X-Files: Trust No One

by Tim Lebbon

  Lumke’s shotgun didn’t waver the entire time it took them to return to their car and climb inside. “He doesn’t seem to be much of a welcoming committee,” Scully said as they cautiously descended the steep road out of town. “What does he do out here?”

  “He’s got my curiosity piqued.” Mulder was actually smiling. “Lumke’s agent operates out of Los Angeles, and she may be more willing to answer questions. Maybe we should find out more about him. He’s known for his unusual statues.” He raised his eyebrows, then grabbed the wheel again as they hit a pothole. “It’s only a few hours’ drive, and we have unlimited miles on the rental car.”

  She looked out at the bleak, yet dramatic, desert scenery. “All right, I’d love to get out of this heat.” She reached forward and turned the car’s air conditioning up to MAX.

  *****

  PENDRAGON GALLERY

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  THURSDAY, 4:05 p.m.

  Surrounded by vibrant skyscrapers instead of collapsing rusty buildings, Scully listened to the traffic on the streets, glad to be back in civilization again. They arrived at a small boutique art gallery, open for the day’s business. A sign in the window still advertised the Lumke exhibition from three days before.

  The Pendragon Gallery had no customers, and a slender well-dressed woman with lavishly cornrowed hair came forward wearing a smooth, professional smile. Scully pulled out her badge and identified herself. “Ms. Pendra, we’d like to ask a few questions about your client, Bernard Lumke. And how he makes those unusual statues.”

  The woman’s face stiffened, as if it had turned into a statue. Long thin braids dangled around her face. “I’m afraid information about my client is confidential. He’s a private person.”

  Mulder said, “We’ve noticed. We visited him in person earlier this morning.”

  Pendra’s eyes widened. “Then you know more than I do. I’ve never even been to his studio up in Frustration Corners.”

  “Calling it a studio might be an... exaggeration,” Scully said.

  Mulder brought out the dossier of missing persons reports and spread them on one of the empty tables in the gallery. He arranged photographs, faxes, then unfolded the large map on which he had meticulously combined Wilson Beatty’s explorations with the Last Seen reports. “Quite a few people have disappeared in the vicinity of Frustration Corners.”

  Pendra frowned at the map. “Bernard delivers his statues to the gallery, and I pay him whenever a piece sells. I’d be happy to show you his work, but I have little other interaction with him.” She led them into the main room of the gallery. “He’s been pestering me to exhibit his found-material sculptures, but I have no interest in those.”

  “I doubt anybody would,” Mulder said. “We’ve seen them ourselves.”

  Several of the lumpy statues remained on display—the screaming man, the coyote, the figure bent over retching, the old-time prospector. Pendra seemed impressed with the work, but Scully couldn’t imagine why anyone would own one of the odd monstrosities.

  “You won’t find similar work anywhere. Many of Bernard’s pieces have sold to private collectors, but this selection shows the depths of his genius.” Pendra handed them each a brochure. “And a price list, of course.”

  Mulder said, “I prefer lawn gnomes.”

  Scully refolded the brochure. “With prices like these... Mr. Lumke must be a very successful artist. He could afford a mansion in the hills. Why does he live out in the desert?”

  “Bernard has all the amenities he needs, and he draws inspiration from the desert. Death Valley gives him all the raw material for his work.”

  Mulder studied a statue of a man wearing street clothes, but the details were obscured by white alkaline cement. He frowned when he looked at the statue’s face, then went to his dossier of missing persons reports. He pulled out one of the sheets with a blurry faxed photo and held it up to the statue. “See any resemblance?”

  Pendra chuckled. “You have an impressive imagination, Agent Mulder.”

  “Yes, I do, but I also wonder...” He reached out to tap the stone forearm. “Why is this statue wearing a wristwatch?”

  “Bernard’s fixation with details has gained him critical acclaim.”

  Mulder removed the rental car keys and used the sharp end to chip at the statue’s wristwatch. Pendra yelped. “Stop! That’s a priceless work of art.”

  One sharp crack broke away the caked residue to reveal a real wristwatch with a crystal face under the stone. It was still ticking.

  “Not a priceless work of art, Ms. Pendra,” Scully said. “It’s just a cheap Timex. But it is real... and so is the arm under it.”

