Author's Note: This story takes place sometime before the last episode of Millenium's second season; Catherine is alive and the virus has not been strung yet.

Frank Black looked at the pool of red beneath him. It looked like blood, but the smell was nowhere close. He crunched down and looked more closely, intensly staring at the pool. Flashes of horses, knives, and chains came flowing at him. A tiny woman of a 5'1'' stature came up beside him, busily writing something in a notebook. She quickly closed it, moving a strand of wild, red hair back from her face. She was a pretty little gal, Frank notced. "So, discover anything interesting in that urine Mr. Black?"

Frank got up and stared at the FBI agent. "What?" His voice was monotone as usual, though he was indeed in great shock.

"You seemed really interested in that horse urine. Surely you know when the urine of a horse makes contact with certain types of soil, it turns a bloody red color."

"No. I didn't know."

"Well, it could confuse the best of us. Sorta like fool's gold." She extended her hand to him, "Agent Dana Scully, Federal Bureau of Investigation. You're Frank Black? I've heard a lot about you. Great investigator in the 70's and 80's. Helped put a lot of serial killers to rest."

Frank just stared at her. He never knew he was that popular.

"May I ask why this case snaps your fancy?"

"It has some connections to a case from the 40's, when the FBI was just underway. The group has a few ties with it also."

"The group?"

Agent Mulder came up behind Scully. "We've taken a few blood samples. The guy really must have hated cleaning up horse dung to hang himself like that."

"He didn't hang himself, " murmured Frank.

"Oh, Mulder. You've heard of Frank Black of the Madstone case?"

"Not the Frank Black?" said Mulder in shock suprise. He really couldn't understand Scully's obsession with the guy. He looked even worse in person, hagard and miserable. But Scully admired the guy more than seemed normal.

"This is my partner, Fox Mulder." she beamed, as if proud she caught a fine fish. Mulder shook Frank's hand.

"My friends call me Spooky."

Now Frank was sure the guy was nuts. He had heard of this guy, Spooky Mulder, who was more interested in porn and the paranormal than the actual truth.

"What have you found on the guy Wellers?" His voice still had the drab sound to it. He really didn't understand why Watts needed him on this case. The FBI seemed to have it enough under control to screw it up.

"Greg Wellers has a wife, two kids, a dog, five barn-cats, a few cows, chickens, and four thoroughbred horses, one a national champ. He was just a tired old rancher in need of a higher experience and hung his body over the rafters. He had a fancy for the John Camp's wife, Anna. Camp lives five miles down the road. She got the fuzzy end of the lollipop in this saga, too. Also hung herslef from her four-poster bed," Mulder explained, obviously bored.

"I don't think either one of them were hung. Neither one of them are who they claim to be," replied Frank, starring at the horse urine rippling in the cold autumn wind of North Dakota.
--Elizabeth Deese

"What do you mean?" asked Scully inquisitively. This guy was spacing out. He kept staring at strange things, not like he was investigating, but like he was in some kind of a strange trance.

"I just have the feeling that this is not Greg Wellers. Look at this." said Frank, pointing at the ground, right next to the pool of red urine. He pointed at a footprint in the thick mud. "This is Greg Weller's footprint."

"Yeah?" asked Mulder. Frank led Mulder and Scully along the trail of prints, toward the barn.

"The prints are coming ~out~ of the barn, but not going in."

Scully looked at Mulder with a dumbfounded expression. "Uh, Mr. Black, there could be an explanation to this. This guy couldn't have just walked out of the barn if he was ~dead~ in the barn!"

"Scully, yes, there could be an explanation. But maybe not one that you would like to believe. You said that Weller had some kind of an 'interest' in his neighbor's wife, the other woman who committed suicide-?"

"There is no PROOF that she committed suicide." Frank interupted. "But yes, she died. Anna Camp."

Mulder was starting to see that this guy wasn't what he thought he would be. Scully, on the other hand, was beginning to think that this guy was as much of a nut as Mulder.

"Why don't we see Anna Camp's house? We can find more leads to this case. Maybe it'll even tell us something more about this footprint phenomenon," suggested Mulder. Frank nodded and started walking toward his Ford Explorer.

"It's only a five mile drive. Leave your car here for now. You both can ride with me." he shouted. Mulder and Scully got in the car with him.
--Michelle Hameid

They stepped out of the Explorer, placing foot on extrememly muddy ground. Before them loomed a two story house that look as if it had been to hell and back. The roof sagged inward, the paint was chipped off so much one could hardly tell it was once white, and numurous windows were boarded shut. There was no greenery for miles, the yard being made up of mud and hard sand. It was hard to believe anyone actually lived in there.

"This house needs to be condemned. It's a danger to the eyes," Mulder exclaimed.

Frank led the agents up the steps of the Camp residence. He knocked on the door. A long pause. No answer. Frank knocked again. Still no answer.

A loud thud suddenly boomed from inside.

"Mr. Camp! We know you're in there! We need to ask you some questions about your wife's death," Frank yelled.

A voice answered back from the other side, "She wasn't my wife!"
--LissieMD@aol.com

What happens next? You decide. Write a sentence, write a paragraph then send it to me and I will add it to the story.