The car rolls slowly past parked saloons, press vehicles and snow-dusted SUVs. In front of the hall, guests in dark coats jostle for space: women in evening gowns under fur capes, young players in suits, photographers, staff with clipboards, and a few shivering local journalists vying with one another for the best vantage points. Banners hang above the entrance:
LAST GALA NIGHT BEFORE DEMOLITION
CHARITY TOURNAMENT FOR INTERNATIONAL HOCKEY SCHOLARSHIPS
Scully parks with the practised precision of a woman who is already preparing to reverse out again in twelve minutes. She switches off the engine. For a moment, all that can be heard is the distant hum of the event, muffled by glass and snow. Mulder looks out as if he has just had his instinct confirmed: it has a far better grasp of leisure planning than any sense of reason.
MULDER
See?
SCULLY
I see a lot of people who are far better dressed than we are.
Mulder looks down at himself, then at her.
MULDER
Perhaps we’re the only group here tonight who are dressed honestly enough.
SCULLY
Or the only ones who haven’t realised where they’ve ended up.
They get out. The cold hits them immediately, sharper than in the car. Snow crunches under their shoes. Music drifts over from somewhere, festive enough to sound expensive. A photographer turns halfway towards them, sizes them up, then decides against a shot and turns back to a group of laughing sponsors.
SCULLY
A good sign. Nobody thinks we’re important yet.
MULDER
That’s often just a matter of five minutes.
At the foot of the wide staircase, Scully stops and looks up at the hall. The building is old, but not worn out. More the sort of structure that has earned its dignity through sheer perseverance: brick, tall windows, steel beams behind glass, strings of lights intended to make the place feel warmer for an evening than it actually is.
SCULLY
It looks like a prison. I’m curious why anyone would want to build an ‘International Winter Sports Centre for the Promotion of Democracy’ in this godforsaken place instead.
MULDER
That’s probably just the packaging. Most places with such long names want to bury something underneath them or sell cheap junk.
SCULLY
That’s where your brain turns architecture into suspicion again.
MULDER
Only if it deserves it.
They walk up the stairs. A young staff member in a black coat is holding the door open for a group of teenagers wearing wristbands. He glances briefly at Mulder and Scully, hesitates as to whether they should be on some list, then decides in favour of the general gala chaos.
STAFF MEMBER
Welcome. Press to the left, sponsors straight ahead, guests of honour please proceed to the foyer first.
Mulder nods, as if ‘guests of honour’ were a perfectly reasonable category for them.
MULDER
See? It all fits together.
SCULLY
Nothing fits together at all. We’ll be very politely shown the door in five minutes.
Before they’ve even reached the door, it opens from the inside. A couple steps out, accompanied by a flood of warm light, voices, music and the scent of expensive food, cold air and ice. JONATHAN is elegant, slightly out of breath from too many encounters and visibly in high spirits. JENNIFER is immaculate, attentive and exactly the sort of woman who immediately recognises when something in the room doesn’t fit the expected social order. Jonathan spots Mulder and Scully first. He pauses half a step, sizes them both up and lowers his voice just enough for Jennifer to hear him.
JONATHAN
Jennifer, please look over there. Either that’s a very serious couple or we’re in for some unexpected quality tonight.
Jennifer follows his gaze. Mulder is standing on the top step, Scully right beside him. Neither of them looks like a sponsor, sports official or member of the local press. That’s precisely why they stand out. Jennifer walks straight over to them.
JENNIFER
Good evening. I really hope you’re either freezing on purpose or by invitation.
Scully reacts faster.
SCULLY
To be honest, just a rather spontaneous plan for a coffee.
Jonathan smiles.
JONATHAN
That’s already the most likeable reason for being here this evening. We just wanted to spend a few quiet days in our little chalet just above this sleepy little village, when we were spotted and invited to this bizarre gala in the middle of nowhere. I suspect it’s about money. Mulder holds Jennifer’s scrutinising gaze.
MULDER
Mulder. Scully. We just happened to be in the area, saw the sign for the historic hall and underestimated how much activity could be hidden behind such a reassuring sign.
Jonathan immediately extends his hand.
JONATHAN
Jonathan. My wife, Jennifer. And I assure you: we, too, regularly underestimate the social scene, though usually for different reasons.
Jennifer shakes Scully’s hand first, then Mulder’s. Her gaze lingers on both of them for a split second longer, not intrusively, just precisely.
JENNIFER
So you’re not here for the tournament?
SCULLY
No.
MULDER
Until about four minutes ago, we didn’t even know there was one.
JONATHAN
Then you’re in the enviable position of not having to expect a speech from anyone.
SCULLY
That alone makes the evening more appealing.
Jonathan laughs. Jennifer briefly sizes up Mulder with the keen attention of a woman who pieces together names, demeanours and contexts faster than other people sort through their wardrobes. Jonathan lightly places his hand on the door and holds it open.
JONATHAN
Do come in. Even if you’re off again in ten minutes, you should at least do so warm and with a decent cappuccino, or a cup of Russian tea.
Scully looks at Mulder. The look says: If you look satisfied now, you’ve only yourself to blame. Mulder looks satisfied.
MULDER
That sounds extremely sensible.
SCULLY
Which in itself is suspicious.
Jennifer steps aside to let them through.
JENNIFER
Well then, let’s make sure we don’t ruin it. Inside, the last few lovely minutes of the evening are just unfolding.
Jonathan leans slightly towards Mulder.
JONATHAN
My wife seems to have seen right through you. And if you have a knack for spotting surprises like this tournament gala earlier than others: please wait to make any such prophecies until I’ve at least got a glass in my hand.
MULDER
I’m not promising anything.
JONATHAN
Excellent. Then we’re on the same page.
Mulder and Scully step through the door. Warm air hits them. Music. Voices. Light on steel and glass. The foyer is full of people, winter coats, laughter, cheap sparkling wine and that festive bustle that often only looks elegant until something goes wrong. Most people look like local celebrities; some fur coats seem as old as the hall itself. Teenagers and local journalists look like out-of-place time travellers amidst the nostalgics at a 1950s party. Jennifer closes the door behind them.
JENNIFER
Welcome to our charity-themed evening in this hall.
SCULLY
And the coffee?
Jonathan gestures inside.
JONATHAN
Straight ahead, then left. But I’m afraid you’ll have to pass through an opening gala on the way.
MULDER
We’ll put up with that.
Scully gives him a sidelong glance.
SCULLY
Of course we will.
They walk with the Harts into the light and the noise.
CUT.