  Pendra stared in horror, but Mulder couldn’t tell if she was more shocked by the damage to the sculpture, or the suggestion that it was composed of an actual body.

  He held up the photo of the missing person. “This statue—and I presume all of them—are human beings turned to stone. With a little digging and comparison, I suspect we can match all of Mr. Lumke’s statues with these missing persons reports.”

  Pendra’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again, like a fish in search of a hook. “Are you saying that Bernard Lumke is a serial killer?”

  “We don’t know how the petrification happens, Ms. Pendra,” Scully said. “I’m taking these statues into evidence. I’ll know more after I perform a detailed analysis.”

  Pendra pushed her way forward, indignant and still disbelieving. “Analysis? These are works of art. I can’t let you—”

  Mulder blocked her from coming closer, and as the woman struggled, he bumped the statue not entirely by accident. It crashed to the floor and shattered. Bones protruded from concrete-like skin, and even the head broke open like a thunder-egg, exposing crystallized lumps of brain.

  Pendra reeled backward and put both of her hands against her face in an expression of complete horror, which was also a reasonable copy of The Scream.

  *****

  FRUSTRATION CORNERS

  DEATH VALLEY NATIONAL PARK

  THURSDAY, 4:28 p.m.

  Travis Ashton drove his Volvo up the rugged road on the edge of Death Valley as he made his way to a place called Frustration Corners. During the exhibition, the gallery owner agent had let slip that Bernard Lumke lived way out here, and if Ashton showed up on his doorstep, how could the man turn down an interview request?

  Dust covered his windshield and the wipers did little to clear it. The washer fluid turned the smear of dust into a smear of mud, which made the task of dodging rocks and potholes even more difficult. He finally arrived at the ramshackle cluster of abandoned buildings, rusted mining equipment, a windmill—and a garden of artistic disappointments, scrap metal sculptures welded and painted with far more kitsch than charm. How could the artist who created the visceral sculptures on display at the Pendragon Gallery be the same person who had slapped together this trash?

  He sighed. That was something he’d find out in the interview, an exclusive—inside the mind of one of the art world’s hottest new discoveries.

  Ashton stepped away from his car and shaded his eyes against the pounding sunlight. “Hello?” He listened for any noise, looked for any sign of habitation. A raven swooped overhead, scolding him. “Mr. Lumke! I’m an art critic from LA. Your agent, Kendra Pendra, sent me here. She gave me your address.” Not quite true, but it sounded legitimate.

  He frowned at a bright pink Kokopelli made of cast iron and kitchen implements; another junk sculpture was a cute robot with an equally cute robot dog. Awful stuff! Then he saw the lumpy sculpture of a Native American medicine man—now that was the right stuff! So strikingly different from the tepid crap in the rest of the sculpture garden.

  Lumke strode out of a less-dilapidated-looking home, one with glass in the windows and a big white water tank at roof level. “A critic? That’s supposed to impress me?”

  Ashton blurted out, “I respect your privacy, Mr. Lumke, so I’ve come alone. Nobody knows I’m here. I want
to do an exclusive interview with you about your marvelous statues.”

  The sculptor remained cautious. “So you’re not with those other two? From this morning?”

  “What other two?” Ashton’s pulse raced, and he stroked his goatee, concerned. Had someone else scooped him? “Did you talk to a different publication?”

  Lumke brushed the thought aside. “Nevermind. I sent them away. I don’t normally give interviews, but if you came alone...”

  Ashton handed over his business card and kept talking, breathless. “Your excellent exhibition at the Pendragon Gallery drew a lot of attention. I’d present a very positive profile, and we could increase your exposure dramatically. Could I see your studio, get a glimpse of your technique?”

  Lumke narrowed his close-set eyes. “I don’t have a... traditional studio. I create my sculptures in concert with nature itself.” He cast his gaze around the silent ghost town, then glanced at the rugged mountains dotted with caves and old mine shafts. “Maybe it is time I gave an exclusive interview. It’s your lucky day, Mr. Ashton.”

  Ashton brightened. “Then it was worth the long drive from LA!”

