breakthrough. He followed it like a helpless rat following the Pied Piper.

How long was he running? He wasn't sure. He stopped at some point and took time to bend over to catch his breath. He surveyed his surroundings. As far as he could tell, he was alone.

"Yearling!" he yelled, emphatically. "Hey!! Yearling!!!"

No voice answered him, but his cell phone rang. He fumbled for it in his pocket. "Mulder."

"Mulder, it's me," Scully answered. "Are you all right? You sound strange."

Her voice was a lifeline to him right now, but he would never tell her that. "I'm okay. I was running. What have you got?"

She paused. She wasn't sure she wanted to say the words.

"Are you there, Scully?"

"I'm here," she said. "You were right, Mulder. The hair sample belongs to some kind of ape, though I'm not sure of the particular species. I checked with all the zoos in the surrounding area and no one's missing an ape. At least, no one has admitted to missing one."

Mulder didn't answer for a minute. He just stood there, thinking. "Good work, Scully. I'll meet you back at Yearling's house." He hung up the phone before adding, "If I can find my way back."

He looked around at the endless trees surrounding him like a giant fence, keeping him from seeing what was on the other side. They all looked the same. Maybe if he just went back...followed a straight line. No. Had he run in a straight line? "If only I had paid more attention in boy scouts," he thought. "Be prepared, Mulder. Be prepared. Standing around here isn't getting you anywhere."

The walkie-talkie! "Sgt. Stewart, this is Agent Mulder. Do you read me?" Mulder said into the little black receiver. He was answered by a barrage of static. "Sgt. Stewart, do you read me?" Again, no answer. He was out of range.

"Time's a-wasting," Mulder said out loud. He started walking in no particular direction. He would give his eye teeth to see Thomas Yearling or even the overly-polite Sgt. Stewart right now. He kept walking, walking, walking until he tripped and fell over a fallen limb. Oooof!

"Nice day for a trip," he thought. He got up, dusted himself off and suddenly found himself looking into the eyes of...something. Mulder froze. It froze. They stared at each other for what seemed a long time. Mulder's lips moved, but nothing came out, then...softly..."Sassy?"

This was no giant ape. It was much shorter than any of the reports he had remembered. Then, it dawned on him. "You're Sassy Junior." He smiled.

"Agent Mulder!" yelled a voice that was unmistakeably Yearling's.

Sassy Junior just stood there. Suddenly, Mulder, and he didn't know why, waved the creature on. "Run! Run!" he said, waving his arms toward the forest.

The creature stared for a few seconds more, then darted into the forest like it was running for its life. Mulder stared after it, but all he could see now were trees and undergrowth. It was as if he had dreamed the whole thing.

"Agent Mulder!" Yearling said, as he caught up to where he was. "You had me worried sick! I see you found your way back to Mike's campsite."

Mulder looked. Sure enough, there were the remains of Mike Robbin's abandoned blind. He had a sudden revelation.

Scene 5

"Ow!"

"Hold still," said Scully, as she cleaned out one of Mulder's wounds. "You'll live. Just a few scrapes and bruises. It could have been worse. You might have joined Michael Robbins as a missing person."

Mulder grinned. "But, I didn't," he said. "I joined the I-saw-Sassy club."

Scully sighed. "Are you sure it wasn't a bear?" she asked. "They have some pretty strange species in Canada, you know. Maybe it was a wolverine or...or a fisher."

Mulder laughed. "Scully, I've seen Gentle Ben. I know what a bear looks like. You won't find this creature in the Canadian Wilderness guide. At least, not the official version."

"And you say it wasn't fully grown?" Yearling asked for the umpteenth time. He was obviously intrigued. This was something no one had ever reported, to his knowledge. "Judging from your description, yes, I'd have to say it was a young Sassy. This is a revolutionary discovery."

"What about your friend?" Scully asked, sounding more than a little perturbed. "Michael Robbins is still missing and you two are getting starry-eyed over some mythical creature that's probably a hoax or a figment of someone's overactive imagination. Maybe Michael Robbins is behind the hoax. Did you ever think of that? And...and...let's not forget that there's not one shred of scientific evidence to support the existence of this sasquatch or...whatever you want to call it."

There. That felt better. She had been frustrated since the beginning of this case and it felt great to let off a little steam. The boys, however, and that's what she was convinced they were at this moment, sat there smiling in the silliest manner she had ever seen. Highly unprofessional, to say the least. Scully wanted to pack up and go home, but something was keeping her here. Michael Robbins? Misguided loyalty to her friend? Or was she genuinely curious about Sassy too? She didn't know, but she hoped it was the former.

"I have a theory," Mulder said, matter-of-factly.

"I'm all ears," Scully said, wondering what assinine thing would come out of his mouth this time. Her patience was wearing thin tonight.

"Thomas, you told me that when you saw the sasquatch, it was digging for insects or something like that."

"That's right," Yearling confirmed.

"Well," Mulder continued. "If Sassy eats insects or leaves or fruit or whatever...I really don't suspect that it's a hostile creature by nature. Certainly Sassy Junior showed no hostility, but Mike's campsite was totally trashed and the ape hair was found at the scene."

"Go on," Scully said, trying unsuccessfully to keep a healthy detachment from the story.

"Well, if Sassy isn't normally hostile, why was Mike's campsite trashed?" he asked, rhetorically. Thomas felt compelled to answer.

"Maybe Mike did something to tick Sassy off."

"Maybe," Mulder agreed. "But, maybe Sassy is just protecting Sassy Junior and was a little skittish having Mike so close to the sasquatch family home."

Yearling nodded. "That is classic animal behaviour. A normally docile animal can become aggressive if you come near its den, especially when there are offspring involved. It's instinctive."

"You're saying that Michael Robbins inadvertently stumbled across the sasquatch's lair?" Scully asked...disbelieving, but not discounting Mulder's conviction about it.

"Exactly," Mulder said. "And I didn't get attacked today because I ran into Junior, not Mama."

"But, last spring, when the sasquatch saw Thomas, why wasn't he attacked?" Scully prodded.

Silence. Then, Thomas jumped in. "Maybe Junior wasn't born yet. I think that normally Sassy's lair is much further into the dense forest, but the ice storm forced a change. Now the nest is much closer to civilization."

"It's like that Jersey Devil case," Scully mused out loud, wondering why she suddenly remembered that incident.

"Yes...yes...don't you see, Scully?" Mulder said. "The ice storm has forced these animals, which normally live way out there where no man has ever gone before, it's forced them closer to civilization and Mike was...in the wrong place at the wrong time." Mulder frowned. "I hope he didn't pay for it with his life."

"We haven't found any remains yet," Scully said, trying to reassure him. "Maybe he got away. Maybe he's hiding out somewhere. You told me yourself that he's very resourceful."

Mulder got up and paced. "We've got to go back tomorrow," he said, with determination.

"Tomorrow." Yearling agreed.

"Okay, Mulder. I hope you know what you're doing." Scully relented. "Just make sure you've got it straight...we're looking for your friend. That comes before chasing the evasive sasquatch."

"Got it," Mulder said, but again, he seemed miles away.

She guessed he was.

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