  *****

  Lumke drove his own 4X4 on a rugged jeep road up to a crack in the side of the rockfall. Ashton found the drive terrifying, but his excitement to see the unusual studio outweighed his fear.

  Lumke stopped at the base of a slope of loose rock that led up to the narrow crack of a cave opening. He began to climb, expecting the critic to follow. “I’ve showed very few people. I draw all my inspiration from inside this cave. It’s the genesis of every statue I’ve ever made.”

  Ashton was panting, dusty, sweating from the climb, but he was intrigued. “Your studio’s inside the mountain? It doesn’t look like a mineshaft. Is it a natural opening?”

  “Natural... and unnatural. I discovered it while exploring side canyons.” He indicated complex petroglyphs on the rocks around the opening. “But the Shoshone found it long before I did.” He gestured the critic inside as he switched on a powerful flashlight to illuminate the path ahead.

  Ashton smiled. “This is exciting.”

  “Yes, it is,” said Lumke. The two men worked their way deeper into the cave, and Lumke kept the flashlight directed toward their feet so they could pick their way around the fallen rocks, ducking under lumpy stone protrusions, leaving the window of daylight far behind them. Dust pattered down, and even their footsteps seemed to make the cave unstable.

  Ashton sounded nervous as pebbles trickled down. “How much farther?”

  “We’re almost to the stream, and then you’ll see marvels like you’ve never imagined.”

  Finally they emerged into a larger room that the single flashlight could not illuminate; the sounds of a stream trickling across the stone seemed refreshing. The cave air was cool and humid, strikingly different from the desert outside, with a sour alkaline smell. Lumke directed the flashlight down toward the flowing water that had sliced a channel across the cave floor.

  “This is my special place. The Shoshone considered this grotto holy—I’m sure that’s what the petroglyphs mean. You have to taste the water. It’s like drinking liquid electricity.”

  Ashton’s shadowed face showed concern. “Drink... the water? Wouldn’t it be alkaline? I don’t want to—”

  “Purified and filtered through all this rock? It’s the blood of the muse, you’ve never experienced anything like it. Fresh, pristine, cold... magical.” Lumke hardened his voice. “And it’s important background for your interview. If you’re not willing...”

  “All right.” Ashton bent down to his knees, dipped his hands and scooped up a handful of water. He sipped, then slurped. “Tastes chalky, lots of dissolved minerals.” He stood, wiped his wet hands on his pants. “Can we have more light so I can see where we are?”

  “I’ve installed battery lanterns, connected with cords. Now I can show you everything you need to see.” Lumke found a switch, and lanterns illuminated a giant grotto, filled with stalactites, stalagmites, and glittering crystals that grew out of the ceiling. The stream flowed across the floor and poured through a crack into unseen chambers below. “This is my real statue gallery.”

  Ashton suddenly realized that many of the thick, shadowy stalagmites rising from the floor were human-shaped, people covered with layers and layers of deposited stone, as if someone had poured hardening wax on top of them. Some had been there so long their arms or legs were barely discernible, while others looked fresh. Ashton noticed fresh gashes in the cave floor, where Lumke had chopped out the existing statues.

  “Nature is the sculptor.”

  Ashton stared at the display and tried to form questions, but he was breathing heavily. He clutched his throat, wiped his mouth, and swallowed, but it felt as if his chest had filled with gravel. “My mouth... tastes like sand.” He shook his head, raised a hand and tried to flex his fingers. “My arms and legs. I can barely move.”

  “It’s the water,” Lumke said, matter-of-fact. “Simple contact with the skin is sufficient, but that takes so much longer. Now that you’ve actually swallowed the water, the internal process should go fairly quickly. You’ll be part of my next exhibition.”

  Ashton tried to turn, already stiffening in place. He couldn’t lift his leg. “What have you done to me?”

  Lumke just smiled and stood watching. “I always hated critics.”

  *****

  FRUSTRATION CORNERS

  DEATH VALLEY NATIONAL PARK

  FRIDAY, 10:58 a.m.

  Driving back to Death Valley the next day, this time prepared to confront the reclusive sculptor, Mulder wound the rental car up the road to Frustration Corners. Whether or not he had done it purposefully, Lumke knew what caused the fossilization of the victims, and they needed to learn what it was.

  When the two agents reached the ghost town, Mulder looked at the dilapidated buildings. “I could get used to this place, Scully.” He parked in front of the bizarre junk-sculpture garden with the kitschy metal contraptions. “Or maybe not.” He saw a dusty but relatively new Volvo partially hidden behind a big rusty shack, a vehicle he had not noticed before.

  Scully emerged with her weapon already drawn. “I hope he gives us a warmer welcome than he did last time.” Mulder followed, also drawing his Sig Sauer.

  Kendra Pendra had been taken in for questioning in LA, and FBI teams were rounding up all of Lumke’s statues that had previously been sold to private collectors. Once the art connoisseurs learned that the lifelike sculptures came complete with a real human body inside, few would object to having them removed.

  Scully raised her pistol, looking toward the lone inhabited house with its water tank. “Federal agents, Mr. Lumke. You’re wanted for questioning in several murders.”

  The sculptor must have seen and heard them drive up. A moment later, the man emerged from his ramshackle house, holding his hands up and looking alarmed. “Don’t shoot! I haven’t done anything wrong—I’m just an artist. I’m no murderer.”

  Mulder said, “Sir, we know you’re connected with at least eight missing persons who disappeared in this area.”

  Lumke wore an innocent and baffled expression that wasn’t entirely convincing. “Eight missing persons? That’s more people than I see in a year!”

  “Their bodies were found inside the statues you exhibited at the Pendragon Gallery,” Scully said. “We have a warrant for your arrest.”

  The sculptor was aghast. “You’re saying those statues are real people? My God!” He swallowed hard, looked nervous and terrified. “I thought they were natural formations. I find them in a cave nearby.”

  Mulder nodded toward the lumpy Shoshone statue, which looked so out of place among the kitschy junk sculptures. “Natural formations?”

  Still holding her handgun, Scully looked at her partner. “We need to see the source of the petrification process, Mulder. And we have to make sure no one else is exposed, like Wilson Beatty.”

  Lumke seemed overly earnest
and cooperative. “I can show you if you don’t believe me. It’s only a mile away.” Ignoring the weapons pointed toward him, the sculptor rolled open the corrugated garage door of an adjacent shed to reveal a 4X4 off-road vehicle. “I’ll drive. That rental car of yours won’t make it a tenth of a mile up the road we’re going. Come on, you can see for yourselves. I haven’t killed anybody.”

  The two agents kept their weapons handy while Lumke drove in low gear, grinding up a steep road that didn’t look like a road at all. Mulder thought the eccentric artist routine was just an act, and he remained guarded. Through the passenger window, Scully peered over the edge of an impressive drop-off. The wheels seemed only inches from the precipice.

  “Nobody else knows this route.” Lumke sounded cheerful, chatty, as if desperate to demonstrate complete cooperation. When even the hint of a road petered out, he ground the 4X4 to a halt and engaged the parking brake. “We’ll have to go on foot from here.” He glanced at the agents’ professional attire. “You might get a little dusty.”

  Mulder climbed out to stand on the rocks. “Don’t worry, these are my hiking clothes.”

  Scully was tense, keeping her hand on her weapon. “Show us the source of the statues, Mr. Lumke.”

  They climbed up the steep talus and scree to reach a gash in the mountainside—not an old mine shaft, but a cave. Mulder was intrigued by the petroglyphs around the opening. “I recognize some of these. They’re warning symbols.”

  “The Shoshone called this a sacred place,” Lumke said. “When their great medicine men grew too old, they would come to this cave and give up their lives to become part of the mountains. Other people must have found it over the years, too. It’s a natural wonder. I’ll show you the grotto, and you can decide for yourselves.” He strode inside, expecting them to follow. “Careful—I don’t think the rock is terribly stable.”

  Scully frowned, but Mulder lowered his voice. “We have to see.” He entered the cave, calling out. “Wait for us—we’ve got very good flashlights.”

  They entered the dusty, cool passageway, their lights splashing bright pools on the narrow confines. The rock looked loose and crumbly, crusted over with powdery white residue. Several confusing side passages branched off in various dead ends, but the artist led the way. “I promise, it’ll be worth it. You’ve never seen anything like this.”